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LIBRARY OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 LIVES 
 
 EMINENT PERSONS; 
 
 5**! 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 GALILEO, LORD SOMERS, 
 
 KEPLER, CAXTON, 
 
 NEWTON, BLAKE, 
 
 MAHOMET, ADAM SMITH, 
 
 WOLSEY, N1EBUIIR, 
 SIR E. COKE, 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO. 
 
 PUBLISHED UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR 
 THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.^ 
 
 LONDON: 
 BALDWIN AND CRADOCK, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIII. 
 

 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by William Clowes, 
 
 Duke-.street, Lambeth. 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 LIFE OF GALILEO. 
 
 Page 
 
 Comparison of the methods of the an- 
 cients and the moderns with respect to 
 philosophical discoveries . 1 
 Definition of the logic of the middle ages ib. 
 Bacon and Galileo compared . 2 
 Galileo, his birth and parentage (1564) 3 
 . was not illegitimate, as generally- 
 supposed . . . ib. 
 
 his father was a man of learning ib. 
 
 exhibits proofs of early talent . 4 
 
 constructs models of machinery ib. 
 
 studies music and drawing . ib. 
 
 sent to the University of Pisa in 
 
 1581 ib. 
 
 was disgusted with the Aristote- 
 lian philosophy . . .5 
 
 swinging of a lamp, in the ca- 
 thedral of Pisa, first led him to the 
 consideration of the vibrations of pen- 
 dulums . . . ib. 
 
 Forms of pendulums used by physicians 
 in the time of Galileo . . ib. 
 
 State of mathematical knowledge at that 
 period 6 
 
 Galileo appointed professor of mathe- 
 matics at Pisa, in 1589, when only 25 
 years of age . . . ib. 
 
 ' adopts the Copernican system of 
 
 astronomy . . . 7, 8 
 
 Bruno burnt at Rome in the year 1600, 
 for attacking the philosophy of his time 8 
 
 Galileo, his experiments on the fall of 
 bodies ... 9 
 
 appointed professor of mathema- 
 tics at Padua in 15 9 2 . .10 
 
 rapid diffusion of his writings ib. 
 
 his re-invention of the thermo- 
 meter .... ib. 
 
 his thermometer described .11 
 
 his thermometer improved by 
 
 Leopold de' Medici and others . 11 
 
 State of astronomy in the time of Ga- 
 lileo .... 11-14 
 
 Astrological origin of the Saxon names 
 of the days of the week . 11, 12 
 
 Diagram, explanatory of . . 12 
 
 Delambre's mistaken preference of Kepler 
 to Galileo . . . .14 
 
 Friendly correspondence between Galileo 
 and Kepler . . . 15 
 
 Re-election of Galileo to the professorship 
 of Padua . . . ib. 
 
 Remarks on the appearance of a new star 
 in Serpent arius, in 1604 . . 16 
 
 Page 
 
 Remarks on a new star in Cassiopaeia, in 
 1572 . . . .16 
 
 Third appointment of Galileo to the pro- 
 fessorship at Padua in 1606; and im- 
 mense number of auditors at his lec- 
 tures . . . ib. 
 
 Sector, that instrument invented by Galileo ib. 
 
 Gunter's scale, and the proportional com- 
 pass, remarks on . * 17 
 
 Galileo's observations on the loadstone, 17, 18 
 
 account of his writings that are 
 
 now lost . . . 18,19 
 
 Telescope, concerning the discovery of, by 
 Galileo . . . 20, 26 
 
 Porta' s claim to the invention of, 20,21 
 
 Roger Bacon's claim to the in- 
 vention of . . 22 
 
 claim by a Dutchman . 23 
 
 Spectacles, antiquity of . . 'JO 
 
 Microscopes constructed by Galileo . 25 
 Galileo discovers the satellites of Jupiter 26 
 
 publishes the Nuncius Siderius, 
 
 or, Intelligences of the Stars . 26 
 
 Kepler's astonishment on hearing that 
 there were move than six planets ; and 
 his demonstration that they could not 
 exceed that number . . .27 
 
 Comparison between theory and experi- 
 ment . . . ib. 
 
 FantssticaFhypotheses of Huygens, Sizzi, 
 and others, concerning the probable 
 number of planets and satellites 28, 29 
 
 Galileo's opinion respecting judicial astro- 
 logy . . . 29 
 
 Disputes to which the discovery of the 
 satellites gave rise . 30, 31 
 
 Galileo was the first who conceived that 
 the longitude might be discovered by 
 means of the eclipses of Jupiter's satel- 
 lites .... 32 
 
 his observations on the moon 33 
 
 . . on Saturn 34, 35 
 
 curious anagrams under which 
 
 he veiled his discoveries . 34, 35 
 
 Huygens discovers Saturn's ring in 
 
 1656 ... 35 
 
 HerschePs subsequent discovery that, 
 although apparently single, Saturn's 
 ring is composed of two concentrate 
 rings, revolving round the planet 35 
 
 Galileo observes the crescent appearance 
 of Venus . . . . ib. 
 
 resigns his professorship, and re- 
 turns to Florence 36 
 
VI 
 
 INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Tage 
 
 Galileo, his first appearance at Rome in 
 1611 . . . . . 36 
 
 Accidentia Li?icea, account of its origin 
 and regulations . 36-38 
 
 Cesi, an account of his life and writ- 
 ings .... 36-39 
 
 Galileo, his discovery of the spots on the 
 sun . . .39 
 
 his remarks and experiments on 
 
 floating bodies . . 41-44 
 
 his letter to Christina, Grand 
 
 Duchess of Tuscany, on the astronomy 
 
 of scripture . .46, 47 
 
 Proceedings of the Inquisition at Rome 47 
 Galileo has an audience of Pope Paul V. 
 
 in 1616 ... 49 
 
 ., ordered not to teach the doctrine 
 
 of Copernicus concerning the motion 
 of the earth . . . ib. 
 
 Application of the eclipses of Jupiter's 
 satellites to the discovery of the longi- 
 tude . . . .50 
 Galileo's correspondence with the Spanish 
 
 minister on that subject . .51 
 
 Controversy concerning the comets of 
 
 1618 . . .51,52 
 
 Galileo's metaphysical opinions nearly 
 allied to those of Locke and Berkeley 53 
 
 , his third visit to Rome in 1624, 
 
 and honourable reception by Pope 
 Urban . . .53, 54 
 
 Publication of Galileo's " System of the 
 World r " and consequent proceedings of 
 his enemies ... 58 
 
 Sentence of the Inquisition 59-61 
 
 Galileo's abjuration . . 62, 63 
 
 Account of the persecution of a Bavarian 
 
 bishop, in the 8th century, for asserting 
 the existence of antipodes . 63 
 
 The books of Copernicus and Galileo are 
 still (in 1831) on the forbidden list at 
 Rome . . . .64 
 
 Extracts from Galileo's " Dialogues on 
 the System of the World," with com- 
 ments .... 65-74 
 
 The principle of gravity, or universal at- 
 traction, well known to Galileo and 
 others . . . . 66, 67 
 
 Ancient opinions on the cause of the 
 tides . '. . 71-74 
 
 Galileo becomes blind at the age of 72 75 
 
 his previous observation of the 
 
 libration of the moon . .76 
 
 State of mechanical science before the 
 time of Galileo, with comments 78-83 
 
 Galileo's theory of motion, with com- 
 ments . . . 83-88 
 
 Extracts from his " Dialogues on Mo- 
 tion;" with remarks . . 88-93 
 
 Correspondence Respecting the longi- 
 tude . . . 93-95 
 
 Inquiry whether or not Galileo was the 
 inventor of the pendulum clock 95-100 
 
 Drawings of wheelwork of clocks and 
 watches, before the application of the 
 pendulum . . . 96 
 
 Private character and anecdotes of Ga- 
 lileo ... . 100-102 
 
 Account of his death and burial in 1642 1 03 
 
 Dispersion of his books and manuscripts 104 
 
 Notices of various biographies of Ga- 
 lileo . . . 104, 105 
 
 List of his Works , . 106 
 
 LIFE OF KEPLER. 
 
 Kepler, his character as a philosopher, 
 considered . . . .1 
 
 his birth and parentage (1 571) 2 
 
 was educated at the expense of the 
 
 Duke of Wirtemberg . . ib. 
 
 appointed to the Astronomical 
 
 Lectureship at Gratz, in Styria . ib. 
 
 imaginative nature of his studies 3 
 
 was an early convert to the sys- 
 tem of Copernicus . . * ib. 
 
 . his account of the progress of his 
 
 opinions in 1595 . . . ib. 
 
 .- his theories and investigations, 
 
 founded on the bases of numbers and 
 geometrical relations, illustrated with 
 diagrams . . . 4-9 
 
 , his marriage in 1596 . . 9 
 
 . he joins Tycho Brahe at Prague 
 
 in 1600 .- . . 9,10 
 
 his quarrel with Tycho, and re- 
 conciliation . . 10,11 
 
 succeeds to the situation of prin- 
 
 cipal mathematician to the emperor, on 
 Tycho' s death . . 11 
 
 Kepler gains a livelihood by casting na- 
 tivities .... 
 
 his absurd account of the. appear- 
 ance of the new star in Cassiopeia 
 (1604) .... 
 
 publishes a disputation on astro- 
 
 12 
 
 logy in 1602 
 
 his theory of astrology 
 
 . ib. 
 
 Anecdote of a salad supposed to be formed 
 from the atoms of Epicurus . . ib. 
 
 ______ publishes a Treatise on Comets, 
 
 and a Supplement to Vitellion, con- 
 taining the first rational theory of 
 optics . . . .14 
 
 Extracts from his Optical Experiments 1 4-1 7 
 
 Publication of his work " On the Motions 
 of Mars" . . . .18 
 
 Sketch of the astronomical theories before 
 the time of Kepler . . 18-22 
 
 Account of the Commentaries on the Mo- 
 tions of Mars . . 23-28 
 
 Kepler discovers the law of equal areas 
 being described, in elliptic orbits, in 
 equal times . . . 28-30 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Pago 
 
 His theory of the moving force, by which 
 the planets are carried forward in their 
 orbits . . . 30-32 
 
 Kepler is appointed Professor at Linz . 35 
 
 His second marriage, and curious account 
 of the dozen of candidates for the ho- 
 nour of his hand . . 36,37 
 
 Occasion of his writing his work on 
 Gauging . . . .37 
 
 Appointed mathematical professor at 
 Bologna, in 1617 . . 38 
 
 Publishes his Harmonics . .39 
 
 Inscription of polygons in circles . 39 
 
 -Kepler's belief that the earth was an 
 animal . . . .40 
 
 Extracts from his Astrological Absurdi- 
 ties .... 40-42 
 
 Parts supposed to be taken, ! by the several 
 planets, in the music of the spheres 43 
 
 Kepler's account of the causes of regula- 
 rity in the law of motion of the planets 44 
 
 Laws of motion according to New- 
 ton ... 45-48 
 
 Kepler's " Epitome" prohibited at Rome 
 and at Florence . . . ib. 
 
 His theory of comets, that they move in 
 straight lines . . .48 
 
 Kepler, the first German who calculated 
 the tables of logarithms . 48,49 
 
 Trial of Kepler's mother, and her con- 
 demnation to the torture . 49, 50 
 
 Invitatioa to Kepler to go to England 50 
 
 Rudolphine Tables finished and published 
 in 1627 . . . 50,51 
 
 Death of Kepler in 1630, and situation 
 of his family . . .52 
 
 Kepler's " Dream on Lunar Astronomy ;" 
 a fanciful tale ... 53 
 
 monument in the Botanic Garden 
 
 at Ratisbon, described . , 53 
 
 List of his published works m 54 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 Newton's birth and parentage (1642) . 1 
 
 II is early turn for mechanics . ib. 
 
 Constructs a model of a windmill, and 
 also draws a sun-dial at an early age 1, 2 
 
 Leaves school for Cambridge in 1660 2 
 
 His text books, on entering college, enu- 
 merated . . . . ib. 
 
 Remarks on the geometry of Descartes ib. 
 
 Descartes unjustly treated by Newton . ib. 
 
 Wallis's works much studied by Newton, 
 and led to many of his discoveries 3, 4 
 
 Discovery of the binomial theorem . 3 
 
 of the method of fluxions . 4 
 
 Differential calculus of Leibnitz, the 
 method of fluxions under a different 
 form . . . . ib. 
 
 Newton leaves Cambridge, in 1665, to 
 avoid the plague . . . ib. 
 
 Discovery of the law of gravity and its ap- 
 plication to the heavenly bodies 4-6 
 
 Newton returns to Cambridge in 166G . 6 
 
 is appointed lecturer on optics, 
 
 in room of Dr. Barrow, in 1669 7 
 
 is elected a Fellow of the Royal 
 
 Society in 1672 . . .7 
 
 communicates to the society a 
 
 model and description of a reflecting 
 telescope . . ib. 
 
 The model of this telescope is still pre- 
 served in the library of the society . ib. 
 
 His communications to the society on the 
 nature of light ... 8 
 
 He meets with personal opposition from 
 Dr. Hooke . . . .9 
 
 He is also attacked by Pardies, Linus, 
 and Huygens . . . 10 
 
 Remarks on Newron's hypothesis of an 
 imperceptible etherial fluid, pervading 
 space, and affecting bodies by its undu- 
 lations . . . .11 
 
 How this fluid is supposed to differ from, 
 and affect light . . 12, 13 
 
 Remarks on projectiles and falling bo- 
 dies . . . 14, 15 
 
 Dr. Hooke's dissertation on the motion 
 of the earth . . . 16 
 
 Borelli, the first who applied the principle 
 of gravitation to the planetary mo- 
 tions . . . .17,21 
 
 Newton's absorption of ideas when pre- 
 paring his Principia , .18 
 
 Curious anecdote on this subject . ib. 
 
 The first two books of the Principia 
 printed by the Royal Society . 19 
 
 Additional disputes with Dr. Hooke on the 
 subject . . . 19-22 
 
 The Principia completed and published 
 in 1687 . . . .22 
 
 Account of that work by Laplace . 23, 24 
 
 Newton elected a member of the con- 
 vention parliament which called the 
 Prince of Orange to the throne . 24 
 
 made warden of the mint in 
 
 1696 .... ib. 
 
 His studies in chemistry appreciated . 25 
 
 Accidental burning of his papers by his 
 dog Diamond . . ib. 
 
 His succeeding alienation of mind 25,26 
 
 Elected an associate of the French Aca- 
 demy of Sciences, in 1699 . . 27 
 
 Re-elected a member of parliament for 
 Cambridge, in 1701 . . ib. 
 
 Chosen president of the Royal Society, 
 in 1703 . . . . ib. 
 
 Knighted by Queen Anno, in 1705 ib. 
 
 Published his Optics in 1704 . . ib. 
 
 Disquisition concerning the counterclaims 
 of Newton and Leibnitz to the priority 
 of the invention of the method of 
 fluxions ... 27-30 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Quarrel between Newton and Leibnitz on 
 the subject . . 30-32 
 
 Newton accused of scepticism in religion 32 
 
 Letters on that subject between Leibnitz 
 and Dr. Clarke . . .32 
 
 Surreptitious publication of Newton's 
 " Chronology" . . .33 
 
 Remarks on his " Observations upon the 
 Prophecies" . . . 33-35 
 
 His paper in the Philosophical Transac- 
 tions on" Temperature," analysis of 35, 36 
 
 Page 
 
 Another paper, by Newton, in those 
 Transactions, contains the principles of 
 Hadley's quadrant . . 36 
 
 Newton's timidity, and ignorance of the 
 manners of society . .37 
 
 Account of his domestic life . 37,38 
 
 . of his death in 1727, at the age 
 
 of 85 . . . 38 
 
 List of the different editions of his 
 Works , , .30, 40 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 State of the religion and government of 
 the Arabians, at the time of Mahomet's 
 appearance among them . 1-10 
 
 Geographical and statistical account of 
 Arabia . 1> 2 
 
 Manners and customs of the several tribes 
 at the time of Mahomet . 2-10 
 
 Their laws and religion at that period 4, 5 
 
 Their science and literature . 7,8 
 
 Their manners and general character 8-1 
 
 Customs in regard to the female sex 10 
 
 Sources of our knowledge respecting Ma- 
 homet . . . .11 
 
 The Somna, or collected traditions, of the 
 Mahometans . . . ib. 
 
 Reasons to prove that those traditions are 
 unworthy of belief . 11,12 
 
 Ignorance and worthlessness of the Chris- 
 tian opponents of Mahometanism when 
 first promulgated . . 12 
 
 Precise period of the birth of Mahomet 
 investigated . . .13 
 
 Lineage and tribe of the prophet . ib. 
 
 His descent from Ismail became a dogma 
 of his religion . . . ib. 
 
 The patrimony of Mahomet extremely small 1 4 
 
 Prodigies which appeared at his birth ib. 
 
 Fabulous accounts of his infancy, child- 
 hood, and youth . .15 
 
 Who were the composers of the Koran ib. 
 
 Mahomet's knowledge of the Jewish and 
 Christian religion accounted for . 1 6 
 
 Mahomet was a merchant and a soldier ib. 
 
 married at the age of 25, and 
 
 was the faithful husband of one wife, for 
 24 years . . . 16 
 
 - received frequent visits from the 
 angel Gabriel . . .17 
 
 Night when the Koran first descended 
 from heaven, and the miraculous circum- 
 stances attending its manifestation 17, 18 
 
 Mahomet's first annunciation of his mis- 
 sion . . . . 18 
 sJELis denunciations of eternal torments pre- 
 pared for unbelievers . 18,10 
 
 His admission into the seven heavens, un- 
 der the guidance of the angel Gabriel, 
 and his description of what he saw 10 
 
 His flight from Mecca, and reception at 
 Medina . . . 20 
 
 The Hegira, or epoch of the Mahometans, 
 dated from that flight . .21 
 
 Mahomet builds a temple at Medina, be- 
 comes general of an army, a judge, and 
 a pastor of his people . . 21 
 
 His first battle, and his modest prayer to 
 Gabriel to send 3000 angels to his as- 
 sistance . . . 22 
 
 His disastrous battle, which he ascribed to 
 the anger of the Lord on account of the 
 sins of the people . . 23 
 
 Assassination encouraged by Mahomet. 'J4 
 
 Surrender of Mecca, and final establish- 
 ment of the Mahometan religion . 24 
 
 The death of Mahomet in consequence of 
 poison ... 25 
 
 Ridiculous stories concerning his tomb ib. 
 
 Estimate of Mahomet's moral character 
 and apology for its faults . 26, 31 
 
 Critical examination of the Koran 27 
 
 Of the religion and morality of the Koran 
 
 28, 29 
 
 laws of the Koran . 30 
 
 List of books which treat of Mahomet 
 and Mahometanism . . 32 
 
 LIFE OF WOLSEY. 
 
 Birth and parentage of Wolsey (1 171) 1 
 Was he the son of a butcher ? . 1,19 
 
 Nature of his early pursuits . 1,2 
 
 Becomes a fellow of Magdalene College, 
 Oxford . . . .2 
 
 Presented to the living of Lymingfon, by 
 the Marquis of Dorset, the father of three 
 of his pupils, in 1500 . 2 
 
 Accused of having unfairly appropriated 
 some of the funds of his college . 3 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 IX 
 
 Put in the stocks for drunkenness after 
 
 being rector ... 3 
 
 His after resentment of that insult . ib. 
 Is made one of the chaplains to Kenry 
 
 the Seventh ... 4 
 
 Employed to negotiate a marriage between 
 
 the king and the Duchess of Savoy ib. 
 Installed into the Deanery of Lincoln in 
 
 1508 ... 5 
 
 Death of Henry the Seventh in 1509 . ib. 
 Wolsey appointed privy councillor to Henry 
 
 the Eighth . . . ib. 
 
 Character of Henry the Eighth in his early 
 
 years ib. 
 
 State of Europe on the accession of that 
 
 monarch . . . .7 
 
 Henry's invasion of France . ib. 
 
 Wolsey made Bishop of Tournay . 8 
 
 made Bishop of Lincoln . ib. 
 
 made Archbishop of York . ib. 
 
 raised to the dignitv of cardinal 9 
 
 made chancellor of England ib. 
 
 He receives annual bribes from foreign 
 
 powers . . . 10 
 
 Account of his enormous income and ex- 
 penditure . . . 11, 12 
 ftis extravagant banquets . 13 
 Immense power exercised by the cardinal 
 
 as chancellor . . .13 
 
 He erects courts to protect the poor against 
 
 the rich . . . ib. 
 
 Equity of his decisions as a judge ib. 
 
 Receives the appointment of the Pope's 
 
 legate . . . .17 
 
 The bishops offended at his ecclesiastical 
 
 power . . . ib. 
 
 Manner in which that power was exercised 1 S 
 
 Celebrated meeting of Henry and Francis 
 the First, at the field of Ardres 18,19 
 
 Trial and execution of the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, and reflections on that event 
 
 19, 20 
 
 Part taken by the cardinal in the contro- 
 versy between Henry and Luther 20, 21 
 
 His exertions in the cause of learning 22 
 
 He applies the funds of the suppressed 
 monasteries to the institution of schools 23 
 
 He founded the college of Christ Church, 
 Oxford, in 1525 . . 24 
 
 Particulars respecting Anne Boleyn and 
 Lord Percy . . 25, 26 
 
 He visits France on account of the impri- 
 sonment of Pope Clement the Seventh 26 
 
 His conduct respecting the divorce of Queen 
 Catharine and the King's marriage with 
 Anne Boleyn . . 28 30 
 
 Information exhibited against him by the 
 King's Attorney-General . 32 
 
 Receives the king's pardon, and is rein- 
 stated in the sees of York and Win- 
 chester . . . ib. 
 
 Bill of attainder presented against him by 
 the Star Chamber for high treason 32, 33 
 
 The bill passes the Lords but is thrown out 
 by the Commons . . 34 
 
 Arrested for treason, and carried to Lon- 
 don for trial . . .36 
 
 His superstitious fear on hearing the name 
 of Kingston 37 
 
 Dies at Leicester, on his journey to London ;;8 
 
 Summary of his personal and political cha- 
 racter . . . 38-40 
 
 LIFE OF COKE. 
 
 Coke's birth and parentage (1550) . 1 
 
 Education at Norwich and Cambridge ib. 
 
 His law studies in the Inns of Court and 
 at Westminster Hall . .2 
 
 Appointed to the office of attorney-general ib. 
 
 Elected speaker of the House of Commons 
 in 1592 ib. 
 
 He becomes very rich, and marries, in suc- 
 cession, two ladies of large property ib. 
 
 Is prosecuted, in the Ecclesiastical Court, 
 on account of the irregularity of his se- 
 cond marriage . . .3 
 
 Trial of the Earls of Essex and Southamp- 
 ton, for high treason, and Coke's rude 
 conduct on that occasion . ib. 
 
 His equally intemperate behaviour on the 
 trial of Raleigh . . .4 
 
 Violent altercation between Coke and Bacon 
 
 5,6 
 
 Coke knighted, and made Chief Justice in 
 the Court of Common Pleas, on the ac- 
 cession of James the First . 6 
 
 Appointed to the King's Bench, seven 
 years after . . . .6 
 
 Sworn a member of the privy council 7 
 
 His objections to the then practice of taking 
 the private opinions of the judges before 
 trial . . . . ib. 
 
 Particulars of the dispute concerning the 
 power of the Chancery, and the cele- 
 brated case of the Commendams . 8 
 
 Correspondence between the king and the 
 twelve judges on the subject . 9-11 
 
 The king reprimands the judge . 11 
 
 Independence of Coke on that occasion 12 
 
 His zealous inquiry relative to the assas- 
 sination of Sir Thomas Overbury 13 
 
 Resentment of the king against him . ib. 
 
 His consequent disgrace and dismissal 
 from his place of chief justice . 14 
 
 Marriage of Coke's daughter with the 
 brother of the Duke of Buckingham, 
 and the strong efforts made by Bacon 
 to prevent it . . 14-16 
 
 Coke restored to his place in the privy 
 council . . . 16 
 
 Violent quarrels between him and his wife 
 
 16, 17 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 _ I'age 
 
 His independent conduct in Parliament in 
 opposing the despotism of the crown 
 
 Accession of Charles the First, and his 
 
 enmity to Coke . . 19, 20 
 
 Coke chosen a member (in 1628) of that 
 House of Commons which first resisted 
 the encroachments of the royal preroga- 
 tive . . . .20 
 His excellent speech in that Parliament 20, 21 
 His death in 1634 . . 21 
 Personal, iudicial, and political character 
 of Coke . . . 21-23 
 
 Ptte 
 
 Critical examination of his works 23-30 
 
 His digressions and useless quotations 
 censured . . . 24, 25 
 
 Examples of his constant parade of scho- 
 lastic pedantry . . 25-27 
 
 His ludicrous reports such as that of the 
 cock and hen swans . . 27, 28 
 
 His humane observations on capital pu- 
 nishments . . . 28 
 
 Account of Coke's manuscripts, now in the 
 possession of Mr. Coke of Norfolk 30-32 
 
 List of works which give further informa- 
 tion concerning Sir Edward Coke 32 
 
 LIFE OF LORD VOMERS. 
 
 Birth and parentage of Somers (1650) . 
 
 His early education 
 
 Entered at Trinity College, Oxford 
 
 Called to the bar . 
 
 Political and historical tracts, written by 
 
 him while at Oxford 
 Removes to London and attends the 
 
 courts of law 
 Trial of the seven bishops 
 Returned to the first parliament of Wil- 
 liam III. for Worcester . 
 He is made solicitor-general and knighted 
 Conducts the prosecution on the trial of 
 
 Lord Preston, 1691 
 Becomes successively attorney-general, 
 
 lord-keeper, and lord chancellor . 
 He is elected president of the Royal 
 
 Society, 1698 
 His usefulness to the king in the contests 
 
 between the Whigs and Tories . 
 Decline of the Whig administration 
 Groundless charges against him in the 
 
 House of Commons . 
 
 Captain Kidd's piracies 
 The king persuaded to dismiss him from 
 
 his office 
 Delivers the great seal to Lord Jersey, 
 
 1700 . 
 
 Tory administration in October, 1700 
 Charge against Lord Somers respecting 
 
 the Partition Treaties 
 His speech at the bar of the House of 
 
 Commons . . 
 
 He is impeached by the Commons . 
 Impeachment dismissed by the Lords 
 Disposition of the king to recur to Lord 
 
 Somers and the Whigs 
 Death of James II. at St. Germains, in 
 
 1701 .... 
 
 4 
 
 ib. 
 
 5 
 
 ib. 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 8 
 
 9 
 
 ib. 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 ib. 
 
 ib. 
 
 12 
 ib. 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 ib. 
 
 Popular excitement in England upon the 
 French king's recognition of the Pre- 
 tender's title . . .14 
 
 King William's speech at opening his 
 last parliament . . .15 
 
 Lord Somers excluded from the admini- 
 stration on the accession of Queen 
 Anne . . . . ib. 
 
 Debates on the bill agaiast occasional 
 conformity . . . ib. 
 
 He encourages the scheme of appropriat- 
 ing the First Fruits and Tenths to in- 
 crease the revenues of the poorer clergy 1 6 
 
 Debates upon the proposal to invite the 
 Princess Sophia to England . . ib. 
 
 Lord Somers's Bill for the amendment of 
 the law . . . .17 
 
 Union with Scotland, 1706 . 18, 19 
 
 His speech in favour of the Bill for 
 abolishing the Scotch privy-council . 20 
 
 Returns to administration and takes the 
 office of president of the council, in 
 1708 .... 21 
 
 Again retires from office, 1710 . . ib. 
 
 Signs a protest against the Schism Act 22 
 
 On the accession of George I. takes his 
 seat in the cabinet council . . ib. 
 
 Discourages the prosecutions against the 
 partizans of the Pretender . ib. 
 
 Attends in the House of Lords during 
 the proceedings on the impeachment 
 of Lord Derwentwater, in 1716 . 23 
 
 His last illness and death . , ib. 
 
 His opinion on the Septennial Bill . ib. 
 
 Scarcity of information respecting Lord 
 Somers's personal history . 24 
 
 His character by an anonymous contem- 
 porary writer . . . ib. 
 
 His judicial and political character . 25 
 
 LIFE OF CAXTON. 
 
 General remarks on biography . . 1 
 
 Effects of the art of printing . ib. 
 
 Difficulty in procuring the manuscript 
 works of former times . . 2 
 
 Rapid diffusion of information exemplified 
 in the newspapers of the present day 2 
 
 The laws of the early Greeks were set to 
 music, and chaunted or sung . 3 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Pago 
 
 The laws of Solon were engraved in wood, 
 or on stone ... 3 
 
 The laws of the Twelve Tables, among 
 the Romans, were engraved on oaken 
 planks . . . .3 
 
 The Arundelian marbles, account of ib. 
 
 The Parian Chronicle described . ib. 
 
 The Roman records were engraved in 
 brass . . . . ib. 
 
 The wills of the Roman soldiers were en- 
 graved on their shields . . ib. 
 
 The laws of the Emperors were painted on 
 wooden tablets, as late as the 4th century 4 
 
 The Egyptians painted their letters on 
 linen . . . . ib. 
 
 The Romans also wrote on linen . 5 
 
 Skins first written upon by the Ionians as 
 a substitute for papyrus . . ib. 
 
 The poems of Homer were written on the 
 intestines of a serpent, in letters of gold ib. 
 
 Account of the. Gothic manuscript of the 
 Gospels, by Ulphilas . . ib. 
 
 Dissertation on the papyrus of Egypt, 
 and its different uses . . C 
 
 Paper from cotton first manufactured in 
 Europe, in the 8th or 9th century . ib. 
 
 Paper from linen not general until the 
 14th century ... 7 
 
 Reeds originally used, in place of quills, 
 for making pens . . . ib. 
 
 were in use for writing as late as 
 
 the 8th century, and are still employed 
 by many eastern nations . 8 
 
 the species which was the calamus 
 
 of the ancients is unknown to modern 
 botanists . . . ib. 
 
 Page 
 
 The ink of the ancients, its composition 
 and colours ... 8 
 
 Of the copyists of books before the in- 
 vention of printing . 9-13 
 
 A system of short-hand, supposed to have 
 been invented by Xenophon . 1 
 
 Wages of copyists in England in the 15th 
 century . . . .11 
 
 Booksellers of the Middle Ages 12, 13 
 
 Scarcity of books in the 9th and 10th 
 centuries . . . 1 1, 15 
 
 Public Schools at Rome, when insti- 
 tuted ... 16, 17 
 
 Playing cards, about the close of the 14th 
 century, were printed by blocks . 1 8 
 
 Printing with moveable metal types dis- 
 covered at Mayence, by John Guthen- 
 berg, about the year 1438 . .19 
 
 Origin of the story of Dr. Faustus and 
 the Devil . . .20 
 
 Dates of the first printed works in dif- 
 ferent countries . . 20-22 
 
 Birth and parentage of Caxton (1412) 22 
 
 He was a citizen of London . . ib. 
 
 Appointed in 1464, one of the ambassa- 
 dors to the Duke of Burgundy . 22 
 
 Caxton learned the art of printing during 
 his stay in the Low Countries . 23 
 
 " Game of Chess," the first book printed 
 by Caxton, in England, in 1474 . 24 
 
 Account of other works published by 
 Caxton . . . 25-28 
 
 Death of Caxton in 1490-1 . 28 
 
 Sketch of his character . 28-30 
 
 Notices of British printers who were his 
 contemporaries . , 30-32 
 
 LIFE OF BLAKE, 
 
 Birth and parentage of Blake (1599) . 1 
 
 His education at Oxford, and disappoint- 
 ment of a fellowship . . 1,2 
 
 lie acquires influence with the Puritan 
 party . . . .2 
 
 Is elected Member of Parliament for 
 Bridgewater, in 1640 . . ib. 
 
 Embraces the cause of the Parliament 
 against Charles the First, in 1 642 ib. 
 
 Distinguished himself at Bristol, in 1643 3 
 
 Served as Lieutenant-Colonel of a regi- 
 ment of foot, and successfully defended 
 the town of Lyme . . ib. 
 
 Appointed Governor of Taunton, by the 
 Parliament, in 1644 . . ib. 
 
 His brave and obstinate defence of that 
 place . . . 4, 5 
 
 Reflections on the mischievous doctrines 
 of divine right, and passive obedience 5 
 
 Blake, though a republican, disapproved 
 of the trial and execution of the king 6 
 
 Union of the military and naval service 
 under the Commonwealth; and the ap- 
 pointment of Blake to the command of 
 a squadron . . . .7 
 
 Blake blockades the royal fleet, in the 
 harbour of Kinsale . . 7 
 
 The royal ships effect a passage through 
 his squadron, after sustaining great loss, 
 and arrive in the Tagus . . ib. 
 
 War commences, in consequence, be- 
 tween England and Portugal 8 
 
 Honourable behaviour of Admiral Blake 
 to the captain of a French ship of war ib. 
 
 Blake receives the thanks of Parliament, 
 and is made warden of the Cinque 
 ports . . . . ib. 
 
 He reduces the Scilly Isles, and Jersey, 
 to the subjection of the Commonwealth 9 
 
 Causes of the war with the Dutch ; and 
 first engagement with Van Tromp 9-12 
 
 Blake captures ths Dutc'n convoy in the 
 North Sea . . . . y> 
 
 His engagement with and defeat of De 
 Witt and De Ruyter . . ]3 
 
 Series of engagements with the Dutch 
 fleet . . . 13.1 g 
 
 Description of the fleets of those times 13 
 
 List of the British navy of 1675, with an 
 account of their guns and tonnage . 14 
 
xu 
 
 INDEX AND SUMMARY, 
 
 Blake's conduct on the turning out of 
 the Long Parliament . . 16 
 
 Assumption of the protectorate hy Crom- 
 well . .17 
 
 Blake chosen a member for Bridge- 
 water, to Cromwell's first parliament, 
 in 1654 . . . _ . ib. 
 
 Expedition to the Mediterranean against 
 the states of Barba'ry . . 18 
 
 Large booty acquired in that expedition 19 
 
 Illness of Blake while blockading the 
 coasts of Spain 
 
 Burning of the Spanish fleet at Santa 
 Cruz, with remarks on that transaction 
 
 Blake cashiers his own brother for cow- 
 ardice . ' . 
 
 His death when returning to England in 
 1657, and splendour of his funeral 
 
 Treatment of his remains at the Restoration 
 
 His general character . 23- 
 
 aga 
 
 11) 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 22 
 ib. 
 
 24 
 
 LIFE OF SMITH. 
 
 Remarks on Dugald Stewart's Life of Dr. 
 Smith . . .1 
 
 Birth and parentage of Smith (1 723) _ 2 
 
 Was carried off by gipsies when a child ib* 
 
 Educated at Kirkaldy until he was 14 
 years of age . . .3 
 
 Spent 3 years at the university of Glas- 
 gow before entering at Oxford . ib. 
 
 Caught at Oxford in the act of reading 
 Hume's Treatise on Human Nature . ib. 
 
 Dr. Smith's subsequent character of 
 Hume as an author . . 4 
 
 Passed 7 years at Oxford . . ib. 
 
 Cause of his objections to that university 
 in after life . . . ib. 
 
 He removed to Edinburgh in 1748, and 
 formed an intimacy with all the great 
 men of that metropolis . . 5 
 
 Elected professor of moral philosophy in 
 the university of Glasgow (1752) 6 
 
 Account of his lectures during his 13 
 years' professorship . . . ib. 
 
 Establishment of an Edinburgh Review, 
 in 1755, to which Smith was a contri- 
 butor .... 7 
 
 Curious anecdote of Hume concerning 
 that Review . . . ib. 
 
 Origin of the Select Society of Edinburgh ib. 
 
 Publication of the " Theory of Moral 
 Sentiments," in 1759 . . 8 
 
 Hume's letter to Smith on that occasion 8, 9 
 
 Critical observations on the Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments . . 9-13 
 
 Dr. Smith accompanies the Duke of Buc- 
 cleugh, in his travels in 1764 . 14 
 
 Interesting circumstances on taking leave 
 of the university . . 14,15 
 
 Anecdote related by the Doctor, of one of 
 his students . . . 15 
 
 Smith is introduced to D'Alembert, Hel- 
 vetius, and other French literati . 16 
 
 Pie contracts a close intimacy with Tur- 
 got and Quesnai . . ib. 
 
 Particulars concerning his acquaintance 
 with Rochefoucauld . .17 
 
 Correspondence between Smith and Hume 
 
 17,18 
 
 Publication of the " Wealth of Nations " 
 (1776) ... 18 
 
 Death of Mr. Hume, and Dr. Smith's de- 
 fence of his memory against the absurd 
 calumnies which followed that event 1 9, 20 
 
 Critical account of the " Wealth of Na- 
 tions ; ' . . - .' . 20,23 
 
 Description of the Literary Club in Lon- 
 don, of which Smith was a member 24 
 
 Smith appointed a commissioner of the 
 customs for Scotland, in 1778 . ib. 
 
 Correspondence with Lord Karnes, con- 
 cerning the moral theory of Smith 25 
 
 Dr. Smith elected rector of the univer- 
 sity of Glasgow, in 1787 . 26 
 
 His death/in July 1790 . . ib. 
 
 Observations on his general character and 
 writings . . 26-32 
 
 Anecdote of Johnson respecting him . 26 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 Natural talents and attainments appre- 
 ciated . . . .1 
 
 His birth and parentage (1733) ~ . 2 
 
 Political character of the German literati 
 at the middle of the last century . ib. 
 
 Geographical and Statistical' account of 
 the Province of Friesland, where Nie- 
 buhr was born . . . ib. 
 
 His mathematical studies, and difficulties 
 in pursuing them . . .3 
 
 Character of Berasforfj the Danish Prime 
 Minister in 1757 . . 4 
 
 Origin and objects of the scientilic expe- 
 dition into Arabia . . 5-7 
 
 Niebuhr proposed as mathematician and 
 astronomer . . .5 
 
 Studies Arabic under Michaelis . 6 
 
 Characters of Niebuhr' s associates in the 
 expedition . . . 7, 8 
 
 The expedition leaves the Sound in 1761 8 
 
 Niebuhr attacked by dysentery in the 
 Archipelago ... 9 
 
 His rule to interfere with no man concern- 
 
 . ib. 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Pttga 
 
 The party remain a whole year in Egypt 9 
 
 Niebuhr determines the longitude of 
 Alexandria, Kahira, and other places, 
 by lunar observations . . ib. 
 
 Anecdote of Turkish ignorance respecting 
 telescopes . . . .10 
 
 Description of the palace of Joseph, at 
 Kahira . . . 11 
 
 Account of the overflow of the Nile 11, 12 
 
 Turkish manners and intolerance at Ka- 
 hira .... ib. 
 
 Mode of collecting gum-arabic in Egypt 13 
 
 Preparation for a journey to Mount Sinai ib. 
 
 Goat-skin bottles, how prepared in the East 1 4 
 
 Niebuhr' s illness, and death of his asso- 
 ciates .... ib. 
 
 His arrival at Bombay, and friendly re- 
 ception from the English . . 1 5 
 
 Journey to Persepolis and Persia . 1 (> 
 
 Adopts the eastern customs and manners ib. 
 
 Visits Cyprus for the purpose of copying 
 certain inscriptions . . . ib. 
 
 Character of the Catholic missionaries in 
 Turkey . . .16 
 
 Niebuhr passes three months at Constan- 
 tinople on his return homewards . 1 7 
 
 His journey through Poland, and acquaint- 
 ance with Stanislaus . . ib. 
 
 Reaches Copenhagen in November 176 17 
 
 His subsequent intimacy with Bernstorf, 
 Klopstock, and others . . ib. 
 
 Whole cost of the expedition less than 
 4000 J. . . . . 18 
 
 Niebuhr is assisted, in preparing his works 
 for the press, by the Danish govern- 
 ment . . . .19 
 
 His description of Arabia, published in 
 1772 . . . . ib. 
 
 lie marries in 1773 . . .21 
 
 The first volume of his travels published 
 in 1774 . . . ib. 
 
 The second volume published in 1778 . ib. 
 
 He obtains a post in the civil service of 
 Holstcm . . .22 
 
 Account of the employment and inconve- 
 niences of his latter years . 22*29 
 
 lie was always warmly attached to the 
 Arabs, and hated the Turks as their 
 tyrants and oppressors . . 24 
 
 His correspondence with literary men 25, 2G 
 
 He becomes blind about 7 years before 
 Ins death ... 29 
 
 Death of his wife in 1807 . .ib. 
 
 His own death in 1815, at the age of 
 82 ... 31 
 
 General sketch of his character 31, '3 2 
 
 LIFE OF WREN. 
 
 Comparison of the Egyptian, Greek, In- 
 dian, Chinese, and Turkish architecture 1 
 
 Resemblance of the pyramids of Mexico 
 to those of Egypt . . 2 
 
 of the palaces of Montezuma to 
 
 those of tbe emperor of China . ib. 
 
 The temples of Ilindostan similar to the 
 ruins of Dendyra in Egypt . ib. 
 
 Difference between the fine arts and the 
 sciences, as respects their advantage to 
 mankind . . . .3 
 
 Grecian architecture contrasted with that 
 of the Egyptians . . 3, 4 
 
 Of tbe orders of Greek architecture, their 
 proportions, and what constitutes their 
 beauty . . . 4-0 
 
 Concerning the picturesque in architecture 
 
 Of Gothic architecture the title a misno- 
 mer, the Goths having had no share in 
 its invention . . . ib. 
 
 Of Roman architecture . . 7 
 
 Epochs of the several styles of architecture ib. 
 
 Introduction of the Italian style into Eng- 
 land . . . . 7, 8 
 
 Birth and parentage of Wren (1032) 8 
 
 Wren invented an astronomical instrument 
 at thirteen years of age . . 9 
 
 educated at Oxford, where his ge- 
 nius was particularly remarked by Ough- 
 tred and Bishop Wilkins . ib. 
 
 > was one of the earliest investiga- 
 
 tors of the properties of the cycloid 10 
 
 employed at the ago of fifteen as 
 
 assistant demonstrator of anatomy at 
 Oxford . . . . 11 
 
 Wren first proposed the injection of va- 
 rious liquids into tbe veins of living ani- 
 mals . . . . ib. 
 
 elected professor of astronomy, at 
 
 Gresham College, London, in 1657 . 11 
 
 chosen Savilian professor at Oxford 
 
 after the Restoration . . 12 
 
 Origin of the Royal Society . 12, 13 
 
 Wren discovers a method of calculating 
 solar eclipses . . .13 
 
 His various communications to the Royal 
 Society . . . 13, 14 
 
 lie was a poet as well as an astronomer 14 
 
 Published' his ' Prceleeliones Astronomiccc ' 
 at the Oxford press, in 16G2 . ib. 
 
 Visit to Paris in pursuit of his favourite 
 study of architecture in 1665 . ib. 
 
 Wren's proposed plan for the improve- 
 ment of the city, after the fire of Lon- 
 don . . 15, 1G 
 
 General form of the early churches 17 } 18 
 
 Wren's first design for St. Paul's Church 
 objected to . . .19 
 
 St. Paul's Church finished in 35 years, 
 while St. Peter's at Rome took 145 years 
 in building . . . ib. 
 
 Outline engravings, representing the com- 
 parative heights and sizes of some of the 
 largest buildings in the world . 20, 21 
 
 Comparison of the different species of 
 stone, with respect to durability 22, 23 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 Page 
 
 Wren chosen president of the Royal So- 
 ciety, knighted, and twice returned to 
 Parliament , . .23 
 
 Details respecting the erection of St. 
 Paul's . . . 24,25 
 
 Michael Angclo and Wren compared 25 
 
 Death of Wren in 1 725. at the age of 93 . 26 
 His monumental inscription . ib. 
 
 Enumeration of the principal buildings 
 
 erected by him . . 27-29 
 
 Extracts from his publications . 30 
 
 Remarks onWren' s school of architecture 3 1 ,32 
 
 LIFE OF MICHAEL ANGELO. 
 
 Birth and parentage of, 1474 . 2 
 
 Discovered an early bent to the fine arts ib. 
 
 Becomes the pupil of a celebrated painter ib. 
 Surprises his master by his rapid pro- 
 ficiency in the art . 3 
 
 Patronized by Lorenzo de' Medici . ib. 
 
 Anecdote of the first essay as a sculptor, 
 in carving the mask of a satyr . ib. 
 
 He studies anatomy as necessary for the 
 perfecting of his art . . 4 
 
 Dissertation on the origin and progress 
 of ancient sculpture . . 4-13 
 
 Remarks on the remaining specimens of 
 Egyptian sculpture . 4, 5 
 
 The four periods in the history of the 
 sculpture of the Greek . 5, 6 
 
 Whether the knowledge of anatomy was 
 one of the chief causes of the perfection 
 of Greek sculpture . . .6 
 
 Other causes enumerated . . 7 
 
 Account of the gigantic statue of Minerva, 
 (39 feet high) the work of Phidias . 8 
 
 Of the Etruscan and Sicilian sculpture ib. 
 
 Explanation of certain terms in the fine 
 arts . . . 9, 10 
 
 On the different styles of beauty in Greek 
 sculpture . . . 11 
 
 Of the three species of relief m sculpture 11,12 
 
 Remarks on their use as shown in the 
 Egyptian marbles . . 12 
 
 Curious conceit in the formation of two 
 statues, Venus and Mars . . ib. 
 
 Dissertation on the painting of the an- 
 cients . . .13, 14 
 
 The merits of the Greek painters are 
 known only from the description of 
 authors . ib. 
 
 Of the pictures found in Herculaneum 
 and Pompeii . . . ib. 
 
 Dissertation on the sculpture of the 
 Romans . . -14, 15 
 
 Dissertation on the revival of the art of 
 sculpture . . . 15-18 
 
 Cicero said to have had little real taste 
 for painting and sculpture . 1 G 
 
 Anecdote of Michael Angelo, on viewing 
 a marble statue by Donatello . 17 
 
 Description of the sculpture of the cathe- 
 dral of Wells . . 17, 18 
 
 Michael Angelo spends some time at Bo- 
 logna and Venice . . 19 
 
 His sleeping Cupid mistaken for an an- 
 tique . . . . ib. 
 
 Anecdote concerning his celebrated statue 
 of David with the sling . ib. 
 
 Anecdote respecting the price of one of his 
 paintings . . . .20 
 
 Description and outline sketch of the car- 
 toon of the battle of Pisa . 20, 21 
 
 Monument, intended by Henry the Eighth 
 for himself and queen, described . 22 
 
 Michael Angelo is invited to Rome quar- 
 rels with the Pope means used to com- 
 pel his return, &c. . . 22-25 
 
 Sketch of one of the compartments of a 
 painting in fresco . . .26 
 
 Michael Angelo undertakes the office of 
 military architect for the defence of Flo- 
 rence, his native city . . 27 
 
 Great skill and patriotism displayed by him 
 during the siege . . .28 
 
 The painting of the Last Judgment finished, 
 in 1541 ... 29 
 
 Merit of Michael Angelo as an architect 30 
 
 Sketch of a bas-relief, cut by him in mar- 
 ble, now in the possession of the Royal 
 Academy . . . 31 
 
 Portraits of Leonardo da Vinci and Ra- 
 phael ... 33 
 
 On the revival of painting in Italy, from 
 the time of Cimabue and Giotto to that 
 of Leonardo da Vinci, M. Angelo, and 
 Raphael . . . 33-3 6 
 
 Taste for magnificent edifices in Italy 34 
 
 Introduction of painting in oil . 34 
 
 Scientific pursuits and discoveries of Da 
 Vinci . . . il). 
 
 Account and anecdotes of his celebrated 
 "Last Supper" . . .35 
 
 Rivalry between Da Vinci and M. Angelo ib. 
 
 Raphael and his works comparison with 
 Da Vinci .... lb. 
 
 The Transfiguration costly engravings of 
 it .... ib. 
 
 Giorgione, Titian, and the Venetian School 37 
 
 Opinions of Fuseli on Correggio, the Ca- 
 racci, &c . . . . ib. 
 
 Character of M. Angelo as a sculptor and 
 painter . . . 37 
 
 Extracts from English writers and critics ib., 
 
 38, 39 
 
 Censurers of M. Angelo* s style ; Mengs 
 and the Abbe Milizia . 40 
 
 Criticisms on the " Christ," the " Moses," 
 &c. . . . 40,41 
 
 Of Mr. Payne Knight and Falconet the 
 French sculptor . . . ib. 
 
 Monuments of Lorenzo and Julian de' 
 Medici remarks of Mr. Bell . 42 
 
 Statues of Day, Night, and Twilight ib. 
 
INDEX AND SUMMARY. 
 
 xv 
 
 Ta^e 
 
 The Pieta of M. Angelo 42 
 
 Picture of the " Last Judgment " . ib. 
 
 Opinions of Flaxman, Baron Stendhall, 
 and others ... 43 
 
 Impartial estimate of M. Angelo from these 
 conflicting opinions . . ib. 
 
 Continuation of the Life of M. Angelo 44 
 
 Magnanimity in confessing his declining 
 powers as a painter . . ib. 
 
 Is appointed architect of St. Peter's ib. 
 
 Refuses to accept any remuneration ib. 
 
 Characteristics of his old age . ib. 
 
 Enthusiasm in his great task . 45 
 
 Improvement and progress of the edifice ib. 
 
 Union of grandeur and economy . ib. 
 
 His detractors and enemies . ib. 
 
 Anecdotes of his opponents rivalry and 
 capriciousness of the Popes . 46 
 
 M. Angelo survives throughout seven Pon- 
 tificates . . . . ib. 
 
 Difficulties he had to contend with 47 
 
 Intention of quitting Rome . . ib. 
 
 Retires to the mountains of Rpoleto 48 
 
 A colleague appointed intrigues set on 
 foot against him . . ib. 
 
 His appeal to the Pope dismissal of his 
 
 rival . . . .48 
 
 His singular piety patience and perse- 
 verance . . ib. 
 Rapid progress of St. Peter's . 49-51 
 He plans the church of San Giovanni 50 
 New intrigues against him ; wishes to 
 
 leave Rome dismission of his rival 52 
 Death of M. Angelo . . ib. 
 
 Honours paid to his remains . 53 
 
 Conclusion of the character of M. Angelo 54 
 His vigour and versatility of genius 55 
 
 Anecdote of his industry . . 5G 
 
 Character of M. Angelo as an architect ib. 
 Opinions of Mr. Duppa considered . 57 
 His own letter on the subject . ib. 
 
 Excellence as a military architect ib. 
 
 On the poetry of Michael Angelo 57-59 
 
 Specimens translated by Southey and 
 
 Wordsworth, with remarks on . ib. 
 
 His admiration of Dante ; his attachment 
 
 to Vittoria Colonna . . 58 
 
 Letters of M. Angelo to different persons, 
 
 Notes, &c. . . CO to 70 
 
 Anecdotes and good sayings attributed to 
 M. Angelo . . 70 to 72 
 
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE ADVANCEMENT 
 OF EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 Introduction. 
 
 The knowledge which we at present 
 possess of the phenomena of nature and 
 of their connection has not by any 
 means been regularly progressive, as we 
 might have expected, from the time 
 when they first drew the attention of 
 mankind. Without entering into the 
 question touching the scientific acquire- 
 ments of .eastern nations at a remote 
 period, it is certain that some among 
 the early Greeks were in possession of 
 several truths, however acquired, con- 
 nected with the economy of the universe, 
 which were afterwards suffered to fall 
 into neglect and oblivion. But the phi- 
 losophers of the old school appear in 
 general to have confined themselves at 
 the best to observations ; very few traces 
 remain of their having instituted experi- 
 ments, properly so called. This putting 
 of nature to the torture, as Bacon calls 
 it, has occasioned the principal part of 
 modern philosophical discoveries. The 
 experimentalist may so order his exami- 
 nation of nature as to vary at pleasure 
 the circumstances in which it is made, 
 often to discard accidents which com- 
 plicate the general appearances, and 
 at once to bring any theory which he 
 may form to a decisive test. The pro- 
 vince of the mere observer is necessarily 
 limited : the power of selection among 
 the phenomena to be presented is in 
 great measure denied to him, and he 
 may consider himself fortunate if they 
 are such as to lead him readily to a 
 knowledge of the laws which they fol- 
 low. 
 
 Perhaps to this imperfection of me- 
 thod it may be attributed that natural 
 philosophy continued to be stationary, 
 or even to decline, during a long series 
 of ages, until little more than two cen- 
 turies ago. Within this comparatively 
 short period it has rapidly reached a 
 degree of perfection so different from its 
 former degraded state, that we can 
 hardly institute any comparison between 
 the two. Before that epoch, a few insu- 
 lated facts, such as might first happen 
 
 to be noticed, often inaccurately ob- 
 served and always too hastily general- 
 ized, were found sufficient to excite the 
 naturalist's lively imagination ; and hav- 
 ing once pleased his fancy with the sup- 
 posed fitness of his artificial scheme, 
 his perverted ingenuity was thencefor- 
 ward employed in forcing the observed 
 phenomena into an imaginary agreement 
 with the result of his theory ; instead of 
 taking the more rational, and it should 
 seem, the more obvious, method of cor- 
 recting the theory by the result of his 
 observations, and considering the one 
 merely as the general and abbreviated 
 expression of the other. But natural 
 phenomena were not then valued on 
 their own account, and for the proofs 
 which they afford of a vast and benefi- 
 cent design in the structure of the uni- 
 verse, so much as for the fertile topics 
 which the favourite mode of viewing the 
 subject supplied to the spirit of scholas- 
 tic disputation : and it is a humiliating 
 reflection that mankind never reasoned 
 so ill as when they most professed to 
 cultivate the art of reasoning. How- 
 ever specious the objects, and alluring 
 the announcements of this art, the then 
 prevailing manner of studying it curbed 
 and corrupted all that is free and noble 
 in the human mind. Innumerable falla- 
 cies lurked every where among the 
 most generally received opinions, and 
 crowds of dogmatic and self-sufficient 
 pedants fully justified the lively defini- 
 tion, that M logic is the art of talking un- 
 intelligibly on things of which we are 
 ignorant."* 
 
 The error which lay at the root of the 
 philosophy of the middle ages was this : 
 from the belief that general laws and 
 universal principles might be discovered, 
 of which the natural phenomena were 
 ejects, it was thought that the proper 
 order of study was, first to detect the 
 general cause, and then to pursue it into 
 its consequences ; it was considered ab- 
 surd to begin with the effect instead of 
 the cause ; whereas the real choice lay 
 between proceeding from particular facts 
 
 * Menage. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 to general facts, or from general facts 
 to particular facts ; and it was under 
 this misrepresentation of the real ques- 
 tion that all the sophistry lurked. As 
 soon as it is well understood that the 
 general cause is no other than a single 
 fact, common to a great number of phe- 
 nomena, it is necessarily perceived that 
 an accurate scrutiny of these latter must 
 precede any safe reasoning with respect 
 to the former. But at the time of which 
 we are speaking, those who adopted this 
 order of reasoning, and who began their 
 inquiries by a minute and sedulous in- 
 vestigation of facts, were treated with 
 disdain, as men who degraded the 
 lofty name of philosophy by bestowing 
 it upon mere mechanical operations. 
 Among the earliest and noblest of these 
 was Galileo. 
 
 It is common, especially in this coun- 
 try, to name Bacon as the founder of 
 the present school of experimental phi- 
 losophy ; we speak of the Baconian or 
 inductive method of reasoning as syno- 
 nimous and convertible terms, and we 
 are apt to overlook what Galileo had 
 already done before Bacon's writings 
 appeared. Certainly the Italian did not 
 range over the circle of the sciences with 
 the supreme and searching glance of 
 the English philosopher, but we find in 
 every part of his wntings philosophical 
 maxims which do not lose by com- 
 parison with those of Bacon ; and 
 Galileo deserves the additional praise, 
 that he himself gave to the world a 
 splendid practical illustration of the 
 value of the principles which he con- 
 stantly recommended. In support of 
 this view of the comparative deserts of 
 these two celebrated men, we are able 
 to adduce the authority of Hume, who 
 will be readily admitted as a competent 
 judge of philosophical merit, where his 
 prejudices cannot bias his decision. Dis- 
 cussing the character of Bacon, he says, 
 " If we consider the variety of talents 
 displayed by this man, as a public 
 speaker, a man of business, a wit, a 
 courtier, a companion, an author, a 
 philosopher, he is justly the object of 
 great admiration. If we consider him 
 merely as an author and philosopher, 
 the light in which we view him at pre- 
 sent, though very estimable, he was yet 
 inferior to his contemporary Galileo, 
 perhaps even to Kepler. Bacon pointed 
 out at a distance the road to true phi- 
 losophy : Galileo both pointed it . out to 
 others, and made himself considerable 
 advances in it. The Englishman was 
 
 ignorant of geometry : the Florentine 
 revived that science, excelled in it, and 
 was the first that applied it, together 
 with experiment, to natural philosophy. 
 The former rejected with the most posi- 
 tive disdain the system of Copernicus : 
 the latter fortified it with new proofs 
 derived both from reason and the 
 senses."* 
 
 If we compare them from another 
 point of view, not so much in respect of 
 their intrinsic merit, as of the influence 
 which each exercised on the philosophy 
 of his age, Galileo's superior talent or 
 better fortune, in arresting the attention 
 of his contemporaries, seems indis- 
 putable. The fate of the two writers is 
 directly opposed the one to the other ; 
 Bacon's works seem to be most studied 
 and appreciated when his readers have 
 come to their perusal, imbued with 
 knowledge and a philosophical spirit, 
 which, however, they have attained inde- 
 pendently of his assistance. The proud 
 appeal to posterity which he uttered in 
 his will, " For my name and memory, I 
 leave it to men's charitable speeches, 
 and to foreign nations, and the next 
 ages," of itself indicates a consciousness 
 of the fact that his contemporary coun- 
 trymen were but slightly affected by his 
 philosophical precepts. ,But Galileo's 
 personal exertions changed the general 
 character of philosophy in Italy : at the 
 time of his death, his immediate pupils 
 had obtained possession of the most ce- 
 lebrated universities, and were busily en- 
 gaged in practising and enforcing the 
 lessons which he had taught them ; nor 
 was it then easy to find there a single 
 student of natural philosophy who did 
 not readily ascribe the formation of his 
 principles to the direct or remote influ- 
 ence of Galileo's example. Unlike Ba- 
 con's, ,his reputation, and the value of 
 his writings, were higher among his 
 contemporaries than they have since be- 
 come. This judgment perhaps awards 
 the highest intellectual prize to him 
 whose disregarded services rise in esti- 
 mation with the advance of knowledge ; 
 but the praise due to superior usefulness 
 belongs to him who succeeded in train- 
 ing round him a school of imitators, 
 and thereby enabled his imitators to 
 surpass himself. 
 
 The biography of men who have de- 
 voted themselves to philosophical pur- 
 suits seldom affords so various and stri- 
 king a succession of incidents as that 
 
 * Hume's England, James I. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 of a soldier or statesman. The life of 
 a man who is shut up during the greater 
 part of his time in his study or labora- 
 tory supplies but scanty materials for 
 personal details ; and the lapse of time 
 rapidly removes from us the opportuni- 
 ties of preserving such peculiarities as 
 might have been worth recording. An 
 account of it will therefore consist chiefly 
 in a review of his works and opinions, 
 and of the influence which he and they 
 have exercised over his own and suc- 
 ceeding ages. Viewed in this light, few 
 lives can be considered more interesting 
 than that of Galileo ; and if we compare 
 the state in which he found, with that in 
 which he left, the study of nature, we 
 shall feel how justly an enthusiastic 
 panegyric pronounced upon the age 
 immediately following him may be trans- 
 ferred to this earlier period. " This is the 
 age wherein all mens minds are in a 
 kind of fermentation, and the spirit of 
 wisdom and learning begins to mount 
 and free itself from those drossie and 
 terrene impediments wherewith it has 
 been so long clogged, and from the in- 
 sipid phlegm and caput mortuum of 
 useless notions in which it hath endured 
 so violent and long a fixation. This is 
 the age wherein, methinks, philosophy 
 comes in with a spring tide, and the pe- 
 ripatetics may as well hope to stop the 
 current of the tide, or, with Xerxes, to 
 fetter the ocean, as hinder the overflowing 
 of free philosophy. Methinks I see how 
 all the old rubbish must be thrown away, 
 and the rotten buildings be overthrown 
 and carried away, with so powerful an 
 inundation. These are the days that must 
 lay a new foundation of a more magnifi- 
 cent philosophy, never to be overthrown, 
 that will empirically and sensibly can- 
 vass the phenomena of nature, deducing 
 the causes of things from such originals 
 in nature as we observe are producible 
 by art, and the infallible demonstration 
 of mechanics : and certainly this is the 
 way, and no other, to build a true and 
 permanent philosophy."* 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Galileos Birth Family Education- 
 Observation of the Pendulum Pul- 
 silogies Hydrostatical Balance 
 Lecturer at Pisa. . 
 
 Galileo Galilei was born at Pisa, on 
 the 1 5th day of February, 1564, of a noble 
 
 * Power's Experimental Philosophy, 1663, 
 
 and ancient Florentine family, which, 
 in the middle of the fourteenth century, 
 adopted this surname instead of Bona- 
 juti, under which several of their an- 
 cestors filled distinguished offices in the 
 Florentine state. Some misapprehen- 
 sion has occasionally existed, in conse- 
 quence of the identity of his proper 
 name with that of his family ; his most 
 correct appellation would perhaps be 
 Galileo de' Galilei, but the surname 
 usually occurs as we have written it. 
 He is most commonly spoken of by . 
 his Christian name, agreeably to the Ita- 
 lian custom ; just as Sanzio, Buonarotti, 
 Sarpi, Reni, Vecelli, are universally 
 known by their Christian names of Ra- 
 phael, Michel Angelo, Fra Paolo, Gui- 
 do, and Titian. 
 
 Several authors have followed Rossi 
 in styling Galileo illegitimate, but without 
 having any probable grounds even when 
 they wrote, and the assertion has since 
 been completely disproved by an inspec- 
 tion of the registers at Pisa and Florence, 
 in which are preserved the dates of his 
 birth, and of his mother's marriage, 
 eighteen months previous to it.* 
 
 His father, Vincenzo Galilei, was a 
 man of considerable talent and learning, 
 with a competent knowledge of mathe- 
 matics, and particularly devoted to the 
 theory and practice of music, on which 
 he published several esteemed treatises. 
 The only one which it is at present easy 
 to procure his Dialogue on ancient and 
 modern music exhibits proofs, not only 
 of a thorough acquaintance with his 
 subject, but of a sound and vigorous 
 understanding applied to other topics 
 incidentally discussed. There is a pas- 
 sage in the introductory part, which 
 becomes interesting when considered as 
 affording some traces of the precepts 
 by which Galileo was in all probability 
 trained to reach his preeminent station 
 in the intellectual world. " It appears 
 to me," says one of the speakers in the 
 dialogue, " that they who in proof of 
 any assertion rely simply on the weight 
 of authority, without adducing any ar- 
 gument in support of it, act very 
 absurdly : I, on the contrary, wish to be 
 allowed freely to question and freely to 
 answer you without any sort of adula- 
 tion, as well becomes those who are 
 truly in search of truth." Sentiments 
 like these were of rare occurrence at 
 the close of the sixteenth century, and it is i 
 
 * Erythrseus, Pinacotheca, vol. i. ; Salustjury's 
 Life of Ualileo. Kelli, Vita di Gal. Galilei, 
 B 2 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 to be regretted that Vincenzo hardly 
 lived long enough to witness his idea of 
 a true philosopher splendidly realized in 
 the person of his son. Vincenzo died 
 at an advanced age, in 1591. His 
 family consisted of three sons, Galileo, 
 Michel Angelo, and Benedetto, and the 
 same number of daughters, Giulia, Vir- 
 ginia, and Livia. After Vincenzo's death 
 the chief support of the family devolved 
 upon Galileo, who seems to have as- 
 sisted them to his utmost power. In a 
 letter to his mother, dated 1600, relative 
 to the intended marriage of his sister 
 Livia with a certain Pompeo Baldi, he 
 agrees to the match, but recommends 
 its temporary postponement, as he was 
 at that time exerting himself to furnish 
 money to his brother Michel Angelo, 
 who had received the offer of an ad- 
 vantageous settlement in Poland. As 
 the sum advanced to his brother, which 
 prevented him from promoting his 
 sister's marriage, did not exceed 200 
 crowns, it may be inferred that the 
 family were in a somewhat straitened 
 condition. However he promises, as 
 soon as his brother should repay him, 
 " to take measures for the young lady, 
 since she too is bent upon coming out 
 to prove the miseries of this world." 
 As Livia was at the date of this 
 letter in a convent, the last expression 
 seems to denote that she had been 
 destined to take the veil. This pro- 
 posed marriage never took place, but 
 Livia was afterwards married to Taddeo 
 Galletti : her sister Virginia married 
 Benedetto Landucci. Galileo mentions 
 one of his sisters, (without naming her) 
 as living with him in 1619 at Bellos- 
 guardo. Michel Angelo is probably the 
 same brother of Galileo who is men- 
 tioned by Liceti as having communi- 
 cated from Germany some observations 
 on natural history* He finally settled 
 in the service of the Elector of Bavaria ; 
 in what situation is not known, but 
 upon his death the Elector granted a 
 pension to his family, who then took up 
 their abode at Munich. On the taking 
 of that city in 1636, in the course of 
 the bloody thirty years' war, which was 
 then raging between the Austrians and 
 Swedes, his widow and four of his 
 children were killed, and every thing 
 which they possessed was either burnt 
 or carried away. Galileo sent for his 
 two nephews, Alberto and a younger 
 brother, to Arcetri near Florence, where 
 
 De his quae diu vivunt. Patavii, 1612. 
 
 he was then living. These two were 
 then the only survivors of Michel An- 
 gelo's family ; and many of Galileo's 
 letters about that date contain allusions 
 to the assistance he had been affording 
 them. The last trace of Alberto is on 
 his return into Germany to the Elector, 
 in whose service his father had died. 
 These details include almost every thing 
 which is known of the rest of Vincenzo's 
 family. 
 
 Galileo exhibited early symptoms of 
 an active and intelligent mmd, and 
 distinguished himself in his childhood 
 by his skill in the construction of in- 
 genious toys and models of machinery, 
 supplying the deficiencies of his infor- 
 mation from the resources of his own 
 invention ; and he conciliated the uni- 
 versal good-will of his companions by 
 the ready good nature with which he 
 employed himself in their service and 
 for their amusement. It is worthy of 
 observation, that the boyhood of his 
 great follower Newton, whose genius in 
 many respects so closely resembled his 
 own, was marked by a similar talent. 
 Galileo's father was not opulent, as 
 has been already stated : he was bur- 
 dened with a large family, and was 
 unable to provide expensive instructors 
 for his son; but Galileo's own ener- 
 getic industry rapidly supplied the want 
 of better opportunities ; and he acquired, 
 under considerable disadvantages, the 
 ordinary rudiments of a classical educa- 
 tion, and a competent knowledge of the 
 other branches of literature which were 
 then usually studied. His leisure hours 
 were applied to music and drawing ; for 
 the former accomplishment he inherited 
 his father's talent, being an excellent 
 performer on several instruments, espe- 
 cially on the lute ; this continued to be 
 a favourite recreation during the whole 
 of his life. He was also passionately 
 fond of painting, and at one time he 
 wished to make it his profession : and 
 his skill and judgment of pictures were 
 highly esteemed by the most eminent 
 contemporary artists, who c did not scru- 
 ple to own publicly their deference to 
 young Galileo's criticism. 
 
 When he had reached his nineteenth 
 year, his father, becoming daily more sen- 
 sible of his superior genius, determined, 
 although at a great personal'sacrifice, to 
 give him the advantages of an university 
 education. Accordingly, in 1581, he 
 commenced his academical studies in 
 the university of his native town, Pisa, 
 his father at this time intending that 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 he should adopt the profession of me- 
 dicine. In the matriculation lists at Pisa, 
 he is styled Galileo, the son of Vincenzo 
 Galilei/ a Florentine, Scholar in Arts. 
 It is dated 5th November, 1581. Vi- 
 viani, his pupil, friend, and panegy- 
 rist, declares that, almost from the 
 first day of his being enrolled on the 
 lists of the academy, he was noticed 
 for the reluctance with which he lis- 
 tened to the dogmas of the Aristote- 
 lian philosophy, then universally taught; 
 and he soon became obnoxious to 
 the professors from the boldness with 
 which he promulgated what they styled 
 his philosophical paradoxes. His early 
 habits of free inquiry were irrecon- 
 cilable with the mental quietude of 
 his instructors, whose philosophic 
 doubts, when they ventured to entertain 
 any, were speedily lulled by a quota- 
 tion from Aristotle. Galileo thought 
 himself capable of giving the world 
 an example of a sounder and more 
 original mode of thinking ; he felt him- 
 self destined to be the founder of a new 
 school of rational and experimental 
 philosophy. Of this we are now se- 
 curely enjoying the benefits ; and it 
 is difficult at this time fully to appre- 
 ciate the obstacles which then pre- 
 sented themselves to free inquiry : but 
 we shall see, in the course of this nar- 
 rative, how arduous their struggle was 
 who happily effected this important re- 
 volution. The vindictive rancour with 
 which the partisans of the old phi- 
 losophy never ceased to assail Galileo 
 is of itself a sufficient proof of the 
 prominent station which he occupied 
 in the contest. 
 
 Galileo's earliest mechanical disco- 
 very, to the superficial observer appa- 
 rently an unimportant one, occurred 
 during the period of his studies at Pisa. 
 His attention was one day arrested by 
 the vibrations of a lamp swinging from 
 Ihe roof of the cathedral, which, whether 
 great or small, seemed to recur at equal 
 intervals. The instruments then em- 
 ployed for measuring time were very 
 imperfect: Galileo attempted to bring 
 his observation to the test before quit- 
 ting the church, by comparing the vi- 
 brations with the beatings of his own 
 pulse, and his mind being then princi- 
 pally employed upon his intended pro- 
 fession, it occurred to him, when he had 
 further satisfied himself of their regula- 
 rity by repeated and varied experiments, 
 that the process he at first adopted 
 might be reversed, and that an instru- 
 ment on this principle might be usefully 
 
 employed in ascertaining the rate of the 
 pulse, and its variation from day to 
 day. He immediately carried the idea 
 into execution, and it was for this sole 
 and limited purpose that the first pen- 
 dulum was constructed. Viviani tells 
 us, that the value of the invention was 
 rapidly appreciated by the physicians of 
 the day, and was in common use in 
 1654, when he wrote. 
 
 Santorio, who was professor of medi- 
 cine at Padua, has given representa- 
 tions of four different forms of these 
 
 ,N?2 
 
 Wl -I 
 
 instruments, which he calls pulsilogies, 
 (pulsilogias,) and strongly*recommends 
 to medical practitioners.* These instru- 
 ments seem to have been used in the 
 following manner: No. 1 consists merely 
 of a weight fastened to a string and a 
 graduated scale. The string being gather 
 ed up into the hand till the vibrations of 
 the weight coincided with the beatings of 
 the patient's pulse, the length was ascer- 
 tained from the scale, which, of course, 
 if great, indicated a languid, if shorter, 
 a more lively action. In No. 2 the im- 
 provement is introduced of connecting 
 the scale and string, the length of the 
 latter is regulated by the turns of a peg 
 at a, and a bead upon the string at b 
 showed the measure. No. 3 is still 
 more compact, the string being short- 
 ened by winding upon an axle at the 
 back of the dial-plate. The construc- 
 tion of No. 4, which Santorio claims as 
 his own improvement, is not given, but 
 it is probable that the principal index, 
 by its motion, shifted a weight to differ- 
 ent distances from the point of suspen- 
 sion, and that the period of vibration 
 
 * Comment, in AvifcnnHin. Venctiia, 1625. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 was still more accurately adjusted by a 
 smaller weight connected with the se- 
 cond index. Venturi seems to have 
 mistaken the third figure for that of a 
 pendulum clock, as he mentions this as 
 one of the earliest adaptations of Gali- 
 leo's principle to that purpose* ; but it 
 is obvious, from Santorio's description, 
 that it is nothing more than a circular 
 scale, the index showing, by the figure 
 to which it points, the length of string 
 remaining unwound upon the axis. We 
 shall, for the present, postpone the con- 
 sideration of the invention of pendulum 
 clocks, and the examination of the dif- 
 ferent claims to the honour of their first 
 construction. 
 
 At the time of which we are speaking, 
 Galileo was entirely ignorant of mathe- 
 matics, the study of which was then at a 
 low ebb, not only in Italy, but in every 
 part of Europe. Commandine had re- 
 cently revived a taste for the writings of 
 Euclid and Archimedes, and Vieta Tar- 
 talea and others had made considerable 
 progress in algebra, Guido Ubaldi and 
 Benedetti had done something towards 
 establishing the principles of statics, 
 which was the only part of mechanics 
 as yet cultivated ; but with these incon- 
 siderable exceptions the application of 
 mathematics to the phenomena of na- 
 ture was scarcely thought of. Galileo's 
 first inducement to acquire a knowledge 
 of geometry arose from his partiality for 
 drawing and music, and from the wish 
 to understand their principles and the- 
 ory. His father, fearful lest he should 
 relax his medical studies, refused 
 openly to encourage him in this new 
 pursuit ; but he connived at the instruc- 
 tion which his son now began to receive 
 in the writings of Euclid, from the 
 tuition of an intimate friend, named 
 Ostilio Ricci, who was one of the pro- 
 fessors in the university. Galileo's 
 whole attention was soon directed to the 
 enjoyment of the new sensations thus 
 communicated to him, insomuch that 
 Vincenzo, finding his prognostics veri- 
 fied, began to repent his indirect sanc- 
 tion, and privately requested Kicci to in- 
 vent some excuse for discontinuing his 
 lessons. But it was fortunately too late ; 
 the impression was made and could not 
 be effaced ; from that time Hippocrates 
 and Galen lay unheeded before the 
 young physician, and served only to 
 conceal from his father's sight the mathe- 
 matical volumes on which the whole of 
 his time was really employed. Hispro- 
 
 * Essai sur les Ouvrage3 de Leonard da Vinci. 
 Paris, 1797. 
 
 gress soon revealed the true nature of 
 his pursuits: Vincenzo yielded to the 
 irresistible predilection of his son's mind, 
 and no longer attempted to turn him 
 from the speculations to which his whole 
 existence was thenceforward abandoned. 
 After mastering the elementary wri- 
 ters, Galileo proceeded to the study of 
 Archimedes, and, whilst perusing the 
 Hydrostatics of that author, composed 
 his earliest work, an Essay on the Hy- 
 drostatical Balance. In this he explains 
 the method probably adopted by Archi- 
 medes for the solution of Hiero's cele- 
 brated question*, and shows himself 
 already well acquainted with the true 
 principles of specific gravities. This 
 essay had an immediate and important 
 influence on young Galileo's fortunes, 
 for it introduced him to the approving 
 notice of Guido Ubaldi, then one of 
 the most distinguished mathematicians 
 of Italy. At his suggestion Galileo ap- 
 plied himself to consider the position of 
 the centre of gravity in solid bodies, a 
 choice of subject that sufficiently showed 
 the estimate Ubaldi had formed of his 
 talents ; for it was a question on which 
 Commandine had recently written, and 
 which engaged at that time the attention 
 of geometricians of the highest order. 
 Galileo tells us himself that he disconti- 
 nued these researches on meeting with 
 Lucas Valerio's treatise on the same 
 subject. Ubaldi was so much struck with 
 the genius displayed in the essay with 
 which Galileo furnished him, that he in- 
 troduced him to his brother, the Cardi- 
 nal Del Monte : by this latter he was 
 mentioned to Ferdinand de' Medici, the 
 reigning Duke of Tuscany, as a young 
 man of whom the highest expectations 
 might be entertained. By the Duke's 
 patronage he was nominated, in 1589, 
 to the lectureship of mathematics at 
 Pisa, being then in his twenty-sixth year. 
 His public salary was fixed at the insigni- 
 ficant sum of sixty crowns annually, but 
 he had an opportunity of greatly adding 
 to his income by private tuition. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 Galileo at Pisa Aristotle Leonardo 
 da Vinci Galileo becomes a Coper - 
 nican Urstisius Bruno Expei'i- 
 ments on falling bodies Galileo at 
 Padua Thermometer. 
 
 No sooner was Galileo settled in his 
 new office than he renewed his inquiries 
 into the phenomena of nature with in- 
 creased diligence. He instituted a course 
 
 * See Treatise on Hydrostatics. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 of experiments for the purpose of put- 
 ting to the test the mechanical doctrines 
 of Aristotle, most of which he found un- 
 supported even by the pretence of ex- 
 perience. It is to be regretted that we 
 do not more frequently find detailed his 
 method of experimenting, than occasion- 
 ally in the course of his dialogues, and 
 it is chiefly upon the references which 
 he makes to the results with which the 
 experiments furnished him, and upon 
 the avowed and notorious character of 
 his philosophy, that the truth of these 
 accounts must be made to depend. Ven- 
 turi has found several unpublished pa- 
 pers by Galileo on the subject of motion, 
 in the Grand Duke's private library at 
 Florence, bearing the date of 1590, in 
 which are many of the theorems which 
 he afterwards developed in his Dialogues 
 on Motion. These were not published 
 till fifty years afterwards, and we shall 
 reserve an account of their contents till 
 we reach that period of his life. 
 
 Galileo was by no means the first who 
 had ventured to call in question the au- 
 thority of Aristotle in matters of science, 
 although he was undoubtedly the first 
 whose opinions and writings produced a 
 very marked and general effect. Nizzoli, 
 a celebrated scholar who lived in the early 
 part of the 1 6th century, had condemned 
 Aristotle's philosophy, especially his Phy- 
 sics, in very unequivocal and forcible 
 terms, declaring that, although there 
 were many excellent truths in his wri- 
 tings, the number was scarcely less of 
 false, useless, and ridiculous proposi- 
 tions*. About the time of Galileo's 
 birth, Benedetti had written expressly 
 in confutation of several propositions 
 contained in Aristotle's mechanics, and 
 had expounded in a clear manner some 
 of the doctrines of statical equilibrium.f 
 Within the last forty years it has been 
 established that the celebrated painter 
 Leonardo da Vinci, who died in 1519, 
 amused his leisure hours in scientific 
 pursuits ; and many ideas appear to 
 have* occurred to him which are to be 
 found in the writings of Galileo at a later 
 date. It is not impossible (though there 
 are probably no means of directly ascer- 
 taining the fact) that Galileo may have 
 been acquainted with Leonardo's inves- 
 tigations, although they remained, till 
 very lately, almost unknown to the ma- 
 thematical world. This supposition is 
 rendered more probable from the fact, 
 that Mazenta, the preserver of Leonardo's 
 manuscripts, was, at the very time of 
 
 * Antibarbarus Philosophicus. Krancofurti, 1674. 
 t Speculationum liber. Venetiis, 1585. 
 
 their discovery, a contemporary student 
 with Galileo at Pisa. Kopernik, or, as 
 he is usually called, Copernicus, a na- 
 tive of Thorn in Prussia, had published 
 his great work, De Revolutionibus, in 
 1543, restoring the knowledge of the 
 true theory of the solar system, and his 
 opinions were gradually and silently 
 gaining ground. 
 
 It is not satisfactorily ascertained at 
 what period Galileo embraced the new 
 astronomical theory. Gerard Voss attri- 
 butes his conversion to a public lecture 
 of Maestlin, the instructor of Kepler; and 
 later writers (among whom is Laplace) 
 repeat the same story, but without re- 
 ferring to any additional sources of in- 
 formation, and in most instances merely 
 transcribing Voss's words, so as to shew 
 indisputably whence they derived their 
 account. Voss himself gives no author- 
 ity, and his general inaccuracy makes 
 his mere word not of much weight. 
 The assertion appears, on many accounts, 
 destitute of much probability. If the 
 story were correct, it seems likely that 
 some degree of acquaintance, if not of 
 friendly intercourse, would have sub- 
 sisted between Maestlin, and his sup- 
 posed pupil, such as in fact we find 
 subsisting between Maestlin and his ac- 
 knowledged pupil Kepler, the devoted 
 friend of Galileo ; but, on the contrary, 
 we find Maestlin writing to Kepler him- 
 self of Galileo as an entire stranger, 
 and in the most disparaging terms. If 
 Maestlin could lay claim to the honour of 
 so celebrated a disciple, it is not likely 
 that he could fail so entirely to compre- 
 hend the distinction it must confer upon 
 himself as to attempt diminishing it 
 by underrating his pupil's reputation. 
 There is a passage in Galileo's works 
 which more directly controverts the claim 
 advanced for Maestlin, although Salus- 
 bury, in his life of Galileo, having appa- 
 rently an imperfect recollection of its 
 tenor, refers to this very passage in con- 
 firmation of Voss's statement. In the 
 second part of the dialogue on the Co- 
 pernican system,Galileo makes Sagredo, 
 one of the speakers in it, give the fol- 
 lowing account: " Being very young, 
 and having scarcely finished my course 
 of philosophy, which I left off as 
 being set upon other employments, there 
 chanced to come into these parts a cer- 
 tain foreigner of Rostoch, whose name, 
 as I remember, was Christianus Ursti- 
 sius, a follower of Copernicus, who, in 
 an academy, gave two or three lectures 
 upon this point, to whom many flocked 
 as auditors ; but I, thinking they went 
 
9 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 more for the novelly of the subject than 
 otherwise, did not go to hear him ; for 
 I had concluded with myself that that 
 opinion could be no other than a solemn 
 madness ; and questioning some of those 
 who had been there, I perceived they all 
 made a jest thereof, except one, who 
 told me that the business was not alto- 
 gether to be laughed at: and because 
 the man was reputed by me to be very 
 intelligent and wary, I repented that I 
 was not there, and began from that 
 time forward, as oft as I met with any 
 one of the Copernican persuasion, to 
 demand of them if they had been always 
 of the same judgment. Of as many as 
 I examined I found not so much as one 
 who told me not that he had been a long 
 time of the contrary opinion, but to have 
 changed it for this, as convinced by the 
 strength of the reasons proving the same ; 
 and afterwards questioning them one by 
 one, to see whether they were well pos- 
 sessed of the reasons of the other side, 
 I found them all to be very ready and 
 perfect in them, so that I could not truly 
 say that they took this opinion out of 
 ignorance, vanity, or to show the acute- 
 ness of their wits. On the contrary, of 
 as many of the Peripatetics and Ptole- 
 means as I have asked, (and out of cu- 
 riosity I have talked with many,) what 
 pains they had taken in the book of 
 Copernicus, I found very few that had 
 so much as superficially perused it, but 
 of those who I thought had under- 
 stood the same, not one : and, moreover, 
 I have inquired amongst the followers of 
 the Peripatetic doctrine, if ever any of 
 them had held the contrary opinion, and 
 likewise found none that had. Where- 
 upon, considering that there was no 
 man who followed the opinion of Coper- 
 nicus that had not been first on the 
 contrary side, and that was not very 
 well acquainted with the reasons of 
 Aristotle and Ptolemy, and, on the con- 
 trary, that there was not one of the follow- 
 ers of Ptolemy that had ever been of the 
 judgment of Copernicus, and had left 
 that to embrace this of Aristotle ; con- 
 sidering, I say, these things, I began to 
 think that one who leaveth an opinion 
 imbued with his milk and followed by 
 very many, to take up another, owned 
 by very few, and denied by all the 
 schools, and that really seems a great 
 paradox, must needs have been moved, 
 not to say forced, by more powerful 
 reasons. For this cause I am become 
 very curious to dive, as they say, into 
 the bottom of this business." It seems 
 improbable that Galileo should think 
 
 it worth while to give so detailed an 
 account of the birth and growth of opi- 
 nion in any one besides himself; and 
 although Sagredo is not the personage 
 who generally in the dialogue represents 
 Galileo, yet as the real Sagredo was a 
 young nobleman, a pupil of Galileo him- 
 self, the account cannot refer to him. 
 The circumstance mentioned of the in- 
 termission of his philosophical studies, 
 though in itself trivial, agrees very well 
 with Galileo's original medical destina- 
 tion. Urstisius is not a fictitious name, 
 as possibly Salusbury may have thought, 
 when alluding to this passage ; he was 
 mathematical professor at Bale, about 
 1567, and several treatises by him are 
 still extant. In 1568 Voss informs us 
 that he published some new questions on 
 Purbach's Theory of the Planets. He 
 died at Bale in 1588, when Galileo was 
 about twenty-two years old. 
 
 It is not unlikely that Galileo also, in 
 part, owed his emancipation from popu- 
 lar prejudices to the writings of Gior- 
 dano Bruno, an unfortunate man, w r hose 
 unsparing boldness in exposing fallacies 
 and absurdities was rewarded by a judi- 
 cial murder, and by the character of 
 heretic and infidel, with which his exe- 
 cutioners endeavoured to stigmatize him 
 for the purpose of covering over their 
 own atrocious crime. Bruno was burnt 
 at Rome in 1600, but not, as Montucla 
 supposes, on account of his " Spaccio 
 della Bestia trionfante." The title of 
 this book has led him to suppose that it 
 was directed against the church of 
 Rome, to which it does not in the slight- 
 est degree relate. Bruno attacked the 
 fashionable philosophy alternately with 
 reason and ridicule, and numerous pas- 
 sages in his writings, tedious and obscure 
 as they generally are, show that he had 
 completely outstripped the age in which 
 he lived. Among his astronomical opi- 
 nions, he believed that the universe con- 
 sisted of innumerable systems of suns 
 with assemblages of planets revolving 
 round each of them, like our own earth, 
 the smallness of which, alone, prevented 
 their being observed by us. He re- 
 marked further, ' that it is by no means 
 improbable that there are yet other 
 planets revolving round our own sun, 
 which we have not yet noticed, either on 
 account of their minute size or too re- 
 mote distance from us." He declined 
 asserting that all the apparently fixed 
 stars are really so, considering this as 
 not sufficiently proved, " because at such 
 enormous distances the motions become 
 difficult to estimate, and it is only by 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 long observation that we can determine 
 if any of these move round each other, 
 or what other motions they may have." 
 He ridiculed the Aristotelians in no very 
 measured terms " They harden them- 
 selves, and heat themselves, and embroil 
 themselves for Aristotle ; they call them- 
 selves his champions, they hate all but 
 Aristotle's friends, they are ready to live 
 and die for Aristotle, and yet they do 
 not understand so much as the titles of 
 Aristotle's chapters." And in another 
 place he introduces an Aristotelian 
 inquiring, "Do you take Plato for an 
 ignoramus Aristotle for an ass?" to 
 whom he answers, " My son, I neither 
 call them asses, nor you mules, them 
 baboons, nor you apes, as you would 
 have me : I told you that I esteem them 
 the heroes of the world, but I will not 
 credit them without sufficient reason; 
 and if you were not both blind and deaf, 
 you would understand that I must dis- 
 believe their absurd and contradictory 
 assertions."* Bruno's works, though in 
 general considered those of a visionary 
 and madman, were in very extensive 
 circulation, probably not the less eagerly 
 sought after from being included among 
 the books prohibited by the Romish 
 church ; and although it has been re- 
 served for later observations to furnish 
 complete verification of his most daring 
 speculations, yet there was enough, ab- 
 stractedly taken, in the wild freedom of 
 his remarks, to attract a mind like Gali- 
 leo's; and it is with more satisfaction 
 that we refer the formation of his opinions 
 to a man of undoubted though eccentric 
 genius, like Bruno, than to such as 
 Maestlin, who, though a diligent and 
 careful observer, seems seldom to have 
 taken any very enlarged views of the 
 science on which he was engaged. 
 
 With a few exceptions similar to 
 those above mentioned, the rest of Gali- 
 leo's contemporaries well deserved the 
 contemptuous epithet which he fixed on 
 them of Paper Philosophers, for, to use 
 his own words, in a letter to Kepler on 
 this subject, " this sort of men fancied 
 philosophy was to be studied like the 
 iEneid or Odyssey, and that the true 
 reading of nature was to be detected by 
 the collation of texts." Galileo's own 
 method of philosophizing was widely 
 different ; seldom omitting to bring with 
 every new assertion the test of experi- 
 ment, either directly in confirmation of 
 it, or tending to show its probability and 
 consistency. We have already seen that 
 
 De l'lnfinito Universo. Dial. 3, La Cena de le 
 Cenere, 1584. 
 
 he engaged in a series of experiments 
 to investigate the truth of some of Aris- 
 totle's positions. As fast as he suc- 
 ceeded in demonstrating the falsehood 
 of any of them, he denounced them from 
 his professorial chair with an energy and 
 success which irritated more and more 
 against him the other members of the 
 academic body. 
 
 There seems something in the stub- 
 born opposition which he encountered 
 in establishing the truth of his mecha- 
 nical theorems, still more stupidly ab- 
 surd than in the ill will to which, at 
 a later period of his life, his astrono- 
 mical opinions exposed him: it is in- 
 telligible that the vulgar should withhold 
 their assent from one who pretended 
 to discoveries in the remote heavens, 
 which few possessed instruments to 
 verify, or talents to appreciate ; but it 
 is difficult to find terms for stigmatizing 
 the obdurate folly of those who preferred 
 the evidence of their books to that of 
 their senses, in judging of phenomena so 
 obvious as those, for instance, presented 
 by the fall of bodies to the ground. 
 Aristotle had asserted, that if two dif- 
 ferent weights of the same material were 
 let fall from the same height, the heavier 
 one would reach the ground sooner than 
 the other, in the proportion of their 
 weights. The experiment is certainly not 
 a very difficult one, but nobody thought 
 of that method of argument, and con- 
 sequently this assertion had been long 
 received, upon his word, , among the 
 axioms of the science of motion. Gali- 
 leo ventured to appeal from the au- 
 thority of Aristotle to that of his own 
 senses, and maintained that, with the 
 exception of an inconsiderable differ- 
 ence, which he attributed to the dis- 
 proportionate resistance of the air, they 
 would fall in the same time. The, Aris- 
 totelians ridiculed and refused to listen 
 to such an idea. Galileo repeated his 
 experiments in their presence from the 
 famous leaning tower at Pisa : and with 
 the sound of the simultaneously falling 
 weights still ringing in their ears, they 
 could persist in gravely maintaining that 
 a weight of ten pounds would reach the 
 ground in a tenth part of the time taken 
 by one of a single pound, because they 
 were able to quote chapter and verse in 
 which Aristotle assures them that such 
 is the fact. A temper of mind like this 
 could not fail to produce ill will towards 
 him who felt no scruples in exposing 
 their wilful folly ; and the watchful ma- 
 lice of these men soon found the means 
 of making Galileo desirous of quitting 
 
10 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 his situation at Pisa. Don Giovanni 
 de' Medici, a natural son of Cosmo, 
 who possessed a slight knowledge of 
 mechanics on which he prided himself, 
 had proposed a contrivance for cleans- 
 ing the port of Leghorn, on the effi- 
 ciency of which Galileo was consulted. 
 His opinion was unfavourable, and the 
 violence of the inventor's disappoint- 
 ment, (for Galileo's judgment was veri- 
 fied by the result,) took the somewhat 
 unreasonable direction of hatred to- 
 wards the man whose penetration had 
 foreseen the failure. Galileo's situation 
 was rendered so unpleasant by the ma- 
 chinations of this person, that he de- 
 cided on accepting overtures elsewhere, 
 which had already been made to him ; 
 accordingly, under the negotiation of his 
 staunch triend Guido Ubaldi, and with 
 the consent of Ferdinand, he procured 
 from the republic of Venice a nomina- 
 tion for six years to the professorship of 
 mathematics in the university of Padua, 
 whither he removed in September 1592. 
 Galileo's predecessor in the mathe- 
 matical chair at Padua was Moleti, who 
 died in 1588, and the situation had re- 
 mained unfilled during the intervening 
 four years. This seems to show that 
 the directors attributed but little im- 
 portance to the knowledge which it was 
 the professor's duty to impart. This in- 
 ference is strengthened by the fact, that 
 the amount of the annual salary at- 
 tached to it did not exceed 1 80 florins, 
 whilst the professors of philosophy and 
 civil law, in the same university, were 
 rated at the annual stipends of 1400 
 and 1680 florins.* Galileo joined the 
 university about a year after its triumph 
 over the Jesuits, who had established a 
 school in Padua about the year 1542, 
 and, increasing yearly in influence, had 
 shown symptoms of a design to get the 
 whole management of the public edu- 
 cation into the hands of their own 
 body.t After several violent disputes it 
 was at length decreed by the Venetian 
 senate, in 1591, that no Jesuit should 
 be allowed to give instruction at Padua 
 in any of the sciences professed in the 
 university. It does not appear that after 
 this decree they were again troublesome 
 to the university, but this first decree 
 against them was followed, in 1606, 
 by a second more peremptory, which 
 banished them entirely from the Vene- 
 tian territory. Galileo would of course 
 find his fellow-professors much embit- 
 
 * Riccoboni, Coraraentarii de Gymnasio Fata vino, 
 1598. 
 t Nelli. 
 
 tered against that society, and would 
 naturally feel inclined to make common 
 cause with them, so that it is not un- 
 likely that the hatred which the Jesuits 
 afterwards bore to Galileo on personal 
 considerations, might be enforced by 
 their recollection of the university to 
 which he had belonged. 
 
 Galileo's writings now began to follow 
 each other with great rapidity, but he 
 was at this time apparently so careless 
 of his reputation, that many of his 
 works and inventions, after a long cir- 
 culation in manuscript among his pupils 
 and friends, found their way into the 
 hands of those who were not ashamed 
 to publish them as their own, and to 
 denounce Galileo's claim to the author- 
 ship as the pretence of an impudent 
 plagiarist. He was, however, so much 
 beloved and esteemed by his friends, 
 that they vied with each other in resent- 
 ing affronts of this nature offered to him, 
 and in more than one instance he was 
 relieved, by their full and triumphant 
 answers, from the trouble of vindicating 
 his own character. 
 
 To this epoch of Galileo's life may 
 be referred his re-invention of the ther- 
 mometer. The original idea of this 
 useful instrument belongs to the Greek 
 mathematician Hero; and Santorio him- 
 self, who has been named as the in- 
 ventor by Italian writers, and at one 
 time claimed it himself, refers it to 
 him. In 1638, Castelli wrote to Ce- 
 sarini that " he remembered an experi- 
 ment shown to him more than thirty- 
 five years back by Galileo, who took a 
 small glass bottle, about the size of a 
 hen's egg, the neck of which was twenty- 
 two inches long, and as narrow as a 
 straw. Having well heated the bulb in 
 his hands, and then introducing its 
 mouth into a vessel in which was a 
 little water, and withdrawing the heat 
 of his hand from the bulb, the water 
 rose in the neck of the bottle more than 
 eleven inches above the level in the ves- 
 sel, and Galileo employed this principle 
 in the construction of an instrument for 
 measuring heat and cold."* In 1613, 
 a Venetian nobleman named Sagredo, 
 who has been already mentioned as 
 Galileo's friend and pupil, writes to 
 him in the following words : " 1 have 
 brought the instrument which you in- 
 vented for measuring heat into several 
 convenient and perfect forms, so that 
 the difference of temperature between 
 two rooms is seen as far as 100 de- 
 
 * Nelli. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 11 
 
 grees."* This date is anterior to the 
 claims both of Santorio and Drebbel, a 
 Dutch physician, who was the first to 
 introduce it into Holland. 
 
 Galileo's thermometer, as we have just 
 seen, consisted merely of a glass tube 
 ending in a bulb, the air in which, being 
 partly expelled by heat, was replaced 
 by water from a glass into which the 
 open end of the tube was plunged, and 
 the different degrees of temperature 
 were indicated by the expansion of the 
 air which yet remained in the bulb, so 
 that the scale would be the reverse of 
 that of the thermometer now in use, for 
 the water would stand at the highest level 
 in the coldest weather. It was, in truth, 
 a barometer also, in consequence of the 
 communication between the tube and 
 external air, although Galileo did not 
 intend it for this purpose, and when 
 he attempted to determine the relative 
 weight of the air, employed a contri- 
 vance still more imperfect than this rude 
 barometer would have been. A passage 
 among his posthumous fragments inti- 
 mates that he subsequently used spirit 
 of wine instead of water. 
 
 Viviani attributes an improvement of 
 this imperfect instrument, but without 
 specifying its nature, to Ferdinand II., 
 a pupil and subsequent patron of Gali- 
 leo, and, after the death of his father 
 Cosmo, reigning duke of Florence. It 
 was still further improved by Ferdi- 
 nand's younger brother, Leopold de' 
 Medici, who invented the modern process 
 of expelling all the air from the tube 
 by boiling the spirit of wine in it, and 
 of hermetically sealing the end of the 
 tube, whilst the contained liquid is in 
 this expanded state, which deprived it 
 of its barometrical character, and first 
 made it an accurate thermometer. The 
 final improvement was the employment 
 of mercury instead of spirit of wine, 
 Which is recommended by Lana so 
 early as 1670, on account of its equable 
 expansion, t For further details on the 
 history and use of this instrument, the 
 reader may consult the Treatises on the 
 Thermometer and Pyrometer. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Astronomy before Copernicus Fracas- 
 tor o Bacon Kepler Galileo's 
 Treatise on the Sphere. 
 
 This period of Galileo's lectureship at 
 Padua derives interest from its inclu- 
 
 . * Venturi. lMemorie e Lettere di Gal. Galilei. 
 Modena, 1821. 
 f Prodrome- all* Arte Maestra. Brescia, 1G70. 
 
 ding the first notice which we find of 
 his having embraced the doctrines of 
 the Copernican astronomy. Most of 
 our readers are aware of the principles 
 of the theory of the celestial motions 
 which Copernicus restored ; but the num- 
 ber of those who possess much know- 
 ledge of the cumbrous and unwieldy 
 system which it superseded is perhaps 
 more limited. The present is not a fit 
 opportunity to enter into many details 
 respecting it ; these will find their proper 
 place in the History of Astronomy: but 
 a brief sketch of its leading principles 
 is necessary to render what follows in- 
 telligible. 
 
 The earth was supposed to be im- 
 moveably fixed in the centre of the uni- 
 verse, and immediately surrounding it 
 the atmospheres of air and fire, beyond 
 which the sun, moon, and planets, were 
 thought to be carried round trie earth, 
 fixed each to a separate orb or heaven 
 of solid but transparent matter. The 
 order of distance in which they were 
 supposed to be placed with regard to 
 the central earth was as follows : The 
 Moon, Mercury, Venus, The Sun, Mars, 
 Jupiter, and Saturn. It became a 
 question in the ages immediately pre- 
 ceding Copernicus, whether the Sun 
 was not nearer the Earth than Mer- 
 cury, or at least than Venus ; and this 
 question was one on which the astro- 
 nomical theorists were then chiefiy 
 divided. 
 
 We possess at this time a curious 
 record of a former belief in this arrange- 
 ment of the Sun and planets, in the 
 order in which the days of the week have 
 been named from them. According to 
 the dreams of Astrology, each planet 
 was supposed to exert its influence in 
 succession, reckoning from the most 
 distant down to the nearest, over each 
 hour of the twenty-four. The planet 
 which was supposed to predominate 
 over the first hour, gave its name to 
 that day.* The general reader will 
 trace this curious fact more easily with 
 the French or Latin names than with 
 the English, which have been translated 
 into the titles of the corresponding 
 Saxon deities. Placing the Sun and 
 planets in the following order, and be- 
 ginning, for instance, with Monday, 
 or the Moon's day; Saturn ruled the 
 second hour of that day, Jupiter the 
 third, and so round till we come again 
 and again to the Moon on the 8th, 15th, 
 and 22d hours ; Saturn ruled the 23d, 
 
 * Dion Cassius, lib. 37. 
 
12 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Jupiter the 24th, so that the next day- 
 would be the day of Mars, or, as the 
 Saxons translated it, Tuisco's day, or 
 Tuesday. In the same manner the fol- 
 lowing days would belong respectively 
 to Mercury or Woden, Jupiter or Thor, 
 Venus or Frea, Saturn or Seater, the 
 Sun, and again the Moon. In this man- 
 ner the whole week will be found to 
 complete the cycle of the seven planets. 
 
 The other stars were supposed to be 
 fixed in an outer orb, beyond which were 
 two crystalline spheres, (as they were 
 called,) and on the outside of all, the 
 p?imum mobile or first moveable, which 
 sphere was supposed to revolve round 
 the earth in twenty-four hours, and by 
 its friction, or rather, as most of the phi- 
 losophers of that day chose to term it, by 
 the sort of heavenly influence which it 
 exercised on the interior orbs, to carry 
 them round with a similar motion. 
 Hence the diversity of day and night. 
 But beside this principal and general 
 motion, each orb was supposed to have 
 one of its own, which was intended to 
 account for the apparent changes of 
 position of the planets with respect to 
 the fixed stars and to each other. This 
 supposition, however, proving insuf- 
 ficient to account for all the irregu- 
 larities of motion observed, two hy- 
 potheses were introduced. First, that 
 to each planet belonged several con- 
 centric spheres or heavens, casing each 
 other like the coats of an onion, and, 
 secondly, that the centres of these solid 
 spheres, with which the planet revolved, 
 were placed in the circumference of a 
 secondary revolving sphere, the centre 
 of which secondary sphere was situated 
 at the earth. They thus acquired the 
 names of Eccentrics or Epicycles, the 
 latter word signifying a circle upon a 
 circle. The whole art of astronomers 
 was then directed towards inventing and 
 
 combining different eccentric and epicy- 
 clical motions, so as to represent with 
 tolerable fidelity the ever varying phe- 
 nomena of the heavens. Aristotle had 
 lent his powerful assistance in this, as 
 in other branches of natural philosophy, 
 in enabling the false svstem to prevail 
 against and obliterate the knowledge of 
 the true, which, as we gather from his 
 own writings, was maintained by some 
 philosophers before his time. Of these 
 ancient opinions, only a few traces now 
 remain, principally preserved in the 
 works of those who were adverse to 
 them. Archimedes says expressly that 
 Aristarchus of Samos, who lived about 
 300 B. C, taught the immobility of the 
 sun and stars, and that the earth is 
 carried round the central sun.* Aris- 
 totle's words are : " Most of those who 
 assert that the whole concave is finite, 
 say that the earth is situated in the 
 middle point of the universe: those 
 who are called Pythagoreans, who live 
 in Italy, are of a contrary opinion. 
 For they say that fire is in the centre, 
 and that the earth, which, according to 
 them, is one of the stars, occasions the 
 change of day and night by its own mo- 
 tion, with which it is carried about the 
 centre." It might be doubtful, upon 
 this passage alone, whether the Pytha- 
 gorean theory embraced more than the 
 diurnal motion of the earth, but a lit- 
 tle farther, we find the foil owing passage : 
 " Some, as we have said, make the earth 
 to be one of the stars : others say that 
 it is placed in the centre of the Universe, 
 and revolves on a central axis."t From 
 
 * The pretended translation by Roberval of an 
 Arabic version of Aristarchus, " De Systemate Mun- 
 di," in which the Copernican system is fully deve- 
 loped, is spurious. Menace asserts this in his observa- 
 tions on Diogen. Laert. lib. 8, sec. 85, torn, ii., p. 389. 
 (Kd. Amst. 1692.) The commentary contains many 
 authorities well worth consulting. Delambre, His- 
 toire de l'Astronomie, infers it from its not containing 
 some opinions which Archimedes tells us were held by 
 Aristarchus. A more direct proof may be gathered 
 from the following blunder of the supposed translator. 
 Astronomers had been long aware that the earth 
 in different parts of her orbit is at different distances 
 from the sun. Roberval wished to claim for Aris- 
 tarchus the credit of having known this, and intro- 
 duced into his book, not only the mention of the fact, 
 but an explanation of its cause. Accordingly he 
 makes Aristarchus give a reason '"why the sun's apo- 
 gee (or place of greatest distancefrom the earth) must 
 always be at the north summer solstice." In fact, it 
 was there, or nearly so, in Roberval's time, and he 
 knew not but that it had always been there. It is 
 however moveable, and, when Aristarchus lived, 
 was nearly half way between the solstices and equi- 
 noxes. He therefore would hardly have given a 
 reason for the necessity of a phenomenon of which, if 
 he observed anything on the subject, he must have 
 observed the contrary. The change in the obliquity 
 of the earth's axis to the ecliptic was known in the 
 time of Roberval, and he accordingly has introduced 
 the proper value which it had in Aristarchus's time, 
 
 f De Coelo. lib. g, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 13 
 
 which, in conjunction with the former 
 extract, it very plainly appears that the 
 Pythagoreans maintained both the diur- 
 nal and annual motions of the earth. 
 
 Some idea of the supererogatory la- 
 bour entailed upon astronomers by the 
 adoption of the system which places the 
 earth in the centre, may be formed in a 
 popular manner by observing, in pass- 
 ing through a thickly planted wood, 
 in how complicated a manner the re- 
 lative positions of the trees appear at 
 each step to be continually changing, 
 and by considering the difficulty with 
 which the laws of their apparent mo- 
 tions could be traced, if we were to 
 attempt to refer these changes to a real 
 motion of the trees instead of the tra- 
 veller. The apparent complexity in 
 the heavens is still greater than in the 
 case suggested ; because, in addition to 
 the earth's motions, with which all the 
 stars appear to be impressed, each of 
 the planets has also a real motion of 
 its own, which of course greatly con- 
 tributes to perplex and complicate the 
 general appearances. Accordingly the 
 heavens rapidly became, under this sys- 
 tem, 
 
 ** With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, 
 Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb ;"* 
 
 crossing and penetrating each other 
 in every direction. Maestlin has given 
 a concise enumeration of the prin- 
 cipal orbs which belonged to this 
 theory. After warning the readers that 
 " they are not mere lictions which 
 have nothing to correspond with them 
 out of the imagination, but that they 
 exist really, and bodily in the hea- 
 vens,"*}- he describes seven principal 
 spheres belonging to each planet, which 
 he classes as Eccentrics, Epicycles, and 
 Concentrepicycles, and explains their 
 use in accounting for the planet's re- 
 volutions, motions of the apogee, and 
 nodes, &c. &c. In what manner this 
 multitude of solid and crystalline orbs 
 were secured from injuring or interfe- 
 ring with each other was not very closely 
 inquired into. 
 
 The reader will cease to expect any 
 very intelligible explanation of this 
 and numberless other difficulties which 
 belong to this unwieldy machinery 
 when he is introduced to the reasoning 
 by which it was upheld. Gerolamo Fra- 
 
 * Paradise Lost, b. viii. v . 83. 
 
 + Itaque tam circulos primi inotus quam orbes se- 
 cundorum mobilinm revera in coelesti corpore essecon- 
 cludimus, &c. Non ergo sunt merafigmenta, quibus 
 extra inentem nihil correspondeat. M. Maestlini, 
 De Asbonomia Hypothesibus disputatio. Heidelberg*, 
 15^-'. 
 
 castoro, who lived in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, writes in the following terms, in his 
 work entitled Homocentrica, (certainly 
 one of the best productions of the day,) 
 in which he endeavours to simplify the 
 necessary apparatus, and tD explain all 
 the phenomena (as the title of his book 
 implies) by concentric spheres round 
 the earth. " There are some, not only 
 of the ancients but also among the 
 moderns, who believe that the stars 
 move freely without any srjfch agency ; 
 but it is difficult to conceive in what 
 manner they have imbued themselves 
 with this notion, since not only reason, 
 but the very senses, inform us that all 
 the stars are carried round fastened to 
 solid spheres.'" What ideas Fracastoro 
 entertained of the evidence of he " senses" 
 it is not now easy to guass, but he 
 goes on to give a specimen Df the " rea- 
 soning" which appeared to him so in- 
 controvertible. " The plaiets are ob- 
 served to move one while forwards, then 
 backwards, now to the rght, now to 
 the left, quicker and slover by turns ; 
 which variety is consistent with a com- 
 pound structure like that cf an animal, 
 which possesses in itself various springs 
 and principles of action, bit is totally 
 at variance with our notior of a simple 
 and undecaying substance ike the hea- 
 vens and heavenly bodies. For that 
 which is simple, is altogether single, 
 and singleness is of one only nature, 
 and one nature can be he cause of 
 only one effect ; and therebre it is alto- 
 gether impossible that the .tars of them- 
 selves should move with such variety 
 of motion. And besides, if the stars 
 move by themselves, they ether move in 
 an empty space, or in a luid medium 
 like the air. But there cainot be such 
 a thing as empty space, ind if there 
 were such a medium, the notion of the 
 star would occasion condensation and 
 rarefaction in different pars of it, which 
 is the property of corruptible bodies 
 and where they exist some violent mo- 
 tion is going on ; but thi heavens are 
 incorruptible and are net susceptible 
 of violent motion, and herce, and from 
 many other similar reasms, any one 
 who is not obstinate may satisfy" him- 
 self that the stars eanrnt have any 
 independent motion." 
 
 Some persons may pertups think that 
 arguments of this force aremnecessarily 
 dragged from the obscuity to which 
 they are now for the most part happily 
 consigned ; but it is essertial, in order 
 to set Galileo's character aid merits in 
 their true light, to show h)w low at this 
 
u 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 time philosophy had fallen. For we 
 shall form i very inadequate notion of 
 his powers and deserts if we do not 
 contemplate him in the midst of men 
 who, though of undoubted talent and 
 ingenuity, could so far bewilder them- 
 selves as to mistake such a string of 
 unmeaning phrases for argument : we 
 must reflect on the difficulty every one 
 experiences in delivering himself from 
 the erroneous impressions of infancy, 
 which wihNremain stamped upon the 
 imagination in spite of all the efforts of 
 matured reason to erase them, and con- 
 sider every step of Galileo's course as a 
 triumph ovr difficulties of a like nature. 
 We ought to be fully penetrated with this 
 feeling befoje we sit down to the pe- 
 rusal of his works, every line of which 
 will then increase our admiration of 
 the penetrating acuteness of his inven- 
 tion and unswerving accuracy of his 
 judgment, [n almost every page we 
 discover an allusion to some new ex- 
 periment, or! the germ of some new 
 theory; and amid all this wonderful 
 fertility it isjrarely indeed that we find 
 the exuberance of his imagination 
 seducing hiu from the rigid path of 
 philosophical induction. This is the 
 more remarkable as he was surrounded 
 by friends imd contemporaries of a 
 different tentoerament and much less 
 cautious disposition. A disadvantageous 
 contrast is occasionally furnished even 
 by the sagacidus Bacon, who could so far 
 deviate from t le soundprinciples of induc- 
 tive philosoply, as to write, for instance, 
 in the follow ng strain, bordering upon 
 the worst maijner of the Aristotelians : 
 " Motion in a circle has no limit, and 
 seems to emanate from the appetite of 
 the body, which moves only for the sake 
 of moving, aid that it may follow itself 
 and seek its avn embraces, and put in 
 action and dnjoy its own nature, and 
 exercise its peculiar operation : on the 
 contrary, mojion in a straight line seeais 
 transitory, aid to move towards a limit 
 of cessation or rest, and that it may 
 reach some pint, and then put off its 
 motion."* iacon rejected all the ma- 
 chinery of irje primum mobile and the 
 solid sphere/, the eccentrics and the 
 epicycles, ahd carried his dislike of 
 these doctri.es so far as to assert 
 that nothing short of their gross ab- 
 surdity coul have driven theorists to 
 the extravagsnt supposition of the mo- 
 tion of the ejrth, which, said he, " we 
 
 Opuscul 
 
 Philosophic a, ThemaCoali. 
 
 know to be most false."* Instances of 
 extravagant suppositions and premature 
 generalizations are to be found in al- 
 most every page of his other great con- 
 temporary, Kepler. 
 
 It is with pain that we observe De- 
 lambre taking every opportunity, in his 
 admirable History of Astronomy, to un- 
 dervalue and sneer at Galileo, seem- 
 ingly for the sake of elevating the 
 character of Kepler, who appears his 
 principal favourite, but whose merit as a 
 philosopher cannot safely be brought 
 into competition with that of his illus- 
 trious contemporary. Delambre is es- 
 pecially dissatisfied with Galileo, for 
 taking no notice, in his " System of 
 the World," of the celebrated laws 
 of the planetary motions which Kep- 
 ler discovered, and which are now 
 inseparably connected with his name. 
 The analysis of Newton and his suc- 
 cessors has now identified thoSe ap- 
 parently mysterious laws with the ge- 
 neral phenomena of motion, and has 
 thus entitled them to an attention of 
 which,before that time, they were scarcely 
 worthy ; at any rate not more than is at 
 present the empirical law which includes 
 the distances of all the planets from the 
 sun (roughly taken) in one algebraical 
 formula. The observations of Kepler's 
 day were scarcely accurate enough to 
 prove that the relations which he disco- 
 vered between the distances of the planets 
 from the sun and the periods of their 
 revolutions around him were neces- 
 sarily to be received as demonstrated 
 truths; and Galileo surely acted most 
 prudently and philosophically in hold- 
 ing himself altogether aloof from Kep- 
 ler's fanciful devices and numeral con- 
 cinnities, although, with all the extra- 
 vagance, they possessed much of the 
 genius of the Platonic reveries, and al- 
 though it did happen that Galileo, by 
 systematically avoiding them, failed to 
 recognise some important truths. Ga- 
 lileo probably was thinking of those 
 very laws, when he said of Kepler, 
 " He possesses a bold and free genius, 
 perhaps too much so; but his mode 
 of philosophizing is widely different from 
 mine," We shall have further occasion 
 in the sequel to recognise the justice of 
 this remark. 
 
 In the treatise on the Sphere which 
 bears Galileo's name, and which, if he 
 be indeed the author of it, was composed 
 during the early part of his residence at 
 
 * " Nobis constat falsi jsimum esse." De Aug. Sci- 
 ent. lib. iii. c. 3, 1623. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 15 
 
 Padua, he also adopts the Ptolemaic 
 system, placing the earth immoveable 
 in the centre, and adducing against its 
 motion the usual arguments, which in 
 his subsequent writings he ridicules 
 and refutes. Some doubts have been 
 expressed of its authenticity ; but, how- 
 ever this may be, we have it under 
 Galileo's own hand that he taught the 
 Ptolemaic system, in compliance, with 
 popular prejudices, for some time after 
 he had privately become a convert 
 to the contrary opinions. In a letter, 
 apparently the first which he wrote to 
 Kepler, dated from Padua, 1597, he 
 says, acknowledging the receipt of Kep- 
 ler's Mysterium Cosmographicum, " I 
 have as yet read nothing beyond the 
 preface of your book, from which how- 
 ever I catch a glimpse of your meaning, 
 and feel great joy on meeting with so 
 powerful an associate in the pursuit of 
 truth, and consequently such a friend to 
 truth itself, for it is deplorable that there 
 should be so few who care about truth, 
 and who do not persist in their perverse 
 mode of philosophizing ; but as this is 
 not the fit time for lamenting the me- 
 lancholy condition of our times, but 
 for congratulating you on your elegant 
 discoveries in confirmation of the truth, 
 I shall only add a promise to peruse 
 your book dispassionately, and with a 
 conviction that I shall find in it much 
 to admire. This I shall do the more 
 willingly because many years ago I 
 became a convert to the opinions of 
 Copernicus* and by that theory have 
 succeeded in fully explaining many phe- 
 nomena, which on the contrary hypo- 
 thesis are altogether inexplicable. I 
 have arranged many arguments and 
 confutations of the opposite opinions, 
 which however I have not yet dared to 
 publish, fearing the fate of our master 
 Copernicus, who, although he has 
 earned immortal fame among a few, 
 yet by an infinite number (for so only 
 can the number of fools be measured) 
 is exploded and derided. If there 
 were many such as you, I would ven- 
 ture to publish my speculations; but, 
 since that is not so, I shall take time to 
 consider of it." This interesting letter 
 was the beginning of the friendship of 
 these two great men, which lasted un- 
 interruptedly till 1632, the date of 
 Kepler's death. .That extraordinary ge- 
 nius never omitted an opportunity of 
 testifying his admiration of Galileo, 
 
 * Id autum eo libentius faciam, quod in Copernici 
 sententiaru rauhis abhinc annis venerim. Kepi. 
 Epistolas. 
 
 although there were not wanting per" 
 sons envious of their good understand 
 ing, who exerted themselves to provok 
 coolness and quarrel between them* 
 Thus Brutius writes to Kepler in 1602*' 
 " Galileo tells me he has written to you' 
 and has got your book, which however 
 he denied to Magini, and I abused him 
 for praising you with too many qualifi- 
 cations. I know it to be a fact that, 
 both in his lectures, and elsewhere, he 
 is publishing your inventions as his 
 own ; but I have taken care, and shall 
 continue to do so, that all this shall 
 redound not to his credit but to yours." 
 The only notice which Kepler took of 
 these repeated insinuations, which ap- 
 pear to have been utterly groundless, 
 was, by renewed expressions of respect 
 and admiration, to testify the value he 
 set upon his friend and fellow-labourer 
 in philosophy. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Galileo re-elected Professor at Padua 
 New star Compass of propor- 
 tion Copra Gilbert Proposals to 
 return to Pisa Lost writings Ca- 
 valieri. 
 
 Galileo's reputation was now rapidly 
 increasing : his lectures were attended 
 by many persons of the highest rank ; 
 among whom were the Archduke Fer- 
 dinand, afterwards Emperor of Ger- 
 many, the Landgrave of Hesse, and 
 the Princes of Alsace and Mantua. On 
 the expiration of the first period for 
 which he had been elected professor, 
 he was rechosen for a similar period, 
 with a salary increased to 320 florins. 
 The immediate occasion of this aug- 
 mentation is said by Fabronrl-, to have 
 arisen out of the malice of an ill wisher 
 of Galileo, who, hoping to do him dis- 
 service, apprized the senate that he was 
 not married to Marina Gamba, then 
 living with him, and the mother of his 
 son Vincenzo. Whether or not the senate 
 might consider themselves entitled to in- 
 quire into the morality of his private 
 life, it was probably from a wish to 
 mark their sense of the informer's im- 
 pertinence, that they returned the brief 
 answer, that " if he had a family to 
 provide for, he stood the more in need of 
 an increased stipend." 
 
 During Galileo's residence at Padua, 
 and, according to Viviam's intimation, 
 towards the thirtieth year of his age, 
 that is to say in 1594, he experienced 
 
 * Kepleri Epistolae. 
 
 \ Vitse Italorum Illustrium. 
 
1G 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 the first attack of a disease which pressed 
 heavily on him for the rest of his life. 
 He enjoyed, when a young man, a 
 healthy and vigorous constitution, but 
 chancing to sleep one afternoon near an 
 open window, through which was blow- 
 ing a current of air cooled artificially by 
 the fall of water, the consequences were 
 most disastrous to him. He contracted a 
 sort of chronic complaint, which showed 
 itself in acute pains in his limbs, chest, 
 and back, accompanied with frequent 
 haemorrhages and loss of sleep and ap- 
 petite ; and this painful disorder thence- 
 forward never left him entirely, but re- 
 curred intermittingly, with greater or 
 less violence, as long as he lived. Others 
 of the party did not even escape so well, 
 but died shortly after committing this 
 imprudence. 
 
 In 1604, the attention of astronomers 
 was called to the contemplation of a 
 new star, which appeared suddenly with 
 great splendour in the constellation 
 Serpentarius, or Ophiuchus, as it is now 
 more commonly called. Maestlin, who 
 was one of the earliest to notice it, relates 
 his observations in the following words : 
 " How wonderful is this new star ! I 
 am certain that I did not see it before 
 the 29th of September, nor indeed, on 
 account of several cloudy nights, had I a 
 good view till the 6th of October. Now 
 that it is on the other side of the sun, 
 instead of surpassing Jupiter as it did, 
 and almost rivalling Venus, it .scarcely 
 matches the Cor Leonis, and hardly 
 surpasses Saturn. It continues how- 
 ever to shine with the same bright and 
 strongly sparkling light, and changes its 
 colours almost with every moment ; first 
 tawny, then yellow, presently purple and 
 red, and, when it has risen above the 
 vapours, most frequently white-" This 
 was by no means an unprecedented 
 phenomenon ; and the curious reader 
 may find in Riccioli* a catalogue of the 
 principal new stars which have at dif- 
 ferent times appeared. There is a tra- 
 dition of a similar occurrence as early 
 as the times of the Greek astronomer 
 Hipparchus, who is said to have been 
 stimulated by it to the formation of his ca- 
 talogue of the stars ; and only thirty-two 
 years before, in 1572, the same remark- 
 able phenomenon in the constellation 
 Cassiopeia was mainly instrumental in 
 detaching the celebrated Tycho Brahe 
 from the chemical studies, which till 
 then divided his attention with astro- 
 nomy. Tycho's star disappeared at the 
 
 * Almagestum Novum, vol. i. 
 
 end of two years ; and at that time 
 Galileo was a child. On the present 
 occasion, he set himself earnestly to 
 consider the new phenomenon, and em- 
 bodied the results of his observations 
 in three lectures, which have been un- 
 fortunately lost. Only the exordium of 
 the first has been preserved : in this he 
 reproaches his auditors with their ge- 
 neral insensibility to the magnificent 
 wonders of creation daily exposed to 
 their view, in no respect less admirable 
 than the new prodigy, to hear an ex- 
 planation of which they had hurried in 
 crowds to his lecture room. He showed, 
 from the absence of parallax, that the 
 new star could not be, as the vulgar 
 hypothesis represented, a mere meteor 
 engendered in our atmosphere and 
 nearer the earth than the moon, but 
 must be situated among the most re- 
 mote heavenly bodies. This was in- 
 conceivable to the Aristotelians, whose 
 notions of a perfect, simple, and un- 
 changeable sky were quite at variance 
 with the introduction of any such new 
 body; and we may perhaps consider 
 these lectures as the first public decla- 
 ration of Galileo's hostility to the old 
 Ptolemaic and Aristotelian astronomy. 
 
 In 1606 he was reappointed to the 
 lectureship, and his salary a second 
 time increased, being raised to 520 
 florins. His public lectures were at 
 this period so much thronged that the 
 ordinary place of meeting was found 
 insufficient to contain his auditors, and 
 he was on several occasions obliged to 
 adjourn to the open air, even from the 
 school of medicine, which was calculated 
 to contain one thousand persons. 
 
 About this time he was considerably 
 annoyed by a young Milanese, of the 
 name of Balthasar Capra, who pirated 
 an instrument which Galileo had in- 
 vented some years before, and had called 
 the geometrical and military compass. 
 The original offender was a German 
 named Simon Mayer, whom we shall 
 meet with afterwards arrogating to 
 himself the merit of one of Galileo's as- 
 tronomical discoveries ; but on this oc- 
 casion, as soon as he found Galileo 
 disposed to resent the injury done to 
 him, he hastily quitted Italy, leaving his 
 friend Capra to bear alone the shame of 
 the exposure which followed. The in- 
 strument is of simple construction, con- 
 sisting merely of two straight rulers, 
 connected by a joint ; so that they can 
 be set to any required angle. This 
 simple and useful instrument, now called 
 the Sector, is to be found in almost every 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 case of mathematical instruments. In- 
 stead of the trigonometrical and logarith- 
 mic lines which are now generally en- 
 graved upon it, Galileo's compass merely 
 contained, on one side, three pairs of 
 lines, divided in simple, duplicate, and 
 triplicate proportion, with a fourth pair 
 on which were registered the specific 
 gravities of several of the most common 
 metals. These were used for multipli- 
 cations, divisions, and the extraction of 
 roots; for finding the dimensions of 
 equally heavy balls of different ma- 
 terials, H &c. On the other side were 
 lines contrived for assisting to describe 
 any required polygon on a given line ; 
 for finding polygons of one kind equal 
 in area to those of another ; and a mul- 
 titude of other similar operations useful 
 to the practical engineer. 
 
 Unless the instrument, which is now 
 called Gunter's scale, be much altered 
 from what it originally was, it is diffi- 
 cult to understand on what grounds 
 Salusbury charges Gunter with plagi- 
 arism from Galileo's Compass. He de- 
 clares that he has closely compared the 
 two, and can find no difference between 
 them * There has also been some con- 
 fusion, by several writers, between this 
 instrument and what is now commonly 
 called the Proportional Compass. The 
 latter consists of two slips of metal 
 pointed at each end, and connected by 
 a pin which, sliding in a groove through 
 both, can be shifted to different po- 
 sitions. Its use is to find proportional 
 lines ; for it is obvious that the openings 
 measured by each pair of legs will be in 
 the same proportion in which the slips 
 are divided by the centre. The divisions 
 usually marked on it are calculated for 
 finding the submultiples of straight lines, 
 and the chords of submultiple arcs. 
 Montucla has mentioned this mistake 
 of one instrument for the other, and 
 charges Voltaire with the more inex- 
 cusable error of confounding Galileo's 
 with the Mariner's Compass. He re- 
 fers to a treatise by Hulsius for his 
 authority in attributing the Proportional 
 Compass to Burg, a German astrono- 
 mer of some celebrity. Horcher also 
 has been styled the inventor ; but he 
 did no more than describe its form and 
 application. In the frontispiece of his 
 book is an engraving of this compass 
 exactly similar to those which are now 
 used.f To the description which Ga-. 
 lileo published of his compass, he added 
 
 * Math. Coll. vol. ii. 
 
 t Constructio Circini Proportionuai. Mojnintiac?, 
 
 .*>. 
 
 Oji 
 
 */, 
 
 6. 
 
 a short treatise on tnje <fi&tho( 
 suring heights and dTefi&oes 
 
 4>. 
 
 quadrant and plumb lin\^$ltifcatisd' /* 
 
 with the 
 
 which is printed by itself at the end of 
 the first volume of the Padua edition of 
 Galileo's works, contains nothing more 
 than the demonstrations belonging to 
 the same operations. They are quite 
 elementary, and contain little or nothing 
 that was new even at that time. 
 
 Such an instrument as Galileo's Com- 
 pass was of much more importance 
 before the grand discovery of loga- 
 rithms than it can now be considered : 
 however it acquires an additional in- 
 terest from the value which he himself 
 set on it. In 1607, Capra, at the insti- 
 gation of Mayer, published as his own 
 invention what he calls the proportional 
 hoop, which is a mere copy of Galileo's 
 instrument. This produced from Galileo 
 a long essay, entitled " A Defence of 
 Galileo against the Calumnies and Im- 
 postures of Balthasar Capra." His prin- 
 cipal complaint seems to have been of 
 the misrepresentations which Capra had 
 published of his lectures on the new 
 star already mentioned, but he takes 
 occasion, after pointing out the blunders 
 and falsehoods which Capra had com- 
 mitted on that occasion, to add a com- 
 plete proof of his piracy of the geo- 
 metrical compass. He showed, from the 
 authenticated depositions of workmen, 
 and of those for whom the instruments 
 had been fabricated, that he had devised 
 them as early as the year 1597, and 
 had explained their construction and 
 use both to Balthasar himself and to 
 his father Aurelio Capra, who was then 
 residing in Padua. He gives, in the 
 same essay, the minutes of a public 
 meeting between himself and Capra, in 
 which he proved, to the satisfaction of 
 the university, that wherever Capra had 
 endeavoured to introduce into his book 
 propositions which were not to be met 
 with in Galileo's, he had fallen into the 
 greatest absurdities, and betrayed the 
 most complete ignorance of his subject. 
 The consequence of this public expo- 
 sure, and of the report of the famous 
 Fra Paolo Sarpi, to whom the matter 
 had been referred, was a formal prohi- 
 bition by the university of Capra' s pub- 
 lication, and all copies of the book then 
 on hand were seized, and probably de- 
 stroyed, though Galileo has preserved 
 it from oblivion by incorporating it in 
 his own publication. 
 
 Nearly at the same time, 1G07, or im- 
 mediately after, he first turned his atten- 
 tion towards the loadstone, on which our 
 
18 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 countryman Gilbert had already pub- 
 lished his researches, conducted in the 
 true spirit of the inductive method. Very 
 little that is original is to be found in 
 Galileos works on this subject, except 
 some allusions to his method of arming 
 magnets, in which, as in most of his 
 practical and mechanical operations, he 
 appears to have been singularly success- 
 ful. Sir Kenelm Digby* asserts, that 
 the magnets armed by Galileo would 
 support"" twice as great a weight as one 
 of Gilbert's of the same size. Galileo 
 was well acquainted, as appears from 
 his frequent allusions in different parts 
 of his works, with what Gilbert had 
 done, of whom he says, " I extremely 
 praise, admire, and envy this author ; 
 I think him, moreover, worthy of the 
 greatest praise for the many new and 
 true observations that he has made to 
 the disgrace of so many vain and fabling 
 authors, who write, not from their own 
 knowledge only, but repeat every thing 
 they hear from the foolish vulgar, with- 
 out attempting to satisfy themselves of 
 the same by experience, perhaps that 
 they may not diminish the size of their 
 books." 
 
 Galileo's reputation being now greatly 
 increased, proposals were made to him, 
 in 1609, to return to his original situ- 
 ation at Pisa. He had been in the 
 habit of passing over to Florence du- 
 ring the academic vacation, for the pur- 
 pose of giving mathematical instruc- 
 tion to the younger members of Ferdi- 
 nand's family; and Cosmo, who had 
 now succeeded his father as duke of 
 Tuscany, regretted that so masterly a 
 genius had been allowed to leave the 
 university which he naturally should 
 have graced. A few extracts from Ga- 
 lileo's answers to these overtures will 
 serve to show the nature of his situation 
 at Padua, and the manner in which his 
 time was there occupied. " I will not 
 hesitate to say, having now laboured 
 during twenty years, and those the best 
 of my life, in dealing out, as one may say, 
 in detail, at the request of anybody, the 
 little talent which God has granted to 
 my assiduity in my profession, that my 
 wish certainly would be to have suffi- 
 cient rest and leisure to enable me, be- 
 fore my life comes to its close, to conclude 
 three great works which I have in hand, 
 and to publish them ; which might per- 
 haps bring some credit to me, and to 
 those who had favoured me in this 
 undertaking, and possibly may be of 
 
 * Treatise of the Nature of Bodies, London, 1665, 
 
 greater and more frequent service to 
 students than in the rest of my life I 
 could personally afford them. Greater 
 leisure than I have here I doubt if I 
 could meet with elsewhere, so long as I 
 am compelled to support my family 
 from my public and private lectures, 
 (nor would I willingly lecture in any 
 other city than this, for several reasons 
 which would be long to mention) never- 
 theless not even the liberty I have here 
 is sufficient, where I am obliged to spend 
 many, and often the best hours of the 
 day at the request of this and that man. 
 My public salary here is 520 florins, 
 which I am almost certain will be ad- 
 vanced to as many crowns upon my re 
 election, and these I can greatly increase 
 by receiving pupils, and from private lec- 
 tures, to any extent that I please. My 
 public duty does not confine me during 
 more than 60 half hours in the year, and 
 even that not so strictly but that I may, 
 on occasion of any business, contrive to 
 get some vacant days ; the rest of my 
 time is absolutely at my own disposal ; 
 but because my private lectures and do- 
 mestic pupils are a great hindrance and 
 interruption of my studies, 1 wish to 
 live entirely exempt from the former, 
 and in great measure from the latter : 
 for if I am to return to my native coun- 
 try, I should wish the first object of his 
 Serene Highness to be, that leisure and 
 opportunity should be given me to com- 
 plete my works without employing my- 
 self in lecturing.- And, in short, I 
 should wish to gain my bread from my 
 writings, which I would always dedi- 
 cate to my Serene Master. The works 
 which I have to finish are principally 
 two books on the system or struc- 
 ture of the Universe, an immense work, 
 full of philosophy, astronomy, and geo- 
 metry ; three books on Local Motion, 
 a science entirely new, no one, either 
 ancient or modern, having discovered 
 any of the very many admirable acci- 
 dents which I demonstrate in natural 
 and violent motions, so that I may with 
 very great reason call it a new science, 
 and invented by me from its very first 
 principles ; three books of Mechanics, 
 two on the demonstration of principles 
 and one of problems; and although 
 others have treated this same matter, 
 yet all that has been hitherto written, 
 neither in quantity, nor otherwise, is 
 the quarter of what I am writing on it. 
 I have also different treatises on natural 
 subjects ; On sound and speech ; On light 
 and colours ; On the tide ; On the com- 
 position of continuous quantity ; On the 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 19 
 
 motions of animals ; And others besides. 
 I have also an idea of writing some 
 books relating to the military art, giving 
 not only a model of a soldier, but teach- 
 ing with very exact rules every thing 
 which it is his duty to know that de- 
 pends upon mathematics ; as the know- 
 ledge of castrametation, drawing up 
 battalions, fortifications, assaults, plan- 
 ning, surveying, the knowledge of artil- 
 lery, the use of instruments, &c. I 
 also wish to reprint the ' Use of my Geo- 
 metrical Compass,' which is dedicated 
 to his highness, and which is no longer 
 to be met with ; for this instrument has 
 experienced such favour from the public, 
 that in fact no other instruments of this 
 kind are now made, and I know that up 
 to this time several thousands of mine 
 have been made. I say nothing as to 
 the amount of my salary, feeling con- 
 vinced that as I am to live upon it, 
 the graciousness of his highness would 
 not deprive me of any of those com- 
 forts, which, however, I feel the want 
 of less than many others ; and there- 
 fore I say^nothing more on the subject. 
 Finally, on the title and profession of 
 my service, I should wish that to the 
 name of Mathematician, his highness 
 would add that of Philosopher, as I 
 profess to have studied a greater num- 
 ber of years in philosophy than months 
 in pure mathematics ; and how I have 
 profited by it, and if I can or ought to 
 deserve this title, I may let their high- 
 nesses see as often as it shall please 
 them to give me an opportunity of dis- 
 cussing such subjects in their presence 
 with those who are most esteemed in 
 this knowledge." It may perhaps be 
 seen in the expressions of this letter, 
 that Galileo was not inclined to under- 
 value his own merits, but the peculiar 
 nature of the correspondence should be 
 taken into account, which might justify 
 his indulging a little more than usual in 
 self-praise, and it would have been per- 
 haps almost impossible for him to have 
 remained entirely blind to his vast supe- 
 riority over his contemporaries. 
 
 Many of the treatises which Galileo 
 here mentions, as well as another on 
 dialling, have been irrecoverably lost, 
 through the superstitious weakness of 
 some of his relations, who after his 
 death suffered the family confessor to 
 examine his papers, and to destroy 
 whatever seemed to him objectionable ; 
 a portion which, according to the notions 
 then prevalent, was like to comprise the 
 most valuable part of the papers sub- 
 mitted to this expurgation. It is also 
 
 supposed that many were burnt by his 
 infatuated grandson Cosimo, who con- 
 ceived he was thus offering a proper 
 and pious sacrifice before devoting him- 
 self to the life of a missionary. A Trea- 
 tise on Fortification, by Galileo, was 
 found in 1793, and is contained among 
 the documents published by Venturi. 
 Galileo does not profess in it to give much 
 original matter, but to lay before his read- 
 ers a compendium of the most approved 
 principles then already known. It has 
 been supposed that Gustavus Adolphus 
 of Sweden attended Galileo's lectures on 
 this subject, whilst in Italy ; but the fact 
 is not satisfactorily ascertained. Galileo 
 himself mentions a Prince Gustavus of 
 Sweden to whom he gave instruction in 
 mathematics, but the dates cannot well 
 be made to agree. The question de- 
 serves notice only from its having been 
 made the subject of controversy. 
 
 The loss of Galileo's Essay on Conti- 
 nuous Quantity is particularly to be 
 regretted, as it would be highly interest- 
 ing to see how far he succeeded in 
 methodizing his thoughts on this import- 
 ant topic. It is to his pupil Cavalieri 
 (who refused to publish his book so 
 long as he hoped to see Galileo's printed) 
 that we owe " The Method of Indivisi- 
 bles," which is universally recognized as 
 one of the first germs of the powerful 
 methods of modern analysis . Through- 
 out Galileo's works we find many indi- 
 cations of his having thought much on 
 the subject, but his remarks are vague, 
 and bear little, if at all, on the appli- 
 cation of the method. To this the 
 chief part of Cavalieri's book is devoted, 
 though he was not so entirely regardless 
 of the principles on which his method 
 of measuring spaces is founded, as he 
 is sometimes represented. This method 
 consisted in considering lines as made 
 up of an infinite number of points, sur- 
 faces in like manner as composed of 
 lines, and solids of surfaces ; but there 
 is an observation at the beginning of 
 the 7th book, which shews clearly that 
 Cavalieri had taken a much more pro- 
 found view of the subject than is implied 
 in this superficial exposition, and had 
 approached very closely to the appa- 
 rently more exact theories of his suc- 
 cessors. Anticipating the objections to 
 his hypothesis, he argues, that " there 
 is no necessity to suppose the conti- 
 nuous quantities made up of these in- 
 divisible parts, but only that they will 
 observe the same ratios as those parts 
 dor It ought not to be omitted, that 
 Kepler also had given an impulse to 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Cavalieri in his " New method of Gua- 
 gingv" which is the earliest work with 
 which we are acquainted, where prin- 
 ciples of this sort are employed.* 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 Invention of the telescope Fracastoro 
 Porta Reflecting telescope -Ro- 
 ger Bacon DiggesDe Dominis 
 Jansen Lipperhey Galileo con- 
 structs telescopes Microscopes Re - 
 elected Professor at Padua for life. 
 
 The year 1G09 was signalized by 
 Galileo's discovery of the telescope, 
 which, in the minds of many, is the prin- 
 cipal, if not the sole invention associated 
 with his name. It cannot be denied 
 that his fame, as the founder of the 
 school of experimental philosophy, has 
 been in an unmerited degree cast into 
 the shade by the splendour of his astro- 
 nomical discoveries ; yet Lagrangef 
 surely errs in the opposite extreme, when 
 he almost denies that these form any 
 real or solid part of the glory of this 
 great man : and Montucla^ omits an im- 
 portant ingredient in his merit, when he 
 (in other respects very justly) remarks, 
 that it required far less genius to point 
 a telescope towards the heavens than to 
 trace the unheeded, because daily re- 
 curring, phenomena of motion up to its 
 simple and primary laws. We are to 
 remember that in the days of Galileo 
 a telescope could scarcely be pointed to 
 the heavens with impunity, and .that a 
 courageous mind was required to con- 
 tradict, and a strong one to bear down, 
 a party, who, when invited to look on 
 any object in the heavens which Aris- 
 totle had never suspected, immediately 
 refused all credit to those senses, to 
 which, on other occasions, they so confi- 
 dently appealed. It surely is a real 
 and solid part of Galileo's glory that he 
 consumed his life in laborious and inde- 
 fatigable observations, and that he per- 
 severed in announcing his discoveries 
 undisgusted by the invectives, and un- 
 dismayed by the persecutions, to which 
 they subjected him. Plagiarist! liar! 
 impostor ! heretic ! were among the ex- 
 pressions of malignant hatred lavished 
 upon him, and although he also was 
 not without, some violent and foul- 
 mouthed partisans, yet it must be told 
 to his credit that lie himself seldom 
 condescended to notice these torrents 
 of abuse, otherwise than by good- 
 
 * Nova Stereometria Dolionim Lincii, 1615. 
 
 + Mecanique Analytique. 
 
 % Histoire des Mathematiques, torn. ii. 
 
 humoured retorts, and by prosecuting 
 his observations with renewed assiduity 
 and zeal. 
 
 The use of single lenses in aid of the 
 sight had been long known. Spectacles 
 were in common use at the beginning 
 of the fourteenth century, and there are 
 several hints, more or less obscure, in 
 many early writers, of the effects which 
 might be expected from a combination 
 of glasses ; but it does not appear with 
 certainty that any of these authors had 
 attempted to reduce their ideas to prac- 
 tice. After the discovery of the tele- 
 scope, almost every country endeavoured 
 to find in the writings of its early 
 philosophers traces of the knowledge of 
 such an instrument, but in 'general with 
 success very inadequate to the zeal of 
 their national prepossessions. There 
 are two authors especially to whom the 
 attention of Kepler and others was 
 turned, immediately upon the promulga- 
 tion of the discovery, as containing the 
 germ of it in their works. These are 
 Baptista Porta, and Gerolamo Fracas- 
 toro. We have already had occasion 
 to quote the Homocentrica of Fracas- 
 toro, who died in 1553 ; the follow- 
 ing expressions, though they seem to 
 refer to actual experiment, yet fall short 
 of the meaning with which it has been 
 attempted to invest them. After ex- 
 plaining and commenting on some phe- 
 nomena of refraction through different 
 media, to which he was led by the 
 necessity of reconciling his theory with 
 the variable magnitudes of the planets, 
 he goes on to say " For which rea- 
 son, those things which are seen at the 
 bottom of water, appear greater than 
 those which are at the top ; and if any 
 one look through two eyeglasses, one 
 placed upon the other, he will see every 
 thing much larger and nearer. 1 ' * It should 
 seem that this passage (as Delambrehas 
 already remarked) rather refers to the 
 close application of one glass upon an- 
 other, and it may fairly be doubted 
 whether any thing analogous to the 
 composition of the telescope was in the 
 writer's thoughts. Baptista Porta 
 writes on the same subject more fully ; 
 " Concave lenses show distant objects 
 most clearly, convex those which are 
 nearer, whence they may be used to 
 assist the sight. With a concave glass 
 distant objects will be seen, small, but 
 distinct ; with a convex one those near 
 at hand, larger, but confused ; if you 
 
 * " Per duo specilla ocularia si quis perspiciat, 
 altera alteri superposito, majoramulto ct propinquiora 
 videlit omnia. " Fracast. HomocoiUriea, -', c. 8. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 21 
 
 know rightly hoio to combine one of 
 each sort, you will see both far and near- 
 objects larger and clearer" * These 
 words show, if Porta really was then 
 unacquainted with the telescope, how 
 close it is possible to pass by an inven- 
 tion without lighting on it, for of pre- 
 cisely such a combination of a convex 
 and concave lens, fitted to the ends of 
 an organ pipe by way of tube, did the 
 whole of Galileo's telescope consist. 
 If Porta had stopped here he might 
 more securely have enjoyed the repu- 
 tation of the invention, but he then pro- 
 fesses to describe the construction of 
 his instrument, which has no relation 
 whatever to his previous remarks. ** I 
 shall now endeavour to show in what 
 manner we may contrive to recognize 
 our friends at the distance of several 
 miles, and how those of weak sight may 
 read the most minute letters from a 
 distance. It is an invention of great 
 utility, and grounded on optical prin- 
 ciples, nor is it at all difficult of execu- 
 tion ; but it must be so divulged as not 
 to be understood by the vulgar, and yet 
 be clear to the sharpsighted." The 
 description which follows seems far 
 enough removed from the apprehended 
 danger of being too clear, and in- 
 deed every writer who has hitherto 
 quoted it has merely given the passage 
 in its original Latin, apparently despair- 
 ing of an intelligible translation. With 
 some alterations in the punctuation, 
 whiclV appear necessary to bring it into 
 any grammatical construction, { it may 
 be supposed to bear something like the 
 following meaning : " Let a view be 
 contrived in the centre of a mirror, 
 where it is most effective. All the solar 
 rays are exceedingly dispersed, and do 
 not in the least come together (in the 
 true centre) ; but there is a concourse of 
 all the rays in the central part of the 
 said mirror, half way towards the other 
 centre, where the cross diameters meet. 
 This view is contrived in the following 
 manner. A concave cylindrical mirror 
 
 * Si utrumqne recte componerenoveris, etlongin- 
 qua ct proxiina maiora et clara videbis* Mag. Nat. 
 fib, 17. 
 
 + The passage in the original, which is printed 
 alike in the editions of 1598, 1607, 1619, and 1650, is 
 as follows: Visus constituatur centro valentissimus 
 speculi, ubi fiet, et valentissime universales solares 
 radii disperguntur, et coeunt minime, sed centro prae- 
 dicti speculi in illius medio, ubi diametri transver- 
 sales, omnium ibi concursus. Constituitur hoc modo 
 speculum concavum columnare aequidistantibus late- 
 ribus, sed lateri uno obliquo sectionibus iilis accomo- 
 detur, trianguli vero obtusianguli, vcl orthogonii 
 secentur, hinc inde duobus transversalibus lineis, ex- 
 centro eductis. Et confectum erit specilluin, ad id, 
 quwd dixi.uus, utile. 
 
 placed directly in front, but with its axis 
 inclined, must be adapted to that focus : 
 and let obtuse angled or right angled 
 triangles be cut out with two cross lines 
 on each side drawn from the centre, and 
 aglass (specillum) will be completed.fit for 
 the purposes we mentioned." If it were not 
 for the word " specillum," which, in the 
 passage immediately preceding this, 
 Porta* contrasts with " speculum" and 
 which he afterwards explains to mean a 
 glass lens, it would be very clear that 
 the foregoing passage (supposing it to 
 have any meaning) must be referred to 
 a reflecting telescope, and it is a little 
 singular that while this obscure passage 
 has attracted universal attention, no 
 one, so far as we are aware, has taken 
 any notice of the following unequivocal 
 description of the principal part of 
 Newton's construction of the same in- ' 
 strument. It is in the 5th chapter 
 of the 17th book, where Porta explains 
 by what device exceedingly minute let- 
 ters may be read without difficulty. 
 " Place a concave mirror so that the 
 back of it may lie against your breast ; 
 opposite to it, and within the burning 
 point, place the writing; put a plane 
 mirror behind it, that may be under your 
 eyes. .Then the images of the letters 
 which are in the concave mirror, and 
 which the concave has magnified, will 
 be reflected in the plane mirror, so that 
 you may read without difficulty." 
 
 We have not been able to meet with 
 the Italian translation of Porta's Na- 
 tural Magic, which was published in 
 1611, under his own superintendence; 
 but the English translator of 1658 
 would probably have known if any 
 intelligible interpretation were there 
 given of the mysterious passage above 
 quoted, and his translation is so devoid 
 of meaning as strongly to militate against 
 this idea. Porta, indeed, claimed the 
 invention as his own, and is believed to 
 have hastened his death, (which hap- 
 pened in 1615, he being then 80 years 
 old,) by the fatigue of composing a 
 Treatise on the Telescope, in which he 
 had promised to exhaust the subject. We 
 do not know whether this is the same 
 work which was published after his 
 death by Stelliola,'!' but which contains 
 no allusion to Porta's claim, and pos- 
 sibly Stelliola may have thought it most 
 for his friend's reputation to suppress 
 it. Schott'l says, a friend of his had 
 
 * Diximusde Ptolemaei speculative sjjccillo potitis, 
 quo per sexcentena millia pervementes naves conspi- 
 ciebat. t H TeleucopiD, 1027. 
 
 f Magia Naturae et Artis Herbipoli, 1G57. 
 
22 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 seen Porta's book in manuscript, and 
 that it did at that time contain the as- 
 sertion of Porta's title to the invention. 
 After all it is not improbable that he 
 may have derived his notions of mag- 
 nifying distant objects from our cele- 
 brated countryman Roger Bacon, who 
 died about the year 1300. He has been 
 supposed, not without good grounds, 
 to have been one of the first who re- 
 cognised the use of single lenses in 
 producing distinct vision, and he has 
 some expressions with respect to their 
 combination which promise effects ana- 
 logous to those held out by Porta. In 
 " The Admirable Force of Art and Na- 
 ture," he says, "Physical figurations 
 are far more strange, for in such manner 
 may we frame perspects and looking- 
 glasses that one thing shall appear 
 to be many, as one man shall seeme 
 a whole armie ; and divers sunnes and 
 moones, yea, as many as we please, 
 shall appeare at one time, &c. And so 
 may the perspects be framed, that things 
 most farre off may seeme most nigh 
 unto us, and clean contrarie, soe that we 
 may reade very small letters an incredi- 
 ble distance from us, and behold things 
 how little soever they be, and make 
 stars to appeare wheresoever we will, 
 &c. And, besides all these, we may so 
 frame perspects that any man entering 
 into a house he shall indeed see gold, 
 and silver, and precious stones,- and what 
 else he will, but when he maketh haste 
 to the place he shall find just nothing." 
 It seems plain, that the author is here 
 speaking solely of mirrors, and we must 
 not too hastily draw the conclusion, be- 
 cause in the first and last of these asser- 
 tions he is, to a certain extent, borne out 
 by facts, that he therefore was in posses- 
 sion of a method of accomplishing the 
 middle problem also. In the^ previous 
 chapter, he gives a long list of notable 
 things, (much in the style of the Mar- 
 quis of Worcester's Century of Inven- 
 tions) which if we can really persuade 
 ourselves that he was capable of accom- 
 plishing, we must allow the present age 
 to be still immeasurably inferior to him 
 in science. 
 
 Thomas Digges, in the preface to 
 his Pantometria, (published in 159 1 ) de- 
 clares, " My father, by his continuall 
 painfull practises, assisted with de- 
 monstrations mathematicall, was able, 
 and sundry times hath by proportional! 
 glasses, duely situate in convenient 
 angles, not only discouered things farre 
 off, read letters, numbered peeces of 
 money, with the verye coyne and super- 
 
 scription thereof, cast by some of his 
 freends of purpose, upon downes in 
 open fields ; but also, seuen miles off, 
 declared what hath beene doone at that 
 instant in priuate places. He hath also 
 sundrie times, by the sunne beames, fired 
 powder and dischargde ordnance halfe 
 a mile and more distante ; which things 
 I am the boulder to report, for that 
 there are yet living diverse (of these his 
 dooings) occulati testes, (eye witnesses) 
 and many other matters farre more 
 strange and rare, which I omit as im- 
 pertinent to this place." 
 
 We find another pretender to the ho- 
 nour of the discovery of the telescope in 
 the celebrated Antonio de Dominis, 
 Archbishop of Spalatro, famous in the 
 annals of optics for being one of the first 
 to explain the theory of the rainbow. 
 Montucla, following P. Boscovich, has 
 scarcely done justice to De Dominis, 
 whom he treats as a mere pretender 
 and ignorant person. The indisposition 
 of Boscovich towards him is suffi- 
 ciently accounted for by the circumstance 
 of his being a Catholic prelate who had 
 embraced the cause of Protestantism. 
 His nominal reconciliation with the 
 Church of Rome would probably not 
 have saved him from the stake, had not 
 a natural death released him when im- 
 prisoned on that account at Rome. 
 Judgment was pronounced upon him 
 notwithstanding, and his body and books 
 were publicly burnt in the Campo de' 
 Fiori, in 1624. His treatise, De Radiis, 
 (which is very rarely to be met with) 
 was published by Bartolo after the ac- 
 knowledged invention of the telescope 
 by Galileo ; but Bartolo tells us, in the 
 preface, that the manuscript was com- 
 municated to him from a collection of 
 papers written 20 years before, on his 
 inquiring the Archbishop's opinion with 
 respect to the newly discovered instru- 
 ment, and that he got leave to publish 
 it, " with the addition of one or two 
 chapters." The treatise contains a 
 complete description of a telescope, 
 which, however, is professed merely to 
 be an improvement on spectacles, and 
 if the author's intention had been to 
 interpolate an afterwritten account, in 
 order to secure to himself the undeserved 
 honour of the invention, it seems im- 
 probable that he would have suffered 
 an acknowledgment of additions, pre- 
 vious to publication, to be inserted in 
 the preface. Besides, the whole tone 
 of the work is that of a candid and 
 truth-seeking, philosopher, very far 
 indeed removed from being, as Mon- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 23 
 
 tucla calls him, conspicuous for igno- 
 rance even among the ignorant men of 
 his age. He gives a drawing of a con- 
 vex and concave lens, and traces the 
 passage of the rays through them ; to 
 which he subjoins, that he has not 
 satisfied himself with any determination 
 of the precise distance to which the 
 glasses should be separated, according 
 to their convexity and concavity, but 
 recommends the proper distance to be 
 found by actual experiment, and tells 
 us, that the effect of the instrument will 
 be to prevent the confusion arising from 
 the interference of the direct and re- 
 fracted rays, and to magnify the object 
 by increasing the visible angle under 
 which it is viewed. These, among the 
 many claimants, are certainly the au- 
 thors who approached the most nearly 
 to the discovery: and the reader may 
 judsre, from the passages ciled, whether 
 the knowledge of the telescope can with 
 probability be referred to a period ear- 
 lier than the commencement of the 17th 
 century. At all events, we can find no 
 earlier trace of its being applied to any 
 practical use ; the knowlege, if it existed, 
 remained speculative and barren. 
 
 In 1609, Galileo, then being on a visit 
 to a friend at Venice, heard a rumour 
 of the recent invention, by a Dutch 
 spectacle- maker, of an instrument which 
 was said to represent distant objects 
 nearer than they usually appeared. 
 According to his own account, this ge- 
 neral rumour, which was confirmed to 
 him by letters from Paris, was all that 
 he learned on the subject ; and returning 
 to Padua, he immediately applied him- 
 self to consider the means by which 
 such an effect could be produced. 
 Fuccarius, in an abusive letter which 
 he wrote on the subject, asserts that one 
 of the Dutch telescopes had been at 
 that time actually brought to Venice, 
 and that he (Fuccarius) had seen it; 
 which, even if true, is perfectly con- 
 sistent with Galileo's statement ; and 
 in fact the question, whether or not 
 Galileo saw the original instrument, 
 becomes important only from his ex- 
 pressly asserting the contrary, and pro- 
 fessing to give the train of reasoning by 
 which he discovered its principle ; so 
 that any insinuation that he had actually 
 seen the Dutch glass, becomes a direct 
 impeachment of his veracity. It is 
 certain, from the following extract of a 
 letter from Lorenzo Pignoria to Paolo 
 Gualdo, that one at least of the Dutch 
 glasses had been sent to Italy. It is 
 
 dated Padua, 31st August, 1609.* 
 11 We have no news, except the return 
 of His Serene Highness, and the re- 
 election of the lecturers, among whom 
 Sign. Galileo has contrived to get 1000 
 florins for life ; and it is said to be on 
 account of an eyeglass, like the one 
 which was sent from Flanders to Car- 
 dinal Borghese. We have seen some 
 here, and truly they succeed well." 
 
 It is allowed by every one that the 
 Dutchman, or rather Zealander, made his 
 discovery by mere accident, which 
 greatly derogates from any honour 
 attached to it ; but even this diminished 
 degree of credit has been fiercely dis- 
 puted. According to one account, 
 which appears consistent and probable, 
 it had been made for sometime before 
 its importance was in the slightest de- 
 gree understood or appreciated, but 
 was set up in the optician's shop as 
 a curious philosophical toy, show- 
 ing a large and inverted image of a 
 weathercock, towards which it was di- 
 rected. The Marquis Spinola, chancing 
 to see it, was struck with the phenome- 
 non, purchased the instrument, and 
 presented it either to the Archduke 
 Albert of Austria, or to Prince Maurice 
 of Nassau, whose name appears in 
 every version of the story, and who 
 first entertained the idea of employing 
 it in military reconnoissances. 
 
 Zacharias Jansen, and Henry Lipper- 
 hey, two spectacle-makers, living close 
 to each other, near the church of Mid- 
 dleburg, have both had strenuous sup- 
 porters of their title to the invention. A 
 third pretender appeared afterwards in 
 the person of James Metius of Alkmaer, 
 who is mentioned by Huyghens and 
 Des Cartes, but his claims rest upon 
 no authority whatever comparable to 
 that which supports the other two. 
 About half a century afterwards, Borelli 
 was at the pains to collect and publish 
 a number of letters and depositions 
 which he procured, as well on one side 
 as on the other.f It seems that the truth 
 lies between them, and that one, pro- 
 bably Jansen, was the inventor of the 
 microscope, which application of the 
 principle was unquestionably of an ear- 
 lier date, perhaps as far back as 1590. 
 Jansen gave one of his microscopes to 
 the Archduke, who gave it to Cornelius 
 Drebbel, a salaried mathematician at 
 the court of our James the first, where 
 William Borelli (not the author above 
 
 * Lettere d'Uomini illustri. Venezia, 1744. 
 t Borelli, De yero Telescopii inyeatore, 1655* 
 
24 
 
 GALILEO, 
 
 mentioned) saw it many years after- 
 wards, when ambassador from the 
 United Provinces to England, and got 
 from Drebbel this account of the quar- 
 ter whence it came. Lipperhey after- 
 wards, in 1609, accidentally hit upon 
 the telescope, and on the fame of this 
 discovery it would not be difficult for 
 Jansen, already in possession of an 
 instrument so much resembling it, to 
 perceive the slight difference between 
 them, and to construct a telescope in- 
 dependently of Lipperhey, so that each, 
 with some show of reason, might claim 
 the priority of the invention. A notion 
 of this kind reconciles the testimony of 
 many conflicting witnesses on the sub- 
 ject, some of whom do not seem to 
 distinguish very accurately whether the 
 telescope or microscope is the instru- 
 ment to which their evidence refers. 
 Borelli arrives at the conclusion, that 
 Jansen was the inventor ; but not satis- 
 fied with this, he endeavours, with a 
 glaring partiality which makes his for- 
 mer determination suspicious, to secure 
 for him and his son the more solid re- 
 putation of having anticipated Galileo in 
 the useful employment of the invention. 
 He has however inserted in his collec- 
 tions a letter from John the son of Za- 
 charias, in which John, omitting all 
 mention of his father, speaks of his 
 own observation of the satellites of 
 Jupiter, evidently seeking to insinuate 
 that they were earlier than Galileo's ; 
 and in this sense the letter has since 
 been quoted,* although it appears from 
 John s own deposition, preserved in the 
 same collection, that at the time of their 
 discovery he could not have been more 
 than six years old. An oversight of 
 this sort throws doubt on the whole of 
 the pretended observations, and indeed 
 the letter has much the air of being the 
 production of a person imperfectly in- 
 formed on the subject on which he 
 writes, and probably was compiled to 
 suit Borelli's purposes, which were to 
 make Galileo's share in the invention 
 appear as small as possible. 
 
 Galileo himself gives a very intelli- 
 gible account of the process of reason- 
 ing, by which he detected the secret. 
 "I argued in the following manner. 
 The contrivance consists either of one 
 glass or of more one is not sufficient, 
 since], it mustbe either convex, concave, 
 or plane ; the last does not produce any 
 sensible alteration in objects, the con- 
 cave diminishes them : it is true that the 
 
 * Encyclop-cdia Britannica. Art. TiLtscorE. 
 
 convex magnifies, but it renders them 
 confused and indistinct; consequently, 
 one glass is insufficient to produce the 
 desired effect. Proceeding to consider 
 two glasses, and bearing in mind that 
 the plane glass causes no change, I de- 
 termined that the instrument could not 
 consist of the combination of a plane 
 glass with either of the other two. I 
 therefore applied myself to make expe- 
 riments on combinations of the two 
 other kinds, and thus obtained that of 
 which I was in search." It has been 
 urged against Galileo that, if he really 
 invented the telescope on theoretical 
 principles, the same theory ought at 
 once to have conducted him to a more 
 perfect instrument than that which he 
 at first constructed ;* but it is plain, from 
 this statement, that he does not profess 
 to have theorized beyond the determi- 
 nation of the species of glass which he 
 should employ in his experiments, and 
 the rest of his operations he avows to 
 have been purely empirical. Besides, we 
 must take into account the difficulty of 
 grinding the glasses, particularly when fit 
 tools were yet to be made, and some- 
 thing must be attributed to Galileo's 
 eagerness to bring his results to the test 
 of actual experiment, without waiting for 
 that improvement which a longer delay 
 might and did suggest. Galileo's lan- 
 guage bears a resemblance to the first 
 passage which we quoted from Bap- 
 tista Porta, sufficiently close to make it 
 not improbable that he might be as- 
 sisted in his inquiries by some recollec- 
 tion of it, and the same passage seems, 
 in like manner, to have recurred to the 
 mind of Kepler, as soon as he heard of 
 the invention. Galileo's telescope con- 
 sisted of a plano-convex and plano-con- 
 cave lens, the latter nearest the eye, 
 distant from each other by the differ- 
 ence of their focal lengths, being, in 
 principle, exactly the same with the mo- 
 dern opera- glass. He seems to have 
 thought that the Dutch glass was the 
 same, but this could not be the case, 
 if the above quoted particular of the in- 
 verted weathercock, which belongs to 
 most traditions of the story, be correct ; 
 because it is the peculiarity of this kind 
 of telescope not to invert objects, and 
 we should be thus furnished with a de- 
 monstrative proof of the falsehood of 
 Fuccarius's insinuation : in that case 
 the Dutch glass must have been similar 
 to what was afterwards called the astro- 
 nomical telescope, consisting of two 
 
 * Ibid. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 25 
 
 convex glasses distant from each other 
 by the sum of their focal lengths. This 
 supposition is not controverted by the 
 fact, that this sort of telescope was never 
 employed by astronomers till long after- 
 wards ; for the fame of Galileo's obser- 
 vations, and the superior excellence of 
 the instruments constructed under his 
 superintendence, induced every one in 
 the first instance to imitate his con- 
 structions as closely as possible. The 
 astronomical telescope was however 
 eventually found to possess superior ad- 
 vantages over that which Galileo ima- 
 gined, and it is on this latter principle 
 that all modern refracting telescopes 
 are constructed ; the inversion being 
 counteracted in those which are intended 
 for terrestrial observations, by the intro- 
 duction of a second pair of similar 
 glasses, which restore the inverted 
 image to its original position. For fur- 
 ther details on the improvements which 
 have been subsequently introduced, and 
 on the reflecting telescope, which was 
 not brought into use till the latter part 
 of the century, the reader is referred 
 to the Treatise on Optical Instru- 
 ments. 
 
 Galileo, about the same time, con- 
 structed microscopes on the same prin- 
 ciple, for we find that, in 1612, he pre- 
 sented one to Sigismund, King of Po- 
 land ; but his attention being principally 
 devoted to the employment and perfec- 
 tion of his telescope, the microscope 
 remained a long time imperfect in his 
 hands: twelve years later, in 1624, 
 he wrote to P. Federigo Cesi, that he 
 had delayed to send the microscope, the 
 use of which he there describes, because 
 he had only just brought it to perfec- 
 tion, having experienced some difficulty 
 in working the glasses. Schott tells an 
 amusing story, in his " Magic of Na- 
 ture," of a Bavarian philosopher, who, 
 travelling in the Tyrol with one of the 
 newly invented microscopes about him, 
 was taken ill on the road and died. 
 The authorities of the village took pos- 
 session of his baggage, and were pro- 
 ceeding to perform the last duties to his 
 body, when, on examining the little 
 glass instrument in his pocket, which 
 chanced to contain a flea, they were 
 struck with the greatest astonishment 
 and terror, and the poor Bavarian, 
 condemned by acclamation as a sor- 
 cerer who was in the habit of using 
 a portable familiar, was declared un- 
 worthy of Christian burial. Fortu- 
 nately for his character, some bold 
 sceptic ventured to open the instrument, 
 
 and discovered the true nature of the 
 imprisoned fiend. 
 
 As soon as Galileo's first telescope was 
 completed, he returned with it to Ve- 
 nice, and the extraordinary sensation 
 which it excited tends also strongly to 
 refute Fuccarius's assertion that the 
 Dutch glass was already known there. 
 During more than a month Galileo's 
 whole time was employed in exhibiting 
 his instrument to the principal inhabit- 
 ants of Venice, who thronged to his 
 house to satisfy themselves of the truth 
 of the wonderful stories in circulation ; 
 and at the end of that time the Doge, 
 Leonardo Donati, caused it to be in- 
 timated to him that such a present l 
 would not be deemed unacceptable by 
 the senate. Galileo took the hint, and 
 his complaisance was rewarded by a 
 mandate confirming him for life in his 
 professorship at Padua, at the same 
 time doubling his yearly salary, which 
 was thus made to amount to 1000 flo- 
 rins. 
 
 It was long before the phrenzy of 
 public curiosity abated. Sirturi de- 
 scribes a ludicrous violence which was 
 done to himself, when, with the first 
 telescope which he had succeeded in 
 making, he went up into the tower of 
 St. Mark, at Venice, in the vain hope of 
 being there entirely unmolested. Un- 
 luckily he was seen by sorne idlers in 
 the street : a crowd soon collected round 
 him, who insisted on taking possession 
 of his instrument, and, handing it one 
 to the other, detained him there for se- 
 veral hours till their curiosity was sa- 
 tiated, when he was allowed to return 
 home. Hearing them also inquire 
 eagerly at what inn he lodged, he thought 
 it better to quit Venice early the next 
 morning, and prosecute his observations 
 in a less inquisitive neighbourhood.* In- 
 struments of an inferior description were 
 soon manufactured, and vended every 
 where as philosophical playthings, much 
 in the way in which, in our own time, the 
 kaleidoscope spread over Europe as fast 
 as travellers could carry them. But the 
 fabrication of a better sort was long 
 confined, almost solely, to Galileo and 
 those whom he immediately instructed ; 
 and so late as the year 1637, we find 
 Gaertner, or as he chose to call him- 
 self, Hortensius, assuring Galileo that 
 none could be met with in Holland suf- 
 ficiently good to show Jupiter's disc 
 well defined ; and in 1634 Gassendi begs 
 for a telescope from Galileo, informing 
 
 * Telescopium, Venetiis, 1G19. 
 
26 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 him that he was unable to procure a 
 good one either in Venice, Paris, or 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 The instrument, on its first invention, 
 was generally known by the names of 
 Galileo's tube, the perspective, the dou- 
 ble eye-glass : the names of telescope 
 and microscope were suggested by 
 Demisiano, as we are told by Lagalla 
 in his treatise on the Moon.* 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Discovery of Jupiter's satellites Kepler 
 Sizzi Astrologers Mcestlin 
 Horky Mayer. 
 
 As soon as Galileo had provided him- 
 self with a second instrument, he began 
 a careful examination of the heavenly 
 bodies, and a series of splendid discove- 
 ries soon rewarded his diligence. After 
 considering the beautiful appearances 
 which the varied surface of the moon 
 presented to this new instrument, he 
 turned his telescope towards Jupiter, 
 and his attention was soon arrested by 
 the singular position of three small stars, 
 near the body of that planet, which ap- 
 peared almost in a straight line with it, 
 and in the direction of the ecliptic. The 
 following evening he was surprised to 
 find that two of the three which had 
 been to the eastward of the planet, now 
 appeared on the contrary side, which he 
 could not reconcile with the apparent 
 motion of Jupiter among the fixed stars, 
 as given by the tables. Observing these 
 night after night, he could not fail to 
 remark that they changed their relative 
 positions. A fourth also appeared, and 
 in a short time he could no longer re- 
 fuse to believe that these small stars 
 were four moons, revolving round Ju- 
 piter in the same manner in which our 
 earth is accompanied by its single at- 
 tendant. In honour of his patron Cos- 
 mo, he named them the Medicaean 
 stars. As they are now hardly known 
 by this appellation, his doubts, whether 
 he should call them Medicaean," after 
 Cosmo's family, or Cosmical, from his 
 individual name, are become of less 
 interest. 
 
 An extract from a letter which Gali- 
 leo received on this occasion from the 
 court of France, will serve to show 
 how highly the honour of giving a 
 name to these new planets was at that 
 time appreciated, and also how much 
 was expected from Galileo's first success 
 in examining the heavens. ' ' The second 
 
 * De phsenomenis in orbe Lunse. Venetiis, 1612. 
 
 request, but the most pressing one which 
 I can make to you, is, that you should 
 determine, if you discover any other fine 
 star, to call it by the name of the great 
 star of France, as well as the most bril- 
 liant of all the earth; and, if it seems 
 fit to you, call it rather by his proper 
 name of Henri, than by the family name 
 of Bourbon : thus you will have an op- 
 portunity of doing a thing just and due 
 and proper in itself, and at the same 
 time will render yourself and your family 
 rich and powerful for ever." The writer 
 then proceeds to enumerate the differ- 
 ent claims of Henri IV. to this honour, 
 not forgetting that he married into the 
 family of the Medici, &c. 
 
 The result of these observations was 
 given to the world, in an Essay which 
 Galileo entitled Nuncius Sidereus, or 
 the Intelligencer of the Stars ; and it is 
 difficult to describe the extraordinary 
 sensation which its publication pro- 
 duced. Many doubted, many positively 
 refused to believe, so novel an announce- 
 ment ; all were struck with the greatest 
 astonishment, according to their respec- 
 tive opinions, either at the new view of 
 the universe thus offered to them, or at 
 the daring audacity of Galileo in in- 
 venting such fables. We shall proceed 
 to extract a few passages from contem- 
 porary writers relative to this book, and 
 the discoveries announced in it. 
 
 Kepler deserves precedence, both 
 from his own celebrity, and from the 
 lively and characteristic account which 
 he gives of his first receiving the in- 
 telligence : "I was sitting idle at 
 home, thinking of you, most excellent 
 Galileo, and your letters, when the 
 news was brought me of the dis- 
 covery of four planets by the help 
 of the double eye-glass. Wachenfels 
 stopped his carriage at my door to tell 
 me, when such a fit Of wonder seized 
 me at a report which seemed so very 
 absurd, and I was thrown into such 
 agitation at seeing an old dispute be- 
 tween us decided in this way, that 
 between his joy, my colouring, and the 
 laughter of both, confounded as we 
 were by such a novelty, we were hardly 
 capable, he of speaking, or I of listening. 
 My amazement was increased by the 
 assertion of Wachenfels, that those who 
 sent this news from Galileo were cele- 
 brated men, far removed by their learn- 
 ing, weight, and character, above vulgar 
 folly ; that the book was actually in the 
 press, and would be published immedi- 
 ately. On our separating, the authority 
 of Galileo had the greatest influence on 
 
GALTLEO. 
 
 27 
 
 me, earned by the accuracy of his judg- 
 ment, and excellence of his understand- 
 ing ; so I immediately fell to thinking 
 how there could be any addition to the 
 number of the planets without over- 
 turning my Mysterium Cosmographi- 
 cum, published thirteen years ago, ac- 
 cording to which Euclid's five regular 
 solids do not allow more than six pla- 
 nets round the sun." 
 
 This was "one of the many wild notions 
 of Kepler's fanciful brain, among which 
 he was lucky enough at length to hit 
 upon the real and principal laws of the 
 planetary motions. His theory may be 
 briefly given in his own words 1 " The 
 orbit "of the earth is the measure of the 
 rest. About it circumscribe a dodecahe- 
 dron. The sphere including this will be 
 that of Mars. About Mars' orbit de- 
 scribe a tetrahedron : the sphere contain- 
 ing this will be Jupiter's orbit. Round 
 Jupiter's describe a cube: the sphere in- 
 cluding this will be Saturn's. Within the 
 earth's orbit inscribe an icosahedron: 
 the sphere inscribed in it will b6 Venus's 
 orbit. In Venus inscribe an octahedron : 
 the sphere inscribed in it will be Mer- 
 cury's. You have now the reason of 
 the number of the planets :" for as there 
 are no more than the five regular solids 
 here enumerated, Kepler conceived this 
 to be a satisfactory reason why there 
 could be neither more nor less than six 
 planets. His letter continues : " I am 
 so far from disbelieving the existence of 
 the four circumjovial planets, that I long 
 for a telescope to anticipate you, if pos- 
 sible, in discovering two round Mars, (as 
 the proportion seems to me to require,) 
 six or eight round Saturn, and perhaps 
 one each round Mercury and Venus." 
 
 The reader has here an opportunity 
 of verifying Galileo's observation, that 
 Kepler's method of philosophizing dif- 
 fered widely from his own. The proper 
 line is certainly difficult to hit between 
 the mere theorist and the mere observer. 
 It is not difficult at once to condemn the 
 former, and yet the latter will deprive 
 himself of an important, and often indis- 
 pensable assistance, if he neglect from 
 time to time to consolidate his observa- 
 tions, and thence to conjecture the course 
 of future observation most likely to re- 
 ward his assiduity. This cannot be 
 more forcibly expressed than in the 
 words of Leonardo da Vinci:* M Theory 
 is the general, experiments are the 
 soldiers. The interpreter of the works 
 of nature is experiment ; that is never 
 
 * Venturi. Essai jsur les ouyrages de Leo. da 
 Vinci. 
 
 wrong; it is our judgment which is 
 sometimes deceived, because we are ex- 
 pecting results which experiment refuses 
 to give. We must consult experiment, 
 and vary the circumstances, till we have 
 deduced general rules, for it alone can 
 furnish us with them. But you will 
 ask, what is the use of these general 
 rules? I answer, that they direct us 
 in our inquiries into nature and the 
 operations of art. They keep us from 
 deceiving ourselves and others, by pro- 
 mising ourselves results which we can 
 never obtain." 
 
 In the instance before us, it is well 
 known that, adopting some of the opi- 
 nions of Bruno and Brutti, Galileo, even 
 before he had seen the satellites of Jupi- 
 ter, had allowed the possibility of the 
 discovery of new planets ; and we can 
 scarcely suppose that they had weakened 
 his belief in the probability of further 
 success, or discouraged him from exa- 
 mining the other heavenly bodies. Kep- 
 ler on the contrary had taken the op- 
 posite side of the argument ; but no 
 sooner was the fallacy of his first position 
 undeniably demonstrated, than, passing 
 at once from one extreme to the other, 
 he framed an unsupported theory to ac- 
 count for the number of satellites which 
 were round Jupiter, and for those which 
 he expected to meet with elsewhere. 
 Kepler has been styled the legislator of 
 the skies ; his laws were promulgated 
 rather too arbitrarily, and they often 
 failed, as all laws must do which are 
 not drawn from a careful observation 
 of the nature of those who are to 
 be governed by them. Astronomers 
 have reason to be grateful for the 
 theorems which he was the first to esta- 
 blish ; but so far as regards the progress 
 of the science of inductive reasoning, it 
 is perhaps to be regretted, that the se- 
 venteen years which he wasted in ran- 
 dom and unconnected guesses should 
 have been finally rewarded, by disco- 
 veries splendid enough to shed deceitful 
 lustre upon the method by which he ar- 
 rived at them. 
 
 Galileo himself clearly perceived the 
 fallacious nature of these speculations 
 on numbers and proportions, and has 
 expressed his sentiments concerning 
 them very unequivocally. " How great 
 and common an error appears to me the 
 mistake of those who persist in making 
 their knowledge and 'apprehension the 
 measure of the apprehension and know- 
 ledge of God ; as if that alone were per- 
 fect, which they understand to be so. 
 But I, on the contrary, observe that 
 
28 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Nature has other scales of perfection, 
 which we cannot comprehend, and rather 
 seem disposed to class among imper- 
 fections. For instance, among the re- 
 lations of different numbers, those ap- 
 pear to us most perfect which exist be- 
 tween numbers nearly related to each 
 other ; as the double, the triple, the pro- 
 portion of three to two, &c. ; those appear 
 less perfect which exist between num- 
 bers remote from, and prime to each 
 other; as 11 to 7, 17 to 13, 53 to 37, 
 &c. ; and most imperfect of all do those 
 appear which exist between incommen- 
 surable quantities, which by us are 
 nameless and inexplicable. Conse- 
 quently, if the task had been given to a 
 man, of establishing and ordering the 
 rapid motions of the heavenly bodies, 
 according to his notions of perfect pro- 
 portions, I doubt not that he would have 
 arranged them according to the former 
 rational proportions ; but, on the con- 
 trary, God, with no regard to our ima- 
 ginary symmetries, has ordered them in 
 proportions not only incommeasurable 
 and irrational, but altogether .inappre- 
 ciable by our intellect. A man ignorant 
 of geometry may perhaps lament, that the 
 circumference of a circle does not happen 
 to be exactly three times the diameter, 
 or in some other assignable proportion 
 to it, rather than such that we have not 
 yet been able to explain what the ratio 
 between them is ; but one who has 
 more understanding will know that if 
 they were other than they are, thou- 
 sands of admirable conclusions would 
 have been lost, and that none of the 
 other properties of the circle would 
 have been true : the surface of the sphere 
 would not be quadruple of a great cir- 
 cle, nor the cylinder be to the sphere as 
 three to^two : in short, no part of geo- 
 metry would be true, and as it now is. If 
 one of our most celebrated architects had 
 had to distribute this vast multitude of 
 fixed stars through the great vault of 
 heaven, I believe he would have disposed 
 them with beautiful arrangements of 
 a*ffcares, hexagons, and octagons; he 
 would have dispersed the larger ones 
 among the middle sized and the less, 
 so as to correspond exactly with each 
 other ; and then he would think he had 
 contrived admirable proportions : but 
 God, on the contrary, has shaken them 
 out from His hand as if by chance, and 
 we, forsooth, must think that He has 
 scattered them up yonder without any 
 regularity, symmetry, and elegance." 
 
 It is worth remarking that the dan- 
 gerous ideas of aptitude ancl congruence 
 
 of numbers had taken such deep and 
 general root, that long afterwards, when 
 the reality of Jupiter's satellites was in- 
 contestably established, and Huyghens 
 had discovered a similar satellite near 
 Saturn, he was so rash as to declare his 
 belief, (unwarned by the vast pro- 
 gress which astronomy had made in his 
 own time,) that no more satellites would 
 be discovered, since the one which he 
 discovered near Saturn, with Jupiter's 
 four, and our moon, made up the num- 
 ber six, exactly equal to the number of 
 the principal planets. Every reader 
 knows lhat this notion, so unworthy 
 the genius of Huyghens, has been since 
 exploded by the discovery both of new 
 planets, and new satellites. 
 
 Francesco Sizzi, a Florentine astro- 
 nomer, took the matter up in a some- 
 what different strain from Kepler.* 
 " There are seven windows given to 
 animals in the, domicile of the head, 
 through which the air is admitted to 
 the rest of the tabernacle of the body, 
 to enlighten, to warm, and nourish it, 
 which are the principal parts of the 
 pixooKoirpo; (or little world) ; two nostrils, 
 two eyes, two ears, and a mouth ; so 
 in the heavens, as in a ^ax^oxo^os (or 
 great world), there are two favourable 
 stars, two unpropitious, two luminaries, 
 and Mercury alone undecided and in- 
 different. From which and many other 
 similar phenomena of nature, such as 
 the seven metals, &c, which it were 
 tedious to enumerate, we gather that the 
 number of planets is necessarily seven. 
 Moreover, the satellites are invisible to 
 the naked eye, and therefore can exer- 
 cise no influence on the earth, and there- 
 fore would be useless, and therefore do 
 not exist. Besides, as well the Jews and 
 other ancient nations as modern Euro- 
 peans have [adopted the division of the 
 week into seven days, and have named 
 them from the seven planets : now if we 
 increase the number of the planets this 
 whole system falls to the ground." To 
 these remarks Galileo calmly replied, 
 that whatever their force might be, as a 
 reason for believing beforehand that no 
 more than seven planets would be dis- 
 covered, they hardly seemed of sufficient 
 weight to destroy the new ones when 
 actually seen. 
 
 Others, again, took a more dogged 
 line of opposition, without venturing 
 into the subtle analogies and arguments 
 of the philosopher just cited. They con- 
 tented themselves, and satisfied others, 
 
 * Dianoia Astfonomica. Yenetiis, 1610. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 29 
 
 with the simple assertion, that such 
 things were not, and could not be, and 
 the manner in which they maintained 
 themselves in their incredulity was suf- 
 ficiently ludicrous. "Oh, my dear 
 Kepler," * says Galileo, " how I wish 
 that we could have one hearty laugh 
 together. Here, at Padua, is the prin- 
 cipal professor of philosophy, whom I 
 have repeatedly and urgently requested 
 to look at the moon and planets through 
 my glass, which he pertinaciously refuses 
 to do. Why are you not here ? what 
 shouts of laughter we should have at 
 this glorious folly ! and to hear the pro- 
 fessor of philosophy' at Pisa labouring 
 before the grand duke with logical ar- 
 guments, as if with magical incantations, 
 to charm the new planets out of the 
 sky." 
 
 Another opponent of Galileo deserves 
 to be named, were it only for the sin- 
 gular impudence of the charge he 
 ventures to bring against him. " We 
 are not to think," says Christmann, 
 in the Appendix to his Nodus Gor- 
 dius, " that Jupiter has four satellites 
 given him by nature, in order, by re- 
 volving round him, to immortalize the 
 name of the Medici, who first had notice 
 of the observation. These are the 
 dreams of idle men, who love ludicrous 
 ideas better than our laborious and in- 
 dustrious correction of the heavens. 
 Nature abhors so horrible a chaos, and 
 to the truly wise such vanity is detest- 
 able. 
 
 Galileo was also urged by the. astro- 
 logers to attribute some influence, ac- 
 cording to their fantastic notions, to the 
 satellites, and the account which he 
 gives his friend Dini of his answer to 
 one of this class is well worth extract- 
 ing, as a specimen of his method of 
 uniting sarcasm with serious expostula- 
 tion ; " I must," says he, " tell you what 
 I said a few days back to one of those 
 nativity-casters, who believe that God, 
 when he created the heavens and the 
 stars, had no thoughts beyond what 
 they can themselves conceive, in order 
 to free myself from his tedious impor- 
 tunity ; for he protested, that unless 
 I would declare to him the effect of 
 the Medicaean planets, he would reject 
 and deny them as needless and super- 
 fluous. I believe this set of men to be 
 of Sizzi's opinion, that astronomers dis- 
 covered the other seven planets, not by 
 seeing them corporally in the skies, but 
 only from their effects on earth, much 
 
 * Ki'pleri Epistols. 
 
 in the manner in which some houses 
 are discovered to be haunted by evil 
 spirits, not by seeing them, but from the, 
 extravagant pranks which are played 
 there. I replied, that he ought to recon- 
 sider the hundred or thousand opinions 
 which, in the course of his life, he might 
 have given, and particularly to examine 
 well the events which he had predicted 
 with the help of Jupiter, and if he 
 should find that all had succeeded con- 
 formably to his predictions, I bid him 
 prophecy merrily on, according to his 
 old and wonted rules ; for I assured 
 him that the new planets would not in 
 any degree affect the things which are 
 already past, and that in future he 
 would not be a less fortunate conjuror 
 than he had been : but if, on the con- 
 trary, he should find the events depend- 
 ing on Jupiter,in some trifling particulars 
 not to have agreed with his dogmas and 
 prognosticating aphorisms, he ought to 
 set to work to find 'new tables for cal- 
 culating the constitution of the four 
 Jovial circulators at every bygone mo- 
 ment, and, perhaps, from the diversity of 
 their aspects, he would be able, with ac- 
 curate observations and multiplied con- 
 junctions, to discover the alterations and 
 variety of influences depending upon 
 them ; and I reminded him, that in ages 
 past they had not acquired knowledge 
 with little labour, at the expense of 
 others, from written books, but that the 
 first inventors acquired the most excel- 
 lent knowledge of things natural and 
 divine with study and contemplation of 
 the vast book which nature holds ever 
 open before those who have eyes in 
 their forehead and in their brain ; and 
 that it was a more honourable and 
 praiseworthy enterprize with their own 
 watching, toil, and study, to discover 
 something admirable and new among 
 the infinite number which yet remain 
 concealed in the darkest depths of phi- 
 losophy, than to pass a listless and lazy 
 existence, labouring only to darken the 
 toilsome inventions of their neighbours, 
 in order to excuse their own cowardice 
 and inaptitude for reasoning, while they 
 cry out that nothing can be added to 
 the discoveries already made." 
 
 The extract given above from Kepler, 
 is taken from an Essay, published with 
 the later editions of the Nuncius, the 
 object and spirit of which seem to 
 have been greatly misunderstood, even 
 by some of Kepler's intimate friends. 
 They considered it as a covert attack 
 upon Galileo, and, accordingly, Maestlin 
 thus writes to him; .* In your Essay 
 
30 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 (which I have just received) you have 
 plucked Galileo's feathers well ; I 
 mean, that you have shown him not to 
 be the inventor of the telescope, not to 
 have been the first who observed the 
 irregularities of the moon's surface, 
 not to have been the first discoverer of 
 more worlds than the ancients were ac- 
 quainted with, &c. One source of 
 exultation was still left him, from the 
 apprehension of which Martin Horky 
 has now entirely delivered me." It is 
 difficult to discover in what part of 
 Kepler's book Maestlin found all this, 
 for it is one continued encomium 
 upon Galileo; insomuch that Kepler 
 almost apologizes in the preface for 
 what may seem his intemperate admi- 
 ration of his friend. " Some might 
 wish I had spoken in more moderate 
 terms in praise of Galileo, in conside- 
 ration of the distinguished men who 
 are opposed to his opinions, but I have 
 written nothing fulsome or insincere. 
 I praise him, for myselt' ; I leave other 
 men's judgments free; and shall be 
 ready to join in condemnation when 
 some one wiser than myself shall, by 
 sound reasoning, point out his errors." 
 However, Maestlin was not the only 
 one who misunderstood Kepler's in- 
 tentions : the Martin Horky of whom 
 he speaks, a young German, also sig- 
 nalized himself by a vain attack upon 
 the book which he thought his patron 
 Kepler condemned. He was then travel- 
 ling in Italy, whence he wrote to Kepler 
 his first undetermined thoughts about the 
 new discoveries. " They are wonderful ; 
 they are stupendous ; whether they are 
 true or false I cannot tell." * He seems 
 soon to have decided that most repu- 
 tation was to be gained on the side of 
 Galileo's opponents, and his letters 
 accordingly became filled with the most 
 rancorous abuse of him. At the same 
 time, that the reader may appreciate 
 Horky's own character, we shall quote 
 a short sentence at the end of one of 
 his letters, where he writes of a paltry 
 piece of dishonesty with as great glee 
 as if he had solved an ingenious and 
 scientific problem. After mentioning 
 his meeting Galileo at Bologna, and 
 being indulged with a trial of his tele- 
 scope, which, he says, " does wonders 
 upon the earth, but represents celestial 
 objects falsely ;"t he concludes with 
 
 * Kepleri Epistolae. 
 
 f It may seem extraordinary that any one could 
 support an argument by this partial disbelief in the in- 
 strument, whicn was allowed on all hands to represent 
 terrestial objects correctly. A similar instance of 
 obstinacy, in an almost identical case though in a 
 
 the following honourable sentence : " I 
 must confide to you a theft which I 
 committed. I contrived to take a mould 
 of the glass in wax, without the know- 
 ledge of any one, and, when I get home, 
 I trust to make a telescope even better 
 than Galileo's own." 
 
 Horky having declared to Kepler, 
 " I will never concede his four new pla- 
 nets to that Italian from Padua though 
 I die for it," followed up this declara- 
 tion by publishing a book against Ga- 
 lileo, which is the one alluded to by 
 Maestlin, as having destroyed the little 
 credit which, according to his view, 
 Kepler's publication had left him. 
 This book professes to contain the ex- 
 amination of four principal questions 
 touching the alleged planets ; 1st, Whe- 
 ther they exist ? 2nd, What they are ? 
 3rd, What they are like ? 4th, Why 
 they are ? The first question is soon 
 disposed of, by Horky's declaring 
 positively that he has examined the 
 heavens with Galileo's own glass, and 
 that no such thing as a satellite about 
 Jupiter exists. To the second, he 
 declares solemnly, that he does not more 
 surely know that he has a soul in his 
 body, than that reflected rays are the 
 sole cause of Galileo's erroneous ob- 
 servations. In regard to the third 
 question, he says, that these planets are 
 like the smallest fly compared to an 
 elephant ; and, finally, concludes on-the 
 fourth, that the only use of them is to 
 gratify Galileo's " thirst of gold," and 
 to afford himself a subject of discussion.* 
 
 Galileo did not condescend to notice 
 this impertinent folly ; it was answered 
 by Roffini, a pupil of Magini, and by a 
 young Scotchman of the name of Wed- 
 derburn, then a student at Padua, and 
 afterwards a physician at the Court of 
 Vienna. In the latter reply we find it men- 
 tioned, that Galileo was also using his 
 telescope for the examination of insects, 
 
 more unpretending station, once came under the 
 writer's own observation. A farmer in Cambridge- 
 shire, who had acquired some confused notions of 
 the use of the quadrant, consulted liim on a new 
 method of determining the distances and magnitudes 
 of the sun and moon, which he declared were far 
 different from the quantities usually assigned to them. 
 After a little conversation, the root of his error, cer- 
 tainly sufficiently gross, appeared to be that he had 
 confounded the angular measure of a degree, with 
 69 miles, the linear measure of a degree on the 
 earth's surface. As a short way of showing hisjnis- 
 take, he was desired to determine, in the same man- 
 ner, the height of his barn which stood about 30 yards 
 distant ; he lifted the quadrant to his eye, but per- 
 ceiving, probably, the monstrous size to which his 
 principles were forcing him, he said, " Oh, Sir, the 
 quadrant's only true lor the sky." He must have 
 been an objector of this kind, who said to Galileo. 
 " Oh,'Sir, the telescope's only true for the earth." 
 * Yenturi. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 31 
 
 &c* Horky sent his performance tri- 
 umphantly to Kepler, and, as he returned 
 home before receiving an answer, he 
 presented himself before his patron in 
 the same misapprehension under which 
 he had written, but the philosopher re- 
 ceived him with a burst of indignation 
 which rapidly undeceived him. The 
 conclusion of the story is characteristic 
 enough to be given in Kepler's own ac- 
 count, of the matter to Galileo, in which, 
 after venting his wrath against this 
 " scum of a fellow," whose. " obscurity 
 had given him audacity," he says, that 
 Horky begged so hard to be forgiven, 
 that " I have taken him again into fa- 
 vour upon this preliminary condition, 
 to which he has agreed : that I am to 
 shew him Jupiter's satellites, and he is 
 to see them, and own that they are 
 there." 
 
 In the same letter Kepler writes, that 
 although he has himself perfect confi- 
 dence in the truth of Galileo's asser- 
 tions, yet he wishes he could furnish 
 him with some corroborative testimonies, 
 which Kepler could quote in arguing 
 the point with others. This request 
 produced the following reply, from which 
 the reader will also learn the new change 
 which had now taken place in Galileo's 
 fortunes, the result of the correspon- 
 dence with Florence, part of which we 
 have already extracted.-!- M In the first 
 place, I return you my thanks that you 
 first, and almost alone, before the ques- 
 tion had been sifted (such is your can- 
 dour and the loftiness of your mind), 
 put faith in my assertions. You tell 
 me you have some telescopes, but not 
 sufficiently good to magnify distant ob- 
 jects with clearness, and that you 
 anxiously expect a sight of mine, which 
 magnifies images more than a thousand 
 times. It is mine no longer, for the 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany has asked it of 
 me, and intends to lay it up in his mu- 
 seum, among his most rare and precious 
 curiosities, in eternal remembrance of 
 the invention : I have made no other of 
 equal excellence, for the mechanical la- 
 bour is very great : I have, however, 
 devised some instruments for figuring 
 and polishing them which I am un- 
 willing to construct here, as they could 
 not conveniently be carried to Florence, 
 where I shall in future reside. You 
 ask, my dear Kepler, for other testi- 
 monies : I produce, for one, the 
 Grand Duke, who, after observing the 
 Medicaean planets several times with 
 
 Quatuor probl. confut. -per J, Wedderboraiuin, 
 Scotobritannum. Patavii, 1610, 
 f See page 18. 
 
 me at Pisa during the last months, 
 made me a present, at parting, worth 
 more than a thousand florins, and has 
 now invited me to attach myself to him 
 with the annual salary of one thousand 
 florins, and with the title of Philosopher 
 and Principal Mathematician to His 
 Highness; without the duties of any 
 office to perform, but with the most 
 complete leisure ; so that I can com- 
 plete my Treatises on Mechanics, on 
 the Constitution of the Universe, and 
 on Natural and Violent Local Motion, 
 of which I have demonstrated geo- 
 metrically many new and admirable 
 phenomena. I produce, for another wit- 
 ness, myself, who, although already en- 
 dowed in this college with the noble 
 salary of one thousand florins, such as 
 no professor of mathematics ever before 
 received, and which I might securely 
 enjoy during my life, even if these pla- 
 nets had deceived me and should dis- 
 appear, yet quit this situation, and be- 
 take me where want and disgrace will 
 be my punishment should I prove to 
 have been mistaken." 
 
 It is difficult not to regret that Galileo 
 should be thus called on to resign his best 
 glasses, but it appears probable that 
 on becoming more familiar with the 
 Grand E>uke, he ventured to suggest 
 that this telescope would be more advan- 
 tageously employed in his own hands, 
 than pompously laid up in a museum ; 
 for in 1637 we find him saying, in an- 
 swer to a request from his friend Mi- 
 canzio to send him a telescope " I am 
 sorry that I cannot oblige you with the 
 glasses for your friend, but I am no 
 longer capable of making them, and I 
 have just parted with two tolerably good 
 ones which I had, reserving only my 
 old discoverer of celestial novelties whict 
 is already promised to the Grand Duke. 
 Cosmo was dead in 1637, and it is 
 his son Ferdinand who is here meant, 
 who appears to have inherited his fa- 
 ther's love of science. Galileo tells us, 
 in the same letter, that Ferdinand had 
 been amusing himself for some months 
 with making object-glasses, and al- 
 ways carried one with him to work at 
 wherever he went. 
 
 When forwarding this telescope to 
 Cosmo in the first instance, Galileo adds, 
 with a very natural feeling" I send 
 it to his highness unadorned and un- 
 polished, as I made it for my own use, 
 and beg that it may always be left in 
 the same state ; for none of the old parts 
 ought to be displaced to make room 
 for new ones, which will have had 
 no share in the watchings and fatigues 
 
32 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 of these observations." A telescope 
 was in existence, though with the object 
 glass broken, at the end of the last cen- 
 tury, and probably still is in the Museum 
 at Florence, which was shewn as the 
 discoverer of Jupiter's satellites. Nelli, 
 on whose authority this is mentioned, 
 appears to question its genuineness. The 
 first reflecting telescope, made with New- 
 ton's own hands, and scarcely possess- 
 ing less interest than the first of Galileo's, 
 is preserved in the library of the Royal 
 Society. 
 
 By degrees the enemies of Galileo 
 and of the new stars found it impossible 
 to persevere in their disbelief, whether 
 real or pretended, and at length seemed 
 resolved to compensate for the sluggish- 
 ness of their perception, by its acute- 
 ness when brought into action. Simon 
 Mayer published his " Mundus Jovialis" 
 in 1614, in which he claims to have 
 been an original observer of the satel- 
 lites, but, with an affectation of candour, 
 allows that Galileo observed them pro- 
 bably about the same time. The earliest 
 observation which he has recorded is 
 dated 29th December, 1609, but, not 
 to mention the total want of probability 
 that Mayer would not have immediately 
 published so interesting a discovery, it 
 is to be observed, that, as he used 
 the old style, this date of 29th December 
 agrees with the 8th January, 1610, of 
 the new style, which was the date of 
 Galileo's second observation, and Gali- 
 leo ventured to declare his opinion, that 
 this pretended observation was in fact 
 a plagiarism. 
 
 Scheiner counted five, Rheita nine, 
 and other observers, with increasing 
 contempt for Galileo's imperfect an- 
 nouncements, carried the number as 
 high as twelve.* In imitation of Gali- 
 leo's nomenclature, and to honour the 
 sovereigns of the respective observers, 
 these supposed additional satellites were 
 dignified with the names of Vladisla- 
 vian, Agrippine, Urbanoctavian, and 
 Ferdinandotertian planets ; but a very 
 short time served to show it was as 
 unsafe to exceed as to fall short of 
 the number which Galileo had fixed 
 upon, for Jupiter rapidly removed him- 
 self from the neighbourhood of the 
 fixed stars, which gave rise to these 
 pretended discoveries, carrying with him 
 only his four original attendants, which 
 continued in every part of his orbit to 
 revolve regularly about him. 
 
 Perhaps we cannot better wind up 
 this account of the discovery of Jupi- 
 ter's satellites, and of the intense interest 
 
 * Sherburne's tephere of Manilius. Loadon, 1(575. 
 
 they have at all times inspired, than in 
 the words of one who inherits a name 
 worthy to be ranked with that of Galileo 
 in the list of astronomical discoverers, 
 and who takes his own place among 
 the most accomplished mathematicians 
 of the present times. " The discovery 
 of these bodies was one of the first bril- 
 liant results of the invention of the tele- 
 scope ; one of the first great facts which 
 opened the eyes of mankind to the 
 system of the universe, which taught 
 them the comparative insignificance of 
 their own planet, and the superior vast- 
 ness and nicer mechanism of those 
 other bodies, which had before been dis- 
 tinguished from the stars only by their 
 motion, and wherein none but the bold- 
 est thinkers had ventured to suspect a 
 community of nature with our own 
 globe. This discovery gave the holding 
 turn to the opinions of mankind respect- 
 ing the Copernican system ; the analogy 
 presented by these little bodies (little 
 however only in comparison with the 
 great central body about which they 
 revolve) performing their beautiful revo- 
 lutions in perfect harmony and order 
 about it, being too strong to be resisted. 
 This elegant system was watched with 
 all the curiosity and interest the sub- 
 ject naturally inspired. The eclipses of 
 the satellites speedily attracted attention, 
 and the more when it was discerned, 
 as it speedily was, by Galileo himself, 
 that they afforded a ready method of 
 determining the difference of longitudes 
 of distant places on the earth's surface, 
 by observations of the instants of their 
 disappearances and reappearances, si- 
 multaneously made. Thus the first 
 astronomical solution of the great pro- 
 blem of the longitude, the first mighty 
 step ; which pointed out a connection 
 between speculative astronomy and 
 practical utility, and which, replacing 
 the fast dissipating dreams of astrology 
 by nobler visions, showed how the stars 
 might really, and without fiction, be 
 called arbiters of the destinies of em- 
 pires, we owe to the satellites of 
 Jupiter, those atoms imperceptible to 
 the naked eye, and floating like motes 
 in the beam of their primary itself an 
 atom to our sight, noticed only by the 
 careless vulgar as a large star, and by 
 the philosophers of former ages as some- 
 thing moving among the stars, they knew 
 not what, nor why: perhaps only to 
 perplex the wise with fruitless conjec- 
 tures, and harass the weak with fears 
 as idle as their theories."* 
 
 * Herschefs Address to the Astronomical So- 
 ciety, IB27. 
 
Chapter VIII. 
 
 Observations on the Moon Nebulce 
 Saturn Venus Mars. 
 
 There were other discoveries an- 
 nounced in Galileo's book of great and 
 unprecedented importance, and which 
 scarcely excited less discussion than the 
 controverted Medicaean planets. His 
 observations on the moon threw addi- 
 tional light on the constitution of the 
 solar system, and cleared up the difficul- 
 ties which encumbered the explanation 
 of the varied appearance of her surface. 
 The different theories current at that 
 day, to account for these phenomena, are 
 collected and described by Benedetti, 
 and also with some liveliness, in a my- 
 thological poem, by Marini.* We are 
 told, that, in the opinion of some, the 
 dark shades on the moon's surface arise 
 from the interposition of opaque bodies 
 floating between her and the sun, which 
 prevents his light from reaching those 
 parts : others thought, that on account 
 of her vicinity to the earth, she was 
 partly tainted with the imperfection of 
 our terrestrial and elementary nature, 
 and was not of that entirely pure and 
 refined substance of which the more 
 remote heavens consist: a third party 
 looked on her as a vast mirror, and 
 maintained that the dark parts of her 
 surface were the reflected images of our 
 earthly forests and mountains. 
 
 Galileo's glass taught him to believe 
 that the surface of this planet, far from 
 being smooth and polished, as was gene- 
 rally taken for granted, really resembled 
 our earth in its structure ; he was able dis- 
 tinctly to trace on it the outlines of moun- 
 tains and other inequalities, the summits 
 of which reflected the rays of the sun 
 before these reached the lower parts, 
 and the sides of which, turned from his 
 beams, lay buried in deep shadow. He 
 recognised a distribution into something 
 similar to continents of land, and 
 oceans of water, which reflect the sun's 
 light to us with greater or less vivacity, 
 according to their constitution. These 
 conclusions were utterly odious to the 
 Aristotelians ; they had formed a pre- 
 conceived notion of what the moon 
 ought to be, and they loathed the doc- 
 trines of Galileo, who took delight, as 
 they said, in distorting and ruining the 
 fairest works of nature. It was in vain 
 he argued, as to the imaginary perfection 
 
 Adone <li Marini, Venetiis, 1623, Cant. x. 
 
 A. 
 
 GALILEO. y&J >**&} 
 
 of the spherical form, th^l^jfitafeh tti&) >." 
 
 moon, or the earth, were H absolutely 
 smooth, would indeed be a more perfect 
 sphere than in its present rough state, yet 
 touching the perfection of the earth, 
 considered as a natural body calculated 
 for a particular purpose, every one must 
 see that absolute smoothness and sphe- 
 ricity would make it not only less per- 
 fect, but as far from being perfect as 
 possible. " What else," he demanded, 
 " would it be but a vast unblessed desert, 
 void of animals, of plants, of cities and 
 of men ; the abode of silence and inac- 
 tion; senseless, lifeless, soulless, and 
 stript of all those ornaments which make 
 it now so various and so beautiful ?" 
 
 He reasoned to no purpose with 
 the slaves of the ancient schools : no- 
 thing could console them for the de- 
 struction of their smooth unalterable 
 surface, and to such an absurd length 
 was this hallucination carried, that one 
 opponent of Galileo, Lodovico delle 
 Colombe, constrained to allow the evi- 
 dence of the sensible inequalities of the 
 moon's surface, attempted to reconcile 
 the old doctrine with the new observa- 
 tions, by asserting, that every part of the 
 moon, which to the terrestrial observer 
 appeared hollow and sunken, was in 
 fact entirely and exactly filled up with 
 a clear crystal substance, perfectly im- 
 perceptible by the senses, but which 
 restored to the moon her accurately 
 spherical and smooth surface. Galileo 
 met the argument in the manner most 
 fitting, according to one of Aristotle's 
 own maxims, that " it is foolish to re- 
 fute absurd opinions with too much 
 curiosity." " Truly," says he, " the 
 idea is admirable, its only fault is that 
 it is neither demonstrated nor demonstra- 
 ble : but I am perfectly ready to believe 
 it, provided that, with equal courtesy, 
 I may be allowed to raise upon your 
 smooth surface, crystal mountains (which 
 nobody can perceive) ten times higher 
 than those which I have actually seen 
 and measured." By threatening to pro- 
 ceed to such extremities, he seems to 
 have scared the opposite party into mo- 
 deration, for we do not find that the 
 crystalline theory was persevered in. 
 
 In the same essay, Galileo also ex- 
 plained at some length the cause of that 
 part of the moon being visible, which is 
 unenlightened directly by the sun in her 
 first and last quarter. Maestlin, and be- 
 fore him Leonardo da Vinci, had already 
 declared this ; to arise from what may 
 be called earthshine, or the reflec- 
 D 
 
34 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 tion of the sun's light from the terres- 
 trial globe, exactly similar to that which 
 the moon affords us when we are simi- 
 larly placed between her and the sun ; but 
 the notion had not been favourably re- 
 ceived, because one of the arguments 
 against the earth being a planet, revolv- 
 ing like the rest round the sun, was, that 
 it did not shine like them, and was 
 therefore of a different nature ; and this 
 argument, weak as it was in itself, the 
 theory of terrestrial reflection completely 
 overturned. The more popular opinions 
 ascribed this feeble light, some to the 
 fixed stars, some to Venus, some to the 
 rays of the sun, penetrating and shining 
 through the moon. Even the sagacious 
 Benedetti adopted the notion of this 
 light being caused by Venus, in the 
 same sentence in which he explains the 
 true reason of the faint light observed 
 during a total eclipse of the moon, point- 
 ing out that it is occasioned by those 
 rays of the sun, which reach the moon, 
 after being bent round the sides of 
 the earth by the action of our atmo- 
 sphere.* 
 
 Galileo also announced the detection 
 of innumerable stars, invisible to the 
 unassisted sight; and those remark- 
 able appearances in the heavens, ge- 
 nerally called nebula?, the most con- 
 siderable of which is familiar to all 
 under the name of the milky way, when 
 examined by his instrument, were found 
 to resolve themselves into a vast collec- 
 tion of minute stars, too closely congre- 
 gated to produce a separate impression 
 upon the unassisted eye.f Benedetti, 
 who divined that the dark shades on the 
 moon's surface arose from the constitu- 
 tion of those parts which suffered much 
 of the light to pass into them, and con- 
 sequently reflected a less portion of it, 
 had maintained that the milky way was 
 the result of the converse of the same 
 phenomenon, and declared, in the lan- 
 guage of his astronomy, that it was a 
 part of the eighth orb, which did not, 
 like the rest, allow the sun's light to 
 traverse it freely, but reflected a small 
 part feebly to our sight. 
 
 The Anti-Copernicans would probably 
 have been well pleased, if by these eter- 
 nally renewed discussions and disputes, 
 they could have occupied Galileo's time 
 
 * Speculat. Lib Venetiis, 1585, Epistolae. 
 + This opinion, with respect to the milky way, had 
 been held by some of the ancient astronomers. See 
 Manilius. Lib. i. v. 753. 
 
 " Anne magis densu stellarum turba corona 
 * Contexitjtammas, et crasso lumine candet, 
 ' JStfulgore nitet collato clarior orbis." 
 
 sufficiently to detain his attention from 
 his telescope and astronomical observa- 
 tions ; but he knew too well where his 
 real strength lay, and they had scarcely 
 time to compound any thing like an ar- 
 gument against him and his theories, 
 before they found him in possession of 
 some new facts, which they were un- 
 prepared to meet, otherwise than by 
 the never-failing resource of abuse and 
 affected contempt. The year had not 
 expired before Galileo had new intelli- 
 gence to communicate of the highest im- 
 portance. Perhaps he had been taught 
 cautionfrom the numerous piracies which 
 had been committed upon his discoveries, 
 and he first announced his new disco- 
 veries enigmatically, veiling their real 
 import by transpositions of the letters in 
 the words which described them, (a prac- 
 tice then common, and not disused even 
 at a much later date,) and inviting all 
 astronomers to declare, within a certain 
 time, if they had noted any thing new 
 in the heavens worthy of observation. 
 The transposed letters which he published 
 were 
 
 " Smaismrmilme poeta leumi bvne nugttaviras." 
 
 Kepler, in the true spirit of his riddling 
 philosophy, endeavoured to decypher the 
 meaning, and fancied he had succeeded 
 when he formed a barbarous Latin 
 verse, 
 
 " Salve umbistineum geminatum Martia proles,'" 
 
 conceiving that the discovery, whatever 
 it might be, related to the planet Mars, 
 to which Kepler's attention had before 
 been particularly directed. The reader, 
 however, need not weary himself in 
 seeking a translation of this solution, 
 for at the request of the Emperor Ro- 
 dolph, Galileo speedily sent to him the 
 real reading 
 
 Altissimum planetam tcrgeminum observavi ; 
 
 that is, " I have observed that the most 
 distant planet is triple," or, as he further 
 explains the matter, " I have with great 
 admiration observed that Saturn is not 
 a single star, but three together, which 
 as it were touch each other ; they have no 
 relative motion, and are constituted in 
 this form 0O0 the middle being some- 
 what larger than the lateral ones. If 
 we examine them with an eye-glass which 
 magnifies the surface less than 1000 
 times, the three stars do not appear 
 very distinctly, but Saturn has an ob- 
 long appearance, like the appearance of 
 an olive, thus O. Now I have dis- 
 covered a court for Jupiter, and two 
 servants for this old man, who aid his 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 35 
 
 steps and never quit his side." Galileo 
 was, however, no match in this style 
 of writing for Kepler, who disapproved 
 his friend's metaphor, and, in his usual 
 fanciful and amusing strain, " I will 
 not," said he, " make an old man of 
 Saturn, nor slaves of his attendant 
 globes, but rather let this tricorporate 
 form be Geryon, so shall Galileo be 
 Hercules, and the telescope his club ; 
 armed with which, he has conquered 
 that distant planet, and dragged him 
 from the remotest depths of nature, and 
 exposed him to the view of all." Gali- 
 leo's glass was not of sufficient power to 
 shew him the real constitution of this 
 extraordinary planet; it was reserved 
 for Huyghens, about the year 1656, to 
 declare to the world that these supposed 
 attendant stars are in fact part of a 
 ring which surrounds, and yet is com- 
 pletely distinct from the body of Saturn ;* 
 and the still more accurate observations 
 of Herschel have ascertained that it 
 consists of two concentric rings revolv- 
 ing round the planet, and separated 
 from each other by a space which our 
 most powerful telescopes scarcely enable 
 us to measure. 
 
 Galileo's second statement concluded 
 with the remark, that " in the other pla- 
 nets nothing new was to be observed ;" 
 but a month had scarcely elapsed, before 
 he communicated to the world another 
 enigma, 
 
 Hcec immatura a me jam frustra leguntur oy, 
 
 which, as he said, contained the an- 
 nouncement of a new phenomenon, in 
 the highest degree important to the truth 
 of the Copernican system. The inter- 
 pretation of this is, 
 
 CynthicB Jiguras eemulatur mater amorum, 
 
 'that is to say, Venus rivals the ap- 
 pearances of the moon for Venus 
 being now arrived at that part of her 
 orbit in which she is placed between the 
 earth and the sun, and consequently, 
 with only a part of her enlightened sur- 
 face turned towards the earth, the tele- 
 scope shewed her in a crescent form, like 
 the moon in a similar position, and tra- 
 cing her through the whole of her orbit 
 round the sun, or at least so long as she 
 was not invisible from his overpowering 
 light, Galileo had the satisfaction of 
 
 * Huyghens announced his discovery in this form : 
 aaaaaaucccccdeeeeeghiiiiiiillllmmnn 
 nnnnnnnoouoppqrrstttttuuuu , which he 
 afterwards recornposed into the sentence. Annulo 
 cingitur, tenui, piano, nusquam cohcerentc, ad eclipti- 
 cam inclinato. JDe Saturui Luna. Hagse, 1656. 
 
 seeing the enlightened portion in each 
 position assume the form appropriate to 
 that hypothesis. It was with reason, 
 therefore, that he laid stress on the im- 
 portance of this observation, which also 
 established another doctrine scarcely less 
 obnoxious to the Anti - Copernicans, 
 namely, that a new point of resemblance 
 was here found between the earth and 
 one of the principal planets ; and as the 
 reflection from the earth upon the moon 
 had shewn it to be luminous like the 
 planets when subjected to the rays of 
 the sun, so this change of apparent 
 figure demonstrated that one of the 
 planets not near the earth, and there- 
 fore probably all, were in their own 
 nature not luminous, and only reflected 
 the sun's light which fell upon them; 
 an inference, of which the probability 
 was still farther increased a few years 
 later by the observation of the transit of 
 Mercury over the sun's disc. 
 
 It is curious that only twenty-five 
 years before this discovery of the phases 
 (or appearances) of Venus, a commen- 
 tator of Aristotle, under the name of 
 Lucillus Philalthaeus, had advanced the 
 doctrine that all the planets except the 
 moon are luminous of themselves, and 
 in proof of his assertion had urged, 
 V that if the other planets and fixed 
 stars received their light from the sun, 
 they would, as they approached and re- 
 ceded from him, or as he approached and 
 receded from them, assume the same 
 phases as the moon, which, he adds, 
 we have never yet observed." He fur- 
 ther remarks, " that Mercury and Ve- 
 nus would, in the supposed case of their 
 being nearer the earth than the sun, 
 eclipse it occasionally, just as eclipses 
 are occasioned by the moon." Perhaps 
 it is still more remarkable, that these very 
 passages, in which the reasoning is so 
 correct, though the facts are too hastily 
 taken for granted, (the common error of 
 that school,) are quoted by Benedetti, ex- 
 pressly to shew the ignorance and pre- 
 sumption of the author. Copernicus, 
 whose want of instruments had pre- 
 vented him from observing the horned 
 appearance of Venus when between 
 the earth and sun, had perceived how 
 formidable an obstacle the non-appear- 
 ance of thisi- phenomenon presented to 
 his system; he endeavoured, though 
 unsatisfactorily, to account for it by 
 supposing that the rays of the sun 
 passed freely through the body of the 
 planet, and Galileo takes occasion to 
 praise him for not being deterred from 
 D2 
 
36 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 adopting the system, which, on the whole, 
 appeared to agree best with the phe- 
 nomena, by meeting with some which it 
 did not enable him to explain. Milton, 
 whose poem is filled with allusions to 
 Galileo and his astronomy, has not suf- 
 fered this beautiful phenomenon to pass 
 unnoticed. After describing the creation 
 of the Sun, he adds : 
 
 Hither, as to their fountain, other stars 
 
 Repairing, in their golden urns draw light, 
 
 And hence the morning planet gilds her horns.* - 
 
 Galileo also assured himself, at the 
 same time, that the fixed stars did not 
 receive their light from the sun. This he 
 ascertained by comparing the vividness 
 of their light, in all positions, with the 
 feebleness of that of the distant planets, 
 and by observing the different degrees 
 of brightness with which all the planets 
 shone at different distances from the 
 sun. The more remote planets did not, 
 of course, afford equal facilities with 
 Venus for so decisive an observation ; 
 but Galileo thought he observed, that 
 when Mars was in quadratures, (or in 
 the quarters, the middle points of his 
 path on either side,) his figure varied 
 slightly from a perfect circle. Galileo 
 concludes the letter, in which he an- 
 nounces these last observations to his 
 pupil Castelli, with the following ex- 
 pressions, shewing how justly he esti- 
 mated the opposition they encounter- 
 ed : " You almost make me laugh by 
 saying that these clear observations are 
 sufficient to convince the most obstinate : 
 it seems you have yet to learn that long 
 ago the observations were enough to 
 convince those who are capable of rea- 
 soning, and those who wish to learn 
 the truth ; but that to convince the ob- 
 stinate, and those who care for nothing 
 beyond the vain applause of the stupid 
 and senseless vulgar, not even the testi- 
 mony of the stars would suffice, were 
 they to descend on earth to speak for 
 themselves. Let us then endeavour to 
 procure some knowledge for ourselves, 
 and rest contented with this sole satis- 
 faction ; but of advancing in popular 
 opinion, or gaining the assent of the 
 book-philosophers, let us abandon both 
 the hope and the desire.'" 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 Account of the Academia Lincea Del 
 
 Cimento Royal Society. 
 Galileo's resignation of the mathema- 
 tical professorship at Padua occasioned 
 
 * B. vii. v. 364. Other passages maybe examined 
 in B. i. 286 ; Hi. 565590. 722733 ; iv. 589 ; v. 
 261,414; vii. 577; viii. 1178. . 
 
 much dissatisfaction to all those who 
 were connected with that university. 
 Perhaps not fully appreciating his de- 
 sire of returning to his native country, 
 and the importance to him and to the 
 scientific world in general, of the com- 
 plete leisure which Cosmo secured to 
 him at Florence, (for by the terms of his 
 diploma he was not even required to re- 
 side at Pisa, nor to give any lectures, 
 except on extraordinary occasions, to 
 sovereign princes and other strangers of 
 distinction,) the Venetians remembered 
 only that they had offered him an ho- 
 nourable asylum when almost driven 
 from Pisa ; that they had increased his 
 salary to four times the sum which any 
 previous professor had enjoyed ; and, 
 finally, by an almost unprecedented de- 
 cree, that they had but just secured him 
 in his post during the remainder of his 
 life. Many took such offence as to 
 refuse to have any further communica- 
 tion with him ; and Sagredo, a constant 
 friend of Galileo, wrote him word that 
 he had been threatened with a similar 
 desertion unless he should concur in 
 the same peremptory resolution, which 
 threats, however, Sagredo, at the same 
 time, intimates his intention of braving. 
 " Early in the year 1611, Galileo made 
 his first appearance in Rome, where he 
 was received with marks of distinguished 
 consideration, and where all ranks were 
 eager to share the pleasure of contem- 
 plating the new discoveries. " Whether 
 we consider cardinal, prince, or prelate, 
 he found an honourable reception from 
 them all, and had their palaces as open 
 and free to him as the houses of his pri- 
 vate friends."* Among other distinc- 
 tions he was solicited to become a mem- 
 ber of the newly-formed philosophical 
 society, the once celebrated Academia 
 Lincea, to which he readily assented. 
 The founder of this society was Federigo 
 Cesi, the Marchese di Monticelli, a young 
 Roman nobleman, the devotion of whose 
 time and fortune to the interests of sci- 
 ence has not been by any means re- 
 warded with a reputation commensurate 
 with his deserts. If the energy of his 
 mind had been less worthily employed 
 than in fostering the cause of science and 
 truth, and in extending the advantages 
 of his birth and fortune to as many as 
 were willing to co-operate with him, the 
 name of Federigo Cesi might have ap- 
 peared more prominently on the page of 
 history. Cesi had scarcely completed 
 
 * Salusbury, Math. Coll. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 37 
 
 his 18th year, when, in 1603, he formed 
 the plan of a philosophical society, 
 which in the first instance consisted 
 only of himself and three of his most 
 intimate friends, Hecke, a Flemish phy- 
 sician, Stelluti, and Anastasio de Filiis. 
 Cesi's father, the Duca d' Acquasparta, 
 who was of an arbitrary and extravagant 
 temper, considered such pursuits and 
 associates as derogatory to his son's 
 rank ; he endeavoured to thwart the de- 
 sign by the most violent and unjusti- 
 fiable proceedings, in consequence of 
 which, Cesi in the beginning of 1605 
 privately quitted Rome, Hecke was 
 obliged to leave Italy altogether from 
 fear of the Inquisition, which was excited 
 against him, and the academy was for 
 a time virtually dissolved. The details 
 of these transactions are foreign to the 
 present narrative : it will be enough to 
 mention that, in 1609, Cesi, who had 
 never altogether abandoned his scheme, 
 found the opposition decaying which he 
 at first experienced, and with better suc- 
 cess he renewed the plan which he had 
 sketched six years before. A few extracts 
 from the Regulations will serve to shew 
 the spirit in which this distinguished 
 society was conceived : 
 
 " The Lyncean Society desires for its 
 academicians, philosophers eager for 
 real knowledge, who will give them- 
 selves to the study of nature, and espe- 
 cially to mathematics ; at the same time 
 it will not neglect the ornaments of ele- 
 gant literature and philology, which 
 like a graceful garment adorn the whole 
 body of science. In the pious love of 
 wisdom, and to the praise of the most 
 good and most high God, let the Lyn- 
 ceans give their minds, first to obser- 
 vation and reflection, and afterwards 
 to writing and publishing. It is not 
 within the Lyncean plan to find leisure 
 for recitations and declamatory assem- 
 blies ; the meetings will neither be fre- 
 quent nor full, and chiefly for transact- 
 ing the necessary business of the society : 
 but those who wish to enjoy such exercises 
 will in no respect be hindered, provided 
 they attend them as accessory studies, 
 decently and quietly, and without 
 making promises and professions of 
 how much they are about to do. For 
 there is ample philosophical employment 
 for every one by himself, particularly 
 if pains are taken in travelling and in 
 the observation of natural phenomena, 
 and in the book of nature which every 
 one has at home, that is to say, the 
 heavens and the earth ; and enough may 
 
 be learned from the habits of constant 
 correspondence with each other, and 
 alternate offices of counsel and assist- 
 ance. Let the first fruits of wisdom be 
 love ; and so let the Lynceans love each 
 other as if united by the strictest ties, 
 nor suffer any interruption of this sin- 
 cere bond of love and faith, emanating 
 from the source of virtue and philosophy. 
 Let them add to their names the title 
 of Lyncean, which has been advisedly 
 chosen as a warning and constant sti- 
 mulus, especially when they write on 
 any literary subject, also in their private 
 letters to their associates, and in gene- 
 ral when any work comes from them 
 wisely and well performed. The Lyn- 
 ceans will pass over in silence all poli 
 tical controversies and quarrels of every 
 kind, and wordy disputes, especially 
 gratuitous ones, winch give occasion 
 to deceit, unfriendliness, and hatred; 
 like men who desire peace, and seek to 
 preserve their studies free from molesta- 
 tion, and to avoid every sort of disturb- 
 ance. And if any one by command of 
 his superiors, or from some other ne- 
 cessity, is reduced to handle such mat- 
 ters, since they are foreign to physical 
 and mathematical science, and conse- 
 quently alien to the object of the Aca- 
 demy, let them be printed without the 
 Lyncean name" * 
 
 The society which was eventually or- 
 ganized formed but a very trifling "part 
 of the comprehensive scheme which 
 Cesi originally proposed to himself; it 
 had been his wish to establish a scien- 
 tific Order which should have corre- 
 sponding lodges in the principal towns of 
 Europe, and in other parts of the globe, 
 each consisting of not more than five nor 
 less than three members, besides an un- 
 limited number of Academicians not 
 restricted to any particular residence or 
 regulations. The mortifications and 
 difficulties to which he was subjected 
 from his father's unprincipled behaviour, 
 render it most extraordinary and admi- 
 rable that he should have ventured to 
 undertake even so much as he actually 
 carried into execution. He promised to 
 furnish to the members of his society 
 such assistance as they might require in 
 the prosecution of their respective re- 
 searches, and also to defray the charges 
 
 * Perhaps it was to deprecate the hostility of the 
 Jesuits that, at the close of these Regulations, the 
 Lynceans are directed to address their prayers, 
 among other Saints, especially to Ignatius Loyola, 
 as to one who greatly favoured the interests of learn- 
 ing. Odescalchi. Memorie dell' Acad, de' Lincei, 
 Roma. 1806. 
 
38 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 of publishing such of their works as 
 should be thought worthy of appearing 
 with the common sanction. Such libe- 
 ral offers were not likely to meet with 
 an unfavourable reception: they were 
 thankfully accepted by many well quali- 
 fied to carry his design into execution, 
 and Cesi was soon enabled formally to 
 open his academy, the distinctive title 
 of which he borrowed from the Lynx, 
 with reference to the piercing sight 
 which that animal has been supposed to 
 possess. This quality seemed to him an 
 appropriate emblem of those which he 
 desired to find in his academicians, for 
 the purpose of investigating the secrets 
 of nature ; and although, at the present 
 day, the name may appear to border on 
 the grotesque, it was conceived in the 
 spirit of the age, and the fantastic names 
 of the numberless societies which were 
 rapidly formed in various parts of Italy 
 far exceed whatever degree of quaint- 
 ness may be thought to belong to the 
 Lyncean name. The Inflamed the 
 Transformed the Uneasy the Hu- 
 morists the Fantastic the Intricate 
 the Indolent the Senseless the Un- 
 deceived the Valiant the yEtherial 
 Societies are selected from a vast num- 
 ber of similar institutions, the names of 
 which, now almost their sole remains, 
 are collected by the industry of Morhof 
 and Tiraboschi*. The Humorists are 
 named by Morhof as the only Italian 
 philosophical society anterior to the 
 Lynceans ; their founder was Paolo 
 Mancino, and the distinctive symbol 
 which they adopted was rain dropping 
 from a cloud, with the motto Redit ag~ 
 mine dulci ; their title is derived from 
 the same metaphor. The object of their 
 union appears to have been similar to 
 that of the Lynceans, but they at no 
 time attained to the celebrity to which 
 Cesi's society rose from the moment of 
 its incorporation. Cesi took the presi- 
 dency for his life, and the celebrated 
 Baptista Porta was appointed vice pre- 
 sident at Naples. Stelluti acted as the 
 legal representative of the society, with 
 the title of procuratore. Of the other 
 two original members Anastasio de Filiis 
 was dead, and although Hecke returned 
 to Italy in 1614, and rejoined the Aca- 
 demy, yet he was soon afterwards struck 
 off the list in consequence of his lapsing 
 into insanity. Among the academicians 
 we find the names of Galileo, Fabio Co- 
 
 * PolyhistorLiterarius, &c Storia della Letterat. 
 Ital. The still existing society of Chaff, more gene- 
 rally known by its Italian title, Della Crusca, beloHgs 
 to the same period. 
 
 lonna, Lucas Valerio, Guiducci, Welser, 
 Giovanni Fabro, Terrentio, Vir^inio Ce- 
 sarini, Ciampoli, Molitor, Cardinal Bar- 
 berino, (nephew of Pope Urban VIII.) 
 Stelliola, Salviati, &c. 
 
 The principal monument still remain- 
 ing of the zeal and industry to which 
 Cesi incited his academicians is the 
 Phytobasanos, a compendium of the 
 natural history of Mexico, which must 
 be considered a surprising performance 
 for the times in which it appeared. It 
 was written by a Spaniard named Her- 
 nandez ; and Reecho, who often has the 
 credit of the whole work, made great ad- 
 ditions to it. During fifty years the ma- 
 nuscript had been neglected, when Cesi 
 discovered it, and employed Terrentio, 
 Fabro, and Colonna, all Lynceans, to 
 publish it enriched with their notes and 
 emendations. Cesi himself published 
 several treatises,two of which are extant ; 
 his Tabulce Phytosophicce, and a Disser- 
 tation on Bees entitled Apiarium, the 
 only known copy of which last is in the 
 library of the Vatican. His great work, 
 Theatrum Naturce, was never printed ; 
 a circumstance which tends to shew that 
 he did not assemble the society round 
 him for the purpose of ministering to his 
 own vanity, but postponed the publica- 
 tion of his own productions to the la- 
 bours of his coadjutors. This, and many 
 other valuable works belonging to the 
 academy existed in manuscript till lately 
 in the Albani Library at Rome. Cesi 
 collected, not a large, but an useful li- 
 brary for the use of the academy, (which 
 was afterwards augmented on the pre- 
 mature death of Cesarini by the dona- 
 tion of his books) ; he filled a botanical 
 garden with the rarer specimens of 
 plants, and arranged a museum of natu- 
 ral curiosities ; his palace at Rome was 
 constantly open to the academicians ; his 
 purse and his influence were employed 
 with equal liberality in their service. 
 
 Cesi's death, in 1632, put a sudden 
 stop to the prosperity of the society, a 
 consequence which may be attributed 
 to the munificence with which he had 
 from the first sustained it: no one 
 could be found to fill his place in the 
 princely manner to which the academi- 
 cians were accustomed, and the society, 
 after lingering some years under the no- 
 minal patronage of Urban VIII., gra- 
 dually decayed, till, by the death of its 
 principal members, and dispersion of the 
 rest, it became entirely extinct*. Bianchi, 
 
 * F. Colonnae Phytobasanus Jano Planco Auctore. 
 Florent, 1744. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 39 
 
 whose sketch of the academy was 
 almost the only one till the appearance 
 of Odescalchi's history, made an attempt 
 to revive it in the succeeding century, 
 but without any permanent effect. A 
 society under the same name has been 
 formed since 1784, and is still flourish- 
 ing in Rome. Before leaving the sub- 
 ject it may be mentioned, that one of the 
 earliest notices that Bacon's works were 
 known in Italy is to be found in a letter 
 to Cesi, dated 1625 ; in which Pozzo, 
 who had gone to Paris with Cardinal 
 Barberino, mentions having seen them 
 there with great admiration, and sug- 
 gests that Bacon would be a fit person 
 to be proposed as a member of their 
 society. After Galileo's death, three of 
 his principal followers, Viviani, Torri- 
 celli, and Aggiunti formed the plan of es- 
 tablishing a similar philosophical society, 
 and though Aggiunti and Torricelli died 
 before the scheme could be realized, 
 Viviani pressed it forward, and, under 
 the auspices of Ferdinand II., formed a 
 society, which, in 1657, merged in the 
 famous Academia del Cimmto, or Ex- 
 perimental Academy. This latter held 
 its occasional meetings at the palace of 
 Ferdinand's brother, Leopold de' Medici : 
 it was composed chiefly, if not entirely, 
 of Galileo's pupils and friends. During 
 the few years that this society lasted, one 
 of the principal objects of which was 
 declared to be the repetition and deve- 
 lopement of Galileo's experiments, it 
 kept up a correspondence with the prin- 
 cipal philosophers in every part of Eu- 
 rope, but when Leopold was, in 1666, 
 created a cardinal, it appears to have 
 been dissolved, scarcely ten years after 
 its institutions. This digression may be 
 excused in favour of so interesting an 
 establishment as the Academia Lincea, 
 which preceded by half a century the 
 formation of the Royal Society of Lon- 
 don, and Academie Francoise of Paris. 
 These latter two are mentioned toge 
 ther, probably for the first time, by Sa- 
 lusbury. The passage is curious in an his- 
 torical point of view, and worth extract- 
 ing: "In imitation of these societies, 
 Paris and London have erected theirs of 
 Les Beaux Esprits, and of the Virtuosi : 
 the one by the countenance of the most 
 eminent Cardinal Richelieu, the other by 
 the royal encouragement of his sacred 
 Majesty that now is. The Beaux Esprits 
 have published sundry volumes of their 
 moral and physiological conferences, 
 
 * Nelli Saggio di Storia Literaria Fiorentina, 
 Lucca, 1759. j 
 
 with the laws and history of their fellow- 
 ship; and I hope the like in due time 
 from our Royal Society ; that so such as 
 envie their fame and felicity, and such 
 as suspect their ability and candor, may 
 be silenced and disappointed in their de- 
 tractions and expectations." * 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Spots on the Sun Essay on Moating 
 Bodies Scheiner Change in Sa- 
 turn. 
 
 Galileo did not indulge the curiosity 
 of his Roman friends by exhibiting only 
 the wonders already mentioned, which 
 now began to lose the gloss of novelty, 
 but disclosed a new discovery, which ap- 
 peared still more extraordinary, and, to 
 the opposite faction, more hateful than 
 anything of which he had yet spoken. 
 This was the discovery, which he first 
 made in the month of March, 1611, of 
 dark spots on the body of the sun. A 
 curious fact, and one which well serves to 
 illustrate Galileo's superiority in seeing 
 things simply as they are, is, that these 
 spots had been observed and recorded 
 centuries before he existed, but, for want 
 of careful observation, their true nature 
 had been constantly misapprehended. 
 One of the most celebrated occasions 
 was in the year 807 of our era, in which 
 a dark spot is mentioned as visible on 
 the face of the sun during seven or eight 
 days. It was then supposed to be Mer- 
 cury f. Kepler, whose astronomical 
 knowledge would not suffer him to over- 
 look that it was impossible that Mercury 
 could remain so long in conjunction with 
 the sun, preferred to solve the difficulty 
 by supposing that, in Aimoin's original 
 account, the expression was not octo 
 dies (eight days), but octoties a barba- 
 rous word, which he supposed to have 
 been written for octies (eight times) ; and 
 that the other accounts (in which the 
 number of days mentioned is different) 
 copying loosely from the first, had both 
 mistaken the word, and misquoted the 
 time which they thought they found men- 
 tioned there. It is impossible to look 
 on this explanation as satisfactory, but 
 Kepler, who at that time did not dream 
 of spots on the sun, was perfectly con- 
 tented with it. In 1609, he himself ob- 
 served upon the sun a black spot, which 
 he in like manner mistook for Mercury, 
 and unluckily the day, being cloudy, did 
 
 * Salisbury's Math. Coll. vol. ii. London, 1664. 
 1 Aimoini Hist. Francorum. Parisiis. 1567- 
 
40 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 not allow him to contemplate it suffici- 
 ently long to discover his error, which 
 the slowness of its apparent motion would 
 soon have pointed out.* He hastened to 
 publish his supposed observation, but no 
 sooner was Galileo's discovery of the solar 
 spots announced, than he, with that 
 candour which as much as his nighty 
 disposition certainly characterized him 
 at all times, retracted his former opinion, 
 and owned his belief that he had been 
 mistaken. In fact it is known from the 
 more accurate theory which we now pos- 
 sess of Mercury's motions, that it did not 
 pass over the sun's face at the time when 
 Kepler thought he perceived it there. 
 
 Galileo's observations were in their 
 consequences to him particularly unfor- 
 tunate, as in the course of the contro- 
 versy in which they engaged him, he first 
 became personally embroiled with the 
 powerful party, whose prevailing influ- 
 ence was one of the chief causes of his 
 subsequent misfortunes. Before we enter 
 upon that discussion, it will be proper to 
 mention another famous treatise which 
 Galileo produced soon after his return 
 from Rome to Florence, in 1612. This 
 is, his Discourse on Floating Bodies, 
 which restored Archimedes' theory of 
 hydrostatics, and has, of course, met with 
 the opposition which few of Galileo's 
 works failed to encounter. In the com- 
 mencement, he thought it necessary to 
 apologize for writing on a subject so dif- 
 ferent from that which chiefly occupied 
 the public attention, and declared that he 
 had been too closely occupied in calcu- 
 lating the periods of the revolutions of 
 Jupiter's satellites to permit him to pub- 
 lish anything earlier. These periods he 
 had succeeded in determining during the 
 preceding year, whilst at Rome, and he 
 now announced them to complete their 
 circuits, the first in about 1 day, 18^ 
 hours ; the second in 3 days, 13 hours, 
 20 minutes ; the third in 7 days, 4 hours ; 
 and the outermost in 16 days, 18 hours. 
 All these numbers he gave merely as 
 approximately true, and promised to con- 
 tinue his observations, for the purpose of 
 correcting the results. He then adds an 
 announcement of his recent discovery of 
 the solar spots, " which, as they change 
 their situation, offer a strong argument, 
 either that the sun revolves on itself, or 
 that, perhaps, other stars, like Venus and 
 Mercury, revolve about it, invisible at all 
 other times, on account of the small dis- 
 tance to which they are removed from 
 
 * Mercurius in sole visus. 1609. 
 
 him." To this he afterwards subjoined, 
 that, by continued observation, he had 
 satisfied himself that these solar spots 
 were in actual contact with the surface 
 of the sun, where they are continually 
 appearing and disappearing ; that their 
 figures were very irregular, some being 
 very dark, and others not so black ; that 
 one would often divide into three or four, 
 and, at other times, two, three, or more 
 would unite into one ; besides which, 
 that they had all a common and regular 
 motion, with which they revolved .round 
 with the sun, which turned upon its axis 
 in about the time of a lunar month. 
 
 Having by these prefatory observa- 
 tions assuaged the public thirst for as- 
 tronomical novelties, he ventures to in- 
 troduce the principal subject of the trea- 
 tise above mentioned. The question of 
 floating bridges had been discussed at 
 one of the scientific parties, assembled 
 at the house of Galileo's friend Salviati, 
 and the general opinion of the com- 
 pany appearing to be that the floating 
 or sinking of a body depended princi- 
 pally upon its shape, Galileo undertook 
 to convince them of their error. If he 
 had not preferred more direct arguments, 
 he might merely have told them that in 
 this instance they were opposed to their 
 favourite Aristotle, whose words are very 
 unequivocal on the point in dispute. 
 "Form is not the cause why a body 
 moves downwards rather than upwards, 
 but it does affect the swiftness with 
 which it moves ; " * which is exactly the 
 distinction which those who called them- 
 selves Aristotelians were unable to per- 
 ceive, and to which the opinions of Aris- 
 totle himself were" not always true. Ga- 
 lileo states the discussion to have imme- 
 diately arisen from the assertion of some 
 one in the company, that condensation is 
 the effect of cold, and ice was mentioned 
 as an instance. On this, Galileo observed, 
 that ice is rather water rarefied than con- 
 densed, the proof of which is, that ice 
 always floats upon water.t It was re- 
 plied, that the reason of this phenomenon 
 was, not the superior lightness of the 
 ice, but its incapacity, owing to its flat 
 shape, to penetrate and overcome the 
 resistance of the water. Galileo denied 
 this, and asserted that ice of any shape 
 would float upon water, and that, if a 
 
 ' * De Coelo. lib. 4. 
 
 t For a discussion of this singular phenomenon, 
 see Treatise on Heat, p. 12 ; and it is worth while fo 
 remark in passing, what an admirable instance it 
 affords of Galileo's instantaneous abandonment of a 
 theory so soon as it became inconsistent with ex- 
 periment. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 flat piece of ice were forcibly taken to 
 the bottom, it would of itself rise again 
 to the surface. Upon this assertion it 
 appears that the conversation became so 
 clamorous, that Galileo thought it perti- 
 nent to commence his Essay with the 
 following observation on the advantage 
 of delivering scientific opinions in writ- 
 ing, " because in conversational argu- 
 ments, either one or other party, or per- 
 haps both, are apt to get overwarm, and 
 to speak overloud, and either do not 
 suffer each other to be heard, or else, 
 transported with the obstinacy of not 
 yielding, wander far away from the ori- 
 ginal proposition, and confound both 
 themselves and their auditors with the 
 novelty and variety of their assertions/' 
 After this gentle rebuke he proceeds with 
 his argument, in which he takes occa- 
 sion to state the famous hydrostatical 
 paradox, of which the earliest notice is 
 to be found in Stevin's works, a contem- 
 porary Flemish engineer, and refers it to 
 a principle on which we shall enlarge in 
 another chapter. He then explains the 
 true theory of buoyancy, and refutes the 
 false reasoning on which the contrary 
 opinions were founded, with a variety of 
 experiments. 
 
 The whole value and interest of expe- 
 rimental processes generally depends on 
 a variety of minute circumstances, the 
 detail of which would be particularly 
 unsuited to a sketch like the present 
 one. For those who are desirous of be- 
 coming more familiar with Galileo's 
 mode of conducting an argument, it is 
 fortunate that such a series of experi- 
 ments exists as that contained in this 
 essay ; experiments which, from their 
 simplicity, admit of being for the most 
 part concisely enumerated, and at the 
 same time possess so much intrinsic 
 beauty and characteristic power of forc- 
 ing conviction. They also present an ad- 
 mirable specimen of the talent for which 
 Galileo was so deservedly famous, of in- 
 venting ingenious arguments in favour 
 of his adversaries' absurd opinions before 
 he condescended to crush them, shew- 
 ing that nothing but his love of truth 
 stood in the way of his being a more 
 subtle sophist than any amongst them. 
 In addition to these reasons for giving 
 these experiments somewhat in detail, 
 is the fact that all explanation of one of 
 the principal phenomena to which they 
 allude is omitted in many more modern 
 treatises on Hydrostatics ; and in some 
 it is referred precisely to the false doc- 
 trines here confuted. 
 
 The marrow of the dispute is included 
 in Galileo's assertion, that "The diversity 
 of figure given to any solid cannot be in 
 any way the cause of its absolutely sink- 
 ing or floating ; so that if a solid, when 
 formed for example into a spherical 
 figure, sinks or floats in the water, the 
 same body will sink or float in the same 
 water, when put into any other form. 
 The breadth of the figure may indeed 
 retard its velocity, as well of ascent as 
 descent, and more and more according 
 as the said figure is reduced to a greater 
 breadth and thinness ; but that it may 
 be reduced to such a form as absolutely 
 to put an end to its motion in the same 
 fluid, I hold to be impossible. In this 
 I have met with great contradictors 
 who, producing some experiments, and 
 in particular a thin board of ebony, 
 and a ball of the same wood, and shew- 
 ing that the ball in water sinks to the 
 bottom*, and that the board if put lightly 
 on the surface floats, have held and con- 
 firmed themselves in their opinion with 
 the authority of Aristotle, that the cause 
 of that rest is the breadth of the figure, 
 unable by its small weight to pierce and 
 penetrate the resistance of the water's 
 thickness, which is readily overcome by 
 the other spherical figure." For the pur- 
 pose of these experiments, Galileo re- 
 commends a substance such as wax, 
 which may be easily moulded into any 
 shape, and with which, by the addition 
 of a few filings of lead, a substance may 
 be readily made of any required specific 
 gravity. He then declares that if a ball 
 of wax of the size of an orange, or bigger, 
 be made in this manner heavy enough 
 to sink to the bottom, but so lightly that 
 if we take from it only one grain of lead 
 it returns to the top ; and if the same 
 wax be afterwards moulded into a broad 
 and thin cake, or into any other figure, 
 regular or irregular, the addition of the 
 same grain of lead will always make it 
 sink, and it will again rise when we re- 
 move the lead from it. " But methinks 
 I hear some of the adversaries raise a 
 doubt, upon my produced experiment: 
 and, first, they offer to my consideration 
 that the figure, as a figure simply, and 
 disjunct from the matter, works no effect, 
 but requires to be conjoined with the 
 matter ; and, moreover, not with every 
 matter, but with those only wherewith 
 it may be able to execute the desired 
 operation. Just as we see by experience 
 
 * Ebony is one of the few woods heavier than 
 water. See Treatise on Hydrostatics. 
 
42 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 that an acute and sharp angle is more 
 apt to cut than an obtuse ; yet always 
 provided that both one and the other are 
 joined with a matter lit to cut, as for in- 
 stance, steel. Therefore a knife with a 
 fine and sharp edge cuts bread or wood 
 with much ease, which it will not do if 
 the edge be blunt and thick ; but if, in- 
 stead of steel, any one will take wax and 
 mould it into a knife, undoubtedly he will 
 never learn the effects of sharp and 
 blunt edges, because neither of them 
 will cut ; the wax being unable, by reason 
 of its flexibility, to overcome the hard- 
 ness of the wood and bread. And there- 
 fore, applying the like discourse to our 
 argument, they say that the difference of 
 figure will shew different effects with 
 regard to floating and sinking, but not 
 conjoined with any kind of matter, but 
 only with those matters which by their 
 weight are able to overcome the visco- 
 sity of the water (like the ebony which 
 they have selected) ; and he that will 
 select cork or other light wood to form 
 solids of different figures, would in vain 
 seek to find out what operation figure 
 has in sinking or floating, because all 
 would swim, and that not through any 
 property of this or that figure, but 
 through the debility of the matter." 
 
 " When I begin to examine one by one 
 all the particulars here produced, I allow 
 not only that figures, simply as such, do 
 not operate in natural things, but also that 
 they are never separated from t<he corpo- 
 real substance, nor have I ever alleged 
 them to be stript of sensible matter : 
 and also I freely admit, that in our en- 
 deavours to examine the diversity of 
 accidents which depend upon the variety 
 of figures, it is necessary to apply them 
 to matters which obstruct not the various 
 operations of those various figures. I 
 admit and grant that I should do very ill 
 if I were to try the influence of a sharp 
 edge with a knife of wax, applying it to 
 cut an oak, because no sharpness in wax 
 is able to cut that very hard wood. But 
 yet, such an experiment of this knife 
 would not be beside the purpose to cut 
 curded milk, or other very yielding mat- 
 ter; nay, in such matters, the wax is 
 more convenient than steel for finding 
 the difference depending on the acute- 
 ness of the angles, because milk is cut 
 indifferently with a razor, or a blunt 
 knife. We must therefore have regard 
 not only to the hardness, solidity, or 
 weight of the bodies which, under dif- 
 ferent figures, are to divide some mat- 
 ters asunder; but also, cm the other 
 
 hand, to the resistance of the matter to 
 be penetrated. And, since I have chosen 
 a matter which does penetrate the resist- 
 ance of the water, and in all figures de- 
 scends to the bottom, my antagonists 
 can charge me with no defect ; nor (to 
 revert to their illustration) have I at- 
 tempted to test the efficacy of acuteness 
 by cutting with matters unable to cut. 
 I subjoin withal, that all caution, dis- 
 tinction, and election of matter would 
 be superfluous and unnecessary, if the 
 body to be cut should not at all resist 
 the cutting : if the knife were to be used 
 in cutting a mist, or smoke, one of paper 
 would serve the purpose as well as one of 
 Damascus steel ; and I assert that this is 
 the case with water, and that there is not 
 any solid of such lightness or of such a 
 figure, that being put on the water it 
 will not divide and penetrate its thick- 
 ness ; and if you will examine more 
 carefully your thin boards of wood, you 
 will see that they have part of their 
 thickness under water ; and, moreover, 
 you will see that the shavings of ebony, 
 stone, or metal, when they float, have 
 not only thus broken the continuity of 
 the water, but are with all their thick- 
 ness under the surface of it ; and that 
 more and more, according as the float- 
 ing substance is heavier, so that a thin 
 floating plate of lead will be lower than 
 the surface of the surrounding water by 
 at least twelve times the thickness of the 
 plate, and gold will dive below the level 
 of the water almost twenty times the 
 thickness of the plate, as I shall shew 
 presently." 
 
 In order to illustrate more clearly 
 the non-resistance of water to pene- 
 tration, Galileo then directs a cone 
 to be made of wood or wax, and as- 
 serts that when it floats, either with its 
 base or point in the water, the solid 
 content of the part immersed will be the 
 same, although the point is, by its shape, 
 better adapted to overcome the resist- 
 ance of the water to division, if that 
 were the cause of the buoyancy. Or the 
 experiment may be varied by tempering 
 the wax with filings of lead, till it sinks 
 in the water, when it will be found that 
 in any figure the same cork must be 
 added to it to raise it to the surface. 
 " This silences not my antagonists ; but 
 they say that all the discourse hitherto 
 made by me imports little to them, and 
 that it serves their turn, that they have 
 demonstrated in one instance, and in such 
 manner and figure as pleases them best, 
 namely, in a board and a ball of ebony, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 43 
 
 that one, when put into the water, sinks 
 to the bottom, and that the other stays 
 to swim at the top; and the matter 
 being the same, and the two bodies dif- 
 fering in nothing but in figure, they 
 affirm that with all perspicuity they 
 have demonstrated and sensibly mani- 
 fested what they undertook. Neverthe- 
 less I believe, and think I can prove 
 that this very experiment proves nothing 
 against my theory. And first it is 
 false that the ball sinks, and the board 
 not ; for the board will sink too, if you 
 do to both the figures as the words of 
 our question require ; that is, if you put 
 them both in the water ; for to be in 
 the water implies to be placed in the 
 water, and by Aristotle's own definition 
 of place, to be placed imports to be en- 
 vironed by the surface of the ambient 
 body ; but when my antagonists shew 
 the floating board of ebony, they put it 
 not into the water, but upon the water ; 
 where, being detained by a certain im- 
 pediment (of which more anon) it is sur- 
 rounded, partly with water, partly with 
 air, which is contrary to our agreement, 
 for that was that the bodies should be 
 in the water, and not part in the water, 
 part in the air. I will not omit another 
 reason, founded also upon experience, 
 and, if I deceive not myself, conclu- 
 sive against the notion that figure, and 
 the resistance of the water to penetra- 
 tion have anything to do with the buoy-, 
 ancy of bodies. Choose a piece of wood 
 or other matter, as for instance walnut- 
 wood, of which a ball rises from the 
 bottom of the water to the surface more 
 slowly than a ball of ebony of the same 
 size sinks, so that clearly the ball of 
 ebony divides the water more readily in 
 sinking than does the walnut in rising. 
 Then take a board of walnut-tree equal 
 to and like the floating ebony one of 
 my antagonists ; and if it be true that 
 this latter floats by reason of the figure 
 being unable to penetrate the water, the 
 other of walnut-tree, without all ques- 
 tion, if thrust to the bottom ought to 
 stay there, as having the same impeding 
 figure, and being less apt to overcome 
 the said resistance of the water. But if 
 we find by experience that not only the 
 thin board, but every other figure of the 
 same walnut-tree will return to float, as 
 unquestionably we shall, then I must 
 desire my opponents to forbear to attri- 
 bute the floating of the ebony to the 
 figure of the board, since the resistance 
 of the water is the same in rising as in 
 sinking, and the force of ascension of 
 
 the walnut-tree is less than the ebony's 
 force for going to the bottom." 
 
 " Now, let us return to the thin plate of 
 gold or silver, or the thin board of ebony, 
 and let us lay it lightly upon the water, so 
 that it may stay there without sinking, 
 and carefully observe the effect. It will 
 appear clearly that the plates are a consi- 
 derable matter lower than the surface of 
 the water which rises up, and makes a 
 kind of rampart round them on every 
 side, in the manner shewn in the an- 
 nexed figure, in which B D L F repre- 
 
 sents the surface of the water, and 
 A E I O the surface of the plate. But if 
 it have already penetrated and overcome 
 the continuity of the water, and is of its 
 own nature heavier than the water, why 
 does it not continue to sink, but stop 
 and suspend itself in that little dimple 
 that its weight has made in the water ? 
 My answer is, because in sinking till its 
 surface is below the water which rises 
 up in a bank round it, it draws after and 
 carries along with it the air above it, so 
 that that which in this case descends and 
 is placed in the water, is not only the 
 board of ebony or plate of iron, but a 
 compound of ebony and air, from which 
 composition results a solid no longer 
 specifically heavier than the water, as was 
 the ebony or gold alone . B ut, Gentlemen, 
 we want the same matter ; you are to 
 alter nothing but the shape, and there- 
 fore have the goodness to remove this 
 air, which may be done simply by wash- 
 ing the upper surface of the board, for 
 the water having once got between the 
 board and air will run together, and the 
 ebony will go to the bottom ; and if it 
 does not, you have won the day. But 
 methinks I hear some of my antagonists 
 cunningly opposing this, and telling me 
 that they will not on any account allow 
 their board to be wetted, because the 
 weight of the water so added, by making 
 it heavier than it was before, draws it to 
 the bottom, and that the addition of new 
 weight is contrary to our agreement, 
 which was that the matter should be the 
 same." 
 
 " To this I answer first, that nobody 
 can suppose bodies to be put into the 
 water without their being wet, nor do I 
 
44 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 wish to do more to the board than you 
 may do to the ball. Moreover, it is not 
 true that the board sinks on account of 
 the weight of the water added in the 
 washing ; for I will put ten or twenty 
 drops on the floating board, and so long 
 as they stand separate it shall not sink ; 
 but if the board be taken out, and all 
 that water wiped off, and the whole sur- 
 face bathed with one single drop, and 
 put it again upon the water, there is no 
 question but it will sink, the other water 
 running to cover it, being no longer 
 hindered by the air. In the next place 
 it is altogether false that water can in 
 any way increase the weight of bodies 
 immersed in it, for water has no weight 
 in water, since it does not sink. Now, 
 just as he who should say that brass 
 by its own nature sinks, but that when 
 formed into the shape of a kettle, it ac- 
 quires from that figure a virtue of lying 
 in the water without sinking, would say 
 what is false, because that is not purely 
 brass which then is put into the water, 
 but a compound of brass and air ; so is 
 it neither more nor less false, that a thin 
 plate of brass or ebony swims by virtue 
 of its dilated and broad figure. Also I 
 cannot omit to tell my opponents, that 
 this conceit of refusing to bathe the sur- 
 face of the board, might beget an opinion 
 in a third person of a poverty of argu- 
 ments on their side, especially as the 
 conversation began about flakes of ice, 
 in which it would be simple to require 
 that the surfaces should be kept dry; 
 not to mention that such pieces of ice, 
 whether wet or dry, always float, and 
 as my antagonists say, because of their 
 shape." 
 
 " Some may wonder that I affirm this 
 power to be in the air of keeping the 
 plate of brass or silver above water, as 
 if in a certain sense I would attribute to 
 the air a kind of magnetic virtue for sus- 
 taining heavy bodies with which it is 
 in contact. To satisfy all these doubts, 
 I have contrived the following experi- 
 ment to demonstrate how truly the air 
 does support these solids ; for I have 
 found, when one of these bodies which 
 floats when placed lightly on the water, 
 is thoroughly bathed and sunk to the 
 bottom, that by carrying down to it a 
 little air without otherwise touching it 
 in the least, I am able to raise and carry 
 it back to the top, where it floats as 
 before. To this effect I take a ball of 
 wax, and with a little lead make it just 
 heavy enough to sink very slowly to the 
 bottom, taking care that its surface be 
 
 quite smooth and even. This, if put 
 gently into the water, submerges almost 
 entirely, there remaining visible only a 
 little of the very top, which, so long as 
 it is joined to the air, keeps the ball 
 afloat ; but if we take away the contact 
 of the air by wetting this top, the ball 
 sinks to the bottom, and remains there. 
 Now to make it return to the surface 
 by virtue of the air which before sus- 
 tained it, thrust into the water a glass, 
 with the mouth downwards, which will 
 carry with it the air it contains ; and 
 move this down towards the ball, until 
 you see by the transparency of the glass 
 that the air has reached the top of it ; 
 then gently draw the glass upwards, and 
 you will see the ball rise, and afterwards 
 stay on the top of the water, if you care- 
 fully part the glass and water without 
 too much disturbing it*. There is 
 therefore a certain affinity between the 
 air and other bodies, which holds them 
 united, so that they separate not without 
 a kind of violence, just as between water 
 and other bodies ; for in drawing them 
 wholly out of the water, we see the water 
 follow them, and rise sensibly above the 
 level before it quits them." Having 
 established this principle by this exceed- 
 ingly ingenious and convincing experi- 
 ment, Galileo proceeds to shew from it 
 what must be the dimensions of a plate 
 of any substance which will float as the 
 wax does, assuming in each case that 
 we know the greatest height at which 
 the rampart of water will stand round 
 it. In like manner he shows that a py- 
 ramidal or conical figure may be made 
 of any substance, such that by help of 
 the air, it shall rest upon the water with- 
 out wetting more than its base; and 
 that we may so form a cone of any sub- 
 stance that it shall float if placed gently 
 on the surface, with its point downwards, 
 whereas no care or pains will enable it 
 to float with its base downwards, owing 
 to the different proportions of air which 
 in the two positions remain connected 
 with it. With this parting blow at his 
 antagonist's theory we close our ex- 
 tracts from this admirable essay. 
 
 The first elements of the theory of 
 running waters were reserved for Castelli, 
 an intimate friend and pupil of Galileo. 
 On the present occasion, Castelli ap- 
 peared as the ostensible author of a de- 
 
 * In making this very beautiful experiment, it is 
 best to keep the glass a few seconds in the water, to 
 give time for the surface of the ball to dry. It will 
 also succeed with a light needle, if carefully con- 
 ducted. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 45 
 
 fence against the attacks made by Vin- 
 cenzio di Grazia and by Lodovico delle 
 Columbe (the author of the crystalline 
 composition of the moon) on the ob- 
 noxious theory. After destroying all the 
 objections which they produced, the 
 writer tauntingly bids' them remember, 
 that he was merely Galileo's pupil, and 
 consider how much more effectually 
 Galileo himself would have confuted 
 them, had he thought it worth while. It 
 was not known till several years after 
 his death, that this Essay was in fact 
 written by Galileo himself.* 
 
 These compositions merely occupied 
 the leisure time which he could withhold 
 from the controversy on the solar spots 
 to which we have already alluded. A 
 German Jesuit named Christopher 
 Schemer, who was professor of mathe- 
 matics at Ingolstadt, in imitation of Ga- 
 lileo had commenced a series of obser- 
 vations on them, but adopted the theory 
 which, as we have seen, Galileo had exa- 
 mined and rejected, that these spots are 
 planets circulating at some distance from 
 the body of the sun. The same opinion 
 had been taken up by a French astrono- 
 mer, who in honour of the reigning fa- 
 mily called them Borbonian stars. 
 Scheiner promulgated his notions in 
 three letters, addressed to their common 
 friend Welser, under the quaint signature 
 of " Apelles lateris post tabulam" Galileo 
 replied to Scheiner's letters by three 
 others, also addressed to Welser, and 
 although the dispute was earned on amid 
 mutual professions of respect and es- 
 teem, it laid the foundation of the total 
 estrangement which afterwards took 
 place between the two authors. Galileo's 
 part of this controversy was published 
 at Rome by the Lyncean Academy in 
 1613. To the last of his letters, writ- 
 ten in December, 1612, is annexed a 
 table of the expected positions of Ju- 
 piter's satellites during the months of 
 March and April of the following year, 
 which, imperfect as it necessarily was, 
 cannot be looked upon without the 
 greatest interest. 
 
 In the same letter it is mentioned that 
 Saturn presented a novel appearance, 
 which, for an instant, almost induced 
 Galileo to mistrust the accuracy of his 
 earlier observations. The lateral ap- 
 pendages of this planet had disappeared, 
 and the accompanying extract will show 
 the uneasiness which Galileo could not 
 conceal at the sight of this phenome- 
 
 . Nelli. Saggio di Stor. Liter. Fiorent. 
 
 non, although it is admirable to see 
 the contempt with which, even in that 
 trying moment, he expresses his con- 
 sciousness that his adversaries were 
 unworthy of the triumph they appeared 
 on the point of celebrating. " Looking 
 on Saturn within these few days, I found 
 it solitary, without the assistance of its 
 accustomed stars, and in short, per- 
 fectly round and denned like Jupiter, and 
 such it still remains. Now what can 
 be said of so strange a metamorphosis ? 
 are perhaps the two smaller stars con- 
 sumed, like the spots on the sun ? have 
 they suddenly vanished and fled ? or has 
 Saturn devoured his own children? or 
 was the appearance indeed fraud and 
 illusion, with which the glasses have for 
 so long a time mocked me, and so many 
 others who have often observed with me. 
 Now perhaps the time is come to revive 
 the withering hopes of those, who, guided 
 by more profound contemplations, have 
 fathomed all the fallacies of the new ob- 
 servations and recognised their impossi- 
 bility ! I cannot resolve what to say in 
 a chance so strange, so new, and so un- 
 expected ; the shortness of the time, the 
 unexampled occurrence, the weakness of 
 my intellect, and the terror of being mis- 
 taken, have greatly confounded me." 
 These first expressions of alarm are not 
 to be wondered at; however, he soon 
 recovered courage, and ventured to fore- 
 tel the periods at which the lateral stars 
 would again show themselves, protest- 
 ing at the same time, that he was in no 
 respect to be understood as classing this 
 prediction among the results which de- 
 pend on certain principles and sound 
 conclusions, but merely on some conjec- 
 tures which appeared to him probable. 
 From one of the Dialogues on the Sys- 
 tem, we learn that this conjecture was, 
 that Saturn might revolve upon his axis, 
 but the period which he assumed is very 
 different from the true one, as might be 
 expected from its being intended to ac- 
 count for a phenomenon of which Galileo 
 had not rightly apprehended the cha- 
 racter. 
 
 He closed this letter with renewed 
 professions of courtesy and friendship 
 towards Apelles, enjoining Welser not 
 to communicate it without adding his 
 excuses, if he should be thought to dis- 
 sent too violently from his antagonist's 
 ideas, declaring that his only object was 
 the discovery of truth, and that he had 
 freely exposed his own opinion, which he 
 was still ready to change, so soon as his 
 errors should be made manifest to him ; 
 
46 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 and that he would consider himself under 
 special obligation to any one who Would 
 be kind enough to discover and correct 
 them. These letters were written from 
 the villa of his friend Salviati at Selve 
 near Florence, where he passed great 
 part of his time, particularly during his 
 frequent indispositions, conceiving that 
 the air of Florence was prejudicial to him. 
 Cesi was very anxious for their appear- 
 ance, since they were (in his own words) 
 so hard a morsel for the teeth of the 
 Peripatetics, and he exhorted Galileo, in 
 the name of the society, " to continue 
 to give them, and the nameless Jesuit, 
 something to gnaw." 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 Letter to Christina, Arch-Duchess of 
 Tuscany Caccini Galileo revisits 
 Rome Inchoffer Problem of Lon- 
 gitudes. 
 
 The uncompromising boldness with 
 which Galileo published and supported 
 his opinions, with little regard to the 
 power and authority of those who ad- 
 vocated the contrary doctrines, had 
 raised against him a host of enemies, 
 who each had objections to him peculiar 
 to themselves, but who now began to 
 perceive the policy of uniting their 
 strength in the common cause, to crush 
 if possible so dangerous an innovator. 
 All the professors of the old opinions, 
 who suddenly found the knowledge on 
 which their reputation was founded 
 struck from under them, and who could 
 not reconcile themselves to their new 
 situation of learners, were united against 
 him ; and to this powerful cabal was 
 now added the still greater influence of 
 the Jesuits and pseudo-theological party, 
 who fancied they saw in the spirit of 
 Galileo's writings the same inquisitive 
 temper which they had already found 
 so inconvenient in Luther and his ad- 
 herents. The alarm became greater 
 every day, inasmuch as Galileo had 
 succeeded in training round him a nu- 
 merous band of followers who all ap- 
 peared imbued with the same dangerous 
 spirit of innovation, and his favourite 
 scholars were successful candidates for 
 professorships in many of the most cele- 
 brated universities of Italy. 
 
 At the close of 1 6 13, Galileo addressed 
 a letter to his pupil, the Abbe Castelli, 
 in which he endeavoured to shew that 
 there is as much difficulty in reconciling 
 the Ptolemaic as the Copernican system 
 of the world with the astronomical ex- 
 
 pressions contained in the Scriptures , 
 and asserted, that the object of the Scrip- 
 tures not being to teach astronomy, such 
 expressions are there used as would be 
 intelligible and conformable to the vulgar 
 belief, without regard to the true struc- 
 ture of ^the universe ; Which argument 
 he afterwards amplified in a letter ad- 
 dressed to Christina, Grand Duchess of 
 Tuscany, the mother of his patron 
 Cosmo. He discourses on this subject 
 with the moderation and good sense 
 which so peculiarly characterized him. 
 "I am," says he, "inclined to believe, 
 that the intention of the sacred Scriptures 
 is to give to mankind the information 
 necessary for their salvation, and which, 
 surpassing all human knowledge, can by 
 no other means be accredited than by 
 the mouth of the Holy Spirit. But I do 
 not hold it necessary to believe, that the 
 same God who has endowed us with 
 senses, with speech, and intellect, in- 
 tended that we should neglect the use of 
 these, and seek by other means for 
 knowledge which they are sufficient to 
 procure us ; especially in a science like 
 astronomy, of which so little notice is 
 taken in the Scriptures, that none of the 
 planets, except the sun and moon, and, 
 once or twice only, Venus under the 
 name of Lucifer, are so much as named 
 there. This therefore being granted, 
 methinks that in the discussion of natural 
 problems we ought not to begin at the 
 authority of texts of Scripture, but at 
 sensible experiments and necessary de- 
 monstrations : for, from the divine word, 
 the sacred Scripture and nature did 
 both alike proceed, and I conceive that, 
 concerning natural effects, that which 
 either sensible experience sets before 
 our eyes, or necessary demonstrations do 
 prove unto us, ought not upon any ac- 
 count to be called into question, much 
 less condemned, upon the testimony of 
 Scriptural texts, which may under their 
 words couch senses seemingly contrary 
 thereto. 
 
 " Again, to command the Very pro- 
 fessors of astronomy that they of them- 
 selves see to the confuting of their own 
 observations and demonstrations, is to 
 enjoin a thing beyond all possibility of 
 doing ; for it is not only to command 
 them not to see that which they do see, 
 and not to understand that which they 
 do understand, but it is to order them to 
 seek for and to find the contrary of that 
 which they happen to meet with. I would 
 entreat these wise and prudent fathers, 
 that they would with all diligence consi- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 47 
 
 der the difference that is between opinion- 
 ative and demonstrative doctrines: to 
 the end that well weighing in their minds 
 with what force necessary inferences urge 
 us, they might the better assure them- 
 selves that it is not in the power of the 
 professors of demonstrative sciences to 
 change their opinions at pleasure, and 
 adopt first one side and then another ; 
 and that there is a great difference be- 
 tween commanding a mathematician or 
 a philosopher, and the disposing of a 
 lawyer or a merchant ; and that the 
 demonstrated conclusions touching the 
 things of nature and of the heavens can- 
 not be changed with the same facility 
 as the opinions are touching what is 
 lawful or not in a contract, bargain, or 
 bill of exchange. Therefore, first let 
 these men apply themselves to examine 
 the arguments of Copernicus and others, 
 and leave the condemning of them as 
 erroneous and heretical to whom it be- 
 longeth ; yet let them not hope to find 
 such rash and precipitous determinations 
 in the wary and holy fathers, or in the 
 absolute wisdom of him who cannot err, 
 as those into which they suffer them- 
 selves to be hurried by some particular 
 affection or interest of their own. In 
 these and such other positions, which 
 are not directly articles of faith, certainly 
 no man doubts but His Holiness hath 
 always an absolute power of admitting 
 or condemning them, but it is not in 
 the power of any creature to make them 
 to be true or false, otherwise than of 
 their own nature, and in fact they are." 
 "We have been more particular in ex- 
 tracting these passages, because it has 
 been advanced by a writer of high re- 
 putation, that the treatment which 
 Galileo subsequently experienced was 
 solely in consequence of his persisting in 
 the endeavour to prove that the Scrip- 
 tures were reconcileable with the Co- 
 pernican theory *, whereas we see here 
 distinctly that, for the reasons we have 
 briefly stated, he regarded this as a 
 matter altogether indifferent and beside 
 the question. 
 
 Galileo had not entered upon this 
 discussion till driven to it by a most 
 indecent attack, made on him from the 
 
 * Ce philosophe (Galilee) ne fut point persecute 
 comme bon astronome, mais comme mauvais theo- 
 Logien. C'est son entetement a vouloir concilier la 
 Bible avec Copernic qui lui donna des juges. Mais 
 vingt auteiirs, surtout panni les protestans, ontecrit 
 que Galilee fut persecute et imprisonne pour avoir 
 soutenu que la terre tourne autour du soleil, que ce 
 systeme aetecondanne par 1'inquisition comme faux, 
 errone et contraire a la Bible, &c Bergier, Ency- 
 clopedie Methudique, Paris, 1790, Art. Sciences 
 
 ftlJMAINES. 
 
 pulpit, by a Dominican friar named 
 Caccini, who thought it not unbecoming 
 his habit or religion to play upon the 
 words of a Scriptural text for the pur- 
 pose ^of attacking Galileo and his parti- 
 sans with more personality*. Galileo 
 complained formally of Caccini' s con- 
 duct to Luigi Marafh* the general of the 
 Dominicans, who apologised amply to 
 him, adding that he himself was to be 
 pitied for finding himself implicated in 
 all the brutal conduct of thirty or forty 
 thousand monks. 
 
 In the mean time, the inquisitors at 
 Rome had taken the alarm, and were 
 already, in 1615, busily employed in col- 
 lecting evidence against Galileo. Lorini, 
 a brother Dominican of Caccini, had 
 given them notice of the letter to Cas- 
 telli of which we have spoken, and the 
 utmost address was employed to get the 
 original into their hands, which attempt 
 however was frustrated, as Castelli had 
 returned it to the writer. Caccini was 
 sent for to Rome, settled there with the 
 title of Master of the Convent of St. 
 Mary of Minerva, and employed to put 
 the depositions against Galileo into 
 order. Galileo was not at this time 
 fully aware of the machinations against 
 him, but suspecting something of their 
 nature, he solicited and obtained per- 
 mission from Cosmo, towards the end of 
 1615, to make a journey to Rome, for 
 the purpose of more directly confronting 
 his enemies in that city. There was a 
 rumour at the time that this visit was 
 not voluntary, but that Galileo bad been 
 cited to appear at Rome. A contempo- 
 rary declares that he heard this from 
 Galileo himself : at any rate, in a letter 
 which Galileo shortly afterwards wrote 
 to Picchena, the Grand Duke's secre- 
 tary, he expresses himself well satisfied 
 with the results of this step, whether 
 forced or not, and Querenghi thus de- 
 scribes to the Cardinal d'Este the public 
 effect of his appearance : " Your Emi- 
 nence would be delighted with Galileo if 
 you heard him holding forth, as he often 
 does, in the midst of fifteen or twenty, 
 all violently attacking him, sometimes in 
 one house, sometimes in another. But 
 he is armed after such fashion that he 
 laughs all of them to scorn and even if 
 the novelty of his opinions prevents en- 
 tire persuasion, at least he convicts of 
 emptiness most of the arguments with 
 which his adversaries endeavour to over- 
 whelm him. He was particularly admi 
 
 * Viri Galilsei, quid statis adspicientes in. caelum. 
 Acts I. II. 
 
48 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 rable on Monday last, in the house of 
 Signor Frederico Ghisilieri; and what 
 especially pleased me was, that before 
 replying to the contrary arguments, he 
 amplified and enforced them with new 
 grounds of great plausibility, so as to 
 leave his adversaries in a more ridicu- 
 lous plight when he afterwards over- 
 turned them all." 
 
 Among the malicious stories which 
 were put into circulation, it had been 
 said, that the Grand Duke had with- 
 drawn his favour, which emboldened 
 many, who would not otherwise have 
 ventured on such open opposition, to 
 declare against Galileo. His appearance 
 at Rome, where he was lodged in the 
 palace of Cosmo's ambassador, and 
 whence he kept up a close correspon- 
 dence with the Grand Duke's family, 
 put an immediate stop to rumours of 
 this kind. In little more than a month 
 he was apparently triumphant, so far as 
 regarded himself ; but the question now 
 began to be agitated whether the whole 
 system of Copernicus ought not to be 
 condemned as impious and heretical. 
 Galileo again writes to Picchena, " so 
 far as concerns the clearing of my own 
 character, I might return home im- 
 mediately ; but although this new ques- 
 tion regards me no more than all those 
 who for the last eighty years have sup- 
 ported these opinions both in public and 
 private, yet, as perhaps I may be of 
 some assistance in that part of the dis- 
 cussion which depends on the knowledge 
 of truths ascertained by means of the. 
 sciences which I profess, I, as a zealous 
 and Catholic Christian, neither can nor 
 ought to withhold that assistance which 
 my knowledge affords ; and this business 
 keeps me sufficiently employed." De 
 Lambre, whose readiness to depreciate 
 Galileo's merit we have ^already noticed 
 and lamented, sneeringly and ungrate- 
 fully remarks on this part of his life, that 
 " it was scarcely worth while to compro- 
 mise his tranquillity and reputation, in 
 order to become the champion of a 
 truth which could not fail every day to 
 acquire new partisans by the natural 
 effect of the progress of enlightened 
 opinions." We need not stop to con- 
 sider what the natural effects might 
 have been if none had at any time been 
 found who thought their tranquillity 
 worthily offered up in such a cause. 
 
 It has been hinted by several, and is 
 indeed probable, that Galileo's stay at 
 Rome rather injured the cause (so far 
 as provoking the inquisitorial censures 
 could injure it) which it was his earnest 
 
 desire to serve, for we cannot often 
 enough' repeat the assertion, that it was 
 not the doctrine itself, so much as the 
 free, unyielding manner in which it was 
 supported, which was originally obnox- 
 ious. Copernicus had been allowed to 
 dedicate his great work to Pope Paul III., 
 and from the time of its first appearance 
 under that sanction in 1543, to the year 
 1616, of which we are now writing, this 
 theory was left in the hands of mathe- 
 maticians and philosophers, who alter- 
 nately attacked and defended it without 
 receiving either support or molestation 
 from ecclesiastical decrees. But this 
 was henceforward no longer the case, 
 and a higher , degree of importance was 
 given to the controversy from the reli- 
 gious heresies which were asserted to 
 , be involved in the new opinions. We 
 have already given specimens of the so 
 called philosophical arguments brought 
 against Copernicus ; and the reader 
 may be curious to know the form of the 
 theological ones. Those which we se- 
 lect are taken from a work, which 
 indeed did not come forth till the time 
 of Galileo's third visit to Rome, but it is 
 relative to the matter now before us, as 
 it professed to be, and its author's party 
 affected to consider it, a complete refu- 
 tation of the letters to Castelti and the 
 Archduchess Christina*. 
 
 It was the work of a Jesuit, Melchior 
 Inchoffer, and it was greatly extolled by 
 his companions, " as differing so entirely 
 from the pruriency of the Pythagorean 
 writings." He quotes with approbation 
 an author who, first referring to the 
 first verse of Genesis for an argument 
 that the earth was not created till after 
 the heavens, observes that the whole 
 question is thus reduced to the exami- 
 nation of this purely geometrical diffi- 
 culty In the formation of a sphere, does 
 the centre or circumference first come 
 into existence ? If the latter (which we 
 presume Melchior' s friend found good 
 reason for deciding upon), the conse- 
 quence is inevitable. The earth is in the 
 centre of the universe. 
 
 It may not be unprofitable to contrast 
 the extracts which we have given from 
 Galileo's letters on the same subject with 
 the following passage, which appears 
 one of the most subtle and argumen- 
 
 * Tractatus Syllepticus. Romae, 1633. The 
 title-page of this remarkable production is decorated 
 with an emblematical rigure, representing the earth 
 included in a triangle ; and in the three corners-, 
 grasping the globe with their fore feet, are placed 
 three bees, the arms of Pope Urban VIII. who 
 condemned Galileo and his writings. The motto 
 is " Hisjixa quxescit" ."Fixed by these it is at 
 rest." 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 49 
 
 tative which is to be found in Melchior's 
 book. He professes to be enumerating 
 and refuting the principal arguments 
 which the Copernicans adduced for 
 the motion of the earth. " Fifth argu- 
 ment. Hell is in the centre of the earth, 
 and in it is a fire tormenting the damned ; 
 therefore it is absolutely necessary that 
 the earth is moveable. The antecedent 
 is plain." (Inchoffer then quotes a 
 number of texts of Scripture on which, 
 according to] him, the Copernicans re- 
 lied in proof of this part of the argu- 
 ment.) "The consequent is proved: 
 because fire is the cause of motion, 
 for which reason Pythagoras, who, 
 as Aristotle reports, puts the place of 
 punishment in the centre, perceived 
 that the earth is animate and en- 
 
 very sound reasons for their change of 
 opinion, of whom we have an instance 
 in Origanus, the astrological instructor 
 of Wallenstein's famous attendant Seni, 
 who edited his work. His arguments 
 in favour of the earth's motion are 
 quite on a level with those advanced on 
 the opposite side in favour of its immo- 
 bility ; but we have not found any traces 
 whatever of such absurdities as these 
 having been urged by any of the leaders 
 of that party, and it is far more probable 
 that they are the creatures of Melchior's 
 own imagination. At any rate it is 
 worth remarking how completely he dis- 
 regards the real physical arguments, 
 which he ought, in justice to his cause, 
 to have attempted to controvert. His 
 book was aimed at Galileo and his ad- 
 
 dowed with action. I answer, even#herents, and it is scarcely possible that 
 
 allowing that hell is in the centre of the 
 earth, and a fire in it, I deny the conse- 
 quence : and for proof I say, if the ar- 
 gument is worth any thing, it proves 
 also that lime-kilns, ovens, and fire-grates 
 are animated and spontaneously move- 
 able. I say, even allowing that hell is 
 in the centre of the earth : for Gregory, 
 book 4, dial. chap. 42, says, that he dare 
 not decide rashly on this matter, although 
 he thinks more probable the opinion of 
 those who say that it is under the earth. 
 St. Thomas, in Opusc. 10, art. 31, says : 
 Where hell is, whether in the centre of 
 the earth or at the surface, does not 
 in my opinion, relate to any article of 
 faith ; and it is superfluous to be solici- 
 tous about such things, either in assert- 
 ing or denying them. And Opusc. 11, 
 art. 24, he says, that it seems to him 
 that nothing should be rashly asserted 
 on this matter, particularly as Augustin 
 thinks that nobody knows where it is ; 
 but I do not, says he, think that it is in 
 the centre of the earth. 1 should be 
 loth, however, that it should be hence 
 inferred by some people that hell is in 
 the earth, that we are ignorant where hell 
 is, and therefore that the situation of the 
 earth is also unknown, and, in conclusion, 
 that it cannot therefore be the centre of 
 the universe. The argument shall be 
 retorted in another fashion: for if the 
 place of the earth is unknown, it cannot 
 be said to be in a great circle, so as to 
 be moved round the sun. Finally I say 
 that in fact it is known where the earth 
 is." 
 
 It is not impossible that some per- 
 sons adopted the Copernican theory, 
 from an affectation of singularity and 
 freethinking, without being able to give 
 
 he could seriously persuade himself that 
 he was stating and overturning argu- 
 ments similar to those by which Galileo 
 had made so many converts to the opi- 
 nions of Copernicus. Whatever may be 
 our judgment of his candour, we may at 
 least feel assured that if this had in- 
 deed been a fair specimen of Galileo's 
 philosophy, he might to the end of his 
 life have taught that the earth moved 
 round the sun, or if his fancy led him to 
 a different hypothesis, he might like the 
 Abbe Baliani have sent the earth spin- 
 ning round the stationary moon, and 
 like him have remained unmolested by 
 pontifical censures. It is true that Baliani 
 owned his opinion to be much shaken, 
 on observing it to be opposed to the de- 
 cree of those in whose hands was placed 
 the power of judging articles of faith. 
 But Galileo's uncompromising spirit of 
 analytical investigation, and the sober 
 but invincible force of reasoning with 
 which he beat down every sophism op- 
 posed to him, the instruments with which 
 he worked, were more odious than the 
 work itself, and the condemnation which 
 he had vainly hoped to avert was pro- 
 bably on his very account accelerated. 
 
 Galileo, according to his own story, 
 had in March 1616 a most gracious 
 audience of the pope, Paul V., which 
 lasted for nearly an hour, at the end of 
 which his holiness assured him, that the 
 Congregation were no longer in a hu- 
 mour to listen lightly to calumnies 
 against him, and that so long as he oc- 
 cupied the papal chair, Galileo might 
 think himself out of all danger. But 
 nevertheless he was not allowed to re- 
 turn home, without receiving formal 
 notice not to teach the opinions of Co- 
 
50 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 pernicus, that the sun is in the centre of 
 the system, and that the earth moves 
 about it, from that time forward, in any 
 manner. That these were the literal 
 orders given to Galileo will be presently 
 proved "from the recital of them in the 
 famous decree against him, seventeen 
 years later. For the present, his letters 
 which we have mentioned, as well as one 
 of a similar tendency by Foscarini, a Car- 
 melite friar a commentary on the book 
 of Joshua by a Spaniard named Diego 
 Zuniga Kepler's Epitome of the Co- 
 pernican Theory and Copernicus' s own 
 work, were inserted in the list of for- 
 bidden books, nor was it till four years 
 afterwards, in 1620, that, on reconsidera- 
 tion, Copernicus was allowed to be read 
 with certain omissions and 
 then decided upon. 
 
 caused the final explosion, and on which 
 he now employed himself with as little 
 intermission as the weak state of his 
 health permitted. 
 
 He had been before this time engaged 
 in a correspondence with the court of 
 Spain, on the method of observing lon- 
 gitudes at sea, for the solution of which 
 important problem Philip 111. had 
 offered a considerable reward, an exam- 
 ple which has since been followed in our 
 own and other countries. Galileo had 
 no sooner discovered Jupiter's satellites, 
 than he recognized the use which might 
 be made of them for that purpose, and 
 devoted himself with peculiar assiduity 
 to acquiring as perfect a knowledge as 
 possible of their revolutions. The reader 
 alterations ^vill easily understand how they were to 
 Moq used, if their motion could be so well 
 
 Galileo quitted Rome scarcely able ascertained as to enable Galileo at Flo- 
 to conceal his contempt and indignati<m. rence to predict the exact times at which 
 
 Two years afterwards this spirit had but 
 little subsided, for in forwarding to the 
 Archduke Leopold his Theory of the 
 Tides, he accompanied it with the fol- 
 lowing remarks : " This theory occurred 
 to me when in Rome, whilst the theolo- 
 gians were debating on the prohibition 
 of Copernicus' s book, and of the opi- 
 nion maintained in it of the motion of 
 the earth, which I at that time believed ; 
 until it pleased those gentlemen to sus- 
 pend the book, and declare the opinion 
 false and repugnant to the Hoj^Scrip- 
 tures. Now, as I know how 
 comes me to obey and believe 
 sions of my superiors, which 
 out of more profound knowled^ 
 the weakness of my intellect cai 
 to, this theory which I send you,, 
 is founded on the motion of the e 
 now look upon as a fiction and a < 
 and beg your highness to receive 
 such. But, as poets often learn to prii 
 the creations of their fancy, so, in hi 
 manner, do I set some value on th 
 absurdity of mine. It is true that when 
 I sketched this little work, I did hope 
 that Copernicus would not, after 80 
 years, be convicted of error, and I had 
 intended to develope and amplify it far- 
 ther, but a voice from heaven suddenly 
 awakened me, and at once annihilated 
 all my confused and entangled fancies." 
 It might have been predicted, from 
 the tone of this letter alone, that it would 
 not be long before Galileo would again 
 bring himself under the censuring notice 
 of the astronomical hierarchy, and in- 
 deed he had, so early as 1610, collected 
 some of the materials for the work which 
 
 any remarkable configurations would 
 occur, as, for instance, the times at which 
 any one of them would be eclipsed by 
 Jupiter. A mariner who in the middle 
 of the Atlantic should observe the same 
 eclipse, and compare the time of night 
 at which he made the observation (which 
 he might know by setting his watch by 
 the sun on the preceding day) with the 
 time mentioned in the predictions, would, 
 from the difference between the two, 
 learn the difference between the hour at 
 Florence and the hour at the place where 
 the ship at that time happened to be. 
 As the earth turns uniformly round 
 through 360 of longitude in 24 hours, 
 that is, through 15 in each hour, the 
 hours, minutes, and seconds of time 
 which express this difference must be 
 multiplied by 15, and the respective pro- 
 ducts will give the degrees, minutes, 
 and seconds of longitude, by which the 
 ship was then distant from Florence, 
 lis statement is merely intended to 
 sye those who are unacquainted with 
 asj-hmomy, a general idea of the manner 
 iri*which it was proposed to use these 
 satellites. Our moon had already been 
 occasionally employed in the same way, 
 but the comparative frequency of the 
 eclipses of Jupiter's moons, and the 
 suddenness with which they disappear, 
 gives a decided advantage to the new 
 method. Both methods were embar- 
 rassed by the difficulty of observing the 
 eclipses at sea. In addition to, this, it 
 was requisite, in both methods, that the 
 sailors should be provided with accurate 
 means of knowing the hour, wherever 
 they might chance to be, which was far 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 51 
 
 from being the case, for although (in 
 order not to interrupt the explanation) 
 we have above spoken of their watches, 
 yet the watches and clocks of that day 
 were not such as could be relied on suffi- 
 ciently, during the interval which must 
 necessarily occur between the two ob- 
 servations. This consideration led Ga- 
 lileo to reflect on the use which might 
 be made of his pendulum for this pur- 
 pose ; and, with respect to the other diffi- 
 culty, he contrived a peculiar kind of 
 telescope, with which he flattered him- 
 self, somewhat prematurely, that it would 
 be as easy to observe on ship-board as 
 on shore. 
 
 During his stay at Rome, in 1615, 
 and the following year, he disclosed 
 some of these ideas to the Conte di 
 Lemos, the viceroy of Naples, who had 
 been president of the council of the 
 Spanish Indies, and was fully aware 
 of the importance of the matter. Galileo 
 was in consequence invited to com- 
 municate directly with the Duke of 
 Lerma, the Spanish minister, and in- 
 structions were accordingly sent by 
 Cosmo, to the Conte Orso d'Elci, his 
 ambassador at Madrid, to conduct the 
 business there. Galileo entered warmly 
 into the design, of which he had no other 
 means of verifying the practicability; 
 for as he says m one of his letters to 
 Spain " Your excellency may well be- 
 lieve that if this were an undertaking 
 which I could conclude by myself, I 
 would never have gone about begging 
 favours from others ; but in my study 
 there are neither seas, nor Indies, nor 
 islands, nor ports, nor shoals, nor ships, 
 for which reason I am compelled to 
 share the enterprise with great person- 
 ages, and to fatigue myself to procure 
 the acceptance of that, which ought 
 with eagerness to be asked of me ; but 
 I console myself with the reflection that 
 1 am not singular in this, but that it 
 commonly happens, with the exception 
 of a little reputation, and that too often 
 obscured and blackened %k envy, that 
 the least part of the advantage falls to 
 the share of the inventors of things, 
 which afterwards bring great gain, ho- 
 nours, and riches to others ; so that I 
 will never cease on my part to do every 
 thing in my power, and I am ready to 
 leave here all my comforts, my country, 
 my friends, and family, and to cross over 
 into Spain, to stay as long as I. may be 
 wanted in Seville, or Lisbon, or wherever 
 it may be convenient, to implant the 
 knowledge of this method, provided that 
 
 due assistance and diligence be not want- 
 ing on the part of those who are to re- 
 ceive it, and who should solicit and foster 
 it." But he could not, with all his en- 
 thusiasm, rouse the attention of the 
 Spanish court. The negotiation lan- 
 guished, and although occasionally re- 
 newed during the next ten or twelve 
 years, was never brought to a satisfactory 
 issue. Some explanation of this other- 
 wise unaccountable apathy of the Spanish 
 court, with regard to the solution of a 
 problem which they had certainly much 
 at heart, is given in Nelli's life of Galileo ; 
 where it is asserted, on the authority of 
 the Florentine records, that Cosmo re- 
 quired privately from Spain, (in return 
 for the permission granted for Galileo to 
 leave Florence, in pursuance of this de- 
 sign,) the privilege of sending every year 
 from Leghorn two merchantmen, duty 
 frfce, to the Spanish Indies. 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 
 Controversy on Comets Saggiatore 
 Galileo's reception by Urban VIII 
 His family. 
 
 The year 1618 was remarkable for the 
 appearance of three comets, on which 
 almost every astronomer in Europe found 
 something to say and write. Galileo 
 published some of Ins opinions with 
 respect to them, through the medium of 
 Mario Guiducci. This astronomer de- 
 livered a lecture before the Florentine 
 academy, the heads of which he was 
 supposed to have received from Galileo, 
 who, during the whole time of the ap- 
 pearance of these comets, was confined 
 to his bed by severe illness. This essay 
 was printed in Florence at the sign of 
 The Medicean Stars* What princi- 
 pally deserves notice in it, is the opinion 
 of Galileo, that the distance of a comet 
 cannot be safely determined by its paral- 
 lax, from which we learn that he inclined 
 to believe that comets are nothing but 
 meteors occasionally appearing in the 
 atmosphere, like rainbows, parhelia, and 
 similar phenomena. He points out the 
 difference in this respect between a fixed 
 object, the distance of which may be 
 calculated from the difference of direction 
 in which two observers (at a known dis- 
 tance from each other) are obliged to 
 turn themselves in order to see it, and 
 meteors like the rainbow, which are 
 simultaneously formed in different drops 
 of water for each spectator, so that two 
 
 * In Firenze nellaStamperia di Pietro Cecconcelll 
 alle stclle Medicee, 1619. 
 
 E2 
 
52 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 observers in different places are in fact 
 contemplating different objects. He 
 then warns astronomers not to engage 
 with too much warmth in a discussion 
 on the distance of comets before they 
 assure themselves to which of these two 
 classes of phenomena they are to be 
 referred. The remark is in itself per- 
 fectly just, although the opinion which 
 occasioned it is now as certainly known 
 to be erroneous, but it is questionable 
 whether the observations which, up to 
 that time, had been made upon comets, 
 were sufficient, either in number or qua- 
 lity, to justify the censure which has 
 been cast on Galileo for his opinion. The 
 theory, moreover, is merely introduced 
 as an hypothesis in Guiducci's essay. 
 The same opinion was for a short time 
 embraced by Cassini, a celebrated Italian 
 astronomer, invited by Louis XIV. to 
 the Observatory at Paris, when the 
 science was considerably more advanced, 
 and Newton, in his Principia, did not 
 think it unworthy of him to show on 
 what grounds it is untenable. 
 
 Galileo was become the object of ani- 
 mosity in so many quarters that none 
 of his published opinions, whether cor- 
 rect or incorrect, ever wanted a ready 
 antagonist. The champion on the pre- 
 sent occasion was again a Jesuit ; his 
 name was Oratio Grassi, who published 
 The Astronomical and Philosophical 
 Balance, under the disguised signature 
 of Lotario Sarsi. 
 
 Galileo and his friends were anxious 
 that his reply to Grassi should appear 
 as quickly as possible, but his health 
 had become so precarious and his fre- 
 quent illnesses occasioned so many in- 
 terruptions, that it was not until the au- 
 tumn of 1623 that II Saggiatore (or The 
 Assayer) as he called his answer, was 
 ready for publication. This was printed 
 by the Lyncean Academy, and as Cardi- 
 nal Maffeo Barberino, who had just been 
 elected Pope, (with the title of Urban 
 VIII.) had been closely connected with 
 that society, and was also a personal 
 friend of Cesi and of Galileo, it was 
 thought a prudent precaution to dedicate 
 the pamphlet to him. This essay enjoys 
 a peculiar reputation among Galileo's 
 works, not only for the matter contained 
 in it, but also for the style in which it 
 is written ; insomuch that Andres*, 
 when eulogizing Galileo as one of the 
 earliest who adorned philosophical truths 
 with the graces and ornaments of lan- 
 guage, expressly instances the Saggia- 
 
 * Dell' Origine d'ogui Literatura : Parma, 1787. 
 
 tore, which is also quoted by Frisi and 
 Algarotti, as a perfect model of this sort 
 of composition. In the latter particular, 
 it is unsafe to interfere with the decisions 
 of an Italian critic ; but with respect to 
 its substance, this famous composition 
 scarcely appears to deserve its preemi- 
 nent reputation. It is a prolix and ra- 
 ther tedious examination of Grassi' s 
 Essay; nor do the arguments seem so 
 satisfactory, nor the reasonings so com- 
 pact as is generally the case in Galileo's 
 other writings. It does however, like 
 all his other works, contain many very 
 remarkable passages, and the celebrity 
 of this production requires that we 
 should extract one or two of the most 
 characteristic. 
 
 The first, though a very short one, will 
 serve to shew the tone which Galileo 
 had taken with respect to the Coperni- 
 can system since its condemnation at 
 Rome, in 1616. " In conclusion, since 
 the motion attributed to the earth, which 
 I, as a pious and Catholic person, con- 
 sider most false, and not to exist, 
 accommodates itself so well to explain so 
 many and such different phenomena, 
 I shall not feel sure, unless Sarsi de- 
 scends to more distinct considerations 
 than those which he has yet produced, 
 that, false as it is, it may not just as 
 deludingly correspond with the pheno- 
 mena of comets." 
 
 Sarsi had quoted a story from Suidas 
 in support of his argument that motion 
 always produces heat, how the Babylo- 
 nians used to cook their eggs by whirl- 
 ing them in a sling ; to which Galileo 
 replies : "I cannot refrain from mar- 
 velling that Sarsi will persist in proving 
 to me, by authorities, that which at any 
 moment I can bring to the test of ex- 
 periment. We examine witnesses in 
 things which are doubtful, past, and 
 not permanent, but not in those things 
 which are done in our own presence. 
 If discussing a difficult problem were 
 like carrying a weight, since several 
 horses will carry more sacks of corn 
 than one alone will, I would agree that 
 many reasoners avail more than one; 
 but discoursing is like coursing, and 
 not like carrying, and one barb by 
 himself will run farther than a hundred 
 Friesland horses. When Sarsi brings 
 up such a multitude of authors, it does 
 not seem to me that he in the least 
 degree strengthens his own conclusions, 
 but he ennobles the cause of Signor 
 Mario and myself, by shewing that we rea- 
 son better than many men of established 
 reputation. If Sarsi insists that I believe, 
 
GALILEO., 
 
 53 
 
 on Suidas' credit, that the Babylonians 
 cooked eggs by swiftly whirling them in 
 a sling, I will believe it ; but I must 
 needs say, that the cause of such an 
 effect is very remote from that to which 
 it is attributed, and to find the true 
 cause I shall reason thus. If an effect 
 does not follow with us which followed 
 with others at another time, it is be- 
 cause, in our experiment, something is 
 wanting which was the cause of the 
 former success ; and if only one thing 
 is wanting to us, that one thing is the 
 true cause. Now we have eggs, and 
 slings, and strong men to whirl them, 
 and yet they will not become cooked; 
 nay, if they were hot at first, they more 
 quickly become cold : and since nothing 
 is wanting to us but to be Babylonians, 
 it follows that being Babylonians is the 
 true cause why the eggs became hard, 
 and not the friction of the air, which is 
 what I wished to prove. Is it possible 
 that in travelling post, Sarsi has never 
 noticed what freshness is occasioned on 
 the face by the continual change of 
 air ? and if he has felt it, will he rather 
 trust the relation by others, of what was 
 done two thousand years ago at Babylon, 
 than what he can at this moment verify 
 in his own person ? I at least will not 
 be so wilfully wrong, and so un- 
 grateful to nature and to God, that 
 having been gifted with sense and 
 language, I should voluntarily set less 
 value on such great endowments than 
 on the fallacies of a fellow man, and 
 blindly and blunderingly believe what- 
 ever I hear, and barter the freedom of 
 my intellect for slavery to one as liable 
 to error as myself." 
 
 Our final extract shall exhibit a sample 
 of Galileo's metaphysics, in which may 
 be observed the germ of a theory 
 very closely allied to that which was 
 afterwards developed by Locke and 
 Berkeley. " I have now only to fulfil my 
 promise of declaring my opinions on the 
 proposition that motion is the cause of 
 heat, and to explain in what manner it 
 appears to me that it may be true. But 
 I must first make some remarks on that 
 which we call heat, since I strongly 
 suspect that a notion of it prevails 
 which is very remote from the truth ; for 
 it is believed that there is a true acci- 
 dent,affection, and quality, really inherent 
 in the substance by which we feel our- 
 selves heated. This much I have to 
 say, that so soon as I conceive a material 
 or corporeal substance, I simultaneously 
 fed the necessity of conceiving that it 
 
 t 
 
 has its boundaries, and is of some shape 
 or other ; that, relatively to others, it is 
 great or small ; that it is in this or that 
 place, in this or that time ; that it is in 
 motion, or at rest ; that it touches, or 
 does not touch another body ; that it is 
 unique, rare, or common ; nor can I, by 
 any act of the imagination, disjoin it from 
 these qualities : but I do not find myself 
 absolutely compelled to apprehend it as 
 necessarily accompanied by such condi- 
 tions, as that it must be white or red, 
 bitter or sweet, sonorous or silent, 
 smelling sweetly or disagreeably ; and if 
 the senses had not pointed out these 
 qualities, it is probable that language 
 and imagination alone could never have 
 arrived at them. Because, I am in- 
 clined to think that these tastes, smells, 
 colours, &c, with regard to the subject 
 in which they appear to reside, are 
 nothing more than mere names, and 
 exist only in the sensitive body; inso- 
 much that, when the living creature is 
 removed, all these qualities are carried 
 off and annihilated ; although we have 
 imposed particular names upon them, 
 and different from those of the other 
 first and real accidents, and would fain 
 persuade ourselves that they are truly 
 and in fact distinct. But I do not be- 
 lieve that there exists any thing in ex- 
 ternal bodies for exciting tastes, smells, 
 and sounds, but size, shape, quantity, 
 and motion, swift or slow ; and if ears, 
 tongues, and noses were removed, I am 
 of opinion that shape, number, and 
 motion would remain, but there would 
 be an end of smells, tastes, and sounds, 
 which, abstractedly from the living 
 creature, I take to be mere words." 
 
 In the spring following the publica- 
 tion of the " Saggiatore," that is to say, 
 about the time of Easter, in 1624, Gali- 
 leo went a third time to Rome to 
 compliment Urban on his elevation to 
 the pontifical chair. He was obliged to 
 make this journey in a litter ; and it ap- 
 pears from his letters that for some 
 years he had been seldom able to bear 
 any other mode of conveyance. In such 
 a state of health it seems unlikely that 
 he would have quitted home on a mere 
 visit of ceremony, which suspicion is 
 strengthened by the beginning of a letter 
 from him to Prince Cesi, dated in Oc- 
 tober, 1 623, in which he says : " I have 
 received the very courteous and prudent 
 advice of your excellency about the 
 time and manner of my going to Rome, 
 and shall act upon it ; and I will visit 
 you at Acqua Sparta, that I may be 
 
54 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 completely informed of the actual state 
 of things at Rome." However this may 
 be, nothing could be more gratifying 
 than his public reception there. His 
 stay in Rome did not exceed two months, 
 (from the beginning of April till June,) 
 and during that time he was admitted 
 to six long and satisfactory interviews 
 with the Pope, and on his departure re- 
 ceived the promise of a pension for his 
 son Vincenzo, and was himself presented 
 with " a fine painting, two medals, one 
 of gold and the other of silver, and a 
 good quantity of agnus dei." He had 
 also much communication with several 
 of the cardinals, one of whom, Cardi- 
 nal Hohenzoller, told him that he had 
 represented to the pope on the subject 
 of Copernicus, that " all the heretics 
 were of that opinion, and considered it 
 as undoubted ; and that it would be 
 necessary to be very circumspect in 
 coming to any resolution : to which his 
 holiness replied, that the church had 
 not condemned it, nor was it to be con- 
 demned as heretical, but only as rash ; 
 adding, that there was no fear of any 
 one undertaking to prove that it must 
 necessarily be true. " Urban also ad- 
 dressed a letter to Ferdinand, who had 
 succeeded his father Cosmo as Grand 
 Duke of Tuscany, expressly for the pur- 
 pose of recommending Galileo to him. 
 " For We find in him not only literary 
 distinction, but also the love of piety, 
 and he is strong in those qualities by 
 which pontifical good- will is easily ob- 
 tained. And now, when he has been 
 brought to this city to congratulate Us 
 on Our elevation, We have very lovingly 
 embraced him; nor can We suffer 
 him to return to the country whither 
 your liberality recalls him without an 
 ample provision of pontifical love. And 
 that you may know how dear he is to 
 Us, We have willed to give him this 
 honourable testimonial of virtue and 
 piety. And We further signify that every 
 benefit which you shall confer upon 
 him, imitating, or even surpassing your 
 father's liberality, will conduce to Our 
 gratification." Honoured with these un- 
 equivocal marks of approbation, Galileo 
 returned to Florence. 
 
 His son Vincenzo is soon afterwards 
 spoken of as being at Rome ; and it is 
 not improbable that Galileo sent him 
 thither on the appointment of his friend 
 and pupil, the Abbe Castelli, to be 
 mathematician to the pope. Vincenzo 
 had been legitimated by an edict of 
 Cosmo in 1619, and, according to Nelli, 
 
 married, in 1624, Sestilia, the daughter 
 of Carlo Bocchineri. There are no 
 traces to be found of Vincenzo' s mother 
 after 1610, and perhaps she died about 
 that time. Galileo's family by her con- 
 sisted of Vincenzo and two daughters, 
 Julia and Polissena, who both took the 
 veil in the convent of Saint Matthew 
 at Arcetri, under the names of Sister 
 Arcangiola and Sister Maria Celeste. 
 The latter is said to have possessed 
 extraordinary talents. The date of Vin- 
 cenzo's marriage, as given by Nelli, 
 appears somewhat inconsistent with the 
 correspondence between Galileo and 
 Castelli, in which, so late as 1629, 
 Galileo is apparently writing of his son 
 as a student under Castelli's superin- 
 tendence, and intimates the amount of 
 pocket-money he can afford to allow 
 him, which he fixes at three crowns a 
 month; adding, that "he ought to be 
 contented with as many crowns, as, at 
 his age, I possessed groats." Castelli 
 had given but an unfavourable account 
 of Vincenzo's conduct, characterizing 
 him as " dissolute, obstinate, and im- 
 pudent ;" in consequence of which be- 
 haviour, Galileo seems to have thought 
 that the pension of sixty crowns, which 
 had been granted by the pope, might be 
 turned to better account than by em- 
 ploying it on his son's education ; and 
 accordingly in his reply he requested 
 Castelli to dispose of it, observing that 
 the proceeds would be useful in assisting 
 him to discharge a great load of debt 
 with which he found himself saddled on 
 account of his brother's family. Besides 
 this pension, another of one hundred 
 crowns was in a few years granted by 
 Urban to Galileo himself, but it appears 
 to have been very irregularly paid, if at 
 all. 
 
 About the same time Galileo found 
 himself menaced either with the de- 
 privation of his stipend as extraordi- 
 nary professor at Pisa, or with the loss 
 of that leisure which, on his removal 
 to Florence, he had been so anxious 
 to secure. In 1629, the question was 
 agitated by the party opposed to him, 
 whether it were in the power of the 
 grand duke to assign a pension out of 
 the funds of the University, arising 
 out of ecclesiastical dues, to one who 
 neither lectured nor resided there. This 
 scruple had slept during nineteen years 
 which had elapsed since Galileo's esta- 
 blishment in Florence, but probably 
 those who now raised it reckoned upon 
 finding in Ferdinand II., then scarcely 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 55 
 
 of age, a less firm supporter of Galileo 
 than his father Cosmo had been. But 
 the matler did not proceed so far ; for, 
 after full deliberation, the prevalent 
 opinion of the theologians and jurists 
 who were consulted appeared to be in 
 favour of this exercise of prerogative, 
 and accordingly Galileo retained his sti- 
 pend and privileges. 
 
 Chapter, XIII. 
 
 Publication of Galileo's * Si/stem of the 
 World' His Condemnation and Ab- 
 juration. 
 
 In the year 1630, Galileo brought to its 
 conclusion his great work, "The Dia- 
 logue on the Ptolemaic and Copernican 
 Systems," and began to take the neces- 
 sary steps for procuring permission to 
 print it. This was to be obtained in the 
 first instance from an officer at Rome, 
 entitled the master of the sacred palace ; 
 and after a little negotiation Galileo 
 found it would be necessary for him 
 again to return thither, as his enemies 
 were still busy in thwarting his views 
 and wishes. Niccolo Riccardi, who at 
 that time filled the office of master of 
 the palace, had been a pupil of Galileo, 
 and was well disposed to facilitate his 
 plans ; he pointed out, however, some 
 expressions in the work which he 
 thought it necessary to erase, and, 
 with the understanding that this should 
 be done, he returned the manuscript to 
 Galileo with his subscribed approbation. 
 The unhealthy season was drawing near, 
 and Galileo, unwilling to face it, re- 
 turned home, where he intended to com- 
 plete the index and dedication, and then 
 to send it back to Rome to be printed 
 in that city, under the superintendence 
 of Federigo Cesi. This plan was discon- 
 certed by the premature death of that 
 accomplished nobleman, in August 1630, 
 in whom Galileo lost one of his steadiest 
 and most effective friends and pro- 
 tectors. This unfortunate event de- 
 termined Galileo to attempt to procure 
 permission to print his book at Florence. 
 A contagious disorder had broken out 
 in Tuscany with such severity as almost 
 to interrupt all communication between 
 Florence and Rome, and this was urged 
 by Galileo as an additional reason for 
 granting his request. Riccardi at first 
 seemed inclined to insist that the book 
 should be sent to him a second time, 
 but at last contented himself with in- 
 specting the commencement and conclu- 
 sion, and consented that (on its receiving 
 also a license from the inquisitor- 
 
 general 'at Florence, and from one or 
 two others whose names appear on the 
 title-page) it might be printed where 
 Galileo wished. 
 
 These protracted negotiations pre- 
 vented the publication of the work till 
 late in 1632; it then appeared, with a 
 dedication to Ferdinand, under the fol- 
 lowing title : " A Dialogue, by Galileo 
 Galilei, Extraordinary Mathematician 
 of the University of Pisa, and Principal 
 Philosopher and Mathematician of the 
 Most Serene Grand Duke of Tuscany; 
 in which, in a conversation of four days, 
 are discussed the two principal Systems 
 of the World, the Ptolemaic and Co- 
 pernican, indeterminately proposing the 
 Philosophical Arguments as well on 
 one side as on the other." The begin- 
 ning of the introduction, which is ad- 
 dressed "To the discreet Reader," is 
 much too characteristic to be passed by 
 without notice. " Some years ago, a 
 salutary edict was promulgated at 
 Rome, which, in order to obviate the 
 perilous scandals of the present age, 
 enjoined an opportune silence on the Py- 
 thagorean opinion of the earth's motion. 
 Some were not wanting, who rashly as- 
 serted that this decree originated, not in 
 a judicious examination, but in ill in- 
 formed passion; and complaints were 
 heard that counsellors totally inexpe- 
 rienced in astronomical observations 
 ought not by hasty prohibitions to clip 
 the wings of speculative minds. My 
 zeal could not keep silence when I heard 
 these rash lamentations, and I thought 
 it proper, as being fully informed with 
 regard to that most prudent determi- 
 nation, to appear publicly on the theatre 
 of the world as a witness of the actual 
 truth. I happened at that time to be 
 in Rome : 1 was admitted to the au- 
 diences, and enjoyed the approbation of 
 the most eminent prelates of that court, 
 nor did the publication of that decree 
 occur without my receiving some prior 
 intimation of it.* Wherefore it is my 
 intention in this present work, to show 
 to foreign nations that as much is 
 known of this matter in Italy, and par- 
 ticularly in Rome, as ultramontane 
 diligence can ever have formed any 
 notion of, and collecting together all my 
 own speculations on the Copernican 
 system, to give them to understand that 
 the knowledge of all these preceded the 
 Roman censures, and that from this 
 
 * Delambre quotes this sentence from a passage 
 which is so obviously ironical throughout, as an in- 
 stance of Galileo's mis-statement of facts ! Hht. 
 de I'Astr. Mod., vol. i. p. 666. 
 
56 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 country proceed not only dogmas for 
 the salvation of the soul, but also inge- 
 nious discoveries for the gratification of 
 the understanding. With this object, I 
 have taken up in the Dialogue the Co- 
 pernican side of the question, treating it 
 as a pure mathematical hypothesis ; 
 and endeavouring in every artificial 
 manner to represent it as having the 
 advantage, not over the opinion of the 
 stability of the earth absolutely, but 
 according to the manner in which that 
 opinion is defended by some, who in- 
 deed profess to be Peripatetics, but re- 
 tain only the name, and are contented 
 without improvement to worship sha- 
 dows, not philosophizing with their own 
 reason, but only from the recollection of 
 four principles imperfectly understood." 
 This very flimsy veil could scarcely 
 blind any one as to Galileo's real views 
 in composing this work, nor does it 
 seem probable that he framed it with 
 any expectation of appearing neutral in 
 the discussion. It is more likely that he 
 flattered himself that, under the new go- 
 vernment at Rome, he was not likely to 
 be molested on account of the personal 
 prohibition which he had received in 
 16 1C, "not to believe or teach the motion 
 'of the earth in any manner," provided 
 he kept himself within the letter of the 
 limits of the more public and general 
 order, that the Copernican system was 
 not to be brought forward otherwise 
 than as a mere mathematically conve- 
 nient, but in fact unreal supposition. 
 So long as this decree remained in force, 
 a due regard to consistency would com- 
 pel the Roman Inquisitors to notice an 
 unequivocal violation of it ; and this is 
 probably what Urban had implied in the 
 remark quoted by Hohenzoller to Gali- 
 leo.* There w r ere not wanting circum- 
 stances which might compensate for the 
 loss of Cosmo and of Federigo Cesi ; 
 Cosmo had been succeeded by his 
 son, who, though he had not yet at- 
 tained his father's energy, showed him- 
 self as friendly as possible to Galileo. 
 Cardinal Bellarmine, who had been 
 mainly instrumental in procuring the 
 decree of 1 6 1 6, was dead ; Urban on the 
 contrary, who had been among the few 
 Cardinals who then opposed it as un- 
 called for and ill-advised, was now pos- 
 sessed of supreme power, and his recent 
 affability seemed to prove that the in- 
 creased difference in their stations had 
 not caused him to forget their early and 
 long-continued intimacy. It is probable 
 that Galileo would not ha ve found him- 
 
 * Page 54. 
 
 self mistaken in this estimate of his 
 position, but for an unlucky circum- 
 stance, of which his enemies imme- 
 diately saw the importance, and which 
 they were not slow in making available 
 against him. The dialogue of Galileo's 
 work is conducted between three per- 
 sonages ; Salviati and Sagredo, who 
 were two noblemen, friends of Galileo, 
 and Simplicio, a name borrowed from a 
 noted commentator upon Aristotle, who 
 wrote in the sixth century. Salviati is 
 the principal philosopher of the work ; it 
 is to him that the others apply for solu- 
 tions of their doubts and difficulties, and 
 on him the principal task falls of ex- 
 plaining the tenets of the Copernican 
 theory. Sagredo is only a half convert, 
 but an acute and ingenious one ; to him 
 are allotted the objections which seem 
 to have some real difficulty in them, as 
 well as lively illustrations and digres- 
 sions, which might have been thought 
 inconsistent with the gravity of Salviati' s 
 character. Simplicio, though candid 
 and modest, is of course a confirmed 
 Ptolemaist and Aristotelian, and is ma(Je 
 to produce successively all the popular 
 arguments of that school in support of 
 his master's system. Placed between 
 the. wit and the philosopher, it may be 
 guessed that his success is very indiffer- 
 ent, and in fact he is alternately ridi- 
 culed and confuted at every turn. As 
 Galileo racked his memory and inven- 
 tion to leave unanswered no argument 
 which was or could be advanced against 
 Copernicus, it unfortunately happened, 
 that he introduced some which Urban 
 himself had urged upon him in their 
 former controversies on this subject ; 
 and Galileo's opponents found means 
 to make His Holiness believe that 
 the character of Simplicio had been 
 sketched in personal derision of him. 
 We do not think it necessary to exone- 
 rate Galileo from this charge ; the ob- 
 vious folly of such an useless piece of 
 ingratitude speaks sufficiently for itself. 
 But self-love is easily irritated ; and 
 Urban, who aspired to a reputation for 
 literature and science, was peculiarly sen- 
 sitive on this point. His own expres- 
 sions almost prove his belief that such 
 had been Galileo's design, and it seems 
 to explain the otherwise inexplicable 
 change which took place in his conduct 
 towards his old friend, on account of a 
 book which he had himself undertaken 
 to examine, and of which he had autho- 
 rised the publication. 
 
 One of the earliest notices of what was 
 approaching, is found in the dispatches, 
 
.GALILEO. 
 
 57 
 
 dated August 24, 1 632, from Ferdinand's 
 minister, Andrea Cioli, to Francesco 
 Nicolini, the Tuscan ambassador at the 
 court of Rome. 
 
 " I have orders to signify to Your Excel- 
 lency that His Highness remains greatly 
 astonished that a book, placed by the au- 
 thor himself in the hands of the supreme 
 authority in Rome, read and read again 
 there most attentively, and in which every 
 thing, not only with the consent, but at 
 the request of the author, was amended, 
 altered, added, or removed at the will of 
 his superiors, which was again subjected 
 here to the same examination, agreeably 
 to orders from Rome, and which finally 
 was licensed both there and here, and 
 here printed and published, should now 
 become an object of suspicion at the end 
 of two years, and the author and printer 
 be proltibited from publishing any more." 
 In the sequel is intimated Ferdinand's 
 desire that the charges, of whatever 
 nature they might be, either against 
 Galileo or his book, might be reduced 
 to writing and forwarded to Florence, 
 that he might prepare for his justifi- 
 cation ; but this reasonable demand was 
 utterly disregarded. It appears to have 
 been owing to the mean subserviency of 
 Cioli to the court of Rome, that Ferdi- 
 nand refrained from interfering more 
 strenuously to protect Galileo. Cioli's 
 words are : " The Grand Duke is so en- 
 raged with this business of Galileo, that 
 I do not know what will be done. I 
 know, at least, that His Holiness shall 
 have no reason to complain of his mi- 
 nisters, or of their bad advice."* 
 
 A letter from Galileo's Venetian friend 
 Micanzio, dated about a month later, 
 is in rather a bolder and less formal 
 style : " The efforts of your ene- 
 mies to get your book prohibited will 
 occasion no loss either to your reputa- 
 tion, or to the intelligent part of the 
 world. As to posterity, this is just one 
 of the surest ways to hand the book 
 down to them. But what a wretched 
 set this must be to whom every 
 good thing, and all that is founded in 
 nature, necessarily appears hostile and 
 odious ! The world is not restricted to 
 a single corner ; you will see the book 
 printed in more places and languages 
 than one ; and just for this reason, I 
 wish they would prohibit all good books. 
 My disgust arises from seeing myself 
 deprived of what I most desire of this 
 sort, I mean your other dialogues ; and 
 if, from this cause, I fail in having the 
 
 * Galuzzi. Storia di Toscana. Firenze, 1822. 
 
 pleasure of seeing them, I shall devote 
 to a hundred thousand devils these un- 
 natural and godless hypocrites." 
 
 At the same time, Thomas Campanella, 
 a monk, who had already distinguished 
 himself by an apology for Galileo (pub- 
 lished in 1622), wrote to him from 
 Rome : " I learn with the greatest 
 disgust, that a congregation of angry 
 theologians is forming to condemn 
 your Dialogues, and that no single 
 member of it has any knowledge of ma- 
 thematics, or familiarity with abstruse 
 speculations. I should advise you to 
 procure a request from the Grand Duke 
 that, among the Dominicans and Je- 
 suits and Theatins, and secular priests 
 whom they are putting on this congre- 
 gation against your book, they should 
 admit also Castelli and myself." It 
 appears, from subsequent letters both 
 from Campanella and Castelli, that 
 the required letter was procured and 
 sent to Rome, but it was not thought 
 prudent to irritate the opposite party 
 by a request which it was then clearly 
 seen would have been made in vain. 
 Not only were these friends of Gali- 
 leo not admitted to the congrega- 
 tion, but, upon some pretext, Castelli 
 was even sent away from Rome, as if 
 Galileo's enemies desired to have as few 
 enlightened witnesses as possible of 
 their proceedings ; and on the contrary, 
 Scipio Chiaramonte, who had been long- 
 known for one of the staunchest and 
 most bigoted defenders of the old sys- 
 tem, and who, as Montucla says, seems 
 to have spent a long life in nothing but 
 retarding, as far as he was able, the 
 progress of discovery, was summoned 
 from Pisa to complete their number. 
 From this period we have a tolerably 
 continuous account of the proceedings 
 against Galileo in the dispatches which 
 Nicolini sent regularly to his court. 
 It appears from them that Nicolini 
 had several interviews with the Pope, 
 whom he found highly incensed against 
 Galileo, and in one of the earliest he re- 
 ceived an intimation to advise the Duke 
 " not to engage himself in this matter 
 as he had done in the other business of 
 Alidosi,* because he would not get 
 through it with honour." Finding 
 Urban in this humour, Nicolini thought 
 it best to temporize, and to avoid the 
 appearance of any thing like direct op- 
 position. On the 15th of September, 
 probably as soon as the first report on 
 
 * Alidosi was a Florentine nobleman, whose estate 
 Urban wished to confiscate on a charge of heresy.-* 
 Galuzzi. 
 
58 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Galileo's book had been made, Nicolini 
 received a private notice from the Pope, 
 "in especial token of the esteem in 
 which he held the Grand Duke," that he 
 was unable to do less than consign the 
 work to the consideration of the Inqui- 
 sition. Nicolini was permitted to com- 
 municate this to the Grand Duke only, 
 and both were declared liable to " the 
 usual censures" of the Inquisition in case 
 of divulging the secret. 
 
 The next step was to summon Galileo 
 to Rome, and the only answer returned to 
 all Nicolini's representations of his ad- 
 vanced age of seventy years, the very in- 
 firm state of his health, and the discom- 
 forts which he must necessarily suffer in 
 such a journey, and in keeping quaran- 
 tine, was that he might come at leisure, 
 and that the quarantine should be relaxed 
 as much as possible in his favour, but 
 that it was indispensably necessary that 
 he should be personally examined before 
 the Inquisition at Rome. Accordingly, 
 on the 14th of February, 1633, Nicolini 
 announces Galileo's arrival, and that he 
 had officially notified his presence to the 
 Assessor and Commissary of the Holy 
 Office. Cardinal Barberino, Urban's 
 nephew, who seems on the whole to 
 have acted a friendly part towards 
 Galileo, intimated to him that his most 
 prudent course would be to keep him- 
 self as much at home and as quiet as 
 possible, and to refuse to see any but 
 his most intimate friends. With this 
 advice, which was repeated to him from 
 several quarters, Galileo thought it best 
 to comply, and kept himself entirely se- 
 cluded in Nicolini's palace, where he was 
 as usual maintained at the expense of 
 the Grand Duke. Nelli quotes two let- 
 ters, which passed between Ferdinand's 
 minister Cioli and Nicolini, in which 
 the former intimated that Galileo's ex- 
 penses were to be defrayed only during 
 the first month of his residence at 
 Rome. Nicolini returned a spirited 
 answer, that in that case, after the time 
 specified, he should continue to treat 
 him as before at his own private cost. 
 
 The permission to reside at the am- 
 bassador's palace whilst his cause was 
 pending, was granted and received as an 
 extraordinary indulgence on the part of 
 the Inquisition, and indeed if we es- 
 timate the proceedings throughout 
 against Galileo by the usual practice of 
 that detestable tribunal, it will appear 
 that he was treated with unusual consi- 
 deration. Even when it became neces- 
 sary in the course of the inquiry to 
 examine him in person, which was in 
 the beginning of April, although his re- 
 
 moval to the Holy Office was then in- 
 sisted upon, yet he was not committed 
 to close or strictly solitary confinement. 
 On the contrary, he was honourably 
 lodged in the apartments of the Fiscal 
 of the Inquisition, where he was allowed 
 the attendance of his own servant, who 
 was also permitted to sleep in an adjoin- 
 ingroom,andto come and go at pleasure. 
 His table was still furnished by Nicolini. 
 But, notwithstanding the distinction with 
 which he was thus treated, Galileo was 
 annoyed and uneasy at being (though 
 little more than nominally) within the 
 walls of the Inquisition. He became 
 exceedingly anxious that the matter 
 should be brought to a conclusion, and 
 a severe attack of his constitutional 
 complaints rendered him still more fret- 
 ful and impatient. On the last day of 
 April, about ten days after his hirst ex- 
 amination, he was unexpectedly per- 
 mitted to return to Nicolini's house, 
 although the proceedings were yet far 
 from being brought to a conclusion. 
 Nicolini attributes this favour to Cardi- 
 nal Barberino, who, he says, liberated 
 Galileo on his own responsibility, in 
 consideration of the enfeebled state of 
 his health. 
 
 In the society of Nicolini and his 
 family, Galileo recovered something of 
 his courage and ordinary cheerful- 
 ness, although his return appears to 
 have been permitted on express condi- 
 tion of a strict seclusion ; for at the 
 latter end of May, Nicolini was obliged 
 to apply for permission that Galileo 
 should take that exercise in the open 
 air which was necessary for his health ; 
 on which occasion he was permitted to 
 go into the public gardens in a half- 
 closed carriage. 
 
 On the evening of the 20th of June, 
 rather more than four months after 
 Galileo's arrival in Rome, he was again 
 summoned to the Holy Office, whither 
 he went the following morning ; he was 
 detained there during the whole of 
 that day, and on the next day was 
 conducted in a penitential dress * to 
 the Convent of Minerva, where the 
 Cardinals and Prelates, his judges, 
 were assembled for the purpose of 
 passing judgment upon him, by which 
 this venerable old man was solemnly 
 called upon to renounce and ab- 
 jure, as impious and heretical, the opi- 
 nions which his whole existence had 
 been consecrated to form and strengthen. 
 
 * S' irrito il Papa, e lo fece abjurare, comparendo 
 il pover uomo con uno straccio di camicia indosso, 
 che faceva compassione, MS. nella Bibl. Magliab. 
 Venturi. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 59 
 
 As we are not aware that this remark- 
 able record of intolerance and bigoted 
 folly has ever been printed entire in Eng- 
 lish, we subjoin a literal translation of 
 the whole sentence and abjuration. 
 
