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Title: The Gallery of Portraits: with Memoirs. Volume 4 (of 7)
Author: Anonymous
Language: English
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_UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL
KNOWLEDGE._
THE
GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
WITH
MEMOIRS.
VOLUME IV.
LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET.
1835.
[PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES,
Duke-Street, Lambeth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PORTRAITS AND BIOGRAPHIES
CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.
1. Daguesseau 1
2. Cromwell 11
3. Lionardo da Vinci 21
4. Vauban 29
5. William III. 37
6. Goethe 46
7. Correggio[1] 57
8. Napoleon 67
9. Linnæus 77
10. Priestley[1] 85
11. Ariosto 93
12. Marlborough 104
13. De l’Epée 113
14. Colbert 122
15. Washington 128
16. Murillo 137
17. Cervantes 147
18. Frederic II. 155
19. Delambre 165
20. Drake 170
21. Charles V. 179
22. Des Cartes 189
23. Spenser 194
24. Grotius 201
Footnote 1:
The paging of Part XXVII. has accidentally been repeated in Part
XXVIII.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Mollison._
DAGUESSEAU.
(_From am original Picture by Mignardi in the
possession of the Conntesa Segur._)
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
DAGUESSEAU.
The Chancellor Daguesseau is said to have been descended from a noble
family of the province of Saintonge; if so, he was careless of his
privileges, for he never used between the two first letters of his name
the comma, indicative of noble birth. He came however of distinguished
parentage; for his grandfather had been First President of the
Parliament of Bordeaux, and his father was appointed, by Colbert,
Intendant of the Limousin, and subsequently advanced to the Intendancies
of Bordeaux and of Languedoc. In the latter government he suggested to
Colbert the grand idea of uniting the Ocean and the Mediterranean by
means of that mighty work, the Canal of Languedoc. In the persecution
raised against the Protestants of the South of France by Louis XIV., he
was distinguished by mildness; and to his honour be it remembered, one
person only perished under his jurisdiction. Disgusted by the
_dragonnades_, and by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he resigned
his Intendancy, and removed to Paris, where he continued to enjoy the
royal favour, and to be employed in offices of trust: so that he may be
said not only to have formed his son’s youth, but to have watched over
his manhood.
That son, Henry François Daguesseau, was born at Limoges, November 7,
1668. In 1690, he was appointed King’s Advocate in the Court of the
Chatelet, and soon after, at his father’s recommendation,
Advocate-General in the Parliament of Paris. On hearing the wisdom of so
young a choice brought into question, the king observed, that “the
father was incapable of deceit, even in favour of his son.” So
brilliantly did the young lawyer acquit himself in his charge, that
Denis Talas, one of the chief of the magistracy, expressed the wish,
“that he might finish as Daguesseau had begun.” The law-officers of that
day did not confine themselves to a mere dry fulfilment of legal
functions; there was a traditional taste, a love of polite and classic
literature, a cultivation of poetry and eloquence, on which the jurists
prided themselves, and which prompted them to seize every opportunity of
rivalling the ecclesiastical orators and polite writers of the age.
Thus, at the opening of each session, the _Avocat-Général_ pronounced an
inaugurative discourse, which treated rather of points of high morality
than law. Daguesseau acquired great fame from these effusions of
eloquence. Their titles bespeak what they were: they treat of the
_Independence of the Advocate_; the _Knowledge of Man_; of
_Magnanimity_; of the _Censorship_. “The highest professions are the
most dependent,” exclaimed Daguesseau on one of those occasions; “he
whom the grandeur of his office elevates over other men, soon finds that
the first hour of his dignity is the last of his independence.” These
generous sentiments are strongly contrasted with the despotism of the
government and the general servility of the age.
In 1700, Daguesseau was appointed Procureur-General, in which capacity
he was obliged to form decisions on the gravest questions of state. A
learned Memoir, drawn up by him in the year 1700, to prove that no
ecclesiastics, not even cardinals, had a right to be exempt from royal
jurisdiction, shows his mind already imbued with that jealousy of Papal
supremacy which afterwards distinguished him. But his occupations were
not confined to legal functions, the administration of that day being
accustomed to have recourse, in all difficult and momentous questions,
to the wisdom and authority of the magistracy. Thus Daguesseau was
enabled, by directing his attention to the state of the hospitals, to
remedy the enormous abuses practised in them, and to remodel these
charitable institutions upon a new and philanthropic system. In the
terrible famine of 1709, he was appointed one of the commission to
inquire into the distresses of the time. He was the first to foresee the
famine ere it arrived, and to recommend the fittest measures for
obviating the misery which it menaced.
There existed, at that time, few questions on which a French statesman
or magistrate found himself in opposition to the sovereign.
Constitutional political liberty was unknown; and even freedom of
conscience had been violated by the persecuting edicts of Louis XIV. The
magistracy had allowed the Protestants to be crushed, awed by the fear
of being considered favourers of rebellion. The legal and the lettered
class of French, however they had abandoned the great cause of Reform,
exaggerated as it had been by Calvin, were nevertheless still unprepared
to submit to the spiritual despotism of Rome. They did not presume to
question fundamental doctrines of faith; but they rejected the
interference of the Pope in matters of ecclesiastical government, and
their claim to independence was sanctioned by the ancient privileges of
the Gallican Church. And they were resolutely opposed to the faithless
and insidious doctrines of the Jesuits, who sought to make the rule of
conscience subordinate to the dictation of the priesthood. These two
grounds of opposition to Rome and to the Jesuits constituted the better
part of Jansenism. Louis XIV., in his later years, commenced a crusade
against this species of resistance to his royal will; and, amongst other
acts of repression, he procured a Bull from Rome, called _Unigenitus_,
from its first word, which condemned the combined opposition of the
Gallican clergy and the anti-Jesuit moralist. In order to be binding
upon the French, it was necessary that it should be registered in
Parliament. The consent of the great legal officers was requisite, and
they were accordingly summoned before Louis XIV. The First President and
the Advocate-General had already been won over to the court. The
independent character of Daguesseau was the only obstacle; and they had
hopes that he might be induced to yield, from the known mildness of his
disposition. His parting from his wife on this occasion is recorded both
by Duclos and St. Simon: “Go,” said she, as she embraced him; “when
before the king, forget wife and children: sacrifice all but honour.”
Daguesseau acted by the noble counsel, and remained immoveable, though
threatened by his despotic master with the loss of his place. The death
of Louis XIV., in 1715, soon relieved Daguesseau from the difficulty of
his position.
On the establishment of the Regency, the administration was reorganized
on a different plan, each department being intrusted to a council.
Daguesseau was appointed member of the Council of Conscience, being, in
fact, the ecclesiastical department. He proposed the immediate
banishment of the Jesuits from the kingdom; but this measure he was
unable to compass. In February, 1717, a vacancy occurred in the office
of Chancellor, and the Regent immediately sent for Daguesseau, who was
at mass in his parish church, and refused to come until he was twice
sent for. When he arrived, the Regent exclaimed to the company, “Here is
a new and very worthy Chancellor!” and carrying him to the Tuileries in
his coach, made the young king present him with the box of seals.
Daguesseau escaped from the crowd to acquaint his brother with his good
fortune: “I had rather it was you than I,” exclaimed the latter,
continuing to smoke his pipe.
The Regent, however, did not long remain satisfied with his choice,
which had been made from a generous impulse of the moment. During the
last years of Louis the Fourteenth’s reign, there had been a confusion
of parties and of opinions, which were almost all united against the
bigotry and despotism of the monarch’s dotage. The grandee and the
magistrate displayed equal discontent, and joined in common
protestations. On the demise of the monarch, however, this union
disappeared. The grandee hoped to see that aristocratic influence
restored, which had been suspended since the wars of the Fronde. The
magistracy did not favour this idea, being of opinion that the
Parliament was the fittest council and check to the authority of the
crown. Daguesseau of course inclined to the magistracy, in whose
interest he laboured, in conjunction with the Duc de Noailles, to root
out the Jesuits, and deprive the church of ultra-montane support. The
Duc de St. Simon was of the opposite opinion. He was the partisan of an
aristocratic government, and he defended the church, and even the
Jesuits, as useful allies. These discordant views led to bickerings in
the council. St. Simon accused some magistrates of malpractices. The
Chancellor sought, more than was just, to screen them. He obtained a
rule, about the same time, that all the members of the Great Council,
consisting chiefly of magistrates, should be rendered noble by their
office, another offence to the nobility of birth. The Regent, at first
inclined to be neutral, soon leaned to the noblesse. The Parliament
thwarted him, and showed symptoms of an intention to support his rival
the Duke of Maine, the illegitimate son of Louis XIV. The difference
between the Regent and the magistracy was widened into a breach by the
scheme of Law, and by the advancement of that foreigner to influence in
political and financial affairs, which had hitherto been chiefly in the
hands of the magistracy. The legists looked upon Law as an intruder, and
regarded his acts as audacious innovations. Their remonstrances
accordingly grew louder and louder, and their opposition more bold,
until the Regent began to fear the renewal of the scenes of the Fronde.
The Memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz were then published for the first
time; and their perusal, filling the public mind, excited it strongly to
renew the scenes and the struggle which they described. The Chancellor’s
true office, as a minister, had been to manage the Parliament, to
cajole, to persuade, to menace, to repress; but the task suited neither
the character nor the principles of Daguesseau, and accordingly nothing
but censure of him was heard at court. He was weak, he was irresolute,
and lawyers were declared to make very bad statesmen. “They might have
reproached the Chancellor with indecision,” says Duclos, “but what
annoyed them most was his virtue.”
On the 26th of January, 1718, the seals were re-demanded of him and
given to D’Argenson, the famous lieutenant of police. Daguesseau was
exiled to his country-house at Fresnes. Whilst in retirement he occupied
his time chiefly in the education of his children. His letters to them
on the subject of their classical and mathematical studies, lately given
to the public, bear witness to his simple and literary bent of mind.
Happy it was for Daguesseau to have been removed from the troublesome
scene of public life during the two years of Law’s triumph and the
disgrace of the magistracy. When Law’s scheme exploded, amidst the ruin
and execration of thousands, the Regent, not knowing whither to turn for
counsel and support, resolved at least to give some indication of
returning honesty by the recall of Daguesseau, who resumed the seals
with a facility that was censured by many. Law was deprived of the place
of Comptroller-General of Finance, though continued in the management of
the Bank and the India Company. In his place certain of the Parliament
were admitted to the Councils of Finance, so that Daguesseau seemed to
have had full security against the continuance of that infamous jobbing
by which the public credit had been destroyed. He was disappointed. The
Place Vendôme, in front of his abode, being the exchange of the day, was
crowded by purchasers and venders of stock; until the Chancellor, unable
to suppress the nuisance, caused it to be removed elsewhere.
The reconciliation between the government and Parliament, produced by
Daguesseau’s return, did not last long; and Law having sent an edict
respecting the India Company for that body to register, a tumult
occurred while they were debating on it, in which the obnoxious
financier was torn to pieces. Elated by the news, the Parliament
rejected the edict, and hurried from the hall to assure themselves of
the fate of Law, who was the great object of their odium. The Regent
took fire at this mark of their contempt for his authority, and resolved
to exile the Parliament to Blois. Daguesseau himself could not excuse
their precipitancy; he obtained, however, that the place of exile should
not be Blois, but Pontoise, within a few leagues of Paris.
In addition to these causes of quarrel, another matter occurred to widen
the breach between the court and the Parliament, and to place
Daguesseau, who stood between them, in a position of still greater
difficulty. This was the old question of the bull _Unigenitus_, the
acceptance of which the prime minister Dubois was labouring to procure,
as the condition on which he was to receive a Cardinal’s hat from the
court of Rome. The Regent, who had at first supported the Jansenists, or
Parliamentary party, was now disgusted at not finding in them the
gratitude which he had hoped. “Hitherto,” said he, “I have given every
thing to _grace_, and nothing to _good works_.” He leaned, in
consequence, to the other party; and it was resolved to obtain the
acceptance of the bull, or _Constitution_, as it was called, in the
Great Council. The Great Council was a court of magistrates acting
somewhat like the English Privy Council, or present French Conseil
d’Etat, and pronouncing judgment on points where the crown or government
was concerned. It was the rival of the Parliament, in the place of which
Dubois proposed to substitute it as a high court of judicature; an idea
acted upon at a later period of French history. The Regent, attended by
his court and officers, went to the Great Council, and enforced the
acceptance of the bull. Daguesseau attended as Chancellor, and by his
presence seemed to countenance this act, which forms the great reproach,
or blot of his life. He is reported, on this occasion, to have asked a
young councillor, who was loud in opposition, “Where he had found these
objections?” “In the pleadings of the late Chancellor Daguesseau,” was
the keen retort. The conduct of Daguesseau admits, however, of excuse.
The bull had been already registered, _under conditions_, by the
Parliament in the reign of Louis XIV.; and the present agitation of the
question being rather to satisfy the Pope than make any real alteration
in the law. Daguesseau was for making every concession of form, and some
real sacrifices, to avoid further extremities or hostilities against the
Parliament. He hoped, indeed, that registration by the Great Council
might spare the Parliament further trouble on the subject. But the
Cardinal de Noailles, the head of the Jansenist party, continued to
protest; and the Regent, concluding that he was incited by the
Parliament, re-determined to extend the exile of that body from Pontoise
to Blois. Daguesseau learning this, seeing his concessions of no effect,
and that extreme measures were intended against the Parliament, came
instantly to offer his resignation. The Regent, in answer, bade him wait
a few days; and the Cardinal having desisted from his extreme
opposition, at length he was satisfied. The Parliament was recalled, and
Law finally disgraced, a point gained from Dubois, no doubt, as the
price of moderation in the affair of this bull.
The Regent and Dubois had now both made all the use they required of
Daguesseau’s presence in the ministry; and both were anxious to get rid
of a personage so little in harmony with their politics or morals.
Nevertheless, the Regent felt his obligations as well as the respect due
to the Chancellor, and evinced them in a manner peculiar to himself. A
person of some rank and influence had proposed for the daughter of
Daguesseau, allured perhaps by the hope of being allied to a minister.
The Regent learning this, determined to defer the Chancellor’s disgrace,
lest it might prevent the match. When Daguesseau’s future son-in-law
went to ask the Regent, as is customary in France, for his sanction to
the marriage, the latter, while granting it, turned to those near him,
and remarked, in a style usual with him, “Here is a gentleman about to
turn fishmonger at the end of Lent,” thus intimating the Chancellor’s
approaching downfall. Daguesseau had irritated Dubois by joining the
Dukes and Marshals, who retired from the council table rather than yield
precedence to the minister who, in his new rank of Cardinal, pretended
to this honour. The seals were again taken from him in February, 1722,
and he returned to his estate at Fresnes.
Again resuming the volume of his private letters, as the only history of
his years of retirement, we find Daguesseau occupied with the progress
of his son at the bar, and in the functions of Advocate-General. At the
epoch of the Duke of Orleans’ death, and the accession of the Duke of
Bourbon to the ministry, there were evident intentions of recalling
Daguesseau. Recourse was had to his advice in some affairs, but he
refused to take cognizance of them in a position where his word might be
misrepresented. In short, he refused to take any part in political
affairs without, at the same time, “having the ear of the prince,” thus
positively refusing to act any subordinate part. These overtures were
made at the commencement of 1725. “What you must avoid of all things,”
he writes to his son, “is to do any thing that might afford cause of
imagining that conditions are asked of me as the price of my return, or
that I engage myself in any party.” The son was, nevertheless, anxious
for the return of his father to power, and, on one occasion, entreats
him to open his mansion to Mademoiselle de Clermont, sister of the Duke
of Bourbon, who was travelling near Fresnes; but Daguesseau refused to
pay any such expensive compliments, even to the sister of the minister.
At length, in August, 1727, not very long after the installation of
Cardinal Fleury in the office of Prime Minister, Daguesseau was
recalled. At the same time the seals were not given back to him, but
intrusted to Chauvelin as Lord Keeper. The Parliament wished to make
some resistance on this point, but Daguesseau, who, as he grew in years,
seems to have grown also in reverence for the royal authority, dissuaded
and silenced them. Even before his restoration to power, his advice to
his son marks strongly the moderation of his views. “Never push the
government to extremes,” writes he (_Lettres Inédites_, p. 254). “We
should all feel the great distance that exists between a king and his
subjects. Moderation is the most efficacious. If the Parliament take too
strong a resolution, it will but justify the rigour of the government.”
We no longer recognize here the bold man who withstood the threats of
Louis XIV.
His character for consistency and principle suffered in consequence. In
1732, the old quarrel of ultra-montanism and Jesuits was renewed with
great animosity. Some bishops and ecclesiastics resisted the Papal Bull.
Those who suffered for their opposition appealed to the Parliament, who,
as of old, upheld liberty of conscience, and, in connexion with it,
personal freedom. Daguesseau sought to act as moderator, to calm at once
the resistance of the Parliament and the rigour of the court. He was
obliged, in consequence, to make himself party to some of the complaints
of the one, and to some acts of persecution on the part of the other.
Four of the more violent young counsellors were exiled. The high
personal character of the Chancellor alone enabled him to bear up
against the obloquy and reproach that were directed against him from
both sides; but fortunately the storm was of short duration, for the
menaces of foreign war drowned the voices of ecclesiastical and legal
disputants. On the disgrace of Chauvelin, in 1737, the seals were
returned to Daguesseau, who thus once more reunited in his person all
the functions and honours of his place. He kept them until the year
1750, when, feeling that his infirmities rendered him incapable of
performing his duty, he resigned. At the King’s request, he retained the
titular dignity of Chancellor until his death, February 9, 1751.
It is hard, in a brief and popular memoir, to assign reasons for the
high reputation enjoyed by Daguesseau. His celebrity is rather
traditional than historical; it can be appreciated only by those skilled
in the science and history of French law, by those who are acquainted
with the great and innumerable ameliorations wrought in the system of
law and legal proceeding by his assiduity and talents. Indeed that part
of his career, which is necessarily most prominent in history, the share
which he took in politics and administration, was by far the least
honourable. Renowned as a pleader, his very talents in this respect are
said to have unfitted him for judicial functions. “Long habits of the
_parquet_ (the office of the Attorney-General) had perverted his
talents. The practice is there to collect, to examine, to weigh, and
compare the reasons of two different parties; to display, in different
balances, their various arguments, with all the grace and flowers of
eloquence, omitting nothing on either side, so that no one could
perceive to which side the Advocate-General leaned. The continual habit
of this during twenty-four years, joined to the natural scruples of a
conscientious man, and the ever-starting points and objections of the
learned one, had moulded him into a character of incertitude, out of
which he could never escape. To decide was an _accouchement_ with him,
so painful was it.” From this account by St. Simon, we learn how
honourable and impartial was the office of the public accuser in the old
French courts; and that he blended with his functions the high
impartiality of the judge; a characteristic that the office has since
lost, in that court at least. It also explains the Chancellor’s
indecision, and his failure as a judge. Whatever were his defects as a
decider of causes, he made amends by his talents as a legislator and an
organizer of jurisprudence. To this, indeed, he gave himself up in his
latter years almost exclusively, declining to meddle more with politics,
and devoting himself to ameliorate the laws and the forms of procedure.
It is on this subject that it is difficult to explain his merits to the
reader. One of the first objects of his attention was to separate the
functions of the Grand Council from those of the Parliament. When he
resumed the seals in 1737, he suppressed the Judges and Presidents of
the former court, to do away with its pretensions of usurping the place
of the Parliament. He at the same time collected and remodelled the law
of appeals, and regulated the respective jurisdiction of different
courts; and we learn from Isambert, that the Ordonnance issued by him at
this period still serves as the rule of law procedure before the Court
of Cassation and the Council of State. The law for repressing forgery
formed the subject of another long Ordonnance. The next legal subject of
importance that absorbed the attention of Daguesseau was that of
Entails. This forms the subject of a voluminous Ordonnance, bearing date
August, 1747. One of its clauses nullifies entails extending beyond two
degrees, not including the testator. An Ordonnance, signed May, 1749,
not enough attended to, establishes a sinking fund for paying the debts
of the state, and the levy of a twentieth to constitute it. The question
of Mortmain is the subject of an Edict in the same year. Wills form
another source of legal difficulties which Daguesseau sought to simplify
or remove.
The character of Daguesseau has been drawn minutely, and at great
length, by one of the most penetrating of his contemporaries, who sat at
the council board with him, and was his most decided political enemy.
Nevertheless, we need go no farther than this very writer, the Duc de
St. Simon, for a record of the Chancellor’s virtues and genius:—“An
infinity of talent, assiduity, penetration, knowledge of all kinds, all
the gravity of a magistrate, piety and innocence of morals, formed the
foundation of his character. He might be considered incorruptible (St.
Simon makes an exception); and with all this, mild, good, humane, of
ready and agreeable access, full of gaiety, and poignant pleasantry,
without ever hurting; temperate, polished without pride, noble without a
stain of avarice. Who would not imagine that such a man would have made
an admirable Chancellor? Yet in this he disappointed the world.” His
faults, according to the same writer, were indecision as a judge, and
too high a respect for the Parliament and the legal profession, to which
St. Simon asserts he sacrificed the royal authority. In this the
aristocratic writer is mistaken. Daguesseau compromised too much for the
independence of Parliament; it is among his faults. “He was the slave of
the most precise purity of diction, not perceiving how excess of care
rendered him obscure and unintelligible. His taste for science added to
his other defects. He was fond of languages, especially the learned
ones, and took infinite delight in physics and mathematics; nor did he
even let metaphysics alone: in fact, it was for science that he was
born. He would, indeed, have made an excellent First President, Chief
Judge of Parliament; but he would have been best placed of all at the
head of the literature of the country, of the Academies, the
Observatory, the Royal College, the Libraries; there his tediousness
would have incommoded no one, &c.” In short, the Duke, in his scheme of
restoring the aristocracy to exclusive influence, found the Chancellor
in his way, and wished him out of it. He tells us that Daguesseau was of
middling stature, with a full and agreeable countenance, even to the
last expressive of wisdom and of wit.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by E. Scriven._
CROMWELL.
_From the Picture presented by Cromwell To Col^l. Rich,
and bequeathed by his great grandson, Sir Rob^t. Rich, Bar^t. to the
British Museum._
Under the Superintendance of the Society far the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
CROMWELL.
There have been few men known to history, who can be worthily compared
with the subject of these pages for the extraordinary circumstances of
their rise to power, or for their prudence and greatness in its
enjoyment. We see in him a man of middle rank and moderate fortune,
breaking out from privacy, if not obscurity, at a time of life when the
fame of most men is at its meridian, of many at its close, and in a very
few years raising himself to absolute power on the shoulders of his
friends and on the necks of his enemies; and though we censure both the
end of his political labours and the measures which led the way to it,
yet in both there is much left for us to respect and to admire.
Oliver, the only son of Robert Cromwell and Elizabeth Stuart (the
daughter of a knightly family in the Isle of Ely, said to have been
related to the royal house), was born at Huntingdon, April 24, 1599. His
grandfather, Sir Henry Cromwell, was four times Sheriff of the counties
of Cambridge and Huntingdon; his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell, after whom
he was named, was reputed to be the richest knight in England; and his
family was related to the Earls of Essex, and to the houses of Hampden,
St. John, and Barrington. It is necessary to mention the respectability
of Cromwell’s connexions, because he is reported to have been a man of
mean birth, by persons who vainly thought to fix a stigma on his great
name by assigning to him a low origin.
After having received a good school education he was sent, at the age of
seventeen, to Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. He did not remain there
long enough to complete his studies, but, leaving the University before
the usual time, was entered at Lincoln’s Inn. His enemies accuse him of
having been guilty of all manner of debaucheries, both at college and as
a student of law; but as we know that his whole life, from the age of
twenty-one, was severely moral, this accusation may be allowed to rest
with the obscure memories of its authors. His father dying when Oliver
had attained the age of twenty, he left London, and went to reside with
his mother, who eked out her small jointure with the profits of a
brewery which she had established, and conducted herself: hence came the
contemptuous appellation, often bestowed upon Cromwell, of the “brewer
of Huntingdon.” At the age of twenty-one he married Elizabeth, daughter
of Sir James Bourchier, of the county of Essex. At this period of his
life he was involved in some pecuniary difficulties, from which he was
relieved by the death of his maternal uncle Sir Thomas Stuart, who
bequeathed him an estate of between four and five hundred pounds yearly
value in the isle of Ely, on which he took up his residence. Some of his
biographers declare, “that because he prayed and expounded the word too
much, and caused his servants to do the like,” he became again
straitened in his circumstances. This has been the more readily
believed, because he at this time became highly disgusted with the want
of liberty of conscience in his own land, and had, in consequence,
determined to exile himself to New England, along with his friend and
cousin Hampden. He was actually embarked, when an order from the Privy
Council, disallowing emigration without special license from the crown,
put a stop to his voyage. He returned to his county, and was soon after
elected by the burgesses of the town of Cambridge to serve them in the
House of Commons. One of the first notices we have of his taking an
active share in public business was his determined opposition to a plan,
originated by the Earl of Bedford, and supported by government, for the
drainage of the fens. His objection to this scheme was entirely of a
political nature, since, during his Protectorate, it became a measure of
his own. Hampden foretold his future rise from his vigorous conduct in
this matter:—“He was a man who would sit well at the mark.” Cromwell was
not, properly so called, an eloquent man. His ordinary speeches were
rambling, verbose, and inelegant; but when he wished to make his purpose
clear, his style was close, bold, and manly.
In the memorable year 1640, Cromwell was returned by the same borough to
serve in the famous LONG PARLIAMENT,—the last Parliament of Charles the
First. It was unfortunate for this prince that he fell on such times and
such men. He came to the throne with his father’s overweening belief in
the sacredness of kingly prerogative, and with the same obstinate
notions concerning unity of creed and worship in matters of religion.
The consequence of the first of these inherited feelings was his
introduction, or rather enforcement, of unconstitutional modes of
raising money, and distributing justice, beyond the patience of an age
newly escaped from the thraldom of feudal restrictions; the effect of
the latter was also past the endurance of a nation jealous of its
lately-acquired and highly-prized religious liberty. In the struggle
between the prince and the people, which these causes produced, Cromwell
was among the foremost. He was one of seventy-five gentlemen who offered
to raise each a troop of sixty horse in the service of the Parliament.
This was the beginning of the military career which afterwards proved so
glorious. He took great pains in the formation of his levies. This
appears from his expostulation with Hampden, recorded by himself. “Your
troops, said I, are most of them old decayed serving men and tapsters,
and such kind of fellows, and their’s are gentlemen’s younger sons, and
persons of good quality. And do you think that the mean spirits of such
base and mean fellows will ever be able to encounter gentlemen that have
honour, and courage, and resolution in them? You must get men of a
spirit, and take it not ill what I say, of a spirit that is likely to go
as far as gentlemen will go, or else I am sure you will be beaten still:
I told him so. He was a wise and worthy person, and he did think that I
talked a good notion, but an impracticable one. I told him I could do
somewhat in it; and I accordingly raised such men as had the fear of God
before them, and made some conscience of what they did. And from that
day forward they were never beaten; but, whenever they were engaged
against the enemy, they beat continually.” It is probable that to this
choice of his recruits, Cromwell owed much of his military success and
his political fortune. Being desirous of proving their courage, he chose
from among their number a few that he could put confidence in, and
ordered them to lie in ambush on his route; then, at a preconcerted
signal, they rushed from their hiding place as if to charge the rest of
the troop, upon which the poltroons of the company fled, and, finding
their mistake too late, were glad to sneak home and leave their saddles
to be filled by better men. After this trial the ‘Ironsides’ of Cromwell
never shrunk from the enemy, and gradually the whole army was formed on
the same model.
One of Cromwell’s first military services was the securing the town and
county of Cambridge to the Parliamentary interest. He treated the
University, several colleges of which had transmitted plate and money
for the king’s use, with severity, arresting some of its principal
members. Then passing through the county he disarmed the cavalier
gentlemen, taking care not to provoke enmity by personal violence. An
anecdote may here be mentioned illustrative of Cromwell’s peculiar
character. While on this expedition, in the Isle of Ely, he visited his
uncle Sir Oliver, who was a staunch royalist. Having surrounded the
house with his troop he entered, hat in hand, nor could he be prevailed
on either to cover his head or to sit down in his uncle’s presence; but
having begged his blessing, and besought him to set what he did to the
account of strict performance of his duty, he departed, carrying with
him the various weapons that the house contained, as well as all the
plate and valuables.
From this time, as the cause of the commonwealth prospered, Cromwell
rose rapidly in the army, soon becoming the real head of it, though
nominally the second in command. When the House of Commons entered into
the agreement called the self-denying ordinance, for the separation of
civil and military offices, Cromwell, along with some few others, still
contrived to keep both his seat in the House and his command in the
army. It seems to have been a resolution of his never to give up an
authority once obtained.
The first battle in which he distinguished himself particularly was that
of Marston Moor, fought July 2, 1644. The parliamentary forces were
driven back on one side, and even their centre wavered under the furious
attack of the cavaliers; but Oliver completely changed the fortune of
the day by charging, at a critical period of the battle, with his
sword-arm in a sling, and “driving the enemy from before him like chaff
before the whirlwind.” Throughout the war he fought no battle in which
he was beaten. But while he was thus earnest in forwarding the cause in
which he was engaged in the field, he did not forget to fight his
private battles with fearful and envious enemies, who were alarmed at
his growing power. A plot between the Lord General Essex, the Scots
Commissioners, and others, was laid against him, which would have proved
the ruin of most men, but by his management and decision was crushed
before it had fully ripened. He was an Independent, and as such took the
covenant between the Scotch and English with great reluctance. “He was a
free soul in matters of faith and worship, and was desirous, before all
things, that men should be allowed to serve God in their own fashion,
and not be bound down to generally-established forms.”
After the loss of the decisive battle of Naseby, fought June 14, 1645,
the king was glad to trust himself to any party that might be willing to
receive him, rather than throw himself into the hands of the two Houses.
Accordingly, he sought refuge in the Scottish camp at Newark, and the
Scotch rewarded his confidence by selling him to the Parliament. The
Presbyterians, who formed the majority of that assembly, hoped that they
could now dispense with the army, of which they began to be afraid. This
caused great discontent. A system of agitation was instituted, at which
Cromwell connived; and the troops became rebellious to their employers,
though they remained faithful to their leaders who seemed to have no
concern in the matter. Skippon, Cromwell, Ireton, and Fleetwood were
sent down by the Parliament to conciliate them, in which they were
partially successful. Nevertheless the army marched towards London for
the purpose of intimidating the Houses into a concession to their
wishes. After this matter was concluded, the Parliament (of which at
that time the majority was Presbyterian) thought fit to invite the king
to Richmond, and, having agreed to their proposal, he was shortly after
removed to Hampton Court, where he was kept in an honourable captivity.
Being now in the power of the army, he entered into treaties both with
it and with the Parliament concerning his restoration, contriving, at
the same time, to play both parties false. From this period the ambition
of Oliver Cromwell to govern the state without a rival or master may be
safely dated. He knew and felt that he was, in power and capacity, the
first man in his country. He had risen to that height by his own
individual exertions; and, perhaps perceiving that the communications of
Charles with the Long Parliament might be brought to an amicable close
destructive of his own power, he determined on the bold strokes which
followed. He accordingly contrived to entrap the king into a flight from
Hampton Court to the Isle of Wight, where he was placed under the care
of Hammond, Governor of Carisbrook Castle. While at this place Charles
kept up his correspondence with the Parliamentary and Scottish
Commissioners, and also with those of the army. He moreover intrigued
with the Irish party and with foreign courts for assistance. He planned
an unsuccessful escape from his prison; and, to fill up the measure of
distrust of him on the part of Cromwell, it was asserted that his
intercepted letters to the queen hinted, in no obscure terms, at the
expediency of removing the general by the method of private
assassination. It became clear that there could be no hope of a cordial
reconcilement or cooperation between them; and Cromwell from this time
became the king’s most vigorous enemy, and spared no pains to bring him
to the scaffold. The rest is well known. The king was brought to London,
and refusing to plead his cause, or acknowledge the authority of his
judges, was condemned and executed, January 30, 1649. Upon this the
House of Commons declared the House of Peers to be useless, and that
monarchy in England was at an end.
Soon after this another and a more dangerous mutiny broke out in the
army, which was speedily quelled by the decision of Cromwell and the
authority of Fairfax. The former was then appointed to serve in Ireland
against Ormond and his supporters, who were in arms for the young king.
As his presence was almost necessary in England, he resolved to perform
this duty with vigour. At that time the Commonwealth had to bear the
brunt of insurrections at home, the impending likelihood of a Scotch
war, and the cabals of its own members. The case was urgent, and his
measures were stern, arbitrary, and severe. Wanton cruelty does not
appear to have been a part of Cromwell’s character; yet neither does the
plea of a bold and unscrupulous policy excuse the wholesale slaughters
perpetrated in that unhappy island. At the reductions of Drogheda,
Wexford, Kilkenny, and Clonmel, both the avowed defenders and the
citizens were slaughtered without quarter. Cromwell says, in his
dispatch after the first of these sieges, “that the enemy was filled
with much terror at this issue, and that he was persuaded that the
bitterness used on this occasion would prevent much effusion of blood.”
He added to his severities this kindness:—a proclamation was issued,
“that no soldier should on pain of death take any thing from the
inhabitants of conquered Ireland without paying for it, and that all
should have the peaceable exercise of their religion.” In ten months’
time Cromwell was again in his seat in Parliament, having brought that
country into complete subjection: a subjection bought with much blood
and suffering, yet alleged by him to be better than a harassing and
long-continued warfare. Lord Broghil, whom he had won over by his
judicious kindness from the royalist party, was of great service to him
in this campaign. He was a man of sound and temperate character, and
seems to have been one of Oliver’s most faithful friends.
On his return to England he found that much remained to be done.
Fairfax, as Commander-in-Chief, and Cromwell were almost immediately
ordered into Scotland to stop the progress of the young Charles Stuart
in that country. The Lord-General being unwilling to fight against his
friends the Presbyterians, resigned his command, and Cromwell was
immediately appointed Commander-in-Chief of all the English army. He
prepared for service with the utmost dispatch, and marched directly to
Edinburgh. Thence he fell back upon Musselburgh, the Scotch Presbyterian
army being close at hand. Both parties attempted to reduce the other to
extremity by want of provisions, and Cromwell made a retreat on Dunbar
for the purpose of supplying his troops from the sea. His army consisted
of ten thousand men; the Scotch of more than twice that number. For some
time the Parliamentary army continued in a state of blockade, but by
skilful manœuvring Cromwell at last induced the enemy to come down into
the plain and risk the issue of a pitched battle. The moment that,
looking through his glass, he saw them move, he said, “I profess they
run: the Lord hath delivered them into our hands!” The Scotch were
beaten with tremendous slaughter. This failure for a time seemed to have
done Charles more good than harm: for it freed him from the heavy yoke
of the Presbyterians, and his cause became more generally popular on
that account. Another and a better army was soon collected on his
behalf. Oliver allowed this second host to make a descent upon England;
but following it, and harassing its rear, and gathering to himself fresh
troops in his course, he finally came up with Charles at Worcester, and
gained what he called, in his letter to the Parliament, “the crowning
victory.” After this he returned to London, almost adored by the
inhabitants of every place in his progress, and welcomed at the end of
it by the sincere and earnest praises of his masters, fated soon to
become his subjects.
The remainder of the Long Parliament, although sneered at and hated,
were the flower of the patriots, whose energy had begun and continued
the contest, and well they supported the character of able rulers to the
end of their domination: but their time was come. Cromwell, finding
himself in reality the most powerful man in his country, was desirous of
putting the key-stone to the structure of his ambitious fortunes.
Without notice of his intention, he closed up the avenues of the House
of Commons, surrounded it with his soldiers, and, entering the House,
upbraided the members severally with their ingratitude, besides
launching at them other idle charges of a personal kind: then stamping
with his foot, the signal for his soldiers who were in the lobby, “Let
them come in,” he cried, and they entered. At his command they took away
the mace, and forcibly removed the Speaker from his chair. Then, turning
out the members, Cromwell shut up the doors, and declared the Parliament
at an end. Having completed this extraordinary performance, he is said
to have put the key into his pocket, and walked quietly away to his
lodgings at Whitehall. After this he issued a commission for calling
together a new Parliament, which proved equally unfavourable to his
views of government, but finally resigned its powers into his hands.
On December 16, 1653, he was installed Protector of England, Scotland,
and Ireland, not daring to accept the proffered title of “King,” as it
was opposed to the feelings and opinions of his most powerful friends.
The first act of his reign was to make peace on honourable and
advantageous terms with the Dutch: soon after he broke off a treaty with
Spain, and entered into an agreement with France. In these transactions
he was blamed by some, but his genius was of a stamp not to be lightly
judged. The Spanish war was conducted under the captainship of Admiral
Blake, whose name will ever stand in the first rank of the prudent, the
daring, and the free. Judgment in the choice of men was one of
Cromwell’s most peculiar talents: witness the names of Milton, Hale, and
Ludlow, of Ireton, Blake, Monk, and Henry Cromwell; with a crowd of
lesser men, all exactly suited to the stations in which he placed them.
He concluded peace with Denmark and Sweden, dictated advantageous terms
of reconciliation and alliance to Portugal, and caused the name and flag
of England to be respected throughout Europe during his Protectorate.
His court was grave and orderly; and as it is plain, from several
passages of history, that he would willingly with the power have assumed
the name and ensigns of a king, so in his mode of life he adopted
something not far short of kingly state. After having tried to govern
England by the unpopular Major-Generals of Districts, and by the
constitutional method of Parliaments, his only obstacle to success
seeming to be the want of the name and hereditary strength of royalty;
after having passed through many private dangers and public
difficulties, Cromwell called a third and last Parliament, and
instituted a House of Peers; but before they ever met in Parliament, the
Protector was seized with a quartan ague, which, after a few weeks’
illness, brought him to the grave at the age of fifty-nine years.
His reign was momentous, short, and arbitrary; yet less severe than
would be supposed in the circumstances in which he placed himself. His
severity was chiefly directed against the cavalier party, who never
ceased to plot against his person and his power. But his vengeance,
though strict, was not bloody, his punishments seldom exceeding
confiscation, fine, or imprisonment. There are some instances of his
packing juries, and some of his diverting the ordinary course of justice
by other means. His parliaments were elected unconstitutionally; it
could hardly be otherwise, when the power that brought them together was
usurped and absolute. But his main object seems to have been the general
happiness, virtue, and honour of his people. Few of England’s hereditary
kings had governed so well or so mildly; scarcely any so bloodlessly.
His prayer on his death-bed was as follows:—“Lord! I am a poor, foolish
creature; this people would fain have me live; they think that it will
be best for them, and that it will redound much to thy glory. All the
stir is about this. Others would fain have me die. Lord, pardon them,
and pardon thy foolish people; forgive their sins, and do not forsake
them; but love, and bless, and bring them to a consistency, and give
them rest; and give me rest, for Jesus Christ’s sake; to whom, with
thyself and the Holy Spirit, be all honour and glory.” He died Sept. 3,
1658, on the anniversary of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester. Some
hours before his death he declared his eldest son Richard to be his
successor in the Protectorate. He was buried with the pomp that became
his high place, and his remains were interred amidst those of England’s
kings. The empty spite of the minions of the Restoration was wreaked on
his dead body, which was disinterred, hanged at Tyburn, and burnt. This
was the only revenge that the courtly followers of Charles could take on
the man, the terror of whose name still made them tremble.
Cromwell’s natural character was kindly and benevolent, in proof of
which may be adduced the ardent love felt for him by his family, his
personal friends, and his soldiers. His humanity was displayed in his
toleration of religious differences of opinion, and in his earnest
interference against the persecutions of the Vaudois. Those of his
letters which remain, though often on subjects where a contrary feeling
might have been shown, contain nothing contradictory, and much that is
favourable to this opinion. His humour was wont to show itself in a rude
and boisterous manner. He laughed, and joked, and even romped with his
friends and officers. This, perhaps, was not done without motive; for
the discovery of character was one of Cromwell’s main objects, and in
the unrestrainedness of this kind of mirth the minds of many men were
laid open to his view. His return from such scenes to his wonted manly
and quiet dignity, destroyed the undue familiarity which might have been
their consequence.
Cromwell has been called by some an enthusiast; by others, a hypocrite.
Tillotson says of him, that he seems to have deceived others so long
that he at last deceived himself. It would, perhaps, be more just to
say, that he long deceived himself, and when that ceased, he began to
deceive others. That he had a strong sense of religion there can be no
doubt, inasmuch as that at one time of his life he had determined to
give up his native country for the free exercise of his faith. On his
death-bed he declared, that he had assuredly at one time been in a state
of grace. His judgment was sound, and his mind powerful; and it is not
men of this character who commonly prove self-deceivers. That he
deceived others there is no doubt; but that deception was rather
political than moral. He was very diligent to inspect the minds of his
friends and followers, and in doing so, frequently kept his opinions and
feelings in the background, the better to effect his purpose: that this
can be called hypocrisy may be well doubted. He left his kingdom in a
flourishing condition; respected abroad, in a good state at home, and
notwithstanding the few grants of money given to him, inconsiderably in
debt.
Cromwell was possessed of a robust body, and of a manly but stern and
unprepossessing aspect. The picture from which our portrait is engraved
was presented by him to Nathaniel Rich, then serving under him as
Colonel of a regiment of horse in the Parliamentary army. It was
bequeathed to the British Museum by the great-grandson of that
gentleman, Lieut.-General Sir Robert Rich. The books in which the
history of this period may be studied are too well known to require
minute enumeration. Milton, Harris, Godwin, are favourable to Cromwell:
most other writers of note have gone against him. The character given of
him by Cowley is justly celebrated.
[Illustration:
[Central Group from West’s Picture of the Dissolution of the Long
Parliament.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
LEONARDO DA VINCI.
_After a Picture by himself engraved by
Raffaelle Morghen._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
LION. DA VINCI.
Two centuries elapsed from Cimabue to Lionardo da Vinci. The most
distinguished artists in this interval were Giotto, who immediately
followed Cimabue, and Masaccio, who immediately preceded Lionardo; but,
although we can trace a gradual improvement from the infancy of Tuscan
art to the surprising works of Masaccio, in the Chiesa del Carmine, at
Florence, (works which afterwards Raffaelle himself did not disdain to
imitate,) the appearance of Lionardo may be justly considered the
commencement of a new æra. Vasari, who composed his lives of the
painters when the most excellent specimens of the art had been recently
produced, emphatically calls the style of Giorgione, Titian, Correggio,
and Raffaelle, “the modern manner,” as opposed to that of Mantegna,
Signorelli, and others, and still more to that of Lippi, Giovanni da
Fiesole, and the earlier masters. Of this “modern manner,” Lionardo da
Vinci was the inventor. His chiaro-scuro is to be traced in the magic
and force of Correggio and Giorgione; his delicate and accurate
delineation of character, and his sweetness of expression, reappear in
Raffaelle; while, in anatomical knowledge and energetic design, he is
the precursor of Michael Angelo; but we should look in vain for the
teacher from whom he derived these excellences. The original genius, of
which this affords so striking a proof, was apparent in every thing to
which he applied his mind; and not only every art, but almost every
science that was studied in his time, seems to have engaged his
attention. He was conversant in chemistry, geometry, anatomy, botany,
mechanics, astronomy, and optics; and there is scarcely a subject which
he touched in which he did not, in more or less important points,
anticipate the discoveries of later philosophers. With these astonishing
powers of mind, he possessed great personal beauty and a captivating
eloquence; the first musician of his time, and an accomplished
improvisatore, he excelled besides in all manly exercises, and was
possessed of uncommon strength. This extraordinary man was born at
Vinci, a small burgh, or castle, of Val d’Arno di Sotto, in the year
1452. He was the son of one Piero, a notary of the Signoria of Florence.
His father, who had at first intended to educate him for a mercantile
life, having noticed his wonderful capacity and his particular fondness
for drawing, placed him with Andrea Verocchio, originally a sculptor,
but who, with the versatility of his age, was occasionally a designer
and painter.
Vasari relates, that Verocchio being occupied on a picture of the
Baptism of Christ, Lionardo was permitted to paint an accessory figure
of an angel in the same work. Verocchio, perceiving that his own
performance was manifestly surpassed by that of his young scholar,
abandoned the art in despair, and never touched a pencil again. Although
Lionardo thus excelled his master while a boy, and soon enlarged the
boundaries of the art, it is justly observed by Lanzi that he retained
traces of the manner and even general tastes of Verocchio all his life.
Like his master, he studied geometry with ardour; he was fonder of
design than painting: in his choice of form, whether of face or limb, he
preferred the elegant to the full. From Verocchio too he derived his
fondness for drawing horses and composing battles, and from him imbibed
the wish to advance his art by doing a few things well, rather than to
multiply his works. Verocchio was an excellent sculptor; in proof of
which the S. Tommaso at Or San Michele, in Florence, and the equestrian
statue before S. Giovanni e Paolo, in Venice, may be adduced. Lionardo
modelled the three statues, cast in bronze by Il Rustici, for S.
Giovanni at Florence, and the colossal equestrian statue of the first
Francesco Sforza, (destroyed by the French before it was cast,) at
Milan. To his knowledge of sculpture must be also greatly attributed
that roundness and relief which he infused into many of his pictures,
and which had hitherto been wanting in the art. To this period of
Lionardo’s life belong the Medusa’s head, now in the Florence gallery;
the cartoon of Adam and Eve; a Madonna, once in the Borghese palace in
Rome, known by the accompaniment of a crystal vase of flowers; a triumph
of Neptune; and other works mentioned by Vasari. Some of the feebler
pictures ascribed to him in Rome and Florence may also belong to this
time. His genius for mechanics had already manifested itself: he
invented machines for sinking wells, and lifting and drawing weights;
proposed methods for boring mountains, cleansing ports, and digging
canals. His architectural schemes too were numerous and daring: with the
boldness of an Archimedes, he offered to lift the Baptistery, or church
of S. Giovanni, in the air, and build under it the basement and steps
which were wanting to complete the design. It does not appear that his
fellow-citizens availed themselves of these powers in any memorable
work; but his plan for rendering the Arno navigable seems to have been
adopted two centuries afterwards by Viviani.
Lionardo remained at Florence till about the age of thirty, after which
we find him at Milan, in the service of Lodovico Sforza, known by the
name of Lodovico il Moro. The artist’s residence at the court of this
prince, from 1482 to 1499,[2] may be considered the most active and the
most glorious period of his life. Lodovico il Moro, whatever may have
been his character as a potentate and as a man, certainly gave great
encouragement to literature and the arts, and the universal genius of
Lionardo was in all respects calculated for the restless enterprise of
the time. A letter is preserved, addressed by him to Lodovico Sforza, in
answer to that prince’s first invitation, (and it is sufficient to
disprove Vasari’s story, that the artist recommended himself by his
performance on the lute,) in which he gives a list of such of his
qualifications as might be serviceable to the Duke. After an account of
new inventions in mining operations and gunnery, with a description of
bridges, scaling ladders, and “infinite things for offence,” in the
tenth and last item, he professes competent knowledge of architecture
and hydrostatics, confident that he can “give equal satisfaction in time
of peace;” and adds, “I will also execute works of sculpture in marble,
bronze, or clay; in painting too I will do what is possible to be done,
as well as any other man, whoever he may be.” All his powers were put in
requisition by the Duke of Milan. The warlike habits of the sovereigns
of Italy at this time rendered the science and services of the engineer
particularly useful, and Lionardo was constantly inventing arms and
machinery for attack and defence. He was engaged in the architecture of
the cathedral; he superintended all the pageants and masques, then so
commonly conducted with splendour and taste in the Italian courts, and
in some of which his knowledge of mechanics produced almost magical
effects; he improved the neighbourhood of the Ticino by canals and
irrigation, and attempted to render the Adda navigable between Brivio
and Trezzo. The colossal equestrian statue before-mentioned occupied
him, at intervals, for many years; want of means alone, it seems,
prevented the Duke from commissioning him to cast it in bronze. The
model existed till the invasion of Milan by Louis XII., in 1499, when it
was broken to pieces by his Gascons.
Footnote 2:
The erroneous dates of Vasari have been corrected in this particular
by Amoretti.
As the founder of the Milanese Academy, the first, in all probability,
established in Italy, Lionardo composed his Treatise on Painting; which
Annibale Carracci declared would have saved him twenty years of study
had he known it in his youth. This work was first published in Paris, in
1651, by Raffaelle Dufresne, and was illustrated with engravings from
drawings by N. Poussin, with some additions by Errard. The drawings of
Poussin were in a MS. copy, which belonged to the Cavaliere del Pozzo.
To this last object were directed the studies of Lionardo in optics,
perspective, anatomy, libration, and proportion. In this active period
of his life also were composed the numerous MS. books, explained by
designs, which appear to have comprised specimens of the whole range of
his vast knowledge. Thirteen of these books became the property of the
Melzi family of Milan, on the death of Lionardo. The history and
vicissitudes of these interesting works cannot now be accurately traced.
The documents and observations of Dufresne, Mariette, and others, have
been collected by Rogers, in his “Imitations of Drawings by the Old
Masters.” Six or seven books, which cannot be accounted for after having
been collected by one Pompeo Leoni, are supposed to have become the
property of Philip II. of Spain. Some of the remaining volumes,
augmented by less voluminous MSS. of Lionardo, were presented to the
Ambrosian Library by Galeazzo Arconato. The inscription which records
this donation, in 1637, states, that Arconato had been offered 3000
pistoles of gold by a king of England, (probably Charles I., and not
James I., as Addison, Wright, and latterly Amoretti, suppose,) but which
he, Arconato, “regio animo,” had refused. Another volume was presented
to the Ambrosian Library by its founder, the Cardinal Borromeo; and
Amoretti states, that another, containing drawings relating to
hydrostatics, was sold “al Signor Smith, Inglese.” The whole of the MSS.
of Lionardo, preserved in the Ambrosian Library, were taken from Milan
to Paris, in 1796. A large folio volume of Lionardo’s Drawings,
collected by the above-mentioned Pompeo Leoni, is in this country, in
His Majesty’s collection. On its cover is inscribed, “Disegni di
Lionardo da Vinci, restaurati da Pompeo Leoni:” it contains 779
drawings, various in subject and execution; the most remarkable are,
perhaps, some accurate anatomical drawings. The whole are illustrated,
like the contents of his other books, by notes written with his left
hand, which can only be read through a glass. This volume was
discovered, at the bottom of a large chest, about sixty years ago, by
Mr. Dalton, the librarian of George III.; and in the same chest were
Holbein’s drawings of the principal personages of the court of Henry
VIII. It is supposed that they were placed there for security by Charles
I., who retained a sincere love for the arts even in his misfortunes.
Lionardo’s works in painting during his residence in Milan were by no
means numerous, owing to the quantity and variety of his occupations.
The portraits of Cecilia Gallerani and Lucrezia Crivelli, done in the
earlier part of this period, received unbounded praises from the poets
of the day. A picture of the Virgin and Child, St. John, and St.
Michael, now in the possession of the Sanvitali family of Parma, is
dated 1492. The portraits of Lodovico Sforza, his wife and family, were
painted on the wall of the refectory in the Convent delle Grazie, where
the Last Supper was afterwards painted. These portraits faded, owing to
the damp of the wall, soon after they were done. Other works, in the
same place, are mentioned by some writers as having been done on
canvass, but they all perished from the same cause. A colossal Madonna,
painted on a wall at the villa of Vaprio, belonging to the Melzi family,
still exists, but it was much injured during the last occupation of
Milan by the French. The paintings on the walls of the castle of Milan
were destroyed by invaders of the same nation, in 1499. Various
portraits, and a half figure of St. John, are preserved in the Ambrosian
Library.
In 1496, Lionardo began his greatest work, the Last Supper, in the
refectory of the Convent delle Grazie: it was painted on the wall in
oil, to which circumstance Lanzi, and others who have followed him,
attribute its premature decay. But had it been in fresco, it would
probably have suffered as much, since that part of Milan, where the
convent stands, has frequently been subject to inundations; and so late
as 1800, the floor, or rather ground, of the refectory, was several feet
under water for a considerable time. The walls have thus been never free
from damp: fifty years only after the picture was painted, Armenini
describes it as half decayed. Vasari found it indistinct and faded.
Later writers speak of it as a ruined work; and in 1652, the friars of
the convent showed how worthless it was considered, by cutting a door
through the wall, and thus destroyed the lower extremities of some of
the figures. In 1726, a painter, named Bellotti, was unfortunately
commissioned to restore it, and it appears that he almost covered the
work of Lionardo with his own. The dampness, however, soon reduced the
whole to its former faded state; and the next restorer, one Mazza, in
1770, actually scraped the wall (from which the original colour was
chipping) to have a smooth surface to paint on, and even passed a coat
of colour over the figures before he began his operations. Three heads
were saved from his retouchings; but it must be evident that very little
of the original work can be visible in any part. Bonaparte ordered that
the place should not be put to military uses; but his commands were not
attended to in his absence, and the refectory was long used as a stable.
The building however was finally repaired, and, as far as possible,
secured from damp. Fortunately numerous copies were made from this
painting soon after it was done, and one of the best, by Marco de
Oggiono, or Uggione, a scholar of Lionardo, is in this country, in the
Royal Academy, where is also preserved a cartoon of the Virgin and St.
Anne, by Da Vinci himself. Uggione’s copy, from which the print by Frey
was taken, is nearly the size of the original; it was, however, enlarged
from a smaller copy, so that it cannot be considered very accurate. The
head of the Christ is inferior even to the ruins of Lionardo’s work; and
it may here be observed, that when Vasari says this head was declared
unfinished by the painter, the imperfection is to be understood in the
same sense in which Virgil spoke of the incompleteness of the Æneid. Two
series of original studies for the heads in this picture are in this
country; the greater part of one series is in the possession of Messrs.
Woodburn. The print by Morghen was done from drawings taken from the
original painting.
