But the English version is not so; “He came unto his own, and his own received him not.” Mr. Major, the present Keeper of Maps, in the British Museum, was at the time sitting in the same room with Panizzi, and seeing him point out the mistake committed by Sir Henry Ellis, in order to court enquiry exclaimed: “How do you account, Sir, for the words “in propria” being used instead of “ad suos” which might have been the version, had the English translation, the only one with which he was then acquainted been correct. Panizzi was amazed at the question, and turning round to his friend, exclaimed, “Goodness, he knows all about it, I had never noticed the difference.” It is, however, a pleasure to reflect that no very serious results accrued from these disputes between the antagonists, and this is to be attributed to the circumstance that both were true gentlemen, in the strict sense of the word, and both men of education.
Whatever differences they may have had, they controlled their feelings, and reined in their animosities, guided by the polished hand of education, which, as was instilled into our minds, in our schoolboy days,
“Emollit mores nee sinit esse feros.”
The whole case affords a fair example of the influence of gentle blood and good breeding, as opposed to that grossness of ignorance, the sure tendency of which is to cause forgetfulness of our better nature, delivering us bound into the power of unbridled passion, and forcing the most trivial disagreements to issue in petty spite and ill-feeling. Conduct unworthy of a gentleman was the last thing that would be found on either side in the case of Panizzi v. Ellis.
It is devoutly to be wished that this would happen on every occasion where two men opposed in views meet; but it has been our lot to see a very different state of affairs, where the disputants were unequally matched on the intrinsic points of education and breeding.
But before dismissing the subject of quarrels (if such a term is applicable to the jealousies and misunderstandings of educated men), we must refer to the strong antagonistic feeling evinced towards him, whom, in very bad taste, his colleague, Sir F. Madden, was wont to dub the “Foreigner;” whilst necessity only compels the production of some evidence of this, and makes us acknowledge our reluctance at laying-such matters before our readers:—
“Sir—I received yesterday a communication signed “F. Madden,” aping all the forms of a diplomatic note, without any of its courtesy. I forebore noticing the omission, too pointed to be misunderstood, in a former note of yours. I am now driven to notice it, lest my forbearance be mistaken for weakness. If you think you have reason to be displeased with my conduct, I shall be ready to account for it whenever you make up your mind to ask me in a direct and proper manner to do so. This I hope you will not shrink from doing, else it will be evident that, although chary of asking an explanation, and thereby incurring some responsibility, you chose the shelter of official communication to depart safely under it from those forms which I suppose you are aware the usages of society prescribe among gentlemen. Such communications will in future be returned. If, however, you will address me in the manner which I have a right to expect, your communication shall be duly attended to.
Yours, &c., &c.,
A. Panizzi.
Sir F. Madden, &c., &c., &c.”
Many other disagreements—amounting by the animosity evinced, to something worthy of a worse name—we gloss over. Mention must, however, be made of the Rev. Josiah Forshall, Keeper of the MSS., afterwards Secretary, with whom Panizzi more than once came into collision.
Let us now leave this unpleasant topic, and proceed to an account of the Select Committee on the British Museum—more generally known as the Parliamentary Commission of 1835–36—which forms a turning point in the history of our Museum—not so much on account of anything actually effected by it, as from its marking the era when the national character of the Institution, and its mission as an instrument of the national culture, were first clearly recognised and defined. They would, indeed, have been professedly acknowledged at any period of its history; but the circumstances under which the establishment originated, and the manner in which it was managed and supported, had invariably tended to impress upon it a private and exclusive character. By the public it was principally regarded as a show of curiosities, differing from the Zoological Gardens in the same degree as inanimate differ from living things. The literary and scientific world recognised its value for students and amateurs, but had little conception of its function as a great educational agency. It could scarcely have been otherwise. Sir Hans Sloane’s munificent bequest had bestowed upon the public of his day that which it had neither demanded nor required. The measure of its immediate utility may be estimated by the regulation that it should be inspected by parties of not more than fourteen at one time, and always accompanied by an official.
Panizzi’s part in the Committee of 1835–36 was not prominent, though of considerable importance as respected his peculiar Department. The investigation, nevertheless, brought into the clearest relief the three great ideas with which he entered upon his official duties, and which, though acknowledged in principle, he was left almost alone to maintain and enforce, until they eventually became the accepted principles of the Museum, thereby occasioning a total metamorphosis in the spirit of the Institution, while its administrative constitution remained unaltered. These ideas may be thus defined:—
I. The Museum is not a show, but an Institution for the diffusion of culture.
II. It is a Department of the Civil Service, and should be conducted in the spirit of other public Departments.
III. It should be managed with the utmost possible liberality.
It may not be irrelevant if we attempt to show how these points had been understood before Panizzi’s time.
In a Minute dated February 27, 1809, Sir Joseph Banks defined a Museum for exhibition as “a collection framed for the purpose of administering instruction in the form of amusement, and thus endeavouring to awake latent curiosity.” He, therefore, concluded that not only the anatomical paintings in the custody of the Trustees should be transferred to the College of Surgeons, but the Osteological Collection also. He further thought that the specimens preserved in spirits, when not capable of being stuffed, should also be transferred to the same place, more particularly as “the room where they are kept must unavoidably smell strongly of spirits,” and “they are very frequently designated by the opprobrious appellation of hobgoblins.” It was clearly the view of this representative of science upon the Board that the Museum had no business with anything unadapted for public exhibition.
With respect to the second point, it is certainly no reproach to the governing body, or the officers of the Museum, that at the period of its establishment very little work should have been required from the latter. This ensued almost as a matter of necessity from the fact that the Museum was no national foundation, planned with systematic forethought, but a mere lucky windfall. Enough was done if its safe custody was ensured; the extension it