It was Ramakrishna who brought him in contact with Max Müller, the great German
Sanskritist and Indologist, who had been impressed by the eloquence of Keshab
Chandra Sen and his religious fervour, and had also come to know of the influence that
Sri Ramakrishna had exerted in the development of Keshab's life. From the
information that he had been able to gather from India, Max Müller had already
published an article on Ramakrishna in the Nineteenth Century, entitled 'A Real
Mahatman.' Now he was eager to meet a direct disciple of the Master, and invited
Swami Vivekananda to lunch with him in Oxford on May 28, 1896.
The Swami was delighted to meet the savant. When the name of Ramakrishna was
mentioned, the Swami said, 'He is worshipped by thousands today, Professor.'
'To whom else shall worship be accorded, if not to such?' was Max Müller's reply.
Regarding Max Müller and his wife, the Swami later wrote:
The visit was really a revelation to me. That little white house, its setting in a beautiful
garden, the silver-haired sage, with a face calm and benign, and forehead smooth as a
child's in spite of seventy winters, and every line in that face speaking of a deep-seated
mine of spirituality somewhere behind; that noble wife, the helpmate of his life
through his long and arduous task of exciting interest, overriding opposition and
contempt, and at last creating a respect for the thoughts of the sages of ancient India —
the trees, the flowers, the calmness, and the clear sky — all these sent me back in
imagination to the glorious days of ancient India, the days of our brahmarshis and
rajarshis, the days of the great vanaprasthas, the days of Arundhatis and Vasishthas. It
was neither the philologist nor the scholar that I saw, but a soul that is every day
realizing its oneness with the universe.
The Swami was deeply affected to see Max Müller's love for India. 'I wish,' he wrote
enthusiastically, 'I had a hundredth part of that love for my motherland. Endowed with
an extraordinary, and at the same time an intensely active mind, he has lived and
moved in the world of Indian thought for fifty years or more, and watched the sharp
interchange of light and shade in the interminable forest of Sanskrit literature with deep
interest and heartfelt love, till they have sunk into his very soul and coloured his whole
being.'
The Swami asked Max Müller: 'When are you coming to India? All men there would
welcome one who has done so much to place the thoughts of their ancestors in a true
light.'
The face of the aged sage brightened up; there was almost a tear in his eye, a gentle
nodding of the head, and slowly the words came out: 'I would not return then; you
would have to cremate me there.'
Further questions on the Swami's part seemed an unwarranted intrusion into realms