Carl Friedrich Gauss, Titan of Science_A Study of His Life and Work

by G. Waldo Dunnington

  Later a large part of Gauss’ time was claimed by orbital corrections and calculations of Pallas (April, 1802), Juno (September, 1804), and Vesta (March, 1807). The first orbit for Vesta was computed by Gauss in only ten hours.

  Not until 1805 did he begin to develop the perturbations of Ceres. He finally grew tired of this mechanical calculation, as shown in a letter of May 10, 1805, to Olbers: “The methods according to which I had begun to compute the perturbations of Ceres I have given up again. The dead mechanical calculating (entirely too much) which I saw ahead of me turned me away.”

  Olbers mentioned to Gauss that he was acquainted with a young man named Bessel,27 who was acting as clerk in Kuhlenkamp’s office and who in his leisure hours and at night zealously studied astronomy and showed talent. Gauss did not meet this young man during his first stay in Bremen. When they met later. Gauss made a deep impression on Bessel and gave him new inspiration. An intimate friendship of forty-two years duration thus had its beginning. The copy of the Disquisitiones which Gauss presented to Bessel was studied diligently. It never got far from him and was so badly worn that it had to be rebound. Bessel always looked up to Gauss as a teacher, while the latter looked on Bessel, with his natural genius, as one of the greatest astronomers. “No one,” he said, “made the nature of the heavens his mental property as did Bessel, no one had so much aptitude in observing, in the practical use of his instruments; Olbers performed great, very great services for astronomy as a whole, but his greatest service lies in the fact that he properly recognized Bessel’s talent for astronomy from its first germination, that he won and educated it for science.”

  All German astronomers of that day gathered around Olbers. He was the moving spirit of the whole science. Lichtenberg said of him, “If only everyone accomplished in work what Olbers does in his recreation!” Littrow characterized his activity with the words: “Observations and discoveries went forth from Olbers’ observatory, i.e., from his living room, every single one of which would make even the greatest observatory immortal forever.”

  On August 21, 1806, Gauss received full citizen’s rights of the world, as he would say, for on that day his wife Johanna presented the happy father with a son. Ceres, the goddess of harvest, had given him harvests also. She first had made possible for him the founding of his own home. The first fruits of this young marriage were to be connected in name with the history of the Ceres discovery. In happy memory of this. Gauss invited Ceres herself, the founder of his domestic fortunes, to stand for this child in the figure of her discoverer, Piazzi, and at St. Katharine’s Church on August 24 the newborn child was christened Joseph. At the time Gauss himself had no suspicion that this was the first link in a little chain to which various additional links would be added in years following, a chain through which this phase of astronomical history would be woven directly into his family. Joseph long remained his father’s favorite. The young father sent Bolyai this report about the baby: “Talents are visibly developing in the little chap, he is the darling of all who know him. A geometer is scarcely in him, he is too wild, too playful, I should say.”

  At the beginning of the year 1804, Harding informed Gauss that there was a ten-foot telescope mirror for sale, priced at thirty pistoles. Its excellence was recommended. The Duke heard of this and gave orders to buy the instrument for the observatory he intended to erect. It arrived the latter part of April and Gauss was at once authorized to attend to the mounting. The optical pieces were ordered from Schröder in Gotha and the mechanical workings from Rudloff in Wolfenbüttel.

  But this first step toward the fulfillment of Gauss’ eager desires brought in its train a series of annoyances and disappointments, destined to embitter the last hours of his stay in Brunswick. Both manufacturers severely tried his patience; Schröder did not furnish his order of goods until August of the following year; Rudloff almost a year later. Rudloff demanded 750 thalers. Scarcely had the Duke’s munificence removed this worry when it was discovered that the instrument did not have the desired power and did not accomplish what it should. Gauss was convinced that it must go through a mechanic’s hands again, and decided to let the matter rest. Not until September, 1807, when Harding was visiting him, did Gauss discover the difficulty, and realize that the mirror was just as excellent as had been represented.