After the fall of Lodovico il Moro, in 1500, Lionardo returned to
Florence, where he remained thirteen years, occasionally revisiting
Milan. Among his first works done in Florence, at this time, Vasari
names the above-mentioned cartoon of the Madonna and Child, St. Anne,
and the Infant St. John, and a portrait of Genevra Benci. At this period
too he produced the celebrated portrait of Mona, or Madonna Lisa, wife
of Francesco del Giocondo. This was the labour of four years, and this
too, Vasari says, was left at last imperfect. We may thus understand the
meaning of the expression, as applied to the head of the Christ in the
Last Supper. The portrait of Mona Lisa, now in the Louvre, is most
highly wrought, although it by no means agrees with the absurd encomiums
of Vasari, who almost leads his reader to believe that the hair of the
eyebrows and pores of the skin are perceptible, whereas the execution
resembles rather the broad softness of Correggio. His next work was the
celebrated cartoon, of which the composition known by the name of the
Battle of the Standard was a part only. The subject was the defeat of
Nicolo Piccinino, the general of Filippo Maria Visconti, by the
Florentines, near Anghiara, in Tuscany, in the year 1440. This was to
have been painted in the Council Hall, at Florence, in competition with
Michael Angelo, whose rival work was the celebrated composition known by
the name of the Cartoon of Pisa. Lionardo’s attempt to paint in oil on
the wall failed in this instance, even in the commencement, and the
picture was never done. The large cartoon disappeared, but a drawing for
a part of it was preserved, which was published in the Etruria Pittrice,
and the same group was engraved by Edelinch, from a copy, or rather free
imitation, by Rubens. To this period belong also his own portrait in the
Ducal Gallery, at Florence; the half figure of a nun, in the Nicolini
Palace; the Madonna, receiving a lily from the infant Christ; the
Vertumnus and Pomona, miscalled Vanity and Modesty, in the Sciarra
Palace at Rome; a holy family, now in Russia; the supposed portrait of
Joan of Naples, in the Doria Palace; and the Christ among the Doctors,
formerly in the Aldobrandini Palace at Rome. His numerous imitators
render, however, all decision as to the originality of some of these
works doubtful; and the last-mentioned picture, now in the National
Gallery, has been thought, by more than one writer, to have been, at
least in part, painted by his scholars. A portrait of the celebrated
Captain, Giangiacomo Triulzio, may have been painted in one of
Lionardo’s short visits to Milan. For a fuller list of his works,
Amoretti, and the authors he quotes, may be referred to.
In 1514, after the defeat of the French at Novara, Lionardo, being then
at Milan, left that city for Rome, passing through Florence. His stay in
Rome was short. Pope Leo X. seems to have been prejudiced against him by
the friends of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, and was displeased at his
dilatory, or rather desultory habits. From the notes of Lionardo
himself, collected by Amoretti, it appears that, while in Rome, he
improved the machinery for the coinage; but the only certain painting of
his done at this time is a votive picture on the wall of a corridor in
the Convent of S. Onofrio.
Francis I., who succeeded Louis XII. in 1515, having reconquered the
Milanese, Lionardo again repaired to Milan, and once more superintended
a pageant, in this instance intended to celebrate the triumph of the
king after the victory of Marignano. Francis, having in vain attempted
to remove the painting of the Last Supper from Milan to Paris, desired,
at least, to have the painter near him. Lionardo accepted the
invitation, and afterwards accompanied his new patron to France. This
being little more than two years before the death of Lionardo, and as he
was occupied in planning canals in the department of the Cher et Loire,
he painted nothing, although the king repeatedly invited him to execute
his cartoon of the Virgin and St. Anne, which was afterwards painted by
Luini. His usual residence in France was at Cloux, a royal villa near
Amboise, in Touraine, where he died, May 2, 1519. The story of his
having expired in the arms of Francis I., which, as Bossi observes, does
more honour to the monarch than to the artist, appears to be without
foundation. Francesco Melzi, who wrote an account of Lionardo’s death
from Amboise soon after it happened, not only does not mention the
circumstance, but was the first, according to Lomazzo, to inform the
king himself of the artist’s decease; and Venturi has ascertained, that
on the day of Lionardo’s death the court was at St. Germain en Laye. He
was buried in the church of St. Florent, at Amboise, but no memorial
exists to mark the place; and it is supposed that his monument, together
with many others, was destroyed in the wars of the Hugonots.
The accounts given of Lionardo da Vinci by Vasari, Lomazzo, and the
older writers, were repeated by Dufresne, De Piles, Felibien, and
others. The more recent and accurate researches of Amoretti, prefixed to
Lionardo’s Trattato della Pittura, in the thirty-third volume of the
“Classici Italiani;” of Bossi, “Del Cenacolo di Lionardo da Vinci;” and
of Venturi, “Essai sur les Ouvrages Physico-Mathématiques de Léonard da
Vinci, avec des fragmens tirés de ses manuscrits apportés de l’Italie;”
may be consulted for further particulars respecting the life and works
of this great man.
[Illustration:
[Group from the Battle of the Standard.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. T. Fry._
VAUBAN.
_From an original Picture by Lebrun
in the War Office at Paris._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
VAUBAN.
Sebastien le Prestre de Vauban, son of Albin le Prestre and Aimée
Carmagnol, was born May 1, or, by other accounts, May 15, 1633, at St.
Leger-de-Foucheret, a small village between Saulieu and Avallon, in the
province of Burgundy. He became an orphan at an early age, his father
having lost both his life and fortune in the public service. Under the
protection and instruction of M. de Fontaines, prior of St. John at
Semur, he acquired some knowledge of geometry, a science then but little
cultivated among military men. At seventeen years of age he deserted his
home, and entered as a volunteer in the regiment of Condé, then employed
in the Spanish service, in which his zeal and abilities soon procured
him a commission. Nor was it long before he showed his talent for the
science of engineering. In 1652 he was employed in the erection of the
fortifications of Clermont, in Lorraine; and the same year, serving at
the first siege of S^{te.} Menehould, he made several lodgments, and
during the assault swam the river under the enemy’s fire. Public notice
was taken of this exploit; and by this means Vauban’s family heard, for
the first time, that he had embraced the military profession. In 1653 he
was taken prisoner by a French corps, and conducted to Cardinal Mazarin,
who thought it worth while to purchase his services with a lieutenancy
in the regiment of Bourgogne. In the same year he served as an engineer
under the Chevalier de Clerville, at the second siege of S^{te.}
Menehould; and the charge of repairing the fortifications of that town,
when retaken by the troops of Louis XIV., was confided to him.
In May, 1655, Vauban received his commission as engineer, and in the
following year he was rewarded for his services with the command of a
company in the regiment of the Maréchal de la Ferté. Not to mention the
numerous situations in which he bore an active but subordinate part, we
proceed at once to the year 1658, in which he had the chief direction of
the sieges of Gravelines, Ypres, and Oudenarde; where, being free to act
on his own opinions, yet still doubting his strength, he showed, by
judicious though slight innovations, what might be ultimately expected
from his matured experience. He was also charged with the improvement of
the port and fortifications of Dunkerque, on the surrender of that once
important place to France by the treaty of October 17, 1662.
When the war with Spain was renewed in 1667, Vauban had the principal
direction of the sieges at which Louis XIV. presided in person. At Douay
he received a musket-wound in his cheek, the scar of which is preserved
by Coisevox and Lebrun in his bust and portraits. The capture of Lille,
after only nine days of open trenches, procured for him a lieutenancy in
the Guards and a pension, accompanied with the far more gratifying
commendations of his sovereign. Hostilities were ended by the treaty of
Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1668, in which year he prepared designs for the
citadel of Lille, for Ath, and several other places; and in 1669 the
king appointed him governor of the citadel of Lille, the first reward of
this description created in France.
Soon after the peace Vauban accompanied the minister Louvois on a
mission to the Duke of Savoy, and furnished plans for the fortifications
of Verrue, Verceil, and the citadel of Turin. Returning to Flanders, the
works of Dunkerque were prosecuted under his immediate direction with
unexampled activity. Three corps of 10,000 men relieved each other
daily, every four hours, proceeding from the camp with their arms, and
resuming them on the completion of their task. In the midst of these
labours he prepared his first work on the attack of fortresses, for the
instruction of Louvois, pointing out in it many of the errors committed
in former sieges, and proposing remedies for them.
The war with Holland, which commenced in 1672, afforded Vauban many
opportunities of displaying his superior abilities. Louis again took the
field in person; and again Vauban had the principal direction of the
sieges of which the king was a spectator. Previous to the siege of
Maestricht, in 1673, the regular method of assaulting a fortified place
was to excavate a trench parallel to the general contour of the
fortress, and from batteries erected near it to fire indiscriminately on
the works and the town. On this occasion Vauban introduced three
parallel trenches, connected by oblique or zigzag approaches, which
enabled him to place large bodies of infantry near the head of his
attack, each successive parallel more closely shutting in the garrison,
and restraining their offensive operations.
In 1674 Vauban was promoted to the rank of Brigadier. In the following
year he had the magnanimity to second with his recommendation the
ineffectual application made by his rival, Coehorn, for employment by
the French government.
In 1676 Vauban’s services were rewarded with the rank of Major-General;
and in 1677 the mode of attack adopted at Maestricht was perfected at
Valenciennes, where the fronts attacked were completely shut in by the
parallels, the flanks of which rested on the Scheldt and the marsh of
Bourlin.
At this siege it was determined to assault an earthen crown-work, and
Vauban proposed to make the attack during the day. Five Marshals of
France, Louvois, Monsieur, and even the king himself, opposed this
advice. Vauban was immoveable; he maintained that it was the only way to
avoid confusion and mistakes, to surprise the enemy, and to overpower
him by opposing fresh troops to his wearied garrison. “Night,” said he,
“has no shame! Open day and the eye of the commander restrain the
cowardly, animate the feeble, and add fresh courage to the brave.” The
king at length yielded to his arguments. The enemy was found, as he had
predicted, harassed with watching, sleeping, or absent in the fortress
seeking provisions. The crown-work, and a ravelin which served as an
interior intrenchment, were successively carried. The enemy, retreating
into the Paté, an extensive irregular work covering the place, was
promptly pursued. Four grenadiers got possession of a sally port, while
others entered by a subterraneous passage. The besieged fled into the
body of the place, and raised the bridge. An immediate and vigorous
assault soon placed the disputed works in the possession of the
assailants, who, pushing forward to the canal which traverses the city,
intrenched themselves in the houses bordering it. They were strongly and
speedily supported, and thus the place was taken at a single assault,
justifying Vauban’s advice, even beyond his most sanguine expectations.
His services on this occasion were rewarded with a gratuity of 25,000
crowns.
Cambray was besieged next. The town surrendered after a few nights of
open trenches. The citadel was then attacked. Du Metz proposed
assaulting the ravelin: Vauban opposed this counsel, representing that
the strength of the work, and the vigour of the defence, prescribed an
attack _en règle_. “Sire,” said he to the king, “you will lose some one
who is of more value than the ravelin.” The success at Valenciennes
inspired the troops with temerity: assault was given, the ravelin was
carried, and a lodgment in it was commenced; but the enemy brought a
heavy fire to bear on the work and its approaches, and then sallying
forth speedily drove back the assailants. Du Metz reproached Parisot,
the engineer who traced the lodgment, with having caused the failure of
the attack. Vauban however insisted that the work was lost, not through
any vice in the lodgment, but because the assault could not be
sufficiently supported. The siege was then proceeded with in the
ordinary manner, and the ravelin secured with the loss of five men only.
“I will believe you another time,” said the king to Vauban, and he kept
his word. A practicable breach being made, Louis expressed his intention
of giving no quarter to the three thousand men who formed the garrison,
and had so vigorously defended themselves. Vauban alone ventured to
oppose his views, representing that such conduct was contrary to the
usages of warfare among civilized nations; that the place would be
taken, but would cost more bloodshed; and, “Sire,” he added, “I would
rather have preserved 100 soldiers to your majesty than have deprived
the enemy of 3000.”
Vauban succeeded to the Chevalier de Clerville, as Commissary-General of
the Fortifications of France, in December, 1677. In 1678 he received the
congratulations of Colbert on the success attending the execution of his
projects for the improvement of the Port of Dunkerque, which, having
been previously used only by fishermen, was now made accessible to
vessels carrying forty guns. It would be useless to reckon all the
labours of this part of his life: the fortifications of Maubeuge,
Thionville, Sarre-Louis, Phalzbourg, Béfort, and the citadel of
Strasburg, were among the new works projected by him, while all the
principal ports and fortifications of France were more or less improved
by his master-hand.
The war of 1683 contributed to the increase of Vauban’s reputation. The
siege of Luxemburg, in 1684, was carried on under his direction; and he
here displayed an admirable presence of mind when discovered one evening
by the enemy, in reconnoitring the works of the place. He instantly made
a signal to them not to fire, and, instead of retreating, advanced
towards them; they mistook him for one of their own officers, and having
skirted the glacis, he retired slowly without exciting further
suspicion. After having surmounted the many difficulties presented by
the nature of the ground over which the attack was necessarily carried,
the assailants attained the covered way. To drive the enemy out of its
long branches, Vauban caused elevated parapets to be constructed on
their prolongations, whence a plunging musketry-fire was thrown into the
covered way, and the mass of its defenders were compelled to retreat;
the few who remained concealed behind the traverses being gradually
dislodged, as the crowning of the covered way was extended along the
crest of the glacis. This siege was remarkable both for the difficulties
which were overcome, and for the improvements made in the method of
conducting an attack and protecting the troops employed in it.
The new fortresses of Mont-Royal, Landau, and Fort Louis, together with
extensive projects for the improvement of the canal of Languedoc, formed
part of Vauban’s labours during the truce of Ratisbon. He likewise
prepared a general project for the improvement and defence of all the
ports, roadsteads, and coasts of France. To his exertions the French are
indebted for the first general statistical account of their country, he
having caused blank forms to be prepared and printed, which he
distributed, to be filled up by the several intendants, governors, and
other public functionaries with whom his frequent journeys through the
country in the execution of his ordinary duties brought him acquainted.
Louis XIV. afterwards caused these returns to be made generally
throughout France.
The war of 1688 commenced with the siege of Philisbourg, where the
Dauphin commanded in person, and Vauban directed the attacks. He here
tried the effect of firing _en ricochet_, of which he was the original
proposer. The superiority of this method of attack was not so decisively
shown in this first instance as on subsequent occasions: still it proved
so far effectual in subduing the fire of the town, as to cause its
surrender after twenty-four days of open trenches. The Duc de Montausier
said in a letter to the Dauphin, “I do not offer you my congratulation
on the fall of Philisbourg: you had a good army, mortars, guns, and
Vauban.” On the same occasion, Louis XIV. wrote thus to the successful
engineer:—“You know, long since, in what estimation I hold you, and the
confidence I have both in your knowledge and affection. Believe that I
do not forget the services you render me, and that I am particularly
pleased with your conduct at Philisbourg. If you reciprocate the
feelings of my son you must be on the best of terms, for I feel assured
that he, equally with myself, knows how to esteem and value you. I
cannot conclude without earnestly recommending you to preserve yourself
for the benefit of my service.”
Manheim and Franckenthal were next besieged and taken. On the surrender
of the latter, the Dauphin presented Vauban with four pieces of
artillery, to be selected by him from the arsenals of the conquered
fortresses, to ornament his chateau of Bazoches. He was this year
promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-General. The difficulty with which
the obstacles presented at the siege of Philisbourg were overcome,
induced Vauban to renew, with greater earnestness, his project for the
formation of a corps of sappers, originally suggested shortly after the
peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. Louvois, though he yielded to Vauban’s
arguments in favour of this new force, postponed its formation, and
subsequent events prevented his adding this to the other establishments
which he created.
When the reverses suffered by the French armies in 1689, the disordered
finances, and the exhausted resources of the kingdom, had reduced Louis
XIV. to the greatest difficulties, Vauban alone had courage to propose
the re-establishment of the edict of Nantes. In a manuscript addressed
to Louvois, he says, “Forcible conversions, and the belief that they
yield no faith to sacraments, the profanation of which they make a jest,
have inspired an universal horror of the conduct of the clergy. If it is
resolved to proceed, either the new Protestants must be exterminated as
rebels, or banished as madmen: both execrable projects, opposed to every
Christian virtue, dangerous to religion itself; for persecution
propagates sects, as was proved when, after the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, a new census showed that the Protestants had increased in
number not less than 110,000.” He proposed, therefore, to re-establish,
purely and simply, the edict of Nantes; to restore all civil rights to
the Protestants and their clergy; to recall the one from exile; to
deliver the others from the galleys; to leave their consciences free;
and to permit the re-opening and rebuilding of their places of worship.
After the fall of Mons, in 1691, Vauban greatly strengthened that
fortress; placing outworks in the marshes, inaccessible to an enemy, and
seeing in reverse all the points of attack.
In 1692 Vauban directed the operations of the siege of Namur, where
Coehorn commanded the stronghold of Fort William. The army watched with
eagerness this struggle between the rival engineers, one of whom
defended his own work. Fort William was soon taken, and the triumph
rested with Vauban. The order of St. Louis, the first restricted to the
reward of military distinction, was instituted before the campaign of
1693. It is said to have been suggested by Vauban, who was one of the
seven Grand Crosses named at its creation.
In 1693 he conducted, with his usual skill, the siege of Charleroi, a
place which he had fortified, and of which he might well be supposed to
know the weakest points; yet it was confidently believed among the
besiegers that their celebrated engineer had at last made a mistake, in
having selected the strongest fronts as points of attack. Vauban soon
convinced them of their error, by the capture of Charleroi.
The system of _ricochet_ firing, devised at Philisbourg, and employed
with various success at subsequent sieges, was fully developed at the
siege of Ath, in 1697, when Vauban placed his first batteries in the
second parallel with such good effect as to reduce the place to
surrender after only three days of open trenches.
During the peace of Ryswick, Vauban made a tour of the northern
frontiers, in which he was occupied three years, preparing projects for
canals and various other public works, as well as for the improvement of
existing and the construction of new fortresses; among others, of
Neuf-Brisach, his last work, in which he improved on his system of tower
bastions, previously applied at Béfort and Landau. In 1699 he was
elected an honorary member of the French Academy; and, January 2, 1703,
was promoted to the rank of Marshal of France; a dignity which he
modestly wished to decline, lest it might, at a future period, deprive
him of the opportunity of serving his country.
In the autumn of 1703 Vieux-Brisach was besieged by the army under the
orders of the Duc de Bourgogne, who is reported to have thus addressed
Vauban:—“Monsieur Maréchal, you must lose your honour before this place:
for either we shall take it, and if so, they will say you have fortified
it badly; or we shall fail, and they will then say that you have ill
assisted me.” “Monseigneur,” replied Vauban, “it is already known how I
have fortified Brisach; they have yet to learn how you will take the
places I have fortified.” The siege lasted only thirteen days, and was
the last at which Vauban served. The following year he presented to the
Duc de Bourgogne his treatise on the Attack of Fortresses, first
published at the Hague by Pierre Dehoult, in 1737.
When Turin was attacked, in 1706, M. de la Feuillade rejected the
project of attack submitted by Vauban, and the result was, that a
perfect investment was not completed until after three months’ fighting.
Louis XIV., annoyed at the duration of the siege, and at the progress of
Prince Eugene, sent for Vauban, who, after pointing out the faults of
the attack, offered to give his assistance as a volunteer. “Recollect,”
said the king, “that this employment is beneath your dignity.” “Sire,”
replied Vauban, “my dignity consists in serving my country. I will leave
my baton at the door, and perhaps may assist M. de la Feuillade in
taking the city.” La Feuillade refused the proffered aid, lest he should
have to share with Vauban the honour of taking Turin: an honour,
however, which he did not acquire, being forced to raise the siege after
ninety-seven days of open trenches.
From the period of Vauban’s promotion to the dignity of Marshal of
France, his active labours in the public service were necessarily much
less numerous; much of his time being devoted to the arrangement of his
numerous memoranda, projects, &c., a compilation extending to twelve
volumes, entitled ‘Mes Oisivetés,’ of which however seven volumes are
lost. In 1706, after the battle of Ramillies, he was sent to command at
Dunkerque, and on the coast of Flanders, where, by his presence, he
reassured the timid, and prevented the destruction of a tract of land
which it was proposed to inundate, in order to avert an attack on
Dunkerque. This he did more effectually by forming an entrenched camp
between that place and Borgues.
The imperfect defence of several of the fortresses of France during the
same campaign induced him to commence a treatise on the defence of
fortresses, which he did not live to complete.
The Duc de St. Simon affirms that Vauban’s days were shortened by
chagrin, at having displeased his sovereign by the publication of his
scheme of taxation, entitled _Dixme Royale_, and that Louis XIV. was so
much offended as to be indifferent to the loss of a man beloved by his
countrymen, and celebrated throughout Europe. According to Dangeau, on
the contrary, so soon as Louis heard of Vauban’s illness, he sent his
principal physician to attend him. Fontenelle distinctly states that his
death, which took place March 30, 1707, was occasioned by an
inflammation of the lungs.
An authorized edition of Vauban’s treatise on the Attack and Defence of
Fortresses was published, in 1829, by M. le Baron de Valazé. His other
works principally consisted of projects for the defence and improvement
of France, and many of them are preserved in the depôt, of
fortifications, and in the collection of M. de Rosambo. A list of
Vauban’s works may be found in the notes to ‘L’Histoire du Corps
Impérial du Génie, par A. Allent,’ the best authority for an account of
his labours; the Eloges of Fontenelle and Carnot may also be consulted.
Honest, independent, humane, Vauban is characterised by Voltaire as the
“first of engineers and best of citizens.” The industry of his life may
be estimated from the calculation that he improved, more or less, three
hundred fortified or trading places, built thirty-three new fortresses,
conducted fifty-three sieges, and was present in a hundred and fifty
actions, greater or less.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
WILLIAM III.
_From a Picture by Netscher in the
possession of the Publisher._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
WILLIAM III.
William, Prince of Orange, the third King of England of that name, born
November 14, 1650, was the posthumous son of William II., Prince of
Orange, and Mary Stuart, daughter of Charles I. of England. The fortunes
of his childhood did not promise that greatness which he attained. His
father had been thought to entertain designs hostile to the liberties of
the United Provinces, and the suspicions of the father produced distrust
of the son. When Cromwell dictated terms of peace to the Dutch in 1654,
one of the articles insisted on the perpetual exclusion of the Prince of
Orange from all the great offices formerly held by his family; and this
sentence of exclusion was confirmed, so far as Holland was concerned,
thirteen years after, by the enactment of the Perpetual Edict, by which
the office of Stadtholder of Holland was for ever abolished. The
Restoration of the Stuarts, however, was so far favourable to the
interests of the House of Orange, as to induce the princess-royal to
petition, on her son’s behalf, that he might be invested in the offices
and dignities possessed by his ancestors. The provinces of Zealand,
Friesland, and Guelderland warmly espoused her cause: even the States of
Holland engaged to watch over his education, “that he might be rendered
capable of filling the posts held by his forefathers.” They formally
adopted him as “a child of the state,” and surrounded him with such
persons as were thought likely to educate him in a manner suited to his
station in a free government.
A storm broke upon Holland just as William was ripening into manhood;
and discord at home threatened to aggravate the misfortunes of the
country. The House of Orange had again become popular; and a loud cry
was raised for the instant abolition of the Perpetual Edict, and for
installing the young prince in all the offices enjoyed by his ancestors.
The Republican party, headed by the De Witts, prevented this; but they
were forced to yield to his being chosen Captain-General and
High-Admiral. Many persons hoped that William’s military rank and
prospects would incline his uncle Charles II. to make common cause with
the friends of liberty and independence; but the English monarch was the
pensioner of the French king, and France and England jointly declared
war against the States, April 7, 1672. The Dutch made large
preparations; but new troops could not suddenly acquire discipline and
experience. The enemy meditated, and had nearly effected, the entire
conquest of the country: the populace became desperate; a total change
of government was demanded; the De Witts were brutally massacred; and
William was invested with the full powers of Stadtholder. His fitness
for this high office was soon demonstrated by the vigour and the wisdom
of his measures. Maestricht was strongly garrisoned; the Prince of
Orange, with a large army, advanced to the banks of the Issel; the Dutch
fleet cruised off the mouth of the Thames, to prevent the naval forces
of England and France from joining. The following year, 1673, Louis XIV.
took Maestricht; while the Prince of Orange, not having forces
sufficient to oppose the French army, employed himself in retaking other
towns from the enemy. New alliances were formed; and the prince’s
masterly conduct not only stopped the progress of the French, but forced
them to evacuate the province of Utrecht. In 1674 the English Parliament
compelled Charles II. to make peace with Holland. The Dutch signed
separate treaties with the Bishop of Munster and the Elector of Cologne.
The gallantry of the prince had so endeared him to the States of
Holland, that the offices of Stadtholder and Captain-General were
declared hereditary in his male descendants. Meanwhile he continued to
display both courage and conduct in various military operations against
the French. The battle of Seneffe was desperately fought. After sunset,
the conflict was continued by the light of the moon; and darkness,
rather than the exhaustion of the combatants, put an end to the contest,
and left the victory undecided. The veteran Prince of Condé gave a
candid and generous testimonial to the merit of his young antagonist:
“The Prince of Orange,” said he, “has in every point acted like an old
captain, except in venturing his life too much like a young soldier.”
In 1675 the sovereignty of Guelderland and of the county of Zutphen was
offered to William, with the title of Duke, which was asserted to have
been formerly vested in his family. Those who entertained a bad opinion
of him, and attributed whatever looked like greatness in his character
to ambition rather than patriotism, insinuated that he was himself the
main spring of this manifest intrigue. He had at least prudence enough
to deliberate on the offer, and to submit it to the judgment of the
States of Holland, Zeeland, and Utrecht. They viewed with jealousy the
aristocratic dignity, and he wisely refused it. This forbearance was
rewarded by the province of Utrecht, which adopted the precedent of
Holland, in voting the Stadtholdership hereditary in the heirs-male of
his body.
The campaign of 1675 passed without any memorable event in the Low
Countries. In the following year hopes of peace were held out from the
meeting of a congress at Nimeguen; but the articles of peace were to be
determined rather by the events of the campaign than by the
deliberations of the negotiators. The French took Condé, and several
other places; the Prince of Orange, bent on retaliation, sat down before
Maestricht, the siege of which he urged impetuously; but the masterly
movements of the enemy, and a scarcity of forage, frustrated his plans.
Aire had already been taken; the Duke of Orleans had made himself master
of Bouchain; Marshal Schomberg, to whom Louis had entrusted his army on
retiring to Versailles, was on the advance; and it was found expedient
to raise the siege of Maestricht. It was now predicted that the war in
Flanders would be unfortunate in its issue; but the Prince of Orange,
influenced by the mixed motives of honour, ambition, and animosity, kept
the Dutch Republic steady to the cause of its allies, and refused to
negotiate a separate peace with France. In October, 1677, he came to
England, and was graciously received by the king his uncle. His marriage
with Mary, eldest daughter of the Duke of York, was the object of his
visit. That event gave general satisfaction at the time; the
consequences which arose from it were unsuspected by the most
far-sighted. At first the king was disinclined to the match; then
neutral; and at last favourable, in the hope of engaging William to fall
in with his designs, and listen to the separate proposals of the French
monarch. The Prince, on his part, was pleased with the prospect, because
he expected that the king of England would, at length, find himself
obliged to declare against Louis, and because he imagined that the
English nation would be more strongly engaged in his interest, and would
adopt his views with respect to the war. In this he was disappointed,
though the Parliament was determined on forcing the king to renounce his
alliance with Louis. But the States had gained no advantage commensurate
with the expense and danger of the contest in which they were engaged,
and were inclined to conclude a separate treaty. Mutual discontent among
the allies led to the dissolution of the confederacy, and a peace
advantageous to France was concluded at Nimeguen in 1678; but causes of
animosity still subsisted. The Prince of Orange, independent of
political enmity, had now personal grounds of complaint against Louis;
who deeply resented the zeal with which William had espoused the
liberties of Europe and resisted his aggressions. He could neither bend
so haughty a spirit to concessions, nor warp his integrity even by the
suggestions of his dominant passion, ambition. But it was in the power
of the French monarch to punish this obstinacy, and by oppressing the
inhabitants of the Principality of Orange, to take a mean revenge on an
innocent people for the imputed offences of their sovereign. In addition
to other injuries, when the Duchy of Luxembourg was invaded by the
French troops, the commanding officer had orders to expose to sale all
the lands, furniture, and effects of the Prince of Orange, although they
had been conferred on him by a formal decree of the States of the
country. Whether to preserve the appearance of justice, or merely as an
insult, Louis summoned the Prince to appear before his Privy Council in
1682, by the title of _Messire Guillaume Comte de Nassau_, living at the
Hague in Holland. In the emergency occasioned by the probability of the
Dutch frontier being attacked in 1683, the Prince of Orange exerted all
his influence to procure an augmentation of the troops of the Republic;
but he had the mortification to experience an obstinate resistance in
several of the States, especially in that of Holland, headed by the city
of Amsterdam. His coolness and steadiness, qualities invaluable in a
statesman, at length prevailed, and he was enabled to carry his measures
with a high hand.
The accession of James II. to the throne of Great Britain, in 1685, was
hailed as an opportunity for drawing closer both the personal friendship
and the political alliance between the Stadtholder of the one country
and the King of the other; but a totally different result took place.
The headstrong violence of James brought about a coalition of parties to
resist him; and many of the English nobility and gentry concurred in an
application to the Prince of Orange for assistance. At this crisis
William acted with such circumspection as befitted his calculating
character. The nation was looking forward to the Prince and Princess, as
its only resource against tyranny, civil and ecclesiastical. Were the
presumptive heir to concur in the offensive measures, he must partake
with the King of the popular hatred. Even the continental alliances,
which William was setting his whole soul to establish and improve, would
become objects of suspicion to the English, and Parliament might refuse
to furnish the necessary funds. Thus by one course he might risk the
loss of a succession which was awaiting him; by an opposite conduct, he
might profit by the King’s indiscretion, and even forestall the time
when the throne was to be his in the course of nature. The birth of a
son and heir, in June, 1688, seemed to turn the scale in favour of
James; but the affections of his people were not to be recovered: it was
even asserted that the child was supposititious. This event, therefore,
confirmed William’s previous choice of the side which he was to take;
and his measures were well and promptly concerted. A declaration was
dispersed throughout Great Britain, setting forth the grievances of the
kingdom, and announcing the immediate introduction of an armed force
from abroad, for the purpose of procuring the convocation of a free
parliament. In a short time, full four hundred transports were hired;
the army rapidly fell down the rivers and canals from Nimeguen; the
artillery, arms, stores, and horses were embarked; and, on the 21st of
October, 1668, the Prince set sail from Helvoetsluys, with a fleet of
near five hundred vessels, and an army of more than fourteen thousand
men. He was compelled to put back by a storm; but, on a second attempt,
he had a prosperous voyage, while the King’s fleet was windbound. He
arrived at Torbay on the 4th of November, and disembarked on the 5th,
the anniversary of the Gunpowder Treason. The remembrance of Monmouth’s
ill-fated rebellion prevented the western people from joining him; but
at length several persons of consideration took up the cause, and an
association was formed for its support. At this last hour James
expressed his readiness to make concessions; but it was too late; they
were looked on only as tokens of fear: the confidence of the people in
the King’s sincerity was gone for ever. But, how much soever his conduct
deserved censure, his distresses entitled him to pity. One daughter was
the wife of his opponent; the other threw herself into the hands of the
insurgents. In the agony of his heart the father exclaimed, “God help
me! my own children have forsaken me.” He sent the Queen and infant
Prince to France. Public affairs were in the utmost confusion, and
seemed likely to remain so while he stayed in the island. After many of
those perplexing adventures and narrow escapes which generally befall
dethroned royalty, he at length succeeded in embarking for the
continent.
The Prince issued circular letters for the election of members to a
Convention, which met January 22, 1689. It appeared at once, that the
House of Commons, agreeably to the prevailing sentiments both of the
nation and of those in present authority, was chiefly chosen from among
the Whig party. The throne was declared vacant by the following
vote:—“That King James the Second, having endeavoured to subvert the
constitution of the kingdom by breaking the original contract between
king and people; and having, by the advice of Jesuits and other wicked
persons, violated the fundamental laws, and withdrawn himself out of the
kingdom, has abdicated the government, and that the throne is thereby
vacant.” By the national consent, the vacancy was supplied by his
daughter Mary and her husband William conjointly. Anne was nominated the
next in succession, to the exclusion of the infant prince. The Bill of
Rights was passed at the same time, settling disputed points between
king and people, circumscribing and defining the royal prerogative, and
affirming the rights of the nation. That “original contract between king
and people,” referred to by the vote of Parliament, seemed hitherto to
have existed rather as a theory than as a practical and binding
engagement; but at this crisis the contract was put into legal form, and
duly executed; the general principles of free government were distinctly
promulgated; and a precedent was established which fixed the succession
to the British monarchy on Protestantism, and on the choice of the
nation through its parliamentary organ.
William was thus chosen for the sovereign of a powerful kingdom; but he
had little personal knowledge of his new subjects, and party feuds ran
high, so that it was more difficult to steer between the opposing
factions of the British court than it had been between those of the
United Provinces. His reign accordingly was pregnant with events, both
domestic and foreign, of the highest historical interest; though we
shall mention none but those in which he was immediately and personally
concerned.
The Prince of Orange lost no time in apprising the States-General of his
accession to the British throne. He assured them of his persevering
endeavours to promote the well-being of his native country, which he was
so far from abandoning, that he intended to retain his high offices in
it. War with France was renewed early in 1689 by the States, supported
by the house of Austria and some of the German princes; nor was it
difficult for William to procure the concurrence of the English
Parliament, when the object was the humiliation of France and her
arbitrary sovereign. But the Commission for reforming church discipline
threw him into difficulties with his new subjects. The high church party
branded the King as an enemy to the hierarchy, because he was inclined
to relieve the Dissenters from the oppressions of which they complained.
The two Universities declared against all alterations. Dr. Jane, the
most violent partisan in the convocation, was chosen prolocutor, and in
a speech to the Bishop of London, as president, asserted that the
English Liturgy needed no reform, and concluded with the declaration of
the barons, “Nolumus leges Angliæ mutari.” The Bishop’s exhortation to
charity and indulgence towards the Dissenters was so ill received, that
it was necessary to prorogue the convocation, on the plea that the royal
commission was invalid from not having been sealed. In the spring of
1689, James landed in Ireland with a French force, and was received by
the Catholics with marks of strong attachment. Marshal Schomberg was
sent to oppose him, but was able to effect little during the campaign of
that year. William, in the mean time, had been successful in suppressing
a Jacobite insurrection in Scotland, and embarked for Ireland with a
reinforcement in the summer of 1690. He immediately marched against
James, who was strongly posted on the river Boyne. Schomberg passed the
river in person, and put himself at the head of a corps of French
Protestants. Pointing to the enemy, he said, “Gentlemen, behold your
persecutors!” With these words he advanced to the attack, but was killed
by a random shot from the French regiments. The death of this general
was near proving fatal to the English army; but William retrieved the
fortune of the day, and totally dispersed the opposite force. In this
engagement the Irish lost 1500 men, and the English about one-third of
that number.
Disturbances again took place among the Jacobites in the Scotch
Highlands. A simultaneous insurrection was planned in both kingdoms,
while a descent from the French coast was to have divided the attention
of the friends of government; but the defeat of the French fleet near
Cape La Hogue, in 1692, frustrated this combined attempt, and relieved
the nation from the dread of civil war. In 1691 the King had placed
himself at the head of the Grand Alliance against France, of which he
had been the prime mover; he was therefore absent on the continent
during the dangers to which his new kingdom was exposed. His repeated
losses in the first two campaigns rather impaired than enhanced his
military renown. He resolved to seize the first opportunity of
retrieving his honour by a spirited attempt to surprise Marshal
Luxembourg, at Steenkirk, but was again defeated, after having fought
with courage and perseverance against unequal numbers. In 1693 he was
defeated at Landen by Luxembourg, notwithstanding his brave efforts to
retrieve the fortune of the day. The victory was held by the allies to
have been gained solely by superior numbers; and though the allies
suffered severely, the enemy lost a greater number both of officers and
men, and gained no solid advantage by the battle. William charged
wherever the danger was greatest: his dress was penetrated by three
musket balls. But in this, as in other battles, his arrangements were
severely censured. When Luxembourg saw the nature of his position,
immediately before the engagement, he is said to have exclaimed, “Now I
believe Waldeck is really dead:” in allusion to that general’s
acknowledged skill in choosing ground for an encampment. The campaign of
1694 was opened by William with superior forces; but the genius and
skilful tactics of Luxembourg prevented the allies from availing
themselves, in any considerable degree, of their advantages. The death
of Queen Mary, which took place early in 1695, proved a severe calamity,
both to the king and the nation. She had been a vigilant guardian of her
husband’s interests, which were constantly exposed to hazard by the
conflicts of party, and by the disadvantages under which he laboured as
a foreigner. In 1696 a congress was opened at Ryswick, to negotiate a
general peace; and William was so far cured of ambition as not to
interpose any obstacles. In the following year the treaty was concluded.
The leading object of the English Parliament, when the war no longer
pressed on its resources, was the reduction of the military
establishment. In this all parties concurred: the friends of liberty,
from jealousy of a standing army, as dangerous to the constitution; the
friends of the excluded family, from personal dislike of its supplanter,
and a desire to thwart him in his favourite pursuit. The King of Spain’s
death was the last event of great importance in William’s reign. The
powers of Europe had arranged plans to prevent the accumulation of the
Spanish possessions in the houses of Bourbon and Austria; but the French
King violated all his solemn pledges, by accepting the deceased
monarch’s will in favour of his own grandson, the Duke of Anjou. In
consequence of this breach of faith, preparations were made by England
and Holland for a renewal of war with France; but a fall from his horse
prevented William from further pursuing his military career, and the
glory of reducing Louis XIV. within the bounds of his own kingdom was
left to be earned by the generals of his successor. The King was nearly
recovered from the lameness consequent on his fall, when fever
supervened. While he lay sick, the Earl of Albemarle arrived from
Holland, to confer with him privately on the state of continental
affairs; but his information was coldly received, and the King said that
he was approaching his end. In the evening he thanked his principal
physician for his attention, and said, “I know that you and the other
learned physicians have done all that your art can do for my relief; but
all means are ineffectual, and I submit.” He died on the 8th of March,
1701–2, in the fifty-second year of his age and thirteenth of his reign.
The character of King William has been drawn with all the exaggeration
of panegyric and obloquy by the opposing partisans in a cause, which is
still the subject of controversy on general principles, although the
personal interest of contending individuals and families has long been
extinguished. William therefore can scarcely, even now, be viewed with
the cool impartiality of mere history. His personal character was
neither amiable nor interesting: but his native country owes him a
lasting debt of gratitude, as the second founder of its liberty and
independence; and his adopted country is bound to uphold his memory, as
its champion and deliverer from civil and religious thraldom. In short,
the attachment of the English nation to constitutional rights and
liberal government may be measured by its adherence to the principles
established at the Revolution of 1688, and its just estimate of that
Sovereign and those statesmen who placed the liberties of Great Britain
on a solid and lasting foundation.
[Histoire des Provinces Unies, Voltaire, Burnet, Hume, Smollett.]
[Illustration:
[From West’s Picture of the Battle of the Boyne.]
]
[Illustration]
GOETHE.
If the opinion of his contemporaries become the judgment of posterity,
the name of Goethe is destined to occupy, in future ages, that
pre-eminent station in the literary history of Germany which is now
undisputedly held in their respective nations, by Shakspeare, Dante, and
Cervantes. Until this judgment be pronounced by the final tribunal, we
may characterize him as the happiest of great poets. He attained a
length of years granted to few; and his long life was spent in
successful literary labour, not imposed by necessity, but prompted by
the suggestions of his own genius and love of art. Nature had endowed
him with the much-prized gifts of bodily strength and personal beauty.
He indulged freely in the pleasures of society; associated with his
superiors in station as their equal; lived in ease and affluence; and,
finally, in exception to the general rule, enjoyed, during his life,
“The estate that wits inherit after death.”
The founders of the new theory of poetics in Germany, the Schlegels,
have characterized his genius as universal. Its productions, including
posthumous writings, will occupy fifty-five volumes of works of
imagination and science, and cannot be even named by us individually. A
few of these works, which have occasioned volumes of criticism, we shall
be constrained to designate in brief sentences, and we shall as briefly
advert to the main incidents of the author’s life.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
GOETHE.
_From a Picture by George Dawe, Esq^r. R.A.
in the possession of Henry Dawe, Esq^r._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was born of affluent parents, August 28,
1749, at Frankfort on the Main. He attended successively the
universities of Leipzig and Strasburg; and, in 1771, took a doctor’s
degree in jurisprudence; but from his early youth literature was his
ruling passion. In his twenty-fourth year he had already acquired
unexampled popularity by his original and daring tragedy of ‘Götz von
Berlichingen,’ published in 1773. In 1774 he gained a European celebrity
by the ‘Sorrows of Werter;’ and he had already rendered himself an
object of admiration to the young, and of terror to the timid, by the
publication of several pungent satirical writings, when his good genius
guided to the vicinity of Frankfort the young Duke of Saxe Weimar, who
was about to assume the government on coming of age. In accepting the
friendship, and taking up his residence at the court of this prince,
Goethe entered on an unvarying career of prosperity. For a few years the
young Duke and his friend led a life of gaiety, of which there are many
curious anecdotes current in Germany; but, during a joyous and somewhat
wild life, the intellectual singularly prevailed over the sensual. Even
during that course of dissipation, the most important of Goethe’s works
were commenced, though none of them were published until after his
return from Italy. That country he visited in 1786, and to the time
which he spent in it he ever after recurred with delight. Though
Shakspeare was the individual poet he most prized, and Greek the
literature which he held up as the rule of all excellence, Italy was the
land of his affections. He remained two winters in Rome. Here he
cultivated the studies of archaeology and the fine arts, which he had
begun to practise in his youth, but now abandoned for poetry and the
study of nature.
To these pursuits, on his return to Germany, he applied as the chief
business of his life; and the insignificance of the patron as a
sovereign tended to render the poet more conspicuous, and to increase
his power over the minds of the Germans. The Duke was a general in the
Prussian service, and, as a minor power, followed the course of policy
pursued by the head of his house, the Elector of Saxony. He could not
indulge in ambition, and spent his small revenue more like a private
nobleman than a sovereign prince. He was desirous to collect a library
for the use of himself and the inhabitants of Weimar. He had mines on
one portion of his small territory. With the other Dukes of Saxony he
was jointly the possessor of a university, Jena. He wished to found a
school of drawing; and the creation of a German theatre, and the
collecting eminent men of all kinds at Weimar and Jena, were the
especial objects of his ambition. In all these things Goethe was the
right-hand to execute, if his, in fact, was not the mind to design. In
the matters which most governments make their prime concern, such as
finances, military affairs, and courts of justice, Goethe had certainly
no inclination to take any part; he was what, in France, would be called
a minister of public instruction. Scarcely was he settled in his new
office when the French Revolution broke out. This led to one famous
exception to the life he was pursuing. He has recorded it in the volume
of his ‘Memoirs,’ relating his participation in the too famous campaign
of 1792, when he, as a non-combatant, accompanied the Duke of Saxe
Weimar, who served under the Duke of Brunswick in his famous march which
did _not_ reach to Paris. The early retirement of Prussia from the
league against France restored peace to the North of Germany, and Goethe
was at liberty to return to his favourite pursuits. In the prosecution
of these he had the happiness soon to connect himself with Schiller, a
man ten years younger than himself, of a genius totally opposite to his
own, and therefore perhaps best adapted to act in concert with him.
Goethe has, with delightful frankness, related how, exceedingly
disliking the ‘Robbers,’ Schiller’s first, worst, and most famous play,
and feeling a strong aversion towards the Kantian philosophy, to which
Schiller was attached, he had conceived an antipathy towards the
offending poet, whom he resolutely shunned. But having once met, the
passionate zeal of Schiller in pursuit of their common objects was
irresistible. Dislike subsided into tolerance, and was at last converted
into warm admiration and love. Memorable consequences followed from
their union, and their literary correspondence remains an instructive
example of what may be effected by the collision of powerful minds of
opposite character. Schiller died in 1804. During the time allotted to
their joint exertions, Goethe produced many of his greatest works, and
Schiller all the best of his. During the same period, Goethe pursued his
philosophical studies with the eminent men who then filled professors’
chairs at Jena. The metaphysical systems of Fichte, and afterwards of
Schelling, which succeeded that of Kant, met with some favour in his
eyes. At least, though he kept aloof from the controversies of the day,
he laboured to connect with philosophical speculations his own
particular studies in various branches of natural history and science.
It was after Schiller’s death, and when Goethe was approaching his
sixtieth year, that the storm of war unexpectedly burst upon Weimar and
Jena. He did not leave Weimar; but aware of the peril to which he with
every one was exposed, on the very day of the battle of Jena, the 14th
of October, 1806, he married a lady with whom he had lived for many
years, and at the same time legitimated his only child, a son. During
the short period of extreme degradation into which Prussia and Saxony
sunk, from 1806 till the fall of Bonaparte in 1813, he withdrew, as much
as possible, from political life; he would not suffer newspapers to be
brought him, or politics to be discussed in his presence, but fled to
the arts and sciences as an asylum against the miserable realities of
life. Such had always been his practice. He has said of himself that he
never had a disease of the mind which he did not cure by turning it into
a poem. In his early youth, having lost a mistress through foolish
petulance of temper, he, as a penance, made his own folly the subject of
a comedy. And, in after life, while Europe was convulsed, he was
absorbed in studies independent of the incidents of the day. Thus
varying his pursuits, he kept on his serene course with no other
interruptions than such as inevitably befall those who attain old age.
It was his lot to survive the associates of his youth. In 1827, he lost
his early friend, from whom he had never been estranged, the Grand Duke
of Weimar. In 1830, he met with a severer privation, in the death of his
son at Rome. It was feared that this calamity would prove fatal to
Goethe, whose strength was sensibly declining; but he survived the blow,
and enjoyed the best consolation which could be afforded to him in the
exemplary care of his amiable and gifted daughter-in-law, and in his two
young grand-children, to whom he was tenderly attached. His last years
were spent in cheerful retirement. He possessed an elegant and spacious
house in Weimar, but he also had a cottage in the park, where he dwelt
alone, receiving his friends _tête-à-tête_; and, on particular
occasions, going into the town to entertain company. He retained his
faculties to the last, and made a very precise disposition of his
property. His extensive collections in natural history and art were
directed to be preserved as a museum for twenty years. These were among
the objects of his latest solicitude. He died March 24, 1832, in the
eighty-third year of his age.
Goethe’s figure was commanding, and his countenance severely handsome.
He appears to have acquired a great ascendency over his fellow-students
at the universities, and to have kept the professors in awe. In after
life he was reproached by Bürger and others with haughtiness, and was
accused of making his inferiors in station and in genius too sensible of
their inferiority; but his powers of captivation were irresistible when
he pleased to exert them. His social talents were of the highest order.
Such was Goethe for his own generation and country. To posterity he will
live chiefly as a poet. Of his most remarkable works we will now speak,
not chronologically, but according to the classes which are recognised
by systematic writers.
In epic poetry, his pretensions will be derided by those who adhere to
the theory of M. Bossu, adopted by Pope. According to this, the common
opinion, the ‘Epos’ requires supernatural machinery, illustrious actors,
and heroic incident. The German critics, on the contrary, maintain that
the essential character of the Homeric poetry lies in the epic style,
not in the subject of the narrative; a style analogous to that of
Herodotus, whom they place at the head of the epic historians, and to be
found in a very large proportion of our own ancient ballads, such as
relate to Robin Hood, Chevy Chase, &c. Goethe on this idea began a
continuation of the Iliad in his ‘Achilleis,’ and he threw the graces of
his own style over the old epic fable of ‘Reynard the Fox.’ But it was
in ‘Herman and Dorothea’ that he displayed all his powers: this is both
a patriotic and domestic tale; the characters in humble life; the
incident, a flight over the Rhine on the invasion of the French. It
abounds in maxims of moral wisdom, and in pathos; but it is too national
to bear translating.
It is as a lyric poet that Goethe is popular in the fullest sense of the
word, and may challenge comparison with the greatest masters of all
ages. In the song, he abounds in master-pieces, passionate and gay. His
elegy has sometimes the erotic character of Propertius, (as in the
famous ‘Roman Elegies,’) and sometimes emulates the refinement and
purity of Petrarch: his ballads are as wild and tender as any that Spain
or Scotland have produced. His very numerous epigrams bear more
resemblance to the Greek Anthology than to the pointed style of the
Latin writers. Besides these he has produced a number of allegorical and
enigmatical poems on art and philosophy, which cannot be placed under
any known class.
Goethe’s dramatic works are about twenty in number. There is this
peculiarity in his career as a dramatic poet, that though the drama is
essentially the most popular branch of poetry, he never wrote for the
people; his plays are all experiments, and no two resemble each other.
He seems to have been unaffectedly indifferent to their reception on the
stage. His first juvenile play, ‘Götz von Berlichingen,’ was in prose,
and unlike any thing that had appeared on the German boards. It
exhibited, in a strong light, the manners of the Germans at a romantic
period when the petty barons and knights were a sort of privileged
freebooters, sometimes generously resisting the oppressions of the
emperor and the higher nobility, and sometimes plundering the citizens
of the free towns. The style was in harmony with the subject, daring in
its originality, and all but licentious in its freedom. By audiences
accustomed only to pedantic imitations of the French, it was received
with tumultuous applause; but the admiration of the more cultivated
classes was given to the ‘Iphigenia in Tauris,’ an echo, as Schlegel
expresses it, of the Greek, yet neither a translation nor a copy.
Christian purity of morals harmoniously blending with pagan incident,
not a line disturbs the exquisite symmetry of this the most generally
admired of Goethe’s dramas.
Not less perfect in style is the anomalous ‘Torquato Tasso,’ which
deserves especial notice, though not as a play adapted to the stage: it
is rather a didactic poem in dialogue than a drama. Tasso and the
warrior statesman Antonio exhibit in contrast the poetical character and
that of the man of the world. It could secure the attention of an
audience only when performed on the Duke’s private theatre, where the
members of the Ducal family usually represented the princes of the House
of Este, and Goethe himself acted the part of Tasso; and when it was
performed as a sort of funeral obsequies on the death of the poet
himself.
‘Egmont’ is an historical play in prose, founded on the _real_ tragedy
perpetrated by the bloody Alba, in Belgium. Its most remarkable feature
is the unheroic character of Egmont himself. While William of Orange is
the common stage hero, patriotic and wise, destined to save his country,
Count Egmont is the warm-hearted, sensual, and munificent nobleman, a
patriot not from reflection but impulse, whose love for the humble Clara
is much more prominent than his patriotism, and who is therefore doomed
to perish. The pathos lies in the dissonance between the man and the
necessities of his position. Goethe, in drawing such a character,
probably thought of Hamlet, of whom he makes an analogous remark.
We pass over a number of dramas, all original, all experiments in
furtherance of his own studies, and name only ‘Faustus,’ the unique, the
undefinable. Begun in youth, continued at intervals during a long life,
and finally left unfinished, it has been called a grotesque tragedy. Who
knows not the popular legend of the learned magician who sold his soul
to the devil? This coarse tale of vulgar superstition is here used as a
vehicle into which the adventurous poet has cast all that
“Perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.”
The erring philosopher is attended on the wrong road by a laughing
devil, Mephistophiles, who leads him through scenes of the wildest
frolic and the most appalling wretchedness. All that is most deplorable,
most frightful in human life, is here displayed with the running comment
of the dæmon whom Omnipotence does not confound; and the most awful
problems of divinity and moral philosophy are treated with pathetic
sadness by the wretched victim, or with infernal satire by his
master-slave. These repulsive elements are nevertheless combined with
the soothing, not to say sanctifying, influence of a Margaret, a
confiding, loving, innocent woman, whose very destruction works on the
heart like an act of grace, and prepares the spectator for the promised
salvation of her lover.
In the romance, as in the drama, Goethe commenced a career which he
immediately abandoned. His Werter breathes a spirit of dissatisfaction
with the world and its institutions. But by writing that book, which
infected the rising generation with the same spirit, he cured himself of
the disease; and he then became the declared foe of the sentimental,
which he attacked in his romantic comedy, ‘The Triumph of
Sentimentality.’
In later years, when he was become the meditating philosopher, and, at
the same time, indulged in more cheerful contemplations of life, he
produced ‘Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship,’ intended to elucidate
problems of psychology. The stage being the symbol of life, his hero is
thrown among players, and both the real drama, and the drama of life are
analyzed, with perpetual illustrations of the one by the other. After an
interval of some years, Goethe, in a second part, exhibited his pupil
advanced as on a sort of journey. Conscious that his problem, like that
of Faustus, was insoluble, he has not dared to exhibit either Faustus in
heaven or Wilhelm as a master. Like the Faustus, Wilhelm Meister is
still ‘caviare to the million.’
In a third romance, ‘Elective Affinities,’ Goethe treats subtilely of
that passion to which Lord Bacon says “the stage is more beholden than
the life of man.” As the chemical title suggests, he shows how the
felicity of a married couple is marred by the intrusion of other minds,
with which each consort has more affinity than with the companion
previously chosen.
When ‘Wilhelm Meister’ first appeared, the narrative of Wilhelm’s
childhood was related with such spirit and air of truth, that it was
believed to be the author’s own personal history; and, in truth, the
resemblance between the feigned and real history was soon made manifest
by the appearance of Goethe’s own memoirs, under the puzzling title
‘From my Life: Fiction and Truth;’ so entitled, to allow for the
unconscious illusions to which we are exposed, when, in advanced life,
we try to recollect the occurrences of childhood, and unintentionally
confound memory with imagination. These memoirs, including his foreign
travels, amount already to nine volumes, and others are to follow; but
these earlier volumes treat solely of the author’s intellectual life.
Concerning much that men are inquisitive about, he says nothing. Not a
hint is dropped concerning the fortune of his father, or the amount of
profit which he himself derived from his writings. His being ennobled
was an incident which he thought too unimportant for notice; and of
honours and distinctions conferred on him he seldom condescends to
speak.
Among the studies which partook of Goethe’s attention were antiquities
and the fine arts. This led to the composition of a masterpiece, his
critical characteristic of Winkelman, and an account of Hackert, the
landscape painter. The same course of study led him to translate that
delightful work, the auto-biography of Benvenuto Cellini, which was
first made known to the European public by the Earl of Bristol, late
Bishop of Derry, and which is now in the hands of all lovers of the fine
arts. On art, in its various branches, Goethe’s prose writings are very
numerous. As a critic also he has written much, and his criticism is
remarkably indulgent and generous.
Such being the variety of works in which he has recorded his
speculations on man, his powers, his actions, and his productions, it
will be naturally asked, what were the main features of his philosophy,
and to what results did they lead on those great points which unhappily
disunite mankind, religion and politics?
Hume has well designated the great varieties of intellect and moral
character by the significant scholastic names of the Platonist, the
Stoic, the Epicurean, and the Sceptic. According to this classification,
it may be said that Goethe was too devotedly attached to the study of
nature and actual life to be a Platonist; he loved contemplation too
intensely, and was too indolent and self-indulgent to be a stoic; he was
too intellectual to be a gross sensualist, or, in the worst sense, an
Epicurean; and he had too much imagination to be able to tolerate the
modern rational philosophy, a mere system of negatives. In so far,
therefore, he was an enemy of vulgar scepticism; yet, blended with the
refinement which the poetic mind presupposes, he had a large portion of
scepticism and Epicureanism in his nature. Towards the positive religion
which he found established in his own country he manifested respect,
though he never made any distinct profession of faith upon doctrinal
matters; he conformed however to the Lutheran church. On two occasions
only do we recollect the expression of any strong feeling as to
religion. He early betrayed great contempt towards the German
Rationalists, whom he rather despised for their shallowness than
reproached with being mischievous. His love of Rome by no means
reconciled him to the Church of Rome, against which he would inveigh
with a warmth unusual in him. He maintained that Catholic superstition
had deeply injured the poetic character of Calderon, and considered the
Protestantism of Shakspeare as a happy accident in the life of that
incomparable man. It appears from his memoirs, that Judaism and
Christianity had occupied his mind very seriously from his childhood. He
delighted in portraying the Christian enthusiast in a tone of kindred
enthusiasm, as in his ‘Confessions of a Beautiful Soul,’ of which the
original was a Moravian lady, his friend; and it was only in incidental
bursts of sarcasm, especially in his gayer poems, that he alarmed the
timid and the scrupulous. In spite of occasional ebullitions of spleen
or rash speculation, he was habitually hostile towards the French
anti-religious party. He makes his devil in Faustus describe himself as
the “spirit that always denies,” in the same way that Alfieri scornfully
terms Voltaire “Disinventor ed Inventor di nulla.” It was this negative,
this merely destructive character, to which Goethe was in all things
most resolutely opposed.
This sentiment extended to politics. Long before the words
“Conservative” and “Destructive” were applied to English parties, Goethe
had made frequent use of them. It was the tendency of his mind to look
with indulgence, if not with favour, on whatever he found in the
exercise of productive power. _Laudo manentem_ might have been his
motto. He saw in the French revolutionists, as in their philosophers,
the spirit of destruction, and he clung with affection to institutions
under which so many fine arts and rapidly advancing sciences had
flourished. With reference to public life, Goethe has been severely
reproached on two grounds. He has been accused of wanting patriotism;
but before a passion can be generated, an object must be presented. What
country had Goethe to love in his youth? A walled city, which he could
run round before breakfast. The first great political event which he
witnessed, was the Seven years’ war. His native city was in the
possession of the French, whom one party considered as allies and the
other as enemies. Goethe’s father adhered to Frederick, his grandfather
was attached to the Imperial House: at the best he could love but half a
nation. Hence Wieland said, “I have no fellow-countrymen; I have only
_sprach-genossen_,”—speech-mates. Thus German patriotism could be but a
sort of corporation spirit; like the affections of a liveryman, confined
to the members of his company. It was not till the close of the last war
that the common oppression exercised by Bonaparte generated a common
hatred towards France, and with it something like patriotism on a great
scale. Yet so anomalous is the condition of Germany, that at this moment
this sentiment, or the loud avowal of it, is looked on as akin to
disloyalty; and, at the universities, students are forbidden to frequent
clubs, or to assume denominations, which have a reference to one general
national character. There are few appeals among Goethe’s writings to
national feeling; and, in truth, his studies led him to be, in
sentiment, the fellow-citizen of the great poets and artists of all
nations, the contemporary of the great men of all ages. The other
reproach is, that, being admitted to familiarity with princes, he lost
his love of the people, as such. Now, it must be owned, that in this
respect he felt pretty much as Milton did, in whom attachment to the
aristocracy of talent was a marked quality. Of the people, as such, he
seems to have thought lowly; his affections were exercised on the select
few,—the nobles of nature, not of the herald’s office. That he had no
vulgar reverence for persons in authority, or for the privileged orders,
is amply proved by all he wrote. It may finally be remarked, as the most
characteristic feature of his moral speculations, that he had habitually
contemplated mankind, not as a moralist, but as a naturalist. There are
some thinkers who never consider men but as objects of praise or blame;
others, who only study men with a view of making them different from
what they are. Such are reformers, the leaders of institutions,
philanthropists, who think only in order to act. To neither of these
classes did Goethe belong. He took men as he found them; he was content
to take society as he found it, with all its complex institutions. He
was disposed to make the best of what he found, but seemed reluctant to
waste his powers in the vain attempt to make men materially different
from what they were before; hence arose an inert, or indolent
acquiescence in what he found existing.
He had early in life laboured to catch a new point of view from which
nature might be contemplated on all sides; or a law in conformity with
which the manifold operations of nature might be seen as if they were
one. He first made this idea known in his ‘Metamorphosis of Plants.’ His
botanical studies were continued for many years of his life. He
afterwards busied himself with the minute and experimental study of
chromatics. He edited a journal of science, and wrote more or less on
mineralogy, geology, comparative anatomy, optics, and meteorology. A
metaphysical spirit runs through all these writings, so alien from the
mode of study pursued in other countries, that we do not recollect any
notice of them by any English writer, except Professor Lindley, in his
‘Introduction to Botany,’ who confines his remarks to Goethe’s botanical
works. The Professor represents Goethe as having revived a
nearly-forgotten doctrine, first promulgated by Linnæus. But, for thirty
years after the first appearance of the ‘Metamorphosis,’ it produced
little or no effect even in Germany. Now, indeed, “it has come to be
considered the basis of all scientific knowledge of vegetable
structure.” Whether, in the revolutions of opinion, the bold polemical
writings of Goethe against the Newtonian theory of light and colours
will ever be looked upon as more than the extravagances of a great
genius wandering out of his own sphere, time will show. For the present
this is the view taken of the great poet’s scientific writings, both by
Italians and Frenchmen. But, whatever dreams he may have mixed up with
his investigations, Goethe was no mere dreamer: to the last hour of his
life, he made it his business to inform himself concerning the progress
of the sciences in foreign countries. All new books were brought to him,
even to the end of his life; he composed elaborate poems at the age of
seventy; and when beyond sixty years of age, entered with zeal upon the
study of Oriental poetry, to apply the spirit of which, to Western
notions and feelings, he composed his ‘West-Eastern Divan.’ In this the
infinite variety of his studies and pursuits lay that ‘all-sidedness’
(if we may be pardoned for adopting such a word from the German) for
which he was so remarkable. From the same quality proceeded that unusual
toleration of novelties which he could reconcile to the love of what is
established. He would not permit a clever farce to be acted on the
stage, when he was manager, written in derision of Gall’s cranioscopy.
Instead of joining in the ridicule of animal magnetism, he would fairly
investigate its pretensions. When a book on the Clouds was published by
Howard, in England, Goethe instantly wrote an account of it, inventing
appropriate German words to designate the forms pointed out. In his
hunger and thirst after knowledge, he was omnivorous. This was the
ruling passion strong in death. Only the evening before his decease he
received some new books from Paris, by which he was greatly excited. It
is said that a volume, by Salvandy, was grasped in his hand when he
died; and his last words were singularly appropriate to his temper, and
might be received by his admirers as almost prophetic. He ordered the
window-shutters to be opened, exclaiming, “More light! More light!”
[Illustration: GOETHE]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by H. Meyer._
CORREGGIO.
_After a head by himself in the Cathedral of Parma._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
CORREGGIO.
The beginning of the sixteenth century, a period remarkable for the
general developement of Italian genius, was peculiarly distinguished by
the appearance of four great painters, who attained a perfection, since
unequalled, in different departments of their art. Form and sublimity of
conception were the attributes of M. Angelo; expression and propriety of
invention were among the prominent excellencies of Raffaelle; colour was
the strength of Titian; and harmony, founded on light and shade, chiefly
characterised Correggio. Antonio Allegri was born in 1493, or 1494; the
name of his birth-place superseded that of his family, and he has been
celebrated under the name of Antonio da Correggio. He was the son of
Pellegrino Allegri, a merchant of some property, and his lineage, which
was long doubtful, has been traced with sufficient accuracy by his
latest biographer, Pungileoni. The family name was sometimes Latinised
to Lætus and de Allegris, and again Italianised to Lieto, which accounts
for the various inscriptions on Correggio’s pictures. Till the
researches of the author above-named, who supplied, as far as possible,
what Mengs had left imperfect, the most contradictory accounts were
repeated respecting the family, the fortunes, and even the precise time
of the birth and death of Correggio. The story of his extreme poverty,
in particular, has been often copied without examination from Vasari;
but, as Fuseli observes, “considering the public works in which
Correggio was employed, the prices he was paid for them, compared with
the metropolitan prices of Raffaelle himself, it is probable that his
circumstances kept pace with his fame, and that he was nearer to
opulence than want.” It is still doubtful under whom he studied; but, as
his uncle Lorenzo was a painter, it is probable that Antonio learned the
rudiments of art from him; and a single specimen extant of one Antonio
Bartolotto, a contemporary master, is so much in the style of Correggio,
as to justify the conjecture that the example, at least, of the elder
painter was not without its effect. The residence of Andrea Mantegna at
no greater distance than Mantua, has perhaps led some writers to rank
Correggio among his scholars; but his death, when Correggio was only
thirteen years of age, renders the supposition improbable. That
Correggio studied the works of Mantegna is most certain: his fondness
for foreshortening was probably derived from that master; nor should it
be forgotten, that the school of Andrea was celebrated after his death,
and was still continued by his sons Francesco and Lodovico. Vedriani
mentions another master, Francesco Bianchi, of Modena, but with as
little certainty as the rest. The peculiar _impasto_[3] which
distinguishes the pictures of Correggio, a mode of execution which he
carried to sudden perfection, and which has never since been surpassed,
is less to be recognised, as Lanzi supposes, in the manner of Mantegna
than in that of Lionardo da Vinci; and even the chiaro-scuro of
Correggio, however enlarged and improved, is manifestly derived from the
same source. The art of foreshortening on ceilings, called by the
Italians “_il di sotto in su_,” was also practised in the Mantuan school
before Correggio; whether in imitation of the celebrated ceiling of
Melozzo da Forlì, the first known effort of the kind, painted in Rome in
1472, it is impossible to say.
Footnote 3:
_Impasto_ is literally an impasting or thick application of the
colour. The peculiarity of Correggio’s method is, that this impasto is
solid without roughness of surface, and blended without heaviness or
opacity. Sir Joshua Reynolds says, “His (Correggio’s) colour and mode
of finishing approach nearer to perfection than those of any other
painter.”
Among the earliest works of Correggio, Lanzi mentions some frescoes at
Mantua, supposed to have been done while the artist was in the school of
the sons of Mantegna; but a very feeble tradition is the only ground for
this supposition. The same author speaks of more than one Madonna in the
Ducal Gallery at Modena, as belonging to this early period. A
considerable picture, painted by Correggio when eighteen years of age,
and the undoubted work of his hand, is preserved at Dresden; it was
originally done for the church of S. Niccola, at Carpi. It represents
the Virgin seated on a throne, surrounded by various saints; the
inscription is, “Antonio de Allegris.” The colouring of this picture, as
Mengs observes, is in a style between that of Perugino and Lionardo da
Vinci. The head of the Virgin, he adds, greatly resembles the manner of
Lionardo; the folds of the drapery appear as if done by Mantegna, that
is, in the mode of encircling the limbs, but they are less hard, and are
in a larger style. Two pictures painted about the same time are
mentioned, and somewhat differently described, by Tiraboschi and Lanzi.
One was an altar-piece for a church at Correggio, representing various
saints; it was blackened and injured by a varnish, and removed from the
altar as useless, a copy being substituted in its place. The original
has been since cleaned, and according to Lanzi is recognised as an early
work of the master. The other was an altar-piece, in three compartments,
the centre subject of which was a repose of the Holy Family. The two
wings, representing two saints, are lost; but the Holy Family is
probably the picture now in the Florence Gallery, attributed by Barry to
Correggio, and only doubtful, in the opinion of some connoisseurs, from
its dryness of manner, as compared with the later works of the master. A
picture belonging to the Duke of Sutherland, and formerly in the Orleans
gallery, representing a muleteer and other figures, is supposed by some
to be an early work of Correggio, but it has none of the hardness of the
Carpi altar-piece to warrant this conjecture.
In the picture in the Florence Gallery of the Madonna adoring her
Infant, and in the _Noli me tangere_ of the Escurial, to which Lanzi
adds a Marsyas, in the possession of the Marchese Litta of Milan, the
artist already approached that excellent style, which has been
designated by the epithet ‘Correggiesque.’ The Marsyas is mentioned in
the catalogue of Charles I. The two small pictures of the marriage of
St. Catherine, one in the gallery at St. Petersburgh, the other in that
of Naples, belong to the same period. In that preserved at St.
Petersburgh, the name of Allegri is translated to Lieto; the date is
1517. The larger, and probably later picture of this subject, with the
addition of the figure of St. Sebastian, is in the Louvre. The
celebrated picture of S. Giorgio, now at Dresden, has been considered to
belong to this period. It was painted for the confraternity of S. Pietro
Martire, at Modena. This work, containing many figures, and among the
rest some children, in the peculiarly graceful manner of Correggio,
which were afterwards the admiration of Guido, has all the excellencies
of the master, except that magic of chiaro-scuro for which he was
subsequently so celebrated. It may be remarked, that the sweetness of
expression in Correggio’s children and women was probably derived from
Lionardo da Vinci, as certain peculiarities of resemblance are to be
traced between them.
In 1519, Correggio married Girolama Merlini, from whom Pungileoni
supposes the Madonna, called the Zingarella, to have been painted. She
was a lady of birth and condition, and brought him a sufficient dowry;
and this is an additional proof of the incorrectness of the assertions
of Vasari, respecting the extreme poverty of the painter. It must be
remembered too, that from this time, when he was about twenty-five years
of age, his employment constantly increased; and from the nature of the
works he was engaged in, it is quite evident that he was reckoned the
best painter in Lombardy.
About this period Correggio began his career in Parma, and his first
paintings there were the admirable frescoes in the monastery of S.
Paolo. A particular and most satisfactory account of these has been
published by Padre Affò. The reputation which this performance gained
him, induced the monks of S. Giovanni to employ him in the decoration of
their church. The works executed by Correggio on this occasion are in
his grandest manner: the Cupola represents the ascension of Christ; the
figures of the Apostles, of gigantic size, occupy the lower part. The
subject in the Tribune was the Coronation of the Virgin. It was so
esteemed, that when that part of the church was demolished to enlarge
the choir, the design was repainted for the new Tribune by Cesare
Aretusi, according to some, from a copy by Annibale Caracci. The
principal group of the original was fortunately saved, and is still to
be seen in the Library at Parma; its grandeur of invention and treatment
classes it among the highest productions of the art. Round the central
group were some figures and heads of angels. The fragments of these were
dispersed when the Tribune was destroyed; and the portions of frescoes
by Correggio, which exist in various collections, are probably a part of
these ruins.
Those who contend that Correggio had visited Rome, suppose that he may
have caught some inspiration from the works of M. Angelo; and Ratti
imagines, that the Last Judgment was seen and imitated by him; but this
work was not begun till after the death of Correggio. Lanzi smiles at
the mistake of the author just mentioned; but if Correggio visited Rome,
which, on the whole, does not appear probable, he may have seen the
ceiling of the Capella Sistina, painted in 1511; and this is more likely
to have inspired him than the Last Judgment, even supposing that he
could have seen both. There is, however, a remarkable difference between
the treatment of the cupolas of Correggio and that of the ceiling of M.
Angelo (even setting aside the well-known distinctions of their taste in
design), and the execution in both the examples alluded to, is exactly
analogous to the styles of the two painters. M. Angelo, though a master
of foreshortening, has not supposed his figures to be _above_ the eye,
but _opposite_ to it, so that they are still intelligible when seen in
any other situation, as for instance, when copied in an engraving.
Correggio, on the other hand, always aimed at giving the perspective
appearance of figures above the eye; and the violent foreshortening,
which was the consequence, renders his figures unintelligible, because
improbable, except in their original situation, where their effect,
aided by his light and shade, must undoubtedly have been astonishing.
Nevertheless, if the end and perfection of the art is to meet the
impressions of nature by corresponding representation, and to embody the
remembered appearances of things, it is quite evident that
foreshortening on ceilings, as it necessarily presents the human figure,
and indeed all objects, in a mode absolutely foreign to our experience,
must in the same degree depart from the legitimate end of imitation, and
can only excite wonder at the artist’s skill. The difference of
treatment alluded to belongs in other respects to two distinct views of
the art. M. Angelo aimed at the real and permanent qualities of whatever
he represented; a taste derived from his knowledge of sculpture, and
certainly, as producing a most intelligible style of art, more nearly
allied to the principles of the Greeks. Correggio, on the contrary,
loved all the attributes of appearance and illusion; his skill in the
management of aërial perspective, and the magic of his chiaro-scuro, by
which he secured space, relief, and gradation, are qualities less allied
to the reality and perspicuity which characterise the grandest style of
the formative arts in general, (as opposed to the vagueness of poetical
description,) than to the specific excellencies which distinguish
painting from sculpture. Even his colour, true as it is, is still
subordinate to his light and shade. It is with reference to the uniting
and blending principle of light and shade, which presents differences of
degree, but not of kind, that the term harmony has been so often
employed as describing the characteristic style of Correggio, and the
expression is quite distinct from that harmony (the commoner
acceptation) which is often applied to the balance and opposition of
colours. In the same church of S. Giovanni were the pictures of the
Deposition from the Cross, and the Martyrdom of S. Placido and Sta.
Flavia, which were taken to Paris; and on the outside of a chapel are
the remains of a grand figure of St. John, in fresco. The well-known
Madonna della Scodella, and a fresco of a Virgin and Child, in the
Capella della Scala, were perhaps painted about this time. The frescoes
of S. Giovanni occupied Correggio from 1520 to 1523. The celebrated
picture of the Nativity, generally called the Notte, now at Dresden,
appears to have been begun in the interval, as the agreement respecting
it bears the date of 1522; but it was not placed in the church of S.
Prospero at Reggio, for which it was destined, till 1530. The Notte is
the picture most frequently referred to as a specimen of that harmony,
founded on the skilful management of light and shade, in which Correggio
is unrivalled. The source of the picturesque in this work, the emanation
of the light from the infant Christ, is at the same time sublime as an
invention. “The idea,” as Opie observes, “has been seized with such
avidity, and produced so many imitations, that no one is accused of
plagiarism. The real author is forgotten, and the public, accustomed to
consider this incident as naturally a part of the subject, have long
ceased to inquire when, or by whom, it was invented.” Even the angels in
the upper part of the picture still receive light from the infant, and
the attention is thus constantly directed to the principal subject. The
same end is very happily answered by a shepherdess, shading her eyes
with her hand, as if dazzled by the light: this figure is particularly
mentioned by Vasari. It is remarkable that the same feeling for
gradation in the mutable effects of light and shade, displays itself in
this composition in the rapid perspective diminution of the figures. The
shepherd in the foreground is quite gigantic, compared with the more
distant figures; and the effect of proximity and distance, and the space
of the picture, is greatly aided by this contrivance. The same principle
is observable in Correggio’s cupolas.
The commission for the St. Jerome, placed in the church of S. Antonio
Abbate, at Parma, in 1528, one of the artist’s finest works, was given
in 1523. There is a copy of this picture by Lodovico Caracci in the
Bridgewater Gallery. The attitude and expression of the Magdalen are
justly celebrated: she is represented paying her homage to the infant
Christ, by pressing his foot against her cheek. The St. Sebastian, now
at Dresden, one of the most striking specimens of Correggio’s magic
chiaro-scuro, is supposed by Pungileoni to belong to this period. This
picture, like the Notte, is remarkable for an exquisite truth of tint in
the passages from light to dark. The infinite gradations of chiaro-scuro
are rendered still more mysterious from this truth of colour in the
half-tints and shadows, and, as in nature, the spectator is soon
unconscious of the presence of shade. These imperceptible transitions
are confined to the treatment of light and shade, and contrast finely
with the pronounced differences of local colour. In this respect the
style of Correggio is very different from the system of blending, or, as
it is called, breaking the colours: the contrast of hues is undoubtedly
mitigated by the negative nature of his shade; but though fully alive to
the value of general tone, of which the St. Sebastian is a powerful
instance, he seems never to have lost sight of the principle, that the
office of colour is to distinguish, and that of light and shade to
unite—the first being proper to each object, the second common to all
objects.
The peculiar softness for which Correggio is distinguished, is also to
be traced to his feeling for the richness and union produced by shade;
but he is by no means uniformly soft, like some of his imitators; as,
for example, Vanderwerf, whose model seems to have been the Magdalen at
Dresden. The principal figures in Correggio’s pictures, or their
principal portions, are sometimes relieved in the most distinct manner;
as, for instance, the head of the Madonna in this very picture of St.
Sebastian, remarkable above all his works for its general softness of
outline. As in his light and shade the two extremes of bright and dark
are united by every minutest degree between them, so in his forms, every
gradation from absolute hardness to undefined and almost imperceptible
outline, is also to be observed. Variety in the intensities of shade
evidently involves variety in the precision of outlines; but the
distinctness of forms in Correggio’s finest works is also regulated by
their prominence, importance, or beauty. Lastly, characteristic
imitation is greatly aided by his discrimination in this particular.
Vasari justly commends Correggio’s peculiarly soft manner in painting
hair; but this extreme softness, so true a quality of the object, is
generally contrasted in his works with the character of some totally
different substance. Thus, in the Reclining Magdalen Reading, the print
of which is well known, the crystal vase, her usual attribute, placed
near her head, is painted with the utmost sharpness, and thus heightens
the beauty and truth of the hair, which is remarkable for its undulating
softness.
The fame which the frescoes of S. Giovanni procured for their author,
even in their commencement, led to his decorating the cathedral of
Parma; and the engagement respecting the works therein executed is dated
1522. The subject of the octagonal cupola of the cathedral is the
Assumption of the Virgin: a multitude of figures covered the vast
surface, and, when the work was in its best state, are described as
appearing to float in space. The foreshortenings in this cupola are such
as to make the figures appear altogether distorted, except when seen
from below, and Mengs himself was astonished at their apparent deformity
when he inspected them near. The figures of the Apostles and angels, in
various attitudes, occupy the lower portion of the cupola; and in four
lunettes underneath are represented the patron saints of the city, the
whole being supposed to be lighted by the glory from above. It is
evident that Correggio’s feeling for gradation dictated the invention
and treatment of his subject in many instances: the whole scale of light
and shade cannot be more happily or naturally available, than when the
light is supposed to emanate from a point, and gradually lose itself in
the opposite extremes; and it happens, that in every instance in which
this painter employed the principle, as in the cupolas, the Notte, the
St. Sebastian, the Christ in the Garden, &c., the subject itself gained
in sublimity. The difference between the cupola of the cathedral and
that of S. Giovanni, affords an additional proof of the tendency of
Correggio’s general taste as it became further developed. A grandeur
more allied to simplicity is the comparative characteristic of the
latter, while in the cathedral the multitude of figures, the variety of
arrangement and attitude, and the richness and splendor of the light and
shade, are calculated to affect the imagination as with a dazzling
vision. It has been justly observed by Fuseli, that Correggio’s
treatment of this cupola is “less epic or dramatic than ornamental.” It
must, however, be remembered, that the surface he had to cover, the
interior of a high cupola, could hardly have been occupied by subjects
in which form on expression, as predominant qualities, could have
produced their effect when seen from below. The only mode which remained
was assuredly altogether adapted to the genius of Correggio: space,
gradation, chiaro-scuro, were not only the means most likely to be
effective in such a situation, but they were precisely the excellencies
in which he was pre-eminent. Nevertheless, the example was a seducing
one, and was likely to be followed where local circumstances would not
so entirely warrant it; and, as the author above quoted observes, “if
the cupola of Correggio be, in its kind, unequalled by earlier or
succeeding plans, if it leave far behind the effusions of Lanfranco and
Pietro da Cortona, it was not the less their model; the ornamental style
of machinists dates not the less its origin from him.” In order to give
that true foreshortening which was calculated to produce illusion from
below, Correggio was assisted by the sculptor Begarelli, who supplied
him with small models in clay from which he drew. According to Ratti,
one of these was found on the cornice of the cupola by a Florentine
painter towards the close of the last century. Some of the drawings by
Correggio in the Lawrence collection are supposed to have been studies
made from these models. It has been asserted that Correggio himself
worked in marble; some figures in a group, by Begarelli, in the church
of Sta. Margherita, are ascribed to him, but on very slight grounds.
After all, it appears that he never entirely finished the work he had
undertaken to do in the cathedral. The Tribune was not begun, and even a
few figures in the lower part of the cupola are said to have been added
by Bedoli. The cause of this suspension of Correggio’s labours has been
attributed, with some probability, to the absurd criticisms of his
employers. It is said that they referred to Titian (who is supposed to
have visited Parma with the Emperor Charles V.) to decide whether they
should cancel the whole, and that the great Venetian rebuked their
ignorance, by pronouncing it to be the finest composition he had ever
seen.
Correggio ceased to work in the cathedral in 1530, about four years
before his death. A great number of his oil pictures are assigned to
this period, more indeed than he could have executed, and some of them
must therefore belong to an earlier time. Be the precise order of their
dates what it may, the quantity which Correggio did in his short life is
quite as astonishing as the multitude of Raffaelle’s productions,
especially when we consider the number of assistants employed by the
latter. Among his last works, Correggio painted two pictures for
Federigo, Duke of Mantua; the subjects were Leda, and Venus, according
to Vasari. The latter was probably the Mercury teaching Cupid to read,
in which composition Venus is introduced; or it may have been the
Jupiter and Antiope, now in the Louvre. Both are mentioned in the
catalogue of Charles I., as having come from Mantua; and the Antiope is
described as “a Sleeping Venus and Cupid, and a Satyr, &c., three entire
figures, so big as the life.” The original Leda, much mutilated, is now
at Potsdam; a repetition of the Danaë is in the Borghese palace in Rome;
the Io, a picture of the same class, is supposed to have been destroyed,
but repetitions of it exist in Vienna and in this country. The taste for
such subjects, which, in Correggio’s time, was encouraged by the example
of the great, is now reprobated as it deserves, and it is to be hoped
will never be revived; but, in reference to the tendency of the
painter’s taste and powers in the choice and treatment of subjects, it
must be evident that the effect of soft transitions of light and shade,
as opposed to the lively distinctness of colour and forms, is of itself
allied to the voluptuous. The principle was applied by Correggio, as we
have seen, in subjects of purity and sublimity: these, united with the
soothing spell of his chiaro-scuro, and with forms of grace and beauty,
excite a calm and pleasing impression by no means foreign to the end
proposed; but the application was unfortunately still more successful
where he united beauty and mystery in subjects addressed to very
different feelings.
The Magdalen Reading, now at Dresden; the Christ praying in the Garden,
in the possession of the Duke of Wellington; and the Ecce Homo; are all
celebrated pictures of the best time of Correggio. The Ecce Homo, and
the Mercury teaching Cupid to read, have lately been secured for the
National Gallery; the first came from the Colonna palace at Rome, the
other was purchased out of the collection of Charles I. by the Duke of
Alva, in whose family it remained till it became the property of Murat;
and a few years since it was restored to this country. The small picture
of the Virgin and Child, in the National Gallery, is also a pleasing
specimen of the master.
Vasari, who is silent as to the time of Correggio’s death, relates an
absurd story of the manner in which it happened, now scarcely worth
contradicting. According to him, the painter received a payment of sixty
crowns in copper, which he carried from Parma to Correggio, and caught a
fever in consequence from over-fatigue, of which he died. The sum thus
paid in copper is computed to exceed two hundredweight! This incident,
unobjectionable in a work of fiction, is introduced in an interesting
drama called ‘Correggio,’ by the Danish poet Oehlenschläger. The
researches of Pungileoni have proved that Correggio died in easy, if not
in affluent circumstances. The exclamations of Annibale Caracci, in some
of his letters, respecting the unhappy fate of Correggio, amount only to
regret that he was confined to a comparatively remote part of Italy, and
that he was not known in Rome or Florence, where his talents would
undoubtedly have been still better rewarded.
This great painter died almost suddenly, at his native place, of a
malignant fever, March 6, 1534, in the forty-first year of his age. He
was buried in the Franciscan convent of the Frati Minori at Correggio,
where the record of his death was found.
For a full account of Correggio and his works, the history of
Pungileoni, above mentioned, may be consulted. It was published at
Parma, in three octavo volumes, in 1817, 1818, and 1821. The best
account in English is contained in an anonymous work, entitled,
“Sketches of the Lives of Correggio and Parmegiano.”—1823.
The original, from which our engraving is taken, is a face painted on
the wall adjoining the Cathedral door at Parma, by Correggio himself,
from which it was copied, with the necessary additions to suit it for an
engraving, by J. B. Davis, Esq.
[Illustration:
[Virgin and Child.]
]
[Illustration:
NAPOLEON
_Engraved by W. Holl._
_From a Picture by F. Gerard
in the possession of the Publisher._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
NAPOLEON.
Born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, August 15, 1769. He was the eldest but one
of a family of thirteen children; and his father, who was poor, though
well descended, gladly embraced an opportunity of sending him to the
Military College at Brienne, in France. Here he was noted for aversion
to the society of his fellows, and to the amusements of boyhood. He was
fond of imitating the operations of war, and displayed an unusual taste
for the study of history and civil government; but he made no
extraordinary progress in any branch of his education, except
mathematics, in which he succeeded so well, that in his fifteenth year
he was selected for removal to the Royal Military School at Paris. There
he so zealously devoted himself to military studies, that on completing
his sixteenth year he received his commission as Lieutenant of
Artillery.
He remained unknown, and with little chance of promotion, until after
the overthrow of the French monarchy in 1793. In the excesses of the
Revolution he did not share; but his Jacobinical principles, which he
advocated in a pamphlet entitled the ‘Supper of Beaucaire,’ recommended
him to Robespierre and his colleagues, and, in conjunction with his
reputation as an engineer, procured him the command of the artillery at
the siege of Toulon, the capture of which was wholly owing to his skill.
He mainly contributed to the success of the French arms on the Italian
frontier; but the honour and the rewards were gathered by his superiors:
and, in 1794, on the downfall of Robespierre’s government, he was
deprived of his command as chief of battalion. For a time he remained in
a state of neglect and poverty; and, without prospect of immediate
advancement, indulged alternately in visionary schemes of greatness, and
sober plans for obtaining a moderate competency. In 1795, his fortunes
were suddenly advanced by the danger of the French Government, which, at
the suggestion of Barras, entrusted to him the defence of the Tuileries
against the National Guard and mob of Paris, on the 13th Vendémiaire
(October 4th). The authority of the Government was restored by the
successful exertions of Buonaparte; and, in requital for this service,
he was made General of the Army of the Interior. This office soon ceased
to afford scope for his abilities; and the Directory, aware of the
necessity of employing his ardent talents, appointed him General of the
Army of Italy, then opposed to the Austrians. A few days before his
departure from Paris he married Josephine, the widow of Viscount
Beauharnois, an amiable woman, who by her talents and graces assisted in
advancing his fortunes, and during some years exercised great influence
over him.
Buonaparte entered Italy early in 1796, passing between the Alps and the
Apennines. In the course of eighteen months he made six successful
campaigns, destroyed five Austrian armies, and conquered nearly the
whole of Italy. He obliged the Pope and other Italian sovereigns to send
their choicest treasures of art to Paris, a measure imitated from
ancient Rome, and savouring more of the spirit of ancient conquest, than
of the mitigated warfare of modern times. Among the more memorable
battles fought during this war, were those of Lodi, Roveredo, Arcole,
Rivoli, and Tagliamento. Buonaparte’s activity and skill counterbalanced
the numerical inferiority of his troops; and his personal courage, and
readiness of resources under difficulties, procured him a great
ascendency over the soldiery, by whom he was familiarly called the
“Little Corporal.” At the conclusion of this war, in 1797, the
territories of Venice were divided between France and Austria, the Pope
was deprived of part of his temporal dominions, and a number of the
conquered states were united to form the Cisalpine Republic. His
military talents being now no longer needed, Buonaparte was obliged to
resign his command. Hitherto he had professed a warm attachment to the
democracy, and even sided with that party in the revolution of the 18th
Fructidor (September 4, 1797), when the democratic members of the
Directory deposed their colleagues. His conduct in remodelling some of
the Italian governments threw a doubt on the sincerity of his democratic
principles, which was latterly increased by the assertion of the dignity
of his rank amongst his officers, and by his tenacious resistance to
every attempt made by the Directory to divide or control his power in
the command of the army.
He returned to Paris in January, 1798; and although keenly attentive to
the state of the various political parties, he maintained a prudent
reserve, adopting the appearance and pursuits of a private citizen.
Finding no immediate chance of obtaining a share in the Government, and
that he was daily incurring suspicion, he again sought military
employment. Being satisfied at this period of the impracticability of
invading England, he projected the conquest of Egypt. For this purpose,
in May, 1798, a splendid armament was equipped at Toulon, with every
requisite for colonizing the country and prosecuting scientific and
antiquarian researches. He reached Egypt in July, expelled, after
several hard-fought battles, the dominant military caste of Mamelukes,
and made subjects of the native Egyptians. His administration, except in
an absurd attempt to conciliate the natives by professing Mahometanism,
was that of a wise and politic statesman; and there was every prospect
that the French, although insulated from Europe by the destruction of
their fleet at Aboukir, would permanently establish themselves in Egypt.
Many improvements, by which the country has since derived signal
benefit, were introduced by him; and to the scientific department of the
expedition we are indebted for the foundation of our present knowledge
of the natural history and antiquities of Egypt. Early in 1799,
Buonaparte apprized Tippoo Saib of his design of marching against the
British in India. The hostilities of the Ottoman Porte induced him,
however, to invade Syria. After crossing the desert, and taking
El-Arish, Jaffa, and Gaza, he was repulsed at Acre by Sir Sidney Smith,
and compelled to make a disastrous retreat on Egypt. Jaffa is remarkable
for two occurrences which have deeply affected the fame of Buonaparte.
One of these is the massacre of a large body of Turkish prisoners, who
were shot under the pretext that they had previously been liberated at
El-Arish upon parole not to serve against the French. The other is his
ordering some of his own soldiers, who were incurably sick of the
plague, to be poisoned with opium, rather than abandon them to the
enemy, or endanger the rest of the army by transporting them with it.
The suggestion was certainly made; but it appears equally certain that
it was not acted on, in consequence of the remonstrances of the medical
officers. The retreat was closed by a battle at Alexandria, in which the
Turkish army was totally defeated.
The French rule being established in Egypt, Buonaparte became very
anxious to return to France, where circumstances seemed to favour his
ambition. He left his army secretly in August, and arrived in Paris in
October, having by singular good fortune escaped the British cruisers,
and evaded the impediments imposed by the quarantine laws. He was
received with joy by the people, now weary of the feeble administration
of the Directory, which, having lost all the late conquests, could
preserve their country neither against invasion from abroad, nor from
anarchy at home.
Three weeks after his return, Buonaparte overthrew the existing
Government by a conspiracy, in which he was assisted by all men of
military or political eminence, with very few exceptions: and, with a
general concurrence, he was invested with the supreme executive
authority, under the title of First Consul of France. His nominal
colleagues soon became the mere instruments of his ambition. Although he
left France only the semblance of a free government, it cannot be denied
that Buonaparte was, in some respects, a real benefactor to the state.
Social order was maintained. The public exercise of religion was
restored, and a treaty, termed the Concordat, was concluded with the
Pope, by which the French Church was released from the supremacy
hitherto claimed and exercised by the Holy See. A uniform code of laws,
which recognised no adventitious distinctions, henceforth afforded equal
protection to the whole community; office and power were fairly opened
to the competition of merit, and the Legion of Honour was instituted for
the reward of talent and worth in every class of life. Buonaparte
restrained the contentions of parties, and rendered their leaders, such
as Talleyrand, Carnot, Fouché, Moreau, and Bernadotte, subservient to
his interests; whilst the people, enjoying the benefit of an able and
safe administration, were indifferent to their ruler’s schemes for
personal aggrandizement.
Having restored peace and security at home, Buonaparte sought to gratify
the national thirst for glory by foreign victories. In 1800, he marched
an army across the Alps by the route of the Great St. Bernard, descended
unexpectedly on the rear of the Austrians, and, June 14, gave them a
complete overthrow at Marengo. Having recovered nearly all the former
conquests of the French by this battle, he returned to Paris to avail
himself of this triumph to advance his power. But the rejection of the
overtures of the Bourbons, and the obvious design of Buonaparte to
appropriate the crown to himself, led to a union between the Royalists
and Jacobins; and plots were formed against his life, from one of which
he narrowly escaped. In November he resumed hostilities against Austria;
and the battle of Hohenlinden, gained by Moreau, December 2, concluded
the war. Austria then acknowledged the Cisalpine Republic, and permitted
France to possess the boundary of the Rhine, and to annex Holland to her
dominions. The war, continued by England, was distinguished for the
battle of Copenhagen, fought April 2, 1801, by which the Northern
Maritime Confederacy was broken up; and for the recovery of Egypt from
the French by the army of Abercrombie: it was ended in 1802, by the
Treaty of Amiens. A short interval of peace ensued, during which
Buonaparte strengthened his personal power by becoming First Consul for
life, with the right of naming his successor. He also constituted
himself President of the Italian and Helvetian Republics, by which these
states became in fact provinces of France.
In 1803, Great Britain, provoked by the restlessness of Buonaparte’s
ambition, again declared war against France. The First Consul answered
this declaration by imprisoning about ten thousand English subjects, who
were travelling in his dominions. He also seized the Electorate of
Hanover, and made vast preparations for invading England. Early in 1804,
the Royalist and Jacobin parties again endangered his life. Amongst the
conspirators were Pichegru and Moreau; the latter, however, was not
privy to any design of assassination. These plots also proved abortive,
and, in crushing them, Buonaparte increased the stability of his power.
He established a special commission for the trial of all persons
suspected of political crimes, without resorting to the ordinary courts
of judicature. He believed, or affected to believe, that the recent
plots were promoted by the Bourbons and the British ministers, and
resolved to retaliate. By his orders the Duc d’Enghien was carried off,
in March, 1804, from the neutral state of Baden, and, after an informal
trial, put to death. He seized the British minister at Hamburgh, and
confined him for a short period in the Temple. Captain Wright, a British
naval officer, was also confined in the Temple, upon pretext that his
ship had been captured while in the service of the Bourbon conspirators:
he was said to have been murdered in prison; but there is no proof of
this improbable crime. It was asserted that Pichegru perished in the
same way.
In December, 1804, the First Consul assumed the titles of Napoleon,
Emperor of the French and King of Italy. The Pope assisted in the
ceremony of his coronation at Notre Dame: but Napoleon placed the crown
on his own and his consort’s head with his own hand. In like manner, in
May, 1805, he crowned himself King of Italy at Milan. In this year,
Austria, Russia, and Sweden formed an alliance with England against
France. In the same year, October 21, the naval power of France was
destroyed by the battle of Trafalgar. But on the other hand, in a single
campaign, which was concluded, December 2, by the battle of Austerlitz,
Napoleon overthrew the fabric of the German empire, and obliged the
other members of the coalition to separate from England and sue for
peace. He then associated Bavaria, Wirtemberg, the Grand Duchy of Berg,
and several smaller German states, under the title of the Confederation
of the Rhine, of which he constituted himself Protector, receiving in
return the services of about sixty thousand soldiers. Venice was added
to the kingdom of Italy; while Joseph and Louis Buonaparte were
appointed respectively kings of Naples and Holland. At the conclusion of
this war Napoleon created a new order of nobility; many of whom bore
foreign titles, and received extended grants in the territories recently
conquered by France. He was now surrounded by men of the most opposite
character and principles, yet all so well chosen for aptitude to their
several offices that he was devotedly and efficiently served. He had a
keen perception of talent in others, and judgment in giving it a
suitable direction: not a few of his ablest followers, among them,
Lannes, Junot, Murat, Victor, Augereau, and Soult, were of humble
origin. Napoleon usurped the entire control of the civil and
ecclesiastical polity, and by means of compulsory laws for military
service, and the suppression of public opinion by an inquisitorial
police and an enslaved press, established a complete despotism in
France. In arrogating the style and pretensions of the Emperor
Charlemagne, he desired to bury all remembrance of the late dynasty, and
of his own origin. He had a strong tendency to fatalism, and believed
that his career depended on destiny. This weakness was often manifested
in those inflated bulletins, which announced his deeds in a manner
calculated to impress the belief of his infallibility, and never
acknowledged the occurrence of reverses.
Prussia had been induced to remain neutral during the war of which we
have just spoken, by a promise of the cession of Hanover. Instead of
fulfilling this engagement, Napoleon, by a series of injuries, provoked
a declaration of war in 1806. Prussia was subjugated by the battle of
Jena, fought October 14th: and Napoleon then marched into Poland against
the Emperor of Russia; whom, after several battles, at Pultusk,
Preuss-Eylau, and Friedland, he compelled to sue for peace. By the
treaty of Tilsit, Prussia was dismembered, her sovereign retaining but a
scanty portion of his dominions. Jerome Buonaparte received the kingdom
of Westphalia, which was formed from the Prussian and Hanoverian
territories, whilst the Prusso-Polish provinces were formed into the
Grand Duchy of Warsaw, and bestowed on Napoleon’s ally the Elector of
Saxony, who was also gratified with the title of King.
The want of a navy rendering Napoleon unable to contend with England, he
endeavoured to separate her from the European world. In 1806, by certain
decrees issued at Berlin and Milan, and acknowledged at the Treaty of
Tilsit by every continental power, England was declared in a state of
blockade, and all articles of English growth and manufacture were
excluded from their ports. But as the rigid enforcement of these decrees
was prevented by the access of the English to the Peninsula, Napoleon
devised a scheme for rendering this part of Europe also amenable to his
authority. In 1807 a treaty was concluded with Spain; and, by a joint
invasion of the Spanish and French forces, Portugal was subdued and the
House of Braganza expelled. But under pretext of supporting this
invasion, Napoleon filled the most important military stations in Spain
with his own troops. The royal family were enticed into France, and
compelled by threats of violence to renounce all claims to their
hereditary throne. Joseph Buonaparte, resigning the kingdom of Naples to
Murat, repaired to Madrid, and was crowned king of Spain. But a fierce
war breaking out between Joseph and his new subjects, the French, who
had already been driven from Portugal by Sir Arthur Wellesley, seemed on
the point of losing the whole Peninsula. Napoleon, in a campaign which
he conducted in person, re-established his power in the Peninsula; but a
declaration of war by Austria recalled him in mid-conquest. He hurried
to the German frontier, and, after beating the Austrians at Abensberg,
Landshut, and Eckmuhl, and taking Vienna, concluded the war by the
battle of Wagram, fought July 6, 1809. A treaty was signed at Schoënbrun
in October, by which Austria made great sacrifices of territory and
population. At Schoënbrun Napoleon narrowly escaped death by the hand of
a young German enthusiast, named Stabbs. During this war, Rome was
annexed to France, as the second city of the empire; and the Pope, thus
entirely stripped of his temporal dominions, was soon after removed to
Fontainebleau, where he was confined as a prisoner.
Desirous of an heir to succeed to his vast empire, Napoleon, on his
return from Schoënbrun, divorced his empress, and, in accordance with
one of the articles of the late treaty, married Maria Louisa, daughter
of the Emperor of Austria, in March, 1810. This marriage was followed,
in 1811, by the birth of a son, who was styled King of Rome. Although
Napoleon remained in Paris in attendance on his new consort, his plans
of ambition suffered no interruption. In 1810 he deposed his brother
Louis, who thought too much of the welfare of his own subjects; and
annexed Holland, together with the Hanse Towns and the whole sea-coast
of Germany, to the French empire. The election of the French Marshal
Bernadotte to the crown of Sweden seemed to place all Europe, except
England, Russia, and the Peninsula, in the power of France. On the
departure of Napoleon from Spain, in 1809, England again attempted to
deliver the Peninsula; and, during the two succeeding years, Wellington
did much towards effecting this object. The Emperor of Russia, who, at
the treaty of Tilsit, was supposed to have agreed with Napoleon on the
division of the European world, now found the power of the latter
dangerous to his own kingdom, which also suffered greatly from the
prohibition of commerce with England. Napoleon, perceiving that his
brother Emperor designed to avail himself of the reverses in the
Peninsula to insist on a more liberal course of policy, and security
against future aggression, determined on war. In 1812 he invaded Russia,
with the largest army that had ever been assembled under one European
leader. After beating the Russians at Smolensko and Borodino, he took
possession of Moscow, September 14. But the approach of winter, the
burning of the city, and the consequent want of food and shelter,
rendered it impossible to remain there; and the Czar refusing to listen
to proposals for peace, Napoleon, after five weeks’ residence at Moscow,
was obliged to withdraw. In the celebrated retreat which followed, the
French army was utterly destroyed, more by the climate than by the
enemy; the Emperor himself escaped with difficulty.
The spirit of the French people was roused by this disaster, and
Napoleon speedily found himself at the head of another vast army. But
Prussia and Sweden now joined the league against him, and experience had
made his enemies more fit to cope with him; and though, in 1813, he won
the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen in Saxony, he derived no material
advantage from them. Having refused to accede to the terms proposed
through the mediation of Austria, which would have restricted France to
her ancient power and boundaries, this state also took part with the
allies against him. After gaining the battle of Dresden, in August,
Napoleon was compelled, by the successive defeat of four of his
Marshals, to abandon his position on the Elbe, and retire on Leipsic. In
October was fought the great battle of Leipsic, where, in three days,
the French lost upwards of fifty thousand men. The Emperor then
retreated across the Rhine. The Rhenish Confederacy was forthwith
dissolved, and the Pope and Ferdinand were permitted to return to their
respective dominions.
Napoleon having thus lost all his allies and foreign possessions, still
refused the reasonable terms of peace which were offered to him, and
prepared to defend France against invasion. Wellington crossed the
Pyrenees in 1814, and about the same time the Russian and German armies
passed the Rhine. During this campaign Napoleon showed wonderful energy
in encountering his numerous enemies, but still adhered, with obstinate
arrogance, to what he considered due to his own personal glory, and
refused to treat for peace. After losing the battles of Brienne and La
Rothière, in February, he entered on a negotiation with the Allies;
during the discussion of which he attacked and defeated the Prussians on
the Marne: and, on the 17th and 18th, with a perfect knowledge that his
minister had signed the preliminaries of peace, he assaulted the
Austrians and defeated them at Nangis and Montereau. These successes
were useless, and only served to exasperate his foes. In March he was
beaten at the battles of Craonne and Laon, and finding the Allies
getting the superiority, he skilfully marched on their rear with the
view of inclosing them between his own army and the capital. But the
Allies obtained possession of Paris, and finding the people alienated by
the tyranny of the Emperor, declared they would no more treat with
Napoleon Buonaparte. The weakened state of his army, and the defection
of most of his ministers and generals, left him without resources. On
the 11th of April Napoleon renounced, for himself and his heirs, the
thrones of France and Italy. He was allowed to retain the title of
Emperor, and received the sovereignty of the island of Elba.
He reached his miniature kingdom May 4; and for a time appeared to
occupy himself as intently with its affairs as if they had equalled in
importance those of his late empire. But perceiving that the Bourbon
government caused great discontent, he suddenly returned to France, and
landed at Cannes, March 1, 1815, accompanied by about seven hundred
soldiers. He reached Lyons on the 10th, and resumed the functions of
sovereignty. On the 17th he was joined by Marshal Ney and a large body
of men, and on the 19th by the army of Macdonald. The following day he
entered Paris. He was immediately declared an outlaw by the Allied
Powers, who, with upwards of a million of soldiers, prepared to dethrone
him. Although he made many specious promises of freedom and good
government, the feelings and interests of the people were opposed to
him; and, after the decisive battle of Waterloo, he was again obliged to
abdicate. Being foiled in attempting to escape to America, he took
refuge in a British ship of war. The British Government rejecting his
proposal to reside in England, it was determined that the rest of his
life should be passed in the island of St. Helena, with the observances
of etiquette due to a general officer. He arrived at St. Helena, October
15, 1815. A few courtiers and domestics attended him in his exile, and
by them the form and ceremony of a court were always maintained. His
ambition was not corrected by past experience, and he was continually
forming plans for returning to Europe. His escape from the island was
strictly guarded against. This exposed him to an unpleasant degree of
superintendence, which he did not bear with the calmness of a great
mind. Of the Governor’s conduct it is unnecessary to speak: but
Napoleon’s constant and undignified disputes with that officer
concerning the regulations for his personal treatment, lowered his
character, while they added to the bitterness of his captivity. In the
last year of his life Napoleon lost all his cheerfulness and disposition
for active employment. He died, May 5, 1821, of a cancerous affection of
the liver, and was borne, by a party of British grenadiers, to his grave
in a secluded valley on the island.
Napoleon Buonaparte was short in stature, but handsome and well formed,
and capable of enduring great fatigue and great vicissitudes of climate.
We abstain from offering a summary of his character, as we have
abstained for the most part from passing judgment upon his actions. The
time is not yet come for him to be judged dispassionately. A multitude
of books have been written concerning him, with the more important of
which most readers are familiar.
The picture from which our engraving is taken was formerly in the
collection at Malmaison, from whence it was purchased, on the
restoration of the Bourbons, by Mr. Hamlet.
[Illustration:
[Statue of Napoleon, by Canova.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by C. E. Wagstaff._
LINNÆUS.
_From a Copy by Pasch in the possession of R. Brown, Esq^{re}.
of the original at the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
LINNÆUS.
Carl von Linné, commonly called Linnæus, was born at Rashult, in the
province of Smaland, in Sweden, May 24, 1707. His father, the Protestant
minister of the parish of Stenbrohult, was a collector of curious
plants; and Carl soon became acquainted with the plants in his father’s
garden, as well as with the indigenous species in the neighbourhood.
Being intended for the church, he was placed, first at the Latin school,
and then at the Gymnasium of the neighbouring town of Wexio; but he
neglected his professional studies to devote himself almost exclusively
to the physical sciences. Botany, which was then little cultivated in
Sweden, more particularly engrossed his attention: he formed a small
library of botanical works, and although unable to comprehend some of
the authors he possessed, yet he continued to read them day and night.
He even learnt some of them by heart, and acquired, among his teachers
and fellow scholars, the name of the Little Botanist. His father, whose
object was to fit his son for gaining a livelihood in his own sacred
calling, and who was ill able to defray the expenses of a learned
education, was greatly mortified by this misapplication of time. He
determined therefore, without wasting, as he considered it, any more
money, to employ Carl in some manual occupation. His design was changed
by the interference of Dr. Rothman, a physician of Wexio, who advised
him, instead of forcing his son into a profession for which he had no
taste, to let him follow the study of medicine and natural history.
Rothman rendered this scheme practicable, by taking Carl into his own
house for a twelvemonth; during which he instructed the youth in
physiology, and likewise upon the right method of studying his favourite
science of botany, according to the system of Tournefort.
Linnæus was equally fortunate in gaining admission into the family of
Dr. Stobæus, professor of physic and botany at the University of Lund,
whither he repaired in 1727. Here he pursued his botanical studies with
zeal, and acquired the esteem and affection of his host. He went to the
University of Upsal in 1728, by advice of his early friend Dr. Rothman,
hoping to obtain some situation in it. But he was disappointed: and, his
scanty means being soon exhausted, he found reason to repent of having
quitted the friendly roof of Stobæus, who was much offended that a
pupil, whom he had treated so kindly, should have left the University
without consulting him. A fortunate incident relieved him from this
state of anxious suspense. One day, in the autumn of 1729, while
examining some plants in the University Garden, he was accosted by an
aged clergyman, Dr. Olaf Celsius; who, after some inquiry into the
nature and extent of his botanical studies, received him into his own
house, and employed him to assist in a work on the plants mentioned in
Scripture, and to collect botanical specimens around Upsal.
Linnæus enjoyed great advantages in his new situation. He had the full
use of an extensive library, rich in botanical works; he lived on most
familiar terms with his patron, by whom he was introduced to Dr.
Rudbeck, the professor of botany; and Rudbeck, obliged by age to execute
the duties of his office by deputy, obtained that office for Linnæus in
1730. The young man’s reputation as a naturalist was now established in
the University; and, in 1731, the Royal Academy of Sciences at Upsal
deputed him to make a tour through Lapland, with the sole view of
examining the natural productions of that desolate region. He set out,
on horseback, May 12, 1732 (O.S.) without incumbrances of any kind, and
bearing all his luggage at his back. In the flower of youth, bold,
enterprising, and in robust health, he was well adapted to traverse the
wild countries of northern Sweden and Lapland, in which he met with some
romantic and dangerous adventures. When in the districts of Pithea and
Lulea, on the Gulf of Bothnia, he was near perishing from a danger of
which he has given the following animated account:—
“Several days ago the forests had been set on fire by lightning, and the
flames raged at this time with great violence, owing to the drought of
the season. I traversed a space, three quarters of a mile in extent,
which was entirely burnt, so that the place, instead of appearing in her
gay and verdant attire, was in deep sable: a spectacle more abhorrent to
my feelings than to see her clad in the white livery of winter. The fire
was nearly extinguished in most of the spots we visited, except in
ant-hills and dry trunks of trees. After we had travelled about
half-a-quarter of a mile across one of these scenes of desolation, the
wind began to blow with rather more force, upon which a sudden noise
arose in the half-burnt forest, such as I can only compare to what may
be imagined among a large army attacked by an enemy: we knew not whither
to turn our steps. The smoke would not suffer us to remain where we
stood, nor durst we turn back. It seemed best to hasten forward, in
hopes of speedily reaching the outskirts of the wood; but in this we
were disappointed. We ran as fast as we could, in order to avoid being
crushed by the falling trees, some of which threatened us every minute.
Sometimes the fall of a huge trunk was so sudden that we stood aghast,
not knowing whither to turn to escape destruction, and throwing
ourselves entirely on the protection of Providence. In one instance a
large tree fell exactly between me and my guide, who walked not more
than a fathom from me; but, thanks to God! we both escaped in safety. We
were not a little rejoiced when this perilous adventure ended, for we
had felt all the time like a couple of outlaws, in momentary fear of
surprise.”
In the space of five months Linnæus performed, mostly on foot, a journey
of 3798 English miles, and with the approach of winter he returned to
Upsal. On that occasion he was admitted a member of the Academy, and
received about ten pounds for his expenses. The ‘Flora Lapponica’ was
the result of this journey. Scarce recovered from the fatigues of this
tour through Lapland, he again felt the pressure of poverty. He
commenced a course of lectures on the assaying of metals, but his
success excited the jealousy of Dr. Rosen, the successor of Dr. Rudbeck,
who insisted that, in conformity with the statutes, Linnæus should no
longer be allowed to lecture. The Senate had no choice but to enforce
the statutes, and this severe blow deprived Linnæus of all present means
of advancement. He quitted Upsal, and took up his residence at Fahlun,
the capital of Dalecarlia, where he gave lectures on assaying to the
copper miners of that district. In 1735, having saved a small sum of
money, he resolved to travel, and take a medical degree at some foreign
university. He bent his course through Hamburgh to Holland, and obtained
the degree of M.D., at the little University of Harderwych. He gained
the friendship of Gronovius and Boërhaave, by whom he was strongly urged
to settle in Holland, then in the height of its commercial prosperity.
But Linnæus’ mind was set upon returning to Sweden, where he had formed
an attachment to the eldest daughter of Dr. Moræus, a physician at
Fahlun. Intending to pass homewards through Amsterdam, he obtained from
Boërhaave an introduction to an eminent botanist, Dr. Burman, with whom
he resided for a short time. During this visit he became acquainted with
Mr. Clifford, a rich burgomaster of Amsterdam, who had a magnificent
country-seat and garden at Hartecamp, near Haarlem. This gentleman
wished for the assistance of a man who could arrange his collections of
natural history, and put his garden into order. Linnæus entered into his
employment in this capacity, and the connexion proved equally
satisfactory to both parties.
In 1736, Linnæus made a tour to England at the expense of Mr. Clifford,
who wished him to inspect the gardens of our country, and to communicate
with the eminent botanists then alive. The English professors were
warmly attached to the system of Ray; but Dillenius, the botanical
professor at Oxford, was so impressed with the talents of Linnæus, that
he urged him to take up his residence there, offering to share the
profits of his professorship with him. Professor Martyn of Cambridge,
Miller, Collinson, &c., held friendly intercourse with him, and he
returned to Holland with the most favourable impressions of the
scientific men in England. Contrary to the wishes of Mr. Clifford, he
left Hartecamp towards the close of 1737, with the intention of
returning to Sweden. No stronger proof can be given of the estimation in
which Linnæus was held in Holland than the regard expressed for him by
Boërhaave, even on his death-bed. Before the time of Linnæus’ intended
departure from Leyden, Boërhaave became too ill to admit visitors.
Linnæus was the only person in whose favour an exception was made, that
the dying physician might bid him an affectionate farewell. “I have
lived,” he said, “my time out, and my days are at an end; I have done
every thing that was in my power: May God protect thee! What the world
required of me it has got; but from thee it expects much more. Farewell,
my dear Linnæus!”
When upon the point of leaving Leyden, Linnæus was attacked by illness;
and upon his recovery he determined to visit Paris before his return to
Sweden. At Paris he experienced great kindness from the Jussieus; and he
received the high compliment of being elected a corresponding member of
the Academy of Sciences.
In the summer of 1738, he embarked at Rouen for Helsingburg. Soon after
his arrival in Sweden, he married the lady to whom he had been so long
attached.
Dr. Pulteney, in his “View of the Writings of Linnæus,” gives a full
account of the numerous publications put forth by him during his
residence in Holland, and adds,—“It is scarcely to be conceived how this
great man found time to finish so many works, any one of which would
have been sufficient for establishing his character as a botanist.” The
most important of these were the “Systema Naturæ,” 1735, and the “Genera
Plantarum,” 1737, in which the sexual system of plants is fully
developed.
In 1738 Linnæus settled as a physician at Stockholm, where he met with
so much opposition, that he almost resolved to quit his native country.
But by perseverance he worked his way into practice; and he was
fortunate enough to be employed by the Queen of Sweden. In 1739 he
contributed, with some other spirited persons, to form an Academy at
Stockholm, of which he was elected President.
His professional success did not lead him aside from his favourite
studies; and he kept his eye steadily on the great object of his
ambition, the botanical chair at Upsal. In 1741 he was appointed medical
professor. He soon entered into an agreement with Professor Rosen to
allow him to perform the duties of the botanical chair, while his
colleague lectured on physiology and other subjects. Before entering on
the duties of his professorship, he pronounced a Latin oration before
the University, “On the Necessity of Travelling in our own Country.”
Linnæus was now placed in the situation which of all things he had most
coveted. The academical garden was soon laid out on a new plan. When he
was appointed professor, it did not contain above fifty exotic plants.
In 1748, six years afterwards, he published a catalogue, from which it
appears that he had introduced eleven hundred; besides the vegetable
productions of Sweden itself.
He now applied to all his correspondents for plants; and, writing to
Albert Haller, he says, “Formerly I had plants, but no money; and now,
of what use is my money without plants?” His exertions so much extended
the fame of the University, that the number of students considerably
increased, particularly during the time he held the office of rector.
They came from Russia, Norway, Denmark, Great Britain, Holland, Germany,
Switzerland, and even from America. He made summer excursions attended
by his pupils, often to the number of two hundred. When some rare or
remarkable plant, or other natural curiosity, was found, a signal was
given by a horn, at which the whole party assembled round their leader.
Linnæus published his “Amœnitates Academicæ,” “Philosophia Botanica,”
and “Species Plantarum,” respectively in 1749, 1751, and 1753. Of these,
the first is a collection of treatises on various subjects; the second
is the foundation of the Linnæan system of botany, and from it most of
our popular introductions have been compiled; the third is termed, by
Haller, “Maximum opus, et æternum!” In this work he first employed
trivial words as specific names: thus, the species of every genus is
designated by a single epithet, expressive of some obvious character,
and the tiresome plan of quoting an entire description to distinguish
the species was abandoned. His fame had now rapidly increased, and his
scientific connexions and correspondence with foreign countries had
become very extensive.
In 1753 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of London; and in
the same year his sovereign, Gustavus III., bestowed upon him a most
flattering mark of his regard, by creating him a Knight of the Polar
Star. This order had never before been conferred on any literary
character; nor had any person below the rank of a nobleman been honoured
with it. Foreign countries were not backward in testifying their sense
of his merits; he was a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences of
Paris, of St. Petersburgh, and of Berlin; and there was hardly a learned
body in Europe but was anxious to enrol his name among their numbers.
The most flattering compliment which he received was from the King of
Spain, who invited him to settle at Madrid, with the offer of an annual
pension for life of 2000 pistoles, letters of nobility, and the free
exercise of his own religion. He, however, did not accept of this offer,
but answered, that if he had any merit, his services were due to his own
country.
The University of Upsal had now become an object of curiosity: strangers
were attracted there, and prolonged their stay, solely with the view of
becoming acquainted with Linnæus. Among other visitors, the Earl of
Macartney, when he was English Minister at St. Petersburgh, went from
that city on purpose to visit him. His writings were soon appreciated in
foreign countries, and his system was first publicly taught in our own
by Professor Martyn, in the University of Cambridge. His pupils spread
themselves over the globe; they carried everywhere with them the spirit
of their master, and diffused the love of natural history. When Captain
Cook’s first voyage was undertaken, one of Linnæus’s most celebrated
pupils, Dr. Solander, accompanied Mr. Banks in the capacity of
naturalist. It was not, however, from his pupils alone that Linnæus
received information; in every part of the world persons were found
anxious to forward specimens to him, and his collections thus became
unrivalled.
The introduction of the Linnæan system was attended with such great
change, especially of nomenclature, that it experienced considerable
opposition from the older naturalists; and the biographers of Linnæus
have recorded several literary feuds with distinguished contemporaries,
and especially with Albert Haller, a genius of equal merit with himself.
The latter years of Linnæus were spent in a state of ease, affluence,
and honour, very different from the poverty and obscurity of his early
life. He was one of those great men, who have shown by example how much
the genius and activity of an individual are capable of accomplishing.
He was the reformer of botany, and perhaps the greatest promoter of
natural history that ever lived; and so much has never been done for
that science, in so short a space of time, as at the period he
flourished, and immediately after.
In 1773 the reigning King of Sweden appointed him, in conjunction with
others, to make a new translation of the Bible into the Swedish
language. In the month of May, 1774, whilst lecturing in the Botanical
Garden, he was attacked by apoplexy, the debilitating effects of which
obliged him to relinquish the more active parts of his professional
duties, and to close his literary career. In 1776 a second apoplectic
fit paralysed his right side and impaired his mental powers. Even in
this painful and miserable state the study of nature remained his
greatest pleasure, and he was constantly carried into his museum to
survey the treasures there accumulated. He died January 10, 1778, in the
seventy-first year of his age.
On his death a general mourning took place at Upsal. A medal was struck
upon the occasion, and a monument erected to his memory in the cathedral
church of Upsal. The King of Sweden himself pronounced a panegyric on
his distinguished subject before the Royal Academy of Sweden.
Nature was eminently liberal in the endowments of Linnæus’s mind. He had
a lively imagination; a correct judgment, guided by the strict laws of
system; a most retentive memory; and unremitting industry. He laboured
to inspire the great and opulent with a taste for natural history, and
he wished particularly that ecclesiastics should have some knowledge of
it. He thought such knowledge would sweeten retirement, and that pastors
had great opportunities for observing nature. He was decidedly religious
himself, and not one of his greater works begins or ends without some
passage expressive of admiration for the Supreme Creator.
His strength and weakness alike consisted in a rigid adherence to
system. He arranged, according to a system of his own invention, all
natural objects, from man down to the simple crystals. The Linnæan
school is more fitted to arrange and describe the materials of science
than to extend its boundaries. Its pupils have too rigidly adhered to a
system, which is ill adapted to our increased sphere of knowledge.
In botany, the merits of Linnæus were transcendent. He found it a chaos,
and reduced it to a system, which enabled the student to study it with
ease. The great objection to his arrangement, founded on the sexual
parts of plants, is, that it is artificial, and has rather retarded the
knowledge of a system more philosophical, and in stricter accordance
with the rules of nature. The labours of the Jussieus and De Candolle
have done much to introduce a better system; but much still is wanting
to complete it.
After the death of Linnæus’s only son, in November, 1783, the late
eminent botanist, Sir James Smith, purchased his museum of natural
history, books, and manuscripts, for 1029_l._ This collection consisted
of nearly everything possessed by the great Linnæus and his son. Sir
James Smith directed in his will that these treasures should be offered,
after his own death, to the Linnæan Society of London. They were
accordingly purchased by that body for 3000 guineas; and are now placed
in the Society’s rooms in London.
This memoir is compiled almost entirely from a Life of Linnæus written
for the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, and from the
article ‘Linnæus,’ in the ‘Biographie Universelle,’ by the late Baron
Cuvier.
[Illustration:
[Linnæus in his Lapland dress.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
PRIESTLEY.
_From a Picture by Gilbert Stewart
in the possession of T. B. Barclay, Esq^r. of Liverpool._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
PRIESTLEY.
It was the fortune of this eminent philosopher, in the course of a long,
uncompromising advocacy of his own views of truth, to become prominently
engaged in controversy on those two great sources of discord, religion
and politics. He was grossly maltreated by those who disapproved of his
doctrines; and, as the natural consequence, he was regarded with warm,
not to say immoderate, admiration by his friends. His opinions, however,
were the result of patient inquiry, instituted and pursued, as we
believe, with a sincere desire to arrive at truth; and therefore he is
entitled to be treated with respect, even by those who think his
opinions of pernicious tendency. A good life of such a man can hardly
satisfy both friends and enemies. It is, however, as a man of science,
not as a party disputant, that Priestley is entitled to a place here;
and we shall therefore hold ourselves excused from entering at length
into his political or theological controversies.
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY was born at Fieldhead, near Leeds, March 13, 1733, O.S.
His father was of middle rank, engaged in the woollen manufactures of
the neighbourhood. His mother died while he was still a child: but this
loss was alleviated by the kindness of his paternal aunt, who undertook
the care of his education from the time that he was nine years old. He
underwent some disadvantage, in being shifted about from one tutor to
another; but being of a studious turn, he made considerable progress in
the study of ancient and modern languages, Asiatic as well as European,
of mathematics, metaphysics, and other branches of learning; so that he
was found to be unusually well informed, on his admission at the
Dissenting Academy at Daventry, in 1752. His father and his aunt were
Calvinistic Dissenters, and Priestley was brought up in an unusually
strict observance of all the external duties of religion. He
acknowledges in his memoirs an obligation to this course of life, as
having early given him a serious turn of mind, but without recommending
a similar course for general adoption. As was natural, he imbibed the
principles of Calvinism; and suffered at one time severe uneasiness,
because he could not realize in his mind those feelings which he had
been taught to consider as the index of salvation. This we mention,
because it shows that his early prepossessions were diametrically
opposed to that system of religion to which he ultimately worked his
way.
For three years Priestley continued at Daventry, labouring sedulously in
studying to qualify himself for the ministry. At the end of that time,
he accepted an invitation to become assistant preacher to a dissenting
congregation at Needham Market, near Ipswich. His residence there, a
period of three years more, was one of considerable want and difficulty.
His stipulated salary amounted only to 40_l._, and was so ill paid, that
his receipts generally fell short of 30_l._: insomuch that, without
occasional assistance, procured from different charities by his friends,
he could scarcely have subsisted. This deficiency arose partly from the
poverty of the congregation, partly from his own unpopularity. His
religious views, which, during his abode at Daventry, had changed to
Arianism, did not accord with those of his hearers; and he laboured
under an impediment of speech. Yet, notwithstanding these unfavourable
circumstances, he says, “I was far from being unhappy at Needham. I
firmly believed that a wise Providence was disposing every thing for the
best, and I applied with great assiduity to my studies, which were
classical, mathematical, and theological. These required but few books.
As to experimental philosophy, I had always cultivated an acquaintance
with it, but I had not the means of prosecuting it.” The result of his
theological studies was a still more decided rejection of the doctrines
in which he had been brought up In his own words, “I had become, in
consequence of much pains and thought, persuaded of the falsity of the
doctrine of atonement, of the inspiration of the authors of the books of
scripture as writers, and of all idea of supernatural influence, except
for the purpose of miracles. But I was still an Arian, having never
turned my attention to the Socinian doctrine, and contenting myself with
seeing the absurdity of the Trinitarian system.”
Priestley’s situation was somewhat improved by an invitation to
Nantwich, in Cheshire, in 1758. He remained there for three years,
engaged in the double duty of preaching and keeping a school; and then
accepted an appointment as tutor of languages in the Dissenting Academy
newly established at Warrington. Not confining himself to the strict
letter of his duties, he composed and delivered lectures on the theory
of language, oratory, and criticism; on history in general, and on the
history, laws, and constitution of England. It is a remarkable instance
of his versatility and activity of mind, that, in addition to this
extensive course of study, he undertook to write his History of
Electricity, a subject with which he then was little acquainted, and
finished it within a year, though in the course of the work he had been
led into a large field of original experiments. After a residence of six
years, the situation affording him a bare livelihood, he removed to
Leeds, and took the charge of Mill Hill Chapel, in September, 1767.
At Leeds, Priestley resided for another period of six years, actively
employed in clerical and scientific labours. Here his experiments on
fixed air were undertaken, and published. He undertook a History of
Discoveries relating to Vision, Light, and Colours, as part of a
projected history of all the branches of experimental philosophy; but
the sale of this portion was discouraging, and he abandoned the rest of
the undertaking. He also published his well-known Chart of History, and
wrote an Essay on Government, with other pieces, in addition to a great
number of religious pamphlets. These various pursuits, with occasional
visits to London, made him well known to literary men; and, by the
friendship of Dr. Price, he was recommended to the Earl of Shelburne, as
well qualified to fill the station of a literary companion and friend.
In consequence, he removed to Calne in Wiltshire, close to that
nobleman’s seat, Bowood. Nominally filling the office of librarian, and
treated by Lord Shelburne with uniform respect and kindness, he had
access to the best society, both at Bowood and in London: he also had
the advantage of foreign travel. But at length a coldness grew up on the
part of his patron; and at the end of seven years the connection was
dissolved. By the terms of his agreement, Dr. Priestley became entitled
to an annuity of 150_l._, which was punctually paid. Each party bore
testimony to the honourable conduct of the other. The cause of this
estrangement never was avowed; but it is probable that the boldness with
which Priestley wrote in support of his peculiar metaphysical and
religious doctrines may have displeased Lord Shelburne.
Induced by motives of family connection, Dr. Priestley now took up his
residence at Birmingham. Local convenience and the society of various
distinguished men, among whom James Watt was pre-eminent, rendered that
town peculiarly suitable to his scientific pursuits, which, however,
were never suffered to occupy him to the exclusion of theology. He
undertook the ministry of a chapel. He revived the Theological
Repository, which had been commenced and discontinued at Leeds. He
composed and published his History of the Corruptions of Christianity.
This work involved him in a well-known controversy with Dr. Horsley, who
is commonly said to have owed his bishopric to his exertions in it.
Priestley pursued the dispute in a history of early opinions concerning
Jesus Christ; and for some time he wrote an annual pamphlet in answer to
the attacks on Unitarianism. His intimate friend, Dr. Price, was the
most distinguished among his opponents, and their controversy was
carried on with eminent decency and candour. It was published in 1778,
entitled “A free Discussion of the Doctrines of Materialism and
Necessity, in a Correspondence between Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley, &c.”
The Socinian tenets of the latter were again advocated in his General
History of the Christian Church to the Fall of the Western Empire. These
active labours in the field of controversy, backed by his general
reputation, caused Priestley to be regarded as the leading person among
the Dissenters, a body at that time distrusted by the government, and
disliked by a large portion of their fellow-countrymen. The agitation of
the repeal of the Test Act increased the prejudice against them, while
it gave Priestley a fresh motive for exertion. Loud was the outcry, and
bitter the hatred of the “Church and King” party. One of the clergy of
Birmingham attacked him from the pulpit. To him and to another he
replied in a series of Familiar Letters to the Inhabitants of
Birmingham. At length party rage grew so high, that a meeting (at which
Priestley was not present) being held by some persons, who looked
favourably on the commencement of the French Revolution, July 14, 1791,
to celebrate the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastile, the
house in which they assembled was attacked by an infuriated mob. Dr.
Priestley’s meeting-house and dwelling-house were the next objects of
outrage; and the latter, with his valuable library, philosophical
apparatus, papers, &c., was destroyed. The houses of several other
Dissenters were more or less injured. He recovered a certain
compensation for his losses; but the sum awarded, according to his
statement, fell two thousand pounds short of their real amount. The
liberality of his friends, however, more than made up the pecuniary
deficiency. The French testified a warm sense of his ill-usage; and on
the meeting of the National Convention, several of the departments
invited him to become a member of it. This compliment he wisely
declined.
Birmingham was no longer a pleasant, nor even a safe abode for the
philosopher. He removed to Hackney, where the congregation of Dr. Price
soon invited him to become the successor of his deceased friend. By
degrees he replaced his philosophical instruments, and resumed his
studies, hoping to finish his life without more removals. But as the
French Revolution advanced, and political dissension in England ran
higher and higher, his situation grew more unpleasant, and, in his
estimation, more dangerous. He found himself shunned at the meetings of
the Royal Society, and he ceased to attend them; he was harassed by
threats and insults; he believed the violence of the high church party
against him to be on the increase; he saw oppressive political
prosecutions instituted against others, and thought himself a likely
person to be marked for ruin. Above all, he found the evil repute into
which he had fallen an effectual bar to the favourable establishment of
his sons in England; and when they were gone to seek their fortunes in
America, he resolved to follow them. He landed at New York in June,
1794, and shortly after settled at Northumberland, a town about one
hundred and thirty miles N. W. of Philadelphia. There rejecting more
than one advantageous offer of situations in the University of
Philadelphia, he spent the remainder of life, continuing to the last his
philosophical and theological studies. The chief fruit of these latter
years was his General History of the Christian Church, in four volumes.
After a gradual decline of strength, he died, February 6, 1804.
The private character of Priestley was such as to command respect.
Modest, benevolent, pious, of studious and retired habits and
unimpeached morals, the worst his enemies had to say of him was, that he
taught heresy, and was an enemy of the established order of things. His
works, not including those on scientific subjects, have recently been
edited by Mr. Rutt, in twenty-five volumes 8vo., the first of which
contains his own memoirs, illustrated by notes by the editor, and very
numerous letters; and a catalogue of his publications in the order in
which they appeared. The same memoirs, written by himself, in an
unpretending and dispassionate style, and continued down to the author’s
death, by his son Joseph Priestley, appeared in 1805, with an appendix,
containing notices of his works and opinions. With respect to his
philosophical merits, the eloge pronounced on him by Cuvier to the
Institute, of which Priestley was an associate, in 1805, will command
attention, like every production of its distinguished author.
In the space to which we are restricted, it will be impossible to give
an adequate idea of the vast importance of Dr. Priestley’s chemical
discoveries: they are justly regarded as forming the basis of our
knowledge of pneumatic chemistry, and indeed of the science in general;
for upon one of them alone, that of oxygen gas, is founded our
acquaintance with the nature of air, earth, and water, and the same
discovery has served also to explain the action of fire.
Dr. Priestley’s residence at Leeds was near a brewery; and his first
pneumatic experiments were made on the carbonic acid gas, or _fixed
air_, largely generated during fermentation. Gradually pursuing the
subject, he examined various other aëriform bodies, and submitted to
experiment numerous substances which were convertible into, or capable
of yielding, air. These investigations led him to the discovery of new
gaseous bodies, both elementary and compound. So little cultivated had
been the field in which he commenced his researches, that he was under
the necessity of imagining and constructing new instruments, in order to
carry them on. To his inventive genius chemistry is indebted for the
pneumatic trough, the method of receiving and retaining gases over
mercury, and the process of combining and decomposing them by
electricity. “The very implements,” Dr. Henry remarks, in his Estimate
of the Philosophical Character of Dr. Priestley, “with which he was to
work were, for the most part, to be invented; and of the merits of those
which he did invent, it is a sufficient proof that they continue in use
to this day, with no very important modification. All his contrivances
for collecting, transferring, and preserving different kinds of air, and
for submitting those airs to the action of solid and liquid substances,
were exceedingly simple, beautiful, and effectual. They were chiefly,
too, the work of his own hands, or were constructed under his directions
by unskilled persons.” Dr. Priestley’s first publication on pneumatic
chemistry appeared in 1772; it was called “Directions for impregnating
Water with fixed Air,” &c. &c. In this work he proposed the use of a
condensing engine for the purpose of causing the water to dissolve a
larger quantity of the gas, and thus to prepare artificial mineral
waters: this plan, it is well known, is now practised to a great extent.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1772, he announced the discovery
that air, which had been vitiated by respiration or the burning of
candles, was restored by the vegetation of plants; that air exposed to a
mixture of sulphur and iron filings, as had previously been done by
Hales, was diminished by about one-fourth or one-fifth in bulk, and that
the residual air was lighter than atmospheric air, and noxious to
animals. This diminished air he afterwards called phlogisticated air; it
is now named azotic, or nitrogen gas. The discovery of this fluid is
generally attributed to Dr. Rutherford, who, in his treatise “De Aëre
Mephitico,” also published in 1772, mentioned a few of its properties
without giving it any name. As Dr. Priestley’s papers were read before
the Royal Society so early as in March, it is not improbable that he was
the first discoverer of the gas in question. In 1774 appeared the first
of three volumes, entitled “Experiments and Observations on different
kinds of Air;” and these were followed by three more, entitled
“Experiments and Observations relating to various Branches of Natural
Philosophy, with a continuation of the Observations on Air:” the last of
these was published in 1786. This work contains a series of experiments,
unrivalled for their number, novelty, and importance.
Dr. Priestley’s greatest discovery, that of oxygen gas, which he called
dephlogisticated air, was made on the 1st of August, 1774, and announced
in the Philosophical Transactions for 1775. This gas he first procured
from red oxide of mercury, and afterwards from red oxide of lead, and
several other substances.
In 1776 Dr. Priestley’s Observations on Respiration were read before the
Royal Society. In these he showed that atmospheric air, during
inspiration, was diminished in quantity, and deteriorated in quality, by
the action of the blood upon it through the blood-vessels of the lungs.
He also proved that gases have the power of acting through bladders, and
one of his latest papers was on this curious subject: it appeared in the
fifth volume of the American Philosophical Transactions, and seems to
have been completely overlooked by later experimenters on the same
subject. Another of his early and important observations related to the
permanent mixture of gases of different densities, in cases in which
they do not combine; and he cited this circumstance to account for the
perfect mixture of the two gases which form the atmosphere, and which
are well known to be of different densities.
In addition to oxygen gas, already mentioned, Dr. Priestley also
discovered muriatic acid gas, sulphurous acid gas, fluoric acid gas,
nitrous oxide gas, ammoniacal gas, and carbonic oxide gas; but he
entirely mistook the nature of the last-mentioned body. He also showed
that muriatic acid gas and ammoniacal gas, when mixed, condense into
solid sal ammoniac. He must also have obtained chlorine gas, but it
escaped his notice, because, being received over mercury, it quickly
combined with it. Hydrogen gas and carbonic acid gas were known before
his time; but his experiments upon them greatly extended our
acquaintance with their properties. Nitrous gas, barely discovered by
Dr. Hales, was first investigated by Priestley, and applied by him to
eudiometry, a most important branch of chemical science originating with
himself.
In 1778, he pursued his experiments on the property of vegetables
growing in the light, to renovate impure air, and on the use of
vegetation in this part of the economy of nature. Chemistry is also
indebted to him for the method of decomposing metallic oxides by means
of hydrogen gas, and for noticing that this gas has the property of
dissolving iron. He observed also that lime is less soluble in hot than
cold water; and that when a solution of lime in cold water is heated,
part of the lime is deposited.
In the first volume of his work on air (p. 278), Dr. Priestley has
anticipated the idea of Dr. Arnott and Sir J. F. W. Herschel, that
electricity, acting on the brain and nerves, may excite muscular action.
Dr. Henry, in the memoir already quoted, has remarked, that facts are to
be met with in various parts of Dr. Priestley’s works that might have
given him a hint of the law, since unfolded by the sagacity of M.
Gay-Lussac, “that gaseous substances combine in definite volumes.” From
the same memoir we extract the following observations, in conclusion of
this short account of Dr. Priestley’s scientific labours:—“He greatly
enlarged our knowledge of the important class of metals, and traced out
many of their most interesting relations to oxygen and to acids. He
unfolded, and illustrated by simple and beautiful experiments, distinct
views of combustion; of the respiration of animals, both of the inferior
and higher classes; of the changes produced in organized bodies by
putrefaction, and of the causes that accelerate or retard that process;
of the importance of azote as the characteristic ingredient of animal
substances, observable by the action of dilute nitric acid on muscle and
tendon; of the functions and economy of living vegetables; and of the
relations and subserviency which exist between the animal and vegetable
kingdoms.”
[Illustration:
_Engraved by Rob^t. Hart._
ARIOSTO.
_From a Print by Raffaelle Morghen._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
ARIOSTO.
Ludovico Ariosto was born at Reggio, near Modena, in September, 1474.
From boyhood he showed a turn for versifying, and a distaste for the
severer study of the law, to which he was destined. This repugnance
triumphed over the wishes of his father, an Officer in the Duke of
Ferrara’s service, and obtained license for him to pursue his own
inclinations. His father died about the year 1500, leaving a small
inheritance, and ten children, of whom Ludovico was the eldest. Thus,
the care of the family, and the education and establishment of its
younger branches, devolved upon him; and this onerous and important duty
he faithfully performed, while to his mother, who survived his other
parent many years, he ever manifested a filial affection.
In the midst of his domestic cares he still found time to cultivate
literature, and he composed several lyric pieces; among others, a Latin
epithalamium on the marriage of Alfonso d’Este, son of the reigning Duke
of Ferrara, with the infamous Lucrezia Borgia, daughter of Pope
Alexander VI. Ariosto was then but a young man, and probably little
acquainted with the political and domestic history of the Borgias; the
praises therefore which he bestows on Lucrezia, not merely for her
beauty, but for her moral qualities, ought not to be too severely
criticised; the same excuse, however, cannot be made for a repetition of
the same eulogium in his subsequent great poem, when he must certainly
have become acquainted with the contemporary chronicles. But all poets
were in that age tainted with court flattery, and Ariosto’s object was
to gain the favour of his sovereigns and patrons, the princes of Este.
Princely patronage was then absolutely necessary to a literary man who
was not himself rich, as there was no reading public upon which to
depend. Italy was divided into principalities, and distracted by foreign
war and intestine dissensions, and the notice of the courts could alone
bestow fame upon an author, and save him from neglect and distress.
These compositions attracted the favourable notice of Cardinal Ippolito
d’Este, Alfonso’s younger brother, a man of information and abilities.
Upon personal acquaintance, he was pleased with Ariosto’s manners, and
received him as one of the gentlemen of his retinue about the year 1503.
Ippolito was a busy politician, and deeply concerned in all the
intrigues of that most busy period of Italian politics. He soon
perceived that Ariosto’s talents might be turned to account, and
employed him in various missions, to Florence, Urbino, and other Italian
courts; in the course of which the poet became acquainted with many
persons of rank and consequence, and especially with Cardinal Giovanni
de’ Medici, afterwards Leo X., who took a particular liking to him, and
admitted him to his familiar society.
Ariosto was recommended by his first patron, Cardinal Ippolito, to
Alfonso d’Este, who succeeded to the ducal crown of Ferrara in 1505; and
from that time he enjoyed the confidence of both the brothers.
In 1509, Alfonso joined in the league of Cambray with the Pope, the
French, and the Emperor Maximilian, against the Venetians; and Ippolito,
who was a soldier as well as a statesman, took the command of his
brother’s troops. Ariosto accompanied his master to the field, and was
present at the campaign of that year on the banks of the Po. He has
described, in the thirty-sixth canto of his Furioso, the atrocities
perpetrated by the Sclavonian mercenaries in the Venetian service.
It is not our province to follow the operations of this war, farther
than to state, that Ariosto was present in several battles, and employed
in two political missions to Pope Julius II. The second time, he was
compelled to make a hasty retreat from Rome, as Julius had publicly
threatened to have him thrown into the Tiber. In 1513, Leo X. succeeded
to the Papal throne. Ariosto soon after repaired to Rome to congratulate
the new Pope. Leo received him as an old and intimate acquaintance. “He
stooped graciously from his holy chair towards me, took me by the hand,
and saluted me on both the cheeks. From that moment my credulous hopes
were raised to the unknown regions of heaven.” In short, Ariosto now
thought his fortune was made. But he had not sufficient patience; he
soon grew tired of waiting at Rome without receiving any more
substantial proofs of Leo’s benevolence, and, too independent to be
importunate at levees and audiences, he turned his back upon all his
prospects from that quarter. Having returned to Ferrara, he applied
himself with renewed earnestness to his favourite studies. He had long
since formed the plan of a great poem on the subject of the wars of
Charlemagne against the Saracens, a traditional theme derived from the
fabulous chronicle of Turpin, in which some truth was intermixed with a
mass of exaggerations, anachronisms, and wondrous tales of paladins,
knights-errant, and giants, the offspring of older traditions of Welch
or Armorican invention. (See Warton’s “History of English Poetry,”
Ellis’s “Specimens of early English Metrical Romances,” etc.) Many
French, Spanish, and Italian ballad and romance writers had treated this
fanciful theme, each adding something to the common stock of the
marvellous from his own imagination. In Italy, three poets of
considerable genius, Pulci, Boiardo, and Bello, had composed long poems
on the subject, in which the celebrated Orlando or Roland, figured as
the great champion of Christendom. Boiardo, departing from his
predecessors, gave a new interest to his poem by making Orlando fall in
love with Angelica, a Pagan or Saracen (the two are often taken as
synonymous in all these romances) princess, of supernatural beauty, and
possessed of magical powers, who had come from the farthest Asia to
Charlemagne’s camp for the express purpose of exciting the jealousy of
the Christian leaders, and thus, by spreading dissension among them,
rendering them unable to cope successfully with the infidels. Boiardo
did not complete his poem, which he called “Orlando Innamorato;” and he
left off the story of Angelica, where Charlemagne, weary of the discord
which raged in his camp since Angelica’s appearance, gives her in charge
to Namo, one of his squires, until such time as he shall have decided
upon the rival claims of Rinaldo and Orlando, his two bravest paladins,
to her hand. It is from this point that Ariosto took up the thread of
his story, and in consonance with the proverb that from love to madness
there is but one step, he determined to make Orlando run mad with
jealousy, on discovering that Angelica had eloped with a young and
handsome, but obscure squire, of the name of Medoro, for whom she
forgets all the objects of her journey to the west, and despises the
sighs of Orlando and the other renowned paladins of Charlemagne’s court.
Ariosto styled his poem “Orlando Furioso,” and he wrote it at first in
forty cantos, which he afterwards increased to forty-six. Orlando’s
madness runs through the greater part of the poem, until he is restored
to reason by his cousin Astolpho, who brings back his wits in a phial
from the moon. Meantime the principal action of the poem, namely, the
war between Charlemagne and the Saracens, continues throughout, and ends
with the final expulsion of the Moors from France, and the death of
their great champion Rodomonte, whose death, like that of Turnus in the
Æneid, closes the poem. But it would be idle to look for the unity and
the consecutiveness of epic action, as some critics have done, in a poem
which is not an epic. There are many actions in the Furioso, all
skilfully interwoven together, and making in the end an harmonious
whole; but during their progress, the reader finds himself often lost as
in a labyrinth, and perplexed how to recover the thread of his
recollections. And yet the beauties of description, the fine touches of
character and feeling, are so many, that we wander on delighted, as
pilgrims who have strayed into an enchanted world, and then gaze, and
wonder, and idle along, thoughtless of the end or purport of their
journey.
Ariosto was employed for ten years about his poem, from his first
beginning to the completion of it in forty cantos. It was printed at his
own expense, at Ferrara, in April, 1516, by Mazocco del Bondeno, in one
volume quarto. He sold one hundred copies of this first edition to the
bookseller, Gigli, for twenty-eight scudi, being at the rate of about
fifteen pence a copy, on condition that the bookseller should not sell
the copies for more than twenty pence each. This edition is now
extremely rare.
Ariosto hastened to present a copy to Cardinal Ippolito, to whom there
is an affectionate dedication in the third stanza of the first canto,
besides several other passages throughout the work which are highly
laudatory of him, of his brother Alfonso, and of the house of Este in
general. The Cardinal, after perusing the poem, seems to have been
puzzled about the meaning and purpose of it, and he is said to have
asked the author “Where in the devil’s name he had picked up so many
absurdities?” But whether this story be true or not, it is certain that
Ippolito did not relish the work, and that Ariosto gained by it no
additional favour with him. Cardinal Ippolito was a busy worldly man;
his mind was anything but poetical, his tastes and pursuits were matter
of fact; his abilities—and he had abilities—were in a different line,
and he told Ariosto that “he would have been better pleased, if, instead
of praising him in idle verse, he had exerted himself more earnestly in
his service.” This remark we have from Ariosto himself, in his second
satire. Much declamation has been wasted on the Cardinal for his want of
taste, and for what has been called his ungenerous conduct towards the
great poet. But a want of taste for poetry is no ground for moral
censure; and if the Cardinal thought no better of Ariosto for exerting a
talent which he could not appreciate, at least it does not appear that
he esteemed him the less. He retained him in his service as before,
until the end of 1517, when being on the point of setting off for his
diocese of Gran in Hungary, of which he was Archbishop, he requested
Ariosto to follow him; but Ariosto excused himself on the plea of his
delicate health and the rudeness of the Hungarian climate. His brother
Alessandro, however, accompanied the Cardinal. Ippolito was certainly
displeased at Ariosto’s refusal, but he did not stop his pension in
consequence of it. It was not until a year or two after that the small
pension of twenty-five scudi every four months, of which Ariosto speaks,
was stopped, during the Cardinal’s absence; and it is stated by Barotti,
in his life of Ariosto, that this took place in consequence of the
Duke’s abolishing a local tax, on the produce of which Ariosto’s pension
was assigned. Besides this pension, Ariosto enjoyed one-third of the
fees paid to the Notarial Chancery for every deed registered, which
brought him about one hundred scudi per annum. This he did not lose
after the Cardinal’s departure. He seems to have enjoyed some other
perquisites, which were, of course, the fruits of his connection with
the princes of Este. He was not rich, but, at the same time, he was not
in distress. Although he sometimes indulges in outbreakings of poetical
querulousness in his satires, which are the best authority for his
biography, yet, in the very midst of these, we find expressions of
sincere regard and grateful affection for both the Cardinal and the
Duke, for Ariosto was a right-hearted man.
After the Cardinal’s death, which happened in 1520, Ariosto was taken by
Duke Alfonso into his own service, as one of his gentlemen attendants.
The duties of this office, we are told by the poet himself, were merely
nominal, and left him ample leisure to pursue his favourite studies. Yet
the Duke was very fond of his company, and willingly granted those
favours which he requested for himself or his friends. (See Ariosto’s
Seventh Satire.) From the general character of Ariosto, however, we may
conclude that he was not an indiscreet or importunate petitioner. In
1521, he published a second edition of his great poem, with many
corrections, but still in forty cantos only: this edition is as scarce
as the first. As he expressed a wish to be more actively employed,
Alfonso, in 1522, appointed him Governor of the province of Garfagnana,
bordering on the Modenese territory, and situated on the western slope
of the Apennines, on the side of Lucca. This country had just been
restored to the house of Este, after having been for years occupied by
the Florentines and the Pope. The people were divided into factions,
which openly defied the law. Ariosto humorously describes in his fifth
satire the difficulties of his new office. He remained about three years
at Castelnuovo, the chief town of this mountain district, and seems to
have succeeded by his firm, yet liberal and conciliatory conduct, in
restoring order among that turbulent and rude population, who showed him
marked proofs of esteem on several occasions. In 1523, the Duke’s
secretary, Pistofilo, wrote to offer him the appointment of ambassador
to the new Pope, Clement VII.; but Ariosto declined the honour, saying,
that he had already had enough of Rome and the Medici, alluding to his
disappointment which he had experienced from Leo X. In 1524, he returned
from his government to Ferrara, which he does not seem to have ever
quitted afterwards. He had there long before formed an attachment to a
lady, whose name he has carefully concealed; and this appears, from his
own hints, to have been an additional reason, on several occasions above
mentioned, for his not wishing to remove far from Ferrara. By this lady
he had a son, Virginio, whom he legitimated by a regular act done before
Cardinal Campeggio, in April, 1530. Virginio was then twenty-one years
of age. The deed still exists in the archives of the house of Ariosti.
In it the Christian name alone of Virginio’s mother, Orsolina, is
mentioned, and she is qualified as a spinster; but her family name and
rank are left out, _honestatis causâ_, as it is there stated. This
Virginio took orders, and became afterwards a canon of the Cathedral of
Ferrara. Ariosto had another natural son, Giovanbattista, who rose to
the rank of captain in the Duke’s service.
After his return from Garfagnana, Ariosto recast some comedies which he
had composed in youth, and wrote others, making in all five comedies in
blank verse, which pleased the Duke so much upon perusal that he
resolved on having them performed, and for this purpose had a theatre
constructed in a wing of the ducal palace. No pains or expense were
spared to add to the splendour of the representation, which the Duke and
his court attended. These plays are modelled upon Plautus and Terence;
the unities are preserved, and the plot is made to turn upon the shifts
and stratagems of dissipated and needy young men, aided by base
domestics or panders, to deceive their parents, or the parents or
guardians of their mistresses. And, like the contemporary comedies of
Bibbiena and Machiavelli (co-founders with Ariosto of Italian comedy,)
they are stained by frequent indecency of allusion and language.
In the division of his father’s scanty property, Ludovico had for his
share the house at Ferrara, which stands, or stood till lately, in the
street of Santa Maria di Bocche, and on the door of which was seen the
marble escutcheon of the Ariosti. He purchased, in 1526, a small house
of a person of the name of Pistoja, near the street Mirasole. He
afterwards bought several adjoining lots of ground, and built himself a
commodious house, which he surrounded by a garden and trees. This is
still seen in the street Mirasole, with an inscription to commemorate
its former inmate. There he spent, in studious and pleasant retirement,
the latter years of his life, continuing to enjoy the favour of Duke
Alfonso, and of his son Prince Ercole d’Este, afterwards Duke Hercules
II., to whom he gave instruction in literature.
In October, 1532, Ariosto, after sixteen years passed, since its first
publication, in the continual and almost daily revision of his great
poem, published a third edition in forty-six cantos, which,
notwithstanding some misprints, has remained the legitimate text of the
Orlando Furioso. This was the last edition which he published himself.
The six additional cantos are the 33d, 37th, 39th, 42d, 44th, and 45th;
and in the others, stanzas are added or altered from time to time. Soon
after Ariosto had thus completed his work, he fell ill of a painful
internal complaint, which, after several months of lingering sufferings,
terminated in death, June 6, 1533. He was then in his fifty-ninth year.
He was buried privately in the church of San Benedetto, near his house,
and his funeral was attended by the monks, who volunteered to pay this
honour to his remains. Forty years later, the church having been
rebuilt, a monument was raised to him on the right of the great altar by
Agostino Mosti of Ferrara, who in his youth had studied under Ariosto,
to which the poet’s bones were transferred with great ceremony. In 1612,
Ludovico Ariosto, the poet’s grand-nephew, raised another monument, more
splendid than the first, and placed it in the chapel to the left of the
great altar; and thither Ariosto’s remains underwent removal for the
second time. They were then left in peace for nearly two centuries,
until the French took possession of the country at the beginning of the
present century, when they removed the monument (we believe the last of
the two, though we cannot positively say) to the Lyceum or University;
where Ariosto’s chair and his ink-stand are also preserved, as well as
the autographs of the Furioso. In the convent of San Benedetto is a
painting, representing paradise, by Garofalo, who had known Ariosto
personally, in which the poet is seen between St. Catherine and St.
Sebastian.
Virginio Ariosto left several curious memoranda of his father’s habits,
which are given by Barotti. He was tall, of a robust and naturally
healthy frame, and a good pedestrian. One summer’s morning he strayed
out of Carpi, near Reggio, where he then resided, in his morning gown
and slippers, to take a walk. Being absent in thought, he had gone more
than half way to Ferrara before he recollected himself; and then
continued his route, and arrived at Ferrara in the evening, having
walked a distance of at least forty miles. He was generally frugal, and
not choice in his meals, though at times he ate much and hurriedly,
because, his son says, he was not then thinking of what he was doing,
being busy in his mind about his verses or about his plans for building.
One day a visiter appeared just after he had dined. While they were
conversing, the servant brought up dinner for the stranger; and, as the
latter was engaged in talking, Ariosto fell on the viands laid on the
table, and ate all himself, the guest of course not presuming to
interrupt him. After the visiter was gone, Ariosto’s brother
remonstrated with him on his inhospitable behaviour, when the poet,
coming to himself, exclaimed, “Well, it is his fault, after all; why did
he not begin to eat his dinner at once?”
The Italians have bestowed on Ariosto the epithet of “the Divine,” and
they also call him “the Homer of Ferrara.”
The character of Ariosto may be easily gathered from this brief sketch
of his life. He was trustworthy, loyal, and sincere, free from envy or
jealousy, and a warm friend; he was fond of meditation and retirement,
often absent and absorbed in thought, and yet he could be very pleasant
and jovial in company. He was not a great reader, and he selected the
Latin classics in preference to other authors. He studied men and nature
more than books. Of Greek he acquired some knowledge late in life. He
was very fond of architecture, and regretted that his means did not
permit him to satisfy his passion for building. He also took pleasure in
gardening, but he was too absent and impatient to prosper in that
occupation. His character, by his own confession, was stained by
licentious amours: and his works are tainted by impure passages, which
render them unfit for indiscriminate perusal. Still this is the fault of
detached passages, not of the general spirit or object of his
compositions; and if judged in comparison with his contemporaries, he
will not be severely censured as an immoral writer.
Ariosto’s great poem, the Orlando Furioso, is too generally known to
require a long discussion of its merits. It is by universal consent the
first of all poems of chivalry and romance. It is a wonderful creation
of man’s imaginative powers, extending far beyond the limits of the
natural world. But the poet in his wildest flights takes care not to
fall into too palpable extravagance or absurdity. He has the art of
endowing the creatures of his fancy with features and attributes
apparently so appropriate to their supposed nature, as to remove from
his readers the feeling of the improbability of their existence. There
are also other merits in the poem besides those of imagination and
description. There is often a vein of moral allusion half concealed
within Ariosto’s fanciful strains, the evidence of a mind deeply
acquainted with the mysteries of the human heart, fully alive to the
beauty of virtue, and imbued with sound notions of moral philosophy. At
other times he tries to cast off his pensive mood and to appear careless
and satirical, and he succeeds in exciting laughter at men’s follies and
even vices; a laughter which we doubt whether the writer felt in his own
heart. In his satire, however, although rather broad and licentious, he
was not bitter or misanthropical. His is the humour of a good-tempered
_poco curante_, who has no intention to break with mankind on account of
its faults, and who wishes to make the best of the present world, such
as it is. His touches of the pathetic, though not many, are exquisite of
their kind: we will only mention, as instances, the story of Ginevra,
that of Zerbino and Isabella, and the death of Brandimarte. His
acquaintance with history, geography, and other sciences, was
respectable, considering the time he lived in. His language is generally
natural and flowing, and the justness and clearness of his expressions
render the perusal of his poem of great use even to prose writers.
Galileo used to say that he had formed his style chiefly by assiduous
study of the Furioso. Ariosto has been accused of using trivial
expressions, borrowed from popular use rather than from books. Many of
these, however, have been since adopted by the best Italian writers.
Several of his lines certainly are harsh and inharmonious, but it is not
improbable that this was intentional, for the sake of expression, or to
give variety to the sound of his verse, as it is well known that Ariosto
was not a negligent writer; he corrected and recorrected his poem with
the greatest care, and his apparent facility is the result of much study
and labour. It is said that he altered not less than twenty times the
142d stanza of the eighteenth canto, in which he describes the beginning
of a storm at sea, before he fixed on the text as it how stands.
After the three editions of the Furioso superintended by Ariosto
himself, numerous editions appeared in various parts of Italy during the
sixteenth century, all however more or less incorrect, and some of
them—for instance, the one of 1556, by Ruscelli—deliberately mutilated
or interpolated, either by editorial presumption, or through scruples of
morality. The Aldine edition of 1545 is one of the best of that age; it
is also the first that contains five additional cantos, which are the
beginning of a new chivalric poem, left in MS. by the author, and given
by his son Virginio to Antonio Manuzio. The edition of 1584, by
Franceschi of Venice, is rich in comments and illustrations, but the
text is often incorrect. The editions of the seventeenth century are all
likewise imperfect. The edition of Orlandini, 2 vols. folio, Venice,
1731, contains all the works of Ariosto, with three biographies by
Pigna, Fornari, and Garofalo, and several comments and illustrations.
The learned Barotti of Ferrara brought out an edition of all Ariosto’s
works, Venice, 6 vols. 12mo., 1766, in which he restored in many places
the original reading, and added a life of Ariosto, which is still
considered the best extant. The Birmingham edition of the Furioso, 4
vols. 4to., with plates, some of which are by Bartolozzi, is remarkably
handsome, and one of the most correct. But the best text of the Furioso
is that of the edition of Pirotta, Milan, 1818, in 4to., in which the
editor, Morali, has succeeded in faithfully restoring the original text
of Ariosto’s last edition of 1532, which has been since adopted by
Molini in his edition, Florence, 2 vols. 12mo., 1823, by the Padua
edition of 1827 in 4to., and by other later Italian editors. Ciardetti
has published all the works of Ariosto, Florence, 8 vols. large 8vo.,
1823–4.
The Orlando Furioso has been translated into most European languages. Of
the English translations, Harrington’s is spirited, but far from
faithful; it is in reality rather an imitation than a translation. That
by T. H. Croker, 1755, has the merit of being faithful and literal,
stanza for stanza. The recent translation by Mr. S. Rose is considered
the best.
The Satires of Ariosto are seven in number; they are addressed to his
brothers and other friends. As the author did not intend them for
publication in his lifetime, he expressed himself freely in them, and
related many curious particulars of his history. They were first
published in 1534, and have been often reprinted, both separately and
with the rest of his works. They have been twice translated into
English, by Robert Toft in 1608, and by Croker in 1759. Ariosto is one
of the best Italian satirists. He has followed the Horatian model; he
corrects without too much bitterness or scurrility. He reprobates the
vices of his age and country, and they were many and great. He speaks of
popes, princes, and cardinals, of the learned and the unlearned, of
clergymen and laymen, of nobles and plebeians, with great freedom, but
without violence or exaggeration, and in language generally, though not
always, decorous. Ariosto’s satires deserve to be more generally read
than they are, both as a mirror of the times, and as a model of that
species of composition which, from the pens of ill-tempered or vulgar
men, has too often assumed a tone of malignancy and licentiousness
equally remote from justice and truth.
Besides the Orlando Furioso, his comedies, and his satires, Ariosto left
some minor works, in Italian and in Latin verse, such as epigrams,
canzoni, sonnets, capitoli in terza rima, and other lyrics; and a
curious Latin eclogue, which long remained inedited, composed in 1506,
on the occasion of a conspiracy against the life of Duke Alfonso by his
two brothers, Ferrante and Giulio. He also wrote a dialogue in Italian
prose, called “l’Erboleto,” on medicine and philosophy. We have no other
works of his in prose, except one or two letters; his correspondence,
which probably was extensive, has never been collected.
The number of commentators, critics, and biographers of Ariosto is very
great: a complete collection of them would form a considerable library.
Some of the best have been mentioned in this sketch. We must add
Baruffaldi, junior, who wrote a life of Ariosto, Ferrara, 1807, and
Count Mazzuchelli, who has given a good biography of him in his
“Scrittori d’Italia.”
[Illustration:
[House of Ariosto at Ferrara.]
]
[Illustration]
MARLBOROUGH.
John Churchill, first Duke of Marlborough, was born at Ashe in
Devonshire, the seat of his maternal grandfather, Sir John Drake, June
24, 1650. His father, Sir Winston Churchill, was a man of some literary
repute, a zealous royalist, and in good esteem at the court of Charles
II., to which John Churchill was introduced at the early age of twelve.
He soon became one of the Duke of York’s pages; gained that prince’s
favour, and was presented with a commission in the guards. In 1672, he
held the rank of Captain in the English troops which served as
auxiliaries to France under the Duke of Monmouth; and he was so
fortunate as to gain the good opinion of Turenne, and to be honoured
with the public thanks of Louis XIV. for his gallant conduct at the
siege of Maestricht. On his return to England, he was again attached to
the Duke of York’s household. He married Miss Sarah Jennings in 1681;
and was created a peer of Scotland in 1682, and a peer of England soon
after the Duke’s accession to the throne, by the title of Baron
Churchill of Sandridge in Hertfordshire. In this early part of his life
he prudently abstained from active interference in politics. Gratitude
and present interest combined to render him averse to thwart the wishes
or policy of his master: political foresight and attachment to the
established church warned him not to co-operate in the King’s imprudent
measures. He does not appear to have been embarrassed by an
over-generous and enthusiastic temper; and therefore, whether or no he
was of those who invited William of Orange to England, he had the less
difficulty, on the landing of that prince, in making up his mind to the
painful task of abandoning a kind master and a falling cause. But, in
doing so, he was guilty of no treachery. Entrusted with the command of
6000 men, he carried over no troops, and betrayed no post; but quietly
withdrew with a few fellow-officers from King James’s camp.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
MARLBOROUGH.
_From the Picture by G. Kneller
in the Collection of the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
Soon after the Revolution, Lord Churchill was sworn into the Privy
Council, and created Earl of Marlborough. He commanded the British
contingent in the Netherlands in 1689, and had a large share in gaining
the battle fought at Walcourt, August 25. In the two following years he
served in Ireland and on the Continent, with the high approbation of
King William. But his prosperity was suddenly checked by an abrupt
dismissal from all his offices. This was soon followed by his committal
to the Tower for high treason; but the falsity of this charge, the
profligate contrivance of an obscure criminal, was soon shown. The cause
of his dismissal from office is not clearly ascertained: it has been
assigned to his advocacy of the interests of the Princess Anne; to his
remonstrances against the undue favour shown by William towards his
Dutch followers; to the detection of a clandestine correspondence with
James II. It is at least certain that such a correspondence existed, and
that it is a deep stain upon the honesty of Marlborough’s character;
whether we suppose him to have been earnest in the wish to bring back
the Stuarts, or merely to have sought an opportunity for grace, if the
political changes of that eventful period had restored the exiled family
to the throne.
Marlborough continued in disgrace until after the death of Queen Mary,
which produced a reconciliation between the King and the Princess. In
1698, he was recalled to the Privy Council, and appointed Governor to
the presumptive heir to the crown, the young Duke of Gloucester. From
that time to the King’s death, he continued, ostensibly at least, in
favour, though not employed in any military capacity; and one of the
King’s last acts was to recommend him to Anne, as the fittest person to
command her armies. This was not necessary to secure her favour. The
Countess of Marlborough had long been endeared to her by the ties of a
much closer and more familiar friendship than usually exists between a
sovereign and a subject; and the Earl had stood in opposition to the
court in support of her interests, and had been disgraced, as many
believed, on that account. Accordingly, one of the Queen’s first acts
was to confer on him the order of the Garter, and to nominate him
Captain-general of the forces, at home and abroad. He was mainly
instrumental in inducing the new government to confirm the alliances
made by the late King for prosecuting the war of the Spanish succession;
was sent ambassador to Holland, and finally invested with the command of
the allied army. We can only give a summary of the operations of each
campaign in that war, in which Europe was delivered from the fear of
France. The first, in 1702, was eminently successful, though the general
was much hampered by the interference of the Dutch deputies who attended
the army. The strong fortresses which line the Meuse, from Venloo to
Liege, were wrested from France. The Queen expressed her gratitude for
this auspicious beginning by conferring on Marlborough a dukedom, and a
pension of 5000_l._: the two houses of Parliament voted their thanks.
The following year was distinguished by no decisive events, chiefly
owing to the difficulty of getting the Dutch to act with cordiality or
concert: the conquests of the preceding campaign, however, were
confirmed and extended. The memorable campaign of 1704 was remarkable
for the boldness, political as well as military, of its conception, and
the secrecy of its execution. The successes of the French in Germany
having reduced the Emperor almost to despair, it became Marlborough’s
first object to prevent the total ruin of that monarch, and the
consequent dissolution of the confederacy. To this end, without
communicating his real views either to the States or to the English
ministry, he obtained their sanction for opening the next year’s
operations on the Moselle; and passing that river, led his troops on to
the Danube, and effected a junction with the imperial generals, the
Margrave of Baden and Prince Eugene, almost before his real design was
known at home, or even to the enemy. The first fruit of this was the
battle of Schellenberg, near Donawerth, on the Danube, where the Elector
of Bavaria’s lines were forced, and his army beaten. The French, under
Marshal Tallard, advanced to the support of their ally; and, with the
Bavarians, took up a strong position near Hochstet, their right flank
resting on the village of Blenheim, and being covered by the Danube. The
British and allied troops, commanded by Marlborough and Eugene, amounted
to about 52,000 men; the enemy were rather more numerous, and very
strongly posted. To engage was dangerous; but the circumstances of the
campaign rendered it necessary; and, against the advice of several
officers and the expectation of the French, the attack was made on the
morning of August 7. After a bloody battle, the French position was
carried, and their army utterly disorganized or destroyed. By this
victory the whole Electorate of Bavaria fell into the hands of the
Imperialists; and the French were driven to repass the Rhine. The allies
followed them, and besieged and took the strong fortress of Landau,
while the Duke, by hasty marches, led a detachment to the Moselle, and
secured the city of Treves and the fortified town of Traerbach. To this
expedition he attached great importance. “I reckon,” he said, “the
campaign well over, since the winter quarters are settled on the
Moselle, which I think will give France as much uneasiness as anything
that has been done this summer.” In this single campaign, the Emperor
was relieved from the fear of being besieged in his capital; Germany
freed from the pressure of war; and the troops established in those
quarters which afforded the best prospect of opening the next campaign
to advantage. And, above all, the charm of a long series of victories,
the fancied invincibility of the French, was effectually destroyed.
Every mark of gratitude which a nation can pay was bestowed on the Duke
of Marlborough. To perpetuate the memory of his services, the royal
manor of Woodstock was granted to him and to his heirs; and, in addition
to this, in testimony of her own affection and respect, the Queen gave
orders for erecting, at her own expense, the splendid pile of BLENHEIM.
The advantages which Marlborough hoped to derive from his position on
the Moselle were entirely lost, through the inactivity of the German
confederates. As if aware that this would be the case, the French
concentrated their exertions to recover their losses in the Netherlands;
and they succeeded so far, that the Dutch sent pressing messages to
Marlborough to return to their help. He did so, and soon restored the
superiority of the allies in that quarter. But his success was attended
with mortification, for the German general left to act on the defensive
on the Moselle abandoned his trust, and retired, having burnt the
magazines collected on that river; and thus effectually frustrated that
scheme of invasion from the Moselle, to which Marlborough had attached
so much importance. To guard against invasion from the Netherlands, the
French had drawn strong lines across the country, from the Scheldt to
the Meuse, from Antwerp to Namur, behind which Marshal Villeroi took
post on Marlborough’s junction with the Dutch army. These lines, which
had been three years in forming, at a vast expense, were attacked and
penetrated almost without resistance or loss. This success, if properly
followed up, would have thrown all Brabant into Marlborough’s hands; he
was continually embarrassed by the jealousy or supineness of the Dutch
generals. Once, at the passage of the Dyle, and again nearly on the
field of Waterloo, he was prevented from engaging, when he considered
himself certain of victory. By these disappointments, the Duke was
severely mortified. Whether from fear that the States, if affronted,
would readily conclude a separate peace, or from whatever cause, the
misbehaviour of the Dutch officers and deputies was endured by the
English Government and General with singular patience. On this occasion,
Marlborough’s remonstrances, public and private, though very guarded,
procured the removal of those whose conduct had been most offensive. In
the course of this autumn the Emperor Joseph created Marlborough a
prince of the empire, and conferred on him the principality of
Mindelheim.
Disgusted by the vexatious contradiction to which he had been exposed in
the past year, Marlborough earnestly desired to march an army into
Italy, and to co-operate with Prince Eugene in driving the French beyond
the Alps; and he was empowered by the British cabinet to take this step.
But he was unable to procure troops for the purpose either from the
Dutch or from the German princes; and he relinquished his intention the
more willingly on account of some unexpected successes of the French on
the Rhine. Marlborough opened the campaign of 1706 with a demonstration
against Namur. Marshal Villeroi received positive orders to risk a
battle for the safety of the place, and was anxious to fight before a
reinforcement of Danish and Hanoverian troops could join the allies. The
two armies met, in nearly equal numbers, near the village of Ramillies,
May 23; and the French army received a signal overthrow, which led to
the immediate submission of all Brabant. Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent, and
the other chief towns of the province, opened their gates, and with
expressions of joy acknowledged Charles of Austria as their legitimate
sovereign, and the rightful heir to the Spanish crown. The siege of
Ostend was the next military operation; and that important place,
celebrated for its desperate resistance to the Spaniards in the
preceding century, yielded in a few days. The strong towns of Menin,
Dendermond, and Ath also submitted before the end of the campaign.
The following year was fruitful in intrigues at home, and remarkable for
the decline of the Duchess of Marlborough’s favour with Queen Anne: the
military operations were barren of incident or of interest. The campaign
of 1708 opened with a reverse of fortune. Disgusted by the overbearing
conduct of the Dutch, some of the most important places which had
surrendered to the allies in the preceding year entered into
negotiations to recall the French. Antwerp and Brussels were saved by a
timely discovery of the plot. Ghent and Bruges passed over to the enemy,
who prosecuted their success by forming the siege of Oudenard; but the
rapid march of Marlborough compelled them to abandon this design, and
brought on another battle, July 11, in which victory again rested with
the allies. The next operation was to undertake the siege of Lille, one
of the strongest fortresses of France, where the attempt was considered
so impracticable, that it became the subject of general ridicule. It
proved successful, however, in spite of the presence of a superior army,
commanded by the Dukes of Vendôme and Berwick. The prosecution of the
attack was committed to Prince Eugene, while Marlborough remained at the
head of the covering army, which he manœuvred so ably, that the enemy
never found opportunity to venture a battle for the relief of Lille.
Marshal Boufflers, the governor, surrendered the town October 23, after
a gallant resistance of two months, and retired into the citadel, which
he maintained till December 9. Even at that late period of the season
Ghent was besieged, and soon submitted. Bruges followed its example.
“Thus terminated this extraordinary campaign, perhaps one of the most
scientific occurring in the annals of military history. From the
commencement to the close, the confederates had to struggle against a
force far superior in numbers; to attack an army posted in a position
considered as impregnable; to besiege a place of the first magnitude at
the very moment when they were themselves in a manner invested; to open
and maintain their communications in spite of innumerable obstacles,
both of nature and art; and, finally, to reduce, in the depth of winter,
two fortresses, defended by garrisons which in other circumstances would
have been considered as forming an army of no common magnitude.”[4]
Footnote 4:
Coxe. Life of Marlborough.
Discouraged by these reverses, Louis commenced a negotiation for peace;
but the terms demanded by the allies were too hard, and with the return
of spring both parties took the field with larger forces than had yet
been brought together. Tournay, a place of formidable strength, but half
garrisoned and half provided, soon yielded to the arms of the allies.
The siege of Mons was next formed. No effort had been spared by the
French to concentrate their forces against their most formidable enemy;
and they took the field with an army not inferior to that of the allies.
Villars, the most enterprising and successful of the French marshals,
commanded in chief, and the gallant veteran, Marshal Boufflers,
volunteered to serve under Villars, though his junior. A crowd of
generals of minor note, yet well known in the wars of the age, filled
the subordinate commands; and the household troops, the Swiss and Irish
brigades, with others, the flower of the French army, were collected in
the camp. Not less imposing was the army on the other side, commanded by
Marlborough and Eugene, assisted by a train of princes and generals.
Numerically, the two armies seem to have been about equal; and both were
supported by formidable parks of artillery. The spirit of the French
soldiers was high, and Villars undertook to save Mons, at the hazard of
a general engagement, which took place September 11, near the village of
Malplaquet, a few miles south of the besieged town. Villars had spared
no trouble to fortify a post naturally strong; and it was defended with
desperate valour. The attack was commenced by the Dutch on the right of
the enemy’s line, and by Prince Eugene on the left. Little progress was
made on these points, during an obstinate conflict of four hours; but
the centre of the French line was weakened by the demands for
reinforcements to the wings, and the crisis of the battle at length
arrived in a successful attack made upon the centre. Boufflers made a
desperate attempt with his cavalry, whom he led repeatedly to the
charge, to retrieve the fortune of the day, but the progress of the
allies was irresistible. He saw his right wing dislodged, his centre
broken, and at length was compelled to order a retreat, which he
conducted in a masterly manner, and without loss. All the generals
signalised their courage in the hottest of the strife. Villars was
severely wounded, and carried fainting off the field, so that the
command devolved on Boufflers. Eugene was hurt, but refused to quit the
field. Marlborough and Boufflers escaped almost by miracle. The generals
were devotedly served by their officers and troops; and the list of
casualties presents an unusual number of names of the highest ranks. The
official returns of the confederates show a loss of 18,250 men; that of
the French was probably considerably less. Villars asserted that it did
not amount to 6000, and that the loss of the allies was 35,000. In his
anxiety for the honour of his troops, the Marshal said too much; for if
their loss was comparatively so small, they ought never to have been
beaten. Nevertheless, there was some semblance of truth in his
gasconade, that such another victory would destroy the enemy; nor were
the results commensurate in importance with the loss of men. Mons was
taken, and the campaign concluded.
After placing his troops in winter quarters, the Duke, according to his
usual practice, repaired to London. He found his favour on the decline,
and the Whig ministry greatly shaken; and after undergoing many
vexations, and having been on the point of resigning his command, he was
glad to hasten his return to Holland. The most important events of the
campaign of 1710 were the capture of Douay, followed by that of the
smaller fortresses of St. Venant and Aire. The triple line of
fortresses, which protected France on the side of the Netherlands, was
nearly broken through by these successes, and the capture of Arras would
have opened the way to Paris; but the skilful conduct of Villars
rendered it impossible to besiege that town, and checked the progress of
Marlborough, without risking a battle. In the course of the summer the
long-projected change of ministry was completed, and Marlborough, still
retaining the command, was forced to act in concert with his bitter
enemies. His correspondence strongly portrays the mortification which he
felt, and his evil auguries as to the event of the war.
Villars spent the winter in completing a new series of lines, extending
from Namur to the coast near Boulogne, by which he hoped to defend the
interior of France; and, confident in their strength, he boasted that he
had brought Marlborough to his _ne plus ultra_. To get within these
lines was the British general’s first object; and, by a long and
deep-laid series of masterly manœuvres, he fairly outwitted his
antagonist, and passed the works which had cost such labour, without a
shot being fired. This enabled him to take Bouchain, the last operation
of the campaign. Marlborough’s ruin was now determined. He was deprived
of his employments in the beginning of 1712, and the utmost virulence of
party spirit was let loose against him. England therefore became uneasy
to him, and he went abroad in the November following. He returned in
August, 1714, and landed at Dover, just after the Queen’s death. On the
accession of George I. he was treated with respect, and reinstated in
his offices of Captain-general and Master of the Ordnance; but he was
not admitted to take a leading part in the measures of government. In
May, 1716, he was struck by palsy; but he recovered the possession of
his bodily and mental powers, and continued to attend Parliament and
discharge the regular duties of his office. He tendered his resignation,
but the King, out of respect, declined to accept it. From henceforward,
however, we consider his public life as at an end. He died of a fresh
attack of palsy, June 16, 1722, in the 72d year of his age.
It will be observed that we have taken no notice of Marlborough’s
conduct as a negotiator and a statesman, though for a time he was the
master-spring which regulated, with princely power, the operations of
half Europe. Our apology for this must be found in the length of this
memoir: to have entered upon that still more complicated part of the
subject would have doubled it. And if we have omitted to discuss the
various heavy charges made against Marlborough’s character, it is not
that we believe or wish to represent him as a faultless hero, but that
in such a memoir as this it is fairer, and to better purpose, to set
forward the exceeding value of the services which he rendered to his
country, than to expose his failings in a prominent light. And we
believe those charges for which there was any ground to have been
greatly exaggerated by party spirit.
The private character of Marlborough was adorned by many virtues, but
lessened by some weaknesses which laid him very open to the venomed
ridicule of his enemies; we allude to his avarice, and his deference for
his busy and imperious wife. He was prudent, clearsighted, and not
deceived nor led away by his passions; faithful to his domestic, and
diligent in the performance of his religious, duties. In the field he
was humane, sedulous to promote the comfort of his soldiers, and
especially anxious, after battles, to minister all possible help and
relief to the wounded. He was zealous in enforcing respect to the
observances of religion, and in endeavouring to raise the moral
character of his troops. “His camp,” says a biographer who had served in
it, “resembled a great, well-governed city. Cursing and swearing were
seldom heard among the officers; a sot and a drunkard was the object of
scorn; and the poor soldiers, many of them the refuse and dregs of the
nation, became, at the close of one or two campaigns, tractable, civil,
sensible, and clean, and had an air and spirit above the vulgar.”
The Duchess of Marlborough collected ample materials for her husband’s
life, and committed the task of writing it first to Glover, then to
Mallet. Neither of them, however, executed the commission. Ledyard, who
served under the Duke, published a life of him (from which the above
quotation is taken), in three volumes 8vo., in 1736. The latest and the
most important is that of Mr. Coxe. The materials for the Duke’s
military history are abundant, but scattered: they will be found
indicated and referred to in Coxe. His political history will be found
in the histories of the times; and the literature of the age—the works
of Burnet, Swift, Bolingbroke, and others—contain abundant references to
the public and private actions of this great man.
[Illustration:
[Blenheim House.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
ABBÉ DE L’EPÉE.
_From the original by Desine in the possession of the
Abbé Salvan, at Paris._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
DE L’EPÉE.
Among those persons who possess the highest claim to the gratitude of
mankind, that of having devoted their lives, without a selfish motive,
to the alleviation of human misery, the Abbé de l’Epée claims a high and
honourable place. Time, as is usual in cases of real excellence, has
established on a sure basis merits which were at first slowly
acknowledged. Unknown, and unappreciated, this good man lived for many
years in obscurity; and, worse than this, he had to endure intolerance
and persecution during the greater part of his beneficent career. There
exists no memoir worthy of his exalted character. The brilliant genius
of Bouilly has glanced upon his virtues and his talents; the eulogy of
Bébian (himself a living and a worthy successor in the art of teaching
the deaf and dumb) has shed additional lustre on a fame already bright;
but still we have much to desire. Our glimpses of the good Abbé in his
public capacity, and in the retirement which he loved and courted, only
present us with a faint outline of his character,—an outline, however,
which is sufficiently distinct to show that the finished picture would
have been surpassingly beautiful.
* * * * *
Charles Michel de l’Epée was born at Versailles, in November, 1712. His
father was the king’s architect, a man of distinguished talents and
enlightened piety. He devoted himself to the instruction of his
children, and taught them from their earliest years to moderate their
desires, to fear God, and to love their neighbour. Under such a guide,
the docile heart of young De l’Epée imbibed its first feelings of
virtue. The thought of evil was as displeasing as evil itself to his
pure mind, so strictly had he been trained in the love of things
“honest, just, pure, lovely, and of good report.” It is said that when,
at an advanced age, he looked back upon his long career, he did not
remember to have had more than one trial to sustain; and the humility
which adorned his life led him to consider virtue which had been thus
acquired without effort as possessing no merit. The piety which directed
all his actions, and the obedience to the precepts of the gospel which
regulated his will, seemed peculiarly to fit him for the service of the
altar. To this service his early wishes tended, and his parents, who at
first resisted, at length complied with his requests.
He received an education to fit him for the church, but at the
commencement of his career he had to encounter difficulties and
opposition. When he presented himself for admission into the priesthood,
probably as a deacon, according to the established practice of the
diocese of Paris, he was required to sign a formulary of faith. As he
was a Jansenist, and as the form prescribed was contrary to his
principles, he refused to avow by his hand what his conscience
disapproved. Notwithstanding this, he was admitted to the rank of
deacon, but was at the same time told never to pretend to holy orders.
This humble station in the ministry was too humiliating for even this
lowly-minded man. His breast glowed with ardent charity towards mankind
which he longed to put into practice, but which could find no fit sphere
for action in his humble office at the foot of the altar. The
intolerance of those ecclesiastics who stood in the way of his
preferment in the church, obliged him to direct his attention to the
bar, to which his parents had at first destined him; he passed through
the course of prescribed studies, and took the customary oath. In the
practice of the law De l’Epée could find no pleasure. Its scenes of
violence, cunning, and cupidity, its hatreds, divisions, chicanery and
fury, too deeply affected his mild and tranquil spirit. All his wishes
were directed to the service of the altar; his only desire was to be a
minister of the gospel of peace, and at last he was successful.
A nephew of the learned and liberal Bossuet, who seems to have emulated
his uncle in piety and liberality, was at this period the bishop of
Troyes. This good man loved to call around him ecclesiastics of strict
piety. Through his means M. de l’Epée was regained to the church; he was
ordained to the sacred office, and received a canonry in the cathedral
of Troyes. He now devoted himself to the preaching of the gospel; and he
knew how to render pleasing by his example those precepts which
penetrated the hearts of his hearers. Love towards our neighbour was his
predominant theme, and his efforts produced abundant fruits. His
happiness was not of long duration. M. de Bossuet died, and Providence
had decreed new trials for M. de l’Epée. About this time M. de Soanen
was persecuted for holding the religious principles of the Jansenists;
and his friend M. de l’Epée, who held the same opinions as this virtuous
prelate, was included in the same interdiction. Never was there a
devotion less offensive, or a creed more tolerant than that professed by
this worthy man. His eulogist says of him, “He spoke rarely to persons
of a different opinion of the objects of their faith. When he was led
into such subjects, his discussions never degenerated into disputes, he
had the talent of keeping them within the boundary of those agreeable
conversations where confidence reigns.”
Circumstances apparently accidental, which will be related, led M. de
l’Epée to devote himself to the wants of the deaf and dumb. In earlier
times some learned individuals had bestowed some attention upon the
means of educating this unfortunate class of mankind, but they had done
this philosophically rather than practically. One of the first of these
experimenters was Pedro de Ponce, a Benedictine monk of Leon, who lived
between the years 1520 and 1584. Paul Bonet, also a Spaniard, taught
several deaf and dumb persons, and published the first known work on the
subject in 1620. A relation of his success has been left us from the pen
of Sir Kenelm Digby. Bonet’s work was accompanied by a manual alphabet,
from which the one now used on the Continents of Europe and America was
derived. In England, John Bulwer published his “Philocophus, or the Deaf
and Dumb Man’s Friend,” in the year 1648. In 1653 Dr. Wallis appeared as
an author on the same subject; he was succeeded by Dr. Holder, George
Sibscota, and George Dalgarno. The latter published his
“Didascalocophus, or Deaf and Dumb Man’s Tutor,” in 1680. During the
same period the attention of several individuals in various parts of
Europe was directed to a similar object; the most distinguished of whom
was John Conrad Amman, a Swiss physician, who resided at Leyden.
It is not our province here to describe the various methods pointed out
by these scientific philanthropists; we have mentioned their labours
merely with the view of showing that the art was not altogether unknown
to the learned of various countries previous to the time of the Abbé de
l’Epée. France was the last to commence this labour of science and
charity. It has, however, good cause to be proud of its successful
efforts in the great work. It has produced a De l’Epée, a Sicard, a
Bébian, and a De Gerando, all energetic labourers in the same vineyard.
Its disinterested beneficence in our own days has done enough to
perpetuate its name above all nations, in the hearts of those for whom
its exertions have been called forth.
The following incident directed M. de l’Epée’s attention to the great
work which became the leading object of his life. It is said by M.
Bébian that up to this period he possessed no knowledge of the attempts
previously made for the instruction of the deaf, and we shall presently
give the Abbé’s own account of the first works on the art which came
under his notice. Business took him one day to a house where he found
only two young women; they were occupied in needlework which seemed to
engross all their attention. He addressed himself to them; they did not
answer, their eyes continued fixed upon their work. He questioned them
again, and still obtained no answer. At this he was much surprised;
being ignorant that the two sisters were deaf and dumb. The mother
arrived soon after, and explained to him with tears the nature of their
infirmity, and of her sorrow. An ecclesiastic, named Vanin, had
commenced the education of these young persons by means of pictures.
Death having taken away from them this charitable man they remained
without further assistance, no person being willing to continue a task
so difficult, and apparently so uncertain in its results. “Believing,”
says M. de l’Epée, “that these two children would live and die in
ignorance of their religion, if I did not attempt some means of
instructing them, I was touched with compassion, and told the mother
that she might send them daily to my house, and that I would do whatever
I might find possible for them.”
The pictures of Father Vanin he found to be a feeble and unsatisfactory
resource; the apparent successes obtained by means of articulation had
not solidity enough to seduce his philosophical mind. But he had not
forgotten that, at the age of sixteen, in a conversation with his tutor,
who was an excellent metaphysician, the latter had proved to him this
incontestable principle:—that there is no more natural connexion between
metaphysical ideas, and the articulated sounds which strike the ear,
than between these same ideas, and the written characters which strike
the eye. He also recollected that his tutor drew this immediate
conclusion from his premises,—that it was as possible to instruct the
deaf and dumb by writing, always accompanied by visible signs, as to
teach other men by words delivered orally, along with gestures
indicative of their signification. “How little did I then think,” says
M. de l’Epée, “that Providence was thus laying the foundation of the
work for which I was destined!” From that period he devoted himself
exclusively to the work which he had commenced, and while some people
smiled at his endeavours, he found in his occupation his chief
happiness. A respectable minister, after being present at one of his
lessons, said to him, “I formerly pitied you, I now pity you no longer;
you are restoring to society and to religion beings who have been
strangers to both.” The sanguine temperament and zeal of M. de l’Epée
led him into some errors, particularly that very pardonable one of
supposing his pupils to understand more than they really did understand.
His report of their rapid advancement, as compared with the actual
practice of modern times, shows this; but with a less active mind, and
with less zeal, he would never have succeeded in awakening the public
feeling to the important object of his life, and he would never have
overcome the opposition of other teachers, and of minds less generous
than his own.
“One day,” says M. de l’Epée, “a stranger came to our public lesson, and
offering me a Spanish book, he said that it would be a real service to
the owner if I would purchase it. I answered, that as I did not
understand the language it would be totally useless to me: but opening
it casually, what should I see but the manual alphabet of the Spaniards
neatly executed in copper-plate! I wanted no further inducement; I paid
the messenger his demand, and kept the book. I then became impatient for
the conclusion of the lesson; and what was my surprise when I found this
title, _Arte para enseñar à hablar los Mudos!_ I had little difficulty
to guess that this signified _The Art of teaching the Dumb to speak_,
and I immediately resolved to acquire the Spanish language for the
benefit of my pupils.”
Soon after meeting with this work of Bonet, he heard of Amman’s
_Dissertatio de loquelâ Surdorum et Mutorum_, in the library of a
friend. Conducted by the light of these two excellent guides, De l’Epée
continued his task with a success which quite satisfied himself.
It will be well, in the present Memoir, to touch but lightly upon the
disputes which agitated the learned in France and Germany when the
partial success of the Abbé de l’Epée became generally known. We cannot
but give praise to the Abbé for the openness and candour with which he
made known his experience and his views; and if his arguments to prove
the superior excellence of his own method appear unsatisfactory and
inconclusive to the enlarged experience of the present day, such
arguments ought to be viewed as those of a zealous-minded teacher of an
art yet in the first stages of its infancy. Had his antagonist M.
Heinich, the Leipsic teacher, been as communicative respecting his plans
as his liberal opponent, good might have resulted from this learned
warfare; as it was, to the satisfaction of almost everybody, the Abbé de
l’Epée was left master of the field, and received compliments from all
quarters, among which should be especially noted the “Decision” of the
Academy of Zurich in his favour.
The chief fault in the system of the Abbé de l’Epée seems to have
consisted in its being the philosophy of the master, not sufficiently
lowered to the comprehension of the pupil; a common error for
master-minds to fall into. The pupil might mechanically translate
methodical signs into language, without knowing the ideas intended to be
conveyed by such signs and by such language. Has not this always been a
fault among the instructors of youth? Our school books of the present
day contain sufficient evidence of this failing. Before the time of
Pestalozzi it was scarcely dreamed of, that the teacher should exchange
places with the learner; that he should suffer himself to be led by his
pupil to a certain point, in order that he might commence his
superstructure on the foundation already formed; that he should
ascertain the manner in which infantine impressions are received, and
become acquainted with the bent and genius of his pupil, to enable him
to determine upon the best mode of rendering his lessons beneficial, so
as to correct that which is erroneous, and develop that which is hidden.
This is the “true method of instructing the deaf and dumb,” and not less
the true method of instructing children gifted with all their faculties.
If the good Abbé committed only that error, which was common in his
generation, and which is still too common in ours; if he taught words
instead of ideas—what did he less than others? This is the great fault
in all our seminaries of learning.
The number of children under the care of the Abbé de l’Epée was very
considerable. We read in one part of his writings of six hundred and
eight pupils having been at various times under instruction, and this
was written several years before he closed his career of usefulness.
Again we read of upwards of sixty pupils being under his care at one
time. All this was performed _for the poor_, unassisted by any pecuniary
aid except his own patrimony. It is stated that the income which the
Abbé de l’Epée inherited from his father amounted to about 400_l._
sterling; of this sum he allowed about 100_l._ per annum for his own
expenses, and he considered the remainder as the inheritance of his
adopted children,—the indigent deaf and dumb,—to whose use it was
faithfully applied. “The rich,” says he, “only come to my house by
tolerance; it is not to them that I devote myself, it is to the poor;
but for these I should never have undertaken the education of the deaf
and dumb.” There was no kind of privation which he did not impose on
himself for the sake of his pupils. In order to supply their wants he
limited his own. So strictly did he adhere to the appropriation which he
had made of his income, that in the rigorous winter of 1788, when
suffering under the infirmities of age, he denied himself fuel, in order
not to intrench upon the moderate sum to which he confined his annual
expenditure. All the remonstrances of his friends on this point were
fruitless. His housekeeper having observed his rigid restriction, and
doubtless imputing it to its real motive, led into his apartment his
forty pupils, who conjured him to preserve himself for their sakes. He
yielded, not without difficulty, to their persuasions, but afterwards
reproached himself for this concession. Having exceeded his ordinary
expenditure by about 300 livres (about 12_l._), he would afterwards
exclaim in the midst of his pupils, “My poor children, I have wronged
you of a hundred crowns!”
With that liberality which ever characterizes the true friend of
mankind, the good Abbé formed preceptors for many institutions. Germany,
Switzerland, Italy, Spain, Holland, and many other countries
participated in the benefits which were being conferred on the
deaf-mutes of Paris.
It is worthy of remark that two of the most eminent European sovereigns
of that day encouraged the labours of the Abbé de l’Epée—Catherine II.,
Empress of Russia, and Joseph II., Emperor of Germany. In 1780 the
ambassador of Catherine waited upon the Abbé to congratulate him in her
name, and to offer him rich presents from that Empress, who knew well
how to appreciate all that was truly great. “My lord,” said the Abbé, “
I never receive gold; tell her majesty, that if my labours have appeared
to her to claim her esteem, all that I ask is that she will send me a
deaf and dumb person, or a master to be instructed in this art of
teaching.” The Emperor Joseph bestowed a still more flattering notice
upon these labours. After witnessing the success of the Abbé de l’Epée,
he resolved to found in his own dominions an institution so necessary to
the wants of his subjects. During two hours and a half, the
qualifications attainable by the deaf and dumb, when their powers have
been properly developed, were attentively regarded by the Emperor, who
had in his thoughts a young lady of high birth at Vienna in this
deplorable state, whose parents wished to give her a Christian
education. On being consulted as to the measures to be taken for this
end, the Abbé offered either to educate the young lady gratuitously, if
she were brought to Paris; or to instruct any intelligent person, who
might be sent to him, in the method to be pursued. The Emperor accepted
the latter proposal, as it opened the prospect of permanent relief for
others of his subjects who might be in the same affecting circumstances.
On his return to Vienna, he addressed a highly flattering letter to M.
de l’Epée by the Abbé Storch, the person whom he selected for
introducing the education of deaf-mutes into his dominions. The Abbé
Storch is spoken of by the Abbé de l’Epée as “filled with the purest
sacerdotal spirit, and amply endowed with every talent his mission could
require.” A royal institution for deaf-mutes was founded at Vienna,
which was the first national establishment ever erected for the deaf and
dumb.
A subject of painful and anxious interest occupied the thoughts of the
Abbé de l’Epée during his declining years. He had solicited from
government an endowment to perpetuate his institution after his own
death, but he obtained only promises. However, he knew that his art
would exist in Vienna if it should be forgotten at Paris, and this gave
him some consolation. When the Emperor Joseph visited his institution he
expressed his astonishment, that a man so deserving had not obtained at
least an abbey, whose revenues he might apply to the wants of the deaf
and dumb. He offered to ask one for him, or even to give him one in his
own dominions. “I am already old,” said M. de l’Epée: “if your majesty
wishes well to the deaf and dumb, it is not on _my_ head, already
bending to the tomb, that the benefit must fall, it is on the work
itself.”
M. de l’Epée found, however, some feeling hearts in France. Many
masters, taught by him, carried the fruits of his instructions into
different cities in that kingdom, as well as into foreign countries. At
Bordeaux an establishment had been formed by the archbishop, M. de Cicé,
which owed its celebrity to its instructor, the Abbé Sicard, a young
priest who had been sent to learn the theory and the practice of the
method employed by the illustrious teacher at Paris. It is said by De
Gerando, that “the pupil soon became acquainted with his master’s views,
and seized them with enthusiasm.” He was eminently calculated to see
their value. Gifted with a vivid and fertile imagination, he had a
singular ability in clothing abstract notions in sensible forms; he had
a particular talent for that pantomime which is the proper language of
the deaf-mute, and which the Abbé de l’Epée had proposed to carry to a
high degree of developement in his system of methodic signs: endowed
with an enterprising and flexible mind, he would search for and discover
new and various modes of expressing and explaining ideas and precepts.
He appeared to possess a kind of natural talent for communicating with
deaf-mutes.
This was the man who was destined to succeed M. de l’Epée. His talents
and his virtues proved him to be worthy of receiving that inheritance of
glory and of beneficence. His successes filled his master with joy, who,
in the overflowing of his hopes, said to him one day, “Mon ami, j’ai
trouvé le verre, c’est à vous d’en faire les lunettes.” A testimony as
honourable to the modesty of the one, as to the talent of the other.
Sicard was in full possession of his master’s ideas; amply has he
developed and extended them by his own clear and analytical mind.
If the Abbé de l’Epée was not the first inventor of a system for
teaching the deaf and dumb, he was the first who benefited society by
any extensive application of the discovery. We hesitate not to assert
that he was an inventor of great merit, particularly as regards those
details which made the discovery of service to those for whose
instruction it was designed. Previous to his time, it had been discussed
rather as a possible, than as an extensively practicable, art; and the
few persons who had been previously instructed must be viewed more as
the results of experiments to test philosophical principles, than as
pupils regularly and systematically taught.
The Abbé de l’Epée died December 23, 1789. The Abbé Fauchet, preacher to
the king, pronounced his funeral oration; but next to his mute eulogists
in all countries, M. de Bébian and M. Bouilly have been the means of
making known his fame and his merits to the world. From their writings
much of the present Memoir is derived. M. de Seine, a deaf-mute pupil of
the Abbé de l’Epée, wrote the following distich to be placed under the
bust of his benevolent teacher:—
“Il révèle à la fois secrets merveilleux,
De parler par les mains, d’entendre par les yeux.”
[Illustration]
COLBERT.
Jean Baptiste Colbert was born at Rheims, August 29, 1619. His
relations, both on the father’s and on the mother’s side, were connected
with the civil service of the state. This facilitated his entrance into
public life, and may have been the means of directing his mind to the
study of statistics, and of the causes of national wealth and greatness:
for to these abstruse pursuits it appears that he devoted his attention
from an early age. He entered into the service of the Secretary of
State, Tellier, in 1648. Tellier introduced him to the prime minister,
Mazarin, who exercised the authority of a regent during the minority of
Louis XIV.; and having gained the esteem of Mazarin, to whose interests
he remained firmly attached during the stormy period of the Fronde, he
was rewarded, on the minister’s final triumph over his enemies, by an
entire confidence, and an abundant share of lucrative, honourable, and
important employment. Mazarin died in 1661, and on his death-bed
recommended Colbert to his master in these strong terms:—“I owe every
thing to you, Sire; but in presenting Colbert to you, I regard my debt
as in some sort acquitted.”
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
COLBERT.
_From the original by P. Mignard
in the Collection of the Institute at Paris._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
Colbert, in his daily intercourse with the minister, had many
opportunities for explaining and exposing to his youthful master the
malversations and abuses practised in all matters connected with the
revenue. Louis, therefore, was already prepossessed in his favour, and
at once appointed him Intendant of Finance. But Fouquet, the chief
minister of that department, interfered both with Colbert’s hopes of
promotion, and his power of introducing any beneficial reforms. Fouquet
was a patron of art and learning, of generous temper, and agreeable
manners; but he was a corrupt and lavish financier, and his unbounded
expenses were defrayed from the public purse. To attempt reform under
such a superior was hopeless; and to declare open hostility was
dangerous: avoiding both these perils, Colbert made it his business
privately to open the eyes of Louis to the frauds practised on the
government. In this he succeeded. Fouquet was displaced in 1661, and
Colbert succeeded to his functions, with the new title of Comptroller
General of Finance. His conduct in this affair did not escape censure,
and the epithet of traitor was liberally bestowed upon him by the
friends of Fouquet. It is clear that Colbert was right in bringing to
justice the frauds of his predecessor; and it is easier to expose
continued, than to give proof of foregone abuses. But, in such cases as
this, concealment and duplicity are separated by a very uncertain
boundary; and while we hesitate, in the absence of minute information,
to stigmatize with treachery this high-minded and unbending man, we must
confess that his character would have been spared some obloquy, if his
hostility to the rival whom he supplanted had been more open.
In 1669, Colbert, in addition to his other offices, assumed the
functions of Secretary of State and Minister of Marine; but from the
year 1670 his influence declined, in proportion as his rival Louvois
obtained a greater ascendency over the king’s mind. He died, September
6, 1683, unregretted by the king, who owed the means of his greatness to
him; and lampooned and hated by the people, for whose relief he had done
more, both by the correction of abuses, and by opening new sources of
national wealth, than any French minister either before or since.
To estimate his services properly, it must not be forgotten that, since
the time of Sully, no minister had seriously endeavoured to lighten the
public burdens, to reform the system of taxation, or to introduce order
and economy into the public expenditure; and the good which Sully had
done was neglected or undone in the long administrations of Richelieu
and Mazarin. When Colbert came into office, all was in confusion: taxes
were levied without system; money spent without thought how to meet the
expenditure; new taxes imposed and farmed to collectors, as new wants
for money occurred; until disorder reached such a height, that as the
nominal taxes were increased, the money paid into the treasury
diminished. The whole was a system of shifts, temporising, and
corruption, in which every public servant felt the insecurity of his
position, and made the most of his opportunities while they lasted. The
first business of the new Comptroller General was to introduce strict
order into every department of the revenue, and to render every
subordinate officer duly responsible. Under the pernicious system which
exempted the nobility from payment of direct taxes, a great number of
persons had fraudulently assumed titles, and claimed rank, while another
class had obtained immunity from taxation, by the prostitution of
court-favour, or the abuse of official privileges. These cases Colbert
caused to be investigated, and those who failed in making out a legal
claim to immunity, were compelled to pay their share of the public
burdens, to the relief of the labouring classes, on whom nearly the
whole weight of taxation fell. A more extensive relief was afforded by
modifying and diminishing the existing imposts; which was done with so
much judgment, that the revenue was improved, in consequence of the
stimulus thus given to industry. Colbert abolished most of the
provincial tolls, which offered a continual temptation to fraud, and a
constant hinderance to internal trade: he mitigated the _taille_, which
pressed most heavily upon the poor cultivators of the soil: he improved
the means of transport, by altering old roads, cutting new ones, and
digging canals, especially the celebrated Canal of Languedoc, connecting
the Mediterranean and Atlantic. By these facilities of communication the
interests of agriculture and trade were alike promoted: but to the
improvement of the latter, to render France a manufacturing nation, and
to increase her commercial resources in every respect, the minister’s
attention was particularly directed. The silk trade of Lyons; the cloth
trade of Abbeville, Elbœuf, and Louviers; the celebrated Parisian
manufactories of plate-glass and tapestry, with other sources of wealth,
owed their commencement or their extension to his care. To tempt capital
and talent into these new employments, Colbert advanced sums of money
without interest; he granted exemptions, honorary distinctions, and even
letters of nobility. By another regulation, which shows a mind advanced
beyond the prejudices of his day, liberty was granted to the nobility to
enter into commerce, and for a time to lay down their rank; with the
power of resuming it, when the purpose of their temporary industry had
been answered. Thus far the valuable services, and the enlightened views
of the minister, will be acknowledged by all; but when it is added that
the infant manufactures of France were propped by prohibitory laws,
minute regulations, and protecting duties, the agreement ceases; and the
two great parties which respectively support and oppose free trade, will
judge him in accordance to their opinions on this important subject. So
also with respect to another great question, the free or limited
exportation of corn. M. Necker, in his ‘Eloge de Colbert,’ has argued
strongly in favour of the course which the minister pursued, of opening
and shutting the ports by royal edict, as the exigencies of the season
seemed to require; and his authority is entitled to respect, from those
who hesitate to admit the soundness of his arguments on this subject.
But whatever judgment be passed on Colbert’s policy touching these
questions, it should not be forgotten, in estimating his character, that
at the time, political economy had no existence as a science, and that
he had to think out for himself the principles which conduct nations to
wealth and happiness. What wonder then if old prejudices did sometimes
stand in his way, or if he deviated from the straight line to his
object, where there was no track to guide him?
A similar difference of opinion may exist upon another of Colbert’s
measures,—the establishment of trading companies to the East and West
Indies, and to Africa, with exclusive privileges. Here again his policy
has had an able advocate in M. Necker. Under Colbert’s administration,
the colonial possessions of France were extended; fisheries were
encouraged; a new trade was opened with the North of Europe, and a fresh
impulse given to that with the Levant; while the depredations of the
Mediterranean pirates were repressed by arms, the only arguments to
which they have ever listened. The effect of his sedulous attention to
the springs of national wealth, is shortly shown in the comparison given
in the ‘Biographie Universelle,’ of the state of the revenue at the
epochs of Colbert’s accession to office, and of his death. At the
former, there was a debt of 52 millions of livres, and a revenue of 89
millions; at the latter, a debt of 32 millions, while the revenue was
increased to 115 millions: at the former, the disposable revenue was
only 32 millions; at the latter, it amounted to 83; yet the oppressive
_taille_ had been reduced in the interval from 53 millions to 35. And it
is to be remembered, that the operations of the financier were not
assisted by an economical and peaceful monarch: on the contrary, vast
sums were lavished in courtly pomp, and a series of wars was carried on
with vigour and eminent success.
As Minister of Marine, he displayed his usual ability. He raised the
French Fleet from insignificance to hold the second rank in Europe; and
gave scope for the talents of Duquesne, Forbin, Jean Bart, and other
eminent naval men, to display themselves.
Strict in his attention to economy, Colbert never showed a niggardly
disregard to the arts and sciences, which furnish our best and most
intellectual pleasures, and offer the purest incentives for men to
labour in amassing national or individual wealth. France, under his
administration, saw a profuse expenditure in works of public splendour
or utility; and Paris owes to him a large portion of the magnificence
which it now boasts. The Quays, the Boulevards, the Palace of the
Tuileries, the Hotel des Invalides, &c., were improved or constructed
under his care; and the splendid colonnade of the Louvre was designed
and executed by Perrault, a native artist, in preference to the Italian,
Bernini. Colbert was anxious to persuade the king to complete the Louvre
in preference to wasting money on the sandy plains of Versailles. “Your
Majesty knows,” he said, “that in the absence of dazzling actions
nothing so strongly indicates greatness of mind in princes as splendour
in building. While you have spent immense sums in Versailles, you have
neglected the Louvre, which is the grandest palace in the world, and the
one most worthy of your Majesty.” Nor was he careless of more homely
improvements; for the paving, lighting, and watching of the capital were
remodelled, and taken under the charge of government.
To literary and scientific merit, Colbert was a liberal and active
patron. At his instance Louis XIV. granted pensions to the most
distinguished _savans_ of Europe, as well foreigners as Frenchmen; and
though the amount of the gratifications thus conferred was not large, it
was sufficient to make the praises of ‘Le Grand Monarque,’ as of a
second Augustus, ring through Europe. Under his auspices were founded
the Académie des Inscriptions, and the Académie des Sciences; the
Academies of Painting and Sculpture, and the School of Rome, whither the
most promising pupils of the Parisian Academies were sent to complete
their studies. The King’s Library, and the Jardin des Plantes, were
extended; the Observatory of Paris was founded; and the celebrated
astronomers, Cassini and Huygens, were invited thither.
Such is the outline of Colbert’s ministerial life. He accomplished much;
but the will of an opinionated master, and the jealousy of his
ministerial colleagues, especially the celebrated Louvois, compelled him
to leave much undone, which he would gladly have done, and to undo,
before his death, some of the good which he had done. His plans were
deranged by long and expensive wars; and he was obliged to reimpose
taxes which he had taken off, and to yield to abuses which he had at
first successfully resisted. The good which he had done was then
forgotten. He would have escaped much unpopularity by resigning office
as soon as his views were thwarted, and his principles laid aside; but
if he acted from a desire to serve his country by doing for her the best
which was permitted, and mitigating evils which he could not prevent, he
had his reward in the solitude of his closet for the ingratitude of the
public. Yet it is a severe trial for one who has laboured zealously for
his countrymen, to exchange their admiration for their hatred; and that
not because he has himself changed, but because the change of
circumstances has crippled his powers. That courtiers and nobles should
have disliked and persecuted Colbert is no wonder; but it was hard that
he, who had lent his whole mind to the relief of the productive classes,
should have incurred the hate of the people to such a degree, that from
a fear of outrage to his remains, his funeral was celebrated by night,
and under military escort. The readiness with which his services were
forgotten may be ascribed, in part, to his disposition and manners,
which were cold and unconciliating. The king said of him, that in spite
of his long residence at court, he had always preserved the air and
manner of a _bourgeois_; and his piercing eye, his stern and frowning
brow, were calculated to assist the natural austerity of his temper, and
to exact obedience, not to inspire good-will.
The ‘Vies des Hommes Illustres de France,’ by D’Auvigny, is said to
contain a good life of Colbert. The materials of this account are
principally derived from the Eloge of M. Necker, (which obtained the
prize of the Académie Française in 1775,) and partly from the Biographie
Universelle.
[Illustration:
[Interior of the Libraire du Roi, formerly Libraire du Panthéon.]
]
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON.
George Washington was born in February, 1732, on the banks of the river
Potomac, in Virginia. His father dying when he was ten years old, he
received a plain but useful education at the hands of his mother. He
soon manifested a serious and contemplative disposition, and, in his
thirteenth year, drew up a code of regulations for his own guidance, in
which the germs are visible of those high principles which regulated his
conduct in mature life. As a boy, he conceived a liking for the naval
service, but, being dissuaded from this, he qualified himself for the
occupation of a land-surveyor; and, at the age of eighteen, obtained,
through his relation Lord Fairfax, the office of Surveyor of the Western
District of Virginia. This introduced him to the notice of Governor
Dinwiddie, and in the following year he was appointed one of the
Adjutant-Generals of Virginia, with the duty of training the militia.
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Humphreys._
WASHINGTON.
_From a Picture by Gilbert Stewart
in the possession of T. B. Barclay, Esq^r. of Liverpool._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
The boundaries of the British and French possessions in America were at
that time subjects of dispute. In 1753, Washington was sent on a mission
to the French settlement on the Ohio, which he executed successfully;
and, on his return, published a journal of his route, which attracted
much notice. In the following year he was less fortunate, being taken
prisoner with his party, while in command of an expedition against the
French. Being allowed to return home, he withdrew from the service and
went to reside at Mount Vernon, an estate which descended to him on the
death of an elder brother. In 1755, he accepted the rank of Aide-de-camp
to General Braddock, and was present at the surprise of the British in
the woods near the Monongahela, where his coolness, courage, and
knowledge of Indian warfare, chiefly contributed to the preservation of
a handful of the troops. He escaped unhurt, but had three horses killed
under him, and his dress was four times pierced with rifle-balls. Having
gained much credit by his conduct on this occasion, Washington was next
employed to defend the western frontier against the incursions of the
French and Indians. He concluded this harassing service at the end of
four years, by reducing Fort du Quesne, and driving the French beyond
the Ohio, and then resigned his commission.
After his return to Mount Vernon, in 1759, Washington married; and
during the next fourteen years, his time was divided between his duties
as a member of the Colonial Assembly, and agricultural pursuits, in
which he took great interest. The disputes which preceded the Revolution
again drew him from private life. He maintained that the Americans were
entitled to all the rights of British subjects, and could not be taxed
by a legislature in which they were not represented; and he recommended
that, on the failure of peaceful and constitutional resistance, recourse
should be had to arms. In 1774, the command of the troops raised by
Virginia was given to him; and in 1775, he represented that State in the
Convention held at Philadelphia. When the war began, Washington was
chosen Commander-in-Chief of the American Army, an office which he
accepted without remuneration, saying, that emolument would not have
tempted him to forego the pleasures of private life, and that he should
only require to have his expenses reimbursed. His private letters have
since proved, that his object, at that time, was not to procure
separation from England; but his alacrity in entering into the contest,
and his constancy throughout its continuance, refute the insinuation,
only countenanced by certain forged letters, that he was not hearty in
the cause of independence.
About fourteen thousand people were at this time collected around
Boston, where General Gage was held in a state of siege. Washington
reached the insurgent camp in July, 1775, and proceeded to give to the
assembled multitude the form and discipline of a regular force. His next
endeavours were to extend the period for which men enlisting were
obliged to serve, and to ensure the maintenance of the troops by
appointing a Commissary-General to collect supplies, instead of
depending for them on the voluntary and uncertain contributions of the
several States. Neither of these wishes was complied with, and the want
of every requisite obliged Washington to change the siege into a
blockade, until the following March, when, having obtained artillery and
engineers, he forced the English to give up the town and embark on board
their fleet. His conduct during this siege is admirable, both for the
resolution with which he maintained the blockade with an inferior army
composed of untried men, and the patience with which he endured the
reproaches of the people, to whom the real difficulties of his
situation, with respect to arms and ammunition, could not be disclosed.
He also established the principle, that captured Americans should be
treated as prisoners of war.
In April, 1776, Washington anticipated the British in occupying New
York, and the adjacent islands. Before the arrival of Lord Howe, in
July, independence was proclaimed; and the American general refused to
negotiate unless acknowledged as the functionary of an independent
government, saying, that America, being her own mistress, and having
committed no fault, needed no pardon. A severe defeat on Long Island,
and subsequent losses, compelled him to abandon the State of New York to
the English, to retreat with great loss through New Jersey, and to take
shelter behind the Delaware, near Philadelphia. He showed much skill in
preventing the British from taking advantage of these reverses, which he
sought to repair by surprising their posts at Trenton and Princetown, in
Jersey, where he made many hundred prisoners. These successes were well
timed, and revived the broken spirit of the country. In 1777, Washington
applied to Congress for more extensive powers, which were granted him,
with the title of Dictator, by which he was empowered to act on his own
responsibility in all military affairs. But he was not supplied with the
means of acting effectually; and the campaign of that year was one of
misfortunes, the Americans being defeated at Brandywine, and forced to
yield Philadelphia to the English. During the winter months Washington
occupied a fortified camp at Valley Forge, and his army, ill-supplied
with ammunition and provisions, was daily in danger of being destroyed
by hunger or the enemy. He freely expressed his opinion to Congress of
their misconduct, and his remarks occasioned a faction which desired to
displace him from his command, and to substitute General Gates; but this
was never seriously attempted. The campaign of 1778 was favourable to
Washington; he recovered Philadelphia, and following Clinton in his
retreat through New Jersey, brought him to action at Monmouth. The issue
of this engagement gave new confidence to the people, and completely
restored him to the good will of Congress. During the years 1779 and
1780, the war was actively carried on in the South, and Carolina and
Virginia were reduced by the British. In the autumn of 1780, Major
André, who had been sent by Clinton to concert with Arnold measures for
betraying the post at West Point, was seized within the American lines,
and tried and hanged as a spy. Whatever were the merits or misfortunes
of the British officer, the duty of Washington was too plain to be
mistaken, and the obloquy he incurred in its performance was undeserved.
Washington had throughout contended that the country could only be
delivered by raising a permanent army, and consolidating the union of
the States, so as to form a vigorous government. Five years’ experience
had taught Congress the inefficiency of temporary armies, and they
resolved to form a permanent one with a system of half-pay and pensions,
as an inducement to enter the service. But as the government of each
State was empowered to levy its own taxes, and conduct all the measures
for carrying this resolve into effect, such delay was occasioned, that
although Count Rochambeau arrived from France in August, 1780, with an
auxiliary force of five thousand men, the American army could not
actively co-operate with him during that year. The temporizing policy
pursued by the States had severely tried the constancy of Washington,
but did not lead him to despair of final success. The army, suffering
extreme want, was kept in the field chiefly by attachment to his person.
Attentive to alleviate their hardships, he did not permit any disorderly
license; and although early in 1781 he allowed Congress to pacify the
revolted troops, he, on a second occasion, shortly after, forcibly
compelled the mutineers to submit, and summarily tried and executed many
of them.
The pecuniary aid of France, and increased activity of the American
Government, enabled Washington to resume offensive measures in the
summer of 1781. Earl Cornwallis, then in Virginia, and but feebly
opposed by La Fayette, sent a part of his army to strengthen Clinton in
New York. Shortly after, De Grasse arrived off the coast of Virginia
with a French fleet. Washington took advantage of this conjuncture to
transfer the war to the South. Deceiving Clinton as to his real design,
he marched rapidly through New Jersey and Maryland, and, embarking his
army on the Chesapeake, effected a junction at Williamsburgh with La
Fayette. By the combined operation of their forces, assisted by the
fleet under De Grasse, Lord Cornwallis was compelled to surrender at
York Town, with his whole force, October 19, after a siege of thirteen
days. This event decided the war; but Washington remained watchful to
preserve the advantages gained, and to provide for future contingencies,
until 1783, when a general peace was concluded.
Washington then prepared to resume his station as a private citizen. The
army had become disaffected towards the States, and appeared not
unwilling to subvert the freedom of their country, if the general had
sought his own aggrandizement. But he nobly rejected all such schemes,
and persuaded the soldiers to return home, and trust to the assurance of
Congress for the discharge of the arrears due to them. Having publicly
taken leave of his officers, he repaired to Annapolis, and, December 23,
1783, appeared in Congress, and resigned his commission. He also
presented the account of his receipts and expenditure during the late
war, the items of which were entered in his own handwriting. His
expenditure amounted to 19,306_l._, and it subsequently appeared that he
had applied considerable sums of his own to the public service, which he
neglected to claim. He asked no favour or reward for himself, except
that his letters should be free from postage, but he strongly
recommended to Congress the claims of his late army. Having delivered a
farewell address to Congress, and forwarded one of a like character to
the government of each State, pointing out the advantages they at
present possessed, and giving his advice as to the future conduct of
their affairs, he retired to Mount Vernon to enjoy the pleasures of
private life. But although the next two years were passed in retirement,
the mind of Washington was actively directed to public affairs. Beside
maintaining a correspondence with the most eminent men, as well in
Europe as in his own country, he was engaged in various projects to
promote the agricultural and commercial interests of his native State.
Under his direction, companies were formed to improve the navigation of
the rivers James and Potomac, thus making Virginia the trading mart of
the Western States. A number of shares in the James River Company, which
were presented to him in 1785 by the legislature of Virginia, he
employed in founding the college in Virginia, now called by his name.
His deference to the popular feelings and prejudices on the subject of
liberty, was shown in his conduct with regard to the Cincinnati, a
military society of which he was President, instituted to commemorate
the occurrences of the late war. An outcry was raised that the honours
conferred by this society being hereditary, a titled order would be
created in the State. Washington therefore prevailed on the members to
annul the obnoxious regulations, and to agree that the society should
cease at the termination of their lives.
The want of union amongst the States, and the incapacity of the
government, engaged the attention of every able man in America, and more
especially interested Washington, who desired to witness the
establishment of a great republic. The principal defect of the existing
government was, that no acts of Congress in forming commercial treaties,
borrowing money, or introducing national regulations, were binding on
the individual States, each of which pursued its own interests, without
showing any disposition to redeem the engagements of the government with
the public creditors, either at home or abroad. Washington’s principles
were democratic; but he was opposed to those who contended for the
absolute independence of the individual States, being convinced that
each must sacrifice a portion of its liberty for the security of the
whole, and that, without an energetic central government, the
confederation would be insignificant. His representations to the
Congress and the individual States, backed by the increasing distress of
the country, at length brought about the Convention of Philadelphia,
which met in May, 1787, and having chosen Washington President,
continued sitting until September; when the federal constitution was
finally decided on, and was submitted to the States for their approval.
Having acquitted himself of this duty, Washington retired to private
life until March, 1789, when he was elected President of the United
States. He had used no exertion to obtain this distinction, which his
impaired health and love of retirement rendered unsuitable to him: he,
however, accepted it, and his journey to New York was one continued
triumph. April 30, he took the oaths prescribed by the constitution, and
delivered his inaugural address, in which he dwelt most fully on his own
reasons for again entering on public life, and on the duties incumbent
upon members of the Congress. He declared that he would receive no
remuneration for his services, and required that a stated sum should be
allowed for defraying the expenses of his office.
The President of the Union being a new political personage, it became
requisite to establish certain observances of etiquette towards him.
Washington’s arrangements in this respect were sufficiently simple, yet
they excited jealousy, as savouring of regal and courtly customs. The
restriction placed on the admission of idle visitors, who hourly
intruded on him, caused much offence, and became the subject of
remonstrance, even from intelligent men. One of the first acts of
Washington’s administration was to empower the legislature to become
responsible for the general debt of the States, and to levy taxes for
the punctual discharge of the interest upon it. The operation of the new
government was in every respect satisfactory, its beneficial influence
being apparent in the increasing prosperity of the country; and before
the end of the second year’s presidency, Rhode Island and North
Carolina, which at first were dissentient, desired to participate in the
benefits of the Union, and were admitted as members. In 1790, Washington
concluded a treaty with the hostile Indians on the Southern frontier;
but the war which he directed against the Indians on the North Western
frontier was unfortunate, the American forces sustaining three severe
defeats. Upon the whole, however, the period of his first Presidency
passed over prosperously and tranquilly. He was annoyed by occasional
differences in his cabinet, and by the discontent of the anti-federal
party; but being supported by John Adams, Hamilton, and other able men,
his government suffered no real embarrassment.
In 1792, as he possessed the general confidence of the people, he was
unanimously re-elected President; and in March, 1793, again took the
oaths of office. The French Revolution was hailed with joy by the
Americans, among whom an almost universal wish prevailed, to assist in
establishing, as they thought, true freedom in Europe. But Washington
perceived that the real interests of his country required peace. He
acknowledged the Government of the French Republic, and sent an
ambassador to Paris; but declared his resolution to adopt a strict
neutrality in the contest between France and the allied powers of
Europe. Still the enthusiasm in favour of the French continued to
increase; and, at the instigation of M. Genet, envoy from Paris,
privateers were armed in the American ports, and sent to cruise against
the British. Washington promptly suppressed this practice; and the
conduct of Genet having been intemperate and insolent towards the
President, and calculated to produce serious disturbance in the States,
he took the requisite steps for having him recalled. The determination
of the President to preserve peace was not the only ground of popular
discontent. The imposition of excise taxes, as they were termed by the
people, excited serious murmurings; and, in 1794, a general rising took
place in Pennsylvania, which was put down without bloodshed by a
vigorous display of force, and the principals, after being condemned to
death, were pardoned. The ferment among the people made a war with
England seemingly unavoidable. Washington, at this juncture, appointed
Mr. Jay envoy to England, with full powers to conclude a treaty, in
which all points then at issue between the two nations should be
adjusted. With the concurrence of the Senate he ratified this treaty,
regardless of the outcry raised against it; and subsequently upheld the
authority of the President, in refusing to permit the House of
Representatives to revise the articles it contained. The people soon
perceived that the advantages to be derived from the contentions in
Europe made it impolitic for their own country to become a party to
them, and confidence and good will towards the President were in a great
measure restored. These favourable dispositions were confirmed by the
termination of a successful war against the Indians, and by a treaty
with Spain, by which the navigation of the Mississippi to the Ocean was
secured to the Americans.
Among the acts which immediately proceeded from Washington during his
Presidency, were those for forming a fund to pay off the national debt,
and for organizing the militia of the country. He was active and
assiduous in his duties as chief magistrate, making tours through the
States, and ascertaining the progressive improvement in each, and the
means which would most tend to increase it. The limited powers conferred
on the President prevented his effecting so much as he desired, and the
public measures originating from him were but few. He declined being
nominated a third time to the office of President, and on his retirement
published an address to the people of the United States, in which, after
remarking on the condition and prospects of the country, he insisted on
the necessity of cementing the Union of the States, and upholding the
supremacy of the Federal Government; he also advised them never to admit
the influence of foreign powers, and to reap benefit from the quarrels
amongst the States of Europe, by remaining at peace with all.
Washington passed the rest of his days at Mount Vernon, engaged in the
society of his friends, and in the improvement of his estate. He was for
several years a member of the British Agricultural Association; and the
efforts he made to form a similar society in America, and his letters to
Sir John Sinclair, (a fac simile copy of which is deposited in the
British Museum,) show the interest he took in agricultural affairs. He
died December 13, 1799, in his sixty-eighth year, after a few days’
illness, and was buried at Mount Vernon. He left no family. Congress
suspended its sitting on receiving the intelligence of his death, and a
public mourning was ordered for him.
In person, Washington was robust, and above the middle height. He was
thoughtful and reserved, without being repulsive; and his manners were
those of the old school of English gentlemen. Although mild and humane,
he was stern in the performance of duty, and never, upon such occasions,
yielded to softness or compassion. His speeches and official letters are
simple and earnest, but wanting perhaps in that conciseness which marks
vigour of thought. Whilst President, he was assailed by the violence of
party spirit. On his decease his worth was justly appreciated, and the
sorrow at his loss was universal and sincere. Washington was
distinguished less by the brilliancy of his talents than by his moral
goodness, sound judgment, and plain but excellent understanding. His
admirable use of those sterling, though homely qualities has gained a
rank for him among the greatest and best of men; and his name will be
co-existent, as it was co-eval, with that of the empire, of which, no
less by his rare civil wisdom than his eminent military talents, he may
be considered the founder.
The virtues which distinguish him from all others who have united the
fame of statesman and captain, were two-fold, and they are as great as
they are rare. He refused power which his own merit had placed within
his reach, constantly persisting in the preference of a republican to a
monarchical form of government, as the most congenial to liberty when it
is not incompatible with the habits of the people and the circumstances
of society; and he even declined to continue longer than his years
seemed to permit at the head of that commonwealth which he had founded.
This subjugation of all ambitious feelings to the paramount sense of
duty is his first excellence; it is the sacrifice of his own
aggrandizement to his country’s freedom. The next is like unto it; his
constant love of peace when placed at the head of affairs: this was the
sacrifice of the worthless glory which ordinary men prize the most, to
the tranquillity and happiness of mankind. Wherefore to all ages and in
all climes, they who most love public virtue will hold in eternal
remembrance the name of George Washington; never pronouncing it but with
gratitude and awe, as designating a mortal removed above the ordinary
lot of human frailty.
The words of his last will in bequeathing his sword to his nephews—the
sword which he had worn in the sacred war of liberty—ought to be graven
in letters of gold over every palace in the world: “This sword they
shall never draw but in defence of freedom, or of their country, or of
their kindred; and when thus drawn, they shall prefer falling with it in
their hands to the relinquishment thereof.”
For farther information we refer to the works of Ramsay and Marshall;
and to the Correspondence of Washington, published by Mr. Sparkes.
[Illustration:
[Statue by Canova in the Capitol at Washington.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by E. Scriven._
MURILLO.
_From the original Picture by Himself
in the Private Collection of the King of the French._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
MURILLO.
The Spanish school may be said to hold a middle place between the
schools of Italy and Flanders. The most natural and the most indigenous
style it can boast is, unquestionably, that of Murillo, who was never
out of Spain; and although it is true that he formed his manner, in a
great degree, from the study of Ribera and Vandyck, the principles of
those painters are so different, that it would be difficult to recognise
either model in a union of the two. But Murillo superadded much that was
his own, and much that was immediately, and somewhat too
indiscriminately, derived from the observation of nature. The artists of
the school of Seville, of which Murillo is the chief, were generally
called _naturalistas_, as opposed to those who followed the Italian
purity of taste in design, invention, and imitation. Although it is
hardly safe to class all the professors of one province under a
particular designation, the earlier school of Valencia may be considered
the rival of the _naturalistas_: its Italian character is to be traced
from Vincent Juanes, who was compared by Palomino to Raffaelle; in
Ribalta, a work by whom, it is said, was mistaken in Rome for a
performance of Raffaelle’s; in Jacinto Gerónimo di Espinosa, by Cean
Bermudez called a second Domenichino; and in Pedro Orrente and Luis
Tristan, who imitated Bassano and Titian. The appearance in Italy of the
fac-similists and _tenebrosi_ (corresponding with the Spanish
_naturalistas_, with whom they are connected by Ribera’s imitation of
Caravaggio) is considered, with some reason, to have hastened the
decline of painting in that country; in Spain and Flanders, on the other
hand, the art which had before been a feeble or mannered imitation of
the best Italian works, then only began to be great when the style of
the _naturalistas_ was introduced. The practice of the Sevillian
painters in copying objects of still life as a preparatory study, was
probably derived from the Netherlands, and this style again, which was
ominous of degradation and decay in Italy, was the cause of much of the
excellence of the Andalusian painters. The taste of these painters, in
short, was for individual nature; a taste which was in some degree, and
in spite of themselves, corrected by their being almost exclusively
employed in painting for churches. The arts in Spain, from their
earliest introduction, have been devoted to religion; nor is it to be
wondered that this should be the case in a country which seems to have
considered itself in an especial manner the representative of
Catholicism, a natural consequence, perhaps, of its defending the
outposts of Christendom from the infidels. The representation of the
human figure is strictly forbidden by the Koran, and there can be no
doubt that the spirit of opposition was manifested in this point, as in
every other, by the antagonists of the Moors. The conquest of Granada at
the close of the fifteenth century happens to correspond with the
beginning of the great æra of art in Italy, but the demand for
altar-pieces in Spain, before and after that time, is proved by a
constant influx of Italian, Flemish, and even German painters; a fact
which is commonly explained by the wealth which flowed or was expected
to flow into the country by the discovery of America about the same
period. However this may be, so late as the seventeenth century, when
painting may be supposed at length to have been appreciated for itself,
and to have been applied to the ends of general cultivation, as the
handmaid of history and poetry, it is a curious fact that neither
Roelas, Castillo, nor Murillo, not to mention earlier names, ever
painted a mythologic or merely historic subject. From the sublimest
mysteries of the church, and from themes demanding more than ordinary
elevation, the Sevillian painters turned with eagerness to the homely
materials of modern miracles, and from these descended only to indulge
their fondness for indiscriminate imitation. The pictures of Beggar Boys
by which Murillo is perhaps most known in this country, come under the
class of subjects and display the mode of treatment which a school of
mere copyists of nature would prefer. Some works of this kind, however,
attributed to Murillo, and possessing great merit, are said, with
probability, to be the work of Nuñez de Villavicencio, his pupil. It
was, however, precisely such studies as these, which enabled Murillo and
his contemporaries to infuse into their religious subjects that powerful
reality which was among the means of naturalizing the art in Spain, and
which thus produced a new style, uniting sometimes the dignity of the
Italian School with the truth and vivacity of Flemish imitation.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo is supposed by the writers who follow
Palomino, among whom Cumberland is one, to have been born at Pilas, a
town five leagues west of Seville, in the year 1613; but the discovery
of the memorial of his baptism in Seville, with every proof of identity,
shows that he was born in that city, January 1, 1618. His early fondness
for drawing induced his parents to place him with Juan del Castillo, a
designer of some merit, although not remarkable as a colourist. The
gentle manners and good education of Murillo soon recommended him to his
master, who appears to have preferred him to his other scholars, among
whom were Pedro de Moya, and Alonzo Cano; but this preference did not
exempt the favourite from the servile offices of grinding colours,
preparing canvasses, and all the mechanical preparations which the
Spanish painters considered an essential part of an artist’s education.
It appears that the schools of Seville generally were deficient in casts
from the antique: and in investigating the structure of the human frame,
the studies of the artists were chiefly limited to an anatomical figure
by Becerra, a sculptor who had returned to Spain early in the sixteenth
century, from the school of M. Angelo. The living model was, however,
constantly referred to, and the fellow-students of Murillo were in the
habit of sitting to each other for portions of figures that were wanted,
when they could not afford to pay hired models. It was also the custom
of the schools to study drapery arranged on the mannequin, or
lay-figure, by the master. It was more usual to paint than to draw from
the figures, but no student was permitted to copy the model thus till he
had attained dexterity with the brush by imitating objects of still
life: a practice which accounts for the number of well-painted Spanish
pictures of this class. Such pictures, often representing eatables with
kitchen utensils, are known by the general name of _Bodegones_. Herrera
el Mozo was called by the Italians “Lo spagnuolo de’ pesci,” from his
skill in painting fish, and Pedro de Camprobin equalled the best masters
in fruit and flowers. Velasquez and Murillo, it is said, acquired their
power of execution from their early practice in this kind of imitation.
The mode of copying the human figure was dictated by these preliminary
studies; freedom of hand, a disdain of minuteness more than compensated
by powerful effects, indifference as to selection, and consequently, a
very moderate degree of beauty of form, distinguish the Spanish
_naturalistas_. About the time Murillo began his career, the school of
Seville was rapidly advancing under the influence of four distinguished
masters and teachers of the art, Herrera the elder, or, to give him his
Spanish appellation, Herrera el viejo, Pacheco, (under both of whom
Velasquez studied), Roelas, and Castillo. The greatest emulation existed
among their respective scholars; and in all public works in which the
latter competed, the credit of the master was considered at stake as
well as their own.
Murillo soon distinguished himself in the school of Castillo; his first
commissions from public bodies were a Madonna del Rosario, with St.
Domingo, painted for the college of Santo Tomas; and a Virgin, with St.
Francis and other saints, for the convent of “la Regina.” In these works
the artist followed, in some degree, the style of Castillo. His master
having removed to Cadiz, the young painter remained without
recommendation and without employment, and was compelled to do coarse
altar-pictures and saints for the _feria_, or market, which was held
once a week in the parish “Omnium Sanctorum,” and which seems to have
been chiefly devoted to the commerce with South America. The paintings
offered in this market, or fair, for sale, were generally the work of
the most inferior artists, and the expression “pintura de feria” is
still proverbially applied to pictures of the lowest class. Such was the
rapidity with which these works were done, that it appears it was not
uncommon for the artist to produce his saint while the purchaser was
cheapening the bargain, and the Spanish writer, whose authority is
chiefly followed in this memoir, goes so far as to say, that a San
Onofre was presently transformed to a San Cristobal, or a Virgen del
Carmen to a San Antonio, or even to the representation of the Souls in
Purgatory. Better artists, however, occasionally condescended to paint
such pictures, and with some augmentation of price; but even the worst
performers were known, in some instances, to acquire such dexterity by
this work, that very little additional study in the regular schools
converted them into respectable artists. This singular mode of attaining
mechanical facility must therefore be reckoned among the causes which
influenced the executive style of the Sevillian painters; and Murillo,
among others, no doubt benefited by his practice in the _feria_.
A circumstance occurred about the same time which had great influence on
his life. His fellow-student, Pedro de Moya, who had accompanied the
army to Flanders, conceived a great admiration for the works of Vandyck,
and went to London to study under the Flemish painter, where he soon
formed a style bearing a strong resemblance to that of his master. On
the death of Vandyck, Moya returned to Seville, where he presently
attracted the attention of his former companions by the accurate, yet
powerful manner of painting which he had acquired. To Murillo the style
was so new, that he determined at once to go either to Flanders or
Italy, to perfect himself in the art. It was at this moment that he felt
his poverty to be a serious misfortune; but, not dismayed by
difficulties, he set to work afresh for his South American and West
Indian patrons, and having saved a small sum of money, without
communicating his intentions to any one, and without even taking leave
of his sister, whom he left with an uncle, he quitted Seville for
Madrid, with the intention of proceeding to Italy, at the age of
twenty-four. On his arrival at the capital, he naturally waited on Diego
Velasquez, who was a native of Seville and had received his professional
education there; he was at this time first painter to the king (Philip
IV.). To this distinguished artist Murillo opened his desire to visit
Italy, and begged some letters of introduction for Rome. Velasquez
received him with kindness, promised him assistance, and made him most
liberal offers for his immediate advantage. Meanwhile the desire of the
young painter to see the best specimens of the art was in a great
measure gratified under the auspices of his new friend, by his
inspection of the pictures in the Royal Palace, at Buen Retiro, and in
the Escorial. He immediately expressed a wish to make copies of some of
these works, and while Velasquez accompanied the King to Aragon, in the
year 1642, Murillo copied some pictures by Vandyck, Spagnoleto, and
Velasquez himself. These copies were shown to the King on his return by
Velasquez, and were admired by all the court. The disgrace of the
minister Olivarez, in 1643, was deeply felt by Velasquez, to whom the
Count Duke had been a generous patron; and although it did not diminish
the esteem in which the King held the painter, this circumstance seems
first to have disgusted Murillo with Madrid. On the return of Velasquez
from Zaragosa, in 1644, he was astonished at the progress of his
scholar, and finding him sufficiently advanced to profit by a visit to
Italy, he offered to procure for him letters of recommendation and other
assistance from the King himself. Murillo had, however, already
determined to return to Seville, influenced either by domestic
considerations, or by having already satisfied the wish which first
urged him to leave his native city. Velasquez regretted this resolution,
imagining that the young painter would have arrived at still greater
perfection if he could have studied for a time in Rome.
The first works done by Murillo after his return to Seville in 1645 were
the pictures of the convent of San Francisco. The building was destroyed
by fire in 1810, but several of the paintings are now in the collection
of Marshal Soult. In the pictures of San Francisco, Cean Bermudez
recognises an imitation of Vandyck, Ribera, and Velasquez, the three
painters whom Murillo chiefly studied while at Madrid. His new works
excited general attention; so little had he been known before he left
Seville, and so studious and retired had been his habits, that his
absence had scarcely been noticed, and his re-appearance with so
masterly a style of painting astonished his fellow-citizens. The fame of
Herrera, Pacheco, and Zurbaran, was at once eclipsed, and he was
universally acknowledged the first painter of the Sevillian School. The
obscurity in which he had lived before his visit to Madrid was now
exchanged for the most flattering attentions of the powerful and
wealthy, and many of the chief citizens wished to have their portraits
done by him. Meanwhile he painted the Flight into Egypt, in the church
de la Merced, which has been attributed to Velasquez, and other works
now no longer in Spain. In 1648, he married Doña Beatriz de Cabrera y
Sotomayor, a lady of birth and some fortune, a native of Pilas, from
which circumstance, perhaps, originated the mistake of Palomino in
assigning that town as the birth-place of her husband. A change in his
manner of painting, adopted, as Cean Bermudez asserts, to please the
public, is observable soon after this period. It succeeded in pleasing
all parties, for the new manner was extolled even by the warmest
admirers of the previous performances of the master. The works of
Murillo may be divided into three distinct styles: the first,
necessarily very different from his subsequent manner, is to be sought
in the specimens which date before his departure for Madrid; the second,
is that which he acquired in the capital, and is exemplified by the
works above-mentioned, done immediately after his return; the third
manner dates from about 1650, and the first public work which may be
cited as illustrating it, is an Immaculate Conception (a subject often
treated by the Spanish painters) in the convent of San Francisco,
painted in 1652.
The latter and characteristic style of Murillo may be generally
described as possessing more suavity, and softer transitions of light
and shade, than that of the _naturalistas_ of his time. It is
remarkable, besides, for a general harmony of hues; for considerable,
but by no means uniform, softness of contour; for simplicity and
propriety of attitude and expression; for physiognomies, if not always
distinguished by beauty or refinement, yet interesting from a certain
character of purity and goodness; for free yet well-arranged drapery;
for a force of light on the principal objects, and, above all, for
surprising truth in the colour of the flesh, heightened by an almost
constant opposition of dark-grey backgrounds. The two pictures of St.
Leander and St. Isidore, in the sacristy of the Cathedral, were done in
1655. In the same year Murillo painted the Nativity of the Virgin, now
in the Cathedral; and in 1656 the great picture of St. Antony of Padua,
the altar-piece of the Baptistery of the same church: the picture of the
Baptism of Christ in the same _Retablo_, or architectural frame, is also
by Murillo, but by no means equal to the St. Antony. The four half
circles, formerly in the church of Santa Maria la Blanca, belong to the
same time, as well as a _Dolorosa_, and St. John the Evangelist, done
for the same church. In 1658 Murillo undertook, without any aid from the
government, to establish a public academy in Seville; and, after great
difficulties, owing to the imperious temper of his rivals Juan de Valdes
Leal and Francisco de Herrera el Mozo, who was just returned from Italy,
he succeeded in his object, and the academy was opened in 1660. Murillo
was the first president, but, from whatever cause, he was not re-elected
to that office after the first year: the multitude of his occupations
is, however, the most probable reason to be assigned for this. Although
the best Spanish painters, such as Velasquez, Murillo, Zurbaran, and
others, arrived at the excellence they attained without an early
acquaintance with the antique, there being, as we have seen, no casts
from the Greek statues in the private schools of Seville, yet, on the
establishment of a public academy, it might be supposed that it would
have been furnished with the best examples of form. Such, however, does
not appear to have been the case: except a few drawings by the
professors, which were copied by mere beginners, there were, it seems,
no other models than the living figure and the draped mannequin; and
when once admitted to copy from the life, the students were in the habit
of confining their practice to painting, without considering that of
drawing at all essential. This method of instruction was peculiar to the
Academy of Seville, as distinguished from other similar establishments
in Spain; and it is evident that the object was to follow up the method
which had already been sufficient by itself to render the school
illustrious. It may be observed that the study of drapery in this school
had the effect, to a certain extent, of ennobling the style of the
painters; and they were perhaps led to pay attention to this branch of
the art, from so often witnessing the fine effect of drapery in the
dresses of the religious orders. Sir Joshua Reynolds has somewhere
justly observed, that a grand cast of drapery is sometimes of itself
sufficient to give an air of dignity to a picture.
About 1668, Murillo began the celebrated series in the Hospital de San
Jorge, or de la Caridad, whence came several of the pictures now in the
possession of Marshal Soult. Among those that remain, the most
remarkable and most copious compositions, are the Moses striking the
Rock, and the miracle of the Loaves and Fishes. The Prodigal Son,
Abraham receiving the Angels, the Pool of Bethesda, and the Deliverance
of Peter from Prison are now in Paris; they are all excellent specimens
of the master. The Picture of San Juan de Dios bearing an infirm
mendicant, is celebrated for its strength of effect, and has been
compared, and even attributed, to Spagnoleto. Another composition, now
in Madrid, representing Santa Isabel curing the diseased poor, a
wonderful specimen of imitation, was the greatest favourite of the
series with the common people, when in its original place, owing,
perhaps, to the very familiar and disgusting details of the subject; it
was generally known by the name of el Tiñoso, from the principal figure,
a boy whose sore head the Saint is dressing. The habit of copying to
illusion the merest accidents of nature without distinction, naturally
led the Spanish painters to all the deformities that can be excused by
the epithet “picturesque.” The details of the picture just mentioned
would be loathsome, even in words, yet other Sevillian painters went
beyond it; and Murillo himself, on seeing a picture in which some dead
bodies are painted with repulsive reality by Juan de Valdes, in the
church of the Caridad, observed to that artist, that “it could only be
looked at while holding the nostrils.”
Cean Bermudez remarks of the Tiñoso, that the figure of the Queen Santa
Isabel (whom by the way he makes a Queen of Portugal in one of his works
and a Queen of Hungary in another) is equal to Vandyck; the face of the
boy illuminated by the reflection of a basin of water, worthy of Paul
Veronese; and an old woman and a mendicant unbinding his leg, as fine as
Velasquez. He concludes by asserting, that if instead of the numbers of
copies, good, bad, and indifferent, that have been made from all the
pictures of the Caridad, a series of accurate engravings after them had
been executed, these compositions would be as much celebrated and
admired as those of the best Italian painters. The pictures of the
Caridad were finished in 1674. The Capuchin Convent is another vast
gallery of the fine works of Murillo. Without reckoning smaller pieces,
there are twenty pictures by his hand in the convent with figures the
size of life. Among these one is said to have obtained the especial
preference of the painter himself; the subject is Santo Tomas di
Villanueva distributing alms. In the Nativity, Murillo has followed the
artifice of Correggio, by making the light emanate from the infant: this
picture is one of the best of the series. The Annunciation is remarkable
for the beauty and dignity of the Angel, and for the graceful humility
of the Virgin. Three pictures, done for the Hospital de los Venerables,
about 1678, are mentioned by the author already quoted as admirable
performances: among them the Penitence of St. Peter is described as
surpassing the same subject by Ribera, and an Immaculate Conception as
superior in colour and admirable management of light and shade to every
similar composition by the artist himself. In the refectory of the
convent is the portrait of Don Justino Neve, by whom Murillo was
employed to paint the pictures just mentioned; his biographer says it is
in all respects equal to Vandyck. The altar pictures of the Convent of
San Agustin, and a long list of single figures of saints, some larger
than life, together with many portraits of superiors of religious
orders, scarcely complete the catalogue of Murillo’s public works in
Seville, and it would be too long to enumerate those which exist in
other parts of Spain. The pictures which he executed for private
collections were almost equally numerous, and his biographer asserts,
that at the beginning of the last century there was scarcely a house of
respectability in Seville that was not ornamented with some work of his.
They began to disappear when Philip V. and his court visited the city.
Many were presented or sold to the noblemen and ambassadors who
accompanied the king, and are now in galleries of Madrid and other
cities of Europe. Since that time, however, several of the principal
families have made their pictures heir-looms, and thus guarded, as far
as possible, against a further dispersion of their countryman’s works.
Murillo’s last work was the altar-piece of the Capuchins, at Cadiz,
representing the Marriage of St. Catherine. While employed on this
picture he fell from the scaffold; and a serious malady, which was the
consequence, compelled him to return to Seville, where he soon after
died, April 3, 1682. He was buried in a chapel of the Church of Santa
Cruz. It was to this chapel he was in the habit of going to contemplate
Campana’s picture of the Descent from the Cross; and shortly before his
death, being asked by the sacristan, who wanted to shut the church, why
he lingered there, he answered, “I am only waiting till these holy men
shall have taken down the Lord from the Cross.” The picture of the
marriage of St. Catherine was finished by Francisco Menéses Osorio, one
of the eleven scholars of Murillo enumerated by Cean Bermudez.
The short account of Murillo, in Cumberland’s “Anecdotes of eminent
Painters in Spain,” is taken from the incorrect but amusing “Parnaso
Español pintoresco laureado” of Palomino. A very good general and
concise history of the Spanish school (though containing several errors
of the press in dates), with an interesting list, not to be found
elsewhere, of the early pictures of Murillo, is contained in the Foreign
Quarterly Review, No. 26. There are, probably, no other English works on
the subject, except in a Dictionary of Spanish Painters, not yet
complete, and the incidental notices in books of travels. The foregoing
account is chiefly taken from a Letter by Cean Bermudez, “Sobre el
estilo y gusto en la Pintura de la Escuela Sevillana, &c. Cadiz, 1806,”
published subsequently to his “Diccionario Histórico de los mas ilustres
profesores de las Bellas Artes en España, Madrid, 1800,” which has also
been consulted.
[Illustration:
[Holy Family of Murillo.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by E. Mackenzie._
CERVANTES.
_After the Spanish Print, engraved by D. F. Selma._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
CERVANTES.
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra was baptized October 9, 1547, at Alcalà de
Henares, a town of New Castile, not far from Madrid. The exact date of
his birth does not appear; and even the locality of it has been disputed
by several towns, as the Grecian cities contended for the honour due to
the birth-place of Homer. Sprung from noble, but not wealthy parents, he
was sent at an early age to the metropolis, to qualify himself for one
or other of the only lucrative professions in Spain, the church, the
law, or medicine; but his attention was diverted from this object by a
strong propensity to writing verses. Juan Lopez de Hoyos, a teacher of
some note, under whom he studied ancient and modern literature, thought
Cervantes the most promising of his pupils; and inserted an elegy, and
other verses of his favourite’s composition, in an account of the
funeral of Queen Isabel, wife of Philip II., published in 1569. These,
like the greater number of Cervantes’ early poems, which are very
numerous, do not rise above mediocrity; though the author, who was a
long time in discovering that his real talent lay in prose writing,
seems to have thought otherwise. He was an indefatigable reader, and
used to stop before the book-stalls in the street, perusing anything
that attracted his attention. In this manner he gained that intimate
knowledge of the old literature of his country, which is displayed in
his works; especially in the “Canto de Caliope,” the “Escrutinio de la
libreria de Don Quixote,” and the “Viage al Parnaso.” Thus he spent his
time, reading and writing verses, seemingly heedless of his future
subsistence, until the pressure of want, and the ill success of his
poetry, drove him to quit Spain, and seek his fortune elsewhere. He went
to Rome, and entered the service of Cardinal Giulio Acquaviva; but soon
after enlisted as a private in the armament which Pope Pius V. fitted
out in 1570 for the relief of Cyprus, then attacked by the Turks. In
1571 he fought in the famous battle of Lepanto, when the combined
squadrons of the Christian powers, commanded by Don Juan of Austria,
defeated and destroyed the Ottoman fleet. On that memorable day
Cervantes received a gun-shot wound, which for life deprived him of the
use of his left hand. Far however from repining, the generous Spaniard
always expressed his joyfulness at having purchased the honour of
sharing in that victory at that price. The wounded were landed at
Messina, and Cervantes among them. Having recovered his health, he
enlisted in the troops of Naples, then subject to the crown of Spain. In
1575, as he was voyaging to Spain, the vessel was taken by corsairs; and
being carried to Algiers, Cervantes became a slave to Dali Mami, an
Albanian renegade, notorious for cruelty. The high-spirited Spaniard
bent all his energies to effect an escape; and contrived to get out of
the city of Algiers, and conceal himself in a cave by the sea-coast,
near a garden belonging to a renegade, named Hassan, whose gardener and
another slave were in the secret. He was there joined by several
Christian prisoners; and the party remained in the cave for several
months, hoping that the opportune arrival of some vessel might deliver
them from their anxious duress. At last a ransomed captive, a native of
Majorca and friend of Cervantes, left Algiers, and returning to his
country, fitted out a vessel, with the intention of releasing his
countrymen. He arrived off the coast in the night, and was on the point
of landing near the entrance of the cave, when some Moors, who were
passing by, spied him, and raised the alarm, on which the vessel stood
out again to sea. One of Hassan’s two servants next day went to the Dey,
and, in hopes of a reward, informed him that fifteen Christians were
concealed in the cave. They were immediately seized and loaded with
chains. Cervantes, who appeared the leader, was closely questioned by
the Dey himself, whether he had any accomplices in the city. He answered
steadily, that the scheme had been planned and carried on by himself
alone. After this examination, he was returned to his master. Nothing
disheartened, he devised other means of escape, which likewise failed;
until at last he conceived the daring scheme of organising a general
rising of the Christian slaves in Algiers, and taking forcible
possession of the town. But by the cowardice of some of them, the plot
was betrayed; and Cervantes was again seized, and carried to the prison
of the Dey, who declared that his capital and his ships were not safe
“unless he kept himself a close watch over the crippled Spaniard.” So
earnest was he in this feeling, that he even purchased Cervantes from
his master, and kept him confined in irons; but he did not otherwise ill
treat the prisoner, partly, perhaps, out of respect for so brave a man,
partly in the hope of obtaining a high ransom for him. Father Haëdo, in
his “Topografia de Argel,” gives an account of Cervantes’ captivity, and
of the repeated attempts which he made to escape. Meantime his widowed
mother and his sister in Spain had not forgotten him, and they
contrived, in the year 1579, to raise a sum of 300 ducats, which they
delivered to two monks of the order of Trinity, or Mercy, who were
proceeding to Algiers for the ransom of slaves. In 1580 they arrived,
and treated with the Dey for Cervantes’ ransom, which, after an
extravagant sum had been demanded, was settled at 500 golden scudi. The
good fathers made up the deficiency in the sum they had been intrusted
with; and at last, in September of that year, Cervantes found himself
free. Early in the following year he returned to Spain. Having met
nothing but misfortunes and disappointment in his endeavours to make his
fortune in the world, he now determined to return to his literary
pursuits. In 1584 he published his “Galatea,” a pastoral novel. At the
end of that year he married Doña Catalina Palacios de Salazar, a lady of
ancient family, of the town of Esquivias. This marriage, however, does
not seem to have much improved his fortune, for he began soon after to
write for the stage as a means of supporting himself. In the next five
years he composed between twenty and thirty plays, which were performed
at Madrid, and, it would seem, most of them with success. A few are
still remembered, namely, “Los Tratos de Argel,” in which he describes
the scenes of Algerine captivity; “La Destruccion de Numancia,” and “La
Batalla Naval.” He ceased to write for the stage about 1590, when Lope
de Vega was rising into reputation. After this he lived several years at
Seville, where he had some wealthy relatives, and where he appears to
have been employed as a commercial agent. He was at Seville in 1598, at
the time when Philip II. died. The pompous preparations for the funeral,
the gorgeous hearse and pall, and the bombastic admiration of the people
of Seville at their own magnificence on the occasion, excited the grave
and sober Castilian’s vein of irony, and he ridiculed the boastful
Andalusians in a sonnet which became celebrated, and which begins
Voto à Dios que me espanta esta grandeza.
“I declare to God that all this magnificence quite overwhelms me,” &c.
He has also given an amusing account of the peculiar character, taste,
and habits of the Sevillians in one of his tales, “Rinconete y
Cortadillo,” in which he describes the several classes of the
inhabitants of that city, which is the second in Spain, and, in many
respects, offers a strong contrast to Madrid. It was in one of his
journeys between these two cities that he resided some time in the
province of La Mancha, which he has rendered famous by his great work.
He examined attentively both the country and the people; he saw the cave
of Montesinos, the Lagunas de Ruydera, the plain of Montiel, Puerto
Lapice, the Batanas, and other places which he has described in Don
Quixote. Being intrusted with some commission or warrant for recovering
certain arrears of tithe due from the village of Argamasilla to the
Prior of St. John of Consuegra, he incurred the hostility of the
villagers, who disputed his powers, and threw him into prison; and he
seems to have remained in confinement for some time, as during that
period he imagined and sketched the first part of Don Quixote, as he
himself has stated in the preface. He fixed upon this village of
Argamasilla as the native place of his hero, without however mentioning
its name, “which,” he says at the beginning of the book, “I have no
particular wish to remember.” After this occurrence, we find Cervantes
living with his family at Valladolid in 1604–5, while Philip III. and
his court were residing there. There is a document among the records of
the prison of that city, from which it appears that, in June 1605,
Cervantes was taken up on suspicion of being concerned in a night brawl
which took place near his house, and in which a knight of Santiago was
mortally wounded. The wounded man came to the house in which Cervantes
lived, and was helped up-stairs by one of the other lodgers whom he
knew, assisted by Cervantes, who had come out at the noise. The
magistrate arrested several of the inmates of the house, which contained
five different families, living in as many sets of chambers on the
different floors. From the examinations taken it appears that Cervantes,
his wife and daughter, his widowed sister and her daughter, his half
sister, who was a _monja_, or domestic nun, and a female servant,
occupied apartments on the first floor; and that Cervantes was in the
habit of being visited by several gentlemen, both on commercial business
and on account of his literary merit. Cervantes was honourably
acquitted; as the wounded man, before he died, acknowledged that he had
received the fatal blow from an unknown stranger, who insolently
obstructed his passage, upon which they drew their swords. Soon
afterwards, in 1605, the first part of Don Quixote appeared at Madrid,
whither Cervantes probably removed after the court left Valladolid. It
seems at once to have become popular; for four editions were published
in the course of the year. But it was assailed with abuse by the
fanatical admirers of tales of chivalry, by several dramatic and other
poets unfavourably alluded to, and also by some of the partisans of Lope
de Vega, who thought that Cervantes had not done justice to their idol.
Cervantes did not publish anything for seven years after the appearance
of the first part of Don Quixote. He seems to have spent this long
period in studious retirement at Madrid: he had by this time given up
all expectations of court favour or patronage, which it would appear
that he at one time entertained. Philip III., although remarkably fond
of Don Quixote, the perusal of which was one of the few things that
could draw a smile from his melancholy countenance, was not a patron of
literature, and he thought not of inquiring after the circumstances of
the writer who had afforded him some moments of innocent gratification.
Cervantes, however, gained two friends among the powerful of the time,
Don Pedro de Castro, Count de Lemos, and Don Bernardo de Sandoval,
Archbishop of Toledo. To the first he was introduced by his friends, the
two brothers and poets Argensola, who were attached to the household and
enjoyed the confidence of the Count. In 1610, when De Lemos went as
Viceroy to Naples, Cervantes expected to go with him; but he was
disappointed; and he attributed his failure to the coldness and neglect
with which his application to that effect was treated by the Argensolas.
It is certain, however, that he received from the Count de Lemos some
substantial marks of favour, and among them a pension for the remainder
of his life. To this nobleman Cervantes dedicated the second part of his
Don Quixote, and other works, with strong expressions of gratitude. The
Spanish biographers say also that he received assistance in money from
the Archbishop of Toledo. These benefactions, added to his wife’s little
property at Esquivias and the remains of his own small patrimony, kept
him above absolute want, though evidently in a state of penury.
In 1613 he published his “Novelas Exemplares,” or moral tales. They have
always been much esteemed, both for the purity of the language and for
the descriptions of life and character which they contain.
In 1614 Cervantes published his “Viage al Parnaso,” in which he passes
in review the poets of former ages, as well as his contemporaries, and
discusses their merits. While rendering justice to the Argensolas, he
alludes to the above-mentioned disappointment which they had caused him.
He complains of his own poverty with poetical exaggeration, and styles
himself “the Adam of poets.” He next sold eight of his plays to the
bookseller Villaroël, who printed them; after observing, however, that
Cervantes’ prose was much better relished by the public than his poetry,
a judgment which has been generally confirmed by critics. These plays
were dedicated to the Count de Lemos, whom he tells that he was
preparing to bring out Don Quixote armed and spurred once more.
Cervantes had then nearly finished the second part of his immortal work;
but before he had time to send it to press, there appeared a spurious
continuation of the Don Quixote, the author of which, apparently an
Aragonese, assumed the fictitious name of Avellaneda. It was published
at Tarragona towards the end of 1614. It is very inferior in style to
the original, which it strives to imitate. The writer was not only
guilty of plagiarisms from the first part of Cervantes’ work, already
published, but he evidently pirated several incidents from the second
part, which was still in MS., and to which, by some means or other, he
must have found access. At the same time, he scruples not to lavish
vulgar abuse on Cervantes, ridiculing him for the lameness which an
honourable wound had entailed upon him, and for his other misfortunes.
This disgraceful production was deservedly lashed by the injured author
in the second part of Don Quixote, which was published in 1615, and
received with universal applause. His fame now stood at the highest, and
distinguished strangers arriving at Madrid were eager to be introduced
to him. His pecuniary circumstances, however, remained at the same low
ebb as before. The Count de Lemos, who was still at Naples, appears to
have been his principal friend.
In October, 1615, Cervantes felt the first attacks of dropsy. He bore
the slow progress of this oppressive disease with his usual serenity of
mind; and occupied himself in preparing for the press his last
production, “Persiles y Sigismunda,” an elegant imitation of
Heliodorus’s Ethiopian story. The last action of his life was to dictate
the affecting dedication of this work to the Count de Lemos. He died
without much struggle, April 23, 1616, in his sixty-ninth year. It is a
singular coincidence, that Spain and England should have lost on the
same day of the same year the peculiar glory of their national
literature: for this was the day upon which Shakspeare died. By his will
he appointed his wife and a friend as his executors, and requested to be
buried in the monastery of the Trinitarios, the good fathers who had
released him from captivity. After the custom of pious Spaniards, he had
inscribed himself as a brother of the third order of St. Francis, and in
the dress of that order he was carried to his grave. No monument was
raised to his memory. The house in which he died was in the Calle (or
street) de Leon, where the Royal Asylum now stands.
Cervantes’ great work is too generally known to require criticism. It is
one of those few productions which immortalize the literature and
language to which they belong. The interest excited by such a work never
dies, for it is interwoven with the very nature of man. The particular
circumstances which led Cervantes to the conception of Don Quixote have
long ceased to exist. Books of chivalry have been forgotten, and their
influence has died away; but Quixotism, under some form or another,
remains a characteristic of the human mind in all ages: man is still the
dupe of fictions and of his own imagination, and it is for this, that,
in reading the story of the aberrations of the Knight of La Mancha, and
of the mishaps that befell him in his attempt to redress all the wrongs
of the world, we cannot help applying the moral of the tale to incidents
that pass every day before our own eyes, and to trace similarities
between Cervantes’ hero and some of our living acquaintances.
The contrast between the lofty, spiritual, single-minded knight, and his
credulous, simple, yet shrewd, and earth-seeking squire, is an unfailing
source of amusement to the reader. It has been disputed which of the two
characters, Don Quixote or Sancho, is most skilfully drawn, and best
supported through the story. They are both excellent, both suited to
each other. The contrast also between the style of the work and the
object of it affords another rich vein of mirth. Cervantes’ object was
to extirpate by ridicule the whole race of turgid and servile imitators
of the older chivalrous tales; which had become a real nuisance in his
time, and exercised a very pernicious effect on the minds and taste of
the Spaniards. The perusal of those extravagant compositions was the
chief pastime of people of every condition; and even clever men
acknowledged that they had wasted whole years in this unprofitable
occupation, which had spoiled their taste and perverted their
imaginations so much, that they could not for a long time after take up
a book of real history or science without a feeling of weariness.
Cervantes was well acquainted with the nature and the effects of the
disease: he had himself employed much time in such pursuits, and he
resolved to prepare a remedy for the public mind. That his example has
been taken as a precedent by vulgar and grovelling persons, for the
purpose of ridiculing all elevation of sentiment, all enthusiasm and
sense of honour, forms no just ground of censure on Cervantes, who waged
war against that which was false and improbable, and not against that
which is noble and natural in the human mind. Nature and truth have
their sublimity, which Cervantes understood and respected.
The best Spanish editions of Don Quixote are that of the Spanish
Academy, in four vols. 4to., 1788; the edition by Don Juan Antonio
Pellicer, with a good life of Cervantes, five vols. 8vo., 1798; and the
edition by Don Martin F. de Navarrete, five vols. 8vo., 1819. The
edition published by the Rev. J. Bowle, six volumes in three, 4to.
London, 1781, contains a valuable commentary, explanatory of idioms,
proverbs, &c. Of the English translations, the oldest by Skelton is
still much esteemed; there are also versions by Motteux, Jarvis, and
Smollet. A new translation was made for the splendid London edition of
1818, four vols. 4to., enriched with engravings from pictures by Smirke.
Le Sage translated Don Quixote into French; but with omissions and
interpolations which render this a very unfaithful version.
Next to Don Quixote, Cervantes’ best works are his ‘Novelas.’ They have
been translated into English. The language of Cervantes is pure
Castilian, and is esteemed by learned Spaniards to be one of the best
models for prose composition.
Don Agustin Garcia de Arrieta published in 1814 an inedited comic novel
of Cervantes, styled ‘La Tia Fingida,’ or ‘The Feigned Aunt,’ to which
he added a dissertation on the spirit of Cervantes and his works. The
best biographers of Cervantes are Pellicer and Navarrete, already
mentioned.
[Illustration:
[Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. From one of a series of designs by
Vanderbanck.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by E. Scriven._
FREDERICK II.
_From the original by Carlo Vanloo
in the Private Collection of the King of the French._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
FREDERIC II.
The celebrated King of Prussia was in no respect indebted for his
personal greatness to the virtues or example of his immediate
progenitors. His grandfather Frederic I., the first of the House of
Brandenburg who assumed the title of King, was a weak and empty prince,
whose character was taken by his own wife to exemplify the idea of
infinite littleness. His father, Frederic William, was a man of a
violent and brutal disposition, eccentric and intemperate, whose
principal, and almost sole pleasure and pursuit, was the training and
daily superintendence of an army disproportionately greater than the
extent of his dominions seemed to warrant. It is however to the credit
of Frederic William as a ruler, that, notwithstanding this expensive
taste, his finances on the whole were well and economically
administered; so that on his death he left a quiet and happy, though not
wealthy country, a treasure of nine millions of crowns, amounting to
more than a year’s revenue, and a well-disciplined army of 76,000 men.
Thus on his accession, Frederic II. (or as, in consequence of the
ambiguity of his father’s name, he is sometimes called, Frederic III.)
found, ready prepared, men and money, the instruments of war; and for
this alone was he indebted to his father. He was born January 24, 1712.
From Frederic William, parental tenderness was not to be expected. His
treatment of his whole family, wife and children, was brutal: but he
showed a particular antipathy to his eldest son, from the age of
fourteen upwards, for which no reason can be assigned, except that the
young prince manifested a taste for literature, and preferred books and
music to the routine of military exercises. From this age, his life was
embittered by continual contradiction, insult, and even personal
violence. In 1730, he endeavoured to escape by flight from his father’s
control: but this intention being revealed, he was arrested, tried as a
deserter, and condemned to death by an obedient court-martial; and the
sentence, to all appearance, would have been carried into effect, had it
not been for the interference of the Emperor of Germany, Charles VI. of
Austria. The king yielded to his urgent entreaties, but with much
reluctance, saying, “Austria will some day perceive what a serpent she
warms in her bosom.” In 1732, Frederic procured a remission of this ill
treatment by contracting, much against his will, a marriage with
Elizabeth Christina, a princess of the house of Brunswick. Domestic
happiness he neither sought nor found; for it appears that he never
lived with his wife. Her endowments, mental and personal, were not such
as to win the affections of so fastidious a man, but her moral qualities
and conduct are highly commended; and, except in the resolute avoidance
of her society, her husband through life treated her with high respect.
From the time of his marriage to his accession, Frederic resided at
Rheinsberg, a village some leagues north-east of Berlin. In 1734, he
made his first campaign with Prince Eugene, but without displaying, or
finding opportunity to display, the military talents by which he was
distinguished in after-life. From 1732 however to 1740, his time was
principally devoted to literary amusements and society. Several of his
published works were written during this period, and among them the
‘Anti-Machiavel’ and ‘Considerations on the Character of Charles XII.:’
he also devoted some portion of his time to the study of tactics. His
favourite companions were chiefly Frenchmen: and for French manners,
language, cookery and philosophy, he displayed through life a very
decided preference.
The early part of Frederic’s life gave little promise of his future
energy as a soldier and statesman. The flute, embroidered clothes, and
the composition of indifferent French verses, seemed to occupy the
attention of the young dilettante. His accession to the throne, May 31,
1740, called his dormant energies at once into action. He assumed the
entire direction of government, charging himself with those minute and
daily duties which princes generally commit to their ministers. To
discharge the multiplicity of business which thus devolved on him, he
laid down strict rules for the regulation of his time and employments,
to which, except when on active service, he scrupulously adhered. Until
an advanced period of life he always rose at four o’clock in the
morning; and he bestowed but a few minutes on his dress, in respect of
which he was careless, even to slovenliness. But peaceful employments
did not satisfy his active mind. His father, content with the possession
of a powerful army, had never used it as an instrument of conquest:
Frederic, in the first year of his reign, undertook to wrest from
Austria the province of Silesia. On that country, which, from its
adjoining situation, was a most desirable acquisition to the Prussian
dominions, it appears that he had some hereditary claims, to the
assertion of which the time was favourable. At the death of Charles VI.,
in October 1740, the hereditary dominions of Austria devolved on a young
female, the afterwards celebrated Maria Theresa. Trusting to her
weakness, Frederic at once marched an army into Silesia. The people,
being chiefly Protestants, were ill affected to their Austrian rulers,
and the greater part of the country, except the fortresses, fell without
a battle into the King of Prussia’s possession. In the following
campaign, April 10, 1741, was fought the battle of Molwitz, which
requires mention, because in this engagement, the first in which he
commanded, Frederic displayed neither the skill nor the courage which
the whole of his subsequent life proved him really to possess. It was
said that he took shelter in a windmill, and this gave rise to the
sarcasm, that at Molwitz the King of Prussia had covered himself with
glory and with flour. The Prussians however remained masters of the
field. In the autumn of the same year they advanced within two days’
march of Vienna; and it was in this extremity of distress, that Maria
Theresa made her celebrated and affecting appeal to the Diet of Hungary.
A train of reverses, summed up by the decisive battle of Czaslaw, fought
May 17, 1742, in which Frederic displayed both courage and conduct,
induced Austria to consent to the treaty of Breslaw, concluded in the
same summer, by which Silesia, with the exception of a small district,
was ceded to Prussia, of which kingdom it has ever since continued to
form a part.
But though Prussia for a time enjoyed peace, the state of European
politics was far from settled, and Frederic’s time was much occupied by
foreign diplomacy, as well as by the internal improvements which always
were the favourite objects of his solicitude. The rapid rise of Prussia
was not regarded with indifference by other powers. The Austrian
government was inveterately hostile, from offended pride, as well as
from a sense of injury; Saxony took part with Austria; Russia, if not an
open enemy, was always a suspicious and unfriendly neighbour; and George
II. of England, the King of Prussia’s uncle, both feared and disliked
his nephew. Under these circumstances, upon the formation of the triple
alliance between Austria, England, and Sardinia, Frederic concluded a
treaty with France and the Elector of Bavaria, who had succeeded Charles
VI. as Emperor of Germany; and anticipated the designs of Austria upon
Silesia, by marching into Bohemia in August, 1744. During two campaigns
the war was continued to the advantage of the Prussians, who, under the
command of Frederic in person, gained two signal victories with inferior
numbers, at Hohenfriedberg and Soor. At the end of December, 1745, he
found himself in possession of Dresden, the capital of Saxony, and in
condition to dictate terms of peace to Austria and Saxony, by which
Silesia was again recognised as part of the Prussian dominions.
Five years were thus spent in acquiring and maintaining possession of
this important province. The next ten years of Frederic II.’s life
passed in profound peace. During this period he applied himself
diligently and successfully to recruit his army, and renovate the
drained resources of Prussia. His habits of life were singularly
uniform. He resided chiefly at Potsdam, apportioning his time and his
employments with methodical exactness; and, by this strict attention to
method, he was enabled to exercise a minute superintendence over every
branch of government, without estranging himself from social pleasures,
or abandoning his literary pursuits. After the peace of Dresden he
commenced his ‘Histoire de mon Temps,’ which, in addition to the history
of his own wars in Silesia, contains a general account of European
politics. About the same period he wrote his ‘Memoirs of the House of
Brandenburg,’ the best of his historical works. He maintained an active
correspondence with Voltaire, and others of the most distinguished men
of Europe. He established, or rather restored, the Academy of Sciences
of Berlin, and was eager to enrol eminent foreigners among its members,
and to induce them to resort to his capital; and the names of Voltaire,
Euler, Maupertuis, La Grange, and others of less note, testify his
success. But his avowed contempt for the German, and admiration of the
French literature and language, in which all the transactions of the
Society were carried on, gave an exotic character to the institution,
and crippled the national benefits which might have been expected to
arise from it. In 1751, after a considerable expenditure of flattery,
Frederic induced Voltaire to take up his residence at Potsdam. From this
step he anticipated much pleasure and advantage, and for a time every
thing appeared to proceed according to his wishes. The social suppers in
which he loved to indulge after the labours of the day, were enlivened
by the poet’s brilliant talents; and the poet’s gratitude for the royal
friendship and condescension was manifested in his assiduous correction
of the royal writings. For a time each was delighted with the other; but
the mutual regard which these two singular characters had conceived was
soon dissipated upon closer acquaintance, and after many undignified
quarrels, they parted in the spring of 1753 in a manner discreditable to
both. In the cause of education Frederic was active, both by favouring
the universities, to which he sought to secure the services of the best
professors, and by the establishment of schools wherever the
circumstances of the neighbourhood rendered it desirable. It is said
that he sometimes founded as many as sixty schools in a single year.
This period of his reign is also marked by the commencement of that
revision of the Prussian law (a confused and corrupt mixture of Roman
and Saxon jurisprudence) which led to the substitution of an entirely
new code. In this important business the Chancellor Cocceii took the
lead; but the system established by him underwent considerable
alterations from time to time, and at last was remodelled in 1781. For
the particular merits or imperfections of the code, the lawyers who drew
it up are answerable, rather than the monarch; but the latter possesses
the high honour of having proved himself, in this and other instances,
sincerely desirous to assure to his subjects a pure and ready
administration of justice. Sometimes this desire, joined to a certain
love and habit of personal inquiry into all things, led the king to a
meddling and mischievous interference with the course of justice, as in
the instance of the miller Arnold, which probably is familiar to most
readers; but in all cases his intention seems to have been pure, and his
conduct proves him sincere in the injunction to his judges:—“If a suit
arises between me and one of my subjects, and the case is a doubtful
one, you should always decide against me.” If, as in the celebrated
imprisonment of Baron Trenck, he chose to perform an arbitrary action,
he did it openly, not by tampering with courts of justice: but these
despotic measures were not frequent, and few countries have ever enjoyed
a fuller practical license of speech and printing, than Prussia under a
simply despotic form of government, administered by a prince naturally
of impetuous passions and stern and unforgiving temper. That temper,
however, was kept admirably within bounds, and seldom suffered to appear
in civil affairs. His code is remarkable for the abolition of torture,
and the toleration granted to all religions. The latter enactment,
however, required no great share of liberality from Frederic, who avowed
his indifference to all religions alike. In criminal cases he was
opposed to severe punishments, and was always strongly averse to
shedding blood. To his subjects, both in person and by letter, he was
always accessible, and to the peasantry in particular he displayed
paternal kindness, patience, and condescension. But, on the other hand,
his military system was frightfully severe, both in its usual discipline
and in its punishments. Numbers of soldiers deserted, or put an end to
their lives, or committed crimes that they might be given up to justice.
Yet his kindness and familiarity in the field, and his fearless exposure
of his own person, endeared him exceedingly to his soldiers, and many
pleasing anecdotes, honourable to both parties, are preserved,
especially during the campaigns of the Seven Years’ War.
During this peace Austria had recruited her strength, and with it her
inveterate hostility to Prussia; and it became known to Frederic that a
secret agreement for the conquest and partition of his territories
existed between Austria, Russia, and Saxony. The circumstances of the
times were such that, though neither France nor England were cordially
disposed towards him, it was yet open to him to negotiate an alliance
with either. Frederic chose that of England; and France, forgetting
ancient enmities, and her obvious political interest, immediately took
part with Austria. The odds of force apparently were overwhelming; but,
having made up his mind, the King of Prussia displayed his usual
promptitude. He demanded an explanation of the views of the court of
Vienna, and, on receiving an unsatisfactory answer, signified that he
considered it a declaration of war. Knowing that the court of Saxony,
contrary to existing treaties, was secretly engaged in the league
against him, he marched an army into the electorate in August, 1756,
and, almost unopposed, took military possession of it. He thus turned
the enemy’s resources against himself, and drew from that unfortunate
country continual supplies of men and money, without which he could
scarcely have supported the protracted struggle which ensued, and which
is celebrated under the title of the Seven Years’ War. The events of
this war, however interesting to a military student, are singularly
unfit for concise narration, and that from the very circumstances which
displayed the King of Prussia’s talents to most advantage. Attacked on
every side, compelled to hasten from the pursuit of a beaten, to make
head in some other quarter against a threatening enemy, the activity,
vigilance, and indomitable resolution of Frederic must strike all those
who read these campaigns at length, and with the necessary help of maps
and plans, though his profound tactical skill and readiness in
emergencies may be fully appreciable only by the learned. But when these
complicated events are reduced to a bare list of marches and
countermarches, victories and defeats, the spirit vanishes, and a mere
_caput mortuum_ remains. The war being necessarily defensive, Frederic
could seldom carry the seat of action into an enemy’s country. The
Prussian dominions were subject to continual ravage, and that country,
as well as Saxony, paid a heavy price that the possession of Silesia
might be decided between two rival sovereigns. Upon the whole, the first
campaigns were favourable to Prussia; but the confessed superiority of
that power in respect of generals (for the King was admirably supported
by Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, Prince Henry of Prussia, Schwerin,
Keith, and others) could not always countervail the great superiority of
force with which it had to contend. The celebrated victory won by the
Prussians at Prague, May 6, 1757, was balanced by a severe defeat at
Kolin, the result, as Frederic confesses, of his own rashness; but, at
the end of autumn, he retrieved the reverses of the summer, by the
brilliant victories of Rosbach, and Leuthen or Lissa. In 1758,
Frederic’s contempt of his enemy lulled him into a false security, in
consequence of which he was surprised and defeated at Hochkirchen. But
the campaigns of 1759 and 1760 were a succession of disasters by which
Prussia was reduced to the verge of ruin; and it appears, from
Frederic’s correspondence, that, in the autumn of the latter year, his
reverses led him to contemplate suicide, in preference to consenting to
what he thought dishonourable terms of peace. The next campaign was
bloody and indecisive; and in the following year the secession of Russia
and France induced Austria, then much exhausted, to consent to a peace,
by which Silesia and the other possessions of Frederic were secured to
him as he possessed them before the war. So that this enormous expense
of blood and treasure produced no result whatever, except that of
establishing the King of Prussia’s reputation as the first living
general of Europe. Peace was signed at the castle of Hubertsburg, near
Dresden, Feb. 15, 1763.
The brilliant military reputation which Frederic had acquired in this
arduous contest did not tempt him to pursue the career of a conqueror.
He had risked every thing to maintain possession of Silesia; but if his
writings speak the real feelings of his mind, he was deeply sensible to
the sufferings and evils which attend upon war. “The state of Prussia,”
he himself says, in the ‘Histoire de mon Temps,’ “can only be compared
to that of a man riddled with wounds, weakened by loss of blood, and
ready to sink under the weight of his misfortunes. The nobility was
exhausted, the commons ruined, numbers of villages were burnt, of towns
ruined. Civil order was lost in a total anarchy: in a word, the
desolation was universal.” To cure these evils Frederic applied his
earnest attention; and by grants of money to those towns which had
suffered most; by the commencement and continuation of various great
works of public utility; by attention to agriculture; by draining
marshes, and settling colonists in the barren, or ruined portions of his
country; by cherishing manufactures (though not always with a useful or
judicious zeal), he succeeded in repairing the exhausted population and
resources of Prussia with a rapidity the more wonderful, because his
military establishment was at the same time recruited and maintained at
the enormous number, considering the size and wealth of the kingdom, of
200,000 men. One of his measures deserves especial notice, the
emancipation of the peasants from hereditary servitude. This great
undertaking he commenced at an early period of his reign, by giving up
his own seignorial rights over the serfs on the crown domains: he
completed it in the year 1766, by an edict abolishing servitude
throughout his dominions. In 1765, he commenced a gradual alteration in
the fiscal system of Prussia, suggested in part by the celebrated
Helvetius. In the department of finance, though all his experiments did
not succeed, he was very successful. He is said, in the course of his
reign, to have raised the annual revenue to nearly double what it had
been in his father’s time, and that without increasing the pressure of
the people; and from his last biographer, he has obtained the praise of
having “arrived, as far as any sovereign ever did, at perfection in that
part of finance, which consists in the extracting as much as possible
from the people, without overburthening or impoverishing them; and
receiving into the royal coffers the sums so extracted, with the least
possible deductions.”
In such cares and in his literary pursuits, among which we may
especially mention his ‘History of the Seven Years War,’ passed the time
of Frederic for ten years. In 1772, he engaged in the nefarious project
for the first partition of Poland. Of the iniquity of that project it is
not necessary to speak; the universal voice of Europe has condemned it.
It does not seem, however, that the scheme originated, as has been said,
with Frederic: on the contrary, it appears to have been conceived by
Catherine II., and matured in conversations with Prince Henry, the King
of Prussia’s brother, during a visit to St. Petersburg. By the treaty of
partition, which was not finally arranged till 1777, Prussia gained a
territory of no great extent, but of importance from its connecting
Prussia Proper with the electoral dominions of Brandenburg and Silesia,
and giving a compactness to the kingdom, of which it stood greatly in
need. Frederic made some amends for his conduct in this matter, by the
diligence with which he laboured to improve his acquisition. In this, as
in most circumstances of internal administration, he was very
successful; and the country, ruined by war, misgovernment, and the
brutal sloth of its inhabitants, soon assumed the aspect of cheerful
industry.
The King of Prussia once more led an army into the field, when, on the
death of the Elector of Bavaria, childless, in 1778, Joseph II. of
Austria conceived the plan of re-annexing to his own crown, under the
plea of various antiquated feudal rights, the greater part of the
Bavarian territories. Stimulated quite as much by jealousy of Austria,
as by a sense of the injustice of this act, Frederic stood out as the
assertor of the liberties of Germany, and proceeding with the utmost
politeness from explanation to explanation, he marched an army into
Bohemia in July, 1778. The war, however, which was terminated in the
following spring by the peace of Teschen, was one of manœuvres, and
partial engagements; in which Frederic’s skill in strategy shone with
its usual lustre, and success, on the whole, rested with the Prussians.
By the terms of the treaty, the Bavarian dominions were secured, nearly
entire, to the rightful collateral heirs, whose several claims were
settled, while certain minor stipulations were made in favour of
Prussia.
A few years later, in 1785, Frederic again found occasion to oppose
Austria, in defence of the integrity of the Germanic constitution. The
Emperor Joseph, in prosecution of his designs on Bavaria, had formed a
contract with the reigning elector, to exchange the Austrian provinces
in the Netherlands for the Electorate. Dissenting from this arrangement,
the heir to the succession entrusted the advocacy of his rights to
Frederic, who lost no time in negotiating a confederation among the
chief powers of Germany, (known by the name of the Germanic League,) to
support the constitution of the empire, and the rights of its several
princes. By this timely step Austria was compelled to forego the desired
acquisition.
At this time Frederic’s constitution had begun to decay. He had long
been a sufferer from gout, the natural consequence of indulgence in good
eating and rich cookery, to which throughout his life he was addicted.
Towards the end of the year he began to experience great difficulty of
breathing. His complaints, aggravated by total neglect of medical
advice, and an extravagant appetite, which he gratified by eating to
excess of the most highly seasoned and unwholesome food, terminated in a
confirmed dropsy. During the latter months of his life he suffered
grievously from this complication of disorders; and through this period
he displayed remarkable patience, and consideration for the feelings of
those around him. No expression of suffering was allowed to pass his
lips; and up to the last day of his life he continued to discharge with
punctuality those political duties which he had imposed upon himself in
youth and strength. Strange to say, while he exhibited this
extraordinary self-control in some respects, he would not abstain from
the most extravagant excesses in diet, though they were almost always
followed by a severe aggravation of his sufferings. Up to August 15,
1786, he continued, as usual, to receive and answer all communications,
and to despatch the usual routine of civil and military business. On the
following day he fell into a lethargy, from which he only partially
recovered. He died in the course of the night of August 16.
The published works of the King of Prussia were collected in
twenty-three volumes, 8vo. Amsterdam, 1790. We shall here mention, as
completing the body of his historical works, the “Mémoires depuis la
Paix de Hubertsbourg,” and “Mémoires de la Guerre de 1778.” Among his
poems, the most remarkable is the “Art de la Guerre;” but these, as
happens in most cases, where the writer has thought fit to employ a
foreign language, have been little known or esteemed, since their author
ceased to rivet the attention of the world by the brilliance of his
actions, and the singularity of his character. A list of Frederic’s
works is given at the end of the article in the “Biographie
Universelle.” For his campaigns, see the works of Lloyd and Templehoff,
and Jomini’s “Histoire critique et militaire des Guerres de Frédéric
II.” Among the numerous lives of him, we may refer to the “Essai sur la
Vie et le Règne de Frédéric II.,” by the Abbé Denina, who had been
employed in the King of Prussia’s service. Much that relates to him is
to be found among the writings of Voltaire. The lives by Gillies and
Lord Dover will satisfy the curiosity of the English reader.
[Illustration:
[Gate of the Palace at Potsdam.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by B. Holl._
DELAMBRE.
_From the original by Boilly
in the possession of Delambre’s Family at Amiens._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
DELAMBRE.
The time is not yet come when a memoir of the personal life of Delambre
could be attempted with any chance of interesting the reader. The
accounts which have been published from authentic sources are very
meagre; and, as may be supposed, this country is not the place in which
better can be obtained. We must therefore content ourselves with
offering a slight table of the principal events of his public career,
and proceed to give some account of his extraordinary labours.
Jean Baptist Joseph Delambre was born September 19, 1749, at or near
Amiens. He studied under Delille at the college of Plessis, applying
himself particularly to the learned languages. His accurate and ready
knowledge of Greek afterwards proved an element of no mean importance in
the merit of his ‘History of Astronomy.’
Though the extent of his works would give the idea of a very long life
applied to one subject in all its bearings, yet Delambre was more than
thirty years old before he turned his attention to astronomy. It is said
that he accidentally entered the room where Lalande was delivering a
lecture on some part of that science, while either waiting for or coming
from another on the Greek language. Be that as it may, he commenced his
studies under the celebrated astronomer just named before 1785, in which
year the calculation of the longitudes and latitudes of the stars in
Mayer’s Catalogue, by Delambre, was published, in the ‘Connaissance des
Tems’ for 1788. In 1789 he published Tables of Jupiter and Saturn; and
in 1790 Tables of Uranus, which gained the prize of the Academy of
Sciences; at the same time he was actively engaged in correcting, by
observation, the existing tables of right ascensions. In 1791 he
published new Tables of Jupiter’s Satellites, which Lalande calls “Un
des plus grands travaux astronomiques qu’on ait faits.”
In 1792 Delambre aided Lalande in calculating the planetary tables for
the third edition of his ‘Astronomy;’ and was appointed a member of the
Institute, and also of the Commission for measuring a Degree of the
Meridian. Of his share in this operation we shall presently speak. In
the same year he published his first Tables of the Sun, and a second set
in 1806, together with Tables of Refraction. In 1817 he again
constructed Tables of Jupiter’s Satellites. In 1795 he was appointed to
the _Bureau des Longitudes_; in 1802 he was made _Inspecteur Général des
Etudes_, in which capacity he formed the Lyceums of Moulins and Lyons.
In 1803 he became perpetual secretary of the class of mathematics in the
Institute, and the various _éloges_ which are found in the Memoirs of
that body till 1822 are from his pen. In 1807 he succeeded Lalande as
Professor at the College of France; in 1808 he was appointed Treasurer
of the University, and in 1821, Officer of the Legion of Honour. He died
August 19, 1822, at the age of seventy-three.
The dry catalogue of tables and works becomes curious and interesting
when we consider them all as the production of one man, who was also
actively engaged either on the great Survey or in continual observation.
But the list is yet far from complete. The Histories of Astronomy
(_Ancienne_, _Moyenne_, _Moderne_, _du dix-huitième Siècle_), comprised
in six volumes 4to., appeared between 1817 and 1821, with the exception
of the last, which was published in 1827, after the author’s death. His
large work on astronomy, in three 4to. volumes, came out in 1814, and
the ‘Base du Systême Métrique,’ a detailed account of the operations of
the Survey, in four volumes 4to. (of which the first three are the work
of Delambre), appeared at different times between 1806 and 1810. He had
previously (in 1799 if we recollect rightly) published a shorter
description of the methods employed. His decimal tables of Logarithms
appeared in 1801, and his Report on the Progress of all the Sciences
since 1789 was presented to the Emperor Napoleon in 1808, and published
in 1810. We have still to add the numerous memoirs which he contributed
to the ‘Connaissance des Tems,’ the ‘Memoirs of the Institute,’ and
other periodicals, to the list of Delambre’s labours; a list which shows
that he possessed a degree of energy rarely surpassed, and a quantity of
reading, on the subject of astronomy at least, certainly never equalled.
But though it is only justice to the memory of Delambre to insist upon
the amazing _quantity_ of work which he performed, all of the first
order of utility, in which he appears to us to stand altogether without
a rival in the history of science, we have yet to point out how much of
that work was of a more laborious character than is usually necessary to
produce the same number of pages. We need not dwell on the planetary
tables, &c., or on the ‘Base du Systême Métrique,’ almost every page of
which is a separate record of toil and patience. The History of
Astronomy is a work of a peculiar kind. It is not merely a digest of
ideas which the author had acquired from the perusal of the writings of
others, but an actual abstract of every work which has exercised the
least influence on the progress of the science, whether Greek, Arabian,
or modern European. This task by itself would have been abundantly
sufficient to secure to its author the reputation of a long life well
spent; for he had to wade through the writings of every age and country,
and in particular to acquire a knowledge of the mathematical styles of
different times, which are sufficiently distinct to render them, we
might almost say, sciences of different species. The student of
astronomical history is thus with very little trouble put in possession
of all the records of the only science whose history is a part of
itself, and must be studied with it. If the author sometimes appears
prejudiced or hasty in his conclusions, it must be recollected that
(intentional misquotation of course apart, of which he was never
suspected) the plan of the work is such as to render the conclusions
which a reader may draw from it, to a great degree independent of any
colouring arising from the bias or misconception of the author.
The ‘History’ of Delambre was preceded by that of Bailly, a work of such
totally different character, that the description of it after the other
may almost seem exaggerated for the sake of contrast. With much general
knowledge, and, perhaps, considerable research, but with too much
previous self-instruction what to find, Bailly has made conjectures of
his wishes, and positive theories of his conjectures. His fanciful
accounts of people whom he has caused, as has been observed, to give us
all knowledge, except that of their own name and existence, perhaps
drove Delambre a little into the other extreme: it so, the circumstance
is not to be regretted; and the reader, who has amused himself with the
former, by inventing inventors for all that has ever been invented, may
fall back upon the latter, to learn how many of his conclusions are
founded on the rational basis of written testimony. A strong
predilection for the latter kind of evidence is the characteristic of
Delambre’s writings; and if familiarity with the Greeks rendered him
somewhat prejudiced in their favour, he has but paid too much interest
for a large and acknowledged debt; whereas Bailly has squandered his
whole substance upon creatures of his own imagination.
A very striking feature of Delambre’s writings upon the history of
astronomy, is the avidity with which he throws himself upon any
calculation which comes in his way, repulsive as such details are to
writers in general. Not content with the fullest numerical exposition of
the process as practised by the astronomer he is describing, he
frequently adds the modern method of doing the same thing. This is one
of the most useful parts of his undertaking; for astronomy is not, as so
many imagine, only the art of looking at the heavens, but also of
knowing what to do with the results of observation; and Delambre, in his
character of an unwearied calculator, has been of more use than the most
assiduous observer[5] of his day.
Footnote 5:
We are far from undervaluing the higher species of observation which,
when combined with the sagacity of the inventor, finds new general
laws. We speak only of the vulgar notion entertained of an astronomer,
which, however excusable in the general ignorance of the science,
portrays only a part of the character, useful indeed, but not the most
difficult.
But in the character of an observer Delambre was conspicuous. In
conducting his part of the Survey, we cannot help admiring his fortitude
as well as skill. In a letter to Lalande, written in 1797, he thus
expresses himself, and it is no exaggerated instance of the impediments
he frequently met with: “I had about six hours’ work, and I could not do
it in less than ten days. In the morning I mounted to the signal, which
I left at sunset. The nearest inn was that at Salers, to which it took
me three hours to go, and as much to return, and the road was the worst
I have met with. At last I resolved to take up my lodging in a
neighbouring cowhouse; I say neighbouring, because it was only at the
distance of an hour’s walk. During these ten days I could not take off
my clothes; I slept upon hay, and lived on milk and cheese. All this
time I could hardly ever get sight of the two objects at once; and
during the observations, as well as in the long intervals which they
left, I was alternately burned by the sun, frozen by the wind, and
drenched by the rain. I passed thus ten or twelve hours every day,
exposed to all the inclemency of the weather; but nothing annoyed me so
much as the inaction.”
It was with extreme difficulty that permission to encounter these
inconveniences was granted. The republican government, which, in its
hurry to change the weights and measures,[6] had ordered the commission,
began to fear lest a latent tinge of royalism in some one of their
agents might infect the new standard. At least such a suspicion forces
itself upon us, when we find that “The Committee of Public Safety,
considering how important it was to the amelioration of the public mind
that those employed by government,” in the Survey for instance, “should
be distinguished,” not by their knowledge of the theodolite and
repeating circle, but “by their republican virtues and hatred of kings,”
struck Delambre and others off the list, and would have served Méchain
in the same way (who was on the frontier, with public money in his
possession), had not they found within themselves the suspicion that he
would play them false. But we must not be less than just to the
instances of liberal feeling which the most bigoted times produce. When
Delambre returned to Paris, he was allowed, after some hesitation, to
retain the diploma of the Royal Society of London, written in Latin,
with the arms of the King of England upon it.
Footnote 6:
For some of our readers we may state that the object was the
measurement of the earth’s circumference, or rather the deduction of
it from the measurement of a part, in order that the metre might be
made an exact aliquot part of the circumference.
Such were the feelings with which the government regarded even their own
favourite project, and we may therefore be surprised at the endurance
with which Delambre solicited, and at length partially obtained, leave
to recommence his operations; add to which, that his astronomical
instruments caused him frequently to be molested as a spy by the
ignorant populace of the departments—a fact nowise to be wondered at,
when we remember that at Paris Lalande’s observatory was searched for
arms, and the tube of a telescope carried off to the authorities as some
strange species of gun.
Delambre did not interfere in politics; it would have been strange
indeed if he had found time. It was amply sufficient for one man to link
his name to the science of astronomy, past, present, and future, by
history, observations, and tables.
[Illustration]
DRAKE.
Francis Drake, the first British circumnavigator of the globe, was born
in Devonshire, of humble parents. So much is admitted: with respect to
the date of his birth, and the method of his nurture, our annalists,
Camden and Stowe, are not agreed. By the latter we are told that Drake
was born at Tavistock, about 1545, and brought up under the care of a
kinsman, the well-known navigator, Sir John Hawkins. Camden, on the
other hand, anticipates his birth by several years, and says that he was
bound apprentice to a small shipowner on the coast of Kent, who, dying
unmarried, in reward of his industry, bestowed his bark upon him as a
legacy. Both accounts agree that in 1667 he went with Hawkins to the
West Indies on a trading voyage, which gave its colour to the rest of
his life. Their little squadron was obliged by stress of weather to put
into St. Juan de Ulloa, on the coast of Mexico; where, after being
received with a show of amity, it was beset and attacked by a superior
force, and only two vessels escaped. To make amends for his losses in
this adventure, in the quaint language of the biographer Prince, in his
‘Worthies of Devon,’ “Mr. Drake was persuaded by the minister of his
ship that he might lawfully recover the value of the King of Spain by
reprisal, and repair his losses upon him any where else. The case was
clear in sea divinity; and few are such infidels as not to believe in
doctrines which make for their profit. Whereupon Drake, though then a
poor private man, undertook to revenge himself upon so mighty a
monarch.”
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
DRAKE.
_From an original Picture in the possession of
Sir T. F. Eliott Drake Bar^t. of Nutwell Court, near Exeter._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
Dr. Johnson, in his ‘Life of Drake,’ states, with perfect complacency
and without a word of qualification, that the bold sailor determined on
an expedition, “by which the Spaniards should feel how imprudently they
always act who injure and insult a brave man.” In his national zeal, the
moralist seems to have forgotten that the retaliation of which he speaks
was a lawless robbery, exercised upon the peaceable subjects of a king
with whom we were not at war, in satisfaction of a wrong in which they
the sufferers had neither part nor interest, and that this forcible
levying of satisfaction, without national warrant and commission, is
what in modern language we call piracy. It is fortunate for the peace of
the world that this system of “sea divinity” is gone by. But in judging
of this undertaking, which the courage, constancy, and success of its
contriver could not by themselves save from the stigma of piracy, we
must take into account the peculiar circumstances of the times. War, it
is true, was not declared between Spain and England; but the bigotry of
Philip II., his deep-rooted hatred and persecution of the Protestant
religion, and his known support of the Catholic malcontents, caused
Spain to be regarded by the English Protestants as their deadliest
enemy; so that the plunder of Spanish America might be regarded, in the
language of the Puritans, merely as a spoiling of the Egyptians; and the
more because it was pretty clear, however the Queen’s prudence might
delay it, that a breach must ensue between the two nations ere long.
This feeling was strengthened by the jealous care with which the
Spaniards sought to exclude all foreigners from navigating the
new-discovered seas; and there is some justice in Elizabeth’s reply to
the Spanish ambassador, when he complained of Drake’s piracies, that his
countrymen, by arrogating a right to the whole new world, and excluding
thence all other European nations who should sail thither, even with a
view of exercising the most lawful commerce, naturally tempted others to
make a violent irruption into those regions.
In the years 1570–1 Drake made two voyages to the West Indies,
apparently to gain a more precise acquaintance with the seas, the
situation, strength, and wealth of the Spanish settlements. In 1572 he
sailed with two ships, one of seventy-five tons, the other of
twenty-five tons, their united crews mustering only seventy-three men
and boys, all volunteers. His object was to capture the now ruined city
of Nombre de Dios, situated on the isthmus of Panama a few miles east of
Porto Bello, then the great repository of all the treasure conveyed from
Mexico to Spain. Off the coast of America his little armament was
augmented by an English bark with thirty men on board; so that,
deducting those whom it was necessary to leave in charge of the ships,
his available force fell short of an hundred men. This handful of bold
men attacked the town, which was unwalled, on the night of July 22, and
found their way to the market-place, where the captain received a severe
wound. He concealed his hurt until the public treasury was reached, but
before it could be broken open, he became faint from loss of blood, and
his disheartened followers abandoned the attempt, and carried him
perforce on board ship. Such at least is the account of the English:
there is a Portuguese statement in ‘Hakluyt’s Voyages,’ vol. iii. p.
525, less favourable both to the daring and success of the assailants.
Failing in this attempt, Drake continued for some time on the coast,
visiting Carthagena and other places, and making prize of various ships;
and if we wonder at his hardihood in adventuring with such scanty means
to remain for months in the midst of an awakened and inveterate enemy,
how much more surprising is it that the wealthy, proud, and powerful
monarchy of Spain should so neglect the care of its most precious
colonies, as to leave them unable to crush so slight a foe. The English
appear to have felt perfectly at their ease; they cruised about, formed
an intimate alliance with an Indian tribe, named Symerons, the bond of
union being a common hatred of the Spaniards, and built a fort on a
small island of difficult access, at the mouth of a river, where they
remained from September 24, to February 3, 1573. On the latter day,
Drake set forth with one portion of his associates, under the conduct of
the Symerons, to cross the isthmus. On the fourth day they reached a
central hill, where stood a remarkable “goodly and great high tree, in
which the Indians had cut and made divers steps to ascend up neere unto
the top, where they had also made a convenient bower, wherein ten or
twelve men might easily sitt; and from thence wee might without any
difficulty plainly see the Atlantic Ocean, whence now wee came, and the
South Atlantic (i. e. Pacific), so much desired. After our captain had
ascended to this bower with the chief Symeron, and having, as it pleased
God at that time, by reason of the brize, a very faire day, had seen
that sea of which he had heard such golden reports, he besought Almighty
God of his goodness to give him life and leave to sayle once in an
English ship in that sea.” We quote from a tract entitled ‘Sir Francis
Drake Revived,’ written by some of Drake’s companions, corrected, it is
said, by himself, and published by his nephew in 1626, which contains a
full and interesting account of this adventurous expedition. Drake’s
present object was to intercept a convoy of treasure on the way from
Panama to Nombre de Dios. The route was this: eight leagues from Panama,
lying inland to the north-west, is the town of Venta Cruz, high on the
river Chagre. For this distance merchandise was carried on mules, then
embarked in flat-bottomed boats, and carried down the river to its
mouth, then shipped for Nombre de Dios, or after the abandonment of that
town, for Porto Bello; and this is the route by which it has often been
proposed to make a canal to join the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. By
this route the treasures of Peru and Chili, as well as Mexico, were
brought to Europe, for the passage round Cape Horn was then unknown, and
no ship but Magalhaens’ had yet accomplished the passage round the world
to Europe. Guided by the Symerons, the English approached Panama,
learned that a valuable treasure was expected to pass, and beset the
lonely forest road which it had to travel. But the haste of one drunken
man gave a premature alarm, in consequence of which the march of the
caravan was stopped: and Drake with his party, their golden hopes being
thus defeated, forced their way through Venta Cruz, and returned by a
shorter route to their encampment, after a toilsome and fruitless
journey of three weeks. It was not till April 1, that the long-desired
opportunity presented itself, on which day they took a caravan of mules
laden with silver, and a small quantity of gold. They carried off part
of the spoil, and buried about fifteen tons of silver; but on returning
for it, they found that it had been recovered by the Spaniards.
Drake returned to England, August 9, 1573. In dividing the treasure he
showed the strictest honour, and even generosity; yet his share was
large enough to pay for fitting out three ships, with which he served as
a volunteer in Ireland under the Earl of Essex, and “did excellent
service both by sea and land in the winning of divers strong forts.” In
1577, he obtained a commission from Queen Elizabeth to conduct a
squadron into the South Seas. What was the purport of the commission we
do not find: it appears from subsequent passages that it gave to Drake
the power of life and death over his followers; but it would seem from
the Queen’s hesitation in approving his proceedings, that it was not
intended to authorize (at least formally) his depredations on Spanish
property.
With five ships, the largest the Pelican of one hundred tons burden, the
smallest a pinnace of fifteen tons, manned in all with only 164 men,
Drake sailed from Plymouth, November 15, 1577, to visit seas where no
English vessel had ever sailed. Without serious loss, or adventure
worthy of notice, the fleet arrived at Port St. Julian, on the coast of
Patagonia, June 20, 1578. Here the discoverer Magalhaens had tried and
executed his second in command on a charge of mutiny, and the same spot
did Drake select to perform a similar tragedy. He accused the officer
next to himself, Thomas Doughty, of plots to defeat the expedition and
take his life; plots undertaken, he said, before they had left England.
“Proofs were required and alleged, so many and so evident, that the
gentleman himself, stricken with remorse, acknowledged himself to have
deserved death;” and of three things presented to him, either immediate
execution, or to be set on shore on the main, or to be sent home to
answer for his conduct, he chose the former; and having at his own
request received the sacrament together with Drake, and dined with him
in farther token of amity, he cheerfully laid his head on the block,
according to the sentence pronounced by forty of the chiefest persons in
the fleet. Such is the account published by Drake’s nephew, in ‘The
World Encompassed,’ of which we shall only observe, without passing
judgment on the action, that Drake’s conduct in taking out a person whom
he knew to be ill affected to him, was as singular as is the behaviour
and sudden and acute penitence attributed to Doughty. But we have no
account from any friend of the sufferer. It is fair to state the
judgment of Camden, who says, “that the more unprejudiced men in the
fleet thought Doughty had been guilty of insubordination, and that Drake
in jealousy removed him as a rival. But some persons, who thought they
could see further than others, said that Drake had been ordered by the
Earl of Leicester to take off Doughty, because he spread a report that
Leicester had procured the death of the Earl of Essex.”
Having remained at Port St. Julian until August 15, they sailed for the
Straits, reached them August 20, and passed safely into the Pacific,
September 6, with three ships, having taken out the men and stores, and
abandoned the two smaller vessels. But there arose on the 7th a dreadful
storm, which dispersed the ships. The Marigold was no more heard of,
while the dispirited crew of the Elizabeth returned to England, being
the first who ever passed back to the eastward through Magellan’s
Strait.[7] Drake’s ship was driven southwards to the 56th degree, where
he ran in among the islands of the extreme south of America. He fixes
the farthest land to be near the 56th degree of south latitude, and thus
appears to claim the honour of having discovered Cape Horn. From
September 7 to October 28, the adventurers were buffeted by one
continued and dreadful storm: and in estimating the merits of our
intrepid seamen, it is to be considered that the seas were utterly
unknown, and feared by all, those who had tried to follow in Magalhaens’
course having seldom succeeded, and then with much pain and loss, and
little fruit of their voyage; that their vessels were of a class which
is now hardly used for more than coasting service; and that the
imperfection of instruments and observations laid them under
disadvantages which are now removed by the ingenuity of our artists. Add
to this, that as the Spaniards gave out that it was impossible to repass
the Straits, there remained no known way to quit the hostile shores of
America, but by traversing the unexplored Pacific.
Footnote 7:
This is the general statement: but in the ‘Lives of Early English
Navigators,’ in the Edinburgh Cabinet Library, vol. v., it is said
that a Spaniard named Ladrilleros had made the passage twenty years
before.
The storm at length ceased, and the lonely Pelican (which Drake however
had renamed the Golden Hind) ran along the coast of Lima and Peru,
reaping a golden harvest from the careless security of those who never
thought to see an enemy on that side of the globe. There is something
rather revolting, but very indicative of the temper of the age, in the
constant reference to the guidance and protection of God, mixed with a
quiet jocularity with which ‘Master Francis Fletcher, Preacher in this
employment,’ from whose notes the ‘World Encompassed,’ which is a
narrative of this voyage, was compiled, speaks of acts very little
different from highway robbery, such as would now be held disgraceful in
open war: as, for instance, on meeting a Spaniard driving eight lamas,
each laden with 100 pounds weight of silver, “they offered their service
without entreaty, and became drovers, not enduring to see a gentleman
Spaniard turned carrier.” Enriched by the most valuable spoil, jewels,
gold, and silver, Drake steered to the northward, hoping to discover a
homeward passage in that quarter. In the 48th degree of latitude he was
stopped by the cold; and, determining to traverse the Pacific, he
landed, careened his ship, and, in the Queen’s name, took possession of
the country, which he named New Albion. September 29, 1579, he sailed
again, and reached the Molucca Islands November 4. In his passage thence
to the island of Celebes, he incurred the most imminent danger of the
whole voyage. The ship struck, as they were sailing before a fair wind,
on a reef of rocks, so precipitous that it was impossible to lay out an
anchor to heave her off. They stuck fast in this most hazardous
situation for eight hours. At the end of that time the wind shifted, and
the ship, lightened of part of her guns and cargo, reeled off into deep
water, without serious injury. Had the sea risen, she must have been
wrecked. This was Drake’s last mishap. He reached Plymouth in the autumn
of 1580, after near three years’ absence. Accounts differ as to the
exact date of his arrival.
Since Drake had for this voyage the Queen’s commission, by which we must
suppose the license to rob the Spaniards to have been at least tacitly
conceded, he seems to have been rather hardly used in being left from
November to April in ignorance how his bold adventure was received at
court. Among the people it created a great sensation, with much
diversity of opinion: some commending it as a notable instance of
English valour and maritime skill, and a just reprisal upon the
Spaniards for their faithless and cruel practices; others styling it a
breach of treaties, little better than piracy, and such as it was
neither expedient nor decent for a trading nation to encourage. During
this interval, Drake must have felt his situation unpleasant and
precarious; but the Queen turned the scale in his favour by going, April
4, 1581, to dine on board his ship at Deptford, on which occasion she
declared her entire approbation of his conduct, and conferred on him the
honour, and such it then was, of knighthood. His ship she ordered to be
preserved, as a monument of his glory. Having fallen to decay, it was at
length broken up: a chair, made out of its planks, was presented to the
University of Oxford, and probably is still to be seen in the Bodleian
library. Cowley wrote a Pindaric ode upon it.
Drake had now established his reputation as the first seaman of the day;
and in 1585 the Queen, having resolved on war, intrusted him with the
command of an expedition against the Spanish colonies. He burnt or put
to ransom the cities of St. Jago, near Cape Verde, St. Domingo,
Carthagena, and others, and returned to England, having fully answered
the high expectations which were entertained of him. He was again
employed with a larger force of thirty ships in 1587, with which he
entered the port of Cadiz, burnt 10,000 tons of shipping, which were to
form part of the Armada, took the castle of Cape St. Vincent, and
sailing to the Azores, made prize of a large and wealthy ship on its way
from the Indies. Still more eminent were his services against the Armada
in the following year, in which he served as vice-admiral under Lord
Howard of Effingham. But these are well-known passages of history, and
we have shortened our account of them, to relate at more length the
early incidents of Drake’s adventurous life.
In 1589 Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Norris were joined in the command
of an expedition, meant to deliver Portugal from the dominion of Spain.
This failed, as many expeditions have done in which the sea and land
services were meant to act together; and, as usual, each party threw the
blame on the other. Drake’s plan appears to have been most judicious: it
was at least accordant with his character, downright and daring. He
wished to sail straight for Lisbon and surprise the place; but Norris
was bent on landing at Corunna, where he did indeed some harm to the
Spaniards, but no service towards the real objects of the expedition.
When the land-forces did at last besiege Lisbon, Drake was unwilling or
unable to force his way up the Tagus to co-operate with them, and for
this he was afterwards warmly blamed by Norris. He defended himself by
stating that the time misspent by the English at Corunna had been well
employed by the Spaniards in fortifying Lisbon; and we fully believe
that neither fear nor jealousy would have made him hesitate at any thing
which he thought to be for the good of the service. This miscarriage,
though for a time it cast something of a cloud upon Drake’s fame, did
not prevent his being again employed in 1595, when the Queen, at the
suggestion of himself and Sir John Hawkins, determined to send out
another expedition against Spanish America, under those two eminent
navigators, the expenses of which were in great part to be defrayed by
themselves and their friends. Great hope was naturally conceived of this
expedition, the largest which had yet been sent against that quarter,
for it consisted of thirty vessels and 2500 men. The chief object was to
sail to Nombre de Dios, march to Panama, and there seize the treasure
from Peru. But the blow, which should have been struck immediately, was
delayed by a feint on the parts of the Spaniards to invade England; the
Plate fleet arrived in safety, and the Spanish colonies were forewarned.
Hawkins died, it was said of grief at the ruined prospects of the
expedition, November 12, while the fleet lay before Porto Rico; and on
the same evening Drake had a narrow escape from a cannon ball, which
carried the stool from under him as he sat at supper and killed two of
his chief officers. Repulsed from Porto Rico, the admiral steered for
the Spanish main, where he burnt several towns, and among them Nombre de
Dios. He then sent a strong detachment of 750 men against Panama; but
they found the capture of that city impracticable. Soon afterwards he
fell sick of a fever, and died January 28, 1596. His death, like that of
his coadjutor, is attributed to mental distress; and nothing is more
probable than that disappointment may have made that noxious climate
more deadly. Hints of poisoning were thrown out; but this is a surmise
easily and often lightly made. “Thus,” says Fuller, in his Holy State,
“an extempore performance, scarce heard to be begun before we hear it is
ended, comes off with better applause, or miscarries with less disgrace,
than a long-studied and openly-premeditated action. Besides, we see how
great spirits, having mounted up to the highest pitch of performance,
afterwards strain and break their credits in trying to go beyond it. We
will not justify all the actions of any man, though of a tamer
profession than a sea-captain, in whom civility is often counted
preciseness. For the main, we say that this our captain was a religious
man towards God, and his houses, generally speaking, churches, where he
came chaste in his life, just in his dealings, true of his word, and
merciful to those that were under him, hating nothing so much as
idleness.” To these good qualities we may add that he was kind and
considerate to his sailors, though strict in the maintenance of
discipline: and liberal on fit occasions, though a strict economist. He
cut a watercourse from Buckland Abbey to Plymouth, a distance of seven
miles in a straight line, and thirty by the windings of the conduit, to
supply the latter town with fresh water, which before was not to be
procured within the distance of a mile. He is honourably distinguished
from the atrocious race of buccaneers, to whom his example in some sort
gave rise, by the humanity with which he treated his prisoners. And it
should be mentioned, as a proof of his judicious benevolence, that in
conjunction with Sir John Hawkins, he procured the establishment of the
Chest at Chatham, for the relief of aged or sick seamen, out of their
own voluntary contributions. The faults ascribed to him are ambition,
inconstancy in friendship, and too much desire of popularity.
In person, Drake was low, but strongly made, “well favoured, fayre, and
of a cheerefull countenance.” The scarf and jewel which he wears in our
portrait (which is engraved from a picture in the possession of Sir
Trayton Drake, of Nutwell Court, near Exeter, the present representative
of the family) were given him by Queen Elizabeth; the former when he
took leave of her before sailing to meet the Armada. The jewel contains
a portrait of herself: these relics are still in the possession of the
family. Drake left no issue: his nephew was created a baronet by James
I., and the title is still extant.
The collection of voyages by Hakluyt, and the accounts published by
Drake’s nephew, quoted in this memoir, contain the fullest accounts of
Drake’s adventurous history. Prince’s ‘Worthies of Devon,’ Dr. Johnson’s
‘Life of Drake,’ Kippis’s ‘Biographia Britannica,’ and the ‘Edinburgh
Cabinet Library,’ vol. v., all give satisfactory accounts of this
eminent ornament of the British navy.
[Illustration:
[From “a drawn Plan of Her Majestie’s (Elizabeth) Harbour at Berwick.”
Cottonian MSS.
Augustus, vol. ii., in British Museum.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
CHARLES V.
_From the Original by Holbein in the Private
Collection of the King of the French._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
CHARLES V.
Charles V. was born at Ghent, February 24, 1500. His parents were the
Archduke Philip, son of the Emperor Maximilian, and Joanna, daughter of
Ferdinand of Arragon and Isabella of Castile. To those united kingdoms
Charles succeeded on the death of his grandfather Ferdinand, in 1516.
The early part of his reign was stormy: a Flemish regency and Flemish
ministers became hateful to the Spaniards: and their discontent broke
out into civil war. The Castilian rebels assumed the name of The Holy
League, and seemed animated by a spirit not unlike that of the English
Commons under the Stuarts. Spain was harassed by these internal contests
until 1522, when they were calmed by the presence of Charles, whose
prudence, and we may hope his humanity, put an end to the rebellion. He
made some examples; but soon held his hand, with the declaration, that
“too much blood had been spilt.” An amnesty was more effectual than
severities, and the royal authority was strengthened, as it will seldom
fail to be, by clemency. Some of his courtiers informed him of the place
where one of the ringleaders was concealed. His answer is worthy of
everlasting remembrance,—“You ought to warn him that I am here, rather
than acquaint me where he is.”
Spain, the Two Sicilies, the Low Countries, and Franche Comté, belonged
to Charles V. by inheritance; and by his grandfather Maximilian’s
intervention, he was elected King of the Romans: nor had he to wait long
before that prince’s death, in 1519, cleared his path to the empire. But
Francis I. of France was also a candidate for the imperial crown, with
the advantage of being six years senior to Charles, and of having
already given proof of military talent. The Germans, however, were
jealous of their liberties; and not unreasonably dreading the power of
each competitor, rejected both. Their choice fell on Frederic, Elector
of Saxony, surnamed the Wise, celebrated as the protector of Luther; but
that prince declined the splendid boon, and recommended Charles, on the
plea that a powerful emperor was required to stop the rapid progress of
the Turkish arms. It was, however, surmised, that two thousand marks of
gold, judiciously distributed by the Spanish ambassador, had some little
influence in fixing the votes. On his election, Charles was required to
sign a capitulation for the maintenance of the liberties and rights of
the Germanic body, with a proviso against converting the empire into an
heir-loom in his family. From the time of Otho IV. it had been customary
for new emperors to send an embassy to Rome, giving notice of their
election, and promising obedience to the papal court; but Charles V.
thought this more honoured in the breach than the observance; nor have
the pretensions of the Holy See been since strong enough to recover that
long established claim. So true it is, that practices resting on no
better foundation than absurd or pernicious precedents, require only a
successful example of resistance, to ensure their abolition.
The political jealousy, embittered by personal emulation, which existed
between the Emperor and the King of France, broke out into war in 1521.
France, Navarre, and the Low Countries, were at times the seat of the
long contest which ensued; but chiefly Italy. The duchy of Milan had
been conquered by Francis in 1515. It was again wrested from the French
by the Emperor in 1522. In 1523, a strong confederacy was formed against
France, by the Pope, the Emperor, the King of England, the Archduke
Ferdinand, to whom his brother Charles had ceded the German dominions of
the House of Austria; the states of Milan, Venice, and Genoa; all united
against a single power. And in addition, the celebrated Constable of
Bourbon became a traitor to France, to gratify his revenge; brought his
brilliant military talents to the Emperor’s service; and was invested
with the command of the Imperial troops in Italy. To this formidable
enemy Francis opposed his weak and presumptuous favourite, the Admiral
Bonnivet, who was driven out of Italy in 1524, the year in which the
gallant Bayard lost his life, in striving to redeem his commander’s
errors.
The confidence of Francis seemed to increase with his dangers, and his
faults with his confidence. He again entered the Milanese, in 1525, and
retook the capital. But Bonnivet was his only counsellor; and, under
such guidance, the siege of Pavia was prosecuted with inconceivable
rashness, and the battle of Pavia fought without a chance of gaining it.
Francis was taken prisoner, and wrote thus to his mother, the Duchess of
Angoulême;—“Everything is lost, except our honour.” This Spartan spirit
has been much admired; but whether justly, may be a question. From a
Bayard, nothing could have been better: but the honour of a king is not
confined to fighting a battle; and this specimen, like the conduct of
Francis in general, proves him to have been the mirror of knighthood,
rather than of royalty.
Charles, notwithstanding his victory at Pavia, did not invade France,
but, as the price of freedom, he prescribed the harshest conditions to
the captive king. At first they were rejected; but haughty spirit and
conscience were at length both reconciled to the casuistry, that the
fulfilment of forced promises may be eluded. Francis therefore consented
to the treaty of Madrid, made in 1526, by which it was stipulated that
he should give up his claims in Italy and the Low Countries; surrender
the duchy of Burgundy to Spain; and return into captivity, if these
conditions were not fulfilled in six weeks. When once at large, instead
of executing the treaty, he formed a league with the Pope, the King of
England, and the Venetians, to maintain the liberty of Italy. The Pope
absolved him from his oaths, and he refused to return into Spain. This
deliberate infraction of an oath savoured neither of the mirror of
knighthood, nor royalty. Nor did the Emperor appear to advantage in this
transaction: his want of generosity was conspicuous in his extravagant
demands, and his failure in the higher tone of princely feeling was not
compensated to himself by the success of his politics.
In 1527, Bourbon laid siege to Rome, and was slain in the assault; but
the Imperialists took and plundered the city, and are said in derision
to have proclaimed Martin Luther Pope. The Emperor’s conduct on this
occasion was not less farcical, than his hypocrisy was disgusting. On
receiving news of the captivity of the head of the church, instead of
setting him at liberty, he commanded processions for his deliverance,
and ultimately exacted from him a heavy ransom. Meanwhile the treaty of
Madrid was not fulfilled; and this was the cause of another war between
Spain, and France supported by England. The passions of the rival
monarchs were now much excited, and challenges and the lie were
exchanged between them. No duel was fought, nor probably intended; but
the notoriety of the challenge went far to establish a false point of
punctilio, we will not call it honour, among gentlemen, and single
combats became more frequent than in the ages of barbarism.
In 1529, the course of these calamities was suspended by the treaty of
Cambray, negotiated in person by two women. The Duchess of Angoulême,
and Margaret of Austria, governess of the Low Countries, met in that
city, and settled the terms of pacification between the rival monarchs.
For Charles’s honourable conduct on Luther’s appearance before the diet
of Worms, the reader may refer to the life of the Reformer in our second
volume. The cause of Lutheranism gained ground at the diet of Nuremberg;
and if Charles had declared in favour of the Lutherans, all Germany
would probably have changed its religion. As it was, the Reformation
made progress during the war between the Emperor and Clement VII. All
that Charles acquired from the diet of Spire in 1526, was to wait
patiently for a general council, without encouraging novelties. In 1530,
he assisted in person at the diet of Augsburg, when the Protestants (a
name bestowed on the Reformers in consequence of the protest entered by
the Elector of Saxony and others at the second diet of Spire) presented
their confession, drawn up by Melancthon, the most moderate of Luther’s
disciples. About this time Charles procured the election of his brother
Ferdinand as king of the Romans, on the plea that, in his absence, the
empire required a powerful chief to make head against the Turks. This
might be only a pretence for family aggrandisement: but the Emperor
became seriously apprehensive lest the Lutherans, if provoked, should
abandon the cause of Christendom; and policy therefore conceded what
zeal would have refused. By a treaty concluded with the Protestants at
Nuremberg, and ratified at Ratisbon in 1531, Charles granted them
liberty of conscience, till a council should be held, and annulled all
sentences passed against them by the Imperial chamber: on this they
engaged to give him powerful assistance against the Turks.
In 1535, Muley Hassan, the exiled king of Tunis, implored Charles’s aid
against the pirate Barbarossa, who had usurped his throne. The Emperor
eagerly seized the opportunity of acquiring fame, by the destruction of
that pest of Spain and Italy. He carried a large army into Africa,
defeated Barbarossa, and marched to Tunis. The city surrendered, being
in no condition to resist: and while the conqueror was deliberating what
terms to grant, the soldiery sacked it, committed the most atrocious
violence, and are said to have massacred more than thirty thousand
persons. This outrage tarnished the glory of the expedition, which was
entirely successful. Muley Hassan was restored to his throne.
In 1536 a fresh dispute for the possession of the Milanese broke out
between the King of France and the Emperor. It began with a negotiation,
artfully protracted by Charles, who promised the investiture, sometimes
to the second, sometimes to the youngest son of his formerly impetuous
rival, whom he thus amused, while he took measures to crush him by the
weight of his arms. But if misfortune had made the King of France too
cautious, prosperity had inspired Charles with a haughty presumption,
which gave the semblance of stability to every chimerical vision of
pride. In 1536 he attempted the conquest of France by invading Provence;
but his designs were frustrated by a conduct so opposite to the national
genius of the French, that it induced them to murmur against their
general. Charles however felt by experience the prudence of those
measures, which sacrificed individual interests to the general good, by
making a desert of the whole country. Francis marked his impotent hatred
by summoning the Emperor before parliament by the simple name of Charles
of Austria, as his vassal for the countries of Artois and Flanders. The
charge was the infraction of the treaty of Cambray, the offence was laid
as felony, to abide the judgment of the court of peers: on the
expiration of the legal term, the two fiefs were decreed to be
confiscated. A fresh source of hostility broke out on the death of the
young Dauphin of France, who was said to have been poisoned, and the
king accused Charles V. of the crime. But there is neither proof nor
probability to support the charge: and the accused could have no
interest to commit the act imputed to him, since there were two
surviving sons still left to Francis.
But the resources even of Charles were exhausted by his great exertions:
arrears were due to his troops, who mutinied everywhere, from his
inability to pay them. He therefore assembled the Cortes, or
states-general, of Castile, at Toledo, in 1539, stated his wants, and
demanded subsidies. The clergy and nobility pleaded their own exemption,
and refused to impose new taxes on the other orders. Charles in anger
dissolved the Cortes, and declared the nobles and prelates for ever
excluded from that body, on the ground that men who pay no taxes have no
right to a voice in the national assemblies. Toledo at that time
witnessed a singular instance of power and haughtiness in the Spanish
grandees. The Emperor with his court was returning from a tournament,
when one of the officers making way before him struck the Duke
d’Infantado’s horse: the proud nobleman drew his sword, and wounded the
offender. Charles ordered the grand provost to arrest the duke; but the
Constable of Castile compelled the provost to retire, claimed his
exclusive right to judge a grandee, and took the duke, whom the other
nobles rallied round, to his own house. Only one cardinal remained with
the king, who had the good sense to pocket the affront. He offered to
punish the officer; but Infantado considered the proposal as sufficient
reparation, and the grandees returned to court. But the people of Ghent
made a more serious resistance to authority, on account of a tax which
infringed their privileges. They offered to transfer their allegiance to
Francis, who did not avail himself of the proposal, not from either
conscientious or chivalrous scruples, but because his views were all
centred in Milan: he therefore betrayed his Flemish clients to the
Emperor, in hopes of obtaining the investiture of the Italian duchy. By
holding out the expectation of this boon, Charles obtained a
safe-conduct for his passage through France into Flanders, whither he
was anxious to repair without loss of time. His presence soon reduced
the insurgents. The inhabitants of Ghent opened their gates to him on
his fortieth birthday, in 1540; and he entered his native city, in his
own words, “as their sovereign and their judge, with the sceptre and the
sword.” He punished twenty-nine of the principal citizens with death,
the town with the forfeiture of its privileges, and the people by a
heavy fine for the building of a citadel to coerce them. He broke his
word with Francis by bestowing the Milanese on his own son, afterwards
Philip II. If his duplicity be hateful, the credulity of Francis is
contemptible.
Our limits will not allow of our detailing the circumstances of the
Emperor’s calamitous expedition against Algiers; but his courage,
constancy, and humanity in distress and danger, claim a sympathy for his
misfortunes, which is withheld from the selfish and wily career of his
prosperity.
Francis devised new grounds for war, and allied himself with Sweden,
Denmark, and the Sultan Soliman. This is the first instance of a
confederacy with the North. But he had alienated the Protestants of
Germany by his severe measures against the Lutherans, and Henry VIII. by
crossing the marriage of his son Edward with Mary of Scotland, yet in
her cradle. Henry therefore leagued with the Emperor, who found it
convenient to bury the injuries of Catherine of Arragon in her grave.
The war was continued during the two following years with various
success: the most remarkable events were the capture of Boulogne by the
English, and the great victory won by the French over the Imperialists
at Cerisolles, in Piedmont, in 1544. In the autumn of that year a treaty
was concluded at Crespi, between Charles and Francis, involving the
ordinary conditions of marriage and mutual renunciations, with the
curious clause that both should make joint war against the Turks. In the
same year the embarrassments created by the war, and the imminent danger
of Hungary, increased the boldness of the German Protestants belonging
to the league of Smalkald, and the Emperor, while presiding at the diet
of Spire, won them over by consenting to the free exercise of their
religion.
The Catholics had always demanded a council, which was convened at Trent
in 1545. The Protestants refused to acknowledge its authority, and the
Emperor no longer affected fairness towards them. In 1546 he joined Pope
Paul III. in a league against them, by a treaty in terms contradictory
to his own public protestations. Paul himself was so imprudent as to
reveal the secret, and it enabled the Protestants to raise a formidable
army in defence of their religion and liberties. But the Electors of
Cologne and Brandenburg, and the Elector Palatine, resolved to remain
neuter. Notwithstanding this secession, the war might have been ended at
once, had the confederates attacked Charles while he lay at Ratisbon
with very few troops, instead of wasting time by writing a manifesto,
which he answered by putting the Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of
Hesse under the ban of the empire. He foresaw those divisions which soon
came to pass, by Maurice of Saxony’s seizure of his cousin’s electorate.
Delivered by the death of Francis in 1547, in which year Henry VIII.
also died, from the watchful supervision of a jealous and powerful
rival, and relieved from the fear of the Turks by a five years truce,
Charles was at liberty to bend his whole strength against the revolted
princes of Germany. He marched against the Elector Frederic of Saxony,
who was defeated at Mulhausen, taken prisoner, and condemned to death by
a court-martial composed of Italians and Spaniards, in contempt of the
laws of the empire. The sentence was communicated to the prisoner while
playing at chess: his firmness was not shaken, and he tranquilly said,
“I shall die without reluctance, if my death will save the honour of my
family and the inheritance of my children.” He then finished his game.
But his wife and family could not look at his death so calmly: at their
entreaty he surrendered his electorate into the Emperor’s hands. The
other chief of the Protestant league, the Landgrave of Hesse, was also
forced to submit, and detained in captivity, contrary to the pledged
word of the Emperor; who, fearless of any further resistance to his
supreme authority, convoked a diet at Augsburg in 1548. At that assembly
Maurice was invested with Saxony: and the Emperor, in the vain hope of
enforcing a uniformity of religious practice, published by his own
authority a body of doctrine called the “Interim,” to be in force till a
general council should be assembled. The divines by whom that “Interim”
was composed, had inserted the fundamentals of Catholic doctrine, and
preserved the ancient form of worship; but they allowed the communion in
both kinds, and permitted married priests to perform sacerdotal
functions. This necessarily was unsatisfactory to both parties; but its
observance was enforced by a master, with whom terror was the engine of
obedience.
These measures, however, did not preserve tranquillity long in Germany.
Maurice of Saxony and the Elector of Brandenburg urged the deliverance
of the Landgrave of Hesse, as having made themselves sureties against
violence to his person. Charles answered by absolving them from their
pledges. The Protestants of course charged him as arrogating the same
spiritual authority with the popes. And Maurice, offended at the slight
put upon him, directed his artful policy to the humiliation of Charles.
He had compelled his subjects to conform to the Interim by the help of
the timid Melancthon, who was no longer supported by the firmness of
Luther. On the other hand, he had silenced the clamours of the more
sturdy by a public avowal of his zeal for the Reformation. In the
meantime, the diet of Augsburg, completely at the Emperor’s devotion,
had named him general of the war against Magdeburg, which had been
placed under the ban of the empire for opposition to the Interim. He
took that Lutheran city, but by private assurances regained the good
will of the inhabitants. He also engaged in a league with France, but
still wore the mask. He even deceived the able Granville, Bishop of
Arras, afterwards cardinal, who boasted that “a drunken German could
never impose on him;” yet was he of all others most imposed on. At last,
in 1552, Maurice declared himself, and Henry II. published a manifesto,
assuming the title of “Protector of the liberties of Germany and its
captive princes.” He began with the conquest of the three bishoprics of
Toul, Baden, and Metz. In conjunction with Maurice he laid a plan for
surprising Charles at Inspruck, and getting possession of his person;
and the daring attempt had almost succeeded. Charles was forced to
escape by night during a storm, in a paroxysm of gout, and was carried
across the Alps in a litter. In the subsequent conferences at Passau,
the deliverance of the Landgrave of Hesse, the abolition of the Interim,
and the assembling of a diet within six months, to end all religious
differences, were the conditions imposed upon the Emperor. In the
meantime, liberty of conscience was to be enjoyed in the fullest manner,
and Protestants were made admissible into the imperial chamber. The
examination of grievances affecting the liberties of the empire was to
be referred to the approaching diet; and if the ecclesiastical disputes
were not then adjusted, the treaty now concluded was to remain in
perpetual force. These disputes were adjusted, in 1555, at the diet of
Augsburg, by the solemn grant of entire freedom of worship to the
Protestants. The King of France was abandoned by his allies, and
scarcely named in the treaty. Dr. Robertson’s remark on this is worth
quoting: “Henry experienced the same treatment which every prince who
lends his aid to the authors of a civil war may expect. As soon as the
rage of faction began to subside and any prospect of accommodation to
open, his services were forgotten, and his associates made a merit with
their sovereign of the ingratitude with which they abandoned their
protector.” Henry resolved to defend his acquisition of the three
bishoprics, and Charles to employ his whole force for their recovery.
The Duke of Guise made adequate preparations for the defence of Metz,
the siege of which the Emperor was compelled to raise, after sixty-five
days spent in fruitless efforts, with the loss of 30,000 men by
skirmishes and battles, and by diseases incident to the severity of the
season. “I perceive,” said he, “that Fortune, like other females,
forsakes old men, to lavish her favours on the young.” This sentiment
probably sunk deeper into his reflections, than might be inferred from
the sarcastic terms in which it was clothed: for in the year 1556, after
various events of war, alternately calamitous to the subjects of both
nations, he astonished Europe by his abdication in favour of his son. In
an assembly of the states at Brussels, he addressed Philip in a speech
which melted the audience into tears. The concluding passage, as given
by Robertson, is worth transcribing, to show how much easier it is to
utter the suggestions of wisdom and virtue than to act up to them, and
how much an experienced observer of human character may be misled to
gratuitous assumptions by parental affection. “Preserve an inviolable
regard for religion; maintain the Catholic faith in its purity; let the
laws of your country be sacred in your eyes; encroach not on the rights
and privileges of your people; and if the time should ever come when you
shall wish to enjoy the tranquillity of private life, may you have a son
endowed with such qualities that you can resign your sceptre to him with
as much satisfaction as I give up mine to you!” Charles retired into a
monastery, where he died, after more than two years passed in deep
melancholy, and in practices of devotion inconsistent with sound
intellect, when only between fifty-eight and fifty-nine years of age.
His activity and talents had been the theme of universal admiration: the
ardour of his ambitious policy had been extreme, and his knowledge of
mankind profound: but he should have followed up the objects of his high
aspiring by a straighter road. His glory would have been truly enviable
had he devoted his efforts to the happiness of his subjects, instead of
harassing their minds by dissensions, and mowing down their lives by
hundreds of thousands in war.
To the statesman or the politician the history of this period is an
inexhaustible fund of instruction and interest, and to the general
reader it is rendered more than usually attractive by the almost
dramatic contrast of character among the principal actors in the scene.
Francis seems to have been the representative of the expiring school of
chivalry; Charles was not the representative, but the founder of the
modern system of state policy: Henry was the representative of
ostentation, violence, and selfishness, to be found in all ages.
We are absolved from the necessity of dilating on the state of the fine
arts at this era of their glory, by referring the reader to the lives of
the artists of the time scattered through our volumes. The life of
Titian affords the most ample evidence of Charles’s personal taste, and
feeling of painting; and his warm and generous friendship for that great
artist is at once a proof of his discernment, and perhaps the most
attractive feature in his character.
It is scarcely necessary to name Robertson as the modern historian of
Charles, and his work is the best direction to original authorities.
Sismondi may also be consulted.
[Illustration:
[Charles V., from a picture by Vandyke.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by W. Holl._
DES CARTES.
_From the original Picture by Francis Hals
in the Gallery of the Louvre._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
DES CARTES.
The space which we can devote to this biography would be utterly
insufficient to give the smallest account of the varied philosophical
labours of its subject; still less to recount their consequences. We
shall therefore confine ourselves almost entirely to his personal life;
the more so, as the private history of Des Cartes is not so well known
to the world in general, as is the history of the mathematician, the
optician, the natural philosopher, the metaphysician, the anatomist, the
musician, &c., to those who study these several sciences.
René Des Cartes[8] du Perron (the latter name being derived from a
lordship inherited from his mother, by which he was distinguished from
his elder brother) was born at La Haye, in Touraine, March 31, 1596.
From his mother, who died shortly after, he inherited a feeble
constitution. His father, Joachim Des Cartes, had served in the civil
wars, and was of a noble family, of which, says Baillet, neither origin
could be traced, nor _mésalliance_ while it lasted.
Footnote 8:
The life of Des Cartes has been written with great minuteness by M.
Baillet author of the ‘Jugemens des Savans,’ &c., in two vols. 4to.,
Paris, 1690; abridged, Paris, 1693; translated into English the same
year. This appears to have been the source from which all accounts
have been derived.
His early inclination for study induced his father to send him to the
College of La Flèche when he was only eight years old. We have the
accounts of extraordinary progress which are usually related of men
after they have become distinguished; but what is not so common, we find
that he was allowed to keep his bed in the morning as long as he
pleased, partly from the weakness of his health, and partly because he
was observed to be of a meditative turn. We mention this because it
afterwards became his usual habit to study in bed; and certainly some
parts of his philosophy bear the marks of it.
He left La Flèche in eight years and a half, with great reputation, and
a disgust for all books and methods then in use. He was sent to Paris at
the age of seventeen, under the care of a servant, and fell into the
fashionable vice of gambling; but at the same time he cultivated the
acquaintance of Mydorge[9] and Mersenne. He finally became disgusted
with his favourite pursuit, hired a solitary house in the Fauxbourg St.
Germain, and resumed his studies.
Footnote 9:
To explain in the briefest terms who these and other friends of Des
Cartes were, would make us exceed the prescribed bounds. Our reader
must be content to be referred to a biographical dictionary for these
and others not known, except to mathematicians.
At the age of twenty-one, he enlisted as a volunteer under the Prince of
Orange. At Breda, the solution of a problem introduced him to Beekman.
Here he wrote his ‘Treatise on Music,’ of which the latter (to whom it
had been entrusted) gave himself out as the author. In 1619, he enlisted
as a volunteer under the Duke of Bavaria; and while thus engaged, he
tells us he laid the foundations of his philosophy (November 10); after
three wonderful dreams. Quitting the service he was engaged in, after
having been present at the siege of Prague, he travelled till the end of
1619. He then returned to Paris, where it was believed he was a
Rosicrucian, and his continual presence in public was necessary to repel
the suspicion. At this time he appears to have laid the foundation of
his mathematical methods. After travelling into Italy, he settled again
at Paris, and we now find him in habits of friendship with Beaune
(afterwards his commentator), Morin, Frenicle, and others, and occupying
himself with practical optics. In 1628, he served at the siege of
Rochelle.
To avoid society, in 1629, he migrated to Holland, where he passed
twenty years. He removed from town to town, hiding his actual residence
from all but one or two friends. He occupied himself at first with his
optics, and with the considerations which led him, in a few years, to
publish his ‘Treatise on Meteors,’ as also with chemistry and anatomy.
We now find him in communication with Reneri and Gassendi. He made a
short voyage to England, of which nothing is recorded, except some
magnetic observations made near London. About 1633, his philosophical
opinions were first taught by Reneri, at Deventer. His ‘Treatise on the
World,’ written about this time, was suppressed by him when he heard
what had happened to Galileo in Italy; and except some meteorological
observations, we find nothing to notice till 1637, when he published his
‘Principles of Philosophy,’ in which the well-known hypothesis of
vortices is propounded, together with his dioptrical and meteorological
theories. This publication was immediately combated in different parts
by Roberval, Fromondus, Plempius, Fermat, the elder Pascal, and others.
Without going into these and other now uninteresting disputes, it is
only necessary to state, that Fermat, Pascal, Roberval, and several
others, were soon after in friendly communication with Des Cartes. After
the famous problem of the Cycloid, which was propounded about this time
(1638–39), Des Cartes, as he had several times done before, renounced
geometry; and his work bearing that title (but which is, in fact, his
celebrated application of algebra to geometry) was not published by
himself, but by his friend De Beaune, who wrote a comment on it at his
desire.
In the meantime, his philosophy was fast rising into repute in Holland,
where, in 1639, a public panegyric was made upon it at Utrecht, on the
death of Reneri. We pass over the various disputes upon it, both at
Utrecht and Paris. In 1640, Des Cartes was nearly induced to take up his
residence in England, under the protection of Charles I.: but the
domestic troubles, which within two years broke out into civil war,
interfered with the completion of this arrangement. His father died at
the end of the same year; in which he also lost a child named Francina,
whom he owned as his daughter, but concerning whose parentage, whether
it were legitimate or not, nothing certain is known. Des Cartes was
attacked at this time by the Jesuits in France, and by a party in
Holland, which asserted that he himself was a Jesuit. The hostility of
his Dutch opponents did not materially retard the progress of his
opinions, nor could the Jesuits prevent his receiving a flattering
invitation from Louis XIII. to return to France.
In 1641, appeared his Meditations De Primâ Philosophiâ, on the Soul, on
Freewill, and on the Existence of a Creator. Various parts of this
treatise were criticised by Hobbes, Gassendi, and some others; but so
much was the reputation of Des Cartes increased in France, that the
exertions of Mersenne, made by the desire of the author, could not
obtain more than one opponent to this work out of all the Sorbonne. This
was the afterwards celebrated Arnaud, between whom and Des Cartes a
friendly controversy was maintained. But in Holland, the active enmity
of Voet, the rector of the university of Utrecht, and others, raised a
clamour against Regius, who publicly taught Cartesian doctrines at
Utrecht. Des Cartes himself, averse to controversy, wrote strongly to
his pupil not to deny or reject any thing commonly admitted, but merely
to assert that it was not necessary to the proper conception of the
doctrine taught. But Voet, not content with writing books, instituted an
unworthy course of clandestine persecution against Des Cartes, by which,
in 1642, he obtained the condemnation of the ‘Meditations’ by the
magistracy of Utrecht, and gave the author some personal trouble and
anxiety. On the other hand, the new philosophy at this time made great
progress among the Jesuits, its former opponents. In the middle of the
year Des Cartes returned to France, and superintended a new edition of
his Principles of Philosophy. But in the following year he went again to
Holland, where some decisions in his favour, in matters of alleged
libel, the too virulent enmity of Voet, the public teaching of Cartesian
doctrines at Leyden by Heereboord, and other things of the same kind,
made his reputation gain ground rapidly. About 1647, we find him clear
of violent opposition, and actively engaged in the dissemination of
various opinions by personal correspondence. He returned again to
France, where a pension of 3000 livres was obtained for him: but he is
said never to have received any part of it. He came back to Holland, but
next year was recalled to France by the promise of another pension,
which turned out to be fallacious. He once more returned to Holland,
which he left the same year, to fix his residence in Sweden, at the
desire of the queen Christina, with whom he had been some time in
correspondence. He arrived at Stockholm in September, and while engaged
in projecting an Academy of Sciences, at the desire of the queen, was
seized with an inflammation of the lungs, which carried him off,
February 11, 1650, at the age of 54. His body, seventeen years after,
was removed to the church of St. Geneviève at Paris.
Des Cartes was under the middle size, and well proportioned, except that
his head was rather too big for his body. His voice, owing to an
hereditary weakness of the lungs, was unable to sustain any long
conversation. He was very temperate, slept a good deal, and, as before
noticed, wrote and thought much in bed. He was very particular in
choosing his servants, engaging none but such as were both well-looking
and intellectual; and several of his attendants afterwards rose in the
world. Baillet mentions a physician, a Regius professor, a
mathematician, and a judge, who had served Des Cartes in different
capacities. He inherited from his mother an income of about 6000 livres
a year. His expenses in experimenting were considerable, but he never
would accept the offered assistance of his friends. He read little, and
had few books. We have already noticed the obscure connection from which
his daughter Francina derived her birth: he also paid his addresses to a
lady, for whom he fought a duel with a rival. With these exceptions, he
seems to have been insensible to female influence. He told the
last-mentioned lady, somewhat bluntly, that he found nothing so
beautiful as truth. He was a devout Catholic, and writers of that
persuasion think that his doctrines were more favourable to them than
those of Aristotle.
His character as a philosopher is that of extraordinary power of
imagination, which frequently carried him beyond all firm foundations.
His ingenuity is very great; and had he been contemporary with Newton
and Leibnitz, he might have been a third inventor of fluxions. Father
Castel says of him, that he built high, and Newton[10] deep; that he had
an ambition to create a world, and Newton none whatever. It is usual to
compare these two great men; but we do not think them proper objects of
comparison. Des Cartes lived at a time when the power of mathematical
analysis was but small, compared with what he himself, Wallis, Newton,
and others afterwards made it. He pursued his studies before Stevinus
and Galileo had yet made the first additions to the mathematical
mechanics of Archimedes. It is not, therefore, with Newton that he ought
to be tried, but with those philosophers of his own age, who were in the
same position with himself, and wrote upon similar subjects with similar
methods. And here if we had room we could easily show, that, for variety
of power, and comparative soundness of thinking, he was above all his
contemporaries, and well deserves his fame.
Footnote 10:
The good Father first transcribed Newton, then read him twenty times,
then wrote his comparison of the two, and kept it twenty years; and
finally, decided that Des Cartes was the better philosopher, for the
reasons given in the text. _Nous avons changé tout cela._
It were much to be wished that his writings were better known in this
country, particularly by those who represent him as nothing but a wild
schemer, because they hold the system of Newton. It is a sort of article
of faith in many popular English works on astronomy, that Des Cartes was
a fool. To any one who has imbibed that opinion, we recommend the
perusal of some of his writings.
[Illustration]
SPENSER.
The materials for the personal history of Edmund Spenser[11] are very
scanty; and it may not be amiss to warn the reader of what he will find
exemplified in the present article, that early biography, with any
pretension to authenticity, must partake nearly as much of a negative as
of a positive character.
Footnote 11:
Our engraving is from a copy of the picture in the possession of the
Earl of Kinnoull, which was made some years since by Mr. Uwins.
As to the year of Spenser’s birth, we are thrown for any thing like
admissible evidence on the date of his matriculation at Pembroke Hall,
Cambridge, in 1569, which, according to the usual age of admission in
those days, would place his birth about 1553. The monument erected to
him by the Countess of Dorset, afterwards of Pembroke and Montgomery,
places his birth in 1510, and his death in 1596. This monument, having
been erected only thirty years after the poet’s death, might have been
expected not to be very inaccurate as to dates; but its authority is
completely put down by the college entry. It is altogether at variance
with university practice at any period, that a man should be
matriculated at the age of fifty-nine, for the purpose of passing
through his seven years _in statu pupillari_, and proceeding to the
degree of M.A. at the ripe age of sixty-six. Neither do any facts on
record give countenance to the supposition that the poet lived to the
advanced age of eighty-six.
The parentage of Spenser is supposed to have been obscure: the only
information he has given us on that point is confined to the unimportant
fact, that his mother’s name was Elizabeth. But although his silence
respecting his parents, and his entering the university as a sizar, give
reason to suppose that his nearest connexions had fallen into humble
life, his claim of alliance with “an house of ancient fame” indicated
that his blood was not altogether plebeian. The dedications of his
‘Muiopotmos’ to Lady Carey, of his ‘Tears of the Muses’ to Lady Strange,
and of ‘Mother Hubbard’s Tale’ to the
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Thomson._
SPENSER.
_From an original Picture in the possession of
The Earl of Kinnoull._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
Lady Compton and Mounteagle, express affection and bounden duty, on the
score of kindred, to the house whence those ladies sprang, who were
three sisters, and daughters of Sir John Spencer of Althorpe.
Spenser took the degree of Bachelor in 1572, and that of Master of Arts
in 1576, in which year it is said that he was an unsuccessful competitor
for a fellowship; but Mr. Church, student of Christ Church in Oxford,
who has been more minute in his inquiries than Spenser’s other
biographers, thinks that the story has no foundation. It is agreed on
all hands that Sir Philip Sidney was the person who drew the poet from
obscurity, and introduced him at court. On this subject we are told that
Spenser sent a copy of the ninth canto of the first book of the ‘Faery
Queene’ to Leicester House; and that Sidney was so transported at the
discovery of such astonishing genius, as, after having read a stanza or
two, to order his steward to give the author fifty pounds: after the
next stanza the sum was doubled. The steward was not so enthusiastic as
his master, and therefore in no hurry to make the disbursement; but one
stanza more raised the gratuity to two hundred pounds, with a command of
immediate payment, lest a further perusal should tempt the gallant
knight to give away his whole estate. The obvious drift of this story is
to magnify the genius of its subject; but it is rather hard on Sir
Philip, that a reputation fully capable of standing by itself should
have been unnecessarily propped at the expense of his character for
common sense. The plain fact is, that the celebrated Gabriel Harvey,
Spenser’s college friend, introduced him to Sidney; that he wrote part
of his ‘Shepherd’s Calendar’ at Penshurst, and under the modest name of
_Immerito_, inscribed it to his patron. The general strain of this poem
is serious and pensive, but with occasional bursts of amorous complaint.
Without the latter it was considered that there could be no pastoral
poetry; but in this instance the wailings are thought not to have been
altogether fictitious. The name of Rosalinde is said to have shadowed
forth a mistress who had deserted him, as that of Colin Clout both there
and elsewhere denoted himself. Sidney lost no time in introducing his
new friend to the Earl of Leicester, and finally to Queen Elizabeth. On
his presenting some poems to her, the Queen ordered him a gratuity of a
hundred pounds. Lord Treasurer Burleigh, better qualified to appreciate
the useful than the ornamental, said, “What! all this for a song?” The
Queen in anger repeated the order; and the minister from that time
became the personal enemy of the poet, who alludes to this misfortune in
several parts of his works.
The Earl of Leicester seems to have undertaken to provide for Spenser by
sending him abroad. A letter to Gabriel Harvey from Leicester House
fixes this to the year 1579; but either there is a mistake in the date,
or the scheme must have been abandoned; for in 1580 he was appointed
secretary to Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton, who was sent as lord-deputy to
Ireland. While in that country he wrote his ‘Discourse on the State of
Ireland,’ a judicious treatise on the policy then best suited to the
condition of that country. His services were rewarded with a grant of
3028 acres in the county of Cork, out of the forfeited lands of Gerald
Fitz Gerald Earl of Desmond. Spenser’s residence was at the castle of
Kilcolman, near Doneraile. The river Mulla, which he has more than once
introduced into his poems, ran through his grounds. Here he contracted
an intimacy with Sir Walter Raleigh, who was then a captain under Lord
Grey. ‘Colin Clout’s come Home again,’ in which Sir Walter is described
as the Shepherd of the Ocean, is a beautiful memorial of this
friendship, founded on a similarity of taste for the polite arts, and
described with equal delicacy and strength of feeling. The author
acknowledges services at court rendered to him by Raleigh; probably the
confirmation of the grant of land, which he obtained in 1586. The
friends returned to England together, and Spenser wished to have
obtained a settlement at home, rather than to have continued in a
country at that time little better than barbarous. To mortifications,
and ultimate disappointment in his attendance at court, we probably owe
the well-known lines in ‘Mother Hubbard’s Tale.’ If his forced return to
Ireland was the cause of his writing the ‘Faery Queene,’ his country was
benefited, and his fame immeasurably enhanced by the disappointment of
his wishes. On the publication of the first three books the Queen
rewarded him with a pension of fifty pounds a year; and in him the
office of Laureate may be considered to have commenced, although not
conferred under that title.
Spenser’s marriage is placed by most biographers in 1593; by Mr. Church
in 1596: the year of his death, if we could rest our faith in the
monument. All we know of the lady is, that her Christian name was
Elizabeth: a name, he says in his 74th sonnet, which has given him three
graces, in his mother, his queen, and his mistress. In his
‘Epithalamion’ he says,
“Tell me, ye merchants’ daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorn’d with beauty’s grace and virtue’s store:
Her goodly eyes, like sapphire, shining bright.
* * * * *
Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flow’rs atween,
Do, like a golden mantle, her attire.”
He probably dwells the more on this latter circumstance, because the
Queen’s hair was yellow. But even if the marriage took place in 1593,
his term of domestic happiness was very short. In the Earl of Tyrone’s
rebellion, in 1598, he was plundered and deprived of his estate. No
direct or authentic account of the circumstances attending this calamity
has come down to us; but among the heads of a conversation between Ben
Jonson and Drummond at Hawthornden, given in the works of the latter,
Jonson, after saying that neither Spenser’s stanzas pleased him, nor his
matter, is stated to have given the following appalling description of
his misfortune: that “his goods were robbed by the Irish, and his house
and a little child burnt: he and his wife escaped, and after died for
want of bread in King Street, Westminster.” Jonson however adds a
circumstance, the strangeness of which throws suspicion over the former
part of the story: “He refused twenty pieces sent him by my Lord Essex,
and said he was sure he had no time to spend them.” But whether these
particulars be true or not, it is certain that he died in London,
ruined, and a victim to despair, according to Camden, in 1598, but
according to Sir James Ware, who wrote the preface to the ‘View of the
State of Ireland,’ in 1599. Sir James, after having given a high
character of his poetry, says, “With a fate peculiar to poets, Spenser
lived in a continual struggle with poverty: he was driven away from his
house and plundered by the rebels: soon after his return in penury to
England he died. He was buried in Westminster Abbey near Chaucer, at the
expense of the Earl of Essex; the poets of the time, who attended his
funeral, threw verses into his grave.” In order to account for the
inaccuracy of the dates on the monument, it is alleged that the
inscription had been defaced, perhaps by the Puritans in revenge for the
descriptions of the Blatant Beast; and that on its renewal, the carver
(the year of birth being illegible) put ten at a venture, and ninety-six
instead of ninety-eight or ninety-nine.
Respecting Spenser’s private character, conversation and manners, his
contemporaries leave us nearly in the dark. We know that Burleigh was
his enemy, that Sidney and Raleigh were his friends: and from the
dignity of sentiment and moral tendency prevailing throughout his works,
we may reasonably infer that his virtue was not unworthy of his genius.
Milton speaks of him as “our sage and serious poet, whom I dare be known
to think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas.” ‘The Shepherd’s
Calendar,’ the first of Spenser’s works in print, is generally said to
have come out in 1579. It is a series of pastorals, formed on no uniform
plan, but lowered to the standard supposed to be appropriate to that
style of composition. But the rustic language of these pieces renders
them so utterly untunable to a modern ear, that what obtained the
applause of Sidney would not have saved the author’s name from oblivion,
had it not been borne up to imperishable fame by the splendour of the
‘Faery Queene,’ the three first books of which were published in 1590.
Six years afterwards three other books came out; and after his death two
other cantos, and the beginning of a third. The poem, therefore, exists
as a fragment: there is a traditionary story that he had completed his
design in twelve books, as was his avowed intention; but that the last
six books were lost by a servant who had the charge of bringing them
over to England. Yet, unfinished as the poem is, any one canto has merit
and beauties enough to have secured its author’s fame. In 1591 a quarto
volume was published, containing the following nine pieces:—‘The Ruines
of Time;’ ‘The Tears of the Muses;’ ‘Virgil’s Gnat;’ ‘Mother Hubbard’s
Tale;’ ‘Ruines of Rome;’ ‘Muiopotmos;’ ‘Visions of the World’s Vanitie;’
‘Bellay’s Visions;’ ‘Petrarche’s Visions.’ ‘Daphnaida,’ published in
1592, was dedicated to the Marchioness of Northampton, on the death of
her niece, Douglas Howard. The pastoral elegy of ‘Astrophel’ was devoted
wholly to the memory of Sir Philip Sidney, and inscribed to Lady Essex.
To enter on the subject of his Sonnets, &c. &c. would carry us far
beyond our prescribed limits.
In a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, Spenser sets forth the general design
of the ‘Faery Queene,’ and settles the scheme of the whole twelve books.
But the following passage proves that he contemplated twelve more. “I
labour to pourtraict in Arthur, before he was king, the image of a brave
knight, perfected in the twelve Moral Vertues, as Aristotle devised, the
which is the purport of these first twelve books: which if I find to be
well accepted, I may perhaps be encouraged to frame the other part of
Politic Vertues in his person, after that he came to be king.” He also
says, “In the person of Prince Arthur I set forth Magnificence in
particular.” By magnificence Dryden understands him to mean magnanimity,
in succouring the representatives of the particular moral virtues when
in distress, and considers his interposition in each legend as the only
bond of uniformity in a design, which in all other respects insulates
his allegorical heroes, without subordination or preference. This plan
gave him much opportunity of drawing flattering portraits of individual
courtiers, though few of the likenesses have been recognized, and the
originals seem to have shown but little gratitude for the compliment. It
is generally allowed that Prince Arthur was meant for Sir Philip Sidney,
who was the poet’s chief patron. The prevailing beauty of this great
poem consists in its vein of fabulous invention, set off by a power of
description and force of imagination, so various and inexhaustible, that
the reader is too much pleased and distracted to be sensible of the
faults into which his judgment is betrayed by occasional excess. It is
remarked by Sir William Temple, in his ‘Essay on Poetry,’ that “the
religion of the Gentiles had been woven into the contexture of all the
ancient poetry with an agreeable mixture, which made the moderns affect
to give that of Christianity a place in their poems; but the true
religion was not found to become fictions so well as the false one had
done, and all their attempts of this kind seemed rather to debase
religion than heighten poetry.” Critics in general, and common sense
itself, have confirmed Temple’s remark as to the hazard, which it
required such a mind as Milton’s successfully to face, of giving a
poetical colouring to the solemn truths of religion. To a feeling of
this difficulty we probably owe the peculiarity of Spenser’s epic, if so
it may be called. In other epics, instruction is subordinate to story,
and conveyed through it; in the ‘Faery Queene,’ morality is the avowed
object, to be illustrated by the actions of such shadowy personages,
that but a thin veil is thrown over the bare design. Whatever may be
thought of allegorical poetry as a system, the execution in this
instance is excellent, the flights of fancy brilliant, and often
sublime. Rymer finds fault with Spenser for having suffered himself to
be “misled by Ariosto;” and says that “his poem is perfect Fairyland.”
The readers of poetry in the present day will probably receive that
censure as praise: marvels and adventures, even if probability be not
made matter of conscience, may have more attraction than classic
regularity and strict adherence to the unities. But though Spenser
frequently imitated both Tasso and Ariosto in descriptions of battles,
and his general delineation of knight-errantry, the plan and conduct of
his poem deviated widely from Ariosto’s model, and, it is generally
thought, not on the side of improvement. Ariosto narrates adventures as
real, however extravagant, and only occasionally intermixes portions of
pure allegory. But allegory is the staple of Spenser’s design; and his
legendary tales are interwoven with it so far only as they are connected
with his one human hero. With the exception of Prince Arthur, his heroes
are abstractions; they bear the names of knights, but are in reality
Virtues personified. Dryden finds fault with Spenser’s obsolete
language, and the ill choice of his stanza. The poems of the Elizabethan
age, now considered as the golden age of poetry, are so much more read
and better understood in these later times, than they were in Dryden’s
days, that the language is no longer felt as a serious obstacle to the
pleasures of perusal. With respect to the form of stanza, it was natural
for Dryden, the mighty master of the couplet, to condemn it; and it may
be in itself objectionable as favouring redundancy of style, not only in
respect of expletives and tautology, but of ideas. Its fulness of melody
however, and sonorous majesty, have of late brought it into favour both
with writers and readers.
Of all critics, none can be better worth hearing, on such a subject as
that of the Faery Queene, than the historian of English poetry. Warton
writes thus:—“If the Faery Queene be destitute of that arrangement and
economy which epic severity requires, yet we scarcely regret the loss of
these, while their place is so amply supplied by something which more
powerfully attracts us; something which engages the affections, the
feelings of the heart, rather than the cold approbation of the head. If
there be any poem whose graces please, because they are situated beyond
the reach of art; and where the force and faculties of creative
imagination delight, because they are unassisted and unrestrained by
those of deliberate judgment, it is this: in reading Spenser, if the
critic is not satisfied, yet the reader is transported.”
The principal editions of Spenser are Upton’s ‘Faery Queene, with a
Glossary and Notes,’ London, 1751; and Mr. Todd’s Variorum Edition of
his Works, 8 vols. 8vo. 1805.
[Illustration:
[Illustration of the ‘Faery Queene,’ after a design by Stothard.]
]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
GROTIUS.
_From an original Picture by M. J. Mirevelt
in the possession of the Publisher._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
GROTIUS.
Hugh de Groot, or Hugo Grotius, as he is more generally designated, was
born at Delft in Holland, on Easter Sunday, April 10, 1583[12]. His
family was ancient and of noble extraction, both on the paternal and
maternal sides. His father, John de Groot, who was Curator of the
University of Leyden, was a lawyer and a poet of considerable
reputation.
Footnote 12:
A discrepancy appears in the accounts of the different biographers of
Grotius respecting the date of his birth; some fixing it in 1582, and
others in 1583. The fact is only material with reference to the
anecdotes of his early acquirements, and it is ascertained beyond a
doubt, by a very simple circumstance. That Grotius was born on Easter
Sunday, and on the 10th of April, appears in numerous passages of his
letters and poems; and as Easter Sunday fell on the 10th of April in
1583, and did not fall on that day for many years before and
afterwards, the date of his birth seems to be satisfactorily proved by
that coincidence. See Nicolas’s Tables.
The mind of Grotius was developed with unusual rapidity. In his ninth
year he is said to have made extemporaneous Latin verses; in his
fifteenth year he published his edition of Martian Capella, and before
that time, his biographers state that he disputed twice publicly in the
schools on questions of philosophy and civil law. His memory is said to
have been so prodigious, that being present at the muster of a regiment
on some particular occasion, he afterwards repeated accurately every
name which had been called. Anecdotes of this kind are seldom to be
traced to any good authority, and are frequently merely fabulous; but
there is no doubt that, at a very tender age, Grotius had made
extraordinary progress in the acquisition of learning. The knowledge and
critical discernment displayed in his edition of Capella, which was
unquestionably published in 1599, excited the astonishment of his
contemporaries. Scaliger, De Thou, Lipsius, Casaubon, have characterised
this work as a prodigy of juvenile learning; and those who have patience
to read it at the present day will collect from the annotations, that at
the age of fifteen the editor must have read critically and carefully
the works of Apuleius, Albericus, Cicero, Aquila, Porphyry, Aristotle,
Strabo, Ptolemy, Pliny, Euclid, and many other ancient and modern
authors, in different languages and on various subjects, and cannot fail
to consider Grotius as a wonderful instance of early talents, industry,
and acquirement. “_Reliqui viri_,” says his contemporary Heinsius,
“_tandem fuêre_; Grotius _vir natus est_.” In the following year Grotius
published the ‘Phenomena of Aratus,’ an astronomical poem, written
originally in Greek, and translated into Latin by Cicero, when a very
young man. Part of Cicero’s translation had been lost in course of time;
and in this publication the deficiencies were supplied by Grotius in
Latin verse with much elegance and success. In a letter to the President
de Thou, written in 1601, when he was not eighteen years of age, he thus
modestly refers to those astonishing works:—“I was exceedingly glad when
I understood that my Capella and Aratus were not only come to your hand,
but were also favourably received by you. My own opinion of Martianus
and the other Syntagm is only this, that they are capable of some excuse
from my age; for I wrote them when I was very young. But you are pleased
to augur well from these beginnings, and to express a judgment that they
may grow up into some hope hereafter. I hope it may be so; for it is my
greatest desire and ambition _a laudatis laudari_.”
Before he went to the university, he was placed under the care of an
Arminian clergyman, named Uitenbogard, from whom he derived that strong
sectarian bias, which had afterwards a powerful effect upon his
character and fortune. At twelve years of age Grotius was sent to the
University of Leyden, where, though he remained only three years, he
became so much distinguished, that he attracted the notice of Scaliger,
and many of the most celebrated scholars of the times. He had always
been intended for the profession of the law; and lest the allurements of
general literature, and the flattery of successful authorship, which had
greatly withdrawn him from legal studies, should lead him to renounce
the lucrative and honourable employment for which he was designed, his
father sought to turn his thoughts into a new channel. It happened that
about this time the celebrated Grand Pensionary, Barneveldt, was sent on
an embassy from the Dutch States to Henry IV., for the purpose of
persuading him to conclude a new treaty of perpetual alliance with
Holland and England against Spain. John de Groot readily obtained for
his son a situation in the train of Barneveldt. Grotius remained in
France a whole year, and during that time was treated with marked
distinction and respect by the learned men of that country, and received
the degree of Doctor of Laws from the University of Paris. He was also
graciously noticed by the king himself, who gave him at his departure
his own portrait and a chain of gold. From some unexplained cause,
Grotius did not upon this occasion become acquainted with the President
de Thou; but soon after his return to Delft, he wrote him a letter
accompanied by a copy of his Aratus. From that time until the death of
the President a constant correspondence was maintained between them, and
Grotius furnished many notes and materials for that part of De Thou’s
history which relates to the Netherlands and Holland.
Immediately after his return from France to Holland in April 1599,
Grotius published his “Limeneuretica, sive Portuum investigandorum
Ratio,” a treatise for the instruction of seamen in ascertaining the
exact situation of a ship at sea. This work was merely a translation,
and has been of course long since superseded by modern discoveries; but
it is worthy of remark, as a proof of the extraordinary acquirements of
a youth of sixteen, that he should have added to his critical and
scholastic knowledge so competent an acquaintance with magnetism and
practical navigation as the translation of such a work implies. In the
course of the same year he enrolled himself on the list of Advocates at
the Hague, and before he was eighteen years of age commenced the actual
practice of his profession. In this occupation he was eminently
successful, though he always disliked it, and lamented the time which it
claimed from more congenial pursuits. His reputation and practice,
however, daily increased, until in the year 1607, being recommended by
the suffrages of the courts, and nominated by the States of Holland,
Prince Maurice conferred upon him the important and responsible office
of Advocate-General of the provinces of Holland and Zealand. Soon after
this appointment, he married Mary Reygersburgh, the daughter of an
opulent family in Zealand, with whom he lived in the most complete
harmony.
In the year 1608, while he held the office of Advocate-General, Grotius
composed his ‘Mare Liberum,’ the general design of which was to show,
upon the principles of the law of nations, that the sea was open to all
without distinction, and to assert the right of the Dutch States to
trade to the Indian seas, notwithstanding the claim of the Portuguese to
an exclusive title to that commerce. This tract was published without
the consent of Grotius; and at a subsequent period of his life he
expressed his disapprobation of it. “My intention,” he says, “was good;
but the work savours too much of my want of years.” Many years
afterwards, Selden published his profound work on maritime rights,
entitled ‘Mare Clausum,’ in which he incidentally notices this treatise
of Grotius with much respect, though he advocates a contrary doctrine.
Soon after the appearance of his ‘Mare Liberum,’ Grotius published a
‘Dissertation on the Antiquity of the Batavian Republic,’ for which he
received the thanks of the States of Holland, accompanied by a present.
In 1613, he was advanced from his practice as an advocate to the
judicial station of Pensionary of Rotterdam, which office was given him
for life, the usual tenure having been only at will. In the same year a
difference of opinion having arisen between England and the States of
Holland, respecting the right of fishing for whales in the Northern
seas, Grotius was sent into England for the purpose of effecting an
amicable arrangement of the dispute. He there became personally
acquainted with Isaac Casaubon, with whom he had previously
corresponded. He was favourably noticed by the king during his stay in
England, and formed an intimate connexion with several of the most
eminent English divines of that day, which he maintained by letters for
many years afterwards. In the political object of his embassy he appears
to have failed; the subject in dispute was resumed at Rotterdam in 1615,
before commissioners of both countries, but with no more favourable
result to the Dutch States.
Soon after his return from England, Grotius became deeply involved in
the religious animosities which at that time prevailed in Holland. He
had adopted the principles of Arminius from Uitenbogard, the instructor
of his early youth, and he now zealously maintained the doctrines of the
Arminian party in opposition to the tenets held by the followers of
Gomar. The questions in dispute related for the most part to
predestination and other abstract points of Christian doctrine, the
discussion of which by the disciples of Arminius on the one hand, and of
Gomar, a professor of Leyden, on the other, had divided the United
Provinces into two parties, animated by the most furious hostility
towards each other. The public peace being endangered by the violence to
which these religious differences were carried, the States of Holland,
in 1614, published an edict, drawn up by Grotius, enjoining forbearance
and mutual toleration between the contending parties, but denouncing in
unqualified terms the doctrines of the Gomarists. The effect of this
partial and injudicious edict was to increase the virulence of party
spirit; frequent riots ensued, attended with popular demonstrations of
an alarming kind. The powerful city of Amsterdam favoured the Gomarists;
and hesitated to submit to the edict of 1614. Under these circumstances,
the States sent a deputation, of which Grotius was the chief, for the
purpose of converting the Town Council of that city to their opinion.
Upon this occasion Grotius made a judicious and temperate harangue,
which was afterwards translated into Latin, and is published among his
works. It was, however, unsuccessful in its result, as the Senate
declared that the city of Amsterdam could not adopt the edict without
endangering the church, and risking their commercial prosperity. In the
mean time popular tumults continued and increased; and in this position
of affairs the Grand Pensionary, Barneveldt, proposed to the States of
Holland, that the magistrates of the several cities in that province
should be authorized to levy soldiers for the purpose of securing the
public tranquillity. The representatives of several towns vehemently
opposed this proposition, but it was adopted, after a stormy debate;
and, August 4, 1617, a proclamation was issued to carry it into
execution.
This decree directly induced a train of circumstances, which eventually
led to the death of Barneveldt, and the ruin and banishment of Grotius.
Prince Maurice of Nassau, who was at that time Governor and
Captain-general of the United Provinces, denounced it as an act illegal
and unjustifiable in itself, and an invasion of his authority. He
influenced the States-General to write to the magistrates of those
provinces and cities which had acted under the decree by raising
soldiers, commanding them to disband their levies; and upon the refusal
of many of them to comply with this requisition, he obtained authority
to proceed to the recusant cities, and enforce their obedience. Having
executed this commission successfully in the towns of Nimeguen,
Overyssel, and Arnheim, Maurice, who on the death of his brother in
February, 1618, had assumed the title of Prince of Orange, proceeded to
Utrecht, with the same object. The States of Holland had in the mean
time sent thither Grotius and Hoogerbertz, the Pensionary of Leyden, for
the purpose of opposing the Prince’s commission. They stimulated the
magistrates of the city to resist the assumed authority of the
States-General, to increase their militia, and to double the guards at
the gates. They also brought letters from the States of Holland to the
officers of the ordinary garrison, persuading them that it was their
duty to obey the States of Utrecht, in opposition to the States-General
and the Prince of Orange. Notwithstanding these preparations the Prince
entered the city without forcible resistance, and having disbanded the
new levies, displaced several magistrates, and arrested some of those
who had been most active in their opposition, returned to the Hague.
Grotius was now satisfied that all further attempts at opposition would
be useless, and prevailed upon the magistrates of Rotterdam at once to
dismiss the levies made under the obnoxious decree.
The Prince of Orange and the States-General were highly incensed at the
measures taken to excite a forcible opposition at Utrecht; and
Barneveldt, Grotius, and Hoogerbertz, were arrested, August 29, 1618,
upon the charge of having raised an insurrection at that place, and
committed to close custody in the castle of the Hague.
In the ensuing November, the prisoners, having previously undergone
repeated examinations, were separately tried before twenty-six
commissioners, chosen from the principal nobility and magistracy of the
Seven Provinces. Barneveldt was tried first, and was condemned to be
beheaded, for various acts of insubordination towards the States; and in
particular for having promoted the insurrection at Utrecht. The trial of
Grotius followed a few days afterwards. He complains of having been
treated then, and during the previous examinations, with great hardship
and injustice: he says that he was pressed to answer ensnaring questions
directly, when he required time, and that the commissioners refused to
read over his examinations to him, after they had written down his
answers. He was, however, found guilty, and sentence was passed upon
him, May 18, 1619, recapitulating the heads of the charges of which he
had been convicted, and condemning him to imprisonment for life, and the
confiscation of his estate.
The castle of Louvestein was selected for his place of confinement, a
fortress situated near Gorcum, in South Holland, at the point of the
island formed at the junction of the Waal and the Meuse. Here he was
kept a close prisoner: his father was refused permission to see him, and
his wife was only admitted on condition of sharing his imprisonment,
being told that if she left the castle she would not be allowed to
return. These restrictions were afterwards, however, considerably
relaxed: his wife obtained leave to quit the castle twice a week, and
Grotius was permitted to borrow books, and to correspond with his
friends on all subjects except politics.
It is not for such minds as that of Grotius that “stone walls can make a
prison.” During nearly two years of close imprisonment, with no society
but that of his wife, who constantly attended him, he employed himself
in digesting and applying those stores of learning which he had
previously acquired, and study became at once his business and his
consolation. “The Muses,” says he, in a letter to Vossius during his
confinement, “are a great alleviation of my misfortune. You know that
when I was most oppressed by business, they furnished my most delightful
recreation; how much more valuable are they to me now, when they
constitute the only enjoyment which cannot be taken from me!” During his
captivity he occupied much of his time in legal studies, of which other
pursuits had for some years caused an intermission, and also in
arranging and completing his improvements and additions to Stobæus,
which were afterwards published; but his favourite employment appears to
have been theology, and especially a laborious and critical examination
of the Sermon on the Mount. He also at this time wrote a treatise in the
Dutch language on the Truth of the Christian Religion, which a few years
afterwards, while at Paris, he enlarged and translated into Latin. In
its improved state it became more generally known and popular than any
of his works, having been translated, during the seventeenth century,
into the English, French, Flemish, German, Persian, Arabic, and Greek
languages. This treatise was well worthy of the great attention which it
excited: in point of force of argument and clearness of arrangement it
will not suffer on a comparison with the works of Paley and other
popular modern writers on the same subject; and in temper and candour it
is superior to most of them. Grotius says, in the introduction, that he
originally wrote it to furnish an occupation to his countrymen during
the unemployed leisure of long voyages on commercial adventures; and in
the hope that, by thus instructing them in the most intelligible and
convincing arguments in favour of Christianity, they might become the
means of diffusing its advantages among distant nations. In the first
book, he maintains the existence, attributes, and providence of a
Supreme Being; in the second, he enumerates the particular arguments in
favour of the divine origin of the Christian religion; in which part of
the subject his illustration of the internal evidence derived from the
superior dignity and excellence of the moral precepts of Christianity is
peculiarly admirable. The third division of the treatise contains a
critical defence of the authenticity of the books of the New Testament;
and the three remaining parts are devoted to a refutation of Paganism,
Judaism, and Mahometanism. The perspicuity of the style, and the spirit
of candour which pervades the whole treatise, well adapted it to the
purpose for which it was intended; and though many modern authors have
followed in the same course of reasoning, it may still be read with
advantage as an excellent epitome of the arguments for the truth of
Christianity.
In the early part of 1621, after nearly two years had been passed by
Grotius at Louvestein, the fertile invention of his wife devised the
means of his escape. It was his practice to return the books, which he
borrowed from his friends, in a large chest, in which his wife sent
linen from the castle to be washed at Gorcum. During the first year of
his imprisonment the guards invariably examined this chest before it
left the castle, but as they continually found nothing but books and
dirty linen, they gradually relaxed in their search, until at last it
was wholly omitted. Grotius’s wife resolved to turn their negligence to
her husband’s advantage. The chest was large enough to contain a man,
and she prevailed upon him to try whether he could bear to be shut up
for so long a time as would be necessary to convey the chest across the
water to Gorcum. The experiment proved the scheme to be practicable, and
the first favourable opportunity was seized for carrying it into
execution. On the 22nd of March, during the absence of the governor from
the castle, Grotius was placed in the chest, and holes having been bored
in it by his wife in order to admit air, it was carried down from the
castle by two soldiers on a ladder. One of the soldiers, suspecting
something from the weight, insisted upon taking it to the governor’s
house to be opened; but the governor’s wife, who was probably in the
secret, told him she was well assured that the chest contained nothing
but books, and ordered him to carry it to the boat. In this manner
Grotius crossed the water and arrived safely at a friend’s house in
Gorcum. He then passed through the streets in the disguise of a mason,
and stepped into a boat which took him to Valvic in Brabant, from whence
he afterwards escaped to Antwerp. Upon the first discovery of the trick
which had been practised upon him by the wife of Grotius, the governor
of Louvestein confined her rigorously; but she was discharged upon
presenting a petition to the States-General.
By the advice of various powerful friends in France, Grotius determined
to make Paris his city of refuge. He was well received in the French
metropolis, both by learned men and politicians, and in the beginning of
the following year was presented to the King, who bestowed upon him a
pension of 3000 livres. In the year 1622 he published his ‘Apology,’ in
which he vindicates his conduct from the particular charges which had
formed the subject of the proceedings against him, and argues against
the legality of his sentence and the competency of the tribunal by which
he was tried. His work excited much attention throughout Europe, and
greatly irritated the States-General, who published so violent an edict
against it, that the friends of Grotius entertained fears for his
personal safety. In order, therefore, to place himself more fully under
the protection of the French government, he obtained letters of
naturalization from Louis XIII.
In 1625 he completed his treatise ‘De Jure Belli et Pacis,’ which was
published at Paris in that year. None of the works of Grotius have
excited so much attention as this treatise: it was the first attempt to
reduce into a system the subject of international law; and the industry
and extensive learning of the author well qualified him for the task.
More complete and useful works upon this subject have been written since
the time of Grotius; but in order to estimate properly the magnitude and
value of his labours, it should be considered that, before he wrote, the
ground was wholly unbroken. In his own age, and in that which succeeded
it, this work was held in the highest estimation, being translated into
various languages, and circulated as a standard book throughout Europe.
Grotius remained more than nine years in France, and during that period
published, in addition to the works already noticed, several theological
treatises of small interest at the present day. The latter part of his
residence in France was rendered uncomfortable by several disagreeable
circumstances, and in particular by the backwardness of the French
government in paying his pension. He made various attempts to return to
Holland, which were discouraged by his friends, as the sentence against
him was still in force; but towards the latter end of the year 1631,
finding his abode in France intolerable, he determined at all hazards to
revisit his native country. He soon found, however, that he had taken an
unwise step: the States-General issued an order for his arrest, and
after in vain endeavouring to appease his enemies, he quitted Holland in
March 1632, intending to take up his abode at Hamburgh, which place he
did not, however, reach before the end of the year.
There is reason to believe that Gustavus Adolphus, the King of Sweden,
was about to take the Dutch jurist into his employment, when he was
killed at the battle of Lutzen, in November, 1632. Two years afterwards,
however, Oxenstiern, who conducted the government of Sweden, appointed
Grotius resident ambassador to the infant Queen at the court of France;
and he made his public entry into Paris in that character, March 2,
1635. He filled this arduous and responsible situation for ten years, to
the entire satisfaction of the government which he represented. Towards
the close of his service many circumstances concurred to render it far
from agreeable. Disputes arose between him and other ambassadors upon
questions of precedency, which were fomented and encouraged by the
French government; and the irregular remittance of his salary from
Sweden occasioned him frequent and vexatious embarrassment. At the end
of the year 1642 he writes thus to his brother: “I am come to the age at
which many wise men have voluntarily renounced places of honour. I love
quiet, and would gladly devote the remainder of my life to the service
of God and of posterity. If I had not some hope of contributing to a
general peace, I should have retired before this time.” At length the
appointment of an agent to the crown of Sweden at Paris, with whom
Grotius foresaw that constant disagreements and broils would arise,
determined him to solicit his recall. This request was granted; and the
Queen of Sweden wrote to him with her own hand, expressing the greatest
satisfaction at his services, and promising him some future employment
more suitable to his age and inclinations. He left Paris in June 1645,
and travelling through Holland, where he was courteously received by
those who had previously treated him with every kind of indignity,
arrived at Stockholm in the following month. The Queen seems to have
entertained him honourably and kindly: both she and the members of her
council praised his past services, and gave him abundant promises for
the future; and in a letter to his brother, dated July 18, 1645 (the
last of his letters which is known to be extant), he speaks with
gratification of the honourable notice which he had received. He
appears, however, to have taken an insuperable dislike to Sweden, and to
have resolved at once not to spend the remainder of his days in that
country. The Queen pressed him repeatedly to remain, and assured him
that if he would continue in Sweden, and form part of her council, she
would amply provide for him. He pleaded the decline of his health, that
the climate was injurious to his constitution, and that his wife was
unable to live in Sweden; and adhered to his determination. The Queen
hesitated to grant him a passport; upon which he left Stockholm without
one, and was overtaken and brought back by a messenger. At length the
Queen, seeing that his resolution was not to be overcome, permitted him
to depart, dismissing him with a considerable present in money and
plate.
A vessel had been provided to transport him from Lubeck to Hamburgh, in
which he embarked on the 12th of August. He had scarcely put to sea,
when a violent storm arose and drove the vessel into a port near
Dantzic. From this place he set out in an open carriage, in the most
inclement weather, intending to return to Lubeck, and arrived at Rostock
on his way thither, August 28. He there complained of extreme illness,
and desired a physician to be sent for, who soon discovered that his end
was approaching. A clergyman, named Quistorpius, also attended him, and
has given an interesting account of his last moments. Grotius died in
the night of the 28th of August, 1645. His body was carried to Delft,
and laid in the tomb of his ancestors. In modern times a handsome
monument has been erected to his memory.
The reader who may wish for fuller information respecting the biography
of Grotius may consult with much advantage ‘La Vie de Grotius,’ par M.
de Burigny, which was published at Paris in 1752, and translated into
English two years afterwards. Mr. Butler, the author of the ‘Memoirs of
the English Catholics,’ published a life of Grotius in 1826; but it is
neither so copious nor so accurate as the work of M. de Burigny.
END OF VOL. IV.
LONDON:
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES,
Duke-street, Lambeth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Corrected the pagination error mentioned in footnote 1 as well as
incorrect page number references in the Contents.
2. Did not change “Lionardo da Vinci” used consistently used throughout
the book with exception of picture caption.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors.
4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
6. Superscripts are denoted by a carat before a single superscript
character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.
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