 The Sentence of the Inquisition on 
 Galileo. 
 " We, the undersigned, by the Grace of 
 God, Cardinals of the Holy Roman 
 Church, Inquisitors General through- 
 out the whole Christian Republic, Spe- 
 cial Deputies of the Holy Apostolical 
 Chair against heretical depravity, 
 
 " Whereas you, Galileo, son of the late 
 Vincenzo Galilei of Florence, aged seven- 
 ty years, were denounced in 1615 to this 
 Holy Office, for holding as true a false 
 doctrine taught by many, namely, that 
 the sun is immoveable in the centre of 
 the world, and that the earth moves, and 
 also with a diurnal motion; also, for 
 having pupils whom you instructed in 
 the same opinions ; also, for maintain- 
 ing a correspondence on the same with 
 some German mathematicians ; also 
 for publishing certain letters on the 
 solar spots, in which you developed the 
 same doctrine as true ; also, for an- 
 swering the objections which were con- 
 tinually produced from the Holy Scrip- 
 tures, by glozing the said Scriptures 
 according to your own meaning; and 
 whereas thereupon was produced the 
 copy of a writing, in form of a letter, 
 professedly written by you to a person 
 formerly your pupil, in which, follow- 
 ing the hypotheses of Copernicus, you 
 include several propositions contrary to 
 the true sense and authority of the Holy 
 Scripture : therefore this holy tribunal 
 being desirous of providing against the 
 disorder and mischief which was thence 
 proceeding and increasing to the detri- 
 ment of the holy faith, by the desire of 
 His Holiness, and of the Most Eminent 
 Lords Cardinals of this supreme and 
 universal Inquisition, the two proposi- 
 tions of the stability of the sun, and 
 motion of the earth, were qualified by 
 the Theological Qualifiers as follows : 
 
 " 1*/. The proposition that the Sun is 
 in the centre of the world and immove- 
 able from its place, is absurd, philoso- 
 phically false, and formally heretical; 
 because it in expressly contrary to the 
 Holy Scripture. 
 
 " Idly. The proposition that the Earth 
 is not the centre of the world, nor im- 
 moveable, but that it moves, and also 
 with a diurnal motion, is also absurd, 
 philosophically false, and, theologically 
 considered, at least erroneous in faith. 
 
 " But whereas being pleased at that 
 time to deal mildly with you, it was de- 
 creed in the Holy Congregation, held 
 before His Holiness on the 25th day of 
 February, 1616, that His Eminence the 
 Lord Cardinal Bellarmine should enjoin 
 you to give up altogether the said false 
 doctrine ; if you should refuse, that you 
 should be ordered by the Commissary of 
 the Holy Office to relinquish it, not to 
 teach it to others, nor to defend it, nor 
 ever mention it, and in default of ac- 
 quiescence that you should be im- 
 prisoned ; and in execution of this de- 
 cree, on the following day at the pa- 
 lace, in presence of His Eminence the 
 said Lord Cardinal Bellarmine, after 
 you had been mildly admonished by the 
 said Lord Cardinal, you were com- 
 manded by the acting Commissary of the 
 Holy Office, before a notary and wit- 
 nesses, to relinquish altogether the said 
 false opinion, and in future neither to 
 defend nor teach it in any manner, nei- 
 ther verbally nor in writing, and upon 
 your promising obedience you were dis- 
 missed. 
 
 " And in order that so pernicious a 
 doctrine might be altogether rooted 
 out, nor insinuate itself farther to the 
 heavy detriment of the Catholic truth, a 
 decree emanated from the Holy Congre- 
 gation of the Index* prohibiting the 
 books which treat of this doctrine ; and 
 it was declared false, and altogether con- 
 trary to the Holy and Divine Scripture, j 
 
 " And whereas a book has since ap- 
 peared, published at Florence last year, 
 the title of which shewed that you were 
 the author, which title is : The Dialogue 
 of Galileo Galilei, on the two principal 
 systems of the world, the Ptolemaic and 
 Copernican ; and whereas the Holy 
 Congregation has heard that, in conse- 
 quence of the printing of the said book, 
 the false opinion of the earth's motion 
 and stability of the sun is daily gaining 
 ground ; the said book has been taken 
 into careful consideration, and in it has 
 been detected a glaring violation of the 
 said order, which had been intimated to 
 you ; inasmuch as in this book you have 
 
 * The Index is a list of books, the reading of 
 which is prohibited to Roman Catholics. This list, 
 in the early periods of the Reformation, was often 
 consulted by the curious, who were enlarging their 
 libraries; and a story is current in England, that, to 
 prevent this mischief, the Index itself was inserted 
 in its own forbidden catalogue. The origin of this 
 story is, that an Index was published in Spain, par- 
 ticularizing the objectionable passages in such books 
 as were only partially condemned ; and although 
 compiled with the best intentions, this was found to 
 be so racy, that it became necessary to forbid the 
 circulation of this edition in subsequent lists. 
 
60 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 defended the "said opinion, already and 
 in your presence condemned ; although 
 in the said book you labour with many 
 circumlocutions to induce the belief that 
 it is left by you undecided, and in ex- 
 press terms probable : which is equally 
 a very grave error, since an opinion can 
 in no way be probable which has been 
 already declared and finally determined 
 contrary to the divine Scripture. There- 
 fore by Our order you have been cited to 
 this Holy Office, where, on your exami- 
 nation upon oath, you have acknow- 
 ledged the said book as written and 
 printed by you. You also confessed 
 that you began to write the said book 
 ten or twelve years ago, after the order 
 aforesaid had been given. Also, that 
 you demanded license to publish it, but 
 without signifying to those who granted 
 you this permission that you had been 
 commanded not to hold, defend, or teach 
 the said doctrine in any manner. You 
 also confessed that the style of the said 
 book was, in many places, so composed 
 that the reader might think the argu- 
 ments adduced on the false side to be so 
 worded as more effectually to entangle 
 the understanding than to be easily 
 solved, alleging in excuse, that you have 
 thus run into an error, foreign (as you 
 say) to your intention, from writing in 
 the form of a dialogue, and in conse- 
 quence of the natural complacency 
 which every one feels with regard to his 
 own subtilties, and in showing himself 
 more skilful than the generality of man- 
 kind in contriving, even in favour of 
 false propositions, ingenious and appa- 
 rently probable arguments. 
 
 " And, upon a convenient time being 
 given to you for making your defence, 
 you produced a certificate in the hand- 
 writing of His Eminence the Lord^Car- 
 dinalBellarmine, procured, as you said, 
 by yourself, that you might defend 
 yourself against the calumnies of your 
 enemies, who reported that you had ab- 
 jured your opinions, and had been pun- 
 ished by the Holy Office ; in which cer- 
 tificate 'it is declared, that you had not 
 abjured, nor had been punished, but 
 merely that the declaration made by 
 His Holiness, and promulgated by the 
 Holy Congregation of the Index, had 
 been announced to you, which de- 
 clares that the opinion of the motion of 
 the earth, and stability of the sun, is 
 contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and, 
 therefore, cannot be held or defended. 
 Wherefore, since no mention is there 
 made of two articles of the order, to wit, 
 
 the order ' not to teach,' and * in any 
 manner, 1 you argued that we ought to 
 believe that, in the lapse of fourteen or 
 sixteen years, they had escaped your 
 memory, and that this was also the rea- 
 son why you were silent as to the order, 
 when you sought permission to publish 
 your book, and that this is said by you 
 not to excuse your error, but that it 
 may be attributed to vain-glorious am- 
 bition, rather than to malice. But this 
 very certificate, produced on your behalf, 
 has greatly aggravated your offence, 
 since it is therein declared that the said 
 opinion is contrary to the Holy Scripture, 
 and yet you have dared to treat of it, 
 to defend it, and to argue that it is 
 probable ; nor is there any extenuation 
 in the licence artfully and cunningly 
 extorted by you, since you did not inti- 
 mate the command imposed upon you. 
 But whereas it appeared to Us that you 
 had not disclosed the whole truth with 
 regard to your intentions, We thought it 
 necessary to proceed to the rigorous exa- 
 mination of you, in which (without any 
 prejudice to what you had confessed, 
 and which is above detailed against you, 
 with regard to your said intention) you 
 answered like a good Catholic. 
 
 " Therefore, having seen and maturely 
 considered the merits of your cause, 
 with your said confessions and excuses, 
 and every thing else which ought to be 
 seen and considered, We have come to 
 the underwritten final sentence against 
 you. 
 
 " Invoking, therefore, the most holy 
 name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and of 
 His Most Glorious Virgin Mother 
 Mary, by this Our final sentence, which, 
 sitting in council and judgment for the 
 tribunal of the Reverend Masters of 
 Sacred Theology, and Doctors of both 
 Laws, Our Assessors, We put forth in 
 this writing touching the matters and 
 controversies before Us, between The 
 Magnificent Charles Sincerus, Doctor 
 of both Laws, Fiscal Proctor of this 
 Holy Office of the one part, and you, 
 Galileo Galilei, an examined and con- 
 fessed criminal from this present writing 
 now in progress as above of the other 
 part, We pronounce, judge, and declare, 
 that you, the said Galileo, by reason of 
 these things which have been detailed 
 in the course of this writing, and which, 
 as above, you have confessed, have 
 rendered yourself vehemently suspected 
 by this Holy Office of heresy : that is 
 to say, that you believe and hold the 
 false doctrine, and contrary to the Holy 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 
 and Divine Scriptures, namely, that the 
 sun is the centre of the world, and 
 that it does not move from east to west, 
 and that the earth does move, and is not 
 the centre of the world ; also that an 
 opinion can be held and supported as 
 probable after it has been declared and 
 finally decreed contrary to the Holy 
 Scripture, and consequently that you 
 have incurred all the censures and pe- 
 nalties enjoined and promulgated in the 
 sacred canons, and other general: and 
 particular constitutions against delin- 
 quents of this description. From which 
 it is Our pleasure that you be absolved, 
 provided that, first, with a sincere heart 
 and unfeigned faith, in Our presence, 
 you abjure, curse, and detest the said 
 errors and heresies, and every other 
 error and heresy contrary to the Ca- 
 tholic and Apostolic Church of Rome, 
 in the form now shown to you. 
 
 " But, that your grievous and per- 
 nicious error and transgression may 
 not go altogether unpunished, and that 
 you may be made more cautious in 
 future, and may be a warning to others 
 to abstain from delinquencies of this 
 sort, We decree that the book of the 
 dialogues of Galileo Galilei be prohibited 
 by a public edict, and We condemn you 
 to the formal prison of this Holy Office 
 for a period determinable at Our plea- 
 sure ; and, by way of salutary penance, 
 We order you, during the next three 
 years, to recite once a week the seven 
 penitential psalms, reserving to Our- 
 selves the power of moderating, com- 
 muting, or taking off the whole or part 
 of the said punishment and penance. 
 
 " And so We say, pronounce, and by 
 Our sentence declare, decree, and re- 
 serve, in this and in every other better 
 form and manner, which lawfully We 
 may and can use. 
 
 " So We, the subscribing Cardinals, 
 pronounce. 
 
 Felix, Cardinal di Ascoli, 
 Guido, Cardinal Bentivoglio, 
 Desiderio, Cardinal di Cremona, 
 Antonio, Cardinal S. Onofrio, 
 Berlingero, Cardinal Gessi, 
 Fabricio, Cardinal Verospi, 
 Martino, Cardinal Ginetti." 
 We cannot suppose that Galileo, even 
 broken down as he was with age and 
 infirmities, and overawed by the merci- 
 less tribunal to \vhose power he was 
 subjected, could without extreme reluc- 
 tance thus formally give the lie to his 
 whole life, and call upon God to witness 
 his renunciation of the opinions which 
 
 even his bigoted judges must, have fcl 
 that he still clung to in his heart. 
 
 We know indeed that his friend 
 were unanimous in recommending- 
 unqualified acquiescence in whate 
 might be required, but some persons 
 have not been able to find an ade- 
 quate explanation of his submission, 
 either in their exhortations, or in the 
 mere dread of the alternative which 
 might await him in case of non-com- 
 pliance. It has in short been supposed, 
 although the suspicion scarcely rests 
 upon grounds sufficiently strong to war- 
 rant the assertion, that Galileo did not 
 submit to this abjuration until forced 
 to it, not merely by the apprehension, 
 but by the actual experience of personal 
 violence. The arguments on which this 
 horrible idea appears to be mainly 
 founded are the two following : First, the 
 Inquisitors declare in their sentence 
 that, not satisfied with Galileo's first 
 confession, they judged it necessary to 
 proceed ** to the rigorous examination 
 of him, in which he answered like a good 
 Catholic.*" It is pretended by those 
 who are more familiar with inquisitorial 
 language than we can profess to be, that 
 the words il rigoroso esame, form the 
 official phrase for the application of the 
 torture, and accordingly they interpret 
 this passage to mean, that the desired 
 answers and submission had thus been 
 extorted from Galileo, which his judges 
 had otherwise failed to get from him. 
 And, secondly, the partisans of this opi- 
 nion bring forward in corroboration of 
 it, that Galileo immediately on his de- 
 parture from Rome, in addition to his 
 old complaints, was found to be afflicted 
 with hernia, and this was a common con- 
 sequence of the torture of the cord, which 
 they suppose to have been inflicted. It 
 is right to mention that no other trace 
 can be found of this supposed torturing 
 in all the documents relative to the 
 proceedings against Galileo, at least 
 Venturi was so assured by one who had 
 inspected the originals at Paris.t 
 
 * Giudicassimo esser necessario venir contro di 
 te al rigoroso esame n el quale rispondesti cattolica- 
 mente. 
 
 f The fate of these documents is curious ; after 
 being long preserved at Rome, they were, carried 
 away in 1809, by order of Buonaparte, to Paris, 
 where they remained till his first abdication. Just 
 before the hundred days, the late king of France, 
 wishing to inspect them, ordered that they should be 
 brought to his own apartments for that purpose. In 
 the hasty flight which soon afterwards followed, the 
 manuscripts were forgotten, and it is not known 
 what became of them. A French translation, begun 
 by Napoleon's desire, was completed only down to 
 the 30th of April, 1633, the date of Galileo's first re- 
 turn to Nicolini's palace. 
 
62 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Although the arguments we have 
 mentioned appear to us slight, yet nei- 
 ther can we attach much importance to 
 the contrast which the favourers of the 
 opposite opinion profess to consider so in- 
 credible between the honourable manner 
 in which Galileo was treated throughout 
 the rest of the inquiry, and the suspected 
 harsh proceeding against him. Whe- 
 ther Galileo should be lodged in a pri- 
 son or a palace, was a matter of far 
 other importance to the Inquisitors and 
 to their hold upon public opinion, than 
 the question whether or not he should 
 be suffered to exhibit a persevering 
 resistance to the censures which they 
 were prepared to cast upon him. Nor 
 need we shrink from the idea, as we 
 might from suspecting of some gross 
 crime, on trivial grounds, one of hither- 
 to unblemished innocence and charac- 
 ter. The question may be disencum- 
 bered of all such scruples, since one 
 atrocity more or less can do little to- 
 wards affecting our judgment of the 
 unholy Office of the Inquisition. 
 
 Delambre, who could find so much to 
 reprehend in Galileo's former uncom- 
 promising boldness, is deeply penetrated 
 with the insincerity of his behaviour on 
 the present occasion. He seems to 
 have forgotten that a tribunal which 
 finds it convenient to carry on its in- 
 quiries in secret, is always liable to 
 the suspicion of putting words into 
 the mouth of its victims ; and if it were 
 worth while, there is sufficient internal 
 evidence that the language which Galileo 
 is made to hold in his defence and con- 
 fession, is rather to be read as the com- 
 position of his judges than his own. For 
 instance, in one of the letters which we 
 have extracted*, it may be seen that this 
 obnoxious work was already in forw r ard 
 preparation as early as 1610, and yet he 
 is made to confess, and the circumstance 
 appears to be brought forward in aggra- 
 vation of his guilt, that he began to write 
 it after the prohibition which he had re- 
 ceived in 1616. 
 
 The abjuration was drawn up in the 
 following terms : 
 
 The Abjuration of Galileo. 
 
 " I Galileo Galilei, son of the late Vin- 
 cenzo Galilei, of Florence, aged 70 years, 
 being brought personally to j udgment, and 
 kneeling before you, Most Eminent and 
 Most Reverend Lords Cardinals, General 
 Inquisitors of the universal Christian re- 
 
 * Page 18. . 
 
 public against heretical depravity, having 
 before my eyes the Holy Gospels, which 
 I touch with my own hands, swear, that 
 I have always believed, and now believe, 
 and with the help of God will in future 
 beneve, every article which the Holy 
 Catholic and Apostolic Church of Rome 
 holds, teaches, and preaches. But be- 
 cause 1 had been enjoined by this Holy 
 Office altogether to abandon the false 
 opinion which maintains that the sun is 
 the centre and immoveable, and forbid- 
 den to hold, defend, or teach, the said 
 false doctrine in any manner, and after 
 it had been signified to me that the said 
 doctrine is repugnant with the Holy 
 Scripture, I have written and printed a 
 book, in which I treat of the same doc- 
 trine now condemned, and adduce rea- 
 sons with great force in support of the 
 same, without giving any solution, and 
 therefore have been judged grievously 
 suspected of heresy ; that is to say, that 
 I held and believed that the sun is the 
 centre of the world and immoveable, 
 and that the earth is not the centre and 
 moveable, Willing, therefore, to remove 
 from the minds of Your Eminences, 
 and of every Catholic Christian, this ve- 
 hement suspicion rightfully entertained 
 towards me, with a sincere heart and 
 unfeigned faith, I abjure, curse, and de- 
 test, the said errors and .heresies, and 
 generally every other error and sect con- 
 trary to the said Holy Church ; and I 
 swear, that I will never more in future 
 say or assert anything verbally, or in 
 writing, which may give rise to a simi- 
 lar suspicion of me : "but if I shall know 
 any heretic, or any one suspected of 
 heresy, that I will denounce him to this 
 Holy Office, or to the Inquisitor and Or- 
 dinary of the place in which I may be. 
 I swear, moreover, and promise, that I 
 will fulfil, and observe fully, all the 
 penances which have been, or shall be 
 laid on me by this Holy Office. But if 
 it shall happen that I violate any of my 
 said promises, oaths, and protestations, 
 (which God avert !) I subject myself to 
 all the pains and punishments, which 
 have been decreed and promulgated by 
 the sacred canons, and other general 
 and particular constitutions, against de- 
 linquents of tliis description. So may 
 God help me, and his Holy Gospels, 
 which I touch with my own hands. I, 
 the above-named Galileo Galilei, have 
 abjured, sworn, promised, and bound 
 myself, as above, and in witness thereof 
 with my own hand have subscribed this 
 present writing of my abjuration, which 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 63 
 
 I have ! recited word for word. At 
 Rome in the Convent of Minerva, 2 2d 
 June, 1633. I, Galileo Galilei, have ab- 
 jured as above with my own hand." 
 
 It is said that Galileo, as he rose 
 from his knees, stamped on the ground, 
 and whispered to one of his friends, E 
 pur simuove (It does move though). 
 
 Copies of Galileo's sentence and abju- 
 ration were immediately promulgated in 
 every direction, and the professors at 
 several universities received directions to 
 read them publicly. At Florence this 
 ceremony took place in the church of Sta. 
 Croce, whither Guiducci, Aggiunti, and 
 all others who were known in that city 
 as firm adherents to Galileo's opinions, 
 were specially summoned. The triumph 
 of the " Paper Philosophers" was so far 
 complete, and the alarm occasioned by 
 this proof of their dying power extended 
 even beyond Italy. " I have been told," 
 writes Descartes from Holland to Mer- 
 senne at Paris, " that Galileo's system 
 was printed in Italy last year, but that 
 every copy has been burnt at Rome, and 
 himself condemned to some sort of pe- 
 nance, which has astonished me so much 
 that I have almost determined to burn 
 all my papers, or at least never to let 
 them be seen by any one. I cannot col- 
 lect that he, who is an Italian and even 
 a friend of the Pope, as I understand, 
 has been criminated on any other account 
 than for having attempted to establish 
 the motion of the earth. I know that 
 this opinion was formerly censured by 
 some Cardinals, but I thought I had 
 since heard, that no objection was now 
 made to its being publicly taught, even 
 at Rome." 
 
 The sentiments of all who felt them- 
 selves secured against the apprehension 
 of personal danger could take but one 
 direction, for, as Pascal well expressed 
 it in one of his celebrated letters to the 
 Jesuits " It is in vain that you have 
 procured against Galileo a decree from 
 Rome condemning his opinion of the 
 earth's motion. Assuredly, that will 
 never prove it to be at rest ; and if we 
 have unerring observations proving that 
 it turns round, not all mankind toge- 
 ther can keep it from turning, nor them- 
 selves from turning with it.'' 
 
 The assembly of doctors of the Sor- 
 bonne at Paris narrowly escaped from 
 passing a similar sentence upon the 
 system of Copernicus. The question was 
 laid before them by Richelieu, and it ap- 
 pears that their opinion was for a mo- 
 ment in favour of confirming the Roman 
 decree. It is to be wished that the name 
 
 had been preserved of one of its mem- 
 bers, who, by his strong and philoso- 
 phical representations, saved that cele- 
 brated body from this disgrace. 
 
 Those who saw nothing in the punish- 
 ment of Galileo but passion and blinded 
 superstition, took occasion to- revert to 
 the history of a similar blunder of the 
 Court of Rome in the middle of the 
 eighth century. A Bavarian bishop, 
 named Virgil, eminent both as a man of 
 letters and politician, had asserted the 
 existence of Antipodes, which excited in 
 the ignorant bigots of his time no less 
 alarm than did the motion of the earth 
 in the seventeenth century. Pope Za- 
 chary, who was scandalized at the idea 
 of another earth,' inhabited by another 
 race of men, and enlightened by another 
 sun and moon (for this was the shape 
 which Virgil's system assumed in his 
 eyes), sent out positive orders to his le- 
 gate in Bavaria. " With regard to 
 Virgil, the philosopher, (I know not 
 whether to call him priest,) if he own 
 these perverse opinions, strip him of his 
 priesthood, and drive him from the 
 church and altars of God." But Virgil 
 had himself occasionally acted as legate, 
 and was moreover too necessary to his 
 sovereign to be easily displaced. He 
 utterly disregarded these denunciations, 
 and during twenty-five years which 
 elapsed before his death, retained his 
 opinions, his bishopric of Salzburg, and 
 his political power. He was afterwards 
 canonized*. 
 
 Even the most zealous advocates of 
 the authority of Rome were embarrassed 
 in endeavouring to justify the treatment 
 which Galileo experienced. Tiraboschi 
 has attempted to draw a somewhat subtle 
 distinction between the bulls of the Pope 
 and the inquisitorial decrees which were 
 sanctioned and approved by him ; he 
 dwells on the reflection that no one, 
 even among the most zealous Catholics, 
 has ever claimed infallibility as an attri- 
 bute of the Inquisition, and looks upon 
 it as a special mark of grace accorded to 
 the Roman Catholic Church, that during 
 the whole period in which most theolo- 
 gians rejected the opinions of Copernicus, 
 as contrary to the Scriptures, the head of 
 that Church was never permitted to com- 
 promise his infallible character by for- 
 mally condemning it f . 
 
 Whatever may be the value of this 
 
 * Annalium Bolorum, libri vii. Ingolstadii, 1554. 
 
 i La Chiesa non ha mai dichiarati eretici i soste- 
 nitori del Sistema Copernicano, e questa troppo ri- 
 gorosa censura non usci che dal tribunale della 
 Romana Inquisizione a cui niuno tra Cattolici ancor 
 piu zelanti ha mai attribuito U diritto deli' infalli- 
 
64 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 consolation, it can hardly be conceded, 
 unless it be at the same time admitted 
 that many scrupulous members of the 
 Church of Rome have been suffered to 
 remain in singular misapprehension of 
 the nature and sanction of the authority 
 to which Galileo had yielded. The words 
 of the bull of Sixtus V., by which the 
 Congregation of the Index was remo- 
 delled in 1588, are quoted by a pro- 
 fessor of the University of Louvain, 
 a zealous antagonist of Galileo, as fol- 
 lows : " They are to examine and ex- 
 pose the books which are repugnant 
 to the Catholic doctrines and Chris- 
 tian discipline, and after reporting on 
 them to us, they are to condemn them 
 by our authority.*" Nor does it ap- 
 pear ^that the learned editors of what 
 is commonly called the Jesuit's edi- 
 tion of Newton's "Principia" were of 
 opinion, that in adopting the Copernican 
 system they should transgress a mandate 
 emanating from any thing short of infal- 
 lible wisdom. The remarkable words 
 which they were compelled to prefix to 
 their book, show how sensitive the court 
 of Rome remained, even so late as 1742, 
 with regard to this rashly ' condemned 
 theory. In their preface they say : 
 " Newton in this third book supposes the 
 motion of the earth. We could not 
 explain the author's propositions other- 
 wise than by making the same supposi- 
 tion. We are therefore forced to sus- 
 tain a character which is not our own ; 
 but we profess to pay the obsequious 
 reverence which is due to the decrees 
 pronounced by the supreme Pontiffs 
 against the motion of the earth."*}' 
 
 This coy reluctance to admit what 
 nobody any longer doubts has sur- 
 vived to the present time; for Bailli 
 informs \\s,% that the utmost endea- 
 vours of Lalande, when at Rome, to 
 obtain that Galileo's work should be 
 erased from the Index, were entirely in- 
 effectual, in consequence of the decree 
 which had been fulminated against him ; 
 and in fact both it, and the book of 
 Copernicus, " Nisi Corrigatur," are still 
 to be seen on the forbidden list of 1828. 
 
 The condemnation of Galileo and his 
 book was not thought sufficient. Ur- 
 
 bilita. Anzi in cio ancora <T ammirarsi la provi- 
 denza di Dio a favor della Chiesa, percioche in uu 
 tempo in cui la maggior parte dei teologi ferma- 
 mente credavano che il Sistema Copernicano fosse 
 all' autorita delle sacre Carte contrario. pur non 
 permise che dalla Chiesa si proferisse su cio un 
 solenne giudizio. Stor. della Lett. Ital. 
 
 * Lib. Fromondi Antaristarchus, Antwerpise, 1631. 
 
 t Newtoni Principia, Colonise, 1760. 
 
 } Histoire de l'Astronomie Moderne. 
 
 ban's indignation also vented itself upon 
 those who had been instrumental in ob- 
 taining the licence for him. The Inquisi- 
 tor at Florence was reprimanded ; Ric- 
 cardi, the master of the sacred palace, 
 and Ciampoli, Urban's secretary, were 
 both dismissed from their situations. 
 Their punishment appears rather ano- 
 malous and inconsistent with the pro- 
 ceedings against Galileo, in which it was 
 assumed that his book was not properly 
 licensed ; yet the others suffered on 
 account of granting that very licence, 
 which he was accused of having sur- 
 reptitiously obtained from them, by con- 
 cealing circumstances with which they 
 were not bound to be otherwise ac- 
 quainted. Riccardi, in exculpation of 
 his conduct, produced a letter in the 
 hand-writing of Ciampoli, in which was 
 contained that His Holiness, in whose 
 presence the letter professed to be writ- 
 ten, ordered the licence to be given. 
 Urban only replied that this was a 
 Ciampolism ; that his secretary and Ga- 
 lileo had circumvented him ; that he had 
 already dismissed Ciampoli, and that 
 Riccardi must prepare to follow him. 
 
 As soon as the ceremony of abju- 
 ration was concluded, Galileo was con- 
 signed, pursuant to his sentence, to 
 the prison of the Inquisition. Pro- 
 bably it was never intended that he 
 should long remain there, for at the end 
 of four days, he was reconducted on a 
 very slight representation of Nicolini to 
 the ambassador's palace, there to await 
 his further destination. Florence was 
 still suffering under the before-mentioned 
 contagion ; and Sienna was at last fixed 
 on as the place of his relegation. He 
 would have been shut up in some convent 
 in that city, if Nicolini had not recom- 
 mended as a more suitable residence, the 
 palace of the Archishop Piccolomini, 
 whom he knew to be among Galileo's 
 warmest friends. Urban consented to 
 the change, and Galileo finally left Rome 
 for Sienna in the early part of July. 
 
 Piccolomini received him with the ut- 
 most kindness, controlled of course by 
 the strict injunctions which were dis- 
 patched from Rome, not to suffer him 
 on any account to quit the confines of 
 the palace. Galileo continued at Sienna 
 in this state of seclusion till December 
 of the same year, when the contagion 
 having ceased in Tuscany, he applied for 
 permission to return to his villa at Arcetri. 
 This was allowed, subject to the same 
 restrictions under which he had been re- 
 siding with the archbishop. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 65 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 Extracts from the Dialogues on the 
 
 System. 
 
 After narrating- the treatment to 
 which Galileo was subject on account 
 of his admirable Dialogues, it will 
 not be irrelevant to endeavour, by a 
 few extracts, to convey some idea of 
 the style in which they are written. 
 It has been mentioned, that he is con- 
 sidered to surpass all other Italian 
 writers (unless we except Machiavelli) 
 in the purity and beauty of his lan- 
 guage, and indeed his principal fol- 
 lowers, who avowedly imitated his style, 
 make a distinguished group among the 
 classical authors of modern Italy. He 
 professed to have formed himself from 
 the study of Ariosto, whose poems he 
 passionately admired, insomuch that he 
 could repeat the greater part of them, 
 as well as those of Berni and Petrarca, 
 all which he was in the frequent habit 
 of quoting in conversation. The fashion 
 and almost universal practice of that 
 day was to write on philosophical sub- 
 jects in Latin ; and although Galileo 
 wrote very passably in that language, 
 yet he generally preferred the use, of 
 Italian, for which he gave his reasons in 
 the following characteristic manner : 
 " I wrote in Italian because I wished 
 every one to be able to read what I 
 wrote ; and for the same cause I have 
 written my last treatise in the same 
 language: the reason which has induced 
 me is, that I see young men brought to- 
 gether indiscriminately to study to be- 
 come physicians, philosophers, &c, and 
 whilst many apply to such professions 
 who are most unfit for them, others who 
 would be competent remain occupied 
 either with domestic business, or with 
 other employments alien to literature ; 
 who, although furnished, as Ruzzante 
 might say, with ^decent set of brains, yet, 
 not being able to understand things 
 written in gibberish, take it into their 
 heads, that in these crabbed folios there 
 must be some grand hocus pocus of logic 
 and philosophy much too high up for them 
 to think of jumping at. I want them 
 to know, that as Nature has given eyes 
 to them just as well as to philosophers 
 for the purpose of seeing her works, she 
 has also given them brains for examin- 
 ing and understanding them." 
 
 The general structure of the dialogues 
 has been already described*; we shall 
 
 See page 56. 
 
 therefore premise no more than the 
 judgment pronounced on them by a 
 highly gifted writer, to supply the de- 
 ficiencies of our necessarily imperfect 
 analysis. 
 
 " One forms a very imperfect idea of 
 Galileo, from considering the discoveries 
 and inventions, numerous and splendid 
 as they are, of which he was the undis- 
 puted author. It is by following his 
 reasonings, and by pursuing the train of 
 his thoughts, in his own elegant, though 
 somewhat diffuse exposition of them, 
 that we become acquainted with the 
 fertility of his genius with the sagacity, 
 penetration, and comprehensiveness of 
 his mind. The service which he ren- 
 dered to real knowledge is to be esti- 
 mated, not only from the truths which 
 he discovered, but from the errors which 
 he detected not merely from the sound 
 principles which he established, but from 
 the pernicious idols which he overthrew. 
 The dialogues on the system are written 
 with such singular felicity, that one reads 
 them at the present day, when the truths 
 contained in them are known and ad- 
 mitted, with all the delight of novelty, 
 and feels one's self carried back to the 
 period when the telescope was first di- 
 rected to the heavens, and when the 
 earth's motion, with all its train of con- 
 sequences, was proved for the first 
 time.'"'' 
 
 The first Dialogue is opened by an at- 
 tack upon the arguments by which Aris- 
 totle pretended to determine apriori the 
 necessary motions belonging to different 
 parts of the world, and on his favourite 
 principle that particular motions belong 
 naturally to particular substances. Sal- 
 viati (representing Galileo) then objects 
 to the Aristotelian distinctions between 
 the corruptible elements and incorrupti- 
 ble skies, instancing among other things 
 the solar spots and newly appearing 
 stars, as arguments that the other hea- 
 venly bodies may probably be subjected 
 to changes similar to those which are 
 continually occurring on the earth, and 
 that it is the great distance alone which 
 prevents their being observed. After a 
 long discussion on this point, Sagredo 
 exclaims, " I see into the heart of Sim- 
 plicio, and perceive that he is much 
 moved by the force of these too conclu- 
 sive arguments; but methinks I hear 
 him say 4 Oh, to whom must we betake 
 ourselves to settle our disputes if Aris- 
 totle be removed from the chair ? What 
 
 Playfair* Diuertation, Supp. Encyc Brit. 
 
66 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 other author have we to follow in our 
 schools, our studies, and academies? 
 What philosopher has written on all the 
 parts of Natural Philosophy, and so 
 methodically as not to have overlooked 
 a single conclusion ? Must we then 
 desolate this fabric, by which so many 
 travellers have been sheltered ? Must 
 we destroy this asylum, this Prytaneum 
 wherein so many students have found 
 a convenient resting-place, where with- 
 out being exposed to the injuries of the 
 weather, one may acquire an intimate 
 knowledge of nature, merely by turning 
 over a few leaves ? Shall we level this 
 bulwark, behind which we are safe 
 from every hostile attack? I pity him 
 no less than I do one who at great ex- 
 pense of time and treasure, and with 
 the labour of hundreds, has built up a 
 very noble palace ; and then, because of 
 insecure foundations, sees it ready to 
 fail unable to bear that those walls be 
 stripped that are adorned with so many 
 beautiful pictures, or to suffer those 
 columns to fall that uphold the stately 
 galleries, or to see ruined the gilded 
 roofs, the chimney-pieces, the friezes, 
 and marble cornices erected at so much 
 cost, he goes about it with girders and 
 props, with shores and buttresses, to 
 hinder its destruction. ,, 
 
 Salviati proceeds to point out the 
 many points of similarity between the 
 earth and moon, and among others 
 which we have already mentioned, the 
 following remark deserves especial no- 
 tice : 
 
 " Just as from the mutual and uni- 
 versal tendency of the parts of the earth 
 to form a whole, it follows that they all 
 meet together with equal inclination, 
 and that they may unite as closely as 
 possible, assume the spherical form ; 
 why ought we not to believe that the 
 moon, the sun, and other mundane 
 bodies are also of a round figure, from 
 no other" reason than from a common 
 instinct and natural concourse of all 
 their component parts; of which if 
 by accident any one should be violently 
 separated from its whole, is it not rea- 
 sonable to believe that spontaneously, 
 and of its natural instinct, it would re- 
 turn? It may be added that if any 
 centre of the universe may be assigned, 
 to which the whole terrene globe if 
 thence removed would seek to return, 
 we shall find most probable that the sun 
 is placed in it, as by the sequel you shall 
 understand." 
 
 Many who are but superficially ac- 
 
 quainted with the History of Astro- 
 nomy, are apt to suppose that New- 
 ton's great merit was in his being the 
 first to suppose an attractive force 
 existing in and between the different 
 bodies composing the solar system. 
 This idea is very erroneous ; Newton's 
 discovery consisted in conceiving and 
 proving the identity of the force with 
 which "a stone falls, and that by which 
 the moon falls, towards the earth (on 
 an assumption that this force becomes 
 weaker in a certain proportion as the 
 distance increases at which it operates), 
 and in generalizing this idea, in apply- 
 ing it to all the visible creation, and 
 tracing the principle of universal gravi- 
 tation with the assistance of a most re- 
 fined and beautiful geometry into many 
 of its most remote consequences. But 
 the general notion of an attractive force 
 between the sun, moon, and planets, 
 was very commonly entertained before 
 Newton was born, and may be traced 
 back to Kepler, who was probably the 
 first modern philosopher who suggested 
 it. The following extraordinary pas- 
 sages from his "Astronomy" will shew 
 tke nature of his conceptions on this 
 subject : 
 
 "The true doctrine of gravity is 
 founded on these axioms : every corpo- 
 real substance, so far forth as it is cor- 
 poreal, has a natural fitness for resting 
 in every place where it may be situated 
 by itself beyond the sphere of influence 
 of its cognate body. Gravity is a mutual 
 affection between cognate bodies to- 
 wards union or conjunction (similar in 
 kind to the magnetic virtue), so that the 
 earth attracts a stone much rather than 
 the stone seeks the earth. Heavy bo- 
 dies (if in the first place we put the 
 earth in the centre of the world) are not 
 carried to the centre of the world in its 
 quality of centre of the world, but as to 
 the centre of a cognate round body, 
 namely the earth. So that wheresoever 
 the earth may be placed or whitherso- 
 ever it may be carried by its animal fa- 
 culty, heavy bodies will always be carried 
 towards it. If the earth were not round 
 heavy bodies would not tend from every 
 side in a straight line towards the centre 
 of the earth, but to different points from 
 different sides. If two stones were placed 
 in any part of the world near each other 
 and beyond the sphere of influence of a 
 third cognate body, these stones, like 
 two magnetic needles, would come to- 
 gether in the intermediate point, each 
 approaching the other by a space pro- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 67 
 
 portional to the comparative mass of the 
 other. If the moon and earth were not 
 retained in their orbits by their animal 
 force or some other equivalent, the earth 
 would mount to the moon by a fifty- 
 fourth part of their distance, and the 
 moon fall towards the earth through the 
 other fifty-three parts, and would there 
 meet, assuming however that the sub- 
 stance of both is of the same density. If 
 the earth should cease to attract its wa- 
 ters to itself, all the waters of the sea 
 would be raised, and would flow to the 
 body of the moon*." 
 
 He also conjectured that the irregu- 
 larities in the moon's motion were 
 caused by the joint action of the sun 
 and earth, and recognized the mutual 
 action of the sun and planets, when he 
 declared the mass and density of the 
 sun to be so great that the united attrac- 
 tion of the other planets cannot remove 
 it from its place. Among these bold 
 and brilliant ideas, his temperament led 
 him to introduce others which show 
 how unsafe it was to follow his guidance, 
 and which account for, if they do not al- 
 together justify, the sarcastic remark of 
 Ross, that " Kepler's opinion that the 
 planets are moved round by the sunne, 
 and that this is done by sending forth a 
 magnetic virtue, and that the sun-beames 
 are like the teethe of a wheele taking 
 hold of the planets, are senslesse crotchets 
 fitter for a wheeler or a miller than a 
 philosopher." t Roberval took up Kep- 
 ler's notions, especially in the tract which 
 he falsely attributed to Aristarchus, and 
 it is much to be regretted that Roberval 
 should deserve credit for anything con- 
 nected with that impudent fraud. The 
 principle of universal gravitation, though 
 not the varying proportion, is distinctly 
 assumed in it, as the following passages 
 will sufficiently prove: " In every single 
 particle of the earth, and the terrestrial 
 elements, is a certain property or acci- 
 dent which we suppose common to the 
 whole system of the world, by virtue of 
 which all its parts are forced together, 
 and reciprocally attract each other ; and 
 this property is found in a greater or 
 less degree in the different particles, ac- 
 cording to their density. If the earth 
 he considered by itself, its centres of 
 magnitude and virtue, or gravity, as we 
 usually call it, will coincide, to which 
 all its parts^ tend in a straight line, as 
 
 * Astronomia Nova. Pragae. 1609. 
 
 i The new Planet no Planet, or the Earth no wan- 
 dering Star, except in the wandering heads of Gali- 
 leans, London, 1646. 
 
 well by their own exertion or gravity, 
 as by the reciprocal attraction of all the 
 rest." In a subsequent. chapter, Roberval 
 repeats these passages nearly in the 
 same words, applying them to the whole 
 solar system, adding, that " the force of 
 this attraction is not to be considered 
 as residing in the centre itself, as some 
 ignorant people think, but in the whole 
 system whose parts are equally disposed 
 round the centre*". This very curious 
 work was reprinted in the third volume 
 of the Refiexiones Physico-MathematiccB 
 of Mersenne, from whom Roberval pre- 
 tended to have received the Arabic ma- 
 nuscript, and who is thus irretrievably 
 implicated in the , forgery .t The last 
 remark, denying the attractive force to 
 be due to any property of the central 
 point, seems aimed at Aristotle, who, 
 in a no less curious passage, maintain- 
 ing exactly the opposite opinion, says, 
 " Hence, we may better understand 
 what the ancients have related, that 
 like things are wont to have a tendency 
 to each other. For this is not abso- 
 lutely true ; for if the earth were to be 
 removed to the place now occupied by 
 the moon, no part of the earth would 
 then have a tendency towards that place, 
 but would still fall towards the point 
 which the earth's centre now occupies.'^ 
 Mersenne considered the consequences 
 of the attractive force of each particle 
 of matter so far as to remark, that if a 
 body were supposed to fall towards the 
 centre of the earth, it would be retarded 
 by the attraction of the part through 
 which it had already fallen. Galileo 
 had not altogether neglected to specu- 
 late on such a supposition, as is plain 
 from the following extract. It is taken 
 from a letter to Carcaville, dated from 
 Arcetri, in 1637. " I will say farther, 
 that I have not absolutely and clearly 
 satisfied myself that a heavy body- 
 would arrive sooner at the centre of the 
 earth, if it began to fall from the dis- 
 tance only of a single yard, than another 
 which should start from the distance of 
 a thousand miles. I do not affirm this, 
 but I offer it as a paradox." f 
 
 It is very difficult to offer any satis- 
 factory comment upon this passage ; it 
 may be sufficient to observe that this 
 paradoxical result was afterwards de- 
 
 * Aristarchi Samii de Mundi Systemate, Parisiis 
 1644. 
 | See page 12. 
 } De Ccelo,lib. iv. cap. 3. 
 
 Refiexiones Physieo-JMathematicae. Parisiis,1647, 
 *Jf Venturi. 
 
 F2 
 
68 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 duced by Newton, as one of the conse- 
 quences of the general law with which all 
 nature is pervaded, but with which there 
 is no reason to believe that Galileo had 
 any acquaintance; indeed the idea is 
 fully negatived by other passages in this 
 same letter. This is one of the many 
 instances from which we may learn to 
 be cautious how we invest detached 
 passages of the earlier mathemati- 
 cians with a meaning which in many 
 cases their authors did not contem- 
 plate. The progressive development of 
 these ideas in the hands of Wallis, 
 Huyghens, Hook, Wren, and New- 
 ton, would lead us too far from our 
 principal subject. There is another 
 passage in the third dialogue connected 
 with this subject, which it may be as 
 well to notice in this place. " The 
 parts of the earth have such a pro- 
 pensity to its centre, that when it changes 
 its place, although they may be very 
 distant from the globe at the time of the 
 change, yet must they follow. An ex- 
 ample similar to this is the perpetual 
 sequence of the Medicean stars, although 
 always separated from Jupiter. The 
 same may be said of the moon, obliged 
 to follow the earth. And this may serve 
 for those simple ones who have difficulty 
 in comprehending how these two globes, 
 not being chained together, nor strung 
 upon a pole, mutually follow each other, 
 so that on the acceleration or retardation 
 of the one, the other also moves quicker 
 or slower." 
 
 The second Dialogue is appropriated 
 chiefly to the discussion of the diurnal 
 motion of the earth ; and the principal 
 arguments urged by Aristotle, Ptolemy, 
 and others, are successively brought 
 forward and confuted. The opposers of 
 the earth's diurnal motion maintained, 
 that if it were turning round, a stone 
 dropped from the top of a tower would 
 not fall at its foot ; but, by the rotation 
 of the earth to the eastward carrying 
 away the tower with it, would be left at 
 a great distance to the westward; it 
 was common to compare this effect to a 
 stone dropped from the mast-head of a 
 ship, and without any regard to truth 
 it was boldly asserted that this would 
 fall considerably nearer the stern than 
 the foot of the mast, if the ship were in 
 rapid motion. The same argument was 
 presented in a variety of forms, such as 
 that a cannon-ball shot perpendicularly 
 upwards would not fall at the same 
 spot ; that if fired to the eastward it 
 would % farther than to the westward; 
 
 that a mark to the east or west would 
 never be hit, because of the rising or 
 sinking of the horizon during the flight 
 of the ball ; that ladies ringlets would all 
 stand out to the westward,* with other 
 conceits of the like nature : to which the 
 general reply is given, that in all these 
 cases the stone, or ball, or other body, 
 participates equally in the motion of the 
 earth, which, therefore, so far as regards 
 the relative motion of its parts, may be 
 disregarded. The manner in which this 
 is illustrated, appears in the following 
 extract from the dialogue : Sagredo. 
 If the nib of a writing pen which was 
 in the ship during my voyage direct from 
 Venice to Alexandria, had had the power 
 of leaving a visible mark of all its path, 
 what trace, what mark, what line would 
 it have left? "Simplicio. It would have 
 left a line stretched out thither from 
 Venice not perfectly straight, or to speak 
 more correctly, not perfectly extended in 
 an exact circular arc, but here and there 
 more and less curved accordingly as 
 the vessel had pitched more or less ; but 
 this variation in some places of one or 
 two yards to the right or left, or up or 
 down in a length of many hundred miles, 
 would have occasioned but slight altera- 
 tion in the whole course of the line, so 
 that it would have been hardly sensible, 
 and without any great error we may 
 speak of it as a perfectly circular arc. 
 Sagred. So that the true and most 
 exact motion of the point of the pen 
 would also have been a perfect arc of a 
 circle if the motion of the vessel, ab- 
 stracting from the fluctuations of the 
 waves, had been steady and gentle ; and 
 if I had held this pen constantly in my 
 hand, and had merely moved it an inch, 
 or two one way or the other, what alter- 
 ation would that have made in the true 
 and principal motion? Simpl. Less 
 than that which would be occasioned in 
 a line a thousand yards long, by varying 
 here and there from perfect straightness 
 by the quantity of a flea's eye. Sagred. 
 If then a painter on our quitting the 
 port had begun to draw with this pen 
 on paper, and had continued his draw- 
 ing till we got to Alexandria, he would 
 have been able by its motion, to produce 
 an accurate representation of many ob- 
 jects perfectly shadowed, and filled up on 
 all sides with landscapes, buildings, and 
 animals, although all the true, real, and 
 essential motion of the point of his pen 
 would have been no other but a very 
 
 RicciolL 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 69 
 
 long and very simple line ; and as to the 
 peculiar work of the painter, he would 
 have drawn it exactly the same if the 
 ship had stood still. Therefore, of the 
 very protracted motion of the pen, there 
 remain no other traces than those marks 
 drawn upon the paper, the reason of this 
 being that the great motion from Venice 
 to Alexandria was common to the paper, 
 the pen, and everything that was in the 
 ship; but the trifling motion forwards 
 and backwards, to the right and left, 
 communicated by the painter's fingers 
 to the pen, and not to the paper, from 
 being peculiar to the pen, left its mark 
 upon the paper, which as to this mo- 
 tion was immoveable. Thus it is like- 
 wise true that in the supposition of the 
 earth's rotation, the motion of a falling 
 stone is really a long track of many 
 hundreds and thousands of yards ; and 
 if it could have delineated its course in 
 the calm air, or on any other surface, 
 it would have left behind it a very long 
 transversal line; but that part of all 
 this motion which is common to the 
 stone, the tower, and ourselves, is im- 
 perceptible by us and the same as if 
 not existing, and only that part remains 
 to be observed of which neither we nor 
 the tower partake, which in short is the 
 fall of the stone along the tower." 
 
 The mechanical doctrines introduced 
 into this second dialogue will be noticed 
 on another occasion ; we shall pass on 
 to other extracts, illustrative of the ge- 
 neral character of Galileo's reasoning : 
 " Salviati. I did not say that the earth 
 has no principle, either internal or ex- 
 ternal, of its motion of rotation, but I 
 do say that I know not which of the 
 two it has, and that my ignorance has 
 no power to take its motion away ; but 
 if this author knows by what principle 
 other mundane bodies, of the motion of 
 which we are certain, are turned round, 
 I say that what moves the Earth is 
 something like that by which Mars and 
 Jupiter, and, as he believes, the starry 
 sphere, are moved round ; and if he will 
 satisfy me as to the cause of their 
 motion, I bind myself to be able to 
 tell him what moves the earth. Nay 
 more ; I undertake to do the same if he 
 can teach me what it is which moves 
 the parts of the earth downwards. 
 Simpl. The cause of this effect is no- 
 torious, and every one knows that it is 
 Gravity. Salv. You are out, Master 
 Si/nplicio ; you should say that every 
 one knows that it is .-called Gravity ; but 
 I do not ask you tbe name but the na- 
 
 ture of the thing, of which nature you 
 do not know one tittle more than you 
 know of the nature of the moving cause 
 of the rotation of the stars, except it be 
 the name which has been given to the 
 one, and made familiar and domestic, 
 by the frequent experience we have of it 
 many thousand times in a day ; but of 
 the principle or virtue by which a stone 
 falls to the ground, we really know no 
 more than we know of the principle which 
 carries it upwards when thrown into the 
 air, or which carries the moon round its 
 orbit, except, as I have said, the name 
 of gravity which we have peculiarly 
 and exclusively assigned to it ; whereas 
 we speak of the other with a more ge- 
 neric term, and talk of the virtue im- 
 pressed, and call it either an assisting or 
 an informing intelligence, and are con- 
 tent to say that Nature is the cause of 
 an infinite number of other motions." 
 
 Simplicio is made to quote a passage 
 from Scheiner's book of Conclusions 
 against Copernicus, to the following ef- 
 fect : " * If the whole earth and water 
 were annihilated, no hail or rain would 
 fall from the clouds, but would only be 
 naturally carried round in a circle, nor 
 would any fire or fiery thing ascend, 
 since, according to the not improbable 
 opinion of these others, there is no fire 
 in the upper regions.' Salv. The fore- 
 sight of this philosopher is most ad- 
 mirable and praiseworthy, for he is not 
 content with providing for things that 
 might happen during the common 
 course of nature, but persists in shew- 
 ing his care for the consequences of 
 what he very well knows will never 
 come to pa.is. Nevertheless, for the 
 sake of hearing some of his notable con- 
 ceits, I will grant that if the earth and 
 water were annihilated there would be 
 no more hail or rain, nor would fiery 
 matter ascend any more, but would con- 
 tinue a motion of revolution. What is 
 to follow ? What conclusion is'the phi- 
 losopher going to draw ? Simpl. This 
 objection is in the very next words 
 ' Which nevertheless (says he) is con- 
 trary to experience and reason.' Salv. 
 Now I must yield: since he has so 
 great an advantage over me as ex- 
 perience, with which I am quite unpro- 
 vided. For hitherto I have never hap- 
 pened to see the terrestial earth and 
 water annihilated, so as to be able to 
 observe what the hail and fire did in the 
 confusion. But does hetell us for our in- 
 formation at least what they did ? Simp. 
 No, he does not say any thing more. 
 
10 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Salv. I would give something to have 
 a word or two with this person, to ask 
 him whether, when this globe vanished, 
 it also carried away the common centre of 
 gravity, as I fancy it did, in which case 
 I take it that the hail and water would 
 remain stupid and confounded amongst 
 the clouds, without knowing what to do 
 with themselves. . . . And lastly, that I 
 may give this philosopher a less equivo- 
 cal answer, I tell him that I know as 
 much of what would follow after the 
 annihilation of the terrestrial globe, as 
 he could have known what was about 
 to happen in and about it, before it was 
 created." 
 
 Great part of the third Dialogue is 
 taken up with discussions on the paral- 
 lax of the new stars of 1572 and 1604, 
 in which Delambre notices that Galileo 
 does not employ logarithms in his cal- 
 culations, although "their use had been 
 known since Napier discovered them in 
 1 6 1 6 : the dialogue then turns to the an- 
 nual motion " first taken from the Sun 
 and conferred upon the Earth by Aris- 
 tarchus Samius, and afterwards by Co- 
 pernicus/' Salviati speaks of his con- 
 temporary philosophers with great con- 
 tempt " If you had ever been worn out 
 as I have been many and many a time 
 with hearing what sort of stuff is suf- 
 ficient to make the obstinate vulgar un- 
 persuadable, I do not say to agree with, 
 but even to listen to these novelties, I 
 believe your wonder at finding so few 
 followers of these opinions would greatly 
 fall off. But little regard in my judgment 
 is to be had of those understandings who 
 are convinced and immoveably persuaded 
 of the fixedness of the earth, by seeing 
 that they are not able to breakfast this 
 morning at Constantinople, and sup in 
 the evening in Japan, and who feel satis- 
 fied that the earth, so heavy as it is, 
 cannot climb up above the sun, and then 
 come tumbling in a breakneck fashion 
 down again ! " * This remark serves to 
 introduce several specious arguments 
 against the annual motion of the earth, 
 which are successively confuted, and it 
 is shewn how readily the apparent sta- 
 tions and retrogradations of the planets 
 are accounted for on this supposition. 
 
 * The notions commonly entertained of ' up' and 
 ' down,' as connected with the observer's own situ- 
 ation, had long been a stumbling-block in the way 
 of the new doctrines. When Columbus held out the 
 certainty of arriving in India by sailing to the west- 
 ward on account of the earth's roundness, it was 
 gravely objected, that it might be well enough to 
 sail down to India, but that the chief difficulty would 
 consist in climbing up back again. 
 
 The following is one of the frequently 
 recurring passages in which Galileo, 
 whilst arguing in favour of the enor- 
 mous distances at which the theory of 
 Copernicus necessarily placed the fixed 
 stars, inveighs against the arrogance 
 with which men pretend to judge of mat- 
 ters removed above their comprehension. 
 " Simpl. All this is very well, and it is 
 not to be denied that the heavens may 
 surpass in bigness the capacity of our 
 imaginations, as also that God might 
 have created it yet a thousand times 
 larger than it really is, but we ought 
 not to admit anything to be created in 
 vain, and useless in the universe. Now 
 whilst we see this beautiful arrangement 
 of the planets, disposed round the earth 
 at distances proportioned to the effects 
 they are to produce on us for our be- 
 nefit, to what purpose should a vast 
 vacancy be afterwards interposed be- 
 tween the orbit of Saturn and the starry 
 spheres, containing not a single star, and 
 altogether useless and unprofitable ? to 
 what end? for whose use and advan- 
 tage ? Salv. Methinks we arrogate too 
 much to ourselves, Simplicio, when we 
 will have it that the care of us alone 
 is the adequate and sufficient work and 
 bound, beyond which the divine wisdom 
 and power does and disposes of nothing. 
 I feel confident that nothing is omitted 
 by the Divine Providence of what con- 
 cerns the government of human affairs ; 
 but that there may not be other things 
 in the universe dependant upon His su- 
 preme wisdom, I cannot for myself, by 
 what my reason holds out to me, bring 
 myself to believe. So that when I am told 
 of the uselessness of an immense space 
 interposed between the orbits of the 
 planets and the fixed stars, empty and 
 valueless, I reply that there is teme- 
 rity in attempting by feeble reason to 
 judge the works of God, and in calling 
 vain and superfluous every part of the 
 universe which is of no use to us. Sagr. 
 Say rather, and I believe you would say 
 better, that we have no means of know- 
 ing what is of use to us ; and I hold it 
 to be one of the greatest pieces of arro- 
 gance and folly that can be in this world 
 to say, because I know not of what use 
 Jupiter or Saturn are to me, that there- 
 fore these planets are superfluous ; nay 
 more, that there are no such things in 
 nature. To understand what effect is 
 worked upon us by this or that heavenly 
 body (since you will have it that all 
 their use must have a reference to us), 
 it would be necessary to remove it for a 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 71 
 
 while, and then the effect which I find 
 no longer produced in me, I may say 
 that it depended upon that star. Besides, 
 who will dare say that the space which 
 they call too vast and useless between 
 Saturn and the fixed stars is void of 
 other bodies belonging to the universe. 
 Must it be so because we do not see 
 them : then 1 suppose the four Medi- 
 cean planets, and the companions of 
 Saturn, came into the heavens when we 
 first began to see them, and not before ! 
 and, by the same rule, the other innu- 
 merable fixed stars did not exist before 
 men saw them. The nebulae were till 
 lately only white flakes, till with the 
 telescope we have made of them con- 
 stellations of bright and beautiful stars. 
 Oh presumptuous ! rather, Oh rash 
 ignorance of man ! " 
 
 After a discussion on Gilbert's Theory 
 of Terrestrial Magnetism, introduced by 
 the parallelism of the earth's axis, and of 
 which Galileo praises very highly both 
 the method and results, the dialogue 
 proceeds as follows : " Simpl. It ap- 
 pears to me that Sig. Salviati, with a 
 fine circumlocution, has so clearly ex- 
 plained the cause of these effects, that 
 any common understanding, even though 
 unacquainted with science, may compre- 
 hend it : but we, confining ourselves to 
 the terms of art, reduce the cause of 
 these and other similar natural pheno- 
 mena to sympathy, which is a certain 
 agreement and mutual appetency arising 
 between things which have the same 
 qualities, just as, on the other hand, that 
 disagreement and aversion, with which 
 other things naturally repel and abhor 
 each other, we style antipathy. Sagr. 
 And thus with these two words they are 
 able to give a reason for the great num- 
 ber of effects and accidents which we 
 see, not without admiration, to be pro- 
 duced in Nature. But it strikes me that 
 this mode of philosophising has a great 
 sympathy with the style in which one of 
 my friends used to paint : on one part 
 of the canvas he would write with 
 chalk there I will have a fountain,with 
 Diana and her nymphs ; here some har- 
 riers ; in this corner I will have a hunts- 
 man, with a stag's head ; the rest may 
 be a landscape of wood and mountain ; 
 and what remains to be done may be 
 put in by the colourman : and thus he 
 flattered himself that he had painted the 
 story of Aetaeon, having contributed 
 nothing to it beyond the names." 
 
 The fourth Dialogue is devoted en- 
 tirely to an examination of the tides, and 
 
 is a development and extension of the 
 treatise already mentioned to have 
 been sent to the Archduke Leopold, 
 in 1618*. Galileo was uncommonly 
 partial to his theory of the tides, from 
 which he thought to derive a direct 
 proof of the earth's motion in her 
 orbit ; and although his theory was 
 erroneous, it required a farther advance 
 in , the science of motion than had 
 been attained even at a much later 
 period to point out the insufficiency of 
 it. It is well known that the problem of 
 explaining the cause of this alternate 
 motion of the waters had been consi- 
 dered from the earliest ages one of the 
 most difficult that could be proposed, 
 and the solutions with which different 
 inquirers were obliged to rest contented, 
 shew that it long deserved the name 
 given to it, of " the grave of human cu- 
 riosity^' ." Riccioli has enumerated se- 
 veral of the opinions which in tuna had 
 their favourers and supporters. One 
 party supposed the rise of the waters to 
 be occasioned by the influx of rivers into 
 the sea ; others compared the earth to 
 a large animal, of which the tides indi- 
 cated the respiration ; a third theory 
 supposed the existence of subterraneous 
 fires, by which the sea was periodically 
 made to boil ; others attributed the cause 
 of a similar change of temperature to 
 the sun and moon. 
 
 There is an unfounded legend, that 
 Aristotle drowned himself in despair of 
 being able to invent a plausible expla- 
 nation of the extraordinary tides in the 
 Euripus. His curiosity on the subject 
 does not appear to have been so acute 
 (judging from his writings) as this story 
 would imply. In one of his books he 
 merely mentions a rumour, that there 
 are great elevations or swellings of the 
 seas, which recur periodically, accord- 
 ing to the course of the moon. Lalande, 
 in the fourth volume of his Astronomy, 
 has given an interesting account of the 
 opinion of the connection of the tides 
 with the moon's motion. Pytheas of 
 Marseilles, a contemporary of Aristotle, 
 was the first who has been recorded as 
 observing, that the full tides occur at 
 full moon, and the ebbs at new moon. 
 This is not quite correctly stated; for 
 the tide of new moon is known to be 
 still higher than the rise at the full, but 
 it is likely enough, that the seeming in- 
 accuracy should be attributed, not to 
 
 * See page 50. f Riccioli Almag. Nor. 
 
 % Plutarch. De placit. Philos. lib. iii. c. 17. 
 
72 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Pytheas, but to his biographer Plutarch, 
 who, in many instances, appears to 
 have viewed the opinions of the old 
 philosophers through the mist of his 
 own prejudices and imperfect informa- 
 tion. The fact is, that, on the same 
 day when the tide rises highest, it also 
 ebbslowest ; and Pytheas, who, according 
 to Pliny, had recorded a tide in Britain of 
 eighty cubits, could not have been 
 ignorant of this. Posidonius, as quoted 
 by Strabo, maintained the existence of 
 three periods of the tide, daily, monthly, 
 and annual, " in sympathy with the 
 moon." * Pliny, in his vast collection 
 of natural observations, not unaptly- 
 styled the Encyclopaedia of the Antients, 
 has the following curious passages : 
 " The flow and ebb of the tide is very 
 wonderful ; it happens in a variety of 
 ways, but the cause is in the sun and 
 moonf ." He then very accurately de- 
 scribes the course of the tide during a 
 revolution of the moon, and adds: 
 *' The flow takes place every day at a 
 different hour ; being waited on by the 
 star, which rises every day in a different 
 place from that of the day before, and 
 with greedy" draught drags the seas with 
 it$." " When the moon is in the north, 
 and further removed from the earth, the 
 tides are more gentle than when digress- 
 ing to the south, she exerts her force 
 with a closer effort." 
 
 The College of Jesuits at Coimbra 
 appears to deserve the credit of first 
 clearly pointing out the true relation 
 between the tides and the moon, which 
 was also maintained a few years 
 later by Antonio de Dominis and 
 Kepler. In the Society's commentary 
 on Aristotle's book on Meteors, after 
 refuting the notion that the tides are 
 caused by the light of the sun and moon, 
 they say, " It appears more probable to 
 us, without any rarefaction, of which 
 there appears no need or indication, 
 that the moon raises the waters by some 
 inherent power of impulsion, in the same 
 manner as a magnet moves iron ; and 
 according to its different aspects and 
 approaches to the sea, and the obtuse 
 or acute angles of its bearing, at one time 
 to attract and raise the waters along 
 the shore, and then again to leave them 
 to sink down by their own weight, and 
 
 * ffvy.-ra.kus fn <ri\vvy. Geographise, lib. iii. 
 
 -f Historia Naturalis, lib. ii. c. 9/. 
 
 % Ut ancillante sidere, trahenteque secum avido 
 h.wstu maria. 
 
 ' Eadem Aquilonia, et a terns longius recedente, 
 mitiores quam cum, in Austros digressa, propiore 
 nisuvim suara exercet. 
 
 to gather into a lower level.*" The 
 theory of Universal Gravitation seems 
 here within the grasp of these philo- 
 sophers, but unfortunately it did not 
 occur to them that possibly the same 
 attraction might be exerted on the earth 
 as well as the water, and that the tide 
 was merely an effect of the diminution 
 of force, owing to the increase of dis- 
 tance, with which the centre. of the earth 
 is attracted, as compared with that 
 exerted on its surface. This idea, so 
 happily seized afterwards by Newton, 
 might at once have furnished them with 
 a satisfactory explanation of the tide, 
 which is observed on the opposite side 
 of the earth as well as immediately 
 under the moon. They might have 
 seen that in the latter case the centre 
 of the earth is pulled away from the 
 water, just as in the former the water 
 is pulled away from the centre of the 
 earth, the sensible effect to us being 
 in both cases precisely the same. For 
 want of this generalization, the inferior 
 tide as it is called presented a formi- 
 dable obstacle to this theory, and the 
 most plausible explanation that was 
 given was, that this magnetic virtue ra- 
 diated out from the moon was reflected 
 by the solid heavens, and concentrated 
 again as in a focus on the opposite side 
 of the earth. The majority of modern 
 astronomers who did not admit the 
 existence of any solid matter fit for 
 producing the effect assigned to it, found 
 a reasonable difficulty in acquiescing 
 in this explanation. Galileo, who men- 
 tions the Archbishop of Spalatro's bo*k, 
 treated the theory of attraction by the- 
 moon as absurd. " This motion of the 
 seas is local and sensible, made in an. 
 immense mass of water, and cannot be 
 brought to obey light, and warmth, and 
 predominancy of occult qualities, and 
 such like vain fancies ; all which are so 
 far from being the cause of the tide, that 
 on the contrary the tide is the cause of 
 them, inasmuch as it gives rise to these 
 ideas in brains which are more apt for 
 talkativeness and ostentation, than for 
 speculation and inquiry into the secrets 
 of Nature ; who, rather than see them- 
 selves driven to pronounce these wise, 
 ingenuous, and modest words / do not 
 know, will blurt out from their tongues 
 and pens all sorts of extravagancies." 
 
 Galileo's own theory is introduced by- 
 the following illustration, which indeed 
 
 1603. 
 
 Commentarii Collegii Conimbricensis, Coloaias, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 73 
 
 probably suggested it, as he was in 
 the habit of suffering no natural phe- 
 nomena, however trivial in appearance, 
 to escape him. He felt the advantage 
 of this custom in being furnished on all 
 occasions with a stock of homely illus- 
 trations, to which the daily experience 
 of his hearers readily assented, and 
 which he could shew to be identical in 
 principle with the phenomena under 
 discussion. That he was mistaken in 
 applying his observations in the present 
 instance cannot be urged against the 
 incalculable value of such a habit. 
 
 " We may explain and render sensible 
 these effects by the example of one of 
 those barks which come continually 
 from Lizza Fusina, with fresh water 
 for the use of the city of Venice. Let 
 us suppose one of these barks to come 
 thence with moderate velocity along the 
 canal, carrying gently the water with 
 which it is tilled, and then, either by 
 touching the bottom, or from some 
 other hindrance which is opposed to it, 
 let it be notably retarded ; the water 
 will not on that account lose like the 
 bark the impetus it has already ac- 
 quired, but will forthwith run on 
 towards the prow where it will sensibly 
 rise, and be depressed at the stern. If 
 on the contrary the said vessel in the 
 middle of its steady course shall receive 
 a new and sensible increase of velocity, 
 the contained water before giving into 
 it will persevere for some time in its 
 slowness, and will be left behind that is 
 to say towards the stern where con- 
 sequently it will rise, and sink at the 
 head. Now, my masters, that which 
 the vessel does in respect of the water 
 contained in it, and that which the 
 water does in respect of the vessel con- 
 taining it, is the same to a hair as what 
 the Mediterranean vase does in respect 
 of the water which it contains, and that 
 the waters do in respect of the Medi- 
 terranean vase which contains them. 
 "We have now only to demonstrate how, 
 and in what manner it is true that the 
 Mediterranean, and all other gulfs, and 
 in short all the parts of the earth move 
 with a motion sensibly not uniform, 
 although no motion results thence to 
 the whole globe which is not perfectly 
 uniform and regular." 
 
 This unequable motion is derived from 
 a combination of the earth's motion on 
 her axis, and in her orbit, the conse- 
 quence of which is that a point under 
 the sun is carried in the same direction 
 by the annual and diurnal velocities, 
 
 whereas a point on the opposite side of 
 the globe is carried in opposite direc- 
 tions by the annual and diurnal motions, 
 so that in every twenty-four hours the 
 absolute motion through space of every 
 point in the earth completes a cycle of 
 varying swiftness. Those readers who 
 are unacquainted with the mathematical 
 theory of motion must be satisfied with 
 the assurance that this specious repre- 
 sentation is fallacious, and that the 
 oscillation of the water does not in the 
 least result from the causes here as- 
 signed to it : the reasoning necessary to 
 prove this is not elementary enough to- 
 be introduced here with propriety. 
 
 Besides the principal daily oscillation 
 of the water, there is a monthly ine- 
 quality in the rise and fall, of which the 
 extremes are called the spring and neap 
 tides : the manner in which Galileo* 
 attempted to bring his theory to bear 
 upon these phenomena is exceedingly 
 curious. 
 
 " It is a natural and necessary truth, 
 that if a body be made to revolve, the* 
 time of revolution will be greater in a- 
 greater circle than in a less : this is 
 universally allowed, and fully confirmed 
 by experiments, such for instance as 
 these : In wheel clocks, especially in 
 large ones, to regulate the going, the 
 workmen fit up a bar capable of revolv- 
 ing horizontally, and fasten two leaden 
 weights to the ends of it; and if the* 
 clock goes too slow, by merely ap- 
 proaching these weights somewhat to- 
 wards the centre of the bar, they make 
 its vibrations more frequent, at which 1 
 time they are moving in smaller circles 
 than before*. Or, if you fasten a weight 
 to a cord which you pass round a pulley 
 in the ceiling, and whilst the weight is 
 vibrating draw in the cord towards you, 
 the vibrations will become sensibly ac- 
 celerated as the length of the string" 
 diminishes. We may observe the same 
 rule to hold among the celestial motions 
 of the planets, of which we have a 
 ready instance in the Medicean planets, 
 which revolve in such short periods 
 round Jupiter. We may therefore 
 safely conclude, that if the moon for 
 instance shall continue to be forced 
 round by the same moving power, and 
 were to move in a smaller circle, it 
 would shorten the time of its revolu- 
 tion. Now this very thing happens 
 in fact to the moon, which I have just 
 advanced on a supposition. Let us call 
 
 * See fig. 1. p. 96. 
 
74 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 to mind that we have already concluded 
 with Copernicus, that it is impossible to 
 separate the moon from the earth, round 
 which without doubt it moves in a 
 month : we must also remember that 
 the globe of the earth, accompanied 
 always by the moon, revolves in the 
 great circle round the sun in a year, in 
 which time the moon revolves round 
 the earth about thirteen times, whence 
 it follows that the moon is sometimes 
 near the sun, that is to say between 
 the earth and sun, sometimes far 
 from it, when she is on the outside of 
 the earth. Now if it be true that the 
 power which moves the earth and the 
 moon round the sun remains of the 
 same efficacy, and if it be true that the 
 same moveable, acted on by the same 
 force, passes over similar arcs of circles 
 in a time which is least when the circle 
 is smallest, we are forced to the conclu- 
 sion that at new moon, when in con- 
 junction with the sun, the moon passes 
 over greater arcs of the orbit round the 
 sun, than when in opposition at full 
 moon ; and this inequality of the moon 
 will be shared by the earth also. So 
 that exactly the same thing happens as 
 in the balance of the clocks ; for the 
 moon here represents the leaden weight, 
 which at one time is fixed at a greater 
 distance from the centre to make the 
 vibrations slower, and at another time 
 nearer to accelerate them." 
 
 Wallis adopted and improved this 
 theory in a paper which he inserted in 
 the Philosophical Transactions for 1666, 
 in which he declares, that the circular mo- 
 tion round the sun should be considered 
 as taking place at a point which is the 
 centre of gravity of the earth and moon. 
 " To the first objection, that it appears 
 not how two bodies that have no tie can 
 have one common centre of gravity, I 
 shall only answer, that it is harder to 
 show how they have it, than that they 
 have it*." As Wallis was perfectly 
 competent from the time at which he 
 lived, and his knowledge of the farthest 
 advances of science in his time, to appre- 
 ciate the value of Galileo's writings, we 
 shall conclude this chapter with the 
 judgment that he has passed upon them 
 in the same paper. " Since Galileo, and 
 after him Torricelli and others have ap- 
 plied mechanical principles to the solv- 
 ing of philosophical difficulties, natural 
 philosophy is well known to have been 
 rendered more intelligible, and to have 
 
 Phil. Trans., No. 16, August 1666. 
 
 made a much greater progress in less 
 than a hundred years than before for 
 many ages." 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 Galileo at Arcetri Becomes Blind 
 Moon's Libration Publication of 
 the Dialogues on Motion. 
 
 We have already alluded to the imper- 
 fect state of the knowledge possessed 
 with regard to Galileo's domestic life 
 and personal habits; there is reason 
 however to think that unpublished 
 materials exist from which these outlines 
 might be in part filled up. Venturi in- 
 forms us that he had seen in the collec- 
 tion from which he derived a great part 
 of the substance of his Memoirs of 
 Galileo, about one hundred and twenty 
 manuscript letters, dated between the 
 years 1623 and 1633, addressed to him 
 by his daughter Maria, who with her sis- 
 ter had attached herself to the convent 
 of St. Matthew, close to Galileo's usual 
 place of residence. It is difficult not to 
 think that much interesting information 
 might be obtained from these, with respect 
 to Galileo's domestic character. The very 
 few published extracts confirm our fa- 
 vourable impressions of it, and convey 
 a pleasing idea of this his favourite 
 daughter. Even when, in her affec- 
 tionate eagerness to soothe her father's 
 wounded feelings at the close of his im- 
 prisonment in Rome, she dwells with 
 delight upon her hopes of being allowed 
 to relieve him, by taking on herself the 
 penitential recitations which formed a 
 part of his sentence, the prevalent feel- 
 ing excited in every one by the perusal 
 must surely be sympathy with the filial 
 tenderness which it is impossible to mis- 
 understand. 
 
 The joy she had anticipated in again 
 meeting her parent, and in compensat- 
 ing to him by her attentive affection the 
 insults of his malignant enemies, was 
 destined to be but of short duration. 
 Almost in the same month in which 
 Galileo returned ; to Arcetri she was 
 seized with a fatal illness ; and already 
 in the beginning of April, 1634, we 
 learn her death from the fruitless con- 
 dolence of his friends. He was deeply 
 and bitterly affected by this additional 
 blow, which came upon him when he 
 was himself in a weak and declining 
 state of health, and his answers breathe 
 a spirit of the most hopeless and gloomy 
 despondency. 
 In a letter written in April to Boc- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 75 
 
 chineri, his son's father- in-law, he says : 
 "The hernia has returned worse than 
 at first : my pulse is intermitting, ac- 
 companied with a palpitation of the 
 heart ; an immeasurable sadness and 
 melancholy ; an entire loss of appetite ; 
 I t am hateful to myself; and in short 
 I feel that I am called incessantly by 
 my dear daughter. In this state, I do 
 not think it advisable that Vincenzo 
 should set out on his journey, and leave 
 me, when every hour something may 
 occur, which would make it expedient 
 that he should be here." In this extre- 
 mity of ill health, Galileo requested leave 
 to go to Florence for the advantage of 
 medical assistance; but far from obtain- 
 ing permission, it was intimated that any 
 additional importunities would be no- 
 ticed by depriving him of the partial 
 liberty he was then allowed to enjoy. 
 After several years confinement at Ar- 
 cetri, during the whole of which time 
 he suffered from continual indisposi- 
 tion, the inquisitor Fariano wrote to 
 him in 1638, that the Pope permitted 
 his removal to Florence, for the purpose 
 of recovering his health ; requiring him 
 at the same time to present himself at 
 the Office of the Inquisition, where he 
 would learn the conditions on which this 
 favour had been granted. These were 
 that he should neither quit his house 
 nor receive his friends there; and so 
 closely was the letter of these instruc- 
 tions adhered to, that he was obliged to 
 obtain a special permission to go out to 
 attend mass during Passion week. 
 The strictness with which all personal 
 intercourse with his friends was inter- 
 rupted, is manifest from the result of 
 the following letter from the Duke of 
 Tuscany's secretary of state to Nicolini, 
 his ambassador at Rome. " Signor 
 Galileo Galilei, from his great age and 
 the illnesses which afflict him, is in a 
 condition soon to go to another world ; 
 and although in this the eternal memory 
 of his fame and value is already secured, 
 yet his Highness is greatly desirous 
 that the world should sustain as little 
 loss as possible by his death ; that his 
 labours may not perish, but for the 
 public good may be brought to that per- 
 fection which he will not be able to give 
 them. He has in his thoughts many 
 things worthy of him, which he cannot 
 be prevailed on to communicate to any 
 but Father Benedetto Castelli, in whom 
 he has entire confidence. His Highness 
 wishes therefore that you should see 
 Castelli, and induce him to procure leave 
 
 to come to Florence for a few months 
 for this purpose, which his Highness 
 has very much at heart ; and if he ob- 
 tains permission, as his Highness hopes, 
 you will furnish him with money and 
 every thing else he may require for his 
 journey." Castelli, it will be remem- 
 bered, was at this time salaried by the 
 court of Rome. Nicolini answered 
 that Castelli had been himself to the 
 Pope to ask leave to go to Florence. 
 Urban immediately intimated his suspi- 
 cions that his design was to see Galileo, 
 and upon Castelli' s stating that certainly 
 it would be impossible for him to refrain 
 from attempting to see him, he received 
 permission to visit him in the company 
 of an officer of the Inquisition. At the 
 end of some months Galileo was re- 
 manded to Arcetri, which he never 
 again quitted. 
 
 In addition to his other infirmities, a 
 disorder which some years before had 
 affected the sight of his right eye re- 
 turned in 1636 ; in the course of the en- 
 suing year the other eye began to fail 
 also, and in a few months he became 
 totally blind. It would be difficult to 
 find any even among those who are the 
 most careless to make a proper use of 
 the invaluable blessing of sight, who 
 could bear unmoved to be deprived of it, 
 but on Galileo the loss fell with pe- 
 culiar and terrible severity ; on him who 
 had boasted that he would never cease 
 from using the senses which God had 
 given him, in declaring the glory of his 
 works, and the business of whose life 
 had been the splendid fulfilment of that 
 undertaking. "The noblest eye is 
 darkened," said Castelli, " which nature 
 ever made: an eye so privileged, and 
 gifted with such rare qualities, that it 
 may with truth be said to have seen 
 more than all of those who are gone, 
 and to have opened the eyes of all who 
 are to come/' His own patience and 
 resignation under this fatal calamity 
 are truly wonderful ; and if occasionally 
 a word of complaint escaped him, it was 
 in the chastened tone of the following ex- 
 pressions " Alas ! your dear friend and 
 servant Galileo has become totally and 
 irreparably blind ; so that this heaven, 
 this earth, this universe, which with 
 wonderful observations I had enlarged 
 a hundred and thousand times beyond 
 the belief of by-gone ages, hencefor- 
 ward for me is shrunk into the narrow 
 space which I myself fill in it. So it 
 pleases God : it shall therefore please 
 me also." Hopes were at first enter- 
 
76 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 tained by Galileo's friends, that the 
 blindness was occasioned by cataracts, 
 and that he might look forward to relief 
 from the operation of couching ; but it 
 very soon appeared that the disorder 
 was not in the humours of the eye, but 
 in a cloudiness of the cornea, the symp- 
 toms of which all external remedies 
 failed to alleviate. 
 
 As long as the power was left him, he 
 had indefatigably continued his astrono- 
 mical observations. Just before his 
 sight began to decay, he had observed a 
 new phenomenon in the moon, which is 
 now known by the name of the moon's 
 libration, the nature of which we will 
 shortly explain. A remarkable circum- 
 stance connected with the moon's mo- 
 tion is, that the same side is always 
 visible from the earth, showing that the 
 moon turns once on her own axis in ex- 
 actly the time of her monthly revolu- 
 tion.* But Galileo, who was by this 
 time familiar with the whole of the 
 moon's visible surface, observed that the 
 above-mentioned effect does not accu- 
 rately take place, but that a small part 
 on either side comes alternately forward 
 into sight, and then again recedes, ac- 
 cording to the moon's various positions 
 in the heavens. He was not long in de- 
 tecting one of the causes of this appa- 
 rent libratory or rocking motion. It is 
 partly occasioned by our distance as 
 spectators from the centre of the earth, 
 which is also the centre of the moon's 
 motion. In consequence of this, as 
 the moon rises in the sky we get an ad- 
 ditional view of the lower half, and lose 
 sight of a small part of the upper half 
 which was visible to us while we were 
 looking down upon her when low in the 
 horizon. The other cause is not quite so 
 simple, nor is it so certain that Galileo 
 adverted to it : it is however readily in- 
 telligible even to those who are unac- 
 quainted with astronomy, if they will re- 
 ceive as a fact that the monthly motion 
 of the moon is not uniform, but that she 
 moves quicker at one time than another, 
 whilst the motion of rotation on her own 
 axis, like that of the earth, is perfectly 
 uniform. A very little reflection will 
 show that the observed phenomenon 
 
 * Frisi says that Galileo did not perceive this 
 conclusion (Elogio del Galileo) ; but see The Dial, on 
 the System, Dial. I. pp. 61, 62, 85. Edit. 1744. 
 Plutarch says, (De Placitis Philos. lib. ii. c. 28,) 
 that Jhe Pythagoreans believed the moon to have in- 
 habitants fifteen times as large as men, and that 
 their day is fifteen times as long as ours. It seems 
 probable, that the former of these opinions was en- 
 grafted on the latter, which is true, and implies a 
 perception of the fat in the text. 
 
 will necessarily follow. If the moon did 
 not turn on her axis, every side of her 
 would be successively presented, in the 
 course of a month, towards the earth ;. 
 it is the motion of rotation which tends 
 to carry the newly discovered parts out 
 of sight. 
 
 Let us suppose the moon to be in that 
 part of her orbit where she moves with 
 her average motion, and that she is 
 moving towards the part, where she 
 moves most quickly. If the motion in 
 the orbit were to remain the same all 
 the way round, the motion of rotation 
 would be just sufficient at every point to 
 bring round the same part of the moon 
 directly in front of the earth. But since, 
 from the supposed point, the moon is 
 moving for some time round the earth 
 with a motion continually growing 
 quicker, the motion of rotation is not. 
 sufficiently quick to carry out of sight 
 the entire part discovered by the 
 motion of translation. We therefore 
 get a glimpse of a narrow strip on 
 the side from which the moon is mov- 
 ing, which strip grows broader and 
 broader, till she passes the point where 
 she moves most swiftly, and reaches the 
 point of average swiftness on the oppo- 
 site side of her orbit. Her motion is 
 now continually growing slower, and 
 therefore from this point the motion of 
 rotation is too swift, and carries too 
 much out of sight, or in other words, 
 brings into sight a strip on the side 
 towards which the moon is moving. 
 This increases till she passes the point 
 of least swiftness, and arrives at the 
 point from which we began to trace her 
 course, and the phenomena are re- 
 peated in the same order. 
 
 This interesting observation closes 
 the long list of Galileo's discoveries in 
 the heavens. After his abjuration, he 
 ostensibly withdrew himself in a great 
 measure from his astronomical pur- 
 suits, and employed himself till 1636 
 principally with his Dialogues on Mo- 
 tion, the last work of consequence that 
 he published. In that year he entered 
 into correspondence with the Elzevirs, 
 through his friend Micanzio, on the pro- 
 ject of printing a complete edition of his 
 writings. Among the letters which 
 Micanzio wrote on the subject is one 
 intimating that he had enjoyed the gra- 
 tification, in his quality of Theologian 
 to the Republic of Venice, of refusing 
 his sanction to a work written against 
 Galileo and Copernicus. The temper 
 however in which this refusal was an- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 11 
 
 nounced, contrasts singularly with that 
 of the Roman Inquisitors. " A book was 
 "brought to me which a Veronese Capu- 
 chin has been writing, and wished to 
 print, denying the motion of the^ earth. 
 I was inclined to let it go, to make the 
 world laugh, for the ignorant beast en- 
 titles every one of the twelve arguments 
 which compose his book, ' An irrefra- 
 gable and undeniable demonstration,' 
 and then adduces nothing but such 
 childish trash as every man of sense 
 has long discarded. For instance, this 
 poor animal understands so much geo- 
 metry and mathematics, that he brings 
 forward as a demonstration, that if the 
 earth could move, having nothing to 
 support it, it must necessarily fall. He 
 ought to have added that then we 
 should catch all the quails. But when 
 I saw that he speaks indecently of you, 
 ^nd has had the impudence to put down 
 an account of what passed lately, say- 
 ing that he is in possession of the 
 whole of your process and sentence, I 
 desired the man who brought it to me 
 to go and be hanged. But you know the 
 ingenuity of impertinence ; I suspect he 
 will succeed elsewhere, because he is so 
 enamoured of his absurdities, that he be- 
 lieves them more firmly than his Bible." 
 After Galileo's condemnation at Rome, 
 he had been placed by the Inquisition in 
 the list of authors the whole of whose 
 writings, edita et edenda," were strictly 
 forbidden. Micanzio could not even ob- 
 tain permission to reprint the Essay on 
 Floating Bodies, in spite of his protes- 
 tations that it did not in any way relate 
 to the Copernican theory. This was the 
 greatest stigma with which the Inqui- 
 sition were in the habit of branding ob- 
 noxious authors; and, in consequence 
 of it, when Galileo had completed his 
 Dialogues on Motion, he found great 
 difficulty in contriving their publication, 
 the nature of which may be learned 
 from the account which Pieroni sent to 
 Galileo of his endeavours to print them 
 in Germany. He first took the manu- 
 script to Vienna, but found that every 
 book printed there must receive the ap- 
 probation of the Jesuits ; and Galileo's 
 -old antagonist, Scheiner, happening to 
 be in that city, Pieroni feared lest he 
 should interfere to prevent the publi- 
 cation altogether, if the knowledge of it 
 -should reach him. Through the inter- 
 vention of Cardinal Dietrichstein, he 
 therefore got permission to have it 
 printed at Olmutz, and that it should be 
 approved by a Dominican, so as to 
 
 keep the whole business a secret from 
 Scheiner and his party ; but during this 
 negociation the Cardinal suddenly died, 
 and Pieroni being besides dissatisfied 
 with the Olmutz type, carried back the 
 manuscript to Vienna, from which he 
 heard that Scheiner had gone into Sile- 
 sia. A new approbation was there pro- 
 cured, and the work was just on the 
 point of being: sent to press, when the 
 dreaded Scheiner re-appeared in Vienna, 
 on which Pieroni again thought it ad- 
 visable to suspend the impression till his 
 departure. In the mean time his own 
 duty as a military architect in the Em- 
 peror's service carried him to Prague, 
 where Cardinal Harrach, on a former 
 occasion, had offered him the use of the 
 newly-erected University press. But 
 Harrach happened not to be at Prague, 
 and this plan like the rest became 
 abortive. In the meantime Galileo, 
 wearied with these delays, had engaged 
 with Louis Elzevir, who undertook to 
 print the Dialogues at Amsterdam. 
 
 It is abundantly evident from Galileo's 
 correspondence that this edition was 
 printed with his full concurrence, al- 
 though, in order to obviate further an- 
 noyance, he pretended that it was pirated 
 from a manuscript copy which he sent 
 into France to the Comte de Noailles, to 
 whom the work is dedicated. The 
 same dissimulation had been previously 
 thought necessary, on occasion of the 
 Latin translation of " The Dialogues on 
 the System," by Bernegger, which Gali- 
 leo expressly requested through his 
 friend Deodati, and of which he more 
 than once privately signified his appro- 
 bation, presenting the translator with a 
 valuable telescope, although he publicly 
 protested against its appearance. The 
 story which Bernegger introduced in his 
 preface, tending to exculpate Galileo 
 from any share in the publication, is 
 by his own confession a mere fiction. 
 Noailles had been ambassador at Rome, 
 and, by his conduct there, well deserved 
 the compliment which Galileo paid him 
 on the present occasion. 
 
 As an introduction to the account of 
 this work, which Galileo considered the 
 best he had ever produced, it will become 
 necessary to premise a slight sketch of 
 the nature of the mechanical philosophy 
 which he found prevailing, nearly as it 
 had been delivered by Aristotle, with the 
 same view with which we introduced spe- 
 cimens of the astronomical opinions cur- 
 rent when Galileo began to write on that 
 subject : they serve to show the nature 
 
78 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 and objects of the reasoning which he 
 had to oppose ; and, without some expo- 
 sition of them, the aim and value of 
 many of his arguments would be imper- 
 fectly understood and appreciated. 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 State of the Science of Motion before 
 Galileo. 
 
 It is generally difficult to trace any 
 branch of human knowledge up to 
 its origin, and more especially when, 
 as in the case of mechanics, it is 
 very closely connected with the im- 
 mediate wants of mankind. Little has 
 been told to us when we are in- 
 formed that so soon as a man might 
 wish to remove a heavy stone, u he 
 would be led, by natural instinct, to 
 slide under it the end of some long 
 instrument, and that the same instinct 
 would teach him either to raise the 
 further end, or to press it downwards, so 
 as to turn round upon some support 
 placed as near to the stone as possible*." 
 
 Montucla's history would have lost 
 nothing in value, if, omitting " this 
 philosophical view of the birth of the 
 art," he had contented himself with 
 his previous remark, that there can be 
 little doubt that men were familiar 
 with the use of mechanical contrivances 
 long before the idea occurred of enu- 
 merating or describing them, or even 
 of examining very closely the nature and 
 limits of the aid they are capable of af- 
 fording. The most careless observer 
 indeed could scarcely overlook that the 
 weights heaved up with a lever, or rolled 
 along a slope into their intended places, 
 reached them more slowly than those 
 which the workmen could lift directly 
 in their hands ; but it probably needed 
 a much longer time to enable them to 
 see the exact relation which, in these and 
 all other machines, exists between the 
 increase of the power to move, and the 
 decreasing swiftness of the thing moved. 
 
 In the preface to Galileo's Treatise on 
 Mechanical Science, published in 1592, 
 he is at some pains to set in a clear 
 light the real advantages belonging to 
 the use of machines, " which (says he) 
 I have thought it necessary to do, be- 
 cause, if I mistake not, I see almost all 
 mechanics deceiving themselves in the 
 belief that, by the help of a machine, 
 they can raise a greater w r eight than they 
 are able to lift by the exertion of the 
 
 * Histoire des Mathmatiques, vol. i. p. 97. 
 
 same force without it. Now if we take 
 any determinate weight, and any force, 
 and any distance whatever, it is beyond 
 doubt that we can move the weight to 
 that distance by means of that force ; 
 because even although the force may 
 be exceedingly small, if we divide the 
 weight into a number of fragments, 
 each of which is not too much for our 
 force, and carry these pieces one by one, 
 at length we shall have removed the 
 whole weight ; nor can we reasonably say 
 at the end of our work, that this great 
 weight has been moved and carried away 
 by a force less than itself, unless we add 
 that the force has passed several times 
 over the space through which the whole 
 weight has gone but once. From which 
 it appears that the velocity of the force 
 (understanding by velocity the space 
 gone through in a given time) has been 
 as many times greater than that of the 
 weight, as the weight is greater than 
 the force : nor can we on that ac- 
 count say that a great force is over- 
 come by a small one, contrary to nature : 
 then only might we say that nature is 
 overcome when a small force moves a 
 great weight as swiftly as itself, which 
 we assert to be absolutely impossible 
 with any machine either already or here- 
 after to be contrived. But since it may 
 occasionally happen that we have but a 
 small force, and want to move a great 
 weight without dividing it into pieces, 
 then we must have recourse to a ma- 
 chine by means of which we shall re- 
 move the given weight, with the given 
 force, through the required space. But 
 nevertheless the force as before will 
 have to travel over that very same space 
 as many times repeated as the weight sur- 
 passes its power, so that, at the end of 
 our work, we shall find that we have 
 derived no other benefit from our ma- 
 chine than that we have carried away 
 the same weight altogether, which if 
 divided into pieces we could have car- 
 ried without the machine, by the same 
 force, through the same space, in the 
 same time. This is one of the advan- 
 tages of a machine, because it often hap- 
 pens that we have a lack of force but 
 abundance of time, and that we wish to 
 move great weights all at once." 
 
 This compensation of force and time 
 has been fancifully personified by saying 
 that Nature cannot be cheated, and in 
 scientific treatises on mechanics, is 
 called the " principle of virtual velocities," 
 consisting in the theorem that two 
 weights will balance each other on any 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 79 
 
 machine, no matter how complicated or 
 intricate the connecting contrivances 
 may be, when one weight bears to the 
 other the same proportion that the 
 space through which the latter would 
 be raised bears to that through which 
 the former would sink, in the first instant 
 of their motion, if the machine were 
 stirred by a third force. The whole 
 theory of machines consists merely in 
 generalizing and following out this prin- 
 ciple into its consequences ; combined, 
 when the machines are in a state of mo- 
 tion, with another principle equally 
 elementary, but to which our present 
 subject does not lead us to allude more 
 particularly. 
 
 The credit of making known the prin- 
 ciple of virtual velocities is universally 
 given to Galileo ; and so far deservedly, 
 that he undoubtedly perceived the im- 
 portance of it, and by introducing it 
 everywhere into his writings succeeded 
 in recommending it to others ; so that 
 five and twenty years after his death, 
 Borelli, who had been one of Galileo's 
 pupils, calls it " that mechanical prin- 
 ciple with which everybody is so fa- 
 miliar*," and from that time to the 
 present it has continued to be taught as 
 an elementary truth in most systems of 
 mechanics. But although Galileo had 
 the merit in this, as in so many other 
 cases, of familiarizing and reconciling 
 the world to the reception of truth, there 
 are remarkable traces before his time of 
 the employment of this same principle, 
 some of which have been strangely dis- 
 regarded. Lagrange assertsf that the 
 ancients were entirely ignorant of the 
 principle of virtual velocities, although 
 Galileo, to whom he refers it, dis- 
 tinctly mentions that he himself found 
 it in the writings of Aristotle. Montu- 
 cla quotes a passage from Aristotle's 
 Physics, in which the law is stated 
 generally, but adds that he did not 
 perceive its immediate application to the 
 lever, and other machines. The pas- 
 sage to which Galileo alludes is in 
 Aristotle's Mechanics, where, in dis- 
 cussing the properties of the lever, he 
 says expressly, " the same force will raise 
 a greater weight, in proportion as the 
 force is applied at a greater distance 
 from the fulcrum, and the reason, as I 
 have already said, is because it describes 
 a greater circle ; and a weight which 
 is farther removed from the centre is 
 made to move through a greater space."$ 
 
 * De vi Percussioais, Bononiae, 1667. 
 -f Mec. Analyt. } Mechanica, 
 
 It is true, that in the last mentioned 
 treatise, Aristotle has given other rea- 
 sons which belong to a very different 
 kind of philosophy, and which may lead 
 us to doubt whether he fully saw the 
 force of the one we have just quoted. 
 It appeared to him not wonderful that so 
 many mechanical paradoxes (as he 
 called them) should be connected with 
 circular motion, since the circle itself 
 seemed of so paradoxical a nature. 
 " For, in the first place, it is made up of 
 an immoveable centre, and a moveable 
 radius, qualities which are contrary to 
 each other. 2dly. Its circumference is 
 both convex and concave. 3dly. The 
 motion by which it is described is both 
 forward and backward, for the describing 
 radius comes back to the place from 
 which it started. 4thly. The radius is 
 one; but every point of it moves in de- 
 scribing the circle with a different degree 
 of swiftness." 
 
 Perhaps Aristotle may have borrowed 
 the idea of virtual velocities, contrast- 
 ing so strongly with his other physi- 
 cal notions, from some older writer; 
 possibly from Archytas, who, we are 
 told, was the first to reduce the science 
 of mechanics to methodical order ; * 
 and who by the testimony of his coun- 
 trymen was gifted with extraordinary 
 talents, although none of his works have 
 come down to us. The other principles and 
 maxims of Aristotle's mechanical phi- 
 losophy, which we shall have occasion 
 to cite, are scattered through his books 
 on Mechanics, on the Heavens, and in 
 his Physical Lectures, and will therefore 
 follow rather unconnectedly, though we 
 have endeavoured to arrange them with 
 as much regularity as possible. 
 
 After defining a body to be that which 
 is divisible in every direction, Aristotle 
 proceeds to inquire how it happens that 
 a body has only the three dimensions 
 of length, breadth, and thickness ; and 
 seems to think he has given a reason in 
 sayingthat, when we speak of two things, 
 we do not say " all," but " both," and 
 three is the first number of which we 
 say " all." f When he comes to speak 
 of motion, he says, "If motion is not 
 understood, we cannot but remain igno- 
 rant of Nature. Motion appears to be 
 of the nature of continuous quantities, 
 and in continuous quantity infinity first 
 makes its appearance ; so as to furnish 
 some with a definition who say that con- 
 
 * Diog. Laert. In vit. Archyt. 
 f De Ccelo, lib. i. c. h m 
 
80 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 tinuous quantity is that which is infi- 
 nitely divisible. Moreover, unless there 
 be time, space, and a vacuum, it is im- 
 possible that there should be motion*." 
 Few propositions of Aristotle's physical 
 philosophy are more notorious than his 
 assertion that nature abhors a vacuum, 
 on which account this last passage is the 
 more remarkable, as he certainly did not 
 go so far as to deny the existence of 
 motion, and therefore asserts here the 
 necessity of that of which he afterwards 
 attempts to show the absurdity. " Mo- 
 tion is the energy of what exists in power 
 so far forth as so existing. It is that 
 act of a moveable which belongs to its 
 power of moving." f After struggling 
 through such passages as the preceding 
 we come at last to a resting-place. " It 
 is difficult to understand what motion 
 is." When the same question was once 
 proposed to another Greek philosopher, 
 he walked away, saying, " I cannot tell 
 you, but I will show you ; " an answer 
 intrinsically worth more than all the sub- 
 tleties of Aristotle, who was not humble- 
 minded enough to discover that he was 
 tasking his genius beyond the limits 
 marked out for human comprehension. 
 
 He labours in the same manner and 
 with the same success to vary the 
 idea of space. He begins the next book 
 with declaring, that " those who say 
 there is a vacuum assert the existence 
 of space : for a vacuum is space, in 
 which there is no substance ;" and after 
 a long and tedious reasoning concludes 
 that, " not only what space is, but also 
 whether there be such a thing, cannot 
 but be doubted."j Of time he is content 
 to say merely, that " it is clear that time 
 is not motion, but that without motion 
 there would be no time ; " and there 
 is perhaps little fault to be found with 
 this remark, understanding motion in 
 
 , Phys. lib. i. e. 3. 
 
 f Lib. iii. c. 2. The Aristotelians distinguished 
 between things as existing- in act or energy (tvig- 
 yita) and things in capacity or power (ovvxfu$). 
 For the advantage of those who may think the 
 distinction worth attending to, we give an illus- 
 tration of Aristotle's meaning, from a very acute and 
 learned commentator: " It (motion) is something 
 jnore than dead capacity ; something less than per- 
 fect actuality ; capacity roused, and striving to quit 
 its latent character; not the capable brass, nor yet 
 the actual statue, but the capacity in energy ; that is 
 to say, the brass in fusion while it is becoming the 
 statue and is not yet become." " The bow moves 
 not because it may be bent, nor because it is bent ; 
 but the motion lies between ; lies in an imperfect 
 and obscure union of the two together ; is the actu- 
 ality (if I may so say) even of capacity itself: im- 
 perfect and obscure, because such is capacity to 
 which it belongs." Harris, Philosophical Arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 $ Lib. iv. c. 1. Lib. it. c. 11. 
 
 the general sense in which Aristotle 
 here applies it, of every description of 
 change. 
 
 Proceeding after these remarks on the 
 nature of motion in general to the 
 motion of bodies, we are told that " all 
 local motion is either straight, circular, or 
 compounded of these two ; for these two 
 are the only simple sorts of motion. 
 Bodies are divided into simple and con- 
 crete ; simple bodies are those which 
 have naturally a principle of motion, 
 as fire and earth, and their kinds. By 
 simple motion is meant the motion of 
 a simple body." * By these expressions 
 Aristotle did not mean that a simple 
 body cannot have what he calls a 
 compound motion, but in that case he 
 called the motion violent or unnatu- 
 ral ; this division of motion into na- 
 tural and violent runs through the 
 whole of the mechanical philosophy 
 founded upon his principles. " Circular 
 motion is the only one which can be 
 endless ;"f the reason of which is given 
 in another place : for " that cannot be 
 doing, which cannot be done; and 
 therefore it cannot be that a body should 
 be moving towards a point ii. e. the end 
 of an infinite straight line) whither no 
 motion is sufficient to bring it." % Ba- 
 con seems to have had these passages 
 in view when he indulged in the reflec- 
 tions which we have quoted in page 14. 
 " There are four kinds of motion of one 
 thing by another: Drawing, Pushing, 
 Carrying, Rolling. Of these, Carrying 
 and Rolling may be referred to Drawing 
 and Pushing.^ The prime mover and 
 the thing moved are always in contact." 
 
 The principle of the composition of 
 motions is stated very plainly : " when 
 a moveable is urged in two directions 
 with motions bearing any ratio to each 
 other, it moves necessarily in a straight 
 line, which is the diameter of the figure 
 formed by drawing the two lines of di- 
 rection in that ratio ;"|| and adds, in a 
 singularly curious passage, " but when 
 it is urged for any time with two motions 
 which have an indefinitely small ratio 
 one to another, the motion cannot be 
 straight, so that a body describes ' a 
 curve, when it is urged by two motions 
 bearing an indefinitely small ratio one 
 to another, and lasting ,an indefinitely 
 small time."^ 
 
 De Ccelo, lib. i. c. 2. f Phys. lib. viii. c. 8. 
 X De Coelo, lib. i. c. 6. Phys. lib. vii. c. 2. 
 | Mechanica. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 81 
 
 He seemed on the point of discover- 
 ing some of the real laws of motion, 
 when he was led to ask "Why are 
 bodies in motion more easily "moved 
 than those which are at rest? And 
 why does the motion cease of things 
 cast into the air ? Is it that the force 
 has ceased which sent them forth, or is 
 there a struggle against the motion, or 
 is it through the disposition to fall, does it 
 become stronger than the projectile force, 
 or is it foolish to entertain doubts on this 
 question, when the body has quitted 
 the principle of its motion ? " A com- 
 mentator at the close of the sixteenth 
 century says on this passage : " They 
 fall because every thing recurs to its 
 nature; for if you throw a stone 
 a thousand times into the air, it 
 will never accustom itself to move 
 upwards."' Perhaps we shall now find 
 it difficult not to smile at the idea we 
 may form of this luckless experimen- 
 talist, teaching stones to fly; yet it 
 may be useful to remember that it is 
 only because we have already collected 
 an opinion from the results of a vast 
 number of observations in the daily 
 experience of life, that our ridicule 
 would not be altogether misplaced, and 
 that we are totally unable to determine 
 by any kind of reasoning, unaccompa- 
 nied by experiment, whether a stone 
 thrown into the air would fall again to 
 the earth, or move for ever upwards, or 
 in any other conceivable manner and 
 direction. 
 
 The opinion which Aristotle held, that 
 motion must be caused by something in 
 contact with the body moved, led him 
 to his famous theory that falling bodies 
 are accelerated by the air through which 
 they pass. We will show how it was 
 attempted to explain this process when 
 we come to speak of more modern au- 
 thors. He classed natural bodies into 
 heavy and light, remarking at the same 
 time that it is clear that " there are 
 some bodies possessing neither gravity 
 nor levity*." By light bodies he under- 
 stood those which have a natural ten- 
 dency to move from the earth, observing 
 that " that which is lighter is not al- 
 ways lightf." He maintained that the 
 
 X'xra pvdivcc xgovov, aluvarov ivhutv ztvat <njv 
 tpogciv. Eav yap nva Xoyov in^Oy iv ^oovoa rm 
 tovtov ccvmyKn rov %ovov ivhmv uvcci Qogclv ha 
 
 vov <poa, s t* pvhn "kayo* pthm %om, i.e. 
 ds 
 
 V= T, 
 
 * De Ccelo, lib, i, c. 3. 
 
 t Lib. iv. c. 2 
 
 heavenly bodies were altogether devoid 
 of gravity ; and we have already had 
 occasion to mention his assertion, that 
 a large body falls faster than a small 
 one in proportion to its weight*. With 
 this opinion may be classed another 
 great mistake, in maintaining that the 
 same bodies fall through different me- 
 diums, as air or water, with velocities 
 reciprocally proportional to their densi- 
 ties. By a singular inversion of expe- 
 rimental science, Cardan, relying on this 
 assertion, proposed in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury to determine the densities of air 
 and water by observing the different 
 times taken by a stone in falling through 
 themf. Galileo inquired afterwards why 
 the experiment should not be made with 
 a cork, which pertinent question put an 
 end to the theory. 
 
 There are curious traces still pre- 
 served in the poem of Lucretius of a 
 mechanical philosophy, of which the 
 credit is in general given to Democritus, 
 where many principles are inculcated 
 strongly at variance with Aristotle's no- 
 tions. We find absolute levity denied, 
 and not only the assertion that in a 
 vacuum all things would fall, but that 
 they would fall with the same velocity ; 
 and the inequalities which we observe 
 are attributed to the right cause, the 
 impediment of the air, although the 
 error remains of believing the velocity 
 of bodies falling through the air to be 
 proportional to their weighty. Such 
 specimens of this earlier philosophy 
 
 Phys., lib. iv. c. 8. f De Proport. Basileae, 1570. 
 $ " Nunc locus est, ut opinor, in his illud quoque 
 
 rebus 
 Confirmare tibi, nullam rem posse sua vi 
 Corpoream sursum ferri, sursumqne meare. 
 Nee quom subsiliunt ignes ad tecta domorum, 
 Et celeri flamina degustant tigna trabeisque 
 Sponte sua facere id sine vi subicente putaudum e3t. 
 Nonne vides etiam quanta vi tigna trabeisque 
 Respuat humor aquae ? Nam quod magi' mersi- 
 
 mus altum 
 Directa et magna vi multi pressimus aegre: 
 Tarn cupide sursum revomit magis atque remittit 
 Plus ut parte foras emergant, exsiliautque : 
 Nee tamen haec, quantu'st in sedubitamus, opinor, 
 Quinvacuum per inane deorsum cuncta ferantur, 
 Sic igitur debent flammae quoque posse per auras 
 Aeris expressae sursum subsidere, quamquam 
 Pondera quantum in se est deorsum deducere pug- 
 
 nent. 
 Quod si forte aliquis credit Graviora potesse 
 Corpora, quo citius rectum per Inane feruntur, 
 Avius a vera longe ratione recedit. 
 Nam per Aquas quaecunque cadunt atque Aera 
 
 deorsum 
 Haec pro ponderibus casus celerare necesse 'st 
 Propterea quia corpus Aquae, naturaque tenuis 
 Aeris baud possunt aeque rem quamque morari : J 
 Sed citius cedunt Gravioribus exsuperata. 
 At contra nulli de nulla parte, neque ullo 
 Tempore Inane potest Vacuum subsistere reii 
 Quin, sua quod natura petit, considere pergat : 
 Omnia qua propter debent per Inane quietum 
 ^Cque ponderibus non aequis concita ferri." 
 
 De Re rum Natura, lib. ii, v. 184239. 
 
82 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 may well indispose us towards Aris- 
 totle, who was as successful in the 
 science of motion as he was in astro- 
 nomy in suppressing the knowledge 
 of a theory so much sounder than that 
 which he imposed so long upon the cre- 
 dulity of his blinded admirers. 
 
 An agreeable contrast to Aristotle's 
 mystical sayings and fruitless syllogisms 
 is presented in Archimedes' book on 
 Equilibrium, in which he demonstrates 
 very satisfactorily, though with greater 
 cumbrousness of apparatus than is now 
 thought necessary, the principal pro- 
 perties of the lever. This and the Trea- 
 tise on the Equilibrium of Floating 
 Bodies are the only mechanical works 
 which have reached us of this writer, 
 who was by common consent one of the 
 most accomplished mathematicians of 
 antiquity. Ptolemy the astronomer 
 wrote also a Treatise on Mechanics, 
 now lost, which probably contained 
 much that would be interesting in the 
 history of mechanics ; for Pappus says, 
 in the Preface to the Eighth Book of 
 his Mathematical Collections : " There 
 is no occasion for me to explain what 
 is meant by a heavy, and what by a 
 light body, and why bodies are carried 
 up and down, and in what sense these 
 very words up ' and * down ' are to be 
 taken, and by what limits they are 
 bounded ; for all this is declared in 
 Ptolemy's Mechanics."* This book of 
 Ptolemy's appears to have been also 
 known by Eutocius, a commentator of 
 Archimedes, who lived about the end of 
 the fifth century of our era ; he intimates 
 that the doctrines contained in it are 
 grounded upon Aristotle's ; if so, its loss 
 is less to be lamented. Pappus's own 
 book deserves attention for the enume- 
 ration which he makes of the mechanical 
 powers, namely, the wheel and axle, the 
 lever, pullies, the wedge and the screw. 
 He gives the credit to Hero and Philo 
 of having shown, in works which have 
 not reached us, that the theory of all 
 these machines is the same. In Pap- 
 pus we also find the first attempt to 
 discover the force necessary to support 
 a given weight on an inclined plane. 
 This in fact is involved in the theory 
 of the screw ; and the same vicious 
 reasoning which Pappus employs on 
 this occasion was probably found in 
 those treatises which he quotes with 
 so much approbation. Numerous as 
 are the faults of his pretended demon- 
 
 * Math. Coll. Pi sani, 1662. 
 
 stration, it was received undoubtingly 
 for a long period. 
 
 The credit of first giving the true 
 theory of equilibrium on the inclined 
 plane is usually ascribed to Stevin, al- 
 though, as we shall presently show, with 
 very little reason. Stevin supposed a 
 chain to be placed over two inclined 
 planes, and to hang down in the manner 
 represented in the figure. He then urged 
 that the chain would be in equilibrium ; 
 for otherwise, it would incessantly conti- 
 nue in motion, if there were any cause 
 why it should begin to move. This being 
 conceded, he remarks further, that the 
 parts A D and BD are also in equili- 
 brium, being exactly similar to each 
 other; and therefore 
 if they are taken 
 away, the remaining 
 parts A C and B C 
 will also be in equi- 
 librium. The weights 
 of these parts are 
 proportional to the 
 lengths AC and BC; 
 and hence Stevin 
 concluded that two 
 weights would balance on two inclined 
 planes, which are to each other as the 
 lengths of the planes included between 
 the same parallels to the horizon.* This 
 conclusion is the correct one, and there is 
 certainly great ingenuity in this contriv- 
 ance to facilitate the demonstration ; it 
 must nol however be mistaken for an 
 a priori proof, as it sometimes seems to 
 have been : we should remember that the 
 experiments which led to the principle 
 of virtual velocities are also necessary 
 to show the absurdity of supposing a 
 perpetual motion, which is made the 
 foundation of this theorem. That prin- 
 ciple had been applied directly to deter- 
 mine the same proportion in a work 
 written long before, where it has re- 
 mained singularly concealed from the 
 notice of most who have written on this 
 subject. The book bears the name of 
 Jordanus, who lived at Namur in the 
 thirteenth century ; but Commandine, 
 who refers to it in his Commentary on 
 Pappus, considers it as the work of an 
 earlier period. The author takes the 
 principle of virtual velocities for the 
 groundwork of his explanations, both 
 of the lever and inclined plane ; the 
 latter will not occupy much space, and 
 in an historical point of view is too 
 curious to be omitted. 
 
 * CEuvres Math^matiques. Leyde. 1634, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 83 
 
 *' Qucest. 10. If two weights descend 
 by paths of different obliquities, and the 
 proportion be the same of the weights 
 and the inclinations taken in the same 
 order, they will have the same descend- 
 ing force. By the inclinations, I do 
 not mean the angles, but the paths up 
 to the point in which both meet the same 
 perpendicular.* Let, therefore, e be 
 the weight upon d c, and h upon d a, 
 and let e be to h as d c to d a. I say 
 these weights, in this situation, are 
 equally effective. Take d k equally in- 
 clined with d c, and upon it a weight 
 equal to e, which call 6. If possible let 
 e descend to I, so as to raise h to m, and 
 
 take 6 n equal to h m or e I, and draw 
 the horizontal and perpendicular lines as 
 in the figure. 
 
 ThQnnz\n G::db:dk 
 and mh:m x'.'.d a:d b 
 therefore nz:m xi'.d a:d k::h:6, and 
 therefore since e r is not able to raise 
 6 to n, neither will it be able to raise 
 h to m ; therefore they will remain as 
 they are."t The passage in Italics 
 tacitly assumes the principle in ques- 
 tion. Tartalea, who edited Jorda- 
 nus's book in 1565, has copied this 
 theorem verbatim into one of his own 
 treatises, and from that time it appears 
 to have attracted no further attention. 
 The rest of the book is of an inferior 
 description. We find Aristotle's doc- 
 trine repeated, that the velocity of a 
 falling body is proportional to its weight ; 
 that the weight of a heavy body changes 
 with its form ; and other similar opinions. 
 The manner in which falling bodies are 
 accelerated by the air is given in detail. 
 *' By its first motion the heavy body 
 will drag after it what is behind, and 
 move what is just below it ; and these 
 when put in motion move what is next 
 to them, so that by being set in motion 
 they less impede the falling body. In 
 
 * This is not a literal translation, but by what 
 follows, is evidently the Author's meaning. His 
 words are, " Proportionem igitur declinationum dico 
 non angulorum, sed linearum usque ad aequidis- 
 tantem resecationem in qua jequaliter sumunt de 
 directo." 
 
 t OpusculumDePonderositate. Venetiis, 1565, 
 
 this manner it has the effect of being 
 -heavier, and impels still more those 
 which give way before it, until at last 
 they are no longer impelled, but begin 
 to drag. And thus it happens that its 
 gravity is increased by their attraction, 
 and their motion by its gravity, whence 
 we see that its velocity is continually 
 multiplied." 
 
 In this short review of the state of 
 mechanical science before Galileo, the 
 name of Guido Ubaldi ought not to be 
 omitted, although his works contain 
 little or nothing original. We have 
 already mentioned Benedetti as having 
 successfully attacked some of Aristotle's 
 statical doctrines, but it is to be noticed 
 that the laws of motion were little if at 
 all examined by any of these writers. 
 There are a few theorems connected 
 with this latter subject in Cardan's ex- 
 traordinary book " On Proportions," but 
 for the most part false and contradictory. 
 In the seventy- first proposition of his 
 fifth book, he examines the force of the 
 screw in supporting a given weight, and 
 determines it accurately on the principle 
 of virtual velocities; namely, that the 
 power applied at the end of the horizon- 
 tal lever must make a complete circuit 
 at that distance from the centre, whilst 
 the weight rises through the perpen- 
 dicular height of the thread. The very 
 next proposition in the same page is 
 to find the same relation between the 
 power and weight on an inclined plane ; 
 and although the identity of principle 
 in these two mechanical aids was well 
 known, yet Cardan declares the neces- 
 sary sustaining force to vary as the 
 angle of inclination of the plane, for no 
 better reason than that such an expres- 
 sion will properly represent it at the 
 two limiting angles of inclination, since 
 the force is nothing when the plane is 
 horizontal, and equal to the weight 
 when perpendicular. This again shows 
 how cautious we should be in attribut- 
 ing the full knowledge of general prin- 
 ciples to these early writers, on account 
 of occasional indications of their having 
 employed them. 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 Galileo's theory of Motion Extracts 
 
 from the Dialogues. 
 During Galileo's residence at Sienna, 
 when his recent persecution had ren- 
 dered astronomy an ungrateful, and in- 
 deed an unsafe occupation for his ever 
 active mind, he returned with increased 
 pleasure to the favourite employment of 
 G2 
 
84 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 his earlier years, an inquiry into the laws 
 and phenomena of motion. His manu- 
 script treatises on motion, written about 
 1590, which are mentioned by Venturi 
 to be in the Ducal library at Florence, 
 seem, from the published titles of the 
 chapters, to consist principally of objec- 
 tions to the theory of Aristotle ; a few 
 only appear to enter on a new field of 
 speculation. The 11th, 13th, and 17th 
 chapters relate to the motion of bodies 
 on variously inclined planes, and of pro- 
 jectiles. The title of the 14th implies a 
 new theory of accelerated motion, and 
 the assertion in that of the 16th, that a 
 body falling naturally for however great 
 a time would never "acquire more than 
 an assignable degree of velocity, shows 
 that at this early period Galileo had 
 formed just and accurate notions of the 
 action of a resisting medium. It is 
 hazardous to conjecture how much he 
 might have then acquired of what we 
 should now call more elementary know- 
 ledge ; a safer course will be to trace 
 his progress through existing documents 
 in their chronological order. In 1602 
 we find Galileo apologizing in a letter 
 addressed to his early patron the Mar- 
 chese Guido Ubaldi, for pressing again 
 upon his attention the isochronism of 
 the pendulum, which Ubaldi had re- 
 jected as false and impossible. It may 
 not be superfluous to observe that 
 Galileo's results are not quite accurate, 
 for there is a perceptible increase in the 
 time occupied by the oscillations in 
 larger arcs ; it is therefore probable that 
 he was induced to speak so confidently 
 of their perfect equality, from'attributing 
 the increase of time which he could not 
 avoid remarking to the increased resist- 
 ance of the air during the larger vibra- 
 tions. The analytical methods then 
 known would not permit him to dis- 
 cover the curious fact, that the time of 
 a total vibration is not sensibly altered 
 by this cause, except so far as it dimi- 
 nishes the extent of the swing, and thus 
 in fact, (paradoxical as it may sound) 
 rer/ders each oscillation successively 
 more rapid, though in a very small 
 degree. He does indeed make the 
 same remark, that the resistance of the 
 air will not affect the time of the oscilla- 
 tion, but that assertion was a conse- 
 quence of his erroneous belief that the 
 time of vibration in all arcs is the same. 
 Had he been aware of the variation, there 
 is no reason to think that he could have 
 perceived that this result is not affected 
 by it. In this letter is the first mention 
 
 of the theorem, that the times of fall 
 down all the chords drawn from the 
 lowest point of a circle are equal ; and 
 anolher, from which Galileo afterwards 
 deduced the curious result, that it takes 
 less time to fall down the curve than 
 down the chord, notwithstanding the 
 latter is the direct and shortest course. 
 In conclusion he says, " Up to this point 
 1 can go without exceeding the limits of 
 mechanics, but I have not yet been able 
 to demonstrate that all arcs are passed 
 in the same time, which is what I am 
 seeking." In 1604 he addressed the 
 following letter to Sarpi, suggesting the 
 false theory sometimes called Baliani's, 
 who took it from Galileo. 
 * " Returning to the subject of motion, 
 in which I was entirely without a fixed 
 principle, from which to deduce the 
 phenomena I have observed, I have hit 
 upon a proposition, which seems natural 
 and likely enough ; and if 1 take it for 
 granted, I can show that the spaces 
 passed in natural motion are in the 
 double proportion of the times, and con- 
 sequently that the spaces passed in equal 
 times are as the odd numbers beginning 
 from unity, and the rest. The principle 
 is this, that the swiftness of the move- 
 able increases in the proportion of its 
 distance from the point whence it began 
 to move ; as for instance, if a heavy 
 body drop from A towards 
 A - D, by the line ABCD, I 
 suppose the degree of velo- 
 city which it has at B to 
 bear to the velocity at C the 
 ratio of AB to AC. I shall 
 be very glad if your Rever- 
 ence will consider this, and 
 2 _ tell me your opinion of it. 
 If we admit this principle, 
 not only, as I have said, shall 
 we demonstrate the other 
 conclusions, but we have 
 it in our power to show that 
 a body falling naturally, and another 
 projected upwards, pass through the 
 same degrees of velocity. For if the pro- 
 jectile be cast up from D to A, it is clear 
 that at D it has force enough to reach 
 A, and no farther ; and when it has 
 reached C and B, it is equally clear that 
 it is still joined to a degree of force 
 capable of carrying it to A : thus it is 
 manifest that the forces at D, C and B 
 decrease in the proportion of A B, A C, 
 and A D ; so that if, in falling, the degrees 
 of velocity observe the same proportion, 
 that is true which I have hitherto main- 
 tained and believed." 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 85 
 
 We have no means of knowing how- 
 early Galileo discovered the fallacy of 
 this reasoning. In his Dialogues on Mo- 
 tion, which contain the correct theory, 
 he has put this erroneous supposition 
 in the mouth of Sagredo, on which 
 Salviati remarks, " Your discourse has 
 so much likelihood in it, that our author 
 himself did not deny to me when I pro- 
 posed it to him, that he also had been 
 for some time in the same mistake. 
 But that which I afterwards extremely 
 wondered at, was to see discovered in 
 four plain words, not only the falsity, 
 but the impossibility of a supposition 
 carrying with it so much of seeming 
 truth, that although I proposed it to 
 many, I never met with any one but did 
 freely admit it to be so ; and yet it is as 
 false and impossible as that motion is 
 made in an instant : for if the velocities 
 are as the spaces passed, those spaces 
 will be passed in equal times, and con- 
 sequently all motion must be instanta- 
 neous." The following manner of put- 
 ting this reasoning will perhaps make 
 the conclusion clearer. The velocity at 
 any point is the space that would be 
 passed in the next moment of time, if 
 the motion be supposed to continue the 
 same as at that point. At the beginning 
 of the time, when the body is at rest, the 
 motion is none ; and therefore, on this 
 theory, the space passed in the next 
 moment is none, and thus it will be seen 
 that the body cannot begin to move ac- 
 cording to the supposed law. 
 
 A curious fact, noticed by Guido 
 Grandi in his commentary on Galileo's 
 Dialogues on Motion, is that this false 
 law of acceleration is precisely that 
 which would make a circular arc the 
 shortest line of descent between two 
 given points ; and although in general 
 Galileo only declared that the fall down 
 the arc is made in less time than down 
 the chord (in which he is quite correct), 
 yet in some places he seems to assert 
 that the circular arc is absolutely the 
 shortest line of descent, which is not 
 true. It has been thought possible that 
 the law, which on reflection he per- 
 ceived to be impossible, might have 
 originally recommended itself to him 
 from his perception that it satisfied his 
 prejudice in this respect. 
 
 John Bernouilli, one of the first ma- 
 thematicians in Europe at the beginning 
 of the last century, has given us a proof 
 that such a reason might impose even 
 on a strong understanding, in the follow- 
 ing argument urged by him in favour 
 
 of Galileo's second and correct theory, 
 that the spaces vary as the squares of 
 the times. He had been investigating 
 the curve of swiftest descent, and found 
 it to be a cycloid, the same curve in 
 which Huyghens had already proved 
 that all oscillations are made in accu- 
 rately equal times. " I think it," says 
 he, " worthy of remark that this iden- 
 tity only occurs on Galileo's supposition, 
 so that this alone might lead us to pre- 
 sume it to be the real law of nature. 
 For nature, which always does every- 
 thing in the very simplest manner, thus 
 makes one line do double work, whereas 
 on any other supposition, we must have 
 had two lines, one for equal oscillations, 
 the other for the shortest descent."* 
 
 Venturi mentions a letter addressed 
 to Galileo in May 1609 by Luca Valerio, 
 thanking him for his experiments on 
 the descent of bodies on inclined planes. 
 His method of making these experi- 
 ments is detailed in the Dialogues on 
 Motion : " In a rule, or rather plank 
 of wood, about twelve yards long, half a 
 yard broad one way, and three inches 
 the other, we made upon the narrow 
 side or edge a groove of little more than 
 an. inch wide : we cut it very straight, 
 and, to make it very smooth and sleek, 
 we glued upon it a piece of vellum, po- 
 lished and smoothed as exactly as pos- 
 sible, and in that we let fall a very hard, 
 round, and smooth brass ball, raising 
 one of the ends of the plank a yard or 
 two at pleasure above the horizontal 
 plane. We observed, in the manner that 
 I shall tell you presently, the time which 
 it spent in running down, and repeated 
 the same observation again and again 
 to assure ourselves of the time, in which 
 we never found any difference, no, not 
 so much as the tenth part of one beat 
 of the pulse. Having made and settled 
 this experiment, we let the same ball 
 descend through a fourth part only of 
 the length of the groove, and found the 
 measured time to be exactly half the 
 former. Continuing our experiments 
 with other portions of the length, com- 
 paring the fall through the whole with, 
 the fall through half, two-thirds, three- 
 fourths, in short, with the fall through 
 any part, we found by many hundred 
 experiments that the spaces passed over 
 were as the squares of the times, and 
 that this was the case in all inclinations 
 of the plank ; during which, we also re- 
 
 * Joh. Bernouilli, Opera Omnia,' Lausann, 17*4, 
 torn. i. p. 192. 
 
86 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 marked that the times of descent, on 
 different inclinations, observe accurately 
 the proportion assigned to them farther 
 on, and demonstrated by our author. 
 As to the estimation of the time, we 
 hung up a great bucket full of water, 
 which by a very small hole pierced in 
 the bottom squirted out a fine thread 
 of water, which we caught in a small 
 glass during the whole time of the dif- 
 ferent descents: then weighing from 
 time to time, in an exact pair of scales, 
 the quantity of water caught in this way, 
 the differences and proportions of their 
 weights gave the differences and propor- 
 tions of the times ; and this with such 
 exactness that, as I said before, although 
 the experiments were repeated again and 
 again, they never differed in any degree 
 worth noticing." In order to get rid of 
 the friction, Galileo afterwards substi- 
 tuted experiments with the pendulum; 
 but with all his care he erred very 
 widely in his determination of the space 
 through which a body would fall in l", if 
 the resistance of the air and all other im- 
 pediments were removed. He fixed it 
 at 4 braccia: Mersenne has engraved 
 the length of the ' braccia 7 used by Ga- 
 lileo, in his " Harmonic. Universelle," 
 from which it appears to be about 23f 
 English inches, so that Galileo's result 
 is rather less than eight feet. Mersenne's 
 own result from direct observation was 
 thirteen feet : he also made experiments 
 in St. Peter's at Rome, with a pendulum 
 325 feet long, the vibrations of which 
 were made in 1 0" ; from this the fall in 
 V might have been deduced rather more 
 than sixteen feet, which is very close to 
 the truth. 
 
 From another letter also written in the 
 early part of 1609, we learn that Galileo 
 w r as then busied with examining the 
 strength and resistance " of beams of 
 different sizes and forms, and how much 
 weaker they are in the middle than at 
 the ends, and how much greater weight 
 they can support laid along their whole 
 length, than if sustained on a single 
 point, and of what form they should be 
 so as to be equally strong throughout." 
 He was also speculating on the motion 
 of projectiles, and had satisfied himself 
 that their motion in a vertical direction 
 is unaffected by their horizontal velo- 
 city ; a conclusion which, combined with 
 his other experiments, led him after- 
 wards to determine the path of a pro- 
 jectile in a non-resisting medium to be 
 parabolical. 
 
 Tartaleais supposed to have been the 
 
 first to remark that no bullet moves in a 
 horizontal line ; but his theory beyond 
 this point was very erroneous, for he 
 supposed the bullet's path through the 
 air to be made up of an ascending and 
 descending straight line, connected in 
 the middle by a circular arc. 
 
 Thomas Digges, in his treatise on the 
 Newe Science of Great Artillerie, came 
 much nearer the truth ; for he remarked*, 
 that " The bullet violentlye throwne 
 out of the peece by the furie of the 
 poulder hath two motions : the one vio- 
 lent, which endeuoreth to carry the bul- 
 let right out in his line diagonall, accord- 
 ing to the direction of the peece's axis, 
 from whence the violent motion proceed- 
 ed; the other naturall in the bullet 
 itselfe, which endeuoreth still to carrye 
 the same directlye downeward by a 
 right line perpendiculare to the horizon, 
 and which dooth though insensiblye euen 
 from the beginning by little and little 
 dravve it from that direct and diagonall 
 course." And a little farther he ob- 
 serves that " These middle curve arkes 
 of the bullet's circuite, compounded of 
 the violent and naturall motions of the 
 bullet, albeit they be indeed mere heli- 
 call, yet have they a very great resem- 
 blance of the Arkes Conical. And in 
 randons above 45 they doe much re- 
 semble the Hyperbole, and in all vnder 
 the Ellepsis. But exactly e they neuer 
 accorde, being indeed Spirall mixte and 
 Helicall." 
 
 Perhaps Digges deserves no greater 
 credit from this latter passage than the 
 praise of a sharp and accurate eye, for 
 he does not appear to have founded this 
 determination of the form of the curve 
 on any theory of the direct fall of bodies ; 
 but Galileo's arrival at the same result 
 was preceded, as we have seen, by a 
 careful examination of the simplest phe- 
 nomena into which this compound mo- 
 tion may be resolved. But it is time to 
 proceed to the analysis of his " Dialogues 
 on Motion," these preliminary remarks on 
 their subject matter having been merely 
 intended to show how long before their 
 publication Galileo was in possession of 
 the principal theories contained in 
 them. 
 
 Descartes, in one of his letters to Mer- 
 senne, insinuates that Galileo had taken 
 many things in these Dialogues from 
 him: the two which he especially in- 
 stances are the isochronism of the pen- 
 dulum, and the law of the spaces varying 
 
 * Pautometria, 1591. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 i 
 
 as the squares of the times.* Descartes 
 was born in 1596 : we have shown that 
 Galileo observed the isochronisra of the 
 pendulum in 1583, and knew the law of 
 the spaces in 1604, although he was then 
 attempting to deduce it from an erro- 
 neous principle. As Descartes on more 
 than one occasion has been made to 
 usurp the credit due to Galileo, (in no in- 
 stance more glaringly so than when he 
 has been absurdly styled the forerunner of 
 Newton,) it will not be misplaced to men- 
 tion a few of his opinions on these sub- 
 jects, recorded in his letters to Mersenne 
 in the collection of his letters just cited : 
 " 1 am astonished at what you tell 
 me of having found by experiment that 
 bodies thrown up in the air take neither 
 more nor less time to rise than to fall 
 again ; and you will excuse me if I say 
 that I look upon the experiment as a 
 very difficult one to make accurately. 
 This proportion of increase according to 
 the odd numbers 1, 3, 5, 7, &c, which 
 is in Galileo, and which I think I wrote 
 to you some time back, cannot be true, as 
 I believe j I intimated at the same 
 time, unless we make two or three sup- 
 positions which are entirely false. One 
 is Galileo's opinion, that motion in- 
 creases gradually from the slowest^de- 
 gree; and the other is, that the air 
 makes no resistance." In a later letter 
 to the same person he says, apparently 
 with some uneasiness, " 1 have been 
 revising my notes on Galileo, in which 
 I have not said expressly, that falling 
 bodies do not pass through every degree 
 of slowness, but I said that this cannot 
 be determined without knowing what 
 weight is; which comes to the same 
 thing. As to your example, I grant 
 that it proves that every degree of velo- 
 city is infinitely divisible, but not that a 
 falling body actually passes through all 
 these divisions. It is certain that a 
 stone is. not equally disposed to receive 
 a new motion or increase of velocity, 
 when it is already moving very quickly, 
 and when it is moving slowly. But I 
 believe that I am now able to determine 
 in what proportion the velocity of a stone 
 increases, not when falling in a vacuum, 
 but in this substantial atmosphere. 
 However I have now got my mind full of 
 other things, and I cannot amuse myself 
 with hunting this out, nor is it a matter 
 of much utility :' He afterwards returns 
 once more to the same subject : " As 
 to what Galileo says, that falling bodies 
 pass through every degree of velocity, I 
 
 do not believe that it generally happens, 
 but I allow it is not impossible that it 
 may happen occasionally." Airahjhig *^% 
 the reader will know what valttfjfer a J' 
 attach to the following assertion by-fljgr**. , 
 
 same Descartes : " I see nothing in " ' 
 
 Galileo's books to envy him, and hardly 
 any thing which I would own as mine ;? 
 and then may judge how far Salusbury's 
 blunt declaration is borne out, " Where 
 or when did any one appear that durst 
 enter the lists" with our Galileus? 
 save only one bold and unfortunate 
 Frenchman, who yet no sooner came 
 within the ring but he was hissed out 
 again."* 
 
 The principal merit of Descartes must 
 undoubtedly be derived from the great 
 advances he made in what are generally 
 termed Abstract or Pure Mathematics ; 
 nor was he slow to point out to Mersenne 
 and his other friends the acknowledged 
 inferiority of Galileo to himself in this 
 respect. We have not sufficient proof 
 that this difference would have existed 
 if Galileo's attention had been equally 
 directed to that object; the singular 
 elegance of some of his geometrical 
 constructions indicates great talent for 
 this as well as for his own more fa- 
 vourite speculations. But he was far 
 more profitably employed : geometry 
 and pure mathematics already far out- 
 stripped any useful application of their 
 results to physical science, and it was 
 the business of Galileo's life to bring up 
 the latter to the same level. He found 
 abstract theorems already demonstrated 
 in sufficient number for his purpose, nor 
 was there occasion to task his genius in 
 search of new methods of inquiry, till 
 all was exhausted which could be learned 
 from those already in use. The result 
 of his labours was that in the age imme- 
 diately succeeding Galileo, the study of 
 nature was no longer in arrear of the 
 abstract theories of number and mea- 
 sure ; and when the genius of Newton 
 pressed it forward to a still higher de- 
 gree of perfection, it became necessary 
 to discover at the same time more power- 
 ful instruments of investigation. This 
 alternating process has been successfully 
 continued to the present time ; the analyst 
 acts as the pioneer of the naturalist, 
 so that the abstract researches, which at 
 first have no value but in the eyes of 
 those to whom an elegant formula, in 
 its own beauty, is a source of pleasure 
 as real and as refined as a painting or 
 a statue, are often found to furnish the 
 
 Lettresde Descartes. Paris, 1657. 
 
 * Math. Coll. vol. ii. 
 
88 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 only means for penetrating into the 
 most intricate and concealed pheno- 
 mena of natural philosophy. 
 
 Descartes and Delambre agree in 
 suspecting that Galileo preferred the 
 dialogistic form for his treatises, because 
 it afforded a ready opportunity for him 
 to praise his own inventions : the reason 
 which he himself gave is, the greater 
 facility for introducing new matter and 
 collateral inquiries, such as he seldom 
 failed to add each time that he reperused 
 his work. We shall select in the first 
 place enough to show the extent of his 
 knowledge on the principal subject, 
 motion, and shall then allude ^as well 
 as our limits will allow to the various 
 other points incidentally brought for- 
 ward. 
 
 The dialogues are between the same 
 speakers as in the " System of the 
 World ;" and in the first Simplicio gives 
 Aristotle's proof,* that motion in a va- 
 cuum is impossible, because according 
 to him bodies move with velocities in the 
 compound proportion of their weights 
 and the rarities of the mediums through 
 which they move. And since the density 
 of a vacuum bears no assignable ratio 
 to that of any medium in which motion 
 has been observed, any body which 
 should employ time in moving through 
 the latter, would pass through the same 
 distance in a vacuum instantaneously, 
 which is impossible. Salviati replies by 
 denying the axioms, and asserts that if 
 a cannon ball weighing 200 lbs., and a 
 musket ball weighing half a pound, be 
 dropped together from a tower 200 
 yards high, the former will not antici- 
 pate the latter by so much as a foot ; 
 ' and I would not have you do as some 
 are wont, who fasten upon some saying 
 of mine that may want a hair's breadth 
 of the truth, and under this hair they 
 seek to hide another man's blunder as 
 big as a cable. Aristotle says that an 
 iron ball weighing 1 00 lbs. will fall from 
 the height of 100 yards while a weight 
 of one pound falls but one yard : I say 
 they will reach the ground together. 
 They find the bigger to anticipate the 
 less by two inches, and under these two 
 inches they seek to hide Aristotle's 99 
 yards." In the course of his reply to this 
 argument Salviati formally announces 
 the principle which is the foundation 
 of the whole of Galileo's theory of mo- 
 tion, and which must therefore be 
 quoted in his own words : " A heavy 
 
 Phys. Lib. nr. c. 8. 
 
 body has by nature an intrinsic principle 
 of moving towards the common centre 
 of heavy things; that is to say, to the 
 centre of our terrestrial globe, with a 
 motion continually accelerated in such 
 manner that in equal times there are 
 always equal additions of velocity. This 
 is to be understood as holding true only 
 when all accidental and external impe- 
 diments are removed, amongst which is 
 one that we cannot obviate, namely, the 
 resistance of the medium. This opposes 
 itself, less or more, accordingly as it is 
 to open more slowly or hastily to make 
 way for the moveable, which being by 
 its own nature, as I have said, continu- 
 ally accelerated, consequently encoun- 
 ters a continually increasing resistance 
 in the medium, until at last the velocity 
 reaches that degree, and the resistance 
 that power, that they balance each 
 other; all further acceleration is pre- 
 vented, and the moveable continues ever 
 after with an uniform and equable mo- 
 tion." That such a limiting velocity is not 
 greater than some which may be exhi- 
 bited may be proved as Galileo suggested 
 by firing a bullet upwards, which will in 
 its descent strike the ground with less 
 force than it would have done if imme- 
 diately from the mouth of the gun ; for he 
 argued that the degree of velocity which 
 the air's resistance is capable of dimi- 
 nishing must be greater than that which 
 could ever be reached by a body falling 
 naturally from rest. " I do not think 
 the present occasion a fit one for ex- 
 amining the cause of this acceleration 
 of natural motion, on which the opinions 
 of philosophers are much divided ; some 
 referring it to the approach towards the 
 centre, some to the continual diminution 
 of that part of the medium remaining 
 to be divided, some to a certain extru- 
 sion of the ambient medium, which 
 uniting again behind Ihe moveable 
 presses and hurries it forwards. All 
 these fancies, with others of the like sort, 
 we might spend our time in examining, 
 and with little to gain by resolving 
 them. It is enough for our author at 
 present that we understand his object to 
 be the investigation and examination of 
 some phenomena of a motion so acce- 
 lerated, (no matter what may be the 
 cause,) that the momenta of velocity, 
 from the beginning to move from rest, 
 increase in the simple proportion in 
 which the time increases, which is as 
 much as to say, that in equal times are 
 equal additions of velocity. And if it 
 shall turn out that the phenomena de- 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 89 
 
 monstrated on this supposition are veri- 
 fied in the motion of falling and natu- 
 rally accelerated weights, we may thence 
 conclude that the assumed definition 
 does describe the motion of heavy bo- 
 dies, and that it is true that their acce- 
 leration varies in the ratio of the time 
 of motion." 
 
 When Galileo first published these 
 Dialogues on Motion, he was obliged 
 to rest his demonstrations upon another 
 principle besides, namely, that the velo- 
 city acquired in falling down all inclined 
 planes of the same perpendicular height 
 is the same. As this result was derived 
 directly from experiment, and from that 
 only, his theory was so far imperfect 
 till he could show its consistency with 
 the above supposed law of acceleration. 
 When Viviani was studying with Galileo, 
 he expressed his dissatisfaction at this 
 chasm in the reasoning; the conse- 
 quence of which was, that Galileo, as 
 he lay the same night, sleepless through 
 indisposition, discovered the proof which 
 he had long sought in vain, and in- 
 troduced it into the subsequent edi- 
 tions. The third dialogue is princi- 
 pally taken up with theorems on the 
 direct fall of bodies, their times of descent 
 down differently inclined planes, which 
 in planes of the same height he deter- 
 mined to be as the lengths, and with 
 other inquiries connected with the same 
 subject, such as the straight lines of 
 shortest descent under different data, 
 &c. 
 
 The fourth dialogue is appropriated 
 to projectile motion, determined upon 
 the principle that the horizontal motion 
 will continue the same as if there were 
 no vertical motion, and the vertical mo- 
 tion as if there were no horizontal mo- 
 tion " Let A B represent a horizontal 
 
 
 I 
 
 : D B A 
 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 S 
 
 ^--^ 
 
 
 
 
 L 
 
 NT 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 F 
 
 
 - 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 ( 
 
 
 
 
 
 line or plane placed on high, on which 
 let a body be carried with an equable 
 motion from A towards B, and the sup- 
 port of the plane being taken away at 
 B, let the natural motion downwards 
 due to the body's w r eight come^upon it 
 
 in the direction of the perpendicular 
 B N. Moreover let the straight line 
 B E drawn in the direction A B be taken 
 to represent the flow, or measure, of the 
 time, on which let any number of equal 
 parts B C, C D, D E, &c. be marked at 
 pleasure, and from the points C, D, E, 
 let lines be drawn parallel to B N ; in 
 the first of these let any part C I be 
 taken, and let D F be taken four times 
 as great as CI, EH nine times as 
 great, and so on, proportionally to the 
 squares of the lines B C, B D, B E, &c, 
 or, as we say, in the double proportion 
 of these lines. Now if we suppose 
 that whilst by its equable horizontal 
 motion the body moves from B to C, it 
 also descends by its weight through C I, 
 at the end of the time denoted by B C 
 it will be at I. Moreover in the time 
 B D, double of B C, it will have fallen 
 four times as far, for in the first part of 
 the Treatise it has been shewn that the 
 spaces fallen through by a heavy body 
 vary as the squares of the times. Simi- 
 larly at the end of the time B E, or 
 three times B C, it will have fallen 
 through E H, and will be at H. And it 
 is plain that the points I, F, H, are in 
 the same parabolical line B I F H. The 
 same demonstration will apply if we 
 take any number of equal particles of 
 time of whatever duration." 
 
 The curve called here a Parabola by 
 Galileo, is one of those which results 
 from cutting straight through a Cone, 
 and therefore is called also one of the 
 Conic Sections, the curious properties 
 of which curves had drawn the attention 
 of geometricians long before Galileo 
 thus began to point out their intimate 
 connexion with the phenomena of mo- 
 tion. After the proposition we have 
 just extracted, he proceeds to anticipate 
 some objections to the theory, and ex- 
 plains that the course of a projectile 
 will not be accurately a parabola for 
 two reasons ; partly on account of the 
 resistance of the air, and partly be- 
 cause a horizontal line, or one equi- 
 distant from the earth's centre, is not 
 straight, but circular. The latter cause 
 of difference will, however, as he says, 
 be insensible in all such experiments as 
 we are able to make. The rest of the 
 Dialogue is taken up with different con- 
 structions for determining the circum- 
 stances of the motion of projectiles, as 
 their range, greatest height, fee. ; and it 
 is proved that, with a given force of 
 projection, the range will be greatest 
 when a ball is projected at an elevation 
 
90 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 of 45, the ranges of all angles equally 
 inclined above" and below 45 corre- 
 sponding exactly to each other. 
 
 One of the most interesting subjects 
 discussed in these dialogues is the fa- 
 mous notion of Nature's horror of a 
 vacuum or empty space, which the old 
 school of philosophy considered as im- 
 possible to be obtained. Galileo's notions 
 of it were very different ; for although 
 he still unadvisedly adhered to the old 
 phrase to denote the resistance expe- 
 rienced in endeavouring to separate two 
 smooth surfaces, he was so far from 
 looking upon a vacuum as an impossi- 
 bility, that he has described an appa- 
 ratus by which he endeavoured to mea- 
 sure the force necessary to produce one. 
 This consisted of a cylin- 
 der, into which is tightly 
 fitted a piston ; through 
 the centre of the piston 
 passes a rod with a coni- 
 cal valve, which, when 
 drawn down, shuts the 
 aperture closely, support- 
 ing a basket. The space between the 
 piston and cylinder being filled full of 
 water poured in through the aperture, the 
 valve is closed, the vessel reversed, and 
 weights are added till the piston is drawn 
 forcibly downwards. Galileo concluded 
 that the weight of the piston, rod, and 
 added weights, would be the measure of 
 the force of resistance to the vacuum 
 which he supposed would take place be- 
 tween the piston and lower surface of 
 the water. The defects in this appa- 
 ratus for the purpose intended are of no 
 consequence, so far as regards the pre- 
 sent argument, and it is perhaps need- 
 less to observe that he was mistaken in 
 supposing the water would not descend 
 with the piston. This experiment occa- 
 sions a remark from Sagredo, that he 
 had observed that a lifting - pump 
 would not work when the water in the 
 cistern had sunk to the depth of thirty- 
 five feet below the valve ; that he thought 
 the pump was injured, and sent for the 
 maker of it, who assured him that no 
 pump upon that construction would lift 
 water from so great a depth. This story 
 is sometimes told of Galileo, as if he 
 had said sneeringly on this occasion 
 that Nature's horror of a vacuum does 
 not extend beyond thirty-five feet ; but 
 it^is very plain that if he had made such 
 an observation, it would have been se- 
 riously ; and in fact by such a limi- 
 tation he deprived the notion of the 
 principal part of its absurdity. He evi- 
 
 dently had adopted the common notion 
 of suction, for he compares the column, 
 of water to a roo! of metal suspended 
 from its upper end, which may be length- 
 ened till it breaks with its own weight. 
 It is certainly very extraordinary that 
 he failed to observe how simply these phe- 
 nomena may be explained by a refer- 
 ence to the weight of the elastic atmo- 
 sphere, which he was perfectly well ac- 
 quainted with, and endeavoured by the 
 following ingenious experiment to de- 
 termine : " Take a large glass flask 
 with a bent neck, and round its mouth 
 tie a leathern pipe with a valve in it, 
 through which water may be forced into 
 the flask with a syringe without suffer- 
 ing any air to escape, so that it will be 
 compressed within the bottle. It will be 
 found difficult to force in more than 
 about three-fourths of what the flask 
 will hold, which must be carefully 
 weighed. The valve must then be 
 opened, and just so much air will rush 
 out as would in its natural density oc- 
 cupy the space now filled by the water. 
 Weigh the vessel again ; the differ- 
 ence will show the weight of that quan- 
 tity of air*." By these means, which 
 the modern experimentalist will see were 
 scarcely capable of much accuracy, Ga- 
 lileo found that air was four hundred 
 times lighter than water, instead of ten 
 times, which was the proportion fixed 
 on by Aristotle. The real proportion is 
 about 830 times. 
 
 The true theory of the rise of water 
 in a lifting-pump is commonly dated 
 from Torricelli's famous experiment 
 with a column of mercury, in 1644, 
 when he found that the greatest height 
 at which it would stand is fourteen 
 times less than the height at which water 
 will stand, which is exactly the propor- 
 tion of weight between water and mer- 
 cury. The following curious letter from 
 Baliani, in 1630, shows that the original 
 merit of suggesting the real cause be- 
 longs to him, and renders it still more 
 unaccountable that Galileo, to whom it 
 was addressed, should not at once have 
 adopted the same view of the subject : 
 " I have believed that a vacuum may 
 exist naturally ever since I knew that 
 the air has sensible weight, and that you 
 taught me in one of your letters how to 
 find its weight exactly, though I have 
 not yet succeeded with that experiment. 
 From that moment I took up the notion 
 
 * It has been recently proposed to determine the 
 density of high-pressure steam by a process analo- 
 gous to this, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 91 
 
 that ii is not repugnant to the nature 
 of things that there should be a vacuum, 
 but merely that it is difficult to produce. 
 To explain myself more clearly : if we 
 allow that the air has weight, there is no 
 difference between air and water except 
 in degree. At the bottom of the sea 
 the weight of the water above me com- 
 presses everything round my body, and 
 it strikes me that the same thing must 
 , happen in the air, we being placed at 
 the bottom of its immensity ; we do not 
 feel its weight, nor the compression 
 round us, because our bodies are made 
 capable of supporting it. But if we 
 were in a vacuum, then the weight of 
 the air above our heads would be felt. 
 It would be felt very great, but not infi- 
 nite, and therefore determinable, and it 
 might be overcome by a force propor- 
 tioned to it. In fact I estimate it to be 
 such that, to make a vacuum, I believe 
 we require a force greater than that of 
 a column of water thirty feet high*." 
 
 This subject is introduced by some ob- 
 servations on the force of cohesion, Ga- 
 lileo seeming to be of opinion that, al- 
 though it cannot be adequately ac- 
 counted for by "the great and principal 
 resistance to a vacuum, yet that per- 
 haps a sufficient cause may be found by 
 considering every body as composed of 
 very minute particles, between every 
 two of which is exerted a similar resist- 
 ance." This remark serves to lead to a 
 discussion on indivisibles and infinite 
 quantities, of which we shall merely ex- 
 tract what Galileo gives as a curious 
 paradox suggested in the course of it. 
 He supposes a basin to be formed by 
 scooping a hemisphere out of a cylinder, 
 and a cone to be taken of the same 
 depth and base as the hemisphere. 
 It is easy to show, if the cone and 
 scooped cylinder be both supposed 
 to be cut by the same plane, parallel to 
 
 the one on which both stand, that the 
 area of the ring C D EF thus discovered 
 in the cylinder is equal to the area of the 
 corresponding circular section AB of the 
 cone^wherever the cutting plane is sup- 
 
 * Venturi, vol. ii. 
 
 posed to be*. He then proceeds with 
 these remarkable words : ** If we raise 
 the plane higher and higher, one of these 
 areas terminates in the circumference of 
 a circle, and the other in a point, for 
 such are the upper rim of the basin and 
 the top of the cone. Now since in the 
 diminution of the two areas they to the 
 very last maintain their equality to one 
 another, it is in my thoughts proper to 
 say that the highest and ultimate terms t 
 of such diminutions are equal, and not 
 one infinitely bigger than the other. It 
 seems therefore that the circumference 
 of a large circle may be said to be equal 
 to one single point. And why may not 
 these be called equal if they be the last 
 remainders and vestiges left by equal 
 magnitudes % ?" 
 
 We think no one can refuse fo ad- 
 mit the probability, that Newton may- 
 have found in such passages as these 
 the first germ of the idea of his prime 
 and ultimate ratios, which afterwards 
 became in his hands an instrument 
 of such power. As to the paradoxi- 
 cal result, Descartes undoubtedly has 
 given the true answer to it in saying 
 that it only proves that the line is not a 
 greater area than the point is. Whilst 
 on this subject, it may not be unin- 
 teresting to remark that something 
 similar to the doctrine of fluxions seems 
 to have been lying dormant in the minds 
 of the mathematicians of Galileo's era, 
 for Inchoffer illustrates his argument in 
 the treatise we have already mentioned, 
 that the Copernicans may deduce some 
 true results from what he terms their 
 absurd hypothesis, by observing, that 
 mathematicians may deduce the truth 
 that a line is length without breadth, 
 from the false and physically impossible 
 supposition that a point flows, and that 
 a line is the fluxion of a point . 
 
 A suggestion that perhaps fire dis- 
 solves bodies by insinuating itself be- 
 tween their minute particles, brings on 
 the subject of the violent effects of heat 
 and light ; on which Sagredo inquires, 
 whether we are to take for granted that 
 the effect of light does or does not re- 
 quire time. Simplicio is ready with an 
 answer, that the discharge of artillery 
 proves the transmission of light to be 
 
 * Galileo also reasons in the same way on the 
 equality of the solids standing on the cutting plane, 
 but one is sufficient for our present purpose. 
 
 f Gli altissimi e ultimi termini. 
 
 X Le ultime reliquie e vestigie lasciate da grandezze 
 eguatt. 
 
 Punctum fiuere, et lineam esse fluxum puncti. 
 Tract. Syllept. Romae, 1633. 
 
92 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 instantaneous, to which Sagredo cau- 
 tiously replies, that nothing can be ga- 
 thered from that experiment except that 
 litrht travels more swiftly than sound ; 
 nor can we draw any decisive conclusion 
 from the rising of the sun. " Who can 
 assure us that he is not in the horizon 
 before his rays reach our sight ?" Sal- 
 viati then mentions an experiment by 
 which he endeavoured to examine this 
 question. Two observers are each to be 
 furnished with a lantern: as soon as 
 the first shades his light, the second is to 
 discover his, and this is to be repeated 
 at a short distance till the observers are 
 perfect in the practice. The same thing 
 is to be tried at the distance of several 
 miles, and if the first observer perceive 
 any delay between shading his own light 
 and the appearance of his companion's, 
 it is to be attributed to the time taken 
 by the light in traversing twice the dis- 
 tance between them. He allows that he 
 could discover no perceptible interval at 
 the distance of a mile, at which he had 
 tried the experiment, but recommends 
 that with the help of a telescope it should 
 be tried at much greater distances. Sir 
 Kenelm Digby remarks on this pas- 
 sage : " It may be objected (if there be 
 some observable tardity in the motion 
 of light) that the sunne would never be 
 truly in that place in which unto our 
 eyes he appeareth to be ; because that 
 it being seene by means of the light 
 which issueth from it, if that light re- 
 quired time to move in,the sunne (whose 
 motion is so swifte) would be removed 
 from the place where the light left it, 
 before it could be with us to give tidings 
 of him. To this I answer, allowing per- 
 adventure that it may be so, who 
 knoweth the contrary ? Or what in- 
 convenience would follow if it be ad- 
 mitted * ?" 
 
 The principal thing remaining to be 
 noticed is the application of the theory 
 of the pendulum to musical concords 
 and dissonances, which are explained, in 
 the same manner as by Kepler in his 
 " Harmonices Mundi," to result from 
 the concurrence or opposition of vibra- 
 tions in the air striking upon the drum 
 of the ear. It is suggested that these 
 vibrations may be made manifest by 
 rubbing the finger round a glass set in 
 a large vessel of water ; " and if by pres- 
 sure the note is suddenly made to rise 
 to the octave above, every one of the 
 
 * " Treatise of the Nature of Bodies. London, 
 1665.'.' 
 
 undulations which will be seen regu- 
 larly spreading round the glass, will 
 suddenly split into two, proving that 
 the vibrations that occasion the octave 
 are double those belonging to the sim- 
 ple note." Galileo then describes a 
 method he discovered by accident of 
 measuring the length of these waves more 
 accurately than can be done in the agi- 
 tated water. He was scraping a brass 
 plate with an iron chisel, to take out 
 some spots, and moving the tool rapidly 
 upon the plate, he occasionally heard a 
 hissing and whistling sound, very shrill 
 and audible, and whenever this occur- 
 red, and then only, he observed the 
 light dust on the plate to arrange itself 
 in a long row of small parallel streaks 
 equidistant from each other. In re- 
 peated experiments he produced differ- 
 ent tones by scraping with greater or 
 less velocity, and remarked that the 
 streaks produced by the acute sounds 
 stood closer together than those from 
 the low notes. Among the sounds pro- 
 duced were two, which by compari- 
 son with a viol he ascertained to differ 
 by an exact fifth ; and measuring the 
 spaces occupied by the streaks in both 
 experiments, he found thirty of the 
 one equal to forty-five of the other, 
 which is exactly the known proportion 
 of the lengths of strings of the same 
 material which sound a fifth to each 
 other *. 
 
 Salyiati also remarks, that if the 
 material be not the same, as for in- 
 stance if it be required to sound an 
 octave to a note on catgut, on a 
 wire of the same length, the weight of 
 the wire must be made four times as 
 great, and so for other intervals. "The 
 immediate cause of the forms of musi- 
 cal intervals is neither the length, the 
 tension, nor the thickness, but the pro- 
 portion of the numbers of the undula- 
 tions of the air which strike upon the 
 drum of the ear, and make it vibrate in 
 the same intervals. Hence we may 
 gather a plausible reason of the differ- 
 ent sensations occasioned to us by dif- 
 ferent couples of sounds, of which we 
 hear some with great pleasure, some 
 with less, and call them accordingly 
 concords, more or less perfect, whilst 
 some excite in us great dissatisfaction, 
 and are called discords. The disagree- 
 able ^sensation belonging to the latter 
 
 * This beautiful experiment is more easily tried by 
 drawing the bow of a violin across the edge of glass 
 strewed with fine dry sand. Those who wish to see more 
 on the subject may consult Chladni's ' Acoustique.' 
 
. GALILEO. 
 
 93 
 
 probably arises from the disorderly 
 manner in which the vibrations strike 
 the drum of the ear ; so that for in- 
 stance a most cruel discord would be 
 produced by sounding together two 
 strings, of which the lengths are to each 
 other as the side and diagonal of a 
 square, which is the discord of the false 
 fifth. On the contrary, agreeable con- 
 sonances will result from those strings 
 of which the numbers of vibrations made 
 in the same time are commensurable, 
 " to the end that the cartilage of the 
 drum may not undergo the incessant 
 torture of a double inflexion from the 
 disagreeing percussibns." Something 
 similar may be exhibited to the eye by 
 hanging up pendulums of different 
 lengths : " if these be proportioned so 
 that the times of their vibrations cor- 
 respond with those of the musical con- 
 cords, the eye will observe with pleasure 
 their crossings and interweavings still 
 recurring at appreciable intervals ; but 
 if the times of vibration be incommen- 
 surate, the eye will be wearied and worn 
 out with following them." 
 
 The second dialogue is occupied en- 
 tirely with an investigation of the 
 strength of beams, a subject which does 
 not appear to have been examined by 
 any one before Galileo beyond Aris- 
 totle's remark, that long beams are 
 weaker, because they are at once the 
 weight, the lever, and the fulcrum ; and 
 it is in the development of this obser- 
 vation that the whole theory consists. 
 The principle assumed by Galileo as 
 the basis of his inquiries is, that the 
 force of cohesion with which a beam 
 resists a cross fracture in any section 
 may all be considered as acting at the 
 centre of gravity of the section, and that 
 it breaks always at the lowest point: 
 from this he deduced that the effect of 
 the weight of a prismatic beam in over- 
 coming the resistance of one end by 
 which it is fastened to a wall, varies 
 directly as the square of the length, and 
 inversely as the side of the base. From 
 this it immediately follows, that if for 
 instance the bone of a large animal be 
 three times as long as the corresponding 
 one in a smaller beast, it must be nine 
 times as thick to have the same strength, 
 provided we suppose in both cases that 
 the materials are of the same consist- 
 ence. An elegant result which Galileo 
 also deduced from this theory, is that the 
 form of such a beam, to be equally strong 
 in every part, should be that of a para- 
 bolical prism, the vertex of the parabola 
 
 being the farthest removed from the 
 wall. As an easy mode of describing 
 the parabolic curve for this purpose, he 
 recommends tracing the line in which a 
 heavy flexible string hangs. This curve 
 is not an accurate parabola : it is now 
 called a catenary ; but it is plain from 
 the description of it in the fourth dia- 
 logue, that Galileo was perfectly aware 
 that this construction is only approxi- 
 mately true. In the same place he makes 
 the remark, which to many is so para- 
 doxical, that no force, however great, 
 exerted in a horizontal direction, can 
 stretch a heavy thread, however slender, 
 into an accurately straight line. 
 
 The fifth and sixth dialogues were left 
 unfinished, and annexed to the former 
 ones by Viviani after Galileo's death : 
 the fragment of the fifth, which is on the 
 subject of Euclid's Definition of Ratio, 
 was at first intended to have formed a 
 part of the third, and followed the first 
 proposition on equable motion: the sixth 
 was intended to have embodied Galileo's 
 researches on the nature and laws of 
 Percussion, on which he was employed at 
 the time of his death. Considering these 
 solely as fragments, we shall not here 
 make any extracts from them. 
 
 Chapter XVIII. 
 
 Correspondence on Longitudes. Pen- 
 dulum Clock. 
 
 In the spring of 1636, having finished 
 his Dialogues on Motion, Galileo re- 
 sumed the plan of determining the lon- 
 gitude by means of Jupiter's satellites. 
 Perhaps he suspected something of the 
 private intrigue which thwarted his 
 former expectations from the Spanish 
 government, and this may have induced 
 him on the present occasion to negotiate 
 the matter without applying for Ferdi- 
 nand's assistance and recommendation. 
 Accordingly he addressed himself to 
 Lorenz Real, who had been Governor 
 General of the Dutch possessions in 
 India, freely and unconditionally offer- 
 ing the use of his theory to the States 
 General of Holland. Not long before, 
 his opinion had been requested by the 
 commissioners appointed at Paris to 
 examine and report on the practicability 
 of another method proposed by Morin,* 
 which consisted in observing the dis- 
 tance of the moon from a known star. 
 Morin was a French philosopher, prin- 
 
 * One of the Commissioners -was the father of 
 Blaise Faseal. 
 
94 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 cipally known as an astrologer and zea- 
 lous Anti-Copernican ; but his name de- 
 serves to be recorded as undoubtedly one 
 of the first to recommend a method, 
 which, under the name of a Lunar dis- 
 tance, is now in universal practice. 
 
 The monthly motion of the moon is so 
 rapid, that her distance from a given star 
 sensibly varies in a few minutes even to 
 the unassisted eye ; and with the aid of 
 the telescope, we can of course appre- 
 ciate the change more accurately. Morin 
 proposed that the distances of the moon 
 from a number of fixed stars lying near 
 her path in the heavens should be be- 
 forehand calculated and registered for 
 every day in the year, at a certain hour, 
 in the place from which the longitudes 
 were to be reckoned, as for instance at 
 Paris. Just as in the case of the eclipses 
 of Jupiter's satellites, the observer, when 
 he saw that the moon had arrived at 
 the registered distance, would know the 
 hour at Paris : he might also make al- 
 lowance for intermediate distances. 
 Observing at the same instant the hour 
 on board his ship, the difference between 
 the two would show his position in re- 
 gard of longitude. In using this 
 method as it is now practised, several 
 modifications are to be attended to, 
 without which it would be wholly use- 
 less, in consequence of the refraction 
 of the atmosphere, and the proximity of 
 the moon to the earth. Owing to the 
 latter cause, if two spectators should at 
 the same instant of time, but in different 
 places, measure the distance of the 
 moon in the East, from a star still more 
 to the eastward, it would appear greater 
 to the more easterly spectator than to 
 the other observer, who as seen from 
 the star would be standing more di- 
 rectly behind the moon. The mode 
 of allowing for these alterations is taught 
 by trigonometry and astronomy. 
 
 The success of this method depends al- 
 together upon the exact knowledge which 
 we now have of the moon's course, and 
 till that knowledge was perfected it 
 would have been found altogether il- 
 lusory. Such in fact was the judgment 
 which Galileo pronounced upon it. " As 
 to Morin' s book on the method of find- 
 ing the longitude by means of the moon's 
 motion, I say freely that I conceive this 
 idea to be as accurate in theory, as 
 fallacious and impossible in practice. I 
 am sure that neither you nor any 
 one of the other four gentlemen can 
 doubt the possibility of finding the dif- 
 ference of longitude between two me- 
 
 ridians by means of the moon's motion, 
 provided we are sure of the following 
 requisites : First, an Ephemeris of the 
 moon's motion exactly calculated for 
 the first meridian from which the others 
 are to be reckoned ; secondly, exact in- 
 struments, and convenient to handle, in 
 taking the distance between the moon 
 and a fixed star; thirdly, great prac- 
 tical skill in the observer ; fourthly, not 
 less accuracy in the scientific calcula- 
 tions, and astronomical computations ; 
 fifthly, very perfect clocks to number 
 the hours, or other means of knowing 
 them exactly, &c. Supposing, I say, 
 all these elements free from error, the 
 longitude will be accurately found ; but 
 I reckon it more easy and likely to err 
 in all of these together, than to be prac- 
 tically right in one alone. Morin ought 
 to require his judges to assign, at their 
 pleasure, eight or ten moments of dif- 
 ferent nights during four or six months 
 to come, and pledge himself to predict 
 and assign by his calculations the dis- 
 tances of the moon at those determined 
 instants from some star which would 
 then be near her. If it is found that 
 the distances assigned by him agree 
 with those which the quadrant or sex- 
 tant* will actually show, the judges 
 would be satisfied of his success, or 
 rather of the truth of the matter, and 
 nothing would remain but to show that 
 his operations were such as could be 
 performed by men of moderate skill, and 
 also practicable at sea as well as on 
 land. I incline much to think that an 
 experiment of this kind would do much 
 towards abating the opinion and con- 
 ceit which Morin has of himself, which 
 appears to me so lofty, that I should 
 consider myself the eighth sage, if I 
 knew the half of what Morin presumes 
 to know." 
 
 It is probable that Galileo was 
 biassed by a predilection for his own 
 method, on which he had expended 
 so much time and labour ; but the ob- 
 jections which he raises against Morin's 
 proposal in the foregoing letter are no 
 other than those to which at that period 
 it was undoubtedly open. With regard 
 to his own, he had already, in 1612, 
 given a rough prediction of the course 
 of Jupiter's satellites, which had been 
 found to agree tolerably well with sub- 
 sequent observations; and since that 
 
 * These instruments were very inferior to those 
 now in use under the same name. See " Treatise on 
 Opt. Instrum," 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 95 
 
 time, amid all his other employments, 
 he had almost unintermittingly during- 
 twenty-four years continued his obser- 
 vations, for the sake of bringing the 
 tables of their motions to as high a state 
 of perfection as possible. This was the 
 point to which the inquiries of the States 
 in their answer to Galileo's frank pro- 
 posal were principally directed. They 
 immediately appointed commissioners to 
 communicate with him, and report the 
 various points on which they required 
 information. They also sent him a 
 golden chain, and assured him that in 
 the case of the design proving success- 
 ful, he should have no cause to com- 
 plain of their want of gratitude and ge- 
 nerosity. The commissioners immedi- 
 ately commenced an active correspon- 
 dence with him, in the course of which 
 he entered into more minute details with 
 regard to the methods by which he 
 proposed to obviate the practical dif- 
 ficulties of the necessary observations. 
 
 It is worth noticing that the secretary 
 to the Prince of Orange, who was mainly 
 instrumental m forming this commis- 
 sion, was Constantine Huyghens, father 
 of the celebrated mathematician of that 
 name, of whom it has been said that he 
 seemed destined to complete the disco- 
 veries of Galileo ; and it is not a little 
 remarkable, that Huyghens nowhere in 
 his published works makes any allusion 
 to this connexion between his father and 
 Galileo, not even during the discussion 
 that arose some years later on the sub- 
 ject of the pendulum clock, which must 
 necessarily have forced it upon his re- 
 collection. 
 
 The Dutch commissioners had chosen 
 one of their number to go into Italy for 
 the purpose of communicating person- 
 ally with Galileo, but he discouraged 
 this scheme, from a fear of its giving 
 umbrage at Rome. The correspondence 
 being carried on at so great a distance 
 necessarily experienced many tedious de- 
 lays, till in the very midst of Galileo's 
 labours to complete his tables, he was 
 seized with the blindness which we have 
 already mentioned. He then resolved 
 to place all the papers containing his 
 observations and calculations for this 
 purpose in the hands of Renieri, a for- 
 mer pupil of his, and then professor 
 of mathematics at Pisa, who under- 
 took to finish and to forward them into 
 Holland. Before this was done, a new 
 delay was occasioned by the deaths 
 which speedily followed each other of 
 every one of the four commissioners ; 
 
 and for two or three years the cor- 
 respondence with Holland was entirely 
 interrupted. Constantine Huyghens, 
 who was capable of appreciating the 
 value of the scheme, succeeded after 
 some trouble in renewing it, but only 
 just before the death of Galileo himself, 
 by which of course it was a second 
 time broken off; and to complete the 
 singular series of obstacles by which the 
 trial of this method was impeded, just 
 as Renieri, by order of the Duke of Tus- 
 cany, was about to publish the ephe- 
 meris and tables which Galileo had en- 
 trusted to him, and which the Duke 
 told Viviani he had seen in his pos- 
 session, he also was attacked with a 
 mortal malady ; and upon his death the 
 manuscripts were nowhere to be found, 
 nor has it since been discovered what 
 became of them. Montucla has inti- 
 mated his suspicions that Renieri him- 
 self destroyed them, from a conscious- 
 ness that they were insufficient for the 
 purpose to which it was intended to ap- 
 ply them; a bold conjecture, and one 
 which ought to rest upon something 
 more than mere surmise : for although it 
 may be considered certain, that the 
 practical value of these tables would be 
 very inconsiderable in the present ad- 
 vanced state of knowledge, yet it is 
 nearly as sure that they were unique at 
 that time, and Renieri was aware of 
 the value which Galileo himself had set 
 upon them, and should not be lightly 
 accused of betraying his trust in so gross 
 a manner. In 1665, Borelli calculated 
 the places of the satellites for every day 
 in the ensuing year, which he professed 
 to have deduced (by desire of the Grand 
 Duke) from Galileo's tables;* but he 
 does not say whether or not these tables 
 were the same that had been in Renieri's 
 possession. 
 
 We have delayed till this opportunity 
 to examine how far the invention of the 
 pendulum clock belongs to Galileo. It 
 has been asserted that the isochronism 
 of the pendulum had been noticed by 
 Leonardo da Vinci, but the passage on 
 which this assertion is founded (as trans- 
 lated from his manuscripts by Venturi) 
 scarcely warrants this conclusion. " A 
 rod which engages itself in the opposite 
 teeth of a spur-wheel can act like the 
 arm of the balance in clocks, that is to 
 say, it will act alternately, first on one 
 side of the wheel, then on the opposite 
 
 * Theoricse Mediceorum Planetarum, Florentiw, 
 1666. 
 
9 iS 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 one, without interruption." If Da 
 Vinci had constructed a clock on this 
 principle, and recognized the superiority 
 of the pendulum over the old balance, 
 he would surely have done more man 
 merely mention it as affording an un- 
 intermitted motion "like the arm of the 
 balance." The use of the balance is 
 supposed to have been introduced at 
 least as!' early as the fourteenth century. 
 Venturi mentions the drawing and de- 
 scription of a clock in one of the manu- 
 scripts of the King's Library at Paris, 
 dated about the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, which as he says nearly re- 
 sembles a modern watch. The balance 
 is there called " The circle fastened to 
 the stem of the pallets, and moved by 
 the force with it.* In that singularly 
 wild and extravagant book, entitled 
 " A History of both Worlds," by Robert 
 Find, are given two drawings of the 
 wheel-work of the clocks and watches 
 in use before the application of the pen- 
 dulum. An inspection of them will show 
 how little remained to be done when 
 the isochronism of the pendulum was 
 discovered. Fig. 1. represents "the 
 
 J5> 2. 
 
 y= 
 
 IH 
 
 r""i 
 
 i 
 Jl 
 
 1 
 
 11 
 i 
 
 Hti 
 
 f 
 
 sf* 
 
 large clocks moved by a weight, such as 
 are put up in churches and turrets ; 
 
 * Circulus affixus virgse paletorum qui cum e& de 
 vi movetur. 
 
 Jig. 2. the small ones moved by a 
 spring, such as are worn round the neck, 
 or placed on a shelf or table. The 
 use of the chain is to equalize the 
 spring, which is strongest at the begin- 
 ning of its motion."* This contrivance 
 of the chain is mentioned by Cardan, in 
 1570, and is probably still older. In 
 both figures the name given to the cross 
 bar, with the weight attached to it, is 
 " the time or balance (tempus seu libra- 
 tio) by which the motion is equalized." 
 The manner in which Huyghens first 
 applied the pendulum is shown in 
 Jig. 3.f The action in the old clocks of 
 the balance, or rake, as it was also called, 
 was by checking the motion of the 
 descending weight till its inertia was 
 overcome ; it was then forced round till 
 the opposite pallet engaged in the 
 toothed wheel. The balance was thus 
 suddenly and forcibly reduced to a 
 state of rest, and again set in motion 
 in the opposite direction. It will be 
 observed that these balances wanted 
 the spiral spring introduced in all 
 modern watches, which has a pro- 
 perty of isochronism similar to that of 
 the pendulum. Hooke is generally 
 named as the discoverer of this pro- 
 perty of springs, and as the author of 
 its application to the improvement of 
 watches, but the invention is disputed 
 with him by Huyghens. Lahire asserts* 
 that the isochronism of springs was 
 communicated to Huyghens at Paris 
 by Hautefeuille, and that this was the 
 reason why Huyghens failed to obtain 
 the patent he solicited for the construc- 
 tion of spring watches. A great num- 
 ber of curious contrivances at this early 
 period in the history of Horology, may 
 be seen in Schott's Magia Naturae, 
 published at Nuremberg in 1664. 
 
 Galileo was early convinced of the im- 
 portance of his pendulum to the ac- 
 curacy of astronomical observations ; 
 but the progress of invention is such 
 that the steps which on looking back 
 seem the easiest to make, are often those 
 which are the longest delayed. Galileo re- 
 cognized the principle of the isochronism 
 of the pendulum, and recommended it 
 as a measurer of time in 1583 ; yet fifty 
 years later, although constantly using it, 
 he had not devised a more convenient 
 method of doing so, than is contained in 
 the following description taken from 
 his "Astronomical Operations." 
 
 * Utriusque Cosmi Historia. Oppenhemii, 1617- 
 f Huygenii Opera. Lugduni, 1724. 
 f Memoires de l'Academie,1717. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 97 
 
 "Avery exact time-measurer for mi- 
 nute intervals of time, is a heavy pendu- 
 lum of any size hanged by a fine thread, 
 which, if removed from the perpendicular 
 and allowed to swing freely, always com- 
 pletes its vibrations, be they great or 
 small, in exactly the same time."* 
 
 The mode of finding exactly by means 
 of this the quantity of any time reduced 
 to hours, minutes, seconds, &c, which 
 are the divisions commonly used among 
 astronomers, is this : " Fit up a pen- 
 dulum of any length, as for instance 
 about a foot long, and count pa- 
 tiently (only for once) the number 
 of vibrations during a natural day. 
 Our object will be attained if we know 
 the exact revolution of the natural 
 day. The observer must then fix a 
 telescope in the direction of any star, 
 and continue to watch it till it disap- 
 pears from the field of view. At that 
 instant he must begin to count the 
 vibrations of the pendulum, continuing 
 all night and the following day till the 
 return of the same star within the field 
 of view of the telescope, and its second 
 disappearance, as on the first night. 
 Bearing in recollection the total number 
 of vibrations thus made in twenty-four 
 hours, the time corresponding to any 
 other number of vibrations will be im- 
 mediately given by the Golden Rule." 
 
 A second extract out of Galileo's 
 Dutch correspondence, in 1637,will show 
 the extent of his improvements at that 
 time: " I come now to the second con- 
 trivance for increasing immensely the ex- 
 actness of astronomical observations. I 
 allude to my time-measurer, the precision 
 of which is so great, and such, that it 
 will give the exact quantity of hours, 
 minutes, seconds, and even thirds, if 
 their recurrence could be counted ; and 
 its constancy is such that two, four, 
 or six such instruments will go on 
 together so equably that one will not 
 differ from another so much as the 
 beat of a pulse, not only in an hour, 
 but even in a day or a month." 
 " I do not make use of a weight hang- 
 ing by a thread, but a heavy and solid 
 pendulum, made for instance of brass 
 or copper, in the shape of a circular 
 sector of twelve or fifteen degrees, the 
 radius of which may be two or three 
 palms, and the greater it is the less 
 trouble will there be in attending it. 
 This sector, such as I have described,* I 
 make thickest in the middle radius, 
 
 f See page 84. 
 
 tapering gradually Jo wards the edges, 
 where I terminate it in a tolerably 
 sharp line, to obviate as much as pos- 
 sible the resistance of the air, which 
 is the sole cause of its retardation." 
 [These last words deserve notice, be- 
 cause, in a previous discussion, Galileo 
 had observed that the parts of the 
 pendulum nearest the point of sus- 
 pension have a tendency to vibrate 
 quicker than those at the other end, 
 and seems to have thought erroneously 
 that the stoppage of the pendulum is 
 partly to be attributed to this cause.] 
 * -"This is pierced in the centre, through 
 which is passed an iron bar shaped like 
 those on which steelyards hang, termi- 
 nated below in an angle, and placed on 
 two bronze supports, that they may 
 wear away less during a long motion of 
 the sector. If the sector (when accu- 
 rately balanced) be removed several 
 degrees from its perpendicular position, 
 it will continue a reciprocal motion 
 through a very great number of vibra- 
 tions before it will stop ; and in order 
 that it may continue its motion as long 
 as is wanted, the attendant must occa- 
 sionally give it a smart push, to carry it 
 back to large vibrations." Galileo then 
 describes as before the method of count- 
 ing the vibrations in the course of a 
 day, and gives the rule that the lengths 
 of two similar pendulums will have the 
 same proportion as the squares of their 
 times of vibration. He then continues: 
 "Now to save the fatigue of the assist- 
 ant in continually counting the vibra- 
 tions, this is a convenient contrivance: 
 A very small and delicate needle extends 
 out from the middle of the circumfer- 
 ence of the sector, which in passing 
 strikes a rod fixed at one end ; this rod 
 rests upon the teeth of a wheel as light 
 as paper, placed in a horizontal plane 
 near the pendulum, having round it 
 teeth cut like those of a saw, that is to 
 say, with one side of each tooth perpen- 
 dicular to the rim of the wheel and 
 the other inclined obliquely. The rod 
 striking against the perpendicular side 
 of the tooth moves it, but as the same 
 rod returns against the oblique side, it 
 does not move it the contrary way, but 
 slips over it and falls at the foot of the 
 following tooth, so that the motion of 
 the wheel will be always in the same 
 direction. And by counting the teeth 
 you may see at will the number of teeth 
 passed, and consequently the number 
 of vibrations and of particles of time 
 elapsed, You may also fit to the axis 
 H 
 
98 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 of this first wheel a second, with a small 
 number of teeth, touching another 
 greater toothed wheel, &c. But it is su- 
 perfluous to point out this to you, who 
 have by you men very ingenious and 
 well skilled in making clocks and other 
 admirable machines ; and on this new 
 principle, that the pendulum makes its 
 great and small vibrations in the same 
 time exactly, they will invent contri- 
 vances more subtle than any I can 
 suggest; and as the error of clocks 
 consists principally in the disability of 
 workmen hitherto to adjust what we call 
 the balance of the clock, so that it may 
 vibrate regularly, my very simple pen- 
 dulum, which is not liable to any altera- 
 tion, affords a mean of maintaining the 
 measures of time always equal." The 
 contrivance thus described would be 
 somewhat similar to the annexed repre- 
 sentation, but it is almost certain that 
 no such instrument was actually con- 
 structed. 
 
 It must be owned that Galileo greatly 
 overrated the accuracy of his timekeeper"; 
 and in asserting so positively that which 
 he had certainly not experienced, he 
 seems to depart from his own principles 
 of philosophizing. It will be remarked 
 that in this passage he still is of the 
 erroneous opinion, that all the vibra- 
 tions great or small of the same pen- 
 dulum take exactly the same time ; and 
 we have not been able to find any trace 
 of his having ever held a different opi- 
 nion, unless perhaps in the Dialogues, 
 where he says, "If the vibrations are 
 not exactly equal, they are at least in- 
 sensibly different." This is very much 
 at variance with the statement in the 
 Memoirs of the Academia del Cimento, 
 edited by their secretary Magalotti, on 
 the credit of which Galileo's claim to 
 the pendulum-clock chiefly rests. It 
 is there said that experience shows 
 that the smallest vibrations are rather 
 the quickest, " as Galileo announced after 
 the observation, which in 1583 he was 
 the first to make of their approximate 
 
 equality." It is not possible immedi- 
 ately in connexion with so glaring a 
 misstatement, to give implicit credence 
 to the assertion in the next sentence, 
 that " to obviate this inconvenience" 
 Galileo was the first to contrive a clock, 
 constructed in 1649, by his son Vin- 
 cenzo,in which, by the action of a weight 
 or spring, the pendulum was con- 
 strained to move always from the same 
 height. Indeed it appears as if Maga- 
 lotti did not always tell this story in the 
 same manner, for he is referred to as the 
 author of the account given by Becher, 
 " that Galileo himself made a pendulum- 
 clock one of which was sent to Hol- 
 land," plainly insinuating that Huyghens 
 w r as a mere copyist.* These two ac- 
 counts therefore serve to invalidate 
 each other's credibility, Tiraboschit 
 asserts that, at the time he wrote, the 
 mathematical professor at Pisa was 
 in possession of the identical clock 
 constructed by Treffler under Vincen- 
 zo's directions ; and quotes a letter 
 from Campani, to whom it was shown 
 by Ferdinand," old, rusty,and unfinished 
 as Galileo's son made it before 1649." 
 Viviani on the other hand says that 
 Treffler constructed this same clock 
 some time after Vincenzo's death (which 
 happened in 1649), on a different prin- 
 ciple from Vincenzo's ideas, although he 
 says distinctly that he heard Galileo de- 
 scribe an application of the pendulum to 
 a clock similar to Huyghens' contrivance. 
 Campani did not actually see this clock 
 till 1659, which was three years after 
 Huyghens' invention, so that perhaps 
 Huyghens was too easily satisfied when, 
 on occasion of the answer which Ferdi- 
 nand sent to his complaints of the Me- 
 morie del Cimento he wrote to Bouil- 
 laud, " I must however believe, since 
 such a prince assures me, that Galileo 
 had this idea before me." 
 
 There is another circumstance almost 
 amounting to a proof that it was an after- 
 thought to attribute the merit of construct- 
 ing the pendulum-clock to Galileo, for on 
 the reverse of a medal struck by Viviani, 
 and inscribed " to the memory of his 
 excellent instructor,''^ is a rude exhibi- 
 tion of the principal objects to which 
 Galileo's attention was directed. The 
 pendulum is represented simply by a 
 weight attached to a string hanging on 
 the face of a rock. It is probable that. 
 
 * De nova Temporis dimetiendi ratione. Londini. 
 16S0. 
 
 + StoriadellaLett. Ital. 
 
 t Museum Mazuchellianum, vol, ii. Tab, cvii. p. 29, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 99 
 
 in a design expressly intended to com- 
 memorate Galileo's inventions, Viviani 
 would have introduced the timekeeper 
 in the most perfect form to which it had 
 been brought by him. Riccioli,* whose 
 industry was unwearied in collecting 
 every fact and argument which related in 
 any way to the astronomical and mecha- 
 nical knowledge and opinions of his time, 
 expressly recommends swinging a pen- 
 dulum, or perpendicular as it was often 
 called (only a fewyears before Huyghens' 
 publication), as much more accurate 
 than any clocks Join to all these argu- 
 ments Huyghens' positive assertion, that 
 if Galileo had conceived any such idea, he 
 at least was entirely ignorant of it,| and 
 no doubt can remain that the merit of 
 the original invention (such as it was) 
 rests entirely with Huyghens. The step 
 indeed seems simple enough for a less 
 genius than his : for the property of the 
 pendulum was known, and the conver- 
 sion of a rotatory into a reciprocating 
 motion was known ; but the connexion 
 of the one with the other having been 
 so long delayed, we must suppose that 
 difficulties existed where we are not now 
 able to perceive them, for Huyghens' im- 
 provement was received with universal 
 admiration. 
 
 There may be many who will con- 
 sider the pendulum as undeserving so 
 long a discussion ; who do not know 
 or remember that the telescope itself 
 has hardly done more for the preci- 
 sion of astronomical observations than 
 this simple instrument, not to mention 
 the invaluable convenience of an uni- 
 form and accurate limekeeper in the 
 daily intercourse of life. The patience 
 and industry of modern observers are 
 often the theme of well-merited praise, 
 but we must look with a still higher de- 
 gree of wonder on such men as Tycho- 
 Brahe and his contemporaries, who were 
 driven by the want of any timekeeper 
 on which they could depend to the most 
 laborious expedients, and who neverthe- 
 less persevered to the best of their abi- 
 lity, undisgusted either by the tedium of 
 such processes, or by the discouraging 
 consciousness of the necessary imper- 
 fection of their most approved methods 
 and instruments. 
 
 The invariable regularity of the pen- 
 dulum's motion was soon made subser- 
 vient to ulterior purposes beyond that of 
 
 * Almagestnm Novum, vol. i. 
 j- Quovis horoloa:io accuratius. 
 % Clarorum Bol^arum ad Ant. Magliabech. Epis- 
 tolae. Florence, 1745, torn. i. p. 235. 
 
 merely registering time. We have seen 
 theimportant assistance it afforded in es- 
 tablishing the laws of motion; and when 
 the theory founded on those laws was 
 extended and improved, the pendulum 
 was again instrumental, by a species of 
 approximate reasoning familiar to all 
 who are acquainted with physical in- 
 quiries, in pointing out by its minute 
 irregularities in different parts of the 
 earth, a corresponding change in the 
 weight of all bodies in those different 
 situations, supposed to be the conse- 
 quence of a greater distance from the 
 axis of the earth's rotation ; since that 
 would occasion the force of attraction 
 to "be counterbalanced by an increased 
 centrifugal force. The theory which 
 kept pace with the constantly increasing 
 accuracy of such observations, proving 
 consistent in all trials of it, has left little 
 room for future doubts; and in this 
 manner the pendulum in intelligent 
 hands became the simplest instrument 
 for ascertaining the form of the globe 
 which we inhabit. An English astro- 
 nomer, who corresponded with Kepler 
 under the signature of Brutius (whose 
 real name perhaps mig^t be Bruce), 
 had already declared his belief in 1603, 
 that " the earth on which we tread is 
 neither round nor globular, but more 
 nearly of an oval figure."* There is 
 nothing to guide us to the grounds on 
 which he formed this opinion, which 
 was perhaps only a lucky guess. Kep- 
 ler's note upon it is : " This is not alto- 
 gether to be contemned." 
 
 A farther use of the pendulum is in 
 furnishing a general and unperishing 
 standard of measure. This application 
 is suggested in the third volume of the 
 ' Reflections' of Mersenne, published in 
 1647, where he observes that it may be 
 best for the future not to divide time into 
 hours, minutes, and seconds, but to ex- 
 press its parts by the number of vibra- 
 tions of a pendulum of given length, 
 swinging through a given arc. It was 
 soon seen that it would be more con- 
 venient to invert this process, and to 
 choose as an unit of length the pendulum 
 which should make a certain number of 
 vibrations in the unit of time, naturally 
 determined by the revolution of the earth 
 on its axis. Our Royal Society took an 
 active part in these experiments, which 
 seem, notwithstanding their utility, to 
 have met from the first with much of 
 the same ridicule which was lavished 
 
 1 Kepleri Epistolae. 
 
 H2 
 
100 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 upon them by the ignorant, when re- 
 cently repeated for the same purpose. 
 *' I contend," says Graunt* in a dedica- 
 tion to the Royal Society, dated 1662, 
 " against the envious schismatics of 
 your society (who think you do nothing 
 unless you presently transmute metals, 
 make butter and cheese without milk, 
 and, as their own Irallad hath it, make 
 leather without hides), by asserting the 
 usefulness of even all your preparatory 
 and luciferous experiments, being not 
 the ceremonies, but the substance and 
 principles of useful arts. For I find in 
 trade the want of an universal measure, 
 and have heard musicians wrangle about 
 the just and uniform keeping of time in 
 their consorts, and therefore cannot with 
 patience hear that your labours about 
 vibrations, eminently conducing to both, 
 should be slighted, nor your pendula 
 called swing-swangs with scorn."t 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 Character of Galileo Miscellaneous 
 details his Death Conclusion. 
 
 The remaining years of Galileo's life 
 were spent at Arcetri, where indeed, even 
 if the Inquisition had granted his li- 
 berty, his increasing age and infirmities 
 would probably have detained him. The 
 rigid caution with w r hich he had been 
 w r atched in Florence was in great mea- 
 sure relaxed, and he was permitted to 
 see the friends who crowded round him 
 to express their respect and sympathy. 
 The Grand Duke visited him frequently, 
 and many distinguished strangers, such 
 as Gassendi and Deodati, came into 
 Italy solely for the purpose of testify- 
 ing their admiration of his character. 
 Among other visitors the name of Mil- 
 ton will be read with interest : we may 
 probably refer to the effects of this in- 
 terview the allusions to Galileo's disco- 
 veries, so frequently introduced into his 
 poem. Milton mentions in his ' Areo- 
 pagitica,' that he saw Galileo whilst in 
 Italy, but enters into no details of his 
 visit. 
 
 * Natural and Political Observations. London, 
 1661. 
 
 f See also Hudibras, Part II. Cant. III. 
 They're guilty by their own confessions 
 Of felony, and at the Sessions 
 Upon the bench I will so handle 'em, 
 That the vibration of this pendulum 
 Shall make all taylors' yards of one 
 Unanimous opinion ; 
 A thing he long has vaunted of, 
 But now shall make it out of proof. 
 Hudibras was certainly written before 1663 : ten 
 years later Huyghens speaks of the idea of so employ- 
 ing the pendulum a.sa, comjRQn, one. 
 
 Galileo was fond of society, and his 
 cheerful and popular manners rendered 
 him an universal favourite among those 
 who were admitted to his intimacy. 
 Among these, Viviani, who formed one 
 of his family during the three last years 
 of his life, deserves particular notice, on 
 account of the strong attachment and 
 almost filial veneration with which 
 he ever regarded his master and bene- 
 factor. His long life, which was pro- 
 longed to the completion of his 81st year 
 in 1703, enabled him to see the tri- 
 umphant establishment of the truths 
 on account of which Galileo had en- 
 dured so many insults ; and even . in 
 his old age, when in his turn he had 
 acquired a claim to the reverence 
 of a younger generation, our Royal So 
 ciety, who invited him among them in 
 1696, felt that the complimentary lan- 
 guage in which they addressed him as 
 the first mathematician of the age w r ould 
 have been incomplete and unsatisfactory 
 without an allusion to the friendship 
 that gained him the cherished title of 
 " The last pupil of Galileo."* 
 
 Torricelli, another of Galileo's most ce- 
 lebrated followers, became a member of 
 his family in October, 1641: he first 
 learned mathematics from Castelli, and 
 occasionally lectured for him at Rome, 
 in which manner he was employed when 
 Galileo, who had seen his book ' On 
 Motion,' and augured the greatest suc- 
 cess from such a beginning, invited him 
 to his house 'an offer which Torricelli 
 eagerly embraced, although he enjoyed 
 the advantages of it but for a short 
 time. He afterwards succeeded Galileo 
 in his situation at the court of Flo- 
 rence/}- but survived him only a few 
 years. 
 
 It is from the accounts of Viviani and 
 Gherardini that we principally draw the 
 following particulars of Galileo's person 
 and character : Signor Galileo was 
 of a cheerful and pleasant countenance, 
 especially in his old age, square built, 
 and well proportioned in stature, and 
 rather above the middle size. His 
 complexion was fair and sanguine, his 
 eyes brilliant, and his hair of a reddish 
 cast. His constitution was naturally 
 
 * The words of his diploma are : Galilaei in rca- 
 thematicis disciplinis discipulus, in serumnis socius, 
 Italicum ingenium ita perpolivit optimis artibus ut 
 inter mathematicos sseculi nostri facile princeps per 
 orbemlitterarium numeretur. Tiraboschi. 
 
 t On this occasion the taste of the time showed 
 itself in the following anagram : t _ 
 
 F.vangelista Torricellieus, 
 Ku virescit Galilseiw alter, 
 
ft 
 
 ** 
 
 > 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 101 
 
 strong, but worn out by fatigue of mind 
 and body, so as frequently to be reduced 
 to a state of the utmost weakness. He 
 was subject to attacks of hypochondria, 
 and often molested by severe and dan- 
 gerous illnesses, occasioned in great 
 measure by his sleepless nights, the 
 whole of which he frequently spent 
 in astronomical observations. During 
 upwards of forty-eight years of his life, 
 he was tormented with acute rheuma- 
 tic pains, suffering particularly on any 
 change of weather. He found himself 
 most free from these pains whilst re- 
 siding in the country, of which conse- 
 quently he became very fond : besides, 
 he used to say that in the country he 
 had greater freedom to read the book of 
 Nature, which lay there open before 
 him. His library was very small, but 
 well chosen, and open to the use of the 
 friends whom he loved to see assembled 
 round him, and whom he was accus- 
 tomed to receive in the most hospitable 
 manner. He ate sparingly himself; but 
 was particularly choice in the selection 
 of his wines, which in the latter part of 
 his life were regularly supplied out of 
 the Grand Duke's cellars. This taste 
 gave an additional stimulus to his agri- 
 cultural pursuits, and many of his leisure 
 hours were spent in the cultivation and 
 superintendence of his vineyards. It 
 should seem that he was considered a 
 good judge of wine ; for Viviani has pre- 
 served one of his receipts in a collection 
 of miscellaneous experiments. In it he 
 strongly recommends that for wine of 
 the first quality, that juice only should be 
 employed, which is pressed out by the 
 mere weight of the heaped grapes, 
 which would probably be that of the 
 ripest fruit. The following letter, written 
 in his 74th year, is dated, " From my 
 prison at Arcetri. I am forced to 
 avail myself of your assistance and fa- 
 vour, agreeably to your obliging offers, 
 in consequence of the excessive chill of 
 the weather, and of old age, and from 
 having drained out my grand stock of a 
 hundred bottles.which I laid in two years 
 ago ; not to mention some minor parti- 
 culars during the last two months, which 
 I received from my Serene Master, the 
 Most Eminent Lord Cardinal, their 
 Highnesses the Princes, and the Most 
 Excellent Duke of Guise, besides 
 cleaning out two barrels of the wine of 
 this country. Now, I beg that with all 
 due diligence and industry, and with 
 consideration, and taking counsel with 
 the most refined palates, you will pro- 
 
 vide me with two cases, that is to say, 
 with forty flasks of different wines, the 
 most exquisite that you can find : take 
 no thought of the expense, because I stint 
 myself so much in all other pleasures that 
 I can afford to lay out something at the 
 request of Bacchus, without giving 
 offence to his two companions Ceres and 
 Venus. You must be careful to leave out 
 neither Scillo nor Carino (I believe they 
 meant to call them Scylla and Charyb- 
 dis), nor the country of my master, Ar- 
 chimedes of Syracuse, nor Greek wines, 
 nor clarets, &c. &c. The expense I 
 shall easily be able to satisfy, but not the 
 infinite obligation." 
 
 In his expenditure Galileo observed a 
 just mean between avarice and profu- 
 sion : he spared no cost necessary for the 
 success of his many and various experi- 
 ments, and spent large sums in charity 
 and hospitality, and in assisting those in 
 whom he discovered excellence in any 
 art or profession, many of whom he 
 maintained in his own house. His tem- 
 per was easily ruffled, but still more 
 easily pacified. He seldom conversed 
 on mathematical or philosophical topics 
 except among his intimate friends ; and 
 when such subjects were abruptly 
 brought before him, as was often the 
 case by the numberless visitors he 
 was in the habit of receiving, he showed 
 great readiness in turning the conver- 
 sation into more popular channels, in 
 such manner however that he often 
 contrived to introduce something to 
 satisfy the curiosity of the inquirers. 
 His memory was uncommonly tena- 
 cious, and stored with a vast variety of old 
 songs and stories, which he was in 
 the constant habit of quoting and allu- 
 ding to. His favourite Italian authors 
 were Ariosto, Petrarca, and Berni,. 
 great part of whose poems he was 
 able to repeat. His excessive admira- 
 tion of Ariosto determined the side 
 which he took against Tasso in the 
 virulent and unnecessary controversy 
 which has divided Italy so long on the 
 respective merits of these two great 
 poets ; and he was accustomed to say'that 
 reading Tasso after Ariosto was like 
 tasting cucumbers after melons. When 
 quite a youth, he wrote a great number 
 of critical remarks on Tasso's Geru- 
 salemme Liberata, which one of his 
 friends borrowed, and forgot to return* 
 For a long time it was thought that the 
 manuscript had perished, till the Abbe* 
 Serassi discovered it, whilst collecting 
 materials for his Life of Tasso, pub- 
 
102 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 lished at Rome in 1785. Serassi being 
 a violent partizan of Tasso, but also un- 
 willing to lose the credit of the disco- 
 very, copied the manuscript, but without 
 any intention of publishing it, " till he 
 could find leisure for replying properly 
 to the sophistical and unfounded attacks 
 of a critic so celebrated on other ac- 
 counts." He announced his discovery 
 as having been made "in one of the 
 famous libraries at Rome," which vague 
 indication he with some reason consi- 
 dered insufficient to lead to a second 
 discovery. On Serassi's death his copy 
 was found, containing a reference to the 
 situation of the original ; the criticisms 
 were published, and form the greatest 
 part of the last volume of the Milan 
 edition of Galileo's works. The manu- 
 script was imperfect at the time of this 
 second discovery, several leaves having 
 been torn out, it is not known by whom. 
 
 The opinion of the most judicious Ita- 
 lian critics appears to be, that it would 
 have been more for Galileo's credit if 
 these remarks had never been made pub- 
 lic : they are written in a spirit of flippant 
 violence, such as might not be extra- 
 ordinary in a common juvenile critic, 
 but which it is painful to notice from 
 the pen of Galileo. Two or three son- 
 nets are extant written by Galileo 
 himself, and in two instances he has not 
 scrupled to appropriate the conceits 
 of the poet he affected to under- 
 value.* It should be mentioned that 
 Galileo's matured taste rather receded 
 from the violence of his early prejudices, 
 for at a later period of his life he used 
 to shun comparing the two ; and when 
 forced to give an opinion he said, " that 
 Tasso's appeared the finer poem, but 
 that Ariosto gave him the greater plea- 
 sure." Besides these sonnets, there is 
 extant a short burlesque poem written 
 by him, " In abuse of Gowns," when, 
 on his first becoming Professor at Pisa, 
 he found himself obliged by custom to 
 wear his professional habit in every com- 
 pany. It is written not without humour, 
 but does not bear comparison with 
 Berni, whom he imitated. \ 
 
 There are several detached subjects 
 treated of by Galileo, which may be 
 noticed in this place. A letter by him 
 containing the solution of a problem in 
 Chances is probably the earliest no- 
 
 * Compare Son. ii. v. 8 & 9; and Son. iii. v. 2 -& 3, 
 with Ger. Lib. c. iv. st. 76, and c. vii. st. 19. The 
 author gladly owns his obligation for these remarks 
 to the kindness of S\<r. Paruzzi, Professor of Italian 
 in the University of London. 
 
 tice extant of the application of ma- 
 thematics to that interesting subject : 
 the correspondence between Pascal and 
 Fermat, with which its history is gene- 
 rally made to begin, not having taken 
 place till at least twelve years later. 
 There can be little doubt after the clear 
 account of Carlo Dati, that Galileo was 
 the first to examine the curve called the 
 Cycloid, described by a point in the rim 
 of a wheel rolling on a straight line, 
 which he recommended as a graceful 
 form for the arch of a bridge at Pisa. He 
 even divined that the area contained be- 
 tween it and its base is exactly three 
 times that of the generating circle. He 
 seems to have been unable to verify this 
 guess by strict geometrical reasoning, 
 for Viviani tells an odd story, that in 
 order to satisfy his doubts he cut out 
 several large cycloids of pasteboard, but 
 finding the weight in every trial to be 
 rather less than three times that of the 
 circle, he suspected the proportion to be 
 irrational, and that there was some 
 error in his estimation ; the inquiry he 
 abandoned was afterwards resumed with 
 success by his pupil Torricelli.* 
 
 The account which Lagalla gives of 
 an experiment shown in his presence 
 by Galileo, carries the observation of 
 the phosphorescence of the Bologna 
 stone at least as far back as 1612/r 
 Other writers mention the name of an 
 alchymist, who according to them dis- 
 covered it accidentally in 1603. Cesi, 
 Lagalla, and one or two others, had 
 passed the night at Galileo's house, with 
 the intention of observing Venus and 
 Saturn; but, the night being cloudy, 
 the conversation turned on other matters, 
 and especially on the nature of light, 
 " on which Galileo took a small wooden 
 box at daybreak before sunrise, and 
 showed us some small stones in it, desir- 
 ing us to observe that they were not in 
 the least degree luminous. Having then 
 exposed them for some time to the twi- 
 light, he shut the window again ; and in 
 the midst of the dark room showed us 
 the stones, shining and glistening with 
 a faint light, which we saw presently 
 decay and become extinguished." In 
 1640, Liceti attempted to refer the 
 effect of the earthshine upon the 
 moon to a similar phosphorescent qua- 
 lity of that luminary, to which Galileo, 
 then aged 76, replied by a long and able 
 letter, enforcing the true explanation he 
 had formerly given. 
 
 * Lettera di Timauro Antiate. Firenze, 1663. 
 t De phaenomenis in orbe Lunse. Venetiis, 1612: 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 103 
 
 Although quite blind, and nearly deaf, 
 the intellectual powers of Galileo re- 
 mained to the end of his life ; but he oc- 
 casionally felt that he was overworking 
 himself, and used to complain to his friend 
 Micanzio that he found his head too busy 
 for his body. " I cannot keep my rest- 
 less brain from grinding on, although 
 with great loss of time; for whatever 
 idea comes into my head with respect 
 to any novelty, drives out of it what- 
 ever I had been thinking of just be- 
 fore." He was busily engaged in consi- 
 dering the nature of the force of percus- 
 sion, and Torricelli was employed in 
 arranging his investigations for a conti- 
 nuation of the ' Dialogues on Motion,' 
 when he was seized with an attack 
 of fever and palpitation of the heart, 
 which, after an illness of two months, 
 put an end to his long, laborious, and 
 useful life, on the 8th of January, 1642, 
 just one year before his great successor 
 Newton was born. 
 
 The malice of his enemies was scarcely 
 allayed by his death. His right of making 
 a will was disputed, as having died a 
 prisoner to the Inquisition, as well as 
 his right to burial in consecrated ground. 
 These were at last conceded, but Urban 
 anxiously interfered to prevent the design 
 of erecting a monument to him in the 
 church of Santa Croce, in Florence, for 
 which a large sum had been subscribed. 
 His body was accordingly buried in an 
 obscure corner of the church, which for 
 upwards of thirty years after his death 
 was unmarked even by an inscription to 
 his memory. It was not till a century 
 later that the splendid monument was 
 erected which now covers his and 
 Viviani's remains. When their bodies 
 were disinterred in 1737-for the purpose 
 of being removed to their new resting- 
 place, Capponi, the president of the 
 Florentine Academy, in a spirit of spu- 
 rious admiration, mutilated Galileo's 
 body, by removing the thumb and fore- 
 finger of the right-hand, and one of the 
 vertebrae of the back, which are still pre- 
 served in some of the Italian museums. 
 The monument was put up at the ex- 
 pense of his biographer, Nelli, to whom 
 Viviani's property descended, charged 
 with the condition of erecting it. Nor 
 was this the only public testimony which 
 Viviani gave of his attachment. The 
 medal which he struck in honour of Galileo 
 has already been mentioned ; he also, 
 as soon as it was safe to do so, covered 
 every side of the house in which he 
 lived with laudatory inscriptions to the 
 
 same effect. A bust of Galileo was 
 placed over the door, and two bas-reliefs 
 on each side representing some of his 
 principal discoveries. Not less than 
 live other medals were struck in honour 
 of him during his residence at Padua 
 and Florence, which are all engraved in 
 Venturi's Memoirs. 
 
 There are several good portraits 
 of Galileo extant, two of which, by 
 Titi and Subtermanns, are engraved 
 in Nelli's Life of Galileo. Another 
 by Subtermanns is in the Florentine 
 Gallery, and an engraving from a copy 
 of this is given by Venturi. There is 
 also a very fine engraving from the 
 original picture. An engraving from 
 another original picture is in the fron- 
 tispiece of the Padua edition of his 
 works. Salusbury seems in the fol- 
 lowing passage to describe a portrait 
 of Galileo painted by himself: " He did 
 not contemn the other inferior arts, for 
 he had a good hand in sculpture and 
 carving ; but his particular care was to 
 paint well. By the pencil he described 
 what his telescope discovered ; in one 
 he exceeded art, in the other, nature. 
 Osorius, the eloquent bishop of Sylva, 
 esteems one piece of Mendoza the wise 
 Spanish minister's felicity, to have been 
 this, that he was contemporary to Titian, 
 and that by his hand he was drawn in a 
 fair tablet. And Galilaeus, lest he should 
 want the same good fortune, made so 
 great a progress in this curious art, that 
 he became his own Buonarota; and 
 because there was no other copy worthy 
 of his pencil, drew himself." No other 
 author makes the slightest allusion to 
 such a painting ; and it appears more 
 likely that Salusbury should be mis- 
 taken than that so interesting a portrait 
 should have been entirely lost sight of. 
 
 Galileo's house at Arcetri was stand- 
 ing in 1821, when Venturi visited it, 
 and found it in the same state in which 
 Galileo might be supposed to have left 
 it. It is situated nearly a mile from 
 Florence, on the south-eastern side, and 
 about a gun-shot to the north-west of 
 the convent of St. Matthew. Nelli 
 placed a suitable inscription over the 
 door of the house, which belonged in 
 1821 to a Signor Alimari.* 
 
 Although Ittelli's Life of Galileo dis- 
 appointed the expectations that had 
 been formed of it, it is impossible for 
 any admirer of Galileo not to feel the 
 greatest degree of gratitude towards 
 
 * Venturi, 
 
104 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 him, for the successful activity with 
 which he rescued so many records of 
 the illustrious philosopher from destruc- 
 tion. After Galileo's death, the prin- 
 cipal part of his books, manuscripts, 
 and instruments, were put into the 
 charge of Viviani, who was himself at 
 that time an object of great suspicion ; 
 most of them he thought it prudent to 
 conceal, till the superstitious outcries 
 against Galileo should be silenced. At 
 Viviani's death, he left his library, con- 
 taining a very complete collection of the 
 works of all the mathematicians who 
 had preceded him (and amongst them 
 those of Galileo, Torricelli, and Castelli, 
 all which were enriched with notes and 
 additions by himself), to the hospital of 
 St. Mary at Florence, where an extensive 
 library already existed. The directors of 
 the hospital sold this unique collection 
 in 1781, when it became entirely dis- 
 persed. The manuscripts in Viviani's 
 possession passed to his nephew, the 
 Abbe Panzanini, together with the por- 
 traits of the chief personages of the Gali- 
 lean school, Galileo's instruments, and, 
 among other curiosities, the emerald ring 
 which he wore as a member of the Lyn- 
 cean Academy. A great number of these 
 books and manuscripts were purchased at 
 different times by Nelli, after the death 
 of Panzanini, from his relations, who 
 were ignorant or regardless of their 
 value. One of his chief acquisitions 
 was made by an extraordinary accident, 
 related by Tozzetti with the following 
 details, which we repeat, as they seem 
 to authenticate the story : " In the 
 spring of 1 739, the famous Doctor Lami 
 went out according to his custom to 
 breakfast with some of his friends at the 
 inn of the Bridge, by the starting-place ; 
 and as he and Sig. Nelli were passing 
 through the market, it occurred to 
 them to buy some Bologna sausages 
 from the pork-butcher, Cioci, who was 
 supposed to excel in making them. They 
 went into the shop, had their sausages 
 cut off and rolled in paper, which Nelli 
 put into his hat. On reaching the inn, 
 and calling for a plate to put them in, 
 Nelli observed that the paper in which 
 they had been rolled was one of Galileo's 
 letters. He cleaned it as well as he 
 could with his napkin, and put it into 
 his pocket without saying a word to 
 Lami ; and as soon as he returned into 
 the city, and could get clear of him, he 
 flew to the shop of Cioci, who told 
 him that a servant whom he did not 
 know bi ought him from time to time 
 
 similar letters, which he bought by weight 
 as waste paper. Nelli bought all that 
 remained, and on the servant's next 
 reappearance in a few days, he learned 
 the quarter whence they came, and 
 after some time succeeded at a small 
 expense in getting into his own posses- 
 sion an old corn-chest, containing all 
 that still remained of the precious trea- 
 sures which Viviani had concealed in it 
 ninety years before." * 
 
 The earliest biographical notice of 
 Galileo is that in the Obituary of 
 the Mercurio Italico, published at 
 Venice in 1647, by Vittorio Siri. It 
 is very short, but contains an exact 
 enumeration of his principal works and 
 discoveries. Rossi, who wrote under 
 the name of Janus Nicius Erythraeus, 
 introduced an account of Galileo in his 
 Pinacotheca Imaginum Illustrium, in 
 which the story of" his illegitimacy first 
 made its appearance. In 1664, Salus- 
 bury published a life of Galileo in the 
 second volume of his Mathematical 
 Collections, the greater part of which 
 is a translation of Galileo's principal 
 works. Almost the whole edition of 
 the second volume of Salisbury's 
 book was burnt in the great fire of 
 London. Chauffepi6 says that only one 
 copy is known to be extant in England : 
 this is now in the well-known library of 
 the Earl of Macclesfield, to whose kind- 
 ness the author is much indebted for the 
 use he has been allowed to make of this 
 unique volume. A fragment of this 
 second volume is in the Bodleian Li- 
 brary at Oxford. The translations in the 
 preceding pages are mostly founded upon 
 Salusbury's version. Salisbury's ac- 
 count, although that of an enthusiastic 
 admirer of Galileo, is too prolix to be 
 interesting : the general style of the per- 
 formance may be guessed from the title 
 of the first chapter ' Of (Man in gene- 
 ral, and how he excelleth all the other 
 Animals.' After informing his readers 
 that Galileo was born at Pisa, he pro- 
 ceeds : " Italy is affirmed to have been 
 the first that peopled the world after 
 the universal deluge, being governed by 
 Janus, Cameses, and Saturn, &c." His 
 description of Galileo's childhood is 
 somewhat quaint. " Before others had 
 left making of dirt pyes, he was framing 
 of diagrams ; and whilst others were 
 whipping of toppes, he was considering 
 the cause of their motion." It is on the 
 
 * Nolizie sul Ingrandimento delle Seienze Fisiche. 
 Fireuze, 1?80. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 10-5 
 
 whole tolerably correct, especially if we 
 take into account that Salusbury fcad 
 not yet seen Viviani's* Life, though com- 
 posed some years earlier. 
 
 The Life of Galileo by Viviani was 
 first written as an outline of an intended 
 larger work, but this latter was never 
 completed. This sketch was published 
 in the Memoirs of the Florentine Aca- 
 demy, of which Galileo had been one of 
 the annual presidents, and afterwards 
 prefixed to the complete editions of Gali- 
 leo's works ; it is written in a very 
 agreeable and flowing style, and has 
 been the groundwork of most subse- 
 quent accounts. Another original me- 
 moir by Niccolo Gherardini, was pub- 
 lished by Tozzetti. A great number 
 of references to authors who have 
 treated of Galileo is given by Sach 
 in his Onomasticon. An approved 
 Latin memoir by Brenna is in the 
 first volume of Fabroni's Vita? Ita- 
 lorum Illustrium ; he has however 
 fallen into several errors : this same 
 work contains the lives of several of his 
 principal followers. 
 
 The article in Chauffepie's Continua- 
 tion of Bayle's Dictionary does not con- 
 tain anything which is not in the earlier 
 accounts. 
 
 Andres wrote an essay entitled 'Sag- 
 gio sulla Filosofia del Galileo,' published 
 at'Mantua 1776; and Jagemann pub- 
 lished his ' Geschichte des Leben des 
 Galileo' at Leipzig, in 1787;* neither 
 of these the author has been able to 
 meet with. An analysis of the latter 
 may be seen in Kastner's ' Geschichte 
 der Mathematik, Gottingen, 1800,' from 
 which it does not appear to contain 
 any additional details. The * Elogio del 
 Galileo' by Paolo Frisi, first published 
 at Leghorn in 1775, is, as its title ex- 
 presses, rather in the nature of a pa- 
 negyric than of a continuous biogra- 
 phical account. It is written with 
 very great elegance and intimate 
 knowledge of the subjects of which 
 it treats. Nelli gave several curious 
 particulars with respect to Galileo in his 
 ' Saggio di Storia Letteraria Fiorentina, 
 Lucca, 1759;' and in 1793 published 
 his large work entitled ' Vita e Com- 
 mercio Letterario di Galileo Galilei.' So 
 uninteresting a book was probably never 
 written from such excellent materials. 
 Two thick quarto volumes are filled with 
 repetitions of the accounts that were 
 already in print, the bulky preparation 
 
 Venturi, 
 
 of which compelled the author to forego 
 the publication of the vast collection of 
 original documents which his unwearied 
 zeal and industry had collected. This 
 defect has been in great measure sup- 
 plied by Venturi in 1818 and 1821, who 
 has not only incorporated in his work 
 many of Nelli's manuscripts, but has 
 brought together a number of scattered 
 notices of Galileo and his writings from 
 a variety of outlying sources a ser- 
 vice which the writer is able to appre- 
 ciate from having gone through tha 
 greatest part of the same labour before 
 he was fortunate enough to meet with 
 Venturi's book. Still there are many 
 letters cited by Nelli, which do not ap- 
 pear either in his book or Venturi's^ 
 Carlo Dati, in 1663, quotes "the regis- 
 ters of Galileo's correspondence arranged 
 in alphabetical order, in ten large vo- 
 lumes."* The writer has no means of 
 ascertaining what collection this may 
 have been ; it is difficult to suppose that 
 one so arranged should have been lost 
 sight of. It is understood that a life of 
 Galileo is preparing at this moment in 
 Florence, by desire of the present Grand 
 Duke, which will probably throw much 
 additional light on the character and me- 
 rits of this great and useful philosopher. 
 
 The first editions of his various trea- 
 tises, as mentioned by Nelli, are given 
 below. Clement, in his Bibliotheque 
 Curieuse,' has pointed out such among 
 them, and the many others which have 
 been printed, as have become rare. 
 
 The Florentine edition is the one used 
 by the Academia della Crusca for their 
 references ; for which reason its paging 
 is marked in the margin of the edition 
 of Padua, which is much more complete, 
 and is the one which has been on the 
 present occasion principally consulted. 
 
 The latter contains the Dialogue on the 
 System, which was not 'suffered to be 
 printed in the former editions. The 
 twelve first volumes of the last edition of 
 Milan are a mere transcript of that of 
 Padua: the thirteenth contains in addi- 
 tion the Letter to the Grand Duchess, 
 the Commentary on Tasso, with some 
 minor pieces. A complete edition is still 
 wanted, embodying all the recently dis- 
 covered documents, and omitting the 
 verbose commentaries, which, however 
 useful when they were written, now 
 convey little information that cannot be 
 more agreeably and more profitably 
 learned in treatises of a later date. 
 
 * Lettera di Timauro Anliate. 
 
106 
 
 GALILEO. 
 
 Such was the life, and such were the 
 pursuits, of this extraordinary man. 
 The numberless inventions of his acute 
 industry ; the use of the telescope, and 
 the brilliant discoveries to which it led ; 
 the patient investigation of the laws of 
 weight and motion ; must all be looked 
 upon as forming but a part of his real 
 merits, as merely particular demonstra- 
 tions of the spirit in which he every- 
 where withstood the despotism of igno- 
 rance, and appealed boldly from tradi- 
 tional opinions to the judgments of 
 reason and common sense. He claimed 
 and bequeathed to us the right of 
 exercising our faculties in examining 
 the beautiful creation which surrounds 
 
 us. Idolized by his friends, he deserved 
 their affection by numberless acts of 
 kindness ; by his good humour, his 
 affability, and by the benevolent gene- 
 rosity with which he devoted himself 
 and a great part of his limited income 
 to advance their talents and fortunes. 
 If an intense desire of being useful is 
 everywhere worthy of honour; if its 
 value is immeasurably increased, when 
 united to genius of the highest order; 
 if we feel for one who, notwithstanding 
 such titles to regard, is harassed by cruel 
 persecution, then none deserve our 
 sympathy, our admiration, and our gra- 
 titude, more than Galileo. 
 
 D/ 
 
 co 
 
 ~ / 1 V 2 
 
 List of Galileo's Works. 
 
 Le Operazioni del Compasso Geom. e Milit. . . Padova, 1606'. 
 
 Difesa di Gal. Galilei contr. all. cal. et impost, di Bald. Capra . Venezza, 1607. 
 
 Sydereus Nuncius ..... Venetiis, 1610. 
 
 Discorso int. alle cose che stanno in su l'Acqua . . Firenze, 1612. 
 
 Novantiqua SS. PP. Doctrina de S. Scripturse Testimoniis . Argent, 1612. 
 
 Istoria e Demostr. int. alle Macchie Solari . . . Roma, 1613. 
 
 Risp. alle oppos. del S. Lod. delle Colombe e del S. Vine, di Grazia Firenze, 1615. 
 
 Discorso delle Comete di Mario Guiducci . . . Firenze, 1619. 
 
 Dialogo sopra i due Massimi Sistemi del Mondo . Firenze, 1632. 
 
 Discorso e Demostr. intorno alle due nuove Scienze . Leida, 1638. 
 
 Delia Scienza Meccanica ..... Ravenna, 1649. 
 
 Trattato della Sfera ..... Roma, 1655. 
 
 Discorso sopra il FIusso e Reflusso. (Scienze Fisiche di Tozzetti.) Firenze, 1780. 
 
 Considerazioni sul Tasso ..... Roma, 1793. 
 
 Trattato della Fortificazione. (Memorie di Venturi.) . Modena, 1818. 
 
 The editions of his collected works (in which is contained much that was 
 published separately) are 
 
 Opere di Gal. Galilei, Line. Nob. Fior. &c. 
 Operedi Gal. Galilei, Nob. Fior. Accad. Line. &c. 
 Opere di Gal. Galilei 
 Opere di Gal. Galilei 
 
 Bologna, 1656. 2 vols. 
 Firenze, 1718. 3 vols. 
 Padova, 1744. 4 vols. 
 
 Fol. 
 4 to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4 to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 
 4to. 1 
 never 
 
 4to. 
 
 4to. 
 4to. 
 8vo. 
 
 CORRECTIONS. 
 
 Line. 
 2, Add : His instructor was the celebrated botanist, Andreas Csesalpinus.who was professor 
 
 of medicine at Pisa from 1567 to 1592. Hist. Acad. Pisan. ; Pisis, 1791. 
 18, Add: According to Kilstner, his German name was Wursteisen. 
 21, for 1588 read 1586. 
 57, for 1632 read 1630. 
 29. Salusbury alludes to the instrument described and figured in " The Use of the Sector, 
 
 Crosse Staff'e, and other Instruments. London, 1624." It is exactly Galileo's Compass. 
 52, for Burg, a German, ?-eadBurgi, a Swiss. 
 17. The author here called Brutti was an Englishman : his real name, perhaps, was Bruce. 
 
 See p. 99. 
 14. Kepler's Epitome was not published till 1619 : it was then inserted in the Index. 
 60, for under read turned from. 
 50, for any read an indefinitely small. 
 
 Page Co 
 5 1 
 
 8 
 8 
 15 
 17 
 
 2 
 2 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 17 
 
 27 
 
 1 
 2 
 
 50 
 73 
 
 f80 
 
 1 
 1 
 1 
 
m 
 
 e Lie 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 L I F E CTP-^ET L E R. 
 
 
 Chapter I. 
 Introduction Birth and Education of 
 Kepler He is appointed Astronomi- 
 cal Professor at Gratz Publishes 
 the * Mysterium CosmographicumJ 1 
 
 In the account of the life and discoveries 
 of Galileo, we have endeavoured to in- 
 culcate the safety and fruitfulness of the 
 method followed by that great reformer 
 in his search after physical truth. As 
 his success furnishes the best instance 
 of the value of the inductive process, so 
 the failures and blunders of his adversa- 
 ries supply equally good examples of the 
 dangers and the barrenness of the oppo- 
 site course. The history of John Kep- 
 ler might, at the first view, suggest con- 
 clusions somewhat inconsistent with this 
 remark. Every one who is but mode- 
 rately acquainted with astronomy is 
 familiar with the discoveries which that 
 science owes to him ; the manner in 
 which he made them is, perhaps, not so 
 generally known. This extraordinary 
 man pursued, almost invariably, the 
 hypothetical method. His life was passed 
 in speculating on the results of a few 
 principles assumed by him, from very 
 precarious analogies, as the causes of 
 the phenomena actually observed in 
 Nature. We nevertheless find that he 
 did, in spite of this unphilosophical me- 
 thod, arrive at discoveries which have 
 served as guides to some of the most 
 valuable truths of modern science. 
 
 The difficulty will disappear if we 
 attend more closely to the details of 
 Kepler's investigations. We shall per- 
 ceive that to an unusual degree of 
 rashness in the formation of his sys- 
 tems, he added a quality very rarely 
 possessed by philosophers of the hypo- 
 thetical school. One of the greatest in- 
 tellectual vices of the latter was a wilful 
 blindness to the discrepancy of facts 
 from their creed, a perverse and obsti- 
 nate resistance to physical evidence, 
 leading not unfrequently to an attempt 
 at disguising the truth. From this be- 
 setting sin of the school, which from an 
 intellectual fault often degenerated into 
 a moral one, Kepler was absolutely free. 
 
 Scheme after scheme, resting originally 
 upon little beyond his own glowing ima- 
 gination, but examined and endeared by 
 the ceaseless labour of years, was unhe- 
 sitatingly sacrificed, as scon as its in- 
 sufficiency became indisputable, to make 
 room for others as little deserving sup- 
 port. The history of philosophy affords 
 no more remarkable instance of sincere 
 uncompromising love of truth. To this 
 virtue he owed Iris' great discoveries: it 
 must be attributed to his unhappy me- 
 thod that he made no more. 
 
 In considering this opinion upon the 
 real nature of Kepler's title to fame, it 
 ought not to be forgotten that he has ex- 
 posed himself at a disadvantage on which 
 certainly very few philosophers would 
 venture. His singular candour allowed 
 him to comment upon his own errors with 
 the same freedom as if scrutinizing the 
 work of a stranger ; careless whether the 
 impression on his readers were favour- 
 able or otherwise to himself, provided it 
 was instructive. Few writers have spoken 
 so much, and so freely of themselves, as 
 Kepler. He records, on almost every 
 occasion, the train of thought by which 
 he was led to each of the discoveries 
 that eventually repaid his persever- 
 ance ; and he has thus given us "a 
 most curious and interesting view of the 
 workings of a mind of great, though ec- 
 centric power. " In what follows," says 
 he (when introducing a long string of 
 suppositions, of which he had already 
 discovered the fallacy), " let the reader 
 pardon my credulity, whilst working 
 out all these matters by my own inge- 
 nuity. For it is my opinion that the oc- 
 casions by which men have acquired 
 a knowledge of celestial phenomena 
 are not less admirable than the disco- 
 veries themselves." Agreeing altogether 
 with this opinion in its widest application, 
 we have not scrupled, in the following 
 sketch, to introduce at some length an 
 account even of Kepler's erroneous spe- 
 culations ; they are in themselves very 
 amusing, and will have the additional 
 utility of proving the dangerous ten- 
 dency of his method ; they will show by 
 how many absurd theories, and how 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 many years of wasted labour, his real 
 discoveries and services to science lie 
 surrounded. 
 
 John Kepler was born (as we are as- 
 sured by his earliest biographer Hantsch) 
 in long. 29 7', lat. 48 54', on the 21st day 
 of December, 1571. On this spot stands 
 the imperial city of Weil, in the duchy of 
 Wirtemberg. His parents were Henry 
 Kepler and Catherine Guldenmann,both 
 of noble, though decayed families. 
 Henry Kepler, at the time of his mar- 
 riage, was a petty officer in the Duke of 
 Wirtemberg' s service ; and a few years 
 after the birth of his eldest son John, 
 he joined the army then serving in the 
 Netherlands. His wife followed him, 
 leaving their son, then in his fifth 
 year, at Leonberg, under the care of his 
 grandfather. He was a seven months 
 child, very weak and sickly ; and after 
 recovering with difficulty from a severe 
 attack of small-pox, he was sent to 
 school in 1577. Henry Kepler's limited 
 income was still farther reduced on his 
 return into Germany, the following year, 
 in consequence of the .absconding of 
 one of his acquaintance, for whom he 
 had incautiously become surety. His 
 circumstances were so much nar- 
 rowed by this misfortune, that he was 
 obliged to sell his house, and nearly all 
 that he possessed, and for several years 
 he supported his family by keeping a 
 tavern at Elmendingen. This occasioned 
 great interruption to young Kepler's 
 education ; he was taken from school, 
 and employed in menial services till 
 his twelfth year, when he was again 
 placed in the school at Elmendingen. 
 In the following year he was again 
 seized with a violent illness, so that 
 his life was almost despaired of. In 
 158G,he was admitted into the monastic 
 school of Maulbronn, where the cost of 
 his education was defrayed by the Duke 
 of Wirtemberg. This school was one 
 of those established on the suppression 
 of the monasteries at the Reformation, 
 and the usual course of education fol- 
 lowed there required that the students, 
 after remaining a year in the superior 
 classes, should offer themselves for ex- 
 amination at the college of Tubingen 
 for the degree of bachelor: they then 
 returned to their school with the title 
 of veterans ; and after completing the 
 studies taught there, they were admitted 
 as resident students at Tubingen, pro- 
 ceeded in about a year to the "degree of 
 master, and were then allowed to com- 
 mence their course of theology. The 
 
 three years of Kepler's life following his 
 admission to Maulbronn, were marked 
 by periodical returns of several of the dis- 
 orders which had well nigh proved fatal 
 to him in his childhood. During the same 
 time disagreements arose between his 
 parents, in consequence of which his 
 father quitted his home, and soon after 
 died abroad. After his father's depar- 
 ture, his mother also quarrelled with her 
 relations, having been treated, says 
 Hantsch, " with a degree of barbarity 
 by her; husband and brother-in-law 
 that was hardly exceeded even by her 
 own perverseness :" one of his bro- 
 thers died, and the family-affairs were 
 in the greatest confusion. Notwith- 
 standing these disadvantages, Kepler 
 took his degree of master in August 1591, 
 attaining the second place in the annual 
 examination. The first name on the 
 list was John Hippolytus Brentius. 
 
 Whilst he was thus engaged at Tu- 
 bingen, the astronomical lectureship at 
 Grate, the chief town of Styria, be- 
 came vacant by the death of George 
 Stadt, and the situation was offered to 
 Kepler. Of this first occasion of turn- 
 ing his thoughts towards astronomy, he 
 has himself given the following account : 
 " As soon as I was of an age to feel the 
 charms of philosophy, I embraced every 
 part of it with intense desire, but paid 
 no especial regard to astronomy. I had 
 indeed capacity enough for it, and learn- 
 ed without difficulty the geometrical 
 and astronomical theorems occurring in 
 the usual course of the school, being 
 well grounded in figures, numbers, and 
 proportions. But those were compulsory 
 studies there was nothing to show a 
 particular turn for astronomy. I was 
 educated at the expense of the Duke of 
 Wirtemberg, and when I saw such of 
 my companions as the duke selected to 
 send abroad shrink in various ways from 
 their employments, out of fondness for 
 home, I, who was more callous, had 
 early made up my mind to go with the 
 utmost readiness whithersoever I might 
 be sent. The first offering itself was 
 an astronomical post, which I was in 
 fact forced to accept by the authority of 
 my tutors ; not that I was alarmed, in 
 the manner I had condemned in others, 
 by the remoteness of the situation, but 
 by the unexpected and contemptible 
 nature of the office, and by the slightness 
 of my information in this branch of phi- 
 losophy. I entered on it, therefore, bet- 
 ter furnished with talent than knowledge : 
 with many protestations that I was 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 not abandoning my claim to be provided 
 for in some other more brilliant pro- 
 fession. What progress I made in the 
 first two years of my studies, may be 
 seen in my ' Mysterium Cosmogra- 
 phicum ;' and the encouragement given 
 me by my tutor, Mastlin, 1o take up the 
 science of astronomy, may be read in the 
 same book, and in his letter which is 
 prefixed to the ' Narrative of Rheticus.' 
 I looked on that discovery as of the 
 highest importance, and still more so, 
 because I saw how greatly it was ap- 
 proved by Mastlin." 
 
 The nature of the singular work to 
 which Kepler thus refers with so much 
 complacency, will be best shown by 
 quoting some of the most remarkable parts 
 of it, and especially the preface, in which 
 he briefly details some of the theories 
 he successively examined and rejected, 
 before detecting (as he imagined he had 
 here done) the true cause of the number 
 and order of the heavenly bodies. The 
 other branches of philosophy with which 
 he occupied himself in his younger years, 
 were those treated by Scaliger in his 
 ' Exoteric Exercises,' to the study of 
 which book Kepler attributed the for- 
 mation of many of his opinions ; and he 
 tells us that he devoted much time M to 
 the examination of the nature of heaven, 
 of souls, of genii, of the elements, of the 
 essence of fire, of the cause of fountains, 
 the ebb and flow of the tide, the shape 
 of the continents, and inland seas, and 
 things of this sort." He also says, that 
 by his first success with the heavens, his 
 hopes were greatly inflamed of discover- 
 ing similar analogies in the rest of the 
 visible world, and for this reason,named 
 his book merely a Prodromus, or Fore- 
 runner, meaning, at some future period, 
 to subjoin the Aftercomer, or Sequel. 
 But this intention was never fulfilled; 
 either his imagination failed him, or, 
 what is more likely, the laborious calcu- 
 lations in which his astronomical theories 
 engaged him, left him little time for 
 turning his attention to objects uncon- 
 nected with his first pursuit. 
 
 It is seldom that we are admitted to 
 trace the progress of thought in those 
 who have distinguished themselves by 
 talent and originality ; and although the 
 whole of the following speculations be- 
 gin and end in error, yet they are so 
 characteristic, and exhibit such an extra- 
 ordinary picture of the extravagances 
 into which Kepler's lively imagination 
 was continuaDy hurrying him, that we 
 cannot refrain from citing nearly the 
 
 whole preface. From it, better than from 
 any enumeration of peculiarities, the 
 reader will at once apprehend the nature 
 of his disposition. 
 
 " When I was attending the celebrated 
 Mastlin, six years ago, at Tubingen, 
 I was disturbed by the manifold incon- 
 veniences of the common theory of the 
 universe, and so delighted with Coper- 
 nicus, whom Mastlin was frequently in 
 the habit of quoting with great respect, 
 that I not only often defended his pro- 
 positions in the physical disputations of 
 the candidates, but also wrote a correct 
 essay on the primary motion, maintain- 
 ing, that it is caused by the rotation of 
 the earth. And I was then at that point 
 that I attributed to the earth the motion 
 of the sun on physical (or, if you will, 
 on metaphysical) grounds, as Copernicus 
 had done for mathematical reasons. 
 And, by this practice, I came by de- 
 grees, partly from Mastlin' s instructions, 
 and partly from my own efforts, to un- 
 derstand the superior mathematical con- 
 venience of the system of Copernicus 
 beyond Ptolemy's. This labour might 
 have been spared me, by Joachim Rhe- 
 ticus, who has shortly and clearly ex- 
 plained everything in his first Narra- 
 tive. While incidentally engaged in 
 these labours, in the intermission of 
 my theology, it happened conveniently 
 that I succeeded George Stadt in his 
 situation at Gratz, where the nature of 
 my office connected me more closely 
 with these studies. Everything I had 
 learned from Mastlin, or had acquired 
 of myself, was there of great service 
 to me in explaining the first elements of 
 astronomy. And, as in Virgil, Fama 
 mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eun- 
 doj so it was with me, that the diligent 
 thought on these things was the occasion 
 of still further thinking : until, at last, 
 in the year 1595, when I had some in- 
 termission of my lectures allowed me, I 
 brooded with the whole energy of my mind 
 on this subject. There were three things 
 in particular, of which I pertinaciously 
 sought the causes why they are not 
 other than they are : the number, the 
 size, and the motion of the orbits. I 
 attempted the thing at first with num- 
 bers, and considered whether one of the 
 orbits might be double, triple, quadru- 
 ple, or any other multiple of the others, 
 and how much, according to Coper- 
 nicus, each differed from the rest. I 
 spent a great deal of time in that labour, 
 as if it were mere sport, but could find 
 no equality either in the proportions or 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 the differences, and I gained nothing 
 from this beyond imprinting deeply in 
 my memory the distances as assigned 
 by Copernicus ; unless, perhaps, reader, 
 this record of my various attempts may 
 force your assent, backwards and for- 
 wards, as the waves of the sea ; until 
 tired at length, you will willingly repose 
 yourself, as" in a safe haven, on the rea- 
 sons explained in this book. However, 
 I was comforted in some degree, and my 
 hopes of success were supported as well 
 by other reasons which will follow pre- 
 sently, as by observing that the motions 
 in every case seemed to be connected 
 with the distances, and that where there 
 was a great gap between the orbits, there 
 was the same between the motions. And 
 I reasoned, that if God had adapted 
 motions to the orbits in some relation to 
 the distances, it was probable that he 
 had also arrayed the distances them- 
 selves in relation to something else. 
 
 " Finding no success by this method, 
 I tried another, of singular auda- 
 cit}>. I inserted a new planet between 
 Mars and Jupiter, and another between 
 Venus and Mercury, both of which I 
 supposed invisible, perhaps on account 
 of their smallness, and I attributed to 
 each a certain period of revolution.* I 
 thought that I could thus contrive some 
 equality of proportions, increasing be- 
 tween every two, from the sun to the 
 fixed stars. For instance, the Earth is 
 nearer Venus in parts of the terrestrial 
 orbit, than Mars is to the Earth in parts 
 of the orbit of Mars. But not even the 
 interposition of a new planet sufficed for 
 the enormous gap between Mars and 
 Jupiter ; for the proportion of Jupiter 
 to the new planet was still greater than 
 that of Saturn to Jupiter. And although, 
 by this supposition, I got some sort of a 
 proportion, yet there was no reasonable 
 conclusion, no certain determination of the 
 number of the planets either towards the 
 fixed stars, till we should get as far as 
 them, nor ever towards the Sun, be- 
 cause the division in this proportion of 
 the residuary space within Mercury 
 might be continued without end. Nor 
 
 * The following scrupulous note added by Kepler 
 in 1621 to a subsequent edition of this work, de- 
 serves to be quoted. It shows how entirely superior 
 he was to the paltriness of attempting to appropriate 
 the discoveries of others, of which many o-his con- 
 temporaries had exhibited instances even on 
 slighter pretences than this passage might have 
 afforded him; The note is as follows : "Not cir- 
 culating round Jupiter like the Medictean stars. Be 
 net deceived. I never had them in my thoughts, 
 but, like the other primary planets, including the 
 nun in the centre of the system within their orbits." 
 
 could I form any conjecture, from the 
 mobility of particular numbers, why, 
 among an infinite number, so few should 
 be moveable. The opinion advanced 
 by Rheticus in his Narrative is impro- 
 bable, where he reasons from the sanctity 
 of the number six to the number of the 
 six moveable heavens ; for he who is in- 
 quiring of the frame of the world itself, 
 must not derive reasons from these 
 numbers, which have gained importance 
 from things of later date. 
 
 " I sought again, in another way, whe- 
 ther the distance of every planet is not 
 as the residuum of a sine ; and its mo- 
 tion as the residuum of the sine of the 
 complement in the same quadrant. 
 
 T) 
 
 9^ r 
 
 
 
 i . r . 
 
 
 ' L 
 
 rS* 
 
 /H 
 / 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 
 C Fixre. 
 
 " Conceive the square AB to be con- 
 structed, whose side A C is equal to the 
 semidiameter of the universe. From the 
 angle B opposite to A the place of the 
 sun, or, centre of the world, describe the 
 quadrant D C with the radius B C. 
 Then in A C, the true radius of the 
 world, let the sun, fixed stars, and pla- 
 nets be marked at their respective dis- 
 tances, and from these points draw lines 
 parallel to B C, meeting the quadrant. I 
 imagined the moving force acting on 
 each of the planets to be in the propor- 
 tion of these parallels. In the line of the 
 sun is infinity, because A D is touched, 
 and not cut, by the quadrant : therefore 
 the moving force is infinite in the sun, 
 as deriving no motion except from its 
 own act. In Mercury the infinite line 
 is cut off at K, and therefore at this 
 point the motion is comparable with the 
 others. In the fixed stars the line is 
 altogether lost, and compressed into a 
 mere point C ; therefore at that point 
 there is no moving force. This was the 
 theorem, which was to be tried by cal- 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 dilation ; but if any one will reflect 
 that two things were wanting to me, 
 first, that I did not know the size of the 
 Sinus Totus, that is, the radius of the 
 proposed quadrant ; secondly, that the 
 energies of the motions were not thus 
 expressed otherwise than in relation one 
 to another ; whoever, I say, well consi- 
 ders this, will doubt, not without reason, 
 as to the progress I was likely to make 
 in this difficult course. And yet, with 
 unremitting labour, and an infinite re- 
 ciprocation of sines and arcs, I did 
 get so far as to be convinced that this 
 theory could not hold. 
 
 " Almost the whole summer was lost 
 in these annoying labours ; at last, by a 
 trifling accident, I lighted more nearly 
 on the truth. I looked on it as an in- 
 terposition of Providence, that I should 
 obtain by chance, what I had failed to 
 discover with my utmost exertions ; and 
 I believed this the more, because I 
 prayed constantly that I might succeed, 
 if Copernicus had really spoken the 
 truth. It happened on the 9th or 19th* 
 day of July, in the year 1595, that, 
 having occasion to show, in my lecture- 
 room, the passages of the great con- 
 junctions through eight signs, and how 
 they pass gradually from one trine as- 
 pect to another, I inscribed in a circle 
 
 sl great number of triangles, or quasi- 
 triangles, so that the end of one was 
 made the beginning of another. In this 
 manner a smaller circle was shadowed 
 out by the points in which the lines 
 crossed each other. 
 
 " The radius of a circle inscribed in 
 a triangle is half the radius of that 
 described about it; therefore the pro- 
 
 * This inconvenient mode of dating was neces- 
 sary before the new or Gregorian style was uni- 
 versally adopted. 
 
 portion between these two circles struck 
 the eye as almost identical with that 
 between Saturn and Jupiter, and the 
 triangle is the first figure, just as Sa- 
 turn and Jupiter are the first planets. 
 On the spot I tried the second distance 
 between Jupiter and Mars with a square, 
 the third with a pentagon, the fourth 
 with a hexagon. And as the eye again 
 cried out against the second distance 
 between Jupiter and Mars, I combined 
 the square with a triangle and a pen- 
 tagon. There would be no end of men- 
 tioning every trial. The failure of this 
 fruitless attempt was the beginning of 
 the last fortunate one ; for I reflected, 
 that in this way I should never reach 
 the sun, if I wished to observe the same 
 rule throughout ; nor should I have- 
 any reason why there were six, rather 
 than twenty or a hundred moveable 
 orbits. And yet figures pleased me, as 
 being quantities, and as having existed 
 before the heavens; for quantity was 
 created with matter, and the heavens 
 afterwards. But if (this was the current 
 of my thoughts), in relation to the quan- 
 tity and proportion of the six orbits, as- 
 Copernicus has determined them among 
 the infinite other figures, five only could 
 be found having peculiar properties above 
 the rest, my business would be done. 
 And then again it struck me, what have 
 plane figures to do among solid orbits ? 
 Solid bodies ought rather to be intro- 
 duced. This, reader, is the invention 
 and the whole substance of this little 
 work; for if any one, though but mo- * 
 derately skilled in geometry, should 
 hear these words hinted, the five regular 
 solids will directly occur to him with 
 the proportions of their circumscribed 
 and inscribed spheres: he has imme- 
 diately before his eyes that scholium of 
 Euclid to the 18th proposition of his 
 13th Book, in which it is proved to be 
 impossible that there should be, or be 
 imagined, more than five regular bodies^ 
 " What is worthy of admiration (since 
 I had then no proof of any prerogatives 
 of the bodies with regard to their order) 
 is, that employing a conjecture which 
 was far from being subtle, derived from 
 the distances of the planets, I should at 
 once attain my end so happily in arrang- 
 ing them, that I was not able to change 
 anything afterwards with the utmost ex- 
 ercise of my reasoning powers. In me- 
 mory of the event, I write down here for 
 you the sentence, just as it fell from me, 
 and in the words in which it was that 
 moment conceived : The $arth is the 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 circle, the measurer of all ; round it de- 
 scribe a dodecahedron, the circle in- 
 cluding this will be Mars. Round Mars 
 describe a tetrahedron, the circle includ- 
 ing this will be Jupiter. Describe a 
 cube round Jupiter, the circle including 
 
 this will be Saturn. Now, inscribe in 
 the Earth an icosaedron, the circle in- 
 scribed in it will beVenus. Inscribe an 
 octaedron in Venus, the circle inscribed 
 in it will be Mercury. This is the reason 
 of the number of the planets. 
 
 " This was the cause, and such the suc- 
 cess, of my labour : now read my propo- 
 sitions in this book. The intense plea- 
 sure 1 have received from this discovery 
 never can be told in words. I regretted 
 no more the time wasted ; I tired of no 
 labour; I shunned no toil of reckoning ; 
 days and nights I spent in calculations, 
 until I could see whether this opinion 
 -would agree with the orbits of Coper- 
 nicus, or whether my joy was to vanish 
 into air. I willingly subjoin that senti- 
 ment of Archytas, as given by Cicero : 
 * If I could mount up into heaven, and 
 thoroughly perceive the nature of the 
 world, and beauty of the stars, that ad- 
 miration would be without a charm for 
 me, unless I had some one like you, 
 reader, candid, attentive, and eager for 
 knowledge, to whom to describe it.' If 
 
 you acknowledge this feeling, and are 
 candid, you will refrain from blame, such 
 as not without cause I anticipate ; but 
 if, leaving that to itself, you fear lest 
 these things be not ascertained, and 
 that I have shouted triumph before vic- 
 tory, at least approach these pages, and 
 learn the matter in consideration : you 
 will not find, as just now, new and un- 
 known planets interposed ; that boldness 
 of mine is not approved, but those old 
 ones very little loosened, and so furnished 
 by the interposition (however absurd you 
 may think it) of rectilinear figures, that 
 in future you may give a reason to the 
 rustics when they ask for the hooks 
 which keep the skies from falling. 
 Farewell." 
 
 In the third chapter Kepler mentions, 
 that a thickness m,ust fc>e allowed to 
 
KEPLER. 7 
 
 each orb sufficient to include the greatest parison with the real distances are as 
 and least distance of the planet from the follows : y 
 
 sun. The form and result of his com- 
 
 If the 
 
 inner 
 surface 
 of the 
 orbit of 
 
 be taken at 
 
 1000, then 
 
 the outer 
 
 one of 
 
 
 
 Book V. 
 
 577 ) 
 
 
 f 635 Ch. 9 
 
 333 
 
 According to 
 
 333 14 
 
 795 
 
 > Copernicus 
 
 I 7S7 19 
 
 795 
 
 they are 
 
 794 _ 21, 22 
 
 577 
 
 
 { 723 27 
 
 It will be observed, that Kepler's re- 
 sults were far from being entirely satis- 
 factory; but he seems to have flattered 
 himself, that the differences might be 
 attributed to erroneous measurements. 
 Indeed, the science of observation was 
 then so much in its infancy, that such 
 an assertion might be made without in- 
 curring much risk of decisive refutation. 
 
 Kepler next endeavoured to deter- 
 mine why the regular solids followed in 
 this rather than any other order; and 
 his imagination soon created a variety of 
 essential distinctions between the cube, 
 pyramid, and dodecahedron, belonging 
 to the superior planets, and the other two. 
 
 The next question examined in the 
 book, is the reason why the zodiac is 
 divided into 360 degrees; and on this 
 subject, he soon becomes enveloped in 
 a variety of subtle considerations, (not 
 very intelligible in the original, and still 
 more difficult to explain shortly to others 
 unacquainted with it,) in relation to the 
 divisions of the musical scale ; the origin 
 of which he identifies with his live fa- 
 vourite solids. The twentieth chapter 
 is appropriated to a more interesting 
 inquiry, containing the first traces of 
 his finally successful researches into the 
 proportion between the distances of the 
 planets, and the times of their motions 
 round the sun. He begins with the 
 generally admitted fact, that the more 
 distant planets move more slowly ; but 
 in order to show that the proportion, 
 whatever it may be, is not the simple 
 one of the distances, he exhibits the 
 following little Table : 
 ft 
 
 Jupiter = 
 Mars = 
 Earth = 
 Venus = 
 Mercury = 
 
 planet placed above it, and underneath 
 the days due to the other inferior pla- 
 nets, if they observed the proportion of 
 distance. Hence it appears that this 
 proportion in every case gives a time 
 greater than the truth ; as for instance, 
 if the earth's rate of revolution were to 
 Jupiter's in the proportion of their dis- 
 tances, the second column shows that 
 the time of her period would be 843 in- 
 stead of 365| days ; so of the rest. His 
 next attempt was to compare them by 
 two by two, in which he found that he 
 arrived at a proportion something like 
 the proportion of the distances, although 
 as yet far from obtaining it exactly. This 
 process amounts to taking the quotients 
 obtained by dividing the period of each 
 planet by the period of the one next 
 
 
 D. Scr. 
 
 H 
 
 
 10759.12 
 
 D. Scr. 
 
 <? 
 
 
 6159 
 
 4332.37 
 
 D.Scr. 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 1785 
 
 1282 
 
 686.59 
 
 D.Scr. 
 
 ? 
 
 
 1174 
 
 843 
 
 452 
 
 365.15 
 
 D.Scr. 
 
 5 
 
 8-14 
 
 606 
 
 325 
 
 262.30 
 
 221.42 
 
 D.Scr. 
 
 434 
 
 312 
 
 167 
 
 35 
 
 115 
 
 87.5d 
 
 At the head of each vertical column 
 is placed the real time (in days and sex- 
 agesimal parts) of the revolution of the 
 
 bevond. 
 
 8-3 
 
 SO I 
 
 ft 
 
 10759.27 
 
 4332.37 
 
 686.59 
 
 ai 
 
 
 
 365.15 
 
 
 ? 
 
 244.42 
 
 be successively 
 taken to consist of 
 1000 equal parts, 
 the periods of 
 the planet next 
 below will contain 
 of those parts in 
 
 But if the distance of each planet in r % 
 succession be taken to consist of j j 1 
 1000 equal parts, the distance of 
 the next beiow will contain, ac- 
 cording to Copernicus, in 
 
 1^403 
 <?159 
 -^532 
 $C15 
 $392 
 
 572 
 
 290 
 658 
 719 
 500 
 
 From this table he argued that to make 
 the proportions agree, we must assume 
 one of two things, " either that the 
 moving intelligences of the planets are 
 weakest in those which are farthest from 
 the Sun, or that there is one moving 
 intelligence in the Sun, the common 
 centre forcing them all round, but those 
 most violently which are nearest, and 
 that it languishes in some sort, and 
 grows weaker at the most distant, be- 
 cause of the remoteness and the atte- 
 nuation of the virtue." 
 
 We slop here to insert a note added 
 by Kepler to the later editions, and 
 shall take advantage of the same in- 
 terruption to warn the reader not to 
 confound this notion of Kepler with the 
 theory of a gravitating force towards the 
 Sun, in the sense in which we now use, 
 those words. According to our theory, 
 the effect of the presence of the Sun 
 upon the planet is to pull it towards the 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 centre in a straight line, and the'effect of 
 the motion thus produced combined with 
 the motion of the planet, which if un- 
 disturbed would be in a straight line 
 inclined to the direction of the radius, is, 
 that it describes a curve round the Sun. 
 Kepler considered his planets as per- 
 fectly quiet and unwilling to move when 
 left alone ; and that this virtue supposed 
 by him to proceed in every direction out 
 of the Sun, swept them round, just as the 
 sails of a windmill would carry round 
 anything which became entangled in 
 them. In other parts of his works 
 Kepler mentions having speculated on 
 a real attractive force in the centre ; but 
 as he knew that the planets are not 
 always at the same distance from the 
 Sun, and conceived erroneously, that to 
 remove them from their least to their 
 greatest distance a repulsive force must 
 be supposed alternating with an attrac- 
 tive one, he laid aside this notion as 
 improbable. In a note he acknowledges 
 that when he wrote the passage just 
 quoted, imbued as he then was with 
 Scaliger's notions on moving intelli- 
 gences, he literally believed " that each 
 planet was moved" by a living spirit, but 
 afterwards came to look on the moving 
 cause as a corporeal though immaterial 
 substance, something in the nature of 
 light which is observed to diminish simi- 
 larly at increased distances." He then 
 proceeds as follows in the original text. 
 " Let us then assume, as is very pro- 
 bable, that motion is dispensed by the 
 sun in the same manner as light. The 
 proportion in which light emanating 
 from a centre is diminished, is taught 
 by optical writers : for there is the same 
 quantity of light, or of the solar rays, in 
 the small circles as in the large; and 
 therefore, as it is more condensed in the 
 former, more attenuated in the latter, a 
 measure of the attenuation may be de- 
 rived from the proportion of the circles 
 themselves, both in the case of light and 
 of the moving virtue. Therefore, by how 
 much the orbit of Venus is greater than 
 that of Mercury, in the same proportion 
 will the motion of the latter be stronger, 
 or more hurried, or more swift, or more 
 powerful, or by whatever other word 
 you like to express the fact, than that of 
 the former. But a larger orbit would 
 require a proportionably longer time of 
 revolution, even though the moving force 
 were the same. Hence it follows that 
 the one cause of a greater distance of 
 the planet from the Sun, produces a 
 double effect in increasing the period, 
 
 and conversely the increase of the pe- 
 riods will be double the difference of the 
 distances. Therefore, half the incre- 
 ment added to the shorter period ought 
 to give the true proportion of the dis- 
 tances, so that the sum should represent 
 the distance of the superior planet, on 
 the same scale on which the shorter 
 period represents the distance of the] in- 
 ferior one. For instance, the period of 
 Mercury is nearly 88 days ; that of Ve- 
 nus is 224}, the difference is 136f: half 
 of this is 68|, which, added to 88, gives 
 156i. The mean distance of Venus 
 ought, therefore, to be, in proportion to 
 that of Mercury, as 156^ to 88. If this be 
 done with all the planets, we get the fol- 
 lowing results, taking successively, as be- 
 fore, the distance of each planet at 1000. 
 
 The distance in\1j. 574 But accordr ( 572 
 
 parts of which g 274 ing to Co- 
 
 the distance of I , _, pernicus 
 
 the next superior | ^ they are 
 
 planet contains J + 762 respectively "' 9 
 
 -(572 
 -230 
 <658 
 
 1000, is at 
 
 $ 563 
 
 50G 
 
 As you see, we have now got nearer 
 the truth." 
 
 Finding that this theory of the rate 
 of diminution would not bring him quite 
 close to the result he desired to find, 
 Kepler immediately imagined another. 
 This latter occasioned him a great deal 
 of perplexity, and affords another of 
 the frequently recurring instances of 
 the waste of time and ingenuity occa- 
 sioned by his impetuous and precipitate 
 temperament. Assuming the distance 
 of any planet, as for instance of Mars, 
 to be the unit of space, and the virtue at 
 that distance to be the unit of force, he 
 supposed that as many particles as the 
 virtue at the Earth gained upon that of 
 Mars, so many particles of distance did 
 the Earth lose. He endeavoured to de- 
 termine the respective positions of the 
 planets upon this theory, by the rules of 
 false position, but was much astonished 
 at finding the same exactly as on his 
 former hypothesis. The fact was, as he 
 himself discovered, although not until 
 after several years, that he had become 
 confused in his calculation ; and when 
 half through the process, had retraced 
 his steps so as of course to arrive again 
 at the numbers from which he started, 
 and which he had taken from his former 
 results. This was the real secret of the 
 identity of the two methods; and if, 
 when he had taken the distance of Mars 
 at 1000, instead of assuming the distance 
 of the earth at 694, as he did, he had 
 taken any other number, and operated 
 upon it in the same manner, he w'ould 
 
KEPLEP. 
 
 9 
 
 have had the same reason for relying on 
 the accuracy of his supposition. As it 
 was, the result utterly confounded him ; 
 and he was obliged to leave it with the 
 remark, that " the two theories are thus 
 proved to be the same in fact, and only 
 different in form ; although how that 
 can possibly be, I have never to this 
 day been able to understand.' 1 His 
 perplexity was very reasonable ; they 
 are by no means the same ; it was only 
 his method of juggling with the figures 
 which seemed to connect them. 
 
 Notwithstanding all its faults, the 
 genius and unwearied perseverance dis- 
 played by Kepler in this book, immedi- 
 ately ranked him among astronomers of 
 the first class ; and he received the most 
 flattering encomiums from many of the 
 most celebrated ; among others, from 
 Galileo and Tycho Brahe, whose opinion 
 he invited upon his performance. Galileo 
 confented himself with praising in ge- 
 neral terms the ingenuity and good faith 
 which appeared so conspicuously in it. 
 Tycho Brahe entered into a more de- 
 tailed criticism of the work, and, as 
 Kepler shrewdly remarked, showed how 
 highly he thought of it by advising him 
 to try to adapt something of the same 
 kind to the Tychonic system. Kepler 
 also sent a copy of his book to the 
 imperial astronomer, Raimar, with a 
 complimentary letter, in which he exalted 
 him above all other astronomers of the 
 age. Raimar had surreptitiously ac- 
 quired a notion of Tycho Brahe's theory, . 
 and published it as his own ; and Tycho, 
 in his letter, complained of Kepler's ex- 
 travagant flattery. This drew a long 
 apologetical reply from Kepler, in which 
 he attributed the admiration he had ex- 
 pressed of Raimar to his own want of 
 information at that time, having since 
 met with many things in Euclid and 
 Regiomontanus, which he then believed 
 original in Raimar. With this explana- 
 tion, T>cho professed himself perfectly 
 satisfied. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 Keplefs Marriage He joins Tycho 
 Brahe at Prague Is appointed Im- 
 perial Mathematician Treatise on 
 the New Star. 
 
 The publication of this extraordinary 
 book, early as it occurs in the history 
 of Kepler's life, was yet preceded by his 
 marriage. He had contemplated this 
 step so early as 1592; but that suit 
 having been broken off, he paid his ad- 
 
 dresses, in 1596,' to Barbara Muller von 
 Muhleckh. This lady was already a 
 widow for the second time, although two 
 years younger than Kepler himself!. On 
 occasion of this alliance he was required 
 to prove the nobility of his family, and 
 the delay consequent upon the inquiry 
 postponed the marriage till the follow- 
 ing year. He soon became involved 
 in difficulties in consequence of this 
 inconsiderate engagement: his wife's 
 fortune was less than he had been led 
 to expect, and he became embroiled on 
 that account with her relations. Still 
 more serious inconvenience resulted to 
 him from the troubled state in which the 
 province of Styria was at that time, 
 arising out of the disputes in Bohe- 
 mia and the two great religious parties 
 into which the empire was now divided, 
 the one headed by Rodolph, the feeble 
 minded emperor, the other by Matthias, 
 his ambitious and enterprising brother. 
 
 In the year following his marriage, he 
 thought it prudent, on account of some 
 opinions he had unadvisedly promul- 
 gated, (of what nature does not very 
 distinctly appear,) to withdraw himself 
 from Gratz into Hungary. Thence he 
 transmitted several short treatises to his 
 friend Zehentmaier, at Tubingen " On 
 the Magnet," " On the Cause of the 
 Obliquity of the Ecliptic," and " On the 
 Divine Wisdom, as shown in the Crea- 
 tion." Little is known of these works 
 beyond the notice taken of them in Ze- 
 hentmaier' s answers. Kepler has himself 
 told us, that his magnetic philosophy 
 was built upon the investigations of 
 Gilbert, of whom he always justly spoke 
 with the greatest respect. 
 
 About the same time a more violent 
 persecution had drivenTycho Brahe from 
 his observatory of Uraniburg, in the little 
 island of Hueen, at the entrance of the 
 Baltic. This had been bestowed on him 
 by the munificence of Frederick I. of 
 Denmark, who liberally furnished him 
 with every means of prosecuting his 
 astronomical observations. After Fre- 
 derick's death, Tycho found himself un- 
 able to withstand the party which had 
 constantly opposed him, and was forced, 
 at a great loss and much inconvenience, 
 to quit his favourite island. On the in- 
 vitation of the emperor, Rudolph II., 
 he then betook himself, after a short 
 stay at Hamburg, to the castle of Be- 
 nach, near Prague, which was assigned 
 to him with an annual pension of three 
 thousand florins, a truly munificent pro- 
 vision in those times and that country. 
 12 
 
20 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 Kepler had been eager to see Tycho 
 Brahe since the latter had intimated 
 that his observations had led him to a 
 more accurate determination of the ex- 
 cent ricities of the orbits of the planets. 
 By help of this, Kepler hoped that his 
 theory might be made to accord more 
 nearly with the truth ; and on learning 
 that Tycho was in Bohemia, lie imme- 
 diately set out to visit him, and arrived 
 at Prague in January, 1600. From 
 thence he wrote a second letter to Tycho, 
 not having received the answer to his 
 former apology, again excusing himself 
 for the part he had appeared to take with 
 Raimar against him. Tycho replied im- 
 mediately in the kindest manner, and 
 begged he would repair to him directly : 
 " Come* not as a stranger, but as a 
 very welcome friend ; come and share 
 in my observations with such instru- 
 ments as I have with me, and as a 
 dearly beloved associate." During his 
 stay of three or four months at Benach, 
 it was settled that Tycho should apply to 
 the emperor, to procure him the situation 
 of assistant in the observatory. Kep- 
 ler then returned to Gratz, having pre- 
 viously received an intimation, that he 
 might do so in safety. The plan, as it 
 had been arranged between them was, 
 that a letter should be procured from 
 the emperor to the states of Styria, 
 requesting that Kepler might join Tycho 
 Brahe for two years, and retain his 
 salary during that time: a hundred 
 florins were to be added annually by 
 the emperor, on account of the greater 
 deafness of living at Prague. But 
 before everything w r as concluded, Kep- 
 ler finally threw up his situation at 
 Gratz, in consequence of new dissen- 
 sions. Fearing that this would utterly 
 put an end to his hopes of connecting 
 himself with Tycho, he determined to 
 revive his claims on the patronage of the 
 Duke of Wirtemberg. With this view 
 be entered into correspondence with 
 Miistlin and some of his other friends 
 at Tubingen, intending to prosecute 
 his medical studies, and offer himself 
 for the professorship of medicine in 
 that university. He was dissuaded from 
 this scheme by the pressing instances 
 of Tycho, who undertook to exert 
 himself in procuring a permanent set- 
 tlement for him from the emperor, 
 and assured him, even if that attempt 
 should fail, that the language he had 
 used when formerly inviting him to 
 visit him at Hamburg, should not be 
 forgotten. In consequence of this en- 
 
 couragement," Kepler abandoned his 
 former scheme, and travelled again 
 with his wife to Prague. He was 
 detained along time on the road by 
 violent illness, and his money became 
 entirely exhausted. On this he wrote 
 complainingly to Tycho, that he was 
 unable without assistance to travel even 
 the short distance which still separated 
 them, far less to await much longer the 
 fulfilment of the promises held out to 
 him. 
 
 By his subsequent admissions, it ap- 
 pears that for a considerable time he 
 lived entirely on Tycho' s bounty, and by 
 way of return, he wrote an essay against 
 Raimar, and against a Scotchman named 
 Liddell, professor at Rostoch and Helm- 
 stadt, who, like Raimar, had appropri- 
 ated to himself the credit of the Ty- 
 chonic system. Kepler never adopted 
 this theory, and indeed, as the question 
 merely regarded priority of invention, 
 there could be no occasion, in the dis- 
 cussion, for an examination of its prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 This was followed by a transaction, 
 not much to Kepler's credit, who in the 
 course of the following year, and during a 
 second absence from Prague, fancied that 
 he had some reason to complain of Ty- 
 cho' s behaviour, and wrote him a violent 
 letter, filled with reproaches and insults. 
 Tycho appears to have behaved in this 
 affair with great moderation : professing 
 to be himself occupied with the marriage 
 of his daughter, he gave the care of reply- 
 ing to Kepler's charges, to Ericksen, one 
 of his assistants, who, in a very kind and 
 temperate letter, pointed out to him the 
 ingratitude of his behaviour, and the 
 groundlessness of his dissatisfaction. His 
 principal complaint seems to have been, 
 that Tycho had not sufficiently supplied 
 his wife with money during his absence. 
 Erick sen's letter produced an immediate 
 and entire change in Kepler's temper, 
 and it is only from the humble recanta- 
 tion which he instantaneously offered 
 that we learn the extent of his previous 
 violence. " Most noble Tycho," these 
 are the words of his letter, " how shall 
 1 enumerate or rightly estimate your 
 benefits conferred on me ! For two 
 months you have liberally and gratui- 
 tously maintained me, and my whole 
 family ; you have provided for all my 
 wishes; you have done me every pos- 
 sible kindness ; you have communicated 
 to me everything you hold most dear ; 
 no one, by word or deed, has intention- 
 ally injured me in anything: in short, 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 II 
 
 not to your children, your wife, or your- 
 self have you shown more indulgence 
 than to me. This being so, as I am 
 anxious to put upon record, I cannot 
 reflect without consternation that I 
 should have been so given up by God to 
 my own intemperance, as to shut my 
 eyes on all these benefits ; that, instead of 
 modest and respectful gratitude, I should 
 indulge for three weeks in continual mo- 
 roseness towards all your family, in head- 
 long passion, and the utmost insolence 
 towards yourself, who possess so many 
 claims on my veneration from your noble 
 family, your extraordinary learning, and 
 distinguished reputation. Whatever I 
 have said or written against the person, 
 the fame, the honour, and the learning 
 of your excellency ; or whatever, in any 
 other way, I have injuriously spoken or 
 written, (if they admit no other more fa- 
 vourable interpretation,) as to my grief I 
 have spoken and written many things, 
 and more than I can remember ; all and 
 everything I recant, and freely and ho- 
 nestly declare and profess to be ground- 
 less, false, and incapable of proof." Hoff- 
 mann, the president of the states of 
 Styria, who had taken Kepler to Prague 
 on his first visit, exerted himself to per- 
 fect the reconciliation, and this hasty 
 quarrel was entirely passed over. 
 
 On Kepler's return to Prague, in 
 September, 1601, he was presented to 
 the Emperor by Tycho, and honoured 
 with the title of Imperial Mathematician, 
 on condition of assisting Tycho in his 
 calculations. Kepler desired nothing 
 more than this condition, since Tycho 
 was at that time probably the only per- 
 son in the world who possessed obser- 
 vations sufficient for the reform which 
 he now began to meditate in the theory 
 of astronomy. Rudolph appears to have 
 valued both Tycho Brahe and Kepler as 
 astrologers rather than astronomers ; but 
 although unable to appreciate rightly the 
 importance of the task they undertook, 
 of compiling a new set of astronomical 
 tables founded upon Tycho* s observa- 
 tions, yet his vanity was flattered with 
 the prospect of his name being con- 
 nected with such a work, and he made 
 liberal promises to defray the expense of 
 the new Rudolphine Tables. Tycho's 
 principal assistant at this time was 
 Lonsjomontanus, who altered his name 
 to this form, according to the prevalent 
 fashion of giving to every name a Latin 
 termination. Lomborg or Longbierg 
 was the name, not of his family, but 
 of the village in Denmark, where he was 
 
 born, just as Miiller was seldom called 
 by any other name than Regiomontanus, 
 from his native town Konigsberg, as 
 George Joachim Rheticus was so sur- 
 named from Rhetia, the country of the 
 Grisons, and as Kepler himself was 
 sometimes called Leonmontanus, from 
 Leonberg, where he passed his in- 
 fancy. It was agreed between Longo- 
 montanus and Kepler, that in discuss- 
 ing Tycho's observations, the former 
 should apply himself especially to the 
 Moon, and the latter to Mars, on which 
 planet, owing to its favourable position, 
 Tycho was then particularly engaged. 
 The nature of these labours will be ex- 
 plained when we come to speak of the 
 celebrated book " On the Motions of 
 Mars." 
 
 This arrangement was disturbed by 
 the return of Longomontanus into Den- 
 mark, where he had been offered an as- 
 tronomical professorship, and still more 
 by the sudden death of Tycho Brahe 
 himself in the following October. Kep- 
 ler attended him during his illness, and 
 after his death undertook to arrange 
 some of his writings. But, in conse- 
 quence of a misunderstanding between 
 him and Tycho's family, the manuscripts 
 were taken out of his hands ; and when, 
 soon afterwards, the book appeared, 
 Kepler complained heavily that they had 
 published, without his consent or know- 
 ledge, the notes and interlineations added 
 by him for his own private guidance 
 whilst preparing it for publication. 
 
 On Tycho's death, Kepler succeeded 
 him as principal mathematician to the 
 emperor; but although he was thus 
 nominally provided with a liberal salary, 
 it was almost always in arrear. The 
 pecuniary embarrassments in which he 
 constantly found himself involved, drove 
 him to the resource of gaining a liveli- 
 hood by casting nativities. His peculiar 
 temperament rendered him not averse 
 from such speculations, and he enjoyed 
 considerable reputation in this line, and 
 received ample remuneration for his pre- 
 dictions. But although he did not scruple, 
 when consulted, to avail himself in this 
 manner of the credulity of his contem- 
 poraries, he passed over few occasions 
 in his works of protesting against the 
 futility of this particular genethliac as- 
 trology. His own astrological creed was 
 in a different strain, more singular, but 
 not less extravagant. We shall defer en- 
 tering into any details concerning it, till 
 we come to treat of his book on Har- 
 monics, in which he has collected and 
 
12 
 
 KEPLEK. 
 
 recapitulated the substance of his scat- 
 tered opinions on this strange subject. 
 
 His next works deserving notice are 
 those published on occasion of the new 
 star which shone out with great splen- 
 dour in 1 604, in the constellation Cassio- 
 peia *. Immediately on its appearance, 
 Kepler wrote a short account of it in 
 German, marked with all the oddity 
 which characterises most of his pro- 
 ductions. We shall see enough of his 
 astronomical calculations when we come 
 to his book on Mars ; the following 
 passage will probably be found more 
 amusing. 
 
 After comparing this star with that of 
 1572, and mentioning that many persons 
 who had seen it maintained this to be 
 the brighter of the two, since it was nearly 
 twice the size of its nearest neighbour, 
 Jupiter, he proceeds as follows : 
 " Yonder one chose for its appearance 
 a time no way remarkable, and came 
 into the world quite unexpectedly, like 
 an enemy storming a town, and break- 
 ing into the market-place before the 
 citizens are aware of his approach; 
 but ours has come exactly in the year 
 of which astrologers have written so 
 much about the fiery trigon that hap- 
 pens in it t ; just in the month in which 
 (according to Cyprian) Mars comes up 
 to a very perfect conjunction with the 
 other two superior planets ; just in 
 the day when Mars has joined Jupiter, 
 and just in the place where this con- 
 junction has taken place. Therefore the 
 apparition of this star is not like a secret 
 hostile irruption, as was that one of 1 572, 
 but the spectacle of a public triumph, or 
 the entry of a mighty potentate ; when 
 the couriers ride in some time before, 
 to prepare his lodgings, and the crowd 
 of young urchins begin to think the 
 time over-long to wait : then roll in, one 
 after another, the ammunition, and mo- 
 ney, and baggage waggons, and presently 
 the trampling of horse, and the rush of 
 people from every side to the streets and 
 windows; and when the crowd have 
 gazed with their jaws all agape at the 
 troops of knights; then at last, the 
 trumpeters, and archers, and lackeys, so 
 distinguish the person of the monarch, 
 that there is no occasion to point him 
 out, but every one cries out of his own 
 accord ' Here we have him!' What 
 it may portend is hard to determine, and 
 
 * See Life of Galileo, p. 16. 
 t The fiery trigon occurs about once in every 
 800 years, when Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars are in 
 the three fiery signs, Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius. 
 
 thus much only is certain, that it comes 
 to tell mankind either nothing at all, or 
 high and weighty news, quite beyond 
 human sense and understanding. It 
 will have an important influence on 
 political and social relations; not indeed 
 by its own nature, but, as it were, acci- 
 dentally through the disposition of man- 
 kind. First, it portends to the book- 
 sellers great disturbances, and tolerable 
 gains ; for almost every Theologus, Phi- 
 losophicus, Medicus, and Mathematicus, 
 or whoever else, having no laborious oc- 
 cupation intrusted to him, seeks his plea- 
 sure in studiis, will make particular re- 
 marks upon it, and will wish to bring these 
 remarks to the light. Just so will others, 
 learned and unlearned, wish to know its 
 meaning, and they will buy the authors 
 who profess to tell them. I mention 
 these things merely by way of example, 
 because, although thus much can be 
 easily predicted without great skill, yet 
 may it happen just as easily, and in the 
 same manner, that the vulgar, or whoever 
 else is of easy faith, or it may be, crazy, 
 may wish to exalt himself into a great 
 prophet;, or it may even happen that 
 some powerful lord, who has good foun- 
 dation and beginning of great dignities, 
 will be cheered on by this phenomenon 
 to venture on some new scheme, just as 
 if God had set up this star in the dark- 
 ness merely to enlighten them." 
 
 It would hardly be supposed, from the 
 tenor of this last passage, that the writer 
 of it was not a determined enemy to 
 astrological predictions of every descrip- 
 tion. In 1602 he had published a dis- 
 putation, not now easily met with, " On 
 the Principles of Astrology," in which 
 it seems that he treated the professed 
 astrologers with great severity. The 
 essence of this book is probably con- 
 tained in the second treatise on the 
 new star, which he published in 1606*. 
 In this volume he inveighs repeatedly 
 against the vanity and worthlessness of 
 ordinary astrology, declaring at the same 
 time, that the professors of that art know 
 that this judgment is pronounced by one 
 well acquainted with its principles. " For 
 if the vulgar are to pronounce who is 
 the best astrologer, my reputation is 
 known to be of the highest order ; if they 
 
 * The copy of this work in the British Museum 
 is Kepler's presentation copy to our James I. On 
 the blank leaf, opposite the title-page, is the follow- 
 ing inscription, apparently in the author's hand- 
 writing : " Regi philosophanti, philosophus ser- 
 viens, Platoni Diogenes, Britannias tenenti, Pragse 
 stipem mendicans ab Alexandro, e dolio conduc- 
 titio, hoc suum philosophema misit et comraeu- 
 davit." 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 15 
 
 prefer the judgment of the learned, they 
 are already condemned. Whether they 
 stand with me in the eyes of the popu- 
 lace, or I fall with them before the 
 learned, in both cases I am in their 
 ranks ; I am on a level with them ; T 
 cannot be renounced." 
 
 The theory which Kepler proposed 
 to substitute is intimated shortly in 
 the following passage: " I maintain 
 that the colours and aspects, and con- 
 junctions of the planets, are impressed 
 on the natures or faculties of sub- 
 lunary things, and when they occur, 
 that these are excited as well in forming 
 as in moving the body over whose 
 motion they preside. Now let no one 
 conceive a prejudice that I am anxiously 
 seeking to mend the deplorable and hope- 
 less cause of astrology by far-fetched 
 subtilties and miserable quibbling. I do 
 not value it sufficiently, nor have I ever 
 shunned having astrologers for my ene- 
 mies. But a most unfailing experience 
 (as far as can be hoped in natural phe- 
 nomena) of the excitement of sublunary 
 natures by the conjunctions and aspects 
 of the planets, has instructed and com- 
 pelled my unwilling belief." 
 
 After exhausting other topics sug- 
 gested by this new star, he examines the 
 different opinions on the cause of its ap- 
 pearance. Among others he mentions 
 the Epicurean notion, that it was a for- 
 tuitous concourse of atoms, whose ap- 
 pearance in this form was merely one of 
 the infinite number of ways in which, 
 since the beginning of time, they have 
 been combined. Having descanted for 
 some time on this opinion, and declared 
 him self altogether hostile to it,Kepler pro- 
 ceeds as follows : " When I was ayouth, 
 with plenty of idle time on my hands, 
 I was much taken with the vanity, of 
 which some grown men are not ashamed, 
 of making anagrams, by transposing the 
 letters of my name, written in Greek, 
 so as to make another sentence : out of 
 
 luuvvn, Ki-rXripo; I made lupwwv xcLktiXo;* J 
 
 in Latin, out of Joannes Keplerus came 
 Serpens in akuleof. But not being satis- 
 fied with the meaning of these words, 
 and being unable to make another, I 
 trusted the thing to chance, and taking 
 out of a pack of playing cards as many 
 as there were letters in the name, I wrote 
 one upon each, and then began to shuffle 
 them, and at each shuffle to read them 
 in the order they came, to see if any 
 meaning came of it. Now, may all the 
 Epicurean gods and goddesses confound 
 
 * The tapster of the Sirens, 
 t A serpent in his sting. 
 
 this same chance, which, although I 
 spent a good deal of time over it, never 
 showed me anything like sense even from 
 a distance*. So 1 gave up my cards to 
 the Epicurean eternity, to be carried away 
 into infinity, and, it is said, they are still 
 flying about there, in the utmost confu- 
 sion among the atoms, and have never 
 yet come to any meaning. I will tell 
 these disputants, my opponents, not my 
 own opinion, but my wife's. Yesterday, 
 when weary with writing, and my mind 
 quite dusty with considering these atoms, 
 1 was called to supper, and a salad I 
 had asked for was set before me. It 
 seems then, said I aloud, that if pewter 
 dishes, leaves of lettuce, grains of salt, 
 drops of water, vinegar, and oil, and 
 slices of egg, had been flying about in 
 the air from all eternity, it might at last 
 happen by chance that there would come 
 a salad. Yes, says my wife, but not so 
 nice and well dressed as this of mine is." 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Kepler publishes his Supplement to 
 
 Vitellion Theory of Refraction. 
 During several years Kepler remained, 
 as he himself forcibly expressed it, 
 begging his bread from the emperor at 
 Prague, and the splendour of his nomi- 
 nal income served only to increase his 
 irritation, at the real neglect under 
 which he nevertheless persevered in his 
 labours. His family was increasing, 
 and he had little wherewith to support 
 them beyond the uncertain proceeds of 
 his writings and nativities. His salary- 
 was charged partly on the states of Si- 
 lesia, partly on the imperial treasury ; 
 but it was in vain that repeated orders 
 were procured for the' payment of the 
 arrears due to him. The resources of 
 the empire were drained by the constant 
 demands of an engrossing war, and 
 Kepler had not sufficient influence to 
 enforce his claims against those who 
 thought even the smallest sum bestowed 
 upon him ill spent, in fostering profit- 
 less speculations. In consequence of 
 this niggardliness, Kepler was forced to 
 postpone the publication of the Rudol- 
 phine Tables, which he was engaged in 
 constructing from his own and Tycho 
 Brahe's observations, and applied him- 
 self to other works of a less costly de- 
 scription. Among these may be men- 
 
 * In one of his anonymous writings Kepler has 
 anagrammatized his name, Joannes Keplerus, in a 
 variety of other forms, probably selected from the 
 luckiest of his shuffles : " Kleopus Herennius, 
 Helenor Kapuensis, Raspinus Enkeleo, Kanones 
 Ft(erik8." 
 
14 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 tioned a "Treatise on Comet*,'' written 
 on occasion of one which appeared in 
 1607 : in this he suggests that they are 
 
 Elanets moving in straight lines. The 
 ook published in 1604," which he en- 
 titles " A Supplement to Vitellion," 
 may be considered as containing the 
 first reasonable and consistent theory of 
 optics, especially in that branch of 
 it usually termed dioptrics, which re- 
 lates to the theory of vision through trans- 
 parent substances. In it was first ex- 
 plained the true use of the different parts 
 of the eye, to the knowledge of which 
 Baptista Porta had already approached 
 very nearly, though he stopped short of 
 the accurate truth. Kepler remarked 
 the identity of the mechanism in the eye 
 with that beautiful invention of Porta's, 
 the camera obscura ; showing, that the 
 li;ht which falls from external objects on 
 the eye is refracted through a transpa- 
 rent substance, called, from its form and 
 composition, the crystalline lens, and 
 makes a picture on the fine net- work of 
 nerves, called the retina, which lies at the 
 back of the eye. The manner in which 
 the existence of this coloured picture on 
 the retina causes to the individual the 
 sensation of sight, belongs to a theory not 
 purely physical ; and beyond this point 
 ]epler did not attempt to go. 
 
 The direction into which rays of light 
 (as they are usually called) are bent or 
 irefracted in passing through the air and 
 other transparent substances or me- 
 diums, is discussed in this treatise at 
 great length. Tycho Brahe had been the 
 first astronomer who recognized the 
 necessity of making some allowance on 
 this account in the observed heights of 
 the stars. A long controversy arose on 
 this subject between Tycho Brahe and 
 Rothman, the astronomer at Hesse 
 Cassel, a man of unquestionable talent, 
 but of odd and eccentric habits. Neither 
 was altogether in the right, although 
 Tycho had the advantage in the argument. 
 He failed however to establish the true 
 law of refraction, and Kepler has devoted 
 a chapter to an examination of the same 
 question. It is marked by precisely the 
 same qualities as those appearing so 
 conspicuously in his astronomical writ- 
 ings : great ingenuity ; wonderful per- 
 severance; bad philosophy. That this 
 may not be taken solely upon assertion, 
 some samples of it are subjoined. The 
 writings of the authors of this period 
 are little read or known at the present 
 day ; and it is only by copious extracts 
 that any accurate notion can be formed 
 of the nature and value of their labours. 
 
 The following tedious specimen of Kep- 
 ler's mode of examining physical pheno- 
 mena is advisedly selected to contrast 
 with his astronomical researches : though 
 the luck and consequently the fame that 
 attended his divination were widely dif- 
 ferent on the two occasions, the method 
 pursued was the same. After comment- 
 ing on 4 the points of difference between 
 Rothman and Tycho Brahe, Kepler pro- 
 ceeds to enumerate his own endeavours 
 to discover the law of refraction. 
 
 " I did not leave untried whether, 
 by assuming a horizontal refraction 
 according to the density of the medium, 
 the rest would correspond with the sines 
 of the distances from the vertical direc- 
 tion, but calculation proved that- it was 
 not so : and indeed there was no occa- 
 sion to have tried it, for thus the refrac- 
 tions would increase according to the 
 same law in all mediums, which is con- 
 tradicted by experiment. 
 
 " The same kind of objection may be 
 brought against the cause of refraction 
 alleged by Alhazen and Vitellion. They 
 say that the light seeks to be compen^ 
 sated for the loss sustained at the ob- 
 lique impact ; so that in proportion as 
 it is enfeebled by striking against the 
 denser medium, in the same degree does 
 it restore its energy by approaching the 
 perpendicular, that it may strike the bot- 
 tom of the denser medium with greater 
 force ; for those impacts are most for- 
 cible which are direct. And they add 
 some subtle notions, I know not what, 
 how the motion of obliquely incident 
 light is compounded of a motion perpen- 
 dicular and a motion parallel to the dense 
 surface, and that this compound motion 
 is not destroyed, but only retarded by 
 meeting the denser medium. 
 
 " I tried another way of measuring the 
 refraction, which should include the den- 
 sity of the medium and the incidence : 
 
 for, since a denser medium is the cause 
 of refraction, it seems to be the same 
 thing as if we were to prolong the depth 
 of the medium in which the rays are re- 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 15 
 
 
 fracted into as much spa6e as would be 
 filled by the denser medium under the 
 force of the rarer one. 
 
 " Let A be the place of the light, B C 
 the surface of the denser medium, D E 
 its bottom. Let A B, AG, A F be rays 
 falling obliquely, which would arrive at 
 D, I, H, if the medium were uniform. 
 But because it is denser, suppose the 
 bottom to be depressed to K L, deter- 
 mined by this that there is as much of 
 the denser matter contained in the space 
 DC as of the rarer in LG : and thus, on 
 the sinking of the whole bottom DE, the 
 points D, I, H, E will descend vertically 
 to L, M, N, K. Join the points B L, 
 GM, FN, cutting D E in 0,P, Q ; 
 the refracted rays will be A B O, A G P, 
 AFQ." "This method is refuted by 
 experiment ; it gives the refractions near 
 the perpendicular A C too great in re- 
 spect of those near the horizon. Who- 
 ever has leisure may verify this, either 
 by calculation or compasses. It may be 
 added that the reasoning itself is not 
 very sure-footed, and, whilst seeking to 
 measure other things, scarcely takes in 
 and comprehends itself." This reflec- 
 tion must not be mistaken for the dawn 
 of suspicion that his examination of phi- 
 losophical questions began not altogether 
 at the right end : it is merely an acknow- 
 ledgment that he had not yet contrived a 
 theory with which he was quite satisfied 
 before it was disproved by experiment. 
 
 After some experience of Kepler's 
 miraculous good fortune in seizing truths 
 across the wildest and most absurd theo- 
 ries, it is not easy to keep clear of the op- 
 posite feeling of surprise whenever any of 
 his extravagancies fail to discover to him 
 some beautiful law of nature. But we 
 must follow him as he plunges deeper in 
 this unsuccessful inquiry ; and the reader 
 must remember, in order fully to appre- 
 ciate this method of philosophizing, that 
 it is almost certain that Kepler laboured 
 upon every one of the gratuitous sup- 
 positions that he makes, until positive 
 experiment satisfied him of their incor- 
 rectness. 
 
 " I go on to other methods. Since 
 density is clearly connected with the 
 cause of the refractions, and refraction 
 itself seems a kind of compression of 
 light, as it were, towards the perpendi- 
 cular, it occurred to me to examine whe- 
 ther there was the same proportion be- 
 tween the mediums in respect of density 
 and the parts of the bottom illuminated 
 by the light, when let into a vessel, first 
 empty, and afterwards filled with water. 
 
 This mode branches out into many : for 
 the proportion may be imagined, either 
 in the straight lines, as if one should 
 say that the line E Q, illuminated by 
 refraction, is to EH illuminated directly, 
 as the density of the one medium is 
 to that of the other Or another may 
 suppose the proportion to be between 
 F C and F H Or it may be conceived 
 to exist among surfaces, or so that 
 some power of E Q should be to some 
 power of E H in this proportion, or 
 the circles or similar figures described 
 on them. In this manner the proportion 
 of E Q to E P would be double that of 
 EH to EI Or the proportion may be 
 conceived existing among the solidities 
 of the pyramidal frustums FHEC, 
 FQEC Or, since the proportion of 
 the mediums involves a threefold con- 
 sideration, since they have density in 
 length, breadth, and thickness, I pro- 
 ceeded also to examine the cubic propor- 
 tions among the lines E Q, EH. 
 
 " I also considered other lines. From 
 any of the points of refraction as G, 
 let a perpendicular GY be dropped upon, 
 the bottom. It may become a question 
 whether possibly the triangle I GY, 
 that, is, the base I Y, is divided by the 
 refracted ray G P, in the proportion of 
 the densities of the mediums. 
 
 " I have put all these methods here 
 together, because the same remark dis- 
 proves them all. For, in whatever manner, 
 whether as line, plane, or pyramid, E l 
 observes a given proportion to E P, or 
 the abbreviated line Y I to YP, namely, 
 the proportion of the mediums, it is sure 
 that E I, the tangent of the distance of 
 the point A from the vertex, will be- 
 come infinite, and will, therefore make 
 E P or Y P, also infinite. Therefore, 
 I G P, the angle of refraction, will be 
 entirely lost ; and, as it approaches the 
 horizon, will gradually become less and 
 less, which is contrary to experiment. 
 
 " I tried again whether the images 
 are equally removed from their points 
 of refraction, and whether the ratio of 
 the densities measures the least dis- 
 tance. For inslance, supposing E to 
 be the image, C the surface of the water, 
 K the bottom, and C E to C K in the 
 proportion of the densities of the me 
 diums. Now, let F, G, B, be three 
 other points of refraction and images at 
 S, T, V, and let C E be equal to F S, GT^ 
 and B V. But according to this rule an 
 image E would still be somewhat raised 
 in the perpendicular A K, which is con- 
 trary to experiment, not to mention other 
 
1G 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 contradictions. Thirdly, whether the 
 proportion of the mediums holds be- 
 tween FH and FX, supposing H to be 
 the place of the image ? Not at all. 
 For so, C E would be in the same pro- 
 portion to C K, so that the height of 
 the image would always be the same, 
 which we have just refuted. Fourthly, 
 whether the raising of tile image at E is 
 to the raising at H, as CEtoFH? 
 Not in the least; for so the images 
 either would never begin to be raised, or, 
 having once begun, would at last be 
 infinitely raised, because FH at last 
 becomes infinite. Fifthly, whether the 
 images rise in proportion to the sines of 
 the inclinations ? Not at all ; for so the 
 proportion of ascent would be the same 
 in all mediums. Sixthly, are then the 
 images raised at first, and in perpen- 
 dicular radiation, according to the pro- 
 portion of the mediums, and do they 
 subsequently rise more and more ac- 
 cording to the sines of the inclinations ? 
 For so the proportion would be com- 
 pound, and would become different in 
 different mediums. There is nothing in 
 it: for the calculation disagreed with 
 experiment. And generally it is in vain 
 to have regard to the image or the place 
 of the image, for that very reason, that 
 it is imaginary. For there is no con- 
 nexion between the density of the me- 
 dium or any real [quality or refraction of 
 the light, and an accident of vision, by 
 an* error of which the image happens. 
 
 " Up to this point, therefore, I had fol- 
 lowed a nearly blind mode of inquiry, and 
 had trusted to good fortune; but now 
 I opened the other eye, and hit upon a 
 sure method, for I pondered the fact, 
 that the image of a thing seen under 
 water approaches closely to the true 
 ratio of the refraction, and almost mea- 
 sures it ; that it is low if the thing is 
 viewed directly from above ; that by de- 
 grees it rises as the eye passes towards 
 the horizon of the water. Yet, on the 
 other hand, the reason alleged above, 
 proves that the measure is not to be 
 sought in the image, because the image 
 is not a thing actually existing, but arises 
 from a deception of vision which is 
 purely accidental. By a comparison of 
 these conflicting arguments, it occurred 
 to me at length, to seek the causes them- 
 selves of the existence of the image un- 
 der water, and in these causes the mea- 
 sure of the refractions. This opinion 
 was strengthened in me by seeing that 
 opticians had not rightly pointed out the 
 cause of the image which appears both 
 
 in mirrors and in water. And this was 
 the origin of that labour which I under- 
 took in the third chapter. Nor, indeed, 
 was that labour trifling, whilst hunting 
 down false opinions of all sorts among 
 the principles, in a matter rendered so 
 intricate by the false traditions of optical 
 writers ; whilst striking out half a dozen 
 different paths, and beginning anew the 
 whole business. How often did it hap- 
 pen that a rash confidence made me look 
 upon that which I sought with such 
 ardour, as at length discovered ! 
 
 " At length I cut this worse than 
 Gordian knot of catoptrics by analogy 
 alone, by considering what happens in 
 mirrors, and what must happen analo- 
 gically in water. In mirrors, the image 
 appears at a distance from the real place 
 of the object, hot being itself material, 
 but produced solely by reflection at the 
 polished surface. Whence it followed 
 in water also, that the images rise and 
 approach the surface, not according to 
 the law of the greater or less density in 
 the water, as the view is | less or more 
 oblique, but solely because of the re- 
 fraction of the ray of light passing 
 from the object to the eye. On which 
 assumption, it is plain that every attempt 
 I had hitherto made to measure refrac- 
 tions by the image, and its elevation, 
 must fall to the ground. And this be- 
 came more evident when I discovered 
 the true reason why the image is in the 
 same perpendicular line with the object 
 both in mirrors and in dense mediums. 
 When I had succeeded thus far by 
 analogy in this most difficult investiga- 
 tion, as to the place of the image, I be- 
 gan to follow out the analogy further, led 
 on by the strong desire of measuring 
 refraction. For I wished to get hold of 
 some measure of some sort, no matter 
 how blindly, having no fear but that so 
 soon as the measure should be accurately 
 known, the cause would plainly appear. 
 I went to work as follows. In convex 
 mirrors the image is diminished, and just 
 so in rarer mediums ; in denser mediums 
 it is magnified, as in concave mirrors. 
 In convex mirrors the central parts of 
 the image approach, and recede in con- 
 cave farther than towards the circumfe- 
 rence ; the same thing happens in different 
 mediums, so that in water the bottom 
 appears depressed, and the surrounding 
 parts elevated. Hence it appears that a 
 denser medium corresponds with a con- 
 cave reflecting surface, and a rarer one 
 with a convex one : it was clear, at the 
 same time, that the plane surface of the 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 17 
 
 water affects a property of curvature. I 
 was, therefore, to excogitate causes 
 consistent with its having this effect r of 
 curvature, and to see if a reason could 
 be given, why the parts of the water 
 surrounding the incident perpendicular 
 should represent a greater density than 
 the parts just under the perpendicular. 
 And so the thing came round again to 
 my former attempts, which being refuted 
 by reason and experiment, I was forced 
 to abandon the search after a cause. I 
 then proceeded to measurements." 
 
 Kepler then endeavoured to connect 
 his measurements of different quantities 
 of refraction with the conic sections, and 
 was tolerably well pleased with some of 
 his results. They were however not 
 ntirely satisfactory, on which he breaks 
 off with the following sentence : Now, 
 reader, you and I have been detained 
 sufficiently long whilst I have been at- 
 tempting to collect into one faggot the 
 measure of different refractions : I ac- 
 knowledge that the cause cannot be con- 
 nected with this mode of measurement : 
 for what is there in common between 
 refractions made at the plane surfaces of 
 transparent mediums, and mixtilinear 
 conic sections ? Wherefore, quod Deus 
 bene vortat, we will now have had enough 
 of the causes of this measure ; and al- 
 though, even now, we are perhaps err- 
 ing something from the truth, yet it is 
 better, by working on, to show our in- 
 dustry, than our laziness by neglect." 
 
 Notwithstanding the great length of 
 this extract, we must add the concluding 
 paragraph of the Chapter, directed, as 
 we are told in the margin, against the 
 " Tychonomasticks :" 
 
 " I know how many blind men at this 
 day dispute about colours, and how they 
 long for some one to give some assist- 
 ance by argument to their rash insults 
 of Tycho, and attacks upon this whole 
 matter of refractions ; who, if they had 
 kept to themselves their puerile errors 
 and naked ignorance, might have escaped 
 censure ; for that may happen to many 
 great men. But since they venture forth 
 publicly, and with thick books and sound- 
 ing titles, lay baits for the applause of 
 the unwary, (for now-a-days there is 
 more danger from the abundance of bad 
 books, than heretofore from the lack of 
 good ones,) therefore let them know that 
 a time is set for them publicly to amend 
 their own errors. If they longer delay 
 doing this, it shall be open, either to me 
 or any other, to do to these unhappy 
 meddlers in geometry as they have taken 
 upon themselves to do with respect to men 
 
 of the highest reputation. And although 
 this labour will be despicable, from the 
 vile nature of the follies against whicfr it 
 will be directed, yet so much more ne- 
 cessary than that which they have un- 
 dertaken against others, as he is a greater 
 public nuisance, who endeavours to 
 slander good and necessary inventions, 
 than he who fancies he has found what 
 is impossible to discover. Meanwhile, 
 let them cease to plume themselves on 
 the silence which is another word for 
 their own obscurity. 1 ' 1 
 
 Although Kepler failed, as we have 
 seen, to detect the true law of refraction, 
 (which was discovered some years later 
 by Willibrord Snell, a Flemish mathe- 
 matician,) there are many things well 
 deserving notice in his investigations. 
 He remarked, that the quantity of re- 
 fraction would alter, if the height of the 
 atmosphere should vary ; and also, that 
 it would be different at different tempe- 
 ratures. Both these sources of varia- 
 tion are now constantly taken into ac- 
 count, the barometer and thermometer 
 giving exact indications of these changes. 
 There is also a very curious passage in 
 one of his letters to Bregger, written in 
 1605, on the- subject of the colours in 
 the rainbow. It is in these words : 
 " Since every one sees a different rain- 
 bow, it is possible that some one may 
 see a rainbow in the very place of my 
 sight. In this case, the medium is co- 
 loured at the place of my vision, to which 
 the solar ray comes to me through 
 water, rain, or aqueous vapours. For 
 the rainbow is seen when the sun is 
 shining between rain, that is to say, when 
 the sun also is visible. Why then do 
 I not see the sun green, yellow, red, and 
 blue, if vision takes place according to 
 the mode of illumination ? I will say 
 something for you to attack or examine. 
 The sun's rays are not coloured, except 
 with a definite quantity of refraction. 
 W T hether you are in the optical cham- 
 ber, or standing opposite glass globes, 
 or walking in the morning dew, every- 
 where it is obvious that a certain and de- 
 finite angle is observed, under which, 
 when seen in dew, in glass, in water, the 
 sun's splendour appears coloured, and 
 under no other angle. There is no 
 colouring by mere reflexion, without the 
 refraction of a denser medium." How 
 closely does Kepler appear, in this pas- 
 sage, to approach the discovery which 
 forms not the least part of Newton's 
 fame! 
 
 We also find in this work a defence of 
 the opinion that the planets are lumi 
 
18 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 nous of themselves ; on the ground that 
 the inferior planets would, on the contrary 
 supposition, display phases like those of 
 the moon when passing between us and 
 the sun. The use of the telescope was 
 not then known; and, when some years 
 later the form of the disk of the planets 
 was more clearly defined with their 
 assistance, Kepler had the satisfaction 
 of finding his assertions verified by the 
 discoveries of Galileo, that these changes 
 do actually take place. In another of 
 his speculations, connected with the same 
 subject, he was less fortunate. In 1607 
 b black spot appeared on the face of sun, 
 such as may almost always be seen with 
 the assistance of the telescope, although 
 they are seldom large enough to be visible 
 'to the unassisted eye. Kepler saw it for 
 a short time, and mistook it for the planet 
 Mercury, and with his usual precipi- 
 tancy hastened to publish an account of 
 his observation of this rare phenomenon. 
 A few years later, Galileo discovered with 
 his glasses, a great number of similar 
 spots ; and Kepler immediately retracted 
 the opinion announced in his treatise, 
 and acknowledged his belief that previous 
 accounts of the same occurrence which 
 he had seen in old authors, and which 
 he had found great difficulty in recon- 
 ciling with his more accurate knowledge 
 of the motions of Mercury, were to be 
 referred to a like mistake. On this occa- 
 sion of the invention of the telescope, 
 Kepler's candour and real love of truth 
 appeared in a most favourable light. 
 Disregarding entirely the disagreeable 
 necessity, in consequence of the dis- 
 coveries of this new instrument, of retract- 
 ing several opinions which he had main- 
 tained with considerable warmth, he 
 ranged himself at once on the side of Gali- 
 leo, in opposition to the bitter and deter- 
 mined hostility evinced by most of those 
 whose theories were endangered by the 
 new views thus offered of the heavens. 
 Kepler's quarrel with his pupil, Horky, on 
 this account, has been mentioned in the 
 " Life of Galileo ;" and this is only a se- 
 lected instance from the numerous occa- 
 sions on which he espoused the same 
 unpopular side of the argument. He 
 published a dissertation to accompany 
 Galileo's " Intelligencer of the Stars," 
 in which he warmly expressed his ad- 
 miration of that illustrious inquirer into 
 nature. His conduct in this respect was 
 the more remarkable, as some of his most 
 intimate friends had taken a very opposite 
 view of Galileo's merit, and seem to 
 have laboured much to disturb their mu- 
 tual regard ; Miistlin especially, Kepler's 
 
 early instructor, seldom mentioned to him 
 the name of Galileo, without some con- 
 temptuous expression of dislike. These 
 statements have rather disturbed ,the 
 chronological order of the account' of 
 Kepler's works. We now return to the 
 year 1609, in which he published his 
 great and extraordinary book, " On the 
 Motions of Mars ;" a work which holds 
 the intermediate place, and is in truth 
 the connecting link, between the disco- 
 veries of Copernicus and Newton. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 Sketch of the Astronomical Theories 
 
 before Kejrtei . 
 Kepler had begun to labour upon 
 these commentaries from the moment 
 when he first made Tycho's acquaint- 
 ance ; and it is on this work that his re- 
 putation should be made mainly to rest. 
 It is marked in many places with his 
 characteristic precipitancy, and indeed 
 one of the most important discoveries 
 announced in it (famous among astro- 
 nomers by the name of the Equable 
 Description of Areas) was blundered upon 
 by a lucky compensation of errors, of 
 the nature of which Kepler remained 
 ignorant to the very last. Yet there is 
 more of the inductive method in this than 
 in any of his other publications ; and the 
 unwearied perseverance with which he ex- 
 hausted years in hunting down his often 
 renewed theories, till at length he seemed 
 to arrive at the true one, almost by having 
 previously disproved every other, excites 
 a feeling of astonishment nearly ap- 
 proaching to awe. It is wonderful how 
 he contrived to retain his vivacity and 
 creative fancy amongst the clouds of 
 figures which he conjured up round him ; 
 for the slightest hint cr shade of proba- 
 bility was sufficient .to plunge him into 
 the midst of the most laborious compu- 
 tations. He was by no means an accu- 
 rate calculator, according to the follow- 
 ing character which he has given of him- 
 self: " Something of these delays must 
 be attributed to my own temper, for non 
 omnia possumus omnes, and I am totally 
 unable to observe any order ; what I do 
 suddenly, I do confusedly, and if I pro- 
 duce any thing well arranged, it has been 
 done ten times over. Sometimes an 
 error of calculation committed by hurry, 
 delays me a great length of time. I 
 could indeed publish an infinity of things, 
 for though my reading is confined, 
 my imagination is abundant, but I grow 
 dissatisfied with such confusion : I get 
 disgusted and out of humour, and either 
 throw them away, or put them aside to 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 19 
 
 be looked at again ; or, in other words, 
 to be written again, for that is generally 
 the end of it. I entreat you, my friends, 
 not to condemn me for ever to grind in 
 the mill of mathematical calculations : 
 allow me some time for philosophical 
 speculations, my only delight." 
 
 He was very seldom able to afford 
 the expense of maintaining an assist- 
 ant, and was*forced to go through most 
 of the drudgery of his calculations by 
 himself; and the most confirmed and 
 merest arithmetician could not have 
 toiled more doggedly than Kepler did in 
 the work of which we are about to speak. 
 
 In order that the language of his as- 
 tronomy may be understood, it is neces- 
 sary to mention briefly some of the older 
 theories. When it had been discovered 
 that the planets did not move regularly 
 round the earth, which was supposed to 
 be fixed in the centre of the world, a me- 
 chanism was contrived by which it was 
 thought that the apparent irregularity 
 could be represented, and yet the prin- 
 ciple of uniform motion, which was ad- 
 hered to with superstitious reverence, 
 might be preserved. This, in its sim- 
 plest form, consisted in supposing the 
 planet to move uniformly in a small 
 circle, called an epicycle, the centre of 
 which moved with an equal angular 
 motion in the opposite direction round 
 
 the ear 1 
 
 The circle D d, described 
 
 by D, the centre of the epicycle, was 
 called the drferent. For instance, if the 
 planet was supposed to be at A when 
 the centre of the epicycle was at D, its 
 
 position, when the centre of the epicycle 
 had removed to d, would be at p, found 
 by drawing dp parallel to DA. Thus, 
 the angle a dp, measuring the motion of 
 the planet in its epicycle, would be equal 
 
 * By " the opposite direction" is meant, that 
 while the motion in the circumference of one 
 circle appeared, as viewed from its centre, to be 
 from left to right, the other, viewed from its centre, 
 .Appeared from rwht to left. This must be under- 
 stood whenever thee or similar expressions are 
 repeated. 
 
 to D E d, the angle described by" the 
 centre of the epicycle in the deferent. 
 The angle p~E d between Ep, the direc- 
 tion in which a planet so moving would 
 be seen from the earth, supposed to be 
 at E, and E d the direction in which it 
 would have been seen had it been mov 
 ing in the centre of the deferent, was 
 called the equation of the orbit, the 
 word equation, in the language of astro- 
 nomy, signifying what must be added 
 or taken from an irregularly varying 
 quantity to make it vary uniformly. 
 
 As the accuracy of .observations in- 
 creased, minor irregularities were dis- 
 covered, which w r ere attempted to be 
 accounted for by making a second 
 deferent of the epicycle, and making 
 the centre of a second epicycle revolve 
 in the circumference of the first, and 
 so on, or else by supposing the revo 
 lution in the epicycle not to be com 
 pleted in exactly the time in which its 
 centre is carried round the deferent. 
 Hipparchus was the first to make a re- 
 mark by which the geometrical repre- 
 sentation of these inequalities was consi- 
 derably simplified. In fact, if E C be 
 taken equal to p d, Cd will be a paral- 
 lelogram, and consequently Cp equal 
 to E d, so that the machinery of the 
 first deferent and epicycle amounts to 
 supposing that the planet revolves uni- 
 formly in a circle round the point C, 
 not coincident with the place of the 
 earth. This was consequently called 
 the excentric theory, in opposition to 
 the former or concentric one, and was 
 received as a great improvement. As 
 the point d is not represented by this 
 construction, the equation to the orbit 
 was measured by the angle C/?E, 
 which is equal top Ed It is not ne- 
 cessary to give any account of the man- 
 ner in which the old astronomers de- 
 termined the magnitudes and positions 
 of these orbits, either in the concentric 
 or excentric theory, the present object 
 being little more than to explain the 
 meaning of the terms it will be neces- 
 sary to use in describing Kepler's in- 
 vestigations. 
 
 To explain the irregularities observed 
 in the other planets, it became neces- 
 sary to introduce another hypothesis, in 
 adopting which the severity of the prin- 
 ciple of uniform motion was somewhat 
 relaxed. The machinery consisted partly 
 of an excentric deferent round E, the 
 earth, and on it an epicycle, in which the 
 planet revolved uniformly ; but the centre 
 of the epicycle, instead of revolving uni- 
 formly round C, the centre of the deferent, 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 as it had hitherto been made to do, was 
 supposed to move in its circumference 
 with an uniform angular motion round 
 a third point, Q ; the necessary effect of 
 which supposition was, that the linear 
 motion of the centre of the epicycle 
 ceased to be uniform. There were thus 
 three points to be considered within the 
 deferent ; E, the place of the earth ; 
 C, the centre of the deferent, and some- 
 times called the centre of the orbit ; and 
 Q, called the centre of the equant, be- 
 cause, if any circle were described round 
 Q, the planet would appear to a spec- 
 tator at Q, to be moving equably in it. 
 It was long uncertain what situation 
 should be assigned to the centre of the 
 equant, so as best to represent the ir- 
 regularities to a spectator on the earth, 
 until Ptolemy decided on placing it (in 
 every case but that of Mercury, the 
 observations on which were very doubt- 
 ful) so that C, the centre of the orbit, lay 
 just half way in the straight line, joining 
 Q, the centre of equable motion, and E, 
 the place of the earth. This is the famous 
 principle, known by the name of the 
 bisection of the excentricity. 
 
 The first equation required for the 
 planet's motion was thus supposed to be 
 due to the displacement of E, the earth, 
 from Q, the centre of uniform motion, 
 which was called the excentricity of the 
 equant : it might be represented by the 
 angle rfEM, drawing E M parallel to 
 Q d ; for clearly M would have been 
 the place of the centre of the epicycle 
 at the end of a time proportional to 
 D d, had it moved with an equable angu- 
 lar motion round E instead of Q. This 
 angle c?E M, or its equalEc/Q, was called 
 the equation of the centre (t. e. of the 
 centre of the epicycle) ; and is clearly 
 greater than if E Q, the excentri- 
 city of the equant, had been "no greater 
 than E C, called the excentricity of the 
 orbit. The second equation was mea- 
 sured by the angle subtended at E by d, 
 the centre of the epicycle, and p the 
 
 planet's place in its circumference : it was 
 called indifferently the equation of the 
 orbit, or of the argument. In order to 
 account for the apparent stations and 
 retrogradations of the planets, it be- 
 came necessary to suppose that many 
 revolutions in the latter were completed 
 during one of the former. The va- 
 riations of latitude of the planets were 
 exhibited by supposing not only that the 
 planes of their deferents were oblique to 
 the plane of the ecliptic, and that the 
 plane of the epicycle was also oblique to 
 that of the deferent, but that the inclination 
 of the two latter was continually chang- 
 ing, although Kepler doubts whether 
 this latter complication was admitted by 
 Ptolemy. In the inferior planets, it was 
 even thought necessary to give to the 
 plane of the epicycle two oscillatory mo- 
 tions on axes at right angles to each 
 other. 
 
 The astronomers "at this period 
 were much struck with a remarkable 
 connexion between the revolutions of 
 the superior planets in their epicycles, 
 and the apparent motion of the sun ; for 
 when in conjunction with the sun, as 
 seen from the earth, they were always 
 found to be in the apogee, or point of 
 greatest distance from the earth, of their 
 epicycle ; and when in opposition to the 
 Sun, they were as regularly in the peri- 
 gee, or point of nearest approach of the 
 epicycle. This correspondence between 
 two phenomena, which, according to 
 the old astronomy, were entirely uncon- 
 nected, was very perplexing, and it seems 
 to have been one of the facts which led 
 Copernicus to substitute the theory of 
 the earth's motion round the sun. 
 
 As time wore on, the superstructure 
 of excentrics and epicycles, which had 
 been strained into representing the ap- 
 pearances of the heavens at a particular 
 moment, grew out of shape, and the 
 natural consequence of such an artifi- 
 cial system was, that it became next to 
 impossible to foresee what ruin might 
 be produced in a remote part of it by 
 any attempt to repair the derangements 
 and refit the parts to the changes, as 
 they began to be remarked in any par- 
 ticular point. In the ninth century of 
 our era, Ptolemy's tables were already 
 useless, and all those that were con- 
 trived with unceasing toil to supply 
 their place, rapidly became as unser- 
 viceable as they. Still the triumph of 
 genius was seen in the veneration that 
 continued to be paid to the assump- 
 tions of Ptolemy and Hipparchus ; and 
 even when the great reformer, Coper- 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 21 
 
 nicus, appeared, he did not for a long 
 time intend to do more than slightly 
 modify their principles. That which he 
 found difficult in the Ptolemaic system, 
 was none of the inconveniences by which, 
 since the establishment of the new sys- 
 tem, it has become common to demon- 
 strate the inferiority of the old one ; it 
 was the displacement of the centre of 
 the equant from the centre of the orbit 
 that principally indisposed him against 
 it, and led him to endeavour to represent 
 the appearances by some other combina- 
 tions of really uniform circular motions. 
 There was an old system, called the 
 Egyptian, according to which Saturn, 
 Jupiter, Mars, and the Sun circulated 
 round the earth, the sun carrying with 
 it, as two moons or satellites, the other 
 two planets, Venus and Mercury. This 
 system had never entirely lost credit: 
 it had been maintained in the fifth cen- 
 tury by Martianus Capella*, and in- 
 deed it was almost sanctioned, though 
 not formally taught, by Ptolemy himself, 
 when he made the mean motion of the 
 sun the same as that of the centres of 
 the epicycles of both these planets. The 
 remark which had also been made by the 
 old astronomers, of the connexion be- 
 tween the motion of the sun and the revo- 
 lutions of the superior planets in their 
 epicycles, led him straight to the expec- 
 tation that he might, perhaps, produce the 
 uniformity he sought by extending the 
 Egyptian system to these also, and this 
 appears to have been the shape in which 
 his reform was originally projected. 
 It was already allowed that the centre of 
 the orbits of all the planets was not coin- 
 cident with the earth, but removed from 
 it by the space E C. This first change 
 merely made E C the same for all the 
 planets, and equal to the mean distance 
 of the earth from the sun. This sys- 
 tem afterwards acquired great cele- 
 brity through its adoption by Tycho 
 Brahe, who believed it originated with 
 himself. It might perhaps have been 
 at this period of his researches, that 
 Copernicus was struck with the pas- 
 sages in the Latin and Greek authors, 
 to which he refers as testifying the ex- 
 istence of an old belief in the motion 
 of the earth round the sun. He im- 
 mediately recognised how much this 
 alteration would further his princi- 
 ples of uniformity, by referring all the 
 
 * Venus Mercuriusque, licet ortus occasusque 
 quotidianos ostendunt, tamen eorum circuli terras 
 omnino non amhiunt, sed circa solem laxiore am- 
 bitu circulantur. Denique circulorum suorum 
 centron in sole* constituunt. De Nuptiis Philolo- 
 giee et Mercurii. Viceiitiw. 14*99. 
 
 planetary motions to one centre, and 
 did not hesitate to embrace it. The idea 
 of explaining the daily and principal 
 apparent motions of the heavenly bodies 
 by the revolution of the earth on its 
 axis, would be the concluding change, 
 and became almost a necessary con- 
 sequence of his previous improvements, 
 as it was manifestly at variance with 
 his principles to give to all the pla- 
 nets and starry worlds a rapid daily 
 motion round the centre of the earth, 
 now that the latter w r as removed from 
 its former supposed post in the centre of 
 the universe, and was itself carried with 
 an annual motion round another fixed 
 point. 
 
 The reader would, however, form an 
 inaccurate notion of the system of Co- 
 pernicus, if he supposed that it com- 
 prised no more than the theory that 
 each planet, including the earth among; 
 them, revolved in a simple circular orbit 
 round the sun. Copernicus was too well 
 acquainted with the motions of the hea- 
 venly bodies, not to be aware that such 
 orbits would not accurately represent 
 them ; the motion he attributed to the 
 earth round the sun, was at first merely 
 intended to account for those which 
 were called the second inequalities of the 
 planets, according to which they ap- 
 pear one while to move forwards, then 
 backwards, and at intermediate periods, 
 stationaiy, and which thenceforward 
 were also called the optical equations, 
 as being merely an optical illusion. 
 With regard to what were called the 
 fi*st inequalities, or physical equations, 
 arising from a real inequality of motion,, 
 he still retained the machinery of the 
 deferent and epicycle ; and all the al- 
 teration he attempted in the orbits of 
 the superior planets was an extension 
 of the concentric theory to supply the 
 place of the equant, which he considered 
 the blot of the system. His theory for 
 this purpose is shown in the accompany- 
 ing diagram, where S represents the sun> 
 
 D d, the deferent or mean orbit of the 
 
22 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 planet, on which revolves the centre of 
 the great epicycle, whose radius, D F, 
 was taken at a of Ptolemy's excentricity 
 of the equant ; and round the circum- 
 ference of this revolved, in the opposite 
 direction, the centre of the little epicycle, 
 whose radius, F P, was made equal to 
 the remaining * of the excentricity of the 
 equant. 
 
 The planet P revolved in the circum- 
 ference of the little epicycle, in the same 
 direction with the centre of the great epi- 
 cycle in the circumference of the defe- 
 rent, but with a double angular velocity. 
 The planet was supposed to be in the 
 perigee of the little epicycle, when its 
 centre was in the apogee of the greater ; 
 and whilst, for instance, D moved equably 
 though the angle ~DSd, F moved through 
 h df= DSrf, and P through r / p~ 
 2 DS d. 
 
 It is easy to show that this construc- 
 tion gives nearly the same result as 
 Ptolemy's; for the deferent and great 
 epicycle have been already shown ex- 
 actly equivalent to an excentric circle 
 round S, and indeed Copernicus latterly 
 -so represented it : the effect of his con- 
 struction, as given above, may therefore 
 be reproduced in the following simpler 
 form, in which only the smaller epicycle 
 is retained : 
 
 In ttu construction, the place of the 
 .planet is found at the end of any time 
 proportional to F f, by drawing / r 
 parallel to S F, and taking rfp = 2 F of. 
 Hence it is plain, if we take O Q, equal 
 to F P, (already assumed equal to of 
 Ptolemy's excentricity of the equant,) 
 since S O is equal to f cf the same, 
 that S Q is the whole of Ptolemy's ex- 
 centricity of the equant ; and therefore, 
 that Q is the position of the centre of 
 his equant. It is also plain if we join 
 Qp, since rfp = 2Fo/, and oQ = 
 fp, that p Q is parallel to fo, and, 
 therefore, p Q P is proportional to the 
 time ; so that the planet moves uni- 
 formly about the same point Q, as in 
 Ptolemy's theory ; and if we bisect S Q 
 
 in C, which is the position of tVie centre 
 of Ptolemy's deferent, the planet will, 
 according to Copernicus, move very 
 nearly, though not exactly, in the same 
 circle, whose radius is C P, as that 
 given by the simple excentric theory. 
 
 The explanation offered by Coperni- 
 cus, of the motions of the inferior pla- 
 nets, differed again in form from that of 
 the others. He here introduced what 
 was called a hypocycle, which, in fact, 
 was nothing but a deferent not including 
 the sun, round which the centre of the 
 orbit revolved. An epicycle in addition 
 to the hypocycle was introduced into 
 Mercury's orbit. In this epicycle he 
 was not supposed to revolve, but to 
 librate, or move up and down in its 
 diameter. Copernicus had recourse to 
 this complication to satisfy an erroneous 
 assertion of Ptolemy with regard to some 
 of Mercury's inequalities. He also re- 
 tained the oscillatory motions ascribed 
 by Ptolemy to the planes of the epicy- 
 cles, in order to explain the unequal 
 latitudes observed at the same distance 
 from the nodes, or intersections of the 
 orbit of the planet with the ecliptic. Into 
 this intricacy, also, he was led by placing 
 too much confidence in Ptolemy's obser- 
 vations, which he was unable to satisfy 
 by an unvarying obliquity. Other very 
 important errors, such as his belief that 
 the line of nodes always coincided with 
 the line of apsides, or places of greatest 
 and least distance from the central body, 
 (whereas, at that time, in the case of 
 Mars, for instance, they were nearly 90 
 ' asunder,) prevented him from accurately 
 representing many of the celestial phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 These brief details may serve to show 
 that the adoption or rejection of the 
 theory of Copernicus was not altogether 
 so simple a question as sometimes it 
 may have been considered. It is, how- 
 ever, not a little remarkable, while it is 
 strongly illustrative of the spirit of the 
 times, that these very intricacies, with 
 which Kepler's theories have enabled us 
 to dispense, were the only parts of the 
 system of Copernicus that were at first 
 received with approbation. His theory 
 of Mercury, especially, was considered 
 a masterpiece of subtle invention. 
 Owing to his dread of the unfavourable 
 judgment he anticipated on the main 
 principles of his system, his work re- 
 mained unpublished during forty years, 
 and was at last given to the world only 
 just in time to allow Copernicus to re- 
 ceive the first copy of it a few hours 
 before his death. 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 23 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Account of the Commentaries on the 
 motions of Mars Discovery of the 
 Law of the equable description of 
 Areas, and of Elliptic Orbits. 
 
 "We may now proceed to examine Kep- 
 ler's innovations, but it would be doing 
 injustice to one of the brightest points 
 of his character, not to preface them by 
 his own animated exhortation to his 
 readers. " If any one be too dull to com- 
 prehend the science of astronomy, or too 
 feeble-minded to believe in Copernicus 
 without prejudice to his piety, my advice 
 to such a one is, that he should quit the 
 astronomical schools, and condemning, 
 if he has a mind, any or all of the theories 
 of philosophers, let him look to his own 
 affairs, and leaving this worldly travail, 
 let him go home and plough his fields : 
 and as often as he lifts up to this goodly 
 heaven those eyes with which alone he 
 is able to see, let him pour out his 
 heart in praises and thanksgiving to 
 God the Creator ; and let him not fear 
 but he is offering a worship not less ac- 
 ceptable than his to whom God has 
 granted to see yet more clearly with the 
 eyes of his mind, and who both can and 
 will praise his God for what he has so 
 discovered." 
 
 Kepler did not by any means under- 
 rate the importance of his labours, as is 
 sufficiently shewn by the sort of collo- 
 quial motto which he prefixed to his 
 work. It consists in the first instance 
 of an extract from the writings of the 
 celebrated and unfortunate Peter Ramus. 
 This distinguished philosopher was pro- 
 fessor of mathematics in. Paris, and in 
 the passage in question, after calling on 
 his contemporaries to turn their thoughts 
 towards the establishment of a system of 
 Astronomy unassisted by any hypo- 
 thesis, he promised as an additional in- 
 ducement to vacate his own chair in fa- 
 vour of any one who should succeed in 
 this object. Ramus perished in the 
 massacre of St. Bartholomew, and Kepler 
 apostrophizes him as follows : " It is 
 well, Ramus, that you have forfeited your 
 pledge, by quitting your life and profes- 
 sorship together : for if you still held it, 
 I would certainly claim it as of right be- 
 longing to me on account of this work, 
 as I could convince you even with your 
 own logic." It was rather bold in Kepler 
 to assert his claim to a reward held out 
 for a theory resting on no hypothesis, by 
 light of a work filled with hypotheses of 
 the most startling description; but of 
 
 the vast importance of this book there 
 can be no doubt ; and throughout the 
 many wild and eccentric ideas to which 
 we are introduced in the course of it, it 
 is fit always to bear in mind that they 
 form part of a work which is almost the 
 basis of modern Astronomy." 
 
 The introduction contains a curious 
 criticism of the commonly-received 
 theory of gravity, accompanied with 
 a declaration of Kepler's own opinions 
 on the same subject. Some of the most 
 remarkable passages in it have been 
 already quoted in the life of Galileo ; but, 
 nevertheless, they are too important to 
 Kepler's reputation to be omitted here, 
 containing as they do a distinct and 
 positive enunciation of the law of uni- 
 versal gravitation. It does not appear, 
 however, that Kepler estimated rightly 
 the importance of the theory here traced 
 out by him, since on every other occa- 
 sion he advocated principles with which 
 it is scarcely reconcileable. The dis- 
 cussion is introduced in the following 
 terms : 
 
 " The motion of heavy bodies hinders 
 many from believing that the earth is 
 moved by an animal motion, or rather 
 a magnetic one. Let such consider the 
 following propositions. A mathematical 
 point, whether the centre of the universe 
 or not, has no power, either effectively 
 or objectively, to move heavy bodies to 
 approach it. Let physicians prove if 
 they can, that such power can be pos- 
 sessed by a point, which neither is a 
 body, nor is conceived unless by rela- 
 tion alone. It is impossible that the 
 form* of a stone should, by moving its 
 own body, seek a mathematical point, 
 or in other words, the centre of the uni- 
 verse, without regard of the body in 
 which that point exists. Let physicians 
 prove if they can, that natural things 
 have any sympathy with that which is 
 nothing. Neither do heavy bodies tend 
 to the centre of the universe by reason 
 that they are avoiding the extremities of 
 the round universe ; for their distance 
 from the centre is insensible, in propor- 
 tion to their distance from the extremi- 
 ties of the universe. And what reason 
 could there be for this hatred? How 
 strong, how wise must those heavy 
 bodies be, to be able to escape so care- 
 fully from an enemy lying on all sides of 
 
 * It is not very easy to carry the understanding 
 aright among these Aristotelian ideas. Many 
 at the present day might think they understood 
 better what is meant, if for * form" had been 
 written " nature." 
 
 K 
 
24 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 them : what activity in the extremities 
 of the world to press their enemy so 
 closely! Neither are heavy bodies 
 driven into the centre by the whirling of 
 the first moveable, as happens in revolv- 
 ing- water. For if we assume such a 
 motion, either it would not be con- 
 tinued down to us, or otherwise we 
 should feel it, and be carried away with 
 it, and the earth also with us; nay, 
 rather, we should be hurried away first, 
 and the earth would follow ; all which 
 conclusions are allowed by our oppo- 
 nents to be absurd. It is therefore plain 
 that the vulgar theory of gravity is erro- 
 neous. 
 
 The true theory of gravity is founded 
 on the following axioms : Every corpo- 
 real substance, so far forth as it is corpo- 
 real, has a natural fitness for resting in 
 every place where it may be situated by 
 itself beyond the sphere of influence of a 
 body cognate with it. Gravity is a mu- 
 tual affection between cognate bodies 
 towards union or conjunction (similar in 
 kind to the magnetic virtue), so that the 
 earth attracts a stone much rather than 
 the stone seeks the earth. Heavy bodies 
 (if we begin by assuming the earth to 
 be in the centre of the world) are not 
 carried to the centre of the world in its 
 quality of centre of the world, but as to 
 the centre of a cognate round body, 
 namely, the earth ; so that wheresoever 
 the earth may be placed, or whitherso- 
 ever it may be carried by its animal 
 faculty, heavy bodies will always be 
 carried towards it. If the earth were 
 not round, heavy bodies would not tend 
 from every side in a straight line towards 
 the centre of the earth, but to different 
 points from different sides. I f two stones 
 were placed in any part of the world 
 near each other, and" beyond the sphere of 
 influence of a third cognate body, these 
 stones, like two magnetic needles, would 
 come together in the intermediate point, 
 each approaching the other by a space 
 proportional to the comparative mass of 
 the other. If the moon and earth were 
 not retained in their orbits by their ani- 
 mal force or some other equivalent, the 
 earth would mount to the moon by a 
 fifty-fourth part of their distance, and 
 the moon fall towards the earth through 
 the other fifty-three parts and they would 
 there meet ; assuming however that the 
 substance of both is of the same density. 
 If the earth should cease to attract its 
 waters to itself, all the waters of the sea 
 would be raised and would flow to Ihe 
 body of the moon, The sphere of the at- 
 
 tractive virtue which is in the moon ex- 
 tends as far as the earth, and entices up 
 the waters ; but as the moon flies rapidly 
 across the zenith, and the waters cannot 
 follow so quickly, a flow of the ocean is 
 occasioned in the torrid zone towards 
 the westward. If the attractive virtue 
 of the moon extends as far as the earth, 
 it follows with greater reason that the 
 attractive virtue of the earth extends as 
 far as the moon, and much farther; 
 and in short, nothing which consists of 
 earthly substance any how constituted, 
 although thrown up to any height, can 
 ever escape the powerful operation of this 
 attractive virtue. Nothing which consists 
 of corporeal matter is absolutely light, 
 but that is comparatively lighter which 
 is rarer, either by its own nature, or by 
 accidental heat. And it is not to be 
 thought that light bodies are escaping to 
 the surface of the universe while they are 
 carried upwards, or that they are not 
 attracted by the earth. They are at- 
 tracted, but in a less degree, and so are 
 driven outwards by the heavy bodies; 
 which being done, they stop, and are kept 
 by the earth in their own place. But 
 although the attractive virtue of the 
 earth extends upwards, as has been said, 
 so very far, yet if any stone should be at 
 a distance great enough to become sen- 
 sible, compared with the earth's dia- 
 meter, it is true that on the motion of 
 the earth such a stone would not follow 
 altogether ; its own force of resistance 
 would be combined with the attractive 
 force of the earth, and thus it would 
 extricate itself in some degree from the 
 motion of the earth. ,; 
 
 Who, after perusing such passages in 
 the works of an author, whose writings 
 were in the hands of every student of as- 
 tronomy, can believe that Newton waited 
 for the fall of an apple to set him think- 
 ing for the first time on the theory which 
 has immortalized his name ? An apple 
 may have fallen, and Newton may have 
 seen it ; but such speculations as those 
 which it is asserted to have been the 
 cause of originating in him had been 
 long familiar to the thoughts of every 
 one in Europe pretending to the rami 
 of natural philosopher. 
 
 As Kepler always professed to have 
 derived his notion of a magnetic attrac- 
 tion among the planetary bodies from 
 the writings of Gilbert, it may be worth 
 while to insert here an extract, from the 
 " New Philosophy" of that author, to 
 show in what form he presented a simi- 
 lar theory of the tides, winch affords the 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 25 
 
 most striking illustration of that attrac- 
 tion. This work was not published till 
 the middle of the seventeenth century, 
 but a knowledge of its contents may, in 
 several instances, be traced back to the 
 period in which it was written : 
 
 " There are two primary causes of the 
 motion of the seas the moon, and the 
 diurnal revolution. The moon does 
 not act on the seas by its rays or its 
 light. How then? Certainly by the 
 common effort of the bodies, and (to ex- 
 plain it by something similar) by their 
 magnetic attraction. It should be known, 
 in the first place, that the whole quan- 
 tity of water is not contained in the sea 
 and rivers, but that the mass of earth (I 
 mean this globe) contains moisture and 
 spirit much deeper even than the sea. 
 The moon draws this out by sympathy, 
 so that they burst forth on the arrival of 
 the moon, in consequence of the at- 
 traction of that star ; and for the same 
 reason, the quicksands which are in the 
 sea open themselves more, and per- 
 spire their moisture and spirits during 
 the flow of the tide, and the whirlpools 
 in the sea disgorge copious waters ; and 
 as the star retires, they devour the same 
 again, and attract the spirits and mois- 
 ture of the terrestrial globe. Hence the 
 moon attracts, not so much the sea as 
 the subterranean spirits and humours ; 
 and the interposed earth has no more 
 power of resistance than a table or any 
 other dense body has to resist the force 
 of a magnet. The sea rises from the 
 greatest depths, in consequence of the 
 ascending humours and spirits ; and 
 when it is raised up, it necessarily flows 
 on to the shores, and from the shores it 
 enters the rivers."* 
 
 This passage, sets in the strongest 
 light one of the most notorious errors of 
 the cider philosophy, to which Kepler 
 himself was remarkably addicted. If 
 Gilbert had asserted, in direct terms, 
 that the moon attracted the water, it is 
 certain that the notion would have been 
 stigmatized (as it was for a long time in 
 Newton's hands) as arbitrary, occult, 
 and nnphilosophical : the idea of these 
 subterranean humours was likely to be 
 treated with much more indulgence. A 
 simple statement, that when the moon 
 was over the water the latter had a ten- 
 dency to rise towards it, was thought 
 to convey, no instruction ; but the asser- 
 tion that the moon draws out subterra- 
 nean spirits by sympathy, carried with it 
 
 * De mundo riostro sublunari, Philosophia 
 Nova, Ainstehdami, ICoi, 
 
 a more imposing appearance of theory. 
 The farther removed these humours 
 were from common experience, the 
 easier it became to discuss them in vague 
 and general language ; and those who 
 called themselves philosophers could 
 endure to hear attributes bestowed on 
 these fictitious elements which revolted 
 their imaginations when applied to things 
 of whose reality at least some evidence 
 existed. 
 
 It is not necessary to dwell upon the 
 system of Tycho Brahe, which was iden- 
 tical, as we have said, with one rejected 
 by Copernicus, and consisted in making 
 the sun revolve about the earth, carrying 
 with it all the other planets revolving 
 about him. Tycho went so far as to 
 deny the rotation of the earth to explain 
 the vicissitudes of day and night, but 
 even his favourite assistant Longomon- 
 tanus differed from him in this part of 
 his theory. The great merit of Tycho 
 Brahe, and the service he rendered to 
 astronomy, was entirely independent of 
 any theory ; consisting in the vast accu- 
 mulation of observations made by him 
 during a residence of fifteen years at 
 Uraniburg, with the assistance of instru- 
 ments, and with a degree of care, very far 
 superior to anything known before his 
 time in practical astronomy. Kepler is 
 careful repeatedly to remind us.that with- 
 out Tycho's observations he could have 
 done nothing. The degree of reliance that 
 might be placed on the results obtained 
 by observers who acknowledged their in- 
 feriority to Tycho Brahe, may be gathered 
 from an incidental remark of Kepler to 
 Longomontanus. He had been examin- 
 ing Tycho's registers, and had occasion- 
 ally found a difference amounting some- 
 times to 4' in the right ascensions of the 
 same planet, deduced from different stars 
 on the same night. Longomontanus 
 could not deny the fact, but declared that 
 it was impossible to be always correct 
 within such limits. The reader should 
 never lose sight of this uncertainty in 
 the observations, when endeavouring to 
 estimate the difficulty of finding a theory 
 that would properly represent them. 
 
 When Kepler first joined Tycho Brahe 
 at Prague, he found him- and Longomon- 
 tanus very busily engaged in correct- 
 ing the theory of Mars, and accordingly 
 it was this planet to which he also first 
 directed his attention. They had formed 
 a catalogue of the mean oppositions of 
 Mars during twenty years, and had disco- 
 vered a position of the equant, which (as 
 they said) represented them with tolerable 
 
26 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 exactness. On the other hand, they were 
 much embarrassed by the unexpected 
 difficulties they met in applying a sys- 
 tem which seemed on the one hand so 
 accurate, to the determination of the lati- 
 tudes, with which it could in no way be 
 made to agree. Kepler had already sus- 
 pected the cause of this imperfection, and 
 was confirmed in the view he took of 
 their theory, when, on a more careful 
 examination, he found that they over- 
 rated the accuracy even of their longi- 
 tudes. The errors in these, instead of 
 amounting as they said, nearly to 2', 
 rose sometimes above 21'. In fact they 
 had reasoned ill on their own principles, 
 and even if the foundations of their 
 theory had been correctly laid, could not 
 have arrived at true results. But Kepler 
 had satisfied himself of the contrary, 
 and the following diagram shews the na- 
 ture of the first alteration he introduced, 
 not perhaps so celebrated as some of his 
 later discoveries, but at least, of equal 
 consequence to astronomy, which could 
 never have been extricated from the 
 confusion into which it had fallen, till 
 this important change had been effected. 
 The practice of Tycho Brahe, indeed 
 of all astronomers till the time of Kepler, 
 had been to fix the position of the pla- 
 net's orbit and equant from observa- 
 tions on its mean oppositions, that is to 
 say, on the times when it was precisely 
 six signs or half a circle distant from 
 "the mean place of the sun. In the 
 annexed figure, let S represent the sun, 
 C the centre of the earth's orbit. T t. 
 
 Tycho Brahe' s practice amounted to this, 
 that if Q were supposed the place of the 
 centre of the planet's equant, the centre 
 of Pp its orbit was taken in Q C, and not 
 in Q S, as Kepler suggested that it ought 
 to I. e taken. The consequence of this 
 erroneous practice was, that the observa- 
 
 tions were deprived of the character for 
 which oppositions were selected, of being 
 entirely free from the second inequalities. 
 It followed therefore that as part of 
 the second inequalities were made con- 
 ducive towards fixing the relative posi- 
 tion of the orbit and equant, to which 
 they did not naturally belong, there was 
 an additional perplexity in accounting 
 for the remainder of them by the size 
 and motion of the epicycle. As the line 
 of nodes of every planet was also made to 
 pass through C instead of S, there could 
 not fail to be corresponding errors in the 
 latitudes. It would only be in the rare 
 case of an opposition of the planet in 
 the line C S, that the time of .its taking 
 place would be the same, whether O, the 
 centre of the orbit, was placed in C Q or 
 S Q. Every other opposition would in- 
 volve an error, so much the greater as 
 it was observed at a greater distance 
 from the line C S. 
 
 It was long however before Tycho 
 Brahe could be made to acquiesce in the 
 propriety of the proposed alteration ; and, 
 in order to remove his doubts as to the 
 possibility that a method could be erro- 
 neous which, as he still thought, had 
 given him such accurate longitudes, 
 Kepler undertook the ungrateful labour 
 of the first part of his " Commentaries." 
 He there shewed, in the three systems of 
 Copernicus, Tycho Brahe, and Ptolemy, 
 and in both the concentric and excentnc 
 theories, that though a false position 
 were given to the orbit, the longitudes 
 of a planet might be so represented, by 
 a proper position of the centre of the 
 equant, as never to err in oppositions 
 above 5' from those given by observa- 
 tion ; though the second inequalities and 
 the latitudes would thereby be very 
 greatly deranged. 
 
 The change Kepler introduced, of ob- 
 serving apparent instead of mean oppo- 
 sitions, made it necessary to be very ac- 
 curate in his reductions of the planet's 
 place to the ecliptic ; and in order to be 
 able to do this, a previous knowledge of 
 the parallax of Mars became indispen- 
 sable. His next labour was therefore 
 directed to this point ; and finding that 
 the assistants to whom Tycho Brahe had 
 previously committed this labour had 
 performed it in a negligent and imper- 
 fect manner, he began afresh with 
 Tycho's original observations. Having 
 satisfied himself as to the probable limits 
 of his errors in the parallax on which 
 he finally fixed, he proceeded to de- 
 termine the inclination of the orbit and 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 27 
 
 the position of the line of nodes. In 
 all these operations his talent for as- 
 tronomical inquiries appeared pre-emi- 
 nent in a variety of new methods by 
 which he combined and availed him- 
 self of the observations ; but it must be 
 sufficient merely to mention this fact, 
 without entering into any detail. One . 
 important result may be mentioned, at 
 which he arrived in the course of them, 
 the constancy of the inclination of the 
 planet's orbit, which naturally strength- 
 ened him in his new theory. 
 
 Having gone through these preliminary 
 inquiries, he came at last to fix the pro- 
 portions of the orbit ; and, in doing so, he 
 determined, in the first instance, not to as- 
 sume, as Ptolemy appeared to have done 
 arbitrarily, the bisection of the excen- 
 tricity, but to investigate its proportion 
 along with the other elements of the orbit, 
 which resolution involved him in much 
 more laborious calculations. After he 
 had gone over all the steps of his theory no 
 less than seventy times an appalling la- 
 bour.especially if we remember that loga- 
 rithms were not then invented his final 
 result was, that in 1587, on the 6th of 
 March, at 7 h 23', the longitude of the 
 aphelion of Mars was 4 8 28 48' 55" ; 
 that the planet's mean longitude was 
 6 s 51' 35'; that if the semidiameter of 
 the orbit was taken at 100000, theexcen- 
 tricity was 1 1332 ; and the excentricity of 
 the equant 18564. He fixed the radius 
 of the greater epicycle at 14988, and 
 that of the smaller at 3628. 
 
 When he came to compare the longi- 
 tudes as given by this, which he after- 
 wards called the vicarious theory, with 
 the observations at opposition, the result 
 seemed to promise him the most bril- 
 liant success. His greatest error did 
 not exceed 2'; but, notwithstanding 
 these flattering anticipations, he soon 
 found by a comparison of longitudes 
 out of opposition and of latitudes, that 
 it was yet far from being so com- 
 plete as he had imagined, and to his in- 
 finite vexation he soon found that the 
 labour of four years, which he had ex- 
 pended on this theory, must be consi- 
 dered almost entirely fruitless. Even 
 his favourite principle of dividing the 
 excentricity in a different ratio from 
 Ptolemy, was found to lead him into 
 greater error than if he had retained the 
 old bisection. By restoring that, he made 
 his latitudes more accurate, but pro- 
 duced a corresponding change for the 
 worse in his longitudes ; and although 
 the errors of 8', to which they now 
 
 amounted, would probably have been 
 disregarded by former theorists, Kepler 
 could not remain satisfied till they were 
 accounted for. Accordingly he found 
 himself forced to the conclusion that 
 one of the two principles on which this 
 theory rested must be erroneous ; either 
 the orbit of the planet is not a perfect 
 circle, or there is no fixed point within 
 it round which it moves with an uniform 
 angular motion. He had once before ad- 
 mitted the possibility of the former of 
 these facts, conceiving it possible that the 
 motion of the planets is not at all curvi- 
 linear, but that they move in polygons 
 round the sun, a notion to which he pro- 
 bably inclined in consequence of his fa- 
 vourite harmonics and geometrical 
 figures. 
 
 In consequence of the failure of a 
 theory conducted with such care in all 
 its practical details, Kepler determined 
 that his next trial should be of an en- 
 tirely different complexion. Instead of 
 first satisfying the first inequalities of 
 the planet, and then endeavouring to ac- 
 count for the second inequalities, he re- 
 solved to reverse the process, or, in 
 other words, to ascertain as accurately 
 as possible what part of the planet's 
 apparent motion should be referred 
 solely to the optical illusion produced 
 by the motion of the earth, before pro- 
 ceeding to any inquiry of the real in- 
 equality of the planefs proper motion. 
 It had been hitherto taken for granted, 
 that the earth moved equably round the 
 centre of its orbit ; but Kepler, on re- 
 suming the consideration of it, recurred 
 to an opinion he had entertained very 
 early in his astronomical career (rather 
 from his conviction of the existence of 
 general laws, than that he had then felt 
 the want of such a supposition), that it 
 required an equant distinct from its 
 orbit no less than the other planets. 
 He now saw, that if this were admitted, 
 the changes it would everywhere intro- 
 duce in the optical part of the planet's 
 irregularities might perhaps relieve him 
 from the perplexity in which the vica- 
 rious theory had involved him. Ac- 
 cordingly he applied himself with re- 
 newed assiduity to the examination of 
 this important question, and the result 
 of his calculations (founded principally 
 on observations of Mars' parallax) soon 
 satisfied him not only that the earth's 
 orbit does require such an equant, but 
 that its centre is placed according to the 
 general law of the bisection of the ex- 
 centricity which he had previously found 
 
28 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 indispensable in the other planets. This 
 was an innovation of the first magni- 
 tude, and accordingly Kepler did not 
 venture to proceed farther in his theory, 
 till by evidence of the most varied and 
 satisfactory nature, he had established 
 it beyond the possibility of cavil. 
 
 It may be here remarked, that this 
 principle of the bisection of the eccen- 
 tricity, so familiar to the Ptolemaic as- 
 tronomers, is identical with the theory 
 afterwards known by the name of the 
 simple elliptic hypothesis, advocated by 
 Seth Ward and others. That hypothesis 
 consisted in supposing the sun to be 
 placed in one focus of the elliptic orbit 
 of the planet, whose angular motion was 
 uniform round the other focus. In 
 Ptolemaic phraseology, that other focus 
 was the centre of the equant, and it is 
 well known that the centre of the ellipse 
 lies in the middle point between the two 
 foci. 
 
 It was at this period also, that Kepler 
 first ventured upon the new method of 
 representing inequalities which termi- 
 nated in one of his most celebrated dis- 
 coveries. We have already seen, in the 
 account of the " Mysterium Cosmogra- 
 phicum," that he was speculating, even 
 at that time, on the effects of a whirling 
 force exerted by the sun on the planets 
 with diminished energy at increased dis- 
 tances, and on the proportion observed 
 between the distances of the planets from 
 the sun, and their periods of revolution. 
 He seems even then to have believed in 
 the possibility of discovering a relation 
 between the times and distances in dif- 
 ferent planets. Another analogous con- 
 sequence of his theory of the radiation of 
 the whirling force would be, that if the 
 same planet should recede to a greater 
 distance from the central body, it would 
 be acted on by a diminished energy of 
 revolution, and consequently, a relation 
 might be found between the velocity at 
 any point of its orbit, and its distance 
 at that point from the sun. Hence he 
 expected to derive a more direct and 
 natural method of calculating the in- 
 equalities, than from ths imaginary 
 equant. But these ingenious ideas had 
 been checked in the outset by the errone- 
 ous belief which Kepler, in common with 
 other astronomers, then entertained of 
 the coincidence of the earth's equant 
 with its orbit ; in other words, by the 
 belief that the earth's linear motion was 
 uniform, though it was known not to 
 remain constantly at the same distance 
 from the sun. As soon as this prejudice 
 
 was removed, his former ideas recurred 
 to him with increased force, and he set 
 himself diligently to consider what re- 
 lation could be found between the ve- 
 locity and distance of a planet from the 
 sun. The method he adopted in the be- 
 ginning of this inquiry was to assume 
 as approximately correct Ptolemy's doc- 
 trine of the bisection of the excentricity, 
 and to investigate some simple relation 
 nearly representing the same effect. 
 
 In the annexed figure, S is the place 
 of the sun, C the centre of the planet/ s 
 J) 
 
 orbit A B a b, Q the centre of the equant 
 represented by the equal circle D E d e, 
 AB, ab, two equal small arcs described 
 by the planet at the apsides of its orbit : 
 then, according to Ptolemy's principles, 
 the arc D E of the equant would be pro- 
 portional to the time of passing along 
 A B, on the same scale on which d e would 
 represent the time of passing through 
 the equal arc a b. 
 
 QD:QA::DE:AB, nearly ; and 
 because Q S is bisected in C, Q A, CA 
 or Q D, and S A, are in arithmetical 
 proportion : and, therefore, since an 
 arithmetical mean, when the difference 
 is small, does not differ much from a 
 geometrical mean, Q D : Q A : : S A : 
 Q D, nearly. Therefore, D E : A B : : 
 S A : Q D, nearly, and in the same man- 
 ner d e : a b : :S a : Qd nearly ; and 
 therefore DEt de :: SA: Sa nearly. 
 Therefore at the apsides, the times of 
 passing over equal spaces, on Ptolemy's 
 theory, are nearly as the distances from 
 the sun, and Kepler, with his usual 
 hastiness, immediately concluded that 
 this was the accurate and general law, 
 and that the errors of the old theory 
 arose solely from havingdeparted from it. 
 
 It followed immediately from this 
 assumption, that after leaving the point 
 A, the time in which the planet would 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 arrive at any point P of its orbit 
 would be proportional to, and might be 
 represented by, the sums of all the lines 
 that could be drawn from S to the arc 
 A P, on the same scale that the whole 
 period of revolution would be denoted by 
 the sum of all the lines drawn to every 
 point of the orbit. Kepler's first at- 
 tempt to verify this supposition ap- 
 proximately, was made by dividing the 
 whole circumference of the orbit into 
 360 equal parts, and calculating the 
 distances ' at every one of the points of 
 division. Then supposing the planet to 
 move uniformly, and to remain at the 
 same distance from the sun during the 
 time of passing each one of these divisions, 
 (a supposition which manifestly would not 
 differ much from the former one, and 
 would coincide with it more nearly, the 
 greater was the number of divisions 
 taken) he proceeded to add together these 
 calculated distances, and hoped to find 
 thai the time of arriving at any one of the 
 divisions bore the same ratio to the whole 
 period, as the sum of the corresponding 
 set of distances did to the sum of the 
 whole 360. 
 
 This theory was erroneous ; but by al- 
 most miraculous good fortune, he was 
 led by it in the following manner to the 
 true measure. The discovery was aeon- 
 sequence of the tediousness of his first 
 method, which required, in order to 
 know the time of arriving at any point, 
 that the circle should be subdivided, until 
 one of the points of division fell exactly 
 upon the given place. Kepler therefore 
 endeavoured to discover some shorter 
 method of representing these sums of 
 the distances. The idea then occurred 
 to him of employing for that purpose 
 the area inclosed between the two dis- 
 tances, S A, S P, and the arc A P, 
 in imitation of the manner in which 
 he remembered that Archimedes had 
 found the area of the circle, by dividing 
 it into an infinite number of small tri- 
 angles by lines drawn from the centre. 
 He hoped therefore to find, that the 
 time of passing from A to P bore nearly 
 the same ratio to the whole period of 
 revolution that the area ASP bore to 
 the whole circle. 
 
 This last proportion is in fact accu- 
 rately observed in the revolution of one 
 body round another, in consequence of 
 an attractive force in the central body. 
 Newton afterwards proved this, ground- 
 ing bis demonstration upon laws of 
 motion altogether irreconcileable with 
 Kepler's opinions ; and it is impossible 
 
 not to admire Kepler's singular good 
 fortune in arriving at this correct result 
 in spite, or rather through the means, of 
 his erroneous principles. It is true that 
 the labour which he bestowed unspar- 
 ingly upon every one of his successive 
 guesses, joined with his admirable can- 
 dour, generally preserved him from long 
 retaining a theory altogether at variance 
 with observations ; and if any relation 
 subsisted between the times and dis- 
 tances which could any way be express- 
 ed by any of the geometrical quantities 
 under consideration, he could scarcely 
 have failed it might be twenty years 
 earlier or twenty years later, to light 
 upon it at last, having once put his in- 
 defatigable fancy. upon this scent. But 
 in order to prevent an over-estimate of 
 his merit in detecting this beautiful law 
 of nature, let us for a moment reflect 
 what might have been his fate had he 
 endeavoured in the same manner, and 
 with the same perseverance, to discover 
 a relation, where, in reality, none exist- 
 ed. Let us take for example the incli- 
 nations or the excentricities of the 
 planetary orbits, among which no rela- 
 tion has yet been discovered ; and if any 
 exists, it is probably of too complicated 
 a nature to be hit at a venture. If Kep- 
 ler had exerted his ingenuity in this 
 direction, he might have wasted his life 
 in fruitless labour, and whatever repu- 
 tation he might have left behind him as 
 an industrious calculator, it would have 
 been very far inferior to that which has 
 procured for him the proud title of the 
 " Legislator of the Heavens." 
 
 However this may be, the immediate 
 consequence of thus fighting upon the 
 real law observed by the earth in its pas- 
 sage round the sun was, that he found 
 himself in possession of a much more ac- 
 curate method of representing its inequa- 
 lities than had been reached by any of his 
 predecessors; and with renewed hopes 
 he again attacked the planet Mars, 
 whose path he was now able to consider 
 undistorted by the illusions arising out 
 of the motion of the earth. Had the 
 path of Mars been accurately circular, 
 or even as nearly approaching a circle as 
 that of the earth, the method he chose 
 of determining its position and size by 
 means of three distances carefully 
 calculated from his observed parallaxes, 
 would have given a satisfactory result; 
 but finding, as he soon did, that almost 
 every set of three distances led him to a 
 different result, he began to suspect 
 another error in the long-received opi- 
 
30 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 nion, that the orbits of the planets must 
 consist of a combination of circles ; he 
 therefore determined, in the first in- 
 stance, to fix the distances of the planet 
 at the apsides without any reference to 
 the form of the intermediate orbit. Half 
 the difference between these would, of 
 course, be the excentricity of the orbit ; 
 and as this quantity came out very 
 nearly the same as had been determined 
 on the vicarious theory, it seemed clear 
 that the error of that theory, whatever it 
 might be, did not lie in these elements. 
 
 Kepler also found that in the case of 
 this planet likewise, the times of describ- 
 ing equal arcs at the apsides were pro- 
 portional to its distances from the sun, 
 and he naturally expected that the me- 
 thod of areas would measure the planet's 
 motion with as much accuracy as he had 
 found in the case of the earth. This hope 
 was disappointed : when he calculated the 
 motion of the planet by this method, he 
 obtained places too much advanced when 
 near the apsides, and too little advanced 
 at the mean distances. He did not, on 
 that account, immediately reject the 
 opinion of circular orbits, but was 
 rather inclined to suspect the principle 
 of measurement, at which he felt that 
 he had arrived in rather a precarious 
 manner. He was fully sensible that 
 his areas did not accurately represent 
 the sums of any distances except those 
 measured from the centre of the circle ; 
 and for some time he abandoned the 
 hope of being able to use this substitu- 
 tion, which he always considered merely 
 as an approximate representation of the 
 true measure, the sum of the distances. 
 But on examination he found that the 
 errors of this substitution were nearly 
 insensible, and those it did in fact pro- 
 duce, were in the contrary direction of 
 the errors he was at this time combating. 
 As scon as he had satisfied himself of 
 this, he ventured once more on the sup- 
 position, which by this time had, in his 
 eyes, almost acquired the force of demon- 
 stration, that the orbits of the planets 
 are not circular, but of an oval form, 
 retiring within the circle at the mean 
 distances, and coinciding with it at the 
 apsides. 
 
 This notion was not altogether new^ 
 it had been suggested in the case of 
 Mercury, by Purbach, in his " Theories 
 of the Planets/' In the edition of this 
 work published by Reinhold, the pupil 
 of Copernicus, we read the following 
 passage. " Sixthly, it appears from 
 what has been said, that the centre of 
 
 Mercury's 'epicycle, by reason of the 
 motions above-mentioned, does not, as 
 is the case with the other planets, de- 
 scribe the circumference of a circular 
 deferent, but rather the periphery of a 
 figure resembling a plane oval." To this 
 is added the following note by Reinhold. 
 " The centre of the Moon's epicycle de- 
 scribes a path of a lenticular shape; 
 Mercury's on the contrary is egg-shaped, 
 the big end lying towards his apogee, 
 and the little end towards his perigee*." 
 The excentricity of Mercury's orbit is, 
 in fact, much greater than that of any 
 of the other planets, and the merit of 
 making this first step cannot reasonably 
 be withheld from Purbach and his com- 
 mentator, although they did not pursue 
 the inquiry so far as Kepler found him- 
 self in a condition to do. 
 
 Before proceeding to the considera- 
 tion of the particular oval which Kepler 
 fixed upon in the first instance, it will 
 be necessary, in order to render intelli- 
 gible the source of many of his doubts 
 and difficulties, to make known some- 
 thing more of his theory of the moving 
 force by which he supposed the planets 
 to be carried round in their orbits. In 
 conformity with the plan hitherto pur- 
 sued, this shall be done as much as pos- 
 sible in his own words. 
 
 *' It is one of the commonest axioms in 
 natural philosophy, that if two things al- 
 ways happen together and in the same 
 manner, and admit the same measure, 
 either the one is the cause of the other, 
 or both are the effect of a common cause. 
 In the present case, the increase or lan- 
 guor of motion invariably corresponds 
 with an approach to or departure from 
 the centre of the universe. Therefore, 
 either the languor is the cause of the 
 departure of the star, or the departure 
 of the languor, or both have a common 
 cause. But no one can be of opinion 
 that there is a concurrence of any third 
 thing to be a common cause of these 
 two effects, and in the following chap- 
 ters it will be made clear that there is 
 no occasion to imagine any such third 
 thing, since the two are of themselves 
 sufficient. Now, it is not agreeable to 
 the nature of things that activity or 
 languor in linear motion should be the 
 cause of distance from the centre. For, 
 distance from the centre is conceived 
 anteriorly to linear motion. In fact 
 linear motion cannot exist without dis- 
 
 * Theories novae planetarum. G. Purbachh, 
 Farisiis, 1553. 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 31 
 
 tance from the centre, since it requires 
 space for its accomplishment, but dis- 
 tance from the centre can be conceived 
 without motion. Therefore distance is 
 the cause of the activity of motion, and 
 a greater or less distance of a greater or 
 less delay. And since distance is of the 
 kind of relative quantities, whose es- 
 sence consists in boundaries, (for there 
 is no efficacy in relation per se without 
 regard to bounds,) it follows that the 
 cause of the varying activity of motion 
 rests in one of the boundaries. But the 
 body of the planet neither becomes 
 heavier by receding, nor lighter by ap- 
 proaching. Besides, it would perhaps 
 be absurd on the very mention of it, 
 that an animal force residing in the 
 moveable body of the planet for the pur- 
 pose of moving it, should exert and re- 
 lax itself so often without weariness or 
 decay. It remains, therefore, that the 
 cause of this activity and languor re- 
 sides at the other boundaiy, that is, in 
 the very centre of the world, from which 
 the distances are computed. Let us 
 continue our investigation of this mov- 
 ing virtue which resides in the sun, and 
 we shall presently recognize its very 
 close analogy to light. And although 
 this moving virtue cannot be identical 
 with the light of the sun, let others look 
 to it whether the light is employed as 
 a sort of instrument, or vehicle, to con- 
 vey the moving virtue. There are these 
 seeming contradictions: first, light is 
 obstructed by opaque bodies, for which 
 reason if the moving virtue travelled on 
 the light, darkness would be followed 
 by a stoppage of the moveable bodies. 
 Again, light flows out in right lines 
 spherically, the moving virtue in right 
 lines also, but cylindrically ; that is, it 
 turns in one direction only, from west to 
 east ; not in the opposite direction, not 
 towards the poles, &c. But perhaps 
 we shall be able presently to reply to 
 these objections. In conclusion, since 
 there is as much virtue in a large and 
 remote circle as in a narrow and close 
 one, nothing of the virtue perishes in 
 the passage from its source, nothing is 
 scattered between the source and the 
 moveable. Therefore the efflux, like that 
 of light, is not material, and is unlike that 
 of odours, which are accompanied by a 
 loss of substance, unlike heat from a 
 raging furnace, unlike every other ema- 
 nation by which mediums are filled. It 
 remains, therefore, that as light which 
 illuminates all earthly things, is the im- 
 material species of that fire which is in 
 
 the body of the sun, so this virtue, em- 
 bracing and moving all the planetary 
 bodies, is the immaterial species of that 
 virtue which resides in the sun itself, of 
 incalculable energy, and so the primary 
 act of all mundane motion. I should 
 like to know who ever said that there 
 was anything material in light ! Guided 
 by our notion of the efflux of this 
 species (or archetype), let us con- 
 template the more intimate nature of 
 the source itself. For it seems as if 
 something divine were latent in the body 
 of the sun, and comparable to our own 
 soul, whence that species emanates 
 which drives round the planets ; just as 
 from the mind of a slinger the species 
 of motion sticks to the stones, and car- 
 ries them forward, even after he who 
 cast them has drawn back his hand. 
 But to those who wish to proceed 
 soberly, reflections differing a little from 
 these will be offered." 
 
 Our readers will, perhaps, be satisfied 
 with the assurance, that these sober 
 considerations will not enable them to 
 form a much more accurate notion of 
 Kepler's meaning , than the passages 
 already cited. We shall therefore pro- 
 ceed to the various opinions he enter- 
 tained on the motion of the planets. 
 
 He considered it as established by his 
 theory, that the centre E of the planet's 
 epicycle (see fig. p. 33.) moved round 
 the circumference of the deferent Dd, 
 according to the law of the planet's dis- 
 tances ; the point remaining to be settled 
 was the motion of the planet in the 
 epicycle. If it were made to move ac- 
 cording to the same law, so that when 
 the centre of the epicycle reached E,the 
 planet should be at F, taking the angle 
 BEF equal to BSA, it has been shewn 
 (p. 1 9) that the path of F would still be 
 a circle, excentric from Dd by DA the 
 radius of the epicycle. 
 
 But Kepler fancied that he saw many 
 sound reasons why this could not be the 
 true law of motion in the epicycle, on 
 which reasons he relied much more 
 firmly than on the indisputable fact, 
 which he mentions as a collateral proof, 
 that it was contradicted by the observa- 
 tions. Some of these reasons are sub- 
 joined : " In the beginning of the work 
 it has been declared to be most absurd, 
 that a planet (even though we suppose 
 it endowed with mind) should form any 
 notion of a centre, and a distance from 
 it, if there be ho body in that centre to 
 serve for a distinguishing mark. And 
 although you should say, that the planet 
 
KEPLER;. 
 
 has respect to the sun, and knows be- 
 forehand, and remembers the order in 
 which the distances from the sun are 
 comprised, so as to make a perfect ex- 
 centric ; in the first place, this is rather 
 far-fetched, and requires, in any mind, 
 means for connecting the effect of an 
 accurately circular path with the sign 
 of an increasing and diminishing dia- 
 meter of the sun. Butthere are no 
 such means, except the position of the 
 centre of the excentric at a given dis- 
 tance from the sun ; and I have already 
 said, that this is beyond the power of a 
 mere mind. I do not deny that a centre 
 may be imagined, and a circle round it ; 
 but this I do say, if the circle exists 
 only in imagination, with no external 
 sign or division, that it is not possible 
 that the path of a moveable body should 
 be really ordered round it in an exact 
 circle. "Besides, if the planet chooses 
 from memory its just distances from 
 the sun, so as exactly to form a circle, 
 it must also take from the same source, 
 as if out of the Prussian or Alphonsine 
 tables, equal excentric arcs, to be de- 
 scribed in unequal times, and to be de- 
 scribed by a force extraneous from the 
 sun ; and thus would have, from its 
 memory, a foreknowledge of what effects 
 a virtue, senseless and extraneous from 
 the sun, was about to produce : all these 
 consequences are absurd.'" 
 
 " It is therefore more agreeable 'to 
 reason that the planet takes no thought, 
 either of the excentric or epicycle ; but 
 that the work which it accomplishes, or 
 joins in effecting, is a libratory path in 
 the diameter B b of the epicycle, in the 
 direction towards the sun. The law is 
 now to be discovered, according to which 
 the planet arrives at the proper distances 
 in any time. And indeed in this inquiry, 
 it is easier to say what the law is not 
 than what it is.*' Here, according to his 
 custom, Kepler enumerates several laws 
 of motion by which the planet might 
 choose to regulate its energies, each of 
 which is successively condemned. Only 
 one of them is here mentioned, as a spe- 
 cimen of the rest. " What then if we 
 were to say this ? Although the motions 
 of the planet are not epicyclical, perhaps 
 the libration is so arranged that the dis- 
 tances from the sun are equal to what 
 they would have been in a real epicycli- 
 cal motion. This leads to more incredi- 
 ble consequences than the former suppo- 
 sitions, and yet in the dearth of better 
 opinions, let us for the present content 
 ourselves with this. The^ greater num- 
 
 ber of absurd conclusions it will be found 
 to involve, the more ready will a physi- 
 cian be, when we come to the fifty- second 
 chapter, to admit what the observations 
 testify, that the path of the planet is not 
 circular." 
 
 The first oval path on which Kepler 
 was induced to fix, by these and many 
 other similar considerations, was in the 
 first instance very different from the 
 true elliptical form. Most authors would 
 have thought it unnecessary to detain 
 their readers with a theory which they 
 had once entertained and rejected ; but 
 Kepler s work was written on a different 
 plan. He thus introduces an explana- 
 tion of his first oval. "As soon as I 
 was thus taught by Brahe's very accu- 
 rate observations that the orbit of a pla- 
 net is not circular, but more compressed 
 at the sides, on the instant 1 thought 
 that I understood the natural cause of 
 this deflection. But the old proverb was 
 verified in my case ; the more haste the 
 less speed. For having violently la- 
 boured in the 39th chapter, in conse- 
 quence of my inability to find a suffi- 
 ciently probable cause why the orbit of 
 the planet should be a perfect -circle, 
 (some absurdities always remaining with 
 respect to that virtue which resides in 
 the body of the planet,) and having now 
 discovered from the observations, that 
 the orbit is not a perfect circle, I felt fu- 
 riously inclined to believe that if the 
 theory which had been recognized as 
 absurd, when employed in the 39th 
 chapter for the purpose of fabricating a 
 circle, were modulated into a more pro- 
 bable form, it would produce an accurate 
 orbit agreeing with the observations. 
 If I had entered on this course a little 
 more warily, I might have detected the 
 truth immediately. But, being blinded 
 by my eagerness, and not sufficiently re- 
 gardful of every part of the 39th chapter, 
 and clinging to my first opinion, which 
 offered itself to me with a wonderful 
 show of probability, on account of the 
 equable motion in the epicycle, I got en- 
 tangled in new perplexities, with which 
 we shall now have to struggle in this 
 45th chapter and the following ones as 
 far as the 50th chapter." 
 
 In this theory, Kepler supposed that 
 whilst the centre of the epicycle was 
 moving round a circular deferent accord- 
 ing to the law of the planets' distances 
 (or areas) the planet itself moved equably 
 in the epicycle, with the mean angular 
 velocity of its centre in the deferent. 
 In consequence of this^supposition, since 
 
KEPLER 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 at D, when the planet is at A the aphe- 
 lion, the motion in the deferent is less than 
 the mean motion, the planet will have ad- 
 vanced through an angle BEP greater 
 than B E F or B S A, through which the 
 centre of the epicycle has moved ; and 
 consequently, the path will lie every- 
 where within the circle A a, except at 
 the apsides. Here was a new train of 
 laborious calculations to undergo for the 
 purpose of drawing the curve AP a 
 according to this law, and of measuring 
 the area of any part of it. After a 
 variety of fruitless attempts, for this 
 curve is one of singular complexity, he 
 was reduced, as a last resource, to sup- 
 pose it insensibly different from an 
 ellipse on the same principal axes, as an 
 approximate means of estimating its 
 area. Not content even with the results 
 so obtained, and not being able to see 
 very clearly what might be the effect of 
 his alteration in substituting the ellipse 
 for the oval, and in other simplifications 
 introduced by him, he had courage 
 enough to obtain the sums of the 
 360 distances by direct calculation, as 
 he had done in the old circular theory. 
 
 In the preface to his book he had spoken 
 of his labours under the allegory of a 
 war carried on by him against the planet; 
 and when exulting in the early prospects 
 of success this calculation seemed to 
 offer, he did not omit once more to warn 
 his readers, in his peculiar strain, that 
 this exultation was premature. 
 
 " Allow me, gentle reader, to enjoy 
 so splendid a triumph for one little day 
 (I mean through the five next chapters), 
 meantime be all rumours suppressed of 
 new rebellion, that our preparations 
 may not perish, yielding us no delight. 
 Hereafter if anything shall come to pass, 
 we will go through it in its own time and 
 season ; now let us be merry, as then 
 we will be bold and vigorous." At the 
 time foretold, that is to say, at the end 
 
 > 
 
 of the five merry chapters, the ba^newSs^A 
 could no longer be kept a secrtK >^Uig * 
 announced in the following bulleriifltj^ 
 " While thus triumphing over * 
 and preparing for him, as for one 
 altogether vanquished, tabular prisons, 
 and equated eccentric fetters, it is 
 buzzed here and there that the victory 
 is vain, and that the war is raging 
 anew as violently as before. For the 
 enemy, left at home a despised captive, 
 has burst all the chains of the equations, 
 and broken forth of the prisons of the 
 tables. For no method of geometrically 
 administering the theory of the 45 th 
 chapter was able to come near the accu- 
 racy of approximation of the vicarious 
 theory of the 16th chapter, which gave 
 me true equations derived from false 
 principles. Skirmishers, disposed all 
 round the circuit of the excentric, (I 
 mean the true distances,) routed my 
 forces of physical causes levied out of 
 the 45th chapter, and shaking off the 
 yoke, regained their liberty. And now 
 there was little to prevent the fugitive 
 enemy from effecting a junction with his 
 rebellious supporters, and reducing me 
 to despair, had I not suddenly sent into 
 the field a reserve of new physical rea- 
 sonings on the rout and dispersion of the 
 veterans, and diligently followed, with- 
 out allowing him the slightest respite, in 
 the direction in which he had broken 
 out." 
 
 In plainer terms, Kepler found, after 
 this labour was completed, that the 
 eiTors in longitude he was still subject 
 to were precisely of an opposite nature 
 to those he had found with the circle ; 
 instead of being too quick at the ap- 
 sides, the planet was now too slow there, 
 and too much accelerated in the mean 
 distances ; and the distances obtained 
 from direct observation were every- 
 where greater, except at the apsides, 
 than those furnished by this oval theory. 
 It was in the course of these tedious 
 investigations that he established, still 
 more satisfactorily than he had before 
 done, that the inclinations of the planets' 
 orbits are invariable, and that the lines 
 of their nodes "pass through the centre 
 of the Sun, and not, as before his time 
 had been supposed, through the centre 
 of the ecliptic. 
 
 When Kepler found with certainty 
 that this oval from which he expected 
 so much would not satisfy the obser- 
 vations, his vexation was extreme, not 
 merely from the mortification of finding 
 a theory confuted on which he had spent 
 
34 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 such excessive labour, for he was accus- 
 tomed to disappointments of that kind, 
 but principally from many anxious and 
 fruitless speculations as to the real phy- 
 sical causes why the planet did not move 
 in the supposed epicycle, that being the 
 point of view, as has been already shewn, 
 from which he always preferred to begin 
 his inquiries. One part of the reason- 
 ing by which he reconciled himself to 
 the failure exhibits much too curious a 
 view of the state of his mind to be 
 passed over in silence. The argument 
 is founded on the difficulty which he 
 met with, as abovementioned, in calcu- 
 lating the proportions of the oval path 
 he had imagined. - "In order that 
 yOu may see the cause of the impracti- 
 cability of this method which we have 
 just gone through, consider on what 
 foundations it rests. The planet is sup- 
 posed to move equably in the epicycle, 
 and to be carried by the Sun unequably 
 in the proportion of the distances. But 
 by this method it is impossible to be 
 known how much of the oval path cor- 
 responds to any given time, although 
 the distance at that part is known, un- 
 less we first know the length of the 
 whole oval. But the length of the oval 
 cannot be known, except from the law 
 of the entry of the planet within the 
 sides of the circle. But neither can the 
 law of this entry be known before we 
 know how much of the oval path cor- 
 responds to any given time. Here you 
 see that there is a petitio principii ; and 
 in my operations I was assuming that of 
 which I was in search, namely,the length 
 of the oval. This is at least not the 
 fault of my understanding, but it is also 
 most alien to the primary Ordainer of 
 the planetary courses : I have never yet 
 found so ungeometrical a contrivance 
 in his other works. Therefore we must 
 either hit upon some other method of 
 reducing the theory of the 45th chapter 
 to calculation ; or if that cannot be done, 
 the theory itself, suspected on account of 
 this petitio principii, will totter." Whilst 
 his mind was thus occupied, one of those 
 extraordinary accidents which it has been 
 said never occur but to those capable 
 of deriving advantage from them (but 
 which, in fact, are never noticed when 
 they occur to any one else), fortunately 
 put him once more upon the right path. 
 Half the extreme breadth between the 
 oval and the circle nearly represented the 
 errors of his distances at the mean point, 
 and he found that this half was 429 parts 
 of a radius, consisting of 100000 parts ; 
 
 and happening to advert to the greatest 
 optical inequality of Mars, which amounts 
 to about 5 18', it struck him that 429 
 was precisely the excess of the secant of 
 5 18' above the radius taken at 100000. 
 This was a ray of light, and, to use his 
 own words, it roused him as out of sleep. 
 In short, this single observation was 
 enough to produce conviction in his 
 singularly constituted mind, that instead 
 of the distances S F, he should every- 
 where substitute F V, determined by 
 drawing S V perpendicular on the line 
 F C, since the excess of SF above FV 
 is manifestly that of the secant above 
 the radius in the optical equation S F G 
 at that point. It is still more extraor- 
 dinary that a substitution made for such 
 a reason should have the luck/'as is 
 again the case, to be the right one. 
 This substitution in fact amounted to 
 supposing that the planet, instead of 
 being at the distance S P or S F, was 
 at S n ; or, in other words, that instead of 
 revolving in the circumference, it librated 
 in the diameter of the epicycle, which was 
 to him an additional recommendation. 
 Upon this new supposition a fresh set of 
 distances was rapidly calculated, and to 
 Kepler's inexpressible joy, they were 
 found to agree with the observations 
 within the limits of the errors to which 
 the latter were necessarily subject. Not- 
 withstanding this success, he had to 
 undergo, before arriving at the success- 
 ful termination of his labours, one more 
 disappointment. Although the distance 
 corresponding to a time from the aphe- 
 lion represented approximately by the 
 area ASF, was thus found to be accu- 
 rately represented by the line S n, there 
 was still an error with regard to the di- 
 rection in which that distance was to be 
 measured. Kepler's first idea was to set 
 it off in the direction S F, but this he 
 found to lead to inaccurate longitudes ; 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 35 
 
 and it was not until after much per- 
 plexity, driving him, as he tells us, 
 " almost to insanity," that he satisfied 
 himself that the distance S Q equal to 
 FV ought to be taken terminating in 
 F m, the line from F perpendicular to A a, 
 the line of apsides, and that the curve so 
 traced out by Q would be an accurate 
 ellipse. 
 
 He then found to his equal gratification 
 and amazement, a small part of which he 
 endeavoured to express by a triumphant 
 figure on the side of his diagram, that 
 the error he had committed in taking the 
 area A S F to represent the sums of the 
 distances S F, was exactly counterba- 
 lanced; for this area does accurately 
 represent the sums of the distances F V or 
 S Q. This compensation, which seemed 
 to Kepler the greatest confirmation of 
 his theory, is altogether accidental and 
 immaterial, resulting from the relation 
 between the ellipse and circle. If the 
 laws of planetary attraction had chanced 
 to have been any other than those which 
 cause them to describe ellipses, this last 
 singular confirmation of an erroneous 
 theory could not have taken place, and 
 Kepler would have been forced either to 
 abandon the theory of the areas, which 
 even then would have continued to mea- 
 sure and define their motions, or to re- 
 nounce the physical opinions from which 
 he professed to have deduced it as an 
 approximative truth. 
 
 These are two of the three celebrated 
 theorems called Kepler's laws: the first 
 is, that the planets move in ellipses round 
 the sun, placed in the focus ; the second, 
 that the time of describing any arc is 
 proportional in fhe same orbit to the 
 area included between the arc and the 
 two bounding distances from the sun. 
 The third will be mentioned on another 
 occasion, as it was not discovered till 
 twelve years later. On the establish- 
 ment of these two theorems, it became 
 important to discover a method of mea- 
 suring such elliptic areas, but this is a 
 problem which cannot be accurately 
 solved. Kepler, in offering it to the 
 attention of geometricians, stated his be- 
 lief that its solution was unattainable by 
 direct processes, on account of the in- 
 commensurability of the arc and sine, on 
 which the measurement of the two parts 
 AQm, SQm depends. " This," says 
 he in conclusion, " this is my belief, and 
 whoever shall shew my mistake, and 
 point out the true solution, 
 
 Is erit mihi magnus Apollonius." 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Kepler appointed Professor at Linz 
 His second marriage Publishes his 
 View Method of Gauging Refuses a 
 Professorship at Bologna. 
 
 When presenting this celebrated book 
 to the emperor, Kepler gave notice 
 that he contemplated a farther attack 
 upon Mars's relations, father Jupiter, 
 brother Mercury, and the rest ; and 
 promised that he would be successful, 
 provided the emperor would not forget 
 the sinews of war, and order him to be 
 furnished anew with means for recruit- 
 ing his army. The death of his unhappy 
 patron, the Emperor Rodolph, which 
 happened in 1612, barely in time to save 
 him from the last disgrace of deposition 
 from the Imperial throne, seemed to put 
 additional difficulties in the way of Kep- 
 ler's receiving the arrears so unjustly 
 denied to him ; but on the accession of 
 Rodolph's brother, Matthias, he was 
 again named to his post of Imperial Ma- 
 thematician, and had also a permanent 
 professorship assigned to him in the Uni- 
 versity of Linz. He quitted Prague with- 
 out much regret, where he had struggled 
 against poverty during eleven years. 
 Whatever disinclination he might feel to 
 depart, arose from his unwillingness to 
 loosen still more the hold he yet retained 
 upon the wreck of Tycho Brahe's instru- 
 ments and observations. Tengnagel, 
 son-in-law of Tycho, had abandoned as- 
 tronomy for a political career, and the 
 other members of his family, who were 
 principally females, suffered the costly 
 instruments to lie neglected and for- 
 gotten, although they had obstructed 
 with the utmost jealousy Kepler's at- 
 tempts to continue their utility. The 
 only two instruments Kepler possessed 
 of his own property, were " An iron 
 sextant of 1\ feet diameter, and a brass 
 azimuthal quadrant, of 34 feet diameter, 
 both divided into minutes of a degree." 
 These were the gift of his friend and 
 patron, Hoffman, the President of Styria, 
 and with these he made all the obser- 
 vations which he added to those of 
 Tycho Brahe. His constitution was not 
 favourable to these studies, his health 
 being always delicate, and suffering 
 much from exposure to the night air"; 
 his eyes also were very weak, as he men- 
 tions himself in several places. In the 
 summary of his character which he 
 drew up when proposing to become 
 Tycho Brahe's assistant, he describes 
 himself as follows ; " For observations 
 
36 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 my sight is dull ; for mechanical opera- 
 tions my hand is awkward ; in politics 
 and domestic matters my nature is 
 troublesome and choleric ; my constitu- 
 tion will not allow me, even when in 
 good health, to remain a long time 
 sedentary (particularly for an extraor- 
 dinary time after dinner); I must rise 
 often and walk about, and in different 
 seasons am forced to make correspond- 
 ing changes in my diet." 
 
 The year preceding his departure to 
 Linz was denounced by him as pregnant 
 with misfortune and misery. " In the 
 first place I could get no money from 
 the court, and my wife, who had for a 
 long time been suffering under low 
 spirits and despondency, was taken 
 violently ill towards the end of 1 6 1 0, with 
 the Hungarian fever, epilepsy, and phre- 
 nitis. She was scarcely convalescent 
 when all my three children were at once 
 attacked with small-pox. Leopold with 
 his army occupied the town beyond the 
 river, just as I lost the dearest of my 
 sons, him whose nativity you will find 
 in my book on the new star. The town 
 on this side of the river where I lived 
 was harassed by the Bohemian troops, 
 whose new levies were insubordinate 
 and insolent : to complete the whole, 
 the Austrian army brought the plague 
 with them into the city. I went into 
 Austria, and endeavoured to procure the 
 situation which I now hold. Return- 
 ing in June, I found my wife in a decline 
 from her grief at the death of her son, 
 and on the eve of an infectious fever ; 
 and I lost her also, within eleven days 
 afrer my return. Then came fresh an- 
 noyance, of course, and her fortune 
 was to be divided with my step-sisters. 
 The Emperor Rodolph would not agree 
 to my departure ; vain hopes were given 
 me of being paid from Saxony ; my 
 time and money were wasted together, 
 till on the death of the emperor, in 1612, 
 I was named again by his successor, 
 and suffered to depart to Linz. These, 
 methinks, were reasons enough why I 
 should have overlooked not only your 
 letters, but even astronomy itself." 
 
 Kepler's first marriage had not been 
 a happy one ; but the necessity in w r hich 
 he felt himself of providing some one to 
 take charge of his two surviving children, 
 of whom the eldest, Susanna, was born 
 in 1602, and Louis in 1607, determined 
 him on entering a second time into the 
 married state. The account he has left 
 us of the various negotiations which 
 preceded ins final choice, does not, in 
 
 any point, belie the oddity of his charac 
 ter. His friends seem to have received 
 a general commission to look out for a 
 suitable match, and in a long and most 
 amusing letter to the Baron Strahlendorf, 
 we are made acquainted with the pre- 
 tensions and qualifications of no less 
 than eleven ladies among whom his in- 
 clinations wavered. 
 
 The first on the list was a widow 7 , an 
 intimate friend of his first wife's, and 
 who, on many accounts, appeared a 
 most eligible match. "At first she 
 seemed favourably inclined to the pro- 
 posal ; it is certain that she took lime 
 to consider it, but at last she very 
 quietly excused herself." It must have 
 been from a recollection of this lady's 
 good qualities that Kepler was induced 
 to make his offer ; for we learn rather 
 unexpectedly, after being informed of 
 her decision, that when he soon after- 
 wards paid his respects to her, it was 
 for the first time that he had seen her 
 during the last six years ; and he found, 
 to his great relief, that " there was no 
 single pleasing point about her." The 
 truth seems to. be that he was nettled 
 by her answer, and he is at greater 
 pains than appear necessary, consider- 
 ing this last discovery, to determine 
 why she would not accept his offered 
 hand. Among other reasons he sug- 
 gested her children, among whom were 
 two marriageable daughters ; and it is 
 diverting afterwards to find them also 
 in the catalogue which Kepler appeared 
 to be making of all his female acquaint- 
 ance. He seems to have been much 
 perplexed in attempting to reconcile his 
 astrological theory with the fact of his 
 having taken so much trouble about a 
 negotiation not destined to succeed. 
 " Have the stars exercised any influence 
 here ? For just about this time the 
 direction of the Mid-Heaven is in hot 
 opposition to Mars, and the passage of 
 Saturn, through the ascending point of 
 the zodiac, in the scheme of my nativity, 
 will happen again next November and 
 December. But if these are the causes, 
 how do they act ? Is that explanation 
 the true one which I have elsewhere 
 given ? For I can never think of 
 handing over to the stars the office of 
 deities to produce effects. Let us there- 
 fore suppose it accounted for by the 
 stars, that at this season I am violent 
 in my temper and affections, in rashness 
 of belief, in a shew of pitiful tender- 
 heartedness ; in catching at reputation 
 by new and paradoxical notions, and the 
 
KEPLER 
 
 singularity of my actions ; in busily in- 
 quiring into, and weighing and dis- 
 cussing, various reasons ; in the un- 
 easiness of my mind with respect to my 
 choice. T thank God that that did not 
 happen which might have happened; 
 that this marriage did not take place : 
 now for the others." Of these others, 
 one was too old, another in bad health, 
 another too proud of her birth and 
 quartering^ ; a fourth had learned no- 
 thing butshewy accomplishments, " not 
 at all suitable to the sort of life she 
 would have to lead with me." Another 
 grew impatient, and married a more 
 decided admirer, whilst he was hesitat- 
 ing. "The mischief (says he) in all 
 these attachments was, that whilst I 
 was delaying, comparing, and balancing 
 conflicting reasons, every day saw me 
 inflamed with a new passion." By the 
 time he reached the eighth, he found 
 his match in this respect. " Fortune at 
 length has avenged herself on my doubt- 
 ful inclinations. At first she was quite 
 complying, and her friends also: pre- 
 sently, whether she did or did not con- 
 sent, not only I, but she herself did not 
 know. After the lapse of a few days, 
 came a renewed promise, which how- 
 ever had to be confirmed a third time ; 
 and four days after that, she again re- 
 pented her confirmation, and begged to 
 be excused from it. Upon this I gave 
 her up, and this time all my counsellors 
 were of one opinion." This was the 
 longest courtship in the list, having 
 lasted three whole months ; and quite 
 disheartened by its bad success, Kepler's 
 next attempt was of a more timid com- 
 plexion. His advances to No. 9, were 
 made by confiding to her the whole 
 story of his recent disappointment, pru- 
 dently determining to be guided in his 
 behaviour, by observing whether the 
 treatment he had experienced met with 
 a proper degree of sympathy.. Appa- 
 rently the experiment did not succeed ; 
 and almost reduced to despair, Kepler 
 betook himself to the advice of a friend, 
 who had for some time past complained 
 that she was not consulted in this diffi- 
 cult negotiation. "When she produced 
 No. 10, and the first visit was paid, the 
 report upon her was as follows : " She 
 has, undoubtedly, a good fortune, is of 
 good family, and of economical habits: 
 but her physiognomy is most horribly 
 ttgly ; she would be stared at in the 
 streets, not to mention the striking dis- 
 proportion in our figures. 1 am lank, 
 lean, and spare ; she is short and thick : 
 in a family notoi ious for .fatness she is 
 
 considered superfluously fat." The only 
 objection to No. 11 seems to have been 
 her excessive youth; and when this 
 treaty was broken of on that account, 
 Kepler turned his back upon all his ad- 
 visers, and chose for himself one who 
 had figured as No. 5 in the list, to 
 whom he professes to have felt attached 
 throughout, but from whom the repre- 
 sentations of his friends had hitherto 
 detained him, probably on account of 
 her humble station. 
 
 The following is Kepler's summary of 
 her character. "Her name is Susanna, the 
 daughter of John Reuthinger and Bar- 
 bara, citizens of the town of Eferdingen ; 
 the father was by trade a cabinet-maker, 
 but both her parents are dead. She has 
 received an education well worth the 
 largest dowry, by favour of the Lady of 
 Stahrenberg, the strictness of whose 
 household is famous throughout the 
 province. Her person and manners are 
 suitable to mine ; no pride, no extra- 
 vagance ; she can bear to work ; she has 
 a tolerable knowledge how to manage a 
 family ; middle-aged, and of a disposition 
 and capability to acquire what she still 
 wants. Her I shall marry by favour of 
 the noble baron of Stahrenberg at twelve 
 o'clock on the 30th of next October, with 
 all Eferdingen assembled to meet us, and 
 we shall eat the marriage- dinner at 
 Maurice's at the Golden Lion." 
 
 Hantsch has made an absurd mistake 
 with regard to this marriage, in stating 
 that the bride was only twelve years old. 
 Kastner and other biographers have 
 been content to repeat the same asser- 
 tion without any comment, notwith- 
 standing its evident improbability. 
 The origin of the blunder is to be found 
 in Kepler's correspondence withBerneg- 
 ger, to whom, speaking of his wife, he 
 says " She has been educated for twelve 
 years by the Lady of Stahrenberg." 
 This is by no means, a single instance of 
 carelessness in Hantsch ; Kastner has 
 pointed out others of greater consequence. 
 it was owing to This marriage, that 
 Kepler took occasion to write his new 
 method of gauging, for as he tells us in 
 his own peculiar style " last November 
 I brought home a new wife, and as the 
 whole course of Danube was then 
 covered with the produce of the Aus- 
 trian vineyards, to be sold at a rea- 
 sonable rate, I purchased a few casks, 
 thinking it my duty as a good husband 
 and a father of a family, to see that my 
 household was well provided with drink." 
 When the seller came to ascertain the 
 quantity, Kepler objected to his method 
 
38 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 of gauging, for he allowed no difference, 
 whatever misftt he the proportion of the 
 bulging parts. The reflections to which 
 this incident gave rise, terminated in the 
 publication of the above-mentioned 
 treatise, which claims a place among 
 the earliest specimens of what is now 
 called the modern analysis. In it he 
 extended several properties of plane 
 figures to segments of cones and cylin- 
 ders, from the consideration that " these 
 solids are incorporated circles," and, 
 therefore, that those properties are true 
 of the whole which belong to each com- 
 ponent part. That the book might end 
 as oddly as it began, Kepler concluded 
 it with a parody of Catullus : 
 
 " Et cum pocula mille mcnsi erimus 
 Conturbabimus ilia, ne sciamus. " 
 
 His new residence at Linz was not 
 long undisturbed. He quarrelled there, 
 as he had done in the early part of 
 his life at Gratz, with the Roman Ca- 
 tholic party, and was excommunicated. 
 " Judge," says he to Peter Hoffman, 
 * how far I can assist you, in a place 
 where the priest and school-inspector 
 have combined to brand me with the 
 public stigma of heresy, because in every 
 question I take that side which seems to 
 me to be consonant with the word of 
 God." The particular dogma which oc- 
 casioned his excommunication, was con- 
 nected with the doctrine of transubstan- 
 tiation. He published his creed in a 
 copy of Latin verses, preserved by his 
 biographer Hantsch. 
 
 Before this occurrence, Kepler had 
 been called to the diet at Ratisbon to 
 give his opinion on the propriety of 
 adopting the Gregorian reformation of 
 the calendar, and he published a short 
 essay, pointing out the respective con- 
 venience of doing so, or of altering 
 the old Julian Calendar in some other 
 manner. Notwithstanding the readi- 
 ness of the diet to avail themselves of 
 his talents for the settlement of a dif- 
 ficult question, the arrears of his salary 
 were not paid much more regularly than 
 they had been in Rodolph's time, and he 
 was driven to provide himself with money 
 by the publication of his almanac, of 
 which necessity he heavily and justly 
 complained. " In order to pay the ex- 
 pense of the Ephemeris for these two 
 years, I have also written a vile prophe- 
 sying almanac, which is scarcely more 
 respectable than begging; unless it be 
 because it saves the emperor's credit, 
 who abandons me entirely ; and with all 
 his frequent and recent orders in council, 
 
 would suffer me toperish with hunger.' 1 
 Kepler published this Ephemeris an- 
 nually till 1620 ; ten years later he added 
 those belonging to the years from 1620 
 to 162S. 
 
 In 1617 Kepler was invited into Italy, 
 to succeed Magini as Professor of Ma- 
 thematics at Bologna. The offer tempted 
 him; but, after mature consideration, he 
 rejected it, on grounds which he thus 
 explained to Roffini: "By birth and 
 spirit I am a German, imbued with Ger- 
 man principles, and bound by such fa- 
 mily ties, that even if the emperor should 
 consent, 1 could not, without the greatest 
 difficulty, remove my dwelling-place from 
 Germany into Italy. And although the 
 glory of holding so distinguished a situa- 
 tion among the venerable professors of 
 Bologna stimulates me, and there ap- 
 pears great likelihood of notably in- 
 creasing my fortune, as well from the 
 great concourse to the public lectures, as 
 from private tuition ; yet, on the other 
 hand, that period of my life is past which 
 was once excited by novelty, or which 
 might promise itself a long enjoyment of 
 these advantages. Besides, from a boy 
 up to my present years, living a German 
 among Germans, I am accustomed to a 
 degree of freedom in my speech and 
 manners, which, if persevered in on my 
 removal to Bologna, seems likely to draw 
 upon me, if not danger, at least notoriety, 
 and might expose me to suspicion and 
 party malice. Notwithstanding this an- 
 swer, I have yet hopes that your most 
 honourable invitation will be of service 
 to me, and may make the imperial trea- 
 surer more ready than he has hitherto 
 been to fulfil his master's intentions to- 
 wards me. In that case I shall the sooner 
 be able to publish the Rudolphine Tables 
 and the Ephemerides, of which you had 
 the scheme so many years back; and in 
 this manner you and your advisers may 
 have no reason to regret this invitation, 
 though for the present it seems fruit- 
 less." 
 
 In 1619, the Emperor Matthias died, 
 and was succeeded by Ferdinand III., 
 who retained Kepler in the post he had 
 filled under his two predecessors on the 
 imperial throne. Kastner, in his " His- 
 tory of Mathematics," has corrected a 
 gross error of Hantsch, in asserting that 
 Kepler prognosticated Matthias's death. 
 The letter to which Hantsch refers, in 
 support of his statement, does indeed 
 mention the emperor's death, but merely 
 as a notorious event, for the purpose of 
 recalling a date to the memory of his 
 correspondent. 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 39 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Kepler publishes his Harmonics 
 Account of his Astrological Opinions 
 and Discovery of the Law of the Pe- 
 riods of the Planetary Revolutioiis 
 Sketch of Newton's proof of Kepler" s 
 Laws. 
 
 The " Cosmographical Mystery" was 
 written, as has been already mentioned, 
 when Kepler was only twenty-six, and 
 the wildness of its theories might be con- 
 sidered as due merely to the vivacity of 
 a young man ; but 'as if purposely to 
 shew that his maturer age did not re- 
 nounce the creations of his youthful 
 fancy, he reprinted the " Mystery" in 
 1619, nearly at the same time when he 
 published his celebrated work on Har- 
 monics ; and the extravagance of the 
 latter publication does not at all lose in 
 comparison with its predecessor. It is 
 dedicated to James I. of England, and 
 divided into five books : " The first, Geo- 
 metrical, on the origin and demonstration 
 of the laws of the figures which produce 
 harmonious proportions ; the second, 
 Architectonical, on figurate geometry, 
 and the congruence of plane and solid 
 regular figures ; the third, properly 
 Harmonic, on the derivation of musical 
 proportions from figures, and on the na- 
 ture and distinction of things relating to 
 song, in opposition to the old theories ; 
 the fourth, Metaphysical, Psychological, 
 and Astrological, on the mental essence 
 of harmonies, and of their kinds in the 
 world, especially on the harmony of rays 
 emanating on the earth from the hea- 
 venly bodies, and on their effect in na- 
 ture, and on the sublunary and human 
 soul ; the fifth, Astronomical and Me- 
 taphysical, on the very exquisite harmo- 
 nies of the celestial motions, and the 
 origin of the excentricities in harmonious 
 proportions." 
 
 r lhe two first books are almost strictly, 
 as Kepler styles them, geometrical, 
 relating in great measure to the inscrip- 
 tion of regular polygons in a circle. 
 The following passage is curious, pre- 
 senting an analogous idea to that con- 
 tained in one of the extracts already 
 given from the Commentaries on Mars. 
 M The heptagon, and all other polygons 
 and stars beyond it, which have a prime 
 number of sides, and all other figures 
 derived from them, cannot be inscribed 
 geometrically in a circle; although their 
 sides have a necessary magnitude, it is 
 equally a matter of necessity that we 
 remain ignorant of it. This is a ques- 
 
 tion of great importance, for on this 
 account is it that the heptagon, and other 
 figures of this kind, have not been em- 
 ployed by God in the adornment of the 
 world, as the other intelligible figures 
 are employed which have been already 
 explained." Kepler then introduces the 
 algebraical equation, on the solution of 
 which this problem depends, and makes 
 a remark which is curious at this period 
 of the history of algebra that the root 
 of an equation which cannot be accu- 
 rately found, may yet be found within 
 any degree of approximation by an ex- 
 pert calculator. In conclusion he again 
 remarks that " the side of the heptagon 
 has no place among scientific existences, 
 since its formal description is impos- 
 sible, and therefore it cannot be known 
 by the human mind, since the possibility 
 of description precedes the possibility of 
 knowledge ; nor is it known even by the 
 simple eternal act of an omniscient 
 mind, because its nature belongs to 
 things which cannot be known. And 
 yet this scientific nonentity has some 
 scientific properties, for if a heptagon 
 were described in a circle, the proportion 
 of its sides would have analogous pro- 
 portions." 
 
 The third book is a treatise on music, in 
 the confined and ordinary sense in which 
 we now use that word, and apparently a 
 sober and rational one, at least as nearly 
 so as Kepler could be trusted to write on 
 a subject so dangerous to his discretion. 
 All the extravagance of the work seems 
 reserved for the fourth book, the title of 
 which already conveys some notion of 
 the nature of its contents. In this book 
 he has collected the substance of the 
 astrological opinions scattered through 
 his other works. We shall content our- 
 selves with merely citing his own words, 
 without any attempt to explain the dif- 
 ference between the astrology which he 
 believed, and that which he con- 
 temptuously rejected. The distinctive 
 line seems very finely drawn, and as both 
 one and the other are now discarded by 
 all who enjoy the full use of their rea- 
 soning powers, it is not of much conse- 
 quence that it should be accurately 
 traced. 
 
 It is to be observed, that he does not 
 in this treatise modify or recant anything 
 of his earlier opinions, but refers to the 
 favourable judgment of his contem- 
 porary philosophers as a reason for 
 embodying them in a regular form. 
 " Since many very celebrated professors 
 of philosophy and medicine are of opinion 
 
40 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 that I have created a new and most true 
 philosophy, this tender plant, like all 
 novelties, ought to be carefully nursed 
 and cherished, so that it may strike root 
 in the minds of philosophers, and not be 
 choked by the excessive humours of vain 
 sophistications, or washed away by the 
 torrents of vulgar prejudices, or frozen 
 by the chill of public neglect ; and if I 
 succeed in guarding it from these 
 , dangers, I have no fear that it will be 
 crushed by the storms of calumny, or 
 parched by the sun of sterling criticism." 
 
 One thing is very remarkable in Kep- 
 ler's creed, that he whose candour is so 
 indisputable in every other part of his 
 conduct, professed to have been forced 
 to adopt his astrological opinions from 
 direct and positive observation. " It is 
 now more than twenty years since I 
 began to maintain opinions like these on 
 the predominant nature of the elements, 
 which, adopting the common name, 1 
 call sublunary. I have been driven to 
 this not by studying or admiring Plato, 
 but singly and solely by observing 
 seasons, and noting the aspects by which 
 they are produced. I have seen the 
 state of the atmosphere almost uniformly 
 disturbed as often as the planets are in 
 conjunction, or in the other configura- 
 tions so celebrated among astrologers. 
 I have noticed its tranquil state, either 
 when there are none or few such aspects, 
 or when they are transitory and of short 
 duration. I have not formed an opinion 
 on this matter without good grounds, 
 like the common herd of prophesiers, 
 who describe the operations of the stars 
 as if they were a sort of deities, the lords 
 of heaven and earth, and producing 
 everything at their pleasure. They never 
 trouble themselves to consider what 
 means the stars have of working any 
 effects among us on the earth, whilst 
 they remain in the sky, and send down 
 nothing to us which is obvious to the 
 senses except rays of light. This is the 
 principal source of the filthy astrolo- 
 gical superstitions of that vulgar and 
 childish'race of dreamers, the prognos- 
 ticators." 
 
 The real manner in which the con- 
 figurations of the stars operate, accord- 
 ing to Kepler, is as follows : " Like one 
 who listens to a sweet melodious song, 
 and by the gladness of his countenance, 
 by his voice, and by the beating of his 
 hand or foot attuned to the music, gives 
 token that he perceives and approves 
 the harmony: just so does sublunary 
 nature, with the notable and evident 
 
 emotion of the bowels of the earth, bear 
 like witness to the same feelings, espe- 
 cially at those times when the rays of 
 the planets form harmonious configura- 
 tions on the earth." " I have been con- 
 firmed in this theory by that which 
 might have deterred others ; I mean, by 
 observing that the emotions do not agree 
 nicely with the instants of the configu- 
 rations; but the earth sometimes ap- 
 pears lazy and obstinate, and at another 
 time (after important and long-continued 
 configurations) she becomes exas- 
 perated, and gives way to her passion, 
 even without the continuation of aspects. 
 For in fact the earth is not an animal 
 like a dog, ready at every nod ; but more 
 like a bull, or an elephant, slow to be- 
 come angry, and so much the more 
 furious when incensed." 
 
 This singular doctrine must not be 
 mistaken for one of Kepler's favourite 
 allegories ; he actually and literally 
 professed to believe that the earth 
 was an enormous living animal; and 
 he has enumerated, with a particula- 
 rity of details into which we forbear 
 to follow him, the analogies he re- 
 cognized between its habits and those 
 of men and other animals. A few 
 samples of these may speak for the 
 rest. " If any one who has climbed the 
 peaks of the highest mountains throw a 
 stone down their very deep clefts, a 
 sound is heard from them ; or if he 
 throw it into one of the mountain lakes, 
 which beyond doubt are bottomless, a 
 storm will immediately arise, just as 
 when you thrust a straw into the ear or 
 nose of a ticklish animal, it shakes its 
 head, or runs shuddering away. What 
 so like breathing, especially of those fish 
 who draw water into their mouths and 
 spout it out again through their gills, as 
 that wonderful tide! For although it 
 is so regulated according to the course 
 of the moon, that, in the preface to my 
 ' Commentaries on Mars,' I have men- 
 tioned it as probable that the waters are 
 attracted by the moon as iron is by the 
 loadstone ; yet, if any one uphold that 
 the earth regulates its breathing accord- 
 ing to the motion of the sun and moon, 
 as animals have daily and nightly alter- 
 nations of sleep and waking, I shall not 
 think his philosophy unworthy of being 
 listened to; especially if any flexible 
 parts should be discovered in the depths 
 of the earth to supply the functions of 
 lungs or gills." 
 
 From the next extract, we must leave 
 the reader to learn as well as he may, 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 41 
 
 how much Kepler did, and how much he 
 did not believe on the subject of genethliac 
 astrology. " Hence it is that human 
 spirits, at the time of celestial aspects, 
 are particularly urged to complete the 
 matters which they have in hand. What 
 the goad is to the ox, what the spur or 
 the rowel is to the horse, to the soldier 
 the bell and trumpet, an animated 
 speech to an audience, to a crowd of 
 rustics a performance on the fife and 
 bagpipes, that to all, and especially in 
 the aggregate, is a heavenly configu- 
 ration of suitable planets ; so that every 
 single one is excited in his thoughts and 
 actions, and all become more ready to 
 unite and associate their efforts. For 
 instance, in war you may see that 
 tumults, battles, fights, invasions, as- 
 saults, attacks, and panic fears, gene- 
 rally happen at the time of the aspects 
 of Mars and Mercury, Mars and Ju- 
 piter, Mars and the Sun, Mars and 
 Saturn, &c. In epidemic diseases, a 
 greater number of persons are attacked 
 at the times of the powerful aspects, 
 they suffer more severely, or even die, 
 owing to the failure of nature in her 
 strife with the disease, which strife (and 
 not the death) is occasioned by the 
 aspect. It is not the sky which does all 
 these things immediately, but the faculty 
 of the vital soul, associating its operation 
 with the celestial harmonies, is the prin- 
 cipal agent in this so-called influence of 
 the heavens. Indeed this word influ- 
 ence has so fascinated some philosophers 
 that they prefer raving with the sense- 
 less vulgar, to learning the truth with 
 me. This essential property is the prin- 
 cipal foundation of that admirable ge- 
 nethliac art. For when anything begins 
 to have its being when that is working 
 harmonies, the sensible harmony of the 
 rays of the planets has peculiar influence 
 on it. This then is the cause why those 
 who are born under a season of many 
 aspects among the planets, generally 
 turn out busy and industrious, whether 
 they accustom themselves from child- 
 hood to amass wealth, or are born or 
 chosen to direct public affairs, or finally, 
 have given their attention to study. If 
 any one think that I might be taken as 
 an instance of this last class, I do not 
 grudge him the knowledge of my na- 
 tivity. I am not checked by the re- 
 proach of boastfulness, notwithstanding 
 those who, by speech or conduct, con- 
 demn as folly all kinds of writing on 
 this subject ; the idiots, the half-learned, 
 the inventors of titles and trappings, to 
 
 throw dust in the eyes of the people, 
 and those whom Picus calls the ple- 
 beian theologians : among the true 
 lovers of wisdom, I easily clear myself 
 of this imputation, by the advantage of 
 my reader ; for there is no one whose 
 nativity or whose internal disposition 
 and temper I can learn so well as I 
 know my own. Well then, Jupiter 
 nearest the nonagesimal had passed by 
 four degrees the trine of Saturn ; the 
 Sun and Venus, in conjunction, were 
 moving from the latter towards the 
 former, nearly in sextiles with both: 
 they were also removing from quadra- 
 tures with Mars, to which Mercury was 
 closely approaching : the moon drew near 
 the trine of the same planet, close to the 
 Bull's Eye, even in latitude. The 25th 
 degree of Gemini was rising, and the 
 22d of Aquarius culminating. That 
 there was this triple configuration on 
 that day namely, the sextile of Saturn 
 and the Sun, the sextile of Mars and 
 Jupiter, the quadrature of Mercury and 
 Mars, is proved by the change of wea- 
 ther ; for, after a frost of some days, 
 that very day became warmer, there 
 was a thaw and a fall of rain.*" 
 
 44 1 do not wish this single instance to 
 be taken as a defence and proof of all 
 the aphorisms of astrologers, nor do I 
 attribute to the heavens the government 
 of human affairs : what a vast interval 
 still separates these philosophical obser- 
 vations from that folly or madness as it 
 should rather be called. For, following 
 up this example, I knew a ladyt, born 
 under nearly the same aspects, whose 
 disposition, indeed, was exceedingly 
 restless, but who not only makes no 
 progress in literature (that is not strange 
 in a woman), but troubles her whole fa- 
 mily, and is the cause to herself of de- 
 plorable misery. What, in my case, 
 assisted the aspects was firstly, the 
 fancy of my mother when pregnant 
 with me, a great admirer of her mother- 
 in-law, my grandmother, who had some 
 knowledge of medicine, my grandfather's 
 profession; a second cause is, that I 
 
 * This mode of verifying configurations, though 
 something of the boldest, was by no means un- 
 usual. On a former occasion Kepler, wishing to 
 cast the nativity of his friend Zehentmaier, and 
 being unable to procure more accurate informa- 
 tion than that he was born about three o'clock in 
 the afternoon of the 21st of October, 1761, sup- 
 plied the deficiency by a record of fevers and acci- 
 dents at known periods of his life, from which he 
 deduced a more exact horoscope. 
 
 | Kepler probably meant his own mother, whose 
 horoscope he in many places declared to be nearly 
 the same as his own. 
 
 L2 
 
42 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 was born a male, and not a female, for 
 astrologers have sought in vain to dis- 
 tinguish sexes in the sky; thirdly, I de- 
 rive from my mother a habit of body, 
 more fit for study than other kinds of 
 life : fourthly, my parents' fortune was 
 not large, and there was no landed pro- 
 perty to which I might succeed and be- 
 come attached ; fifthly, there were the 
 schools, and the liberality of the magis- 
 tracy towards such boys as were apt 
 for learning. But now if I am to 
 speak of the result of my studies, what 
 I pray can I find in the sky, even re- 
 motely alluding to it. The learned con- 
 fess that several not despicable branches 
 of philosophy have been newly extri- 
 cated or amended or brought to per- 
 fection by me : but here my constella- 
 tions were, not Mercury from the east, 
 in the angle of the seventh, and in 
 quadratures with Mars, but Copernicus, 
 but Tycho Brahe, without whose books 
 of observations everything now set by 
 me in the clearest light must have re- 
 mained buried in darkness ; not Saturn 
 predominating Mercury, but my Lords 
 the Emperors Rodolph and Matthias ; 
 not Capricorn, the house of Saturn, but 
 Upper Austria, the home of the Em- 
 peror, and the ready and unexampled 
 bounty of his nobles to my petition. 
 Here is that corner, not the western one 
 of the horoscope, but on the Earth, 
 whither, by permission of my imperial 
 master, I have betaken myself from a 
 too uneasy court ; and whence, during 
 these years of my life, which now tends 
 towards its setting, emanate these Har- 
 monies, and the other matters on which 
 I am engaged." 
 
 " However, it may be owing to Ju- 
 piter's ascendancy that I take greater 
 delight in the application of geometry 
 to physics, than in that abstract pursuit 
 which partakes of the dryness of Saturn ; 
 and it is perhaps the gibbous moon, in 
 the bright constellation of the Bull's 
 forehead, which fills my mind with fan- ' 
 tastic images." 
 
 The most remarkable thing contained 
 in the 5th Book, is the announcement 
 of the celebrated law connecting the 
 mean distances of the planets with the 
 periods of their revolution about the 
 Sun. This law is expressed in mathe- 
 matical language, by saying that the 
 squares of the times vary as the cubes 
 of the distances*. Kepler's rapture on 
 detecting it w as unbounded, as may be 
 
 * See Preliminary Treatise, p. 13. 
 
 seen from the exulting rhapsody with 
 which he announced it. " What I pro- 
 phecied two-and-twenty years ago, as 
 soon as I discovered the five solids 
 among the heavenly orbits what I 
 firmly believed long before I had seen 
 Ptolemy's ' Harmonics ' what I had 
 promised my friends in the title of this 
 book, which I named before I was sure of 
 my discovery what, sixteen years ago, I 
 urged as a thing to be sought that for 
 which I joined Tycho Brahe, for which 
 I settled in Prague, for which I have 
 devoted the best part of my life to astro 
 nomical contemplations, at i length I 
 have brought to light, and have recog- 
 nized its truth beyond my most san- 
 guine expectations. Great as is the 
 absolute nature of Harmonics with all 
 its details, as set forth in my third book, 
 it is all found among the celestial mo- 
 tions, not indeed in the manner which 
 I imagined, (that is not the least part of 
 my delight,) but in another very differ- 
 ent, and yet most perfect and excellent. 
 It is now eighteen months since I got 
 the first glimpse of light, three months 
 since the dawn, very few days since the 
 unveiled sun, most admirable to gaze 
 on, burst out upon me. Nothing holds 
 me ; I will indulge in ;ny sacrea* fury ; 
 I will triumph over mankind by -the 
 honest confession, that I have stolen 
 the golden vases of the Egyptians*, to- 
 build up a tabernacle for my God far 
 away from the confines of Egypt. If 
 you forgive me, I rejoice; if you are 
 angry, I can bear it: the die is cast, 
 the book is written ; to be read either 
 now or by posterity, I care not which : 
 it may well wait a century for a reader, 
 as God has waited six thousand years 
 for an observer." 
 
 He has told, with his usual particu- 
 larity, the manner and precise moment 
 of the discovery. " Another part of my 
 ' Cosmographical Mystery,' suspended 
 twenty-two years ago, because it was 
 then undetermined, is completed and in- 
 troduced here, after I had discovered 
 the true intervals of the orbits, by means 
 of Brahe's observations, and had spent 
 the continuous toil of a long time in in- 
 vestigating the true proportion of the 
 periodic times to the orbits, 
 
 Sera quidem respexit inertem, 
 
 Respexit tamen, et longo post tempore venit. 
 
 If you would know the precise moment, 
 the first idea came across me on the 8th 
 March of this year, 1618 ; but chancing 
 
 * In allusion to the Harmonics of Ptolemy. 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 43 
 
 to make a mistake in the calculation, I 
 rejected it as false. I returned again to 
 it with new force on the 1 5th May, and 
 it has dissipated the darkness of my 
 mind by such an agreement between 
 this idea and my seventeen years' labour 
 on Brahe's observations, that at first I 
 thought I must be dreaming, and had 
 taken my result for granted in my first 
 assumptions. But the fact is perfect, 
 the fact is certain, that the proportion 
 existing between the periodic times of 
 any two planets is exactly the sesquipli- 
 cate proportion of the mean distances of 
 the orbits." 
 
 There is high authority for not attempt- 
 ing over anxiously to understand the 
 rest of the work. Delambre sums it up 
 as follows: "In the music of the ce- 
 lestial bodies it appears that Saturn and 
 Jupiter take the bass, Mars the tenor, 
 the Earth and Venus the counter-tenor, 
 and Mercury the treble." If the patience 
 of this indefatigable historian gave way, 
 as he confesses, in the perusal, any 
 further notice of it here may be well 
 excused. Kepler became engaged, in 
 consequence of this publication, in an 
 angry controversy with the eccentric 
 Robert Fludd, who was at least Kepler's 
 match in wild extravagance and mysti- 
 cism, if far inferior to him in genius. It 
 is diverting to hear each reproaching the 
 other with obscurity. 
 
 In the " Epitome of the Copernican 
 Astronomy," which Kepler published 
 about the same time, we find the manner 
 in which he endeavoured to deduce the 
 beautiful law of periodic times, from 
 his principles of motion and radiation 
 of whirling forces. This work is in 
 fact a summary of all his astronomi- 
 cal opinions, drawn up in a popular 
 style in the form of question and an- 
 swer. We find there a singular argu- 
 ment against believing, as some did, 
 that each planet is carried round by an 
 angel, for in that case, says Kepler, 
 " the orbits would be perfectly circular ; 
 but the elliptic form, which we find in 
 them, rather smacks of the nature of 
 the lever and material necessity." 
 
 The investigation of the relation be- 
 tween the periodic times and distances 
 of the planets is introduced by a query 
 whether or not they are to be considered 
 heavy. The answer is given in the fol- 
 lowing terms : " Although none of the 
 celestial globes are heavy, in the sense 
 in which we say on earth that a stone is 
 heavy, nor light as fire is light with us, 
 yet have they, by reason of their raate^ 
 
 riality, a natural T inability to move from 
 place to place : they have a natural in- 
 ertness or quietude, in consequence of 
 which they remain still in every situation 
 where they are placed alone." 
 
 " P. Is it then the sun, which by its 
 turning carries round the planets ? How 
 can the sun do this, having no hands to 
 seize the planet at so great a distance, 
 and force it round along with itself ? 
 Its bodily virtue, sent forth in straight 
 lines into the whole space of the world, 
 serves instead of hands ; and this virtue, 
 being a corporeal species, turns with the 
 body of the sun like a very rapid vortex, 
 and travels over the whole ~of that space 
 which it fills as quickly as the sun re- 
 volves in its very confined space round 
 the centre. 
 
 " P. Explain what this virtue is, and 
 belonging to what class of things ? 
 As there are two bodies, the mover and 
 the moved, so are there two powers by 
 which the motion is obtained. The one 
 is passive, and rather belonging to 
 matter, namely, the resemblance of the 
 body of the planet to the body of the 
 sun in its corporeal form, and so that 
 part of the planetary body is friendly, the 
 opposite part hostile to the sun. The 
 other power is active, and bearing more 
 relation to form, namely, the body of 
 the sun has a power of attracting the 
 planet by its friendly part, of repelling 
 it by the hostile part, and finally, of re- 
 taining it if it be placed so that neither 
 the one nor the other be turned directly 
 towards the sun. 
 
 " P. How can it be that the whole body 
 of the planet should be like or cognate to 
 the body of the sun, and yet part of the 
 planet friendly, part hostile to the sun ? 
 Just as when one magnet attracts 
 another, the bodies are cognate ; but at- 
 traction takes place only on one side, re- 
 pulsion on the other. 
 
 " P. Whence, then, arises that differ- 
 ence of opposite parts in the same body ? 
 In magnets the diversity arises from 
 the situation of the parts with respect to 
 the whole. In the heavens the matter is 
 a little differently arranged, for the sun 
 does not, like the magnet, possess only 
 on one side, but in all the parts of its 
 substance, this active and energetic fa- 
 culty of attracting, repelling, or retain- 
 ing the planet. So that it is probable 
 that the centre of the solar body corre- 
 sponds to one extremity or pole of the 
 magnet, and its whole surface to the 
 other pole, 
 " P, If this were so, all the planets 
 
44 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 would be restored* in the same time with 
 the sun ? True, if this were all : but it 
 has been said already that, besides this 
 carrying power of the sun, there is also in 
 the planets a natural inertness to motion, 
 which causes that, by reason of their 
 material substance, they are inclined to 
 remain each in its place. The carrying 
 power of the sun, and the impotence or 
 material inertness of the planet, are thus 
 in opposition. Each shares the victory ; 
 the sun moves the planet from its place, 
 although in some degree it escapes from 
 the chains with which it was held by the 
 sun, and so is taken hold of successively 
 by every part of this circular virtue, or, 
 as it may be called, solar circumference, 
 namely, by the parts which follow those 
 from which it has just extricated itself. 
 
 " P. But how does one planet extricate 
 itself more than another from this vio- 
 lenceFirst, because the virtue emana- 
 ting from the sun has the same degree of 
 weakness at different distances, as the 
 distances or the width of the circles de- 
 scribed on these distancesf . This is the 
 principal reason. Secondly, the cause 
 is partly in the greater or less inertness 
 or resistance of the planetary globes, 
 which reduces the proportions to one- 
 half; but of this more hereafter. 
 
 " P. How can it be that the virtue ema- 
 nating from the sun becomes weaker at 
 a greater distance ? What is there to 
 hurt or weaken it ? Because that 
 virtue is corporeal, and partaking of 
 quantity, which can be spread out and 
 rarefied. Then, since there is as much 
 virtue diffused in the vast orb of Sa- 
 turn as is collected in the very narrow 
 one of Mercury, it is very rare and there- 
 fore weak in Saturn's orbit, very dense 
 and therefore powerful at Mercury. 
 
 " P. You said, in the beginning of this 
 inquiry into motion, that the periodic 
 times of the planets are exactly in the 
 sesquiplicate proportion of their orbits or 
 circles : pray what is the cause of this ? 
 Four causes concur for lengthening 
 the periodic time. First, the length of 
 the path; secondly, the weight or quan- 
 tity of matter to be carried ; thirdly, the 
 degree of strength of the moving virtue ; 
 fourthly, the bulk or space into which 
 is spread out the matter to be moved. 
 
 * This is a word borrowed from the Ptolemaic 
 astronomy, according to which the sun and 
 planets are hurried from their places by the daily- 
 motion of the primum mobile, and by their own 
 peculiar motion seek to regain or be restored to 
 their former places. 
 
 f In other parts of his works Kepler assumes 
 the diminution to be proportional to the circles 
 themselves, not to the diameters. 
 
 The circular paths of the planets are in 
 the simple ratio of the distances ; the 
 weights or quantities of matter in diffe- 
 rent planets are in the subduplicate ratio 
 of the same distances, as has been 
 already proved ; so that with every in- 
 crease of distance, a planet has more 
 matter, and therefore is moved more 
 slowly, and accumulates more time in its 
 revolution, requiring already as it did 
 more time by reason of the length of the 
 way. The third and fourth causes com- 
 pensate each other in a comparison of 
 different planets: the simple and sub- 
 duplicate proportion compound the ses- 
 quiplicate proportion, which therefore is 
 the ratio of the periodic times." 
 
 Three of the four suppositions here 
 made by Kepler to explain the beautiful 
 law he had detected, are now indisputa- 
 bly known to be false. Neither the 
 weights nor the sizes of the different 
 planets observe the proportions assigned 
 by him, nor is the force by which they 
 are retained in their orbits in any respect 
 similar in its effects to those attributed 
 by him to it. The wonder which might 
 naturally be felt that he should never- 
 theless reach the desired conclusion, will 
 be considerably abated on examining the 
 mode in which he arrived at and satisfied 
 himself of the truth of these three sup- 
 positions. It has been already mentioned 
 that his notions on the existence of a 
 whirling force emanating from the sun, 
 and decreasing in energy at increased 
 distances, are altogether inconsistent 
 with all the experiments and observa- 
 tions we are able to collect. His reason 
 for asserting that the sizes of the dif- 
 ferent planets are proportional to their 
 distances from the sun, was simply be- 
 cause he chose to take for granted that 
 either their solidities, surfaces, or dia- 
 meters, must necessarily be in that 
 proportion, and of the three, the solidities 
 appeared to him least liable to objection. 
 The last element of his precarious rea- 
 soning rested upon equally groundless 
 assumptions. Taking as a principle, that 
 where there is a number of different 
 things they must be different in every 
 respect, he declared that it was quite 
 unreasonable to suppose all the planets 
 of the same density. He thought it in- 
 disputable that they must be rarer as they 
 were farther from the sun, " and yet not 
 in the proportion of theirjiistances, for 
 thus we should sin against the law of 
 variety in another way, and make the 
 quantity of matter (according to what he 
 had just said of their bulk) the same in 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 45 
 
 all. But if 'we assume the ratio of the 
 quantities of matter to be half that of the 
 distances, we shall observe the best mean 
 of all ; for thus Saturn will be half as 
 heavy again as Jupiter, and Jupiter half 
 again as dense as Saturn. And the 
 strongest argument of all is, that unless 
 we assume this proportion of the densi- 
 ties, the law of the periodic times will 
 not answer." This is the proof alluded 
 to, and it is clear that by such reasoning 
 any required result might be deduced 
 from any given principles. 
 
 It may not be uninstructive to subjoin 
 a sketch of the manner in which Newton 
 established the same celebrated results, 
 starting from principles of motion dia- 
 metrically opposed to Kepler's, and it 
 need scarcely be added, reasoning upon 
 them in a manner not less different. 
 For this purpose, a very few prefatory 
 remarks will be found sufficient. 
 
 The different motions seen in nature 
 are best analysed and classified by sup- 
 posing that every body in motion, if left 
 to itself, will continue to move forward 
 at the same rate in a straight line, and 
 by considering all the observed devia- 
 tions from this manner of moving, as 
 exceptions and disturbances occasioned 
 by some external cause. To this sup- 
 posed cause is generally given the name 
 of Force, and it is said to be the first 
 law of motion, that, unless acted on by 
 some force, every body at rest remains 
 at rest, and every body in motion pro- 
 ceeds uniformly in a straight line. Many 
 employ this language, without perceiving 
 that it involves a definition of force, on 
 the admission of which, it is reduced to 
 a truism. We see common instances of 
 force in a blow, or a pull from the end of 
 a string fastened to the body: we shall 
 also have occasion presently to mention 
 some forces where no visible connexion 
 exists between the moving body and 
 that towards which the motion takes 
 place, and from which the force is said 
 to proceed. 
 
 A second law of motion, founded upon 
 experiment, is this : if a body have mo- 
 tion communicated to it in two directions, 
 by one of which motions alone it would 
 have passed through a given space in a 
 given time, as for instance, through B C 
 in one second, and by the other alone 
 through any other space Be in the same 
 time, it will, when both are 
 given to it at the same in 
 stant, pass in the 
 time (in 
 
 diagonal of the parallelogram of which 
 B C and B c are sides. 
 
 Let a body, acted upon by no force, 
 be moving along the line AE ; that 
 
 means, according to what has been said, 
 let it pass over the equal straight lines 
 A B, B C, C D, D E, &c, in equal times. 
 If we take any point S not in the line 
 A E, and join A S, B S, &c, the triangles 
 A S B, B S C, &c. are also equal, having 
 a common altitude and standing on 
 equal bases, so that if a string were con- 
 ceived reaching from S to the moving 
 body (being lengthened or shortened in 
 each position to suit its distance from 
 S), this string, as the body moved along 
 A E, would sweep over equal trian- 
 gular areas in equal times. 
 
 Let us now examine how far these 
 
 B C tirae (hi the 
 
 stance in one second) through B C the 
 
 same 
 present in- 
 
 conclusions will be altered if the body 
 from time to time is forced towards S. 
 We will suppose it moving uniformly 
 from A to B as before, no matter for the 
 present how it got to A, or into the 
 direction A B. If left to itself it would, 
 in an equal time (say I") go through 
 B C in the same straight line with and 
 equal to AB. But just as it reaches 
 B, and is beginning to move along B C, 
 let it be suddenly pulled towards S with 
 a motion which, had it been at rest, 
 would have carried it in the same time, 
 1", through any other space B c. Ac- 
 cording to the second law of motion, its 
 direction during this l", in consequence 
 of the two motions combined, will be 
 along B C, the diagonal of the parallelo- 
 gram of which BC'.Bc, are sides. In 
 
46 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 this case, as this figure is drawn, B C, 
 though passed in the same time, is longer 
 than A B ; that is to say, the body is 
 moving quicker than at first. How is it 
 with the triangular areas, supposed as 
 before to be swept by a string constantly 
 stretched between S and the body ? It 
 will soon be seen that these still remain 
 equal, notwithstanding the change of 
 direction, and increased swiftness. For 
 since C C is parallel to B c, the tri- 
 angles SCB, SC'B are equal, being 
 on the same base SB, and between 
 the same parallels SB, C C, and S C'B 
 is equal to SB A as before, therefore 
 S C B, S B A are equal. The body is 
 now moving uniformly (though quicker 
 than along A B) along B C. As before, 
 it would in a time equal to the time of 
 passing along B C, go through an equal 
 space C D' in the. same straight line. 
 But if at C it has a second pull towards 
 S, strong enough to carry it to d in the 
 same time, its direction will change a 
 second time to C D, the diagonal of the 
 parallelogram, whose sides are C D', C d\ 
 and the circumstances being exactly 
 similar to those at the first pull, it is 
 shewn in the same manner that the 
 triangular area SDC = SCB = SBA. 
 
 Thus it appears, that in consequence 
 of these intermitting pulls towards S, 
 the body may be moving round, some- 
 times faster, sometimes slower, but that 
 the triangles formed by any of the 
 straight portions of its path (which are 
 all described in equal times), and the 
 lines joining S to the ends of that por- 
 tion, are all equal. The path it will take 
 depends of course, in other respects, 
 upon the frequency and strength of the 
 different pulls, and it might happen, if 
 they were duly proportionate, that when 
 at H, and moving off in the direction 
 H A', the pull H a might be such as just 
 to carry the body back to A, the point 
 from which it started, and with such a 
 motion, that after one pull more, A b, at 
 A, it might move along A B as it did at 
 first. If this were so, the body would 
 continue to move round in the same 
 polygonal path, alternately approaching 
 and receding from S, as long as the 
 same pulls were repeated in the same 
 order, and at the same intervals. 
 
 It seems almost unnecessary to re- 
 mark, that the same equality which sub- 
 sists between any two of these triangular 
 areas subsists also between an equal 
 number of them, from whatever part of 
 the path taken ; so that, for instance, the 
 four paths AB, B C, CD, D E, cor- 
 
 responding to the four areas A SB, 
 B S C, C S D, D S E, that is, to the area 
 ABCDES, are passed in the same 
 time as the four E F, F G, GH, H A, cor- 
 responding to the equal area E F G H A S- 
 Hence it may be seen, if the whole 
 time of revolution from A round to A 
 again be called a year, that in half a 
 year the body will have got to E, which 
 in the present figure is more than half 
 way round, and so of any other pe- 
 riods. 
 
 The more frequently the pulls are 
 supposed to recur, the more frequently 
 will the body change its direction ; and if 
 the pull were supposed constantly ex- 
 erted in the direction towards S, the body 
 would move in a curve round S, for no 
 three successive positions of it could be 
 in a straight line. Those who are not 
 familiar with the methods of measuring 
 curvilinear spaces must here be con- 
 tented to observe, that the law holds, 
 however close the pulls are brought to- 
 gether, and however closely the polygon 
 is consequently made to resemble a 
 curve : they may, if they please, consider 
 the minute portions into which the curve 
 is so divided, as differing insensibly 
 from little rectilinear triangles, any equal 
 number of which, according to what has 
 been said above, wherever taken in the 
 curve, would be swept in equal times. 
 The theorem admits, in this case also, 
 a rigorous proof; but it is not easy to 
 make it entirely satisfactory, without 
 entering into explanations which would 
 detain us too long from our principal 
 subject. 
 
 The proportion in which the pull 
 is strong or weak at different dis- 
 tances from the central spot, is called 
 " the law of the central or centripetal 
 force," and it may be observed, that 
 after assuming the laws of motion, our 
 investigations cease to have anything 
 hypothetical or experimental in them ; 
 and that if we wish, according to these 
 principles of motion, to determine the 
 law of force necessary to make a body 
 move in a curve of any required form, 
 or conversely to discover the form of 
 the curve described, in consequence of 
 any assumed law of force, the inquiry 
 is purely geometrical, depending upon 
 the nature and properties of geometrical 
 quantities only. This distinction be- 
 tween what is hypothetical, and what 
 necessary truth, ought never to be lost 
 sight of. 
 
 As the object of the present treatise 
 is not to teach geometry, we shall de- 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 47 
 
 scribe, in very general terms, the manner 
 in which Newton, who was the first who 
 systematically extended the laws of mo- 
 tion to the heavenly bodies, identified 
 their results with the two remaining 
 laws of Kepler. His " Principles of 
 Natural Philosophy" contain general 
 propositions with regard to any law of 
 centripetal force, but that which he sup- 
 posed to be the true one in our system, is 
 expressed in mathematical language, by 
 saying that the centripetal force varies 
 inversely as the square of the distance, 
 which means, that if the force at any 
 distance be taken for the unit of force", 
 at half that distance, it is two times 
 twice, or four times as strong ; at one- 
 third the distance, three times thrice, or 
 nine times as strong, and so for other 
 distances. He shewed the probability 
 of this law in the first instance by com- 
 paring the motion of the moon with that 
 of heavy bodies at the surface of the 
 earth. Taking LP 
 to represent part of 
 the moon's orbit de- 
 scribed in one minute, 
 the line P M between 
 the orbit and the 
 tangent at L would 
 shew the space through which the central 
 force at the earth (assuming the above 
 principles of motion to be correct) would 
 draw the moon. From the known dis- 
 tance and motion of the moon, this line 
 P M is found to be about sixteen feet. 
 The distance of the moon is about sixty 
 times the radius of the earth, and there- 
 fore if the law of the central force in, this 
 instance were such as has been supposed, 
 the force at the earth's surface would 
 be 60 times 60, or 3600 times stronger, 
 and at the earth's surface, the central 
 force would make a body fall through 
 3600 times 16 feet in one minute. Ga- 
 lileo had already taught that the spaces 
 through which a body would be made 
 to fall, by the constant action of the 
 same unvarying force, would be pro- 
 portional to the squares of the times du- 
 ring which the force was exerted, and 
 therefore according to these laws, a 
 body at the earth's surface ought (since 
 there are sixty seconds in a minute) to 
 fall through 1 6 feet in one second, which 
 was precisely the space previously esta- 
 blished by numerous experiments. 
 
 With this confirmation of the suppo- 
 sition, Newton proceeded to the purely 
 geometrical calculation of the law of 
 centripetal* force necessary to make a 
 * In many curves, as in the circle and ellipse, 
 
 moving body describe an ellipse round 
 its focus, which Kepler's observations 
 had established to be the form of the or- 
 bits of the planets round the sun. The 
 result of the inquiry shewed that this 
 curve required the same law of the force, 
 varying inversely as the square of the 
 distance, which therefore of course re- 
 ceived additional confirmation. His me- 
 thod of doing this may, perhaps, be un- 
 derstood by referring to the last figure 
 but one, in which C d, for instance, 
 representing the space fallen from 
 any point C towards S, in a given 
 time, and the area C S D being pro 
 portional to the corresponding time, 
 the space through which the body would 
 have fallen at C in any other time (which 
 would be greater, by Galileo's law, in 
 proportion to the squares of the times), 
 might be represented by a quantity va- 
 rying directly as C d, and inversely in the 
 duplicate proportion of the triangular 
 area C S D, that is to say, proportional to 
 
 (S C x'DJW ^ ^ ^ ^ e d rawn from D 
 
 perpendicular on S C. If this polygon 
 represent an ellipse, so that C D repre- 
 sents a small arc of the curve, of which 
 S is the focus, it is found by the nature 
 
 of that curve, that ^ ? ,,, is the same at 
 (D/O- 
 
 all points of the curve, so that the law of 
 
 variation of the force in the same ellipse 
 
 is represented solely by Q n 2 . If C d, 
 {p U) 
 
 &c. are drawn so that 
 
 Cd 
 
 is not the 
 
 (DA) 8 
 
 same at every point, the curve ceases to 
 be an ellipse whose focus is at S, as 
 Newton has shewn in the same work. 
 
 The line to which p , is found to be 
 
 equal, is one drawn through the focus at 
 right angles to the longest axis of the 
 ellipse till it meets the curve ; this line 
 is called the lotus rectum, and is a 
 third proportional to the two principal 
 axes. 
 
 Kepler's third law follows as an im- 
 mediate consequence of this determina- 
 tion ; for, according to what has been 
 already shown, the time of revolution 
 round the whole ellipse, or, as it is corn- 
 there is a point to which the name of centre is 
 given, on account of peculiar properties belonging 
 to it : but the term " centripetal force'' always re- 
 fers to the place towards which the force is di- 
 rected, whether or not situated in the centre of the 
 curve f 
 
48 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 monly called, the periodic time, bears the 
 same ratio to the unit of time as the 
 whole area of the ellipse does to the area 
 described in that unit. The area of the 
 whole ellipse is proportional in different 
 ellipses to the rectangle contained by the 
 two principal axes, and the area de- 
 scribed in an unit of time is proportional 
 to S C X DA, that is to sav, is in the sub- 
 
 DA- 
 duplicate ratio of S C 2 x T)k\ or, 
 
 when the force varies inversely as the 
 square of the distance S C ; and in the 
 ellipse, as we have said already, this is 
 equal to a third proportional to the 
 principal axes; consequently the pe- 
 riodic times in different ellipses, which 
 are proportional to the whole areas of 
 the ellipses directly, and the areas de- 
 scribed in the unit of time inversely, 
 are in the compound ratio of the rec- 
 tangle of the axes directly, and subdu- 
 plicatly as a third proportional to the 
 axes inversely ; that is to say, the squares 
 of these times are proportional to the 
 cubes of the longest axes, which is 
 Kepler's law. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 The Epitome prohibited at Rome Lo- 
 garithmic Tables Trial of Catha- 
 rine Kepler Kepler invited to Eng- 
 land Rudolphine Tables Death 
 Conclusion. 
 
 Kepler's " Epitome," almost immedi- 
 ately on its appearance, enjoyed the ho- 
 nour of being placed by the side of the 
 work of Copernicus, on the list of books 
 prohibited by the congregation of the 
 Index at Rome. He was considerably 
 alarmed on receiving this intelligence, 
 anticipating that it might occasion diffi- 
 culties in publishing his future writings. 
 His words to Remus, who had communi- 
 cated the news to him, are as follows : 
 " I learn from your letter, for the first 
 time, that my book is prohibited at Rome 
 and Florence. I particularly beg of you, 
 to send me the exact words of the cen- 
 sure, and that you will inform me whe- 
 ther that censure would be a snare for 
 the author, if he were caught in Italy, or 
 whether, if taken, he would be enjoined 
 a recantation. It is also of consequence 
 for me to know whether there is any 
 chance of the same censure being ex- 
 tended into Austria. For if this be so, 
 not only shall I never again find a printer 
 there, but also the copies which the 
 bookseller has left in Austria at my de- 
 sire will be endangered, and the ultimate 
 
 loss will fall upon me. It will amount 
 to giving me to understand, that I must 
 cease to profess Astronomy, after I have 
 grown old in the belief of these opinions, 
 having been hitherto gainsayed by no 
 one, and, in short, I must give up Aus- 
 tria itself, if room is no longer to be left 
 in it for philosophical liberty." He was, 
 however, tranquillized, in a great degree, 
 by the reply of his friend, who told him 
 that " the book is only prohibited as 
 contrary to the decree pronounced by the 
 holy office two years ago. This has been 
 partly occasioned by a Neapolitan monk 
 (Foscarini), who was spreading these 
 notions by publishing them in Italian, 
 whence were arising dangerous conse- 
 quences and opinions : and besides, Ga- 
 lileo was at the same time pleading his 
 cause at Rome with too much violence. 
 Copernicus has been corrected in the 
 same manner for some lines, at least in 
 the beginning of his first book. But by 
 obtaining a permission, they may be 
 read (and, as I suppose, this " Epitome" 
 also) by the learned and skilful in this 
 science, both at Rome and throughout 
 all Italy. There is therefore no ground 
 for your alarm, either in Italy or Austria; 
 only keep yourself within bounds, and 
 put a guard upon your own passions." 
 
 We shall not dwell upon Kepler's dif- 
 ferent works on comets, beyond men- 
 tioning that they were divided, on the 
 plan of many of his other publications, 
 into three parts, Astronomical, Physical, 
 and Astrological. He maintained that 
 comets move in straight lines, with a 
 varying degree of velocity. Later theo- 
 ries have shewn that they obey the same 
 laws of motion as the planets, differing 
 from them only in the extreme excen- 
 tricity of their orbits. In the second 
 book, which contains the Physiology of 
 Comets, there is a passing remark that 
 comets come out from the remotest 
 parts of ether, as whales and monsters 
 from the depth of the sea ; and the sug- 
 gestion is thrown out that perhaps 
 comets are something of the nature of 
 silkworms, and are wasted and con- 
 sumed in spinning their own tails. 
 
 Among his other laborious employ- 
 ments, Kepler yet found time to cal- 
 culate tables of logarithms, he having 
 been one of the first in Germany to appre- 
 ciate the full importance of the facilities 
 they afford to the numerical calculator. 
 In 1618 he wrote to his friend Schick- 
 hard : " There is a Scottish Baron (whose 
 name has escaped my memory), who has 
 made a famous contrivance, by which 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 49 
 
 all need of multiplication and division is 
 supplied by mere addition and subtrac- 
 tion ; and he does it without sines. But 
 even he wants a table of tangents *, and 
 the variety, frequency, and difficulty of 
 the additions and subtractions, in some 
 cases, is greater than the labour of mul- 
 tiplying and dividing/' 
 
 Kepler dedicated his "Ephemeris" for 
 1G20 to the author of this celebrated in- 
 vention, Baron Napier, of Merchistoun ; 
 and in 1624, published what he called 
 " Chilias Logarithmorum," containing 
 the Napierian logarithms of the quotients 
 of 100,000 divided by the first ten num- 
 bers, then proceeding by the quotients of 
 every ten to 100, and by hundreds to 
 1 00,000. In the supplement published the 
 following year, is a curious notice of the 
 manner in which this subtle contrivance 
 was at first received : " In the year 1621, 
 when I had gone into Upper Austria, and 
 had conferred everywhere with those 
 skilled in mathematics, on the subject of 
 Napier's logarithms, I found that those 
 whose prudence had increased, and 
 whose readiness had diminished, through 
 age, were hesitating whether to adopt 
 this new sort of numbers, instead of 
 a table of sines; because they said 
 it was disgraceful to a professor of 
 mathematics to exult like a child at 
 some compendious method of working, 
 and meanwhile to admit a form of cal- 
 culation, resting on no legitimate proof, 
 and which at some time might entangle 
 us in error, when we least feared it. 
 They complained that Napier's demon- 
 stration rested on a fiction of geometri- 
 cal motion, too loose and slippery for a 
 sound method of reasonable demonstra- 
 tion to be founded on itf. "This led 
 
 * The meaning of this passage is not very clear : 
 Kepler evidently had seen and used logarithms at 
 the time of writing this letter; yet there is nothing 
 in the method to justify this expression, " At 
 tamcn opus est ipsi Tungentium canone." 
 
 + This was the objection originally made to 
 Newton's " Fluxions," and in fact, Napier's idea of 
 logarithms is identical with, that method of con- 
 ceiving quantities. This may be seen at once from 
 a few of his definitions, 
 
 1 Def. A line is said to increase uniformly, when 
 
 the point by which it is described passes 
 through equal intervals, in equal times. 
 
 2 Def. A line is said to diminish to a shorter one 
 
 proportionally, when the point passing along 
 it cuts off in equal times segments propor- 
 tional to the remainder. 
 
 6 Def. The logarithm of any sine is the number 
 most nearly denoting the line, which has 
 increased uniformly, whilst the radius ha3 
 diminished to that sine proportionally, the 
 initial velocity being the same in both mo- 
 tions. (Mirifici logarithraorum canonis 
 descriptio, Edinbnrgi 1614.) 
 This last definition contains what we should now 
 
 call the differential equation between a number 
 
 and the logarithm of its reciprocal. 
 
 me forthwith to conceive the germ of a 
 legitimate demonstration, which during 
 that same winter I attempted, without 
 reference to lines or motion, or flow, or 
 any other which I may call sensible 
 quality." 
 
 " Now to answer the question ; what is 
 the use of logarithms ? Exactly what ten 
 years ago was announced by their author, 
 Napier, and which may be told in these 
 words. "Wheresoever in common arith- 
 metic, and in the Rule of Three, come two 
 numbers to be multiplied together, there 
 the sum of the logarithms is to be taken ; 
 where one number is to be divided by 
 another, the difference ; and the num- 
 ber corresponding to this sum or differ- 
 ence, as the case may be, will be the 
 required product or quotient. This, 
 1 say, is the use of logarithms. But 
 in the same work in which I gave 
 the demonstration of the principles, I 
 could not satisfy the unfledged arith- 
 metical chickens, greedy of facilities, 
 and gaping with their beaks wide 
 open, at the mention of this use, as 
 if to bolt down every particular gobbet, 
 till they are crammed with my precepti- 
 cles.' , 
 
 The year 1622 was marked by the ca- 
 tastrophe of a singular adventure which 
 befell Kepler's mother, Catharine, then 
 nearly seventy years old, and by which 
 he had been greatly harassed and an- 
 noyed during several years. From her 
 youth she had been noted for a rude and 
 passionate temper, which on the present 
 occasion involved her in serious diffi- 
 culties. One of her female acquaint- 
 ance, whose manner of life had been by 
 no means unblemished, was attacked 
 after a miscarriage by violent head- 
 aches, and Catharine, who had often 
 taken occasion to sneer at her noto- 
 rious reputation, was accused with hav- 
 ing produced these consequences, by 
 the administration of poisonous potions. 
 She repelled the charge with violence, 
 and instituted an action of scandal against 
 this person, but was unlucky (according 
 to Kepler's statement) in the choice of a 
 young doctor, whom she employed as 
 her advocate. Considering the suit to be 
 very instructive, he delayed its termina- 
 tion during five years, until the judge 
 before whom it was tried was displaced. 
 He was succeeded by another, already in- 
 disposed against Catharine Kepler, who 
 on some occasion had taunted him with 
 his sudden accession to wealth from a 
 very inferior situation. Her opponent, 
 aware of this advantage, turned the ta- 
 
50 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 bles on her, and in her turn became the 
 accuser. The end of the matter was, 
 that in July, 1620, Catharine was im- 
 prisoned, and condemned to the torture. 
 Kepler was then at Linz, but as soon 
 as he learned his mother's danger, hur- 
 ried to the scene of trial.' He found the^ 
 charges against her supported only by" 
 evidence which never could have been 
 listened to, if her own intemperate con- 
 duct bad not given advantage to her 
 adversaries. He arrived in time to save 
 her from the question, but she was not 
 finally acquitted and released from pri- 
 son till November in the following year. 
 Kepler then returned to Linz, leaving 
 behind him his mother, whose spirit 
 seemed in no degree broken by the un- 
 expected turn in the course of her liti- 
 gation. She immediately commenced 
 a new action for costs and damages 
 against the same antagonist, but this 
 was stopped by her death, in April 1622, 
 in her seventy-fifth year. 
 
 In 1620 Kepler was visited by Sir 
 Henry Wotton, the English ambassador 
 at Venice, who finding him, as indeed 
 he might have been found at every period 
 of his life, oppressed by pecuniary diffi- 
 culties, urged him to go over to England, 
 where he assured him of a welcome 
 and honourable reception; but Kepler 
 could not resolve upon the proposed 
 journey, although in his letters he often 
 returned to the consideration of it. In 
 one of them, dated a year later, he says, 
 "The fires of civil war are raging in 
 . Germany they who are opposed to the 
 honour of the empire are getting the 
 upper hand everything in my neigh- 
 bourhood seems abandoned to flame and 
 destruction. Shall I then cross the sea, 
 whither Wotton invites me ? I, a Ger- 
 man ? a lover of firm land ? who dread 
 the confinement of an island ? who pre- 
 sage its dangers, and must drag along 
 with me my little wife and flock of chil- 
 dren? Besides my son Louis, now 
 thirteen years old, 1 have a marriage- 
 able daughter, a two-year old son by my 
 second marriage, an infant daughter, and 
 its mother but just recovering from 
 her confinement." Six years later, he 
 says again, " As soon as the Rudol- 
 phine Tables are published, my desire will 
 be to find a place where I can lecture 
 on them to a considerable assembly ; if 
 possible, in Germany ; if not, why then 
 in Ilaly, France, the Netherlands, or 
 England, provided the salary is ade- 
 quate for a traveller." 
 In the same year in which he received 
 
 this invitation an affront was put upon 
 Kepler by his early patrons, the States 
 of Stvria, who ordered all the copies of 
 his " Calendar," for 1624, to be publicly 
 burnt. Kepler declares that the reason 
 of this was, that he had given prece- 
 dence in the title-page to the States of 
 "Upper Ens, in whose service he then 
 was, above Styria. As this happened 
 during his absence in Wirtemberg, it was 
 immediately coupled by rumour with 
 his hasty departure from Linz : it was 
 said that he Viad incurred the Emperor's 
 displeasure, and that a large sum was 
 set upon his head. At this period Mat- 
 thias had been succeeded by Ferdi- 
 nand III., who still continued to Kepler 
 his barren title of imperial mathema- 
 tician. 
 
 In 1624 Kepler went to Vienna, in 
 the hopes of getting money to complete 
 theRudolphineTables,but was obliged to 
 be satisfied with the sum of 6000 florins 
 and with recommendatory letters to the 
 States of Suabia, frOm whom he also 
 collected some money due to the em- 
 peror. On his return he revisited the 
 University of Tubingen, where he found 
 his old preceptor, Miistlin, still alive, 
 but almost worn out with old age. 
 Miistlin had well deserved the regard 
 Kepler always appears to have enter- 
 tained for him ; he had treated him with 
 great liberality whilst at the University, 
 where he refused to receive any remune- 
 ration for his instruction. Kepler torjk 
 every opportunity of shewing his grati- 
 tude ; even whilst he was struggling with 
 poverty he contrived to send his old 
 master a handsome silver cup, in ac- 
 knowledging the receipt of which Mast- 
 lin says, " Your mother had taken it 
 into her head that you owed me two 
 hundred florins, and had brought fifteen 
 florins and a chandelier towards reducing 
 the debt, which I advised her to send to 
 you. I asked her to stay to dinner, which 
 she refused : however, we handselled 
 your cup, as you know she is of a thirsty 
 temperament." 
 
 The publication of the Rudolphine 
 Tables, which Kepler always had so 
 much at heart, was again delayed, not- 
 withstanding the recent grant, by the 
 disturbances arising out of the two par- 
 ties into which the Reformation had 
 divided the whole of Germany. Kepler's 
 library was sealed up by desire of the 
 Jesuits, and nothing but his connexion 
 with the Imperial Court secured to him 
 his own personal indemnity. Then fol- 
 lowed a popular insurrection, and the 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 51 
 
 peasantry blockaded Linz, so that it was 
 not until 1 627 that these celebrated tables 
 finally made their appearance, the ear- 
 liest calculated on the supposition that 
 the planets move in elliptic orbits. 
 Ptolemy's tables had been succeeded by 
 the " Alphonsine," so called from Al- 
 phonso, King of Castile, who, in the 
 thirteenth century, was an enlightened 
 patron of astronomy. iVfter the disco- 
 veries of Copernicus, these again made 
 way for the Prussian, or Prutenic tables, 
 calculated by his pupils Reinhold and 
 Rheticus. These remained in use till 
 the observations of TychoBrahe showed 
 their insufficiency, and Kepler's new 
 theories enabled him to improve upon 
 them. The necessary types for these 
 tables were cast at Kepler's own expense. 
 They are divided into four parts, the 
 first and third containing a variety of 
 logarithmic and other tables, for the 
 purpose of facilitating astronomical cal- 
 culations. In the second are tables of 
 the elements of the sun, moon, and 
 planets. The fourth gives the places of 
 1000 stars as determined byTycho, and 
 also at the end his table of refractions, 
 which appears to have been different for 
 the sun, moon, and stars. Tycho Brahe 
 assumed the horizontal refraction of the 
 sun to be 7' 30", of the moon 8', and of 
 the other stars 3'. He considered all 
 refraction of the atmosphere to be in- 
 sensible above 45 of altitude, and 
 even at half that altitude in the case of 
 the fixed stars. A more detailed ac- 
 count of these tables is here obviously 
 unsuitable : it will be sufficient to say 
 merely, that if Kepler had done nothing 
 in the course of his whole life but con- 
 struct these, he would have well earned 
 the title of a most useful and indefati- 
 gable calculator. 
 
 Some copies of these tables have pre- 
 fixed to them a very remarkable map, 
 divided by hour lines, the object of 
 which is thus explained : 
 
 " The use of this nautical map is, that 
 if at a given hour the place of the moon 
 is known by its edge being observed to 
 touch any known star, or the edges of 
 the sun, or the shadow of the earth ; 
 and if that place shall (if necessary) be 
 reduced from apparent to real by clear- 
 ing it of parallax ; and if the hour at 
 Uraniburg be computed by the Rudol- 
 phine tables, when the moon occupied 
 that true place, the difference will show 
 the observer's meridian, whether the 
 picture of the shores be accurate or not, 
 
 for by this means it may come to be 
 corrected." 
 
 This is probably one of the earliest 
 announcements of the method of deter- 
 mining longitudes by occultations ; the 
 imperfect theory of the moon long re- 
 mained a principal obstacle to its intro- 
 duction in practice. Another interesting 
 passage connected with the same object 
 may be introduced here. In a letter to 
 his friend Cruger, 'dated in 1616, Kep- 
 ler says : " You propose a method of 
 observing the distances of places by sun- 
 dials and automata. It is good, but needs 
 a very accurate practice, and confidence 
 in those who have the care of the clocks. 
 Let there be only one clock, and let it 
 be transported ; and in both places let 
 meridian lines be drawn with which the 
 clock may be compared when brought. 
 The only doubt remaining is, whether a 
 greater error is likely from the unequal 
 tension in the automaton, and from its 
 motion, which varies with the state of 
 the air, or from actually measuring the 
 distances. For if we trust the latter, 
 we can easily determine the longitudes by 
 observing the differences of the height 
 of the pole." 
 
 In an Appendix to JJie Rudolphine 
 Tables, or, as Kepler calls it, " an 
 alms doled out to the nativity casters," 
 he has shown how they may use his 
 tables for their astrological predictions. 
 Everything in his hands became an 
 allegory ; and on this occasion he says, 
 "Astronomy is the daughter of As- 
 trology, and this modern Astrology, 
 again, is the daughter of Astronomy, 
 bearing something of the lineaments of 
 her grandmother; and, as 1 have al- 
 ready said, this foolish daughter, Astro- 
 logy, supports her wise but needy mother, 
 Astronomy, from the profits of a profes- 
 sion not generally considered credit- 
 able." 
 
 Soon after the publication of these 
 tables, the Grand Duke of Tuscany sent 
 him a golden chain ; and if we remem- 
 ber the high credit in which Galileo 
 stood at this time in Florence, it does 
 not seem too much to attribute this 
 honourable mark of approbation to his 
 representation of the value of Kepler's 
 services to astronomy. This was soon 
 followed by a new and final change in his 
 fortunes. He received permission from 
 the emperor to attach himself to the 
 celebrated Duke of Friedland, Albert 
 Wallenstein, one of the most remark- 
 able men in the history of that time. 
 
52 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 Wallen stein was a firm believer in as- 
 trology, and the reception Kepler ex- 
 perienced by him was probably due, in 
 great measure, to his reputation in that 
 art. However that may be, Kepler 
 found in him a more munificent pa- 
 tron than any one of his three em- 
 perors ; but he was not destined long to 
 enjoy the appearance of better fortune. 
 Almost the last work which he published 
 was a commentary on the letter address- 
 ed, by the missionary Terrentio, from 
 China, to the Jesuits at Ingolstadt. The 
 object of this communication was to ob- 
 tain from Europe means for carrying 
 into effect a projected scheme for im- 
 proving the Chinese calendar. In this 
 essay Kepler maintains the opinion, 
 which has been discussed with so much 
 warmth in more modern times, that the 
 pretended ancient observations of the 
 Chinese were obtained by computing 
 them backwards from a much more re- 
 cent date. Wallenstein furnished him 
 with an assistant for his calculations, and 
 with a printing press ; and through his 
 influence nominated him to the proifes- 
 sorship in the University of Rostoch, in 
 the Duchy of Mecklenburg. His 
 claims on the imperial treasury, which 
 amounted at this time to 8000 crowns, 
 and which Ferdinand would gladly have 
 transferred to the charge of Wallenstein, 
 still remained unsatisfied. Kepler made 
 a last attempt to obtain them at Ratis- 
 bon, where the imperial meeting was 
 held, but without success. The fatigue 
 and vexation occasioned by his fruitless 
 journey brought on a fever, which un- 
 expectedly put an end to his life, in the 
 early part of November, 1630, in his 
 fifty-ninth year. His old master, Mast- 
 lin, survived him for about a year, dy- 
 ing at the age of eighty-one. 
 
 Kepler left behind him two children 
 by his first wife, Susanna and Louis ; and 
 three sons and two daughters, Sebald, 
 Cordelia, Friedman, Hildebert, and Anna 
 Maria, by his widow. Susanna mar- 
 ried, a few months before her father's 
 death, a physician named Jacob Bartsch, 
 the same who latterly assisted Kepler 
 in preparing his "Ephemeris." He died 
 very shortly after Kepler himself. Louis 
 studied medicine, and died in 1663, 
 whilst practising as a physician at 
 Konigsberg. The other children died 
 young. 
 
 Upon Kepler's death the Duke of Fried- 
 land caused an inventory to be taken of 
 his effects, when it appeared that near 
 
 24,000 florins were due to him, chiefly 
 on account of his salary from the em- 
 peror. His daughter Susanna, Bartsch's 
 widow, managed to obtain a part of these 
 arrears by refusing to give up Tycho 
 Brahe's observations till her claims were 
 satisfied. The widow and younger chil- 
 dren were left in very straightened cir- 
 cumstances, which induced Louis, Kep- 
 ler's eldest son, to print, for their relief, 
 one of his father's works, which had 
 been left by him unpublished. It was 
 not without much reluctance, in conse- 
 quence of a superstitious feeling which 
 he did not attempt to conceal or deny. 
 Kepler himself, and his son-in-law, 
 Bartsch, had been employed in prepar- 
 ing it for publication at the time of 
 their respective deaths ; and Louis con- 
 fessed that he did not approach the task 
 without apprehension that he was in- 
 curring some risk of a similar fate. 
 This little rhapsody is entitled a " Dream 
 on Lunar Astronomy;" and was in- 
 intended to illustrate the appearances 
 which would present themselves to an 
 astronomer living upon the moon. 
 
 The narrative in the dream is put into 
 the mouth of a personage, named Du- 
 racoto, the son of an Icelandic enchan- 
 tress, of the name of Fiolxhildis. Kep- 
 ler tells us that he chose the last name 
 from an old map of Europe in his house, 
 in which Iceland was called Fiolx : Du- 
 racoto seemed to him analogous to the 
 names he found in the history of Scot- 
 land, the neighbouring country. Fiolx- 
 hildis was in the habit of selling winds 
 to mariners, and used to collect herbs 
 to use in her incantations on the sides 
 of Mount Hecla, on the Eve of St. 
 John. Duracoto cut open one of. his 
 mother's bags, in punishment of which 
 she sold him to some traders, who 
 brought him to Denmark, where he be- 
 came acquainted with Tycho Brahe. 
 On his return to Iceland, Fiolxhildis 
 received him kindly, and was delighted 
 with the progress he had made in astro- 
 nomy. She then informed him of the 
 existence of certain spirits, or demons, 
 from whom, although no traveller her- 
 self, she acquired a knowledge of other 
 countries, and especially of a very re- 
 markable country, called Livania. Du- 
 racoto requesting further information, 
 the necessary ceremonies were performed 
 for invoking the demon; Duracoto and 
 his mother enveloped their heads in their 
 clothing, and presently " the screaking of 
 a harsh dissonant voice began to speak 
 
KEPLER. 
 
 53 
 
 in'the Icelandic tongue." The island of 
 Livania is situated in the depths of 
 ether, at the distance of about 250000 
 miles ; the road thence or thither is very 
 seldom open, and even when it is 
 passable, mankind find the journey a 
 most difficult and dangerous one. The 
 demon describes the method employed 
 by his fellow spirits to convey such 
 travellers as are thought fit for the 
 undertaking : " We bring no sedentary 
 people into our company, no corpulent 
 or delicate persons; but we pick out 
 those who waste their life in the con- 
 tinual use of post-horses, or who sail 
 frequently to the Indies ; who are ac- 
 customed to live upon biscuit, garlic, 
 dried fish, and such abominable feeding. 
 Those withered old hags are exactly fit 
 for us, of whom the story is familiar 
 that they travel immense distances by 
 night on goats, and forks, and old petti- 
 coats. The Germans do not suit us 
 at all ; but we do not reject the dry 
 Spaniards." This extract will probably 
 be sufficient to show the style of the 
 work. The inhabitants of Livania are 
 represented to be divided into two 
 classes, the Privolvans and Subvolvans, 
 by whom are meant those supposed to 
 live in the hemisphere facing the earth, 
 which is called the Volva, and those on 
 the opposite half of the moon : but 
 there is nothing very striking in the ac- 
 count given of the various pheno- 
 mena as respects these two classes. In 
 some notes which were added some time 
 after the book was first written, are 
 some odd insights into Kepler's method 
 of composing. Fiolxhildis had been made 
 to invoke the daemon with twenty-one 
 characters ; Kepler declares, in a note, 
 that he cannot remember why he fixed 
 on this number, " except because that is 
 the number of letters in Astronomia 
 Copernicana, or because there are 
 twenty-one combinations of the planets, 
 two together, or because there are 
 twenty-one different throws upon two 
 dice." The dream is abruptly termi- 
 nated by a storm, in which, says Kep- 
 ler, " I suddenly waked ; the Demon, 
 Duracoto, and Fiolxhildis were gone, 
 and instead of their covered heads, I 
 found myself rolled up among the 
 blankets." 
 
 Besides this trifle, Kepler left behind 
 him a vast mass of unpublished writings, 
 which came at last, into the hands of his 
 biographer, Hantsch. In 1714, Hantsch 
 issued a prospectus for publishing them 
 by subscription, in twenty -two folio 
 
 volumes. The' plan met no encourage- 
 ment, and nothing was published but a 
 single folio volume of letters to and from 
 Kepler, which seem to have furnished 
 the principal materials for the memoir 
 prefixed to them. After various un- 
 availing attempts to interest different 
 learned bodies in their appearance, the 
 manuscripts were purchased for the 
 library at St. Petersburg, where Euler, 
 Lexell, and Kraft, undertook to examine 
 them, and select the most interesting 
 parts for publication. The result of this 
 examination does not appear. 
 
 Kepler's body was buried in St. Pe- 
 ter's churchyard at Ratisbon, and a 
 simple inscription was placed on his 
 tombstone. This appears to have 
 been destroyed not long after, in the 
 course of the wars which still deso- 
 lated the country. In 1786, a proposal 
 was made to erect a marble monument 
 to his memory, but nothing was done. 
 Kastner, on whose authority it is men- 
 tioned, says upon this, rather bitterly, 
 that it matters little whether or not Ger- 
 many, having almost refused him bread 
 during his life, should, a century and a 
 half after his death, offer him a stone. 
 
 Delambre mentions, in his History of 
 Astronomy, that this design was resumed 
 in 1803 by the Prince Bishop of Con- 
 stance, and that a monument has been 
 erected in the Botanical Garden at Ra- 
 tisbon, near the place of his interment. 
 It is built in the form of a temple, sur- 
 mounted by a sphere; in the centre is 
 placed a bust of Kepler, in Carrara 
 marble. Delambre does not mention the 
 original of the bust ; but says it is not 
 unlike the figure engraved in the frontis- 
 piece of the Rudolphine Tables. That 
 frontispiece consists of a portico of ten 
 pillars, supporting a cupola covered with 
 astronomical emblems. Copernicus, 
 Tycho Brahe, Ptolemy, Hipparchus, and 
 other astronomers, are seen among them. 
 In one of the compartments of the com- 
 mon pedestal is apian of the observatory 
 at Uraniburg; in another, a printing 
 press; in a third is the figure of a man, 
 meant for Kepler, seated at a table. He 
 is identified by the titles of his works, 
 which are round him ; but the whole is 
 so small as to convey very little idea of 
 his figure or countenance. The only 
 portrait known of Kepler was given by 
 him to his assistant Gringallet, who pre- 
 sented it to Bernegger ; and it was placed 
 by the latter in the library at Strasburg. 
 Hantsch had a copy taken for the purpose 
 of engraving it, but died before it was 
 
54 
 
 KEPLER. 
 
 completed. A portrait of Kepler is en- 
 graved in the seventh part of Boissard's 
 Bibliotheca Chalcographica. It is not 
 known whence this was taken, but it 
 may, perhaps, be a copy of that which 
 was engraved by desire of Bernegger in 
 1620. The likeness is said not to have 
 been well preserved. " His heart and 
 genius,' * says Kiistner, " are faithfully 
 depicted in his writings ; and that may 
 console us, if we cannot entirely trust 
 his portrait." In the preceding pages, it 
 has been endeavoured to select such 
 passages from his writings as might 
 throw the greatest light on his character, 
 with a subordinate reference only to the 
 importance of the subjects treated. In 
 conclusion, it maybe well to support the 
 opinion which has been ventured on the 
 real nature of his triumphs, and on the 
 danger of attempting to follow his me- 
 thod in the pursuit of truth, by the judg- 
 ment pronounced by Delambre, as well 
 on his failures as on his success. "Con- 
 
 sidering these matters in another point of 
 view, it is not impossible to convince 
 ourselves that Kepler may have been 
 always the same. Ardent, restless, 
 burning to distinguish himself by his 
 discoveries, he attempted everything; 
 and having once obtained a glimpse of 
 one, no labour was too hard for him in 
 following or verifying it. All his at- 
 tempts had not the same success, and, 
 in fact, that was impossible. Those 
 which have failed seem to us only 
 fanciful ; those which have been more 
 fortunate appear sublime. When in 
 search of that which really existed, he 
 has sometimes found it ; when he devoted 
 himself to the pursuit of a chimera, he 
 could not but fail; but even there he 
 unfolded the same qualities, and that ob- 
 stinate perseverance that must triumph 
 over all difficulties but those which are 
 insurmountable*." 
 
 * Histoire del'Astronoirrie Modem e, Paris, 1821. 
 
 List of Kepler* 8 published 
 
 Works. 
 
 Ein Calender 
 
 Gratz, 
 
 Prodromus Dissertat. Cosmograph. 
 
 Tubingce, 
 
 De fundamentis Astrologies . 
 
 Pragee, 
 
 Paralipomena ad Vitellionem r 
 
 Francofurti, 
 
 Epistola de Solis deliquio 
 
 . 
 
 De stella nova .... 
 
 Pragee, 
 
 Vom Kometen . . . , 
 
 Halle, : 
 
 Antwort an Roslin 
 
 Pragee, 
 
 Astronomia Nova . 
 
 Pragee, 
 
 Tertius interveniens . . 
 
 Frankfurt, 
 
 Dissertatio cum Nuncio Sidereo 
 
 Francofurti , 
 
 Strena, seu De nive sexangula . 
 
 Frankfurt, 
 
 Dioptrica .... 
 
 Francofurti, 
 
 Vom Geburts Jahre des Heylandes 
 
 Strasburg, 
 
 Respons. ad epist S. Calvisiii . 
 
 Francofurti, 
 
 Eel ogee Chronica . 
 
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-e^st lib 
 
 OF THE 
 
 M^ 
 
 UFIVERSITY 
 LIFE OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 
 
 The following life is substantially a translation from that in the "Biographie Universelle," by 
 M. Biot, the very learned French mathematician and natural philosopher ; and to the 
 kindness of this distinguished individual we feel deeply indebted, for allowing us to pre- 
 sent this number to our readers. Those alterations only have been made, which we con- 
 sidered might render the treatise more adapted for the objects which the Society 
 has in view. 
 
 Isaac Newton was born at Wools- 
 thorpe, in Lincolnshire, on the 25th 
 December, 1642 (O. S.) the year in 
 which Galileo died. At his birth he was 
 so small and weak that his life was de- 
 spaired of. At the death of his father, 
 which took place while he was yet an 
 infant, the manor of Woolsthorpe, of 
 which his family had been in posses- 
 sion several years, became his heritage. 
 In a short time his mother married 
 again ; but this new alliance did not 
 interfere with the performance of her 
 duties towards her son. She sent him, 
 at an early age, to the school of his native 
 village, and afterwards, on attaining his 
 twelfth year, to the neighbouring town 
 of Grantham, that he might be instructed 
 in the classics. Her intention, however, 
 was not to make her son a mere scholar, 
 but to give him those first principles of 
 education which were considered neces- 
 sary for every gentleman, and to render 
 him able to manage his own estate. 
 After a short period, therefore, she re- 
 called him to Woolsthorpe, and began 
 to employ him in domestic occupations. 
 For these he soon showed himself 
 neither fitted nor inclined. Already, 
 during his residence at Grantham, New- 
 ton, though still a child, had made him- 
 self remarkable by a decided taste for 
 various philosophical and mechanical in- 
 ventions. He was boarded in the house 
 of an apothecary, named Clarke, where, 
 caring but little for the society of other 
 children, he provided himself with a col- 
 lection of saws, hammers, and other in- 
 struments, adapted to his size ; these he 
 employed with such skill and intelli- 
 gence, that he was able to construct 
 models of many kinds of machinery; 
 he also made hour-glasses, acting by 
 the descent of water, which marked the 
 
 time with extraordinary accuracy. A 
 new windmill, of peculiar construction, 
 having been erected in the vicinity of 
 Grantham, Newton manifested a strong 
 desire to discover the secret of its me- 
 chanism ; and he accordingly went so 
 often to watch the workmen employed in 
 erecting it, that he was at length able to 
 construct a model, which also turned 
 with the wind, and worked as well as 
 the mill itself ; but with this difference, 
 that he had added a mouse in the inte- 
 rior, which he called the miller, because 
 it directed the mill, and ate up the flour, 
 as a real miller might do. A certain 
 acquaintance with drawing was neces- 
 sary in these operations; to this art, 
 though without a master, he success- 
 fully applied himself. The walls of his 
 closet were soon covered with designs 
 of all sorts, either copied from others, or 
 taken from nature. These mechanical 
 pursuits, which already implied consider- 
 able powers of invention and observa- 
 tion, occupied his attention to such a 
 degree, that for them he neglected his 
 studies in language ; and, unless excited 
 by particular circumstances, he ordina- 
 rily allowed himself to be surpassed by- 
 children of very inferior mental capa- 
 city. Having however, on some occa- 
 sion, been surpassed by one of his class 
 fellows, he determined to prevent the re- 
 currence of such a mortification, and 
 very shortly succeeded in placing him- 
 self at the head of them all. 
 
 It was after Newton had for several 
 years cherished and, in part, unfolded 
 so marked a disposition of mind, that 
 his mother, having taken him home, 
 wished to employ him in the affairs of 
 her farm and household. The reader 
 may easily judge that he had little incli- 
 nation for such pursuits. More than once 
 B 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 he was sent by his mother on market-days 
 to Grantham, to sell corn and other arti- 
 cles of farming produce, and desired to 
 purchase the provisions required for the 
 family ; but as he was still very young, 
 a confidential servant was sent with him 
 to teach him how to market. On these 
 occasions, however, Newton, imme- 
 diately after riding into the town, allow- 
 ed his attendant to perform the business 
 for which he was sent, while he himself 
 retired to the house of the apothecary 
 where he had formerly lodged, and em- 
 ployed his time in reading some old 
 book, till the hour of return arrived. 
 At jother times he did not even proceed 
 so far as the town, but stopping on the 
 road, occupied himself in study, under 
 the shelter of a hedge, till the servant 
 came back. With such ardent desire 
 for mental improvement, we may easily 
 conceive that his repugnance to rural 
 occupations must have been extreme ; 
 as soon as he could escape from them, 
 his happiness consisted in sitting under 
 some tree, either reading, or modelling in 
 wood, with his knife, various machines 
 that he had seen. To this day is shewn, 
 at Woolsthorpe, a sun-dial, constructed 
 by him on the wall of the house in 
 which he lived. It fronts the garden, 
 and is at the height to which a child can 
 reach. This irresistible passion, which 
 urged young Newton to the study of 
 science, at last overcame the obstacles 
 which the habits or the prudence of his 
 mother had thrown in his way. One 
 of his uncles having one day found 
 him under a hedge, with a book in his 
 hand, entirely absorbed in meditation, 
 took it from him, and discovered that 
 he was working a mathematical pro- 
 blem. Struck with finding so serious 
 and decided a disposition in so young a 
 person, he urged Newton's mother no 
 longer to thwart him, but to send him 
 once more to pursue his studies at 
 Grantham.* 
 
 There he remained till he reached his 
 eighteenth year, when he removed to 
 Cambridge, and was entered at Trinity- 
 College, in 1660. Since the beginning 
 of the seventeenth century, a taste for 
 the cultivation of mathematical know- 
 ledge had shown itself among the mem- 
 bers of that University. The elements 
 of algebra and geometry generally 
 
 * These details of the infancy of Newton are 
 taken chiefly from " Collections for the History of 
 the Town and Soke of Grantham, containing authen- 
 tic Memoirs of Sir Isaac Newton, -c. by Edmund 
 Turner, (London, 1806.)" And from the Eloge on 
 Newton, written by Fontenelje, 
 
 formed a part of the system of educa- 
 tion, and Newton had the good fortune 
 to find Dr. Barrow, professor ; a man 
 who, in addition to the merit of being 
 one of the greatest mathematicians of 
 his age, joined that of being the kindest 
 instructor as well as the most zealous 
 protector of the young genius growing 
 up under his care. 
 
 Newton, in order to prepare himself 
 for the public lessons, privately read the 
 text books in advance, the better to fol- 
 low the commentaries of the lecturer- 
 These books were, Bishop Sanderson's 
 Logic,* and Kepler's Treatise on Optics, 
 from which it is evident the young 
 learner must have made considerable 
 progress in the elements of geometry 
 when studying at Grantham. After 
 Newton went to Cambridge, the process 
 of the unfolding of his intellect, a sub- 
 ject so interesting in the study of the 
 human mind, fortunately remains to us 
 either described by himself or establish- 
 ed in literary monuments, by which we 
 are enabled accurately to trace its pro- 
 gress. 
 
 At this epoch, Descartes bore sway 
 both in speculative and in natural phi- 
 losophy. The authority of the metaphy- 
 sical systems of his daring and fertile 
 mind having succeeded to the empire 
 which those of Aristotle had previously 
 exercised, caused his method and his 
 works to be adopted also in mathematics. 
 Hence the geometry of Descartes was 
 one of the first books that Newton read 
 at Cambridge. 
 
 After Newton's persevering efforts, 
 when reading alone, to make himself 
 master of the elements of this science, ex- 
 plained so unconnectedly and imperfectly 
 by other authors, he must have felt a lively 
 pleasure on entering on the wide career 
 that the French analyst was the first to 
 open, and in which, having shown the 
 connexion between algebraical equations 
 and geometry, he discovers to us the 
 use of that relation in solving, almost 
 at sight, problems which, up to that 
 time, had foiled the efforts of all the an- 
 cient and modern mathematicians. It 
 is singular, however, that Newton, in 
 his writings, has never mentioned Des- 
 cartes favourably ; and, on more than 
 one occasion, has treated him with in- 
 justice.-f He next proceeded, when 
 
 * The title is Logicce artis Compendium, auctore 
 Robert Sanderson. Oxon. 8vo. 
 
 t Particularly in his Optics, where he attributes the 
 discovery of the true theory of the rainbow to Anto- 
 nius de Dominis, Archbishop of Spalatro, leaving to- 
 Descartes only the merit of having " mended the ex- 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON 
 
 3 
 
 about twenty-one years old, to read the 
 works of Wallis, and appears to have 
 taken peculiar delight in studying the re- 
 markable treatise of this analyst, entitled 
 Arithmetica infinitorum. It was his cus- 
 tom, when reading, to note down what 
 appeared to him capable of being im- 
 proved ; and, by following up the ideas 
 of Wallis, he was led to many important 
 discoveries: for instance, Wallis had 
 given the quadrature of curves, whose 
 ordinates are expressed by any integral 
 and positive power of (l-# 2 ); and 
 had observed, that if, between the areas 
 so calculated, we could interpolate the 
 areas of other curves, the ordinates of 
 which constituted, with the former ordi- 
 nates, a geometrical progression, the 
 area of the curve, whose ordinate was 
 a mean proportional between 1 and 
 (l-x 2 ) would express a circular sur- 
 face, in terms of the square of its 
 radius. In order to effect this interpola- 
 tion, Newton began to seek, empirically, 
 the arithmetical law of the co-efficients 
 of the series already obtained.* Having 
 found it, he rendered it more general, 
 by expressing it algebraically. He then 
 perceived that this interpolation gave 
 him the expression in series of radical 
 quantities, composed of several terms ; 
 but, not blindly trusting to the induction 
 that had conducted him to this impor- 
 tant result, he directly verified it by 
 multiplying each series by itself the 
 number of times required by the index 
 of the root, and he found, in fact, that 
 this multiplication re-produced exactly 
 the quantity from which it had been 
 deduced. When he had thus ascertained 
 that this form of series really gave the 
 development of radical quantities, he 
 was obviously led to consider that they 
 might be obtained still more directly, by 
 applying to the proposed quantities the 
 process used in arithmetic for extracting 
 
 plication of the exterior bow;" and jet every im- 
 partial reader, -who refers to the original works, 
 will see that the theory of Descartes is exact and 
 complete, either as to the cause of the bow, its forma- 
 tion, or its size, and that he was only unacquainted 
 with the cause of the different colours; and even, 
 notwithstanding h\s ignorance relative to this part 
 of the phenomenon, Descartes, with great sagacity, 
 refers it to another experimental fact, by assimilating 
 it to the colours formed by prisms. It is this 
 formation of colours that Newton has so completely 
 explained by the unequal refraugibility of the rays 
 of light ; but all the rest of the explanation is due 
 to Descartes. The book of Dominis contains abso- 
 lutely nothing but explications entirely vague, with- 
 out any calculation or real result. 
 
 * These details are mentioned by Newton himself, 
 in a letter sent through Oldenburg to Leibnitz, 
 dated October 24, 1676. It is No. LV. in the Com- 
 mercium Epiitolicum, published by order of .the 
 Royal Society of London. 
 
 roots. This attempt perfectly succeeded* 
 and again gave the same series, which 
 he had previously discovered by indirect 
 means ; but it made them depend on a 
 much more general method, since it 
 permitted him to express, analytically, 
 any powers whatever of polynomials, 
 their quotients, and their roots ; by 
 operating upon and considering these 
 quantities as the developments of 
 powers corresponding to integral, nega- 
 tive, or fractional exponents. It is, in 
 fact, in the generality and in the uni- 
 formity given to these developments in 
 which the discovery of Newton really 
 consists : for Wallis had remarked before 
 him, with regard to monomial quanti- 
 ties, the analogy of quotients and roots, 
 with integral powers, expressed accord- 
 ing to the notation of Descartes ; nay, 
 more, Pascal had given a rule for form- 
 ing, directly, any term of an expanded 
 power of a binomial, the exponent being 
 an integer. But whatever might be the 
 merit of these observations, they were in- 
 complete, and wanted generality, from not 
 being expressed in an algebraical form. 
 In fact, this step made by Newton was 
 indispensable for discovering the deve- 
 lopment of functions into infinite series. 
 Thus was found out the celebrated for- 
 mula of such constant use in modern 
 analysis, known by the name of the Bino- 
 mial Theorem of Newton; and not only 
 did he discover it, but he further perceived 
 that there is scarcely any analytical re- 
 search in which the use of it is not. neces- 
 sary, or at least possible. He imme- 
 diately made a great number of the most 
 important of these applications, solving, 
 in this way, by series, with unexampled 
 facility and exactness, questions which, 
 up to that time, had not even been 
 attempted, or of which solutions had 
 been obtained only when the real diffi- 
 culties of the case were removed by 
 particular limitations. It was thus that 
 he obtained the quadrature of the hy- 
 perbola B f and of many other curves, the 
 numerical values of which he amused 
 himself in computing to as many deci- 
 mal places nearly as had previously been 
 employed in the case of the circle alone : 
 such pleasure did he take in observing 
 the singular effect of these new analyti- 
 cal expressions, which, when capable of 
 being determined exactly, stopped after 
 a certain number of terms ; and, in the 
 opposite case, extended themselves in- 
 definitely, while approximating more and 
 more to the truth. Nor did he confine 
 his application of these formulae to the ; 
 B2 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 areas of curves and their rectification, 
 but extended it to the surfaces of 
 solids, to the determination of their con- 
 tents, and the situation of their centres 
 of gravity. To understand how this 
 method of reducing: into series could 
 conduct him to such results, we must 
 recollect that, in 1665, Wallis, in his 
 Arithmetica infmitorum, had shown that 
 the area of all curves may be found 
 whose ordinate is expressed by any in- 
 tegral power of the abscissa; and he 
 had given the expression for this area in 
 terms of the ordinate. Now, by reduc- 
 ing into series the more complicated 
 functions of the abscissa which repre- 
 sent the ordinates, Newton changed 
 them into a series of monomial terms, 
 to each of which he was able to apply 
 the rule of Wallis. He thus obtained 
 as many portions of the whole area as 
 there were terms, and by their addition 
 obtained the total. But the far more 
 extensive, and, in some respects, un- 
 limited applications that Newton made 
 of this rule, depended on a general 
 principle which he had made out, and 
 which consisted in the determining, 
 from the manner in which quantities 
 gradually increase, what are the values 
 to which they ultimately arrive. To effect 
 this, Newton regards them not as the 
 aggregates of small homogeneous parts, 
 but as the results of continued motion ; 
 so that, according to this mode of con- 
 ception, lines are described by the move- 
 ment of points, surfaces by that of 
 lines, solids by that of surfaces, and 
 angles by the rotation of their sides. 
 Again considering that the quantities 
 so formed are greater or smaller in 
 equal times, according as the velocity 
 with which they are developed is more 
 or less rapid, he endeavours to deter- 
 mine their ultimate values from the ex- 
 pression for these velocities, which he 
 calls Fluxions, naming the quantities 
 themselves Fluents. In fact, when any 
 given curve, surface, or solid is gene- 
 rated in this manner, the different ele- 
 ments which either compose or belong 
 to it, such as the ordinates, the abscissae, 
 the lengths of the arcs, the solid con- 
 tents, the inclinations of the tangent 
 planes, and of the tangents, all vary 
 differently and unequally, but neverthe- 
 less according to a regular law depend- 
 ing on the equation of the curve, sur- 
 face, or solid under consideration. 
 
 Hence Newton was able to deduce 
 from this equation the fluxions of all 
 these elements, in terms of any one of 
 
 the variables, and of the fluxion of this 
 variable, considered as indeterminate ; 
 then, by expanding into series, he trans- 
 formed the expression, so obtained, into 
 finite, or infinite series of monomial 
 terms, to which Wallis's rule became 
 applicable : thus, by applying it succes- 
 sively to each, and taking the sum of 
 the results, he obtained the ultimate 
 value, i. e. the fluent of the element he 
 had been considering. It is in this that 
 the method of fluxions consists, of which 
 Newton from that time laid the founda- 
 tion ; and which, eleven years later, 
 Leibnitz again discovered, and present- 
 ed to the world in a different form, that, 
 namely, of the modern Differential cal- 
 culus. It were impossible to enumerate 
 the various discoveries in mathematical 
 analysis, and in natural philosophy, that 
 this calculus has given rise to; it is 
 sufficient to remark, that there is scarce- 
 ly a question of the least difficulty in 
 pure or mixed mathematics that does 
 not depend on it, or which could be 
 solved without its aid. Newton made 
 all these analytical discoveries before 
 the year 1665, that is, before completing 
 his twenty-third year. He collected and 
 arranged them in a manuscript, entitled 
 " Analysis per cequationes numero ter- 
 minorum infinitas" He did not, how- 
 ever, publish, or even communicate it 
 to any one, partly, perhaps, from a 
 backwardness to attain sudden noto- 
 riety*, though more probably from his 
 having already conceived the idea of 
 applying this calculus to the determina- 
 tion of the laws of natural phenomena, 
 anticipating that the analytical methods 
 which he had discovered would be to 
 him instruments for working out the 
 most important results. It is at least 
 certain, that, satisfied with the pos- 
 session of this treasure, he kept it 
 in reserve, and turned his attention 
 more closely towards objects of natural 
 philosophy. At this time (1665), he 
 quitted Cambridge to avoid the plague, 
 and .retired to Woolsthorpe. In this 
 retreat he was able to abandon himself, 
 without inteiTuption, to that philosophi- 
 cal meditation which appears to have 
 been essential to his happiness. 
 
 The following anecdote is related by 
 Pemberton, the contemporary and friend 
 of Newton. Voltaire, in his Elements 
 of Philosophy,' says that Mrs. Conduit, 
 Newton's niece, attested the fact. 
 
 One day, as he was sitting under an 
 apple-tree, (which is still shown) an 
 apple fell before him ; and this incident 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 awakening, perhaps, in his mind, the 
 ideas of uniform and accelerated mo- 
 tion, which he had been employing in 
 his method of fluxions, induced him to 
 reflect on the nature of that remarkable 
 power which urges all bodies to the 
 centre of the earth ; which precipitates 
 them towards it with a continually ac- 
 celerated velocity ; and which continues 
 to act without any sensible diminution 
 at the tops of the highest towers, and 
 on the summits of the loftiest moun- 
 tains. A new idea darted across his 
 mind. "Why," he asked himself, "may 
 not this power extend to the moon, and 
 then what more would be necessary to 
 retain her in her orbit about the earth }* 
 This was but a conjecture ; and yet what 
 boldness of thought did it not require to 
 form and deduce it from so trifling an 
 accident ! Newton, we may well imagine, 
 applied himself with all his energy to 
 ascertain the truth of this hypothesis. 
 He considered, that if the moon were 
 really retained about the earth by ter- 
 restrial gravity, the planets, which move 
 round the sun, ought similarly to be re- 
 tained in their orbits by their gravity 
 towards that body.* Now, if such a 
 force exists, its constancy or variability, 
 as well as its energy at different dis- 
 tances from the centre, ought to mani- 
 fest itself in the different velocity of 
 the motion in the orbit ; and conse- 
 quently, its law ought to be deducible 
 from a comparison of these motions. 
 Now, in fact, a remarkable relation does 
 exist between them, which Kepler had 
 previously found out by observation, 
 namely, that the squares of the times 
 of revolution of the different planets 
 are proportional to the cubes of their 
 distances from the sun. Setting out 
 with this law, Newton found, by calcu- 
 lation, that the force of solar gravity 
 decreases proportionally to the square 
 of the distance ; and it is to be observed 
 that he could not have arrived at this 
 result without having discovered the 
 means of determining from the velocity 
 of a body in its orbit, and the radius of 
 the orbit supposed to be circular, the 
 effort with which it tends to recede from 
 
 * Newton afterwards shewed the truth of this re- 
 sult, by deducing it from a law observed by Kepler, 
 in the movement of all the planets, which consists in 
 the description of areas proportional to the times, by 
 the radius vector drawn from each planet to the 
 sun ; but he did not know how to make use of this 
 law till he had discovered the means of calculating 
 the motion in an elliptic orbit ; that is, about the end * 
 
 of the year 16/9. #c. 
 
 the centre ; because it is this effort that 
 determines the intensity of the gravity, 
 (to which, in fact, the effort is equal.) It 
 is precisely on this reasoning, that the 
 beautiful theorems on centrifugal force, 
 published six years afterwards by Huy- 
 gens, are founded; whence it is plain 
 that Newton himself must necessarily 
 have been acquainted with these very 
 theorems. Having thus determined the 
 law of the gravity of the planets to- 
 wards the sun, he forthwith endeavoured 
 to apply it to the moon ; that is to say, 
 to determine the velocity of her move- 
 ment round the earth, by means of her 
 distance as determined by astronomers, 
 and the intensity of gravity as shown 
 by the fall of bodies at the earth's sur- 
 face. To make this calculation, it is 
 necessary to know exactly the distance 
 from the surface to the centre of the 
 earth, expressed in parts of the same 
 measure that is used in marking the 
 spaces described, in a given time, by 
 falling bodies at the earth's surface ; for 
 their velocity is the first term of com- 
 parison that determines the intensity of 
 gravity at this distance from the centre, 
 which we apply afterwards at the dis- 
 tance of the moon by diminishing it pro- 
 portionally to the square of her distance. 
 It then only remains to be seen, if gravity, 
 when thus diminished, has precisely the 
 degree of energy necessary to counter- 
 act the centrifugal force of the moon, 
 caused by the observed motion in her 
 orbit. Unhappily, at this time, there 
 existed no correct measure of the earth's 
 dimensions. Such as were to* be met 
 with, had been made only for nautical 
 purposes, and were extremely imperfect. 
 Newton, having no other resource but 
 to employ them, found that they gave 
 for the force that retains the moon in 
 her orbit, a value greater by than that 
 which results from her observed circu- 
 lar velocity. This difference, which 
 would, doubtless, to any other person, 
 have appeared very small, seemed, to 
 his cautious mind, a proof sufficiently 
 decisive against the bold conjecture 
 which he had formed. He imagined 
 that some unknown cause, analogous, 
 perhaps, to the vortices of Descartes,* 
 modified, in the case of the moon, 
 the general law of gravity indicated by 
 the movement of the planets. He did 
 not, however, on this account, wholly 
 
 Vide Whiston's Memoirs of Himself, page 23, 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 abandon his leading notion, but, in con- 
 formity with the character of his con- 
 templative mind, he resolved not yet to 
 divulge it, but to wait until study and 
 reflection should reveal to him the un- 
 known cause which modified a law indi- 
 cated by such strong analogies. This 
 took place in 1665-6. During the latter 
 year, the danger of the plague having 
 ceased, he returned to Cambridge, but 
 he did not disclose his secret to any one, 
 not even to his instructor, Dr. Barrow. 
 It was not till two years afterwards, 
 1668, that Newton communicated to the 
 latter, who w T as then engaged in publish- 
 ing his lectures on Optics, certain 
 theorems relating to the optical proper- 
 ties of curved surfaces, of which Barrow 
 makes very honourable mention in his 
 preface. Newton had now become a 
 colleague of his former tutor, having 
 been admitted master of arts the pre- 
 ceding year. At length in the same 
 year (1668) an occurrence in the scien- 
 tific world compelled him to declare 
 himself. Mercator* printed and pub- 
 lished, towards the end of this year, a 
 book called Logarithmotechnia, in which 
 he had succeeded in obtaining the area 
 of the hyperbola referred to its asymp- 
 totes, by expanding its ordinate into an 
 infinite series ; this he did by means of 
 common division, as Wallis had done in 
 
 the case of fractions of the form : 
 
 lx 
 
 then, considering each term of this series 
 separately, as representing a particular 
 ordinate, he applied to it Wallis's method 
 for curves, whose ordinates are ex- 
 pressed by a single term, and the sum 
 of the partial areas so obtained, gave 
 him the value of the whole area. This 
 was the first example given to the world 
 of obtaining the quadrature of a curve 
 by expanding its ordinate into an infinite 
 series. And it was also the main secret 
 in the general method which Newton 
 had invented for all problems of this 
 nature. The novelty of the invention 
 caused it to be received with general ap- 
 plause. Collins, a gentleman well known 
 to science and philosophy at that time, 
 hastened to send Mercator's book to his 
 friend Barrow, who communicated it to 
 Newton. The latter had no sooner 
 glanced over it, than recognizing his own 
 fundamental idea, he immediately went 
 home, to find the manuscript ; in which 
 he had explained his own method, and 
 
 * Born in Holstein : he passed the greater part of 
 his life in England. 
 
 presented it to Barrow; this was the 
 treatise Analysis per cequationes numei % o 
 terminorum infinitas. Barrow w r as 
 struck with astonishment at seeing so 
 rich a collection of analytical discoveries 
 of far greater importance than the par- 
 ticular one which then excited such 
 general admiration. Perhaps, too, he 
 must have been still more surprised at 
 their young author having been able to 
 keep them so profoundly secret. He 
 immediately wrote about them to Col- 
 lins, who, in return, entreated Barrow to 
 procure for him the sight of so precious 
 a manuscript. Collins obtained his re- 
 quest, and happily, before returning the 
 work, took a copy of it, which being 
 found after his death, among his papers, 
 and published in 1711, has determined 
 beyond dispute, by the date which it bore, 
 at what period Newton made the memo- 
 rable discovery of expansion by series, 
 and of the method of fluxions. It would 
 have been natural to suppose that an 
 interference with his own discoveries 
 would at last have induced Newton to 
 publish his methods ; but he preferred 
 still to keep them secret. " I suspected," 
 says he, " that Mercator must have 
 known the extraction of roots, as well 
 as the reduction of fractions into series 
 by division, or at least, that others, hav- 
 ing learnt to employ division for this 
 purpose, would discover the rest before 
 I myself should be old enough to ap- 
 pear before the public, and, therefore, I 
 began henceforward to look upon such 
 researches with less interest."* 
 
 It were difficult to explain this reserve 
 and indifference by the feelings of ex- 
 treme modesty alone ; but we may 
 come near the truth by considering 
 what were the habits of Newton, and by 
 figuring to ourselves the new and extra- 
 ordinary allurements of another dis- 
 covery which he had just made, and 
 which he already enjoyed in secret ; for 
 in general, the effort of thinking was 
 with him so strong, that it entirely ab- 
 stracted his attention from other mat- 
 ters, and confined him exclusively to one 
 object. Thus we know that he never 
 was occupied at the same time with two 
 different scientific investigations. And 
 we find,f even in the most beautiful of 
 his works, the simple, yet expressive 
 avowal of the disgust with which his 
 most curious researches had always 
 finally inspired him, from his ideas being 
 
 * Com. Ephst. LVI. 
 f At the end of the Optics.) 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 continually, and for a long time, direct- 
 ed to the same object. This might, per- 
 haps, also have in part been caused by 
 a discouraging conviction, that he 
 would seldom be understood and fol- 
 lowed in the chain of his reasoning; 
 since others, in order to do so, must be as 
 deeply immersed in the subject and as 
 abstracted from other matters as himself. 
 Be this as it may, when Mercator's work 
 appeared, a new series of discoveries of 
 a totally different nature had taken hold 
 of Newton's thoughts. 
 
 In the course of 1666, he had acci- 
 dentally been led to make some obser- 
 vations on the refraction of light through 
 prisms. These experiments, which he 
 had at first tried merely from amuse- 
 ment, or curiosity, soon offered to him 
 most important results. They led him 
 to conclude that light, as it emanates 
 from radiating bodies, such as the sun, 
 for instance, is not a simple and homo- 
 geneous substance, but that it is com- 
 posed of a number of rays endowed 
 with unequal refrangibility, and pos- 
 sessing different colouring properties. 
 The inequality of the refraction under- 
 gone by these rays in the same body, 
 when they enter at the same angle of 
 incidence, enabled him to separate them ; 
 and thus, having them unmixed and 
 pure, he was able to study their indivi- 
 dual properties. But the breaking out 
 of the plague, which in this year com- 
 pelled him to take refuge in the coun- 
 try, having separated him from his in- 
 struments, and deprived him of the 
 means of making experiments, turned 
 his attention to other objects. More 
 than two years elapsed before he re- 
 turned to these researches, on finding 
 himself about to be appointed lecturer 
 on optics in room of Dr. Barrow, who 
 in 1669 generously retired in order to 
 make way for him. He then endea- 
 voured to mature his first results, and 
 was led to a multitude of observations 
 no less admirable from their novelty 
 and importance, than for the sagacity, 
 address, and method, with which he 
 perfected and connected them. He 
 composed a complete treatise, in which 
 the fundamental properties of light were 
 unfolded, established, and arranged, by 
 means of experiment alone, without any 
 admixture of hypothesis, a novelty at 
 that time almost as surprising as these 
 properties themselves. This formed 
 the text of the lectures he began in 
 Cambridge 1669, when scarcely twenty- 
 seven years old, and thus we see, 
 
 from what we have related concerning 
 the succession of his ideas, that the 
 method of Fluxions, the theory of uni- 
 versal gravitation, and the decomposi- 
 tion of light, i. e. the three grand dis- 
 coveries which form the glory of his 
 life, were conceived in his mind before 
 the completion of his twenty-fourth year. 
 Although the lectures of Newton on 
 optics must inevitably in the end have 
 given publicity to his labours on light, 
 he still refrained from publishing, wish- 
 ing probably to reserve to himself the 
 opportunity of adding a complete ana- 
 lysis of certain curious properties, of 
 which, as yet, he had had but a slight 
 glimpse. We refer to the intermittences 
 of reflection and refraction which take 
 place in thin plates, and perhaps in the 
 ultimate particles of all bodies. It was 
 not till two years later, that he made 
 known some of his researches, and soon 
 afterwards he was induced to give them 
 full publicity. In 1671 he had been 
 proposed as a Fellow of the Royal So- 
 ciety of London, and was elected on the 
 11th of January, 1672. In order that 
 he might be qualified to receive this 
 distinction, the rules of the society re- 
 quired that he should declare himself 
 desirous of becoming a Fellow, and he 
 could not do so in a more honourable 
 manner than by offering some scientific 
 communication. He forwarded to them 
 a description of a new arrangement for 
 reflecting telescopes, which rendered 
 them more commodious in use by dimi- 
 nishing their length without weakening 
 their magnifying powers. With regard 
 to this invention, in which Newton had 
 been preceded, probably without know- 
 ing it, by Gregory the Scotch mathema- 
 tician, and by a Frenchman of the name 
 of Cassegrain, it is merely necessary to 
 observe that the construction offers in 
 practice some inconveniences, which 
 cause it to be little used. Nevertheless, 
 when he presented a model of it,* of his 
 own construction, it made a great im- 
 pression in his favour among the mem- 
 bers of the society, to whom probably 
 the construction of Gregory's telescope 
 was not yet well known. The letter 
 which Newton wrote to the society on 
 this occasion, ends with the following 
 characteristic expression : " I am very 
 ' sensible of the honour done me by the 
 Bishop of Sarum, in proposing me 
 Candidate, and which I hope will be 
 
 * This model, made by Newton himself, is tili 
 preserved in the Library of the Royal Society. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 further conferred upon me by my 
 election into the society, and if so, I 
 shall endeavour to testify my gratitude 
 by communicating what my poor and 
 solitary endeavours can effect towards 
 the promoting philosophical design."* 
 The favourable reception which this 
 proposal met with, induced Newton two 
 months afterwards to make to the 
 Koyal Society another much more im- 
 portant communication, viz. the first 
 part of his labours on the analysis of 
 light. We can easily imagine the sen- 
 sation which so great and unexpected 
 a discovery must have produced. The 
 society requested of him, in the most 
 flattering terms, permission to insert 
 this beautiful Treatise in the Philo- 
 sophical Transactions.f Newton ac- 
 cepted this speedy and honourable me- 
 thod of publication ; and in addressing 
 his thanks to Oldenburg, their secre- 
 tary, he says: "It was an esteem of 
 the Royal Society, for most candid and 
 ablejudgesin philosophical matters, en- 
 couraged me to present them with that 
 discourse of light and colours, which 
 since they have so favourably accepted 
 of, I do earnestly desire you to return 
 them my cordial thanks. I before 
 thought it a great favour to be made a 
 member of that honourable body, but I 
 am now more sensible of the advantage : 
 for believe me, Sir, I do not only esteem 
 it a duty to concur with them in the 
 promotion of real knowledge, but a 
 great privilege that, instead of exposing 
 discourses to a prejudiced and censorious 
 multitude, (by which means many truths 
 have been baffled and lost,) I may with 
 freedom apply myself to so judicious 
 and impartial an assembly."! It is 
 but fair to say, for the honour of the 
 Royal Society, that it has always shown 
 itself, more than any other, worthy of 
 this r.oble testimony which the most 
 illustrious of its members has rendered 
 to its justice. But though the suffrage 
 and esteem of such a society may make 
 amends for, yet they cannot prevent in- 
 dividual attacks. Newton himself was 
 compelled to submit to the common 
 destiny, which ordains that merit, and 
 more particularly success, shall give 
 rise to envy. By unveiling himself, he 
 obtained glory, but at the^ price of his 
 repose. At this period, Robert. Hooke 
 was a fellow of the Royal Society, a 
 
 * Birch, vol. iii. p. 3. 
 
 T At that time published in monthly numbers, by 
 the Royal Society. 
 
 J Dattd Trinity College, February 10th, 1671, 
 
 man of extensive acquirements, and of 
 an original turn of thought, with great 
 activity of mind and an excessive desire 
 of renown. There were few departments 
 of human knowledge to which he had 
 not paid more or less attention : so 
 much so, indeed, that it was hardly pos- 
 sible to find any subject of research 
 upon which he did not profess to have 
 original views ; or to propose any new 
 invention of which he did not claim the 
 prior discovery. There was then the 
 more opportunity of setting in action 
 and of gratifying his jealous spirit, as 
 all the physical and natural sciences 
 were, at that time, mixed up with theo- 
 retical opinions ; and there were few 
 men then to be met with who could dis- 
 tinguish the difference between a vague 
 perception and a precise idea between 
 a physical hypothesis and a law of 
 nature rigorously demonstrated. Hooke 
 himself was no exception to this remark ; 
 and unfortunately he was not suffi- 
 ciently familiar with pure mathematics 
 to make use of them as a means of cal- 
 culation, either in proving or perfecting 
 a theory. A thorough acquaintance 
 with this instrument was the great ad- 
 vantage possessed by Newton, and 
 which assured to his researches a pre- 
 cision and a certainty hitherto unknown 
 in science. The investigation of the 
 properties of light presented by him to 
 the Royal Society, eminently possessed 
 this rigorous character. It consisted in 
 showing experimentally a certain num- 
 ber of physical properties, which were 
 thus established as matters of fact with- 
 out any admixture of hypothesis, and 
 without requiring any previous know- 
 ledge in what the nature of light con- 
 sisted. When the first feelings of sur- 
 prise and admiration excited by this 
 noble work had subsided, the Royal 
 Society appointed three members to 
 study the treatise fully, and to give an 
 account of it. Hooke, being one of the 
 number, undertook to draw up the re- 
 port. Ahead)' on the occasion of 
 Newton presenting his telescope, Hooke 
 had announced that he possessed an 
 infallible method of improving all sorts 
 of optical instruments, so that* " what- 
 ever almost hath been in notion and 
 imagination, or desired in optics, may 
 be performed with great facility and 
 truth." Nevertheless, he did not ex- 
 plain this method, but confined himself, 
 in accordance with the conceits of his 
 
 * Birch, vol. iii. p. 4, 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 day, to masking it under the form of an 
 anagram ; of which, however, he ap- 
 pears not to have been able to produce 
 the explanation, since neither he nor 
 any other person has ever realised these 
 wonderful promises. His report on 
 Newton's work was, if not of the same 
 kind, yet conceived in the same spirit 
 of personality : for, instead of discussing 
 the new facts, singly, and as compared 
 with the original experiments, he exa- 
 mined them only in relation to an hypo- 
 thesis which he" had formerly imagined, 
 and which consists in regarding light 
 not as an emanation of very small par- 
 ticles, but as the simple effect of vibra- 
 tions excited and propagated in a very 
 elastic medium. This conception of the 
 nature of light may be in itself as true 
 as any other, since that nature is still 
 entirely unknown to us ; but, in order 
 to place such an hypothesis on an equal 
 footing with another hypothesis, shown 
 by calculation to be consistent with 
 experiment and observation, it ought to 
 be detailed with exactness, and to be 
 rigorously accordant with mathematical 
 calculation. The first of these condi- 
 tions was far from being fulfilled by 
 Hooke, who substituted in its stead a 
 sketch exceedingly vague, and mate- 
 rially contrary to experiment. He sup- 
 posed, for instance, that there are only 
 two colours essentially distinct, namely, 
 the violet and the red, of which all the 
 others are but mixtures. 
 
 With regard to the second condition, 
 viz., an accordance with calculation, it 
 was then far from possible to submit the 
 system of undulations to rigorous ma- 
 thematical investigation; since that is 
 more than even, at the present time, 
 those mathematicians have been able to 
 accomplish who have been most occu- 
 pied with the subject. To so vague a 
 theory did Hooke refer, as a standard, 
 the physical truths which Newton had 
 discovered. He concluded by dictato- 
 rially allowing all that appeared to him 
 to be reconcileable with his own hypo- 
 thesis, and by advising him not to seek 
 any other explanation of the facts.* 
 Newton replied to this attack in a severe 
 and decisive tone.f After refuting an 
 error that Hooke had committed, in 
 supposing the spherical aberration in 
 reflectors greater than that in refracting 
 lenses, he shows that Hooke had 
 judged of the facts he had announced, 
 
 * Bircli, Hist. R.S. vol. in. p. 10. 
 
 i Philosoph. Transact. Yol. vii. No. 88, 
 
 not by means of the observations that 
 supported them, but by their accordance 
 or discordance with a previously con- 
 ceived hypothesis ; that this hypothesis 
 w r as vague and unsatisfactory, and that, 
 for his own part, he had not wished to 
 support any hypothesis whatever, as in 
 fact he had no need of one, but that he 
 had only aimed at establishing the real 
 properties of light upon actual observa- 
 tion. Finally, he adduced new experi- 
 ments, confirming the results which he 
 had already obtained, and refuted the 
 inaccurate assertions of Hooke with re- 
 spect to the possibility of reducing all 
 colours to two simple ones ; as well as 
 his objections to the production of 
 whiteness by the mixture of all the rays. 
 This paper, which nearly completed 
 Newton's investigation into the proper- 
 ties of light, was published by the Royal 
 Society in the Philosophical Transactions 
 of Nov. 1672. Hooke did not reply to 
 this, but presuming, and with good rea- 
 son, after Newton's first treatise, that 
 such an experimentalist would soon be 
 on the track of all that remained to be 
 discovered concerning the physical pro- 
 perties of light, he hastened to present to 
 the Royal Society several important ob 
 servations on optics. Among them, we 
 may remark a very precise and faithful 
 account of the changeable colours that 
 appear in the form of rings on soap bub- 
 bles, and in the thin plates of air in- 
 cluded between '.pieces of glass pressed 
 together ; but without any determination 
 of the physical law or measure even of 
 the breadth and intervals of the rings. 
 Two years afterwards (18th of Marcfv 
 1674), he read another memoir, in which 
 he detailed the fundamental phenomena 
 of diffraction, which had been already 
 discovered and described byGrimaldi ;* 
 but, what is still more remarkable, he 
 then announced another principle, which, 
 under the name of the principle of 
 interferences, has since become one of 
 such frequent and advantageous appli- 
 cation. 
 
 This principle is, that colours are pro- 
 duced when two rays of white light ar- 
 rive simultaneously at the eye, having 
 directions so little different that this 
 organ takes them to be one ray. We 
 shall afterwards see that (as Hooke had 
 
 * These discoveries were given to the world in 
 Grimaldi's posthumous work, Pkyska-muthesis tie 
 lumiite, fyc. (Bononiae, 1665, in 4to.) a book also 
 containing the midulatory hypothesis afterwards re- 
 produced by Hooke. Vide Montucla, Histoire des 
 Mathematiques, vol. ii. 
 
10 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 anticipated) Newton was induced sub- 
 sequently to occupy himself with these 
 new phenomena ; but, in the mean time, 
 he was exposed to several absurd at- 
 tacks upon his experimental analysis of 
 light. Such, for instance, was that of a 
 Jesuit named Pardies, who pretended 
 that the elongation of the refracted 
 image, whence Newton inferred the un- 
 equal refrangibility of the rays, was pro- 
 duced entirely by a difference in their 
 original incidences on the first face of 
 the prism : a supposition, the inaccuracy 
 of which the most simple calculation 
 would have been sufficient to show ; 
 and which Newton had previously re- 
 futed in his own Memoir. But still 
 more foolish was the assertion of one 
 Linus, a physician of Liege, who pre- 
 tended never to have been able to pro- 
 duce by refraction through a prism an 
 elongated image, but only a round and 
 colourless one ; whence he concluded 
 that Newton had been led into error by 
 the accidental passage of some bright 
 cloud, which had elongated and co- 
 loured the image ; adding also that he 
 himself should not have been astonished 
 had the image been elongated in the 
 longitudinal direction of the prism ; but 
 that, without violating the rules of 
 optics, it was impossible to imagine its 
 elongation in the transverse direction. 
 This was accompanied by several au- 
 thoritative remarks on the improbability 
 of what he called the new hypothesis, 
 which Newton had imagined simply 
 to be a statement of facts. These ab- 
 surdities, as soon as presented, were 
 printed in the Philosophical Trans- 
 actions; and Newton was obliged to 
 take the trouble to answer them me- 
 thodically, to prevent their being accre- 
 dited by that envy which showed itself 
 so eager to receive them. He was com- 
 pelled to reply toHuygens, who, though 
 really a man of talent, made objections 
 as unphilosophical nearly as the others, 
 since he compared the properties dis- 
 covered experimentally by Newton with 
 an hypothesis of his own on the nature 
 of light, in the same manner as Hooke 
 had compared them with his hypothesis, 
 and Pardies and Linus with the ancient 
 ones. In vain did Newton reply that 
 he neither advanced nor admitted any 
 hypothesis whatever, but that his sole 
 object was to establish and connect 
 facts by means of the laws of nature. 
 This severe and abstract method of rea- 
 soning was then too little understood. 
 It is scarcely conceivable into what de- 
 
 tails he was obliged to enter in the dis- 
 cussion ; and such was the disgust with 
 which this inspired him, that he gave 
 up his previous intention of printing his 
 lectures on Optics with his treatise on 
 Series, and determined to commit him- 
 self no more with the public * " I 
 was," he afterwards wrote to Leibnitz, 
 " so persecuted with discussions arising 
 from the publication of my theory of 
 light, that I blamed my own imprudence 
 for parting with so substantial a bless- 
 ing as my quiet, to run after a shadow." 
 It was, perhaps, the remembrance of 
 these inconsiderate objections of Huy- 
 gens, that afterwards inclined Newton 
 to regard less favourably than he ought 
 to have done, the law of double refrac- 
 tion in Iceland spar, discovered by this 
 eminent mathematician, probably by 
 experiment after Newton's own manner, 
 though he presented it as a deduction 
 from his own favourite system, and as a 
 confirmation of it. It is easy to under- 
 stand how much Newton must have 
 been grieved by the opposition of so 
 illustrious an adversary as Huygens, 
 since he might at least have hoped to 
 have been understood and appreciated 
 by minds accustomed to the severity of 
 mathematical investigations. Neverthe- 
 less, before quitting the lists, Newton 
 wished finally to complete the account 
 of the results which he had obtained, 
 and of the views which he had formed 
 on the nature of light. This was the 
 object of a later paper addressed to the 
 Royal Society, f 
 
 We there find an experimental ana- 
 lysis of the colours observed in thin 
 plates phenomena, which, as we have 
 said, had been previously pointed out 
 and described by Hooke, but without 
 his having either measured the spaces 
 occupied by the colours, or determined 
 the law which they followed. Newton 
 first measured the spaces with admi- 
 rable precision and nicety, and thence 
 derived the physical laws by which all 
 these results are connected with, and 
 may be deduced from each other. 
 
 This treatise, united with his first paper 
 on the analysis of Light, afterwards 
 served as a base for the grand work 
 published in 1704, under the name of 
 Newton's Treatise on Optics ; with this 
 difference, however, that in the latter 
 work the experimental investigation of 
 
 * Comra. Epist. LVII. 
 
 + Dated 9th Dec. 1675. Birch, vol. in. pp. 247, 
 261, 296. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 11 
 
 the phenomena is more extensive and 
 more strictly separated from all hypo- 
 thesis. The new experiments with 
 which Newton enriched it, relate prin- 
 cipally to the colours observed in the 
 thick plates of all bodies, when they are 
 presented in a proper manner to the in- 
 cident ray. Newton reduces them to the 
 same laws as those of the phenomena 
 in thin plates ; and then considering 
 these laws as established facts equally 
 certain with the particular experiments 
 from which they are deduced, yet far 
 more universal, he unites them all in one 
 general property of light, each peculi- 
 arity of which is characterized with sUch 
 exactness, as to make the general pro- 
 perty a pure expression for all the ob- 
 served laws. The essence of this pro- 
 perty is, that each particle of light, from 
 the instant when it quits the radiating 
 body whence it emanates, is subject pe- 
 riodically and at equidistant intervals, 
 to a continual alternation of disposi- 
 tions to be reflected from or to be trans- 
 mitted through the surfaces of the dia- 
 phanous bodies it meets with ; so that, 
 for instance, if such a surface presents 
 itself to the luminous particle during 
 one of the alternations when the ten- 
 dency to reflection is in force, which 
 -Newton has appropriately termed the 
 Jit of easy reflection, this tendency 
 makes it yield more easily to the re- 
 flectinp; power of the surface ; while, on 
 the other hand, it yields with more diffi- 
 culty when it is in the contrary phase, 
 which Newton has termed the Jit of easy 
 transmission. We have here an ad- 
 mirable example of the universal appli- 
 cation of scientific definitions when 
 framed in strict accordance with expe- 
 riment. For, though the term fits, in- 
 
 or transmit a particular colour. But in 
 his paper of 1675, he connected these 
 properties with a very bold physical hy- 
 pothesis, so general, that, from it, he 
 deduced the nature of light and of heat, 
 and the explanation of all the pheno- 
 mena of combination or motion which 
 appear to result from certain intangible 
 and imponderable principles. As this 
 hypothesis (mentioned only in the His- 
 tory of the Royal Society) is little 
 known, and as it appears to have been 
 constantly connected with Newton's 
 thoughts on the constitution of the 
 universe, we may here give a summary 
 of it. We do this without the intention 
 either of defending or combating it, but 
 in order that the reader may see pre- 
 cisely in what the general views of New- 
 ton from this time forward consisted, 
 and how, while they continued un- 
 changed by lapse of time, he made a 
 more or less explicit declaration of them 
 according to circumstances. Newton, 
 in the first place, excuses himself for 
 proposing a conjecture as to the nature 
 of light, declaring that he does not need 
 one, and that the properties which he 
 has discovered being physical facts, 
 their being explicable or not by this or 
 that hypothesis, could not in any degree 
 add to or take away from their cer- 
 tainty ;* " but," says he, " because I 
 have observed the heads of some great 
 virtuosos to run much upon hypotheses, 
 I will give one which I should be in- 
 clined to consider as the most probable, 
 if I were obliged to adopt one." He 
 then admits, nearly as Descartes had 
 previously done, the existence of a fluid 
 imperceptible to our senses, which ex- 
 tends everywhere in space, and pene- 
 trates all bodies, with different degrees 
 
 asmuch as it seems to imply a physical of density. He supposes this fluid to 
 property, is applicable in its first in- be more dense in bodies which contain 
 tention to material particles only, and in the same volume a less number of 
 thus involves the assumption of the constituent material particles ; he sup- 
 materiality of light, (a fact of which we poses also that the density of this fluid 
 may reasonably doubt, though Newton varies around each different body, and 
 has never treated it as doubtful,) yet the even around each constituentparticle, 
 
 characteristics of these fits are described 
 in such exact conformity with experi- 
 ment, that they would exist without 
 any change, even were it discovered 
 that light is constituted in any other 
 manner that it consists, for instance 
 
 increasing rapidly near their surface, 
 and afterwards more slowly, though by 
 insensible degrees, as the distance from 
 the surface becomes greater. This fluid 
 (which Newton calls cetherial medium 
 or ccther, in order to characterize by 
 
 in the propagation of undulations: such this denomination its extreme tenuity) 
 
 is the point of view in which Newton 
 regards these fits in his Optics, 1704, 
 limiting himself to deduce from them 
 his profound inductions, on the inti- 
 mate constitution of bodies, and on the 
 cause which renders them apt to reflect 
 
 he also considered as highly elastic; 
 and consequently by the effort which it 
 makes to spread, that it presses against 
 itself, and against the material parts of 
 
 Birch, Hist R.S. vol. 
 
 p. 243. 
 
12 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 other bodies, with an energy more or 
 less powerful according to its actual 
 density, and thus that all these bodies 
 continually tend towards one another ; 
 the inequality of the pressure urging 
 them always to pass from the denser 
 into the rarer parts of the aether. Con- 
 formably to his opinion respecting the 
 disposition of the aether around each 
 body, and around each of its material 
 constituent particles, he considered that 
 the variations of its density between a 
 body and a vacuum, or between one 
 body and another neighbouring body, 
 were not sudden and discontinuous, but 
 gradual and progressive ; and from being 
 very rapid near the surfaces, where the 
 nature or density of the matter instan- 
 taneously changes, they a little farther 
 become so slow as soon to cease to be 
 perceptible beyond certain limits of 
 thickness inappreciable . to our senses. 
 If, then, this aether be disturbed or agi- 
 tated, in any one point, by any cause 
 whatever, producing a vibratory move- 
 ment, this motion must transmit itself 
 by undulations through all the rest of 
 the medium, in the same way that 
 sound is transmitted through air, but 
 much more rapidly, by reason of the 
 aether's greater elasticity ; and, if those 
 undulations, successively reiterated, hap- 
 pen to encounter in their passage the 
 material particles forming the sub- 
 stance of any body, they will agitate 
 them with considerable force, by the 
 quick and periodical repetition of their 
 successive impressions, in precisely the 
 same way that we see solid bodies, and 
 sometimes even the whole mass of a 
 large building, tremble under reiterated 
 impulses of the weak undulations in the 
 air, excited by the sounds of an organ, 
 or by the rolling of a drum. 
 
 Now Newton does not suppose that 
 light immediately results from the im- 
 pression produced by these undulations 
 on the nervous membrane of the retina, 
 as Descartes and Hooke had previously 
 done, and as, in general, has been done 
 by all those who have followed the same 
 system. The principal reason which 
 Islewton gives for rejecting this suppo- 
 sition is, that a motion excited in, and 
 transmitted through, an elastic fluid 
 which reposes on another fluid of a 
 different density, does not seem capable 
 of being reflected in the first fluid at 
 their surface of common separation, 
 without being in part transmitted into 
 the second ; whereas, in many cases, 
 light, propagated into the interior of 
 bodies, is totally reflected at their second 
 
 surface, and again returns into their 
 interior without the smallest part of it 
 going out. Newton, therefore, admits 
 that light consists of a peculiar sub- 
 stance different from the aether, but 
 composed of heterogeneous particles, 
 which, springing in all directions from 
 shining bodies, with an excessive 
 though measurable velocity, agitate the 
 aether in their passage, and excite in it 
 undulations ; by the" meeting of which, 
 they become liable to be in their turn 
 accelerated or retarded. Newton does 
 not attempt to characterize the essence 
 of these particles, but merely the faculty 
 that he attributes to them of agitating 
 the aether, and of being agitated by it ; 
 and finally he adds,* " those that will, 
 may suppose it, multitudes of unimagi- 
 nable small and swift corpuscules of 
 various sizes springing from shining 
 bodies at great distances one after 
 another ; but yet without any sensible 
 interval of time ; and continually urged 
 forward by a principle of motion, 
 which, in the beginning, accelerates 
 them till the resistance of the aetherial 
 medium equal the force of that prin- 
 ciple, much after the manner that 
 boc ies let fall in water are accelerated, 
 till the resistance of the water equals 
 the force of gravity." Be this as it may, 
 the independence of the particles of 
 light and of aether being admitted, as 
 well as their mutual reaction, Newton 
 takes the case of a ray of light moving 
 through a space in which the aetherial 
 medium is composed of strata of un- 
 equal density ; and applying to the par- 
 ticles of this ray the general principle 
 established above, he concludes that 
 they ought to be pressed, urged, or 
 generally acted upon, so as to go from 
 the denser to the rarer strata of aether ; 
 whence they must receive an accele- 
 rated velocity, if this tendency conspire 
 with the proper motion of the ray ; and 
 a retarded velocity, if it be contrary to 
 it ; and generally a curvilinear deviation 
 when the proper motion of the ray and 
 the impression produced by the elastic 
 medium are oblique to one another. 
 
 This is precisely what must happen 
 when rays of light pass from one trans- 
 parent homogeneous body into another, 
 since the aether is there supposed to be 
 of different densities ; and the deviation 
 of the rays takes place only near the 
 common surface of the two bodies, 
 where the sensible variation of density 
 begins, whence results the phenomenon 
 
 * Birch, Hist R. S. vol. iii. pp. 254, 5. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 13 
 
 of refraction.* M Now,'' says Newton, 
 " if the motion of the ray be supposed 
 in this passage to be increased or di- 
 minished in a certain proportion, ac- 
 cording to the difference of the densities 
 of the aetherial mediums, and the addi- 
 tion or detraction of the motion be 
 reckoned in the perpendicular from the 
 refracting superficies, as it ought to be, 
 the sines of incidence and refraction will 
 be proportional, according to what Des- 
 cartes has demonstrated." This expla- 
 nation of refraction is exactly the same 
 as Newton afterwards reproduced in 
 the Principia, though without there pro- 
 nouncing any opinion on the nature of 
 the disturbing force. It is, however, 
 probable, that in his Memoir he deduced 
 it by simple induction, rather than by a 
 mathematical investigation ; for it does 
 not appear that, at this epoch, he was 
 acquainted with the calculation of cur- 
 vilinear motions. It is, however, im- 
 portant to remark, that from this time 
 he had formed a conception of the doc- 
 trine of universal gravitation; for he 
 takes care to point out that the unequal 
 density of the aether, at different dis- 
 tances from the surface of bodies, suf- 
 fices to determine their mutual tendency 
 towards one another ; a consideration 
 which he again brought forward in the 
 Queries annexed to his Optics (in 1704), 
 after he had discovered the laws of 
 the system of the world. Never- 
 theless we may infer, that in 1675, he 
 had not yet formed the idea of attrac- 
 tions at small distances, since, in his 
 paper addressed to the Royal Society, 
 he imagines that the ascent of liquids in 
 capillary tubes is caused by the air 
 being more rare in confined than in open 
 spaces, and the more rare in proportion 
 as the spaces are more confined. While 
 in the Queries he attributes these phe- 
 nomena to their true cause, viz. to the 
 reciprocal attractions of the tubes and 
 of the fluid; though, even at this later 
 period, he did not know how to calculate 
 their effect. It was reserved for La- 
 place to complete this investigation. 
 
 After having thus considered the sim- 
 ple transmission of rays in aetherial 
 strata of unequal densities, Newton 
 examines the modifications produced 
 during this transmission, by their meet- 
 ing with undulations originally excited 
 in the aether itself, according as such 
 undulations may favour or oppose the 
 actual motion of the luminous particles ; 
 
 * Birch, Hist. R .S. vol. in. p. 256. 
 
 and by this re- action he is enabled to 
 explain the intermittances in reflection 
 and refraction, which take place in thin 
 plates. We may observe in his Optics, 
 that he has never abandoned this idea ; 
 for though in that work he has maintained 
 the most complete reserve with regard 
 to the nature of light, yet, after charac- 
 terizing the fits as a purely abstract 
 physical property, he gives as a method 
 of rendering it sensible, the same manner 
 of conceiving it that he had given in his 
 Memoir of 1675 ; the same idea is re- 
 produced in several of the Queries, 
 particularly in the 17th, and those fol- 
 lowing to the 24th, where Newton asks, 
 as in the paper presented to the Royal 
 Society, if this same aether be not also 
 sufficient to produce universal gravita- 
 tion, and even all the phenomena of 
 animal motion ? Finally, in his paper, 
 he endeavours to apply {he same prin- 
 ciples to the inflections, undergone by 
 rays of light on passing near the extre- 
 mities of bodies; which he, in like 
 manner, explains by variations in the 
 density of the aether. It is always 
 thus that he has represented these in- 
 flections, both in the Principia, printed 
 in 1687, and in the Queries. 
 
 From these examples, taken together, 
 we may see that Newton did not " seve- 
 ral times change his ideas on light," as 
 has been asserted by some writers, but 
 that, always preserving the same opinion, 
 he has explained it more or less fully, as 
 different occasions demanded. 
 
 The phenomena of diffraction, how 
 ever, were still too imperfectly known, 
 and observed with too little detail for 
 enabling Newton to see precisely whe- 
 ther they agreed or not with his hypo- 
 thesis. We have reason to believe that, 
 in order to study these properties, he 
 then made a number of experiments, to 
 be afterwards inserted at the end of the 
 Optics; for he there introduces them 
 as part of an investigation which he had 
 formerly undertaken, but from which 
 his thoughts were now so far estranged, 
 that he had lost the taste for resuming 
 it. These observations, like all his 
 others, are presented as matters of fact, 
 without relation to any system. When 
 the hypothesis of Newton on the nature 
 of light was presented, in 1675, to the 
 Royal Society, Hooke, as usual, put in 
 his claims to it. Newton, however, did 
 not again waste his time and repose in 
 a controversy on the subject, but con- 
 tented himself with writing to Olden- 
 burg (21st December), in order to make 
 
14 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 him see the injustice of that jealous in- 
 dividual. He first clearly shows that 
 his fundamental idea has nothing in 
 common with that of Hooke, inasmuch 
 as the latter supposes light to consist 
 in the undulations themselves of the 
 aether, transmitted to the organ of 
 vision ; while the light of Newton is a 
 substance entirely distinct, which, thrown 
 into the aether, impresses upon, or re- 
 ceives from it, peculiar motions, by 
 means of which it acts upon us. "As 
 to the observations of Hooke on the 
 colours in thin plates, I avow," says 
 Newton, " that I have made use of 
 them, and thank him for the same ; but 
 he left me to find out and make such 
 experiments about it, as might inform 
 me of the manner of the production of 
 those colours, to ground an hypothesis 
 on ; he having given no further insight 
 to it than this, that the colour depended 
 on some certain thickness of the plate ; 
 though what that thickness was at every 
 colour, he confesses, in his Microgra- 
 phy, he had attempted in vain to learn ; 
 and, therefore, seeing I was left to mea- 
 sure it myself, I suppose he will allow 
 me to make use of what I took the 
 pains to find out ; and this I hope may 
 vindicate me from what Mr. Hooke has 
 been pleased to charge me with." * 
 Happily this time the discussion pro- 
 ceeded no further ; and Oldenburg had 
 sufficient influence, as well as sufficient 
 sense, to prevent its obtaining notoriety. 
 From this time till the year 1679, four 
 years afterwards, Newton communicated 
 nothing to the Royal Society. Olden- 
 burg, whose kindness had ever en- 
 couraged him, unfortunately died in 
 this interval, and was succeeded in the 
 secretaryship by Hooke, an appointment 
 little likely to remove an apprehension 
 of new disputes. We may imagine, 
 however, that Newton did not remain 
 idle; and, in fact, in this interval, it 
 appears, he was principally occupied 
 with astronomical observations. At last, 
 28th November, 1679, t he had occasion 
 to write to Hooke about a System of 
 Physical Astronomy, on which the Royal 
 Society had asked his opinion. In his 
 letter he proposed, as a matter deserv- 
 ing attention, to verify the motion of the 
 earth by direct experiment, viz. by letting 
 bodies fall from a considerable height, 
 and then observing if they follow exactly 
 a vertical direction; for if the earth 
 
 Birch, Hist. R. S. vol. iii. p, 2?0. 
 f Ibid, vol, iii. p. 512. 
 
 turns, since the rotatory velocity at the 
 point of departure must be greater than 
 that at the foot of the vertical, they will 
 be found to deviate from this line towards 
 the east, instead of following it exactly 
 as they would do if the earth did not re- 
 volve. This ingenious idea being very 
 favourably received, Hooke was charged 
 to put it into effect. On reflection, 
 Hooke immediately added the remark, 
 that wherever the direction of gravity is 
 oblique to the axis of the earths ro- 
 tation, . e. in all parts of the earth, ex- 
 cept at the equator, bodies, in falling, 
 change parallels, and approach the 
 equator : so that in Europe, for in- 
 stance, the deviation does not take 
 place, rigorously speaking, to the east, 
 but to the south-east of the point of 
 departure. Hooke communicated this 
 remark to Newton, who immediately 
 recognized its correctness in theory ; 
 but, in addition to this, Hooke assured 
 the Royal Society that, on repeating the 
 experiment several times, he had actu- 
 ally found that the deviation took place 
 constantly towards the south-east ; an 
 accordance which would appear very 
 simple, if Hooke' s remarks were merely 
 theoretical ; but which must appear 
 very extraordinary if he intended to 
 speak of an actual observed devia- 
 tion reckoned from the foot of the 
 vertical; for in this case, according 
 to the formulae of Laplace, the ten- 
 dency to the south is of the se- 
 cond order, relative to the absolute de- 
 viation ; and in Hooke" s observations 
 this very slight deviation must have 
 been excessively difficult to ascertain, 
 since his experiments were made in the 
 open air. It was this, however, which 
 led Newton to consider whether the el- 
 liptical motion of the planets could re- 
 sult from a force varying inversely as 
 the square of the distance, and if so, 
 under what circumstances such a result 
 would ensue. In fact, in proposing to 
 the Royal Society his curious experi- 
 ment, he had considered the motion of 
 the heavy body as determined by a force 
 of constant intensity, and had concluded 
 the trajectory to be a spiral,* doubtless, 
 because he imagined the body to fall in 
 a resisting medium, such as the air. 
 Hooke, who for a long time had adopt- 
 ed the hypothesis of a force decreasing 
 as the squares of the distance from the 
 centre, replied that the trajectory ought 
 
 * Vide Newton's original Letters in the Biographia 
 Britannica, article Hooke, p. 2659. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 15 
 
 not to be a spiral, but that in a vacuum 
 it would be an excentric ellipse, which 
 would change into an ovoidal curve 
 likewise excentric, if the medium were 
 a resisting; one. It is impossible exactly 
 to ascertain how Hooke arrived at these 
 results, for neither then, nor on any 
 subsequent occasion, did he give a de- 
 monstration of them; though Halley 
 and Sir Christopher Wren both eagerly 
 pressed him to do so. We might ima- 
 gine, not without some probability, that 
 the elliptic movement of projectiles was, 
 in his mind, a consequence of the hy- 
 pothetical, though just, ideas he had 
 formed on the physical cause of the 
 planetary motions ; for he attributed 
 them to the existence of a gravitating 
 force, proper to each celestial body, and 
 acting round its centre, with an energy 
 inversely proportional to the square of 
 the distance ; so that, in this system, 
 the motion of projectiles round the cen- 
 tre of the earth ought to be elliptical, 
 because, according to observation, the 
 motion of the planets was elliptical 
 round the sun. Hooke had, for some 
 time, turned his thoughts to this kind 
 of speculation ; but not being a suffi- 
 ciently profound mathematician, rigo- 
 rously to deduce the nature of the force 
 from the form of the orbits, or to show 
 how this form resulted from the sup- 
 posed law of attraction, he tried to de- 
 termine its character by direct physical 
 experiments, and actually to produce 
 the motions which resulted from the 
 law, by means of mechanical contri- 
 vances. On the 21st March, 1666, he 
 communicated to the Royal Society cer- 
 tain experiments, which he had attempt- 
 ed, in order to determine whether the 
 weight of a body undergoes any varia- 
 tion at different distances from the 
 earth's centre, at the greatest altitudes 
 or depths which can be attained. These 
 experiments were made with too little 
 precision to give results on which any 
 reliance could be placed. Hooke him- 
 self perceived this, and proposed to em- 
 ploy the more delicate process of using 
 a pendulum clock, and successively ob- 
 serving its rate at different heights. 
 This first attempt, though imperfect, 
 shows the object he had in view, which 
 perhaps is more clearly seen in his own 
 words. " Gravity, though it seems to 
 be one of the most universal, active 
 principles in the world, and consequently 
 ought to be the most considerable, yet 
 has it had the ill fate to have been al- 
 ways, till of late, esteemed otherwise, 
 
 even to slighting and neglect. But the 
 inquisitiveness of this latter age hath 
 begun to find sufficient arguments to 
 entertain other thoughts of it. Gilbert 
 began to imagine it a magnetical attrac- 
 tive power, inherent in the parts of the 
 terrestrial globe. The noble Verulam 
 also, in part, embraced this opinion; 
 and Kepler (not without good reason) 
 makes it a property inherent in all ce- 
 lestial bodies, sun, stars, planets. This 
 supposition we may afterwards more 
 particularly examine ; but first it will 
 be requisite to consider, whether this 
 gravitating or attracting power be in- 
 herent in the parts of the earth ; and, if 
 so, whether it be magnetical, electrical, 
 or of some other nature distant from 
 either. If it be magnetical, any body 
 attracted by it ought to gravitate more,, 
 when nearer to its surface, than when 
 further off.*" 
 
 Two months afterwards, Hooke made 
 before the Royal Society another ex- 
 periment, which, as he himself ob- 
 served, without being an exact repre- 
 sentation of the planetary orbits, af- 
 forded an example, at that time new 
 and remarkable, of a curvilinear motion 
 produced by the combination of a pri- 
 mitive impulse wilh an attracting power 
 emanating from a centre. He suspend- 
 ed from the ceiling of a room a long 
 wire, to the end of which was attached 
 a ball of wood, to represent a planetary 
 body. On removing this pendulum from 
 the vertical, and giving it a lateral im- 
 pulse perpendicular to the plane of 
 deviation, it is acted on by two forces, 
 of which one is the impulse itself, and 
 the other terrestrial gravity, of which 
 the effort, when decomposed perpendi- 
 cularly to the wire, tends always to bring 
 the body back to the vertical. Now 
 when the lateral impulse was nothing, 
 the ball clearly described a plane orbit, 
 viz. that of its free oscillation; if the 
 impulse, without being nothing, were 
 still very weak, the trajectory became a 
 very much elongated ellipse, having its 
 major axis in the plane of oscillation ; 
 with a stronger impulse, a more open 
 ellipse was obtained, which, at a parti- 
 cular point, became an exact circle ; and 
 lastly, still stronger impulses produced 
 ellipses, whose major axes were no longer 
 parallel with, but were perpendicular to 
 the plane of free oscillation. Thus these 
 different curves were seen to be pro- 
 duced and to be transformed into each 
 
 * Birch, Hist. R. S. vol, ii., p. ?0. 
 
16 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 other, by merely changing the relative 
 energies of the two forces (the one im- 
 pulsive, and the other central) which 
 acted on the pendulum. These ellipses, 
 however, differed from the planetary 
 ellipses, inasmuch as the central force 
 produced by the decomposition of gra- 
 vity is constantly directed towards the 
 centre of the ellipse, and is directly pro- 
 portional to the distance of the body 
 from that centre ; whereas, in the pla- 
 netary orbits, the central force is con- 
 stantly directed towards one of the foci 
 of the ellipse, and is reciprocally pro- 
 portional to the square of the distance 
 of the body from that point. Notwith- 
 standing this fundamental distinction, 
 the experiment of Hooke was important 
 and useful, as it gave a perceptible ex- 
 ample of the composition of forces. 
 Eight years later, in 1674, Hooke pre- 
 sented the whole of his ideas in a much 
 more explicit and complete manner, at 
 the end of a dissertation, entitled, " An 
 Attempt to prove the Motion of the 
 Earth from Observations. " * " I shall," 
 says he, " hereafter explain a system of 
 the world, differing in many particulars 
 from any yet known, answering in all 
 things to the common rules of mecha- 
 nical motions. This depends upon three 
 suppositions: first, that all celestial 
 bodies whatsoever have an attraction or 
 gravitating power towards their own 
 centres, whereby they attract not only 
 their own parts and keep them from fly- 
 ing from them, as we may observe the 
 earth to do, but that they do also attract 
 all the other celestial bodies that are 
 within the sphere of their activity, and 
 consequently, that not only the sun and 
 moon have an influence upon the body 
 and motion of the earth, and the earth 
 upon them, but that Mercury, Venus, 
 Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn also, by their 
 attractive powers, have a considerable 
 influence upon its motion, as in the 
 same manner the corresponding attrac- 
 tive power of the earth hath a consider- 
 able influence upon every one of their 
 motions also. The second supposition 
 is this, that all bodies whatsoever, that 
 are put into a direct and simple motion, 
 will so continue to move forward in a 
 straight line, till they are, by some other 
 effectual powers, deflected and bent 
 into a motion describing a circle, ellipsis, 
 or some other more compounded curve 
 line. The third supposition is, that those 
 attractive powers are so much the more 
 
 powerful in operating, by how much 
 the nearer the body wrought upon is to 
 their own centres. Now what these seve- 
 ral degrees are I have not yet experi- 
 mentally verified; but it is a notion 
 which, if fully prosecuted, as it ought to 
 be, will mightily assist the astronomers 
 to reduce all the celestial motions to a 
 certain rule, which I doubt will never be 
 done true without it. He that under- 
 stands the nature of the circular pendu- 
 lum and circular motion will easily 
 understand the whole ground of this 
 principle, and will know where to find 
 directions in nature for the true stating 
 thereof. This I only hint at present to 
 such as have ability and opportunity of 
 prosecuting this inquiry, and are not 
 wanting of industry for observing and 
 calculating, wishing heartily such may 
 be found, having myself many other 
 things in hand, which I would first 
 complete, and therefore cannot so well 
 attend it. But this I durst promise the 
 undertaker, that he will find all the 
 great motions of the world to be in- 
 fluenced by this principle, and that the 
 true understanding thereof will be the 
 true perfection of astronomy." 
 
 Without lessening the credit due to 
 the distinct expression of such remark- 
 able ideas, it is proper to observe, that 
 we find in Hooke* s work no measured 
 result. We do not allude only to the law 
 of force, which is here entirely omitted : 
 we have said that Hooke supposed it to 
 be reciprocal to the square of the dis- 
 tance ; but others before him, and among 
 them Bouillaud,* had established the 
 same supposition, on simple metaphysi- 
 cal considerations. H alley again did the 
 same, after Hooke and Bouillaud. We 
 have a convincing proof that Hooke 
 arrived at this conclusion in no other 
 way, from his saying that he had not yet 
 experimentally verified the law of de- 
 crease in the attracting force ; for he 
 would not have thus expressed himself 
 if he had discovered this law T directly, by 
 applying the theorems of Huygens on 
 centrifugal forces to the observed orbits 
 of the planets ; for in this case the ex- 
 periment would have been already made, 
 and the law of the squares, thus obtain- 
 ed, would have needed no other verifica- 
 tion. The generalization of the idea of 
 gravity, and its extension to all celes- 
 tial bodies, decreasing in intensity ac- 
 cording to the distance, was formally 
 
 * London, 4to. 1674. 
 
 Bullialdus, Astroxomia Philolaica. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON 
 
 expressed by Borelli* in 1G66, in his 
 work on the Satellites of Jupiter; and 
 not only did he announce it as a general 
 principle, but he explained very clearly 
 how the planets may be retained and 
 suspended in empty space round the 
 sun, in the same manner as the satel- 
 lites round their planets, by the action 
 of a power continually and exactly ba- 
 lanced by the centrifugal force caused 
 by their rotation, without having re- 
 course either to the solid heavens of 
 Aristotle, or to the vortices of Descartes. 
 Borelli even endeavoured to deduce from 
 this combination of forces the elliptical 
 motions of the satellites, and the in- 
 equalities in their motions, which he 
 considered as being partly produced by 
 the secondary action of the sun ; and 
 though, from his being unacquainted 
 both with the law of this force at diffe- 
 rent distances, and with the Theorems on 
 Central Forces, published by Huygens 
 six years afterwards, he was, of course, 
 unable rigorously to establish these de- 
 ductions ; yet there was much merit in 
 being the first to guess and perhaps to 
 indicate the possibility of doing so. 
 Newton also, we shall presently see, at- 
 tributes to Borelli the honour of having 
 first formed the idea of extending the 
 principle of gravitation, and of applying 
 it to the planetary motions ; and Huy- 
 gens renders him the same justice in his 
 Kosmotheoros,']- where he mentions these 
 happy perceptions, immediately before 
 speaking of the demonstrations of New- 
 ton. It is not then by any means im- 
 possible that Hooke might have been 
 conducted to the same thoughts by simi- 
 lar, that is by purely physical considera- 
 tions ; and we shall presently see reasons 
 that render this conjecture extremely 
 probable. However, in whatever man- 
 ner he formed these opinions, it is clear 
 that in 1G79 he considered them as un- 
 doubtedly correct ; for, in writing to 
 Newton on the motion of projectiles, he 
 represents the eccentric ellipse as .the 
 consequence of a force reciprocal to the 
 squares of the distances from the centre 
 of the earth. This remarkable relation 
 could not fail of striking a mind which 
 had so long and so constantly studied 
 the motions of the heavens. Newton, 
 
 * Theories medicearum planetarum ex causis phy- 
 sicis deductce. (Firenze, 166(5.) This same Borelli 
 was the author of the celebrated work dc Motu 
 Animalium. 
 
 t Vid. lib. ii, p. 141. Christianii Hugenii Kosmo- 
 theoros, sive de tcrris coelestibus, eorumque urrtatu 
 conjecture?. (4to. Hagae Coram. 1608.) 
 
 *4 
 
 + '*2 
 
 4 
 
 as we have already said 
 examine this result, by means 
 matical calculations, and disc 
 its truth; that is to say, he found 
 that an attractive force, emanating from 
 a centre, and acting reciprocally to 
 the squares of the distances, necessarily 
 compels the body on which it acts, to 
 describe an ellipse, or in general a cone 
 section, in one of whose foci the centre 
 of force resides. The motions produced 
 by such force exactly resemble ^the 
 planetary motions, both in regard to the 
 form of the orbit and the velocity of the; 
 body at each point. This was evidently 
 the secret of the system of the world ; 
 but it still 'remained to account for the 
 singular discordance which the moon's 
 motion had offered to Newton, when, in 
 1665, he had wished to extend to her 
 the earth's gravity diminished according 
 to this law. Hence it was that, not- 
 withstanding his inference was confirm- 
 ed by other inductions, he abstained from 
 publishing any thing upon the subject. 
 Three years afterwards, however, (in 
 June, 1682,) Newton being present at a 
 meeting of the Royal Society, in London, 
 the conversation turned on a new mea- 
 surement of a terrestrial degree, recently 
 executed in France, by Picard, and 
 much credit was given to the care taken 
 in rendering it exact. Newton, having 
 noted down the length of the degree ob- 
 tained by Picard, returned home imme- 
 diately, and taking up his former calcu- 
 lation of 1665, began to recompute it 
 from the new data. Finding, as he 
 advanced, the manifest tendency 'of 
 these numbers to produce the long 
 wished for results, he suffered so much 
 nervous excitement, that becoming at 
 length unable to go on with the calcula- 
 tion, he entreated one of his friends to 
 complete it for him. This* time the 
 agreement of the computed /with the 
 observed result was no longer doubtful. 
 The force of gravity at the earth's sur- 
 face, as determined by experiments on 
 falling bodies, when applied to the moon, 
 after being diminished proportionally to 
 the square of the distance from the 
 centre of the earth, w r as found to be very 
 nearly equal tojhe centrifugal force in 
 the moon, as concluded from its dis- 
 tance and angular velocity obtained by 
 observation. The small difference which 
 still existed between the two results, 
 was in itself a new proof of exactness ; 
 for if we suppose an attractive power 
 to emanate from all the celestial bodies 
 inversely proportional to the squares of 
 
 
18 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 their distances from the bodies which 
 they attract, the motion of the moon 
 ought not only to depend upon its 
 gravity towards the earth, but also to be 
 influenced by the action of the sun ; 
 for this effect, though exceedingly 
 weakened by the distance, ought not to 
 be wholly imperceptible in the result. 
 
 Thus Newton ceased to doubt ; and 
 after having been, during so many years, 
 kept in suspense about this eminently im- 
 portant law, he had no sooner recognized 
 its truth, than he penetrated instantly to 
 its most remote consequences, pursued 
 them all with a vigour, a perseverance, 
 and a boldness of thought, which, till 
 that time, had never been displayed in 
 science. Indeed it seems hardly pro- 
 bable that it will, at any future time, be 
 the destiny of another human being to 
 demonstrate such wonderful truths as 
 these; that all the parts of matter 
 gravitate towards one another, with a 
 force directly proportional to their 
 masses, and reciprocally proportional to 
 the squares of their mutual distances; 
 that this force retains the planets and 
 the comets round the sun, and each 
 system of satellites around their pri- 
 mary planets ; and that, by the univer- 
 sally communicated influence which it 
 establishes between the material par- 
 ticles of all these bodies, it determines 
 the nature of their orbits, the forms of 
 their masses, the oscillations in the fluids 
 which cover them, and, in fine, their 
 smallest movements, either in space or 
 in rotation upon their own axes, and all 
 conformably to the actually observed 
 laws. The finding of the relative 
 masses of the different planets, the de- 
 termination of the ratio of the axes of 
 the earth, the pointing out the cause of 
 the precession of the equinoxes, and 
 the discovery of the force exercised by 
 the sun and the moon in causing the 
 tides, were the sublime objects which 
 unfolded themselves to the meditations 
 of Newton, after he had discovered 
 the fundamental law of the system of 
 the universe. Can we wonder at his 
 having been so much excited as not to 
 have been able to complete the calcu- 
 lation which was leading him to a con- 
 viction that the discovery was achieved ? 
 
 It was now that he must have ex- 
 perienced intense satisfaction at having 
 so profoundly studied the manner in 
 which physical forces act, and at having 
 sought by so many experiments to com- 
 prehend, and exactly to measure their 
 different effects. More particularly 
 
 must he have been delighted at having 
 created that new calculus, by means of 
 which he was enabled to develope the 
 most complicated phenomena, to bring 
 to light the simple elements of motion, 
 and thus to obtain the forces them- 
 selves from which the phenomena re- 
 sult; and finally, to re-descend from 
 these forces to the detail of all their 
 effects : for, with equal talent, .had he 
 not possessed this instrument of investi- 
 gation, the complete unfolding of his 
 discovery would have been impossible. 
 But, possessing the means, he had only 
 to apply them ; and thus he saw the 
 constant object of his hope attained. 
 Henceforward, he devoted himself en- 
 tirely to the enjoyment of these delight- 
 ful contemplations ; and during the two 
 years that he spent in preparing and 
 developing his immortal work, Philo- 
 sophies naturalis Principia Mathe- 
 matics he lived only to calculate and 
 to think. Oftentimes lost in the con- 
 templation of these grand objects, he 
 acted unconsciously: his thoughts ap- 
 pearing to preserve no connexion with 
 the ordinary concerns of life. It is said, 
 that, frequently on rising in the morning, 
 he would sit down on his bedside, 
 arrested by some new conception, and 
 would remain for hours together, en- 
 gaged in tracing it out, without dress- 
 ing himself. He would even have neg- 
 lected to take sufficient nourishment, 
 had he not been reminded by others of 
 the time of his meals.* 
 
 It was only by the uninterrupted ef- 
 forts of solitary and profound medi- 
 tation, that even Newton was able to 
 unfold all the truths he had conceived, 
 and which were but so many deductions 
 from his great discovery. We may learn 
 from his example, on what severe con- 
 ditions even the 'most perfect intellect is 
 able to penetrate deeply into the secrets 
 of nature, and to enlarge the bounds of 
 human attainments. For himself, he 
 well knew, and willingly confessed, the 
 inevitable necessity of perseverance and 
 
 * The following anecdote is told on this subject. 
 Dr. Stukely, an intimate friend of Newton, called 
 upon him one day when his dinner was already 
 served up, but before he had appeared in the dining- 
 room. l)r. Stukely having waited some time, and 
 becoming impatient, at length removed the cover 
 from a chicken, which he presently ate, putting the 
 bones back into the dish and replacing the cover. 
 After a short interval, Newton came into the room, 
 and after the usual compliments, sat down to dinner, 
 but on taking up the cover, and seeing only the 
 bones of the bird left, he observed with some little 
 surprise, " I thought I had not dined, but I now 
 find that I have." 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 19 
 
 constancy in the exercise of his atten- 
 tion, in order to develope the power of 
 thought. To one who had asked him 
 on some occasion, by what means he had 
 arrived at his discoveries, he replied, 
 " By always thinking unto them ;" and 
 at another time he thus expressed his 
 method of proceeding. u I keep the 
 subject constantly before me, and wait 
 till the first dawnings open slowly by 
 little and little into a full and clear light." 
 Again, in a letter to Dr. Bentley, he 
 says, " If I have done the public any 
 service this way, it is due to nothing but 
 industry and patient thought." With 
 such tastes and habits, the complete 
 command of his own time, and of his 
 own ideas, was his highest enjoyment. 
 Thus, notwithstanding the importance 
 of the results he had obtained, Newton 
 was not eager to establish a title to them 
 by publication, and perhaps he would 
 have even longer delayed giving them 
 to the world had an accidental circum- 
 stance not induced him to do so. About 
 the beginning of 1684, Halley, one of 
 the greatest of the English astrono- 
 mers, and, at the same time, one of the 
 most enlightened and active minds that 
 have ever cultivated science, formed the 
 idea of employing the Theorems of 
 Huygejis on central forces, to determine 
 the tendency in the different planets to 
 recede from the sun, by virtue of their 
 revolutions about that body, their orbits 
 being considered as circular. From the 
 ratios discovered by Kepler between the 
 times of these revolutions, and the 
 major axes of the orbits, he recognized 
 these tendencies to be reciprocally as the 
 square of the distances of each planet 
 from the sun, so that the attraction 
 which this luminary exerts to keep them 
 in their places, must also vary accord- 
 ing to the same law. This was precisely 
 the idea that Newton had conceived in 
 1666, and from which he had drawn 
 the same consequence. But there was 
 yet a long way from this, to the rigorous 
 calculation of curvilinear motions when 
 the law of the force is given. Halley 
 perceived the difficulty of this step, and 
 after having in vain endeavoured to re- 
 move it, he consulted Hooke, at Sir 
 Christopher Wren's house, without, 
 however, receiving any light on the 
 subject, although Hooke had boasted 
 before them both that he had completely 
 resolved this grand question. At last, 
 impatient to see an idea unfolded, which 
 appeared to him so fertile in conse- 
 quences, Halley went to Cambridge in 
 
 1692, purposely to confer with Newton 
 on the subject. It was then that New- 
 ton showed to him a Treatise on Motion, 
 in which Halley found the desired so- 
 lution. This treatise, with some ad- 
 ditions, afterwards formed the two first 
 books of the Principia. It would ap- 
 pear that, at this time, Newton had al- 
 ready introduced, and explained some 
 parts of it, in his lectures at Cambridge. 
 Halley, delighted at seeing his hopes 
 realized, requested Newton to confide 
 to him a copy for insertion in the regis- 
 ters of the Royal Society, in order to 
 secure to him the honour of so import- 
 ant a discovery. Although Newton had 
 an extreme repugnance to expose him- 
 self in the arena of literary intrigue, 
 where he had, on a former occasion, 
 wasted his time, and sacrificed his tran- 
 quillity, Halley, by repeated entreaties, 
 at length succeeded in his object. On re- 
 turning to London, Halley announced 
 his success to the Royal Society, who 
 repeated the request by means of Aston, 
 at that time their secretary. But, 
 though Newton kept his word to Hal- 
 ley, personally, by sending him a copy 
 of his treatise, he did not then wish it 
 to be communicated, having still many 
 things to complete.* It was not till the 
 following year, that Dr. Vincent pre- 
 sented, in Newton's name, this work, 
 which was destined to make so great 
 a revolution in science. Newton dedi- 
 cated it to the Royal Society, who 
 showed itself able to appreciate such 
 an honour. It decided that the work 
 should be printed immediately at its 
 own expense, and addressed to the au- 
 thor, by Halley, a letter of thanks 
 expressed in the most honourable 
 terms. 
 
 Hooke, who probably had for some 
 time past conceived in his mind similar 
 ideas, without having been able to bring 
 them to perfection, had no sooner un- 
 derstood the object of Newton's treatise, 
 and heard of the admiration with which 
 it was received, than he claimed for 
 himself the priority of the discovery of 
 the law of attraction varying inversely 
 as the square of the distance. His re- 
 clamation was so violent, that Halley 
 thought it necessary to notice it in his 
 official letter to Newton, and to say that 
 Hooke expected Newton to mention in 
 his preface, that the priority was due to 
 him. We will here quote the answer of 
 
 * Birch, Hist. R. S. vol. iv. p. 370. 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 Newton*, (dated Cambridge, 26th June, 
 1686,) especially as it will enable us to 
 trace more clearly the progress and de- 
 velopement of his ideas throughout this 
 important research. 
 
 " In order to let you know the case 
 between Mr. Hooke and me, I give you 
 an account of what passed between us 
 in our letters, so far as I could remem- 
 ber ; for 'tis long since they were writ, 
 and I do not know that I have seen 
 them since. I am almost confident by 
 circumstances, that Sir Christopher 
 Wren knew the duplicate proportion 
 when I gave him a visit ; and then Mr. 
 Hooke, by his book Cometa, written 
 afterwards (1678), will prove the last of 
 us three that knew it. I intended in 
 this letter to let you understand the 
 case fully, but it being a frivolous busi- 
 ness, I shall content myself to give you 
 the heads of it in short, viz. that I never 
 extended the duplicate proportion lower 
 than to the superficies of the earth, and 
 before a certain demonstration I found 
 the last year, have suspected it not to 
 reach accurately enough down so low ; 
 and therefore in the doctrine of pro- 
 jectiles never used it, nor considered the 
 motion of the heavens, and consequently 
 Mr. Hooke could not, from my letters, 
 which were about projectiles, and the 
 regions descending hence to the centre, 
 conclude me ignorant of the theory of 
 the heavens. That what he told me of 
 the duplicate proportion was erroneous, 
 namely, that it reaches down from hence 
 to the centre of the earth that it is not 
 candid to require me now to confess 
 myself in print then ignorant of the du- 
 plicate proportion in the heavens, for 
 no other reason but because he had told 
 it me in the case of projectiles, and so 
 upon mistaken grounds accused me of 
 that ignorance ; that, in my answer to 
 his first letter, I refused his correspond- 
 ence ; told him I had laid philosophy 
 aside, sent him only the experiment of 
 projectiles (rather shortly hinted, than 
 carefully described) in compliment, to 
 sweeten my answer, expected to hear no 
 further from him, could scarce persuade 
 myself to answer his second letter, did 
 not answer his third, was upon other 
 things, thought no further of philoso- 
 phical matters than his letters put me 
 upon it, and therefore may be allowed 
 not to have had my thoughts about me 
 so well at that time. That, by the same 
 
 uLta^JS^T 11 * 4 " the **PMBrit. 
 
 reason, he concluded me ignorant, of the 
 rest of that theory I had read before in 
 his books. That, in one of my papers, 
 writ (I cannot say what year, but I am 
 sure some time before I had any corre- 
 spondence with Mr. Oldenburg, and 
 that's above fifteen years ago) the pro- 
 portion of the forces of the planets to 
 the sun reciprocally duplicate to their 
 distances from him, and the proportion 
 of our gravity to the moon's conatus re- 
 cedendi a centro terrce is calculated, 
 though not accurately enough. That, 
 when Huygenius put out his treatise 
 de Horologio Oscillatorio, a copy being 
 presented to me, in my letter of thanks 
 to him I gave those rules in the end 
 thereof a particular commendation for 
 their usefulness in computing the forces 
 of the moon from the earth, and the 
 earth from the sun, in determining a 
 problem about the moon's phase, and 
 putting a limit to the parallax, which 
 shews that I had then my eye upon the 
 forces of the planets arising from their 
 circular motion, and understood it ; so 
 that a while after, when Mr. Hooke pro- 
 pounded the problem solemnly in'the end 
 of his Attempt to prove the motion of the 
 earth, if I had not known the duplicate 
 proportion before, I could not but have 
 found it now. Between ten and eleven 
 years ago, there is an hypothesis of 
 mine registered in your books, wherein 
 I hinted a cause of gravity towards the 
 earth, sun, and planets, with the de- 
 pendence of the celestial motions 
 thereon ; in which the proportion of the 
 decrease of gravity from the superficies 
 of the planet (though for brevity sake 
 not there expressed) can be no other 
 than reciprocally duplicate of the dis- 
 tance from the centre \, and I hope I 
 shall not be urged to declare in print 
 that I understood not the obvious ma- 
 thematical conditions of my own hypo- 
 thesis ; but grant I received it after- 
 wards from Mr. Hooke, yet have I as 
 great a right to it as to the ellipsis. 
 For as Kepler knew the orb to be not 
 circular but oval, I guessed it to be 
 elliptical ; so Mr. Hooke, without know- 
 ing what I have found out since his 
 letters to me, can know no more but 
 that the proportion was duplicate quam 
 proxime at great distances from the 
 centre, and only guessed it to be so ac- 
 curately, and guessed amiss in extending 
 that proportion down to the very centre ; 
 whereas Kepler guessed right at the 
 ellipsis, and so Hooke found less of the 
 proportion than Kepler did of the 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 21 
 
 ellipse, there is so strong an objection 
 against the accurateness of this propor- 
 tion, that without my demonstrations, 
 to which Hooke is yet a stranger, it 
 cannot be believed by a judicious philo- 
 sopher to be anywhere accurate. And 
 so, in stating this business, I do pre- 
 tend to have done for the proportion as 
 for the ellipse, and to have as much 
 right to the one from Hooke and all 
 men, as to the other from Kepler, and, 
 therefore, on this account also, he must, 
 at least, moderate his pretences. The 
 proof you sent me I like very well : I de- 
 signed the whole to consist of three 
 books ; the second was finished last 
 summer, being short, and only wants 
 transcribing, and drawing the cuts 
 fairly. Some new proportions I have 
 since thought of, which I can as well let 
 alone. The third wants the theory of 
 comets. In autumn last, I spent two 
 months in calculations to no purpose, 
 for want of a good method, which made 
 me afterwards return to the first book, 
 and enlarge it with divers propositions, 
 some relating to comets, others to other 
 things found out last winter. The third 
 I now design to suppress. Philosophy is 
 such an impertinently litigious lady, that 
 a man had as good be engaged in law- 
 suits, as have to do with her. I found 
 it so formerly, and now I am no sooner 
 come near her again, but she gives me 
 warning. The two first books, without 
 the third, will not bear so well the title 
 of Philosophies Naturalis Principia 
 Mathematica ; and, therefore, I had 
 altered it to this, De Motu corporum 
 libri duo; but, upon second thoughts, 
 I retain the former title, 'twill help 
 the sale of the book, which I ought not 
 to diminish now 'tis yours." 
 
 Newton then adds, in a postscript, 
 " Since my writing this letter, I am told 
 by one who had it from another lately 
 present at one of your meetings, how 
 that Mr. Hooke should make a great 
 stir, pretending I had all from him, and 
 desiring they would see that he had 
 justice done him. This carriage to- 
 wards me is very strange and unde- 
 served ; so that I cannot forbear in 
 stating the point of justice, to tell you 
 further that lie has published Borelli's 
 hypothesis in his own name ; and the 
 asserting of this to himself, and com- 
 pleting it as his own, seems to me the 
 ground of all the stir he makes. Bo- 
 relli did something and wrote modestly. 
 He has -done nothing, and yet written in 
 such a waj, as if he knew, and had suf- 
 
 ficiently hinted all but what remained 
 to be determined by the drudgery of 
 calculations and observations, excusing 
 himself from that labour, by reason of 
 his other business ; whereas he should 
 rather have excused himself by reason 
 of his inability for it is very plain, by 
 his words, he knew not how to go about 
 it. Now is not this very fine ? Mathe- 
 maticians that find out, settle, and do 
 all the business, must content them- 
 selves with being nothing but dry calcu- 
 lators and drudges ; and another that 
 does nothing but pretend and grasp at 
 all things, must carry away all the in- 
 vention, as well of those that were to 
 follow him, as those that went before. 
 Much after the same manner were his 
 letters writ to me, telling me that gra- 
 vity in descent from hence to the centre 
 of the earth was reciprocally in a du- 
 plicate ratio of the altitude that the 
 figure described by projectiles in that 
 region would be an ellipsis, and that 
 all the motions of the heavens were thus 
 to be accounted for ; and this he did in 
 such a way, as if he had found out all, 
 and knew it most certainly. And upon 
 this information, I must now acknow- 
 ledge, in print, I had all from him, and 
 . so did nothing myself but drudge in cal- 
 culating, demonstrating, and writing 
 upon the inventions of this great man ; 
 and yet, after all, the first of these three 
 things he told me is false, and very 
 unphilosophical ; the second is as false ; 
 and the third was more than he knew, 
 or could affirm me ignorant of, by any- 
 thing that passed between us in our 
 letters. Nor do I understand by what 
 right he claims it as his own ; for as 
 Borelli wrote long before him, that, by 
 a tendency of the planets towards the 
 sun, like that of gravity or magnetism, 
 the planets would move in ellipses : so 
 Bullialdus wrote, that all force respect- 
 ing the sun as its centre, and depending 
 upon matter, must be in a reciprocally 
 duplicate ratio of the distance from the 
 centre, and used that very argument for 
 it, by which you, Sir, in the last Trans- 
 actions, have proved this ratio in gra- 
 vity." 
 
 The remainder of this letter offering 
 no other historical details, we will not 
 continue the quotation; but the ex- 
 tremely curious reply of Halley to 
 Newton is well worthy of attention. It 
 is dated 29th June, 1686. Halley begins 
 by encouraging Newton not to heed the 
 effects of Hooke' s expostulations with 
 the Royal Society, and then continues-, 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 " According to your desire, I waited 
 upon Sir C. Wren, to inquire of him, if 
 he had the first notion of the reciprocal 
 duplicate proportion from Mr. Hooke ? 
 his answer was, that he himself, very- 
 many years since, had had his thoughts 
 upon making out the planet's motions 
 by a composition of a descent towards 
 the sun and an impressed motion ; but 
 that at length he gave over, not finding 
 the means of doing it. Since which time 
 Mr. Hooke had frequently told him that 
 he had done it, and attempted to make 
 it out to him, but that he never was 
 satisfied that his demonstrations were 
 cogent. And this I know to be true, 
 that in January, 168|, I having, from the 
 sesquialterate proportion of Kepler, con- 
 cluded that the centripetal force de- 
 creased in the proportion of the squares 
 of the distance reciprocally, came on 
 Wednesday to town, from Islington, 
 where I met with Sir C. Wren and Mr. 
 Hooke, and falling in discourse about it, 
 Mr. Hooke affirmed, that upon that 
 principle all the laws of the celestial 
 motions were to be demonstrated, and 
 that he himself had done it. I declared 
 the ill success of my attempts ; and Sir 
 Christopher, to encourage the inquiry, 
 said, that he would give Mr. Hooke, or 
 me, two months time to bring him a 
 convincing demonstration thereof; and 
 besides the honour, he of us that did 
 it should have from him a present 
 of a book of forty shillings. Mr. 
 Hooke then said he had it, but that 
 he would conceal it for some time, that 
 others, trying and failing, might know 
 how to value it, when he should make 
 it public. However, I remember that 
 Sir Christopher Wren was little satisfied 
 that he could do it ; and though Mr. 
 Hooke then promised to show it to him, 
 I do not find that, in that particular, he 
 has been so good as his word. The 
 August following, when I did myself 
 the honour to visit you, I then learned 
 the good news, that you had brought 
 this demonstration to perfection, and 
 you were pleased to promise me a copy 
 thereof, which I received with great sa- 
 tisfaction ; and thereupon took another 
 journey to Cambridge, on purpose to 
 confer with you about it, since which 
 time it has been entered upon the regis- 
 ter-books of the society. Mr. Hooke, 
 according to the philosophically ambi- 
 tious temper he is of, would, had he been 
 master of alike demonstration, no longer 
 have concealed it, the reason he told 
 Sir Christopher and me now ceasing. 
 
 But now he says that it is but one 
 small part of an excellent system of 
 nature, which he has conceived but has 
 not yet completely made out; so that 
 he thinks not fit to publish one part 
 without the other. But I have plainly 
 told him, unless he produce another 
 differing demonstration, and let the 
 world judge of it, neither I nor any one 
 else can believe it. After the meeting 
 of the Royal Society, at which your 
 book was presented, being adjourned to 
 the Coffee-house, Mr. Hooke did there 
 endeavour to gain belief, that he had 
 some such things by him, and that he 
 gave you the first hint of this invention ; 
 but I found they were all of opinion that 
 nothing thereof appearing in print, nor 
 on the books of the Society, you ought 
 to be considered as the inventor. And 
 if in truth he knew it before you, he 
 ought not to blame any one but himself, 
 for having taken no more care to secure 
 a discovery which he puts so much 
 value on." Halley concludes, by con- 
 juring Newton, in the name of science, 
 not to suppress the third volume through 
 disgust at the conduct of an envious 
 rival. Happily he succeeded, and New- 
 ton has, in a scholium,* generously men- 
 tioned Wren, Hooke, and Halley, as 
 having all three recognized in the celes- 
 tial motions the existence of an attrac- 
 tion reciprocally proportional to the 
 square of the distance. 
 
 Newton's Principia appeared com- 
 plete in 1687. We may form some idea 
 of the novelty and profundity of the dis- 
 coveries which it contained, on learning 
 that, when it was first published, not 
 more than two or three among Newton's 
 contemporaries were capable of under- 
 standing it; that Huygens himself, a 
 man whose mind was particularly suited 
 to appreciate its merit, only in part 
 adopted the idea of gravitation, and that 
 merely as regarded the heavenly bodies, 
 while he rejected its influence between 
 the separate particles of matter being 
 preoccupied by the hypothetical ideas 
 he had formed respecting the cause of 
 gravity ; that Leibnitz, perhaps through 
 rivalry, or perhaps by a prepossession 
 in favour of his own metaphysical sys- 
 tem, completely mistook the beauty and 
 the certainty of the method employed 
 by Newton in this work, and even went 
 so far as to publish a dissertation, in 
 which he endeavoured to demonstrate 
 the same truths on different principles ; 
 
 * Book 1, Prop. 4.,, 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 that even many years after the publica- 
 tion of the Principia, several most pro- 
 found mathematicians (John Bernoulli, 
 for instance) opposed it, and that Fon- 
 tenelle, though in advance of his age on 
 most subjects of philosophy, expressed 
 somewhat more than doubts concerning 
 the law of attraction, and persisted, 
 during his whole life, in upholding the 
 vortices of Descartes; and in fine, that 
 more than fifty years elapsed before the 
 great physical truth contained and de- 
 monstrated in the Principia was, we do 
 not say followed up and developed, but 
 even understood by the generality of 
 learned men. Whatever difficulty, how- 
 ever, the just appreciation of such a 
 work may present, we can here give a 
 brief account of it with entire confidence, 
 by translating the words of that illus- 
 trious man, whose genius has so much 
 contributed to Newton's glory, in having 
 by his own discoveries subjected all the 
 movements of the celestial bodies to the 
 law of universal gravitation. After 
 having exhibited him as setting out from 
 the laws of Kepler, in order to discover 
 the nature and the law of the force 
 that governs the motions pf the planets 
 and the satellites in their orbits, and 
 afterwards generalizing this idea accord- 
 ing to the phenomena that presented 
 themselves until he had ascended to the 
 certain and mathematical knowledge of 
 universal gravitation, " Newton," says 
 Laplace,* "having arrived at this 
 point, saw all the great phenomena of 
 the universe flow from the principle he 
 had discovered. By considering gravity 
 at the surface of the heavenly bodies as 
 the result of the attractions of all their 
 particles, he discovered this remarkable 
 and characteristical property of a law of 
 attraction reciprocal to the square of 
 the distance, namely, that two spheres 
 formed of concentric layers, and ; with 
 densities varying according to any law 
 whatever, attract each other mutually, 
 as if their masses were united at their 
 centres. Thus the bodies of the solar 
 system act upon each other, and upon 
 the bodies placed at their surfaces, very 
 nearly as if they were so many centres 
 of attraction a result which contri- 
 butes to the regularity of their move- 
 ments, and which made this illustrious 
 mathematician recognize the gravity of 
 the earth in the force that retains the 
 moon in her orbit. He proved that the 
 
 * Exposition du Systeme du Monde, '.par Mons. 
 le Compte Laplace. Paris, 1813. 4to. pp. 413, 426. 
 
 earth's movement in rotation must have 
 flattened it at the "poles ; and he deter- 
 mined the laws of gravitation in the 
 degrees of the meridian, and in the force 
 of gravity at the earth's surface. He 
 saw that the attractions of the sun and 
 moon excite and maintain in the ocean 
 those oscillations which are there ob- 
 served under the name of tides. He 
 recognized several inequalities in the 
 moon's motion and the retrograde mo- 
 tion of her nodes to be owing to the ac- 
 tion of the sun. Afterwards, consider- 
 ing the excess of matter in the terrestrial 
 spheroid at the equator, as a system of 
 satellites adhering to its surface, he 
 found that the combined actions of the 
 sun and of the moon tend to cause a 
 retrogradation, in the nodes of the circles 
 they describe round the axis of the earth ; 
 and that the sum of these tendencies 
 being communicated to the whole mass 
 of the planet, ought to produce in the 
 intersection of its equator with the eclip- 
 tic that slow retrogradation known by the 
 name of the precession of the equinoxes. 
 The true cause of this great phenomenon 
 could not have even been suspected 
 before the time of Newton, since he was 
 the first who made known the two lead- 
 ing facts on which it depends. Kepler 
 himself, urged by an active imagination 
 to explain every thing by hypothesis, 
 was constrained to avow in this instance 
 the failure of his efforts. But, with the 
 exception of the theory of the elliptical 
 motions of the planets and comets, the 
 attraction of spheres, the ratio of the 
 masses of the planets accompanied by 
 satellites to that of the sun, all the other 
 discoveries respecting the motions and 
 figures of the heavenly bodies were left 
 by him in an incomplete state. His 
 theory of the figures of the planets is 
 limited, by supposing them to be homo- 
 geneous. His solution of the problem 
 of the precession of the 'equinoxes, 
 though very ingenious, and notwith- 
 standing the apparent agreement of its 
 result with observations, is defective in 
 many particulars. Among the numerous 
 perturbations in the motions of the 
 heavenly bodies, he has only considered 
 those of the moon, the greatest of which, 
 viz. evection, has wholly escaped his 
 researches. Newton has well established 
 the existence of the principle he had the 
 merit of discovering ; but the develop- 
 ment of its consequences and advantages 
 has been the work of the successors of 
 this great mathematician. The imper- 
 fection of the infinitesimal calculus when 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 first discovered, did not allow him com- 
 pletely to resolve the difficult problems 
 which the theory of the universe offers ; 
 and he was oftentimes forced to give 
 mere hints, which were [always uncer- 
 tain till confirmed by rigorous analysis. 
 Notwithstanding these unavoidable de- 
 fects, the importance and the generality 
 of his discoveries respecting the system 
 of the universe, and the most inte- 
 resting points of natural philosophy, the 
 great number of profound and original 
 views which have been the origin of the 
 most brilliant discoveries of the mathe- 
 maticians of the last century, which were 
 all presented with much elegance, will 
 insure to the Principia a lasting pre- 
 eminence over all other productions of 
 the human mind." 
 
 The great results that Newton has 
 amassed in the Principia are almost all 
 presented in a synthetical form, like that 
 used in the writings of the ancients. 
 Nevertheless we may assert, that he did 
 not discover them by means of synthe- 
 sis, which is neither sufficiently easy of 
 application, nor sufficiently fertile in re- 
 sults to be employed in discovering such 
 complicated truths, or for foreseeing 
 consequences so remote from their first 
 principle. It is hence evident, from this 
 very impossibility, that Newton attained 
 these great results by the help of analy- 
 tical methods, of which he had himself 
 so much increased the power ; and this 
 conclusion acquires certainty from the 
 correspondence between Newton and 
 Cotes, relating to the second edition* of 
 the Principia, for in it we find Cotes, 
 the pupil of Newton, employing the 
 analytical form either in submitting to 
 Newton the difficulties he met with, or 
 in solving them himself. It remains to 
 be explained w 7 hy Newton preferred set- 
 ting forth his discoveries by a different 
 method, thus depriving himself of the 
 increase of glory he would infallibly 
 have obtained, by giving to the world 
 the several analytical inventions with 
 which he must have been acquainted in 
 solving the questions he has treated. 
 Among these we may mention the prin- 
 ciple of the calculus of variations, which 
 must have been necessary to him in de- 
 termining the solid of the least resist- 
 ance. It were difficult to say with cer- 
 tainty what decided him to make such a 
 sacrifice, but if we may hazard a con- 
 jecture, it may not be impossible that, 
 
 * M. B J ot examined this correspondence at Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 from the excessive apprehension which 
 he laboured under of having his results 
 attacked, he preferred the synthetical 
 form, as being a severer method of de- 
 monstration, and as being likely to inspire 
 more confidence in those who should 
 read his work at a time when the me- 
 thods of the infinitesimal analysis were 
 still but little known ; and when, from 
 their novelty, they might appear less 
 convincing to many of his readers. 
 Whilst the Principia were preparing for 
 the press, chance produced an incident 
 that drew Newton from his studious re- 
 treat, and brought him on the theatre 
 of public affairs. King James II. de- 
 siring to re-establish Catholicism in 
 England, and thinking fit to attack the 
 usages and rights of the Protestants, 
 had, among other measures, command- 
 ed* the University of Cambridge to 
 confer the degree of M. A. on Francis, 
 a Benedictine Monk, without requiring 
 of him the oath prescribed by the sta- 
 tutes against the catholic religion. The 
 University asserted its privileges ; and 
 Newton (who had shown himself one 
 of the most ardent in encouraging re- 
 sistance) was one of the delegates sent 
 to maintain their rights before the High 
 Commission Court. These delegates 
 made so firm and unexpected a defence, 
 that the king thought proper to drop 
 the affair. It was this circumstance, 
 perhaps, as much as the personal merit 
 of Newton, that induced the University 
 to elect him, the following year, as their 
 representative to serve in the Convention 
 Parliament, which declared the throne 
 vacant, and called William to the crown. 
 He sat in this parliament until its dis- 
 solution, but without acting a remark- 
 able part. C. Montague, afterwards 
 Earl of Halifax, was a member at the 
 same time, and having been educated at. 
 Cambridge, was able to appreciate the 
 merit of the genius who formed the 
 glory of the University. Hence, when 
 Halifax, having become Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer, in 1696, conceived the 
 design of a general recoinage, he de- 
 manded and obtained for Newton the 
 honourable and lucrative employment of 
 Warden of the Mint, which was at once 
 an act of kindness, and a choice in- 
 fluenced by discernment. In fact, New- 
 ton rendered very signal service; in 
 executing the important measure which 
 the statesman had determined on ; being 
 
 * Vide Burnet, History of his Own Time, vol. 
 p .698, ' 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 25 
 
 peculiarly fitted for the business by his 
 singular mathematical and "'chemical 
 knowledge. It appears that he had al- 
 ways taken great interest in chemistry ; 
 for, from the time when, as a child, he 
 had lived with the apothecary at Gran- 
 tham, till he resided at Cambridge, he 
 had continued to occupy himself occa- 
 sionally with that science. Of this we 
 have a proof in his philosophical works, 
 which are filled with profound chemical 
 observations. In tracing the order of 
 these labours, we find him, in his first 
 researches about telescopes, in 1672, 
 making a number of experiments on 
 the alloys of metals, in order to discover 
 the combinations most advantageous 
 for optical purposes, and amassing in 
 these essays- a number of remarkable 
 
 Eeculiarities in the constitution of 
 odies. Three years afterwards, the 
 paper on the colours in thin plates 
 affords us still more varied experiments 
 on the combinations of different bodies, 
 solid or liquid, with each other, and on 
 the tendency or the repugnancy they 
 have to unite ; still later, the same sub- 
 jects are treated with greater boldness 
 and comprehensiveness in the Treatise 
 on Optics, and particularly in the 
 queries placed at -the end of that ad- 
 mirable work ; for what, at that time, 
 could be bolder, than to assert that 
 water must contain an inflammable 
 principle, and that a similar one exists 
 in the diamond ? 
 
 Besides the natural charm a mind 
 like Newton's must have felt, in the 
 various astonishing and mysterious 
 phenomena of chemistry, what ad- 
 ditional interest must they have excited 
 in him, when, having discovered the ex- 
 istence of molecular attraction, and the 
 effects of actions exerted at small dis- 
 tances in the motion of light, he was 
 led to see that similar forces, differing 
 only in their law of decrease, or inten- 
 sity, would be sufficient to produce in 
 the ultimate particles of bodies all those 
 phenomena of union and disunion, that 
 constitute the science of chemistry ! 
 With these new and impertant pheno- 
 mena, he occupied himself constantly 
 at Cambridge ; and, along with the 
 study of chronology and history, they 
 were the only relaxation he allowed 
 himself when fatigued with his mathe- 
 matical meditations. He had construct- 
 ed a small laboratory for prosecuting 
 such pursuits ; and it would secern that, 
 in the years immediately following the 
 publication of the Principia, he devoted 
 
 almost his whole time to them. But a 
 disastrous accident deprived him, in an 
 instant, of the fruits of so much labour, 
 and lost them to science for ever. 
 
 Newton had a favourite little dog 
 called "Diamond." One winter's morn- 
 ing, while attending early service, he 
 inadvertently left this dog shut up in his 
 room ; on returning from chapel, he 
 found that the animal, by upsetting a 
 taper on his desk, had set tire to the 
 papers on which he had written down his 
 experiments ; and thus he saw before 
 him the labours of so many years re- 
 duced to ashes. It is said, that on first 
 perceiving this great loss, he contented 
 himself by exclaiming, " Oh, Diamond ! 
 Diamond! thou little knowest the 
 mischief thou hast done." But the 
 grief caused by this circumstance, grief 
 which reflection must have augmented, 
 instead of alleviating, injured his health, 
 and, if we may venture to say so, for 
 some time impaired his understanding. 
 This incident in Newton's life, which 
 appears to be confirmed by many col- 
 lateral circumstances, is mentioned in a 
 manuscript note of Huygens, which was 
 communicated to M. Biot, of the French 
 Institute, by Mr. Vanswinden, in the 
 following letter : 
 
 V There is among the manuscripts of 
 the celebrated Huygens, a small journal 
 in folio, in which he used to note down 
 different occurrences ; it is side Z., No, 
 8, page 112, in the catalogue of the 
 library at Leyden : the following extract 
 is written by Huygens himself, with 
 whose hand- writing I am w^ll acquainted, 
 having had occasion to peruse several of 
 his manuscripts and autograph letters.*- 
 On the 29th May, 1694, a Scotchman of 
 the name of Colin, informed me, that 
 Isaac Newton, the celebrated mathema- 
 tician, eighteen months previously, had 
 become deranged in his mind, either from 
 too great application to his studies, or 
 from excessive grief at having lost, by 
 fire, his chemical laboratory and some 
 papers. Having made observations 
 before the Chancellor of Cambridge, 
 
 * The Latin words used by Huygens are as fol- 
 lows : " 1694, die 29 Maii, narravit mihi D. Colin,, 
 Scotus, celeberrimum ac rarum geometram, Ism, 
 Newtonum, incidisse in phrenitin abhinc anno ac sex 
 mensibus. An ex nimi& studii assiduitate, an dolore. 
 infortunii, quod in incendio laboratorium chemicum 
 et scripta quaedamamiserat. Cum ad archiepiscopum 
 Cant, venisset, ea locutum quae alienationem mentis 
 indicarent ; deinde ab amicis cura ejus suscepta, 
 domoque clausa, remedia volenti nolenti adhibita, 
 quibus jam sanitatem recuperavit, ut jam nunc 
 hbrum suum Principiorum intelligere incipiat." 
 
26 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 which indicated the alienation of his 
 intellect, he was taken care of by his 
 friends, and being confined to his house, 
 remedies were applied, by means of 
 which he has lately so far recovered his 
 health as to begin to again understand 
 his own Principia. Huygens mentioned 
 this circumstance to Leibnitz, in a let- 
 ter, dated the 8th of the following 
 June, to which the latter replied on the 
 twenty-third. ' I am very happy that I 
 received information of the cure of Mr. 
 Newton, at the same time that I first 
 heard of his illness, which, without 
 doubt, must have been most alarming. 
 It is to men like Newton and yourself, 
 Sir, that I desire health and a long life.'" 
 This account by Huygens is corrobo- 
 rated by the following extract from a 
 MS. at Cambridge, written by Mr. 
 Abraham de la Pryne, dated Feb. 3, 
 1692, in which, after mentioning the 
 circumstance of the papers being set 
 fire to, he says, " But when Mr. New- 
 ton came from chapel, and had seen 
 what was done, every one thought he 
 would have run mad, he was so troubled 
 thereat, that he was not himself for a 
 month after." From these details, it 
 would appear that the mind of this 
 great man was affected, either by excess 
 of exertion, or through grief at seeing the 
 result of its efforts destroyed. In truth, 
 there is nothing extraordinary in either 
 of these suppositions ; nor ought we to 
 be astonished that the first sentiments 
 arising from the great affliction which 
 befell Newton were expressed without 
 violence, for his mind was, as it were, 
 prostrated under their weight. But the 
 fact of a derangement in his intellect, 
 whatever may have been the cause, 
 will explain how, after the publication 
 of the Principia, in 1687, Newton, 
 though only forty-five years old, never 
 more gave to the world a new work in 
 any branch of science ; and why he 
 contented himself with merely publish- 
 ing those that he had composed long be- 
 fore this epoch, confining himself to the 
 completion of those parts that required 
 development. We may also remark, 
 that even these explanations appear in 
 every case to be taken from experiments 
 or observations previously made; as 
 for instance, the additions to the second 
 edition of the Principia in 1713, the ex- 
 periments on thick plates, on diffraction, 
 and the chemical queries placed at the 
 end of the Optics, in 1704 ; for Newton 
 distinctly announces them to be taken 
 from manuscripts which he had former- 
 
 ly written ; and adds, that though he felt 
 the necessity of extending, or of render- 
 ing them more perfect, yet henceforth 
 such subjects were no longer in his 
 way.* Thus it appears, that though he 
 had recovered his health sufficiently to 
 understand all his researches, and even, 
 in some cases, to make additions or use- 
 ful alterations (as is shown by the second 
 edition of the Principia, for which he 
 kept up a very active mathematical cor- 
 respondence with Cotes), yet he did not 
 wish] to undertake new labours in the 
 department of science where he had 
 done so much, and where he was so 
 well able to conceive what remained to 
 do. But whether this determination 
 were imposed on him by necessity, or 
 merely caused by a sort of moral weari- 
 ness, the result of so long and severe 
 an exercise of thought, what Newton 
 had already done is sufficient to place 
 him in the first rank of discoverers in 
 every branch of pure and applied 
 mathematics. After having admired 
 him as almost the creator of Natural 
 Philosophy, as one of the chief promo- 
 ters of mathematical analysis, we must 
 acknowledge, also, that to him we owe 
 the first idea of mechanical chemistry ; 
 since he regarded its combinations as 
 the result of molecular action, and by 
 the boldest and most felicitous induc- 
 tions raised himself to a conception of 
 the composition and variation in the 
 state of bodies, such as before his time 
 was unknown and unthought of. Unit- 
 ing so much theoretical and experi- 
 mental knowledge, Newton must have 
 been of the greatest service in superin- 
 tending the melting down of the old 
 coinage, which, from its worn and de- 
 preciated state, it was necessary to call 
 in ; and we find, accordingly, that in 
 three years time (1699) he was recom- 
 pensed for his services by the lucrative 
 appointment of Master of the Mint. 
 Hitherto, his means had been smallf for 
 his domestic wants. This new accession 
 of fortune, however, did not render him 
 unworthy of it; having gained it by 
 merit, he maintained his title to it by 
 the use he made of it. At this time, all 
 the clouds had disappeared with which 
 the spirit of jealousy had endeavoured 
 to obscure his glory." He had raised 
 himself too high to have a rival remain- 
 
 * Vide Optics, end of second book. 
 
 + The estates of Woolsthorpe and Sustern were 
 valued, at that period, at about 801. per annum. He 
 derived, also, some revenue from the university and. 
 from Trinity College. Vide Turner. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 27 
 
 ing, and due homage was paid from all 
 quarters to his transcendent talents. 
 
 In 1699, the Academie des Sciences at 
 Paris being empowered by a new Royal 
 Charter to admit a very small number 
 of foreign associates, hastened to make 
 this distinction yet more honourable 
 by enrolling on its lists the name of 
 Newton. In 1701, the University of 
 Cambridge again elected him to serve 
 in Parliament. 
 
 In 1703, he was chosen President of 
 the Royal Society . of London, a title 
 which renders the person on whom it is 
 conferred, as it were, the public repre- 
 sentative of philosophy and science, and 
 gives to him an influence the more use- 
 ful, because it proceeds from voluntary 
 confidence. Newton was annually re- 
 elected fo this honourable office, and 
 continued to fill it during the remainder 
 of his life (a period of twenty-five years) ; 
 and finally, in 1705, he was knighted by 
 Queen Anne. He now determined to 
 publish himself, or to allow others to 
 publish, his different works. He first 
 gave to the world his Optics, a treatise 
 which comprises all his researches on 
 light. It would appear that, fatigued 
 with the petty attacks that his ideas on 
 these subjects had drawn upon him (in 
 1672-5), Newton had resolved not to 
 publish this work during the life of 
 Hooke; the latter, however, died in 
 1702, and the jealous influence he had 
 been able to exercise had previously ex- 
 pired. Newton, having no longer any 
 fear of controversy, did not delay pub- 
 lishing these discoveries, which, though 
 of a different description, and of a less 
 general application than those which the 
 world had admired in the Principia, 
 are not inferior to them in the origi- 
 nality of their conception. 
 
 When the Optics appeared, in 1 704, it 
 was written in English. Dr. Samuel 
 Clarke, afterwards so celebrated for his 
 controversies with Leibnitz, published a 
 Latin version in 1706, with which New- 
 ton was so satisfied, that he presented 
 the translator with 5001. as a testi- 
 mony of his acknowledgment; many 
 editions of the work itself, and of 
 the translation, rapidly succeeded each 
 other, both in England and on the con- 
 tinent. Although the number of edi- 
 tions shows how much this treatise has 
 from that time been admired, yet its 
 whole merit has not been fully appre- 
 ciated till within these few years, when 
 new discoveries, and particularly that of 
 the polarization of light, have rendered 
 
 perceptible all the importance of certain 
 very delicate phenomena, whose general 
 existence Newton had pointed out in the 
 propagation of light, and which, under 
 the names of " fits of easy transmission 
 and reflection," he considered as essen- 
 tial attributes of that principle. These 
 properties being so subtile, that they 
 escape all observations . which are not 
 extremely exact, and being at the same 
 time so singular that, in order to admit 
 them, it is necessary to have the fullest 
 conviction of the accuracy of the expe- 
 riments which establish them, they 
 were, for a long period, regarded merely 
 as ingenious hypotheses ; and it has even 
 been thought in some degree necessary 
 to apologize for Newton's having men- 
 tioned them. But, in the present day, 
 it is generally acknowledged that these 
 properties, with the laws assigned to 
 them by Newton, are modifications 
 really and incontestably inherent in light, 
 though their existence must be diffe- 
 rently conceived and applied, according 
 to the hypothesis we adopt as to the 
 nature of the luminous principle. 
 
 To the first edition of the Optics, 
 Newton added two analytical treatises, 
 the one entitled " Enumeratio linearum 
 tertii ordinis" and the other, " Trac- 
 tatus de quadratura curvarum" The 
 latter contains an explanation of the 
 method of fluxions, and its application 
 to the quadrature of curves, by means 
 of expansion into infinite series ; and 
 the first a very elegant classification of 
 curves of the third order, with a clear 
 and rapid enumeration of their pro- 
 perties, which Newton probably had 
 discovered by the method of expansion, 
 enunciated in the former treatise ; 
 though he merely indicates the results, 
 without mentioning the process which 
 he had employed in investigating them. 
 These two treatises were withdrawn 
 from the following editions of the Optics, 
 with the subject of which they were not 
 sufficiently connected ; but we may pre- 
 sume that Newton's object in inserting 
 them in the edition of 1 704 was to in- 
 sure his right to the discovery and ap- 
 plication of those new analytical me- 
 thods, which, after having been so long 
 in his secret, and as he supposed, sole 
 possession, had now for several years 
 been making their way with much 
 success on the continent, and were there 
 producing new and important results 
 in the hands of foreign analysts, par- 
 ticularly of Leibnitz, and the Ber- 
 noullis. 
 
28 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 The great renown which Newton had 
 acquired, caused all his productions to 
 be received with avidity. Hence it was 
 that Whiston published in 1707, with- 
 out the knowledge or consent of New- 
 ton, the " Arithmetics universalis" 
 which appears to have been merely the 
 text of the lectures on Algebra, that he 
 delivered at Cambridge, written rapidly 
 for his own use, and not intended for 
 publication. Science, however, must 
 congratulate itself on the transgression 
 of confidence that has fortunately made 
 this work known ; for it were impossi- 
 sible to see a more perfect model of the 
 art by which geometrical or numerical 
 questions may be submitted to algebra- 
 ical calculation : whether we regard the 
 happy choice of the unknown quantities, 
 or the ingenious combination of analy- 
 tical formulae, employed in finding the 
 simplest method of solution. A second 
 and more complete edition was pub- 
 lished in London in 1712, according to 
 Gravesande, with the participation of 
 Newton himself a proof that this pro- 
 duction of his youth appeared to him 
 neither unworthy of his name nor of his 
 attention. 
 
 It was also, by the care of some other 
 editor, but with his consent, that in 
 1711 a small treatise, entitled " Metho- 
 dus differ entialis" was published, in 
 which he shows how to draw a, parabolic 
 curve through any given number of 
 points a determination which, when 
 reduced into formulae, is very useful in 
 the interpolation of series, and in ap- 
 proximating to the quadratures of 
 curves. 
 
 In the same year, by other hands, 
 was published the long-suppressed 
 treatise, " Analysis per equationes nu- 
 mero terminorum infinitas" which he 
 had composed in 1665, and in which, as 
 we have already said, he had explained 
 his first discoveries in fluxions, and in 
 expansions, by means of infinite series. 
 A copy of this dissertation had formerly 
 been taken by Collins, from the ori- 
 ginal sent to him by Barrow ; and hav- 
 ing been found among his papers after 
 his death, leave was obtained from 
 Newton to publish it a permission 
 which he probably gave the more wil- 
 lingly, as the work being of old date, in- 
 contestably established his claims to the 
 invention of the new method. 
 
 Newton formerly had prepared, on the 
 same subject, a more extensive treatise, 
 entitled " A method of Fluxions," which 
 he proposed to join as an introduction 
 
 to a treatise on algebra, by Kinckhuysen, 
 of which he had undertaken to publish 
 an edition in 1 672 : this, without doubt, 
 would have been more valuable than 
 the book itself, but his fear of scientific 
 quarrels induced him then to keep his 
 manuscript secret. Towards the close 
 of his life, he again thought of publish- 
 ing it, but it was not printed till after 
 his death. The same apprehension had, 
 as we have already said, prevented him 
 from publishing his " Optical Lectures" 
 delivered at Cambridge. Happily, how- 
 ever, he had entrusted copies to many 
 persons, and among others, to Gregory, 
 professor of astronomy at Oxford, one 
 of which being printed three years after 
 his death, has preserved to us this work. 
 It presents a very detailed experimental' 
 exposition of the phenomena of the com- 
 position and decomposition of light, with 
 their most usual applications : it is, in' 
 fact, the Optics without the most diffi- 
 cult part, viz. the theory of colours pro- 
 duced by thin plates ; but, in the other 
 parts, fully developed both by calcula- 
 tions and by numerous experiments. In 
 this form, it was extremely proper for 
 the use to which Newton intended 'it, 
 and at this day it offers a most valuable 
 model for an elementary exposition of 
 phenomena by experiment. 
 
 Here would terminate our account of 
 the works on which the fame of Newton 
 reposes, had not a new literary dispute 
 (about 1712), which, in fact, he did not 
 provoke, and the existence of which, 
 perhaps, he more than once regretted, 
 completely revealed all the fertility of 
 his wonderful genius, and assembled a 
 multitude of analytical discoveries, 
 which we find in the correspondence 
 that ensued. We have seen that New- 
 ton, for a long time, obstinately guarded 
 the secret of his discoveries, and parti- 
 cularly that of the method of fluxions, 
 of which he justly foresaw the future 
 utility in calculating the phenomena of 
 nature. However, in 1676, Leibnitz 
 having heard of the new results that 
 Newton was said to have obtained by- 
 means of infinite series, testified to Ol- 
 denburg the desire he felt to become ac- 
 quainted with them. The latter induced 
 Newton not to refuse a communication 
 which could not but be honourable to 
 him. In consequence (23rd of June, 
 1676), Newton sent to Oldenburg a 
 letter to be transmitted to Leibnitz, in 
 which he gave expressions for the ex- 
 pansion in series of binomial powers, of 
 the sine in terms of the arc, of the are 
 
w LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 29 
 
 in terras of its sine, and of elliptical, 
 circular, and hyperbolic functions, with- 
 out, however, any demonstration or in- 
 dication of the means he had used for 
 obtaining these results ; merely stating 
 that he possessed a method by which, 
 when these series were given, he could 
 obtain the quadratures of the curves 
 from which they were derived, as well 
 us the surfaces and centres of gravity of 
 the solids formed by their rotation. This 
 may in fact be done by considering each 
 term of these series as the ordinate of a 
 particular curve, and by then applying 
 the method previously given by Merca- 
 tor, for squaring curves, of which the or- 
 dinates are expressed rationally in terms 
 of the abscissa. This is precisely what 
 Leibnitz remarked in his answer to 
 Newton on the 27th of the following 
 August, adding that he should be glad 
 to know the demonstration of the theo- 
 rems on which Newton founded his 
 method of reducing into series ; but that, 
 for himself, though he recognized the 
 utility of this method, he employed 
 another, which consisted in decomposing 
 the given curve into its superficial ele- 
 ments, and in transforming these infi- 
 nitely small elements into others, equi- 
 valent to them, but belonging to a 
 curve whose ordinate was expressed 
 rationally in terms of the abscissa, so 
 that the method of Mercator might be 
 applied in squaring it. After giving 
 different explanations of this method, he 
 declares in express terms that he does 
 not believe that " all problems, except 
 those of Diophantes, can be resolved by 
 it alone, or by series," as Newton had 
 affirmed in his letter; and among the 
 problems which elude these processes, 
 he mentions the case of finding curves 
 from their tangents ; adding that he 
 had already treated many questions of 
 this sort by means of a direct analysis, 
 and that the most difficult had been 
 thus solved. This was more than 
 enough to show Newton that Leibnitz 
 was at least upon the track of the infi- 
 nitesimal calculus, if he did not possess 
 it already ; and, therefore, in his an- 
 swer (dated Oct. 24th, though appa- 
 rently delivered to Leibnitz much later), 
 after giving the explanations requested 
 by Leibnitz on the formation of binomial 
 series, and after stating to him the suc- 
 cession of ideas, by means of which he 
 had discovered them, Newton hastens 
 to declare that he possesses for drawing 
 tangents to curves a method equally 
 applicable to equations, whether disen- 
 
 gaged or not of radical quantities ; 
 " but," he adds, ** as I cannot push 
 further the explication of this method, I 
 have concealed the principle in this 
 anagram."* 
 
 He announced that he had estab- 
 lished on this foundation many theorems 
 for simplifying the quadrature of curves, 
 and gave expressions for the areas in 
 terms of the ordinates in several 
 simple cases ; but he enveloped both 
 the method and the principle on 
 which it rested in another anagram 
 more complicated than the first. 
 
 The evident object of Newton, in 
 this letter, was to place his claims to 
 priority of invention in the hands of 
 Leibnitz himself. The noble frankness 
 of Leibnitz appears on this occasion to 
 the greatest advantage : for in his an- 
 swer to Newton (21st of June, 1677) 
 he employs neither anagram nor eva- 
 sion, but details simply and openly the 
 method of the infinitesimal calculus, 
 with the differential notation, the rules 
 of differentiation, the formation of diffe- 
 rential equations, and the applications 
 of these processes to various questions 
 in analysis and geometry; and, what 
 mathematicians will consider as far from 
 being unimportant, the figures employed 
 in the exposition of these methods offer 
 precisely the same letters, and the same 
 method of notation, that Leibnitz had 
 used in his first letter of the 14th of 
 April the preceding year. Newton 
 made no reply to this memorable letter, 
 either because he no longer felt the 
 wish, or because, from Oldenburg's 
 death, (which happened in the autumn 
 of the same year,) he had no longer an 
 opportunity of doing so. 
 
 Leibnitz published his differential 
 method in the Leipzig Acts for 1684, in 
 a form exactly similar to that which he 
 had sent to N ewton. No claim was set 
 up at that time to contest his right of 
 discovery, and Newton himself, three 
 years afterwards, eternalized that right 
 by recognizing it in the Principia, in the 
 following terms.f "In a correspon- 
 dence which took place about ten years 
 ago, between that very celebrated ma- 
 thematician G. Leibnitz and myself, I 
 mentioned to him that I possessed a 
 method (which I concealed in an ana- 
 gram) for determining maxima and 
 
 * The letters composing the anagram formed the 
 following sentence data cquatione quotcumque 
 Jiuentes quantitates involvente, Jluxiones invenire* 
 et vice versa. 
 
 t Scholium, Prop. vii. Lib. 2. 
 
30 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 minima, for drawing tangents, and for 
 similar operations, which was equally 
 applicable both to rational and irra- 
 tional quantities : that illustrious man 
 replied that he also had fallen on a me- 
 thod of the same kind (se quoque in 
 ejusmodi methodum incidisse), and com- 
 municated to me his method, which 
 scarcely differed from mine, except in 
 the notation and the idea of the gene- 
 ration of quantities." 
 
 There is a curious ambiguity in the 
 words, " he replied that he had fallen 
 on a method of the same kind," which, 
 to'those who had not seen the letters 
 that were interchanged, might convey 
 the idea, that Leibnitz had discovered 
 the key to Newton's anagram ; but this 
 meaning is not to be found in Leibnitz's 
 letter ; he only announces a supposi- 
 tion, honourable to his character, viz. 
 that the concealed method of Newton has, 
 
 Eerhaps,'some connexion with that which 
 e communicates to him. With this 
 explanation, the above passage in the 
 Principia is in truth a formal recogni- 
 tion of Leibnitz's claims. It was so 
 considered by every one when it ap- 
 peared, and during twenty years Leib- 
 nitz was allowed, without any dispute, 
 to develope all the parts of the differen- 
 tial calculus, and to deduce from it an 
 immense number of brilliant applica- 
 tions, which seemed to extend the power 
 of mathematical analysis far beyond any 
 preconceived limits. In this interval, 
 Wallis, by publishing the above-men- 
 tioned letters between Leibnitz and 
 Newton, only rendered, if possible, the 
 claims of the former more complete and 
 more incontestable in the eyes of every 
 impartial person. It was not till 1699 
 that Nicholas Fatio de Duillier,* in a 
 Memoir, in which he employed the in- 
 finitesimal calculus, claimed, in favour 
 of Newton, the first invention of it ; 
 " and," added he, " with regard to 
 what Mr. Leibnitz, the second inventor 
 of this caculus may have borrowed from 
 Newton, I refer to the judgment of those 
 persons who have seen the letters and 
 manuscripts relating to this business." 
 Did] Fatio really believe what he was 
 writing, or did he wish to flatter the 
 national pride of the country in which 
 he lived ? or was he not in some manner 
 irritated at Leibnitz having rendered so 
 little justice to the Principia, and at his 
 appearing to arrogate to himself a sort 
 of empire over all "discoveries made by 
 
 * A Genevese settled in England. 
 
 the aid of the newcalculus ? These ques- 
 tions we do not pretend to decide ; but 
 the two latter suppositions are the most 
 probable. Leibnitz replied, by stating 
 the facts, and quoting his letters, and 
 the testimony rendered.to him by Newton 
 himself. Fatio was silent; and thus 
 the matter stood till 1704, when Newton 
 published the Optics. In giving an ac- 
 count of the treatise on the quadrature 
 of curves, which was joined to this 
 work, the editor of the Leipzig Acts na- 
 turally mentioned the evident analogy 
 that existed between Newton's method 
 of fluxions and the differential calculus 
 which had been published twenty years 
 previously by Leibnitz, in the same 
 Acts, and which had since become the 
 means of making an infinity of analyti- 
 cal discoveries, "in comparing the two 
 methods, the editor (whom Newton 
 supposes to have been Leibnitz himself) 
 did not precisely say, that the method 
 of fluxions was a mere transformation 
 of the differential calculus ; but he used 
 terms which might bear such an inter- 
 pretation. This was the signal for attack, 
 on the part of the English writers : one of 
 the most violent of them, Keil, professor 
 of astronomy at Oxford, said, in a paper 
 printed in the Philosophical Transac- 
 tions, not only that Newton was the first 
 inventor of the method of fluxions, but 
 also that Leibnitz had stolen it from 
 him, by merely changing the name and 
 the notation used by Newton. This 
 produced an indignant reply from Leib- 
 nitz, who had the imprudence to submit 
 the question to the judgment of the 
 Royal Society, that is to say, of a tri- 
 bunal which was presided over by his 
 rival. The society, with scrupulous fide- 
 lity, collected all the original letters that 
 could be found bearing on the matter 
 in question, and thus, with regard to 
 the facts, its conduct was unimpeach- 
 able ; but the most important and deli- 
 cate part of the business, viz. the dis- 
 cussion of those papers, and the conse- 
 quences to be deduced by them, it 
 referred to arbitrators chosen by itself, 
 who were not known, and about whose 
 appointment Leibnitz was not consulted. 
 These arbitrators decided that Newton 
 had indubitably been the first discoverer 
 of the method of fluxions, a truth which 
 is certainly incontestable in the sense 
 that discovery and invention are syno- 
 nimous terms ; but they also added two 
 assertions, which can only be considered 
 as the expression of their personal opi- 
 nion first, that the differential and 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 31 
 
 fluxioncd methods are one and the same 
 thing ; and, secondly, that Leibnitz ?nust 
 have seen a letter of Newton's, (dated 
 10th December, 1672,) in which the 
 method of fluxions is described in a 
 manner sufficiently clear for any intelli- 
 gent person to understand. Now of 
 these two assertions, the second is not 
 proved in any one of its parts, and the 
 letter of Newton alluded to, appears, 
 according to his custom, to have been 
 more intended Jbr establishing his right, 
 than proper for indicating the manner 
 of attaining his method. With regard 
 to the first assertion, that the methods 
 are absolutely identical, it may easily be 
 refuted by the simple consideration, that 
 if the method of fluxions alone existed 
 at the present moment, the invention of 
 the differential calculus with its nota- 
 tion, and its principle of decomposition 
 into infinitely small elements, would still 
 be an admirable discovery, and one 
 which would immediately bring to light 
 a number of applications, which we now 
 possess, but which probably would not 
 have been obtainable without its assist- 
 ance. Admitting then, as certain, the 
 priority of Newton's ideas on this sub- 
 ject, we think that the reserve he main- 
 tained regarding it left the field open to 
 all other inventors ; and that from the 
 general tendency of the mathematical 
 researches of that period, both Leibnitz 
 and Newton might have separately ar- 
 rived by different means at ;the know- 
 ledge of a method, the want of which 
 was then so sensibly felt in all analytical 
 researches. The quarrel between New- 
 ton and Leibnitz has not been without 
 advantage to mathematical science; 
 since it produced the precious collection 
 of letters on infinitesimal analysis, col- 
 lected by the Royal Society, and pub- 
 lished in 1712, under the name of the 
 Commercium Epistolicum. But as re- 
 gards these two great men themselves, 
 the bitterness with which it inspired the 
 one against the other, became the tor- 
 ment and the misfortune of the remain- 
 der of their lives. Newton went so far 
 as to affirm, that Leibnitz had deprived 
 him of the differential calculus, and then 
 that this calculus was identical with 
 Barrow's method of tangents : an asser- 
 tion of which he could not but have 
 perceived the injustice, since, if he pre- 
 tended, on the one hand, that the diffe- 
 rential calculus and the method of flux- 
 ions were the same, he must have also 
 admitted the method of fluxions to be 
 identical with Barrow's method of tan- 
 
 gents, an assertion which he was far 
 from admitting. Newton suffered him- 
 self to be carried away so far as to pre- 
 tend that the paragraph inserted in the 
 Principia, by which he had so openly 
 acknowledged the independent rights of 
 Leibnitz, was by no means intended to 
 render him that testimony, but, on the 
 contrary, to establish the priority of the 
 method of fluxions over that of the dif- 
 ferential calculus. Newton's animosity 
 was not even calmed by the death of 
 Leibnitz, in 11716: for he immediately 
 afterwards printed two manuscript letters 
 of Leibnitz, written in the preceding 
 year, accompanied with a bitter refuta- 
 tion. Six years later, (in 1.722) he 
 caused a new edition of the Commer- 
 cium Epistolicum to be printed, at the 
 head of which he placed a very partial 
 extract from this Collection. This 
 was apparently made by himself, and 
 had already appeared two years before 
 the death of Leibnitz, in the Philosophi- 
 cal Transactions for 1715. Finally, 
 Newton had the weakness to leave out, 
 or allow to be left out, in the third edi- 
 tion of the Principia, published under 
 his own inspection, 1725, the famous 
 Scholium, in which he had admitted the 
 rights of his rival. To render such con- 
 duct, not to say excusable, but even 
 comprehensible, on the part of a man 
 who must so well have known that the 
 only tribunal that can decide on such 
 causes is impartial posterity, it is neces- 
 sary to say that Leibnitz, on his side, 
 had neither been less passionate nor less 
 unjust. Hurt by the unexpected publi- 
 cation of the Commercium Epistolicum, 
 and irritated by a decision, given with- 
 out his knowledge, by judges whom he 
 had not appointed, and who had not 
 waited for his defence, he summoned 
 contrary testimonies in his support. 
 Leibnitz had the misfortune to produce 
 proofs equally exaggerated with those 
 brought forward by Newton. He print- 
 ed, and spread throughout Europe, an 
 anonymous letter (since discovered to 
 have been written by J. Bernoulli), ex- 
 tremely injurious to Newton, whom it 
 represented as having fabricated his me- 
 thod of fluxions from the differential cal- 
 culus. Leibnitz committed a still greater 
 fault. He was in the habit of correspond- 
 ing with the Princess of Wales, daughter- 
 in-law to George the First. This princess, 
 endowed with a highly cultivated mind, 
 had received Newton with extreme kind- 
 ness, and was fond of conversing with 
 him. She declared that she esteemed 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON 
 
 herself happy in living at a time that 
 enabled her to become acquainted with 
 so great a genius. Leibnitz made use 
 of his correspondence with the princess, 
 to lower Newton in her eyes, and to 
 represent his philosophy to her not only 
 as physically false, but also as dangerous 
 in a religious point of view ; and, what 
 is still more inconceivable, he founded 
 these accusations on passages in the 
 Principia, and in the Optics, which 
 Newton had evidently composed and 
 inserted with intentions sincerely re- 
 ligious, and as genuine professions of 
 his firm belief in a divine Providence. 
 For instance, in explaining the true me- 
 thod to be pursued in natural philoso- 
 phy, Newton says, in his Twenty-eighth 
 Query, " the mainbusinessof this science 
 is to argue from phenomena, without 
 feigning hypotheses, and to deduce 
 causes from effects, till we come to the 
 very First Cause ; which certainly is not 
 mechanical : and not only to unfold the 
 mechanism of the world, but chiefly to 
 resolve these and such like questions. 
 What is there in places almost empty 
 of matter, and whence is it, that the 
 sun and planets gravitate towards one 
 another, without dense matter between 
 them ? Whence is it that nature doth 
 nothing in vain, and whence arises all 
 that order and beauty, which we see in 
 the world ? To what end are comets, 
 and whence is it that ,'planets move all 
 one and the same way, in orbs concen- 
 tric, while comets move all manner of 
 ways in orbs very eccentric ; and what 
 hinders the fixed stars from falling upon 
 one another ? How came the bodies of 
 animals to be contrived with so much 
 art ? and for what ends were their seve- 
 ral parts ? was the eye contrived without 
 skill in optics, and the ear without know- 
 ledge of sounds ? How do the motions of 
 the body follow from the will, and 
 whence is the instinct in animals ? Is not 
 the sensoryof animals that place to which 
 the sensitive substance is present ; and 
 into which the sensible species of things 
 are carried through the nerves and brain, 
 that there they may be perceived, by 
 their immediate presence to that sub- 
 stance ? And these things being rightly 
 dispatched, does it not appear from phe- 
 nomena, that there is a Being incorpo- 
 real, living, intelligent, omnipresent, 
 who in infinite space, as it were, in his 
 sensory, sees the things themselves inti- 
 mately, and thoroughly perceives them, 
 and comprehends them wholly by their 
 immediate presence to himself; and 
 
 which things, the images only, carried 
 through the organs of sense into our 
 little sensoriums, are there seen and be- 
 held, by that which in us perceives and 
 thinks ; and though every true step 
 made in this philosophy bring us not 
 immediately to the knowledge of the 
 First Cause, yet it brings us nearer to it, 
 and on that account is to be highly 
 valued ?" 
 
 It is thus that Newton speaks of a 
 Supreme Being ; and even those who 
 might dispute the arguments which 
 he gives for such an existence, must 
 still recognize, in . this passage, the 
 sentiments of a mind deeply imbued 
 with religious feelings, and convinced 
 of their true foundation. It was 
 upon this ground, however, that Leib- 
 nitz attacked him in his correspond- 
 ence with the princess : "it appears," 
 says he, in one of his letters, " that na- 
 tural religion is diminishing extremely 
 in England ; " and he cites as a proof the 
 works of Locke, and the above passage 
 from Newton ; elsewhere he says, " that 
 these principles are precisely those of 
 the materialists." When we see a mind 
 of the order of that of Leibnitz ex- 
 pressing itself with such blind contempt 
 for the grand and .incontrovertible dis- 
 covery of universal gravitation, and 
 employing such arguments in objecting 
 to it, we are disposed to compassionate 
 the occasional weakness of the finest in- 
 tellects, and to deplore the petty passions 
 which tarnish the splendour of genius. 
 The rank of the person to whom this 
 accusation was addressed increased its 
 importance in those day?. The king was 
 informed of the matter, and expressed 
 his expectation that Newton would reply. 
 It would appear that it was this autho- 
 rity that determined Newton personally 
 to enter the lists ; but he only undertook 
 the defence of the mathematical part of 
 the question ; the philosophical part he 
 left to Dr. Clarke, who, though inferior 
 as a mathematician, was a better meta- 
 physician than himself. From this re- 
 sulted a great number of letters, written 
 by Clarke and Leibnitz to each other, 
 which were all inspected by the princess. 
 In the course of this correspondence, as 
 often happens, the original question was 
 lost amidst collateral disquisitions.* On 
 reading these letters, it must excite sur- 
 prise that a woman of rank could amuse 
 herself with discussions of this sort, 
 
 * These letters were published in France by Des 
 maizeaux. 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 33 
 
 mixed up as they were with the coarse 
 and erudite jests made use of by Leib- 
 nitz. To this taste, however, of the 
 princess for serious matters we owe 
 our acquaintance with a work of New- 
 ton, very different from those that 
 we have hitherto mentioned. .Con- 
 versing one day on some historical sub- 
 ject, Newton explained to her a system 
 of chronology, which he had formerly 
 composed, simply for amusement. The 
 princess was so much pleased with it, 
 that she requested a copy, for her own 
 use, on which latter condition Newton 
 complied with her request : he, however, 
 gave also a copy to the Abbe Oonti, 
 who had made himself remarkable by 
 interfering in the disputes between Leib- 
 nitz and Newton. No sooner was the 
 Abbe* in Paris, than he communicated 
 this manuscript to the world. It was 
 immediately translated and printed, not 
 only without the consent or knowledge 
 of Newton, but even accompanied with 
 a refutation by Freret. Newton had 
 thus the mortification to hear at the 
 same time of the publication and reply, 
 without having had any suspicion of the 
 transaction ; and was hence obliged, 
 though contrary to his original inten- 
 tion, at least to give a more correct edi- 
 tion ; but he was only able to prepare 
 one : it did not appear till after his death 
 in 1728. 
 
 This leads us to speak of another work 
 of Newton, which, though appearing 
 to differ much in its title from the one 
 we have just mentioned, is, like it, an 
 historical memoir; the title is, "Obser- 
 vations upon the Prophecies of Holy 
 Writ, particularly the Prophecies of 
 Daniel and the Apocalypse of St. John."' 
 Notwithstanding the singularity such a 
 subject appears to offer, when treated of 
 by a mind like that of Newton, we ven- 
 ture to affirm, that more persons have 
 spoken of this dissertation than have 
 given themselves the trouble to read it ; 
 it therefore becomes our duty here to 
 point out more particularly the object 
 which Newton had in view, and his 
 manner of proceeding. The ground- 
 work of his reasoning is concisely ex- 
 pressed by the following words in the 
 work itself : * 
 
 " The folly of interpreters hath been to 
 foretell times and things by this pro- 
 phecy, as if God designed to make them 
 prophets. By this rashness they have not 
 only exposed themselves, but brought 
 
 * Age of Apocalypse, 
 
 the prophecy also into contempt. The 
 design of God was much otherwise. 
 He gave this and the prophecies of the 
 Old Testament, not to gratify men's 
 curiosities, by enabling them to fore- 
 know things ; but that after they were 
 fulfilled, they might be interpreted by 
 the event ; and his own Providence, not 
 the interpreters', be then manifested 
 thereby to the world. Now," says New- 
 ton, V for understanding the prophecies, 
 we are in the first place to acquaint our- 
 selves with the figurative language of 
 the prophets ; this language is taken 
 from the analogy between the world na- 
 tural and an empire or kingdom con- 
 sidered as a world politic."* He Ihen 
 successively enters into all the details of 
 this connexion ; first of all considering 
 the heavens and the earth as represent- 
 ing thrones and people ; then taking the 
 astronomical phenomena, the rain, the 
 hail, the meteors, the animals, the vege- 
 tables, their different parts, their diffe- 
 rent actions, and those of man himself ; 
 and finally, every thing in the material 
 world, as having a peculiar mystic sig- 
 nification which he fixes and defines : 
 V for instance," 'says he, " when a beast 
 or man is put for a kingdom, his parts 
 and qualities are put for the analogous 
 parts and qualities of the kingdom : as 
 the head of a beast for the great men 
 who precede and govern ; the tail for 
 the inferior people who follow and are 
 governed ; the heads, if more than one, 
 for the number of capital parts, or dy- 
 nasties or dominions in the kingdom, 
 whether collateral or successive, with 
 respect to the civil government; the 
 horns on any head for the number of 
 kingdoms in that head, with respect to 
 military power ; seeing for understand- 
 ing and policy ; and in matters of reli- 
 gion for tvivKoxot, bishops ; speaking for 
 making laws ; the mouth for a lawgiver, 
 &c. &c." f Down to this point we find, 
 in fact, nothing new, except the precise 
 and, in some degree, systematic expla- 
 nation of the method of interpretation : 
 for at bottom this method is that which 
 has been employed by all commentators ; 
 and it is really impossible to employ 
 any other, in applying a prophecy which 
 is not explicit in its terms. The dis- 
 tinguishing character of Newton's work 
 is, that having thus made his glossary 
 beforehand, it often suffices him for 
 explaining a prophecy, to place the figu- 
 
 * Prophecies, part 1. chap. 2. 
 t Prophecies, part 1, chap, 2. p. 8. 
 
34 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 rative terms word for word opposite 
 to the explanations : by these means he 
 makes a quicker and more extended 
 progress. We will not follow him in the 
 vast career he proposed to go over. 
 Furnished with what he considered a key- 
 to prophetical language, he successively 
 questions Daniel and St. John, and en- 
 deavours to produce, from their prophe- 
 cies, the historical events that have 
 taken place since their time. His work 
 is immense ; it embraces not only the 
 principal epochs, and the most impor- 
 tant events, in the ancient and in a part 
 of the middle ages, but also a multitude 
 of particular facts, of chronological ob- 
 servations, and of researches on civil or 
 ecclesiastical antiquities, showing deep 
 and extensive knowledge, taken from 
 the most authentic sources. To give an 
 idea of the detailed applications by 
 which Newton has allowed himself to 
 be carried away in this singular compo- 
 sition, and at the same time not to leave 
 unnoticed the spirit of prejudice of 
 which unhappily it bears the stamp, we 
 will extract a passage in the seventh and 
 eighth chapters of the first part. New- 
 ton has explained the ten horns of the 
 fourth beast of Daniel by the ten king- 
 doms which the barbarians founded on 
 the ruins of the Roman empire in the 
 west, and has rapidly traced the history 
 of each of these kingdoms, in order to 
 show how it agrees with the prophecies. 
 It remains to explain the eleventh horn 
 of the same beast : the words of scrip- 
 ture are: " Now Daniel considered the 
 horns, and behold there came up among 
 them another horn, before whom there 
 were three of the first horns plucked up 
 by the roots ; and behold in this horn 
 were eyes like the eyes of a man, and a 
 mouth speaking great tfiings, and his 
 look was more stout than his fellows, 
 and the same horn made war with the 
 saints, and prevailed against them : and 
 one who stood by, and made Daniel 
 know the interpretation of these things, 
 told him, that the ten horns were ten 
 kings that should arise, and another 
 should arise after them and be diverse 
 from the first, and he should subdue 
 three kings, and speak great words 
 against the Most High, and wear out the 
 saints, and think to change times and 
 laws : and that they should be given 
 into his hands until a time and times 
 and half a time." "Now," says New- 
 ton, "kings are put for kingdoms as 
 above ; and therefore the little horn is a 
 little kingdom. It was a horn of the 
 
 fourth beast, and rooted up three of 
 his first horns ; and therefore we 
 are to look for it among the na- 
 tions of the Latin empire, after the 
 rise of the ten horns. But it was a 
 kingdom of a different kind from the 
 other ten kingdoms, having a life or 
 soul peculiar to itself, with eyes and a 
 mouth. By its eyes it was a seer ; and 
 by its mouth speaking great things, and 
 changing times and laws, it was a pro- 
 phet as well as a king. And such a seer, 
 a prophet, and a king, is the church of 
 Rome." Newton then supports this 
 analogy by an historical account of the 
 rise and progress of the papal power, 
 the details of which he, in succession, 
 compares with the prophecy. Newton 
 carries this investigation no further than 
 the last half of the eighth century, be- 
 cause," says he, " the Pops, by acquir- 
 ing temporal power, is clearly desig- 
 nated by the prophet : " but carried be- 
 yond the limits previously assigned by 
 himself to interpreters, he goes on to 
 predict the epoch of the fall, or at least 
 decline of this temporal power, for 
 translating the expression of Daniel, 
 " a time and times and half a time," by 
 1260 solar years, and indicating the year 
 800 as about the point to count from, 
 he fixes the fatal term to be about the 
 year 2060. We must remark, that this 
 conclusion is not, in his work, as in 
 those of some other protestant writers, 
 dictated by any sectarian or party feel- 
 ing ; he states it with all the calm of 
 entire conviction, and with all the sim- 
 plicity of an evident demonstration. It 
 appears to be not Newton, but St. John 
 and Daniel, who attack the power of 
 modern Rome, who characterize it by 
 injurious terms, and finally predict its 
 ruin. 
 
 It will, doubtless, be asked, how a 
 mind of the character and force of New- 
 ton's, so habituated to the severity of 
 mathematical considerations, so accus- 
 tomed to the observation of real pheno- 
 mena, so methodical, and so cautious, 
 even at his boldest moments in physical 
 speculation, and consequently so well 
 aware of the conditions by which alone 
 truth is to be discovered, could put 
 together such a number of conjectures, 
 without noticing the extreme improba- 
 bility that is involved in all of them, 
 from the infinite number of arbitrary 
 postulates on which he endeavours to 
 establish his system. The answer to 
 this question must be taken entirely 
 irom the ideas and the habits of the age 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON,- 
 
 35 
 
 in which Newton lived. Not only was 
 Newton profoundly religious, but his 
 whole life was spent, and all his affec- 
 tions were concentrated in acircle of men, 
 who, holding the same doctrines, consi- 
 sidered themselves bound by their station 
 or profession to defend and propagate 
 them. The English philosophers of that 
 period took pleasure in combining the 
 researches of science with theological 
 discussion ; to which they were the more 
 inclined, because the cause of pro- 
 testantism had identified itself with 
 political liberty; and men studied the 
 bible to find weapons against despotism. 
 The choice of Newton by the Ui-. 
 versify of Cambridge as one of the dele- 
 gates sent to King James, shows clearly 
 that he shared in such sentiments ; nor 
 is it a more surprising fact, that Newton 
 wrote upon the Apocalypse, than that K. 
 >Boyle, one of the greatest natural philo- 
 sopkets of the same period, published a 
 treatise, entitled " The Christian Vir- 
 tuoso," of which the object is to show 
 that experimental philosophy conduces 
 to a man being a good Christian, 
 than that Wallis, the celebrated mathe- 
 matician, composed a number of tracts 
 on religious subjects, than that Barrow 
 who reckoned Newton himself among 
 his pupils, and who resigned in his fa- 
 vour the mathematical chair, conse- 
 crated his latter years to theology, in 
 order to take the degree of doctor in 
 that faculty that Hooke, whom we 
 have so often mentioned, composed a 
 work on the Tower of Babel that 
 Winston, Newton's pupil and successor 
 at Cambridge, also composed an essay 
 " on the Revelation of St. John," and 
 other treatises on pure theology that 
 Clarke, another still more illustrious 
 pupil of Newton, the faithful translator 
 of his Optics, the zealous promoter and 
 ingenious defender of his philosophy, 
 was at the same time the most profound 
 theologian and sublime preacher in 
 England ; and finally, that Leibnitz 
 himself, to take no other example, in 
 the course of his literary life, voluntarily 
 made numerous excursions into the 
 provinces of natural theology, revela- 
 tion, and biblical criticism ; that he com- 
 mented on the story of Balaam, treated 
 in various ways the question of grace, 
 and with the laudable intention of uni- 
 ting Protestants and Catholics, discussed 
 with Bossuet the principal doctrinal 
 points which separate the two churches. 
 This alliance of the exact sciences with 
 religious controversy, at that time so 
 
 general, is the natural mode of ac- 
 counting for the theological researches 
 of Newton, however singular they might 
 appear at the present day. There is 
 another tract belonging to the same 
 class of writings, which we must also 
 mention, not only from the importance 
 of the subject in a religious point of 
 view, but also because it affords us a 
 new opportunity of seeing the extensive 
 knowledge which Newton possessed in 
 these matters. The title is " An histo- 
 rical account of two notable corruptions 
 of the Scriptures," in fifty pages 4to.; it 
 contains a critical discussion of two pas- 
 sages in the Epistles of St. John and 
 St. Paul, relating to the doctrine of the 
 Trinity, which Newton supposes to have 
 been altered by the copyists. From the 
 nature of the subject, and from certain 
 indications at the beginning of the 
 pamphlet, it probably was composed 
 when the works of Whiston and of Clarke 
 on the same subject drew upon them the 
 attacks of all the English theologians, 
 that is, about 1712-13. It is certainly 
 very remarkable that a man of the age of 
 seventy-two or seventy-five should be 
 able to compose rapidly, as he himself 
 insinuates, so extensive a piece of 
 sacred criticism, and of literary history, 
 in which the logically connected argu- 
 ments are always supported by the 
 most varied erudition. At this period 
 of Newton's lite, the reading of religious 
 works had become one of his most ha- 
 bitual occupations; and after he had 
 performed the duties of his office, they 
 formed, along with the conversation of 
 his friends, his only amusement. He had 
 now almost ceased to think of science, 
 and as we have already remarked, since 
 the fatal aberration of his intellect in 
 1693, he gave to the world only three 
 really new scientific productions. One of 
 these had probably been prepared some 
 time previously, and the other must 
 have occupied but little time : the first, 
 published in the Philosophical Trans- 
 actions, consists of only five, though very 
 important, pages. It contains a compa- 
 rative scale of temperatures, from the 
 point of melting ice to that of the igni- 
 tion of charcoal ; the lower degrees are 
 observed by means of a thermometer of 
 linseed oil, the scale of which is divided 
 into equal parts ; the zero corresponds 
 to the melting point of ice, and the 
 81st degree to the melting point of tin. 
 The higher degrees are calculated ac- 
 cording to the law of cooling in a me- 
 tallic mass, by supposing the instan- 
 D2 
 
36 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 taneous decrease in temperature to be 
 proportional to the'-iemperature itself, 
 and by observing the fime of the arrival 
 of the fluid at each degree of tempera- 
 ture intended to be marked. These two 
 methods of observation are connected 
 by applying them to the same tempera- 
 turefor instance, to the fusion of tin, 
 which is the highest in the one series, 
 and the lowest in the other. 
 
 We have thus in this paper three im- 
 portant discoveries first, a method of 
 comparing thermometers, by deter- 
 mining the extreme terms of their scale 
 from phenomena taking place at con- 
 stant temperatures secondly, the deter- 
 mination of the laws of cooling in solid 
 bodies at slightly elevated temperatures ; 
 and thirdly, the observation of the con- 
 stancy of temperature in the phenomena 
 of melting and boiling a constancy 
 which has since become one of the foun- 
 dations of the modern theory of heat: 
 this important fact is established in 
 Newton's treatise, by numerous and va- 
 rious experiments, made not only on 
 compound bodies, and the simple me- 
 tals, but on various metallic alloys, 
 which shows us that Newton clearly per- 
 ceived their importance. There is rea- 
 son to believe that this paper was one of 
 those composed before the fire in his 
 laboratory. 
 
 The second paper we must mention, 
 also dated 1700, was communicated 
 by Newton to Halley, and was a 
 plan for an instrument of reflection 
 to observe with at sea, without the ob- 
 server being disturbed by the motion of 
 the ship. It has been pretended that this 
 idea, since so generally and so usefully 
 employed by navigators, had been in- 
 vented a long time previously by Hooke. 
 It is true that in the history of the Royal 
 Society for 1666, there is mentioned 
 an instrument proposed by Hooke, 
 to measure angles by means of the re- 
 flection of light; this announcement, 
 however, is unaccompanied by any de- 
 scription to enable us to judge of the 
 nature of the instrument ; and if we 
 endeavour to supply this defect by con- 
 sulting the works of Hooke, written after 
 this period, we shall find, that though 
 he often makes use of reflection, it is 
 always when applied to large fixed 
 instruments ; an idea which has no rela- 
 tion to that of employing reflection in 
 moveable instruments, in order to render 
 the angular distance of remote objects 
 under observation independent of small 
 changes of place in the centre of obser- 
 
 vation from which they are viewed. 
 There is no reason to believe that any one 
 formed this happy and important idea be- 
 fore Newton, though the inexplicable 
 silence of Halley, with regard to New- 
 ton's letter to him, left to another man, 
 Hadley, the honour of again conceiving 
 it (in 1731 ), and of so happily executing 
 it, that mariners have given the name 
 of Hadley 's Quadrant to this ingenious 
 and useful invention. 
 
 The last labour of Newton that re- 
 mains to be mentioned, was of another 
 sort, and composed on a totally different 
 occasion. In 1696, J. Bernoulli proposed 
 to the mathematicians of Europe, to dis- 
 cover a curve, down which a heavy body 
 should descend in the quickest time pos- 
 sible, between two given points at une- 
 qual heights. Newton having received 
 this problem, presented on the next day 
 a solution of it, but without any demon- 
 stration, merely saying that the required 
 curve must be a cycloid, for the deter- 
 mination of which he gave a method. 
 This solution appeared anonymously in 
 the Philosophical Transactions, but J. 
 Bernoulli immediately guessed the 
 author; " tanquam," says he, "ex 
 ungue Leonem." This method of defi- 
 ance, then in vogue, was again presented 
 some years later to Newton, but by a 
 more formidable adversary, and in a 
 case where victory was of still more im- 
 portance. In 1716, when the dispute 
 about the invention of the infinitesimal 
 analysis was at his height, Leibnitz 
 wishing to show the superiority of his 
 calculus over Newton's method of flux- 
 ions, sent, in a letter to the Abbe Conti, 
 the enunciation of a certain problem, in 
 which it was required to discover a 
 curve such as should cut at right angles 
 an infinity of curves of a given nature, 
 but all expressible by the same equa- 
 tion ; " he wished," he said, " to feel 
 the pulse of the English analysts." Of 
 course the question was a very difficult 
 one. It is said that Newton received 
 the problem at four in the afternoon as 
 he was returning from the Mint, and, 
 that though extremely fatigued with 
 business, yet he finished the solution 
 before retiring to rest. It has been, how- 
 ever, justly remarked, that Newton only 
 gave the differential equation for the 
 problem, and not its integral, in which 
 the real difficulty consists. This was his 
 last effort of the kind ; and he soon en- 
 tirely ceased to occupy himself with 
 mathematics: so that during the last 
 ten years of his life, when consulted 
 
LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 37 
 
 about any passage in his works, his re- 
 ply was, " Address yourself to Mr. De 
 Moivre, he knows that better than I do." 
 And then, when his surrounding friends 
 testified to him the just admiration his 
 discoveries had universally excited, he 
 said, "I know not what the world will 
 think of my labours, but, to myself, it 
 seems that I have been but as a child 
 playing on the sea- shore ; now finding 
 some pebble rather more polished, and 
 now some shell rather more agreeably 
 variegated than another, while the im- 
 mense ocean of truth extended itself 
 unexplored before me."* 
 
 This profound conviction of the nu- 
 merous discoveries that still remained to 
 be made, did not, however, bring him 
 again on that sea where he had advanced 
 so much farther than any other man. 
 His mind, fatigued by long and pain- 
 ful efforts, had need of complete and en- 
 tire repose. At least we know, that 
 thenceforward he only occupied his 
 leisure with religious studies, or sought 
 relief in literature or in business. 
 Newton, the greatest of mankind in 
 science, was, if we may dare to say so, 
 but an ordinary man in other pursuits ; 
 he never distinguished himself in parlia- 
 ment, to which he was twice summoned ; 
 and in one instance he appears to have 
 acted with inexplicable timidity.f In 
 1 713, a bill was brought in for encourag- 
 ing the discovery of a method for find- 
 ing the longitude at sea. Whiston, the 
 author of the bill, and who himself tried 
 to gain the reward proposed in it, obtain- 
 ed the appointment of a committee for 
 discussing the measure ; and four 
 members of the Royal Society were in- 
 vited to attend Newton, Halley, Cotes, 
 and Dr. Clarke : the three latter gave 
 their opinions verbally, but Newton read 
 his from a paper he had brought with 
 him, without being understood by any 
 one ; he then sat down and obstinately 
 kept silence, though much pressed to 
 explain himself more distinctly. At 
 last Whiston, seeing the bill was going 
 to fail, took on himself to say, that Mr. 
 Newton did not wish to explain more 
 through fear of compromising himself, 
 but that he really approved of the mea- 
 sure. Newton then repeated word for 
 word what Whiston had said, and the 
 report was brought up. This almost 
 
 * This anecdote is mentioned in a manuscript of 
 Conduit. Vid. Turner. 
 
 t This anecdote is mentioned by Whiston in his 
 work, " Longitude Discovered," 8vo. London, 173d. 
 
 puerile conduct, on such an occasion, 
 tends to confirm the fact of the aber- 
 ration of Newton's intellect in 1695, 
 though it might have been merely the 
 effect of excessive shyness, produced by 
 the retired and meditative habits of his 
 life. For, to judge from a letter of 
 Newton,* written some time before the 
 disastrous epoch, in which he points out 
 the conduct to be pursued by a young 
 traveller, it would appear that he was 
 very ignorant of the habits of society. 
 
 From the manner in which his life 
 was spent, we may easily conceive 
 that he was never married, and (as 
 Fontenelle says) that he never had lei- 
 sure to think about it ; that being im- 
 mersed in profound and continual 
 studies during the prime of his life, 
 and afterwards engaged in an employ- 
 ment of great importance, and ever 
 quite taken up with the company which 
 his merit drew to him, he was not sen- 
 sible of any vacancy in life, nor of the 
 want of domestic society. His niece, 
 who with her husband lived in his house, 
 supplied the place of children, and at- 
 tended to him with filial care. From 
 the emoluments of his office from a 
 wise management of his patrimony 
 and from his simple manner of living, 
 Newton became very rich, and em- 
 ployed his wealth in doing much good. 
 He thought, says Fontenelle, that a le- 
 gacy is no gift, and therefore left no 
 will it was always out of his present 
 fortune that he proved his generosity to 
 his relations, or to the friends whom he 
 knew to be in want. His physiognomy 
 might be called calm rather than ex- 
 pressive, and his manner languid rather 
 than animated : his health remained 
 good and uniform till his eightieth year ; 
 he never used spectacles. About that 
 age he began to suffer from an inconti- 
 nence of urine ; but notwithstanding 
 this infirmity, he still had, during his 
 five remaining years, long intervals of 
 health, or at least of freedom from pain, 
 obtained by a strict regimen and other 
 precautions, which till then he had never 
 had occasion for. He was now obliged 
 to rely upon Mr. Conduit, who had 
 married his niece, for ihe discharge of 
 his official duties at the Mint. Newton 
 was useful to Conduit, even after death : 
 for the honourable confidence that 
 existed between them gave him a sort 
 of claim to the office, which the kino- 
 eagerly confirmed. 
 
 * Biographia Britannica, p. 3242, 
 
38 
 
 LIFE OF NEWTON. 
 
 " Newton," says Fontenelle, " did not 
 suffer much, except in the last twenty 
 days of his life : it was truly judged from 
 the symptoms, that he was afflicted with 
 the stone, and that he could not recover. 
 In the paroxysms of pain, he uttered not 
 a moan, nor gave any sign of impa- 
 tience ; and, as soon as he had a mo- 
 ment of relief, he smiled and spoke with 
 his usual gaiety. Hitherto he had al- 
 ways employed some hours every day 
 in either reading or writing. On Satur- 
 day the 18th of March, he read the 
 papers in the morning, and conversed for 
 some time with Dr. Mead, the physician 
 who attended him, having then the per- 
 fect use of all his senses and his under- 
 standing; but in the evening, he en- 
 tirely lost them without again recover- 
 ing, as if the faculties of his mind were 
 not destined to linger by degrees, but at 
 once to vanish. He died the Monday 
 following (March 20th, 1727,) at the 
 age of eighty-five. His corpse lay in 
 state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and 
 was thence conveyed to Westminster 
 Abbey ; the funeral ceremony was nu- 
 merously attended ; the pall was sup- 
 ported by six peers ; and every honour 
 was paid to his remains." 
 
 The family of Newton, justly sensible 
 of tne distinction derived from their 
 connexion with so great a genius, 
 erected at a considerable expense a mo- 
 nument to his memory, on which is in- 
 scribed an epitaph, ending as follows : 
 " Sibi gratulentur mor tales tale tan- 
 tumque exstitissehumani generis decus" 
 " Let mortals congratulate themselves 
 that so great an ornament of the human 
 race has existed" an eulogy which, 
 though true in speaking of Newton, can 
 be applied to no one else. 
 
 Besides the works we have already 
 mentioned, Newton published an edition 
 of the " Geographia Generalis" of Vare- 
 nius, 8vo, 1672, reprinted in 1681. There 
 is no really complete edition of the works 
 of Newton, though Bishop Horsley pub- 
 lished one in five volumes, 4to, to which 
 he has_ given this title ; but he has 
 
 omitted a number of papers collected 
 by Castillon (4 vols. 4to, Lausanne, 
 1744). By joining to these two books 
 Newton's scientific letters inserted in the 
 Biographia Britannica, we may make 
 a tolerably complete collection of his 
 works. Among the numerous trans- 
 lations that have appeared of the prin- 
 cipal ones, we must not omit that of the 
 Principia in French by Madame Ducha- 
 telet, since it contains excellent notes 
 supposed to be by Clairault. There 
 are also two books in English, viz. H. 
 Pemberton's " View of Sir I. Newton's 
 Philosophy" (London, 1728, 4to), and 
 C. Maclaurin's " Account of Sir I. 
 Newton's Philosophical Discoveries" 
 both of which will well repay the trouble 
 Of perusing them. It is, however, in 
 the writings of the modern continental 
 mathematicians, that we find the more 
 complete developement of those brilliant 
 discoveries which have shed so much 
 lustre on the name of Newton. It is 
 with the works of Laplace, Lagrange, 
 Biot, Lacroix, Monge, Garnier, Poisson, 
 Delambre, Boucharbat, Carnot,Bailly, 
 Bernouilli, Euler, Bossut, Montucla, 
 De Zach, Lalande, Francoeur, Legendre, 
 Poisson, Gauss, Hauy, &c. &c, that 
 the student must become acquainted, 
 before he can hope to attain to a tho- 
 rough knowledge of the system of the 
 universe. In science, it is perhaps more 
 necessary than in any other species of 
 knowledge intimately to understand 
 what has been done by our predeces- 
 sors ; and it therefore becomes our duty 
 to express our earnest hope, that our 
 readers will not merely content them- 
 selves with studying the works of that 
 great man whose discoveries we have 
 in this treatise recorded, but that, en- 
 deavouring themselves to enter on the 
 same illustrious career, they will dili- 
 gently peruse the writings of the distin- 
 guished individuals whose names we 
 have just mentioned. A list is given 
 in Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary of 
 the principal MSS. now in existence, 
 that were written by Newton. 
 
LIST 
 
 OF THE EDITIONS OF NEWTON'S WORKS. 
 
 1779-85 Works by Bp. Horsley, 5 vols. 4to. London. 
 
 1744 Opuscula Mathematica, Philosophica et Philologica cura Castillionei, 3 vols. 4to. Lau- 
 sanne et Geneva. 
 
 Various pieces are to be found in : 
 
 Commercium Epistolicum Collins. 
 Gregory's Catoptrics. 
 Birch's General Dictionary. 
 Philosophical Transactions. 
 Greave's Works. 
 
 all enumerated at length in Watt's Biblio- 
 thecaBritannica. 
 
 Analysis per Quantitatum Series, Fluxiones, et Differentiate cum 
 Enumeratione Linearum Tertii Ordinis. 
 
 (printed originally with the Optics.) 
 
 1711 Analysis, etc. London. (Cura Jones.) 
 
 1736 Analysis. Method of Fluctions and Infinite Series, translated by Colson. 4to. London. 
 
 1737 Analysis. Method of Fluxions and Infinite Series. 8vo. London. 
 1776 Analysis. Method of Fluctions and Infinite Series, by Colson. 4to. 
 1740 Analysis. Methode des Fluxions, etc. par Buffon. 4to. Paris. 
 
 Newtoni Arithmetica Universalis, sive de Compositione et 
 Resolutione Arithmetica. 
 
 1707 Arithmetica Universalis. 8vo. Londini. {Cura fVhiston.) 
 
 1722 Arithmetica Universalis. 8vo. London. 
 
 1732 Arithmetica Universalis. 4to. Lugd. Bat. 1732. (Cura Gravesande.) 
 
 1761 Arithmetica Universalis cum Comment. Castillionei, 2v. 4to. Amstel. 
 
 1728 Universal Arithmetick, by Ralphson and Cann. 8vo. London. 
 
 1769 Universal Arithmetick, by Ralphson, with notes by Wilder. 2 vols. 8vo. London. 
 
 1802 Arithmetique Universelle, par N. Beaudeux, avec des Notes. 2 vols. 4to. Paris. 
 
 1657 Astronomia Britannica. 4to. London. 
 
 , Chronology. 
 
 1726 Abrege de Chronologie. See Watt's Bibl. Brit. 
 
 1728 Chronology of Ancient Kingdoms amended. 4to. London. 
 
 1728 Chronologie, par l'Abbe Granet. 4to. London. 
 
 1745 Chronologie der ^lteren Konigreiche. 8vo. Hildburghausen. 
 
 1672 Varenii Geograpbia. 12mo. Cantabr. 1 
 
 1681 Varenii Geographia. 12mo. Cantabr. > edited by Sir I. Newton. 
 
 1712 Varenii Geographia. 8vo. Cantabr. J 
 
 1687 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 4to. Londini. 
 
 1713 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 4to. Cantabr. (Cotesii.) 
 1726 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 4to. Londini. (Pemberton.) 
 1730 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 2 vols. 8vo. Londini. (Donick.) 
 1723 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 4to. Amstelodami. (Cotesii.) 
 
 1765 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica Excerpta, cum Notis. 4to. Cantabrigise. 
 
 1714 Philosophise Naturalis Priucipia Mathematica. 4to. Amstelod. (Cotesii.) 
 
 173942 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica, perpetuis Commentariis Illustrata, 
 Communi Studio. Th. Le Seur et Fr. Jacquier. 4 vols. 4to. Genevse, 1739, 40, 42. 
 1760 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica, perpetuis Commentariis Illustrata Com- 
 muni Studio. Th. Le Seur et Fr. Jacquier, 3 vols, in 4. 4to. Colon. Allobrog. 
 
List of the Editions of Newton's Works, fyc. 
 
 1822 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica, perpetuis Commentariis Illastrata, Com- 
 mlini Studio. Th. Le Seur et Fr. Jacquier, Editio Stereotypa. 4 vols. roy. 8vo. 
 Glasguae. 
 
 1729 Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, translated into English by Motte, with 
 the Laws of the Moon's -Motion, according to Gravity, by J. Machin. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 London. 
 
 ]819 The same. 3 vols. 8vo. London. 
 
 1777 Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, by Thorpe. 4to. London. 
 
 1802 Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, translated and illustrated with a Com- 
 mentary, by Dr. Thorpe. 4to. London. 
 
 1738 Elemens de la Philosophic par Voltaire. 8vo. Amsterdam. 
 
 1759 Principes Maihematiques de la philosophic Naturelle par Mad. du Chatelet. 2 vols. 
 4io. Paris. 
 
 1752 Eltmens de la Philosophie, par Voltaire. 8vo. Dresden. 
 
 1781 Philosophise Naturalis Principia Mathematica. 4to. Dessoviee. (Tessaneck). 
 
 1699 Barrow's Optical Lectures, edited by Sir I. Newton. 4to. Londini. 
 1704 Optics ; or a Treatise of the Reflections, Refractions, Inflections and Colours of Light. 
 Also two Treatises of the Species and Magnitude of Curvilinear Figures. 4to. London. 
 
 1730 Treatise of Optics. 8vo. London. 
 1721 Treatise of Optics. 8vo. London. 
 1714 Treatise of Optics. 8vo. London. 
 
 1745 Two Treatises of the Quadrature of Curves, by Stewart. 4to. (yid. Watts.) 
 
 1706 Optica, Lat'me reddita a Sam. Clark, necnon ejusdem Tractatus duo de Speciebus, etc. 
 Fig. Curvilin. 4to. Londini. 
 
 1719 , Idem. 4to. Londini. 
 
 1721 i Idem. 8vo. Londini. 
 
 1728 Idem. Svo. Londini. 
 
 1740 Idem. 4to. Lausanne. 
 
 1773 Idem, accedunt ejusdem Lectiones Opticoe, et Opuscula ad Lucem et Colores 
 
 Pertinentia. 4to. Patavii. 
 
 1729 Lectiones Opticae. 4to. 
 
 1728 Optical Lectures read in the Public Schoos. 8vo. Cambridge. 
 
 1762 De Quadratura Curvarum, ed. Melander. 4to. Lipsiae. 
 
 1740 Genesis Curvarum per Umbras, seu Perspectivae Universalis Elementa Exemplis Coni 
 
 Sectionum et Linearum Tertii Ordinis illustrata, 4to. L. Bat. 
 
 1746 Genesis Curvarum, etc. 8vo. London, (ed. Murdoch.) 
 
 1797 Enumeratio Linearum Tertii Ordinis, edidit Stirling 8vo. Paris. 
 
 Newton's System of the World in a Popular Way. 
 
 1727 System of the World in a Popular Way. 8vo. London. 
 
 1728 De Mundi Systemate. 4to. Londini. 
 
 1731 De Mundi Systemate. 4to. Londini. 
 
 1747 Weltwissenschaft fur Ungebildete. 8vo. Brunswick. 
 
 1733 Construction d'un Telescope Reflexion. 4to. Paris. 
 
 1731 Tables for Renewing and Purchasing Leases. 12mo. London. 
 
 1808 Tables for Renewing and Purchasing Leases. 12mo. London. 
 
 1741 Metaphysik (in German) 8vo. Leipzig. 
 
 1717 Postscript and Letter of Mons. Leibnitz to the Abbe Conti, with remarks and a letter to 
 
 the Abbe 
 1756 Four Letters to Bentley on the Existence of a Deity. 8vo. 
 1733 Observations on Daniel and Revelations. 4to. London. 
 1765 Beobachtungen uber Daniel und die Offenbarung Joannis. 8vo. Liegnitz. 
 1737 Observationes in Danielem et Apocalypsin Joannis, Latine vertit Sudemann. 4to. 
 
 Amstelodami. 
 Corollaries by Winston. 
 
LIFE OJ^ 
 
 OF THE 
 
 :/v 
 
 Introduction 
 Sect. I. In the seventh century of the 
 Christian era a revolution took place in 
 the religion of the Arabian people, which 
 not only changed the manners and in- 
 stitutions of the Arabians themselves, 
 but materially influenced the destinies 
 of the largest portion of the civilised 
 globe. The wandering and insignificant 
 tribes of Arabia were by this religion 
 united into a powerful nation, filled with 
 a spirit of desperate enthusiasm, and 
 sent forth to be the conquerors of the 
 greatest part of Asia, of all the civilised 
 people of Africa, and some of the most 
 powerful kingdoms in Europe. In a 
 few years these enthusiastic warriors 
 spread their new faith from the Ganges 
 to the Danube. 
 
 Mahomet* was the author of these 
 mighty changes. Arising amidst a rude 
 and ignorant people, he assumed the 
 attributes of the Messenger of God ; he 
 declared himself to be divinely inspired ; 
 to be expressly sent among mankind to 
 overturn the idolatrous worship of his 
 countrymen, and to establish in its place 
 a new and more pure religion, dictated 
 by the Almighty himself, and destined 
 eventually to be the faith of all the na- 
 tions of the earth. His countrymen be- 
 lieved in these magnificent pretensions ; 
 elected him to be their ruler, and quietly 
 submitted their necks to the yoke of the 
 absolute despotism which he instituted. 
 Thy history of this extraordinary man, 
 with an account of the institutions which 
 
 ELSJY 
 
 OS' 
 
 :ore we can decide whether the 
 changes he introduced were changes for 
 the belter, we must erect some certain 
 standard of excellence with which we 
 may compare both the institutions which 
 he originated, and those which he found 
 already established. Upon the results 
 of this comparison alone, can we esti- 
 mate the character of the Arabian legis- 
 lator. Our limits, indeed, will not per- 
 mit us to perform this comparison as 
 minutely as we could wish: we must 
 indicate rather than describe the stan- 
 dard to which we refer ; must present 
 merely a sketch of the important parti- 
 culars of his institutions, and upon this 
 imperfect evidence prpnounce the most 
 impartial judgment we are able. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF ARABIA. 
 
 Arabia, the country of Mahomet, has 
 at all times been an object of curiosity 
 to the intelligent observer, both on ac- 
 count of the peculiarities of its soil and 
 climate, and the remarkable character 
 of its inhabitants. Arabia Proper is 
 bounded on the north-east by the Per- 
 sian Gulf; on the south-east by the 
 Indian Ocean. The Red Sea extends 
 along the whole of its south-western 
 coast ; and an imaginary line drawn 
 from the head of the Persian Gulf, to 
 that of the Red Sea, completes the limits 
 of the peninsula. The country contained 
 within these limits exceeds above four 
 times the magnitude of Germany or 
 France *. More extended limits, how- 
 
 he framed, we are about to lay before ever ' are often assigned to the country 
 our readers. designated by the term Arabia. Beyond 
 
 Previous', however, to anv history of the imaginary line running from Allah 
 the Arabian prophet, a short description 
 must be given of the* Arabian people at 
 the time of his appearance. To know 
 precisely what alterations he effected, 
 and the good or evil of those alterations, 
 we should learn the state of civilisation, 
 the religion, government, and manners, 
 which he attempted to improve. 
 
 * Mohammed is the correct orthography ; we have, 
 nevertheless, for obvious reasons, retained the more 
 popular form. 
 
 at the head of the Red Sea, to the head 
 of the Persian Gulf, the territory of 
 Arabia is sometimes made to extend on 
 the west to Palestine, the isthmus of 
 Suez and Syria; on the east to the 
 Euphrates, and on the north to Syria, 
 Deyar Beer, Irak, and Kuhestanf. By 
 
 * Gibbon's Decline and Fall, c, 50, p. 76. 
 
 + Anc. Univ. Hist, b. 4, c. 21, p. 33C. To those 
 desirous of a particular description of the geography 
 of Arabia we cannot do better than recommend M. 
 D'Anville'sMap; and the chapter of the Universal, 
 
 IJ 
 
2 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 the Greeks and Romans Arabia was 
 usually divided, on account of the dif- 
 ferences of the soil, into the Sandy, the 
 Stony, and the Happy. By the Arabians 
 themselves this division has not been 
 adopted. The territory of Arabia Proper, 
 bounded as we have described, was sepa- 
 rated by them into five distinct provinces, 
 viz. Hejaz, Yaman, Tehama, Naja, and 
 Yamina. In the Happy Arabia, which 
 occupied the greater part of the coast 
 running along the Red Sea, and in the 
 province of Hejaz, are situated the two 
 famous cities of Mecca and Medina. 
 The former was the birthplace of Ma- 
 homet ; the latter, when he fled from 
 Mecca, was the city of his refuge, the 
 scene of his first victories the first 
 country over which he ruled with the 
 authority of a king, and his last resting- 
 place on earth. He died and was buried 
 at Medina. 
 
 Arabia is situated under the burning 
 sun of the tropics, and covered for the 
 most part with arid sands, and barren, 
 naked mountains. One part is somewhat 
 exempt from this sort of soil. The hills 
 at a small distance from the coast of the 
 Red Sea are less barren, less scorched 
 than the other parts of the country. The 
 springs of water are there more nume- 
 rous ; the water less disgusting, the 
 air more temperate : when compared 
 with the parched and sandy deserts by 
 which it is surrounded, it may appear 
 an earthly paradise. This Happy Ara- 
 bia, however, has no navigable rivers, 
 few springs the waters of which are 
 drinkable, and no productions save coffee 
 and frankincense to exchange for the 
 commodities of other countries. Having 
 moreover few manufactures, it is poor 
 both in the luxuries and comforts of 
 life* 
 
 INHABITANTS. 
 
 The inhabitants of Arabia are usually 
 divided into two classes, viz. the Arabs 
 of the deserts, or dwellers in tents, and 
 the Arabs of the cities. 
 
 DESERT TRIBES. 
 
 The Arabs of the deserts are roving 
 bands that wander with their herds over 
 the immense sandy regions of which 
 
 History here quoted. Neither our limits nor our de- 
 sign permit us to be more minute. 
 
 t Sale's Pre. Disc, p. 3. Gibbon's Decline and 
 It all, c. 50. Niebuhr, c. 62, p. 86 Pinkerton's Col- 
 lection. The limits of the Happy Arabia are variously 
 assigned ; the. difference is a matter of little conse- 
 quence. 
 
 their country is composed : living partly 
 by the flesh and milk of their camels, 
 partly by the plunder of the caravans 
 which traverse their desolate plains. 
 One illustration amongst a thousand 
 that might be offered, is sufficient to 
 mark their savage condition, and wild, 
 predatory manners. As a mortification 
 by which they hope to please the Di- 
 vinity, at certain seasons of the year 
 religious truces were observed. They 
 thus, by way of penance, obliged them- 
 selves to observe the regulations of civi- 
 lised society. " It was a custom among 
 the ancient Arabs to observe four months 
 in the year as sacred, during which they 
 held it unlawful to wage war, and took 
 off the heads of their spears ; ceasing 
 from incursions and other hostilities. 
 During these months, whoever was in 
 fear of his enemy lived in full security ; 
 so that, if a man met the murderer of his 
 father, or his brother, he durst not offer 
 
 him any violence Some of 
 
 them, weary of sitting quiet for three 
 months together, and eager to make their 
 accustomed incursions for plunder, used 
 by way of expedient whenever it suited 
 their inclinations or convenience, to put 
 off the observance of Al Moharram to 
 the following month Safar*" 
 
 Among a people thus unsettled, all 
 government was, as might have been 
 expected, exceedingly fluctuating and 
 uncertain. They were not reclaimed 
 from that barbarous state, in which the 
 strong plunder the weak with impunity. 
 Every man pursued his enemy, without 
 recurring for assistance to the magis- 
 trate ; and inflicted that punishment 
 which his power and vengeance com- 
 bined enabled and incited him to inflict. 
 The authority of the magistrate was a 
 shadow: the chief of a tribe might 
 indeed sometimes obtain considerable 
 personal influence ; it was the man, 
 however, not the office of magistrate, 
 that was respected. Like all rude peo- 
 ple, the Arabs were divided into several 
 petty tribes, which were in fact so many 
 separate nations; and the only species 
 of government acknowledged by those 
 inhabiting the deserts, was a nominal 
 obedience paid by the members of the 
 tribe to their elected chief. As among 
 other nations in the same state of civil- 
 isation, their leaders governed rather by 
 
 * Sale's~Pre. Dis. pp. 19G, 198. Prideaux, Vie 
 de Mahomet, p. 95. Moharram that which is sa- 
 cred and forbidden by the law. The first month of 
 the year was called Moharram, because war 'was Jor- 
 bidden during its continuance. D'Herbelot, 13lb 
 Orient, Safar was the second month. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 example than commands *. The chiefs 
 were always the companions and guides 
 of their tribes in arms ; and sometimes 
 the umpires of private disputes. The 
 much vaunted independence of the Arab 
 people, however, when closely investi- 
 gated, appears little worthy of admira- 
 tion. It consisted in the independence 
 of the heads of families. The head of a 
 family was subjected, or rather yielded 
 obedience, to no one. But he exercised the 
 most despotic sway over his own family. 
 Wives, children, slaves were all com- 
 pletely under his uncontrolled dominion ; 
 and this patriarchal government as it is 
 called, while receiving praises as a sys- 
 tem of nearly perfect freedom, held nine- 
 tenths of the people in the most abject 
 slavery f * 
 
 Law, in such circumstances, could 
 not be said to exist : written or unwritten, 
 it was unknown to these wandering 
 nations ; unless we term law that sort 
 of wavering opinion concerning honour 
 in engagements, which necessity creates 
 in every society however barbarous. This 
 rude code of honour, as in all savage 
 tribes, was handed down from generation 
 to generation in a species of uncouth 
 poetry, which, while it assisted the me- 
 mory, delighted also the imagination of 
 these barbarians. " God," said they, 
 " has bestowed four peculiar things on 
 the Arabs ; that their turbans should be 
 to them instead of diadems ; their tents 
 instead of walls and houses ; their swords 
 instead of intrenchments ; and their 
 poems instead of written laws$." They 
 could hardly have said any thing more 
 descriptive of an uncivilised people. 
 
 ARABS OF THE CITIES. 
 
 The inhabitants of the cities were a 
 still more remarkable race, for although 
 they had abandoned the wandering life 
 of their brethren, and taken up their 
 abodes in cities, they were yet often 
 induced to leave their homes, and in- 
 dulge in the more active and uncontrolled 
 life of the desert. Though living for the 
 most part by merchandise and manu- 
 factures, they also participated in the 
 business of robbery in the desert. The 
 
 * Tacitus, Germ. c. 7. 
 
 f Niebuhr's Travels, c. 62, p. 84, Pinkerton's 
 Collection. 
 
 % Sale's Pre. Disc, sec. 1, p. 38. Goguet, Ori- 
 gine des Lois, 1 Epo. p. 28. Mill's British India, b. 2, 
 c. 9, p. 362, quarto ed. For a description of the wan- 
 dering Arabs, see Niebuhr's Travels, c. 98, Pink. 
 Collection, p. 131. There is every reason to suppose 
 that their manners have remained unchanged from the 
 time of Mahomet to the present day. 
 
 life of the merchant was not found in- 
 compatible with that of the soldier, or 
 rather robber ; and he who to-day was 
 in his counting-house, or work- shop, 
 might, to-morrow, be at the head of his 
 country's troops, or serving in the ranks 
 as a soldier*. The children of th& 
 cities were often confided to the tribes of 
 the desert ; and thus became early 
 inured to the toilsome and dangerous 
 life of the wandering Arab t. 
 
 The inhabitants of Mecca, Medina, 
 and the other cities thinly scattered 
 along the shores of the Red Sea, appear 
 to have been chiefly employed as wan- 
 dering merchants. The tribes of the 
 deserts brought whatever productions 
 their country afforded, for the most part 
 ostrich feathers, coffee, and frankincense, 
 to the cities on the coast ; and received 
 in exchange the commodities which the 
 city merchants had obtained at the fairs 
 of Syria, Palestine, and Egypt. The 
 traffic with these countries was carried 
 on by means of caravans of camels ; the 
 merchants, like the travelling merchants 
 or pedlars of the present day, accom- 
 panying their goods, and superintending 
 the sale and purchase $. By them was 
 carried on the chief part of the trade ex- 
 isting between the Roman provinces, 
 and the countries of the east ; and the 
 port of Jidda on the Red Sea was long 
 celebrated as the emporium of Indian 
 commerce . This constant communi- 
 cation with more polished nations must, 
 in some measure, have improved this 
 portion of the Arabian people. They 
 were, nevertheless, little better than 
 barbarians. Neither on account of their 
 
 * "Mirum dictu, ex innumeris populis pars setpie 
 in commerciis aut in latrociniis degit," was the ex- 
 pression of Pliny. (Hist. Nat. vi. 32.) This divi- 
 sion of their time between robbery and commerce was 
 the same in the days of Mahomet. Gibbon's Dec, 
 and Fall, c. 50. Mod. Univ. Hist., vol. i., b. 1, c. 1, 
 p. 27. 
 
 f Mod. Univ. Hist., b. 1, c. 1, p. 23. Gagnier, 
 Vie de Mah., p. 86. "This was the season of the 
 year in which the nurses of a country called Badian, 
 that is, pays champetre, came in great numbers to 
 Mecca for the purpose of obtaining children to nurse. 
 
 Helima took him (Mahomet) into her 
 
 own country, in which the air was temperate, as well 
 on account of the fertility of the soil, as the sweetness, 
 of its waters." The pays champetre of Gagnier ap- 
 pears to mean the wild country inhabited by the 
 desert tribes. 
 
 % These caravans, like those of present times, were 
 assemblages of merchants, who travelled in large 
 numbers, to protect themselves against the attacks 
 of the predatory desert tribes. Hostile tribes con- 
 stantly endeavoured to capture the caravans of their 
 enemies, much after the manner of European nations, 
 plundering the vessels of industrious individuals, in 
 the hopes of weakening the hostile nation. See Sale's 
 Pre. Disc, sec. 1. p.~32. Prideaux, Vie de Maho- 
 met, p. 10. 
 
 Prideaux, Vie de Mahomet, p, 11. 
 
 B2 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 government, their laws, their religion, 
 their literature, nor their manners, did 
 they deserve any other title*. 
 
 Like the Arabs of the deserts, the in- 
 habitants of the cities were divided into 
 separate tribes ; and not only were the 
 different cities unconnected by the bond 
 of a general government, but the citizens 
 of one town were divided into tribes ; 
 each one acknowledging a separate chief, 
 and regarding every other tribe with 
 bitter and interminable hatred. The 
 chiefs derived their power as well from 
 their birth as their personal worth, the 
 people electing them out of certain fa- 
 milies, yet having perfect liberty to 
 choose that member of the family who 
 was most agreeable to them*}'. " The 
 Bedouins, or pastoral Arabs, who live 
 in tents, have many schiechs (t. e. chiefs), 
 each of whom governs his family with 
 power almost absolute. All the schiechs 
 who belong to the same tribe acknowledge 
 a common chief, who is called Schiech 
 es Schuech, Schiech of Schiechs, or 
 Schiech el Kbir, and whose authority is 
 limited by custom. The grand schiech 
 is hereditary in a certain family ; but 
 the inferior schiechs upon the death of a 
 grand schiech choose the successor out 
 of his family, without regard to age or 
 lineal succession, or any other consi- 
 deration, except superiority of abilities^." 
 The chiefs of the cities were elected much 
 after the same manner. 
 
 GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The various provinces were split into 
 small, independent states, possessing 
 governments apparently different, though 
 essentially the same . " In some a single 
 prince, in others, the heads of tribes, 
 who were really a band of princes, ruled 
 like the rajahs of Indostan, or the sa- 
 traps of Persia, with despotic sway over 
 the people within their dominion. To 
 this dominion there was no check but 
 the dread of insurrection : there were 
 no established forms in the government, 
 
 * See, for a minute description of the laws and 
 customs of the Arabs, Anc. Univ. Hist., vol. xviii., 
 1). 4, s. 21. This description is by Sale. 
 
 )- A curious plan was adopted in some places. 
 " The order of succession in these cities was not he- 
 reditary, but the first child born in any of the noble 
 families, after the king's accession, was deemed the 
 presumptive heir to the crown. As soon, therefore, 
 as any prince ascended the throne, a list was taken 
 of all the pregnant ladies of quality, who were guarded 
 in a proper manner till one of them was delivered of 
 a son, who always received an education suitable to 
 his birth." (Anc. Univ. Hist., vol. xviii., b. 4,c 21, 
 p. 377.) 
 
 $ Niebuhr's Travels, c. 62, p. 84. 
 
 Mod. Univ. Hist. b. 1, c. 1, p. 41. Sale's Pre. 
 Disc, s. 1, pp. 1213. Gagnier, Vie de Mah. vol. i. 
 p.lrf, 
 
 no certain and specified laws, by which 
 it could be controlled ; neither did the 
 manners of the people serve to diminish 
 its mischievousness. Insurrection was 
 the only existing check ; and did no 
 doubt in part keep down the atrocities of 
 these rulers ; but be it remembered that 
 in every stage of society misery to a 
 lamentable extent may be produced be- 
 fore the people can determine to brave 
 the difficulties and dangers of an insur- 
 rection. Still more completely to ensure 
 the subjection of the people, these rulers 
 seized upon the functions and powers of 
 religion. The ruling men were invari- 
 ably the priests of the people, the pro- 
 pounders of oracles, and the guardians 
 of the temples and idols*. The myste- 
 rious terrors of religion were thus added 
 to the real dangers attendant on an op- 
 position to the will of the governors. 
 That will consequently was almost des- 
 potic. " After the expulsion of the 
 Jorhamites, the government of Hejaz 
 seems not to have continued for many 
 centuries in the hands of one prince, but 
 to have been divided among the heads 
 of tribes ; almost in the same manner as 
 the Arabs of the deserts are governed at 
 this day. At Mecca an aristocracy pre- 
 vailed, where the chief management of 
 affairs till the time of Mahommed was 
 in the tribe of Koreish ; especially after 
 they had gotten the custody of the Caaba 
 from the tribe of Kozrah f ." But if the 
 government were not better than that of 
 the desert tribes, miserable indeed must 
 have been the situation of the people. 
 When men are congregated into cities, 
 if every one be allowed to gratify his 
 revenge, and punish his enemy, without 
 recurring to the arbitration of the ma- 
 gistrate, the state must necessarily be- 
 come one continued scene of violence 
 and bloodshed. No security for person 
 or property existing, there could be no 
 accumulation, so that the horrors of po- 
 verty must necessarily have been added 
 to the othei* evils arising from unceasing 
 terror and alarm. Such was in reality 
 the situation of the Arabian cities ; every 
 man sought to redress by his own power 
 the injury he fancied he had received ; 
 and the peace and happiness of the com- 
 
 * Mod. Univ. Hist., b. 1, c. 1, p. 7. Gagnier, 
 Intr. Vie deMah. pp.51 53. 
 
 t Caaba was a temple at Mecca, held in extraor- 
 dinary veneration by the people of Arabia universally, 
 (Sale's Pre. Disc, see p. 15,) and to which pilgrim- 
 ages were made. Mahomet continued the practice. 
 (Gagnier, Intro. Vie de Mah. pp. 56,57-) Thus, like 
 many other propagators of religion, moulding the 
 forms of the religion which he attacked, to suit that 
 which he preached. 
 
LIFE OF. MAHOMET. 
 
 munity were destroyed. The heads of 
 tribes, moreover, waged continual war 
 with each other. In the desert they 
 were sufficiently willing to ,take offence 
 at each other's conduct : opportunities 
 of offence, however, on account of the 
 immense extent of these desert regions, 
 were far less frequent than within the 
 narrow bounds of a city. Contact created 
 rivalry rivalry in power, in display, in 
 enjoyment: rivalry begat hatred; and 
 hatred bloodshed. To gratify the mor- 
 bid vanity of a chief, the whole tribe was 
 in arms. " This multiplicity of petty 
 sovereigns occasions several inconve- 
 niences to the people in general. Wars 
 cannot but be frequent among states 
 whose territories are so intermingled to- 
 gether, and whose sovereigns have such 
 a variety of jarring interests to manage. 
 
 No doubt such a 
 
 multitude of nobles and petty princes, 
 whose numbers are continually increased 
 by polygamy, must have an unfavourable 
 influence upon the general happiness of 
 the people. It strikes one with surprise 
 to see the Arabs, in a country so rich 
 and fertile, uncomfortably lodged, indif- 
 ferently fed, ill clothed, and destitute of 
 almost all the conveniences of life. But 
 the causes fully account for the effects. 
 
 Those living in cities, 
 
 or employed in the cultivation of the land, 
 are kept in poverty by the exorbitancy 
 of the taxes exacted from them. The 
 whole substance of the people is con- 
 sumed in the support of their numerous 
 princes and priests *." 
 
 LAW. 
 
 Added to this rude government was 
 an equally imperfect law. The law, in 
 fact, seems to have been in the rudest 
 possible state ; there being neither a 
 written code, nor any collection of judi- 
 cial decisions which successive judges 
 were enjoined to follow. Judicial deci- 
 sions were consequently in complete" ac- 
 cordance with the desires of the rich. In 
 a country where there is an established 
 code to which every judge must adhere, 
 justice for the most part is impartially 
 administered. Some plausible reason 
 must be assigned for eveiy deviation; 
 the approval of the government, the 
 men of the law, and even of the people, 
 must, in some measure, be obtained; 
 and by this means a check is created, 
 sufficient, in general, to protect the com- 
 
 * Niebuhr, c. 62, p. 80. 
 
 munity from the grossest excesses of in- 
 justice. Under a despotic government, 
 indeed, the law is obliged to yield to the 
 will of the prince. When he wishes op- 
 pression, oppression is exercised. These 
 cases must of necessity form but a small 
 part of the whole number which come 
 before the judge for decision ; and when 
 the will of the prince is not opposed to 
 justice, the judge finds himself obliged 
 to adhere to the letter of the law, that 
 being, in fact, the will of the prince. 
 Imperial Rome, France, and Germany, 
 in which justice has been administered 
 under a despotic monarch, according to 
 a written code, are evidence of the truth 
 of these observations. Where law had 
 not been digested into a code, but is 
 composed of recorded decisions, the 
 consequence is nearly the same. " When 
 on any particular portion of the field of 
 law," says the philosophic historian of 
 British India, " a number of judges 
 have all, with public approbation, de- 
 cided in one way, and when those deci- 
 sions are recorded and made known, the 
 judge who comes after them has strong 
 motives of fear and hope, not to depart 
 from their example*." But of law, 
 either of one kind or the other, the Ara- 
 bians were utterly destitute. The judge, 
 that is the head of the tribe, decided ac- 
 cording to what he deemed to be justice ; 
 and his unrecorded decision had no in- 
 fluence upon that of his successor. Un- 
 certainty to the greatest possible extent 
 was the necessary consequence. Those 
 who sought a decision at the hands of 
 the judge, found him unchecked by any 
 existing lav/, and ready to listen with 
 complacency to the suggestions of inte- 
 rest. He, therefore, who was the most 
 powerful, or the most wealthy, had a 
 certainty of success. Any change from 
 such a state must have been a change 
 for the better. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Although the Romans made no ex- 
 tensive or permanent conquests in Ara- 
 bia, the effects of their near neighbour- 
 hood were visible among the Arabian 
 population. The constant disputes be- 
 tween the Christian sects of Syria, and 
 the depressed situation of the Jewish 
 people among the Christians, induced 
 many of both persuasions to seek refuge 
 among the idolatrous Arabs, who knew 
 not, or knowing, regarded not, the dif- 
 
 * Mill's Hist, of Brit. India, b. 2. c._4,p. 170. 
 
c 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ferences in their creeds. Enjoying peace 
 and security, these differing sects con- 
 tinued to increase in numbers, in wealth, 
 and in power ; and before the appearance 
 of Mahomet spread their religion over 
 the greatest part of Arabia. The tole- 
 rant spirit of the Arabian religion al- 
 lowed them unmolested to erect places 
 of worship, and to educate their children 
 each according to his faith, This per- 
 fect freedom multiplied the Christian 
 sects, and Arabia was long famous as 
 being the prolific mother of heresies *. 
 The larger portion of the population, 
 however, still adhered to their own na- 
 tional worship ; which partook largely 
 of the rude character that marked their 
 other institutions. The conception which 
 an ignorant and trembling savage forms 
 of the character of the Divinity, and the 
 means by which he endeavours to secure 
 his favour, are in every age and country 
 the same. He conceives the Godhead 
 as irritable and revengeful; endowed 
 with the moral weaknesses of humanity, 
 but possessed of irresistible power. 
 Heaven, in the imagination of the bar- 
 barian, is a picture of the earth, with 
 this addition, that every circumstance is 
 magnified. In heaven there are more 
 delightful gardens, more delicious and 
 balmy airs, more brilliant skies, than on 
 earth. The beings who inhabit the 
 heavens are more powerful, more wise, 
 or rather, more capable of obtaining the 
 objects they desire, than men ; they are 
 endowed with everlasting life, and sub- 
 ject to no diseases that afflict humanity. 
 To please these divine^beings, the trem- 
 bling votary pursues the means that 
 aVe found efficacious with earthly po- 
 tentates. He prostrates himself before 
 them in adoration ; he exaggerates their 
 perfections, and soothes them with con- 
 tinued adulation. To prove himself 
 sincere, he subjects himself to useless 
 privations ; performs frequent, painful, 
 fruitless, and expensive ceremonies. He 
 subjects himself to fasts; he multiplies 
 the observances of religion, and throws 
 away his substance in manifestation of 
 their honour. Solicitude in the regula- 
 tion of his conduct, as it regards his 
 own happiness, or that of his fellows, 
 being intimately connected with his own 
 
 * Anc. Univ. Hist., b. 4, c. 21, pp. 378392. 
 Koran, Sale's trans., c. 53. Sale's Pre. Disc, s. 2, 
 pp. 45, 46. Gibbon's Dec. and Fall, c. 50, p. 99. 
 Pocock's notes to his translation of Abulpharagius, 
 p. 136. Niebuhr states that in his time the Jews 
 were in many parts of Arabia independent nations, 
 and exceedingly numerous, (e, 69, pp. 92, 93.) 
 
 interests, is considered no proof of the 
 sincerity of his professions towards the 
 Divinity. The laws of morals, there- 
 fore, form but a small part of the reli- 
 gious code of any barbarous nation. 
 The religion of the barbarous Arabian 
 differed in no one particular from the 
 foregoing description. 
 
 The ancient Arabs are supposed to 
 have been what are termed pure theists : 
 that is, they are supposed to have be- 
 lieved in, and worshipped, one, sole, 
 omnipotent, and everlasting God. His- 
 torians, however, have seldom correctly 
 appreciated the meaning of these mag- 
 nificent expressions in the mouth of a 
 savage. In his mind such language is 
 connected with ideas and feelings far 
 other than those which a civilised man 
 would express by it. These splendid 
 epithets are the mere expressions of 
 flattery and fear. The deity, now ad- 
 dressed, and whose favour is the object 
 of present desire, is for the time the 
 sole object of adoration. The very 
 same savage, who believes in a host 
 of gods, will address each of them by 
 the term of THE ONE. If among 
 many deities one is thought more pow- 
 erful than the rest, he will be the oftenest 
 addressed, the oftenest soothed by flat- 
 tery. No epithet is so flattering as that 
 w r hich asserts his single existence. It 
 exalts him above all beings, and leaves 
 him without a rival. No epithet, there- 
 fore, will be so frequently employed. 
 Being the most constantly adored, this 
 more powerful divinity will have this 
 epithet expressive of his sole existence 
 so frequently connected with his name, 
 that it will at length be regularly at- 
 tached to, and form part of, that name. 
 This was precisely the case with the 
 Arabian objects of worship. It is 
 strange that when complete evidence of 
 this fact exists, really intelligent and 
 circumspect historians should have be- 
 lieved in the pure theism of the Ara- 
 bians. Sale, like many others, was 
 deceived by pompous expressions : 
 " That they acknowledge one supreme 
 God, appears (to omit other proof) from 
 their usual form of addressing them- 
 selves to him, which was this : ' I dedi- 
 cate myself to thy service, () God ! I 
 dedicate myself to thy service, O God ! 
 Thou hast no companion, except thy 
 companion of whom Thou art absolute 
 master, and of whatever is his.'" In 
 the very next passage, however, Sale 
 adds, " they offered sacrifices and other 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 offerings to idols, as well as to God, 
 who was also often put off with the 
 least portion, as Mahomet upbraids 
 them*." Their scheme of divine go- 
 vernment was simple, and like most 
 others formed in the same state of 
 civilisation. One god was supposed to 
 be the supreme ruler; and subject to 
 his sway was a vast multitude of infe- 
 rior deities f. " The Arabs acknow- 
 ledged one supreme God, the creator 
 and lord of the universe, whom they 
 called Allah Taala, the most high god ; 
 and their other deities, who were subor- 
 dinate to him, they called simply Al 
 Ilahat, l. e. goddesses^." Idols were set 
 up, and worshipped ; every field, every 
 rivulet, had its divinities. The fixed 
 stars and planets were also exalted into 
 gods, and as such received adoration. 
 Heaven, moreover, was peopled with 
 angels, who, with the wooden stone, and 
 clay idols on earth, were regularly wor- 
 shipped. How the Arabians can be 
 supposed believers in a single god- 
 head, under such circumstances, appears 
 extraordinary . 
 
 The manner in which these various 
 divinities were rendered propitious, at 
 once marks that no very exalted concep- 
 tion of a divinity existed in the minds of 
 these barbarians. Fasts, pilgrimages, 
 sacrifices, long and unmeaning prayers, 
 were the means employed to obtain the 
 divine favour. 
 
 " They are obliged to pray three times 
 a day (some say seven times a day :) the 
 first, half an hour or less before sunrise, 
 ordering it so, that they may, just as the 
 sun rises, finish eight adorations, each 
 containing three prostrations : the second 
 prayer they end at noon, when the sun 
 begins to decline, in saying which they 
 
 * Sale, Pre. Disc, p. 21. 
 ) " Divum pater atque hominum rex," 
 
 O pater, O hominum Divfunque seterna potestas," 
 are expressions conveying an exact conception of the 
 Arabian theology. 
 
 t Sale, Pre. Disc, p. 20. 
 
 " The Sabians of Mount Lebanon seem to pay a 
 greater regard to Seth than the Supreme Being ; for 
 they always keep their oath when they swear by the 
 former, but frequently break it when they swear by 
 the latter." (Anc. Univ. Hist, b. iv., c 21, p. 383.) 
 " A merchant of Mecca made an observation upon 
 those saints, which I was surprised to hear from a 
 Mahometan. The vulgar, said he, must always have 
 a visible object to fear and honour. Thus, at Mecca, 
 oaths, instead of being addressed to God, are pro- 
 nounced in the name of Mahomet. Al Mokha, I 
 would not trust a man who should take God to wit- 
 ness the truth of any thing he happened to assert ; 
 but I much more safely depend upon him who should 
 swear by Schiech Ichadeli, whose mosque and tomb 
 are before his eyes." (Niebuhr, p. 76.) Pocock, 
 in his notes to his translation of " Abulpharagius" 
 (p. 136.) states the worship of angels and demons to 
 have been common among the Arabs. 
 
 perform five such adorations as the for- 
 mer ; and the same they do the third 
 time, ending just as the sun sets. They 
 fast three times a year : the first thirty 
 days, the next nine days, and the last 
 seven. They offer many sacrifices, but 
 eat no part thereof, but burn them all. 
 They abstain from beans, garlic, and 
 some other pulse and vegetables*." 
 
 " The same rites which are now ac- 
 complished by the faithful Mussulman, 
 were invented and practised by the su- 
 perstition of the idolaters. At an awful 
 distance they cast away their garments ; 
 seven times, with hasty steps, they en- 
 . circled the Caaba, and kissed the black 
 stone ; seven times they visited and 
 adored the adjacent mountains; seven 
 times they threw stones into the valley 
 of Mina, and the pilgrimage was achieved 
 as at the present hour, by a sacrifice of 
 sheep and camels, and the burial of their 
 hair and nails in the consecrated ground 
 
 From Japan to Peru the use 
 
 of sacrifice has universally prevailed ; 
 and the votary has expressed his grati- 
 tude or fear, by destroying or consum 
 ing, in honour of the gods, the dearest 
 and most precious of their gifts. The 
 life of a man is the most precious obla- 
 tion to deprecate public calamity ; the 
 altars of Phoenicia and Egypt, of Rome 
 and Carthage, have been polluted with 
 human gore ; the cruel practice was long 
 preserved among the Arabs. In the 
 third century a boy was annually sacri- 
 ficed by the tribe of the Dumatrians; 
 and a royal captive was piously slaugh- 
 tered by the prince of the Saracens, the 
 ally and soldier of the emperor Justinian. 
 A parent who drags his son to the altar 
 exhibits the most sublime and painful 
 effort of fanaticism ; the deed or the 
 intention was sanctified by the example 
 of saints and heroes ; and the father of 
 Mahomet himself was devoted by a rash 
 vow, and hardly ransomed by the equi- 
 valent of an hundred camels." t Such 
 was the religion that Mahomet endea- 
 voured to improve. 
 
 SCIENCE AND LITERATURE. 
 
 It may easily be supposed that a peo- 
 ple, possessed of a government, law, 
 and religion, such as we have described, 
 were little advanced in science or litera- 
 ture. The only science to which the 
 ancient Arabs made the slightest pre- 
 tension, was that of astronomy ; and 
 
 * Sale, Pre. Disc, p. 19. 
 
 f Gibbon, Decl. and Fall, c 50, pp. 95, 96. 
 
s 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 even in astronomy they had discovered 
 little beyond the ordinary knowledge of 
 an ignorant savage. Through the 
 trackless deserts of Arabia it was im- 
 possible to travel without the aid of 
 some sign in the heavens as a guide. 
 The need of such a guide led them to 
 watch the revolutions of the heavenly 
 bodies; and the clear and unclouded 
 skies of the country offered few obstacles 
 to their search. They could not in time 
 fail to observe some of the more obvious 
 phenomena, and to be able in a long 
 course of years to predict the recurrence 
 of those phenomena. Some few ex- 
 traordinary persons seem to have been 
 capable of calculating eclipses with 
 tolerable accuracy. This knowledge, 
 however, was exceedingly rare, and be- 
 yond it they never advanced. Any 
 thing like a theory, or general expres- 
 sion of the stated order in which the 
 celestial phenomena occurred, never en- 
 tered into their imaginations. That 
 certain changes happened, they knew ; 
 but of the true system of the universe, 
 or of any system whatever, they were 
 profoundly ignorant*. Astrology, in- 
 deed, they studied with some assiduity, 
 and implicit confidence ; but the most 
 important of their sciences, that to which 
 they paid the greatest attention, was the 
 interpretation of dreams*]*. The follow- 
 ing is a specimen of their state of igno- 
 rance and superstition : " When any of 
 them set out upon a journey, he ob- 
 served the first bird he met with, and if 
 it flew to the right, he pursued his jour- 
 ney ; but if to the left, he returned 
 home "When a person, dis- 
 trusting the fidelity of his wife, went a 
 journey, he tied together some of the 
 boughs of a tree, called al rataim ; and 
 if, on his return, he found them in the 
 same position, he judged she had been 
 faithful to him ; if otherwise, not $." 
 
 Their eloquence and their poetry have 
 been considered evidence of a high state 
 of civilisation. But the savages of North 
 America have been long famed for their 
 eloquence ; and the bards of our barba- 
 rian ancestors prove that savages have 
 possessed, and been delighted with 
 poetry. The eloquence and poetry of a 
 barbarian, bear, however, little resem- 
 
 * See Goguet, Orig. des Lois, 1 Epo. 1. 3, p, 147, 
 where the necessity, under which the Arabians lay, 
 of some sign to guide them in their travels, is well 
 explained. Also Abulpharagius, Pocock's transla- 
 tion, p. 6. The Arabian fairly acknowledges his 
 countrymen to have been completely ignorant of the 
 science of astronomy. 
 
 t Anc. Univ. Hist.,b. iv., c. 21, p. 406412. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 412. 
 
 blance to the eloquence and poetry of 
 civilised life, being made up chiefly of 
 bold figures and bombast expressions, 
 without order, without propriety, and 
 generally without meaning. The species 
 of estimation, also, in which poetry was 
 held among the Arabs, shows their rude 
 and uncultivated condition. It was held 
 in esteem as a means of preserving the 
 remembrance of past events. Poetry 
 assists the memory; and consequently 
 the. history, laws, and dogmas of reli- 
 gion, are universally among a rude 
 people recorded in verse *. In the ab- 
 sence of written signs, verse may be of 
 use in this way, but, when writing is 
 known, can, for such a purpose, be no 
 longer serviceable. That the Arabs ge- 
 nerally were ignorant of writing is uni- 
 versally asserted. In after times, the 
 Arabians, like other people, emerged 
 from this state of ignorance. The age 
 of Arab learning and literature, how- 
 ever, was more than two centuries after 
 the death of Mahomet. When masters 
 of Syria and Egypt, they became ac- 
 quainted with the writings of the Greek 
 philosophers, and for a long period were 
 far superior to the nations of Europe in 
 knowledge and civilisation. 
 
 MANNERS. 
 
 In spite of their ignorance, the Arabs 
 have by historians been almost univer- 
 sally deemed a gentle and polite people ; 
 and an argument has, from this circum- 
 stance, been hastily drawn against the 
 utility of all knowledge and cultivation. 
 Nothing, however, can well be more 
 untrue than the premises upon which 
 this conclusion is founded. 
 
 Two circumstances have chiefly been 
 insisted on, in favour of the Arab people : 
 their hospitality and their politeness. 
 The meaning of these terms, however, 
 when applied to them, is sometimes 
 misunderstood. The general conduct of 
 the Arab was to plunder and to kill every 
 defenceless traveller whom he chanced 
 to meett. There were particular cases 
 in which he abstained from this barba- 
 rity ; when, instead of robbing, he as- 
 sisted the way-fai'ing traveller. This 
 extraordinary abstinence has been ex- 
 alted into the virtue hospitality. He 
 was thus generous to those of his own 
 tribe, and to those who possessed a 
 
 * See Goguet, Orig. des Lois, 1 Epoc, 1. 1 
 pp. 43, 44. Henry (in Hist, of Britain, b. 1, c 2 
 sec. 1, p. 163, states,) that the Ancient Britons were 
 a very poetical people. 
 
 t Sale, Pre. Dis. pp. 196198. Prideaux, Vie tie 
 Mah., p. 95. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 passport from his chief; to others, he 
 was a thief and a murderer. In a ci- 
 vilised country abstinence from plun- 
 dering any one, whether kindred or not, 
 is not exalted into a virtue ; and for this 
 simple reason : it is imposed by the law 
 as an obligation upon every one ; every 
 infringement of it is punished ; and so 
 common is this boasted virtue, that the 
 absence of it alone creates our wonder. 
 
 The traveller in the desert, or in any 
 wild country, would perish if the few 
 inhabitants that are scattered over its 
 surface were to refuse him aid and 
 shelter. But to save the life of a fellow 
 creature, without risk or trouble to our- 
 selves, is surely no great exercise of 
 virtue ; and so obvious is the necessity 
 of such mutual assistance in a rude state 
 of society, that no people placed in such 
 circumstances ever failed to hold in high 
 estimation, and also in some measure to 
 practise, this species of hospitality. 
 
 When a country becomes thickly in- 
 habited, the necessity for hospitality no 
 longer exists, it consequently ceases to 
 be praised or regarded. The traveller to 
 whom I should refuse admittance, can 
 find immediate refuge at the next inn ; 
 and consequently will not subject him- 
 self to the mortification of a refusal. 
 The following exceedingly sensible ob- 
 servations cannot but be acceptable to 
 the reader : " I forgot to speak of hos- 
 pitality. It is on account of this virtue 
 that the first ages have usually been 
 
 esteemed A common interest 
 
 apparently gave birth to this habit. 
 There were no inns in the distant ages 
 of antiquity. Hospitality was, there- 
 fore, exercised in hopes of a return of 
 the like good office. A stranger was 
 received, under the supposition that he 
 might some day render the same service, 
 should there be a necessity of travelling 
 into his country: for hospitality was 
 reciprocal. By receiving a stranger into 
 his house, a man immediately acquired 
 a right to be received into the stranger's ; 
 and this right was by the ancients re- 
 garded as sacred and inviolable, extend- 
 ing not only to those who contracted it, 
 but also to their children and descen- 
 dants. Besides, hospitality in those 
 early days was not very expensive, as 
 people travelled with few attendants. 
 In short, the Arabs of the present day 
 prove that hospitality is compatible with 
 the greatest vices ; and that this species 
 of virtue is no evidence of goodness of 
 heart or rectitude of manners. The ge- 
 neral character of the Arabs is well 
 
 known ; no people, however, are more 
 hospitable*." 
 
 The politeness of an Arab is also 
 something very different from the polite- 
 ness of a civilised man. True politeness 
 or courtesy consists in taking no offence 
 where offence is not intended, and in so 
 managing the common intercourse of 
 life, that the forms adopted shall conduce 
 to the ease and happiness of all parties 
 concerned. All formalities that do not 
 tend to this end, all distinctions that op- 
 pose it, are so many marks of rudeness 
 and ignorance. How far the Arabs were 
 from this standard, the following cir- 
 cumstance will testify : 
 
 " The Arabs show great sensibility to 
 every thing that can be construed into 
 an injury. If one man should happen 
 to spit beside another, the latter will not 
 fail to avenge himself of the imaginary 
 insult. In a caravan I once saw an 
 Arab highly offended with a man who, 
 in spitting, accidentally bespattered his 
 beard with some small part of his spit- 
 tle. It was with difficulty that he could 
 be appeased by him, who, he imagined, 
 had offended him, even though he hum- 
 bly asked pardon, and kissed his beard 
 
 in token of submission But 
 
 the most irritable of all men are the 
 noble Bedouins, who, in their martial 
 spirit, seem to carry those same preju- 
 dices even farther than the barbarous 
 warriors who issued from the north, and 
 overran Europe. Bedouin honour is 
 still more delicate than ours, and re- 
 quires even a greater number of victims 
 to be sacrificed to it. If one schiech 
 says to another, with a serious air, thy 
 bonnet is dirty, or the wrong side of 
 thy turban is out, nothing but blood 
 can wash away the reproach ; and not 
 merely the blood of the offender, but 
 also that of all the males of his family-h" 
 Who,, when cursed with so punctilious 
 and bloody minded a neighbour as this, 
 would not be careful in his conversation 
 and conduct ? 
 
 " The refined malice of the Arabs re- 
 fuses even the head of the murderer, 
 substitutes an innocent to the guilty 
 person, and transfers the penalty to the 
 best and most considerable of the race 
 by whom they have been injured. If 
 he falls by their hands, they are exposed 
 in their turn to the danger of reprisals ; 
 the interest and the principal of the 
 bloody debt are accumulated ; the indi- 
 viduals of either family lead a life of 
 
 * Goguot. Orig. des Lois, I lipo., L 6, p. 387, 
 f Niebuhr, c. 107, P . 144. 
 
10 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 malice and suspicion, and fifty years 
 may sometimes elapse before the ac- 
 count be finally settled*." 
 
 The condition of the women may be 
 taken as an accurate criterion of the 
 politeness of a people. If we judge of 
 the Arabs by this test, they will be con- 
 sidered barbarians. Even in the Koran, 
 which certainly is an improvement on 
 the previous manners of the Arabs, we 
 find the following command : 
 
 " But those wives, whose perverse- 
 ness ye shall be apprehensive of, rebuke, 
 and remove into separate apartments, 
 and chastise them\y 
 
 " It must be remembered," says Sale, 
 " that though by the Mahommedan 
 law, a man is allowed to repudiate his 
 wife, even on the slightest disgust, yet 
 the women are not allowed to separate 
 themselves from their husbands, unless 
 it be for ill usage, (we have seen that 
 beating them was not considered ill 
 usage,) want of proper maintenance, 
 neglect of conjugal duty, or some other 
 cause of equal import; but then she 
 loses her dowry (that is, when ill- 
 treated, and seeking redress at the hands 
 of justice, redress is given, but the 
 means of. subsistence are taken away,) 
 which she does not, if divorced by the 
 husband, unless she has been guilty of 
 impudicity or notorious disobedience^," 
 of which men were the judges. In 
 another passage, he says, " they dis- 
 posed of widows even against their 
 consent, as part of their husbands' 
 possessions^." 
 
 In short, the women were absolute 
 slaves; the mere instruments of their 
 husbands' pleasure ; confined, neglected, 
 and despised. Professor Millar, in his 
 work on the " Origin of Ranks," has 
 acutely remarked, that the custom so 
 prevalent in ancient times of the bride- 
 groom giving presents to the father of 
 the bride, was, in reality, nothing less 
 than a custom of buying the daughter. 
 That the Arabians followed this custom, 
 is admitted by the Arabian authors 
 
 * Gibbon, Decl. and Fall, c. 50, p. 89. See also 
 Niebuhr, c. 107, p. 144, for a story of Arab vengeance 
 and brutality. 
 
 f Koran, c. 4, p. 101. 
 
 % Frel. Disc, p. 178. Husbands seem to have felt 
 little compunction at repudiating their wives, with 
 or without a pretext. Hassan, the son of Mahomet, 
 considered a good man by his countrymen, " though 
 his wives were all of them remarkably fond of him, 
 was yet apt very frequently to divorce them, and 
 marry new ones." (Ockley's Hist, of the Saracens, 
 vol. ii., p. 105, ed. 1718.) Nothing could mark a 
 more complete recklessness concerning the happiness 
 of women. 
 
 Sale, Frel. Dis., p. 183. 
 
 themselves. Ali, on his marriage with 
 Fatima, the daughter of Mahomet, gave 
 to him, according to tradition, twelve 
 ounces of ostrich feathers, and a breast- 
 plate*. That this was, in fact, a pur- 
 chase, is shown by the manners of the 
 Arabians of the present day, who pre- 
 serve the custom, and do not attempt to 
 conceal the nature of itf. It is almost 
 needless to say, that slavery of the very 
 worst description must necessarily be 
 the heritage of the women, where such 
 a custom exists. Taught to consider 
 themselves the property of their pur- 
 chasers, they must, moreover, become 
 degraded in their mental and moral 
 character ; and their masters, also, can- 
 not but feel the baneful influence of 
 this abominable traffic. Any institution 
 which permits men to exercise irrespon- 
 sible power; which, above all, makes 
 the exercise of it, daily, nay, hourly, 
 and the scene of its employment, the 
 bosom of their families, would, of itself, 
 be sufficient to degrade a whole people. 
 Politeness, or gentleness of mind or 
 manners, on the part of the men, are 
 utterly inconsistent with such barbarous 
 treatment of the women. We may, 
 therefore, without fear of error, conclude 
 that the Arabs deserve not, on this head, 
 the praise which has been somewhat 
 lavishly bestowed on therm 
 
 Having now, as far as our limits will 
 permit, given a general view of the situ- 
 ation of the Arab people at the time of 
 Mahomet's appearance, we shall pro- 
 ceed to relate the history of the Prophet 
 himself. With this view before us, we 
 shall be able more easily to understand 
 the several circumstances of his life ; 
 more correctly to judge of his abilities 
 and his character. Knowing the people, 
 among whom he arose their state of 
 civilisation, their manners, and their 
 laws, we can, without much difficulty, 
 discover whether he were superior to 
 his age, and whether he advanced or 
 retarded the improvement of his coun- 
 trymen. 
 
 Sect. II. A description of the 
 sources from whence our knowledge con- 
 cerning Mahomet is derived is, however, 
 another necessary preliminary to the 
 history of his life: an historian can 
 hardly render a more important service 
 
 * Ockley's Hist of Sarac, p. 21. He adds, in a 
 note, " It seems to have been a custom among the 
 Arabs for a bridegroom to make a present to the 
 father of the bride." Among the ancient Germans, 
 also, the custom was prevalent. (Tac. Germ.) 
 
 t See " Mahometism Explained." Translated by 
 Morgan, vol, ii p. 30. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ll 
 
 to his readers than clearly to point 
 out the evidence upon which his state- 
 ments are founded. 
 
 The writers from whom the world has 
 derived all its present information con- 
 cerning the life and institutions of Ma- 
 homet may be divided into three classes, 
 viz., the Arabian writers themselves ; 
 the contemporary Christian writers ; and 
 the more profound, liberal, and en- 
 lightened scholars of modern days. 
 
 1. Some years after the death of Ma- 
 homet, his works, supposed to be revela- 
 tions from the Almighty, were collected 
 and put into their present order by the 
 then reigning Caliph. As the prophet 
 could not write, he employed scribes, 
 who wrote, at his dictation, those reve- 
 lations of the Divine will, at many dif- 
 ferent and distant periods of his life. 
 The palm-leaves, skins, and bones, upon 
 which they were transcribed, were 
 thrown without order into a trunk, 
 which, with its contents, was placed in 
 the custody of one of the prophet's 
 numerous wives. Abubeker, who suc- 
 ceeded Mahomet as Caliph, is supposed 
 to have had these important documents 
 copied ; and corrected according to the 
 recollection of such of the prophet's 
 followers as had committed to memory 
 his revelations at the different times at 
 which they were delivered. These 
 several documents being then arranged 
 in their present order, the whole collec- 
 tion was denominated the Koran. 
 
 The discourses or revelations of the 
 prophet having almost always been 
 occasioned by the necessities of the 
 moment, constant allusions are made in 
 them to circumstances then occurring ; 
 they thus become historical evidence *. 
 
 In addition to these sacred writings of 
 Mahomet himself, a book of tradi- 
 tions, called the Sonna, was collected, 
 containing those actions and sayings of 
 the prophet not recorded in the Koran. 
 These traditions were gathered from his 
 wives and companions, and are by one 
 great sect of the Mussulmans, viz. the 
 Sonnites, believed to be authentic and of 
 authority equal to the Koran itself t. 
 
 These two books, in ^so far as they 
 are narrations, may be * considered the 
 
 * Sale, Pre. Dis. sec. 3. pp. 85, 86. Prideaux, 
 Vie de Mah., pp. 4761. Mod. Univ. Hist. b. 1. c. 
 2. p. 308. 
 
 + Mod. Univ. Hist. b. 1. c. 1. pp. 80, 82, 87. See 
 also Sale, Pre. Dis. Sec. 8. pass. " The different 
 sects of the Mohammedans may be distinguished 
 in'.o two sorts : those generally esteemed orthodox, 
 and those which are esteemed heretical. The former, 
 by a general name, are called Sonnites or Tradi- 
 tionists." 
 
 narrations of percipient witnesses ; of 
 persons who saw and heard the cir- 
 cumstances and discourses they relate. 
 And these are the only records that pre- 
 tend to be the evidence of persons actually 
 witnessing the circumstances narrated. 
 The worth of these records as historical 
 documents is dependent on the trust- 
 worthiness of those who related, and of 
 those who collected, corrected, and at- 
 tested them. If these narrators and col- 
 lectors be unworthy of belief, the Koran 
 and the Sonna are nearly worthless. 
 
 Two circumstances powerfully concur 
 to depreciate the trustworthiness of 
 these persons, viz. their interest and 
 their ignorance. That they were deeply 
 interested in their prophet's fame is too 
 obvious to be insisted on. The renown 
 of their prophet reflected on themselves ; 
 as that was increased so were they ex- 
 alted. On the other hand, to be the 
 followers of a fool or knave, was to 
 prove themselves fools or knaves. But 
 their own experience in the case of their 
 prophet himself had taught them that 
 to gloss over folly and knavery, no 
 method was so efficacious as declaring 
 it to be sanctioned by the divinity. The 
 other equally powerful cause of untrust- 
 worthiness is their ignorance. Their 
 ignorance and credulity are sufficiently 
 manifested by the stories they have re- 
 lated and believed, and by the conse- 
 quences they have derived from them. 
 That Mahomet imposed upon many of 
 them is certain, otherwise he could 
 never have succeeded in establishing 
 his pretended religion. But to believe 
 him on the evidence he adduced to be 
 the apostle of God ; to put faith in the 
 absurd stories he related ; to acquiesce 
 without investigation in the doctrines 
 he promulgated, shows them to have 
 been credulous, ignorant, and careless 
 concerning the opinions they embraced. 
 In any case this carelessness would 
 materially have diminished the worth of 
 their testimony, but utterly destroys 
 it when, as in the present instance, a 
 great degree of firmness was requisite 
 to resist the prevailing torrent, as well 
 as of acuteness and ability to gather 
 evidence by which to detect and expose 
 the imposture. But if so easily deceived, 
 and so deeply interested, in what cases 
 are they worthy of belief? In those 
 where they have no manifest advantage 
 in lying ; where the matter to be judged 
 was not above the comprehension of an 
 ignorant barbarian ; and where the 
 falsity of the testimony, even of ignorant 
 
VI 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 and interested witnesses, appears more 
 wonderful than the circumstance they 
 relate*. 
 
 Whatever the Arabian writers of after 
 days have related, they have related on 
 the authority of these traditions. These 
 later historians cannot therefore be ad- 
 duced as additional evidence. They 
 repeat merely what they have heard ; 
 and having listened with minds little 
 capable of distinguishing truth from 
 falsehood, they have given implicit faith 
 to every monstrous and improbable 
 story favourable to their false prophet. 
 Bred to be believers in his imposture, 
 they were unfit for the task of examina- 
 tion. 
 
 2. The next class of historians are 
 the Christian writers, contemporaries of 
 Mahomet ; and they are even less trust- 
 worthy than the Arabians themselves. 
 They were equally ignorant, equally 
 bigoted, equally interested, but they 
 were not percipient witnesses. This 
 combination of circumstances renders 
 their testimony as untrustworthy as 
 human testimony well can be. Of the 
 Christians who were contemporaries of 
 Mahomet, the Greeks of Constantinople 
 were alone removed one degree from 
 utter barbarism. On these men, such 
 as they were, we must partly depend in 
 describing the original institutions of 
 the Arabian prophet. What merit ought 
 to be ascribed to them may be easily 
 learned. Witchcraft they devoutly be- 
 lieved in ; and moreover gravely main- 
 tained the miracles of Mahomet to have 
 been actually performed, but performed 
 through the instrumentality of the devil. 
 One thing, and one thing alone can be 
 said in favour of these Greek authorities. 
 Mahomet, during his life, had numerous 
 enemies among his countrymen, who 
 were impelled by their interest and their 
 hatred to collect and spread whatever 
 reports were to his prejudice. Many, 
 doubtless, were invented, some, proba- 
 bly, were true. Whatever they were, 
 the Greeks seized upon them with 
 avidity, and triumphantly recorded the 
 abominations of the impostor. By this 
 means, evidence has been preserved 
 (doubtful evidence indeed) against the 
 prophet which the success of his religion 
 has in his own country completely ob- 
 literated. Moreover, whatever these men 
 
 * Gagnier acknowledges the traditions of the 
 Koran and the Sonna to be for the most part 
 Romances 1 (Pre. p. 39.) See Mod. Univ. Hist, 
 b. 1. c. 1. p. 80 ; where an accounts given of the 
 genealogy of these traditions. 
 
 admit in favour of Mahomet may be 
 pretty confidently relied on : for the good 
 they could decently have denied, would 
 never have been acknowledged. 
 
 3. Of the writers of modern days the 
 character is somewhat different. Al- 
 though feelings of hostility to our Mo- 
 hammedan brethren still exist, yet the 
 present knowledge of Europe renders it 
 impossible for the same mendacity to 
 pervade the writings of modern as of 
 ancient historians. We have now almost 
 universally ceased to regard our own 
 faith as at all concerned in the estimation 
 that may be formed of the character, 
 opinion, conduct, or religion of Maho- 
 met. As our interests have become less 
 concerned, our judgments have become 
 more impartial. We have learned more- 
 over that the employment of calumny 
 and falsehood in support of any system, 
 however admirable, is neither just nor 
 prudent. This knowledge has been but 
 lately acquired. Prideaux himself, among 
 the most violent and unfavourable of 
 Mahomet's modern historians, admits, 
 " that zealous Christians have foolishly 
 invented fables, for the purpose of 
 bringing the impostor into contempt*." 
 In addition to these circumstances in 
 favour of modern writers, is the high 
 degree of excellence to which the know- 
 ledge of eastern literature, history, and 
 institutions has now arrived. Our en- 
 lightened travellers have explored the 
 vast regions of Asia, from one end to 
 the other ; have minutely described the 
 customs of the people, and collected a 
 mass of evidence respecting their various 
 institutions far superior to that which 
 our predecessors possessed. We may 
 now speak with comparative certainty 
 regarding the religious and political in- 
 stitutions of Mahomet. But of Maho- 
 met himself, we must for ever rest con- 
 tented with a broken and uncertain 
 history. In spite of the researches of 
 modern industry, every thing respecting 
 him must remain involved in consider- 
 able obscurity. What is believed, is 
 believed on extremely doubtful evidence. 
 The facts related of him assume no con- 
 nected form, but evidently appear the 
 transactions of many years distant from 
 one another. They are broken, isolated 
 fragments of history, which cannot cor- 
 rectly be formed into a consecutive nar- 
 rative. The histories of Mahomet hitherto 
 written do not indeed appear thus dis- 
 jointed. Historians are apt to confound 
 
 * Vie de Mah., p. 57. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 13 
 
 matters of inference with matters of fact, 
 what they relate upon testimony, with 
 what they infer as a consequence from 
 that testimony; and where facts are 
 wanting, to insert their own opinions as 
 connecting links to the separate events 
 really recorded. It will be our constant 
 endeavour to keep them apart ; to present 
 to the reader's mind the circumstances 
 which tradition has handed down, with- 
 out mixing them ;' up or confounding 
 them with the conclusions which we and 
 others have drawn from those circum- 
 stances. Knowing what depends upon 
 evidence, what on our judgment, the 
 reader will be able to give each its due 
 weight and importance. 
 
 Sect. III. Mahomet was bora some 
 time during the sixth century, at the city 
 of Mecca. The precise year of his birth 
 is disputed, and after much learned dis- 
 cussion the matter is left nearly as 
 doubtful ' as when the dispute began. 
 The most probable opinion, however, 
 seems to be that of Elmacin, an Arabian 
 writer, who, according to Hottinger, has 
 placed his birth a. d. 571 ; but, accord- 
 ing to Reiske, a. d. 572. The precise 
 era of his birth being an unimportant 
 circumstance, we shall dismiss it without 
 further comment*. 
 
 The lineage of the prophet has also 
 been a subject of furious altercation. 
 Interest and blind prejudice both con- 
 curred to create and continue the con- 
 troversy. On the one hand he was 
 degraded to the lowest rank of society, 
 while, on the other, he was exalted 
 above most of his countrymen. The 
 contemporary Christian writers hated the 
 prophet, and wished to render him an 
 object of contempt. To their ignorant 
 and prejudiced minds, to describe him 
 as having sprung from a plebeian race, 
 appeared the most effectual means of 
 rendering him despicable. In the same 
 degree that the Christians believed 
 themselves interested in degrading the 
 Arabian prophet, did the Mahometans 
 feel themselves called upon to exalt 
 
 * Those who are curious in such matters, may con- 
 sult Bayle, art. Mahomet, note 13. ; and Gibbon, 
 Decl. and Fall, c. 50, where the original authorities 
 are mentioned. Gibbon shrewdly remarks " While 
 we refine our chronology, it is possible that the illi- 
 terate prophet was ignorant of his own age." Nie- 
 buhr, in speaking of an Arabian whom he met, says, 
 " He told us that he was above seventy years of age ; 
 but his acquaintance affirmed that he was not under 
 ninety. We had observed of the Mussulmans in ge- 
 neral however, that they seldom knew their own age 
 exactly. They reckon by the most remarkable inci- 
 dents in their lives, and say, I was a child when such. 
 an event happened, or when such a one was governor 
 of a city." (p. 32.) Gagnier says, that Mahomet was 
 born a, d, 57. A. Y. 569., vol. i p. 71, 
 
 him ; and their ignorance, equal to that 
 of their adversaries, deemed his pedigree 
 an important consideration. What their 
 interest and vanity counselled, they were 
 not scrupulous in pursuing. An alliance 
 with the great is often deemed an ho- 
 nourable distinction. Next to being 
 great one's self, is to have great con- 
 nexions. Inasmuch, therefore, as the 
 votaries of Mahomet were deeply in- 
 terested in enhancing his worth, it is not 
 surprising that they should confer upon 
 him a line of ancestry connected with 
 the most ancient and interesting periods 
 of their history. Ismael was usually 
 supposed to be the founder of their race, 
 and they were accustomed to regard 
 him with reverence almost amounting to 
 devotion. The tribe of Koreish, to 
 which Mahomet belonged, had before 
 the birth of the prophet laid claim to 
 Ismael as their progenitor. This claim 
 arising from the vanity of the tribe was 
 eagerly laid hold of by his pious adhe- 
 rents ; and what was before mentioned 
 and maintained through a pardonable 
 ostentation, became a dogma of reli- 
 gion, and was defended with all the fury 
 which bigotry engenders. 
 
 Without the assistance of fable, Ma- 
 homet was able to' vindicate to himself 
 a high lineage among his countrymen. 
 Abdallah, the father of Mahomet, was 
 a younger* son of Abdol Motalleb, the 
 son of Hashem. "Hashem," say the 
 authors of the Modern Universal His- 
 tory, "succeeded his father Abdal 
 Menaf, in the principality of the Koreish, 
 and consequently in the government of 
 Mecca, and the custody of the Caabaf ." 
 So far the genealogy of the prophet is 
 supported by authentic history that 
 he was descended from the princes of 
 his people cannot be denied. This 
 descent from Ismael, Gibbon, after 
 Sale, thus disproves : " Abulfeda and 
 Gagnier describe the popular and ap- 
 proved genealogy of the prophet. At 
 Mecca I would not dispute its authen- 
 ticity ; at Lausanne, I will venture to ob- 
 serve 1st. That, from Ismael to Ma- 
 homet, a period of two thousand nve 
 hundred years, they reckon thirty in- 
 stead of seventy-five generations. 2d. 
 That the modern Bedoweens are igno- 
 rant of their history, and careless of their 
 pedigree+. , ' > 
 
 Abdallah, though of high lineage, was 
 
 * Prideaux, Vie do Mah., p. 8, says, he was the 
 eldest. This assertion Sale proves to be erroneous, 
 f Vol.i., p. 10, Mod. Univ. Hist. 
 I Decl. and Fall, c. 50. 
 
M 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 possessed of little wealth ; and as he 
 died while his son was yet an infant*, we 
 may easily suppose that little to have 
 been diminished by the rapacity of his 
 kindred. The uncles of Mahomet were 
 numerous and powerful, and as in an 
 age little removed from barbarism the 
 rights of the weak are seldom respected, 
 he was plundered with impunity. " The 
 pagan Arabs used to treat widows and 
 orphans with great injustice, frequently 
 denying them any share in the inheri- 
 tance of their fathers or their husbands, 
 on pretence that the same ought to be 
 distributed among those only who were 
 able to bear arms ; and disposing of the 
 widows, even against their consent, as 
 part of their husbands' possessionsf." 
 A proof that the orphan Mahomet was 
 no better treated than his neighbours is, 
 that he received out of his father's pa- 
 trimony no more than five camels, and 
 one ^Ethiopian slave. 
 
 How poor soever Mahomet may have 
 been in worldly goods, his birth was 
 rich in prodigies. We are told with 
 unfeigned belief by his deluded followers 
 that at the moment the favoured infant 
 issued from his mother's womb, a flood 
 of brilliant light also burst forth, and 
 illuminated every part of Syria; the 
 waters of the Lake Sawa disappeared ; 
 an earthquake threw down fourteen 
 towers of the King of Persia's palace ; 
 the sacred fire of the Persians was 
 extinguished, and all the evil spirits 
 which had formerly inhabited the moon 
 and stars were expelled simultaneously 
 from their celestial abodes. The child it- 
 self manifested extraordinary symptoms. 
 He was no sooner born, than he fell upon 
 his face and prayed devoutly, saying 
 " God is great : There is only one 
 God, and I am his prophet" These 
 stories, extravagant as they appear, 
 were devoutly believed, even during 
 the J life of the prophet, and hundreds 
 might have been found, who on their 
 oath would have attested these manifes- 
 tations of his supernatural gifts.$ Even 
 
 * According to some authorities, he died before the 
 birth of his son. Gagnier says after (Vie de Mah., p. 
 84.) Abulpharagius states, that the father died two, 
 the mother six, years after his birth. (Pocock's 
 Trans., p. 6.) 
 
 f Sale, Prel. Disc, p. 183. 
 
 X Gagnier, Vie de Mah. pp. 7783. These dif- 
 ferent prodigies are said to have been reported by 
 the prophet's mother. Among the instances of cre- 
 dulity or- dishonesty of the eye-witnesses of Maho- 
 met's miracles, the following is a curious specimen. 
 Ali, surnamed the Lion of God, was said to have 
 torn from its hinges the gate of a fortress, and used 
 it for a buckler. Abu Rafe, the servant of Maho- 
 met, is said to affirm, that he himself, and seven 
 Others, afterwards tried, without success, to ruftYe 
 
 in later days, when the people may be 
 supposed more instructed, it seemed to 
 matter little who worked a wonder, so 
 that there was a wonder to be believed 
 and attested. In the reign of Al Mohdi, 
 the third Calif of Abbas, about one 
 hundred and sixty years after the 
 flight of Mahomet, " Hakem, or Al 
 Mokanna, made a great many pro- 
 selytes at Nakshat and Kash, by de- 
 luding the people with several jug- 
 gling performances, which they swal- 
 lowed for miracles ; and particularly by 
 causing the appearance of a moon to 
 rise out of a well for many nights 
 together." * Unlike the contemporary 
 Christian writers, who sincerely be- 
 lieved many of these wonderful circum- 
 stances, and with ignorant simplicity 
 ascribed them to the devil, the better in- 
 structed observer of modern days would 
 consider it more likely that the ignorant 
 should have been deceived, and the in- 
 terested dishonest, than that nature 
 should have been turned from her 
 course, and her laws suspended for the 
 gratification of evil demons. 
 
 The child thus magnificently favoured 
 was nevertheless exposed to the miseries 
 of want, and reduced to receive his edu- 
 cation and subsistence from the charity 
 of his uncle. At the early age of six 
 years he lost his mother, Amena ; and 
 two years after, his grandfather Abdol 
 Motalleb, who when dying earnestly 
 confided the helpless orphan to the care 
 of Abu Taleb, the eldest of his sons, and 
 the successor to his authority. From 
 him, though treated with kindness, Ma- 
 homet received a scanty education ; but 
 whether that education was equal or 
 inferior to that of his countrymen, it is 
 not easy to discover. Tradition states 
 that at the time of Mahomet's first de- 
 claration concerning his mission, only 
 one man in Mecca could write. If so, 
 it is nothing wonderful that Mahomet, 
 like the rest of his kindred, should also 
 be unable to write*}-. 
 
 the same gate from the ground. Abulfeda, p. 90. 
 Abu Rafe was an eye-witness, but who will be wit- 
 ness for Abu Rafe ? Gibbon's Dec. and Fall, c. 50. 
 
 * Sale's Pre. Disc. p. 241. 
 
 t The story nevertheless seems improbable. It 
 appears (Mod. Univ. His., b. 1. p. 246) that Ebn 
 AH Taleb, the son of Abu Taleb, and the cousin of 
 Mahomet, was one of the prophet's scribes. How 
 did it happen that Abu Taleb was able to have his 
 son taught, and not his nephew ? The number of the 
 prophet's scribes proves the art of writing to have 
 been no extraordinary acquirement. At Medina the 
 art was common ; and as there seems to have been 
 a constant communication between that city and 
 Mecca, it appears incredible that so useful a piece 
 of knowledge should not have been communicated 
 from one to the other. Mecea being also a place of 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 Of the infancy, childhood, and youth 
 of Mahomet, we know almost nothing. 
 The blank in his history has, indeed, 
 been supplied by fable fable, created 
 by the pious reverence of his followers. 
 Wonderful stories of his wit, and of his 
 favour with the Almighty, are lavishly 
 recorded by the Arab historians. They 
 are, moreover, as well attested as such 
 stories usually are ; the impartial histo- 
 rian, nevertheless, has but one course to 
 pursue, viz., to reject ihem. It is more 
 probable that the witnesses were false 
 swearers, or confiding dupes, than that 
 such tales should be true. Being des- 
 tined by his uncle to the profession of 
 a merchant, it is probable that his early 
 life was passed in acquiring the know- 
 ledge then thought necessary to that 
 profession. Concerning this point, how- 
 ever, we have not one particle of evi- 
 dence. At thirteen years of age, indeed, 
 he is said to have made a voyage to 
 Syria, in the caravan of his uncle, and, 
 some years after, to have performed the 
 same journey in the capacity of factor to 
 his mistress Cadijah*. On this simple 
 circumstance his friends and his enemies 
 have not failed to engraft a monstrous 
 mass of absurdity and fable. Tradition 
 states, that at Damascus he met with a 
 Nestorian monk, from whom he derived 
 important information respecting his 
 future conduct in propagating his new 
 religion. To believe that a child of 
 thirteen, or a youth of twenty (for he 
 could have been little more even during 
 his second voyage,) had conceived the 
 idea of a new religion, and formed a 
 plan for propagating it, argues credulity 
 that would appear utterly impossible, 
 did we not know that no opinion, how- 
 ever extravagant, is rejected, when a 
 suitable motive is held out to believe it 
 The early Christian historians of Maho- 
 met's actions were desirous of stripping 
 the impostor of every particle of worth. 
 His religion was not only imputed to 
 him as the most heinous of sins, but 
 whatever applause might be his clue, for 
 the composition of the Koran, was to be 
 
 traffic, the merchants mnst have hourly felt the want 
 of some mode of recording their transactions. We 
 suspect that the desire of saving their prophet from 
 the accusation of being more ignorant than his 
 countrymen has given rise to the above-stated tra- 
 dition. Mahomet, in the Koran (c. 2. p. 52), com- 
 mands all bonds to be made in writing ; this could 
 not have been done if writing had been an uncommon 
 art. It is said, however, that a kinsman of Cadijah, 
 Mahomet's wife, taught the prophet's scribes the 
 Hebrew character. (Pocock's notes to Abulphara- 
 gius, P .157.) . 
 * Gagmer, b. i c. I, p. 94, 
 
 transferred to another ; and a Christian 
 monk was thought the most eligible 
 person to receive the honour. The 
 Arabians preserved an absurd tradition, 
 concerning a prophecy by a monk of 
 Damascus, relative to the future great- 
 ness and virtue of the prophet. " When 
 he (Mahomet) arrived at Bosra, a certain 
 learned monk, whose name was Bohira, 
 came out of his cell, pressed through the 
 middle of the crowd, and, seizing his 
 hand, exclaimed, * There will be some- 
 thing wonderful in this boy ; his fame 
 will spread through the East and West ; 
 for, when he approached, he appeared 
 covered with a cloud*.' " This pious 
 tale,, which possibly the faithful Mus- 
 sulman devoutly believed, and related, 
 for the honour of his prophet, has 
 formed the groundwork for a story 
 equally incredible, invented for the pur- 
 pose of depreciating his merits; this 
 being the monk, who is said to have in- 
 structed Mahomet in the doctrines of 
 the Christian religion ; to have laid a 
 plan, in concert with the future impos- 
 tor, for creating a new religion, which 
 plan was not to be carried into execu- 
 tion till twenty years afterwards ; and to 
 have also composed the most valuable 
 porl ion of the Koran. When Mahomet 
 performed his first journey to Syria, 
 with his uncle's caravan, he was, ac- 
 cording to the best authorities, not 
 above thirteen. His second was accom- 
 plished some time previous to his mar- 
 riage (he married at five and twenty,) 
 and, during this latter journey, he acted 
 as factor for his mistress Cadijah, con- 
 veying her goods to the fairs of Bosra 
 and Damascus. During both journies 
 he was ignorant of the Syrian language ; 
 both journies were journies of business ; 
 the time spent on them was, of neces- 
 sity, exceedingly short ; little, therefore, 
 could have been afforded either to learn 
 the language or converse with the inha- 
 bitants. Whatever merit there may be in 
 the composition of the Koran (and as- 
 suredly it is exceedingly small,) it can- 
 not, on this evidence, be transferred to 
 the monk Bohiraf. 
 
 There was no need, however, for an 
 improbable fiction to account for the 
 knowledge which Mahomet possessed, 
 even supposing that necessity would not 
 have taught him all that the Koran 
 
 * Abulpharagius, Pocock's Trans., p. 9. 
 
 t This monk had many names. Caab and Ser- 
 gms were among his Other cognomens, See Bayle, 
 Art. Man., note V. ' 
 
16 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 established. " Though the Jews," says 
 Sale, " were an inconsiderable and de- 
 spised people in other parts of the world, 
 yet in Arabia, whither many of them had 
 fled from the destruction of Jerusalem, 
 they grew very powerful, several tribes 
 and princes embracing their religion; 
 which made Mahomet at first show 
 great regard for them, adopting many 
 of their opinions, doctrines, and cus- 
 toms ; thereby to draw them, if pos- 
 sible, into his interests." From the same 
 excellent authority, we learn the Arab 
 Christians to have been exceedingly nu- 
 merous, and greatly given to heresies ; 
 some of them, indeed, going so far as to 
 believe " that the soul died with the 
 body, and was to be raised again with 
 it, at the last day*." They appear, 
 moreover, to have delighted in disputa- 
 tions, and to have given birth to the 
 heresies of Ebion, Beryllus, the Colly- 
 ridians, and the Nazaraeans-f. This di- 
 versity of sects is evidence of a general 
 knowledge of the Christian faith. " The 
 Jews and Christians were people of the 
 book ; the bible was already translated 
 into the Arabic language, and the volume 
 of the Old Testament was accepted by 
 the concord of these implacable ene- 
 mies};." These circumstances sufficiently 
 account for Mahomet's knowledge of the 
 Jewish and Christian religion. 
 
 The next remarkable event in the life 
 of Mahomet is his appearance in the 
 character of a soldier. At the early age 
 of fourteen, he served under his uncle, 
 who commanded the troops of his tribe, 
 the Koreish, in their wars against the 
 rival tribes of Kenan and Hawazan. 
 The circumstance is worthy of remark, 
 as illustrative of an observation we 
 made in a former section, upon the per- 
 fect compatibility between the business 
 of a merchant and that of a soldier, 
 amongst the Arabian people, and upon 
 the constant and rapid transition from 
 one to the other. 
 
 By the assistance of his uncle he be- 
 came soon after the factor of a rich 
 trading widow in his native city. The 
 animosity of his enemies has degraded 
 the confidential agent into a driver of 
 camels. It has been confidently and 
 constantly asserted, that he was a menial 
 servant in the household of his mistress, 
 Cadijah ; while, in truth, he was em- 
 
 * Sale, Prel. Disc, sec. 2, pp. 46, 45. 
 t Idem. Ibid. 
 
 t Oibbon, Decl. and Fall, c. 50. 
 Prideaux. says twenty, Gagnier also, Abulfcda 
 filteen. 
 
 ployed to carry on her mercantile trans- 
 actions and to superintend her affairs. 
 Two things are deserving of observation 
 in this falsification of history : the one, 
 the proof it affords of the utter worth- 
 lessness of the Greek Christians as his- 
 torical guides ; and the second, the no 
 less convincing evidence it furnishes of 
 their incapacity for correctly estimating 
 the moral worth of any human being, 
 since the humbleness of a man's em- 
 ployment is by them adduced as a cir- 
 cumstance of moral degradation. In this 
 situation of factor, his conduct and inte- 
 grity gained him the affections of his 
 mistress. Cadijah was not in the eyes 
 of her people degraded by an alliance 
 with the grandson of their prince ; and 
 in her own estimation, by bestowing her 
 hand and fortune upon Mahomet, she 
 gained a young, handsome, and affec- 
 tionate husband. Twenty years of con- 
 stancy, of kind and respectful attention, 
 on the part of Mahomet, fully justified 
 her choice. It may indeed be imagined, 
 and we confess the supposition bears the 
 appearance of some plausibility, that 
 the affection of Cadijah was not unin- 
 fluenced by the handsome person and 
 insinuating eloquence of her youthful 
 suitor. And we cannot refuse our ap- 
 plause to the conduct of Mahomet, who, 
 whatever might have been her motives, 
 never afterwards forgot the benefits he 
 had received from his benefactress, ne - 
 ver made her repent having so bestowed 
 her affection, or grieve at having placed 
 her fortune and her person at his abso- 
 lute disposal. Cadijah, at the time of 
 her marriage, was forty; Mahomet, 
 twenty-five years of age* . Till the age 
 of sixty-four years, when she died, did 
 Cadijah enjoy the undivided affection of 
 her husband ; "in a country where poly- 
 gamy was allowed, the pride or tender- 
 ness of the venerable matron was never 
 insulted by the society of a rival. After 
 her death he placed her in the rank of 
 the four perfect women ; with the sister 
 of Moses, the mother of Jesus, and 
 Fatima, the best beloved of his daugh- 
 ters. ' Was she not old?' said Ayesha,t 
 with the insolence of a blooming beauty ; 
 J has not God given you a better in her 
 place ?' ' No, by God ! ' said Mahomet, 
 with an effusion of honest gratitude, 
 1 there never can be a better ! She be- 
 lieved in me, when men despised me ; 
 
 * Prideaux says twenty-eight, Abulpharagius the 
 age mentioned in the text. Pocock's Trans., p. 9. 
 
 t One of his wives, married after the death of 
 Cadijah. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 It 
 
 she relieved my wants, when I was poor 
 and persecuted by the world*.' M 
 
 Commerce now occupied his atten- 
 tion, and till the age of forty nothing 
 remarkable happened in the life of the 
 future prophet f. His marriage with 
 Cadijah raised him to an equality with 
 the first citizens of Mecca, gave an im- 
 portance to his opinions, and, combined 
 with the power of his family, probably 
 rendered it impossible to punish or in- 
 
 deluded enthusiast, while his enemies 
 have denounced him as an impostor : 
 the latter advancing in favour of their 
 opinion, the intrinsic absurdity of the 
 thing itself ; as also his after conduct, 
 which bore evident marks of being dic- 
 tated by interest and not by enthusiasm. 
 Had he commenced an enthusiast, say 
 they, he would have continued one. 
 Those, however, who have looked with 
 more favour on the prophet, allege the 
 
 terrupt the first steps he made towards many otherwise good and wise men who 
 
 have fancied themselves divinely inspired. 
 A heated imagination is by no means 
 uncommon ; and an ignorant man finds 
 no readier dupe than himself. More- 
 over, to bear up against the contumely 
 and indignation of one's fellow- citizens, 
 to brave imprisonment, the loss of for- 
 tune and life, requires a determination 
 that few things except an honest con- 
 viction are likely to inspire*. Neither 
 do they allow that he who was an im- 
 postor necessarily commenced one. The 
 temptation to preserve a power unex- 
 pectedly obtained may be too strong for 
 the honesty of a man. whom adversity, in 
 its most appalling shapes, cannot com- 
 pel to swerve from the honest path. 
 Mahomet, in the cave of Hara, the per- 
 secuted preacher of a despised religion, 
 might have been a deluded enthusiast, 
 though on the throne of Arabia he was 
 a cunning and consummate politician. 
 Between these contending probabilities 
 who shall determine ? 
 
 The pretended visits of the angel 
 Gabriel, however, seemed to have been 
 followed by no results worthy of so 
 splendid a messenger. The information 
 which Mahomet affirmed that he de- 
 
 the propagation of his new religion. 
 When relieved from the pressures of 
 indigence, his mind seems almost imme- 
 diately to have been turned towards 
 religious meditation^*. The result of this 
 meditation was an opinion exceedingly 
 unfavourable to the religion of his coun- 
 trymen. The first statement of this con- 
 viction was met rather by ridicule than 
 anger, being considered the phantasy 
 of a dreaming enthusiast, who was little 
 to be dreaded, and unworthy of opposi- 
 tion. We are told that he retired to 
 a cave in Mount Hara, near Mecca, 
 where, as he assured his first proselyte, 
 his wife, he regularly received the visits 
 of the angel Gabriel. Retiring to soli- 
 tude has been a common custom with 
 religious enthusiasts. At a distance from 
 the distractions of men, they profess to 
 be able to contemplate more intently the 
 works of the Divinrry, and to dedicate 
 themselves more completely to his holy 
 service. Enthusiasts, also, have often 
 fancied themselves favoured by visions ; 
 to have had converse with spiritual be- 
 ings ; and to have received comfort and 
 instruction at their hands. The artful 
 impostor, however, who endeavours to 
 
 palm himself upon the world as one of rived from his heavenly visitant might, 
 these pious and self-immolated victims, as far as regarded its utility, have been 
 does not fail to imitate their conduct, obtained through the instrumentality of 
 To distinguish the madman from the im- a much more humble personage. On 
 postor, is almost beyond the power of the night of the 23d of Ramadan, called 
 human investigation. Whether Maho- in the Koran the night of Al Kadr, or 
 met at this period of his life were an the divine decree, the Koran first de- 
 impostor has often been discussed, and scended from the seventh to the lowest 
 the question usually decided according heaven; and at a distance from the 
 to the pre-existing leanings of the dis^ pious Mahomet appeared the brilliant 
 
 form of the messenger of God, the angel 
 Gabriel, who came to communicate the 
 happy tidings. The light issuing from 
 his body was too bright for the mortal 
 eyes of the prophet ; he fainted, and not 
 till the angelic visitant had assumed a 
 human form could he venture to ap- 
 
 * It must be remembered that suffering for an 
 opinion is no proof of its truth ; but is merely some 
 evidence that he who suffers honestly believes that 
 which he professes to believe, 
 
 C 
 
 putants they who are inclined to look 
 favourably upon him, deeming him a 
 
 : * Gibbon, Decl. and Fall, c. 50, p. 151. 
 
 f Mod. Univ. Hist., b. i., c. 1, p. 31. Gagnier, 
 Vie de Mah., b. i., c. 6, p. 103. 
 
 X Gagnier, b. i., c. 6, p. 104. The story of his 
 fainting fits at this period of his life, and of his turn- 
 ing them to his profit by declaring them trances, in 
 which he enjoyed the company of the Divinity, Gag- 
 nier asserts to be a fable invented by the earlier 
 Christian writers. 
 
 Mod Univ. Hist., b. i., c. 1, p, 42, and the on- 
 guial authorities there quoted. 
 
38 
 
 LIFE OP MAHOMET. 
 
 proach or look on him . The angel then 
 cried aloud, " O ! Mahomet, thou art 
 
 THE APOSTLE OF GOD, AND I AM THE 
 
 angel Gabriel." " Read," continued 
 the angel ; the illiterate prophet declared 
 that he was unable to read. " Read !" 
 Gabriel again exclaimed, " read, in the 
 name of the Lord, who hath created 
 all things ; ivho hath created man of 
 congealed blood; who hath taught the 
 use of the pen; who teacheth man 
 that which he knoweth not." The pro- 
 phet read the joyful and mysterious 
 tidings respecting his ministry on earth, 
 when the angel, having accomplished his 
 mission, slowly and majestically ascend- 
 ing into heaven, gradually disappeared 
 from his wondering gaze*. This tale 
 was by Mahomet related to his wife, 
 who believed, or affected to believe, the 
 sacred fablef . The next on the list of 
 true believers were Zeid, the servant of 
 the prophet, and Ali, the son of his 
 uncle Abu Taleb. The impetuous youth, 
 disdaining his two predecessors in the 
 true faith, proudly styled himself the first 
 of believers. The next and most im- 
 portant convert was Abubeker, a pow- 
 erful citizen of Mecca, by whose influ- 
 ence a number of persons possessing 
 great authority were induced to profess 
 the religion of Islam. Three years were 
 spent in the arduous task of converting 
 six of these men. They were afterwards 
 his chief companions, and with a few 
 others were the only proselytes to the new 
 religion before it became publicly known}. 
 The mission of Mahomet had hitherto 
 been secret, the time was now arrived at 
 which the Lord commanded him to make 
 it known . To this end he convened a 
 large number of his kindred to a feast ; 
 forty of whom assembled round his 
 board. The prophet rose, and thus ad- 
 dressed his wondering kindred : " I 
 know no man in the whole peninsula of 
 the Arabs, who can propose to his rela- 
 tions any thing more excellent, than 
 what I now do to you. God Almighty 
 hath commanded me to call you unto 
 him ; who, therefore, among you will be 
 my vizir, or assistant, and become my bro- 
 ther and vicegerent ?" General astonish- 
 ment kept the assembly silent; none 
 offered to accept the proffered office, till 
 the impetuous Ali burst forth, and de- 
 
 * Mod. Univ. Hist., b. i-, c 1. p. 44. Gagnier, 
 b. i., c. 7, p. 1U4 109. Koran, c. 96. 
 
 t Bayle, art. Mahomet. Gagnier, b. i., c. 8. 
 % Sate, Prel. Disc, p. 57. 
 
 God commanded " him to arise, and preach, and 
 magnify the Lord." Koran, c. 74. Gagnier, b. i, c. 
 9, pp. 112, 119. 
 
 clared that he would be the brother and 
 assistant of the prophet. " I," said he, 
 " O prophet of God, will be thy vizir ; 
 I myself will beat out the teeth, pull out 
 the eyes, rip open the bellies, and cut off 
 the legs, of all those who shall dare to 
 oppose thee." The prophet caught the 
 young proselyte in his arms, exclaiming, 
 "This is my brother, my deputy, my 
 successor ; shew yourselves obedient 
 unto him." At which apparently extra- 
 vagant command, the assembly broke 
 up in confusion, testifying their mirth 
 and astonishment by bursts of laughter*. 
 Not discouraged by the failure of this 
 his first public attempt, Mahomet began 
 now to preach openly before the people. 
 He discovered to them that he was com- 
 missioned by the Almighty to be his 
 prophet on the earth, to assert the unity 
 of the Divine Being, to denounce the 
 worship of images, to recall the people 
 to the true and only religion, to bear the 
 tidings of paradise to the believing, and 
 to threaten the deaf and unbelieving with 
 the terrible vengeance of the Lord f . 
 His denunciations were efficacious ; as 
 they were well fitted for the imaginations 
 of an ignorant people. " Because he is 
 an adversary to our signs, I will afflict 
 him with grievous calamities; for he 
 hath devised contumelious expressions 
 to ridicule the Koran may he be cursed. 
 How maliciously hath he prepared the 
 same ! may he be cursed. I will cast 
 him to be burned in hell. And what 
 shall make thee understand what hell is ? 
 It leaveth not any thing unconsumed, 
 neither doth it suffer any thing to escape ; 
 it scorcheth men's flesh : over the same 
 are nineteen angels appointed. We 
 have appointed none but angels to 
 
 preside over hell-fire." 
 
 ' Verily, we have prepared for the un- 
 believers chains, and collars, and burn- 
 ing fire." " Verily, those 
 
 who disbelieve our signs, we will surely 
 cast out to be broiled in hell-fire : and 
 when their skins shall be well burned, 
 we will give them other skins in ex- 
 change, that they may taste the sharper 
 torment $." These terrible sufferings were 
 to be the lot of the wicked the wicked 
 were those whom Mahomet disliked. 
 " Those who dwell in gardens, i.e. para- 
 dise, shall ask one another questions con- 
 cerning the wicked, and shall ask the 
 wicked themselves, saying, what hath 
 
 * Sale, Pre. Disc, s. 2, p. 57. Mod. Univ. Hist, 
 b. 1, c. 1, p. 47. 
 
 t Koran, c. 78, p. 472, Sale's trans. 
 
 t Koran, c. 74, p. 470, c. 76, p,474, and c. 4, p. 10. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET, 
 
 19 
 
 brought you into hell ? They shall answer, 
 we were not of those who were constant in 
 prayer ; neither did we feed the poor ; 
 and we waded in vain disputes, with 
 the fallacious reasoners ; and we denied 
 the day of judgment, till death overtook 
 us : and the intercession of interceders 
 shall not avail them. What aileth them, 
 therefore, that they turn aside from the 
 admonition of the Koran ? *" To deny 
 the efficacy of the Koran ; to dispute 
 upon the truth and reasonableness of his 
 mission, were naturally in Mahomet's 
 eyes the most heinous sins. By his 
 friendly voice the people were warned 
 of the dangers of disbelief; and besought 
 by his moving eloquence to avoid,' eter- 
 nal damnation, by putting faith in the 
 Apostle of God. 
 
 Among the most strange of Mahomet's 
 stories promulgated at this period of his 
 life, was the tale of his admission into 
 the seven heavens, under the guidance 
 of the angel Gabriel ; through whose 
 care and diligence he had been enabled 
 in the course of one night to behold all 
 the wonders of the heavenly regions, and 
 to converse with the Almighty himself. 
 The account which tradition has handed 
 down of this extravagant fable is a tissue 
 of the most dull and ridiculous absur- 
 dities ; a story, in short, as destitute of 
 fancy as of skill. We may easily sup- 
 pose that a man of a poetic imagination 
 could have composed a description of a 
 journey through the boundless and glo- 
 rious regions of heaven, captivating and 
 misleading the minds of his hearers, by 
 its splendid imagery, its gorgeous and 
 startling embellishments. We may con- 
 ceive him to have possessed them with 
 vague and indefinite, but still with vast 
 and wondering, conceptions of the mag- 
 nificence of the celestial kingdom ; of 
 the power and beauty of its inhabitants ; 
 of its own dazzling and unspeakable 
 glories. A well managed description, of 
 such a character, might have had a 
 powerful effect upon a rude and sensitive 
 people. But the description which tra- 
 dition has handed down, as given by 
 Mahomet of his celestial journey, pos- 
 sesses no such poetical merits. He has 
 described every thing upon a most extra- 
 vagant scale ; but unwisely endeavours 
 to convey definite conceptions of the 
 marvels he pretended to have witnessed. 
 He relates by rule and measure, leaving 
 nothing to the imaginations of his hearers. 
 This was so long that so broad this 
 had so many eyes this so many tongues ; 
 
 * Koran, c. 74, p. 471, 
 
 and while he thus strives to swell the 
 imagination by mere arithmetic, he ren- 
 ders himself and his description ridicu- 
 lous. In the'first heaven he saw a cock so 
 large that his head reached to the second 
 heaven, which was at the distance of 
 five hundred days' journey, according to 
 the common rate of travelling on earth ; 
 his wings were large in proportion to 
 his height, and were decked with car- 
 buncles and pearls ; he crows so loud 
 every morning, that all the creatures on 
 earth, except men and fairies, hear the 
 tremendous sound. The second heaven 
 was all of gold ; and one of the angels 
 who inhabited it was so large, that the 
 distance between his eyes was equal to 
 the length of seventy thousand days' 
 journey. In the seventh heaven was an 
 angel having seventy thousand heads, 
 in every head seventy thousand mouths, 
 in every mouth seventy thousand tongues, 
 in every tongue seventy thousand voices, 
 with which day and night he was inces- 
 santly praising the Lord. Such were 
 the puerile conceptions of the prophet ! 
 Of this famous journey we shall give no 
 further account ; a more stupid fable it 
 is impossible to conceive; and which, 
 were it not evidence, would have de- 
 served no mention by the historian. It 
 satisfactorily proves three things, how- 
 ever, the poverty of the prophet's inven- 
 tion ; the unbounded extent of his im- 
 pudence ; and the extraordinary credu- 
 lity of his followers. 
 
 The fable at first met with no favour- 
 able reception ; its extravagance and its 
 absurdity were a little too glaring to be 
 immediately, and without trouble, acqui- 
 esced in. Not till Abubeker had de- 
 clared his complete and implicit reliance 
 in the truth of the sacred fable, did' the 
 votaries of the prophet venture to distrust 
 their understandings, and put faith in the 
 astounding assertions of the holy man. 
 Their faith was doubtless quickened by his 
 furious denunciations of eternal torments 
 against all who dared to disbelieve the 
 sublime and miraculous adventure : ter- 
 ror was the result of these denunciations, 
 proclaimed with vehemence and un- 
 blushing effrontery; and belief naturally 
 followed in the train of terror. And 
 thus the extravagant lie, which at first 
 threatened the rising religion with early 
 destruction, served, by a happy combina- 
 tion of circumstances, to contribute ma- 
 terially to its success *. 
 
 * They who desire to have a full description of this 
 wonderful tale may consult Gagnier, who is peculiarly 
 minute. Prideaux, moreover, does not let slip the 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 The apostle, who was at first derided, 
 came at length to be feared. The people 
 flocked to hear his doctrines, and as they 
 retired, wondering and believing, gene- 
 ral consternation reigned among the 
 governors of Mecca. Frightened by 
 his growing influence they imprudently 
 endeavoured to arrest the evil, by pu- 
 nishing the offender. For some time, 
 however, the power of Abu Taleb, the 
 prophet's uncle, defended him against 
 these hostile attacks, which served, by 
 manifesting the alarm and hatred of the 
 nobles, to increase Mahomet's fame 
 and importance. Persecution gave him 
 strength, by bringing him before the 
 public. Once known, he gained sym- 
 pathising listeners among the benevolent, 
 because a persecuted man ; and blindly 
 believing votaries among the ignorant 
 and fearful, because a bold and vehement 
 declaimer against wickedness, as well as 
 an eloquent describer of the horrible tor- 
 ments attached to unbelief. In the se- 
 venth year of his mission, the heads of 
 the tribe of Koreish made a solemn 
 league with one another, engaging them- 
 selves to have no commerce or connexion 
 with the families of Hashem and Al 
 Motalleb. While Abu Taleb lived the 
 league was of no avail ; the power of 
 the uncle defended the nephew against 
 the design of his enemies. At length at 
 the end of the seventh year Abu Taleb 
 died; and a few days after his death 
 Mahomet was left a widower, by the de- 
 cease of Cadijah. In his affliction he 
 termed this fatal year the year of mourn- 
 ing *. 
 
 The unprotected prophet was now 
 completely exposed to the attacks of his 
 enemies. His only safety was in flight, 
 and had not the city of Medina been 
 friendly to his case, the religion of Islam 
 would have been crushed in the bud. 
 The fame of Mahomet, however, had 
 extended far beyond the walls of his 
 native town. Distance, by shrouding 
 him in mystery, increased his influence. 
 While he was scorned at, derided 
 
 opportunity of dealing in the marvellous, and of 
 abusing the prophet. The ridiculous stories which 
 Mahomet coined for himself have notbeen considered 
 sufficient. Some peisons, probably the Greek Chris- 
 tians, forged a host of others ; among which, that of a 
 pigeon beingalways seated on the prophet's shoulder, 
 and communicating to him past, present, and coming 
 evils, holds a conspicuous station. To this Pope al- 
 ludes in the line 
 
 "Nay, Mahomet, the pigeon at thine ear." 
 Dunciad. 
 See Bayle, Art. Mahomet, rem. v. ; and Pocock, not. 
 in Spec. Arab. p. 186. 
 * Sale. Pre., Dis. sec. 2, p. 60. Abulfeda, p. 28. 
 
 at Mecca, he was worshipped at Me- 
 dina*. A secret deputation from the 
 city of Medina waited on the apostle, 
 and an alliance was entered into " dur- 
 ing two secret and nocturnal interviews, 
 on a hill in the suburbs of Mecca t." 
 Seventy-three men, and two women, 
 having professed the faith of Islam, as 
 well as some yet unbelievers, met the 
 prophet and proffered him assistance. 
 " What recompense," said they, ** have 
 we to expect should we fall in your de- 
 fence ?" " Paradise," exclaimed the 
 confident apostle. They promised him 
 fidelity and allegiance. 
 
 Abu Sophy an succeeded Abu Taleb 
 in the government of Mecca. In him 
 Mahomet found a mortal enemy to his 
 family, his religion, and himself. The 
 idols, against which Mahomet had 
 preached, were, by Abu Sophy an, de- 
 voutly revered ; and the new religion 
 abhorred as an incentive to the most 
 horrible sacrilege. No sooner was he 
 called to the head of the state than unde- 
 termined to exterminate both the apostle 
 and his religion. A council of the hos- 
 tile Koreish was convened, and the death 
 of Mahomet decided %. The prophet 
 declared that the angel Gabriel had re- 
 vealed to him the atrocious conspiracy. 
 We may safely suppose, nevertheless, 
 that a human spy revealed the secret. 
 However obtained, the information de- 
 termined Mahomet to seek safety in 
 flight ; but so closely was he watched 
 by his enemies, that he escaped only 
 through the devoted zeal of Ali, who, 
 wrapped in the green mantle of the 
 apostle, lay down upon his bed and de- 
 ceived the assassins, who besieged the 
 house of his friend. Our applause is 
 due to the intrepidity of the youthful 
 zealot, even though he was zealous in 
 favour of error. He who is willing to 
 offer up his life in defence of the prin- 
 ciples he deems correct, has made one 
 important step towards being a perfect 
 character ; he has the will even if he 
 have not the knowledge to be virtuous. 
 Mahomet, in the mean time, with his 
 faithful friend, Abubeker, escaped to the 
 cave of Thor, three miles from Mecca, 
 and there hid himself three days from 
 his pursuers. A cherished tradition of 
 the Arabs states, that the pursuers hav- 
 ing arrived at the mouth of the cave, 
 were deceived by the nest of a pigeon 
 
 * Mod. Univ. Hist., b. 1, c. 1, p. 84. 
 t Gibbon, Dec. and Fall, c. 50. Sale, Pre. Dis., 
 s. 2, p. 63. Abulfeda, Vit. Moh. p. 40. 
 | D'Herbelot, Bib. Orien., p. 445. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 
 made at its entrance, and by a web 
 which a spider had fortunately woven 
 across it; believing these to be suf- 
 ficient evidence that no human being 
 was within, they desisted from all further 
 examination. Mahomet and Abubeker 
 left the cave upon the departure of their 
 enemies, and after a toilsome journey, 
 arrived in safety at the friendly city of 
 Medina. This flight of their prophet 
 has become the Mussulmans' sera, the 
 well known Hejdira of the Moham- 
 medan nations*. 
 
 From a fugitive Mahomet became a 
 monarch ; no sooner had he arrived at 
 Medina, than he found himself at the 
 head of an army devoted to his person, 
 obedient to his will, and blind believers 
 in his holy office. The fugitives from 
 Mecca, and the auxiliaries of Medina, 
 (the two parties into which Mahomet's 
 followers were now divided) gathered 
 round their chief, and with friendly 
 emulation vied with each other in obe- 
 dience and in valour. To prevent all 
 jealousy between the brethren, Mahomet 
 wisely gave each one a friend and com- 
 panion from the rival band ; each fugi- 
 tive had for his brother one of the 
 auxiliaries. Their fraternity was con- 
 tinued in peace and in war, and during 
 the life of the prophet their union was 
 undisturbed by the voice of discord. 
 
 The first act of Mahomet after his 
 arrival at Medina shows at least his 
 policy, perhaps his devotion. He built 
 a temple in which he might celebrate 
 the offices of his religion, and publicly 
 pray and preach before the people. The 
 land upon which this temple or mosque 
 was built belonged to two orphans ; 
 and the enemies of Mahomet have not 
 failed to assert that he despoiled the 
 helpless children of their property. The 
 accusation, however, has been vehe- 
 mently denied, and we cannot but feel 
 that in a stranger, in one depending 
 entirely upon public estimation for his 
 defence, it would have been the height 
 of impolicy to have committed such an 
 act at such a time. That Mahomet was 
 a deep politician, no one has doubted ; 
 that to have robbed two orphans of 
 their property would have rendered him 
 and his religion unpopular is, we think, 
 equally indisputable. How then can 
 we believe him to have erred so egre- 
 giously at so critical a moment f ? 
 
 * Hejdira, in Arabic, signifies flight. According 
 to most authorities it happened 16th July, a. d. 6:22. 
 Bayle, art. Mah. Mod. Univ. Hist., b. 1, c. 1, p. 98. 
 
 + Sale, Pre. Disc, sec. 2, p. 67. Gibbon's Dec. 
 and Fall, c, 50, p, 127, Pri&au*, Yie de Mai;, p, 86, 
 
 & 1< 
 
 He now, in his own p^st&^fcftmbm 
 both the temporal and religious power ; 
 he was general of his armies,' tije*)ii<^6 
 of his people, and the religious 
 of his flock *. And so intense was the 
 devotion of his followers, that his spittle, 
 a hair that dropped from his person, the 
 water in which he washed himself, were 
 all carefully collected and preserved as 
 partaking of the apostle's holy virtue. 
 The deputy of the city of Mecca beheld 
 with astonishment this blind and devoted 
 obedience and veneration. " I have 
 seen," said he " the Chosroes of Persia, 
 and the Caesar of Rome, but never did 
 I behold a king" among his subjects like 
 Mahomet among his companions." 
 
 While the religion of Islam t had 
 more to fear than to hope from persecu- 
 tion, the precepts of Mahomet breathed 
 humility and benevolence. " Let there 
 be no violence in religion," was the com- 
 mand of the prophet in Mecca % ; but 
 in Medina, when at the head of an 
 army, and able to combat with his 
 enemies, he assumed a widely different 
 tone. " O true believers ! take your 
 necessary precaution against your ene- 
 mies , and either go forth to war in 
 separate parties, or go forth all together 
 in a body. . . . Let them, there- 
 fore, fight for the religion of God, who 
 part with the present life in exchange 
 for that which is to come ; for whoso- 
 ever fighteth for the religion of God, 
 whether he be slain or victorious, we will 
 surely give him great reward." . . . 
 "And when the months wherein ye are 
 not allowed to attack them, '. e. un- 
 believers, shall be passed, kill the idola- 
 ters, wheresoever ye shall find them, 
 and take them prisoners, and besiege 
 them, and lay wait for them in every 
 convenient place || ." The commands 
 of the prophet were followed to the let- 
 ter. The first warlike attempt of the 
 believers was, nevertheless, unsuccess- 
 
 * Koran, c. 4, p. 107. 
 
 f- Islam. The proper name of the " Mohammedan 
 religion, which signifies the resigning or devoting 
 one's self entirely to God and his service." Sale, 
 Koran, c. 3, p. 57. See also Pre. Dis., s. 4. p. 92. 
 Moslem. Musulman. "The Arabic word is Mosle- 
 milna, in the singular Moslem, which the Moham- 
 medans take as a title peculiar to themselves. The 
 Europeans generally write and pronounce it Musul- 
 man." (Sale, Kor. c. 2, p. 24.) Both words have 
 the same meaning as Islam, and are derived from th 
 same root. 
 
 % Koran, c. 2, p. 48. 
 
 This is explained by Sale to mean, be vigilant, 
 and provide yourselves with arms and necessaries. 
 Koran, c. 4, p. 107; and Sale's note. 
 
 || Koran, c. 4, pp. 108, 109, c.9, p. 238. The com. 
 mand to war against the enemies of the faith is re- 
 peated in chapters 2, 4, 8, 9, 22, and i"}* See also 
 Sale, Pre, Pise, p, }8& . 
 
 % 
 
 ** 
 
22 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ful. Mahomet having learned that a 
 caravan, the property of the hostile 
 Koreish, was on its way from Syria to 
 Mecca, dispatched his uncle, Hamza, 
 with a party of thirty horse to capture 
 it. Hamza, however, discovering the 
 caravan to be guarded by three hundred 
 men, desisted from his hostile enterprise, 
 and returned without the expected booty. 
 On the plain of Beder, Mahomet, at the 
 head of his troops, effaced the shame of 
 this failure. A rich caravan proceeding 
 to Mecca, and guarded by Abu Sophyan, 
 with between thirty and forty men, oc- 
 casioned the contest. The spies of 
 Mahomet informed him that this rich 
 and apparently easy prey was within his 
 grasp. He advanced with a few fol- 
 lowers in pursuit of it ; but before he 
 could overtake the unprotected band, 
 Abu Sophyan had sent for a reinforce- 
 ment from Mecca. A troop, consisting 
 of nine hundred and fifty men, among 
 whom were the chief persons of the city, 
 instantly obeyed the summons. Maho- 
 met -was posted between the caravan 
 and the coming succour, being able to 
 oppose to this formidable force no more 
 than three hundred and thirteen soldiers, 
 mounted for the most part on camels ; 
 some few (according to some authors, 
 not more than two) being mounted on 
 horses. Undismayed by this disparity 
 of force, Mahomet determined to try the 
 event of a battle, and risk his fortune 
 and perhaps his life upon the contest. 
 The troops were persuaded to engage 
 the superior forces of the enemy, and 
 for the present to abandon the tempting 
 prize of Abu Sophyan s rich caravan. 
 Mahomet animated them by his prayers, 
 and in the name of the Most High pro- 
 mised ihem certain victory. However 
 assured he might have been of divine 
 assistance, he was careful to let slip no 
 human means of securing success. An 
 entrenchment was made to cover the 
 flank of his troop, and a rivulet flowed 
 past the spot he had chosen for his en- 
 campment, and furnished his army with 
 a constant supply of water. When the 
 enemy appeared descending from the 
 hills, Mahomet ordered his soldiers to 
 the attack ; but before the armies 
 could engage, three combatants, Ali, Al 
 Hareth, and Hamza, on the side of the 
 Moslems, and three of the Koreish, 
 joined in single conflict. The Moslem 
 warriors were victorious, and thus gave 
 to both armies a presage of the coming 
 
 * Sale, note d. Koran, c, 3, p. 56. 
 
 engagement. The prophet, with Abube- 
 ker, at the commencement of the battle, 
 mounted a pulpit, fervently demanding 
 of God the assistance of Gabriel, and 
 three thousand angels * ; but when his 
 army appeared to waver, he started from 
 his place of prayer, mounted a horse, 
 and flinging a handful of dust into the 
 air, exclaiming, " May their faces be 
 confounded," rushed upon the enemy. 
 Fanaticism rendered his followers in- 
 vincible; the numerous forces of the 
 Koreish were unable to break the ranks 
 or resist the furious attacks of his con- 
 fiding soldiers". They fled, leaving 
 seventy of their principal officers dead 
 upon the field, and seventy prisoners in 
 the hands of the enemy*. Of the Mos- 
 lems, only fourteen were slain : the 
 names of the slaughtered warriors have 
 been handed down to posterity, and en- 
 rolled among the list of pious martyrs, 
 whom the faithful Mussulman is taught 
 to worship. The victorious army strip- 
 ped the dead bodies of their enemies, 
 insulted, and threw them into a well. 
 A more convincing proof of their bar- 
 barity and ignorance could not have 
 been desired. The child in his anger 
 beats the inanimate object of his dis- 
 pleasure ; the savage, equally ignorant, 
 and unable to conceive the lifeless 
 corse wholly destitute of will and 
 consciousness, satisfies his ferocious 
 vengeance, and exercises his brutal in- 
 genuity on the inanimate trunk of his 
 adversary. Only two of the prisoners, 
 however, were sacrificed to the anger of 
 the prophet. Al Nodar, and Okba, at 
 his command, suffered death by the 
 hand of Ali, the remainder were after- 
 wards ransomed by their relations. Part 
 of the caravan was captured, but the 
 greater portion arrived safely at Meccaf. 
 The spoils, however, arising from the 
 ransom of the prisoners, and the partial 
 plunder of the caravan, amounted to a 
 considerable sum ; the fifth part taken 
 for the prophet's share, being no less 
 than twenty thousand dirhems of silver^. 
 The Moslems now hoped to remain at 
 peace ; and for some time their expecta- 
 tions were fulfilled. Tradition says that 
 
 * Mod. Univ. Hist.,b. 1, e. 1, p. 108. 
 
 t lb. b. 1, c. 1, sec. 2, p. 110. 
 
 t Gibbon's Dec. and Fall, c. 50, p. 132. It would 
 seem that this sum was obtained in a subsequent 
 capture, and not from that of Abu Sophyan's caravan, 
 the greater part of which escaped at the battle of 
 Beder. Mod. Univ. Hist., b. 1, c. 1, sec. 2, p. 118. 
 Dirhem. "A dirheu. and a-half weighs a drachm ; 
 so that there are twelve to an ounce, weighing eight 
 drachms." UHerbelot, Bib. Orient. Art. Dirhem.^ 
 

 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 23 
 
 the disturber of this happy tranquillity 
 was a Jew, the son of Al-Ashraf, by 
 name Caab ; who being a poet, deplored 
 in touching verses the unhappy fate of 
 those enemies of Mahomet who fell at 
 the battle of Beder, and had the hardi- 
 hood to sing his poems to the people 
 within the walls of Medina. Mahomet, 
 when informed of Caab's conduct, ex- 
 claimed, " Who will deliver me from the 
 son of Al-Ashraf?" A ready instru- 
 ment was not wanting : Mohammed, the 
 son of Mosalama, answered, " I, O 
 Apostle of God, will rid you of him." 
 Caab was soon after murdered by Mo- 
 hammed, while hospitably entertaining 
 one of the assassin's followers. War 
 was immediately renewed *. 
 
 In the next "year, the third of the 
 Hejira, the Koreish assembled an army 
 of three thousand men, under the com- 
 mand of Abu Sophyan, and proceeded 
 to besiege the prophet in the city of 
 Medina. Mahomet determined to await 
 the attack within the walls of the city. 
 His former victory, however, had too 
 much elated his troops to allow them to 
 pursue this prudent course. They de- 
 manded of the prophet to be led out to 
 battle, and he unwisely yielded to their 
 clamorous supplication. Impelled also 
 by the same ardour that influenced his 
 followers, he unwarily promised them 
 eertain victory. The prophetic powers 
 of the Apostle of God were to be esti- 
 mated by the event. Mahomet in every 
 encounter seems to have manifested in 
 a high degree the talents of a general ; 
 his troops were always arranged in the 
 manner best suited to the occasion, and 
 he might fairly assert that he owed his 
 success as much to his own intellect as 
 to the valour of his soldiers. In the 
 present instance, his army, consisting of 
 about one thousand men, was advan- 
 tageously posted on the declivity of a 
 mountain, near Ohad, four miles from 
 Medina. Three standards were confided 
 each one to a separate tribe, while the 
 great standard was carried before the 
 prophet himself ; and a chosen band of 
 fifty archers were stationed in the rear 
 with peremptory orders to remain there, 
 till commanded to the attack by Maho- 
 met himself. The conflict commenced 
 by the Moslems charging down the hill, 
 and breaking through the enemy's ranks. 
 Victory or Paradise was the reward pro- 
 mised by Mahomet to his soldiers, and 
 they strove with frantic enthusiasm to 
 obtain the expected recomp ense. The 
 * Gag. Vie de Mab. pp. 35l7 
 
 line of the enemy was quickly disordered, 
 and an instant and easy victory seemed 
 about to crown the efforts of the Moslem 
 troops. At this moment the archers in 
 the rear, impelled by the hope of plun- 
 der, deserted their station, and scattered 
 themselves over the field. Khaled, an 
 experienced general of the Koreish, 
 seized the favourable opportunity ; and 
 furiously charging the army of Mahomet 
 on the flank, dispersed their disordered 
 and unguarded flanks, and turned the 
 fate of the day. The soldiers of Maho- 
 met began to give way in every direc- 
 tion ; Khaled called aloud that Mahomet 
 was slain, and the rout became general. 
 The prophet endeavoured in vain to 
 rally his broken troops : he fought with 
 desperate valour ; exposed his person, 
 where the danger appeared greatest ; 
 was wounded in the face by a javelin, 
 had two of his teeth beaten out by a 
 stone, was thrown from his horse, and 
 would inevitably have been slain, but 
 for the determined valour of a few chosen 
 adherents,, who rescued him from the 
 throng, and bore him away to a place of 
 safety. The day was utterly lost ; seventy 
 of his soldiers were slain, and his repu- 
 tation was in imminent peril. His fol- 
 lowers murmured, and asserted that the 
 will of the Lord had not been revealed 
 to him, since his confident prediction of 
 success had been followed by signal de- 
 feat. The prophet threw the blame upon 
 the sins of his people : the anger of the 
 Lord, he said, had fallen upon them, in 
 consequence of their security. The 
 Lord had determined to try who were 
 the true believers, who the faithless. 
 " Did ye imagine that ye should enter Pa- 
 radise, when as yet God knew not those 
 among you who fought strenuously in 
 his cause ; nor knew those who perse- 
 vered with patience *." By these miser- 
 able shifts he endeavoured to excuse the 
 falsity of his prophecy. Abu Sophy an, 
 however, did not pursue his success. 
 Eastern warfare depends upon so many 
 chances, that to account for this strange 
 neglect is impossible. In the east the 
 army that this week is victorious, may 
 by the next be melted away and dispersed. 
 They had not then, and they have not 
 now, any mode of regular warfare. No 
 provision is made for a long and conti- 
 nued plan of operations. A distant end, 
 to be attained by means of a series of 
 many intervening actions, is never con- 
 ceived by an eastern general. He as- 
 sembles a number of soldiers, and with 
 
 * Koran, c, 3. p. 80. 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 his tumultuary army hastens to a general 
 conflict. If successful enough to anni- 
 hilate his enemy by one blow, the object 
 of his enterprise is attained ; if not, it 
 must be referred to another and more 
 favourable opportunity. To keep his 
 army in the field, to feed, pay, and 
 clothe them during a year's campaign, 
 seems almost impossible. The different 
 armies of the Arabs were bands hastily 
 summoned on some sudden emergency ; 
 impelled by the hope of plunder they 
 readily followed to the field ; when de- 
 feated of their object, they as readily 
 dispersed. 
 
 At the commencement of the next year 
 war was again renewed, and Mahomet 
 was now successful. The mode in 
 which he freed himself from one of his 
 opponents at this period, deserves to be 
 recorded. Being informed that So- 
 phyan the son of Khaled was collecting 
 men for the purpose of attacking him, 
 he ordered Abdo'llah the son of 
 Onai's surnamed Dhu'l-Malldhrat, that 
 is, a man ready to undertake anything, 
 to assassinate Sophyan. Abdo'llah 
 obeyed his prophet's commands, and 
 murdered Sophyan in the valley of 
 Orsa. He immediately returned to 
 Mahomet, who upon hearing the suc- 
 cess of his enterprise, gave him in sign 
 of his friendship the cane which he 
 usually carried*. 
 
 We have neither space nor inclination 
 to enumerate the various battles fought 
 by Mahomet during the five succeed- 
 ing years. Suffice it to say, that 
 according to the computation of some 
 authors, no less than twenty-seven ex- 
 peditions were undertaken, in which 
 he personally commanded ; and in 
 which nine pitched battles were fought f. 
 During the same period, he was besieged 
 in Medina, by the implacable Koreish ; 
 but, by his own skill, and the bravery 
 of his troops, he repelled all their attacks, 
 and eventually dissolved the confederacy 
 into which they had entered with, the 
 neighbouring tribes. In the sixth year 
 of the Hejira, with fourteen hundred 
 men, he meditated what he asserted 
 to be a peaceful pilgrimage to the holy 
 temple of Mecca. Entrance into the 
 city being refused by the people, the 
 prophet, in his anger, determined to 
 force his way. At this critical junc- 
 ture an ambassador was dispatched from 
 Mecca to demand a peace. The policy 
 of Mahomet induced him to lay aside 
 
 * Gag. Vie. de Mali. vol. i. p. 37-1. 
 t Sale, Pre. Disc s, 2, p. 68. 
 
 his determination of assaulting his na- 
 tive city, and to accept the peaceful offers 
 of his countrymen. A truce of ten years 
 was consequently concluded between the 
 prophet and the Koreish. 
 
 Tw r o years had hardly elapsed'when 
 Mahomet accused the people of Mecca 
 of a breach of their engagement. "When 
 a man is really desirous of quarrelling, 
 a pretext is never wanting. He was 
 now strong, and his enemies were weak. 
 His superstitious reverence for the city 
 of his nativity, and for the temple it 
 contained, served also to influence his 
 determination for war. The time since 
 the concluding of the truce had been 
 skilfully employed in seducing the ad- 
 herents of the Koreish, and converting 
 to his religion the chief citizens of 
 Mecca. With an army of ten thousand 
 men, he marched to besiege it, and no 
 sooner did he appear before the walls, 
 than the city surrendered at discretion. 
 Abu Sophyan, the inveterate enemy of 
 Mahomet and his religion, presented the 
 keys of the city to the conqueror ; and 
 yielding to the arguments enforced by the 
 scimitar of the furious Omar, he bowed 
 down before the prophet, and acknow- 
 ledged him to be the apostle of God. 
 Mahomet, though a conqueror, and an 
 impostor, was not cruel ; his anger was 
 directed rather against the gods of his 
 country, than its inhabitants. He de- 
 stroyed the whole of the idols, but exe- 
 cuted no more than three men and two 
 women belonging to the party of his 
 enemies. The chiefs of the Koreish 
 prostrated themselves before him, and 
 earnestly demanded mercy at his hands. 
 " What mercy can you expect from the 
 man whom you have wronged ?" ex- 
 claimed Mahomet, in reply to their sup- 
 plication. " We confide in the generosity 
 of our kinsman." " You shall not confide 
 in vain," was the politic, perhaps gene- 
 rous, reply of the impostor. " Be gone ; 
 you are safe : you are free." They were 
 thenceforth left unmolested, and places 
 of honour and trust were still confided 
 to their care *. 
 
 We have now reached the period at 
 which the religion of Mahomet may be 
 considered to have been permanently 
 settled. The conquest of Mecca and of 
 the Koreish was the signal for the sub- 
 mission of the rest of Arabia*!*. The 
 events of the prophet's after life cease, 
 therefore, to possess an interest for an 
 European reader. They were, for the 
 
 * Mod. Univ. Hist. b. 1, c. 1, p. 171. 
 t Idem, b. 1, c. 1, p. 191. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 25 
 
 most part, merely expeditions undertaken 
 for the purpose of reducing the petty 
 tribes who still resisted his authority ; 
 and were all of them eventually success- 
 ful. The influence and religion of Ma- 
 homet continued rapidly to extend : his 
 difficulties were over ; and the hour of 
 his prosperity has nothing to instruct or 
 to amuse the general reader. Between 
 the taking of Mecca and the period of 
 his death, not more than three years 
 elapsed. In that short period he had 
 destroyed the idols of Arabia ; had ex- 
 tended his conquests to the borders of 
 the Greek and Persian empires; had 
 rendered his name formidable to those 
 once mighty kingdoms ; had tried his 
 arms against the disciplined troops of 
 the former, and defeated them in a des- 
 perate encounter at Muta. His throne 
 was now firmly established, and an im- 
 petus given to the Arabian nations, that 
 in a few years induced them to invade, 
 and enabled them to subdue, a great 
 portion of the globe. India, Persia, 
 the Greek empire, the whole of Asia 
 Minor, Egypt, Barbary, and Spain, were 
 reduced by their victorious arms. And 
 although Mahomet did not live to see 
 such mighty conquests, he laid the first 
 foundations of this wide -spreading do- 
 minion, and established over the whole 
 of Arabia, and some parts of Syria, the 
 religion he had pursued. 
 
 One year before the taking of Mecca, 
 Mahomet had been poisoned by a Jewish 
 female at Chaibar. From the effects of 
 this poison he is supposed never after- 
 wards to have recovered. Day by day 
 he visibly declined, and at the end of 
 four years after that event, and in the 
 sixty-third year* of his age, it was evident 
 that his life was hastening to a close. 
 Some time previous, he was conscious 
 of the approach of death, and met it 
 with firmness and composure. Till 
 within three days of his end, he regularly 
 performed the service of his church, and 
 preached to his people. " 'If there be 
 any man,' said the prophet from the 
 pulpit, ' whom I have unjustly scourged, 
 I submit my own back to the lash of 
 retaliation. Have I aspersed the repu- 
 tation of any Mussulman ? let him pro- 
 claim my faults in the face of the con- 
 gregation. Has any one been despoiled 
 of his goods ? the little which I possess 
 shall compensate the interest and prin- 
 cipal of the debt.' ' Yes,' replied a 
 voice from the crowd, ' I am entitled 
 
 * Abulpharagius, Pocock's traas,, p, 13, 
 
 to three dramchs of silver.' Mahomet 
 heard the complaint, satisfied the de- 
 mand, and thanked his creditor that he 
 had accused him in this world rather 
 than at the day of judgment.*" He 
 enfranchised his slaves, and quietly 
 awaited the approach of death. The 
 violence of his fever, however, rendered 
 him delirious, and during one of his 
 paroxysms he demanded pen and ink, 
 to compose or dictate a divine book. 
 Omar, who was watching his dying 
 moments, refused his request, lest the 
 expiring prophet might dictate anything 
 that should supersede the Koran. The 
 traditions of his wives and companions 
 relate that at the hour of his death he 
 maintained the same character he had 
 borne through life. He declared that 
 Gabriel visited him, and respectfully 
 asked permission to separate his soul 
 from his body. The prophet granted 
 his request, and the agonies of death 
 came upon him. The blooming Ayesha, 
 the best beloved of his wives, hung ten- 
 derly over her expiring husband ; her 
 knee sustained his drooping head as 
 he lay stretched upon the floor ; she 
 watched with trembling anxiety his 
 changing countenance, and heard the 
 last broken sounds of his voice. Re- 
 covering from a swoon, into which the 
 agony of his pains had thrown him, 
 with a calm and steady gaze, he raised 
 his eyes to heaven, but with faltering 
 accents exclaimed, " O ! God, pardon 
 my sins. Yes, I come among my fellow 
 labourers on high." He then sprinkled 
 his face with water, and quietly expired. 
 At Medina, in the very chamber where 
 he breathed his last, the piety of his 
 votaries deposited his remains, and 
 erected over them a simple and un- 
 adorned monument I*. Medina, on ac- 
 count of the precious relics of the 
 prophet, has become sacred in the eyes 
 of all Moslem nations, and holds the 
 second place among the cities of the 
 earth. And the pious pilgrim on his 
 way to Mecca increases the worth of his 
 pilgrimage if he turn aside to visit also 
 the city which contains the ashes of 
 Mahomet. 
 
 Sect. IV. With the succeeding re- 
 volutions of the Arabian empire our 
 
 * Gibbon, c. 50, p. 144. 
 
 t Concerning the absurd stories of the hanging 
 coffin of Mahomet we shall say nothing, our space 
 being too precious to be spent in such idle discussions. 
 To those who are desirous of information on this' 
 point, we recommend the article Mahomet, inBayle, 
 note dd. Niebuhr says, "the tomb is of plain masou 
 work, in the form of a chest ; and this is all the 
 monument." Travels, c. 68, p. 92, Pink. Coll. 
 
26 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 present purpose has no connexion. Our 
 task is finished at the death of Maho- 
 met, and all that now remains for us to 
 perform is to estimate his character. 
 
 Mahomet found his countrymen living 
 under certain institutions, following a 
 certain code of morals and of law, and 
 professing a certain rude religion. These 
 institutions, through his instrumentality, 
 all underwent a material alteration. Did 
 he by this alteration improve the situa- 
 tion of his countrymen? and if so, to 
 what extent did he improve it ? These 
 are the questions by which his worth 
 must be judged ; and they can be fully 
 and fairly answered, only when we have 
 carefully examined the institutions he 
 framed as they severally regard the go- 
 vernment, the laws, the religion, the 
 morals and the manners of his country- 
 men. By summing up his excellencies 
 and defects in each and all of these de- 
 partments, we shall alone be able to 
 estimate the public character of the 
 man. His private character must be 
 judged by his adherence to those rules 
 of morality which his people adopted, 
 and which his own judgment afterwards 
 approved. 
 
 The government of his country Ma- 
 homet left as faulty as he found it. 
 Previous to his mission the people had 
 been subject to the sway of powerful 
 nobles, whose dominion was uncon- 
 trolled either by established forms of 
 government, or "by established laws. 
 The petty despotisms of the nobles were 
 by Mahomet united under one head ; but 
 the rude mind of the barbarian was 
 unable to conceive any other means of 
 governing his distant provinces than to 
 delegate his own despotic power to the 
 governors he appointed to rule over 
 them. The separate provinces, there- 
 fore, though they now owed obedience 
 to one and the same distant monarch, 
 were, nevertheless, ruled as before, each 
 by its own petty despot. Supported by 
 the authority of a mighty empire, and 
 influenced in his private manners, in 
 his expenditure and in his public con- 
 duct, by the example of his sublime 
 original, the petty tyrant lost no particle 
 of his mischievousness ; oppression, as 
 before, was the lot of the unfortunate 
 multitude *. 
 
 That Mahomet established no other 
 
 * A more abominable race of governors never ex- 
 isted than the lieutenants of the Caliphs, who suc- 
 ceeded Mahomet. A history of their cruelties may 
 be found in Ockley's J Hist, of the Saracens, vol. ii. 
 reiga of Moawiyah 1. 
 
 form of administration than the usual 
 despotism I of oriental nations, even 
 for the central government, need not 
 excite our astonishment. For although 
 superior to his countrymen in the 
 qualifications requisite to lead and 
 impose upon a barbarous people, he 
 was possessed of little really useful 
 knowledge. He had just arrived at 
 that degree of knowledge which ren- 
 ders a man sensible of the necessity of 
 some government ; of some person to 
 lead the armies of his nation in war, and 
 to adjudge their differences in peace ; 
 beyond this he had made no advance. 
 He knew not that the same circum- 
 stances which render a governor neces- 
 sary, create also a necessity that some 
 securities should exist against the abuse 
 of power by the governor himself. If 
 he was thus ignorant, his merits as a 
 legislator were of the lowest descrip- 
 tion ; if he were not, he was culpably in- 
 different. 
 
 The glare and pomp of constant vic- 
 tory, and wide- spreading conquests, are 
 too often able to attract the admiration, 
 and to disturb the judgment of the his- 
 torian. Whenever a nation has been 
 induced to unite its energies, and to 
 direct them to the annoyance and de- 
 struction of its neighbours, it is usually 
 thought that its government has of ne- 
 cessity been improved, and its people 
 rendered happy and prosperous. To 
 him, however, who will coolly investi- 
 gate the causes of a nations prosperity, 
 war, in every shape, must appear the 
 most tremendous of human miseries. 
 The happiness of a people depends upon 
 means of enjoyment, which, in by far 
 the greater number of cases, are the 
 produce of industry : industry employed 
 in deriving from the soil the productions 
 of nature, and fashioning them for use 
 according to our several wants and de- 
 sires. But the devastations of war dis- 
 turb the peaceful vocations of the in- 
 dustrious artisan and agriculturist ; its 
 expenses swallow up the produce of 
 their labour; that which ought to be 
 employed in reproduction is thrown 
 away in the maintenance of armies; 
 and while the glory of the nation is in- 
 creased, while the wreath of victory is, by 
 vulgar admiration, placed upon the brows 
 of its warriors, the people are reduced 
 to starving and the triumphs of the 
 successful general are purchased by the 
 misery of millions. Those who have 
 admired the mighty conquests of the 
 Arab prophet have seldom been at the 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 27 
 
 pains to learn whether the people of 
 Arabia were made happy by those con- 
 quests, or whether the nations subdued 
 by his victorious arms had their welfare 
 increased by having their fields overrun, 
 and their towns destroyed by his fero- 
 cious followers. What is usually termed 
 the increased national greatness of Ara- 
 bia, that is, its increased power of sub- 
 duing and destroying its neighbours, 
 entitles Mahomet to no respect. 
 
 KORAN. 
 
 The Koran must be considered as the 
 code of laws, religion, and morality, 
 which Mahomet, in his character of 
 legislator, promulgated to the people of 
 Arabia. It contains almost every thing 
 he left behind him in the shape of pre- 
 cept and instruction ; and such as it is, 
 was supposed by him, and is still thought 
 by his followers, to comprise all the in- 
 formation that is requisite for the happi- 
 ness of mankind. " It must be re- 
 marked, that, as the Alcoran is among 
 the Mussulmans the only book of law, 
 it consequently comprehends all their 
 civil, and, to speak according to our 
 own phraseology, all their canon law. 
 And as it comprehends also the truths 
 which they ought to believe, it follows 
 that a doctor in the law is, according to 
 them, a doctor in theology, and that the 
 two professions of law and theology are 
 amongst them inseparable. 
 
 " This law, upon which is founded all 
 the theology and all the jurisprudence 
 of the Mussulmans, is then comprised 
 in the Koran, in the same manner that 
 the law of the Jews is comprised in the 
 Five Books of Moses *." 
 
 When Mahomet first laid claim to 
 divine inspiration, he cunningly con- 
 trived to obtain in reality the power of 
 making laws. In name, indeed, he was 
 but the instrument by which the divine 
 decrees were made known to the world. 
 He informed his followers, and they be- 
 lieved him, that in the seventh heaven 
 there had been from everlasting a large 
 table, called the preserved table, on 
 which were recorded the commands of 
 the Almighty. From this table a copy 
 had been taken, and conveyed by the 
 angel Gabriel to the lowest heaven, on 
 the night of the divine decree. From 
 this copy, as Mahomet's necessities re- 
 quired, fragments were conveyed by in- 
 spiration to the prophet, and by him 
 were announced to his followers. As 
 
 * D'Herbelot, Bib. Orient. mot Jfss. 
 
 might have been expected, they were 
 connected intimately with Mahomet's 
 immediate interests ; were composed for 
 the momentary service ; they assumed no 
 regular form ; and possessed few of the 
 requisites to a complete and accurate 
 body of laws. These fragments, as we 
 have before stated, were, by the succeed- 
 ing caliphs, collected into one volume, 
 in the form of the present Koran. 
 
 The whole is divided into one hundred 
 and fourteen portions, which may pro- 
 perly be termed chapters; and these 
 again into smaller divisions, which may 
 with equal propriety be called verses. 
 
 There is not the slightest approxima- 
 tion to any thing like design or method 
 in either the larger or the smaller divi- 
 sions. Neither the time at which they 
 were revealed, nor the matter they con- 
 tain, was the rule by which they were 
 arranged ; they were, in fact, thrown 
 together without order or meaning. 
 The divisions of the chapters also are 
 equally faulty. One verse has seldom 
 any connexion with the preceding ; and 
 the same subject is in no case con- 
 tinued for a dozen verses in succession : 
 each one appears an isolated precept or 
 exclamation ; the tendency of which it 
 is difficult, the pertinence impossible, to 
 discover. 
 
 The first nine titles will convey to 
 the reader a fair conception of the skill 
 in arrangement and nomenclature mani- 
 fested by the prophet's followers. 
 
 I. The Preface. 2. The Cow. 3. The 
 Family of Iram. 4. Women. 5. Ta- 
 ble. 6. Cattle. 7. Al Araf. 8. The 
 Spoils. 9. The Declaration of Immu- 
 nity. 
 
 The language of the book, if we may 
 judge by the translations we possess, is 
 by no means superior to its arrange- 
 ment. The Arabians themselves de- 
 clare it to be beyond competition. No- 
 thing inferior to the divinity, say they, 
 could have composed such magnificent 
 sentences. Mahomet himself was so 
 convinced of the beauty of his style, 
 that he boldly advanced its perfection as 
 the most striking proof of the authen- 
 ticity of his mission. " The Koranists, 
 or persons attached to the Koran, 
 find nothing eloquent or excellent out 
 of the Book. They assert that Lebid, 
 one of the most famous poets of the 
 Arabs, became a convert upon the read- 
 ing of three or four verses of the second 
 chapter, which he believed inimitable 
 in their style. These Koranists are 
 great enemies to the philosophers, par- 
 
28 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ticularly to metaphysicians" and school- 
 men. They condemn both Averroes and 
 Avicenna, the two greatest ornaments of 
 Moslemism ; and also Plato and Aris- 
 totle*." We suspect, however, that the 
 Arabians are as ignorant of style as of 
 method. Rhapsody is in no place less 
 desirable than in a body of laws. The 
 expression of a law should be precise, 
 clear, complete, and brief. It would be 
 difficult to discover any of these qualities 
 in any portion of the Koran. To an 
 Arabian ear the language may probably 
 possess beauties that none but an Ara- 
 bian can feel. But these delicate graces 
 of style, though, in poetry, of infinite im- 
 portance, are of secondary, perhaps, no 
 importance whatever in a book of laws. 
 It is more than probable, also, that even 
 these graces are exaggerated, and that 
 fashion makes an Arabian pretend to 
 feel beauties which in reality he never 
 discovered. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 One thing it will be necessary to pre- 
 mise respecting the standard to which 
 we intend to refer the religion of the 
 impostor. The religion of Mahomet, 
 unfortunately for the largest portion of 
 the human race, was not the true re- 
 ligion. As a means of salvation, 
 therefore, it is worse than useless : we 
 know too well that it cannot save men 
 hereafter, we need only inquire if it can 
 possibly make them happier in this life. 
 
 On examining the precepts of the 
 Koran, we are astonished how little was 
 either added to or altered by Mahomet 
 in the ancient belief and institutions of 
 the Arabs ; and, moreover, we cannot 
 but feel sensible that these alterations 
 and additions were scarcely, if at all, for 
 the better. The religion of Mahomet, 
 as contra-distinguished from that of his 
 countrymen, was marked by three pecu- 
 liarities : the first was, that he esta- 
 blished the worship of a single God ; the 
 next, that he set himself up for his in- 
 spired minister ; the third, that he com- 
 manded his followers to propagate their 
 belief by the sword. The first of these, 
 viewed in conjunction with his other 
 doctrines, was little more than a nominal 
 improvement, the two last evidently mis- 
 chievous. 
 
 The wild Indian, who, in the sun, 
 fancies he beholds the sole governor of 
 the universe, and to him alone pays his 
 
 adoration, believes evidently in a single 
 god ; but no one can say that he be- 
 lieves in the only true God. His god is 
 a phantasy, and may be a terrible phan- 
 tasy. The ignorant savage may fancy 
 him a being endowed, not with mild and 
 merciful, but malignant and revengeful 
 qualities. If to this savage there should 
 come some eloquent but half-instructed 
 philanthropist, who should teach him 
 that, instead of one such terrible Divi- 
 nity, there were two, whose pleasure was 
 creating happiness not misery ; who, in 
 their beneficent solicitude, fashioned this 
 wonderful universe, in order to enjoy the 
 spectacle of a world of happy creatures ; 
 can we believe that the religion of the 
 savage would not be improved, though 
 now he should offer up his orisons to 
 two divinities instead of one ? Maho- 
 met, in circumscribing the number of 
 the Arabian gods, altered not their cha- 
 racter. He left them as he found them 
 easily irritated, with difficulty ap- 
 peased; revengeful and capricious; to 
 be propitiated rather by ceremonies than 
 by virtuous actions ; more interested in 
 the proper cut of a votary's nails, or in 
 the regular prostrations of his body, than 
 in the happiness he enjoyed himself, or 
 in the conduct he pursued towards others. 
 There were seven things in which the 
 faithful Mussulman was to believe ; four 
 things which he was to perform, only 
 one of which was connected with the 
 temporal welfare of himself or his fel- 
 lows. 
 
 1. He was to believe in Mahomet's 
 God; 2. in Mahomet as his prophet; 
 3. in his angels; 4. in his scriptures; 
 5. in his prophets ; 6. in the resurrec- 
 tion and day of judgment ; 7. in God's 
 absolute decree and predetermination 
 of good and evil. 
 
 His imposed performances were 
 
 1. Prayer, under which were compre 
 hended the washings and purifications ; 
 
 2. Alms; 3. Fastings; and, 4. Pilgri- 
 mages to Mecca*. 
 
 " There is no circumstance con- 
 nected with a religious system more 
 worthy of attention than its morality 
 than the ideas which it inculcates 
 respecting merit and demerit; purity 
 and impurity, innocence and guilt. 
 If those qualities which [render a man 
 amiable, respectable, and useful as a 
 human being ; if wisdom, beneficence, 
 self-command, are celebrated as the 
 
 * DiHerbelot, mot Alcokan, p. 81, 
 
 f Sale, Pre, Pise, sec, 4, p. 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 20 
 
 chief recommendations to the favour of 
 the Almighty ; if the production of hap- 
 piness is steadily and consistently repre- 
 sented as the most acceptable worship 
 of the Creator, no other proof is requi- 
 site, that they who framed, and they 
 who understand this religion, have ar- 
 rived at high and refined notions of an 
 all-perfect Being*." Taking this ob- 
 servation for our standard, it requires 
 little penetration to discover that the 
 conceptions of Mahomet respecting the 
 requisites for a perfect religion, were 
 those of an ignorant barbarian. Through- 
 out the Koran, the greatest possible 
 stress is laid upon the necessity of a 
 belief in Mahomet's pretended mission ; 
 all other virtues are useless if this single 
 point of the prophet's divine appoint- 
 ment be not steadily fixed in the mind, 
 and constantly present to the imagi- 
 nation of the aspirant to everlasting 
 life. But while belief in the pretended 
 prophet is thus exalted to the highest 
 point the imagination can conceive, the 
 really useful qualities are placed low 
 down in the scale of importance. The 
 consequence is, that the votary is care- 
 less of his conduct so long as he is 
 fortunate enough to preserve a belief 
 of the proper description. The faithful, 
 that is the believing, Mussulman is in no 
 doubt concerning his reception into the 
 heavenly regions, if, while in the minor 
 consideration of virtuous conduct, he 
 might be wanting, he should have strictly 
 followed the ceremonious observances 
 of his religion, and firmly believed in 
 the impostures of his prophet. This 
 assertion is amply borne out by expe- 
 rience. A Mussulman proverb con- 
 demns every man as untrustworthy who 
 has performed the pilgrimage to Mecca. 
 That general precepts may be found 
 in the Koran, which, in emphatic lan- 
 guage, command men to be virtuous, 
 cannot be denied; but it must be re- 
 membered that no legislator ever deli- 
 berately, in words, recommended vice. 
 A general command to be virtuous is of 
 little service, and should by no means 
 receive our approbation till we have 
 learned what, in the legislator's opinion, 
 is deemed to be virtuous. The great 
 object of every legislator is to enforce 
 the observance of what he commands ; 
 that observance he would consider 
 virtue, though he should command his 
 subjects to slay all who wore clothes or 
 
 professed opinions differing from their 
 own. These vague and general pre- 
 cepts, then,' may be considered as 
 neither beneficial nor otherwise: no 
 matter how emphatic, how beautiful 
 may be the language in which they are 
 conveyed. The circumstance really im- 
 portant is the conduct which the legis- 
 lator has enjoined, and to which he has 
 attached the character of virtue. We 
 must learn what acts the legislator con- 
 siders most acceptable to the Divinity ; 
 what acts he recommends to the appro- 
 bation of mankind. We again quote 
 Mr. Mill. 
 
 " If we search a little further, we shall 
 discover, that nations do not differ so 
 much from one another in regard to a 
 knowledge of morality and its obliga- 
 tions (the rules of morality having been 
 taught among nations in a manner re- 
 markably similar), as in the various de- 
 grees of steadiness, or the contrary, with 
 which they assign the preference to moral 
 above other acts. Among rude nations 
 it has almost always been found that re- 
 ligion has served to degrade morality by 
 advancing to the place of greatest honour 
 those external performances, or those 
 mental exercises, which more imme- 
 diately regard the Deity ; and with 
 which, of course, he was supposed to be 
 more peculiarly delighted. On no occa- 
 sion, indeed, has religion obliterated the 
 impressions of morality, of which the 
 rules are the fundamental laws of hu- 
 man society. It has everywhere met 
 with the highest applause, and no where 
 has it been celebrated in more pompous 
 strains than in places where the most 
 contemptible, or the most abominable 
 rites have most effectually been allowed 
 to usurp its honours. It is not so much, 
 therefore, by the mere words in which 
 morality is mentioned, that we are to 
 judge of the mental perfection of diffe- 
 rent nations, as by the place which it 
 clearly holds in the established scale of 
 meritorious acts *." 
 
 From the list of actions we have given, 
 as necessary to a perfect Mussulman, it 
 is obvious that Mahomet established a. 
 scale of meritorious acts, in which idle, 
 ridiculous, useless, and sometimes mis- 
 chievous observances occupy the chief 
 place, while all really useful actions are 
 passed over as unimportant. We need 
 no further proof of the low character 
 both of his religion and his morality. 
 
 * Mill's Hist, of British India, b. 2. c. 6. p. 263. * Hist, of Brit, India, b. ii., c. C, pp. 2/8, 2?9. 
 
30 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 One mischievous portion of his reli- 
 gion must not be forgotten, viz., the 
 command to propagate it by force*. If 
 there be one means more effectual than 
 another of keeping men in perpetual 
 ignorance, and consequent misery, it is 
 to make truth and justice always the 
 portion of the strongest. If, to the set- 
 tlement of contending opinions, force 
 alone be necessary, it is evident that the 
 correctness of either is a matter of no 
 moment. Consequently to discover whe- 
 ther an opinion be founded in truth will 
 never be the aim of the disputant. The 
 measurement of his own and his adver- 
 sary's powers, is the circumstance that 
 will concern him ; he will be careless 
 concerning the propriety of his belief, so 
 long as his arm is the stronger ; and 
 hatred the most violent will arise in his 
 mind against all who do not agree with 
 him, inasmuch as non- accordance with 
 his opinion implies a contempt of his 
 power. He will learn to attach to words 
 and symbols immeasurable importance, 
 for they will be all that he can under- 
 stand. His mind will be shut against 
 conviction ; and turned with implacable 
 animosity against every one who hoists 
 not his standard, or who is not attached 
 to his formula. Every bad passion will 
 be generated in his mind ; irascible, 
 impatient of contradiction, and revenge- 
 ful, he will be ignorant himself, and 
 determined to keep others so ; will re- 
 sist every improvement, as an attack 
 upon his creed, and invariably weigh 
 every man's worth, not by his actions, 
 but by the words of his belief. 
 
 The Arabians, before the appearance 
 of Mahomet, were a tolerant people. 
 They forced none to believe as they be- 
 lieved ; but lived in harmony and friend- 
 ship with persons of every persuasion. 
 In the retired cities of Arabia, the Chris- 
 tian, the Jew, and the Pagan, all found 
 a refuge ; and not till the persecuting 
 spirit of Islam was established, were 
 they disturbed in their hitherto peace- 
 ful abode. Arabia, however, became 
 through Mahomet divided against itself ; 
 and to the many already existing causes 
 of dispute were added the direful animo- 
 sities of religion. 
 
 * The following saying of Ali raises a vivid con- 
 ception of the success of Mahomet's preaching on this 
 head: " Holy wars are the pillars of religion, and 
 the highways of the happy ; and to' them who are en- 
 gaged in them, the gates of heaven shall be open." 
 (.Ockley's Trans, of Ali's Sayings, cxxxi.) 
 
 LAW. 
 
 Nothing but the prejudices of education 
 could make a reasonable man look upon 
 the Koran as a book of jurisprudence 
 capable of conveying instruction to any 
 but a nation of savages. Deficient in 
 form ; deficient in clearness ; incom- 
 plete, it possesses not one single quality 
 requisite to a body of law. In the midst 
 of a vast farrago of nonsense, hidden 
 amidst unmeaning explanations, and 
 dark mysterious prophecies, there some- 
 times appears a command respecting 
 the distribution of property, or the pu- 
 nishment of offenders. But no expla- 
 nations are given no regular descrip- 
 tion of the means by which property may 
 be acquired ; no enumeration of those 
 by which the rights to it may be lost, is 
 even attempted. The rights of indivi- 
 duals, in their several capacities, to the 
 services of others, are nowhere distinctly 
 mentioned ; nor is there any the most 
 distant approximation to a systematic 
 view of the several obligations to which 
 it was intended to subject the mem- 
 bers of the community. As occasion 
 prompted, or when a dispute happened, 
 Mahomet was accustomed to issue a 
 revelation, which answered for the im- 
 mediate purpose. But the original un- 
 written customs of the Arabs remained 
 in full force, receiving little modification 
 from the decrees of the prophet. One 
 advantage, and one alone, he may be 
 supposed to have originated, his were 
 written decrees ; it was a commence- 
 ment for a body of laws, though a rude 
 and imperfect one. This benefit, how- 
 ever, is more than Counterbalanced by 
 the evil of their being irrevocable. What 
 the ignorant barbarian instituted, suc- 
 ceeding generations have been obliged 
 to retain. No matter how absurd, how 
 injurious the decree, religion commands 
 the faithful Moslem to abide by it. The 
 Almighty was its author, and he is all- 
 wise ; and, moreover, is as wise at one 
 time as another. How, then, shall we 
 pretend to amend the divine ordination, 
 or fancy that he himself need amend it ? 
 The conclusion is irresistible, provided 
 the premises be allowed. The nations 
 who have assumed the Moslem faith 
 have consequently remained, and, while 
 professing it, will remain, barbarians. 
 
 Into the particular laws which Ma- 
 homet established we do not intend 
 to examine. That many of them were 
 useful cannot be denied; but to esta- 
 
LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 31 
 
 blish them argued no great wisdom on 
 his part, whilst the loose and uncertain 
 manner in which they were promulgated 
 shows that he himself attached little 
 importance to their establishment. Suc- 
 ceeding ages have, in some degree, im- 
 proved upon this rude system of law ; 
 Out the improvement has been effected 
 by the increasing civilization of the 
 people, which has advanced in spite, 
 not in consequence, of the Koran. As 
 the opinions of the people have become 
 more enlightened, better interpretations 
 have been put upon the sacred volume ; 
 it has thus, in appearance, kept pace 
 with the improvement of the people. 
 From the obscure style in which the 
 holy book is written, it is liable to se- 
 veral interpretations; in a barbarous 
 age, a barbarous interpretation was 
 the one chosen ; but when succeeding 
 times revolted at these abominable pre- 
 cepts, the interested clergy declared that 
 their predecessors had been mistaken ; 
 that the true spirit of the Islam religion 
 and law had been misunderstood. It 
 has nevertheless constantly, and for the 
 most part successfully, withstood all im- 
 provement. The amelioration in its 
 tenets has been rare ; and has never 
 taken place till the bigoted priesthood 
 foresaw that further opposition would 
 be dangerous. 
 
 Even from this hasty and imperfect 
 review of Mahomet's actions as a legis- 
 lator, the reader will be able to form a 
 tolerably correct estimate of his public 
 character. That he was a barbarian, 
 unskilled in the sciences of which he 
 professed himself the inspired teacher, 
 and deserving a very small portion of ap- 
 plause, as having advanced the civiliza- 
 tion of his people beyond the point at 
 which he found it, is abundantly mani- 
 fest : that he was superior to the age in 
 which he lived may be believed from the 
 success of his imposture. Among a 
 people so rude as the Arabs, however, a 
 very slight superiority was sufficient to 
 render him thus successful. His talents 
 contributed to his own fortune, not to 
 his nation's improvement ; he was skilled 
 in whatever was necessary for his per- 
 sonal aggrandisement ; in whatever was 
 useful to others he was miserably de- 
 ficient. 
 
 Of his private character we need say 
 little. He has usually been branded 
 with opprobrium for not conforming to 
 established rules of morality, of which 
 unhappily he was totally ignorant. For 
 
 this, assuredly, he deserved no repre- 
 hension. That, however, for which he 
 does deserve the severest reprehension, 
 is his departure from the morality which 
 he approved and adopted. The moral 
 code of a people must be judged by its 
 approximation to that perfect standard 
 which provides completely for the hap- 
 piness of mankind ; but the moral cha- 
 racter of a particular man must be 
 judged by the steadiness of his adherence 
 to that code which he considers the cor- 
 rect one. 
 
 His unbounded gratification of his 
 amorous propensities has been urged as 
 a proof of his immorality. In this, 
 however, he followed the manners of his 
 countrymen: among them it was no 
 crime to maintain as many female slaves 
 and wives as their wealth permitted, and 
 their desires prompted. Mahomet, in 
 acting up to the measure both of one 
 and the other, offended against no rule 
 of morality with which he was ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 Mahomet was a murderer and an 
 impostor. He prompted and ap- 
 proved of the assassination of So- 
 phy an and Caab. It must, however, be 
 recollected that, among the barbarous 
 Arabians, the same carefulness of life 
 was not inculcated as among a civilized 
 people ; and the prophet, in getting rid 
 of his enemies, did not outrage the feel- 
 ings of his friends or his enemies. We 
 cannot, indeed, but detest the morality 
 of a people who tolerated such conduct, 
 and also hold in exceedingly low esti- 
 mation the civilization of him, who, pre- 
 tending to improve that morality, upheld 
 and practised the very worst portion of 
 its tenets. 
 
 That Mahomet was an impostor cannot 
 be doubted. In the early part of his 
 public life he might have fancied himself 
 somewhat peculiarly gifted ; but that his 
 self-delusion should have continued to 
 the later years of his life, to such an 
 extent as to acquit him of fraud, is ut- 
 terly impossible. His story of the 
 heavenly journey was a fiction, which 
 nothing but absolute madness could 
 have permitted him to believe. More- 
 over, the constant visits of the angel 
 Gabriel, precisely at the critical moment 
 when his aid was needed, are sufficient 
 evidence of a perfect absence of all self- 
 delusion. But, being an impostor, did 
 he employ the power he acquired to the 
 advantage of his people or to his own 
 aggrandisement? He exalted himself 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 to a throne, and, possibly, when his own 
 interests were not concerned, did, as far 
 as his abilities enabled him, further the 
 welfare of his people. He was not cruel, 
 nor sanguinary : his conquests were 
 generally speaking marked by no but- 
 chery* ; nor was his government a 
 tyrannical one. In his private life he 
 was mild and gentle ; affectionate to 
 
 * Like other conquerors, Mahomet* was occa- 
 sionally cruel : he was, nevertheless, as compared 
 with his age and nation, a merciful conqueror. See, 
 for specimens of his cruelties, Mod. Univ. Hist. 
 l>. 1. c 1. p. 131. 
 
 his friends and his wives ; and just and 
 honourable in his dealings. As a pri- 
 vate man, among his own people, he 
 was esteemed virtuous and beneficent. 
 For the most part .he wanted rather 
 the knowledge than the will to be an 
 estimable citizen, as well as a benefi- 
 cent legislator. His vices were the 
 vices of his age ; and, as he was little 
 superior in knowledge to the men by 
 whom he was surrounded, it is not won- 
 derful that he did not greatly surpass 
 them in virtue. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 It may be of service to point out to the reader 
 the authorities on this portion of history. In read- 
 ing to acquire knowledge respecting the fortunes of 
 mankind during any particular period, two objects 
 should be kept in view : 1st, to discover what events 
 occurred ; 2d, to learn the manners and institutions 
 of the people whose history we are investigating. A 
 detail of events without a knowledge of the institu- 
 tions and customs which must materially have in- 
 fluenced those events, is utterly barren of instruction. 
 Under this twofold division we shall therefore class 
 the authors which we are about to recommend. It 
 must be remembered that only such portions of his- 
 tory are here in contemplation, as are requisite to 
 elucidate the life of Mahomet. 
 
 I. Works giving the History of Events. 
 
 1. The first we should recommend is the first chap- 
 ter of the first book of the Modern Universal His- 
 tory, which as a repertory of facts is valuable. 
 The Arabic scholar could not do better than trace 
 out the Arabian authors there quoted. 
 
 2. Chapters 50 and 51 of Gibbon's Decline and 
 Fall. These contain an easy, graceful narrative of 
 the prophet's life and the comments of his followers, 
 a superficial account of his institutions, and a host of 
 authorities to which the industrious historical reader 
 would do well to refer. In Gibbon, moreover, will be 
 found a clear description of the situation of the 
 Greek empire, and all we know on the subject of 
 Persia during that period. 
 
 3. Gagnier's Life of Mahomet contains the fullest 
 account of his fortunes that any writer has left 
 us. Gagnier has written precisely as a Mussulman 
 might have written. He has related all the wonder- 
 ful stories that the Arabs report of their prophet ; 
 and coolly describes every act of atrocity without 
 observation or repugnance. 
 
 4. Prideaux will add little to our knowledge, 
 but his book is not long. 
 
 5. Ockley's History of the Saracens. A most re- 
 markable and original work, giving a lively picture 
 of the times ; containing some good, and many ex- 
 travagant observations : it well deserves perusal. 
 
 6. Pocock's translations will be read by a hardy 
 and determined investigator, but by no other. 
 
 f These sources will be sufficient ; and if more be re- 
 quired, the reader will be able, from the light they 
 afford, to discover the remainder for himself. 
 
 II. Works respecting the Manners, 
 Institutions, fyc. 
 
 1. Sale's Koran, and Preliminary Discourse. It 
 would be difficult to find a more excellent authority. 
 He has few prejudices, and relates a great deal. 
 The reader is presented with a copious and candid 
 detail, and is. generally left to form his own judg- 
 ment. Like too many other oriental scholars, how- 
 ever, Sale was much inclined to overrate the worth 
 of that literature of which he enjoyed a sort of mo- 
 nopoly. His facts may be relied on. 
 
 2. Ancient Universal History, vol. xviii. b. iv. 
 c. 21, written by Sale, and containing an excellent 
 account of the laws and customs of the Arabs. 
 
 3. Niebuhr's Travels. The best of oriental tra- 
 vellers : he relates honestly, and judges like a philo- 
 sopher. 
 
 4. D'Herbelot. Bibliot. Orientale. Of this work. 
 Gibbon says, " the Oriental Library of a Frenchman 
 would instruct the most learned Mufti of the east;" 
 and again, " for the character of the respectable 
 author consult his friend Thevenot (Voyages du 
 Levanr, part i. c. 1.) His work is an agreeable 
 miscellany, which must gratify every taste ; but I 
 can never digest the alphabetical order, and I find 
 him more satisfactory in the Persian than the Arabic 
 history." (Decline and Fall, c. 51.) 
 
 5. Not connected immediately with the present 
 portion of history, but an admirable guide neverthe- 
 less in our investigations, is Mill's British India, 
 b. 2. The author of the present work cannot omit this 
 opportunity to acknowledge the great debt he owes 
 to the profound historian of British India. 
 
 6. The French writers of the eighteenth century, 
 more particularly of the Encyclopedie, are unsafe 
 guides. Their conclusions are generally well drawn 
 from false data. So with Voltaire. 
 
 7. Of the various modern travels into Arabia it is 
 not necessary to speak specifically. They are all 
 amusing, and many of them instructive. Their facts 
 generally can be relied on. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 Chapter First. 
 
 Birth and Parentage of Wolsey. The 
 Nature of his Early Pursuits. The 
 Cause of his First Preferment. His 
 First Transaction in State Affairs. 
 His Increasing Honours. Advan- 
 tages derived by Wolsey from the 
 Events of the War. 
 
 Thomas Wolsey was born at Ipswich, 
 in the month of August, and in the year 
 1471. His father is generally supposed 
 to have been a butcher, but there is no 
 positive authority for the statement. 
 Great unnecessary importance has been 
 attached to this point by those authors 
 who have written upon the character 
 and actions of this celebrated man. It 
 is sufficient to know that Wolsey had 
 the merit of rising from an obscure sta- 
 tion ; that he was the son of a poor, 
 but honest man ; that his parents pos- 
 sessed the means of educating him re- 
 spectably ; but acquired not, happily for 
 him, the wealth to support him idly;* 
 yet these humble individuals lived per- 
 haps far more usefully and happily in 
 their obscurity, because more respecta- 
 ble, than their unprincipled illustrious 
 offspring. 
 
 It was not until two centuries after the 
 birth of Wolsey that any degree of curio- 
 sity concerning his origin was manifested 
 by the public. In 1 76 1 , it was ascertained 
 by one of his biographers, that the father 
 of Wolsey possessed some property in 
 land, in two parishes of Ipswich ; that 
 he bequeathed to his son, Thomas, ten 
 
 * In the opinion of Wood, (Athenae Oxoniensis, 
 vol. 2, p. 734,) the assertions respecting the vocation 
 of Wolsey's father being that of a butcher, origina- 
 ted with William Roy, the author of a satire upon 
 Wolsey, entitled "A Dialogue between two Priests' 
 Servants, Watkins and Jeffrey," beginning 
 'Rede me, and be not wrothe, 
 Fori say no thyng buttrothe." 
 The writers contemporary with Wolsey appear to 
 have known little of his origin. Bishop Godwin, in 
 his Lives of the English Bishops, (p. 618,) speaks of 
 Wolsey " as the son of a poor man, or, (as I have often 
 heard,) a butcher." Skelton, poet-laureate in the 
 time of Henry the Eighth, satirizes Wolsey under 
 the appellation of the "butcher's dog." Hall men- 
 tions that the populace abused him as the " butcher's 
 son," a term also applied contemptuously to him 
 by Luther, in his Colloquia. Cavendish describes 
 him as an " honest poor man's son," See Caven- 
 dish, edited by Singer, p. 32. 
 
 marks to sing a mass for his soul, if he 
 entered into holy orders within a year 
 after his father's death ; that he left his 
 lands at the disposal of his wife, Joan ; 
 and the rest of his worldly property to 
 his son, his wife, and another person, 
 " to dispose as they should think best to 
 please Almighty God, and to profit his 
 soul."* 
 
 At a very early age Wolsey was sent 
 to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he 
 acquired the rare distinction of being 
 a bachelor of arts when he had only 
 reached his fifteenth year. This early 
 honour was remembered by him with 
 the pride and satisfaction with which 
 prosperous men often revert to the first 
 step in their ascent to fame. In his 
 more splendid and wretched days, Wol- 
 sey related the circumstance to George 
 Cavendish, one of his gentlemen ushers, 
 who has repeated it in the valuable 
 Memoirs of Wolsey, which he subse- 
 quently composed. " He told me, in 
 his own person," says Cavendish, " that 
 he was called the boy bachelor at fifteen 
 years of age ; which was a rare thing, 
 and seldom seen." The youthful ac- 
 quirements of Wolsey, how much soever 
 they may have been admired by his 
 contemporaries, were not of a nature to 
 be highly valued in the present day. 
 The pursuits of a clerical student, in the 
 fifteenth century, were neither adapted 
 to qualify him for offices of state, to 
 which the clergy were, at that time, 
 oftentimes promoted ; nor to endow him 
 with the power of reasoning accurately. 
 The Metaphysics, and Natural Philo- 
 sophy of Aristotle, formerly prohibited, 
 and burned at Paris, by a decree of the 
 Council of Sens, in 1210, had been 
 again received into favour by the schools, 
 chiefly through the exertions of Thomas 
 Aquinas, a theologian of the fourteenth 
 century, employed with other learned, 
 men to translate the works of Aristotle 
 from the Greek and Arabic languages, 
 into Latin.f In the early part of Wol- 
 sey's life the reputation of Aquinas 
 
 * See the will of Robert Wolsey, in Fiddes's Life 
 of Wolsey. Collections. 
 f Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History, vol, iii. p. 25, 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 was at its height, and Wolsey imbibed 
 from education a partiality for the doc- 
 trines, and an admiration for the ta- 
 lents, of that great man, by which his 
 subsequent opinions on theological sub- 
 jects were strongly tinctured. Seconded 
 by the zeal and talents of Aquinas, 
 scholastic learning had gained rapidly 
 in public estimation ; while the Bibli- 
 cists, those who resorted to the writ- 
 ings of the ancient fathers, or to Holy 
 Writ itself, as the sources of divine 
 truths, had declined both in numbers 
 and importance. Hence consequences 
 the most injurious to religion and philo- 
 sophy ensued. The education of youth 
 was directed to attainments of a super- 
 ficial character ; a fluency of argument, 
 calculated to mislead, but not to con- 
 vince ; a readiness in the use of scho- 
 lastic terms, and in the practice of un- 
 intelligible distinctions, and a skill in 
 imparting to disputation the air of me- 
 thod, and the semblance of abstruse re- 
 flection, constituted, long after the 
 death of Aquinas, the chief accomplish- 
 ments of young theologians. 
 
 Such being the nature of those studies 
 to which the attention of Wolsey was 
 directed, it is not surprising that he 
 should have contracted strong preju- 
 dices, and imbibed erroneous opinions, 
 which even the powers of his vigorous 
 and comprehensive mind were unable to 
 correct. In the endeavour to under- 
 stand and to retain the subtleties and 
 refined distinctions of his great mo- 
 del, Wolsey neglected both the politer 
 branches of learning, and the impor- 
 tant acquisition of real religious know- 
 ledge, which can be gained from Scrip- 
 ture alone. In those days, a critical 
 knowledge of the Scriptures was, in- 
 deed, rarely to be found even in the 
 most celebrated collegiate teachers, who 
 were usually ignorant of the original 
 languages.* Thus, as the historian of 
 Henry the Eighth, Lord Herbert, ex- 
 presses it, " the learning of Wolsey, 
 which was far from being exact, consisted 
 chiefly in the subtleties oftheThomists, 
 in which he, and King Henry the Eighth, 
 did oftener weary than satisfy one an- 
 other." To the same cause may be attri- 
 buted the absence of those higher prin- 
 ciples of action, which, had they regu- 
 lated the conduct of Wolsey, might have 
 
 When Luther, many years after the period of 
 Wolsey's youth, challenged the University of Paris 
 to dispute with hiin upon a Scrioture foundation, not 
 a. single person could be met with, qualified to argue 
 upon a system which had become nearly obsolete. 
 Wosheim, yol. lii. p, 298. 
 
 rendered his splendid career a source of 
 incalculable benefit to his countiy. 
 
 To pass his days in studious retire- 
 ment was not, however, the lot of Wol- 
 sey, who had the advantage, for such 
 it often proves, of resting entirely upon 
 his own exertions. It must have been 
 an acceptable turn of good fortune to 
 him, after having, by his proficiency in 
 logic and philosophy become a Fellow 
 of Magdalen College, to have been ap- 
 pointed master of the school, in which 
 students, intended to enter that College, 
 were instructed previous to their ad- 
 mission ; a practice common at both 
 the Universities, each College having, 
 in general, some particular school ap- 
 propriated to it.* Luckily for Wolsey, 
 there were, among his pupils, three 
 sons of Grey, Marquis of Dorset, the 
 collateral ancestor of Lady Jane Grey. 
 To these young noblemen Wolsey 
 proved an able and assiduous instructor; 
 and it is a curious reflection, that he, 
 who in after times became the governor 
 of princes, possessed, in this early pe- 
 riod of his life, the forbearance and dili- 
 gence which render the humble, and 
 often thankless, offices of a teacher ef- 
 fectual. Perhaps the opportunity thus 
 afforded to Wolsey of viewing, m the 
 ingenuous soul of youth, the secret 
 springs of action and the varieties of 
 undisguised passion, may have been the 
 first source of that intimate knowledge 
 of character which was ascribed sub- 
 sequently to necromancy, by his enemies, 
 from the influence which he gained 
 over the king. Whatever may have 
 been the final benefits of the task thus 
 appropriated to Wolsey, the immediate 
 advantages were both encouraging to 
 him, and creditable. 
 
 It happened that he was invited, with 
 his pupils, to pass under the roof of their 
 father the pleasant and " honourable 
 feast of Christmas,"-!' in which our fore- 
 fathers, even more than ourselves, were 
 wont to delight. During this vacation, 
 the marquis had ample opportunities 
 of observing the progress of his sons, 
 and was so highly gratified by their pro- 
 ficiency, that he determined to present 
 their tutor with the living of Lymington 
 in Hampshire, a benefice in the girt of 
 the Dorset family, and in the diocese of 
 Bath and Wells. This presentation 
 took place at the departure of Wolsey 
 with his pupils from their paternal 
 abode ; and it was the more acceptable 
 
 * See Fosbrooke's Monasticon. 
 f Cave&dish's Life of Wolsey, p. 67. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 3 
 
 to Wolsey, on account of some pecu- 
 niary "embarrassments, of no very cre- 
 ditable nature, in which, according to 
 tradition, he was involved. A state- 
 ment currently reported either during 
 the life, or shortly after the death of 
 Wolsey, affirmed him to have employed, 
 without authority, various sums taken 
 from the treasury of Magdalen College, 
 of which he was bursar, in the erection 
 of the great tower which was completed 
 at that College during his continuance 
 in office : and he is even said to ;have 
 used violent means to possess himself 
 of the money necessary for that pur- 
 pose. The details of this transaction 
 have not, however, reached us, and it 
 seems doubtful if there be any founda- 
 tion at all for reports so injurious to 
 his reputation. It must, however, be 
 observed, that always painful and often 
 unwise as it is, to draw conclusions 
 unfavourable to the motives and actions 
 of our fellow men, there is no reason to 
 infer from the subsequent conduct of 
 Wolsey that his principles of integrity, 
 in relation to pecuniary affairs, were 
 very exact ; or that he would not have 
 sacrificed to ambition, or to any object 
 which he had in view, that sense of 
 honour, without which the greatest 
 qualities can neither redeem the cha- 
 racter from meanness, nor save the re- 
 putation from dishonour. 
 
 Wolsey obtained his first church pre- 
 ferment in Oct. 30, 1500, when he had 
 attained his twenty-ninth year.* His 
 ordinary deportment partook, in too 
 great a degree, as far as morality was 
 concerned, of the licentiousness in which 
 the clergy of those times, perhaps more 
 than any other class of men, indulged. 
 It is uncertain for what excess Wolsey 
 at this time incurred a chastisement, 
 which he had neither the wisdom to 
 forget, nor the generosity to forgive. 
 The affair, according to tradition, ori- 
 ginated thus: Sir Amias Pawlet, a 
 knight and justice of the peace, residing 
 in the neighbourhood, discovered the 
 Rector of Lymington in a state of 
 drunkenness at a fair, and deemed it 
 essential to punish the offender by 
 placing him in the stocks ; and the as- 
 piring Wolsey was obliged to endure 
 that ignominious mode of confinement, 
 which the compassion or refinement 
 of our present notions has almost abo- 
 lished in our villages. A curious 
 specimen of the manners of the times, 
 where a beneficed clergyman could 
 
 Fiddes's Life of Wolsey, p, 6, 
 
 thus be held up to popular derision, is 
 afforded by this incident, which was 
 deeply felt, and long resented by the 
 delinquent. Many years afterwards, 
 when the Chancellor of England had 
 not the liberality to pardon the insult 
 offered to the Rector of Lymington, he 
 sent for the country magistrate, and, 
 after a severe reproof, commanded him 
 to wait within the precincts of the court, 
 until, at the pleasure of the council, he 
 should be allowed to depart. Sir Amias 
 knew how necessary it was in that age 
 of despotism to bend to circumstances ; 
 and contrived to appease the Chancel- 
 lor, in the course of five or six years, 
 by embellishing the exterior of his own 
 house, situate at the gate of the Middle 
 Temple, with the badges and cogni- 
 zances of Wolsey, and with a Cardinal's 
 hat and arms.* 
 
 Upon the death of the Marquis of 
 Dorset, in 1501, the obscurity of a 
 country parsonage, without hope of pre- 
 ferment, becoming intolerable to Wolsey, 
 he determined to quit his retirement, and 
 to make his essay upon the theatre of 
 the great world. He was soon fortunate 
 enough to obtain the situation of chap- 
 lain in the household of Dean, then Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, who extended his 
 favour towards the young churchman, 
 more from regard for his personal qua- 
 lities, than from any interest exerted in 
 behalf of Wolsey by the few powerful 
 friends of whom he could boast. 
 Upon the Archbishop's death 1502. 
 he was again deprived of a 
 valuable patron ; but the favour of 
 others, or even the superior strength 
 of his own understanding, was not 
 all he had to depend upon. At this 
 early period of his life he possessed that 
 courteous dignity of manner which may 
 be improved by intercourse with polite 
 society, but cannot be imparted by that 
 advantage, when the mind is naturally 
 coarse or frivolous. Combining the 
 accomplishments described by one who 
 has not dealt sparingly with his vices,f 
 " Doctus, et oratione dulcis Corporis 
 etiam gestu, et habitu concinnus,"^ 
 Wolsey verified the description given 
 of him by Shakespeare, that " he was 
 fashioned to much honour from the 
 cradle," and displayed in his deportment 
 every thing which inspires regard, and 
 enforces respect. Accordingly we find 
 that he, who was reputed a low and 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 68. 
 
 f Archbishop Parker to whom we owe, in a great 
 measure, the formation of our excellent Liturgy. 
 $ See Fiddes, Note, p. 10. 
 
 - B2 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 disorderly man at Lymington, acquired 
 the favour of Sir John Nanfan, a 
 " grave and very ancient knight," with 
 whom he chanced to become acquainted. 
 Sir John at this time held the important 
 office of treasurer to the city of Calais, 
 where Wolsey attended him in the ca- 
 pacity of chaplain ; but it was not long 
 before the knight, discovering the abili- 
 ties and industry of his inmate, confided 
 to him almost the entire charge of his 
 public business. This confidence re- 
 mained unimpaired ; and Nanfan, upon 
 his retiring from office on the score of 
 old age, recommended Wolsey to Henry 
 the Seventh in such earnest terms, that 
 the king made him one of his chap- 
 lains. Wolsey may now be considered 
 as in the avenue to greatness. There 
 was, indeed, little probability of his at- 
 taining, over the mind of that wary and 
 calculating prince,the influence which he 
 afterwards acquired with his successor. 
 Henry the Seventh, perhaps one of the 
 most prudent and successful kings that 
 ever sat upon the British throne, di- 
 rected all the energies of an acute and 
 active mind to objects of public interest. 
 Approving of literature, he had yet 
 neither sufficient enthusiasm to be fas- 
 cinated with the wit of Wolsey, nor suf- 
 ficient knowledge to appreciate his 
 learning. He considered business as 
 the paramount, if not the sole object of 
 importance in life ; and he expected in 
 those around him the same assiduity 
 and regularity of habits, of which he 
 gave them the example. His ministers 
 were, as might be expected, laborious 
 and indefatigable servants of the crown, 
 who exercised in their several depart- 
 ments, and required in their inferiors, 
 exactness, steadiness, and dispatch. 
 When they observed that Wolsey, after 
 saying mass in the closet before the 
 king, " spent not forth the day in vain 
 idleness, but gave his attendance upon 
 those whom he thought to bear most 
 rule in the council,"* they naturally 
 gave their confidence to a man who ex- 
 hibited that self-denial, and power of 
 application, without which no votary of 
 ambition has ever attained pre-eminence 
 in public affairs. 
 
 The ministers who chiefly enjoyed 
 the favour of Henry the Seventh were 
 Fox, Bishop of Winchester, and Thomas 
 Howard, Earl of Surrey. Fox had re- 
 tained his post the longest, and most re- 
 sembled his royal master in his no- 
 tions of economical management, which 
 
 * Cavendish, p, 76, 
 
 amounted to penuriousness : but Surrey, 
 from his military reputation, and from 
 his office of Lord Treasurer, might be 
 considered the most powerful of these 
 two distinguished subjects. By Fox, the 
 abilities of Wolsey were discovered early, 
 and appreciated justly ; and both re- 
 gard and confidence were manifested 
 by the bishop towards his former de- 
 pendant, to the latest period of his own 
 existence. Sir Thomas Lovel, master 
 of the king's wards, and constable of 
 the Tower, was another valuable friend, 
 whom Wolsey, by his merits or address 
 contrived to secure among the privy 
 councillors. This knight, who had 
 the character of being both witty and 
 wise, retained his favourable sentiments 
 towards Wolsey until his death ; and 
 bequeathed to the object of his early 
 preference, a golden standing cup and 
 four hundred marks of gold, in testi- 
 mony of his affection.* 
 
 Aided by these powerful friends, 
 Wolsey soon obtained an opportunity 
 of displaying his zeal in the service of 
 the king. It was at this time that a 
 treaty of marriage was contemplated 
 between Henry the Seventh and the 
 Duchess of Savoy. It was necessary 
 to treat with Maximilian, Emperor of 
 Germany, the father of the duchess ; 
 and a person qualified to undertake this 
 mission was required by the king. Con- 
 versing one day upon this subject with 
 Bishop Fox and Sir Thomas Lovel, 
 Henry was persuaded to send for Wol- 
 sey, whom his two friends commended 
 in high terms, as possessing the elo- 
 quence, address, and prudence neces- 
 sary to conduct an important and deli- 
 cate negotiation. Wolsey, on being in- 
 troduced into the presence of the king, 
 displayed so much discretion and ability, 
 that Henry commanded him to prepare 
 immediately for his journey, and to re- 
 ceive the instructions necessaiy for his 
 undertaking, from the council. Wolsey 
 resolved to exert his powers to the ut- 
 most, in order to secure the favour of 
 the monarch, whom he contrived still 
 further to propitiate in the subsequent 
 interviews, previous to his departure. 
 Having obtained his dispatches, Wol- 
 sey, after taking leave of the king at 
 Richmond, about noon, reached Lon- 
 don at four o'clock ; he proceeded to 
 Gravesend, where he arrived in three 
 hours ;. hastened from Gravesend to Do- 
 ver, which he entered on the following 
 morning, just in time to step into the 
 
 * Cavendish, edited by Singer, 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 passage boats which were under sail 
 for Calais. From Calais he hurried 
 onwards to the emperor, who was at a 
 place not far from that city ; and after 
 obtaining an immediate and favourable 
 audience with that exalted personage, 
 he was allowed to depart shortly after 
 the interview. Wolsey now hastened 
 homewards with as much expedition as 
 he could command: his activity met 
 with its due reward ; for he succeeded in 
 arriving at Richmond before the king had 
 even dreamed of his having left England. 
 The diligence with which he performed 
 his mission was considered the more 
 remarkable at that time, when travel- 
 ling was impeded by scanty accommo- 
 dation, by the danger of highway rob- 
 bery, and by the badness of the roads ; the 
 first act for the regular repair of which 
 was not passed until twenty years af- 
 terwards.* The king was so little pre- 
 pared for the extraordinary promptness 
 of his messenger, that on Wolsey's en- 
 tering the royal chamber, he began to 
 reprove him for his dilatoriness, in so 
 long delaying his departure. But he, 
 producing the letters of credit which he 
 had brought from the emperor, ac- 
 quainted Henry with the details of his 
 mission, in which he had somewhat 
 trangressed the limits of his instructions. 
 The king was delighted with the zeal 
 and address of his messenger, and was 
 even pleased with the manner in which, 
 upon his own responsibility, he had 
 ventured to exceed his commission. It 
 was not, however, the habit of Henry the 
 Seventh either to promise lavishly, or to 
 reward liberally, the services of his sub- 
 jects. With his accustomed reserve, he 
 dissembled his surprise at the quick re- 
 turn of Wolsey ; yet. it was not long before 
 he recompensed his zeal, by installing 
 him in the Deanery of Lincoln/?' at that 
 
 time the most valuable bene- 
 Feb. fice under a bishoprick ; and 
 1508. soon afterwards, the rising 
 
 churchman was appointed al- 
 moner to the king. The incident which 
 procured these distinctions, was proba- 
 bly regarded by Wolsey as extremely con- 
 ducive to his advancement ; for long after 
 it had occurred, when the vicissitudes 
 of his life caused him, perhaps, to dwell 
 with a pleasurable regret upon earlier 
 and happier days, he related to Caven- 
 dish the circumstances of his first trans* 
 
 In the fourteenth and fifteenth years of Henry 
 tlic Eighth. Until the reign of Charles the Second, 
 the roads were repaired by the landholders in the 
 retpe6thre counties, upon whom a rate was imposed. 
 Andkrson's Hist, of Commerce, vol. ii., p. 44. 
 
 f Le Neve's Fasti, p. 146. 
 
 action in state affairs, with a minuteness 
 which has been faithfully copied by 
 that admirable biographer* 
 
 The death of Henry the Seventh, 
 which took place in 1509, had been an- 
 ticipated by the persons in attendance 
 upon him, for some time before Wolsey 
 was introduced to his notice. That 
 Wolsey, warned by the precarious state 
 of the king's health, endeavoured, be- 
 fore his decease, to insinuate himself 
 into the favour of the heir- apparent, 
 appears probable ; for one of the first 
 acts of Henry the Eighth, upon his ac- 
 cession to the throne, was to make the 
 almoner privy-councillor, and to pre- 
 sent him with the house and gardens, 
 at Bridewell, in Fleet Street, formerly 
 belonging to Sir Richard Empson, but 
 falling, upon his attainder, to the crown. 
 This mansion, on the site of which 
 Salisbury Square and Dorset Street now 
 stand, was surrounded with gardens, 
 extending to the river, twelve in num- 
 ber, and with orchards corresponding 
 in size. It was for some time the scene 
 of Wolsey's splendour, and of Henry's 
 revels, until the favourite became the 
 possessor of York House, and the 
 builder of Hampton Court and of Esher. 
 But, notwithstanding the favour mani- 
 fested by this donation, the greatness 
 of Wolsey cannot be said to have com- 
 menced immediately upon the accession 
 of the young king. C ompelled, for some 
 time, to play a subordinate part in the 
 council, it was his successful endeavour, 
 before attaining any political influence, 
 to secure that secret empire over the 
 mind of his sovereign, which should 
 prove more powerful than either tried 
 capacity or long service. It would not 
 have been practicable for mean abilities 
 to acquire, in any large measure, the es- 
 teem of Henry the Eighth, who, before 
 his understanding was undermined by 
 conceit, and cramped by prejudice, was 
 a youth of such promise, that, to use 
 the words of his biographer, had the 
 performance of his riper years answered 
 it, " none of his predecessors would have 
 exceeded him : but as his exquisite en- 
 dowments of nature engaged him often 
 to become a prey to those allurements 
 and temptations which are ordinarily 
 incident to them, so his courage was 
 observed, little by little, to receive into it 
 some mixture of self-will and cruelty."f 
 The arts by which Wolsey sought to 
 recommend himself, while they flattered 
 the passions of the gay and ardent 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 77. t Herbert, p. 2. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 monarch, were addressed, likewise, to 
 his intellectual qualities. Perceiving 
 the inclination which he betrayed for 
 the pleasures calculated to allure a 
 youth of eighteen, the crafty churchman 
 advised the king to follow the bent of 
 his desires, and to leave the manage- 
 ment of state affairs to his councillors, 
 with whom he promised to make ar- 
 rangements, by which propositions 
 might be reported when they had been 
 digested by older heads, and all the 
 trouble of discussion should have been 
 concluded. At the same time that Wol- 
 sey proffered this suggestion, he coun- 
 selled the king to pursue those studies 
 to which his attention had been directed 
 from his childhood; and especially to 
 continue a diligent perusal of the works 
 of Aquinas, for whose doctrines Henry 
 entertained a lively partiality. With 
 discourses of this nature, Wolsey min- 
 gled instructions on the art of govern- 
 ment, and disquisitions on important 
 subjects of every nature: so that while 
 Henry regarded him with pleasure as 
 the promoter of his enjoyments, he 
 could not fail to view him with admi- 
 ration as a politician, and with reve- 
 rence as a divine. It was, however, no 
 easy task for a man arrived at his pe- 
 riod of life, to combine his habits with 
 the ideas and pursuits of a young prince 
 not half his age, who might prefer the 
 society of so many gay and gallant cour- 
 tiers, all emulously seeking his favour. 
 But Wolsey, with singular address, in- 
 stead of driving his youthful rivals from 
 the presence of the king, endeavoured 
 to conciliate them by those attractions of 
 wit and eloquence which he possessed 
 in an eminent degree. It is natural for 
 the inexperience of youth to be flat- 
 tered by every tribute of regard paid to 
 their imagined consequence by those 
 who have outlived the follies, without 
 losing the elasticity, of that fickle age. 
 From those among the male favourites 
 of Hemy, who were most endeared to 
 the king by their merits and accom- 
 plishments, Wolsey playfully demanded 
 a compact of mutual fidelity and good 
 offices. With the highly-born ladies 
 by whom the court revels were shared 
 and adorned, he was equally solicitous 
 of favour. "Whosoever of them was 
 great, to her he was familiar, and gave 
 her gifts."* He was courteous and li- 
 beral to all ; he sported, he jested, he 
 sang, he even danced; forgetting, or 
 perhaps holding in lower account, the 
 decorum proper to his sacred habit. 
 * Strype's Eccl. Memorials, vol. i. p. 189, j 
 
 Exertions, so well directed, soon ob- 
 tained for him such influence at the 
 court, as had not been enjoyed by any 
 minister in the preceding reign. Those 
 who had hitherto employed him as an 
 agent, now sued to him as a superior. 
 The two contending parties in the coun- 
 cil quailed before his ascendancy. The 
 Earl of Surrey, who had hitherto seen 
 in him only the humble but useful ally 
 of Fox, now began to fear him as a 
 rival. Fox, who had endeavoured to 
 accelerate his rise in the hope of his aid 
 to resist the encroachments of Surrey, 
 perceived that he had fostered a man so 
 gifted by nature, and so energetic from 
 habit, that he could never be chased 
 from the road to preferment, after 
 he had once entered upon the right 
 track. Such of the nobility and cour- 
 tiers as had suits to prefer, or were anx- 
 ious to recommend themselves to the 
 notice of the king, found it expedient to 
 ensure a welcome through the media- 
 tion of Wolsey. The court had been 
 little attended during the reign of Henry 
 the Seventh ; divisions, resulting from 
 the civil wars, had prevented many of 
 the nobles from presenting themselves 
 to the Lancastrian monarch ; poverty 
 had detained some, and the absence of 
 all attraction in an economical and 
 gloomy court, had kept many within 
 their remote but more hospitable man- 
 sions. Now the scene was changed, 
 and suitors, long withheld from these 
 various motives, thronged around the 
 king and Wolsey. So plentiful, as Ca- 
 vendish tells us, were the presents prof- 
 fered to Wolsey, in order to procure 
 his good offices, that " he wanted no- 
 thing, either to please his fantasy, or to 
 enrich his coffers, fortune so smiled upon 
 him ; but to what end she brought him, 
 you shall hear.'"* Meanwhile honours 
 were showered upon him by the king, 
 with a lavish hand ; he was presented to 
 several livings of value, in addition to 
 those which he already enjoyed; he was 
 appointed Registrar of the Or- 
 der of the Garter, and was not 1510. 
 long afterwards intrusted with 
 an office still more active and important, 
 to keep him about the person of the king. 
 
 Scarcely was Henry the Eighth seated 
 on the throne, than inducements were 
 held out to him to enter into hostilities 
 against France ; and his vanity ren- 
 dered such propositions too accept- 
 able to be rejected. It would have 
 required, indeed, but little political skill 
 to have preserved the country in that 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 82. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 state of tranquillity in which his prudent 
 father had left it. Ferdinand, King of 
 Spain, was solicitous to remain at 
 peace with England, an union with 
 which had been cemented by the mar- 
 riage of Henry with his daughter. 
 Maximilian, Emperor of Germany, 
 was too anxious to secure the posses- 
 sions of Burgundy, and the Low Coun- 
 tries, which he had obtained in right of 
 his wife, to offend so important and 
 warlike a nation as the English. The 
 pope, Julius the Second, sought to se- 
 cure the alliance of England, which he 
 hoped to engage in his own designs 
 against France. He paid the utmost 
 deference to Henry, to whom he sent 
 a golden rose, dipped in chrism, and per- 
 fumed with musk, to be presented to the 
 king at high mass, with the benediction 
 of his holiness. But this emblem of 
 peace and sanctity was accompanied 
 by a letter from the pope, breathing 
 sentiments of the utmost hostility 
 against Louis the Twelfth of France, 
 and representing that monarch as one 
 who, having no regard either to God or 
 to a good conscience, designed to build 
 his own greatness upon the entire 
 conquest of Italy. 
 
 Henry the Eighth, like his predeces- 
 sors of the Lancastrian line, had set 
 out in his career with professions of 
 profound veneration for the holy see. 
 Actuated partly by the necessity of 
 appearing consistent with his declara- 
 tions, but more by the ambition of sig- 
 nalizing his name as the restorer of the 
 conquered territories in France to the 
 English crown, and by the desire of as- 
 serting his title to the throne of France, 
 the gay, impetuous king resolved to 
 attack the dominions of his neighbour, 
 and to take the command of the invad- 
 ing army in person. 
 
 It was scarcely probable that Wol- 
 sey would oppose a design which must 
 have been so acceptable to the pope, 
 whom, as a churchman, he was in- 
 clined by education, and bound by inte- 
 rest, to conciliate. It is at the same 
 time likely that he perceived the folly 
 and inutility of the scheme, which 
 plunged a secure and prosperous na- 
 tion into unnecessary difficulty and ex- 
 pense. Whatever may have been his 
 secret opinions, he possessed not, in all 
 probability, at this time, influence suffi- 
 cient to change the course of events ; 
 and it is to be feared that he was not 
 disinterested enough to desire it. War 
 was accordingly declared: the league 
 into which Henry entered with Max- 
 
 imilian and Ferdinand, was dignified by 
 the name " Holy" although it origi- 
 nated in motives varying widely from the 
 avowed desire of protecting the pope from 
 the incursions of France. Surrounded 
 by all the martial portion of his own 
 subjects, and displaying in his own 
 person youth, strength, and warlike 
 ardour, Henry felt that his triumphs 
 would be adorned, and his anxieties 
 diminished, by the presence of Wolsey, 
 on whose counsels he had learned to 
 depend, and whose society he had be- 
 gun to think indispensable to his enjoy- 
 ments. The important, but inglorious 
 office of victualler to the forces was, 
 therefore, conferred upon Wolsey. In 
 accepting it, he at once evinced good 
 sense in disregarding the illiberal sar- 
 casms cast upon his birth, and displayed 
 the variety of his knowledge, and the 
 versatility of his talents, by which he 
 was enabled to undertake business of a 
 nature totally unlike any in which he had 
 hitherto been engaged. He felt, doubt- 
 less, the importance of remaining in 
 constant personal communication with 
 the king, who was at an age when im- 
 pressions are easily made, and swiftly 
 effaced ; and he was rewarded for his 
 exertions as victualler, by an appoint- 
 ment of a higher description. 
 
 All preparations being at length 
 completed, the king set sail from Dover, 
 on the last day of June, 1512, and after 
 resting a short time at Calais, pro- 
 ceeded to Therouenne in Artois, before 
 which part of the English army had 
 already encamped. Wolsey, with his 
 retinue, followed in the rear, accompa- 
 nied by the Bishop of Winchester ; 
 their united retinues amounted in num- 
 ber to eight hundred men, under the 
 command of Sir William Compton. 
 The place having yielded to the Eng- 
 lish troops, it was thought expedient 
 to raze it to the ground, excepting the 
 religious houses only ; and the victori- 
 ous army proceeded to invest Tournay, 
 which surrendered, after a short siege. 
 This place, being a bishop's see, hav- 
 ing a cathedral, and several churches 
 and monasteries, was deemed worthy of 
 a better fate than that which had been 
 decreed to Therouenne. The interested 
 advice of Wolsey has been assigned as 
 the cause of a preference which seemed 
 directly opposed to good policy. The- 
 rouenne, which was near the English 
 pale, might justly be considered as a 
 more valuable fortress than Tournay, 
 an acquisition of comparatively little 
 moment. The indiscretion which sa- 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 crificed the more important conquest, 
 resulted from the folly of Henry in ac- 
 ceding to the wishes of Maximilian, 
 whose dominions, contiguous to Artois, 
 were frequently annoyed by incursions 
 of the French from Therouenne. Tour- 
 nay was, therefore, preferred, and was 
 deemed worthy of an English garrison, 
 under the command of Sir Edward 
 Poynings ; Wolsey was also made 
 Bishop of Tournay ; and he received 
 from the inhabitants, as their pastor, an 
 oath of allegiance to the King of Eng- 
 land. Arrangements for its security 
 having been completed, Henry, congra- 
 tulating himself on having subdued a 
 place famed in history for its resistance 
 to Julius Caesar, took advantage of his 
 new conquest to hold a solemn feast, 
 which was attended by the Emperor 
 Maximilian, the Duchess of Savoy, and 
 the young Prince of Castile, afterwards 
 Charles the Fifth. These festivities 
 were succeeded by other diversions at 
 Lisle ; after which Henry, swelling with 
 the pride of his showy but unprofitable 
 honours, returned to England, followed 
 by the gay and the ambitious, the frivo- 
 lous and the intriguing throng 
 Oct. of courtiers, who had attend- 
 1513. ed his expedition, or flocked 
 to its successful and useless 
 results. 
 
 Some time before Wolsey derived the 
 full benefit of his consecration to the 
 Bishoprick of Tournay,* the inhabitants 
 of that city, attached to their former 
 diocesan, and disliking the dominion of 
 a foreigner, resisted the spiritual juris- 
 diction of Doctor Sampson, whom 
 Wolsey had left in Tournay as his vicar- 
 general ; but he finally triumphed over 
 his episcopal adversary, and, by his 
 diligent attention to the business of the 
 town, obtained the chief management 
 of its affairs, and became a popular 
 ruler. This see afforded him considera- 
 ble revenues, and its citizens treated 
 him almost as a prince, addressing their 
 dispatches "To my Lord Cardinal's 
 grace, and the privy council." t But even 
 higher dignities were reserved for Wol- 
 sey on his return to England. The see 
 of Lincoln, vacant on the death of 
 Doctor Smith, became the next step in 
 his ascent to the height which he 
 was destined to attain of wealth and 
 power. This rapid succession of ho- 
 nours and accumulation of riches 
 were insufficient to satisfy the grasping 
 desires of one, who, while he distri- 
 buted fie ely^c oveted l argely the good 
 
 * Strype's Eccl. Memorials, vol. i. p. 173. f Ibid. 
 
 things of our worldly condition. 
 Scarcely was the ceremony of his con- 
 secration over, before he disgraced his 
 holy office by a successful attempt to 
 possess himself of goods belonging to 
 his predecessor ; and Cavendish, re- 
 pressing, from a sense of justice, his 
 partiality for Wolsey, confesses that he 
 had, at various times, seen the stolen 
 furniture in the house of his master. 
 Tournay and Lincoln were both con- 
 ferred upon him in the same 
 year ; but a yet higher dig- Mar. 26, 
 nity awaited his accept- 1514. 
 ance: for within a month 
 the archbishopric of York being va- 
 cant, he was endowed with the tem- 
 poralities of that see in August, and 
 was actually translated to it in No- 
 vember. This sudden elevation to the 
 second dignity of the Anglican church, 
 Wolsey owed, no doubt, in part, to one 
 of those accidents which occur in the 
 life of every prosperous individual. 
 Bambridge, the late prelate, was a 
 man in the vigour of life, who held 
 the station of ambassador at the 
 court of Rome, in conformity with the 
 custom then prevalent of employing 
 churchmen in the missions, now more 
 suitably, as well as advantageously, 
 assigned to the laity. The death of 
 Bambridge, which happened suddenly, 
 was attributed to various causes, but it 
 was undoubtedly the effect of poison, 
 administered by some unknown hand, 
 and imputed by common report to his 
 steward, whom he had struck in a fit of 
 passion. A more authentic account 
 unhappily affixes the crime upon Giglis, 
 bishop of Worcester, an Italian, who 
 succeeded Archbishop Bambridge as 
 ambassador at the court of Rome ; and 
 the pope, unwilling to throw discredit 
 upon the church, is said to have con- 
 cealed the dark deed, and to have 
 screened it from punishment.* 
 
 Elated by the rapid progress of his 
 fortunes, Wolsey now displayed the 
 arrogance of his character, without fear 
 or scruple. Warham, Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, and at this time lord chan- 
 cellor, was the first to feel the encroach- 
 ments by which his brother of York 
 sought to enhance his own dignity, at 
 the expense of the rights of others. It 
 had been the custom, before the eleva- 
 tion of Wolsey, for the cross of Canter- 
 bury, borne before the archbishop, on 
 solemn occasions, to take precedence of 
 the cross of York, except within the 
 diocese of York. Great importance 
 
 * Ellis's Original Letters, vol. i., p. 100. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 "was attached to this distinction, and in 
 the reign of Edward the Third, a par- 
 liament being summoned at York, at- 
 tendance was refused by the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury upon the plea 
 that the metropolitan of England should 
 not be constrained to lower the em- 
 blem of his dignity before the ensign of 
 his brother archprelate.* In defiance 
 of the established usage, Wolsey ordered 
 his cross to be erected, not only within 
 the precincts of Warham' s jurisdiction, 
 but even in his presence ; nor would he, 
 on the remonstrances of the primate, 
 desist from this act of intrusion. To 
 possess, however, as of right, and not 
 merely by usurpation, and to exercise 
 superiority in all points of worldly great- 
 ness, was most agreeable to a man so 
 constituted as the new archbishop, and 
 he resolved to sue for the rank of car- 
 dinal, a promotion which he trusted 
 might be followed by the yet higher 
 honours of a legatine commission. Leo 
 the Tenth, who had succeeded Julius 
 the Second in the pontifical chair, was 
 disposed, both from inclination and 
 policy, to bestow the desired honour 
 upon the favourite of a powerful mo- 
 narch, a dignitary who was likely to 
 reflect credit upon the church. The 
 mode which Leo adopted of forwarding 
 to Wolsey the insignia of his new 
 honours was not, however, approved 
 by the cardinal elect; and being ap- 
 prised that the "hat" was on the road 
 to England, in the charge of a common 
 messenger, or, according to the lan- 
 guage of the times, " in a varlet's 
 budget," Wolsey deemed it essential 
 to his dignity that a more honourable 
 means of conveyance should be pro- 
 vided. Previous to the arrival of the 
 papal messenger in England, he was 
 replenished, by the command of Wolsey, 
 with a variety of costly decorations and 
 habiliments, suitable to the importance 
 of his burden. The hat was met on 
 Blackheath by a great number of the 
 clergy, and of gentlemen, and was 
 then conducted to London with great 
 triumph. Meanwhile preparations were 
 made for its reception in Westminster 
 Abbey, where all the bishops and 
 abbots of London and its vicinity were 
 assembled in their richest copes and 
 mitres, in order to celebrate the con- 
 firmation of this new dignity to the 
 Cardinal. So solemn was this ceremo- 
 ny, that Cavendish, who was present, 
 declares that he had never witnessed a 
 
 See note in Singer's edition of Cavendish, p. 90. 
 
 more imposing scene, except at "the 
 coronation of some mighty prince or 
 bishop."* Nor did the honours of 
 the hat terminate here : in all public 
 processions, it preceded the cardinal 
 wherever he went ; when he performed 
 mass in the king's chapel, this emblem 
 of his ecclesiastical degree was placed 
 upon the altar, appearing before the 
 people as an idol, set up by the pride of 
 Wolsey to be worshipped. In this dis- 
 play of his newly -acquired honours, 
 Wolsey had a deeper aim than the mere 
 ostentatious and childish exhibition ; 
 the age was one of ceremony and of 
 pomp ; and by a costly exterior, always 
 most admired among a people the least 
 prone to intellectual culture, Wolsey, 
 perhaps, thought to obliterate the re- 
 membrance of his obscure origin and 
 sudden rise to power. Unhappily for 
 him the event proved otherwise, and the 
 magnificence of the Cardinal drew upon 
 him the bitterness of popular sarcasm, 
 the secret jealousy of the nobility, and 
 the dislike of the clergy. 
 
 Warham, archbishop of Canterbury, 
 had been regarded hitherto as one of the 
 principal persons about the throne, and 
 as one of the most esteemed among the 
 confidential advisers of the King. Aus- 
 tere and averse to new measures, the 
 Primate beheld with chagrin the ascen- 
 dency of Wolsey, whose conduct to- 
 wards him was marked by a haughty 
 assumption of superiority. AYarham 
 had long held the high office of Chan- 
 cellor, and had enjoyed much of the late 
 king's confidence. Averse, therefore, 
 in all probability, to play a second part, 
 but alleging his age and infirmities as a 
 plea for his retirement, he resigned the 
 seals, which were immediately offered 
 to Wolsey. The conduct of the Cardi- 
 nal on this occasion has been variously 
 stated ; and even Cavendish reports him 
 to have driven Warham from office by 
 his intrigues. But this statement is 
 incorrect ; the resignation of Warham 
 was voluntary, and even his own friends 
 appear to have imputed no blame to his 
 rival and successor. Ammonius, the 
 friend of Erasmus, in writing to that 
 celebrated man, who was warmly at- 
 tached to Warham, expresses himself 
 thus: " Your Archbishop, with the 
 King's good leave, has laid down his 
 post, which that of York, with much 
 importunity, has accepted of, and be- 
 haves most beautifully ."+ The change 
 in this important station was soon fol- 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 92. 
 t Cavendish, by Singer. Note, p. 93. 
 
10 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 lowed by the temporary retirement of 
 several of the most favoured courtiers, 
 and the resignation of some of the most 
 experienced "ministers. The Duke of 
 Norfolk begged permission of the King 
 to withdraw to his country residence ; 
 for the embarrassed state of the finan- 
 ces, arising from the lavish expenditure 
 of the Monarch, rendered it difficult for 
 this able statesman and dexterous cour- 
 tier to play his part, and preserve his 
 reputation, in both characters. Yet the 
 Duke, divided as he was between fear 
 of offending his sovereign, and the risk 
 of ruining the country, resigned not his 
 situation until 1522, when he was suc- 
 ceeded by his son, the Earl of Surrey. 
 The Duke of Suffolk, unjustly incensed 
 against Wolsey for refusing to cancel 
 his debt to the King, absented himself for 
 some time from court, but was soon 
 recalled to the presence of Henry, 
 whose favour he continued to enjoy 
 long after the more brilliant prospects 
 of the Cardinal had been darkened by 
 reverses. Fox, the early patron of 
 Wolsey, quitted the court, more in sor- 
 row at his own loss of power, than in 
 anger toward.3 him whose exaltation he 
 had hastened. The advice of the Bishop 
 to Henry, that he should beware how he 
 allowed the servant to be greater than 
 the master, " drew forth a reply which 
 was amply verified in this reign that 
 the servants of the King should obey, 
 and not command." 
 
 Chapter Second. 
 
 Preferments, Revenues and Household 
 Establishment of Wolsey. His senti- 
 ments towards Francis the First. 
 Wolsey as a Judge, as an adminis- 
 trator of the Church Laws. Mission 
 of Wolsey to France, and its conse- 
 quences. [151 6 to 1521.] 
 
 Wolsey was now Cardinal de Santa 
 Cecilia, Archbishop of York, 
 1516. and Chancellor of England. His 
 aspiring mind was not satisfied 
 even with thesedistinctions ; and resolv- 
 ing to obtain the supremacy in ecclesias- 
 tical affairs relating to this country, he 
 sought,and procured a bull, investing him 
 withlegatine authority. This commission 
 procured to the Cardinal a vast acces- 
 sion both of wealth and influence ; and 
 it appeared scarcely possible that he 
 could exercise the authority thus in- 
 trusted to him, in the three great situa- 
 tions which he filled, without peril to 
 himself, and encroachment upon the 
 dignity of the^King, 
 
 To support the style suitable to his 
 rank in the church and the state, the 
 revenues of Wolsey were necessarily 
 the object of his solicitude ; and it is 
 melancholy to see that in a mind na- 
 turally liberal, ambition gave birth to 
 avarice, and avarice engendered laxity 
 of principle. This powerful statesman, 
 who should have been incorruptible, 
 scrupled not to receive from Charles the 
 Fifth, Emperor of Germany, the annual 
 bribe of three thousand pounds Flemish ; 
 and from Francis the First, twelve 
 thousand livres, also paid yearly, in or- 
 der to secure the interest of the Cardi- 
 nal in behalf of those Princes.* Nor 
 did he blush to stipulate with the secre- 
 tary of the Duke of Milan, that, upon 
 the promise of an inviolable peace be- 
 tween Henry the Eighth and that Poten- 
 tate, an annuity of ten thousand ducats 
 should be transmitted to enrich the 
 coffers of Wolsey, during the life of the 
 Duke.t In addition to these acts of 
 baseness, it is recorded, to his further 
 disgrace, that he was accessible to the 
 influence of presents, in the exercise of 
 his legatine office ; and that he degra- 
 ded himself by extortions to a consider- 
 able extent, in that capacity. Aug- 
 mented by these resources, the income 
 which Wolsey enjoyed would appear 
 ample, even if estimated according to 
 the value of money in the present day, 
 when a pound is equivalent to a crown 
 only of the coin of Henry the Eighth. 
 But Wolsey had still other means of 
 obtaining wealth. Besides the scanda- 
 lous emoluments already recited, he de- 
 rived profits of a less reprehensible na- 
 ture, from the bishoprics of Bath, Wor- 
 cester, and Hereford, which he held in 
 farm for the foreign dignitaries to whom 
 these sees belonged, and who preferred 
 receiving from them a regular sum to 
 an uncertain and precarious collection 
 of their full revenues by agents.$ This 
 injurious system had been too long 
 practised to reflect upon the conduct of 
 Wolsey in lending his countenance to it ; 
 it had even been encouraged by Henry 
 the Seventh, who, with great professions 
 for the weal of the church, had chosen 
 thus to risk its best interests, by re- 
 warding foreigners, sent on legations or 
 other business, with benefices upon 
 which they could not reside ; a mode of 
 payment more consonant to the inclina- 
 
 * Anderson's History of Commerce, vol. i. p. 30. 
 
 f See, in Rymer's Paedera, vol. xii. p. 525, a pro- 
 missory obligation to this effect, from the secretary 
 of the Duke of Milan. 
 
 % See Fiddes's Life of Wolsey, p. 107. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 11 
 
 tions of that wary king, than pecuniary 
 remuneration for the services rendered 
 to him. Beside the sums reaped from 
 this commercial scheme of managing 
 ecclesiastical affairs, Wolsey derived the 
 privileges of patronage in each diocese ; 
 for the disposal of the livings in the 
 presentation of the foreign bishops was 
 included in his bargain : and, with his 
 usual dexterity in turning all things to 
 the best account, it may be conjectured 
 that this authority was not unproductive 
 of emolument, as well as power. To 
 the funds arising from these sources 
 were added those proceeding from the 
 rich abbey of Saint Albans, held by him 
 in commendam, although he did not 
 enter upon its temporalities until 1521. 
 It is true that when Tournay was after- 
 wards restored to the French, he was 
 compelled of course to resign the bishop- 
 ric of that city ; but he received twelve 
 thousand livres yearly by way of com- 
 pensation: and the bishopric of Dur- 
 ham, which he also held, but resigned 
 into the King's hands upon the death of 
 Bishop Fox, he relinquished in like 
 manner for the see of Winchester, to 
 which he was immediately advanced.* 
 
 That Wolsey, possessing such oppor- 
 tunities of accumulating money, should 
 not have provided for a reverse of for- 
 tune but too probable in his case, by 
 transmitting sums of money to some 
 foreign agent, appears to indicate a 
 remarkable want of foresight, or a 
 strangely overweening confidence in a 
 man otherwise so gifted. He seems, 
 indeed, while he collected rapaciously, 
 to have spent lavishly ; and there are 
 few narratives which present a more 
 curious detail of combined luxury and 
 pomp, than the account given by Caven- 
 dish of the household arrangements, the 
 dress, and the retinue of Wolsey. 
 
 In compliance with the practice 
 usually adopted by the nobility of the 
 times, Wolsey formed his domestic es- 
 tablishment upon the model of the royal 
 household. The vast number of indi- 
 viduals residing under his roof were 
 ranged in three classes ; a distinction 
 esteemed necessary when the attendants 
 varied in their rank and origin from the 
 son of an Earl, to that of a peasant. 
 Accordingly, three tables were spread 
 daily in the great hall, in which the 
 ample, but rude and unsocial repasts 
 of our ancestors were uniformly served : 
 and where the invidious and indelicate 
 
 * See Lord Herbert, p. 78 Cavendish, p. 95.j 
 
 interposition of the salt-cellar to divide 
 the superior from the inferior classes, 
 was as widely at variance with our pre- 
 sent improved notions of right, as with 
 all the feelings of propriety which forbid 
 the appearance of any distinction what- 
 ever between guests who are admitted 
 to the same board. It is probable that, 
 inWolsey's household, the various ranks 
 and offices of each individual were 
 more systematically defined, than among 
 the numerous, but sometimes ill- ar- 
 ranged domestics of the nobles of that 
 day. Three tables were placed daily in 
 the hall of the Cardinal, each being 
 superintended by an officer, suitable in 
 station to those over whom he presided. 
 At the head of the first table sat a priest 
 or dean, who fulfilled the capacity of 
 steward, and whose company at the 
 table consisted of the first class of 
 domestics ; while the treasurer, who was 
 always a knight, and the comptroller, 
 an esquire, each of whom bore white 
 staves of office, took their seats at the 
 head of the second and third tables. 
 The lower class of domestics, who per- 
 formed the menial offices, took their 
 meals in the hall kitchen, under the di- 
 rection of two clerks, besides a clerk of 
 the kitchen, a surveyor of the dresser, 
 and other agents in this well-arranged 
 system of luxury. But in addition to 
 the tables thus enumerated, as daily 
 spread for the accommodation of the 
 household, there were others prepared 
 in separate apartments. At one board 
 sat a company of young lords, who were 
 placed under the roof of the Cardinal for 
 the purpose of polite education, and 
 who paid for their board and tuition. 
 These youths were entrusted to the care 
 and guidance of an instructor of the 
 wards, whose duty it was to initiate his 
 pupils in the forms of graceful beha- 
 viour, and in the mode of exhibiting 
 a proper deference toward superiors. 
 Each of these noblemen was allowed 
 several servants ; the Earl of Derby, 
 who, as well as Lord Henry Percy, the 
 son of the Earl of Northumberland, 
 was an inmate of Wolsey' s, had five, 
 but most of the young lords were con- 
 tented with two, attendants. The gen- 
 tlemen ushers, among whom was Ca- 
 vendish, the biographer of Wolsey, were 
 permitted to sit at the " mess of lords:" 
 but another table was prepared for the 
 chamberlains and gentlemen waiters, 
 although these were men sprung chiefly 
 from good families. Of Wolsey's in- 
 dividual repast, nothing is said by Ca- 
 
12 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 vendish ; but it is probable that he sat 
 with the young lords. 
 
 The kitchen of the Cardinal was un- 
 der the direction of a master cook, who 
 went about daily, in garments of da- 
 mask satin, or of velvet, and wore a 
 chain of gold round his neck. To exe- 
 cute the commands of this distinguished 
 and important personage, were two 
 grooms, six labourers, and as many chil- 
 dren, who probably assisted in turning 
 the spit ; a laborious, but indispensable 
 occupation, both degrading and un- 
 wholesome, the necessity of which has 
 been happily superseded "by well-known 
 machines of modern invention. The 
 allied offices of larder, scalding-house, 
 watery, bake-house, scullery, buttery, 
 pantry, ewery, chaundery, cellar, and 
 garden, together with the laundry, and 
 wardrobe of beds, had each distinct 
 grooms, yeomen, and pages, varying in 
 number according to the occupation re- 
 quired in each province. To this list 
 must be added two tall yeomen and two 
 grooms, who acted as porters ; a yeo- 
 man of the barge ; a master of the horse, 
 a clerk and yeoman of the stable ; a sad- 
 dler, a farrier, a yeoman of the chariot, 
 a sumpter-man, a yeoman of the stir- 
 rup ; a muleteer, and sixteen grooms of 
 the stable, each of them keeping four 
 great geldings. 
 
 A yet more numerous and more ex- 
 pensive order of inmates, however, de- 
 serve notice. Much of the expenditure 
 of a nobleman, or dignitary of the church, 
 in those days, went to support a nu- 
 merous and luxurious body of chaplains, 
 who were liberally paid, sumptuously 
 maintained, and, when officiating in their 
 sacred office, magnificently attired. 
 There were in the service of Wolsey, a 
 dean, who was always a great divine ; a 
 sub-dean, a repeater of the quire, a gos- 
 peller, or reader of the gospel, a pis- 
 teller or reader of the epistle, and twelve 
 singing priests. These clerks all found 
 means to enrich themselves in the house- 
 hold of their opulent and lavish patron ; 
 and were proved at the exposure of his 
 affairs, which eventually took place, to be 
 the richest of his dependants. To assist 
 in the performance of the fascinating, 
 but unsatisfactory service which the 
 church then enjoined, these clergymen 
 had twelve singing children, and sixteen 
 adult choristers, with a master to in- 
 struct the children, and a servant to at- 
 tend upon them ; and occasionally there 
 came, says Cavendish, " divers retain- 
 ers of cunning singing men/ 1 to swell 
 
 the full strains which were sung at the 
 principal feasts. Our simpler and more 
 rational notions of the services accept- 
 able to the Most High have banished, 
 perhaps with too unsparing a hand, the 
 luxury of hearing fine devotional music 
 in our churches ; but it is agreeable 
 to reflect on the improvement of taste 
 which has abolished the gorgeous dresses, 
 approved even by the cultivated and 
 fastidious taste of Wolsey. The furni- 
 ture of his chapel, thejewels, ornaments, 
 and garments placed there for the use 
 of the priests, the crosses, candlesticks, 
 and other implements of devotional 
 splendour, were more than ordinarily 
 costly and abundant ; and Cavendish 
 enumerates forty-four copes of the rich- 
 est materials to have been occasionally 
 displayed by the chaplains of the Car- 
 dinal, when in solemn procession. Be- 
 side this clerical establishment, Wolsey 
 had an almoner, whose usual office in 
 such households was to attend upon the 
 lord and master at dinner, in conjunc- 
 tion with the carver, the cup-bearer, 
 the gentlemen yeomen, and gentlemen 
 waiters, and, in some families, to have 
 the residue of the repast at which they 
 had assisted.* This class of attendants 
 amounted, in the household of Wolsey, 
 to forty- six in number, and with the 
 chamberlain, vice-chamberlain, gentle- 
 men ushers, yeomen ushers, grooms of 
 the chamber, and yeomen of the cham- 
 ber, may be considered as the peculiar 
 and personal servants of the Cardinal. 
 These formed, all together, a body of one 
 hundred and forty- three persons. 
 
 The secretaries, clerks of the signet, 
 and counsellors of Wolsey, of whom he 
 had six, were always persons of infor- 
 mation and character. Sir Thomas 
 More, Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, 
 and Thomas Cromwell, afterwards 
 prime minister, each at some period of 
 their lives held one or other of those 
 offices in the establishment of Wolsey ; 
 a mutual advantage being afforded to 
 master and dependant by the free inter- 
 course of powerful, though dissimilar 
 minds. 
 
 The manner in which it was the daily 
 custom of this proud prelate to repair 
 to the exercise of his public duties, was 
 suitable to his domestic splendour. In 
 the morning, after being apprized that 
 a number of peers and of commoners 
 awaited his appearance, Wolsey came 
 forth from his chamber, into his state 
 
 * See Northumberland Household Book, pref. 17. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 M 
 
 apartments, in his cardinal's dress of 
 crimson or scarlet satin or damask, the 
 richest that could be procured, and 
 wearing upon his head a "pillion" or 
 cushion, surmounted with a noble, or 
 elevation of black velvet, attached to 
 the cushion. About his neck he wore 
 a tippet of fine sables ; nor was the 
 magnificence of his attire confined to 
 the more conspicuous parts; even his 
 shoes were the subjects of wonder and 
 of ridicule to a satirical contemporary of 
 the cardinal, in a supposed dialogue be- 
 tween two priests' servants. 
 
 " Rede me, and be not wrothe, 
 " For I say no thyng but trothe ; 
 
 " He hath a payre of costly shewes 
 " Which seldom touche any grounde, 
 " They are so goodly and curious, 
 "Are of gold and stones precious, 
 " Costing many a thousand pounds. 
 " /Fat. Who did for the shewes paye ? 
 "Jeff. Truly many a rich Abbaye, 
 " To be eased of his visitacion."* 
 
 Thus attired, and holding to his nose 
 the peel of an orange filled with sponge 
 dipped in " vinegar, and other confec- 
 tions against the pestilent air,"r Wol- 
 sey walked with great pomp to the 
 outer door of his mansion, the great 
 seal of England being earned before 
 him, and after that, the cardinal's hat 
 borne by some nobleman, or gentleman, 
 bareheaded. And thus passing on, pre- 
 ceded also by his two great crosses of 
 silver, and followed by two pillars, and 
 a large silver mace, gilt, the Cardinal, 
 amidst the cries of his gentlemen ushers, 
 " On, on, my lords and masters," amidst 
 the envy of some beholders, and the 
 admiration of others, bent his course 
 to the court of chancery, riding upon a 
 mule splendidly caparisoned, and at- 
 tended by his pillars, his crosses, his 
 pole-axes, and running footmen. While 
 condemning as frivolous and pompous 
 this ostentatious array, the benevolent 
 mind reverts with pleasure to one cir- 
 cumstance, which presents the charac- 
 ter of Wolsey in a more favourable as- 
 pect. It was not until after he had 
 paid his early and private tribute of 
 devotion at the shrine of " Him who 
 doth dispose and govern the hearts of 
 princes," that Wolsey resorted to the 
 business of that world, the enjoyments 
 and even the cares of which render such 
 a preparatory service but too requisite. 
 
 * See Dialogue between Watkins and Jeffrey, two 
 Priests' Servants, by William Roy ; the first person, 
 according to Anthony Wood, who reported Wolsey 
 to be the son of a butcher. Wood's Athena* Oxoni- 
 ensis, vol. ii., p. 7^4. 
 
 t Cavendish, p.,105. 
 
 To attend the performance of the ordi- 
 nary masses, merely, might have been 
 deemed by the Cardinal a customary 
 act of decorum, with which no head of 
 a household could, with propriety, dis- 
 pense. But Wolsey, not satisfied with 
 this observance only, retired within his 
 closet, and alone with his chaplain, a 
 man of learning, and of veracity, he 
 went through his daily service ; nor did 
 he, according to the testimony of that 
 person, retire to bed, however he might 
 be oppressed with fatigue of body, or 
 anxiety of mind, with even one collect 
 omitted, in his customary and pre- 
 scribed devotions.* 
 
 It was both the interest and the in- 
 clination of the Cardinal to render the 
 banquets which he gave to the king 
 more agreeable to Henry, and more 
 dazzling to the courtiers, than the en- 
 tertainments given by any other person 
 of rank. The king had a childish de- 
 light in a surprise, which then consti- 
 tuted the chief spirit of a courtly as- 
 sembly : accordingly, it was his whim 
 to arrive suddenly at the episcopal pa- 
 lace of Whitehall in a mask, with a 
 small group of companions, dressed to 
 represent shepherds, but with garments 
 made of fine cloth of gold, and their 
 hair and beards composed of silver 
 and gold wire. 
 
 The Cardinal, who was seated under 
 his cloth of estate, at a sumptuous ban- 
 quet, graced by the presence of mingled 
 gentlemen and gentlewomen, was 
 warned of the approach of the royal 
 shepherd by the discharge of " cham- 
 bers," or small cannon, so called from 
 their being little more than chambers 
 for powder, resting upon no carriages, 
 and adapted only for festive occasions.-!* 
 To play disguised at a game of dice, 
 called num-chance ; to dance with the 
 ladies assembled on the occasion ; to 
 challenge the guesses of the Cardinal 
 as to which of the newly arrived band 
 was the king, and to enjoy his mistake 
 in fixing on Sir Edward Nevill, a comely 
 and portly knight, for his royal master, 
 constituted the chief diversion of the 
 night, the business of which was eating 
 and carousing. Unsuitable indeed were 
 such amusements to the situation of 
 Wolsey as a dignitary of the church, 
 to his occupations as a minister and as 
 a judge, and to his character as a man ; 
 and perhaps they contributed, in reality, 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 105. 
 f See Cavendish. Note by Singer, p, 113, 
 
14 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 but little to the influence which he long 
 held over the mind of his sovereign. 
 
 The position of foreign affairs, during 
 the early part of the reign of Henry the 
 Eighth, assisted in augmentingthe power 
 which Wolsey already possessed. Peace 
 had indeed been concluded with Louis 
 the Twelfth, and it was cemented by 
 the sacrifice of Mary, the young and 
 beautiful sister of Henry, at the altar of 
 policy, where she was united to the 
 king of France, a man nearly three 
 times her age, with the consolation only 
 of being as conspicuous for her rank, 
 as she had before been for her per- 
 sonal charms. The death of Louis had 
 dissolved this unnatural bond ; but 
 while it rendered the continuance of the 
 treaty uncertain, it imparted happiness 
 to the queen widow, who almost imme- 
 diately bestowed her hand on Charles 
 Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Henry was 
 at first indignant at the choice which 
 his sister had made, having probably 
 cherished the intention of advancing the 
 interests of his kingdom by seeking 
 another alliance between some foreign 
 potentate and his sister. 
 
 The part which Wolsey took in this 
 affair was conciliatory, and it may 
 have been disinterested. He warned 
 the young dowager against a hasty mar- 
 riage,* immediately after the death of 
 her royal consort : but, when the con- 
 sequence of an ardent and mutual at- 
 tachment became irrevocable, and was 
 avowed, he endeavoured to reconcile the 
 mind of the king to an event which 
 could not be recalled.-}' Henry, who 
 began to perceive that it would be more 
 for the honour of his sister to return to 
 her country with her rich dowry, than 
 to bestow it upon some foreign noble- 
 man, or petty prince, was consoled, 
 also, by the partiality which he enter- 
 tained for Brandon, one of the earliest 
 and latest of his friends. 
 
 The peace which had been concluded 
 between England and France, before the 
 death of Louis the Twelfth, was not of 
 long continuance after the accession of 
 Francis the First. That monarch, brave, 
 generous, and accomplished, was by no 
 means the first aggressor in the hosti- 
 lities with which he was for some time 
 menaced by Henry. Disposed both by 
 policy and inclination to maintain a 
 close alliance with England, he had, 
 nevertheless, the ill-luck to incur the 
 
 * See Ellis's Original Letters, vol, i, p. 118, 
 t Herbert, p, 55. 
 
 resentment of Wolsey, who too fre- 
 quently allowed his private interests to 
 affect the great affairs of his country. 
 The cause which has been assigned for 
 the animosity expressed by Wolsey to- 
 wards the French king, related to the 
 bishopric of Tournay, which, while 
 it yielded an ample revenue to the Car- 
 dinal, had occasioned him considerable 
 trouble and anxiety, from the unwilling- 
 ness of Guillart, the deposed bishop, 
 to resign his spiritual jurisdiction. 
 Strengthened by a bull from the pope, 
 Guillart had acquired a number of par- 
 tisans both within the city and else- 
 where; and Wolsey, alarmed for the 
 consequences of this success, solicited 
 Francis to confer another bishopric 
 upon Guillart, in order to divert him 
 from prosecuting his designs upon 
 Tournay. Francis either declined, or 
 delayed to comply with this request ; 
 and the indifference thus evinced to his 
 interests was not forgiven by the Car- 
 dinal, until he had been conciliated by 
 the flattering terms of "Pater" and 
 " Dominus " addressed to him 
 by Francis, and more effectually 1518. 
 appeased by the powerful agency 
 of gifts and promises.* 
 
 While a sentiment of displeasure to- 
 wards Francis prevailed in the breast of 
 the Cardinal, the measures pursued by 
 the English government tended to an 
 alliance with Maximilian, Emperor of 
 Germany, with Pope Leo the Tenth, and 
 with the wily Ferdinand of Spain. The 
 death of Ferdinand, the discovery of 
 the artful and plausible character of the 
 emperor, and the skilful negociations of 
 Francis, produced a manifest change 
 in the politics of the English court. 
 Wolsey was employed as the mediator 
 between Francis and Henry, and he 
 displayed so much address in this im- 
 portant matter, that Henry, in the ex- 
 ultation of his heart, declared " that 
 Wolsey would govern both him and the 
 King of France." Ambassadors were 
 soon afterwards dispatched from France 
 to London, and a treaty was concluded, 
 containing a clause relative to the resti- 
 tution of Tournay, a point which Henry, 
 prompted by the representations of his 
 minister, was induced to concede. 
 Wolsey had long been weaiy of the 
 trouble and insecurity of his foreign see, 
 and the compensation offered to him,was 
 a desirable equivalent for sums which 
 were collected and transmitted with dif- 
 
 * Herbert, p. 74. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 *>*& 
 
 &1 
 
 &>>*% 
 
 ficulty. The other Englishmen, offici- 
 ally concerned in the garrison of Tour- 
 nay, were also remunerated for the 
 loss of their posts by the distribution 
 amongst them of money furnished by 
 the French king. 
 
 While thus engaged in foreign ne- 
 gotiations, Wolsey exercised, 
 1518. with diligence and impartiality, 
 his authority as chancellor, an 
 office in which he is said to "have 
 spared neither high nor low, but to 
 have judged every estate according to 
 their merits and deserts." * 
 
 The first measures of the Cardinal, in 
 this capacity, were unpopular, and in 
 some instances frivolous and injudicious. 
 Considerable importance was at this 
 time attached to the subject of apparel, 
 and by a recent act, the dress of the 
 laity of every condition had been re- 
 gulated, forfeitures being assigned for 
 the neglect of its observances. To en- 
 force the new statute, Wolsey sent 
 commissioners into different counties, 
 with charges also to regulate the wages 
 of labourers, their hours of meals, and 
 of rest, settled, in these despotic times, 
 by act of parliament. These agents 
 exceeding probably the injunctions 
 given them, a degree of tyranny was 
 exercised which occasioned the loudest 
 discontent. At Rochester, the just in- 
 dignation of the populace broke forth 
 on seeing a man pilloried for no greater 
 offence than that of wearing a shirt 
 made of a particular kind of cloth called 
 " ryven." It is difficult to comprehend 
 why so much stress was placed upon a 
 mere distinction in the texture of habili- 
 ments, unless it may have originated in 
 a desire for the protection and benefit 
 of some particular manufacture, at that 
 time in need of encouragement. Wolsey 
 was not, it appears, at all times superior 
 to the indulgence of petty irritation, and 
 he even committed his dignity in the 
 dispute, by taking the law into his own 
 hands. Observing, one day, an elderly 
 man in an old crimson jacket, adorned 
 with various brooches, the Cardinal, 
 with his own hands, took from him a 
 dress which the offender was probably 
 not entitled by his rank to wear, but 
 which compassion and decorum should 
 have spared to the aged and defence- 
 less delinquent. t 
 
 This act of severity excited much 
 animadversion upon the conduct of 
 Wolsey; and a similar degree of un- 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 107, t Hall's Chronicles, 
 
 popularity attended the neces 
 of calling to account all those 
 in whose dealings either fraud 01 
 lessness was detected, touching 
 money transactions of the late war. 
 The most salutary regulations were also 
 made respecting perjury, a crime of 
 alarming frequency in the preceding 
 reigns, when evidence in the various 
 courts of justice might be openly bought 
 and sold. Wolsey visited this offence 
 with severity proportioned to the hein- 
 ousness of an act, which, in the words 
 of Lord Herbert, comprises murder, 
 theft, and detraction : it was, therefore, 
 greatly diminished. During the legis- 
 lation of this vigorous but unpopular 
 minister, who sedulously endeavoured 
 to inculcate the necessity of a regular 
 administration of the law, courts were 
 erected in order to protect the poor 
 from the oppressions of the rich, who, 
 in those days, thought the world made 
 only for them. These tribunals were at 
 first thronged, but soon fell into disre- 
 pute from the delays and improper 
 decisions to which the suitors found 
 themselves liable; and the courts of 
 common law were eventually preferred.* 
 The intention of Wolsey, in thus provid- 
 ing for the benefit of the lower classes, 
 was, however, laudable ; and while he 
 exercised a due authority over them, 
 he endeavoured, on various occasions, 
 to raise them to a state of greater inde- 
 pendence, and of more importance in 
 the state. By his vigilance and rigid 
 administration of justice, the highways 
 were in a great measure freed from rob- 
 bers, by whom, in the absence of a regu- 
 lar police, they had been infested to an 
 alarming extent. Acts of violence were 
 visited with speedy and impartial retri- 
 bution, and, according to the celebrated 
 Erasmus, who was well acquainted with 
 this country, "it became as free of 
 harmful men, as it was of poison and 
 noxious beasts."t Lawsuits, which 
 had long wearied the suitors, from the 
 vexatious indecision of preceding 
 chancellors, were now equitably ad- 
 justed. The decisions of Wolsey as a 
 judge were allowed to be generally im- 
 partial, and his estimation of the evi- 
 dence before him judicious. " It was 
 strange," observes a chronicler of this 
 period, "to see the Cardinal (a man not 
 skilled in the laws) sit in the seat of 
 judgment and pronounce the law, being 
 aided at first by such as (according to 
 
 * Herbert, p. 67. 
 f Strype's Ecclesiastic Memorials, vol, i,, p. 193, 
 
ir> 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 ancient custom) did sit as associate 
 with him; but he would not stick to 
 determine sundry causes, neither rightly 
 decided nor adjudged by order of law."* 
 He would even reprove sharply those 
 judges who had allowed themselves to 
 be imposed upon by false evidence, and 
 who had not well considered the testi- 
 mony of both parties. A degree of 
 celerity in the dispatch of legal business 
 was ensured by Wolsey, deserving of 
 gratitude, both from his contemporaries 
 and from posterity. Upon the repre- 
 sentation of the Cardinal, the king 
 granted a commission to the master of 
 the rolls, the chief baron of the ex- 
 chequer, and four of eighteen persons 
 specified, to hear and determine causes 
 in chancery when the chancellor should 
 happen to be engaged in state affairs. 
 This privilege has continued, with some 
 variations, until the present day. Dis- 
 gusted by the ignorance of the lawyers, 
 and even of the judges, he planned an 
 institution in the metropolis, by which 
 opportunities for studying that science 
 should be afforded to the diligent ; but 
 this project, like several beneficent and 
 liberal designs of the Cardinal, was 
 never realized. The model of the build- 
 ing was long treasured in the palace of 
 Greenwich, after the death of Wolsey, as 
 a fine specimen of architectural taste.f 
 During this period of our history the 
 Chancellor had the sole power of bring- 
 ing Bills into Parliament, which he 
 exercised by means of committees of 
 his own appointment. An examination 
 therefore of the Statutes passed during 
 the term that Wolsey held the Seals, 
 would show the principles of govern- 
 ment on which he acted, and would 
 throw additional light on his general cha- 
 racter. Two-thirds of them would be 
 found to be enacted for the protection 
 of trade and manufactures, all of which 
 are now either repealed or have fallen 
 into disuse. These acts, by the number 
 of their minute and painful restrictions, 
 sometimes on the manufacturer and im- 
 porter, and sometimes on the consumer, 
 evince at once the laudable anxiety of 
 the minister for the welfare of the in- 
 dustrious classes, and his profound ig- 
 norance of the great truth, that com- 
 merce is always fettered and never 
 served by the oificiousness of legal in- 
 terference. The excellences and defects 
 of Wolsey's legal administration (so 
 far as it was honest) seem to spring 
 
 * Holinshed's Chronicles, p. 615. 
 f Gait's Life of Wolsey, p. 209. 
 
 from the same source the industry with 
 which he carried legislation into a rigid 
 and minute detail. His amendments 
 in the various processes of the law, 
 his reform of church discipline, espe- 
 cially in his attack on pluralities, are 
 favourable instances, and ought not to 
 be' forgotten in the balance of his me- 
 rits. Indeed, even with respect to his 
 interference with the freedom of trade, 
 he ought, perhaps, rather to be praised 
 for having so distinctly seen the value 
 of the object, than censured for having 
 mistaken, in common with men of later 
 days and better lights, the means by 
 which the object was to be obtained. 
 
 In his administration of the affairs 
 of the church, the conduct of Wolsey 
 was far less exemplary than in his le- 
 gislative functions ; and were it not for 
 the liberal views which he afterwards 
 manifested in the promulgation of 
 learning among the clergy, he would 
 have merited from that body the se- 
 verest reprobation. A new dignity 
 was now added to the accumulated 
 honours which Wolsey had gained. 
 Leo the Tenth, desirous of establishing 
 a league among all the princes of Chris- 
 tendom against the Turks, sent Cardinal 
 Campeggio into England for the pur- 
 pose of entering into a negociation with 
 Henry to that effect ; at the same time 
 the legate was empowered to collect a 
 tithe from the English clergy, and to 
 visit and reform the monastic institu- 
 tions in this country. In order 
 to conciliate the British mo- 1518. 
 narch, Leo not only enjoined 
 Campeggio to cultivate assiduously 
 the friendship of Wolsey, but con- 
 sented to invest the Cardinal of York 
 with the legatine authority also ; and 
 Campeggio was detained at Paris, until 
 a commission to that effect should arrive. 
 This delay w r as suggested by the vanity 
 of Wolsey, who both objected to admit 
 any one invested with greater ecclesias- 
 tical power than himself; and who 
 desired that Campeggio should be sup- 
 plied with the means" of supporting the 
 dignity of his high office, which derived, 
 in the eyes of Wolsey, additional im- 
 portance, from his being joined with 
 Campeggio as a colleague. With this 
 design, a quantity of scarlet cloth was 
 dispatched to Calais to supply the 
 retinue of Campeggio with new attire, 
 of which it stood in great need. This 
 precaution having been adopted, and 
 the bull of the pope received by Cam- 
 peggio, that legate was permitted, to 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 V 
 
 cross to Dover, and to enter London 
 with the accustomed parade ; yet Wol- 
 sey, not satisfied with the reported ap- 
 pearance of Campeggio and his train, 
 sent twelve mules laden with baggage 
 to increase the procession of his col- 
 league. These chests were supposed 
 to contain rich articles of jewellery, 
 plate, and garments, of which the Ita- 
 lian legate was understood to possess a 
 superabundant portion : but unhappily 
 for the credit of Campeggio, one of 
 the mules fell, and the colter which it 
 carried being burst open by the acci- 
 dent, old habiliments, and pieces of 
 broken bread, or meat, put into the 
 chest as ballast, were exposed to the 
 spectators, too well disposed to sneer at 
 the mock grandeur of the procession.* 
 
 Campeggio having paid his tribute 
 of respect to the king, in company with 
 Wolsey, the business of the legation 
 commenced. No success attended the 
 demand made upon the clergy, who re- 
 fused to pay the tithe ; and the visita- 
 tion of the monasteries remained the 
 sole object of the commission. On this 
 subject it is probable that Wolsey had 
 long formed his opinion, and that it 
 was possibly his desire to effect his 
 great designs without the fear of dis- 
 sent, or interruption from a colleague. 
 He dispatched Doctor John Clarke, 
 therefore, to Rome, with a petition that 
 the legatine power in England might 
 be vested solely in himself, and that 
 Campeggio might be recalled. The rea- 
 sons assigned for this request related 
 to the immoralities and ignorance of the 
 clergy, which were enumerated by Wol- 
 sey in strong, and probably just terms. 
 Doctor Clarke, acting both at the in- 
 stigation of Wolsey, and by the com- 
 mand of Henry, proved a successful 
 negotiator. He obtained a bull from 
 Leo, constituting Wolsey legate a la- 
 tere, with power to visit and to reform 
 the monasteries and the clergy of 
 England ; and with the unusual and 
 hazardous privilege of dispensing with 
 all church laws for the term of one year 
 after the date of the bull.t 
 June 10, This extension of autho- 
 
 1519. rity gave great offence to 
 the bishops, whose powers 
 it abridged ; and was displeasing to the 
 nation at large, who having already 
 beheld Wolsey and Campeggio endowed 
 with the privilege of granting remission 
 for sins, after they had celebrated mass, 
 deemed that the overweening greatness 
 
 * Hull's Chronicles, p. 593. f Herbert, p. 79. 
 
 of Wolsey was dangerous to the people, 
 and injurious to the honour of the king. 
 
 Invested with authority which was 
 likely to have an intoxicating influence 
 over his own mind, and which was sure 
 to excite the jealousy of others, Wol- 
 sey possessed not prudence, nor, in- 
 deed, integrity sufficient to defend him 
 from the snares which sudden prosper- 
 ity spreads for wisdom and virtue. His 
 first act, as a legate, was to erect a 
 court, in which a kind of inquisitorial 
 jurisdiction was assumed over the 
 clergy. Irregularities and offences, 
 which had either escaped the cogni- 
 zance of the law, or were not within 
 its prescribed limits, were the objects of 
 inquiry and of punishment at the new 
 tribunal which Wolsey instituted. If 
 the injustice and extortion imputed to 
 him in the exercise of these functions 
 be proved, the conduct of Wolsey in 
 this department is more than ordinarily 
 reprehensible, as the worst feature of 
 the corruption which he had under- 
 taken to abolish. The chief evidence 
 against him in this respect is derived 
 from the history of Polydore Vergil, a 
 foreigner naturalized in England, whom 
 Wolsey had rendered his enemy by 
 committing him, for some offence, to 
 prison. According to this writer, the 
 legatine court was a scene of oppression 
 and exaction of the most scandalous 
 kind. All ecclesiastical persons, sus- 
 pected of any misdemeanour, were 
 summoned before the president, and 
 were obliged, in many instances, to 
 compromise, by large sums of money, 
 charges from which they could not di- 
 rectly clear themselves. Executors of 
 wills were called to severe account ; 
 livings in the gift of the nobility were 
 given by Wolsey to his dependents ; 
 and the registration and proof of wills, 
 hitherto the sources of profit to some of 
 the dignitaries of the church, were now 
 monopolized by the Cardinal.* John 
 Aleyn, a priest, who was the person 
 appointed by Wolsey to preside over 
 the court, was, according to Polydore 
 Vergil, a man of abandoned character, 
 with whom all honest individuals 
 dreaded to have any concern. These 
 alleged abuses, which were repeated as 
 accusations in the articles afterwards 
 exhibited against Wolsey, in all pro- 
 bability existed to a certain extent. 
 
 The sense of justice which Wolsey 
 manifested in all his other legislative 
 functions, is at variance with the out- 
 
 Henry's History of England, vol. xii. p. 11. 
 C 
 
13 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 rageous iniquities which he is affirmed to 
 have countenanced ; while, at the same 
 time, his undoubted eagerness for gain 
 may have acted, in some cases, as a 
 counterpoise to the valuable and upright 
 parts of his character. Wolsey was too 
 much feared and hated to do evil with- 
 out detection. Warham, archbishop 
 of Canterbury, the constant, but tempe- 
 rate opponent of Wolsey's arrogance, 
 informed the King of the reports which 
 taxed his favourite with injustice and 
 extortion, " Father," replied Henry, 
 " no man is so blind as in his own house ; 
 I pray you, go to Wolsey, and tell him, 
 if any thing be amiss, that he amend 
 it." This command was obeyed by 
 Warham, who disliked the innovations, 
 as much as the insolence of his rival. 
 The admonition of the primate produced, 
 however, no other effect than that of 
 increasing the hatred of Wolsey towards 
 him ; but the information which War- 
 ham had imparted to the king was not 
 wholly inefficacious. It opened the eyes 
 of the King to the fallibility of his minis- 
 ter ; and some time afterwards, when 
 Aleyn was accused of illegal practices, 
 Wolsey received a severe rebuke from 
 the king, for tolerating the conduct 
 which he ought to have condemned. 
 From this incident, according to the 
 confident opinion of some historians of 
 that period, the decline of Wolsey may 
 be dated.* 
 
 While these circumstances were gra- 
 dually undermining his influence at 
 home, it remained, to all outward ap- 
 pearance, undiminished ; and, at foreign 
 courts, his will was the pivot upon which 
 all important operations moved. One 
 leading principle, governing all the ac- 
 tions of the Cardinal, may be observed, 
 from about this period, until all hope of at- 
 taining the object of his wishes was event- 
 ually precluded. He had been already 
 exalted to a station, eminent beyond that 
 which any former subject of a British mo- 
 narch ever enjoyed; yet, like Alexander, 
 he sighed for a new sphere over which 
 he might extend his dominion ; and the 
 ambitious and restless ecclesiastic now 
 directed his hopes to the papal crown. 
 At what period of his life this desire was 
 first kindled in the breast of the Cardi- 
 nal, must be a matter of conjecture : 
 but, perhaps, like many other aspiring 
 men, the earliest yearnings of his soul 
 for distinction were encouraged by a 
 remote and apparently futile hope of 
 
 * Herbert, p. 81, 
 
 attaining the highest point to which 
 persons of his class and profession 
 could arrive. 
 
 The principal influence among the 
 conclave of cardinals, who held the 
 papal election in their hands, was di- 
 vided between France and Spain ; and 
 Wolsey was for some time undecided to 
 which of these continental powers he 
 should devote himself in expectation of 
 assistance. Francis the First possessed 
 fourteen votes in the conclave ; he offer- 
 ed his interest to the Cardinal, and se- 
 conded his promises by presents and 
 pensions. For some time Wolsey was 
 disposed to adhere to the King of France, 
 but wavered when he saw the young 
 King of Spain raised to the imperial 
 throne. The wisdom and energy already 
 displayed by the young emperor, and 
 the extent of his dominions, ensured to 
 him a degree of importance in the affairs 
 of Europe, which, as Wolsey easily 
 foresaw, would eventually preponderate. 
 The eagerness which Charles displayed 
 to conciliate the British minister, his 
 flattering epithets of " most dear friend," 
 and his pension of three thousand livres, 
 decided the choice of Wolsey, and he 
 may from henceforth be regarded for 
 some years as the secret and powerful 
 ally of the Spanish court. His own mind 
 being determined, Wolsey was not tardy 
 in turning his master to the side of the 
 young emperor; but Henry was con- 
 strained for some time to dissemble his 
 intentions. 
 
 It had been agreed, in the treaty with 
 France, during the preceding year, that 
 an interview between the two kings 
 should take place at an early period, 
 within the English territory in France. 
 Honour, policy, and inclination forbade 
 the breach of this engagement on the 
 part of Henry ; nor was Wolsey reluc- 
 tant to display to admiring France his 
 greatness, as the proudest and most 
 powerful subject in the train of his 
 sovereign. The celebrated meeting at 
 the field of Ardres, merits, from its 
 novelty in the annals of Europe, and 
 from its magnificence, the minute de- 
 scription which it obtained in some of 
 our English chronicles, and in the lively 
 memoires of the Marquis de Fleuranges, 
 one of the nobles who accompanied 
 Francis, and who was commanded by 
 that monarch to commemorate the event. 
 It was the last semblance of chivalry, 
 which expired with Henry the Eighth, 
 the festive diversions in the reign of 
 Elizabeth being but the shadow of 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 19 
 
 knightly prowess. It was the most 
 splendid incident in the life of Henry, 
 and Wolsey shared its glories and its 
 luxuries. Precluded by his sacred of- 
 fice from a participation in those exer- 
 cises which delighted the young and 
 gallant monarchs, Wolsey, however, 
 appeared in costly and pompous array, 
 as was his usage on all festive and cere- 
 monious occasions. It was his courtesy 
 which directed the ornaments, his judg- 
 ment which prescribed the regulations 
 of the meeting. As a political affair, 
 the personal communication between 
 Francis and Henry was followed by no 
 important effects. Their union was 
 rather prevented than cemented by the 
 event. The utmost courtesy and defer- 
 ence were, it is true, displayed on either 
 part, both by the princes and their at- 
 tendant nobles. Yet, in the midst of 
 the most peaceful interchange of com- 
 pliments and presents, the discerning 
 spectator might have detected the secret 
 aversion of Wolsey from an alliance 
 with France ; the ill-disguised distrust of 
 the courtiers and people assembled on 
 both sides ; the irresolution of Henry, 
 and the apprehension of Francis that 
 his hold was insecure over the favour of 
 his apparent friend. The scene must have 
 been curious and interesting ; unhappily 
 it was soon to be 'followed by one of 
 a solemn and afflicting character. 
 
 On quitting Ardres, Henry repaired 
 almost immediately to Gravelines, where 
 he was joined by the emperor, with whom 
 an understanding had been already 
 commenced in a visit which Charles had 
 recently made to the King of England. 
 Neither Henry nor Wolsey considered 
 it any derogation from their honours to 
 encourage the alliance of this rival of 
 the French king, at the very time that 
 every manifestation of friendship had 
 been displayed towards Francis. The 
 subtle policy of Wolsey was visited 
 with retribution, and he sunk event- 
 ually into snares prepared by his own 
 insincerity and vacillation. Engaged 
 as he was with diplomatic manoeuvres, 
 his mind was also disturbed by the 
 evident hatred and jealousy of the 
 English nobles. Whilst the higher 
 classes of the community outwardly 
 paid homage to his rank and power, 
 they secretly railed at the haughtiness, 
 and recalled with contemptuous bitter- 
 ness the lowly origin of the Cardinal. 
 Among those highly born individuals, 
 who, in those days of comparative dark- 
 ness and ignorance, regarded no distinc- 
 tions as worthy of consideration, except 
 
 the accidental circumstance of ancient 
 and noble descent, none looked with 
 more indignant disdain upon Wolsey, 
 than Stafford, duke of Buckingham. 
 Allied to the family of Plantagenet 
 both by the male and female line, the 
 proud and aspiring character of the 
 duke had even rendered the suspicion 
 probable, that he was not without hopes 
 of one day ascending the throne, in 
 case of the king's death without issue : 
 if Buckingham ever cherished treason- 
 able designs, the birth of the Princess 
 Mary must have dispelled all confident 
 expectations of success. Previous to 
 that event, he had, unhappily, been 
 induced to hold conferences with those 
 who first tempted him to the premedita- 
 tion of guilt, and then betrayed his 
 secret. Unconscious of the impend- 
 ing danger, Buckingham accompanied 
 Henry to the field of Ardres, and shone 
 there, one of the most splendid of the 
 English courtiers, who, on that occasion, 
 were said to have far surpassed the 
 French in magnificence. Perhaps the 
 yery display which was in part intended 
 to do him honour, exasperated the 
 jealous frenzy of Henry. Shortly after 
 the return of the king and Wolsey 
 from France, Buckingham felt the ef- 
 fects of the gathering storm. He was 
 apprehended, arraigned for high treason, 
 tried, and condemned. His sentence, 
 accelerated by the evidence of his de- 
 pendents, produced universal regret 
 among his fellow- subjects, and lamenta- 
 tion abroad. 
 
 Like all other passing events, the ex- 
 ecution of Buckingham was imputed to 
 the Cardinal. Even the emperor is de- 
 clared to have said that the " butcher's 
 dog had slain the finest buck in Eng- 
 land." At home, it was supposed that 
 a trifling incident had occasioned that 
 bitter enmity in Wolsey towards the 
 duke, to which his cruel fate was at- 
 tributed. It was the custom for the 
 highest of the nobility to hold the sa- 
 cred water, present the ewer, and per- 
 form other offices of respect, at mass, 
 when Wolsey assisted at the service. 
 The more obsequious or more cautious 
 courtiers submitted to the necessity 
 which there appeared to be for these 
 acts of humiliation, knowing and 
 dreading the consequences of a refusal. 
 Buckingham, however, inwardly chafed 
 at the constrained semblance of rever- 
 ence and even observing merely that 
 Wolsey had the presumption to dip his 
 hands in an ewer of water which the 
 duke handed to the king, he could not 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 brook the reflection that he had been 
 involuntarily made to perform a service 
 to a priest. Losing all self-command, 
 he hastily and contemptuously poured 
 the contents of the vessel upon the feet 
 of the Cardinal. For this affront he 
 swore that he would have his revenge, 
 by sitting on the duke's skirts; a 
 figure of speech more intelligible in the 
 days of long trains than in the present 
 time. Wolsey was, however, disap- 
 pointed by Buckingham's appearing at 
 court on the following day without any 
 skirts to his coat, assigning as a reason 
 for this new fashion that he was resolved 
 to baffle the malicious designs of the 
 Cardinal. For this childish and ridi- 
 culous warfare, if Wolsey be justly con- 
 sidered as the originator of Bucking- 
 ham's ruin, the duke paid dearly. It is 
 certain that, had Wolsey desired to 
 rescue this proud noble from a degrad- 
 ing death, he possessed the power of 
 saving him, for Henry, at this time, 
 would have granted the privilege of 
 mercy to his minister. It is perhaps 
 unfair, however, to consider the conduct 
 of Wolsey on this occasion as wholly 
 dictated by the meanness of revenge. 
 He may have deemed it a necessary 
 act of caution to check, by the death 
 of Buckingham, those aspiring views 
 in the nobles allied to the crown, by 
 which the peace and security of the 
 country might be troubled. 
 
 There is reason also to believe that 
 Buckingham was not entirely guiltless of 
 the designs imputed to him ; and the 
 example of his father, who had once me- 
 ditated asserting a claim to the English 
 crown, was not obliterated from the 
 recollection of the public. The most 
 discreditable feature in the proceedings 
 against him was the care taken by Wol- 
 sey to procure the absence of those 
 friends and relatives of the unhappy 
 duke, whose intercession might have 
 averted his fate. Twenty-six peers only 
 sat on the trial ; and the sentence was 
 pronounced with tears by the Duke of 
 Norfolk, too subservient a courtier to 
 decline this sad office, although the 
 personal friend of the prisoner. Some 
 indications of mercy were manifested on' 
 the part of the king ; and while his ob- 
 noxious measures are imputed to the 
 influence of Wolsey, it is but fair to 
 ascribe to the same source those which 
 betokened a milder spirit. The decree 
 by which the punishment of hanging 
 was adjudged to Buckingham, was 
 changed into the sentence of decapita- 
 tion, and part of the forfeited estates 
 
 were restored to the eldest son. Popular 
 feeling was, however, in a state of 
 unabated irritation against Wolsey, for 
 some time after the death of Bucking- 
 ham. The galling remark, that "" a 
 " butcher's son must naturally delight 
 in shedding blood," and other effusions 
 of public resentment, were probably 
 neither unfelt nor unobserved by the 
 Cardinal ; and he found, perhaps, relief 
 from some annoyance in the mission 
 which he was at this time induced to 
 undertake, with the avowed ob- 
 ject of composing the differ- 1521. 
 ences now verging towards hos- 
 tility, between the emperor and the king 
 of France. 
 
 The actual end to which the exertions 
 of Wolsey were directed in the negotia- 
 tion was to form a confederacy with 
 Charles against Francis on the part of 
 England; and, on his own account, to ob- 
 tain a promise from the emperor, in case 
 of the decease of the reigning Pontiff, 
 to aid his long-cherished wishes on that 
 point. Charles readily, but without 
 sincerity, accorded the favour requested; 
 secretly resolving, as his subsequent 
 actions proved, to suit his own con- 
 venience in the result. A treaty was 
 concluded between the pope, the em- 
 peror, and the king of England, to the 
 exclusion of Francis, against whom 
 hostilities w T ere meditated. 
 
 Chapter Third. 
 The part taken by Wolsey in the Con- 
 troversy between Henry the Eighth 
 and Luther. His desire for the Re- 
 vival of Learning. His Schemes 
 with respect to the Monastic Institu- 
 tions. Erection of the Cardinal's 
 College at Oxford. Hit Regulation 
 of the Royal Households. Embassy 
 of the Cardinal to France. His de- 
 cline in the favour of Henry. The 
 Great Seal taken from Wolsey. His 
 Humiliation, Impeachment, Ill- 
 ness, Death, Character, Burial. 
 It is necessary to take a cursory view 
 of the life of Wolsey at this 
 period, in order to arrive at 1521. 
 those benevolent designs, and 
 at the great though imperfect achieve- 
 ments which constitute the real glory of 
 this celebrated man ; and which afforded 
 a far nobler exercise for his genius than 
 the diplomatic intrigues in which he 
 played a conspicuous, but an unworthy 
 part. It is, however, to be regretted, that 
 he was allured by the voice of ambition, 
 while he cherished the schemes of a 
 philanthropist: yet a more cautious 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 21 
 
 and less aspiring individual would never 
 have projected, under existing circum- 
 stances, the reformation which he com- 
 menced ; and, while the pride and am- 
 bition of Wolsey are to be reprobated 
 by the moralist, it is to them that we 
 owe the results of that power, which 
 would scarcely have been the portion of 
 Wolsey, without the agency of these 
 passions. 
 
 It was at this sera that the famous 
 controversy between Henry the Eighth 
 and Luther attracted the criticisms of 
 the learned, and the attention of all 
 classes. _ Wolsey was not engaged in 
 this affair, otherwise than as being one 
 of the objects of the vituperation in 
 which the great reformer occasionally 
 indulged. Described by Luther, in one 
 of his celebrated letters, as "a fa- 
 vourite, a monster, a person hated both 
 by God and man," Wolsey might pos- 
 sibly find his zeal for the interests of 
 the hierarchy increased by the in- 
 vectives against himself, which were 
 coupled with just, though vehement 
 reprobations against the corruptions 
 of the church. Want of leisure, and 
 perhaps want of inclination to enter 
 the lists with so powerful an adversary, 
 deterred the Cardinal from hurling back 
 the epithets bestowed upon him. Con- 
 tented to leave his cause in the hands 
 of his royal master, who defended the 
 character of his favourite, in his reply 
 to Luther, Wolsey took no vengeance, 
 except in issuing a commission, com- 
 manding that the works of the reformer 
 should be collected in each diocese, and 
 delivered to him by the bishops. Having 
 thus extracted the supposed poison 
 from the people, he resolved to dis- 
 tribute the antidote. He ordered forty- 
 two of the doctrines advanced by Luther 
 to be posted upon the church-door, in 
 every parish, that all persons might 
 read and avoid these " damnable and 
 pestiferous errors," as they are de- 
 scribed in the commission, which also 
 declares them "to have taken root as 
 a noxious brier." This proceeding 
 sullies the reputation of the Cardinal as 
 a man of judgment and experience. It 
 was natural that he should think harshly 
 of Luther, and seriously of the mischief, 
 which, as a zealous papist, he might 
 believe to result from the opinions he 
 had denounced: but when the in- 
 temperance of zeal had subsided, it 
 might occur to Wolsey, that thus to 
 afford matter for thought and specu- 
 lation was to give the first impetus to 
 schism. It is, however, probable, that 
 
 he acted, in this instance, in conformity 
 with the wishes of the king, who, by 
 his edicts, his disputations, and va- 
 cillations, adopted the most effectual 
 means that could have been devised for 
 propagating a love of inquiry, and en- 
 couraging the desire of reform. 
 
 Wolsey soon proved that his notions 
 concerning the real danger of the church 
 were enlightened, and his plans for its 
 benefit founded upon just and liberal 
 principles. He saw that the majority 
 of christian philosophers and scholars 
 leaned to the side of the reformers ; em- 
 braced their simple, but rigid persuasion ; 
 increased its growth by the influence of 
 their writings, and honoured it by the 
 purity of their lives. He beheld, on the 
 other hand, the professors and dignitaries 
 of the Romish church, obscured in in- 
 tellect by the speculative and confused 
 studies in which they were trained to 
 glory, and degraded in conduct by the 
 irregular and voluptuous courses in 
 which they indulged. 
 
 To oppose " learning to learning," by 
 encouraging a spirit of laudable ex- 
 ertion, to raise the meritorious mem- 
 bers of the church into notice, appeared 
 to the Cardinal to be the only mode by 
 which the declining power of the hier- 
 archy might be sustained. To this end 
 he determined to restore the English 
 universities, now drooping from the in- 
 difference of their teachers, to that rank 
 of importance for which they were ori- 
 ginally designed among the institutions 
 of this country. Happily for England 
 the services of Wolsey were ensured to 
 her by the frustration of all his hopes of 
 obtaining the papacy. Leo the Tenth 
 expired, as it is said, of a fever produced 
 by joy, upon hearing of the success which 
 attended his army engaged in warfare 
 with the French. Upon this vacancy, 
 it was naturally the expectation of Wol- 
 sey to ascend the pontifical throne, 
 through the interest of Charles the Fifth ; 
 but in this he was deceived. Charles 
 had little inclination to throw, into the 
 balance of power, a proportion in the 
 scale so advantageous to England as the 
 exaltation of its minister to the highest 
 dignity in Europe. The emperor had 
 also his own favourites, whom he de- 
 sired to aggrandize ; and Adrian of 
 Tortosa, his former tutor, was elected 
 pope before Doctor Pace, the emissary 
 of Wolsey, could reach the scene of 
 contention. This annihilation of all 
 his hopes was, probably, in the mind of 
 Wolsey, conclusive ; and although these 
 were, not his last efforts to obtain the 
 
22 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 papacy, it is likely that lie considered 
 this manifest declaration of the in- 
 tentions of Charles to be an insuper- 
 able barrier to his wishes. His am- 
 bition may be deemed, therefore, from 
 this time, to have centered in his country, 
 and his schemes of public utility to 
 have regarded her interests alone. 
 
 In surveying the condition of the 
 church at this period, Wolsey perceived 
 that, to destroy the corruption which 
 infected the stem and branches of the 
 tree, it was necessary to promote the 
 healthy condition of the root. He re- 
 garded education as the soil in which 
 religious knowledge might be restored 
 to vigour. Hitherto the instruction of 
 the young had been confined either to 
 a few great public schools, to the 
 monastic institutions, or to the humble 
 exertions of parish clerks. The higher 
 orders of the clergy received into their 
 houses, it is true, as pupils, in some in- 
 stances, the sons of noblemen or of 
 gentlemen, on terms the most advan- 
 tageous as far as private tuition was 
 concerned ; but opportunities such as 
 these were afforded only to the sons of 
 the great and opulent ; whilst the mid- 
 dling classes of the people, from whom 
 the clergy principally sprung, were 
 wholly destitute of those incentives and 
 those aids to learning, which, in our 
 happier days, they eminently enjoy. 
 
 At an earlier period of his career, 
 Wolsey had evinced his zeal for the re- 
 vival of literature, and his sense of the 
 inefficiency of those who were deputed 
 to maintain its reputation, by an address 
 to all the schoolmasters of England, 
 exhorting them to introduce the clas- 
 sics into their plan of education.* He 
 had afforded his patronage to the in- 
 stitution of St. Paul's School, by Doctor 
 Colet, in 1509, and had devoted a par- 
 ticular attention to the structure and 
 regulations of that valuable seminary, 
 the first which was founded in England 
 by any private individual ; but the 
 English universities demanded and re- 
 ceived the first and most sedulous care 
 of the Cardinal, and he viewed with re- 
 gret and anxiety the diminution of 
 honour and importance now attached 
 to those venerable resorts of the studious 
 and the learned. 
 
 It was apparently an accident which 
 directed the notice of Wolsey to the 
 degraded and impoverished condition of 
 the colleges at Oxford. In 1518, the 
 king, and queen Katharine, being on 
 
 their progress, at Abingdon, a visit to 
 Oxford was planned by the pious and 
 intelligent Katharine, who desired both 
 to offer her tribute of respect at the 
 famous shrine of the virgin St. Frides- 
 wide, and to see the university. Wol- 
 sey, who was with the royal pair, ac- 
 companied Katharine in this excursion, 
 and remained at Oxford after the de- 
 parture of the queen. Upon this occa- 
 sion he made an oration in the Convo- 
 cation House, declaring it to be his 
 intention to establish fresh lectures in 
 the university, and to apply to the king 
 in its behalf. The heads of the colleges 
 then delivered their charters and liberties 
 into the hands of the Cardinal, and 
 Wolsey, shocked at the irregularity, 
 confusion, and even dishonesty which 
 an exposition of the affairs of the uni- 
 versity displayed,* resolved to spare 
 neither trouble nor expense in dispelling 
 the gloom which negligence or knavery 
 had thrown over the scene of his early 
 studies. 
 
 Agreeably to his promises, Wolsey 
 made an earnest and early application 
 to the king in favour of the declining 
 yet indispensable institutions of Oxford, 
 and Henry was disposed to enter warmly 
 into a course so accordant with his own 
 reverence for philosophy and letters ; 
 but the power of granting pecuniary aid 
 for the noble purpose of restoring the 
 decayed colleges to their former pros- 
 perity, had passed away from the king, 
 and the expenses of foreign wars and 
 negotiations, and the costly mainte- 
 nance of a dissipated court, had left 
 no sums in reserve to promote the ex- 
 tension of knowledge. New and more 
 abundant resources were, however, in 
 store; and Wolsey had sufficient courage 
 to resort to them, and address and wis 
 dom to employ them with advantage. 
 
 The monastic system had for some 
 time begun rapidly to decline in public 
 estimation. Several of the most exalted 
 and rigid of the English bishops, had 
 viewed the corruptions which prevailed 
 in religious houses with concern, and 
 had preferred the endowment of colleges 
 to the establishment of new monastic in- 
 stitutions. Reprobated, and in some in- 
 dividual instances suppressed by autho- 
 rity, the monasteries had hitherto pos- 
 sessed some degree of popularity, from 
 the convenience which, in some respects, 
 they afforded, and, among the benefits 
 they produced, none were with so much 
 reason insisted upon by their advocates, 
 
 Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, vol. i p. 193, * Wood's History of Oxford, vol. i., p. 666. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 23 
 
 as the facilities which they gave to the 
 preservation of learning, and to the in- 
 struction of youth. 
 
 The condition of society was now, 
 however, materially changed. The art 
 of printing, which had nourished pecu- 
 liarly in this country, had rendered the 
 intellectual part of the community in a 
 great measure independent of the la- 
 borious exertions of the monks, one 
 of whose chief employments consisted 
 in the transcribing of books. The 
 foundation of several grammar schools, 
 since the year 1503, and the increasing 
 fame of Eton and Winchester, had 
 superseded the instructions of the con- 
 vent schools, which had hitherto at- 
 tracted the greater portion of young 
 students within the walls of their es- 
 tablishments. 
 
 These considerations, and others of 
 too extensive a nature to be here de- 
 tailed, may appear to have greatly faci- 
 litated the design which Wolsey now 
 cherished of diminishing the number of 
 the monasteries, and of turning their 
 revenues towards objects more condu- 
 cive to the public good, than the con- 
 tinuance of these corrupt and ill-ar- 
 ranged fraternities. But the task which 
 Wolsey contemplated was fraught with 
 difficulty, and attended with odium. For 
 this great scheme, for the motives by 
 which it was suggested, and for the 
 effects which followed it, if Wolsey ob- 
 tained not the suffrages of gratitude 
 from his contemporaries, he has merited 
 the veneration of all successive genera- 
 tions of his countrymen. 
 
 The extraordinary power which he 
 at this time enjoyed, could alone have 
 enabled him even to plan, with any 
 rational hope of success, the dissolution 
 of forty-one monasteries, which he ef- 
 fected in order to form a fund for the 
 erection of new seminaries of learn- 
 ing. It was at first the intention of the 
 Cardinal to have exerted simply his own 
 authority as legate, in the suppression 
 of those convents which were most 
 notorious for irregularity and licentious- 
 ness; but from this measure he was dis- 
 suaded. Accordingly he applied to 
 Pope Clement the Seventh, who had 
 succeeded Adrian, for a bull, empower- 
 ing- him to suppress the monastery of 
 Saint Frideswide, in Oxford. In 1524 
 he obtained the object of his petition ; 
 and in 1525, another bull, granting him 
 permission to dissolve forty small mo- 
 nasteries.* In the visitation of the 
 
 Collier's Ecclesiastical History, vol, ii., p. 19. 
 
 proscribed institutions, it was he folly 
 or ill- fortune of Wolsey to employ the 
 same individual that had already ren- 
 dered the legatine court obnoxious by 
 his arrogance and extortion. Repre- 
 sented by such a deputy, Wolsey ex- 
 perienced not only interruption from the 
 lower orders of the people, who gene- 
 rally espouse the cause of the suffering 
 party, but reproof from the king, who 
 admonished him in strong but friendly 
 terms, to avoid giving all future occa- 
 sion to the " mumbling"' and " murmur- 
 ing" which pervaded the realm, upon 
 the innovations which Wolsey had com- 
 menced.* 
 
 Undismayed by these checks, Wolsey 
 proceeded to the application of the 
 funds which the dissolution of the 
 monasteries supplied. In 1525, the 
 monastery of Saint Frideswide was de- 
 spoiled of its revenues and endowments, 
 its once flourishing community dis- 
 persed, and its buildings in part appro- 
 priated to the formation of a " College 
 of secular priests," as Wolsey at first 
 intended to designate his infant es- 
 tablishment. With systematic care, 
 the Cardinal had already prepared stu- 
 dents for his projected college, in his 
 native town, at Ipswich, where, two 
 years before, he had founded a school. 
 In this tribute of gratitude to his birth- 
 place, Wolsey had received great as- 
 sistance. The magistrates of the town 
 had wisely resigned the property vested 
 in their hands for the maintenance of 
 an ancient school to the Cardinal, whose 
 power of appropriating them efficiently 
 they knew to be superior to their own ;+ 
 he was afterwards enabled also to add 
 the revenues of twenty-four small mo- 
 nasteries to the means already stated. 
 The regulations of the school he took 
 also under his own charge, and framed 
 them upon the model of those adopted 
 at St. Paul's, by the excellent Colet. 
 He even published, by his authority, a 
 grammar, for the use of his Ipswich 
 scholars, with a preface composed by 
 himself, the only effort of his pen in 
 matters not connected with state affairs, 
 or private business. But the grammar- 
 school of Ipswich, being solely of local 
 importance, survived not the hand by 
 which it was founded ; and this short- 
 lived institution sunk, with Wolsey, 
 into neglect and oblivion. The circum- 
 stance of its erection affords a pleasing 
 proof of Wolsey' s attachment to the 
 
 * Wood's History of Oxford, edited by Gutch, 
 vol. iii., p. 417, dissertation 6. 
 t Gait's Wolsey, p. 208. 
 
24 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 scene of his childhood ; and, if it be true 
 that the insignia of a butcher's trade 
 were carved upon one of its portals,* it 
 furnishes evidence, not only of Wolsey' s 
 actual origin, but of the far more im- 
 portant fact, that he was superior to 
 the littleness of remembering that ori- 
 gin with shame. 
 
 The magnificent institution of the 
 cardinal at Oxford has obtained a more 
 lasting celebrity than his inferior but 
 equally meritorious design. Retained 
 to us in the present day in the imposing 
 structure of Christ Church College, 
 this establishment sustained, in its 
 infancy, curious and even threatening 
 vicissitudes. In March, 1525, Wolsey 
 laid the first stone, on the site of the 
 former monastery of Saint Frideswide, 
 the ceremony being solemnized by a 
 sermon from Longland, Bishop of 
 Lincoln, and enlivened by a sumptuous 
 entertainment. The stone for the build- 
 ing was procured from quarries in the 
 vicinity of Oxford; yet such was the 
 extent and solidity of the masonry, that 
 the expenses consumed in it amounted 
 in one year to eight thousand pounds, 
 a very considerable sum in those days. 
 The church was adorned by Wolsey 
 with a steeple, and a fine roof over the 
 choir ; but part of the edifice was taken 
 down, in order to afford space for the 
 erection of the choir. The endowment 
 of the college with a dean, canons, and 
 professors, was planned with libera- 
 lity, and with a judicious attention 
 to the real interests of religion and 
 of learning. But Wolsey was not per- 
 mitted to complete an undertaking 
 which reflects the brightest lustre upon 
 his prosperity. In his subsequent mis- 
 fortunes, anxiety for his infant college, 
 and concern for the deserted state into 
 which it fell, formed one of the most 
 painful sources of his frequent reflec- 
 tion. Henry eventually re- 
 1532. stored it; but monopolized to 
 himself the glory of its ex- 
 istence, by assigning to it the name of 
 King Henry the Eighth's College. It 
 was, for various reaosns, endowed, in 
 1545, by the appellation by which it is 
 now designated. 
 
 It affords a curious and instructive 
 picture of the mind of Wolsey, to turn 
 to the varying occupations in which 
 he was engaged, even while he was 
 called upon to effect that great change 
 in the character of the country at large, 
 produced by the dissolution of the mo- 
 
 * Warton's History of English Poetry, 
 
 nasteries. The people beheld him with 
 astonishment descend to the direction 
 of the royal children in the minutest 
 particulars ; and devote his energies 
 alike to the regulation of a household 
 and of a nation. The Duke of Rich- 
 mond, the natural son of Henry the 
 Eighth, and the Princess Mary, pre- 
 sumptive heiress to the crown, were 
 alike intrusted to the charge and super- 
 intendence of the Cardinal. On the 
 duke, who was his god-child, Wolsey 
 bestowed sedulous and judicious atten- 
 tion, which was repaid by the merits 
 and early proficiency of the young no- 
 bleman. With a care- 
 ful hand Wolsey framed 1525, 1526. 
 the household of Rich- 
 mond, as soon as his godson had at- 
 tained the age of six years : the regu- 
 lations by which the miniature court 
 was governed were dictated by the 
 judgment, and subscribed in the hand- 
 writing of the Cardinal.* In a man- 
 ner nearly similar, Wolsey arranged the 
 establishment of the Princess Mary, and 
 lent his great understanding to deter- 
 mine whether or not the princess should 
 have " spice plates and dishes of sil- 
 ver ;" and if a " trumpet and rebeks" 
 were to be permitted for the solace of 
 the young lady, or rather of her atten- 
 dants/!' Undaunted by the sneers of 
 those who forget the importance of 
 trifling details in the sum of human 
 happiness, Wolsey next undertook the 
 weary task of effecting a reformation in 
 the ill- arranged and ill-governed house- 
 hold of the king. The particular abuses 
 which he had to correct, are enume- 
 rated in a document entitled the " Sta- 
 tutes of Eltham ;"$ and they afford an 
 amusing picture of the peculiarities of 
 Henry, and of the manners of his court. 
 The correcting hand of Wolsey was, of 
 course, unwelcome, and unpopular; 
 and, as is customary in the operations 
 of a domestic revolution, the most 
 arduous offices were the least approved. 
 Among the numerous, indolent, and 
 self-willed dependents, whom it was 
 the duty of the Cardinal to eject from the 
 service of his royal master, many ene- 
 mies were added to those by whom 
 Wolsey was already abundantly assailed. 
 The Palace of Hampton, nearly com- 
 pleted by Wolsey in the pre- 
 ceding year, was now pre- 1526. 
 sented by him to the king, 
 the most splendid gift ever proffered 
 
 * Harleian MSri. in the British Museum, 589, 192, 
 f Ellis's, Original Letters, vol. i., p. 27-L 
 $ Archaeologia, vol. iii,, p, 157, 158. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 25 
 
 by any English subject to his sovereign. 
 Wolsey, by this act, sought to evade 
 the attacks of the envious and in- 
 sidious courtiers, to whose snares he 
 yvas exposed ; but his discretion, in this 
 instance, availed little. Henry, touched 
 by the generosity of the Cardinal, gave 
 him, in return, the ancient manor of Rich- 
 mond, a favourite residence with the 
 English kings, and especially with Henry 
 the Seventh, by whose command its ap- 
 pellation was changed from Sheen to 
 Richmond, in compliment to his title 
 as Earl of Richmond in Yorkshire.* 
 In this agreeable abode Wolsey kept 
 Iris Christmas, in a manner far superior 
 in splendour to the royal court, which 
 was held at Eltham privately, on ac- 
 count of the sweating sickness. It was 
 at once irritating to the nobles, and to 
 the populace, to "see the "butcher's dog," 
 as they contumaciously expressed it, 
 living in a royal residence. The unpo- 
 pularity of Wolsey was, indeed, general. 
 Already had they resented with bitter- 
 ness the attempt made by the king, and 
 attributed to the Cardinal, to raise a 
 sum of money from the nation under 
 the form of " a benevolence." The prohi- 
 bition of games of chance increased the 
 public irritation. A less judicious act 
 of authority inflamed the passions of 
 the people to the highest degree, whilst 
 it proved that Wolsey possessed not 
 that command over his own temper 
 which it should be peculiarly the en- 
 deavour of a lawgiver or a ruler to 
 acquire. In a play, or, as it was then 
 termed, " a disguising," enacted by the 
 young lawyers of Gray's Inn, a plot was 
 introduced reflecting apparently upon 
 the existing state of public affairs. The 
 piece had, however, been written twenty 
 years before the performance, and it 
 might have been applied, from the 
 general nature of the characters, by 
 any minister in any times. Wolsey 
 thought otherwise, and attributed the 
 invention of this drama to hatred 
 against himself. Under pretext that 
 the king was highly offended with the 
 piece, he committed John Roo, the au- 
 thor, to the Fleet Prison, and deprived 
 him of his office of serjeant at law. The 
 young performers were severely repri- 
 manded, and one of them, who had 
 figured as the principal hero of the 
 piece, was threatened with imprison- 
 ment. Popular, and ill- suppressed mur- 
 murs followed this arbitrary measure. 
 " He who grudges every man his plea- 
 
 LysQjis's Environs of London, p, 443. 
 
 sure," said the people, " spares not his 
 own." 
 
 Events soon occurred, which afforded 
 ample encouragement for expressions of 
 a still more decided nature. A singular 
 revolution had been for some time 
 working in the affections and opinions 
 of Henry the Eighth. He who, in the 
 commencement of his reign, had deemed 
 the decisions of the pope inferior only 
 to those of heaven, and had recently 
 upheld the papal power in his contro- 
 versy with Luther ; he, who had hitherto 
 afforded to his subjects an example of 
 conjugal felicity, began now both to 
 question the authority of the pope, and 
 to entertain the intention of repudiating 
 his wife. When this change first began 
 to operate on the mind of Henry ; by 
 whom or in what it was originated, and 
 what share Wolsey had in effecting it, are 
 points which have been variously stated 
 by historians. It appears evident, that 
 whatever may have been the sentiments 
 of the Cardinal respecting the divorce, 
 love, and not the counsels of the minis- 
 ter, suggested that measure to the ardent 
 monarch. It is also undoubted that 
 Wolsey viewed with chagrin and alarm 
 the ascendency which the beautiful and 
 accomplished Anne Boleyn had now 
 acquired over the affections of the king. 
 Before the temptations of ambition had 
 weaned her from tenderer and more 
 natural emotions, Anne had experienc- 
 ed the bitterness of disappointment in 
 that "course of true love" which is 
 said never to " run smooth." nor to 
 return a second time to the channel 
 of our affections. She occupied the 
 place of maid of honour to Queen 
 Katharine, while the young Lord Percy, 
 son and heir of the Earl of Nor- 
 thumberland, attended in the house- 
 hold of Wolsey, for the purpose of in- 
 struction, among other youths of birth 
 and fortune, who have been already de- 
 scribed as a part of the Cardinal's esta- 
 blishment. It was the business of Lord 
 Percy to await the pleasure of the Car- 
 dinal at court, where the hours of idle- 
 ness and attendance were passed by 
 him in Queen Katharine's chamber in 
 pastime with the attractive, and, at that 
 time, light-hearted Anne Boleyn. This 
 casual circumstance had a considerable 
 influence on the destiny of Wolsey ; 
 so wonderfully do the most trifling oc- 
 currences operate on great events. A 
 mutual understanding soon took place 
 between these two young and thought- 
 less persons, who were destined to ex- 
 derience the folly of cherishing schemes 
 
26 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 of domestic happiness in courts. Their 
 attachment was soon perceived, and 
 was highly displeasing to the king, who, 
 hastening to Wolsey, entreated him to 
 frustrate the projected engagement, re- 
 vealing, at the same time, his own secret 
 partiality for the fair mistress of Lord 
 Percy. Wolsey, in consternation at this 
 discovery, was yet too well acquainted 
 with the character of Henry, to hesitate 
 complying with his commands. The 
 lovers' vows were, at, his interference, 
 and upon the interdiction of the Earl of 
 Northumberland, irrevocably cancelled, 
 and the hero of the adventure con- 
 strained to enter into a contract of mar- 
 riage with a woman whom he loved not. 
 Anne never forgave the Cardinal for his 
 part in this affair, and, upon her return 
 to court after a temporary retirement, 
 became his determined though not 
 avowed enemy. 
 
 Those courtiers and privy councillors 
 who beheld with satisfaction the pre- 
 dilection of the king for Anne Boleyn, 
 formed a party against Wolsey, who 
 fell the victim of their machinations. 
 To remove him from the presence of 
 the king became the object of Wolsey* s 
 enemies ; and a favourable opportunity 
 for the execution of this design was 
 furnished by the singular crisis which 
 had recently taken place in the affairs 
 of Europe. 
 
 The balance of power, long supposed 
 by Henry the Eighth to owe its conser- 
 vation to his own political skill and in- 
 fluence, began now to lean to the side 
 of the emperor. Francis the First, lately 
 released from a degrading im- 
 1527. prisonment; the pope Clement 
 the Seventh still a captive in 
 the castle of Saint Angelo ; and Henry, 
 impoverished by the bad management of 
 his financial concerns, offered but a fee- 
 ble opposition to the power of Charles. 
 To negotiate personally with the king 
 of France was the task now intrusted 
 to the Cardinal, whose abilities and 
 accustomed grandeur rendered him an 
 efficient and an imposing representative 
 of his sovereign. Accordingly, when 
 the splendid preparations which he 
 deemed necessary were completed, 
 Wolsey set out, on the 3rd of June, 
 1527, with a procession similar in its 
 arrangement but superior in numbers 
 and in magnificence to the train with 
 which he usually journeyed. In his 
 way to Canterbury he rested either at 
 the houses of the nobility, or at the 
 larger abbeys ; for in those days inns 
 were both rare, and unfit for the recep- 
 
 tion of guests of the higher classes ; 
 farm-houses, convents, and the man- 
 sions of the great supplied the place of 
 those establishments which are now 
 indispensable to the traveller; and 
 however the independence of the visitant 
 might be compromised by the obliga- 
 tion received, his comforts were proba- 
 bly ensured by the substitute. At Can- 
 terbury the Cardinal was lodged in the 
 abbey of Christ Church, where he 
 waited for three or four days, in order 
 to celebrate the festival of St. Thomas, 
 the patron saint of the abbey. Here 
 Wolsey signalized his devotion to the 
 imprisoned pope, by commanding that 
 the litany, sung on the feast day, should 
 contain an appeal to the Virgin in favour 
 of Clement. Kneeling at the door of the 
 choir, the monks and choristers standing 
 in solemn array in the body of the abbey, 
 Wolsey was observed to shed tears of 
 pious grief, on account of the captive 
 pontiff to whose honours he had but 
 recently aspired. May we not conjec- 
 ture that some mournful presentiment, 
 some sad misgivings with respect to his 
 own reverse of fortune, might mingle 
 with that sorrow which was attributed, 
 by the spectators, only to compassion 
 for another ? 
 
 After a fatiguing passage, Wolsey 
 reached Calais, which he entered in 
 solemn procession, first performing his 
 devotions in the portal of the Lantern 
 gate, before he entered the town. Here 
 he rested some days, from indisposition ; 
 but, after all his train and carriages 
 were landed, pursued his journey to- 
 wards Boulogne, first addressing his 
 attendants on the propriety of caution 
 in their intercourse with the French 
 nation ; towards whom strong national 
 distrust was harboured even by the ex- 
 perienced and liberal Wolsey.*- After 
 this exhortation, he proceeded to 
 Boulogne, and thence to Montreuil 
 and Abbeville ; honoured, on his pas- 
 sage through those towns, with pro- 
 cessions and pageants, which he re- 
 payed as he went, by proclaiming cer- 
 tain days of freedom for sins, a mode 
 of remission on which even intelligent 
 and devout men were disposed, at that 
 time, to rely. Wolsey was empowered 
 by Francis to distribute temporal for- 
 giveness to the offenders confined in 
 the prisons of the various towns through 
 which he passed ; a privilege hitherto 
 vested solely in the monarch, who usu- 
 ally exercised it during his progresses. f 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 155. 
 f Singer's Cavendish, p, 158, 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 27 
 
 From Abbeville, Wolsey travelled on- 
 wards to meet Francis, and crossing 
 the river Somme, he rested for a short 
 time at the castle of Picquigny. From 
 this romantic abode, which was thought, 
 by his English followers, to resemble 
 Windsor, "Wolsey hastened towards 
 Amiens, and meeting Francis near 
 that city, he and the" king entered it 
 together, " making," as Cavendish, who 
 was an eye-witness, observed, " such 
 wonderful cheer one to another, as if 
 they had been of an old acquaintance." 
 At Amiens, Francis and Wolsey re- 
 mained for a fortnight, which they 
 spent in banqueting and in consulting ; 
 concluding the more serious part of 
 their occupations with a compact, so- 
 lemnly implied in the mutual partici- 
 pation of the sacrament, between the 
 king of France, and Wolsey, on the part 
 of the king of England. At Compiegne, 
 whither they afterwards repaired, a still 
 closer intimacy was formed between the 
 French king and the English minister ; 
 but Wolsey was too much of a veteran 
 in politics to allow his courtesy to in- 
 terfere with the interests of his em- 
 bassy. The chancellor of France, having 
 on some occasion offended him, Wolsey 
 gave way to a paroxysm of anger, which 
 it required all the address of Louise, 
 the mother of Francis, to allay. By 
 this manoeuvre the Cardinal gained some 
 concession in the negotiation which had 
 hitherto been withholden, and he esta- 
 blished his ascendency over the French 
 council, whom Cavendish describes as 
 " having their heads under his girdle." 
 
 After witnessing, among other di- 
 versions, that of a boar-hunt, a novel 
 scene to the Englishmen, Wolsey pre- 
 pared to return, wearied with these 
 courtly revels, and disgusted with the 
 knavery and ridicule of the French, who 
 both insulted him with derision, >and 
 robbed him of plate and furniture. At 
 home, mortification of a more serious 
 nature awaited him, and he experienced 
 a cold reception from the king, whom 
 he joined at the house of Sir Henry 
 Wyatt, in Kent; nevertheless he re- 
 mained for some days with the court, 
 and then adjourned to his own mansion, 
 at Whitehall. Shortly afterwards he 
 resumed the trust of the great seal, 
 which had been assigned by letters- 
 patent to the guardianship of Doctor 
 Taylor, master of the rolls, during the 
 absence of Wolsey ; the laws of England 
 not permitting that this important in- 
 strument should be earned without the 
 realm. A meeting of the nobility and 
 
 great law officers being held in the Star 
 Chamber, Wolsey unfolded the result 
 of his late mission, and announced the 
 approaching arrival of a grand embassy 
 from France. In this harangue the 
 Cardinal boasted of the benefits which 
 would accrue from the alliance about 
 to be concluded between France and 
 England: he extolled the splendour of 
 the embassy which should complete 
 this important measure : unhappily, the 
 distinguished persons of whom it was 
 composed, were decreed by chance to 
 behold his ruin. 
 
 Early in October, the metropolis was 
 enlivened by the arrival of five French 
 noblemen, among whom was Du Bellay, 
 bishop of Bayonne, a man of lively ob- 
 servation, and to whose letters, pub- 
 lished by Le Grand, we are indebted 
 for many interesting particulars of the 
 strange scenes which he witnessed 
 during the continuance of his mission. 
 For some time after the appearance of 
 the ambassadors no symptoms appeared 
 of the alienation which Henry after- 
 wards displayed towards his minister. 
 On the conclusion of a treaty of peace 
 between the two states, the Cardinal 
 celebrated mass in presence of the king, 
 of the foreign noblemen, and of an as- 
 semblage of the chief persons of rank 
 or power at the English court. The 
 king, after his usual custom, rode home 
 to dinner with the cardinal, and even 
 arranged that Wolsey should provide 
 a banquet at Hampton Court, to re- 
 gale him and the ambassadors, after 
 hunting the next day in the royal park 
 at Richmond. All was now bustle and 
 preparation in the household of Wolsey. 
 The caterers and purveyors procured 
 the finest viands they could get for 
 11 money or friendship, among my lord's 
 friends."* The cooks wrought both 
 day and night ; the yeomen of the cham- 
 bers were busied in hanging the apart- 
 ments of the stately edifice with costly 
 draperies, and in furnishing them with 
 silken beds. There was carriage and 
 re-carriage of plate; for the fashion of 
 having cupboards or sideboards with 
 several compartments, in the banquet- 
 ing room, required a rich and often 
 inconvenient display of that costly ar- 
 ticle, then doubly precious from its 
 recent introduction. The splendour of 
 the scene was made wholly visible by 
 two immense candlesticks of silver, 
 valued at three hundred marks each, 
 holding torches, the light of which was 
 
 * See Cavendish. 
 
28 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 reflected by large plates of silver gilt. 
 The viands and the wines equalled the 
 decorations in richness and excellence ; 
 and the tenour of the entertainment was, 
 to all appearance, such as to satisfy the 
 most fastidious guests, and the most 
 anxious and punctilious host. Yet while 
 some envied and all admired the mag- 
 nificence of the Cardinal, secret and 
 corroding care filled his breast, for the 
 king danced with Anne Boleyn ; and it 
 was on this occasion that Du Bellay 
 observed that public attention was first 
 riveted upon the passion which Henry 
 could not conceal, and which Wolsey 
 could not but dread. It was not long 
 before the unfortunate minister received 
 a full confirmation of all his fears ; and 
 the embarrassing question of the divorce 
 was explicitly unfolded to him by the 
 king. Long and earnest were the en- 
 treaties and arguments which Wolsey 
 urged, to dissuade him from the project 
 of paving the way to his marriage with 
 Anne, by a divorce from the virtuous 
 and respected Katharine, whose in- 
 firmities of constitution, and decline in 
 personal charms, had far more influence 
 in deciding her consort to adopt this 
 measure, than the plausible, but equi- 
 vocal plea of conscientious scruples 
 concerning the validity of his marriage. 
 The conduct of "Wolsey throughout 
 the whole affair of the divorce has been 
 variously represented ; but little can 
 be pronounced with certainty upon his 
 real opinions and motives. V/hen the 
 peculiar circumstances to which he was 
 obliged to yield are considered, and 
 the character of the monarch whom it 
 was certain ruin to displease, is recol- 
 lected, it is probable that, in the first 
 stage of the business, the divorce was 
 approved by Wolsey, and that his ac- 
 tions may have been influenced by en- 
 mity to the Emperor Charles, the nephew 
 of the Queen, and his devotion to the 
 interests of Francis, who desired an 
 union between the Princess Renee, his 
 sister-in-law, and the King of England. 
 The most partial admirers of Wolsey 
 cannot represent him with justice as a 
 man rendered inaccessible, by a high 
 sense of honour, to considerations of 
 personal interest, or even of personal 
 feelings. When the dispositions of 
 Henry in the affair were developed, and 
 when Wolsey lound, that, inste?d of 
 strengthening his foreign connexions, 
 he was assisting in the' elevation ot a 
 domestic enemy, he was seized with 
 consternation, and endeavoured, too 
 late, to recede, He could not fail to 
 
 perceive what was obvious to a less in- 
 terested observer, that whichever way 
 the question terminated, it would involve 
 his ruin .* Anne, whether raised trium- 
 phant to the throne, or dejected by de- 
 feat, would still remain his enemy ; and 
 Wolsey, who affirmed of the king that 
 " he could never persuade him from his 
 will and appetite," knew well the effects 
 of female influence upon that suscepti- 
 ble, yet brutal monarch. 
 
 From this time the fate of Wolsey 
 was decided, as far as it is permitted 
 to human agents to determine the lot of 
 a fellow-mortal. He sought, indeed, to 
 avert the coming storm, and to throw 
 all responsibility from his own shoulders, 
 by an appeal to the English and foreign 
 universities concerning the validity of 
 the divorce ; and he persuaded Henry 
 to demand the opinions of the bishops on 
 the momentous question. Unfortunately 
 for Wolsey, each of these applications 
 to clerical subserviency was favourable 
 to the divorce ; and Henry, emboldened 
 by this partial success, rested not un- 
 til he had obtained from Clement the 
 Seventh a bull, empowering Cardinal 
 Campeggio and Wolsey to hold a lega- 
 tine court, in which the cause nearest 
 his heart might be heard, and deter- 
 mined. The result of this proceeding 
 hastened the ruin of Wolsey, and his 
 conduct in the matter was never cordially 
 forgiven by Henry. Averse, as a zealous, 
 though liberal Catholic, from a process 
 which impugned the validity of the papal 
 dispensation, which at no very distant pe- 
 riod had permitted Henry and Katharine 
 to marry, Wolsey felt the strongest incli- 
 nation to defer, or to decline the decision 
 required from him and Campeggio ; and 
 at the close of the memorable and singu- 
 lar trial, he evinced the same disposition 
 in which the validity of the marriage 
 was argued. It was the lot of Wolsey 
 to be obnoxious to both the parties by 
 which the court and country were at 
 this time divided. The partisans of 
 Anne were his most powerful enemies ; 
 but the advocates of Queen Katharines 
 cause were equally clamorous against 
 him. Harassed and perplexed, he endea- 
 voured to justify himself, through the 
 king, from any participation in the first 
 suggestion of the divorce, which report 
 ascribed to his counsels, conveyed, it was 
 affirmed, to the king's ear by his inti- 
 mate friend, Longland, the royal confes- 
 sor. The solemn asseveration of Henry, 
 before the legatine court, that Wolsey 
 
 * he Grand. 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 M 
 
 was guiltless of the unpopular measure, 
 received little credence. Katharine, 
 whom it was the office of Wolsey and his 
 colleague to visit and to conciliate, ex- 
 pressed with the ingenuous warmth of a 
 fearless and exalted mind, her unshaken 
 conviction of his secret enmity, and of 
 its fatal effects. Yet, if this accusation 
 were just, the conduct of the Cardinal 
 when he had the whole affair of the 
 divorce in his own hands, is incompre- 
 hensible. Instead of hastening the con- 
 clusion of a measure of which he was 
 himself supposed to be the first origina- 
 tor, he deferred the decision of the 
 king's appeal from day to day, until 
 the impetuous temper of Henry could 
 no longer brook delays which he deemed 
 unnecessary. The vacillation with which 
 for the first time the Cardinal acted, is 
 wholly unaccountable, except upon the 
 supposition of some secret change in 
 his private sentiments upon the point in 
 agitation. Distracted and bewildered, 
 he betrayed a lamentable deficiency of 
 that manly resolution, so characteristic 
 of his nature, which might have availed 
 something even with Henry, and which 
 would have redeemed him from the utter 
 degradation that attended his fall. The 
 unhappy Wolsey now experienced the 
 bitterness of a servitude in which opinion 
 at least, if not conscience, is at variance 
 with interest. Well might he afterwards 
 regret, with the bitterness of an unavail- 
 ing, because a late repentance, that his 
 days had been devoted to an earthly, 
 rather than a heavenly Master. Weil 
 might he contemn the vanity of human 
 desires, when he reflected on the peace- 
 ful tenour of a life, unruffled by the 
 turmoils of ambition, free from those 
 shackles which the lust of power forges, 
 and passed in rendering, as offerings to 
 heaven, works of active benevolence to 
 man. 
 
 Formed by nature for a nobler sphere 
 than the court of a capricious and pam- 
 pered tyrant, the spirits of Wolsey began 
 to sink under the accumulated annoy- 
 ance inflicted by the ill- suppressed tri- 
 umph of insolent enemies, and the in- 
 dulged fury of the king. At the close 
 of the court one day, Henry sent for 
 him to his residence at Bridewell, and he 
 remained in the private apartments of 
 his sovereign for more than an hour. 
 At the end of that time the Cardinal 
 entered his barge at Black-Friars, and 
 went to his own palace at Westminster. 
 The Bishop of Carlisle, who was with 
 him in the boat, remarked that " it was 
 a very hot day." " Yes," replied Wol- 
 
 sey, " and if you had been as much 
 chafed as I have been within this hour, 
 you would indeed say it were very hot," 
 Upon entering York House, the Cardinal 
 hurried to bed, but was not long per- 
 mitted to enjoy repose, for the Earl of 
 Wiltshire was obliged soon to rouse him, 
 with a message from the king, requiring 
 the immediate interposition of Wolsey 
 and his colleague, with the queen, who 
 was then at the royal abode. Fatigued 
 and harassed as he was, the Cardinal 
 could not delay complying with this 
 order, and accordingly returned to Bride- 
 well, where he had to encounter the 
 resentful demeanour of the queen ; and 
 this day of anxiety and mortification 
 was terminated by another interview 
 with Henry, to whom he could com- 
 municate nothing but the inveterate 
 determination of Katharine against 
 yielding to her fate.* 
 
 These occurrences were succeeded by 
 a quarrel between Wolsey and Brandon, 
 Duke of Suffolk, the intimate associate 
 of the king. It was a plain intimation 
 of the temper of Henry, when Brandon, 
 an experienced and dexterous courtier, 
 ventured to attack the minister, once so 
 formidable, and once his friend, to whom 
 he many times had owed kind offices 
 of mediation with the king. The ene- 
 mies of Wolsey were becoming daily 
 more numerous and confident, when 
 Henry prepared to set out on his summer 
 progress, accompanied by Anne Boleyn, 
 and breathing all the violence of his 
 furious nature against the two legates. 
 His indignation was excited to the ut- 
 most by the adjournment of thelegatine 
 court until Bartholomew-tide, a measure 
 adopted by the two legates, in order to 
 avoid the necessity of a decision, but 
 under the pretext of a similar regulation 
 in the courts at Rome. 
 
 Campeggio, weary of his office, and 
 anxious to return to Rome, determined 
 to leave the conclusion of this tedious 
 process to other hands; and finding 
 that the mission of Stephens, the king's 
 secretary, who had been sent to Rome 
 to obtain from the pope authority to 
 pronounce judgment, had been fruitless, 
 he resolved to follow the king on his 
 journey, in order to signify his depar- 
 ture, and to take his leave. He was 
 joined in this excursion by Wolsey, and 
 the Cardinal, on this occasion, beheld 
 for the last time, the monarch over 
 whose mind he had exercised, for many 
 years, an influence unparalleled, and 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 225 229. 
 
30 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 almost absolute. His ruin appears to 
 have been generally expected before 
 the final explosion of the king's anger ; 
 for, on the arrival of the two cardinals 
 at Grafton, in Northamptonshire, where 
 the court rested, there arose, as Caven- 
 dish avers, "divers opinions that the 
 king would not speak with the lord 
 cardinal, and thereupon were laid many- 
 great wagers." On reaching the en- 
 trance of the court, Campeggio was 
 immediately conducted to an apartment 
 prepared for him, and Wolsey, after 
 having accompanied his colleague to 
 his chamber, expected to be led to his 
 own, but he was struck with dismay 
 on hearing that no orders for his ac- 
 commodation had been issued. In this 
 dilemma, the courtesy of Sir Henry 
 N orris, a young and favoured attendant 
 of the king, relieved, in some degree, 
 the perplexity of the Cardinal. N orris, 
 who was afterwards executed upon a 
 charge of supposed criminality with 
 Anne Boleyn, evinced, in this instance, 
 a delicacy and kindness of feeling which 
 proved him deserving of a less tyran- 
 nical master, and of a happier fate. 
 Affecting to ascribe the manifest neglect 
 of the Cardinal to the limited establish- 
 ment of the king's present residence, 
 the knight begged that Wolsey would 
 accept his own apartment, an offer 
 which the dejected favourite accepted 
 with gratitude, and, while he changed 
 his riding apparel, gained from Norris 
 such details of the king's expressions 
 towards him of anger and alienation as 
 were current about the court. Thus 
 warned, Wolsey was the better prepared 
 to enter upon his defence, if opportunity 
 should be allowed, in a place where he 
 had few friends to intercede, even for 
 the poor privilege of being heard before 
 condemnation. Affairs seemed, how- 
 ever, for a short time, to change their 
 aspect. Wolsey, to the discomfiture of 
 those who had stakes depending on a 
 contrary result, was bidden to the royal 
 presence ; and was admitted with Cam- 
 peggio to the chamber where the lords 
 of council were in waiting for the king. 
 Henry, on his entrance, either acted 
 with a degree of feeling unusual to him, 
 or he was softened by the presence of 
 the man whose talents had long lent a 
 charm to his social hours, and whose 
 counsels had exalted the glory of Eng- 
 land in foreign lands. He received 
 Wolsey courteously, and even kindly ; 
 raised him from his kneeling posture, 
 and leading him by the hand to the 
 recess of a window, conversed with him 
 
 long and earnestly. The explanation 
 which then took place was favourable, 
 as far as the attentive Cavendish could 
 gather the discourse, to the restoration 
 of Wolsey' s favour ; yet this temporary 
 sunshine was soon obscured by the 
 fascinations of Anne Boleyn, with whom 
 the king dined that day. Whilst she, 
 the idol of his passing affections, was 
 undermining the fortunes of the Car- 
 dinal with her princely lover, the Duke 
 of Norfolk, her uncle, could not sup- 
 press his exultations over the unhappy 
 Wolsey, at dinner, and even threw out 
 the alarming insinuation that it was the 
 intention of the king to send Wolsey 
 to his diocese of York, which he had 
 never yet visited. 
 
 Thus assailed on all sides, Wolsey 
 prepared to depart. His enemies had 
 prevailed ; and when he took leave, on 
 the following day, in order to accom- 
 pany Campeggio to London, the separa- 
 tion between him and the king was final. 
 Wolsey had slept during the night at 
 Euston, and on rejoining the court early 
 in the morning, he found Henry ac- 
 coutred for a sylvan excursion with 
 Anne Boleyn, who had prepared a re- 
 past for the king in a neighbouring 
 park, in order to prevent any subse- 
 quent interview between him and his 
 former favourite. 
 
 In this hasty manner did these two 
 men, long associated in the various 
 pursuits of their several stations, bid 
 each other a last farewell. Henry, in 
 the company of his mistress, passed the 
 day, it is to be presumed, with a careless 
 gaiety, very different from the sad frame 
 of mind in which Wolsey retraced his 
 steps towards London. At the mo- 
 nastery of Saint Alban's, he parted 
 from Campeggio, who, happier, though 
 less distinguished than his colleague, 
 journeyed in safety to his native land, 
 after a slight disturbance of his pro- 
 gress, occasioned by the groundless 
 suspicions of Henry, that Wolsey had 
 transmitted, through Campeggio, the 
 means of provision for himself in case 
 of his escape to foreign lands. Wolsey 
 had not, apparently, harboured any such 
 intention. He returned to York House, 
 and, on the commencement of the 
 Michaelmas term, took his accustomed 
 place, for one day, in the Court of 
 Chancery, and exercised his high func- 
 tions with his wonted parade. After 
 this day he never sat there more. The 
 ensuing morning he remained at home 
 to receive the Dukes of Norfolk and 
 Suffolk, the purport of whose visit was 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 31 
 
 to demand from him the great seal. At 
 the same time it was intimated that the 
 king commanded him to leave York 
 House, and to take up his abode at 
 Esher, a residence appertaining to the 
 bishopric of Winchester, and situated 
 in the well known and beautiful vicinage 
 of Hampton Court. Wolsey, with sin- 
 gular calmness, requested to know by 
 what authority the two noblemen acted ; 
 they replied by that of the king. The 
 Cardinal then protested against obe- 
 dience to a verbal order, and refused to 
 give up his office without the formality 
 of letters-patent from the king, from 
 whom he had received the seal. In vain 
 the two dukes urged compliance with 
 their orders ; they were constrained to 
 return to Windsor, and to bring with 
 them, on the following day, the letters 
 with the royal signature. These docu- 
 ments having been perused by Wolsey, 
 with every appearance of respect and 
 submission, he yielded to his fate, and 
 resigned into the hands of the noble 
 messengers the insignia of his high 
 office. The dukes then left him, and 
 Wolsey prepared to leave York House, 
 and to take a last survey of the costly 
 furniture with which his lavish hands 
 had supplied the princely abode. How 
 must the entire vanity of human gran- 
 deur have struck his mind when he 
 looked around upon the decorations of 
 his stately mansion, the spacious gal- 
 lery, occupied by various tables, on 
 which were deposited large pieces of 
 silk stuffs, of velvets, and of satins, the 
 rich hoards of the Cardinal for future 
 use ; the store of one thousand pieces 
 of Holland cloth, hangings along the 
 walls of the gallery, cloths of gold and 
 of silver, and precious tissues of various 
 kinds : sumptuous copes, intended for 
 the clergy of his colleges at Oxford and 
 at Ipswich, provided at his private ex- 
 pense ; in the adjoining chambers, long 
 tables, laden with massive plate, both 
 silver and gold, which was valuable and 
 uncommon at a period when the use of 
 pewter vessels, even in the households 
 of the great, was scarcely abandoned ! 
 After a minute inspection of his pro- 
 perty, Wolsey caused it to be carefully 
 arranged, and the several articles to be 
 entered in an inventory, which is still 
 preserved among the Harleian collection 
 of manuscripts in the British Museum. 
 By this enumeration of his goods, and 
 by collecting even those which were 
 broken or spoiled, Wolsey probably 
 hoped to conciliate his rapacious mas- 
 
 ter, in evincing his submissive devotion 
 to his will. He next allotted to each 
 officer of the household his respective 
 charge, and leaving strict injunctions 
 that each portion of the spoils should 
 be delivered to those who were em- 
 powered to receive it on the part of the 
 king, he departed from York House. 
 His last action in this scene of his former 
 greatness, evinced how unsubdued was 
 his proud spirit, by that reverse of for- 
 tune which afterwards bowed it to 
 the dust. When he intrusted to Sir 
 William Gascoigne, his treasurer, the 
 superintendence of the forfeited pro- 
 perty, the knight ventured to condole 
 with him on the prospect of his being 
 sent to the Tower, a fate which public 
 report had already assigned to the Car- 
 dinal. For this surmise, Gascoigne 
 received from Wolsey a sharp rebuke. 
 " Is this," said he, " the good comfort 
 and counsel that ye give your master 
 in adversity ? It has always been your 
 natural inclination to be very light of 
 credit, and much lighter in reporting 
 false news. Go your way, and give 
 good attendance unto your charge, that 
 nothing be embezzled." 
 
 The Cardinal, attended by a selected 
 number of his servants, now set out on 
 his way to Esher, and entering his barge, 
 at his private stairs, was rowed to Put- 
 ney, where his mule, and the horses of 
 his attendants, awaited him. Scarcely 
 had he begun his journey, when his 
 heart was gladdened by the approach of 
 Sir Henry N orris, who hailed him with 
 the glad tidings that "the king com- 
 manded his grace to be of good cheer;" 
 and assured him that he " was in as 
 much favour as he had ever been." 
 With these encouraging words, Sir 
 Henry delivered to Wolsey a ring, which 
 had long served as a token between 
 him and the king upon particular occa- 
 sions. The surprise and delight with 
 which Wolsey received these indica- 
 tions of mercy were promptly expressed 
 in his gestures. Alighting from his 
 mule, he prostrated himself on the earth, 
 holding up his hands to heaven in joy 
 and gratitude. The courteous N orris 
 was lost for some minutes in thought 
 and wonder, at the abasement of one 
 whom he had seen the idol of courts 
 and of princes. Placing himself also 
 on his knees, by the side of Wolsey, he 
 besought him to give credence to his 
 message. Wolsey, overwhelmed with 
 his emotions, could reply only by re- 
 iterated expressions of thankfulness to 
 
32 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 God and the king ; but it is to be feared 
 that feelings of earthly ambition had the 
 predominating influence over his mind. 
 On parting, he gave to Norris, as a 
 token of his friendship, a piece of the 
 holy cross, commonly worn by the Car- 
 dinal around his neck. To the king he 
 sent many messages of devotion ; and 
 recollecting, after taking leave of Norris, 
 that Henry prized a favourite fool whom 
 he had in his service, he recalled the 
 knight, and bade the menial accom- 
 pany him to the king ; but the poor 
 fool, preferring the service of his old 
 master, could with difficulty be forced 
 from the retinue ; and the Cardinal had 
 some thoughts of sending six of his 
 stoutest yeomen to enforce the obedience 
 of the attached and perhaps humoured 
 individual.* 
 
 Wolsey now proceeded to Esher, 
 where he remained for some weeks in 
 a state of anxiety and of privation which 
 afforded a melancholy contrast to his 
 former splendour. An information had 
 been exhibited against him, in the king's 
 bench, by Hales, the attorney-general, 
 purporting, that, notwithstanding the 
 statute of Richard the Second against 
 procuring bulls from Rome, he had 
 procured bulls for his legatine power, 
 which he had for some years executed. 
 This charge had even been preferred at 
 the commencement of Michaelmas term, 
 before the last appearance of the Cardinal 
 in chancery. Wolsey, through his at- 
 torneys, confessed its justice, as far as 
 regarded the procuring of bulls, but 
 denied that the procedure was contrary 
 to the statute, or prejudicial to the ho- 
 nour and interests of the king : he was, 
 however, declared by the court to be 
 out of the protection of the king ; his 
 lands and goods to be forfeited to the 
 crown, and his person to be liable to 
 seizure. The people,* although gene- 
 rally unfavourable to Wolsey, regarded 
 this sentence as harsh and unjust. The 
 Cardinal had exercised his legatine ju- 
 risdiction with the countenance of the 
 king, and had never been questioned 
 as to its legality. His services to the 
 crown were not wholly obliterated from 
 the public recollection, and he, who 
 had been the object of envy, now became 
 that of compassion. Deprived of all 
 his personal property, the state of 
 penury to which he was reduced seemed 
 scandalous to the high station which 
 he still occupied as Cardinal, and as 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 257. t Herbert, p. 232. 
 
 the nominal Archbishop of York. His 
 household, as Cavendish, who was still 
 a member of it, relates, was destitute 
 of beds, linen, cups, dishes, and plate, 
 which they were obliged to borrow from 
 Sir Thomas Arundell and the Bishop 
 of Carlisle. This sudden reduction of 
 the Cardinal's fortunes was not solely 
 the effect of caprice and violence on 
 the part of Henry, who inherited much 
 of the grasping disposition of his father, 
 and was determined to obtain possession 
 of York House, the inspection of which 
 had probably sharpened his appetite 
 for the plunder of the Cardinal's effects- 
 After a private negotiation with Wolsey r 
 this point was conceded, and the splen- 
 did palace, which would have reverted 
 to the church as an appendage to the 
 see of York, was secured, by this piece 
 of management, to the king, on the con- 
 dition, that it should, on his death, be 
 returned to the successor of Wolsey in 
 the archbishopric. The effects of the 
 Cardinal's submission were soon ap- 
 parent. On the twenty-first of Novem- 
 ber he received the king's pardon, and 
 was reinstated in the sees of York and 
 Winchester. At the same time a num- 
 ber of his horses and mules were restored 
 to him, and three thousand pounds. 
 money.* These, with other articles,, 
 amounted altogether to six thousand,, 
 three hundred, and seventy-four pounds, 
 which was all the wreck of his immense- 
 property that Wolsey ever received,, 
 after it had fallen into the hands of his 
 rapacious master. 
 
 The indications of a relenting spirit 
 on the part of the king towards Wolsey,. 
 were viewed with some alarm by the 
 enemies of the Cardinal, who feared him 
 more in adversity than in prosperity ; 
 for they knew how keen would be his. 
 vengeance, if he ever were reinstated in 
 his former greatness. By their repre- 
 sentations, the offences of Wolsey were 
 magnified in the eyes of Henry, until 
 the mind of that monarch was worked 
 up to a determination to complete the 
 ruin of his former favourite. By a eouncil 
 of nobles, assembled in the Star Cham- 
 ber, it was resolved to refer the case 
 of Wolsey to parliament ; a bill was ac- 
 cordingly prepared, attainting Wolsey 
 of high treason, and it passed through 
 the house of lords. The articles con- 
 tained in this bill were forty-four in 
 
 * Rymer's Fccdera, vol. xiv., p. 375. The horses, 
 and their furniture were valued at one pound seven* 
 
 teen shillings each. 
 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 33 
 
 number, And related chiefly to the abuses 
 of the Cardinal's legatine authority. In 
 some clauses of the bill he is charged 
 with an usurpation of the royal juris- 
 diction, and with presumption in as- 
 suming the royal style in his dispatches 
 to foreign courts. He is attacked, also, 
 on the score of fraudulent and unjust 
 transactions with the clergy ; with the 
 illegal suppression of monastic houses 
 containing more persons than were spe- 
 cified in the bulls which he had received 
 from Rome ; and with the sin of having 
 slandered many virtuous members of 
 the conventual establishments. The 
 diminution of hospitality and charity 
 were also imputed as crimes to Wolsey, 
 as well as other improprieties connected 
 with the dissolution of monasteries. 
 With regard to these charges, it must 
 be recollected, that the measures adopted 
 by the Cardinal were in most instances 
 known and sanctioned by the king. 
 The fraud and extortion of which he 
 was accused cannot be considered as 
 proved, because he was never allowed 
 to answer the charges brought against 
 him. The acts of oppression which he 
 was said to have authorized in his trans- 
 actions with the monastic orders, were 
 trifling, compared with those afterwards 
 committed by Cromwell and his agents 
 in the work of suppression, and which 
 were even encouraged by the king, whose 
 avarice evidently increased with his 
 years. This fact throws an air of in- 
 justice over the attainder, and confirms 
 the opinion of Lord Herbert, that no 
 man, who fell from a high station, had 
 fewer crimes attributed to him on rea- 
 sonable grounds. There is something 
 almost ridiculous in the passages of this 
 famous bill, which tax Wolsey with 
 u consuming too much time with a fair 
 tale in the council ;" with " allowing no 
 opposition," but " overwhelming it with 
 his accustomable words, so that the 
 members were better hold their peace 
 than speak," for " he would have all 
 the words to himself." Several other 
 articles must have appeared equally 
 puerile to those who were not burning 
 with envy, or trembling with fear of the 
 once pompous ruler of the council. 
 Nor can posterity assent to the justice 
 of the imputation which affixes to Wol- 
 sey the character of an " impeacher and 
 disturber of due and direct correction of 
 heresies," from his having prohibited 
 the exertions of two bishops in their 
 
 Projected interference with a party of 
 -utheran students in Cambridge. The 
 
 subsequent conduct of Henry vindicates 
 the Cardinal also from the charge of 
 having " greatly overshadowed, for a 
 long season, the king's honour, and of 
 having subverted the due course and 
 order of the laws, to the undoing of a 
 great number of the people."* When 
 the administration of Wolsey ceased, the 
 glory of Henry expired. All that was 
 elevated in the character of this monarch 
 seemed to have been banished with the 
 minister. The spirit of improvement 
 languished at home ; the estimation of 
 the English nation at foreign courts de- 
 clined. The passions of the king actuated 
 his counsels, and caused the oppression 
 and slaughter of his people. The per- 
 secutions of his later years had received 
 no sanction from the previous example 
 of Wolsey. The burning of heretics, 
 although frequent at this time in the 
 diocese of Canterbury, had never been 
 recorded within the ample limits of 
 Wolsey's ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The 
 immoral tendency of his example may 
 be questioned, as far as it affected the 
 king. During the ministry of Wolsey, 
 Henry, for nearly eighteen years, re- 
 mained contented with one wife, if not 
 constant to her during the whole of that 
 period ; and the violent indulgence of 
 his passions during his later years 
 attests that some restraining hand must 
 have curbed them in the more dangerous 
 season of youth. The change which 
 was so evident after Wolsey's fall, both 
 in the character and administration of 
 Henry, sufficiently exculpate the Car- 
 dinal from having diminished the repu- 
 tation of his sovereign. 
 
 Sentiments of this nature may per- 
 haps have actuated the members of the 
 parliament, upon the introduction of the 
 bill of attainder into that assembly. 
 Before any decisive step was taken, the 
 cause of Wolsey was effectually es- 
 poused by Thomas Cromwell, an indi- 
 vidual hitherto of humble fortunes, who 
 resided under his roof in the capacity 
 of secretary. This office, which had 
 been held by the celebrated Sir Thomas 
 More, the successor of Wolsey as chan- 
 cellor, and by Gardiner, his successor 
 in the see of Winchester, was in all 
 three instances the stepping-stone to 
 preferments apparently little expected 
 by any one of these eminent men. More 
 seems not to have cherished very favour- 
 able sentiments towards Wolsey. Gar- 
 diner was too sedulously bent upon his 
 
 Herbert, p..302. 
 
34 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 own elevation, to extend any assistance 
 towards a sinking benefactor; Cromwell, 
 alone, though possessed of as much 
 ambition as either of his former asso- 
 ciates, evinced a degree of constancy 
 towards his benefactor deserving of 
 peculiar commendation, when it is recol- 
 lected how arbitrary a monarch he had 
 to serve. On being informed of the 
 danger which threatened his patron, he 
 hastened to London, and taking the seat 
 of a friend, in the house of commons, 
 defended Wolsey with so much energy 
 and discretion, that the bill of attainder 
 was flung out. It is in favour of Wol- 
 sey's innocence, that the answers with 
 which Cavendish influenced this assem- 
 bly, were dictated by the Cardinal, who, 
 from hour to hour, gave most precisely 
 his instructions. Yet this suspension 
 of misfortune was productive of little 
 immediate consolation to Wolsey, whose 
 situation, during his continuance at 
 Esher, presents a scene of mortifying 
 deprivation and distress. Already had 
 he been reduced to one of the most hu- 
 miliating extremities that could befal a 
 man of his character, that of being in- 
 debted to his domestics. Their fidelity 
 was manifested by their refusal to quit 
 him, even when he had confessed his 
 inability to repay their services with 
 the usual stipends. In this emergency 
 Cromwell suggested an expedient, of 
 which he set the first example. He re- 
 commended that the chaplains of the 
 Cardinal, whom he had provided with 
 livings, should each contribute some 
 portion of their funds to the discharge 
 of the wages due to the inferior ser- 
 vants. This plan succeeded ; each of 
 the chaplains throwing into the common 
 fund as much as his means allowed, 
 and Cromwell giving the first five 
 pounds. After an affecting address to 
 his household, whom he could not be- 
 hold without tears, Wolsey distributed 
 a portion of their wages amongst them, 
 and they repaired to the hall, when some 
 determined to go home to their friends, 
 others to remain until the fortunes of 
 their master should be improved. But 
 there seemed little prospect that the 
 hopes of these faithful followers would 
 be gratified. The spirits of Wolsey 
 were alternately raised or depressed 
 by cheering or humiliating messages 
 from the court, and by acts of unex- 
 pected kindness or of wanton insult. 
 His lively sense of the cruelty exercised 
 against him was plainly shown in the 
 letters which he addressed, about this 
 
 time, to Cromwell and to Gardiner 
 whose good offices he humbly solicited. 
 At length his health gave way under 
 the pressure of mental anguish, and the 
 king was informed of his declining state. 
 By the royal command, Doctor Butts, 
 a court physician, was sent to attend the 
 Cardinal ; and he declared his conviction 
 that Wolsey would fall a victim to his 
 disorder, if his distress of mind were 
 not alleviated. Influenced by this opi- 
 nion, the king and Anne Boleyn now 
 endeavoured, by acts of kindness, to 
 soothe the irritations of the man whom 
 Henry had not wholly ceased to value. 
 These flattering, but transitory, gleams 
 of favour soon revived the drooping 
 frame of Wolsey, and his recovery was 
 accelerated by the renewed comforts of 
 his habitation, some of his furniture 
 and other property being added to that 
 which had been already restored. 
 Change of scene was also permitted ; 
 and, through the intercession of Crom- 
 well, he was allowed to remove to the 
 lodge in the king's park, at Richmond, 
 where he remained for some time in 
 great comfort, although with a small 
 number of servants, suited to the size 
 of the dwelling. This pleasant abode 
 Wolsey quitted for one still more calm, 
 and even better calculated to quiet the 
 tumultuous passions which had long 
 held sway in his breast. In the begin- 
 ning of Lent he entered the monastery 
 of Carthusian friars, and occupied a 
 lodging which the pious founder of 
 Saint Paul's school, Dean Colet, had 
 formerly prepared for his own retreat 
 from a world, even to the virtuous, un- 
 satisfactory. From the apartment in 
 which Wolsey abode, a gallery led into 
 the church, where he repaired every af- 
 ternoon to service ; and often would he 
 sit in his cell, seriously conversing with 
 one or other of the brotherhood, who 
 dissuaded him from fixing his affection 
 on the vain glory of his former state, 
 and recommended to him acts of pe- 
 nance and habits of contemplation, fit- 
 ted to aid the awful preparation for 
 another world, whither he was shortly 
 summoned. 
 
 It had been for sometime determined 
 that Wolsey should remove to his arch- 
 bishopric, a plan to which he no longer 
 felt any repugnance, for he was now 
 hopeless of effecting any change in the 
 disposition of the king towards him. 
 All prospect of personal intercourse 
 with Henry was at an end ; for it was 
 universally understood, that he had 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 35 
 
 promised Anne Boleyn never to see 
 him more.* 
 
 Through the exertions of Cromwell 
 a thousand marks were with difficulty 
 granted by the council, in advance, 
 out of the revenues of Winchester, to 
 defray the charge of his journey. The 
 necessary arrangements being com- 
 pleted, he set out for York, in those 
 days a formidable expedition ; and it is 
 observable, that he proceeded no far- 
 ther on the first day than Hendon, in 
 Middlesex, scarcely eight miles from 
 London ; and here he rested for a night 
 in the monastery of Saint John. The rest 
 of his journey was made with still greater 
 deliberation ; the Cardinal resting at 
 different abbeys to perform the nume- 
 rous ceremonies appointed for the re- 
 markable days so frequently occurring 
 in the calendar of the Roman Catholic 
 church. The archiepiscopal palace 
 was at this time under repair, and 
 Wolsey was obliged to accept the loan 
 of a prebend's house at Southwell, 
 about four miles from Newark, where 
 he remained until Whitsuntide. He 
 now conducted himself in a manner 
 becoming a high dignitary of the 
 church, and worthy of a Christian. 
 His demeanour was "affable without 
 familiarity, decorous but not rigid, and 
 liberal without profusion. To the gen- 
 try of the country, who resorted in great 
 number to his abode, he showed a dig- 
 nified and courteous hospitality. To 
 the poor, and to all the lower classes, 
 he evinced a charitable concern for their 
 interests, which was long remembered 
 by them with gratitude. " He gave to 
 bishops," says a contemporary writer, 
 " a right good example how they might 
 win men's hearts."f He enforced the 
 custom, then by no means general, of 
 preaching sermons to the people ; and 
 frequently rode on holy days from 
 church to church, enjoining the infe- 
 rior clergy to perform this duty. He 
 said mass among the people, and af- 
 terwards exhibited the fulfilment of a 
 vital principle of religion, by causing 
 the priests to compose any differences 
 which might happen to exist among 
 their flocks. He even accomplished the 
 difficult task of soothing feminine re- 
 sentments ; and reconciled several mar- 
 ried persons who had long lived in dis- 
 union. He restored dilapidated churches 
 
 * La Grand, 
 f Cavendish, p. 318. See note, from a book 
 printed in 153(5, and entitled, a Remedy for Sedi- 
 tion. 
 
 which had been applied to temporal 
 purposes, and re-established the ser- 
 vice of God in them. In these meri- 
 torious occupations Wolsey passed the 
 period of his exile from the court, 
 and doubtless, in the fulfilment of his 
 duties, experienced a degree of calm 
 enjoyment, to which he had hitherto 
 been a stranger. While he joined with 
 moderation in the social pleasures ef 
 the neighbourhood, he avoided, both 
 from policy and a sense of propriety, 
 such diversions as were likely to excite 
 public animadversion, or to renew the 
 displeasure of the king. Hence he 
 resolutely withstood the temptations 
 thrown in his path by the surrounding 
 gentry to partake in the amusement of 
 stag-hunting, to which he was ex r 
 tremely partial; and when he could 
 escape it in no other manner, he 
 avoided the allurement by a stratagem.* 
 He now thought it expedient to leave 
 Southwell, and to remain until Mi- 
 chaelmas at Scroby, another episcopal 
 residence, whence he removed to (Ja~ 
 wood castle, situated within seven miles 
 of York. Both at Southwell and Scroby 
 he left a reputation for wisdom, cha- 
 rity and piety, which won over to him 
 his enemies in those districts, and 
 caused him to be renowned as a bene- 
 factor.t At Cawood he began to make 
 preparations for his installation into 
 the archbishopric of York ; a mea- 
 sure which unhappily accelerated his 
 ruin, although it could not, with pro- 
 priety, be deferred, consistently with 
 the practice and ceremonials of the 
 church. On this occasion, Wolsey 
 displayed a prudent determination to 
 avoid unnecessary parade and expense ; 
 and had not his scanty means been 
 augmented by liberal donations from 
 the neighbouring clergy and gentlemen, 
 of oxen, sheep, wild-fowl, and other 
 viands, but a poor provision would 
 have been made for the installation 
 feast. He was not, however, permitted 
 to enjoy the manifestations of the re- 
 spect which he had inspired in his 
 diocese; and the very day that their 
 well-meant offerings were deposited in 
 his premises, he was destined to en- 
 counter the crisis of his misfortunes. 
 
 His ruin had long been decided, and 
 his enemies only paused to consider 
 in what mode, and at what moment, 
 it could be most effectually completed. 
 The popularity of the Cardinal in his 
 
 * Cavendish, p. 3S2. 
 
 1) p. 327. 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 CARDINAL W31S1V. 
 
 northern diocese, and his intended 
 installation, increased the dread with 
 which his adversaries in the council 
 still regarded him ; and they plainly- 
 perceived that all affection for Wolsey 
 had not been wholly extinguished in 
 the bosom of Henry. It would be dif- 
 ficult to conceive in what manner the 
 king could have been persuaded to a 
 conduct so inconsistent as that which 
 he now adopted. Already had the 
 Cardinal been acquitted in parliament 
 of the treasonable charges brought 
 against him, and the king had since 
 manifested his sense of the propriety 
 of that decision, by acts of renewed 
 kindness to the fallen minister, and by 
 messages expressive of his favour ; yet 
 the capricious monarch now consented 
 that the unfortunate Wolsey should be 
 arrested for treason, and brought to 
 London to stand his trial. By Wolsey 
 this fresh calamity appears to have been 
 wholly unexpected ; and although the 
 suspicions of his attendants had been 
 in some degree roused by the hasty 
 visit of two gentlemen from the king, 
 and their superstitious fears excited by 
 the accidental circumstance of the Car- 
 dinal's cross falling upon the head of 
 one of his chaplains, yet no misgivings 
 are stated to have disturbed the sere- 
 nity of mind which he himself enjoyed 
 before his final impeachment. 
 
 It was about noon, just after the 
 Cardinal had dined, and before his 
 household had finished their repast, 
 that the hall of Cawood Castle was 
 suddenly filled with gentlemen and 
 retainers, conducted by Henry Earl of 
 Northumberland, and Sir Walter 
 Walsh, one of the gentlemen of the 
 king's privy chamber. The earl, on 
 his entrance, commanded the porter, in 
 the king's name, to deliver to him the 
 keys of the castle ; an order which was 
 stoutly resisted by the trusty servant, 
 who refused to resign what he had 
 sworn to keep faithfully ; and Lord 
 Percy was obliged to leave them in his 
 charge, with the security of an oath, 
 that no person should be allowed in- 
 gress or egress without permission from 
 the commissioners. Notwithstanding 
 the confusion which this contest occa- 
 sioned, Wolsey remained in ignorance 
 of the tumult, until informed of it by a 
 domestic, who chanced to see the pro- 
 ceeding from a small window, which, 
 according to the fashion of ancient 
 times, was placed so as to command a 
 view of the hall. On receiving the 
 
 intelligence which was thus communi- 
 cated, Wolsey either affected to consi- 
 der the arrival of the earl and knight 
 as a visit, or really regretted, with the 
 hospitality habitual to him, that he 
 could not offer him a reception suitable 
 to his rank. He ordered the table, at 
 which he was seated, not to be re- 
 moved, but to be replenished with such 
 provisions as the castle afforded ; and 
 then advancing to meet the strangers* 
 he encountered on the stairs the Earl of 
 Northumberland, his former inmate, 
 and pupil. Courteously chiding his 
 guest that he had not apprised him of 
 coming, Wolsey conducted Percy to his 
 own apartment, that he might change 
 his riding apparel ; and there, Caven- 
 dish, the narrator of this interesting- 
 scene, alone accompanied them. The 
 earl, confounded, perhaps, by the gra- 
 cious manner and self-possession of the 
 Cardinal, appeared unwilling to disclose 
 the object of his commission to one 
 whom he had been accustomed, from, 
 early habit, to fear, if not to reverence.. 
 At last, while standing with Wolsey by 
 the chimney, he gained courage to say,. 
 in a faint and trembling voice, " My 
 lord, I arrest you of high treason." It 
 was some moments before Wolsey, 
 astounded in his turn, could reply ; 
 but, recovering from his surprise, he 
 demanded by what authority the earl 
 acted ; and refused to comply with his 
 summons until he had seen his com- 
 mission. Meanwhile, Sir William Walsh 
 experienced a resistance equally reso- 
 lute from Dr. Augustine, the Cardinal's 
 domestic physician. He was thrust into 
 the apartment at this critical moment 
 by the enraged knight, who also made 
 his appearance before Wolsey and the 
 earl. On seeing Walsh, Wolsey made 
 the same demand of his authority that 
 he had urged to the earl ; but Walsh, 
 refusing to show, his commission, to 
 which he said some private instruc- 
 tions were annexed, Wolsey had not 
 the satisfaction he demanded. He still 
 declared, however, his objections to 
 surrender to Percy, between whose an- 
 cestors, as wardens of the marches, 
 and former archbishops of York, there 
 had been, as the Cardinal alleged, old 
 grievances, which might now actuate 
 the representative of the house of 
 Percy, to assert unwarrantable autho- 
 rity on this occasion. It is probable, 
 that the humiliation of becoming the 
 prisoner of one whom he had formerly 
 governed, may hare been the real 
 
CARDINAL W0LSE1 
 
 37 
 
 source of this reluctance. After this 
 concession, Cavendish was commanded 
 to leave the chamber ; and the unhappy 
 Wolsey, after consigning the keys of 
 all his coffers to the commissioners, 
 remained in his solitary apartment, 
 closely guarded by the followers of Nor- 
 thumberland. The following day was 
 passed in various arrangements of the 
 household furniture, and of the per- 
 sonal property possessed by Wolsey. 
 Cavendish alone was admitted to con- 
 verse with him ; and the narrative which 
 he gives of their interview is extremely 
 minute and affecting. The Cardinal, 
 on seeing him, fell into a passion of 
 tears, " which would have caused the 
 flintiest heart to have relented and 
 burst for sorrow." The sight of Caven- 
 dish, who had left his family and his 
 home to serve him in his adverse for- 
 tunes, and the recollection of his other 
 faithful attendants, was rendered grie- 
 vous to the generous heart of Wolsey, 
 by the reflection that they shared his 
 ruin. The contrast between their at- 
 tachment, and the malignant persecu- 
 tion of his high-born accusers ; the 
 dread of humiliation and of severity, 
 aggravated by the change, from the 
 deference of those around him, sunk 
 the spirits of the Cardinal to the lowest 
 state of depression. Yet, even at this 
 time, he expressed confidence in the 
 manifestation of his own innocence. 
 '-If I may come to my answer," said 
 he, " I fear no man alive ; for he liveth 
 not that shall look upon this face, and 
 shall be able to accuse me of any un- 
 truth ; and that knoweth my enemies 
 full well, which will be an occasion that 
 I shall mot have indifferent justice, but 
 they will rather seek some sinister ways 
 to destroy me." Notwithstanding this 
 protestation, the anguish of Wolsey's 
 heart could not be repressed, and de- 
 spair began its ravages both on his 
 mind and body, before he quitted his 
 archiepiscopal palace. On the Sun- 
 day following his arrest, which hap- 
 pened on Friday, the Cardinal began 
 his journey towards London, having 
 been preceded by Dr. Augustine, who, 
 with harshness and apparent injustice, 
 was dispatched to the metropolis, fas- 
 tened to the body of a horse, and under 
 a strict guard. 
 
 Although prevented by Percy from 
 taking leave of his domestics, Wolsey 
 was followed by expressions of sorrow 
 and attachment from many of his 
 household, who forced their way into 
 the apartment where he was, and fell 
 
 on their knees before" him. Through- 
 out the town of Cawood, he was hailed 
 with cries of commiseration, and of ven- 
 geance upon his enemies ; and similar 
 testimonies of the regard borne to him 
 by the people were manifested during 
 the whole of his progress to Doncaster. 
 But neither these demonstrations of 
 well-earned respect, nor the soothing 
 and courteous reception of the Earl of 
 Shrewsbury, could allay that fever of 
 the mind which plainly showed itself in 
 the countenance of Wolsey on his ar- 
 rival at Sheffield Park, where he rested 
 for eighteen days. To the watchful 
 eyes of Cavendish, the illness which 
 now attacked the Cardinal was obvious 
 before he uttered any complaint; and 
 it soon appeared so alarming, that it 
 was judged expedient, even by Lord 
 Percy, to use a greater degree of tender- 
 ness and caution than had hitherto been 
 deemed necessary towards his afflicted 
 prisoner. It was now requisite to ap- 
 prise him that Sir William Kingston, 
 constable of the Tower, was on his 
 road to Sheffield Park, charged by the 
 king to conduct Wolsey to London, 
 there to make that defence which he so 
 earnestly had desired to deliverin the face 
 of his accusers. On hearing the name 
 of Kingston, Wolsey was overcome 
 with grief and consternation ; for his 
 mind, weakened by disease and cala- 
 mity, reverted to a prophecy that he 
 should end his days near Kingston; 
 on which account, he had always 
 avoided passing through the town of 
 that name, situated near his former 
 residence at Esher. 
 
 Surmounting the emotions to which 
 this recollection gave rise, Wolsey was 
 persuaded to receive Kingston, whom he 
 saluted with his wonted courtesy, and 
 from whom he heard the encouraging 
 tidings of the king's favourable disposi- 
 tions towards him, and kind messages 
 of grace. It was then arranged that 
 Wolsey should proceed with Kingston on 
 the morrow, towards Leicester, the last 
 resting-place of the unhappy Cardinal; 
 but his illness increased so rapidly that 
 he was unable to commence his journey 
 so soon as he had intended. Even when 
 he was considered well enough to depart, 
 his illness was such that he could scarce- 
 ly support himself upon his mule ; yet 
 he remained only one night at Hardwick- 
 upon-Line, and another at Nottingham, 
 and proceeded, notwithstanding increas- 
 ing weakness, to Leicester, where he 
 arrived at night. On reaching the abbey, 
 his appointed abode, he was met at the 
 
38 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 gates by the abbot and monks with 
 torches, and received with great rever- 
 ence. The first ejaculation of Wolsey, 
 on greeting these holy persons, indicated 
 his inward sense of his approaching 
 death. " Fatner abbot," said he, " 1 
 am come hither to lay my bones among 
 you ;" and with much difficulty he was 
 carried up stairs, and laid upon his 
 death-bed, for he was now unable to 
 walk, and his disease increased rapidly. 
 Cavendish remitted not his last and sad 
 attentions to his unfortunate master. 
 After watching many hours by his bed- 
 side, the compassionate friend and atten- 
 dant of Wolsey perceived that the ob- 
 ject of his cares was likely soon to be 
 released from his earthly troubles : yet 
 the expiring light lingered in its socket, 
 and the Cardinal continued to breathe 
 until the following morning, when he 
 seemed revived, asked for food, and 
 confessed to one Dr. Palmes, who had 
 for some time sedulously attended him. 
 When this was finished, the morning 
 was far advanced, and having, with the 
 singular and unaccountable spirit of 
 conjecture which is sometimes displayed 
 by the dying, foretold the hour when his 
 spirit should depart from its mortal 
 tenement, he believed his end to be fast 
 approaching. His words to Kingston, 
 who bade him good morrow, were me- 
 morable and affecting. " I tarry," said 
 he, " but the will and pleasure of God to 
 render unto him my simple soul into his 
 divine hands." He explained with great 
 clearness the nature of his disease, 
 which, in spite of some suspicions of his 
 having taken poison, is credibly asserted 
 to have been a dysentery, and alluding 
 to the fatal tendency of that disorder ; 
 " Well, well, Master Kingston," said he, 
 " I see the matter against me how it is 
 framed ; but if I had served God as 
 diligently as I have done the king, he 
 would not have given me over in my grey 
 hairs." This remarkable and heartfelt 
 reference to an existence spent upon the 
 slippery ground of courts, in the pursuit 
 of fallacious and unprofitable honours, 
 affords an indication that, in his latter 
 days at least, he had not suffered his 
 understanding to be wholly perverted by 
 the habits and associations of his life. 
 After this acknowledgment, the second 
 nature resumed the sway, and the dying 
 Cardinal, again a courtier, besought 
 Kingston to commend him to the king, 
 and pressed him to remember all the 
 communications which ever passed be- 
 tween them, especially touching the 
 divorce. He manifested considerable 
 
 anxiety with respect to the progress of 
 the Lutherans, whose rapid increase in 
 importance and estimation he dreaded 
 as a zealous churchman. After a long 
 address, which, as it has been transmit- 
 ted to us, shows that the native energy of 
 his mind remained with him to the last 
 sigh, the unequivocal and awful symp- 
 toms of death appeared on his counte- 
 nance. " And even with these words," 
 says Cavendish, who received his part- 
 ing breath, he began to draw his 
 speech at length, and his tongue to fail ; 
 his eyes being set in his head, whose 
 sight failed him." Then the bystand- 
 ers began to remind him of Christ's 
 passion; the abbot was summoned to 
 administer the fifth sacrament of the 
 Roman Catholic church, called ex- 
 treme unction; and the guard were 
 also desired to witness his last mo- 
 ments. The superstitious notions of 
 the age caused the spectators of the 
 scene to regard as a circumstance of 
 some moment, the coincidence of 
 Wolsey's words with the hour of his 
 death ; he expired as the clock struck 
 eight. 
 
 The character of Wolsey, obscured 
 by the envy of his contemporaries, and 
 by the resentment of the three sovereigns 
 who succeeded Henry the Eighth, has 
 received its due tribute of commendatiQn 
 in later times. He was a man enlight- 
 ened far beyond the period in which he 
 lived, and calculated to advance the 
 progress of civilization with a rapidity 
 inconceivable to inferior minds. The 
 strength of his understanding was only 
 equalled by the versatility of his talents. 
 In each of the various spheres of action 
 allotted to him, he effected some impor- 
 tant and beneficial change ; displaying, 
 in his course, an originality in his con- 
 ceptions, which overpowered the obsta- 
 cles opposed by custom and prejudice. 
 In his legislative and political functions, 
 he generally laboured with assiduity to 
 promote the order and prosperity of the 
 realm ; so that, had he never suffered 
 his private interests to interfere with 
 his public duties, and from his clerical 
 habits suffered his discharge of those 
 duties to be biassed by the spirit of his 
 order, he would have been justly deemed 
 one of the greatest statesmen his country 
 ever produced. Asa diplomatist, it were 
 difficult to say whether his abilities or 
 his industry were most remarkable. 
 The object of his political measures was 
 to preserve that balance of power, the 
 notion of which he probably first in- 
 fused into the mind of Henry : buti 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 39 
 
 those times, general principles were 
 much more frequently sacrificed to the 
 passions and interests of kings and mi- 
 nisters, than in the present day, when a 
 system of action is adopted in our coun- 
 cils, and if often erroneous, has at least 
 the advantage of being discussed, and 
 the chance of being dispassionately pur- 
 sued. In Wolsey' s foreign transactions 
 he displayed a degree of decision, ac- 
 companied with caution, which may 
 probably have been acquired from his 
 insight into the cabinet of Henry the 
 Seventh ; and to this he added a more 
 extended knowledge of political eco- 
 nomy than any preceding minister.* 
 The league of 1 5 1 3, concluded at Green- 
 wich, under the administration of Wol- 
 sey, has been regarded as a model for 
 all treaties for peace ; and the dexterity, 
 not unaccompanied by artifice, with 
 which Wolsey managed the conference 
 at Bruges, shows how great an adept 
 he was in all the minor branches of the 
 diplomatic art. Eclipsed as his fine 
 qualities often were by a selfish am- 
 bition not rarely dashed with sordid 
 propensities, they conferred on the com- 
 monweal benefits of no trivial value. 
 To Wolsey England is indebted for the 
 first notion of a vigorous police, and of 
 a regular system in the administration 
 of justice. To him she owes, in part, the 
 superiority of her navy, to which Henry 
 the Eighth, by his advice, directed a 
 closer attention, treating it with a greater 
 liberality than any of his predecessors 
 had done. To Wolsey may be ascribed 
 the first regular patronage of the medi- 
 cal art. In a more general sense, incal- 
 culable benefits may be traced to the 
 example and encouragement given by 
 his zeal and energy in promoting a spirit 
 of improvement, and in rousing men 
 from the slumber of ignorance and dull 
 contentment in which all classes of so- 
 ciety were at that time in some degree 
 plunged. 
 
 In the ecclesiastical department, the 
 merits of Wolsey are less unequivocal. 
 It is true that he sought to promote 
 the truest interests of the church in 
 facilitating the means of education to 
 its members, and enabling them to at- 
 tain that sound knowledge without 
 which power is both pernicious and 
 unstable. But while he cherished this 
 meritorious scheme, the immediate 
 effects of his example were detrimental 
 to his sacred profession, and to religion. 
 Although his zeal did not run into acts 
 
 * Herbert, p. 75. 
 
 of persecution, yet it was generally sus- 
 pected to result from ambition, and to 
 savour far more of desire for the papal 
 chair than of affection for the tenets of 
 the church. In morals he was more than 
 loose, not merely tolerating the impro- 
 prieties of others, but countenancing 
 them by his own departure from deco- 
 rum. Yet some allowances are to be 
 made for the profligate manners of the 
 times, and for the lax notions of the 
 great body of the clergy in those days 
 of professed celibacy. In promoting 
 the diffusion of science and letters, 
 Wolsey aided the cause of virtue, ever 
 most secure when attended by those 
 auxiliaries, and invigorated by their 
 natural consequence, mental employ- 
 ment. Wolsey was sincere and enthu- 
 siastic in his love for learning, both 
 biblical and classical. Indifferently 
 educated and cast too soon into the 
 business of life to make any great 
 proficiency in literature himself, he is 
 yet declared to have recalled into this 
 country the " three learned languages, 
 without which all learning is lame." 
 He invited Erasmus, and other cele- 
 brated scholars to England, and selected 
 his daily associates and his household 
 from the same valuable class of per- 
 sons.* Even before he had brought 
 his designs regarding Oxford to matu- 
 rity, he projected the establishment of 
 seven additional lectures there, both for 
 the promulgation of knowledge, and as 
 a means of provision for the learned. 
 His solicitude for the welfare of his 
 infant college was manifested by affect- 
 ing supplications to Henry for its con- 
 tinuance, after all his own worldly 
 prospects seemed closed for ever. 
 
 In the personal character of Wolsey 
 there is a mixture of magnanimity and 
 meanness, of arrogance and of ur- 
 banity, which alternately excites con- 
 tempt and admiration. For the display 
 of qualities so opposite, his lowly origin 
 and sudden elevation may, in some de- 
 gree, account. His nature was generous 
 and open, as the affection of his de- 
 pendents testifies : but he became 
 habitually haughty and overbearing 
 from the assumption of a rank to which 
 he had no claim by birth, and rapacious 
 from the indulged desire to give to that 
 rank the lustre of unwonted mao-ni- 
 ficence and parade. The greatest vice 
 of his character was, that he knew 
 not to forgive. An affront to his dig- 
 nity, or a sarcasm upon his weaknesses, 
 was keenly felt, and it was bitterly re- 
 
 Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials. 
 
40 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 sented. The poet Shelton, tutor and 
 poet laureate to Henry the Eighth, was 
 pursued with unrelenting anger, for 
 having indited satires upon the Cardinal, 
 which were then deemed replete with 
 poignancy; but in which the modern 
 reader can with difficulty discover the 
 sin of malice, through the veil of dul- 
 ness. But Wolsey thought otherwise, 
 or he regarded the design rather than 
 the execution. The rash versifier died in 
 the sanctuary of Westminster, whither 
 he fled to escape the holy vengeance of 
 this father of the church. 
 
 The more memorable fate of Buck- 
 ingham was imputed to the wounded 
 pride of Wolsey ; and the early offence 
 revenged upon Sir Amias Paulet 
 evinced, that if, in some instances, the 
 motives of his conduct were miscon- 
 strued, the unchristian spirit attributed 
 to it too surely sullied his character. 
 
 Wolsey left one illegitimate son, Tho- 
 mas Winter, who received, through the 
 bounty of his father, a learned educa- 
 tion at Paris ; and, by the patronage of 
 the Cardinal, was presented to eleven 
 benefices.* Two other children were 
 also said to have owed their being to 
 the Cardinal, who was charged, in the 
 articles of his impeachment, with hav- 
 ing compelled Sir John Hanley to re- 
 sign a farm belonging to the convent of 
 Chester, in favour of the man that had 
 married their mother. This statement 
 is less certain than the other ; nor is 
 the point of any importance, except as 
 illustrating his imperious and unscrupu- 
 lous nature. 
 
 The remains of Wolsey were interred 
 in the Abbey church of Leicester, after 
 having been viewed by the mayor and 
 corporation of Leicester, for the preven- 
 tion of false rumours. On removing the 
 body, it was found that he wore a shirt 
 of haircloth next to his skin, an act of 
 penance customary among the pious in 
 those days; and, though indicating 
 very false conceptions of the will of 
 that Being who has constituted our 
 frames for enjoyment, and who has 
 beautifully exemplified the image of 
 happiness in the infant state of man, 
 this little circumstance, which was un- 
 known to the attendants of Wolsey, 
 proved that repentance and self-abase- 
 ment were in his thoughts. 
 
 It was deemed proper that the Car- 
 dinal's corpse should be interred deco- 
 rated with such vestures and ornaments 
 as appertained to his holy offices. Thus, 
 
 * Fiddea, p. 531. 
 
 attended to the last by some semblance 
 of human grandeur, all that remained of 
 Thomas Wolsey was deposited in the 
 grave by torch-light, between four and 
 five o'clock of the morning of St. An- 
 drew's day, November 30th, 1530 ; the 
 abbot and all the convent attending in 
 solemn order, the canons singing dirges, 
 and offering orisons. 
 
 The king, upon hearing of the death 
 of his former favourite, is said to have 
 expressed poignant concern, and to have 
 declared that he would rather have lost 
 twenty thousand pounds than so valua- 
 ble a man ; yet his grief did not pre- 
 vent the selfish monarch from interro- 
 gating Cavendish, who conveyed to him 
 the tidings, with some anxiety, about a 
 sum of fifteen hundred pounds due to 
 him from Wolsey; nor could his re- 
 gard for the memory of a distinguished 
 subject induce him to give it the just 
 and even accustomed honours. The 
 Cardinal's college, the glory of Wolsey, 
 was assigned to a new patron, the 
 monarch himself; and his monument, 
 prepared by his own orders, and de- 
 signed by Benedetto, a famous Floren- 
 tine sculptor, was seized by Henry, w r ho 
 left the tomb of his renowned minister 
 destitute and obscure. 
 
 It is impossible to close the page jof 
 history on which we have been medi- 
 tating, without marking a circumstance 
 calculated to give the personal character 
 of the bold, able, and unprincipled man, 
 whose story lies before us, a kind of 
 interest that, strictly speaking, belongs 
 not to it, we mean the contrast pre- 
 sented by his royal master. When, 
 revolted by the Cardinal's unbearable 
 haughtiness, or disgusted with his 
 meanness, we turn to the king and find 
 him clothed in all his minister's worst 
 vices, and glaring with all his own, 
 unredeemed by a single virtuous or 
 amiable quality, we at once acknow- 
 ledge that a more hateful tyrant has 
 scarcely ever cursed any country whose 
 sins he was suffered to chasten, and feel 
 disposed to dwell upon Wolsey's talents 
 as a mitigation of his faults. This feeling 
 is softened into something like pity, when 
 we reflect on the black ingratitude 
 that worked his ruin ; we are fain to 
 admit that his fall was effected by almost 
 the only hand which had no right to 
 rise against him ; and we retire with 
 the impression, that no one portion of 
 his character claims more of our re- 
 prehension than his unhesitating, unde- 
 viating subserviency to his imperious 
 master. 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE 
 
 It has often been observed, that the bio- 
 graphy of those men who have enlight- 
 ened or entertained the world by their 
 writings, is barren of incident, and devoid 
 of interest. But this, like all other 
 general remarks, is subject to many ex- 
 ceptions. Besides the numerous in- 
 stances of authors, whose lives have 
 been chequered with variety of adven- 
 ture, and frequent change of fortune, 
 history, both ancient and modern, fur- 
 nishes abundant examples of illustrious 
 philosophers, and poets, and histori- 
 ans, who, while their leisure moments 
 have been devoted to study, have ne- 
 vertheless borne an active and a con- 
 spicuous part in the passing events 
 of their time. As the life of every 
 one who has taken a share in public 
 affairs, must necessarily partake in a 
 great degree of the interest attached to 
 whatever is connected with them ; and 
 as it has almost invariably happened, 
 that the most eminent individuals in 
 every department of literature and sci- 
 ence have flourished during periods the 
 most pregnant with important or extra- 
 ordinary circumstances, the biography 
 of such of them as have stood forward 
 on the stage of public life can seldom 
 fail to be both interesting and instruc- 
 tive. The life of the great lawyer who 
 is the subject of the following memoir, 
 is an instance corroborative of this ob- 
 servation. The profession to which he 
 devoted himself is one that, in this 
 country, generally obliges those who 
 attain very considerable eminence in 
 it, to occupy a conspicuous station in'the 
 political community ; and the exercise 
 of their public duties is for the most 
 part connected with those most import- 
 ant of all objects, the civil liberties, 
 the rights and immunities of their 
 countrymen. The period during which 
 he lived, comprises the greater part of 
 the reign of Elizabeth ; the whole reign 
 of James I ; and part of that of 
 Charles I ; a space of time peculiarly 
 memorable in the history of the English 
 constitution, since during its continu- 
 ance the prerogative of the crown was 
 exerted and enforced with that intem- 
 perate want of forbearance, which after- 
 wards caused its complete overthrow. 
 These circumstances are sufficient to 
 compensate for the want of personal in- 
 cident and adventure. 
 
 Edward Coke was the descendant of 
 an ancient and honourable family of 
 Norfolk. He was born at Mileham, in 
 that county ; (1550 ;) and his father, who 
 was himself a barrister of some emi- 
 nence, dying while he was still young, he 
 was at an early age left heir to a consi- 
 derable fortune. Fortunately, however, 
 his wealth did not eventually prevent 
 him from embarking in the same ho- 
 nourable but laborious profession his 
 parent had adopted. The bar was at 
 that time considered, much more so than 
 it is at present, a pursuit peculiarly 
 adapted to the aristocracy ; and whether 
 there were more of ambition or of assi- 
 duity among their youth than they have 
 been wont to display of late years, it cer- 
 tainly was then by no means uncom- 
 mon to find men born to the enjoyment 
 of ample fortunes devoting themselves' 
 to the study and the practice of the law, 
 with no less zeal and perseverance than 
 the keenest necessity could have stimu- 
 lated them to exercise. 
 
 Coke was not poor, but he possessed 
 a mind capable of the closest application, 
 and ambition to render him assiduous 
 in* any pursuit that held out to him 
 hopes of honour and preferment. 
 
 It is unnecessary to dwell on the par- 
 ticulars of Coke's education, as it does 
 not appear that he was distinguished 
 for any of the precocity of talent, or 
 that his boyhood was attended with 
 any of those uncommon circumstances, 
 which sometimes give celebrity to the 
 early years of remarkable men. After 
 remaining a sufficient time at the free 
 school of Norwich, where he had 
 been sent at the age of ten years, he 
 became a member of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, about the same time that 
 the celebrated Doctor Whitgift was ap- 
 pointed master. There he resided du- 
 ring nearly four years ; and having taken 
 the degree of bachelor of arts, he after- 
 wards proceeded to London for the pur- 
 pose of studying the law as a profession. 
 According to the general custom of 
 that time, which required a student to 
 go through a noviciate of some length 
 in one of the inns of Chancery, previous 
 to his admission as a member of either 
 of the great inns of court, Coke was first 
 enrolled among the students of Clif- 
 ford's Inn, before his name was entered 
 on the bocks of the Inner Temple. 
 
 B 
 

 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 Here he shortly distinguished himself 
 by his assiduity and his rapid pro- 
 ficiency in study, which the frequent 
 mootings and other academical exer- 
 cises then practised in the inns of 
 court gave him an opportunity of dis- 
 playing to his seniors. Such public lec- 
 tures and examinations, besides being 
 capable of affording some assistance to 
 those who were thrown without a guide 
 among the intricacies of an abstruse 
 study, had the advantage of bringing 
 into notice many whose professional 
 attainments might otherwise long have 
 remained unknown. They have now 
 for many years past been discontinued. 
 Lord Keeper Guildford being repre- 
 sented by his entertaining biographer, 
 Roger North, as the last person who 
 regarded them in any other light than 
 that of antiquated ceremonies ; and, in- 
 deed, it appears, that even in Coke's 
 time they were beginning to be much 
 neglected; though this is a circum- 
 stance that he often laments in his 
 writings. 
 
 It is much to be regretted that we 
 have no detailed account of Coke's 
 early studies in his profession ; but we 
 may gather from his occasional re- 
 marks on the subject, that he considered 
 the time a young lawyer devoted to his 
 profession might be best divided be- 
 tween attendance on the courts, or pub- 
 lic lectures, and private reading. " I 
 would advise our student," he says in 
 one place, " that when he shall be 
 enabled and armed to set upon the year 
 bookes, or reports of law, that he be 
 furnished with all the whole course of 
 the law, that when he heareth a case 
 vouched and applyed either in West- 
 minster Hall, (where it is necessary for 
 him to be a diligent hearer, and ob- 
 server of cases of law,) or at readings 
 or other exercises of learning, he may 
 finde out and read the case so vouched ; 
 for that will both fasten it in his me- 
 mory, and be to him as good as an 
 exposition of that case. But that must 
 not hinder his timely and orderly read- 
 ing, which (all excuses set apart) he 
 must bind himselfe unto ; for there be 
 two things to be avoyded by him, as 
 enemies to learning, prcepostera lectio 
 and prcepropera praxis." It is to be 
 supposed that it was thus he himself 
 acquired that fund of legal knowledge, 
 for which he was remarkable even 
 while he continued a student. In this 
 capacity he remained during six years ; 
 after which time, in consideration of his 
 
 great proficiency in the law, he was 
 permitted to be called to the bar, though 
 the usual period of probation was then 
 eight years. The flattering compli- 
 ment thus paid by the heads of his pro- 
 fession to his learning and talents was 
 of itself a sufficient recommendation to 
 ensure him early opportunities for 
 bringing himself further into notice. 
 Accordingly we find him engaged as 
 counsel in a case of some import- 
 ance so early as 1578, that is, in the 
 twenty-eighth year of his age. He 
 was also appointed reader or lecturer at 
 Lyon's Inn, an office which he held 
 during three years; and his readings, 
 (which were not given, as it is 
 usual to give them at present, merely 
 for the sake of observing an anti- 
 quated form,) were so assiduously at- 
 tended, and so generally admired, that 
 he rapidly attained a degree of repute 
 much greater than that of any other 
 barrister of the same age and standing 
 at the bar. His practice, in conse- 
 quence, daily increased ; and he was at 
 length retained as counsel in almost 
 every cause of importance that was 
 tried in Westminster Hall. He became 
 recorder of the cities of Norwich and 
 Coventry, then solicitor to the queen, 
 and afterwards attorney-general. His 
 career was equally successful in parlia- 
 ment. He was returned by the free- 
 holders of Norfolk as knight of the 
 shire ; and in 1592. was made speaker 
 of the House of Commons. 
 
 The increase of his fortune, which, 
 it has been already mentioned, was ori- 
 ginally considerable, more than kept 
 pace with his preferment. Soon after 
 he had been called to the bar, he had 
 contracted a marriage with a lady of 
 the ancient and highly connected family 
 of the Paston's ; and he received with 
 her a fortune, such as was considered 
 at that time a very large one, no less a 
 sum than thirty thousand pounds. 
 After her death, which occurred while 
 he was attorney-general, he formed 
 another no less advantageous alliance 
 (1598) with the daughter of the cele- 
 brated Lord Burleigh. This lady, who 
 was the widow of Sir W T illiam Hatton,. 
 also brought him a considerable addi- 
 tion to his property, as well as to his 
 consequence; but his marriage with 
 her was not productive of domestic 
 happiness. The celebration of the ce- 
 remony involved the parties in some 
 difficulty. Notwithstanding the seve- 
 rity with which Archbishop Whitgift 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 had shown himself disposed to treat all 
 those who were privy to marriages 
 performed in an irregular manner, this 
 had been solemnized in a private house, 
 without a licence being previously ob- 
 tained for the purpose; and notwith- 
 standing the footing of acquaintance, if 
 not of intimacy, on which that prelate 
 stood with regard to the attorney-gene- 
 ral, the act of contumacy was not passed 
 over. A prosecution was instituted in 
 the ecclesiastical court against all the 
 parties concerned, among whom was 
 Lord Burleigh himself. The conse- 
 quences might have been serious, had 
 the authority of the church been exerted 
 to the utmost on the occasion ; but it is 
 probable that the suit was commenced 
 merely for the sake of public exam- 
 ple, and the penalties incurred were 
 eventually remitted. It is curious to 
 remark that the cause assigned for this 
 lenity was, that the offence had been 
 committed through ignorance of the law. 
 Meantime the professional duties of 
 the attorney -general were prosecuted 
 with unremitted attention ; and it is 
 supposed, that in addition to the func- 
 tions which belonged to his office, he 
 had other occupations to employ his at- 
 tention in private, being frequently con- 
 sulted by the queen's council in matters 
 only indirectly connected with his public 
 duties. But, notwithstanding the mul- 
 tiplicity of his avocations, he found 
 time in 1600 to publish the first of the 
 eleven parts of his Reports, the remain- 
 der of which were completed during the 
 subsequent reign. 
 
 In the same year occurred the me- 
 morable trial of the Earls of Essex 
 and Southampton, for high-treason. 
 They had been guilty not only of con- 
 spiring against the government, but of 
 actually exciting the citizens to revolt 
 and insurrection, with the intent (as the 
 indictment set forth) of compassing the 
 queen's death. The case for the pro- 
 secution was, of course, conducted on 
 the part of the crown by the attorney- 
 general ; but he acquired little credit by 
 his conduct on the occasion. It is true 
 that, according to the general practice 
 of that time, state prisoners were com- 
 monly treated with a degree of harsh- 
 ness and severity quite incompatible 
 with the just and benevolent axiom of 
 the English law, which supposes every 
 accused party innocent until the charges 
 brought against him have been con- 
 firmed by a verdict. The person to be 
 put on his trial was thrown into prison 
 
 without the formality of an indictment. 
 "When confined, he was allowed neither 
 pen, ink, nor paper; his friends and 
 relations were denied access to him; 
 and till the time of his appearing in 
 court he remained in utter ignorance of 
 every charge that was to be brought 
 forward against him. He was not al- 
 lowed to have any previous knowledge 
 of the persons who were to compose 
 the jury, though his right of challeng- 
 ing was almost the only privilege he 
 was permitted to exercise ; and what- 
 ever number of witnesses the crown 
 might think proper to produce against 
 him, he was not suffered to question 
 them, or reply to their statements, until 
 the whole case for the prosecution was 
 closed. In short, the law treated the 
 accused in every respect as though his 
 conviction had already taken place, 
 and he was unworthy to be considered 
 other than a culprit. The formal pro- 
 ceedings in court were carried on in the 
 same spirit. State trials were habitually 
 conducted with a want of liberality, and 
 even of decorum, towards those who 
 were arraigned, which would be quite 
 intolerable to the spirit and good taste 
 of the present age. The counsel ap- 
 pointed to act on behalf of the crown 
 seldom thought it necessary to ap- 
 pear, as if, in pressing their accusa- 
 tions against its enemies, they were 
 reluctantly performing a painful duty ; 
 and far from endeavouring to mitigate 
 by the mildness of their deportment 
 the actual severity they were called 
 upon to exercise, it was not unusual 
 with them to aggravate it by expres- 
 sions of personal hostility towards the 
 prisoners on trial. The common pre- 
 valence of this practice might, per- 
 haps, in some measure excuse (though 
 it certainly cannot justify) Sir Edward 
 Coke for conforming to it. But he car- 
 ried this fault even farther than his con- 
 temporaries. In the prosecution of the 
 Lords Essex and Southampton, whether 
 from the natural violence and irritability 
 of his temper, or from a desire of show- 
 ing his obsequiousness to the queen by 
 his treatment of her enemies, he behaved 
 towards the two accused noblemen with 
 a malignity and want of forbearance that 
 not only tarnished his own reputation, 
 but rather injured than strengthened the 
 case which had been put into his hands. 
 It is well known that the insurrection, 
 which formed the chief ground of accu- 
 sation against them, was too public and 
 too notorious not to be fully capable of 
 b2 
 
' SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 bein ^proved by the most unexception- 
 able^testimony ; yet Coke, not satisfied 
 with the depositions of the witnesses, 
 interrogated the accomplices of the trea- 
 son, and even went so far as to examine 
 the avowed enemy of the Earl of Essex, 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, concerning what 
 he had indirectly heard on the subject 
 of the alleged conspiracy. Each of the 
 peers, in his defence, alluded to the 
 marked animosity which the attorney- 
 general had displayed throughout the 
 trial ; and Lord Southampton, address- 
 ing him, said : " You urge the matter 
 very far, and you wrong me therein ; 
 my blood be upon your head." 
 
 But violent and intemperate as was 
 the bearing of Coke in prosecuting this 
 charge, the manner in which he treated 
 Sir Walter Raleigh on a similar occa- 
 sion, reflects much greater disgrace on 
 Ms character. The trial of that justly 
 celebrated man took place in 1603, in 
 the first year of the reign of James I. 
 He was accused of high treason, in com- 
 passing and imagining to depose and 
 destroy the king, and of treating with 
 the Spanish government for assistance 
 in the execution of his purpose. It is 
 not necessary to enter into a detail either 
 of the accusation or of the evidence 
 that was adduced to support it. What 
 foundation ever existed for the charge, 
 it is now, as indeed it appeared at the 
 time, to be impossible to ascertain; 
 but at all events the testimony, by 
 means of which Sir Walter was con- 
 demned, was entirely illegal. The only 
 direct deposition that affected his inno- 
 cence, wasTtnat of Lord Cobham, who 
 was not openly produced in court as a 
 witness, and who had made a solemn 
 recantation of his former evidence. 
 The law required that the accused 
 party should not be convicted but on 
 the testimony of two credible witnesses 
 brought face to face ; on this the pri- 
 soner insisted in his . defence ; but this 
 clear and explicit rule of law was thought 
 to give an inconvenient protection to the 
 life and liberty of the subject, and was 
 accordingly overruled through the influ- 
 ence of the attorney-general, who, how- 
 ever, could not, and did not attempt to 
 show that the statutes, (5 and 6 Edward 
 III. cap. 11,) by which it is expressly 
 enacted that there shall be two wit- 
 nesses in cases of high treason, had ever 
 been repealed. He merely affirmed in 
 general, that the law was altered ; and 
 endeavoured to account for the change, 
 by declaring "that the crown could not 
 
 stand a year upon the king his masters 
 head, if a traitor could not be con- 
 demned by circumstances." By this 
 corrupt and disgraceful artifice, Sir 
 Edward Coke not only succeeded in 
 procuring the condemnation of Raleigh, 
 out furnished a precedent, by means of 
 which at after periods many other per- 
 sons accused of high treason were 
 unjustly and unlawfully convicted. His 
 deportment towards his illustrious vic- 
 tim during the trial, was not less dero- 
 gatory to the dignity of his own office, 
 than offensive to decorum, and even in- 
 sulting to the court. He loaded this ac- 
 complished gentleman and scholar with 
 abuse and scurrility ; called him the 
 most notorious traitor that ever came 
 to the bar : a monster, a viper, a spider 
 of hell, a damnable atheist, one who 
 had an English face, but a Spanish 
 heart; and carried the licence of 
 speech, which the custom of that time 
 in some degree authorized, to an extent 
 that had never before been attempted. 
 The calmness and self-possession of the 
 accomplished individual to whom these 
 epithets were applied, served to make 
 the overbearing conduct of the attor- 
 ney-general appear more odious by the 
 contrast. The following specimen of 
 a dialogue that took place between 
 the accuser and the accused, places the 
 difference in a sufficiently strong light. 
 After calmly listening to a long strain 
 of scurrility and invective, Sir Walter 
 observed : 
 
 ~ " You speak indiscreetly, barbarously, 
 and uncivilly." 
 
 Coke. " I want words to express thy 
 viperous treasons." 
 
 Raleigh. " I think you want words 
 indeed ; for you have spoken one thing 
 half a dozen times." 
 
 Coke. " Thou art an odious fellow : 
 thy name is hateful to all England for 
 thy pride." 
 
 Raleigh. " It will go nigh to prove 
 a measuring cast between you and me, 
 Mr. Attorney." 
 
 The conduct of Sir Edward Coke 
 throughout this trial must have been 
 recollected by Bacon, when, at a later 
 period, he observed to him : " As in 
 your pleadings you w r ere wont to insult 
 over misery, and to inveigh bitterly at 
 the persons, which bred you many ene- 
 mies, whose poison yet swelleth, and 
 the effects now appear ; so you are still 
 wont to be a little careless in this 
 point, to praise or disgrace upon slight 
 grounds, and that sometimes untruly, 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 so that your reproofs or commendations 
 are for the most part neglected and 
 condemned ; when the censure of a 
 judge, coming slow but sure, should be 
 a brand to the guilty, and a crown to 
 the virtuous. You will jest at any man 
 in public, without respect of the per- 
 son's dignity or your own : this dis- 
 graceth your gravity, more than it can 
 advance the opinion of your wit ; and 
 so do all actions which we see you do 
 directly with a touch of vain-glory, 
 having no respect to the true end." 
 
 From the tenour of these remarks, 
 which were addressed to Coke under 
 the form of " an expostulation," it will 
 be perceived that he was not upon 
 terms of friendship with the illustrious 
 personage who afterwards became Lord 
 Chancellor. Though the want of amity 
 between them may, no doubt, in some 
 measure be attributed to the insolent 
 and haughty bearing of the attorney- 
 general, it must be admitted, that a 
 feeling of jealousy, wholly unworthy of 
 such a character as Bacons is usually 
 represented, was probably the chief cause 
 oi it. But, to whichever of the two the 
 original wrong be imputed, it is certain 
 that their dislike of each other shortly 
 became mutual, and was at length in- 
 creased to undisguised animosity. After 
 the specimen which has been just given 
 of the language employed by Coke, 
 in the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 it will not excite much surprise to find 
 him on another occasion forgetful of 
 decorum (at least as decorum is at 
 present understood) towards his own 
 personal enemy; and to perceive that 
 the same ungovernable warmth of tem- 
 per which he had before exhibited in so 
 disgraceful a manner, should again give 
 a calm opponent a decided advantage 
 over him. Bacon has left among his 
 works a short tract, entitled, " A true 
 remembrance of the abuse I received 
 of Mr. Attorney-General, publicly in 
 the exchequer, the first day of term; 
 for the truth whereof I refer myself to 
 ail that were present :" and if this do- 
 cument state the circumstances cor- 
 rectly, it will not be disputed that the 
 attorney-general would, in every point 
 of view, have done wisely if he had re- 
 frained from provoking such an adver- 
 sary to an open contest. 
 
 Bacon, who was then at the bar, had 
 occasion to move for the reseizure of 
 some lands, " and this," says he, " I did 
 in as gentle and reasonable terms as 
 might be." 
 
 " Mr. Attorney kindled at it, and said : 
 ' Mr. Bacon, if you have any tooth 
 against me, pluck it out ; for it will do 
 you more hurt than all the teeth in your 
 head will do you good.' I answered 
 coldly in these very words : ' Mr. At- 
 torney, I respect you ; I fear you not ; 
 and the less you speak of your own 
 greatness, the more I will think of it. 1 
 
 " He replied : ' I think scorn to stand 
 upon terms of greatness towards you, 
 who are less than little ; less than the 
 least;' and other such strange light 
 terms he gave me, with that insulting 
 which cannot be expressed. 
 
 " Herewith stirred, yet I said no more 
 but this : * Mr. Attorney, do not op- 
 press me so far ; for I have been your 
 better, and may be again, when it please 
 the queen.' 
 
 " With this he spake, neither I nor 
 himself could tell what, as if he had 
 been born attorney-general ; and in the 
 end bade me not meddle with the 
 queen's business, but with mine own ; 
 and that I was unsworn, etc. 1 told 
 him, sworn or unsworn was all one to 
 an honest man ; and that I ever set my 
 service first and myself second ; and 
 wished to God that he would do the 
 like." 
 
 It was probably in reference to this 
 quarrel that Bacon addressed the fol- 
 lowing letter to the attorney-general : 
 
 " I thought best, once for all, to let 
 you know in plainness what I find of 
 you, and what you shall find of me. 
 You take to yourself a liberty to dis- 
 grace and disable my law, my expe- 
 rience, my discretion. What it pleaseth 
 you I pray think of me ; I am one that 
 know both mine own wants and other 
 men's, and it may be, perchance, that 
 mine mend, when others stand at a stay. 
 And surely 1 may not endure, in public 
 place, to be wronged without repelling 
 the same to my best advantage, to right 
 myself. You are great, and therefore 
 have the more enviers, which would be 
 glad to have you paid at another's cost. 
 Since the time I missed the solicitor's 
 place, the rather I think by your means, 
 I cannot expect that, you and I shall 
 ever serve as attorney and solicitor to- 
 gether ; but either to serve with another 
 at your remove, or to step into some 
 other course ; so as I am more free 
 than ever I was from any reason of un- 
 worthy conforming myself to you, more 
 than general good manners, or your 
 particular good usage shall provoke ; 
 and if vou had not been short-sighted 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 in'your own fortune, as I think, you 
 might have had more of me. But that 
 time is passed. I write not this to 
 show my friends what a brave letter I 
 have written to Mr. Attorney ; I have 
 none of those humours. But that I 
 have written is to a good end, that is, 
 to the more decent carriage of my 
 master's service, and to our particular 
 better understanding one of another. 
 This letter, if it shall be answered by 
 you in deed, and not in word, I suppose 
 it will not be worse for us both ; else it 
 is but a few lines lost, which for a 
 much smaller matter I would have ad- 
 ventured." 
 
 It will be collected from these pas- 
 sages, that Bacon had been foiled in his 
 endeavour to become solicitor- general ; 
 and that he attributed the disappoint- 
 ment of his expectations to the influence 
 of the attorney-general. As this circum- 
 stance would, according to his own state- 
 ment, have prevented him from holding 
 the post of solicitor while Coke remained 
 in his office, Bacon, who was always 
 keenly alive to his own interest, sup- 
 pressed his personal dislike of his enemy 
 so far as to exert himself to procure his 
 advancement. Previous to the trial of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, that is, almost imme- 
 diately after the accession of James I., 
 Coke had received the honour of knight- 
 hood ; and it is to be supposed that 
 the active exertions which he subse- 
 quently made (1605) in the prosecution 
 of the persons connected with the gun- 
 powder treason, had ingratiated him in 
 the favour of that monarch. The zeal 
 for the cause of the government, and 
 the great professional knowledge which 
 he displayed throughout the whole of 
 the proceedings connected with the 
 conspiracy, but particularly on the trial 
 of the Jesuit, Garnet, marked him as a 
 fit subject for promotion. Accordingly 
 inl 1606, (having been previously ad- 
 mitted to the rank of serjeant at law,) 
 he was appointed chief justice of the 
 court of Common Pleas. The vacant 
 place of attorney- general was at the 
 same time filled by Sir Henry Hobart, 
 and Bacon became solicitor. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke retained his situa- 
 tion of chief justice of the Common 
 Pleas during upwards of seven years. 
 It was a place for which his profound 
 knowledge of the law eminently qualified 
 him ; and though he was, probably 
 with justice, reproached for his haughty 
 and unconciliating deportment on the 
 bench, it appears that, upon the whole, 
 
 the manner in which he acquitted him- 
 self of the duties of his office gained 
 him the highest credit. Bacon, indeed, 
 has accused him of making the law 
 lean too much to his opinion, and using 
 it as a double-edged weapon ; but how- 
 ever his conduct in the prosecution of 
 Sir Walter Raleigh may seem to justify 
 such an imputation, there is certainly 
 no proof of it on record, and the general 
 charge, coming from such a quarter, 
 cannot be entitled to implicit credit when 
 unsupported by any corroborative tes- 
 timony. 
 
 It does not appear that Sir Edward 
 Coke ever expressed, or even enter- 
 tained, a wish to be removed from the 
 court of Common Pleas, unless indeed 
 there might have been an opportunity 
 of raising him to the Woolsack. But 
 Bacon, who was high in favour at court, 
 had his own reasons for wishing that his 
 enemy should be preferred to the chief 
 justiceship of the King's Bench, as by 
 this change Sir Henry Hobart might be 
 advanced to his 'vacant place in the 
 Common Pleas, and the office of at- 
 torney-general would thereby be acces- 
 sible to himself. In order to bring 
 about these changes, he had recourse 
 to an expedient such as, according to 
 our present notions, must appear equally 
 at variance with discretion and with 
 delicacy. This was no other than draw- 
 ing up a tract, of which the purport 
 may be learned from the title : " Rea- 
 sons why it should be exceeding much 
 for his Majesty's service to remove the 
 Lord Coke from the place he now 
 holdeth, to be chief justice of England, 
 and the attorney to succeed him, and 
 the solicitor the attorney." It is re- 
 markable that this document contains 
 an indirect eulogium on Coke's beha- 
 viour as a judge, since it admits that 
 he had more than once opposed the 
 views of the king; a line of conduct 
 for which it is impossible to suppose 
 any other motive than fearless and un- 
 compromising integrity in the discharge 
 of his duties. Among the reasons 
 urged for the propriety of appointing 
 him to the King's Bench, it is said that : 
 " The remove of my Lord Coke to a 
 place of less profit, though it be with 
 his will, yet will be thought abroad a 
 kind of discipline to him for opposing 
 himself in the king's causes; the ex- 
 ample whereof will contain others in 
 more awe." And in another place it is 
 remarked, that the proposed changes 
 " will strengthen the king's causes 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 greatly amongst the judges ; for both 
 my Lord Coke will think himself near a 
 privy counsellor's place, and thereupon 
 turn obsequious ; and the attorney-ge- 
 neral, a new man, and a grave person, 
 in a judge's place, will come in well to 
 the other, and hold him hard to it, not 
 without emulation between them, who 
 shall please the king best." It is to be 
 supposed that these reasons had their 
 weight with James I, since we find 
 Coke actually appointed chief justice 
 of the King's Bench, (October 25th, 
 1613,) and the other suggestions of 
 Bacon also complied with, by the pro- 
 motion of Sir Henry Hobart and him- 
 self, Sir Henry Yelverton being prefer- 
 red to the vacant solicitorship. Shortly 
 afterwards, Sir Edward was sworn a 
 member of the privy council. 
 , However, this change of place had 
 not the effect which Bacon affected to 
 anticipate, of rendering the new chief 
 justice of the King's Bench more pliant 
 and obsequious. He never suffered 
 his complaisance for the king to betray 
 him into a step that was inconsistent 
 with the duty or might detract from 
 the dignity of his judicial office. On 
 one particular occasion, a prosecution 
 for treason being in contemplation 
 against a minister named Peacham, 
 who had written certain libellous pas- 
 sages in one of his sermons, the king 
 wished to have the private opinions of 
 all the judges on the case, before it was 
 officially brought under their notice. 
 Bacon was employed to sound them on 
 the subject, and he encountered little 
 or no opposition from any of them 
 except the lord chief justice. It 
 was Coke's favourite maxim, that he 
 was a judge in a court and not in a 
 chamber; and on this principle he 
 refused to comply with the wish of his 
 majesty ; maintaining that such a mode 
 of taking private opinions was contrary 
 to the custom of the realm. The letters 
 which Bacon wrote to the king on this 
 occasion contain some curious informa- 
 tion, as to the dexterity he employed to 
 gain his master's ends ; but it was with- 
 out effect. He at length succeeded in 
 persuading Coke to look over the papers 
 connected with the prosecution, and 
 afterwards, by dint of importunity, ex- 
 torted from him an answer to the 
 questions he had put ; but it was so 
 unsatisfactory, that he declared to the 
 king he was glad for his own exculpa- 
 tion to be able to send it in the chief 
 justice's own hand- writing. This and 
 
 other spirited demonstrations of manly 
 integrity are the more likely to attract 
 our admiration, when contrasted with 
 the many specimens of servility dis- 
 played by other distinguished cha- 
 racters during the same reign. The 
 difference plainly shows, that Coke was 
 rising superior to the willing obsequi- 
 ousness which was the vice of his 
 time; a vice that has left something 
 of its stain on the history of his own 
 early career, whatever the general in- 
 dependence of his conduct in his ma- 
 turer years may have done towards 
 obliterating it. It is to be recollected, 
 that at this period he had perhaps 
 stronger inducements than most of his 
 contemporaries to court the favour of 
 his sovereign. The continuance of his 
 office was dependent solely on the 
 king's will ; and, as the chancellorship 
 might be expected shortly to be vacant, 
 there was on one hand a prospect of 
 further preferment as a reward for 
 obedience, on the other, the risk of dis- 
 grace as a punishment for refractory 
 behaviour. To the honour of Coke, 
 however, he disregarded every considera- 
 tion but that of duty. One instance, in- 
 deed, is recorded of his having judicially 
 promulgated an opinion in favour of 
 those unjust and arbitrary expedients for 
 raising supplies which went by the very 
 inappropriate name of benevolences ; 
 and it is to be supposed that his con- 
 duct in this particular, whatever might 
 be the real motive of it, was in effect 
 excellently calculated to propitiate the 
 good graces of James ; but there are 
 several other circumstances which go 
 to prove that his general behaviour on 
 the bench was any thing but that of a 
 courtly sycophant. He never descended 
 in this respect so low as Bacon, whose 
 subserviency to the will of the king was 
 indeed unbounded ; and it is singular 
 that the arts which this intriguing 
 courtier was constantly and success- 
 fully employing to injure Coke in the 
 king's estimation, were such as cannot 
 but have a directly contrary effect with 
 regard to the estimation of disinterested 
 judges. This^has been already exem- 
 plified by the arguments which he used 
 to procure the removal of his enemy 
 from the Common Pleas to the King's 
 Bench ; and a letter which he wrote to 
 King James (in 1615) in order to dis- 
 suade him from appointing Sir Edward 
 to succeed Lord Ellesmere on the wool- 
 sack, affords another instance of the 
 same kind. In this letter, after enume- 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 rating several reasons, which do great 
 credit to the person whose advancement 
 they were intended to prevent, he con- 
 cludes: " Lastly, popular men are no sure 
 mounters for your majesty's saddle." 
 ; Two of the most remarkable instances 
 of Sir Edward Coke's having acted a 
 part that rendered him highly obnoxious 
 to the king, are the dispute concerning 
 the power of the Chancery and the cele- 
 brated case of the commendams ; both 
 memorable events in the history of the 
 English jurisprudence. The particulars 
 of both were briefly as* follows. 
 
 The court of Chancery had long ex- 
 ercised a jurisdiction, which though now 
 conceded to it, had been the subject of 
 frequent complaint, and formed one of 
 the articles against Wolsey, of revising 
 and correcting judgments which had 
 been obtained in the courts of common 
 law. It was not till the reign of James 
 that this privilege had been seriously 
 called in question ; the judges of the 
 King's Bench, and particularly Sir Ed- 
 ward Coke, who were extremely tena- 
 cious of the authority of their court, 
 then gave it as their opinion that the 
 Chancery had no such right, and that an 
 appeal from a judgment at law couldjaot 
 legally be made, except to parliament. 
 Their doctrine was founded on the 
 words of one of the statutes, which were 
 framed during the reign of Edward III, 
 for the purpose of preventing appeals to 
 the courts of Rome. This statute, with- 
 out distinctly specifying the papal courts, 
 included them in a general enactment, 
 which provided that whosoever should, 
 after the delivery of a judgment in the 
 king's courts, impeach its authority in 
 any other court,Oz autrui court,) should 
 incur the penalties of a 'prcemunire. 
 According to this express declaration of 
 the act of parliament, the jurisdiction 
 exercised by the court of Chancery over 
 matters which had been already ad- 
 udged in the courts of King's Bench 
 and Common Pleas was held to be 
 entirely illegal ; and in pursuance of 
 this doctrine Judge Croke, in his charge 
 to the grand jurors of Middlesex, di- 
 rected them to present any persons who 
 might have called the judgments of 
 those courts in question. Two recent 
 cases, in which appeal had been made 
 to the chancellor, were selected for an 
 example ; and it was determined that 
 all the parties who had been privy to 
 the proceedings, including solicitors, 
 suitors, officers of the court, and even 
 a master in Chancery, should be in- 
 
 dicted on the statute of Edward III. 
 However, as in consequence of some 
 fraudulent means employed by the par- 
 ties to the original suit at law, those two 
 cases happened to have been very errone- 
 ously and unjustly decided by the King's 
 Bench, they only served to exemplify 
 the expediency of the interference of the 
 court of Chancery ; and the grand 
 jurors resolutely persisted in refusing 
 to bring in the bills required of them. 
 
 This unusual affair excited a very 
 considerable degree of interest; and 
 a sovereign so tenacious of his prero- 
 gative as James, was not likely to let 
 it proceed further without his inter 
 ference. As Lord Ellesmere was at the 
 time unequal to the task of defending 
 the cause of his court, being afflicted 
 with an illness which was hourly ex- 
 pected to prove fatal, the whole pro- 
 ceedings were reviewed by commis- 
 sioners whom his majesty appointed for 
 the purpose. According to the memo- 
 rial which was drawn up, or at least 
 corrected, by Bacon, it appears that the 
 investigation was conducted with great 
 deliberation and impartiality. Care was 
 first taken to examine whether the chan- 
 cellor had been in fault; that is, whe- 
 ther his course of proceeding in the two 
 cases which had formed the subject of 
 dispute, had not been conformable to 
 acknowledged authority and precedent. 
 The report of the commissioners certi- 
 fied, " that the precedents of that kind 
 were many and precise in the point, 
 and constant, and in good times, and 
 allowed many times by the judges them- 
 selves." The question was then put, 
 " Whether, upon apparent matter of 
 equity, which the judges of the law by 
 their place and oath cannot meddle 
 with or relieve, if a judgment be once 
 passed at common law, the subject 
 shall perish, or that the Chancery shall 
 relieve him ? and whether there be any 
 statute of prccmunire, or other, to re- 
 strain this power in the chancellor?" 
 Upon mature consultation and advice 
 the answer was, that "the Chancery was 
 not restrained by any statute in that 
 case." The clerks of the King's Bench 
 were next desired to search for prece- 
 dents of indictments against the Chan- 
 cery ; and on their declaring that they 
 were able to find only two, and those 
 merely of indictments offered or found, 
 on which there had been no further 
 proceeding, his majesty (in the words of 
 the memorial) " thought then it was 
 time to question the misdemeanor and 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 contempt in scandalizing and dishonour- 
 ing his justice in that high court of 
 Chancery in so odious a manner." 
 Proceedings were therefore Instituted 
 in the star-chamber against the offend- 
 ers, and the conduct of the judges of 
 *he King's Bench was referred to the 
 consideration of the council table. 
 
 It is generally admitted that the course 
 pursued by Sir Edward Coke and his 
 associates on this occasion was highly 
 discreditable to them. The whole dis- 
 pute, as Blackstone justly remarks, did 
 not tend much to the advancement of 
 justice ; and it is certain that the violent 
 measures adopted for the sake of assert- 
 ing the independence of the King's 
 Bench, were wholly inconsistent with 
 the moderation and decorum which 
 ought ever to characterise the measures 
 sanctioned by courts of justice. How- 
 ever, the proceeding at least shows 
 that Coke was not the servile minister 
 of the king's will ; and his conduct in 
 the case of the commendams, for which 
 he was arraigned at the council table at 
 the same time as for the other offence, 
 will be allowed to merit unqualified ad- 
 miration. 
 
 The practice of giving livings in com- 
 mendam was usually adopted by the 
 crown for the sake of adding to the 
 profits of poor bishoprics, or in some 
 instances of poor benefices. It could 
 only be resorted to in the case of livings 
 to which the right of presentation had, 
 either by lapse or otherwise, devolved 
 upon the king; when the sovereign 
 might recommend a clerk as a fit per- 
 son to discharge the duties till such 
 time as a new incumbent could be 
 regularly appointed. Now it happened 
 that on the occasion of a writ of quare 
 impedit* brought against the Bishop of 
 Litchfield and Coventry, the defendant 
 pleaded that he held the living in dis- 
 pute in commendam ; and, among other 
 important points of law which were in- 
 volved in the discussion of the case, the 
 right of the sovereign to grant commen- 
 dams was called in question. The king, 
 who perhaps anticipated what would 
 happen, had ordered secretary Win- 
 wood, and the Bishop of Winchester, 
 Dr. Bilson, to attend in court during 
 the trial, and make a report to him of 
 the proceedings. The bisho p alone, 
 
 * Quare impedit; literally, wherefore he prevents 
 These two words give the name to the writ in which 
 Ihey occur. It is granted against any one who by 
 wrongfully procuring a clerk to be instituted in a 
 vacant benefice, prevents the real proprietor of the 
 Udvowsoii from exercising his right of presentation. 
 
 however, was present at the hearing of 
 the cause, and he gave his majesty to 
 understand that Serjeant Chiborne, who 
 argued against the commendams, had 
 maintained several positions prejudicial 
 to the royal prerogative ; among others, 
 that the king had only power to grant 
 commendams in case of necessity, which 
 necessity could never, in fact, exist, 
 since no clerk was bound to keep hos- 
 pitality above his means. On the receipt 
 of this information, the attorney- general, 
 Bacon, was immediately directed to ac- 
 quaint Sir Edward Coke that it was the 
 king's pleasure all further proceedings 
 in the cause should be stayed till the 
 judges could have an opportunity of 
 conferring with his majesty on the 
 subject. At Coke's desire a similar 
 intimation was officially sent to all the 
 other judges, and they assembled toge- 
 ther for the purpose of consulting as to 
 the course they should pursue. The 
 result of their deliberation was a resolu- 
 tion to act in every respect as though 
 they had received no notice to suspend 
 the proceedings : and a letter was de- 
 spatched to James, who was then absent 
 from London, containing a firm but re- 
 spectful remonstrance against the com- 
 mand that had been addressed to them, 
 together with their reasons for not obey- 
 ing it. The letter, which is signed by 
 alt the twelve judges, bears such ho- 
 nourable testimony to their integrity 
 and independence ; and the answer of 
 James is so characteristic of the notions 
 entertained by that weak monarch on 
 the subject of his prerogative, that both 
 deserve to be quoted at length. 
 
 " Most dread, and most gracious 
 . Sovereign, 
 
 " It may please your most excellent 
 majesty to be advertised that this letter 
 here inclosed was delivered unto me 
 your chief justice, on Thursday last in 
 the afternoon, by a servant of your ma- 
 jesty's attorney-general; and letters of 
 the like effect were on the day following 
 sent from him by his servant to us your 
 majesty's justices of every of the courts 
 at Westminster. We are, and ever will 
 be ready with all faithful and true heart, 
 according to our bounden duties, to 
 serve and obey your majesty, and think 
 ourselves most happy to spend our 
 times and abilities to do your majesty 
 true and faithful service in this present 
 case mentioned in this letter. What In- 
 formation hath been made unto you, 
 whereupon Mr. Attorney doth ground 
 
10 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 his letter, from the report of the Bishop 
 of Winton, we know not ; this we know, 
 that the 1rue substance of the cause 
 summarily is this : it consisteth princi- 
 pally upon the construction of two acts 
 of parliament, the one of the twenty-fifth 
 year of King Edward III, and the other 
 of the twenty-fifth year of King Henry 
 VIII, whereof your majesty's judges, 
 upon their oaths, and according to 
 their best knowledge and learning, 
 are bound to deliver their true un- 
 derstanding faithfully and uprightly"; 
 and the case between two for private 
 interest and inheritance earnestly call- 
 ed for justice and expedition. We 
 hold it our duty to inform your majesty, 
 that our oath is in these express words : 
 that in case any letters come unto us 
 contrary to law, that we do nothing by 
 such letters but certify your majesty 
 thereof, and go forth to do the law, not- 
 withstanding the same letters. We have 
 advisedly considered of the said letter of 
 Mr. Attorney, and with one consent do 
 hold the same to be contrary to law, and 
 such as we could not yield to the same by 
 our oath ; assuredly persuading ourselves 
 that your majesty being truly informed 
 that it standeth not with your royal and 
 just pleasure to give way to them, and 
 knowing your majesty's zeal to justice 
 to be most renowned, therefore we 
 have, according to our oaths and duties, 
 at the very day prefixed the last term, 
 proceeded, and thereof certified your 
 majesty, and shall ever pray to the 
 Almighty for your majesty in all ho- 
 nour, health, and happiness, to reign 
 over us." 
 
 Serjeant's Inn, 25th April, 1616. 
 
 \ " James Rex, 
 
 " Trusty and well-beloved counsellors, 
 and trusty and well-beloved, we greet 
 you well. We perceive, by your letter, 
 that you conceive the commandment 
 given you by our attorney-general in 
 our name to have proceeded upon 
 wrong information : but if you list to 
 remember what princely care we have 
 ever had, since our coming to this 
 crown, to see justice duly administered 
 to our subjects with all possible expe- 
 dition, and how far we have ever been 
 from urging the delay thereof in any 
 sort, you may safely persuade your- 
 selves that it was no small reason that 
 moved us to send you that direction. 
 You might very well have spared your 
 labour in informing us of the nature of 
 your oath, for although we never stu- 
 died the common law of England, yet 
 
 we are not ignorant of any points which 
 belong to a king to know ; we are there- 
 fore to inform you hereby, that we are 
 far from crossing or delaying any thing 
 which may belong to the interest of any 
 private party in this case ; but we can- 
 not be contented to suffer the preroga- 
 tive royal of our crown to be wounded 
 through the sides of a private person : 
 we have no care at all which of the par- 
 ties shall win this process in this case, 
 so that right prevail, and that justice be 
 truly administered. But on the other 
 side we have reason to foresee that no- 
 thing be done in this case which may 
 wound our prerogative in general ; and 
 therefore so that we may be sure that 
 nothing shall be debated amongst you 
 which may concern our general power 
 of giving commendams, we desire not 
 the parties to have one hour's delay of 
 justice : but that our prerogative should 
 not be wounded in that regard for all 
 times hereafter, upon pretext of private 
 persons' interest, we sent you that direc- 
 tion, which we account as well to be 
 wounded if it be publicly disputed upon, 
 as if any sentence were given against it : 
 we are therefore to admonish you that, 
 since the prerogative of our crown hath 
 been more boldly dealt withal in West- 
 minster Hall, during the time of our 
 reign, than ever it was before in the 
 reigns of divers princes immediately 
 preceding us, that we will no longer en- 
 dure that popular and unlawful liberty ; 
 and therefore we were justly moved to 
 send you that direction to forbear to 
 meddle in a cause of so tender a nature 
 till we had further thought upon it. We 
 have cause indeed to rejoice at your 
 zeal for your speedy execution of jus- 
 tice ; but we would be glad that all our 
 subjects might so find the fruits thereof 
 as that no pleas before you were of 
 older date than this is. But as to your 
 argument, which you found upon your 
 oath, you give our predecessors, who 
 first founded the oath, a very charitable 
 meaning, in perverting their intention 
 and zeal to justice, to make a weapon of 
 it to use against their successors ; for 
 although your oath be, that you shall 
 not delay justice between any private 
 persons or parties, yet it was not meant 
 that the king should thereby receive 
 harm before he be forewarned thereof; 
 neither can you deny but that every 
 term you will, out of your own discre- 
 tions, for reasons known unto you, put 
 off either the hearing or determining of 
 any ordinary cause betwixt private per- 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 II 
 
 cms till the next term following. Our 
 pleasure therefore is, 'who are the head 
 and fountain of justice under God in 
 our dominions, and we out of our abso- 
 lute power and authority royal do com- 
 mand you, that you forbear to meddle 
 any further in this plea till our coming 
 to town, and that out of our own mouth 
 you hear our pleasure in this business, 
 which we do out of the care we have, 
 that our prerogative may not receive an 
 unwitting and indirect blow, and not to 
 hinder justice to be administered to any 
 private parties, which no importunities 
 shall persuade us to move you in. Like 
 as only for the avoiding of the unrea- 
 sonable importunity of suitors in their 
 own particular, that oath was by our 
 predecessors ordained to be ministered 
 unto you. So we wish you heartily 
 well to fare. 
 
 " Postcript. You shall, upon the re- 
 ceipt of this letter, call our attorney- 
 general unto you, who will inform you 
 of the particular points which we are 
 unwilling to be disputed of in this case." 
 
 Shortly after this correspondence the 
 king returned to London, and the twelve 
 udges were immediately summoned be- 
 forethe council at Whitehall (June 6th, 
 161 G) to answer for their conduct. His 
 majesty himself recapitulated the prin- 
 cipal circumstances that had occurred, 
 and commented with much asperity on 
 the liberties that had been taken with 
 his prerogative. With the formal pe- 
 dantry for which he was conspicu- 
 ous, he divided the charges against them 
 into faults of matter and manner, and 
 those of matter he distinguished into 
 faults of omission and of commission. 
 The omission consisted in not interrupt- 
 ing and reproving the barrister who had 
 presumed to argue against his preroga- 
 tive. "He had observed," he said, 
 "that ever since his coming to the 
 crown the popular sort of lawyers had 
 been the men that most affrontedly in 
 all parliament had trodden upon his 
 prerogative, which being most contrary 
 to their vocation of any men, since the 
 law or lawyers can never be respected 
 if the king be not reverenced; it did 
 therefore best become the judges of any, 
 to check and bridle such impudent 
 lawyers, and in their several benches to 
 disgrace them that bear so little respect 
 to their king's authority." The faults of 
 commission chiefly regarded the letter, 
 to which he took exceptions both in 
 matter and form ; in matter, because he 
 
 affirmed that the delay which had been 
 required was neither unnecessary nor 
 unjust, that it was merely sufficient for 
 maturity of advice ; and that there 
 could not be a more urgent cause for 
 staying the proceedings, than the con- 
 sulting with the king in a case which 
 so nearly concerned the crown. "As 
 for the form of the letter, his majesty 
 noted that it was a new thing, and very 
 indecent and unfit for subjects to dis- 
 obey the king's commandment, but 
 most of all to proceed in the mean time 
 and to return to him a bare certificate ; 
 whereas they ought to have concluded 
 with the laying down and representing 
 of their reasons modestly to his majesty 
 why they should proceed, and so to have 
 submitted the same to his princely judg- 
 ment, expecting to hear from him whe- 
 ther they had given him satisfaction." 
 
 The report of the proceedings in coun- 
 cil, from which the above statement is 
 extracted, goes on to say, that imme- 
 diately after this declaration of the king 
 the twelve judges fell on their knees and 
 acknowledged their error as to the form 
 of the letter, for which they craved his 
 majesty's gracious favour and pardon ; 
 but that Sir Edward Coke entered into 
 a defence of the matter of it, showino- 
 that the delay required would have been 
 a delay of justice, and therefore contrary 
 to law and the judge's oath. After some 
 little altercation between the attorney- 
 general and the lord chief justice, this 
 point was referred to the decision of 
 Lord Ellesmere, who gave it as his opi- 
 nion that the stay which had been re- 
 quired by his majesty was not against 
 the law nor the judge's oath. The judges 
 were then severally asked, " Whether if 
 at any time, in a case depending before 
 them, his majesty conceived it to con- 
 cern him either in power or profit, and 
 thereupon required to consult with them, 
 and that they should stay proceedings 
 in the mean time, they ought not to stay 
 accordingly?" and they all, with the ex- 
 ception of the lord chief justice, declared 
 that they would. But Sir Edward Coke 
 contented himself with answering that 
 " when the case should be he would do 
 that which should be fit for a judge to 
 do." They were afterwards dismissed ; 
 his majesty commanding them " to keep 
 the bounds and limits of their several 
 courts, not to suffer his prerogative to 
 be wounded by rash and unadvised 
 pleading before them, or by new inven- 
 tion of law ; for as he well knew the 
 true and ancient common law is the 
 
12 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 most favourable for kings of any law in 
 the world, so he advised them to apply 
 their studies to that ancient and best 
 law, and not to extend the power of any 
 other of their courts beyond their due 
 limits, following the precedents of their 
 best ancient judges, in the times of the 
 best government; and that then they 
 might assure themselves that he, for his 
 part, in his protection of them, and ex- 
 pediting of justice, would walk in the 
 steps of ancient and best kings." They 
 were then permitted to proceed in the 
 cause, which was finally decided against 
 the Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry. 
 It is not to be supposed that this un- 
 justifiable attempt to corrupt the foun- 
 tain of public justice could have been 
 made without exciting among a large 
 portion of the community a strong feel- 
 ing of disgust and disaffection towards 
 the government under which it had 
 originated. But we should greatly ex- 
 aggerate the effect which this transac- 
 tion must have had on the minds of the 
 people at large, were we to estimate it 
 according to what we might conceive 
 would be the probable consequences of 
 a similar occurrence in our own times. 
 The press did not distribute periodically 
 to the remotest corners of the kingdom 
 a knowledge of those affairs in which 
 every member of the state is concerned ; 
 nor was this attack on the liberties of the 
 people of a "nature such as necessarily 
 to attain (like the case of the ship 
 money, for example) immediate pub- 
 licity. But this adds to the merit of Coke. 
 He could not have been excited to act 
 thus by the mere wish of courting 
 popularity. Unfortunately, too, had 
 he been inclined to search for prece- 
 dents of corruption among his prede- 
 cessors on the bench, by way of autho- 
 rizing his compliance with the king's 
 wishes, he would have found many in- 
 stances well suited to his purpose. In- 
 deed, obedience to the will of the sove- 
 reign was considered, in some sort, the 
 duty of the judges, at a time when they 
 held their offices by no safer tenure than 
 the meanest servant of his household. 
 Sir Edward Coke was perhaps the first 
 who set the example of strict independ- 
 ence oh the bench. After the Stuarts 
 were finally driven from the throne, 
 and a rational system of civil liberty 
 had been established, it was wisely con- 
 sidered, that the surest method of ensur- 
 ing for the future the just and impartial 
 administration of the laws, would be 
 to maintain, in their utmost purity, the 
 
 independence, the integrity, and the 
 dignity of the judges. Accordingly, 
 during the reign of William III., it was 
 enacted, that only the address of both 
 houses of parliament should be capable 
 of procuring their removal from the 
 bench. Unfortunately for James, and 
 still more so for his successor,' they 
 could never understand (what it now 
 needs no argument to prove) that the 
 honour of the crown and the liberty of 
 the subject can mutually support each 
 other. 
 
 The firm and resolute conduct of 
 the lord chief justice had given great 
 umbrage to the king. It is supposed 
 that this weak monarch, in addition to 
 his other reasons for being displeased 
 with Coke, had a mean jealousy of the 
 popularity he had acquired. It was 
 evident, indeed, that the fearless inte- 
 grity which had thwarted his majesty's 
 views was the principal cause of that 
 popularity ; and the circumstance did 
 not escape the attention of James, who 
 afterwards remarked that Sir Edward 
 Coke had obtained it without " having 
 in his nature one part of those things 
 which are popular in men, being neither 
 civil, nor affable, nor magnificent." He 
 had, however, taken the surest means to 
 acquire the lasting and deserved esteem 
 of his countrymen. This was not the 
 only occasion on which he had protected 
 the rights of the nation against the ar- 
 bitrary and unconstitutional encroach- 
 ments of that prerogative, the un- 
 due exercise of which alienated from 
 James the affections of his people, and 
 brought his successor to the scaffold. 
 He had more than once countenanced 
 appeals to the King's Bench from the 
 judgments of the commissioners of 
 sewers, for whom, it is well known, ex- 
 traordinary and illegal powers had been 
 created. The privy council subsequently 
 claimed the sole right of hearing com- 
 plaints against these commissioners, 
 and several persons who had brought 
 actions against them at common law 
 were committed to prison; but these 
 violent measures, though not openly 
 resisted, were sufficiently censured by 
 the public opinion to recall the memory 
 of the obligations due to him who had 
 upheld the rights of the people. How- 
 ever, those actions which were calculated 
 to excite the esteem or the admiration 
 of the friends of civil liberty, were ex- 
 actly those which were most likely to 
 injure the author of them in the favour 
 of James; and the conduct of Coke, 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 13 
 
 with regard to the commissioners of 
 sewers, had been such as particularly 
 to draw down on him the enmity of the 
 council. 
 
 Nor were these the only clouds that 
 were lowering over him. In the preced- 
 ing year, in his capacity of lord chief 
 justice, he had been actively and zea- 
 lously engaged in the investigation of 
 the circumstances connected with the 
 atrocious murder of Sir Thomas Over- 
 bury. In the course of the inquiry 
 which took place relative to this assas- 
 sination it was proved that it had been 
 perpetrated by the favourite, Somerset, 
 and Lady Essex, between whom Over- 
 bury had discovered, and endeavoured 
 to prevent, an illicit intercourse. The 
 circumstances of the case were pecu- 
 liarly revolting. The victim of their re- 
 sentment had been, under some slight 
 pretext, conveyed a prisoner to the 
 Tower ; and the lieutenant-governor 
 was induced to become a party to the 
 plot that was laid for his destruction. 
 After several ineffectual attempts, he 
 was at length killed by a violent poison. 
 The crime remained some years un- 
 punished, but at length a strict inquiry 
 was set on foot. It was found that se- 
 veral subordinate agents had been par- 
 ticipators in it, and these suffered the 
 death they had justly deserved. Somer- 
 set and Lady Essex escaped with their 
 lives ; but the downfal of the favourite 
 was the consequence of the discovery ; 
 and Coke, who had been indefati- 
 gable in his endeavours to detect the 
 perpetrators of the crime, was conse- 
 quently in no small degree instrumen- 
 tal in procuring his disgrace. It is 
 needless to add that this made him 
 many and very powerful enemies ; and 
 it is not to be supposed but that they 
 availed themselves of the opportunity 
 which now presented itself for poisoning 
 the ear of the king against him. In- 
 deed, James himself is supposed to 
 have harboured a deep feeling of re- 
 sentment against the lord chief justice, 
 on account of certain mysterious hints 
 which are said to have escaped him 
 during the trial of Somerset and his 
 accomplices. It is certain that whis- 
 pers concerning some secret transac- 
 tion in which the king was implicated, 
 had been circulated about the court 
 soon after the institution of legal pro- 
 ceedings against the murderers of Sir 
 Thomas Overbury ; and many have 
 not] scrupled to believe (though j\vith- 
 out much foundation for the story) 
 
 that they related to the poisoning of 
 the hope of the nation, the young 
 prince Henry ; a crime very generally 
 attributed at the time to Viscountess 
 Rochester, though James (however 
 unjustly) has not entirely escaped the 
 suspicion of being privy to the death of 
 his own son. It was natural that the 
 persons who credited and gave coun- 
 tenance to such rumours should be 
 personally odious to the king, nor is it 
 improbable that such a motive should 
 have weighed with him even stronger 
 than political reasons, when he deter- 
 mined on removing Coke from his post. 
 Sir George Villiers also, who afterwards 
 became Duke of Buckingham, having 
 been thwarted by the chief justice in his 
 endeavours to procure the reversion of 
 a lucrative situation in the court of 
 King's Bench, did not neglect an occa- 
 sion so favourable for the exercise of 
 his resentment, which his influence with 
 James rendered sufficiently formidable. 
 All these circumstances combined to 
 produce Sir Edward Coke's disgrace; 
 but the avowed cause of it was his con- 
 duct in the case of the commendams. For 
 this he was arraigned in the privy-coun- 
 cil. The accusation against him was re- 
 duced to three heads : 1 . an act done ; 
 2. speeches of high contempt uttered in 
 the seat of justice ; 3. uncomely and un- 
 dutiful carriage in the presence of his 
 majesty, the privy- council, and judges. 
 These charges having been officially no- 
 tified to him, on the 30th of June, 1G1G, 
 he was again summoned before the 
 council, where, on his knees, he received 
 intimation of the sentence which the 
 king had passed on him. The substance 
 of it was, that he should be sequestered 
 from the council-table till his majesty's 
 pleasure was further known ; that he 
 should forbear ifrom riding his summer 
 circuit as justice of assize; and that, 
 during the vacation, he should employ 
 his leisure in revising and correcting 
 his Reports, in which the pedantic des- 
 pot, James, declared that Coke had 
 uttered for law many dangerous con- 
 ceits of his ow r n, to the prejudice of his 
 crown, parliament, and subjects. It 
 will scarcely be credited, that one of 
 the charges brought against the lord 
 chief justice was, that his coachman 
 used to ride bareheaded before him; 
 a mark of dignity which it was said he 
 was by no means entitled to assume, 
 and of which the earl marshal must 
 take notice. To this Sir Edward Coke 
 (very innocently no doubt) replied, that 
 
14 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 his coachman did so for his own con- 
 venience, and not in consequence of 
 any orders having been given him to 
 that effect. A few months afterwards 
 (Nov. 15th) he was altogether removed 
 from the chief justiceship, and his 
 place was supplied by Sir Henry Mon- 
 tague, the recorder of London. It is 
 worthy of observation, that the new 
 ]udge was not appointed until he had 
 entered into a written engagement with 
 Buckingham, by which he agreed to 
 put the trustees of the favourite in pos- 
 session of the situation he had been 
 deprived of through the influence of 
 Sir Edward Coke. This fact suffici- 
 ently shows what was the principal 
 cause of Coke's removal from the 
 bench. It may also in some measure 
 explain why he was first suspended, 
 and afterwards entirely removed; the 
 intermediate time being no doubt left 
 him to propitiate the good grace of 
 Buckingham by submission to his 
 wishes. If this be the case, it must re- 
 flect eternal honour on Coke, that he 
 preferred renouncing his office altoge- 
 ther to procuring his continuance in it 
 by unworthy means. This is one of a 
 thousand instances in which proud in- 
 tegrity has fallen a sacrifice to the 
 machinations of interested cabal and 
 court intrigue. 
 
 Coke, however, did not remain long 
 in disgrace. Some time before his 
 removal from the bench, a negotiation 
 had been set on foot concerning the 
 marriage of his youngest daughter with 
 Sir John Villiers, the brother of the 
 Earl of Buckingham. He had then re- 
 fused his consent to the match; but it 
 is to be supposed, that the growing in- 
 fluence of the favourite, and the change 
 that had been wrought in his own for- 
 tune, afterwards made him sensible of 
 the advantages to be derived from so 
 powerful an alliance, so that he was 
 not indisposed to listen to a renewal 
 of the same overtures, when a change 
 in the relative situation of both parties 
 had rendered an union between them 
 more desirable. As to the sentiments 
 the young lady herself might entertain 
 on the subject, they appear not to have 
 been thought worthy of the slightest 
 consideration. Coke had himself con- 
 sulted his interest alone in his own 
 marriage with Lady Hatton, from 
 whom he had long lived almost wholly 
 estranged; and he was not of a charac- 
 ter to sacrifice his own advancement to 
 the inclination of his daughter. It was 
 
 through the medium of Secretary Win - 
 wood that the match was at length 
 effected. That minister had felt him- 
 self offended by a certain tone of supe- 
 riority which Bacon, on being promoted 
 to the office of lord keeper, had 
 thought proper to assume towards 
 him ; and it thenceforward became his 
 study to raise up Coke from the dis 
 grace into which he had fallen. With 
 this view he obtained permission to 
 renew the negotiation which had before 
 been broken off, relative to the alliance 
 with the family of the favourite. Buck- 
 ingham, tempted by the offer of a large 
 marriage portion which Coke promised 
 with his daughter, immediately con- 
 sented to the match ; but it was not 
 effected without considerable difficulty. 
 Lady Hatton, who was always at vari- 
 ance with her husband, had a dislike to 
 a connexion with the family of the 
 Villiers, and was probably offended 
 that she had not been in the first in- 
 instance made privy to the negotiation. 
 As she was a woman of masculine 
 spirit, she determined to oppose the 
 match ; and accordingly, after pretend- 
 ing in vain to allege a contract with 
 Lord Oxford, as a reason why the mar- 
 riage could not take place, she caused 
 her daughter to be secretly conveyed to 
 the house of Sir Edmund Withipole, 
 near Oatlands, whence she was after- 
 wards removed to a residence of the 
 Lord of Argyle's, in the neighbourhood 
 of Hampton Court. Sir Edward, on 
 finding his daughter had been sent 
 from home, applied for a warrant to 
 reclaim her; but in the mean time 
 becoming acquainted with the place of 
 her concealment, he determined on in- 
 stantly rescuing her by force. Accom- 
 panied, accordingly, by his son and by 
 about a dozen well armed men he pro- 
 ceeded to Hampton Court, tore down 
 the doors of the house where she was 
 confined, and carried her away. Lady 
 Hatton having no other means of re- 
 dress, appealed to the privy council ; 
 and thus this domestic quarrel became 
 at length an affair of state. 
 
 The lord keeper, Bacon, used every 
 exertion to prevent the match, which he 
 was aware would be the means of rees- 
 tablishing Coke in the king's favour. It 
 is supposed to have been at his instiga- 
 tion that proceedings were instituted in 
 the Star- Chamber against the perpetra- 
 tor of this outrage, as the forcible rescue 
 was affectedly called ; though he could 
 not but know that it was an act per- 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 15 
 
 fectly justifiable by law. This was not 
 the only step he took towards breaking 
 off the intended marriage. The fol- 
 lowing letter was addressed by him to 
 the Earl of Buckingham : 
 
 My very good Lord, 
 I shall write to your lordship of a busi- 
 ness which your lordship may think 
 to concern myself; but I do think it 
 concerneth your lordship much more. 
 For as for me, as my judgment is not 
 so weak to think it can do me any hurt, 
 so my love to you is so strong, as I 
 would prefer the good of you and yours 
 before mine own particular. It seemeth 
 Secretary Winwood hath officiously bu- 
 sied himself to make a match between 
 your brother and Sir Edward Coke ; and 
 as we hear, he doth it rather to make a 
 faction than out of any great affection 
 to your lordship. It is true he hath the 
 consent of Sir Edward Coke, (as we 
 hear,) upon reasonable conditions for 
 your brother, and yet not better than 
 without question may be found in some 
 other matches. But your mother's 
 consent is not had, nor the young gen- 
 tlewoman's, who expecteth a great for- 
 tune from her mother, which without 
 her consent is endangered. This match, 
 out of my faith and freedom to your 
 lordship, I hold very inconvenient both 
 ~for your brother and yourself. 
 
 First, he shall marry into a disgraced 
 house, which in reason of state is never 
 held good. 
 
 Next, he shall marry into a troubled 
 house of man and wife, which in reli- 
 gion and christian discretion is disliked. 
 Thirdly, your lordship will go near 
 to lose all such "your friends as are ad- 
 verse to Sir Edward Coke, (myself only 
 f excepted, who out of a pure love and 
 thankfulness shall ever be firm to you.) 
 - And lastly and chiefly, (believe it,) it 
 will greatly weaken and distrust your 
 service. For though in regard of the 
 king's great wisdom and depth I am 
 persuaded those things will not follow, 
 which they imagine ; yet opinion will 
 do a great deal of harm and cast the 
 king back, and make him relapse into 
 those inconveniences which are now 
 well on to be recovered. 
 
 Therefore my advice is, and your 
 lordship shall do yourself a great deal 
 of honour, if, according to religion and 
 the love of God, your lordship will sig- 
 nify unto my lady your mother that 
 your desire is that the marriage be not 
 pressed or proceeded in without the 
 
 consent of both parents ; and so either 
 break it altogether, or defer any further 
 delay in it till your lordship's return. 
 And this the rather for that (besides 
 the inconvenience of the matter itself) 
 it hath been carried so harshly and in- 
 considerately by Secretary Winwood, as 
 for doubt that the father should take 
 away the maiden by force, your mo- 
 ther to get the start hath conveyed her 
 away secretly, which is ill of all sides. 
 Thus, hoping your lordship will not 
 only accept well, but believe my faithful 
 advice, who by my great experience in 
 the world must needs see further than 
 your lordship can, I ever rest, your 
 lordship's true and most devoted friend 
 and servant, Francis Bacon. 
 
 In another letter which he wrote to 
 the king on the same subject, the fol- 
 lowing passage occurs : f 
 
 " Your majesty's prerogative and 
 authority have risen some just degrees 
 above the horizon more than heretofore ; 
 which hath dispersed vapours : your 
 judges are in good temper, your justices 
 of peace (which is the great body of the 
 gentlemen of England) grow to be lov- 
 ing and obsequious, and to be weary of 
 the humour of ruffling : all mutinous 
 spirits grow to be a little poor, and to 
 draw in their horns ; and not the less 
 for your majesty's disauctorizing the 
 man I speak of. Now then I reason- 
 ably doubt that if there be but an 
 opinion of his coming in with the 
 strength of such an alliance, it will 
 give a turn and relapse in men's minds 
 into the former state of things, hardly 
 to be holpen, to the great weakening of 
 your majesty's service." 
 
 Again : " he is by nature unsociable, 
 and by habit popular, and too old to 
 take a new plye. And men begin al- 
 ready to collect, yea, and to conclude 
 that he that raiseth such a smoke to 
 get in, will set all on fire when he is in." 
 
 The lord keeper was not content 
 with taking such measures as these : 
 he even ventured to threaten Win- 
 wood with a prcemunire for having 
 granted the warrant. But in this he 
 went too far. Buckingham was highly 
 incensed with his conduct, and even 
 the king, who was on his return from 
 Scotland, wrote him a severe letter on 
 the subject (25th July, 1617.) " Every 
 wrong," he said, " must be judged by 
 the first violent and wrongous ground, 
 whereupon it proceeds. And was not 
 the thefteous stealing away of the 
 
1G 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 daughter from her own father the first 
 ground whereupon all this great noise 
 hath since proceeded ? For the ground 
 of her getting again came upon a lawful 
 and ordinary warrant, subscribed by one 
 of our council, for redress of the former 
 violence ; and except the father of a 
 child might be proved to be either luna- 
 tic or idiot, we never read in any law 
 that either it could be lawful for any 
 creature to steal his child from him, or 
 that it was a matter of noise and stre- 
 perous carriage for him to hunt for the 
 recovery of his child again. Where- 
 as you talk of the riot and violence 
 committed by him, we wonder you 
 make no mention of the riot and vio- 
 lence of them that stole away his 
 daughter, which was the first ground 
 of all that noise, as we said before. 
 For a man may be compelled by ma- 
 nifest wrong beyond his patience ; and 
 the first breach of that quietness, 
 which hath ever been kept since the 
 beginning of our journey, was made by 
 them that committed the theft. And 
 for your laying the burden of your op- 
 position upon the council, we meddle 
 not with that question ; but the oppo- 
 sition, which we justly find fault with 
 you, was the refusal to sign a warrant 
 for the father to the recovery of his 
 child, clad with those circumstances, 
 as is reported, of your slight carriage 
 to Buckingham's mother, when she 
 repaired to you upon so reasonable an 
 errand. What farther opposition you 
 made in that business, we leave it to 
 the due trial in the own time. But 
 whereas you would distinguish of 
 times, pretending ignorance either of 
 our meaning or his, when you made 
 your opposition; that would have 
 served for a reasonable excuse not to 
 have furthered such a business till you 
 had been first employed in it ; but that 
 can serve for no excuse of crossing any 
 thing that so nearly concerned one, 
 whom you profess such friendship 
 unto. We will not speak of obliga- 
 tion ; for surely we think, even in good 
 manners, you had reason not to have 
 crossed any thing, wherein you had 
 heard his name used, till you had heard 
 from him. For if you had willingly 
 given your consent and hand to the 
 recovery of the young gentlewoman ; 
 and then written both to us and to him 
 what inconvenience appeared to you to 
 be in such a match ; that had been the 
 part indeed of a true servant to us, and 
 a true friend to him. But first to 
 
 make an opposition, and then to give 
 advice by way of friendship, is to make 
 the plough go before the horse " It 
 appears that at this time, or at least 
 very shortly after it, Coke was reinstated 
 (probably by the mediation of the fa- 
 vourite) in the good graces of his ma- 
 jesty, whose party he joined as it 
 returned from Scotland. On the" 3d of 
 September, Sir Henry Yelverton, who 
 was also among the 'king's followers, 
 wrote to the lord keeper from Daventry, 
 warning him of the danger he had in- 
 curred by his opposition to Buckingham. 
 In the same letter he remarks : " Sir 
 Edward Coke, as if he were already upon 
 his wings, triumphs exceedingly ; hath 
 much private conference with his ma- 
 jesty ; and in public doth offer himself, 
 and thrust upon the king, with as great 
 boldness of speech as heretofore, "it is 
 thought, and much feared, that at 
 Woodstock he will again be recalled 
 to the council table ; for neither are 
 the earl's ears, nor his thoughts, ever 
 off him." This report was not without 
 foundation ; for on the very day of the 
 king's arrival in London (15th Sep- 
 tember, 1617) the late lord chief justice 
 was restored to his place in the privy 
 council. Whatever obstacles still re- 
 mained in the w r ay of the marriage 
 were now finally removed. Proceed- 
 ings had been instituted in the star- 
 chamber, at the suit of Lady Hatton, 
 against her husband ; but they had 
 been arrested by the king's order ; and 
 she was for some time [placed in con- 
 finement. At length Lady Compton, 
 the Earl of Buckingham's mother, pre- 
 vailed on her to discontinue the action, 
 and finally to give her consent to the 
 match, which was accordingly con- 
 cluded with great pomp. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke, however, still 
 remained at variance with his wife. 
 Their quarrels were not merely the 
 effect of occasional ebullitions of tem- 
 per, such as may disturb the domes- 
 tic comforts of a family for awhile, 
 without causing any permanent dis- 
 union among the members of it. Lady 
 Hatton was a woman of a haughty 
 and imperious character, who was 
 constantly on the watch for oppor- 
 tunities to remind her husband how 
 much he was indebted to her for 
 the honour and the wealth he had 
 derived from her alliance. On the 
 other hand, the deportment of Sir Ed- 
 ward Coke had nothing conciliatory 
 in it; and, indeed, if we are to form 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 17 
 
 our opinion of his temper from the 
 ebullitions of it which he could not 
 control even in public, it was very far 
 from being of a nature to render him, 
 under any circumstances, an amiable 
 husband or father of a family. Do- 
 mestic happiness they never enjoyed 
 together. They had separate houses 
 and separate establishments ; Sir Ed- 
 Ward occasionally occupying his cham- 
 bers in the Temple, while his lady fixed 
 her residence at Hatton House, in 
 Holborn; or retiring to his seat at 
 Stoke Fogies, in Buckinghamshire, 
 (the same which is now the residence 
 of the descendant and representative of 
 the celebrated William Penn,) when 
 she either remained in London, or 
 tenanted her mansion of Corfe Castle. 
 Among other subjects of angry con- 
 tention between them, these different 
 dwellings and their appurtenances 
 formed a fertile theme for dispute. At 
 one time we find Sir Edward publicly 
 accusing his wife of having purloined 
 his plate, and substituted counterfeit 
 alkumy in its place, with intent to de- 
 fraud him. On another occasion, Lady 
 Hatton complains of his seizing her 
 coach, couch-horses, and wearing ap- 
 parel, maltreating her servants, and 
 causing her to suffer " beyond the 
 measure of any wife, mother, or even 
 any ordinary woman in the kingdom." 
 It might be supposed that when she 
 had been persuaded to give her consent 
 to her daughter's union with Villiers, 
 some show at least of reconciliation 
 with her husband would have taken 
 place ; but this was not the case ; and 
 the very day on which she gave a mag- 
 nificent entertainment in honour of the 
 marriage, Sir Edward, uninvited and 
 unnoticed by his wife, dined in the 
 Temple. There exists abundant testi- 
 mony that their mutual resentment, 
 and it may almost be said hatred, 
 against each other, was cherished for 
 some time after this period. At the end 
 of four years (1621) they were in some 
 degree reconciled by the personal inter- 
 ference of the king, who undertook to 
 be the mediator between them ; but 
 they always remained strangers to do- 
 mestic happiness. As for their daugh- 
 ter, who had from the beginning 
 expressed a strong dislike to Sir John 
 Villiers, her marriage, as might have 
 been expected, was an unhappy one. 
 
 So soon as a probability had ap- 
 peared of Sir Edward's being reinstated 
 in the king's favour, the wary courtier, 
 
 Bacon, had dropped all appearance of 
 resentment against him ; and had even 
 taken the trouble to explain away some 
 parts of his conduct towards him. He 
 was also particularly careful to repair 
 the fault he had committed with re- 
 gard to Buckingham, by assiduous en- 
 deavours to propitiate the good graces 
 of the favourite. A short extract from 
 a letter which he wrote to King James, 
 with the view of deprecating the anger 
 of that monarch occasioned by his 
 opposition to the marriage of Coke's 
 daughter, will sufficiently illustrate 
 these facts. " It is true," he says, 
 " that in those matters which, by your 
 majesty's commandment and reference, 
 came before the table concerning Sir 
 Edward Coke, I was sometimes sharp, 
 it may be too much ; but it was with 
 the end to have your majesty's will per- 
 formed; or else when methought he 
 was more peremptory than became 
 him, in respect of the honour of the 
 table. It is true also, that I disliked 
 the riot or violence, whereof we of our 
 council gave your majesty advertise- 
 ment by our joint letter : and I disliked 
 it the more, because he justified it to 
 be law; which was his old song. But 
 in that act of council, which was made 
 thereupon, I did not see but all my 
 lords were as forward as myself," &c. 
 And again, alluding to an intimation 
 given him by the Earl of Buckingham, 
 for whom he had just professed his 
 readiness to spend his life, he adds : 
 "After I had received,, by a former 
 letter of his lordship, knowledge of his 
 mind, I think Sir Edward Coke himself, 
 the last time he was before the lords, 
 might particularly perceive an altera- 
 tion in my carriage. And now that 
 your majesty hath been pleased to open 
 yourself to me, I shall be willing to 
 further the match by any thing, that 
 shall be desired of me, or that is in my 
 power." In consequence of this dispo- 
 sition, a reconciliation appears to have 
 taken place between the lord keeper 
 and Coke ; and accordingly we find 
 no traces of animosity in the con- 
 duct of the latter, when, at a subsequent 
 period, (1621,) he was called upon to 
 take a share in the proceedings which 
 terminated in the disgrace of Bacon. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke was a member of the 
 parliament which necessity rather than 
 inclination forced the king to summon 
 in 1621 ; and the same upright and in- 
 dependent spirit, which had done him 
 so much honour in the affair of the 
 
18 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE, 
 
 commendams, again manifested itself in 
 his deportment while he retained his 
 seat in the commons. But here he stood 
 not alone. The representatives of the 
 people, who in former reigns had been 
 without power or influence in the poli- 
 tical world, had at length become sen- 
 sible of their own importance, and had 
 already begun to assert the dignity and 
 independence of their body. Previous 
 to the reign of James I. their assent had 
 indeed been necessary for the enactment 
 of statutes, and the granting of supplies, 
 but they had seldom or never attempted 
 to take cognizance of any concerns of 
 the state that were not immediately con- 
 nected with these privileges. As to 
 freedom of debate, it was altogether un- 
 known in the assembly. Some faint 
 attempts had been made during the 
 reign of Elizabeth to uphold such a 
 right ; but they had been peremptorily 
 checked by the queen ; and the great 
 popularity of her government, at a time 
 when she held the parliament in the 
 most strict submission to her will, is a 
 convincing proof that the importance of 
 this bcdy was very far from being ade- 
 quately appreciated in her time. When 
 the commons ventured to recommend 
 that she would provide for the succes- 
 sion ; when they proposed new regula- 
 tions for the amelioration of the church 
 establishment, or urged the reformation 
 of some flagrant abuses of prerogative, 
 it does not appear to have excited either 
 surprise or indignation that they should 
 be severely reprimanded for their pre- 
 sumption, and be desired not to meddle 
 for the future with what was above their 
 capacity. Even while Sir Edward Coke 
 had been speaker of the house, in 1592, 
 the queen had expressly prohibited the 
 members from arguing on matters of 
 state, and had given them to understand 
 that their freedom of speech extended no 
 farther than ^the mere utterance of ay 
 or no, without comment or observation. 
 This intimation was not meant as an 
 idle threat. The independent and spi- 
 rited Peter Wentworth was sent to the 
 Tower for venturing to disregard it ; and 
 three other members who had abetted 
 him were also thrown into prison by the 
 queen's order. Their release was not 
 effected by the interposition of the house. 
 Certain privy councillors recommended 
 that the idea of a petition for that pur- 
 pose should be given up, lest it might 
 only serve to irritate her majesty still 
 further ; and this advice, instead of call- 
 ing forth the indignation of those to 
 
 whom it was addressed, was not only 
 received with thankfulness and humility, 
 but was moreover acted upon. The 
 idea of steadfastly resisting the arbitrary 
 imprisonment of one of their boly, as a 
 breach of their most important privilege, 
 seems never to have been entertained, 
 much less expressed, by the intimidated 
 commons of that period. Indeed their 
 notions in general, whether real or af- 
 fected, concerning the extent of the royal 
 prerogative, were entirely at variance 
 with just ideas of the liberty of the sub- 
 ject, and consequently of the indepen- 
 dence of their own body. To be con- 
 vinced of this it is sufficient to look over 
 the speeches that were made in the 43d 
 of Elizabeth's reign, particularly when 
 the subject of monopolies was brought 
 under the consideration of parliament ; 
 discourses, as Hume has well remarked, 
 more worthy of a Turkish divan than of 
 an English house of commons. 
 
 However, the leaven of spirit and of 
 independence which did exist, though it 
 must be allowed in a very small degree, 
 in the parliaments of Elizabeth spread 
 rapidly through the assembly. A dif- 
 ference might be remarked in the temper 
 of the house of commons even towards 
 the latter part of her reign. In the 23d 
 of Elizabeth, they suffered the chancel- 
 lor to issue new writs for the places of 
 members whom, under any pretext, he 
 might judge incapable of attending their 
 duties ; but at a later period this dan- 
 gerous practice did not escape their cen- 
 sure ; and though they were as usual 
 reprimanded by the queen for presuming 
 to meddle in matters which, according 
 to her, were not in their province, they 
 had spirit enough to propose a motion, 
 declaring that the discussion of such 
 cases belonged solely to the house. 
 This privilege of deciding all questions 
 relative to the customs and the consti- 
 tution of their body, they strenuously 
 asserted in the 2d of James I. insomuch 
 that the king, who at the beginning of 
 the discussion had talked loudly of his 
 absolute power, and the authority of his 
 royal prerogative, found it expedient to 
 propose a compromise of the difference 
 that had arisen between himself and the 
 commons. Even Elizabeth, though she 
 had on all occasions maintained her dig- 
 nity unimpaired, had more than once 
 found it expedient to make concessions?, 
 rather than come to an open rupture 
 with her parliament. At the same time 
 that her messages to the house were 
 conceived m terms or the most haughty 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 19 
 
 and indignant displeasure, it sometimes 
 did not require much penetration to see 
 that a certain degree of fear lurked be- 
 hind this show of firmness. With James 
 this was much more apparent. We find 
 him, after the example of his predecessor, 
 desiring the parliament not to interfere 
 in matters beyond their capacity ; re- 
 minding them that all their privileges 
 were derived from the special grace of 
 himself and his ancestors 3 and main- 
 taining that it was highly impertinent 
 in them even to reason upon what he as 
 an absolute king might do in the height 
 of his power ; but these empty speeches 
 were often merely designed as a mask to 
 cover the real apprehensions he could 
 not but feel for the fate of his cherished 
 prerogative. Whatever fears he enter- 
 tained on the subject, he certainly pur- 
 sued a method very ill calculated to re- 
 move the cause of them. The commons 
 of England were no longer to be fright- 
 ened into concessions; and when the 
 necessities of the king obliged him to 
 assemble them in 1G21, they were fully 
 prepared to resist every attack that 
 might be made on their privileges. 
 The result of the contest which ensued 
 was such as might have been anti- 
 cipated. The memorable proceedings 
 which took place during the existence 
 of this parliament, and particularly in 
 the second session of it, are familiar 
 to all who are conversant with the 
 history of our constitution. The 
 fruitless attempts of James to crush 
 the rising spirit of liberty which ani- 
 mated the whole nation; the remon- 
 strances made by the representatives of 
 the people ; and the unfounded preten- 
 sions of the king, who endeavoured to 
 strike at the root of all their privileges, 
 called forth that celebrated protestation 
 of the commons, in which they declared : 
 " that the liberties, franchises, privi- 
 leges, and jurisdictions of parliament, 
 are the ancient and undoubted birth- 
 right and inheritance of the subjects of 
 England." In all these proceedings, 
 Sir Edward Coke, who was one of the 
 leading members on the popular side, 
 took an active part; and the conse- 
 quence was, that he was committed to 
 the Tower, (27th December, 1621,) and 
 subsequently dismissed from the privy 
 council. He had been treated with 
 much distinction and confidence ever 
 since he had been reinstated to his place 
 at the council table ; and it has been 
 doubted what motive could induce him 
 so suddenly to become an opponent of 
 the interests of the crown. But it 
 
 should be recollected, that the change 
 was in reality by no means a sudden 
 one. His conduct, not only in the case 
 of the commendams, but on many other 
 occasions, had proved that he was an 
 enemy to the arbitrary exercise of the 
 royal perogative ; and it must be 
 allowed, that the evident intentions of in- 
 fringing on the liberties of the people, 
 which were continually displayed by the 
 king, but more particularly about the 
 time when the parliament was first 
 called, were calculated to inspire every 
 real friend of his country with a reso- 
 lution to oppose them. 
 
 James was highly incensed at the 
 audacity which Coke had shown in op- 
 posing the crown ; and several expedi- 
 ents were tried, in order to punish indi- 
 rectly what it would have been impru- 
 dent and dangerous to visit openly with 
 a heavy infliction. On Sir Edward's 
 committal to the Tower, his chambers 
 were broken open, and his papers seized, 
 probably with the hope of discovering 
 some .writings which might furnish 
 matter for a criminal prosecution. This 
 expectation, however, was disappointed ; 
 and two other attempts which were 
 made to injure him, (the one by endea- 
 vouring to prove him guilty of miscon- 
 duct during the trial of Somerset, the 
 other by a prosecution for debt,) suc- 
 ceeded no better. Some years after- 
 wards, (1G25,) his independent spirit 
 again excited the resentment of the court 
 against him ; and he was ordered by 
 the king to execute a commission in 
 Ireland ; an unjustifiable pretext often 
 resorted to at that time, for the purpose 
 of removing obnoxious persons. How- 
 ever, his departure from England does 
 not appear to have been eventually in- 
 sisted upon, and his popularity was, in all 
 probability considerably increased by the 
 expectation of his compulsory absence. 
 
 On the accession of Charles I. to the 
 throne, Sir Edward Coke was among 
 the number of those who w r aited on 
 him with assurances of respect and 
 loyalty ; but the new monarch refused 
 him admission to his presence; anl 
 that he might be prevented from re- 
 suming his seat in parliament, he was 
 afterwards appointed high sheriff for 
 Buckinghamshire. It was to no pur- 
 pose that he urged several objections 
 against his serving the office; they 
 were overruled by the council, and he 
 was compelled to yield. It will be re- 
 marked, that such a situation as that 
 of high sheriff, however honourable 
 and distinguished it may be usually 
 c 2 
 
-20 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 considered, could not be filled by one 
 who had lately occupied the station of 
 lord chief justice, without his being 
 subjected to a mortifying exhibition of 
 his fallen fortunes ; since his duty at 
 the assizes required him to attend on 
 *the judges, who had so recently been 
 his inferiors ; and it is more than pro- 
 bable that his enemies at court had 
 calculated on exposing him to this 
 insult, when they forced him to accept 
 the charge. It was not till the year 1628, 
 that he again became a member of the 
 Bouse of Commons. He took his seat 
 as knight of the shire for Bucks, being 
 at the time in his seventy-ninth year ; 
 and, notwithstanding his advanced age, 
 bore a leading part in the proceedings 
 that took place during that memorable 
 session. It was then that the commons 
 of England, united as in one common 
 cause, first made a resolute and suc- 
 cessful resistance against those en- 
 croachments of the royal perogative, 
 which, if ratified by the acquiescence 
 of the nation, would have reduced the 
 freedom of our constitution to a mere 
 shadow. The grievances that called 
 loudly for redress were heavy and nu- 
 merous. Those which most particu- 
 larly excited the indignation of parlia- 
 ment were the extortions of various 
 kinds, by which the security of the sub- 
 ject's property had been invaded, and 
 the despotic violation of his personal 
 liberty by arbitrary and illegal impri- 
 sonment. The unconstitutional means 
 which had been employed for the rais- 
 ing of subsidies, such as the billeting of 
 soldiers, and the exaction of loans by 
 benevolence and privy seal, were the 
 -first of these topics that came under 
 discussion ; and Sir Edward Coke was 
 tne of the members who took the 
 greatest share in the debate to which it 
 gave rise. An extract from his speech 
 on this occasion, will serve the double 
 purpose of showing the manly indepen- 
 dence of his sentiments, and the pecu- 
 liarity of his style of oratory. " Let us 
 not flatter ourselves," he said: "who 
 -will give subsidies if your king may 
 impose what he will ; and if, after par- 
 liament, the king may enhaunce what he 
 pleaseth ? I know your king will not do 
 It ; I know he is a religious king, free 
 from personal vices ; but he deals with 
 other men's hands, and sees with other 
 men's eyes. Will any give a subsidy 
 that will be taxed after parliament at 
 pleasure ? Your king cannot tax by 
 way of loans. I differ from those who 
 would have this of loans go amongst 
 
 grievances; but I would have it go 
 alone. I will begin with a noble record: 
 it cheers me to think of it 25 Edward 
 III. ; it is worthy to be written in letters 
 of gold. Loans against the will of the 
 subject are against reason, and the fran- 
 chises of the land, and they desire res- 
 titution. What a word is that fran T 
 chise ? The lord may tax his villain 
 high and low, but it is against the 
 franchises of the land for freemen to 
 be taxed but by their consent in parlia- 
 ment. Franchise is a French word, and 
 in Latin it is libertas. In Magna 
 Charta it is provided that : Nullus liber 
 homo capiatur, vel imprisonetur, aut 
 disseisietur de libero tenemento suo, 
 <*c, nisi per legale judicium parium 
 suorum, vel per legem terrce.* Which 
 charter hath been confirmed by good 
 kings above thirty times." 
 
 The result of this debate was a vote 
 of the house declaring : "That it is the 
 ancient and indubitable 'right of every 
 freeman, that he hath a full and abso- 
 lute property in his goods and estate ; 
 that no tax, tallage, ^loan, benevolence, 
 or other like charge, ought to be com- 
 manded or levied by the king, or any of 
 his ministers, without common consent 
 by act of parliament." 
 
 Before this spirited declaration of the 
 house had been made, some persons 
 who had refused to obey the order for 
 a loan had been committed to prison, 
 solely on the king's order ; the privilege 
 of the habeas coipus had formally been 
 disallowed them by the courts, and it 
 had been declared that a person con- 
 fined by the royal authority could not 
 be bailed. On this subject Sir Edward 
 Coke expressed himself thus : " What 
 is this," said he, '* but to declare upon 
 record that any subject committed by 
 such absolute command, may be de- 
 tained in prison for ever ? What doth 
 this tend to, but the utter subversion of 
 the choice, liberty, and right belonging to 
 every free-born subject of this king- 
 dom ? I fear, were it not for this par- 
 liament that followed so close after the 
 form of judgment was drawn up, there 
 would have been hard putting to have 
 had it entered ; but a parliament brings 
 judges, officers, and all men into good 
 order." The discussion being resumed 
 on a subsequent day, in the course of 
 his speech, Coke said : " It is a maxim, 
 the common law hath admeasured the 
 king's prerogative, that in no case it can 
 
 * No freeman shall be taken, or imprisoned, or 
 deprived of his freehold, but by the lawful judgment 
 of his peers, or the law of the laud. 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 2* 
 
 prejudice the inheritance of the subjects. 
 Had the law given the prerogative to 
 that which is taken, it would have set 
 some time to it, else mark what would 
 follow. I shall have an estate of inhe- 
 ritance for life or for years in my land, 
 or propriety in my goods, and I shall 
 be tenant at will for my liberty : I shall 
 have propriety in my own house, and 
 not liberty in my person. Perspicue 
 vera non sunt probanda. The king 
 hath distributed his judicial power to 
 courts of justice and to ministers of jus- 
 tice. It is too low for so great a mo- 
 narch as the king is to commit men to 
 prison ; and it is against law, that men 
 should be committed, and no cause 
 shewed. I would not speak this, but 
 that I hope my gracious king will hear 
 of it: yet it is not I, Edward Coke, 
 that speaks it, but the records that 
 spake it. We have a national appro- 
 priate law to this nation, divisis ab 
 orbe Britannis. I will conclude with 
 the Acts of the Apostles, ch. 23. It is 
 against reason to send a man to prison^ 
 and not to show the cause." 
 
 After this speech, on the question 
 being put, it was resolved : 
 
 I. lhat no freeman ought to be de- 
 tained or kept in prison, or otherwise 
 restrained by the command of the king, 
 or privy council, or any other, unless 
 some cause of the commitment, de- 
 tainer, or restraint be expressed, for 
 which by law he ought to be committed, 
 detained, or restrained. 
 
 II. That the writ of habeas corpus 
 may not be denied, but ought to be 
 granted to every man that is committed 
 or detained in prison, or otherwise re- 
 strained, though it be by the command 
 of the king, the privy council, or any 
 other, he praying the same. 
 
 III. That if a freeman be committed 
 or detained in prison, or otherwise re- 
 strained by the command of the king, 
 privy council, or any other, no cause of 
 such commitment, detainer, or restraint, 
 being expressed, for which by law he 
 ought to be committed, detained, or re- 
 strained, and the same be returned upon 
 a habeas corpus granted for the said party, 
 then he ought to be delivered or bailed. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke joined in framing 
 not only these, but several other spirited 
 remonstrances which the king's arbi- 
 trary conduct called forth from the re- 
 presentatives of the nation ; and it is 
 well known that they were not content- 
 ed with remonstrances alone. The Pe- 
 tition of Rights was their work ; and 
 
 for this celebrated statute, which forms 
 one of the proudest epochs in the his- 
 tory of the English constitution, we are 
 partly indebted to his exertions. He 
 was also principally instrumental in 
 procuring that earnest remonstrance 
 against the Duke of Buckingham, whicls 
 was in effect directed against all the 
 measures that had been pursued by the 
 ministry. Shortly afterwards, the ses- 
 sion of parliament was brought to a close, 
 and with it finished his public career. 
 
 The remainder of his life was spent 
 in retirement, chiefly at his house at 
 Stoke-Pogies, in Buckinghamshire,- 
 where he enjoyed that high considera- 
 tion and respect to which his talents^ 
 his character, and his station in society 
 justly entitled him. But even in his 
 last retirement his active mind was not 
 without employment ; and it may rea- 
 sonably be conjectured that a great part 
 of his time was devoted to the revisal 
 of the works he left behind him unpub- 
 lished. To the end of his life, though 
 secluded from politics and from the * 
 world, he was looked upon by the court 
 with an eye of jealousy and suspicion. 
 While he was on his death-bed, his 
 house was searched for seditious writ- 
 ings, and his numerous manuscripts, 
 together with his will, were carried away. 
 The former were not restored to his 
 family till ten years afterwards ; and 
 the latter was never given up. He 
 closed his long and useful career (Sep- 
 tember 3rd, 1G34,) exclaiming in his last 
 moments : " Thy kingdom come, thy 
 will be done." His remains were interred 
 in the church of Titeshall in Norfolk, the - 
 family burial place of the Coke family. 
 
 Sir Edward Coke was gifted with the 
 advantages of a fine person and com- 
 manding appearance. The bust of 
 him which is preserved in the library 
 at Trinity College, Cambridge, and 
 the portrait which hangs in the hall of 
 Lyon's Inn, represent him as having 
 handsome and regular features, with a 
 gravity of countenance to which the 
 costume of his time, and particularly the 
 long pointed beard, did not a little con- 
 tribute. He was at all times particularly 
 attentive to his apparel and general per- 
 sonal appearance, holding it for a maxim 
 that the exterior neatness of the body 
 ought to be emblematic of the inward 
 soul's purity. It may be considered per- 
 haps a proof rather of his honest pride in- 
 having fearlessly performed his duty, 
 than of his taste for show and ornament 
 in dress, that he refused to part with his- 
 
22 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 judge's collar on his removal from the 
 bench, alleging as his reason, that he 
 would leave it to his posterity for a 
 memorial that they had a chief justice 
 among their ancestors. He used to 
 boast that all his honours had been ob- 
 tained without bribery or solicitation 
 (nee prece nee pretio,) and would often 
 give solemn thanks to God that he never 
 gave his body to physic, his heart to 
 cruelty, nor his hand to corruption. In 
 his habits and manner of living Coke 
 appears to have indulged in a little ec- 
 centricity. He was more exclusively a 
 lawyer than most of his contempora- 
 ries, who were wont to relax from their 
 severer studies in the occasional pursuit 
 of lighter and more agreeable occupa- 
 tions. Music, dancing, fencing, and all 
 the minor accomplishments considered 
 necessary to perfect the education of a 
 gentleman, were in his time regularly 
 taught in the inns of court, which were 
 placed very much on the same footing 
 as our universities are at present ; the 
 members, and particularly the students, 
 being subjected to many other restraints, 
 besides that of attending hall during 
 term, now almost the only remaining 
 vestige of academical discipline. We are 
 not informed that Coke at any time dis- 
 tinguished himself (as many great law- 
 yers have done) in the diversions and 
 entertainments so frequently presented 
 by the members of the inns of court. 
 Indeed, his mind appears not to have 
 been endowed in any degree with the 
 attribute of versatility ; and the study or 
 practice of the law engrossed all its ener- 
 gies. If he ever wandered from it, di- 
 vinity became his theme. Every hour 
 of his time was regularly and systemati- 
 cally apportioned ; a method of which 
 those only who have felt the pressure of 
 constant and various employment can 
 fully appreciate the advantages. The six 
 hours of sleep (with which in one of his 
 incidental snatches of advice to his 
 readers, he enjoins the student of law 
 to content himself,) he used to enjoy 
 at a very extraordinary season, making 
 it his constant practice to retire to rest 
 at nine o'clock, and to rise at three. 
 To this custom ,he was so habituated, 
 that if disturbed during that period he 
 was totally unfit for business all the 
 remainder of the day ; insomuch that, 
 if we can rely on the information of his 
 grandson, Roger Coke, his son refused 
 to awaken him before his usual time, 
 even on the arrival of an important ex- 
 press from the king. It is probable that 
 
 to this extreme regularity of life he was 
 in great measure indebted for the health 
 and longevity he enjoyed^ 
 
 His family consisted of seven sons 
 and five daughters, two of the latter 
 being by his second wife. The fortune 
 which he left behind him, increased 
 as it had been by two advantageous 
 marriages, by the successful exercise of 
 his profession, and by habits of fruga- 
 lity, was very large ; and his descend- 
 ants have ever since his time been 
 among the most wealthy of the gentry 
 of England. During the reign of 
 George I. his lineal representative m 
 the male line was raised to the peerage, 
 with the title of Baron Lovell, and he 
 afterwards became Viscount Coke and 
 Earl of Leicester. This title now no 
 longer exists, but the present head of 
 the family, Thomas Coke, Esq. of 
 Holkham, in Norfolk, in point of wealth 
 and consequence, may rank with the 
 first commoners of this realm. 
 
 After what has been related of Sir 
 Edward Coke's life, it is needless to 
 expatiate on his character. His tem- 
 per was evidently violent, and his 
 disposition overbearing. In the early 
 part of his career, there were no bounds 
 to his obsequiousness : after he had 
 attained the object of his ambition, 
 it has been seen that his conduct was 
 any thing but that of a servile cour- 
 tier ; a contradiction that can only be 
 accounted for, by supposing him to 
 have been gifted by nature with an in- 
 dependent spirit, between which and 
 his ambition there was a continual 
 struggle. The former, however, ulti- 
 mately gained the ascendancy ; and (to 
 use the expressions of Mr. Hallam) 
 " he became, not without some honour- 
 able inconsistency of doctrine as well 
 as practice, the strenuous asserter of 
 liberty, on the principles of those an- 
 cient laws which no one was admitted 
 to know so well as himself ; redeeming 
 in an intrepid and patriotic old age, the 
 faults which we cannot avoid perceiving 
 in his earlier life." 
 
 It has been elsewhere observed of 
 Coke: "His advancement he lost in 
 the same way he got it by his tongue : 
 so difficult is it for a man very eloquent 
 not to be over-loquent. Long lived he 
 in that retirement to which court indig- 
 nation had remitted him, yet was not 
 his recess inglorious ; for at improving 
 a disgrace to the best advantage he was 
 so excellent, as King James said of 
 him, he was like a cat, throw her 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 23 
 
 which way you will she will light upon 
 her feet. And finding a cloud at the 
 court he made sure of his fair weather 
 in the country, applying himself so de- 
 voutly to popular interest, that in suc- 
 ceeding parliaments the prerogative felt 
 him as her ablest, so her most active 
 opponent." 
 
 The patriotism and independence of 
 Sir Edward Coke must ever be consi- 
 dered as the brightest feature in his 
 character. It is as a patriot alone that 
 he stands superior to his great contem- 
 porary Bacon, with whom throughout 
 the greater part of his professional 
 career he was placed in constant com- 
 petition. Both had embraced the same 
 profession, both prosecuted it with 
 ardour and success ; one attaining the 
 highest, the other the second dignity 
 it can confer ; and both lived to experi- 
 ence the instability of the preferment 
 they had struggled so hard to acquire. 
 But Ihe causes which produced the 
 downfal of these illustrious persons 
 were widely different; and he whose 
 integrity was unimpeached rose highest 
 in public estimation after his disgrace 
 at court ; while all the brilliant quali- 
 ties of his rival, when sullied by corrup- 
 tion, failed to procure him the consi- 
 deration and esteem that to a generous 
 mind form the most gratifying reward 
 of every exertion. As an author, how- 
 ever, Bacon need fear no comparison 
 with Coke. No one can peruse a pro- 
 duction, however slight, of each, with- 
 out being struck by the wide disparity of 
 their intellects. Bacon was in every 
 respect superior to his age ; Coke was 
 merely on a level with it : the former 
 was a philosopher, a statesman, and a 
 lawyer ; the latter was a lawyer, and 
 little or nothing more. An absurd opi- 
 nion is sometimes maintained, that those 
 who devote themselves to the study of 
 the legal profession must sedulously 
 refrain from intercourse with every 
 other department of literature and 
 science. Perhaps no more striking 
 refutation of such a doctrine can be 
 named, than the great superiority of 
 Bacon's legal writings over those of his 
 contemporary. As a practical lawyer, 
 Coke was undoubtedly without an 
 equal. All the abstruse learning of 
 the common law, the subtle niceties of 
 pleading, and the voluminous enact- 
 ments of the statute-book, were trea- 
 sured in his memory; and from this 
 copious repertory he could always draw 
 Wherewithal to supply the emergencies 
 
 of a particular case. But he wanted 
 the lamp of philosophy to enlighten 
 the confusion of so many jarring ele- 
 ments. It would have* produced such 
 an effect as the first beaming of day is 
 said to have done on chaos ; for though 
 in a confined circle he could move with 
 safety, if not with freedom, he was be- 
 wildered and lost when he ventured 
 beyond it. His mind resembled a spa- 
 cious but ill constructed dwelling-house, 
 stored with furniture in abundance and 
 of costly workmanship, which, however, 
 for want of order and arrangement, is 
 deprived of much of its utility, and is 
 often found to be more cumbersome 
 than convenient. The difference we 
 cannot fail to perceive between these 
 distinguished individuals was owing 
 as much to the original dissimilarity of 
 their genius, as to their education and 
 acquired habits of thinking: Coke had 
 not been nurtured in the school of 
 philosophy; and having once fallen 
 into the beaten track of the law, he 
 seems never to have felt a wish to di- 
 verge from it : although endowed with 
 a shrewd and penetrating mind, he loved 
 rather to involve himself in the per- 
 plexities of detail, and to treasure up a 
 vast number of unconnected facts, than 
 by arranging and combining these, the 
 elements of knowledge, to discover new 
 and hidden truths. He possessed a 
 memory at once powerful and capa- 
 cious ; industry, which no labour could 
 fatigue, and that sobriety and dispas- 
 sionate temper of mind which no intri- 
 cacies could disgust, but he was lacking 
 in the higher and more noble faculty of 
 reason, which is the true and only source 
 of all philosophy. In this his great 
 rival, the father of philosophy, emi- 
 nently excelled ; and while Bacon was 
 gaining by a broader and easier ascent, 
 the vantage ground of his profession, he 
 found leisure to indulge the natural 
 versatility of his tastes, and to make 
 those excursions into the fields of 
 literature and of science, by which his 
 fame has become the property of 
 the world. In none of Coke's writ- 
 ings do we find a single attempt to 
 generalize, to discover those great 
 principles of jurisprudence from which 
 most of the principal enactments of 
 positive law have been deduced, or to lay 
 down rules for the guidance of future 
 legislators. He is content to know that 
 certain regulations have been made, 
 and that certain consequences must 
 follow ; but he goes no further, or if 
 
24 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 he attempts to do so, he wanders with- 
 out a compass. No one, who has pe- 
 rused even the speech of Lord Bacon, 
 on his taking his seat in the Court of 
 Chancery, will require to be told that 
 his manner of treating legal subjects is 
 very different. 
 
 It is true that the voluminous writings 
 of Coke have always been classed 
 among the most important that we pos- 
 sess on the laws of this country. " His 
 learned and laborious works on the 
 laws," says Fuller, " will be admired by 
 judicious posterity, while fame has a 
 trumpet left her, and any breath to blow 
 therein." But this eulogium must not be 
 understood to imply that they are wor- 
 thy to be looked up to as models for 
 imitation, either in point of style or 
 method. Their chief merit consists in 
 the extensive learning and sound legal 
 information which they contain; but 
 this is imparted in such a negligent and 
 slovenly manner, as greatly detracts 
 from their value. They resemble a gar- 
 den filled with the choicest flowers, 
 which, however, are frequently dis- 
 figured or concealed by the neighbour- 
 hood of weeds and rubbish. That want 
 of order and arrangement, which is 
 their principal fault, seems to have 
 arisen not so much from mere careless- 
 ness and inadvertence in the disposition 
 of the subjects to be discussed, as from 
 the peculiar habit of Coke's mind, which 
 made him ever more anxious to exhibit 
 his powers of subtlety and copious illus- 
 tration in reasoning, than to produce 
 only such arguments as might be ap- 
 posite and well timed. Hence his di- 
 gressions are not only frequent but 
 almost interminable ; and his arguments 
 are often heaped together till they be- 
 come tiresome and even puerile. It 
 appears that he was reproached with 
 committing exactly the same faults in 
 extemporaneous speaking. Lord Bacon 
 expresses himself thus on the subject : 
 *' In discourse you delight to speak too 
 much, not to hear other men. This, 
 some say, becomes a pleader, not a 
 judge ; for by this sometimes your af- 
 fections are entangled with a love of 
 your own arguments, though they be 
 the weaker, and rejecting of those which, 
 when your affections were settled, your 
 own judgment would allow for strong- 
 est. Thus, while you speak in your 
 own element, the law, no man ordina- 
 rily equals you; but when you wander, 
 as you often delight to do, you wander 
 indeed, and give never such satisfaction 
 
 as the curious time requires. This is 
 not caused by any natural defect, but 
 first for want of election, when you, 
 having a large and fruitful mind, should 
 not so much labour what to speak, as to 
 find what to leave unspoken: rich soils 
 are often to be weeded. You cloy your 
 auditory when you would be observed ; 
 speech must be either sweet or short." 
 
 A few examples shall be given of 
 these defects in the works of Sir Edward 
 Coke. The first that occurs will suffi- 
 ciently illustrate his manner of digress- 
 ing, his mania for assigning a reason to 
 every thing, and also the particular 
 tone of quaint pedantry which was in 
 some degree the characteristic of his age. 
 It is taken from his Commentary on Lit- 
 tleton. The author having enumerated 
 the different kinds of tenures and services 
 in the following order: viz. homage 
 fealty, escuage, knight's- service, frankal- 
 moigne, homage auncestrell, grand ser- 
 jeanty, petit serjeanty, tenure in burgage, 
 in villanage, and rents, Coke cannot but 
 find something peculiarly appropriate 
 in the arrangement of these heads. 
 After commenting on the four first, he 
 goes on : " Fifthly, soccage, the service 
 of the plough, aptly placed next knight's- 
 service, for that the ploughman maketh 
 the best souldier, as shall appeare in his 
 proper place. Sixthly, frankalmoigne, 
 service due to Almighty God, placed 
 towards the middest for two causes ; first, 
 for that the middest is the most worthy 
 and most honourable place ; and, se- 
 condly, because the first five preceeding 
 tenures and services, and the other six 
 subsequent must all become prosperous 
 and usefull, by reason of God's true re- 
 ligion and service ; for Nunquam p?os 
 pere succedunt res humance, ubi negli- 
 guntur divince. Wherein I would have 
 our student follow the advice given in 
 these ancient verses for the good spend- 
 ing of the day : 
 '' Sex horas somno totidem des legibus aequiSj 
 
 Qualuor orabis, des epulisque duas ; 
 Quod superest ultra sacris largire camocnis." 
 Co. Litt. 288. a. 
 
 Notwithstanding his undisguised con- 
 tempt for " rhyming poets," this is not 
 the only occasion on which he has 
 thought proper to introduce scraps of 
 Latin verse, and even doggrel, into his 
 legal discussions. Thus, in the follow- 
 ing passage : " If the wife elope from 
 her husband, that is, if the wife leaves 
 her husband and tarrieth with her adul- 
 terer, she shall lose her dower until her 
 husband willingly, without coercion 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 25 
 
 ecclesiastical, be reconciled to her, and 
 permit her to cohabit with him ; all 
 which is comprehended shortly in two 
 hexameters : 
 
 <( Sponte virum mulier fugiens, et adultera facta, 
 Dote sua careat, nisi sponsi sponte retracta." 
 Co. Litt. 32. a. 32. b. 
 Of his very clumsy and inappropriate 
 mode of introducing quotations in his 
 legal writings, it would be difficult to 
 find a more ludicrous example than the 
 passage which occurs in the beginning 
 of his chapter on the jurisdiction of 
 forest courts. (Inst. iv. chap. 73.) " See- 
 ing we are to treat," he says, " of 
 matters of game and hunting, let us 
 (to the end we may proceed the more 
 cheerfully) recreate ourselves with the 
 excellent description of Didoe's doe of 
 the forest wounded with a deadly arrow 
 stricken in her, and not impertinent to 
 our purpose.'* 
 
 Uritur infelix Dido, totaque vacatur 
 Urbe furens, qualis conjecta cerva sagitta, 
 Quarn procul iucautam nemora inter Cressia 
 
 fixit 
 Pastor agens telis, liquitque volatile ferrum 
 Inscius : ilia fuga sylvas saltusque peragrat 
 Dictacos, hacrct lateri lethalis arundo.* 
 
 And in a marginal note he compares 
 this wound of the stricken doe to " an 
 evil conscience in the false and furious 
 officer of the forest, if any such be." 
 
 His constant disposition to account 
 for every thing by uncommon and sin- 
 gular reasons, is nowhere l:etter ex- 
 emplified than in his derivations of 
 words. Thus : Parliament, he says, is 
 so called, "because every member of 
 that court should sincerely and dis- 
 creetly parler la ment for the general 
 good of the commonwealth." (Co. Litt. 
 110. a.) The word placitum is de- 
 rived a placendo, quid bene placitare 
 super omnia placet ; and it is not, as 
 some have said, so called per anti- 
 phrasin, quia non placet" (Ibid. 1 7. a. 
 303. a.) " Towne (ville) villa, quasi ve- 
 hilla, quod in earn convehantur fruc- 
 tus" (Ibid. 115. b.) " Robberie. Ro- 
 boria, properly is when there is a felo- 
 nious taking away of a man's goods from 
 his person; and it is called robberie, 
 because the goods are taken as it were 
 
 * These lines are thus translated by Dryden. 
 (^Eneis, book iv.) 
 
 Sick with desire, and seeking him she loves, 
 From street to street the raving Dido roves, 
 So when the watchful shepherd, from the blind, 
 Wounds with a random shaft the careless hind, 
 Distracted with her pain, she flies the woods, 
 Boun'ls o'er the lawn, and seeks the silent floods 
 With fruitless care ; for still the fatal dart 
 Sticks in her side, and rankles in her heart. 
 
 de la robe, from the robe, that is, from 
 the person ; but sometimes it is taken 
 in a larger sense." (288. a.) A hundred 
 other such instances might be quoted. 
 
 Perhaps there is no quality more 
 conspicuous throughout the writings of 
 Coke than a constant parade of scho- 
 lastic pedantry. He seldom discusses 
 a subject, however unimportant, without 
 dividing it according to rule under se- 
 veral distinct heads ; and it by no means 
 unfrequently occurs that his awkward 
 attempts to establish complete perspi- 
 cuity create confusion and perplexity 
 where none existed before. It is evident 
 that he was unconscious of this failing. 
 In his preface to the seventh report he 
 says : " In these and the rest of my re- 
 ports I have (as much as I could) 
 avoided obscurity, ambiguity, jeopardy, 
 novelty, and prolixity. 1. Obscurity; 
 for that it is like unto darkness, wherein 
 a man for want of light can hardly with 
 all his industry discern any way. 2. 
 Ambiguity ; where there is light enough, 
 but there be so many winding and in- 
 tricate ways, as a man for want of di- 
 rection shall be much perplexed and 
 entangled to find out the right way. 
 3. Jeopardy ; either in publishing of any 
 thing that might rather stir up suits and 
 controversies in this troublesome world 
 than establish quietness and repose be- 
 tween man and man ; (for a com- 
 mentary should not be like unto the 
 winterly sun, that raiseth up greater and 
 thicker mists and fogs than it is able to 
 disperse ;) or in bringing the reader by 
 any means into the least question of 
 peril or danger at all. 4. Novelty; for 
 I have ever holden all new or private 
 interpretations or opinions, which have 
 no ground or warrant out of the reason 
 or rule of our books or former prece- 
 dents, to be dangerous and not worthy 
 of any observation, for periculosum 
 existimo quod bonorum virorum non 
 comprobatur exemplo. 5. Prolixity; 
 for a report ought to be no longer than 
 the matter requireth ; and as ^languor 
 prolixus gravat medicum, itd relatio 
 prolixa gravat lector em." 
 
 The scholastic method of argument 
 is often clumsily, and sometimes incor- 
 rectly, employed by Coke. He was in 
 the habit of falling into that dangerous 
 error, so common among those who use 
 the mechanism of reasoning somewhat 
 carelessly, of being misled by mere 
 verbal subtleties ; and in consequence 
 of this failing his style. of arguing is not 
 only often loose and perplexed, but 
 
26 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 occasionally vicious. Instances of this 
 sort may be found in his report of Cal- 
 vin's case, which also contains ex- 
 amples of the defect before mentioned. 
 The principal question of law brought 
 under the consideration of the court in 
 that celebrated cause was : whether the 
 plaintiff, who had been born in Scot- 
 land, after the crown of England had 
 descended to James I., was an alien 
 born, and consequently disabled from 
 bringing any action real or personal 
 for lands within the realm of Eng- 
 land. It was observed that there 
 were four nouns, which might be called 
 nomina operativa, in the plea, viz. : 
 ligeantia, (allegiance,) regnum, (king- 
 dom,) leges, (laws,) and alienigena 
 (alien.) Each of these subjects under- 
 went a separate discussion. On com- 
 ing to the last, the reporter observes : 
 " Now we are in order come to the 
 Fourth noun (which is the fourth general 
 part) alienigena: wherein six things 
 did fall into consideration. 1. Who 
 was alienigena, an alien born by the 
 laws of England ? 2. How many kinds 
 of aliens born there were? 3. What 
 incidents belonged to an alien born ? 
 4. The reason why an alien is not ca- 
 pable of inheritance or freehold within 
 England ? 5. Examples, resolutions, 
 and judgments reported in our books in 
 all successions of ages, proving the 
 plaintiff to be no alien. 6. Demon- 
 strative conclusions upon the premises, 
 approving the same." After examining 
 the first five points at some length, he 
 comes to the last head, which, he says, 
 comprises M six demonstrative illations 
 or conclusions, drawn plainly and ex- 
 pressly from the premises." Among 
 these six arguments, it does not require 
 much penetration to discover the un- 
 soundness of the following. 
 
 "Every stranger must at his birth be 
 amicus or inimicus ; but Calvin at his 
 eil her birth could neither be amicus nor 
 inimicus : Ergo, he is no stranger born. 
 Inimicus he cannot be, because he is 
 subditus ; for that cause also he cannot 
 be amicus - neither now can Scotia be 
 said to be solum amici, as hath been said. 
 
 " Whatsoever is due by the law or 
 constitution of man may be altered: 
 but natural liegeance or obedience to 
 the sovereign cannot be altered : Ergo, 
 natural liegeance or obedience is the 
 sovereign is not due by the law or con- 
 stitution of man. Again, whatsoever 
 is due by the law of nature cannot be 
 altered; but liegeance and obedience 
 
 from the subject to the sovereign is due 
 by the law of nature : Ergo, it cannot 
 be altered." 
 
 The false positions contained in these 
 arguments are not the less glaring for 
 being delivered under the form of syl- 
 logisms. It will be remarked that in each 
 of them the minor is open to exception. 
 The whole of Calvin's case is an excel- 
 lent specimen of the pedantry with 
 which not only Coke himself, but by 
 far the greater portion of his legal 
 brethren were infected ; and if any one 
 would form an opinion of the cumbrous 
 and unprofitable learning with which 
 lawyers in those days were wont to 
 load their discourses, he can do no 
 better than read it in Coke's report. It 
 was an occasion of very great display, as 
 appears by his account of the vast in- 
 terest excited, and the elaborate dis- 
 cussion it underwent. All the fourteen 
 judges, (there being then five in both 
 the King's Bench and Common Pleas,) 
 with the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, ar- 
 gued it, apparently at much length, for 
 only two were heard in each of the eight 
 days during two successive Terms that 
 the debate lasted. Every judge took 
 his own course, as Lord Coke informs 
 us ; and yet he confesses there was not 
 much difficulty in the case, but that its 
 importance only made the; udges of the 
 King's Bench carry it into the Exche- 
 quer chamber, where thirteen of the 
 fourteen were, with the chancellor, clear 
 one way. It was evidently made the 
 occasion of an exhibition, a grand 
 legal exercitation, much to the taste of 
 those times. Now, not only is the dis- 
 cussion filled with the most useless 
 and inapplicable learning, but there is 
 really very little that can be called ar- 
 gument in it. Farfetched analogies, 
 quaint allusions, quibbles upon words, 
 quotations from the scripture and from 
 profane authors, both classical and le- 
 gal, abound in it ; but there is a total 
 want of close reasoning upon principle 
 where principles are introduced. Its 
 only value now lies in the remarks made 
 incidentally upon other points of law- 
 foreign to the case at bar. 
 
 It is impossible to mention this cele- 
 brated case without noting the great in- 
 terest which the argument upon it, es- 
 pecially from the bench, appears to 
 have excited in Westminster Hall, and 
 the enthusiasm with which Lord Coke 
 regards it in his report. He seems 
 quite elevated with conscious satisfac- 
 tion and professional pride when he 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 27 
 
 considers how eminently the judges had 
 distinguished themselves ; and speaks as 
 one, not merely relating a very im- 
 portant decision in the law, but as one 
 recording a great triumph of the science 
 and its professors. " It was observed," 
 he says, " that there was not in any re- 
 membrance so honourable, great, and 
 intelligent an auditory at the hearing of 
 the arguments of any Exchequer cham- 
 ber case, as was at this case now ad- 
 judged. It appeareth that juris pru- 
 dentia legis communis Anglice est sci- 
 entia socialis et copiosa ; sociable, in 
 that it agreeth with the principles and 
 rules of other excellent sciences, divine 
 and humane ; copious, for that quam- 
 vis ad ea quce frequentius accidunt 
 jura adaptantur ; yet in a case so rare, 
 and of such a quality, that loss is the 
 assured end and practice of it, (for no 
 alien can purchase lands but he loseth 
 them, and ipso facto the king is en- 
 titled thereunto, in respect whereof a 
 man would think few men would at- 
 tempt it,) there should be such a mul- 
 titude and farrago of authorities in all 
 successions of ages, in our books and 
 book-cases, for the deciding of a point 
 of so rare an accident." This may 
 serve as a specimen of the manner in 
 which Coke's enthusiasm for the law 
 is wont incidentally to display itself in 
 his writings. 
 
 Although Lord Coke doubtless reck- 
 oned the account of Calvin's case his 
 masterpiece as a reporter, deeming the 
 argument itself the first sample of ju- 
 ridical learning and ingenuity, there 
 are many of his cases in every respect 
 far more worthy of commendation. 
 If one were to be selected for the sub- 
 tlety of the argument, and indeed the 
 importance of the principles to the law, 
 it perhaps would be that of Shelly; 
 nevertheless, this too is disfigured by 
 very puerile matter. For instance, 
 when to prove that the date of the use 
 must be referred to the recovery suf- 
 fered, and not to the execution of the 
 use, reference is made to the case of a 
 man while insane ^ giving himself a 
 deadly wound, and* afterwards dying 
 while in his senses, which is by many 
 authorities shown not to make him 
 felo de se ; a thing so self-evident that 
 we are left in doubt, whether most to 
 admire the serious foolery of those who 
 could gravely discuss and decide it, or 
 of those who could cite it for a pur- 
 pose so foreign. Perhaps, however, 
 upon the whole, Chudleigh's case may 
 
 be taken as the best example of legal 
 acuteness in those who argued it. 
 Although not above twenty years be- 
 fore the case of the Postnaii, it should 
 seem that the taste of the bar had been 
 much infected with the growing pedan- 
 try of the times during that interval. 
 
 If, indeed, we merely look to the 
 merits of the Reports, it is not to any of 
 the great cases, the renowned names, 
 that we should resort. Beside those 
 which have been cited, Corbet's and 
 Mildmay's, Taltarum's, Mary Porting- 
 ton's, Clue's, Albany's, are all more or 
 less open to the charge of prolixity, 
 though very much less liable to it than 
 the more celebrated ones of Shelly and 
 Calvin. But the less pretending ones, 
 which shortly give the resolutions of 
 the court upon certain questions, and 
 with little or no argument beyond what 
 is necessary to explain the decision and 
 its grounds, afford by far the best 
 specimen of the learned reporter's ta- 
 lents for abstracting and recording. 
 Indeed, the vast number of points re- 
 solved in these cases, and the generality 
 with which they declare the law in- 
 dependent of peculiar facts, and unin- 
 cumbered of those circumstances de- 
 nominated by Lord Eldon specialties, 
 after the language of the Scottish bar, 
 present a most remarkable contrast to 
 the decisions of modern times, wherein 
 it is oftentimes hardly possible to ar- 
 rive at a rule through the maze of 
 details and qualifications that beset the 
 course of the judgment. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that 
 every short notice of a case in the Re- 
 ports is free from learned lumber and ex- 
 travagance. The case of Swans is little 
 enough in bulk, and trifling enough in 
 import, yet is it sufficiently chequered 
 with nonsense, hardly exceeded by the 
 case of Mares in Scriblerus's Reports. 
 " The truth of the matter was that the 
 Lord Strye had certain swans which 
 were cocks, and Sir J. Charlton 
 certain swans which were hens, and 
 they had cignets between them ; and 
 for these cignets the owners did join in 
 one action ; for by the law the cignets 
 do belong to both owners in common 
 equally, sc. to the owner of the cock 
 and the owner of the hen, and the 
 cignets shall be divided betwixt them. 
 And the law thereof is formed on a 
 reason in nature, for the cock swan is 
 an emblem or representative of an af- 
 fectionate and true husband to his wife 
 above all other fowls ; for the cock 
 
28 
 
 swan holdeth himself to one female 
 only, and for this cause nature hath 
 conferred on him a gift beyond all 
 others ; that is to die so joyfully, that 
 he sings sweetly when he dies ; upon 
 which the Poet saith 
 
 Dulcia defecla, &c. &c. 
 
 And therefore this case of the swan 
 doth differ from the case of kine and 
 other brute beasts." Vide 7 Hen. 4. 9. 
 But though all Lord Coke's writings 
 are more or less disfigured by such far- 
 fetched and inappropriate arguments as 
 these, it is not to be supposed that he 
 was altogether incapable of reasoning 
 philosophically. It certainly must be 
 allowed that it is not often instances 
 occur in his works of enlarged and 
 comprehensive views, such as the great 
 mind of Bacon delighted to indulge in ; 
 but they are sometimes to be met with, 
 His sound and humane remarks on 
 capital punishment, at the close of 
 his third Institute, merit attention, 
 whether we regard the man or the 
 age. "Wofull experience," he says, 
 "has shown the inefficacy of fre- 
 quent and often punishment to pre- 
 vent offences. It is a certain rule that 
 those offences are often committed that 
 are often punished ; for the frequency 
 of the punishment makes it so familiar 
 as it is not feared." In the margin we 
 then have " Sta, per lege, plora,"" and in 
 the text he continues thus : " What a 
 lamentable case it is to see so many 
 Christian men and women strangled on 
 that cursed tree of the gallows ; inso 
 much as if in a large field a man mi 
 together all the Christians 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 see 
 
 'fit 
 
 tii at 
 
 but in one year throughout England 
 come to that untimely and ignominious 
 death, if there were any spark of grace 
 or charity in him, it would make his 
 heart to bleed for pity and compassion." 
 He then lays down the rules of " pre- 
 venting justice," and at the head of 
 these he places " the good education of 
 youth.'" Another is the granting par- 
 dons very rarely ; and the third, the 
 execution of good laws, though this 
 he deems inferior to education. 
 
 Having now adverted to the most 
 conspicuous faults and peculiarities 
 which equally pervade all Coke's writ- 
 ings, it will be proper to give some 
 account of his different works. The 
 first in the order of time was the first 
 part of his Reports, which was published 
 in 1600, while he was attorney-general 
 to Elizabeth. It is entitled " Reports 
 
 fJX fn Ward C ke ' Kni S ht ' her ma- 
 jesty s attorney-general,* of divers re- 
 
 solutions and judgments given with 
 great deliberation by the reverend 
 judges and sages of the law, of cases 
 and matters in law which were never 
 resolved or adjudged before : and the 
 reasons and causes of the said resolu- 
 tions and judgments, during the most 
 happy reign of the most illustrious and 
 renowned queen Elizabeth, the fountaine 
 of all justice, and the life of the law." 
 To this report, ten more parts were 
 added during his lifetime, the last in 1 6 1 5 
 while he was chief justice of the King's 
 Bench under James I ; and after his 
 death two supplementary books of 
 them were published. These, however, 
 not having been revised by the author 
 himself, are not held in such high esti- 
 mation as those which made their ap- 
 pearance during his lifetime. It has 
 been already stated that on the dis- 
 grace of Sir Edward Coke, he was en- 
 joined by the king to pass the summer 
 vacation in correcting his Reports 
 " wherein," as James affirmed, " there' 
 were many dangerous conceits of his 
 own uttered for law, to the prejudice of 
 his majesty's crown, parliament, and 
 subjects." After three months' delibera- 
 tion, Coke gave in a list of such errors 
 as he had detected ; but as they were 
 for the most part merely verbal inaccu- 
 racies, such as could in nowise sup- 
 port the charge intended to be brought 
 against him, five special cases were 
 selected by the king's order for that 
 purpose. Sir Edward, however, an- 
 swered all the objections that could be 
 made against them in such a manner, 
 as to satisfy all who understood the 
 points in dispute ; and, indeed, it appears 
 that his legal adversaries, whatever 
 might be their personal enmity towards 
 him, or their deference to the commands 
 of the king, were ashamed of the task 
 imposed on them. Loid Chancellor 
 Ellesmere, in particular, whose tem- 
 perate conduct throughout the whole of 
 the proceeding was highly creditable to 
 him, was exceedingly anxious to be ex- 
 cused from it. " All that I have done 
 in this," he wrote, " hath been by your 
 majesty's commandment and direction, 
 in presence of all your learned council, 
 and by the special assistance and ad- 
 vice of your attorney and solicitor. I 
 
 This, it will be remarked, is not quite a correct 
 designation, since he was not knighted till after tho 
 accession of James I, 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 29 
 
 Ttnow 'obedience is better than sacrifice ; 
 for otherwise I would have been an 
 tiunible suitor to your majesty to have 
 been spared in all service concerning 
 the 'lord Chief justice." Nevertheless, 
 'though the charge was dropped for the 
 time, it was renewed after Coke's al- 
 liance with Buckingham, while Bacon 
 -was lord keeper. But as Sir Edward 
 openly demanded that the matter might 
 be investigated by the twelve judges, 
 and that they might certify at the same 
 time what cases he had published " for 
 the maintenance of the royal preroga- 
 tive and benefit, for the safety and in- 
 crease of the revenues of the church, 
 -and for the quieting of men's inheritances, 
 and the general good of the common- 
 wealth," his enemies thought it most 
 prudent to avoid the inquiry altogether. 
 Bacon himself has said : " Had it 
 not been for Sir Edward Coke's Re- 
 ports, (which, though they may have 
 errors, and some peremptory and ex- 
 trajudicial decisions more than are 
 warranted, yet they contain infinite 
 good decisions and rulings of cases,) 
 the law by this time has been almost 
 like a ship without ballast ; for that the 
 cases of modern experience are fled 
 from those that are adjudged and ruled 
 in former time." 
 
 In 1614, Sir Edward Coke published 
 his " Booke of Entries/' and his first 
 Institute, or Commentary on Littleton 
 appeared in 1628. His other works 
 were not published till after his death. 
 They consist of his " Treatise of Bail 
 and Mainprise," (1637 ;) his " Complete 
 Copyholder," (1640 ;) the second, third, 
 and fourth parts of his Institutes, ( 1 642, 
 1644 ;) and his " Reading on the Statute 
 of Fines, 27th Ed. I." (1662.) 
 
 The first Institute of Sir Edward 
 Coke is a running commentary on a 
 short treatise of tenures written by 
 Littleton, who was a judge of the Com- 
 mon Pleas in the reign of Edward IV. 
 The merit of the original work has 
 ever been warmly acknowledged by 
 English lawyers. Lord Guildford made 
 it a point never to let a year pass with- 
 out reading it through. Coke himself 
 calls it " the ornament of the common 
 law, the most perfect and absolute work 
 that ever was written in any human 
 science ;" and if his testimony be reject- 
 ed as partial or exaggerated, no one will 
 refuse to acknowledge that Sir William 
 Jones has not gone too far in attribut- 
 ing to Littleton, whom he styles the 
 English lawyer's great master, " lumi- 
 
 nous method, apposite examples, and a 
 clear, manly style, in which nothing is 
 redundant, nothing deficient." The 
 commentary cannot boast of the same 
 qualities. Strictness of method was 
 not indeed very compatible with the 
 nature of such a work ; but the con- 
 stant digressions of the annotator, of 
 which some few examples have already 
 been given, are multiplied to aft extent 
 that must deprive the commentary of 
 all claim to that systematic arrange- 
 ment, and severe concision, which ought 
 to be considered indispensable in every 
 elementary treatise. The fact is, as 
 Blackstone has well observed, that 
 Coke's Institutes have very little of the 
 institutional method to warrant such a 
 title, and that this commentary, though 
 a rich mine of valuable common law 
 learning, is particularly remarkable for 
 its deficiency in method. Coke himself 
 says, " I have termed them Institutes, 
 because my desire is they should insti- 
 tute and instruct the studious, and 
 guide him in a ready way to the know- 
 ledge of the national laws of England. 
 This work (speaking of the Commen- 
 tary on Littleton) we have called the 
 first part of the Institute, for two 
 causes : first, for that our author is 
 the first book that our student taketh 
 in hand: secondly, for that there are 
 some other parts of Institutes not yet 
 published, viz. the second part, being 
 a commentary upon the statute of 
 Magna Charta, Westminster I., and 
 other old statutes The third part 
 treateth of criminal causes and pleas of 
 the crown : which three parts we have, 
 by the goodness of Almighty God, 
 already finished. The fourth part we 
 have purposed to be of the jurisdiction 
 of courts : but hereof we have only 
 collected some materials towards the 
 raising of so great and honourable a 
 building. We have, by the goodness 
 and assistance of Almighty God, 
 brought this twelfth work to an end: 
 in the eleven books of our Reports, we 
 have related the opinions and judg- 
 ments of others ; but herein we have 
 set down our own." This description 
 of the four Institutes may suffice. It 
 has already been said, that the three 
 last are held in less estimation than the 
 Commentary on Littleton, which is 
 partly on account of their being post- 
 humous works, and partly because the 
 subjects of which they treat are generally 
 speaking more obsolete. The law of 
 real property, which forms the subject 
 
30 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 of the first Institute, though it has 
 undergone some considerable changes 
 since the abolition of the feudal tenures 
 in the reign of Charles II, still re- 
 mains in many respects the same as 
 it stood in the time of Coke ; and his 
 commentary is even now looked upon 
 as one of the most copious and authen- 
 tic sources of information on the sub- 
 ject. The eighteenth edition of this 
 work was published in 1823, being the 
 sixth which has appeared within the 
 period of thirty years ; a convincing 
 proof of the value attached to it by 
 modern lawyers. It may also be con- 
 sidered a testimony of the respect which 
 is borne for Sir Edward Coke and his 
 works, that his Reports, instead of being 
 distinguished from other works of the 
 same nature by the addition of the au- 
 thor's name, are invariably styled The 
 Reports. Indeed, the astonishing acute- 
 ness of his mind, his immense stores 
 of legal learning, and his unwearied in- 
 dustry, peculiarly qualified him to go 
 through the arduous task he imposed 
 on himself, in undertaking the various 
 works which have given him a lasting 
 reputation. Had he lived a century 
 later, it is more than probable that the 
 faults with which his writings are dis- 
 figured would have been corrected by 
 the style and the spirit of a more po- 
 lished age ; but even with all his imper- 
 fections, he can never cease to be re- 
 garded, in every point of view, as one 
 of the most illustrious of the numerous 
 celebrated characters that figure in the 
 annals of the English jurisprudence. 
 
 The Manuscripts of Lord Coke are in 
 the possession of his descendant, Mr. 
 Coke, of Norfolk, whom we have al- 
 ready mentioned as his representative 
 through the female issue of Lord Lei- 
 cester, the male heir of the chief justice. 
 
 At this gentleman's princely mansion 
 ofHolkham, is one of the finest collec- 
 tions, or, indeed, libraries of manuscripts 
 anywhere preserved ; certainly the finest 
 in any private individual's possession. 
 It partly consists of the chief justice's 
 papers ; the rest, and the bulk of it, 
 was collected by that accomplished 
 nobleman who built the mansion, the 
 last male heir of the great lawyer. He 
 had spent many years abroad, where 
 his taste was improved and his general 
 education perfected. He collected a 
 vast number of the most valuable ma- 
 nuscripts. Of these the exquisitely illu- 
 minated missals, and other writings of 
 
 a similar description, which would 
 from their perfect beauty and great 
 rarity bear the highest price in the 
 market, are certainly by far the least 
 precious in the eyes of literary men. 
 Many of the finest codices of the 
 Greek, Latin, and old Italian classics 
 are to be found in this superb collec- 
 tion. Among others are no less than 
 thirteen of Livy, a favourite author of 
 Lord Leicester, whom he had made 
 some progress in editing, when he 
 learnt that Drakenborchius, the well 
 known German critic, had proceeded 
 further in the same task, and gene- 
 rously handed over to him the treasures 
 of his library. The excellent edition of 
 that commentator makes constant refer- 
 ence to the Holkham manuscripts, under 
 the name of MS S. Lovelliana, from the 
 title of Lovell ; Lord Leicester not hav- 
 ing then been promoted to the earldom. 
 Mr. Coke, with a becoming respect for 
 the valuable collection of his ancestors, 
 was desirous to have the manuscripts 
 unfolded, bound, and arranged, both 
 with a view to their preservation and to 
 the facility of consulting them. They had 
 lain for half a century neglected, and 
 in part verging towards decay, when 
 he engaged his valued friend, William 
 Roscoe, to undertake the labour so 
 congenial to his taste and habits, of 
 securing these treasures from the ra- 
 vages of time. From the great num- 
 ber of the manuscripts, the state in 
 which many of them were, and the 
 distance of Mr. Roscoe' s residence, 
 this was necessarily a work of time. 
 After above ten years employed on it, 
 the task is now finished. Each work is 
 beautifully and classically bound ; and 
 to each Mr. Roscoe has prefixed, in his 
 own fair handwriting, a short account of 
 the particular manuscript, with the bi- 
 bliographical learning appertaining to it. 
 But our present purpose is with the 
 small portion of this collection which 
 descended from Lord Coke. A great part 
 of it is in his own handwriting. There are, 
 among others, the original manuscript 
 of the Book of Entries, and of the Re- 
 ports, in law French. The student may 
 here enjoy the gratification of reading 
 Shelly's case and Calvin's case in the 
 reporter's own hand. But there are 
 also unpublished works of the same 
 illustrious lawyer and patriot. Among 
 these a curious Statistical Account of 
 England has long been known to anti- 
 quaries. __, Another work, much more 
 valuable, if not written by Lord Coke 
 
SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 31 
 
 himself, a supposition which appears 
 to be negatived by internal evidence, 
 especially by the manner of citing 
 the Reports, yet seems to have been 
 well esteemed by him, possibly com- 
 posed under his direction. Having been 
 favoured with a particular account of 
 its contents, we may render an accept- 
 able service to lawyers by describing 
 them somewhat in detail. 
 
 It is a folio MS. of 225 pages, in 
 English, entitled, " A Treatise concern- 
 ing the Nobility of England according 
 to the Law of England:' The following 
 is the opening of the work, written pretty 
 much in the style of the chief justice. 
 
 " As in man's body for the conserva- 
 tion of the whole, divers functions and 
 offices of members are required, even 
 soe in all well gouverned common- 
 wealthes, a distincion of persons is ne- 
 cessary. Nobilitas generally signifieth, 
 and is derived of the word nosse, to 
 knowe, signifying in common phrase of 
 speech both with the Lattines and also 
 with us Englishmen, a generositie of 
 blood ; and therefore one said, Vir no- 
 lilts idem est quod notus et per omnia 
 ora vulgatusJ A nobleman is hee whoe 
 is knowne and through all the tenor of 
 his life is talked of by many men's 
 mouthes. But especially apply ed and 
 used to express the reward of yertue 
 in honourable measure, ' et generis cla- 
 ritatem: But my purpose at this tyme 
 is onelie to speake of the nobilitye, and 
 especially e soe much of them as I find 
 written in the bookes of the common 
 lawes and statutes of the realme." 
 
 After some further preliminary mat- 
 ter, he goes through the different titles 
 of honour severally, beginning with 
 that of prince, and then passing to 
 duke. Under these heads there is much 
 learning upon the dutchies of Corn- 
 wall and Lancaster, and the earldom 
 of Chester. Under the head of earl, 
 and between that and viscount, he 
 enters largely into the law regarding 
 nobles, and specially the subject of scan* 
 datum magnatum. In the course of 
 this discussion he breaks forth into a 
 vehement invective against libels. 
 
 " There is another foule puddle that 
 arriseth from the same corrupt quag- 
 mire, and distilleth out of a beasteli- 
 nesse infected with malice and envie, 
 but is devised and practised by another 
 means than the former, which is by 
 libelling, general slandering, and de- 
 faming of another ; for this backbiter 
 doeth not by wordes harme his adver- 
 
 sary in so manifest and turbulent man- 
 ner, as the hellewick monster in his 
 fury doth, but seeming to sitt quietly 
 in his studdy doth more deepelie punish 
 him, and infixeth a more deadlie and 
 incurable wound into his fame and 
 credit than the other boysterous fellow 
 doeth in his body, whoe in a moment 
 threateneth to doe more than perad- 
 venture he is willing to perform, or 
 dareth to perform in an age." 
 
 Under this head we meet with a 
 curious note, as follows : 
 
 " Note that if a man doth write 
 unto another scandalous words and 
 reports touching a noble-man, and this 
 letter be sealed with his seale and sub- 
 scribed with his name, yet upon this 
 letter, shewed in evidence, this noble 
 man may recover damages in an action 
 de scan. mag. whereof you may see 
 presidents in Crompton ; but if a man 
 doe write any matter in defamation to 
 the party himselfe that is thereby tra- 
 duced, and subscribe and seale the 
 same without other publication done 
 by himselfe quaere." 
 
 Certainly there could now be no ques- 
 tion in this matter ; there being clearly 
 no act of publication to the damage 
 of the party slandered ; whereas in the 
 case first put there is plainly a com- 
 plete publication against the nobleman 
 to a third person, and consequently a 
 manifest damage done. In discussing 
 the application of the maxim, Possessio 
 fratris facit sororem esse heredem, to 
 titles of honour, and showing that it 
 extends not to them, he argues etymo- 
 logically on the meaning of possessio ; 
 " which," says he, "is no other than 
 pedis positio, and can only be of things 
 whereof there is entry." How plainly 
 we perceive, in this as in a thousand 
 instances of Lord Coke's undisputed 
 writings, the tendency of the learned of 
 those days to pass over the obvious and 
 the true derivation, in order to get at 
 some etymon of a fanciful and far- 
 fetched kind, which may serve the pur- 
 pose of his argument ! Can any one 
 doubt that possedere comes from posse 
 seder e? 
 
 He next discusses the " Privileges 
 incident to the Nobility, according to 
 the Laws of England.' 7 Of these, trial 
 by peers is the first ; and under this 
 head he lays it down that bishops have 
 not this privilege, " because they can- 
 not try, and trial ;s mutual ;" a dictum 
 long since overruled. 
 
 Exemption from attendance upon 
 
32 
 
 SIR EDWARD COKE. 
 
 the leet and tourn is the next privilege 
 handled by him ; and then the right of 
 having chaplains. Then follows the 
 privilege they have in equity suits, 
 happily abridged by one of Sir Samuel 
 Romilly's acts. This subject is closed 
 with a discussion of the case " where- 
 in a lord of parliament hath noe pri- 
 vilege." 
 
 The title of Baron is an important 
 and an ample one. The author treats 
 it under three heads, Barony by Te- 
 nure, Barony by Writ, and Barony by 
 Patent. Of these the first is the most 
 curious, and being upon a chapter of 
 the law now become nearly obsolete, it 
 possesses peculiar interest, as contain- 
 ing the doctrine in acceptation among 
 lawyers, in the time when that subject 
 was more familiarly known. The au- 
 thor gives a great number of instances 
 of Baronies by Tenure ; tracing the 
 descent or transmission of each in 
 such a line as showed the peculiarity 
 of the territorial holding, and giv- 
 ing tabular schemes of "the persons 
 taking a passed one. He then lays 
 down certain canons respecting such 
 honours, restricting exceedingly the 
 powers of the owners of the territory 
 and castle, once the descent of the 
 barony. 
 
 Under the head of Baron by Patent, 
 he discusses a subtle question : " If a 
 nobleman and his heirs have for along 
 time been called to parliament, and be 
 barons by tenure or by writ, and have 
 had in regard thereof a place certain 
 in parliament ; if afterwards the same 
 be created a baron of that barony, 
 *and by the same name, by letters pa- 
 tent ; whether shall he and his heirs 
 retain his oulde place in parliament 
 which he had according to the former 
 dignity ; or whether should he lose his 
 oulde place, and take a new accordinge 
 to the tyme of his seconds onelie ?" j 
 There follows a concluding discus- 
 sion on " nobilitie or lades in reputa- 
 cion onelie." " Under this head we 
 have treated, the subject of courtesy and 
 forein ladies noble women the post- 
 nati of Scotland and ladies in repu- 
 tation." 
 
 It is certain that this manuscript is 
 well worthy of the attention of the 
 learned ; and we venture to hope that 
 Mr. Coke will permit it to be published. 
 
 Further information concerning the 
 life of Sir Edward Coke, and the times 
 during which he flourished, may be 
 gathered from the following works : ' 
 
 Biographia Britannica, art. Coke ; whence a con- 
 siderable part of the foregoing narrative has been 
 extracted. 
 
 Bacon's Works ; particularly vol. vii. of Mr. Basil 
 Montagu's edition, which contains most of the letters 
 quoted above. 
 
 State-Trials ; particularly the trials of Essex and 
 Raleigh, the proceedings connected with the powder- 
 plot, and the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury. See 
 also the first volume of Mr. Phillips's excellent 
 " Collection of the most remarkable State Trials." _, 
 
 Fuller's Worthies. 
 
 J.oyd's State Worthies. 
 
 Roger Coke's Detection of the Court and State of 
 England. 
 
 Memorials of Affairs of State, in the Reigns of 
 Queen Elizabeth and King James I., collected 
 (chiefly) from the original papers of the Right, Ho- 
 nourable Sir Ralph Winwood, Knt., sometime one of 
 the principal Secretaries of State. (3 vols, folio, 1725.) 
 
 CabalA, sive scrinia sacra: mysteries of state and 
 government in letters of illustrious persons and great 
 ministers of state, as well foreign as domestic, in the 
 reigns of King Henry VIII., Queen Elizabeth, King 
 James, and King Charles. Wherein such secrets of 
 empire, anl public affairs, as were then in agitation, 
 are clearly represented, and many remarkable pas- 
 sages faithfully collected, (folio.) 
 
 The Annals of King James and King Charles /., 
 both of happy memory, containing a faithful history 
 Mild impartial account of the great affairs of state, 
 and transactions of parliaments in England, from the 
 tenth of King James, 1612, to the eighteenth of King 
 Charles, 1612. (folio, 1681.) 
 
 RushwortlCs Historical Collections of private pas- 
 sages of state, weighty matters of law, remarkable 
 proceedings in rive parliaments. Beginning the six- 
 teenth year of King James, anno 1618, and ending 
 ihe fifth year of King Charles, anno 1629. (7 vols, 
 folio, 1659.) 
 
 Among modern works, "The Life of Sir Edward 
 Coke," by Mr. Woolrych, of Lincoln's Inn, contains 
 many minute and curious details, drawn from the 
 most authentic sources. 
 
 The Histories of Hume and Lingard, the Parlia 
 mentary History, and the Journals of the House of 
 Commons may be consulted with advantage, so far 
 as they relate to the proceedings mentioned in the 
 text ; and the first volume of Mr. Hallam's Constitu- 
 tional History of England will also be found to con- 
 tain much valuable information connected with the 
 subject. 
 
 Miss Aikin's " Memoirs of the Court of King James 
 the First," furnish a general account of most of the 
 events that have been touched upon above. 
 
 Some curious particulars relative to the marriage 
 of Coke's daughter are given in the first volume of 
 the second series of Mr. D'Israeli's " Curiosities of 
 Literature." 
 
THE 
 
 :v 
 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 John Somers was born at Worcester, 
 in an ancient house called the White 
 Ladies, which, as its name seems to 
 import, had formerly been part cf a 
 monastery or convent. The exact date 
 of his birth cannot be ascertained, as 
 the parish registers at Worcester, during 
 the civil wars between Charles I. and 
 his Parliament, were either lost, or so 
 inaccurately kept as not to furnish any 
 authentic information. It appears pro- 
 bable, however, from several concurring 
 accounts, that he was born about the 
 year 1650. Dean Swift, who was at 
 first the flatterer, and afterwards the 
 virulent calumniator, of Somers, says 
 that he was sprung ' from the dregs of 
 the people,' and attributes the reserve 
 of his character to his consciousness of 
 his low and base origin. It is, per- 
 haps, scarcely worth while to refute so 
 wretched a calumny; but as a matter 
 of fact it should be stated that the 
 family of Somers was respectable, though 
 not wealthy, and had for several genera- 
 tions been possessed of an estate at 
 Clifton, in the parish of Severnstoke in 
 Gloucestershire. Admiral Sir George 
 Somers* who was deputy governor of 
 Virginia, and in 1610 was shipwrecked 
 on the Bermudas, and afterwards died 
 there, leaving his name to that cluster of 
 islands is said by Horace Walpolef to 
 have been a member of the same family. 
 The father of Somers was an attorney 
 in respectable practice at Worcester ; in 
 the civil wars he became a zealous 
 Parliamentarian, and commanded a 
 troop in Cromwell's army. The inde- 
 cent outrages commonly practised in 
 the churches by Cromwell's troopers, 
 are reported in most of the histories of 
 those unsettled times ; and it is related 
 of old Mr. Somers, that when attending 
 divine service in the church of Severn- 
 stoke, he was so exasperated at the 
 royalist doctrines delivered by the clergy- 
 
 It appears from the Commons' Journals, that 
 a Sir George Somers was, in 1605, a Member of Par- 
 liament for Lyme Regis in Dorsetshire : this was 
 no doubt the same person. 
 
 t Catalogue of Royal and Noble Author*. 
 
 man, that he fired a pistol above his 
 head, the ball lodging in the sounding- 
 board of the pulpit. Soon after the 
 battle of Worcester, he resigned his 
 commission and returned to the practice 
 of his profession ; but at the Restora- 
 tion, he thought it prudent to procure a 
 general pardon of all offences which he 
 might have committed while serving in 
 the republican army. He died in Ja- 
 nuary 1681-2 ; and his monument, upon 
 which is engraved a Latin inscription 
 written by his son, is still to be seen in 
 the church at Severnstoke. 
 
 Of the early education of Somers we 
 have only a meagre and unsatisfactory 
 account. The house called the White 
 Ladies, in which he was born, was oc- 
 cupied by a Mr. Blurton, an eminent 
 clothier of Worcester, who had married 
 his father's sister. This lady having no 
 son of her own, adopted young Somers 
 from his birth, and brought him up in 
 her own house, which he always con- 
 sidered as his home till he went to the 
 university. He appears to have spent 
 some years in the College-school at 
 Worcester, which before his time* had 
 attained a high character for classical 
 education under the superintendence of 
 Dr. Bright, a clergyman of great learn- 
 ing and eminence. At this school, 
 Dr. Samuel Butler, the author of 'Hudi- 
 bras,' and Chief Justice Vaughanf, also 
 received the first rudiments of their 
 education. At a subsequent period, we 
 find him at a private school at Walsall, 
 in Staffordshire. He is described by a 
 schoolfellow as being then ' a weakly 
 boy, wearing a black cap, and never so 
 much as looking out when the other 
 boys were at play % .' He seems, indeed, 
 to have been a remarkably reserved and 
 sober-blooded boy.' At a somewhat 
 later period, Sir Francis Winnington 
 
 * Mr. Cooksey, and several other biographers oil 
 Somers, represent him as having been himself a 
 pupil of Dr. Bright, and even as having boarded in 
 his house ; regardless of the anachronism, that Dr. 
 Bright died in 1626, and that Somers was born in 
 1650. 
 
 i See his Life, prefixed to his Reports. 
 
 j Seward's Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 114. 
 
 B 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 says of "him, * that, by the exactness of 
 his knowledge and behaviour, he dis- 
 couraged his father, and all the young 
 men that knew him. They were afraid 
 to be in his company*.' In what manner 
 his time was occupied from the period 
 of his leaving school until he went to 
 the university in 1675, is unknown. 
 It has been suggested that he was em- 
 ployed for several years in his father's 
 office, who designed him for his own 
 department of the profession of the law. 
 There is no positive evidence of this 
 circumstance, though the conjecture is 
 by no means improbable. It cannot, 
 however, be doubted, that during this 
 important period of his life he acquired 
 those habits of regular and well-directed 
 industry which were afterwards invalu- 
 able to, him ; and, by the diligent study 
 of history and constitutional law, laid 
 the foundation for that mass of learning 
 and accomplishments which eventually 
 rendered him the ornament of his pro- 
 fession, and of the age in which he 
 lived. About this time he formed 
 several connexions, which had great 
 influence upon his subsequent success 
 in life. The estates of the Earl of 
 Shrewsbury were managed by Somers's 
 father; and as that young nobleman 
 had no convenient residence of his own 
 in Worcestershire, he spent much of his 
 time at Worcester, and formed an inti- 
 mate friendship and familiarity with 
 Somers. About the same time he was 
 also fortunate enough to be favourably 
 noticed by Sir Francis Winnington, 
 then a distinguished practitioner at the 
 English bar, who is stated to have been 
 under obligations to his father for his 
 active services in promoting his election 
 as a member of parliament for the city 
 of Worcester. Winnington is described 
 by Burnett as a lawyer, who had ' risen 
 from small beginnings, and from as 
 small a proportion of learning in his pro- 
 fession, in which he was rather bold and 
 ready, than able.' It is natural to sup- 
 pose that such a man, feeling his own defi- 
 ciencies, would readily perceive with what 
 advantage he might employ the talents 
 and industry of such a young man as So- 
 mers in assisting him both in Westmin- 
 ster-hall and in parliament. It was pro- 
 bably with this intention that Sir Francis 
 Winnington advised him to go to the 
 university, and to prosecute his studies 
 with a view to being called to the bar. 
 
 * SewardVAnecdotes, vol. ii. p. Hi. 
 Burnet's Own Times, vol, U p. 440. 
 
 In 1674, Somers was entered as a 
 commoner of Trinity College, Oxford, 
 being then about twenty-three years of 
 age. The particulars of his progress 
 through the university are not recorded ; 
 but here, as at school, his contempora- 
 ries could perceive few indications of 
 those splendid talents which afterwards 
 raised him to such extraordinary emi- 
 nence. His college exercises, some of 
 which are still extant, are said to have 
 been in no respect remarkable ; and he 
 quitted the university without acquiring 
 any academical honours beyond taking 
 his bachelor's degree. It is probable 
 that he came to London, from time to 
 time, for the purpose of keeping his 
 terms for the bar, while his permanent 
 residence was at Oxford. The fol- 
 lowing anecdote is related in a me- 
 moir published soon after his death. 
 Mr. Somers's father,' says this ano- 
 nymous biographer, 'used to frequent 
 the terms in London, and, in his way 
 from Worcester, was wont, to leave his 
 horse at the George at Acton, where he 
 often made mention of the hopeful son 
 he had at the Temple. Cobbet, who 
 kept the inn, hearing him enlarge so 
 much in praise of his son, to compli- 
 ment the old gentleman, cried, " Why 
 won't you let us see him, sir ? " The 
 father, to oblige his merry landlord, 
 desired the young gentleman to accom- 
 pany him so far on his way home ; and 
 being come to the George, took the 
 landlord aside, and said, " 1 have brought 
 him, Cobbet, but you must not talk to 
 him as you do to me ; he will not suffer 
 such fellows as you in his company." ' 
 
 Mr. Somers was called to the bar in 
 1676*, by the Society of the Middle 
 Temple, but he continued his residence 
 at the university for several years after- 
 wards, and did not remove to London 
 until the year 1682, when, upon his 
 father's death, he succeeded to the pa- 
 ternal estate at Severnstoke, which was 
 worth about 300/. per annum. During 
 this period, he had the advantage of 
 being introduced, by the Earl of Shrews- 
 bury and Sir Francis Winnington, to 
 the Earl of Essex, Sir William Jones, 
 Algernon Sidney, and seyeral other dis- 
 tinguished opponents of the arbitrary 
 measures of the court. It has been 
 observed, with much reason, 'that if it 
 
 From the books at the Middle Temple, it ap- 
 pears that Somers was admitted to commons Way 
 S24th, 1669 ; called to the bar May 5th, 1676 ; and to 
 the bench May 10th, 1689, (the day after his, ap- 
 p ointment as solicitor-general.) 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 had not been for Mr. Somers's political 
 connexions with Lord Shaftesbury, Sir 
 William Jones, and other great leaders 
 of the opposition to the court of king 
 Charles II., he very probably had never 
 attained those honours which he de- 
 served and became so well*.' At this 
 time he published several treatises, 
 which sufficiently displayed to the world 
 his familiar and accurate knowledge of 
 constitutional history. His first ac- 
 knowledged work was the report of an 
 election case, and is entitled 'The me- 
 morable Case of Denzil Onslow, Esq., 
 tried at the Assizes in Surrey, July 20th, 
 1681, touching his election at Hasle- 
 mere, in Surrey.' His next peformance 
 was ' A Brief History of the Succession, 
 collected out of the Records and the 
 most authentic Historians.' This work 
 was written at the time when the pro- 
 posal to bring in a bill to exclude James 
 Duke of York, afterwards James II., 
 from the succession to the crown of 
 England, occupied universal attention, 
 and excited the most lively interest. 
 Somers's political friends, the Earls of 
 Essex and Shaftesbury in the House of 
 Lords, and Sir Francis Winnington and 
 Sir William Jones in the Lower House, 
 warmly supported the bill of exclusion, 
 in opposition to the scheme proposed by 
 the more moderate party, and approved 
 by the king, for a statutory limitation 
 and restriction of the exercise of the 
 regal functions in case the crown should 
 descend to the Duke of Yorkf. The 
 object of Somers's tract was to exhibit 
 the principles upon which the parlia- 
 ment of England has authority to alter, 
 restrain, and qualify the right of suc- 
 cession to the crown ; and he places the 
 historical arguments in support of this 
 proposition in a forcible and convincing 
 light. Indeed, though it might be dif- 
 ficult to justify such a proposition by 
 abstract reasoning upon the theory 
 of the British constitution, it has been 
 so repeatedly acted upon in several 
 periods of our history, that even in 
 the time of Charles II. the practice 
 had, as Somers justly contended, to all 
 intents and purposes, sanctioned and 
 established the principle. An excellent 
 tract, upon the same subject, entitled 
 ' A just and modest Vindication of the 
 two last Parliaments,' appeared shortly 
 after the breaking up of the Oxford par- 
 liament in March, 1681, which has been 
 
 * 2 Ralph, 784-5. 
 t Burnet's Own Times, vol. i. p. 461, 
 
 partly ascribed to Somers : Burnet says 
 that it was * originally penned by Alger- 
 non Sidney, but that, a new draught was 
 made by Somers, which was corrected 
 by Sir William Jones*." 
 
 Upon occasion of the attempt of the 
 court party in 1681, by the illegal exa- 
 mination of witnesses, by the king's 
 counsel, in open court, to induce a 
 grand jury to find a true bill for high 
 treason against the Earl of Shaftesbury, 
 the failure of which exasperated the pro- 
 jectors of it beyond measure, Mr. Somers 
 wrote his celebrated tract, entitled ' The 
 Security of Englishmen's Lives, or the 
 Trust, Power, and Duty of the Grand 
 Juries of England explained.' This 
 work was attributed by some to Sir 
 William Jones. Bishop Burnet says, ' It 
 passed as writ by Lord Essex, though I 
 understood afterwards it was writ by 
 Somers, who was much esteemed and 
 often visited by Lord Essex, and who 
 trusted himself to him, and who writ the 
 best papers that came out in that time.' 
 In later times, this work has been uni- 
 versally ascribed to Somers ; and the 
 fact of this treatise, as well as the 'Just 
 and Modest Vindication,' being com- 
 posed by him, seems confirmed by Lord 
 Hardwicke's assertion, that he had seen 
 the rough draughts of both of them in 
 Lord Somers's handwriting amongst the 
 manuscripts which were destroyed by 
 fire at Lincoln's Inn in 1752. 
 
 With reference to Somers's conductin 
 the publication of these excellent con- 
 stitutional treatises upon the passing 
 politics of the day, Mr. Dunning, in his 
 'Letter on Libels, General Warrants, 
 &c.,' makes the following just observa- 
 tion : ' Few men,' says he, 'know much of 
 the nature of polity ; and of them, all do 
 not sufficiently attend to the conduct of 
 administration to observe when slight in- 
 novations are made in the laws or in 
 their administration : and of those who 
 do, very few indeed have that degree of 
 understanding which enables them to 
 judge soundly of the consequences of 
 such alterations with respect to their 
 liberties in general. Again, of these, very 
 few not more than one, perhaps has 
 activity, resolution, and public spirit 
 enough to publish his thoughts, as Mr. 
 Somers did, concerning what was going 
 forward, in order to alarm (like a good 
 citizen) the rest of his fellow-subjects.' 
 
 During his residence at Oxford Somers 
 
 was not inattentive to polite literature ; 
 
 ^ 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times. 
 
 B 2 
 
Life of lord somers. 
 
 he published a translation of some of 
 Ovid's Epistles into English verse, which, 
 while it shows that he could'never have 
 attained so distinguished a place among 
 poets, as he afterwards filled among 
 lawyers and statesmen, is yet by no 
 means a contemptible performance. His 
 translations from Ovid, and a version 
 of Plutarch's Life of Alcibiades, are 
 the only published proofs of his classical 
 studies at Oxford. 
 
 In the year 1682 he removed to Lon- 
 don, and immediately commenced an 
 assiduous attendance upon the courts of 
 law, which at that time was considered 
 as the highway of the legal profession. 
 In 1683 he appeared as junior counsel 
 to Sir Francis Winnington, in the de- 
 fence to an important political prosecu- 
 tion, instituted against Pilkington and 
 Shute, with several other persons, for a 
 riot at the election of sheriffs for the city 
 of London; and it is worthy of being 
 remarked, that Mr. Holt, afterwards 
 lord chief justice, was associated with 
 him in that defence *. One of his bio- 
 graphers states, that, in the reign of 
 James II., his practice produced 700/. 
 a year. In those days this would have 
 been a very large income for a common 
 lawyer of five years' standing. It may 
 reasonably be doubted whether this ac- 
 count of the extent of his practice at the 
 bar is not considerably exaggerated ; 
 his name does not once appear in the 
 Reports of that period, excepting in the 
 case of Pilkington and Shute above al- 
 luded to; and itjis clear, from the ob- 
 jection afterwards made to his being 
 retained on the trial of the Seven Bi- 
 shops, that he was not then distin- 
 guished by any great degree of profes- 
 sional eminence, though his merits as 
 a political writer must have been gene- 
 rally known and appreciated. Such, 
 however, was the character for research 
 and industry which he had attained 
 within a very few years from the com- 
 mencement of his professional career, 
 that, on the trial of the Seven Bishops in 
 1688, he was introduced as counsel into 
 that momentous cause, at the express and 
 peremptory recommendation ofPollexfen, 
 one of the greatest lawyers of that day. 
 
 The transaction from which this ce- 
 lebrated trial arose is so generally and fa- 
 miliarly known, that it will be sufficient to 
 remind the reader of the general outline 
 of the circumstances. In April, 1687, 
 James II. promulgated a * Declaration 
 
 * How. St. Tri. vol. ix, p. 241. 
 
 for religious indulgence and toleration iti 
 England.' The real object of this decla- 
 ration, though it professed to be directed 
 to the attainment of general liberty of 
 conscience, was to enable the king to 
 introduce Roman catholics into offices 
 of influence and importance in the state, 
 from which they had been excluded by 
 the rigorous statutes of Elizabeth and 
 James I. For this purpose he declared 
 that he had suspended all penal and 
 sanguinary laws in matters of religion. 
 It was obvious that, by this declaration, 
 the king, in fact, assumed the power of 
 absolutely dispensing with acts of par- 
 liament by his own authority ; for the 
 suspension of laws at the will of the 
 crown, without any limitation of time, 
 differs in no material respect from the 
 actual repeal or abrogation of them. 
 The king ordered the declaration to be 
 publicly read in all churches on two se- 
 veral Sundays, during the time of divine 
 service. The archbishop of Canterbury 
 and six bishops presented a petition to 
 the king, praying, in firm but respectful 
 language, that the clergy might be ex- 
 cused from the performance of this ob- 
 noxious duty. The king and the par- 
 tisans of the court were highly exaspe- 
 rated ; the bishops were summoned be- 
 fore the privy council, and^ upon their 
 refusal to make an apology or submis- 
 sion, an ex officio information was filed 
 in the court of king's bench, charging 
 them with publishing a seditious libel 
 against the king and the government by 
 the presentation of the petition. The 
 rank of the defendants, the personal in- 
 terest of the king in the question at 
 issue, the general expectation excited 
 by this conflict amongst all classes of 
 the people, and, above all, the event of 
 the prosecution, which was one of the 
 principal means of driving James from 
 his throne and kingdom, and of intro- 
 ducing the revolution, render the trial 
 of the Seven Bishops one of the most im- 
 portant judicial proceedings that ever 
 occurred in Westminster-hall. It was 
 no trifling testimony, therefore, to the 
 high estimation in which Somers was 
 held by experienced judges of profes- 
 sional merit, that he should be expressly 
 selected by the counsel for the defend- 
 ants to bear a part in the defence. We 
 are told that upon the first suggestion 
 of Somers's name, objection was made 
 amongst the bishops to him as too 
 young and obscure a man; but old 
 Pollexfen insisted upon him, and would 
 not be himself retained without the 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 other, representing him as the man who 
 would take most pains, and go deepest 
 into all that depended on precedents 
 and records *.' How far the leading 
 counsel for the bishops were indebted to 
 the industry and research of Somers 
 for the extent of learning displayed in 
 their admirable arguments on that oc- 
 casion, cannot now be ascertained ; his 
 own speech, as reported in the Stale 
 Trials, contains a summary of the con- 
 stitutional reasons against the existence 
 of a dispensing power in the king, ex- 
 pressed in clear and unaffected language, 
 and applied with peculiar skill and 
 judgment to the defence of his clients. 
 H is argument was part icularly applauded 
 by the audience ; and there is no doubt 
 that he owed his future fortune, in great 
 measure, to the character he gained in 
 this trial. 
 
 The intimate connexion of Somers 
 with the leaders of that political party 
 by whom the revolution was effected, 
 and, in particular, with his early friend 
 Lord Shrewsbury, leaves little room for 
 doubt that he was actively employed in 
 devising the means by which that im- 
 portant event was brought about. It is 
 said by Addison f that * as he was ad- 
 mitted into the secret and most retired 
 thoughts and councils of his royal mas- 
 ter King William, a great share in the 
 plan of the protestant succession was 
 universally ascribed to him.' Immedi- 
 ately upon the flight of James II., the 
 Prince of Orange, by the advice of the 
 temporary assembly of lords and com- 
 mons, which he had convened as the 
 most proper representation of the people 
 in the emergency of the time, issued 
 circular letters to the officers in the se- 
 veral counties, cities, and boroughs of 
 England, to whom writs were usually 
 sent for calling parliaments, direct- 
 ing them to summon a parliamentary 
 convention. On this occasion, Mr. 
 Somers, who had never sat in parlia- 
 ment, was returned as a representative 
 by his native city of Worcester. We 
 find him taking a conspicuous part in 
 the long and laborious debates which 
 took place in that assembly, respecting 
 the settlement of the government. Upon 
 a conference with the lords respecting 
 the resolution, 'that James II., having 
 withdrawn himself out of the kingdom, 
 had abdicated the government, and that 
 
 Kennett's Complete Hist., vol. iii. p. 51$, note c. 
 j Freeholder. 
 
 the throne had thereby become vacant*/ 
 Mr. Somers was one of the managers 
 for the commons, and spoke at great 
 length, and with much learning, in sup- 
 port of the original resolution, against 
 the amendments proposed by the lords. 
 This resolution having been ultimately 
 adopted by both houses of parliament, 
 and the Prince and Princess of Orange 
 having been declared King and Queen 
 of England, a committee was appointed, 
 of which Somers was a member, ' to 
 bring in general heads of such things as 
 were absolutely necessary to be con- 
 sidered for the better securing the pro- 
 testant religion, the laws of the land, 
 and the liberties of the people.' The 
 report of this committee, which was a 
 most elaborate performance, having 
 been submitted to the examination of a 
 second committee, of which Somers was 
 chairman, and connected with resolu- 
 tions passed in the house of lords, 
 formed the substance of the declaration 
 of rights which was afterwards assented 
 to by the king and queen and' both 
 houses of parliament, and thus solemnly 
 acknowledged as the basis of the consti- 
 tution. 
 
 It is impossible to ascertain with pre- 
 cision the particular services rendered 
 by Somers in the accomplishment of 
 
 * It may, perhaps.be worth while to call the at- 
 tention of the reader to a curious parallel to this 
 discussion in very early times. After King John 
 had subjected the kingdom of England to the Pope, 
 the barons determined that the throne was vacant, 
 and offered the crown to Lewis of France. The 
 transaction is thus related in Matthew Paris, 
 p. 236 : ' Rex supradictus, praeter assensum mag- 
 natum suorum, regnum Angliae Domino Papse con- 
 tulitet ecclesiae Romanae,ut iterum iilud reciperet 
 ab eis tenendum sub annuo tributo mille mar* 
 carum. Et si coronam Angliae sine baronibus 
 alicui dare non potuit, potuit tamen dimittere earn. 
 Quam statim cum resignavit, Rex esse desiit, et 
 regnum sine rege vacavit. Vacans itaque regnum, 
 sine baronibus ordinari non debuit; unde barones 
 elegerunt Dominum Ludovicum ratione uxoris suae, 
 cujus mater, Regina scilicet Castillae, tota ex om- 
 nibus fratribus et sororibus regis Angliae vivens 
 fuit.' [The above-named king, without the assent of 
 his nobles, bestowed the kingdom of England upon 
 our lord the pope and the Roman Church, in order 
 that he might take it again from them to hold by 
 an annual tribute of 1000 marks. And although 
 he could not give away the crown to another with- 
 out the assent of the barons, he might lay it aside; 
 and, as soon as he had resigned it, he ceased to be 
 king, and left the kingdom vacant and without a 
 king; now, the kingdom being vacant, could not 
 be disposed of without the barons, wherefore the 
 barons chose the Lord Lewis in right of his wife, 
 whose mother, the Queen of Castille, was the only- 
 one remaining alive of the brothers and sisters of 
 the king of England.] 
 
 Thus, in 1216, as well as in 1688, the throne was 
 declared vacant by the abdication of the king ; 
 and, at both periods, relationship to the abdicated! 
 monarch determined the choice of a successor. 
 
6 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 this great measure. It appears from 
 the Journals, that, during the sitting of 
 the convention, there was not a single 
 committee appointed on any subject of 
 constitutional importance of which he 
 was not a member. There was, per- 
 haps, no individual in existence who 
 was at that moment so well qualified as 
 he was to lend important aid in con- 
 ducting his country with safety through 
 the difficulties and dangers of a change 
 of government, and in placing the inte- 
 rests of the nation upon a secure and 
 solid foundation. Fortunate was it for 
 the people of England and their poste- 
 ritythat the services of a man of Somers's 
 industry and settled principles, of his 
 sound constitutional information, and 
 his rational and enlightened views of the 
 respective rights and duties of kings and 
 subjects, were, at that critical juncture, 
 available to his country; and that, at the 
 instant of the occurrence of this moment- 
 ous revolution, his character was suffi- 
 ciently appreciated and acknowledged to 
 render those services fully effective. 
 
 On the 9th of May, 1689, Somers was 
 made solicitor-general, and received the 
 honour of knighthood. In the warm 
 debates which took place in parliament 
 in the following year, on the bill for the re- 
 cognition of the king and queen, and for 
 avoiding all questions touching the acts 
 made in the parliament assembled on the 
 13th of February, 1 688, adoubt was sug- 
 gested in the house of commons, whe- 
 ther the convention, not being sum- 
 moned by the king's writ, had any 
 legal sanction. Upon this occasion 
 Somers greatly distinguished himself 
 by the spirited and able manner | in 
 which he answered the objection. ' If,' 
 said he, that convention was not a 
 legal parliament, this is not a legal 
 parliament, and we who are now met, 
 and have taken the oaths prescribed by 
 that parliament, are guilty of high trea- 
 son ; the laws repealed by that parlia- 
 ment being still in force, we must pre- 
 sently return to king James ; and all the 
 money collected, levied, and paid by vir- 
 tue of the acts of that parliament, makes 
 every one that was concerned in it highly 
 criminal. Besides, if the laws of that 
 parliament want confirmation, it is im- 
 possible for you to give it : upon the va- 
 lidity of the acts then done depends the 
 authority of your's ; and if those acts want 
 confirmation, this parliament cannot 
 confirm them*.' \ He spoke,' says Bur- 
 
 * Grey's Debates, vol. x. p. 50. 
 
 net, * with such zeal and such an as- 
 cendant of authority, that none were 
 prepared to answer it, so that the bill 
 passed without more opposition. This 
 was a great service done in a very criti- 
 cal time, and contributed not a little to 
 raise Somers's character *.' In the de- 
 bates which took place on the bill 
 for the exercise of the powers of go- 
 vernment by the queen in the king's 
 absence, Somers also greatly distin- 
 guished himself by his profound ac- 
 quaintance with precedents, and his ar- 
 gument on the effect of a delegation of 
 the regal authority t. 
 
 During the period that Sir John 
 Somers filled the office of solicitor-gene- 
 ral, it devolved upon him, in the absence 
 of the attorney-general, to conduct the 
 prosecution against Lord Preston for 
 high treason. Lord Preston, who had 
 been secretary of state to James II., had 
 joined with several gentlemen in an ill- 
 concerted and unpromising conspiracy to 
 overthrow the government, and restore 
 the exiled king, by the introduction of a 
 French army and a French fleet. No- 
 tice having been given to the govern- 
 ment, in December, 1690, that a vessel 
 had been engaged for the purpose of 
 carrying some unknown persons to 
 France, a search was made at Graves- 
 end, and three passengers were found 
 concealed among the ballast in the 
 quarter-hatch of a smack : one of those 
 persons proved to be Lord Preston ; a 
 second was AshtOn, who had held a 
 place in the household of the late queen ; 
 and the third a gentleman named Elliot. 
 On their discovery, Ashton attempted to 
 throw some papers into the sea, which 
 were recovered, and in them the trea- 
 sonable nature of their design was 
 clearly developed. Lord Preston was 
 tried and convicted of high treason, at 
 the Old Bailey, on the 17th of January 
 following, before the lord chief-justices 
 Holt and Pollexfen, and the lord-chief 
 baron Sir Robert AtkynsJ. The report 
 of the proceedings on this trial, which 
 was the first state prosecution that 
 had occurred since the revolution, is 
 extremely interesting. The three pre- 
 siding judges were individuals of the 
 highest professional reputation, and the 
 honour and independence of their cha- 
 racter were so universally known and 
 acknowledged, as to give extraordinary 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol. ii. p. 42. 
 t Grey's Debates, vol. x. p. 102. 
 % How. St. Tri., vol. xii. p. 645. 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 authority and dignity to the proceedings. 
 To those who had witnessed the brutal 
 coarseness, the indecent impatience, and 
 the cruel ribaldry of Scroggs and Jef- 
 feries, in the state trials of the preceding 
 reigns, it must have been a new and 
 striking picture of the administration 
 of criminal justice, to behold Lord Holt 
 mildly and patiently explaining to the 
 understanding of a Somewhat pertina- 
 cious prisoner the legal reasons upon 
 which the court refused him a copy of 
 the indictment. Nor was it a less novel 
 or less satisfactory part of the exhibi- 
 tion to observe, on the part of the coun- 
 sel for the crown in a state prosecution, 
 a studied abstinence from all invective 
 or declamation against the prisoner, 
 and a rigid adherence to an unvarnished 
 statement of the facts in support of the 
 charge, as they were about to be proved 
 in evidence. More palpable cowardice 
 and injustice can, indeed, hardly be con- 
 ceived, than an attempt, by exaggerated 
 statements or vituperation, to inflame 
 the passions and mislead the judgment 
 of a jury against a delinquent, who has 
 not the assistance of counsel, and who, 
 from his ignorance of the law, and inex- 
 perience in courts of justice, is literally 
 brought out to fight without a weapon 
 against an armed and practised adversary. 
 It must be considered as a proof of the 
 good taste of Somers, as well as of the 
 enlightened justice of his mind, that he 
 was the first English advocate who set 
 the example of moderation and gentle 
 demeanour towards the accused in the 
 conduct of a criminal prosecution. 'I 
 did never think, 1 says he, in his address 
 to the jury in Lord Preston's case, 
 ' that it was a part of any who were of 
 counsel for the king in cases of this 
 nature, to endeavour to aggravate the 
 crime of the prisoners, by going about 
 to put false colours upon evidence, or to 
 give it more than its due weight, and 
 therefore I shall be sure to forbear any 
 thing of that nature. But I think it my 
 duty to give some short account of the 
 nature and course of the evidence to be 
 produced to you, which, consisting of 
 several kinds, it will be in some sort ne- 
 cessary to open it, that you may the 
 more clearly apprehend it, and with 
 more ease make your observations upon 
 it.' He uses nearly the same language 
 in other criminal prosecutions conducted 
 by him, and on all occasions he faith- 
 fully adhered to the rule which he had 
 laid down for himself. 
 
 Irl April, 1692, k Sir Henry Poltex- 
 
 fen, the chief justice of the common 
 pleas, died ; and Sir George Treby being 
 raised to his office, Somers became 
 attorney-general, and in the month of 
 March following Was appointed Lord 
 Keeper of the great seal. While he pre- 
 sided in the court of chancery as lord 
 keeper, he delivered his celebrated judg- 
 ment in the Bankers' case, which Mr. 
 Hargrave characterizes as ' one of the 
 most elaborate arguments ever delivered 
 in Westminster-hall*.' It is said that 
 Lord Somers expended several hundred 
 pounds in collecting books and pamph- 
 lets for this argument. 
 
 Consistently with the good sense and 
 modesty of his character, it appears that, 
 after he received the great seal, he repeat- 
 edly declined a peerage when pressed 
 upon him by the king, declaring that he 
 had not a sufficient fortune to support the 
 dignity. In a letter f to him from the 
 Duke of Shrewsbury, dated May, 1695, 
 the duke says, ' I had directions to have 
 said everything I could imagine to per- 
 suade you to accept of a title, and the 
 king is really convinced that it is for his 
 service that you should. I beg the 
 answer I may have may be a bill for the 
 king's signing. As for arguments, I 
 have used all I have already ; and by 
 your objections, you may give me leave 
 to tell you, you are as partial and un- 
 reasonable, with too much modesty, as 
 some are with too much ambition.' 
 Notwithstanding this friendly remon- 
 strance, he still declined a peerage for 
 several years ; and it was not until the 
 year 1697, when appointed Lord Chan- 
 cellor, that he was raised to the peerage, 
 with the title of Baron Somers of Eve- 
 sham. Upon this occasion the king 
 granted him an annuity of 2100/., toge- 
 ther with the manors of Reigate and 
 Howleigh, in Surrey. The acceptance 
 of these grants formed orte of the charges 
 upon which he was afterwards im- 
 peached by the commons. 
 
 In the following year Lord Somers 
 succeeded Mr. Montague, afterwards 
 Lord Halifax, as president of the Royal 
 Society. The particular circumstances 
 which led to this appointment are un- 
 known ; in all probability, however, his 
 election to an office, the duties of which 
 were entirely inconsistent with his ju- 
 dicial and political engagements, was 
 intended merely as a compliment to his 
 public character. The journals of the 
 
 How. St. Tri.vol.jciii.p.3. ... 
 f Hardwicke State Papers, vol. ii. p. 427. 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 Royal Society state, that he was elected 
 a fellow, a member of the council, and 
 president on the same day (the 30th 
 Nov. 1698), and was annually re-elected 
 as president till the year 1703. During 
 the five years that Lord Somers filled 
 the, chair of that institution, it appears, 
 from the same authority, that he at- 
 tended the meetings of the members 
 only twice ; no papers were written or 
 communicated by him either while he 
 was president, or before, or afterwards ; 
 nor is there any evidence, beyond the 
 present of a Chinese chair to the Society, 
 that he took the slightest interest in their 
 proceedings. In the year 1703 the 
 council seem to have considered that the 
 objects of the institution would be more 
 efficiently promoted by a scientific pre- 
 sident, who would actively direct and 
 superintend their transactions, than by 
 one whose time and thoughts were ne- 
 cessarily absorbed by political business ; 
 and, in accordance with this rational 
 impression, at the annual day of elec- 
 tion under the charter, they placed Sir 
 Isaac Newton in the chair. 
 
 For some years after Lord Somers was 
 in possession of the great seal, and be- 
 fore he was raised to the peerage, he en- 
 joyed the fullest confidence of the king, 
 and was of essential use to him in the 
 difficult circumstances in which he was 
 placed. There is, perhaps, no part of 
 the history of England more devoid of 
 interest than the narrative of the endless 
 contentions between the whig and tory 
 factions at the close of the seventeenth 
 century : at the] same'time, there is no 
 period which more clearly exhibits the 
 utter worthlessness of faction, the in- 
 consistencies and absurdities of party 
 spirit, and the extent to which the real 
 interests of the people may be neglected 
 and injured, when rival parties are 
 struggling for power in the adminis- 
 tration of government. Scarcely were 
 the principles of the revolution defined 
 and established by the Act of Settle- 
 ment, when; each house of parlia- 
 ment became the arena of fierce con- 
 tention between the whigs and tories ; 
 no occasion was too trivial for the exhi- 
 bition of skirmishes discreditable to both 
 parties, detrimental to the public ser- 
 vice, and mortifying, almost beyond en- 
 durance, to the feelings of the king. Em- 
 barrassed and provoked by the conduct 
 of the two factions, William repeatedly 
 threatened to retire to Holland, and 
 leave the government of England to the 
 queen. He told the Duke of Hamilton, 
 
 that * he wished he" were a thousand 
 miles from England, and had never been 
 king of it ;' and declared to Lord Hali- 
 fax, that all the difference he knew 
 between the two parties was, that the 
 tories would cut his throat in the morn- 
 ing, and the whigs in the afternoon/ 
 In this state of affairs, the wisdom and 
 integrity of Lord Somers became of im- 
 portant service, not only to the king per- 
 sonally, but to the general interests of the 
 nation. Himself a whig, and zealously 
 attached to whig principles, he contrived 
 in some degree to moderate and restrain 
 the impetuosity of his own party; and, by 
 the obvious good sense of his advice, so 
 recommended himself to the confidence 
 of the king, that none of his ministers, 
 with the single exception, perhaps, of 
 Lord Sunderland, ever obtained a greater 
 influence in his councils. Bishop Bur- 
 net says*, that, ' as Lord Somers was 
 one of the ablest and most incorrupt 
 judges that ever sat in chancery, so his 
 great capacity for all affairs made the 
 king consider him before all his minis- 
 ters, and he well deserved the confi- 
 dence the king expressed for him on all 
 occasions.' His conduct on the death 
 of Queen Mary, in 1694, in promoting 
 a reconciliation between the king and 
 the Princess Anne, as exhibited in the 
 following anecdote t, shows at once the 
 extent of his influence, and the judicious 
 mode in which he used it : Soon after 
 the queen's death, the princess was pre- 
 vailed upon by Lord Sunderland to write 
 a letter to the king, condoling with him 
 on the event, and soliciting a reconcilia- 
 tion. A short time after this letter had 
 been received, and as soon as he con- 
 cluded that it had produced its effect, 
 Lord Somers, who had long regretted 
 the unhappy dissensions in the royal 
 family, repaired^to the palace at Ken- 
 sington ; he found the king sitting at 
 the end of his closet, in an agony of 
 grief more acute than seemed consonant 
 to his phlegmatic" temper. Absorbed 
 in reflection, William took no notice of 
 the^ intrusion, till Somers broke silence 
 by proposing to terminate the unhappy 
 difference with the princess : the king 
 replied, ' My lord, do what you will, I 
 can think of no business.' To a repeti- 
 tion of the proposal the same answer 
 was returned. By the agency of Somers 
 an interview was accordingly arranged, 
 in which the king received the princess 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol.ii. p. 218. 
 f Cojce's Life of Marlborough, vol. i. p. 58. 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 with cordiality and demonstrations of 
 apparent regard, informing her that the 
 palace of St. James's should be appro- 
 priated for her future residence. 
 
 By his influence with the kin?, and 
 the skill and discretion with which he 
 covertly guided the movements of his 
 own party, Lord Somers had been, for 
 some time before his elevation to the 
 peerage, the means of preserving the 
 whig administration ; and in 1698, after 
 the resignation of the Earl of Sunder- 
 land, the chief power of the government 
 rested in his hands, and those of Lord 
 Orford and Mr. Montague. Within 
 two years, however, from the period of 
 his appointment as lord chancellor, he 
 was destined to experience the force of 
 party malignity, and the selfishness and 
 instability of royal favour. The tories 
 plainly perceived that there were no 
 hopes of power for their party, unless 
 they could succeed in destroying his 
 popularity, and removing him not only 
 from his office, but from the private 
 confidence of William. To this object, 
 therefore, the combined efforts of the 
 faction in both houses of parliament 
 were directed incessantly and effectually, 
 aided by the innumerable artifices of 
 insidious intriguers distributed about 
 the person of the king. In a letter* to 
 the Duke of Shrewsbury,which, though 
 without a date, was undoubtedly written 
 about the close of the year 1698, Lord 
 Somers distinctly alludes to the progress 
 which had then been made in under- 
 mining the stability of the whig ministry. 
 There is nothing,' says he, 'to sup- 
 port the whigs, but the difficulty of the 
 king's piecing with the other party, and 
 the almost impossibility of finding a set 
 of tories who will unite. So that, in the 
 end, I conclude it will be a pieced busi- 
 ness, which will fall asunder immedi- 
 ately.' The first symptom of the decline 
 and fall of the whig administration was 
 unquestionably the failure of the pro- 
 posal for the maintenance of a standing 
 army in 1697, and the consequent re- 
 signation of Lord Sunderland. Though 
 holding only the insignificant office of 
 lord chamberlain, Lord Sunderland had 
 long acted the part of prime minister, 
 and was universally believed to have 
 encouraged and promoted, if he did not 
 originally suggest, the obnoxious and 
 unsuccessful project for a standing army. 
 Alarmed at the national clamour, and 
 the rapidly declining popularity of the 
 
 whigs, and dreading the prospect of a 
 parliamentary censure, which was not 
 obscurely hinted at by the tories, he 
 resigned his office, 'not only,' says 
 Burnet, 'against the entreaties of his 
 friends, but even the king's earnest 
 desire that he would continue about 
 him*.' 
 
 The next object of attack was the 
 Earl of Orford, who had been for many 
 years at the head of both the admiralty 
 and navy departments. In the early 
 part of 1699, he also resigned his em- 
 ployments, not choosing to risk the 
 consequences of a threatened contest 
 with the house of commons respecting 
 his accounts as treasurer of the navy ; 
 and, in the course of the same year, 
 Mr. Montague, foreseeing a storm 
 arising, which he had not courage to 
 encounter, also retired from the mi- 
 nistry. On the other hand, Lord 
 Somers, who still retained a great 
 degree of influence over the king, de- 
 termined to continue at his post till he 
 could no longer be serviceable to his 
 country. He reprobated the conduct 
 of his colleagues in thus deserting 
 their party, and declared that in his 
 opinion ' it was altogether unnecessary 
 to surrender at discretion to the to- 
 ries ; that if the king would be true to 
 his friends, they would be true to him :' 
 and strongly urged the dissolution of 
 the parliament, for the purpose of giving 
 the whigs an opportunity of recovering 
 their ascendancy in the house of com- 
 mons. The king was himself favour- 
 able to a dissolution, but the great 
 majority of his ministers dissuaded him 
 from so bold, and, as they represented it, 
 so dangerous a measure, and it was con- 
 sequently abandoned. But though power- 
 ful in influence, and still more power- 
 ful in his acknowledged talents and integ- 
 rity, Lord Somers was at this period the 
 only remaining support of the tottering 
 fabric of the whig administration: to his 
 removal, therefore, as the last obstacle 
 to their return to power, the strenuous 
 efforts of the tories were now directed. 
 
 In pursuance of this design, the tory 
 party in the house of commons, in the 
 course of the stormy session of parlia- 
 ment which commenced in November, 
 1699, made several violent but ineffec- 
 tual attacks upon the lord chancellor. 
 The first charge brought against him 
 was, that in the exercise of his office as 
 superintendent of the magistracy of the 
 
 Hardvricke State Papers, vol. ii. p. 436. 
 
 Burnet's Own Times,Yol.ii.p.207. 
 
10 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 country, he had improperly dismissed 
 many gentlemen from the commission 
 of the peace. Upon a full explanation of 
 Ihe circumstances, it appeared that in 
 1695 and 1696, when the rebellions pro- 
 ject commonly called the Assassination 
 'Plot was discovered, a voluntary asso- 
 ciation had been formed for the support 
 of the king and the government, which 
 originated in the houses of parliament, 
 and was generally entered into through- 
 out the country : it was thought that 
 those who refused to enter into this 
 association were so ill-affected, or at 
 least so little zealous for the government, 
 that they ought not to continue justices 
 of peace ; and an order was made in 
 council that such persons should be 
 excluded from the commission. All that 
 Lord Somers had done was to obey this 
 order upon the representations of the 
 lords-lieutenant of the different coun- 
 ties ; and so cautious had he been to do 
 no injustice in this respect, that he laid 
 all these representations before the privy 
 council, and refused to strike out a 
 name without a special order in each 
 particular case. This charge was proved 
 to be so utterly groundless, that it was 
 abandoned by those who introduced it*. 
 The second accusation had no better 
 foundation than the first. Great com- 
 plaints having been made of certain 
 English pirates in the West Indies, who 
 had plundered several merchant ships, 
 it was determined to send out a ship of 
 war for the purpose of destroying them. 
 But as there was no fund to bear the 
 charge of such an expedition, the king 
 proposed to his ministers that it should 
 be carried on as a private undertaking, 
 and promised to subscribe 3000/. on his 
 ovVU account. In compliance with this 
 recommendation, Lord Somers, theDuke 
 of Shrewsbury, the Earls of Romney, 
 Orford, Bellamont, and. several others, 
 contributed a sufficient sum to defray 
 the whole expense of the armament ; 
 and as the adventure was entirely sup- 
 ported by the private funds of indivi- 
 duals, the whole of the prizes which 
 might be taken were given by letters- 
 patent to the persons who had sub- 
 scribed towards it. Burnet saysf, that 
 ' Lord Somers understood nothing of 
 the matter, and left it wholly to the 
 management of others : only that he 
 thought it became the post he was 
 in to concur in such a public service.' 
 Unfortunately, one Captain Kidd was 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol. ii. p. 241. 
 t Ibid., p. 236.; 
 
 appointed, on the recommendation of 
 Lord Bellamont, the governor of New 
 York, to command the expedition, who, 
 instead of attacking the pirates, was 
 unprincipled enough to turn pirate him- 
 self, and having committed various acts 
 Of robbery on the high seas, was even- 
 tually captured, brought to England, and 
 some time afterwards tried and executed 
 for his offences. Upon this occurrence 
 it was insinuated that the lord chan- 
 cellor, and the other individuals who had 
 subscribed towards the expedition, were 
 engaged as partners in Kidd's piratical 
 scheme, with full knowledge of his 
 intentions. The enterprise was said, 
 by some speakers in the house of 
 commons, to be ' framed on a mere 
 pretence of public service, but in truth 
 for the sake of spoil ; those who were 
 too tender-conscienced to commence 
 pirates in the first instance, feeling no 
 repugnance to sharing among them- 
 selves that which had been unjustly 
 taken from others.' So that an under- 
 taking, which was not only innocent, 
 but meritorious and patriotic, was con- 
 strued, by the blindness of party pre- 
 judice, into a premeditated design for 
 robbery and piracy. The chancellor, 
 as a magistrate placed at the head of 
 the highest department of justice, be- 
 came the peculiar object of invective 
 and reproach, and he was said to have 
 ' disgraced his high station by partici- 
 pating in an enterprise so scandalous.' 
 Some of the members even went so far 
 as to visit Kidd in Newgate, for the 
 purpose of extracting evidence ; but the 
 sturdy pirate stoutly declared, both in 
 private, and upon his examination at 
 the bar of the house, ' that he had never 
 spoken to Lord Somers in his life, and 
 that the only orders he had received 
 were to pursue his voyage against the 
 pirates.' A motion in the house of 
 commons was founded upon this ab- 
 surd imputation, but was rejected by 
 a great majority. Shortly afterwards, 
 after ordering a list of the privy council 
 to be laid before the house, a question 
 was moved in the house of commons, 
 ' That an address should be made to his 
 Majesty to remove John Lord Somers, 
 Chancellor of England, from his pre- 
 sence and councils for ever.' This mo- 
 tion, however, was also negatived by a 
 large majority. In reference to this 
 motion, Matthew Prior, the celebrated 
 wit and poet, who was then Under-Secre- 
 tary of state to the Earl of Jersey, in a 
 letter to the Earl of Manchester, dated 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 U 
 
 February 12th, 1700, says, 'To-morrow 
 is the great day when we expect that 
 my lord chancellor will be fallen upon: 
 though God knows what crime he is 
 guilty of, but that of being a very great 
 man, and a wise and upright judge.' 
 It is related, that some time afterwards, 
 the king declared, at dinner, in the pre- 
 sence of several peers, respecting Kidd's 
 affair, that ' if, by the law of England, 
 he could be a witness, he could, of his 
 own knowledge, justify the lords con- 
 cerned in all they had done in that 
 business.' 
 
 These vexatious proceedings in the 
 house of commons, though t they failed 
 in their immediate object, filled the mind 
 of the king with irritation and disgust. 
 He renewed his impatient threat of 
 quitting the government of a nation 
 whom he charged with the deepest in- 
 gratitude ; and though diverted.from this 
 purpose, which he never perhaps seri- 
 ously entertained, he was readily induced 
 to listen to the interested advise of the 
 tory leaders, who promised, if intrusted 
 with the conduct of government, to ex- 
 tricate him from the labyrinth in which 
 he was involved. Artfully affecting to 
 disparage and disbelieve the late charges 
 against the lord chancellor in the house 
 of commons, they represented to the 
 king that his unpopularity in that house 
 was alone of such fatal detriment to the 
 public service, that it was absolutely 
 necessary to remove him from the go- 
 vernment. This suggestion was reported 
 to Lord Somers by the king himself, 
 who at the same time intimated to him 
 that he was inclined to concur in the 
 necessity of his giving up the great 
 seal. Lord Somers assured the king, 
 that he was perfectly willing to resign it, 
 and anxious to retire from public busi- 
 ness ; but that he was so firmly convinced 
 that those who had advised his removal 
 had done so to serve themselves and not 
 the government, that he was resolved, 
 with his majesty's permission, to keep 
 the seal in defiance of their malice; 
 that he feared them not, and was ready 
 to endure patiently all the trials they 
 might put upon him, with the hope of 
 being serviceable to his majesty.' He 
 repeated, that 'if his majesty would 
 adhere to his friends, they would be 
 true to him, and that in a new parlia- 
 ment he had no doubt that he should be 
 able to carry whatever points he had in 
 view for the public welfare.' The king 
 shook his head doubtfully, and said ' It 
 must be so.' 
 
 The parliament was prorogued on the 
 llth of April, 1700: and very soon 
 afterwards, the king, wearied with the 
 perpetual broils of faction, determined 
 at all events to try the experiment of an 
 accommodation with the tories, and in- 
 considerately and selfishly consented to 
 dismiss the lord chancellor from his 
 office. At the time when this resolution 
 was formed, Lord Somers was confined 
 to his house by a severe attack of ill- 
 ness ; and on his first appearance at 
 court after his recovery, the king inform- 
 ed him, that he was now convinced that 
 it was necessary for his service that he 
 should resign the seal, but wished him 
 to make the resignation himself, in order 
 that it might appear to be his own act. 
 The chancellor declined to make a volun- 
 tary surrender of the great seal, as such 
 a course might be supposed to indicate 
 a fear of his enemies, or a consciousness 
 of misconduct in his office ; upon which 
 Lord Jersey, the secretary of state, was 
 sent to him on the 17th of April, 17U0, 
 with an express warrant, and Lord 
 Somers delivered the seal to him with- 
 out hesitation. 'Thus,' says Bishop 
 Burnet*, 'the Lord Somers was dis- 
 charged from his great office, which he 
 had held seven years, with a high repu- 
 tation for capacity, integrity, and dili- 
 gence. He was in all respects the 
 greatest man I had ever known in that 
 post: his being thus removed was much 
 censured by all but those who had pro- 
 cured it. Our princes used not to 
 dismiss ministers who served them well, 
 unless they were pressed to it by a 
 house of commons that refused to 
 give money till they were laid aside. 
 But here a minister, who was always 
 vindicated by a great majority in the 
 house of commons when he was 
 charged there, and who had served both 
 with fidelity and success, and was in- 
 deed censured for nothing so much as 
 for his being too compliant with the 
 king's humour and notions, or at least 
 for being too soft or too feeble in repre- 
 senting his errors to him, was removed 
 without a shadow of complaint against 
 him.' It is said that, shortly before his 
 death, the king declared that his unjust 
 conduct towards Lord Somers at this 
 time was the circumstance in his past 
 life which he reflected upon with the 
 greatest uneasiness. Much difficulty 
 was experienced in finding a successor: 
 the uncertainty of the duration of the 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol. ii. p. 242. 
 
12 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 new administration, together with a 
 reluctance to succeed so great a man in 
 an office of so much responsibility, 
 deterred persons of rank and eminence 
 in the profession from aspiring to the 
 ephemeral dignity of the seal. The office 
 was successively offered to Lord Chief 
 Justice Holt, and Sir Thomas , Trevor, 
 the attorney-general, who both declined 
 to receive it; the great seal was then 
 placed for a short time in commission, 
 and was ultimately bestowed upon Sir 
 Nathan Wright, one of the king's Ser- 
 jeants, a man but very indifferently qua- 
 lified for the office to which he was pre- 
 ferred. 
 
 On his return from Holland in Oc- 
 tober, 1700, the king completed his 
 arrangements for the tory administra- 
 tion ; and the new ministers, judging 
 that their interest would be strengthened 
 upon a re-election, immediately dissolved 
 the parliament. The new parliament 
 assembled on the 1 0th of February, 
 1701; and it immediately appeared, upon 
 occasion of the election of a speaker, 
 that the expectations formed by the 
 ministry, of a great predominance of 
 the tory interest, were verified. Early 
 in the session of parliament, the cele- 
 brated Partition Treaties gave occasion 
 to much angry debate in both houses, 
 but especially in the commons. Although 
 Lord Somers's conduct with respect to 
 these treaties seems not to have been 
 entirely irreproachable, it became the 
 subject of much misrepresentation ; and 
 he was assailed with a virulence of in- 
 vective and abuse, quite disproportionate 
 to his imputed error. It appears that 
 in the spring of 1698, before the kings 
 departure for Holland, a proposal was 
 made to him by the agent of the French 
 government, for a treaty to arrange the 
 partition of some of the territories be- 
 longing to the crown of Spain, upon the 
 expected death of Charles II. This 
 partition was to be made in certain 
 denned proportions between the elec- 
 toral Prince of Bavaria, the Dauphin of 
 France, and the Archduke Charles, the 
 second son of the emperor. The king 
 entertained these proposals favourably, 
 and the negotiation proceeded almost 
 entirely between the French agent and 
 his majesty, and without the formal 
 interference of ministers*. In August 
 
 *_The mode in which this negotiation was per- 
 sonally conducted between the king, the Earl of 
 Portland, who was then ambassador in France, and 
 Count Tallard, the French agent, is fully developed 
 in Williams's correspondence with Secretary Hein- 
 Bius in the Hardwicke State Papers, vol. ii. 
 
 of the same year the king wrote to Lord 
 Somers from Loo, explaining to him the 
 proposed treaty, desiring his opinion 
 upon the several articles, and com- 
 manding him to forward, in the most 
 secret manner, to him in Holland, a 
 formal commission in blank under the 
 great seal, appointing persons to treat 
 with the commissioners of the French 
 government. Lord Somers, after com- 
 municating with Lord Orford, IheDuke 
 of Shrewsbury, and Mr. Montague, as 
 he had been aut horized to do, transmitted 
 to the king their joint opinion, which 
 suggested several objections to the pro- 
 posed treaty, and forwarded at the same 
 time the required commission. Lord 
 Somers undoubtedly disapproved of the 
 partition treaties: and it was his duty, 
 as a responsible minister of the crown, 
 to have expressed his opinion to the 
 king explicitly when the opportunity 
 was offered to him ; but this was the 
 * head and front of his offending.' He 
 had neither proposed nor advised the 
 measure : and the treaty was afterwards 
 negotiated abroad, and finally signed by 
 plenipotentiaries of France and England 
 without any further communication with 
 him. 
 
 Though the power of the house of 
 commons at this period was increased, 
 its character as a deliberative assembly 
 was much depreciated : ' very little of 
 gravity, order, or common decency,' 
 says Burnet, 'appeared among them:' 
 but the acrimony of the debates in the 
 house on the Partition Treaty is almost 
 unexampled in the history of parliament. 
 One of the members termed it a feloni- 
 ous treaty : ' which, considering that the 
 king was universally known to be, from 
 the beginning, personally engaged much 
 more than his ministers in the transac- 
 tion, was perhaps the most indecent 
 expression ever used in the unbounded 
 licence of parliamentary debate. The 
 king himself was so offended and ex- 
 asperated by^ it, that he passionately 
 declared, that had his rank permitted, 
 he would have demanded personal satis- 
 faction for the insult. All the papers 
 relating to the negotiation were scruti- 
 nized with malignant activity ; and the 
 character and conduct of every indivi- 
 dual in the slightest degree connected 
 with the transaction were attacked with 
 sarcasm, ridicule, and the most unmea- 
 sured abuse. In the midst of this raging 
 commotion of faction Lord Somers de- 
 sired to be heard in the house of 
 commons in his own defence. His 
 
LIFE OF LORt) SOMERS. 
 
 13 
 
 application being granted, he was intro- 
 duced within the bar, and addressed the 
 house in his usual calm and dignified 
 style of reasoning, declaring fully and 
 perspicuously the motives of his conduct. 
 He admitted that the king had asked 
 the advice of his confidential servants 
 upon this occasion ; and that his majesty 
 had even informed him, that if he and 
 his other ministers thought that a 
 treaty ought not to be made upon such 
 a project, that the whole matter must be 
 let fall, for he could not bring the French 
 to better terms.' He further told the 
 house, ' that when he received the king's 
 letter from Holland, with an order to 
 send over the necessary powers, he 
 conceived that he should be assuming 
 too much upon himself if he caused any 
 delay in the progress of so important a 
 treaty, considering the precarious state 
 of the health of the king of Spain ; for if 
 the Spanish king died before the treaty 
 was completed, he would not have been 
 justified in delaying the transmission of 
 the powers, as the king's letter amounted 
 in fact to a warrant : it was not indeed 
 an actual and formal warrant, but in its 
 effect a substantial and positive com- 
 mand; that, at all events, he did not 
 think it became him to endanger the 
 public interest by insisting on a point of 
 form, at a very critical time, and when 
 the greatest despatch was requisite; that, 
 nevertheless, he had written his own 
 opinion very fully to his majesty, ob- 
 jecting to several particulars in the 
 treaty, and proposing other articles 
 which he thought were for the interest 
 of England; that he thought himself 
 bound, by the duty of his office, to put 
 the great seal to the treaty when it was 
 concluded ; and that, in the whole course 
 of the transaction, he had offered his best 
 advice to his sovereign as a privy coun- 
 cillor, and as chancellor had executed 
 his office according to his conception of 
 his duty.' This address, delivered with 
 much eloquence, and a simplicity and 
 earnestness of manner which were pecu- 
 liar to Lord Somers, produced so deep 
 an impression upon the house, that it 
 was believed by Walpole, who was pre- 
 sent*, that had the question upon his 
 impeachment been put immediately, it 
 would have been negatived by a large 
 majority. After he had withdrawn, 
 however, a warm debate ensued, in the 
 course of which the favourable disposi- 
 
 Coxe'a Life of Sir Robert Walpole, vol. i. p. 25. 
 
 tion produced by Lord Somers's state- 
 ment was entirely effaced : it ended in 
 a resolution, carried by a majority of only 
 ten, ' that John, Lord Somers, by advis- 
 ing his majesty to conclude the Treaty of 
 Partition, whereby large territories of the 
 Spanish monarchy were to be delivered 
 up to France, was guilty of a high crime 
 and misdemeanour.' Similar resolu- 
 tions were passed against Lord Port- 
 land, Lord Orford, and Mr. Montague, 
 the latter of whom had been lately 
 raised to the peerage with the title of 
 Marquess of Halifax ; and all of them 
 were impeached at the bar of the house 
 of lords. 
 
 Greater' unfairness and partiality can 
 hardly be conceived than were exhibited 
 by the house of commons in the in- 
 stitution of these proceedings. The Earl 
 of Jersey, a tory, was beyond all compa- 
 rison more active than Lord Somers 
 in the negotiation of the Partition 
 Treaties; he had in fact signed the 
 treaties, as plenipotentiary, with the 
 Earl of Portland : yet, though he held 
 an office in the government, and was 
 near the king's person, he was not im- 
 peached, nor was* there any motion made 
 for his removal. Sir Joseph Williamson, 
 likewise a tory, and a privy councillor, 
 who had signed the treaty as a plenipo- 
 tentiary, was also passed over, and 
 remained unimpeached in his office. 
 The commons, however, were fully 
 aware that they could not secure a 
 majority in the house of lords to for- 
 ward their partial and factious schemes, 
 and, in all probability, never intended to 
 proceed seriously with the impeachment. 
 They therefore passed a resolution of 
 censure, immediately after the votes of 
 impeachment, in the form of a motion, 
 for an address to his majesty ' to re- 
 move the Lords Somers, Orford, Port- 
 land, and Halifax, from his presence 
 and councils for ever.' The flagrant 
 inconsistency of the commons in urg- 
 ing the king to punish before trial, 
 and to inflict, without a hearing, a 
 heavy censure upon persons for conduct 
 which they had themselves placed in a 
 course of judicial investigation, was so 
 obvious to the lords, that they immedi- 
 ately voted an address to the king, pray- 
 ing' 4 that the lords impeached at the bar 
 of their house might not have any censure 
 passed upon them till they were tried 
 upon the impeachments, and judgment 
 was given according to the usage of 
 parliament and the law of the land*' 
 
14 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 The commons, having carried their 
 resolution for a censure upon the im- 
 peached lords, which they were satis- 
 fied would have the effect of exclud- 
 ing them from the public service, be- 
 came indifferent to the progress of the 
 impeachment. Several weeks elapsed 
 during which not a single step was taken, 
 and it was not until a message had been 
 sent from the lords to remind them of 
 the necessity of proceeding, that the 
 formal articles of impeachment were 
 prepared and presented. The articles 
 against Lord Somers principally charged 
 him with having affixed the great seal 
 to the blank commission for the Parti- 
 tion Treaty sent to the king in Holland, 
 and afterwards to the treaty itself ; with 
 having shared in the projected piracy of 
 Captain Kidd ; and with having re- 
 ceived various grants from the crown 
 for his own personal emolument. To 
 each of these articles he answered 
 promptly and fully. To the two first 
 he replied the facts of each case as above 
 related ; and in answer to the third he 
 admitted that the king had been pleased 
 to make certain grants to him, but de- 
 nied that they had been made in conse- 
 quence of any solicitation on his part. 
 After many frivolous delays and re- 
 peated disputes between the two houses, 
 a day was peremptorily fixed for the 
 trial of the impeachment. The lords went 
 down to Westminster Hall in the form 
 usual on such occasions ; the articles 
 were first read, and then the answers to 
 them ; but the commons not appearing 
 to prosecute their articles, the lords re- 
 turned to their own house, and, after a 
 long and warm debate, resolved, by a 
 considerable majority, to acquit Lord 
 Somers of the charges, and to dismiss 
 the impeachment. 
 
 The conduct of the lords in the course 
 of these proceedings received the gene- 
 ral approbation of the nation, whilst the 
 violence and folly of the tories in the 
 house of commons were universally con- 
 demned by all thinking people, and the 
 character of that party was much low- 
 ered in public estimation. The eyes of 
 the king, too, were now opened to his 
 error in having changed his ministry at 
 so critical a period. He found, to his 
 infinite disquietude, that, instead of ena- 
 bling him to manage the commons as 
 they had promised, "the tory leaders had 
 rendered them far more intractable and 
 imperious than before ; and that instead 
 of sincerely endeavouring to promote 
 
 peace abroad and quiet government at 
 home, each man was pursuing his own 
 paltry objects of private passion or re- 
 venge. The Earl of Rochester was at 
 the head of the tory administration, and 
 the king is said to have repeatedly de- 
 clared that the year in which that noble- 
 man directed his councils was the most 
 uneasy of his life, and to have resolved 
 to disengage himself quickly from him, 
 and never to return to him any more*. 
 
 The whole of the summer of 1701, 
 the king spent, at Loo, in Holland, in a 
 very feeble state of health. At the be- 
 ginning of the month of September, he 
 wrote from thence to Lord Sunderland, 
 expressing his disposition to change his 
 ministry, and earnestly desiring his ad- 
 vice generally upon the state of his affairs 
 in England*. Lord Sunderland, in his 
 reply f , which is a most remarkable do- 
 cument, advises the king, in decided 
 terms, to dismiss his tory ministry, 
 ' who,' he says, 'grow more hated every 
 day, and more exposed.' After remind- 
 ing the king of the difficulties into which 
 he had been brought by the tories, and 
 the failure of all the hopes they had 
 held out to him, Lord Sunderland con- 
 cludes this singular letter in the follow- 
 ing manner : 'But at last what can the 
 king do ? Let him come into England 
 as soon as he can, and immediately send 
 for my Lord Somers. He is the life, the 
 soul, and the spirit of his party, and 
 can answer for it ; not like the present 
 ministers, who have no credit with theirs, 
 any further than they can persuade the 
 king to be undone. When his majesty 
 speaks to my Lord Somers, he ought to 
 do it openly and freely, and ask him 
 plainly what he and his friends can do, 
 and will do, and what they expect, and 
 the methods they would propose. By 
 this the king will come to make a judg- 
 ment of his affairs, and he may be sure 
 that my Lord Somers will desire nothing 
 for himself, or any of the impeached 
 lords, but will take as much care not to 
 perplex the king's business as can be 
 desired ; and if he can do nothing his 
 majesty shall like, he will remain still 
 zealous and affectionate to his person 
 and government. This is thought to be 
 the best way the king can take, and, 
 perhaps, the only means of being able 
 to resolve with reason. It should be 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol. ii. p. 280. 
 
 t Hardwicke State Papers, vol. ii. p. 443, 
 
 $ Ibid, p. 444, 
 
IIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 15 
 
 considered that, by the present minis- 
 try, the tories have infinitely lost their 
 credit, and the others have in proportion 
 gained. It is a melancholy thing, that 
 the king, who has more understanding 
 than any body who comes near him, is 
 imposed on by mountebanks, or by such 
 as he himself knows hate both his per- 
 son and government ! 
 
 In conformity with the advice of 
 Lord Sunderland, the king immediately 
 wrote to Lord Somers, desiring him 
 to communicate unreservedly to him 
 through Lord Galway his sentiments 
 upon public affairs, and assuring him 
 of the continuance of his friendship*. 
 Lord Somers, upon this communication, 
 drew up certain heads of arguments for 
 a recurrence to a whig administration, 
 and the immediate dissolution of the 
 parliament, which were afterwards com- 
 municated to the king. The affairs of 
 the nation were, at this precise point of 
 time, in an extremely critical situation. 
 On the 16th September, 1701, while 
 this negotiation was proceeding between 
 the king and Lords Sunderland and 
 Somers, the abdicated monarch, King 
 James II., died at St. Germain's. The 
 death of an exile, who, for several years, 
 had extinguished all ambition of re- 
 gaining the throne of England in the 
 austerities and extravagances of reli- 
 gious fanaticism, would have been en- 
 tirely insignificant, had it not derived 
 importance from the events which en- 
 sued, and the peculiar crisis of the affairs 
 of England. Immediately upon his 
 death, the prince his son was proclaimed 
 by the officers of his household kins; of 
 England, with the title of James 111. ; 
 and a few days afterwards the French 
 king, in opposition to the advice of his 
 ministers, and in violation of the ar- 
 rangements of the treaty of Ryswick, by 
 which it was expressly stipulated that 
 he should not disturb the king of Great 
 Britain in the peaceable possession of 
 his dominions, gave orders that he should 
 be publicly recognized in that capacity. 
 On receiving intelligence of the event, 
 the king of England despatched a courier 
 to the king of Sweden, who had gua- 
 ranteed the treaty of Ryswick, to com- 
 plain of this obvious infraction ; and he 
 sent an express to the Earl of Manches- 
 ter, then his ambassador at the French 
 court, commanding him to return to 
 England without taking his audience of 
 
 * Hardwicke State Papers, toI. ii. p. 443. 
 
 leave. Though it does not seem to have 
 been intended by the king of France to 
 have this effect, the acknowledgment of 
 the title of the abdicated house resem- 
 bled a declaration of perpetual war ; at 
 all events, it furnished William with 
 abundant reasons for joining the other 
 powers of Europe in resisting the grasp- 
 ing ambition of Louis. The hostile effect 
 which this injudicious act produced 
 upon the feeling of the people of Eng- 
 land was instantaneous and universal. 
 William returned to England in Novem- 
 ber, and upon his arrival addresses from 
 all paris of the country poured in upon 
 him, expressive of approbation of his 
 conduct in having at once assumed a 
 hostile attitude, of loyalty and devotion 
 to his title, and of a determination to 
 support him in maintaining his just 
 rights against all foreign dictation or in- 
 vasion. Such was the state of feeling 
 in the nation at large upon the king's 
 return, in which, however, those who 
 occupied the great offices of government 
 by no means cordially participated. 
 Upon this the king at once determined 
 to adopt the advice of Lord Somers, by 
 calling a new parliament, and changing 
 the ministry at the earliest practicable 
 moment. With this intention a procla- 
 mation was issued immediately after his 
 arrival, dissolving the parliament and 
 summoning the new parliament to meet 
 on the 30th of December, 1701. In the 
 mean time various changes were made 
 in the ministry, to the disadvantage of 
 the tory party ; it is even said that the 
 seals were at that time offered to Lord 
 Somers, and upon his hesitating, and 
 suggesting the possibility of circum- 
 stances arising which might, bring back 
 the opposite party into power, the king 
 passionately exclaimed, ' Never, never, 
 never! '*. Lord Somers, however, did 
 not at this time become a member of 
 the government, though he was on the 
 point of being restored to office. There 
 is no doubt , that he composed Wil- 
 liam's last address to his parliament, 
 which Burnet calls 'the best speech 
 that he or, perhaps, any other prince 
 ever made to his people,' Lord Hard- 
 wicke having seen the draft of it in 
 Lord Somers's handwriting amongst 
 the manuscripts destroyed by fire at Lin- 
 coln's-inn. The simple eloquence of 
 this celebrated speech, and the sagacity 
 with which every line of it is weighed 
 
 2 Ralfe, 1005. 
 
16 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 for the purpose of diverting the stream 
 of popular excitement from factious ob- 
 jects, and permanently directing it in an 
 useful channel, amply justify the gene- 
 ral applause with which it was received 
 by contemporaries, and the praise be- 
 stowed upon it by historians. Its effect 
 upon the nation was astonishing. Both 
 houses of parliament presented animated 
 and affectionate addresses to the king, 
 and the commons immediately voted 
 ample supplies with a degree of zeal and 
 unanimity which were without example 
 since the revolution. * The whole nation,' 
 says Mr. Burke*, in allusion to this ge- 
 neral enthusiasm, split before into an 
 hundred adverse faclions, with a king at 
 its head evidently declining to his tomb, 
 the whole nation, lords, commons, 
 and people, proceeded as one body, in- 
 formed by one soul.' In the mean time 
 the arrangements for the formation of a 
 whig administration were proceeding; 
 but before they could be completed, the 
 death of the king, in March, 1 702, put an 
 end to the project, and on the accession of 
 Queen Anne, a sort of mixed adminis- 
 tration was formed, compounded of the 
 elements of both parties, but in which 
 the tory interests prevailed, and from 
 which Lord Somers and the most eminent 
 leaders of the whigs were wholly excluded. 
 
 The state of parties for several years 
 after the accession of Queen Anne pre- 
 vented Lord Somers from taking any 
 managing part in the government. He 
 spent much of his time at this period in 
 retirement at his seat near Cheshunt,in 
 Hertfordshire, and employed his leisure 
 in antiquarian pursuits, and general li- 
 terature and science. He was very 
 learned,' says Burnet, * in his own pro- 
 fession, with a great deal more learn- 
 ing in other professions in divinity, 
 philosophy, and history.' He is said to 
 have possessed an extensive collection of 
 medals and other historical curiosities, 
 and to have expended large sums of 
 money in the purchase of rare books, 
 prints, and pamphlets. 
 
 But though he was excluded from the 
 administration, Lord Somers was a re- 
 gular and punctual attendant upon his 
 duties in the house of lords. His name 
 is rarely absent from the list of peers 
 who are recorded daily on the journals as 
 present in their places ; and he appears, 
 by the same authority, to have been a 
 member of almost all the lords' com- 
 
 * Letters on a Regicide Peace. 
 
 mittees appointed at this period. He 
 took a prominent part, during the first 
 parliament of Queen Anne, in the year 
 1 702-3,inthe debates uponthe bill against 
 occasional conformity. By this bill it 
 was proposed to enact that "persons who 
 had only occasionally conformed to the 
 church of England, by taking the sacra- 
 ment and tests, required by the statute 
 of Charles II., previously to entering 
 upon offices of trust, and had afterwards 
 frequented any meeting of dissenters, 
 should be disabled from holding their 
 employments, and be subjected to a pe- 
 nalty of 100/., and 5l. for every day 
 in which they acted in their offices, 
 after having been at such a meeting. 
 This bill, after much discussion, passed 
 the house of commons by a considerable 
 majority, but the measure met with a 
 warm, and eventually a successful op- 
 position in the lords. The majority of 
 the bishops, including Burnet, who 
 made a powerful speech against it, ob- 
 jected to the bill on a conscientious per- 
 suasion that the principles upon which 
 it proceeded were unjust to the dissen- 
 ters, and would have the effect of pro- 
 moting injurious hostility between that 
 body and the church of England. In 
 consequence of this opposition various 
 alterations were suggested, to which the 
 commons refused to agree, and de- 
 manded a free conference. Lord Somers 
 was one of the managers for the lords 
 at this conference, and supported the 
 proposed amendments. After much al- 
 tercation each house adhered to its opi- 
 nion, and the bill was consequently lost. 
 It was, however, revived in the follow- 
 ing session, with some modifications, 
 and again passed the house of commons, 
 but in the house of lords it was rejected 
 at the second reading by a majority of 
 twelve voices ; Lord Somers, on this 
 occasion, expressing a strong opinion 
 against the policy and justice of the 
 measure, and voting in the negative. 
 Swift says, that Lord Somers told him 
 that, * if he had the least suspicion that 
 the rejecting this bill would hurt the 
 church, or do a kindness to the dissen- 
 ters, he would lose his right hand rather 
 than speak against it.' 
 
 In the following year, 1704, the popu- 
 lar project of appropriating the revenue 
 of first-fruits and tenths to the increase 
 of the incomes of the poorer clergy was 
 proposed by the queen to parliament, 
 and though the name of Lord Somers 
 does not expressly appear> there is rea- 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 M 
 
 son to believe that he was mainly in- 
 strumental in carrying it to a successful 
 issue. This branch of the revenue was 
 derived from an impost paid in catholic 
 times to the pope upon each admission 
 to a benefice, which, upon the Reforma- 
 tion, was vested in Henry VIII., and 
 from that time formed a part of the in- 
 come of the crown. It was not, how- 
 ever, collected as other parts of the royal 
 revenue, but was received from the 
 clergy by the archbishops and bishops, 
 and set apart as a fund from which 
 pensions to court favourites were paid. 
 At the time it was given up by Queen 
 Anne, Lord Sunderland was in the en- 
 joyment of a pension of 2000/. a-year 
 for two lives, charged upon this fund. 
 Bishop Burnet had long directed his 
 attention to this means of increasing 
 the incomes of the poorer clergy, and 
 had frequently, though unsuccessfully, 
 urged upon King William the measure 
 now adopted by the queen ; and it ap- 
 pears from the following letter to Burnet, 
 written during the progress of the ar- 
 rangement of the change of ministry 
 immediately before the king's death, 
 that he found in Lord Somers an active 
 coadjutor in his enlightened and bene- 
 volent scheme : 
 
 4 Nov. 22,1701. 
 ' My Lord, I acknowledge the ho- 
 nour of your lordship's letter of the 1 7th, 
 with great thankfulness ; I wish it may 
 be in my power to contribute to the ex- 
 cellent design you propose. No man 
 will enter into it more willingly, nor 
 shall labour in it more heartily. The 
 point of the first-fruits and tenths is 
 what I have proposed several times, 
 with much earnestness, but without suc- 
 cess. When I have the happiness of 
 seeing your lordship, we shall, I hope, 
 discourse at large upon the whole sub- 
 ject. In the mean time allow me to as- 
 sure you, that I am, with great and 
 sincere respect, my lord, 
 
 * Your Lordship's most obedient 
 
 * Humble Servant, 
 1 Somers.' 
 
 Soon after the meeting of the new 
 parliament, called in October, ]705, a 
 motion was made in the house of lords, 
 by LordHaversham, whom the Duchess 
 of Marlborough calls a ' great speech- 
 maker and publisher of his speeches,' 
 for an address to the queen, praying her 
 majesty to invite the Princess Sophia, 
 
 the presumptive heir to the crown, to 
 reside in England. Though this pro- 
 position was in fact a mere manoeuvre 
 of faction, and intended by the tories to 
 drive their opponents into the dilemma 
 of offending the queen by acquiescing 
 in it, or of injuring their reputation with 
 the princess and the electorate family 
 by opposing it, arguments of great 
 plausibility were used in its support. 
 It was urged that there were no 
 means so effectual to secure the peace- 
 able succession to the throne, as by hav- 
 ing the successor on the spot to assume 
 and maintain his right. In answer to 
 this, the whig speakers in the house of 
 lords, among whom was Lord Somers, 
 represented the inconveniences and jea- 
 lousies which must arise from the esta- 
 blishment of rival courts in the same 
 country ; suggesting also the policy and 
 propriety of retaining the successor in 
 some degree in a state of dependence on 
 the reigning sovereign. In the end, the 
 Earl of Wharton brought in a bill em- 
 powering a council of regency to act 
 upon the contingency of a demise of the 
 crown, until the arrival of a successor, 
 which was received with much applause 
 by the people generally ; and though a 
 factious opposition was raised to it by 
 the tories, it passed through both houses 
 of parliament without a division. The 
 Electorate family were fully satisfied by 
 the introduction of another bill by the 
 same party, which naturalized all the 
 descendants of the Princess Sophia, 
 wherever born ; and the Earl of Hali- 
 fax being despatched to Hanover with 
 these acts after they had passed, 
 Lord Somers and several other whig 
 peers sent letters to the Electoral Court, 
 in vindication of their conduct, which 
 entirely secured an amicable under- 
 standing. The princess said that ' she 
 was charmed to see the respect and 
 affection shown by the parliament to 
 her majesty ;' and Lord Somers, with 
 much dexterity, suggested, that if the 
 invitation had been assented to with 
 reluctancy on the part of the queen, it 
 might have given rise to unkindness 
 which in the end might have proved 
 very fatal.' Thus, the scheme of the 
 tories to embroil their opponents with 
 the queen or the electress totally failed ; 
 and on the contrary, the queen, who 
 was present during the debates, was so 
 offended at the disrespect to her person 
 displayed in the speeches of some of the 
 tory lords, that from that moment (ac- 
 C 
 
18 
 
 cording to the representation of the 
 Duchess of Marlborough) she began 
 to indicate a disposition to become 
 really reconciled with the whigs. She 
 had previously to this period introduced 
 several persons into the ministry who 
 were notoriously attached to that party ; 
 and it was about this time that she 
 commissioned Lord Godolphin to assure 
 the leaders of the whigs that she in- 
 tended to place herself and her affairs 
 in such hands as they should approve. 
 
 A cry of danger to the established 
 church having been raised in the course 
 of the debates in parliament on Lord 
 Haversham's motion, Lord Halifax 
 moved in the house of peers that a day 
 should be appointed to inquire into the 
 grounds of this pretended danger. Upon 
 this motion a warm debate ensued, in 
 which Lord Somers delivered a manly 
 and impressive speech, censuring the 
 authors of such reports as actuated 
 solely by the design of embroiling the 
 nation at home, and impeding the judi- 
 cious policy of the government abroad. 
 He concluded his speech by an animated 
 eulogium upon the conduct of the exist- 
 ing administration*. The debate ter- 
 minated in a resolution, carried by a 
 majority of 61 to 30 voices, that the 
 church of England, as by law established, 
 which was rescued from the extremest 
 danger by King William III. of glorious 
 memory, is now in a most safe and flou- 
 rishing condition, and that those who 
 spread reports to the contrary are ene- 
 mies of the queen and her government.' 
 This resolution was also adopted by the 
 commons, and the effect of it was incor- 
 porated in an address to the queen, who 
 declared her satisfaction at finding both 
 houses ready to concur with her in put- 
 ting a stop to these false and malicious 
 reports. 
 
 Lord Somers had, since his retire- 
 ment from office, applied himself with 
 his characteristic industry to the ar- 
 rangement of the details of a measure 
 intended to remedy several gross defects 
 and abuses in the practical machinery 
 of the courts of chancery and common 
 law ; and towards the end of this session 
 of parliament he introduced into the 
 house of lords a ' Bill for the amend- 
 ment of the Law and better advance- 
 ment of Justice.' The particulars of 
 this valuable enactment are of too tech- 
 nical a nature to be interesting, or even 
 
 * Coxe's Memoirs of Marlborough. 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 perhaps intelligible, to unprofessional 
 readers. Its general object is to prevent 
 a delay or failure of justice in conse- 
 quence of formal objections; and in 
 comparison with the previous con- 
 dition of our courts it must be acknow- 
 ledged that it introduced most important 
 improvements into the municipal law of 
 England by cutting off, or applying to 
 useful purposes, a vast number of ex- 
 crescences which previously disfigured 
 the administration of justice. It appears, 
 however, that Lord Somers experienced 
 in no small degree the difficulties and em- 
 barrassments which have impeded those 
 who, in more modern times, have em- 
 ployed themselves in legal reforms. The 
 measure, as at first introduced, was of 
 much more extensive operation ; it 
 readily passed the house of lords, and 
 received the approbation of the Lord 
 Keeper and the Judges; but in pass- 
 ing through the commons, it was 
 found, says Burnet*,' that the interest of 
 under officers, clerks, and attorneys, 
 whose gains were to be lessened by the 
 bill, was more considered than the in- 
 terest of the nation itself; several clauses, 
 how beneficial soever to the subject, 
 which touched on their profit, were left 
 out by the commons.' This statute is 
 particularly mentioned in terms of ap- 
 probation in the queen's speech at the 
 conclusion of the session in March, 
 1706f. 
 
 In the course of this session of par- 
 liament the way was opened to the final 
 arrangement of the union with Scotland, 
 a measure of infinite importance to both 
 countries, which had been long consi- 
 dered and discussed by the most enlight- 
 ened writers and statesmen, and was at 
 length conducted to its successful com- 
 pletion principally by the learning, ac- 
 tivity, and wisdom of Lord Somers. 
 
 About a century before the time of 
 which we are speaking, the accidental 
 union of the crowns of England and 
 Scotland under James I. naturally sug- 
 gested the notion of a permanent con- 
 solidation of the two countries. [It 
 seems, indeed, extraordinary that a 
 measure of this kind should not have 
 been effected, or at least attempted, at 
 an earlier period in the case of countries 
 so peculiarly pointed out by nature for 
 union ; for, to use the words of Bacon, 
 There be no mountains nor races of 
 
 * Own Times, vol. ii. p. 439. 
 f Chandler's Commons' Debates, vol. iii. p. 473.; 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 19 
 
 hills, there be no seas or great rivers, 
 there is no diversity of tongue or lan- 
 guage that hath invited or provoked 
 this ancient separation and divorce*.' 
 The value of a complete political union 
 to countries naturally united by climate, 
 language, contiguity ., of situation, and 
 consequent identity of interest with re- 
 spect to foreign enemies, is admirably il- 
 lustrated by Bacon in his several Memo- 
 rials on this subject ; and his practical 
 arguments upon the increase of power 
 produced by union in such circumstances 
 amply justify his expression to the king, 
 that ' England, Scotland, and Ireland, 
 well united, were such a trefoil as no 
 other prince weareth in his crownt.' 
 In conformity with this opinion, a pro- 
 posal for an union with Scotland was 
 laid by James I., before his first and 
 second parliaments, and commissioners 
 were appointed to arrange its details; 
 but though urged forward with the 
 utmost zeal and even impatience by the 
 king, and earnestly and actively pro- 
 moted by the powerful intellect of that 
 great man whose writings had suggested 
 and matured the scheme, and who says, 
 1 that the labour of the commission 
 rested most upon his hand,' the project 
 of an incorporating union entirely failed, 
 and nothing resulted from the attempt 
 beyond the abolition of the hostile laws 
 previously subsisting between the two 
 kingdoms. 
 
 The practicability of the union had also 
 been frequently debated since the reign 
 of James I. It was much discussed in 
 the Scotch Parliament or Convention 
 assembled at Edinburgh, upon the ar- 
 rival of the Prince of Orange ; and at 
 that time commissioners were appointed 
 in Scotland to arrange the terms of a 
 treaty. Various obstacles impeded the 
 progress of the measure during the 
 whole reign of William; but the last 
 public act of his life was to send a mes- 
 sage X to his parliament, recommending 
 to them, in the most earnest manner, to 
 proceed with the treaty. The reader 
 will remember that at this time Lord 
 Somers was in the most intimate confi- 
 dence of the king. William died eight 
 days after this message was delivered ; 
 and his successor, in her first speech to 
 the same parliament, strongly urges the 
 subject upon their attention. An act 
 
 * ' Brief Discourse of the Happy Union of the 
 Kingdoms,' &c. 
 
 t Letter to the King on Presenting his Dis- 
 course touching the Plantation of Ireland. 
 
 X Chandler's Commons' Debates, vol. iii. p, 189. 
 
 was accordingly passed without delay, 
 appointing commissioners to conduct 
 the treaty on the part of England. 
 
 The state of parties in both countries, 
 however, preyented the further progress 
 of the measure at that period ; but in 
 March, 1705, an act of parliament was 
 passed, entitled * An act for the effec- 
 tual securing of the kingdom of Eng- 
 land from the apparent dangers that 
 may arise from several acts lately passed 
 in the parliament of Scotland*.' By 
 one of the provisions of this act, the 
 queen was enabled to appoint commis- 
 sioners for England to treat with com- 
 missioners for Scotland, for an union 
 between the two kingdoms. The pro- 
 ceedings of these commissioners were 
 directed by the statute to be reduced 
 into writing and submitted to the queen 
 and the parliament of each kingdom, to 
 whom the entire consideration of them, 
 and the allowing or disallowing the 
 whole or any part thereof, were ex- 
 pressly reserved. In her speech at the 
 opening of the ensuing parliament in 
 October, 1 705, the queen again referred 
 to the subject, stating, that commis- 
 sioners had lately been appointed by the 
 Scottish Parliament, and that she in- 
 tended in a short time to cause commis- 
 sions on the part of England to be made 
 out. Accordingly, commissioners were 
 soon afterwards appointed by the queen, 
 and the name of Lord Somers appeared 
 in the commission amongst those of 
 the wisest statesmen of the time, though 
 he was not then a member of the admi- 
 nistration. The delegates for both 
 countries assembled at Whitehall on 
 the 15th of April, 1706, and commenced 
 their deliberations with the solemnity 
 which the magnitude of the occasion de- 
 served. The Scottish commissioners, 
 and, indeed, a considerable party in 
 Scotland, were strongly impressed in 
 favour of a federal union similar to that 
 which then existed in the United Pro- 
 vinces and in the cantons of Switzer- 
 land. The English commissioners, on 
 the other hand, insisted upon a substan- 
 tial incorporation, by which the national 
 interests should be consolidated and 
 identified into one kingdom, and all dis- 
 tinctions between the two countries, with 
 respect to representation and govern- 
 ment, should be entirely and for ever abo- 
 lished. This was the main point of discus- 
 sion between the two parties ; but in the 
 end, the Scotch commissioners agreed to 
 
 * 3 and 4 Anne, cap. vii. 
 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 the proposal of an incorporating union. 
 On the 23d of July, 1706, the articles being 
 fully arranged and completed, with en- 
 tire unanimity on bo^h sides, were for- 
 mally presented to the queen, who ex- 
 pressed her acquiescence and satisfac- 
 tion, declaring, that ' she should always 
 look upon it as a particular happiness, 
 if a project, which promised so great a 
 security and advantage to both king- 
 doms, could be accomplished in her 
 reign V 
 
 The stipulations of this treaty are 
 well known ; and as the part taken by 
 Lord Somers in the discussion of them 
 by the commissioners is not recorded, it 
 would be quite unnecessary to repeat 
 them in this memoir. 
 
 Generally speaking', the articles seem 
 to be highly favourable to Scotland in 
 all substantial respects, though in some 
 points they were thought to derogate 
 from the national dignity and inde- 
 pendence. In the sharing of the public 
 burdens assigned, to Scotland, that 
 country had a decided advantage ; less 
 than the fortieth part of the public taxes 
 were to be levied in Scotland ; and yet, 
 contrary to the maxim generally re- 
 ceived, that in framing a government 
 representation should be in proportion 
 to taxation, the Scotch were offered 
 nearly one-eleventh part of the legis- 
 lature. On the other hand, the Scotch 
 peerage, as an independent body, were 
 deprived of their privileges as lords of 
 parliament, the whole community being 
 in future to be represented in the En- 
 glish parliament by sixteen elective 
 peers and forty-five members in the 
 house of commons. The debates in 
 the parliament of Scotland upon the 
 ratification of this treaty, displayed 
 exertions of eloquence and argument 
 rarely excelled in any deliberative as- 
 sembly. The speeches of the cele- 
 brated Fletcher of Saltoun, and Lord 
 Belhaven, against the union, and that 
 of Seaton of Pittmedden in favour 
 of it, are the most remarkable. At 
 length, however, by the great personal 
 address of the Duke of Queensberry, the 
 opposition of some of the most influen- 
 tial objectors to the measure was re- 
 moved, and the treaty, as originally 
 framed, and without any material al- 
 terations, received the solemn sanction 
 of the Scottish parliament. 
 
 The English parliament met on the 
 3d of December, 1706 ; and on the 28th 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOME&S. 
 
 of January following, the queen" an'- 
 nounced in the house of lords the rati- 
 fication of the treaty of union by the 
 parliament of Scotland. Very shortly 
 afterwards, a bill was introduced into 
 the house of commons, ratifying the 
 same on the part of England, which 
 passed through the commons with 
 great facility and very little discussion ; 
 so much so, that Burnet says it was 
 thought they interposed not delay and 
 consideration enough, suitable to the 
 importance of so great a transaction."" 
 The debates in the house of lords, in 
 which Lord Somers acted the most con- 
 spicuous part, in the defence of the 
 union, were longer and more solemn ; 
 but all the articles were carried by large 
 majorities, and on the 6th of March, 
 1706, the bill received the royal assent. 
 
 Thus was this great work, of the ac- 
 complishment of which most of the 
 wisest politicians of that day despair- 
 ed, and which none expected to see 
 effected without a lingering nego1ia~ 
 tion of many years, commenced and 
 completed within the compass of a; 
 single year. In her speech to the lords 
 and commons before the passing of 
 the bill, the queen expresses herself iru 
 the following terms : * I consider this; 
 union as a matter of the greatest im- 
 portance to the wealth, strength, and. 
 safety of the whole island ; and, at the 
 same time, as a work of so much diffi- 
 culty and nicety in its own nature, that 
 till now all attempts which have been, 
 made towards it in the course of above 
 a hundred years have proved ineffec- 
 tual ; and therefore I make no doubt: 
 but it will be remembered and spoken: 
 of hereafter to the honour of those who* 
 have been instrumental in bringing it to< 
 such a happy conclusion.' 
 
 In truth, the incorporation of two* 
 sovereign kingdoms, not by force or- 
 hostile aggression on the part of either,, 
 but by the express consent of both,, 
 founded upon the conviction of mutuaU 
 advantage, was without a precedent in; 
 the history of the world ; but the success; 
 of the experiment, now practically con- 
 firmed by the experience of more thani 
 a century, depended almost entirely 
 upon the skilful arrangement of the; 
 details. The merit of projecting the 
 scheme has been generally ascribed to. 
 Lord Somers *; but it was in the La- 
 borious discussion of particular- ar- 
 ticles, upon which the political and 
 
 Chandler, vol. iii. p. 4?9. 
 
 * Burnet's Own Times, vol. ii. p. 458, 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 21 
 
 Commercial interests of the two na- 
 tions appeared to conflict, the patient 
 and skilful management of objections 
 passionately suggested by national pride 
 and prejudice, that his high authority, 
 his calm temper, and lucid reasoning, 
 were most conspicuously useful. If the 
 magnitude of the interests at stake, the 
 weight and number of the difficulties 
 interposed by faction in both countries, 
 and the eminent and acknowledged suc- 
 cess of the measure are duly considered, 
 it will be readily admitted that there are 
 few statesmen in the history of this 
 country whose claims to the respect 
 and gratitude of posterity are better 
 founded than those of Lord Somers, 
 for his services in the accomplishment 
 of the union with Scotland. 
 
 In the ensuing session of parliament, 
 a bill passed the house of commons for 
 abolishing the privy council of Scot- 
 land. It was proposed, in the house of 
 lords, to give it a continuance for seve- 
 ral months after the passing of the bill. 
 This proposition was powerfully and 
 successfully opposed by Lord Somers. 
 The heads of his speech on this occa- 
 sion are still in existence *, being pre- 
 served amongst the few fragments 
 which were saved from the fire in Lin- 
 coln's Inn, already alluded to. His ar- 
 guments in this speech against a sepa- 
 rate council for Scotland are extremely 
 forcible and curious, and are particu- 
 larly interesting in the present day, 
 when the question of the policy of a dis- 
 tinct government for Ireland is strangely 
 brought under discussion. He declares 
 that ' he is heartily desirous of making 
 the union entire and complete, but that 
 it cannot be perfect while two political 
 administrations subsist. The true ar- 
 gument for the union was the great 
 danger to both kingdoms from a divided 
 state. The advantage of Scotland is to 
 have the same easy access to the prince 
 as England, to be under the immediate 
 personal care of the prince, and not to 
 owe their protection and countenance 
 to any subordinate institution.' * This,' 
 he says, was my argument for the 
 union ; and now if a distinct administra- 
 tion continue, the marks of distinction 
 will continue ; and Scotland, having 
 now no parliament to resort to, will be 
 in a worse state than before. I wish 
 North Britain as happy as Eng- 
 land ; I meant it should be so in the 
 union ; and I will always do what 
 
 * Hardwicke State Papers, vol. ii. p. 473. 
 
 lies in my little power that it shall be 
 really so. I should think the true way 
 to make the union well relished in Scot- 
 land is to let that country see plainly 
 that England means no otherwise than 
 fairly by them, and desires they should 
 be in the very same circumstances they 
 are themselves. In the union of Poland 
 and Lithuania, by keeping up their dis- 
 tinct great offices of state and their dis- 
 tinct diets, though there be one general 
 diet for their united country, their for- 
 mer manners of division are continued, 
 and have occasioned perpetual dissen- 
 sions and distractions in that imperfectly 
 and unskilfully united country, so that 
 they are much more unhappy than if 
 they had still remained divided.' Upon 
 the suggestion that it was only proposed 
 to continue the Scotch privy council a 
 short time, he asks, * If it be a good 
 thing, why is it not to be continued ? If 
 it be the desire of Scotland, why show 
 it them only to be taken away ? If 
 they are afraid of the council, why 
 should they be terrified with it, when 
 it is not meant to continue ? ' The 
 whole tenor of the reasoning in this 
 admirable speech is equally clear and 
 convincing ; and the inconvenience and 
 oppression occasioned in the reign of 
 Queen Elizabeth, and earlier periods 
 of our history, by the existence of dis- 
 tinct councils for various districts in 
 England, with powers delegated by the 
 crown, but beyond the personal control 
 of the sovereign, are illustrated in the 
 most ingenious and masterly manner. 
 
 In the early part of the year 1708, a 
 change took place in the character of 
 the ministry, by the resignation of Har- 
 ley and the appointment of Mr. Boyle 
 in his place, as secretary of state. Lord 
 Somers had often announced his resolu- 
 tion never to accept any office of state 
 whileHarley continued in administration ; 
 but upon the removal of that obstacle, it 
 became an object of the first importance 
 to the whigs to press him into the royal 
 service. Nor was this object opposed by 
 the leaders in the cabinet ; for the mild- 
 ness and candour of his character, and his 
 steady attachment to the principles of the 
 revolution, had won the respect even of 
 his rivals, and he was personally es- 
 teemed by both Lord Marlborough and 
 Lord Godolphin. But the proposition 
 of placing him in the administration was 
 strenuously resisted by the queen. In 
 a letter to Lord Marlborough* she de- 
 
 * Coxe's Life of Marlborough, vol. ii. p. 423.* 
 
22 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 clares that,' if would 'be utter destruc- 
 tion to her to bring Lord Somers into 
 her service, and was what she never 
 could consent to.' 
 
 Besides political prejudices, it is pro- 
 bable that the queen had a strong domes- 
 tic reason for her objection. Prince 
 George of Denmark, the husband of 
 the queen, though he interfered little 
 in public business, had always been 
 attached to the tory party, and had 
 long entertained and expressed a parti- 
 cular aversion to Lord Somers. This 
 antipathy might be probably traced to 
 a circumstance which occurred in 1703, 
 shortly after the queen's accession to 
 the throne. To a bill for enabling the 
 queen to settle a revenue upon the 
 prince, in case he should survive her 
 majesty, it was proposed to add an ex- 
 press exemption of the prince from the 
 operation of the clause in the act of 
 succession which incapacitated foreign- 
 ers from being members of the privy 
 council, from sitting in parliament, and 
 from holding offices under the crown. 
 This proposition was urged upon the at- 
 tention of parliament by the queen, and 
 gave rise to much warm discussion in 
 the house of lords ; and though it was 
 ultimately adopted by a majority, Lord 
 Somers, who took a prominent part in 
 the debate, with several other peers, 
 signed a protest in the journals against 
 the decision of the house *. 
 
 It was probably from a desire to 
 avoid offence to the prince, that the 
 queen, who had expressed in decided 
 terms her sense of the obligations of 
 the country to Lord Somers for his ser- 
 vices in promoting the union, had ob- 
 jected to introduce him into the admi- 
 nistration. The death of the prince in 
 October, 1708, removed this objection ; 
 and, shortly afterwards, Lord Somers 
 was advanced to the post of president of 
 the council, though still with reluctance 
 and hesitation on the part of the queen. 
 ' The great capacity and inflexible 
 integrity of this lord,' says Burnett, 
 ' would have made his promotion to 
 this post very acceptable to the whigs 
 at any juncture, but it was most parti- 
 cularly so at this time, for it was ex- 
 pected that propositions for a general 
 peace would be quickly made ; and so 
 they reckoned that the management of 
 that upon which not only the safety of 
 
 * Lords' Journals, Jan. 19, 1/02-3. Burnet's 
 Own Times, vol. ii. p. 339. 
 
 t Own Times, vol. ii. p. 516. 
 
 the nation, but of all Europe depended, 
 was in sure hands when he was set at 
 the head of the councils, upon whom 
 neither ill practices nor false colours 
 were like to make any impression. Thus 
 the minds of all those who were truly 
 zealous for the present constitution were 
 much quieted by this promotion.' 
 
 But the sanguine hopes of the whig 
 party were not realized by the event. 
 Whether it was to be attributed to the 
 declining health of Lord Somers, which, 
 at this period, in a great degree incapa- 
 citated him for business, or to the em- 
 barrassing intrigues of Harley, after- 
 wards Lord Oxford, with the queen, or 
 the want of harmony and consistency 
 which prevailed among the members of 
 the administration, is uncertain; but 
 there is no doubt that the government, 
 during the two years that it remained 
 under the direction of the whigs, exhi^ 
 bited but few marks of vigour or discre- 
 tion. The treaty for a general peace 
 proved entirely abortive; the war be- 
 came decidedly unpopular in England ; 
 the general confidence of the whigs in 
 their party wavered ; and the public 
 funds, which even in those times had 
 begun to be the measure of the degree 
 of public confidence in the government, 
 fell rapidly and alarmingly. 
 
 In this unpromising state of things, 
 ' the foolish and violent prosecution' of 
 Dr. Sacheverel, as it is justly termed by 
 Lord Bolingbroke, if it did not imme- 
 diately induce the queen to change the 
 ministry, at all events furnished her 
 with a plausible and popular pretext for 
 the dismissal of the whigs. Though 
 Lord Somers was present at the trial, 
 and gave his vote against Dr. Sache- 
 verel, Dean Swift declares that he had 
 heard him profess that his opinion was 
 against this ill-judged impeachment, 
 and that he foresaw it would end in 
 the ruin of his party. The proceed- 
 ings against Sacheverel were brought 
 to a conclusion at the end of March, 
 1710, and immediately afterwards the 
 parliament was prorogued. In the 
 course of the ensuing summer a ^sud- 
 den and total change of ministry took 
 place; and Lord Somers, .finding that 
 the queen had withdrawn her con- 
 fidence from him and treated him with 
 coldness and reserve, retired from his 
 office of lord president of the council, 
 and was succeeded by the Earl of 
 Rochester. 
 
 During the whole of the long session 
 of parliament after his retirement from 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 23 
 
 office, it appears from the journals that 
 he attended constantly upon his duty 
 in the house of lords, being rarely absent 
 from his place, and much employed in 
 committees and other active parliamen- 
 tary business. He was present during 
 the debates respecting the Earl of Pe- 
 terborough's conduct in Spain, in Janu- 
 ary, 1711, in the course of which reflec- 
 tions being cast upon the Lords Galway 
 and Tyrawley, and a vote of censure 
 being attempted against them, those 
 noblemen presented a petition praying 
 for time to answer the charges before 
 the lords came to any determination. 
 This was resisted by the ministers as 
 an improper interference with the de- 
 bates of the lords ; but Lord Somers 
 declared, with some indignation, ' that 
 the petitions were neither improper nor 
 given in at an improper time ; that it 
 would be too late for the petitioners to 
 apply to the lords after they were come 
 to a resolution ; that he hoped it would 
 never be found in the book of that 
 house, that when the lords were going 
 to proceed to a censure, they refused to 
 hear those that were to be affected by 
 it ; that the Lords Galway and Tyrawley 
 had a right to be heard and clear the 
 matters of fact as subjects of Great Bri- 
 tain ; and that it was but natural justice 
 that men in danger of being censured 
 should have time to justify themselves*.' 
 The petitions were, however, rejected 
 by the house; and a vote of censure 
 was afterwards passed upon Lords Gal- 
 way and Tyrawley ; but a strong pro- 
 test was entered upon the journals 
 against both these resolutions, signed 
 by thirty-six peers, amongst whom were 
 Lord Somers, the Duke of Marlborough, 
 and Lord Cowper, the late chancellor. 
 Lord Somers also signed protests against 
 the resolution of the lords approving of 
 the Earl of Peterborough's conduct in 
 Spain, and against several resolutions 
 passed in the course of the same ses- 
 sion censuring the measures of the late 
 ministry respecting the prosecution of 
 the wart- 
 
 At the commencement of the next 
 session of parliament, in December, 
 1711, there were some rumours of a 
 change of ministry. Swift says % that 
 ' Bolingbroke and he were both of opi- 
 nion that the queen was false,' and 
 mentions a report that the whole matter 
 
 * Chandler's Lords' Debates, vol. ii. p. 309. 
 t See Lords' Journals, Jan. and Feb. 1710-11. 
 t Swift's Journal, Dec. 9, 1711. 
 
 was arranged between her and the 
 whigs, and that Lord Somers was to be 
 treasurer.' In a few days, however, 
 these apprehensions were removed, and 
 Lord Oxford expressly assures Swift 
 that * all would be well, and that he 
 should fear nothing.' 
 
 In the early part of the year 1712, 
 Lord Somers suffered severely from ill- 
 ness, which disabled him from appearing 
 in the house of lords for a considerable 
 portion of the session of parliament. At 
 this point, perhaps, his political life may 
 be considered as closed ; for though he 
 afterwards attended in parliament for 
 several sessions, and was present upon 
 most occasions of importance or un- 
 usual interest, he never again took a 
 prominent part in the debates. He was 
 present at the debate on the Earl of 
 Findlater's motion for repealing the 
 union with Scotland, in June, 1713, and 
 voted with the small majority by whom 
 that proposition was negatived. In 
 1714 the celebrated Schism Act was 
 passed, by which all schoolmasters and 
 instructors of youth were required to 
 subscribe an acknowledgment before 
 the ordinary, that they conformed to the 
 liturgy of the church of England, under 
 pain of imprisonment for three months ; 
 and upon being convicted of teaching 
 without such subscription, were made 
 liable to penalties and imprisonment. 
 Against this unjust and unnecessary 
 measure which Lord Wharton declared 
 to be more like a decree of Julian the 
 apostate, than a law enacted by a pro- 
 testant parliament,' a protest was en- 
 tered on the journals, and signed, 
 amongst other peers, by Lord Somers. 
 The reasons attached to this protest 
 contain an excellent summary of the 
 arguments against all religious persecu- 
 tion, and a perspicuous statement of the 
 danger of irritating the dissenters against 
 the church of England, and of promoting 
 religious animosities in the critical state 
 in which the Protestant succession was 
 then placed. Fortunately, the death of 
 the queen on the 1st of August, 1714, 
 the very day on which the schism bill 
 was to take effect, prevented its being 
 brought into practical operation. On 
 the accession of George I., a total 
 change of ministry took place : the state 
 of Lord Somers's health disabled him 
 from accepting any official employment, 
 but he took his seat in the cabinet 
 council as a member of the new admi- 
 nistration. 
 
 In the revolutions of the wheel of 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 party, it was now Lord Somers's fate, not 
 only to find himself once more restored 
 to office, but to witness the downfall of 
 that intriguing statesman whose insidi- 
 ous schemes had undermined the whig 
 ministry in 1710, and to whom, both 
 personally and politically, he had de- 
 clared perpetual and uncompromising 
 hostility. But notwithstanding his dis- 
 like to Lord Oxford, there is reason to 
 believe that Lord Somers, and also Lord 
 Halifax and Lord Sunderland, were 
 opposed to the violent and impetuous 
 prosecutions which were instituted at 
 this time against those who had sup- 
 ported or favoured the Pretender's 
 title, and warmly advised the king to 
 more moderate measures. When he 
 left Hanover, on the death of queen 
 Anne, the king, whose disposition was 
 by no means implacable or severe, had 
 determined indeed to restore the whigs 
 to power, but resolved not to proceed 
 harshly against any party who acknow- 
 ledged and quietly submitted to his go- 
 vernment. In consequence, however, 
 of the joint importunity of some of the 
 allies, and a portion of the whigs, who 
 assured him that severity was absolutely 
 necessary for his own safety, he was at 
 length persuaded to adopt a different 
 course. It is related by LordBolingbroke, 
 that ' when Lord Townshend came tri- 
 umphantly to acquaint Lord Somers 
 with all the measures of proscription and 
 of persecution which the ministers in- 
 tended, and to which the king had at last 
 consented, the old peer asked him " what 
 he meant," and shed tears on the fore- 
 sight of measures like to those of the 
 Roman triumvirate *.' 
 
 The Earl of Oxford had been removed 
 from his office of lord treasurer a few 
 days before the death of queen Anne ; 
 and in the first parliament of her suc- 
 cessor, he was impeached, with Lord 
 Bolingbroke, at the bar of the house of 
 lords, of high treason. Though become 
 extremely feeble, Lord Somers appeared 
 in the house of lords on every occasion 
 when a step was taken in the proceed- 
 ings against Lords Oxford and Boling- 
 broke, and upon the delivery of Lord 
 Oxford's answers to the articles of im- 
 peachment in September, 1715, he was 
 appointed a member of a committee to 
 search for precedents as to the manner 
 of proceeding. In the ensuing session, 
 he again appeared in the house of lords 
 on occasion of the impeachment of 
 
 ' m m European Magazine, vol. xix. p. 427* 
 
 the Earl of Derwentwater, and the 
 other misguided persons who had taken 
 up arms in Scotland in favour of the 
 pretender's title. Lord Somers appears 
 to have taken a peculiar interest in the 
 fate of these unfortunate noblemen; . 
 and the last occasion of his appear- 
 ance in public life was on the 27th of 
 January, 1716, when the preliminaries 
 and forms for passing judgment on Lord 
 Derwentwater were reported to the house 
 of lords, and finally arranged. When 
 the sentence was actually passed, he 
 was absent from the house*. 
 
 Of the manner in which the few re- 
 maining months of Lord Somers's life 
 were spent after his final disappearance 
 from public business, very imperfect and 
 unsatisfactory accounts have descended 
 to us. There is no doubt, however, that 
 the concluding period of his existence 
 was darkened by severe illness and a 
 considerable degree of mental alienation. 
 Repeated attacks of paralysis had de- 
 stroyed his bodily health, and had so 
 impaired the faculties of his mind that 
 he became wholly incapable of business. 
 At intervals, however, when the pressure 
 of disease was partially suspended, he 
 appears to have recurred with strong 
 interest to passing events which involved 
 those principles of rational liberty to the 
 support of which his life had been de- 
 voted. At the present moment, when 
 the question of repealing the Septennial 
 Bill is the subject of controversy, it is 
 interesting, and may be useful, to record 
 the dying opinion of this distinguished 
 statesman, the oracle of the revolu- 
 tion, and the constant friend of popular 
 freedom, upon the merits of that ce- 
 lebrated measure. The decisive divi- 
 sion upon the Septennial Bill took place 
 on the 16th of April; 1716, and after 
 that event had happened, Dr. Freind, 
 the celebrated physician, called on Lord 
 Townshend, and informed him that 
 Lord Somers was at that moment re- 
 stored to the full possession of his facul- 
 ties by a fit of the gout, which suspended 
 the effect of his paralytic complaint. 
 Townshend immediately waited on Lord 
 Somers, who, as soon as he came into 
 the room, embraced him, and said, ' I 
 have just heard of the work in which 
 you are engaged, and congratulate you 
 upon it ; I never approved the Triennial 
 Bill, and always considered it in effect 
 the reverse of what it was intended. 
 
 * Lords' Journals, January, 1715-16. 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 25 
 
 You have my hearty approbation in this 
 business, and I think it will be the 
 greatest support possible to the liberty 
 of the country*.' Within a day or two 
 after this conversation with Lord Towns- 
 hend, a fresh paralytic seizure reduced 
 him to a state of total imbecility, from 
 which, on the 26th of April, 1716, he 
 was happily released by death. He was 
 buried at Minis, in Hertfordshire, at 
 which place a monument with a short 
 inscription was erected by his sister, 
 Lady Jekyll. 
 
 Lord Somers was never married. It is 
 said that while he held the office of soli- 
 citor-general, he paid his addresses to a 
 daughter of Sir John Bawdon, an alder- 
 man of London, and that the negotia- 
 tion went so far as the arrangements 
 for the settlements, but was broken off 
 in consequence of the exorbitant de- 
 mands of the friends of the young lady. 
 Upon his death, his property descended 
 to his two sisters, one of whom was mar- 
 ried to Sir Joseph Jekyll, the master of 
 the rolls, and the other to Charles 
 Cocks, Esq., of Worcester, from whom 
 the present Lord Somers is descended. 
 
 The scarcity of information respect- 
 ing the personal history of Lord Somers 
 renders it impossible, at the present day, 
 to do full justice to his biography. It 
 is believed that few original letters or 
 papers, illustrative of the private and 
 domestic habits of this eminent states- 
 man, are now in existence. Several 
 letters from him to Mr. Locke, in the 
 years 1689 and 1690, have been pub- 
 lished by the late Lord King in his Life 
 of that great man; but they have no 
 peculiar interest beyond the evidence 
 they contain that, at the period to which 
 they refer, Lord Somers and Mr. Locke 
 were on terms of friendly and familiar 
 intercourse. After the death of Lord 
 Somers, his manuscripts, which filled 
 upwards of sixty volumes in quarto, 
 came into the possession of Lord Chan- 
 cellor Hardwicke, who had married his 
 niece. This valuable collection had 
 been deposited in the chambers of the 
 Honourable Charles Yorke, in Lin- 
 coln' s-inn, and were there destroyed by 
 an accidental fire in 1752. Amongst 
 the numerous historical papers swept 
 away by this fatal accident, were doubt- 
 less many documents relating to Lord 
 Somers of a private nature, and of 
 deep interest; and though some spe- 
 cimens of the , collection, which are 
 
 sufficiently valuable to enhance our re- 
 gret at the loss of the rest, have been 
 published by Lord Hardwicke, they do 
 not relate to his personal history and 
 character. Several years ago, great 
 expectations were raised by the an- 
 nouncement of an Essay on the Life 
 and Character of Lord Somers, by Mr. 
 Cooksey, a gentleman who was allied 
 by marriage to the Somers family, and 
 who, it was supposed, might be in pos- 
 session of original information on the sub- 
 ject. But these reasonable expectations 
 were entirely disappointed. Amongst 
 many inaccuracies and false traditions 
 and speculations, Mr. Cooksey's work 
 contained not a single true statement 
 respecting Lord Somers which was not 
 known and published long before. On 
 the other hand, Mr. Cooksey, profess- 
 ing to ' wipe away the only blemish 
 and imperfection charged upon his an- 
 cestor,' (by which he means the con- 
 temptible sneers of Swift respecting the 
 meanness of his origin,) with a singular 
 inconsistency, drags before the public 
 an imputation of licentiousness, which, 
 if true, might well have been buried in 
 oblivion, but which is decidedly untrue 
 to anything like the extent represented 
 in the Essay.' 
 
 It is much to be lamented, too, that 
 the accounts of this great man by con- 
 temporaneous writers, partake, in gene- 
 ral, too much of the zeal of party to be 
 of any value as delineations of his cha- 
 racter. In this respect the undiscrimi- 
 nating praise of Addison is fully as ob- 
 jectionable as the almost gross scurrility 
 of Swift. The following account, taken 
 from a letter written, by an unknown 
 contemporary*, is just and temperate. 
 * His application and capacity were equal- 
 ly great and uncommon. ' At his first go- 
 ing to school, he never gave himself any 
 of the diversions of children of his age, 
 for at noon the book was never out of 
 his hand. To the last years of his life 
 a few hours of sleep sufficed ; at wak- 
 ing a reader attended, and entertained 
 him with the most valuable authors. 
 Such management raised him to the 
 highest eminency in his own profession, 
 and gave him a superiority in all kind of 
 useful knowledge and learning. Natu- 
 ral strength and clearness of understand- 
 ing, thus improved, was the distinguish- 
 ing peculiarity which appeared in all 
 his performances. Everything was easy 
 
 m _ , T . e -,,._,_ Z *~" * Seward's Anecdotes, vol. ii. p. 114. Addi- 
 
 Coxe s Life of Sir Robert Walpole, vol. i. p. 76. tional MSS. in the British Museum, No. 4223. 
 
26 
 
 LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 and correct, pure and proper. He was 
 unwearied in the application of all his 
 ability for the service of his country. 
 As a writer, he greatly assisted the 
 cause of liberty in its utmost peril. As 
 an advocate, a judge, a senator, and a 
 minister, the highest praises and the 
 most grateful remembrance are due to 
 his merits. 
 
 1 He was invariable and uniform in 
 the pursuit of right paths. As he well 
 understood, he was equally firm in ad- 
 hering to the interest of his country 
 while in its service, and when in a pri- 
 vate station. To this uniformity the 
 calumnies and reproaches of his enemies 
 may be truly ascribed. They envied 
 him his superiority, and as their wishes 
 and designs were far from being engaged 
 for the real welfare of society, a man so 
 upright and able naturally became the 
 object of their hatred.' 
 
 Such is the representation of Lord 
 Somers by one who lived in his time, 
 and who seems to have derived the 
 principal part of his information from 
 the son of Sir Francis Winnington, 
 his early and intimate friend. In 
 judging of his intellectual character 
 at the present day by his various pub- 
 lished writings and his forensic and par- 
 liamentary speeches, the reader cannot 
 fail to be impressed with the singular 
 clearness of perception which formed 
 the distinguishing feature of his under- 
 standing. This quality of mind is seen 
 in the closeness and accuracy of his own 
 reasoning, and the instant readiness, 
 resembling intuition, with which he de- 
 tected the sophistry or false argument 
 of his opponents. His mind appeared 
 to discern at a single glance all the ele- 
 ments of a proposition, however com- 
 plicated, and to perceive with equal dis- 
 tinctness and rapidity all the bearings of 
 the arguments by which it might be 
 maintained. The clearness of his per- 
 ception rendered his expression propor- 
 tionately lucid, his language being al- 
 ways apposite and intelligible, and the 
 arrangement of his materials singularly 
 perspicuous. In the happy art of select- 
 ing the essential points in an intricate 
 subject, and levelling them to the com- 
 prehension of ordinary minds, he has 
 never, perhaps, been excelled by any 
 writer or speaker in any age. As a 
 public speaker, he had the rare advan- 
 tage of a calm and steady temper. ' He 
 had, 1 says Burnet, ' an extraordinary 
 temper; he was fair and gentle, perhaps 
 to a fault.' In consequence of this en- 
 
 viable disposition he never, even in the 
 warmth of debate, lost the control of 
 his powerful faculties, and the operations 
 of his intellect were always carried on 
 without the interruption of passion. 
 
 His judicial reputation was entirely 
 unspotted. During the seven years 
 that he held the seals not a single impu- 
 tation of corruption or partiality was 
 ever hazarded against him. When the 
 party who promoted his impeachment 
 in 1701 ransacked every transaction of 
 his court to find a plausible ground of 
 accusation, they could discover abso- 
 lutely nothing, and were compelled to 
 found their prosecution upon charges 
 independent of his office of chancellor, 
 and so utterly incredible and absurd 
 that the house of commons could not 
 venture to appear in their support. In 
 his judicial character, too, the placidness 
 of his temper gave him great advantages. 
 Burnet says, that \ he had all the pa- 
 tience and softness, as well as the jus- 
 tice and equity becoming a great judge*.' 
 Evelyn, in his Diary, though he admits 
 that Lord Somers was ' a most excel- 
 lent lawyer, very learned in all polite 
 literature, a superior pen, and master of 
 a handsome style and easy conversa- 
 tion,' insinuates that, while he was lord 
 chancellor, he ' made too much haste 
 to be as rich as his predecessor.' There 
 is no evidence in support of this slan- 
 der, nor is it alluded to by any other 
 writer; on the contrary, Swift, writing 
 at a time when he was not likely to omit 
 any plausible imputation on Lord So- 
 mers's character, expressly sayst that 
 1 avarice he had none.' 
 
 Of the political character of Lord 
 Somers, it has been usual for writers of 
 his own party to speak in terms of un- 
 measured panegyric. A careful perusal 
 of the parliamentary history of the reign 
 of Queen Anne would probably suggest 
 some qualification of our praise. But 
 perfect patriotism, pure and undefiled by 
 all admixture with self-interest and fac- 
 tion, was not the virtue of the times 
 he lived in. Of all views of per- 
 sonal aggrandizement or private inte- 
 rest, Lord Somers is unanimously ac- 
 quitted ; but in order to attain the grand 
 objects of his ambition, which were inti- 
 mately connected with the. general good 
 
 * The earlier editions of Garth's Dispensary 
 contain this couplet 
 
 * Somers doth sick'ning Equity restore, 
 
 And helpless orphans now need weep no more.' 
 t History of the Four Last Years of the Keign 
 of Queen Anne, 
 
LIFE OF LORD SOMERS. 
 
 27 
 
 of the nation, it was necessary that he 
 should maintain his ascendency over 
 individuals whose intentions were far 
 less disinterested than his own ; and if 
 the means by which he moved the en- 
 gine of party were not always the most 
 direct and unexceptionable, the severity 
 of our censure may, perhaps, be miti- 
 gated by the reflection, that the object 
 to which it was applied was the success- 
 ful accomplishment of such measures as 
 the security of a free constitution and 
 the harmonious union of two king- 
 doms. * The conduct of a minister,' 
 says Lord Bolingbroke*, ' who proposes 
 to himself a great and noble object, and 
 who pursues it steadily, may seem for 
 awhile a riddle to the world, especially in 
 a government like ours, where numbers 
 of men, different in their characters and 
 different in their interests, are at all 
 times to be managed; where public 
 
 Letter to Sir William Windham. 
 
 affairs are to be exposed to more acci- 
 dents and greater hazards than in other 
 countries, and where, by consequence, 
 he who is at the head of business will 
 find himself often distracted by measures 
 which have no relation to his purpose, 
 and obliged to bend himself to things 
 which are in some degree contrary to 
 his main design. The ocean that envi- 
 rons us is an emblem of our govern- 
 ment, and the pilot and the minister are 
 in similar circumstances. It seldom 
 happens that either of them can steer a 
 direct course, and they both arrive at 
 their port by means which frequently 
 seem to carry them from it. But as the 
 work advances, the conduct of him who 
 leads it on with real abilities clears up, 
 the appearing inconsistencies are recon- 
 ciled, and when it is once consummated, 
 the whole shows itself so uniform, so 
 plain, and so natural, that every dabbler 
 in politics will be apt to think he could 
 have done the same.' 
 
 W^. 
 
 E L 
 
 OK THE 
 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON, 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF THE INVENTION OF PRINTING, AND OF THE MODES AND MATERIALS 
 USED FOR TRANSMITTING KNOWLEDGE BEFORE THAT TOOK PLACE. 
 
 The ease, which we now find in providing, and dispersing, what number of copies of books we please, by 
 the opportunity of the press, makes us apt to imagine, without considering the matter, that the publication 
 of books was the same easy aflfair in all former times as in the present. But the case was quite different. 
 For, when there were no books in the world, but what were written out by hand, with great labour aod 
 expense, the method of publishing them was necessarily very slow, and the price very dear; so that the rich 
 only and curious would be disposed or able to purchase them ; and to such also it was often difficult to pro- 
 cure them, or to know even where they were to be bought. Middlcton's Free Enquiry, p. 198. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Introductory Different kinds of Bio- 
 graphy Kind to which that ofCax- 
 ion belongs Principal object in se- 
 lecting it Nature and arrangement 
 of the subjects necessary to be touched 
 upon in order to attain that object. 
 
 The lives of some men supply scanty 
 materials for private and personal bio- 
 graphy ; whereas the materials that con- 
 nect them with the advancement of the 
 human race in knowledge, civilization, 
 and happiness, are, in no common 
 degree, rich and interesting. Such is the 
 case with the life of William Caxton. 
 Very few of the events of his life are 
 known ; and it is highly probable that, 
 if we had them in minute detail, they 
 would have presented nothing very cu- 
 rious or very instructive, nothing that 
 would have justified us in selecting his 
 life, on account either of the insight it 
 afforded into the formation of the human 
 mind and character, or of the impressive 
 and practical lesson it taught, that, in 
 moral conduct, as certainly as in the 
 material world, like causes will always 
 produce like effects. Such lives as give 
 this insight, and teach by powerful and 
 repeated examples this most important, 
 but too often neglected truth, are certainly 
 of the highest utility as well as interest : 
 they give biography a just claim to be 
 ranked above all other studies, in so far 
 as it teaches, most emphatically, that 
 close attention, and persevering and 
 zealous industry, are absolutely neces- 
 sary for the acquisition of knowledge ; 
 and that these qualities, united with pro- 
 bity, are equally necessary to our success 
 
 in the world, and to our usefulness and 
 respectability in society. 
 
 The biography of those men, however, 
 whose lives have contributed to the im- 
 provement of the human race, even 
 though they have displayed no superior 
 talent, ought, by no means, to be neglect- 
 ed. Such lives must always command 
 interest, and they may be so written as 
 to convey useful information. On these 
 accounts we have chosen the life of 
 William Caxton. Through his zeal, 
 industry, and perseverance, the art of 
 printing was introduced into England, 
 and firmly established here. It is a trite 
 remark, that we know very little of the 
 value, or even of the real nature of those 
 advantages which have been familiar to 
 us from our infancy, which we see all 
 around us, the want of which never 
 entered into our imagination, but of 
 which, in times not very remote, our 
 ancestors were utterly ignorant, and 
 which are still unknown to the great 
 majority of mankind. 
 
 At present, in our country, there could 
 not, most probably, be found a single 
 hovel in the most lonely and remote dis - 
 trict, in which some books would not 
 be found not treasured as a great ra- 
 rity and of high value, but, on the con- 
 trary, accessible to all. The art of print- 
 ing has done this. Before it was found 
 out, few books were to be seen except in 
 monasteries, universities, and the libra- 
 ries of those who were very fond of 
 literature, or very rich. They were pre- 
 served by such as had them with the 
 utmost care ; guarded against loss 
 equally with their most precious jewels ; 
 and never lent except with the utmost 
 B 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 precaution, and the best security for 
 their return. 
 
 Now, when we wish to purchase a 
 book, we go into a bookseller's shop, pay 
 its price, and, without delay or formality, 
 it is our own. Then, it* the manuscript 
 were rare and costly, the transfer by pur- 
 chase was often conducted in a manner 
 as circumspect, and guarded by as strict 
 and legal evidence, as were necessary in 
 the sale and purchase of an estate. Now, 
 very little labour or time is requisite to 
 ascertain where the scarcest books are 
 to be procured. Then, as Dr. Middleton 
 remarks, it was not only often difficult 
 to procure them, but even to know where 
 they were to be bought. Now, a small 
 portion of the week's wages of a labour- 
 ing man is sufficient to purchase books, 
 which, while only existing in manuscript, 
 could not be obtained except at the cost 
 of a sum equal to his whole year's earn- 
 ings : and for the manuscripts of many 
 works, sums were then given equivalent 
 (taking the value of money at those 
 periods into the account) to the income 
 of most persons in the middle ranks 
 of life at present, and to what would 
 now purchase a whole library suited to 
 their station and adequate to their desires. 
 
 Then, not only did all books exist 
 solely in manuscript, but, in many in- 
 stances, there were few copies of those 
 manuscripts ; in some cases, perhaps 
 not a dozen. Their destruction, there- 
 fore, at all times and under all circum- 
 stances, must have been no improbable 
 event ; and in those days of almost un- 
 interrupted warfare and devastation, it 
 very frequently occurred. Some were ab- 
 solutely destroyed, no copies remained ; 
 others were mutilated and rendered im- 
 perfect, and their imperfections could 
 not be removed. Others were lost by 
 negligence, ortoo much care for their pre- 
 servation during scenes of rapine and 
 warfare, and in the midst of the plunder 
 of ignorant and barbarian soldiers ; and 
 thus withdrawn, for ever, or for a long 
 period, from the perusal and instruction 
 of mankind. Noiv, since the invention 
 of printing, the utter destruction, or the 
 irreparable mutilation of a book, cannot 
 scarcely occur, at least after it has once 
 passed from the printing-office into the 
 shops of the booksellers : if such an 
 event could take place even then, the 
 dispersion of an usual edition of seven 
 hundred or one thousand copies among 
 purchasers in every part of the kingdom, 
 renders it perfectly secure from destruc- 
 tion or loss. 
 
 In the days of manuscript books, what 
 expense and labour must have been sub- 
 mitted to, what a length of time must 
 have elapsed, before an author could 
 have conveyed his discoveries, or reason- 
 ings, or instructions, what would benefit 
 or bless human life, to one thousandth 
 part of the number of readers to whom 
 the art of printing enables him to con- 
 vey the fruits of his study or imagi- 
 nation with infinitely less expense and 
 labour, and in an infinitely shorter space 
 of time ! What would our ancestors, 
 who lived before printing was discovered, 
 have said, had they, after having been 
 present in the House of Commons till 
 two or three o'clock in the morning, read 
 at their breakfast table a detailed ac- 
 count of speeches, which had occupied 
 nearly twelve hours in the delivery, and 
 learnt that not one or two, but many 
 thousand copies were, at that time, cir- 
 culating ? 
 
 Such is a very general representation 
 of the state and means of literary com- 
 munication before printing was dis- 
 covered : whoever reflects on it will not 
 be surprised that the progress of man- 
 kind, in every thing useful and valuable, 
 was extremely slow and difficult. Indi- 
 vidual and uncommunicated knowledge 
 cannot purify itself from error ; and, till 
 printing was discovered,how much know- 
 ledge must necessarily have been indivi- 
 dual and uncommunicated! The greater 
 the number of minds that are brought 
 to bear on any topic of research, experi- 
 ment or thought, the sooner will its truth 
 be ascertained and established. But 
 when " there were no books in the world 
 but what were written out by hand, with 
 great labour and expense, the method 
 of publishing them was necessarily very 
 slow, and the price very dear, so that 
 the rich only and curious would be 
 disposed and able to purchase them." 
 In these circumstances, error gained 
 strength ; important and valuable truths 
 died at their very birth, or struggled 
 useless and unproductive till the art of 
 printing nourished them to maturity, 
 and enabled them to strike their roots 
 deeply and widely, and to produce their 
 natural and genuine fruit of practical 
 good to the human race. 
 
 But no general picture, however 
 strongly and accurately it may be drawn, 
 can speak so emphatically, either to the 
 understanding or the imagination, as a 
 picture, the outlines of which are filled up 
 with strokes, minute but characteristic. 
 No general contrast can exhibit a dif- 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 ference so clearly and powerfully as a 
 contrast that enters into detail, and sets 
 the individual circumstances directly in 
 array against one another. 
 
 The facts already stated may enable 
 and dispose our readers to prize, with 
 some degree of justice, the advantages 
 derived from the art of printing, and to 
 form a vague and imperfect notion of 
 what the state and amount of knowledge 
 must have been, when all the books in 
 the world were written out by hand. 
 But we think we shall render these 
 feelings and impressions much more 
 vivid, distinct and permanent we shall 
 set the inestimable advantages derived 
 from the art of printing in a clearer and 
 more powerful light we shall impress 
 the contrast between our own means of 
 improvement and those possessed by 
 our ancestors, and even by the en- 
 lightened philosophers of Greece and 
 Rome, in the very noon-tide of their 
 intellectual vigour and glory, more 
 deeply if, before we give a sketch of 
 the invention of printing, and of the life 
 of Caxton, by whom the infant art was 
 introduced into this country, and esta- 
 blished here we devote two chapters 
 to a detail first, of the modes and 
 materials employed for the communi- 
 cation and transmission of knowledge 
 among the Greeks and Romans, and 
 during the dark and middle ages ; and 
 secondly, of the writing and copying of 
 manuscripts where it was executed, 
 and by whom their rarity and value 
 destruction loss and recovery. We 
 shall take care that the facts detailed 
 in these chapters are well established 
 that they are curious and interest- 
 ing, and, above all, that they bear di- 
 rectly and powerfully on the grand 
 object we have in view, to draw 
 the deliberate attention and the well- 
 grounded belief of our readers to this 
 important truth, that the press has be- 
 stowed, is at present bestowing, and 
 cannot cease to bestow, on mankind 
 greater blessings than any other art has 
 done or can do ; since, without it, know- 
 ledge, and, consequently, all the benefits 
 derived from knowledge, must have crept 
 on with slow and feeble steps, whereas, 
 with it, knowledge must proceed at a 
 steady, onward pace, and with a vigour 
 that will tread down or remove every 
 obstacle. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 A Description of the Modes and Mate 
 rials for communicating and trans- 
 mitting Knowledge before the Inven- 
 tion of Printing. 
 
 The few and simple laws, necessary 
 in the very earliest stages of society, 
 seem, at first, among the Greeks, to 
 have been set to music, and chanted or 
 sung. Afterwards they were engraven 
 on a hard and solid substance, as stone, 
 metal or wood. According to some 
 authors, the laws of Solon were engraved 
 on tablets of wood, so constructed that 
 they might be turned round in wooden 
 cases. Some of his laws, however, were 
 certainly engraven on stone. The laws 
 of the Twelve Tables among the Romans 
 were engraven on oaken planks, ivory 
 tables, or brass ; most probably on the 
 last. In order to give the Athenians an 
 opportunity of judging deliberately on a 
 proposed law, it was engraven on a 
 tablet, which was hung up for some days 
 at the Statue of the Heroes, the most 
 public and frequented place in the city 
 of Athens. And that no man might 
 plead ignorance of his duty, the laws, 
 when passed, were engraven on the walls 
 of the royal portico ; and persons were 
 appointed to transcribe such as were 
 worn or defaced, and to enter the new 
 ones. The Arundelian Marbles, pre- 
 served in the University of Oxford, suf- 
 ficiently prove for what a variety of pur- 
 poses inscriptions on stone were used 
 among the ancients. Some of the in- 
 scriptions on them record treaties, others 
 the victories or good qualities and deeds 
 of distinguished persons, others miscel- 
 laneous events : most of them, however, 
 are sepulchral. By far the most im- 
 portant and celebrated is the Parian 
 Chronicle, which, when entire, contained 
 a chronology of Greece, particularly of 
 Athens, for a period of 1318 years, viz. 
 from the reign of Cecrops, a. c. 1582, 
 to the archonship of Diognetus, a. c. 
 264. The Romans engraved on brass, 
 even so late as the reign of the Emperors, 
 in general, their code (plebiscita), con- 
 tracts, conventions, and public records. 
 The landmarks of estates were engraven 
 on the same metal. The Roman soldiers 
 were allowed, in the field of battle, to 
 write their wills on their bucklers or 
 scabbards ; and in many cabinets are 
 preserved the discharges of soldiers, 
 written on copper plates. Lead was 
 employed as well as brass for preserving 
 B2 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 treaties and laws. And Pausanias in- 
 forms us that he had seen, in the Tem- 
 ple of the Muses, the Works and Days 
 of Hesiod, inscribed on leaden tables. 
 In the year 1699 Montfauc on purchased, 
 at Rome, a book of eight leaden leaves, 
 (including two which formed the cover,) 
 four inches long and three inches wide. 
 Leaden rings were fastened on the back, 
 through which a small leaden rod ran, 
 to keep the leaves together. 
 
 Wood, however, was most generally 
 used, both for public and private pur- 
 poses, in various forms and modes. 
 The inscription of laws on it has been 
 already mentioned. Even in the 4th 
 century the laws of the Emperors were 
 published on wooden tables, painted with 
 white lead; and formerly the Swedes 
 inscribed or engraved their laws on 
 wood : hence their term Balkar (laws), 
 from balkan, a balk or beam. Wooden 
 boards, either plain or covered with wax, 
 were used long before the age of Homer : 
 the former were called Schedae, whence 
 our word schedule. At first, the bare wood 
 was engraven with an iron style: the 
 overlaying them with wax was a subse- 
 quent invention. The styles used in both 
 cases were of metal, ivory, or bone ; one 
 end pointed, the other smooth, for the 
 purpose of erasing : hence our word 
 style, used metaphorically, to signify the 
 choice and arrangement of words em- 
 ployed by an author to express his 
 thoughts. These tablets, or thin slices 
 of wood, when fastened together, formed 
 a book, Codex, so called from its resem- 
 blance to the trunk of a tree cut into 
 planks. Hence our word code. When the 
 Romans wrote letters on their tablets, they 
 fastened them together with thread, and 
 put a seal upon the knot. Table-books 
 continued in use so late as the fourteenth 
 century, and even later, as Chaucer 
 evidently describes one in the Sumpner's 
 Tale*. They were then formed into a 
 book by means of parchment bands 
 glued to the backs of the leaves. The 
 Roman boys used them at school ; and 
 in the middle ages, young men learning 
 the sciences had table-books, and psalms 
 for meditation were written on them. 
 The expenses of Philip le Bel, writ- 
 ten on tables of wax, may be seen in the 
 library of St. Victor, at Paris ; and in 
 the archives of the town-hall of Hanover, 
 are twelve wooden boards, covered with 
 
 * His felawhad a staf tipped with horn, 
 A pair of tables, all of ivory, 
 And a pointel (style) ypol.ishedfetisly (neatly), 
 And wrote always the names, as he stood, 
 Of all folk that yave hem any good, (v. 33 370 
 
 wax, on which are inscribed the names 
 of the owners of houses in that city. 
 There is reason to believe that this 
 enumeration was made at the beginning 
 of the fifteenth century. The ancients 
 generally used box and citron wood ; in 
 the middle ages beech was principally 
 employed. The rich Romans used thin 
 pieces of ivory, instead of wooden tablets. 
 The edicts of the senate, the proceedings 
 of the. Roman magistrates, the principal 
 transactions of the emperors, and the 
 affairs of the princes, were recorded on 
 ivory leaves or tablets. These were 
 deposited in the magnificent library 
 founded by Trajan at Rome. 
 
 The employment of leaves for the 
 transmission of ideas is of great anti- 
 quity ; and it is still common in different 
 parts of the east. Hence the word folio, 
 (from the Latin folium, a leaf,) and the 
 meaning of leaf, when applied to a book. 
 This mode of writing on leaves seems to 
 have been superseded by the use of the 
 bark a material employed in every age 
 and quarter of the globe. The outer 
 bark was seldom used, being too coarse 
 and rough. The inner bark was pre- 
 ferred, especially that of the lime tree. 
 This bark the Romans called liber 
 hence Liber, the Latin name for a book. 
 In order that these bark books might be 
 conveniently carried they were rolled up ; 
 and in this form called volumen ; this 
 name was afterwards applied to rolls of 
 paper and parchment hence the origin 
 of the word volume, applied to modern 
 books, though of a different shape. An- 
 cient manuscripts in bark are very scarce ; 
 but the use of bark for books still pre- 
 vails in the east, especially among the 
 Birmans. The custom of making books 
 from bark prevailed among our Scandi- 
 navian and Saxon ancestors : the bark 
 of the beech tree was most commonly 
 used. The primitive meaning of the 
 Anglo-Saxon word boc is the beech tree ; 
 its secondary meaning, a book and 
 hence our word, book. There are still 
 extant some letters, and even love-letters, 
 written by the ancient Scandinavians on 
 pieces of bark. A very curious library 
 of the kind was discovered some time 
 ago among the Calmucs : the books were 
 very long and narrow ; their leaves of 
 thick bark, varnished over ; the writing 
 white on a black ground. 
 
 Linen cloth, on which letters were 
 drawn or painted with pencils, was em- 
 ployed by the Egyptians when, it is 
 supposed, they wished to transmit such 
 things as they designed to last very long. 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 In the British Museum there is a piece 
 of writing of this nature, taken out of a 
 mummy. The Romans likewise employed 
 linen (librilintei) not merely for what re- 
 lated to private subjects and persons, but 
 also to enter the names of magistrates, 
 treaties, and other public documents. 
 
 The employment of the skins of ani- 
 mals, rudely prepared, is stated by He- 
 rodotus to have originated with the 
 Ionians, as a substitute for the papyrus, 
 when it could not be procured without 
 much difficulty and expense: those of 
 sheep, goats, and asses were preferred. 
 Several of these books are in the Vatican, 
 the Royal Library of Paris, and some 
 other libraries. The poems of Homer 
 were written on the intestines of a serpent 
 in letters of gold : this roll was first depo- 
 sited in the library of Ptolemy Philadel- 
 phus, and afterwards taken to the great 
 library of Constantinople, where it was 
 destroyed by fire in the sixth century : it 
 was 120 feet long. 
 
 Leather, or skins prepared in the pre- 
 sent manner, seems to have been often 
 used by the Jews, on which to write the 
 Law, Pentateuch, and other parts of 
 their Sacred Scriptures. Dr. Buchanan 
 informs us, that in the coffer of the syn- 
 agogue of the Black Jews, in Malayala, 
 there is an ancient copy of the Law, 
 written on a roll of leather ; it is about 
 fifteen feet long : the skins are sewed to- 
 gether. A copy of the Pentateuch, writ- 
 ten beautifully in Hebrew characters, 
 (without vowel points,) large, and of a 
 square form, belonged formerly to M. 
 Santander. It occupied fifty-seven skins, 
 which were fastened together with the 
 same material. 
 
 The Egyptian papyrus was applied to 
 the purpose of writing upon before the 
 preparation of parchment and its appli- 
 cation to the same use were known. But 
 in order to notice in connexion all the 
 subjects employed by the ancients, which 
 have been entirely superseded (except in 
 very few instances) by the use of paper, 
 we shall postpone our account of the 
 papyrus, till we have stated a few parti- 
 culars regarding the ancient use of parch- 
 ment. 
 
 The common opinion, derived from the 
 authority of Varro and Pliny, that the 
 preparation of parchment from skins 
 owes its origin to a dispute between Eu- 
 menes, King of Pergamus, and one of the 
 Ptolemies, concerning their respective 
 libraries, in consequence of which the 
 Egyptian king prohibited the exportation 
 of papyrus, and Eumenes invented parch- 
 
 ment, is certainly unfounded. Its manu- 
 facture and use are mentioned by Jose^ 
 phus, Diodorus Siculus, and other au- 
 thors, as having been known long before 
 the age of the Ptolemies : the name given 
 to it by the ancients, however, Charta Per- 
 gamena, (paper of Pergamus,) renders it 
 highly probable that its mode of prepara* 
 tion was improved, or its manufacture 
 and use more general there, than in other 
 places. Most of the ancient manuscripts 
 now extant are written on parchment. 
 From their appearance, the parchment 
 has evidently been polished : according 
 to ancient authors, by the pumice stone. 
 They used three kinds that of the na- 
 tural colour ; the yellow, bicolor mem* 
 brana of Persius, which seems to have 
 been so called because one side of the 
 leaf was white, the other yellow ; and 
 the purple ; the parchment being tinged 
 with that colour, when silver or golden 
 letters were to be used. It sometimes hap-^ 
 pened that parchment of the very finest 
 kind was extremely scarce : about the 
 year 1120, "one Martin Hugh, being ap- 
 appointed by the convent of St. Edmund- 
 bury to write and illuminate a grand copy 
 of the Bible, for their library, could pro- 
 cure no parchment for this purpose in 
 England/ 
 
 Vellum, a finer kind of parchment, 
 made from the skins of very young 
 calves, was also prepared and used by 
 the ancients, and in the dark and middle 
 ages, for writing upon. There is one 
 manuscript of vellum, of a violet colour, 
 all the letters of which are of silver, 
 except the initials, which are of gold, 
 which we particularly notice, for two 
 reasons : first, it is the only specimen 
 extant of the parent tongue, from which 
 our own language, and the languages 
 of Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, Norway, 
 the Netherlands, and Germany, are de- 
 rived ; and, secondly, it was long sup- 
 posed by many to exhibit a very near 
 approach to printing, nearly 1 000 years 
 before the art was invented we allude 
 to the Gothic translation of the Gospels, 
 by Ulphilas, in the fourth century. An 
 imperfect copy of it is preserved in the 
 library of Upsal. It is called the ' Codex 
 Argenteus,' or silver book. The letters 
 appear, and were generally judged, to 
 have been stamped or imprinted, singly, 
 on the vellum, with hot metal types, in 
 the same manner as book-bbjiders at 
 present letter the backs of books.' We are 
 not aware that this opinion was called 
 in question, till Mr. Coxe minutely 
 and closely examined the MS., when 
 
6 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON, 
 
 he convinced himself that each letter 
 was painted, or drawn in the same man- 
 ner as the initial letters in several of the 
 finest missals. He seems also doubtful, 
 whether to call the leaves vellum, parch- 
 ment or papyrus. 
 
 We come now to paper. The most 
 ancient kind was made from the papy- 
 rus, whence the word paper is derived. 
 This is a species of rush, which the 
 ancients procured exclusively on the 
 banks of the Nile. The particular spe- 
 cies, till lately, was not known ; but it is 
 now ascertained to be the cyperus pa- 
 pyrus of Linnaeus, growing on the banks 
 of different rivers in the east, and like- 
 wise, we believe, in Trinidad. The term 
 biblos, originally applied by the Greeks 
 to the inner bark of trees, and equiva- 
 lent to the liber of the Romans, was 
 afterwards more usually applied to 
 the papyrus. Thence the term was 
 transferred to books in general; and 
 now it is confined by us to the scripture, 
 as the book. 
 
 It is not known when the papyrus was 
 first manufactured into paper ; but there 
 were certainly at a very early period, at 
 least three hundred years before Alex- 
 ander, manufactories of it at Memphis. 
 Afterwards, and at the time of the con- 
 quest of Egypt, by the Romans, it was 
 made chiefly at Alexandria. Till this 
 conquest, however, the paper was of 
 inferior quality. The Roman artists paid 
 great attention to its improvement, and 
 at length made it of considerable thick- 
 ness, perfectly white and smooth. Even 
 in this state, however, it was so fria- 
 ble and weak, that, when great dura- 
 bility was requisite, leaves of parchment 
 were intermixed with those of papyrus. 
 " Thus the firmness of the one substance 
 defended the brittleness of the other, and 
 great numbers of books, so constituted, 
 have resisted the accidents and decays of 
 twelve centuries." 
 
 The papyrus was highly useful to the 
 ancient Egyptians, on many accounts, 
 besides that of supplying them with 
 paper : from the pith they extracted a 
 sweet and nutritive juice; from the 
 harder and lower parts they formed 
 cups, &c. ; staves, and ribs of boats, 
 from the upper and more flexible part ; 
 and the fibrous part was manufactured 
 into cloth, sails/ ropes, strings, shoes, 
 wicks for lamps, and paper. Pliny gives 
 a full desoription of the manner in which 
 it was made by the ancients ; and Bruce, 
 who succeeded in making it, both in 
 Abyssinia and Egypt, has offered se- 
 
 veral very curious observations on the 
 natural history of the papyrus, in the 
 seventh vol. of his Travels, 8vo. edition, 
 page 117, &c. In one point he differs 
 from the account given by Pliny, of the 
 mode of manufacturing paper from 
 it. According to the latter, one layer 
 of the fibrous coats of the plant was 
 laid across another layer, on a table ; 
 they were then connected together by 
 the muddy water of the Nile. Mr. 
 Bruce affirms, that the water of the 
 Nile is in no degree glutinous, and that 
 the strips of papyrus adhere together 
 solely by means of the saccharine mat- 
 ter, with which the juice of the plant is 
 abundantly impregnated. He adds, that 
 the Nile water must have been used 
 simply to dissolve this saccharine mat- 
 ter, perfectly and equally. The cemented 
 fibres were pressed, dried, beat with a 
 mallet, and polished with a tooth, shell, 
 or other smooth and solid substance. 
 The Roman artists, in Alexandria, paid 
 great attention to the operations of 
 washing, beating, glueing, sizing, and 
 polishing. It was sized in the same 
 manner as paper from rags is at present. 
 After the first sizing, it was beat with a 
 hammer; sized the second time, pressed, 
 and then polished. It was then cut into 
 various sizes, never more, however, 
 according to Pliny, than thirteen inches 
 wide. The same author mentions a 
 great variety of kinds, to each of which 
 a specific name was given. 
 
 For at least three hundred years be- 
 fore Christ, this article was exported in 
 large quantities from Egypt. Of the 
 extent and value of the manufactures, 
 in Alexandria, and of the wealth derived 
 from them, we may form some idea from 
 an anecdote of Firmus. This person, 
 the friend and ally of Zenobia, queen of 
 Palmyra, a wealthy merchant, or rather 
 manufacturer of paper and glue, in 
 Alexandria, broke into that city in the 
 middle of the third century, at the head 
 of a furious multitude, " assumed the 
 imperial purple, coined money, published 
 edicts, and raised an army, which he 
 boasted he could maintain from the sole 
 profits of his manufactures." The time 
 when the manufacture of this paper was 
 lost, or superseded, is not known. The 
 possession of Egypt by the Saracens 
 certainly interrupted and diminished its 
 manufacture and export ; and it is ge- 
 nerally supposed that few, if any, ma- 
 nuscripts on papyrus are of a later date 
 than the eighth or ninth century. About 
 this period, cotton paper was first made; 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 according to some, in Bucharia; ac- 
 cording to others, it had been known 
 long before in China and Persia. There 
 is no doubt, however, that the Arabs, 
 having gained a knowledge of the pro- 
 cess, established a manufactory at Ceuta, 
 and afterwards in Spain ; and thus in- 
 troduced it into Europe, about the 
 twelfth century. In the next century this 
 paper was in common use in the eastern 
 empire, and in Sicily. At first it was 
 made of raw cotton ; then of old worn- 
 out cotton cloth. While the paper ma- 
 nufactories of Spain were possessed by 
 the Arabians, this article was of a very 
 coarse and inferior quality, in conse- 
 quence of their employing only mortars, 
 and hand or horse-mills, to reduce the 
 wool or cloth to a pulp ; but as soon as 
 their Christian labourers got possession 
 of the paper mills of Toledo and Valencia, 
 they worked them to more advantage, by 
 the use of water-mills, an improved me- 
 thod of grinding and stamping, and by 
 the invention or adoption of moulds. 
 The use of cotton paper became general 
 only in the thirteenth century ; and about 
 the middle of the fourteenth, it was 
 almost entirely superseded by paper from 
 linen rags, such as is at present made 
 and used in Europe, and wherever Eu- 
 ropeans have settled or colonised. There 
 is much uncertainty respecting the exact 
 time when linen paper was invented, and 
 in what country. It is probable that at 
 first a mixture of cotton and linen rags 
 was employed, especially in those coun- 
 tries, where -flax was much and easily 
 cultivated, and where cotton was an arti- 
 cle of import, and consequently scarce 
 and dear. Montfaueon, who, on these 
 subjects, is great authority on account 
 of the diligence and extent of his re- 
 searches, could find no books, either in 
 France or Italy, made of linen paper, 
 before the year 1270. A specimen a 
 little earlier, however, in 1239, has been 
 discovered by De Vaines. In the four- 
 teenth century, the use of this kind of 
 paper became general. Italy seems to 
 have had paper manufactures, for ex- 
 portation, at this time. In 1380, part 
 of the cargo of a ship, from Genoa to 
 Sluys, in Flanders, which was driven 
 ashore on the coast of England, con- 
 sisted of twenty-two bales of writing 
 paper. The oldest German paper-mill 
 was erected at Nuremberg, in 1390. 
 There are English manuscripts, on linen 
 paper, so early as 1340 and 1342 ; but 
 the manufacture was not introduced, 
 according to the general opinion, into 
 
 this country, till the year 1588. At that 
 time a German, named Spielman, jewel- 
 ler to Queen Elizabeth, erected a paper- 
 mill at Dartford, in Kent. This opinion, 
 however, has been controverted on good 
 grounds ; as the paper used by Wynkyn 
 de Worde (who may justly be considered 
 as Caxton's real successor) for Bar- 
 tholomeus, de proprietatibus rerum de- 
 scribed by Mr. Dibdin, " as one of the 
 most splendid typographical productions 
 of the early British press," was made 
 at Hertford by John Tate, junior, who 
 may therefore be deemed the earliest 
 paper-maker in England.* Our prin- 
 cipal supply of fine paper, for printing 
 and writing, was from the Continent 
 (Holland and France chiefly) till about 
 one hundred years since. At this period 
 two-thirds of the paper used was home 
 made ; at present, besides manufacturing 
 sufficient for our own use, we export it 
 to a considerable amount. 
 
 The instruments employed to write 
 with, by the ancients, and in the dark 
 and middle ages, of course varied ac- 
 cording to the nature of the materials on 
 which they wrote. They may be divided 
 into two kinds : those which acted im- 
 mediately, and those which acted by the 
 assistance of fluids ; of the first kind 
 were the wedge and chisel, for inscrip- 
 tions on stone, wood, and metal ; and 
 the style, for wax tablets. The last 
 has been already mentioned and de- 
 scribed ; the others need no description. 
 As the style was too sharp for writing 
 on parchment and Egyptian paper, and 
 moreover, was not adapted for holding 
 or conveying a fluid, a species of reed was 
 employed. The Egyptian reeds were pre- 
 ferred, but many others were also used. 
 They were cut in the form of our modern 
 pens, and split in the points ; when they 
 became blunt, they were sharpened 
 either with a knife, or on a rough stone. 
 Persons of rank and fortune often wrote 
 with a calamus of silver something 
 probably like our silver pens. However 
 carefully made or mended, the strokes 
 made by the reed-pens were in general 
 coarse and uneven. Both the styles and 
 the reeds were carefully kept in cases. 
 From ancient authors, as well as from 
 the figures in manuscripts, we learn that 
 they used a sponge to cleanse the reed,, 
 and to rub out such letters as were writ- 
 
 * John Tate, the younger 
 
 Which laie hath in England do make this paper 
 
 thynne, 
 That now in o.ir English, this boke is printed 
 
 inne. 
 
 Proemium to BartJiolomcus, about 149t. 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON 
 
 ten by mistake ; a knife for mending the 
 reed ; pumice, for a similar purpose, 
 or to smooth the parchment ; com- 
 passes for measuring the distances of 
 the lines ; scissars, for cutting the 
 paper ; a puncher, to point out the be- 
 ginning and end of each line ; a rule, to 
 draw lines, and divide the sheets into 
 columns ; a glass, containing sand, and 
 another glass filled with water, probably 
 to mix with the ink. 
 
 Neither the particular species of cala- 
 mus, used as pens by the ancients, nor 
 the manner in which they prepared them 
 for this purpose, is known. This is re- 
 markable, since all the places, where 
 these reeds grow wild, have been ascer- 
 tained, and explored by botanists : with 
 so little success, however, that after a 
 variety of learned as well as scientific 
 conjectures, the calamus of the ancients 
 has not yet found a place in the bo- 
 tanical system of Linneus. 
 
 This is yet more remarkable, as reeds 
 are still employed by many eastern 
 nations to write with. Ranwolf, who 
 travelled in the sixteenth century, informs 
 us that canes for pens were sold in the 
 shops of Turkey, small, hollow within, 
 smooth without, and of a brownish co- 
 lour. Tavernier, Chardin, Tournefort, 
 and other travellers, give a similar ac- 
 count, adding, that the reeds are about 
 the size of large swan quills, and are cut 
 and split in the same manner that we 
 do quills, except that their nib is much 
 larger. The best grow near the Persian 
 Gulph. It is highly probable, that, of 
 whatever species these are, they are of 
 the same as those employed by the 
 ancients ; and that the mode of prepar- 
 ing them, still practised in the east, was 
 followed by the ancients. They are put 
 for some months in a dunghill ; this 
 gives them a dark yellow colour, a fine 
 polish, and the requisite hardness. 
 
 Reeds continued to be used even so 
 late as the eighth century, though there 
 can be no doubt that quill pens were 
 known in the middle of the seventh. The 
 earliest author who uses the word penna 
 for a writing pen, is Isidorus, who lived 
 in that century ; and towards the latter 
 end of the same century, a Latin sonnet 
 to a pen was written by an Anglo- 
 Saxon author. There is, indeed, in the 
 Medicean Library, a MS. of Virgil, 
 written in the beginning of the 5th 
 century, evidently, from the gradual and 
 regular fineness of the hair strokes, by 
 some instrument as elastic as a quill ; 
 but there is no proof that it was really 
 
 written with a quill. Considering that 
 pens from quills were certainly known in 
 the seventh century, they must have come 
 into general use very slowly ; for in 1433, 
 a present of a bundle of quills was sent 
 from Venice by a monk, with a letter, 
 in which he says, " Shew the bundle to 
 Brother Nicholas, that he may choose a 
 quilL" 
 
 The composition and the colours of 
 the ink used by the ancients were 
 various. Lamp-black, or the black 
 taken from burnt ivory, and soot from 
 furnaces and baths, according to Pliny 
 and other writers, formed the basis of it : 
 the black liquor of the cuttle fish is also 
 said to have been used as ink, principally 
 on the authority of a metaphorical 
 expression of the poet Persius. But 
 of whatever ingredients it was made, it 
 is certain, from chemical analysis, from 
 the solidity and blackness in the most 
 ancient manuscripts, and from an ink- 
 stand found at Herculaneum, in which 
 the ink appears like a thick oil, that 
 the ink then made was much more 
 opaque as well as encaustic than that 
 used at present. Inks, red, purple and 
 blue, and also silver and gold inks, were 
 much employed by the ancients ; the 
 red was made from vermilion, cinnabar, 
 and carmine ; the purple from the 
 murex ; one kind of this coloured ink, 
 called the sacred encauster, was set apart 
 for the sole use of the emperors. The 
 subscription at the end of most Greek 
 manuscripts, containing the name of the 
 copyist, and the year, month, day, and 
 sometimes hour, when he finished his 
 labour, were generally written, in the 
 period of the Lower Empire, in purple 
 ink. Golden ink was used by the Greeks 
 much more than by the Romans. The 
 manufacture both of it and silver ink 
 was a distinct and extensive, as well as 
 a lucrative business in the middle ages ; 
 and another distinct business was that 
 of inscribing the titles, capitals or em- 
 phatic words, in coloured and gold or 
 silver inks. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Manuscript Books where written and 
 copied, and by whom Causes of 
 their Destruction or Loss their 
 Rarity and high price Libraries- 
 Schools. 
 The foregoing chapter proves very 
 strongly and clearly the obstacles and 
 impediments in the way of the commu- 
 nication and transmission of knowledge 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 among the ancients, and in the dark and 
 middle ages, in so far as the nature of the 
 materials employed for those purposes 
 is concerned. Masses of stone or mar- 
 ble, metal, or blocks or planks of wood, 
 were too heavy and cumbrous to circu- 
 late : in order to learn what the inscrip- 
 tions on them related to, it was necessary 
 that they should be consulted on the 
 spot. Even after better materials were 
 used, such as tablets, parchment, and 
 the papyrus paper, the difficulties and 
 disadvantages were great. Wax tablets 
 might answer for notes, letters, or very 
 short treaties, but scarcely for writings 
 of any great length. Besides it appears 
 that they were chiefly intended and ap- 
 plied for private use, and never cir- 
 culated. Parchment never could have 
 been abundant and cheap ; and being, 
 at least during the Greek and Roman 
 period, manufactured exclusively or 
 principally, in one place, other parts of 
 the world must have been dependant 
 for their supply upon it. Papyrus paper 
 was cheaper, and in much greater 
 abundance ; but for a supply of it, the 
 world was indebted to Egypt alone ; and 
 we have seen how this supply was cut 
 off or much diminished when the Sara- 
 cens obtained possession of that country. 
 
 The invention of paper from linen rags 
 succeeded. Dr. Robertson remarks that 
 "it preceded the first dawning of letters 
 and improvement in knowledge towards 
 the close of the eleventh century, and that 
 by means of it, not only the number of 
 manuscripts increased, but the study of 
 the sciences was wonderfully facilitated." 
 So far, indeed, as respects material, after 
 this period, the European world was 
 nearly as well off for the means of cir- 
 culating and transmitting knowledge, as 
 we of the present day are. But we must 
 never lose sight of this fact, that all 
 books were manuscript, written by the 
 hand. How this was accomplished, by 
 whom, and where, form part of the in- 
 quiries answered in the present chapter. 
 
 If we look at the voluminous works 
 of some of the ancient Fathers or school- 
 men, we must be struck with astonish- 
 ment, when we reflect that copies of 
 them were made by the pen alone, and 
 that their circulation, which seems to 
 have been extensive, could not proceed 
 unless the pen supplied copies. From 
 this single fact, we shall be prepared to 
 expect that the copyists of books must, 
 at all times before the invention of 
 printing, have been very numerous ; fol- 
 lowing a regular business, that afforded 
 
 full employment, and required expe- 
 rience and skill, as well as legible and 
 expeditious writing. 
 
 This was indeed the case in Greece, 
 Rome, Alexandria, and other places 
 before the Christian era ; and after its 
 establishment, in the monasteries, uni- 
 versities, and many other places. At 
 Athens copyists by profession were nu- 
 merous, and gained a steady and con- 
 siderable livelihood, as, notwithstanding 
 their number and labours, books were 
 seldom very common. The booksellers 
 of Athens employed them principally to 
 copy books of amusement, most of which 
 were exported to the adjoining countries 
 on the shores of the Mediterranean, and 
 sometimes even to the Greek colonies 
 on the Euxine. In many of these 
 places the business of copying was car- 
 ried on, and libraries formed. Indivi- 
 duals also employed themselves, occa- 
 sionally, in copying; and there are 
 instances recorded of some forming their 
 own libraries by copying every book 
 they wished to put into them. Not 
 long after the death of Alexander, the 
 love of science and literature passed 
 from Athens and Greece generally, to 
 Alexandria, where, patronised by the 
 Ptolemies, they nourished vigorously, 
 and for a considerable period seemed to 
 have concentred themselves. Under the 
 same roof with the celebrated library 
 there, (which is said to have contained 
 at one time 700,000 volumes,) were 
 extensive offices, regularly and com- 
 pletely fitted up for the business of 
 transcribing books : and it was the 
 practice of foreign princes, who wished 
 for copies of books, to maintain copyists 
 in this city. Some of the libraries of 
 Rome, having been destroyed by fire, 
 the Emperor Domitian sent copyists to 
 Alexandria, that he might be able to 
 replace them. This practice continued 
 for some centuries after Domitian, pro- 
 bably till the conquest of Egypt by the 
 Saracens in the middle of the seventh 
 century. The supposed invention of 
 parchment by a king of Pergamus has 
 already been mentioned. This is doubt- 
 ful ; but it is certain that there were 
 extensive manufactories of that article 
 there, almost entirely for Ihe use of 
 the copyists, who were attached to the 
 royal library ; this is said to have con- 
 tained 200,000 books. 
 
 We are ignorant of the class of peo- 
 ple in ancient Greece, by whom the 
 business of copying was chiefly followed, 
 and of the education they received. But 
 
10 
 
 we know, that, in Rome, the copyists 
 were usually slaves who had received a 
 liberal education. Sometimes they were 
 freedmen, especially those employed by 
 private individuals. The Romans, of 
 rank and consequence, seldom wrote 
 their works, speeches, or even letters 
 themselves ; it was customary for them 
 to dictate to such of their slaves or freed- 
 men, as had been liberally educated, 
 who wrote the MS. in a kind of short 
 hand, or rather in contractions and signs 
 which stood for words and syllables. 
 If the work was intended for publica- 
 tion, it was sent to the booksellers who 
 employed people to copy it fairly in the 
 ordinary characters. This kind of short 
 hand is said to have been invented by 
 Xenophon : it was certainly much ex- 
 tended and improved by the Romans. 
 Tyro, Cicero's freedman, in copying the 
 speeches of Cato, first regulated the 
 method of taking down public harangues 
 hence their notce took his name, Notes 
 Tyroniance ; they were in use in the 
 tenth and eleventh centuries. Many of 
 the speeches of Cicero and other dis- 
 tinguished statesmen and orators, in the 
 senate or at the forum, were taken down 
 by short-hand writers stationed there. 
 Extreme rapidity of writing was abso- 
 lutely necessary : this led them to con- 
 tract words more and more, and to 
 multiply the number of the contrac- 
 tions. In many cases, either for the 
 sake of greater expedition, or of secrecy, 
 " signs or marks which could be cur- 
 rently made with one dash or scratch of 
 the style, and without lifting or turning 
 it, came to be employed, instead of those 
 letters which were themselves abbrevia- 
 tions of words. This mode of dictation, 
 and of rapid and abbreviated writing, 
 continued to be practised, at least as 
 late as the fourth century." 
 
 This, itself, must have occasioned 
 many errors ; but the chief source of 
 errors in the MSS. of the ancients arose 
 from the transcribers employed by the 
 booksellers ; these were often ignorant 
 and careless ; and complaints on that 
 score are made against them, at a very 
 early period, By Lucilius, in one of his sa- 
 tires, and afterwards by Cicero, Strabo, 
 Martial, and other authors. Strabo in- 
 forms us that in his time the copyists were 
 so careless that they neglected to compare 
 what they wrote with the exemplar: 
 this, he adds, has been the case in many 
 works copied for sale, at Rome and 
 Alexandria. Individuals seldom copied 
 books for their own use at Rome. Plu- 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 tarch, indeed, mentions, that Cato the 
 Censor, out of his great anxiety for the 
 education of his son, wrote out, for his 
 use, with his own hand, in large letters, 
 such historical works as he wished him 
 to read ; but this is evidently noticed as 
 an extraordinary and unusual action. 
 When a person, from the absence of his 
 scribe or other cause, wrote his letters 
 himself, the extreme rapidity to which 
 he had been accustomed while dictating, 
 unavoidably produced rapid and illegible 
 writing. Cicero, in reply to the com- 
 plaint of his brother Quintus, that he 
 could not read his letters, tells him that 
 when he wrote himself, he wrote with 
 whatever pen he took up, whether good 
 or bad*. 
 
 When the seat of the Roman empire 
 was transferred to Constantinople, that 
 city, for upwards of one thousand years, 
 became the chief seat of literature, and 
 source of books. The liberality and 
 munificence of the emperors in purchas- 
 ing books, and having them copied, are 
 repeatedly noticed, especially by the 
 Byzantine historians. The manuscripts 
 executed in that city are, in general, 
 beautifully written, and sometimes most 
 splendidly decorated. Though the num- 
 ber of books, and the demand for them 
 in ancient times, were, comparatively, 
 extremely limited, yet, in consequence 
 of the frequent destruction of manu- 
 scripts, by common accidents and casu- 
 alties, the business of copyists must have 
 been very extensive. When the Roman 
 empire began to decline, their destruction 
 was extended and increased in the midst 
 of the turbulence and rapine of the civil 
 contests for the imperial throne. Chris- 
 tianity, properly understood, and exer- 
 cising its due influence on the under- 
 standing and character, must be a warm 
 friend of knowledge and literature : but 
 the spurious Christianity, believed and 
 acted upon in the dark ages, was hostile 
 to some of the noblest productions of 
 the human mind. The temples of the 
 Heathens, with the public libraries they 
 contained, were the objects of vengeance 
 and destruction. The classics were re- 
 presented as sinful books. In addition 
 to these causes, the capture of Rome 
 in the fifth century, the devastations 
 committed by Alaric, Genseric, and 
 Attila and the plunder of Milan, which, 
 
 * Quintilian informs us that wax tablets were pre- 
 ferred to paper, yrhen it whs necessiiry or desirable to 
 write with rapidity, as the pen required to be fre- 
 quently raised from the paper, to be dipped in the ink 
 an intermission and delay not required vvbeii writ- 
 ing with the style on tablets. 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM OAXTON. 
 
 11 
 
 next to Rome, was the principal reposi- 
 tory for books in Italy greatly reduced 
 the number of manuscripts, or contri- 
 buted to their mutilation. 
 ' Soon after monachism was regularly 
 formed in the sixth century, the monks, 
 especially those under the rules of St. 
 Benedict, which did not prohibit the 
 reading of the classics, turned their at- 
 tention to procuring and copying manu- 
 scripts. Most of these indeed were 
 worthless ; but truth obliges us to add, 
 that many of the abbots, and even monks, 
 employecl themselves in procuring or 
 copying the choicest works of Greece 
 and Rome*. Cassiodorus, to use the 
 words of Gibbon, " after passing thirty 
 years in the honours of the world, 
 was blessed with an equal term of re- 
 pose in the devout and studious solitude 
 of Squillace." To this place, the mo- 
 nastery of Monte Cassino, in Calabria, 
 he carried his own extensive library, 
 which he greatly enlarged by manu- 
 scripts bought at a considerable expense 
 in various parts of Italy. His fondness 
 for literature spread among the monks ; 
 he encouraged them to copy manu- 
 scripts ; and even wrote a treatise giving 
 minute directions for copying with cor- 
 rectness and facility. What he did there 
 seems to have been imitated in the other 
 monasteries of that part of Italy ; for 
 fifty religious houses there are mention- 
 ed, which afterwards principally supplied 
 the libraries of Rome, Venice, Florence, 
 and Milan, with manuscripts. The 
 north of Italy had also similar esta- 
 blishments in monasteries for copying. 
 The monastery of Benedictines at Bob- 
 bio, according to Tiraboschi, was cele- 
 brated for its cultivation of literature. 
 The same author fixes the systematic 
 commencement of the copying of the 
 classics in the sixth century. The 
 monasteries of the Morea, and of the 
 islands of Eubea and Crete, but more 
 especially the numerous religious houses 
 which covered the heights and sides of 
 Mount Athos, had always some of their 
 inhabitants employed in the transcription 
 of books. 
 
 It was a fixed rule in religious houses 
 that all their inmates should devote a 
 portion of the day to labour. Such as 
 were unable to work at employments 
 
 * Some of the early fathers employed much of their 
 time in dictating their works. Eusebius gives a cu- 
 rious picture of Origen's mode of composition : he 
 had seven natarii, or short-hand writers, who suc- 
 ceeded each other, as they became weary with writ- 
 ing : he had also a regular establishment of men and 
 young women, who wrote beautifujly, to copy his 
 works. 
 
 requiring toil and strength, or particular 
 skill, discharged their duty by copying 
 manuscripts ; and as it was another 
 rule, that every vacancy should be filled 
 up, as soon as ever it took place, there 
 was always a considerable number of 
 copyists. In every great abbey, an 
 apartment, called the scriptorium, was 
 expressly fitted up, as a writing-room. 
 That of St. Albans abbey was built 
 about 1080, by a Norman, who ordered 
 many volumes to be written there ; the 
 exemplars were furnished by Archbishop 
 Lanfranc. Estates and legacies were 
 often bequeathed for the support of the 
 scriptorium, and tithes appropriated for 
 the express purpose of copying books. 
 The transcription of the service books 
 for the choir was intrusted to boys and 
 novices ; but the missals and Bibles 
 were ordered to be written by monks 
 of mature age and discretion. Persons 
 qualified by experience and superior 
 learning were appointed to revise every 
 manuscript that came from the scrip- 
 torium. The copying of books was 
 executed in other places besides monas- 
 teries ; sometimes by individuals, from 
 their attachment to literature ; but ge- 
 nerally by persons who made it their 
 professed employment. Richard of 
 Bury, bishop of Durham, in the thir- 
 teenth century, is highly celebrated for 
 his love and encouragement, of litera- 
 ture. Besides his libraries, which were 
 numerous in all his palaces, and the 
 books which covered the floor of his 
 common apartments, so that it was no 
 easy matter to approach him, he had 
 a great number of copyists, illuminators, 
 and binders, in his pay. While Chan- 
 cellor and Treasurer of England, he 
 preferred receiving the usual perquisites 
 of his office in books, instead of the usual 
 new year's gifts and presents. Copyists 
 were found in all the great towns ; but 
 were most numerous in such as had 
 universities. It is said that more than 
 six thousand persons at Paris subsisted 
 by copying and illuminating manu- 
 scripts, at the time when printing was 
 introduced inio that city : they held their 
 privilege under the University. We 
 know little certain of the rate at which 
 copyists were paid ; one fact, however, 
 mentioned by Stow, in his ' Survey of 
 London,' may be given: In 1433, 66/. 
 13s. 4d. was paid for transcribing a copy 
 of the works of Nicholas de Lyra, in 
 two volumes, to be chained m the 
 library of the Grey Friars. The usual 
 price of wheat at this time was bs. id. 
 
12 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 the quarter. The wages of a ploughman 
 were one penny a day ; of a sawyer, 
 four-pence ; and of a stone-cutter, the 
 same*. 
 
 The Jews practised the business of 
 copying, and greatly excelled in fine 
 and regular writing. " But they confined 
 their labours chiefly to the Old Testa- 
 ment, and their own religious books. 
 In some of the Hebrew manuscripts, 
 executed by them, the letters are so 
 equal, that they seem to have been 
 printed. Even at present, as Mr. But- 
 ler remarks, " those who have not seen 
 the rolls used in the synagogues, can 
 have no conception of the exquisite 
 beauty, correctness, and equality, of the 
 writing." 
 
 The ancients most commonly wrote 
 only on one side of the parchment or 
 paper, joining the sheets together till 
 their work was entirely writtenf. The 
 manuscript was then rolled on a cylin- 
 der, and called volumen. More than 
 one book was seldom included in a 
 volume. Thus the fifteen books of 
 Ovid's Metamorphoses, were in fifteen 
 volumes. The volume being formed, a 
 ball of wood, bone, ivory, &c, was 
 fastened to it on the outside, for orna- 
 ment and security. This was the most 
 ancient mode of binding books, if so it 
 may be called ; and it was followed long 
 after the time of Augustus. The square 
 form, it is said, was first given to books 
 by one of the kings of Pergamus ; and 
 it is certain that Julius Caesar intro- 
 duced the custom of dividing his letters 
 to the senate, and folding them like our 
 books. Previously to his time, when 
 the consuls wrote to the senate, their 
 letters were rolled up in a volume. 
 
 * It must be noticed, however, that the illumina- 
 tions, as well as the ornaments, are probably included 
 in the sum ; if not the materials used, at least the 
 workmanship. The works of Nicholas de Lyra seem 
 to have been in high repute, and much honoured. 
 John Whethamstede, abbot of St. Alban's, highly 
 celebrated for his studious employment and love of 
 literature, began, during his abbacy, a grand tran- 
 script of the Postilla of De Lyra ; the ornaments and 
 hand writing were most splendid. The monk, who 
 mentions it, and who lived after him, when it was 
 still unfinished, exclaims, "God grant that this work 
 may receive, in our days, a happy consummation." 
 
 t Pasting the leaves together was a distinct and 
 regular business, carried on by persons called glu- 
 tinatores. In parchment there appear to have been 
 ruled lines to direct the writing; whereas, when 
 writing on paper, which ingeneral was very fine, and 
 almost transparent, a leaf of ruled paper was put be- 
 neath. The double paper, mentioned by Pliny, on 
 both sides of which the ancients wrote, was made by 
 pasting two leaves together, in such a manner that 
 the grain of the paper was crossed. The blank side 
 of manuscripts, written on single paper, was some- 
 times used for rough drafts, or given to children for 
 copy-bookshence the Latin term, adversaria, a 
 note-book, loose papers. 
 
 When books were exposed to sale, they 
 were covered with skins, which were 
 rendered smooth by pumice-stone. There 
 was one particular street in Rome, or 
 rather a part of one street, in which the 
 booksellers chiefly lived. In the middle 
 ages books were usually bound by 
 monks. There were also trading bind- 
 ers, called ligatores, and persons whose 
 sole business it was to sell covers. 
 White sheep- skin, pasted on a wooden 
 board, sometimes overlapping the leaves, 
 and fastened with a metal cross, was 
 the most common kind of binding. It 
 was deemed the duty of the sacrists in 
 particular to bind and clasp the books. 
 There is a curious charter of Charle- 
 magne's, in 790, to the abbots and 
 monks of Sithin, by which he grants 
 them an unlimited right of hunting, on 
 condition that the skins of the deer they 
 killed should be used in making them 
 gloves and girdles, and covers for their 
 books. 
 
 We know little about booksellers in 
 the early part of the dark ages ; it is 
 probable, indeed, that for many cen- 
 turies there was no mode of procuring a 
 copy of a book but by borrowing it, and 
 employing a copyist, to transcribe it. 
 Books, however, as well as other arti- 
 cles, were occasionally sold in the 
 porches of the churches a place where 
 law meetings were held, and money paid, 
 in order that its payment might be 
 attested, if necessary, by some of the 
 persons there assembled. We may sup- 
 pose that, for the same reason, books 
 were sold there. This custom seems to 
 have been adopted from a similar one 
 which prevailed in the porticoes of the 
 Greek and Roman temples ; for in them 
 goods were sold, and business transacted. 
 We may also trace to the schools which 
 were established there, for children even 
 of the highest rank, the custom men- 
 tioned by Shakspeare, of parish schools 
 being held in the porch, or in a room 
 above the church. 
 
 Mr. Hallam says booksellers appear 
 in the latter part of the twelfth century ; 
 and quotes Peter of Blois, who mentions 
 a law book which he had bought from a 
 public seller of books. The Jews of 
 Spain about this period were much de- 
 voted to literature : Leo Africanus alludes 
 to one Jewish philosopher of Cordova, 
 who, having fallen in love, turned poet : 
 his verses, he adds, were publicly 
 sold in a street in that city, which he calls 
 the Booksellers'- Street ; this was about 
 the year 1220. The Greek and Roman 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 ra 
 
 authors adopted rather a singular cus- 
 tom, either to make their works sell after 
 they were actually published, or, more 
 probably, to create a disposition to pur- 
 chase them when they should come into 
 the hands of the booksellers. We learn 
 from Theophrastus, Juvenal, Pliny, and 
 Tacitus, (particularly from the last,) that 
 a person who wished to bring his writ- 
 ings into notice, hired or borrowed a 
 house, fitted up a room in it, hired forms, 
 and circulated prospectuses, and read 
 his productions before an audience, there 
 and thus collected. Giraldus Cambren- 
 sis did the same in the middle ages, in 
 order to make his works known. 
 
 Having thus given an account of the 
 manner in which manuscripts were co- 
 pied and increased in monasteries, &c. 
 we shall now state the causes of their 
 destruction and loss. Till the esta- 
 blishment of Monachism, Christianity, 
 or rather its blind and bigoted pro- 
 fessors, were hostile to the classics ; 
 the monasteries in a great degree 
 made up for this by the care they took 
 and the copies they made of them. 
 But one of the causes of their destruction 
 arose, even in the monasteries. The 
 high price of parchment at all times, and 
 its firm and tough texture, tempted and 
 enabled the ancients to erase what had 
 been written on it, (especially, we may 
 suppose, when the contents were of little 
 moment,) in order to use it again for writ- 
 ing upon. A manuscript of this kind was 
 called a Palimpsest. Cicero's self-love 
 took the alarm when his friend Tribatius 
 wrote a letter to him on such parchment. 
 After praising him for his parsimony, he 
 expresses his wonder what he had erased 
 to write such a letter, except it were his law 
 notes ; "for I cannot think that you would 
 efface my letter to substitute your own." 
 This practice, in the dark and middle 
 ages, became so prevalent, and was pro- 
 ductive of such serious consequences, 
 the most important documents often being 
 destroyed to make way for trash, that the 
 emperors of Germany, in their patents of 
 nobility, with power to create imperial 
 notaries, inserted a clause to the follow- 
 ing effect : " On condition that they 
 should not make use of old or erased 
 parchment, but that it should be quite 
 new." The parchment was generally 
 erased : but the monks had also a prac- 
 tice of taking out the writing by a chemi- 
 cal process ; and sometimes they peeled 
 off the surface of the parchment. They 
 had recourse to these destructive prac- 
 
 tices, not only when they wished to add 
 to their stock of religious works, but also 
 when they wanted to raise a sum of 
 money. In this case, they erased the 
 old writing paying little regard to its 
 value or rarity wrote a legend or a psal- 
 ter, and sold it to the common people. 
 Though it had been long known that the 
 writings of classical authors lay concealed 
 and nearly obliterated beneath the lite- 
 rary rubbish of the monks and this in 
 numerous cases for Montfaucon affirms 
 that the greater part of the MSS. he had 
 examined were of this description ; yet 
 no steps were taken to recover the origi- 
 nal and more valuable writings, till An- 
 gelo Mai undertook the task: he has 
 succeeded in recovering several works, 
 the most important of which is a consi- 
 derable portion of Cicero de Republica 
 that had been erased, and replaced by 
 St. Augustine's Commentary on the 
 Psalms. 
 
 The conquest of Egypt by the Sara- 
 cens, which rendered it almost impracti- 
 cable to procure papyrus paper, and the 
 consequent high price of parchment, and 
 temptation to erasure, were injurious to 
 literature, not only in this respect, but 
 by the alarm it gave to Europe. This 
 event, their subsequent conquest of Spain , 
 the Norman invasion of France, and 
 the wars by which various parts of 
 Europe were so long and dreadfully af- 
 flicted, afforded opportunities and pre- 
 texts for plundering the convents and 
 cities, and thus caused the destruction 
 and loss of a great number of valuable 
 manuscripts. 
 
 We have already alluded, generally, to 
 the facility with which books can be pro- 
 cured now, and the extreme difficulty 
 even of ascertaining where they were to 
 be found before the invention of print- 
 ing ; when that was ascertained, of gain- 
 ing access to them, or a loan of them ; 
 and the high price at which they were 
 then sold. We shall now give several 
 instances of the truth of this general 
 statement, for, in no other manner, can 
 we so clearly point out and prove the 
 very great advantages that literature and 
 science have derived from the art of 
 printing. The materials employed form- 
 erly to write upon the cumbersome or 
 perishable nature of some thedearness 
 of others the length of time necessarily 
 taken up, in writing books with the hand 
 the few places in which they were 
 accumulated the difficulty of access 
 to them their liability to destruction, 
 
14 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 and the practice of the monks' erasing 
 the writing, have prepared our readers 
 to anticipate their great rarity and value. 
 We must premise, however, that though 
 the facts we shall state will sufficiently 
 prove the high price of manuscript books, 
 yet we cannot gain a precise notion of 
 the subject, because, in many cases, that 
 arose in a great measure from the splen- 
 dour of their illuminations, and cost 
 of outward workmanship and, setting 
 aside this consideration, because it is not 
 possible to ascertain exactly the compa- 
 rative value of money in those ages, and 
 in the present times. Where we have 
 dates, we shall add the price of wheat, 
 and the wages of labour perhaps the 
 best criteria for ascertaining the pur- 
 chasing power of money. We shall be- 
 gin with instances of the rarity of manu- 
 scripts, as it is shown in the anxiety to 
 borrow them, and the conditions on 
 which they were lent. We have already 
 mentioned Richard of Bury. In his 
 Philobiblion he devotes one entire chap- 
 ter expressly to an enumeration of the 
 conditions on which books were to be 
 lent to strangers. In 1299, the Bishop 
 of Winchester borrowed a Bible in two 
 volumes folio, from a convent in that city, 
 giving a bond drawn up in a most formal 
 and solemn manner, for its due return. 
 This Bible had been given to the convent 
 by a former bishop, and in consideration 
 of this gift, and 100 marks, the monks 
 founded a daily mass for the soul of the 
 donor. In the same century several 
 Latin Bibles were given to the University 
 of Oxford, on condition that the students 
 who read them should deposit a cau- 
 tionary pledge. And even after manu- 
 scripts were multiplied by the invention 
 of linen paper, it was enacted by the 
 statutes of St. Mary's College, at Oxford, 
 in 1446, that "no scholar shall occupy a 
 book in the library above one hour, or 
 two hours at most, lest others should be 
 hindered from the use of the same." 
 Money was often lent on the deposit of 
 a book ; and there were public chests in 
 the universities, and other places in which 
 the books so deposited were kept. They 
 were often particularly named and de- 
 scribed in wills generally left to a rela- 
 tion or friend, in fee, and for the term 
 of his life, and afterwards to the library 
 of some religious house. " When a book 
 was bought/' observes Mr.Warton,"the 
 affair was of so much importance, that 
 it was customary to assemble persons of 
 consequence and character, and to make 
 
 a formal record that they were present on 
 the occasion." The same author adds, 
 " Even so late as the year 1471, when 
 Louis XI. of France borrowed the works 
 of the Arabian physician Rhasis, from 
 the faculty of medicine at Paris, he not 
 only deposited, by way of pledge, a 
 quantity of valuable plate, but was 
 obliged to procure a nobleman to join 
 with him as surety in a deed, by which he 
 bound himself to return it under a con- 
 siderable forfeiture." Long and violent 
 altercations, and even lawsuits, some- 
 times took place in consequence of the 
 disputed property of a book. 
 
 Books were so scarce in Spain in the 
 tenth century, that several monasteries 
 had among them only one copy of the 
 Bible, of Jerome's Epistles, and of several 
 other religious books ; and monasteries 
 had frequently only one missal. There 
 are some curious instances given by Lu- 
 pus, abbot of Ferrieris, of the extreme 
 scarcity of classical manuscripts in 
 the middle of the ninth century : he was 
 much devoted to literature ; and, from 
 his letters, appears to have been indefa- 
 tigable in his endeavours to find out 
 such manuscripts, in order to borrow 
 and copy them. In a letter to the Pope 
 he earnestly requests of him a copy of 
 Quintilian, and of a treatise of Cicero ; 
 for, he adds, though we have some frag- 
 ments of them, a complete copy is not 
 to be found in France. In two other of 
 his letters, he requests of a brother 
 abbot the loan of several manuscripts, 
 which he assures him shall be copied 
 and returned as soon as possible by a 
 faithful messenger. Another time he 
 sent a special messenger to borrow a 
 manuscript, promising that he would 
 take very great care of it, and return it 
 by a safe opportunity, and requesting 
 the person who lent it to him, if he were 
 asked to whom he had lent it, to reply, 
 to some near relations of his own, who 
 had been very urgent to borrow it. An- 
 other manuscript, which he seems to 
 have prized much, and a loan of which 
 had been so frequently requested, that he 
 thought of banishing it somewhere that 
 it might not be destroyed or lost, he 
 tells a friend he may perhaps lend him, 
 when he comes to see him, but that he 
 will not trust it to the messenger who 
 had been sent for it, though a monk, 
 and trustworthy, because he was travel- 
 ling on foot. We shall extract only 
 one more instance of the scarcity of 
 manuscripts from the letters of Lupus : 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 15 
 
 he requests a friend to apply in his own 
 name to an abbot of a monastery, to have 
 a copy made of Suetonius; "for," he 
 adds, " in this part of the world, the 
 work is no where to be found." 
 
 We possess few facts respecting the 
 price of manuscript books among the 
 ancients. Plato, who seems to have 
 spared no trouble or money in order to 
 enrich his library, especially with phi- 
 losophical works, paid a hundred minse, 
 equal to 375/., for three small treatises 
 by Philolaus, the Pythagorean ; and, 
 after the death of Speusippus, Plato's 
 disciple, his books were purchased by 
 Aristotle ; they were few in number ; 
 he paid for them three talents, about 
 675/. It is said that St. Jerome 
 nearly ruined himself by the purchase 
 of religious works alone. And, though, 
 at this period, we have no specific prices 
 of works, yet, from the account already 
 given of their rarity, of the difficulty of 
 ascertaining even where they were to be 
 found, and of the extreme reluctance, 
 in many instances, even to lend them, 
 we may easily credit the general fact, 
 that persons of a moderate fortune 
 could not afford to purchase them, and 
 that, by the rich even, they could seldom 
 be procured without the payment of 
 sums that required the sacrifice of some 
 luxuries. The mere money paid for 
 them, in the dark ages, whenever a 
 person distinguished himself for his 
 love of literature, was seldom the sole 
 or the principal expense. It was often 
 necessary to send to a great distance ; 
 to spend much time in finding out where 
 they were. In the- ninth century, an 
 English bishop was obliged to make 
 five journies to Rome, principally in 
 order to purchase books ; for one of 
 his books thus procured, Alfred gave 
 him an estate of eight hides of land, 
 or as much land as eight ploughs could 
 till. About the period of the invention 
 of cotton paper, 1174, the homilies of 
 St. Bede and St. Augustine's Psalter, 
 were bought by a prior in Winchester, 
 from the monks of Dorchester, in Ox- 
 fordshire, for twelve measures of barley, 
 and a pall richly embroidered in siiver. 
 Stow informs us, that in 1274, a Bible, 
 in nine volumes, fairly written, with a 
 gloss or comment, sold for fifty marks, 
 33/. 6s. 8d. : about this time the price 
 of wheat averaged about 35. 4d. a 
 quarter ; a labourer's wages were 1 \d. 
 a day ; a harvest man's, 2d. In a blank 
 page of Comestor's Scholastic History, 
 deposited in the British Museum, it is 
 
 stated, that this MS. was taken from 
 the King of France,- at the battle of 
 Poictiers : it was afterwards purchased 
 by the Earl of Salisbury for a hundred 
 marks, and directed, by the last will of 
 his Countess, to be sold for forty livres. 
 One hundred marks were equivalent to 
 66/. 13s. 4d. This sum -was exactly the 
 pay of Henry Percy, keeper of Berwick 
 Castle, in 1359 ; at this time the king's 
 surgeon's pay was 5/. 13s. 4d. per 
 annum, and one shilling a day beside. 
 Master carpenters had four-pence a day, 
 their servants two-pence ; the price of 
 wheat about 6s. 8d. a quarter. At the 
 beginning of the century, some books 
 were bequeathed to Merton College, 
 Oxford, of which the following are the 
 names and valuation : A Scholastic 
 History, 20s. ; a Concordantia, 10s.; 
 the four greater Prophets, with glosses, 
 5s. ; a Psalter, with glosses, 10s.; St. 
 Austin, on Genesis, 10s. About the 
 year 1400, a copy of the Roman de la 
 Rou was sold before the palace gate 
 at Paris, for forty crowns, or 33/. 6s. 6d. 
 The Countess of Anjou paid for a copy 
 of the Homilies of Bishop Haiman, two 
 hundred sheep, five quarters of wheat, 
 five quarters of barley, and five quarters 
 of millet. On the conquest of Paris, in 
 1425, the Duke of Bedford sent the 
 royal library to England : it consisted 
 of only eight hundred and fifty-three 
 volumes, but it was valued at two 
 thousand two hundred and twenty- three 
 livres, rather more than the same num- 
 ber of pounds sterling. At this time 
 the price of a cow was about 8s., of a 
 horse about 20s. And the pension paid 
 by the English Government to the Earl 
 of Wallachia, who had been driven out 
 of his territories by the Turks, was 
 26/. 13s. 4d. per annum. This library 
 is thought to have formed the founda- 
 tion of the celebrated library of Hum- 
 phrey Duke of Gloucester. This noble- 
 man was one of the most zealous and 
 liberal patrons of literature and learned 
 men of his age ; he invited learned 
 foreigners into England, whom he re- 
 tained in his service, employing them in 
 copying and translating from Greek into 
 Latin ; and he had constantly persons in 
 his pay collecting valuable manuscripts 
 for him. He gave to the University of 
 Oxford, about the year 1440, six hundred 
 volumes, one hundred and twenty of 
 which alone were valued at more than 
 1 000/. Wheat about this period might 
 be exported, when not above 6s. 8d. a 
 quarter. In the middle of this century, 
 
16 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 a nobleman of Bologne, desirous of 
 purchasing a copy of Livy, which had 
 been transcribed by the celebrated 
 Poo-gio, was obliged to sell an estate for 
 this purpose, and with the purchase 
 money, Poggio bought another estate, 
 near Florence. Archbishop Usher tells 
 us, from the Register of William Aln- 
 wick, Bishop of Norwich, that in 1429, 
 the price of one of Wickliffe's English 
 New Testaments, was four marks and 
 forty pence, or 21. 16s. 8d., which, the 
 Archishop observed, " is as much as will 
 now (about 1630) buy forty new Testa- 
 ments." Afterwards copies were mul- 
 tiplied so much, in consequence of the 
 increase of Wickliffe's disciples, that 
 the price fell to 20*., when the price of 
 a Porteus or breviary was six marks. 
 In 1468, 1L 6s. 8d. was lent on the 
 security of a MS. of Petrus Comestor 
 (a work already mentioned), deposited 
 as a pledge. Wheat at this time was 
 6*. 8d. a quarter; beef, 10s. the carcase ; 
 mutton, \sAd. ; veal, 2s. 6d. ; pork, 2s. ; 
 ale, \\d. a gallon. When Faust sold 
 his Bibles at Paris (about 1460), the 
 price of a parchment copy was reduced 
 from four or five hundred to sixty, fifty, 
 and forty crowns *. Other instances 
 might be given of the extreme rarity 
 and enormous price of books, in every 
 country, and at all periods, previous to 
 the invention of printing : but these 
 are amply sufficient to prove the facili- 
 ties which that discovery has given to 
 the spread of literature and science, by 
 removing this most serious and formi- 
 dable impediment. 
 
 Had not sovereigns and rich indivi- 
 duals formed libraries to which men of 
 learning had access, knowledge could 
 not have advanced, even in the very 
 slow manner in which it did ; as they, in 
 general, were too poor to purchase 
 books, and had not sufficient leisure to 
 find out where they were to be bought, 
 or, while dispersed, where they were to 
 be met with. The most celebrated li- 
 braries in ancient times, which may fairly 
 be regarded as having contained a very 
 large portion of the books then exist- 
 ing, were, 1 . The Alexandrian Library 
 
 * The supplying of books for divine service Mis- 
 sal Porteus, or Breviary Manual, &c. originally 
 fell upon the rector; as they were all written, and 
 some of them beautifully illuminated, it was a very 
 expensive duty. On the institution of vicars, the 
 parishioners agreed to supply some of the books : 
 Among thern were the Antiphoners, two of which, in 
 1424, cost twenty-six marks, or \% 6s. 8d. The 
 vicars were at the expense of binding and preserving 
 the books ; also of finding the Porteus ; the price of 
 this was about five or six marks. 
 
 founded by Ptolemy Soter, who reigned 
 about 300 b. c. His successors enlarged 
 it ; one of them seized all books imported 
 into Egypt, giving copies of them, made 
 by his orders, and at his expense, to the 
 proprietors : in a similar manner he got 
 from the Athenians, the originals of 
 yEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, 
 returning them only copies, and giving 
 
 them fifteen talents in exchange. 
 
 up- 
 
 wards of 3000. This library suf- 
 fered much during the first Alexan- 
 drine war ; and was afterwards totally 
 destroyed by the Calif Omar in a. d. 
 642. 2. The library founded by Pisis- 
 tratus at Athens. This and the other 
 libraries of this city, continued to 
 flourish till after the time of Justinian. 
 3. Julius Caesar projected a library 
 at Rome, which was to be, strictly 
 speaking, public ; but his assassina- 
 tion frustrated the design : and the 
 first public library was erected by Asi- 
 nius Pollio, in the reign of Augustus. 
 This emperor also founded two public 
 libraries, the Octavian and the Palatine 
 the latter survived till the time of 
 Gregory the Great, about the end of the 
 sixth century. 4. But the most exten- 
 sive and splendid of the libraries at 
 Rome, was the Ulpian, founded by 
 Trajan : it is believed that, at the sugges- 
 tion of Pliny the younger, this emperor 
 commanded all the books that were 
 found in the conquered cities to be 
 placed in this library. Most of the 
 principal cities throughout the Roman 
 empire, at this time, had public libra- 
 ries. The desolation of the western 
 empire by the barbarians destroyed or 
 dispersed most of the books in them, 
 so that, in this part of the world, 
 after this period, and during the dark 
 ages, monasteries almost exclusively 
 possessed libraries. In the eastern em- 
 pire it was different: both Constanti- 
 nople and Alexandria preserved theirs, 
 till the Turks obtained possession of 
 these cities. The library of the for- 
 mer was founded by Constantine, and 
 enlarged by succeeding emperors, espe- 
 cially by Julian and Theodosius the 
 younger. 
 
 Dr. Henry, after mentioning Alfred's 
 purchase of one book, for an estate of 
 eight hides of land, observes" At this 
 rate none but kings, bishops, and abbots, 
 could be possessed of any books : which 
 is the reason that there were then no 
 schools but in kings' palaces, bishops' 
 sees, or monasteries !" It is generally be- 
 lieved that there were no public schools 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 17 
 
 in Rome till three hundred years after 
 its foundation ; parents teaching their 
 children the little they knew. Even after 
 the establishment of schools, private 
 education at home was common. The 
 teachers were generally slaves or freed 
 men ; and a slave always accompanied 
 the boys of rank to school, carrying a 
 box, containing books, paper, tablets, 
 and instruments for writing. In learn- 
 ing their letters they were instructed by 
 another boy, or usher*. Homer was 
 taught to the Greek boys, and Virgil 
 to the Roman. They were moved to 
 different schools, according to their 
 proficiency : being taught to read and 
 write in one, and arithmetic, by calculi or 
 counters, in a separate school. The por- 
 ticoes of temples were common places 
 for schools. In an ancient bas-relief, 
 published by Winkelman, the education 
 of two children of rank is represented : 
 one about twelve years old holds a 
 double tablet, long, and fastened by a 
 hinge. The master, half naked, like 
 the ancient philosophers, holds a roll 
 (volumen), and is addressing the child. 
 Some of the table-books must have 
 been large ; for, in Plautus, a school- 
 boy, seventeen years old, is represented 
 as breaking his master's head with one. 
 From the origin of monasteries till the 
 close of the tenth century, there were 
 no schools in Europe, except those 
 belonging to monasteries or episcopal 
 churches. At the beginning of the ele- 
 venth century, they were opened in most 
 of the cities of Italy and France, by 
 qualified persons among both the laity 
 and clergy. But though their general 
 introduction and establishment must be 
 assigned to this period, yet it is certain 
 that Charlemagne founded several in 
 his dominions ; and long before his 
 reign St. Augustin was an usher in a 
 school. His business was to preside 
 over the dress, morals, gait, &c, of his 
 pupils, and to sit with them in a kind of 
 anti-school, separated from the principal 
 school by a curtain. Here they said 
 their lessons to the usher, before they 
 went to the master ; when the curtain 
 was drawn back. In the middle ages, 
 there were distinct schools for clerks, 
 for laymen, and for girls; and two 
 hundred children at a time are re- 
 presented as learning their letters. Iti- 
 nerant schoolmasters were also com- 
 mon. The whole of the education, 
 however, even of those of the highest 
 
 See Dodwell's Greece, for further proofs of a sys- 
 tem of education in ancient Greece, similar to that of 
 Uelland Lancaster. (Vol. ii. p. 37.) 
 
 ranks, seldom went beyond reading and 
 writing, and the more simple rules of 
 arithmetic. Parochial grammar schools, 
 in villages, were established in the 
 fifteenth century. The following ac- 
 count of their origin is given by Mr. 
 Fosbroke : " To prevent the growth of 
 Wickliffism, it had been made penal to 
 put children to private teachers ; and 
 the consequent incessant influx to only 
 a few schools, rendered, in 1447, gram- 
 mar learning so low, that several 
 clergymen in London petitioned parlia- 
 ment for leave to set up schools in 
 their respective churches, in order to 
 check seminaries, conducted by illite- 
 rate men. Thus commenced grammar 
 schools, properly so called-!*." 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Restorers of Literature, and Discoverers 
 of Manuscripts, in the Middle Ages 
 First steps towards the Art of Print- 
 ing Invention of that Art Early 
 History Introduction of it into the 
 Kingdoms of Continental Europe. 
 
 It is generally the fate of discoveries 
 that are made prematurely, and under 
 unfavourable circumstances, either to 
 be strangled in their birth, or to strug- 
 gle through a very short and useless 
 existence. Had the art of printing been 
 invented during the deepest ignorance 
 and gloom of the dark ages, its value 
 and importance would not have been 
 appreciated, and it might gradually have 
 sunk into neglect and total oblivion. 
 Books were indeed excessively rare 
 and dear; but very few sought for 
 them, for few had the curiosity or ability 
 to read, and fewer the money to pur- 
 chase them. After the tenth century, 
 literature began to revive ; paper from 
 linen rags was invented; a tendency 
 to commerce appeared. This caused a 
 gradual accumulation of capital, and 
 rendered necessary some attention to 
 learning. Then succeeded the agitation 
 of men's minds, which preceded the 
 Reformation, and which could not be 
 set at rest but by reading and inquiry. 
 The monks themselves, so far as they 
 contributed to the perusal of legends and 
 miraculous stories, were the unconscious 
 instruments of that spreading desire for 
 knowledge, which ushered in the in- 
 
 t " It was not till the reign of Henry IV. (1339 
 1413) that villeins, farmers, and mechanics, were 
 permitted, by law, to put their children to school 
 (7 Henry IV. chap. 17;) and long after that they 
 dared not to educate a son for the church, without a 
 license from theirlord." (Henry's .England, bookv, 
 chap. 4. sect. 1.) 
 
 c 
 
IS 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 vention of printing, and which issued in 
 the Reformation itself. 
 
 We have already named several indi- 
 viduals who, even in the darkest ages, 
 spent much of their time or money, in 
 endeavouring to discover and procure 
 manuscripts. Long before the fall of 
 Constantinople, the love of classical 
 literature had been gradually reviving ; 
 that event increased it, by compelling a 
 great number of learned Greeks to seek 
 a shelter in Italy. But it could not 
 be gratified, till the manuscripts, which 
 lay buried and neglected, were brought 
 to light. As the labours of those who 
 may justly be called the restorers of 
 classical literature, were mainly instru- 
 mental in producing that state of things, 
 which turned men's minds towards the 
 invention of printing, and nourished it 
 to maturity, when invented, we shall 
 give a short account of the most cele- 
 brated of them, before we proceed to the 
 invention itself. 
 
 Silvester II., before he became pope, 
 which was in the last year of the tenth 
 century, had been indefatigable in ac- 
 quiring and communicating learning, 
 and these qualities distinguished him 
 during his whole life. In order to obtain 
 a knowledge of the sciences and ma- 
 nuscripts, he visited Spain, and caused 
 Italy, and the countries beyond the Alps, 
 to be diligently explored. The Crusades 
 interrupted the spread of literature; 
 but in the fourteenth century, Petrarch 
 roused his countrymen from their slum- 
 ber inspired a general love of litera- 
 ture nourished and rewarded it by his 
 own productions ; and rescued the clas- 
 sics from the dungeons, where they had 
 been hitherto shut up from the light 
 and instruction of mankind. * He never 
 passed an old convent, without searching 
 its library, or knew of a friend travelling 
 into those quarters, where he supposed 
 books to be concealed, without entrea- 
 ties to procure for him some classical 
 manuscripts." Had not such a man ap- 
 peared at this time, it is probable that 
 most of the classical manuscripts would 
 have been totally lost ; so that in this 
 case, he might have excited among his 
 countrymen the love of literature, with- 
 out being able to gratify or nourish it. 
 Boccaccio, who shares with Petrarch the 
 glory of having enriched the Italian lan- 
 guage with its most perfect beauties, at 
 the very moment when it may be said to 
 have begun to exist, shares also with 
 him the glory of being a zealous and 
 successful restorer of classical manu- 
 scripts and literature. No man, during 
 
 the first half of the fifteenth century, 
 devoted himself with so much industry 
 to this search, or made so good a use 
 of them, when discovered, as Poggio. 
 No difficulty, no want of assistance, no 
 expense or labour discouraged him. 
 His youth was spent in travelling to 
 attain what seemed to be the sole ob- 
 ject of his life; and when he became 
 secretary to the Popes, eight of whom 
 employed him in succession, he used 
 the influence and opportunities his si- 
 tuation gave him, for the promotion of 
 literature and the collecting of manu- 
 scripts at Rome. To these names we 
 shall add only those of the Medici 
 family ; Emanuel Chrysolas, who was 
 one of the first who introduced a know- 
 ledge of the Greek language and lite- 
 rature into Italy ; and Theodore Gaza. 
 
 Europe seemed now ripe for the art 
 of printing, and to require it. Persons 
 of high rank felt a more general and 
 powerful love of literature than they had 
 ever experienced before. The minds of 
 the great mass of the people too were 
 now beginning to work ; but materials 
 were wanting on which they might work 
 and by which they might work. At this 
 important crisis, the art of printing was 
 discovered, and an impulse given to 
 knowledge which now no power, no con- 
 ceivable combination of circumstances 
 can possibly destroy. 
 
 Playing-cards, which were known and 
 used in Germany at the very beginning 
 of the fourteenth century, were first 
 painted ; but towards the end of that 
 century a method of printing them by 
 blocks was discovered. This was the 
 first step towards the art of printing. The 
 manufacturers of playing-cards naturally 
 turned this discovery of printing from 
 blocks to advantage and profit by en- 
 graving the images of saints for which 
 there was a regular and great demand 
 on wood. This may be considered as 
 the second step. Books of Images were 
 of two kinds : those without any text, 
 and those with text ; but even in the 
 first words and sentences are inter- 
 spersed. A wood cut of St. Christo- 
 pher, the oldest known of the first kind, 
 is now in the collection of Earl Spencer : 
 at the foot of it are three short sentences, 
 engraved and printed together with the 
 figure, with the date 1423. The most 
 celebrated of the books of images with- 
 out text is the Biblia Pauperum. It 
 consists of forty plates of figures and 
 images, with sentences relating to them, 
 the whole engraven on wood on one 
 side of the paper. It seems to be a kind 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 19 
 
 of catechism of the Bible, and was sold 
 at a low price to young persons and the 
 common people ; it has no date. Ano- 
 ther work, a system of artificial memory, 
 engraven on wood, in the same manner 
 as the Biblia Pauperum, has the text 
 separate from the figures ; fifteen plates 
 of each. The characters are very large, 
 resembling those on ancient monuments. 
 But, " of all the ancient books of 
 images;' observes Mr. Home, " which 
 preceded the invention of printing, the 
 Speculum Salutis is confessedly the most 
 perfect both in its design and execution." 
 It is a collection of historical passages 
 from the Scriptures, with a few from 
 profane history. It was very popular, 
 frequently reprinted, and translated into 
 German, Flemish, and other languages. 
 
 The change and improvement from 
 the manner in which these books of 
 images were executed to moveable 
 wooden characters, seems obvious and 
 not difficult; but there is no evidence 
 that these were ever used, except in the 
 capital letters of some early printed 
 books. It has been, indeed, contended 
 strenuously by several antiquarians, that 
 Lewis Coster, of Haarlem, invented and 
 used them ; that he, therefore, was the 
 original inventor of the art of printing, 
 and that Haarlem was the place where 
 the invention was first put into practice. 
 But it is now proved, that this opinion is 
 without foundation ; that wooden types 
 were never used ; that the claims of 
 Coster of Haarlem cannot stand the 
 test of accurate investigation ; and that 
 the art of printing, as at present prac- 
 tised, with moveable metal types, was 
 discovered by John Guthenberg, of May- 
 ence, about the year 1438. 
 
 Three years before this, Guthenberg 
 entered into a partnership with three ci- 
 tizens of Strasburg, binding himself to 
 disclose a secret which would enrich 
 them all. One of the partners dying, 
 and some of the most important imple- 
 ments having been stolen from the 
 workshop, a lawsuit took place. In the 
 course of this lawsuit, five witnesses, 
 among whom was Guthenberg' s confi- 
 dential servant, proved that he (Guthen- 
 berg) was the first who practised the art 
 of printing with moveable types. The 
 result was a dissolution of partnership. 
 The whole proceedings on this trial are 
 in existence, and have been published 
 in the original German. 
 
 After this, Guthenberg returned, poor 
 and disappointed, but not dispirited, to 
 his native city, Mayence. It is doubtful 
 whether he had hitherto really printed 
 
 any thing. Heinecken, who has inves- 
 tigated this subject with great diligence 
 and labour, is of opinion that he had 
 ruined both himself and his partners, 
 without being able to produce a single 
 clean and legible leaf. However that 
 may be, in 1450, he entered into part- 
 nership at Mayence, with John Fust ; 
 they seem at first to have gone back to 
 wooden blocks, and then to have tried 
 moveable wooden letters and moveable 
 metal ones, formed with a knife : all 
 without effect. This partnership was 
 also unfortunate; for, in consequence 
 of the great expense incurred by Fust 
 (who supplied the capital), in printing a 
 Latin Bible, he commenced a suit 
 against Guthenberg; the latter was 
 obliged to give up his apparatus to Fust. 
 It is not certain whether, during their 
 partnership, they found out the art of 
 casting characters in metal, which they 
 had previously been obliged to cut with 
 the hand ; or whether thisgreat improve- 
 ment was made by Schoeffer, an inge- 
 nious man, who assisted them at this 
 time, and was afterwards taken into 
 partnership by Fust. The general opinion 
 is, that the idea of punches and matrices 
 for casting metal types originated with 
 Schoeffer. He certainly improved this 
 method, by rendering it more certain, 
 easy, and expeditious. 
 
 Guthenben?-, not discouraged by this 
 second misfortune, established a new 
 printing office, until 1465, when he ob- 
 tained a situation, with a good salary, 
 under the Elector Adolphus. In the 
 mean time, Fust, in conjunction with 
 Schoeffer, continued printing. In Au- 
 gust, 1457, they published a beautiful 
 edition of the Psalms ; one of the earliest 
 books yet discovered which has the name 
 of the place and printers, with the date 
 annexed. In 1462, the city of Mayence 
 was taken by the Elector Adolphus, 
 when the partners suffered much ; and 
 their workmen dispersing themselves, 
 the art of printing was thus spread over 
 Europe. Their masters, however, still 
 carried on the business in Mayence. 
 Fust's name appears to a Treatise of 
 Cicero printed in 1466 ; all subsequent 
 books have Schoeffer's name alone ; he 
 continued to print till his death in 1502, 
 when he was succeeded by his son*. 
 
 * In order to give a clearer idea of the progress of 
 the art in its infancy, we shall subjoin short notices 
 of some of the works executed by Guthenberg- and 
 his partners. The two earliest works are supposed 
 to be an alphabet, engraved on a plate for the use of 
 schools, and some doctrinal tracts. Then followed 
 two editions of Donatus on the parts of speech : the 
 first from wooden blocks, which are still in the Royal 
 Library of Paris j the second, with moveable types 
 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON 
 
 The date and cause of the dispersion 
 of Fust and Schoeffer s workmen, and 
 the consequent spreading of the art of 
 printing over the continent of Europe, 
 have been already stated. The respective 
 periods of its first introduction into the 
 principal continental kingdoms, together 
 with some interesting anecdotes, we shall 
 now mention. The first book printed at 
 Rome was Cicero's Letters to his friend, 
 in 1457. The printers were Conrad 
 Sweynheim, and Arnold Pannartz. They 
 left Germany for Italy in 1465, having 
 served their apprenticeship to Fust and 
 his partner. At first they settled at the 
 monastery of Lubeaco, in the neighbour 
 hood of Rome, where they printed the 
 works of Lactantius, being encouraged 
 and assisted by the monks, who were 
 Benedictines, and very rich and learned. 
 On their removal to Rome they were 
 equally patronised by John Andreas the 
 Pope's librarian. He not only supplied 
 them with the most valuable manuscripts 
 from the Vatican, but prepared the copy, 
 corrected the proofs, prefixed dedica- 
 tions, prefaces, &c. Notwithstanding 
 
 on vellum. The celebrated first edition of the Bible 
 from metal types; remarkable for the texture of the 
 paper, excellence of execution, and blackness and 
 lustre of the ink; supposed to have been printed 
 in 1455. The expense of printing it gave rise to 
 the lawsuit between Guthenberg and Fust. Like 
 all other very ancient printed books, it has no title 
 or paging, and many of the initial letters are painted 
 by illumination. In 145G, Guthenberg printed an 
 almanack, the first ever printed, and the very first 
 book with a certain date. In 1157, Fust and Schoef- 
 fer printed their celebrated Psalter. In a colophon, 
 (the sentence frequently added at the conclusion of a 
 work by the early printers,) the invention of the art 
 of printing is announced to the public in boasting, 
 though by no means unreasonable or unwarranted 
 terms. This Psalter is printed on vellum ; the psalms 
 in larger letters than the hymns, all uncommonly 
 black. The capital letters are cut in wood; the 
 largest of these, which are black, red, and blue, it is 
 supposed must have passed three times through the 
 press. Not more than six or seven copies are known 
 to be in existence. The first edition of the Latin 
 Bible, with a date, at Mayence, by Fust and Schoef- 
 fer, in 146'2. Fust sold by himself, or by his agents, 
 copies of this Bible at Paris, as manuscript, and 
 supplied them so regularly and abundantly as to 
 lower the price. From the facility with which he 
 supplied them, and the uniformity of the copies, he 
 was taken up as a necromancer ; hence arose the 
 story of the Devil and Dr. Faustus. The books were 
 seized either on this occasion, or aftewards, in virtue 
 of the droit d'aubaine, on the death of his agent, but 
 they were restored by order of Louis XI. In U65 
 Fust and Schoeffer published an edition of Cicero's 
 Offices, " the first tribute of the new art to polite li- 
 terature." After the death of Fust, about 1466", 
 Schoeffer carried on the printing business alone for 
 thirty-five or thirty-six years, in the course of which 
 period he executed a great many works. By far the 
 most, important of these was an edition of Justinian's 
 Institutes, the date is not known. In 1484 he printed 
 an Herbal .in 4to., with figures of plants ; and in 
 1485, a folio edition of it. In 1490 he printed a 
 third edition of the Mentz Psalter. In the preced- 
 ing editions the full chant was written, in this it 
 is printed. Schoeffer terminated his labours by a 
 lourth edition of the Psalter in 1502. 
 
 the encouragement they met with, they 
 were obliged to petition the Pope for 
 relief and assistance in 1472, having 
 printed during the seven previous years, 
 twenty-eight different works, some of 
 them very large and expensive, the im- 
 pressions of which amounted to 12,475 
 volumes. In this petition, after stating 
 that they were the first who introduced 
 this art into his holiness' territories, and 
 the number of volumes printed by them, 
 they added that their house was full of 
 books in quires, but destitute of the 
 necessaries of life. As they contrived to 
 print for some time afterwards, it is sup- 
 posed that assistance was granted them. 
 
 The first book printed at Venice was 
 also Cicero's Epistles ; the printer, John 
 de Spira, the date 1469. He and his 
 brother, also a printer, natives of Ger- 
 many, surpassed all their predecessors 
 in the beauty of their types and the 
 elegance of their impressions ; they em- 
 ployed two very learned men as correc- 
 tors of their press. The Spiras were 
 the first who applied the art on a regular 
 and extensive scale to the publication of 
 the classics. By an order of the senate, 
 1469, the exclusive privilege of printing 
 the letters of Cicero and Pliny was 
 granted to them for five years, in con- 
 sequence of the beauty of their impres- 
 sions. Venice became celebrated for 
 its types, and supplied the printers of 
 Rome with them. One of the best 
 printers of the fifteenth century was 
 settled at Nuremberg, his name was 
 Coburger ; he was styled by his contem- 
 poraries the prince of booksellers and 
 printers : he employed daily twenty-four 
 presses and one hundred men, besides 
 furnishing work to the printers of Basle, 
 Paris, and Lyons. His books, which 
 relate chiefly to the canon law and 
 theology, are distinguished for the black- 
 ness of the ink, and the squareness and 
 fineness of the type, as well as the good 
 quality of the paper, and the excellence 
 of the press-work. 
 
 The first work from the Paris press 
 is dated 1470; the printers were three 
 Germans from Colmar. On the esta- 
 blishment of their office, the copyists, 
 finding their business much injured, 
 presented a memorial to the parliament ; 
 but Lewis XI. interfered in their behalf. 
 
 Lewis, who, amidst all his faults, was 
 an encourager of literature, is said to 
 have sent Nicolas Jenson, a native of 
 France, to Mayence, to learn the art of 
 printing, in 1470. But, owing to civil 
 dissensions in his kingdom, Jenson set- 
 tled at Venice, where' he printed from 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 21 
 
 1470 to 1480. He introduced great im- 
 provements ; planning and reducing to 
 their present proportions the characters 
 called 7'oman, so that his works are 
 justly deemed very highly finished in 
 every respect. 
 
 The first book printed at Naples, was 
 in 1471. Two years afterwards, print- 
 ing was introduced into Buda, in Hun- 
 gary. The first, work printed at Basle, 
 in Switzerland, is dated 1474. The same 
 year appeared a book, printed by the 
 monks of a convent in the Rhingau. 
 They were of the Augustine order, and by 
 their rules, they were obliged to copy the 
 works of the Fathers and ecclesiastical 
 writers as part of their regular duty, and 
 likewise as their chief means of subsis- 
 tence. The discovery of printing having 
 deprived them of these means, tiiey im- 
 mediately applied themselves to learn 
 and practise that art, and were thus en- 
 abled at the same time to support them- 
 selves and fulfil the spirit of their rule. 
 
 The first work printed in Bohemia is 
 dated 1476, but the printer's name is not 
 known. John Snell, a German printer, 
 invited into Sweden by the administra- 
 tor Stein Sture, printed the first book in 
 that kingdom in 1483. John Mathison, 
 a Swede, who was patronised by the 
 Bishop of Holun in Iceland, introduced 
 the art of printing into that remote and 
 desolate island, in the year 1531. The 
 first book printed in Portugal is dated 
 1489 ; it is a commentary on the Pen- 
 tateuch in Hebrew, and from the printers' 
 names, they appear to have been Jews. 
 
 In 1493 the art was introduced into 
 Denmark, when a grammatical treatise 
 was published. The first treatise re- 
 lating to commerce seems to have been 
 published at Provins, in 1496. Three 
 years afterwards the Catholicon was 
 printed in Bretagne, or Breton, French, 
 and Latin. 
 
 The first work printed in Moravia, is 
 dated 1500 : it is a treatise against the 
 Waldenses. In 1560, a Russian mer- 
 chant, having bought a quantity of types, 
 printing press, &c, introduced the art 
 into Moscow. The mob, however, at the 
 instigation, it is supposed, of the priests, 
 destroyed the office, press, and types. 
 
 The most early printed books were 
 principally of the folio and quarto size. 
 In 1465 the old Gothic character was 
 changed for a kind of semi-Gothic, in the 
 Lactantius, printed at Lubeaco. The 
 roman type was first used at Rome in 
 1467, and soon afterwards brought 
 to perfection by Nicolas Jenson. The 
 
 celebrated printer, Aldus Manutius, in- 
 troduced towards the end of the fif- 
 teenth century, the italic. Aldus was 
 extremely careful in correcting his 
 proofs, so that he never printed more 
 than two sheets a week. He printed 
 a great number of Latin and Italian 
 books in 8vo., which are executed with 
 great elegance and correctness. In the 
 edition of Cicero, printed at Mayence, 
 1465, a few sentences in Greek types are 
 given. The same year, Sweynheim and 
 Pannartz, having procured a very small 
 quantity of Greek types, began to print the 
 Lactantius, already mentioned ; before 
 the work was completed, however, they 
 seem to have procured a further supply, 
 for in the first part of the work a blank 
 is left wherever a long sentence occurs, 
 whereas, after the middle of the work, 
 all the Greek quotations are printed. 
 The first book, entirely Greek, is sup- 
 posed to be the Greek grammar of Las- 
 caris, printed at Milan in 1476. Aldus, 
 in addition to his other merits, is 
 justly celebrated for having first pro- 
 duced beautiful and correct editions of 
 Greek works. Printing in Hebrew was 
 first executed by Soncino, in Milan, in 
 1482. The Pentateuch was printed there 
 this year. The first Polyglott bible, in 
 Hebrew, Arabic, Chaldee, Greek, and 
 Latin, was printed at Genoa in 1516, by 
 Pormo. Aldus seems to have planned, 
 and even to have begun to execute, a 
 Polyglott bible, in Hebrew, Greek, and 
 Latin. There is one specimen page, in 
 folio, preserved in the Royal Library at 
 Paris. 
 
 Till 1476 or 1480, the titles of books 
 were printed on separate leaves. In the 
 infancy of the art, blanks were left for 
 initial letters, which were afterwards 
 filled up by the illuminators ; but this 
 trade did not long survive the invention 
 of printing. Divisions into sentences 
 were seldom made ; the orthography 
 varied much ; punctuation was confined 
 to the colon, period, and an oblique 
 stroke. This is supposed to have arisen 
 from a desire to imitate manuscripts 
 as near as possible. Aldus added the 
 semicolon ; notes of interrogation and 
 admiration were not used till long after- 
 wards. The paper was very thick and 
 solid; this, and the frequent use of 
 vellum, were the result of the desire to 
 imitate manuscripts. It is known, be- 
 sides, that at that period the disproportion 
 between the price of paper and vellum 
 was not nearly so great as at present. 
 Very early printed books are also dis* 
 
22 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 tinguished by their numerous and diffi- 
 cult abbreviations, by the absence of 
 signatures and catch- words, and of the 
 printer's name, place, and date ; when 
 inserted, they are at the end of the book. 
 Signatures, however, were used in 14 72 
 and 1474; and catch- words, which ap- 
 pear in manuscripts of the eleventh 
 century, were first used in printing;, by 
 Spira, at Venice, about the same time. 
 They are at present little used, either on 
 the continent or in Britain. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Life of William Caxton. 
 
 William Caxton was born in the 
 Weald of Kent, as he himself tells us ; 
 in what part of it, and in what year, is 
 not known, but it is supposed about the 
 year 1412. Of the rank or employment 
 of his parents we are entirely ignorant. 
 His father came to London, and resided 
 with his son, in Westminster, at the 
 time of his greatest fame, as a printer. 
 There he died at a very advanced age, 
 in 1480. It may be presumed that his 
 parents were in good circumstances 
 from the education they gave him, and 
 the business to which they put him. At 
 this period learning of ail kinds was at 
 a much lower ebb in England than in 
 most of the continental states of Europe ; 
 in consequence, principally, of the civil 
 wars in which the nation was embroiled, 
 the habits of restlessness thus produced, 
 and the constant pre-occupation of men's 
 time and thoughts in promoting the cause 
 they espoused, and in protecting their lives 
 and property. Under these circumstances 
 the most plain and common education 
 was often neglected. Caxton's parents, 
 however, performed their duty to him : 
 " I am bounden," he says, " to pray for 
 my father and mother's souls, that, in 
 my youth, sent me to school, by which, 
 by the sufferance of God, I get my 
 living, I hope truly." When he was 
 about fifteen or sixteen, he was put 
 apprentice to William Large, a consi- 
 derable mercer, of the city of London, 
 and afterwards sheriff and mayor. The 
 name, mercer, was given at this time to 
 general merchants, trading in all kinds 
 of goods. After he had served his ap- 
 prenticeship, Caxton took up his freedom 
 in the Mercers' Company, and became 
 a citizen of London. That he conducted 
 himself, while an apprentice, to the 
 satisfaction of his master, may be pre- 
 sumed from the circumstance, that he 
 was left in his will, in 1441, a legacy of 
 
 twenty marks, or 13/. 6s. 8c?., a consi- 
 derable sum in those days, when the 
 usual price of wheat was 5 s. Ad. a quar- 
 ter ; malt, 4s. the quarter ; and a pair 
 of plough oxen could be purchased for 
 about \l. 3s. 
 
 In what manner he employed himself 
 from the expiration of his apprentice- 
 ship, till he went abroad, is not known ; 
 but that he did not go abroad till 
 some years afterwards, a comparison of 
 dates will render apparent. He was 
 born about 1412'; he could not have 
 been more than sixteen when put 
 apprentice; so that his apprenticeship 
 of seven years must have expired in the 
 year 1435. The opinion, therefore, that 
 he went into the Low Countries on the 
 termination of his apprenticeship is not 
 correct, as he did not leave England till 
 1442, the year after he received the 
 legacy. 
 
 In what capacity or for what purpose 
 he left England, we are ignorant; 
 probably as a merchant, either on his 
 own account, or as agent for some other 
 merchant. He informs us that he con- 
 tinued for the most part in the countries 
 of Brabant, Flanders, Holland, and 
 Zealand, all at this time belonging to 
 the Duke of Burgundy, one of the most 
 powerful princes in this part of Europe, 
 whose friendship and alliance were 
 anxiously sought for by the kings of 
 France and England. 
 
 In the year 1464, he was appointed 
 by Edward IV. ambassador, along with 
 Richard Whetenhall, " to continue and 
 confirm a treaty of commerce with 
 Philip, Duke of Burgundy, or, if neces- 
 sary, to form a new treaty." In the 
 commission, which is given in Rymer's 
 Foedera, they are styled ambassadors 
 and special deputies ; and full powers 
 to treat are given to either, or both of 
 them. The Low Countries were at this 
 period the great mart of Europe, in 
 which were to be purchased, at all times, 
 and in great abundance, the produce and 
 manufactures of most parts of the world. 
 Treaties of commerce between England 
 and them were frequently made and 
 broken ; and it required not only consi- 
 derable knowledge in commercial affairs, 
 and in the relative commercial wants 
 and advantages of the two countries, but 
 also a sound judgment, and much cir- 
 cumspection and prudence, to make or 
 renew them. Merchants seem to have 
 been generally employed on these occa- 
 sions ; and we may reasonably conjecture 
 that Caxton's character and experience, 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 23 
 
 as a merchant, and his long residence 
 in the Netherlands, pointed him out as 
 a fit person for this embassy. 
 
 Philip, Duke of Burgundy, was the 
 most magnificent prince of his age : his 
 court, one of the most polished ; and his 
 fondness for the expiring customs of 
 chivalry, and for literature, equally great 
 and influential. In the prologue to a 
 book of the whole life of Jason, trans- 
 lated under the protection of King Ed- 
 ward, Caxton thus describes the cham- 
 ber of this prince, in his castle of 
 Hesdein, in Artois. It ought to be 
 premised, that Philip had instituted the 
 order of the Knights of the Golden 
 Fleece. " But, well wote I, that the 
 noble Duke Philip, first founder of 
 this said order, did do maken a 
 chamber in the castle of Hesdein, 
 wherein was craftily and curiously de- 
 painted, the conquest of the Golden 
 Fleece, by the said Jason ; in which 
 chamber I have been, and seen the said 
 history so depainted ; and in remem- 
 brance of Medea, and of her cunning 
 and science, he had do make in the said 
 chamber, by subtil engine, that, when 
 he would, it should seem that it light- 
 ened, and after, thunder, snow, and 
 rain, and all within the said chamber, as 
 oftimes, and when it should please him, 
 which was all made for his singular 
 pleasure." 
 
 During his residence in the Low Coun- 
 tries he acquired or perfected his know- 
 ledge of the French language, gained 
 some acquaintance with the Flemish or 
 Dutch (as appears by his translation of 
 Reynard the Fox from the latter) ; im^ 
 bibed his taste for literature, and passion 
 for romance, and made himself master 
 of the art of printing, " at great charge 
 and dispense," as he informs us. His 
 passion for romance he most probably 
 derived from his intimacy with Raoul 
 le Fevre, chaplain to the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, and with Henry Boulonger, 
 canon of Lausanne. The former of 
 these persons was the author of the 
 Romance of Jason, and of the Recueill 
 of the Histories of Troy, both of which 
 were afterwards translated and printed 
 by Caxton ; and at the instance of 
 the latter he translated, compiled, and 
 printed, ' The History and Lyf of the 
 most Noble and Christian Prince 
 Charles the Great, Kyng of Vienna and 
 Emperor of Rome.' 
 
 In June, 1467, Philip Duke of Bur- 
 gundy died, and was succeeded by his 
 son, Charles. A treaty of marriage be- 
 tween this prince and Margaret, sister to 
 
 Edward IV., was at this time negotiating, 
 but was interrupted by the sudden death 
 of Philip : the marriage, however, took 
 place a year afterwards, on the 3d of 
 June, 1468. Caxton was appointed to a 
 situation in the household of the duchess, 
 soon after her arrival in the Netherlands ; 
 but in what capacity, or with what 
 salary, is not known. He seems, how- 
 ever, to have been on familiar terms with 
 Margaret, and not to have been much 
 occupied. For he informs us, that in 
 1469 he began translating the Histories} 
 of Troy, of his friend Raoul le Fevre, 
 in Bruges, continued it at Ghent, and 
 finished it at Cologne ; he, however, 
 laid the translation aside for some 
 time. "In 1469," he says, " having no 
 great charge or occupation, and wishing 
 to eschew sloth and idleness which 
 is mother and nourisher of vices 
 having good leisure, being at Cologne, 
 I set about finishing the translation. 
 When, however, I remembered my 
 simpleness and imperfections in French 
 and English, I fell in despair of my 
 works, and after I had written 5 or 6 
 quairs, purposed no more to have con- 
 tinued therein ; and the quairs laid 
 apart ; and in two years after laboured 
 no more in this work : till in a time it 
 fortuned Lady Margaret sent for me to 
 speak with her good Grace of divers 
 matters, among the which I let her 
 have knowledge of the foresaid begin- 
 ning. " The Duchess," he adds," found 
 default in myne English, which she 
 commanded me to amend, and to con- 
 tinue and make an end of the residue, 
 which command I durst not disobey." 
 The Duchess rewarded him liberally for 
 his labour. In his prologue and epilogue 
 to this work, he mentions that his eyes 
 are dimmed with over much looking on 
 the white paper ; that his courage was 
 not so prone and ready to labour as it 
 had been ; and that age was creeping on 
 him daily, and enfeebling all his body ; 
 that he had learnt and practised at great 
 charge and dispense to ordain the said 
 book in print ; and not written with pen 
 and ink, as other books be. 
 
 The translation of the Recueill was 
 published at Cologne in 1471 ; but he 
 had printed there, at least, two works 
 before that ; the original of the Recueill 
 a w r ork unknown to German biblio- 
 graphers in 1464-7; and the oration 
 of John Russel, on Charles, Duke of 
 Burgundy, being created a knight of the 
 garter in 1469. The existence of this 
 was unknown till the year 1807, when 
 it was discovered at the sale of Mr. 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 Brand's books. No other book printed 
 by Caxton at Cologne has been disco- 
 vered ; but that he printed there Bar- 
 tholomews de Proprietatibus Rerum, is 
 plain from Wynkyn de Worde. This 
 successor of Caxton printed, in 1494, 
 Tre visa's translation of Bartholomeus ; 
 and in his proeme he requests his 
 readers "to remember the soul of 
 William Caxton, first printer of this 
 boke in Latin tongue at Cologne ;" this 
 is the only instance of Caxton's hav- 
 ing printed a Latin work, and would 
 seem to imply some knowledge of that 
 language. 
 
 It is supposed, that he returned to 
 England about the year 1472, and 
 brought with him the unsold copies of 
 the translation of the Recueill. His first 
 patron was Thomas Milling, Bishop of 
 Hereford, who held the abbotship of St. 
 Peter's, Westminster, in commendam. 
 Caxton took up his residence and esta- 
 blished his printing-office, either in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of the abbey, 
 or in one of the. chapels attached to it. 
 
 That Caxton introduced the art of 
 printing into England, and first prac- 
 tised it here, was never doubted till 
 the year 1642: a dispute arose, at this 
 time, between the Company of Sta- 
 tioners and some persons, respecting a 
 patent for printing; the case was for- 
 mally argued ; and in the course of the 
 pleadings, Caxton was proved, incontes- 
 tably, to have been the first printer in 
 England. Soon after the Restoration, a 
 book was discovered in the public library 
 at Cambridge, the date of which was 
 Oxford, 14 68. The probability is, how- 
 ever, that the date of this book is incor- 
 rect, and that it should have been 1478, 
 not 1468 ; this is inferred from its being 
 printed with separate fusile metal types, 
 very neat and beautiful, from the regu- 
 larity of the page and the appearance of 
 signatures ; and, moreover, from the 
 fact, that no other production issued 
 from the Oxford press till eleven years 
 after 1468, it being highly improbable 
 that a press connected with a university 
 should have continued so long unem- 
 ployed. But, even granting "that the 
 date is accurate, and that the book was 
 printed in 1468, six years before the 
 execution of any work by Caxton, the 
 merit of Caxton, and the obligations of 
 this country to him, are but little 
 lessened by this circumstance. 
 
 Frequent and unprofitable disputes 
 have arisen, at different times, and on 
 various occasions, respecting original 
 discoveries and inventions. He, who 
 
 first unfolds and demonstrates a grand 
 and important principle, or, by his 
 skill, penetration, and labour, suc- 
 ceeds in applying a known power to new 
 purposes of benefit to mankind, may 
 excite our admiration for his genius or 
 his knowledge ; but if, from the circum- 
 stances of the times, and men's minds 
 not being ripe and prepared, or from 
 a combination of untoward and un- 
 favourable events, or from any other 
 cause, dependent on himself or not, 
 his discovery or invention, of whatever 
 nature it may be, dies with him, or is 
 barren and unproductive, without shed- 
 ding its light or influence on his con- 
 temporaries and future ages, we must 
 withhold from him our gratitude and 
 sense of obligation, and reserve them 
 for the man to whom we can trace the 
 benefits we enjoy. 
 
 The common opinion is, that the 
 Game of Chess' was the first book 
 printed by Caxton at Westminster : Mr. 
 Dibdin, however, thinks it more probable 
 that the Romance of Jason was the earliest 
 specimen of his press in England. These 
 are supposed to have been printed in 
 1474; this date is, indeed, specified in 
 the ' Game of Chess,' but it is doubtful 
 whether it signifies the year when it was 
 written, or that in which it was printed. 
 This book was dedicated to George 
 Duke of Clarence, the oldest surviv- 
 ing brother of King Edward. Caxton 
 enjoyed the patronage of Henry VII., 
 and his son, Prince Arthur, as well as 
 of Edward and his brother; some of 
 the nobility also encouraged him. Whe- 
 ther their patronage and encouragement 
 displayed themselves in a substan- 
 tial and profitable manner, we do not 
 learn, but he himself was indefatigable 
 in cultivating this new art. Besides the 
 labour necessarily attached to his press, he 
 translated not fewer than five thousand 
 closely printed folio pages, though well 
 stricken in years. From the colophon 
 of Wynkyn de Worde's edition of the 
 Vitas Patrum, 14 ( J5, it appears that this 
 book was translated out of French into 
 English by William Caxton, of West- 
 minster, late dead, and that he finished 
 it " at the last day of his life." The 
 productions of his press amount to sixty- 
 four. Of the most interesting of these 
 works, either from the anecdotes con- 
 nected with them, from the insight they 
 give into his life and character, or into 
 the manner of the times, or from the spe- 
 cimens they afford of his talents and in- 
 formation, we shall give a short account, 
 arranging them in chronological order. 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 25 
 
 * Dictes and Sayings of the Phi- 
 losophers.' This is the first book 
 
 1477. printed by Caxton with the year 
 and place specified. It was 
 
 translated from the French by Antony 
 Woodville, Earl of Rivers. This noble- 
 man had left out some strictures on 
 women, which were in the original 
 French ; these Caxton translated and 
 added as an appendix in three additional 
 leaves ; of his reasons for doing so, he 
 gives the following statement. Lord 
 Rivers had desired him to look over the 
 translation, and to correct it. Caxton 
 observed that the Dictes of Socrates on 
 Women were not there, and indulged in 
 many conjectures respecting the reason 
 of their omission. He supposed that 
 some fair lady had used her influence 
 with his lordship, or that he was courting 
 some fair lady at the time, or that he 
 thought Socrates said more than what 
 was true, or that these Dictes were not 
 in his lordship's copy : " or else perad- 
 venture that the wind had blown over 
 the leaf at the time of the translation." 
 As, however, his lordship had given him 
 permission to correct the translation, 
 Caxton thought he should not be going 
 beyond due limits if he added these 
 Dictes. But, he tells us, " I did not 
 presume to put and set them in my said 
 lord's book, but in the end apart, in the 
 rehearsal of the works, that Lord Rivers, 
 or any other person, if they be not pleased, 
 may with a pen erase it, or else rend the 
 leaf out of the book, humbly beseeching 
 my said lord to take no displeasure on 
 me so presuming." He then requests 
 the reader to lay the blame on Socrates, 
 not on him.* From his insertion of these 
 strictures on women, which are not the 
 most courtly, it has been inferred that 
 he was a womanhater ; but that he was 
 not so, appears from some of his pro- 
 logues, especially from that to the 
 * Knight of the Tower.' This work he 
 was requested to translate and print by 
 " a noble lady, who had brought forth 
 many noble and fair daughters, which 
 were virtuously nourished and learned." 
 1 The Moral Proverbs of Christina, of 
 Pisa.' The same year Caxton 
 
 1478. began to print a work called 
 1 Cordyael/ but he did not finish 
 
 printing it, or at least it was not pub- 
 lished till 1480. It does not appear that 
 
 A manuscript of Lord Rivers's translation of this 
 work, with an illumination representing him intro- 
 ducing Caxton to Edward IV., his queen, and the 
 prince, is preserved in the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury's Library, at Lambeth Palace. 
 
 any other work came from 'his press 
 during this interval. These two books 
 were also translations from the French, 
 by Caxton's patron, Lord Rivers. Of 
 the political life of this accomplished and 
 amiable nobleman, who was one of the 
 very few who, in that age, promoted the 
 cause of literature in this country, this 
 is not the place to speak : his dreadful 
 catastrophe is well known. 
 
 " Rivers, Vaughan, and Gray, 
 Ere this, lie shorter by the head at Pomfret." 
 
 Caxton gives the following account of 
 him and his works. " The noble and 
 virtuous Lord Anthoine, Earl Rivers, 
 Lord Scales and of the Isle of Wight, 
 under governor to my Lord Prince of 
 Wales, notwithstanding the great labour 
 and charge that he hath had in the ser- 
 vice of the King and of the said Lord 
 Prince, as well in Wales as in England, 
 which hath be to him no little thought 
 and business both in sprite and body, 
 as the fruit thereof experimentely shew- 
 eth ; yet, over that, t' enrich his virtuous 
 disposicion, he hath put him in devoyr, 
 at all times, when he might have a leisure, 
 which was but startmele, to translate 
 divers works out of French into English. 
 Among other passed through myn hand, 
 the book of the Wise Sayings or Dictes 
 of Philosophers, and the wise holsom 
 Proverbs of Christine of Pisa, set in 
 metre. Over that, he hath made divers 
 balads agenst the seven dedly synnes. 
 Furthermore, he took upon him the 
 translating of this present work, named 
 Cordyale, trusting that both the reders 
 and the hearers thereof should know 
 themself hereafter the better, and amend 
 their lyving." These ballads are sup- 
 posed to be lost ; but John Rouse, of 
 Warwick, a contemporary historian, has 
 preserved a short poem of the Earl. 
 Rouse seems to have copied it from 
 his handwriting ; it was written during 
 his confinement in Pomfret Castle, a 
 short time before his death in 1483 ; 
 and, as Dr. Percy justly remarks, "gives 
 us a fine picture of the composure and 
 steadiness with which this stout Earl 
 beheld his approaching fate."* 
 
 In this year (1480) also, Caxton printed 
 his Chronicle, and his Description of 
 Britain which is usually subjoined to it. 
 These were very popular, having been re- 
 printed four times in this century, (twice, 
 however, without the Description ; ) and 
 seven times iff the sixteenth century, 
 
 * It is printed in Percy's Reliques of Ancient 
 English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 44 ; and in Ritson's An- 
 cient Songs, p. 87. 
 
26 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON, 
 
 ' The Mirror of the World; Reynard 
 the Fox,' from the Dutch, ' Tully 
 
 1481. on Old Age,' ' Tully on Friend- 
 ship,' and ' Godfrey of Boulogne; 
 
 appeared this year. The two Treatises 
 
 of Tully were translated by John Tiptoft, 
 
 Earl of Worcester*. 
 
 This year Caxton published the Poly- 
 
 chronicon,' from the English ver- 
 
 1482. sion of John of Trevisa, who trans- 
 lated it from the Latin of Higden. 
 
 It is a large volume, and seems to have 
 been intended by Caxton as a helpmate to 
 his Chronicle. The printing must have 
 occupied him the whole year, as no 
 other publication came from his press in 
 1482. Besides printing it, however, he 
 added an eighth book, bringing the his- 
 tory down from 1357 to 1460; "because," 
 he says, u men, whiles in this time ben 
 oblivious and lightly forgotten, many 
 things deygne to be put in memory ; and 
 also there cannot be founden in these 
 days but few that wryte in their regys- 
 ters such things as daily happen and 
 fall." He was also obliged to take the 
 trouble of altering many parts of Tre- 
 visa's language; for, though only 124 
 years had elapsed, many words were 
 quite obsolete and unintelligible. This, 
 Caxton particularly notices in the ' Poly- 
 chronicon ;' and at greater length in the 
 following curious passage in the preface 
 to his ' Eneid,' a work from his press, 
 that will be afterwards noticed. 
 
 " After divers works, made, trans- 
 lated, and atchieved, having no work in 
 hand, I, sitting in my study, where as 
 lay many divers pamphlets and books, it 
 
 * This nobleman possessed great talents, received 
 an excellent education, and devoted his purse and 
 leisure time to the purchase of books, and the pro- 
 motion and encouragement of literature. Horace 
 Walpole remarks, that whatever disputes there may 
 be about his titles in the state, there is no douDt but 
 he was anciently at the head of literature, and so 
 masterly an orator, that he drew tears from the eyes 
 of Pope Pins II. (the celebrated Eneas Sylvius) when 
 he visited Rome, through a curiosity of seeing the 
 Vatican Library. (On his return to England, he 
 presented books to the Library at Oxford, which had 
 cost him 500 marks, upwards of330/. a large sum at 
 this period.) His fondness for literature, and perhaps 
 his political opinions, both bring zealous Yorkists, 
 brought him acquainted with Caxton. When Ed- 
 ward IV. was obliged to abandon his kingdom in 
 order to save his life, in October. 1470, the Earl of 
 Worcester was taken and beheaded on Tower hill, on 
 the 15th of that month. Caxton speaks in warm and 
 affectionate language of him. "In his time," he 
 says, " he flowered in vertue and cunning, and to 
 whom he knew none lyke among the Lords of the 
 Temporally in science and moral vertue." Again : 
 " O, good blessed Lord God ! what grete loss was it 
 of that noble, vertuous, and well-disposed lord ; and 
 what worship had he at Rome in the presence of our 
 holy fader, the Pope ; and so in all other places unto 
 his deth ; at which deth, every man that was there 
 might lern to die, and take his deth patientlye." 
 
 happened that to my hand came a little 
 book, in French, which late was trans- 
 lated out of Latin, by some noble clerk 
 of France, which book is named ' Eneid; 
 as made in Latin by that noble person and 
 great clerk, Virgil, which book I saw 
 over, and read therein. (He then de- 
 scribes the contents.) In which book I 
 had great pleasure by cause of the fair 
 and honest terms, and words, in French, 
 which I never saw tofore like, ne none 
 so pleasant nor so well ordered : which 
 book as me seemed should be much 
 requisite to noble men to see, as well for 
 the eloquence as histories ; and when I 
 had advised me in this said book, I 
 deliberated, and concluded to translate it 
 into English, and forthwith took a pen 
 and ink, and wrote a leaf or twain, 
 which I oversaw again, to correct it ; 
 and when I saw the fair and strange 
 terms therein, I doubted that it should 
 not please some gentlemen, which late 
 blamed me, saying, that in my transla- 
 tions, I had over curious terms, which 
 could not be understand of common 
 people ; and desired me to use old and 
 homely terms in my translations ; and 
 fain would I satisfy every man, and so 
 to do, took an old book, and read there- 
 in ; and certainly the English was so 
 rude and broad, that I could not well 
 understand it ; and also, my Lord Abbot 
 of Westminster, did do shew to me late 
 certain evidences, written in old English, 
 for to reduce it into our English, now 
 used ; and certainly it was written in 
 such wise, that was more like to Dutch 
 than to English. I could not reduce, 
 nor bring it to be understanden." 
 
 Again : " Certainly the language now 
 used varieth far from that which was 
 used and spoken when I was born ; for 
 we, Englishmen, been borne under the 
 dominacion of the moone, which is never 
 stedfaste, but ever wavering." In his 
 time, the inhabitants of one county 
 hardly understood those of another: 
 " The most quantity of the people un- 
 derstand not Latin nor French, in this 
 royaume of England." The intermixture 
 of French words and idioms, of course, 
 was most prevalent in the capital. 
 " That common English, that is spoken 
 in one shyre varyeth from another in 
 so much that in my dayes happened, 
 that certain merchants were in a ship, 
 in Thamys, for to have sailed over the 
 sea to Zealand ; and, for lack of wind, 
 they tarried att Forland, and went to 
 land for to refresh them; and one of 
 them, named Sheffield, a mercer, came 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTOtf. 
 
 27 
 
 into an hous, and axed for mete, and 
 especially he axed after egges ; and the 
 good wyfe answerde, that she could 
 speke no Frenche, and the merchant was 
 angry, for he also could speke no 
 Frenche, but would have had egges, and 
 she understood him not. And then at 
 last another sayd, that he would have 
 eyrun. Then the good wyfe sayd, that 
 she understood him well*." Caxton 
 seems to have been a good deal puz- 
 zled and perplexed about the language 
 he should use in his translations ; for, 
 while some advised him to use old and 
 homely terms : " Some honest and great 
 clerks," he adds, " have been with me, 
 and desired me to write the most curious 
 terms that I could finde and thus, 
 betwixt plain, rude, and curious, I stand 
 abashed." There can be no doubt, 
 however, that either by following the 
 advice of those honest and great clerks, 
 or from his long residence abroad in 
 his translations, as Dr. Johnson observes, 
 " the original is so scrupulously fol- 
 lowed, that they afford us little know- 
 ledge of our own language; though the 
 words are English, the phrase is foreign." 
 Caxton printed more books this year, 
 than in any other. Seven bear 
 
 1483. this date. Among them were 
 * Gawin's Confessio Amantis ;' 
 
 and the * Golden Legend/ A very full 
 and particular account of the former is 
 given by Mr. Dibdm, in his ' Typogra- 
 phical Antiquities,' vol. i., p. 177 185. 
 Caxton informs us, that the printing of 
 the ' Golden Legend' made him " half 
 desperate to have left it, and to have laid 
 it apart;" but he took courage, and 
 went on, when the Earl of Arundel pro- 
 mised to take a number of copies, and 
 to send him " a buck in summer, and a 
 doe in winter." 
 
 He printed four books, of which two 
 were '^Esop ;' and the ' Order of 
 
 1484. Chivalry.' Mr. Dibdin, who has 
 seen and examined more early edi- 
 tions of^Esop, in different languages, 
 than most people, considers Caxton's 
 edition, on the whole, as the rarest of all 
 those in the fifteenth century. His Ma- 
 jesty's copy of it, he adds, is the only 
 perfect one known. In the Order of 
 Chivalry,' which he translated out of 
 French, he gives a curious picture of the 
 manners of his age ; and at the same 
 
 * If Caxton is correct in this story, the language 
 of this part of Kent (in the weald of which, where he 
 was born, he acknowledges Kfiglh is spoken broad 
 nd rude) must have borrowed the word for egg from 
 the Teutonic, and not from the Anglo-Saxon ; cey, be- 
 ing the Anglo-Saxon, and ei the German, for an egg. 
 
 time laments, in strong and feeling lan- 
 guage, the decline of chivalry : *' ! ye 
 knights of England, where is the custom 
 and usage of noble chivalry that was 
 used in those days. What do you now, 
 but go to the baynes (baths,) and play 
 at dyse ; and some, not well advysed, 
 use not honest and good rule again all 
 order of knighthode. Leve this leve 
 it ! and read the noble volumes of St. 
 Graal, of Lancelot, of Galaad, of Trys- 
 tram, of Perseforest, of Percival, of 
 Gavaine, and many more. There shall 
 ye see manhode, curtsys, and gentleness. 
 And look in latter days of the noble 
 actes sith the Conquest ; as in King 
 Richard dayes, Cuer de Lion ; Ed- 
 ward I. and III., and his noble sones ; 
 Syr Robert Knowles, &c. Rede Frois- 
 sart. Also, behold that noble and victo- 
 rious King Hary the Fifthe. I would 
 demand a question, if I should not dis- 
 plese : How many knyghtes ben ther 
 now in England, that have th' use and 
 th' exercise of a knyghte. That is to 
 wit, that he knoweth his horse, and his 
 horse him. I suppose, an a due serche 
 sholde be made, there sholde be many 
 founden that lacke. The more pyte is. 
 I would it pleased our soverayne lord, 
 that twyse or thryce a year, or as the 
 lest ones, he wold do cry justes of pies, 
 to th' ende, that every knyghte sholde 
 have hors and harneys, and also the 
 use and craft of a knyghte ; and also to 
 torn ay one against one, or two against 
 two, and the best to have a prys a dia- 
 mond or jewels, such as should plese the 
 prynce." 
 
 Caxton, probably, like most other 
 persons when they become old, regarded 
 the manners of youth as much worse 
 than they were in his early days. We 
 must make allowance for this failing, 
 in reading his Picture of London, 
 and its youthful inhabitants. " I have 
 known it in my young age much more 
 wealthy, prosperous and richer, than it 
 is at this day; and the cause is, that 
 there is almost none that intendeth to 
 the commonweal, but only every man 
 for his singular profit." And, in another 
 place, "I see that the children that ben 
 borne within the said citye encrease and 
 proufitte not like their faders and olders : 
 but for moste parte, after that they ben 
 coming to their perfite years of discre- 
 tion and ripeness of age, how well that 
 their faders have left to them grete 
 quantity of goods, yet scarcely amonge 
 ten, two thryve. O blessed Lord, when I 
 remember this I am all abashed : I can- 
 
28 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 not juge the cause ; but fayrer, ne wiser, 
 ne bet bespoken children in theyre youth 
 ben no wher then ther ben in London ; 
 but at their full ryping there is no car- 
 nel, no good corn founden, but chaffe 
 for the most parte." 
 
 In 1485, his press was entirely occu- 
 pied with romances. The first was 
 ' Morte Arthur, the Liff of King Ar- 
 thur of the Noble Knyghts of the Round 
 Table, and in the end the dolorous Deth 
 of them all.' This had been translated 
 from the French, by Sir Thomas Mallery, 
 knight ; and Caxton printed it from the 
 MS. It is a magnificent volume, and is 
 supposed to have occupied him seven 
 months. 2. The Histoiy of Charle- 
 magne, already mentioned, as having 
 been compiled and translated from two 
 French books, by the advice of his friend 
 Henry Boulonger, canon of Lausanne. 
 Only one more was printed by him this 
 year ' The Storye of the right noble, 
 right valiant, and worthy Knight Parys ;' 
 this also he translated from the French. 
 In the year I486, his press seems to 
 have been idle ; at least none of his 
 works bear this date: and in 1487, only 
 one book appeared, entitled, ' The Book 
 of Good Manners.' The original French, 
 from which he translated it, he informs 
 us, was given to him by a special friend of 
 his, a mercer of London*. In 1488 no 
 books appeared. In 1489 Caxton pub- 
 lished four, of which ' The Fait of Armes 
 and Chivalry ' was one. " This was 
 delivered to me, William Caxton, by 
 the most Chrystin King and redoubted 
 Prince, my natural and sovereign lord, 
 Kyng Henry the 7th, Kyng of England 
 and of France, in his palace of West- 
 mestie, the 23 day of Janyure, the 4th 
 yere of his regne ; and desired and 
 willed me to translate this said boke, 
 and reduce it into our English and 
 natural tongue, and to put it in im- 
 prynte." It is a compilation by Chris- 
 tine of Pisa, from the ^Military Treatises 
 of Vegetius Frontinus, and the Arbre 
 des Battailles. Another book printed 
 this year was the ' Eneidos,' translated 
 from the French it is a mere compila- 
 tion in prose of the principal events 
 recorded in Virgil's poem, and has no 
 pretension to an imitation of that poet, 
 in any one respect. It does not, there- 
 
 * The mercers of London seem to have been great 
 encouragers of literature. Prefixed to Wyntyn de 
 W'orde's reprint of Caxton's ' Polichronicon' in 1495, 
 there are a few poetical stanzas, in which one Roger 
 Thoornye, a mercer, is praised for ordering and en- 
 couraging the printer to undertake so laborious a 
 performance. 
 
 fore, deserve the contemptuous and 
 sarcastic notice taken of it, by Gawin 
 Douglas, in the preface to his Scotch 
 translation of Virgil. Caxton's work 
 was dedicated to Arthur, eldest son of 
 Henry VII. He represents himself as at 
 this time well stricken in years : and if the 
 date usually assigned to his birth (1412) 
 be accurate, he must have, been seventy- 
 seven years old. The ' Doctrinne of 
 Sapience,' also published in 1489, is the 
 last that bears a date, if we except his 
 edition of the Statutes : a perfect set of 
 these, passed in the reign of Henry VII. 
 till the death of Caxton (14901) have 
 very recently been discovered. Twenty- 
 eight of his known publications are 
 without dates. Some of these have been 
 already noticed ; a few of the remainder 
 will supply some interesting matter. 
 Caxton printed Chaucer's Canterbury 
 Tales twice ; each edition is without 
 date, but the first is supposed to have 
 been one of the earliest productions of 
 his press. Mr. Warton regards it as 
 much more to his honour, than it can 
 be to his discredit, that he printed them 
 very incorrectly. " He probably took 
 the first manuscript that he could pro- 
 cure to print from, and it happened 
 unluckily to be one of the worst in all 
 respects that he could possibly have 
 met with." As soon, however, as he 
 found out these imperfections and errors, 
 he began a second edition " for to satisfy 
 the author, whereas tofore, by igno- 
 rance, I had erred in hurting and de- 
 famying his boke." Caxton's extreme 
 and conscientious desire to fulfil one of 
 the most important duties of an editor 
 and printer, (and he acted as both,) by 
 giving the works as the author himself 
 wrote them, as well as his candour and 
 ingenuousness, are depicted in a clear 
 and interesting manner, in the preface 
 to his second edition. 
 
 He seems to have had a veneration for 
 the memory of this poet, and to have 
 formed, with sound judgment and good 
 taste, a most correct and precise estimate 
 of the peculiar merits of his poetry. As 
 a proof of the former, we may mention, 
 that Caxton, at his own expense, pro- 
 cured a long epitaph to be written in 
 honour of Chaucer. This was inscribed 
 on a tablet, hung on a pillar near the 
 poet's grave in the south aisle of West- 
 minster Abbey. The following remarks 
 will amply justify what we have stated 
 respecting Caxton's ability, fully to un- 
 derstand, and thoroughly to relish, the 
 merits and beauties of Chaucer's poetry. 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 29 
 
 " We ought to give a singular laud 
 unto that noble and great philosopher, 
 Geoffrey Chaucer, the which, for his 
 ornate writings in our tong, may well 
 have the name of a laureate poet. For, 
 to fore that he embellished and ornated 
 and made fair our English, in this ro- 
 yaume was had rude speech and incon- 
 grue, as yet it appeareth by old books, 
 which, at this day, ought not to have 
 place, ne be compared among unto his 
 beauteous volumes and ornate writings, 
 of whom he made many books and trea- 
 tises of many a noble history, as well in 
 metre as in rhyme and prose : and then 
 so craftily made, that he comprehended 
 his matters in short, quick, and high 
 sentences, eschewing perplexity ; casting 
 away the chaff of superfluity , and shew- 
 ing the picked grain of sentence, uttered 
 by crafty arid sugared eloquence.'* 
 
 And speaking of Chaucer's Book of 
 Fame,' which he also printed, he says, 
 " Which work, as me seemeth, is craf- 
 tily made and digne to be written and 
 known ; for he toucheth in it right great 
 wisdom and subtle understanding ; and 
 so in all his works he excelleth, in mine 
 opinion, all other writers in our English, 
 for he writeth no void words, but all his 
 matter is full of high and quick sentence, 
 to whom ought to be given laud and 
 praise for his noble making andwriting." 
 
 Chaucer's translation of Boethius was 
 also printed by Caxton, without date. It 
 is alternately in Latin and English, but 
 the former is not given entire ; a few 
 verses of a period in Latin being suc- 
 ceeded by the whole of the corresponding 
 period in English, and so through the 
 whole volume : the Latin type is large 
 compared with the English. 
 
 A curious volume was printed by 
 Caxton, about the period when the 
 French, which had hitherto been spoken 
 almost exclusively at court, was giving 
 place to the English language ; it is en- 
 titled the ' Book for Travellers.' It con- 
 tains the corresponding terms in both 
 languages, for those things most com- 
 monly talked of at court, especially such 
 as relate to dress. 
 
 We have already stated that he con- 
 tinued his labours as a printer to the 
 very last ; he seems also to have taken 
 an active part in the affairs of the 
 parish of St. Margaret, Westminster, in 
 which he lived and died ; since, for some 
 years before his death, his name appears 
 to the churchwardens' accounts, as one 
 of the parishioners who had undertaken 
 to examine their details. He died in 
 
 14901, was buried in St. Margaret's, 
 and left some books to that church. 
 
 His character may be collected from 
 the account we have given of his labours, 
 and the extracts we have made from his 
 prefaces ; he was possessed of good 
 sense and sound judgment ; steady, per- 
 severing, active, zealous and liberal in 
 his services for that important art which 
 he introduced into this kingdom ; labour- 
 ing not only as a printer, but as trans- 
 lator and editor. It has been objected 
 that he was too much given to admire 
 and print romances ; but in this he only 
 partook of the spirit of the age; per- 
 haps, indeed, it survived in him longer 
 and with more power, than in most of 
 his contemporaries ; but that his love of 
 romance did not blunt his judgment and 
 taste for real talent is evident by his 
 printing Chaucer's works, and his criti- 
 cisms on them. It should be recollected, 
 also, that in the selection of works for 
 the press he was necessarily guided by 
 public opinion, and by the probability 
 that what he did print would repay him 
 for his labour and expense. The remarks 
 of Gibbon on this point are sensible and 
 candid. " In the choice of his authors, 
 that liberal and industrious artist was 
 reduced to comply with the vicious taste 
 of his readers, to gratify the nobles with 
 treatises of heraldry, hawking, and the 
 game of chess, and to amuse the popu- 
 lar credulity with romances of fabulous 
 knights, and legends of more fabulous 
 saints. The father of printing expresses 
 a laudable desire to elucidate the history 
 of his country, but instead of publishing 
 the Latin Chronicle of Ralph Higden, 
 he could only venture on the English 
 version by John de Trevisa ; and his 
 complaint of the difficulty of finding 
 materials for his own continuation of 
 that work, sufficiently attests, that even 
 the writers which we now possess of the 
 fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, had 
 not yet emerged from the darkness of the 
 cloister." If we reflect, too, on the state 
 of England at this period, that he estab- 
 lished his press soon after the murder of 
 Henry VI., and that he carried on his 
 works during the remainder of the reign 
 of Edward IV., and the reigns of Ed- 
 ward V. and Richard III., when the 
 minds of those most likely and able to 
 encourage him were seldom free from 
 alarm for their own safety, their time 
 much occupied, and their means neces- 
 sarily reduced by the distracted and 
 wasted state of the country ; and when 
 little attention or money could be spared 
 
30 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 for literature; we must give Caxton 
 great credit for having done so much ; 
 for having in the midst of confusion per- 
 severed in his labours, and succeeded in 
 establishing the art of printing in his 
 native land. That England at this 
 period was much behind France in lite- 
 rature, is proved by the fact that Caxton 
 was obliged to have recourse to the 
 French language for most of the works 
 which he printed. He thus, it may be 
 supposed, employed his press profitably 
 to himself, and certainly with advantage 
 to our literature; for, as Mr. Warton 
 truly observes, "had not the French fur- 
 nished him those materials, it is not 
 likely that Virgil, Ovid, Cicero, and many 
 other good writers, would, by means of 
 his press, have been circulated in the 
 English tongue, so early as the close of 
 the fifteenth century." 
 
 There was, perhaps, at that time, no 
 man in England, whose talents, habits, 
 and character, were so well fitted to in- 
 troduce and establish the art of printing 
 as those of William Caxton: to have 
 succeeded in this enterprise, the benefits 
 of which, in a national point of view, we 
 may even now be enjoying, is praise 
 enough ; for it is the praise of having 
 been a useful citizen of the state and 
 member of society, the highest that 
 man can bestow or receive. 
 
 Caxton's printing is inferior, in many 
 respects, to the printing executed on the 
 continent during the same period. The 
 types employed in the latter have a 
 squareness, fineness, and brilliancy not 
 in those of Caxton; the paper and 
 press-work are much superior ; the order 
 and symmetry of the press-work are 
 qualities which appear in very few of his 
 productions. He seems not to have been 
 able to procure, or to have rejected, the 
 roman letter, even after it had been em- 
 ployed with excellent effect by the con- 
 tinental printers. On the other hand, as 
 Mr.Dibdin remarks, "whenever we meet 
 with good copies of his books, his type 
 has abold and rich effect, which renders 
 their perusal less painful than that of 
 many foreign productions, where the 
 angular sharpness of the letters some- 
 what dazzles and hurts the eye." His 
 ink is of an inferior quality ; his paper 
 is fine and good, resembling the thin 
 vellum on which MSS. were then gene- 
 rally written; his letter is a mixture of 
 secretary and Gothic, also resembling 
 that used in MSS. at that period ; his 
 leaves are seldom numbered, his pages 
 never, "When the impression was finish- 
 
 ed, Caxton revised a single copy, and 
 corrected the faults with red ink; the 
 copy thus corrected was then given to a 
 proper person to correct the whole im- 
 pression ; as he was extremely exact, 
 this operation occasioned him much 
 troublesome and minute labour. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Notices of some other Printers in Eng- 
 land, contemporary with Caxton, or 
 immediately after him Printing in- 
 troduced into Oxford, Cambridge, 
 St. Alban"s, York, Southwark, Tavis- 
 tock, Ipswich, 8?c, into Scotland and 
 Ireland. 
 
 Printing-presses were set up in Eng- 
 land by some foreigners and natives, 
 before Caxton's death. In 1480 and 
 1481 , John Lettou, a foreigner, printed in 
 London. He is said to have come over to 
 this country on Caxton's invitation. This, 
 however, is not likely, as his unskilful- 
 ness is such that Caxton would scarcely 
 have invited or encouraged such a bad 
 workman. The types he employed in 
 the only two books he is known to have 
 printed himself, are rude and broken. 
 After he had published them, he was 
 taken into the printing-office of William 
 de Machlinia first, it is supposed as a 
 journeyman, and afterwards as a partner. 
 Machlinia also was a foreigner ; the only 
 celebrity that can attach to the name of 
 these partners, arises from their having 
 printed the first edition of ' Littleton's 
 Tenures,' in a small folio, without date. 
 Their printing-office was near All-Hal- 
 lows church ; their letter, a coarse 
 Gothic one. The partnership was of 
 very short continuance; for, in 1483, 
 Machlinia's name alone appears. Wyn- 
 kyn de Worde was a man of very supe- 
 rior talents and skill. He was a native 
 of Lorraine, and came into England 
 either along with Caxton, or was after- 
 wards invited by him; he was em- 
 ployed as Caxton's assistant till his death. 
 He continued in his office, as his succes- 
 sor, till between the years 1500 and 1502 ; 
 when he removed his printing-office to 
 the sign of the Sun, in the parish of St. 
 Bride*s, where he died in 1534. Soon 
 after he began business for himself, 
 he greatly improved the art by cut- 
 ting his own punches, which he sunk 
 into matrices, and casting his own let- 
 ter. His books are remarkable for their 
 neatness and elegance. Four hundred 
 and eight are known to have been 
 printed by him, His edition of the 
 
LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 31 
 
 * Polychronicon* is deemed uncommonly 
 well executed. Dr. Dibdin calls it " one 
 of the most beautiful folio volumes of 
 that skilful artist:" its date is 1495. 
 Several grammarians of repute, Stan- 
 bridge, Garlandea, Whittinton, Holt, and 
 Lilye, lived at the period of the intro- 
 duction of printing into England ; and 
 Wynkyn de Worde, who appears to 
 have been a man of good education as 
 well as talents, printed some of their 
 works. He printed the ' Accidence' of 
 Stanbridge, " in Caxton's house, at 
 Westminster." The date unknown. His 
 4 Vocabulary, 1 in 1500. This De Worde 
 continued to republish till 1532. The 
 
 * Multorum Vocabulorum Equivocorum 
 Interpretation by Garlandea, was printed 
 in 1500, by De Worde, and at least as 
 late as 1517. He also printed repeatedly 
 the grammatical works of Whittinton. 
 Holts ' Lac Puerorum, or Milk for 
 Children,' was printed by him in 4 to, 
 without date. No impression of the 
 grammar of Lilye (but which, in reality, 
 was drawn up by several persons,) by 
 De Worde, or in Lilye' s lifetime, has 
 been discovered. The first Greek let- 
 ters used in England are found in a 
 Grammatical Treatise of Whittinton, by 
 De Worde, in 1519 : they are cut out of 
 wood. We have gone into this detailed 
 mention of those works chiefly in order 
 to show the assistance which the press 
 was already giving, in its earliest days, 
 to elementary education. ' Accidences,' 
 
 * Lucidaries,' Orchards of Words,' 
 
 * Promptuaries for Little Children,' were 
 published in great numbers. 
 
 Richard Pynson, a Norman by birth, 
 was in Caxton's office. He carried on his 
 business from 1493 to 1531. His known 
 productions are two hundred and ten. 
 He styled himself King's Printer ; but it 
 is doubtful whether he had any patent. 
 He introduced the Roman letter into this 
 country. His types are clear and good ; 
 but his press-work is hardly equal to 
 that of De Worde. Most of the works 
 he printed are of a higher character for 
 merit and usefulness than those either of 
 Caxton or De Worde. The first trea- 
 tise on arithmetic, published in this 
 country, was printed by Pynson, in 1522, 
 4to, ' Libri 4 de arte Supputandi.' It was 
 written by Cuthbert Tonstall, Bishop of 
 London, one of the best mathematicians, 
 as well as general scholars, of his age. 
 In 1499, the first edition of the * Promp- 
 torius Puerorum' came from Pynson's 
 press. He was a voluminous printer of 
 early statutes \ and in his time began the 
 
 publication of what are still called 'Year 
 Books.' Soon after Caxton's death he 
 printed an edition of the ' Canterbury 
 Tales,' and in 1526, reprinted them 
 with a collection of some other pieces of 
 Chaucer. William Jaques was con- 
 temporary with Pynson, and printed in 
 conjunction with him the acts passed in 
 1503. He used a new cut English let- 
 ter, " equalling, if not excelling, in 
 beauty, any produced by modern foun- 
 dries." In 1530, the first French and 
 English Dictionary (' Eclaircissemens de 
 la Langue Fran^oise') was published by 
 John Hawkins. No other work from 
 his press is known. 
 
 On the death of Pynson, Thomas 
 Berthelet was appointed King's Printer, 
 by a patent, the earliest that has been 
 found. He dwelt at the sign of Lucretia 
 Romana, Fleet-street. Thomas Godfray 
 was a printer at the same time. These 
 printers embarked in the same concern. 
 From their press came (1532), a com- 
 plete edition of all that had then come to 
 light of the works of Chaucer. It is on 
 fine paper, and the types and press-work 
 are remarkably neat and elegant. This 
 edition was superintended, and published, 
 under the patronage of William Thynne. 
 To one of this family perhaps to the 
 same person Caxton had been indebted 
 for the manuscripts, which enabled him 
 to publish his second and much im- 
 proved edition of the ' Canterbury Tales.' 
 
 If the title of the book (already no- 
 ticed) purporting to be printed at Oxford, 
 in 14 G 8, be erroneous, as there is strong- 
 reason to suspect it to be, then the esta- 
 blishment of printing in this city must 
 have been in 1478. The first known 
 printers there, however, were Theodore 
 Rood, a German, and Thomas Hunt, an 
 Englishman ; and their first production 
 Herbert assigns to the year 1485. It is 
 not known in what year printing was 
 introduced into Cambridge. It certainly 
 was very shortly after Caxton established 
 his press in Westminster. The types 
 of the earliest known work which issued 
 from Cambridge, very much resemble 
 Caxton's largest. The first printer at 
 Cambridge, whose name is known, was 
 John Sibert, who is supposed to have 
 been born at Lyons. A few Greek words 
 are interspersed in his edition of Linacre's 
 translation of one of Galen's treatises. 
 This is the earliest appearance of Greek 
 metal types. 
 
 In 1480, a printing-press was esta- 
 blished in the Benedictine Monastery at 
 St, Albans, of which William Walling- 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF WILLIAM CAXTON. 
 
 ford was at t'hat time prior. Wynkyn 
 de Worde informs us that the printer 
 was " sometime a schoolmaster ;" and 
 he probably was a monk. The types of 
 the book, which is a Treatise on Rhe- 
 toric, in Latin, are very rude. Printing 
 was introduced into York, in 1509, by 
 Hugh Goes, supposed to have been the 
 son of a printer at Antweip. His first 
 production was the Pica of the Cathedral 
 of that city ; he afterwards removed to 
 Beverley, and then to London. Peter de 
 Triers, probably a native of that city, 
 printed, in 1514, the first book in South- 
 wark : it was the ' Moral Distichs of 
 Cato, 1 with Erasmus's ' Scholia,' in 
 Latin, 1525, Tavistock. Here was 
 an exempt monastery, celebrated for its 
 lectures on the Saxon language, which 
 were discontinued about the period of 
 the Reformation. Several of its abbots 
 were learned men : and the encourage- 
 ment in literature is evident by the esta- 
 blishment of a printing-press a few years 
 after the introduction of printing into 
 England. The first printed book was 
 John Walton's Translation of Boethius 
 de Consolatione, in 4to ; the printer's 
 name was Thomas Rychard, monk of 
 that monastery. A book, called the 
 4 Long Grammar,' was printed at Tavi- 
 stock, but no copy of it has been 
 found. A printing-office was first esta- 
 blished in Canterbury about 1525 ; but 
 no name or date is in the book sup- 
 posed to have been the first printed 
 there. Cardinal Wolsey, on his visit 
 to do honour to his native city, esta- 
 blished or patronised a printing-office 
 at Ipswich in 1538; the printer was 
 John Oswen, who removed to Wor- 
 cester in 15-18, where he published a 
 folio and quarto edition of the New 
 Testament. The art was introduced 
 into Norwich about 1570, by Anthony 
 Solen, one of the many foreigners from 
 the Low Countries who introduced all 
 sorts of woollen manufactures into that 
 city. 
 
 Between the year 1471, when Caxton 
 began to print, and the year 1540, the 
 English press, though conducted by 
 industrious, and some of them learned 
 printers, produced very few classics. 
 
 Boethius de Consolatione,' in Latin 
 and English, three editions of ' iEsop,' 
 
 * Terence,' the ' Bucolics' of Virgil 
 twice, and ' Tully's Offices,' were the 
 only classics printed. From Cambridge 
 no classical work appeared ; and the 
 University of Oxford produced only the 
 
 first book of Cicero's Epistles,' and 
 that at the expense of Wolsey. 
 
 The most ancient specimen of Scotch 
 printing known, is a collection entitled 
 'The Porteus of Nobleness,' Edinburgh, 
 1508. A patent had been granted by 
 James IV. to Walter Chapman, a mer- 
 chant of that city, and Andrew Mollar, 
 a workman, for establishing a press 
 there in 1507. Very few works, how- 
 ever, appear to have issued from this or 
 from any other Scotch press for the 
 next thirty years. In 1 554, one of Knox's 
 Theological Treatises was printed at 
 Kalykow, or Kelso. Hamilton's, Arch- 
 bishop of St. Andrews, Catechism, and 
 Treatise on the ' Seven Sacraments,' 
 4to, was the first book printed at St. 
 Andrews, 1552. It was nearly a cen- 
 tury after this, before Aberdeen, the seat 
 of another University, could boast of a 
 press. Edward Raban, who published a 
 poem on the death of Bishop Forbes, in 
 1635, styles himself " Master Printer, 
 the first in Aberdeen." Ireland was the 
 last European country, except Russia, 
 (and this, in the sixteenth century, could 
 scarcely be reckoned European,) that 
 received the art of printing. The earliest 
 book known is the Common Prayer, 
 printed in Dublin, 1551, by Humphrey 
 Powell. The Library of Trinity College, 
 in that city, contains but one book 
 printed there, even so early as 1633. 
 The first book in the Irish character, 
 was a Liturgy, 1566, for the use of the 
 Scotch Highlanders. 
 
 The advantages which have been de- 
 rived from the invention of printing, and 
 from the perseverance and ingenuity of 
 those by whom it was established, among 
 whom we may place William Caxton, are 
 vast and important; but they are too 
 obvious to require, in this place, an 
 elaborate detail. The productions of 
 men of genius and learning ; the records 
 of literature and of science ; of whatever 
 is either brilliant in imagination or pro- 
 found in thought ; whatever may either 
 adorn or improve the human mind, 
 thenceforth became imperishable. The 
 light of knowledge cannot again be 
 quenched it is free, and open, and ac- 
 cessible as the air we breathe. The 
 future history of the world may, indeed, 
 disclose enough both of misery and of 
 vice ; but it cannot again present an 
 universal blank, or be disgraced by an- 
 other age of utter and cheerless igno- 
 rance. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE 
 
 %4f<?n 
 
 Chapter I. 
 Birth and Parentage Academical 
 Education and Pursuits Acquires 
 great Influence with the Puritan 
 Party Chosen Member for Bridge- 
 water Embraces the Cause of the 
 Parliament against Charles L 
 Services at Bristol, Lyme, and Taun- 
 ton. 
 
 Few men occupy an important place 
 in the military and naval annals of 
 England, who have more conspicuously 
 exhibited the intellectual and moral 
 qualities which favourably distinguish 
 the character of British seamen than 
 Admiral Blake. Much of the war-like 
 distinction, to attain which this country 
 has made such sacrifices, is attributable 
 to a combination in its inhabitants of 
 active with passive courage; or of 
 daring valour and an ardent spirit of 
 enterprise, with firmness, perseverance, 
 and intrepid endurance. When, to these 
 qualifications can be added, patriotism, 
 disinterestedness, and a correct notion 
 of the due boundaries of obedience and 
 command, little more is wanted to com- 
 plete the outline of an accomplished 
 English officer. All these requisites 
 were displayed, in an eminent degree, 
 by the individual, a brief sketch of 
 whose life will be attempted in the fol- 
 lowing pages, who has always ranked 
 high in the estimation of his country- 
 men, notwithstanding the party bias, so 
 powerfully excited by the political oc- 
 currences of the period in which his lot 
 was cast. 
 
 Robert Blake was born in August, 
 1599, at Bridgewater, in the county of 
 Somerset. His father, Humphrey Blake, 
 a respectable merchant of that town, 
 was a branch of the Blakes of Plans- 
 field, in the parish of Spaxton,* in its 
 vicinity ; a family which bore the 
 rank of respectable country gentlemen. 
 Having amassed a good fortune by the 
 Spanish trade, he bought an estate 
 in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater, 
 where he settled, and had a numerous 
 family. At a proper age, Robert, who 
 
 * Lives, English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. ?3. Wood's 
 Fasti. Oxon. vol. i. col. 203. 
 
 was the eldest, attended the Free Gram- 
 mar School of his native place ; whence, 
 at the death of his father, being then 
 of the age of sixteen, he removed him- 
 self to Alban's Hall, in the university 
 of Oxford. Here he was noticed for 
 early rising and studious application ; 
 which he diversified by the sports of 
 fowling and fishing. As he became too 
 noted a public character, in the sequel, 
 for any sort of traditionary scandal con- 
 cerning him to escape publicity, it has 
 been asserted that he occasionally 
 amused himself with stealing swans ; * 
 doubtless in the estimation of those 
 times, nothing more than a species of 
 aquatic poaching. From Alban's Hall, 
 he, after a while, removed himself to 
 Wadham College, where he took the 
 degree of Bachelor of Arts; and in 
 1619, being then about twenty-one years 
 of age, he became candidate for a Fel- 
 lowship of Merton College. In this 
 object of his ambition he however failed, 
 owing to the opposition of Sir Henry 
 Savile, then Warden, on the extraordi- 
 nary ground of not being tall enough. 
 Although it was one of the known 
 foibles of that eminent scholar, to pay 
 a great regard to personal comeliness, 
 there is reason to believe that the reli- 
 gious opinions of the candidate formed 
 the principal cause of his rejection ; his 
 family and connexions being, for the 
 most part, inclined to Presbyterianism, 
 or at least opposed to the domineering 
 scheme of church government, which 
 the court and prelacy were then en- 
 deavouring to carry into practice. How- 
 ever this might be, his non- attainment of 
 a fellowship probably altered the entire 
 course of his future destiny ; for so long 
 a residence at the university, and his 
 wish to obtain that kind of preferment, 
 seem to indicate literary, if not profes- 
 sional views, altogether at variance with 
 his future career. If so, Blake is only 
 one among a multitude of distinguished 
 characters, whom the course of events, 
 rather than premeditation or design, has 
 conducted into that, line of exertion, for 
 which their natural endowments have 
 more especially adapted them. 
 
 * Wood's Fasti, vol. i.col. 203. 
 
 B 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 Mr.' Blake remained at the university 
 until his twenty-fifth year, during which 
 period, according to Lord Clarendon, 
 he obtained as great a portion of learn- 
 ing, as any gentleman of independent 
 prospects, not expressly intended for a 
 learned profession, needs acquire .* This 
 testimony is sufficient to discountenance 
 an insinuation, that he lost the sought 
 for fellowship by want of sufficient eru- 
 dition ; but it at the same time proves 
 that he was never a distinguished stu- 
 dent. All that is known of his literary 
 performances, is a copy of verses on the 
 death of the celebrated antiquary Cam- 
 den, one of those fruits of imitation 
 rather than of native impulse, or genius, 
 which may sometimes be admired as 
 college exercises, but seldom as any 
 thing more. Such, unfortunately, owing 
 to the very mature age to which he ar- 
 rived before he became distinguished, is 
 all that it has been found possible to 
 collect concerning the early life of Ad- 
 miral Blake. This is too common a 
 circumstance in biography, to be the 
 subject of particular regret ; but it is 
 still to be lamented, as a study of well 
 authenticated accounts of the youthful 
 predispositions of eminent men, is both 
 profitable and amusing. In the great 
 variety and complexity of human cha- 
 racter, it may not be ajways safe to 
 depend upon like results from similar 
 appearances ; but in social and intel- 
 lectual, as well as irt physical know- 
 ledge, cool and patient observation will 
 gradually account for much apparent di- 
 versity. The utility too, as regards edu- 
 cation, is undeniable ; an early discern- 
 ment of the indications of future modes of 
 thinking and acting, and a close attention 
 to the formation of habits, being among 
 the most useful qualifications with which 
 all who have to do with the bringing up 
 of youth, whether as parents or teachers, 
 can be endowed. 
 
 On quitting the university, Mr. 
 Blake took up his residence at Bridge- 
 water, where he soon became distin- 
 guished for soundness of understanding, 
 gravity of deportment, and plain sin- 
 cerity of temper ; all bespeaking the 
 strength and solidity of character which 
 he afterwards displayed. It is, at the 
 same time, recorded that a humorous 
 bluntness of expression rendered him a 
 very entertaining and agreeable com- 
 panion, notwithstanding the apparent 
 austerity of his manners ;t and that, 
 
 * History of the Rebellion, vol. iii. p. 601. Bates, 
 J Bates's Elenchus Motuum, p. 228. 
 
 taken altogether, he was admirably 
 adapted to acquire influence with the 
 powerful and rising party to which he 
 was attached both by principle and con- 
 nexion. It has already been observed, 
 that this party was the Nonconformists, 
 or Puritans, which, from the nature of 
 the times, and the infatuated conduct of 
 the reigning family and its advisers, 
 soon became strongly, although far 
 from universally, tinctured with repub- 
 licanism. To whatever extent it may be 
 conceded that it was natural for the 
 House of Stuart to claim the same ex- 
 tent of prerogative as its predecessors, 
 it must be allowed by all, except the 
 most prejudiced of its partisans, that 
 the arbitrary system which it adopted, 
 was carried most unwisely into practice. 
 Disgusted, in common with a great por- 
 tion of the nation, at the measures of 
 the court, and still more annoyed by 
 the severe and intolerant proceedings of 
 Laud, then Bishop of Bath and Wells, 
 the diocese in which he lived, Mr. Blake 
 was the more confirmed in the religious 
 and political opinions, which equally 
 agreed with his own natural serious- 
 ness, and the prevalent bias of the inha- 
 bitants of his native place. Expressing 
 his sentiments freely, and without con- 
 cealment, he gradually acquired that 
 influence with his party, which his ta- 
 lents and general respectability were so 
 well calculated to command ; so that in 
 164 he was chosen Member of Par- 
 liament for Bridgewater. This parlia- 
 ment was, however, so soon dissolved, 
 that he had no opportunity of distin- 
 guishing himself as a politician ; and for 
 the next, which was the memorable 
 Long Parliament, he lost his election. 
 
 When in 1642, the differences between 
 the King and the Parliament broke out 
 into actual hostilities, Blake, in com- 
 mon with many of the most active and 
 energetic men of the period, imme- 
 diately embraced the party of the latter, 
 and raised a troop of dragoons, which 
 he personally commanded as captain. 
 He was at this time in his forty- second 
 year, having attained the meridian of 
 life, before he commenced those warlike 
 pursuits in which he so rapidly acquired 
 a distinguished name. This circum- 
 stance, while remarkable in itself, tends 
 in some degree to detract from the in- 
 terest of this narrative as a piece of bio- 
 graphy. It is natural to wish for some 
 satisfactory particulars of the first forty 
 years of the life of a man whose conduct 
 has made the remainder of it celebrated; 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 but 1 unhappily, except a few scattered 
 notices by Lord Clarendon, Anthony 
 Wood, and Dr. Bates, very little is re- 
 corded concerning Blake before he was 
 called into activity by the civil war. The 
 rapidity with which he then acquired 
 eminence as a warrior, both by sea and 
 land, will give a very different com- 
 plexion to what will follow, his own his- 
 tory, from the period in question, being 
 identified with that of his country. He 
 forms, indeed, one of the most conspicu- 
 ous examples which modern times have 
 produced, of a man stepping from pri- 
 vate life into command, and becoming 
 almost at once a distinguished leader. 
 In the republics of Greece and Rome it 
 was more common, although probably 
 when duly considered less extraordinary, 
 as the institutions of both the Greeks and 
 Romans, in many respects, made every 
 man a soldier. Such was not the case 
 in England during the age of Blake ; al- 
 though the facility with which many of 
 the energetic spirits of the day passed 
 from civil life into active military com- 
 mand, seems to indicate that the temper 
 and construction of British society were 
 not unfavourable to the transition. Or 
 rather, ought we not, as in a more recent 
 period of revolutionary history, to attri- 
 bute the almost spontaneous appearance 
 of the ability, to the strength of the excite- 
 ment : and is it not upon the whole con- 
 solatory to reflect, that when the souls of 
 men are moved, and their actions die- 
 tated by principles, their energies are 
 better seconded by their understandings ? 
 But to return to the narrative: the 
 first opportunity Mr. Blake acquired of 
 distinguishing himself was in 1643, when 
 he served * at Bristol under Colonel 
 Fiennes, who intrusted him with the de- 
 fence of a small fort on the lines. When 
 the governor agreed to surrender that 
 important city to Prince Rupert, on the 
 26th July, Blake refused to give up his 
 post, and continued to fire upon the 
 Royalists. At this the prince was highly 
 exasperated, and declared, that when he 
 took the place he would hang him. Some 
 friends, however, interfered, and pleaded 
 his inexperience in the usages of war ; 
 and, at the same time, urged Blake to 
 refrain from an entirely useless resist- 
 ance, to which advice, although with 
 great difficulty, he was finally induced to 
 accede.* The conduct of Blake in this 
 respect, so indicative of the spirit and 
 tenacity of the man, has been consi- 
 
 , * Hist, of the Rebellion, yol. iii. p. 602. 
 
 dered to be, on military principles, irre- 
 gular; but it should be remembered, 
 that one of the charges against Colonel 
 Fiennes, on his trial before a council of 
 war at St. Alban's, for his conduct at the 
 siege of Bristol, was, that he left Captain 
 Blake in the fort, when he marched out 
 of that city, without giving him any no- 
 tice of the surrender, or any warrant to 
 deliver up his charge, to the great danger 
 of the lives of Captain Blake and his 
 men.* 
 
 Blake subsequently served in Somer- 
 setshire as Lieutenant- Colonel of the 
 regiment of foot of Colonel Popham, 
 then in garrison at Lyme, of>which town 
 the latter officer was parliamentary go- 
 vernor. Here he acted with so much 
 activity and ability, when the place was 
 besieged by Prince Maurice and Lord 
 Goring, that Popham left its defence en- 
 tirely to his management; and he so 
 effectually exerted himself, that the 
 Royalists, after being baffled in repeated 
 attempts at storming, and losing a great 
 number of men by the vigorous sallies of 
 the besieged, gave up the attempt and 
 departed. f 
 
 His next service was of great import- 
 ance: Popham' s regiment having been 
 raised in Somersetshire, throughout 
 which county Blake was exceedingly po- 
 pular, he was known and much beloved 
 by all the soldiers who served under 
 him. This attachment was not only 
 highly serviceable to him in the field, 
 but procured him the best intelligence 
 of the state of things around, through the 
 medium of the friends and connexions of 
 his men, all over the county. By these 
 means he acquired intelligence which 
 enabled him, in conjunction with Sir 
 Robert Pye, to surprise Taunton, where 
 they found six cannon and a consider- 
 able quantity of ammunition. In 1644, 
 the Parliament appointed him governor 
 of this town, one of the most important 
 in the west of England, being then the 
 only garrison in the parliamentary in- 
 terest in that part of the country .% The 
 works erected in defence of Taunton 
 were far from strong, and the gar- 
 rison by no means numerous ; yet by 
 maintaining a strict discipline, and by 
 treating the inhabitants with considera- 
 tion and humanity, he managed, with 
 very little assistance from supplies, to 
 retain the place, although repeatedly be- 
 sieged and blocked up by the King's 
 
 * Howell's State Trials, 224, 252. 
 
 t Lives English and Foreign, vol. iii. 
 
 j Rushworth's Hist, Collections, vol. v. p. 685. 
 
 .B2 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 forces. He had not, indeed, been long 
 there before the Earl of Essex, com- 
 manding for the Parliament, was obliged 
 to capitulate in Cornwall, and to sur- 
 render his army to the King, an event 
 which was followed by an unresisted 
 scouring of the western counties by the 
 Royalists. Of these troops 3000 ven- 
 tured to approach Taunton ; on which 
 Blake sent out a party from the town, 
 who defeated them 'with great slaughter, 
 and took several officers of note pri- 
 soners. He also cleared all the roads 
 around his post from the armed inter- 
 ruption of a number of cavalier country 
 gentlemen of the vicinity, who frequently 
 behaved with great ferocity to those pas- 
 sengers that were supposed to be ad- 
 verse to the royal cause* 
 
 Annoyed by this activity, Lord Goring 
 came into the neighbourhood of Taunton 
 with a body of Royalists, amounting to 
 10,000 men; and pressed the works so 
 closely, that he made a breach in the line 
 of defence, and took actual possession of 
 a part of the town. Blake however, 
 still contrived to retain the castle and the 
 remainder of the town, although in the 
 greatest distress both for ammunition 
 and provisions. Aware of this fact, the 
 besiegers summoned him to surrender, 
 the message being conveyed to him by 
 Colonel Windham, governor of Bridge- 
 water, for the King, who happened to be 
 at that time with the royal army. The 
 first summons demanded instant surren- 
 der, on pain of fire and sword ; which 
 being treated with disregard, Windham, 
 who had been on intimate terms with 
 Blake, mildly endeavoured to persuade 
 him to spare an unnecessary effusion of 
 Christian blood. To these repeated de- 
 mands Blake at length made the follow- 
 ing characteristic reply : 
 
 " These are to let you know, that as 
 we neither fear your menaces nor accept 
 your proffers, so we wish you for the 
 time to come to desist from all overtures 
 of the like nature to us, who are resolved, 
 to the last drop of our blood, to maintain 
 the quarrel we have undertaken ; and 
 doubt not that the same God who has 
 hitherto protected us, will ere long bless 
 us with an issue answerable to the jus- 
 tice of our cause. However, to him 
 alone, we shall stand or fall."f 
 
 Soon after the despatch of this letter, 
 
 * Sir Francis Doddington meeting a divine, ex- 
 claimed, ' Who art thou for, priest?" " For God and 
 his gospel," he replied; which answer being deemed, 
 a declaration for the Parliament, Sir Francis shot 
 flim dead upon the spot. Lives English and Foreign, 
 . J Lives .English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. 81, 82. 
 
 a body of parliamentary troops broke 
 through the besieging force, and sup- 
 plied the town with provisions and other 
 necessaries. The main army of the Par- 
 liament could not however move so ra- 
 pidly to the relief of Taunton as the 
 situation of the governor and garrison 
 required, owing to the time necessary 
 for the re-officering it under the famous 
 self-denying ordinance * Before, there- 
 fore, effective succour arrived, the be- 
 siegers had destroyed the suburbs and 
 half the town, and Blake could with dif- 
 ficulty maintain even the castle. At 
 length Major General Skippon was di- 
 rected to join Sir Thomas Fairfax, and 
 march to the aid of Blake with 8,000 
 men, and a train of artillery, and money 
 and provisions were sent after them. 
 
 In the mean time, fully acquainted 
 with the great distress of the garrison, 
 the besiegers sent another summons to 
 Blake to surrender, to which he briefly 
 replied, that he would eat his boots first. 
 He then calmly proceeded to barricade 
 the part of the town which he still 
 retained with all sorts of lumber ; and 
 made the Royalists pay dearly for every 
 step of ground that they acquired. At 
 last, Lord Goring and Prince Rupert 
 were called away, with part of the be- 
 sieging force, to the king's relief at 
 Oxford ; but the approaching army of 
 Sir Thomas Fairfax and General Skip- 
 pon being diverted to the same scene of 
 hostilities, a strong detachment only, 
 under the command of the Colonels 
 Weldon and Greaves, could be spared 
 for the relief of Taunton. This force, 
 however, proved sufficient for the ser- 
 vice ; and on the 11th of May 1645, the 
 Royalists were obliged to raise the siege, 
 after they had lost 1000 men, and sent 
 away twelve waggon loads of wounded. 
 For this spirited defence, the parliament 
 voted a letter of thanks to Colonel 
 Blake, with a donation of 500/., and 
 2000/. to be distributed among the gar- 
 rison. A general collection was also 
 made to restore the houses destroyed 
 during the siege. 
 
 The possession of Taunton by the 
 Parliamentarians, proved so injurious 
 to the royal cause, that another attempt 
 was soon after made to take it, by the 
 united forces of Lord Goring, Sir Richard 
 
 * An act passed through the intrigues of Cromwell 
 and the Independents, by which all members of Par- 
 liament were to abstain from military command, ex- 
 cept Cromwell himself, a scheme to get the army into 
 the hands of his own partizans, and to exclude the 
 Presbyterian and other leaders of reputation from ac- 
 quiring influeuce with the soldiery. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 Greenville, and Colonel Berkely. They 
 suffered much from the spirited sallies 
 of the besieged, under the command of 
 Colonel Weldon ; and when the latter, 
 on one occasion, was nearly surrounded 
 by the enemy, Blake marched out to his 
 relief at the head of two troops of horse, 
 and charged the cavaliers so fiercely, 
 that Weldon was enabled to gain the 
 town, into which Blake and his party 
 followed in good order. On learning 
 the renewed attempt upon Taunton, the 
 city of London voluntarily granted 4000/. 
 to raise and equip 1000 horse, to be 
 sent to the assistance of the governor, 
 under the command of Major-General 
 Massey ; and the committee of Kent 
 supplied two troops of dragoons, and two 
 companies of infantry, for the same ser- 
 vice. The distress of the garrison, during 
 these preparations, was very great ; but 
 although Blake could acquire no precise 
 information when succour might be ex- 
 pected, he resolutely held out, and con- 
 tinued to annoy the enemy with great 
 effect, until the junction of the parlia- 
 mentary forces, under General Massey 
 and Sir Thomas Fairfax, once more 
 obliged Lord Goring to raise the siege.* 
 
 It has been necessary to dwell at 
 some length on this obstinate defence of 
 Taunton, for two reasons : in the first 
 place, to show the rapid developement 
 of Blake's talents as a commander ; and 
 in the second, because this protracted 
 occupation of a large portion of the 
 king's troops, materially tended to hasten 
 the final defeat of the royal cause. It 
 was the known distress of Blake in 
 Taunton, and a supposition that, if 
 pressed, he must surrender in a few 
 days, that induced the king to divide his 
 forces, and thereby hasten the decisive 
 battle of Naseby, which Fairfax would 
 not have risked, had the royal army 
 remained entire. At the same time, the 
 large body of troops despatched on this 
 service, not only completely failed to 
 accomplish its object, but, in the sequel, 
 was routed and dispersed altogether. 
 It seldom happens that a single, and 
 apparently a mere subordinate military 
 exertion, leads to consequences so im- 
 portant.t 
 
 After refreshing and recruiting his 
 garrison, Blake marched with a party of 
 his men, and captured Dunster Castle, 
 held by the Luttrell family for the 
 crown. This event, which was one of 
 the last transactions of the war, took 
 
 * Lives English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. 85. 
 t Rush worth's Hist. Coll. vol. vi.p. 28. 
 
 place in April' 1646, when he returned 
 in triumph to Taunton, and to the en- 
 joyment of a considerable interval of 
 repose. 
 
 It has already been seen how prompt- 
 ly Colonel Blake espoused the side of 
 the parliament, in a contest rendered 
 equally inevitable by the progress of 
 opinion among the people, and by the 
 too natural blindness of authority to the 
 necessity of yielding, more or less, to a 
 decided change in national sentiment. 
 Without entering into the question of 
 the practice of their predecessors, the 
 religion and government of James I. 
 and Charles I., no matter whether 
 adopted or inherited, were essentially in- 
 tolerant and arbitrary. What is equally 
 undeniable, principles in respect to both 
 were ostentatiously promulgated, at a 
 period not only when the common sense 
 of mankind began very generally to revolt 
 at them, but when the rising power of 
 the popular branch of the constitution, 
 and the diversity of religious opinion, 
 rendered their establishment as imprac- 
 ticable as unpalatable. This weakness 
 necessarily threw all the strong and 
 sturdy spirits, most opposed to indefinite 
 prerogative and ecclesiastical intoler- 
 ance, into the opposite extreme of re- 
 publicanism. But it was not monarchy 
 and episcopacy simply, as such, that 
 the more disinterested and well prin- 
 cipled of these opposed in the first 
 instance ; but monarchy and episcopacy 
 as denned by the court and high church 
 party.* The mischievous doctrines of 
 passive obedience and divine right, which 
 will always prove snares and pitfalls to 
 sovereigns, who are misguided enough to 
 govern as if they believed in them, were 
 every day maintained, not merely as fa- 
 vourable, but. essential to the English 
 constitution. The history of the country, 
 since that period, has happily proved, 
 that a crown requires the diffusion of 
 no such principles for its due support. 
 Grant, indeed, as was then demanded, a 
 dispensing power or privilege of sus- 
 pending the authority of the law, the 
 right to raise taxes without the consent 
 of parliament, and the liberty to prose- 
 cute for difference of religious opinions, 
 and claim, at the same time, passive obe- 
 dience from the people,and what but arbi- 
 trary government can ensue ? The obsti- 
 
 * The struggle no doubt rapidly became one for 
 ascendancy on both sides ; the too frequent conse- 
 quence of appeals to arms to settle civil and reli- 
 gious differences. That which might be equality if 
 bestowed, usually becomes ascendancy, when fought 
 for. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 nate claims of this description, on the part 
 of Charles I. and his advisers, should 
 always be borne in mind, in judging of 
 the conduct and motives of men so un- 
 deniably disinterested and honourable 
 as Blake ; for it was not surprising that 
 individuals of that class, who consci- 
 entiously maintained the religious tenets 
 so undisguisedly assailed, should pass 
 over limited monarchy, in their theore- 
 tical march to political liberty. It may 
 be said that these observations will only 
 apply to the first part of the reign of 
 Charles I. : it may be so, to a certain 
 degree ; but the conduct of the family, 
 when restored, too powerfully justified 
 the distrust always entertained of it 
 by those who were convinced that it 
 would never willingly govern under the 
 restraint of a well-regulated constitu- 
 tional system, or sincerely give up the 
 dangerous pretensions which its final ex- 
 pulsion alone terminated. 
 
 It was doubtless under the impulse of 
 convictions, more or less akin to those 
 alluded to, that Blake chose his party 
 on the commencement of the disastrous 
 conflict ; and it is therefore highly 
 to his credit and consistency, that he 
 took no share in any of the measures 
 which gradually changed the com- 
 plexion of a contest for civil and religi- 
 ous liberty, into a struggle for personal 
 interest and ambitious aggrandisement. 
 Thus, for some time after the relief of 
 Taunton, he took little part in public 
 business, disliking the proceedings of 
 the Independents and the army ; and 
 the expulsion of the Presbyterians. Nor, 
 though inclined to a commonwealth, 
 did he approve of the trial of Charles I., 
 the execution of whom he deemed bar- 
 barous and illegal. He even went so far 
 as to assert " that he would as freely 
 venture his life to save the king, as he 
 had done to serve the Parliament.* But, 
 however much opposed to the arbitrary 
 and vindictive measures against the life 
 of the king, Blake seems entirely to 
 have given up all hopes of agreement 
 with Charles, after his refusal to accept 
 the terms proposed to him while with 
 the Scottish army. He had therefore 
 joined the borough of Taunton in a 
 petition to the House of Commons, 
 never again to address the king; but 
 he was invariably averse to any stronger 
 measure than his deposition. His dis- 
 approbation of harsher proceedings in- 
 deed, was so well understood by Crom- 
 
 * Lives, English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. 85. 
 
 well, that, when the trial of the king 
 was determined upon, a part of the 
 forces, under Blake, was disbanded ; 
 and, to conceal the motive, the order was 
 accompanied with a parliamentary com- 
 pliment, and a donation of 500. This 
 aversion to every thing sanguinary, out 
 of the field, was conspicuous in the 
 whole of his conduct ; and it forms the 
 brightest part of his brilliant character 
 that in all parleys and negotiations with 
 the royalists, and especially in the treat- 
 ment of the vanquished, he was invaria- 
 bly feeling and considerate. This hu- 
 mane disposition, added to the fact, that 
 the whole of his career was rather that of 
 an open and honourable warrior,than of 
 an interested politician, has rendered him 
 comparatively a favourite, even with the 
 royalists. No man on the parliamen- 
 tary side has been treated so tenderly by 
 the numerous vindicators of Charles I., 
 as Blake ; owing partly, no doubt, to so 
 many of his subsequentexploits, redound- 
 ing to the honour of the country ; but 
 also, in no mean degree, to the frank and 
 sincere character of the man. 
 
 But although personally averse to the 
 trial and condemnation of the king, 
 having strongly imbibed republican sen- 
 timents, Blake had no objection to the 
 abolition of kingly government, and there- 
 fore after the unfortunate monarch's 
 execution, he quickly fell in with the 
 views of the prevailing party ; and next 
 to Cromwell, and possibly Ireton, was 
 considered to be one of the most able 
 and efficient officers of the common- 
 wealth. Unlike the former leader, 
 although doubtless anxious for glory, 
 his services were no other way con- 
 nected with views of self aggrandise- 
 ment ; and he seems to have aspired 
 rather to be useful to his country, 
 within the sphere of his acknowledged 
 abilities, than to sway either as a legis- 
 lator or politician. It has been alleged, 
 and most probably with justice, that he 
 formally adopted the principle, common 
 to several of the most virtuous public 
 characters of Greece and Rome, that it 
 was a duty to serve his country under 
 all circumstances ; and he seems to have 
 satisfied himself in the various changes 
 of the times, by adhering to what he 
 deemed its true interests. It is one of 
 the unavoidable results of this line of 
 conduct, that it renders honourable men 
 occasionally subservient to the more 
 interested views and purposes of others ; 
 and in this manner, the exertions of 
 Blake were made conducive to the 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 7 
 
 advancement of Cromwell. He was not, 
 however, such a man as that wily poli- 
 tician wished to have in his councils, 
 and it is therefore conjectured, that his 
 destination, which was from this time 
 exclusively to the sea service, originated 
 in Cromwell's anxiety to employ him 
 where his talents would at once be 
 efficient for the country, and powerless 
 for the acquirement of any influence 
 that might be directed against himself. 
 Whether this supposition be justly 
 founded or not, the well-judged appro- 
 priation of Blake to the navy, led to 
 consequences of no small moment in 
 the naval history of Great Britain. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Union of Military and Naval Command 
 Blake, Deane, and Popham ap- 
 pointed Commissioners of the Navy 
 Blake ordered to pursue the Fleet 
 under Prince Rupert Transactions 
 in the Tagus War with Portugal 
 Proceedings at Carthagena and Ma- 
 laga Defeat of Prince Rupert 
 Reprisals on France Blake's 
 Treatment of a French Captain Ser- 
 vices against the Isles of Scilly and 
 Guernsey Causes of War with the 
 Dutch First Engagement with Van 
 Tromp Expedition to the North. 
 
 For nearly a century and a half, the 
 naval service of Great Britain has been 
 rendered so strictly nautical, that the ap- 
 pointment of a soldier, nearly fifty years 
 of age, to the command of a fleet, will be 
 deemed extraordinary by those who are 
 unacquainted with the progress of our 
 maritime power towards its present 
 superiority. In the reign of Elizabeth, 
 such were the circumstances of the 
 period, that men of great maritime ex- 
 perience were necessarily called into 
 naval service ; as for instance, Haw- 
 kins, Drake, Frobisher, and others; 
 none of whom had been originally 
 officers of the navy in the present sense 
 of the term. In the same manner, the 
 conduct of the fleet was often given to 
 any nobleman, or officer possessed of 
 general abilities for command; and this 
 continued to be the case until towards 
 the close of the reign of Charles II. 
 During the Commonwealth, indeed, 
 nearly all the most distinguished naval 
 commanders had previously served in 
 the army: although from the comparative 
 perfection to which naval tactics have 
 since been brought, and from the sea- 
 
 manship required in the manoeuvres, 
 on which they entirely depend, the con- 
 duct of a sea engagement, by a lands- 
 man, would, naturally enough, at this 
 time be condemned as a very hazardous 
 experiment. There was nothing, there- 
 fore, remarkable in the appointment of 
 an officer of the talents and energy of 
 Blake to the sea service : the genuine 
 ground of surprise is, that he at once 
 became the most able and successful 
 naval commander of his day; but, 
 promptness, decision, intrepidity, and 
 enterprise, must at all times, form the 
 chief ingredients of naval as well as of 
 military heroism. 
 
 On the 12th February, 1649, the 
 Colonels Blake, Deane, and Popham 
 were appointed commissioners of the 
 navy, and Blake himself was nominated 
 to the command of a squadron, and 
 ordered to sail in pursuit of the Princes 
 Rupert and Maurice, who were in the 
 Irish sea with that part of the fleet 
 which had adhered to the king, and 
 which was endeavouring to assist the 
 Marquis of Ormond, then in arms for 
 Charles II. in Ireland. Blake arrived 
 with his fleet off Kinsale, in the follow- 
 ing June, where the two princes lay in 
 harbour. At the same time, Deane 
 cruised off Plymouth, Popham between 
 the Downs and Portsmouth, and Sir 
 George Ayscue in the Bay of Dublin ; 
 by which several squadrons, the Parlia- 
 ment became completely masters of 
 the sea. Such was the popularity of 
 Blake, whom henceforward we shall 
 call Admiral,* that the crews of the 
 ships of Prince Rupert deserted to him 
 daily, which induced the prince to exe- 
 cute ten seamen whom he detected in 
 the attempt. Blake kept the royal ships 
 blockaded until the following October, 
 when despairing of relief by sea, and 
 Cromwell being about to capture the 
 town by land, Rupert and Maurice 
 resolved to force their way through the 
 blockading squadron, which, with the 
 loss of three ships, sunk by Blake, they 
 effected, and steered for Lisbon. Here 
 they were kindly received, and sheltered 
 by the King of Portugal ; a duty of 
 hospitality scarcely to be evaded by a 
 monarch who had been in strict alliance 
 with Charles I. 
 
 Blake rapidly followed the two princes 
 
 * He is indifferently called General or Admiral, 
 in the original authorities : it has been thought 
 better in the subsequent narrative, to adhere to the 
 official designation which, in modern estimation, will 
 be deemed most appropriate. 
 
B 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 to the mouth of theTagus, and by order 
 of the Parliament demanded the ships of 
 Prince Rupert, as belonging to the Com- 
 monwealth of England. This requisi- 
 tion extremely embarrassed the Portu- 
 guese Cabinet ; as policy exacted a 
 compliance, while honour and hospitality 
 dictated a refusal. The latter in this in- 
 stance prevailed ; and as the Portuguese 
 had reason, from the spirit and prompti- 
 tude of Parliament, to anticipate im- 
 mediate war, a squadron of thirteen 
 Portuguese ships was rapidly equipped 
 by them to join that of Prince Ru- 
 pert and to attack the English, any- 
 where between the two capes of 
 Finisterre and St. Vincent, that it might 
 appear the King of Portugal sought 
 only to secure his own coasts. 
 
 Aware of the above junction, Blake 
 and his squadron sailed away ; soon 
 after which he was joined by another 
 under Popham, when (in October, 1650) 
 they fell in with a Portuguese fleet of 
 twenty-three sail, richly laden and bound 
 from Brazil for Lisbon. Of these they 
 captured twelve, containing 10,000 casks 
 of sugar, and burnt three ; when find- 
 ing themselves in want of stores, they 
 sailed for England with their prizes. 
 The coast being thus clear, Prince Ru- 
 pert, after having involved the King of 
 Portugal in an embarrassing war with 
 the Commonwealth, quitted the Tagus, 
 and proceeded to Carthagena. He was 
 quickly followed by Blake, who in his way 
 homewards having fallen in with live 
 transports on their passage to him with 
 provisions and stores, immediately re- 
 turned to the pursuit of the royal 
 squadron. On his arrival at Carthagena, 
 he came to an anchor before the fort, 
 and announced that he was sent by the 
 Commonwealth to pursue the enemy 
 who had taken shelter there ; and, the 
 King of Spain being in amity with Eng- 
 land, he requested either that the fleet 
 might be given up to him, or that he 
 might be permitted to attack it. A re- 
 fusal, on similar grounds to those al- 
 leged by the King of Portugal, was 
 given ; but on being further pressed, a 
 promise was made by the Commandant 
 to send for orders to Madrid. Blake, 
 not thinking the prince would venture 
 out, proceeded on a cruise, on which 
 Rupert, with the ships under him, left 
 Carthagena, and went into Malaga, 
 where he was so ill advised as to sink and 
 capture some English merchantmen. 
 Informed of this transaction, Blake sailed 
 immediately for Malaga, where he arrived 
 
 in January 1 65 1 , and regarding the man- 
 ner in which the prince had been al- 
 lowed to act as dispensing with all ce- 
 remony, he attacked the royal squadron 
 without reference to the Spanish autho- 
 rities, and burnt or destroyed all but 
 four or five ships, with which the two 
 princes escaped to the West Indies, and 
 supported themselves by capturing Eng- 
 lish and Spanish merchantmen. At 
 length, Prince Maurice was cast away, 
 and Rupert contrived with two or three 
 ships to return to France, where he sold 
 them with his prizes, on behalf of 
 Charles II., to the French government. 
 Such wa^ the fate of a fleet of twenty- 
 five finely-equipped ships, which on the 
 execution of Charles I. had declared in 
 favour of his son.* . 
 
 A sort of equivocal warfare existed at 
 this time, between the Commonwealth 
 and France, brought on by the secret 
 encouragement of French privateering, 
 w 7 hich proved very injurious to English 
 commerce. Reprisals having been or- 
 dered, Blake had captured a French 
 man-of-war of great value, previously to 
 his first engagement with Prince Ru- 
 pert. Soon after that victory, he fell in 
 with another of forty guns, the com- 
 mander of which, not apprized of the 
 war between the two countries, was in- 
 vited to visit the ship of Admiral Blake. 
 He accepted the invitation without sus- 
 picion, and when he came on board he 
 was informed of the war by the Ad- 
 miral, who asked him if he would will- 
 ingly resign his sword. The French- 
 man spiritedly answered, No! on which, 
 detesting all appearance of treachery, 
 Blake told him to return to his ship, 
 and fight it as long as he could, which 
 he bravely did for two hours, and 
 then surrendered.* This species of gal- 
 lantry is attended with too great a 
 carelessness of human life, to entitle it 
 to the full acquiescence of reason and 
 humanity ; but it is highly character- 
 istic of a frank and fearless nature, 
 disdaining all advantages not obtained 
 in an open and honourable man- 
 ner. Not long after this exploit, the 
 Admiral sailed for Plymouth, and on 
 his arrival received the thanks of 
 Parliament, and was appointed Warden 
 of the Cinque Ports. His return to 
 England took place in February, 1651 ; 
 and in the following month an Act 
 
 * Life of Prince Rupert. Heath's Chronicle of 
 Civil Wars, p. 275. Wood's Fasti. Oxon. vol. ii. 
 col. 204. 
 - f Life of Blake, in Gent. Mag.,* by Dr. Johnson, j 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 9 
 
 passed to make Blake, Deane, and Pop- 
 ham, or any two of them, Admirals and 
 Generals of the Fleet, for the year 
 ensuing. 
 
 The next service intrusted to this able 
 commander was the reduction of the 
 Isles of Scilly, which still held out for 
 the king. These islands not only af- 
 forded shelter for privateers, but it had 
 been discovered that the Dutch were 
 forming views upon them, and had des- 
 patched Admiral Van Tromp and a 
 squadron of twelve ships of war, with 
 instructions either to purchase or re- 
 duce them. On the arrival of Blake, 
 with a body of eight hundred troops on 
 board, Sir John Greenville, who com- 
 manded for the king, after some little 
 resistance submitted upon terms ; and 
 retired to Guernsey, which had also 
 been preserved for Charles II. by Sir 
 George Carteret, aided by a garrison of 
 four thousand men. The reduction of 
 this island was forthwith undertaken by 
 Blake, assisted by a strong body of 
 troops commanded by Colonel Haynes. 
 They reached ., Guernsey in October, 
 1651, but the defence was so spirited, 
 that in spite of the most active exertions 
 both by the squadron and troops, the 
 various" forts could not be mastered 
 until the following January, when the 
 Governor capitulated, and was treated 
 by the Admiral with all the respect due 
 to his bravery and honourable cha- 
 racter.* For these services, the two 
 Commanders were thanked by the 
 House of Commons. It was during 
 this stay of Blake before Guernsey, 
 that he was appointed one of the 
 Council of State for the ensuing year. 
 The schemes of Cromwell were now 
 reaching maturity, and he felt all the 
 value of the support of such an able 
 officer and national favourite. 
 
 The following year, Blake was con- 
 stituted sole Admiral for nine months, 
 in the prospect of a Dutch war ; and 
 here a period of the naval history of 
 England and Holland commences, 
 which, while it strongly exhibits the 
 spirit and energy of the people of both 
 countries, affords a melancholy proof of 
 the barren and futile nature of much of 
 the warfare which has distracted the 
 world. The enmity between the English 
 and Dutch at this period, originated 
 principally in commercial and maritime 
 rivalry, directed in each state to party 
 and personal purposes. It is difficult 
 
 * Hist, of Rebellion, vol. iii. p, 265. 
 
 now to ascertain which of the govern- 
 ments was the first aggressor ; but 
 there is no doubt that both were 
 grievously to blame and that the hos- 
 tilities which followed exhausted and 
 weakened both sides, without proving 
 in any essential respect serviceable to 
 either. Hitherto indeed national emu- 
 lation has been but another name for 
 national enmity ; but are there not 
 some signs to show that a gradual im- 
 provement is taking place ? And though 
 it would be too sanguine to expect that 
 powerful states will soon cease to be dan- 
 gerous to their weaker neighbours, is it 
 too much to anticipate, that with the in- 
 creasing diffusion of knowledge, the gra- 
 tification of mere personal ambition will 
 be restrained ; and that all those fancied 
 necessities for war, which originate in 
 mistaken views of political expediency, 
 will yield to more enlightened principles, 
 and more humane feelings ? Highly in- 
 debted as were the United Provinces to 
 the policy of Queen Elizabeth, for their 
 emancipation from the intolerable yoke 
 of Spain, the perpetually recurring sti- 
 mulus of mercantile rivalry gradually 
 overcame the recollection of those emi- 
 nent services ; especially as it was easy to 
 interpret them into a political interfer- 
 ence, which, considering the designs of 
 Spain against England, it was as expe- 
 dient for the latter to grant, as for the 
 United Provinces to accept. Whatever 
 the reason, their rapid growth into a 
 maritime and commercial power was 
 accompanied by envy of all corre- 
 spondent advancement, on the part of a 
 nation so admirably situated for the 
 acquirement of that kind of supe- 
 riority as Great Britain. This was ex- 
 hibited in various ways during the reign 
 of James I., whose anxiety for a close 
 alliance with their formidable enemy, 
 Spain, had still further excited their 
 jealousy. Charles I. also obliged them 
 to pay for a license for the right of her- 
 ring fishing on the British coast, which 
 claim, however reasonable, they re- 
 sented, and resisted to the utmost of 
 their power. The subsequent marriage 
 of the Princess Mary, eldest 'daughter of 
 Charles, with the Prince of Orange, like- 
 wise formed a strong party against the 
 English Commonwealth, and (after the 
 execution of that prince) in favour of 
 Charles II.; a circumstance of itself 
 quite sufficient to produce a disposition 
 to war on the part of the English rulers. 
 Thus, on the death of Charles I. in 
 1649, satisfied that no molestation 
 
10 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 would ensue from France or Spain, the 
 attention of the Independent leaders was 
 drawn strongly towards the United Pro- 
 vinces, the strength of whose navy might 
 render their espousal of the cause of the 
 exiled king a source of considerable an- 
 noyance. Under these impressions, 
 therefore, they sent Dr. Dorislaus, a 
 civilian of Leyden, who had been natu- 
 ralized in England, to the Hague, in 
 order to produce a good undersFanding 
 between the two republics ; but unfor- 
 tunately, he was assassinated by some 
 Scottish royalists in that town the very 
 evening of his arrival.* A suspected 
 connivance at the escape of the mur- 
 derers, produced a considerable sensa- 
 tion in England ; but as the Parliament 
 wished to form an alliance with the 
 United Provinces, and as the death of 
 the Prince of Orange afforded a favour- 
 able opportunity, the assassination of 
 Dorislaus produced no interruption of 
 these overtures, and in March, 1651, 
 Oliver St. John, and Walter Strickland, 
 were sent to the Hague, in the place of 
 Dorislaus, to complete a treaty of union. 
 This negotiation altogether failed, 
 owing, as the Dutch writers affirm; to 
 the unreasonable conditions insisted 
 upon by the English; but more pro- 
 bably in consequence of an opinion that 
 the affairs of Charles II. were not en- 
 tirely hopeless, he being about to head 
 his final expedition into Scotland, 
 whither, indeed, the states themselves 
 conveyed him. The Orange party was 
 also strongly against any alliance which 
 might defeat the future ascendancy of 
 the infant prince ; and thus the English 
 envoys returned, not only disappointed, 
 but incensed at the insults they had re- 
 ceived from the common people at the 
 Hague. No notice of this was however 
 taken, until after the battle of Worces- 
 ter, and the success of Monk in Scot- 
 land, which left the English government 
 at leisure to follow the dictates of its 
 resentment. The mere gratification of 
 revenge, in a national sense, being a 
 poor motive for war, it has been thought 
 that the enemies of Cromwell sought to 
 promote it, in hopes that such great ex- 
 penses at sea might lead to the re- 
 duction of the army, which was visibly 
 conducting him to the summit of power 
 on land. On the other side, it has been 
 argued, that Cromwell himself promoted 
 the war in order to retain the very army 
 it was thus proposed to reduce ; which 
 
 * Hist, of the Rebellion, .vol. 
 
 in. p. 
 
 contradiction only proves that nothing 
 is more vague and inconsistent than 
 conjectures respecting the designs of 
 artful politicians. The real state'of the 
 case probably was, that Cromwell 
 deemed it necessary to lower the naval 
 predominance of the Dutch ; and to de- 
 feat their grasping endeavours at a 
 commercial monopoly. The latter of 
 these objects was still more effectually 
 promoted by the celebrated Navigation 
 Act, which prohibited the importation of 
 all foreign commodities, except in Eng- 
 lish bottoms, or in those of the country 
 where the goods were produced. By 
 this Act, which took place the first of 
 December, 165 i, the parliament quietly 
 transferred a large share of the carrying 
 trade from the Dutch shipping to that 
 of Great Britain, and effected a most se- 
 rious blow by an apparently simple and 
 domestic regulation.* Parliament also 
 granted letters of marque to those mer- 
 chants, who complained of Dutch ag- 
 gression, so that it soon became evi- 
 dent to the government of the United 
 Provinces that war was resolved upon. 
 The conflicting authorities of the Eng- 
 lish and Dutch historians, leave it doubt- 
 ful to this day which of the countries 
 was really most anxious for war ; for 
 there is much plausible evidence to 
 show, that jealous of the rising spirit 
 and energy of the English Common- 
 wealth, the Dutch were resolved to 
 strike a blow that might cripple its navy 
 and lessen its increasing reputation. 
 But whatever was the real inclination, 
 on either side, as if conscious that it 
 could scarcely be vindicated, each party 
 was solicitous to throw the odium of 
 commencing the war upon the other. 
 On the passing of the Navigation Act, 
 therefore, the Dutch sent an embassy to 
 London, which was received with great 
 apparent respect ; but instead of a re- 
 vocation of the Act complained of, the 
 Dutch ambassadors encountered a for- 
 midable recapitulation of all the injuries 
 received from the United Provinces, at 
 Amboyna, in India, Persia, Muscovy, 
 Greenland, and other places, for the last 
 thirty years, terminating with a de- 
 mand of 1,700,000^. by way of reparation. 
 The murder of Dorislaus was also ad- 
 verted to ; and satisfaction required for 
 
 * The policy and expediency of this measure were 
 as evident at the time, as the necessity of some re- 
 laxation has been since. Possibly one of the most 
 useful accomplishments for a modern politician is 
 the art of discovering, when that which was once 
 wise is wise no longer. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 11 
 
 the omission of all steps against the 
 assassins. On compliance with these 
 claims, an alliance with the United Pro- 
 vinces was gravely proffered as before. 
 These demands produced no surprise, 
 for so little expectation had been formed 
 of any pacific result from the negotia- 
 tion, that the Dutch had been getting a 
 fleet of -one hundred and fiftyships of 
 war ready for sea, during the absence of 
 their ambassadors ; and it now became 
 certain that the first encounter of the 
 respective national fleets, would termi- 
 nate in direct hostilities .* 
 
 More space has been occupied in 
 giving a due notion of the circumstances 
 which led to the Dutch war, than usu- 
 ally belongs to the detail of historical 
 events in biography, because it was de- 
 sirable to exhibit the state of national 
 feeling at the period when hostilities 
 commenced. The nature of the rivalry 
 with the Dutch came close home to the 
 bosoms of a trading people ; the pre- 
 tensions of their navy must have still 
 more forcibly assailed the pride and 
 spirit of the seamen of a country, 
 whose insular situation and previous 
 exploits had marked it out for naval 
 dominion. Blake was precisely a man 
 to feel this stimulus in the highest pos- 
 sible degree; not to mention the strong 
 republican notions of national glory, 
 which he appears, in common with 
 many other distinguished men of the 
 day, to have owed to his classical 
 studies. It was the great defect of 
 Greek and Roman patriotism, that it 
 would too frequently sacrifice not only 
 justice, but the public interest, to ad- 
 vance the public glory. There is little 
 reason to complain of Admiral Blake 
 on this score ; but it doubtless tended to 
 conduct him to that general conclusion, 
 which, in all the changes of the times, 
 he continually impressed on his officers 
 and seamen. " It is our duty," said he, 
 " to defend the country, into whatever 
 hands the government may fall ;" or in 
 still more characteristic phraseology, 
 " under all circumstances, to prevent 
 the foreigners from fooling us." 
 
 The ambassadors of the United Pro- 
 vinces were still in London, when a 
 Dutch fleet of forty-five sail appeared 
 in the Channel, under the command of 
 Admiral Van Tromp, acknowledged to 
 be one of the bravest and most experi- 
 enced sea officers in Europe. The pre- 
 
 tended object of this squadron was to 
 convoy some merchantmen ; but it most 
 unnecessarily anchored in Dover Roads, 
 and from the circumstances which fol- 
 lowed, apparently with a design to pro- 
 voke hostilities. A small squadron of 
 eight ships being then in the Downs, 
 under the command of Major, after- 
 wards Rear Admiral Bourne, that officer 
 sent to know the reason of this unusual 
 demonstration. Van Tromp pleaded 
 stress of weather ; which excuse being 
 evidently untrue, Blake was ordered to 
 the Downs, with such ships as were 
 ready. On the appearance of the English 
 fleet, Van TrOmp weighed anchor, and 
 bore up to it nearer than was necessary, 
 and that too without striking his flag 
 the mark of homage which had always 
 been paid to England in the narrow 
 seas. To remind him of the expected 
 salute, Blake fired a gun without ball ; 
 on which Van Tromp is said to have 
 also fired a single gun on the contrary 
 side, as if in derision. Blake fired a 
 second, and then a third gun, on which 
 Van Tromp answered with a broadside. 
 Perceiving that it was the intention of 
 the Dutch to fight, Blake advanced with 
 his own ship, to discuss with Van Tromp 
 the point of honour, and by explanation 
 to spare the effusion of blood ; but the 
 latter cut short all negotiation, by firing 
 a broadside into the English Admiral's 
 ship, which, it is said, shattered his 
 cabin windows. Blake was extremely 
 incensed at this insult, and quickly or- 
 dered his men to answer the Dutch 
 Admiral in his own way ; but his anger 
 evaporated in a somewhat coarse sea 
 joke, "iie took it very ill of Van Tromp 
 that he should take his ship for a bro- 
 thel, and break his windows." Blake 
 singly sustained the brunt of the attack, 
 until the remainder of his fleet and the 
 squadron of Major Bourne could join 
 him, when the fight became general, 
 and lasted from 5 o'clock until night. 
 In this engagement, which took place 
 on the 19th of May 1652, the Dutch, 
 notwithstanding their numerical supe- 
 riority, appear to have lost two ships ; 
 and the advantage, although not other- 
 wise of much moment, was decidedly in 
 favour of the English.* 
 
 As each of the admirals had been 
 directed, if possible, to place the blame 
 of commencing hostilities upon the 
 other, Van Tromp, in his official des- 
 
 * Rapid's Hist, of England, 8vo. edit. vol. xi. p. 60. 
 Campbell's Lives of the Admirals, vol. ii. 
 
 * Heath's Chronicle, p. 319. Lives, English and 
 Foreign, vol. ii. p. 99. 
 
12 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 patch positively asserts, that he backed 
 his sails and lowered his flag to the 
 British Admiral, who nevertheless fired 
 the first broadside, and wounded several 
 of his crew ;* while, on the other hand, 
 Blake's letter as expressly states the 
 contrary. It is difficult to doubt the 
 assertion of an individual so personally 
 honourable as Blake; and it appears 
 that his conduct was fully justified by a 
 report from the Council of State at 
 home, as well as by the popular feeling, 
 which was so much irritated, that it 
 became necessary to grant a guard to 
 the Dutch ambassadors, who attributed 
 the engagement to accident and mis- 
 conception on both sides. The States 
 sent another envoy, ostensibly to effect 
 a pacification ; but the parliament per- 
 sisting in the same high tone as before, 
 the United Provinces at last recalled 
 their ambassadors, and prepared for a 
 continuation of the war. Both sides 
 issued manifestoes on this occasion ; the 
 Dutch to demonstrate that they were 
 attacked without provocation, and the 
 parliament to recapitulate the preceding 
 grievances, to which was now to be 
 added the refusal to strike the flag. To 
 this demand the States had pleaded, 
 that although the Republic, in its in- 
 fancy, had paid that compliment to the 
 royal dignity of England, they did not 
 hold it due to the Commonwealth. 
 A more indiscreet plea could scarcely 
 have been advanced, to men of the cha- 
 racter of those who then ruled the des- 
 tinies of England ; and accordingly it 
 was determined to maintain the national 
 honour at all hazards. " But after all," 
 continues Rapin, with great simplicity, or 
 rather with that conventional language, 
 which it is so usual to apply to common- 
 place political falsities, " this was by no 
 means -the true ground of the war ; but 
 these manifestoes were necessary to vin- 
 dicate the rulers of both Republics, and 
 to impose a belief on the subjects, that 
 they were not plunged into the.se extra- 
 ordinary expenses to support a war, 
 without the most evident necessity." t 
 That is to ' say, the people were to be 
 deluded into the supposition of a neces- 
 sity which did not actually exist. It is 
 gratifying to feel assured that this spe- 
 cies of delusion, at least, becomes every 
 day more impracticable ; and that it is 
 only necessary for the people to be 
 thoroughly convinced of the atrocity as 
 
 * La Vie de Tromp, p. 17. 
 
 .* Rapin's Hist, of England, vol. xi. p. 62. 
 
 well as folly of war undertaken upon 
 any but the most solid grounds, to 
 render it wholly impossible. 
 
 The fleet of Blake was rapidly rein- 
 forced by the personal exertions of Crom- 
 well and Bond, who repaired to Dover 
 to consult with him on the subject. Some 
 time elapsed before it was in a condi- 
 tion to meet that of the Dutch, which 
 soon amounted to seventy sail; so vi- 
 gorous were the exertions of those Re- 
 publicans to obtain a naval superiority 
 over the English. In about a month, 
 Blake deemed himself strong enough to 
 meet the enemy; and, aware of the 
 arduous nature of the expected conflict, 
 he proclaimed a solemn fast and day of 
 humiliation, which both officers and 
 seamen were called upon to observe. 
 The two main fleets, however, did not en- 
 counter each other so soon as was ex- 
 pected ; and in the mean time, the ad- 
 miral most effectually exerted himself to 
 annoy the Dutch trade. He then sailed 
 with a strong squadron northward, and 
 in less than a month, captured thirteen 
 Dutch ships of war, being the whole of 
 their Herring convoy. With great and 
 considerate humanity, however, he did 
 not destroy the fishing vessels, but only 
 claimed the tenth Herring, the former 
 tax, for the liberty of fishing on the 
 British coast ; nobly declaring his re- 
 luctance to waste so much food, to 
 the probable hunger and distress of 
 thousands.* 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Return from the North Engagement 
 with and Defeat of De Witt and De 
 Ruyter Exertions on both sides 
 A great Force placed under the Com- 
 mand of Van Tromp Inferiority of 
 the English Fleet under Blake Re- 
 sult of the ensuing Engagement 
 Vain Glory of Van Tromp Quick 
 Recovery of Superiority by the Eng- 
 lish Series of Engagements with the 
 Dutch Behaviour of Blake and his 
 Colleagues on the turning out of the 
 Long Parliament Cromwell assumes 
 the Protectorate Peace with the 
 Dutch. 
 
 Blake returned from the north with 
 his prizes, and 900 prisoners ; and reach- 
 ed the Downs on the 12th of August, 
 1652, where he was joined by several 
 more ships ; and his fleet being now 
 
 * Lives English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. 101. 
 Campbell's Lives of the Admirals, vol. vi. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 13 
 
 sufficiently strong, he steered over to 
 the Dutch coast. During this cruise he 
 fell in with a French squadron, pro- 
 ceeding to the relief of Dunkirk, and on 
 account of some hostile proceedings at 
 Newfoundland; he captured and carried 
 it into Dover, by which means the 
 former town fell into the hands of the 
 Spaniards. On the 28th of the follow- 
 ing month, of September, he met the 
 Dutch fleet, under the command of De 
 Ruyter and De Witt, who, in conse- 
 quence of the popular dissatisfaction 
 with Van Tromp, in Holland, had suc- 
 ceeded that officer. When Blake dis- 
 covered the Dutch, he had but three of 
 his ships with him, Vice Admiral Penn's 
 squadron being at some distance ; and 
 the remainder of the fleet a league or two 
 astern. He, however, bravely bore in 
 among them, and being soon admirably 
 seconded by the divisions under Penn 
 and Rear Admiral Bourne, the fight 
 began with great animation ; and lasted 
 until night, by which time the Dutch saw 
 their Rear Admiral captured, and three 
 other ships destroyed. Blake would 
 have renewed the fight the next day, but 
 the Dutch made all the sail in their 
 power, and reached Goree. The English 
 lost but few men, and not one ship, 
 while the Dutch fleet landed more than 
 2000 wounded ; the disadvantage, ac- 
 cording to De Witt, being caused by the 
 cowardice, or disaffection of his cap- 
 tains, irritated by a great arrear of pay 
 and the unprofitable nature of the con- 
 test*. 
 
 The impolicy of such a war, on the 
 part of a commercial people like the 
 Dutch, was by this time apparent; 
 for Blake, with his usual activity, had 
 made use of his success, so as to annoy 
 their trade in all quarters. The ill hu- 
 mour created by their losses vented 
 itself with great asperity upon De Witt, 
 who was in another way unpopular, 
 from his republican opposition to the 
 ascendancy of the House of Orange. 
 On his return to Flushing, a tumult en- 
 sued ; and so much disappointment was 
 expressed, that De Ruyter was anxious 
 to resign his commission, and De Witt 
 took to his bed from pure chagrin. 
 Considerable pains were taken by the 
 States to remedy the late disasters ; com- 
 missioners were appointed to inquire 
 into the conduct of the offending cap- 
 tains ; and the fleet being refitted, was 
 once more put under the command of 
 
 * Whitelocke's Memorials, p. 5_6. Ludlow's Me- 
 moirs, vol. i. p. 428. Heath's Chron., p. 526. 
 
 Van Tromp. The English, on their side, 
 were equally active ;* an act was passed 
 by the Parliament, requiring all English 
 seamen to return home in forty days, and 
 such as were in India in twelve months : 
 it also directed that all English carpen- 
 ters, shipwrights, and other efficient 
 artisans, found on board the enemy's 
 ships, should be thrown overboard with- 
 out mercy. In point of fact, the war was 
 essentially injurious to both countries ; 
 except upon that inhuman theory, which 
 holds occasional warfare to be neces- 
 sary as a species of exercise, and national 
 prosperity to rest securely on established 
 ascendancy alone. Were the power of 
 self-preservation exclusively implied by 
 this doctrine, it might be difficult tocon- 
 trovertit; but unhappily ascendancy in 
 all its guises is disposed to be aggressive, 
 and the power to oppress is almost in- 
 variably followed by the inclination. It 
 must, however, be admitted, that the wel- 
 fare of Great Britain is so intimately 
 connected with naval superiority, that it 
 is difficult altogether to condemn a 
 course of proceedings which has mate- 
 rially conduced to it. Such was certainly 
 the case with this otherwise profitless 
 warfare. Whatever may now be thought 
 of the motives on both sides, the merit of 
 Blake will remain the same : if the con- 
 test was necessary, he carried it on with 
 triumphant vigour, and ultimate suc- 
 cess ; and even if impolitic, he still ren- 
 dered it as beneficial as it could be made, 
 by the energy and spirit which he in- 
 fused into the sea service, and the man- 
 ner in which he made it redound to the 
 honour of the English name. 
 
 Nothing is more remarkable during 
 this war, than the transient superio- 
 rity acquired on either side ; at least 
 as regards the number of ships employ- 
 ed, and the power of riding paramount 
 on the high seas. This was partly 
 owing to the smallness of the vessels of 
 war, as compared with such as are now 
 admitted into the line of battle.* Ships 
 
 * The comparative ease with which this could be 
 effected, will be apparent when it is understood that 
 at this time any merchantman, capable of carrying 
 guns, could with a few alterations be converted into 
 a man of war. It appears on the authority of the 
 Parliamentary Journals of 1651, containing a list of 
 merchantmen thus altered for the navy, that a vessel of 
 900 tons burthen could be made a man of war of 60 
 guns ; and those of 700,400, 200, 100, and 60 tons, ren- 
 dered ships of war respectively, of 46, 34, 20, 10, and 8 
 guns ; rive or six men being allowed for each gun. It 
 is further to be observed, that naval battles were not 
 then fought in line, the rirstengagementof that descrip- 
 tion being the celebrated sea ftght of the third of June, 
 1665, in which theDukeof York, afterwards James II., 
 gained a victory over the Dutch Admiral Opdam, 
 whose ship was biowa up in the conflict. James, in 
 
14 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 could then be prepared and manned with 
 very great celerity, and consequently 
 when exertion became necessary, a strong 
 numerical force was quickly collected. 
 The defeat of De Witt and De Ruy- 
 ter stimulated the United Provinces to 
 strain every nerve to regain the advan- 
 tages which they had lost ; and Van 
 Tromp again appeared in the Downs in 
 the command of a fleet of fourscore 
 men-of-war. His purpose was to seek 
 Blake, of whose deficiency of force 
 he was probably well informed: the 
 English Admiral had not only been or- 
 dered to weaken his fleet by despatching 
 large detachments on different services, 
 but it has been asserted that the Par- 
 liamentary Committee, having by this 
 time become jealous of all their great 
 commanders, were careless of repairing 
 the damaged ships, or of expediting the 
 necessary~supplies. From some, or all 
 
 his " Life," attributes the introduction of the naval 
 line of battle to himself; and if so, it does consider- 
 able honour to his professional skill, haviug been 
 practised without variation by all our great admirals, 
 until Lord Rodney was induced by Clark's " Essay 
 on Naval Tactics," to adopt the manoeuvre of break- 
 ing the line in his 1 celebrated engagement with 
 Count de Grasse. The following abstract is con- 
 densed from an elaborate list of the British navy, as 
 it existed in 1675, about twenty years atter the 
 death of Blake. It is made up from a document in 
 the handwriting of the eccentric sea-chaplain Henry 
 Teonge; and from a similar statement, supplied to 
 the House of Commons in the same year, both appen- 
 ded to Teonge's published diary. According to these 
 authorities,' the navy then consisted of 
 
 8 First-rates, of from 100 to 90 guns, varying iu 
 
 tonnage from 1536 to 1102 tons, in length 
 from 137 to 122 feet, and carrying from 550 to 
 850 men ; 
 
 9 Secoad-rates, of from 84 to 64 guns, varying in 
 
 tonnage from 1032 to 663 tons, in length 
 from 120 to 110 feet, and carrying from 530 
 to 410 men ; 
 22 Third rates, of from 74 to 56 guns, varying in 
 tonnage from 978 to 417 tons, in length from 
 127 to 107 * eet > antl carrying from 500 to 
 340 men ; 
 37 Fourth rates, of from 60 to 40 guns, varying in 
 tonnage from 657 to 354 tons, in length from 
 110 to 83 feet, and carrying from 300 to 170 
 men ; 
 15 Fifth-rates, of from 40 to 28 guns, varying in 
 tonnage from 366 to 180 tons, and carrying 
 from 150 to 100 men ; 
 8 Sixth-rates, of from 20 to 4 guns, varying in 
 tonnage from 194 to 35 tons, and carrying 
 99 from to 45 men ; 
 With 49 sloops, doggers, smacks, yachts, fireships, 
 . &c. &c, carrying from 12 to 2 guns, and col- 
 lectively manned by 1401 seamen. 
 It will be perceived that there is much discrepancy 
 between the rates of tonnage of many of the ves- 
 sels, and the number of guns which they carried 
 a fact to be accounted for on the presumption that 
 adapted merchantmen could not always be made to 
 carry guns in proportion to their tonnage ; or that 
 very different weights of metal are referred to. Of 
 the foregoing ships, which are rated as in the ori- 
 ginal documents, one hrst-rate, six second-rates, 
 eleven third-rates, twenty-six fourth-rates, one sixth- 
 rate, and four smaller vessels in all forty-nine, 
 alone existed before the Restoration ; which shows 
 the rapid increase of the navy iu the brief iuterval 
 of fifteen years. 
 
 of these causes, it happened that Blake 
 had only forty ships under him, when 
 Van Tromp appeared at the back of the 
 Goodwin Sands, where these two valiant 
 chiefs had fought before ; a choice of 
 position which, it is supposed, he meant 
 to be understood as a sort of national 
 challenge. . 
 
 Blake placed, by orders from home, 
 in this mortifying state of inferiority, 
 immediately called a council of war, 
 when it was decided that a battle should 
 be hazarded, under all disadvantages. 
 Dr. Johnson, in his life of Blake, blames 
 this resolution as exhibiting more of the 
 rashness of a private soldier, than the 
 wisdom of a commander. Something, 
 however, must be allowed for the re- 
 luctance of a man of invincible spirit, 
 to endure a second insult from the same 
 adversary ; and probably still more to 
 the state of party at home, where a fac- 
 tion was anxious to lower his popularity. 
 Nor is it quite clear that in a national 
 point of view, more might not have been 
 lost by declining an engagement than 
 by risking a defeat without dishonour. 
 Van Tromp might undertake with a 
 strong and uncrippled fleet, what he 
 would have been unable to effect after a 
 dear-bought victory. At all events, it 
 is to this daring spirit that the English 
 navy owes its high character ; and it 
 is scarcely correct to judge of master 
 minds by maxims applicable only to the 
 mediocrity of talent possessed by the 
 great mass of mankind. 
 
 After the determination to fight had 
 been taken, the engagement would have 
 commenced immediately, but for a change 
 of wind, which postponed it until the next 
 day. Early in the morning both fleets 
 plyed a little to the westward, the Eng- 
 lish having the weathergage; and about 
 noon the action began. It appears, that 
 beside the great disparity in numerical 
 strength, the English fleet was so poorly 
 - manned, that a great part of it could not 
 engage at all, so that a few ships bore 
 the brunt of the action. Of these the 
 principal were the Victory, the Van- 
 guard, the Garland, and the Triumph, the 
 admiral's own ship. The action lasted until 
 night, a short time previously to which 
 the adventurous captain of the Garland, 
 of forty guns, made a bold attempt to 
 board the ship of Van Tromp, but fell in 
 the attempt, which led to the capture of 
 his own vessel. The Bonaventure, en- 
 deavouring to relieve the Garland, was 
 also captured, after the fall of its com- 
 mander. Blake himself was boarded 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 IS 
 
 twice, and but for the brave manner in 
 which he was supported by the Van- 
 guard and the Sapphire, he would have 
 fallen into the hands of the enemy. Be- 
 side the two ships taken, another was 
 run ashore, and the entire fleet was so 
 shattered, that had not night favoured 
 their retreat, the consequences might 
 have been still more disastrous. As it 
 was, they were enabled to reach the 
 Thames, and thereby defeated the inten- 
 tion of Van Tromp to assail them the 
 next day with fire-ships, and complete 
 their destruction. One of the Dutch 
 flag-ships was blown up ; and those 
 both of Van Tromp and his vice-admi- 
 ral, De Ruyter, were so damaged, as to 
 require immediate laying up. This un- 
 equal contest lasted from eight in the 
 morning of the 29th November, 1652, to 
 six o'clock in the evening*. 
 
 The Dutch admiral, puffed up with 
 this momentary advantage, was so vain- 
 glorious as to sail through the channel 
 with a broom at his mast-head, to sig- 
 nify that he had swept awaythe English 
 from that sea ; and the populace of the 
 United Provinces equally elated, with 
 the usual presumption of success, talked 
 of capturing the whole of the English 
 West India islandsf. 
 
 The emptiness of the "bravado of Van 
 Tromp, and the futility of the expecta- 
 tions of his countrymen, were soon 
 made apparent ; for in about two months 
 Blake, with whom, at his own request, 
 Monk and Deane had been joined in 
 commission, was enabled to repair and 
 fit out a fleet of eighty sail of ships of 
 war. With these they quickly sought 
 and again encountered Van Tromp, who, 
 with a fleet of seventy sail of vessels of 
 war, and no less than three hundred 
 merchant ships under his convoy, was 
 returning up the Channel from the Isle of 
 Rhe. Blake commenced the action off 
 Portland with twelve ships, led by, him- 
 self in the Triumph ; and so warm was 
 the conflict, that his own ship received no 
 fewer than seven hundred shots in her 
 hull, and might have been sunk but for 
 the timely relief afforded by Captain 
 Lawson in the Fairfax. In this action, 
 which took place on the 1 8th February, 
 1653, Blake lost his own captain, a 
 distinguished veteran named Ball, his 
 secretary Mr. Sparrow, and received 
 himself a grievous wound in the thigh. 
 As usual, the fight lasted until night, 
 when the Dutch, who had six men-of- 
 
 * Lives English and Foreign, vol. ii. p. 104, 
 * f Heath's Chronicle, p. 381.^ 
 
 war sunk and taken, retired. Blake, 
 after sending ashore his sick and wound- 
 ed men, pursued the enemy ; and for the 
 two following days occasional encounters 
 took place, in which both sides fought 
 with extraordinary fury. At length the 
 Dutch fleet reached the sands of Calais, 
 where they anchored, and, favoured by 
 the light draft of water of their shipping, 
 they were enabled safely' to tide it home. 
 In these engagements the Dutch lost 
 eleven ships and thirty merchantmen ; 
 and, according to their own accounts, 
 full 1,500 seamen. The English lost 
 only one ship ; but the number of sea- 
 men killed and wounded was equal to 
 that of the enemy. It is recorded, that 
 being short of hands, Blake had em- 
 barked some regiments of soldiers on 
 this occasion, who contributed greatly to 
 the victory, and most probably their evi- 
 dent utility led to the establishment of re- 
 gular corps of marines. 
 
 Towards the end of the following 
 April, Blake and his former colleagues, 
 with a fleet amounting to a hundred 
 ships of war, attacked a Dutch fleet of 
 seventy sail on their own coast; and, 
 after capturing fifty doggers, drove them 
 into the Texel. They then sailed north- 
 wards in search of Van Tromp, who with 
 a rich fleet of merchantmen under con- 
 voy, having deemed it hazardous to enter 
 the Channel, had steered round the north 
 of Scotland. With great dexterity that 
 able seaman contrived to escape the 
 three English admirals, and to lead his 
 merchantmen safely into port; a very 
 beneficial service, but almost ludicrously 
 contrasted with his former " top gallant 
 humour," as one of the writers of the 
 period has called it, of sweeping the 
 British shipping from its own seas. 
 
 At length, convinced of the absolute 
 necessity of again bestirring themselves 
 with energy, the States enabled Van 
 Tromp to put to sea, with a fleet of one 
 hundred and twenty ships ; and on the 
 third of June he came into contact, off 
 the North Foreland, with the English 
 squadrons under Monk and Deane. Al- 
 most in the beginning of this engage- 
 ment, Deane, a commander of distin- 
 guished reputation, was carried off by a 
 cannon ball ; and although, after a con- 
 flict of six hours, the Dutch retired, the 
 success was but equivocal. The arrival 
 of Blake on the fourth, with eighteen 
 fresh ships, turned a partial advantage 
 into a complete victory. Of the Dutch 
 fleet six were sunk and eleven captured, 
 and the number of prisoners amounted 
 
16 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 to 1350, of whom six were captains. The 
 English, on the contrary, lost not a single 
 ship, while the number of killed and 
 wounded fell short of 260. In this battle 
 Van Tromp boarded the English vice- 
 admiral Penn, but was not only beaten 
 off, but himself boarded in return, and 
 he would have been taken but for the 
 timely assistance of his colleagues, De 
 Witt and De Ruyter. It was, in fact, 
 only by retiring once more among the 
 flats and shallows of the Dutch coast, 
 that Van Tromp was enabled to save the 
 greater part of his fleet.* 
 
 The discontent of the people of the 
 United Provinces during these successive 
 defeats and mortifications was extreme ; 
 and the alternate despondency and pre- 
 sumption which they displayed, afford a 
 very instructive lesson to those politi- 
 cians who work on the popular feel- 
 ing, and lightly employ the ignorance, 
 the prejudices, and the inconstant pas- 
 sions of the multitude. What beyond 
 a candid and patriotic appeal to the 
 actual interests of the people can the 
 honest statesman require? Upon any 
 real emergency would such appeal be less 
 forcible or the motives to exertion less 
 earnest? Who in the long and vague 
 annals of history, abounding as they do 
 with the crimes and errors of the human 
 race, but must perceive the readiness 
 with which men usually answer the calls 
 for sacrifices, when absolutely and evi- 
 dently necessary ? Where is the country 
 whose records do not contain many more 
 examples of brave and patriotic devo- 
 tion in cases of urgent need, than of 
 shameless and pusillanimous self-aban- 
 donment ? It is however fair to remark, 
 that rulers often participate in the errors 
 which they propagate ; and many a 
 ruinous course of policy has been pur- 
 sued with a firm conviction that it was 
 just and necessary. Knowledge, then, 
 on both sides is the only corrective : on 
 that of the ruler, that it may not err 
 with good intentions ; and on that of the 
 people, that they may discountenance 
 every injurious appeal, whether the mo- 
 tives in which it originate be insidious 
 or sincere. 
 
 While these contests were taking place 
 at sea, an important change was effect- 
 ing in the government at home. In the 
 month of April, 1653, Cromwell turned 
 out the remnant, or, as it has been usu- 
 ally termed, the Rump of the Long 
 Parliament, and took measures for the 
 
 Blake and Monk's Despatch. 
 
 assumption of supreme power. The 
 States and the Royalists looked forward 
 with great anxiety to the manner in 
 which the fleet and its commanders 
 would receive this bold act of usurpa- 
 tion. Whatever hopes they might have 
 formed were quickly terminated by the 
 publication of a formal declaration from 
 Blake, Deane, Monk, and the rest of the 
 sea officers, that notwithstanding the 
 recent changes, they felt that their duty, 
 and the national trust reposed in them, 
 required a continuance of their exer- 
 tions against the foreign foes of the 
 Commonwealth. Blake, on this occa- 
 sion, emphatically expressed his often 
 quoted opinion, that it was not their 
 business to mind state affairs, but to 
 prevent the enemy from taking advan- 
 tage of our domestic disputes. "Re- 
 member, "said he, " that we are English- 
 men, and that our foes are foreigners."* 
 The unsophisticated good sense of Blake 
 perceived that a maintenance of the 
 British ascendancy at sea, was equally 
 necessary under every sort of sway ; and 
 that it was not for foreigners to profit 
 by our dissensions, however they might 
 originate, or to whatever they might 
 conduce. At the same time, he had the 
 less temptation to act otherwise, as the 
 Parliament had, by this time, become 
 exceedingly unpopular with the nation, 
 in consequence of a design to per- 
 petuate themselves being strongly 
 suspected by all parties. The same 
 jealousy, whether well founded or not, had 
 been manifested by the Parliament to- 
 wards the officers of the navy as to those 
 of the army, which rendered them indif- 
 ferent to a change, whatever they might 
 think of the character of that which 
 took place. As to Blake himself, he 
 was probably too sincere a Republican 
 to approve cordially of the approaching 
 exaltation of Cromwell ; for although 
 on his return home in ill health, imme- 
 diately after his last victory, he was 
 appointed a commissioner for Somer- 
 setshire, in the Mock or Little Parlia- 
 ment, and was otherwise much con- 
 sulted, it was so exclusively in relation 
 to naval affairs, or foreign warfare, that 
 his name stands perfectly clear of every 
 shadow of imputation of cabal, or in- 
 trigue. On this account, as already 
 intimated, he was regarded with respect 
 by the most opposite parties ; all of 
 whom beheld in him a spirited and dis- 
 
 * Fasti. Oxon. vol. i. Coll. 201. Lives English 
 and Foreign, vol, ii. p. 109. J 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 17 
 
 interested defender of his country, and 
 an honour to the English name. 
 
 Before the health of the admiral was 
 sufficiently recovered to go to sea again, 
 the fleet commanded by Monk fought 
 the famous battle with that of the United 
 Provinces, which terminated in the death 
 of Admiral Van Tromp, and in a bloody 
 and dear bought victory by the English. 
 Although not present at this engage- 
 ment, which took place on the 29th, 
 30th, and 31st of July, 1653, Blake had 
 assisted so much in getting the force 
 equipped, and by his counsel generally, 
 that parliament decreed him a gold chain 
 in common with the other admirals ; and 
 in the following October, when he came 
 to London and took his seat in the House 
 of Commons, he was solemnly thanked 
 for his many and important services.* 
 
 The formal assumption of the Pro- 
 tectorate by Oliver Cromwell distin- 
 guished the close of the year 1653, in 
 which arrangement Admiral Blake ap- 
 pears rather to have acquiesced than 
 assisted. This event was followed by a 
 peace with the United Provinces, with 
 whom negociations had commenced soon 
 after the. battle in which Van Tromp 
 lost his life. The terms of this treaty, 
 which was signed in April, 1654, were 
 highly honourable to England : the 
 Dutch gave up every thing they had 
 professed to fight for, although, in the 
 exaction of some of our claims, there is 
 reason to believe that, satisfied with the 
 honour of maintaining them, Cromwell 
 was not very rigid in their precise ful- 
 filment. 
 
 Such was the result of the first of 
 those struggles with the Dutch for naval 
 dominion, which were so uselessly re- 
 newed after the Restoration, and which, 
 as far as that direct species of rivalry 
 was concerned, terminated at the Revo- 
 lution of 1688. To the naval superiority 
 obtained by the English, since that re- 
 markable period in the annals of both, 
 it is scarcely necessary to allude, except, 
 perhaps, for the sake of remarking that 
 while struggles for mere glory are un- 
 profitable at best, they are still more un- 
 advisable, where fluctuating sources of 
 prosperity are called into a contest with 
 great physical superiority, and higher 
 natural advantages. Such was the case 
 with the United Provinces, as compared 
 with Great Britain ; to say nothing of the 
 strong motives to a friendly union be- 
 tween them, as regarded the more for- 
 
 * Lives, English and Foreign, vol. ii, p, 109, 
 Winstanley's English Worthies, p. 555. 
 
 midable foes of both. The two powers 
 have since been frequently at war ; but 
 on which ever side the provocation has 
 originated, the result has always been 
 most injurious to the States. It must 
 not be presumed, for a moment, that the 
 foregoing argument is advanced with a 
 view of deprecating those glorious con- 
 tests with powerful tyranny and oppres- 
 sion, like that which released the United 
 Provinces from the yoke of Spain, or in 
 objection to such exhibitions of national 
 spirit and just jealousy for the honour of 
 the country, which are essential to its 
 independence. Here danger may be 
 nobly incurred, and sacrifices justly as 
 well as wisely called for ; but how few 
 are the wars of this description, com- 
 pared with the number of unnecessary 
 conflicts produced by illiberal jealousy, 
 venal intrigue, and personal ambition ! 
 However visionary those ideas of per- 
 petual peace may be, which ardent and 
 benevolent minds persuade themselves 
 may be realized, we surely may cherish 
 the hope that the unholy and indefen- 
 sible warfare, to which we are alluding, 
 will necessarily decrease, in proportion 
 to the diffusion of information among 
 the great mass of mankind. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Expedition to the Mediterranean - 
 Respect paid to Blake by the Officers 
 of France, Spain, and Holland 
 Negotiation with the Dey of Algiers 
 Chastisement of the Bey of Tunis 
 Redress exacted for injuries and in- 
 sults to the English in the Mediter- 
 ranean Respect paid to the Protector 
 by the Italian States War with 
 Spain Expedition to Cadiz Illness 
 of Blake Exploit at Santa Cruz 
 Behaviour of the Admiral in re' 
 sped to Captain Blake Sails for 
 England Death Funeral Honours 
 Treatment of his Remains at the 
 Restoration Character. 
 
 In the first parliament called by 
 Cromwell, in September, 1654, Blake 
 was once more chosen to represent his 
 native town of Bridgewater; but, 
 although by the peace with the United 
 Provinces, the necessity for naval exer- 
 tions was much abridged, the mistaken 
 policy * of Cromwell having decided on 
 
 * Cromwell had not the merit of perceiving the 
 rising ascendency which the genius of Cardinal 
 Richelieu had been preparing for France ; and, conse- 
 quently, was unconscious how much his decision 
 against Spain, in furtherance of the ambitious views 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 a war with Spain, he was soon called 
 again into active service. The known 
 attachment of the admiral to republic- 
 anism has been alleged on this occa- 
 sion also, as the cause of his appoint- 
 ment to the command of a fleet ; but 
 surely, having determined upon hos- 
 tilities, the selection of the most eminent 
 seaman in the country seems only to 
 have been a matter of course. 
 
 In the first instance, however, Blake 
 was despatched in November, 1654, with 
 a formidable fleet into the Mediter- 
 ranean, to support the honour of the 
 English flag, and to procure satisfaction 
 from the Barbary Powers, for their 
 many acts of piracy against British 
 merchantmen. This expedition was 
 sent out before war was declared against 
 Spain ; so that in the ensuing December 
 his fleet entered the port of Cadiz, where 
 he was received with all imaginable 
 respect. .This, no doubt, was partly 
 owing to the anxiety of the Spaniards 
 to keep well with the Protector ; but no 
 small portion of homage was excited by 
 the known talents and high achieve- 
 ments of the gallant commander him- 
 self. Aware of former consequences, a 
 Dutch admiral would not hoist his flag 
 while Blake remained at Cadiz ; and a 
 French squadron having stopped one of 
 his tenders, which had been separated 
 from him in a storm, the commander, as 
 soon as he knew to whom he belonged, 
 sent for the captain on board the flag- 
 ship and drank Blake's health in his 
 presence, under a discharge of five 
 guns.* The Algerines were likewise so 
 daunted by the terror of his name, and 
 so apprehensive of his designs, that, of 
 their own accord, they stopped the Sallee 
 Rovers and made them give up what 
 English prisoners they had on board, 
 which they sent freely to the admiral 
 without ransom. These concessions, 
 however, did not prevent him from sail- 
 ing to Algiers, where he appeared on the 
 10th March, 1655, and sent an officer 
 on shore to demand the release of all 
 English captives, and ample satisfaction 
 for the piracies committed on the British 
 trade. The Dey, who seems to have 
 known the best manner of soothing a 
 temper like that of Blake, pleaded his 
 inability to release ships and captives 
 
 of that power, would prove nationally injurious. The 
 arrogant spirit of encroachment, displayed by Louis 
 XIV. in the succeeding half century, rendered this 
 impolicy very conspicuous. But a Spanish war was 
 more popular, and, looking to immediate conse- 
 quences, more profitable than a Fn nch one. 
 
 * Lives, English and Foreign, voL ii. p. 114. 
 
 which had become private property, 
 without producing a mutiny; but the 
 latter he agreed to give up on a mode- 
 rate ransom per head, and offered to 
 make such a peace with England 
 as should prevent all future hos- 
 tilities. He accompanied this answer 
 with a large supply of provisions, 
 and for the present, Blake appeared 
 satisfied. It is not unworthy of re- 
 mark in this place, that these mari- 
 time plunderers have continued, in a 
 similar manner, the objects of alternate 
 chastisement and negociation to this 
 hour, when a leading European nation 
 has a fleet before Algiers, on an errand 
 precisely of the same nature as that of 
 Blake's, upwards of one hundred and 
 seventy years ago. It is melancholy to 
 reflect, that a fine and extensive coast 
 like that of the north of Africa, once, 
 too, the seat of great comparative 
 civilization, should have been allowed to 
 remain in the possession of successive 
 hordes of incurable pirates, insolent 
 and rapacious by turns to all Christen- 
 dom. If endured, because dangerous 
 plans of national aggrandisement might 
 follow their destruction what a satire 
 upon the moderation of the great 
 Christian powers ! If acquiesced in by 
 some nations because a greater in- 
 jury is inflicted upon others how 
 discreditable such motives to religion 
 and humanity ! Under every view of 
 the case, the long toleration of this 
 nuisance is a disgrace to civilized 
 Europe. 
 
 From Algiers, the admiral sailed to 
 Tunis, the Bey of which, relying upon 
 the strength of his fortresses, returned 
 an insolent answer to the message of 
 lilake, and even refused to allow him 
 to supply himself with fresh water. 
 " Here," said the barbarian, " are our 
 castles of Goletto and Porto Ferino ; 
 do your worst : do you think that we 
 fear your fleet !" On receiving this 
 hasty reply, the Admiral immediately 
 bore away into Porto Ferino, with his 
 first and second rate ships. He re- 
 served his fire until they had approached 
 within a musket shot of the castle and 
 line of fortifications, when he opened 
 his guns so effectually upon both, that 
 in two hours the castle was rendered 
 defenceless, and the guns on the works 
 along the shore were nearly all dis- 
 mounted, although no less than sixty 
 had played on the English fleet at one 
 time. Nine ships were lying in the har- 
 bour, and Blake ordered every captain, 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 19 
 
 including even the captain of his own 
 ship, to proceed in their long boats, 
 with chosen crews, and destroy them. 
 This was accordingly executed, with the 
 loss of only twenty-five men killed, and 
 forty-eight wounded, while the Admiral 
 and his fleet covered the assailants from 
 the fire of the castle, by playing con- 
 tinually on it with their cannon. This 
 daring action spread the terror of his 
 name, and produced concessions with 
 very little trouble from the Bey of Tri- 
 poli ; after which, he again returned to 
 Tunis, where he now met with nothing 
 but submission. As the purpose of this 
 expedition was to procure satisfaction 
 for all the injuries and spoliation suffer- 
 ed by the English in the Mediterranean, 
 during the civil wars, when it was 
 thought they could be inflicted with im- 
 punity, several of the minor Christian 
 powers, who had taken similar liberties, 
 were next called to account. Among 
 the rest, the Knights of Malta were 
 obliged to submit to reparation, as also 
 the Duke of Tuscany, who was com- 
 pelled to pay 60,000/. as a compensa- 
 tion for losses sustained from his sub- 
 jects by the English. It is added, that 
 the Admiral sent home no less than 
 sixteen ships, laden with effects thus 
 exacted, for insults and injuries endured 
 by English subjects in that sea, during 
 the political struggles which had ha- 
 rassed their country at home * 
 
 These exploits were performed in the 
 spring of 1655, and such a formidable 
 opinion did they create of the power, 
 strength; and tenacity of the English 
 government, that most of the states of 
 Italy thought proper to send messages 
 of compliment to the Protector; and 
 the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the 
 states of Venice, in particular, dis- 
 tinguished themselves by splendid em- 
 bassies. It is, in fact, difficult to select 
 a period in English history, when the 
 country was so feared and courted, as 
 under the Protectorate of Oliver Crom- 
 well. Some of this deference was, no 
 doubt, attributable to the political situa- 
 tion of Europe at the time, but no small 
 part was due to the great abilities of the 
 Protector, and to the vigour and efficiency 
 of his councils. His instruments too, 
 as in the instance of Blake, were well 
 chosen ; and as, by the depression of the 
 ancient aristocracy, he was called upon 
 for few or no sacrifices to family support 
 
 : * Hist, of the Rebellion, vol. iii. p. 530. Heath's 
 Chronicle, p. 3(56. 
 
 and connexions, so he had no occasion 
 to give employments to persons who 
 were unfit for them. He was indeed one 
 of those master spirits, who can employ 
 ability without fearing it a faculty ex- 
 ceedingly rare, even among able rulers. 
 
 By this time, the secret expedition, 
 under Penn and Venables, sent by Crom 
 well to surprise and capture St. Domin- 
 go, and which terminated in the taking 
 of Jamaica, had become known to the 
 court of Madrid, which immediately 
 confiscated all the English property in 
 Spain; and the war between the two 
 countries was from that time carried on 
 with extreme vigour and animosity. 
 Blake, of course, did his best to ruin 
 the maritime force of Spain in Europe, 
 as Penn was endeavouring to do in the 
 West Indies ; and so great and inces- 
 sant was his activity, that his constitu- 
 tion began to sink under efforts so un- 
 remitting. Fearing that some bad con- 
 sequences might ensue, if he were not 
 joined by a colleague, proper to take 
 charge of the fleet, in the event of his 
 decease, he suggested the expediency of 
 joining some able commander in the 
 commission with himself ; in compli- 
 ance with which suggestion, Admiral 
 Montague was sent out, with a strong 
 squadron to reinforce and assist him. 
 Soon after the arrival of Montague, 
 they repaired, with the joint fleet, to 
 Cadiz in 1656, where they continued to 
 blockade a Spanish squadron for several 
 months. The Admiral then having 
 taken the major part of his fleet to the 
 coast of Portugal, to obtain water and 
 refreshments, Captain Stayner, who had 
 been left cruizing with a small squadron, 
 fell in with the Spanish homeward- 
 bound Plate fleet, and captured the Vice- 
 Admiral, Rear-Admiral, and another 
 galleon, with two millions of dollars on 
 board ; all which prizes, together with 
 the prisoners, were sent to England, 
 under Montague ; Blake, notwithstand- 
 ing his illness, remaining in the Medi- 
 terranean. 
 
 The maladies with which this inde- 
 fatigable officer was afflicted, were the 
 dropsy and the scurvy, which now be- 
 gan to make dreadful ravages in his 
 constitution ; jet his spirit remained un- 
 abated ; and being informed that ano- 
 ther Plate fleet had put into Santa Cruz 
 in the island of Teneriffe, he sailed 
 thither in the month of April, 1657, 
 with a fleet of twenty-five men-of-war. 
 He arrived in the offing of Santa 
 Cruz on the 20th, where he discovered 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 six heavy galleons and ten smaller 
 ships moored close to the shore, with 
 their broadsides towards the sea, the 
 inner vessels secured by a boom, and 
 all disposed in such a manner as to pre- 
 sent the appearance of being almost un- 
 assailable. Nothing seemed to have 
 been omitted by the Spanish com- 
 mander, a man of courage and conduct, 
 to render a successful attack impossible. 
 The ships were defended not only by a 
 strong castle in a very commanding si- 
 tuation, and furnished with heavy ord- 
 nance, but seven additional forts had 
 been erected, mounting from three to 
 six guns each, and united by lines of 
 communication, manned by musketeers. 
 Yet, notwithstanding these able dispo- 
 sitions of the Spanish General, such an 
 idea was generally entertained of Blake's 
 enterprising character, that the captain 
 of a Dutch merchantman, then in the 
 bay, at once made up his mind, from 
 the manoeuvres of the English Admiral, 
 that an attack was intended ; and to 
 avoid ill consequences to himself from 
 the approaching conflict, he immediately 
 waited upon the Spanish Commander, 
 and requested leave to quit the harbour, 
 plainly stating as his reason for the re- 
 quest, his conviction that Blake would 
 be soon among them. The resolute 
 Spaniard at once granted him the de- 
 sired permission, exclaiming with a con- 
 fident smile " Get you gone, if you 
 like, and let Blake come if he dare."* 
 
 The Admiral had by this time settled 
 the question of daring, having made all 
 his dispositions for the attack. A squad- 
 ron of ships was selected for the first 
 onset, commanded by Captain Stayner, 
 in the Speaker frigate, who proceeding 
 directly into the bay, assailed the 
 Spanish fleet with extreme fury, per- 
 fectly regardless of the guns of the 
 forts which played on his ships in every 
 direction. Another division of the fleet 
 was judiciously sent to occupy the at- 
 tention of the castle and the forts, while 
 Blake himself joined Stayner, and at- 
 tacked the Spanish ships, which were 
 not much fewer in number than the 
 English, while the crews greatly ex- 
 ceeded them. Notwithstanding this ad- 
 vantage, in a few hours the Spaniards 
 were driven entirely from their shipping, 
 and Blake, who perceived the impossibi- 
 lity of carrying the vessels out, ordered 
 his men to set fire to their prizes. This 
 was done so effectually, that all the 
 
 * Heath's Chronicle, p. 391, 
 
 Spanish ships were reduced to ashes, 
 except two, which sank during the en- 
 gagement, and exhibited only a small 
 portion of their masts above the 
 water. * 
 
 It is necessary to mention a circum- 
 stance which has exposed this cele- 
 brated affair to much professional re- 
 mark, both at the time it occurred, and 
 even since. It is stated that the direc- 
 tion of the wind which prevented Blake 
 from bringing his prizes out, would have 
 prevented him from getting out him- 
 self, but for its sudden veering to 
 the south-west, a change of very rare 
 occurrence at that time of the year. 
 Should this latter assertion be true, it 
 must be confessed that this daring at- 
 tack wears the appearance of a trusting 
 to contingency, or bare possibility, 
 which must be deemed rash in the ex- 
 treme, and so it has been frequently 
 termed by authors of considerable repu- 
 tation. Unhappily the gallant performer 
 of the exploit died before he reached his 
 native land, which deprived the world of 
 his own explanation of the affair; but as 
 the bay of Santa Cruz is open, without 
 any difficulty in the egress, we cannot 
 help suspecting, that the land breeze, 
 which so timely carried him out, was 
 not so. unusual as here represented ; 
 and that he rested upon a feasible exer- 
 tion of skill and seamanship, and not 
 upon an interference in his favour so 
 apparently special, that it might almost 
 be deemed miraculous. The writer of 
 the account whence we gather this nar- 
 ration/!' directly attributes this change of 
 wind to Providence, which leaves Blake's 
 professional prudence in great jeopardy, 
 as he could have scarcely looked for- 
 ward to such an interposition. Is it not 
 more probable, that a man, who united 
 so much coolness and judgment to un- 
 daunted resolution, saw many things 
 possible which were invisible to less 
 gifted eyes ? Blake never seems to have 
 made any signal mistake in the whole of 
 his naval career, for it has already been 
 shown, that his attack of Van Tromp, 
 with an inferior force, has by no means 
 been proved to be either unnecessary'or 
 unadvisable. Other and more general 
 reasons render it probable that the al- 
 leged critical change of wind was ex- 
 aggerated in the narratives of the day. 
 People like to seem indebted to the 
 visible favour of Providence, and its 
 
 * Heath's Chronicle, p. 391. 
 f Heath. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 21 
 
 Special protection was always very un- 
 equivocally claimed by that predomi- 
 nant English party to whom Blake's 
 success was peculiarly acceptable. On 
 the other hand, a taste for the marvel- 
 lous is even still more prevalent ; and 
 simply as an extraordinary event, the 
 more surprising the version of the 
 story, the more would it be cherished by 
 the multitude. In a word, it is difficult 
 to believe that an officer of the high 
 character and experience of Blake, 
 would risk his reputation by an act 
 which nothing but a most unusual 
 phenomenon could prevent from being 
 at once fatal to himself and injurious to 
 his country. 
 
 Rapin, who seems never to have been 
 cordial to the memory of this great sea- 
 man, on account of his success against 
 the Dutch, remarks, that however heavy 
 the loss to the Spaniards in ships, 
 money, men, and merchandise, the Eng- 
 lish gained nothing by this enterprise, 
 but glory.* Dr. Johnson however, tersely 
 and justly observes, that in warfare an 
 increase of military reputation is an 
 increase of power, and that he who 
 weakens his enemy, in effect strengthens 
 himself, t As respects Spain, this was 
 particularly the case, for her South 
 American treasures had become the 
 chief source of her power of annoyance. 
 This is not to defend the vain glory 
 of war, or to vindicate its barbarities : 
 the more clearly indeed it is shown that 
 havoc and destruction are inevitably 
 connected with it, the more plainly is 
 proved the wickedness of that policy 
 which would wantonly inflict its horrors, 
 or create artificial pretexts for the cala- 
 mities which are its inseparable at- 
 tendants. 
 
 To return to the Admiral : the union 
 of skill and bravery in this transaction 
 is forcibly evinced by the fact that 
 the loss of the English amounted, in 
 killed and wounded, to about 200 men 
 only, without the destruction of a single 
 ship. An affair, which must have been 
 very afflicting to him, occurred in this 
 battle, and the manner in which he acted 
 in respect to it exhibits the clear and 
 patriotic spirit of the man most charac- 
 teristically. His brother, Captain Hum- 
 phrey Blake r who commanded a ship 
 for the first time, showed some lack of 
 courage and talent as an officer, % which 
 convinced Blake that he was altogether 
 
 * Rapin, Hist, of Eng., English 8vo. edition, 
 vol. xi. p. 98. 
 
 i Life of Blake in Gent. Mag, 
 
 $ Lives, English and Foreign, vol. ii. p, 121. 
 
 unfit for the profession of arms ; and 
 with the inflexible spirit of an ancient Ro- 
 man, the Admiral immediately cashiered 
 and sent him home. What adds to the 
 line spirit of this conduct is, that he 
 continued to regard him kindly as a 
 brother notwithstanding, and at his death 
 left him his paternal estate. A stranger 
 to fear himself, he was enough of a phi- 
 losopher to be satisfied, that a constitu- 
 tional temperament is not always to be 
 corrected by the will ; and that a man 
 may be useful in the peaceable walks of 
 society, whom it is impossible to stimu- 
 late into military ardour. His country, 
 its service, and its renown, were pre- 
 ferred to everything else in the mind of 
 Blake: those saved harmless, he was 
 again enabled to indulge his domestic af- 
 fections ; and in all his dealings with van- 
 quished enemies, he was uniformly one of 
 the most humane and placable of men. 
 As soon as the news of this extraor- 
 dinary piece of service reached England, 
 the Protector sent his secretary to 
 acquaint the Parliament, who ordered a 
 public thanksgiving, and directed that 
 a diamond ring of the value of 500/. 
 should be sent to the Admiral. One 
 hundred pounds were also voted to the 
 Captain who brought home the news ; 
 and the thanks of the House were or- 
 dered to be conveyed to all the officers and 
 seamen employed, by the mouth of their 
 commander. As the affair of Santa 
 Cruz was the concluding exploit of this 
 valiant seaman, so the honours thus 
 conferred upon him proved the last tes- 
 timonials of respect that he was destined 
 to receive from his beloved and grateful 
 country. Returning towards the Medi- 
 terranean, after cruising some time be- 
 fore Cadiz, he discovered that his end was 
 rapidly approaching, and became anxious 
 to reach England. This, however, he was 
 never again to behold, for he died just 
 as the fleet readied Plymouth Sound. 
 As he approached the Channel, it is said 
 that he frequently inquired if the land 
 was seen ; but the exact circumstances 
 attendant on his death are not recorded. 
 He yielded up his gallant spirit on board 
 the St. George, on the 1 7th day of 
 August, 1657, having just completed his 
 fifty- ninth year.* 
 
 The life and death of Blake will re- 
 mind the reader of two distinguished 
 Admirals of modern times : the splen- 
 dour of his career resembling the heroic 
 Nelsons and its close, that of the in- 
 defatigable and devoted Collingwood ! 
 
 * Mercurius Politicus, p. 375. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 Nothing was wanting on the part of 
 the Protector, the Parliament, or the 
 people, to evince their high estimation 
 of a man who had so ardently and dis- 
 interestedly devoted himself to the ser- 
 vice of his country. The day after he 
 died, he was embalmed and wrapped up 
 in lead ; his bowels were buried in the 
 Great Church, at Plymouth, and his 
 body sent round with the fleet to the 
 Downs, and thence conveyed by water 
 to Greenwich. There it lay in state, 
 until the 4th of September, when it was 
 borne up the Thames in a barge, covered 
 with black velvet, and adorned with 
 escutcheons and devices, to Westmin- 
 ster. Besides his brother, relations, and 
 domestics, the funeral was attended by 
 Oliver's Privy Council, the Commis- 
 sioners of the Admiralty and Navy, the 
 Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London, 
 the Field Officers of the Army, and 
 other persons of office or quality, who 
 followed in a great number of barges 
 and boats, covered with black cloth, and 
 marshalled by the Heralds at Arms, 
 who arranged the procession. On land- 
 ing, they proceeded through a guard of 
 several regiments of foot, drawn up to 
 receive the procession at the Abbey ; 
 General Lambert, with whom the de- 
 ceased had been on terms of great inti- 
 macy, being present. The procession 
 having reached the Cathedral, the body 
 was interred in a vault constructed for 
 the purpose in Henry the Seventh's 
 Chapel* It is melancholy to be obliged 
 to add, that at the Restoration the 
 shadowy honour of an interment in the 
 Abbey was no longer to be allowed to 
 this great commander, whose body was 
 dug up with those of Cromwell, Ireton, 
 and many more. Some distinction was 
 however made: the remains of Blake 
 were decently reint erred in St. Margaret's 
 Churchyard, while the bones of the 
 others were treated with the greatest ig- 
 nominy .t The propriety of this transac- 
 tion as regards Blake was questioned at 
 the time, even among the friends to the 
 restoration ; at present it will be regarded 
 with unmixed disgust. The naval ser- 
 vices of this valiant man were so truly 
 national ; he had done so much to render 
 the power and character of his country 
 respected, and in such strict accord- 
 ance with the ideas entertained of pub- 
 lic duty on all sides, that any manifes- 
 
 * Kennet's Register and Chronicle, p. 536. 
 t Neal's Hist, of the Puritans, vol. iv. p. 174. 
 Grey's Examination of Neal's Hist., vol. iii. p. 318. 
 
 tation of disrespect to the ashes of so 
 illustrious a patriot, was as revolting to 
 good feeling as to good policy. In every 
 point of view, indeed, posthumous re- 
 venge is mean and disgraceful; and 
 those who can derive satisfaction from 
 insulting the remains of men, before 
 whose ascendency they were forced to 
 bend while living, only doubly proclaim 
 their natural inferiority. 
 
 To the public and professional .cha- 
 racter of Blake the testimonies are 
 numerous ; and with a little abatement 
 on the score of party feelings, nearly 
 unanimous. It has been already re- 
 marked, that, in common with many 
 other distinguished characters of the 
 day, he appears to have formed his 
 notions of patriotism from the republi- 
 can models of antiquity.* Love of 
 country, and devotion to its greatness, 
 freedom, and independence, were, theo- 
 retically at least, the primary duty of 
 every wise and virtuous republican of 
 Greece and Rome ; and Blake adopted 
 that principle with a stoical firmness 
 of soul, which enabled him to excel 
 nearly the whole of his contemporaries 
 in fulfilling his high notions of the 
 sacrifices due from a patriot to the pub- 
 lic good. 
 
 From the moment Blake entered public 
 life, he never seems to have indulged in 
 any sort of cabal or intrigue for political 
 influence; the peculiar openness and 
 sincerity of his conduct being vouched 
 for by all who have written about him.t 
 His freedom from every thing like a 
 passion for acquisition, was equally con- 
 spicuous; for notwithstanding the im- 
 mense sums which passed through his. 
 hands, so upright was his conduct as a 
 public servant, that he scarcely left 500/. 
 behind him, in addition to his paternal 
 estate of about 200/. per annum. Love 
 of fame may very possibly be thought to 
 have been a considerable incentive : it 
 might be so, but the love of fame is 
 injurious only so far as it conduces to a 
 selfish performance of extraordinary ac- 
 tions, with a view to mere personal no- 
 
 * The celebrated Hobbes was so impressed with 
 the effect of the Greek and Roman historians and 
 orators on the mind of the youth of the preceding 
 age, that in the spirit of his opinions concerning pas- 
 sive obedience, he goes near to advise their total 
 rejection in the education of Englishmen. 
 
 t The testimony given of this quality is peculiarly 
 lively and spontaneous. " He (Blake) was," says 
 Whitelock, " a man of as much gallantry and since- 
 rity as any of his time, and as successful."^ Bates, 
 although a very decided royalist, in his Elenchus 
 Mortuum, is equally prompt in the praise of Blake's 
 honour and frankness. 
 
ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 23 
 
 toriety ; while, on the contrary, it may 
 be deemed a salutary stimulus to ardent 
 exertions in the fulfilment of duty. It 
 is sufficient to ensure a high estimation 
 of the character of Blake, that with the 
 total absence of all views which, in the 
 general opinion of mankind, are pro- 
 nounced mean, selfish, or interested, he 
 rendered the greatest services to his 
 country ; to advance whose welfare and 
 reputation, formed the constant passion 
 of his life. 
 
 As a warrior, both on sea and land, 
 Blake forms a remarkable instance of 
 the latent aptitude for a peculiar line 
 of exertion, which may exist in men 
 before they have any opportunity of dis- 
 playing it. He was forty before the 
 civil war broke out, and nearly fifty 
 before he served at sea, and that as a 
 commander at once. The mere fact of 
 fighting ably and bravely at sea, would 
 not distinguish him from many of his 
 colleagues ; but he no sooner stepped on 
 ship-board, than he gave a new charac- 
 ter to naval warfare, and made the most 
 striking improvement in this important 
 service, by the strength of his own ge- 
 nius, unaided by experience. The tes- 
 timony of Lord Clarendon is unequivocal 
 on this point, and it cannot be given 
 better than in his own words. 
 
 " He (Blake) was the first man who 
 declined the old track, and made it ma- 
 nifest that the science might be attained 
 in less time than was imagined, and 
 despised those rules which had been long 
 in practice, to keep his ship and men 
 out of danger, which had been held, in 
 former times, a point of great ability 
 and circumspection ; as if the principal 
 art requisite in the captain of a ship, 
 had been, to be sure to come home safe 
 again. He was the first man who 
 brought the ships to contemn castles on 
 shore, which had been thought ever very 
 formidable, and were discovered by him 
 to make a noise only, and to fright those 
 who could rarely be hurt by them. He 
 was the first that infused that propor- 
 tion of courage into the seamen, by 
 making them see, by experience, what 
 mighty things they could do if they were 
 resolved, and taught them to fight in 
 fire as well as upon water ; and though 
 he hath been very well imitated and fol- 
 lowed, he was the first that gave the 
 example of that kind of naval courage 
 and bold and resolute achievements."* 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add, that 
 the foregoing passage from a writer who 
 
 * Hist, of the Rebellion, vol. hi. p. 602, 
 
 cannot be suspected of partiality, is 
 conclusive as to the high professional 
 merits of Blake, who seems to possess 
 an indisputable claim to the honour of 
 having infused a great portion of that 
 peculiar energy and spirit into the Eng- 
 lish navy, by which it has ever since 
 been distinguished. The fact that both 
 in his own days, and subsequently, he 
 has been accused of rashness, will de- 
 rogate but little from the justness of 
 these pretensions. When a man of in- 
 vention and enterprise ventures boldly, 
 and is uniformly successful, it is both 
 more generous and more just, to attri- 
 bute the success to his superior capa- 
 city, than to dwell invidiously upon 
 apparent temerity, or surprising good 
 fortune. Every case no doubt is, strictly 
 speaking, individual, and must rest upon 
 its own merits ; but the naval annals of 
 Britain would have been very different 
 from what they are, had a too calculating 
 spirit of caution been prevalent in those 
 whose deeds they record. 
 
 There is another point of view, in 
 which the character of Blake, as a com- 
 mander, exacts attention, and that owing 
 to the very peculiar nature of the times, 
 and the consequent object of the expe- 
 ditions in which he was engaged. A 
 general disposition prevailed, particu- 
 larly on the part of maritime and com- 
 mercial powers, to take advantage of 
 the disorders in England ; and in con- 
 sequence, much spoliation and insult 
 had been endured by English merchant- 
 men. To this cause of irritation was 
 subsequently added a manifest reluct- 
 ance to act fairly towards the Common- 
 wealth, unless when prompted by fear. 
 On this account, Blake, especially in his 
 later services, was frequently called upon 
 to exercise a discretion in his negocia- 
 tions, which peculiarly evinced the 
 spirit and character of the man. It is 
 not to be denied that, in some instances, 
 he displayed the overbearing features of 
 the republicanism of antiquity, and, 
 alive only to the honour of his own 
 country, neglected the consideration 
 which is due to the feelings and rights 
 of others ; but this was the prevailing 
 spirit of all the leaders of the Common- 
 wealth, and all men must be judged 
 with an allowance for the predominant 
 sentiment of the times. The sword-in- 
 hand intercourse of the Admiral with 
 the Courts of Spain and Portugal, the 
 Duke of Tuscany, and others in the 
 Mediterranean, more particularly illus- 
 trate the existence of the disposition 
 here alluded to, as relates to specific 
 
24 
 
 ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 national objects. The following cha- 
 racteristic anecdote, related by Bishop 
 Burnet, exhibits a like spirit in reference 
 to a minor point. Although a similar 
 piece of conduct at present, would 
 scarcely be deemed justifiable, it re- 
 quires a strong exertion of reason to be 
 altogether, out of humour with it. 
 
 "While Blake lay in the road of Ma- 
 laga, before the war broke out with 
 Spain, some of his seamen, going ashore, 
 met the Host carrying about, and not 
 only paid no respect to it, but laughed 
 at those who did. One of the Spanish 
 priests put the people upon resenting 
 this indignity, and they fell upon them 
 and beat them severely. When they 
 returned to their ships, they complained 
 of this usage ; upon which Blake sent a 
 trumpet to the Viceroy to demand the 
 priest, who was the chief instrument in 
 that ill usage. The Viceroy answered, that 
 he had no authority over the priests, and 
 so could not dispose of them. General 
 Blake, upon that, sent him word that he 
 would not inquire who had the power to 
 send the priest to him, but if he were not 
 sent within three hours, he would burn 
 their town. The Spaniards, hearing this, 
 obliged the Viceroy to send the priest to 
 Blake, and he justified himself upon 
 the petulant behaviour of the seamen. 
 Blake answered, that if he had sent a 
 complaint to him of it, he would have 
 punished them severely, since he would 
 not suffer his men to affront the esta- 
 blished religion of any place at which 
 he touched ; but he took it ill that he 
 had| set on the Spaniards to do it, ' for 
 he would have him and the whole world 
 to know, that none but an Englishman 
 should chastise an Englishman.' He 
 then treated the priest civilly and sent 
 him back, being satisfied that he had 
 him in his power. Cromwell was much 
 delighted with this, and read the letter 
 in council with great satisfaction, saying 
 that he hoped he should make the name 
 of an Englishman as great as ever that 
 of a Roman* had been."*;- 
 
 Had a commander so distinguished 
 as Blake, died within a century of the 
 present time, materials would, most 
 likely, have abounded for a very parti- 
 cular account of his deportment, man- 
 ners, and conduct in private life ; with 
 all those various minor points of cha- 
 racter which are so necessary to indivi- 
 dualize a portrait, and render it exclu- 
 sively that of the person whom it is 
 
 * Another proof of -the classical tendency of the 
 Republican spirit of that age. 
 
 I Burnet's Hist, of His Own Times, fol. edit. vol. i. 
 p. 80, 81. 
 
 intended to represent. In the time of 
 Blake, there was no periodical press on 
 the alert to diffuse all sorts of informa- 
 tion respecting celebrated men; even to 
 a fatiguing extreme. Quartos and oc- 
 tavos did not then appear within three 
 months of the decease of any person of 
 the least notoriety ; which if crude and 
 ill-digested as formal biography, at least 
 form a collection of all the matter of 
 fact and hearsay, known or in cir- 
 culation, for the exercise of sounder 
 judgment and more prudent considera- 
 tion in after time. We however learn, 
 that in person Admiral Blake was under 
 the middle size ; but that his features 
 were prepossessing and manly, with a 
 quick, lively, and intelligent eye. It 
 has already been observed, that from 
 his youth, he was distinguished by gra- 
 vity, and simplicity of manners, occa- 
 sionally enlivened by a humorous blunt- 
 ness of speech. Some homely lines of 
 Winstanley, in his 'English Worthies,' 
 intimate, that he, who made so many 
 men tremble, was himself peculiarly 
 embarrassed and confused in the com- 
 pany of women; a fact which may 
 account for his always remaining a ba- 
 chelor. He was pious, without display- 
 ing any of the affectation and hypocrisy 
 which mingled so much with the reli- 
 gious pretensions of the age, and which 
 prevailed to an almost ludicrous ex- 
 cess among the party to which he was 
 attached. Sincerity and the absence of 
 everything bordering on intrigue, or 
 dissimulation, were indeed the charac- 
 teristics of Blake. He was liberal to 
 the very extent of his fortune, and his 
 purse was always open to his officers ; 
 he was strictly just and humane to every 
 body ; and to his sailors he proved him- 
 self a parent. This mixture of the 
 amiable and softer qualities with the 
 most fervent courage, invincible forti- 
 tude, and eminent talents, is not unpre- 
 cedented, although rare. It is well for 
 human nature that the union may exist ; 
 and to the honour at once of the indivi- 
 dual, his profession, and the country 
 which gave him birth, it has seldom 
 been exhibited more conspicuously and 
 more uniformly than in Admiral Ro- 
 bert Blake. * 
 
 * The fortunes of the brothers of the Admiral are 
 involved in some obscurity; but it is asserted by the 
 author of 'Lives, English and Foreign,' that his 
 brother Humphrey -was so much harassed for his 
 nonconformity, after the restoration, as to be induced 
 to sell his estate and repair with his family to Caro- 
 lina. A considerable family of the name certainly 
 lived in that state ; the head of which was one of 
 the Lord Proprietors. Several descendants of 
 the family are also to be found in the West of 
 England. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 It is well known that the late lamented 
 Dugald Stewart, amidst the profound and 
 comprehensive studies to which his life 
 was dedicated, became the biographer 
 of three of his countrymen two of 
 them being amongst the most distin- 
 guished of whom Scotland has to boast : 
 these were, Dr. Robertson the historian, 
 and Adam Smith. His friend and tutor, 
 Dr. Reid, we place, where we conceive 
 the world has placed him, in a rank far 
 below these, and where we cannot but 
 think Mr. Stewart would himself have 
 placed him, if his affectionate remem- 
 brance of his early instructor had left his 
 judgment perfectly impartial with respect 
 to Dr. Raid's merits as a philosopher. 
 
 Since the days of the Memorabilia, 
 when Xenophon became the biographer 
 of Socrates, there has been seen perhaps 
 no proportion so equal betwixt the writer 
 and his subject, as when Dugald 
 Stewart wrote the " Memoirs of the 
 Life and Writings of Adam Smith." Yet, 
 congenial as was the theme, and beauti- 
 fully as he has illustrated the' writings, 
 there is a deficiency in the life. It was 
 observed of Mallet, that he wrote the 
 life of Lord Bacon, and forgot that he 
 was a philosopher. This, at least, can- 
 not be said of Mr. Stewart. He has kept 
 the philosopher so much in mind, that he 
 has almost forgotten the man. In his 
 review of the works of the distinguished 
 person, in his criticism and his com- 
 ments, we find everything that we can 
 desire and might expect, even from the 
 pen of Mr. Stewart ; but we look in vain 
 for those traits of personal character, 
 those slight yet important incidents and 
 anecdotes which marked the individual, 
 which, when preserved and depicted, 
 form the great charm of biography, and 
 which serve, far more than the most la- 
 boured disquisition or panegyric, to re- 
 commend to us, and quicken our inte- 
 rest in, the circumstances by which the 
 subject of the memorial acquired his 
 celebrity. Mr. Stewart seems to have 
 entertained a difference of opinion upon 
 this point ; possibly he deemed it beneath 
 the dignity of the life of a philosopher. 
 
 Yet the earliest and most amusing, if not 
 most accurate of biographers thought 
 otherwise. " It is not always," says Plu- 
 tarch, " in the most distinguished ex- 
 ploits that men's virtues or vices may be 
 best discerned ; but frequently an action 
 of small note, a short saying or a jest 
 distinguishes a person's real character 
 more than the greatest battles or the 
 most important actions. As painters 
 labour the likeness in the face, so must 
 we be permitted to strike off the features 
 of the soul, in order to give a real like- 
 ness to these great men*." Upon this 
 principle has this inimitable writer left us 
 a record of the lives of upwards of fifty 
 warriors, legislators, and statesmen, in- 
 vesting them with an interest and a wis- 
 dom which will delight and instruct the 
 last generations of mankind. 
 - There may have been biographers 
 who have carried their passion for detail 
 and minute anecdote somewhat too far, 
 but even in such cases we feel it is rather 
 ungrateful to condemn them ; and we 
 might take the very extreme of this class, 
 even Boswell himself, with all his faults, 
 and almost challenge the world to pro- 
 duce another book of biography of equal 
 interest with the Life of Johnson. 
 
 But betwixt Plutarch and Boswell 
 there is an interval, almost as wide as 
 between Auchinleck and Chaeronea ; 
 and Mr. Stewart ought not, perhaps, 
 strictly to have conformed himself to 
 the example of either. Yet we cannot 
 but regret that much that would interest 
 us has been lost for ever; those many 
 peculiarities, those lights and shadows 
 which would have made us familiar with 
 the man, and given a graphic reality to 
 the portrait. Mr. Stewart was the per- 
 sonal friend of Adam Smith during many 
 of his latter years ; and for all that related 
 to him previously, it would have been the 
 easiest thing in the world to have col- 
 lected information and anecdote in the 
 society of Edinburgh. If it be one 
 object, as it must be presumed of the 
 biographer, to extend the fame of the 
 person whose life he undertakes to re- 
 cord, surely it must be obvious how 
 
 Plutarch Life of Alexander. 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 . LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 much is lost in this respect by this par- 
 tial mode of exhibiting him. 
 
 " The else unvalued circumstances in 
 the lives of literary men" (says Mr. 
 Mackenzie in his " Memoir of the Life 
 of John Home") " acquire an interest 
 with the reader, proportionate to that 
 which the writings of the author have 
 excited ; and we are anxious to know 
 every little occurrence which befel him, 
 who was giving, at the period when 
 these occurrences took place, the pro- 
 duct of his mind to the public. We are 
 anxious to know how the world treated 
 a man who was labouring for its instruc- 
 tion or amusement, as well as the effect 
 which his private circumstances had on 
 his literary productions, or the com- 
 plexion, as one may term it, which those 
 productions borrowed from the incidents 
 of his life. These considerations afford an 
 apology for the narratives of the compa- 
 ratively unimportant occupations which 
 the world peruses with so much interest 
 they help that personification of an 
 author which the reader of his work so 
 naturally indulges ; and if they some- 
 times put him right in his estimate of 
 the influence of genius or feeling upon 
 conduct, they serve at the same time as a 
 moral lesson on the subject, and a mark 
 as it were' of the unexpected shores or 
 islands, sometimes it may be rocks or 
 quicksands, on the chart of life. ,, 
 
 Section 2. From the birth of Dr. 
 Smith till the publication of the 
 " Theory of Moral Sentiments:' 
 
 Adam Smith was born at Kirkaldy, in 
 Fifeshire, on the 5th of June, 1723. 
 His father was comptroller of the cus- 
 toms at that place, and had in early life 
 practised as a writer to the signet in 
 Edinburgh. He had been for some years 
 private secretary to the Earl of Loudon, 
 when he received his appointment to the 
 customs at Kirkaldy. His wife was the 
 daughter of Mr. Douglas, of Strathenry ; 
 and Adam was the only issue of their 
 marriage. His mother lived long enough 
 to enjoy the celebrity of her son ; but he 
 had the misfortune never to have known 
 the care and affection of his father, 
 whose death took place a few months 
 previous to the birth of his distinguished 
 offspring. His constitution during in- 
 fancy, we are informed, was weak and 
 sickly, and required the tenderest solici- 
 tude of his surviving parent for the pre- 
 servation of his life. It is remarkable 
 that in this respect a nearly similar for- 
 
 tune should have attended two of the 
 most remarkable men whom Scotland 
 has produced. It was the fate of Hume 
 to lose his father in his infancy, and to 
 owe, like Smith, to a widowed mother, all 
 the protection and care so requisite at that 
 early period. The mother of our young 
 philosopher was, by some persons, ac- 
 cused of over-indulging her son, but the 
 indulgence of the parent was best vindi- 
 cated by the growing temper and dis- 
 position of the child ; and Mrs. Smith 
 during her long life (which extended till 
 within twelve years of the death of her 
 son) had never occasion to reproach her- 
 self for any indiscreet kindness, but had 
 the happiness to see her parental care 
 acknowledged to the hour of her death, 
 by every attention which filial affection 
 could prompt. 
 
 An accident befel him when he was 
 about three years of age, which, if it had 
 not proved fatal to his life, might have 
 strangely altered his future destiny, and 
 might thus, perhaps, have influenced, in 
 no small degree, the progress of political 
 science in Europe. He had been on a 
 visit to his uncle, Mr. Douglas of Strath- 
 enry ; and as he was one day amusing 
 himself at the door of the house, he was 
 carried off by a party of gipsies. Hap- 
 pily he was very soon missed by his 
 uncle, who having learned that a set of 
 vagrants had recently passed that way, 
 pursued and overtook them in Leslie 
 Wood with feelings with which it is 
 easy to sympathize, even without refer- 
 ence to the importance of the life he had 
 preserved. 
 
 When the period arrived at which it 
 was deemed proper that he should be 
 sent to school, he was placed under the 
 care of Mr. David Miller, who then 
 taught the school at Kirkaldy, a person 
 who enjoyed no inconsiderable reputa- 
 tion as a teacher in his day, and whb had 
 the fortune to educate, about the same 
 period, a few men of greater eminence 
 in after life than are frequently to be 
 found registered in so obscure a semi- 
 nary. With some of these Smith con- 
 tracted an intimacy which lasted during 
 their lives. We are not exactly in- 
 formed of the time when he was placed 
 under Mr. Miller's care, but we know 
 that he remained with him till he at- 
 tained his fourteenth year. His great 
 love of books, even in those early years, 
 attracted the notice of his schoolfel- 
 lows, as did the extraordinary powers of 
 his memory, and those habits of mental 
 abstraction for which he was remarkable 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 throughout life. His love of reading was 
 indulged and strengthened the more, 
 owing to the weakness of his constitu- 
 tion, which prevented his joining in the 
 more active pastimes of his companions. 
 Their fondness for him was not lessened 
 by habits which schoolboys in general 
 might be apt to regard as unsocial, but 
 it arose from the excellence of his tem- 
 per, and the warm and generous feelings 
 which distinguished him. 
 
 It is to be regretted that we know so 
 little of the nature of his reading at this 
 period of his life. That he was well 
 grounded in the dead languages, and 
 that the classic writers of Greece and 
 Rome were favourite objects of his 
 study whilst he was under the care of 
 Mr. Miller, may safely be presumed. 
 His works afford abundant evidence of 
 the extent of his acquirements in this 
 department of literature, a relish for 
 which never deserted him in after life, 
 even amidst the profound inquiries 
 which occupied his attention while en- 
 gaged in the composition of his greatest 
 work. Had Dr. Smith, however, like 
 Gibbon, become his own biographer, or 
 like Johnson, had he had the fortune to 
 leave behind him such a chronicler as 
 Bos well, we might then have seen, 
 perhaps in the earliest unprescribed 
 studies of the recluse student at Kir- 
 kaldy, the first indications of that ten- 
 dency of mind and mode of thinking 
 which gave promise of the future author 
 of the " Wealth of Nations." 
 
 In 1737, at the age of fourteen,' he 
 left Kirkaldy, and was removed to the 
 University of Glasgow, where he had the 
 happiness of studying under Dr. Francis 
 Hutcheson, of whom he always spoke, 
 as he has written, in terms of the highest 
 admiration. The lectures of that dis- 
 tinguished professor may be fairly con- 
 sidered as having first directed his views 
 to that branch of ethical philosophy so 
 beautifully illustrated in the " Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments," which he after- 
 wards gave to the world, and in which 
 he has equal merit in having confirmed 
 what was right, and corrected what was 
 wrong in the speculations of his elo- 
 quent tutor. It is said, however, that 
 Mathematics and Natural Philosophy 
 engaged the greater portion of his at- 
 tention during his residence at Glasgow ; 
 but his " History of Astronomy" in the 
 Posthumous Essays is the only one of 
 his writings in which we discover much 
 of the fruits of his acquaintance with 
 those sciences. His illustrations are al- 
 
 most always drawn from history, poetry, 
 and polite literature; ?and, though he 
 prized the persons and the characters 
 of mathematicians and natural philoso- 
 phers, and has judged highly (perhaps 
 partially) of the tendency of such stu- 
 dies upon the temper and morals of the 
 individual*, it is quite clear that they 
 were neither so congenial to his taste, 
 nor did he estimate their importance to 
 the interests of mankind as being in any 
 respect equal to that of other branches 
 of philosophy, and those more especially 
 which he afterwards himself so largely 
 illustrated and advanced. To these 
 latter, therefore, to the history of man- 
 kind, to the moral, economical, and po- 
 litical phases which are presented in its 
 progress, we may be assured, without 
 any particular testimony, that his atten- 
 tion was very early directed, and for a 
 long period of years in a great measure 
 confined. But we have one fact that 
 goes strikingly in proof of this, which is 
 interesting on many accounts, and not 
 the least so as pointing out the first and 
 only book which we know to have been 
 read by himabout this period, and which 
 must have been read from love alone, 
 since it was read by stealth. 
 
 In 1740, after three years spent at 
 Glasgow, he was removed to the uni- 
 versity of Oxford, and entered at Baliol 
 College as an exhibitioner on Snell's 
 foundation. It would appear that 
 shortly after his arrival there, from some 
 cause or other he had given occasion to 
 suspect that his private hours were 
 not always devoted to such books as the 
 discipline of Oxford prescribes to its 
 students ; and it was determined there- 
 fore by the heads of the college, with 
 more of zeal than honour, that the young 
 philosopher from the north should be 
 taken by surprise in his chamber, in 
 order to ascertain whether the nature of 
 his studies was really orthodox or not. 
 Unluckily, he was found reading the 
 " Treatise of Human Nature," then re- 
 cently published, and the discovery was 
 of course followed by a severe repri- 
 mand and the forfeiture of the forbidden 
 volume. Smith, at that time, knew 
 perhaps nothing more of the book he 
 was perusing than that it was the pro- 
 duction of a young Scotchman a work, 
 which as the author of it said himself, 
 "fell dead-born from the press," little 
 known and a good deal decried, but 
 recommended to Smith by the subject 
 
 * Vide Theory of Moral Sent., Part III., Ch. 2. 
 
 B2 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 of which it treats, by his love of meta- 
 physics, and the profound and original 
 speculations which it contained; as 
 inviting to the young and free inquirer 
 as they were alarming to the heads of 
 the university. It was not till some 
 years after this that the immortal author 
 of the work in question became known to 
 his young disciple, and that that enduring 
 friendship was cemented betwixt them, 
 which both of them have taken pains to 
 record " a friendship on both sides 
 founded on the admiration of genius and 
 the love of simplicity," as Mr. Stewart 
 has beautifully expressed it, and which, 
 without biassing the judgment of Smith, 
 must have exalted the pride and the 
 pleasure which he felt, when years after 
 this, he cited him in the " Wealth of 
 Nations" in language which many have 
 thought savoured rather of the warmth 
 of friendship than the calmness of sober 
 judgment, as by far the most illustrious 
 philosopher and historian of the present 
 age*. 
 
 When Smith was sent to Oxford, it 
 had been the intention of his family that 
 he should study for the Church of Eng- 
 land. He remained seven years at that 
 renowned seat of learning; but long 
 before he left it, not finding the ecclesi- 
 astical profession suited to his taste, he 
 had abandoned all such intention, and 
 preferred the hopes of such small emo- 
 lument as his literary attainments might 
 procure for him in his own country, to 
 the higher prospects which the prudence 
 of his friends had pointed out. As there 
 is every reason to admire the independ- 
 ence of mind which induced him to 
 abandon those prospects, we can have 
 none to regret it on any other ground, 
 from the direction which was thus given 
 to the studies and the labours of his 
 future life. There is no doubt that had 
 Dr. Smith voluntarily made the Church 
 his profession, he would have adorned it 
 by genius and learning, that the purity 
 of his life would have added force to 
 the precepts which it would have been 
 his duty to inculcate as a Christian 
 teacher. But this advantage would 
 have been too dearly purchased. The 
 Church would more easily find a sub- 
 stitute for Smith as one of its ministers, 
 than the world might have found one 
 like him, capable of unfolding for its 
 instruction those laws equally divine in 
 their origin and beneficent in their results 
 when rightly apprehended, which regulate 
 
 Book v. Ch. 1. 
 
 the order and advance the moral and 
 political condition of society. The mind 
 of Smith, which found in such subjects a 
 boundless field for his contemplations, 
 might have been confined, and at length 
 contracted, by the professional study of 
 theological learning. The great truths 
 of religion are as simple as they are sub- 
 lime ; and their simplicity renders use- 
 less much that human ingenuity can do, 
 while their sublimity defies it. To know 
 God, says Seneca, is to worship him. 
 And much of this knowledge is attained 
 by looking attentively upon the glories 
 of his creation. 
 
 It is to be lamented that we know so 
 little of the life of Smith during that 
 part of it which was passed at Oxford. 
 What he thought of that university, of 
 its discipline and its studies, he told the 
 world many years after in a memorable 
 passage of the "Wealth of Nations*/* 
 which has never been forgiven by the 
 worshippers of Oxford, and by all those 
 who are prone to consider it a crime 
 to point out the defects of any an- 
 cient institution. Strange it may seem 
 that there should always be a num- 
 ber of persons prone to such a course, 
 seeing that the corruptions and abuses 
 which are incident to establishments of 
 this kind, like the diseases in the animal 
 body, have a natural tendency to bring 
 on decay, and that the best friend to 
 such institutions, like the best physi- 
 cian, is he who first discovers the dis- 
 order a discovery necessarily antece- 
 dent to the suggestion of the remedy. 
 Yet there are few mistakes so common 
 as this in the world, and few more fatal 
 to its improvement. It is the error of 
 preferring the means to the end, the 
 mere instrument, an instrument often 
 worn out, and sometimes become useless, 
 to the excellent purposes it was designed 
 to work. It may be proper to enlarge a 
 little upon this topic, on account of the 
 unjust prejudice that has been excited 
 against Dr. Smith, in consequence of his 
 animadversions upon Oxford, and is con- 
 stantly excited for the worst purposes 
 against men like him, whose enlightened 
 and benevolent efforts for the improve- 
 ment of public institutions, instead of 
 gratitude, have often experienced ca- 
 lumny and opposition. If Smith cen- 
 sured the discipline, or rather the want 
 of discipline, and the abandonment of 
 duty in the tutors and professors of Ox- 
 ford in his day, what possible motive 
 
 * Book T. Ok I. Part 3. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 could he have that is reconcileable with 
 the acknowledged qualities of the man, 
 but a zeal, a warm and indignant zeal, 
 it may be, in behalf of that learning and 
 science which was going to ruin, by 
 the neglect of those who were appointed 
 for their conservation? Of course it 
 is unnecessary to say that we refer not 
 to Oxford as it now is"; but if it has 
 been reformed since the days of Smith, 
 it has been reformed only, because 
 some have been found bold and wise 
 enough, like him and after him, to 
 proclaim that it stood in need of such 
 reformation. Far be it from us, and 
 from every friend of learning, to abate 
 that just veneration for the institu- 
 tions of our country ; those especially 
 which have the promotion of science 
 and of virtue for their object, which is 
 really their due due often to their an- 
 tiquity to the excellence of their 
 founders and to the long catalogue of 
 illustrious men who have been - bred 
 under them, and whose wisdom and 
 learning, whose virtue and heroism in 
 after life, seem, by a very natural and 
 pleasing illusion, to become identified 
 with the places in which they were edu- 
 cated. 
 
 Of the seven years which Smith passed 
 at Oxford little, indeed, has been re- 
 corded. We have scarcely an incident 
 relating to his private life, and as little 
 do we know respecting his intellectual 
 habits. Mr. Stewart presumes that he 
 cultivated with particular care, at this 
 time, the study of languages ; a study 
 for which it would seem he had an un- 
 usual fondness, and in which, at all 
 events, he is known to have excelled. 
 But Smith studied languages more as a 
 philosopher than a scholar, as they 
 serve to throw light on the manners, 
 the institutions, the modes of thought 
 peculiar to different nations and ages. 
 His knowledge of Greek was profound 
 and accurate; and his taste and high 
 admiration for the drama and literature 
 of the Greeks, preserved to the latest 
 period of his life, may be best traced to 
 the studies and the society in which he 
 mixed whilst at the university. Mr. 
 Dalzell, the distinguished professor of 
 Greek in the University of Edinburgh, 
 has borne testimony to the extent and 
 accuracy of Dr. Smith's acquaintance 
 with that noble language, as often dis- 
 played in conversation with him on 
 some of the nicest minutiae of grammati- 
 cal criticism. He was accustomed at this 
 time to exercise himself in translation 
 
 from various languages, chiefly French ; 
 and always spoke of it as useful for the 
 acquisition of the art of composition, 
 and for improvement in style. Gibbon 
 has recommended the same practice in 
 his own Memoirs, and a mode of study, 
 we may venture *o say, which was pur- 
 sued and praised by two such distin- 
 guished writers, is well worth the atten- 
 tion of all who cultivate literature. 
 
 Upon quitting Oxford, Smith returned 
 to Kirkaldy, where he continued to re- 
 side with his mother for two years, with 
 the most ardent application to study. 
 In 1748 he removed to Edinburgh, and 
 there commenced his connexion and 
 friendship with many of the distinguished 
 men who then adorned that city ; and 
 composed a society which included 
 within its range an extent and variety 
 of accomplishments, and a depth and 
 solidity of philosophy and of learning, 
 not easily equalled in any -other, at 
 any period of modern Europe. Among 
 its members we find a vast portion 
 of [the names familiar to us, from 
 having enriched the literature of our 
 country in various departments, about 
 the middle of the last century. Those 
 of Hume and Robertson, of Blair, of 
 Ferguson, of Lord Karnes and John 
 Home, are known to every reader ; but 
 there were others not less accomplished 
 though less known to posterity, whose 
 genius and talents added lustre, even to 
 so brilliant an assemblage of men ; Lord 
 Elibank, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Lord Lough- 
 borough, Sir William Pulteney, Lord 
 Monboddo, Dr. Logan ; these, and many 
 others, we find enumerated in the " Se- 
 lect Society," which was formed in Edin- 
 burgh about that period; the list of 
 which Mr. Stewart has preserved*. At 
 this time commenced his memorable 
 friendship with David Hume, the phi- 
 losopher who had led the way into those 
 very regions of moral and political in- 
 quiry, where Smith was destined to 
 follow, guided chiefly, as he always 
 confessed, and as was admitted by his 
 admirers, by that light which had been 
 shed upon them by the most subtle in- 
 tellect, perhaps, which ancient or modern 
 Europe has produced t. 
 
 It was not long after his settlement in 
 Edinburgh, that the friendly patronage 
 of Lord Karnes induced Smith to com- 
 
 * Appendix to the Life of Robertson. 
 
 t It is hardly necess.uy to remind thereaderthat, 
 in the panegyrics pronounced upon Hume, we refer 
 merely to his celebrated writings upon moral and 
 political science, and not to those upon religion. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 mence a co\irse of Lectures on Rhetoric 
 and Belles Lettres, which he continued 
 for a considerable time ; uhtil the high 
 reputation which he had earned, seconded 
 by the zeal of his friends, procured for 
 him, in 1751, the professorship of Logic 
 in the university of Glasgow. In 1752, 
 upon the death of Mr. Thomas Craigie, 
 he was advanced to the chair of Moral 
 Philosophy in the same University ; an 
 office which he continued to fill for thir- 
 teen years ; a period which he was ac- 
 customed to look back upon, as the most 
 useful and happy of his life. " It was in- 
 deed a situation," says his biographer, " in 
 which*he was eminently fitted to excel, 
 and in which the daily labours of his 
 profession were constantly recalling his 
 attention to his favourite pursuits, and 
 familiarising his mind to those important 
 speculations he was afterwards to com- 
 municate to the world." 
 
 It is greatly to be regretted, that no 
 part of his lectures whilst at Glasgow, 
 has been preserved ; but the following 
 brief and very interesting account of 
 them was furnished by one of Dr. 
 Smith's pupils, who afterward became 
 one of his warmest and latest friends. 
 There is no necessity to apologise for 
 presenting it to our readers, seeing that 
 we cannot better supply the vacuum 
 that would otherwise be left, owing to 
 the very scanty materials which remain 
 for a life of this distinguished man. 
 " In the professorship of logic," says 
 one of his students, "to which Dr. 
 Smith was appointed on his first intro- 
 duction to this university, he soon 
 saw the necessity of departing widely 
 from the plan that had been followed 
 by his predecessors ; and of directing 
 the attention of his pupils to studies of 
 a more interesting and useful nature 
 than the logic and metaphysics of the 
 schools. Accordingly after exhibiting 
 a general view of the powers of the 
 mind, and explaining so much of the 
 ancient logic as was requisite to gratify 
 curiosity, with respect to an artificial 
 method of reasoning, which had once 
 occupied the universal attention of the 
 learned, he dedicated the rest of his 
 time to the delivery of a system of 
 Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. The best 
 method of explaining and illustrating 
 the various powers of the human mind, 
 the most useful part of metaphysics, arises 
 from an examination of the several 
 ways of communicating our thoughts by 
 speech, and from an attention to the 
 principles of those literary composi- 
 
 tions, which contribute to persuasion or 
 entertainment. The first part of these 
 lectures, in point of composition, was 
 highly finished ; and the whole disco- 
 vered strong marks of taste and original 
 genius. His course of lectures on 
 moral philosophy was divided into four 
 parts. The first contained natural 
 theology, in which he considered the 
 proofs of the being and attributes of 
 God, and those principles of the human 
 mind on which religion is founded. The 
 second comprehended ethics strictly so 
 called ; in the third part, he treated at 
 more length of that branch of morality 
 which relates to justice. Upon this 
 subject he endeavoured to trace the 
 gradual progress of jurisprudence, both 
 public and private, from the rudest to 
 the most refined ages, and to point out 
 the effects of those arts, which con- 
 tribute to subsistence, and to the 
 accumulation of property, in pro- 
 ducing corresponding improvements in 
 law and government. In the last 
 part of his lectures, he examined 
 those political regulations, founded not 
 upon the principle of justice, but of 
 expediency, and which are calculated 
 to increase the riches, the power, and 
 the prosperity of a state : under this 
 view he considered the political insti- 
 tutions relating to commerce, to finances 
 to ecclesiastical and military esta- 
 blishments. In delivering his lectures, 
 he trusted almost entirely to extem- 
 porary elocution. His manner was plain 
 and unaffected, and as he seemed to be 
 always interested in his subject, he never 
 failed to interest his hearers. Each 
 discourse consisted of several distinct 
 propositions, which he endeavoured to 
 prove and illustrate. In his attempts to 
 explain them, he often appeared at first 
 not to be sufficiently possessed of the 
 subject, and spoke with some hesitation : 
 as he advanced, the matter seemed to 
 crowd upon him, his manner became 
 warm and animated, and his expression 
 easy and fluent. In points of con- 
 troversy, it was discernible that he con- 
 ceived an opposition to be made to his 
 opinions, and that he was led to sup- 
 port them with greater energy and ve- 
 hemence. By the fulness and variety of 
 his illustrations the subject swelled in 
 his hands, and acquired a dimension, 
 which, without a repetition of the same 
 views, was calculated to seize the atten- 
 tion of his audience, and to afford them 
 pleasure and instruction in following 
 the same object through all the diversity 
 

 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH 
 
 of shades and aspects in which it was 
 presented, and afterwards in tracing it 
 backwards to that original proposition 
 or general truth from which this beau- 
 tiful train of speculation had proceeded. 
 His reputation as a professor, was raised 
 very high ; and a multitude of students 
 from a great distance resorted to the 
 University merely upon his account. 
 Those branches of science which he 
 taught became fashionable at this 
 place, and his opinions were the chief 
 topics of discussion in clubs and literary 
 societies. Even the peculiarities in his 
 pronunciation, or manner of speaking, 
 became frequently the objects of imi- 
 tation." 
 
 In the year 1755, a few of the emi- 
 nent men then at the head of literature 
 in Scotland had established a journal 
 under the title of the " Edinburgh Re- 
 view ; " a title rendered familiar to the 
 readers of the present day by the cele- 
 brity of the literary periodical journal 
 under that name, which was established 
 in the same city about half a century 
 later. All that we learn of the plan and 
 object of this design'must be gathered 
 from the only two numbers which were 
 published of it. Smith, as is now well 
 known, was a contributor, and, amongst 
 other papers, was the author of the 
 " Review of Dr. Johnson's Dictionary," 
 then recently published, and of a very 
 interesting letter addressed to the Editor, 
 on the state of literature on the Conti- 
 nent, especially that of France. To the 
 curious in literary relics, even these 
 papers will be valuable, as appertain- 
 ing to so celebrated a man, and the 
 first of the productions of his genius 
 which were committed to the public. In 
 other respects it is perhaps unneces- 
 sary to say, that they can add nothing 
 to the fame of the writer. Dr. Ro- 
 bertson was also a contributor; Mr. 
 Hume was not ; and we are indebted to 
 Mr. Mackenzie for an amusing anecdote 
 accounting for the omission. Such, we 
 are told, was the extreme artlessness of 
 his character, that his friends feared 
 from it the discovery of their secret ; 
 as they also feared that their criticisms 
 would be disarmed of all their force, 
 from the extreme gentleness of his na- 
 ture, which could not tolerate even the 
 exercise of literary warfare. The Review 
 immediately on its appearance had at- 
 tracted, as might have been expected, 
 considerable notice; and Mr. Hume 
 was often expressing his astonishment 
 amongst his friends, that a production of 
 
 so much talent should be going forward 
 in the city in which he lived, and that 
 he, connected as he was with everjyf a 
 literary character of any distinction iq^ j**; 
 it, should know nothing of its authors. 
 It was determined at length that the 
 secret should be communicated to him 
 on a certain day, which was to be agreed 
 upon, provided he would swear to pre- 
 serve it. The day was fixed, it was at 
 a dinner where they were all expected 
 to meet ; the Review was mentioned ; 
 Hume expressed, as he had done before, 
 his surprise and curiosity on the sub- 
 ject, when he was told by one of the 
 company, that provided he would take 
 his oath not to divulge it, the secret 
 should be communicated to him. "But 
 how is the oath to be administered," 
 said David, with his usual pleasantry, 
 "to a man accused of so much scep- 
 ticism as I am ? you would not take my 
 Bible oath, but I will swear by the 
 ro xxkov, and the ro -r^ta-ov *, never to reveal 
 your secret." Unfortunately, either 
 from want of perseverance in those con- 
 nected with it, or of encouragement in 
 the public to any undertaking of the 
 kind, the Review was shortly after aban- 
 doned, and the distinguished partisan 
 whom they had thus enlisted, had no 
 opportunity of rendering his service in 
 its support. 
 
 The Select Society, which we have 
 before mentioned, was another asso- 
 ciation of which Smith was a member ; 
 formed for the purpose of philosophical 
 inquiry, and the cultivation of the art 
 of public speaking. It met for the first 
 time in the Advocates' Library in May 
 1754, and ever after during the sitting of 
 the Court of Session, every Friday even- 
 ing. The most distinguished in the 
 Society as speakers were Sir Gilbert 
 Elliot, Lord Elibank, and Dr. Robert- 
 son. " David Hume and Adam Smith," 
 says the memorial, " never opened their 
 lips ;" an intimation which may occasion 
 some surprise, when it is considered 
 that the two men thus remarked for 
 being mute, were, unquestionably, the 
 most original and profound thinkers in 
 the whole of that gifted assemblage, as 
 well as the most elegant, and (in Mr. 
 Hume's case) the most fluent of writers, 
 and possessing withal ample extent and 
 variety of learning and knowledge. But 
 however able and distinguished in the 
 chair of moral philosophy at Glasgow, 
 and whatever talents he was known to 
 possess in the circle of his friends, it 
 * The beautiful and the fitting. 
 
8 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 was not until the year 1759 that Dr. 
 Smith gave evidence to the world of 
 those talents, and laid the foundation 
 of his fame, by the publicacation of his 
 first great work, the " Theory of Moral 
 Sentiments," in which he may be sup- 
 posed to embody the result of a part of 
 his professional labours in the University 
 upon one of the most interesting pro- 
 blems in the whole range of philosophi- 
 cal inquiry. 
 
 There are few things more pleasing 
 with respect to a character or a com- 
 position of established genius, when we 
 contemplate them at a distance, than to 
 ascertain what were the opinions enter- 
 tained of them by their contemporaries. 
 Fortunately we possess the most satis- 
 factory and delightful of all evidence 
 upon this subject, concerning the work 
 before us; but before we enter upon 
 any remarks on this beautiful produc- 
 tion, we shall present our readers with a 
 letter from Mr. Hume, addressed to Dr. 
 Smith, immediately after its publication. 
 It would be an injury to withhold this 
 effusion of friendship, which possesses 
 the highest claim upon our attention, 
 from its connexion with one of the most 
 important epochs in the life of the emi- 
 nent person of whom we are writing. 
 Mr. Hume happened to be in London 
 during the publication of the "Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments," mixing in society 
 most distinguished for rank, taste, and 
 learning, and always anxious, with the 
 generosity and affection which charac- 
 terized him, to extend the fame and 
 glory of his friend. If the work had 
 been lost to the world, and we had pos- 
 sessed no other evidence of its merits, 
 and of the admiration excited by its 
 appearance, we might form a tolerable 
 estimate of both from the contents of 
 the following letter : 
 
 " London, April 12th, 1759. 
 " My dear Smith, 
 
 " I give you thanks for the agreeable 
 present of your ' Theory.' Wedder- 
 burn and I made presents of our copies 
 to such of our acquaintances as we 
 thought good judges and proper to 
 spread the reputation of the book. I 
 sent one to the Duke of Argyle, to Lord 
 Lyttleton, Horace Walpole, Soame Jen- 
 nyns, and Burke, an Irish gentleman 
 who lately wrote a very pretty treatise 
 on the Sublime. Millar desired my per- 
 mission to send one in your name to Dr. 
 "VVarburton. I have delayed writing to 
 you, till I could tell you something of 
 
 the success of the book, and could prog- 
 nosticate with some probability, whether 
 it should be finally damned to oblivion, 
 or be registered in the temple of immor- 
 tality. Though it has been published 
 only a few weeks, I think there appear 
 already such strong symptoms that I 
 can almost venture to foretel its fate. 
 
 In short, it is this But I have been 
 
 interrupted by a foolish impertinent visit 
 of one who has lately come from Scot- 
 land, He tells me that the University 
 of Glasgow intend to declare Rouet's 
 office vacant upon his going abroad with 
 Lord Hope. I question not but you 
 will have our friend Ferguson in your 
 eye, in case another project for procuring 
 him a place in the University of Edin- 
 burgh should fail. Ferguson has very 
 much polished and improved his treatise 
 on 'Refinement,'* and with some amend- 
 ments it will make an admirable book, 
 and discovers an elegant and a singular 
 genius. The Epigoniad' I hope will 
 do, but it will be somewhat up-hill work. 
 As I doubt not but you consult the re- 
 views sometimes, at present, you will see 
 in the Critical Review ' a letter upon 
 that poem, and I desire you to employ 
 your conjectures in finding out the au- 
 thor let me see a sample of your skill 
 in knowing hands by guessing at the 
 person. I am afraid of Lord Karnes's 
 * Law Tracts ;' a man might as well 
 think of making a fine sauce by a mix- 
 ture of wormwood and aloes, as an agree- 
 able composition by joining metaphysics 
 and Scotch law. However, the book I 
 believe has merit, though few people 
 will take the pains of diving into it. 
 But to return to your book, and its suc- 
 cess in this town, I must tell you 
 
 A plague of interruptions ! I ordered 
 myself to be denied, and yet here is one 
 that has broken in upon me again. He 
 is a man of letters, and we have had a 
 good deal of literary conversation. You 
 told me that you were curious of literary 
 anecdotes ; and therefore I shall inform 
 3 ou of a few that have come to my know- 
 ledge. I believe I have mentioned to 
 you already Helvetius's book 'Del'Es- 
 prit.' It is worth your reading, not for 
 its philosophy, winch I do not highly 
 value, but for its agreeable composi- 
 tionf. I had a letter from him a few 
 
 * The same which he afterwards published under 
 the title of " An Essay on the History of Civil 
 Society." 
 
 t This passage is of itself tolerably conclusive as 
 to the vulgar error of confounding Mr. Hume's philo- 
 sophy with that of the French materialists of the 
 last century and their English disciples in this. 
 Vide page 10, and note, p. 13. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 days ago, wherein he tells me that my 
 name was much oftener in the manu- 
 script, but that the censor of books at 
 Paris obliged him to strike it out. Vol- 
 taire has lately published a small work 
 called ' Candide, ou rOptimisme.' I 
 shall give you a detail of it. But what is 
 all this to my book ? say you. My 
 dear Mr. Smith, have patience ; compose 
 yourself to tranquillity : shew yourself a 
 philosopher in practice as well as pro- 
 fession : think on the emptiness and 
 rashness and futility of the common 
 judgments of men ; how little they are 
 regulated by reason in any subject, much 
 more in philosophical subjects, which so 
 far exceed the comprehension of the 
 vulgar. 
 
 Non si quid turbida Roma 
 
 Elevet, accedas: examenve improbum in ilia 
 Castiges trutina: nee te qusesiveris extra. 
 
 A wise man's kingdom is his own breast ; 
 or if he ever looks farther it will only be 
 to the judgment of a select few who are 
 free from prejudice, and capable of ex- 
 amining his work. Nothing indeed can 
 be a stronger presumption of falsehood 
 than the approbation of the multitude ; 
 and Phocion, you know, always sus- 
 pected himself of some blunder when he 
 was attended with the applauses of the 
 populace. Supposing, therefore, that 
 you have duly prepared yourself for the 
 worst of all these reflections, I proceed 
 to tell you the melancholy news, that 
 your book has been very unfortunate ; 
 for the public seem disposed to applaud 
 it extremely. It was looked for by the 
 foolish people with some impatience, and 
 the mob of literati are beginning already 
 to be very loud in its praises. Three 
 bishops called yesterday at Millar's shop, 
 in order to buy copies, and to ask ques- 
 tions about the author. The Bishop of 
 Peterborough said he had passed the 
 evening in a company where he heard it 
 extolled above all books in the world. 
 The Duke of Argyle is more decisive 
 than he uses to be in its favour ; I sup- 
 pose he either considers it as an exotic, 
 or thinks the author will be serviceable 
 to him in the Glasgow elections. Lord 
 Lyttleton says that Robertson, and 
 Smith, and Bower, are the glories of 
 English literature. Oswald protests he 
 does not know whether he has reaped 
 more instruction or entertainment from 
 it. But you may easily judge what re- 
 liance can be put on his judgment, who 
 has been engaged all his life in public 
 business, and who never sees any faults 
 in his friends. Millar exults and brags 
 
 that two-thirds of the edition are already 
 sold, and that he is now sure of success. 
 You see what a son of earth that is, to 
 value books only by the profit they may 
 bring him ; in that view I believe it 
 may prove a very good book. 
 
 ." Charles Townsend, who passes for 
 the cleverest fellow in England, is so 
 taken with the performance, that he said 
 to Oswald, he would put the Duke of 
 Buccleugh under the author's care, and 
 would make it worth his while to accept 
 of that charge. As soon as I heard this, 
 I called on him twice, with a view of 
 talking with him about the matter, and 
 of convincing him of the propriety of 
 sending that young nobleman to Glas- 
 gow ; for I could not hope that he could 
 offer you any terms which would tempt 
 you to renounce your professorship : 
 but I missed him. Mr. Townsend passes 
 for being a little uncertain in his resolu- 
 tions ; so perhaps you need not build 
 much on this sally. 
 
 " In recompense for so many mortify- 
 ing things, which nothing but truth could 
 have extorted from me, and which I 
 could easily have multiplied to a greater 
 number, I doubt not but you are so good 
 a Christian as to return good for evil, 
 and to flatter my vanity by telling me 
 that all the godly in Scotland abuse me 
 for my account of John" Knox and the 
 Reformation. I suppose you are glad to 
 see my paper end, and that I am obliged 
 to conclude with 
 
 " Your humble servant, 
 
 " David Hume." 
 
 Section 3. The " Theory of Moral 
 Sentiments^ 
 
 The question which Dr. Smith under- 
 took to investigate in the "Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments," however little re- 
 garded in later times, had evidently 
 attracted a very considerable share of at- 
 tention in the early part of the last century. 
 At the period when he applied himself 
 to that investigation, it had been pre- 
 viously illustrated by some of the most 
 ingenious and profound writers in our 
 language. The inquiry into the nature 
 and origin of virtue, had been treated of 
 by the elegant and sublime Lord Shaf- 
 tesbury, the logical and acute Bishop 
 Butler, the eloquent and ingenious Dr. 
 Hutcheson, and by Mr. Hume himself, 
 in his celebrated treatise entitled " An 
 Inquiry concerning the Principles of 
 Morals." 
 If it be true, as Mr. Stewart has 
 
10 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 said, and as Smith himself always de- 
 clared, that he owed more to the " Politi- 
 cal discourses" of Mr. Hume, in the 
 Wealth of Nations," than to any other 
 work which had appeared prior to his 
 time, it cannot be doubted that in the 
 work before us he was as much in- 
 debted to the principles unfolded in Mr. 
 Hume's " Inquiry." In their results, 
 the difference seems only to be this ; 
 that, whereas Hume had resolved our 
 moral perceptions into a general and 
 social affection, Smith had taken pains 
 to trace them, in all cases, to an imme- 
 diate sympathy with the individual act- 
 ing or acted upon. Upon nearly all 
 collateral and fundamental points they 
 were perfectly agreed. They were equally 
 decided in considering the question in 
 the outset as one of fact, to be determined 
 by the invariable nature and recorded 
 sentiments of mankind in all ages not 
 as one in which it is competent to philo- 
 sophers to establish a standard of vir- 
 tue, as was attempted by Cud worth and 
 Clarke, without reference to those senti- 
 ments, upon some preconceived dogma 
 of immutable right, and the eternal fit- 
 ness of things ; or upon any deduction 
 of a remote and contingent utility, ac- 
 cording to the system of Paley and God- 
 win, and others of the same school. 
 Mr. Hume had dismissed, with the con- 
 tempt it deserved, the doctrine of those 
 who had denied the reality of any dis- 
 tinction in morals. He had shewn by 
 the most unanswerable reasoning that 
 their origin was to be found in senti- 
 ment, not in the subtleties of abstract 
 ratiocination; and has overthrown for 
 ever, in the opinion of all who are capa- 
 ble of reasoning on such subjects, the 
 selfish system of ethics, revived by 
 Hobbes in the seventeenth century, who 
 had borrowed it from the school of 
 Epicurus, and who bequeathed it as a 
 theme of everlasting cavil and epigram- 
 matic paradox to that of Helvetius and 
 Rochefoucauld, and their followers, in 
 later days. Dr. Smith, though he makes 
 little direct reference to this system 
 founded on the absolute selfishness of 
 man, may be considered as having stated 
 and pronounced upon the question in the 
 opening passage of his work : " How 
 selfish soever man may be supposed," 
 says he, " there are evidently some prin- 
 ciples in his nature which interest him in 
 the fortune of others, and render their 
 happiness necessary to him, though he 
 derives nothing from it except the plea- 
 sure of seeing it ; of this kind is pity or 
 
 compassion, words appropriated to sig 
 nify our fellow feeling with the sorrow 
 of others." " Sympathy,'* he adds, 
 " though its meaning was originally the 
 same, may now, however, be made use 
 of to denote our fellow feeling with any 
 passion whatever." And upon this prin- 
 ciple he erects his system. 
 
 It is not our intention, nor is it, in- 
 deed, within the limits of the present 
 memoir, to attempt an analysis of this 
 very beautiful production. A brief out- 
 line of the leading principles on which 
 it rests may be stated as follows : 
 
 Upon our disposition to sympathize 
 with the passions and actions of other 
 men, is founded our sense of propriety 
 or impropriety upon that of sympa- 
 thizing with the motives which excite or 
 produce those actions and passions, is 
 founded our sense of merit or demerit ; 
 the disposition which prompts us to gra- 
 titude or resentment, to reward or to 
 punish the agent. An application of 
 the sentiments thus acquired by obser- 
 vation of the actions and character of 
 others, to the affections and conduct of 
 ourselves in the various relations of life 
 in which] we are called upon to act, to 
 judge, or to suffer, gives rise to a new 
 perception ; namely, the sense of duty, 
 the natural and final result of the joint 
 operation of those faculties of the heart 
 and the understanding, with which man 
 was endowed by his Maker, and not a 
 factitious principle of expediency, which 
 it was left for him to deduce from the 
 remote and contingent consequences of 
 the actions themselves. 
 
 Of the questions which are discussed 
 in the science of morals, the two prin- 
 cipal are these : What is the charac- 
 teristic property of virtue or merit? 
 And by what faculty or power are we 
 made cognizant of its existence? In 
 Hume's Inquiry upon this interesting 
 subject, he involved the solution of the 
 second question in investigating the 
 first. Smith seems to have pursued a 
 different course, and to have blended 
 the first question in his discussion of 
 the second. We have always consi- 
 dered that the scope of Mr. Hume's 
 reasoning upon this point has been 
 strangely misconceived. In shewing, as 
 he did conclusively to our minds, that 
 utility was an invariable attribute of all 
 virtue, his argument was limited, and 
 he obviously meant it to be limited to 
 the simple establishment of the fact; 
 to proving, that by the constitution of 
 man, and the natural economy of his 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 11 
 
 moral sentiments, there was no dispo- 
 sition of the mind, no action attended 
 with the general approbation of man- 
 kind, which would not be found in its 
 results beneficial to the species. He 
 proved that nature had so constituted 
 us, that by an involuntary sympathy we 
 are formed to approve of these qualities 
 even when we can have no personal in- 
 terest in the case nay, even when our 
 personal interest may be opposed to the 
 exercise of them. The sentiment or 
 emotion thus excited, is the effect of a 
 beneficent wisdom in the moral eco- 
 nomy of man; an economy which 
 proves the divine origin and government 
 of the world even more cogently than 
 the most exquisite of the merely phy- 
 sical arrangements so often adduced 
 for the purpose. But having shewn 
 this to be the fact, it never could be 
 intended, by that accurate and pro- 
 found thinker, to draw or to suggest 
 the inference, that in pursuit of any 
 imagined utility, any distant and gene- 
 ral advantage which might present it- 
 self to his narrow capacity, it was com- 
 petent for man to tamper with the order 
 of God, and in neglect of the active im- 
 pulses, the affections, and even the pre- 
 judices of his nature, which, by the di- 
 rection of his wisdom, were made sub- 
 servient to the most admirable ends 
 to erect a new standard of morals, and 
 pretend to shew that that mode of ac- 
 tion might be eoqpedient, which his 
 heart told him could never be right. 
 But whatever doubts may exist as to 
 the meaning of Hume, there can be 
 none with regard to that of Dr. Smith 
 upon this vital question; and it is in 
 the admirable and really philosophical 
 spirit which pervades and animates 
 every part of his system, and this more 
 especially, that we conceive the great 
 excellence of his work to consist ; for it 
 may assuredly be said of it, that if it 
 does not furnish the true "Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments," there can be no 
 hesitation in admitting that its author 
 has, at least, pointed out the way in 
 which that theory must be sought. 
 Smith saw, and strictly adhered to the 
 distinction, as Mr. Stewart has well re- 
 marked*, which has been too little ad- 
 verted to by ethical inquirers the dis- 
 tinction betwixt the final and the efficient 
 cause in all our moral determinations. 
 The chapter in which this fundamental 
 point is more directly enforced must be 
 
 Philos. Hum. Mind, vol. ii. 
 
 considered as one of the finest portions 
 of his book, exhibiting a specimen, per- 
 haps, of the most refined and philoso- 
 phical disquisition which human lan- 
 guage has ever embodied. It lies so 
 directly in our way, in the few observa- 
 tions we think it necessary to make upon 
 this production of Dr. Smith ; it lies so 
 much at the root of the main difficulty 
 involved in the inquiry concerning the 
 foundation of morals ; the most inte- 
 resting problem, perhaps, in metaphy- 
 sics ; it comes so strongly recommended 
 in consequence to all who can take any 
 interest in such discussions, that we 
 shall cite a part of it in this place, happy 
 if, by accident, we should be the means 
 in this way of introducing one of our 
 readers to an acquaintance with the 
 work in which it is to be found. 
 
 After having traced the growth of the 
 emotions which arise from the spectacle 
 of vice as well as of virtue, and having 
 shewn that the resentment which we 
 feel in the one case is the counterpart 
 of the gratitude we feel in the other ; 
 and that it is this emotion which, con- 
 stituting our immediate sense of de- 
 merit, prompts us to inflict the punish- 
 ment which the well-being of society 
 requires should be inflicted; and that 
 the Author of Nature did not leave it to 
 the slow and uncertain deductions of 
 our reason to find out the means of 
 attaining this end, but endowed us with 
 an instinctive feeling of approbation of 
 the very application most proper to 
 attain it, he proceeds to consider the 
 M utility of this constitution of nature." 
 11 In every part of the universe," he 
 says*, " we observe means adjusted with 
 the nicest artifice to the end which they 
 are intended to produce ; and in the me- 
 chanism of a plant or animal body, 
 admire how everything is contrived for 
 advancing the two great purposes of 
 nature, the support of the individual, 
 and the propagation of the species. But 
 in these, and in all such objects, we still 
 distinguish the efficient from the final 
 cause of their several motions and organi- 
 zations. The digestion of the food, the 
 circulation of the blood, and the secretion 
 of the several juices which are drawn 
 from it, are operations all of them ne- 
 cessary for the great purposes of animal 
 life ; yet we never endeavour to account 
 for them from those purposes as from 
 their efficient causes, nor imagine that 
 the blood circulates, or that the food 
 
 Theory of Moral Sent. yo). i. pari ii, sect. 2. 
 
12 
 
 LIFE OF BR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 digests of its own accord, and with a 
 view or intention to the purposes of cir- 
 culation or digestion. The wheels of the 
 watch are all admirably adjusted to the 
 end for which it was made the point- 
 ing,^ the hour : all their various motions 
 conspire, in the nicest manner, to pro- 
 duce this effect. If they were endowed 
 with a desire and intention to produce it, 
 they could not do it better : yet we never 
 ascribe any such desire or intention to 
 them, but to the watchmaker ; and we 
 know that they are put into motion by 
 a spring which intends the effect it pro- 
 duces as little as they do. But though, 
 in accounting for the operation of bo- 
 dies, we never fail to distinguish in this 
 manner the efficient from the final 
 cause, in accounting for those of the 
 mind, we are very apt to confound these 
 two different things with one another. 
 When by natural principles we are led 
 to advance those ends which a refined 
 and enlightened reason would recom- 
 mend to us, we are very apt to impute 
 to that reason, as to their efficient cause, 
 the sentiments and actions by which we 
 advance those ends, and to imagine that 
 to be the wisdom of man, which is in 
 reality the wisdom of God. Upon a 
 superficial view, this cause seems suffi- 
 cient to produce the effects which are 
 ascribed to it, and the system of human 
 nature seems to be more simple and 
 agreeable when all its different opera- 
 tions are in this manner deduced from a 
 single principle." After distinguishing 
 in this way the efficient from the final 
 cause of our moral impressions, our first 
 perceptions of right and wrong, after 
 shewing that though it is absolutely 
 necessary for the subsistence of society 
 that the laws of justice should be ob- 
 served, yet that it is not from a consi- 
 deration of this necessity that we origi- 
 nally approve of their enforcement 
 (though he admits that our regard for 
 them may often be confirmed, and may 
 sometimes require to be confirmed by 
 such consideration), he proceeds, " We 
 frequently hear the young and the licen- 
 tious ridiculing the most sacred rules 
 of morality, and professing, sometimes 
 from the corruption, but more fre- 
 quently from the vanity of their hearts, 
 the most abominable maxims of con- 
 duct. Our indignation rouses, and we 
 are eager to refute and expose such 
 detestable principles. But, though it is 
 their intrinsic hatefulness and detest- 
 ableness which originally inflame us 
 against them, we are unwilling to assign 
 
 this as the sole reason why we condemn 
 them, or to pretend that it is merely 
 because we ourselves hate and detest 
 them. The reason, we think, would not 
 appear to be conclusive. Yet why 
 should it not; if we hate and detest 
 them, because they are the natural and 
 proper objects of hatred and detesta- 
 tion ? But when we are asked, why we 
 should not act in such or such a man- 
 ner, the very question seems to suppose, 
 that to those who ask it this manner of 
 acting does not appear to be for its own 
 sake the natural and proper object of 
 these sentiments. We must shew there- 
 fore, that it ought to be so for the sake of 
 something else ; and the consideration 
 which first occurs to us is the disorder 
 and confusion of society which would 
 result from the universal prevalence of 
 such practices. We seldom fail there- 
 fore to insist upon this topic. That it 
 is not a regard, however, to the preser- 
 vation of society, which originally in- 
 terests us in the punishment of crimes 
 committed against individuals, may be 
 demonstrated by many obvious consi- 
 derations. All men, even the most 
 stupid and unthinking, abhor perfidy 
 and injustice, and delight to see them 
 punished. But few men have reflected 
 upon the necessity of justice to the exist- 
 ence of society, however obvious that 
 necessity may appear. The concern 
 which we take in the fortune and happi- 
 ness of individuals does not, in common 
 cases, arise from that which we take in 
 the fortune and happiness of society. We 
 are no more concerned for the destruction 
 or loss of a single man, because the man 
 is a member or part of society, and be- 
 cause we should be concerned for the de- 
 struction of society , than we are concerned 
 for the loss of a single guinea, because 
 this guinea is part of a thousand guineas, 
 and because we should be concerned for 
 the loss of the whole sum. In neither 
 case does our regard for the individuals 
 arise from our regard for the multitude ; 
 but in both cases our regard for the mul- 
 titude is compounded, and made up of 
 the particular regards which we feel for 
 the different individuals of which it is 
 composed. As when a small sum is 
 unjustly taken from us, we do not so 
 much prosecute the injury from a regard 
 to the preservation of our whole fortune 
 as from a regard to that particular sum 
 which we have lost ; so when a single 
 man is injured or destroyed, we demand 
 the punishment of the wrong that has 
 been done to him, not so much from a 
 
LIFE OF BR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 13 
 
 concern for the "general interest of so- 
 ciety, as from a concern for that very in- 
 dividual who has been injured." 
 
 In a subsequent part of his work, 
 wherein he treats of the " Influence of 
 fortune upon our t Moral Sentiments," 
 and shews that, though it is the intention 
 or affection of the heart, the propriety 
 or impropriety, the beneficence or hurt- 
 fulness of the design that all praise or 
 blame which can be bestowed upon an 
 action must ultimately belong; yet, 
 nevertheless, the result of those actions, 
 the actual consequences which often 
 proceed from them, do materially affect 
 our sentiments : He traces, in the same 
 admirable spirit, the final cause of this 
 inconsistency in our judgments; and 
 remarks that " that necessary rule of 
 justice, that men in this life are account- 
 able for their actions only, not for their 
 designs or intentions, is founded upon 
 this salutary and useful irregularity in 
 human sentiments concerning merit and 
 demerit, which appears at first sight so 
 absurd and unaccountable. But," he 
 concludes, " every part of nature, when 
 attentively surveyed, equally demon- 
 strates the providential care of its 
 Author ; and we may admire the wis- 
 dom and the goodness of God even in 
 the weakness and the folly of men." 
 
 We have the greater pleasure in citing 
 these passages, because we think that 
 we may read in them the best refuta- 
 tion of that theory of expediency, which 
 nothing but the reputation of Dr. Paley 
 could ever have recommended to the 
 world* a theory which Mr. Stewart 
 has characterised in a strain of indig- 
 nant eloquence, that well became him 
 on such a topic, as one which, " absolv- 
 ing men from the obligations imposed 
 upon them by the moral constitution of 
 human nature, abandons every indivi- 
 dual to the guidance of his own narrow 
 views concerning the complicated in- 
 terests of societyt." 
 
 It may not perhaps be unworthy of 
 observation, before we close these few 
 remarks upon the " Theory of Moral Sen- 
 
 * It may be allowed us to state in a few words 
 what we have always considered to be the wide dif- 
 ference upon this great point, betwixt the doc- 
 trine of Mr. Huine and that of Dr. Paley, which 
 it is surprising to see so often confounded. Hume 
 proved from the phenomena of human nature as a 
 fact, that whatever in moral conduct was intrinsi- 
 cally right, was useful. Paley laid it down as a 
 rule, that whatever was expedient, was right ; and 
 thus converted a position of undeniable truth and 
 beauty into an hypothesis full of fajlacy, as the 
 solution of a problem pregnant with evil in its con- 
 sequences, when considered as a precept. 
 
 f Philos. Hum. Mind, vol. ii. Ch. 4, Sect. 6. 
 
 timents," that the same principle of sym- 
 pathy as a source of morals, from 
 which Smith has deduced his system, 
 appears to have been referred to by Poly- 
 bius, in a remarkable passage of his 
 history, for the same purpose. It is 
 rather long for a quotation ; but as it is 
 curious in itself, and as Polybius is not 
 a writer in every one's hands, we shall 
 transcribe part of it in a note below ; 
 when possibly it may appear, after all, 
 that the coincidence is rather in ex- 
 pression than in substance, and that it 
 applies rather more strikingly to the 
 doctrine of sympathy with utility, (the 
 theory of Hume) than to that of sym- 
 pathy as unfolded by Smith*. 
 
 Section 4. From the publication of 
 the " Theory of Moral Sentiments" to 
 that of the "Wealth of Nations" 
 
 We have seen, from the letter which 
 Mr. Hume addressed to our author, 
 something of the impression which was 
 produced by the publication of his first 
 great work. We shall shortly perceive 
 that the hope therein expressed, that it 
 might lead to an interesting connexion 
 with the Duke of Buccleugh was not 
 idly formed. In the meantime, how- 
 ever, it made no change in the life and 
 habits of Dr. Smith. He continued his 
 professorship in the University of Glas- 
 gow for a period of four years after this, 
 directing his attention, and that of his 
 students, somewhat less to that depart- 
 ment of ethics, of which he had pre- 
 sented to the world his views, and 
 treating more particularly of the sub- 
 jects which come within the range of 
 jurisprudence, and political philosophy. 
 Of the long and profound attention he 
 had devoted to this latter branch of 
 moral science, he has bequeathed an im- 
 perishable monument to the world in 
 
 * " For man, who among all the various kinds of 
 animals is alone endowed with the faculty of reason, 
 cannot, like the rest, pass over such actions (ingra- 
 titude and injustice,) with indifference ; but reflect- 
 ing on what he sees, and comparing the future with 
 the present, will not fail to express^ his indignation 
 at this injurious treatment, to which, as he foresees, 
 he may at some time be exposed. Thus it is cer- 
 tain that all men must be shocked by such ingrati- 
 tude through sympathy with the resentment of their 
 neighbour, and from an apprehension also that the 
 case may be their own. And from hence arises in 
 the mind of man, a certain sense of the nature, and 
 force of duty, in which consists both the beginning 
 and the end of justice; and thus it is that the people 
 begin to discern the nature of things, honourable 
 or base, and in what consists the difference between 
 them ; and to perceive that the former, on account 
 of the advantage that attends them, are fit to be 
 admired and imitated, and the latter to be detested 
 and avoided." Polybius, Hist., Book vi. Ex. 1, 
 Ch. i. Hampton's Translation. 
 
H 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 his " Wealth of Nations." His views 
 upon the theory of jurisprudence, except 
 inasmuch as he has embodied some of 
 its important principles in that work, 
 were confined to his lectures ; though 
 it is clear from an intimation conveyed 
 in the closing paragraph of the " Moral 
 Sentiments," and still more so from the 
 advertisement he prefixed to the last 
 edition of that work, written only a few 
 months before his death, that it was a 
 subject which, during the whole of his 
 life, he had deeply meditated, and upon 
 which he had always designed to com- 
 municate his labours to the public, if 
 the engagements with which he was 
 occupied during the latter period of it 
 had not interfered to prevent him. 
 
 For himself, Dr. Smith has undoubt- 
 edly done enough, and so far as regards 
 his own interest and his fame, it would 
 be idle to indulge in regrets. For the 
 world however, and for the interests 
 of science, perhaps a greater loss has 
 been rarely sustained than in the un- 
 fortunate circumstances, whatever they 
 were, which concurred to deprive it of 
 this most valuable portion of his labours. 
 The enlarged views he had evidently 
 formed of the objects and principles of 
 legislation ; the glimpses which we oc- 
 casionally catch in his other writings of 
 the spirit in which he was accustomed 
 to contemplate such subjects ; the pure 
 and lofty sources to which he was ac- 
 customed to refer for those principles ; 
 all assure us of the invaluable addition 
 which would have been made to this 
 department of philosophy, had it been 
 illustrated by his pen. 
 
 From this, however, and from his 
 academical labours generally, he was 
 withdrawn in the year 1763, by an in- 
 vitation to accompany the Duke of Buc- 
 cleugh on his travels ; an appointment 
 which was principally recommended to 
 him at the time, by the desire which he 
 had conceived of visiting the continent. 
 The proposal, which was made to him 
 through Mr. Charles Townsend, was 
 liberal in the extreme ; as might be ex- 
 pected to be made to such a man, to 
 induce him to quit the scene of his ho- 
 nourable and useful labours, the society 
 of his friends, and those studious de- 
 lights, known only to the pure and de- 
 voted lovers of truth, which constitute 
 the highest charm of human existence. 
 
 It is well known that, whatever plea- 
 sure Smith might derive from his tour, 
 or whatever advantage from his con- 
 nexion with the noble family of Buc- 
 
 cleugh, the separation from the univer- 
 sity of Glasgow was a source to him 
 of very heartfelt regret. An interest- 
 ing and characteristic anecdote has 
 been recorded of him, relative to his 
 resignation of his duty as professor 
 there, which is well worth preserving. 
 
 It was at the latter end of his course 
 of lectures, that it became necessary for 
 him to take his departure, and it was 
 well ascertained that he had been at ex- 
 ceeding pains to provide, in a friend, a 
 very competent successor for that part 
 of the course which yet remained un- 
 finished. He had suffered the greatest 
 possible anxiety upon this point, and 
 had done everything that might satisfy 
 the most scrupulous of his friends and 
 his pupils. This, however, did not satisfy 
 the conscientious delicacy of Dr. Smith. 
 He was of course aware of the high 
 estimation in which he was held in the 
 university, and the just value which was 
 put upon his lectures. The day at 
 length arrived when he was to address 
 the students of his class for the last time, 
 and it was a moment deeply affecting 
 to both parties. He took leave of them 
 in a tone of affection and regret, which 
 enlivened their mutual sorrow ; and 
 when they were about to depart, he 
 called them severally to his chair, and 
 tendered to each of them, carefully fold- 
 ed in paper, the amount of the fee 
 which he had received for the whole 
 course of his lectures, notwithstand- 
 ing so small a portion of it only re- 
 mained unfinished. This was of course 
 refused resolutely, as by acclamation ; 
 the professor, however, persisted in his 
 endeavour, assuring them that he should 
 not be satisfied otherwise, and that he 
 should quit them under the impression 
 of having failed in his duty, and of 
 having wronged them, if they did not 
 take back the fee for the entire course 
 of lectures, which circumstances pre- 
 vented him from completing. It was 
 in vain that they assured him how far 
 they were overpaid by the smallest por- 
 tion of his labour bestowed upon them 
 for the trifling emolument he derived ; 
 how real a wrong they should be com- 
 mitting to consent to such a proposal, 
 and, in short, their firm determination 
 by no means to listen to it. The pro- 
 fessor was sensibly touched by their 
 generous avowal, but he was not to be 
 moved from his purpose. When 
 they were at last on the point of 
 quitting the lecture - room, he seized 
 hold of the foremost of the students, and 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 15 
 
 absolutely forced the money into his 
 hands, exclaiming, with his accustomed 
 ardour, " Nay, gentlemen, I will not 
 suffer this ; it is a matter of conscience 
 with me, and I must have my way ;" 
 and in this manner seeing him so deeply 
 concerned in his object, they were 
 obliged to submit ; and thus to termi- 
 nate a struggle of very unusual occur- 
 rence, equally honourable to the deli- 
 cacy and generosity of the professor, 
 and the attachment of his pupils. 
 
 It may safely be said, without dispa- 
 ragement to the many eminent succes- 
 sors of Dr. Smith, that his removal from 
 the chair of moral philosophy was per- 
 haps the greatest loss which the Uni- 
 versity of Glasgow has sustained. Of 
 his merits and his method as a lecturer, 
 we have presented our readers with an 
 interesting memorial in the last section ; 
 but there is a circumstance related of 
 him which may still better serve to 
 evince the pains and sagacity which 
 he exerted in the performance of his 
 duty, and may suggest a standing 
 and instructive lesson to both public 
 and private teachers in all times and 
 
 E laces. It is said that in the delivery of 
 is daily lectures, his observation had 
 been drawn, in an especial manner, to a 
 certain student of his class, whose gene- 
 ral habit of close and riveted attention 
 to what was going on, became a mark or 
 indication to the professor of the degree 
 in which he succeeded in the develope- 
 ment and expression of his subject 
 that he was accustomed to fix his eye 
 upon the student in question, and as 
 long as he found that he retained his 
 hold of his attention, he felt satisfied; 
 but whenever he remarked any relaxa- 
 tion in his manner, whether in the wan- 
 dering expression of his countenance, or 
 the position of his body, which seemed 
 to indicate a diminishing interest in the 
 lecture I took this as a valuable 
 admonition," he used to say ; " I was 
 sure that there was something wanting 
 either of connection in my reasoning 
 or of sufficient fulness and perspicuity 
 in my exposition, and I immediately 
 paused. I recapitulated what I had 
 been saying I explained I re-argued 
 I endeavoured further to illustrate my 
 propositions, and I never felt quite sa- 
 tisfied that I was going on right, until I 
 had regained complete hold of my mo- 
 nitor, till I saw by the resumption of 
 his usual manner and gaze that I pos- 
 sessed the whole of his attention." 
 Having disengaged himself as well as 
 
 he could from the ties that bound him 
 to Glasgow, Smith quitted that city in 
 January, 1764, and joined the Duke of 
 Buccleugh in London, where they re- 
 mained together a couple of months. In 
 March they set out on their route to 
 Paris, and had the fortune to be joined 
 at Dover by Sir James Macdonald, who 
 accompanied them as far as the French 
 capital, where they parted ; Sir James 
 on his way to Italy, where he died within 
 two years after, in the twenty-fifth year 
 of his age. Were there no other testi- 
 mony to the merit of this accomplished 
 person, it would be sufficient to shew 
 that he enjoyed in so high a degree the 
 esteem and admiration of two such men 
 as Dr. Smith and Mr. Hume ; and a 
 letter which the latter addressed to 
 Smith, on the occasion of his death, 
 contains strong evidence of this " "Were 
 you and I together," says-he, " we should 
 shed tears at present for the death of 
 poor Sir James Macdonald: we could 
 not possibly have suffered a greater loss 
 than in that valuable young man." 
 
 It was about the same time when 
 Smith set out for the continent with 
 the Duke of Buccleugh, that his friend 
 Hume had been invited to join the em- 
 bassy of the Earl of Hertford at Paris. 
 Smith remained in that city only a few 
 days ; but before he left it we should 
 mention that he addressed the rector 
 of the University of Glasgow in form, 
 tendering his resignation of the chair he 
 had filled, and expressing himself as 
 might be expected on such an occasion. 
 * I was never more anxious" (he says, 
 in the conclusion of his letter) * for the 
 good of the college than at this moment ; 
 and I sincerely wish that, whoever is my 
 successor, he may not only do credit to 
 the office by his abilities, but be a com- 
 fort to the very excellent men with whom 
 he is likely to spend his life, by the pro- 
 bity of his heart and the goodness of his 
 temper." On the receipt of this letter, 
 the chair was declared to be vacant ; and 
 at a meeting of the heads of the univer- 
 sity the sense of the value of their late 
 professor, and the loss sustained by his 
 removal was recorded in the following 
 terms : 
 
 " The University cannot help express- 
 ing their sincere regret at the removal 
 of Dr. Smith, whose distinguished pro- 
 bity and amiable qualities procured him 
 the esteem and affection of his col- 
 leagues, and whose uncommon genius, 
 great abilities, and extensive learning, 
 did so much honour to this society ; his 
 
2G 
 
 LIFE OF BR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 elegant and ingenious ' Theory of Moral 
 Sentiments' having recommended him 
 to the esteem of men of taste and litera- 
 ture throughout Europe. His happy 
 talent of illustrating abstracted subjects, 
 and faithful assiduity in communicating 
 useful knowledge, distinguished him as 
 a professor, and at once afforded the 
 greatest pleasure and the most important 
 instruction to the youth under his care." 
 
 On quitting Paris, Dr. Smith and the 
 Duke of Buccleugh proceeded to Tou- 
 louse, where they fixed their abode for 
 a year and a half ; enjoying the best so- 
 ciety of the place, and finding in new 
 manners and ..new modes of existence 
 fresh sources of interest and information 
 equally advantageous to both parties 
 to Dr. Smith affording opportunities of 
 extending and confirming his previous 
 acquaintance with men and books ; and 
 perhaps having the effect of biassing his 
 judgment in some matters of taste and 
 literature, rather erroneously, in favour 
 of French criticism and genius, and of 
 certain pre-conceived theories to which 
 he was naturally inclined. 
 ! On quitting Toulouse, they spent the 
 autumn of that year in a tour through 
 the southern provinces of France and to 
 Switzerland. At Geneva they remained a 
 couple of months ; and returned to Paris 
 about Christmas 1765, where they conti- 
 nued till the month of October following. 
 
 It was at Paris, as we may well sup- 
 pose, that Smith, after all, enjoyed by far 
 the highest gratification which his jour- 
 ney afforded him. The capital, as Mr. 
 Hume used to say, is the true scene for 
 a man of letters ; and if any, surely it 
 was the capital of France at this period. 
 Mr. Hume himself was there only for a 
 short time after the arrival of his friend ; 
 but he was there long enough to in- 
 troduce him to the most distinguished 
 philosophers and men of learning then 
 living in Paris: D'Alembert, Helvetius, 
 Marmontel, Turgot, Quesnai, and many 
 others. The society of the two latter in 
 particular we may be assured, from the 
 congeniality of their sentiments upon 
 subjects which Smith was at that time 
 deeply meditating, must have been gra- 
 tifying to him in a degree not very easy to 
 conceive. It was that private and un- 
 reserved interchange of opinion in mat- 
 ters of moral and political science, with 
 men like these, equally enlightened with 
 himself, and animated by the same zeal 
 for the happiness of mankind, that con- 
 stituted his felicity ; for, in other respects, 
 the mere gaiety and brilliancy of Pari- 
 
 sian society were not adapted to his taste 
 and manners ; nor were his powers in 
 conversation such as fitted him to shine 
 amid its glare. 
 
 With Turgot and Quesnai he con- 
 tracted a very close intimacy. With the 
 former it was long supposed that he 
 maintained an epistolary correspondence 
 for a long period after his return to 
 Scotland, a circumstance which excited 
 naturally considerable interest, but of 
 which Mr. Stewart, who took some pains 
 to inquire into it, found reason to doubt 
 the truth. It is certain that no me- 
 morial of such correspondence existed 
 amongst Smith's papers, nor has any 
 been made public from those of Turgot. 
 It is well known, indeed, that Smith 
 had no fondness for letter-writing, nor 
 are we aware of three letters of his which 
 have ever appeared in print. As he 
 wrote few letters, it is equally to be re- 
 gretted that he kept no journal during 
 his travels, or if he did, that it was 
 amongst the other papers which he took 
 such anxious pains to secure the de- 
 struction of previous to his death. 
 
 Amongst the other eminent persons 
 with whom Smith became acquainted 
 whilst in Paris, and from whom he 
 received distinguished marks of re- 
 spect, was the family of the Duke de 
 la Rochefoucauld ; a circumstance 
 not unworthy of being recorded, inas- 
 much as his introduction to that accom- 
 plished and amiable man led to the sup- 
 pression in the latter edition of his 
 " Theory of Moral Sentiments" of a 
 rather severe animadversion upon the 
 author of the celebrated " Maxims," 
 which had been expressed in the first, 
 where Smith had associated the name of 
 Rochefoucauld with that of Mandeville. 
 There is a letter extant from the Duke 
 de la Rochefoucauld dated in 1778, ad- 
 dressed to Smith, transmitting to him a 
 new edition of the " Maxims," in which 
 he adverts with some pain to Dr. Smith's 
 censure, and offers a poor apology, 
 though the best that can be made, for a 
 very shallow and pernicious perform- 
 ance, which persons equally shallow 
 have taken for philosophy, but which 
 nobody would have thought it worth 
 while to remember or refute, if it 
 had not been written in epigrams. In 
 France he studied the principles of the 
 economists in their writings as well as 
 in their conversations ; and was perhaps 
 first led by the errors of that ingenious 
 and amiable sect, to the contemplation 
 of the more wide and just views to which 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 .17 
 
 his mind was opening. The fine arts also 
 and belles lettres, the poetry, and espe- 
 cially the drama of that country, sub- 
 jects well worthy the contemplation of 
 the philosopher, ensued no small share 
 of his attention. The imagination and 
 the arts which are addressed to it ; the 
 refined pleasures of which it is suscep- 
 tible, and the taste to appreciate those 
 pleasures, were then deemed not unwor- 
 thy the attention of a philosopher. The 
 principles upon which the arts are found- 
 ed, the origin and nature of the emo- 
 tions they excite, and the causes 
 which, in different ages and nations, 
 have diversified their character and 
 operation, are subjects which were not 
 only supposed to have some interest 
 in themselves, but which have been in- 
 vestigated by such metaphysicians and 
 economists as Hume and Smith, and 
 Berkeley and Dugald Stewart, from the 
 intimate and indissoluble connexion 
 which they hold with the philosophy of 
 the human mind ; and as embracing 
 an extensive and beautiful class of 
 phenomena which form part of the 
 great science of human nature. We 
 are pleased to record such things in the 
 character of Smith ; because, however 
 unimportant at other times, they are of 
 consequence now, when one of the first 
 of sciences is in danger of suffering in 
 public estimation from the narrow and 
 repulsive spirit which is occasionally 
 mingled in its discussions : and because 
 they shew that political economy, as a 
 study, is not incompatible with a love of 
 literature, and eloquence, and poetry ; 
 and assuredly not so with good taste 
 and good writing*. 
 
 Dr. Smith's own taste in literature, as 
 has been already hinted, was disposed 
 to the admiration of what has been 
 since denominated the classical, in con- 
 tradistinction to the romantic, school of 
 art. We do not remember, at this mo- 
 ment, a single reference to Shakspeare 
 in the whole of his writings ; while the 
 lofty praise he has taken occasion to 
 bestow upon the tragedies of Racine 
 and Voltaire, his allusions to Pope, 
 and encomium on Gray, exhibit more 
 positive testimony in proof of this taste. 
 But reserving what we have further to 
 say respecting his general intellectual 
 
 * It is but justice to say here, that we are most 
 happy to except from any censure implied in the 
 above observations, two distinguished professsors of 
 political economy we mean, Mr. Senior of Oxford, 
 and Mr. Maccnlloch of the University of London 
 both of whom have invariably written and spoken 
 in the spirit of their great master. 
 
 character and literary taste, for the con- 
 clusion of our memoir, we proceed to de- 
 tail the few remaining incidents of his life. 
 
 In October, 1766, Dr. Smith returned 
 to London, where he and the Duke of 
 Buccleujjh separated ; after having spent 
 three years together, without the slight- 
 est coolness or disagreement ; and, " on 
 my part," says the Duke, in a letter 
 which he addressed to Mr. Stewart, 
 " with every advantage that could be ex- 
 pected from the society of such a man. 
 We lived in friendship till the hour of 
 his death ; and I shall always retain the 
 impression of having lost a friend whom 
 I loved and respected, not only for his 
 great talents, but for every private 
 virtue." 
 
 Shortly after his return to England, 
 he went down to his native place, where 
 he continued to reside almost uninter- 
 ruptedly for the next ten years of his 
 life. An occasional visit to his friends 
 at Edinburgh, with a journey to London 
 once or twice in the interval, were his 
 only diversions from a course of intense 
 application. To his friends, to Mr. 
 Hume in particular, this severe seclu- 
 sion was a frequent matter of regret and 
 complaint. Hume had returned to 
 Edinburgh in 1669, after quitting his 
 engagement with Lord Hertford; and in 
 a letter written shortly after to Smith, 
 he says, (dating from his house in St. 
 James' Court, which commanded a 
 prospect of the Forth and the opposite 
 coast of Fife) " 1 am glad to have come 
 within sight of you; but as I would also 
 be within speaking terms of you, I wish 
 we could concert measures for that pur- 
 pose. 1 am mortally sick at sea, and 
 regard with horror and a kind of hydro- 
 phobia the great gulph that lies between 
 us. I am also tired of travelling, as 
 much as you ought naturally to be of 
 staying at home ; I therefore propose to 
 you to come hither, and pass some days 
 with me in this solitude. 1 want to 
 know what you have been doing, and 
 propose to exact a rigorous account of 
 the method in which you have employed 
 yourself during your retreat. I am po- 
 sitive you are in the wrong in many of 
 your speculations, especially where you 
 have the misfortune to differ from me. 
 All these are reasons for our meeting, 
 and I wish you would make me some 
 reasonable proposal for that purpese. 
 There is no habitation in the island of 
 Inchkeith, otherwise I should challenge 
 you to meet me there, and neither of us 
 ever to leave the place till we are fully 
 C 
 
18 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 agreed on all points of controversy. I 
 expect General Conway here to-morrow, 
 whom I shall attend to Roseneath, and 
 I shall remain there a few days. On my 
 return, I hope to find a letter from you, 
 containing a bold acceptance of this 
 defiance." 
 
 There are extant several letters from 
 this celebrated person, in which he ex- 
 horts his friend to leave his retirement, in 
 terms expressive at once of the fondest 
 friendship, and the most longing desire 
 for his society : "I shall not take any ex- 
 cuse from your state of health," he writes 
 on another occasion, " which I suppose 
 only a subterfuge invented by indolence 
 and love of solitude. Indeed, my dear 
 Smith, if you continue to hearken to 
 complaints of this nature, you will cut 
 yourself out entirely from human so- 
 ciety, to the great loss of both parties." 
 
 Daring the whole of this period, 
 Smith may be considered as engaged in 
 the composition of his great work. The 
 room is still shewn at Kirkaldy, in which 
 was written the greater part of the 
 " Wealth of Nations ;" and to that, and 
 to scenes ennobled in like manner, by the 
 exertions of genius and learning, will 
 mankind some day make their pilgrimage 
 in devotion to science and to virtue, 
 when the shrines of kings and con- 
 querors shall attract the homage which 
 is often paid to them as little as they 
 deserve it. 
 
 In Ihe spring of the year 1773, he 
 went up to London for rather a longer 
 period than he was in the habit of leaving 
 home ; partly for the purpose of collect- 
 ing some information, and making refe- 
 rences relative to the work which now 
 engrossed his whole thoughts. 
 
 There are so few letters of Smith's 
 extant, as we have before observed, that 
 we shall not hesitate to present to our 
 readers the following, which he ad- 
 dressed to Mr. Hume on the point of his 
 departure, as it serves to shew the ex- 
 treme anxiety which he always felt 
 about the destruction of his manu- 
 scripts : 
 
 " Edinburgh, April 16th, 1773. 
 " My dear Friend, 
 
 " As I have left the care of all my 
 literary papers to you, I must tell you, 
 that, except those which I carry along 
 with me, there are none worth the pub- 
 lication but a fragment of a great work, 
 which contains a history of the astrono- 
 mical systems that were successively in 
 fashion down to the time of Des Cartes. 
 
 Whether that might not be published as 
 a fragment of an intended juvenile work, 
 I leave to your judgment ; though I 
 begin to suspect that there is more re- 
 finement than solidity in some parts of 
 it. This little work you will find in a 
 thin folio paper in my back room. All 
 the other loose papers, which you will 
 find in that desk, or within the glass 
 folding doors of a bureau in my bed- 
 room, together with about eighteen thin 
 folio books, which you will likewise find 
 within the same glass folding-doors, I 
 desire may be destroyed without any 
 examination. Unless I die very sud- 
 denly, I shall take care that the papers 
 I carry with me shall be sent to you. 
 W I am ever, my dear Friend, 
 " Most faithfully yours, 
 
 " Adam Smith." 
 
 The memorable year 1776 was now 
 approaching, memorable in the life of 
 Smith, as it was in the spring of that 
 year that he gave to the world his im- 
 mortal work, the " Inquiry into the 
 Nature and Causes of the Wealth of 
 Nations," and in the autumn that death 
 deprived him of his immortal friend, 
 Mr. Hume. 
 
 Smith was in London at the time of 
 the publication of his book; and the 
 highest gratification, perhaps, afforded 
 him on that occasion higher, perhaps, 
 than any which the praises of the world 
 could give was conveyed to him in the 
 following letter, addressed to him by his 
 dying friend. It was written from Edin- 
 burgh, only a few days before he set out 
 on his journey to the South, as the only 
 remaining hope of preserving his lite ; 
 and testifies, almost in his last mo- 
 ments, the same amiable solicitude for 
 his friends and their fame which charac- 
 terised him throughout the whole of his 
 existence. The letter is dated April t, 
 1776 "Euge Belle! Dear Mr. Smith 
 I am much pleased with your per- 
 formance, and the perusal of it has taken 
 me from a state of great anxiety. It was 
 a work of so much expectation by your- 
 self, by your friends and by the public, 
 that I trembled for its appearance, but 
 am now much relieved. Not but that 
 the reading of it necessarily requires so 
 much attention, and the public is disposed 
 to give so little, that I shall still doubt 
 for some time of its being at first very 
 popular. But it has depth, and solidity, 
 and acuteness, and is so much illus- 
 trated by curious facts, that it must at 
 last take the public attention. It is 
 probably much improved by your last 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 19 
 
 abode in London. If you were here, at 
 my fireside, I should dispute some of 
 your principles. But these, and a hun- 
 dred other points, are fit only to be dis- 
 cussed in conversation. I hope it will 
 be soon, for I am in a very bad state of 
 health, and cannot afford a long delay." 
 
 It was but a few months after the pub- 
 lication of " The Wealth of Nations," 
 when the death of Mr. Hume gave occa- 
 sion to one of the most memorable and 
 honourable incidents in the life of Smith. 
 Attached as they had been for years, by 
 ties of no ordinary kind ; revering and 
 loving the friend of his life, for moral 
 and intellectual qualities, rarely found 
 apart, and still more rarely united, con- 
 genial if) their sentiments upon every 
 subject perhaps, save one a difference 
 upon which could create no abatement 
 in the affections of two such men Smith 
 felt himself called upon, his heart yet 
 bleeding under the loss he had sus- 
 tained, to defend from calumny, now 
 that he was dead, him, whom while 
 living she had " never touched or at- 
 tacked with her baleful tooth."* 
 
 It is well known that, from the nature 
 of some of Mr. Hume's speculative opi- 
 nions, coupled with the high celebrity of 
 his name, his death had attracted no 
 small degree of attention. It is known, 
 too, that far more of zeal than charity 
 had been displayed in a variety of ru- 
 mours, equally false and absurd, which 
 had been circulated relative to that me- 
 lancholy event calumny which, as we 
 have said, had watched her hour, now 
 poured forth her venom ; and stories of 
 death-bed horror and remorse, and 
 agony and confession, were current 
 through the land. It was easy to smile 
 at all this ; but it was felt to be due to 
 the virtues of the man to the benevo- 
 lence of his affections and the unsullied 
 purity of his life, to state the simple fact, 
 that Mr. Hume's deathbed had be- 
 trayed no remorse whatever. Smith 
 undertook to do this, undeterred by the 
 obvious risk of incurring the odium of 
 sharing the opinions of his friend, on 
 the only subject perhaps on which they 
 differed. 
 
 A few months only previous to his 
 death, Mr. Hume had drawn up that 
 brief but characteristic memorial of him- 
 self, entitled " My Own Life," and had 
 left the care of its publication to Dr. 
 Smith. To this memoir Smith appended 
 his celebrated letter addressed to Mr. 
 
 Hume "My Own Life," 
 
 Strahan, for the purpose, as he says, 
 " of giving some account of the beha- 
 viour of their excellent friend during his 
 last illness." The letter commences, 
 therefore, where Hume's own account 
 had ended ; and having described the 
 unruffled serenity of his mind and tem- 
 per throughout the whole of his rapid 
 decline " his cheerfulness so great that 
 his friends could not regard him as a 
 dying man" even to the last hour " so 
 free from the smallest anxiety or low 
 spirits that he never dropped the smallest 
 expression of impatience, but when he 
 had occasion to speak to those about 
 him, doing it with the utmost affection 
 and tenderness," and " that he died in 
 such a happy composure of mind that 
 nothing could exceed it." He closes 
 with the following passage, which we 
 hesitate not to transcribe in this short 
 memorial, (as we should have done the 
 entire letter if our limits would admit,) 
 because it is a greater honour to the 
 writer than the subject ; and because it 
 is quite certain, that if there is one page 
 from the pen of Smith that he would 
 himself have desired to perpetuate, it 
 this tribute to his friend, although it 
 may be suspected that the warmth of 
 friendship has somewhat overcharged 
 the eulogy : "Thus died," says he, 
 " our most excellent and never to be 
 forgotten friend, concerning whose phi- 
 losophical opinions men will, no doubt, 
 judge variously; every one approv- 
 ing or condemning them according 
 as they happen to coincide or disagree 
 with his own ; but concerning whose 
 character and conduct there can scarce 
 be a difference of opinion. His temper, 
 indeed, seemed to be more happily ba- 
 lanced, if I may be allowed such an ex- 
 pression, than that perhaps of any other 
 man I have ever known. Even in the 
 lowest state of his fortune, his great and 
 necessary frugality never hindered him 
 from exercising, on proper occasions, 
 acts both of charity and generosity. It 
 was a frugality founded not upon avarice, 
 but upon the love of independency. The 
 extreme gentleness of his nature never 
 weakened either the firmness of his mind 
 or the steadiness of his resolutions. His 
 constant pleasantry was the genuine effu- 
 sion of good nature and good humour, 
 tempered with delicacy and modesty, and 
 without even the slightest tincture of 
 malignity, so frequently the disagreeable 
 source of what is called wit in other men. 
 It never was the meaning of his raillery 
 to mortify, and therefore far from offend- 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 ing, it seldom failed to please and delight 
 even those who were the objects of it. 
 To his friends, who were frequently the 
 objects of it, there was not any one, per- 
 haps, of all his great and amiable quali- 
 ties which contributed more to endear 
 his conversation. And that gaiety of 
 temper, so agreeable in society, but 
 which is so often accompanied with fri- 
 volous and superficial qualities, was in 
 him certainly attended with the most 
 severe application, the most extensive 
 learning, the greatest depth of thought, 
 and a capacity in every respect the most 
 comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have 
 always considered him, both in his life- 
 time and since his death, as approaching 
 as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise 
 and virtuous man, as perhaps the nature 
 of human frailty will permit." 
 
 The effect of such a testimony, from 
 such a quarter, was to put to silence, and 
 it is to be hoped, in a great measure to 
 put to shame, the disgraceful cry which 
 had been set up ; yet it did not do so 
 altogether. Some there were who still 
 joined in it, and taking advantage, as 
 might have been foreseen, of Smith's 
 generous zeal, attempted to heap upon 
 the living that obloquy from which he 
 had rescued the dead. Dr. Home, after- 
 wards Bishop of Norwich, published a 
 letter addressed to Dr. Smith, in which 
 the spirit of the theologian is much more 
 conspicuous than that of the Christian, 
 veiled as it was under an affectation of 
 humour and irony, that ill concealed the 
 bitter feelings in which it originated. 
 To this publication of Dr. Home, Dr. 
 Smith did not deem it at all necessary 
 that he should make any reply. He felt 
 that he had done enough, and that it 
 would have been equally unworthy of 
 himself and his cause, to have com- 
 menced a controversy with Dr. Home 
 upon the merits, personal or philoso- 
 phical, of David Hume.* 
 
 Section 5. The "Inquiry into the Na- 
 ture and Causes of the Wealth of 
 Nations." 
 
 It will scarcely be considered an exag- 
 gerated praise to say, that the " Wealth 
 
 * Having acknowledged our obligation to Mr. 
 Stewart in the opening of this Memoir, it is only 
 Tight that we should observe, that for several of the 
 incidents which will be found in in it, we are not in- 
 debted to that eminent person; and that amongst 
 other circumstances in the verjr barren life of Dr. 
 Smith, of which he has made no mention, this very 
 remarkable one of his conduct upon the death of 
 Hume, has been passed over in silence. For this 
 omission we can be at no loss to account: it was 
 
 of Nations " may be regarded as, per- 
 haps, the most valuable acquisition 
 which was made to philosophy and to 
 science in the eighteenth century. It is 
 of course quite beyond the limits of this 
 memoir to offer an abstract or analysis 
 of this great work. But, as in reference 
 to the " Theory of Moral Sentiments," it 
 was deemed proper to say a few words 
 upon the subject itself of which it treats, 
 and upon the leading principle of that 
 theory ; so it may be allowed us to offer 
 a very few observations, in the same 
 manner, upon the " Inquiry into the 
 Nature and Causes of the Wealth of 
 Nations," unquestionably the greatest 
 production of Smith's genius. 
 
 In the closing passage of the " Moral 
 Sentiments," he had promised, in some 
 future work, to give an account of the 
 general principles of law and govern- 
 ment, and of the different revolutions 
 they have undergone in the different 
 periods of society ; not only in what con- 
 cerns justice, but in what concerns po- 
 lice, revenue, and arms, and whatever 
 else is the object of law ; and to trace, 
 in this way, those invariable principles 
 zvhich ought to run through, and be the 
 foundation of the laws of all nations. 
 
 In the " Wealth of Nations" he un- 
 dertook to redeem this pledge, as far as 
 regards police, revenue, and arms, by 
 tracing the source, and nature, and pro- 
 gress of national wealth. 
 
 The fundamental principle, dimly con- 
 ceived indeed, but never established and 
 insisted upon before, upon which Smith 
 raised, as upon a rock, the Science of 
 Political Economy, was, that labour is 
 the source and origin of all wealth. 
 " Labour," says he, " was the first price, 
 the original purchase money that was 
 paid for all things. It was not by gold 
 or by silver, but by labour, that all the 
 wealth of the world was originally pur- 
 chased ;" and the mode by which the 
 labour of man can be rendered most pro- 
 ductive to his use and happiness is the 
 problem to be solved by the economist. 
 
 Now the great cause of the increase 
 in the productive powers of labour is 
 found to consist in the division of la- 
 bour a division which arises in the first 
 instance from the obvious suggestions of 
 nature, and which, by giving birth in its 
 progress to the institution oif the various 
 
 dictated by the amiable solicitude for his friend's 
 memory; and the apprehension that it might suffer 
 from a revival of the asperities which his friendly 
 zeal had excited. But a regard for truth prevents 
 us from making a like omission. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 21 
 
 arts, trades, and professions which exist in 
 every advanced state of society, occasions 
 that universal opulence which extends 
 itself to the lowest ranks of the people. 
 
 But the effects of this principle have 
 never in any society, or in any age of 
 the world, been seen in their full extent, 
 owing to the unjust and impolitic regu- 
 lations which governments and legis- 
 lators have at various times devised to 
 control and thwart its operation. In- 
 stead of allowing every man to pursue 
 his own interest in his own way, no so- 
 ciety has ever yet been seen in which, 
 from false views of policy, or from worse 
 motives, extraordinary restraints have 
 not been laid upon some branches of 
 industry ; while extraordinary privileges, 
 equally injurious in their result, have 
 been bestowed upon others. 
 
 In how different a spirit was con- 
 ceived and executed the great work be- 
 fore us, is exhibited in every page. Smith 
 aimed at, and he has succeeded in re- 
 ducing that to a science, which had 
 before been a succession of contri- 
 vances and devices, where no principle 
 was ever referred to, and in which it was 
 long supposed that science and principle 
 could have no place*. The origin and 
 continuance, indeed, of many of the 
 most barbarous and oppressive insti- 
 tutions which tend to repress the ener- 
 gies of mankind, are to be traced very 
 often to accidents, expedients, and pre- 
 judices, which belong as much to the 
 people who are made to suffer from 
 them, as to the laws and rules which 
 have sometimes been the mere instru- 
 ments of their establishment. To cor- 
 rect the policy of both was the object, 
 and will be the lasting consequence, of 
 his book. Itwasnot by framing new forms 
 of government, but by enlightening the 
 policy of actual legislators, (as Mr. Stew- 
 art has well remarked,) that Dr. Smith, 
 and other distinguished men of the last 
 and present age, have attempted to ame- 
 liorate the condition of society. He en- 
 deavoured to shew, in one important 
 branch of legislation, how much of the 
 evils which affect its prosperity may be 
 remedied by wise policy, and how much 
 is the result of those higher and unal- 
 terable laws, by which the course of 
 
 * Even the capacious mind of Mr. Fox is said to 
 have been sceptical with regard to some of the 
 truths unfolded by Adam Smith ; and within a much 
 more recent period, we may remember that an 
 illustrious statesman, now no more, spoke in Par- 
 liament, of the "application of philosophy to po- 
 litics" as a thing having the air of paradox, and 
 which it required a tone of apology to refer to, 
 
 human affairs is determined, and the 
 operation of which, since they cannot be 
 controlled, must be patiently enduredi 
 
 An illustration of this may be found in 
 that important part of his work wherein 
 he treats of the causes which determine 
 the rate of wages. When the economist 
 describes, for instance, the manner in 
 which the value of labour is affected by 
 the combination laws, the apprentice 
 laws, and the law of settlement, he 
 explains the mischief produced in all 
 cases by their operation ; in the injury 
 sustained under them by the labourer 
 himself, from their evident violation of 
 that natural liberty and justice which 
 is his right ; in the inequality which 
 they occasion in different departments 
 of industry, and in different places, from 
 their interference with that essential 
 order and prosperity which would other- 
 wise ensue from allowing every man, as 
 long as he observes the rules of justice, 
 to pursue his own interest in his own 
 way. Thus far of the inexpediency and 
 absurdity of such arrangements with re- 
 spect to society at large ; and of the in- 
 fluence which bad regulations or injuri- 
 ous laws may have in affecting the con- 
 dition of the labourer, and that of the 
 community of which he forms a part. 
 But, when he comes to explain how, 
 under all circumstances, and in every 
 society where even the rights of indivi- 
 duals are most respected by the spirit of 
 its government and its legislation, the 
 general rate of wages must always depend 
 upon the relative quantity of labour seek- 
 ing employment, and of capital having 
 employment to give : that it is a law of 
 economy, resulting from a law of nature, 
 that where labour is superabundant in 
 proportion to capital, there it will ne- 
 cessarily be cheap ; or, in other words, 
 wages will be low and that, on the 
 contrary, where capital accumulates ra- 
 pidly, and exceeds the supply of labour 
 in the market, there labour will be dear, 
 or, in other words, that wages will be 
 high when he has deduced this vital and 
 important truth, and suggested thereby 
 to the labourer, that on himself must 
 mainly depend his ultimate prosperity, 
 and that his condition for better or for 
 worse is determined in this way by laws 
 with which no human legislation can in- 
 terfere, except in the removal of restric- 
 tions and prohibition, the political phi- 
 losopher has done more for the peace and 
 good order of society ; and more to re 
 move the sources of ill will, and promote 
 a right understanding- of their relative 
 
22 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 position and duties in its different mem- 
 bers ; between labourers and their em- 
 ployers, between subjects and their 
 government more than can be achieved 
 by the force of exhortation in a hundred 
 volumes, or the force of power in a 
 hundred armies. 
 
 But the complete development of the 
 principle of the division of labour, it 
 must be borne in mind, requires that 
 the fullest and freest scope be allowed 
 to competition, which is, in other words, 
 the entire freedom of commercial inter- 
 course. What the inhabitants of the 
 different provinces of a great kingdom 
 are to each other by the division of their 
 employments, and the interchange of 
 their commodities ; so are the various 
 people Of the different countries of the 
 globe. They are all bound together by 
 the same great law, the use and benefit 
 which they may derive from the exercise 
 of each other's skill, and the produce of 
 each other's labour ; and this economy 
 of nations would be as obvious as it is 
 in the case of a single people, if bad 
 politics, springing out of bad passions; 
 if ambition and the love of conquest, and 
 the glare of military glory, which com- 
 pose for the most part the history of 
 nations, had not blinded men to their 
 true interests, and corrupted the com- 
 mon sense and virtue of mankind. 
 
 To recommend this unlimited free- 
 dom of commercial intercourse; to 
 shew how the restrictions which have 
 been put upon it have in all cases de- 
 feated the object in view, and must 
 continue to do so from the nature of 
 things ; to shew that the ordinary im- 
 pulses we obey in pursuance of our own 
 selfish interest, and which might seem 
 to have no other end, are made, by 
 the wise order of the great Author of 
 our being to point far higher, and to be 
 conducive in their results to the good of 
 the society, as much as to that of the 
 individual, or even more so, (for the 
 advantage we plan for ourselves often 
 escapes us, when that to society remains ;) 
 to shew, in the intercourse of nations as 
 of men, "that true self love and social 
 are the same," and that mutual wants, 
 by the all-wise economy of Providence, 
 were made to minister to mutual hap- 
 piness ; that the instinctive desire by 
 which every man is actuated, of im- 
 proving his own condition (laws and 
 government having no other province 
 than that of taking care that, in pursuit 
 of this end, he trenches not on the right 
 of his neighbour), is the simple but solid 
 
 basis on which has been reared and se- 
 cured the everlasting progress of nations 
 in every age : Such were the enlightened 
 doctrines which it was the purpose of 
 Smith's work to enforce ; and it is obvious 
 s that all legislation which proceeds upon 
 an ignorance or contempt of these laws, 
 is to the body politic, just what the 
 prescriptions of a physician would be to 
 the natural body, who knew nothing of 
 the animal economy, its functions, or its 
 structure. 
 
 As in the "Theory of Moral Sentiments," 
 in treating of the moral constitution of 
 man, he had been careful to distinguish 
 the efficient from the final cause of our 
 passions ; he carried the same enlight- 
 ened philosophy into all his investiga- 
 tions of human affairs, and shewed, as 
 he beautifully expresses it, " that what is 
 taken for the wisdom of man, is in reality 
 the wisdom of God." There are numer- 
 ous passages in his writings in which he 
 inculcates the same sentiment, and en- 
 larges on the folly of those speculators, 
 who, in disregard of that wisdom, are con- 
 stantly aiming to modify, by positive in- 
 stitutions, the natural order of society ac- 
 cording to some arbitrary standard, in- 
 stead of allowing it to advance in that 
 course which is sure to conduct it, in the 
 end, to the highest state of advancement 
 of which it is susceptible. " Man," says 
 he, in one of his early unpublished ma- 
 nuscripts, " is generally considered by 
 statesmen and projectors, as the mate- 
 rials of a sort of political mechanics. 
 Projectors disturb nature in the course 
 of her operations in human affairs, and 
 it requires no more than to let her alone, 
 and give her fair play in the pursuit of 
 her ends, that she may establish her own 
 designs." " Little else," he adds, in 
 another passage of the same paper, " is 
 requisite to carry a state to the highest 
 degree of opulence from the lowest bar- 
 barism, but peace, easy taxes, and a 
 tolerable administration of justice ; all 
 the rest being brought about by the na- 
 tural course of things. All governments 
 which thwart this natural course, which 
 force things into another channel, or 
 which endeavour to arrest the progress 
 of society, at a particular point, are unna- 
 tural, and to support themselves are 
 obliged to be oppressive and tyrannical." 
 It is in this spirit that political eco- 
 nomy must be studied, if it is to main- 
 tain that rank among the moral sciences 
 which it deserves, and in which it was 
 placed by its founder. It would, un- 
 doubtedly, be unfair to deny that any- 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 23 
 
 thing has been added to this science 
 since the publication of the " Wealth of 
 Nations." But if it were admitted that 
 some errors of Smith have been pointed 
 out by subsequent inquirers, it will 
 hardly be allowed that one or two cor- 
 rections of doctrine in particular points 
 make anything like amends for what 
 political economy has lost of late in 
 public estimation by the different spirit 
 which has dictated, and the different 
 tone which has breathed through some 
 publications of a more recent date. 
 The subjects of which this science treats 
 have occupied a very increased degree 
 of the attention, in the last few years, of 
 speculative men, of all parties. They 
 have done more than this. The science 
 has attracted the attention of public 
 men and statesmen. It has been re- 
 ferred to in parliamentary discussions ; 
 and what would have been most grati- 
 fying to its great expounder, some of its 
 leading principles have been recognised 
 and acted upon in important, and we 
 trust, in permanent legislative enact- 
 ments. There has been mixed up with 
 these debates, it is true, much that 
 might have been well spared, without 
 loss to the credit of the assemblies in 
 which they have taken place, and much 
 interested and ignorant opposition has 
 been arrayed against every amendment 
 of the law ; but nothing has been said 
 or done by the most ignorant and most 
 interested opponent of the progress of 
 sound, political, and commercial free- 
 dom, which would so much have grieved 
 the author of the " Wealth of Nations," 
 as the arrogant and intolerant spirit, the 
 daring paradox, and dogmatical propo- 
 sitions which have been promulgated by 
 some of his pretended followers. 
 
 It is not needful to say more upon 
 this point ; but we think it. requisite to 
 say so much, for the benefit of those 
 who know nothing of the " Wealth of Na- 
 tions," and nothing of political economy ; 
 and in-order that they may not be turned 
 away by any spurious disciples of the 
 science, from the study of a work, of 
 which it has been truly said, " that, 
 abstracting entirely the author's pecu- 
 liar and original speculations, there is 
 no book, perhaps, in any language, 
 containing so methodical, so compre- 
 hensive, and so judicious a digest of all 
 the most profound and enlightened 
 philosophy of the age." 
 
 The title which Smith adopted for his 
 work, admirable as it is, and expressive 
 of the nature of his investigations ; and 
 
 the introduction, in which he presents a 
 luminous outline of his method, give no 
 indication of the many masterly colla- 
 teral disquisitions contained in it ; be- 
 cause, in so comprehensive a subject, it 
 was not easy to express, nor is it always 
 obvious for the reader to perceive, the 
 reference they bear to the investigations 
 with which they are associated. These 
 disquisitions, however, form very often 
 the most interesting and valuable por- 
 tion of the book, to those especially who, 
 having less relish for the study of some 
 branches of political economy, are 
 pleased when they find its reasonings 
 made applicable to purposes of more 
 general philosophy. We would instance 
 the whole of the first chapter of the fifth 
 book, as being of this description ; and 
 more especially Art. II. and III. of Part 
 the 3rd, entitled, "Of the Expense of 
 the Institutions for the Education of 
 Youth, and of the Expense of the In- 
 stitutions for the Instruction of People 
 of all Ages." 
 
 It may be remembered too that in 
 every science, the most important and 
 interesting truths are very often such 
 as are obvious to every capacity, and 
 when clearly stated admit of no dis- 
 pute; whilst those parts of it' which 
 are least valuable, and most liable to 
 angry controversy, are happily such 
 as comprise doctrines purely specula- 
 tive, and which, if they are of difficult 
 comprehension, may be safely left un- 
 comprehended. Now, if this is true of 
 any science, it is true of political eco- 
 nomy : there are thorny and vexatious 
 questions included within its range, but 
 we doubt if, in any of the moral sciences, 
 there are so many well ascertained truths 
 of great and practical importance which 
 may fairly be said to lie, with candid 
 reasoners, beyond the reach of con- 
 troversy. 
 
 Section 6. From the publication of the 
 "Wealth of Nations " until the death 
 of Dr. Smith. 
 
 The two following years after the publi- 
 cation of the "Wealth of Nations" 
 were spent chiefly in London ; and Dr. 
 Smith, as well he might, after ten years 
 almost unremitting and severe applica- 
 tion, relaxed his powers in the pleasures 
 of society, and mingled with the many 
 eminent men who were then at the head 
 of wit and literature in the capital. Dr. 
 Johnson, Burke, Gibbon, Beauclerk, 
 Reynolds, and the other members of the 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 Literary Club, which had been formed 
 many years before, and of which Smith 
 had been previously a member, were 
 among those with whom he associated 
 at this time ; but neither history nor 
 tradition has handed down to us any 
 of those sallies of colloquial wit and 
 eloquence for which many of his con- 
 temporaries, far less distinguished than 
 himself in the higher walks of philosophy 
 and learning, have become celebrated 
 with posterity. That he was not distin- 
 guished by the flow or force of his mind 
 in conversation is quite evident ; and he 
 is reported to have said of himself, that 
 he was so much in the habit of husband- 
 ing his resources for his works in the 
 closet, that he made it a rule never to 
 talk in society upon any subject which 
 he understood. This story, however, 
 we should be inclined to disbelieve. 
 Such voluntary and deliberate absti- 
 nence from the pleasures of social con- 
 verse, even if it were allowed to be a 
 virtue, would evidently be one very diffi- 
 cult in practice : and instead of allow- 
 ing him the credit of so rare a species 
 of self-denial, we are more disposed, in 
 accounting for his habitual reserve, to 
 class Dr. Smith with some other very 
 eminent men (Addison and Dryden are 
 amongst them), whom Johnson has so 
 admirably described in the following 
 passage : 
 
 " There are men whose powers operate 
 only at leisure and in retirement, and 
 whose intellectual vigour deserts them 
 in conversation ; whom merriment con- 
 fuses, and objection disconcerts ; whose 
 bashfulness restrains their exertion, and 
 suffers them not to speak till the time of 
 speaking is past ; or whose attention to 
 their own character makes them unwill- 
 ing to utter at hazard what has not been 
 considered, and cannot be recalled."* 
 
 The light in which the characteristic 
 quality of his mind was regarded by his 
 friends maybe partly gathered, amongst 
 other testimonies, from the allusion to 
 him in the verses which Dr. Barnard 
 addressed to the members of the club, 
 not long after the publication of the 
 "Wealth of Nations." The stanza is 
 as follows : 
 
 If I have thoughts, and can't express 'em, 
 Gibbon shall teach me how to dress 'em 
 
 In words select and terse : 
 Jones teach me modesty and Greek, 
 Smith how to think, Burke how to speak, 
 
 And Beauclerc to converse. 
 
 In the year 1778, owing to the friend- 
 
 * Life of Dryden. 
 
 ship of the Duke of Buccleugh, and in 
 some measure, we may trust, as a re- 
 ward for his invaluable labours, Dr. 
 Smith was appointed one of the Com- 
 missioners of the Customs in Scotland ; 
 an office which occasioned him to fix his 
 residence in Edinburgh, where he con- 
 tinued to the end of his life. 
 
 If we should consider this appoint- 
 ment only in the light of an acknow- 
 ledgement, of a recompense too rarely 
 bestowed by men in power, for labours 
 purely philosophical, and having nothing 
 to recommend them but their intrinsic 
 truth and beauty, few things can be 
 more gratifying than the contemplation, 
 to every lover of science and of virtue. 
 Even the rewards which have been oc- 
 casionally bestowed upon men of genius, 
 by princes and their ministers, have too 
 often been conferred for its prostitution 
 to the mere purposes of power ; the, 
 price of its past or future service, or 
 the bribe for its silence when that alone 
 was to be bought. 
 
 In the instance before us, it is grati- 
 fying to know, that the reward, if it 
 was so meant, was equally honourable 
 to the giver and the receiver. The works 
 which Smith had published for the in- 
 struction of the world, had nothing to 
 do with the possessors of power in his 
 day, but to enlighten and direct its ex- 
 ercise. The parties and factions be- 
 longing to the period when he wrote 
 could derive no particular or personal 
 advantage from his writings ; but man- 
 kind, in every age, will find in them the 
 best corrective to faction and to party, 
 by contemplating those eternal political 
 truths with which party has rarely had 
 anything to do, but which are equally 
 salutary at all times, and under every 
 form of government, for rulers and their 
 people. 
 
 But if we should consider that the 
 appointment which was bestowed upon 
 Smith, however gratifying in other re- 
 spects, was the cause, as there is reason 
 to fear, of an interruption to his studies, 
 and of the loss to the world of those 
 speculations to which he had alluded in 
 the closing passage of his Moral Senti- 
 ments, and the completion of which 
 he is known never to have entirely 
 abandoned but with his life ; we shall 
 be disposed to lament, perhaps ungrate- 
 fully to lament, that he who had al- 
 ready done so much for the advance- 
 ment of moral and political science, was 
 not permitted to do more, by the ful- 
 filment of his engagement to give to 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 25 
 
 his country a theory of jurisprudence, 
 and in this manner to finish the struc- 
 ture which he had designed in his 
 earlier days, and to fill up the measure 
 of his fame. There is the greater reason 
 to lament this, because the office im- 
 posed upon this enlightened man was 
 one of no dignity or importance ; but a 
 duty of mere routine, the discharge of 
 which must have been irksome to a 
 mind like his, accustomed during his 
 life to so different an application of his 
 faculties. He might have been called, 
 like Turgot, to the administration of his 
 country, have enjoyed the melancholy 
 satisfaction of endeavouring to enforce 
 the maxims he had taught, and have 
 found, perhaps, like him in the end, that 
 the intrigues of the cabinet, the favour 
 of the court, and the prejudices of the 
 people, are equally adverse to the 
 temper and the triumph of philosophy. 
 It was about this period that his 
 friend and early patron, Lord Karnes, in 
 preparing a new edition of his work on 
 the " Principles of Morality and Natural 
 Religion," was induced to call in question 
 the theory of Dr. Smith, and he there- 
 fore sent him a copy of the strictures 
 he intended to introduce upon his work, 
 before he proceeded to publication. To 
 this Smith replied in the following letter, 
 which we hesitate not to subjoin, first, 
 because, as we have before remarked, 
 there are so few of his letters extant, 
 and secondly, as it serves to shew the 
 courtesy with which philosophic con- 
 troversy was carried on in those days, 
 and would generally be carried on, if 
 the love of truth, and truth only, in- 
 spired it. 
 
 " November 16th, 1778. 
 "My Dear Lord, 
 
 " I am much obliged to you for the 
 kind communication of the objections 
 you propose to make in your new edi- 
 tion, to my system. Nothing can be 
 more perfectly friendly and polite than 
 the terms in which you express yourself 
 with regard to me ; and I should be ex- 
 tremely peevish and ill-tempered if I 
 could make the slightest opposition to 
 their publication. I am, no doubt, ex- 
 tremely sorry to find myself of a dif- 
 ferent opinion both from so able a judge 
 of the subject, and of so old and good 
 a friend; but differences of this kind 
 are unavoidable, and besides Partium 
 content ioni bus respublica crescit. I 
 should have been waiting on your Lord- 
 ship before this time, but the remains of 
 
 a cold have, for these four or five days 
 past, made it inconvenient for me to go 
 out in the evening. Remember me to 
 Mrs. Drummond, and believe me to be, 
 my dear Lord, your most obliged, 
 " And most humble servant, 
 "Adam Smith."* 
 
 The greatest good conferred upon Dr. 
 Smith by his official appointment, the 
 greatest, indeed, that could be conferred 
 by any additional wealth, was the power 
 of extending the range of his benevo- 
 lence, which is known to have been at 
 all times exerted in acts of chanty, far 
 beyond what might have been ex- 
 pected of him, even after this moderate 
 increase of his income. His excellent 
 biographer has alluded to some remark- 
 able instances of this nature in the life of 
 Smith, which have been communicated 
 to him by one of his confidential friends, 
 where the assistance was on a scale as 
 liberal as the manner of rendering it was 
 delicate and affecting. Next to this 
 was the satisfaction he derived from the 
 privilege of spending the latter period 
 of his life in the society of his oldest and 
 dearest friends free from those anxious 
 cares with which the want of mere 
 worldly competence has sometimes dark- 
 ened the declining years of genius and 
 of virtue. In the society of his mother, 
 and of his cousin, Miss Douglas, who 
 now formed part of his household, he 
 enjoyed for some years every comfort 
 and consolation that can be felt by one 
 who is a stranger to the more endearing 
 ties which bind a husband and a father. 
 A simple, but hospitable table was al- 
 ways open to his friends. 
 
 In 1784 he lost his mother, and four 
 years after, his cousin ; and their death 
 was felt by him as a severe and irre- 
 parable loss ; little to be soothed by any 
 worldly honour or applause ; it being 
 the effect, perhaps, of age and of all 
 true wisdom, to render the mind as in- 
 sensible to such vanities, as it is to dis- 
 pose it to the influence of the social and 
 domestic affections. Were it otherwise, 
 the affliction under which he suffered 
 might have been somewhat alleviated by 
 one of the most gratifying circumstances 
 
 * There is a letter of Dr. Reid's extant, addressed 
 to Lord Katr.es, in which he says that " after all, the 
 system of sympathy is only a refinement of the 
 selfish system," a criticism very like to saying that 
 white is only a refinement on the colour of black 
 things, in Avhich the plain sense of the world has 
 discovered, some how or other, a pretty clear and 
 durable distinction; notwithstanding the painter may 
 blend them with his brush, or a logician, like Dr. 
 Reid, confound them by his cavils. 
 
26 
 
 of his life, which occurred about this 
 period. In the year 1 787 the University 
 of Glasgow elected him rector of that 
 learned body; and that he felt this com- 
 pliment very sensibly, is manifest from 
 the letter which he addressed to the 
 principal of the college in acknowledg- 
 ment of this flattering distinction an 
 honour, however, be it remarked, which 
 could scarcely have been rendered where 
 it would have reflected back so much 
 credit upon those who had bestowed 
 it, and which, we may venture to say, 
 would not have been lessened in the 
 estimation of Dr. Smith, had he lived 
 to see it conferred upon some illustrious 
 names who have shared it in our own 
 times. 
 
 "No preferment," says he, " could 
 have given me so much real satisfaction. 
 No man can owe greater obligations to 
 a society than I do to the University of 
 Glasgow. They educated me ; they 
 sent me to Oxford. Soon after my return 
 to Scotland, they elected me one of 
 their own members, and afterwards pre- 
 ferred me to another office, to which the 
 abilities and virtues of the never to be 
 forgotten Dr. Hutcheson had given a 
 superior degree of illustration. The 
 period of thirteen years which I spent as 
 a member of that society, I remember 
 as by far the most useful, and there- 
 fore as by far the happiest and most 
 honourable period of my life : and now, 
 after three-and-twenty years absence, to 
 be remembered in so very agreeable a 
 manner by my old friends and protectors, 
 gives me a heartfelt joy which I cannot 
 easily express to you." 
 
 The lire of this illustrious man was 
 now fast drawing to a close. For a 
 considerable period previous to his 
 death his health had gradually declined, 
 and his mind reverted in his last mo- 
 ments with renewed regret to what he 
 had left undone of the works he had so 
 long designed. His death was ap- 
 proaching far too rapidly to leave the 
 slightest hope of doing more ; and his 
 anxiety about the fate of his manu- 
 scripts became excessive. It was so 
 great, that during his last illness, after 
 reiterating the most earnest entreaties 
 for their destruction after his death, he 
 was yet not satisfied, and desired that 
 the whole of his papers, except the few 
 fragments which he bequeathed to the 
 care of Dr. Hutton, might be destroyed 
 immediately. His mind seemed greatly 
 relieved, when he was assured that this 
 was done. A very few days before he 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 died, he had two or three of his select 
 friends to sup with him, as was his 
 custom; but finding his strength fail 
 him, he retired to bed, and as he went 
 away, he took leave of them by saying, 
 " 1 believe, Gentlemen, we must adjourn 
 this meeting to some other place." In 
 the previous winter he had prepared a 
 new edition of his " Moral Sentiments," 
 and in the advertisement which he pre- 
 fixed to it, he had still allowed himself 
 to express a last and faint hope that it 
 might yet be permitted to him to com- 
 plete his long-projected work on juris- 
 prudence. Even then, the ardour 
 of his mind would not suffer him alto- 
 gether to relinquish a hope which, it 
 was but too evident, could never be 
 fulfilled. He died only a few days after 
 the meeting to which we have referred, 
 on the 17th July, 1790, bequeathing the 
 valuable library which he had collected 
 to his nephew, Mr. D. Douglas; ap- 
 pointing his friends, Dr. Hutton and 
 Dr. Black, the executors of his will ; 
 and entrusting to them the charge of 
 publishing the few unfinished sketches 
 which had been allowed to survive him. 
 
 Section 7. On the general Character 
 and Writings of Smith. 
 
 The character of Dr. Smith, like that of 
 all men whose lives have been devoted 
 to the pursuits of philosophy and sci- 
 ence, may be best traced in his writings. 
 It has perhaps been the fortune of few 
 men so eminent to have engaged so 
 little in the commerce and bustle of 
 active life, and of few, it has been said, to 
 have been so little fitted for it : yet the 
 intellectual and moral capacities of this 
 illustrious man were evidently of an order 
 to have filled, and adorned, the highest 
 station in society ; and, notwithstanding 
 the abstraction in which he lived, for the 
 most part, from the business of the 
 world, and some peculiar and charac- 
 teristic traits which occasionally marked 
 his habits and his opinions, it is clear 
 that, with an understanding of the 
 loftiest range, he was free, in many 
 respects, from that exclusiveness and 
 pedantry which have been sometimes 
 ascribed to philosophers of great name, 
 and which have given currency, we sup- 
 pose, " to the opinion, so industriously 
 propagated (says Mr. Hume) by the 
 dunces in every age, that a man of genius 
 is unfit for business." In the establish- 
 ment of his most enlightened theories, 
 and those least of all subject to be dis- 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 27 
 
 pnted in their ultimate and general ten- 
 dency, he did not lose sight of that 
 modification which they may occasion- 
 ally require in practice, for the accom- 
 plishment of an immediate and benefi- 
 cial purpose ; and if the evidence of 
 many striking passages in his works 
 may be trusted, he did not incur as a 
 philosopher, and would not have in- 
 curred as a statesman, the censure of 
 rashly and unfeelingly adhering to an 
 abstract principle in disdain of the inte- 
 rests which might be prejudiced, or even 
 the prejudices which might have been 
 shocked, by its application. 
 
 Nothing is more obvious, and nothing 
 contributes so much to the beauty and 
 value of his writinar, as that in all his 
 speculations he carried human life along 
 with him ; he never forgot that it was 
 the chief praise and glory of philosophy 
 to teach men how to act and to live ; 
 and he breathes through every page the 
 admirable sentiment of a noble author 
 *' That whatever study tends neither 
 directly nor indirectly to make us better 
 men and better citizens, is at best but a 
 specious and ingenious sort of idleness, 
 and the knowledge we acquire by it only 
 a creditable kind of ignorance nothing 
 more *." This is eminently displayed 
 in that valuable chapter to which we 
 have referred, in the fifth book of the 
 " Wealth of Nations," on the " Institu- 
 tions for the Education of Youth" 
 one of the most profound and powerful 
 disquisitions in any language. Neither 
 the abstractions of philosophy, nor the 
 pride of learning, nor the habits of the 
 professor, could render him insensible 
 to the purpose to which they ought 
 all to be subservient, namely, the 
 real interest of those who are to be 
 taught. But the spirit of monopoly in 
 such institutions he shews to be as ini- 
 mical to those interests as it is in every 
 other case. " The endowment of 
 schools and colleges," he says, " have 
 been opposed to this interest; they have 
 not only corrupted the diligence of pub- 
 lic teachers, but they have rendered it 
 almost impossible to have any good pri- 
 vate ones. Were there no endowed in- 
 stitutions for education, no system, no 
 science could be taught for which there 
 was not some demand. A private 
 teacher could never find his account in 
 teaching either an exploded and anti- 
 quated system of science acknowledged 
 to be useful, or a science universally be- 
 
 Lord Bolingbroke On the Study of History, 
 
 lieved to be a mere useless and pedantic 
 heap of sophistry and nonsense. Such 
 systems, such sciences, can subsist no 
 where but in those incorporated socie- 
 ties for education whose prosperity and 
 revenue are, in great measure, inde- 
 pendent of their reputation, and altoge- 
 ther independent of their industry. 
 Were there no such institutions, a gen- 
 tleman, after going through, with appli- 
 cation and abilities, the most complete 
 course of education which the circum- 
 stances of the times were supposed to 
 afford, could not come into the world 
 completely ignorant of everything which 
 is the common subject of conversation 
 amono; gentlemen and men of the world." 
 M The discipline of colleges and uni- 
 versities," says he, in another passage, 
 " is in general contrived, not for the 
 benefit of the students, but for the inte- 
 rest, or, more properly speaking, for the 
 ease, of the masters. Its object is, in 
 all cases, to maintain the authority of the 
 master ; and whether he neglects or per- 
 forms his duty, to oblige the students, in 
 all cases, to behave to him as if he per- 
 formed it with the greatest diligence and 
 ability. It seems to presume perfect 
 wisdom and virtue in the one order, and 
 the greatest weakness and folly in the 
 other. Where the masters, however, 
 really perform their duty, there are no 
 examples, 1 believe, that the greater part 
 of the students ever neglect theirs. Such 
 is the generosity of the greater part of 
 young men, that so far from being dis- 
 posed to neglect or despise the instruc- 
 tions of their master, provided he shews 
 some serious intention of being of use to 
 them, they are generally inclined to par- 
 don a great deal of incorrectness in the 
 performance of his duty, and sometimes 
 even to conceal from the public a good 
 deal of gross negligence." 
 
 Such are the manly and liberal doc- 
 trines which he has put forth on this all- 
 important topic. How unlike to the con- 
 tracted and monkish sentiments enter- 
 tained by many men, a great portion 
 of whose lives has been passed within 
 the walls of an university ; and that too 
 in the capacity of public teachers ! 
 
 He was an ardent lover of freedom, 
 but his devotions were not paid to her as 
 to an unknown goddess, of whose attri- 
 butes he was ignorant, and to whom his 
 offerings were but an idle and a gaudy 
 worship. If he loved freedom, he under- 
 stood, better than the lovers of freedom 
 have always done, in what it consisted : 
 by what institutions it might be rendered 
 
28 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 most permanent, and its substantial 
 blessings be more widely and equally 
 diffused. The scorn of oppression and 
 injustice was in him an active and dis- 
 cerning sentiment ; and, in his ardour 
 for the interests and happiness of man- 
 kind, he felt alike, whether the means 
 by which they were inflicted were legal 
 or illegal. The poor and the weak, 
 the humble and the unprotected, he 
 knew had, in every age, endured more 
 of evil from the operation of unjust laws 
 than they have ever done from the mere 
 violation of law. It was their condition, 
 that is, the condition of the great mass 
 of society, which he studied and wrote 
 to ameliorate ; and his language never 
 assumes a loftier or more ardent tone- 
 than when he advocates their interests, 
 the interests of mankind at large, 
 against some crying wrong, sanctioned, 
 as it may happen to be, by law or 
 charter. We might refer in proof of this 
 to his observations on the laws against 
 the combination of workmen, where , 
 he vindicates the poor against the power 
 of the rich on the law of settlement, 
 the law of entails, and the severe and 
 contemptuous tone in which he cen- 
 sures the spirit of commercial monopoly 
 under every form. Nor did he fail to 
 visit with equal severity the sentiments 
 in which such impolitic and unjust regu- 
 lations have their origin. Witness the 
 indignant manner in which he replies to 
 the miserable complaints of those who, 
 disposed to view every improvement in 
 the condition of the labouring classes 
 of society as an encroachment upon 
 their superiors, censure every increas- 
 ing comfort they enjoy as a luxury to 
 which they have no right. As he repro- 
 bates the injustice and impolicy of any 
 attempt to retard their advancement, if 
 such were possible ; so has he treated 
 with still greater contempt the mon- 
 strous and cruel paradox which has been 
 sometimes maintained, that a liberal 
 rate of wages relaxes the industry of the 
 labourer, and that he never works so 
 well as when he is ill requited for his 
 labour. 
 
 " The liberal reward of labour," says 
 Smith, " as it is the effect of increasing 
 wealth, so it is the cause of increasing 
 population. To complain of it is to la- 
 ment over the necessary effect and 
 cause of the greatest public prosperity. 
 As it encourages the propagation, so it 
 increases the industry, of the common 
 people. The wages of labour are the 
 encouragement of industry, which, like 
 
 every other human quality, improves in 
 proportion to the encouragement it re- 
 ceives. Where wages are "high, accord- 
 ingly, we shall always find the workmen 
 more active, diligent, and expeditious. 
 In cheap years, it is pretended they are 
 generally more idle, and in dear ones 
 more industrious than ordinary. A 
 plentiful subsistence, therefore, it has 
 been concluded, relaxes, and a scanly 
 one quickens their industry. That a 
 little more plenty than ordinary may 
 render some men idle cannot be doubted; 
 but that it should have this effect upon 
 the greater part, or that men in general 
 should work better when they are ill fed 
 than when they are well fed, when they 
 are disheartened than when they are in 
 good spirits, when they are frequently 
 sick than when they generally are in good 
 health, seems not very probable." . . . 
 
 " Our merchants and master-manu- 
 facturers too (he says, in another part of 
 his work) complain much of the bad 
 effects of high wages in raising the price, 
 and thereby lessening the sale of their 
 goods both at home and abroad. They 
 say nothing concerning the bad effects 
 of high profits. They are silent with 
 regard to the pernicious effects of their 
 own gains. They complain only of 
 those of other people." Wealth of Na- 
 tions, Book I. ch. 8 9. 
 
 Yet his zeal in the best of causes 
 never made him lose sight of the end of 
 all law the preservation of the peace 
 of society. He takes care to shew that 
 it is not the province of a good or a 
 wise man to seek the establishment of 
 his principles by violence or undue per- 
 tinacity, and in disdain of the preju- 
 dices and institutions of the community 
 which he seeks to influence. 
 
 " The man, whose public spirit is 
 prompted altogether by humanity and 
 benevolence (he says, in one of the 
 finest passages of his writings) will re- 
 spect the established powers and privi- 
 leges even of individuals, and still more 
 those of the great orders and societies 
 into which the state is divided. Though 
 he should consider some of them as in 
 some measure abusive, he will content 
 himself with moderating what he often 
 cannot annihilate without great vio- 
 lence. When he cannot conquer the 
 rooted prejudices of the people by reason 
 and persuasion, he will not attempt to 
 subdue them by force; but will reli- 
 giously observe what by Cicero is justly 
 called the divine maxim of Plato, never 
 to use violence to his country, no more 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 29 
 
 than to his parents. He will accommo- 
 date, as well as he can, his public ar- 
 rangements to the confirmed habits and 
 prejudices of the people, and will remedy, 
 as well as he can, the inconveniences 
 which may flow from the want of those 
 regulations which the people are averse, 
 to submit to. When he cannot establish 
 the right, he will not disdain to amelio- 
 rate the wrong ; but, like Solon, when 
 he cannot establish the best system of 
 laws, he will endeavour to establish the 
 best that the people can bear*.' 1 
 
 Finely as he has tempered in his 
 writings the rigour, if we may so speak, 
 of his speculative doctrines ; and care- 
 ful as he is at all times, by the infusion 
 of moral sympathy, to correct any error 
 or evil that might lurk in the logical 
 inferences to be deduced from them ; 
 with a sagacity in his general reason- 
 ings, alive to the nicest shades in the 
 conduct of the understanding and the 
 passions ; his excellent biographer has 
 given us reason to think that his un- 
 premeditated opinions both of men 
 and books were not always such as 
 might have been looked for, from the 
 soundness of his judgment, and the 
 singular consistency of his principles as 
 a philosopher. His discernment of the 
 character of individuals was often de- 
 fective, and apt, like his particular 
 judgments on other occasions, to be in- 
 fluenced by accident and humour. He 
 seemed to be habitually inattentive to 
 familiar objects and common occur- 
 rences, and "has frequently exhibited 
 instances of absence," says Mr. Stewart, 
 " which have scarcely been surpassed 
 by the fancy of La Bruyere." 
 
 Some striking and amusing instances 
 of this infirmity have been recently 
 made public, by a lively and agreeable 
 writer, from whose powers of humorous 
 description, however, it may well be 
 supposed they have lost nothing in the 
 narrative.t We will mention one cir- 
 cumstance which is recorded by Mr. 
 Mackenzie, in illustration. When that 
 gentleman wrote the beautiful story of 
 La Roche, in the 'Mirror,' in which, 
 with reference to the character of Mr. 
 Hume, he embodied the sentiments 
 which the good nature and benevolence 
 of that illustrious man might have sug- 
 gested under the circumstances ima- 
 gined, he was particularly anxious that 
 
 * Moral Sent. vol. ii. part vi. sect. 2. 
 \ Vide Quart. Rev. On the Life of John Home, 
 ascribed to Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 there should not be a single expression 
 in it, which could give offence or un- 
 easiness to any friend of Mr. Hume's ; 
 and he read the story to Dr. Smith, 
 desiring him to say, if there was any- 
 thing in it that he would wish to be 
 omitted or altered. He listened to it 
 very attentively from beginning to end, 
 and declared that he did not find a 
 syllable to object to, but added (with hiss 
 characteristic absence of mind, says Mr. 
 Mackenzie), that he was surprised he 
 had never heard the anecdote before. 
 
 It may be easily supposed that with 
 such a propensity to abstraction, he did 
 not readily fall in with the tone of gene- 
 ral conversation, and that in conse- 
 quence of that, and of his professional 
 habits as a lecturer, he was apt to ex- 
 press rather exclusively, the result of 
 his own meditations, without sufficient 
 reference at all times to the topic in 
 hand, or the immediate purpose of its 
 discussion ; and that his style had more 
 of the precision of a formal discourse, 
 than of the ease and freedom which 
 constitute the charm of colloquial inter- 
 course. It is reported of him too that 
 he was occasionally more positive in 
 the assertion of his opinions than is al- 
 ways becoming in a philosopher, and that 
 notwithstanding the extent and variety 
 of his information, he erred sometimes 
 from taking a partial and peculiar view 
 of a subject, as it might chance to be 
 connected at that particular moment 
 with some passing speculation in his 
 mind. 
 
 His learning was extensive and pro- 
 found. His study had not been con- 
 fined to the subjects which might ap- 
 pear to have occupied the whole labour 
 of his life. The sciences of ethics and 
 politics were not taken up by him, 
 as detached and abstract branches of 
 philosophy. They came presented to 
 his mind as part of the greater science 
 of human nature, to which he had 
 always devoted himself; and in the con- 
 templation of which he borrowed every 
 aid which a careful observation of the 
 various institutions which have existed 
 among men, their history, their lan- 
 guage, and the monuments of their arts 
 and letters, could afford him. But he 
 loved literature, as he loved virtue, for 
 its own sake, for its intrinsic beauty 
 and worth. In its best records, those 
 which exhibit the actions, and display 
 the passions and sentiments of men, 
 whether in philosophy where they are 
 traced to their causes; in history, in 
 
30 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 poetry, and oratory, where, under differ- 
 ent forms, they are beheld in their 
 operation ; amid that exhaustless variety 
 of circumstances and vicissitude of for- 
 tune, under which man has been seen 
 at once an agent and a victim ; he 
 found the everlasting materials for 
 his speculations, the real and only 
 data of all moral science. He did not 
 affect to despise, economist as he was, 
 the imperishable productions of human 
 wit and genius, the poetry of Homer 
 or of Milton, the eloquence of Demos- 
 thenes, or of Fox ; because he could 
 find in their works no argument for 
 the theory of rent, or the doctrine of 
 population. Nor was he pleased to 
 think it the part of a philosopher or a 
 philanthropist, to sneer at the domestic 
 affections, and the social virtues, in the 
 most comprehensive investigations which 
 he instituted, and which had for their 
 object the common benefit of man- 
 kind. 
 
 In his last hours he found delight in 
 the tragedies of Euripides and Racine ; 
 and the drama, and the principles of the 
 dramatic art, and of poetry in general, 
 formed a frequent and favourite topic of 
 his conversation. He was a great advo- 
 cate for rhyme, a more unqualified one 
 even than Dr. Johnson, for he was ac- 
 customed to contend for the propriety 
 of it as well on the stage, as in all other 
 departments of poetry*. 
 
 As he loved to read it, he was accus- 
 tomed to quote poetry, and the number 
 of beautiful passages which he had 
 treasured in his memory, and was in the 
 habit of introducing in conversation, 
 was remarkable in a man distinguished 
 by so many higher acquisitions. 
 
 His peculiar taste is best exemplified 
 in the style of his writings, which pos- 
 sess, even in that respect alone, merit of 
 a very high order. If he has not (and 
 who has ?) the grace, the "careless, in- 
 imitable beauties, "f of Mr. Hume, it was 
 owing in some measure to his not 
 having mixed in such varied society ; 
 a circumstance which, acting upon the 
 refined taste of the latter, lent to his com- 
 
 * It is well known that the two Doctors got to 
 rather high words once at Mr. Dilly's table, where 
 I hey met at dinner. Many years after this, when 
 Johnson, on some occasion, was maintaining the 
 superiority of rhyme over blank verse, Boswell 
 observed that he had heard Adam Smith enforce 
 ihesamecri'icism in his lectures at Glasgow. "Sir," 
 said Johnson, " Smith and I once met, and we did 
 not much take to each other; but if I had known 
 that the dug loved rhyme as much as you say he does, 
 Sir, I should have hugged him." 
 
 f Gibbon's Memoirs. 
 
 positions that inexpressible charm, 
 which Gibbon may be supposed to have 
 felt, when he describes himself in his 
 ambition to emulate him, as "closing 
 the volume with a mixed sensation of 
 delight and despair *." 
 
 The great aim of Dr. Smith as a 
 writer, and his great merit, is a mar- 
 vellous perspicuity in the exposition of 
 his ideas. Often diffuse, but never 
 prolix ; sometimes condensed, but never 
 entangled in his expression ; he unfolds 
 the process of his reasonings so amply, 
 that he leaves nothing to be supplied by 
 his reader but a careful attention to his 
 matter. Mr. Fox however is reported 
 to have said of him, perhaps hastily, 
 that he was unnecessarily diffuse, and 
 fond of deductions where there was no- 
 thing to deduce. Mr. Stewart, with 
 greater reserve, has ventured to hint a 
 criticism nearly similar, and has ascribed 
 this quality in his compositions to his 
 early fondness for the study of the Greek 
 geometry. 
 
 His greatest defect in the " Wealth 
 of Nations," along with some faults in 
 the arrangement of his subject, arises 
 from his frequent digressions ; his long 
 dissertations upon some incidental ques- 
 tions, which frequently encumber the 
 text, and intercept that complete and 
 unbroken view of the subject as a 
 whole, which a didactic author, who 
 desires to interest and inform his reader, 
 should always endeavour to preserve, 
 from the first simple proposition with 
 which he sets out, to the final de- 
 velopement of his system in all its 
 parts. This defect arose partly from a 
 peculiarity in his judgment, which led 
 him to reject the use of marginal anno- 
 tations ; so useful in treating of many 
 subjects, and certainly, it would seem, 
 not the least so, in many which Dr. 
 Smith undertook to discuss in his great 
 work. It is curious, however, that, in 
 the M Wealth of Nations," there are, we 
 believe, but three or four notes, of four 
 or five lines each, in the whole work, 
 and these containing little more than 
 references to authorities ; whilst, in the 
 "Theory of Moral Sentiments," there 
 occurs but one of considerable length, 
 and of importance more than equal to 
 its length, in which it is remarkable 
 that he has embodied a piece of reason- 
 ing, having es-sential reference to his 
 system, of which it may be said, indeed, 
 to furnish one of the strongest supports, 
 
 Gibbon's Memoirs. 
 
LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 31 
 
 and the clearest illustrations to be found, 
 perhaps, in the whole work * + 
 
 There is no doubt that he bestowed 
 great care upon the style and composi- 
 tion of his works. And after all his 
 practice as a writer, he is said never to 
 have acquired that facility which is often 
 attained by it, but to have written as 
 slowly, and with as much labour at 
 last, as he had ever done. This how- 
 ever was the effect, in some measure, 
 of the nature of his speculations, and 
 the general character and conduct of 
 his understanding. In all his works, 
 though we find passages of exceeding 
 eloquence, force, and beauty, he is most 
 distinguished for being a deliberate 
 reasoner, and a candid and cautious 
 thinker. It was usual with him, when 
 employed in composition, not to write 
 with his own hand, but to walk about 
 his room dictating to an amanuensis. 
 He had collected, in the course of his 
 life, a very valuable library, which he 
 bequeathed to his cousin, Mr. David 
 Douglas. As he was a lover of books, 
 he was more attentive to their condition, 
 and the outward fashion of them, than 
 is usual with scholars in general. When 
 Mr. Smellie once called upon him, and 
 was admiring a splendid copy of some 
 classic author, and the general elegance 
 of his shelves, " You see, Sir," said 
 Smith, " if in nothing else, I am a beau 
 at least in my books." 
 
 Besides the two great works of which 
 we have spoken, and on which the fame 
 of Dr. Smith will for ever rest, we 
 must not omit to mention the very ori- 
 ginal and ingenious dissertation on the 
 formation of languages, which was ap- 
 pended to the early editions of the "Moral 
 Sentiments," and still continues to be 
 published along with that work ; and 
 the few masterly, but unfinished sketches 
 which were published shortly after his 
 death. The tract on languages is a 
 piece of extensive learning and profound 
 observation ; but though Mr. Stewart 
 
 * Dr. Smith was betrayed into this rejection of 
 marginal writing, by his classic adherence to the 
 plan of composition of the ancients, who were equally 
 ignorant of the use and the abuse of our modern 
 practice; but many of whose works would evidently 
 have been much improved by a moderate adoption 
 of it ; and every reader of the " Wealth of Nations " 
 must have felt how much he would have been re- 
 lieved in the study of this great work, if many por- 
 tions of it, which might be pointed out, had been re- 
 moved from the text to the margin, to be consulted 
 in their proper places, and not allowed to interrupt, 
 as they often do, a chain of profound and subtle rea- 
 soning, or an intere>ting deduction of consequences 
 of the highest importance to the establishment of 
 the point in question. 
 
 t Vide "Theory of Moral Sent.," Part ii. Sect. 1. 
 
 has bestowed high praise upon it, it 
 seems hardly to have attracted the no- 
 tice it deserves. The longest and most 
 important of the posthumous essays, is 
 entitled a' 'History of Astronomy," in 
 which the author proposes to illustrate 
 the principles which suggest and direct 
 philosophical inquirers, by an account 
 of the origin and progress of that inte- 
 resting science. The same train of 
 thought was pursued in two shorter and 
 more imperfect essays, on the " History 
 of the Ancient Physics," and that of the 
 " Ancient Logic and Metaphysics." 
 Along with these is a disquisition of 
 very great beauty, entitled, with his ac- 
 customed amplitude of language, " On 
 the Nature of that Imitation which takes 
 place, in what are called the Imitative 
 Arts;" and another, on the "External 
 Senses " all abounding in great ori- 
 ginality of thought, exquisite illustra- 
 tion, and expression the most expanded 
 and luminous. 
 
 In the " Sketches of the History of 
 Philosophy," we find the same turn and 
 tendency of mind which he has displayed 
 in his greater works ; a disposition which 
 delighted to ascribe the first exercise of 
 the imagination and the intellect, not to 
 any view of profit or advantage in its 
 results, but to a natural desire to fill up 
 the void which was felt by the mind, 
 from its inability to comprehend and 
 connect together the various, and, as it 
 would seem, the disjointed appearances 
 which present themselves to its contem- 
 plation in the scenes and operations of 
 nature. " Philosophy," says Dr. Smith, 
 " is nothing but the science of the con- 
 necting principle of nature." It is an 
 art addressed to the imagination, which 
 seeks to. adapt and reconcile to that 
 faculty some theory, more or less satis- 
 factory, of the phenomena, which, at first 
 view, are void of order and connexion, 
 and of meaning. The superiority of the 
 Newtonian philosophy, he maintains, 
 consists only in this, that it is the 
 most pleasing solution of the great pro- 
 blem of nature which has yet been given 
 that it connects more easily and more 
 simply the appearances of the heavens 
 in the fancy not that it is by any means 
 to be regarded as unfolding the actual 
 chains which nature makes use of to 
 bind together her several operations. 
 
 In the few observations which have 
 been made upon the writings of this 
 illustrious man, as in the short extracts 
 introduced from tnem, it has been less 
 our object, as will be seen, to dwell upon 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF DR. ADAM SMITH. 
 
 their merits with reference to any sys- 
 tem, either of morals or economy, or to 
 the soundness or fallacy of any particu- 
 lar doctrine, than to point out the admi- 
 rable spirit which animates every part 
 of that system ; and those principles to 
 which he always appeals, as the legiti- 
 mate sources whence alone we can 
 draw the materials of all moral and 
 political institutes. To have done more 
 than this, to have given even a very 
 brief abstract of his system, in either of 
 his two great works, would have far ex- 
 ceeded the limits of the present memoir ; 
 would require, and might well deserve, 
 a separate treatise. 
 
 What has been attempted, however im- 
 perfectly, may not be altogether without 
 its use, at least until propositions in the 
 moral, as in the mathematical sciences, 
 shall admit of demonstration. When that 
 shall be the case, and the results of our 
 reasonings can be submitted to so deci- 
 sive a test, the sources whence we derive 
 them, and the mode in which they are 
 conducted, may be alike indifferent, and 
 cannot assuredly affect in the slightest 
 degree the truths demonstrated. Till 
 then, however, it must be considered as 
 no unimportant part of that species of 
 philosophy which, in the expressive lan- 
 guage of Lord Bacon, comes home to 
 men's business and bosoms, to tem- 
 per its doctrines by moderation and 
 modesty ; to engage the sympathies on 
 our side of those we undertake to teach, 
 and not to repel them ; to endeavour to 
 shew, if we can, that the doctrines we 
 inculcate may be traced to a higher 
 wisdom than that of man, by being 
 in conformity with the rules by which 
 nature seems to work, and in further- 
 ance of principles which she has evi- 
 dently implanted for the accomplishment 
 of her own great ends. 
 
 No philosopher has so constantly 
 borne in mind as Dr. Smith, that in the 
 moral, as in the physical constitution 
 and frame of man, nature has made cer- 
 
 tain provisions for his attainment to 
 virtue and to happiness, which the igno- 
 rant may overlook, and the arrogant 
 may disregard, but with which the wise 
 will only study to co-operate. And all 
 the precepts we can put forth will de- 
 rive their best sanction, and afford the 
 strongest presumption in their favour by 
 their being shewn to be in unison with 
 those simple instincts of our nature, by 
 which alone, as individuals, we are first 
 taught to apprehend a distinction be- 
 twixt good and evil,* and which, in the 
 obvious arrangements they suggest for 
 the social union, were equally intended 
 by our great Creator as lights to the 
 economist and the legislator for the 
 framing of those laws and institutions 
 which take place in the wider and more 
 complicated associations of men. It was 
 in this excellent and truly enlightened 
 spirit, that Smith, by applying the ex 
 perimental method of reasoning to moral 
 subjects, attained the vantage ground of 
 that higher philosophy of which it is the 
 glory of Bacon to have pointed out the 
 road ; by which Newton ascended to 
 the discovery of the sublimest truths in 
 physics ; and by the careful cultivation 
 of which alone, if ever, it may be hoped, 
 that the moral and political sciences 
 will be placed on a foundation equally 
 enduring, and when knowledge in them 
 will more surely become power to man, 
 as their reference to his happiness and 
 advancement is more obvious and im- 
 mediate. 
 
 * It has become usual of late, even in moral and 
 political discourses, to regard all reference to autho- 
 rity as marks of a poor and illogical understanding. 
 In the physical sciences, those more especially which 
 rest upon mathematics, fas we have said in the text) 
 the argument from authority is of course out of the 
 question. It is different we conceive in other sub- 
 jects; and though we have little respect for an 
 hypothesis, however supported, which appeals from 
 the universal sense and feelings of mankind, an au- 
 thority that appeals to that sense and those feelings 
 is entitled to a good deal, and for our parts we 
 should be satisfied to take our chance of error, in a 
 question concerning the principle of moral appro- 
 bationfor instance, with Hume and Smith", and 
 Stewart and Mackintosh. 
 
LIFE OF CARSTEN NIEBUHR. 
 
 Introduction. 
 
 The memoir which we are about to 
 lay before our readers is the life of a 
 man sprung from the ranks of the 
 people, and retaining through life his 
 sympathies with them. At the highest 
 point of elevation to which he at- 
 tained, favoured by his prince, re- 
 spected and admired by the learned and 
 eminent of all countries, it was his 
 pride that he was born a peasant of 
 Free Friesland. His manners never 
 lost the simplicity, nor his morals the 
 purify of that singular and estimable 
 class of men. If ever there lived a man 
 who might safely and reasonably be 
 held up to the people as an object of 
 imitation, it was Carsten Niebuhr. 
 Not only was he a poor man, an 
 orphan, born in a remote part of a 
 remote province, far from all those 
 facilities for acquiring knowledge, which 
 in this age and country are poured out 
 before the feet of the people ; he was 
 not even gifted in any extraordinary 
 way by nature. He was in no sense of 
 the word a genius. He had, as his 
 eminent biographer remarks, no imagi- 
 nation ; his power of acquiring does 
 not seem to have been extraordinarily 
 rapid, nor his memory singularly reten- 
 tive. In all cases where the force of 
 that will, at once steady and ardent, 
 which enabled him to master his fa- 
 vourite studies, was not brought to bear, 
 his progress was slow and inconsider- 
 able. It is not, therefore, in any sup- 
 posed intellectual advantages that we 
 must look for the causes of his rise to 
 eminence. They are to be found rather 
 in the moral qualities which distin- 
 guished him, qualities attainable in a 
 greater or less degree by men of the 
 humblest rank, of the most homely intel- 
 lect, the least favoured by situation or 
 connexion. It will well repay us to 
 look a little more nearly into these quali- 
 ties ; they are the bases of everything 
 which a man of unperverted judgment 
 and taste would respect in others or 
 desire in himself. 
 
 He possessed in an eminent degree the 
 distinguishing virtues of his country, 
 sincerity, unadulterated and faithful love 
 of truth, and honesty. The zeal with 
 which he gave himself to a pursuit 
 which might enable him to be useful 
 to his native district ; the total absence 
 of vanity and of all interested motives 
 which characterized the whole course of 
 his studies and of his journeyings ; 
 the simplicity of his narrative, in which 
 no more of himself and his individual 
 feelings appears than is just necessary 
 to keep up the thread of the story ; 
 the rigorous accuracy and anxiety after 
 truth for which his travels have ever 
 been, and still remain, pre-eminently dis- 
 tinguished among all who preceded, 
 and all who have followed him on the 
 same ground, afford ample evidence of 
 the singleness and the steadiness of the 
 motives which actuated him. The 
 punctilious honour which distinguished 
 his disbursement of the funds entrusted 
 to his care by the Danish government; 
 the exactness with which he abstained 
 from applying a farthing of this money 
 to any object which could be considered 
 by others, or which his own more fasti- 
 dious delicacy could regard, as a per- 
 sonal gratification, (though connected 
 as all his pleasures were with the inte- 
 rests of science and the scope of his 
 mission, prove that honour is confined to 
 no class, but that its highest refinements 
 are within the reach of the humblest. 
 
 His self-command was perfect. He 
 could abstain from what was agreeable, 
 and do what was disagreeable to him. 
 He was, of course, sober, temperate 
 even to abstemiousness, laborious and 
 persevering; neither discouraged nor 
 elated by the incidents which he must 
 have known were inseparable from the 
 career he had chosen. 
 
 The more tranquil and uniform course 
 of life which he led from the time of 
 his marriage till his death, his conduct 
 as a father of a family and a citizen, 
 are marked by the same integrity, active 
 usefulness, and simplicity. It was not 
 one of the smallest benefits he conferred 
 B 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR, 
 
 upon his country and society that he 
 imbued his illustrious son with the 
 same fervent and steady zeal for truth 
 and freedom, the same devotion to 
 science, the same respect for all that is 
 beneficent and honourable, which ani- 
 mated his own blameless and useful 
 life. Happy the country which can 
 draw such men as Niebuhr from the 
 ranks of her peasantry to the highest 
 walks of science, and the most import- 
 ant posts in her service.! 
 
 Life of Niebuhr. 
 
 Hadeln, as we are informed by the 
 historical notice at the end of the an- 
 cient Frisian laws, printed at Witte- 
 wierum, was a province of Friesland, 
 and formerly, under the name of 
 Hadelre, belonged to the seventh See- 
 la?id*, or maritime district. At the dis- 
 solution of the great Frisian federation, 
 it lost its republican freedom, and, after 
 experiencing various fortunes, fell into 
 the hands of the Dukes of Saxelauen- 
 "burg, and, together with that duchy, 
 devolved to Hanover. 
 
 The country consists of marsh, with 
 the exception of three parishes of moor- 
 land : the peasantry are, as usual in 
 Friesland, universally free proprietors, 
 every one of whom possesses, inhabits, 
 and cultivates his farm, with the fullest 
 and most perfect enjoyment of the 
 rights of property. Down 3 to the time 
 of the French conquest the local admi- 
 nistration was free, in the hands of 
 magistrates chosen by the peasantry ; 
 the taxes were extremely light, and the 
 prosperity and comfort of the peasantry 
 very greatt- 
 
 * Friesland, divided into seven Seclanden, or pro- 
 vinces, was exposed to frequent landings of the Nor- 
 men on their coasts, and on the landside to attacks 
 from the neighbouring Bishops and Counts. To se- 
 cure themselves from external assault and from in- 
 ternal disquiet, the seven Seclanden formed themselves 
 into a closely united body. This union was ratified 
 at Upstalsboom in the middle of the 11th century, at 
 a general assembly of the people. Wiarda. 
 
 T The peasantry of Friesland enjoy many remark- 
 able rights and liberties rarely to be found in other 
 countries. At one time the Landstandschaft, or right 
 and dignity of legislative landed proprietors, was 
 claimed by the freeholders or hereditary owners of 
 small portions of land. These freeholders are chiefly 
 to be found in the marshes, and the marshmen are 
 principally distinguished from the moorlanders from 
 the rareness of allodial tenures among them. The 
 freeholders possess the entire property of their land, 
 and are subject to no one but the government, to 
 which alone they pay taxes and render the service 
 attached to the land. Those freemen who possess 
 not considerable farms, but a few acres, are called 
 Cotters (Kother) and generally carry on some other 
 accessary or subordinate business. Wiahda. 
 
 In this country, among these free 
 men, himself a free peasant, or yeo- 
 man, was Carsten Niebuhr born, on 
 the 17th of March, 1733, in his father's 
 farm-house, in "West Ludingworth. 
 His father and his ancestors, from his 
 great great grandfather) downwards, 
 (higher than whom our accounts do not 
 reach) lived as yeomen on their own 
 marsh farm; in competence, though 
 not in affluence. 
 
 It is a remarkable fact that certain 
 epochs produce men distinguished in the 
 same art, or science, or talent, whilst 
 other epochs are utterly barren of them. 
 This was the case, in the north of 
 Germany, with the contemporaries of 
 Carsten Niebuhr. In or about the 
 same year occurred the births of Count 
 Andrew Peter Bernstorf, of Reimarus, 
 Hensler the father, Behrens, and, at 
 remoter distances of time and place, of 
 many other celebrated men. The men 
 of this time were distinguished for a 
 remarkable activity, a singular earnest- 
 ness and zeal, and a robust health of 
 body and of mind ; the/have left behind 
 them the most durable monuments in 
 their works and in their actions. They 
 came after Winkelmann, Kant, and 
 Klopstock, by just such an interval as 
 to be rising up to maturity when the 
 latter had reached it. 
 
 Carsten Niebuhr lost his mother be- 
 fore he was six weeks old. He grew 
 up under the care of a stepmother in 
 his father's house, where his way of 
 life and his employments, as well as 
 his education, were those common to 
 the peasant boys of his country. It 
 was, probably, owing to his own eager 
 desire for knowledge, that his father 
 was induced, only with a view to his 
 being somewhat better instructed than 
 a common peasant, to send him to the 
 Grammar-school in Otterndorf, whence 
 he afterwards went to that at Altenbruch. 
 But the removal of the schoolmaster of 
 that place and the prejudices of his 
 guardians (for his father had died 
 in the interval) put an end to his 
 school studies, before he had gone far 
 enough even to have them sufficiently 
 impressed on his memory, to be of any 
 service to him, when he afterwards re- 
 sumed them. 
 
 The division of his father's property 
 between the surviving children had left 
 him, instead of the farm which had 
 been so long the hereditary possession 
 of the family, only a very small capital. 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 quite inadequate to the purchase of 
 any land for himself; and necessity- 
 would have led him to acquire know- 
 ledge as a means of subsistence, even 
 if he had been of a character to endure 
 to live without education and without 
 employment. He was obliged, how- 
 ever, to content himself with such ac- 
 complishments as were attainable with- 
 out school learning ; he, therefore, for 
 a year, pursued music with great zeal, 
 and learned to play on several instru- 
 ments with a view to earn his living as 
 an organist. As this employment, like- 
 wise, did not meet the approbation of 
 his guardians, his maternal uncle took 
 him home to his own house, where he 
 
 Eassed about four years, during which 
 is life was once more completely that 
 of a peasant. The older he grew, how- 
 ever, the less could he endure the void 
 and.dulness of this way of life, which 
 can only be relieved, either, as in old 
 times, by a share in the general delibe- 
 rations on the affairs of the community, 
 and by cheerfulness and merriment, or, 
 as is the case with the English farmer, 
 by a participation in the advantages of 
 education, and literary amusement. He 
 felt an irresistible impulse to learn, to 
 employ himself, and to render himself 
 generally useful. 
 
 The purely accidental circumstances 
 which determine the course of life of 
 distinguished men deserve to be re- 
 membered. In the highest degree acci- 
 dental was that which gave to Niebuhr 
 the direction which he thenceforward 
 followed, until it led him to become 
 the most eminent traveller of modern 
 times. A lawsuit had arisen concerning 
 the superficial contents of a farm, which 
 could only be decided by measurement ; 
 and, as there was no landsurveyor in 
 Hadeln, the parties were obliged to 
 send for one to another place. Niebuhr 
 felt for the honour of his native dis- 
 trict with all the warmth of old times, 
 and this occurrence appeared to him 
 disgraceful to it: he could now fulfil 
 a duty towards his country by learning 
 the ^neglected art, which at the same 
 time furnished him with an occupation 
 and an object such as he desired. He 
 was, in the meantime, come of age, 
 and, as he learnt that instruction in 
 practical geometry was to be had 
 in Bremen, he immediately repaired 
 thither. This plan was frustrated ; the 
 teacher upon whom he reckoned was 
 dead ; but he did not disdain the instruc- 
 tions of a humble practitioner of the 
 
 art. He, however, would have been 
 obliged to lodge and board in his house, 
 and here the bashful, strictly decorous 
 and self-distrusting young peasant,found 
 two town-bred young ladies, sisters of 
 his intended teacher, whose attentions 
 appeared to him so singular that he 
 quickly took his departure. He now 
 turned his eyes toward Hamburgh, but 
 there he was destined again to experience 
 disappointment, and to have his perse- 
 verance put to the test. 
 
 He had passed his two-and-twentieth 
 year when he went to Hamburgh to 
 avail himself of Succow's instructions 
 in mathematics, and, without any false 
 shame on account of his age, to begin 
 his school studies anew. His income 
 was not sufficient to maintain him even 
 with that rigid frugality which was na- 
 tural to him. He determined, however, 
 to spend just so much of his small 
 capital as would enable him to accom- 
 plish his end. He arrived at Hamburgh 
 in the summer of the year, 1755, as we 
 find from his letters to president Beym- 
 graben, the only friend of riper age and 
 judgment he then possessed, by whose 
 family they are reverentially preserved. 
 
 But just at this time Succow was 
 called to Jena : the mathematical chair 
 was empty, and was not filled until 
 Busch was appointed to it. The severest 
 application to private instruction was, 
 therefore, necessary to make the lessons 
 at the gymnasium (or public school) 
 intelligible or profitable to him. A 
 countryman of his, named Witke, who, 
 at that time, lived in Hamburgh as can- 
 didate for holy orders, and who after- 
 wards died at Otterndorf, where he was 
 pastor, gave him this private instruction 
 with itrue cordiality and friendship. 
 Niebuhr always spoke of him as the 
 person who laid the foundation of his 
 education, and, as such, honoured and 
 loved him with grateful piety. Notwith- 
 standing his uncommon exertions, and 
 the strength both of his body and mind, 
 twenty months, eight of which passed 
 in merely preparatory studies, (for the 
 Latin tongue was almost entirely un- 
 known to him,) were quite 'insufficient 
 for one who began to learn so late in 
 life ; to acquire that quantity of 
 learning which more fortunate youths 
 bring with them to the university. Among 
 other things thus unavoidably neglected 
 was Greek, which he always greatly la- 
 mented the want of. 
 
 Under Busch he had begun to learn 
 mathematics : he was the earliest and 
 B2 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 the most distinguished of all his pupils, 
 and in after-life became his most inti- 
 mate friend. 
 
 To stop half-way in any undertaking 
 was thoroughly repugnant to his whole 
 character. He had gone to Hamburgh 
 solely with a view to acquire a know- 
 ledge of geometry, and of some things 
 commonly taught in schools; but as 
 soon as he had become acquainted with 
 the sciences, he could not rest until he 
 was able to embrace them in all their ex- 
 tent and depth, and in the Easter of 1757 
 he repaired to Gbttingen. His pursuit 
 continued to be mathematics: he was 
 more than ever compelled, by the dimi- 
 nution of his little substance, to aim at 
 some employment by which he could 
 maintain himself, and to which his stu- 
 dies would lead. This he now looked 
 to in the Hanoverian engineer corps, in 
 which (as was the case in almost all the 
 military services of Germany) men of 
 efficient mathematical attainments were 
 extremely rare, and might hope to be- 
 come the makers of their fortunes by 
 merit. 
 
 He studied with the steadiness which 
 a fixed, simple, and prudent plan of 
 life ensures, from the Easter of 1757 
 (when he came to the university,) for 
 more than a year, undisturbed by the 
 war which frequently raged around Got- 
 tingen *. 
 
 At this time he recollected that an 
 endowment, or fund for exhibitions, ex- 
 isted at this university, and begged his 
 friend to ascertain whether it was only 
 for poor students, in the strict sense of 
 the word ; or whether it was endowed 
 without that limitation, " as a means of 
 persevering in the study of something 
 
 * " The studies of Gottingen," says Mr. Niebuhr, 
 " were indeed but little disturbed by this cause. On 
 the one hand, the French were extremely courteous 
 and insinuating in their behaviour to the distinguished 
 men of letters: (though had Richelieu's plan of devas- 
 tation been carried through, this city would have been 
 burnt to the ground.) On the other, the learned of 
 that place were so utterly devoid of all the spirit of a 
 patriot or a citizen, that one of them boasted that he 
 had not abused the confidence of a French officer, who 
 bad blabbed to him the expedition against Brunswick, 
 in 1762 ; and even that he had refused one of his pupils 
 the useof his horse, which he begged for, that he might 
 carry to the Hanoverian army intelligence which 
 would have enabled it to surprise the enemy ; itwas 
 against his conscience! My father was otherwise- 
 minded, and ventured into the French camp on pur- 
 pose to gain intelligence. That such an extinction 
 of all manly feeling in men of letters is fatal to 
 science and literature, may be sufficiently seen in the 
 works of these denationalized men. 
 ' " A far different spirit reigned at Halle, where, so 
 long as the thunder of the cannon re-echoed from Ros- 
 bach, the master of the orphan school, and all his 
 boys remained on their; knees praying to God for 
 victory for Frederic and Prussia, as if they had beea 
 ia a besieged town." 
 
 useful and important. In this case 
 alone could he allow himself to apply for 
 it." He received it, and reserved it en 
 tirely for the purchase of instruments. 
 
 At this period Frederic the Fifth 
 reigned in Denmark in enviable tran- 
 quillity. Louis the Fourteenth's me- 
 mory still shone throughout Europe 
 with all that false glitter which had 
 hung around his name during his life, 
 and he was well known to be the model 
 after which the ministers of the Danish 
 monarch endeavoured, as far as it was 
 compatible with the character of a 
 peaceful king, to form their sovereign. 
 Seldom, however, have the aims of a 
 minister been less liable to reproach 
 than those of the then Baron J. H. E. 
 Bernstorf ; and among all the statesmen 
 of the continent, there was not, perhaps, 
 one of his time so well informed, so in- 
 telligent, and so noble-minded. The 
 truth of the charge brought against 
 him, that the then system of administra 
 tion was not suited to Denmark, was 
 felt by some of his contemporaries, but 
 this feeling was mixed up with per- 
 sonality and exaggeration. It cannot 
 be denied, that for a century the nation 
 had been declining: this was clearly 
 attributable to two causes, namely, a 
 rage for whatever was foreign, and an 
 internal suffocation of the public mind, 
 perfectly analogous to that with which 
 the Jesuit opposers of the Reformation 
 had accomplished the entire demoraliza- 
 tion of Bohemia ; and it was obvious 
 that the population, both of the country 
 and of towns, must, by political means 
 adapted to their peculiar situations, be 
 assisted in remedying this evil as much 
 as possible. The extraordinary and 
 beneficent qualities and endowments 
 of the second Count Bernstorf will be 
 remembered by a grateful nation, after 
 a period of disaster, not merely with 
 regret, since what he effected remains 
 indestructible, and forms the sole basis 
 for future reforms and improvements; 
 but as having bequeathed an everlast- 
 ing model in his administration. Pos- 
 terity will perhaps mention, as among 
 his uncle's noblest actions, the eman- 
 cipation of his serfs, or slaves of the 
 soil ; the leisure which he ensured to 
 Klopstock, and the scientific expedition 
 he sent into Arabia. This enterprise was 
 originally owing to Michaelis, who had 
 represented to the minister of state that 
 many elucidations of the Old Testament 
 might be obtained by personal observa- 
 tion and inquiry in Arabia, which might 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 be regarded as hitherto untrodden by 
 European feet. The original idea in the 
 mind of its author extended no farther 
 than this; that a single traveller an 
 oriental scholar out of his own school, 
 should be sent by way of India to 
 Yemen ; a plan which would then have 
 caused the undertaking to end in no- 
 thing, even supposing the traveller ever 
 to have found his way back. Fortu- 
 nately the minister immediately per- 
 ceived the defectiveness of the scheme, 
 and replied to it by a proposal to render 
 the mission far more extensive in its 
 objects and outfit. Thus it happened 
 that the original and peculiar aim, at 
 least in so far as concerned the ques- 
 tions which the originator of the plan 
 suggested, dwindled into an infinitely 
 subordinate object; whilst what was 
 accomplished by those two men to 
 whom jointly, and to whom alone, the 
 fame of the expedition is due, grew into 
 an importance, which had been neither 
 foreseen nor aimed at by Michaelis. 
 
 The first project was submitted to 
 Baron von Bernstorf, as early as the 
 year 1756. As he took it up with all the 
 rivacity and liberality for which he was 
 so remarkable, and fully empowered 
 Michaelis to propose an oriental scholar 
 to him, it might have been expected 
 that Michaelis would have proposed the 
 man who, among all his contempora- 
 ries, was unrivalled for his knowledge 
 of the Arabic language, and, as all 
 Germany knew, was fighting inch by 
 inch with starvation, Reiske, whom, 
 moreover, Michaelis had known from 
 the time he was at school. Instead 
 of him, he recommended a pupil of 
 his own, named Von Haven, whose 
 acquirements must, at that time, have 
 been those of a mere school-boy, since 
 a two years' residence at Rome, (whither 
 he went to prepare himself under the 
 Maronites,) and even the journey itself, 
 never raised them above the meanest 
 mediocrity. 
 
 Michaelis was also commissioned by 
 Baron von Bernstorf to propose the ma- 
 thematicians and natural historians, by 
 the fortunate association of whom with 
 the mission that minister gave it value 
 and importance. For the choice of 
 these men he applied to Kastner, one of 
 the Gottingen Society of Sciences, of 
 which he was then director. A student 
 of Hanover, named Bolzing, at first 
 accepted the proposal ; but after a short 
 time took fright, and withdrew his pro- 
 mise. Without doubt, Kastner would 
 
 have chosen Niebuhr in the first in- 
 stance, if the latter had studied long 
 enough at the university to have shewn 
 to what a high degree of aptitude he 
 was likely to attain. As yet, little more 
 could be known of him than his appli- 
 cation and his excellent character. For- 
 tunately, to that extent, Kastner already 
 knew his pupil; and one day in the 
 summer of 1758, on his way from a 
 meeting of the society, to which he had 
 just proposed Niebuhr, he walked into 
 his room. " Have you a mind to go to 
 Arabia?" said he. " Why not ? if any 
 body will pay my expenses," answered 
 Niebuhr, whom nothing bound to 
 home, and whom an unbounded eager- 
 ness after knowledge urged abroad. 
 " The King of Denmark," replied Kast- 
 ner, " will pay your expenses." He then 
 explained the project and its origin. 
 Niebuhr's resolution was taken in a 
 moment, so far as his own inclination 
 was concerned. But as he thought 
 very humbly of himself, and most re- 
 verentially of science and of the truly 
 instructed, he despaired of his own 
 ability and power of being useful. On 
 this head, however, Kastner set him 
 at ease by the promise of a long term 
 for- preparation, which he might employ 
 chiefly under Mayer in astronomy, and 
 by the assurance that, with his deter- 
 mined perseverance and industry, the 
 allotted time would be fully sufficient. 
 The same evening Niebuhr, who wanted 
 nothing to fix his resolution but Mayer's 
 promise to instruct him in astronomy, 
 went to him. Mayer, who was not so 
 sanguine a man as Kastner, cautioned 
 him against a determination which, with 
 his character, would be irrevocable"; 
 while he knew not the dangers and fa- 
 tigues he was about to brave : he, how- 
 ever, promised the desired instruction. 
 
 Michaelis, whom he visited the fol- 
 lowing day, probably saw levity and 
 precipitation in so prompt a resolution, 
 and pressed upon him a delay of a week 
 to reconsider the matter. It passed, 
 but Niebuhr did not trouble himself 
 with any further deliberation on a sub- 
 ject upon which his mind was already 
 thoroughly resolved, and Michaelis now 
 regarded the engagement as defini- 
 tively accepted. His conditions were, 
 a year and a half, till the Easter 
 of 1760, for preparation ;' and, during 
 this period, the same salary as Von 
 Haven received. These were assented 
 to by Baron von Bernstorf without 
 the slightest hesitation. He now lived 
 
UFE OF KIEBUHR. 
 
 solely for his object. He pursued his 
 studies in pure mathematics, perfc cted 
 himself in drawing, and sought to 
 acquire such historical information as 
 was attainable with that degree of 
 learning which he had so lately and so 
 imperfectly acquired, without neglecting 
 his more immediate objects.' He cul- 
 tivated practical mechanics with a view 
 to acquiring greater dexterity in hand- 
 ling his instruments, and in various 
 manual operations, the acquirement 
 and practice of which in Europe, ex- 
 cept for those whose business they are, 
 is but a waste of time. His attention 
 was, however, principally occupied by 
 the private lessons of Michaelis in the 
 Arabic language, and of Mayer in as- 
 tronomy. These he remembered with 
 very different feelings. For the gram- 
 matical study of languages in general 
 he had but little talent or inclination ; 
 but his lessons in Arabic were ren- 
 dered peculiarly distasteful to him by 
 the fact that, at the end of several 
 months, his teacher had not brought 
 him farther than the first fables of 
 Lokmann, and he soon found out that 
 Michaelis possessed no very great store 
 of Arabic philology or learning. He 
 therefore gave up this course of instruc- 
 tion, which Michaelis never forgave him. 
 Tobias Mayer was undoubtedly one 
 of the first astronomers and mathe- 
 maticians of his time*. Mayer's zeal 
 for teaching his pupil was as great as 
 Niebuhr's for learning of him. Among 
 all the men with whom he became 
 acquainted in the course of his long 
 life, there was none whom he so loved 
 and honoured as Mayer ; and the most 
 intimate friendship subsisted between 
 them. He retained an ardent attach- 
 ment to Mayer's memory up to the 
 most advanced age, and fate never 
 procured him any pleasure so great, as 
 that of hearing that his first lunar ob- 
 servations reached his beloved teacher 
 on his death-bed, before consciousness 
 had left him, and had cheered and 
 animated his last moments; and that 
 these observations had decided the giv- 
 ing the English premium offered for the 
 
 * The results of his labours were published after 
 his death. They consisted principally of a cata- 
 logue of 992 stars, and his famous lunar and solar 
 tables. His valuable theory of the moon, and the 
 laborious calculation of these tables, together with 
 the invention of Hadley's quadrant, in 1731, enabled 
 Maskelyne to bring into general use the method of 
 discovering the longitude by observing the distance 
 of the moon from the sun and certain fixed stars, 
 called the lunar method. Mayer died at the early 
 age of thirty-nine, worn out and exhausted by his 
 lncessant^exertions in the cause of science. 
 
 discovery of the longitude, to thewidow 
 of the man to whom he felt that he was 
 indebted for his acquirements in this 
 branch of science. Mayer on his part had 
 no more earnest solicitude than to edu- 
 cate a pupil who would apply his method 
 of determining the longitude, and his, 
 at that time, unprinted lunar tables, 
 of which Niebuhr made a copy. 
 
 He probably saw that blind, me- 
 chanical attachment to old ways and 
 prejudices would for many years retard 
 the reception of his method, but that, 
 when proved by practical application, 
 it would | be impossible to stifle it. 
 Mayer interested himself in the outfit 
 for Niebuhr's journey, so entirely as if 
 it had been his own personal affair, 
 that he divided his quadrants with his 
 own hands. The accuracy of this la- 
 bour of friendship was proved by the 
 observations which were made with it. 
 
 The time appointed for preparation 
 had been prolonged by half a year; 
 and it was not till the Michaelmas of 
 1 760 that he left Gottingen. At Copen- 
 hagen he was most kindly received by 
 the minister von Bernstorf, and gained 
 his confidence to a greater degree than 
 the other members of the expedition, 
 who were already assembled there be- 
 fore him. As he received a pension 
 from the king during the time of his 
 preparation, he thought himself bound 
 to purchase all his^ instruments at his 
 own cost. He esteemed himself most 
 happy to procure them in this manner. 
 Bernstorf, to whose knowledge this 
 accidentally came, pressed upon him 
 compensation for what he had thus ex- 
 pended, and committed the travelling 
 chest to him as a proof of respect for 
 his rigid integrity. 
 
 He was at this time appointed lieu- 
 tenant of engineers, a circumstance 
 which only deserves notice for the sake 
 of a letter which places his modesty 
 and judgment in the most amiable 
 light. "He was," as he wrote to a 
 friend, " led to think of a title [for him- 
 self by Von Haven's appointment to a 
 professorship of the university of Copen- 
 hagen. A similar one had been offered 
 to him, but he held himself unworthy 
 of it. The one he had received ap- 
 peared to him more suitable. He 
 might have had that of captain if he 
 had asked for it ; but that, for a young 
 man, would have been too much. As 
 lieutenant, it would be highly creditable 
 to him to make valuable observations ; 
 but, as professor, he should feel it dis- 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 graceful not to have sufficiently explored 
 the depths of mathematical science." 
 He had at that time no other plan than 
 that of living in his native country, after 
 the accomplishment of his mission, on 
 the pension which was assigned to him. 
 
 As more than half a century has 
 elapsed since the death of his travelling 
 companions, there can be no impro- 
 priety in recording what he thought and 
 related of them. 
 
 Von Haven's uselessness as a lin- 
 guist has already been mentioned. He 
 had moreover chosen a career, for 
 which, on all accounts, no man was 
 less fitted. His sole thought was to 
 return home ; his favourite topic was 
 the comfortable life which he there pro- 
 mised himself : no ardour for discovery 
 or for observation made him forget the 
 fatigues and privations of the journey, 
 and no one had so many wants, and felt 
 so many privations, as he. A dainty table 
 and good wine were, in his estimation, 
 the greatest blessings of life ; and in 
 Arabia, where the travellers found only 
 scanty fare and bad water to appease 
 their hunger and thirst, his discontent 
 arose to a despair which often diverted, 
 but sometimes disgusted his companions. 
 He was by nature indolent, and thought 
 himself fully excused from working 
 under such a climate. He likewise fre- 
 quently shewed himself haughty and 
 conceited towards Forskaal and Nie- 
 buhr ; he behaved as if he thought 
 himself the highest and most distin- 
 guished of the^ party ; and was greatly 
 offended that Niebuhr had the care of 
 the chest. After his death nothing of 
 the slightest utility was found in his 
 meagre journal. 
 
 According to Niebuhr's judgment 
 and testimony, Forskaal was by far the 
 most instructed of the party, and had he 
 returned, would have attained to the 
 highest rank among the contemporary 
 men of science, by his manifold and 
 profound acquirements. He had origi- 
 nally studied theology ; his eager and 
 free spirit had led him from Sweden to 
 Germany ; for a long time he had de- 
 voted himself to speculative metaphy- 
 sics with great ardour ; he likewise 
 pursued the study of eastern lan- 
 guages, and at the same time as much 
 of physics and chemistry, as well as 
 of every branch of natural science, as 
 was then known. The metaphysics of 
 a mind of this stamp must have been 
 very different from the scholastic pedan- 
 try of the time : the academical works in 
 
 which he published his speculations on 
 these subjects passed at Gottingen for 
 odd in Sweden, for rather bold and 
 flippant ; it is matter of regret that we 
 do not know them. He willingly quitted 
 his country, where, after his return from 
 the university, he met with hostility on 
 every side. 
 
 He stood in need [of no preparation ; 
 the proposal for the journey found him 
 perfectly prepared, and that to a degree 
 in which few ever become so. In la- 
 borious industry, contempt of dangers, 
 difficulties, and privations, he resembled 
 Niebuhr. Both felt themselves called 
 upon to observe whatever came before 
 them. Forskaal's learned education, 
 however, gave him a great advantage. 
 He acquired languages much more 
 rapidly and perfectly, and was soon able 
 to read Arabic works with fluency. His 
 faults were disputatiousness,caprice,and 
 an irascible temper. Mutual respect and 
 equal zeal produced a stable friendship 
 between Niebuhr and him ; but the har- 
 mony between them was not without 
 some interruptions, until Forskaal on one 
 occasion discovered that his companion's 
 patience was not completely inexhaust- 
 able and impassive. Forskaal's papers 
 have been carefully used by his friend, 
 and what they contained of a narrative 
 kind, or illustrative of the manners of the 
 people,is inserted inNiebuhr's works with 
 the author's name. Of the edition of his 
 works on natural history we shall shortly 
 have occasion to speak. It is painful 
 to see how they have been neglected. 
 Besides the systematical descriptions 
 of new plants and their uses, they are 
 rich in admirable observations on vege- 
 table physiology, and in remarks on 
 the husbandry and geological structure 
 of the countries he traversed, parties 
 larly of Egypt, of which no such de- 
 scription previously existed. The late 
 Vahl preserved and restored Forskaal's 
 neglected herbarium, so far as it was 
 still possible,| and laboured to do jus- 
 tice ;to his memory. Linnaeus mani- 
 fested an odious spirit of hostility to his 
 old pupil. Forskaal had told Niebuhr 
 that he wished one of the species of 
 plants he discovered (the one called 
 Mimosella, [in] his Flora) to be named 
 after himself. Niebuhr transmitted 
 this wish of a man who had deserved 
 immortality by his labours, to Linnaeus; 
 but instead of paying any attention to it, 
 he gave Forskaal's name to another 
 species, also discovered by him, but 
 which conveyed, by its appellation, 
 
8 
 
 LIFE OF, NIEBUHR. 
 
 the most obvious and malicious allusion 
 to the departed. Niebuhr could never 
 forgive this spiteful trick. Forskaal had 
 also called one species of plants after 
 him, in remembrance, perhaps, of the 
 cordiality' with which Niebuhr had as- 
 sisted in all his excursions and collections. 
 This, however, as he was no botanist, 
 appeared to him inappropriate, and the 
 sole alteration he permitted himself to 
 make in Forskaal' s papers, was to erase 
 every trace of the honour intended him. 
 
 Of the physician, Dr. Cramer, nothing 
 is to be said, except that the choice of 
 him was most unfortunate ; that he 
 was incompetent, even in a professional 
 point of view, but still more so for all 
 the purposes of the expedition. j It is to 
 be lamented that Michaelis's wish to 
 engage Hensler the father for the situa- 
 tion was fruitless. The draughtsman, 
 Bauernfeind, was not a bad artist, but 
 an uneducated and extremely narrow- 
 minded man: love of drinking shortened 
 his life. 
 
 The journey began under the most 
 unfavourable auspices. The party went 
 on board the Greenland ship of war 
 which was bound to the Mediterra- 
 nean to protect vessels sailing under 
 Danish colours from English search. 
 The Greenland left the Sound on the 
 7th January, 1761. Three times she 
 was driven back to the Elsineur roads ; 
 nor was it till the 1 Oth of March, the 
 fourth time of her sailing, that she 
 could continue her course to the Medi- 
 terranean. 
 
 Niebuhr recollected this voyage with 
 pleasure. The noble and ^beautiful in- 
 terior of a ship of war, with all its 
 appointments and regulations, the 
 simple and energetic manliness of the 
 sailors, from the commander to the 
 lowest man on board, a class of men 
 whose distinguishing virtues were very 
 much allied to his own, interested and 
 delighted him in the highest degree. 
 Nor did he find the way of life mono- 
 tonous or dull. Navigation was, at that 
 time, very imperfectly understood: its 
 operations were conducted in a manner 
 rather mechanical than scientific. The 
 officers of a ship going on such a service 
 were, however, doubtless, men distin- 
 guished in their profession. Niebuhr 
 endeavoured to make himself acquainted 
 with the construction of the ship ; and 
 he exercised himself daily in nautical and 
 astronomical observations which pro- 
 cured him the satisfaction of being re- 
 garded by the officers as an active and 
 
 useful member of their company. He 
 thus obtained from them that respect 
 and regard which . practical men are 
 always ready to bestow on those whom 
 they find to be superior to themselves 
 on any particular subject connected with 
 their own business, and whom they 
 see willing to acknowledge their superi- 
 ority in other points, and able to ap- 
 preciate their merits and services*. 
 
 Mayer, in the instructions he gave 
 Niebuhr, had constantly kept in view 
 that his pupil would be placed in situa- 
 tions in which it would be absolutely 
 necessary for him to be able to rely 
 upon himself, and where he could not 
 hope for the slightest assistance or sup- 
 port. He had taught him entirely 
 himself, and encouraged him with the 
 assurance that an active and clear- 
 sighted man is generally able to dis- 
 cover means of overcoming the obsta- 
 cles which may oppose him. His 
 method of teaching, which was en- 
 tirely practical, was chiefly this. He 
 first described to his pupil the object 
 of the observation and the method of 
 using the instruments : he then left 
 him without any assistance, to try how 
 far he could proceed in his observa- 
 tion and calculation, and desired him 
 to tell him when he came to any insur- 
 mountable difficulty. He was obliged 
 to describe exactly how far he had gone 
 on well, and where his progress had 
 been stopped ; and' then Mayer helped 
 him out. He had been able to exercise 
 himself but little in Gottingen in calcu- 
 lating lunar distances, and was in great 
 anxiety about jhis future success in that 
 point. The result of his observations 
 during this voyage gave him greater 
 confidence, and ought to have convinced 
 him that he had gone through his 
 apprenticeship, but this his modesty and 
 humility forbade, i 
 
 A stay of some weeks at Marseilles, 
 and of a shorter time at Malta, procured 
 a very agreeable recreation to the party. 
 The scientific enterprise was known 
 throughout Europe, and we should find 
 it difficult, now, to picture to ourselves 
 the universal interest in its success which 
 ensured to the travellers the most cordial 
 reception and the most respectful atten- 
 tions. It was an enterprise consonant 
 with the spirit of the times, and nowise 
 
 * It is a remarkable fact that in this same year. 
 1761, our great astronomer Maskelyne was also at 
 sea, and engaged also in instructing the officers of the 
 ship in which he sailed in the lunar method, with a 
 view to its general adoption by our nary, which, 
 subsequently took place. ^ 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 9 
 
 solitary or strange. The King of Sardi- 
 nia had sent the unfortunate Donati to 
 the East : Asia was become an object of 
 interest to Europeans from the war 
 which the two great maritime powers 
 were then waging in India: England 
 began to send out ships to circumnavi- 
 gate the globe. It was just that period 
 of general satisfaction and delight in 
 science and literature, in which mankind 
 believed they had found the road that 
 must inevitably lead to perfection : men 
 of letters enjoyed great consideration ; 
 and everybody was ashamed not to 
 regard the interests of science and of its 
 followers as the most important inter- 
 ests of the human race. 
 
 In both places, they experienced the 
 courtesy and charm of French reception ; 
 for, even in Malta, although the ruling 
 body were of all nations, the prevalent 
 manners were French. 
 
 The attentions paid in that island 
 were more particularly directed towards 
 Niebuhr ; and in the false hope that his 
 religious scruples might be got over, if, 
 at the conclusion of his undertaking, 
 he would become one of their body, 
 the knights of the order offered him 
 all the honours, distinctions, and advan- 
 tages which they could confer upon him, 
 without an open violation of their 
 statutes. 
 
 From Malta the expedition proceeded 
 to the Dardanelles, still on board the 
 Greenland, which had taken its convoy 
 to Smyrna. In the Archipelago, Niebuhr 
 was attacked with dysentery, and was 
 near dying. He recovered his health 
 at Constantinople, but so slowly, that at 
 the expiration of two months after the 
 beginning of his illness he had scarcely 
 made sufficient progress to go on board 
 a Dulcignote vessel bound for Alexan- 
 dria, without manifest danger. Here, 
 for the first time, the travellers felt that 
 they were really in the East. The plague 
 broke out among the crowded Asiatic 
 passengers: they, however, were exempt 
 from it. 
 
 As we cannot follow him through his 
 minute and accurate descriptions of the 
 places through which he passed, we 
 must content ourselves with a few ex- 
 tracts from his travels, calculated to 
 throw light upon his character ; to show 
 that clear and dispassionate judgment, 
 and that freedom from prejudice, which 
 so admirably fitted him for a traveller 
 among people whose opinions and man- 
 ners are so entirely unlike our own. 
 Passing over his description of Constan- 
 
 tinople, we give in his own words his 
 account of the first oriental people with, 
 whom he was^ thrown into close con- 
 tact: 
 
 " The "captain," says he, " his clerk 
 and his steersman, spoke pretty good 
 Italian. The clerk had been not only in 
 Venice and other Italian ports, but had 
 travelled as far as Vienna. The Catho- 
 lics had told him just as great calum- 
 nies of the other sects of Christians 
 as the Sunnites relate of all Moham- 
 medans but themselves. I once asked 
 him, whether any heathens were to 
 be found in the Sultan's dominions? 
 In the course of his reply, he said, 
 ' There are many in Germany and 
 Italy ; they are called Lutherans, and 
 know nothing of God or the prophets/ 
 In religious disputation, he shewed him- 
 self a true Mohammedan. One of our 
 company endeavoured to convince him 
 of the truth of the Christian religion* 
 The clerk immediately rose and said,' 
 1 that people who believed in other 
 gods beside the one true God, were 
 oxen and asses,' and left the room. 
 The good man thus gave us a hint, that 
 we should do well to leave every body 
 undisturbed in the belief that his own 
 religion is the best, so long as he enter- 
 tains no doubts about it himself. I 
 did not hold it to be any part of my vo- 
 cation to make proselytes. But when I 
 afterwards inquired of enlightened Mo- 
 hammedans, concerning the principles, 
 of their faith, I took the opportunity of 
 explaining to them various matters re- 
 lating to the Christian religion ; and as 
 I carefully abstained from asserting that 
 it was better than the doctrines set forth 
 in the Koran, none of them were in the 
 least offended or displeased." 
 
 In Egypt the party remained a whole 
 year, from the end of September 1761, 
 till the beginning of October 1762, dur- 
 ing which time Niebuhr visited Mount 
 Sinai, in company with Forskaal and 
 Von Haven. The party did not go 
 farther inland than Kahira. During 
 their stay in Egypt, Niebuhr determined 
 the longitude of Alexandria, Kahira 
 Raschid, and Damietta, by means of 
 numerous lunar observations, with an 
 accuracy which the astronomers of Buo- 
 naparte's expedition, to their great sur- 
 prise, found fully equal to that of their 
 own. They, and the French army, not 
 only found his chart of the two branches 
 of the Nile equally correct, but even hi& 
 ground- plan of Kahira, taken under the 
 most difficult circumstances, in the 
 
10 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 midst of an infuriated and fanatical po- 
 pulace. 
 
 " In the year 1801," says his illus- 
 trious biographer, " I laid this plan before 
 a French officer who had risen from the 
 ranks during the French revolution, a 
 man who could hardly write and was 
 wholly unaccustomed to make use of 
 ground-plans, with a view to gain some 
 information concerning the entrench- 
 ments thrown up by the French army 
 round the city, and the history of 
 the great rebellion in Kahira. It was 
 some minutes before he could translate 
 the knowledge he had gained from per- 
 sonal observation into the symbolic lan- 
 guage of drawing; but as soon as he 
 caught the idea, he found his way, step 
 by step, and could not cease wondering. 
 My father, also, measured the height of 
 the pyramids, and copied many hiero- 
 glyphic inscriptions on obelisks and sar- 
 cophagi." 
 
 At the time Niebuhr visited Egypt, 
 very little information, worthy of credit, 
 concerning that remarkable country, 
 existed. Later travellers have added 
 much to what he obtained ; but when we 
 consider under what circumstances of 
 difficulty, and with how little protection, 
 he added such vast stores to the stock of 
 knowledge, we shall acknowledge that 
 none have surpassed, or perhaps equal- 
 led him in industry, courage and devo- 
 tion to his object. Of the obstacles he 
 had to .encounter, some idea may be 
 formed from the following extracts. 
 
 At Alexandria, he says, " As I could 
 overlook a great part of the old city 
 walls, from the eminence on which 
 Pompey's pillar stands, I took some 
 angles of it from thence, and hoped that 
 I might be able to take others from 
 some other spot. One pf the Turkish 
 merchants, who stood opposite to me, 
 and remarked that I had pointed the 
 telescope attached to my quadrant 
 against the city, was very curious to 
 look through the glass, [and not a little 
 uneasy when he saw a tower upside 
 down. This gave occasion to a rumour 
 that I was come to Alexandria to turn 
 the whole city topsy turvy. This report 
 reached the governor's house. My 
 janissary refused to accompany me 
 when I took my instrument, and as I 
 thought a European could not venture 
 to appear in a Turkish city without a 
 janissary, I gave up all idea of taking 
 any more geometrical measurements 
 here. Once afterwards, when an Arab 
 of Raschid saw a ship upside down in 
 
 my telescope, he was very near throw- 
 ing the instrument on the ground. I 
 learned by degrees to be very careful of 
 the Mohammedans and their suspicions 
 when taking my observations, which 
 was the more necessary so long as I 
 was unable to converse with them. . . . 
 ' At an astronomical observation on 
 the southern point of the Delta, a pea- 
 sant was present, and behaved very 
 courteously. As I wished to show him 
 something he had never seen before, I 
 placed the telescope of the quadrant 
 opposite to his village, on which he was 
 extremely terrified at seeing all the 
 houses upside down. He asked my 
 servant what could be the cause of this. 
 He replied, that the government was 
 extremely dissatisfied with the inhabi- 
 tants of that village, and had sent me to 
 overthrow it entirely. The poor pea- 
 sant was greatly afflicted, and entreated 
 me to wait long enough for him to take 
 his wife, his children and his cow, [to 
 some place of safety. My servant as- 
 sured him he had two hours good. 
 He immediately ran home, and as soon as 
 the sun had passed the meridian, I took 
 my quadrant on board again. We must 
 not wonder that Mohammedans were 
 suspicious at the sight of these observa- 
 tions, since Europeans enough might 
 have been found but a short time before, 
 ready to believe every thing enchant- 
 ment, which they did not understand.'* 
 
 He suggests the expediency of digging 
 round the obelisk at Heliopolis, which, 
 however, he had not the means to attempt 
 " The common; Egyptians," says he, 
 " are very unwilling that the Europeans 
 should dig in the places where antiqui- 
 ties are found, from the idea that we are 
 seeking for treasure. Perhaps, how- 
 ever, they would not forbid it, if the true 
 motive of such researches were ex- 
 plained to the governor of the district, 
 and the work done by his labourers. 
 The peasants of Matare observed me 
 very narrowly while I was measuring 
 the height of the obelisk. They placed 
 themselves at some distance, in conse- 
 quence of their belief that I should 
 throw up these huge stones into the 
 air by some secret art, and take away 
 the treasures concealed under them. 
 This they were firmly resolved not to 
 allow. They, however, did not speak 
 an uncivil word to me, when they saw 
 that their expectations were not ful- 
 filled." 
 
 The following are the circumstances 
 under which _the plan of Kahira was 
 
XIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 II 
 
 taken, to which his son alludes in the 
 passage just quoted 
 
 " With a view," says he, " of giving 
 an accurate description of the size and 
 situation of this city, I have given a plan 
 of Kahira and the adjacent | towns 
 Bulak, Masr el Atik, and Djize. This 
 was really so troublesome, and, from the 
 noted insolence of the Kahirians to all 
 people of different religions, so danger- 
 ous a task, that no European hadhitherto 
 been found to undertake it, or will pro- 
 bably speedily undertake it again. I 
 did, however, venture to measure all the 
 streets, all at least which w r ere thorough- 
 fares, by paces, and to determine their 
 bearings by a little compass. There 
 are many parts, consisting entirely of 
 little streets, which have no egress and 
 can be entered only from the main street 
 into which they all run. These are in- 
 habited by labouring men and artisans, 
 who, in the Eastern cities, do not work 
 in their houses, but in little stalls or 
 sheds in the Suk or market place. As 
 you cannot be supposed to be seeking 
 any man in his dwelling-house, and as 
 it is not the custom in the East to pay 
 your respects to his wife or daughters, 
 the people immediately conclude, if they 
 see a stranger in any of these streets, 
 that he has lost his way, and the first 
 man who meets him, tells him that the 
 street has no outlet at that end, and that 
 he must turn back. It is, therefore, 
 almost impossible for a stranger to ob- 
 tain any knowledge of these quarters of 
 the town." 
 
 One of the most remarkable objects 
 in this city, is the palace of Joseph. 
 " Here," says he, " is manufactured the 
 magnificent cloth which is yearly sent 
 as an offering to Mecca by the Sul- 
 tan. The building still retains traces 
 of its former splendour. In the room 
 in which the weavers sit, the walls 
 are covered with trees, houses, &c, 
 in the most beautiful mosaic of mo- 
 ther-of-pearl, small stones of every 
 variety, and coloured glass. On the 
 walls of another room in which the 
 cloth is embroidered, are some inscrip- 
 tions in very good preservation. In a 
 third the ceiling is very beautifully 
 painted. Above, on the side of the Kara 
 Meidan, where this great building is 
 supported by a very high wall, springing 
 from a steep rock, is a point command- 
 ing a magnificent view of the town, the 
 surrounding country, and the pyramids. 
 Some of the names of former regents of 
 Egypt are engraved here. It appears 
 
 that it was the residence of the Egyp- 
 tian Caliphs and Sultans, and I could 
 not help wondering that the Turkish 
 governors do not inhabit it. I asked 
 the overseer of the weavers, who not 
 only conducted me about the building, 
 but took me to his house and enter- 
 tained me with coffee, after what Jo- 
 seph this palace and a fountain in the 
 city were named ? He was of opinion 
 that the palace was not more than 600 
 years old, and was built by Salaheddin, 
 whose original name was Jusof." 
 
 Niebuhr's account of one of the most 
 interesting phenomena in the world, the 
 overflow of the Nile, is so curious, that 
 we may be allowed to interrupt the 
 course of our narrative a little longer, to 
 insert it. 
 
 " When the Nile begins to rise, all 
 the small canals which are led off from 
 the main stream to water the adjacent 
 fields, are stopped up and cleaned, and 
 remain in that state until the water 
 reaches a certain height. This height 
 is ascertained by a Nilometer, on the 
 island Rodda. For. this purpose, a 
 Sheikh is stationed there, who, as soon 
 as he perceives that the water has risen 
 at all, gives information of it. A num- 
 ber of poor people, who are already 
 in waiting at Masr el Atik, or Fostat, 
 immediately hasten to Kahira, and 
 each spreads the welcome intelligence 
 through the streets of his own quarter. 
 From this time, these people come daily 
 at a certain hour to Fostat, and the 
 Sheikh calls out to them from the 
 islands, how many inches the Nile has 
 risen. 
 
 " This is daily made public, until the 
 Nile has reached the height at which it 
 is appointed that the canal which runs 
 through Kahira should be opened, at 
 which time the tribute to the Sultan 
 must be paid, and all anxiety about a 
 scarcity is at an end. The information, 
 however, thus proclaimed, is very little 
 to be trusted. The Sheikh goes alone 
 to the Nilometer, and always, at first, 
 declares the height less than it really is ; 
 so that if, at a later period, the water 
 should increase but little for some days, 
 he may then be able to declare the rise 
 greater than it is, in order not to alarm 
 the inhabitants with the fear that the 
 Nile should not reach the desired height. 
 About the time when it was hoped the 
 canal through Kahira would be opened, 
 I sometimes went myself towards the 
 mouth of the canal, to observe the 
 height of the water against a high wall, 
 
12 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 and I discovered that the rise which was 
 proclaimed in the city was three times 
 as great as I had found it to be. In 
 the year when I was in Egypt, it was 
 first proclaimed that the Nile had be- 
 gun to rise on the 29th of June, and, on 
 the 8th of August, that it had reached 
 the height of sixteen Dra or ells. Here- 
 upon, the dam of the canal of Kahira 
 was cut through with the customary 
 ceremonies, which have often been de- 
 scribed. We expected the water in the 
 city, but in vain ; for the canal had been 
 so imperfectly cleaned that year, that it 
 was not till the 10th that we saw a little 
 water, whereas we ought to have been 
 able to navigate the canal the first day. 
 This extraordinary event caused a great 
 agitation among the people. It was 
 openly said, that the person who had 
 undertaken to clean the canal would 
 lose his head. He, however, paid a 
 large sum to the government, and was 
 compelled to make a new dam at his 
 own expense, which was thrown across 
 the canal on the 11th of August, and 
 opened, without any ceremony, on the 
 12th. 
 
 '* Gabriel Zionita, in his appendix to the 
 description of Africa by the Sherif Edrisi, 
 mentions, as very extraordinary, that the 
 Egyptians have certain tests, by which 
 they can ascertain beforehand how high 
 the Nile will rise, and whether they may 
 expect a plentiful or a scarce season. 
 This, indeed, they think so easy a mat- 
 ter, that almost every Egyptian woman, 
 whether Christian or Mohammedan, 
 imagines herself competent to it. It is 
 the universal opinion in Egypt, that the 
 Nile begins to rise in Habbesh, (com- 
 monly called Abyssinia,) on the night 
 of the 17th of June; or, as they ex- 
 press it, that the drop (Nokka) which 
 causes the rise of the Nile, falls. On 
 that night, therefore, the women put a 
 certain quantity of dough on the roofs 
 of their houses, and if this has not in- 
 creased in weight by the morning, the 
 drop has not fallen. But, if the dough 
 is heavier, it has fallen, and they then 
 proceed to calculate with great certainty 
 how many feet the Nile will rise, and 
 what will be the price of corn for the 
 year. As the weather is very regular 
 and uniform in Egypt, it is possible that 
 there is a heavier dew at this season of 
 the year ; and as the women never put 
 out their dough except just on the night 
 above-mentioned, they are always con- 
 firmed in their faith in the certainty of 
 their test. As some of the Kahirians 
 
 reckon time according to the Koptish 
 calendar, the women were not all agreed 
 on which night the drop fell. Other 
 experiments of the same kind are yearly 
 made, but intelligent Mohammedans s re- 
 gard the whole thing as mere pastime 
 for the women." 
 
 The arrogant intolerance of the Mo- 
 hammedans, which keeps pace with their 
 ignorance and superstition, he describes 
 as follows : " The Jews, the eastern 
 Christians, and even the Europeans, are 
 allowed to ride only on asses in the city 
 of Kahira, and from these they must 
 alight whenever they meet a Bey, or 
 any other Mohammedan of importance* 
 These gentlemen never appear in the 
 streets except on horseback. One of 
 their insolent servants goes before, with 
 a thick stick, and calls out to every Jew 
 or Christian he meets riding on an ass, 
 (unless he dismounts of his own accord,) 
 ' Dismount V If the command is not 
 instantly obeyed, the servant often lets 
 him feel the effects of his reluctance, 
 without waiting to remind him a second 
 time to pay the required homage to his 
 master. 
 
 " A few years ago a French merchant 
 was crippled for life, on one of these 
 occasions. Our physician was insulted 
 because he did not dismount quickly 
 enough. This renders it impossible for 
 any European to ride out here without 
 a man who knows all those persons who 
 claim the right to force people of a dif- 
 ferent religion to dismount. I rode at 
 first with a Janizary before, and a ser- 
 vant behind, me. Both were Moham- 
 medans, and remained seated, while I 
 was compelled to alight. This annoyed 
 me still more than the humble reverence 
 I was obliged to show to the great men,, 
 and I afterwards went almost constantly 
 on foot. Christians and Jews are also 
 forbidden to ride past the mosques, and 
 many other public buildings. Some, 
 they are not even allowed to pass on 
 foot. Yet I never could ascertain whether 
 there was any positive law prohibiting 
 them from riding on horseback in Kahira. 
 Not many years ago there was a rich 
 English consul in this city, who dressed 
 like a wealthy Turk, and constantly rode. 
 on horseback. His fortune enabled him 
 to visit all the Turks of distinction, and 
 to entertain them in return. As he rode 
 along the streets, he distributed alms 
 largely, and became very popular. The 
 consuls now ride on horseback only on 
 the days on which they have audience of 
 the Pasha. They are then very richly 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 13 
 
 and splendidly drest in the European 
 fashion. I do not wonder that they are 
 compelled to hear so many insulting ex- 
 pressions from the people on these oc- 
 casions, for our short and straight 
 clothing is, in the eyes of all eastern 
 people, highly indecorous for a man of 
 any respectability, and gold and silver 
 are never seen on their garments. But 
 all other times the Consuls wear the long 
 Turkish dress, and are obliged to do like 
 fhe eastern Christians and Jews, to dis- 
 mount at the appointed places, or when 
 they meet any distinguished Turks." 
 
 Niebuhr's accounts of the agriculture, 
 the products, the implements and ma- 
 chinery, the trade and manufactures, the 
 dress, manners, and amusements of the 
 Egyptians, are full of interesting, clear, 
 and accurate detail, and are, above all, 
 marked by that perfect fairness and 
 anxiety in no degree to exceed or warp 
 the truth, which was, perhaps, his most 
 striking characteristic. We have space 
 only for a few sentences relating to the 
 trade in gum arabic : 
 
 " Among the products with which the 
 Europeans are conversant, is the so 
 called gum arabic, which the Arabs 
 yearly bring to Kahira, in the month of 
 October. They come in two or three 
 small caravans, and the quantity is from 
 six to seven hundred quintals. The 
 trade is entirely in the hands of Moham- 
 medan merchants. The Arabs never 
 bring their wares into the city, but re- 
 main about a mile from Kahira, and the 
 merchants must- consent to go to them. 
 They do not sell their gum by weight, nor 
 do they show any samples, but keep it in 
 untanned and closely sewed skins. They 
 very rarely suffer a buyer to cut open 
 these skins before the bargain is quite 
 completed, and if any objection is after- 
 wards made to the quality of their gum, 
 they never take it back. Some of these 
 Arabs mix little pebbles, sand, and bits 
 of wood, with their gum. It might hap- 
 pen that they might afterwards be caught 
 in the city, and probably for this reason : 
 they give no credit, but exchange their 
 gum for clothing, arms, or whatever 
 they want, and immediately return to 
 their deserts. I know not whether the 
 Arabs deserve most the reproach of 
 cheaters or of inexperienced dealers. 
 They love freedom and few words. If 
 they understood the art of spreading out 
 their commodities, and calling to all 
 passers by to look at them, those at 
 least who had clean and good gum to 
 sell would get a much higher price for 
 
 it than they actually do. Most of it goes 
 to Leghorn and Marseilles. In the 
 months of April, May, and June, come 
 many caravans from Africa, with three 
 different sorts of gum, with elephants' 
 teeth, tamarinds, slaves, parrots, ostrich 
 feathers, and gold dust. They exchange 
 these for linen, glass beads, coral, am- 
 ber, sabres, and all sorts of clothes, 
 which the Kahirians make according to 
 the taste of the Africans." 
 
 The following is his description of the 
 outfit of himself and his companions 
 for their expedition to Mount Sinai. 
 
 " We had made careful provision for 
 everything which we thought necessary 
 for the journey before us ; we had abun- 
 dance of eatables, a tent, and beds. 
 Most of the utensils carried on expedi- 
 tions in these countries have already been 
 described and drawn by other travellers ; 
 and, indeed, some of them are so con- 
 venient, that they might be introduced 
 into European armies with great advan- 
 tage. Our little kitchen apparatus was 
 of copper, well tinned inside and out. 
 Our butter we carried in a sort of pit- 
 cher made of thick leather. Table-cloths 
 we did not want. A large round piece 
 of leather was our table. This had iron 
 rings attached to its edge, through which 
 a cord was passed : after dinner it was 
 drawn up, slung over a camel, and thus 
 served the double office of a table and a 
 bag. Our coffee-cups (saucers we had 
 none) were carried in a wooden box co- 
 vered with leather, and wax candles in 
 a similar box, inclosed in a leathern bag. 
 In the lid of this box was a tube, which 
 was our candlestick. Salt, pepper, and 
 spice we also kept in a little wooden 
 box, with several lids screwed one over 
 another. Instead of glasses, we had 
 little copper cups, beautifully tinned 
 within and without. Our lanterns were 
 of linen, and could be folded together 
 like the little paper lanterns which chil- 
 dren make in Europe, only that our's 
 had covers and bottoms of iron. Each 
 of us was furnished with a water pitcher 
 of thick leather, out of which we drank : 
 and as we sometimes found no water for 
 two or three days, we carried a good 
 many goat skins filled with it. We also 
 took two large stone water-jars with us, 
 that we might be able to carry water 
 ourselves on the journey from Suez to 
 Djidda. Our wine we kept in large glass 
 flasks, each holding twenty of our bot- 
 tles. These vessels appeared to us the 
 best for the purpose; but when a camel 
 falls, or runs against another with his 
 
14 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 load, they easily break, and therefore 
 travellers in the East would do better to 
 put their wine and brandy in goat skins. 
 The hides which are used to contain 
 water have the hair on the outside, but 
 those for wine have it on the inside, and 
 are so well pitched, that the liquor ac- 
 quires no bad taste. And if Europeans 
 do at first feel some disgust at drinking 
 what has been kept in such vessels, they 
 are, at least, freed from the fear of losing 
 their wine, as we did. Wood or coals 
 travellers seldom take with them. At 
 the places where the caravans halt, they 
 generally find the dried dung of beasts, 
 and this they use as firing when they can 
 procure no wood or sticks in the neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 In October the party set sail for Suez, 
 on board a Turkish vessel ; they landed 
 at Djidda/and reached Loheia, the first 
 point of their proper destination the 
 country of Yemen at the end of the 
 year 1762. On this journey Niebuhr 
 made astronomical, geographical, and 
 geodsetical observations, as often as pos- 
 sible, and made some inquiries respect- 
 ing the currents. Out of these laborious 
 investigations grew the chart of the Red 
 Sea, which, with reference to the cir- 
 cumstances under which it was made, 
 and the means at his disposal, may be 
 regarded as a masterly work. 
 
 After some stay in this agreeable 
 town, the party, especially Forskaal and 
 Niebuhr, travelled through western Ye- 
 men, in various directions ; the former 
 botanizing, the latter ascertaining the 
 geographical situation of places. They 
 then returned to the sea coast to Mokha, 
 where Von Haven died about the end of 
 May, 1763. 
 
 At the same time Niebuhr was again 
 attacked by dysentery, and was only 
 saved by the greatest care and tempe- 
 rance. After many delays and difficul- 
 ties, and before he was perfect ly reco- 
 vered, he set out, undismayed "by the 
 danger he ran, with the rest of the party, 
 for the capital, Sana. The climate, and 
 numerous annoyances, which Forskaal 
 had partly brought upon himself, partly 
 aggravated through his caprice, brought 
 on a bilious disorder, of which he died 
 at Jerim, on the 11th of July, 1763. 
 
 Niebuhr was the more depressed at 
 his loss from his own protracted illness. 
 He set out, with the two survivors, on 
 the road to Sana, but without the slight- 
 est hope of returning, and fearful that no 
 precautions could ensure those papers 
 which were not left in the care of his 
 
 English friends at Mokha, reaching 
 Europe. This was a source of much 
 greater anxiety to him than his life, to 
 which he never held with any very great 
 eagerness. He feared the entire frus- 
 tration of the object, and, with good rea- 
 son, the injustice which might" be done 
 to his and Forskaal's discharge of their 
 duties. This was the only point of time 
 during his whole expedition at which his 
 spirits completely sunk. 
 
 At length he found himself in that 
 state of dull resignation into which 
 Europeans in the torrid zone generally 
 sink, when under the influence of sick- 
 ness and depression. He, who,' both 
 earlier and later in his journey, struck 
 into the most toilsome path on the 
 slightest rumour of an inscription or a 
 ruin, could not now be stimulated to 
 quit the high road to copy the Ham- 
 jarish inscriptions at Hoddafa; an 
 omission which any one, who imagines 
 himself in his place, will easily excuse 
 him for ; but for which he used bitterly 
 to reproach himself after a lapse of 
 fifty years. 
 
 From the same causes the survivors 
 declined the cordial and friendly invitation 
 they received to pass a whole year in Sana 
 and Upper Yemen ; which would have 
 been quite agreeable to the original plan. 
 They hastened, on the contrary, to reach 
 the coast before the English ships sailed. 
 Their haste was much too great, for they 
 had to wait the whole month of August, 
 and more, before the vessel in which 
 they were to sail was ready. Mokha, 
 situated in the arid desert of Tehama, 
 is, during summer, a horrible residence, 
 and but few days elapsed before the sur- 
 viving travellers and their servant were 
 attacked with the fever of the climate. 
 
 Bauernfeind and the servant died at 
 sea. Cramer reached Bombay, lan- 
 guished for some months, and died. 
 Niebuhr was saved by that extreme ab- 
 stemiousness which renders a tropical 
 climate as little dangerous to Euro- 
 peans as to natives. While he was 
 labouring under the dysentery, the phy- 
 sician had told him to abstain from 
 meat, and to eat nothing but bread and 
 a sort of rice soup. This regimen cured 
 his illness. At the end of several weeks 
 the physician learnt, with astonishment, 
 that Niebuhr was patiently continuing a 
 diet by means of which few Europeans 
 could be induced to purchase their lives, 
 even when labouring under dangerous 
 illness. 
 
 The merchant to whom the ship 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 15 
 
 which conveyed Niebuhr from Mokha 
 to Bombay belonged, was Francis 
 Scott, a younger son of the Scotts of 
 Harden, a jacobite family of Roxburgh- 
 shire. He became his intimate friend. 
 " Five and thirty years afterwards," 
 says his son, " when I studied, in Edin- 
 burgh, I was received, in all respects, as 
 one of the family in the house of this vene- 
 rable man, who then lived at his ease in 
 the Scottish capital, on the fortune he 
 had acquired by honourable industry. 
 
 " The reception he met with from the 
 English was extremely cordial. Bombay 
 was, indeed, in a very different state from 
 that which it now exhibits. The gover- 
 nor, instead of being a highly cultivated 
 and scientific man, like many of those 
 who have since filled that office, was, in 
 conformity with the old system of the 
 Company, a factor, who had risen by 
 service; the council were men of low 
 education and habits ; the officers, for 
 the most part, were men of various na- 
 tions, who had entered an obscure ser- 
 vice as a refuge from disagreeable ad- 
 ventures, or from indigence. Yet, even 
 in this infant colony, the noble English 
 spirit was not imperceptible ; and, be- 
 sides Scott, there were many in whom 
 the vigorous, sensible, upright national 
 character had wrought out for itself an 
 education which cannot be given. 
 
 " In Egypt, Niebuhr had first learned 
 to delight in the society of Englishmen ; 
 and there was laid the foundation for 
 that mutual attachment, which was per- 
 manent, and of which I shall have 
 occasion to speak more hereafter." 
 
 Among his most intimate friends were 
 Captain Howe, of the Royal Navy, bro- 
 ther of Admiral Lord Howe, and of 
 General Sir William. From him he re- 
 ceived some admirably drawn charts of 
 the Indian seas, and detached parts, 
 roads and harbours of the south-east- 
 ern coast of Arabia. He had great plea- 
 sure in being able to requite his friend's 
 gift by another, which might serve as a 
 token of his gratitude to the English na- 
 tion for their hospitality: this was, a 
 copy of his maritime chart of the Red 
 Sea which he had completed at Bom- 
 bay, and which, from Djidda north- 
 wards, was new to the English, no Bri- 
 tish vessel having as yet navigated that 
 sea. A few years afterwards they at- 
 tempted the navigation of it with the aid 
 of this very chart. Since that time it 
 has been greatly improved and perfect- 
 ed by Englishmen : the eastern shore by 
 Sir Home Popham ; the western, which 
 
 in Niebuhr's chart is deficient, by the 
 expedition planned by Lord Valentia; 
 the groundwork of these now perfect 
 charts is, however, his.2 
 
 At Bombay, Niebuhr learned (the 
 English language. He also endeavour- 
 ed to acquire all the information pos- 
 sible from the Parsees and Hindoos, 
 visited the excavated pagodas of Ele- 
 phanta, and made drawings of the sculp- 
 tures. 
 
 Lastly, he employed himself in ar- 
 ranging his journal, and sent a copy of 
 it through London to Denmark. He 
 also made use of an opportunity to visit 
 Surat. 
 
 It was originally settled 'that the tra- 
 vellers should return by India: when, 
 however, the inclinations which had first 
 prompted Niebuhr to undertake the 
 journey had returned in full force with 
 the return of health, this plan displeased 
 him, and he determined to make his 
 way back overland. To achieve this, 
 he was obliged to relax a little from the 
 intense and wearing application to his 
 original pursuit. From the time he 
 quitted Bombay, where he learnt the 
 death of his friend Mayer, (without 
 whose examination and sanction he did 
 not dare to trust himself, as he might 
 and ought,) he gave up his observations 
 for the longitude ; to which he was fur- 
 ther induced by the death of his Swe- 
 dish servant, whom he had taught to 
 assist him in the mechanical part of the 
 observations. This is greatly to be re- 
 gretted, for Persia and Turkey in Asia 
 still present a wide and untrodden field 
 for observations of this kind. Those 
 who saw what pain this gave him in his 
 old age, rather felt inclined to love and 
 admire his zeal and modesty, than to 
 lament the omission of a work he so 
 much desired to perform. 
 
 In December, 1764, after a stay of 
 fourteen months, Niebuhr quitted Bom- 
 bay, visited Mascat, and made himself 
 acquainted with the state of the remark- 
 able province of Oman. He, however, 
 did not remain there long, but went 
 by Abusheher and Shiraz to Perse- 
 polis. 
 
 The drawings of the ruins, inscrip 
 tions and bas-reliefs of Persepolis, 
 made by three preceding travellers, had 
 forcibly drawn Niebuhr's attention to 
 them as the most remarkable monument 
 of eastern antiquity : no other, either in 
 Asia or in Egypt, awakened such well- 
 grounded hopes of being able to under- 
 stand and interpret historical records 
 
16 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 by a discovery of the meaning conveyed 
 in the symbolical sculptures; and his 
 acute and experienced eye immediately 
 taught him the incompleteness of all the 
 existing drawings. IN othing of all that 
 he had seen in Asia raised his expecta- 
 tions to such a pitch ; he could not rest 
 till he reached Persepolis, and the last 
 night of his journey thither was per- 
 fectly sleepless. The picture of these 
 ruins remained during his whole life in- 
 delibly engraven on his mind they ap- 
 peared to him the crown and glory of 
 all he had seen. 
 
 He passed between three and four 
 weeks amidst them, in the desert, in un- 
 remitting labour, measuring and draw- 
 ing the fragments. The inscriptions on 
 the walls, which were at a considerable 
 height, were distinctly legible only when 
 the sun shone upon them ; and as in this 
 climate the hard polished black marble 
 is not corroded by weather, his eyes, al- 
 ready greatly enfeebled by incessant la- 
 bour, were attacked by a very danger- 
 ous inflammation. This, joined to the 
 death of his Armenian servant, com- 
 pelled him, in spite of his strenuous re- 
 sistance to these complicated difficulties, 
 to abandon the ancient sanctuary of 
 Persia before he had thoroughly ex- 
 hausted its treasures. 
 
 He returned by way of Shiraz and 
 Abusheher, and from thence across 
 the Persian gulf to Bassora. In Persia 
 he collected historical documents con- 
 cerning the fate of this unfortunate 
 country, from the death of Nadir Shah 
 up to his own times. With these he 
 conferred a value little known on the 
 -German translation of Jones's History 
 of Nadir Shah, the original of which 
 was written in French. The informa- 
 tion concerning that period furnished 
 either by Olivier, or by Sir John Mal- 
 colm, is not (to use the most modest 
 language) more valuable than that for 
 which we are indebted to him. 
 
 In November, 1765, he went from 
 Bassora through Meshed Ali and Mes- 
 hed f Hussein, two places of resort for 
 pilgrims, but hitherto unvi sited by any 
 European, to Bagdad, and from thence 
 through Mosul and Diarbekr to Haleb, 
 where he arrived on the 6th of June, 
 1766. He was now perfectly at home : 
 since he had been alone, he had been at 
 liberty to conform, without molestation, 
 to oriental manners and customs. He 
 was, moreover, now living in a perfectly 
 healthy country, and was as well as at 
 any period of his life. 
 
 During this year and a half he had 
 had scarcely any intercourse with Euro- 
 peans, except at the remarkable Dutch 
 establishment at Karek. In many of 
 the large Turkish cities he visited were 
 convents of Catholic missionaries ; these 
 men he regarded with the utmost aver- 
 sion as disturbers of the tranquillity of 
 the unfortunate native Christians, and 
 of course shunned them. That among 
 these missionaries, by far the greater 
 number of whom were quarrelsome, 
 malignant and ignorant, there were 
 some scattered instances of such sanc- 
 tity of life as is rarely to be met with 
 in any other class of men, he bore 
 ready testimony. At Bagdad he had be- 
 come acquainted with Father Angelo, 
 who had nursed many thousand people 
 of every nation and religion in the 
 plague, and whose life had been saved 
 by a crisis which, to pious minds, ap- 
 peared miraculous, when he was himself 
 attacked by that frightful disease. 
 
 At Haleb, however, he found himself 
 in a numerous society of consuls and 
 merchants of all the nations of Europe, 
 in consequence of the profound peace, 
 living in undisturbed harmony. Some of 
 them were married, and their houses af- 
 forded the charm of European domestic 
 life, under the directing hand of woman. 
 
 His dearest and most intimate con- 
 nexions were here also with English- 
 men. Here he became acquainted with 
 Dr. Patrick Russel, the author of the 
 work on the Plague, and editor of his 
 uncle Alexander's Description of Aleppo. 
 " This respected friend of my father," 
 says Mr. B. L. Niebuhr, " I had also the 
 satisfaction of knowing many years af- 
 terwards, and of hearing from him many 
 histories of by-gone days, told with a 
 heart overflowing with the warmest af- 
 fection and veneration." 
 
 Count Bernstorf had very readily con- 
 sented to the extension of Niebuhr' s 
 journey. When this became generally 
 known, the Count was solicited to allow 
 him to visit Cyprus, for the purpose of 
 copying again the Phoenician inscrip- 
 tions at Citium, which might be sup- 
 posed to be at least as incorrectly co- 
 pied by Pococke as the Greek ones which 
 he has given. He found no such in- 
 scriptions ; and was inclined to suspect 
 that those in question were only old 
 Armenian inscriptions, (like some which 
 he himself met with at Saline near Lar- 
 neca,) badly copied by Pococke. It 
 appears more probable, that the stones 
 had, in the interval, been removed. 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 17 
 
 An opportunity of going to Jaffa 
 tempted him to visit Palestine, the geo- 
 graphy of which was entirely undeter- 
 mined by any astronomical observations, 
 while no authentic ground plan existed 
 of the topography of Jerusalem. In 
 this he had made as much progress as 
 the time permitted, in the beginning of 
 August, 176G, when he retraced his 
 steps to Jaffa, made an excursion from 
 Sidon over Mount Lebanon to Damas- 
 cus, and then returned to Haleb. 
 
 Five months and a half after his first 
 arrival at Haleb, on the 20th of Novem- 
 ber, 1766, he set out to return directly 
 home. He went with a caravan as far 
 as Brusa. Lesser Asia, the land on the 
 coast lying open to the south, ex- 
 cepted, is very cold in winter ; and on 
 the table-land of Mount Taurus our 
 traveller suffered as much from frost, 
 piercing winds and snow drifts, as he 
 could have done in a winter journey in 
 northern regions. In the warm and 
 beautiful Brusa he reposed from this 
 suffering, to which he had long been 
 a stranger, employing his leisure, as 
 usual, in working at his journal and 
 charts. He reached Constantinople on 
 the 20th of February, 1767. 
 \ He passed between three and four 
 months in the capital of the Turkish 
 empire, with which six years before, 
 sick and a stranger in the east, he had 
 been able to make himself but imperfectly 
 acquainted. He had now seen many 
 Turkish provinces, and knew their in- 
 stitutions and the revolutions which 
 had taken place in them. In the capi- 
 tal he sought and gained information 
 as to the general government and mili- 
 tary establishments of the whole empire. 
 His treatises on these subjects, remark- 
 able for their solidity and completeness, 
 are i rinted. Turkey in Europe can 
 furnish attractive occupation only to 
 scholars, to whom it is not Turkey, but 
 Greece and Macedonia, and whose eye 
 and imagination are ever in search of 
 vestiges of past glory and greatness. 
 Niebuhr travelled^rapidly, through in- 
 secure and almost impracticable "roads, 
 to the Danube, and but little more slowly 
 through Wallachia and Moldavia, in 
 the capital of which latter the plague 
 was then raging. About the middle of 
 July he once more set foot on Christian 
 ground at Zwanick. 
 
 King Stanislaus Poniatowsky, a man 
 of refined and literary tastes, and im- 
 bued in the highest degree with that 
 veneration for knowledge and science 
 
 which characterized his age, had made 
 known to the Danish government his 
 wish that Niebuhr should direct his 
 course homeward through Poland. He 
 received the distinguished traveller with 
 the manners of a polished gentleman, 
 who takes the utmost care that his 
 guest should not feel that he was in- 
 vited as a curiosity. He effectually 
 succeeded in winning our traveller's 
 heart, and for many years a correspond- 
 ence was carried on between them. 
 Niebuhr, who had been so long without 
 any intelligence from Europe, and knew 
 nothing of what had been going on 
 there, when civil war broke out in 
 Poland, regarded the confederates as 
 rebels, and his royal friend as a per- 
 secuted, but legitimate and excellent 
 monarch. 
 
 On the way from Warsaw he visited 
 Gottingen and his beloved native place, 
 where the death of his mother's brother, 
 during his absence, had left him in pos- 
 session of a considerable marsh-farm. 
 He reached Copenhagen in November, 
 and was received by the court, the 
 ministers, and men of science with the 
 greatest distinction. Count Bernstorf, 
 who knew how to appreciate him in 
 every respect, and who moreover con- 
 sidered his own honour, as projector 
 of the expedition, implicated in the 
 manner in which it was achieved, ap- 
 peared to wish to prove his gratitude 
 to him by the most friendly and cordial 
 reception. Niebuhr was intimately ac- 
 quainted with him, and through him 
 with his immortal nephew, the second 
 Count, and with the Dowager Countess 
 Stollberg, and her sons, then boys *. 
 
 Klopstock and the domestic friends 
 of the minister were also in habits of 
 intimacy with him. His own dearest 
 and most confidential friends were Pro- 
 fessor Krazenstein and his excellent 
 wife. 
 
 His first business was to submit his 
 accounts for inspection. From these 
 he could not himself ascertain the 
 whole cost of the expedition, since they 
 did not include all the preparatory ex- 
 penses ; and it appears that he had 
 neglected to procure for himself a copy 
 
 * The Counts Stollberg remembered how Bern- 
 storf used to communicate Niebuhr's letters to their 
 mother, and what a treat the reading of them was 
 to themselves. These letters contained many lively 
 traits which their author either did not think proper 
 to insert in his journal, or omitted in writing his 
 description of his journey, regarding them perhaps 
 as trivial and of no importance to science. It is 
 much to be regretted that we have not been enabled 
 to avail ourselves of them for this biography. 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 of the general account. None at least 
 was found among his papers, and he 
 quotes another authority to prove that 
 the whole expedition cost only 21,000 
 reichsthalers (3,780/. sterling.) We 
 recollect having heard another sum 
 stated at Copenhagen, but it was very 
 little higher ; probably some information 
 on the subject may be found in the Kiel 
 journals of the time. The expense, on 
 any calculation, was so extremely small 
 as to excite the greatest astonishment. 
 It would necessarily have been much 
 greater had not Niebuhr been the sole 
 survivor for nearly the whole of the 
 last four years; but, although the 
 sources of expense were thus greatly 
 diminished, they were still more so by 
 his scrupulous integrity ; not only in 
 avoiding every outlay not essential to 
 the object, but in paying out of his 
 private pocket for everything which could 
 be regarded as a personal expense. 
 
 " A far heavier account," says he, in 
 the notes of his life which he wrote for 
 his immediate friends, " was that which 
 I had now to render to the public con- 
 cerning my travels." The materials in 
 his journal and papers were extraor- 
 dinarily rich and various. That he now 
 laboured at their arrangement and com- 
 pletion with all the truth and simplicity 
 natural to him, will readily be be- 
 lieved ; his distrust of his ability, how- 
 ever, amounted almost to despondency. 
 We have already seen how he had 
 grown up to manhood almost entirely 
 without acquaintance with literary pur- 
 suits: nor was this all; he had read 
 little connectedly, especially in Ger- 
 man. The high German, or writ- 
 ten language of Germany, was not 
 his mother tongue ; it was only as a 
 young man that he had familiarized 
 himself with it, nor was he ever master 
 of it in all its extent and richness. But 
 he was still more afraid lest, from want 
 of learning, he should state facts in an 
 erroneous or incongruous manner, and 
 consequently be misunderstood and un- 
 fairly judged. 
 
 His first notion was to publish two 
 works before he published his travels ; 
 the one consisting of replies to the que- 
 ries addressed to the members of the 
 expedition, to be extracted from his own 
 and Forskaal's papers, the other of a 
 collection of all his astronomical obser- 
 vations. 
 
 It might certainly have been expected 
 that some aueries would have been di- 
 gested and given to men wnom Michaelis 
 
 was sending to explore new countries, and 
 that a solution of them would have been 
 demanded. So far, however, was this 
 from being the case, that more than 
 four years after the first conception of 
 the project, when the expedition sailed 
 from Copenhagen, he had prepared 
 only two very insignificant questions; 
 the remainder they received, at three 
 several times, on the journey.^ 
 
 Incomparably more important than 
 any of these, was the paper containing 
 topics of inquiry concerning the history 
 of Yemen, compiled by the Academie 
 des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, with 
 that true oriental erudition for which 
 France had long been distinguished. A 
 translation of them is to be found in 
 Niebuhr's works, after the queries of Mi- 
 chaelis. As the latter are well known, the 
 public can judge whether they deserved 
 answers, and whether it was possible to 
 answer such questions satisfactorily. 
 The philologist of the expedition was, at 
 all events, totally incompetent to the 
 investigation; it was Forskaal, indeed, 
 who took it upon himself, and who, 
 from " the diversity of his talents and 
 knowledge, was the only person at all 
 fitted to it. As long as he lived, Nie- 
 buhr, who understood nothing of He- 
 brew, regarded these inquiries as only 
 indirectly connected with his pursuits ; 
 though, indeed, he neglected nothing 
 which could be of the slightest utility to 
 science. When, however, he remained 
 the solitary survivor, he spared no la- 
 bour in collecting answers to the que- 
 ries. He thus fulfilled, to the utmost 
 extent, all that could be required of him. 
 To him, what was accomplished ap- 
 peared very little, and the extreme mo- 
 desty of the expressions in his preface 
 ought to have disarmed even such 
 enmity as that displayed in the attack 
 upon him in Michaelis' s biography. 
 
 As he now thought, and with justice, 
 that these answers were too insignificant 
 to form a work distinct from his great 
 one, there were other causes which de- 
 cided him not to publish the astronomi- 
 cal observations separately. 
 
 His fears concerning the accuracy of 
 his lunar observations, and the calcula- 
 tions founded upon them, have already 
 been mentioned. Had Mayer lived, he 
 would have examined them, and, once 
 assured of their accuracy by him, Nie- 
 buhr would certainly have published 
 them with perfect confidence. He, 
 however, could now find nobody on the 
 continent who was master of Mayer's 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 method, and willing and able to tran- 
 quillize his fears and encourage his 
 diffidence by examining them. 
 
 It was also a most adverse circum- 
 stance for him that Father Hell, who 
 had been sent to Wardohuus to observe 
 the transit of Venus in 1769, was then 
 staying in Copenhagen. Father Hell 
 was unquestionably an able astronomer, 
 but prone to depreciate and to thwart 
 the works of all other men. This ac- 
 counts for his having taken pains to 
 decry the quadrant which Niebuhr had 
 constantly and most ably used* as an 
 imperfect instrument ; a matter upon 
 which he completely altered his tone 
 when he took this very instrument with 
 him to Norway. He was a declared 
 enemy to Mayer's method^; and as Nie- 
 buhr, with all the humility natural to 
 him, acknowledged his superiority as a 
 scientific astronomer, Father Hell took 
 advantage of this to increase his diffi- 
 dence as to the value of his observa- 
 tions, and to maintain that the only cer- 
 tain method of ascertaining the longitude 
 was by the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites. 
 Niebuhr had also made some observa- 
 tions of these eclipses. The scientific 
 readers of his travels will recollect that 
 the longitude of Loheia is determined 
 by them, and that he ascribed the calcu- 
 lation to Father Hell. The impression 
 which the crafty Jesuit made upon his 
 mind with respect to his lunar observa- 
 tions, was in the highest degree unfortu- 
 nate. He had not, indeed, lost his own 
 faith in his observations, but he now 
 feared doubly for the reception they 
 would meet with from the public, and 
 thought he should be compelled to aban- 
 don them until somebody should be 
 found who would examine and verify 
 them. This was afterwards done by 
 Burg. 
 
 He now came to the resolution to 
 work up his materials in the form in 
 which they afterwards appeared. For 
 the publication of these two works, 
 Bernstorf procured him very liberal sup- 
 port from the Danish government. All 
 the copper-plates were executed at its 
 cost, and given to Niebuhr. The rest 
 of the^ expenses he defrayed, having 
 adopted the unfortunate plan of pub- 
 lishing the works himself. 
 
 While he was occupied in preparing 
 his description of Arabia, the political 
 circumstances of Denmark changed in 
 a manner the most painful to him. 
 Struensee had got possession of 
 the government, and even of abso- 
 
 lute power, and Count Bernstorf was 
 dismissed. Niebuhr did not think fit 
 to take upon himself the character 
 of a public man; his desire on this, 
 as on other occasions, was not to 
 be conspicuous ; but he was far from 
 disowning his warm attachment to Bern- 
 storf at a time when all the timid fell off 
 from the discarded minister: Niebuhr, 
 with a very small number of faithful 
 friends, accompanied him to Roeskilde. 
 He never deigned to pay a visit to 
 Struensee, nor would he appear in 
 any place where he was likely to meet 
 the mischievous despots of that unpa- 
 ralleled epoch. He spoke his mind freely ; 
 he rejoiced when the people rose against 
 the enemies of their country, and shared 
 the triumph of their downfall. 
 
 The Description of Arabia appeared at 
 Michaelmas, 1772. A book of this kind 
 could not become popular ; it was, in- 
 deed, fitted only for the few. It is, 
 however, difficult to understand how a 
 critic could be found with effrontery 
 enough to write such a review of a book 
 so truly classical, so full of information, 
 and, at the same time, of modesty, as 
 that which appeared in the Lemgo 
 Scientific Journal. It was manifestly 
 dictated by a desire, not to enlighten the 
 public, but to destroy the book. Personal 
 hostility had blinded the writer, or en- 
 venomed his mind ; he, however, attained 
 his end he deeply wounded an unprac- 
 tised author, whom the cool reception 
 of the public had already sufficiently 
 discouraged. 
 
 Niebuhr expected that his work 
 would excite a more lively interest 
 abroad than in Denmark ; and the ap- 
 pearance of "the French edition, which 
 he published the following year, seemed 
 well calculated to realize his expectations. 
 In publishing this, however, two great 
 errors were committed, which increased 
 the influence of the adverse star that 
 presided over all his literary under- 
 takings. The translation ought to have 
 appeared at the same time with the ori- 
 ginal. Time had now been given for a 
 Dutch publisher to make the same 
 speculation, and the two translations 
 came out at the same time. But how- 
 ever bad and impure was the French 
 of Holland, and to however small a 
 portion of praise the translation which 
 appeared there is entitled, it unfortu- 
 nately happened that the one made at 
 Copenhagen by a refugee priest was 
 much worse. So utterly unreadable, 
 indeed, was it, that nothing but its 
 C 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 novelty could have procured it any 
 notice whatever. Niebuhr, who under- 
 stood only just so much of the lan- 
 suage as was necessary to make him- 
 selfunderstood, was unhappily no judge 
 of this, and threw away all the money 
 this abortive undertaking cost him. 
 
 At this time a sort of diplomatic mes- 
 senger, sent to several of the northern 
 courts of Europe by the Pasha of Tripoli, 
 arrived at. Copenhagen. His name was 
 Abderrahman Aga. The object of his 
 mission was to beg those presents for 
 his master, which the feeble government 
 of Tripoli had no longer power to extort. 
 It was also a favour conferred upon 
 the ambassador, who was entertained 
 at the cost of the courts he visited, 
 and received presents for himself. The 
 Danish ministry had assigned him a 
 .man as companion and attendant, who 
 had formerly been consul in Barbary, 
 and was supposed of course to under- 
 stand Arabic. The Tripolitan, who was a 
 very intelligent man, found him ex- 
 tremely dull, and almost entirely igno- 
 rant of the language he was employed to 
 interpret. Niebuhr, who cherished the 
 feelings of a countryman towards all 
 orientals, visited Abderrahman. He was 
 delighted with an opportunity of speak- 
 ing and hearing Arabic, of reviving his 
 already diminished facility in it, and of 
 gaining from a native, information con- 
 cerning the regions where that language 
 is spoken which he had not visited. 
 From him also he gained much interest- 
 ing intelligence of Tripoli and Barbary. 
 The details which he gathered concern- 
 ing middle Africa were of a much more 
 important kind ; and are the first calcu- 
 lated to throw any light on those unex- 
 plored regions, collected since the time 
 of Johannes Leo Africanus. 
 
 During two centuries and a half the 
 numerous Europeans who returned from 
 the northern coast of Africa and from 
 Egypt, had not contributed the smallest 
 addition to the stock of knowledge on this 
 subject; and geographers could only, 
 with different degrees of critical acute- 
 i\ess and of intelligence, compare and 
 adapt the accounts given, at an interval 
 -of four centuries, by Sherif Edrisi, and 
 by Leo. D'Anville's acuteness in divi- 
 ning the geography of Africa, viewed with 
 reference to the extreme poverty of the 
 data, appears perfectly marvellous. Nie- 
 buhr's details were collected sixteen 
 years before that passion arose in Eng- 
 land for the discovery of Africa, which 
 has since led so many travellers thither. 
 
 Their accuracy has been wonderfully 
 confirmed, and they afford one of the 
 most convincing proofs of his talents 
 for geographical research. 
 
 Abderrahman Aga visited many of 
 the countries and capitals of Europe, 
 but Niebuhr was the only man then to 
 be found who knew how to turn this 
 opportunity to the account of science. 
 His testimony was most valuable. He 
 had not, indeed, crossed the Sahara, or 
 visited Negroland, but he traded thi- 
 ther ; and besides the interest which he 
 took in the country as a merchant, he 
 had that ardour for geographical re- 
 search which is very extensively dif- 
 fused among the nations of the east, and 
 is promoted by the paucity of their sub- 
 jects of conversation. He likewise had 
 some knowledge of the Negro languages: 
 from him, and from one of his black ser- 
 vants, Niebuhr collected various spe- 
 cimens of these dialects. 
 
 The discovery of two great Moham- 
 medan and civilised kingdoms in central 
 Africa ; the Tripolitan's assurance that 
 a traveller, sufficiently acquainted with 
 eastern manners and customs to pass 
 as an Asiatic, would meet with no 
 greater difficulties there than in Ara- 
 bia, and with less fanaticism than in 
 Egypt ; the undoubted good faith and 
 cordiality of Abderrahman's invita- 
 tion, and of his promise of all possible 
 recommendations and assistance; the 
 consciousness of the knowledge, apti- 
 tude, and familiarity which he had 
 acquired, joined to that longing after the 
 deep and solemn tranquillity of Eastern 
 lands, which other Europeans who have 
 been long resident in them have felt ; all 
 these causes united, awakened in his mind 
 so intense a desire to travel by way of 
 Tripoli and Fezzan to the Niger, that he 
 would probably have set out at his own 
 expense, without any assistance from the 
 government, had he not been withheld 
 by the duty of first finishing the account 
 of his travels. Whatever were the 
 countless dangers which threatened 
 him, we are justified in believing that in 
 all human probability he would have 
 surmounted them. The Moorish mer- 
 chants, who, through the first injudi- 
 cious visits of the English expedition, 
 became suspicious and jealous, would 
 have received him without any hos- 
 tile feelings, and for the difficulties 
 of the journey he was as well pre- 
 pared as an Asiatic. His talents and 
 fitness for the undertaking were too 
 peculiar and remarkable, and too tho- 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 21 
 
 roughly tried, not to promise him results 
 greater than those which any other tra- 
 veller, excepting only Brown, could ex- 
 pect. 
 
 But the course of his life was now to 
 be changed. Had he remained single, 
 he would have hastened to finish his 
 work, in order to attempt this attractive 
 adventure ; but at this very time he be- 
 came acquainted with the daughter of the 
 deceased physician Blumenberg, a Thu- 
 ringian, and was soon betrothed to her. 
 This was his first and only love ; and 
 that it was deep and strong is suffici- 
 ently proved, by his sacrificing to it the 
 journey of discovery which he had 
 so passionately desired, and the ori- 
 ental life which was so agreeable to 
 him. He married in 1773. / His wife 
 bore him two children, a daughter, 
 and B. G. Niebuhr, the illustrious author 
 of the most learned and valuable re- 
 searches into the history of Rome which 
 have ever appeared, from whose life of 
 his father this memoir is chiefly taken. 
 
 The first volume of his travels ap- 
 peared at the Easter fair of the follow- 
 ing year, 1774. This caused him to 
 visit the fair ; but, even had he not been 
 led to Leipzig by business, he would have 
 been induced to go by his desire to be- 
 come personally known to Reiske. If 
 any man in Germany ever experienced 
 the misery of persecuted excellence, 
 it was Reiske, whose cotemporaries 
 could not but s admit, that if any imper- 
 fection now and then appeared in his 
 learning, it arose only from the extent 
 and fulness of his genius and imagi- 
 nation ; and that what was ill natured 
 and unamiable in his writings, was 
 the offspring of his bitter feelings at 
 being trodden underfoot by the ty- 
 ranny of literary envy. " It is not 
 without pride," says Mr. Niebuhr, 
 " that I affirm that my father and Less- 
 ing were the only men who did honour 
 to him while living : my father publicly 
 bore testimony that, even among the 
 Arabs themselves, he had never met 
 with a man so profoundly versed in their 
 literature." 
 
 In spite of the very unfavourable ex- 
 perience he had already had of pub- 
 lishing on his own account, he held 
 himself bound by a sacred duty to his 
 departed friend to publish Forskaal's 
 works on natural history. This ac- 
 quittal of a debt to friendship occa- 
 sioned him a greater loss than all his 
 other publications, from the unavoid- 
 ably small sale of the work. It was 
 
 impossible to print from manuscripts 
 in so confused a state, nor could 
 Niebuhr undertake to arrange them, 
 totally unacquainted as he was with 
 the natural sciences, and little versed 
 in the Latin language. He entrust- 
 ed the task to a Swedish man of letters, 
 and paid him a very considerable 
 sum for its execution. This Swede 
 was a strange man, and, among other 
 things, importuned Niebuhr to let the 
 preface appear in his name ; his compli- 
 ance with which was afterwards a cause 
 of great regret to him. The extraordi- 
 nary value of this neglected and forgotten 
 work has been mentioned. 
 
 Already discouraged by the very con- 
 siderable sums he had either wholly sunk, 
 or, at least, locked up for a long time, in 
 his literary undertakings, he delayed 
 the publication of the second volume of 
 his Travels, which did^not appear till 
 1778. According to his original plan, 
 this ought to have come down to the 
 termination of his expedition ; he broke 
 off, however, at his arrival at Haleb. The 
 remainder of the journey, together with 
 remarks on the Turkish empire, on the 
 Mohammedan religion, details concern- 
 ing Abyssinia which he had collected at 
 Yemen, and those relating to Sudan 
 which he had obtained from Abder- 
 rahman Aga ; lastly, the whole of his 
 astronomical observations, were to com- 
 pose the third volume, which he then 
 thought would very soon follow the 
 others, but which never appeared, 
 though he was so often and so earnestly 
 urged to publish it by his friends and 
 admirers. The causes which hindered 
 his complying with their wishes will be 
 stated in the sequel of this narrative. 
 
 He lived very contentedly at Copen- 
 hagen, in the bosom of his family, and 
 of a small circle of friends ; but the loss 
 which he sustained from the retirement 
 of Count Bernstorf was never supplied. 
 Misunderstandings and differences some 
 time afterwards troubled his outward 
 comfort ; and as he easily took a disgust 
 at a place of residence in which he had 
 experienced vexations, he began to grow 
 averse to this city, although he had 
 lived happily in it for ten years, particu- 
 larly as he heard that General Huth 
 intended to send him into Norway on 
 a geographical survey of that country. 
 This mission was extremely distasteful to 
 him ; he did not like to be separated from 
 his family, and he could not take them 
 with him into the wild mountains of Nor- 
 way. He therefore endeavoured to quit 
 
22 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 the military service, and to obtain a post 
 in the civil service of Holstein. The 
 government acceded to his wishes, and 
 gave him the situation of secretary of 
 the district (landschreiber), at Meldorf ; 
 an office, the duties of which were not at 
 that time very burthensome. In the 
 summer of 1778, he arrived with his fa- 
 mily at that place, in which he remained 
 till his death. 
 
 Meldorf, the chief town of the old 
 republic of Ditmarschen, formerly rich 
 and populous, is T sunk into obscurity 
 and desolation. It was twice taken, 
 plundered and burnt, both in the suc- 
 cessful war of subjugation, and in that 
 of vengeance and liberation, which fol- 
 lowed it. This, added to the grievous 
 contributions extorted from it in the 
 thirty years' war, and the famine which 
 arose out of the universal decay in 
 which the country languished from the 
 year 1 628, till the rise of the price of 
 corn in 1790, completed its ruin. Nume- 
 rous vestiges of the good old times are, 
 to those acquainted with its history, 
 melancholy memorials of its lost and 
 irrecoverable prosperity. Quiet and de- 
 serted as the place was, it may readily 
 be supposed that it was entirely without 
 the sort of society suited to a man of 
 Niebuhr's tastes and character; for he 
 was, unfortunately, little versed in the 
 learned languages, and he remained a 
 stranger to the excellent man who is 
 still the ornament of the place, until he 
 became indebted to him for the philolo- 
 gical education of his son. 
 
 Meanwhile he settled his plan of life ; 
 built himself a house, the massive style 
 of which showed his love for the plain 
 and substantial dwellings of his fathers, 
 and planted a garden, the fruit of which 
 he was at that time in too delicate 
 health to hope to gather. He, however, 
 outlived most of the trees in it. In 
 these employments, and the acquisition 
 of knowledge of the country, several 
 years slipped away, during which he 
 began to lose sight of the termination of 
 his work ; indeed, this daily became a 
 source of increased pain and mortifica- 
 tion to him, from an increasing perception 
 of the pecuniary loss it had caused him, 
 and from the great indifference to it which 
 then prevailed in Germany. 
 
 At this time, too, he sustained a loss 
 which rendered him, as father of a fa- 
 mily, more thoughtful as to the sacrifice 
 of a part . of his remaining property 
 for so unthankful an undertaking. A 
 passion for speculation seizes on reflect- 
 
 ing and intelligent, but inexperienced, 
 men, as well as on the reckless and 
 inconsiderate ; as epidemical complaints 
 attack the strong as well as the weak. 
 During the American war the rage for 
 shares in a joint-stock undertaking 
 prevailed in Copenhagen, and was fos^ 
 tered and heightened by delusive ap- 
 pearances. Niebuhr was one of those 
 who suffered themselves to be tempted to 
 buy Asiatic shares, and wait for a higher 
 and higher premium, till at length they 
 reached a price for which there was no 
 foundation ; this ended in their sudden 
 fall, and in the loss of the holders. 
 
 Many things now conspired to trouble 
 his tranquillity. He himself, as a native 
 marshman, enjoyed very good health in 
 the air of Ditmarschen ; but his wife, 
 like all strangers, had to struggle against 
 continual attacks of fever, and her deli- 
 cate constitution was thoroughly shaken. 
 Niebuhr had employed himself for many 
 years, though of late with considerable 
 interruptions, in arranging and preparing 
 his works. He now entirely laid them 
 aside. With the same view he had read a 
 great deal; he was now in a place in which 
 no book ever met his eye, which he did 
 not himself procure. The void which this 
 occasioned was extremely oppressive to 
 him and disheartened and indisposed him 
 for his labour : the more so, as the dead 
 stagnation of a place in which no day 
 was ever marked by a new occurrence, 
 was contrary to his nature, to that 
 impulse which had driven him out into 
 the wide world, and to the very varied 
 and eventful life to which he had been 
 accustomed. The void indeed which he 
 felt was one which no books could fill ; 
 and, as he did not. clearly define it 
 to himself, it hung upon his spirits as a 
 silent discontent. The direction of his mind 
 was exclusively towards the historical 
 knowledge of things which form a part 
 of the existing and visible earth. Even 
 the history of the past ages of the hu- 
 man race was for him a merely subor- 
 dinate study. From the same peculiar 
 character of his mind, even astronomy, 
 his own proper pursuit, had no charms 
 for him, except as serving to illus- 
 trate geography. When he built his 
 house, he had fitted up a room as an ob- 
 servatory, and made observations there 
 and in other parts of Holstein for the 
 sake of ascertaining the situations of 
 places: latterly, however, he disconti- 
 nued this more and more, and the in- 
 struments he had used on his travels 
 were preserved only as relics. t 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 It was a most fortunate and beneficial 
 thing for him that, a few years after he 
 settled at Meldorf, Boie was sent thither 
 as Landvogt, or governor of the pro- 
 vince. The editor of the " Deutches 
 Museum" had, of course, very extensive 
 literary connexions, and the intercourse 
 between men of letters was then carried 
 on with a vivacity and interest now 
 wholly unknown. On every account, 
 therefore, he was capable of furnishing 
 various interesting matter about which 
 Niebuhr's mind busied itself. An inti- 
 mate and daily intercourse, which form- 
 ed part of the regular routine of their 
 lives, accordingly arose between these 
 two men, and, when Boie married, be- 
 tween the two families. 
 
 Through Boie's means Niebuhr also 
 became acquainted with men who would 
 otherwise never have visited this remote 
 and obscure corner. Tn this manner 
 he obtained the acquaintance and the 
 friendship of the celebrated poet and 
 scholar, Voss. 
 
 Another and not less considerable ad- 
 vantage which arose out of Boie's resi- 
 dence at Meldorf was, that he possessed 
 a very fine library, which, as editor of 
 the " Museum," he was continually 
 increasing. The greater part of the 
 books were, it is true, foreign to Nie- 
 buhr's tastes and pursuits, but there 
 were many which interested and occu- 
 pied him. 
 
 One consequence of this connexion 
 was, that he was stimulated to write 
 many papers, which circumstances call- 
 ed forth, for the " Museum ;" and to 
 give treatises to that periodical, which 
 had been intended to form part of his 
 third volume, and were laid on the shelf. 
 This was, in more than one way, disad- 
 vantageous to him. It tended to extin- 
 guish all purpose of publishing *the 
 deficient volume ; it dissolved the con- 
 nexion in the matter, and destroyed its 
 integrity ; and was so much given away 
 out; of the newest and most important 
 parts. He seldom wrote for the press 
 without constraint, or without dread of 
 committing errors in style. This anxiety 
 was greatly increased by Boie's fasti- 
 dious criticism. Niebuhr gave him his 
 manuscript to read through, as he had 
 been in the habit of doing to a friend in 
 Copenhagen. He was not, however, 
 content with erasing a few obvious er- 
 rors, but corrected it throughout with 
 such rhetorical nicety, that Niebuhr was 
 now more than ever convinced of his 
 entire inability to write. In this he was 
 
 quite wrong ; for the style of those of 
 his essays which had not been touched 
 by any other hand, not only charac- 
 teristically expresses his peculiar modes 
 of thinking, but is remarkable for the 
 simple beauty it derives from the Low 
 German idoms, which sometimes ap- 
 pear faintly, sometimes in undisguised 
 and primitive plainness. To Northern 
 Germans they have a peculiar charm, 
 and none but a taste, enfeebled and de- 
 praved by fastidious refinement, could 
 ever take offence at them. 
 
 Meanwhile his children grew to an 
 age to require instruction. This he gave 
 them himself. " He instructed both of 
 us," (says his son,) " in geography, and 
 related to [us many passages of history. 
 He taught me English and French- 
 better, at any rate, than they would have 
 been taught by any body else in such a 
 place; and something of mathematics, 
 in which he would have proceeded much 
 farther, had not want of zeal and de- 
 sire in me unfortunately destroyed all his 
 pleasure in the occupation. One thing 
 indeed was characteristic of his whole 
 system of teaching: as he had no 
 idea how any body could have know- 
 ledge of any kind placed before him, and 
 not seize it with the greatest delight and 
 avidity, and hold to it with the steadiest 
 perseverance, he became disinclined to 
 teach whenever we appeared inattentive 
 or reluctant to learn. As the first in- 
 structions I received in Latin, before I 
 had the good fortune to become a scho- 
 lar of the learned and excellent Jager, 
 were very defective, he helped me, and 
 read with me Caesar's Commentaries. 
 Here, again, the peculiar bent of his 
 mind shewed itself; he always called my 
 attention much more strongly to the geo- 
 graphy than the history. The map of 
 ancient Gaul by D' Anville, for whom he 
 had the greatest reverence, always lay 
 before us. I was obliged to look out 
 every place as it occurred, and to tell its 
 exact situation. His instructions had 
 no pretension to be grammatical ; his 
 knowledge of the language, so far as it 
 went, was gained entirely by reading, 
 and by looking at it as a whole. He 
 was of opinion, that a man did not 
 deserve to learn what he had not princi- 
 pally worked out for himself ; and that a 
 teacher should be only a helper to assist 
 the pupil out of otherwise inexplicable 
 difficulties. From these causes his at- 
 tempts to teach me Arabic, when he had 
 already lost that facility in speaking it 
 without which it is impossible to dis- 
 
24 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 pense with grammatical instruction, to 
 his disappointment and my shame, did 
 not succeed. When I afterwards taught 
 it myself, and sent him translations 
 fromit, he was greatly delighted. 
 
 " I have the most lively recollection of 
 many descriptions of the structure of the 
 universe and accounts of eastern coun- 
 tries, which he used to tell me, 
 instead of fairy tales, when he took 
 me on his knee before I went to 
 bed. The history of Mohammed ; of 
 the first caliphs, particularly Omar 
 and Ali, for whom he had the deepest 
 veneration of the conquests and spread 
 of Islamism of the virtues of the heroes 
 of the new faith, and of the Turkish 
 converts, were imprinted on my childish 
 imagination in the liveliest colours. 
 Historical works on these same subjects 
 were nearly the first books that fell into 
 my hands. 
 
 " I recollect too, that on the Christmas- 
 eve of my tenth year, by way of making 
 the day one of peculiar solemnity and 
 rejoicing to me, he went to a beautiful 
 chest containing his manuscripts, which 
 was regarded by us children, and indeed 
 by the whole household, as a sort of ark 
 of the covenant ; took out the papers 
 relating to Africa, and read to me from 
 them. He had taught me to draw maps, 
 and with his encouragement and assist- 
 ance I soon produced maps of Habbesh 
 and Sudan. 
 
 " I could not make him a more wel- 
 come birthday present than a sketch of 
 the geography of eastern countries, or 
 translations from voyages and travels, 
 executed as might be expected from a 
 child. He had originally no stronger 
 desire than that I might be his succes- 
 sor as a traveller in the East. But the 
 influence of a veiy tender and anxious 
 mother upon my physical training and 
 constitution thwarted his plan almost as 
 soon as it was formed. In consequence 
 of her opposition, my father afterwards 
 gave up all thoughts of it. 
 
 " The distinguished kindness he had 
 experienced from the English, and the 
 services which he had been able to render 
 to the East India Company by throwing 
 light on the navigation of the higher 
 part of the Red Sea, led him to enter- 
 tain 1he idea of sending me, as soon as I 
 was old enough, to India. With this 
 scheme, which, plausible as it was, he 
 was afterwards as glad to see frustrated 
 ass I was myself, many things in the 
 education he gave me were intimately 
 connected. He taught me, by prefer- 
 
 ence, out of English books, and put 
 English works of all sorts into my hands ; 
 at a very early age he gave me a regu- 
 lar supply of English newspapers ; cir- 
 cumstances which I record here, not en 
 account of the powerful influence they 
 have had on my maturer life, but as in- 
 dications of his character. 
 
 " He entered with the greatest indul- 
 gence and interest into the half preco- 
 cious, half infantine thoughts of the 
 boy ; built castles in the air with him ; 
 conversed with him upon all the topics 
 of the day, and communicated to 
 him his ideas and views on all sub- 
 jects that came under discourse. 
 Thus, when we spoke of fortification, he 
 brought out books and plans, and made 
 me draw and measure polygons. 
 
 " In the winter of 1788, Herder sent 
 him his Persepolis, the contents of which 
 were extremely interesting to him. This 
 gave him the greater pleasure, as it was 
 the first proof he had received for many 
 years that he was not forgotten by his 
 countrymen a pleasure mingled with 
 surprise. From that time marks of the 
 estimation in which he was held in Ger- 
 many, as well as abroad, were continu- 
 ally becoming more frequent." 
 
 The war with Turkey, which broke 
 out at this time, occupied his mind 
 intensely, and excited him to write seve- 
 ral papers. The warmer was his attach- 
 ment to the Arabs, and the more the 
 peculiarity of his character led him to 
 regard the Arabs of Medina, Bagdad r 
 and Cordova, under the kaliphs, as the 
 people after his own heart, the more 
 intensely did he hate the stately, unbend- 
 ing Turks the tyrants and oppressors 
 of his beloved Arabs and he cordially 
 wished that they might be driven out of 
 that Happy Land, which under their 
 government is becoming a desert. 
 
 He could not, however, help grudging 
 this conquest to the French ; and, during 
 the expedition to Egypt, his lively ac- 
 quaintance with what Egypt had been, 
 was, or might become, rendered it im- 
 possible to mislead him ; it was his per- 
 suasion that, from the French, no im- 
 provement, no relief could or would 
 come. For it must be acknowledged, 
 that towards the French he had a na- 
 tional antipathy, although he gratefully 
 remembered that in many places in the 
 East they had received him with the 
 most sincere and courteous hospitality ; 
 and although he entertained the highest 
 possible respect for their mathemati- 
 cians and orientalists. At a later period, 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 25. 
 
 when the revolution broke out, he be- 
 held it wholly without faith or confi- 
 dence in any good result, and even with 
 a decided aversion, excited by that 
 national vanity and that want of veracity 
 which were but too obvious and too 
 disgusting to a mind so simple and up- 
 right as his. Not that he had any 
 attachment to courts, aristocracies, or 
 priesthoods. He did not philosophize 
 on the subject, but saw in the French 
 nation our hereditary enemies. He re- 
 joiced at the breaking out of the revolu- 
 tionary war, from the hope that we might 
 regain the several German andBurgun- 
 dian provinces, which he always, when 
 teaching his children geography, persist- 
 ed in reckoning as parts of Germany. 
 
 The neighbourhood of his native place 
 was one of the reasons which made it 
 particularly agreeable to him to live in 
 Ditmarschen. Of his relations, his half 
 brother, Bartold Niebuhr, and his ne- 
 phew, H. W. Schmeelke. were the 
 nearest and dearest to him. The former, 
 many years younger than himself,an opu- 
 lent farmer, died unmarried long before 
 him. He was a man of extraordinary 
 capacity, and although he had gone but 
 occasionally to school, and (as everything 
 was easy to him) applied but very little, 
 he had acquired enough of the Latin 
 language to understand the poets. " Un- 
 cle, what are you reading there ?'' said 
 his nephew to him one day, seeing him 
 with the Georgics in his hand. " I have 
 hived some bees," answered he, in the 
 dialect of his country, " and I want to 
 see what Virgil writes about them." 
 
 When he saw Niebuhr in his uniform 
 as officer of engineers, he went up to 
 him, looked earnestly at him, and said, 
 smiling, " Brother, you look very well 
 in that dress, but for all that you are a 
 servant I am a free man." Schmeelke, 
 for some time Biirgermeister (f. e. chief 
 magistrate) at Otterndorf, was always 
 Niebuhr's favourite, and before his tra- 
 vels into Arabia he had bequeathed to 
 him the greater part of his property, as 
 his brother did not want it. The. uncle 
 and nephew frequently exchanged visits, 
 and Niebuhr was never so happy as in 
 Hadeln. He had no relation, however 
 distant, no connexion of the friends of 
 his early youth, whose^circumstances he 
 did not know in their most minute de- 
 tails and treasure up in his memory. 
 
 " The appearance of the long-expected 
 travels of Bruce," says Mr. Niebuhr, 
 " formed an epoch in our uniform life. 
 My father had never been one of those 
 
 who earned scepticism so far as to ques- 
 tion whether Bruce had ever been in 
 Abyssinia at all. He read his work 
 without prejudice, and the conclusion he 
 arrived at was the same which is, since 
 the second Edinburgh edition, and the 
 publication of Salt's two journeys, the. 
 universal and ultimate one. In apapcT 
 which he sent to the new ' Deutsches 
 Museum,' he showed that Bruce had 
 exactly copied the pretended determina- 
 tion of the elevation of the Pole on the 
 Arabian Gulf from himself; that the 
 conversation with Ali Bey was a palpa- 
 ble fabrication and romance; that the 
 pretended journey over the Red Sea, in the 
 country of Bab el Mandeb, as well as that 
 on the coast south from Kossir, were also 
 mere fiction. On the other hand, he 
 declared that, mixed up with these gross 
 falsehoods, there were parts of the tra- 
 vels which bore an impress of perfect 
 truth and might be confidently believed- 
 About the same time, he was incited, 
 half in indignation, half in wantonness^ 
 to give his opinion on a fantastic dream 
 concerning the origin of the Pyramids 
 and of Persepolis put forth by Witt, who 
 maintained that they had been wholly mis- 
 understood, and were works of nature. 
 
 At the beginning of the year 1790,. 
 he had the great pleasure of receiving a 
 letter from his old friend Dr. Russel, 
 begging of him his ground plan of the 
 city of Aleppo for the new edition he 
 was about to publish of his description 
 of that city. It is hardly necessary to 
 say that Niebuhr did not refuse it. Dr. 
 Russel greatly improved upon it by the 
 addition of the most remarkable build- 
 ings, by more correct drawing of the prin- 
 cipal streets, and omission of the remain- 
 der. Niebuhr's plans, with the excep- 
 tion of Kahira, which is as perfect as 
 that of any city in Europe, are, as he 
 himself has observed, to be considered 
 complete only as far as the circumfer- 
 ence, the gates, and the principal build 
 ings are concerned. 
 
 Out of this renewed correspondence- 
 with Dr. Russel, arose one with Major 
 Rennell, who wished to avail himself 
 of Niebuhr's unpublished map of his 
 route through Syria and Natolia, with a 
 view to a general map of Asia he had it 
 in contemplation to publish. Niebuhr 
 was too generous and too free from all 
 petty jealousy to hesitate a moment in 
 complying with this request. About the 
 same time, Marsden showed his respect 
 for him by sending him his history of 
 Sumatra. 
 
26 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 After the correspondence with Rennell 
 had lasted some time, Niebuhr sent him a 
 few of his lunar calculations, the verifica- 
 tion of which he had so extraordinarily at 
 heart, and intreated him to induce Mas- 
 kelyne to undertake this task : this, how- 
 ever, was not attended with any success. 
 
 " I must here," adds his son, " depart 
 from chronological order to speak of his 
 correspondence with two excellent men 
 of letters, which, however, if I mistake 
 not, took place some years later. Sil- 
 vestre de Sacy, while deciphering the 
 Pehlwi inscriptions at Nakschi Rustam, 
 had discovered the incomparable accu- 
 racy of my father's drawings ; and he, 
 who always entertained the highest 
 reverence for the author of that masterly 
 philological work, felt grateful to De Sacy 
 for calling into life labours which were 
 dead, so long as the key to them was 
 wanting. A very agreeable corre- 
 spondence soon arose between two men 
 of science, bound to each other by such 
 ties. Silvestre de Sacy was at that time 
 employed upon the compiled translation 
 of the Bark el Jemen, '. e. the History 
 of the Conquest of Jemen by the Turks. 
 In the prosecution of this work he had 
 used my father's geography in his descrip- 
 tion of Arabia and his map of the em- 
 pire of the Imaums, and had found the 
 astonishing result that every place men- 
 tioned in the history, excepting only two 
 villages in Tehama, were laid down with 
 perfect accuracy. So far as the map was 
 determined by his actual progress through 
 the country, this is less surprising ; the 
 remarkable, and the far greater part, 
 is that which rests on the connexion be- 
 tween such data concerning distance and 
 direction as he could collect. Here no- 
 thing but the most acute 'judgment and 
 accurate induction could have enabled 
 him to decide on the internal evidence 
 of varying testimonies, and to give to 
 each its due value. 
 
 "Out of this correspondence afterwards 
 arose another, which was also extremely 
 valuable to him that with the learned, 
 industrious and clear-sighted geogra- 
 pher, Barbier du Bocage. He applied 
 to my father for materials for the con- 
 struction of his map of Natolia, and 
 received both astronomical determina- 
 tion of places, and itineraries which my 
 father had written down from the oral 
 testimony of the camel-drivers of the 
 caravans." 
 
 In November, 1792, Niebuhr was 
 attacked by a pleurisy of which he very 
 nearly died, and recovered very slowly. 
 
 Fulness of blood, occasioned by the 
 quiet and inactive life he had led for so 
 many years, was the cause of very se- 
 vere illness and of long derangement of 
 health. The following year he spit 
 blood. He was not absolutely ill, but 
 his spirits were extremely languid and 
 depressed : he complained of oppression 
 on the chest, and indisposition to move. 
 He had another complaint which made 
 him very anxious. For several years a 
 sort of wart or wen had been growing 
 under his right eye, and every means 
 resorted to had only inflamed and in- 
 creased it. The surgeon whom he con- 
 sulted thought it alarming; the more so 
 because he dared not venture on an ex- 
 tirpation. After enduring pain and anxie- 
 ty for some years, it was at length cured, 
 and at the close of his sixty-sixth year 
 he was happily restored to perfect health. 
 An accident led him to purchase some 
 moorland, a league from his house, 
 and to undertake the cultivation of it. 
 It revived all his taste for the employ- 
 ment of his early life ; he laid various 
 schemes of agricultural improvement, 
 pursued them with youthful ardour, and 
 promised himself the most favourable 
 results: he planted trees, cut drains, 
 and bought land till he had altogether 
 a very considerable estate. The conse- 
 quences were not answerable to his 
 hopes ; a great deal of money was lost 
 if, indeed, that can be called lost which 
 not only left the land improved and pro- 
 ductive, but lengthened and enlivened 
 his remaining days. 
 
 He took much and strong exercise, 
 went to his farm on foot or on horseback, 
 returning with unwearied activity to 
 every spot where' anything remained to 
 do. As the fields in that part of the 
 country are divided by very broad 
 ditches, he made use of a leaping pole, 
 to which he had been accustomed in his 
 youth. He had grown so young and so 
 robust, that he jumped over a ditch ten 
 feet wide in his seventieth year. His 
 farm made many things interesting to 
 him which had formerly been indifferent, 
 and his peculiar talent for observation 
 and investigation found animating em- 
 ployment and food. He studied, in the 
 greatest detail, the sort of agriculture 
 suited to the marsh and heath lands of 
 his own district and the neighbouring 
 ones on the same side of the river, and all 
 the long- forgotten knowledge of the sub- 
 ject which he had acquired in his youth 
 from personal observation revived in his 
 mind. "I still hope," says his son, "to ob- 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 27 
 
 tain possession of a series of letters from 
 him, written in the year 1801, in which 
 most careful inquiries, he replied to a 
 list of queries I addressed to him on the 
 different kinds of marsh-land, the under 
 strata, the proportion between the seed 
 and the produce of various sorts of 
 grain, and the fundamental rules of the 
 old valuation of the land, with a preci- 
 sion and copiousness to be expected 
 only in replies to the interrogatories of 
 a committee of the British House of 
 Commons. 
 
 "Still later, in 1809, in the 77th year 
 of his age, he surprised me by a collec- 
 tion of notes in answer to the inquiry 
 whether, before the existence of the 
 marshes along the whole coast of Fries- 
 land, from Jutland to the Vlie, there 
 had been moors extending behind the 
 Dunes or Denes, which are now washed 
 away; as also, in answer to the ques- 
 tion, whether the mean height of the 
 tide were always the same, and had not, 
 for a long series of years, been conti- 
 nually gaining, or were subject to 
 long periods of gaining and losing. 
 These queries were contained in a letter 
 addressed to him from Holland. The 
 facts which he brought together in reply, 
 gave evidence of all his peculiar acute- 
 ness and accuracy of observation. 
 
 " These occupations diverted him from 
 dwelling on a misfortune which had 
 been a source of great vexation to him 
 for some years before he devoted him- 
 self to them. The copperplates belong- 
 ing to the works which had appeared, 
 as well as those executed for the yet 
 unpublished volume, were deposited at 
 Copenhagen, in the house of a friend, 
 which was reduced to ashes in the great 
 fire of June, 1795. All these plates 
 were destroyed ; and with them perished 
 all desire, all heart, for the completion 
 of the unfinished volume. 
 
 " An opportunity did, indeed, shortly 
 present itself for the publication of its 
 contents, though not in Germany. In 
 England his reputation was so high, 
 that almost every body who heard my 
 name accosted me with cordial inquiries 
 for my father, and an acquaintance with 
 his works was so widely diffused through 
 the medium of Heron's extracts, that I 
 met with them in the houses of several 
 country people, and a friend of mine 
 found them even in the island of Mull. 
 Very eager inquiries were now addressed 
 to him from that country, whether he 
 would not publish the deficient volume 
 there, and in the English language. This 
 
 he declined, partly because he anticipated 
 more difficulties from the sending over 
 a copy of the manuscript for me to 
 translate than really existed ; but partly, 
 also, because with all his attachment to 
 England, he thought it unbecoming 
 and wrong to suffer the conclusion of 
 a work which might be considered as 
 the property of the Danish government, 
 to whom it owed its very existence, to 
 appear in any other country than Den- 
 mark, or in any other language than 
 German. At subsequent periods the 
 same proposal was renewed to me, first 
 in 1802 ; and when I saw that all hope 
 of his giving a German edition was at 
 an end, and at the same time that he 
 was fully satisfied of the correctness 
 of his geographical and astronomical 
 observations, 1 earnestly entreated him 
 to send me the MS. and to permit it to 
 be translated. My intention was to 
 append to it a translation of the his- 
 tory of Zebid, which he sent to Copen- 
 hagen, together with other MSS., and 
 which is still to be found in the royal 
 library there. It contains a circum- 
 stantial history of Yemen, from the 
 time of its separation from the caliphate 
 through the whole of the middle ages. 
 I also intended to extract all that was 
 not botanical from Forskaal's cruelly 
 neglected works, and to annex these, 
 together with a general map of Arabia. 
 My father persisted in his refusal, of 
 which he, however, afterwards repented. 
 During the campaign in East Prussia, 
 Lord Hutchinson, one of his most zea- 
 lous admirers, made the same proposal 
 to him through me, and offered to nego- 
 tiate the affair on the most advantageous 
 terms, according to the relations gene- 
 rally subsisting in England between 
 author and publisher. But at that time 
 I had no longer the power of making 
 any historical additions to the descrip- 
 tion of Arabia ; the sending the manu- 
 scripts to me, even after the peace of 
 Tilsit, was very doubtful ; and the con- 
 veying the translation to England, 
 during the tyrannical prohibition of 
 all intercourse, attended with great 
 danger." 
 
 In Zach's monthly correspondence 
 Niebuhr found some remarks and criti- 
 cisms on Mayer's system of longitudinal 
 observations, which he little expected, 
 having scarcely any means of observing 
 the developement and growth of science 
 in the remote corner of the world where 
 he lived. Agreeably surprised, he 
 immediately communicated to M. von 
 
28 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 Zach the existence of his "own obser- 
 vations, the earliest which had been 
 attempted upon the system in question, 
 and offered to send them to him. The 
 readers of Zach's journal know how this 
 offer was received by M. von Zach and 
 M. von Burg, and what judgment they 
 pronounced on his determination of 
 places, after they had been calculated 
 according to Burg's perfected tables: 
 this treasure of the geography of Asia is 
 now on record in the above-mentioned 
 correspondence. 
 
 The tranquillizing assurance that he 
 had not laboured in vain, and that he 
 was at length understood and appreci- 
 ated, was a balm and a cordial to his 
 old age. In 1802 he was further gra- 
 tified by the distinction conferred upon 
 him in being appointed foreign member 
 of the Institute of France ; for although 
 his native dislike to that country had 
 been increased by the tyrannical domi- 
 nation which now pressed so heavily on 
 the continent, he nevertheless acknow- 
 ledged that, in the sciences to which he 
 had devoted himself, no society could 
 then, for dignity and splendour, be com- 
 pared with the National Institute. 
 
 Another agreeable incident which 
 marked this period was, that an addi- 
 tion to his salary, proportioned to the 
 general rise in prices since his residence 
 in Holstein, was made by the voluntary 
 favour of the present King of Denmark, 
 then Crown Prince. From the time this 
 prince took the reins of government, 
 Niebuhr received marks of distinguished 
 favour from him, without any request 
 or application on his part. Although, 
 perhaps, he owed this principally to 
 his fame as a traveller and a man of 
 science, he had deserved it no less 
 as a public functionary. The busi- 
 ness of his office, which consisted chiefly 
 in the collection of taxes and in public 
 accounts, was not indeed very agreeable 
 to him, nor suited to a man of his turn ; 
 he however executed it with unwearied 
 diligence and fidelity. The mildness 
 and consideration with which he per- 
 formed his duty, often at the risk or 
 with the certainty of personal loss, at a 
 time when the growing burthen of the 
 taxes was so great as to convert the 
 industrious peasant into a dilatory 
 payer, won him the gratitude of the 
 people; while the exactness and extra- 
 ordinary intelligence he displayed in the 
 discharge of his duties, ensured him 
 the respect and applause of the govern- 
 ment. Among the concerns committed 
 
 to his care was one which was peculi- 
 arly attractive to him, and which opened 
 a wide field for improvement. This was 
 the superintendence of the out-dikes. 
 He reflected much on the means of pro- 
 moting and accelerating their increase, 
 especially by draining the priele and 
 sprante (as the natives call the small 
 channels which, at ebb-tide, are left 
 flowing through the bed of the river), 
 and was unremittingly engaged in draw- 
 ing up notices and reports with the hope 
 of obtaining approbation and money for 
 the prosecution of the work, the cost 
 of which could be but slowly re- 
 placed. In his frequent visits to these 
 lands he was led particularly to ob- 
 serve the very remarkable phenomena 
 exhibited by the successive layers, so to 
 speak, of vegetation, growing one out of 
 another on the gradually increasing 
 additions to the soil ; from the plants of 
 the salsolcc tribe which grow in the 
 mud deposited by the ebb-tide, to the 
 fine grasses of the mature crust or 
 soil. These had been hitherto unob- 
 served, and if they are now known to 
 naturalists, it is probably through his 
 repeated descriptions of appearances 
 which had been noticed only by the 
 shepherds and husbandmen of these 
 extensive pastures. 
 
 From the earliest time of his appoint- 
 ment to his office, up to the year 1802, 
 the duties he had to discharge were 
 nearly unaltered; from that time they 
 increased in proportion as the neces- 
 sitous state of the public finances gave 
 occasion to an increase of the public 
 burdens. The first of the many fresh 
 taxes which succeeded were the land 
 and usufruct taxes, in the imposition of 
 which the old registers of the country 
 were entirely disregarded, and a new valu- 
 ation became necessary. In the commis- 
 sion appointed for the district, Niebuhr, 
 from his official knowledge and con- 
 nections, and from his personal zeal, 
 was the most active, indeed almost the 
 only working member. In order to 
 appreciate what a task this was, we 
 must first conceive a district containing 
 24,000 inhabitants, all agricultural; the 
 whole land divided into small owner- 
 ships, which were smaller in proportion 
 as the marsh was more fertile. Niebuhr 
 revised the valuation himself, and deli- 
 berated and decided on the appeals. In 
 his 71st and 72nd years he worked 
 through a great part of the night, nor 
 did his indefatigable zeal relax even 
 when his sight began to fail. The 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 29 
 
 reader will remember how his eyes suf- 
 fered from drawing at Persepolis. They 
 afterwards sustained a sudden and still 
 inore fatal shock from his negligence in 
 not using coloured glass during a solar 
 observation. Egypt and the deserts had 
 ulso left permanent effects upon them. 
 The consequences of this night- work 
 were irremediable and fatal. In a short 
 'time he could no longer see to read, 
 *md for writing he required an extraor- 
 dinary quantity of light, and even then 
 the lines were often run into one 
 another. This blindness, the progress 
 of which he clearly perceived was not 
 to be arrested, made him very anxious, 
 the more, as it threatened to compel him 
 to resign his employment. This he was 
 happily enabled to avoid. 
 
 His wife, after many years suffering 
 from asthma, which ended in water in 
 the chest, died in December, 1807. 
 His daughter and her widowed sister, 
 who had lived with her for twelve years, 
 freed from the constant care her illness 
 had demanded, could now devote them- 
 selves wholly to rendering him the assist- 
 ance of which he stood so much in 
 need. His daughter did not confine 
 herself to administering to his bodily 
 wants and infirmities, she did that part 
 -of his business which he was no longer 
 able to do. This, however, was not 
 sufficient, as his sight became worse 
 and worse, and what he wrote with the 
 utmost care was nearly illegible. 
 
 His family and friends regarded it as 
 one of the best rewards of his honour- 
 able and useful life, that, at the close of 
 it, he found a friend who undertook the 
 discharge of the duties of his office with 
 all the devotion and attachment of a 
 son. Gloyer, who became his successor, 
 took a deep and lively interest in statis- 
 tics, to which we owe his valuable and 
 instructive fragments on India, and on 
 the state of taxation in that country. 
 He was introduced to Niebuhr, who 
 found his society so delightful, that as 
 he was not engaged in any employment, 
 he invited him into his house as an 
 assistant. Gloyer complied with his 
 wishes, and the government acceded to 
 Niebuhr's request that his friend should 
 be officially recognised in that capacity. 
 Gloyer shared the labours of the office ; 
 and the tranquillity with which Niebuhr 
 could confide the execution and credit 
 of his post to such a friend and such a 
 daughter were the best rewards for the 
 fidelity with which he had discharged its 
 duties. He felt it to be so. He did 
 
 not, how r ever, withdraw his mind from 
 his business ; he had kept the thread of 
 it unbroken, though he had so long 
 been blind ; everything was read aloud 
 to him and discussed with him. Gloyer' s 
 conversation and daily intercourse re- 
 vived to his mind's eye many a faded or 
 vanished picture of the east, and the 
 books which this invaluable friend read 
 aloud to him, and the circumstances he 
 related, put him in possession of the 
 works and statements of more recent 
 travellers. This was without comparison 
 the highest enjoyment of which he was 
 susceptible. " When I related to him," 
 says his son, " the descriptions of any 
 traveller newly returned from the east, 
 or gave him in my letters any accounts 
 of travels not known on the continent, 
 his whole being seemed reanimated, 
 and he dictated answers which showed 
 that his mental vision was vivid and 
 powerful as ever. It was still more re- 
 markable that these new facts imprinted 
 themselves on his mind with all the 
 depth and sharpness with which objects 
 are stamped on a youthful memory, 
 and so remained up to the time of his 
 death. He combined them with what 
 he had himself observed and experi- 
 enced. 
 
 " I w ? as deprived of the happiness of 
 contributing to his comfort or enjoy- 
 ment by any other means than such 
 communications, which the total prohi- 
 bition of intercourse between England 
 and the continent daily rendered more 
 rare and difficult of access. 
 
 " Among the circumstances which con- 
 tributed to gladden his old age was the 
 constant intercourse he enjoyed with a 
 family brought up in Meldorf, and nearly 
 related to him, the members of which 
 were like children and grandchildren to 
 him. His friendship with the Treasurer 
 of the district (Landespfennigmeister), 
 Piehl, who, in the management of the 
 concerns of the province, exhibited the 
 rarest combination of sagacity and apti- 
 tude, and whose whole character was 
 the perfect model of the citizen of a re- 
 public, became more close and intimate 
 in proportion as both advanced in age. 
 A visit from this excellent friend when 
 he returned from one of his journeys 
 into the country, or a visit to his house, 
 where every thing bespoke his active 
 mind and beneficent disposition, were 
 festivals. Piehl was indeed a most re- 
 markable man ; a history of his life and 
 of his administration of the finances of 
 the province, into the frightful chaos of 
 
30 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 which he introduced order ; actively and 
 prudently, so far as was possible to hu- 
 man efforts, taking advantage of good 
 times, and correcting the remaining in- 
 fluence of bad ones ; lightening the 
 terrible pressure on the people by the 
 sacrifice of his own property, and the 
 offer of his own credit; a history of 
 this noble example of public service, for 
 the display of which a free agricultural 
 community managing its own affairs 
 affords the sole field, would be a well- 
 deserved monument to his honour ; an 
 edifying and instructive document to all 
 placed in the same circumstances, and to 
 all who entertain sincere and conscien- 
 tious doubts as to the blessings of a free 
 and democratic government. 
 
 " These various mental pleasures and 
 consolations became so much the more 
 necessary from his increasing bodily in- 
 firmities. He was of a phlegmatic, 
 robust, and plethoric constitution, to 
 which, from the habit of many years, 
 bleeding had become indispensable. Un- 
 fortunately, he conceived the idea that 
 his great age rendered it necessary to 
 discontinue this ; nor could any warnings 
 or remonstrances induce him to resort 
 to it again, till at length attacks of diz- 
 ziness, sudden deafness and spitting of 
 blood showed the danger to be imminent. 
 These symptoms, which began about the 
 time of his wife's death, continued to 
 return with more or less violence every 
 spring and autumn; till, in October, 
 1813, he was attacked by a frightful 
 bleeding at the nose which, however, his 
 robust temperament enabled him to 
 rise above. 
 
 " Sated, though not disgusted, with life, 
 he frequently in the course of this year 
 expressed his willingness to rejoin his 
 wife, whenever God's good time were ; 
 yet, he wished to live to see the destinies 
 of the world decided, and once again to 
 embrace his absent children. His wishes 
 were granted, though he was first com- 
 .pelled to behold an invading army in 
 Holstein. The distress and terror which 
 such an event always brings in its train, 
 did not overcome his joy at the deliver- 
 ance of Europe and the glorious triumphs 
 of Germany and her allies. 
 
 " The camp in Ditmarschen, on the side 
 of a road, whither only light troops were 
 sent, brought upon the country all the 
 terror of an ungoverned soldiery. Mel- 
 dorf was also in a state of great alarm 
 from a troop of Mecklenburghers, who 
 were used by a rapacious commissary 
 as means of extorting contributions by 
 
 threats of fire and pillage. To protect 
 Niebuhr against these atrocities, Colonel 
 Von Clausewitz, then of the German 
 Legion, and now chief of the staff of 
 General Count Gneisenau,' sent him a 
 guard. 
 
 " One of the symptoms of increasing 
 infirmity and a consequence of the sort 
 of attacks already mentioned, was a 
 weakness in one leg, which occasioned 
 him many falls. It was, however, un- 
 attended with any important conse- 
 quences till an unlucky fall, in March, 
 1814, which injured his right thigh and 
 caused a permanent lameness in it. 
 From that time he was never able to set 
 his foot to the ground ; nor could he 
 move without assistance or without 
 pain ; he could only be removed from 
 his bed in the afternoon on a wheeled 
 chair. He clung long to the hope of 
 recovery ; but even the gradual decline 
 and extinction of this hope could not 
 abate his truly saint-like gentleness and 
 resignation. Gratitude to Gloyer, who 
 helped to carry and move him about, 
 and whose solicitude to occupy and 
 amuse him was unwearied and in- 
 ventive ; to his daughter, who devoted 
 herself entirely to him ; to his sister-in- 
 law, and to all who showed him any 
 kindness, rendered him happy even amid 
 pain and infirmity. 
 
 " It was thus we found him," says his 
 son, " in the autumn of 1814, and his 
 appearance was calculated to leave a 
 delightful picture in the mind. All his 
 features, as well as his extinguished 
 eyes, wore the expression of the extreme 
 and exhausted old age of an extraordi- 
 narily robust nature ; it was impossible 
 to behold a more venerable sight. So 
 venerable was it, that a Cosack who 
 entered, an unbidden guest, into the 
 chamber where he sat with his silver 
 locks uncovered, was so struck with it, 
 that he manifested the greatest reve- 
 rence for him, and a sincere and cordial 
 interest for the whole household. His 
 sweetness of temper was unalterable, 
 though he often expressed his desire to 
 go to his final home, since all which he 
 had desired to live for had been ac- 
 complished. 
 
 " A numerous, and as yet unbroken, 
 family circle was assembled around 
 him, and every day in which he was not 
 assailed by some peculiar indisposition, 
 he conversed with cheerfulness and cor- 
 dial enjoyment on the happy change 
 which had taken place in public affairs. 
 We found it very delightful to engage 
 
LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 31 
 
 him in continued recitals of his travels, 
 which he now related with peculiar ful- 
 ness and vivacity. In this manner he 
 once spoke much, and in great detail, of 
 Persepolis, and described the walls on 
 which he had found the inscriptions and 
 bas-reliefs, exactly as one would describe 
 those of a building visited within a [few 
 days, and familiarly known. We could 
 not conceal our astonishment. He re- 
 plied, that as he lay in bed, all visible 
 objects shut out, the pictures of what 
 he had beheld in the East continually 
 floated before his mind's eye, so that it 
 was no wonder he could speak of them 
 as if he had seen them yesterday. With 
 like vividness was the deep intense sky 
 of Asia, with its brilliant and twinkling 
 host of stars which he had so often 
 gazed at by night, or its lofty vault of 
 blue by day, reflected, in the hours of 
 stillness and darkness, on his inmost 
 soul; and this was his greatest enjoy- 
 ment. In the beginning of winter he 
 had another bleeding at the nose, so 
 violent, that the by-standers expected 
 his death but this also he withstood. 
 
 "About the end of April, 18 15, the long 
 existing obstruction in his chest grew 
 much worse ; but his friendly physician 
 alleviated the symptoms which to those 
 around him appeared rather painful 
 than dangerous. Towards evening, on 
 the 26th of April, 1815, he was read to 
 as usual, and asked questions which 
 showed perfect apprehension and intel- 
 ligence : he then sunk into a slumber, 
 and departed without a struggle." 
 
 A concourse of people from all parts 
 of the country attended his body to the 
 grave. It was the opinion of all, that 
 no individual had ever been so uni- 
 versally regretted. The funeral was 
 solemnized with all the honours which 
 respect and affection can pay. He had 
 attained the age of eighty-two. 
 
 He was counsellor of state of Den- 
 mark ; knight of the Dannebrog, of the 
 fourth class; secretary (landschreiber) 
 to the district of South Ditmarschen ; 
 member of the society of sciences of Got- 
 tingen ; of the Swedish and Norwegian 
 societies ; and of the society for the in- 
 vestigation of natural* science ; and fo- 
 reign member of the National Institute 
 of France. 
 
 In stature he was rather under the 
 middle size, of a very robust and sturdy 
 make ; up to his fortieth year, thin, but 
 later in life, thick set and fat There is 
 only one engraving of him extant, a 
 bad copy of a good picture painted in 
 
 his youth. It is prefixed to a volume of 
 the Allgemeinen Deutschen Bibliothek. 
 His person and carriage, the sturdy look- 
 ing head, the powerful neck, and his 
 whole gesture, gave . him a completely 
 oriental air. When seen from behind in 
 an eastern dress, especially when walk- 
 ing and in conversation, gesticulating 
 with his hands, no man could have dis- 
 tinguished him among a party of Arabs. 
 I have often been struck with this when 
 I have looked after Moors of the Bar- 
 bary states in the streets.. 
 
 He was extremely frugal: economy 
 had become a habit with him in early 
 life. As a peasant lad he drank nothing 
 but water and milk ; and at a later pe- 
 riod he deviated from this simple diet 
 only in compliance with the customs of 
 others, with which he every where made 
 it a rule to conform, and he then drank 
 an extremely small quantity of wine. 
 He had no favourite dishes but the 
 peasant fare of his native land. 
 
 He was, and remained through his 
 whole life, a true and genuine peasant ; 
 with all the virtues, and with the little 
 failings, of the class from which he 
 sprang. He was, unquestionably, some- 
 what obstinate ; and it was very difficult 
 to reason him out of an idea he had 
 once strongly taken up : he continually 
 reverted to it. Equally strong and in- 
 veterate were his prejudices for and 
 against men. This pertinacity, however, 
 it was, which gave him strength during 
 the greater part of his life to follow the 
 path he had chosen, through every diffi- 
 culty and danger. His moral character 
 was spotless, and his manners extremely 
 pure and severe. In every circumstance 
 and relation of life, he was unpre- 
 suming and disinterested. 
 
 The bent of his mind was entirely 
 for the observation and investigation of 
 sensible objects: abstraction and spe- 
 culation were foreign to his genius, 
 which could lay hold of nothing but the 
 concrete. With regard to books, he was 
 most rigorous as to the truth of the 
 statements they contained ; that form of 
 conveying them pleased him the best 
 which was the simplest. Poetry, ex- 
 cept Homer, in Voss's translation, 
 Goethe's Hermann and Dorothea, and 
 songs for music, was quite uncongenial 
 with his tastes. Fielding and Smollett's 
 novels he loved ; he had read no others. 
 Architecture interested him ; but to the 
 arts of painting and sculpture he was 
 indifferent : music he loved. 
 
 He lived in observation and percep- 
 
32 
 
 LIFE OF NIEBUHR. 
 
 tion. A friend of his own age, who 
 took a short journey with him when 
 both were advanced in life, silently re- 
 marked, and afterwards related with 
 great delight, how he had found some- 
 thing to observe and to investigate in 
 every field and every village they passed 
 through. In his sixty- eighth year he 
 visited this same friend in his then resi- 
 dence, where he had never before been. 
 The morning after his arrival he let 
 himself out at the house-door at four 
 o'clock in the morning, and before break- 
 fast had wandered through and around 
 the whole town, and had so perfect and 
 exact a picture of it in his mind, that 
 every house and every building he in- 
 quired about was instantly recognised 
 and named from his description. 
 
 This exclusive turn of his mind ren- 
 dered him indifferent to subjects of 
 mere speculation. He advanced to- 
 wards the unknown regions with the 
 full tranquillity of a conscience " void of 
 all offence" and of all blemish. He re- 
 lied for the protection of himself and 
 those dear to him on that overruling Pro- 
 vidence, of which, in the course of his 
 own life, he had had striking experience. 
 ** It is extraordinary," says his son, 
 " that this man, so remarkably devoid 
 of imagination, so exempt from illusion, 
 waked us on the night in which his bro - 
 ther died, though he was at such a dis- 
 tance that he knew not even of his ill- 
 ness, and told us that his brother was 
 dead. What had appeared to him, 
 waking or dreaming, he never told us." 
 
 As he had conceived a very high and 
 
 extensive idea of the duties which de- 
 volved upon him on his travels, he never 
 lost the remembrance of the designs he 
 had relinquished, in compliance with the 
 wishes of others, or in consequence of 
 obstacles. He reproached himself for 
 these omissions with a severity which we 
 never could convince him was exagge- 
 rated and unjust. In his old age, these 
 self-tormentings assumed a character 
 which gave us great pain. Acknow- 
 ledgments of his merits by competent 
 and experienced judges, such as Reiske, 
 Silvestre de Sacy, Rennell, &c. gave 
 him the sincerest pleasure : to external 
 honours or homage addressed to his 
 vanity, he was quite inaccessible. No- 
 bility, which was offered him by the 
 minister Guldberg, he refused. The 
 title which he was compelled by custom 
 to assume, as officer of engineers in the 
 Danish army, led a relation of his to 
 ask him, " If he had caused himself to 
 be ennobled ?" - " No," replied he, " I 
 would not offer my family such an af- 
 front." 
 
 He founded, and bequeathed to his 
 family, a more enduring nobility. To this 
 time no traveller returns from the east 
 without wonder and gratitude towards 
 such an instructor and guide, the first 
 and best of all describers of the east. 
 Not one, of all who have hitherto fol- 
 lowed, has equalled him; and it is 
 yet doubtful whether he will ever find 
 a successor, who will complete what he 
 has left unfinished of the description of 
 Arabia, and worthily occupy a place by 
 his side. 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN ; 
 
 WITH SOME GENERAL REMARKS ON THE ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OP 
 
 ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 ARCHITECTURE HAS ITS POLITICAL USE, PUBLIC BUILDINGS BEING THE ORNAMENT OF A COUNTRY; 
 IT ESTABLISHES A NATION; DRAWS PEOPLE AND COMMERCE; MAKES THE PKOPI.E LOVE THEIR NATIVE 
 COUNTRY, WHICH PASSION IS THE ORIGIN OF ALL GREAT ACTIONS IN A COMMONWEALTH. 
 
 IT AIMS AT ETERNITY ; AND THEREFORE IS THE ONLY THING INCAPABLE OF MODES AND FASHIONS IN ITS 
 PRINCIPLES (THE ORDERS,) WHICH ARE FOUNDED UPON THE EXPERIENCE OF ALL AGES, PROMOTED BY THE 
 VAST TREASURES OF ALL THE GREAT MONARCHS, AND SKILL OF THE GREATEST ARTISTS AND GEOMETRI- 
 CIANS, EVERY ONE EMULATING EACH OTHER; AND EXPERIMENTS IN THIS KIND, BEING GREATLY EXPEN- 
 SIVE AND ERRORS INCORRIGIBLE, IS THE REASON THAT THE PRINCIPLES OF ARCHITECTURE ARE NOW 
 RATHER THE STUDY OF ANTIQUITY THAN FANCY." Wren. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Of the Origin of Architecture and the 
 different Styles, and the purposes to 
 which they have been applied. 
 
 We shall preface the account of the life 
 of Sir Christopher Wren, whose name is 
 associated with all that is great in Eng- 
 lish architecture, with a few gene- 
 ral observations on the rise and pro- 
 gress of the art, which will in some 
 measure serve as an introduction to the 
 Treatise on that subject intended to be 
 published. . 
 
 It is generally admitted that the early 
 architecture of Greece was indebted to 
 Egypt for some of its rudiments ; and yet 
 it is impossible to institute the most 
 careless comparison, without observing 
 the very different character displayed 
 in the earliest specimens of Grecian 
 art, and particularly in sculpture. The 
 causes of this diversity it is difficult 
 now to define, although every variety 
 of speculation has been exhausted on 
 the subject. 
 
 In all the advances of the art, the 
 principles of the early attempts, which 
 had their origin in necessity, appear to 
 have been constantly adopted in the im- 
 provements of the succeeding ages : the 
 dark and ponderous buildings of the 
 Egyptians have a near affinity to the ca- 
 verns of their ancestors ; and the orna- 
 mental and elegant architecture of 
 Greece bears striking testimony to the 
 early use of the timber with which that 
 counlry abounded. In India the original 
 employment of reed and bamboo is dis- 
 covered in the lofty and slender build- 
 ings of later times ; in China the roofs 
 are always constructed in imitation of 
 
 the moveable tents of the aboriginal 
 Tartars ; and the same observation ap- 
 plies to Turkish and Saracenic build- 
 ings. 
 
 One of the peculiar features of Egyp- 
 tian buildings is, that none of the speci- 
 mens afford much evidence of variation, 
 either in principle or in the constituent 
 parts, during a very considerable period 
 of time. Without entertaining great ad- 
 miration for the beauty, the grandeur, 
 or the simplicity of Egyptian structures, 
 it is yet impossible to contemplate with- 
 out wonder those immense and gloomy 
 monuments of labour, in which, inde- 
 pendently of situation and size, a very 
 striking effect is produced by the pe- 
 culiarity in the arrangement of the dif- 
 ferent parts, and by their vast groves 
 of columns, obelisks, and colossal sta- 
 tues. 
 
 The external character of the Egyp- 
 tian style is, however, in a great degree 
 simple and imposing ; the columns and 
 decorations usually are internal, con- 
 trary to the Grecian architecture, in 
 which the interior of the temples is 
 comparatively plain, the columns, the 
 statuary, and other ornaments being 
 nearly all external. This may be traced, 
 in some degree, to the difference of the 
 climate. 
 
 In the contemplation of the Egyptian 
 temples, their resemblance to the an- 
 cient buildings of India is peculiarly 
 striking ; and this naturally leads to the 
 consideration of the discussions to which 
 the early progress of ancient nations in 
 architecture and some other arts has 
 given rise. 
 
 In tracing the origin of the arts first 
 practised by man in his progress from 
 barbarism to civilisation, after those 
 
 B 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 necessary to insure his subsistence and 
 clothing, that of providing shelter 
 from the inclemency of the weather 
 must have been the earliest cultivated. 
 It has been frequently remarked, how 
 soon man became acquamted with the 
 means of fabricating cloth; architec- 
 ture and weaving are amongst the first 
 complicated arts practised by barbari- 
 ans, and were even at an early period 
 carried to considerable perfection : next 
 to the care of necessaries, the love of 
 ornaments arises in the breast of a 
 savage ; and the art of fetching out the 
 brilliancy of the precious stones and 
 metals is, accordingly, one of the ear- 
 liest which are noted in the progress 
 of a rude people. 
 
 Architecture, weaving, and jewellery 
 are the only arts for which the Hindoos 
 have been celebrated, and even these, 
 with the exception of weaving, attained 
 but a low degree of perfection. The 
 ancient buildings of Hindostan have 
 been at different periods the subject of 
 wonder, and considered as evidencing a 
 high civilisation : yet there are produc- 
 tions in China of dimensions and im- 
 portance vying with them. "The Mexi- 
 cans, ignorant of iron, cranes, and scaf- 
 folds, with neither carts nor sledges, and 
 no means of working their stones but with 
 flints, or of polishing them but by rub- 
 bing them against each other, accom- 
 plished works which in magnitude and 
 symmetry rival any of which Hindostan 
 can boast."' 
 
 The Pyramids of Egypt, vast as are 
 their dimensions, afford intrinsic evi- 
 dence of the rudeness of the period at 
 which they were reared. The sepul- 
 chre of Belus at Babylon, according to 
 Strabo, was built of different bodies or 
 stages one rising above another, exactly 
 in the manner of the great Temple at 
 Mexico, as is noticed by Humboldt, 
 who also observed the resemblance 
 between the Pyramids of Egypt and 
 the vast Pyramids the remains of which 
 are to be found in South America. 
 The Palace of Montezuma strongly re- 
 sembled that of the Emperor of China ; 
 and Knox, after remarking the passion 
 of the Cingalese for constructing tem- 
 ples and monuments of enormous mag- 
 nitude in honour of their Gods, observes, 
 " as if they had been born solely to hew 
 rocks and great stones, and lay them in 
 heaps:" " the unsophisticated opinion," 
 remarks Mr. Mill, " of a sound under- 
 standing on operations which the affec- 
 tation of taste and antiquarian credu- 
 
 lity have magnified into proofs of the 
 highest civilisation."* 
 
 It is not intended to urge any argu- 
 ments in detail as to the common origin 
 of the buildings of India and the Mo- 
 nolithic (built of one rock) Temple of 
 Egypt. The fact, however, that the 
 Sepoys, in their march to join the army 
 of Lord Hutchinson, conceived they 
 had found their own temples in the 
 ruins of Dendyra, is mentioned by Cap- 
 tain Light in his Travels, and so con- 
 vinced were they of the identity, as 
 actually to perform their devotions in 
 them. 
 
 Monsieur Legrand, in his very in- 
 teresting Essay on Architecture, at- 
 taches much higher value to Egyptian 
 architecture than it deserves, describing 
 it as " noble, severe, and imposing in 
 the highest degree, and appearing still 
 to resist the destroying hand of time 
 after a lapse of four thousand years ;" 
 and he thinks that such ideas were not 
 generated in the infancy of the art, as 
 has been often imagined, but were " the 
 fruits of a long continued civilisation, 
 great knowledge, and a tending to lasting 
 glory." " This elevated style," continues 
 the author, rising with his subject, 
 "which is not sufficiently understood, de- 
 serves to be profoundly studied in all its 
 parts, and again adopted by those men 
 whose aim is to astonish the present 
 age, and to ensure the admiration of 
 posterity." That Pyramids will be again 
 built for the admiration of the present 
 or of future ages is not to be feared ; 
 and it may be doubted, if Monsieur Le- 
 grand will by his eloquence conjure 
 up a hardy spirit, who will undertake 
 the task of handing down to posterity, 
 at a vast expense, the dark and dreary 
 monotony of the Egyptian Temples, at 
 least not till we shall be again reduced 
 to a state of society resembling that 
 in which they lived who commanded 
 them to rise, and till some king shall 
 exist, " whose power being unlimited, 
 is compelled to solace, by the erection 
 of a Pyramid, the satiety of dominion, 
 and tastelessness of pleasures, and the 
 tediousness of declining life, by seeing 
 
 * British India, vol. i. p. 430. The chapter of 
 Mr. Mill, on the Arts of Hindostan, is particularly 
 interesting, and contains a vast variety of curious 
 matter, tending to show that the facts usually ad- 
 duced as proofs of the early and complete state of 
 civilisation amongst the Carnal ic nations, do not 
 establish the position contended for, and that Hin- 
 dostan had not in fact made any greater progress in 
 the arts than China, Mexico, or other nations still 
 considered in a state of semi-barbarism, 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 thousands labour without good, and 
 one stone for no purpose laid on 
 another." 
 
 In considering the history and pro- 
 gress of art, its real importance to the 
 happiness of mankind is a question 
 which naturally occurs. If it be true 
 that what are termed the fine arts are 
 of the importance sometimes ascribed 
 to them, their effects on the welfare of 
 mankind may be expected to increase 
 in proportion as they advanced towards 
 perfection ; and it is the opinion of some 
 eminent writers, that they have not yet 
 reached the utmost verge of excellence, 
 and that we have still much to hope and 
 to attain. To determine, however, this 
 point, we must have some standard ad- 
 mitted to be just, some uncontro verted 
 principles or axioms with which we can 
 institute comparison, or by which we can 
 measure our progress : taste is too in- 
 definite for the purpose ; it is claimed 
 equally by persons \#ho hold the most 
 discordant opinions on the point, and 
 whose repugnant pretensions rest upon v 
 the most opposite principles. Being in- 
 capable of transmission by very accu- 
 rate rules of description, in practice 
 taste frequently appears a term con- 
 vertible with that of fancy. 
 
 Whatever doubts may exist as to the 
 importance of the fine arts, the case is 
 different with the sciences. In them, 
 scarcely a discovery or an improvement 
 is suggested but it becomes converted to 
 the use of mankind : they leave no room 
 for conjecture as to their merits, nor 
 any hesitation as to their advance. The 
 navigator, manufacturer, statesman, and 
 philosopher concur in their opinions of 
 their progress and effect ; and our ame- 
 liorated condition affords the best tes- 
 timony of their improvement. What- 
 ever may be the comparative import- 
 ance of the results flowing from these 
 different branches of our knowledge, it 
 is plain that they require at least the 
 same general circumstances to favour 
 their growth exemption from the de- 
 solation of war, opulence to furnish 
 rewards, and leisure to permit applica- 
 tion : but, above all, a government 
 should exist, in which the preponderat- 
 ing influence of the people forbids that 
 a nation should be subject to the nar- 
 row views and interests which, with few 
 exceptions, appear at all periods to 
 have regulated the dominion of despo- 
 tism. The suspicion natural to tyranny, 
 and the dread that .light or information 
 should expose its 'deformity, makes it 
 
 feelingly alive to the dangers resulting 
 from all freedom of inquiry. 
 
 It is impossible, nevertheless, to con- 
 sider the unrivalled excellence which 
 the arts attained during the prosperity 
 of some of the Italian republics, with- 
 out being convinced of the prodi- 
 gious effects sometimes produced on 
 the energies of the human mind, by an 
 exemption not merely from the re- 
 straint of absolute authority, but even 
 from the languor and tameness often 
 produced by very regular governments, 
 though in effect calculated for the tran- 
 quillity and comfort of a people. The 
 internal condition of these states was a 
 perpetual struggle of faction amongst 
 the citizens,a contest for power and 
 popularity amongst the rich, a defective 
 administration of the laws, and a doubt- 
 ful state of private morals. The same 
 observations may, in a great measure, 
 be applied to some of the ancient Greek 
 republics ; and yet amidst such scenes 
 were reared the most finished monu- 
 ments of art, precious indeed, but pur- 
 chased at far too high a price, if the 
 alternations of anarchy and misrule 
 were necessary for their production. 
 
 Architecture, as an ornamental sci- 
 ence, may be supposed to have kept pace 
 with the art of design, the improvements 
 in each depending nearly on the same 
 vigour of imagination and general re- 
 finement of taste ; and the same power- 
 ful cause, or combination of causes, 
 which (in Greece) so early produced 
 by the operations of genius such a 
 magical effect on the arts of design, 
 exerted a similar influence on the state 
 of architecture.* 
 
 Grecian Architecture. 
 
 -From the contemplation of the solemn 
 grandeur of the Egyptian monuments 
 we proceed to the Greek temples, whose 
 character is so different. Whilst struck 
 with the size of the Egyptian build- 
 ings, we feel that they are the effect of 
 incessant labour, the works of slaves, 
 without much of the assistance of intel- 
 lectual greatness, and that their import- 
 ance arises chiefly from their extent. It 
 is far otherwise with the works of Greece, 
 where every line is expressive of the 
 genius and imagination of the author ; 
 and, though great labour must have 
 been exerted in their construction, yet 
 the mind is relieved from all sense of 
 pain by admiration of the result. 
 
 * Introduct. to Trans, of Vitruvius, 
 B 2 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 The Greeks being more lively in their 
 manners than the Egyptians, and fonder 
 of external show and processions, their 
 temples exhibited a corresponding 
 change ; the front was adorned with a 
 peristyle, sometimes double and even 
 triple, as is seen in some of the remains 
 in Sicily, Italy, Syria, &c. 
 
 The most perfect simplicity of form 
 was united with the grandeur produced 
 by the rows of columns : a low pediment 
 crowned the fapade for the purpose of 
 receiving the slanting concealed roof; 
 and the buildings were large and grand 
 without partaking of the colossal ap- 
 pearance of the Egyptian. The in- 
 teriors were unadorned, although at 
 times some of the choicest specimens of 
 sculpture were enshrined in them. 
 
 The simple grandeur of the Doric, 
 bold without heaviness, rich without 
 being overloaded with ornament, re- 
 cording in its metopes all the eloquence 
 of sculpture, and typical at once of the 
 artless manners and bold deeds of the 
 Greeks, was preferred by them during 
 the best ages, to the Ionic and Corin- 
 thian, in all their great edifices. The 
 Doric also had the peculiar advantage 
 of being equally adapted to great and 
 small edifices ; to small, by the sim- 
 plicity of the divisions and members ; 
 to large, by its bold proportions and 
 the massiveness of the entablature. 
 
 The Romans followed the Greeks 
 in the form of their temples, but 
 added to their richness by the new and 
 elegant orders with which they decorated 
 them; they frequently substituted a 
 stylobate (pedestal) in place of the 
 steps which supported the Doric columns 
 forming a continuous base, and preferred 
 to this chaste and simple order the ele- 
 gant and more refined Ionic and Corin- 
 thian; and even these they enriched 
 to profusion, lengthening the pedi- 
 ment, and surrounding it by triumphal 
 cars and statues of terra cotta and gilt 
 bronze. The buildings themselves they 
 surrounded by enclosures and colon- 
 nades. 
 
 The Orders of Architecture ana Pro- 
 portion. 
 
 The origin of the orders of architec- 
 ture is a subject which has given rise 
 to much fruitless and absurd discussion. 
 Every member of the different orders, 
 every part of the columns and the en- 
 tablatures, has a variety of origins 
 assigned to it, and each supported by a 
 variety of advocates. One idea which 
 
 seems to have been very stoutly main- 
 tained, is the analogy between the pro- 
 portions of the human figure and those 
 of the orders ; and so far is this idea 
 carried by Michael Angelo, that he de- 
 clares a knowledge of anatomy to be 
 indispensable to an architect, who with- 
 out it must be necessarily ignorant of 
 his profession. It is certain, he ob- 
 serves, that the members of architec- 
 ture have a reference to those of the 
 human body ; and he who does not 
 understand the human figure, and par- 
 ticularly anatomy, can know nothing 
 of the subject. 
 
 The intrinsic beauty of the Grecian 
 orders has long been one of the dogmas 
 of the connoisseurs. This has been, 
 we think, completely exposed by 
 Mr. Alison in his Essay on Taste. 
 The true cause of this beauty may be 
 reduced to the propriety or fitness of the 
 building for the end designed, and no- 
 thing further : as, in plain buildings, 
 and without any view to ornament, if 
 the walls are of such a height as with 
 our previous experience seems sufficient 
 for their own stability, and for the sup 
 port of the weight which is imposed on 
 them, we consider the house to be 
 rightly proportioned ; whilst if the walls 
 are so large as to appear insecure, or the 
 roof so high as to seem too heavy for its 
 support, the notion of ill proportion im- 
 mediately occurs. This fitness, how- 
 ever, cannot be accurately measured, 
 and, accordingly, no proportions are 
 defined, and the general conclusions 
 we have formed are our only guides. 
 
 But in what are termed the Orders of 
 Architecture this is otherwise, and the 
 proportions have been absolutely de- 
 termined. They are five : the Tuscan, 
 Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and Com- 
 posite. The first and last, however, 
 are generally rejected. In considering 
 the orders, it must be remembered, 
 that the proportion, not the ornament, 
 constitutes the order. Every order con- 
 sists of three great divisions : the base, 
 the column, and the entablature, or that 
 part which is placed immediately above 
 the capital of the column ; and the go- 
 verning proportions relate to this divi- 
 sion, the whole in fact composing a wall, 
 or what in common buildings would be 
 the wall. Though the wall derives its 
 proportion in an order, from the intention 
 of supporting the roof, yet it is complete 
 without the roof; and when there is 
 one, it is generally so contrived as not to 
 appear : the weight which is, or appears 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 to be supported, being the entablature: 
 the fitness, therefore, here, consists in 
 its appearing adequate to the support of 
 the entablature : " and the appearance 
 of these proportions," observes Mr. Ali- 
 son, " seems to lead us to this conclusion. 
 Thus in the Tuscan, where the entabla- 
 ture is heavier than in the rest, the 
 column and base are proportionably 
 stronger ; while in the Corinthian, where 
 the entablature is lightest, the column 
 and base are proportionably slighter: 
 this position is confirmed by the gene- 
 ral use of the term proportion in its 
 general acceptation, which implies fit- 
 ness to the end designed : heaviness 
 and slightness are the terms more ge- 
 nerally used to express a deviation on 
 either side from the proper relation ; 
 both obviously including the considera- 
 tion of support, and expressing the 
 want of proportion. If our perception 
 of the beauty of proportion were in 
 such cases altogether independent of 
 any such considerations, these cir- 
 cumstances in language could not pos- 
 sibly take place ; and it would be as 
 possible to explain the nature and beauty 
 of proportion by terms expressive of 
 sound or colour, as by terms express- 
 ive of fitness or propriety. 
 
 " That there is no absolute beauty in 
 the proportions of the orders, indepen- 
 dent of that arising from fitness, is ob- 
 vious. Mankind, however, soon acquire 
 ideas of bulk and support ; and the feel- 
 ings of persons in general, on viewing the 
 proportions of an order, are to be con- 
 sidered rather as satisfaction than de- 
 light t that which creates the delight, is 
 the magnificence, the grandeur, and the 
 costliness, which such buildings usually 
 display. This is well illustrated by con- 
 ceiving the entablature as the weight to 
 be supported ; and, of course, a certain 
 form and size in the column is de- 
 manded for this ; and in the base, 
 for the support of both. A plain stone, 
 for instance, set upon its end, has no 
 proportion further than for the pur- 
 pose of stability; if it appears firm, it 
 has all the proportions we desire, and 
 its form may be varied in a thousand 
 ways, without interfering with our sense 
 of its proportion. Place a column, or 
 any other weight, on this stone, imme- 
 diately another proportion is demanded, 
 namely, that which is the proportion 
 adapted to support this weight ; though 
 the form supported has no proportion 
 further than that which is necessary for 
 its stability, or for continuing in its 
 
 situation. Above this, again, place an 
 additional body, and immediately the 
 intermediate one demands a new pro- 
 portion ; viz. a proportion suited to the 
 weight it supports ; and the first part, 
 or the base, demands also another pro- 
 portion in consideration of the addi- 
 tional weight which is thus imposed 
 upon it. On this supposition, it is 
 obvious that the consideration of fitness 
 alone leads us to expect a certain pro- 
 portion in each of these parts, and the 
 parts are pleasing or beautiful just as 
 they answer this demand." 
 
 Mr. Alison, however, admits, that the 
 mere consideration of fitness is insuffi- 
 cient to account for the pleasure so uni- 
 versally derived from the established or- 
 ders, which have been so long adhered to 
 without any attempt at deviation. This 
 is justly to be attributed to other feelings 
 unconnected with proportion, arising 
 from the ornaments, the materials, and 
 the size; and more particularly from 
 the associations which arise on a con- 
 templation of the Grecian orders ; al- 
 though we are inclined to attribute our 
 admiration to the style of the architec- 
 ture alone. 
 
 One of the objections which may be 
 urged against these positions, is the 
 fact, that notwithstanding there is no 
 intrinsic beauty in the proportions of 
 the orders, yet they have, for a long 
 period, been adopted without any attempt 
 at alteration, which would seem to indi- 
 cate that they were intrinsically beauti- 
 ful. But the feelings and motives which 
 would in most other objects of art 
 lead to a variation, do not exist with 
 respect to architecture. Of all the fine 
 arts, architecture is the most costly ; 
 and the wealth even of nations is equal 
 only to slow and infrequent produc- 
 tions. The value of such objects is 
 therefore, in a great measure, indepen- 
 dent of fashion ; the invention of men 
 is little exerted to give an additional 
 value to subjects, which in them- 
 selves are valuable ; and the art itself, 
 after having arrived at a certain neces- 
 sary degree of perfection, remains m a 
 great measure stationary, both from the 
 infrequency of cases in which invention 
 can be employed, and the little demand 
 there is for its exercise. 
 
 In addition to the costliness of the 
 production, we must consider its du- 
 rability; since it is only those pro- 
 ductions of which the materials are 
 perishable, and require often to be 
 renewed, that are subjected to the in- 
 
6 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 fluence of variety. The works of archi- 
 tecture are designed to last, and do 
 last for centuries : the life of man 
 is of far less duration than such pro- 
 ductions ; and the present period of 
 the world, though old with respect to 
 those arts which are employed upon 
 perishable subjects, may be considered 
 as yet young in relation to an art which 
 is employed upon such durable mate- 
 rials as those of architecture. Cen- 
 turies must elapse before works of this 
 class demand to be renewed. The 
 sacredness of antiquity is acquired in 
 the mean time, and'a new motive given 
 for the preservation of similar forms. 
 We have considered Mr. Alison's posi- 
 tions so true, and so important to the 
 due consideration of the subject of the 
 orders, that it has been necessary to 
 give them at length. 
 
 In observing on the nature and effect 
 of Grecian architecture, it is necessary 
 to advert to a singular position of 
 the learned writer of the Introduction 
 to the translation, of Vitruvius, (Lord 
 Aberdeen,) namely, that the ancients 
 never possessed any knowledge or 
 perception of those qualities of ex- 
 ternal objects which are called pic- 
 turesque. The admirable positions of 
 the Temple of Minerva, the approach 
 (on the angle) to the Temple of Jupiter 
 Olympius at Athens and Sunium, 
 and many other examples, may, we 
 think, be quoted as ample testimony 
 that the ancients possessed a fine and 
 just sentiment for the picturesque posi- 
 tion and effect of these monuments, 
 although they practised landscape paint- 
 ing very little, and the illusion of per- 
 spective was not much used by them in 
 their compositions. The villa of Pliny, 
 so elegant and so interesting in the de- 
 scription, and which has been considered 
 as a proof of the opinion we have ad- 
 vanced, is viewed by the writer above 
 noticed as not in truth affording any 
 grounds for such an opinion: and he 
 suggests, that if any external irregularity- 
 may be considered to have existed, it 
 must have been purely accidental, and 
 only produced in consequence of the 
 necessary arrangement of the interior 
 apartments, and without the least refer- 
 ence to any general or preconceived 
 design. 
 
 With regard, however, to the private 
 houses of the ancients in cities, there 
 are but very few instances of much at- 
 tention being paid to the exterior archi- 
 tectural design ; and they were of si ght 
 
 construction. Those of Pompeii, as 
 well as those designed in the various 
 paintings found on the walls of that 
 city, seem to prove that exterior archi- 
 tecture . was not an object, and was 
 generally sacrificed to that of the 
 interior. The habits of domestic pri- 
 vacy of a people which required that 
 the apartments should receive light and 
 air only from an interior court or 
 atrium, and the climate which made 
 such a court desirable on account of its 
 coolness, induced them to lavish the 
 graces and expense of their architecture 
 on the interior rather than the exterior of 
 their houses. Julius Caesar obtained a 
 special decree to enable him to adorn the 
 front of his house with a pediment : and 
 Gibbon observes, that in the common- 
 wealths of Athens and Rome the modes 
 and simplicity of private houses an- 
 nounced the equal condition of freemen, 
 whilst the sovereignty of the people was 
 represented in the majestic edifices de- 
 signed to the public use ; every part 
 of the empire was . fitted with ample 
 theatres, temples, porticoes, triumphal 
 arches, baths, and aqueducts, all vari- 
 ously conducive to the health, the devo- 
 tion, and the pleasures of the meanest 
 subject. 
 
 Gothic Architecture. 
 
 In the foregoing observations on the 
 different styles, the Gothic has been 
 omitted. Whatever may be its beau- 
 ties, and whatever may be the feelings 
 of admiration arising from associa- 
 tion, there can be no question that 
 the style is but little adapted to utility ; 
 and the expense of producing what 
 might be considered as perfect spe- 
 cimens of this branch of the art, 
 would alone in these days, in a great 
 degree, preclude its revival. The style 
 termed Gothic, (concerning the origin 
 of which we shall not add to the num- 
 ber of discussions,) probably took its lise 
 in the East ; this hypothesis has been 
 the most successfully supported by 
 the fact of its appearing nearly at 
 once throughout Christendom, and at 
 a time when all the different states 
 of Europe were attracted to the East 
 by the Crusades ; and it seems that 
 the Goths had no share in the 
 invention of the style which now 
 bears their name, it being, in fact, a 
 term of vituperation used by those who 
 had introduced the restored Grecian. 
 In Italy the term had its origin with 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 the school of Palladio, and in England 
 with Inigo Jones and Wren.* 
 
 Roman Architecture. 
 
 The zenith of Roman architecture 
 was under the auspices of Vespasian 
 and his immediate successors, who com- 
 pleted the Temple of Peace and the 
 Coliseum: upon the establishment of 
 Christianity, external magnificence was 
 sacrificed to internal decoration; and 
 the oblong square, the ground plan pe- ' 
 culiar to ancient temples, simple in the 
 interior but magnificent in the external 
 view, was gradually changed, as will be 
 hereafter noticed, into the Greek and 
 Latin cross, which are less favourable 
 to beauty. 
 
 It was not, however, till about the 
 time of Leo X. that architects were en- 
 couraged to apply to the antique models, 
 and to measure their proportions, that 
 the orders might be designed with pre- 
 cision. With Bramante, Sangallo, and 
 Michael Angelo, the elegance of the 
 Grecian and the splendour of the Roman 
 architecture was revived, and St. Peter's 
 was commenced. This may be considered 
 as the period of the revival of architec- 
 ture in Europe. After that, Rome be- 
 came the grand school for architects ; 
 and they in general were content to form 
 their taste, not as the great authors of 
 the revival had, from works of antiquity, 
 but from the new works which were 
 then rising. It was not, however, till 
 the time of Palladio that all the ele- 
 gance and simplicity of the ancient 
 buildings were rendered applicable to 
 the practical purposes of domestic use. 
 
 The different Epochs. 
 
 On reviewing the progress of archi- 
 tecture, we find it marked by distinct 
 epochs, which will, perhaps, admit of 
 the following distribution. The Assy- 
 rian, of which, however, we have no 
 definite knowledge, except its mention 
 in scripture. The Egyptian almost 
 coeval with the Syrian, in which, how- 
 ever, a distinct style was adopted, 
 marked by the building of Thebes, Den- 
 dyra, and the other principal monu- 
 ments of Egypt. The Grecian, (about 
 the 7th to the 3rd century before 
 
 * This observation does not of course apply to the 
 Saxon or Norman style with the circular instead of 
 the pointed style, which was probably borrowed from 
 the Roman and Byzantine schools, and hence not 
 improperly termed Romanesque, 
 
 Christ,) when the principal temples, 
 including the Parthenon, the temples 
 of Paestum, ^Egina, Corinth, &c. were 
 constructed. The Roman, in which 
 the great aqueducts, bridges, and other 
 public works were built, and in which 
 the arch was brought into more efficient 
 use, and gave rise to novel and infinite 
 combinations and improvements in the 
 art of building : the time of Hadrian 
 may be fixed as the best period of this 
 style. The first Christian era, (Justi- 
 nian,) in which the multiplied dome or 
 cupola first came into general use ; and 
 this is important, as rt was adopted for 
 two reasons to accommodate the large 
 Christian congregations, and to distin- 
 guish their churcjies from the heathen 
 temples, which the Iconoclasts held in 
 detestation. The Saracenic, which, 
 without the colossal materials and 
 mechanical means used by the Romans, 
 first gave the idea of raising immense 
 structures by smaller means. And 
 lastly, the Cathedral or second Chris- 
 tian era (thirteenth century) is re- 
 markable for the vast sacred edifices 
 which were erected throughout Eu- 
 rope, all partaking of the same general 
 character. 
 
 It was during these several eras that 
 the different great improvements were 
 effected. As, in the Assyrian, the inven- 
 tion and completion of the brick. In the 
 Egyptian, the working of granite and 
 marbles, and the use of them on an ex- 
 tended scale. In the Grecian, the perfec- 
 tion of the beauty of proportion or fit- 
 ness supplying the place of vastness and 
 ponderous mass. In the Roman, the 
 arch, forming in fact the basis of the 
 science, and admitting of the extension 
 and adaptation of the principles of ar- 
 chitecture to works which the Greeks 
 could not have executed. In the first 
 Christian era, the dome perfected. 
 And in the second or Gothic, the point- 
 ed arch introduced, by which addi- 
 tional lightness and strength were at- 
 tained. These eras were dependent 
 on the great religious changes in the 
 history of Europe; were respectively 
 marked by a different manner of con- 
 struction; and (though separated by 
 considerable intervals) formed the types 
 for the productions during the interme- 
 diate periods. 
 
 Of Architecture in England. 
 The first appearance of the Italian 
 school in England began with Holbein, 
 (Hen. 8.) who was established here under 
 
8 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 royal patronage, and gained sufficient in- 
 fluence for a partial introduction of the 
 architecture which had begun to revive 
 in Italy. The first house purely Italian 
 is stated, by Mr. Dallaway, to have been 
 built by Sir Horatio Palavicini ; and 
 although many magnificent houses were 
 built in the reign of Elizabeth, they had 
 lost all the beauty of the Gothic, with- 
 out deriving any improvement from the 
 dawning taste for the revived style. The 
 ornaments, both within and without, 
 were cumbrous, and equally void of 
 grace and propriety : nothing could 
 exceed the heaviness of the cornices 
 and ceilings wrought into compart- 
 ments, or the awkward intersection of 
 the passages ; the hall retained nothing 
 of the Gothic character, excepting its 
 size and large bay window, and instead 
 of battlements and pinnacles, the para- 
 pet was broken into numerous high 
 misshapen pediments. Towards the 
 end of the reign of James I. and the 
 beginning of Charles's taste in architec- 
 ture made a bold step from Italy to 
 England at once, scarcely resting a 
 moment to visit France, by the way. 
 
 From the most profound ignorance in 
 architecture, Inigo Jones (who had been 
 sent to Italy either by Lord Pembroke 
 or Lord Arundel) started up a prodigy 
 of art, vying in some degree with his 
 master, Palladio. The Banqueting- 
 house at Whitehall, and the Church 
 of St. Paul, Covent Garden, are suffi- 
 cient proofs of his claim to be considered 
 the founder of this style in England. 
 But the civil wars put a stop to the 
 course so happily begun. Wren, the 
 next genius, arose to kindle afresh the 
 love for that art which had been so 
 long neglected. What had been begun 
 by Jones was fully accomplished by 
 Wren ; and the period of our greatest 
 architectural eminence was not far dis- 
 tant. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Wren's Birth, Education, and early 
 
 Studies. 
 Christopher Wren was born at East 
 Knoyle, in Wiltshire, the rectory of his 
 father, Dr. Christopher Wren, Dean of 
 Windsor, on the 20th day of October, 
 1632. His father was a learned divine, 
 descended from an ancient English 
 family of Danish origin, and his mother 
 was the daughter and heiress of Robert 
 Cox, of Fonthill, in the county of Wilts. 
 Dr. Matthew Wren, his uncle, suc- 
 cessively Bishop of Hereford, Norwich, 
 
 and Ely, was a person" eminent in the * 
 ecclesiastical history of England ; who, 
 having devoted himself to the royal 
 cause, was impeached by order of the 
 House of Commons in 1641, shortly 
 after the impeachment of Archbishop 
 Laud ; but he was never brought to 
 trial, though he suffered a protracted 
 imprisonment of nearly twenty years : an 
 injustice not singular in those troublous 
 times. The Parentalia, a work we shall 
 . afterwards notice, contains a somewhat 
 laboured defence of the bishop, meant 
 to have been used had he been put on 
 his trial. Right or wrong, he adhered 
 firmly and unchangingly to the cause he 
 had espoused, and to the memory of his 
 royal master ; and Cromwell, who often 
 met Christopher (the subject of this 
 memoir,) at his son-in-law Claypole's 
 sent a message to the uncle, (by the 
 nephew,) that he might come out of the 
 Tower if he pleased; but the bishop 
 utterly refused, disdaining the terms 
 proposed for his enlargement ; which 
 were, as he conceived, a mean acknow- 
 ledgment of Cromwell's favour and 
 submission to his tyranny; determin- 
 ing, as he expresses it, to tarry the 
 Lord's leisure, and owe his deliver- 
 ance to him only. Whether Cromwell 
 was informed of the terms with which 
 his offers were rejected, is not known ; 
 but if he was, it does not appear to 
 have altered for the worse the situation 
 of the martyr to the cause of Royalty. 
 The bishop, however, was mainly tinc- 
 tured with the feelings of the times : 
 he was conspicuous for his cruel 
 persecution of the dissenters within 
 his diocese ; and he is represented as 
 proceeding passionately against the 
 Walloon manufacturers, who in the 
 time of Edward VI. transplanted them- 
 selves into England and had their 
 privileges enlarged, and were much 
 encouraged by Elizabeth. He also 
 makes a conspicuous figure in the 
 virulent party squib, called " A nest of 
 perfidious vipers in the parliament of 
 black saints." From this it may be 
 inferred, that his zeal for his own 
 party carried him beyond reason, 
 and exposed him to the severe animad- 
 versions of his enemies. He had 
 four sons, all of whom were eminent 
 in their day ; one being, at the Resto- 
 ration, Secretary to Lord Clarendon, and 
 afterwards to James, Duke of York; 
 one was knighted, and the other two 
 returned to Parliament. 
 
 Dr. Wren, the father of Sir Chris- 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 
 
 topher, was educated at Merchant Tailors' 
 School; he became a fellow of St. John's, 
 Oxford, Chaplain in Ordinary to Charles 
 I., and was ultimately installed Dean of 
 Windsor, and made Registrar of the Or- 
 der of the Garter. His tastes and his 
 habits led him to associate with all the 
 learned of the age ; and he possessed 
 himself considerable attainments both in 
 science and literature : he had turned his 
 attention to the cultivation of that art, 
 in the pursuit of which his son was after- 
 wards to become so eminent ; and it ap- 
 pears,from an estimate made by him, and 
 preserved in the State Papers, that he had 
 been employed by the court respecting a 
 building to be erected for the Queen of 
 Charles I. 
 
 Wren was one of those whose future 
 eminence was early foreseen ; and 
 whose riper years redeemed the promise 
 of youth. Like his gre?lt contemporary 
 Pascal, his genius early displayed itself. 
 But though alike in talents, their fates 
 were dissimilar. The genius and acquire- 
 ments of Wren laid the groundwork of 
 his happiness through a long series of 
 years, whilst in Pascal the acuteness of 
 his intellect, and his acquirements, seem 
 but to have aggravated his misery, and 
 to have hurried him to an early grave. 
 At the age of thirteen an invention 
 by Wren of some new astronomical 
 instrument is recorded, the account 
 of which is dedicated by him to his 
 father, in a Latin epistle. This essay 
 was followed by others of the same kind. 
 His infancy and youth were marked 
 by a peculiarly delicate state of health ; 
 he received his early education at 
 home under his father, and at the age 
 of fourteen was sent to Wadham col- 
 lege, Oxford, where notwithstanding his 
 youth, his attainments procured him the 
 friendship and patronage of the most 
 eminent persons, amongst whom were 
 the ingenious Bishop Wilkins, and the 
 celebrated Oughtred, who in the preface 
 to his Clavis Mathematica mentions 
 Wren as having attained, at the age of 
 sixteen, such a knowledge in mathema- 
 tics and other branches of natural phi- 
 losophy, as gave promise of future emi- 
 nence. Wilkins also introduced him to 
 Prince Charles, Elector Palatine, as 
 a prodigy. 
 
 As early as the year 1 645, Dr. Willis, 
 an eminent mathematician, formed a 
 sort of club of scientific persons, chiefly 
 those connected with Gresham college, 
 who met weekly; amongst them was 
 Wren. Their object was the discussion 
 
 of all subjects relating to philosophical 
 inquiries, and from these meetings ori- 
 ginated that body of eminent persons 
 called the Royal Society, who by their 
 pursuits contributed so mainly to the 
 advancement of science. In 1648, Dr. 
 Wilkins and several other leading mem- 
 oers retired to Oxford, where they conti- 
 nued their weekly meetings, and thus set 
 a fashion for the study of the useful 
 sciences in that university. Amongst 
 those distinguished persons were Sir 
 W. Petty, the ancestor of the Lansdowne 
 family, and Robert Boyle. 
 
 One of Wren's early inventions in 
 the arts was a sort of penna duplex, 
 for which he obtained a patent, and 
 which gave rise to some controversy 
 between Sir William Petty and him- 
 self; the former having taken out 
 a patent for a similar invention on his 
 return from France in the same year. 
 Wren, more fortunate than his father 
 and uncle, though he lived in trou- 
 bled times, when the conflicting par- 
 ties were exhausting themselves in acts 
 of violence, pursued his course straight 
 to the object of his ambition, in the study 
 of those sciences which he was after- 
 wards to adorn. 
 
 He is said to have been the first who 
 turned his attention to the representa- 
 tion of subjects as shown in a micro- 
 scope, and in which he was mainly as- 
 sisted by Hooke ; and Harrington, the 
 author of the Oceana, alludes to these 
 tastes, and also to the politics of the 
 family, in some observations on a 
 cousin of Wren's, whom he designates 
 as being one of those virtuosi, " who had 
 an excellent faculty for magnifying a 
 louse and diminishing a commonwealth." 
 Shortly after this he produced a Theory 
 of the Planet Saturn, an Algebraic Trea- 
 tise on the Julian Period, a tract much 
 esteemed, it is said, by the most learned 
 mathematicians of his day. In 1653 he 
 was elected Fellow of his college, and 
 soon proceeded to London, continuing 
 to cultivate the sciences. One of the 
 most important inventions of this period 
 was the barometer ; and to this some 
 laid claim on behalf of Wren ; but the 
 discovery was, without doubt, the pro- 
 perty of Torricelli, though it is supposed 
 Wren was the first in England who 
 suggested that the various weight of 
 the atmosphere was the true cause of 
 the variations in the height of the mer- 
 cury, which the followers of Des Cartes 
 had ascribed to the influence of the 
 moon. Evelyn (himself a man of sense 
 
10 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN, 
 
 and an ardent lover of learning, who 
 studied all that was useful to his 
 country, and was associated with the 
 most eminent of his time) could not 
 but often come in contact with Wren ; 
 and accordingly, in his amusing journal, 
 he frequently bears testimony to his 
 early excellence, calling him " that pro- 
 digious young scholar," " that miracle 
 of youth," " rare and early prodigy of 
 science." 
 
 Whilst Wren was devoted to the 
 pursuits of science, the times were dis- 
 tracted by the fury of party. The 
 objects of the early association of emi- 
 nent persons at Oxford is thus de- 
 scribed by Spratt, Bishop of Rochester, 
 in his History of the Royal Society : 
 " Their first purpose was no more 
 than only the satisfaction of breathing a 
 fresher air, and of conversing in quiet 
 one with another, without being engaged 
 in the passions and madness of that 
 dismal age. And from the institution 
 of that assembly it had been enough, 
 if no other advantage had come but this, 
 that by this means there was a race of 
 young men ' provided against the next 
 age, whose minds, receiving from them 
 their first impressions of sober and ge- 
 nerous knowledge, were invincibly armed 
 against all the enchantments of en- 
 thusiasm. But what is more, I may 
 venture to affirm, that it was in good 
 measure by the influence which these 
 gentlemen had over the rest, that the 
 university itself, or at least any part of its 
 discipline and order, was saved from ruin. 
 " Nor were the good effects of this 
 conversation only confined to Oxford, 
 but they have made themselves known 
 by their printed works, both in our own 
 and in the learned languages, which have, 
 much conduced to the fame of our na- 
 tion abroad, and to the spreading pro- 
 fitable light at home." 
 
 It was not until the age of Wren that 
 the inductive process of Bacon was 
 duly understood and appreciated. This 
 period, on the eve of Newton's great 
 discoveries, was perhaps the most im- 
 portant that has yet occurred in the 
 annals of science. The spirit of inquiry, 
 at first feeble, which actuated some in- 
 dividuals at the time of the revival of 
 learning, had from numerous causes 
 gathered strength, and spread itself 
 over Europe. Bacon had turned his 
 powerful and creative mind to the 
 state of human knowledge^ marking its 
 imperfections and planning its improve- 
 ments, amending the vagueness and 
 
 uncertainty of physical speculations, 
 and supplying the want of connec- 
 tion between the sciences and the arts. 
 This and the illustration of Bacon's 
 method by Galileo and his contempora- 
 ries, (amongst whom Wren was emi- 
 nent,) first led the way to the general 
 adoption of the new philosophy rea- 
 soning gradually from particulars to 
 those that were only one step more ge- 
 neral ; not as formerly, adopting gene- 
 ral positions drawn suddenly from par- 
 ticular instances hastily assumed. It 
 was now felt that facts and not 
 opinions were the things to reason 
 about, in order to arrive at the know- 
 ledge of the laws governing the material 
 world ; and Bacon himself had fore- 
 seen the formation of a society directed 
 to scientific improvement, and has given 
 a general outline of it in the Nova 
 Atlantis. Anckit was now that the en- 
 thusiastic arddar in the pursuit of natu- 
 ral philosoriffy was awakened in the 
 minds of literary men, and which 
 has ever since remained undimi- 
 nished. None of the members of 
 these meetings were more conspicuous 
 than Wren, who, together with Boyle, 
 (the great improver of the air-pump,) 
 had imbibed the true spirit of Ba- 
 con. They applied themselves to the 
 prosecution of experimental science, 
 being the avowed enemies of the phi- 
 losophy of Aristotle ; following up the 
 true principles of the new philosophy 
 by preparing a history of the pheno- 
 mena of nature in all their modifica- 
 tions and varieties ; and instituting every 
 form of experiment for the sake of 
 discovery. Wren was one of the first 
 (in conjunction with Wallis, Huygens, 
 Newton, Leibnitz, and the Bernouillis) 
 to occupy himself with the investi- 
 gation of the cycloid, which had been 
 discovered by Pascal ; and he constantly 
 urged, in his communications to the 
 Royal Society, the importance of ex- 
 periments and observations on facts. 
 " For the improvement of theories," he 
 observes, '.' we needbe least solicitous ; it 
 is a work which will insensibly grow on 
 us if we be always doing something in 
 experiment; and every one is more 
 prone to exercise his 'fancy in building 
 paper theories than patient first to pile 
 the unsure foundation, and hew solid 
 materials out of the history of nature : 
 this is rather our task, and in many 
 things we must be content to plant 
 crab stocks for posterity to graft on ; 
 and instead of the vanity of prognosti- 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 11 
 
 eating, I could wish we would have the 
 patience for some years of registering 
 past times, which is the certain way of 
 learning to prognosticate; experiment 
 and reason is the only way of prophe- 
 sying natural events ; in combating 
 prejudices, detecting error, and esta- 
 blishing truth." 
 
 This great era in the progress of 
 useful knowledge was destined to con- 
 clude with the most splendid series of 
 philosophical improvements yet re- 
 corded the discovery by Newton, in 
 succession, of fluxions, the compo- 
 sition of light, and the principle of 
 universal gravitation, all within twenty 
 years, and all the work of one indi- 
 vidual ! 
 
 During his residence at Oxford, Wren 
 in anatomical science stood amongst the 
 first professors of his day, and as early 
 as the age of fifteen he was employed by 
 Sir Charles Scarborough, an eminent 
 physician and mathematician, as a de- 
 monstrating assistant. His abilities as 
 a demonstrator, and his attainments in 
 anatomy generally, are acknowledged by 
 Dr. Willis, in his Treatise on the Brain, for 
 which he made all the drawings ; and he 
 is allowed to have been the originator of 
 the physiological experiment of injecting 
 various liquors into the veins of living 
 animals, which Bishop Spratt calls a 
 " noble experiment," exhibited at the 
 meetings at Oxford. A notice of it 
 was sent into Germany, and published 
 abroad, as is supposed by the trea- 
 chery of Oldenburgh, a person con- 
 nected with the men of science of that 
 day ; and who is believed often to have 
 secretly communicated to the conti- 
 nental philosophers the discoveries 
 which came to his knowledge, thus 
 giving rise to numberless disputes and 
 claims to priority of invention among 
 the learned of that time. 
 
 This experiment is alluded to by Sir 
 Christopher Wren himself, in a letter 
 to a friend in Ireland, (conceived by Mr. 
 Elmes to be Sir William Petty :) " The 
 most considerable experiment I have 
 made of late is this : I injected wine 
 and ale into the mass of blood in a 
 living dog, by a, vein, in good quanti- 
 ties, till he became extremely drunk ; 
 but soon after voided it by urine. It 
 will be too long to tell you the effects of 
 opium, scammony, and other things 
 which I have tried in this way. I am 
 in further pursuit of the experiment, 
 which I take to be of great concernment, 
 and what will give great light to the 
 
 theory and practice of physic." The 
 French, however, laid claim to the 
 discovery; but we shall not here en- 
 ter into the controversy; the genius 
 and the acknowledged and undisputed 
 works of Wren enable him beyond 
 all others to abandon his claim when it 
 is contested. 
 
 Chapter HI. 
 
 Wren's pursuits to the Building of St. 
 Pauls. 
 
 Wren, in his twenty-fifth year, left his 
 retirement at Oxford for the more ex- 
 tended field of the metropolis ; being 
 chosen, in 1657, to fill the Professor's 
 chair of Astronomy at Gresham col- 
 lege. His inaugural Oration in Latin is 
 published in Ward's Lives of the Gres- 
 ham Professors, and its first sketch in 
 English is to be found in the Parentalia; 
 it is curious, as showing the care and 
 labour which he thought it necessary to 
 bestow on the work. This Oration at 
 once established his reputation, and his 
 Lectures were attended by the most 
 eminent and learned persons of the 
 time. The greater part of the Oxford 
 Society, who afterwards were the lead- 
 ing members of the Royal Society, 
 coming to London about 1658, usually 
 assembled to hear Wren's Wednesday 
 Lectures, in his Lecture room, and 
 on Tuesday those upon, Geometry, by 
 Rooke. 
 
 In his inaugural discourse, amongst 
 other things, he proposed several me- 
 thods by which to account for the sha- 
 dows returning backwards ten degrees 
 on the dial of King Ahaz, by the laws 
 of nature. One subject of discussion 
 was the Telescope, to the improvement 
 of which he had greatly contributed. 
 Another head comprised certain pro- 
 perties of the air and the barometer. 
 
 In 1658 Wren acquired fresh fame as 
 a mathematician, by the solution of the 
 celebrated problem of Pascal; which 
 had been given out, under the assumed 
 name of Jean de Mountfort, as a chal- 
 lenge to the learned of England ; and, in 
 return, he proposed another, for the so- 
 lution of the mathematicians of France, 
 which had formerly been proposed by 
 Kepler, and solved by himself geome- 
 trically. The challenge, however, was 
 never answered. In the same year he 
 communicated four mathematical tracts 
 to Dr. Wallis, the Savilian Professor at 
 Oxford, which were published by the 
 doctor in his Treatise on the Cycloid. 
 
1-2 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 His'method for the rectification of the 
 cycloid was also produced by him this 
 year ; and he made a series of observa- 
 tions on the phases of the Planet Saturn, 
 the results of which he disclosed in his 
 Giesham Lectures. 
 
 His pursuits were alien to the 
 fury of party or the politics of the day, 
 and to this, and his connection with 
 Claypole, it is probable he owed his 
 escape from that persecution to which 
 the other members of his family were 
 exposed. The members of the Club, 
 on the death of Cromwell, were scat- 
 tered by the distractions which en- 
 sued, and the College itself became a 
 quarter for soldiers. 
 
 Wren, who had fled from London 
 to Oxford during the confusion, re- 
 ceived the following letters from the 
 Bishop of Rochester and his cousin ; 
 and as they are curious we shall give 
 them at length. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 This day I went to visit Gresham College, but 
 found the place in such a nasty condition, so de- 
 filed, and the smell so infernal, that if you should 
 come now to make use of your tube, it would be 
 like Dives looking out of hell into heaven. Dr. 
 Goddard, of all your colleagues, keeps possession, 
 which he could never be able to do, had he not 
 before prepared his nose for camp perfumes, by his 
 voyage into Scotland, and had he not such excel- 
 lent restoratives in his cellars. The soldiers by 
 ' the violence which they put on the Muses' seats, 
 have made themselves odious to all the ingenious 
 world ; and if we pass by their having undone the 
 nation, this crime we shall never be able to forgive 
 them ; and as for what concerns | you, they have 
 now proved, that their pretensions to religion were 
 all feigned, since by hindering your Lectures they 
 have committed so manifest a sin against Heaven. 
 Yet your many friends herchope you will hereafter 
 recompense this unhappy leisure which is afforded 
 you, by making those admirable discourses which 
 you had intended for this place more public ; and 
 that you will imitate Cicero, who, being hindered 
 pronouncing his Oration pro Milone, by the guards 
 of Pompey's soldiers that encompassed his chair, 
 set it forth afterwards more perfect than the rest. 
 
 His cousin Matthew, eldest son of 
 Matthew, Bishop of Ely, also wrote to 
 him from London at the same time, and 
 on the same account, the following 
 letter, which admirably depicts his own 
 feelings and the state of the capital. 
 
 Dear Consin, 
 
 Yesterday being the first of the term, I resolved 
 to make an experiment, whether Dr. Horton enter- 
 tained the new auditory of Gresham with any Lec- 
 ture ; for I took it for granted, that if his divinity 
 could be spared, your mathematics would not be 
 expected. But at the gate I was stopped by a man 
 with a gun, who told me there was no admission on 
 that account, the college being reformed into a 
 garrisom Then, changing my pretension, I scarce 
 got permission to go into Dr. Goddard, who gave me 
 assurance enough, that none of your colleagues 
 intended to appear this term, unless the soldiers be 
 removed, of which there is no probability. Upon 
 these premises, it is the conclusion of all your 
 friends, that you may save that journey hither, 
 unless some other occasion calls you ; and for these 
 
 I expect you will make me your agent, if they be 
 such as I am capable of despatching. But it will 
 not be amiss to take from hence the occasion of a 
 short and civil letter to the Committee, signifying 
 that you hope you have not deceived their expecta- 
 tions in choosing you, r and that you are ready to 
 attend to your duty but for this public interruption 
 and exclusion from your chamber; or what else you 
 will that looks towards this. I know no more 
 domestic news, than what every body talks of. 
 Yesterday I was in Westminster-Hall, and saw 
 only Kendigate and Windham in the two courts, 
 and Wild and Parker in the Exchequer; in the 
 chancery none at all ; for Bradshaw keeps the Seal 
 as if it were to be carried before him in the other 
 world, whither he is going. Glyn and Fountain 
 pleaded at the bar. They talk much of the media- 
 iion of the two crowns, and proceed so far as to 
 name Marshall Clerambault for the Ambassador, 
 who is come hither from France. My service to all 
 my friends. 
 
 Soon after the return of Charles II. , 
 Wren was chosen to fill the Savilian 
 professor's chair at Oxford, then one of 
 the highest distinctions which could be 
 conferred on a scientific person. The 
 Restoration, which began with such 
 favourable auspices, was mainly condu- 
 cive to the" foundation of the Royal 
 Society, in which Cowley, the poet, bore 
 a principal part ; planning a society 
 which should have the disposal of con- 
 siderable funds, for the encouragement 
 of knowledge, and not forgetting the 
 important work of the instruction of 
 youth. The object of the society cannot 
 be better expressed than in the words of 
 Spratt, its earliest and eloquent his- 
 torian. 
 
 " The purpose of its founders was to 
 make faithful records of all the works of 
 nature and art which can come within 
 their reach ; so that the present age 
 and posterity may be able to put a 
 mark on the errors which have been 
 strengthened by long prescription; to 
 restore the truths that have lain neg- 
 lected ; to push on those that are already 
 known to more various uses ; 'to make 
 the way more passable to what remains 
 unrevealed. This is. the compass of their 
 design. And to accomplish this, they 
 have endeavoured to separate the know- 
 ledge of nature from the colours of 
 rhetoric, the devices of fancy, or the de- 
 lightful deceit of fables. They have la- 
 boured," continues this learned prelate, 
 " to enlarge it, from being confined to the 
 custody of a few, or from servitude to 
 private interests. They have striven to 
 preserve it from being overpressed by a 
 confused heap of vain and useless parti- 
 culars ; or from being straitened and 
 bounded up too much by general doc- 
 trines. They have tried to put it into a 
 condition of perpetually increasing, by 
 settling an inviolable correspondence 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 13 
 
 between the hand and the brain. They 
 have studied to make it not only an en- 
 terprise of one season, or of some lucky 
 opportunity ; but a business of time, a 
 steady, a lasting, a popular, an uninter- 
 rupted work. They have attempted to 
 free *it from the artifice and humour 
 and passions of sects ; to render it an 
 instrument whereby mankind may obtain 
 a dominion of things, and not only over 
 one another's judgments. And, lastly, 
 they have begun to establish these re- 
 formations in philosophy, not so much 
 by any solemnity of laws, or ostentation 
 of ceremonies, as by solid practice and 
 examples ; not a glorious pomp of words, 
 but by the silent, effectual, and unan- 
 swerable arguments of real productions. 
 As for what belongs to the members 
 themselves that are to constitute the 
 society, it is to be noted, that they have 
 freely admitted men of different religions, 
 countries, and professions of life. This 
 they were obliged to do, or else they 
 would come far short of the largeness of 
 their own declarations. For they openly 
 profess, not to lay the foundation of an 
 English, Scotch, Irish, Popish, or Pro- 
 testant philosophy, but a philosophy of 
 mankind." 
 
 We have been thus minute in setting 
 forth the origin of the Royal Society, 
 as being one of the most important 
 institutions of the country, founded on 
 the purest and the best principles for 
 the attainment of its great object. 
 
 It may be permitted here to remark, 
 that this society (so long eminent in 
 Europe) has, in a great measure, 
 become more aristocratic than for- 
 merly in the selection of its members ; 
 for, in Charles's time, on an intel- 
 ligent citizen of London being proposed 
 at the recommendation of the king, he 
 told them, if they found any more 
 such tradesmen they should be sure to 
 admit them all 
 
 Wren about this time discovered 
 a method for the calculation of solar 
 eclipses, which was published by 
 Flamstead in his doctrine of the sphere, 
 and which was followed for many 
 years as the most concise and plain. 
 The Annals of the Royal Society 
 also bear the amplest testimony to 
 his knowledge and industry, in 
 his commentaries on almost every 
 subject connected with the abstruse 
 sciences and the arts of life ; and, in 
 conjunction with Boyle, Hooke, and 
 Wilkins, he originated many of the most 
 important experiments of the day. 
 
 Amongst his communications was a 
 History of the Seasons, as to tem- 
 perature, weather, productions, dis- 
 eases. For illustrating this subject he 
 devised many curious machines, se- 
 veral of which kept their own regis- 
 ters, tracing out the lines of variation 
 so that a person might know what 
 changes the weather had undergone 
 during his absence ; and these contriv- 
 ances he applied to wind-gages, thermo- 
 meters, barometers, hygrometers. 
 
 He made great additions to the re- 
 cent discoveries on pendulums ; and re- 
 ferred to what has been since perfected, 
 the making the pendulum a natural 
 standard for measure. 
 
 He also originated many ways of 
 making astronomical observations easy 
 and accurate ; and added much to the 
 theory of dioptrics. He made constant 
 observations on Saturn, and gave a true 
 theory of that planet, before the printed 
 discourse on the subject by Huygens 
 appeared. He made maps of the Pleia- 
 des and other stars ; and proposed 
 methods to determine the great ques- 
 tion as to the earth's motion or rest, 
 by the small stars about the pole, 
 to be seen in large telescopes. And 
 he effected many improvements in the 
 theory of navigation.* 
 
 Amongst his discoveries in the arts 
 there appears great ground to suppose, 
 that it was he and not Prince Rupert 
 who first invented the art of engraving 
 in Mezzotinto, though it was subse- 
 quently much advanced by the Prince ; 
 who did not, however, bsar any ill- 
 will towards his rival ; for it appears 
 from the Parentalia, that Wren was en- 
 rolled in the list of his especial friends, 
 to whom that distinguished personage 
 sent a yearly present of his choicest 
 wine, from his vineyard on the Rhine. 
 
 He also, from the years 1660 to 
 1720, employed himself in a series of 
 papers on the longitude. To enter into 
 a detail of all the studies and discoveries 
 of Wren would, in fact, be to give the 
 whole history of natural philosophy in 
 his age. Many of his inventions are 
 lost; for it will be observed, that he 
 himself printed nothing : many were 
 secretly sent abroad, and appropriated 
 by others not unwilling to appear in 
 borrowed feathers. Wren himself ob- 
 serves, in one of his letters, " I must 
 confess I have often had the pusillani- 
 mity rather to neglect that right I ought 
 
 * Hutton, MathemaL Diet, &c. 
 
14 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 in justice to have vindicated, than, by 
 challenging it too late, incur the jea- 
 lousy of being a plagiary." 
 
 Whilst at Oxford he was employed 
 by the king to make drawings of the 
 animalcula seen by a microscope, as 
 we have before noticed ; and a model of 
 the lunar globe as seen by the best tele- 
 scope of the times, was constructed by 
 him, representing the spots and various 
 degrees of whiteness on the moon's 
 surface, with the hills, eminences, and 
 cavities ; the whole contrived so that 
 by turning it round to the light it 
 showed all the lunar phases, with the 
 various appearances that arise from the 
 shadows of the mountains and valleys. 
 This was afterwards placed in the king's 
 cabinet. 
 
 Nor were the Muses neglected by 
 Wren ; his pursuits in this kind are 
 alluded to by his correspondent the 
 Bishop of Rochester, who compliments 
 him on some translations of Horace, 
 observing : " You have admirably well 
 hit his genius, your verse is harmo- 
 nious, your philosophy very instruct- 
 ive for life, your liberty in translating 
 enough to make it seem to be an Eng- 
 lish original, and yet not so much but 
 that the mind of the author is still 
 religiously observed." Not much faith 
 is to be given to the encomiums of 
 friends in literary confidences, but 
 from this it may fairly be inferred, that 
 Wren must have at least surpassed 
 mediocrity. 
 
 In 1662 his Prelectiones Astrono- 
 mic^ were published at the Oxford 
 press. Dr. Isaac Barrow, who succeeded 
 Rooke as professor of geometry at Gres- 
 ham -College, in his inaugural address, 
 pronounces a very elegant encomium 
 upon the merits of Wren, into which he 
 enters largely ; describing him as being 
 one of the earliest promise, and the 
 fullest performance, of any genius of 
 his time. 
 
 In 1675, the Bishop of Rochester de- 
 dicated to Wren his observations on 
 Mons. de Sorbiere's Voyage toEngland; 
 and Hooke, in the preface to his Micro- 
 graphia, states, that although he was at 
 first induced to undertake the work at 
 the suggestion of Bishop Wilkins, yet he 
 commenced it with reluctance, because 
 he had to follow the footsteps of so 
 eminent a person as Dr. Wren, who 
 was the first that attempted anything of 
 this nature, and whose original draughts 
 make one of the ornaments of the great 
 collection of rarities in the king's closet ; 
 
 adding, " I must affirm of him, that since 
 the time of Archimedes there scarce 
 ever met in one man so great a per- 
 fection, such a mechanical head, and 
 so philosophical a mind." He is also 
 noticed with great honour by Newton in 
 his Principia, in conjunction with Wal- 
 lis and Huygens, as among the first 
 mathematicians of the age. 
 
 Perhaps the whole history of literary 
 and scientific men does not afford an 
 example of one held in more high 
 and general estimation than this 
 highly gifted individual. His contem- 
 poraries appear willing and eager to 
 testify both their admiration of his 
 genius, and their esteem for that un- 
 reservedness and candour which pre- 
 vailed throughout his intercourse with 
 his associates. The history of his 
 career is stained bv none of those 
 bickerings, those paltry struggles for 
 priority or fame, so frequent in the 
 lives of others of his time, who were as 
 conspicuous for the weakness of their 
 feelings as for the greatness of their 
 minds. None of their bad passions 
 appear ever to have darkened Wren's 
 thoughts, or disturbed the even tenour 
 of his course, directed as it was to the 
 advancement of his favourite art, and 
 the attainment of all that was useful 
 in science. Neither could he be said 
 to be afflicted with the credulity or vain 
 pretensions whieh marked many of 
 those who lived in the same age. 
 
 In 1665 he went to Paris, for 
 the purpose of studying all the prin- 
 cipal buildings, and the various in- 
 ventions in the different branches of me- 
 chanics. From thence he intended to 
 pass on into Italy, for the purpose of 
 studying Vitruvius amidst the great re- 
 mains of antiquity. While at Paris 
 the Louvre was in progress, 1000 hands 
 being daily employedon the works : some 
 in laying its mighty foundations ; some 
 in raising the different columns and 
 entablatures, composed of vast stones, 
 by great and useful engines ; others 
 in carving, inlaying marbles, plastering, 
 painting, gilding, which altogether 
 formed, in the opinion of Wren, a school 
 of architecture the best at that day in 
 Europe. It was here he saw those great 
 masters of the art, Bernini and Mansard. 
 His few observations on the buildings 
 of France have a peculiar relish and 
 interest. " Fontainbleau (he remarks in 
 one of his letters) has a stately wildness, 
 and vastness, suitable to the desert in 
 which it stands ; the antique mass of the 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 ft 
 
 Castle of St. Germain's, and the hanging 
 gardens are delightfully surprising, (I 
 mean to any man of judgment,) for the 
 pleasures below vanish away in the 
 breath that is spent in ascending. The 
 Palace, or if you please to call it, the 
 Cabinet of Versailles, called me twice to 
 see it ; the mixture of brick and stone, 
 blue tile and gold, make it look like a 
 rich livery. Not an inch within but is 
 crowded with little curiosities of orna- 
 ment. The women, as they make here 
 the language and the fashions, and 
 meddle with politics and philosophy, 
 so they sway also in architecture ; works 
 of filigree, and little trinkets, are in 
 great vogue, but building ought cer- 
 tainly to have the attribute of eternal, 
 and therefore to be the only thing in- 
 capable of new fashions."* 
 
 After enumerating many other build- 
 ings, he adds, " all of which I have 
 surveyed, and that I might not lose 
 the impression of them I shall bring 
 you almost all France on paper, which 
 I have found by some or other 
 ready designed, and on which I have 
 spent both labour and some money. 
 Bernini's design of the Louvre I would 
 have given my skin for ; but the old 
 reserved Italian gave me but a few 
 minutes' view. It was a fine little draught 
 on five pieces of paper, for which he 
 had received as many thousand pistoles. 
 I had only time to copy it out by fancy 
 and memory, and I shall be able, by 
 discourse and a crayon, to give you a 
 tolerable account of it." In one of 
 his letters he notices having on the 
 anvil, " Observations on the present 
 state of architecture, arts, and manu- 
 factures in France," which, however, 
 unfortunately were never completed. 
 
 Wren returned in the beginning of 
 1666, and it does not appear that he 
 carried into execution his project of 
 visiting Italy. 
 
 Soon after the restoration, Charles II. 
 contemplated the repair of the Cathe- 
 dral of St. Paul's, which had become 
 
 * Never, perhaps, was so complete a failure as the 
 mass of incongruities at Versailles, and never 
 such a profuse squandering of treasure and even of 
 life. Dulaure, in his "History of Paris," states the 
 expenses (including the moving of hills, and the 
 various other projects) at the incredible sum of forty- 
 eight millions sterling; from twenty-two to thirty- 
 six thousand labourers were constantly employed on 
 the works. A camp was formed for the workmen 
 near the spot, the limits of which were strictly 
 guarded ; and it was criminal even to notice the 
 fcsl waste of life in the soldiers employed, 10,000 
 of whom are said to have fallen victims to excess of 
 fatigue, and to an epidemic disease caused by the 
 exhalations from the swampy ground, 
 
 dilapidated during the commonwealth ; 
 its revenues having been confis- 
 cated, and the choir converted into 
 horse barracks by Cromwell. In 1660 
 a commission was issued (in which Wren 
 was named) to superintend the resto- 
 ration. He was long employed in con- 
 sidering the best mode of effecting this. 
 The cathedral had been partly repaired 
 by Inigo Jones, by the addition of a 
 beautiful Corinthian portico at the west 
 end, not however in character with the 
 style of the building. Wren proposed 
 to rebuild the steeple with a cupola ; a 
 form of Church building, Evelyn ob- 
 serves, not then known in England, but 
 which was of wonderful grace. This 
 project was at once defeated by the de- 
 solating fire of 1666, which, destroying 
 the greater part of the city, so injured 
 the cathedral as to make its restoration 
 impossible ; and to this the scaffolding, 
 which had been put up for the repairs, 
 mainly contributed. 
 
 Evelyn alludes to the attempt to re- 
 pair St. Paul's, in his dedication to 
 Wren of his Account of Architects and 
 Architecture. " I have named St. Paul's, 
 and truly not without admiration as oft 
 as I recall to mind, as I frequently do, 
 the sad and deplorable condition it was 
 in : when, after it had been made a 
 stable for horses, and a den of thieves, 
 you, with other gentlemen and myself 
 were by the late King Charles named 
 to survey the dilapidations, and made 
 report to His Majesty in order to a 
 speedy reparation ; you will not, as I 
 am sure, forget the struggle we had 
 with some who were for patching it up 
 any how, so the steeple might stand 
 instead of new building ; when, to put 
 an end to the contest, five days after, 
 that dreadful conflagration happened, 
 out of whose ashes this phoenix is 
 arisen, and was by providence designed 
 for you." 
 
 That which produced so much indivi- 
 dual misery, afforded (as Sir Richard 
 Steele observes) the greatest occasion 
 that ever builder had to render his name 
 immortal, and his person venerable. A 
 whole city at once laid waste was an 
 opportunity for the display of inven- 
 tive genius, which had never before 
 been given to any architect ; but the 
 selfishness of individuals, their disputes, 
 and intrigues, and conflicting interests, 
 prevented Wren from carrying his great 
 design for the restoration of the metro- 
 polis into effect. And though many of 
 the narrow lanes and confined spaces of 
 
10 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 the old city were removed, still none 
 of his views were adopted. As soon 
 as the fire was subdued, whilst the 
 ashes were yet alive, he was on the 
 ground, considering his plan for the 
 * restoration of the city. He proposed one 
 main street from Aldgate to Temple Bar, 
 in the middle of which was to have been 
 a large square capable of containing 
 the new church of St. Paul, with a pro- 
 per distance for the view all round ; the 
 parish churches were to be rebuilt so 
 as to be seen at the end of every vista 
 of houses, and dispersed at sufficient 
 distances from each other ; four piazzas 
 were designed at proper distances ; and 
 lastly, the houses were to be uniform, 
 surrounded by arcades, like those in 
 Co vent Garden; while by the water- 
 side a large quay was to run, along 
 which were to be ranged the halls 
 belonging to the several companies, 
 with warehouses and other appro- 
 priate mercantile buildings. If such a 
 plan (modified in some degree) had 
 been effected, London, it must be con- 
 fessed, would have far exceeded every 
 capital in the world. It may, how- 
 ever, be doubted, whether the climate of 
 this country is suited to covered ar- 
 cades ; and with respect to the complete 
 regularity and uniformity of the streets, 
 although in theory this is captivat- 
 ing, in execution its effect is dull and 
 disappointing. The total want of in- 
 terest and variety in those towns where 
 it has been adopted, such as Carlsrhue, 
 Darmstadt, and Manheim, to which we 
 may add the New Town of Edinburgh, 
 affords sufficient evidence in support of 
 this position. 
 
 London experienced an unexampled 
 series of calamities. First harassed by 
 the civil war; next desolated by the 
 plague ; after this oppressed by the 
 exactions of the unsuccessful war of 
 Charles ; and last ravaged by the 
 dreadful fire, which laid the whole city 
 in ashes. But with all this, the cou- 
 rage and the spirit of the people were 
 not borne down ; and with one heart 
 and one mind, in the very reeking 
 ruins, the restoration of the city, with 
 increased grandeur, was undertaken. 
 It is difficult to refrain from entering at 
 length into the details of this dreadful 
 calamity, particularly when there are 
 such materials as the lively pen of 
 Evelyn (an eye-witness) affords ; but it 
 is impossible not to note the mag- 
 nanimity of the people, as described 
 by the Bishop of Rochester, a writer 
 
 far too courtly to attribute any very 
 exaggerated merit to the humbler classes 
 of society. He describes them " as 
 enduring this, the second calamity, with 
 undaunted firmness of mind ; their ex- 
 ample," he says, "may incline us to be- 
 lieve that not only the best natural, but 
 the best moral philosophy too, may be 
 learned from the shops of mechanics. It 
 was indeed admirable to behold with what 
 constancy the meanest artificers saw all 
 the labour of their lives, and the sup- 
 port of their families, devoured in an 
 instant. They beheld the ashes of their 
 houses, and gates, and temples, without 
 the least expression of pusillanimity. If 
 philosophers had done this, it had 
 well become their profession of wis- 
 dom ; if gentlemen, the nobleness of 
 their breeding and blood would have 
 required it; but that such greatness 
 of heart should be found amongst the 
 poor artisans and the obscure multi- 
 tude is, no doubt, one of the most ho- 
 nourable events which ever happened." 
 The Bishop's habits and prejudices 
 led him to be surprised at finding 
 greatness and forbearance amongst the 
 low r er orders of a free and indepen- 
 dent people. If he had not learnt bet- 
 ter from history, the subsequent strug- 
 gles of those very persons, under the still 
 greater calamities induced by the op- 
 pression of the Stuarts, would have 
 afforded Jiim new ground for admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Charles, during his residence abroad, 
 had imbibed a taste for the arts, par- 
 ticularly for architecture, and amidst 
 his sensualities and misgovernment was 
 not unmindful of their advancement. 
 Upon his deciding to repair St. Paul's, 
 to reinstate Windsor Castle, and to 
 build a new palace at Greenwich, 
 Wren (who to his other attainments 
 added a considerable knowledge of 
 architecture) was sent for from Oxford 
 in 1661, to assist Sir John Denham, 
 the new surveyor general. In the same 
 year he took the degree of doctor of 
 laws. 
 
 Denham was a partisan of the court 
 in the troublesome times of Charles I., 
 and was rewarded by his master with a 
 grant in reversion of the place of Sur- 
 veyor General of the Board of Works, to 
 take effect on the death of Inigo Jones. 
 As a poet and as a loyalist his merits are 
 admitted ; but his reward might have 
 been more judiciously selected, for he 
 was entirely ignorant of architecture. 
 " It would have been ungrateful in the 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 17 
 
 king, on his restoration," observes Mr. 
 Elmes, with great simplicity, " to have 
 discharged Denham, and unsafe to have 
 intrusted him with the execution of any 
 great work." Few men, it must be 
 admitted, could so ill afford to add 
 to the list of their acts of ingratitude 
 towards their followers and dependants 
 as Charles : Denham remained sur- 
 veyor with the salary, Wren was ap- 
 pointed his deputy, and performed all 
 the duties of the office. Although ap- 
 pointed, he held the place for some time 
 before he received any important public 
 employment ; and the Infanta of Por- 
 tugal having brought the expensive 
 dowry of Tangier, it was proposed to 
 Wren, on account of his knowledge in 
 geometry, to proceed there to survey and 
 direct the works at the mole, harbour, 
 and fortifications : this, however, he 
 wisely declined. 
 
 During his progress in making plans 
 for the repair of the Cathedral, the 
 state and condition of which he ap- 
 pears very minutely to have ascer- 
 tained, he was employed to give a de- 
 sign for the erection of the new theatre 
 (Sheldonian) at Oxford, the principal 
 merit of which is in the scientific con- 
 struction of the flat roof, which is 80 by 
 70 feet without any arched work or pillars 
 to support it, and is said never to have 
 been surpassed. Plott, who in his 
 history of Oxford has given a de- 
 tailed description of it, calls Wren the 
 English Vitruvius. Cambridge also was 
 not slow to require his services, and 
 his first commission was for a de- 
 sign for the new chapel of Pembroke 
 Hall, of which his uncle had been a 
 liberal benefactor. The celebrated li- 
 brary of Trinity College was also one 
 of his early works. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 On the form of the early Churches. 
 
 Before we enter on the subject of the 
 erection of St. Paul's, confessedly the 
 second' of the cathedral edifices in 
 Europe, it will not, we conceive, be 
 out of place shortly to trace the ori- 
 gin of the present form of Christian 
 Churches from the simple plans of the 
 Temples of antiquity. Those of the 
 Egyptians and Greeks were in the 
 figure of a parallelogram again divided 
 into squares or other parallelograms ; 
 and it probably was not till the Pan- 
 theon at Rome was erected, that the 
 Grecian Tholos or circular temple was 
 
 attempted on so great a scale. The 
 religious rites of the Greeks and Ro- 
 mans were all performed in the open 
 air, either in the front of their tem- 
 ples, or in the midst of the city ; the 
 early Christians, on the contrary, per- 
 secuted on all sides, sought refuge in 
 caverns and catacombs hid from the 
 light of day, for the solemnization of 
 the rites of their religion, until encou- 
 raged and protected by Constantine they 
 first began to assemble openly in congre- 
 gations, and to worship without fear. 
 
 The largest of the ancient enclosed 
 buildings were the halls of Justice called 
 Basilicce, or Royal Houses ; it is sup- 
 posed by some, that these were first 
 appropriated by Constantine to the 
 use of the Christian congregations, 
 and being closed on all sides pro- 
 tected them from the fanaticism of 
 their persecutors. The early Christian 
 Churches were constructed on the mo- 
 del of these, and, up to the present 
 period, have in some examples retained 
 their name. The original form of an 
 ancient temple was an oblong cella, or 
 chamber surrounded with porticoes, or 
 where the side porticoes were omitted 
 there was always one in the front ; but 
 in the basilica the porticoes were internal, 
 there being no exterior portico or colon- 
 nade ; and the interior was divided by 
 rows of columns either into three or five 
 divisions. (Fig. 1 . and 2.) In the centre 
 
13 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 division {fig, 1.) the judge administered 
 the law ; and the side aisles, or porticoes, 
 were occupied by the merchants and 
 traders. 
 
 The first Christian Basilicas are re- 
 ferred to Constantine, and about the year 
 324 he erected the grand one of St. Pe- 
 ter's. It was divided into five aisles, run- 
 ning from east to west, and was termi- 
 nated at the end by another aisle, or tran- 
 sept, from north to south, in the centre 
 of which was a large semicircular niche, 
 giving to the building an imperfect 
 form of a cross, which he especially 
 directed, as a memorial of that mi- 
 raculous one which he had wit- 
 nessed before his victory over Max- 
 entius. The large aisle was enclosed 
 by forty-eight columns of precious 
 marble, and the side aisles had forty- 
 eight columns of smaller dimensions : 
 the whole was covered with a flat 
 ceiling composed of immense beams 
 cased with gilt metal, and Corinthian 
 brass taken from the temples of Romu- 
 lus and Jupiter Capitolinus. A hundred 
 smaller columns ornamented the shrines 
 and chapels ; the walls were covered 
 with paintings of religious subjects; 
 and the tribunal, or niche at the end, 
 was enriched with elaborate Mosaics or 
 inlaid marbles. Avast number of lamps 
 illuminated the temple; in the greater 
 solemnities 2400 were reckoned, and 
 1360 of these were contained in an 
 enormous candelabrum. It was on the 
 site of this magnificent temple, which, 
 falling into ruins, was pulled down 
 by Julius II., that the present Basilica 
 of St. Peter's was erected. In this 
 sort of building the intersection of the 
 aisles and the transept produced a cen- 
 tre which it was natural to enlarge and 
 make the principal in the composition ; 
 this and the form of the Cross (the 
 emblem of Christianity) were the cause 
 of the deviations from the ancient form 
 of the Basilica ; and the invention of 
 domes supported on pendentives added 
 a size and dignity to the centre, without 
 interrupting the vista of the aisles. 
 
 The disposition of the ancient St. Pe- 
 ter's at Rome was followed by Constan- 
 tine in the church which he erected in 
 his new capital of Constantinople. This 
 being destroyed, Justinian employed 
 Anthemius and Isodorus to erect a 
 magnificent temple that should immor- 
 talize his name, and in this they first 
 ventured on the novel construction of 
 adding a dome, remarkable for its dia- 
 meter and flatness, over the centre. The 
 
 plan of this Basilica is a square of 
 about two hundred and fifty feet ; the 
 interior forms a Greek cross, i. e. one 
 with equal arms : the aisles are termi- 
 nated at two ends by semicircles, and at 
 the other two by square recesses : the 
 aisles are vaulted, and the centre (where 
 the aisles and transept intersect) forms 
 the large square on which is raised the 
 dome, of about one hundred and ten feet 
 in diameter. The dome is supported 
 on the four arches and the pendentives, 
 or spandrils, which connect the square 
 plan of the arches, and gradually form 
 a circle at the level of their summit. 
 
 In consequence of the true princi- 
 ples of this mode of building not being 
 discovered, the architects fell into many 
 difficulties, and it was only after experi- 
 encing several failures, among them the 
 falling of half the dome, and adding 
 strong buttresses, that they were enabled 
 to accomplish the glory of this magni- 
 ficent design. These difficulties were, 
 however, obviated in the building of 
 St. Peter's, as in the dome and cone of 
 St. Paul's, by adopting a much larger 
 segment of a circle, and by inserting 
 strong chains in the stone work at the 
 base of the dome immediately over the 
 arches, so as to give the lateral pressure 
 a perpendicular bearing. 
 
 On the revival of the arts, this Basilica, 
 the most magnificent and the last of 
 the Lower Empire, was that which most 
 influenced the form and character of 
 the new temples. The Venetians in 
 the tenth century copied with success 
 the best parts of the disposition of 
 Santa Sophia in the church of St. Mark, 
 (now destroyed;) and it was probably 
 the first of any extent which in Italy 
 was constructed with a dome supported 
 on pendentives or spandrils, and which 
 gave the idea imitated in St. Peter's, of 
 accompanying the great dome of a 
 church with smaller and lower domes, 
 to give a pyramidal effect to the whole. 
 The church of Santa Maria del Fiore at 
 Florence, from the magnitude of its 
 dome, and the skill which Brunelleschi 
 displayed in its construction,* ac- 
 quired a celebrity that made the system 
 of domes prevalent, till it was finally 
 established in the church of St. Peter's, 
 the grand type of all others. It was 
 in the beginning of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury that Bramante formed the mag- 
 nificent design of suspending over the 
 centre of the Basilica a circular temple 
 
 See Fasari's Life of Brunelleschi, 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 19 
 
 as large as the Pantheon ; raising, as 
 he expressed it, the Pantheon on the 
 Temple of Peace ; and in the comple- 
 tion of this great work, Michael Angelo 
 was occupied till his death. 
 
 Chapter V. 
 St. Paul's. 
 
 After the nomination of the commis- 
 sion for the building St. Paul's, much 
 discussion arose as to the plan. Wren's 
 first design was to have but one order 
 instead of two, and without any side 
 oratories or aisles, these being only ne- 
 cessary for the ceremonies of the church 
 of Rome : and this noble design appears 
 in the beautiful model made by Wren, 
 and kept in the present cathedral. The 
 side aisles, however, were added either 
 because their omission was considered 
 too great a departure from the usual 
 form of cathedrals, or (as is supposed 
 by Mr. Spence in his anecdotes) because 
 the suggestion of the Duke of York 
 (James II.) was followed, and he was 
 willing to have them ready for the Roman 
 catholic service as soon as an occasion 
 should arise. The addition of the side 
 aisles is to be lamented, as they narrowed 
 the building and broke in upon the beauty 
 of the design ; and the architect (ob- 
 serves Spence) insisted so strongly on 
 the prejudice they were to the build- 
 ing, that he actually shed tears on 
 speaking of it ; but he remonstrated 
 in vain. It would seem that this sort 
 of interference is a misfortune pecu- 
 liarly incidental to architects. Few 
 would pretend to have a voice in the 
 composition of a picture or the ar- 
 rangement of a group of statuary ; yet 
 there is scarcely the work of any great 
 architect, in the execution of which he 
 has not in a great measure been com- 
 pelled to abandon his original design, 
 and adopt the suggestions (often in- 
 congruous) of his employers. Michael 
 Angelo, in particular, was exposed to 
 a like persecution, in his great work of 
 St. Peter's, and alike had the har- 
 mony and beauty of his design impaired. 
 After much cavilling the different objec- 
 tions were removed; Wren received 
 an express order from the king to pro- 
 ceed according to his own plans ; he was 
 allowed to make what variations he 
 pleased, and the whole was left to his own 
 management. In thirty-five years from 
 the commencement of the building, the 
 highest and last stone was laid by Chris- 
 topher, the son of the architect, Thus 
 
 was this splendid edifice, admitted to be 
 the second for grandeur in Europe, 
 completed in thirty-five years by one 
 architect, under one bishop of London, 
 costing only 736,000^., which was raised 
 by a small impost on coals brought 
 to London ; whilst St. Peter's, the 
 work of twelve architects, took one 
 hundred and forty-five years to build, 
 during the pontificate of nineteen popes. 
 One of the principal objections to the 
 edifice is, that Wren chose two orders 
 instead of one and an, attic story, as 
 in St. Peter's. That he intended to have 
 adopted the single order (going from the 
 top to the bottom) appears from what 
 we have before stated. But whilst Bra- 
 mante, for the erection of St. Peter's, 
 had the quarries of Tivoli at his com- 
 mand, which yielded blocks of nine feet 
 in diameter, amply sufficient for his 
 columns, Wren had only the quarries of 
 Portland, and from them he could not 
 reckon on blocks greater than four feet 
 in diameter, nor were even these readily 
 procured ; on which account, and that 
 he might keep the just proportions of 
 his cornice, (which Bramante, "by the 
 failure of the stone, had been compelled 
 to diminish,) he finally determined on 
 the use of two orders. 
 
 The dome of the Pantheon is no 
 higher within than its diameter; the 
 dome of St. Peter's is two diameters ; 
 and this appears too high, the other 
 too low : Wren took a mean proportion, 
 which shows its concave every way, and 
 is lighted by the windows of the upper 
 order, which permit the light to strike 
 down through the great colonnade that 
 encircles the dome without, and serves 
 at the same time for the abutment of the 
 dome itself, which is of two bricks thick, 
 every five feet high having a course of 
 bricks eighteen inches long bonding 
 through the whole thickness. In con- 
 sequence of the prejudice in favour of 
 steeples, and that no disappointment 
 might arise of the new church fall- 
 ing short of the old one, Wren, to 
 give a greater height than the cupola 
 would gracefully admit of, felt com- 
 pelled to raise another structure over 
 the first cupola. For this purpose he 
 constructed a cone of brick, so as to sup- 
 port the vast stone lantern which sur- 
 mounts it. This cone was covered with 
 an oak roof, and this again with lead, 
 in the same manner as the other parts 
 of the church. Between this outside 
 covering and the brick cone there are 
 stairs to ascend to the lantern, lighted 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 
 
 1. Great Pyramid. 
 
 2. Spire of Mechlin. 
 
 3. St. Peter's. 
 4.'.St. Paul's. 
 
 5. Strasburgh Cathedral. 
 
 6. H6tel de Yille, Brussels. 
 
 7. Salisbury Spire. _ 
 
 8. Notre Dame, Paris. 
 
 9. Pagoda by Sir W. Chambers. 
 
 10. Wellington's Testimonial. 
 
 11. Monument, London. 
 
 12. Trajan's Column. 
 
 13. Nelson's Column. 
 
 14. Obelisk, front of St. Peter's. 
 
 15. Cleopatra's Needle. 
 
 1G. Leaning Tower at Pisa. 
 
 17. Temple of the Giants, Agrigen- 
 
 18. Parthenon. [turn. 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 21 
 
 from the lantern above, which did away 
 with the necessity of making the small 
 ugly windows in the dome, as at 
 St. Peter's. The inside of the whole 
 cupola is painted by Sir James 
 Thornhill, in eight compartments. In 
 the crown of the vault, as in the 
 Pantheon, there is a circular opening, 
 by which not only the lantern transmits 
 light, but the inside ornaments of the 
 painted and gilded cone display a new 
 and agreeable scene. Instead, however, 
 of painting the dome, Wren had 
 proposed it should, like that of St. 
 Peter's, be enriched with the more du- 
 rable and appropriate ornament of Mo- 
 saic, and had procured artists from 
 Italy for its execution ; but the igno- 
 rance and the prejudice of the persons 
 employed as commissioners, in this, as 
 in other cases, thwarted his views. 
 The ornaments at the East end he 
 designed should only be temporary, till 
 the materials for the completion of a 
 magnificent altar which he had planned 
 could be procured. 
 
 In scale* and beauty of internal or- 
 nament, as well as material, situation, 
 and climate, the work of Wren cannot 
 come in competition with its great 
 rival ; but in architectural excellence 
 it has fair claims to be placed on an 
 equality ; surpassing it in some things, 
 if in others it falls short. The portico 
 in front of St. Peter's, both for its 
 beauty of proportion and vast size, is 
 admitted to be a feature of high excel- 
 lence and without any match in St. 
 Paul's ; yet the whole flat front of St. 
 Peter's, terminating in a straight line at 
 the top, cannot be said to afford such a 
 pleasing variety as is bestowed by the 
 elevation of the pediment in the middle, 
 and the beautiful campanile towers at 
 each end of the front of St. Paul's. One 
 of the happiest parts of the invention is 
 in the intersection of the three vistos of 
 the nave, the aisles, and the cross and 
 transept, attained by the octangular 
 arrangement of the piers, which is as 
 beautiful as it is novel, giving four 
 additional views to the usual arrange- 
 ment, and with an effect remarkable 
 for its boldness and lightness. Fi- 
 
 gures 4 and 5, exhibit the ground 
 plans of the two buildings drawn on 
 
 * Relative Sizes. 
 
 
 St. Peter's 
 
 St. Paul's. 
 
 Long within .... 669 . 
 
 . 500 
 
 Broad at the entrance . . 226 . 
 
 . 100 
 
 Front, without . , . 395 . 
 
 . 180 
 
 Broad at the cross . . 442 . 
 
 . 223 
 
 Cupola, diameter 139 . 
 
 . 108 
 
 Cupola and lantern, high . 432 . 
 
 . 330 
 
 Church, high . . . 146 . 
 
 . 110 
 
 Height of pillars in front . . 91 . 
 
 . 40 
 
 the same scale ; the peculiarity noticed 
 in the ground plan of St. Paul's is 
 pointed out by the dotted lines. In 
 St. Peter's the whole building is sur- 
 rounded by a repetition of vast pilas- 
 ters. In St. Paul's, however, take 
 the building in any point of view, it 
 
22 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 is highly picturesque, the different re- 
 turns and facades affording endless va- 
 riety of views ; no patching, no incon- 
 gruous additions disfigure the unity of 
 the composition, which, as a whole, for 
 harmony of design and justness of pro- 
 portion, has certainly never been sur- 
 passed. 
 
 "With respect to the charge of pla- 
 giarism from the work of Michael An- 
 gelo, the two buildings are sufficiently 
 different utterly to rebut this. The 
 Romans adapted to their purposes the 
 beauties of the architecture of Greece, 
 combining them so as to suit their inten- 
 tions ; and Palladio, abandoning the 
 barbarous taste of the middle ages, 
 adapted the great remains both of Greek 
 and Roman antiquity to the genius of 
 the times, but did not repeat or copy 
 them. Michael Angelo availed himself 
 of the Pantheon in his cupola, and Wren, 
 again, availed himself of the knowledge 
 of M. Angelo ; but there is nothing 
 like servile copying, or unmeaning 
 adaptation, in any one part of his work. 
 To form a just idea of the relative 
 sizes of the two buildings, we have 
 added an outline, showing the compa- 
 rative size of St. Peter's and St. 
 Paul's, and the vacant spaces have been 
 filled up with the outlines of some of the 
 most remarkable buildings now exist- 
 ing, all on the same base and all drawn 
 on the same scale, but unfortunately, 
 owing to an error, the height of St. 
 Paul's in the figure is a little less than 
 it should have been. The buildings have 
 principally been taken from the work of 
 Mons. Durand, The Parallel of Archi- 
 tecture, by far the most important pro- 
 duction of the kind which has yet been 
 published, and affording great facility for 
 the consideration of the general princi- 
 ples of architecture. It consists of ninety 
 large folio plates, containing elevations 
 and plans of the principal ancient and 
 modern buildings and monuments, all 
 drawn on the same scale. It is a 
 matter of regret, that it is defective, 
 inasmuch as, (either from jealousy or 
 ignorance,) among the ninety plates, 
 neither Westminster Abbey, York Ca- 
 thedral, Greenwich and Chelsea Hos- 
 pitals, our bridges, nor even our docks, 
 (the largest in the world,) are inserted; 
 and amongst the plans of English thea- 
 tres, the only one given is that in the 
 Haymarket. 
 
 In addition to the total want of the 
 rich ornaments and the costly materials 
 which adorn the interior of the church 
 
 of St. Peter, it also far surpasses the 
 building of Wren in the nature of the 
 materials with which it is constructed. 
 It has been a matter of regret that the 
 quality of the stone used in the public 
 buildings of this country has been 
 hitherto but little attended to. Many 
 of the public edifices of London, Edin- 
 burgh, Bath, and Oxford, furnish 
 melancholy instances of the want of 
 judgment in this choice of materials. 
 It is obvious that the stone which is 
 most porous, will, when exposed to the 
 weather, be least durable : water lodges 
 in its pores and penetrates the crevices, 
 and by the mere change of temperature 
 does mischief; but during frost the 
 expansion is so great, that in a single 
 winter the sharp parts often entirely 
 crumble away. The fitness of the differ- 
 ent species of sandstone for the purpose 
 of building, may in a great measure be 
 judged of by immersing the specimens 
 in water, each being previously weighed, 
 and all of one size; the excellence of 
 the stone will be inversely to the quan- 
 tity of water absorbed. The magne- 
 sian limestone, so abundant in England, 
 is considered the best adapted for archi- 
 tectural purposes ; it is far preferable to 
 that termed the Oolite of Somersetshire 
 and the Isle of Portland, of which the 
 most important buildings have hitherto 
 been constructed. Rain water always 
 contains carbonic acid, which acts che- 
 mically on limestone, but less on those 
 kinds which are fine grained and mag- 
 nesian, than those which are coarse 
 and free from magnesia ; and although 
 this often produces an external harden- 
 ing, as in the Bath stone, it is only 
 the forerunner of a more quick peeling 
 off and destruction. It is obvious, that 
 for durability, the granites, sienites, 
 whinstones, and porphyries, are most 
 to be preferred. The Strand Bridge is 
 a magnificent example of the use of 
 granite ; the exterior being entirely con- 
 structed of two sorts, the coarse-grained 
 granite of Devon and Cornwall, and 
 the fine-grained and harder sort from 
 Aberdeen, used for the balustrades, 
 and stronger than that from Cornwall, 
 as 22 to 14. The only means of proving 
 the respective durability of them is 
 from the effect of time ; and the Cornish 
 granite evidently appears to have suf- 
 fered more decay than the harder stone 
 of the North. Granite, however, indepen- 
 dently of the great increase of expense 
 incurred in the working it, is unfitted for 
 all the finer parts of ornamental work ; 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 23 
 
 in that case it would be well to adopt the 
 marble or dolomite of Scotland, or the 
 magnesian limestones, so much to be 
 preferred to the perishable sand and 
 lime stones of the west of England.* 
 But the subject has not yet re- 
 ceived its due share of attention from 
 those whose pursuits and knowledge 
 best enable them to form an accurate 
 judgment upon it. 
 
 Although Wren's new employ- 
 ments occupied much of his time, his 
 zeal for the advancement of science 
 never forsook him; but, as he em- 
 ployed himself in the practical parts of 
 building, his communications to the 
 Royal Society became more technical, 
 and applied principally to his own art. 
 A very interesting letter to Lord 
 Brounker,the first president of the Royal 
 Society, is given by Mr. Elmes : it is 
 in answer to a request to provide some- 
 thing for the suitable entertainment of 
 his majesty, who had purposed visiting 
 the Society. Upon this Wren observes, 
 " The experiments for the establishment 
 of natural philosophy are seldom pomp- 
 ous ; it is upon billiard and tennis balls, 
 upon the purling of sticks and tops, 
 upon a vial of water, a wedge of glass, 
 that the great Des Cartes has built the 
 most refined and accurate theories 
 that human wit ever reached to ; and 
 certainly nature, in the best of her 
 works, is apparent enough in obvious 
 things, were they but curiously ob- 
 served ; and the key that opens treasures 
 is often plain and rusty, but unless it 
 be gilt, the key alone will make no 
 show at court." It does not appear 
 how the philosophers succeeded in 
 entertaining their royal guest. Wren 
 in 1673 resigned the Savillian pro- 
 fessorship, which he had held so long 
 with credit. He was twice in Parlia- 
 ment, though it does not appear that 
 he took any active part in the debates. 
 In 1G80 he was elected President of 
 the Royal Society, and before that pe- 
 riod he had been knighted by Charles 
 
 The delight one can well conceive a 
 person of Wren's genius to have en- 
 joyed, in the contemplation of the rise 
 of the vast edifice which his creative 
 genius had called into existence, was not 
 undisturbed or unalloyed. Many im- 
 proper persons were joined with him 
 in the commission ; and they, having 
 private interests to serve, and selfish 
 
 Brande's Journal, yoI. iii, 381. 
 
 feelings to indulge, were thwarted 
 by the inflexibility of Wren, who ex- 
 posed at once their meanness and their 
 ignorance. This, it may be supposed, 
 was neither forgotten nor forgiven; 
 and they joined in a cabal, persecuting 
 him with every species of bitter 
 malevolence. It will scarcely be sup- 
 posed that one of Wren's genius and 
 talent, of his gentle bearing towards all, 
 his high patriotic feeling, at once the 
 judge and the patron of every thing that 
 was useful either in the arts or sciences, 
 should have been subjected to the petty 
 cavilling of a few interested persons with- 
 out greatly retarding the progress of the 
 building. But this was not all; the party 
 having procured a clause to be inserted 
 in an act of parliament, suspending a 
 moiety of his pittance (200/. a year) 
 till the building was finished, Wren was 
 kept out of his money long after it was 
 due, under the pretence that the build- 
 ing was not complete, whereas the ca- 
 villers themselves, by their impe- 
 diments, alone hindered its completion. 
 He was in consequence obliged to peti- 
 tion Queen Anne; and in his memorial 
 he states, that the arbitrary proceedings 
 of some of the commissioners had alone 
 obstructed his measures for the comple- 
 tion of the work. This was handed over to 
 the commissioners themselves for their 
 answer, who replied by mean and paltry 
 excuses. Wren, however, was not to 
 be borne down by a low cabal : he next 
 addressed the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 and the Bishop of London, and the 
 document itself affords ample testimony 
 of the treatment he had received. 
 
 " The design of the parliament (he 
 states) in granting the coal duty for 
 the said cathedral, being to have the 
 building completed with all possible 
 speed, they did, to encourage and oblige 
 the surveyor's diligence in carrying on 
 the work, suspend half his allowance 
 till all should be done. Whereby, I 
 humbly conceive, it may justly from 
 thence be implied, that they thought 
 the building, and every thing* belonging 
 to it, was wholly under my management 
 and direction, and that it was in my 
 power to hasten or protract it. How 
 far it has been so your lordships know; 
 as also how far I have been limited and 
 restrained. However, it has pleased 
 God so to bless my sincere endeavours, 
 as that I have brought the building to 
 a conclusion, so far as is in my power ; 
 and I think nothing can be said now to 
 remain imperfected, but the iron fence 
 
54 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 round the church, and painting the 
 cupola, the directing of which is taken 
 out of my hands, and therefore I hope 
 that I am neither answerable for them, 
 nor that the said suspending clause 
 can, or ought to, affect me any further 
 on that account. As for painting the 
 cupola, your lordships know it has been 
 long under consideration ; that I have 
 110 power left me concerning it ; and 
 that it is not resolved in what manner 
 to do it, or whether at all. And as for 
 the iron fence, it is so remarkable and 
 fresh in memory by whose influence 
 and importunity it was wrested from me, 
 and the doing it carried in a way that 
 I may venture to say will ever be con- 
 demned. I have just this to observe 
 further, that your lordships had no hand 
 in it; and consequently ought not to 
 share in the blame that may attend it. 
 
 " This, then, being the case, and no- 
 thing left that I think can keep the 
 same clause of suspension any longer 
 in force against me, 
 
 " I most humbly pray your lordships 
 to grant your warrant for paying me 
 what is due to me on that article, which 
 was 1,300Z. last Michaelmas. And if 
 for the future my advice and assistance 
 be required in any thing about the said 
 cathedral, I will be ready to give the 
 same, and to leave the consideration of 
 it to your lordships." 
 
 This representation not succeeding, 
 he applied at once to parliament, who 
 rendered him that tardy justice, the long 
 denial of which reflects so much disgrace 
 on those who opposed his just claims. 
 
 " Whereupon that honourable and 
 august assembly," says Sir Christopher,* 
 " so considered his case, and were so 
 well satisfied with the justice and the 
 reasonableness of it, as to declare the 
 church to be finished so far as was re- 
 quired to be done and performed by 
 him as surveyor-general. And it was 
 accordingly enacted, that the suspended 
 salary should be paid him on or before 
 December the 25th, 1711, which he has 
 the truest sense of, and has not, he 
 hopes, been wanting in all due acknow- 
 ledgments and returns for it. Neither 
 is it possible that he, or his poste- 
 rity should ever forget so signal and 
 distinguishing a favour, while he can 
 remember the unjust and vile treatment 
 he had from some in the late commis- 
 
 * In a pamphlet which he published stating his 
 case, and for the purpose of answering an attack 
 made on him in a pamphlet entitled " Fraudulent 
 Abuses at St. Paul's." 
 
 sion for St. Paul's ; which was such as 
 gave him reason enough to think that 
 they intended him none of the suspended 
 salary, if it had been left in their power 
 to defeat him of it." 
 
 By the death of Anne, Wren lost 
 the last of his royal patrons ; in the 
 new reign, the king's partiality for his 
 German subjects and their connections 
 deprived him of the sunshine of royal 
 favour. His talents, his uprightness, 
 and his fame were all forgotten: the 
 corruption of that period in the disposal 
 of patronage is well known. At last, 
 after a severe struggle in the 86th year 
 of his age and the 49th of his office as 
 surveyor- general, he was deprived of his 
 patent in favour of one Benson, his 
 German influence prevailing over one 
 who would not condescend to truckle 
 even to a court, and whose life, as 
 Walpole observes, having enriched 
 the reign of several princes, disgraced 
 the last of them. The intrigue which 
 deprived him of his office is noticed in 
 the memoirs of John Ker of Kersland ; 
 who states that, " so great was the in- 
 fluence of Benson, (a favourite of the 
 Germans,) that Sir C. Wren, the fa- 
 mous architect who contrived the stately 
 edifice of St. Paul's church, was turned 
 out of his employment to make way for 
 this favourite of foreigners." Pope also 
 in a note to the Dunciad says, " In fa- 
 vour of this man, the famous Sir C. 
 Wren, who had been architect to the 
 crown for above fifty years, who built 
 most of the churches in London, laid 
 the first stone of St. Paul's, and lived to 
 finish it, was displaced from his em- 
 ployment at the age of 90 years." 
 
 It may, indeed, be observed, that 
 Wren's son was at this time member 
 for Windsor, and probably some oppo- 
 sition to the wishes of the court might 
 have had an influence on the father's 
 fall. Benson himself, however, was soon 
 disgraced and removed on the discovery 
 of his ignorance and incapacity, and 
 marked for public prosecution for his 
 dishonesty ; but the same influence, 
 which had caused his original eleva- 
 tion, at once stopped the prosecution 
 and loaded him with disgraceful rewards 
 out of the public purse,* in the shape 
 
 * Benson and Wren each had his due'notice in 
 the Dunciad. 
 
 Benson, sole judge of architecture, sit, 
 And namby pamby be preferred to wit; 
 While Wren with sorrow to the grave descends 
 Gay dies unpensiou'd with a hundred friends.. 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 25 
 
 of reversionary grants and crown 
 leases. 
 
 The following curious paper of Wren's 
 is given by Mr. Elmes : it is in answer 
 to the commissioners, who insisted on a 
 balustrade to St. Paul's, none having 
 been originally designed ; and it is one 
 of the long series of attacks which were 
 made on him by his enemies. 
 
 " I have considered the resolution of 
 the honourable the commissioners for 
 adorning St. Paul's Cathedral, dated 
 October 15, 1717, and brought to me 
 on the 2 1st, importing that a balustrade 
 of stone be set up on the top of the 
 church, unless Sir Christopher Wren, 
 in writing under his hand, set forth, 
 that it is contrary to the principles of 
 architecture, and give his opinion in a 
 fortnight's time; and if he doth not, 
 then the resolution of a balustrade is to 
 be proceeded with. 
 
 " In observation of this resolution, I 
 take leave, first, to declare I never de- 
 signed a balustrade. Persons of little 
 skill in architecture did expect, I be- 
 lieve, to see something they had been 
 used to in Gothic structures ; and ladies 
 think nothing well without an edging. 
 I should gladly have complied with the 
 vulgar taste, but I suspended for rea- 
 sons following : 
 
 " A balustrade is supposed a sort of 
 plinth over the upper colonnade, which 
 may be divided into balusters over open 
 parts or voids, but kept solid over solid 
 parts, such as pilasters ; for a con- 
 tinued range of balusters cannot be 
 proposed to stand alone against high 
 winds : they would be liable to be 
 lopped down in a row, if there were not 
 solid parts at due distances intermixed, 
 which solid parts are in the form of 
 pedestals, and may be in length as 
 long as the frieze below where pilasters 
 are double, as in our case ; for double 
 pilasters may have one united pedestal, 
 as they have one entablature and one 
 frieze extended over both. But, now, in 
 the inward angles, where the pilasters 
 cannot be doubled, as before they were, 
 the two voids or more open parts would 
 be in the angle with one small pilaster 
 between them, and create a very disagree- 
 able mixture. I amfurtherto observe, that 
 there is already over the entablature a 
 proper plinth, which regularly termi- 
 nates the building ; and as no provision 
 was originally made in my plan for a 
 balustrade, the setting up one in such 
 a confused manner over the plinth must 
 apparently break into the fiarmony of 
 
 the whole machine, and, in this par- 
 ticular case, be contrary to the prin- 
 ciples of architecture. 
 
 " The like objections as to some 
 other ornaments, suppose of vases, for 
 they will be double upon the solids ; 
 but in the inward angles there will be 
 scarce room for one, though each of 
 them be about two feet nine inches at 
 bottom, and nine feet high : yet these 
 will appear contemptible below, and 
 bigger we cannot make them unless we 
 fall into the crime of false bearing, 
 which artisans of the lowest rank will 
 have sense enough to condemn. 
 
 " My opinion, therefore, is to have sta- 
 tues erected on the four pediments only, 
 which will be a most proper, noble, and 
 sufficient ornament to the whole fabric, 
 and was never omitted in the best an- 
 cient Greek and Roman architecture ; 
 the principles of which, throughout all 
 my schemes of this colossal structure, 
 I have religiously endeavoured to 
 follow; and if I glory, it is in the 
 singular mercy of God, who has enabled 
 me to begin and finish my great work 
 so conformable to the ancient model. 
 
 " The pedestals for the statues I have 
 already laid in the building, which now 
 stand naked for want of their acroteria. 
 " Christopher Wren." 
 
 These details respecting the erection 
 of a building which (if we except St. 
 Peter's) is unrivalled in the world, will 
 not, it is hoped, appear either trifling 
 or tedious, but give an additional inter- 
 est to the contemplation of that splen- 
 did monument of Wren's genius. 
 
 The character and fate of Michael 
 Angelo and Wren were in many re- 
 spects akin: remarkable alike for the 
 universality of genius, each the builder 
 of the greatest work of architecture of 
 his time, each untainted by any vice, and 
 regardless of private interests, (for Mi- 
 chael Angelo received no remuneration 
 on account of St. Peter's,) they were 
 both persecuted by the envious, and each 
 had his works altered by the ignorant. 
 Michael Angelo's severe honesty, in 
 compelling those who received pay to 
 give their labour in return, conjured up 
 a whole host of enemies ; and sickened 
 with these obstacles he sought to free 
 himself by the resignation of his charge. 
 " I entreat your eminence," he writes to 
 Cardinal Carpi, " to liberate me from 
 this vexatious employment, which, by 
 the command of the popes, I undertook 
 seventeen years ago, during which pe- 
 
26 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 riod I have given manifest proofs of 
 my zeal in the prosecution of the work. 
 I again earnestly entreat I may resign, 
 which would be conferring on me the 
 greatest favour." 
 
 Amongst the many willing to do jus- 
 tice to the merit and the modesty of 
 Wren, when labouring under the per- 
 secution of court intrigue, was Sir 
 Richard Steel, who,in his Tatler, No.52, 
 under the character of Nestor of 
 Athens, observes that " his art and skill 
 were soon disregarded for want of that 
 manner with which men of the world 
 support and assert the merits of their 
 own performances ; this bashful quality 
 still put a damp on his great knowledge, 
 which has as fatal an effect upon men's 
 reputation as poverty, for it is said, 
 (Ecclesiasticus, ch. ix. v. 15,) The poor 
 man by his wisdom delivered the city, 
 yet no man remembered the same poor 
 man. So here we find the modest man 
 built the city, and the modest man's 
 skill was unknown ; but surely posterity 
 are obliged to allow him that praise 
 after his death which he so industriously 
 declined while he was living." 
 
 Chapter V. 
 To the End of his Life. 
 
 Wren quitted the field without a 
 struggle ; he retired in peace from the 
 world to his home at Hampton Court, 
 without being affected by any of 
 that bitterness or those angry feelings 
 which the ingratitude and injustice of a 
 court so often engender in minds of less 
 noble stamp, saying, Nunc me jubet 
 fortuna expeditius philosophari. Cheer- 
 ful in his solitude, and as well pleased 
 to die in the shade as in the light his son 
 observes of him in the Parentalia, " that 
 the vigour of his mind continued with a 
 vivacity rarely found in persons of his 
 age, till within a short period of his death, 
 and not till then could he quit the great 
 aim of his whole life to be (to use his 
 own words) a benefactor to mankind ; his 
 great humanity appearing to the last in 
 benevolence and complacency, free from 
 all moroseness in behaviour or aspect ; 
 he was happily endued with such an 
 evenness of temper, steady tranquillity, 
 and Christian fortitude, that no inju- 
 rious incidents or inquietudes of human 
 life could ever ruffle or discompose." 
 
 The five remaining years of his life 
 were passed in complete repose. Re- 
 turning occasionally to superintend the 
 repairs of Westminster Abbey, his only 
 remaining public employment, he di- 
 
 vided his time between the study of 
 the Scriptures, which were at once his 
 guide and his delight, and in the revi- 
 sion of his philosophical works, more 
 particularly those upon the Longitude, 
 and his tracts on Mathematics and Astro- 
 nomy. Time, which had enfeebled his 
 limbs, left his faculties unclouded till 
 nearly the end of his existence. His 
 chief delight to the very close of life was, 
 that of being carried once a year to see 
 his great work ; " the beginning and 
 completion of which," observes Walpole, 
 " was an event which one cannot wonder 
 left such an impression of content on 
 the mind of the good old man, that it 
 seemed to recall a memory almost dead- 
 ened to every other use." 
 
 Wren's dissolution was as placid as 
 the tenour of his existence had been. 
 On the 25th of February, 1723, his ser- 
 vant conceiving he slept longer after 
 his dinner than usual, entered his room, 
 and found him dead in his chair. He, to 
 whom in his latter days all distinction 
 had been denied, received, as frequently 
 happens, the tardy honour of a splendid 
 funeral ; his remains were deposited in 
 the crypt under the southernmost win- 
 dow of the choir of the Cathedral which 
 he had raised ; a plain black slab alone 
 covers the coffin, but no monument be- 
 yond the Pile itself attests his good- 
 ness or his greatness. On the western 
 jamb of the window of the crypt, is a 
 tablet with this inscription : 
 
 Subtus conditur 
 Huius ecclesiae et urbis conditor 
 
 Ch. Wren, 
 Qui vixit annos ultra nonaginta 
 Non sibi sed bono publico. 
 Lector, si monumentum quseris 
 Circumspice.* 
 
 Robert Milne, one of his successors in 
 the care of the cathedral, caused this 
 inscription to be placed in gilt letters in 
 a tablet in front of the skreen of the 
 organ : and it is a reproach to the nation 
 and to the age, that no other monument 
 has ever been erected. Indeed, until Mr. 
 Elmes's volume, (with the exception of 
 the Parentalia, )t no biographical notice 
 
 * " Beneath is laid the builder of this church and 
 city, Christopher Wren, who lived above ninety 
 years, not for himself but for the public good. 
 Reader, if thou seekest for his monument, look 
 around." 
 
 t Parentalia, or Memoirs of the Family of the 
 Wrens, folio, London, 1750. This work was com- 
 menced by the son of Sir C. Wren, and was not 
 completed till thirty years after his death, when it 
 was published by his grandson, Stephen Wren. The 
 work itself is of little iulerest; most of the facts it 
 records have been adopted by Mr. Elmes, in his Life 
 of Wren, 4to., 1823, and from these two works the 
 biographical part of the present treatise has been 
 chiefly compiled, 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 27 
 
 of him had been published. We trust, 
 however, that before long Mr. Cockerel, 
 the present architect to St. Paul's, 
 who has lately superintended its re- 
 pairs with so much judgment, will carry 
 into effect an intention he is known long 
 to have entertained, of giving to the 
 world a critical account of Wren's most 
 important architectural works, accom- 
 panied by a selection from the large 
 collection of drawings now in the library 
 of All Souls' College. Till this shall 
 be done, it can hardly be said that 
 his professional merits can be duly 
 appreciated. Mr. Cockerel's attain- 
 ments and talents afford a pledge that 
 the work will be all that either the ar- 
 chitect or the amateur can require. 
 
 Wren was twice married ; first to the 
 daughter of Sir Thomas Coghill, by 
 whom he had one son, Christopher. He 
 afterwards married a daughter of Wil- 
 liam Lord Fitzwilliam, Baron of Lifford, 
 in Ireland, by whom he had a son and 
 a daughter. The family is not extinct : 
 Mr. Elmes mentions two daughters, and 
 the son of his grandson Stephen, and 
 Christopher Wren, the son of their cou- 
 sin, of Wroxhall-abbey, in Warwick- 
 shire, a seat of Sir C. Wren's, where his 
 only son, Christopher, is buried. 
 
 In considering the life of Wren we 
 are struck with the splendour of his 
 abilities, the greatness of his peresever- 
 ance and labour, the scantiness of his 
 remuneration, and the ingratitude and in- 
 justice which he experienced towards the 
 close of his long and arduous course. 
 When the prices paid in these days to 
 artists are called to mind, what must be 
 the surprise at learning that the whole 
 salary paid to the architect of St Paul's 
 was only 200/. a year. Wren afforded 
 all his services in the building of 
 Greenwich Hospital, without any salary 
 or emolument, preferring in this, as in 
 every other passage of his life, the 
 public service to private advantage. 
 And it will be observed, that his salary 
 of 200/. a year was not paid for his 
 mere designs and time ; it included the 
 whole expense of models and drawings 
 of every part, the daily overseeing of the 
 works, the framing of the estimates and 
 contracts, and auditing the bills. With* 
 out making any invidious comparison, 
 it cannot be denied, that of late there 
 have been few such examples shown of 
 disinterested services towards the public 
 by artists employed in situations similar 
 to his. The scantiness of his pay 
 
 was more than once noticed by the 
 writers of the time ; and Sarah Duchess 
 of Marlborough, in a letter* respect- 
 ing the charges of one of the persons 
 employed to superintend the comple- 
 tion of Blenheim, who had made a 
 charge of 300/. a year for his services, 
 beside a salary for his clerk, complains 
 bitterly at. being compelled to pay this, 
 " when," she observes, " it is well known 
 that Sir C. Wren was content to be 
 dragged up in a basket three or four 
 times a week to the top of St. Paul's, and 
 at great hazard, for 200/. a year." Her 
 Grace was perhaps but little capable of 
 drawing any nice distinction between 
 the feelings of the hired surveyor of 
 Blenheim, and those of our architect in 
 the contemplation of the rising of the 
 fabric which his vast genius was calling 
 into existence : her notions led her to 
 estimate the matter by the simple pro- 
 cess of the rule of three direct ; and on 
 this principle she certainly had good 
 reason to complain of her surveyor, 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 Hit other Works. 
 
 In addition to the great work of St. 
 Paul's, Wren, who was appointed the 
 architect for the rebuilding of the whole 
 city, superintended the erection of all 
 the churches, amounting to more than 
 fifty ; he was also the architect and 
 contriver of Chelsea College, and the 
 principal officer and comptroller of the 
 works at Windsor. A considerable part 
 of Greenwich Hospital was erected by 
 him, and a splendid palace for a hunt- 
 ing seat of Charles II., now turned into 
 a barrack, was commenced at Winches- 
 ter. In addition to all these duties, 
 a large proportion of his time was 
 occupied, after the fire of London, in 
 setting out and ascertaining the sites 
 of the different houses destroyed an 
 employment little suited to his genius, 
 and which involved him in endless al- 
 tercation. His pay as the architect for 
 rebuilding the churches in the city, 
 was not more liberal than for St. Paul's, 
 being no more than 100/. a year; the 
 parish of St. Stephen, Walbrook, how- 
 ever, appears, on his completing that 
 admirable church, to have voted a pre- 
 sent to his lady of twenty guineas ! 
 
 In a sketch intended merely for 
 general readers, it is not necessary 
 to enumerate in detail the different 
 churches erected by him : those which 
 
 * la -the possession of W.Tooke, Esq, 
 
28 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 are most celebrated for the beauty and 
 convenience of the interior, are St. 
 Stephen's,Walbrook, St. Andrew's, Hol- 
 born, and St. James's Church in Pic- 
 cadilly. St. Stephen's is, by many, con- 
 sidered as the most perfect specimen of 
 Wren's genius ; and it has not, perhaps, 
 been surpassed by any modern edifice in 
 elegance and unity of design. It is an ob- 
 long square of seventy-five by fifty-six 
 feet; its peculiar beauty arises from 
 the elegance of the vaulting, the form 
 of the cupola, the disposition of the 
 Corinthian columns, the lightness of 
 the supporting arches, and the distri- 
 bution of the light from above. A 
 judicious and elegant writer on the 
 Public Buildings of London observes, 
 " that this building, so little known 
 amongst us, is famous all over Europe, 
 and is reputed the masterpiece; of 
 Wren. Perhaps Italy itself can pro- 
 duce no modern building that can vie 
 with it in taste or proportion. There 
 is not a beauty which the plan would 
 admit of, that is not to be found here in 
 its greatest perfection: and foreigners 
 very justly call our taste in question for 
 understanding its graces no better, and 
 allowing it no higher degree of fame." 
 Such is the reputation of this struc- 
 ture amongst foreigners, that an anec- 
 dote is told of an Italian architect who 
 arrived in London and immediately re- 
 turned after having visited St. Stephen's. 
 
 The church of St. James, in Picca- 
 dilly, is divided, in the interior, into a 
 nave and two aisles ; the principal merit 
 is in the formation of the roof, which 
 is described from information furnished 
 by Mr. Cockerel, as singularly inge- 
 nious and economical ; and its simplicity, 
 strength, and beauty, are represented as 
 a perfect study of construction and ar- 
 chitectural economy. Sir Christopher 
 Wren, who himself conceived this to be 
 one of the best contrived of his churches, 
 observes in a letter 
 
 " Churches must be large: but still, 
 in our reformed religion, it should seem 
 vain to make a parish church larger 
 than that all who are present can both 
 hear and see. The Romanists, indeed, 
 may build larger churches : it is enough 
 if they hear the murmurs of the mass, 
 and see the elevation of the host ; but 
 ours are to be fitted for auditories. I 
 can hardly think it practicable to make 
 a single room so capacious, with pews 
 and galleries, as to hold above two 
 thousand persons, and all to hear the 
 service, and, see the preacher, I en- 
 
 deavoured to effect this, in building 
 the parish church of St. James, West- 
 minster, which, I presume, is the most 
 capacious with these qualifications that 
 hath yet been built ; and yet at a solemn 
 time, when the church was much crowd- 
 ed, I could not discern from a gallery, 
 that two thousand were present. In this 
 church I mention, though very broad, 
 and the nave arched up, yet as there are 
 no walls of a second order, nor lan- 
 terns, nor buttresses, but the whole of 
 the roof rests upon the pillars, as do 
 also the galleries, I think it may be found 
 beautiful and convenient, and, as such, 
 the cheapest of any form I could in- 
 vent." 
 
 The interior of St. Andrew's, Hol- 
 born, after St. James's Church, affords 
 one of the best specimens of ar- 
 rangement ; spacious, rich, and beauti- 
 ful. It has a nave and two aisles divided 
 into a basement and galleries : the length 
 is a hundred and five feet, the breadth 
 sixty-three, and the height forty-three. 
 
 No architect can come in competition 
 with Wren in the construction of the 
 steeple, which is considered a re- 
 quisite in Christian churches, and 
 in the composing of which it re- 
 quired his genius to combine the 
 excellence of the Roman architec- 
 ture, with the requisites of height 
 and lightness, to which it had not 
 before been adapted with any suc- 
 cess. The spire of St. Dunstan's in 
 the East is admitted to be unrivalled for 
 elegance, and is one of the finest monu- 
 ments of geometrical skill in existence. 
 That of Bow Church is also among 
 the most elegant of Wren's works ; the 
 bottom is a plain tower till it rises over 
 the houses; above this is a beautiful tem- 
 ple, and over it stand flying buttresses 
 supporting a lighter temple, surmounted 
 by a spire. Nothing can afford fuller evi- 
 dence of his power to combine and adapt 
 the elegant features of the Roman archi- 
 tecture, so as to suit the genius of the 
 work. Wren has not fallen into the 
 common error in building spires, of 
 making the spire straddle across a 
 Greek pediment and crush it with the 
 weight ; thus, the spire of Bow Church 
 is built separately, and rises from the 
 ground at an angle of the church. 
 
 Another curious work of Wren was 
 the pendulum stage in the upper part 
 of the spire of the Chichester Cathedral, 
 which he rebuilt, to counteract the 
 south-westerly gales, which had forced 
 it from its perpendicularity. {Fig. 6) A 
 
SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 29 
 
 sketch to illustrate this has been added 
 
 Fig. 0. 
 
 from the work of Mr. 
 Elmes. To the finial is 
 fastened a strong metal 
 ring, and to that is sus- 
 pended a large piece of 
 timber, 80 feet long, load- 
 ed with iron ; at the bot- 
 tom are two oak floors, 
 the upper about two in- 
 ches and a half, and the 
 lower three inches less 
 than the interior masonry 
 of the spire. When the 
 wind blows the spire out 
 of the perpendicular, the 
 pendulum floor touches 
 the lee side of the spire, 
 thus tending to restore the 
 equilibrium of the ma- 
 sonry. 
 
 The Doric column at 
 the foot of London Bridge, 
 (Monument,) the largest 
 single column in existence, 
 except the Wellington testimonial, at 
 Dublin, was also designed by Wren ; its 
 entire height is 202 feet, being 42 higher 
 than Trajan's column; the pedestal is 
 40 feet, high, 20 feet square; the dia- 
 meter of the base is 15 feet, and there 
 is a staircase in the shaft of 345 steps. 
 
 The works of Sir C. Wren do not 
 appear to have been all uniformly suc- 
 cessful. Hampton Court and Win- 
 chester Palace are far from being fa- 
 vourable specimens of the art. The 
 studies made by him from the buildings 
 of Louis the Fourteenth had too visi- 
 ble an effect on his own designs of 
 palaces and private buildings ; and 
 " it may be considered fortunate," 
 observes Horace Walpole, " that the 
 French built only palaces and no 
 churches, and therefore Saint Paul's 
 escaped, but Hampton Court was sa- 
 crificed to the god of false taste." 
 Wren's failure at Hampton Court may, 
 in a great measure, be attributed to his 
 having worked under the directions of 
 William, whose favourite residence it 
 was, and whose taste in architecture was 
 far below his merit as a patriot king*; 
 indeed, when the arrangement of the 
 low cloisters was criticized, the mo- 
 narch, with his wonted honesty, took 
 the whole blame on himself, acknow- 
 ledging that they had been constructed 
 by his own particular orders. Nor is 
 it unreasonable to infer that in his other 
 buildings, the defects arose in some de- 
 gree from the taste of his employers, 
 and that he was compelled by them to 
 
 adopt the French fashions, which at 
 that time retained the powerful influence 
 in this country, which the profligate 
 and frivolous court of Charles II. had 
 bestowed upon them. 
 
 We have omitted to notice the College 
 of Physicians,* built by Wren, which, in 
 a particular department, was one of the 
 most scientific of Wren's edifices. The 
 exterior, indeed, was nowise to be ad- 
 mired ; but in the interior, for the pur- 
 poses of utility and convenience, it was 
 considered perfect, as affording every 
 facility both for seeing and hearing, in 
 the display of anatomical operations 
 and philosophical experiments. As a 
 study of acoustic and optical architec- 
 ture it was perhaps unrivalled, the pe- 
 culiar character of the roof and form 
 of the section being admirably adapted 
 to the distribution of sound, and the 
 form of the hall equally suited to the 
 convenience of seeing. 
 
 In the construction of theatres and 
 of churches, the propagation "of sound 
 is one of the most important points to 
 be attended to. The doctrine of acou- 
 stics is little understood by builders in 
 this country, and yet, however hidden 
 to us the subject may be, it is certain 
 the ancients understood its principles 
 with great accuracy ; whilst in modern 
 times this important object of archi- 
 tecture has been almost wholly neg- 
 lected. Vitruvius describes the effects 
 of the science as well understood by 
 the Greeks. The method of producing 
 the effect of the increase of sound in 
 their theatres was singular ; and from 
 the mention of it in Vitruvius, as being 
 of frequent use both in these and in 
 the Roman theatres, it is to be inferred 
 that the effect sought was produced. 
 The arrangement, as described, con- 
 sisted in placing bronze vases or jars in 
 small chambers or recesses having an 
 opening in front in the precinctio, be- 
 tween the first and second row of seats. 
 These jars were inverted, having one end 
 partially raised : they were of different 
 sizes, and are said to have been ar- 
 ranged according to some principle of 
 harmony. It has been a matter of con- 
 siderable surprise that, with the num- 
 ber of travellers who have been of late 
 so actively exploring the antiquities of 
 Greece and Italy, no remains of this 
 contrivance have been discovered. Mr. 
 Banks, however, it is said, discovered 
 at Scythopolis the remains of these 
 chambers situated in the precinctio, 
 
 * This building is now dismantled, 
 
30 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 with doors at the back, apparently 
 for the convenience of access to adjust 
 the vases. This is an important sub- 
 ject of consideration in the construction 
 of theatres, and more particularly in 
 church architecture. In the present 
 churches it not unfrequently happens 
 that the architect ensures the congre- 
 gation full opportunity of contemplating 
 his edifice, by so building it that no ar- 
 ticulate sound can reach half the per- 
 sons present. There is another im- 
 portant point in the construction of 
 churches, which has been hitherto 
 mainly overlooked, namely, the advan- 
 tage arising from what is termed hy- 
 pethral light, or light from the roof. 
 When this is adopted, the interior archi- 
 tecture has its own light and shade in the 
 same way as the outside ; and that so- 
 lemn effect, so well adapted to sacred 
 buildings, is attained by the appear- 
 ance of seclusion and abstraction which 
 the light coming from above instead of 
 the sides is calculated to bestow. 
 
 Wren did not publish any works in 
 his lifetime, except his contributions to 
 the Royal Society, and his answer to 
 the attacks made against him. In the 
 Parentalia, a few fragments of essays 
 are printed, some of which contain very- 
 judicious observations on the science 
 of architecture. The limits of this 
 sketch do not, however, permit any 
 very long extracts; the following are, 
 perhaps, the most interesting : 
 
 " Position is necessary for perfecting beauty. 
 There are only two beautiful positions of strait 
 lines, perpendicular and horizontal ; this is from 
 nature, and consequently necessity, no other than 
 upright being firm. Oblique positions are discord 
 to the eye, unless answered in pairs, as in the sides 
 of an equicrural triangle ; therefore Gothic but- 
 tresses are all ill-favoured and were avoided by the 
 ancients, and no roofs, almost, but spheric raised to 
 be visible, except in the front, where the lines 
 answer in spheric in all positions the ribs answer. 
 Cones and multangular prisms want neither beauty 
 nor firmness, but are not ancient. 
 
 " Views contrary to beauty are deformity, or a 
 defect of uniformity : and plainness, which is the 
 excess of uniformity : variety makes the mean. 
 
 " Variety of uniformities makes complete beauty. 
 Uniformities are best tempered, as rhymes in poetry, 
 alternately, or sometimes with more variety, as in 
 stanzas. 
 
 " In things to be seen at once much variety 
 makes confusion, another vice of beauty. In things 
 that are not seen at once, and have no respect one 
 to another, great variety is commendable, provided 
 this variety transgress not the rules of optics and 
 geometry. 
 
 " An architect ought to be jealous of novelties., in 
 which fancy blinds the judgment; and to think his 
 judges as well those that are to live five centuries after 
 him, as those of his own time. That which is com- 
 mendable now for novelty, will not be a new in- 
 vention to posterity, when his w r orks are often 
 imitated, and when it is unknown which was the 
 original; but the glory of that which is good of 
 itself, is eternal. 
 
 " The architect ought above all things to be well 
 versed in perspective, for every thing that appears 
 
 well in the orthography may not be good in the 
 model, especially where are many angles and pro- 
 jections ; and everything that is good in model 
 may not be so when built; because a model is seen 
 from other stations and distances than the eye sees 
 the building ; but this will hold universally true, 
 that whatsoever is good in perspective, and will 
 hold so in all the principal views, whether direct or 
 oblique, will be as good in great, if this only caution 
 be observed, that regard be had. to the distance of 
 the eye in the principal stations. 
 
 " Things seen near at hand may have small and 
 many members, be well furnished with ornaments, 
 and may lie flatter ; on the contrary, all this care 
 is ridiculous at great distances ; there bulky mem- 
 bers and full projections casting quick shadows are 
 commendable; small ornaments at too great dis- 
 tance serve only to confound the symmetry and to 
 take away the lustre of the object, by darkening it 
 with many little shadows. 
 
 " There are different reasons for objects, whose 
 chief view is in front, and for those whose chief view 
 is sideways. 
 
 " Fronts ought to be elevated in the middle not 
 the corners; because the middle is the place of 
 greatest dignity and first arrests the eye; and 
 rather projecting forward in the middle than hollow. 
 For these reasons pavilions at the corners are 
 naught, because they make both faults, a hollow 
 and depressed front. Where hollows and solids are 
 mixed, the hollow is to be in the middle; for 
 hollows are either niehes, windows, or doors. . The 
 first require the middle to give the statue dignity ; 
 the second, that the view from within may be 
 direct ; the third, that the visto may be straight. 
 The ancients elevated the middle with a tympan 
 and statue, or a dome, The triumphant arches, 
 which now seem flat, were elevated by the mag- 
 nificent figure of the victor in his chariot with four 
 horses abreast, and other statues accompanying it. 
 No sort of pinnacle is worthy enough to appear in 
 the air but statue. Pyramids are Gothic ; pots are 
 modern French. Chimnies ought to be hid if not well 
 adorned. No roof can have dignity enough to ap- 
 pear above a cornice but the circular: in private 
 buildings it is excusable. The ancients affected 
 flatness. In buildings where the view is sideways, 
 as in streets, it is absolutely required that the 
 composition should be square ; intercolumniations 
 equal; projections not great; the cornices un- 
 broken, and every thing strait, equal, and uniform., 
 Breaks in the coraice, projectures of the upright 
 members, variety, inequality in the parts, various 
 heights of the roof, serve only to confound the per- 
 spective and make it deformed; while the breaches 
 and projections are cast upon one another and ob- 
 scure all symmetry. In this sort of building there 
 seems no proportion of length to the height; for 
 a portico the longer the more beautiful, in infinitum ; 
 on the contrary, fronts require a proportion of the 
 breadth to the height ; higher than three times the 
 breadth is indecent, and as ill to be above three 
 times as broad as high. From this rule I except 
 obelisks, pyramids, columns, such as Trajan's, &c, 
 which seem rather single things than compositions ; 
 I except also long porticoes, though seen direct, 
 where the eye, wandering over the same members, 
 infinitely repeated, and not easily finding the bounds, 
 makes no comparison of them with the height." 
 
 " Modern authors, who have treated of architec- 
 ture, seem generally to have little more in view, 
 but to set down the proportions of columns, archi- 
 traves, and cornices, in the several orders as they 
 are distinguished into Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, and 
 Composite ; and in these proportions, finding them 
 in the ancient fabrics of the Greeks and Romans, 
 (though more arbitrarily used than they care to 
 acknowledge,) they have reduced them into rules, 
 too strict and pedantic, and so as not to be trans- 
 gressed without the crime of barbarity; though, in 
 their own nature, they are but the modes and 
 fashions of those ages wherein they were used ; but 
 because they were found in the great structures, 
 (the ruins of which we now admire,) we think our- 
 selves strictly obliged still to follow the fashion, 
 though we can never attain to the grandeur of those 
 works," 
 
S1H CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 n 
 
 Chapter VII, 
 The School of Wren. His Successors. 
 
 It may be proper to close this trea- 
 tise with a few observations on the 
 successors of Wren, on the present 
 taste for architecture, and on the 
 French school. 
 
 Hawkesmore, Vanbrugh, Gibbs, and 
 others, of the same date, followed in 
 his footsteps, proceeding upon the 
 foundations laid by the revived or 
 Palladian school. Hawkesmore was 
 amongst the most successful pupils ; 
 he was so considered by his master, 
 and he certainly surpassed his con- 
 temporary, Vanbrugh. It is observable, 
 that after the age of Wren, something 
 beyond the pitch of the art was at- 
 tempted by his immediate successors, 
 and amongst the foremost in this attempt 
 was Hawkesmore. Something beyond 
 the orders, something almost colossal 
 appears to have been effected ; but al- 
 though there was a partial success, it 
 seems as if something greater was in- 
 tended than was, or indeed could be, 
 attained. The works of Hawkesmore 
 evince great beauties of conception, but 
 mixed with so many caprices and so 
 many defects, that he has perhaps 
 never yet received his due share of 
 credit. 
 
 The steeple, as applied to a building on 
 the plan of a Grecian or Roman temple, 
 is always absurd, and even Wren himself 
 could not always rescue it from deserv- 
 ed and contemptuous criticism: but 
 Hawkesmore appears to have been the 
 only one who has ventured to place this 
 steeple on one side of the building, as 
 in St. George's, Bloomsbury; by this 
 means avoiding at least the incongruity 
 of making a steeple rise out of a temple. 
 St. George's, Limehouse, and St. Mary's 
 Wolnoth's, may be considered as the 
 best specimen of his style; and the 
 beautiful portico of St. Martin's in the 
 Fields, now again about to see the 
 light, is the masterpiece of Gibbs. 
 
 Amongst the succeeding class in the 
 Palladian school, the most conspicuous 
 were Ware, Sir William Chambers, and 
 the Adams. Sir William Chambers's 
 works are remarkable for their taste 
 and elegance, and for a purer imitation 
 of the antique of Italy. The Adams, 
 with many defects chiefly from falling 
 into the details of the Venetian school, 
 produced works worthy of admiration, 
 and were the first who investigated the 
 Roman baths and the remains of the 
 Roman villas, thus opening a new 
 
 source of architectural combination, 
 of which they often took great and 
 judicious advantage. The Library at 
 Luton is one of the most striking ex- 
 amples of this happy adaptation. 
 
 Without being entirely devoted to 
 what is termed the Palladian school, 
 or wishing to be supposed insensible to 
 the beauty of the pure Grecian archi- 
 tecture, it must be admitted that the 
 present taste for the pure Greek is 
 carried too far. While we acknowledge 
 the excellence of the great original, 
 there is danger that some of the present 
 professors may lose sight of the valuable 
 additions which architecture has ac- 
 quired from the labours of the Romans, 
 and after them from the Revival school. 
 These improvements are more adapted 
 to utility than the Grecian architecture, 
 which was besides deficient in some of 
 the most important principles of magnifi- 
 cence, as for instance those obtained by 
 the introduction of the arch, which open- 
 ed a new field for grandeur, variety, and 
 extent, and enabled the architect to cover 
 a space beyond the power or combina- 
 tion of the Greeks to reach. It is almost 
 impossible, by taking the very few exist- 
 ing examples of Grecian architecture 
 (consisting only of sacred edifices) as 
 models, to erect buildings calculated to 
 serve the infinitely varied purposes of 
 modern wants, without the risk of distor- 
 tion and misapplication. The excellence 
 of Greek architecture consisted in its 
 principles of elegance and proportion, 
 and what may be termed the detail, 
 rather than its utility for the great pur- 
 poses of construction. The shape of the 
 Grecian temple admits of no change 
 without the destruction of its beauty : 
 add a side wing as a vestry, or let a tall 
 spire shoot up above the low tympanum, 
 and every principle of proportion and 
 fitness is destroyed. Besides, the thing 
 we produce has little resemblance to 
 the original: the Grecian temple was 
 designed to form a feature in the sur- 
 rounding landscape, to be a vehicle 
 for the exposition of sculpture, of the 
 most exquisite and elaborate kind ; 
 it was radiant with gold, azure, and 
 vermilion, laid on the pure marble ; 
 the delicate mouldings were to be seen 
 under an unclouded sun, and to remain 
 in a climate which conserved an un- 
 changed appearance for ages. How 
 different is the copy, cooped up in the 
 smokes of a great city, composed of 
 coarse materials, and without any aid 
 Of ornament, except a few mock stone 
 yases or figures wretchedly executed ! 
 
32 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. 
 
 The exclusive admiration of the Gre- 
 cian architecture is becoming the cant of 
 the day. It is impossible to agree with 
 the dogmas of the professors in their 
 exclusion of all the resources which the 
 ingenuity of the moderns has furnished, 
 and which the necessities of greater 
 civilisation require : yet this different 
 and less intolerant opinion may be en- 
 tertained without any deficiency in ad- 
 miration of the beautiful specimens of 
 antiquity. This country is greatly in- 
 debted to the publications of Stuart 
 and Revett, and of the Dillettanti So- 
 ciety, who first cultivated the true 
 taste for Grecian antiquities, and laid 
 accurate representations of them be- 
 fore the public. Stuart, whose ori- 
 ginal employment was that of painting 
 fan mounts, but whose talents and in- 
 dustry enabled him to surmount all diffi- 
 culties,conceived the happy idea of going 
 to the original source of the beautiful in 
 the arts ; and from reading the Grecian 
 history, figured to himself that there 
 must remain at Athens a purer style than 
 had been adopted either by the Romans 
 or by the Revival school. He perform- 
 ed thejourney on foot, with very slender 
 resources, and joining company with 
 Mr. Revett, produced the work which 
 has redounded so much to the credit of 
 himself and of his country. His project 
 immediately excited the jealousy and 
 with it the rivalry of the French, who 
 despatched Le Roy in order to anticipate 
 their labours, which he did by publish- 
 ing his work at Paris long before the 
 work of Stuart and Revett appeared. 
 Le Roy however employed only twenty- 
 one days in executing that which his 
 rivals were engaged on for three years. 
 The result might be easily foreseen. 
 Le Roy's book soon sold for waste 
 paper, and the Athenian Antiquities 
 have since their publication in Eng- 
 land been reprinted at Paris. 
 
 In mentioning the different great 
 artists of the English school, we 
 should do injustice in omitting the 
 names of several distinguished ama- 
 teur architects. Amongst the foremost 
 of these stand Lord Pembroke, Lord 
 Burlington, Lord Leicester, Dr. Aldriche, 
 and Dr. Clarke, whose labours have 
 tended so much to the advancement of 
 the science, and whose works redound 
 so much to their credit. 
 
 In comparing the French and Eng- 
 glish modern schools of architecture, 
 Monsieur Le Grand, in his Essay, has 
 very candidly admitted our superiority : 
 "The English," he says, " adopted Pal- 
 
 ladio, whilst we have followed the or- 
 ders of Vigniola ; but with this differ- 
 ence ; they adopted the plans of Pal- 
 ladio entire, and accompanied by all 
 their elegance and simplicity, whilst 
 we have applied the orders of Vi- 
 gniola to the most complex shapes in 
 o'ur buildings, and which we have 
 overloaded with whimsical ornaments 
 of the very worst taste ; and the re- 
 sult of a comparison between the an- 
 cient architecture and ours is, that our 
 own is complex, whilst that of the an- 
 cients was simple; theirs exhibits 
 grand ideas in the most trifling edifices, 
 whilst ours, in the execution of the 
 greatest objects, are but a collection of 
 small parts, and those united with dif- 
 ficulty, which is miscalled ingenuity." 
 
 The fact is, the French were ambitious 
 of forming a new school : they were to 
 invent new orders which were to be ex- 
 clusively French ; and their buildings in 
 the age of Louis XIV. exhibit examples, 
 in which all kinds of incongruous 
 ornament are collected together with- 
 out principle or meaning. To this suc- 
 ceeded what they conceived to be the 
 pure Grecian taste ; but as it was be- 
 fore the Grecian monuments had been 
 studied or understood, this second man- 
 ner was in truth very little more ele- 
 gant or perfect than the former. They 
 are scarcely ever successful in their at- 
 tempts to adopt the styles of antiquity : 
 although there is no nation so prone 
 to affect a species of classical show, 
 and none more ambitious of giving to 
 the productions in art a classical air. 
 This is observable particularly in their 
 school of design, and in their drama ; 
 and yet it is impossible to contend that 
 they havebeen successful. The difference 
 of taste and manner between the French 
 and the English, may, perhaps, be ac- 
 counted for in some degree by their 
 different modes of study. The French 
 both in their studies and in their pur- 
 suits adopt more of the academic system 
 than is followed in England ; they work 
 in bodies, and under the direction of the 
 government, whilst our most laboured 
 productions are the works of indivi- 
 duals, and consequently more likely to 
 afford specimens of originality, if not 
 of perfection. Without entirely deny- 
 ing the benefit of academies for the 
 advancement of the arts, it is only from 
 frequent experience of their failure 
 through mismanagement, that the ar- 
 gument arises against increasing their 
 number, or extending their influence. 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Introduction Michael Angelo's Early 
 Life. 
 
 There is no period in the history of the 
 world so fertile in striking and impor- 
 tant events, as that which embraces the 
 
 revival of letters, of the fine arts, and 
 the discovery of printing, which fol- 
 lowed in quick succession. It was to- 
 wards the close of this time, that Mi- 
 chael Angelo BuOxVARoti attained 
 his greatest eminence. 
 
 It was mainly his genius that was 
 B 
 
MICHAEL ANGBLO BUONAROTI. 
 
 to call into new life the arts of painting 
 and sculpture, and it was he, united with 
 Bruneleschi and Bramante, who was 
 destined to raise those splendid fabrics 
 which rival the greatest monuments of 
 ancient architecture. 
 
 In general, the incidents relating 
 to men whose lives were devoted to 
 study have been but imperfectly re- 
 corded, and it is often difficult to trace 
 out the steps by which excellence was 
 attained. The events, of the life of Mi- 
 chael Angelo have, however, been care- 
 fully noticed by Condivi and Vasari, 
 who were his scholars and friends, and 
 from their works the facts relating to this 
 biography have been principally collected. 
 If it should be considered that their works 
 partake too much of panegyric, their apo- 
 logy may be sought in the greatness and 
 universality of the genius of him whom 
 they recorded, which seems to have 
 dazzled all his contemporaries, and which 
 even won for him the praises of Aretin, 
 whose satire was called the scourge of 
 princes, and of whom it was' said, that he 
 spoke ill of every one save God." 
 
 The life of Michael Angelo is inti- 
 mately connected with the history of the 
 whole art of design ; indeed the great 
 excellence which he attained both as 
 a painter, a sculptor, and an architect, 
 cannot be sufficiently estimated except by 
 considering the state of these arts at the 
 time he commenced his career. In the 
 notice of the life of Sir Christopher 
 Wren, which has been already pub- 
 lished, some few observations respecting 
 the origin and progress of architecture 
 were inserted, in order that the reader 
 might be enabled the better to appre- 
 ciate the merits of that great artist. In 
 the present memoir, with a similar ob- 
 ject, some few general remarks will be 
 given respecting the origin and progress 
 of painting and sculpture. 
 
 Michael Angelo Buonaroti was born 
 in the year 1474 ; his family was ancient 
 and illustrious ; many of his ancestors 
 had at different periods filled the highest 
 offices in the Florentine republic* At 
 the time of his birth, his father was go- 
 vernor of the castle of Chiusi and Ca- 
 prese, but he soon after retired to his 
 patrimonial property near Florence, in 
 the neighbourhood of which were some 
 quarries. Michael Angelo was put to 
 nurse with a wife of one of the masons, 
 and used jestingly to attribute his excel- 
 lence as a sculptor, to having imbibed 
 with his milk a love for the chisels and 
 mallet of his foster-father. His fathw. 
 
 though of illustrious descent, being poor, 
 the brothers of Michael Angelo devoted 
 themselves to rural affairs, and the 
 management of the family estate. He 
 was placed at a grammar school in 
 the neighbourhood : his progress, how- 
 ever, was not great, his bent. for the 
 fine arts, which early discovered itself, 
 leading him to employ every moment 
 he could snatch unobserved, in draw- 
 ing whatever objects were at hand. 
 The profession of an artist being at this 
 period in little estimation, the pride of 
 the father and uncle was shocked at 
 the notion of the son's following the arls 
 as a trade, and they therefore sought, 
 not only by persuasion, but by chas- 
 tisement, to check his dawning taste; 
 he had however formed a friendship 
 with a young artist, the pupil of Ghir- 
 landaio, (then the most eminent painter 
 in Italy,) who encouraged his taste 
 by furnishing him with the drawings of 
 his master as studies. The father finding 
 it impossible to stem his son's inclina- 
 tions, at last consented to his becoming 
 a painter, and he was accordingly placed 
 under Ghirlandaio. And it is noticed as a 
 proof of the progress which he must have 
 made, even at this period, that by the 
 agreement which was entered into be- 
 tween the father and the painter, (which 
 has been printed by Vasari,) the father 
 was to receive a monthly remuneration 
 for the services of his son. 
 
 Under this painter he early displayed 
 great talent ; one by one his fellow pupils 
 were surpassed, and it was not long be- 
 fore he ventured even on criticising the 
 designs of Ghirlandaio. One of these 
 drawings, round which he had traced a 
 bolder outline than that designed by his 
 master, came into the possession of Mi- 
 chael Angelo' s friend, Vasari, who in 
 after life showed it to him : on seeing it, 
 he is said to have lamented that there 
 was so little difference between the first 
 efforts of the boy, and the productions 
 of his maturer age. A somewhat similar 
 anecdote is told of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Michael Angelo on another occasion 
 gave proof of his rapid progress, by draw- 
 ing, in the absence of his master, the 
 scaffolding, and the pupils at work: when 
 Ghirlandaio returned, he was so asto- 
 nished at a performance which was at 
 once indicative of great proficiency in 
 drawing, and of a boldness of manner 
 then unknown, that he proclaimed it 
 the work of a master to be imitated, 
 rather than the mere essay of a pupil. 
 He continued to labour unceasingly 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 at his profession, studying the best 
 works which came within his reach ; 
 and a print of St. Anthony and the 
 devil, supposed to be by Martin Schoen, 
 (one of the earliest engravers,) is men- 
 tioned as having been copied by him 
 with great care, he having painted the 
 different objects in the composition (such 
 as fish, animals, &c.) with singular ac- 
 curacy, and, wherever he could procure 
 the subjects represented, painted them 
 from nature. He also at this time 
 made several imitations of the drawings 
 of the older masters, which were so 
 well executed that the connoisseurs of 
 the day being deceived, purchased them 
 as the productions of those whose works 
 they professed to be. 
 
 After the darkness and ignorance of 
 the middle ages, Dante, followed by Pe- 
 trarch and Boccaccio, (each choosing a 
 new and untried field,) had, during a 
 rapid and brilliant career, succeeded in 
 effecting the perfection and refinement 
 of the Italian language, and the intro- 
 duction of the study of the ancient clas- 
 sics ; yet their disciples were few, and 
 none sustained the reputation of their mas- 
 ters. Petrarch died in 1374, Boccaccio 
 in the year following; and a full century 
 elapsed without producing any literary 
 work that can be ranked with their com- 
 positions. For a time, a general degra- 
 dation of letters, and a debasement of the 
 Italian language took place. About the 
 middle of the fifteenth century the study 
 of literature was again revived, and the 
 fine arts began to be cultivated, princi- 
 pally under Cosmo de Medici, who, after 
 having established his authority in Flo- 
 rence, devoted the latter part of his life to 
 the encouragement of philosophy and 
 literature. He was succeeded by his son 
 Piero, who was prevented by disease 
 from making any great progress in the 
 path pointed out by his father ; it was 
 principally to Lorenzo de Medici, (the 
 eldest son of Piero,) a man possessed 
 of an original and versatile genius, 
 that the praise of having restored to 
 literature and the fine arts their ancient 
 honours, is due. " And whilst the study 
 of polite literature was thus emerging 
 from its state of torpor, the other 
 sciences felt the effects of the same in- 
 vigorating beam, and the city of Flo- 
 rence, like a sheltered garden in the 
 opening spring, re-echoed with the ear- 
 liest sounds of returning animation."* 
 
 Though, as will be seen in the sequel, 
 it was the fate of Michael Angelo in 
 
 * Roscoe. 
 
 after life to receive little help from the 
 patronage of the great ; yet in his youth 
 he was eminently fortunate in having 
 Lorenzo de Medici (the great patron of 
 literature and the fine arts) for his friend 
 and adviser. 
 
 At the time Michael Angelo began to 
 study, Lorenzo was in the plenitude of his 
 power, and he devoted a portion of that 
 time (the whole of which was occupied in 
 the advancement of the greatness of his 
 country) to the revival of the arts of 
 design. Having collected, for this pur- 
 pose, in his garden some of the finest 
 specimens of ancient sculpture, and the 
 best paintings of the time ; he inquired 
 of Ghirlandaio the names of the most 
 promising of his pupils, in order that 
 they might be allowed to study the 
 various objects in his collection, so as 
 to form their taste from these fine ex- 
 amples. Michael Angelo was one of 
 those who were recommended, and it 
 seems that some rising jealousy on the 
 part of the master the more inclined 
 him to this, as he was glad to rid him- 
 self of one who, he felt, was early des- 
 tined to become his rival in the art of 
 painting. 
 
 It was not long before his talents 
 were noticed by Lorenzo, whom know 
 ledge as well as inclination fitted to 
 become a judicious patron. It is said 
 by Vasari, that Michael Angelo having 
 begged a piece of marble, from some 
 men employed in the garden, carved out 
 of it a mask of a satyr, the design o A 
 which was borrowed from an antique 
 fragment. It was seen, and admired by 
 his patron, who, however, jokingly re- 
 marked, that he had committed an error, 
 in putting a complete set of teeth in 
 the mouth of an old man. By the 
 next day, however, he found this fault 
 repaired, for the artist had dexterously 
 broken away one of the front teeth, and 
 drilled a hole in its place, to represent 
 the cavity which would have been made 
 by its falling out. Lorenzo, struck with 
 his rising talents, his eagerness and do- 
 cility, sent for his father, and desired 
 that he might be permitted to take him 
 entirely under his protection, to which 
 the father reluctantly consented. After 
 this he took up his residence in the pa- 
 lace, and a competent salary was al- 
 lowed him; and Lorenzo, not content 
 with patronizing the son, bestowed an 
 office of profit on the father, whose cir- 
 cumstances were declining. 
 
 Michael Angelo was received on terms 
 of intimacy and freedom by his patron, 
 B2 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 ait whose table he formed an acquaint- 
 ance with the learned men of the 
 time, bv whom Lorenzo was surrounded. 
 During this period he obtained the 
 friendship of Politian, the most accom- 
 plished scholar of his age, by whose 
 advice he executed the celebrated 
 small bas relief of the battle of Her- 
 cules and the Centaurs, which at once 
 established his fame as a great artist. 
 During the time of his studying in the 
 garden of Lorenzo, Torrigiano, one of his 
 fellow students, (who afterwards exe- 
 cuted in England the tomb of Henry 
 VII.) in a fit of envy at his rising 
 greatness, or on some quarrel, struck 
 him so violent a blow on the nose 
 with a mallet, that he bore the mark 
 through life. The laws of those times 
 not being very favourable to the liberty 
 of the subject, Torrigiano was banished 
 the state for this attack on his rival's 
 person. 
 
 On the death of Lorenzo, Michael 
 Angelo continued for some short time 
 under the patronage of his degenerate 
 successor, Piero de Medici, who was 
 incapable of appreciating his talents, 
 and therefore unfit to be the patron of 
 one so eminent. During the winter, he 
 was employed by his unworthy and 
 capricious master, to build up in the 
 court-yard of his palace, a large statue 
 of snow : and was also compelled to keep 
 company with the duke's favourite valet ; 
 and Piero used to boast that he had in 
 his service, the most eminent artist, and 
 the fleetest running footman of the day. 
 About this time Michael Angelo executed 
 in bronze, a colossal statue of Hercules, 
 which, it is said, was sent into France ; 
 but it is unknown whether it now ex- 
 ists. He also executed a crucifixion, in 
 wood, for the church of a convent in 
 Florence. 
 
 Michael Angelo was early impressed 
 with the conviction, that the human 
 figure could not be truly represented 
 without an accurate acquaintance with 
 its parts, and a knowledge of the several 
 organs which contribute to its functions, 
 whether the subject were in rest or in ac- 
 tion. It was during this period that he 
 availed himself of the assistance of the 
 superior of the convent, for whom he 
 had executed the crucifixion, to acquire 
 that intimate knowledge of anatomy, for 
 which his works are so distinguished, 
 and which he is considered in general 
 to have displayed too ostentatiously. 
 
 It is proposed here, in accordance 
 with the plan already noticed, to break 
 
 off the narrative, for the purpose of 
 briefly considering the origin and pro- 
 gress of the arts of sculpture and paint- 
 ing among the ancients, and the history 
 of their revival among the moderns. 
 Without entering somewhat on these 
 points, the mere detail of the events of 
 the life of Michael Angelo would ex- 
 cite little interest. The chief pleasure 
 or information to be afforded by it, must 
 in fact arise from a knowledge of the 
 principles relating to the fine arts, from 
 considering the estimation in which they 
 have been held by all polished nations, 
 the assistance they afforded to the 
 gradual civilization of mankind, and 
 the various difficulties opposed to the 
 attainment of excellence by those who 
 professed them. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Of the Origin and Progress of Ancient 
 Sculpture and Painting. 
 
 I. Ancient Sculpture. 
 The art of sculpture appears to have 
 been cultivated in the early ages of most 
 nations. It was, however, chiefly em- 
 ployed by them in the service of religion, 
 or in the symbolical representations of 
 divine attributes ; this is abundantly tes- 
 tified by the remains of art in Egypt, 
 Ethiopia, India, Persia, and ancient 
 Greece. 
 
 The origin of sculpture in all nations 
 may be traced to the desire to perpe- 
 tuate the memory of extraordinary events 
 or persons, or to do honour to gods or 
 heroes ; but though the art of design 
 may have owed its beginning to neces- 
 sity, yet its cultivation and improvement 
 will in all cases be traced to civilization 
 and refinement. 
 
 With regard to the specimens of 
 sculpture by the Egyptians, amongst 
 which are the most ancient monu- 
 ments now remaining, Mr. Flaxman 
 observes, that the forms of the hands 
 are gross, and have no anatomical de- 
 tail of parts, and are totally deficient 
 in the grace of motion ; but that, not- 
 withstanding their defects, we shall find 
 in them some excellent examples of 
 the art ; that the principal forms of the 
 bodies and limbs are expressed with a 
 fleshy roundness, and that in the female 
 figures, parts often possess considerable 
 elegance and beauty. The forms of the 
 female face have much the same out- 
 line, and indicate the same progression 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 towards beauty, which we see in the 
 early Greek statues, and like them are 
 without variety of character ; though 
 their simplicity of conception, breadth 
 of parts, and occasional beauty of form, 
 have been praised by the best judges 
 ancient and modern. The principal 
 defects of their works arise from their 
 want of anatomical, mechanical, and 
 geometrical science. 
 
 The Egyptian arts were in different 
 progressive states of improvement from 
 before the time of Moses down to the in- 
 vasion and subjection of the country by 
 Cambyses, a period of about 1000 years. 
 The arts of Greece, from their rudest 
 beginnings, rose to perfection during 
 the reign of Alexander, that is in about 
 900 years. Winkelman, who has writ- 
 ten much on ancient art, marks what he 
 conceives to be three distinct epochs in 
 the style of Egyptian sculpture, and his 
 editor, the Abbate Fea, has spread these 
 out into five. It would be foreign, how- 
 ever, to the object of these observa- 
 tions, here to enter into these antiqua- 
 rian disquisitions. . Much speculation 
 has been employed to arrive at the rea- 
 son why a nation so superior to others 
 in science, should have made so little 
 improvement in the arts. The causes 
 assigned for it are numerous. By some 
 it is ascribed to the want of beautiful 
 forms, the ignorance of anatomy, and the 
 absence of public athletic games, as the 
 chief reasons. It is, perhaps, sufficient 
 to account for this by stating, that in 
 Egypt, professions were hereditary, that 
 the son was compelled to follow the 
 father's occupation, and that the arts 
 were studied solely by slaves, who were 
 classed in the lowest rank, and never 
 allowed to rise above it ; circumstances 
 under which little else than mere me- 
 chanical excellence could be expected. 
 In Greece, on the contrary, the arts 
 were emphatically considered Liberal, 
 because none but freed men could study 
 them ; they were pursued by the noblest 
 persons, and were used to celebrate and 
 excite virtue and excellence, and not, 
 as in Egypt, merely to pile up ponder- 
 ous monuments to rulers. 
 
 Though the Egyptians attained but 
 an inferior degree of excellence in the 
 arts, yet they possessed the power of 
 working with great delicacy in the hard- 
 est granite and porphyry. What were 
 the means by which they were enabled 
 to do this have never been discovered ; 
 the finest tempered tools of modern 
 times are destroyed after five or six 
 
 strokes on those substances, out of 
 which they finished immense statues. 
 
 Mr. Flaxman supposes that it was 
 not till after Hippocrates had made his 
 researches in anatomy, that the mi* 
 nute anatomical parts were expressed in 
 the Grecian statues; and remarks, that 
 Pliny notices the sculptor Leontinus as 
 first expressing tendons and veins ;* 
 and that, in the same manner, all the 
 improvements of the art of design 
 followed the great improvements of sci- 
 ence; that it was not till after Euclid had 
 formed his collection of problems, that 
 we find the utmost variety given by 
 sculptors to the positions and actions ; 
 and that Greek sculpture can hardly be 
 considered to have risen to excellence, 
 until anatomy, geometry, and numbers, 
 had enabled the artist to determine in his 
 drawing, proportion and motion; as it 
 must be evident that the human figure 
 can only be represented in the same 
 degree as it is understood. From the 
 want of the same progressive improve- 
 ment in optics, we find the best ancient 
 pictures and basso relievos always limited 
 and defective in what is termed the fore- 
 shortenings of the figure. 
 
 The history of Greek sculpture has 
 been divided generally into four principal 
 periods, each distinguished by striking 
 peculiarities of style, or mode of treat- 
 ment ; the first embraces all that un- 
 certain age of which our only know- 
 ledge is the tradition handed down by 
 ancient writers, to the period of the 
 ^ginetan style or school, that is to 600 
 or 550 b. c. This may be termed the 
 
 I. Archaic Period. 
 
 In this period are to be classed those 
 works described by Pausanias and Pliny 
 by the terms stiff or straight, partaking 
 more or less of the original terminal sta- 
 tues in which the head and feet only were 
 expressed, the arms and legs being united 
 to the block ; and also the remains of 
 sculpture discovered amongstthe ruins of 
 a temple in the island of .ZEgina, now at 
 Munich. The second period is the 
 
 , II. Phidian, 
 
 and will reach from the ^Eginetan down 
 to the sublime style of sculpture, which 
 was brought to* perfection by Phidias 
 and his contemporaries, 600 to 450 b. c. 
 when those works of art were produced 
 
 * The words of Pliny are, Hie primus nervos e 
 venas expressit, capillamque diligenhus. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 * c whose mimic flesh seems yielding to 
 the touch ! whose balance alarms with 
 the expectation of movement !" The 
 third period is the 
 
 III. Praxitelian and Lysippic 
 Style, 
 and is distinguished by the introduction 
 of a richer and softer style of execution, 
 effected by Praxiteles, and varied in some 
 respects by Lysippus, and may be 
 brought as low down as 250 to 200 b. c. 
 
 IV. Decline. 
 
 The fourth, and last, is the decline of 
 sculpture in Greece under bad imitators 
 and worse innovators ; when grandeur 
 was lost sight of in detail, when manner 
 took place of style, and simplicity and 
 general grace were superseded by indi- 
 viduality and littleness.* 
 
 We have extracted the foregoing short 
 arrangement of the geras of Grecian 
 sculpture, but our limits do not admit 
 of any attempt to trace its progress 
 through the successive improvements, 
 from the rude but spirited works of Dae- 
 dalus, mentioned by Pausanias, to the 
 meridian splendour of the times of 
 Phidias and Praxiteles. 
 
 Sculpture has been said, to " start 
 at once into life and grace at the 
 Promethean touch of Phidias ; and that 
 twenty centuries have not only added 
 nothing to this department of the fine 
 arts, but that, contrary to all reason- 
 able expectation, it has receded from 
 the point of excellence which the first 
 master had attained, and that like the 
 fabulous Minerva, (whose story the elo- 
 quent Phidias recorded,) sculpture is- 
 sued from the brain of her parent in full 
 perfection, and the hour of her birth was 
 also that of her maturity." 
 
 That twenty centuries have added no- 
 thing to the perfection which was at- 
 tained by Phidias and Praxiteles and 
 those of their times, must be admitted : 
 the works of the intervening ages afford 
 sufficient evidence of this ; but though 
 this part of the proposition be true, it is 
 equally true that Grecian art had its in- 
 fancy, and that, like all else in nature, the 
 developement of the human faculties in 
 the attainment of excellence was gra- 
 dual, and that it was by a succession of 
 improvements from age to age, that 
 sculpture attained that unsurpassable 
 excellence which it reached in the time 
 of Phidias. 
 
 In accordance with what has been 
 stated with regard to the perfection of 
 
 * Ency. Metrop. " Sculpture." 
 
 execution, keeping pace with, or ra 
 ther following the discoveries in ana- 
 tomy* and geometry, it may also be ob- 
 served that the beauty and perfection 
 of Grecian art, of the school of Phi- 
 dias, accompanied the great moral 
 and intellectual improvement of the 
 times : and art was most perfect when 
 .^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides 
 produced their tragic poems, and So- 
 crates and Plato, and the great Grecian 
 statesmen, by their writings and exam- 
 ple, improved the moral and political 
 state of mankind. 
 
 Another cause of the advancement 
 and cultivation of art, was the estima- 
 tion in which it was held throughout 
 Greece ; the public authorities took a 
 deep interest in its perfection. AtThebes, 
 
 * By most of the writers on Greek sculpture 
 the improved knowledge of anatomy is stated as 
 one of the causes of its perfection : this, however, 
 is denied by two writers both distinguished for their 
 skill in anatomy, and for great practical know- 
 ledge of the arts. " It has long been a matter of 
 keen debate, whether the Greeks were acquainted 
 with anatomy, but that if it had been much known 
 to them their knowledge would not have remained a 
 subject of speculation, we should have had evidence of 
 it from their works; but, on the contrary, we find Hip- 
 pocrates spending his time in idle prognostics, and 
 dissecting apes to discover the seat of the bile. If 
 more anatomy had been known than could be seen 
 through the skin, or discovered from a skeleton found 
 on the sea-shore, it would not have been left an im- 
 perfect and nearly unknown science. The ancients 
 had no opportunity of becoming acquainted with the 
 formation of the human body except from what might 
 be the result of accident ; after death the body was 
 burnt, and the funeral urn contained its ashes. 
 
 "The ancients, however, kept records of the per- 
 fections of the human body, and these consisted in 
 the aptitude for exercises. At the Olympian Games 
 statues were made of those who had been often vic- 
 tors, when the exact size, the peculiar forms, all the 
 beauties, and even the very defects of their bodies 
 were carefully preserved that they might serve as 
 models of manly strength, of swiftness, and prowess. 
 One striking part of their excellence is the total avoid- 
 ing of all exaggerated expression, caricatured, vio- 
 lent, or strong action, which, instead of bespeaking 
 the sympathy of the beholder, only weakens the effect, 
 producing disgust rather than pleasure. If they had 
 not anatomy they had, perhaps, a better substitute, 
 the continued means of observing the most perfect 
 specimens of the living body in action, and of this 
 they made the best use." Mr. John Bell's Travels 
 in Italy. 
 
 Mr. Charles Bell in his Essays, says, " Although 
 it is certain that the Greeks had not made any pro- 
 ficiency in anatomy, but by minute and continued 
 observation of the figure under all the circumstances 
 and situations in which it was to be represented they 
 obtained a just knowledge of it ; yet, it must be ob- 
 vious, that the power of representing expression accu- 
 rately must be materially aided by the accurate 
 knowledge which is to be obtained by becoming 
 familiar with the component parts of the figure, and 
 the characteristic differences which mark and dis- 
 tinguish the countenance and the general appearance 
 of the body in situations interesting to the painter 
 and statuary. The characters of infancy, youth, 
 and age; the peculiarities of sickness or of robust 
 health ; the contrast of manly and muscular strength 
 with feminine delicacy; thS appearance of disease, 
 pain, or death, ail must be better learnt and under- 
 stood from the actual knowledge of the muscles of 
 expression, than from mere individual observation." 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 as well as at Athens, there existed regu- 
 lations both for the protection and the 
 encouragement of the professors, and 
 there were laws both penal and pecuni- 
 ary against those whose works fell short 
 of the requisite beauty of the object at- 
 tempted, and against the execution of 
 subjects which were either common or 
 regarded as improper; the authors of 
 which were treated with contempt and 
 derision. 
 
 The rank and consideration accorded 
 to the Greek artists tended much to 
 the encouragement of art. Far from 
 being considered as mere mercenary 
 tradesmen, they were esteemed persons of 
 distinction, and respected as men endowed 
 with divine genius, enriched by study, 
 polished by their intercourse with the 
 world ; they were placed even above 
 philosophers, and considered amongst 
 the first persons of the state, and par- 
 took, in the public ceremonies, of that 
 immortality which they bestowed on 
 others by their works. It was not un- 
 frequently that their statues were 
 placed side by side with those of great 
 kings and heroes. As a proof of the 
 estimation of the arts of painting and 
 sculpture amongst the Greeks, it may 
 be observed, that Plato studied paint- 
 ing and Aristotle may be reckoned 
 amongst the patrons of the art, as well 
 as his pupil Alexander. 
 
 Many provinces of art have since been 
 cultivated by amateurs and persons of re- 
 fined education, but the mass have ever 
 been regardless of the master-pieces of 
 the arts of design. This was not so 
 amongst the Greek nations. Art in all 
 its branches and influences grew up in 
 the most intimate connexion with the 
 whole population, was cultivated by the 
 whole, and formed an integral part of 
 public education. The knowledge of 
 the art of design was an essential ac- 
 complishment amongst all the well-edu- 
 cated Greeks. The drawing of the hu- 
 man figure on tables of wood as large 
 as life was an academic exercise, by 
 which an exact knowledge of proportion, 
 grace, and freedom, was obtained un- 
 known in our modern schools. Such 
 was the extreme and general admiration 
 for the finer works of art, that the peo- 
 ple constantly resorted to those places 
 which were possessed of any rare or 
 great work of art, as, for instance, to 
 Thespiae, where the Eros of Praxiteles 
 was placed. As a proof of confidence 
 in the respect paid by all to the pro- 
 fessors of the arts, it may be remarked, 
 
 that when Demetrius besieged Rhodes 
 Protogenes was finishing a picture : on 
 his indifference being remarked, he ob- 
 served, " Demetrius wars with the Rho- 
 dians, not with the arts !" Again, the 
 manners of the Greeks were peculiarly 
 adapted to the furtherance of the study 
 of the arts. Every ceremony of their 
 poetic religion, the rites observed at 
 their marriages, their funeral proces- 
 sions, and public games, were so many 
 occasions for calling forth talent, and 
 presenting fine models and subjects for 
 imitation. 
 
 " Another great cause of their ad- 
 vancement, was the expedition of 
 Xerxes, which, by its failure, discovered 
 to the Athenians the wealth of Asia, 
 while it discovered the weakness of 
 the invaders. It was the custom in 
 Greece to dedicate a tenth of all spoils 
 gained in battle to the service of the 
 immortal gods, and a tenth of that ob- 
 tained from the Persians was appro- 
 priated to this service. Temples were 
 erected and embellished, far surpassing 
 in beauty and magnificence those which 
 had been demolished ; and, happily for 
 the advancement of art, the opportuni- 
 ties this application of wealth afforded 
 for its improvement, were met by a 
 greater quantity of talent in the respec- 
 tive professions of architecture and sculp- 
 ture than had ever before appeared. This 
 ample employment, and the high object 
 to which their works were destined to 
 honour the gods and commemorate the 
 glory of their country excited a spirit 
 of honourable emulation in the artists, 
 which called forth all their powers, and 
 led to that perfection in art which even 
 at this remote period we contemplate 
 with the highest admiration."* 
 
 Phidias had the advantage of living at 
 Athens during the enlightened adminis- 
 tration of Pericles, and being held in 
 great esteem by him, was consulted on 
 all the works that were undertaken for 
 the embellishment of the city, and was 
 particularly engaged in the superinten- 
 dence and decoration.of the Parthenon, or 
 temple of Minerva. His superior genius, 
 in addition to his knowledge of painting, 
 (which he practised previously to com- 
 mencing sculpture,) gave a grandeur to 
 his compositions, and a grace to his 
 groups, a softness to the flesh, and a flow 
 to draperies unknown to his predeces- 
 sors ; the character of whose figures was 
 stiff rather than dignified, their forms 
 
 * Ency. Metrop., " Sculpture," p, 448. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 meagre or turgid, the folds of drapery 
 parallel, poor, and resembling geome- 
 trical lines, rather than the simple but 
 ever varying appearance of nature. 
 
 Within the temple of Minerva in the 
 Acropolis at Athens, stood the statue of 
 the goddess, which was thirty-nine feet 
 high, made by Phidias of ivory and gold, 
 holding a victory of six feet high in her 
 right hand, and various other orna- 
 ments* His chief work was the sta- 
 tue of Jupiter, at Elis, sitting on his 
 throne, which was wonderfully enriched 
 with ornament and basso relievos : the 
 height of this figure if upright would be 
 sixty feett ; the statue was of ivory, and 
 enriched with golden ornaments and pre- 
 cious stones, and justly esteemed one of 
 the seven wonders of the world. None of 
 the greater works of Phidias remain, 
 though the sculptures of the pediments, 
 the metopes,^ and portions of the frieze 
 of the Parthenon, forming the chief part 
 of the Elgin marbles, (which were 
 undoubtedly the works of Phidias and 
 his pupils,) are sufficient proofs of the 
 justness of the universal praise bestowed 
 on the founder of the grandest style of 
 Grecian art. 
 
 The value put on art, which was ex- 
 cessive, was another cause of its perfec- 
 tion ; being an excitement to excellence 
 from the demand. The citizens of Cni- 
 dos refused to part with the Venus of 
 Phidias to king Nicomedes, though he 
 offered in return to release them from 
 an immense debt which was due to him. 
 "When Phidias proposed to make the 
 great statue of Minerva of marble, on 
 account of the costliness of the ivory, 
 the Athenian authorities told him not 
 to mind greater cost for the attainment 
 of greater beauty. 
 
 Though the time at which sculpture 
 arrived at perfection was the age of Phi- 
 dias, Pliny's chronological catalogue of 
 the most celebrated Greek artists con- 
 tinues 160 years later, subsequent to 
 which time the Laocoon, and several of the 
 finest groups and statues, it is supposed, 
 
 * The great ivory statues, according to Aristotle, 
 were made of stone covered with ivory, so fitted to- 
 gether as to appear one mass of ivory, which has 
 much the tint and appearance of flesh. 
 
 + The colossal sphinx near the great pyramid, 
 rises twenty-five feet, although it is nearly buried up 
 to the throat. The sitting statues of Memnon, the 
 mother and son of Osymandyas, at Thebes, are each 
 fifty-eight feet high ; and the clenched hand, in red 
 granite, in the British Museum, belonged to a statue 
 sixty-five feet high. The colossus of the sun at 
 Rhodes, is mentioned by Pliny to have been 105 feet, 
 and was thrown down by an earthquake after stand- 
 ing fifty-six years. 
 % See note p. 12. 
 
 were executed. Nor can we believe from 
 the admirable busts and statues of the 
 imperial families still remaining, that 
 sculpture began to lose much of its 
 graces, at least in the less ideal branch 
 of the art, until the reign of Antoninus. 
 Indeed, so strong was the stamina of 
 Grecian genius in the arts of design, that 
 after the time of the Iconoclasts in the 
 fifth and sixth centuries, (when the 
 noblest w r orks were destroyed,) and until 
 Constantinople was taken by the Turks 
 in the fifteenth century, the Greeks ex- 
 ecuted small works of considerable 
 beauty, as may be seen in the carved 
 diptychs.*. 
 
 The Etruscan and Sicilian sculpture, 
 (as to the origin of which so much has 
 been written,) must be classed as the 
 work of Greek colonists or their disci- 
 ples. The principal schools of Greek 
 sculpture were Athens, Thebes, and 
 Rhodes ; but it does not appear that 
 any one state was devoid of a taste for 
 the beautiful : from Rhodes alone the 
 Romans brought away 3000 statues. 
 
 It seems to be admitted by all, that 
 the Greeks in their statues attained that 
 which is considered as perfection in the 
 representation of beauty ; and, as it 
 were, became at once the arbiters of a 
 standard of form. Various causes have 
 been assigned for this superiority. Some 
 have attributed it to the fineness of the 
 climate, yet other countries had a climate 
 at least equally good ; some assign it 
 to the beauty of Ihe people ; others to 
 a peculiar form of government ; whilst, 
 on the other hand, others have entered 
 into long discussions, to prove that the 
 climate of that part of Greece where the 
 arts most flourished was bad ; that the 
 Athenians, at least, were far from being 
 celebrated for their beauty. In proof 
 of one of these objections, it may be 
 
 * Several of the diptychs preserved in the various 
 museums of antiquities, afford some curious speci- 
 mens of the art of painting and. carving, during the 
 middle ages. 
 
 The diptychs were composed of small tablets of 
 wood or ivory. They were used by the consuls, who, 
 on their election, inscribed their names in them, 
 the date of their election, the names of the prin- 
 cipal magistrates, and other memoranda ; these were 
 presented by the consuls to the officers of state and 
 their friends, in the same manner as pocket-books 
 are now given on the beginning of a new-year, 
 which, probably, is a continuation of the ancient 
 custom. The diptych was adopted by the christian 
 bishops, and was used as a species of ecclesiastical 
 register for different purposes; the exterior of the 
 tablets was usually ornamented with carvings or 
 paintings of scriptural subjects. When it was com- 
 posed of three tablets it was called a triptych ; these 
 tablets were usually placed on the altar, and from 
 them, altar-pieces with folding wings turning over 
 the middle portions were originally derived. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 stated, Cicero remarks that few of the 
 youths of Athens were really hand- 
 some. With regard to the merits of a 
 peculiar form of government, it is cer- 
 tain that the arts equally flourished in 
 Greece under very opposite governments, 
 and in the most powerful and the weak- 
 est states. Some, or perhaps all, these 
 causes may have assisted though they 
 alone could not have produced the results 
 contended for. The principal cause was 
 that the Greeks were more refined than 
 any nation which had before existed, and 
 the same cause which led to their excel- 
 lence in poetry, ethics, and political 
 science, led to their superiority in the arts. 
 Another reason was their peculiar ad- 
 miration and study of beauty, hereafter 
 to be noticed ; and as religion was the 
 first mover of their art, it followed that 
 they should endeavour to invest their 
 gods with the most perfect form; and they 
 were, therefore, peculiarly led to a com- 
 plete and intellectual study of its elements 
 and constitution. Again, it should also 
 be remarked, that at the period when 
 the arts were at the greatest perfection, 
 civilization had just arrived at that state 
 in which the manners of men are 
 polished but yet natural, and conse- 
 quently their attitudes and gestures were 
 expressive and emphatical without being 
 coarse. Their style of dress also was 
 much belter adapted to display the 
 natural form oflhe body, without con- 
 straining the motion, and destroying the 
 shape, as in more recent periods ; thus 
 perpetually affording fine models for the 
 artist. 
 
 As in discussing the subjects relating 
 to art it is necessary to use certain 
 terms, with respect to the meaning of 
 which much difficulty and some dif- 
 ference of opinion exist, we shall give 
 a definition of those which are in more 
 general use. Indeed, unless the sense 
 in which they are used by the author is 
 defined, the reader and the writer must 
 often arrive at different conclusions. 
 Of various writers on art, perhaps none 
 has been so generally successful in 
 defining the terms in use as Mr. Fu- 
 seli ;* we shall adopt his explanation of 
 a few which are most important to be 
 understood. 
 
 Nature he states to be as the general 
 permanent principle of visible objects 
 not disfigured by accident, nor distem- 
 pered by disease, not modified by 
 fashion or local habits. Nature is a 
 
 Lecture I, 
 
 collective idea, and though its essence 
 exist in each individual of the spe- 
 cies, it can never in its perfection in- 
 habit a single object. 
 
 "With respect to beauty 1 do not mean 
 to perplex with abstract ideas, and the 
 romantic reveries of Platonic philosophy, 
 or to inquire whether it be the result of a 
 simple or a complex principle. As a local 
 idea, beauty is a despotic princess, ano! 
 subject to the anarchies of despotism *, 
 enthroned to-day, dethroned to-morrow. 
 The beauty we acknowledge is that har~ 
 monious whole of the human frame, that 
 unison of parts to one end, which en- 
 chants us ; the result of the standard 
 set by the great masters of our arts, the 
 ancients, and confirmed by the submis- 
 sive verdict of modern imitation. 
 
 * By grace I mean that artless balance 
 of motion and repose sprung from cha- 
 racter, founded on propriety of character, 
 which neither falls short of the demands* 
 nor overleaps the modesty of nature. 
 Applied to execution it means that dex- 
 terous power, which hides the means by 
 which it was attained, the difficulties it 
 has conquered. 
 
 " When we say taste, we mean not 
 crudely the knowledge of what is right 
 in art : taste estimates the degrees of 
 excellence, and by comparison proceeds 
 from justness to refinement. We gene- 
 rally confound, when speaking of art, 
 copy with imitation, though essentially 
 different in operation and meaning*. 
 Precision of eye, and obedience of hand 
 are the requisites of the former, without 
 the least pretence to choice, what lo 
 select, what to reject ; whilst choice 
 directed by judgment or taste, consti- 
 tutes the essence of imitation, and 
 alone can raise the most dexterous co- 
 pyist to the noble rank of an artist. 
 The imitation of the ancients was essen- 
 tial, characteristic, ideal. The first 
 cleared nature of accident, defect, and 
 excrescence ; the second formed the sta- 
 men which connects character with the 
 central form ; the third raised the whole 
 and the parts to the highest degree of 
 unison. 
 
 " No word has been more indiscri- 
 minately confounded than genius; 
 by genius, I mean that power which 
 enlarges the circle of human knowledge, 
 which discovers new materials in nature, 
 or combines knowledge with novelty, 
 whilst talent arranges, cultivates, po- 
 lishes the discoveries of genius." 
 
 Without attempting to enter into, or 
 even examine the metaphysical discus- 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 10 
 
 sions relating to beauty, which have 
 occupied so many writers, it will be in- 
 teresting, in addition to Mr. Fuseli's de- 
 finition, to examine what were the 
 notions of Mr. Flaxman on this point, 
 and the consideration of these will in 
 some measure lead to the elucidation of 
 the reasons of the superiority attained 
 by the Greeks. 
 
 He defines beauty* of the human per- 
 son as goodness or virtue, and wisdom 
 in a human form best suited to their 
 expression and exertions. " Whatever 
 of beauty or perfection becomes an ob- 
 ject of contemplation to our minds, 
 whether it be purely mental, or per- 
 ceived through the medium of our 
 senses, must be derived from the beau- 
 tiful and perfect itself, and may be 
 traced back towards its divine origin ; 
 however diversified, it proceeds from 
 this source, and directs us where to seek 
 the principles and perfection of all 
 science and art, of all things metaphy- 
 sical, physical, and moral, which, by their 
 mutual connexion and harmony, declare 
 their common relation and origin: there- 
 fore, what is called beauty in the arts of 
 sculpture and painting, must be sought 
 for in its principles, metaphysical, phy- 
 sical, and moral/' 
 
 It is curious also to examine what 
 were the principles on this subject of 
 the Greek philosophers, at the time 
 when the arts in Greece attained their 
 greatest excellence. In the dialogue 
 between Socrates and the sculptor Clito, 
 (Xenophon'sMemorabiliajSocY&tes con- 
 dudes, " that statuary must represent 
 the actions of the soul by form ;" and 
 in the former part of the same dialogue, 
 Parrhasius and Socrates agree that the 
 good and evil qualities of the soul may 
 be represented in the figures of man by 
 painting. Plato, in his Dialogues, rea- 
 sons to the same purpose, and declares 
 that the good and the beautiful are one. 
 Aristotle observes that beauty is order 
 or grandeur ; order supposes symmetry, 
 fitness, and harmony ; and in grandeur 
 are comprised simplicity, unity, and 
 majesty; and Aristotle concurs with 
 Plato in acknowledging the relation 
 between beauty and goodness, evil and 
 deformity ; and it appears to have been 
 one of the great objects of all the 
 ancient schools, to trace and demon- 
 strate, not only the likeness, but the 
 identity of beauty and goodness. So great 
 
 * Seethe article "Beauty," in Rees's Encyclopedia, 
 which article, and that on sculpture, were written by 
 Mr. Flaxman. 
 
 and so universal was the admiration of 
 beauty of person, that prizes were insti- 
 tuted for those who excelled in beauty 
 and regularity of form, and the priests of 
 some of the most celebrated temples were 
 selected from the youths to whom prizes 
 for beauty had been awarded. The Spar- 
 tan prayer, " Give us what is good and 
 what is beautiful," is another proof of 
 the general sentiment on this subject. 
 
 The Greeks appear to have delighted 
 more in imitation than in creation or 
 action, which, perhaps, was the chief 
 cause of the perfection they arrived 
 at in the imitation of nature, with- 
 out attempting to go too far in the re- 
 presentation of more than beauty of 
 form ; again the physical beauty of the 
 race, exposed to view by gymnastic and 
 warlike exercises, gave a right direction 
 to the study of sculpture, and it was the 
 conviction that the beauty of art consists 
 more in proportion, harmony, and regu- 
 larity, than in an excessive expression 
 of any passion or action, or a super- 
 abundance of ornament, that led them 
 to the right path, and preserved them 
 from leaving it. 
 
 As sculpture owed its early origin to 
 religious worship, and to the formation of 
 images of the Deity, the peculiar feelings 
 of the Greeks on those points materially 
 assisted them in the attainment of ex- 
 cellence. 
 
 Both in the developement of modes 
 of religion peculiar to the Dorians, 
 and in the adoption and alteration of 
 those of other nations, an ideal tendency 
 may be perceived, which considered the 
 Deity not so much in reference to the 
 works or objects of nature as to the 
 actions and thoughts of men ; conse- 
 quently their religion had little of mys- 
 ticism, which belongs rather to elemen- 
 tary worships, but the gods assume a 
 more human and heroic form, although 
 not so much as in epic poetry : hence 
 the piety of the Doric race had a pecu- 
 liar and energetic character, as their 
 notions of the gods were clear, distinct, 
 and personal.* 
 
 Whatever may be the truth or merit 
 of these theories, yet it must be obvious 
 that the various causes we have stated 
 led to the attentive, intimate, and 
 minute study of particular character, 
 of beauty of form and expression ; and 
 the result was the attainment of excel- 
 lence in its actual representation, and 
 the production of those specimens of 
 
 * Dorians, Miiller, b. ii. c. xi. p. 9. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 art which have never yet been sur- 
 passed, or even rivalled ; but which only 
 excel nature by bringing together such 
 an assemblage of beautiful parts as na- 
 ture never was known to bestow on one 
 object. 
 
 In arranging the different styles of 
 the beauty of Greek sculpture, Mr. 
 Flaxman observes, that the ancients 
 assigned the first class of beauty to the 
 superior divinities, the second to he- 
 roes, and the third to fauns. 
 
 Of the superior gods, the sons of Sa- 
 turn possess the rank of sublimity of 
 beauty. Tn the fine head of Jupiter, in the 
 pope's collection, the hair rises from the 
 forehead, and descends in abundant 
 flowing locks on each side of his face 
 and neck to the shoulders, his forehead 
 is muscular, with an expression of great 
 strength, his nose and cheek are cor- 
 respondent, his eyes express benevo- 
 lence, his wise and serious brow, his 
 placid countenance and full beard inspire 
 reverence and awe ; his figure is that of 
 the mightiest of the superior gods, his 
 right arm moderately raised with his 
 thunderbolt, or leaning on his sceptre, 
 presents the habitual art of governing 
 the universe. Winkelman has judi- 
 ciously observed that the Greek sculp- 
 tors preserved the family resemblance 
 in the Saturnian race, with as much 
 exactness as if they had been real por- 
 traits ; therefore Jupiter's brothers 
 strongly partake of the same character, 
 except that Neptune's countenance is 
 more severe, and his hair more dis- 
 turbed. Pluto's hair, hanging over his 
 forehead, gives a gloomy cast to his 
 countenance, which is increased by his 
 more open and starting eye. 
 
 In the youthful beauty of Apollo, 
 Bacchus, and Mercury, the same bene- 
 volence and wisdom are expressed, mo- 
 dified by their peculiar characteristics 
 and offices ; Apollo is light and strong 
 in his make; Bacchus more soft and 
 luxurious; and Mercury more athletic. 
 The peculiarity of Hercules is magna- 
 nimity, and unconquerable strength. 
 
 The heroes have a more simple cha- 
 racter throughout, approaching nearer 
 to common nature. The fauns may be 
 ranged in the lowest class of beauty ex- 
 pressed in the human figure : although 
 their persons are youthful and rather 
 handsome, their proportions are shorter 
 than those of the classes above named, 
 and sometimes their muscles are turgid 
 and tendinous, accommodated to their 
 sylvan habits and activity; their rounded 
 
 faces have a portion of rustic good na- 
 ture ; but their united eye-brows, eyes 
 placed diagonally to the nose, small 
 hollowed noses, and grinning mouths, 
 express some mixture of savage, servile, 
 and mischievous dispositions. 
 
 The most engaging and captivating 
 species of beauty exists in the female 
 sex, this was expressed in perfection by 
 the Greeks in their superior classes of 
 statues ; the large eye and full under-lip 
 of Juno, gave an air of haughtiness to 
 her countenance, her limbs are round, 
 and her figure majestic. Minerva's 
 figure partakes of Juno's majesty ; but 
 her face is not so full, and has an ex- 
 pression of abstracted wisdom. Venus 
 is represented as an assemblage of fe- 
 male charms, her form is delicate, per- 
 fect, and elegant in the highest degree, 
 her motion graceful, and her counte- 
 nance expressive of love and sweetness : 
 a reference to the casts in this coun- 
 try, and the prints of the most celebrated 
 ancient statues will convince the reader 
 of the skill and general accuracy of these 
 remarks of Mr. Flaxman. 
 
 Basso Relievos. 
 
 In treating of sculpture, those works 
 which are arranged under the class of 
 basso relievos, or low relief, must not be 
 omitted ; this is the representation of 
 figures on a back ground, in such a 
 manner that no part of them is detached 
 from it : alto relievo, or high relief, is a 
 modification of the same class, and has 
 the larger parts attached to the back 
 ground, whilst the smaller stand out free 
 from it ; to these two styles may be added 
 a third species of relief, which was ob- 
 tained by cutting or sinking, making the 
 object represented below the plane of the 
 original ground, a mode of working 
 scarcely ever employed in modern times, 
 but of which many specimens may be 
 seen in Egyptian sculpture. 
 
 Basso relievo, although an important 
 province of sculpture, is in a particular 
 manner allied to architecture. As every 
 considerable work of this kind must be 
 made for the pediment, frieze, or panel 
 of a building or architectural form, and, 
 therefore, the general shape of the 
 ground, the distribution and proportion 
 of the figures must be subservient to 
 the surrounding and containing parts, in 
 order that they may produce a beautiful 
 and perfect whole. 
 
 Basso relievo was originally used as 
 pictorial writing, similar to, or the same 
 as, hieroglyphics, and as such is ,com- 
 
12 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 mon fo all nations in the earliest infancy 
 of the arts ; but it was reserved to the 
 Greeks to perfect this, as well as the 
 other arts of design. The basso relievos 
 which were used in filling the friezes 
 and the tympanums, and were placed in 
 the metopes of the great temples, ex- 
 ecuted during the time of Phidias and 
 the other great artists, show that the art 
 of sculpture in this department quite 
 equalled that which was devoted to the 
 production of entire statues : we have, 
 fortunately, an opportunity of ascertain- 
 ing the truth of this from the originals 
 of the frieze and metopes brought from 
 the Parthenon at Athens.* Some of the 
 works of the earliest sculptors, on the 
 revival of the arts in Italy, are in this 
 style, and many of them are of great 
 interest. 
 
 Donatello executed bronze basso re- 
 lievos on the two pulpits of St. Lorenzo, 
 at Florence, the two principal subjects 
 of which, are the crucifixion and inter- 
 ment of Christ, in which the expression 
 is admirable ; but the work of this de- 
 scription that obtained the highest repu- 
 tation, was the bronze gate, executed by 
 Lorenzo Ghiberti, for the baptistery of 
 St. John at Florence, consisting of ten 
 compartments, filled with subjects from 
 the Old Testament; the whole is of 
 gilt bronze, and it w r as said by Michael 
 Angelo " to deserve to be the gate of 
 paradise :" from this period down to mo- 
 dern times, little which was excellent 
 was executed in this style. It may be 
 considered the pride of England, to pos- 
 sess the beautifuldesigns of Flaxman, from 
 Homer, Hesiod, Dante, and ^Eschylus, 
 rivalling in beauty and grandeur of eom- 
 
 * The chief of the marbles in the British Museum 
 called the Elgin marbles, formed part of the orna- 
 ments of the temple of Minerva, or Parthenon, in 
 the Acropolis at Athens, and afford an example of 
 the judicious use df the three different species of 
 sculpture. This temple consisted of the cella, or the 
 interior space included within the wall of the temple ; 
 a row of side columns, and eight columns at each 
 end; in the porticos the frieze of the entablature 
 is composed of Doric architectural ornaments called 
 triglvphs, and of sculptured ornaments called me- 
 topes, the triglyph being over the centre of each 
 column, and of each intercolumniation, and the me- 
 topes occupying the intervals, representing, in high 
 relief, the combat of ihe Lapithae and the Centaurs. 
 The frieze of the cella was an uninterrupted series 
 of sculpture, about thirty-six feet from the base, 
 running round the upper part of the wall ; this was 
 about nine feet within the external row of columns, 
 and represented in low relief a Grecian procession. 
 In the tympanum of the pediment were placed perfect 
 statues of a colossal size, the metopes, which, from 
 their distance from the eye, required high relief, and 
 the frieze which was within, and was lighted only 
 from the intercolumniations, and was only seen from 
 the ambulatory, was in low relief, as the violent 
 projections of high relief seen from an acute angle, 
 would have perplexed and defeated the artist's design. 
 
 position the works of the best time of 
 ancient art. But if we pride ourselves 
 on this possession, it must excite regret 
 and some feeling akin to shame, when 
 we recollect, that notwithstanding the 
 great sums expended in the patronage 
 of art in this country, he is gone to his 
 grave, without ever having, during a 
 long life, been commissioned to execute 
 any one of those fine compositions in 
 marble. Thorwaldsen, the Dane, now 
 at Rome, should be noticed as having 
 been very successful in his designs and 
 works in this branch of the art. 
 
 Various materials appear to have been 
 used by the ancients, and even during 
 the best period of art, in the formation 
 of the same statue, particularly in colos- 
 sal works. This mixture, however, is 
 totally disapproved of by modern taste. 
 
 Exactness of imitation is more to be 
 sought in sculpture than in painting; 
 because, unassisted by colour, it is ne- 
 cessary that the requisites of imitation 
 to the extent of form, should be nearly, 
 if not entirely, complete, in order to 
 create any conception of merit ; but as 
 the pleasure derived from sculpture is 
 unconnected with deception, any at- 
 tempt at colouring statues, or any arti- 
 fice, such as adding real dresses, &c. 
 must be offensive to a cultivated taste. 
 That which is known to be mere trick, 
 must lose all pleasure, when the sur- 
 prise created by the deception is past. 
 The Greeks, however, often composed 
 one figure of different materials, such 
 as brass and marble, ivory and gold, but 
 not, probably, for the purpose of actual 
 deception, or greater exactitude of imi- 
 tation ; they also, occasionally, put gems 
 or silver in the place of the eyes. There 
 are also not wanting authorities for sup- 
 posing that they occasionally coloured 
 their marble statues, to imitate life, but 
 it is hardly possible to conceive with any 
 advantage ; though Mr. Flaxman, in his 
 lectures, has supposed that in some 
 cases a particularly beneficial effect 
 might have been so produced. 
 
 There was a statue of Augustus in 
 amber, and at the celebration of fun e- 
 ralia, as those of Sylla, at public ex- 
 hibitions, or on other extraordinary 
 occasions, statues are mentioned as hav- 
 ing been made of aromatic gums, and 
 materials of the most combustible na- 
 ture; and amongst the odd conceits of the 
 ancient artists, may be mentioned a statue 
 of the all-powerful goddess of love and 
 beauty made of loadstone,which al traded 
 a Mars of iron! The combination of 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 13 
 
 different materials for the purpose of 
 producing a variety of colours, either of 
 drapery or ornaments, was termed poly- 
 chromic (many coloured) sculpture, and 
 those works which were composed of a 
 variety of stone or marble, were, in like 
 manner, called polylithic (many stones).* 
 It would not be proper to close even 
 this short account of sculpture, without 
 referring to a branch of the art in which 
 the Greeks excelled. Those who have 
 been accustomed only to see the works 
 of ancient statuary in which the ideal 
 characters are represented, remain un- 
 acquainted with a very important and 
 interesting class of works of ancient art, 
 namely, the Greek coins and engraved 
 gems. These afford specimens of the 
 singular individuality and minute care 
 with which the artists copied nature in 
 their portraits, and many are nearly as 
 admirable for their beauty and accuracy 
 as the more important works of the 
 statuary. 
 
 Ancient Painting. 
 
 The splendid models of antiquity have 
 left no doubt of the perfection which the 
 art of sculpture had attained, but the 
 more perishable quality of pictures has 
 prevented any such direct evidence reach- 
 ing us with respect to the powers 
 of the Greek artists in painting. We 
 collect from the work on painting of 
 Pliny the elder, (which was in a great 
 measure compiled from the treatises ex- 
 isting in his time, and from his actual 
 knowledge,) that the art of painting had 
 attained an excellence equal to that of 
 sculpture, and many eminent painters as 
 well as sculptors are enumerated by him. 
 Phidias, so eminent as a sculptor, was, 
 as has been mentioned, also a painter ; 
 Apollodorus of Athens is noticed by 
 Pliny as being the first whose painting 
 fixed and absorbed the attention of the 
 spectator, and as being the first who 
 showed the method of discriminating with 
 delicacy the various gradations of shade 
 in painting, and hence obtained the name 
 of the shade painter. Parrhasius also 
 flourished about the same time, and con- 
 tributed to the advancement of the art ; 
 his principal additions were the attention 
 he paid to the symmetry of the human 
 figure, giving improved expression to 
 the countenance, and carefully finishing 
 the extremities. The greatest painter, 
 however, was Zeuxis ; his most cele- 
 brated work was the picture of Venus 
 
 
 Ency. Metrop. " Sculpture." 
 
 at Crotona, said to have been executed 
 from a selection of five of the fairest 
 virgins of that city. To these must be 
 added, Aristides, Pamphilus of Mace- 
 don, Protogenes, and Apelles, who was 
 the painter of Alexander the Great; 
 who being employed by his master to 
 paint Campaspe, became enamoured 
 whilst taking her portrait, and received 
 her as his reward, at the hands of the 
 magnificent monarch. 
 
 Of course the expressions of authors 
 as to the excellences of these painters, 
 can only be relative, and furnish no di- 
 rect criterion for a comparison with the 
 works of modern artists. Much learned 
 controversy has been employed as to 
 the merits and demerits of ancient paint- 
 ing, yet with very few grounds on either 
 side on which to found any arguments. 
 
 Athough not possessed of any paint- 
 ings of the great Greek masters, surely 
 it may be inferred that those who had 
 attained such excellence in the art of 
 sculpture, who had discovered the se- 
 cret of imparting such grace, such na- 
 ture, such dignity to their statues, and 
 who equally cultivated and admired 
 painting, must also have attained a con- 
 siderable eminence in that art ; their 
 excellence in sculpture may be fairly 
 taken as a key to their standard of 
 taste, with regard to painting. 
 
 It is, however, probable that they 
 had not that knowledge of colours, which 
 modern chemistry has furnished, nor 
 was the art of painting in oil known, 
 though Sir Joshua Reynolds (no mean 
 authority on such a point) considers 
 that an expression in Pliny as to the 
 mode of painting, by Apelles, does in 
 fact describe the effect of glazing and 
 scumbling, such as was practised by 
 Titian, and which implies a true taste in 
 that wherein the excellence of colour- 
 ing mainly consists. This interpretation 
 of Sir Joshua Reynolds, on a subject 
 purely technical, has been doubted by 
 some critics, but the critics though 
 learned, do not profess to be painters, 
 or lay claim to any practical knowledge 
 of art. 
 
 The only specimens from which we 
 can form any decisive judgment, are 
 the remains of pictures found in Her- 
 culaneum and Pompeii, and the frescos 
 or paintings in the baths of Titus ; 
 with respect to the merit of the latter, 
 it may be observed as a proof of their 
 excellence, that it is well known, certain 
 of them, on their discovery, were attri- 
 buted to Raphael. Although these paint- 
 
14 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 ings do not approach to modern art, in 
 respect of their colouring and effect, yet 
 some of them are admitted to be of the 
 very first merit in design : and even these 
 specimens, though they may be received 
 as evidence of the advanced state of the 
 art, cannot be considered as at all exhi- 
 biting a type of what probably was the 
 excellence in painting of the great Gre- 
 cian masters ; they were the production 
 of Roman or Greek artists after the art 
 had declined. With respect to the paint- 
 ings found at Pompeii and Herculaneum, 
 these were small and unimportant coun- 
 try towns, and consequently not likely to 
 possess even what might be regarded as 
 specimens of the best state of the art of 
 the period at which they were executed. 1 
 
 The passage in which Lucian invokes 
 the aid of Polygnotus to accomplish his 
 perfect woman, may be cited as evi- 
 dence of what was then thought to be 
 within the compass of the art. Polyg- 
 notus " shall open and spread her eye- 
 brows, and give her that fine, glowing, 
 decent blush which so inimitably beauti- 
 fies his Cassandra; he likewise shall 
 give her an easy and flowing dress, with 
 all its delicate waving, partly clinging to 
 her body, partly fluttering in the wind." 
 
 There is every reason to suppose from 
 the minute descriptions of Pliny, Pausa- 
 nias, and Quintillian, that in the essen- 
 tial parts of invention, expression, grace, 
 and character, the painters rivalled the 
 sculptors, but in the modern invention 
 of grouping, and the union and se- 
 paration of groups, and in the modern 
 accompaniments of perspective for re- 
 presenting the distance of given ob- 
 jects, in beauty of landscape and back 
 ground, together with the extreme re- 
 finement in colouring, it is probable they 
 were deficient. On these points the de- 
 scriptions afford no grounds for conclu- 
 sions. The attempts at back ground in 
 the pictures of Herculaneum are gene- 
 rally puerile, and the most beautiful 
 productions of ancient painting which 
 have come to us, are figures relieved off 
 plain grounds, or rather blended into 
 them. 
 
 The decline of Grecian sculpture may 
 be dated from the age of Lysippus. 
 From that time no improvement took 
 place, and though many beautiful speci- 
 mens were produced after this period, 
 they added nothing to the perfection or 
 developementof the art. On the establish- 
 ment of the Roman Empire in Greece, 
 the Greek artists sought an asylum in 
 Rome, and there continued to practise 
 
 sculpture, which was patronized by the 
 Romans as a matter of luxury and orna- 
 ment, not from the motives and with 
 the feelings that gave rise to the excel- 
 lence which the art had attained in 
 Greece. 
 
 Chapter HI. 
 
 On the Sculpture of the Romans. 
 
 The progress of the arts has in all ages 
 nearly corresponded to that of letters ; 
 the best works of art were in the best 
 time of Grecian literature, and the 
 merit of the ancient Roman sculpture, 
 imitated from the Greeks, or executed 
 by Greek artists, was nearly in the 
 same proportion of excellence, as the 
 works of the Roman authors bear to 
 the works of the Greeks, which they 
 imitated. 
 
 After the conquest of Greece, the col- 
 lection of works of art became a passion 
 and a luxury amongst the rich, and seve- 
 ral of the Roman emperors were patrons 
 of artists: amongst these Augustus, 
 Trajan, Hadrian, and the Antonines were 
 the most distinguished. The celebrated 
 Torso Farnese, the group of Laocoon, 
 and that of Cupid and Psyche, which 
 have come down to our times, are by 
 some considered as the productions of 
 the times of the early Roman em- 
 perors. The works executed after the 
 time of Augustus are chiefly portraits, 
 which, though excellent in their kind, 
 do not partake of the grandeur and in- 
 vention of the great Greek masters. 
 
 Amongst the principal compositions 
 of Roman sculpture, are the arches 
 raised to Titus, Trajan, Severus, and 
 Constantine. " They breathe," remarks 
 Flaxman, " the spirit of the people 
 they commemorate, which was con- 
 quest and universal dominion ; they 
 owe no inspiration to the muses, urge 
 no claim to the epic or dramatic, they 
 are the mere paragraphs of military 
 gazettes, vulgar in conception, ferocious 
 in sentiment ; on the columns and arches, 
 the>principal objects are mobs of Romans 
 cased in armour, bearing down unarmed, 
 scattered Germans, Dacians, or Sarma- 
 tians, soldiers felling timber, driving 
 piles, building walls or bridges, carrying 
 rubbish, shouldering battering rams, 
 killing without mercy, or dragging or 
 binding captives." These just observa- 
 tions may, with equal truth, be applied 
 to the taste which guided Napo.eon in 
 the choice of the monuments, such as 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 15 
 
 the brazen column in the Place Ven- 
 dome, which he selected to commemo- 
 rate his triumphs. 
 
 Statues and works of art were con- 
 sidered as articles of luxury, and were 
 eagerly collected by the. rich from the 
 conquered provinces, but there are no 
 productions, by known Roman artists, 
 which can at all come in competition 
 with those of Greece. As a proof of the 
 ignorance and barbarous feelings of the 
 Romans on the subject, Mummius, on 
 the sacking of Corinth, said to those to 
 whose care the specimens of art were 
 intrusted to bring away, if they were 
 lost, they should be bound to replace 
 them by new ones. Caligula, who was 
 a collector, displayed both his taste and 
 knowledge, by ordering the heads of the 
 gods and warriors to be struck off, and 
 his own portrait stuck in their place. 
 Works of ait were, in fact, chiefly looked 
 on as spoils to swell the triumph of the 
 general. The rapacity of the Romans 
 in plundering the conquered countries 
 is particularly exemplified in the speech 
 of Cicero against Verres, where he ac- 
 cuses him of not having left a single 
 statue, gem, or any other specimen of art 
 unplundered, and states that Syracuse 
 under his government had lost more sta- 
 tues than it had soldiers in the victory 
 of Marcellus. 
 
 Marcus Scaurus, when aedile, deco- 
 rated his temporary temple with 3000 
 statues. Eleven thousand exquisite 
 works of Greek and Etruscan sculpture 
 adorned Rome in the time of her splen- 
 dour; and Petronius, alluding to the 
 taste for these ornaments and to the pro- 
 fusion of them, observes, that it was 
 easier to meet a god in Rome than a man. 
 The Townley collection, the Egyptian 
 antiquities, the Elgin marbles, the casts 
 of the iEgina marbles, the Phigalian 
 marbles, together with the splendid and 
 rare collection of Greek Coins in the 
 British Museum, and the fine collection 
 of casts at the Royal Academy, afford 
 ample means for tracing the rise and 
 progress of ancient sculpture. It is to 
 be regretted that there has not hitherto 
 been published some arranged catalogue 
 of the works of ancient art which are 
 accessible in this country, with such ob- 
 servations as might guide the student or 
 the amateur in his inquiries. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 On the Revival of the Art of Sculpture. 
 
 The fine arts continued gradually to de- 
 cline with the Roman power, until they 
 were included in the common destruction 
 of everythingthatwasgreatand civilized. 
 From the fifth to beyond the tenth cen- 
 tury, the works of ancient art became a 
 prey to barbarism and superstition, and 
 were buried under the ruins of those tem- 
 ples, forums, and palaces which they 
 had adorned. During the long inter- 
 val that succeeded the fall of the western 
 empire, letters and the arts were equally 
 neglected. As a proof of the complete- 
 ness of the devastation, it is sufficient to 
 observe, that on making excavations to 
 get at the ancient buildings, the base of 
 them has usually been found to be from 
 ten to fifteen feet below the present sur- 
 face, the whole of the overlying mass 
 being composed of fragments of build- 
 ings, columns, statues, &c. It was at 
 this time, that the fine architectural 
 monuments of Rome were converted 
 into fortresses by the contending ba- 
 rons. At the beginning of the fifteenth 
 century, the city was so encumbered 
 with ruined buildings, that two horse- 
 men could scarcely pass abreast in any 
 of the streets. Its state of destitution 
 may be understood in the lamentation 
 of Petrarch, " That Rome was in no 
 place less known than in Rome itself;' 
 So entirely were the monuments de- 
 stroyed, that in the beginning of the 
 fifteenth century, Poggio Bracciolini 
 noticed only six statues amongst all the 
 remains of former grandeur. Petrarch, 
 who had done so much for the revival 
 of literature, was also one of the first 
 who shewed a taste for the ancient 
 works of art, and was himself a collector 
 of Greek and Roman medals. Rienzi 
 also, who had formed the plan of rege- 
 nerating his country, and restoring the 
 ancient republican form of government, 
 is supposed to have first conceived 
 this idea, from the continued contem- 
 plation of its monuments of ancient 
 grandeur. 
 
 Poggio Bracciolini, the discoverer of 
 the works of Vitruvius, the friend of 
 Lorenzo de Medici, and one of the 
 most accomplished men of the age in 
 which he lived, was also one amongst 
 the earliest, on the revival of civili- 
 zation, duly to appreciate the great 
 merit of the works of antiquity, and like 
 
16 
 
 Michael angelo buonaroti. 
 
 his patron Lorenzo de Medici formed a 
 collection of them. He writes thus to a 
 friend : " My chamber is surrounded 
 with busts of marble, one of which is 
 whole and elegant, the others are indeed 
 mutilated, and some are even noseless, 
 yet they are such as may please a good 
 artist. With them and some other 
 pieces which I possess, I intend to 
 ornament my country seat." Again, 
 (writing to one who was commissioned 
 to procure statues for him :) " Different 
 persons labour under different disorders. 
 That which powerfully affects me, is an 
 admiration of those productions of emi- 
 nent sculptors, to which I am, perhaps, 
 more devoted than becomes a man who 
 may pretend to some share of learning. 
 Nature, it is true, must always excel 
 her copies ; yet I trust I shall be al- 
 lowed to admire that art which can give 
 such expression to inert materials, that 
 nothing but breath seems wanting." 
 Cicero, had a similar admiration of, 
 and desire to possess whatever speci- 
 mens of Grecian sculpture could be 
 procured: this appears from his letters 
 to Atticus, whom he commissions to buy 
 for him all that were to be had, for the 
 purpose of ornamenting his study and 
 gallery ; adding, I am so passionately 
 devoted to these objects of refinement, 
 that while all others blame me, you only 
 give me any assistance.* 
 
 After the destruction of the Roman 
 empire in the west, such of the Italian 
 republics as were situated on the sea- 
 coast, were, by reason of their com- 
 merce, the first to revive in power and 
 riches ; and many of the maritime towns 
 of Italy were fast increasing in civiliza- 
 tion before the regenerating warmth had 
 reached Rome. The Venetians, as early 
 as 1085, in rivalry of Sta. Sophia at 
 Constantinople, built St. Mark's: Mr. 
 Flaxman states, that the mosaic pictures 
 in the interior, are from Greek paint- 
 ings of the same age. The cathe- 
 oral of Pisa was finished in 1092, and 
 soon after this, those of Verona and 
 some others were completed. The in- 
 fluence, however, of barbarism and su- 
 perstition had continued the work of 
 destruction in some parts of Italy, long 
 after the arts had begun to be cultivated 
 in more favoured spots: schools of 
 
 * M. Fuseli considers that it appears from Cicero's 
 works, that, notwithstanding his admiration of art, he 
 had little real taste for painting and sculpture; but 
 having a general taste for nature, and with his usual 
 acumen, comparing the principles of one art with 
 those of another, he frequently scattered useful hints, 
 or made pertinent observations. 
 
 painting were established as early as the 
 eleventh or twelfth centuries* 
 
 It will be found, on a careful inquiry, 
 that the elements as well as the perfec- 
 tion of the arts have always been 
 received either immediately or inter- 
 mediately from the Greeks by Western 
 Europe. But this has been denied 
 by Vasari, and, as far as concerns the 
 Greek Christian paintings, does not 
 seem to have been even suspected by 
 Winkelman, who was one of the most au- 
 thentic and voluminous writers on works 
 of art. In support of this very interesting 
 point it is stated,-!' that the first beginning 
 of modern art is not to be so absolutely 
 reckoned from the commencement of 
 the eleventh century, when society began 
 to be settled in Europe, as from the 
 reign of Constantine, when Christianity 
 became the established religion of the 
 empire. Then it was that painting and 
 sculpture ceased to be employed on the 
 Pagan gods, and their powers were en- 
 gaged to adorn the churches built by 
 Christian emperors with representations 
 of the persons and events of sacred 
 history. 
 
 The Christians, during the reigns of 
 those emperors by whom they were per- 
 secuted, were obliged to perform their 
 sacred worship in sepulchral cham- 
 bers, which were ornamented with por- 
 traits and subjects from scripture ; but 
 when Santa Sophia and the church 
 of the apostles were built, these were 
 embellished by statues and mosaics: in. 
 proof of which Bosius, in his Roma sub- 
 terranea, exhibits Christian sarcophagi 
 sculptured with scriptural subjects. Mo- 
 rn'^' also, in his history of painting, gives 
 large quotations from the fathers con- 
 cerning the excellent paintings of sacred 
 subjects in the eastern churches from the 
 fourth to the eighth centuries. Thus 
 showing that though the arts were de- 
 graded, yet they continued to a certain 
 extent, (for the purposes of religious 
 ornament,) to be cultivated throughout 
 that period, which was devoted to the 
 destruction of the finer specimens of 
 ancient art. There are still remaining 
 in the libraries of the emperor of Austria 
 and King of France, Greek paintings, 
 executed in the middle ages, of great 
 beauty ; but beyond all the Greek paint 
 ing and sculpture now existing, those of 
 the Nativity in Santa Maria Maggiore, 
 at Florence, the transfiguration, resur- 
 
 * Flaxman's Lect. 
 t Ibid. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUtiNAROTf. 
 
 17 
 
 rection, "and glorification, particularly 
 deserve notice; because they are the 
 examples as to the particular mode of 
 treating these subjects, which were uni- 
 versally followed by the Italian artists, 
 till after the time of Raphael and Mi- 
 chael Angelo. 
 
 These positions of Mr. Flaxman have 
 been thus minutely stated, in order to 
 remove a general and popular impression 
 of the total extinction of art, and its sud- 
 den revival. M. D'Agincourt devoted a 
 Ion : period to researches in the catacombs 
 at Rome, which had been formerly used 
 by the early Christians, during the times 
 of persecution, as places of worship, and 
 which were, as before stated, orna- 
 mented with paintings and sculpture 
 relating to religious subjects ; and it is 
 probable his splendid history of art du- 
 ring the middle ages, recently published, 
 affords ample evidence to support Mr. 
 Flaxman's opinions. We have not, how- 
 ever, been able to procure a copy of the 
 original work for the purpose of con- 
 sulting it. 
 
 It may be added that Cimabue, and 
 Fafi his contemporary, both studied un- 
 der Greek artists. Nicholas and John 
 Pisani executed marble pulpits, enriched 
 with basso relievos and statues, in se- 
 veral of the cathedrals in Italy, in the 
 middle of the thirteenth century, in 
 many of which (observes Mr. Flaxman) 
 are occasionally seen an originality of 
 idea and a force of thought seldom met 
 with when schools of art are in the 
 habit of copying from each other. 
 
 The next distinguished restorer of 
 sculpture to be noticed was Donatello, 
 a Florentine, " some of whose works, 
 both in bronze and marble, might be 
 placed beside the best productions of 
 ancient Greece without discredit. " The 
 bronze statue of a boy, in the gallery at 
 Florence, is so delicately proportioned 
 and so perfectly natural, that it is ex- 
 celled only by the best works of anti- 
 quity in certain exquisite graces peculiar 
 to the finest monuments of Greece, but 
 which are not to be attained or expected 
 from the endeavours of lately resurgent 
 genius ;" his marble statue of St. 
 George also, is a simple and forcible 
 example of the expression of sentiment 
 and nature which the lifeless and formal 
 figures of the earlier artists never at- 
 tained ; it stands upright, equally 
 poised on both legs, its hands resting 
 on the shield before it. Michael An- 
 gelo was so much struck by the excel- 
 lence of this work, that, after admiring it 
 
 for some time in silence, he suddenly 
 exclaimed, " March,!" 
 
 From the time of Donatello, (passing 
 over some inferior artists,) we come to 
 the period at which Michael Angelo be- 
 gan to study, and by his perseverance 
 and genius carried the art of sculpture 
 to the higheat perfection which it has 
 attained since the time of Phidias. 
 
 It may be interesting here to remark, 
 that it is not, perhaps, generally known 
 that England was almost the first, on 
 the revival of the arts, to cultivate 
 sculpture, and that we possess some of 
 the earliest and finest specimens of the 
 art. Sculpture, observes Mr. Flaxman, 
 continued to be practised in this country 
 with such zeal and success, that in the 
 reign of Henry III. efforts were made 
 deserving our respect and attention even 
 at this day. 
 
 The cathedral of Wells was finished 
 before 1242 ; the sculpture upon the west 
 front of which presents the noblest and 
 most useful and interesting subjects possi- 
 ble to be chosen; on the south side, 
 above the west door, are alto relievos 
 representing the creation in its different 
 parts,* the deluge, and the important acts 
 of the patriarchs. Companions to these 
 on the north side, are alto relievos of 
 the principal circumstances in the life 
 of our Saviour. Above these are two 
 rows of statues in niches, larger than 
 nature, of kings, and queens, and nobles, 
 patrons of the church, saints, bishops, 
 &c. from its first foundation to the 
 time of Henry III. Near the pedi- 
 ment is our Saviour coming to judg- 
 ment, attended by angels and his twelve 
 apostles. The upper arches on each 
 side along the whole of the west 
 front, and continued on the north and 
 south ends, are occupied by figures 
 rising from their graves, strongly ex- 
 pressing- the hope, fear, astonishment, 
 stupefaction or despair inspired by the 
 presence of the Lord and Judge of the 
 world in that awful moment. 
 
 In speaking of the execution of such 
 a work, due regard must be paid to the 
 circumstances under which it was pro- 
 duced, in comparison with those of our 
 own times. There were at the period 
 neither prints nor printed books to 
 assist the artist: the sculptor could 
 not be instructed in anatomy, for there 
 
 * One of these, the Almighty creating Eve, Mr. 
 Flaxman considers as not inferior to the compositions 
 on the same subject by the great Italian masters 
 Giotto, Buon Amico, Buffalmaco, Ghiberti, and Mi* 
 cbael Angelo, to which it i prior in date, 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 were no anatomists: a knowledge of 
 optics, and a glimmering of perspective, 
 were reserved for the researches of the 
 genius of Roger Bacon, who lived some 
 years afterwards ; all knowledge of 
 geometry and mechanics was absolutely 
 confined to two or three learned 
 monks; and the principles of these 
 sciences, as applied to the figure and 
 motion of man and inferior animals, 
 were known to none! Therefore this 
 work is necessarily ill drawn and de- 
 ficient in principle, and much of the 
 sculpture is rude and severe. Yet in 
 parts there is a beautiful simplicity, an 
 irresistible sentiment, and sometimes a 
 grace excelling more modern produc- 
 tions. 
 
 It is very remarkable, that Wells ca- 
 thedral was finished in 1242, two years 
 after the birth of Cimabue, the restorer 
 of painting in Italy ; and the work was 
 going on at the same time that Niccola 
 Pisano, the Italian restorer of sculpture, 
 exercised the art in his own country. It 
 was also finished forty-six years before 
 the cathedral of Amiens, and thirty-six 
 years before the cathedral of Orvieto 
 was begun; and it seems to be the first 
 specimen of such magnificent and 
 varied sculpture, united in a series of 
 sacred history, that is to be found in 
 western Europe. It is probable that 
 the general idea of the work might be 
 brought from the east by some of the 
 crusaders. But there are two argu- 
 ments strongly in favour of the exe- 
 cution being English ; the family name 
 of the bishop by whom the cathedral 
 was built is English, (Jocelyne Trote- 
 man,) and the style both of sculpture 
 and architecture is wholly different from 
 the tombs of Edward the Confessor and 
 Henry the Third, which were by Italian 
 artists* 
 
 The"religious disputes and the undis- 
 tinguishing persecution of the times of 
 Henry the Eighth, caused the destruc- 
 tion in this country of many of our 
 finest specimens of sculpture, and effec- 
 tually checked its further progress. Had 
 the popes of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries been actuated by the same 
 iconoclastic fury against the Greek and 
 Roman superstition, as raged during 
 that period in our country against mo- 
 dern works of art, we should have had to 
 regret not only the destruction of our 
 native specimens of art, but should have 
 remained unacquainted with some of 
 
 the greatest wonders of Grecian' genius. 
 It is to be the more lamented that this 
 check to the cultivation of the fine 
 arts happened at a time which offered 
 such extraordinary assistance to their 
 progress, as the discovery of printing, 
 the study of mathematics, anatomy, 
 and perspective, which had become fa- 
 miliar, and which contributed towards 
 the formation of the style of the great re- 
 vivers of art in Italy. It is probable that 
 but for the check received by the fana- 
 ticism of the times, these causes would 
 have operated in a like manner in our 
 own country ; and that the times which 
 brought forth Bacon and Shakspeare, 
 might have also produced fit rivals of 
 Da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and Ra- 
 phael. 
 
 We have thus very shortly traced 
 the rise and decline of the arts of sculp- 
 ture and painting amongst the ancients, 
 and the progress of sculpture during 
 the latter part of the middle ages, to 
 the time of Michael Angelo * In order 
 to complete the subject, there yet re- 
 main some few observations with re- 
 gard to the revival of painting, and the 
 principles and object of that art as con- 
 trasted with sculpture : these, and some 
 remarks on the requisites of painting, 
 will be more conveniently considered 
 when we come to estimate the charac- 
 ter of the paintings of the Sistine chapel. 
 We shall now, therefore, resume the 
 narrative of the life. 
 
 * Our limits did not admit of giving more than a 
 few general observations respecting ancient art and 
 the revival of sculpture. Those, however, who are 
 inclined to further research, will find much general 
 information in the articles " Sculpture" and " Paint- 
 ing," in Rees's Cyclopaedia, and the Encyclopaedia 
 Metropolitana, Flaxman's and Fuseli's Lectures, and 
 Count Cicognara's splendid work, " Storia della Scul- 
 tura," 3 vols., folio, 1818, from which works our re- 
 marks have been principally collected. The work of 
 Cicognara may be considered as forming a supplement 
 to that of Mons. D'Agincourt on the Arts of the Middle 
 Ages mentioned above. Winkelman's History of 
 Ancient Art, and his other works relating to art, are 
 learned, but for the most part dull and dogmatical, 
 and throughout display far more erudition than 
 either feeling or taste for the beauties of sculpture. 
 Whatever knowledge of the latter he exhibits was 
 obtained from Mengs, whose works on painting, and 
 on the distinctions of the principles of the moderns 
 from the ancients, maybe read with advantage by the 
 student. It is in a great degree to Winkelinan, Mr. 
 Fuseli considers, that Germany owes the shackles 
 which fetter her artists, and the narrow limits of 
 their aim; and that from him they have learnt to 
 substitute the means for the end; and by a hopeless 
 chase after what they call beauty, to lose what alone 
 can make beauty interesting expression and mind. j 
 
 * Flaxman, Lect, I. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTt. 
 
 19 
 
 ! Chapter V. 
 
 Continuation of the Narration of the 
 Life of Michael Angelo to the time of 
 his being employed in building St. 
 Peter's. 
 
 When the Medici were driven from 
 Florence, Michael Angelo, fearing to be 
 involved in their disgrace, by reason 
 of his having been a retainer of the 
 family, went to Bologna, and from 
 thence to Venice ; but not finding em- 
 ployment there, he returned to Bologna, 
 where, having got into some difficulty 
 with the police of the city, respecting a 
 passport, he was assisted by F. Aldro- 
 vandi, one of the officers of that state, 
 and by him employed in the execution 
 of a statue for one of the public build- 
 ings : for this he was paid thirty ducats. 
 He remained with his new patron about 
 a year, and might have stayed longer, 
 as Aldrovandi was a lover of the arts, 
 and delighted to employ him in reading 
 Petrarch, Dante, and Boccaccio, on ac- 
 count of his Tuscan pronunciation ; feel- 
 ing, however, that his time was mispent, 
 he returned to Florence. 
 
 The first work he executed on his re- 
 turn, was a sleeping Cupid. There ex- 
 isted then, as now, much prejudice in 
 favour of the antique, and connoisseurs 
 were often mistaken in their judgment, 
 purchasing modern for ancient works of 
 art. Michael Angelo was advised to 
 send his statue, which was much ad- 
 mired, to Rome, to undergo the usual 
 process of burial, and subsequent dis- 
 covery and resurrection, that it might 
 be passed off as an antique, and the 
 price thereby enhanced. The fraud suc- 
 ceeded, and the sleeping Cupid was 
 palmed off on the Cardinal St. Giorgio 
 for 200 ducats, of which, however, the 
 artist received but thirty ; the price he 
 originally demanded. The cardinal find- 
 ing it was considered he had been duped 
 in the purchase, sent a person expressly 
 to Florence, to learn the truth or false- 
 hood of the report. The messenger 
 who went round to the studies of the 
 different artists, under pretence of see- 
 ing their works, on visiting Michael An- 
 gelo amongst the rest, asked to see a 
 specimen of his art ; he answered that 
 at that time he had nothing finished, 
 but whilst conversing, took up a pen, 
 and made a sketch of a hand. The car- 
 dinal's agent, struck with the grandeur 
 and freedom of the style, inquired what 
 was the last work _he had completed. 
 
 Michael Angelo, not thinking of the 
 antique which had been sent to Rome, 
 said it was a sleeping Cupid, and so 
 described the statue, as to leave no 
 doubt as to the age of the cardinal's 
 purchase. The messenger then owned 
 the object of his journey, and recom- 
 mended him to go to Rome, as the best 
 means at once of cultivating his art, 
 and obtaining patronage. 
 
 In consequence of an invitation from 
 the Cardinal St. Giorgio, he went to 
 Rome, where he remained under his 
 protection for about a year, but as the 
 Cardinal had no knowledge of art, he 
 was never employed by him in the exe- 
 cution of any work. 
 
 His next two pieces of sculpture 
 were a Cupid in marble, and a Bac- 
 chus; in the execution of the latter 
 he was considered by many as having 
 been eminently successful. After this, 
 he cut a group, consisting of a Virgin 
 and dead Christ, called by the Italians 
 a Pieta, which his biographer, Vasari, 
 highly praises, both for the design, exe- 
 cution, and the great knowledge of ana- 
 tomy displayed in it. This was placed 
 in a chapel in St. Peter's, and the artist 
 hearing a party of Lombards, who were 
 examining the works of art in the church, 
 attribute it to one of their own country- 
 men, in order that he might not again 
 be robbed of his fair credit, shut him- 
 self up at night in the chapel, and cut 
 his name on a part of the drapery of 
 the group. 
 
 After Peter Sodarini had been ap- 
 pointed to the head of the government, 
 and the broils of party had begun to 
 subside, Michael Angelo was induced 
 again to return to Florence. It was 
 during this period that he obtained per- 
 mission to use a spoiled block of 
 marble, out of which some other sculptor 
 had begun to cut a statue, but which 
 remained unfinished : from this, he cut 
 his celebrated statue of David with a 
 sling in his hand ; the difficulty of the 
 execution of which was much increased 
 by the block not being entire. Vasari 
 relates an anecdote with respect to this 
 statue, which has often been repeated 
 as an illustration of the style of cri- 
 ticism of ignorant pretenders ; Soda- 
 rini, on going to view it, considering 
 himself called on to make a remark, 
 found some fault with the shape of the 
 nose ; Michael Angelo, however, rather 
 than waste time in convincing him of 
 his error, mounted the scaffolding, and 
 pretended to chisel off the offending part, 
 C2 
 
20 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTl. 
 
 without m fact touching it, contriving 
 dexterously to drop from his hand some 
 marble dust ; as he proceeded, the fasti- 
 dious critic declared himself satisfied with 
 the improvement, and with this last touch 
 the statue was pronounced complete. 
 For this work he received 400 ducats. He 
 also executed a bronze statue of David 
 for Sodarini, and was employed in some 
 other works, particularly in the execu- 
 tion of a picture for one Agosto Doni, 
 who was a collector of specimens of the 
 fine arts ; this work is stated to be 
 the only authentic specimen now re- 
 maining of an easel picture by him. 
 On sending it home, his servant, by his 
 master's direction, demanded seventy 
 ducats. Doni, thinking to get it for 
 less, sent back forty ; Michael Angelo 
 returned the forty ducats, and insisted 
 on having 100 ducats or his picture. 
 Doni, to compromise matters, sent the 
 seventy which were first required, but 
 the painter replied that he would now 
 have twice seventy ducats or his pic- 
 ture; Doni, knowing the value of the 
 work, and the pertinacity of the pain- 
 ter, rather than lose it, sent the 140 
 ducats. 
 
 In some subsequent pages, we shall 
 devote a short space to the considera- 
 tion of the revival of painting, tracing 
 the art up to the age of Michael An- 
 gelo. At the head of those who 
 most conduced to the perfection of it 
 will be found Leonardo da Vinci, whose 
 various attainments placed him amongst 
 the most remarkable persons of his time. 
 Hitherto Michael Angelo had chiefly 
 devoted himself to sculpture ; and at the 
 period when he was at Florence, Da 
 Vinci, who was considerably older, had 
 already attained the first rank as a pain- 
 ter. Some jealousy had long subsisted 
 between the two rival artists/and an op- 
 portunity was now afforded to them of 
 making an effort which should decide 
 to whom the palm of superiority was to 
 be awarded. 
 
 Sodarini (whose admiration for the 
 genius of Michael Angelo increased 
 daily) determined to employ him to 
 paint one side of the council hall of the 
 government palace, and Leonardo da 
 Vinci w r as, at the same time, directed to 
 execute a picture for the opposite part. 
 Da Vinci chose for his subject the vic- 
 tory gained by Anghiari over the cele- 
 brated Piccinino, the general of the 
 Duke of Milan ; the principal objects in 
 the foreground were a melee of cavalry 
 and the taking of a standard. This work, 
 
 though it displays great excellence, and 
 has been designated by art eminent critic 
 as exhibiting such talent as rarely oc- 
 curs in the world," was by common 
 assent admitted to be surpassed by the 
 production of his rival. Buonaroti's sub- 
 ject was the battle of Pisa ; in the histo- 
 rical account of the battle it was stated 
 that the day on which it was fought was 
 particularly hot, and that a part of the 
 infantry was bathing quietly in the Arno, 
 when on a sudden the call to arms was 
 heard, the enemy being discovered in full 
 march to attack the troops of the re- 
 public: the first impulse produced by 
 this surprise, was the moment of time 
 selected by Michael Angelo. Neither 
 artist, however, executed the paintings, 
 only the cartoons, or original drawings on 
 paper representing the composition, hav- 
 ing been prepared. 
 
 Benvenuto Cellini (who cannot be 
 accused of being a panegyrist of Mi- 
 chael Angelo) says of this work, " The 
 different attitudes of the soldiers sud- 
 denly preparing for battle, are so admi- 
 rably expressed, that no work, either of 
 the ancients or moderns, has attained 
 such excellence: as I have said, the 
 cartoon of Leonardo da Vinci was also 
 very excellent ; the one was placed in 
 the hall of the pope, the other in the 
 palace of the Medici, and whilst they 
 remained, they formed the study of 
 the whole world. Although Michael 
 Angelo has since executed the pictures 
 in the Sistine chapel, he did not exhibit 
 half the talent which was shewn in his 
 cartoon of the battle, nor did he after- 
 wards produce any thing equal to this 
 effort of his early genius." 
 
 Vasari particularly notices the expres- 
 sion of an old soldier, who, to shade him- 
 self from the sun's rays, had placed a 
 chaplet of ivy on his head ; he is sitting 
 on the ground dressing himself, and the 
 peculiar excitement and haste occasioned 
 by the difficulty of passing his garments 
 over his wet limbs, shewn by the strong 
 marking of the muscles and an expres- 
 sion of impatience about the mouth, is 
 described as unequalled. It was con- 
 sidered at the time the most excellent 
 design that had ever been executed. 
 All the celebrated painters of the day 
 attended to make studies from it. The 
 cartoon itself was, however, a few years 
 after its completion, destroyed. Its de- 
 struction is attributed to the envy of 
 Baccio Bandinelli, a friend and partisan 
 of Da Vinci's, who is supposed to 
 have got admission to the room where 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 21 
 
 it was kept, and to have carried it 
 away piecemeal. After Sodarini was 
 driven from the government, it was re- 
 moved to an upper apartment in the 
 Medici palace, where artists were freely 
 admitted. Although nothing remains 
 of the work itself, a small copy of most 
 of the figures was executed at the 
 
 time, and is now at Holkham, the seat 
 of T. W. Coke, Esq. This has been en- 
 graved in the gallery published by Mr. 
 Foster, and a small outline sketch is 
 here added to give an idea of that which 
 in its original execution was considered 
 the most masterly design ever executed, 
 
22 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 OnMulius the Second succeeding to 
 the papal crown, he called around him 
 the most learned men, together with the 
 most eminent artists of the age. Mi- 
 chael Angelo was amongst the first who 
 were invited to Rome, the pope hav- 
 ing determined to employ him in the 
 execution of a magnificent sepulchral 
 monument, which he contemplated 
 erecting in his life-time. From the ori- 
 ginal design, it appears that this was 
 to have been a parallelogram of thirty- 
 four by twenty-three feet, ornamented 
 with forty figures, some of which were 
 colossal ; in addition to the figures, there 
 wereto havebeen a vast number of bronze 
 aud marble columns, basso relievos, and 
 other architectural ornaments. If this 
 work had been completed in conformity 
 with the plan, it would have been the 
 most splendid monument of the kind ever 
 produced ; a sketoh of the original design 
 has been published in Bottari's edition 
 of Vasari.* 
 
 Although the execution of the figures 
 would have given full scope to Michael 
 Angelo's powers, yet as the chief part 
 of the design was to have consisted of 
 representations of Poetry, Painting, Ar- 
 chitecture, and the provinces conquered 
 by the pope, in attitudes expressive of 
 their grief for his loss; it must have been 
 deficient in sentiment, and like all alle- 
 gories have failed in creating any real 
 interest, beyond that excited by the 
 excellence of the mechanical execution. 
 
 It became difficult to find a site suited 
 for the reception of this intended work. 
 San Gallo, the architect, suggested, that 
 so considerable a monument was worthy 
 of having a chapel built on purpose to 
 receive it. Julius considering that it 
 could not be well placed in the old 
 basilica of St. Peter's, it was at last de- 
 termined that the church itself should 
 be rebuilt, and hence the origin of the 
 present church of St. Peter s, the most 
 stupendous structure that the art of 
 man ever produced. 
 
 * Henry the Eighth, in the beginning of his reign, 
 also conceived the same idea as Julius the Second ; 
 and ordered Torrigiano, the rival of Michael An- 
 gelo in the garden of Lorenzo de Medici, and who 
 was employed to execute the tomb in the chapel 
 of Henry the Seventh, to make a magnificent monu- 
 mnt for himself and his queen. Although this 
 was not intended to be so large as that originally 
 designed by Michael 'Angelo, yet in richness and 
 number of tigures, it would (if it had been negated) 
 have much excelled it. It appears from the descrip- 
 tion in Speed, which was taken from a drawing 
 approved by the king, that the height was to have 
 been 27 feet, breadth 20 feet, the depth 15 feet, and 
 there were to have been 133 statues, 43 basso relievos 
 of gilt bronze, and 20 columns in the architecture, of 
 porphyry, oriental alabaster, and serpentine marble. 
 
 "By those," observes Mr. Duppa, "who 
 are curious in tracing the remote causes 
 of great events, Michael Angelo may, per- 
 haps, be found, though unexpectedly, thus 
 to have laid the first stone of the reforma- 
 tion. His monument demanded a build- 
 ing of corresponding magnificence : to 
 prosecute the undertaking, money was 
 wanted ; and indulgencies were sold to 
 supply the deficiency of the treasury ; 
 a monk of Saxony opposed the autho- 
 rity of the church, and it is singular that 
 the means which were employed to 
 raise the most splendid edifice to the 
 Ca'holic faith which the world had 
 ever seen, should, at the same time, 
 have shaken that religion to its founda- 
 tion." 
 
 In order to procure blocks of mar- 
 ble fitting for the execution of the 
 monument, Michael Angelo, who spent 
 eight months at Carrara, sent a por- 
 tion of what was requisite to Rome 
 and the remainder to Florence, intend- 
 ing, during the unwholesome season 
 at Rome, to execute some of the figures 
 in that city. The marble was placed 
 in the court in front of St. Peter's, and 
 the pope, in order that he might be 
 enabled to watch the progress of the 
 work, had a covered way constructed 
 from the Vatican to the study of Michael 
 Angelo, who enjoyed his friendship and 
 esteem, and whom he used frequently to 
 visit. 
 
 Whilst at Carrara, he conceived the 
 idea of executing a colossal statue, out 
 of an insulated rock on the coast, at a 
 point where it would have been seen by 
 the vessels passing either from Genoa or 
 Leghorn : it is said the same idea had oc- 
 curred to the ancients, and some works 
 in^the rock are still shewn as having been 
 the commencement of a similar design. 
 The only colossal statue now existing, 
 is the bronze one of St. Charles Bor- 
 romeo, near Arona, looking over the 
 Lake of Como, and those only who 
 have seen this work, (the head of which 
 is large enough to hold several persons,) 
 can form any just idea of the probable 
 effect which such a statue, by Michael 
 Angelo, would have produced. 
 
 As the figures for the monument pro- 
 ceeded, they obtained universal admira- 
 tion ; but excellence and eminence are 
 accompanied by envy. The favour shewn 
 to Michael Angeio had early produced 
 him enemies, and his disposition, which 
 wasindependent, unsuspecting, and some- 
 what haughty, was not such as to guard 
 him against their evil machinations, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 23 
 
 By the pope's directions he always 
 applied to him for the money requisite 
 for the work ; on the arrival of some mar- 
 ble from Carrara, payment for the freight 
 being required, he went to the Vatican. 
 He found the pope engaged in state 
 matters, and therefore returned home and 
 paid for it with his own monies, think- 
 ing to be reimbursed immediately : on 
 returning however to the pope, he was 
 repulsed by a groom of the chamber, 
 and refused admittance to his patron, 
 apparently, nevertheless, not by the di- 
 rection of Julius. He went home in 
 anger, and, ordering his servants to sell 
 off all his effects, fled immediately to 
 Florence. When Julius heard of his 
 departure, he dispatched five couriers, 
 one after another, to induce him to re- 
 turn ; but Michael Angelo, who had 
 reached the Florentine states, and was 
 thus out of the pope's power, refused to 
 listen to them, though he was at last 
 induced to return an answer, in which 
 he stated, that having been repulsed 
 with ignominy, he had determined to 
 retire from his service, and seek employ- 
 ment elsewhere. Julius, being unsuc- 
 cessful in prevailing on him to return, 
 actually dispatched a brief to the Flo- 
 rentine republic,requesting that he might 
 be sent back. These proceedings of the 
 pope are a convincing proof of the esti- 
 mation in which his services were held : 
 the document is so curious that we 
 shall give it at length. 
 
 " Health, and apostolic benediction to 
 our dearly beloved Michael Angelo, 
 who has left us capriciously, and with- 
 out any reason that we have been able 
 to learn, is now in Florence, and re- 
 mains there in fear of our displeasure, 
 but against whom we have nothing to 
 allege, as we know the humour of men 
 of his character. However, that he 
 may lay aside all suspicion, we invite 
 him with the same affection that you 
 bear towards us ; and if he will return 
 we promise on our part that he shall be 
 neither touched nor offended, and be 
 reinstated in the same apostolic grace 
 he enjoyed before he left us." 
 
 This brief was also disregarded by 
 Michael Angelo, who hoped that the 
 pope, not having an answer, might cease 
 to think of the matter. On his return to 
 Florence he proceeded to complete his 
 cartoon of the battle of Pisa, which had 
 been left unfinished ; but in addition to 
 the first letter, two others followed, and 
 these were couched in a more authorita- 
 tive tone than the former. Dreading the 
 
 anger of Julius, should he be compelled 
 to return to Rome, he determined, in con- 
 sequence of an invitation from Bajazet 
 the Second, to proceed to Constantino 
 pie, to superintend the erection of a 
 bridge between that city and Pera. 
 
 Sodarini, however, at length, prevailed 
 on him to listen to the pope's wishes, 
 probably not feeling any inclination to 
 involve the state in a dispute with the 
 Holy See. To ensure him from any vio- 
 lence, he was invested with the title 
 of ambassador from the state, and re- 
 commended to a cardinal, the brother 
 of Sodarini, who undertook to introduce 
 him to the pope, who had just then 
 entered Bologna as a conqueror at the 
 head of his army. Julius, angry and 
 impatient at the opposition to his wishes, 
 on receiving Michael Angelo, said, 
 " What ! instead of coming to me, you 
 have waited till I came to you," alluding 
 to his being then at Bologna, which is 
 near to Florence. He deprecated the 
 pope's anger, and requested pardon for 
 a fault which he had been excited to 
 commit, under the impression that he 
 had been repulsed with unmerited in- 
 dignity. A bishop who, from the ill- 
 ness of Cardinal Sodarini, had been 
 deputed by him to introduce the peni- 
 tent to the pope, conceived this was 
 a good opportunity to entreat the for- 
 giveness of his holiness, urging that the 
 culprit was ignorant of life, and of all 
 but his art : this turned the tide in Mi- 
 chael Angelo's favour, and the unfor- 
 tunate bishop was reproached by the 
 pope for having dared to insult one 
 whom he, the pope, even in his anger 
 had never degraded ; thus the audi- 
 ence ended with the hasty expulsion of 
 the bishop and the reception of the artist 
 into favour, who received the holy bene- 
 diction, accompanied by a solid earnest 
 of future protection. 
 
 Whilst at Bologna he was commanded 
 to execute a bronze statue of the pope. 
 When Julius went to inspect the model 
 of this work, observing that he was repre- 
 sented with an air of severity, with one 
 arm raised as giving the benediction, 
 he asked the artist if he meant to make 
 him giving a benediction or a male- 
 diction to the people. Michael Angelo 
 dexterously answered that it was only in- 
 tended to threaten them in case they did 
 not shew obedience. On being asked 
 whether he would have a book in his left 
 hand, Julius (who had entered the city 
 at the head of his army, and who had 
 distinguished himself in many military 
 
u 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROT1. 
 
 encounters) replied, No ; a sword suits 
 me better than a book, as I know more 
 about the one than the other. 
 
 ^he pope returned to Rome, and 
 Michael Angelo remained sixteen months 
 to finish this bronze; but the people, 
 unmindful of the pope's malediction, 
 destroyed the statue as soon as his 
 partisans ceased to have power in 
 Bologna; and the pieces (except the 
 head, which was long preserved in the 
 museum of Duke Alphonso at Ferrara) 
 were cast into a piece of ordnance, and 
 christened Julia after the pope. 
 
 When this statue had been completed, 
 Michael Angelo returned to Rome : here 
 he was again thwarted by the jealousy 
 of one of his rivals, Bramante, then the 
 architect of St. Peter's, who, conceiving 
 that the pope inclined more to sculp- 
 ture than architecture, persuaded him 
 to abandon for a while the completion 
 of the monument, urging that it was 
 ill-omened to prepare a tomb during 
 his life. It was he who suggested to 
 the pope that Michael Angelo should be 
 employed in the painting the vault of 
 the Sistine chapel, erected to the me- 
 mory of his uncle Sixtus. Bramante's 
 object in doing this was a hope that by 
 these means Michael Angelo would be 
 prevented from displaying his genius 
 in that art in which he most excelled, 
 and would, in the exercise of one in 
 which he was almost unskilled, be 
 brought in comparison with his relation 
 Raphael, then just rising into eminence 
 and favour at the papal court. Michael 
 Angelo, at once desirous of completing 
 the monument, and of avoiding the ex- 
 ecution of a work in colours, an art 
 which he had not practised, did all 
 he could to persuade the pope to con- 
 sign the ornamenting the chapel to Ra- 
 phael. 
 
 Julius, whose temper was too eager 
 and ardent to enable him to wait with 
 any thing like patience the time re- 
 quisite for the completion of the mo- 
 nument, which required much study 
 and thought, was not sorry for an 
 excuse to change the employment of 
 Michael Angelo ; and it is probable his 
 independence and unbending manner 
 were displeasing to a pontiff, little ac- 
 customed to opposition; this, and the 
 frequent demands for money as the 
 work proceeded, may have made him 
 glad to find some reason for suspending 
 the completion of the tomb. 
 
 When Michael Angelo found that he 
 could not change the pope's determina- 
 
 tion, he set to work on his design in good 
 earnest. Finding the scaffolding erected 
 by Bramante unsuited to his object, he 
 invented one of a superior construction 
 and of great simplicity, which was 
 adopted in the building of St. Peter's ; 
 and, as suggested by Mr. Duppa, is most 
 probably the same admirable piece of 
 machinery which is now used at Rome 
 whenever there is occasion for scaffold- 
 ing to repair or construct the interior of 
 public buildings. He gave this inven- 
 tion to the poor carpenter who was 
 employed to construct it, and who, by 
 the profits derived from it, was en- 
 abled to raise a marriage portion for 
 his two daughters. Unused to work- 
 ing in fresco, which is done by paint- 
 ing on the wet plaster so that the 
 colour becomes incorporated in the wall, 
 and requires much experience and prac- 
 tical dexterity, Michael Angelo met with 
 many difficulties in the progress of his 
 work, and at first sent for two artists 
 from Florence to instruct and assist 
 him, but these were soon dismissed, 
 and the whole work executed by him- 
 self. Julius, who was old, and eager 
 for the completion of whatever he had 
 once planned, used frequently to visit the 
 painting during its progress, and be- 
 came so impatient to see the effect of 
 the design, that, in order to gratify his 
 curiosity, the scaffolding was by his 
 order removed before the picture was 
 finished ; and so desirous were all to see 
 the ceiling about which such expec- 
 tation had been raised, that the area of 
 the chapel was immediately filled, the 
 pope entering even before the dust occa- 
 sioned by the removal of the boards had 
 cleared away. Vasari says, that Ra- 
 phael on seeing this great work, changed 
 his style, from the hints it afforded : 
 this, however, is questioned by the par- 
 tisans of that great- painter. It is not, 
 however, of much importance to con- 
 sider how far it was correct: no one 
 will be so hardy as to deny that in the 
 art of design, the greatness of Michael 
 Angelo's genius might have furnished 
 hints for improvement even to so dis- 
 tinguished a master as Raphael. 
 
 Bramante, if he had really conceived 
 that he should lower the reputation of 
 Michael Angelo, by compelling him to 
 work at a branch of the art with which 
 he had previously but slight acquaint- 
 ance, must have been completely dis- 
 appointed in his object. It is stated, 
 however, that he tried to prevent Mi- 
 chael Angelo from completing the whole, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 25 
 
 and to persuade the pope to allow Ra- 
 phael to execute the designs for that 
 part of the chapel which was unfinished. 
 Julius however, more firmly than ever 
 convinced of the powers of Michael An- 
 gelo, by this new proof which he had 
 afforded, confided the whole work to 
 him, and continued impatient for its 
 completion. It is, however, probable that 
 he did not, in the irritable temper and 
 independent bearing of the painter, find 
 so accommodating a spirit as he was 
 accustomed to discover amongst his 
 courtiers and dependents. The patron 
 and artist were often at variance during 
 the progress of the work, and for some 
 impatient answer which he received 
 from Michael Angelo, the pope threat- 
 ened to have him thrown down from the 
 platform on which he was painting, if 
 the work was not speedily finished. At 
 the end of twenty months the scaffold- 
 ing was removed for the last time, and 
 at length in possession of his wish, the 
 pope on All Saints Day sang mass in the 
 chapel. Michael Angelo thus hurried, 
 had not put the finishing touches to 
 some of the parts ; but though he was 
 permitted to do this, he left his work as 
 it was, rather than have the scaffolding 
 erected anew. When the pope suggested 
 that there was a want of ornament and 
 gilding which he wished to have added ; 
 Michael Angelo, feeling perhaps that 
 this would impair rather than add to 
 its grandeur, said, " No, holy father, 
 those who are represented in these de- 
 signs were simple men, and wore neither 
 gold nor silver, they were poor but holy, 
 despising all worldly riches." For this 
 great work he received 3000 crowns. 
 
 A brief notice like the present does 
 not afford an opportunity of entering 
 into any detailed description of these 
 pictures ; neither would any great ad- 
 vantage result from doing so. In a 
 subsequent page, however, in consider- 
 ing the character of the different paint- 
 ings of Michael Angelo, we shall give 
 the opinion of Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
 Mr. Fuseli on these works ; authors, per- 
 haps, more capable of appreciating their 
 merit, than any Who have yet written on 
 the fine arts. 
 
 The size of our page does not enable 
 us to give an idea of the various designs 
 of which this great work consisted, but 
 an outline is given of a single group in 
 one of the compartments, representing 
 Charity, which Mr. Flaxman pro- 
 nounces to be the finest group, ancient 
 r modern, ever designed. 
 
 Julius, whilst he patronised and richly 
 rewarded his favourite, appears to have 
 been a hard task-master, and to have 
 treated him on more occasions than 
 those already enumerated with harsh- 
 ness and caprice. This, the independent 
 and irritable spirit of the artist could 
 not brook, and the result was that he 
 was more than once in disgrace. Just 
 before his death, the pope ordered Car- 
 dinal Santi Quattro and his nephew the 
 Cardinal Agnese to cause his mau- 
 soleum to be completed, though on a 
 smaller scale than that which was ori- 
 ginally planned; but Michael Angelo 
 was again thwarted in his desire to finish 
 this work which had been so long begun, 
 and which would have been a splendid 
 tribute to the memory of one who had 
 been his patron. Leo the Tenth, who 
 succeeded Julius, immediately after his 
 accession employed him to go to Flo- 
 rence to execute a magnificent facade 
 to the church of St. Lorenzo, which had 
 remained unfinished from the time of 
 his grandfather Cosmo de Medici. The 
 cardinals intrusted with the superin- 
 tendence of the monument, and the artist 
 himself, for some time resisted the order; 
 but the wishes of Leo were soon dis- 
 covered to be commands, and Michael 
 Angelo oncemore departed, even intears, 
 (as his friend Vasari states,) to Carrara, 
 to superintend the procuring the marble 
 for this new work. The only indulgence 
 which could be procured was that he 
 might, whilst at Florence, proceed in the 
 execution of the figures for the mauso- 
 leum. When he had arrived at Carrara, 
 Leo hearing that there were quarries 
 within the Florentine dominions, where 
 it was conceived marble equally good as 
 that at Carrara might be procured, 
 Michael Angelo was ordered to proceed 
 to them in order to superintend the ob- 
 taining the marble, notwithstanding he 
 represented that the quality was inferior, 
 and that from the situation of the quarries 
 it would be necessary that roads should 
 be cut through both mountains and 
 marshes for its transport. If the reader 
 has felt regret that one so devoted to 
 his art one who had given such testi- 
 mony of genius, should have met with 
 so much opposition and found such lit- 
 tle real encouragement, his feelings of 
 disappointment will be increased when 
 he learns that the great talents of Mi- 
 chael Angelo were during the whole 
 reign of Leo, employed in the execution 
 of that which probably would have been 
 as well or even better performed by a 
 
26 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 stone-mason. Eight years and some 
 months, (being the whole pontificate,) 
 were entirely spent at these quarries, 
 and in petty disputes with the agents 
 of the pope as to money. 
 
 Historians, and particularly Mr. Ros- 
 coe, have given Leo more credit for his 
 patronage of genius than, perhaps, he 
 merited. With respect to Michael 
 Angelo, it must be admitted that he 
 reaped no benefit from the magnifi- 
 cence of him whom it has been the 
 fashion to represent as the universal 
 patron of genius. His title to this praise 
 has been successfully impeached by Mr. 
 Duppa, who observes, that when he 
 ascended the papal throne, the arts in 
 
 Rome were in their meridian, that he 
 found greater talents than he employed, 
 and greater works commenced, than he 
 completed ; that those men who have 
 been for succeeding ages the admiration 
 of mankind, Leonardo da Vinci, Mi- 
 chael Angelo, and Raphael, executed 
 their best works before his accession; 
 and that Bramante, the architect of St. 
 Peter's, died in the second year of his 
 pontificate. Leonardo da Vinci is ac- 
 knowledged not to have been benefited 
 by his munificence ; and, for the mag- 
 nificence of the state chambers in the 
 Vatican, posterity is indebted to Julius 
 the Second, as those two rooms, which 
 were painted by Raphael, which are his 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 27 
 
 greatest productions, were nearly com- 
 pleted at the pope's death. 
 
 It may indeed be questioned whether 
 Leo the Tenth had any very refined taste 
 for works of art, when it is considered 
 that the cartoons which Raphael was 
 employed by him to execute, were sent 
 to Flanders, as patterns for tapestry ; 
 and "that when the carpets were exe- 
 cuted, no inquiry appears to have been 
 made after the original designs, seven of 
 which now form the most valuable spe- 
 cimens of art in this country ; from 
 the merit of these, the value of those 
 which have been destroyed, may well be 
 estimated : again, as to Leonardo da 
 Vinci, one qualified to stand in rivalry 
 with Michael Angelo, the painter of 
 the Last Supper, it is even doubtful whe- 
 ther he visited Rome during the time of 
 Leo, but it is certain he was at no time 
 employed by him. 
 
 On the death of Leo, during the reign 
 of his successor, Adrian the Sixth, the 
 arts were no longer favoured at Rome: 
 and Michael Angelo was allowed to em- 
 ploy himself in the execution of two sta- 
 tues, which were to form part of the 
 monument of his patron Julius. 
 
 The Duke of Urbino, the nephew of 
 Julius, impatient at the delay which had 
 taken place in the execution of this 
 work, sought to compel Michael An- 
 gelo to account for some large sums of 
 money, which it was pretended had been 
 received by him. The duke petitioned 
 Adrian that he might be summoned to 
 Rome for the purpose of rendering the 
 required information. Giuliano de Me- 
 dici, (afterwards Clement the Seventh,) 
 who was at this time governor of Flo- 
 rence, had employed Michael Angelo to 
 erect a library and new sacristy to the 
 church of St. Lorenzo, to serve as a 
 mausoleum for the Medici family : in 
 order that he might be allowed to proceed 
 with these, the governor interfered with 
 the pope, and obtained permission that 
 the artist should remain at Florence. 
 He was in no danger of receiving from 
 Adrian any new commission which 
 would interrupt the progress of his 
 works, as the pope was not only igno- 
 rant of, but hostile to the fine arts ; and 
 had even determined to destroy the 
 paintings of the Sistine chapel, conceiv- 
 ing that they were more fitted for a bath 
 than a church ; and when the group of 
 the Laocoon was shewn to him, he 
 is said to have turned away, refusing 
 to even look at the idols of the hea- 
 thens x This pope, who was considered 
 
 by the Italians as a Flemish barbarian, 
 died after a short reign of twenty 
 months, to the great joy of the Romans. 
 
 Adrian was succeeded by Clement 
 the Seventh, whose desire that Michael 
 Angelo should proceed with the works 
 at Florence which he had ordered, again 
 interfered to prevent the completion of 
 the monument. The complaints of the 
 nephew, however, at length compelled 
 the artist to return- to Rome, in or- 
 der to attempt some amicable arrange- 
 ment with respect to these claims. 
 The weakness, ambition, and crooked 
 policy of Clement early involved him 
 in ruin, and soon after his accession 
 he was taken prisoner, and his capital 
 plundered by the army of the Constable 
 of Bourbon. Up to this period Mi- 
 chael Angelo had only to contend with 
 the perversity and injustice of his pa- 
 trons, and the jealousy and opposition 
 of his rivals ; in addition to these, he 
 now found himself involved in the trou- 
 bles of contending parties ; and with- 
 out coming to any settlement with the 
 duke, he determined again to leave Rome 
 for Florence, that he might proceed with 
 the chapel and library of St. Lorenzo. 
 
 From the time when Sodarini had 
 been driven from the government, Flo- 
 rence became again subject to the rule 
 of the Medici. When the ecclesiastical 
 states were overrun by a foreign enemy, 
 the Florentines began to entertain hopes 
 of ridding themselves of their oppres- 
 sors, and of obtaining a free govern- 
 ment. For this purpose they were in- 
 duced to join the Venetians, together 
 with the Dukes of Ferrara, Mantua, and 
 Urbino, who had united with England 
 and France in order to oppose the grow- 
 ing power of Charles the Fifth. One 
 of the first objects of Clement on the 
 recovery of his liberty, was to recon- 
 quer the Tuscan states, the sovereignty 
 of which was guaranteed to his family 
 by the treaty of Barcelona. The Flo- 
 rentines, although unsupported by their 
 allies, and abandoned to their fate by 
 Francis the First, who was compelled 
 to enter into the treaty of Cambray, 
 maintained a gallant struggle for their 
 liberty. When it was determined to 
 fortify the city, Michael Angelo was 
 appointed the military architect, or 
 engineer to superintend the erection of 
 the necessary works ; and he, preferring 
 the liberties of his country to the in- 
 terests of the family of his patron, did 
 not hesitate to accept the task. 
 
 His appointment to such an important 
 
28 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTL 
 
 post is a proof of the high estimation in 
 which his talents were held by his coun- 
 trymen. Before commencing the neces- 
 sary works, he went to Ferrara to in- 
 spect the fortifications, which were then 
 considered to be the best in Italy. Whilst 
 there, he was received by Alphonso 
 Duke of Ferrara with great courtesy, 
 who afforded him all the information 
 and assistance which he required. The 
 duke took the opportunity of his pre- 
 sence to request that he would execute 
 some work of art for him, and on his 
 return to Florence, notwithstanding his 
 urgent occupations respecting the de- 
 fence of the city, he commenced a pic- 
 ture of Leda, which Vasari describes 
 as exquisitely beautiful. This painting 
 it appears, however, never reached the 
 duke, because, as is related by Michael 
 Angelo's biographers, some one sent by 
 the duke expressed dissatisfaction at the 
 work, which induced the indignant artist 
 to refuse to send it, and it was given, to- 
 gether with some models, to one of his 
 attendants, who took them into France. 
 The Leda afterwards came into the 
 possession of Francis the First, but was 
 nearly obliterated by the holy fury 
 of a confessor in the time of Louis 
 the Thirteenth. A French artist, who 
 saw the picture at Fontainbleau after it 
 had been injured, says the remains of it 
 possessed much of the manner of Titian 
 in the colouring, and in support of this 
 it is to be remarked, it was not till 
 after Michael Angelo's return from 
 Venice, where he became acquainted 
 with that great master's style, that he 
 finished the Leda. The original cartoon 
 or design for this work, was some years 
 since brought to this country by Mr. 
 Lock, and by him presented to the Royal 
 Academy. During this period, in ad- 
 dition to painting the Leda, he pro- 
 ceeded with the figures for the monu- 
 ment in St. Lorenzo. 
 
 Michael Angelo appears to have 
 displayed equal skill and patriotism in 
 his conduct throughout the siege, and 
 in all respects to have justified the con- 
 fidence reposed in him by his country. 
 The Florentines struggled bravely for 
 the maintenance of their independence, 
 and, aided by his skill, long defended 
 themselves against the besieging army 
 of the Prince of Orange, the general of 
 Charles the Fifth. Having reason to 
 doubt the good faith of some of the 
 leading persons intrusted with the com- 
 mand of the defence, Buonaroti in- 
 formed the authorities of his suspi- 
 
 cions, but the information was disre- 
 garded, and his warnings were attributed 
 to timidity. Finding himself treated with 
 contumely and contempt, and despairing 
 of rendering assistance to those who were 
 unwilling to serve themselves, he deter- 
 mined to withdraw secretly from Flo- 
 rence and go to Venice. He left the 
 city in company with one of his scholars 
 and a friend, and they carried with them 
 12,000 crowns in gold concealed in their 
 cloaks. In passing through Ferrara he 
 was recognised by the duke, who hap- 
 pened to see his name in the list of 
 strangers which was kept by the police, 
 and sending for him shewed him all re- 
 spect, and by every kind of persuasion, 
 joined to the offer of an honourable pro- 
 vision, endeavoured to induce him to 
 remain at Ferrara, at least until the war 
 was ended. He persisted however in his 
 determination to depart, but not wishing 
 to be outdone in generosity even by the 
 duke, pointing to the cloaks of his com- 
 panions where the gold was concealed, 
 said that he had with him 12,000 
 crowns, which, if wanted, were at the 
 duke's service. From Ferrara he pro- 
 ceeded to Venice, living as much re- 
 tired as the importunities of those, who 
 were desirous of doing honour to his 
 genius, would permit. While there he 
 is said by Vasari to have made, at the 
 request of the doge, the design for the 
 famous bridge of the Rialto, though it 
 is now generally understood that the 
 drawing from which the bridge was ex- 
 ecuted, was not the one made by him. 
 
 The Florentines soon finding their 
 loss, followed him by entreaties to re- 
 turn to their assistance ; and as con- 
 cessions were made, and reparation of- 
 fered for the indignities and slights 
 received, he, at some personal risk, re- 
 turned to his country, in order once 
 again to renew the struggle for the 
 maintenance of its liberty. The em- 
 peror, having effected a treaty with 
 the Venetians, and all Italy except 
 Florence having been restored to peace, 
 was enabled to concentrate his forces : 
 this, coupled with the treachery of the 
 captain, general of Florence, hastened 
 the downfal of the city, and a capitu- 
 lation was entered into, in which there 
 was provision for the preservation of 
 life and liberty to those who had 
 dared to defend their country against 
 conquest and oppression. This treaty 
 was explained as all such treaties are 
 usually interpreted, where the strongest 
 retains the power of dictating the terms 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 29 
 
 of its construction. The pope having 
 attained the object of his ambition, soon 
 found means, without breaking the letter 
 of the treaty, to wreak his vengeance on 
 those whom he hated, and who had op- 
 posed him. The offenders were not pu- 
 nished for opposing the power of the 
 pope, the treaty protecting them in that 
 respect ; but they were found guilty on 
 the pretext of having been enemies to 
 the republic! Aware of his danger, 
 Michael Angelo is said to have con- 
 cealed himself for many days in the bell- 
 tower of St. Nicholas to avoid the fury 
 and the treachery of Clement. Some 
 persons, however, state as a reason for 
 the pope's especial anger against him, 
 that he had proposed, during the defence 
 of Florence, the razing the palace of the 
 Medici. He was not mistaken in his 
 view of the pope's clemency, for strict 
 search was made for several days by 
 order of Clement, who finding this un- 
 successful, at last published a notice that 
 he would let him remain uninjured, 
 on condition he should proceed with 
 the monument to the Medici. He was 
 induced to confide in this assurance, 
 trusting less to the good faith of the 
 pope, than to his knowledge that it was 
 Clement's eager desire the monuments 
 and library should be completed. 
 
 There can be no doubt, from the ac- 
 counts of both of his biographers, that 
 Michael Angelo was constantly desirous 
 of finishing the great monument to Ju- 
 lius which had been so long delayed ; 
 the orders and importunities of Leo the 
 Tenth and of Clement, we have seen, had 
 long prevented him from doing this, 
 however he might wish it. The Duke 
 of Urbino continued to urge him, and 
 loaded him with unjust reproaches for 
 having misapplied large sums of money 
 received on account : this, on inquiry, 
 turned out to be untrue, and the dis- 
 covery had the effect of cooling the 
 ardour of the duke, who found he should 
 be obliged to contribute more funds. 
 After much wrangling and negotiation, 
 it was determined that the monument 
 should be completed for the sum which 
 had been actually received ; and instead 
 of an insulated work ornamented on all 
 sides, on the scale originally proposed, 
 the plan was altered and only the front 
 facade was to be executed. The desire 
 of Clement that he should proceed with 
 the works at Florence, tended to facili- 
 tate this arrangement for the diminishing 
 the work, as the pope's wishes, like those 
 pf Leo the Tenth, were considered by 
 
 all as laws. After much vexation and 
 unjust treatment, it was stipulated that 
 he should work four months at Florence 
 and the remainder of the year at 
 Rome. 
 
 On returning to Rome for this pur- 
 pose, he received fresh orders from Cle- 
 ment, who commissioned himto make de- 
 signs for painting the two ends of the 
 Sistine chapel, the ceiling of which he 
 had before painted under the patronage 
 of Julius. Although he could not refuse 
 the command, he delayed as much as 
 possible making the cartoon of the 
 Last Judgment, which was the subject 
 chosen, whilst he proceeded by stealth 
 with the statues for the monument. The 
 death, however, in 1534, of Clement, re- 
 leased him from these commands. He 
 then conceived the time was at last 
 arrived when he should be at liberty to 
 go on with the long delayed work ; but 
 even now he was disappointed. Paul 
 the Third, the new pope, was no sooner 
 elected, than he sent for him, expressing 
 his desire that he should devote all his 
 time to his service : this he declined, 
 pleading his contract with regard to the 
 unfinished monument. But Paul, who 
 was old, and not willing to brook oppo- 
 sition, was not less determined to be 
 obeyed than any! of his predecessors. 
 " What !" said he, " cannot I, now I am 
 pope, command that which I have been 
 wishing to attain for these thirty years ! 
 Where is this contract you talk so much 
 about ? I will tear it to pieces." 
 
 It appears, in order to rid himself of 
 the importunity of the pope, Michael 
 Angelo had determined to withdraw 
 himself to Urbino, that he might in quiet 
 complete the monument. Paul, how- 
 ever, was too eager for his services to let 
 him thus escape ; and early paid a visit 
 of state, accompanied by ten cardinals, 
 for the purpose of seeing all the statues 
 which had been executed for the monu- 
 ment, and the sketches and cartoon for 
 the Last Judgment. One of the car- 
 dinals seeing the statue of Moses, in- 
 tended for Julius's tomb, in order to pay 
 court to the pontiff, exclaimed, " This 
 alone is enough to do honour to Pope 
 Julius !" Paul again renewed his solici- 
 tations, and the Cardinal of Mantua, 
 seeing that the cause of the artist's re- 
 luctance was the unfinished contract, 
 undertook an arrangement with the 
 Duke of Urbino, whereby only three 
 statues were to be completed by Michael 
 Angelo, and the rest were to be executed 
 under his direction by others, he, how 
 
30 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 ever, paying the cost. Thus the plan 
 and contract were changed forthe fourth 
 and last time, and Paul was enabled to 
 gratify his eagerness to become the patron 
 of the great artist. The monument to 
 Julius, after all the various changes and 
 the different; impediments which have 
 been noticed, was at last finished, and put 
 up in St. Pietro in Vinculis. Of the 
 seven statues of which it is composed, 
 only three are the work of Michael An- 
 gelo, viz. the celebrated Moses,* and the 
 two figures on the side personifying 
 Virtue and Religion ; the remaining 
 four were the work of others. The 
 other statues which were executed or 
 begun for this monument were not used. 
 The two which were completed are, or 
 were, in the public collection at Paris ; 
 and the other four, which were only 
 commenced, support the roof of a grotto 
 in the Boboli gardens at Florence. 
 
 Paul, on the commencement of the 
 painting of the Last Judgment, remune- 
 rated Michael Angelo by a considerable 
 pension for life. The grant commences 
 by stating that, " Wishing to remunerate 
 you for the fresco painting representing 
 the last judgment, in consideration of your 
 labour and ability, which is an honour to 
 our age ; we promise," &c. This grand 
 work was finished in 1541, and was 
 opened at Christmas to the admiration 
 of the world. In a future page, when 
 considering the works executed by Mi- 
 ch ael Angelo, we shall lay before the 
 reader the remarks both of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds and M. Fuseli on this picture, 
 perhaps the most remarkable that was 
 ever executed by any painter. 
 
 After the completion of the Last Judg- 
 ment, the pope directed the painting in 
 fresco of the walls of a chapel which had 
 been built by San Gallo, and which was 
 called the Pauline chapel. The subjects 
 chosen were the Conversion of St. Paul, 
 and the Crucifixion of St. Peter. The 
 smoke of the tapers during the frequent 
 celebration of high mass in this chapel, 
 has so totally obscured these pictures 
 that the subjects are now scarcely to be 
 distinguished. These were the last works 
 n fresco by Michael Angelo, then of the 
 age of seventy-five years, who feeling 
 his powers much diminished, complained 
 to his friend Vasan that fresco painting 
 was not a fit work for old men. Fuseli 
 considers these as the dotage of his 
 style, yet as possessing parts which 
 
 * A sketch of this figure is given in the frontispiece 
 to this memoir. 
 
 make that dotage more enviable than 
 the vigour of mediocrity. 
 
 San Gallo was the architect gene- 
 rally employed by the pope, but Mi- 
 chael Angelo's experience during the 
 siege of Florence, was the cause of his 
 being consulted respecting some fortifi- 
 cations of the castle of St. Angelo, then 
 in progress. From the consciousness of 
 his talents, he appears to have given his 
 opinion freely on the proposed plans ; 
 and this so completely proved them to 
 be erroneous that the works were never 
 completed. This freedom however led 
 to many disputes and jealousies between 
 the rival artists. Though his age pre- 
 vented his continuing to paint in fresco, 
 Vasari states, that he continued to work 
 in marble, saying that he found the exer- 
 cise of the mallet and chisel necessary 
 to keep him in health. After his last 
 painting he commenced a large group, 
 the principal figure of which was a 
 dead Christ: this, though never entirely 
 finished, was taken to Florence and 
 placed behind the great altar in the me 
 tropolitan church, where an inscription 
 records that it was the last work in 
 marble which he executed. 
 
 We are now arrived at that period of 
 the life of Michael Angelo which is 
 marked by his great work in architec- 
 ture : he had already executed both in 
 sculpture and painting the most extra- 
 ordinary productions ever completed by * 
 any one man in any age ; and at the age 
 of seventy-five years was about, in a 
 manner, to commence a new career. 
 
 What has hitherto been written has 
 related to the painting and sculpture of 
 Michael Angelo, we shall next have to 
 consider him as an architect, particularly 
 as regards his share in the construction 
 of St. Peter's. Before, however, enter- 
 ing on this, we shall make some gene- 
 ral observations on his works in sculp- 
 ture and painting, prefacing these with 
 a few remarks on the revival of painting 
 in Italy. 
 
 It is not perhaps generally known 
 that we possess in this country an un- 
 finished bas relief by Michael Angelo, 
 cut in marble ; which was purchased in 
 Italy by the late Sir George Beaumont, 
 and by him bequeathed to the Royal 
 Academy. It is of a circular form, con- 
 sisting of three figures, representing the 
 Virgin, the Infant Saviour, and St. John ; 
 it is composed with much grace. A small 
 outline of this is added from a drawing 
 made by the leave of the President of 
 the Royal Academy. We may here be 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 31 
 
 permitted to regret, that some arrange- 
 ment could not be made by which this, 
 the cartoon of the Leda before noticed, 
 andother valuable works possessed by 
 the Academy, might be rendered gene- 
 rally accessible to the public. M. Ottley 
 possesses a picture in distemper and a 
 bust, both of which, according to his 
 opinion and that of M. Fuseli, were 
 executed by Michael Angelo. 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 On the revival of Painting in Italy. 
 
 The notices contained in the works of 
 several of the most distinguished of the 
 Italian historians, prove that there were 
 painters in Italy during the dark ages, 
 and Rome still possesses several spe- 
 cimens of art which prove this. Lanzi, 
 in' his history of painting in Italy,* 
 adduces in proof of this statement, 
 amongst others, the two vast works un- 
 rivalled by any others in Italy. The 
 first is the series of popes, which, in 
 order to prove the succession of the 
 papal chair down to the time of St. Leo, 
 this pontiff caused to be painted ; a 
 work of the fifth century, and which 
 was subsequently continued until our 
 own time. 
 
 The second is the decoration of the 
 whole church of San Urbano, where 
 there are several evangelical acts repre- 
 sented on the walls, along with some 
 histories of the tutelar saint and St. 
 Cecilia, a production which Lanzi con- 
 siders as not partaking either of the 
 Greek lineaments or style of drapery, and 
 which, he says, may justly be attributed 
 to an Italian pencil : this has subscribed 
 
 * The materials for this chapter have been com- 
 piled from the translation by Mr. Thomas Roscoe, of 
 the work of Lanzi, by far the most complete and 
 satisfactory history ol painting in Italy which exists. 
 
 upon it the date of 1 1 1 . The evidences 
 afforded by the catacombs at Rome of 
 the continued existence of art during 
 the early ages has been already noticed. 
 The painters, however, of those times 
 produced little else than mere mechani- 
 cal efforts, chiefly following the exam- 
 ples afforded by the Greeks, and it was 
 not till the improvement in sculpture, in 
 the middle of the thirteenth century, that 
 any sensible progress in painting is 
 really discoverable. 
 
 Though the principal share in the 
 honour of the revival of the arts is due 
 to Tuscany, the Pisans led the way ; as 
 they were the first to throw off the 
 trammels imposed by the Greek artists, 
 and first began the study of the ancient 
 monuments of Greek and Roman sculp- 
 ture, and from these drew the true prin- 
 ciples of art. 
 
 The improvement in sculpture was 
 followed by that of the art of executing 
 designs in Mosaic by Fra Jacopo, or 
 Fra Mino da Turrita, also a Tuscan. ' 
 
 Lanzi says it is not known whether 
 he was instructed in his art by the Ro- 
 mans or by the Greek workers of Mo- 
 saic ; but that it is well ascertained he 
 far surpassed them, and that on ex- 
 amining what remains of his works in 
 Santa Maria Maggiore, at Rome, one 
 can hardly be persuaded that they were 
 the production of so rude an age, did not 
 history constrain us to believe it ; add- 
 ing, that it appears probable he took 
 the ancients for his models, and deduced 
 his rules from the more chaste specimens 
 of Mosaic still remaining in several of 
 the Roman churches, the design of 
 which is less crude, the attitudes less 
 forced, and the composition more skilful 
 than were exhibited by the Greeks, who 
 ornamented the church of St. Mark at 
 Venice. 
 
 It is common to date 'the revival of 
 the art of painting in Italy from the time 
 of Cimabue, but the facts stated by 
 Lanzi and several other modern writers, 
 fully prove that before his time there 
 were not only painters in Italy who 
 had made some progress in the art, but 
 that Pisa had a school for each of the 
 fine arts as early as the end of the 
 eleventh century. Guinta, a Pisan, and 
 Guido da Siena were amongst the most 
 important artists, who appeared before 
 the time of Cimabue, and who distin- 
 guished themselves by abandoning the 
 tame and formal manner of the Greeks ; 
 in which one artist appears to have been 
 content with an imitation of his prede- 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BTJONAROTL 
 
 32 
 
 cessor, almost with the same precision 
 as was observable in the works of the 
 Egyptians. 
 
 Giovanni Cimabue was both a painter 
 and architect, he was born about the 
 year 1240. Although it appears pro- 
 bable he originally studied under the 
 Greek artists, who had been invited 
 to Florence, yet he early deviated from 
 their manner. Lanzi observes, he con- 
 sulted nature, corrected in part the rec- 
 tilinear forms of his design, gave ex- 
 pression to the heads, folded the drapery, 
 and grouped the figures with much 
 greater art than the Greeks. His talent 
 did not consist in the graceful; his 
 Madonnas had no beauty, his angels in 
 the same piece have all the same forms. 
 Wild as the age in which he lived, he 
 succeeded admirably in heads full of 
 character, especially in those of old men, 
 impressing an indescribable degree of 
 bold sublimity, which the moderns have 
 not been able greatly to surpass. Vast 
 and inventive in conception, he executed 
 large compositions, andexpressed them 
 in grand proportions. 
 
 Giotto, another name eminent amongst 
 the early painters of Florence, was a 
 shepherd-boy ; a sheep drawn by him 
 from nature on a stone attracted the 
 notice of Cimabue, who happened to see 
 it as he was passing; Cimabue, with the 
 consent of Giotto's father, took him to Flo- 
 rence for instruction. Giotto commenced 
 by imitating, but quickly surpassed his 
 master ; through him, symmetry became 
 more chaste, design more pleasing, and 
 colouring softer than before : the meagre 
 hands, the sharp pointed feet, and staring 
 eyes, (remnants of the Grecian manner,) 
 all acquired more correctness under him. 
 If Cimabue is to be considered as the 
 Michael Angelo of his age, Giotto was 
 the Raphael. There is much learned 
 controversy as to the share to which 
 the two great Florentine artists, Ci- 
 mabue and Giotto, are 'entitled as the 
 founders of the modern school of paint- 
 ing in Italy. The impartiality and in- 
 genuity with which this question has 
 been investigated by Lanzi, entitles him 
 of all others to the merit of being the 
 best authority, and he decides that the 
 improvement in painting is not due to 
 Florence alone ; that the career of human 
 
 genius in the progress of the fine arts is 
 the same in every country. That when 
 the man is dissatisfied with what the child 
 learned, he gradually passes from the 
 ruder elements to those which are less so, 
 and from thence to diligence and preci- 
 sion, afterwards advancing to the grand 
 and select, at length attains facility of 
 execution. Such was the progress of 
 the fine arts in Greece, and such has 
 been that of painting in Italy. 
 
 The Pisani (one of whom has been 
 before noticed as a sculptor) and their 
 scholars preceded the Florentine painters, 
 and diffused a new system of design over 
 Italy. It would be injustice, observes 
 Lanzi, to overlook them in the im- 
 provement of painting, in which design 
 is of so much importance, or to suppose 
 that they did not signally contribute to 
 its improvement ; again, if all the early 
 Italian painters were to be exclusively 
 derived from the two Florentine masters, 
 every style of painting ought to resem- 
 ble the style of those masters, yet in 
 examining the old paintings of Siena, of 
 Venice, of Bologna, and of Parma, they 
 are found to be dissimilar in idea, in 
 choice of colouring, and in taste of com- 
 position. 
 
 Lanzi's second proposition is, that if 
 the improvement of painting was not 
 solely due to the Florentines, yet no 
 people excelled or contributed by ex- 
 ample so much to the progress of art as 
 they did ; that Giotto was as much the 
 father of the new method of painting, as 
 Boccaccio was the father of the new spe- 
 cies of prose composition ; after the 
 time of the latter any subject could be 
 elegantly treated of in prose ; after the 
 time of _the former painting could ex- 
 press all subjects with propriety. A 
 Simon da Siena, a Stefano da Firenze 
 and others, added charms to the art, but 
 that they and others owe to Giotto the 
 transitions from the old to a new man- 
 ner. The services of Giotto were sought 
 by the greatest potentates and families 
 in every part of Italy, and after his 
 death the same universal applause fol- 
 lowed his disciples throughout Italy : 
 thus becoming the model for the stu- 
 dents during the fourteenth century, as 
 was Raphael in the sixteenth, and the 
 Carracci in the seventeeth century. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. f & *, 
 
 lA. 
 
 tyk 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 The revival of Painting from the time 
 of Cimabue and Giotto to that of 
 Leonardo Da Vinci, M. Angelo, and 
 Raphael. 
 
 The works of the Italian writers on 
 the fine arts are filled with long dis- 
 quisitions on the causes which are sup- 
 posed to have led to the improved style of 
 Giotto ; each party advancing some par- 
 ticular reasons for his theory, though it is 
 evident that the true cause was the dis- 
 covery and study of the specimens of 
 ancient Grecian sculpture. The effect of 
 these on the productions of the Pisani, 
 and others, (among the first who im- 
 proved modern sculpture,) is sufficient 
 to show that they were also the princi- 
 pal cause of the change of style in the 
 arts of design and painting. A slight 
 inspection of the works of Giotto ma- 
 nifests how much he was indebted to the 
 newly- found monuments. The secret 
 once discovered, it only required the 
 
 genius of such a painter to attain excel- 
 lence. It was not, however, in the 
 Florentine school alone that this im- 
 provement is discernible ; an examina- 
 tion of the early pictures of the schools 
 of Siena, Bologna, and Parma suffi- 
 ciently shows ^that a similar cause was 
 operating nearly at the same time in dif- 
 ferent places ; and the progress of the 
 art was rapid and universal throughout 
 the whole of Italy. 
 
 The genius of Giotto, however, formed 
 an era in the rapid advance of the Flo- 
 rentine school; his example incited 
 others to exertion, and his disciples, by 
 availing themselves of his discoveries, 
 and following in his track, assisted in 
 diffusing a knowledge of his principles 
 and improved method ; thus laying the 
 groundwork for still higher perfection in 
 the art, though in the capacity of humble 
 imitators of his style. 
 
 Amongst the most important of the 
 successors of Giotto, was Masaccio 
 (Maso di S. Giovanni), a name which 
 D 
 
34 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BTJONAROTI. 
 
 forms an sera in the history of art. His 
 principles were founded on the works of 
 Ghiberti and Donatello; he had ac- 
 quired perspective from Brunelleschi,and 
 had long studied the remains of ancient 
 sculpture at Rome. From his works, it 
 is apparent that he had made a great 
 advance in diversifying the positions and 
 characters; and in foreshortening his 
 figures he appears to have studied the 
 anatomy of the body more carefully than 
 his predecessors. The expression of his 
 heads is often graceful and elegant ; he 
 exhibits considerable freedom and sim- 
 plicity in the folds and arrangement of 
 his drapery, and much truth, variety, 
 and delicacy in his colouring. His pic- 
 tures became the study of all the best 
 artists in his own time, and in that of 
 Pietro Perugino, and of his great pupil 
 Raphael. This artist died in 1443.* 
 
 Amongst the imitators of Masaccio, 
 one of the most eminent was Ghirlan- 
 daio, the artist in whose school Michael 
 Angelo studied ; his works exhibit clear- 
 ness and purity of outline, correctness 
 of form, considerable invention and 
 facility of expression ; and he is con- 
 sidered by Melius as the first Florentine 
 who, by means of true perspective, was 
 successful in grouping and in depth of 
 composition. 
 
 These labours of the Tuscan painters 
 bring us to the beginning of the sixteenth 
 century, when much that was excellent 
 in art had been attained by the careful 
 study and imitation of nature, which 
 had the effect of imparting more variety 
 and life, especially to the heads. Indeed, 
 the artists of later times have not much 
 surpassed their predecessors in this 
 respect. The whole, however, that was 
 accomplished, amounted to little more 
 than a careful imitation ; ideal beauty, 
 fulness and grandeur of design, harmony 
 of colouring, aerial perspective, and va- 
 riety and freedom, were still wanting, in 
 order to carry the art to the perfection 
 which it subsequently attained. 
 
 The taste for magnificent edifices 
 having revived throughout Italy, many 
 of the most splendid of those public and 
 private buildings, which still remain at 
 Rome, Florence, Milan, Mantua, and 
 Venice, were erected about this period. 
 The demandfor ornamental architecture, 
 as well as for interior embellishments, 
 necessarily created a spirit of rivalry 
 
 * The celebrated epitaph on Sir C. Wren, in St. 
 Paul's, was borrowed from that on Masaccio, 
 which is in the Carmelite Church in Rome, the 
 walls of which he had painted in fresco. 
 
 " If any one seeks to know my tomb, or name, 
 tfria church is my monument," &c. 
 
 and emulation amongst the artists of 
 the times, and not only tended mainly 
 to the advancement of the art, but pro- 
 bably called into action powers and 
 genius which, at a less fortunate pe- 
 riod, would have remained dormant. 
 The schools of Italy, before this attain- 
 ment of excellence by mutual emulation, 
 strongly resembled each other, but hav- 
 ing arrived at maturity, each began to 
 display a marked and peculiar character. 
 This soon became more conspicuous, 
 from the introduction into Italy, about 
 the middle of the fifteenth century, of the 
 art of painting in oil, which enabled 
 artists, in their smaller works, to obtain 
 more brilliancy and depth. The inven- 
 tion of the arts of engraving on copper 
 and wood was also one of the great 
 causes of the advancement of design, by 
 spreading over the whole of Europe the 
 compositions of the great masters, whose 
 works, till then, had been confined to a 
 single spot. 
 
 Of the three great artists, whose genius 
 was to bring to maturity all that was 
 excellent in painting, and to expound 
 and simplify the rules of art to their 
 successors, Leonardo da Vinci appeared 
 the first. He was born in 1432, twenty- 
 three years before Michael Angelo. 
 His biographers concur in representing 
 him as " endowed by nature with a 
 genius uncommonly elevated and pene- 
 trating, eager after discovery, and dili- 
 gent in the pursuit not only of what 
 related to the three arts dependent on 
 design, but to mathematics, mechanics, 
 hydrostatics, music, and poetry. He was 
 versed also in the accomplishment of 
 horsemanship, fencing, and dancing. His 
 manners were polished and affable, 
 fitting him for the society of the great, 
 with whom he lived on a footing of 
 familiarity and friendship." 
 
 In addition to his great attainments 
 as an artist, he was distinguished as a 
 scientific writer ; he was a discoverer in 
 optics and mechanics ; his hydraulic 
 works on the Adda, which he rendered 
 navigable for two hundred miles, con- 
 tinue to the present day monuments of 
 his mechanical science. Some general 
 observations contained in his writings, 
 upon the inductive method of philoso- 
 phizing, are almost couched in the same 
 terms as were the great aphorisms which, 
 in the succeeding age, rendered the name 
 of Bacon immortal. 
 
 " Experiment," says he, " is the in- 
 terpreter of the secrets of nature ; it never 
 misleads us. Though our reason may 
 sometimes deceive itself, we must con- 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 suit experience ; and vary the circum- 
 stances in our experiments until we can 
 draw from them general rules, for it is 
 from hence that these rules are to be 
 derived." Again, " I am about to treat 
 of a particular subject ; but first of all 
 I shall make some experiments ; because 
 my plan is to appeal to experience, and 
 from thence to demonstrate why bodies 
 are compelled to act in a certain manner. 
 This is the method to be pursued by 
 such as would investigate the pheno- 
 mena of nature." His different memo- 
 randa on art abound with very useful 
 observations on the mechanical powers 
 and muscular action of the human frame. 
 He was originally taught by Verrochio, 
 an artist of some eminence ; he soon, 
 however, surpassed his teacher, though 
 it is remarked that he retained through 
 life traces of his early education, and 
 that, like his master, he designed more 
 readily than he painted; and that in his 
 designs and countenances he seems to 
 have prized elegance and vivacity of ex- 
 pression more than dignity and fulness 
 of contour. 
 
 His mode of painting may be divided 
 into two styles, one abounding in sha- 
 dow, which gives admirable brilliancy 
 to the contrasting lights ; the other more 
 quiet, and managed by merely having 
 recourse to middle tints. In each, the 
 grace of his design, the expression of the 
 mental affections, and the delicacy of his 
 pencil, have not yet been surpassed, or 
 perhaps equalled. He appears, however, 
 to have been more solicitous to advance 
 his art than to multiply his pictures ; a 
 kind of timidity, and fastidiousness, a 
 longing after an excellence which he con- 
 sidered he could not attain appear often 
 to have induced him to leave his works 
 unfinished, not being able to arrive at 
 that truth which he considered necessary 
 to perfection. In addition to his merit as 
 a painter, he was eminent as a sculptor. 
 
 His life is usually divided into four 
 periods ; the first during the time he re- 
 mained at Florence. The second was 
 whilst he was at Milan, where he was in- 
 vited by Ludovico Sforza, and where he 
 is represented to have delighted every one 
 by performing on a silver lyre (a new in- 
 strument of his own construction) no 
 less than by his eloquence and his poetry. 
 Here he remained till 1499, absorbed in 
 abstruse studies and in mechanical and 
 hydros? atical labours for the state. The 
 seventeen years he spent at Milan, were 
 afier he had attained the maturity both 
 of his age and fame, as he did not leave 
 
 Florence before he was thirty. Whilst 
 there, however, he painted little except 
 his celebrated picture of the Last Sup- 
 per; but, during this period, he raised 
 the school of Milan to great eminence 
 by superintending an academy of the 
 arts, which produced illustrious pupils. 
 This, and the production of his Last 
 Supper (one of the greatest triumphs of 
 art), render his stay at Milan one of the 
 most important periods of his life. This 
 picture * is well known to all who take 
 the slightest interest in the fine arts, by 
 the celebrated engraving of Raphael 
 Morghen. The picture itself has long 
 been destroyed, but we are fortunate 
 in having in this country (in the pos- 
 session of the Royal Academy) a very 
 fine copy of it by Oggione, and Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence succeeded in collect- 
 ing, at a great price, the studies made, as 
 he conceived, by Da Vinci, for the dif- 
 ferent heads. After the misfortunes of 
 Sforza, Leonardo returned to Florence, 
 and during the thirteen years he remained 
 there, painted some of his best works ; 
 and it was at this time that he executed 
 the Cartoon of the Battle, which was 
 designed to rival the work of Michael 
 Angelo. He went to Rome at the time 
 Leo X. became Pope, but remained there 
 only for a short time ; and it is stated 
 that it was his procrastinating disposi- 
 tion and disinclination to finish his 
 works, that caused Leo X. to withhold 
 from him his patronage. 
 
 * The history of the misfortunes which led to 
 the destruction of this picture are curious it was 
 originally painted in oil instead of fresco ; and 
 from some defect in the oil or plaster, it soon 
 peeled off, and was at various times retouched and 
 repainted. The refectory of the convent in which 
 it was painted was low and damp : the friars hav- 
 ing no great esteem for this production, the middle 
 of the wall on which it was painted being in a line 
 with their kitchen, a door-way was cut through 
 the picture. The chief destruction took place in 
 1770 by one Mezza, who actually scraped off all 
 the remaining outlines of the picture, and restored 
 heads of his own in all the figures. And in 1796, 
 when the French occupied Milan, the refectory 
 was first a barrack and then for some years a 
 magazine for forage ; but notwithstanding this, in 
 the year 1828, we saw a painter mounted upon 
 an immense scaffolding, copying for some crowned 
 head, with great care, this mere ghost of its former 
 greatness. All that is known in reality of the 
 picture is collected from tradition ; and through 
 the medium of several excellent copies, some 
 of them by artists of note, who studied the original 
 in the day of its greatest preservation. The one 
 from which the celebrated engraving by Raphael 
 Morghen was taken is from a fresco painted by 
 Marco d'Oggione, in 1514, at the refectory of a 
 suppressed convent at Castellazo, assisted, how- 
 ever, by sketches of Leonardo. 
 
 It is remarkable that two judicious critics in this 
 country have both mistaken the subject entirely. 
 Mr. Addison calls it the Feast at Cana ; and Mr. 
 Roscoe considers the Saviour as in the act of dis- 
 pensing the elements of bread and wine, and 
 founding the Sacrament of the Supper, 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 Francis I., who had seen the painting 
 of the Last Supper at Milan, became 
 desirous of possessing so eminent an 
 artist ; and although Da Vinci was then 
 an old man, he invited him to his court. 
 
 The rivalry which existed between 
 Da Vinci and Michael Angelo, and, the 
 fact that the latter was preferred to 
 him both at Rome and at Florence, pro- 
 bably induced him to quit his native 
 country with little regret, particularly 
 as, by withdrawing from all cause of 
 excitement and irritation,he was enabled 
 to consult his own ease and happiness. 
 He accordingly went to France, where, 
 however, he expired in 1 5 1 9, in the arms 
 of his royal patron, before he had em- 
 ployed his pencil in his service. 
 
 Raphael de Santi, or Sanzio, the 
 third and last of the great triumvirate, 
 was the son of an inferior painter, and 
 was born at Urbino in 1483. He was 
 
 during a life of eighty-seven years ; 
 whilst Raphael, who died at thirty-seven, 
 in the full vigour of life, left an infinite 
 variety of pictures*. The last, and, per- 
 haps, greatest effort of his genius, is the 
 Transfiguration. Mengs observes, that 
 this contains more excellencies than any 
 of his numerous works. It is well known 
 by the various celebrated and costly en- 
 gravings which have been made of it. 
 We hope, however, at no very distant 
 period, to furnish engravings of this and 
 others of the most celebrated produc- 
 tions of the great masters, at a price 
 which will enable the most humble to 
 obtain them ; so that we may be ena- 
 bled, by thus diffusing the knowledge, 
 to raise the standard of taste for works 
 of art. 
 
 In speaking of the three great mas- 
 ters of painting, who, together, appear 
 to have attained every degree of excel- 
 
 early placed at Perugia, under Pietro lence of which the art is susceptible, the 
 Perugino, an artist of considerable ce- 
 lebrity, and whose style he in a great 
 measure adopted in his early works ; but, 
 like his great contemporaries, he soon 
 surpassed his master, abandoning the 
 stiffness of his draperies, his dryness 
 and harshness, and animating with spirit 
 the gestures and countenances of his 
 heads. The bent of his genius was to- 
 wards the voluptuous and graceful, and 
 led him to that ideal beauty, grace, and 
 expression which may be considered as 
 the most refined and difficult province 
 of painting. Whilst at Rome he princi- 
 pally studied the remains of Grecian 
 sculpture, by which he perfected his 
 knowledge of the art ; and he also de- 
 voted much time to the study of the an- 
 cient buildings in that city. He studied 
 six years under his relation Bramante, 
 the architect, in order that at his death 
 he might succeed him in the manage- 
 ment of the building of St. Peter's. A 
 vivid apprehension, a sort of fervour in 
 seizing the sudden expression of pas- 
 sion, and a facility of execution, seem to 
 have marked his earliest works. The 
 career of Raphael was, however, as 
 short as it was brilliant; yet a careful 
 investigation of his works, in the order 
 of time in which they were executed, 
 shew, even to a common observer, the 
 continued and rapid improvements he 
 made in the highest branches of his 
 art ; whilst Da Vinci appears to have 
 been almost paralyzed by hesitation and 
 doubt, and to have been in a constant 
 state of balance betwixt his notions of 
 elaborate finish and want of persever- 
 ance. He left behind him but few works 
 
 name of Fra Bartolommeo must not be 
 omitted, even in this short notice. "He," 
 observes Fuseli, " first gave gradation 
 to colour, form and masses to drapery, 
 a grave dignity, till then unknown, to ex- 
 ecution. If he were not endowed with 
 the versatility and comprehension of 
 Leonardo, his principles were less mixed 
 with base matter, and less apt to mis- 
 lead him. As a member of a religious 
 order, he confined himself to subjects 
 and characters of piety; but the few 
 nudities he allowed himself to exhibit 
 shew sufficient intelligence and still 
 more style. He foreshortened with 
 truth and boldness, and wherever the 
 figure did admit of it, made his drapery 
 the vehicle of the limb it invests. He 
 
 * llaffaelle Sanzio was one of the geniuses the 
 most favoured by nature, to whose development 
 the culture and taste of the age, the society of the 
 great men then living, the wise magnificence of 
 princes, and the progress of his predecessors in the 
 fine arts equally contributed. He was inferior to 
 Michael Angelo in the knowledge of the human 
 machine, and in the art of executing possible sub- 
 jects ; but he was superior to all in the execution 
 of subjects of fact, in which he carried the expres- 
 sion of the passions and feelings of the soul to 
 perfection. Thence as Buonaroti strikes the 
 mind, compels it to think and to admire. Raffaello 
 goes straight forward to the heart, overwhelming 
 it with a magical delight, and obliges it to feel, 
 though uneducated and unused to the language of 
 the fine arts. Recognising, however, the excel- 
 lence of both, each in his line, as men have more 
 heart than mind, and are more touched by fact than 
 by the possible, though sublime, Raffaello has, for 
 three centuries, been deservedly considered as the 
 prince of painting; and if men were differently 
 formed, the crown of supremacy would belong to 
 MichaelAngelo. Raffaello was a good architect; he 
 commented Vitruvius, and he is thought to be the 
 author, at least as far as the substance of it, of a 
 beautiful letter to Leo X., on the manner of draw- 
 ing copies of the antiquities of Rome. He also 
 directed, and perhaps modelled, the statue of Jonas, 
 which is still in Rome, at the Madonna del Popolo, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 37 
 
 was the true master of Raphael, whom 
 his tuition weaned from the meanness 
 of Perugino, and prepared for the mighty 
 style of Michael Angelo. 
 
 " Whilst Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, 
 and Raphael had thus raised the charac- 
 ter of the Tuscan, Roman, and Lombard 
 schools, Giorgione (Giorgio Barbarelli) 
 first, and then Titian (Tiziano Vecelli,) 
 about the same period, displayed in their 
 works the more alluring charm of co- 
 lour,thus founding what has been termed 
 the Venetian school. To no colourist 
 did nature unveil herself with that digni- 
 fied familiarity in which she appeared to 
 Titian. His organ, universal and equally 
 fit for all her exhibitions, rendered her 
 simplest and her most compound ap- 
 pearances with equal purity and truth. 
 He penetrated the essence and the ge- 
 neral principle of the substances before 
 him, and on them exhibited his theory 
 of colour." * 
 
 The last great advance in art was 
 made by Correggio (Antonio Allegri) ; 
 he it was who attained that peculiar har- 
 mony and grace, which had never before 
 been so fully and strikingly developed ; 
 and added a magnificence of breadth and 
 of relief which has been exhibited only by 
 himself. " The harmony and the grace 
 of Correggio are proverbial ; the medium 
 by which breadth of gradation unites the 
 two opposite principles the coalition of 
 light and darkness by imperceptible tran- 
 sition, are the elements of his style : this 
 inspires his figures with grace, and to this 
 their grace is subordinate. The most ap- 
 propriate.the most elegant attitudes were 
 adopted, rejected, perhaps sacrificed, to 
 the most awkward ones, in compliance 
 with this imperious principle. Hosts 
 vanished, were absorbed, or emerged in 
 obedience to it. This union of the 
 whole predominates over all that re- 
 mains of him, from the vastness of his 
 cupolas to the smallest of his oil pic- 
 tures. The harmony of Correggio, 
 though assisted by exquisite hues, was 
 entirely independent of colour ; his great 
 organ was light and shade in its most 
 extensive sense. The bland, central 
 light of a globe imperceptibly gliding 
 through lurid demi-tints into rich re- 
 flected shades, composes the style of 
 Correggio, and affects us with the soft 
 emotions of a dreamt." 
 
 Such were the singular effects of ge- 
 nius, that in so short a period raised 
 modern art to its highest pitch. So rapid 
 was its progress, that one enjoying the 
 
 common term of life, might have wit- 
 nessed its rise, progress, and decline. 
 
 After the works of those who have 
 been mentioned, little was done by the 
 artists who followed, except in refining 
 and ornamenting that which had been 
 struck out by their great predecessors. 
 Whilst Raphael died too early to witness 
 the decline of the art he had so materi- 
 ally assisted to perfect, the long life of 
 Michael Angelo permitted him to see 
 and to lament the perversion of those 
 principles which he had developed. 
 
 Amongst the most distinguished dis- 
 ciples of the Roman schools may be men- 
 tioned Pelegrino Tebaldi of Bologna, Ju- 
 lio Pipi (Romano) and M. A. Amerigi (II 
 Caravaggio). The principle of Correg- 
 gio found no worthy follower except in 
 Parmegiano (Francesco Muzzuoli), who 
 may be said to have refined upon the 
 grace of his master, to a degree of ele- 
 gance, which, however, was too often 
 allied to weakness and affectation. 
 
 Towards the end of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury arose at Bologna the school of the 
 three Carracci, known by the name of the 
 Eclectic School, from its leading prin- 
 ciple of endeavouring to select the beau- 
 ties, correct the faults, supply the de- 
 fects, and avoid the extremes of the dif- 
 ferent styles ; a union which the slightest 
 consideration shews to be entirely in- 
 compatible. These principles of the 
 eclectic school speedily caused its decay, 
 and the most eminent of the scholars, 
 such as Domenichino, Schedoni, Guido 
 Reni, and Guercino, soon found their 
 peculiar bias, and followed their own 
 course, unfettered by such inconsistent 
 rules. 
 
 As even a short notice of the life of 
 Michael Angelo would have been im- 
 perfect without a sketch of the rise and 
 progress of art to excellence, so the sin- 
 gularity of its almost equally rapid de- 
 cline was too curious to pass entirely 
 without notice; and this must be the 
 apology for the few meagre extracts 
 which have been given from Mr. Fusel i's 
 very spirited notice of the art of the 
 moderns in his second lecture. 
 
 * Fuseli. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 Character of Michael Angelo as a 
 Sculptor and Painter. 
 Having thus shortly traced the history 
 of painting and sculpture, both ancient 
 and modern, we shall, before we refer 
 to the architectural productions of 
 Michael Angelo, consider his character 
 and rank as a painter and sculptor. 
 
38 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 An estimate of his powers in these two 
 branches of art may be best formed by 
 a reference to the opinions of some of 
 the most eminent writers on art of our 
 own country. Although we may not 
 have produced any artists worthy to 
 contend with the great Italian painters, 
 yet it may be affirmed that no country 
 has hitherto produced writers more 
 fully capable of appreciating the merit 
 and beauties of the Italian school, or of 
 developing the principles of its great 
 masters, than our English artists. 
 Neither Italy nor France has produced 
 works equal to the lectures of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, Fuseli, and Flaxman. 
 In general, the Italian and French have 
 wasted their time in antiquarian discus- 
 sions on minute points, or in subtle 
 metaphysical theories on beauty, idea- 
 lity, and grace. The paintings of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds have deservedly placed 
 him at the head of our English school, 
 and his Discourses, taken as a whole, 
 perhaps, place him in the first rank of 
 critics on subjects relating to art. The 
 following extracts, from the lectures 
 of Sir Joshua Reynolds, contain his 
 opinions on the merits of Michael An- 
 gelo as a painter. 
 
 " When we consider that Michael 
 Angelo was the great archetype to 
 whom Parmegiano was indebted for 
 that grandeur which we find in his 
 works, and from whom all his con- 
 temporaries and successors have de- 
 rived whatever they have possessed of 
 the dignified and the majestic ; that he 
 was the bright luminary, trom whom 
 painting has borrowed a new lustre ; 
 that under his hands it assumed a new 
 appearance, and is become another and 
 superior art ; I may be excused if I 
 take this opportunity, as I have hitherto 
 taken on every occasion, to turn your 
 attention to this exalted founder and 
 father of modern art, of which he was 
 not only the inventor, but which, by the 
 divine energy of his own mind, he car- 
 ried at once to its highest point of 
 possible perfection. 
 
 " The sudden maturity to which 
 Michael Angelo brought our art, and 
 the comparative feebleness of his fol- 
 lowers and imitators, might perhaps 
 be reasonably, at least plausibly, ex- 
 plained, if we had time for such an ex- 
 amination. At present I shall only 
 observe, that the subordinate parts of 
 our art, and perhaps of other arts, 
 expand themselves by a slow and pro- 
 gressive growth; but those which de- 
 pend on a native vigour of imagination 
 
 generally burst forth at once into fulness 
 and beauty. Of this, Homer, probably, 
 and Shakspeare more assuredly, are 
 signal examples. Michael Angelo pos- 
 sessed the poetical part of our art in a 
 most eminent degree ; and the same 
 daring spirit, which urged him first to 
 explore the unknown regions of the 
 imagination, delighted with the novelty 
 and animated by the success of his dis- 
 coveries, could not have failed to stimu- 
 late and impel him forward in his career 
 beyond those limits, which his followers, 
 destitute of the same incentives, had 
 not strength to pass. 
 
 " To distinguish between correctness 
 of drawing, and that part which respects 
 the imagination, we may say the one 
 approaches to the mechanical (which, in 
 its way too, may make just pretensions 
 to genius) and the other to the poetical. 
 To encourage a solid and vigorous 
 course of study, it may not be amiss to 
 suggest that, perhaps, a confidence in 
 the mechanical produces a boldness in 
 the poetic. He that is sure of his ship 
 and tackle, puts out fearlessly from the 
 shore ; and he who knows that his hand 
 can execute whatever his fancy can sug- 
 gest, sports with more freedom in em- 
 bodying the visionary forms of his own 
 creation. I will not say Michael An- 
 gelo was eminently poetical, only because 
 he was greatly mechanical ; but I am 
 sure that mechanical excellence invi- 
 gorated and emboldened his mind to 
 carry painting into the regions of poetry, 
 and to stimulate that art in its most 
 adventurous nights. Michael Angelo 
 equally possessed both qualifications. 
 Yet, of mechanical excellence, there 
 were certainly great examples to be 
 found in ancient sculpture, and parti- 
 cularly in the fragment known by the 
 name of the Torso of Michael Angelo ; 
 but of that grandeur of character, air, 
 and attitude which he threw into all his 
 figures, and which so well corresponds 
 with the grandeur of his outline, there 
 was no example ; it could, therefore, 
 proceed only from the most poetical 
 and sublime imagination. 
 
 " It is impossible not to express some 
 surprise, that the race of painters who 
 preceded Michael Angelo, men of ac- 
 knowledged great abilities, should never 
 have thought of transferring a little of 
 that grandeur of outline which they 
 could not but see and admire in ancient 
 sculpture, into their own works; but 
 they appear to have considered sculp- 
 ture as the later schools of artists look 
 at the inventions of Michael Angelo, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 39 
 
 as something to be admired, but with 
 which they have nothing to do : quod 
 super nos, nihil ad nos. The artists of 
 that age, even Raffaelle himself, seemed 
 to be going on very contentedly in the 
 dry manner of Pietro Perugino ; and if 
 Michael Angelo had never appeared, 
 the art might still have continued in the 
 same style. 
 
 " Besides Rome and Florence, where 
 the grandeur of this style was first dis- 
 played, it was on this foundation that 
 the Carracci built the truly great acade- 
 mical Bolognian school. 
 
 " This grandeur of style has been, in 
 different degrees, disseminated over all 
 Europe. Some caught it by living at 
 the time, and coming into contact with 
 the original author, whilst others re- 
 ceived it at second hand; and being 
 everywhere adopted, it has totally 
 changed the whole taste and style of 
 design, if there could be said to be any 
 style before his time. Our art, in con- 
 sequence, now assumes a rank to which 
 it could never have dared to aspire, if 
 Michael Angelo had not discovered to 
 the world the hidden powers which it 
 possessed, without his assistance we 
 never could have been convinced that 
 painting was capable of producing an 
 adequate representation of the persons 
 and actions of the heroes of the Iliad. 
 
 " I would ask any man qualitied to 
 judge of such works, whether he can 
 look with indifference at the personi- 
 fication of the Supreme Being in the 
 centre of the Capella Sestina, or the 
 figures of the sybils which surround 
 that chapel, to which we may add the 
 statue of Moses ; and whether the same 
 sensations are not excited by those 
 works, as what he may remember to 
 have felt from the most sublime pas- 
 sages of Homer? I mention those 
 figures more particularly, as they come 
 nearer to a comparison with his Jupiter, 
 his demigods, and heroes, those sybils 
 and prophets being a kind of interme- 
 diate beings between men and angels. 
 Though instances may be produced in 
 the works of other painters which may 
 justly stand in competition with those I 
 have mentioned, such as the Isaiah and 
 the Vision of Ezekiel, by Raffaelle, the 
 St. Mark of Frate Bartolommeo, and 
 many others, yet these, it must be al- 
 lowed, are inventions so much in Mi- 
 chael Angelo's manner of thinking, that 
 they may be truly considered as so many 
 rays, which discover manifestly the 
 centre from whence they emanated. 
 
 " The sublime in painting, as in 
 poetry, so overpowers and takes such a 
 possession of the whole mind, that no 
 room is left for attention to minute criti- 
 cism. The little elegancies of art in 
 the presence of these great ideas thus 
 greatly expressed, lose all their value, 
 and are, for the instant, at least, felt to 
 be unworthy of our notice. The correct 
 judgment, the purity of taste, which 
 characterise Raffaelle, the exquisite 
 grace of Correggio and Parmegiano all 
 disappear before them. ***** 
 
 " I feel a self-congratulation in know- 
 ing myself capable of such sensations as 
 he intended to excite.* I reflect, not 
 without vanity, that these discourses 
 bear testimony to my admiration of that 
 truly divine man ; and I should desire 
 that the last words which I should pro- 
 nounce in this academy, and from this 
 place, might be the name of Michael 
 Angelo." Sir J. Reynolds's Discourses. 
 
 With respect to the great praises be- 
 stowed on Michael Angelo by Sir Joshua, 
 many have been induced to doubt the 
 sincerity of his admiration, seeing that 
 his own works bear so little traces of the 
 style and manner of him whom he con- 
 sidered most excellent. Sir Joshua, how- 
 ever, has himself stated that he was 
 rather to be considered an admirer than 
 an imitator, having taken another course, 
 one more suited, as he modestly ob- 
 serves, to his abilities, and the times in 
 which he lived. That Sir Joshua Rey- 
 nolds would have been eminent in what- 
 ever style he attempted, his great suc- 
 cess, and the merit of the works he has 
 left us, give ample evidence. It is in 
 the latter part of his observation that 
 the true reason of the course he pursued 
 is to be discovered. There was no real 
 taste in the country for the grand and 
 severe style of the Roman school ; 
 there were no great buildings to be 
 adorned, nothing to call into existence 
 rivalry and emulation such as existed 
 during the times of the revival of the 
 art at Rome ; and it was only in the ex- 
 ercise of that branch of art which the 
 public taste made lucrative, that the artist 
 could arrive at that independence which 
 it must be the object of all to attain. 
 
 We cannot better illustrate our posi- 
 tion, as to the little taste, or, at least, 
 little patronage, those artists receive who 
 exclusively confine themselves, to the 
 higher branches, than by mentioning 
 that the late Mr. Flaxman (who, after 
 raising the character of this country by 
 his outlines from Homer and Dante, 
 
40 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 which the united testimony and ap- 
 plause of all Europe pronounced to ap- 
 proach nearer, in grandeur and simpli- 
 city of composition, to the works of the 
 ancients than any other,) never, through 
 a long life, was commissioned to execute 
 one single subject from these designs ! 
 
 The recently published life of Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence proves to us that he 
 also concurred in giving the palm to 
 Michael Angelo. He observes, in a 
 letter from Rome, " It often happens 
 that first impressions are the truest, 
 we change, and change, and then return 
 to them again. I try to bring my mind 
 in all the humility of truth, when esti- 
 mating to myself the powers of Michael 
 Angelo and Raphael, and again and 
 again, the former 'bears down upon it 
 with the compacted force of lightning.' 
 The diffusion of truth and elegance, and 
 often grandeur, cannot support itself 
 against the compression of the sublime. 
 There is something in that lofty abstrac- 
 tion, in those deities of intellect, that 
 people the Sistine Chapel, that converts 
 the noblest personages of Raphael's 
 drama into the audience of Michael 
 Angelo, before whom you know that, 
 equally with yourself, they would stand 
 silent and awe-struck. Raphael never 
 produced figures equal to the Adam and 
 Eve of Michael Angelo. * * * * 
 " I passed my morning, for some 
 hours, in the Sistine Chapel and the 
 Vatican ; and procured an order to ad- 
 mit me to go round the top of the chapel 
 in the narrow gallery ; I thus saw the 
 noble work with closer inspection, and 
 therefore more advantage. With all 
 your love of Raphael, you must and 
 shall believe in the superiority of that 
 greater being, of whom, in grateful, vir- 
 tuous sincerity, your painter himself 
 said, ' I bless God I live in the times of 
 Michael Angelo/ Admired and popular 
 as he was, it was fine, yet only just in 
 him to say so ; and, from frequent com- 
 parison of their noble works, I am the 
 more convinced of the entire veracity of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds's decision in favour 
 of Michael Angelo. I am not used, I 
 hope, to be presumptuous in my opi- 
 nions about art, but in my own mind, I 
 think I know that Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 could not have had another opinion on 
 the subject." 
 
 Fuseli, whose works we have already 
 often referred to, says, " Michael Angelo 
 did for painting what Homer had planned 
 for poetry, the epic part of which, with 
 the utmost simplicity of a whole, should 
 
 unite magnificence of plan and endless 
 variety of subordinate parts. He in 
 time became generic, perhaps too uni- 
 formly grand : character and beauty 
 were admitted only as far as they could 
 be made subservient to grandeur. The 
 child, the female, meanness, deformity, 
 were by him indiscriminately stamped 
 with grandeur. A beggar rose from his 
 hand a patriarch of poverty ; the hump 
 of his dwarf is expressed with dignity ; 
 his women are moulds of generation; 
 his infants teem with the man ; his men 
 are giants." Mr. Flaxman, speaking of 
 Michael Angelo, says, " his name was 
 great and venerable, without an equal in 
 the three sister arts ; one which became 
 the wonder and example of his own and 
 succeeding ages ; " and in his tenth lec- 
 ture, speaking of his sculpture, he ob- 
 serves : " The character of Michael An- 
 gelo's sculpture is too lofty and original 
 to be dismissed without further notice'; 
 although we must acknowledge it has 
 been criticised with severity, because it 
 rarely possesses the chaste simplicity of 
 Grecian art. True, but although Mi- 
 chael Angelo lived long, he did not live 
 long enough to give absolute perfection 
 to all his works ; yet the pensive sitting 
 figure of M. de' Medici, in the Medici 
 chapel, is not without this charm ; and 
 the Madonna and Child, on the north 
 side of the same chapel, is simple, and 
 has a sentiment of maternal affection 
 never found in Greek sculpture, but 
 frequently in the works of this artist, 
 particularly in his paintings, and that of 
 the most tender kind. The recumbent 
 statues in the monument of Julian de' 
 Medici, in the same chapel, of Day- 
 break, or Dawn, and Night, are grand 
 and mysterious : the characters and 
 forms bespeak the same mighty mind 
 and hand evident throughout the whole 
 ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the 
 Last Judgment." 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 The critics and censurers of Michael 
 Angelo, with remarks on the various 
 estimates of his genius and character. 
 It is one of the evils attendant on ge- 
 nius to be obnoxious to the criticisms 
 of the envious, the ignorant, and the 
 malicious. M. Angelo had his share of 
 detraction amongst those who were 
 jealous of his greatness, in his own 
 time ; and there are others of the pre- 
 sent time who profess to see no merit in 
 the great works which are yet left to us, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 41 
 
 and which have gained the applause of 
 apes. It is, perhaps, of little import- 
 ance to consider either the motives or 
 the capacity of those who have taken on 
 themselves the ungracious task of de- 
 traction ; but as mere matter of curio- 
 sity it may be mentioned, that amongst 
 the foremost of the moderns are Mengs 
 and the Abbe Milizia*. The little work 
 of the latter has become popular in the 
 present day, as affording ready means 
 to the hurried traveller of acquiring, in a 
 given number of minutes,the whole art of 
 criticism in the fine arts. The following 
 may be taken at once as a specimen of 
 the style of the writer, and of the sound- 
 ness and fairness of his judgment : 
 
 *' The Christ of Michael Angelo. 
 Is this really a Christ, or is it a ruf- 
 fian, who fiercely grasps the cross, for 
 we know not what purpose ? The ana- 
 tomy is very hard ; yet it is praised by 
 numbers who think they know how to 
 see, and who esteem Buonaroti as di- 
 vine. 
 
 " In this Christ, in the Moses, and in 
 all his works of sculpture and painting, 
 Michael Angelo makes such a display 
 of his anatomical knowledge, that he 
 appears to have laboured only for ana- 
 tomy; and unluckily he has neither 
 well understood nor well applied it. The 
 joints are wanting in lightness ; the flesh 
 is full, and round in its forms; the 
 muscles are all equally prominent : from 
 which it results that the beauty of 
 motion is wholly lost sight of. No 
 muscle is in repose ; which is alone a 
 vast defect. The tendons are of equal 
 size, the outlines sweeping harshly, so 
 that they start forth, and have no pas- 
 sage through which to retire again. 
 "What design then, and what elegance ! 
 much, indeed, like the labour of those 
 learned persons who heap up all their 
 erudition without discernment, and un- 
 derstand every thing but elegance and 
 delicacy of perception. 
 
 " Michael Angelo mistook a means 
 for the end. He studied anatomy deeply, 
 and he did well ; he considered anatomy 
 as the ultimate object of the art, and he 
 did ill ; nay, he did worse than ill, from 
 not knowing how to make use of it. 
 
 ** He became (I humbly beg pardon 
 of all his idolaters) sharp, hard, extra- 
 vagant, overcharged, mean, vulgar, and, 
 what is still more apparent, a mannerist, 
 insomuch that his figures invariably 
 display the same style and the same cha- 
 
 * Dell' arte di vedere nelle belle arti del disegno 
 secondo i principii di Sulzer e di Mengs. 
 
 racter. In short, after having seen one* 
 you may be said to have seen them 
 all." 
 
 Mr. Payne Knight, amongst our own 
 countrymen, is also a severe critic on 
 M. Angelo, finding in him little to ad- 
 mire. "But it may be said of many of 
 those who have underrated his genius, 
 that perhaps they have had but 
 few opportunities of studying those 
 works which they so readily condemn, 
 and that, if it had been otherwise, they 
 would as readily have changed their 
 opinion, as was the case with Falconet, 
 a French sculptor, who was at one time 
 foremost in his censures. When, how- 
 ever, he saw the two statues brought 
 into France by Cardinal Richelieu, he 
 said, with a candour which did him 
 credit, " I have now seen M. Angelo ; 
 he is terrific." 
 
 The monuments to Ginliano and Lo- 
 renzo de' Medici at Florence are perhaps 
 the most remarkable of M. Angelo' s 
 works in marble. The statue of Loren- 
 zo is the most remarkable. Lorenzo 
 appears seated, wrapt in thought, lean- 
 ing his face on one hand, while the rest 
 of the figure is in perfect repose. Of this 
 work, it has been observed, that it 
 bears no resemblance to the antiques ; 
 but it rivals the highest excellence of 
 the ancients in point of expression, with 
 repose and dignity of its own. Such 
 effects are produced only by the study 
 of real life, contemplated by genius and 
 imagination. 
 
 Mr. John Bell, whose work (Travels 
 in Italy) has been already quoted, has 
 some excellent remarks on the different 
 statues of M. Angelo. Speaking of the 
 tombs of the Medici, he observes : 
 
 " Till I beheld them I had formed no 
 conception of the splendour of genius 
 and the taste possessed by Michael 
 Angelo. They are works which evince 
 a grandeur and an originality of thought, 
 a boldness and freedom of design and 
 execution, unparalleled. 
 
 " Two sarcophagi, those of Lorenzo 
 and Julian, are each supported by two 
 figures. The personifications of the Twi- 
 light and Aurora guard the remains of 
 Lorenzo, and the Night and Day those of 
 his brother. The crepuscule or twilight 
 is represented by a superb manly figure, 
 reclining and looking down ; the won- 
 derful breadth of chest and fine balance 
 of the sunk shoulder are masterly, and 
 the right limb, which is finished, is in- 
 comparable. 
 
 " The Aurora is a female form of the 
 
42 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 most exquisite proportions ; the head is 
 of a grand and heroic cast, and the 
 drapery, which falls in thin, transparent 
 folds from the turban, is full of grace, 
 while in her noble countenance a spring 
 of thought, an awakening principle 
 seems to breathe, as if the rising day 
 awaited the opening of her eyes. 
 
 " Day is much unfinished little more 
 than blocked, yet most magnificent. To 
 have done more would have diminished 
 the noble effect of the whole,which is only 
 heightened by what is left to the imagi- 
 nation. Perhaps none but a mind so 
 gifted as that of this great master could 
 have conceived this, or succeeded in so 
 bold an attempt. Genius is creative; 
 and this great artist did not imitate : he 
 meditated, and in his moments of inspi- 
 ration struck out the most superb inven- 
 tions, often imperfect indeed, but always 
 grandly conceived. Doubtless the un- 
 finished state in which many of his 
 splendid works were left must have been 
 occasioned by that impatience so often 
 the concomitant of genius, which, hav- 
 ing attained its grand object in produc- 
 ing splendour of effect, becomes weary, 
 and forsakes the details. 
 
 "The personification of Night*, in 
 sleep and silence, is finely imagined. The 
 attitude is beautiful, mournful, and full 
 of the most touching expression ; the 
 drooping head, the supporting hand, and 
 the rich head-dress, are unrivalled in the 
 arts. 
 
 " There are in this chapel, forming a 
 part of the group, or at least of the sub- 
 ject, two statues of the brothers Lorenzo 
 and Julian, by the same master. They 
 are both in armour. The figure of Lo- 
 renzo is simple and impressive. The 
 whole character of this piece is marked 
 by a cast of gloomy melancholy, which 
 awakens the idea of his brooding over 
 the fate of his murdered brother, their 
 mutual affection being represented by 
 the writers of the day as having been of 
 almost a romantic character. 
 
 " The figure of Julian is a noble 
 heroic statue. He is seated, the left 
 hand gloved and raised. The bent fore- 
 finger touches the upper lip, which is 
 admirably expressed, seeming literally 
 to yield to the pressure. The helmet, 
 fine in form and proportion, throws a 
 deep shade over the countenance." 
 
 " The Pietd of M. Angelo at Florence 
 
 * Vasari, the friend and panegyrist of M. An- 
 gelo, speaking of this statue, says, " Statua non 
 rara ma unica !" 
 
 is a mere sketch : he cut his figures out 
 of the block as others would sketch a 
 design upon waste paper, which might 
 prove too small for their intention. The 
 subject is the taking down from the 
 cross. The group is composed of four 
 figures ; those of our Saviour, the Virgin 
 Mary, Joseph, and an angel. The whole 
 expression is very touching and mourn- 
 ful : our Saviour forms the principal 
 figure, and seems to hang suspended in 
 the arms of Joseph, who supports the 
 body from above ; the figure of the Vir- 
 gin is seen assisting under the shoulder, 
 to uphold the weight, whilst her face is 
 turned up towards the body. The me- 
 lancholy of the whole scene is beauti- 
 fully represented : the head of Christ 
 rests upon her shoulder ; the lengthened 
 form of the body, supported in the arms 
 of the assistants, seems extended by its 
 own weight, whilst the suppleness and 
 lankness of recent death is finely marked 
 by the manner in which the limbs hang 
 in gentle bendings, and seem falling to- 
 wards the ground, with the most natural 
 disposition of the arms, as if affected by 
 every motion. The left arm hangs over 
 the shoulder of the Virgin, whilst the 
 right crosses her neck, and rests on a 
 lesser angelic figure, which might have 
 been omitted without injury to the sub- 
 ject. The interest of the piece lies in 
 the melancholy but placid countenance 
 of our Saviour, and the declination of 
 the head, which is lacerated by the 
 crown of thorns, and seems thus to have 
 drooped in the awful moment when the 
 vail of the Temple was rent and the 
 sun was darkened.' " 
 
 Mr. Flaxman observes of the Last 
 Judgment, n All is original, and unlike 
 any production of antiquity, and forms 
 a labour that seems scarcely the work 
 of man, and stands without a rival in 
 ancient and modern art." 
 
 Again " In this there are multitudes 
 and legions in comparison with the se- 
 parate figures and single groups in the 
 most considerable of the ancient works. 
 In this stupendous work, in addition to 
 the genius of the mighty master, the me- 
 chanical powers and movements of the 
 figures, its anatomical energy and forms 
 are shown by such perspective of the 
 most difficult positions, as surpass any 
 examples left by the ancients, on a flat 
 surface, or low relief, and are only to be 
 equalled in kind, but not in proportion 
 of complication, in the front and diagonal 
 views of the Laocoon, and all the views 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 43 
 
 of the Boxers, which are both entire 
 groups." 
 
 In estimating the character of Michael 
 Angelo, we must judge of him, like 
 Bacon, by his times, and must consider 
 what progress had been made since the 
 revival of the arts ; how few ancient 
 statues had been discovered, and how 
 little of the principles of art had been 
 then defined. It is not so much his 
 works that remain ; those of his pencil 
 have long lost all their freshness, and 
 most are fast fading to decay ; but it is 
 the great and universal change which his 
 genius effected that will make him 
 always illustrious, even when all traces 
 of his own works may have been de- 
 stroyed. The graceful, the elegant, and 
 the refined style of the ancients could 
 not perhaps be surpassed ; but the grand 
 and terrific seems to have been his pe- 
 culiar province. In invention, vigour, 
 energy of mind, and knowledge of form, 
 he led the way. 
 
 It has been objected, and with some 
 truth, that his statues are most of them 
 rather pictures than statues, to be seen 
 in one view only ; and indeed most of 
 them were executed for monuments, and 
 not to be seen isolated. 
 
 It may fairly be inferred, from the 
 excellence of his Moses and other 
 figures, that, had he confined himself 
 through life to sculpture alone, he would 
 have attained the highest reach of the 
 art. It should also be observed, that 
 his impatience and eagerness did not 
 allow either of his finishing with the 
 necessary care, or of taking the means 
 usually adopted to attain perfection of 
 execution. In a work quoted by the 
 writer, under the name of Baron Stend- 
 hal, written in the 16th century, the au- 
 thor observes : " I myself saw Michael 
 Angelo, when more than sixty years 
 old. His body was thin, and did not 
 give the idea of strength; he was 
 hewing away large pieces of a block 
 of hard marble with such power and 
 dexterity, that in a quarter of an 
 hour he had cut more than three of the 
 strongest young sculptors could have cut 
 away in a whole hour. He worked with 
 such impetuosity and fury, that I expected 
 every moment that the whole block 
 would have been broken in pieces. 
 Every blow brought aw r ay pieces of 
 three or four inches in thickness ; and 
 his chisel went so near the termination 
 of the outline of the subject, that, if the 
 blow had driven it one line further, the 
 whole would have been destroyed. His 
 
 impatience was so great, that he often 
 executed his works in marble from 
 small models in wax or clay, trusting to 
 his own resources for the detail." 
 
 Many of Michael Angelo's designs 
 were executed by others, particularly 
 by Sebastiano del Piombo, and Daniel 
 da Volterra. With respect to these, it 
 has been observed, that he lowered his 
 imagination to suit the capacity of the 
 colourists, and without losing any of his 
 grandeur or knowledge of design, ap- 
 pears to have avoided those extremes of 
 energetic expression which have laid 
 him open to so much rebuke. With the 
 exception of these painters, who exe- 
 cuted works under his immediate inspec- 
 tion, or from designs made by him, he 
 may be said to have had no followers,- 
 none who could be called imitators. 
 His style was one which required his 
 own peculiar genius to attain. 
 
 In this short account of the merits 
 and defects of Michael Angelo, we have 
 furnished the reader with the opinions 
 and criticisms of distinguished artists 
 and scholars, who have written on the 
 principles of art and taste, and who, of 
 necessity, have devoted peculiar atten- 
 tion to the works of one who, by almost 
 universal consent, has produced the 
 most wonderful, if not the most pleasing, 
 works of modern art, and most of whom 
 had opportunities of personally studying 
 the original works of this great artist. 
 On a subject depending so much on 
 individual feeling ; when, with one, some 
 particular style of excellence is consi- 
 dered as pre-eminent; when, as with 
 Mr. Payne Knight, nothing is excellent 
 which does not convey a notion of ease, 
 and of individual nature ; and when 
 with another, as Mr. Fuseli, " the 
 grand " is considered as a compensation 
 for every other defect ; and when their 
 very definitions of the terms " beauty, 
 grace, grandeur, sublimity," have af- 
 forded discussion sufficient to fill entire 
 volumes, it would be hopeless to ex- 
 pect any great unity of opinion. None, 
 however, except Mengs and Milizia, 
 have gone so far as to deny great merit 
 to the productions of Michael Angelo ; 
 whilst nearly the whole of thosebest 
 qualified to judge have concurred in 
 placing him at the head of the modern 
 school of art. 
 
 If, in weighing the opinions of the 
 admirers and the opponents of this ex- 
 traordinary man, we have leaned to- 
 wards those of the former, it is from a 
 conviction that more pains have been 
 
44 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 taken by them to ascertain the truth, 
 and that their general knowledge and 
 candour appear to have better quali- 
 fied them to arrive at a just conclusion 
 upon the subject. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Michael Angelo assumes the Direction 
 
 of St. Peters. 
 No one could be more aware of his 
 declining powers as a painter than the 
 aged and noble artist himself, offering, 
 in this respect, a striking contrast to the 
 old age of Titian. In a conversation 
 with his friend and biographer, as al- 
 ready observed, he said that his work 
 in the Pauline Chapel had cost him 
 great fatigue, and that painting, and 
 especially fresco-painting, was not an 
 employment adapted for old men. With 
 the strong good sense which, as well as 
 genius, he possessed, he made no at- 
 tempt to combat with difficulties which 
 he every day felt himself less able to 
 overcome; and the paintings in the 
 Pauline Chapel were the last he exe- 
 cuted. The designs he had made for 
 the remaining portion of the decora- 
 tions, he entrusted to Perino del Vaga, 
 in whose favour he petitioned the Pope, 
 and obtained for him the honourable 
 office of completing the task which his 
 infirmities prevented him from pursuing. 
 
 But it is gratifying to find that this 
 great man continued to feel the same 
 delight in those occupations which had 
 formed the glory of his youth, to the 
 extreme verge of his existence. He 
 had lived in honour and respect, and 
 followed his profession with the ardour 
 of an elevated mind, intent on the ac- 
 quisition of excellence ; and on the 
 termination of his career he retained 
 the inspiriting glow of honest ambition, 
 making none of those complaints by 
 which old age sometimes disheartens 
 the aspirations of youth ; increasing 
 in dignity, but not bartering the cheer- 
 fulness and industry of former years for 
 its enjoyment. 
 
 Circumstances, indeed, now occurred, 
 which, instead of contributing towards 
 his leisure, tended to introduce him into 
 a sphere of wider exertion than he had 
 hitherto occupied. If his taste as an 
 architect had been amply proved by his 
 works at Florence, it was now about to 
 appear on that splendid scale in which 
 his gigantic genius always shone unri- 
 valled. The Pope had of late frequently 
 called upon him to assist with his advice 
 
 and experience the pontifical architect 
 San Gallo. The latter, however, seems 
 to have felt a jealousy of what he looked 
 on as interference; and at a consulta- 
 tion which the Pope held respecting the 
 fortifications of the Borgo, in which 
 Michael Angelo differed from him in 
 opinion, San Gallo told him angrily 
 that his arts were sculpture and paint- 
 ing not fortification! To this the 
 venerable artist replied, that he cer- 
 tainly knew somewhat of the arts he 
 had mentioned; but that with respect to 
 fortification, his study of that science 
 and his long experience in its practice 
 made him believe that he knew more of 
 it than he or any of his class. 
 
 But the death of San Gallo, which 
 occurred not long after, not only freed 
 Michael Angelo from the effects of his 
 envy, but induced the Pontiff to select 
 him as the only person fitted to con- 
 tinue the building of Saint Peter's. The 
 artist, who was contentedly employing 
 himself in executing a work of sculp- 
 ture, a Christ taken from the cross, 
 at first rejected the Pope's proposal, 
 and for some time succeeded in avoid- 
 ing the burden which it was intended to 
 impose upon him. The Pope at length 
 changed the expression of his wishes 
 into a command, and Michael Angelo 
 finding himself constrained to accept 
 the appointment, soon entered on his 
 duties with his accustomed energy and 
 alacrity. 
 
 It is not the least remarkable circum- 
 stance in the history of this great man, 
 as it is certainly one most highly ho- 
 nourable to his character, that the first 
 stipulation he made in yielding to the 
 commands of his patron was, that he 
 should be allowed to accept the appoint- 
 ment without any salary, and that it 
 should be stated in the brief that he 
 undertook the work from a principle of 
 religious devotion. The other condi- 
 tions which he insisted upon were as 
 strikingly illustrative of his firmness, 
 and of the caution with which he set 
 about so important an undertaking, as 
 the one just mentioned was of his dis- 
 interestedness and piety. Among these 
 were a permission to discharge all the 
 officers or workmen employed about the 
 building who were neglectful of their 
 proper business; and, above all, that 
 he should have authority to change as 
 much as he chose, or even entirely put 
 aside the plans of San Gallo. 
 
 When Michael Angelo entered upon 
 his new and important office, the cathe- 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 dral of St. Peter's had been commenced 
 more than forty years, and had already 
 engaged the great talents of Bramante, 
 and the subtle mind and exquisite ge- 
 nius of Raphael. The uncle also of 
 San Gallo and Giocondo da Verona 
 had both had a share in the direction of 
 the work ; but notwithstanding this 
 union of men of extraordinary ability, 
 the structure was still iu a very indif- 
 ferent, state, and had the complicated 
 model by which San Gallo intended to 
 proceed been followed, it would have 
 been one of the edifices least creditable 
 to modern taste. The contrary was the 
 case with the plan drawn out by Bra- 
 mante ; and Michael Angelo always ex- 
 pressed his high opinion of that archi- 
 tect's ability, and of the system which 
 he had intended to follow in the erec- 
 tion of the cathedral. 
 
 But the structure which Bramante 
 proposed to raise could only have been 
 paid for out of funds to be obtained 
 from the contributions of a world ; and 
 even Leo X. found himself compelled to 
 submit to having the plans of Bramante 
 somewhat abridged of their magnifi- 
 cence. The reasons which occasioned 
 this necessity for economizing were still 
 more numerous in the pontificate of 
 Paul III., and he therefore prudently 
 resolved upon having such a plan drawn 
 out as might offer a chance of being 
 speedily executed. 
 
 The good taste of Michael Angelo 
 fortunately concurred with these ideas 
 of economy. Putting wholly aside 
 the model of San Gallo, which alone, it 
 is said, cost a thousand pounds, he 
 substituted his own design ; a simple 
 Grecian cross, which, though occupying 
 a much less space than San Gallo's, 
 offered greater advantages in point of 
 securing fine architectural results. 
 
 Under the constant superintendence 
 of Michael Ansjelo the building pro- 
 ceeded with all the expedition possible, 
 and the Pope was so well satisfied with 
 the labours of his architect that he em- 
 ployed him in other quarters of the 
 city, and particularly in completing the 
 Farnese palace, and in erecting another 
 on the Capitoline Hill, which he also 
 allowed him to enrich with the nume- 
 rous antiques which had been dug up 
 in the city or the adjacent parts. 
 
 On the decease of Paul III., which 
 took place before the end of the year 
 1549, Michael Angelo apprehended that 
 his plans, in the execution of which he 
 had begun 1o take the deepest interest, 
 would be interrupted. If so, he was 
 
 agreeably undeceived by the courteous 
 manner in which he was received by 
 the new pontiff Julius III., who refused 
 to listen to any of the insinuations made 
 against him by his enemies, and fully 
 established him in the privileges he had 
 possessed under the late pope. Yet, not- 
 withstanding the favourable disposition 
 manifested by Julius, the detractors of 
 Michael Angelo pursued their measures 
 with the most determined hostility, and 
 even contrived to obtain the pontiff's 
 consent to a committee of architects 
 being held respecting the progress of 
 the cathedral.; The principal persons 
 engaged in this business were the Car- 
 dinals Salviati, nephew to Leo X., and 
 Marcello Cervino, afterwards Pope Mar- 
 cellus II. 
 
 At the conference, the chief objection 
 which these dignitaries started was, that 
 not sufficient light was admitted into the 
 church, a defect ppincipally caused by 
 the improper'erection of a wall in front 
 of a recess intended for three chapels, 
 and in which the architect had placed 
 only three windows; and these, it was 
 agreed, were quite insufficient, whether 
 in size or number. The Pope having 
 desired Michael Angelo to explain this 
 apparently strong objection to his pro- 
 ceedings, he observed that he wished to 
 hear the deputies before making any 
 reply. To this remark the cardinals 
 made answer, " That they were them- 
 selves the deputies ! " " Then," said 
 the architect, ' in respect to the parts 
 of the church to which your objection 
 refers, over the three windows already 
 there, are to be placed three others." 
 " You never mentioned that before," 
 was the answer. " No," said the ar- 
 chitect, indignantly, " I neither am, nor 
 will be obliged to tell your Eminence, 
 nor any one else, either what I ought 
 or what I intend to do. It is your part 
 to see' that money be provided, to guard 
 against thieves, and to leave to me the 
 building of St. Peter's." Then turning 
 to the Pope" Holy father," said he, 
 " you see what I gain. If the machi- 
 nations to which I am exposed be not 
 for my spiritual welfare, I am losing 
 both my time and my labour." 
 
 Julius, who had sufficient good sense 
 to discern on which side the truth lay, 
 put his hand on Michael Angelo's 
 shoulder, and said, " Be in no fear ; 
 you will profit by it, both now and here- 
 after ;" adding to these encouraging 
 expressions fresh assurances of his 
 friendship, and uniformly consulting 
 him in all his future undertakings. One 
 
46 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 of these was the erection of a bridge 
 over that part of the Tiber which was 
 formerly crossed by the Pons Palatinus. 
 For this work he not only made the ne- 
 cessary designs, but had proceeded a 
 considerable way with the structure, 
 when his adversaries, pretending that 
 such an occupation was too laborious 
 for a person of his age, got his place 
 supplied by Nanni di Baccio Bigio, a 
 man ignorant of his profession, and 
 whose only recommendation was that 
 he could be made more obedient to the 
 cardinals and their associates than his 
 great contemporary. The latter, how- 
 ever, had little ambition to continue 
 superintendent of this work, and wil- 
 lingly yielded to the suggestions of his 
 pretended friends ; though he prophe- 
 sied, on seeing how Messer Nanni di 
 Baccio Bigio was proceeding, that the 
 bridge would tumble in before many 
 years were over, and be washed away ; 
 a prediction fulfilled about five years 
 after it was uttered, and the Ponte 
 Rotto, or broken bridge, as it has been 
 ever since called, still remains as an 
 evidence of Michael Angelo's know- 
 ledge, and the ignorance of his rival 
 and of the men who supported him. 
 
 Among other designs to which his 
 attention was next directed were monu- 
 ments which Julius proposed to erect in 
 honour of his uncle and grandfather; 
 and a new chapel in S. Pietro Montorio 
 for their reception. The execution of 
 the designs was entrusted to Vasari, 
 who thereby became a constant and 
 intimate associate of the great artist. 
 The very Boswell of painters, he lost 
 no advantage which this circumstance 
 afforded him to learn the habits, or 
 listen to the remarks of his hero, and 
 his narrative from this period assumes 
 the tone of a man speaking in the com- 
 pany of one whose friendship he is sure 
 of enjoyin<r, but for which he can only 
 be sufficiently grateful by constant and 
 glowing praise. Evidence of this ap- 
 pears in the letters which passed be- 
 tween them, and the manner in which 
 Michael Angelo appears to have received 
 the compliments thus liberally bestowed 
 upon him was marked with equal good 
 sense and kind feeling. 
 
 In one of his replies, he says, " As to 
 the three letters I have received from 
 you, I have not a pen to reply to such 
 lofty things ; but if I had the good for- 
 tune to be in any way what you would 
 make it out I am, I should chiefly re- 
 joice at it, because you would then have 
 a friend of some value to you. But I 
 
 am not surprised, as you are a resus- 
 citator of dead men*, that you should 
 lengthen out the life of living men, or 
 deliver over the badly living to eternal 
 death." 
 
 There was one circumstance in the 
 situation of the celebrated painters and 
 other artists of Rome which in a consi- 
 derable degree counterbalanced the ad- 
 vantages they otherwise enjoyed. Those 
 great patrons the popes were almost 
 always men far advanced in life before 
 they ascended the pontifical throne. The 
 consequence was, that the painters were 
 repeatedly exposed not merely to indivi- 
 dual caprice, but to the caprice of several 
 who appeared successively as the supreme 
 arbiters of their, fate. Michael Angelo 
 himself had already lived through the 
 reigns of six popes ; and great as he 
 was possessing all the advantages of 
 indisputable popularity, he had experi- 
 enced not a few annoyances from the 
 different dispositions and rival preten- 
 sions of his masters. 
 
 Neither the enlightened Leo X., nor 
 any of his successors, as we have shown, 
 would allow the artist quietly to fulfil 
 the promise he had made to his de- 
 ceased benefactor Julius II., but would 
 all readily have granted him a dis- 
 pensation for it. In the reign of Leo, 
 moreover, it is seen how he was neg- 
 lected and left almost unemployed, 
 and in those of Paul and Julius III. 
 he was several times on the point of 
 being sacrificed to the ignorance and 
 jealousy of vulgar pretenders to know- 
 ledge. He had hitherto triumphed over 
 all the difficulties with which he had to 
 contend, and it was reserved for his old 
 age to bear the positive and openly ex- 
 pressed ill will of a Roman pontiff. 
 Julius died in March, 1555, at which 
 time Michael Angelo was in his eighty- 
 first year. The new pope was the Car- 
 dinal Marcello, who had long been his 
 declared opponent, and as the artist 
 knew that his engagement with respect 
 to the cathedral was now terminated, 
 he formed the intention of leaving 
 Rome, and once more taking up his 
 abode at Florence. To this he was 
 principally led by the numerous invita- 
 tions he had received from the Grand 
 Duke Cosmo I., and which, on the 
 death of Julius, were repeated, with the 
 strongest assurances of esteem and 
 friendship. 
 
 While Michael Angelo was preparing 
 for his departure, the new pontiff was 
 
 * See note (6) page 67. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 47 
 
 suddenly removed by death, and Paul 
 IV., who was next elected to the vacant 
 dignity, having manifested the most de- 
 cided disposition in his favour, he saw 
 sufficient reason to change his intention. 
 The letter he wrote on the occasion to 
 Vasari, who anxiously looked for his 
 arrival in Florence, is strongly expres- 
 sive of his feelings in respect to his 
 present situation. He had some diffi- 
 culty, at first, in reconciling the grand 
 duke to the change in his intentions ; 
 but the plain statement of the circum- 
 stances in which he found himself 
 convinced Cosmo that he could scarcely 
 avoid acting as he had done, and he 
 was accordingly allowed to proceed with 
 the cathedral without any material in- 
 terruption. 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 Difficulties Michael Angelo had to 
 contend with. 
 
 At this period the princes of the Church 
 were exerting their utmost power to 
 crush the spirit of reformation which 
 was daily manifesting itself in the dif- 
 ferent states of Italy. The means which 
 they employed for that purpose were as 
 contrary to the laws of humanity, as 
 the doctrines which they resisted were 
 agreeable to those of truth. Every go- 
 vernment was excited to direct its most 
 severe punishments to the destruction 
 of the unfortunate Lutherans, and 
 scarcely a city was left free from the 
 stain of innocent blood. Divided as the 
 reformers were from each other by the 
 political disunion of the country, they 
 had not been able to make a single 
 stand against their oppressors ; and had 
 the latter been disengaged from every 
 other care except that of uprooting the 
 scattered seeds of the reformation in 
 Italy, a very short period would have 
 re-established them in their former se- 
 curity. But all Europe had been thrown 
 into agitation by the changes which had 
 taken place in Germany ; the minds of 
 men were prepared for conflict ; and 
 when that time arrives with the multi- 
 tude, it seldom happens that contests 
 of another description do not speedily 
 follow. So marked an influence, in this 
 respect, had the unsettled state of the 
 public mind on the operations of the 
 European potentates, that more than 
 one of them had contrived to lead 
 hosts of men who believed in the in- 
 fallibility of the pope to attack him in 
 his own dominions, and even in his 
 palace. 
 
 The effect of these events was still 
 felt. The Inquisition was yet in full 
 operation, while the authority of the 
 Church itself was shaken to its founda- 
 tions by the zeal and prosperous situa- 
 tion of the Protestant princes, and by 
 the threatening aspect of Spain. To 
 add to the confusion which prevailed 
 from these circumstances, Paul IV. was 
 bigoted, haughty, and revengeful, and 
 his mind was wholly occupied by the 
 desire of exterminating the party who 
 had incurred his enmity. 
 
 It is easy to conceive that a man of 
 this character could possess few feelings 
 in common either with the cultivators or 
 with the real patrons of the liberal arts. 
 Michael Angelo had early proofs of this. 
 Notwithstanding his being continued 
 chief architect of St. Peter's, Paul de- 
 prived him, without giving a reason for 
 so doing, of the chancellorship of Ri- 
 mini, and seriously proposed to white- 
 wash the walls of the Sistine Chapel. 
 When Michal Angelo heard of the latter 
 intention, he bade the persons who told 
 him inform the pope that his wish to 
 amend the picture of the Last Judgment 
 misht be easily accomplished, for if his 
 holiness would only reform the opinions 
 of mankind, the picture would be re- 
 formed of itself. Fortunately for the 
 admirers of Michael Angelo's genius, 
 the pope only persisted in his resolution 
 to reform, not wholly to destroy, the 
 picture, and a painter of the name of 
 Daniello da Volterra* was accordingly 
 employed to modify such parts of the 
 picture as were deemed by the holy 
 pontiff and his cardinals objectionable. 
 
 The warlike rumours which every 
 day grew louder at Rome, and the un- 
 settled state of the public mind, added 
 to the above causes of complaint, 
 rendered the situation of the artist, 
 at this time, extremely disagreeable ; 
 and he resolved upon retiring to the 
 monastery of Spoleto till affairs should 
 have resumed a more tranquil; aspect. 
 His temporary residence in this secluded 
 retreat afforded him leisure for study 
 and contemplation ; and one of the 
 strongest arguments which can be ad- 
 vanced in justification of monastic esta- 
 blishments is, that they have been the 
 frequent asylum of men of genius, when 
 either their own troubles, the disturbed 
 state of their country, or their over-ex- 
 cited feelings, rendered repose and soli- 
 
 * An artist who, from having been employed in 
 this and other instances in clothing the figures of 
 some of the great artists, was usually known by 
 the name of Daniel the breeches-maker, 
 
48 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 hide a sort of necessity to restore their 
 exhausted spirits. 
 
 Among the mountains of Spoleto, 
 Michael Angelo found the tranquillity 
 he desired; he was constantly sur- 
 rounded by objects which at once ele- 
 vated and soothed his expansive and 
 contemplative mind ; his age also tended 
 to make the uninterrupted enjoyment of 
 devotional meditation doubly pleasing 
 and valuable; and on his return to 
 Rome, he told Vasari in a letter, that he 
 had received great delight from his visit 
 to the monks in the mountains of Spo- 
 leto, and that, though he was returned 
 to the capital, he had left his better self 
 behind him ; there being, he says, no 
 happiness in times so unsettled, except 
 what is to be found in such a retirement. 
 
 The influence which this seclusion 
 had upon his thoughts appears to have 
 been still more strongly felt after his 
 return to Rome. The contemplation of 
 death, to a man so naturally serious, 
 must have been long habitual, but he 
 now began to look for its rapid ap- 
 proach, and his chief employment on 
 returning home was the execution of a 
 monument for the chapel in which he 
 was to be buried. The design consisted 
 of a representation of ChrisF taken from 
 the cross, and supported by the Virgin 
 Mary, who is joined in her pious duties 
 by Mary Magdalen and Nicodemus. 
 This work, it is said, occupied his lei- 
 sure hours for a considerable period ; 
 but unfortunately, after expending upon 
 it great labour, he found that the marble 
 was bad: and not willing that what 
 would probably be his last production 
 in his favourite art should appear im- 
 perfect, he ceased from prosecuting it 
 in disgust. 
 
 Soon after his return also, a circum- 
 stance occurred which put his patience 
 to a still further trial. The pope, in- 
 fluenced, it seems probable, by the 
 party opposed to Michael Angelo, en- 
 gaged an architect, Pietro Ligorio, to 
 assist him in his labours at the cathe- 
 dral. This person, however, was altoge- 
 ther a theorist, and the vast field opened 
 to him in St. Peter's offered too great 
 a temptation to a man of his character 
 to be resisted. Scarcely had he entered 
 upon his office when he began to con- 
 duct himself towards Michael Angelo 
 with a degree of superciliousness which 
 would have been wholly unwarranted 
 had the venerable old man been indeed 
 in his dotage, but which was the strong- 
 est proof Ligorio could have given of 
 his own utter incapacity, when all who 
 
 were disinterested and free from envy 
 were looking with equal wonder and de- 
 light at the gradual developement of the 
 noble plan on which the painter of the 
 Last Judgment had founded the struc- 
 ture, and which he was now rapidly, 
 and without any diminution of the sub- 
 limity of his conceptions, bringing to its 
 completion. 
 
 To the last hour that the mind of a 
 great man can take an interest in any 
 thing earthly, such an object as that 
 which Michael Angelo had now in view 
 might surely engage his most anxious 
 attention. But in the present case, the 
 exercise of his genius, and the interest 
 which it was natural and right that he 
 should feel in seeing one of the grandest 
 productions of his intellect perfected, had 
 a degree of sanctity given to them by 
 the principles with which he had com- 
 menced the undertaking. As if no 
 earthly rewards could be sufficient to 
 repay him at nearly eighty years of age, 
 for the sacrifice of freedom and repose, 
 he refused, as we have seen, to bear the 
 burden, except as a matter of piety and 
 devotion. 
 
 This feeling, combined with the desire 
 of seeing his design secure from the con- 
 tamination of inferior minds, now made 
 the completion of St. Peter's the con- 
 stant object of all his thoughts ; and he 
 was roused to indignation when he be- 
 held the unwarrantable liberties which 
 Ligorio was preparing to take with his 
 plan. As he found that it would be in 
 vain to employ the force of argument 
 with such a man, he appealed directly to 
 the Pope, and at once desired him to 
 decide whether he or Ligorio should re- 
 main the architect of St. Peter's cathe- 
 dral. Paul IV. had sufficient discrimina- 
 tion and justice to decide aright in this 
 case ; and the presumptuous Ligorio was 
 dismissed. 
 
 Michael Angelo now resumed his oc- 
 cupations with the same steadiness as 
 before ; losing, it appears, none of the 
 resolution with which he had begun the 
 undertaking, supported as he was by his 
 high principles of piety and professional 
 enthusiasm. In another letter, written 
 to Vasari about this time, he remarks, 
 that to leave St. Peter's in the state in 
 which it now was, would be to ruin the 
 structure, and thereby be guilty of a 
 great sin ; that he hoped he should 
 shortly see the execution of his plans 
 brought to such a point that they could 
 no longer be interfered with, and that 
 this was the prime object of his wishes, 
 11 ifhedidnot/'he sarcastically observes, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 49 
 
 M commit a great crime by disappointing 
 the cormorants who were daily hoping 
 to get rid of him." In the same letter 
 he also remarks, " it is God's will that I 
 should still drag through existence, and 
 I know that you will call me an old and 
 silly fellow to wish to make sonnets ; but 
 as many people say I am a child again, 
 I like to do childish things. I am con- 
 vinced by your letter of the love which 
 you feel towards me, and I therefore 
 beg you to know that I should esteem it 
 a most kind office if you would lay these 
 my feeble bones near those of my fa- 
 ther." 
 
 The state of his mind may be clearly 
 discerned in this short but expressive 
 letter ; and the view of such a mind, at 
 all times worthy of the deepest attention, 
 is doubly so when it begins to anticipate 
 the transition to another stale of exist- 
 ence, but retains its faculties in undimi- 
 nished strength and vigour. 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 
 Progress of the Edifice of St. Peter. 
 
 The cathedral was by this time so far 
 advanced, that the thoughts of the ar- 
 chitect were now engaged in forming 
 plans for the dome ; the splendid frieze 
 and row of double columns from which 
 it was to rise being already completed. 
 His friends were not deficient in offering 
 him their congratulations at the admi- 
 rable manner in which he had succeeded 
 in bringing his plans to so great a state 
 of perfection ; and many of them used 
 their utmost influence to persuade him to 
 proceed immediately with the cupola. 
 
 But aware of the importance of this 
 part of the edifice to its general effect, 
 and of the difficulties of executing the 
 noble designs which had been floating 
 in his mind, it was several months be- 
 fore he could determine upon commenc- 
 ing this portion of his labours. At 
 length, however, he overcame his reluc- 
 tance, and began to form a little earthen 
 model of the dome*. By dint of thought 
 
 * It is stated that M. Angelo, when he set out 
 from Florence to build the dome of St. Peter's, 
 turned his horse round on the road to contemplate, 
 once more, that of the cathedral, as it rose in the 
 gray of the morning from among the pines and 
 cypresses of the city, and that he said, after a 
 pause, " Come te non voglio, meglio di te non 
 posso," (Like thee I will not build one, better than 
 thee I cannot.) He never spoke of it without ad- 
 miration, and he desired that his tomb should be 
 so placed in the Santa Croce, as that from it might 
 be seen, when the doors of the church stood open, 
 that noble work of Urunelleschi. 
 
 and perseverance, he gradually gave it 
 the appearance which he wished to se- 
 cure, and then employed an ingenious 
 artist to construct from it another model 
 in wood ; all the parts of which were to 
 be formed after the exact measurement 
 he had laid down. 
 
 The greatest satisfaction was ex- 
 pressed at the beauty of this model, and 
 Michael Angelo had thus effected an- 
 other very important step towards the 
 completion of his grand design. His 
 daily declining strength, added to the 
 tardy manner in which the sums ne- 
 cessary for the building were sup- 
 plied, rendered it hardly probable that 
 he would live to see the cathedral 
 itself perfected. But he had at least the 
 satisfaction to know that the noble idea 
 which had occupied his mind was 
 rightly appreciated by those whose ap- 
 probation he thought worth his regard ; 
 that it had now a real and palpable ex- 
 istence ; and that should his plans be 
 put aside after his death, by the envy 
 or bad taste of his enemies, posterity 
 would have the means of doing justice to 
 his conceptions. 
 
 Soon after the completion of the 
 model, however, Paul IV. ceased to live, 
 and public affairs underwent another 
 change. The character of the late pon- 
 tiff had exposed him to almost universal 
 hatred ; the zeal with which he had en- 
 deavoured to support the church as- 
 sumed the most terrific forms of private 
 revenge ; and while those whom he 
 esteemed his enemies bled under the in- 
 struments of torture, the people of his 
 own states groaned under as heavy ayoke 
 as the tyranny of any despot had ever 
 imposed. His death was consequently 
 the signal for the most tumultuous po- 
 pular rejoicings. In the first excite- 
 ment, the prisons of the Inquisition were 
 broken open ; the intended victims of 
 the holy office set at liberty, and the 
 building itself immediately after burnt to 
 the ground. The people next proceeded 
 to hurl down his statue, which, after roll- 
 ing with every mark of ignominy through 
 all the principal streets, they cast head- 
 long into the Tiber. 
 
 Though he had witnessed many revo- 
 lutions and strange events, and survived 
 seven pontifical reigns, Michael Angelo 
 had little expected to live to be an eye- 
 witness of scenes like these ; so deroga- 
 tory then to the character of the Catho- 
 lic church, and which gave to the giant- 
 spirit of reformation an almost irresistible 
 impulse. So great was the confusion 
 E 
 
50 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 occasioned, and the uproar among the 
 people, that four months elapsed before 
 the college of cardinals were able to 
 close their election of another pope. 
 Their choice, however, at length fell on 
 the Cardinal de' Medici, a native of 
 Milan, and no relation of the illustrious 
 family of Florence. 
 
 The new pontiff, on ascending the 
 pontifical chair, took the title of Pius IV. 
 and from the commencement of his 
 reign manifested the most decided incli- 
 nation to cultivate the arts. The ancient 
 monuments of the city were estimated 
 by him at their true value ; the streets 
 were repaired, the churches fitted up 
 with extraordinary care, and the palace 
 of the Vatican was embellished in a 
 style of costly magnificence. Had this 
 pontiff been more enlightened in his 
 general views, and less inclined to 
 amass wealth for the purpose of aggran- 
 dizing his family, he would have been a 
 worthy successor of Leo X. Michael 
 Angelo experienced his earliest atten- 
 tion, and was restored by him to the 
 chancellorship of Rimini. Besides this 
 mark of favour he received several others 
 highly complimentary to his genius, and 
 which proved how greatly his talents 
 were still prized, notwithstanding his 
 advanced age and the increasing ma- 
 chinations of his opponents. 
 
 Pius, having formed the idea of re- 
 building the gates of the city, directed 
 him to make designs for one which was 
 to be erected without delay. When the 
 drawings were given in, the pontiff fixed 
 on the one which could be followed at 
 least expense, and the celebrated Porta 
 Pia was erected, to his great satisfaction 
 and that of the Romans in general. It 
 is uncertain whether the designs of Mi- 
 chael Angelo for any of the other gates 
 were followed ; the facade of the Porta 
 del Popolo has been supposed to afford 
 some traces of his hand ; but the most 
 careful antiquarians deny his having had 
 any share in that structure. 
 
 Struck with admiration of the powers 
 of the aged sculptor, and eager to gather 
 with as much speed as possible more 
 designs from the unexhausted wealth of 
 his mind, the pontiff employed Michael 
 Angelo in several other works of impor- 
 tance. Among these was a church 
 formed out of the ruined baths of Dio- 
 clesian, in constructing which its great 
 architect proved, in an extraordinary 
 degree, the quickness with which his 
 intellect was still capable of conceiv- 
 ing the noblest plans, and the force with 
 
 which it could overcome the difficulties 
 opposed to their execution. This beau- 
 tiful church, however, was suffered to 
 fall into decay, and the designs of Mi- 
 chael Angelo were destroyed to make 
 room for those of a more modern artist. 
 About the same period, also, he was en- 
 gaged by the cardinal, Santa Fine, to 
 build a chapel in the church of Santa 
 Maria Maggiore, but the cardinal dying 
 it was left in an unfinished state. Nor 
 were his labours confined even to Rome. 
 The Florentines, being desirous of re- 
 erecting the church of San Giovanni in 
 the street of Giulia, the three architects 
 employed on the occasion applied to 
 Michael Angelo for a plan, assuring 
 him that, if he refused to comply with 
 their request, the undertaking must be 
 abandoned. 
 
 In his reply Michael Angelo told 
 them that he would do whatever lay in 
 his power to further their wishes, both 
 from the natural love which he bore 
 his country, and from his desire now, in 
 his old age, to employ his abilities to the 
 honour of God. His bodily infirmities, 
 however, obliged him to seek manual 
 assistance, though he retained the 
 same vigour in his mental exercises ; 
 and he was now in the habit of employ- 
 ing Tiberio Calcagni, a Florentine sculp- 
 tor to whom he was attached, in draw- 
 ing out or copying his plans. Having, 
 by the aid of this artist, completed three 
 designs, he sent them to Florence that 
 the directors of the building might make 
 their choice ; but their surprise and ad- 
 miration at the beauty of the plans are 
 said to have been so great that they were 
 unable to decide which it would be best 
 to follow. They, therefore, returned them 
 to Michael Angelo, with a request that 
 he would himself determine the ques- 
 tion* to which he immediately assented, 
 observing, that if his design was com- 
 pleted, the structure would surpass any- 
 thing that had been ever seen by Greeks 
 or Romans, or by any other people. 
 
 Unfortunately domestic troubles and 
 difficulties prevented the prosecution of 
 the work, and the model which had been 
 made for the church of San Giovanni, 
 after having been preserved some time, 
 was destroyed. 
 
 The building of St. Peter's was in the 
 meantime proceeding with as much 
 speed and regularity as the nature of the 
 edifice and the funds allowed for it 
 w r ould permit. But the opponents of 
 the aged architect had lost none of their 
 jealous ill-will towards a man who so 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 51 
 
 resolutely resisted all the suggestions gument, however, on which they could 
 which fheir united pride and ignorance safely depend was derived from his old 
 prompted them to make. The only ar- age, and on this they insisted so pertina- 
 
 ST. PAULS. 
 
 * It is proper to state here, that, although drawn nearly to the same scale, the dimensions given to St, 
 rani's are rather less than the true relative proportions of the two edifices would require. 
 
 E 2 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 ciously, that they hoped they were at 
 length on the point of succeeding in 
 their object. 
 
 The first step they now took was to 
 send away Luigi Gaeta, one of his as- 
 sistants, and this provoking Michael 
 Angelo to express himself with con- 
 siderable warmth, they interpreted his 
 language into a declaration of his will- 
 ingness to retire. As soon, however, as 
 he became acquainted with the mea- 
 sures they were pursuing, he sent his 
 friend DanielloRicciarelli da Volterra to 
 the bishop Ferratino, one of the com- 
 mittee of management, to contradict 
 what was alleged respecting his wish to 
 retire. 
 
 The bishop, on hearing this, expressed 
 his regret, and observed that if Michael 
 Angelo would resign his charge, cer- 
 tainly too heavy for a man of his age, 
 the managers would willingly accept 
 any one whom he should himself name 
 as his substitute. 
 
 The proposition, thus made in appa- 
 rent good faith, was such as Michael 
 Angelo, or even the most jealous per- 
 son, could scarcely fail to receive with 
 good humour, as it secured to him that 
 degree of influence which was almost 
 everything desirable, situated and infirm 
 as he then was. Without hesitation, 
 therefore, he acceded to the offer, and 
 naturally supposed that Daniello would 
 be immediately appointed his substitute ; 
 but the bishop, instead of acting accord- 
 ing to his promise, presented Nanni 
 Bigio to the committee, simply mention- 
 ing that Michael Angelo had agreed to 
 appoint a substitute. 
 
 The venerable architect heard of this 
 transaction with mingled anger and dis- 
 gust, and hastening to the pope, he 
 expressed his determination to proceed 
 instantly to Florence, and there end his 
 days, if his holiness would grant him a 
 licence to leave Rome. Pius, however, 
 sought in the kindest manner to soothe 
 his irritated feelings, and promised to 
 inquire into the whole affair. Instead, 
 therefore, of giving credence to the as- 
 sertions of the architect's enemies that 
 he was ruining the edifice, he sent a per- 
 son in whom he could place confidence 
 to examine the parts of the structure 
 which were said to be defective. The 
 investigation, it need scarcely be men- 
 tioned, ended to the complete satisfac- 
 tion of both Michael Angelo and the 
 s Pope, and Messer Bigio was once more 
 driven away in disgrace. 
 
 It is impossible to contemplate, with- 
 
 out indignation and regret, the perse- 
 cutions to which Michael Angelo's in- 
 flexible integrity exposed him. The 
 greatest genius of the age, advanced in 
 years, bestowing gratuitously his talents 
 in the erection of a fabric unrivalled in 
 any age, was persecuted by every crafty 
 peculator who found himself thwarted ; 
 and the directors of the works, wishing 
 to have under their guidance some one 
 whom they could more easily control, 
 or make subservient to their own dis- 
 honest views, repeatedly annoyed him, 
 and brought false charges against 
 him. 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
 Death of Michael Angelo. 
 
 The event above related was the last 
 circumstance of any importance in 
 Michael Angelo's life. Shortly after 
 its occurrence, his health was observed 
 rapidly to decline ; and it was now 
 thought requisite by the pontiff and 
 others of his friends, that arrangements 
 should be made to prevent the dis- 
 persion of his effects by improper 
 means, in case of sudden dissolution. 
 Examples are on record of the most 
 barbarous spoliations having taken 
 place on the death of eminent artists, 
 among which what occurred on the 
 decease of Titian is not the least me- 
 morable ; and from the vast quantity of 
 valuable designs, pieces of sculpture, 
 and antiquities, which were accumu- 
 lated in Michael Angelo's house, it was 
 feared lest the rapacity of his attendants 
 might deprive his rightful heirs of their 
 expected inheritance, and the lovers of 
 art of many valuable relics. 
 
 At the beginning of the year 1563, the 
 apprehensions entertained from the im- 
 paired state of his health were consider- 
 ably increased ; a slow fever assailed 
 him ; and he became conscious himself 
 that his mortal career was at an end. 
 By his directions, Daniello da Volterra 
 wrote off immediately to desire his 
 nephew Leonardo to come with all haste 
 to Rome ; and the physician Federjgo 
 Donati being present, with several of his 
 other friends, he made his will, which 
 simply stated that he resigned his soul 
 into the hands of God, his body to the 
 earth, and his property to his nearest 
 relations. He closed his brief testament 
 with the exhortation, that in their jour- 
 ney through life they should remember 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 53 
 
 the passion of Jesus Christ. Shortly 
 after thus disposing of his possessions, 
 he expired, his death happening on the 
 twenty-third of February, 1563, when 
 he had completed within a few days the 
 eighty-ninth year of his age. 
 
 The conspicuous station which M. 
 Angelo had now for so long a space oc- 
 cupied, rendered his decease an event of 
 considerable importance, and Florence 
 disputed with Rome the honour of pos- 
 sessing his remains. They were, how- 
 ever, deposited, three days after his 
 death, in the church of the Apostles at 
 Rome, the Pope at the same time ex- 
 pressing his resolution to remove them 
 at some future period to St. Peter's, 
 and erect a monument over them worthy 
 of the great artist's fame; " a circum- 
 stance," observes the editor of Vasari, 
 " sufficient of itself to show the height of 
 honour to which Michael Angelo had 
 arrived, as it was the pontiffs alone who 
 were usually interred in the cathedral." 
 
 The intelligence of his interment 
 was no sooner received at Florence, 
 than the academy of that city held a sit- 
 ting to consider by what means it might 
 prevent the remains of one who had so 
 greatly increased the. honour of the Flo- 
 rentine name from reposing in a distant 
 province. A committee was accordingly 
 chosen with a president of considerable 
 reputation, Vincenzo Borghini, to ar- 
 range the preliminaries necessary to 
 their design. The persons selected to 
 represent the academy were Agnolo 
 Bronzino, Giorgio Vasari, the biogra- 
 pher; the celebrated Benvenuto Cel- 
 lini and Bartolommeo Ammanati. Hav- 
 ing finished their consultations on the 
 subject, they resolved upon petitioning 
 the grand duke to obtain the pope's con- 
 sent that the body of Michael Angelo 
 might be transported to Florence, and 
 deposited in the church of San Lorenzo, 
 which contained the greater part of the 
 noble works executed by the divine artist 
 in his native country. 
 
 Their petition to the prince expresses 
 in a striking manner the veneration with 
 which the memory of Michael Angelo 
 was regarded. " The academy and com- 
 pany of painters and sculptors," it says, 
 " having consulted among themselves 
 how, agreeably to the satisfaction of 
 your excellencies, they may in some 
 manner honour the memory of Michael 
 Angelo Buonaroti, to whom it is due, 
 both on account of his excellence in 
 their profession, he having been the 
 greatest artist the world ever saw, and 
 
 because of their common country, they 
 are unanimous in desiring that this 
 should be done in the noblest manner, 
 and to the best of their power. They 
 have therefore made known their senti- 
 ments to your excellencies as their most 
 certain refuge and aid. To this ad- 
 dress, the latter part of which abounds 
 in compliment to the grand duke, the 
 latter replied, that the readiness which 
 the academy had shown to honour the 
 memory of Michael Angelo gave him 
 great happiness, and that he was not 
 only willing to do that which had been 
 requested in the memorial, but would 
 endeavour to obtain the removal of his 
 body to Florence. 
 
 This letter of the duke's produced 
 another address from the academy, in 
 which they thanked him for having em- 
 ployed his orator at Rome to secure the 
 object of their wishes, and begged him 
 to appoint Benedetto Varchi, a distin- 
 guished man of letters, to pronounce a 
 funeral oration in honour of the de- 
 ceased artist. These requests were also 
 immediately granted, and the body, being 
 privately conveyed to Florence, was 
 placed at the foot of the great altar of 
 San Pietro Maggiore. On the following 
 day, all the sculptors and painters of the 
 city were assembled in the church at an 
 early hour; and about midnight the 
 whole of the spectators having sur- 
 rounded the coffin, the oldest and most 
 celebrated of the artists present sud- 
 denly held up the numerous torches 
 which had been prepared for them, and 
 the young men raised the bier, all eagerly 
 endeavouring to assist in the obsequies 
 of so renowned a man. 
 
 The church of Santa Croce had been 
 finally destined to receive his remains ; 
 and as they were conveyed thither, the 
 streets were crowded by immense mul- 
 titudes, all loud in their expressions of 
 love and admiration for the sublime ge- 
 nius who had so greatly contributed to 
 the glory of their city. When the pro- 
 cession arrived at the church, it was with 
 the utmost difficulty the bearers could 
 make their way through the concourse 
 of spectators; but this being at last 
 effected, and the funeral service having 
 been performed by the friars of the esta- 
 blishment, the body was deposited in the 
 sacristy, where the president of the aca- 
 demy, expressing his wish to see the de- 
 ceased, whom he had not beheld for so 
 many years, that he had forgotten his 
 person, declared his intention to open 
 the coffin. 
 
54 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 All present coincided with him in 
 the feeling which had prompted him, 
 and the covering was removed from the 
 remains of the immortal artist. It was 
 feared that, as he had now been dead 
 twenty-live days, considerable change 
 might have taken place in his appear- 
 ance, which would have prevented his 
 followers from contemplating his inani- 
 mate form. But on the lid of the coffin 
 being removed, he was seen lying as in 
 a serene and quiet sleep, no other dif- 
 ference being visible in his countenance, 
 but that it wore a paler aspect. 
 
 The ceremonies, however, necessary 
 to complete the funeral honours of Mi- 
 chael Angelo were., not yet ended ; and 
 some weeks after, his solemn obsequies 
 were performed in the church of San 
 Lorenzo, where a magnificent catafalque 
 or monumental pile was raised in his 
 honour by the united abilities of the 
 Florentine sculptors and painters. Some 
 idea may be formed of this structure, 
 when it is mentioned that it was twenty 
 feet by seventeen at its base, and more 
 than fifty feet high ; and that from its 
 base to its top it was surrounded by 
 paintings and statues representative or 
 emblematical of the events in Michael 
 Angelo's life, or of the triumphs he had 
 effected in his favourite arts. 
 
 This remarkable catafalque occupied 
 the middle of the great nave in the 
 church, which, on the day the cere- 
 monies took place, was hung with black, 
 and illuminated in the most splendid 
 manner, not merely the body of the 
 building, but every chapel being deco- 
 rated with paintings and other orna- 
 ments in honour of the deceased. The 
 mass for the dead was performed, amid 
 these manifestations of public respect, 
 with all the pomp and solemnity of 
 which that impressive though vain cere- 
 mony is capable ; and at its conclusion 
 Benedetto Varchi ascended a platform 
 erected for the purpose, and pronounced 
 the funeral oration, an honour so great, 
 that, according to Vasari, Michael An- 
 gelo might consider himself fortunate to 
 have died before Varchi, thus to enjoy 
 the reward of his grand and eloquent 
 discourse. 
 
 The splendour with which these rites 
 were performed was an apt emblem of 
 the reputation which Michael Angelo 
 possessed during his life ; and it would 
 be difficult to name an artist, in any 
 period of the world, or of any country, 
 who more richly deserved, to the very 
 utmost, that celebrity which he at- 
 
 tained. The peculiar style which his 
 genius, and both his moral and intellec- 
 tual character led him to adopt, was 
 wholly removed from that which, by 
 flattering popular tastes, may secure for 
 its cultivators a rapid and easily earned 
 reputation. 
 
 Chapter XIV..' 
 
 Conclusion of the Character of Michael 
 Angelo. 
 
 In whatever this great man under- 
 took, we may discern the aspirations of 
 a powerful mind struggling with the 
 difficulties which, by the nature of things 
 and the circumstances of age and coun- 
 try, presented themselves in formidable 
 array before his bold discursions and 
 discoveries in the regions of human art. 
 Nothing less than his mighty genius 
 could so far have outstripped the times 
 in which he lived, and by his grasp of 
 intellect, have reached the consum- 
 mate perfection which distanced all 
 living competition, and rendered his 
 predecessors and successors alike the 
 satellites of one majestic luminary. Dif- 
 ficulties, long insurmountable to other 
 minds, he confronted and triumphed 
 over with the daring inspired by the 
 conscious strength of gigantic intellect. 
 The Homer of painting, he seemed to 
 belong to some higher and grander 
 world ; and.to draw from sources of joy 
 and woe, far above the level of mere hu- 
 manity as it is felt to exist. 
 
 It was thus the admiration he gained 
 by his works became as universal as it 
 has been lasting. If he ever incurred 
 failure, it seems to have been in conse- 
 quence of allowing his art to overstep 
 the modesty of nature by the fire of his 
 genius, and hence his mannerism when- 
 ever it obtrudes itself somewhat too 
 glaringly on our notice ; hence his stu- 
 died display of anatomical science, and 
 his fondness for sporting with difficulties 
 which sometimes led him to the brink of 
 absurdity itself. Whenever this was 
 not the case when he trusted to his 
 own free conceptions, and was content 
 to express them, as well as the instru- 
 ments with which he had to work would 
 allow, the productions of his pencil 
 and of his chisel partook of an almost 
 supernatural grandeur and sublimity ; 
 the forms under which he embodied his 
 ideas were marked with fearful strength, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 55 
 
 because the natural offspring of his 
 mind could not be otherwise than cha- 
 racteristic of power ; and the composi- 
 tion of his subjects was distinguished by 
 a mingled severity of thought and bold- 
 ness of invention, which, tempering each 
 other, prompted him to depict the awful 
 scene of the Last Judgment, but to re- 
 ject in so doing any appeal to our more 
 ordinary sympathies. 
 
 It was from a perfect consciousness 
 of the advantage which his mind pos- 
 sessed when working with as much 
 freedom as possible from whatever in- 
 jures the simple expression of sublimity, 
 that he felt so decided an aversion to 
 painting in oil, which he denominated an 
 employment only fit for women ; and it 
 was probably to the same cause that he 
 owed his early predilection for sculp- 
 ture, as better calculated than the sister 
 art to express the feelings and ideas in 
 which he delighted. Certain it is that 
 in all his works we may discover a noble 
 struggle to emancipate art from the acci- 
 dents of fashion and human caprice ; an 
 endeavour solely to employ it as a me- 
 dium of lofty and unchanging truth. 
 No attempt was ever made by him to 
 supply a want of essential beauty in na- 
 tural forms by the skilful management 
 of drapery, or any of the trickeries of 
 art. He sought no aid from the gor- 
 geous attractions of colour, or even from 
 the austerer effect of light and shade. 
 Whether the materials he employed 
 were marble or colour, he never allowed 
 them to appear but as the true materials 
 of his art. 
 
 The only respect in which Michael 
 Angelo put himself occasionally on a 
 level with artists of inferior genius was 
 by suffering the boldness of his manner 
 to degenerate into what the French 
 critics term " the fierceness of his line ;" 
 not always what Agostino Carracci 
 means by 
 
 " Di Michel Angiol la terribil via," 
 
 but a degree of extravagance springing 
 from the very exuberance of his powers. 
 His most zealous supporters indeed can- 
 not vindicate some of his productions 
 from faults of this nature; and great 
 exceptions have been very generally 
 taken to the harsh and obtrusive figures 
 he has not un frequently introduced into 
 his compositions, apparently from the 
 desire, as was before said, of displaying 
 his anatomical knowledge a sort of 
 ambition creditable to a young acade- 
 mician, but to which a man of such re- 
 
 splendent genius would soon, we should 
 suppose, have risen superior. 
 
 It is not, however, only by reference 
 to his particular productions that the 
 greatness of Michael Angelo's genius is 
 to be judged. The facility with which 
 he passed from the exercise of one 
 branch of art to that of another proves 
 how unrestricted were its energies, how 
 comprehensive an idea he had formed 
 of nature, and how rapidly he could 
 make himself acquainted with all the 
 modes by which her external forms may 
 be imitated, or her more mysterious 
 operations typified. Sculpture, paint- 
 ing, architecture, and poetry, were all 
 exercised by him with noble success, 
 and were all made the medium of con- 
 veying to the world a great and elevat- 
 ing class of sentiments. In his moral 
 and personal character he was equally 
 noble and superior to the rest of man- 
 kind. His heart was strongly susceptible 
 of affection, and he delighted in both 
 writing and conversing on the subject of 
 love. Yet Condivi observes, that, in his 
 long intimacy with him, he never heard 
 him speak in any way which did not 
 tend to extinguish every lawless and vi- 
 cious passion. 
 
 Independence, so difficult for a man 
 to preserve whose fame and fortune de- 
 pend in a considerable degree on the 
 favour of the great distinguished both 
 his conduct and sentiments to the latest 
 period of his life ; and it was in solitude, 
 rather than amidst flattering assemblies, 
 that he sought for the inspiration which 
 raised him to eminence. 
 
 The other habits of Michael Angelo's 
 mind correspond with these, and to 
 his singular temperance, both in youth 
 and manhood, he attributed his power 
 of studying for a greater number of 
 hours than most of his contemporaries. 
 A little bread and wine was all he re- 
 quired for the chief part of the day when 
 employed at his work. Very frequently 
 he rose in the middle of the night and 
 resumed the labours of the day. When 
 he did this, it was his practice to fix the 
 candle on the summit of a pasteboard 
 cap which he wore, in order that he 
 might not interrupt the light by his 
 hands. He would often also sleep in 
 his clothes, that he might be ready to 
 proceed to work as soon as he rose, and 
 sometimes |would" do so from having 
 wearied himself too much to undress. 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, with as much 
 admiration as Vasari himself for the 
 object of our memoir, loved to expatiate 
 
50 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 on the excellencies of his character, has 
 not omitted to point out his industry as 
 worthy of imitation by artists of all ages. 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 Character of Michael Angelo as an 
 Architect. 
 
 In his capacity as an architect, M. An- 
 gelo was extolled for his judicious selec- 
 tion of the sites of his buildings, and for 
 bringing into compositions of harmo- 
 nious strength and beauty, objects which 
 lay beyond the immediate sphere of his 
 operations. He completed all he be- 
 gan with the hand, not only of a master 
 but of an artificer, embracing, with that 
 commanding genius which belongs only 
 to the giants of their race, the most 
 extended I bearings, and the minutest 
 details of his subject, with the same te- 
 nacity of idea. By principle, however, 
 Michael Angelo was both practically 
 and theoretically devoted to the Greek 
 architecture; and it was chiefly when 
 called upon to alter and re-model the 
 vast and rudely-designed works of the 
 preceding periods, that he adopted the 
 plan of mingling the Greek and the 
 Tuscan styles. He was in so far a pas- 
 sionate admirer of the purest and most 
 simple forms of the ancient orders, that 
 he almost invariably placed flat pilas- 
 ters on the fronts of his buildings, and 
 these were principally Doric. He was 
 most of all opposed to the more gor- 
 geous and ornamental style, though 
 unequalled in point of invention and 
 sportiveness of genius. It was hence 
 his architectural labours appeared to so 
 much advantage at once various and 
 severe in their character; and in his 
 palaces and private residences, he always 
 succeeded in combining chasteness of 
 manner with simplicity and ease. The 
 knowledge he displayed was the more ex- 
 traordinary, from the fact of his having 
 directed the powers of his mind least of 
 all to that branch of art ; and entered 
 upon it extremely late in life. He was, 
 moreover, self-taught, having never re- 
 ceived professional instructions from 
 any master. On this ground, probably, 
 when the Pontiff Paul III. invited him 
 to take the direction of St. Peter's, he 
 more than once begged to decline the 
 undertaking. Architecture was not, he 
 declared, his profession ; and, on a for- 
 mer occasion, when he had repaired 
 purposely to Florence, in order to con- 
 struct the faade of the grand church of 
 
 S. Lorenzo, he only yielded to the ex- 
 press injunctions of Pope Leo the Tenth. 
 Next to the Laurentian Library, per- 
 haps the most beautiful and admired 
 of his productions, although one of the 
 earliest specimens of his skill, was the 
 Chapel of the Medici, intended as a 
 mausoleum for the family. In the new 
 Sacristy were placed the monuments of 
 Giuliano and Lorenzo de' Medici. 
 
 But the master-piece of his labours 
 in this art, was the cortile of the Far- 
 nese palace, before alluded to, with the 
 projecting cornice surrounding the ex- 
 terior. The galleries on the Capitoline 
 Hill are thought to be too complex, and 
 the least correct specimens of a good 
 style. It is asserted, indeed, that, even 
 in the times of Michael Angelo, the re- 
 mains of ancient architecture were not 
 thoroughly understood, an assertion 
 which is not, however, supported by any 
 sufficient show of reasoning and much 
 less by anything amounting to proof. 
 On this ground, Mr. Duppa, rather too 
 hastily we think, censures Michael An- 
 gelo, detracting from the character and 
 importance of his labours on account of 
 his not having sufficiently freed himself 
 from the prejudices and trammels of his 
 predecessors. " The chequered black 
 and white marble of Brunelleschi," he 
 observes, " in the exterior of public 
 buildings, was the fashion of his day, 
 and whatever partook of novelty in its 
 appearance had sufficient claims to pub- 
 lic approbation. Notwithstanding his 
 taste and style of design were very little 
 conformable to ancient simplicity, it 
 was the misfortune of Michael Angelo 
 to consider him as worthy of imitation." 
 .... "The taste of Michael Angelo 
 appears to have been misled," he con- 
 tinues, " by some previous associations, 
 which it would now be in vain to seek. 
 In a letter addressed to a gentleman 
 who had probably made some inquiries 
 on the subject of architecture, he has 
 expressed this singular opinion : that 
 ability in that art depends upon a know- 
 ledge of the human figure, and more 
 especially upon anatomy/ " 
 
 Had the writer of the above inquired 
 a little more deeply into the nature of 
 the subject on which he hazards so de- 
 cided an opinion ; had he consulted the 
 best authorities, and read the best books 
 upon the art, he would not have con- 
 sidered it so very singular an opinion of 
 Michael Angelo's, and one derived from 
 mere prejudice and error. That such an 
 analogy does exist that a knowledge 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTL 
 
 57 
 
 of the human figure its mutual sup- 
 ports its connexion and gradations, 
 is no unnecessary study to the architect, 
 may be shown on the simple principles 
 of analogy. Neither the older critics 
 and commentators on his works, nor the 
 modern Reynolds, Opie, Fuseli, and 
 Flaxman, have ventured to criticise the 
 great artist for too close an attention to 
 the anatomy of the human figure. The 
 reader, however, will form his own 
 judgment with less difficulty on this 
 head, when he has perused the letter in 
 question, from which Mr. Duppa would 
 seem to infer that the artist showed a 
 want of discernment in not perceiving 
 what he considers the utter inapplica- 
 bility of the principles of the one study 
 to the practical employment of the other. 
 Michael Angelo' s observations on the 
 subject are as follow : 
 
 " Most Reverend Sir, 
 
 " When a design in architecture has 
 different parts, all equal, and of the 
 same character, the decorations ought 
 to be of one character also, and executed 
 in the same style; and the same rule 
 is to be observed in corresponding parts. 
 But when the design is entirely changed, 
 it is not only allowable, but necessary, 
 to change its decoration ; and the same 
 principle is to be observed in the parts 
 which are meant to correspond: the 
 architect, [however, always having full 
 liberty to choose for himself, in the first 
 instance, the style of ornament best 
 adapted to his purpose. The nose, for 
 example, in the middle of the face, does 
 not depend upon the one eye or upon 
 the other; but it is necessary that the 
 one hand should be like the other, and 
 that both the eyes should correspond, 
 as well with respect to each other, as to 
 the parts of the face in which they are 
 situated. It is also certain, that the 
 members of architecture have a refer- 
 ence to those of the human body ; and 
 he who does not understand the human 
 figure, and particularly anatomy, can 
 know nothing of the subject. 
 
 " Michael Angelo Buonaroti." 
 
 The talents of Michael Angelo as a 
 military architect were made known by 
 his admirable defence of Florence against 
 the imperial troops commanded by 
 Philibert prince of Orange ; a subject 
 alluded to in the narrative of his life. 
 Of his general excellence in the art we 
 cannot finally convey a more correct 
 idea, than is given in the few brief words 
 of Fuseli: "The fabric of St Peter, 
 
 scattered into an infinity of jarring parts, 
 he concentrated, suspended the cupola, 
 and to the most complex, gave the air of 
 the most simple of edifices. Such, take 
 him all in all, was Michael Angelo, 
 the salt of art." 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 Of the Poetry of Michael Angelo. 
 
 Michael Angelo observed that paint- 
 ing has the greatest resemblance to 
 poetry : whence by many oftentimes the 
 one has been called mute poetry, and 
 the other speaking painting ; and the 
 close friendship in which we continually 
 see painters and poets united, (like that 
 between Giotto and Dante, or that be- 
 tween Petrarch and Simon of Siena,) 
 is not a slight proof of this alliance or 
 sisterhood of the arts. In the same 
 manner, many poets have been endowed 
 with the art of painting, as, for example, 
 Cratinus, a comic poet, ftante, and 
 some of our own times ; amongst whom 
 may be mentioned Pope, who had the 
 finest feeling for art, which is traced 
 throughout his works, particularly in 
 his beautiful epistle to Jervas, in which 
 he has so well described the characters 
 of the different great painters. To the 
 name of Pope might be added that of 
 others of less distinction. This compa- 
 nionship of the arts of poetry and paint- 
 ing arises not only from the advantages 
 which the one often derives from the 
 other, but from the union which naturally 
 subsists between them, that is, that each 
 is an imitation of nature. M. Angelo him- 
 self was an example of his own position 
 respecting the close alliance between the 
 arts of poetry and painting ; and he who 
 had surpassed all of his time in that 
 mute poetry, also produced many beau- 
 tiful verses, some of which have come 
 down to us, while others have been lost. 
 Like Petrarch, of whose poetry he was 
 an imitator, his muse was inspired by a 
 mistress ; and, like Parrhasius of old, he 
 charmed the hours of labour by singing 
 to the pure celestial Venus. The object 
 of his muse was one entirely worthy of 
 the worship of so great a man : Vittoria 
 Colonna was the wife of the illustrious 
 Marquis of Pescara, who died of the 
 wounds he received at the battle of 
 Pavia. At the time when the princes of 
 Italy, in great alarm, sought to lead Pes- 
 cara from his fidelity to the Spanish 
 cause, she wrote to her husband, " Re- 
 member your honour, which raises you 
 
58 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 above fortune and above kings ; by that 
 alone, and not by the splendour of titles, 
 is glory acquired ; that glory which it will 
 be your happiness and pride to transmit 
 unspotted to your posterity." After the 
 death of her husband, she betook her- 
 self to solitude, that she might lament 
 his loss and celebrate his exploits. 
 Young, and of consummate beauty both 
 of mind and person, she uniformly re- 
 fused to accept a second husband, 
 though sought in marriage by persons 
 of high distinction. She devoted her- 
 self to poetry, and so general was her 
 fame throughout Italy, that Ariosto 
 inscribed several of his verses to her. 
 But her peculiar merit as a poet was, 
 that in an age of immorality and 
 grossness, she was the" first who conse- 
 crated her lyre to subjects of piety un- 
 mixed with other matters. To such a 
 person it was that Michael Angelo de- 
 voted his soul and his muse. It does 
 not, however, appear whether or not she 
 felt any answering affection, though it is 
 observed by an elegant artist, that he 
 thinks some traces of such a correspon- 
 dence appear in his poems*. It is how- 
 ever certain that she wrote to him fre- 
 quently letters of warm regard, and that 
 she many times went to Rome expressly 
 to see and converse with him, openly 
 avowing the pleasure she received from 
 his society ; but in the poems of Vit- 
 toria Colonna, not a tinge of passion is 
 discernible, though it glows with in- 
 finite ardour and tenderness in those of 
 Buonaroti. 
 
 The Italian poets of the time amused 
 the multitude, and were admired by them 
 because they made their poetry subser- 
 vient to levity and gross representa- 
 tions. Michael Angelo, however, did 
 not follow their example, but trod in the 
 path of Dante and Petrarch, his great 
 masters. The platonic notions relating 
 to the doctrine of the immortality of the 
 soul, entirely imbued the minds of the 
 masters of this school, at the time 
 when the fine arts and poetry came forth 
 out of the deep darkness which had 
 shrouded them. It was the object of 
 these men to draw love from the slavery 
 of the senses, and to place it under the 
 guidance of reason; not represent- 
 ing its exterior acts and sensible en- 
 joyments, but delineating that which 
 
 * See a very eloquent article by Sig. Raclici on 
 the poems of Michael Angelo, vol. xiii. p. 248. of the 
 Retrospective Review, ft is to this article, and to 
 Mr. Duppa's life, that we are indebted for what is 
 stated of the poetry of Michael Angelo. 
 
 arises in the minds of the good alone, 
 when this, like other affections and pas- 
 sions, is purified and made conformable 
 with virtue. From this cause, neither 
 the works of Dante, Petrarch, nor Mi- 
 chael Angelo received applause except 
 from the learned and good, and more 
 particularly those whose minds were 
 filled with the platonic conceptions of 
 love. It should be observed that Lorenzo 
 de' Medici, Michael Angelo's great and 
 early patron, had drawn around him a 
 society of platonic philosophers consist- 
 ing of the most celebrated men of his 
 time, and had caused Plato's dialogues to 
 be translated ; and it is probable that 
 their doctrines concerning the power of 
 the soul's energies in the configuration of 
 the countenance and person, according to 
 the established habits of virtue and vice, 
 tended at once to awaken the attention 
 of Michael Angelo in his choice of sub- 
 jects and expression of qualities for the 
 perfection of beauty, and also to imbue 
 him with that peculiar spirit which is 
 apparent in his writings. The follow- 
 ing sonnets by Michael Angelo, which 
 have been translated by Mr. Words- 
 worth, will illustrate the doctrine of this 
 school. 
 
 No mortal object did these eyes behold 
 
 When first they met the placid light of thine, 
 
 And my soul felt her destiny divine ; 
 
 And hope of endless peace in me grew bold: 
 
 Heaven-bora the soul a heaven-ward course must 
 
 hold; 
 Beyond the visible world she soars, to seek 
 (For what delights the sense is false and weak) 
 Ideal form, the universal mould. 
 The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest 
 In that which perishes ; nor will he lend 
 His heart to aught which doth on time depend, 
 'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love. 
 Which kills the soul : love betters what is best 
 Even here below, but more in heaven above. 
 
 Yes hope may with my strong desire keep pace, 
 
 And I be undeluded, unbetray'd ; 
 
 For if of our affections none find grace 
 
 In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God made 
 
 The world which we inhabit ? Better plea 
 
 Love cannot have, than that in loving thee 
 
 Glory to that eternal peace is paid, 
 
 Who such divinity to thee imparts 
 
 As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts. 
 
 His love is treacherous only whose love dies 
 
 With beauty, which is varying every hour, 
 
 But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the power 
 
 Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower 
 
 That breathes on earth the air of Paradise. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 In all Michael Angelo's compositions 
 traces of his admiration of Dante are to 
 be found ; it is stated that he knew the 
 Divina Commedia by heart ;f " and who- 
 
 j- Monsignor Bottari, in his life of Michael Angelo, 
 mentions that he had a copy of Dante in his posses- 
 sion, (the large folio edition with Landino's commen- 
 tary,) on the margins of which he had drawn with a 
 pen every thing which was contained in the poems 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 59 
 
 ever" (observes Sig. Radici) "has medi- 
 tated on the productions of these two 
 extraordinary minds, will be constrained 
 to confess that never did two souls agree 
 with so perfect a harmony whether 
 we look at the awful and terrible nature 
 of their imagines, or at the loftiness of 
 their sentiments, or at the perfectness 
 of their representations, the thirst for 
 renown, the consciousness of their own 
 worth, the scorn of the blind vulgar, a 
 constant dissatisfaction of things apper- 
 taining to this world, and an incessant 
 panting, and, as it were, striving after the 
 mysterious beatitudes of heaven, which 
 may be seen a thousand times in the 
 writings and in the lives of both these 
 illustrious Italians. The deep contempt 
 in which the lofty mind of Dante held 
 the vulgar is apparent in every part of 
 his writings. By the vulgar, however, 
 he did not mean the simple inhabitants 
 of lonely streets or humble cottages, 
 but that abject and sordid crowd of all 
 classes and all places, the vulgar of 
 kings, of popes to whom he allotted 
 punishment, not so much for their 
 crimes, as for the baseness of their 
 minds and the meanness of their desires 
 of priests, of nobles, of plebeians, of 
 learned men, of knaves the vulgar of 
 every degree. 
 
 " It is the fate of lofty genius, like that 
 of Dante and Michael Angelo, to be un- 
 able to support the scoffs and restraints 
 imposed by the multitude ; who, often 
 malignant, and offended by greatness, 
 try to fetter and deride it, calling those 
 
 of Dante, and amongst the rest an infinite number of 
 the most excellent naked figures in the most striking 
 attitudes. The book got into the hands of Antonio 
 Montanti, an intimate friend of Antonio Maria Silvia, 
 as appears from Silvia's published letters. Montanti 
 was an able statuary, and set a very high value on 
 this book, and on going to Rome from Florence, he 
 sent all his effects by sea, when the vessel and its 
 freight perished and thus was lost to the world this 
 inestimable volume, which alone would have done 
 honour to the library of the greatest monarch. 
 The demons in the last judgment, the figures rising 
 from the grave, and the subject of the brazen serpent 
 and the execution of Hainan, in the Sistine chapel, all 
 will convince the reader of Dante how kindred his 
 genius was to that of Bounaroti's, and how worthy 
 the painter was to embody the ideas of the poet; but 
 the work, observes Sig. Radici, in which Michael 
 Angelo truly showed that his mind was, so to speak, 
 an emanation of that of Dante, is the one which is so 
 unlike the production of all other painters, that we 
 may truly say, he was inspired to execute it, viz. of 
 the Virgin looking at her son with dry eyes, the ex- 
 
 pression 
 
 of which is far removed from all mournin 
 
 or sorrow, thus imaging the true and philosophical 
 meaning of that sublime prayer in the last canto of 
 the Paradiso. 
 
 O virgin mother, daughter of thy son ! 
 Created beings all in lowliness 
 Surpassing, as in height aboye them all. 
 
 actions which their grovelling minds can- 
 not understand, madness. 
 
 " Indeed it seems to have been the pe- 
 culiar hard fate of him and his contem- 
 poraries, who were to become in after 
 times the great ornaments of their age, 
 and the glory and pride of their country, 
 to have experienced little else than con- 
 tinual opposition and oppression. Tasso, 
 after living forty-seven years in the midst 
 of the railleries of courtiers, the dulness 
 of pedants, and the haughtiness of 
 princes, at one time imprisoned a wan- 
 derer always indigent lying on his 
 death bed, wrote, ' I will not complain 
 of the malignity of fortune, because I do 
 not choose to speak of the ingratitude of 
 men who have succeeded in dragging 
 me to the tomb of a mendicant.' Dante 
 for many years went begging from door 
 to door ; he whose noble verse had 
 aroused Italy from her slumbers, and 
 breathed into her 'a new and nobler 
 soul ; he who in his youth had drawn 
 his sword in the sacred cause of his 
 country's liberty ; he who was overcome 
 with longing after the paternal roof an 
 exile was not permitted to behold again 
 the towers of his native city, nor to em- 
 brace the tomb of his ancestors even in 
 death :" and Michael Angelo, in one of 
 two fine sonnets to the memory of Dante, 
 has indignantly noticed his country's 
 cruel injustice. 
 
 SONNET. 
 How shall we speak of him, for our blind eyes 
 Are all unequal to his dazzling rays ? 
 Easier it is to blame his enemies 
 Than for the tongue to tell his lightest praise. 
 For us did he explore the realms of woe ; 
 And at his coming did high heaven expand 
 Her lofty gates, to whom his native land 
 Refused to open hers. Yet shalt thou know, j 
 Ungrateful city, in thine own despite, 
 That thou hast fostered best thy Dante's fame ; 
 For virtue when oppressed appears more bright, 
 And brighter therefore shall his glory be, 
 Suffering of all mankind most wrongfully, 
 Since in the world there lives no greater name ! 
 
 With regard to Michael Angelo, no 
 one can have read the preceding short 
 and imperfect narrative of his life, without 
 seeing the cruel and unmerited treat- 
 ment he experienced from the great ; the 
 perpetual and the harassing opposition 
 he met from those who, willing to avail 
 themselves of his genius, and to unite 
 their names and fame with his in the 
 hopes of reaching posterity by this 
 means, were yet unwilling to allow 
 him the free use of his powers, or to 
 brook that independence and freedom 
 that would not allow him to humble 
 himself before their baseness. His feel- 
 ings may be completely collected both 
 
60 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 from his letters and his poetry ; and in his 
 madrigal to Riccio, he again expresses 
 his opinion of those by whom it was his 
 lot to be surrounded. 
 
 Ill hath he chosen his part who seeks to please 
 The worthless world, ill hath he chosen his part, 
 For often must he wear the look of ease 
 
 When grief is at his heart ; 
 And often in his hours of happier feeling 
 With sorrow must his countenance be hung, 
 And ever his own better thoughts concealing 
 Must he in stupid grandeur's praise be loud, 
 And to the errors of the ignorant crowd 
 
 Assent with lying tongue. 
 Thus much would I conceal that none should know 
 What secret cause 1 have for silent woe ; 
 And taught by many a melancholy proof 
 
 That those whom Fortune favours it pollutes, 
 I from the blind and faithless world aloof, 
 Nor fear its envy nor desire its praise. 
 But choose my path through solitary ways. 
 
 Southet. 
 
 We have been induced, notwithstand- 
 ing the narrowness of our limits, to give 
 these extracts of the poetry of Michael 
 Angelo, not only for their intrinsic 
 beauty, but because we have no better 
 means of showing the constitution of 
 his mind, and making him, in fact, in 
 the most important part of his history, 
 that of his feelings and opinions, become 
 his own biographer. 
 
 LETTERS OF MICHAEL ANGELO. 
 
 To M. Luca Martini. 
 
 Most noble Messer Luca,(l) I have 
 received from M. Bartolommeo Bet- 
 tini (2) your letter, enclosing me a com- 
 mentary (3) upon a sonnet which was 
 the offspring of my pen. The sonnet is 
 verily mine, but the commentary on it is 
 the gift of Heaven ; for of a truth it is 
 an admirable production not by the 
 award of my judgment, but by that of 
 the most able men, and more especially 
 of M. Donato Giannotti (4),. who seems 
 as if he could never read it enough, and 
 begs to be specially commended to you. 
 As regards the sonnet, I know what it 
 is : but be that as it may, it is impossible 
 but that I must feel a little vain glory 
 from the circumstance of its having 
 given rise to so beautiful and erudite a 
 comment ; and inasmuch as the author 
 of the same pronounces me, by his fine 
 words and praises, to be what I know I 
 am not. Let me beg of you that you 
 will speak for me in return, and in lan- 
 guage such as is due to so much affec- 
 tion, courtesy, and love. I do entreat 
 you to this the more from a sense of my 
 own inferiority, and because he who en- 
 joys the good opinion of the world ought 
 not to tempt fortune, it being more wise 
 in him to hold his peace than to get a 
 fall from on high. I am old ; and death 
 hath already deprived me of the thoughts 
 of my youth : and let him who knows 
 nothing of old age from experience wait 
 patiently till it arrive, for he can form no 
 opinion of it sooner. Recommend me, 
 as I have said, to Varchi, as one who is 
 most attached to him, and to his virtues, 
 and no less devoted to his service where- 
 soever I am. 
 
 At Rome. M. A. Buonaroti. 
 
 nothing about laying the foundations in 
 St. Peter at Montorio, both because the 
 Pope would not give his assent, and 
 because I was aware that you had been 
 informed of it by your man. I will now 
 tell you what followed ; which is, that 
 the Pope went yesterday morning to 
 Montorio, and sent for me there (5). I 
 met him on the bridge as he was return- 
 ing; and at the conclusion of a long 
 conversation I had with him respecting 
 the sepultures, he told me he had re- 
 solved not to have them erected over that 
 hill, but in the church of the Florentines. 
 He asked me my opinion, and also with 
 regard to some plans, and I encouraged 
 him much to continue in that intention ; 
 thinking that by this means the church 
 will be brought to perfection. As for the 
 three letters which I received from you, 
 my pen is incapable of making due 
 answer to the fine things you say of me ; 
 but if it would delight me to be in some 
 part such as you describe me, it would 
 only be because you might thus have a 
 servant worth something. But I do not 
 wonder that you, who resuscitate the 
 dead (G), may also lengthen the life of 
 the living, or for an infinite number of 
 years rescue from death persons who are 
 hardly alive. To conclude ; such as I 
 am, I remain all yours. 
 Rome, Aug. 1, 1550. 
 
 To Giorgio Vasari. 
 My dear Mr. George, I wrote you 
 
 To the same. 
 My dear friend George, I assure 
 you that, if I could remember how I 
 had arranged the staircase for the li- 
 brary, I should not require so many en- 
 treaties. It is true that a staircase 
 comes across my mind as it were in a 
 dream ; but I do not think it is exactly 
 that which I originally conceived, be- 
 cause it seems very clumsy. However, 
 here it is. Take a quantity of oval 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 61 
 
 boxes, one span thick, but of different 
 lengths and widths, and put the largest 
 on the pavement, at such a distance 
 from the wall of the door as you wish 
 the staircase to be steep or inclined ; 
 then place another box upon that, 
 so much smaller on every side that it 
 may leave sufficient space for the foot 
 to mount, and let the steps go up de- 
 creasing in the same proportion until 
 the last perfectly fits the door. Let this 
 oval part of the staircase have two wings, 
 one on each side, continuing the same 
 steps, but not oval. Of this, let the 
 middle serve for the lord from the middle 
 of the staircase upwards, and let the 
 turnings of the wings return to the wall. 
 From the middle down to the pavement 
 they should go, together with all the 
 staircase, about three spans from the 
 wall ; so that the basement of the cir- 
 cumference should be nowhere occupied, 
 and every face remain free. 1 fear you 
 will laugh at what I am writing, but I 
 know you will find something that will 
 do. 
 Rome, Sept. 15, 1550. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 My dear Mr. George, As soon as 
 Baitolommeo (7) arrived here, I went to 
 speak to the Pope ; and having seen 
 that he wished to have the foundations 
 of the sepultures laid at Montorio, I pro- 
 vided a mason from St. Peter's. But 
 the busy-bodies (8) having heard of it, 
 would send another instead; and 1 
 withdrew immediately, not to contend 
 with him who gives motion to the winds : 
 because, being a man of small weight, I 
 should not like to be blown away into 
 the middle of some bush. I shall only 
 say that, in my opinion, we should no 
 longer think of the church of the Flo- 
 rentines (9). Return soon ; and fare- 
 well. Nothing else occurs to me for the 
 present. 
 
 Rome, Oct. 13, 1550. 
 
 To the same. 
 My dear friend George, I have de- 
 rived the greatest pleasure from your 
 letter, seeing that you still remember the 
 poor old man ; and moreover, from your 
 having been present at the triumph of 
 the birth of another Buonaroti; for 
 which news I give you my best thanks 
 (10); but I do not like such pomp: 
 for man should not laugh when all the 
 world weeps ; wherefore, I think Leo- 
 nardo should not make those rejoicings 
 for the birth of a child, which should be 
 reserved for the death of one who has 
 
 lived well. Do not wonder at my not 
 answering you immediately : 1 have de- 
 layed a little, that I might not appear 
 like a merchant. Now, I will tell you, 
 that if I deserved but the least part of 
 the great praise you bestow on me in 
 your letter, I should think that, when I 
 entirely gave myself to you in mind and 
 body, I had given you something, and 
 thus paid some small portion of the 
 great debt I owe to you. On the con- 
 trary, I always recognise you as my 
 creditor for a sum much larger than I 
 have means to pay. Being much ad- 
 vanced in age (11), I no longer hope to 
 be able to strike a balance in this world ; 
 but I do not despair of doing so in the 
 other. Meanwhile, I beg you to have 
 patience,and I am always yours. Affairs 
 go on much the same ! 
 Rome. 
 
 To the same. 
 My dear friend George, I call God 
 to witness, that Pope Paul the Third, 
 ten years ago, forced me to take the 
 management of St. Peter at Rome (12), 
 though 1 was very reluctant to accept it ; 
 and if they had continued working at 
 that building, as at that time they did, I 
 should now be so much advanced in the 
 construction of it that I should wish to 
 return amongst you ; but from want of 
 money it has been greatly delayed, and 
 is still delayed, when it has just reached 
 the most laborious and difficult parts ; 
 so that, if I abandoned it now, I should 
 only lose, with the greatest shame and 
 sin, the fruit of the hardships I have 
 endured these ten years for the love of 
 God (13). I write you this as an answer 
 to yours, and also because I have re- 
 ceived a letter from the Duke, which 
 makes me wonder how his grace has 
 deigned to write with so much kindness. 
 I thank God and his excellence for it as 
 much as I can. I wander from the 
 question ; having lost both my memory 
 and head, and because writing gives me 
 great trouble, not being my art. The 
 object of this, however, is to make you 
 understand what would ensue if I aban- 
 doned theabovementioned building and 
 departed [from Rome : I should please 
 several thieves, cause its ruin, and per- 
 haps lose my own reputation for ever. 
 
 To the same. 
 My dear George, I cannot write 
 with facility (14), but notwithstanding I 
 will say' something in answer to your 
 letter. You know Urbino(15) is dead. 
 This was a very great favour that God 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 62 
 
 was pleased to bestow on me, but it 
 caused me also a serious loss, and im- 
 mense grief. The favour was, that whilst 
 he was in life, he kept me alive ; in dying, 
 he taught me how to die, not only without 
 being sorry for it, but to wish for death. 
 I kept him twenty-six years with me, 
 and I have found him very precious to 
 me and faithful ; and now that I had 
 made him rich, and that I expected him 
 to be the support and comfort of my old 
 age, he has been taken from me, and no 
 other hope remains but that of seeing 
 him again in paradise ; and God gave 
 me an indication of this by the happy 
 death of my companion, who regretted 
 much more than dying the leaving me 
 in this treacherous world amidst so 
 many troubles. My greater part is 
 gone with him, and nothing remains to 
 me but an unbounded wretchedness. I 
 recommend myself to you. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 My dear friend George, I have re- 
 ceived the little book of M. Cosimo, 
 which you sent me, and I enclose you a 
 letter of thanks to him. I beg you to 
 forward it, together with my compli- 
 ments. I have lately undergone great 
 fatigue and^expense, and also had great 
 pleasure, in the mountains of Spoleti 
 (16), visiting those hermits ; so that I 
 returned to Rome less than half myself : 
 because it is really impossible to find 
 peace except in the woods. I have no- 
 thing else to say. I am glad you are 
 well, sound in health, and happy, and I 
 commend myself to you. 
 
 Sept. 18, 1556. 
 
 To the same. 
 May it please God, Vasari, that, 
 though with great trouble, I may keep 
 myself in life a few years more. I know 
 you will say I am old and silly when I 
 presume to make sonnets ; but I am be- 
 come a child again, just as many people 
 say, and thus you see I am but playing my 
 part. I see from your letter how much 
 you love me; and I assure you I should 
 like to lay my bones by the side of those 
 of my father, as you wish me to do ; but 
 in leaving this place at present, I'should 
 be the cause of a great ruin to the build- 
 ing of St. Peter, which would be a great 
 shame and a great sin ; but as soon as 
 it is carried in a manner that it may no 
 longer be altered, I hope to do as you 
 write me ; if it is not already a sin to 
 disappoint a number of greedy cormo- 
 rants, who anxiously wish for my depar- 
 ture. 
 
 To Messer Benedetto Varchi. 
 
 To show you in some manner that I 
 have received your little book, I will 
 send you something in answer to your 
 question, though it may tend to show my 
 ignorance (17). I say then that painting 
 seems more esteemed when it most ap- 
 proaches relief, and that relief is thought 
 worse in proportion as it most ap- 
 proaches painting. On this account I 
 used to think that sculpture was the 
 source of light to painting, and that 
 their difference from each other was like 
 that of the sun and the moon. Now, 
 after having read in your little book that 
 part where you say that, philosophically 
 speaking, things which have a common 
 end are the same, I have changed my 
 opinion, and I say, that if superior judg- 
 ment and difficulty, impediment and la- 
 bour, do not constitute superior worth, 
 painting and sculpture are the same 
 thing; and, in order that they should be 
 thought such, every painter should con- 
 sider sculpture as not less than painting, 
 and the sculptor esteem painting equally 
 with sculpture. I mean by sculpture, 
 that which consists in cutting off: for 
 that which consists in adding, is like 
 painting. I shall only add, that as 
 sculpture and painting proceed from 
 the same intelligence, it would be better 
 to; cause them to make peace toge- 
 ther, and to give up so many disputes ; 
 for people lose more time in them than 
 in making figures. He who wrote that 
 painting was more noble than sculpture 
 would have been surpassed by my own 
 servant, if she had equally known the 
 other things which he wrote. There is 
 an infinite number of things to say 
 about that science, which never were 
 said before ; but, as 1 have said, this 
 would take too much time, and I have 
 very little of it to waste, being not only 
 an old man, but almost in the number 
 of the dead. I therefore beg you to ex- 
 cuse me, and I recommend myself to 
 you,(and I thank you as much as I can or 
 know how, for the excessive honour you 
 do me, of which I am quite unworthy. 
 
 Rome. 
 
 To Messer Bartolommeo* . 
 It cannot be denied that Bramante was 
 (18) as excellent in architecture as any 
 other man of ancient or modern times. 
 He laid the first stone of St. Peter; not 
 full of confusion, but clear, plain, lumi- 
 nous, and insulated all around, so that it 
 was of no prejudice to the rest of the 
 
 * Most probably Ammanati, the architect. 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 63 
 
 place, and was held as a beautiful 
 thing, as it is still manifest : so much so, 
 that whoever has departed from the 
 said order of Bramante, as Sangallo 
 did, has departed from perfection ; and 
 if any man will but observe his model 
 with unprejudiced eye, the truth of this 
 assertion will be very easily seen. By 
 means of the circle which he makes 
 outside, he takes all the light from the 
 plan of Bramante ; and, besides that, 
 he has no light to the numerous hiding- 
 places which he makes below and above 
 the choirs in his own plan, which offers 
 great accommodation to many offenders 
 such as the hiding of banditti, false 
 coiners, &c. ; so that in the evening, 
 when the church is shut, twenty-five 
 persons would hardly be sufficient to 
 find out one. There would also be this 
 inconvenience,namely,that by surround- 
 ing the above mentioned work of Bra- 
 mante with the outside addition of the 
 model, it would be necessary to pull 
 down the Cappella di Paolo, the rooms 
 of Piombo, the Ruota, and many others ; 
 nor 'do I think that the Sistine cha- 
 pel would remain entire. About the 
 part of the outside circle that has 
 been made, which is said to have 'cost 
 a hundred thousand crowns, it is not 
 true; for it might be built at the ex- 
 pense of sixteen thousand ; and if it 
 were pulled down, the loss would be tri- 
 fling, as the stones and the foundations 
 could not be better adapted, and the 
 building would be worth two hundred 
 thousand crowns more, and would last 
 three hundred years longer. This is my 
 opinion, and quite an unbiassed one: 
 for if it were adopted, I should lose a 
 great deal by it ; and if you can make 
 the Pope understand this, you will do 
 me a great pleasure ; for I am not at 
 all tranquil. Yours, &c. 
 
 To Cosimo, the first Duke of Florence. 
 
 Most illustrious Lord Duke, The 
 Florentines have several times expressed 
 a very great wish to build here in Rome a 
 beautiful church of St. John(l 9). Now 
 in the time of your most illustrious lord- 
 ship, hoping to obtain more accom- 
 modation, they have resolved to build 
 it, and have "'appointed a committee, 
 composed of five individuals, who have 
 made me repeated requests and en- 
 treaties to let them have a design. As 
 I well knew that Pope Leo had begun 
 building the church above mentioned, 
 
 I answered them that I would not en- 
 gage in it without the permission of the 
 Duke of Florence. It since happened 
 that I received a very kind letter from 
 your lordship, which I consider as an 
 absolute order to undertake the con- 
 struction of that building, which will 
 give your lordship the greatest plea- 
 sure. I have already made several 
 plans of it, and the above mentioned 
 deputies have given the preference to 
 one which will be sent to your lordship, 
 and only be executed in as far as 
 may please you. I much regret that I 
 am old (20), and in such discrepancy 
 with life, that I can promise very little 
 concerning this building. 1 will do with 
 all my heart as much as I can for your 
 lordship, and I recommend myself to 
 you, &c. 
 Rome. 
 
 My Lord Marquis, It appears that, 
 being in Rome, there was no necessity 
 for leaving the crucifix to M. Tomao, 
 and make him the intermediary be- 
 tween your lordship and me your ser- 
 vant, in order that I may lend you my 
 services, and principally as I have al- 
 ways desired to do more for you than for 
 any other man that I ever knew. But 
 the great occupation in which I have 
 been, and still am engaged, has prevented 
 me from letting your lordship know this. 
 And as I know that you know that love 
 will have no master, and that those 
 who love do not sleep, so there was still 
 less need of such means. And though it 
 might appear that I had forgotten my 
 duty, I was doing what I said I was not, 
 for the purpose of presenting you some- 
 thing unexpected. My plan has failed. 
 
 " Mai fa chi tanta fe si tosto oblia." 
 
 Wrong does he who so much fidelity so 
 soon forgets. 
 
 To Cornelia (21). 
 
 I had some apprehension that you 
 were offended; but I could not find 
 out the reason. Now I think I perceive 
 it, from your last letter. When you 
 sent me the cheeses, you wrote me that 
 you intended to send me many other 
 things, but that the handkerchiefs were 
 not yet finished ; and in order that you 
 should not go to any other expense for 
 me, I wrote you not to send me any- 
 thing else, but to ask me for something, 
 as I would have complied with your re- 
 
64 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 quest with the greatest pleasure ; for you 
 know, or rather are persuaded of the 
 great affection I still feel for Urbino and 
 what belongs to him, though he is dead. 
 About my coming to see the children, 
 or your sending Michael Angelo here, 
 I must tell you in what situation I am. 
 Your sending Michael Angelo here 
 would not do, because I am without 
 women and without housekeeping, and 
 the child is still too tender, and some- 
 thing might happen which would grieve 
 me much. Besides this, the Duke of 
 Florence is so kind as to press me ex- 
 ceedingly to return to Florence ; making 
 me some very generous offers. I have 
 asked him time to settle my affairs here, 
 and to bring the building of St. Peter 
 to a good conclusion ; so that I think I 
 shall remain here all this summer, and 
 that, after having arranged my affairs 
 and yours about the mountain of the 
 faith, I shall go to Florence for good, next 
 winter; for I am now old, and I shall 
 have no longer time to return to Rome. 
 I will pass by you; and if you will give 
 me Michael Angelo, I will keep him in 
 Florence with more affection than I 
 have for the children of my nephew Leo- 
 nard ; teaching him what I know, and 
 what his father wished him to know. 
 
 Yesterday, the 27th of March, I had 
 your last letter. 
 
 Rome. M. A. Buonaroti. 
 
 To Pietro Aretino. 
 Magnificent M.Peter, my master and 
 brother, Your letter caused me plea- 
 sure and pain at the same time. It gave 
 me great joy, because it came from you 
 who, in point of merit, stand alone in 
 the world ; and it gave me great regret, 
 because, having executed a great part 
 of the .subject, I cannot make use of 
 your imagination, which is so powerful, 
 that if the day of judgment had taken 
 place, and you had been present at it, 
 your words could not describe it better. 
 Coming, then, to answer that part of 
 your letter where you offer to write 
 something about me, I beg to say that I 
 shall not only be glad of it, but that I 
 supplicate you to do so, since kings and 
 emperors receive as the greatest favour 
 that of being mentioned by your pen. 
 Meanwhile, if I have anything in my 
 power which may please you, I offer it 
 to you with all my heart. And lastly, 
 do not, for the sake of seeing the picture 
 which I am now making, break your 
 determination of not corning to Rome ; 
 for it would really be too much. 
 
 LETTERS OF PIETRO ARETINO. 
 
 To the Divine Michael Angelo. 
 In the same manner that not being 
 mindful of God is a spot on one's repu- 
 tation, and a sin of the soul, so not 
 reverencing you, venerable man, who 
 are a butt of wonders in which the pro- 
 pitious stars strove to dart all the arrows 
 of their favours, would blemish the 
 worth, and dishonour the judgment of 
 those who have any worth or judgment 
 at all. Hence it is the idea of a new na- 
 ture dwells covertly in your hands, by 
 which the difficulty of extreme lines (a 
 very areat science in the subtleties of 
 painting) is so easy for you, who enclose 
 in the extremities of bodies the limits of 
 art ; a thing which art itself avows to 
 be impossible to carry to perfection ; 
 for extremities, as you well know, should 
 enclose themselves, and then end in 
 such a manner, that, by showing that 
 which they do not show, they should 
 promise things, which the figures of the 
 chapel do promise to those who know 
 how to judge and admire them. Now 
 I, who, with praise and with infamy, 
 
 have dispatched the greatest portion of 
 others' merits and demerits, not to turn 
 the little I am into nothing, I salute 
 you. I should not certainly dare to do 
 so, if my name, by its being welcome to 
 the ears of princes, had not lost a great 
 deal of its unworthiness ; and it is quite 
 right that I should regard you with such 
 reverence, for the world has many kings, 
 but only one Michael Angelo. It is 
 a great wonder that nature cannot hide 
 anything so deeply that it be not found 
 by your ingenuity, or impress in her 
 works that majesty which characterizes 
 the immense power of your style and of 
 your chisel ; on account of which, those 
 who see you do not care for not having 
 seen Phidias, Apelles, and Vitruvius, 
 whose spirits were the shadow of your 
 own. But I think it was very lucky 
 for Parrhasius, and other ancient paint- 
 ers, that time has not allowed their pro- 
 ductions to live until the present day ; 
 whence we still give credit to the doubt- 
 ful assertions of old panegyrists, and 
 hesitate to grant you that palm which 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 65 
 
 they themselves would give you, by 
 calling you a unique sculptor, a unique 
 painter, and a unique architect, if they 
 were placed on the judicial seat on which 
 we are. But since it is so, why are you 
 not contented with the glory you have 
 acquired? It seems to me that you 
 ought to be satisfied with having sur- 
 passed all others by your former pro- 
 ductions : but I hear that, with the End 
 of the Universe, which you are now 
 painting, you intend to surpass the 
 Beginning of the World, which you 
 formerly painted, in order that, by sur- 
 passing your former performances, you 
 may obtain a triumph over yourself. 
 Who would not tremble at undertaking 
 a subject so terrible? I see, in the 
 middle of the multitude, Antichrist, with 
 an appearance only imagined by your- 
 self: I see terror in the face of the liv- 
 ing : I see the signs that the sun, the 
 moon, and the stars give of being about 
 to be extinguished : I see fire, air, earth, 
 and water, as it were, exhaling their spi- 
 rits : I see apart Nature astounded, and 
 barren, crouching in her decrepitude: 
 I see Time, lean and lingering, which, 
 having arrived at its end, sits upon a 
 dead trunk; and whilst I hear the 
 trumpets of the angels shaking the 
 hearts of every bosom, I see life and 
 death oppressed by a frightful confu- 
 sion ; because the former strives to 
 raise up the dead, and the latter to 
 batter down the living: I see Hope 
 and Despair guiding the troops of the 
 good, and the crowds of the wicked : I 
 see the spectacle of the clouds, coloured 
 with the rays proceeding from the pure 
 flames of heaven, upon which Christ, 
 surrounded with splendours and terrors, 
 sits in the middle of his hosts: I see 
 his face glittering with a serene and ter- 
 rible light, which fills the good with joy, 
 and the wicked with fear. Meanwhile 
 I see the minister of the abyss, with, 
 glory of the martyrs, deriding, with 
 horrible aspect, Caesar and Alexan- 
 der, it being much more difficult to 
 conquer oneself than the world : I see 
 Fame, with her crowns and her palms 
 under her feet, thrown on the ground, 
 under the wheels of her cart. Finally, 
 I see the great sentence coming out of 
 the mouth of the Son of God : I see it 
 in the form of two arrows, one of sal- 
 vation, and the other of damnation ; and 
 whilst I see them flying downwards, I 
 hear its fury striking against the ma- 
 chine of the elements, and destroying 
 and solving it with tremendous thun- 
 
 ders : I see the lights of paradise and 
 the furnaces of the abyss", dividing the 
 darkness fallen on the surface of the 
 air; so that the thought which repre- 
 sents to me the image of the new day, 
 asks me, if we tremble and fear in con- 
 templating the work of Buonaroti, how 
 shall we tremble and fear when we see 
 ourselves judged by Him who is to 
 judge us? But do you think that my 
 resolution of never seeing Rome again 
 will not be broken by the wish of seeing 
 your picture ? I prefer giving the lie 
 to my deliberation, rather than doing 
 wrong to your merits ; and I beg you to 
 accept kindly my wish of celebrating 
 them. 
 Venice, Sept. 15th, 1537. 
 
 To the Great Michael Angelo Buo- 
 naroti. 
 As I have no emerald vase like that 
 in which Alexander the Great kept the 
 works of Homer, when Messer Jacopo 
 Nardi, a venerable man, both from age 
 and from wisdom, delivered me your 
 most precious letter, I sighed that your 
 merit is so great, and my power so little : 
 so that, having no nobler place, as soon 
 as I had reverently read it, I placed it with 
 ceremony in the sacred diploma, which 
 I preserve in memory of the high good- 
 ness of the Emperor Charles V., in one 
 of the golden cups which the courteous 
 and immortal Antonio da Leyva once 
 gave me. But as it is a pity that you 
 spent such a precious time in answering 
 me, I say that you had already done me 
 too much favour in accepting my letter, 
 which I wrote, not to give you advice 
 in your picture of the Judgment, for it 
 is impossible to imagine anything which 
 is not inferior to your works, but only 
 to encourage you to undertake it. You 
 are certainly a divine person ; and thus 
 those who speak of you should make 
 use of superhuman expressions ; for, in 
 using common words, they would either 
 show their ignorance, or not say the 
 truth. I receive as a particular favour 
 the permission you give me to write a 
 part of what you know, as I can ; and, 
 in order that you may see the beginning, 
 I send you the volume, in which I have 
 in several instances made use of your 
 name, for the purpose of doing honour 
 to myself with its glory. But should 
 not my devotedness obtain from the 
 prince of sculpture and painting a piece 
 of those cartoons which you even give to 
 the fire, that, whilst I live, I may enjoy 
 it, and, when I die, I may carry it with 
 
66 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 myself into the tomb ? I know that the 
 excellence of the friend whom I entreat 
 will not disdain the boldness of my en- 
 treaty, both because he is of gentle 
 blood, and because he will not give the 
 lie to the proffers which he made me of 
 himself, and of everything that belongs 
 to him. 
 Venice, 20th Jan., 1538. 
 
 To Michael Angelo Buonaroti. 
 
 If the emperor was not as great in 
 glory as in power, I should prefer the 
 joy that filled my heart when Cellini 
 wrote me that my compliments had been 
 agreeable to you, to the stupendous 
 honours which his majesty was pleased 
 to do me ; but as he is a great captain 
 as well as a great emperor, I shall say 
 that, on hearing that, I was as much 
 gratified as when his c] 3mency allowed 
 me, the least man in the world, to ride 
 at his right side. But if, by agreement 
 of the public voice, you are reverenced 
 even by those who are ignorant of the 
 miracles of your divine intellect, why 
 should not one believe that you are re- 
 verenced by me, who am almost able 
 to understand the excellence of your 
 genius, and whose eyes, without seeing 
 your tremendous and venerable Day of 
 Judgment, were filled with tears of affec- 
 tion ? Think, now, how much I should 
 have wept in seeing the production of 
 your sacred hand. If I were so fortunate, 
 I would thank God for having kindly dis- 
 posed that I should be born in your 
 time, which I repute as glorious as 
 being born in the time of the Emperor 
 Charles. But why, Sir, do you not re- 
 ward my extreme devotedness to your 
 heavenly qualities, with a relic of those 
 papers for which you care the least ? I 
 assure you I would more appreciate two 
 charcoal lines upon a piece of paper, 
 than any cups or chains that this or 
 that other prince ever presented me. 
 Though my own unworthiness should 
 prevent your complying with my wish, 
 I am almost satisfied with the promises 
 of hope. I enjoy them whilst I hope 
 to obtain them ; and in hoping them, I 
 contemplate them ; and in contemplat- 
 ing them, I congratulate myself on the 
 fortune I have in being contented with 
 the hoped thing, which must one day 
 be converted from a dream into actual 
 vision. You are my idol. 
 
 Venice, April, 1544. 
 
 Divine Michael Angelo, 
 
 Your kindness in sending me 
 your compliments in your letter to Cel- 
 lini had the same happy effect upon 
 the congregation of my spirits that the 
 sweetness of forthcoming spring has on 
 the troops of birds, when, by a certain 
 silent modulation of pleasure between 
 themselves, they are led to open their 
 throats to harmony. I am, therefore, 
 compelled to seize the pen, and to write 
 to you in the best manner I can ; for, 
 as I ought, I cannot : and in writing, 
 I must confess that I am not surprised 
 at your not having fulfilled your pro- 
 mise by the present of some drawings ; 
 for people who do not obtain what they 
 wish, should attribute the cause of their 
 disappointment to their wishing what 
 they ought not to wish. The eagerness 
 of our desires sometimes leads us to 
 wish for things which do not suit our 
 condition ; so that the power, which is 
 placed in others' will, often causes our 
 disappointment, as just happens to me, 
 on account of seeking for figures, which 
 the halls of kings are hardly worthy to 
 possess. I, however, deserve to be 
 punished with the enjoyment of them ; 
 for it is not permitted that you, the pos- 
 sessor of the infinite gifts of which hea- 
 ven has been kind to you, should be so 
 avaricious of them, seeing the devotion 
 that the people of this world show for 
 them. But if there are persons who 
 have some title to have a share in them, 
 I am certainly of the number; for na- 
 ture infuses so much power in my writ- 
 ings, that she promises to carry their 
 merits to all places and to all times- 
 therefore you should at last satisfy my 
 expectation with the reward that I have 
 been so long wishing; not because I 
 believe myself such, as pride has just 
 incited me to boast myself, but because 
 I long too much to pourtray some of the 
 wonders contin ually produced by the divi- 
 nity which presides over your intellect. 
 Venice, April, 1545. 
 
 Messer Michael Angelo, 
 
 Mr. Antonio Anselmi, a true 
 tongue of your praise, and soul of my 
 affection, besides presenting you the re- 
 gards of myself, who adore you, will 
 excuse neither more nor less the impor- 
 tunity with which I pursue you, from 
 my extreme wish of obtaining some of 
 those drawings of which you are so 
 prodigal to the fire, and so avaricious 
 to me. 
 Venice, April, 1546, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 Bf 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Letter to Luca Martini. 
 (1.) Luca Martini was a member 
 of the Florentine Academy, a very lively 
 burlesque poet, and a great friend of 
 Michael Angelo. 
 
 (2.) Bottari says that the Bartolom- 
 meo Bettini here mentioned is the same 
 who wrote the memoirs upon which 
 Varchi compiled his history. 
 
 (3.) The commentary was written by 
 Varchi. 
 
 (4.) Domenico Giannotti was a very 
 wise and intelligent Florentine, elected 
 secretary of the Died di Libertd, in 
 competition with the great Machiavelli, 
 at the time when Florence was under 
 her popular government. It was at his 
 request that Michael Angelo made, for 
 Cardinal Ridolfi, that head of Brutus 
 mentioned by Vasari. 
 
 Letter to Vasari. 
 (5.) Julius III. wished to build in 
 the church of St. Peter at Montorio, a 
 marble chapel with two sepultures, one 
 for Cardinal Antonio de' Monti, his 
 uncle, the other for Messer Fabiano, his 
 grandfather ; and having ordered Vasari 
 to make the plans of it, he afterwards 
 requested Michael Angelo to fix its 
 cost. When this was done, Vasari 
 begged the Pope to induce Michael An- 
 gelo to take the superintendence of the 
 works, and Michael Angelo willingly 
 condescended to do so, from his great 
 affection to Vasari ; who soon afterwards 
 left him also the care of laying the foun- 
 dations, having been obliged to go to 
 Florence. Whilst Michael Angelo was 
 preparing the foundations at Montorio, 
 the Pope changed his mind, which hap- 
 pened by the interposition of Messer 
 Bindo Altoiti, who advised his holiness 
 to have the sepultures and the chapel in 
 the church of San Giovanni, in the hope 
 that by these means that church would 
 at last be brought to perfection. As 
 Vasari says that Altoiti had informed 
 him that he would have done so, and 
 asserts besides that Michael Angelo had 
 also been informed of it, one can hardly 
 understand what he means by saying 
 that the Pope would hear nothing about 
 it. It would appear that Buonaroti 
 had tried to keep the Pope in the same 
 resolution, whilst Vasari also says, that 
 Michael Angelo had promised to sup- 
 port the project of Messer Bindo, as he 
 
 actually writes he did, and for reasons 
 which it was useless to write about, since, 
 if they had settled the matter together, 
 Vasari must have known them. It is 
 most likely that Michael Angelo was 
 not informed of anything, and that 
 Altoiti conceived his plan of inducing 
 the Pope to build the chapel in San 
 Giovanni of the Florentines whilst Vasari 
 was absent from Rome. 
 
 (6.) He calls Vasari resusdtator of 
 the dead, because he had just published 
 his Lives of Painters, Sculptors, and 
 Architects, of which the first edition was 
 made by Torrent ino in 1550. 
 
 (7.) Bartolommeo, see note 2. 
 
 (8.) M. Angelo calls Tante cose so 
 many things (meaning a busy-body) 
 Messer Pietro Altoiti, Bishop of Forli ; 
 and he gives him that sneering title, be- 
 cause he was eager to have his hands in 
 every thing. 
 
 Second Letter to Vasari. 
 
 (9.) Whilst the Florentines were en- 
 deavouring to collect money to finish the 
 church, some difficulties arose which 
 prevented Altoiti's project from being 
 executed. 
 
 After Vasari, together with Bartolom- 
 meo Ammanati, a Florentine sculptor 
 and architect, had procured from Car- 
 rara a large quantily of marble for the 
 construction of the chapel at Montorio, 
 Bartolommeo went to Rome to work at 
 them. Buonaroti had proposed him 
 instead of Raffaello, the sculptor from 
 Montelupo in Tuscany, whom he would 
 not allow Vasari to employ, on account 
 of his unbecoming behaviour in the for- 
 mation of the statues for the sculptures 
 of Julius II. 
 
 Third Letter to Vasari. 
 (10.) Michael Angelo sent this letter 
 in answer to Vasari, who had informed 
 him that his nephew, Leonard, had just 
 had a son, whom an honourable train of 
 noble ladies had accompanied to baptism. 
 Leonard announced to him also the same 
 news, and Michael Angelo wrote him 
 another letter, of which the original is 
 preserved in the Vatican manuscripts : 
 M Leonard," says he, " I learn by your 
 letter that Cassandra has made you a 
 present of a beautiful son, whom you 
 intend to call Buonaroto. This, as 
 well as Cassandra's quick recovery, gave 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 me the greatest pleasure. God be 
 thanked for it ! and may he be pleased 
 to make him good, that he may do 
 honour to our house, and sustain it. 
 Thank Cassandra, and remember me to 
 her. The only thing that remains to do, 
 is that about which I wrote you some 
 months ago, if you should meet with a 
 respectable and well-situated house for 
 sale, to let me know ; and thus I write 
 you again, that if such a house should 
 present itself, you must not fail to inform 
 me. It' you do not think it unseasonable, 
 you might look for it now. From 
 Rome." 
 
 (11.) Michael Angelo did not call 
 himself old without reason : he was at 
 that time in his eightieth year. 
 
 Fifth Letter to Vasari. 
 
 (12.) Condivi says that Michael An- 
 gelo exercised the profession of architect 
 with reluctance ; and that when Antonio 
 da San Gallo, the architect of St. Peter, 
 died, Pope Paul III., seeing that, in 
 spile of all his entreaties, Michael Angelo 
 declined to undertake the \5ork, alleging 
 that architecture was not his art, at last 
 took the resolution to command him ; 
 giving him, however, very ample powers, 
 which were afterwards confirmed by 
 Julius III. 
 
 (13.) If Michael Angelo worked for 
 the love of God, or gratis, it was his own 
 fault, and not because the Pope had re- 
 fused to remunerate him. Condivi says 
 that Michael Angelo never would ac- 
 cept anything for his services, and had 
 required it to be so specified in the 
 agreement. The Pope, notwithstanding, 
 sent him once a hundred crowns of gold 
 by Messer Pier Giovanni, the Bishop of 
 Forli, then the chamberlain of his holi- 
 ness, as his salary for a month, on ac- 
 count of the fabric ; but Michael Angelo 
 refused them, saying that he; had made 
 a different agreement, and he' sent them 
 back. The Pope was angry ; but Mi- 
 chael Angelo was not to be moved from 
 his resolution. 
 
 The words with which that great 
 Pope expressed himself, when he granted 
 Michael Angelo the ferry of Piacenza, 
 (which Vasari wrongly calls Parma,) are 
 the following : " The happy memory 
 of Clement. VII., our immediate prede- 
 cessor, first, and then ourselves, being 
 desirous to remunerate and satisfy you 
 for the picture to be made on the wall 
 of the altar of our chapel, representing 
 the history of the Last Judgment; con- 
 
 sidering your labour and your merits, 
 with which you amply adorn our age, 
 we promised, and still promise you by 
 the present brief, the yearly income of 
 1200 golden crowns during your life ; 
 and in order that you may continue and 
 bring to an end the said work which 
 you began with our apostolical autho- 
 rity, by virtue of the present brief we 
 grant you, during your life, the ferry on 
 the Po, near Piacenza, enjoyed by Fran- 
 cesco Burla, when he was living, with 
 the usual emoluments, jurisdictions, ho- 
 nours, and duties, as a part of the said 
 income promised to you, viz. for 600 
 golden crowns, the sum we hear the said 
 ferry annually yields, continuing our pro- 
 mise, as regards the other 600 crowns 
 during your life ; ordering our vice- 
 legate of Cispadane Gaul, who is there 
 now, and those who may be there in 
 future, and our beloved children, the 
 Anziani and the corporation of the said 
 town of Piacenza, and all others whom 
 it may concern, to give you or your 
 agent the possession of the said ferry, 
 and the exercise of the same, and to 
 maintain you in it, after having given it 
 to you, and to make you enjoy peace- 
 fully this concession during your life, 
 notwithstanding anything to the con- 
 trary, &c. Rome, 1st Sept. 1535, the 
 first year of our pontificate." 
 
 (14.) Michael Angelo said also that 
 writing was not his art, and besides that, 
 on this account, he often declined an- 
 swering by letter. He also left off writ- 
 ing a work on drawing, which would 
 have been of that utility to art which it 
 is easy to imagine. Whilst, however, he 
 said he could .not write, he composed 
 some most beautiful verses ; and his 
 letters themselves are more than suffi- 
 cient to prove that he might have be- 
 come an excellent prose writer, if he had 
 but chosen to attend to it. 
 
 Sixth Letter to Vasari. 
 
 (15.) This Urbino was a Francesco 
 Amatori from Urbino, whom Antonio 
 Franzese had placed with Buonaroti in 
 1530. When Antonio Mini, pupil of 
 Buonaroti, went to France, Francesco 
 began to serve him in a very praiseworthy 
 manner, and he continued to do so for 
 twenty-six years, until Michael Angelo, 
 as Vasari says, made him rich. He gave 
 him a great deal of money, even 2000 
 crowns at one time : and besides that, he 
 obtained him the place of guardian of the 
 pictures of the Sistine chapel, for which 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 69 
 
 he received from the apostolical treasury 
 four crowns every month, with an addi- 
 tion of six monthly ducats of gold for 
 life. His duty was, as expressed in the 
 moto-proprio of Paul III., to preserve 
 from dust and other dirt the pictures of 
 the ceiling already made in the Sistine 
 chape], and the other pictures and orna- 
 ments of the chapel and halls built by 
 the said Pope, and also to preserve them 
 from the smoke of the lights which are 
 used for the celebration of divine of- 
 fices. When Francesco died, Vasari 
 wrote Michael Angelo a letter of conso- 
 lation which was answered by the pre- 
 sent. 
 
 Seventh Letter to Vasari. 
 
 (1G.) This letter was written by Mi- 
 chael Angelo to Vasari, after his return 
 from Spoleti, where he had fled a short 
 time before the French army approached 
 Rome. 
 
 He mentions Messer Cosimo Bartoli, 
 the curate of St. John of Florence, a 
 very learned man, and a member of the 
 Florentine academy, who published the 
 book called a " Defence of the Floren- 
 tine Language, and of Dante," which 
 Charles Lenzoni, a learned member of 
 the same academy, whilst dying, ordered 
 Giambullari to inscribe to Michael An- 
 gelo. 
 
 Letter to Varchi. 
 (17.) Though Vasari says he speaks 
 as an ignorant man, it seems he says in 
 these few words much more than many 
 learned men, who, in spite of the opinion 
 of such a man, would continue to lose 
 their time in writing about a question of 
 no utility. Buonaroti always consi- 
 dered it as such ; wherefore, when he 
 was questioned by Vasari, he answered 
 sneering, " that sculpture and painting 
 have the same end, obtained with great 
 difficulty on both sides ; and he could 
 draw no more from him." Varchi, 
 Two Lectures, &c. 
 
 Letter to Messer Bartolommeo. 
 (18.) Bottari says, that this letter is 
 
 in the possession of the heirs of Michael 
 Angelo, and is written to a friend of his 
 whose name is not mentioned. 
 
 " The model of Antonio San Gallo is 
 very large, and is still preserved at Bel- 
 vedere." Bottari. 
 
 Bottari says " he mentions the Paoline 
 chapel, the room where the bulls are 
 sealed, and the hall where the auditors 
 of Rota assemble. It may be observed, 
 that whilst Michael Angelo speaks here 
 of Bramante with the praise that was 
 due to him, when he went to the Pope, 
 Julius, to complain of him, he did not 
 refrain from criticising him much also 
 about architectural matters." V. Con- 
 divi. 
 
 Letter to the Grand Duke. 
 (19.) Pope Leo had also made that 
 church the parish of the Florentines, 
 who lived at Rome even from the year 
 1519. 
 
 (20.) Michael Angelo was very old, 
 and as he could not make plans for 
 architectural drawings, he employed Ti- 
 berio Calcagni, a gentlemanlike and pru- 
 dent person ; he therefore ordered Tibe- 
 rio to make the plan of the place of the 
 church ; and whilst people thought that 
 he was doing nothing, he sent word to 
 the deputies that he had served them. 
 In fact, he had not only prepared one 
 plan, but five, and all very beautiful, 
 and the deputies chose the richest. It 
 may appear strange that Michael Angelo 
 made his models with clay ; but, as a 
 sculptor, he was more experienced in 
 clay than in anything else. Benvenuto 
 Cellini says, that Michael Angelo being 
 once desirous to show some stone-cutters 
 some shapes of windows, before he pro- 
 ceeded to show them by drawings, he 
 made them also with clay. Varchi, Two 
 Lectures, &c. 
 
 Letter to Cornelia. 
 (21.) Bottari thinks that this Cor- 
 nelia was the wife of Urbino, and Mi- 
 chael Angelo's Comare ; and that the 
 Michael Angelo here mentioned washer 
 son, godson of Buonaroti. 
 
 STUDIES OF M. ANGELO. 
 
 The original studies of M. Angelo for 
 many of his great works are still re- 
 maining, and were executed in different 
 styles. The original design was sketch- 
 ed in merely to show the composition 
 and effect of the figure, and was exe- 
 cuted with a boldness and firmness 
 
 which nothing but the hand of such an 
 artist could express, whilst the finished 
 and corrected drawing, executed in pen, 
 shows the most masterly knowledge of 
 nature, and power of correct design, as 
 well as knowledge of the anatomy of the 
 figure. 
 
70 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 Extract from Uayley's Life of Romney. 
 " It is probable that his professional 
 writings, mentioned by his scholar Con- 
 divi, have perished ; although Gori, in 
 his notes on Condivi, probably meant 
 to include them in his enumeration of 
 Michael Angelo's writings ; namely, 
 1 I Ragionamenti, le Lettere, e le Rime.' 1 
 I conclude the Ragionamenti to be lost, 
 as they would not otherwise have 
 escaped the researches of M. Angelo's 
 last and very accurate and zealous bio- 
 grapher. It may, however, gratify the 
 curious to observe that some notice of 
 them may be found in the work of a 
 Florentine (Vicentio Carduchi), who 
 rose to considerable eminence as a 
 painter in Spain. He published at Ma- 
 drid, about seventy years after the de- 
 cease of M. Angelo, ' Dialogues upon 
 Art between a Master and his Disciple,' 
 in the Spanish language. In the com- 
 mencement of the work, the disciple 
 enumerates the treatises he read for 
 the acquisition of professional know- 
 ledge. After naming those of Albert 
 Durer, Leon Battista, Alberti, and 
 others, he mentions * Algunos Discursos 
 Manuscrittos doctissimos de Michael 
 Angel." I do not recollect any later 
 trace of such compositions; but this 
 seems to prove that, in 1633, they still 
 existed. It is remarkable that they are 
 not mentioned by Vasari, who has not 
 failed to declare that he heard his illus- 
 trious master and friend utter many 
 admirable observations on art, which 
 he, Vasari, intended to preserve and 
 publish in the form of a dialogue ; an 
 intention that his editor Bottari says he 
 never fulfilled." 
 
 Sculptors Successors and Contempo- 
 raries of M. Angelo. 
 
 Baccio Bandinelli was one of M. An- 
 gelo's contemporaries, and to whom he 
 was opposed. His works are bold, and 
 the design vigorous, though mannered. 
 Several of his works exist at Florence. 
 Benvenuto Cellini, one of the most 
 amusing writers of his time, was also an 
 eminent sculptor of the same age ; and 
 though more generally known for his 
 smaller works, still his " Perseus at 
 Florence," which is the best of his larger 
 works, proves him to have been one of the 
 most distinguished artists of his time. 
 
 In mentioning the celebrated sculp- 
 tors of his time, Propertia da Rossi, one 
 of the most beautiful and accomplished 
 women of her times, and who died in the 
 flower of her age, must not be omitted. 
 She executed some statues for the facade 
 of a church at Bologna. See Vasari. 
 Giovanni da Bologna was celebrated for 
 his facility and freedom; but the art had 
 taken leave of repose and simplicity. 
 His bronze statue of Mercury, how- 
 ever, known all over the world, will al- 
 ways be regarded as the most elegant 
 and poetical production of modern art. 
 
 Bernini, who was born at Naples, was 
 an artist of the greatest promise, though, 
 with the exception of the beautiful 
 groupe of Daphne and Apollo, what he 
 did seemed to subvert all true taste in 
 sculpture ; and with him began the style 
 which ended with the French school, 
 consisting of strained actions, uncom- 
 mon arrangement of composition, and 
 flying draperies, till statuary became a 
 work of ingenuity and dexterity, rather 
 than an art. 
 
 ANECDOTES OF MICHAEL ANGELO, 
 With some examples of what are termed his " good sayings." 
 
 It has been observed by some moralists, 
 that the various qualities in any human 
 character are so many elements forming 
 one harmonious whole ; whatever there- 
 fore serves to throw further light upon 
 the minds of distinguished persons may 
 be considered valuable as well as curi- 
 ous. It is for this reason, in order to 
 afford a more distinct delineation of the 
 lofty genius, the noble feelings, and the 
 magnanimous disposition of the great 
 man whose life and works form the sub- 
 ject of the preceding pages, that we 
 now subjoin such of the sayings and 
 the anecdotes attributed to him by Va- 
 sari and other biographers as do not 
 
 happen to have been already noticed in 
 the course of the foregoing narrative. 
 
 Such, we are told, was the natural 
 kindness and the benevolence of his 
 disposition, (and it has been frequently 
 mentioned to his honour,) that he was 
 known to distribute considerable sums, 
 by way of dowry, to young unprotected 
 females or orphans, to defend them from 
 the fate usually attending indigence and 
 its exposure to vice. To his nephew 
 likewise, whose circumstances were ex- 
 tremely circumscribed, he made frequent 
 advances of money, as much, it is said, 
 as three, and, some writers add, even as 
 ten thousand ducats on the same day, 
 
MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROT1. 
 
 n 
 
 Pleased with the devoted attention of 
 an aged domestic who attended his lat- 
 ter years, and who died before his mas- 
 ter, M. Angelo one day asked him, 
 " What was likely to become of him, 
 should he himself be suddenly cut off?" 
 V Alas, Sir," replied the old man, " I 
 should be compelled to look for another 
 service." " That you shall never do, 
 my good Urbino ; I will preserve you 
 from the necessity of such a step ;" and 
 he presented him with 2000 crowns. 
 
 Though ever busily engaged in the 
 world, solitude was not without its charms 
 to a mind like Michael Angelo's. He 
 once retired, as related in his Life, to the 
 mountains of Spoleto, and when charged 
 with his love of seclusion, he used to 
 observe, that his art was a jealous mis- 
 tress, and would only be content with 
 the most devoted and exclusive love. 
 
 So great was the attachment which he 
 felt throughout life for sculpture, that it 
 continued undiminished to extreme age ; 
 and when no longer able to walk, it is 
 said he caused himself to be conveyed 
 into the court of the Belvedere, to con- 
 template the beauty of the statues. It 
 is even asserted, that, when no longer 
 able to see, he was accustomed to ex- 
 amine their proportions with his hands, 
 and that he never retired without em- 
 bracing them. 
 
 In the cabinet of the Grand Duke of 
 Florence is still preserved an unfinished 
 head of Brutus, stated to have been 
 abandoned by the illustrious artist dur- 
 ing its progress, " lest," as he observed, 
 " he should be thought to give counte- 
 nance to the parricidal crime of that 
 celebrated Roman, by endeavouring to 
 perpetuate his memory in the minds of 
 posterity." At the foot of the intended 
 bust is to be read the following Latin 
 distich : 
 
 Bum Bruti effigiem sculptor de marmore ducit, 
 In mentem sceleris venit, et abstinuit. 
 As from the stone the features start to view, 
 The sculptor paused, and from his task withdrew. 
 
 While Raphael was employed in one 
 of the chambers of the Farnese Palace, 
 M. Angelo is reported to have inspected 
 the work in that artist's absence. But 
 without observing what he thought of 
 his rival's labours, he sketched the head 
 of a fawn upon the wall, in a far bolder 
 style and nobler proportions than the 
 figures which he saw around him. No 
 sooner had Raphael, on his return, be- 
 come aware of it, than he exclaimed, 
 that it could only be the work of M. 
 Angelo. It is added, that the younger 
 
 artist availed himself of the tacit re- 
 proach it seemed to convey, by en- 
 larging his own manner, and also that, 
 with becoming reverence for superior 
 genius, he chose rather to leave his own 
 labours incomplete, than to erase that 
 noble head, which is said to be still 
 carefully preserved. 
 
 Sebastian del Piombo, who was no 
 admirer of painting in fresco, induced 
 Pope Julius II. to lay his commands on 
 M . Angelo to paint the facade of the 
 chapel of the Vatican in oil, which the 
 noble artist as resolutely declined to do. 
 At length, on being much pressed, he 
 said, with some degree of warmth, "No 
 never! that is an employ fit only for 
 idle persons or women!" 
 
 Another anecdote, but perhaps hardly 
 so well authenticated as the last, is told 
 of the same parties. It would seem 
 that Julius, impatient to see the progress 
 of the artist's labours, to which the latter 
 was always extremely opposed, obtained 
 admittance to the chapel when it was 
 presumed M. Angelo would be absent. 
 Angry at beholding spectators present 
 against his express injunctions, and not 
 aware of their dignity, the artist sud- 
 denly threw down a plank of the scaf- 
 folding, which, falling from one stage to 
 the other with a terrible noise, caused 
 such an alarm, that the Pope got out of 
 the place as quickly as possible, and was 
 careful how he renewed his private view 
 of the great painter's unfinished labours. 
 
 In his great picture of the Last Judg- 
 ment, it is said that M. Angelo intro- 
 duced the portrait of a cardinal, whom 
 he extremely disliked, into his repre- 
 sentation of the infernal regions, and 
 that it was so like him as to be easily 
 recognized. The Pope saw it, and in- 
 terceded for the poor cardinal, in order 
 that it should be effaced, when M. An- 
 gelo is reported to have replied, that 
 unfortunately he could not oblige his 
 holiness, which he could have done had 
 the cardinal only been placed in Pur- 
 gatory, but that being in Hell, there 
 was no redemption for him. 
 
 Upon being one day informed that 
 the Pontiff, Paul IV., had been observ- 
 ing upon the nudity of the figures in the 
 Last Judgment, and had desired that 
 they might be retouched for the sake of 
 propriety : " The Pope would do better," 
 replied the painter, " to occupy himself 
 with correcting the disorders and inde- 
 cencies which disgrace the world, than 
 with any such hypercriticisms." 
 A Florentine citizen having observed M. 
 
n 
 
 MICHAEL ANGELO BUONAROTI. 
 
 Angelo one day stop at the San Michele 
 to behold a statue of St. Mark executed 
 by Donato, and inquiring of him what 
 most particularly struck him in its ap- 
 pearance, the sculptor is reported to 
 have replied, " It is the character of the 
 good man, which I have nowhere seen 
 surpassed ; and if St. Mark was all that 
 he is here represented, you need have no 
 difficulty as to believing every thing 
 which he wrote." 
 
 A certain painter having completed a 
 work with extreme care, and taken yet 
 more to derive a considerable profit from 
 its exhibition, M. Angelo was asked 
 what he thought of the author of it : 
 " I think," was the reply, " that he will 
 be &pooj fellow so long as he shows such 
 an extreme eagerness to vbecome rich." 
 
 One of his early friends, who had en- 
 tered the church, having arrived at 
 Rome, waited upon M. Angelo in the 
 splendid dress in which he had officiated 
 at mass ; but the latter, affecting great 
 surprise, appeared not to reoognize him. 
 "When informed by the young dignitary 
 who he was, Michael, fixing his eye 
 with a look of admiration upon his ca- 
 nonical finery, joyfully congratulated 
 him, exclaiming, "Heavens! what a 
 fine outside ! if you be only half as 
 beautifully decorated within, it must go 
 well with your soul ! " 
 
 Being desired by one of his friends to 
 give his opinion of a sculptor who had 
 imitated a number of the most cele- 
 brated antique figures in marble, and 
 who boasted that he had even gone be- 
 yond the skill of the ancients, M. An- 
 
 gelo answered with a smile, " He who 
 walks behind others can never go ahead 
 of them"; and the man who cannot do 
 well without foreign aid, can never do 
 any thing good even with the help of 
 others." 
 
 A certain painter exhibited a work in 
 which the figure of an ox was drawn, 
 in a manner superior to any other part: 
 and a spectator expressing his surprise 
 at it, the great artist observed, that 
 " There was no painter but could make 
 a good portrait of himself." 
 
 On one occasion a sculptor, whd had 
 just finished his work, evinced a parti- 
 cular anxiety to throw the light into his 
 rooms in such a manner as to exhibit 
 the piece to advantage ; but M. Angelo 
 observed to him, " Do not give yourself 
 this needless trouble ; the light of the 
 public square will best put its merit to 
 the test ;" alluding to the popular appre- 
 ciation of its character. 
 
 A painter of the day exhibited a his- 
 tory- piece, in which there was scarcely 
 a stroke of original power, the several 
 parts having been made up of imitations 
 of various designs and sketches by other 
 hands. M. Angelo being asked his 
 idea of it "He has done well," was 
 the reply, " not to copy from himself ; 
 but he will be awkwardly situated at the 
 day of judgment, when all are to resume 
 what belongs to them: for what will 
 become of his unfortunate picture ?" a 
 saying by which he doubtless intended 
 to convey his opinion of the necessity 
 of self-reliance, and the cultivation of 
 an artist's own powers. 
 
 LIVES OF M. ANGELO. 
 
 The Able Haucliecorne's Life of M. Angelo. 1783. 
 
 Giuseppe Piacenza has added a long account of M. Angelo in the third volume of his 
 Life of Baldinucci ; and Cicognara, ' Storia della Scultura," has devoted a large portion to 
 the works of M. Angelo and the events of his life. 
 
 Giorgio Vasari, Life of M. Angelo in his Lives of Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. 
 1550. 
 
 Condivi, Life of M. Angelo. Bottari, Life of M. Angelo. M. Duppa, Life of M. 
 Angelo ; and Notices by various historians and critics. 
 
 Printed by William Clowes, Duke-street, Lambeth. 
 
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