  Harding took the mirror with him to Lilienthal for repolishing. Soon it was reported that the repairs were successful and that since there were few others in Germany like it, it would be an adornment to any observatory. Gauss was glad the purchase of the mirror was justified.

  While Gauss was leading a quiet life with his family in Brunswick, the political horizon was ominously disturbed. Napoleon’s power became entrenched in western Germany, and although the worst was to be feared, no agreement for defense could be reached between Prussia and Austria. These threatening circumstances turned attention toward Russia as an ally. The Duke of Brunswick was accordingly commissioned by the court at Berlin on January 30, 1806, with a diplomatic mission to St. Petersburg. This seems to have been of no avail. Many questioned him there about the young astronomer Gauss, urging him to yield his claim and allow Gauss to accept the second call to St. Petersburg. Having returned to Brunswick on March 24, he raised Gauss’ salary to six hundred thalers. This fact was communicated to Gauss on April 30, his birthday. One day in May Gauss called to see the Duke and thank him for the kindness. This was the last time that they saw each other; the friendship had covered fourteen years and had brought Gauss great opportunity. During the next few months the political storm prevented the Duke from thinking of his protégé.

  After the battle of Jena a court of punishment was set up; many of the highest officers were imprisoned, with long or life sentences, many condemned to the arquebuse. With such a corps of officers, a victory against Napoleon was precluded at the outset. Prussia began the war at a time when she was completely isolated. King Friedrich Wilhelm III could have freed his forces more than once, at favorable moments, but under the influence of such diplomats as Haugwitz and Lucchesini, whom the Baron vom Stein called blockheads and knaves, he delayed until too late, when withdrawal was impossible. The King had left Austria in the lurch and she now had her revenge. The prospective Russian auxiliary troops were only on paper, while the French army had 200,000 reliable soldiers. The Prussian generalissimo, Duke Carl Wilhelm Ferdinand of Brunswick, had only 57,000 men under his command, among them many raw recruits, foreigners, vagabonds from various countries, and good-for-nothings who could be held together only by the stick; Poles from newly acquired South Prussia deserted in the garrisons and still more on the field. The equipment was deficient, the extremely heavy guns shot poorly, and the commissary left much to be desired. Many regimental commanders drew on their own funds. There were batteries which had never trained, had never practiced hitching and unhitching a gun carriage. No one knew the roads, the footpaths, and bridges. The result was a mad hurly-burly which caused them to shoot their own men. The general chief of staff. Colonel von Massenbach, an unfit babbler, erred continually like the Austrian general. Mack, in commands, orientation, and so forth. This Massenbach was quartermaster general for the commander of the second army, the Prince of Hohenlohe-Ingelfingen, who had 23,000 men at his disposal. Since the Prince was jealous of the Duke, he was receptive to the intrigues of Massenbach and set up opposition to the commands of superiors. Any carefully planned, systematic collaboration of the two armies was thus rendered impossible. General Rüchel with his 27,000 men did not arrive at the proper time. Hence Blücher later reported: “A reserve was never more inactive than ours at Auerstedt.”

  These facts explain the disaster which overwhelmed the Prussian army on October 14, 1806; her leader, Duke Carl Wilhelm Ferdinand of Brunswick, should receive the least blame for it. He was seventy-one years old, but in no wise stupid and frail, as has been claimed. An eyewitness gave the following account of his last days:

  The rapid movements and progress of a never resting enemy
made the advance of the Prussian army more and more necessary. Every moment had now become valuable, and the headquarters moved daily farther on from Erfurt to Blankenhayn, from there on October 12 to Weimar, and then on the twelfth to the fatal Auerstedt. The duke set up quarters at the local nobles’ court, the king established his close by in another house and here they awaited the event which could honorably rescue a great state, but could also, perhaps, disrupt it. It was a great, frightful game!—a struggle and a massing of men so large that for centuries history had not seen one like it. The duke, always active and busy, almost never left the circle of officers surrounding him. Fieldmarshal von Möllendorf, Colonels von Kleist and von Scharnhorst, and adjutants surrounded him until late at night. They discussed the positions of the opposing armies, the next moves, the break-up of the battle, the next day’s hopes. The duke was grave, reflective, and self-contained, but nevertheless talkative. The companionable circle around him was serious and thoughtful. It was a great, awful evening. The future and its possibilities strained courage, hopes, and apprehensions. Opposing them was a general whose genius had been admired for several years and whose high talents in war were recognized by the whole world. “The fourteenth of October,” said the duke on the night before the battle, “has been an unfavorable day for me several times,” and named the historical reasons for his utterance. Nevertheless it is certain that his spirit was out of tune, disturbed, distrustful, and badly affected several days before the battle. Probably the death of bold Prince Ludwig of Prussia had made a deep impression on him, as it did on the whole army. [Prince Louis Ferdinand died in a skirmish near Saalfeld on October 10, because he was not willing to flee or surrender.] Even before the battle so much ground had been lost that the conquerors had already gained noticeable advantages for themselves by their advance. That heroic spirit of the Prussian army, which had made itself so immortal in the Seven Years’ War, seemed no longer to be the same; even generals with a pusillanimous and vehement sincerity questioned their morning victory, and Prussian defense tactics aroused opposition and irresolution. In short, the duke himself felt grave forebodings.

  Around midnight on October 13, before the battle, the duke retired, exhausted by the continuous military demands on him. He reclined on his couch this time, just as he had done for several turbulent days, wearing all his uniform with girdle, rapier, and spurs. Similarly clothed and ever ready for decamping lay also his entire retinue in the adjoining rooms. Scarcely had it struck three o’clock when he was awakened by the voices of his officers in the next room. By 4 a.m. he was active and ready for the great business of the day.

  At 4:30 even the king came into the duke’s quarters. Again a council of war was held and now for the last time. The king repeatedly advised withdrawal, but soon after six o’clock, in the first shimmering morning light, the duke hastened to the attack on the battlefield. A thick autumn haze slowed the movements of the troops, and a portion of the advance corps fell upon enemy troops, and paid with a heavy loss. Not until nine o’clock did the sun begin to shine through the haze. The struggle was now more general and decisive. The emperor’s army, already tasting victory, pressed forward swiftly under a terrible musket fire from several sides. Several regiments of Prussians remained brave, others were only figures in this fantastic struggle. At the critical moment when everything depended on a powerful and decisive move, the duke was blinded by a musket ball, as he was giving orders before the grenadier battalion from Hanstein. The ball had gone in above the right eye, shattered the bone in the nose, and had pushed the left eye from its socket. His uniform was colored with blood, In this indescribably sad condition the wounded general lay for some minutes on the ground, and thought of being compelled to end his life here, until several Prussian officers hastened by and placed him on an officer’s horse because his own had escaped. A musketeer got on behind him in order to support his back, while two others went on each side to prevent any swaying. He was brought back to Auerstedt; his people watched his return with deep sorrow. “I am a poor blind man, bring me to rest!” he said dolefully to a rifleman who accompanied him. In Auerstedt his blinded eyes, already very swollen, were bandaged, and an able military physician named Völker accompanied him on the order of the king, on his entire journey.

  It was a consolation to him to learn that the enemy was sparing his land. His hope that an avenger would arise in his son, Friedrich Wilhelm, was fulfilled. “The Black Duke” was one of the outstanding figures in the War of Liberation, and fell at Quatre Bras on June 16, 1815.

  A deputation was sent to Napoleon, then in Halle, to request clemency for the Duke and permission for him to die in peace among his own people. The deputation was spitefully received and brutally treated. They heard the Duke overwhelmed with the bitterest reproaches, and Napoleon himself jeered at the conduct of the war. The French army was soon to march in on Brunswick, and then they would be subjects of France.

  Arrangements were made to protect the Duke from ignominious imprisonment at the hand of the enemy. The plan was to flee with him to England. Gauss had intended to flee also. He always told the following story with touching sadness. Living at the time at Steinweg 22, just opposite the castle gate. Gauss looked out his window on the morning of October 25 and saw a long carriage drawn by two horses leaving the castle yard. The gate opened and it moved on out and toward the Wendenthor, so slowly and gloomily that several thought it contained a corpse. The wounded and dying Duke was within, on his flight to Altona, so that he might at least die in freedom. With stricken heart and in grieving silence Gauss saw the departure of his patron and friend. He was as though annihilated. A serious expression came over his face. He was quiet and speechless and bore this great sorrow without words and sounds of complaint. This same seriousness and quietude was prevalent among all the people. Although Gauss said very little, his thoughts and emotions were the more aroused by this fact. Poignant grief gained control of him, accompanied by rancor against the invaders of Germany, in whom he also hated the enemy of his beloved prince. Personal reasons for hatred of Napoleon soon arose.

  After several days’ journey the carriage with the dying duke arrived in Altona. The journey could not be continued—the condition of the Duke had become so much worse that care was taken merely to let him die in peace. He died on November 10, 1806, in a tiny hovel at Ottensen, “driven from the land of his fathers and pursued and mocked by his arrogant foes.” His resting place is not far from the linden tree which shaded the grave of the German poet Klopstock. Referring to the connection between Gauss and the Duke, von Zach had written to the former on January 27, 1803: “You will see to it that his great name is written even in the heavens.”

  Gauss remained in Brunswick with his small family during the winter, while Germany was in subjection from the Rhine to the Niemen. He was not popular with many townsmen and was envied on account of his independent position, but with the Duke gone conditions were completely altered. Hence, every mishap with reference to the Lilienthal telescope mirror bothered him.

  For some time Dr. August Heinrich Christian Gelpke, assistant principal of the Martineum, had been holding astronomical lectures. He was a comical man; in later years whenever his auditors indefatigably asked him as a joking question who were the three greatest astronomers, he named Kepler and Laplace; his modesty forbade him to name the third. It was this man who wrote to a member of the provisional government. Privy Councilor von Wolffradt, on October 10, 1807, requesting the ten-foot Newtonian telescope for use in his lectures, “which [telescope] Dr. Gauss possesses only as a piece of property borrowed from his majesty the late duke, as I have heard, and who is soon leaving here for Göttingen. . . . In the possession of this instrument, I shall attempt to make myself more and more useful to the institution and thereby more and more worthy of your excellency’s favor and affection.”

  On the same day the council of the Carolineum approved such use of the telescope and directed Gauss to give it up. The council was commissioned to loo
k after the proper and safe mounting of the instrument. Gauss explained that he was not personally interested in the matter and was ready to obey the order, but felt called upon to remonstrate against the intended use of it. His idea was that it should be turned over to Pfaff for use at the University of Helmstedt and on rare occasions for other use, and that it was too fine an instrument, too expensive, for beginners to use. We must remember that the telescope was still in Lilienthal for repairs. Gauss’ advice was not heeded by Wolffradt, and thus Gauss departed from Brunswick with some ill feeling.

  VII

  —

  Back to Göttingen

  Gauss received the call to Göttingen on July 9, 1807, while he was visiting Olbers, and accepted it only after careful counseling with his older friend. On his return trip from Bremen he visited Ernst Brandes (1758–1810), an official in Hanover, and became acquainted with A. W. Rehberg, secretary of the cabinet. The country was already occupied by the enemy, although certain officials were still loyal to the Hanoverian government. Gauss arrived in Göttingen just at a time when the old government was in complete dissolution, and the new Westphalian government set up by the French was not yet organized. In the confusion the formal oath of office was never administered to him. He was employed by the Hanoverian government, but this omission never made him less loyal to his country or to the university.

  The arrival in Göttingen is best described by a letter of Gauss’ wife to her intimate friend, Dorothea Müller Köppe (1780–1857) in Brunswick. This letter is dated December 6, 1807; they had arrived November 21: