^/ 
 
 /
 
 FAMOUS BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES OF 
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT : 
 
 By T. B. Macaulay. 
 ROBERT BURNS : 
 
 By Thomas Carlyle. 
 MAH03IET : 
 
 By GiBBoy. 
 JOAN OF ARC : 
 
 By Hichelet. 
 HANNIBAL : 
 
 By Thomas Arnold. 
 JUUUS CiiESAR : 
 
 By H. G. Llddelx. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL; 
 
 By Lamartine, 
 WILLIiVJI PITT t 
 
 By T. B. Macaui-ay. 
 3IARTIN LUTHER : 
 
 By Bunsen-. 
 MARY QUEEN OF SCOTTS i 
 
 By Lamartine. 
 COLUMBUS ; 
 
 By LA3IARTINE. 
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA : 
 
 By T. a. Trollope. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBEISHEE. 
 
 J 885.
 
 
 ocM. 
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Thh Prussian raonarclir, tlie youngest of the great European 
 StRtes, but in population and in revenue the fifth amongst them, and 
 In art, science, and civilization entitled to the third, if not the second 
 place, sprang from an humble origin. About the beginning of the 
 fifteenth century, the marquisate of Brandenburg Avas bestowed by 
 the Emperor Sigismund on the noble family of Hohenzollern. In the 
 sixteenth century that family embraced the Lutheran doctrines. 
 Early in the seventeenth century it obtained from the King of Poha:i 
 the investiture of the duchy of Prussia. Even after this accession of 
 territory, the chiefs of the house of Hohenzollern hardly ranked with 
 the Electoi-s of Saxony and Bavaria. The soil of Brandenburg was, 
 for the most part, sterile. Even around Berlin, the capital of the 
 province, and around Potsdam, the favorite residence of the Mar- 
 graves, the country was a desert. In some tracts the deep sand could 
 with difficulty be forced by assiduous tillage to yield thin crops of 
 rye and oats. In other places, the anci(?nt forests, from which the 
 conquerors of the Roi-nan empire had descended on the Danube, re- 
 mained untouched by the hand of man. ^\'here the soil was ricli it 
 was generally marshy, and its insalubrity repelled the cultivators 
 whom its fertility attracted. Frederick William, called the Great 
 Elector, was tlie prince to whose policy his successors have agreed to 
 ■scribe their greatness. He acquired by the peace of Westphalia sev- 
 eral valuable possessions, and among them the rich city and district 
 of Magdeburg ; and he loft to his son Frederick a principality as con- 
 siderable as any which was not calh^d a kingdom. 
 
 Frederick aspired to the style of royalty. Ostentatious and pro- 
 fuse, negligent of his true Interests and of his high duties, insatiably 
 eager for frivolous distinctions, he added nothing to the real weight 
 of the State which he governed ; but he gained the great object of 
 Ills life, the title of king. In the year 1700 he assumed tliis new dig- 
 nity, lie liad on that occasion to undergo all the mortifications which 
 fall to the lot of ambitious ujjstarts. Com])arpd with the other 
 crownetl heads of Europe, he made a figure re.sembliiig that which a 
 Kabob or a Commissary, who liad bought a title, would make in the 
 company of I'etTs wIkjso ancestora had been attainted for treason 
 «gainijt tho Plautaj^tmeta.
 
 .g FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 The envy of the class whirh he quitted, and the civil scorn of the 
 class into whjch he intruded liimnrlf, were marked in very significant 
 >ravs. 'i'lie elector of 8;ixony at first refused to aclcnowlc Igethenew 
 majesty. Lo\iis the Fourteenth looked down on his brother king with 
 an air iiot unlike tluit wltli whicli the count in Moliere's play regards 
 Monsieur Jourdain, just fresh from the mummery of being made a 
 gentleman. Austria exacted large sacrifice in return for her recogni- 
 lion, and at last gave it ungraciously. 
 
 Frederick was succeeded by his son, Frederick William, a prince 
 ■»vhomust be allowed to have possessed some talents for administration, 
 but whose character was disfigured by the most odious vices, and 
 whose eccentricities were such as had never been seen out of a mad- 
 house. He was exact and diligent in the transaction of business, and 
 he was the first who formed the design of obtaining for Prussia a 
 place among the European powers, altogether out of proportion to her 
 extent and population, by means of a strong military organization. 
 Strict economy enabled him to keep up a peace establishment of sixty 
 thousand troops. These troops were disciplined in such a manner, 
 that, placed beside them, the household regiments of Versailles and 
 St. James would have appeared an awkward squad. The master of >' 
 Buch a force could not but be regarded by all his neighbors as a for- 
 midalde eneniv and a valuable ally. 
 
 But the mind of Frederick William was so ill-regulated that all Ins 
 inclinations became passions, and all his passions partook of tlie char^ 
 acter of moral and intellectual disease. His parsimony degenerated 
 into sordid avarice. His taste for military pomp and order became a 
 mania, like that of a Dutch burgomaster for tulips. AVhile the en- 
 voys of the court of Berlin wer j in a state of such squalid poverty as 
 moved the laughter of foreign capitals— while the food of tlie royal 
 family was so bad that even hunger loathed it— no price was though* 
 too extravagant for tall recruits. The ambition of the king was to 
 form a brigade of giants, and every country was ransacked by his 
 agents for men above the ordinary stature. These researches were 
 not confined to Europe. No head that towered above the crowd in 
 the bazaars of Aleppo, of Cairo, or of Surat, could escape the crimps 
 of Frederick William. One Irishman more than seven feet high/who 
 was picked up in London hy the Prussian ambassador, received a 
 bounty of nearlv £1,3U0 sterling— very much more than the ambas- 
 sador's salary. ' This extravagance was the more absurd because a 
 stout youth of five feet eight, who might have been procured for a 
 few dollars, would in all probal^ility have been a much more valuable 
 soldier. But to Frederick William this huge Irishman was what^ 
 brass Otho or a Vinegar Bible is to a collector of a different kind.* 
 
 • Carlyle thus describes the Potsdam Keeriment :— " A Potsdam Giant Regiment, 
 fuch as the world never saw before or sinee. Thr«e Battalions of them— two al- 
 wavB here at Potodam doin'4 formal life-Ruard duty, the third at BrandeDburg on
 
 FREDERICK THE ©REAT. 3 
 
 kiis remarkable that, thougli the main end of Frederick William's 
 administration was to have a military force, though his reign forms 
 an important epoch in the history of military discipline, and though 
 his dominant passion was the love of military display, he was yet one 
 of the most pacific of princes. We are afraid that his aversion to war 
 •was not the effect of humanity, but was merely one of his thousand 
 whims. His feeling about his troops seems to have resembled a 
 miser's feeling about his money. He loved to collect them, to count 
 them, to see them increase, but he could not find it in his heart to 
 break in upon the precious hoard. He looked forward to some future 
 time when his Patagonian battalions were to drive hostile infantry be- 
 fore them like sheep But this future time was always receding, and 
 it is probable that if his life had been prolonged thirty years his su- 
 perb army would never have seen any harder service than a sham 
 fight in the fields near Berlin. But the great military means wliicli 
 he had collected were destined to be employed by a spirit far mora 
 daring and inventive than his o\\'ti. 
 
 Frederick, surnamed the Great, son of Frederick William, waa 
 bom in January, 1712. It may safely be pronounced that he had re- 
 ceived from nature a strong and sharp understanding, and a rare firm- 
 nessof temper and intensity of will. As to the other parts of his 
 character, it is difficult to say whether they are to be ascribed to na- 
 ture or to the strange training which he underwent. The history of 
 Lis boyhood is painfully interesting. Oliver Twist in the parish work- 
 liouse," Smike at Dotheboys Hall, were petted children when compared 
 with this wretched heir-apparent of a crown. The nature of Freder- 
 ick \Mlliam was hard aud bad, and the habit of exercising arbitrary 
 power hfid made him frightfullv savage. His rage constantly vented 
 
 \ ■■ i 
 
 ftctto the *oyal eye, snch a mass of shining giants, in their iong-drawn regularities 
 and raathefflatical miinoeuvrings, like some streak of Promethean Ughtning, realized 
 here at last in the vul.ar dusk of tilings. 
 
 "Truly they are men supreme in discipline, in beauty of equipment, and tho 
 shortest roan of them rises, 1 think, toward seven feet ; s ;me are nearly nine feet 
 high. Men from all countries ; a. hundred and odd come annually, as we eaw, from 
 Russia— a very precious windfall ; the rest have been collected, crlmpeti, purchased 
 out of every European country at enormous exrense, not to speak of other trouble 
 to His Majesty. James Kirkman, an Irish recruit of good inclies. cost him £1,200 
 before he could be got inveigled, shipped, and brought safe to hand. Tlie docu i 
 ments are j-et in existence ; and (he portrait of tiiis Irisli fellow-citizen hiniseif,' 
 who is byiio mearis a beautiful man. Indeed, they are all portrayed— all tliejjri- 
 vates of this distintruislied Regiment are, if anybody carod to look at them. 'Kt- 
 divanollfroin .Moscow' seems of far better boiie than Kirkman, though still moro 
 stolid of aspect. One Ilohinann, a bom Prussian, was so tall you could not, though 
 vou voursclf tall, touch his hare crown with your hand ; August tlie Strong of Poland 
 Irii.donone occajiion and could not. Before Hohmann tumed up, there had been 
 'Jonas, the Norwei/ian Klacksmith,' also a dreadfully tall monster. Giant ' Mao- 
 doU'—wiio was to be married, no consent asked on (if/ier side, to the tiill younc; 
 Woman, which lattertunu'd out to be a decrepit old woman (all Jest-Books know tho 
 myth)— he also was an Irish giant, his name probably Af'Dow 1. This Hoh r.ann 
 Was now FUir/tetnatin ('fugleman' as we have n imcd it, leader of tlio flic), tha 
 Tallest of the Regiment, a very mountain of pipc-dayed flo«L aud bone."
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 itself to right nnd left in curses and blows. When his raaje.sty to<* 
 a walk, every luiinan beiiiij tied hefore him as if a tiger had brokt;* 
 loo.se from a menagerie. If he met a lady in the street he gave her t 
 kick and told her to go home and mind her brats. If he saw a clergy- 
 man staring at the soldiers, he admonished the reverend gentleman 
 to betake himself to study and prayer, and enforced this pious advice 
 by a sound caning, administered on the spot. But it was in his own 
 house that he was most unreasonable and ferocious. His palace was 
 hell, and he the most execrable of fiends — a cross between Moloch and 
 Puck. His son Frederick* and his daughter Wilhelniina, afterwards 
 Margravine of Bareuth, were in an especial manner objects of his 
 aversion. His own mind was uncultivated. He despisecl literature. 
 He hated infidels, Papists, and metaphysicians, and did not very well 
 understand in what they differed from each other. The business of 
 life, according to him, was to drill and to be drilled. The recreations 
 suited to a prince were to sit in a cloud of tobacco smoke, to sip 
 Swedish beer between the puffs of the pipe, to play backgamnum for 
 three-halfpence a rubber, to kill wild hogs, and to shoot partridges by 
 the thousand. The Prince-Royal showed little inclination either for 
 the serious employments or for the amusements of his father. Ho 
 shirked the duties of the parade — he detested the fume of tobacco — 
 he had no taste either for backgammon or for field-sports. He had 
 received from nature an exquisite ear, and performed skilfully on the 
 flute. His earliest instructors had been French refugees, and they 
 had awakened in him a strong passion for French litei-ature and 
 French society. Frederick William regarded these tastes as effemi- 
 nate and contemptible, and by abuse and persecution mado them still 
 stronger. Things became worse when the Prince-Royal attained that 
 time of life at which the great revolution in the human mind and 
 body takes place. He was guilty of some youthful indiscretions, 
 which no good and wise parent would regard with severity. At a 
 later period he was accused, truly or falsely, of vices from which His- 
 tory averts her eyes, and which even Satire blushes to name — vices 
 
 ♦The following is his answer to an humble supplication of Friedrich's for for- 
 giveness : — 
 
 "Thy [in German the contemptuous third person singular is used] obstinate, per- 
 verse disposition (A'o/;/' head), which does not love thy Father — for when one does 
 every thing, and really loves one's Father, one does \\hat the Father requires, not 
 •Ahile he is there to see it, but when his back is turned too. For the rest, thoii 
 kiiow'st very well that I can endure ro effeminate fellow {efeminirten Kerl). who 
 has no himian inclination in him; who puts himself to shame, cannot ride nor 
 shoot, and withal is dirty in his person; fri.izlos liis hair like a fool, and does not 
 cut it off. And all this 1 have a thousand times reprimanded ; but all in vain, and 
 BO improvement in nothing (kHne Besserunr/ in nichts isf). For the rest, haughty, 
 proud as a cliurl ; speaks to nobody but sonic few, and is not popular and affable ; 
 and cuts grimaces w ith his face, us if he were a fool ; and does uiy will in nothing 
 nniesa held to itby force; nothing out of love; — and has pleasure in nothing but 
 following bis own whixua (own Ko^) — no use to iiiui in jiny thing else. This is the 
 answer. iTUKoaiOH WiLHaui." 
 
 Carlyle (vcd. li., pp. 47,48.)
 
 yflEDERICK THE GREAT. 5 
 
 iuch that, to borrow the energetic language of Lord-Keeper Coven- 
 trj-, "the depraved nature of man, which of itself carrieth man to 
 all other sin, abhorreth them." But the offences of his youth were 
 not characterized by any peculiar turpitude. They excited, however, 
 transports of rage in the king, who hated all faults except those to 
 which he was himself inclined, and who conceived that he made am- 
 ple atonement to Heaven for his brutality, by holding the softer pas- 
 sions in detestation. The Prince-Royal, too, was not one of those 
 who are content to take their religion on trust. He asked puzzling 
 questions, and brought forward arguments which seemed to savor 
 of something different from pure Luthei-anism. The king suspected 
 that his son was inclined to bo a heretic of some sort or other, whether 
 Calvinist or Atheist, his majesty did not very well know. The ordi- 
 nary malignity of Frederick William was bad enough. He noAv 
 thouglit malignity a part of his duty as a Christian man, and all the 
 conscience that he had stinmlated his hatred. The flute was broken 
 • — the French books were sent out of the palace — the prince was 
 kicked and cudgelled and pulled by the hair. At dinner the plates 
 were hurled at his head — sometimes he was restricted to bread and 
 water — sometimes he was forced to swallow food so nauseous that ho 
 could not keep it on liLs stomach. Once his father knocked him 
 down, dragged him along the floor to a window, and was with diffi- 
 culty prevented from strangling him vith the cord of the curtain. 
 The queen, for the crime of not wishing to see her son murdered, was 
 subjected to the grossest indignities. The Princess ^Vilhelmina, who 
 took her brother's ])art, was treated almost as ill as Mrs. Brownrigg's 
 apprentices. Driven to despair, the unhappy youth tried to run 
 away ; then the fury of tlie old tyrant rose to madness. The princfa 
 was an ofTiccr in the army ; his flight was therefore desertion, and, in 
 the mora] code of Frederick William, desertion was the highest of all 
 crimes. " Desertion," says this royal theologian in one of his half- 
 crazy letters, " is from liell. It is a work of the children of the devil. 
 No child of God could possibly be guilty of it." An accomplice of 
 the prince, in spite of the rec/)mmendation of a court-martial, was 
 mercilessly put to death. It seemed probable that the prince liim.self 
 would suffer the same fate. It was with difficulty that the interces- 
 sion of the States of Holland, of the Kings of Sweden and Poland, 
 and of the Emperor of (iermany, saved the house of Brandenburgh 
 from the stain of an unnatural murder. After months of cruel sus- 
 
 {lense, Frederick learned that his life would be si)ared. lie i-emained, 
 lowever, long a i)risnnor ; but ho wa.s not on thataccr)nnt to l)(>]>iti(>d. 
 He foimd in Jiis jailors a tenderness which he had never found in his 
 fatlier ; his table was not suniptuous, but he had wliolesorae food in 
 sufficient quantity to api>ease hunger ; he could read the IIctiriad« 
 without being kicked, and play on his flut/i without having it broken 
 OTer his load. 
 
 When hi.s confinement terminated, ho was a man. He IltkI ne<irl/
 
 6 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 completed his twenty-first year, and could scarcely, aren by such « 
 parent as Frederick William, be kept much longer under the ro 
 etraint-s whicli had made his boyhood miserable. Suffering had ma- 
 tured his uiidt'rstaniling, while it had hardened his heart and soured 
 his temper. He had learnt sell'- command and dissimulation; he af- 
 fected to conform to some of his father's views, and submissively ac- 
 cepted a wife, who was a wife only in name, from his father's himd. 
 He also served with credit, though without any op|x>rtunity of ac- 
 quiring brilliant distinction, under the comnumd of Prince Eugene, 
 during a campaign marked l)y no extraordinary events. He Avas now 
 permitted to keep a separate establishment, and was therefore able to 
 indulge with caution his own tastes. Partly in order to conciliate tho 
 king, and partly, no doubt, from inclination, he gave up a portion of 
 his time to military and political business, and thus gradually ac- 
 quired such an aptitude for affairs as his niost intimate associates were 
 not aware that ho possessed. 
 
 His favoi'ite abode was at Rheinsberg, near tho frontier which 
 separates the Prussian dominions from the duchy of Mecklenburg. 
 Rheinsberg is a fertile and smiling spot, in tho midst of the sandy 
 waste of the Marquisate. The mansion, surrounded by woods of oak 
 and beech, looks out upon a spacious lake. There Frederick amused 
 himself by laying out gardens in regular alleys and intricate mazes, 
 by building obelisks, temples, and conservatories, and by collecting 
 rare fruits and flowers. His retirement was enlivened by a few com- 
 panions, among whom he seems to have preferred those -who, by birth 
 or extraction, were French. With these inmates he dined and supped 
 well, drank freely, and amused himself sometimes with concerts, 
 sometimes with holding chapters of a fraternity which he called the 
 Order of Bayard ; but literature was his chief resource. 
 
 His education had been entirely French. The long ascendency 
 which Louis XIV. had enjoyed, and the eminent merit of tho tragic and 
 comic dramatists, of the satirists, and of the preachers who had flour- 
 ished under that magnificent prince, had made the French languago 
 predominant in Europe. Even in countries which had a national 
 literature, and which could boast of names greater than tho.se of Ra- 
 cine, of Moliere, and of ^lassillon — in the country of Dante, in the 
 country of Cervantes, in the country of Shakspeare and Milton — the 
 intellectual fashions of Paris had been to a great extent adopted. 
 Germany had not yet produced a single masterpiece of poetry or elo- 
 quence. In Germany, therefore, the French taste reigned without 
 rival and without limit. Every youth of rank was taught to spealc 
 and write French. That he should speak and write his own tongue 
 v.dth politeness, or even with accuracy and facility, was regarded aa 
 comparatively an unimportant object. Even Frederick William, with 
 nil his rugged Saxon pnijudices, thought it necessary that his chil- 
 dren should know French, and quite unnecessary that they should bo 
 well versed in German. The Latin was potiitively interdicted. " My
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT, 7 
 
 Bon," His Majesty wrote, "shall not learn Latin; .ir.i, more than 
 that, I will not suffer anybody even to mention such a thing to me." 
 One of the preceptors ventured to read the Golden Bull in the original 
 with the Prince- Royal. Frederick William entei-ed the room, and 
 broke out in his usual kingly style, 
 
 " Rascal, what are you at there ? " 
 
 " Please Your Majesty," answered the preceptor, " I was explain- 
 ing the Golden Bull to His Royal Highness." 
 
 " I'll Golden Bull you, you rascal," roared the majesty of Prussia 
 Up went the king's cane, away ran the terridcd instructor, and Fred- 
 erick's classical studies ended forever. He now and then affected tc 
 quote Latin sentences, and produced such exquisite Ciceronian phrasek 
 as these: " Stante pede morire" — " De gustibus non est disputan 
 dus " — " Tot verbas tot spondera." Of Italian, he had not enough 
 to i-ead a page of Metastasio with ease, and of Spanish and English, 
 he did not, as far as we are aware, understand a single word. 
 
 As the higliest human compositions to which he had access were 
 those of the French writers, it is not strange that his admiration for 
 those writers should have been unbounded. His ambitious and eagei 
 temper early prompted him to imitate what he admired. The wish, 
 perhaps, dearest to his heart was, that he might rank among tu«) 
 ;ma.sters of French rhetoric and poetry. He wrote prose and verse as 
 indefatigably as if he had been a starving hack of Cave or Osborn ; 
 but Nature, which had bestowed on him in a large mejisure the 
 talents of a captain and of au administrator, liad witliheld from him 
 those higher and rarer gifts, Avithout which industry labors in vain 
 to produce immortal eloquence or song. And, indeed, had he been 
 blessed with more iniagination, wit, and fertility of thought than he 
 appears to have had, he would still have been subject to one great 
 disadvantage, which would, in all probability, have forever prevented 
 him from taking a high place among men of letters. He had not the 
 full command of any language. There was no machine of thought 
 which he could employ with perfect ease, confidence, and free- 
 dom. He had German enough to scold his servants or to give the 
 Vword of command to his grenadiers ; but his grammar and pronun- 
 ciation wero extremely bad. He found it difficult to make out the 
 meaning even of the simx^lest German poetry. On one occasion a ver- 
 sion of Racine's Tph.igl'iiie was read to him. He hold the French 
 original in his hand ; Init was forced to own that, even with such 
 lielp, he could not understand thf; translation. Yet though he had 
 neglected his mother tongue in order to bestow all his attention on 
 French, liis French wa.s, after all, the French of a foreigner. It was 
 necessary for liini to have always at his beck some men of letters 
 from Paris to jx^int out the solecisms and false rhymes, of which, to 
 the la.st, he was frecjuently guilty. Even had he ])ossesbed the 
 ]>oetic faculty — of which, as far as we can judge, he wnus utterly 
 de«tituto — the want of a language would have prevented him from
 
 8 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Vin- a Croat poet. No noblo work of imagination, as far as we can 
 r^coVcct^ vval ever composed 1>.v any man, ex<-ept m a dialect wlucl h« 
 W learned without remembering how or when and which he had 
 spierwUhp' t-ectease before he had ever ana yzed its structure 
 Rmiians o ff^at talents wrote Greek verses ; bnt liow many of those 
 verges have ckserved to live ? Many men of eminent genius have, in 
 mXrn t mes wr tten Latin poems; but, as far as we are aware 
 Zfe of those poems, not even Milton's, can be ranked in the hrst 
 'T ! ^f ort or even verv high in the second. It is not strange, 
 SfoL tlmt nThrF^h v^^^^^ of Frederick, we can find nothing 
 S^;trthe relch of any n.an of good parts -/ ^^^^ ^-f^^^ 
 «hnve the level of Newdigate and Soatonian poetry. His best pieces 
 ma>M.erhaps rank with the worst in Dodsley's collection. In liistory 
 he^ucceXd better. We do not, indeed, find in any part of Is 
 volundnous Memoir.s either deep reflection or vivid painting. Bat 
 IhenaiTalve is distinguished by clearness, conciseness good sense 
 *nd a Jertaht air of truth and simplicity, which is singularly graceful 
 ^ntmanX having done great things, sits down to relate them 
 On tie whole howeN^>r, none of his writings are so agreeable to us as 
 Ss Letted -particularly those which are written with earnestness, 
 and are not embroidered with verses. ,., , i „„ 
 
 It Is not strange that a young man devoted ^ literature and c- 
 ^uainted only wUh the literature of France, should have looked wi h 
 IZZd veneration on the genius of Voltaire. ^"Vsi^Hxe sun "" 
 denm him for this feeling. •' A man who has ^^^fj^^^^^f'^^^^^ 
 says Calderon in one of his charming comedies "cannot b« b{<^™^^l 
 for thinking that no glorv can exceed that of the moon A man 
 wLh^ssefn neither m^.on nor sun cannot ^^J^larnjl or ,^^ng of 
 the unrivaled brightness of the morning star. Had I lederick been 
 ameto"ead Homer and Milton, or even Virgil and 'fasso, his admira^ 
 t^n of the Jlenrinde would prove that he was utterly destitute oi the 
 wwerc discerning what is excellent in art. Had he been familiar 
 TihSophiclesor^Shakspeare, we should ^^f ^/^If^ f^'CvdiS 
 r^renate Zaire more iustly. Had he been able to study Thucydides 
 rdTaciSsinreorginal Greek and Latin, he woud have knovva 
 U at there were heights in the eloquence of history far beyond the 
 I" h of t^rauth^r^of the Life of SharlestU Tmm a^d ttmot 
 heroic poem, several of the most powerful tragedies and fhe most 
 ril ant and pictures(me historical work that Frederick had ever 
 r^d werrVolWs. Such high and various excellence moved the 
 .-"ung prince almost to adoration. The opinions «f Voltaire onjl. 
 Igious and philsophical questions had not yet been fully e>ch l^'ted to 
 ^,c nublV At a later periml, when an exile from his countrj ani 
 a open war with the ciuirdi, he spoke out. But when Fre<^nck 
 was at Rheinsberg, Voltaire was st.l a courtier ; and though he 
 .ouldnot always curb his petulent wit he Imd, '^ J^^ X^.^^tl 
 uothing that coald exclude him from Versailles, aad btUfe that a
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 9 
 
 divine of the nrild and generous scliool of Grotius and Tillotson might 
 not read with pleasure. In the Henriade, in Zaire, and in Alzirc, 
 Christian piety is exhibited in the most amiable form ; and, some 
 years after the period of which we are writing, a Pope condescended 
 to accept the dedication of Mahomet. The real sentiments of the 
 poet, however, might be clearly perceived by a keen eye through the 
 decent disguise with which he veiled them, and could not escape the 
 sagacity of Frederick, who held similar opinions, and had been ac- 
 customed to practise similar dissimulations. ; 
 
 The prince wrote to his idol in the style of a worshipper, and Vol-i 
 taire replied with exquisite grace and address. A correspondence 
 followed, which may be studied with advantage by those who wish 
 i« become proficients in the ignoble art of flattery. No man ever paid 
 compliments better than Voltaire. His sweetened confectionery had 
 always a delicate, yet stimulating flavor, which was delightful to 
 palates wearied by the coarse preparations of inferior artists. It was 
 only from his hand that so much sugar could be swallowed without 
 making the swallower sick. Copies of verses, writing-desks, trinkets 
 of amber, were exchanged between the friends. Frederick confided 
 his writings to Voltaire, and Voltaire applauded as if Frederick had 
 been Racine and Bossuet in one. One of his Royal Highness's per- 
 formances was a refutation of the Principe of Machiavelli. Voltaire 
 undertook to convey it to tlie press. It was entitled the Anti- 
 Mnchiatel. and was an edifying homily against rapacity, perfidy, ar- 
 bitrary government, unjust 'war— in short, against almost every thing 
 for which its author is now remembered among men. 
 
 Tlie old king uttered now and then a ferocious growl at the diver- 
 sions of Rheinsberg. But his health was broken, his end was ap- 
 proadiing, and his vigor was impaired. lie had only one pleasure 
 left— that of seeing tall soMiers. He could always be propitiated by a 
 pre-sent of a grenadier of six feet eight or six feet nine ; and such 
 presents were from time to time judiciously offered by his son. 
 
 Early in the year 1740, Frederick William* met death with a firm- 
 
 * Macanlfiy if a little too harsh with the old king. The followinff extract from 
 Carlvle'H recent Life of FredL-nck the Great, describing the last hours of Friederich 
 Wilhelm, will gliow aometliin;? better in his character : " For the lest, he isstrng- 
 
 fiiD'i between death ami life, in jrencral perMuiidu. that the end is fatft hastening on. 
 le send.s for ChiefFreaclier Hololf out to Potsdam; has some notable dialogues 
 with Hololl and with two other Fotsdam clerf;ymer., of which there is record still 
 left ns. In thsee, as in all his demeanor at this supreme time, we see the big, rug- 
 ged block of nianhfXKl come out very vividly ; strong in his simplicity, in his veraci- 
 ty. Friedricli Wilnelin's wish is to know from Koloff what the chances are for him 
 in the other world—which is not less certain tluin Potsdam and the giant grenadiers 
 to Fricflnch Willielm : and where, he perceives, never half so clearly before, he 
 Hhall actually jxel off iiis Kinghood and stand before Gixl Almighty no better than 
 a naked beic'ar. Hcjioff's prognostics are not so encouraging as the King had 
 hoiM'd. Surely this King ' never took or coveted what was not his ; kept true to his 
 marriage-vow, in spue of horrible examplej^ eve ywliere ; believed the Bible, hon- 
 ored the Preacher.-!, went dili/i'utly to ( iiurcli, and tried to do what he understood 
 (fod's commanrflucnt.-) were ?' To all which Uolotl, a courajicous, pious man, aiv
 
 10 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 ness and dignitv worthy of a better and wiser' nuin ; and Frederick, 
 who liiul j udt completed his twenty-eighth year, became King of Pruu- 
 bia. His character was little understocxl. That he had gotxl abilities, 
 indeed, no person who had talked with him or corresponded! with him 
 could doubt. But the easy, Epicurean lie which he had Uxl, his love 
 of good cookery and good wine, of music, of conversation, of light 
 literature, leil many to regard him as a sensual and intellectual vo- 
 hqituary.' His haliit of canting about mod.Tation, peivce, liberty, and 
 the happiness which a good mind derives from the happiness of oth- 
 ei-s, had imposed on some wlio should have known better. Those 
 who thought be.st of him expected a Telemachus after Fenelon's pat- 
 tern. Otliers predicteil the ai)proach of a Medicean age — an age ])ro- 
 pitious to learning and art, aud not unpropitious to pleasu)-e. Nobody 
 had the least suspicion that a tyrant of extraordinary military and 
 political talents, of industry more extraordinary still, without fear, 
 without faith, and without mercy, had ascended the throne. 
 
 The disappointment of Falstaft at his old boon companion's corona- 
 tion was not more bitter than that which awaited some of the in- 
 mates of Kheinsberg. They had long looked forward to the accession 
 of their patron, as to the day from which their own prosperity and 
 greatness was to date. They had at last reached the promised land, 
 the land which they had figured to themselves as flowing with milk 
 aud honey, and they found it a desert. " No more of these fooleries," 
 was the short, sharp admonition given by Frederick to one of them. 
 It soon became i)lain that, in the most important points, the new 
 sovereign bore a strong family likeness to his jjredecessor. There 
 was a wide difference between "the father and the son as respected ex- 
 tent and vigor of intellect, speculative opinions, amusements, studies, 
 outward demeanor. But the groundwork of the character was the 
 same in both. To both were common the love of order, the love of 
 business, the military taste, the parsimony, the imperious spirit, the 
 
 Bwers with discreet worda and shaklnsrs of the head. ' Did I behave ill then, did I 
 ever do injustice ? ' Roloff mentions "Baron Schlubhut, the defalcating Amtmaan, 
 handed at KOniijsbcr^ without even a trial. ' He had no trial ; but was there any 
 douSt he had justif c ? A public thief, confessing he had stolen the taxes he was, set 
 to irather ; insolently offering;, as if that wereall, to repay the money, and sayln?, It 
 was not MiinUr (good muniicrs) to hang a nobleman ! ' Rololl shakes his head, 
 ' Too nolent. Your Majesty, and savoiing of the tyrannous. The poor King must 
 repent.' , ^ , ^ .. 
 
 , '" Well— is there any thing more ? Out with it, then ; betternow than toolate !' 
 [And certain building operations of an oppressive character come under review] 
 . . . 'And t:ien there is forgiveness of enemies ; Your Majesty is bound t^o for- 
 give all men, or how can you a.=k to be forgiven ?'— ' Well I will ; I do. You Feekin 
 [his wife. Queen Sophie], write to your brother (unforgiveablest of beings), after I 
 am dead, that I forgave him, died in peace with him.'—' Better Her Majesty should 
 wr'te at once,' su-'gesta Holofl.— ' No, after I am dead,' persists the son of naUire— 
 ' that will be safer I ' An unwedgeable and gnarled bi^ binck of manhood and sim- 
 plicity and sincerity ; such as we rarely get sight of among the modern sons of 
 Adam, among the crowneJ soas nearly never. At parting he said to Rololl, 'yon 
 ttr. He) do not spare rae ;. 't in right. You do your duty like au Uoneit Chnstiaa 
 man.' " (vol. M , pp. 881-683).
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. U 
 
 temDer irr table even to ferocity, the pleasure in the pain and hu- 
 miliation of others. But these propensities had m Frederick NV il- 
 liam partake:i of the general unsoundness of his mind, and wore a 
 verv different aspect when found in company with the strong and 
 cultivated understanding of his successor. Thus, for example, Freder- 
 ick was as anxious as any prince could be about the efficacy of his 
 armr But this anxietv never degenerated into a monomania, lilce 
 that" which led his father to pay fancy prices ior giants. Frederick 
 was as thriftv alxjut monev as any prince or any private man ought 
 to be. But" he did not conceive, lilvc his father, that it wa3 worth 
 wliile to eat unwholesome cabbages for the sskff of saving four or 
 five rix dollars in the year. Frederick was, we fear, as malevolent 
 as his father ; but Frederick's wit enabled him often to show his 
 malevolence in wavs more decent than those to which his father 
 resorted, and to infl'ict misery and degradation by a taunt instead of a 
 blow Frederick, it is true,"bv no means relinquished his hereditary 
 privilege of kicking and cudgelling. His practice, however, as to 
 ^.hat matter differed in some important respects from his father's. To 
 Frederick William, the mere circumstance that any persons whatever, 
 men women, or children, Prussians or foreigners, were within reach 
 of his toes and of his cane, appeared to be a sufficient reason for pro- 
 ceeding to belabor them. Frederick required provocation as well as 
 vicinity ; nor was he ever known to inflict this paternal species of 
 correction on anv but his born subjects ; though on one occasion _M. 
 Thiebault had "reason during a few seconds to anticipate the high 
 honor of being an exception to this general rule. 
 
 The character of Frederick was still very imperfectly understood 
 either by his subjects or by his neighbors, when events occurred 
 which exhibited it in a strong light. A few months after his acces- 
 sion died Charles VI. , Emperor of Germany, the last descendant in 
 the male line of the house of Austria. . , , „ 
 
 Cliarles left no son, and had long before his death relinquished all 
 hopes of male issue. During the latter part of his life his principal 
 object had been to secure to his descendants in the female line the 
 manv crowns of the liouse of Hapsbiirg. With this view, he had 
 promulgated a new law of succession widely celebrated throughout 
 Europe under the name of the " Pragmatic Sanction." By virtue of 
 this decree, his daugliter, the ArclKiuchess Maria Theresa, wife of 
 Francis of Lorraine, succeeded to the dominions of her ancestors. 
 
 Xo sovereign has ever takf.-n pos-session of a throne by a clearer 
 title All thii po itics of the Austrian cabinet liad during twenty 
 vear's been directed to one singh; end— the settlement of the succes- 
 sion From every person whose rights could be considered as injuri- 
 ously affected, renunciations in the most solemn form had been ob- 
 taiiu'd. Tlie new law had been ratified by the E.states of all tho king- 
 d-^nis nnd principaliti.'S whirh mado u]) the great Austrian monarchy. 
 Encland, Franc<3, Spain, Russia, Pokind, Prussia, Sweden, Denmark,
 
 13 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 tlie Qormanic body, had hound themselves by treaty to maintain tho 
 " Pni^niatic Sanction." That instrument was placed under the pro- 
 tection of tlio public faith of the wliole civilized world. 
 
 Even if no positive sti])ulations on this subject had existed, the 
 arrangement wiis one which no good man would have been willing to 
 disturb. It was a peaceable arrangement. It was an arrangement 
 acceptable to the great population whose happiness was chiefly con- 
 cerned. It was an arrangement which made no change in the distri- 
 bution of power among the states of Christendom. It was an ar- 
 rangement which could be set aside only by means of a general war ; 
 and, if it were set aside, the effect would be that the equilibrium of 
 Europe would be deranged, that the loyal and patriotic feelings of 
 iniliions would be cruelly outraged, and that great provinces which had 
 been united for centuries would be torn from each other by main 
 force. 
 
 The sovereigns of Europe were therefore bound by every obligation 
 which those who are intrusted with power over their fellow-creatures 
 ought to hold most sacred, to respect and defend the right of the 
 Archducliess. Her situation and her personal qualities were such as 
 might be expected to move the mind of any generous man to pity, 
 admiration, and chivalrous tenderness. She was in her twenty-fourth 
 year. Her form was majestic, her features beautiful, her counte- 
 nance sweet and animated, her voice musical, her deportment gracious 
 and dignified. In all domestic relations she was without reproach. 
 She was married to a husband whom she loved, and was on the point 
 of giving birth to a child when deith deprived her of her father. 
 The loss of a i^arent and the new cares of the empire were too much 
 for her in the delicate state of her health. Her spirits were depressed 
 and her cheek lost its bloom. 
 
 Yet it seemed that she had little cause for anxiety. It seemed that 
 justice, humanity, and the faith of treaties would have their due 
 weight, and tliat the settlement so solemnly guaranteed would l)e 
 quietly carried into effect. England, Ru.ssia, Poland, and Holland 
 declared in form their intentions to adhere to their engagements. 
 The French ministers made a verbal declaration to the same effect. 
 But from no quarter did the young Queen of Hungary receive strong- 
 er assurances of friendship and support than from the King of Prus- 
 eia. 
 
 Yet the King of Prus:!ia, the " Anti-Machiavel," had already fully 
 determined to commit the great crime of violating his plighted faith, 
 of roWjing the ally whom he was bound to defend, and of plunging 
 all Europe into a long, bloody, and desolating ^\'ar, and all this for no 
 end whatever ©xcept that he might extend his dominions and see his 
 name in the gazettes. He determined to assemble a great army with 
 spce i and .secrecy to invade Silesia before Maria Theresa should b« 
 apprized of his design, and to add that rich province to his kingdom. 
 
 \Ve will not condescend to refute at length the pleaa . . . [put
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. IS 
 
 forth by] Doctor Preuss. They amount to thia— that the house erf 
 Brandenburg had some ancient pretensions to Silesia, and had in the 
 previous century been compelled by hard usage on the part of the 
 court of Vienna' to waive those pretensions. It is certain that who- 
 ever might originallv have been in the right Prussia had submitted. 
 Prince after prince of the hou-e of Brandenburg had acquiesced in 
 the existing arrangement. Nay, the court of Ber.in had recently 
 been allied with that of Vienna, and had guaranteed the mtegrity of 
 the Austrian States. Is it not perfectly clear that if antiquated 
 claims are to be set up against recent treaties and long possession, the 
 world can never be at peace for a day? The laws of all nations havo 
 wisely established a time of limitation, alter which t.tles, however 
 illeo-itimate in their origin, cannot be questioned. It is felt by every- 
 bod>' that to ejoct a person from his estate on the ground of some in- 
 justice committed in the time of the Tudors, would produce all the 
 evils which rc>sult from arbitrary confiscation, would make all prop- 
 erty insecure. It concerns the commonwealth— so runs the legal 
 maxim— that there be an end of litigation. And surely this maxim 
 is at least equally applicable to the great commonwealth of States, 
 for in that commonwealth litigation means the devascation of prov- 
 inces the suspension of trade and industry, sieges like those of Bada- 
 joz and St. Sebastian, pitched fields like those of Eylau and Boro- 
 dino. We hold that the transfer of Norway from Denmark to 
 Sweden was an unjustifiable proceeding ; but would the King of Den- 
 mark be therefore justified in landing without any new provocation in 
 Norway, and commencing military operations there? The King of 
 Holland'think.s, no doubt, that he Avas unjustly deprived of the Bel- 
 ■ frian provinces. Grant tliat it v/ere so. Would he, therefore, be 
 justified in marching with an army on Brussels? The case against 
 Frederick was still stronger, inasmuch as tiie injustice of which he 
 complained had been committed more than a century before. Nor 
 must it be forgotten that he owed the highest personal obligations to 
 the house of Austria. It may be doubted whether his life had not 
 been preserved by the intercession of the prince whose daughter ho 
 was about to plunder. 
 
 To do the king justice, he pretended to no more virtue than he had. 
 In manifestoes he might, for form's sake, insert some idle stories 
 about his antiquated claim on Silesia ; but in his conversations and 
 Memoirs he took a very dilTerent tone. To quote his own words— 
 ' Aml)ition, interest, the desire of malting people talk about me, 
 ca-jried the dav, and I decided for war." 
 
 Having resolved on liis course, ho acted with ability and vigor. It 
 was impossible wholly to conceal his preparations, for throughout the 
 I'russ'an territories regiments, guns, and baggage were in motion 
 The Austrian envov at Berlin apprized his court of thes^i facts, and 
 expressed a suspicion of Frederick's designs ; but tho ministers of 
 Maria Tliercsn refused to give credit to so block an imputation on a
 
 U FlUiDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Toung f)rince who Tv'as known cliiefly by liis high professions of in- 
 tegritj find phila^thropy. " We will not," thoy wrote, " we cannot 
 believo it." 
 
 Ill the meantime tlio Prnssian forces liad been assembled. With- 
 out any declaration of war, witliout any demand for reparation, in 
 the very act of pouring: forth compliments and assurances of good- 
 will, Frederick commenced liostililies. Many thousands of his troops 
 were actually in SilesLa before the Queen of Hungary knew that lie 
 li id set up any claim to any part of her territories. At length he 
 sent her a message which could bo regarded only as an insult. If she 
 would but let him have Silesia, lie would, he said, stand by lier 
 against any power which should try to deprive lier of her other do- 
 minions : as if he was not already bound to stand by lier, or as if hi.s 
 new promise could be of more value than the old one ! 
 
 It Avas the depth of winter. The cold was severe, and the roads 
 de(^p in mire. But the Prussians passed on. Resistance was impos- 
 sible. The Austrian army was then neither numerous nor efficient. 
 The small portion of that army which lay in Silesia was unprepared 
 for hostilities. Glogau was blockaded ; Breslau opened its gates ; 
 Ohlau was evacuated. A few scattered garrisons still held out ; but 
 the whole open country was subjugated ; no enemy ventured to en- 
 counter the king in the field ; and before the end of January, 1741, 
 he returned to receive the congratulations of his subjects at Ber.in. 
 
 Had the Silesian question been merely a question between Freder- 
 ick and Maria Theresa, it would be impossible to acquit the Prussian 
 king of gross perfidy. But when we consider the effects which his 
 policy produced, and could not fail to produce, on the whole commu- 
 nity of civilized nations, we are compelled to pronounce a condemna- 
 tion s.ill more severe. Till he began the war it seemed possible, 
 even probable, that the peace of. the world would be preserved. The 
 plunder of the great Austrian heritage was indeed a strong tempta- 
 tion ; and in more tlian one cabinet ambitious schemes were already 
 meditated. But the treaties by which the " Pragmatic Sanction " had 
 been guaranteed were express and recent. To throw all Europe into 
 confusion for a purpose clearly unjust was no light matteri England 
 was true to her engagements. The voice of Fleury had always been 
 for peace. He had a conscience. He was now in extreme old ago, 
 and was unwilling, after a life which, when his situation was con- 
 fcidered, must be pronounced singularly pure, to carry the fresh stain 
 of a great crime before the tribunal of his God. Even the vain and 
 unprincipled Belle-Isle, whose whole life was one wild day-dream of 
 conquest and spoliation, felt that France; bound as she was by solemn 
 stipulations, could not without disgrace make a direct attack on the 
 Austrian dominions. Charles, Elector of Bavaria, pretended that he 
 had a right to a large j)art of the inheritance which tho " Pragmatic 
 Sanction " gave to the Queen of Hungary, but ho was not sufficiently 
 porwerfnl to move without support. It might, therefore, not un-
 
 FREDERICK THE .GREAT. 15 
 
 reasonably be expected tbat after a short period of restlessness, all 
 the potentates of Christendom would acquiesce in the arrangements 
 made bv the late emperor. But the selfish rapacity of the Kmg of 
 Prussia gave the signal to his neighbors. His example qiurted their 
 sense of shame. His success led them to underrate the difficulty of 
 dismembering the Austrian monarchy. The whole world sprang to 
 arms On the head of Frederick is a I the blood which was shed iii a 
 war which raged during many years and in every quarter of the 
 globe— the blood of the column of Fontenoy, the blood of the brave 
 momitameers who were slaughtered at Culloden. The evils produced 
 by this wickedness were felt in lands where the name of Prussia was 
 unknown ; and, in order that he might rob a neighbor ^%-lioni he bad 
 promised to defend, black men fought on the coast of Coromandel, 
 and red men scalped each other by the great lalces of ^orth America. 
 Silesia had been occupied without a battle ; but the Austrian 
 troops were advancing to the relief of the fortresses which still held 
 out In the spring Frederick rejoined his army. He had seen little 
 of war and had never commanded any great body of men m the 
 field It is not, therefore, strange that his first military operations 
 sliowed little of that skill which, at a later period, was the admira- 
 tion of Europe. What connoisseurs say of some pictures painted by 
 Raphael m his youth, mav be said of this campaign. It was m 
 Frederick's early l-sad manner. Fortunately for him, the generals to 
 whom he was opposed were men of small capacity. The discipline 
 of his own troops, particularly of the infantry, was unequalled in 
 that age ; and some able and experienced officers were at hand to 
 a-ssist him with their advice. Of these, the most distinguished was 
 Field-Marslial Schwerin— a brave adventurer of Pomeranian extrac- 
 tion, who liad served lialf the governments in Europe, had borne the 
 commissions of the States-General of Holland and of the Duke of 
 Mecldenburg, and fought under jNIarlborough at Blenheim, and had 
 been with Charles the^Twelfth at Bender. 
 
 Frederick's first battle was fought at Moh\icz, and never did the 
 career of a great commander open in a more inauspicious manner. 
 His army was victorious. Not only, however, did he not establish 
 his title to the character of an able general, but he was so unfortu- 
 nate as to make it doubtful whether he possessed the vulgar courage 
 of a soldier. The cavalry which he commanded in person was put 
 to liight. Unaccustomed to the tumult and carnage of a field of bat- 
 tle, he lost his .self-possession, and listened too realily to those who 
 urged him to save himself. His English gray carried him many 
 miles fiom the field, while Schwerin, though wounded in two places, 
 manfullv upheld tlie day. The skill of tiie old Field->Marshal and 
 the steadim S.S of the Prussian battalions prevailed ; and the Austrian 
 anny was driven from the field with the loss of eight thousand men. 
 Tlie news was carried late at night to a mill in which the king had 
 lakea shelter. It gave him a bitter pang. He was wccRftsful : hut
 
 U'i FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 ho owed lii? siiocese to dispositions which others had made, and to tli« 
 valor of men who liad founflit while he was flying. So unpromising 
 was the tirst appearance of the greatest warrior of that age ! 
 
 The battle of Molwitz was the signal for a general explosion 
 throughout Europe. Bavaria took up arms. France, not yet declar- 
 ing herself a principal in the war, took part in it as an allv of Bava- 
 ria. The two great statesmen to whom mankind had owed many 
 years of tranquillity disappeared aliout this time from the scene ; 
 but not till they had both been guilty of the wealcness of sacrificing 
 their sense of justice and their love of peace in the vain hope of prtv 
 serving their power. Fleury, sinking under age and infirmity, wa» 
 Iwrne down by the impetuosity of Belle- Isle. Walpole retired from 
 the service of his ungrateful country to his woods and paintings at 
 Houghton, and his power devolved on the daring and eccentric Car- 
 teret. As were the ministers, so were the nations. Thirty year.s 
 during which Europe had, with few interruptions, enjoyed repose, 
 had ])reixired the public mind for great military efforts. A new gen- 
 eration had grown up, which could not remember the siege of Turin 
 or tlie slaughter of Malplaquet ; which knew war by nothing but its 
 trophies ; and which, while it looked with pride on the tapestries at 
 Blenheim, or the statue in the " Place of Victories," little thought by 
 what privations, by what waste of private foi-tunes, by how many 
 bitter tears, conquests must l)e purchased. 
 
 For a time fortune seemed adverse to tlie Queen of Hungary. 
 Frederick invaded Moravia. The French and Bavarians penetrated 
 into Bohemia, and were there joined by the Saxons. Prague was 
 taken. The Elector of Bavaria was raised by the suffrages of his 
 colleagues to the Imperial throne— a throne "which tlie practice of 
 centuries had almost entitled the house of Austria to regard as an 
 hereditary possession. 
 
 Yet was the spirit of the haughty daughter of the Ca>sars unbroken. 
 Hungary was still hers by an unquestionable title ; and although her 
 ancestors had found Hungary the most mutinous of all their king- 
 doms, she resolved to trust herself to the fidelity of a people, rudo 
 indeed, turbulent, and impatient of oppression, but brave, generous, 
 and simple-hearted. In the midst of distress and peril she had given 
 birth to a son, afterwards the Emperor Joseph the Second. Scarcely 
 had she risen from her couch, when she hastened to Pressburg. 
 There, in the sight of an innumerable multitude, she was crowned 
 -vvith the crown and robed with the robe of St. Stephen. No specta- 
 tor c«uld restrain his tears when the beautiful young mother, still 
 weak from child-bearing, rode, after the fashion of her fathers, up 
 the Mount of Defiance, unsheathed the ancient sword of state, shook 
 it towards north and south, east and west, and, with a glow on her 
 pale face, challenged the four corners of the world to dispute her 
 rights and those of her l)oy. At the first sitting of the Diet she ap- 
 peared clad in deep mourning for her father, and in pathetic and dig-
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 11 
 
 nified words implored her people to support lier just cause. Mag 
 nates and deputies sprana: up, half drew their sabres, and with eagei 
 voices vowed to stand bvlier with their lives and fortunes. Till then 
 her linnness had never 'once forsalcen her before tlie ])ublic eve, but 
 at that shout she sanlv down upon her throne, and wept aloud. StiU 
 more touching Avas the sight when, a few days later, she came before 
 the Estates of her realm, and held up before them the little Archdulie 
 in her arms. Then it was that the enthusiasm of Hungary broke 
 forth into that war-cry which soon resounded throughout Europe, 
 " Let us die for our King, Maria Theresa ! " . t 
 
 In the mean time, Frederick was meditating a change of policy. 
 He had no wish to raise France to supreme power on the continent, 
 at the expense of the house of Ilapsburg. His first object was to 
 rob the Queen of Hungary. Hs second was that, if possible, no- 
 body should rob her but himself. He had entered into engagements 
 with the powei-s leagued against Austria; but these engagements 
 were in his estimation of no more force than the guarantee formerly 
 given to the " Pragmatic Sanction." His game was now to secure his 
 share of tlie plunder by betraying his accomplices. Maria Theresa 
 was little inclined to listen to any such compromise ; but the English 
 government represented to her so strongly the necessity of buying off 
 so formidable an enemy as Frederick, that she agreed to negotiate. 
 The negotiation would not, however, have ended in a treaty, had not 
 the arms of Frederick been crowned with a second victory. Prince 
 Cliarles of Lorraine, brother-in-law to Maria Theresa, a bold and 
 active, though unfortunate general, gave battle to the Prussians at 
 Chotusitz, and was defeated. The king was still only a learner of 
 the military art. Ho acknowledged, at a later period, that his suo- 
 cess on this occasion was to be attributed, not at all to his own gen- 
 eralship but solely to the valor and steadiness of his troops. He 
 completely effaced", however, by his courage and energy, the stain 
 which Mo'lwitz had left on his reputation. 
 
 A j>eace, concluded under the English mediation, was the fruit of 
 this battle. Maria Theresa ceded Silesia ; Frederick abandoned his 
 allies ; Saxony followed his example ; and the queen was left at lib- 
 erty to turn her whole force against France and Bavaria. She was 
 cvcrj'where triumphant. The French were compelled to evacuate 
 I?oh('mia, and with dilhculty effected their escap,-. The whole lino 
 of tlieir retreat might be tracked by the corpses of thousands who 
 di.;d of cold, fatigue, and liunger. Many of those who reached their 
 country carried with tliem seeds of death. Bavaria was overrun by 
 Lands of ferocious warriors from that bloody " debatable land " which 
 lies on the frontier between Christendom and Islam. The terrible 
 names of the Pandoor, the Croat, and the Hussar then first became 
 familiar to western Europe. The unfortunate; Charles of Bavaria, 
 ranciuished by Austria, betrayed by Prussia, driven from his hen^ch- 
 tory states, and neglected by his allies, wvm hurried by shame ami
 
 13 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 rpmorsr> to an uiitiinoly end. An English army appoarod in tfio Uoari 
 of Uerniany, and dcffaied the French at Dottingcn. The Austrian 
 ca]itains ahvady began to talk of coniplcting thu work of Marihor- 
 ougli and Engene, and of compelling France to relinquish Alsace and 
 tlie Three Bishoprics. 
 
 The court of Versailles, in this peril, looked to Frederick for help. 
 He had been guilty of two great treasons, perhaps he might bo in- 
 ihiced to commit a third. The Duchess of Chateauroux then held tho 
 chief influence' over the feeble Louis. She determined to send an 
 mgent to Berlin, and Voltaire was selected for the mission. Ho 
 eagerly undertook the task ; for, while his literary fame filled all 
 Europe, he was troubled with a childish craving for political distinc 
 'iion. He was vain, and not without reason, of his addre.ss, and 
 of his insinuating eloquence ; and he flattered himself that he pos- 
 sessed boundless influence over the King of Prussia. The truth was 
 that he knew, as yet, only one corner of Frederick's character. Ho 
 was well acquainted with all the petty vanities and affectations of tho 
 jioetaster ; but was not aware that these foibles were united with all 
 the talents and vices which lead to success in active life ; and that 
 the unlucky versifier who bored him with reams of middling Alexan- 
 drians, was tliQ r.iost vigilant, suspicious, and severe of polit;icians. 
 
 Voltaire was received with every mark of respect and friendship, 
 Vvas lodged in the palace, and had a seat daily at the royai table. 
 The negotiation Avas of an extraordinary description. Nothing can 
 be conceived more whimsical than the conferences which took place 
 between the first literary man and the first practical man of the age, 
 whom a strange weakness had induwid to exchange their parts. The 
 great poet would talk of nothing but treaties and guarantees, and tho 
 great king of nothing but metaphors and rhymes. On one occasion 
 Voltaire put into his Majesty's hand a paper on the state of P^urope, 
 and re<,-eived it back with verses scrawled on the margin. In secret 
 they both laughed at each other. Voltaire did not spare the king's 
 poems ; and the king has left on record his opinion of Voltaire's 
 diplomacy. "He liad no credentials," says Frederick, "and the 
 whole mission was a joke, a mere farce." 
 
 But what the influence of Voltaire could not effect, tlie rapid pro- 
 gress of the Austrian arms effected. If it should be in the power of 
 Maria Theresa and George the Second to dictate terms of peace to 
 France, what chance wa.s there that Pru.ssia would long retain Sile- 
 sia? Frederick's con.sciencc told him that he had acted perfidiously 
 and inhumanly towards the Queen of Hungary. That her resentment 
 was strong she had given ample proof, and of her respect for treaties 
 lie judg{!d by his own. Guarant(!es, he said, were filigree, pretty to 
 look at, but too brittle to bear the slightest ])ressure. He thought it 
 liis safest course to ally liimsfdf closely to France, and again to attack 
 the Empress Queen. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1744, without 
 notice, without any decent pretext, he recommenced hostilities.
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 19 
 
 marched through the electorate of Saxonv without troubling himself 
 about the permission of the Elector, invaded Bohemia, took 1 rague. 
 
 And even menaced Vienna. • , xi :„„„„=;e+ 
 
 It was now that, for the first time, he experienced the mconsist- 
 encv of fortune. An Austrain army under Charles of Lorraine 
 threatened h-s communications with Silesia. Saxony was all in arms 
 behind him. He f<nind it necessary to save himself by a retreat. He 
 afterwards owned that his failure was the natural effect of his own^ 
 blunders. No general, he said, had ever committed greater faults. 
 It must be addcfd, that to the reverses of this campaign he always as- 
 cribed his subsequent successes. „„„„!,+ +i,„ 
 It was in the midst of difficulty and disgrace that he caught the 
 first clear glimpse of the principles of the military art. 
 
 The memorable vear of 174r, followed. The war raged by sea and 
 land in Italy, in Germany, and in Flanders ; and even Eng and, 
 after inanv years, of profound internal quiet, saw for the last time, 
 hostile annies set in battle array against each other, lliis year is 
 memorable in the life of Frederick, as the date at which his noviciate 
 in the art of war may be said to have terminated. There have beea 
 ereat captains whose' precocious and self-taught military skill resem- 
 bled intuition. Conde, Clivp, and Napoleon are examples. But 
 Frederick was not one of these brilliant portents. His proficiency in 
 military science was simply the proficiency which a man of vigorous 
 faculties makes in any science to which he applies his mind witi^ 
 earne.stness and industrv. It was at Hohenfreidberg that he firs/ 
 proved how much he had profited by liis errors and by tlieir conse 
 mien<'es His victorv on that dav was chiefiy due to his skilful disposi 
 tions, and convinced" Europe that the prince who, a few years betor.. 
 had stood aghast in tlie rout at Molwitz, had attained in the m\hUp 
 art a ma.stery ecmalled bv none of his contemporaries, or equalled bj 
 Saxe alone. The victory of Hohenfriedberg was speedily followed 
 
 by that of Sorr. , , , ... • ti „ 
 
 In the mean time, tlie arms of France had been victorious m th? 
 Low Countries. Frederick had no longer reason to fear that IMaria 
 ^heresa would be able to give; law to Europe, and he, began to medi- 
 ^ate a fourth breach of his engagements. The court of \ ersailles wa*- 
 alarmed and mortified. A letter of earnest expostulation, in tbc 
 handwriting of Louis, was sent to Berlin : but in vam. In tho 
 autumn of 174.-), Frederick made peace with England, and, before tlin 
 close of the vfar, with Austria also. The pretensions of Charie-sol 
 Bavaria could present no obstacle to an accommodation. Tbat un- 
 happv prince was no more : and Francis of Lorraine, the husband ot 
 Maria Theresa, wa-s raised, with the general consent of the Germania 
 bodv, to the ImT)erial throne. . 
 
 F'Vussia was again at peace; but the European war lastec till in 
 the year 174K, it was terminated by the treaty of Aix-la-Cliapeile. 
 Of all the powers that liad Ukeu }>art in it, tho only gainer was b red-
 
 80 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 <iK"n ^7''S''"I-',''i ?'^ ^'^^^^ *° '"^ patrimony thofinoproTincc of 
 ^it; '"J''"^' ^^- ^"' ""P"""Pl«l dexterity, succeeded so well \l 
 
 alternately depressing the scale of Austria and that of France t hit 
 lie was ^-enerally regarded as holding the balance of Europe-a 1 gl 
 aignity tor one who ranke.l lowest among kings and w LeVrcS 
 jrrandlather had been no more than a mai|rave^ 'fiy thrp^lbllc the 
 King ot Prussia was considered as a politician deltitute^ali e o? 
 morality and decency, insatiably rapacious, and shamelessly false 
 ftor was the public much in the wrong. He was at the same time 
 lallowed o be a man of parts-a rising general, a shrewd ne^iator 
 and administrator. Tliose qualities, wlitein he surpLsed all man 
 kind were as yet unknown to others or to lumself for they wJre 
 qualities which shine out only on a dark ground. His career had 
 hitherto, with little interruption, been prosperous ; and it wa^ oSv 
 in adversity, in adversity whicli seemed without hope or resoi^cen 
 
 ste!^!7f*^-'*,";^"lV^'^"\"^""^''^'^^"^^^ ''-'^ "-•^ celebrateT'fir 
 stregth of mind, that his real greatness could be shown 
 
 He had from the commencement of liis reign applied himself to 
 
 Xn ., ndeed, had been his own prime minister, and had exercised a 
 general superintendeiice over all the departments of the government 
 
 etllfi'"'^'""' '''^"'"' ^"' Frederick. He was not content with 
 Fndfr t, ti" ^''■""' ">,nister-he would be his own sole minister. 
 7.rin 1., f '?r'irr™?™' "°* "'^'■^'•'' ^"^ ^ Richelieu or a Ma- 
 f/l nw 1 \^^'*' '\ L""^^o'«' or a Torcy. A love of labor for 
 
 lie n .fJ'^'l''- '''''^''' '"i"!^ insatiable longing to dictate, to intermed- 
 lie, to make his power felt, a profound scorn and distrust of his fel- 
 t^rn^TT; ^":^'«P«sf liim to ask counsel, to confide important 
 secrets, to delegate ample powers. The higliest functionariei under 
 us government were mere clerks, and were not so much trusted by 
 hnn as valuable clerks are often trusted by the heads of departments 
 le wa.s his own trea-surer, his own commander-in-chief, his own in- 
 "udant of public works ; his own minister for trade and iustice for 
 home affairs and foreign affairs ; his own master of the horse, stev;ard 
 and cliamberlain Matters of which no chief of an office in any other 
 gv^vernment would ever hear, were, in this singular monarchy, de- 
 cided by the king in person. If a traveller wished for a good placo 
 to see a review, he had to write to Frederick, and rceived next dav 
 from a royal messenger, Frederick's answer signed by Fredericlc'.s 
 own hand. This was an extravagant, a morbid activitV. The pub- 
 lic bu.siness would assuredly have been better done if' each depart- 
 ment li d been put under a man of talents and integrity, and if the 
 king had contented himself with a general control In this manner 
 the advantages which belong to unity of design, and the advantajres 
 ^vl,,ch belong to the division of labor, would have been to a great ex- 
 tent combined But such a system would not have suited the pecu- 
 liar temper ol I- rederick. He could tolerate no will, no reason in tht
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 21 
 
 state save liis own. He wislied for no abler assistance tlian that of 
 penmen wlio liad just understanding enough to translate, to trans- 
 cril>e to make out his scrawls, and to put his concise les and .Nom.c? 
 an otficial form. Of the higher intellectual faculties, there is as much 
 in a copying machine or a lithographic press as he required from a 
 secretary" of the cabinet. „ , i ^ ^ f 
 
 His own exertions were such as were hardly to be expected from a 
 human body or a human mind. At Potsdam, his ordinary residence, 
 he rose at three in summer and four in winter. A page soon ap- 
 peared with a large basketful of all the letters which had arrived for 
 thekinffbvthe last courier— dispatches from ambassador reports 
 from officei-s of revenue, plans of buildings, proposals for draining 
 marshes complaints from persons who thought themselves aggrieved, 
 apolications from persons who wanted titles, military commissions, 
 alid civil situations. He examined the seals with a keen eye ; for ho 
 w?^ never for a moment free Irom tha suspicion that some irautl 
 might be practised on him. Then he read the letters divided theia 
 into several packets, and signified his pleasure, generally by a mark, 
 ofton by two or three words, now and and then by some cutting 
 enieram Bv eight lie had generally finished this part ot his task. 
 The adiutant-general was then in attendance, and received mstruc- 
 tions for the day as to all the military arrangements of the kingdom. 
 Then ihe king went io review his guards, not as kings ordinarily re- 
 view their guards, but ^vith the minute attention and severity ot an 
 old drill-sergeant. In the mean time the four cabinet secretaries had 
 i.een employed in answering the letters on which the king had that 
 morning signified his will. These unhappy men were forced to wor.c 
 all tlie year round like negro slaves in the time of the sugar-crop 
 They never had a holiday. They never knew what it was to dme It 
 wa.s necessary that, before they stirred, they, should finish the whole 
 of their work. The king, always on his guard against treacliery, 
 took from the heap a handful at random, and looked into them to see 
 wlietlier his instructions had been exactly followed. This was no 
 bad security against foul play on the part of the secretaries ; for it 
 one of them were detected in a trick, he might think hiiuself lor- 
 tunate if he escaped with five years' imprisonment in a dungeon. 
 Frederick then signed the replies, and all were sent off the same 
 
 6 von in '^'' 
 
 Thetreneral principles upon which this strange government waa 
 conducted deserve attention. The policy of Frederick was es.sentially 
 rthe same a.s his father's ; but Frederick, while he carried that policy 
 'uy lenirths to which his father never thought of carrying it, cleared it 
 at the same tim-, from the absurdities with which his lather had en- 
 cumbered it. The king's first object wa.s to liavc a great, ethcient 
 and well-trainr^l army. He had a kingdom which in extent and 
 m)nulationwa.shardlv-inthe second rank of European powers ; and 
 yet he aspired to a plico not inferior to that of the sovereigns of ii-ng
 
 22 FREDEKiriv THE (JREAT. 
 
 laud, Franco, and Austria. For that end it was necessary that Prus- 
 eia should bo all stin.a:. Louis XV., with five times as many subjects 
 as Ir.xleru'k, and more than five limes as largo a revenue, had not a 
 more formidable army. The ])roiior1i(m whidi th(^ soldiers in Prus- 
 sia bore to the peojjle seems hardly credible. Of the males in tlie 
 vigor of life, a seventh part were probably under arms ; and this 
 groat force had, by drilling, by reviewing, and by the unsparino- use 
 of cajie and scourge, been taught to perform all evolutions Avitli a 
 rapidity and ^l precision which would have astonished Villars or 
 Eugene. The elevated feelings which are necessary to the best kind 
 of army were then wanting to the Prussian service. In those ranks 
 were not found the religious and political enthusiasm which inspired 
 the pikemen of Cromwell— the patriotic ardor, the thirst of glorv the 
 devotion to a great leader, which inflamed the Old Guard of Napo- 
 leon. But m all the mechanical parts of the militarv callin/f, the 
 Prussians were as superior to the English and French tJroops of that 
 dav as the English and French troops to a rustic malitia. 
 
 Tlunigh the pay of the Prussian soldier was small, though every 
 rix dollar of extraordinary charge was scrutinized by Frederick with 
 a vigilance and suspicion such as Mr. Joseph Hume never brought to 
 the examination of an ai my- estimate, the exi)ense of such an estab- 
 lishment was, for the means of the country, enormous. In order that 
 it might not be utterly ruinous, it was necessary that every other ex- 
 pense should be cut down to the lowest possible point. Accordinn-ly, 
 Frederick, though his dominions bordered on the sea, had no navy! 
 He neither had nor wished to have colonies. His judges, his fiscal 
 officers, were meanly paid. His ministers at foreign courts walked 
 on foot, or drove shabby old carriages till the axeltrees gave way. 
 Even to his highest diplomatic agents, who resided at London and 
 Paris, he allowed less than a thousand pounds sterling a year. The 
 roval household was managed with a frugality unusual in the estab- 
 hshinents of opulent subjects— unexampled 'in any other palace. 
 1 he king loved good eating and drinking, and during great part of 
 his life took pleasure in seeing his tal)]e surrounded by guests ; yet 
 the whole charge of his kitchen Avas brought within the sum of two 
 thousand pounds sterling a year. He examined everv extraordinary 
 Item with a care which might be thought to suit tlie mistress of a 
 boarding-house better thafi a great prince. When more than four 
 nx dollars were asked of him for a hundred oysters, he stormed as if 
 he had heard that one of his generals had sold a fortress to the Em 
 press-Queen. Not a bottle of champagne was uncorked without his 
 express order. The game of the royal parks and forests, a serious' 
 head of expenditure in most kingdoms, Avas to him a source of profit. 
 1 he whole was farmed out ; and thoutrh the farmers were almost 
 ruined by their contract, tlie king woufd grant them no remission. 
 His wardrobe consisted of one fine gala dress, which lasted him all 
 ilia hfe ; of two or three old coats fit for Monmouth street, of yellow
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 23 
 
 waistcoats soiled with snuff, and of huge boots embrowned by time. 
 One taste alone sometimes allured him beyond the limits of parsi- 
 mony nav even bevond the limits of prudence— the taste lor -uiJd- 
 iuo- " 'in all other things his economy was such as we might cau by 
 a harsher name, if we did not reflect that his funds were drawn from 
 a heavily taxed people, and that it was impossible for him v.itliout 
 excessive tyranny to keep up at once a formidable army and a splen- 
 
 d.d coiirt. , , 1 1 1 i m 
 
 • Con'^idered as an administrator, Frederick had undoubtedly many 
 
 * titles to praise Order was strictly maintained throughout his do- 
 nunions. Property was secure. A great liberty of speaking and of 
 writing was allowed. Confident in the irresistible strength derived 
 from a great army, the king looked down on malcontents and libellers 
 with a wise disdain, and gave little encouragement to spies^ and in- 
 f'rmers When he was told of the disaffection of one of his sub- 
 jects he merely asked, " How many thousand men can he bring mto 
 the field •'" He once saw a crowd staring at something on a wall. 
 He rode up, and found that the object of curiosity was a scurrilous 
 placard against himself. The placard had been posted up so high 
 thit it was not easy to read it. Frederick ordered his attendams to 
 take it down and put it lower. " My people and I, ' he said, have 
 come to an agreement which satisfies us both. Tney are to say what 
 they please, and I am to do what I please." No person would have 
 dared to publish in London satires on George II. approaching to the 
 atrocity of those satires on Frederick which the booksellers at lierlin 
 sold with impunity. One bookseller sent to the palace .a copy of the 
 most stinging lam'poon that perhaps was ever written m the world 
 the "Memoirs of Voltaire," published by Beaumarchais, and asked 
 for his' Majesty's orders. ' ' Do not advertise it in an offensive manner," 
 said the king'; "but sell it by all means. I hope it will pay you 
 well " Even among statesmen accustomed to the license ot a tree 
 press such stead fa.stness of mind as this is not very common. 
 
 It is due also to the memory of Frederick to say that he earnest y 
 labored to secure to his people the great blessing of cheap and speedy 
 iiistire He was one of the first rulers who abolished the cruel and 
 absurd practice of torture. No sentence of death pronounced by the 
 ordinary tribunals was executed without his sanction ; and lus sanc- 
 tion, except in cases of murder, was rarely given. lowards Ji;s 
 troops lie acted in a very different manner. IMilitary offences were 
 punished with such barbarous scourging that to be shot w:is consid- 
 ered bv the Prussian soldier as a secondary punishment. Indeed, the 
 'principle whif!h pervaded Frederick's whole policy was this— that the 
 inore severly the army is governed, the safer it is to treat tho rest ot 
 tlif! community with lenity. 
 
 Ptcligious perw-cution was unknown und.T his government— unless 
 Bom(! fcxdish and unjust restrictions which lay upon the Jews may bo 
 rt'garded as forming an exception. His policy with respect to th»
 
 «4 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Cntliolirs of Silesia presented an honorable contrast to tlio nolicT 
 which, under very similar circumstances, England lonff followed 
 Avith respect to the Catholics of Ireland. Every form of religion and 
 irreliirion found an asylum in his states. The "scoffer whom Parlia- 
 m;'ntsoi l-raiu-i. had sentenced to a cruel death was consoled bv a com- 
 ission m the Prussian service. The Jesuit who could show liis face no- 
 where elst--wlm in Biitain was still subject to penal laws, who was 
 proscribed by France, S]>ain, Portugal, and Naples, who had been 
 given up even by the Vatican— found safety and the means of sub- 
 sistence in the Prussian dominions. 
 
 Most of the vices of Frederick's administration resolve themselves 
 mto one vice— the spirit of meddling. The indefatigable activity of 
 his intellect, his dictatorial temper, his military habits, all inclined 
 him to this great fault. He drilled his people as he drilled his grena- 
 diers. Capital and industry Mere diverted from their natural direc- 
 tion by a crowd of preposterous regulatirms. There was a monopoly 
 ot coffee, a monopoly of tobacco, a monopoly of refin(;d suo-ar The 
 public money, of wliich the king was generally so sparing was 
 lavishly spent in plowing bogs, in planting mulberry-trees amidst the 
 sand, in bringing sheep from Spain to improvo the Saxon ^vool in 
 bestowing prizes for fine yarn, in building manufactories of porcelain 
 manufactories of carpets, manufactories of hardware, manufactoi'ies 
 ot lace. JSeither the experience of otiier rulers nor his own could 
 ever teach lum tiiat something more than an edict and a grant of pub- 
 lic inoney is required to create; a Lyons, a Brussels, or a Birmingham 
 l<or his commercial policy, however, there is some excuse. He had 
 on us side illustrious examples and pojiular prejudice. Grievously 
 as he erred, he erred in company with his fige. In other depart- 
 ments his meddling was altogether without apology. He interfered 
 Avith the course of justice as well as with the course of trade, and set 
 up his own crude notions of equity against the law as expounded bv 
 the unanimous voice of the grave.st magistrate. It never occurred 
 to him that a body of men whose lives were i)assed in adjudicating 
 on questions of civil right, were more likely to form correct opinions 
 on such questions than a prince ^vhose attention was divided between 
 a thousand olijects and who had probably never read a law-book 
 flirough. The resistance opposed to him bv the tribunals inflamed 
 him to fury. He reviled his Chancellor. He kicked the shins of his 
 Judges. He did not, it is true, intend to act unjustly. He firailv be- 
 lieved that he was doing right and defending the cause of the "poor 
 against the wealthy. Yet this well-meant meddling probalilv did far 
 more harm than all the explosions of his evil passions during the 
 wliole of his long reign. We could make shift to live under a de- 
 bauchee or a tyrant, but to be ruled by a busybody is more than liu- 
 man nature can bear. 
 
 The same passion for directing and regulating appeared in every 
 part of the king'.s policy. Every lad of a ctirtain station in life wa.s
 
 FREDERICK THE GREL\T. ' 25 
 
 forced to go to certain scliools witliin tlie Prussian dominions. If a 
 youno- Prussian repaired, though but for a few weeks, to Leyden or 
 Gottingen for the purpose of study, the offence Avas punished with 
 ci-dl disabilities, and sometimes Avith confiscation of property. No- 
 body -was to travel without the royal permission- If the permission 
 were granted, the pocket-money of the tourist was fixed by royal or- 
 'dinances. A merchant might 'take with him two hundred and fifty 
 •frix dollars in gold, a noble was allowed to take four hundred ; for it 
 'may be observed, in passing, that Fiederick studiously kept up the 
 old distinction between the'nobles and the community. In specula- 
 tion he was a French philosopher, but in action a German prince. 
 He talked and wrote about the privileges of blood in the style of 
 Bleyes ; but in practice no chapter in the empire looked A^ith a keener 
 Bve to genealogies and quarteriugs. ^ ^ . . 
 
 ' Sucli was Frederick the ruler. But there Avas another Frederick, 
 the Frederick of Rheinsburg, the fiddler and the fiute-player, the 
 poetaster and metaphvsiciau. Amidst the cares of the state the king 
 had retained his passion for music, for reading, for writing, for liter- 
 ary society. To these amusements he devoted all the time he could 
 snatch from the business of war and government ; and perhaps more 
 light is thrown on his character by what passed during his hours of 
 rela'?;ation than bv his battles or his laws. 
 
 It was the just "boast of Schiller, that in his country no Augustus, 
 no Lorenzo, had watched over the infancy of art. The rich and en- 
 er"-etic language of Luther, driven by the Latin from the schools of 
 pedants, and by the French from the palaces of kings, had talcen 
 refuge among the people. Of the powers of that language Frederick 
 had no notion. He g 'neraUy spoke of it, and of those who used it, 
 with the contempt of ignorance. His library consisted of French 
 books ; at his table nothing was heard but French conversation. 
 
 The a-ssociates of his hours of relaxation Avere, for the most part, 
 foreigners. Britain furnished to the royal circle two distinguished 
 men.^born in the highest rank, and driven by the civil dissensions 
 from the land toAvliich, under happier circumstances, their talents and 
 virtues might have 1 leen a source of strength and glory. George Keith, 
 Earl Marisi;hal of Scotland, hud taken arms for the house of Stuart 
 in ITl-"!, and his A'ounger brother James, then only seventeen years 
 old, had fought gallantly by his side. When all Avas lost they re- 
 tired to the Continent, roA-ed from country to country, served under 
 many .standards, and so bore themselves a.s to Avin the respect and 
 good'-will of many Avho liad no love for the Jacobite cause. Their 
 long Avanderings tenninated at Porsdam ; nor had Frederick any as- 
 so iates who aeservcd or obtained so large a share of his esteem. 
 'I'hev Avere not only accomplished men, but nobles and warriors, 
 capable of serving liim in Avar and diplomacy, as avcU as of amusing 
 him at supper. Alone of all his companions, they appear never to 
 have bad reason to complain of liis demeanor towards them. Some
 
 20 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 of tlio:',c who know the juilaco best pronouncod tliat the Lord Marl 
 schal was tlie only human hi'injif whom Frederick ever really loved. 
 
 Italy .sent to tlio parties at Potsdam the ingeniou.s and amiable Al- 
 prarotti r.nd Bastiani, the most crafty, cautious, and servile of Abbes. 
 Bat the greater jwrt of the society which Frederick had assembled 
 round him was drawn from France. IMaupertuis had acquired sonio 
 celebrity by the journey which he made to Lapland, for the purpose 
 of ascertaining; by actu:il measurement the shai)e of our planet. He 
 was placed in the chair of the Academy of Berlin, a humble imitation 
 of the renowned Academy of Paris. Baculard D'Arnaud, a young 
 poot, who was thought to have given promise of great things, had 
 been induced to quit the country" and to reside at the Prussian court. 
 The Marquess D'Argens was among the king's favorite companions, 
 on account, it would seem, of the strong opposition between their 
 characters. The parts of D'Argens were good and his manners those 
 cf a finished French gentleman ; but his wliole soul was dissolved in 
 sloth, timidity, and self-indulgence. His was one of that abject class 
 of minds which are su])erstitious without being religious. Hating 
 Christianity with a rancour which made liim incapable of rational 
 inquiry, unable to se« in the harmony and beauty of the univer.se tlio 
 traces of divine power and wisdom, he was the slave of dreams and 
 omens — would not sit down to the table with thirteen in company, 
 turned pale if the salt fell towards him, begged his guests not to 
 cross their knives and forks on their plates, and would not for the 
 world commence a journey on Friday. His health was a subject of 
 constant anxiety to him. Whenever'his head ached or his pulse beat 
 quick, his dastardly fears and effeminate precautions were the jest of 
 all Berlin. All this suited the king's purpose admirably. He wanted 
 somebody by whom he might be amused, and whom ' he might de- 
 spise. When he wished to pass half an liour in easy, polished con- 
 versation, D'Argens was an excellent companion ; when lie wanted to 
 vent his spleen and contempt, D'Arj^ens was an excellent butt. W ith 
 these associates and others of the same class, Frederick loved to 
 spend the time which he could steal from public cares. He wished 
 Lis supper-parties to be gay and easy ; and invited his guests to lay 
 aside all restraint, and to forget that he was at the liead of a hundred 
 and sixty thousand soldiers, and was absolute master of the life and 
 liberty of all who sat at meat Avith him. There was therefore at 
 these meetings the outward show of ease. T* e wit and learning of 
 the company were o.stentatiously displayed. The discussions on his- 
 tory and literature were often highly interesting. But the absurdity 
 of all the religions known among men was the chief topic of conver- 
 sation : and the audacity with which doctrines and names venerated 
 throughout Christendom were treated on these occasions, startled 
 even persons accustomed to the society of French and English free- 
 thinkers. But real liberty or real affection was in this brilliant so- 
 ciety not to be found. Absolute kings seldom have friends: and
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 27 
 
 Trederick's faults were sucli as, even wliere perfect equality exists, 
 make friendship exceedingly precarious. He liad, indeed, many 
 qualities which on the first acquaintance were captivating. Mls 
 conversation was livelv, his manners to those whom he desired 
 to please were even caressing. Xo man could chatter with more 
 del cacv Xo man succeeded more completely in inspiring those 
 who approached him with vague hopes of some great advantage from 
 his kindness. But under this fair exterior he was a tyrant— suspi- 
 cious dis lainful, and malevolent. He had one taste which may bo 
 pardoned in a bov, but which, when habitually and deliberately in- 
 dulged in a man of mature age and strong understanding, is almost 
 invariably the sign of a bad heart— a taste for severe practical jokes. 
 If a friend of the^king was fond of dress, oil was flung over his rich- 
 est suit If he was fond of monev, some prank was invented to make 
 Lim disburse more than he could spare. If he was hypochondriacal, 
 he was made to believe that he had the dropsy. If he particularly 
 set his heart on visiting a i)lace, a letter was forged to frighten him 
 from going thither. These things, it may be said, are trifles. Ihey 
 are so- but they are indi ations not to be mist ken of a nature to 
 which 'the sight of human suffering and human degradation is an 
 agreeable excitement. i , j i. 
 
 Frederick had a keen eye for the foibles of others, and loved to 
 communicate his discoveries. He had some talent for sarcasm, and 
 considerable skill in detecting the sore places wLere sarcasm would 
 be most actually felt. His vanity, as well as his malignity, found 
 gratification in the vexation and confusion of those who smarted uu- 
 cler his caustic jests. Yet in truth his success on these occasions be- 
 longed quite as much to the kiner as to the wit. We read that Com- 
 modus descended, sword in hand, into the arena against a wretched 
 gladiator armed only with a foil of lead, and, after shedding the 
 bloodof the helpless 'victhn, struck medals to commemorate the in- 
 glorious victory The triumphs of Frederick in the war of rapartee 
 were much of the same kind. How to deal with him was the most 
 puzzling of questions. To appear constrained in his presence was to 
 disobey his commands and to spoil Ids amusement. 1 et if his asso- 
 ciates "were enticed bv his graciousness to indulge in the familiarity ot 
 a cordial intimacy, he was certnin to make them repent of their pre- 
 sumption by sonie cruel humiliation. To resent liis affronts was per- 
 ilous : ret not to resent them was to deserve and to invite them in 
 liis view those who mutinied were insolent and ungrateful ; those 
 ^^'ho snbniitted were curs made to receive bones and kickings with tlie 
 same fawnimr paticmce. It is, indeed, difficult to conceive how any 
 thin" short of the rage of luinger should have induced men to bear 
 the misery of Ix'inf the associates of the Great King. It was no lu- 
 crative prJst. His Majesty was as severe and economical in Ins tnend- 
 ships as in the other charges of his establishinent, and as unlikely to 
 give a rix dollar too much for his guests as for his dinners. 1 he sum
 
 98 FREDERICK TxIE GREAT. 
 
 whicli lie allowed to a poet or a philosopher was the very smallest 
 Sinn I'or wliich such ]>()ct or ])hilosopher cuukl be induced to sell hiiu- 
 hiclf into slavery ; and the bondsman might think himself fortunate 
 if what had been so grudgingly given was not, after years of suffer- 
 1 ing, rudely and arbitrarily withdrawn. 
 
 I Potsdam was, in truth, what it was called by one of its most illus- 
 trious inmates, the Palace of Alcina. At the first glance it seemed to 
 be a delightful sjwt, where every intellectual and physical enjoyment 
 awaited the happy adventurer. Every new comer Aviis received with 
 eager hospitality, intoxicated with llattery, encouraged to expect pros- 
 perity and greatness. It v.-as in vain that a long succession of favor- 
 ites who had entered that abode with delight and hope, and who, after 
 \ a short term of delusive happiness, had been doomed to expiate their 
 folly by years i f wretchedness and degradation, raise their voices to 
 warn the aspirant who api)roached the charmed threshold. Some had 
 wisdom enough to discover the truth early and spirit enough to fly 
 without looking back ; others lingered on "to a cheerless and^ unlion- 
 ored old age. We have no hesitation in saying that the po rest author 
 of that time in London, sleeping on a bulk, dining in a cellar, with a 
 cravat of paper, and a skewer tor a shirt-pin, was a happier man than 
 ,Tinv of the literary inmates of Frederick's court. 
 
 / But of all who entered the enchanted garden in the inebriation of 
 (delight, and quitted it in agonies of rage and shame, the most re- 
 markable was Voltaire. Many circumstances had made him desirous 
 tof finding a home at a distance from his country. His fame had 
 h-aised him up enemies. His sensibility gave theina formidable ad- 
 H-antage over him. They were, indeed, contem])tible assailants. Of 
 all that they wrote against him, nothing has survived except what he 
 has himself preserved. But the constitution of his mind resembled 
 the constitution of those bodies in which the slightest scratch of a 
 , bramble or the bite of a gnat never fails to fester. Though his repu- 
 / tation was rather raised than lowered by the abuse of such writers as 
 Freron and Desfontaines — though the vengeance which he took on 
 Freron and Desfontaines was such that scourging, branding, pillory- 
 ing, would have been a trifle to it — there is reason to believe that they 
 gave hun far more pain tlian he ever gave them. Though he enjoyed 
 during his own lifetime the reputation of a classic— though lie was 
 extolled by his contemporaries above all poets, philosophers, and his- 
 torians — though his Avorks were read with much delight and admira- 
 tion at Moscow and Westminster, at Florence and Stockholm, as at 
 Paris itself, he was yet tormented l>y that rastless jealousy which 
 should seem to lielong only to minds burning with the desire of fame, 
 and yet conscious of impotence. To mea of letters who could by no 
 po.ssibility be his rivals, he was, if they behaved well to him, not 
 merely ju.st, not merely courteous, but often a hearty friend and a 
 munificent benefactor. But to every writer who rose to a celebrity 
 approaching his own, he became either a disguised or an avowed ene-
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 29 
 
 mr. He slylr depreciated Montesquieu and Buffon. He publicly and 
 with violent outrage made war on Jean Jacques. Nor had he the art 
 of hiding his feelings under the semblance of good-humor or of con- 
 tempt. With all his gre-at talents and all his long experience of the 
 world, he had uo more self-command than a petted child or an hys- 
 terical woman. Whenever he was mortified, he exhausted the whole 
 rhetoric of anger and sorrow to express his mortification. His tor- 
 rents of bitter words — his stamping and cursing — his grimaces and 
 his tears of rage — were a rich feast to those abject natures whose de- 
 light is in the agonies of powerful spirits and in the abasement of im- 
 mortal names. These creatures had now found out a way of galling 
 him to the very quick. In one walk, at least, it had been admitted by 
 enw itself that he was without a living competitor. Since Racine 
 had' been laid among the great men whose dust made the holy pre- 
 cinct of Port-Royal holier, no tragic poet had appeared who could con- 
 test the palm with the author of Zaire, of Alsire, and of Merope. 
 At length a rival was announced. Old Crobillion, who many years 
 before had obtained some theatrical success, and who had long been 
 forgotten, came forth from his garret in one of the meanest lanes 
 near the Rue St. Antoino, and was welcomed by the acclamations of 
 envious men of letters and of a capricious populace. A thing called 
 Catiline, whicli he had written in his retirement, was acted with 
 boundless applause. Of this execrable piece it is sufficient to say 
 that the plot turns on a love affair, carried on in all the forms of 
 Scudery, between Catiline, whose confident is the Praetor Lentulus, 
 and Tu'llia, the daughter of Cicero. The theatre resounded Avith ac- 
 clamations. The king pensioned the successful poet ; and the coSee- 
 houses pronounced that Voltaire v/as a clover man, but that the real 
 tragic inspiration, the celestial fire which glowed in Corneille and Ra- 
 cine, was to be found in Crebillion alone. 
 
 The blow went to Voltaire's heart. Had his wisdom and fortitude 
 been in proportion to the fertility of his intellect, and to the bril- 
 liancy of his v.'it, he would have seen that it was out of the power of 
 all tlie pufTers and detractors in Europe to put (Jat'line above Zaire ; 
 but he had none of the magnanimous patience with which Milton and 
 Bentley left their claims to the unerring judgment of time. Ho 
 eagerly engaged in an undignified competition with Crebillion, and 
 produced a series of plays on t!ie same subjects which liis rival had 
 treated. These ])ieceH were coolly received. Angry with the court, 
 angry with the capital, Voltaire began to find pleasure in the prospect 
 of exile. His attachment for ^Madame dc Chatelet long prevented 
 liim from executing liis purjw.se. Her death set him at liberty ; and 
 ho determined to take refuge at Berlin. 
 
 To Berlin he wius invited bya .scries of li'tters, couched in terms of 
 th<- most enthusia-stic friendslii]) and admiration. For once the rigid 
 parKirnony of Frederick Sf^emcMl to have relaxed. Oidcrs, lionrjiablo 
 officfjs, a liberal pension, a well-served table, stately apartmeuta under
 
 30 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 R royal roof, wore offered in return for tlie pleasure and honor wluch 
 were expected from the society of the first wit of the age. A tliou- 
 sjuid louis were remitted for the charges of tlie journey. No ambass- 
 ador setting out from l^'rlin for a court of the first ranl^ had ever 
 been more amply supplied. But Voltaire was not satisfied. At a 
 later ]>eri()d, wlien he possessed an ample fortune, he was one of the 
 most liberal of men ; but till his means had become equal to his 
 wishes, his greediness for lucre was unrestrained either by justice or 
 by shame. He ha I the effrontery to ask for a thousand louis more, 
 in order to enable him to bring his niece, ISIadame Denis, the ugliest 
 of coquettes, in his company. The indelicate rapacity of the poet 
 ]iroduced its natural eifect on the severe and frugal king. The an- 
 swer was a dry refusal. " I did not," said His Majesty, " solicit the 
 honor of the lady's society." On this Voltaire went off into a parox- 
 ysm of childish rags. "Was there ever such avarice? He has a 
 hundred of tubs full of dollars in his vaults, and haggles with me 
 about a poor thousand louis." It seemed that tlie negotiation would 
 be broken off ; but Frederick, with great dexterity, affected indiffer- 
 ence, and seemed inclined to transfer his idolatry to Baculard d'Ar- 
 naud. His Majesty even wrote some bad verses, of which the sense 
 was, that Voltaire was a setting sun, and that Arnaud was rising. 
 Good-natured friends soon carried the lines to Voltaire. He was in 
 bed. He jumped out in his shirt, danced al)0ut the room with rage, 
 and .sent for his passport and his post-horses. It was not difficult to 
 foresee the end of a connection which had such a beginning. 
 
 It was in the year IToO that Voltaire left the great capital, which 
 he was not to see again till, after the lapse of nearly thirty years, 
 he returned, bowed down by extreme old age, to die in the 
 midst of a sj)lendid and ghastly triumph. His reception in Prussia 
 was such as might well have elated a less vain and excitable mind. 
 He wrote to his friends at Paris, that the kindness and the attention 
 with which lie had been welcomed surpassed description —that tlie 
 king was the most amiable of men — that Potsdam was the Paradise of 
 philosophers. He was created chamberlain, and received, together 
 with his gold key, the cross of an order and a patent ensuring to him 
 a pension of eight hundred pounds sterling a year for life. A liun- 
 di'ed and sixty pounds a year were promised to liis niece if she sur- 
 vived him. The royal cooks and coachmen were put at his disposal. 
 He was lodged in the same apartments in Avhich Saxe had lived when 
 at the height of power and glory he visited Prussia. Frederick, in- 
 deed, stooped for a time even to use the language of adulation. He 
 pressed to his lips the meagre hand of the little grinning skeleton, 
 whom he regarded as the dispenser of immortal renown. He would 
 add, he said, to the titles which he owed to his ancestors and his 
 sword, another title derived from his last and proudest acquisition. 
 His .style should run thus : Frederick, King of Prussia, Margrave of 
 Bradenburg, Sovereign Duke of Silesia, Possessor of Voltainj. But
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 31 
 
 even amidst the deliglits of the honeymoon, Voltaire's sensitive 
 vanity began Xo take alarm. A feAv days after his arrival, he could 
 not help tellmg his niece that the amiable king had a trick of giving 
 a sly scratch with one hand while patting and stroking with the 
 other. Soon came hints not the less alarming because mysterious. 
 " The supper parties are delicious. The king is the life of the com- 
 pany. But — I have operas and comedies, reviews and concerts, my 
 studies and books. But — but — BerLn is fine, the princess charming, 
 
 the maids of honor handsome. But " 
 
 This eccentric friendship was fast cooling. Never had there met 
 two persons so exquisitely fitted to plague each other. Each of them 
 had exactly the fault of which the other was most impatient ; and 
 they were, in different ways, the most impatient of mankind. Fred- 
 erick was frugal, almost niggardly. When he had secured his play- 
 thing he began to think that he had bought it too dear. Voltaire, on 
 the other hand, was greedy, even to the extent of impudence and 
 knavery ; and conceived that the favorite of a monarch who had bar- 
 rels full of gold and silver laid up in cellars, ought to make a fortune 
 which a receiver-general might envy. They soon discovered each 
 other's feelings. Both were angry, and a war began, in which Fred- 
 erick stooped to the part of Ilarpagon, and Voltaire to that of Scapin. 
 It is humiliating to relate that the great warrior and statesman gave 
 orders that his guest's allowance of sugar and chocolate should be 
 curtailed. It is, if possible, a still more humiliating fact, that Vol- 
 taire inde:nnified hinistilf by pocketing the wax candles in the royal 
 antechamber. Disputes about money, however, were not the most 
 serious disputes of these extraordinary associates. The sarcasm soon 
 galled the sensitive temper of the poet. D'Arnaud and D'Argens, 
 Guichard and La Metric, might, for the sake of a morsel of bread, 
 be willing to bear the insolence of a master ; but Voltaire was of 
 another order. He knew that he was a potentate as well as Fred- 
 erick ; that his European reputation, and his incomparable power of 
 covering whatever he hated with ridicule, :nade him an object of 
 dread even to the leaders of armies and the rulere of nations. In 
 truth, of all the intclli.'Ctual weapons which have ever been wielded 
 by man, the most terrible was the mockery of Voltaire. Bigots and 
 tyrants, who had never been moved by the wailing and cursing of 
 millions, turned j)ale at his name. Principles unassailable by reason 
 — principles whicli had withstood the fiercest attacks of power, the 
 most valualde truths, the most generous sentiments, the noblest and 
 most graceful images, the purest reputations, the most august insti-^ 
 tutious — began to look mean and loathsome as soon iis that witliering. 
 fimilu was turned ui)on tliem. To every opponent, however strong in 
 his cau.se and liis talents, in his station aud his character, who ven- 
 tured to encounter the great KcofffT, jnight be addressed the caution 
 which was given of old to the Archangel : — 
 
 A.B.-2
 
 8S FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 " I forewarn thee, ehnn 
 nis deadly arrow ; neither vainly hope 
 To Iwiiivaliierableiii tliose bri,'ht arms, 
 Th )a:;ii temper'd heavenly ; far that fatal dint, 
 Save llim who reigns above, none can resist." 
 
 We cannot pause to recount how often that rare talent was exer- 
 cised against rivals worthy of esteem — how often it was used to 
 crush and torture enemies worthy only of silent disdain — how often 
 it was perverted to the more noxious purpose of destroying the last 
 solace of earthly misery and the last restraint on earthly power. 
 Neither can we pause to tell how often it was used to vindicate jus- 
 tice, liumanity, and toleration — the principles of sound philosophy, 
 the principles of free government. This is not the place for a full 
 character of Voltaire. 
 
 Causes of quarrel multiplied fast. Voltaire, who, partly from love 
 of money and partly from love of excitement, was always fond of 
 stockjohhing, became implicated in transactions of at least a dubious 
 character. The king was delighted at having such an opportunity 
 to humble his guest ; and bitter reproaches and complaints were ex- 
 changed. Voltaire, too, was soon at war with the other men of let- 
 ters who surrounded the king ; and this irritated Frederick, who, 
 however, had himself chiefly to blame : for, from that love of tor- 
 menting which was in him a ruling passion, he perpetually lavished 
 extravagant praises on small men and bad books, merely in order that 
 he might enjoy the mortification and rage which on such occasions 
 Voltaire took no pains to conceal. His Majesty, hov/ever, soon had 
 reason to regret the pains which he had taken to kindle jealousy 
 among the members of his household. The whole palace was in a 
 ferment with literary intrigues and cabals. It Avas to no purpose 
 that the imperial voice, which kept a hundred and sixty thousand 
 soldiers in order, was raised to quiet the contention of the exasperated 
 wits. It was far easier to stir uj) such a storm than to lull it. Nor 
 was Frederick, in his capacity of wit, by any means without liis own 
 share of vexations. He had sent a large quantity of verses to Vol- 
 taire, and requested that they might l)e returned with remarks and 
 correction. " See," exclaimed Voltaire, " wliat a quantity of his 
 dirty linen the king has sent me towa.sh!" Talebearers were not 
 wantmg to carry the sarcasm to the royal ear, and Fredericic was as 
 much incensed as a Grub Street writer who had found his name in 
 Ithe "Dunciad." 
 
 This could not last. A circumstance which, when the mutual re- 
 gard of the friends was in its first glow, would merely have been 
 matter for laughter, produced a violent explosion. Maupertuis en- 
 joyed as much of Frederick's good-will as any man of letters. Il« 
 wa.s President of the Academy of Berlin, and stood second to Voltaire, 
 tliough at an immense distance, in the literary .society which hod 
 been assembled at the Prussian court. Frederick had, by playing foi
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 33 
 
 his own amusement on tlie feelings of tlie two jealous and Tain^jlori- 
 ous Frenchmen, succeeded in pi-oducing a bitter enmity between 
 thtm. Voltaire resolved to set liis marlc, a mark never to be effaced, 
 on the forehead of Maupertuis ; and wrote t lie exquisitely ludicrous 
 diatribe of Doctor Akakia. He showed this little piece to Frederick, 
 who had too much taste and too much malice not to relish such deli- 
 cious pleasantry. In truth, even at this time of day, it is not easy 
 for any person who has the least perception of the ridiculous to read 
 the jokes on the Latin city, the Patagonians, r.nd the hole to the cen- 
 ter of the earth, without laughing till he cries. But though Freder- 
 ick was diverted by this charming pasquinade, he was unwilling that 
 it should get abroad. His self-love was interested. He had selected 
 Maupertuis to iill the Chair of his Academy. If all Europe were 
 taught to laugh at .Maupertuis, would not the repittation of the Acad- 
 emy, would not even the dignity of its royal patron be in some de- 
 gree compromised? The king, therefore, begged Voltaire to sup- 
 press his performance. Voltaire promised to do so, and broke his 
 word. The diatribe was published, and received with shouts of mer- 
 riment and applause by all who could read the French language. 
 The king stormed, Voltaire, with his usual disregard of truth, pro- 
 tested his innocence, and made up some lie about a printer or an 
 amanuensis. The king was not to be so imposed upon. He ordered 
 the pamphlet to be burned by the common hangman, and insisted 
 upon liaving an apology from Voltaire, couched in the most abject 
 terms. Voltaire sent back to the king his cross, his key, and the 
 patent of his pension. After this burst of rage, the strange pair be- 
 gan to be ashamed of their \iolence, and went through the forms of 
 reconciliation. But the breach was irreparable ; and Voltaire took 
 his leave of Fredericlc forever. They jiarted witli cold civility ; btit 
 their hearts were big with resentment. Voltaire had in his keeping 
 a volume of tlie kind's poetry and forgot to return it. This was, wo 
 believe, merely one of the oversights which men setting out upon a 
 journey often commit. Tliat Voltaire could have meditated plagiar- 
 ism is quite incredible. He would not, we are confident, for the half 
 of Frederick's kingdom, have consented to father Frederick's verses. 
 The king, however, who rated his own writings much above their 
 Value, and wlio was inclined to see all Voltaire's actions in the worst 
 light, was enraged to think tliat his favorite compositions were in tho 
 hands of an enemy, as thievish as a daw and as miscliievous as a 
 monkey. In tho anger excited by thstliought, ho lost sight of reason 
 and decency, and determined on committing an outrage at once odi- 
 ous and ridiculous. 
 
 Voltaire liad readied Frankfort. His nicco, Madame Denis, camo 
 thitiier to meet liim. He c(jnceivc 1 himself .secure from the power of 
 hi.s lato master, when ho was arrested by order of tho Prussian rosw- 
 dent. Tho i)recious volume was delivered up. But the Prussian 
 agents had no doubt l>eca instructed not to let Voltairo escape without
 
 t4 FllEDEUICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Bomo gross indignity. lie wa.s confined twelve days in a wrctcliod 
 liovel. Switinels with fixed bayonets kept guard over iiini. Ilia 
 niece was dragged tiiroiigli tlio ni.re l)y the soldiers. Sixteen hun- 
 dred doUai-s were extorted from him Ijv his insolent jailers. It is ab- 
 surd to say that this outrage is not to be attributed to the king. 
 Was anybody punished for it ? AVas anybody called in question for it ? 
 U'as it not consistent with Frederick's character ? Was it not of a 
 piece with his co:uluct.on otlier similar occasions? Is it not notorious 
 that he repeatedly gave private directions to his officers to pillage and 
 demolish the liouses of persons against whom he hud a grudge- 
 charging them at the same time to take their measure in such a way 
 that his name might not be comiiromised 'i He acted thus towards 
 Count Buhl in the Seven Yeare' War. Why should we believe ihat 
 lie would have been more scrupulous with regard to Voltaire ? 
 
 When at length the illustrious prisoner regained his liberty, the 
 prospect 1)pfore liiin was but dreary. He was an exile both from tho 
 country of his birth and from the country of his adoption. The 
 French government had taken offence at his journey to Prussia, and 
 would not permit him to return to Paris ; and in the vicinity of 
 Prussia it wa.s not safe for him to remain. 
 
 lie took refuge on the beautiful shores of Lake Leraan. There, 
 loosed from every tie which had hitherto restrained him, and having 
 little to hope or to fear from courts and churches, he began liis long 
 war against all that, whether for good or evil, had authority over 
 man ; for what Burke said of the Constituent Assembly was emi- 
 nently true of this its great forerunner. He could not build — ho 
 could only pull down ; he was the very Vitruvius of ruin. He has 
 bequeathed to us not a single doctrine to be called by his name, not a 
 single addition to the stock of our positive knowledge. But no human 
 teacher ever left behind him so vast and terrible a wreck of truths 
 and falsehoods — of things noble and things base — of tilings useful 
 and things pernicious. From the time when his sojourn beneath the 
 Alps commenced, tho dramatist, the wit, the historian, was merged 
 in a more important character. He was now the patriarcli, t!ie 
 founder of a sect, the chief of a conspiracy, the prince of a wide 
 intellectual commonwealth, lie often enjoyed a pleasure dear to the 
 ibetter part of his nature — the pleasure of vindicating innocence 
 'which liad no other helper, of repairing cruel wrongs, of punishing 
 tyranny in high places. He had also the satisfaction, not less accept- 
 able to his ravenous vanity, of hearing terrified Capuchins call him 
 the Antichrist. But whether employed in works of benevolence or in 
 works of mischief, he never forgot Potsdam and Frankfort ; and he 
 listened anxiously to every murmur which indicated tliat a tempest 
 was gathering in Europe, and that his vengeance was at hand. 
 
 He soon had his wi.sh. Maria Theresa had never for a moment 
 forgotten the great wrong which she had received at the hand fif 
 Frederick. Youna and delicate, just left an vrjihan, just about to bo
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 85 
 
 a mother, she had been compelled to fly from the ancient capital of 
 her race ; she had seen her fair inheritance dismemliered hy rolibers, 
 and of those robbers he had been the foremost. Without a pretext, 
 witliout a provocation, in defiance of tlie most sacred engagements, 
 he had attacked the helpless ally whom he was bound to defend. 
 The Empress-Queen had the faults as well as the virtues which are 
 connected with quick sensibility and a high spirit. There was no 
 peril which slie was not ready to brave, no calamity which she was 
 not ready to bring on her subjects, or on the whole human race, if 
 only she "might once taste the sweetness of a complete revenge. Re- 
 venge, too, presented itself to her narrow and superstitious mind in 
 the guise of duty. Silesia had been wrested not only from the house 
 of Austria, but from the Church of Rome. 
 
 The conqueror had, indeed, permitted his new subjects to worship 
 God after their own fashion ; but this was not enough. To bigotry it 
 seemed an intolerable hardship that the Catholic Church, having 
 long enjoyed ascendancy, should be compelled to content itself with 
 equality. Nor was this the only circumstance which led Slaria 
 Theresa to regard her enemy as the enemy of God. The profaneness 
 of Frederick's writings and conversation, and the frightful rumors 
 which were circulated respecting the immoralities of his private life, 
 naturally shocked a woman who believed Avith the firmest faith all 
 that her" conf es.sor told her, and who, though surrounded by tempta- 
 tions, tliough young and beautiful, though ardent in all her passions, 
 though possessed of absolute power, had preserved her fame unsul- 
 lied even by the breath of slander. 
 
 To recover Silesia, to hmnble the dynasty of Hohenzollern to the 
 dust, was t'.ie great object of her life. She toiled during many years 
 for this end, with zeal as indefatigable as that whicli the poet 
 a.scribes to the stately goddess who tired out her immortal horses in 
 the work of raising the nations against Troy, and who offered to give 
 up to destruction her darling Sparta and Myceuis, if only she might 
 once see the smoke going up from the palace of Priam. With even 
 such a spirit did the proud Austrian Juno strive to array against hci: 
 foe a coalition such as Europe had never seen. Notliing would con- 
 tent her but that the whole civilized world, frm the White Sea to 
 the Adriatic, fr. m the Bay of Biscay to the pastures of the wild 
 .horses of Tanais, .should bo combined in arms against one petty state. 
 
 She early succe(Hled by various arts in obtaining the adhesion of 
 Russia. An ample share of sj)oils was promised to the King of Po- 
 land ; and that prince, governed by Ins favorite, Count Buhl, readily 
 ])roniis('d the assistance of the Saxon forces. The great diHiculty was 
 with France. That the houses of Bourbon and of Ilapsburg should ever 
 cordially co-operate in any great scheme of Enrojiean policy had long 
 be«-n thought, to use the strong exj)ression of Frederick, ju.st Jis im- 
 ]K>ssible as that fire and water .should amalgamate. The whole hi.s- 
 tory of the Continent, during two centuries and a half, hud been the
 
 ^ FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 history of tho mntual joalonsios and enmities of Franco and Austria. 
 Since tt>o adininistnitiou of Hichclleu, above all, it had been coiiKid- 
 t>rcd as the plain ]H)li(\v of tii« most Clnistian king to tliwart on all 
 occasions Iho court of Vienna, and to protect every member of tlie 
 Germanic body who stood up against the dictation of tlie Ciesars. 
 Common sentiments of religion had been unable to mitigate this 
 strong antipathy. Tlie ruh-rs of France, even while clotlicd in tlie 
 Roman purple, even while persecuting the heretics of Rochello iim'f 
 Auvergne, had still looked with favor on the Lutheran and Calvin-/ 
 jstic i)rinces who were struggling against the chief of the empire/ 
 If the French ministers paid any respect to the traditional rules 
 handed down to them through many generations, they would have 
 acted towards Frederick as the greatest of their ]>redecessors act(xl 
 towards Gu-,tavus Adol]dius. That there was deadly enmity between 
 Prussia and Austria, was of itself a sufficient reason for close friend- 
 ship Ix'tween Prussia and France. With France, Frederick could 
 never have any serious controversy. His t(;rritories were so situated, 
 that his ambition, greedy and unscrupulous as it was, could never im- 
 pel him to attack her of his own accord. He was more than half a 
 Frenchman. He wrote, spoke, read nothing but French ; he de- 
 lighted in French society. The admiration "of the French he pro- 
 posed to himself as the liest reward of all his exploits. It seemed in- 
 credible that any French government, however notorious for levity or 
 stupidity, could spurn away such an ally. 
 
 The court of Vienna, however, did not despair. The Austrian dip- 
 lomatists pro])oun(led a new scheme of politics, which, it must bo 
 owned, was not altogether without i)lausibility. The great i)Owers, 
 according to this theory, had long been under a delusion. They had 
 looked on each other as natural enemies, while in truth tliey' were 
 natural allies. A succ ssion of cruel wars had devastated Europe, 
 had thinned the population, had exhausted the public resources, had 
 loaded governments with an inmiense burden of debt ; and when, af- 
 ter two hundred years of murderous luistility or of holloAV truce, the 
 illustrious houses whose enmity had distracted the world sat down to 
 count their gains, to what did the real advantage on. either side 
 amount ? Simply to this, that they kept each other from thriving. 
 It was not the King of France, it was not the Emperor, who had 
 reaped the fruits of the Thirty Years' War, of the War of the Grand 
 Alliance, of the War of the Pragmatic Sanction. Tho.se fruits have 
 been pilfered by States of the second and third rank, which, secured 
 against jealousy by their insignificance, had dexterously aggrandized, 
 tiiemselves while pretending to serve the animosity of the great chiefs',^ 
 of Christendom. While the lion and tiger were tearing cacli other, 
 the mck'A had run off into the jungle with the prey. The real gainer 
 by ine Thirty Years' War had been neither France nor Austria, but 
 Sweden. The real gainer Vjy the War of the Grand Alliance had 
 Ueen neither France nor Austria, but Savoy. The real gainer b/ ths
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 37 
 
 War of tlie Pragmatic Sanction had been neitlief France nnr Austria, 
 l)ut the upstart of Braiideuburg. Of all these instances, the last was 
 the most striking • France had made great efforts, had added largely 
 to her military glory and largely to her public burdens ; and for what 
 end ? Merely that Frederick might i ule Silesia. For this, and this 
 alone, one French army, wasted by sword and famine, had perished 
 in Bohemia ; and another had purchased, with Hoods of the noblest 
 blood, the barren glory of Fontenoy. And this prince, for whom 
 France had suffered so much, was he a grateful, was he even an hon- 
 est ally t Had lie not been as false to the court of Versailles as to the 
 court of Vienna ? Had he not played on a large scale the same part 
 which, in private life, is played by the vile agent of chicane who sets 
 his neighbors quarrelling, involves them in costly and interminablo 
 litigation, and betrays them to each other all round, certain that, 
 ■whoever may be ruined, he shall be enriched ? Surely the true wis- 
 dom of the great powers was to attack, not each other, but this com- 
 mon barrator, who, by inflaming the passions of both, by pretending 
 to serve both, and by deserting both, had raised himself above the 
 station to which he was born. The great object of Austria was to re- 
 gain Silesia ; the great object of France was to obtain an accession of 
 territory on the side ot Flanders. If they took opposite sides, the re- 
 sult would probably be that, after a war of nuiny years, after the 
 slaughter of many thousands of brave men, after tlie waste of many 
 millions of crowns, they would lay down their arms without having 
 achieved either object ; but if they came to an understanding, there 
 would be no risk and no difficulty. Austria would willingly make in 
 Belgium such cessions as France could not expect to obtain by ten 
 pitched battles. Silesia would ea.sily be annexed to the monarchy of 
 which it had long been a part. The union of two such powerful gov- 
 ernments would at once overawe the King of Prussia. If he resisted, 
 one short cainpaign would settle his fate. France and Austria, long 
 accustomed to rise; from the game of war both losers, would, for the 
 first time, both be gainers. Tlu^ro could be no room for jealousy be- 
 tween them. The power of l)oth would be increased at once ; tha 
 equilibrium between them would l)e preserved ; and the only sufferer 
 would be a mischievous and unprincipled buccaneer, who deserved no 
 tenderness from either. 
 
 Tiie.se doctrines, attractive for their novelty and ingenuity, soon be- 
 came fa.shionable at the supper- parties and in tlu^ coffee-houses of 
 Paris, and were espoused by every gay marquis and every facetious 
 abbe who was admitted to see Madame de Pompadour's hair curled 
 and ])owdcred. It was not, liowever, to any political theory that the 
 strange '"lalition betv/een France and Austria owed its origin. The 
 real motive which induced tho great continental powers to forget 
 tlieir old animosities and their old state maxims, was persoTuil aver- 
 eion t^> the King of Prussia. Tliis bjeling wa.s strongest in Maria 
 I'horesa ; but it was by no moam» coufiued to her. Frederick, in some
 
 38 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 respects a good master, was emi^hatically a bad neighbor. That Ito 
 wius hard in all his dealings and (luick to take all advantages was not 
 liis most odious fault, liis hitter and sculling speech had inflicted 
 keener wounds than his anil)itii)n. In his character of wit lie waa 
 under less restraint than even in his character of ruler. Satirical 
 verses against all the princes aud ministers of Europe were ascribed 
 to his pen. In his letters and conversation ho alluded to the greatest 
 potentates of the age in terms which would have better suited Colle, 
 in a war of repartee with young C'rebillion at Pelletier's table, than 
 a gre^at sovereign speaking of great sovereigns. Aljout women ho 
 Avas in the habit of expressing himself in a manner which it was im- 
 possible for the meekest of women to forgive ; and, unfortunately for 
 him, almost the whole continent was then governed by women who 
 were by no means conspicuous for meekness. Maria Theresa herself 
 had not escaped his scurrulous jests ; the Empress Elizal)eth of Rus- 
 sia knew that her gallantries afforded him a favorite theme for ri- 
 baldry and invective ; Madame de Pompadour, who was really tlio 
 liead of tlie French government, had been even more keenly galled. 
 She I ad attempted, by the most delicate flattery, to propitiate" the King 
 of Prussia, but her messages had drawn from him only dry and sar- 
 castic replies. Tlie Empress- Queen took a very different course. 
 Though the haughtiest of ])rincesses, though the most austere of 
 matrons, she forgot in her thirst for revenge both the dignity of her 
 race and the purity of her character, and condescended to flatter the 
 low-born and low-minded concubine, who, having acquired influence 
 by prostituting iierself, retained it by prostituting others. Maria 
 Theresa actually wrote with her own hand a note full of expressions 
 of esteem and friendship to her dear cousin, the daughter of tho 
 butcher Poisson, the wife of the publican D'Etioles, the kidnapper of 
 young girls for the Parc-aux-cerfs — a strange cousin for the descendant 
 of so many Emperors of the West ! The mistress was completely gained 
 over and easily carried her point with Louis, who had, indeed, 
 wrongs of his own to resent. His feelings were not quick ; but con- 
 tempt, says the eastern proverb, ]jierces even through the shell of the 
 tortoise ; and neither prudence nor decorum had ever restrained Fred- 
 erick from expressing his measureless conteinjit for the sloth, the im- 
 becility, and the I)ascness of Louis. France was thus induced to join 
 the coalition ; and the example of France determined the conduct of 
 Sweden, then completely subject to Frencli influence. 
 
 The enemies of Frederick were surely strong enough to attack him 
 openly, but they were desirous to add to all their other advantatres 
 the advantage of a surprise. He was not, however, a man to be take.-i 
 off his guard. He had tools in every court; and ]>e now received 
 from Vienna, from Dresden, aud from Paris, accounts so circumstan- 
 tijd and .so consistent, that lie could not douljt of his danger. He 
 lijarnt that lie was to Ixi assailed at once by France, Austria, RiLSsia, 
 Saxony, Sweden, and the Germanic body ; that the greater part of
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 39 
 
 his dominions was to be portioned out among his enemies : that 
 France, which from her geographical position couhl not directly sharo 
 in his spoils, was to receive an equivalent in the Netherlands ; that 
 Austria was to have Silesia, and the czarina East Prussia ; that Au- 
 gustus of Saxonv expected Madgeburg ; and that Sweden would be 
 rewarded witli part of Pomerania. If these designs succeeded, the 
 house of Bradenburg would at once siuk in the European system to a 
 place lower than that of the Duke of Wurtemburg or the Margrave 
 'of Baden. 
 
 And what hope was there that these designs would fail ? No such 
 union of the continental powers had been seen for ages. A less for- 
 midable confederacy had in a Aveek conquered all the provinces of 
 Venice, when Venice was at the height of power, wealth, and glory. 
 A less for^^idable confederacy had compelled Louis the Fourteenth 
 to bow down his haughty head to the very earth. A less formidable 
 confederacy has, witliin our own memory, subjugated a still mightier 
 empire and abased a still prouder name. Such odds had never been 
 heard of in war. The people who Frederick ruled were not five mil- 
 lions. The population of the countries which were leagued against 
 him amounted to a hundred millions. The disproportion in wealth 
 was at least equally great. Small communiti&s, actuated by strong 
 pentiments of patriotism or loyalty, liave sometimes made head 
 against great monarchies weakened by factions and discontents. But 
 small as was Frederick's kingdom, it probably contained a greater 
 number of disaffected subjects" than v\-ere to be found in all the States 
 of his enemies. Silesia formed a fourth part of his dominions ; and 
 from the Silesians, l)orn under the Austrian princes, the utmost that 
 he could expect was apathy. From the Silesian Catholics he could 
 hardly expect anvthing but resistance. 
 
 Some States have been enabled, by their geographical position, to 
 defend tliemselves with advantage against immense force. The sea 
 ha.s repeatedly protected England against the fury of the whole Con- 
 tinent. 'J"he "Venetian government, driven from its possessions on the 
 land, could still bid defiance to the confederates of Cambray froni 
 the arsenal amidst the lagoons. More than one great aiul well- 
 api)ointed army, wliich r(!garded the shepherds of Switzerland as an 
 ca.sy prey, has" perished in the passes of the Alps. Frederick luid no 
 such advantage. The form of his States, their situation, tlu^ nature 
 of tlift ground, all were against him. His long, scattered, straggling 
 territory seemed to liave been shai)ed with an express view to the 
 r,onveni"ence of invaders, and wivs ])r()tected by no sea, by no chain of 
 liills. Scarcely any corner of it was a week's march from tlie terri- 
 tory of the enemy. The capital itself, in tlu; event of war, would bo 
 constantly exDosed to insult. In truth, tliere was lianlly a politician 
 or a soldier in Europe who doubted that the conflict would bo termi- 
 nixU'i] in a very few days by the prostratiou of the houso of Branden- 
 burg,
 
 40 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Nor was Frwlorick's own opinion very different. Tie anticipated 
 nothing short of Iiis own ruin, and of the ruin of his family, Yet 
 there wa-s still a cUancc. a slender eliance of escape. Iiis States lia4 
 at least the advantage of a central ])Ositiou ; his enemies were widely 
 separated from each other, and could not conveniently unite their 
 overwhelming forces on one point. They inhabited different climates, 
 and it was probable that the season of the year which would be best 
 suited to the military operations of one portion of the league, would 
 be unfavorable to those of another iiortioii. The Prusssan monarchy, 
 too, was free from some infirmities \vhich were found in empires far 
 more extensive and magnificent. Its effective strength for a desper- 
 ate struggle was not to be measured merely by the number of square 
 miles or the number of people. In that square but well-knit and 
 well-exercised body, there was nothing but sinew and miiscle and 
 bone. No public creditors looked for dividends. No distant colonies 
 required defence. No court, filled with fltitterers and mistresses, de- 
 voured the pay of fifty battalions. The Prussian army, though far 
 inferior in number to the troops which were about to be opposed to 
 it, was yet strong out of all proportion to the extent of the Prussian 
 dominions. It Avas also admirably trained and admirably officered, 
 accustomed to obey and accustomed to conquer. The revenue was 
 not only unencuml)ered by debt, but exceeded the ordinary outlay in 
 time of peace. Alone of all the p]uropean princes, Frederick had a 
 treasure laid up for a day of difficulty. Above all, he was one and 
 his enemies were many. In their camps Avould certainly be found 
 the jealousy, the dissension, the slackness inseparable from coalition ; 
 on his side was the energy, the unity, the secrecy of a strong dictator- 
 Ship. To a certain extent the deficiency of military means might be 
 supplied by the resources of military art. Small fus the king's army 
 was, when compared with the six hundred thousand men whom the 
 confederates could bring into the field, celerity of movement might in 
 some degree compensate for deficiency of bulk. It is thus just possi- 
 ble that genius, judgment, resolution, and good luck united might 
 protract the struggle during a campaign or two ; and to gain even a 
 month was of importance. It could not be long before the vices 
 which are found in all extensive confederacies would begin to show 
 tl)emselves. Every member of the league would think his own sharo 
 of the war too large, and his own share of the spoils too small. Com- 
 plaints and recrimination would abound. The Turk might stir on the 
 Danube ; the statesmen of France might discover the error wliicli they 
 had committed in abandoning the fundamental ])rinciples of their na- 
 tional policy. Above all, death might rid Prussia of its most for- 
 midai)le enemies. The war was the effect of the personal aversion 
 with which three or four sovereigns regarded Frederick ; and the de- 
 cease of any of those sovereigns might produce a complete revoluticxn 
 in the state of Europe. 
 
 In the midst of au horizon generally dark and stormy, Frederick
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 4J 
 
 tnnU discern one briglit spot. The peace wliicli liadbccn concluded 
 k4ween En-land and France in 1748 liad been m Europe no more 
 than an arnnstice ; and not even been an armistice m tlie other quarters 
 of the elobe In India the sovereignty of tlie Carnatic was disputed 
 between two great Mussulman houses ; Fort Saint George had lakea 
 the one side. Pondicherry the other ; and in a series ot battles and 
 sie<res the troops of Lawrence and Clive had been opposed to those of 
 Duplcix A strugo-le less important m its consequence, but not less 
 likelv to produce ^immediate irritation, was carried on between those 
 French and English adventurers who kidnapped negroes and collected 
 cold dust on the coast of Guinea. But it was m North America that 
 the emulation and mutual aversion of the two nations were most con- 
 spicuous The French attempted to hem m the English colonists by 
 a chain of militarv posts, extending from the great Lakes to tlio 
 mouth of the Mississippi, The English took arms The^wikl abori- 
 ginal tribes appeared on each side mingled w-ith he Pale Faces. 
 Battles were fought ; forts were stormed ; and ludeous f^.or-.cs aljout 
 stakes, scalpings, and death-songs reached Europt and niHamed that 
 national animosity which tlie rivalry of ages had produced. I he^dis- 
 nutes between France and England came to a crisis at the very time 
 when tlie tempest which had been gathering was about to burst on 
 Prussia The tastes aud interests of Frederick would have led hira, 
 if he had been allowed an option, to side with the houseof Bourbon. 
 But the follv of the court of Versailles left him no choice, in-anca 
 became the tool of Austria, and Frederick was forced to become the 
 allv of En^dand. He could not, indeed, expect that a power yvluclx 
 cover:-d the sea with its fleets, and which had to make war at once on 
 the Ohio and the Ganges, would be able to spare a large number ot 
 troops for operations in Gcnnany. But England, though poor com- 
 pared with the England of our tim-, was far richer than any country 
 en the Continent. The amount of her revenue and the resources 
 which she found in her credit, though they may be thought sma 1 by 
 a generation which has seen her raise a hundred and thirty millions 
 in a sino-le vear, appeared miraculous to the politicians of tlrnt ago. 
 Avery^moderate portion of her wealth, expended by an able and 
 economical prince, in a country where prices were low, would be 
 Buificient to equip and maintain a formidaL'le army ,, ^t 
 
 . Such was.the situation in which Frederick found lumself. He saw 
 the whole extent of his peril. He saw that there was still a faint 
 possibility of .escape ; and, with prudent temerity, he determined o 
 strike tlie first blow. It was in the month of August, 1 . .)G, that ttio 
 Croat war of the Seven Years commenced. The king demanded of 
 the Empress-Queen a distinct explanation of her intentions, and 
 plainly tr.ld her that he should consider a refusal as a declaration of 
 war " 1 want " he said, " no answer in the style of an oraclo. llo 
 TfjaAved an an.swer at once haughty and eva^iive. In an instimt, the 
 rich p'crtoratc of Snxonv woa overdowed by sixty thousand 1 ru^esian
 
 42 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 troop<?. Ancrn.stnF; Avith his ni-my occupied a strong po«;itioii at Pirna. 
 The (inccn of I'oland Avas at Dresden. In a few ihiys Pirna Avaa 
 blockaded and Dres(h>n -was taken. The object of Frederick was to 
 obtain i^ossession of tlie Saxon State Pai)ers ; for tlioso papers, he well 
 knew, <'oi\lained ample pi'oofs that thongh apparently an aggressor, 
 lio M-as really acting in self-defence. The Queen of Poland, as well 
 acquainted as Fredt'rick with the importance of those documents, liad 
 packed them up, liad concealed them in her bed-chamber, and was 
 a])out to send them off to Warsaw, when a Prussian officer made liis 
 appearance. In the liope that no soldier would venture to outrage a 
 lady, a queen, a daughter of an emperor, the mothi>r-in-]aw of a 
 dauphin,^ she placed herself bef(jre the trunk, and at length sat down 
 on it. But all resistance was vain. The papers were carried to Fred- 
 crick, who found in them, as he expected, abundant evidence of the 
 designs of the coalition. The most important documents were in- 
 stantly published, and the effect of the publication was great. It 
 was clear that, of whatever sins the King of Prussia might; formerly 
 have been guilty, he was now the injured party, and had merely an- 
 ticipated a blovv' intended to destroy him. 
 
 The Saxon camj) at Pirna was in the mean time closely invested ; 
 but the besieged were not without hopes of succor. A great Austrian 
 anny under Marshal Brown w as about to pour through the passes 
 Avhich separate Bohemia from Saxony. Frederick left at Pirna a force 
 sufficient to d<'al with the Saxons, hastened into Bohemia, encountered 
 Brown at Lowositz, and defeated him. This battle decided the fate 
 of Saxony. Augustus and his favorite, Buhl, iied to Poland. Tho 
 whofe army of tho electorate capitulated. From that time till the 
 • end of the war, Frederick treated Saxony as a part of his dominions, 
 or, rather, lie acted towards the Saxons in a manner which may servo 
 to illustrate the whole meaning of that tremendous sentence — sub- 
 kctos tiinqunm sms, riles tanquam nllenos. Saxony Avas as much in 
 his power as Bradenburg ; and ho had no such interest in the welfare 
 of Saxony as he had in the welfare of Bradenburg. He accordingly 
 levied troops and exacted contributions throughout the enslaved pro- 
 vince, with far more rigor than in any part of his own dominions. 
 Seventeen thousand men who had been in the camp at Pirna were 
 half compelled, half persuaded, to enlist under their conqueror. 
 /Thus, within a few weeks from the commencement of hostilities, 
 one of the confederates had been disarmed, and his weapons pointed 
 against the rest. 
 
 The winter put a stop to military operations. All had hitherto 
 gone well. But the real tug of war was still to come. It was easy 
 /to foresee that the year 1757 would be a memorable era in the history 
 of Europe. 
 
 The scheme for the campaign was simple, bold, and judicious. 
 T1»G Duke of CumlK-rland with an I-]nglish and Hanoverian army was 
 in Western Germany, and might be able to prevent the French
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 43 
 
 troops Irom attacking Prussia. Tlie Russians, confined hy tlieir 
 *nmvs would probably not stir tUl the spring was far advanced. 
 SaxonV was piostrated. Sweden could do nothing very important. 
 During a few months Frederick would have to deal with Austria 
 alone Even thus the odds were against him. But abi ity and cour- 
 a'cre have often triumphed against odds still more formidable. 
 "Early in 1757 the Prussian army in Saxony began to move. 
 Through four defiles in the mountains they came pouring into Bo- 
 hemia'' PraoTie was his first mark ; but the ulterior object was prob- 
 'ablv Vienna At Prague lay Marshal Brown with one great army. 
 Daun, the most cautious and fortunate of the Austrian captains ws 
 i^ \^incin<^ with another. Frederick determined to overwhelm Brown 
 be oTe D?un sWd arrive. On the sixth of May was fought under 
 those walls which a hundred and thirty years before had witnessed 
 Jhe victory of the Catholic league and the fliglit of the unhappy Pa a- 
 ine abaJle more bloody than any which Europe saw during the 
 onc^ interval between Malplaquet and Eylau. The king and _ Prince 
 Krdinand of Brunswick wire distinguished on that <i-7 ^^7 ^lieir valor 
 and exertions. But the chief glory was with Schwerin. When the 
 Prussian infantry wavered, the stout old marshal snatched the colors 
 from an ensign. Ld, waving them in the air, led back l^^^ J«f "^e" 
 to the charge. Thus at seventy-two years of age he fell in 
 the thickest of the battle, still grasping the standard which beai^ he 
 black eagle on the field argent. The victory remained with the king 
 But it had been dearly purchased. Whole columns of his bravest 
 Sarr ors 1 ad fallen. He admitted that he had lost eighteen thousand 
 men Of the enemy, twenty-four thousand had been killed, wounded. 
 
 °'part of the defeated army was shut up in Prague. Part fled to join 
 the troops which, under the command of Daun, were now closeat 
 hand Frederick determined to play over the same game which had 
 succeeded at Lowositz. He left a largo force to besiege Prague, and 
 at the head of tliirty thousand men lie marched against Daun. The 
 can ous marshal, though he had gre^t super ority in numbers, would 
 Sk nothing. He occupied at Kolin a position almost impregnable, 
 and awaited the attack of the king. .-t-^ 
 
 It was th> 18th of Jiine-a day which, if the Gre^ek superstit on 
 Btill retained its influence, would be held sacred to Nemesis-a day 
 on which the two greatest princes and soldiers of modern times were 
 taught by terril,le experieAce that neither skill nor valor can fix the 
 i ronstanry of fortune. The battle began before noon ; and part of 
 the Pruss-ia. army maintained the contest till after the midsummer 
 R n had g..ne down. B.,t at length the king found that his troops, 
 fiviU bern rn...al..,dlv clriven bark with frightful carnage could no 
 longer be led to the cllarg.-. He was with diHiculty ,,er.ua<iedtoquit 
 tfield. The olficers of his personal stuff were imd.T the m.cessity 
 o expostulating Willi liini. and one of them took the liberty to sa) ,
 
 44 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 " Doos Your Majesty moan to storm tlio batteries nlono ?' TMrf.«„ 
 
 to Irarry l„s army I,,- difteront routes out of l!„l„.„,g, '"''"'" •""' 
 
 sum, liis soldiers liad in many succ^sivo nttl JsYe'en v^. ""'"''"■ 
 
 tlie An«tv;..ii" 1^,.*. +1 1 '-'"-^'■^^yi- "'itiits been Victorious over 
 ine^ustimn. But the glory Iiad departed from his arms A ] 
 
 •irent to L \ ' i^^-i-P^'esumptive, or rather, in truth, heir-an- 
 
 tlian wai to be ""pc'™d f,^™ , ,!. Vl" "' 'f™ '■■-■" "'= '"^ ""•■■» 
 Ser\^,!ril''f-''f-''^ 
 
 Piiiiiiiilil 
 
 taken alive and nevor t,. n..,i-, > ^-''Oiution was hxed never to be
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 45 
 
 except to die; ^^ ^ll^^fyJ^l^XvSL^^ ^ 
 
 "^^B^'^e ilwTviTinn-rfect^ describe the state of Frederick's 
 .^•^^ ?!® ^ 1 'ff\l i^f 1 ^1 ■'la^gliable peculiarities whicli con- 
 
 ^oued forth ndreds upon hundreds of lines, hatefa to gods arid 
 pouicaiorui uu i ^.^ . , Hippocrene— the faint echo of 
 
 r^^f'S S^ieu ^Itt lmS4 to JLpare ^vhat he did during 
 SpHst months of 1757 with what he wrote during the same time. 
 It m^fb^oubted w^^^^^ any equal portion of the life of Hamuba 
 ofT-^sar or of Napoleon, will bear a comparison ^vlth that short 
 
 most intricate parts of human nature as the correspondrnc^ o tntse 
 S?am/c beings^after th.-y ha<l exclianged f"^!^'^"?^^- . ^"^^S.^^'VaS 
 Jhe q^uarrel had lowr.;! them in the pubhc est an a ion. \^^yf^ 
 Tnirfd each other Tlu-V stood in need of each othei. lUe greai 
 S g w^ ed \l^be handed down to posterity by the ^ro.tjv^ier^ 
 Th?£rr it writer fc^lt himself exalted by the homage of the great 
 king.^ ?et ti;. wounds which they had intiicted on each otUo. 
 were too d.-ep to be efTaced, or oven perfectly healed Not o 1y did 
 tl , ™ remain ; th. sore phu.es often festered and bled i^fresh 
 l-ie et era consisted for th« most part of compliments, thanks.
 
 *« FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 worse when anvthin,. m'u le 1 to tS^^^^^^^ It was much 
 
 which he and his ki.rswo.nan Lid s J at^Fra Sbr? *^f,rJ™^-- 
 his tio^vmg panegyric is turned into invective - C i "i ""^ °"'=*' 
 behaved to me. For your sike f 1 nv« T i ^'""emher howyou 
 For 3-o.xr sake I an^ L tile ^ ";u^nTcount/^^i "^1 ^"^ 
 
 had ba'towed on^^ te key The 'nZ "'Z'"^ ' ^'"^^^^ «^ «" ^^ 
 tiy from vour te rri ories iV.f 1?, nf'i*''" ?f'^\°"' ^ ^^"« f^^'^-^'l to 
 from vour ^renad e°S l w^s «, - .t J '•' '\ ^ ^^^1 been a deserter 
 niece was daagged fn the niiT^l of iW^ /f''^'"''' l''"'^^'^^^'!- My 
 had been so.^wr^Stl'l^^^^^^/'J,^;- -^^'i^ as if shj 
 tdents. You liave good qualilios Burvon ^1 '' ^T''^' t''"*^''^* 
 
 loudeliglitin the abisenie t of vn„r V fi ^''f one odious vice. 
 
 brought disgrace on the ;.:;ro?p£u^Sr'?:uW. "'"^ ^"^" 
 color to the slanders of the bi-ots who Kv t^.f ^ave given some 
 
 placed in the justice or huni nitv nV ?i ^ f* "° conhdence can be 
 faith." Then the king anwJs tith W LT^T 'P^'K '^''' ^^^"^^'^^ 
 ity : " You know that'yo Y^wi' h^^^^^^ ^"^^^'^"^ equal sever- 
 
 for you that you had to deal witl V inJn " -^ n Prussia. It is well 
 ities of genius as I ani Yo,, ri, ,lt indulgent to the infirm- 
 
 dungeol Your' tllents are o me 'Sv knowTtl"" ""^'^. ''. ^ 
 le^sness and your malevolence. The gmve i sTis on ^T" Y^' 
 
 he was livhi ^c^^^ ^^v Ji^^ iS^ ^1 J™ "7:^^^:^;:^^ 
 
 fc^ltir^l^Sls^thei^et?^*^'^^^^"'^^^^^ 
 
 written MrhZTlTmrop^'' ^'"''^ "^""*^ ' ^"* «^^« ^^^^ not 
 
 j^faS^w;;?-rir«ii;!^ 
 
 were":[v;TyyuarZ'^'whlftlr:: •T'?"^'?^^ ?'''''' -*««-'' 
 .ambassador, MuXll who new i^.nt / ^^^-t^^^^ «t^^- The English 
 stuntly writ nff o Vr itli ir^.^n? l'"" ^V"^ °^ ^^^^sia was con - 
 
 portant sub/ef t ? wa amam \o l^^'n * ^m'^"'" °" *'^« "^'^^^ ™- 
 highly-favorid oorrLponXft .us a H-l S-to^ T.tJ^ ^"f;^"^^*^ *^"^ 
 rascal on the face of the eartl Anrl t i '^""'^' *''« greatest 
 
 held about the king wli'L^much more ^ Xl'^^ "^^'^^^ *^^ P-* 
 It would probably have puzzled Voltaire^in^^elf to say what was
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 47 
 
 Lis real feeling towards Frederick. It was compounded of all a«nti- 
 ments, from enmity to friendship, and from scorn to admiration ; anu 
 the proportions in' which these elements were mixed changed every 
 moment. The old patriarch resembled the spoilt child who screams, 
 stamps, cuffs, laughs, kisses, and cuddles Avithin on»-quaiter of an 
 hour 'llis resentment was not extinguished ; yet he was not A\-ithout 
 'sympathy for his old friend. As a Frenchman, he wished success to 
 tiie arms' of his country. Asa philosopher, he was anxious for the 
 BtabilitT of a throne on which a philosopher sat. He longed both to 
 save and to humble Frederick. There was one way, and only one, in 
 which all his contlictmg feelings could at once be gratified. If Fred- 
 erick were preserved by the interference of France, if it were known 
 that for that interfere'nce he was indebted to the mediation of Vol- 
 taire, this would indeed be delicious revenge ; this would indeed be to 
 heap coals of fire on that haughty head. Nor did the vain and rest- 
 less poet think it impossible that he might, from his hermitage nejir 
 the Alps, dictate peace to Europe. D'Estrees had quitted Hanover, 
 and the command of the French army had been entrusted to the Duke 
 of Richelieu, a man whose chief distinction was derived from his 
 success in gallantry. Richelieu wa.s, in truth, the most^ eminent of 
 that race of seducers by profession who furnished Crebillion the 
 younger and La Clos with models for their heroes. In his earlier 
 days the roval house itself had not been secure from his presumptu- 
 ous love. 'He was believed to have carried his conquests into the 
 family of Orleans ; and some suspected that he was not unconcerned 
 in the mysterious remorse which imbittered the last hours of the 
 charming' mother of Louis the Fifteenth. But the duke was now fifty 
 years old. With a heart deeply corrupted by vice, a head long ac- 
 customed to think only on trifles, an impaired constitution, mi im- 
 paired fortune, and, worst of all, a very red nose, he was entering on 
 a dull, frivolous, and unrespected old age. Without one qualification 
 for military command except that personal courage which was com- 
 mon to him and the whole nobility of France, he had been placed at 
 the head of the army of Hanover ; and in that situation he did his 
 best to repair, by extortion and corruption, the injury which he had 
 done to his prop'ertv bv a life of dissolute profusion. 
 
 The Duke of RicheUeu to the end of his life hated the philosophers 
 as a sect— not for those parts of their system which a good and wise 
 man would have condemned, but for their virtues, for their si>irit of 
 free inquiry, and for their liatred of those social abuses of which he 
 was himself the personification. But he, like many of those wlio 
 thought with him, excepted Voltaire from the list of proscribed 
 writers. He frpcpiently sf-nt flattering letters to Ferney. He did tlie 
 patriarch the lionor to borrow money of him, and even carried his 
 condescending friendship so far a.s to forget to pay interest. Voltaire 
 tliought tliat it might be in liis ymwer U) bring the duke and the King 
 of Prussia into communication with each other. He wroto earnestly
 
 ^8 FREDERICK TilE GREAT. 
 
 i^alTcouirnencJ;! '" ^" '"'""'^^"^ "'"* '^ correspondence between them 
 15.it it was to very difToront means that Frederick was to owe his de- 
 Ineiance. A he beginning of November, the net see.nec7 to nv^ 
 closed coHM^etely round him. The Russians were in the held and 
 were spreading devastation througli his ea.stern l>rovinces Si'l sia 
 was overrun by the Austrians. A great French anny w i advaneing 
 fiom the west under the coTnmand of Marshal HoubiAe, a prince of hi 
 great Armononn house of Rohan. Berlin it.sclf had been Lken and 
 xdundered by the Croatians. Such was the situatior rom wld • 
 of thirl^ d?!"*^ "^ ^"'''''^' ''''^' ^^'^'^^"^' ^^°^-^' '"^ *i^« short sS 
 He marched first against Soubise. On the 5th of November the 
 armies n.et at Rosbach. The French were two to one • but they were 
 in.disc.,hned, and their general was a dunce. The tak So KX 
 ick and the well-regulated valor of the Pru.ssian troops obtained a 
 complete victory. Seven thousand of the invaders wJie m ufepris 
 oners. Their guns, their colors, their baggage, fell into the hands of 
 
 er'ecrb?ca;°ah:v '^^f "'^" '^'''T'' '"'^'^ confusedly al a iJ.'bsa^ 
 tered by ca^a ry. Victorious m the west, the king turned his arms 
 
 lau Jiacl tdllen and Charles of Lorraine, with a mighty power held 
 
 er'tL ttKf^T?- I'^'^i '^^T^ 'V^ "^, J^ecemhev, exactly LI iLnlh af 
 terthe battle of Rosbach, Frederick, with forty thousand men and 
 Pnnce Cliarles, at the head of not less than sixtv thousand me? Lt 
 Leuthen hard by Rreslau. The king, who was, in general pcrhaS 
 
 resorted o,rtl'"^ *° r?"^? '''' ^^^'^"^«=^ «°'^^'«^ -^ ^--« '^^"^^. 
 resoited, on this great day, to means resembling those which Bona- 
 parte atterwards employed with such signal sSccess for t le purZe 
 of stimulating military enthusiasm. The i.rincipnl officers wire ccm! 
 
 dl^ri- wT'^'^T'^ ^f'^^'?^ them with gVeat fm-ce and palhos. and 
 directed them to speak to their men as he had spoken to them When 
 
 «S.T r' ""''" 'f '"^ ^"'^\^'' ""''''y' *^^« ^^-"^^i'-^" troops were in a 
 8tate of fierce excitement; but their excitement showed itself after 
 
 r n.ST fi ''' ^'""'l ^'f V'^- '^'^'^ columns advanced to the attack 
 Savon fr.. hi ri'"''"?!^^ t"?'' ^"'^ ^^^«' t^i« ^"*i« 1^>-«^"S «f the old 
 
 Jen us of b Ir cl •• 7^''^ 1^'-'^ ^"^"' ^""-^1^* '^ ^^'^'" • "O'- ^^^^ the 
 genius of their chief ever been so conspicuous. " That battle " said 
 
 Fr^i^l H??-'/ """I "" masterpiece. Of itself it is sufficient to^entitie 
 l-redenck to a place in the first rank among generals." Tlie victory 
 w-as complete 1 wenty-seven thousand Austrians were killed, wounded 
 
 ?el fnTo Vli Y / f.","^V' "" ^'^''^^■"^ ^'^^"«' fo""- tliousand wagons. 
 fell into the hands of the Prussians. Breslau opened its gates Si- 
 
 ^Z^rrL?''T^ir'''^ \ ^'^^^^'«^of Lorraine retired to hide his shame 
 and sorrow at Bru.s.sels ; and Frederick allowed his troops to take 
 some repose in winter quarters, after a campaign to the v cissitudes 
 ^LtoJ^ '* "'''^^ ^' '^''^'^^' '^ ^"^ "^y Parallel^in anc£t or i^X^
 
 / 
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 49 
 
 The king's fame filled all tlie world. He had, during the last year, 
 nuiintaiiied a contest, ou term.s of advantage, against three powers, 
 ihe weakest of which had more than three times his resources. He 
 had fought four great pitched battles against superior forces. Three 
 of these battle.s he had gtuued ; and the defeat of Koliu, repaired as 
 it had been, rather raised than lowered his military renown. The 
 victory of Leuthen is, to this day, the ])roulest ou the roll of Prus- 
 i^iau fr.me. Leipsic, indeed, and Waterloo, produci'd more important 
 onspquences u^ mankind. But the gh>ry of Leipsic must be shared 
 by the Prussians with the Austriaus aud Russians ; and at Waterloo 
 the British infantry bore the burden and heat of the day. The vic- 
 tory of Rosbach \v\\s, in a military point of view, less honorable tliau 
 that of Leuthen, for it was gained over an incapable general and a 
 disorganized army. But the moral effect which it prcduced was im- 
 mense. All the preceding- triumphs of Frederick had been triumphs 
 over (tennans, and could excite no emotions of natural pride among 
 tlie German people. It was impossible that a Hessian or a Hanoverian 
 could feel any patriotic exrltation at hearing that Pomeranians 
 slaughtered ?»Ioraviaus, or thai Saxon banners had been hung in the 
 chui-ches of Berlin. Indeed, though tlie military character of the 
 Germans justly sto.xl high throughout the world, they could boast of 
 no great day which belonged to them a.s a people ; — of no Agincourt, 
 of no Baniiockljurn. Most of their victories had been gained over 
 each other ; and their most S])lendid exi)loits against foreigners had 
 been achieved under the command of Eugene, who was himself a 
 foreigner. 
 
 The news of the battle of Rosbach stirred the blood of the whole 
 of the mighty population from the Alps to the Baltic, and from the 
 borders of Courtland to those of Lorraine. \Vestphalia and Lower 
 Saxony had been deluged by a great host of strangers, whose speech 
 was unintelligible, and whose petulant and licentious manners had 
 excited the stmngest feelings of disgust aiul hatred. That great host 
 luid i>een ])Ut to lliglit by a .small band of German warriors, led by a 
 l)rince of (Jennan bl<>;xl on the side of father and mother, and marked 
 in- tlie fair hair and the clear blue eye of Germany. Never since the 
 dissolutiou of the empire of Charlemagne had the Teutonic race won 
 Kuch a Held against the French. The tidings called forth a general 
 bui-sl of deliglit and i)rido from the wliole of the great family which 
 .spoke the various dialects of the ancient language of Arminius. The 
 fame of F"redeiick began to supply, in some degree, the place of a 
 common govcrnnu-nt and of a common cai)ital. It became a rallying 
 j'oint for all true (Jermans — a subject of mutual congratulations to 
 tlie Bavarian and the Wcstphalian, to the'citizen of Frank fort and the 
 titi'/en of Nufemburg. Then fir.st it wa.s manifest that the (termans 
 were truly a nation. Then first was discernible that ])atriotic spirit 
 which, in'lBl.'J, achiev(Hl the great deliverance of central Eiirop(!, ami 
 which still guards, and long will guard ugain.'it foreign ambition, the 
 old frofJom of the Rhiiu;.
 
 60 ^ FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Nor were ilio effects produced by that celebrated day merely politi- 
 cal Iho greatest masters of Clcrmaa poetry and eloquence have ad- 
 mitted that, thou-h the great khig neither valued nor understood liig 
 native language, thougli he looked on P^rance as the only seat of taste 
 and philosophy, yet, iu his own despite, ho did much to emancipate 
 he genius of his countrymen from the loreiga yoke ; and that, in 
 the actot vanquiohing Soubise, he was unintentionally rousing the 
 spirit which soon began to question the literary precedence of Boileau 
 nud \ ultaire. So strangely do events confound all the ])lans of man 1 
 A prince who read only French, who wrote only French, who ranked 
 as '1 /'n'lH'h classic, became, quite unconsciously, the means of liberat- i 
 ■ mg lialf the Continent Irom the dominion of that French criticism dN 
 wliicii he was Inmself to the end of his life a slave. Yet even the 
 on husia.sm of Germany in favor of Frederick hardly equalled the 
 enthusiasm of England. The birthday of our ally was celebrated 
 ^ylth as much enthusiasm as that of our own sovereign, and at night 
 the streets of London were in a ))laze with illuminations. Portraits 
 01 the liero of Kosbach, with his cocked hat and long pigtail were 
 in every house An attentive observer will, at this day, «nd in the 
 parlors ol old-fashioned inns, and in the portfolios of printsellers 
 twenty portraits of Frederick for one of George II. The sio-n-paint- 
 ers w;ere everywhere employed in touching up Admiral Vemon into 
 the King of I russia. Some young Englishmen of rank proposed to 
 visit Germany as volunteers, for the purpose of learning the art of 
 war under the greatest of commanders. This last proof of British 
 attachment and admiration Frederick politely but firmly declined 
 Ills camp was no place for amateur students of military science. I'he 
 1 russian disci]j]ine was rigorous even to cruelty. The officers while 
 in the field, were expected to practice an abstemiousness and self-de- 
 nial such as was hardly surpassed by the most rigid monastic orders 
 However noble their birth, however high their rank in the service 
 they were not permitted to eat from anytliing better than pewter It 
 was a high crime even in a count and iield-marshal to have a sin"-]o 
 .silver spoon among his baggage. Gay young Englishmen of twenty 
 tliousand a year, accustomed to liberty and to luxury, would not easi- 
 ly submit to these Spartan restraints. The lung could not venture 
 to keep them in order as he kei)t his own subjecls in order Situ- 
 ated as he was with respect to i'higland, he could not well imprison 
 or shoot refractory Howards and Cavendishes. On the other hand 
 the example of a few fine gentlemen, attended by chariots and livery 
 servants, eating m plate, and drinking champagne and toky was 
 enough t« corrupt his whole army, lie thought it best to I'uake a 
 stand at first, and civilly refused to admit such dangerous comi>anions 
 among his trou])s. 
 
 The help of England was bestowed in a manner far more useful 
 and more acce])tabl(>. An annual subsidy of neur seven hundred 
 thousand pounds enabled the king to add jTrobably laore than fifty
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 51 
 
 theusandmentoliis army. Pitt, now at the lieigM of Poyer ^^ 
 popuiaritv. undertook the task of defending Western Germany 
 Sinst France, and asked Frederick only for tlie loan of a geneml 
 The general selected was Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, who had 
 attained high distinction in the Prussian service. He was put at the 
 head of an armv, partly English, partly Hanoverian, partly composed 
 of mercenaries hired ivom the petty princes of the empire _ He soon 
 vindicated the choice of the two allied courts, and proved himself the 
 second general of the age. , 
 
 Frederick passed the winter at Breslau, m reading, wnting, and 
 preparing for the next campaign. The havoc winch the war had 
 made among his troops was rapidly repaired, and m the fPr'ng «* 
 1758 he was again ready for the conflict. Prince Ferdinand kept the 
 French in check. The king, in the mean time, after attempting 
 against the Austrians some operations which led to no very important 
 result/marched to encounter the Russians, who, slaying, burning 
 and wasting whatever they turned, had penetrated into the heart ot 
 his realm He gave them battle at Zorndorf, near Frankfort on the 
 Oder The fight was long and bloody. Quarter was neither given 
 nor taken ; for the Germans and Scythians regarded each other with 
 bitter aversion, and the sight of the ravages committed by the hait- 
 sava'^e invaders had incensed the king and his anny. The Russians 
 wert°ovcrthrown with great slaughter, and for a few months no lur- 
 ther danger was to ho apprehended from the east. 
 
 A day of thanksgiving was pro laimed by the king, and was cele- 
 brated with pride and delight by his people. The rejoicings m Eng- 
 land were not less enthusiastic or less sincere. This may be selected 
 as the point of time at which the military glory of Frederick reached 
 the zenith. In the short space of three-quarters of a year he had 
 won three great battles over the armies of three mighty and warlike 
 monarchies— France, Austria, and Russia 
 
 But it was decreed that the temper of that strong mind should be 
 tried bv both extremes of fortune in rapid su,'cession. Close upon 
 this bri"-ht .series of triumphs came a series of disasters, such as would 
 have lilVghted the fame and Voken the heart of almost any other 
 commander. Yet Frederick, in the midst of his calamities, was still 
 an object of adniirati.m to hs sul)je<ts, his allies, and his enemies. 
 Overvvlielmed by adversity, sick of life, he still maintained the con- 
 test, greater in defeat, in flight, and in what seemed hopeless rum, 
 than on the fields of his proudest victories. , . „ 
 
 Having vanqui.shed the Russians, he lia.stened mto Saxony to op- 
 pose the troops of the Emi.rass-Ciueen, commanded by Daun, the 
 most cautious, and Laudohn. tbe most inventive and enterprising of 
 her generals Thes.- twoceleljiati'd commanders agreed on a sclienie, 
 in which the pru.lence of the one and the vigor of the other seem to 
 have happily combined. At dead of night they surprised the king in 
 hia camp at Hochkirchcn. His presence of mind saved his troops
 
 63 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 from dostniction, but notliini; could save thoni from dofoat and Bevore 
 JOSS. Miushal Keilh was among the slain. The first roar of the gam 
 i-ouswl the noble exile from his rest, and lie Avas instantly in tlio front 
 of the battle. He received a dangerous wou-id, l)nt refused to (]uit 
 tlie field, and was in the act of rallying his brolcen troops, when uu 
 Austrian l)ullet terininated his checkered and eventful life. 
 ^ The misfortune was serious. But, of all generals, Frederick un- 
 , dt>rstood best how to repair defeat, and Daun understood least how to 
 {improve victory. In a few days the Prussian army was as formid- 
 able as before the battle. The prospect was, however, gloomy. -An 
 'Au.strian army under General Ilarsch had invaded Silesia, and in- 
 vested the fortress of N(?isso. Daun, after his success at Hochkirchen, 
 liad written to Harsch in very confident terms: "Go on with your 
 operations against Neisse. Be quite at ca':e as to the king. I will 
 give you a good account of him." In truth, the position of the Prus- 
 sians was full of difficulties. Between them and Siiesia lay the vic- 
 torious army of Daun. It was not easy for them to reach Silesia at 
 all. If they did reach it, they left Saxony exposed to the Austwans. 
 But the vigor and activity of Frederick sunnoanted every obstacle. 
 He made a circuitous march of extraordinay rapidity, passed Daun, 
 hastened into Silesia, raised the seige of. Neisse, and drove Harsch 
 into Bohemia. Daun availed himself of the king's absence to attack 
 Dresden. The Prussians defended it desperately. The inhabitants 
 of that wealthy and polished capital begged in vain for mercy from 
 the garrison within and from the beseigers without. The beautiful 
 suburbs were Ijurned to the ground. It was clear that the town, if won 
 at all, would bo won street by street by the bayonet. At this con- 
 juncture came news that Frederick, having cleared Silesia of his ene- 
 mies, was returning by forced marches into Saxony. Daun retired 
 from before Dresden and fell back into the Austrian territories. The 
 king, over heaps of ruins, made his trium])liant entry into the un- 
 happy metropolis, which had so cruelly expiated the weak and perfid- 
 ious policy of its sovereign. It Avas now the 20th of November. 
 The cold weather suspended military operations, and the king again 
 lookup his winter-quarters at Breslau. 
 
 The third of the seven terrible years was over, and Frederick still 
 stood his ground. He had been recentlv tried Ijy domestic as well as 
 by military disasters. On the 14th of 6ctol)er, the day on which ho 
 was defeated at Hochkirchen, the day on the anniversary of wliich, 
 fortT-eight years later, a defeat far more tremendous laid the Prus- 
 s^ian monarchy in the dust, died Wilhelmina, Margravine of Bareuth. 
 • From the portraits which we have of her, by lier own han 1, and by 
 the hands of the most discerning of her contem])oraries, w^e should 
 pronounce her to have been coarse, indelicate, and a good hater, but 
 not destitute of kind and generous feelings. Her mind, naturally 
 «?trong and observant, had been highly cultivated ; and .she was, and 
 d«aorved to be, Frederick's favorite sister He felt the loss as mucii
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 53 
 
 as it vr^s in Im iron nature to feel tlie loss of anytliing but a provinae 
 
 ""^ Jt^BrSau durin- the .vinter ho was iiulofatigaWe in his poetical 
 lalfors The nost spirited lines perhaps that he ever wrote are o l>e 
 S-in a bitter ulmpoon on Louis and Madame de Pampadour 
 U'hich ho composed at this tune and sent to Voltaire, ilie \erse3 
 tere indeed so good, that Voltaire was afraid that he might himself, 
 be su'spS'of iLinV written them, or at least of having corrected, 
 them and partlv from fright-partly, we fear, f rom ove of uiischie^ 
 -sll them^to the Duke of Choisenl, then prime^minister o Fmice , 
 (Mioiseul very wiselv determined to encounter Frederick at Fieler- 
 kl?s own weapons, and applied for assistance to Palissot, who had 
 .ome sHU Ta veTsifier and who, though he had not yet made him- 
 S f'mou?bv S-ki^ing Rousseau and Helvetius on the stage, was 
 knmv^To possess some Tittle talent for satire. Palissot produced some 
 verTTtingL-Tines on the moral and literary character of Frederick, 
 and these Hues the duke sent to Voltaire. This war of couplets, fol- 
 Wii^ clo=e on the carnage of Zorndorf and the contlagration of 
 Dresden Ulus^iates well the strangely compounded character of the 
 
 "" a! this^'inoSe" t he was assailed by a new enemy, Benedict XIV 
 the best and wisest of the two hundred and fifty successoi^ of fet 
 Peter was no more. During the short interval between his re.gn and 
 Kof lds5?.ciple Ganganelli, tlie chief --^}^:^^^ "^ 
 vas filled by Rezzonico, who took the name of Clement Xlil. im^ 
 a ?urd priest determined to try w.^at the weight of his auhonty 
 couMeCinfavorof the orthodox Maria Theresa against a heretc 
 k nt At the high mass on Christmas-day, a sword with a rich Mt 
 amf^cabbard a hat of crimson velvet lined with ermme, andado^e 
 of pear s the ^vstic svmbol of the Divine Comforter, were solemnly 
 bleSby the sapience pontiif. and were -"t^vith great ce~n, g 
 Mor«1i-.l baun the connueror of Ivolin and Ilochkirchen. imsmariv 
 SSvor la mire th^.' once been bestowed by the Popes on the great 
 chaSoni of the faith. Similar honors had been paid, nmre ban six 
 SSrcarlier by Urban II. to Godfrey of Bouillon. Sum ar hon- 
 ^r^h^^n^een conferred on Alba for destroying the liberties of tlie Low 
 C?u t efa^id on John Sobiesky after the deliverance of \ienna 
 Bu" he presents which were received with profound reverence by tho 
 B- on of^the olv Sepulchre in the eleventh century, and which had 
 nrrwhollv lost their Value even in the seventeenth century, appeared 
 ^ex^lSliLly ridiculous to a generation -hich rc^d l^b^n esquieu and / 
 Voltaire Frederick wrote sarcastic verses on the gitts, the gn ( r, n , 
 the receiver. But tho public wanted no prompter ; and a ""iversa 
 r'mr of laugliter from Petersburg to Lisbon reminded tho Vatican that 
 
 *' TWourJrcamp^^-n 'T'most disastrous of all the campaigns of 
 this fcariuf ^uTlKow opened. Tho Austrians filled Saxony, and
 
 M FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 in«iaced Berlin Tho Rnf^inns defeated the king's gwicrals on tl« 
 Oder tlireatcned hilosia. effected a junction with Laudohn, and in- 
 trenched tlieni.s(dves stron.irly at Kiinersdorf. Frederick hastened to 
 attack them. A -reat battle was fouglit. Darin^r the earlier part of 
 the_day eyeryth.n^i!: yielded to the impetuosity of the Prussians, and 
 to tlie skill of their chief. The lines were forced. Hal f the Russian 
 guns were taken. The king sent off a courier to Berlin with two 
 lines announcing a complete victory. But, in the mean time, the 
 Btuhborn Russians, defeated yet unbroken, had taken up their stana 
 m an ahnost impregnable position, on an emmence where the Jews of 
 l^rankfoit were^ wont to bury their dead. H«re the battle re-om- 
 menced. The Prussian infantry, exhausted by six liours of hard 
 hghting, under a suu which equalled the trophical heat, were vc 
 brought up repeatedly to the attack, but in vain. The kin"- led tli'ree 
 charges in person Two horses were killed rnder him. The officers 
 ol us staff fell all around him. Ilis coat was pierced by several 
 bulie s. AH was in vain. His infantry wa^ driven back with friffbt- 
 ful slaughter. Terror began to spread fast from man to man. Ai 
 that moment, the ftery cavalry of Laudohn, still fresh, rushed on the 
 wavering ranks. Then followed a universal rout. Frederick him- 
 eelf was on the point of falling into the hands of the conquerors, 
 and was with difficulty saved In- a gallant officer, who, at the head of 
 n liandful of Hussars, made good a diversion of a few minutes, 
 bhattered m body, shattered in min^',, the king reached that ni-^ht a 
 village which the Cossacks had plundered ; and there, in a ruined and 
 deserted farm-house, Hung himself on a heap of straw. He had 
 sent to Eerlm a second dispatch I'erv different from his first • "Let 
 tlie royal family leave Berlin. Send the archives to Potsdam The 
 town may make terms with th<- enemy." 
 
 The defeat was in truth overwhehning. Of fifty thousand men, 
 wlio had tiiut morning mar-hed under the black eagles, not threo 
 thousand remained together. The king bethought him a^ain of hia 
 corrosive sublimate, and wrote to bid adieu to his friends, and to Hvo 
 directions as to the mcasu-es to be taken in the ev(>nt of Ids death- 
 1 have no resource h-ft"— such is the language of one of his let- 
 
 f,~, all IS lost. I w; 11 not survive the ruin of my country. Faro- 
 well, forever." 
 
 But The mutual jealousies of the confederates prevented them from 
 following up their victory. They lost a few davs in loiterin- and 
 squabbling ; and a few days improved bv Frederick were worth inoro 
 tlian tl^e yearsi of other men. On the morning after the battle ho 
 had got together eighteen thousand of his troops. Very soon'hi.^ 
 force amounted to thirty thousand. Guns were procured from tho 
 neighboring fortresses ; and there was again an army. Berlin was 
 for the present, safe ; but calamities came pouring on the kintr in rn- 
 nterrupted succession. Ono of his generals, with a large body of 
 troops, waa taken at Maxeu ; another was defeated at Meiseo ; and
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 55 
 
 when at length the campaign of 1759 closed, in the midst of a rig- 
 orous winter, the situation of Prussia appeared desperate. The only 
 consoling circumstance was, that in the West Ferdinand of Bruns 
 wick had been more fortunate than his master ; and bv a series of ex- 
 ploits, of which the battle of Mindeu was the most glorious, had re- 
 mo\-ed all apprehension of danger on the side of France. 
 
 The fifth vear was now about to commence. It seemed impossible 
 that the Prussian terri ories, repeatedly devasted by hundreds of thou- 
 sands of invaders, could longer support the contest. But the king car 
 ried on war as no European power has ever carried on war, except tha 
 Committee of Public Safety during the great agony of the French 
 Revolution. He governed his kingdom as he would have governed a 
 besieo-ed town, not caring to what extent property was destroyed, or 
 the pursuits of civil life suspended, so that he did but make head 
 against the enemv As long as there was a man left in Prussia, that 
 man might carrv a muslvet— as long as there was a horse left, that 
 horse might draw artillery. The coin was debased, the civil function- 
 aries were left unpaid ; in some provinces civil government altogether 
 ceased to exist. But there were still rye-bread and potatoes ; there 
 were still lead and gunpowder ; and, while the means of sustaining 
 and destroying life remained, Frederick was determined to fight it 
 out to the verv last. 
 
 The earlier part of the campaign of 1760 was unfavorable to him. 
 Berlin was again occupied by the enemy. Great contributions were 
 levied on the inhabitants, and the royal palace was plundered. But 
 at length, after two vears of calamity, victory came back to his arms. 
 At Lignitz he gained a great Imttle over Laudohn ; at Torgau, after a 
 day of horrible carnage, he triumphed over Daun. The fifth year 
 closed and still the event was in suspense. In the countries where 
 the war had raged, the misery and exhaustion were more appalling 
 than ever ; but still there were left men and beasts, arms and food, 
 and still Frederick fougbt on. In truth he had now been baited into 
 savageness. II Ls heart was ulcerated with hatred. The implacaVile 
 resentment with which his enemies persecuted him, though originally 
 provoked by his own unpi'incipled ambition, excited in him a thir.st 
 for vengeance which he did not even attempt to conceal. "It is 
 hard." he says in one of his letters, " for a man to bear what I bear. 
 I begin to feel that, as the Italians say. revenge is a pleasure for the 
 pods My idiilo.sophv is worn out l)y suffering. I am no saint like 
 those of whom we read in the h g,-nds ; and I will own that I should 
 die content if only I could first infiict a portion of the misery which 
 I endure." 
 
 Borne up by such feelings, he stnigglad with various success, but 
 constant glorv, through the campaign of 1701. On the whole, tho 
 re.sult of this campaign wa.s disastrous to Prussia. No great battle 
 wa.s gained l>y the enemy ; but, in spite of tlie desperate bounds of 
 the hunted tiger, the circle of pursuers was fast closiuu round him.
 
 158 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Laudohn had surprised the important fortress of Schweidnitz. With 
 thiit fortress, half nf Silesia and tlic command of tlie most important 
 defiles throu^rli the mountains, liad been transferred to the Austrians. 
 The Russians Inid overpowered the king's generals in Pomorania. 
 The country was so completely desolated that lie began, by liis own 
 confession, to look round him witli blank despair, luiuble to imagine 
 where recruits, horses, or provisions were to be found. 
 . Just at this time two great events brought on a complete change in 
 ^Ihe relations of almost all the ]iowers of Europe. One of tliose 
 I vents was the retirement of Mr. Pitt from office ; the other was the 
 aeath of the Emjiress Elizabeth of Russia. 
 
 The retirement of Pitt seemed to be an omen of utter ruin to the 
 House of Brandenburg. His proud and vehement nature was incaiiable 
 of anything that looked like either fear or treachery. He liad often 
 declared that while he was in power, England should never make a 
 peace of Utrecht— should never, for any selfish object, abandon an 
 ally even in the last extreniity of distress. The continental war was 
 liis own war. He had been bold enough— he who in former times 
 had attacked, with irresistible powers of oratory, the Hanoverian 
 policy of Carteret, and tJie German subsidies of "Newcastle — to de- 
 clare that Hanover ought to be as dear to us as Hami«hirc, and that 
 lie would conquer America in Germany, He had fa.len ; and the 
 power which he had exercised, not always with discretion, but always 
 with vigor and genius, had devolved on a favorite who was the ro])- 
 r?.sentativc of the Tory party — of tlie party which had thwarted Wil- 
 liam, which had ]>er.sccuted Marlborough, and which had given up 
 the Catalans to the vengeance of Philip of Anjou. To make peaco 
 with France — to shake off with all, or more than all, the speed com- 
 patible with decency, every Continental connection, these were among 
 the chief objects of the new minister. The policy then followed in- 
 spired Frederick with an unjust, but deep and bitter aversion to the 
 English name ; and produced effects which are still felt throughout 
 the civilized world. To that policy it v/as owing that, some_years 
 later, England could not find on the whole Continent a single ally to 
 Ktan(l by her in her extreme need against the House of Bourbon. 
 To that i)olicy it was owing that Frederick, alienated from England, 
 was compelled to connect himself closely during \us later years with 
 Russia ; and was induced reluctantly to assist in that great crime, 
 tlie fruitful parent of other great crimes — the first partition of Poland. 
 Scarcely had the retreat of Mr. Pitt deprived Prussia of her only 
 jfriend, wlwn the death of Elizabeth prodnced an entire revolution in' 
 jfhe politics of the North. The Grand Duke Peter, her nephew, wlio 
 ♦now a.scended the Russian throne, was not merely free from tlie prejudi- 
 ces wliich his aunt had entertained against Frederick, but was a wor- 
 Bhipper, a servile imitator, a Boswell, of tha grpat king. The days 
 of the new czar's government Avere few and evil, but sufficient "to 
 produce a change iu the whole state of Christendom. He set '-ho
 
 FREDERICK THJi; GRlliiiT.- 6* 
 
 Prussian prisoners at liberty, fitted them out decently, and sent them 
 back to their mastci ; he withdrew his troops from the provinces 
 which Elizabeth had decided on incorporating with her dominions, 
 and absolved all those Prussian subjects, who had be»n compelled to 
 Bwear fealtv to Russia, from their engagements. 
 
 Not content with concluding peace on terms favorable t» Prussia, 
 he solicited rank in the Prussian service, dresse-i himself in a Prus- 
 feian uniform, wore the Black Eagle of Prussia on his breas.<, made 
 ipreparations for visiting Prussia, in order to have an inter fiew with 
 khe object of his idolatry, and actually sent fifteen thousand excel- 
 lent troops to reinforce' the shattered army of Frederidck. Thus 
 Btrengthened, the king speedly repaired the losses of the precedinjj 
 year, reconquered Silesia, defeated Dauu at Buckersdorf, invested 
 and retook Schweidnitz, and, at tlie close of the year, preentod to 
 the forces of Maria Theresa a from as formidable as before the great 
 reverses of 1759. Before the end of the -campaign, his friend tho 
 Emperor Peter having, by a series of absurd insults to the in- 
 stitutions, manners, and feelings of his people, united them in 
 hostility to liis person and government, was deposed and murdered. 
 The empress, who under the title of Catherine the Second, now as- 
 sumed the supreme power, was at the commencement of her admin- 
 istration, bv no means partird to Frederick, and refused to permit 
 iicr troops "to remain under his command. But she observed the 
 peace made by her husband ; and Prussia was no longer threatened 
 by danger from the East. 
 
 England and France at the same time paired ofE to»-ether. They 
 concluded a treaty by which they bound them.?elve3 to observe neu- 
 irality with respect to the Gorman war. Thus the coalitions on both 
 lides were dissolved ; and the original enemies, Austria and Prussia, 
 rsmained alone confronting each other. 
 
 Austria had undoubtedly by far greater meana than Prussia, find 
 WHS less exhausted by hostilities ; yet it seemed hardly possible tliat 
 Au.stria could effect alone what she had in vain attempted to effect 
 when supixjrted by France on the one side, and by Russia on the other. 
 Danger also begaii to menace the imperial house from another quarter. 
 The Ottoman Porte held threatening language, and a hundred thou- 
 sand Turks were mustered on tlie frontiers of Hungary. The proud 
 and revengeful spirit of the Empress-Queen at length gave way ; 
 and, in Februarv, 17G3, the peace of Hubertsburg put an end to the 
 c/mtiict which had, during seven years, devastated Germany. Tho 
 king C4^;ded nothing. The whole Continent in arms had proved una-., 
 ble to tear Silesia from tliat iron grasp. 
 
 The war was over. Frederick was safe. His glory was beyond the 
 reach of envy. If he had not made conquests as vast as those of Al- 
 exander, of C«sar, of Napolmn— if he had not, on field of battle, en. 
 joyed the constant success of Marlborough and Wellington— he had 
 yet given an example unrivalled in history of what capacity and res
 
 88 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 olution cfln cffoot nc^jiinst thn greatest superiority of power and th» 
 utmost spite of fortune. Ho entered Berlin in triuni])h, after an at). 
 8;-ncc of more tliaji six years. The .streets were brilliantly li^-hted 
 np, and as he pa-ssed along- in an open carriage, witli Ferdiua'iKl of 
 Brunswick at his side, the multitude saluted him with loud praises 
 and blessings. He was moved by those marks of attachment, and re- 
 peatedly exclaimed, " Long live my dear jX'oplo ! Long lire my chil- 
 dren ! " Yet, even in the midst of that gay spectacle, he could not 
 but perceive evcryvvhere the traces of destruction and decay. Tho 
 ' city had been more than once plundered. Tho population had con- 
 siderably diminislunl. Berlin, however, had suffered little when com- 
 pared with most parts of the kingdom. The ruin of private fortune;?, 
 the distress of all ranks, was such as might appal the firmest mind.' 
 Almost every province had been the seat of war, and of war conducted 
 with merciless ferocity. Clouds of Croatians had descended on Si- 
 lesia. Tens of thousands of Cossacks had been let loose on Ponie- 
 rania and Brandenlnirg. The mere contributions levied Ijy the inva- 
 ders amounted, it was said, to more tlian a hundred millions of dol- 
 lars ; and the value of what they extorted was probably much less 
 than the value of what they destroyed. The fields lay uncultivated. 
 The very seed-corn had been devoured in the madness of lumger. 
 Famine and contagious maladies, the effect of famine, liad swept 
 away the herds and flocks ; and there was a reason to fear that a great 
 pestilence among the human race was likely to follow in the train of 
 that tremendous war. Near fifteen thousand houses had been burned 
 to the ground. 
 
 The population of the kingdom had in seven years decreased to the 
 frightful extent of ten per cent. A sixth of 'the males capable of 
 bearing arms had actually perished on the field of battle. In some 
 districts no laborers except women were seen in the fields at harvest 
 time. In others, the traveller passed shuddering througli a succession 
 of silent villages, in which not a single inhabitant remained. Tho 
 currency had been debased ; the authority of laws and magistrates 
 had been suspended ; the whole social system was deranged. For, 
 during that convulsive struggle, everything that was not niilitary vio- 
 lence was anarchy. Even the army' was disorganized. Some great 
 generals and a crowd of excellent officers had fallen, and it had been 
 .impossible to supply their places. The difficulty of finding recruits 
 had, towards the close of the war, been so great, that selection and 
 rejection were impossible. Whole battalions were composed of de- 
 Sf^rters or of prisoners. It was hardly to be hoped that thirty years 
 of repose and industry would repair the ruin produced by seven years 
 of havoc. One consolatory circumstance, indeed, there was. No 
 debt had been incurred. The burdens of the war had been terrible, 
 almost insupportable ; but no arrear was left to embarrass the finances 
 in the time of peace.* 
 
 ' * The reader will not need to be reminded that the narrative of Macaulay ends
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 59 
 
 It reraainr. for us, in order to become tliorcnglily acquainted with 
 the man, to contemplate Freilerick's character in peace. 
 
 The lirst and most immediate object of Frederick's attention and 
 anxiety was the re-establishment of his armv, in order that no enemy 
 might hope to reap advantage from a sudden renewal of hostilities. 
 In order to bring the recently levied troops ui^n a par with his vet- 
 eran, well-trained warriors— of whom, however, but a very small 
 ■number still remained— military exercise and drilling were enforced 
 -t\-ith the most rigorous exactness. But the illustrious monarch him- 
 self, v.hen he beheld the whole of Europe adopt his military tactics, 
 was' deceived in the over-estimation of tlieir value. The system of 
 maintaining standing armies was carried to the highest point, and be- 
 came the pnncipal o'bject in the administration of every State ; grave 
 utility degenerated into mere display, until a grand convulsion of the 
 world made its vanity and puerility but too apparent. 
 
 The care taken by Fredericlc to effect the restoration of his over- 
 whelmed country was a much more beneficent employment of his 
 energies, and was productive of incalculable good. It formed the 
 most imperishable leaf in his wreath of glory. The corn which was 
 already bouglit up for the next campaign he bestowed upon the most 
 destitute of his peoi>le, as seed for sowing, together with all liis su- 
 perfluous horses. Tlie taxes were remitted for six months in Silesia, 
 and for two years in Pomerania and Neumark, which were completely 
 devastated. Nay, the king, in order to encourage agriculture and in- 
 dustrv, appropriated large sums of money for that purpose in pro- 
 portion to the greatness of the exigency, and these various sums 
 amounted altogether during the four-and-twenty years of his reign, 
 after the peace of Hubertsburg, to no less than twenty-four millions 
 of dollars. Such noble generosity redounds still more to the glory of 
 Frederick, inasmuch as it wa.s only practicable through the exercise of 
 great economy, and to promote which he subjected himself to every 
 personal sacrifice. His maxim was tlir.t liis treasure belonged not to 
 himself, but to the people wlio supplied it ; and while many other 
 princes — not l)earing in mind the heavy drops of sweat which ad- 
 hered to each of the numerous gold pieces wrung from their subjects 
 — only tliought of dissipating tlie entire mass in the most unlicensed 
 prodigality and waste, he lived in a style so simple and frugal, that 
 out of the sum appropriated to the maintenance of his court he saved 
 annually nearly a million of dollars. 
 
 He explained on one occasion to M. de Launay, the assessor of in- 
 direct taxes, the principles by which he was actuated in this respect, 
 in clear and distinct terms : " Louis XV. and I," he said, "are born 
 
 here. T'.ie descent from th ■ fhiitiv nplands of liis Btvle is sudden and p:iinfnl, Init 
 thnre 5s no help for it. Ikrr Kv>hlrau«(:h fora on honi'-tly ciiotu'li, and wo iiinst let 
 him flni.'h the story or tro without it ulto;,'ethe.r. Patience ; it will soon be over, and 
 an n pucarplum ."or L'ood cliildren, we. promise you uuar tb» close a gorgeous picture 
 pf the great king in hb old age, by Carlyle.
 
 60 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 more noody thnn llio poorest of our subjects ; for tliore arc btit few 
 nmong them who do not possess a small inheritance, or who cannot at 
 least earn it by their labor and industry ; while he and 1 jiossess noth- 
 ing, n'ithercan we earn anythinj^ but what must belong to the State. 
 We are merely the stewards appointed for the administration of the 
 general fund ; and if, as sud!k,we were to apply to our own personal 
 expenditure more than is reasonably necessary, we should, by sucli 
 proceeding, not only bring down upon ourselves severe condensnation 
 in the first place for extravagance, but likewise for having fraudu-j 
 lently taken possession of that whicli wtis confided to our charge for^ 
 the public weal." 
 
 The particular care and interest shown by the king in the cultiva- 
 tion of the soil, produced its speedy improvement. Large tracts of 
 land were rendered arable, fresh supplies of laborers were ])rocured 
 /rom other countries, and where formerly marsh and moor were gen- 
 erally prevalent, fertile, flourishing cornfields were sub.stituted instead. 
 These happy results, which greeted tho eye of Frederick whenever he 
 took his regularly-appointed journeys throughout liis dominions, were 
 highly grateful to his feelings ; while during these tours of survey 
 nothing escaped Ins acutely observing mind ; so much so, that few 
 sovereigns could boast of such athorougli knowledge of their domains 
 — even to the most trifling details — as the King of Prussia acquiretl of 
 bis own estates through continual and indefatigable application to this 
 one object. Silesia, whicli had suffered so much, was especially dear 
 to his feelings, and to that territory ho devoted particular attention ; 
 when, therefore, upon a general census in the year 1777, he found 
 it contained 180,000 more inhabitants than in the year 1756, when the 
 war commenced ; and when he perceived the losses sustained during 
 that war tlius amply repaired, and the glorious results produced by 
 agricultural labor and commercial enterprise, he, in tlie gladness of 
 Lis heart, expressed, in a letter to his friend Jordan, the sensations 
 he felt at beholding the flourishing state of a province, the condi- 
 tion of %\hich was but a short time before so sadly depressed and 
 miserable. 
 
 Industry is indispensable in a people who depend on their energy 
 and activity for their rank among nations ; but this rank is not tlie 
 only attendant advantage : a benefit far greater is the fresh, healthy 
 vigor it imparts to the people. And in this respect Frederick tlie 
 Great was a .striking example, truly worthy of imitation by all his 
 subjects ; for even during the early period of his life he already wrote 
 to his friend Jordan thus : " You are quite right in believing that l! 
 ■work hard ; I do so to enable me to live, for nothing so nearly ap-' 
 proaches the likeness of death as the hair.slumbering, listless .state of 
 idleness." And, subsequently, wlien he had become old and feeble, 
 this feeling still retained its power, and operated wth all its original 
 influence upon hiij mind, for in another letter to the .same friend ho 
 «ays •. " I still feel aa formerly tlio same anxiety for action ; aa then.
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 6t 
 
 I no* Btill long to work and be busy, and my mind and body are in 
 continaal contention. It is no longer requisite that I should live, un- 
 less I can live and work." _ „._,.. 
 And truly, in making a profitable use of his time, King Frederick 
 displayed a" perseverance which left him without a rival ; and even in 
 his old ao-e he never swerved from the original plan he had laid down 
 and followed from his earliest manhood, for even on the very day 
 before his death he was to be seen occupied Avith the business of his 
 'rn3vernment. Each hour had its occupation, and the one grand pnu- 
 /ciple which is the soul of all industry— viz., to leave over from to-day 
 nothing fur the TJiorroio— passed with Frederick as the inviolable law 
 of his wliole life. The entire day— commencing at the hour of four 
 in the morning and continuing until midnight, accordingly five- 
 sixths of the dav— was devoted to some occupation of the mind or 
 heart, for in order that even the hour of repast might not be wholly 
 monopoUzed by the mere gratification of the stomach, Frederick 
 assembled around him at midday and in the evening a circle of intel- 
 lectual men, and x\\esQ conversaziones— \nyvh.\(:\\ the king himself took 
 an unportant share— were of such an animated and enlivening nature 
 that they were not inaptly compared to the entertainments of Socrates 
 himself. Unfortunately," however, according to the taste of that, age,__ 
 nothing but witticisms and humorous sallies were made the subject or 
 due appreciation and applause. Vivacity of idea promptly expressed 
 and strikingly apropos allusions were the order of the day, while 
 profunditv of thought and subjects of more grave and serious discus- 
 sion were'banished as ill-timed and uncalled-for— a necessary conse- 
 quence arising from the exclusive adoption of the French language, 
 which formed the medium of communicati')n at these reunions of 
 Frederick the Great. The rest of the day was ])asaed in the perusal 
 of official dispatches, private corresjxjndence, and ministerial docu- 
 ments, to each of which he added liis replies and observations in tlio 
 margin. After having gone tbrougli this all-important business 
 roiitTne of the dav,.he directed his attention to the more recreative 
 occupations of his ])leasure-grounds and literary compositions, of 
 which latter Frederick lias left behind him a rich collection ; and 
 finallv, as a last resource of amuseuK-nt, he occasionally devoted a 
 few stolen moments to his flute, upon which he was an accomplished 
 l)erformer. This, his favorite in.strument, indeed, like an intimate 
 and faithful friend, served often to allay the violent excitements of 
 Ills spirit ; and while he strolled with it through his suite of rooms, 
 •often for iiours together, his thoughts, as lie lu.iiself relates, became 
 more and more collected, and liis mind better prepared for calm and 
 Berious meditation. Nevertheless, he never permitted affairs of state 
 to be neu-lected for the sake of the enjoyments he souglit botii in. 
 music )in<l in i)Oftry ; and in this point of view Fredcrick'a character 
 Uln^rt. ever coniuuuid re.si)ert and admiration. 
 
 The gr>verumeut of Frtjderick waa despotic in the utrictoat aeuae ol
 
 «2 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 Iho •^rord ; ererything emanated from tlie king, and everything ro 
 verted to liim again. lie never accorded any share in tlic administra- 
 tion to an assembly of States, nor even to the State Council, wliich, 
 composed of the most enliglitened men, would have been able to have 
 presented to their sovereign, in a clear and comprehcn:^ive light, the 
 bearings of the intricate questions connected with government. Ho 
 felt in himself the power to govern alone, seconded by the stronge."it 
 desire of making his ])eople happy and great. Thence it apiwared to 
 his mind tliai the i)redominant strengtli of a State was based uy>on the. 
 means which are the readiest and the most efficacious in the handu of one 
 person, viz., in his army and in the treasury. His chief aim, therefore, 
 was to manage that these two powerful implements of government 
 phould be placed in the most favorable condition possible ; and thus we 
 find that Frederick often sought the means to obtain this, his grand ob- 
 ject, without sufficiently taking into consideration the effect they might 
 subsequently produce upon the disposition and morality of the nation. 
 In accordance with this principle, he, in the year 1704, invited a dis« 
 tinguished fermier-general of France, Ilelvetius, to Berlin, in order to 
 consult him upon the means of augmenting the revenues of tlie State ; 
 jmd in consequence of his suggestions, measures were adopted which 
 were extremely obnoxious to the public, and caused many to defraud, 
 instead of co-operating with, the government. At the same time, 
 however, by these and other means resorted to by the king, the reve 
 nues of the kingdom were increased considerably. It must, however, 
 be advanced in Frederick's vindication, firstly, that lie adopted these 
 measures, not for his own individual advantage, but for the benefit of 
 all ; and .secondly — we must again repeat it — that the great errors of 
 the age completely obscured his own view. With wliat eagerness 
 would not his clear mind have caught at the enlightenment produced 
 by reform, had he but lived in a time when freedom of thought was 
 more appreciated — for to him this freedom of thought wa.s so dear 
 that he never attacked the ])ublic expression of opinion. His subject.^ 
 enjoyed under liis reign, among other privileges, that of the liberty 
 of the press ; and he himself gave free scope to the shafts of censure 
 and ridicule aimed against his public and private character, for tha 
 consciousness of his own persevering endeavors in the service of hli 
 country, and of his sincere devotion to liis duties, elevated him beyond 
 all petty susceptibility. The chief object of the king's care was a 
 eearch into truth and enlightenment, as it was then understood. But 
 this enlightenment consisted in a desire to understand everything ; to 
 jinalyze, dissi-ct, and — demolish. Whatever appeared inex])lical)lo 
 was at once rejected ; faith, love, hope, and filial respect — all those 
 feelings which have their seat in the inmost reces.ses of the soul — wer'a 
 if.stroyed in their germinaticjn. 
 
 But this annihilating agency was not confined to the State : it man. 
 Ifested itself also in .science, in art, and even in religion. Tiie French 
 were the promoters of this phenomenon, and in this tliey wera eveu»-
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 63 
 
 ually imitated tlirougliout tlie -world, but more especially in Ger- 
 many. Superficial ornament passed for profound -wisdom, and -witty, 
 Barcastic phraseology assumed the place of soundness and sincerity of 
 expression. Nevertheless, even at this time there were a few chosen 
 men who were able to recognize that which was true and just, and 
 raised their voices accorduigly ; and, in the world of intellect, the 
 names of Lessing, Klopstoek, Goethe, etc , need alone be mentioned, 
 being, as they were, the founders of a more sterling age. Tliey were 
 joined by many othere, and, thus united, they constituted an intellec- 
 tual phalanx in opposition to the progress made by the sensual French 
 school. These intellectual refomiers were soon strengthened by such 
 auxiliaries as Kant, Ficht^ Jacobi, etc., who advanced firmly'under 
 the banner of science ; and from such beginnings grew, by degrees, 
 that powerful mental reaction which has already achieved such 
 mighty things, and led the way to greater results still. 
 
 This awakening of the Gerji'an mind was unnoticed by King Fred- 
 erick ; he lived in the world of French refinement, sejiarate and soli- 
 tary, as on an island. The waves of the new, rushing stream of lif» 
 passed without approaching him, and struck against the barriers by 
 which he was enclosed. His over-appreciation and patronage of for- 
 eigners, however, impelled the higher classes of society to share in 
 his sentiments, equally a.s mucli as his system of administration had 
 served as a model for other rulers to imitate. Several among his 
 contemporaries resolved, like him, to reign independently, but witli- 
 out pos.sessing the same commanding genius, whence, however well- 
 intentioned, they were wrecked in their career — among whom may b«j 
 more especially included Peter HI. of Russia, Gustavus HI. of Swe- 
 den, and Jo.seph II. of Germany. 
 
 In the year 1765 Jo.seph II. was acknowledged as successor to his 
 father, Francis I., who died in the same year,"but whose acts as em- 
 peror present little or nothing wortliy of record. His son, however, 
 was on this very account the more anxious to effect great changes — 
 to transform ancient into modern institutions, and to devote the great 
 and predominating power with which he was endowed towards re- 
 modelling tlie entire condition of liis States. All his projects, how- 
 ever, were held in abeyance until tlie death of his mother, Maria 
 Tlieresa, in 1780, who, ever wise and active, had, even to the last 
 m(»ment3 of her existence, exercised all her power and influence in 
 tlie administration of affairs ; and accordingly her matornal authority 
 operated effectually upon his feHings as a Hon, and served for a time 
 to suspend tlie acconiplishment fif his desires. Meantime, in the in-, 
 tfpval between the years 17(i.") and 17W, various events took place 
 wliich exercised an important influence upon the last ten years of his 
 n-ign. Among the rest may be more especially mentioned the dis- 
 mrm/jfyivn/'ut of Podind in 177;5, and the war of the BavaHdn guccfu- 
 tiffn in 1778. 
 
 Augustas III , lijng (if Poland, di«d in tho your 17«5. leaving Iw 
 
 A.B.-3
 
 U FREDERICK TUB GREAT. 
 
 hind liini r grandson, only as yet a minor ; consequently the house of 
 yaxDuv, which had held possession of the throne of Poland during a 
 space of Pixtv-R!x years, now lost it. Botli Russia and Pruss:astei)pe(J 
 forward forthwith, and took uiwii themselves the arrangement of the 
 affairs of Poland : an interference which that nation was now unable 
 to resist, for, strona; and redoubtable as it had been formerly, dissen- 
 sion had so much reduced its resources that it was at this moment 
 wholly incapable of maintaining or even acting for itself. Both 
 powers required that Poland should choose for her sovereign a native- 
 born prince, and an army of ten thousand Russians which suddenly 
 advanced upon \"\'arsaw,' and an equal number of Prussian troops as- 
 sembled upon the frontiers, produced the election of Stanislaus Ponia- 
 towski to the throne. Henceforth there was no longer an imperial 
 diet hehl at which foreigners did not endeavor to bring into effect all 
 their influence. 
 
 Shortly after this event, a war took place between Russia and Tur- 
 key, in which the former took possession of Moldavia and Walla- 
 cliia, which that power was extremely desirous of retaining. This, 
 however, Austria opposed most strenuously, lest Russia should be- 
 come too powerful, and Frederick the Great found himself in a 
 dilemma hov/ to maintain the balance between the two parties. The 
 most expedient means of a ijustment appeared in the end to be the 
 spoliation of a country which w;is the least able to oppose it ; viz., 
 Poland ; and, accordingly, a ])ortion of its territory was seized and 
 shared between the three powers— Russia, Prussia, and Austria. 
 With whom this idea first originated has not been clearly ascertained, 
 but it is easy to see that it was quite in accordance with the character 
 of the times. For as the wisdom of that age only based its calcula- 
 tions upon the standard of the senses, and estimated the power of 
 States merely by their square miles, amount of population, soldiers, 
 and revenue, the grand aim of the then State policy was to devote 
 every effort towards aggrandizement ; nothing was held more desir- 
 able than some fresh conquest, which might advantageously round 
 off a kingdom, while all consideration of eq; ity and justice was forced 
 to yield before this imperious principle. When one of the larger 
 States affected such an acquisition, the others, alarmed, considered 
 the balance of Europe compromised and endangered. 
 
 In this case, however, the three kingdoms bordering upon Poland,- 
 liaving shared between them the spoil, were each augmented in i)ro- 
 j>ortion, whence all fear of danger was removed. This system had 
 tt)ecome so Buperficiai, so miserable and absurd, that they lost sight 
 altogether of the principle that a just equilibrium and the permanent 
 safety of all can only be secured by the inviolable pn^servation of the 
 rights of nation.s. The partition o'f Poland was the fornuil renuncia- 
 tion itself of that system of (;quiixjise, and served as the precursor of 
 all those great revolutions, dismembennents, and transformations, to- 
 gether with all those ambitious attempts at universal monarchy,
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. Go 
 
 »i^itr»i tfuring a space of five-and-twenty years, were the means of 
 ton\-u^.s.ing Europe to her very foundations. 
 
 The j-JOi)lt of Poland, menaced as thcv were in three quarters, were 
 forced la the ^utumu of 1773 to submit to the dismemberment of 
 their country, of vhich, accordingly, three thousand square miles were 
 forthwiti divided between Russia, Prus 'a, and Austria. 
 
 Maximilian Jose^jh, elector of Bavaria, having died in 1777 without 
 issue, the inheritance of his estates and electoral dignity came into 
 the hands ol the elector palatine. The emperor Joseph, however, 
 with his usuijl ra.shness, resolved to avail himself of this inheritance 
 in favor of Ai:stria ; he accordingly raked up old claims and marched 
 suddenly with his army into Bavaria, of which he took immediate 
 possession. T^e pacific palatine, Charles Theodore, thus surprised 
 and overawed, signed a treaty by which he ceded two-thirds of Bava- 
 ria to the housj of Austria in order to secure to himsdf po.ssession of 
 at least the otL^r third. The conduct of Austria on this occasion, to- 
 gether Avith thi part she had previously taken in the dismemberment 
 of ill-fated Poland, was the more unexpected inasmuch as she was the 
 only one of all the superior States which had hitherto abstained from 
 similar acts of {.ggression. But the mutability of the age had now 
 destroyed like w lie in Austria the uniform pacific bearing for which 
 she had so long '.)een distinguished. 
 
 These proceedings gave rise to serious commotions in various parts 
 of the empire, aud Frederick the Great more especially felt he could 
 not and ought nci to remain an inactive observer of what was pass- 
 ing. Accordingly he entered the lists against Austria at once, and 
 commenced opera\ioas as protector of the heir of Charles Theodore, 
 the Duke of Deux Ponts, who protested against the compact signed 
 by the former witL. Austria, and claimed the assistance of the King 
 of Prussia. The joung and hot-headed emperor Joseph accepted the 
 challenge forthwith, and taking up a position in Bohemia, he there 
 awaited the king ; ihe latter, who liad already crossed the mountains, 
 finding liim, liowever, so strongly intrenched, was reluctant to liazard 
 an attack under «ucli difficult circum.stances, and withdrew from 
 Bohemia. After a few unimportant skirmi.shes between tlie light 
 troops of botli sides, peace was signed by the mediation of Franco and 
 Russia, at Teschei, on tlie loth of May, 1779, even before the end of. 
 the first year of the war. The empress Maria Theresa, now advanced' 
 in years, by no nwans sliared in her son's taste for war, but, on tliel 
 contrary, earnestly desired peace ; while Frederick himself, who had 
 nothing to gain ]>:r.sonally by this campaign, was equally anxious for 
 a reconciliation. Moreover,' he was likewise far advanced in yeais, 
 and possessed sji eye sufficiently penetrating to i)erceive tliat tho 
 fonner original i.pirit and energy of the army, which had performed 
 such jirodigies of valor in the war of Seven Years, had now almost 
 disapiKjan.'d, although tlie di.scipline under which it was still placed 
 was equally syvore and tyrannical as iu former times. Under the»«
 
 C6 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 *!ul other circumsttincos, tlierefore, peace was preferable to war. By 
 /he treaty now ronchided, Austria restored to the pahitine liouse aJl 
 the estates of Bavaria, except the circle of Biirgau, and the succes- 
 eiou was secured lo the Duke of Deux-Ponts. 
 
 After the death of Maria Theresa, in 1780, Joseph II. strove with 
 *11 the impetuosity of liis tiery and enterprisng nature, to bring into 
 immediate execution the great and ambitious plans he had fornied, 
 and to give to the various nations spread over the boundless surface 
 Qf his vast possessions, one unic^ue and equal form of government, 
 after a model such as he had himself formed within his own mind. 
 
 Joseph adopted as his model the absolute principles of Frederick in 
 Ills system of government ; but Frederick occupied liiniself more with 
 external arrangements, wdth the administration of the State, the pro- 
 motion of industry, and the increase of the revenue, interfering very 
 little with the progress of intellectual culture, which followed its par- 
 ticular course, often altogether without his knowledge; while in this 
 rs'spect Joseph, by his new measures, often encroached upon the 
 dearest privileges of his subjects. He hisisted certainly upon liberty 
 of conscience and freedom of thought ; ))ut he did not bear in mind, 
 at the same time, that the acknowledgment of this principle depended 
 upon that close conviction which cannot be forced, and can only exist 
 in reality when the light of truth has gradually penetrated to the 
 depth of tlie heart. 
 
 The greatest obstacles, however, thro%vn in the way of Joseph's in- 
 j<W'ations proceeded from the church ; for Ms grand object was to 
 confiscate numerous monasteries and spiritual institutions, and to 
 change at once the whole ecclesiastical constitution ; that is, he con- 
 templated obtaining during the first year of his reign, what would of 
 itself have occurred in the space of half a century. 
 
 By this confiscation of ecclesiastical possessions more than one 
 neighboring prince of the empire, such as the bishop of Passau and 
 the archbishop of Salzburg, found themselves attacked in their rights, 
 wnd did not hesitate to complain loudly ; and in the same way in other 
 matters, various other princes found too much reason to condemn the 
 emperor for treating with contempt the constitution of the empire. 
 Their apprehensions were more especially increased when the em- 
 peror, in the year 1785, negotiated a treaty of exchange of territory 
 .with the electoral prince-palatine of Bavaria, according to which th« 
 latter was to resign his country to Austria, for which lie was to re- 
 ceive in return the Austrian Netherlands under the title of a new 
 kingdom of Burgundy : an arrangement by which the entire south of 
 Gennany would have come into the exclusive possession of Austria, 
 The priiice-palatine was not at all indisposed to make the exchange, 
 *nd France as well as Russia at first favored it in its prin'riple ; but 
 Frederick 11. once more stepped forward and disconcert.ed their plajis, 
 in which he succeeded likewise m bringing Russia to co-operate with 
 bim«
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 67 
 
 The c immotions, however, produced by these efforts made by 
 Joseph to bring his rash projects into immediate operation, caused 
 the old King of Prussia to form the idea of establisliing an alliance of 
 the German princes for the preservation of the imperial constitution, 
 similar in character to the unions formed in previous times for mutual 
 defence. Such at least was to be the unique object of this alliance 
 according to the king's own words ; and this league was accordingly 
 effected in the year 1785, between Prussia, Saxony, Hanover, the 
 Dukes of Saxony, Brunswick, Mecklenburg, and Deux-Pouts, the 
 Landgrave of Hesse, and several other princes, who were soon joined 
 by the Elector of Mentz. This alliance was based upon principles in 
 their nature less inimical than strictly surveillant ; nevertheless, it 
 effected the object contemplated by acting as a check upon the house 
 of Austria in the various innovations threatened by the emperor, 
 TPhile it operated as a lesson indicating to that house that its veal dis 
 tinction among the other nations of Europe was to preserve the pre- 
 sent order of things, to protect all riglits and privileges, to oppose the 
 spirit of conquest, and thus to constitute itself the bulwark of uni- 
 versal liberty ; but failing in all this, it must inevitably lose at once 
 all public confidence. This alliance of princes, hosvever, produced 
 little or no important results for th« advantage of Germany, owing* 
 partly to the death of Frederick II., which took place in the following 
 year, and partly to the circumstances of the successors of Joseph II. 
 happily returning to the ancient hertz-ditary principles of the house. 
 both in its moderation and circumspection ; and finally, owing to the 
 unht-ard of events which transpired in Europe during the last ten 
 years of tli^ century, and which soon produced too much cause for 
 forgetting an previous minor grievances. 
 
 This alliance of tlie princes of the empire was the last public act of 
 the great Frederick of any consequence ; and he died in the following 
 year. He continued active and full of enterprise to tlie last, in spite 
 of his advanced age, but his condition becam- gradually more isolated, 
 inasmuch a-s all the companions of his former day.s had in turns dis- 
 appeared and sunk into their last resting-place "before himself, the 
 last among them being the brave old warrior, Ziethen, who died in 
 the January previous to the same year as his royal master, at the ago 
 of eighty-seven ; and, on the other hand, heaven had not blessed him 
 ■with j.ny family, and thus he w;ls debarred from the endearing enjoy- 
 ment ex[)erienced by a father, when he sees himself growing young 
 again, and n^vivified in his jjosterity. At the same time, lie was 
 wanting in all those feelings conducive to this state of life — a state 
 against whicli his whole nature recoiled.* 
 
 • " About fourscore years a{?o, there used (o be seen oaunterln!; on the terraces of 
 RanB Soiici, for aHhort time in the aftornoon. or you iniLrbt have intt him ulsewhere 
 et an earlier hour, ricli itr or dnving in II rapid. buHincss iiinnncr on Uie opt-n roids 
 or Uirou'.'h tlie Mcruijtjy W')0(li and avenues fif that intricate, auipliibioiis Pot>'dam 
 region, a hJjjUly iutoreutim;, lea», little old mau, of ai-^xt though Blij;ljtly stooping
 
 «8 FREDERICIC TJE GREAT, 
 
 nis mind, with scarooly any interniption, retained all its p<iwer 
 diirini^ tlio lons^ spaco of sov(>nty-f()ur years, althoiijj:h his body liad 
 lattorfv beconio much rochiccd and cnfccbk-d. Throuii:h the extrava- 
 gant use ho had always made of strong spices and French dishes, ho 
 dr ed up the s]n-ings of life, and after suffering severely f rom drojisy, 
 he departed this life on the 17th of August, 1?8G, and was buried in 
 Potsdam, under the pulpit of the church belonging to the garrison. 
 
 In his last illness Frederick displayed great mildness and patience, 
 and acknowledged with gratitude the trouble and pain he caused! 
 those around him. During one of his sleepless nights he called toi 
 the page who kept watch in the room, and asked him what o'clock it 
 was. The man replied it had just struck two. " Ah, then it is still 
 too soon !" exclaimed the king, " but I cannot sleep. See whether 
 
 figure ; whose name amon? stransrers was King Friedrich the Second, or Frederick 
 the Great of Prussia, and at home among the common people, who much loved and 
 esteemed him, was Vaier Fritz-YAt\\QX Fred-a name of familiarity which had not 
 bred contempt in that instance. He is a king every inch of him, tiiough without 
 
 cut from tiie woods, which serves ;ilso as a riding-stick (with which he hits the horse 
 'between the ears,' say authors); and for royal robes, a mere soldior a blue 
 coat with red facings, coat likely to be old, and sure to have n good deal of Spanish 
 snuff on the breast of it ; rest of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in color or cut, end- 
 in" in hi»h, over-knee, military boots, which m;iy be brnshe I (and, I hope, kept 
 80?t witluia underhand suspicion of oil), but are uot permitted to be blackened or 
 varnished • Day and Martin with ttieir soot-pots forbidden to approach. 
 
 " The man id not of godlike physio.gnomy, any more than of imposing statnre or 
 costume • close-shut mouth with thin lips, prominent jaws and nose, receding 
 brow by'no means of Olympian height; head, however, is of long form, and has 
 enn^rlative gray eyes in it. Not what Is called a btautifiil man ; nor yet, by all ap- 
 p^rance, what is called a happy. On the contrary, the face bears evidence of many 
 porrows, as they are termed, of much hard labor done in this world ; and seems to 
 anticipate nothing but more still coming. Quiet stoicism, capable enough of what 
 joy there wpre, but not expecting any worth mention ; great unconscious and some 
 conscioug prida^ well tempered with a cheery mockery of humor--are written on 
 that old face ; which carries its chla well forward, in spite <)f the slight .«toop 
 about the neck : snuffy nose rather flung into the air. under its old cocked-hat— 
 like an old snuffy lion on the watch ; and such a pair of eyi;s as no man or ion or 
 lynx of that century bore elsewhere, according to all the testimony we have. 1 hose 
 eves, saysMirabeau 'which, at the bidding of his great soul, fascinated you with se- 
 duction or with tenor { par taimt, an qrideson ame heroiQue, la seduction O'llater- 
 reurt. Most excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting as the stars, steadfast as 
 the sun : gray, we said, of the azure-gray color; large enough, not of glaring size, the 
 habitual expression of tnem vigilance and penetrating sense, riipidity resting on 
 depth. Which is an excellent combimtion ; ; nd gives us the notion of a 'amhent 
 onterradiance springing from some great inner scaof light and firem t»e ^an The^ 
 voice, if bespeak toyo;?. is of similar physiognomy : clear, melodious and sonorouB, 
 all tones are in it, f oni that of theinsemious inquiry, graceful sociality, liKJit-fl'nW 
 ing banter (rather prickly for most part), up to d<.flnito vvord of command, up to 
 de.«olating wordoi' rebuke and reprobation ; a voice ' the clearest and most airree- 
 able in conversation I ever heard,' says witty Dr. Moore ' He speaks =' g^eat deal 
 continues the doctor, 'yet those who hear him regret that he does "Ot «pea^ » 
 great deal more. II fl obsi^rvations are always lively,^ very often just ; and lew men 
 po88«M the taJcut of repartee iu greater parfectigu.' "
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT. 69 
 
 any of the other attendants are awake, but do not disturb them if 
 they are sill sleeping, for, poor fellows, they are tired enough. But 
 if you find Neuman (his favorite yilger) stirring, say to him you be- 
 lieve the king wishes soon to rise. But mind, do not awaken any 
 one ! " 
 
 Although the news of Frederick's death at such an advanced age 
 , excited no very great astonishment, it nevertheless produced aconsid- 
 lerable sensatio'n throughout the whole of Europe. He left to his suc- 
 icessor a well-regulated State, containing a population of six millions 
 of inhabitants ; a powerful, strictly organized army, and a treasury 
 well provided ; the greatest treasure, however, he left, was the recol- 
 lection of his heroic and glorious acts, which ji» subsequent times has 
 continued to operate upon his nation wtli ail its awakening power 
 amd heart-stirring influence. 
 
 vwi aznsio
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 PABT FIRST. 
 
 Robert Burns, the national bard of Scotland, was bom on the 25tli 
 ef January, 1750, in a clay-built cottage about t\\o miles south of the 
 town of Ayr. He was the eldest son of Williinn Burnes, or Bumess, 
 who, at the period of Robert's birth, was gardener and overseer to a 
 gentleman of small estate ; but resided on a few acres of laud which 
 he had on lease from another person. The father was a man of strict 
 religious principles, and also distinguished for that penetration and 
 knowledge of manlcind which was afterwards so conspicuous in his 
 son. The mother of the poet was likewise a very sagacious woman, 
 and X)OSsessed an inexhaustible store of ballads and legendary tales, 
 with which she nourished the infant imagination of him whose own 
 productions were destined to excel them all. 
 
 These worthy individuals labored diligently for the support of an 
 increasing family , nor in the midst of harassing struggles did they 
 neglect the mental improvement of their offspring — a characteristic 
 of Scottish parents, even under the most depressing circumstances. 
 In liLs sixth year, Robert was put under the tuition of one Campbell, 
 and subsequently under Mr John Murdoch, a very faithful and 
 pains-taking teacher. With this individual he renuuned for a few 
 years, and was accurately instructed in the first principles of com- 
 position. The poet and his brother Gilbert were the aptest pupils iii 
 the school, and were generally at the head of the clas.s. Mr. Mur 
 doch, in afterwards recording tlie imijressions wliich the two Ijrothei-s 
 made on him, says : '• Gill>ert always appeared to me to possess a 
 more lively imagination, and to be more of the wit, than Robert. I 
 attempted to teach tliem a little churcli music. Here they were left 
 far behind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, in particular, 
 was remarkably dull, and his voice untunable It was long before I 
 could get them to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's coun 
 tenance was genernlly grave, and ex])ressive of a serious, conteni'pla 
 I've, and thoughtful rnind. Gilbert's face said. Mirth, iriih tluc I 
 mean, to live ; and certainly, if any i^erson who knew the two boya 
 had been aake^ which of them was the mo.st likely to court the muses, 
 be V')»ilt5 aeve.v jOi/x 'uessed that Robert had a propensity of thai 
 
 (1)
 
 2 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 Besides the tiiition of Mr. Murdoch, Burns received instructiona 
 from Ills father in writinij; and aritlnnetic. Under their joint care, 
 he made rajiid jirorrrcss, and was remarkable for the ease with wliich 
 he committed devotional poetry to memory. The following extract 
 from his letter to Dr. Moore, in 1787, is interesting, from the light 
 ■which it throws upon his progress as a scholar, and on the formation 
 of his character as a poet : — " At those years," says he, " I was by no 
 means a favorite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a reten 
 tive memory, a stubborn, sturdy something in my disposition, and an 
 entliusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because 1 was then but a 
 child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I matle an 
 excellent scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I 
 was a critic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant and 
 boyish days, too, I owed much to au old woman who resided in the 
 fninily, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition, 
 f 'he had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales and 
 Mougs, concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, 
 epunkies, kelpies, elf candles, dead lights, wraiths, apparitions, can- 
 trips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This 
 cultivated the latent seeds of poetry • but had so strong an effect upon 
 my imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I some 
 limes keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places ; and though nobody 
 can be more skeptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes an 
 effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. The earliest com- 
 position that I recollect taking pleasure in, was. The Vidon ofMirza, 
 and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, ' How are thy servants blest, 
 Lord! " I particularly remember one half stanza, which was music 
 to my boyish ear ; 
 
 For thonG;h on dreadful whirls we hung 
 High on the broken wave.' 
 
 I met -with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my 
 school books. The first two books I ever read in private, and which 
 gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, were, 
 The Life of Hannibal andThe Ilistory of Sir William Walla-ce. Han- 
 nibal gave my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in rap- 
 tures up and down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish 
 my.self tall enough \o be a soldier ; while the story of Wallace poured 
 a tide of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there 
 till the fiood gates of life shut in eternal rest." 
 
 Mr. Murdoch's removal from Mount Oliphant deprived Bums of liis 
 instructions ; but they were still continued by the father of the bard. 
 Alx)Ut the age of fourteen, he was sent to school every alternate week 
 for the improvement of his writing. In the mean while, he was 
 busily employed upon the operations of the farm . and, at the age oi 
 fifteen, was considered as the principal laborer upon it. About a year
 
 f.IFE OF BURNS. 3 
 
 after this he gained three weeks of respite, which he spent with his 
 old tutor, Murdoch, at Avr, in revising the English grammar, and m 
 Btudvingthe French langiiage, in which he made uncommon progiess. 
 Ere "his' sixteenth vear elapsed, he had considerably extended his 
 readino- The vicinitv of Mount Oliphant to Ayr afEorded him facil- 
 ities for o-ratifving what had now become a passion. Among the 
 books whtch he had perused were some plays of Shakspeare, Pope 
 the works of Allan Ramsay, and a collection of songs, which consti 
 tuted his tade mecum. " t pored over them," says he, "driving inf 
 cart or walkmg to labor, song by song, verse by verse caretuUj^ 
 noticing the true, tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. 
 So early did he evince his attachment to the lyric muse, in which he 
 was destined to surpa.ss all who have gone before or succeeded him. 
 
 At this period the family removed to Lochlea, in the parish of Tar- 
 bolton. Some time before, however, he had made his first attempt in 
 poetry. It was a song addressed to a rural beauty, about his own 
 age, and, though possessing no great merit as a whole, it contains some 
 lines and ideas wliicli would have done honor to him at any age. 
 After the removal to Lochlea, his literary zeal slackened, for he was 
 thus cut off from those acquaintances whose conversation stimulated 
 hLs powers, and whose kindness suiii)lied him with books. For about 
 three years after this period he was busily employed upon the farm, 
 but at intervals he paid his addresses to the poetic muse, and with no 
 common success. The summer of his nineteenth year was spent in 
 the study of mensuration, surveying, etc., at a small sea-port town, 
 a good distance from home. He returned to his father's considerably 
 iniproved. " My reading," says he, "was enlarged with the very im- 
 portant addition of Tliomson's and Shenstone's works. I had seen 
 Imman nature in a new phasis ;. and I engaged several of niy school 
 fellows to keep up a literary correspondence with me. This improved 
 me in composition. I had met with a collection of letters by the wits 
 of Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over them most devoutly ; 1 kept 
 copies of any of my own letters that pleased me, and a comparison 
 between them and the composition of most of my correspondents 
 •Mattered my vanity. I carried this whim so far. that, though 1 had 
 ot three farthings' worth of business in the world, yet almost every 
 pt)St brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad, plodding 
 son of dav-book and ledger." 
 
 His mind, peculiarly susceptible of tender impressions, was contiii- 
 uallv the slave of sonie rustic charmer. In the " heat and whirlwind 
 of liis love," lie generally found relief in poetry, by which, a.s by a 
 8afety-yalye, his turbulent pa.ssions were allowed to have vent. He 
 fonned the resolution of entering the matrimonial state ; but his cir- 
 cumscribed mr-ans of sul); istfyice as a farmer preventing his taking that 
 Htep he resolved on becoming a Hnx-dresser, for wiiicli i)urp()se lie re- 
 moved to the town of Irvin<,in ITHl Tl.e sperulation turned out un- 
 aucccssful ; for the shop, catching lire, was burnt, and the imk-I returned
 
 4 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 to liis fathoT without a sixpence. During his stay at Irvine he had mnt 
 witli F("rti:uson's poems. Tliis circumstance ws\s of some importance 
 to Burns, fop it roused his poetic powers from the torpor into which 
 tlu\r had fallen, aiul in a great measure finally determined the Scottiifh 
 character of his poetry. lie here also contracted some friendships, 
 which he himself says did him mischief ; and, by his brother Gilbert's 
 account, from this date there was a serious change in his conduct. 
 |The venerable and excellent parent of the poet died soon after his 
 son's return. The support of the family now devolving upon Burns, 
 in conjunction with his brother he took a sub lease of tlie farm of 
 Mossgiel, in the parish of Mauchline. The four years which he re- 
 sided upon this farm were the most important of his life. It was 
 here he felt that nature had designed him for a poet ; and here, 
 accordingly, his genius began to develop its energies in those strains 
 which will make his luime familiar to all future times, the admiration 
 of every civilized country, and the glory and boast of his own. 
 
 The vigor of Burns's understanding, and the keenness of his wit, 
 •as displayed more particularly at masonic meetings and debating 
 clubs, of which he formed one at Mauchline, began to spread his 
 fame as a man of uncommon endowments. lie now could number as 
 his acquaintance several clergymen, and also some gentlemen of sub- 
 stance ; amongst whom was Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer in Mauch- 
 line, one of his earliest patrons. One circumstance more than any 
 other contributed to increase his notoriety. "Polemical divinity," 
 says he to Dr. Moore in 17H7, " about this time was putting the coun- 
 try half mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in conversation-parties on 
 Sundays, at funerals, etc., used to puzzle Calvinism with so much 
 lieat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue-a'nd cry of heresy against 
 Die, which ha.s not ceased to this hour." The fann which lie ]>os 
 sessed belonged to the Earl of Loudon, but the brothers held it in 
 sub-lease from Mr. Hamilton. This gentleman was at open feud 
 with one of the ministers at Mauchline, who was a rigid Calvinist. 
 iilr. Hamilton maintained opposite tenets ; and it is not matter of 
 surprise that the young farmer should have espoused liis cause, and 
 brought all the resources of his genius to bear upon it. The result 
 was The Holy Fair, The Ordination, Holy Willie's Prayer, and other 
 satires, as much distinguished for their coarse severity and bitterness 
 as for their genius. 
 
 The applause which greeted these pieces emboldened the poet, and 
 encouraged him to proceed. In his life, by his brother Gilbert, a 
 very mtere.sting account is given of the occasions which gave rise to 
 the poems, and the chronological order in which they were produced. 
 The exquisite pathos and humor, the strong manly sense, the mas- 
 terly command of felicitous language, the graphic power of delineat- 
 ing scenery, manners, and incidents, which a])i)ear so conspicuously 
 in his various poems, could not fail to call forth the admiration of 
 thosu who were favored with a perusal of them. But the clouds of
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. S 
 
 misfortune were gatliering darkly above the head of him wh«» was 
 thus giving delight to a large and widening circle of friends. The 
 farm of ^Mossgiel proved a losing concern ; and an amour with Misw 
 Jane Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns, had assumed so serious an 
 vspect, that he at first resolved to fly from the scene of his disgrac* 
 and misery. One trait of his character, however, must be men. 
 tioned. Before taking any steps for his departure, he met Miss Ar- 
 mour by appointment, and gave into her hands a w^ritten acknowledg. 
 ment of marriage, which, when produced by a person in her situation, 
 is, according to the Scots' law, to be accepted as legal evidence of an 
 irregular marriage having really taken place. This the lady burned, 
 at tiie persuasion of her father, who was adverse to a marriage ; and 
 Bums, thus wounded in the two most powerful feelings of his mind, 
 his love and pride, was driven almost to insanity. Jamaica was hi3 
 destination ; but, as he did not possess the money necessary to defray 
 the expense of his passage out, he resolved to publish some of his 
 best poems, in order to raise the requisite sum. These views were 
 warmly promoted by some of his more opulent friends ; and a suffi- 
 ciency of subscribers having been procured, one of the finest volumes 
 of poems that ever appeared in the world issued from the provmcial 
 press of Kilmarnock. 
 
 It is hardly possible to imagine with what eager admiration and 
 delight they were everywhere received. They possessed in an emi- 
 nent degree all those qualities which invariably contribute to render 
 Any literary work quickly and permanently popular. They were 
 wntten in a phraseology of which all the powers were universally 
 felt, and which, being at once antique, familiar, and now rarely writ- 
 ten,' was therefore fitted to serve all the dignified and i)icturesqua 
 use's of poetrv, without maldng it unintelligil)le. The imagery and 
 tlie sentiments were at once natural, impressive, and interesting. 
 Tliose topics of satire and scandal in wliich the rustic deUghts ; that 
 liumorous imitation of character, and that witty association of ideas, 
 familiar and striking, yet not naturally allied to one another, which 
 has force to shake his sides with laughter ; those fancies of supersti- 
 tion at wliich one still wondf-rs and trembles ; those affecting senti- 
 ments and images of true religion which arc; at onw; dear and awful 
 to the heart, were all represented by Burns with the magical power 
 of true poetry. Old and young, high and low, grave and gay, learned 
 and ignorant", all wen; alike surprised and transported. 
 
 In the mean time a few coi)ies of these fascinating poems found 
 their way to Edinburgh, and having been read to Dr. Blackloclt, ob- 
 tained his wannest approbation ; and he advised the author to repair 
 to Edinburgh. Burns lost no tinu' in complying with this recpiest ; 
 and accordinglv, towards tlie end of tlie year 178G, h(^ set out for X\m 
 capital, \vli(;re"lie w:us received by Dr. Blacklock with the most flat- 
 tering kindness, and introduc-ed to every ])erDon of taate among that 
 excellent man's friends. Multitudtw now viod with each other iu
 
 6 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 pntronizing: the rastic poet. Those who possessed at once tnie taste 
 Rud ardent pliilantlirojiy were soon united in liis praise ; those v.-ho 
 were disiK)sed to favor any g-ood thing belonging to ycotUmd, pnrelv 
 because it \va.s Scottish, ghidly joined the cry ; wliile those who iia'd 
 hearts and understandings to be charmed without knowing why, 
 when they saw their native customs, manners, and Language mado 
 the subjects and the materials of poesy, could not suppress tliat im 
 pulse of feeling whidi struggled to declare itself in favor of Bums. 
 
 Thus did Burns, ere he had been nuiny weeks in Edinburgh, find 
 himself the oljject of universal curiosity, favor, admiration, and fond 
 ness. He was sought after, courted with attentions the most respect- 
 ful and assiduous, feastea, flattered, caressed, and treated l)y all rank'» 
 as the great boast of his country, whom it was scarcely possible to 
 honor and reward in a degree equal to his merits. 
 
 A new edition of his poems was called for, and the public mind 
 was directed to the subject by Henry Mackenzie, who dedicated a 
 paper in the LinoKjer to a commendatory notice of the poet. Tliis 
 circumstance will ever be remembered to the honor of tliat polished 
 Avriter, not only for the warmth of the eulogy lie bestowed, but be- 
 cause it was the first printed acknowledgment' which had been madft 
 to the genius of Burns. The copyright was sold to Creech for £100 ; 
 but the friends of the poet advised him to forward a subscription. 
 The patronage of the Caledonian Hunt, a very influential body, wa.s 
 obtained. The list of subscribers rapidly rose to 1,500, many gentle- 
 men paying a great deal more than the price of the volume ; and it 
 was supposed that the poet derived from the subscription and the sale 
 of his copyright a clear profit of at least £700. 
 
 The conversation of Burns, according to the testimony of all the 
 eminent men who heard him, was even more wonderful than his 
 poetry. He affected no soft air nor graceful motions of politeness, 
 which might have ill accorded with the rustic plainness of his native 
 manners. Conscious superiority of mind taught him to associate 
 with the great, the learned, and the gay, without being overawed 
 into any such bashfulness as might have rendered him confused in 
 thought or hesitating in elocution. He possessed withal an extraor- 
 dinary share of plain common sense, or mother- wit, which prevented 
 him from obtruding upon persons, of whatever rank, with whom he 
 was admitted to converse, any of those effusions of vanity, envy, or 
 self-conceit in which authors who have lived remote from the general 
 practice of life, and whose minds have been almost exclusively con- 
 fined to contemplate their own studies and their own works, are but 
 too prone to indulge. In conversation he displayed a sort of intuitive 
 quickness and rectitude of judgment, upon every subject that arose. 
 The sensibility of his heart and the vivacity of his fancy gave a 
 rich coloring to whatever opinions he was disposed to advance ; and 
 his language wa.s thus not less happy in conversation than in his 
 writings, llenc^ tliose who had met and crtnversed with him once 
 were pleased to meet and to cou verse with liim again and again.
 
 LIFE OF 13LK.NS. 
 
 For soni'- time lie associated onlv with tlie ruidcuj, the learneO, 
 and the wLse, and the purity of his morals remained uucontainmated 
 Bat unfortunatelv he fell, as others have fallen m similar circum- 
 etances He suilered himself to be surrounaed by persons ^'ho^^'e™ 
 proud to tell that they had been in company with Burns and had 
 seen Burns as loose and as foolish as themselves. He now also began 
 to contract something of arrogance in conversation. Accustomed to 
 be among his associates what is vulgarly but expressively called tlie 
 cock of the companr," he. could scarcely ref ram from indulging in a 
 similar freedom and dictatorial decision of talk, even m the presence 
 of persons who could less patiently endure presumption. 
 
 After remainmo- some months in the Scottish metropolis, basking 
 in the noontide sun of a popularity which, as Dugald Stewart well 
 remarks, would have turned any head but his own he formed a reso 
 lution of returning to the shades whence he had emerged but not 
 before he liad perambulated the southern border. On the 0th otiMay. 
 1787 he set out on his journey, and, visiting all that appeared inter 
 esting on the north of the Tweed, proceeded to Newcastle and other 
 placd on the English side. He returned in about two months to his 
 family at MauchUne , but in a short pei'iod he again set out on an ex 
 cursion to the north, where he was most flatteringly received by aU 
 the great families. On his return to Mossgiel he completed his mar- 
 riaire with Miss Armour. He then concluded a bargain with JNir. 
 Miller of Dais win ton for a lease of the farm of EUiesland. on adta^- 
 
 tageous terms. ,t'i -j. j -iryoo 
 
 Burns entered on possession of this fann at NVhitsuuday, l<b». 
 He had formerly applied with success for an excise commission, and 
 during six weeks of this year he had to attend to the business of that 
 profession at Avr. His life for some time was thus wand«-ing and 
 unsettled; and "Dr. Currie mentions this as one of his cbiet mistor 
 tunes Mrs. Burns came liome to him towards the end ot the year, 
 and the poet was accustomed to say that the happiest period of Iiis 
 life was the first winter spent in EUiesland. The neighboring farm 
 era and gentlemen, pleased to obtain for a neighi.or the poet by whose 
 works they had been delighted, kindly souglit his company, and in- 
 vited hmi'to their hoiisi-s. Burns, however, found an inexpressiblo 
 chann in sitting down beside his wife, at his oxvn fireside ; lu wan 
 dering over his o\vn groun<ls ; in once more putting lus hand to the 
 spade and the plough : in farming his enclosures and managing his 
 cattle For some months he felt almo.st all that felicity wjich fancy 
 had taught him to expect in his new situation. He had been tor a 
 time idle, but his mu.scles were not yet unbraced for rural toil. He 
 now seemed to find a jov in being the husband of the mistress of lus 
 affections, and in se.-ing' himself th.- father of children such as prom 
 wed 1o attach liim forever to that modest, humble, and domestic lito 
 n \vhich alone he could hoi.e to be p.-nuancntly happy. Even his 
 MKragMuents in tlie service of exci.s.- did not, at lirst, threaten either 
 M iwutaminato the poet or to ruin the farmer.
 
 8 LIFE OF BURNS, 
 
 l„J.yT7"'T,' r"""^"' ^^'r !'^'"'"'"" «poculation did not succeed. 
 Iiuiotvl from tlie timo lie ohtaiiu-d a situation un<lor govcrnmont li« 
 padualy began to .ink the farmer in tlie exciseman Occasional!? 
 he assisted m the rustic occupations of Ellieshmd, but for the mosi 
 part he was engaged in very diiferent pursuits In his professiona 
 peraiubula: ions over the mc.ors oC Dumfriesshire he h.d rencounter 
 temptations wlucli a mind and temperament like his found it difficuU 
 to lesist. His immortal works had made him universally known and 
 
 ■u e^rvf "^'^"^"'^^r' ' """^ '•^'^cordingly he was a welcome Juest 
 at every house from the most princely mansion to the lowest country 
 mn. In the latter he was too frequently to bo found as the presidinc^ 
 genius and master of the orgies. However, he still continued at in" 
 tervalstocuhivatethe muse; and, besides a variety of other pteces 
 he produced at t^lus period the inimitable poem ot' Tam O'ShaSt^r: 
 Johnson s iMiscellany was also indebted to him for the finest of its 
 lyrics. One p easing trait of his character must not be overlooked 
 ih nf/'t" T I? the lormation of a subscription library in the par- 
 ish and took the wliole management of it upon himself. Thesa 
 institutions, though common now, were not so at the period of which 
 
 first if n^ri? '' "^'""''r^ "T^ 'f ^°' -"""^ '^'■''' ^'^'^^ ^'■'^^ amongs ho 
 
 Towards the close of 1791 he finally abandoned his farm • and ob- 
 taming an appomtment to the Dumfries division of exdse he r- 
 paired to that town on a salary of £70 per annum. AUlds pri cip;i 
 biographers concur in stating that after settling in Dumfries fds 
 
 wi"; tl rm'ittT;' .t'^'f't^'- .''''''''' ^^''^" ^^^^ ^«'"« acquaintance 
 habitiiil b™' ; ' • ^^'' dissipation became still more deeply 
 habitual he was here more exposed than in the country to be soli 
 cited to share the revels of the dissolute and the idle • foolish voun<; 
 
 S^'w df t^^,f ^tf't";f ''"■ 'f ^'"™ *"^^^ *° time ISed S 5 
 r 14 , "' i^'^* ^^'''y '"'fe'^^* f^"i"^' liis wit. The Caledonia 
 
 ^ "etii^^s" i.rC^r^'sl"";^'"''' "'' '^^"°^^''^>' Hunt, had occSS 
 meetings in Dumfries after Burns went to reside there • and the noet 
 
 Tcfept tri^u^r;?'' *V^^r '""-'^ ---iaHty, and hks'ated n. To 
 accept the invitation. In the intervals between his different fits of 
 mtempemnce he suffered the keenest anguish of remorse and horri 
 bly afflictive foresiglit. His Jane behaved with a degree of conS 
 
 bitterthTevif "' T"'"'-'"^"' 1"^^'^'"^'^ "^"'^'^ made^dm feel inon 
 ^^h.«e,ly the evil o. las misconduct, although they could not reclaim 
 
 This is a dark picture— perhaps too dark. The Rev Mr Gmv 
 I^id'had fre""^r " ^^" '"'• ''■'' '^^^^^^^^-^y acquainted JhBuS' 
 anddept Sr^ivr"'""''^"'"^' ^I'^^^^^S of 4 general charS 
 ana aeportra^nt, givra a more amiable portrait of the bard Bein^ 
 
 UvrLIe";vl.ht "^^'"7 1^ t^."«,g-t^eman must be alloJS^o 
 t*ave Bome weight The truth m." mya he. " Burnfl waa seldom
 
 ' LIFE OF BURNS. 9 
 
 intoxicnted. The drunkard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned 
 even bv the convivial. Had he been so, he could not have long con- 
 tinued' the idol of every party." This is strong reasoning; and \\>i 
 goes on to mention other circumstances which seem to confinn the 
 truth of his position. In balancing these two statements, a juster 
 estimate of the moral deportment of Burns ma.r be formed. 
 
 In the year 1792 party politics ran to a great height m Scotland, and 
 the liberal and independent spirit of Burns did certainly betray him 
 into some indiscretions. A general opinion prevails, that he so fai* 
 lost the good graces of his superiors by his conduct as to consider all 
 prospects of future promotion as hopeless. But this appears not to 
 have been the case ; and the faes that he acted as supervisor before, 
 his death is a strong proof to the contrary. Of his political verses, 
 few have as vet been publisiied. But in these he warmly espoused 
 the cause of the Whigs, w^hich kept up the spleen of the other party, 
 already sufficiently provoked ; and this may in some measure account 
 for the bitterness with which his own character was attacked. 
 
 Whatever opinion may be formed of the extent of his dissipation in 
 Dumfries, one fact is unquestionable, that his powers remained unim- 
 paired to the last ; it was there he produced his finest lyrics, and they 
 are the finest, as well as the purest, that ever delighted mankind. 
 Besides Johnson's Mnseuia, in which he took an interest to the last, 
 and to which he contributed most extensively, he formed a connection 
 Avith Mr. George Thomson, of Edinburgh. This gentleman had 
 conceived the laudable design of collecting the national melodies of 
 Scotland, with accompaniments by the most eminent composers, and 
 poetry bV the be.st writers, in addition to those words which were* 
 ori"lnally attached to them. From the multitude of songs which 
 Burns wrote, from the vear 1T92 till the commencement of his illness, 
 it is evident that few davs could have passed without his producing 
 some stanzas for the work. The following passage from his cor- 
 rpspondfn(;e which was also most extensive, proves that his songs 
 Avere not hurriedlv gf.t up, but composed with the utmost care and 
 attention. " Until 1 am complete master of a tune in my own singing, 
 such as it is," savs he, " I can never compose for it. My way is this : 
 I Cfjnsider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the musical 
 exi)ression— then choose mv theme— compose one stanza. ">Y^^'" 
 is composed, which is generally the most difficult part of the business, 
 I walk out— sit down now ami then— look out for objects m nature 
 round mf that are in unison or harmony with the cogitations of my 
 fancy and workings of mv bosom— humming every now and then tin- 
 air, with tlie verses I have framed. Wlien I feel my muse beginning 
 to jadf , I retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there commit 
 mv eftasions to jjaper ; swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my 
 eliww-chair, bv wav of calling forth my own <;ritical strictures, as mv 
 pen goes. Seriouslv, this, at homo, is almost iuvarial)ly my wav. 
 This \» not oulj interoetin;,' for the liglit which it throws upon bia
 
 10 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 motliod of composition, but it proves that conviviality had not as yet 
 greater charms for him than the muse. 
 
 Fi-om his youtli Burns liad oxhihited ominous symptoms of a radical 
 disorder in his constitution. A palpitation of the heart and a derange 
 ment of tlie digestive orjyans were conspicuous. Tliese were, doubt- 
 less, increased by his indulgences, which became more frequent as ho 
 drew tosvaids the close of his career. In the autumn of i7U.5 he lost 
 an only daughter, which was a severe blow to him. Soon afterwards 
 he was seized with a rheumatic fever; and "long the die s])un 
 doubtful," says he, in a letter to his faithful friend Mrs. Dunlap, 
 " until, after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to have turned u]i 
 hk\ and 1 am beginning to crawl across my room." The cloud beliind 
 which his sun was destined to be eclipsed at noon had begun to darken 
 above him. Before he had completely recovered, he had the im- 
 prudence to join a festive circle ; and. on liis return from it, ho 
 caught a cold, which brought back his trouble upon him with redoul^led 
 severity. Sea-bathing was had recourse to, but with no ultimata 
 success. He lingered until the 21st of July, 179(3, when he expired. 
 The interest which the death of Burns excited was intense. AH 
 differences were forgotten , his genius only was thought of. On the 
 20tli of the same month he was conveyed to the grave, followed by 
 about ten thousand individuals of all ranks, many of whom had como 
 from distant parts of the country to witness the solemnity. He was 
 interred with military honors by the Dumfries volunteers, to which 
 body he had belonged. 
 
 Thus, at the age of thirty-seven, an age when the mental powers 
 t)f man have scarcely reached their climax, died Robert Burns, one of 
 the greatest poets whom his country has produced. It is unnecessary 
 to enter into any lengthened analysis of his poetry or character. His 
 works are universally known and admired, and criticism lias been 
 drawn to the dregs upon the subject ; and that, too by the greate.st 
 masters who have appeared since his death— no mean test of the great 
 merits of his writings. He excels equally in touching the heart by 
 the exquisiteness of his pathos, and exciting the risible faculties by 
 the breadth of his humor. His lyre had manv strings, and he had 
 equal command over them all, striking each, and frequently in 
 chords, with the skill and power of a master. That his satire some- 
 times degenerates into coarse invective cannot be denied ; but where 
 personality is not permitted to interfere, his poems of this description 
 may take their place beside anything of the kind which has ever 
 been produced, without being disgraced by the comparison. It is 
 unnecessary to reecho the praises of his best pieces, as there is no 
 epithet of admiration which has not b?en bestowed upon them. 
 Those who had best opportunities of judgiaig are of opinion that his 
 works, stamped as they are with the impress of sovereign genius, 
 fall short of the powei-s he possessed It is therefore to be lamented 
 that he undertook no great work of fictioa or invention Had circum-
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 11 
 
 stances permitted, lie would prolxibly have done so ; but his excise 
 duties, and without doubt his own follies, prevented him His 
 passions were strong, and his capacity of enj orient corres^aonded 
 with them. These continually precipitated him into the v.^riety of 
 pleasure, where alone they could be gratified , and tl^e reaction 
 consequent upon such indulgences (for he possessed the j!inest dis- 
 crimination between right and wrong) threw him into .'ow spirits, to 
 which also he was constitutionally liable His mi-Ad, being thus 
 never for anv length of time in an equable tone, couW scarcely pursue 
 with steadv regularity a work of anv length His Jioral aberrations, 
 as detailed by some of his biographers, have >»een exaggerated, as 
 already noticed. This has been proved by the testimony of many 
 witnesses from whose authority there can be ';io appeal ; for they had 
 the best opportunities of judging. In fine It may be doubted whether 
 he has not, by his writings, exercised a greater power over the minds 
 of men and the general'system of 11^3 than has been exercised by 
 any other modern poet. A complete edition of his works, in four 
 volumes, 8vo., with a life, was pul^Aished by Dr. Currie, of Liverpool, 
 for the benefit of his family, f^ Avhom it realized a handsome sum. 
 Editions have been si'^ce mi-ltiplied beyond number ; and several 
 vxcellent bi'^r'\phie.'-' of cKe poet have been published, particularly 
 ihat by Ivi";. Lockuart.
 
 LIFE OF BURNS.* 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 In thft modern arrangements of society, it is no uncommon tLinff 
 that a m.ji of genius must, like Butler, " ask for Inroad and receive a 
 stwne ; ' for, in spite of our grand maxim of supply and demand, it 
 IS by nc means the highest excellence that men are "most forward to 
 recoguuii. The inventor of a spinning-jennv is pretty sure of his 
 reward In his own day ; but the writer of a true poem, like the 
 apostle of a true religion, is nearly as sure of the contrary. We do 
 not kno\r Avhether it is not an aggravation of the injustice,' that there 
 is generally a posthumous retribution. Robert Burns, in' the course 
 of nature, might yet have been living ; but his short life Avas spent 
 \n toil and penury ; and he died, in the prime of his manhood, mis- 
 c-rable and neglected ; and yet already a brave mausoleum shines over 
 his dust, and more than one splendid monument has been reared in 
 other places to his fame : the street where he languished in poverty 
 )s called by his name ; the highest personages in our literature liavo 
 been proud to appear as his commentators and admirers, and here is 
 the dxth narrative of his Life that has Ijeen given to the world ! 
 
 Mr. Lorkhart thinks it nec'ssary to apologize for this new attempt o" • 
 Buch a subject ; but his rea lers, we believe, will readily acquit him 
 or, at worst, will censure only the performance of his task" not the choice 
 of it. The character of Burns, indeed, is a theme that cannot easily 
 become either trite or exhausted, and will probably gain rather than 
 io.se in its dimensions by the distance to which it is removed by Time. 
 No man, it has been said, is a hero to his valet : and this is probably 
 true ; but the fruit is at least as likely to be the valet's as the hero'.s'i 
 for it is certain that to the vulgar eye few thim^^s are wonderful that 
 are not distant. It is difficult for in en to believe that the man, the 
 mere man whom they see, nay, perhaps, painfully feel, toiling at 
 their side through the poor jostlings of existence, can l)e made of 
 finer clay tlian themselves. Suppose that some dining acquaintance 
 of Sir Thoma.s Luc.v's, and neiglibor of John a Combe's, had snatched 
 an liour or two from the preservation of his game, and written us 
 a Life of Shakesp are ! Wiiat dis;3ertation should we not have had 
 
 * Carlyle's review of "Lockhart's Life of Robert Bums."
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 13 
 
 —not on Hamlc{ and The Tempest, but on the wool-trade and deer- 
 ste iiing, and the Mbel and vagrant laws ! and how the Poacher be- 
 came a Player ! and how Sir" Thomas and Mr. John had Christi;ai 
 bowcLs, and' did not push him to extremities! In IDie manner, wj 
 believe, with rt-spect tj Burns, that till the companions of his p.l- 
 grimage, the honorable Excise Commissioners, and the Gentlemen 
 of the Caledonian Hunt, and the Dumfries Aristocracy, and all the 
 Squires and Eirk, equ-lly with the Ayr Writers, and the New and 
 Old Light Clergv, whom lie had to do with, shall have become invisi- 
 ble in the darkness of the Past, or visible only by light borrowed 
 from his juxtaposition, it will be difficult to measure him by any truj 
 standard, or to estimate what he really was and did, in the eigh- 
 teenth century, for his country and the world. It will be difficult, 
 we say, but st"ill a fair problem for literary historians ; and repeated 
 attempts mil give us repeated approximations. 
 
 His former biographers have done something, no doubt, but by no 
 means a great deal, to assist us. Dr. Currie and Mr. Walker, the 
 principal of these writers, have both, we think, mistaken one essen- 
 tially importent thing: their own and the Avorld's true relation 
 to their author, and the style in which it bccauie such men to think 
 and to spealv of such a man. Dr. Currie loved the poet tru y ; more, 
 perhaps, tiian he avowed to his readns, or even to himse.f ; yet ho 
 everywhere introduces him with a certain patronizing, apologetiu 
 air, as if the polite public might ihink it strange and half unwarrant- 
 aljle that he, a man of science, a schol r, and gentleman, should do 
 such honor to a rustic. In all this, however, we really admit that 
 his fault was not want of lovo, but we;da\ess of faith ; a d regret that 
 the first and kindest of ah our poet's biographers should not^have 
 seen farther, or believed more boldly what he saw. Mr. Walki-r 
 offends more deeply in the same kind : and both err alike in present- 
 ing us with a detached catalogue of his several supposed attributes, 
 virtu.--s, and vices, instead of a delineation of the resulting character 
 as a living unity. Tlii.s, however, is not painting a portrait ; but 
 gauging the length and breadth of the several features, and jotting 
 down their dimensions in arithmetical ciphers. Nay, it \i not si 
 mucli as this : for »e are yet to learn by w..at arts or instruments tho 
 mind could be so measuied and gauged. 
 
 Mr. Lockhart, we are liappy to say, has avoided both these error.s. 
 He uniformly treats Burns iis the high and remarkable man the pub- 
 lic voice has now ]>ronou]K-ed him to Ix' : and in delinpating him iio 
 has avoidf.l the method of sc])aratc generalities, and rather sought 
 for charac eristic incidents, haliits, actions, sayings; in a word, for 
 aspects which exhibit tlu- wlioli- man as he looked and lived amonj; 
 his fellows. The book a<icordingly, with all its deficiencies, gives 
 more insig t. we tliink, into the true charader of Burns than any 
 •jirior biography; though, being wrilt«m on the very popular and con- 
 deusod uchemJ of an article for Comtahk's Mmdlani/, it haa ]es$
 
 14 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 depth than wo could have wished and expected froim a writer of such 
 power, nnd contains rather more, and more multifarious, quotations 
 tliiin belongs: of ri-j^lit to an urigiual ])ro(iucti()n. huh^ed, Mr. Locic- 
 liiirt's own writiui;- is generally so good, so clear, direct, and nervous, 
 that we seldom wish to see it making place I'or anotlier man's. How- 
 ever, the spirit of the work is throughout candid, tolerant, and anx- 
 iously conciliating; compliaients and praises are liberallv distributed, 
 on all hands, to great and small; and, a; Uv. Morris 'Birklx-ck ob- 
 f^erv^es of the society in the backwoods of AuTcrica, " the courtesies of 
 polite life are never lost sight of for a moment." But there are bet- 
 ter things than these in the volume ; and we can safely testify, no! 
 only that it is easily and pleasantly read a first time, but may even 
 be without difficulty read again. 
 
 Nevertheless, we are far from thinking that the problem of Burns'? 
 Biography has yet been adequately solved AVe do not allude so 
 much to deficii ncy of facts or documents — thou h of these wo are 
 Btill every day receiving some fresh accession — as to the limited and 
 imperfect application of them to the great end of Biography Our 
 notions upon this subject may perhaps appear extravagant ; but if an 
 individual is really of consequence enough to have liis life and 
 character recorded for puldic remembrance, we have always been of 
 opinion that the public ought to be made acquainted with a!l the inward 
 springs and relations of his character. How did the world and man's 
 life, from his particular position, represent themselves to his mind? 
 How did coexisting circumstances modify him from without? how 
 did he modify these from within ? With what endeavors and what 
 efficacy rule over them? with what resistance and what suffering 
 pink under them? In one word, what and how produced was the 
 ffrect of society on him ; what and how })roduced was his effect on 
 society? He who should answer these questions, ih regard to any 
 individual, would, as we believe, furnish a model of perfection iu 
 biography. Few individuals, indeed, can deserve such a study ; and 
 ■many lives will be written, and for the gratification of innocent curi- 
 osity ought to be written, and read, and forgotten, which are not in 
 this sense biograpJdcs. But Burns, if we mistake not, is one of these 
 few individuals ; and such a study, at least with such a result, he has 
 not yet obtained. Our own contributions to it, we are aware, can bo 
 but scanty and feeble ; but we offer them with good will, and trust 
 that they may meet with acceptance from those for whom tliey are 
 intended. 
 
 Burns first came upon the world as a prodigy ; and was, in that 
 cliaracter, entertained by it in tlu^ usual fashitm, with loud, vague, 
 tuiimltuous wonder, specxlily subsiding into censure and neglect ; till 
 ills early and most mournful death again awakened an enthusiasm 
 for him, which, especially as there was now nothing to be done, and 
 much to be spoken, has prolonged its(!]f even to our own time. It is 
 true, the "nine days" have long since elapsed ; and the very con-
 
 LIFE OF BUKXS. % 
 
 tinuance of tliis clamor proves that Bums was no vulgar wonder. 
 Accordino-lv even in sober judgments, Avhere, as years passed by, hv> 
 lias come to rest more and more exclusively on liis own lutnnsic 
 merits and mav now be well nigh shorn of that casual radiance, he 
 appears not only as a true British poet, but as one ot the_ most 
 considerable British m-n of the eighteenth century Let it not 
 be obiected that he did little , he did much, if we consider where and 
 how If the work performed was small, we must remember that he 
 had his very materials to discover ; for the metal ho worked m lay j 
 hid under the desert, wdiere no eye but his had guessed its existence ; 
 and we may almost say, that with his own hand he had to construct 
 the tools for fashioning it. For he found himself in deepest obscii- 
 Titv without help, without instruction, without model, or witii 
 models onlv of the meanest sort. An educated man stands as it 
 were in the midst of a boundless arsenal and magazine, filled with 
 aU the weapons and engines which man's skill has been able to de- 
 vise from the earliest time ; and he worL's, accordingly, with a 
 strength borrowed from all past ages. How different is /m state who 
 stands on the outside of that storehouse, and feels that its gates must 
 be stormed, or remain forever shut against him ? His means are the 
 commonest and rudest ; the mere work done is no measure of his 
 etrenolh A dwarf behind his steam engine may remove mountains ; 
 but no dwarf will hew them down with the pick-axe ; and he must 
 be a Titan that iiurls them abroad with his arms. , , ^ 
 
 It is in this last shape that Burns presents himself. Born in an 
 acre the most prosaic Britaiu had yet seen, and in a condition tl.o 
 most advantageous, where his mind, if it accomplished aught, must 
 accomplish it under the pressure of continual bodily toil, nay, of pen- 
 urv and desponding apprehension of the worst evils, and with no 
 f uVtheranoe but such knowledge as dwells in a poor man s hut, and 
 the rhATiies of a Ferguson or Ramsay for his standard of beautv, ho 
 sinks not under all these impediments. Through the fogs and dark- 
 ness of that obscure region, his eagle eye discerns the true relations 
 of the world and human life ; he grows into intellectual strength, 
 and trains liimself into intellectual expertness. Impelled by tlu. 
 irrepressible movement of his inward spirit, he struggles lorwanl 
 into the general view, and with liaughty modesty lays down l)cforo us, 
 JUS the fruit of his labor, a gift, which Time has now pronounced im- 
 perishable A<ld to all this, that his darksome, drudging childhood 
 and y.juth was bv far the kindliest era of his whole life, and that he 
 (lied in his thirty-seventh vear ; and th.-n ask if it 1x3 strange that 
 his poems are imperfect, and of small i-xU-nt, or that his genius at- 
 tained no ma.st.^rv in its art V Alas, his sun shone as through a tropi , 
 i-al tornado ; and the pale shadow of death eclipsed it at noon ! 
 Hlirouded in such baleful vajwrs. th(? genius of Burns wa.s never seen 
 in clear azure sr.len<lor. enlightening the world 1 ut Hom.; beania 
 from it did, by lits, pierce through ; and it tinted those clouds with
 
 ^0 - LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 rainbow aiul orient colors into a glory and storn grandeur, which men 
 silently gazed on witli wonder and tears. 
 
 Wo are anxious not to exaggerate ; for it is exposition rather than 
 adniiration that our readers require of ua here ; and yet to avoid soma 
 tendency to that side is no easy matter. We love Burns, and we 
 pity him ; and love and pity are pr nc to magnify. Criticism it is 
 sometimes thouglit, should be a cold business ; we are not so sure of 
 this ; but, at all events, our concern with Burns is not exclusively 
 that of critics. 1 rue and genial as his poetry must appear, it is not 
 chiefly as a poet, but as a man. that he interests and alfects us He 
 was often advised to write a tragedy : time and means were not lent 
 hini for this; but through life he enacted a tragedy, and one of the 
 deepest. \\ e question whether the worl 1 has since witnessed so 
 utterly sad a scene ; whether Napoleon himself, left to brawl with 
 bir_ Hudson Lowe, nn . perish on his rock, "amid the melancholy 
 main, presented to the refie.'ting mind such a " spectacle of pity and 
 tear as di I this intrinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps greater 
 soul wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle with base entangle- 
 ments, which coiled closer and closer round him, till only death 
 opened him an outlet. Conquerors are a race with whom the world 
 could well dispr-nse ; nor can the hard intellect, the unsympathizing 
 loftiness, and high but selfish entliusiasin of such persons inspire ul 
 in general with any affection ; at best it may excite amazement ; and 
 their tall, like that of a pyramid, will be beheld with a certain sad- 
 ness and iiwe But a true Poet, a man in whose heart resides some 
 ellluence of Wisdom, some tone of the "Eternal Melodies " is the 
 most precious gift that can be bestowed on a generation • we see in 
 hiin SI freer, purer development of whatever is noblest in ourse ves • 
 lus life IS a rich lesson to us, and Ave mourn his death, as that of a 
 benefactor who loved and taught us. 
 
 Such a gift had Nature in her bounty bestowed on us in Robert 
 liurns ; but with queen-like indifference she cast it from her hand like 
 a thing of no moment, and it was defaced and torn asunder, as an idle 
 bauble, before we recognized it. To the ill-starred Burns was given 
 the power of making man's life more venerable, but that of wisely 
 guuhng his own was not given. Destmy— for so in our ignorance 
 we nuLst speak— his faults, the faults of others, proved too hard for 
 him ; and that spirit, which might have soared could it but have 
 walked, soon sank to the dust, its ■ loi'ious facult es trodden under 
 toot in the blossom, and died, we may almost sav, without over hav- 
 ing lived. And so kind and warm a soul ! so full of inborn riches 
 of love to all living and lifeless things ! How his heart flows out in 
 fevmpathy over universal Nature, and in her bleakest provinces dis- 
 cerns a beauty and a meaning I The "Dai-sy" falls not unheeded 
 under his ploughshare ; nor the ruined nest of that " wee cowering 
 timorous bea.stie," cast forth, utter all its provident pains to "thole 
 Uie sleety dribble and cranreuch cauld." The "hoar yiaajre" of
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. M^ 
 
 Winter deliglite him : he dwells with a sad and oft-returning fond- 
 ness in these scenes of solemn desolation ; but tbs voice of the tem- 
 pest becomes an anthem to his ears ; he loves to walk in the sounding 
 woods, for "it raises his thoughts to Uiin that walketh on the ■wings 
 of the 'wind." A true Poet-soui, for it needs but to be struck, and the 
 sound it yields will be music ! But observe him chiefly as he min- 
 gles with* his brother men. What warm, all-comprehending fellow- 
 feelin"-, what trustful, boundless love, what generous exaggeration 
 of the object loved! His rustic friend, his nut-brown maiden, are 
 no longer mean and h- mely, but a hero and a queen, whom he prizes 
 as the paragons of Earth. The rough scenes of Scottish life, not 
 seen by him in anv Arc idian illusion, but in the rude contradiction, 
 in the smoke and soil of a too harsh reality, are still lovely to him ; 
 Poverty is indeed his companion, but Love also, and Courage ; the 
 simple feelings, the worth, the nobleness, that dwell under the straw 
 roof are dear and venerable to his heart ; and thus over the lowest 
 provinces of man's existence he pours the glory of his own soul ; and 
 thev rise, in shadow and sunshine, softened and brightened mto a 
 beauty which other eyes discern not in the highest. He has a just 
 self -consciousness, which too often degenerates into pride ; yet it is a 
 noble pride, for defence, not for offence— no cold, suspicious feeling, 
 but a frank and social one. The peasant Poet bears himself, we might 
 say, like a King in exile ; he is cast among the low, and feels himself 
 equal to the highest ; vi-t he claims no rank, that none may be dis- 
 puted to him. The forward he can repel, the supercilious he can 
 subdue , pretensions of wealth or ance.-try are of no avail with hiin ; 
 tliere is'a fire in that dark eve under which the " insolence of conde- 
 .icension" cannot thrive. In his abasement, in his extreme "eed he 
 forgets not for a moment the majesty of Poetry and Manhood. And 
 yet, far as he feels himself above common men, he wanders not apa-rt 
 from tliem, but mixes warmly in their interests ; nay, throws hiinself 
 into their arms, and, as it were, entreats tlieni to love him. It is 
 moving to see how, in his darkest despondency, this proud being still 
 seeks relief from friendsliip ; unbosoms himself, often to the unwor- 
 thy ; and, amid tears, strains to his glowing heart a heart that knows 
 only the name of friendship. And yet he was " quick to learn ; a 
 mail of keen vision, before whom common disguises afforded no con- 
 cealment. His undeistanding saw tlirough tlie hollowness even of 
 arcoraplished deceivers; l)ut there was a generous credulity m his 
 Heart. And so did our Pea.sant show liimself among us; "a .soul 
 like an iEolian liarp, in wl.ose strings tlie vulgar wind, as it passed 
 tlirough tlKMn, changed itself into articulate melody." And this was 
 In- for whom the world found no fitter i.usiness than (luarreilmg with 
 Hitiugglers and vintners, ojinputing excise dues upon tallow, ami 
 gauging ale-barrels! In such toils wa.s that mighty Spirit sorrow- 
 fully wunU-d ; aiKl a hundred years may pass on before another sucli 
 is given wt to waste.
 
 J8 lAFE OF BURNS. 
 
 All that ivraains of Burns, the Writings ho lias left, seem to us m 
 T/e hinted above, no more tlian a poor mutilated fraction of what was 
 m him ; brief, broken glimpses of a genius that could never show 
 itselt complete, that wanted all things for eomi)letcness— culture lei 
 sure, true effort, nay, even length of life. His poems are with 
 scarcely any exception, mere occasional effusions, poured forth with 
 little premeditation, exi)ressing, by such means as offered, the pas- 
 ^sion, opinion, or humor of the hour. Never in one instance was it 
 permitted lum to grai)i)le with any subject with the full collection of 
 lus strengtli, to fuse and mould it in the concentrated fire of liis 
 genius, lo try by the strict rules of Art such imperfect fragments 
 would be at once unprofitable and unfair. Nevertheless there is 
 something in tliese poems, marred and defective as they are, which 
 forbids the most fastidious student of poetrv to pass tlum bv Some 
 sort of enduring rpxality they must have ; for, after fifty years of the 
 wildest vicissitudes in poetic taste, they still continue to be read • 
 nay, are read more and more eagerlv, more and more extensively • 
 and this not only by literary virtuosos, and that class upon whom' 
 transitory causes operate most strongly, l,ut by all classes, down 
 tot^he most hard, unlettered, and truly natural class, wiio read little 
 and especially no poetry, except because they find pleasure in it.' 
 ibe grounds of so singular and wide a popularity— which extends 
 m a literal sense, from the palace to the hut, and over all regions 
 where the English tongue is spoken— are well worth inquiring into 
 After every just d. duction, it seems to imply some rare excellence in 
 these works. What is that excellen e ? 
 
 To answer this question will not lead us far. The excellence of 
 -Burns IS, indeed, among the rarest, whether in poetry or prose • but 
 at the same time, it is plain and easily recognized : his tiinceriiy, \nk 
 ludisputaljle air of Truth. Here are no fabulous woes or iovs ■ no 
 Jiollow fantastic sentimentalities ; no wire-drawn refinings either in 
 thought or feeling : the passion that is traced before us has 'glowed in 
 a living heart ; the o-junion he utters has risen in his OAvn understand- 
 ing, and teen a light to his own steps. He does not write from hear- 
 say, but from sight and experience ; it is the scenes he has lived and 
 labored amidst that he describes : those scenes, rude and humble as 
 they are, have kindled beautiful emotions in his soul, noble thoughts 
 and definite resolves ; and he speaks forth wliat is in him, not froni 
 any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his heart is too full 
 t<) be silent. H<^ s])eaks it, too, with sucli nxdody and modulation as 
 y^l .^■''" ' ■' '" ^"""^i" rustic jingle ; " but it is his own, and genuine 
 ;lhisi.sthe grand secret for finding readers and retaining them- let 
 • Jiim who would move and cf)nvince others Ije first moved and con- 
 vinced hims.df. Horace's rule, Hi ds me flere, is a])plicable in a wider 
 sen.se than tlie literal r,ne. 'J',, every ),oe"t, to every writ.T, wo mitrl,^ 
 saj : 13e true if you would be b(;li.!ved. Let a man but speak forlu 
 yith genuine earueslness the thought, the emotion, the actual condi-
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. If 
 
 flon of liis OTvn heart, and other men, so strangely are we all knit 
 U.*,^ether by the tie of sympathy, niust and will give heed to ^^^^-^^^ 
 culture in extent of view, we may stanl above the speaker, or below 
 him • b'nt in either case his words, if they are earnest and smcere, 
 will find some response ^-itliin us ; for in spite of all casual varieties 
 in outward rank, or inward, as face answere to face, so does the heart 
 
 of man to man. , ^ ■ ^ -n ^ ^a 
 
 This may appear a very simple principle, and oae which Burns had 
 little merit* in discovering. Trae, the discovery is easy enough ; bat 
 the practical appliimce is not easy-is, indeed, the fundamental diffi- 
 culti which all^oets have to strive with, and which scarcely one m 
 ?he hundred ever fairly surmounts. A head too dull to discriminate 
 the true from the false, a heart too dull to love the one at all risks, 
 and to hate the other in spite of aU temptations, are alike fatal to a 
 writer With either, or, as more commonly happens, with both ot 
 these deficiencies, combine a love of distinction, a wish to be origmal, 
 which is seldom wanting, and we have Affectation, the bane of litera- 
 ture as Cant, its elder brother, is of morals. How often does the ono 
 and the other front us, in poetry, as in life \ Great poets themselves 
 are not ahvavs free of this vice ; nay, it is precisely on a certain sort 
 and deirree of greatness that it is most commonly ingrafted. A strong 
 effort after excellence will sometimes solace itself with a mere shadow 
 of succe.ss, and he who has much to unfold will sometimes untold it 
 imperfectly. Bvron, for instance, was no common man ; yet if we 
 examine his poetrv mth this view, we shall find it far enough from 
 faultless. Generailv speaking, we should say that it is not true, lie 
 refreshes us not with the divine fountain, but too often with vulgar 
 strong waters— .stimulating, indeed, to the taste, hut soon ending in 
 dislike or even nausea. Are his Harolds and Giaours, we would ask, 
 real men— we mean jioetically consistent and conceivable menV Do 
 not these characters, does not the character of their author, which 
 more or less shines through them all, rather appear a thing put on 
 for til" occasion— no natural or possible mode of being, but something 
 intended to kx.k much grander than nature '? Surely, all these storui- 
 ful agonies, this volcanic henjism. superhuman contempt, and moody 
 desperation, with so much scowling, and teeth-gnashing, and other 
 Hulphurous humors, is more like the brawling of a player m some 
 paltry traged^-, which is to last three hours, than the bearing of a 
 man "in the business of life, which is to last threescore and ten years. 
 To our minds, there is a taint of this sort— something which we 
 jjhould aill thejitrical, false and afTecte.l- in every one of these other- • 
 wise iK)werful pieces. Perhaj)S Don Juan, especially the latter parts 
 of it is the only thing ai)i)roa(liiiig to a sincere work he ever wrote ; 
 the only work where he showed himself, in any meisun*, as he was, 
 and seemed so intent on his subjc-ct as, for moments, to forget hiin- 
 self. Yet Bvron Imted this vice— we believe, heartily dete.sted it ; 
 vay, he Lad dechxred formal war against it in words. So dilDcult ia
 
 20 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 It even for tlio strongf^st to make this primary atta^nnifm, wliicli 
 luiglit sppiu the simph-st of all : to rend its mnn, consnomncHH mlhout 
 ■mifitakes, without ori-ors involuntary or wilful! We recollect no 
 poet of Burns's susceptibility who comes before us from the first and 
 abides witli us to the last, with such a total want of affectation. ' He 
 is an honest man, and an honest writer. In his successes and his 
 failures, in his greatness and his littleness, he is ever clear, simple 
 true, and glitters with no lustre but his own. We reckon this to bo 
 j'a great virtue ; to be, in fact, the root of most other virtues, literary 
 ) as well as moral. 
 
 It is necessary, however, t» mention that it is to the poetry of 
 Burns that we now allude ; to those writings which he had time to 
 meditate, and where no special reason existed to warp his critical 
 feeling or obstruct his endeavor to fulfil it. Certain of his Letters, 
 and other fractious of prose composition, by no means deserve this 
 praise. Here, doubtless, there is not thi same natural truth of style 
 but, on the contrary, something not only stiff, but strained and 
 twisted— a certain higli-liown, intiated tone, the stilting emphasis of 
 which contrasts ill with the firmness and rugged simplicity of even 
 his poorest verses. Tlius no man, it would appear, is altogether un- 
 affected. Does not Shakspeare himself sometimes premeditate the 
 sheerest bombast 't But even with regard to these Letters of Burns, 
 it is but fair to state that he liad two excuses. The first was his 
 comparative deficiency in language. Burns, though for the mo^t part 
 lie writes with singular force, and even gracefulness, is not master of 
 English prose, as he is of Scottish verse ; not master of it, we mean, 
 in proportion to the depth and vehemence of his matter. These 
 Letters strike us as the effort of a man to express something which 
 he has no organ fit for expressing. But a second and weightier ex- 
 cuse is to be found in the peculiarity of Burns's social rank. His 
 correspondents are often men whose "relation to him he has never 
 accurately ascertained ; whom, therefore, he is either forearmino- 
 liimself against, or else unconsciously flattering, by adopting the style 
 he thinks will please them. At all events, we should remember that 
 these faults, even in his Letters, are not the rule, but the exception. 
 Whenever he writes, as one would ever wish to do, to trusted friends 
 and on real interests, his style becomes simple, vigorous, expressive, 
 sometimes even b.^autiful. 'His Letters to Mrs. Dunlop are uniformly 
 excellent. 
 
 But we return to his poetry. In addition to its sincerity, it has 
 another peculiar merit, which indeed is but a mode, or perhaps a 
 means, of the foregoing. It displays itself in his choice of sui)jects. 
 or rather in his indifference as to subjects, and the ])ower he luis of 
 making all subjects interesting. The ordinary poet, like the ordinary 
 man, is forever seeking, in external circum.stances, the help which 
 can Iwi found only in himself. In what is familiar and near at hand, 
 h« discerns no form or comeliness ; home is not poetical, but prosaic;
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 21 
 
 H is in some past, distant, convpntional world, tliat poetry resides for 
 him ; were lie there and not here, were he thus and not :50, it would 
 be well with him. Hence our innunierahle host of ros*-colored 
 novels and iron-mailed epics, with their locality not on the Earth, but 
 somewhere nearer to the Moon. Hence our Virgins of the Sun, and 
 our Knights of the Cross, malicious Saracens in turbans, and copper- 
 colored ^Chiefs in wampum, and so many other truculent iigures 
 from the heroic times or the heroic climates, who on all hands swarm 
 in our poetry. Peace be Avith them ! But yet, as a great moralist 
 proposed preaching to the men of this century, so would we fain 
 preach to the poets, "a sermon on the duty of staying at home." 
 Let them be sure that heroic ages and heroic climates can do little for 
 them. That form of life has attraction for us, less because it is better 
 or nobler than our own, than simply because it is different ; and even 
 this attraction must be of the most transient sort. For will not our own 
 a"-e, one dav, be an ancient one ; and have as quaint a costume as the 
 rest; not contrasted. with the rest, therefore, but ranked along with 
 them, in respect of quaintness "? Does Homer interest us now, because 
 he wrote of what passed out of his native Greece, and two centuries 
 before he was born ; or because he wrote of what passed in God's 
 world, and in the heart of man, Avhich is the same after thirty centur- 
 ies? Let our poets look to this ; is their feeling really finer, truer, 
 and their vision deeper than that of other men '? they have nothing to 
 fear, even from the humblest object ; is it not so V— they have nothing 
 to hope, but an ephemeral favor, even from the highest. 
 
 The poet, we cannot but think, can never have far to seek for a 
 subject ; the elements of his art are in him and around him on every 
 hand ; for him the Ideal world is not remote from the Actual, but 
 under it and within it ; nay, he is a poet precisely because he can dis- 
 ceni it tliere. Wlierever there is a sky above him, and a world 
 around him, the poet is in his place ; for liere too is man's < xistence, 
 with its infinite longings and small acquirings ; its ever-thwarted 
 ever-renewed endeavors ; its unspeakable aspirations, its fears and 
 hopes tliat vvander through Eternity ; and all the myst(!ry of bright- 
 ness and of gloom that it was ever made of, in any age or climate), 
 since man first Ijegan to live. Is there not the fifth act of a Tragedy 
 in everv death-bed, though it were a peasant's and a bed of death? 
 And are wooings and weddings ol)solete, that there can be Comedy no 
 longer? Or are men suddeniv grown wise, tliat Laughter must no 
 longer shake his sides, but be cheated of his Farce? Man's life and 
 nature is as it was, and as it wifl ever be. But the poet must have 
 an eye to read tliese tilings, and a heart to understand them, or they 
 CfHue and pass awav before liiin in vain. He is a rnU'H, a seer ; a gift 
 of vision lia-s Ix-en given liim. Has life no meanings for liim which 
 another cannot equally deciplier? tlieu he is no poet, and Delphi itself 
 will not mukc liim one. 
 
 In this respect Burns, though not perhaps absolutttly a great poet.
 
 2-Z LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 bettor manifrsts hia capal)ility, better ]irovps tlie truth of his j^oniua, 
 than ir lu; had. b_v liis own .strength, krjjt tlic -wliolo Minerva I're.ss 
 goin^ to tlie end of liis literary course. He sliows himselt at 3ea.st a 
 poet ol' Nature's own maJving ; and Nature, after all, is still the grand 
 agent in making poets. We often hear of this and the other extsrnal 
 condition being requisite for the existence of a poet. Sometimes it ia 
 a certain .sort of training; he must have .studied certain things-^ 
 studied, for instance, "the elder dramati.sts" — and so learned a poetic 
 language ; as if poetry lay in the tongue, not in the heart. At other 
 times we are told he must be bred in a certain rank, and must be on a 
 confidential footing with the higher classes ; because, above all other 
 things, he must see the world. As to seeing the world, we apprehend 
 this will cause him little difhculty, if he have but an eye to see it 
 Avith. Without eyes, indeed, the task might be hard. But happily 
 every poet is born i/i the world, and sees it, with or against his will, 
 every day and every hour he lives. The nn-sterious workmanship of 
 man's heart, the true light and the inscrutabl.e darkness of man's 
 destiny, reveal themselves not only in capital cities and crowded 
 saloons, but in every hut and hamlet where men have their abode. 
 Nay, do not the elements of all human virtues and all human vices — 
 the passions at once of a Borgia and of a Luther — lie written, in 
 stronger or fainter lines, in the consciousness of every individual bosom 
 tliat has practised hon(-st self-examination? Truly, this same world 
 may be seen in Mos.sgiel and Tarbolton, if we look well, as clearly as 
 it ever came to light in Crockford's, or the Tuileries itself. 
 
 But sometimes still harder requisitions are laid on the poor aspirant 
 to poetry ; for it is hinted that he should have been born two centu- 
 ries ago, inasmuch as poetry soon after that date vanished from the 
 earth, and became no longer attainable by men ! Such cobweb spec- 
 ulations have, now and then, overhung 'the field of literature ; but 
 they obstruct not the growth of any plant there : the Shakspeare or the 
 Burns, unconsciously, and merely as he walks onward, silently brushes 
 them away. Is not every genius an impossibility till he appear? 
 Why do we call him new and original, if we saw where his marb'j 
 was Iving, and what fabric lie could rear from it ? It is not the ma- 
 terial, but the workman, that is wanting. It is not the dark plme 
 that hinders, but the dim eye. A Scotti.sh peasant's life was the 
 meanest and rudest of all lives till Burns became a poet in it, and a 
 poet of it— found it a m.an's life, and therefore si^niificant to men. A 
 thousand battle-fields remain unsung, but the Wounded Hare has not 
 perished without its memorial ; a lialm of mercy yet breatlies on u-s 
 from its dumb agonies, l>ecause a poet was tlier'e. Our IlaUoweer- 
 had passed an<l repassed, in rude awe and laughter, since the era of, 
 the Druids ; but no Theocritus, till Burns, discerned in it the mate- 
 rials of a Scottish idyl : neither was the Holy Fair any (Jouncil of 
 Trent or Roman JiMlee ; but, nevertheless. Superstition and Hypoc- 
 lisy and Fan having been propitious to hira, in this man'.s hand it
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 23 
 
 became a poem, instinct witli satire and genuine comic life. Let but 
 the true poet be given us, we repeat it, place him where and how yoa 
 will, and true poetrv will not be wanting. 
 
 Independently of the essential gift of poetic feeling, as we hare 
 now attempted" to describe it, a certain rugged sterling worth per- 
 vades whatever Burns lurf written— a virtue, as of green fields and 
 mountain breezes, dwells in his poetry ; it is redolent of natural life 
 , and hardy, natural men. Th^-re is a decisive strength in him, and 
 ' yet a sweet native gracefulness ; he is tender, and he is vehement, 
 yet without constraint or too visible effort ; he melts the heart, or in- 
 iiames it, with a power which seems halntual and familiar to him. 
 We see in him the gentleness, the trembling pity of a woman, with 
 the deep earnestness, the force and passionate ardor of a hero. Tears 
 lie in him, and consuming fire, as lightning lurks in the drops of th3 
 summer cloud. He has a resonance in his bosom for every note of 
 human feeling : the high and the low, the sad, the ludicrous, the 
 ■joyful, are welcome in their turns to his " lightly moved and all-con- 
 ceiving spirit." And observe with what a jjrompt and eager force he 
 grasps his subject, he it what it may ! How he fixes, as it were, tlu 
 full image of th'^ matter in his eye— full and clear in every lineament 
 — and catches the real type and essence of it, amid a thousand acci- 
 dents and superficial circumstances, no one of which misleads him ! 
 Is it of reason — some truth to be discovered? No sophistry, no vain 
 surface-logic detains him ; quick, resolute, unerring, he pierces 
 through into the marrow of the question, and speaks his verdict with 
 an emphasis that cannot be forgotten. Is it of description— some 
 visual object to be represented ? No poet of any age or nation is moro 
 graphic than Burns: the characteristic features disclose themselves 
 to him at a glance ; thrre lines from his hand, and we have a like- 
 ness. And, in that rough dialect, in that rude, often awkward, me- 
 tre, so clear and definite a likeness ! It seems a draughtsman working 
 with a burnt stick ; and yet the burin of a Ketzsch is not more ex- 
 pressive or exact. 
 
 This clearness of sight we may call the foundation of all talent ; 
 for in fact, unless we see our object, how shall we know how to places 
 or prize it, in our understanding, our imagination, our affections? 
 Yet it is not in itself, perhaps, a very high excellence, but capable o? 
 being united indifferentlv with the strongest or with ordinary powers. 
 Homer surpa.ssr-s all men in tliis quality ; but, strangely enough, at 
 no great distance below him are Kiel' ardson and Defoe. It belongs, 
 in truth, to what is called a lively mind, and gives no sure indication 
 of the higher endowments that may exist along with it. In all the 
 Ihreo casus we have mentioueil, it is comliiiieil with great garrulity; 
 llii'ir descriptions are detailed, ample-, and lovingly exact ; Horner's 
 fire hursts througli, from time to time, as if hy accident ; hut Defoe 
 and llichardson have no fire. Burns, again, is not more distinguished 
 by the clearness than by the impetuous force of his conceptions. O^
 
 81 LIFE OP BURNS. 
 
 the strengtli, tlio piercing emphasis with which he thouglit, his em- 
 phasis of expression may give an humble but the readiest proof 
 \\ ho ever uttered sharper sayings than his— words more memorable 
 now by then- burning vehemence, now by their cool vigor and laconic 
 pithV A smgle i)hraye depicts a whole subject, a whole scene Our 
 fecottish forefathers in the battle-roM struggled forward, lie says 
 " red-wiii shod; " giving, in this one v^ 'jrd, a full vision of horror and 
 carnage, perhaps too frightfully accurate for Art ! 
 
 In fax^t, one of the leading features iL the mind of Bums is this 
 vigor of his strictly intellectual perception;:;. A resolute force is ever 
 visible in his judgments, as in his feelings and volitions. Professor 
 Stewart says of him, with some surprise : "All the faculties of 
 Burns s mmd were, as far as I could judge, equally vigorous ; and his 
 predilection for poetry was rather the result of his own enthusiastic 
 and impassioned temper, than of a genius exclusively adapted to 
 that species of composition. From his conversation I should have 
 pronounced him to be fitted to excel in whatever walk of ambition 
 he had chosen to exert his abilities." But this, if we mistake not 
 ^ at all times the very essence of a trulv poetical endowment.' 
 Poetry, except in such cases as that of Keats, where the whole 
 consists in extreme sensibility and a certain vague pervading tune- 
 fulness of nature, is no separate facultv, no organ which "can be 
 superadded to the rest or disjoined from them ; but rather the 
 result of their general harmony and completion. The feelings, the 
 gifts, that exist in the Poet, are those that exist, with more or' less 
 development, in every human soul : the imagination which shudtlers 
 at the Hell of Dante is the same faculty, weaker m degree, which 
 called that picture into being. How does the poet speak to all men 
 with power but by being still more a man than they v Shakspeare, 
 it ha.s been well observed, in the planning and completing of his 
 tragedies, has shown an Understanding, were it nothing more, which 
 mighty have governed staffs or indited a Nmnim Onjannm. What 
 Burns's force of understanding may have been, we have less means 
 of judgment : for it dwelt among "the humblest objects, never saw 
 philosophy, and never rose, except for short intervals, into the region 
 of great ideas. Nevertheless, sufficient indication remains for us in 
 liis works : we discern the brawny movement of a gigantic though 
 untutored strength, and can understand how, in conversation, his 
 quick, sure insight into men and things may, as much as aught else 
 about him, have amazed the 1)pst thinkers of his time and country. 
 
 But, unless we mistake, the intellectual gift of Burns is fine as 
 well a.s strong. The more delicate relation of things could not well 
 liave escaped liis eye, for they were intimately present to Jus lieart. 
 The logic of the senate and the forum is indispensable, but not all 
 sufTicient ; nay, perhaps the liif,rhest Trutli is that which will the 
 iiiost certainly (dude it. or this logic woiks l)y words, and 'the 
 highest, " it has been said, "cannot be expressed i'u words." Wo arb 
 
 h
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 25 
 
 not without tokens of an openness for this higher truth also, of a 
 keen though uncultivated sense for it, having existed in Burns. Mr. 
 Stewait, it will be remembered, "wonders," in the passage above 
 quoted, that Bums had f onned some distinct conception of the ' ' doc- 
 trme of a.ssociation. " We rather think that far subtiler things than 
 the doctrine of association had from of old been familiar to him. 
 Here, for instance : 
 
 "We know nothing," thus writes he, "or next to nothing, of the 
 structure of our souls, so we cannot account for those seeming ca- 
 prices in them, that one should be particularly pleased \\'ith this 
 thing, or struck with that, which, on minds of a different cast, makes 
 no extraordinary impression. I have some favorite flowers in spring, 
 among which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove^ 
 the wild-brier rose, the budding birch, and the hoary ha>vthorn, that 
 I view and hr.ng over with particular delight. I never hear the loud 
 solitary whistle of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing 
 cadence of a troop of gray plover in an autumnal morning, without 
 feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or 
 poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be owing ? Are 
 we a piece of machinery, which, like the JEoliau harp, passive, takes 
 the impression of the passing accident, or do these workings argue 
 something within us above the trodden clod ? I own myself partial 
 to such proofs of those awful and important realities:' a God that 
 made all things, man's inmiaterial and inmiortal nature, and a world 
 of weal or woe beyond deatii and tlie grave." 
 
 Forc<3 and fineness of undeistanding are often spoken of as some- 
 thing different from general force and fineness of nature, as some- 
 thing partly independent of them. The necessities of language 
 probably require this ; but in truth these qualities are not distinct 
 and independent : except in special cases, and from special causes, 
 they ever go together. A man of strong understanding is generally 
 a man of strong cliaracter ; neither is delicacy in the one kind often 
 divided from delicacy in the other. Xo one, at all events,- is ignorant 
 tliat in the poetry o" Burns, keenness of insight keeps pace with 
 keenness of feeling ; that his lijht is not more pervading than his 
 warmth. He is a man of the most impassioned temper ; with passions 
 not strong only, but noble, and of the sort in which great virtues and 
 great potiins take their ri.se. It is reverence, it is Love towards all 
 Nature tliat inspires him, tliat opens his eyes to its beauty, and 
 makes heart and voice eloriucnt in its praise. There is a true old 
 saying that " love furthers knowledge : " but, above all, it is the living 
 (^.senceof tliat knowledge whicli makes poets; the first principle o'f 
 its existence, increa.se, activity. Of Burns's fervid affection, his gen- 
 erous, all embracing J..ove, we liave .spoken already, aa of the grand 
 distinction of liis natunf, seen equally in word and dei.-d. in his 1/ifu 
 and in his Writings. It were; cawy to multiiily exaii.ides. Not man 
 only, bill, all that euviroua man in the material and moral universe 
 A..B.^
 
 2(i LIFE OF BUK.N3. 
 
 is lovely in liis siglit ; " tlie lioary havvUiorn," the "troop of gray 
 plover,"' tlie "solitary curlew," are all dear to him — all live in this 
 Earth along- with him, and to all he is knit as in mysterious brother- 
 hood. How touching is it, for instance, that, amidst the gloom of 
 personal misery, brooding over the wintry desolation without him 
 and within hiui, he thinks of the " ourie cattle" and " silly sheep," 
 and their sufferings in the pitiless storm ! 
 
 " I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
 Or Billy shet'p, wha bide this brattle 
 
 O' wintry war ; 
 Or thro' the drift, deeplairing, eprattle, 
 
 Beueath a scaur. 
 
 Ilk happing hird, wee helpless thing, 
 That ill the merry month o' .spring 
 Delighted me to hear theo fing, 
 
 Wliat comes o' the* ? 
 Where wilt thou cow'r tliy cluttering wing, 
 
 And close thy ce V 
 
 The tenant of the mean hut, with its " ragged roof and clunky wall," 
 has a heart to pitv even these ! This is worth several homilies on 
 Mercy ; for it is the voice of Mercy her.self. Burns, indeed, lives in 
 sympat'hv ; his soul rushes forth into all reahns of bemg ; nothing 
 that has existence can be inditTerent to him. The very devil he can' 
 not hate with right orthodoxy ! 
 
 " Bat fare you wecl, anld Nickie-ben ; 
 O wad ye tak a thought and men' I 
 Ye aiblius mmlit— i dinna ken — 
 
 Still hae a stake ; 
 I'm wae to think npo' yon den, 
 
 Even for your sake I" 
 
 He did no. know, probably, that Sterne had been beforehand wtli 
 him. " ' He is the father of curses and lies,' said Dr. Slop ; ' and is 
 cursed and damned already.' — 'I am sorry for it,' quoth my uncle 
 Toby I" — " A ]rjeu without Love were a physical and metaphysical 
 impossibility.' " 
 
 Why sliould we speak of Scots, wJui hae wi' Wallace hied ; since all 
 know it, from the king to the meanest of his subjects ? This dithyram- 
 bic was composetl on hor.-el)ack ; in riding in the middle of tempests, 
 over the wilde.st Galloway moor, in company with a Mr. Syme, who, 
 observing the poet's looks, forebore to speak — judiciously enough — 
 for a man composing Bnice'ti Address might be un.safe to trifle with. 
 Doubtless this stern hjinn was .singing it^self, as he formed it, through 
 the sf)ul of Burns ; but to the external ear, it should 1)0 sung with the 
 throat of the whirlwind. So long as there is warm Idood in the heai-t 
 of a Scotchman or man, it will move in fierce thrills under this war- 
 ode, the best, we believe, that was ever wiitten by any pen. 
 
 Another wild, stormful song, that dwells in our ear and mind with
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 87 
 
 a strange tenacity, is Maep1ier!>on's Fareioell. Perhaps there is some- 
 thing m the tradition itself iliat co-operates. For was not this grim 
 Celt, this shaggy Northland Cacus, that " lived a life of sturt and 
 strife, and died by treacherie," was not he too one of the Nimrods and 
 Napoleons of the earth, in the arena of his own remote, misty glens, for 
 want of a clearer and wider one? Nay, was there not a touch of 
 grace given him ? A fibre of love and softness, of poetry itself, must 
 have lived in his savage heart ; for he composed that air the night 
 before his execution ; on the wings of that poor melody, his better 
 soul would soar away above oblivion, pain, and all the ignominy and 
 despair, which, like an avalanche, was hurling him to the abyss ! 
 Here, also, as at Thebes and the Pelops' line, was material Fate 
 matched against man's Freewill ; matched in bitterest though obscure 
 duel ; and the ethereal sotil sunk not, even in its bliudness, without 
 a cry which has survived it. But who, except Burns, could have 
 given words to such a soul — words that we never listen to without a 
 strange half-barbarous, half-poetic fellow-feeling ? 
 
 Sae rantinrjbi, ioe wantonly, 
 
 Sae davriringly gaed he; 
 He plaifd a spring, and aanced it round. 
 
 Below the gcUlows tree. 
 
 Under a lighter aud thinner disguise, the same principle of Love, 
 which we have recognized as the great characteristic of Burns, and of 
 all true poets, occasionally manifests itself in the shape of Humor. 
 Everywhere, mdeed, in his sunny moods, a full buoyant flood of mirth 
 rolls through the mind of Burns ; he rises to the high, and stoops to the 
 low, and Is brother and ])laymate to all Nature. We speak not of his 
 bold and often irresistible faculty of caricature ; for this is Drollery 
 rather than Humor : but a much tenderer sportfulness dwells in him ; 
 and comes forth, here and there, in evanescent and beautiful touches , 
 as in his Addrens to the Monne, or the Farmer's Mare, or in his Elegy 
 oa Poor Mailie, Avhich la.st may be reckoned his happ est effort of 
 this kind. In the.se pieces there are traits of a Humor as line as that 
 of Sterne ; yet altogether different, original, peculiar — the Htimor of 
 Burns. 
 
 Of the tenderness, the ]>la}'ful pathos, and many other kindred 
 qualiti(si of Biirns's poetry, much more might be said ; but now, with 
 tnese ywuir outlines of a sketcli, we must prepare to quit this part of 
 our sultject. To speak of his irHlividual writings adequately and 
 with any detail, would lead us far beyond our limits. As already 
 hinted, we can look on but few rf these pieces as, in strict critical 
 language, driwerving the name of Foeins ; they are rhymed eloquence, 
 rhymed pathos, rhynifd .sense ; yet .seldom essentially melodious, 
 a«TiaI, poetifMil. Tarn O'HIiaater itself, which enjoys so high a favor, 
 do«.« not appear to us, at all decisiveiy, t<j r<jni(! uiuU^r this hist cate- 
 gory. It id uut uu much a poem a^i a piece of Hparkling rhetoric , tho
 
 2« LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 heart and body of the story still lies hard and dead. lie has not 
 gone back, much loss carried us back, into that dark, earnest, 
 wondering ago, when the tradition was believed, and when it took 
 its rise ; he does not attempt, by any new modelling of liis .su- 
 pernatural ware, to strike anew that deep mysterious chord o( 
 human nature, which once responded to such things ; and which 
 lives in us too, and will forever live, though silent, or vibrat- 
 ing with far other notes, and to far dillerent issues. Our Ger. 
 man readers ^vill und(>rstand us when we say that he is not the Tieck 
 but the Musiius af this tale. Externally it is all green and living ; 
 yet look closer, it is no firm growth, but only ivy on a rock. Tht* 
 piece does not probably cohere ; the strange chasm which yawns in 
 our incredulous imaginations between the Ayr public-house and the 
 gate of Tophet, is nowhere bridged over, nay, the idea of such a 
 bridge is laughed at ; and thus the Tragedy of the adventure becomes 
 a mere drunken phantasmagoria, painted on ale-vapors, and the farce 
 alone has any reality. We do not say that Burns should have made 
 jnuch more of this tradition ; we rather think that, for strictly poeti- 
 cal purposes, not much was to be made of it. Neither are we blind 
 to the deep, varied, genial power displayed in what he has actually 
 accomplished: but we find far more " Shakspearian " qualities, as 
 these of Tarn O'Shatder have been fondly named, in many of his 
 other pieces ; nay, we incline to believe that this latter might have 
 been written, all'but quite as well, by a man who, in place of genius, 
 had only possessed talent. 
 
 Perhaps we may venture to say, that the most strictly poetical of 
 all his " poems" is one, which does not appear in Currie's Edition, 
 but has been often printed before and since, under the humble title 
 of The Jolly Beggars. The subject truly is among the lowest in na- 
 ture ; but it only the more shows our poet's gift in raising it into the 
 domain of Art. To our minds, this piece seems thoroughly com- 
 pacted, melted together, refined, and poured forth in one Hood ot 
 true liquid harmony. It is light, airy, and soft of movement ; yet 
 sharp and precise in its details ; every fac is a portrait : that rauch 
 carlin, that wee Apollo, that Son of Mars, are Scottish, yet ideal ; the 
 scene is at once a dream, and the very Rag-castle of ' ' Poosie-Nan- 
 sie." Farther, it seems in a considerable degree complete, a real self- 
 supporting \^^lole, which is the highest merit in a poem. The 
 blanket of the night is drawn asunder for a moment ; ia fill, ruddy, 
 and flaming light, these rough tatterdemalions are seen in their boist- 
 erous revel ; for the strong pulse of Life vindicates its right to glad- 
 ness even here ; and when the curtain closes, we prolong the action 
 without effort ; the next day, as the last, our Caird and our Ballad- 
 monger are singing and .soldiering; their "brats and callets"ar8 
 hawking, begging, cheating ; and some other night, in new combina- 
 tions, they will ring from Fate another liour of wassail and good 
 cheer. It would be strange, doubtless, to call this the best of Burns'S
 
 LIFE OF i3UR>;S. 2S 
 
 writings ; we mean to say only, that it seems to ns the most perfect 
 of its kind, as a piece of poetical composition, strictly so-ciilled. In 
 tlie Beggar's Opera, in the Beggar's Bush, as other critics have al- 
 ready remarked, there is nothing which, in real poetic vigor, ecjuals 
 this Cantitta ; nothing, as W3 think, which comes within many de- 
 grees of it. 
 
 But by far the most finished, complete, and truly inspired pieces of 
 Burns are, without dispute, to be found among his Songs. It is here 
 that, although thr9ugli a small aperture, his light shines with the 
 least obstruction, in its highest beauty, and pure sunny clearness. 
 The reason may be, that Song is a brief and simple species of com- 
 position : and requires, nothing so much for its perfection as genuine 
 poetic feeling, genuine music of heart. • The Song has its rules 
 equally with the Tragedy ; rules which in most cases are poorly ful- 
 filled, in many cases are not so much as felt. We miirht write along 
 essay on the Songs of Burns ; which we reckon by far the best that 
 Britain has yet produced ; for, indeed, since the era of Queen Eliza- 
 beth, we know not that, l)y any otlier hand, aught truly worth atten- 
 tion has been accomplished in this department. True, we have songs 
 enough " by persons of quality ;" we have tawdry, hollow, wine-bred, 
 madrigals ; many a rh,nned " speech " in the flowing and watery vein 
 of Ossorius the. Portugal Bishop, rich in sonorous words, and, for 
 moral, dashed perhaps with some tint of a sentimental sensuality ; all 
 wliich many persons cease not from endeavoring to sing : though for 
 most part, we fear, the music is but from the throat outward, or at 
 best from some region far enough short of the Soul ; not in which, 
 but in a certain inane Limbo of the Fancy, or even in some vaporous 
 debatable land on the outside of the Nervous System, most of such 
 madrigals and rhymed speeches seem to have originated. With the 
 Songs of Burns we must not name these things. Independently of 
 the clear, manly, lieartfelt sentiment that ever pervades A *•« poetry, 
 liis songs are honest in another point of view : in form as well as in 
 spirit. They do not ctffcct to be set. to music ; but they actually and 
 in themselves are music ; they have received their life, and fashioned 
 themselves together, in tlie medium of Harmony, as Venus rose from 
 the bo.som of the sea. The story, the feeling, is not detailed, but 
 suggested ; not mid, or spouted, in rhetorical completeness and co- 
 herence ; l>ut mtng, in fitful gu.shes, in glowing hints, in fantastic 
 breaks, in irarhlings not of the voice only, but of the whole mind. 
 We consider this to be the essence of a song : and that no songs since 
 the little careless catches, and, as it were, drops of song, which 
 Shaks|)earc lias here and there s])rinkled over his y>lays, fulfil this 
 condition in nearly the same flegree as most of Burns'?; do. Sucii 
 grace and truth of external movement, too, presu|)))oses in geufM-al a 
 corres])ondinj; force of truth and st-ntinient, and inward nuaning. 
 The Songs of Burns are not more perfect in the former <iuality tliaa 
 in the latter. V\ ith what tenderness he sings, yet with what vehe-
 
 80 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 mcnce nnd entirencss ! Thoro is a piercing wail in liis sorrow, the 
 vmr.-st rai.tiire iu his joy : hi- burns witli the sternest jre, or laughs 
 with the loudest or slvest mirth ; and yet he is sweet and sott, " sweet 
 as the smile when fo'ad lovers meet, and soft as tlieir parting tear ! 
 If we farther take into account the immense variety of his subjects ; 
 how from the loud tlowiiig revel in WUHe breic'd a peck o Muut, to 
 the still rapt enthusiasm of sadness for Mary in Heaven; from the 
 glad kind greeting of Atdd Lnnfjsyne, or the comic archness of Dun- 
 can Grail to the iire-eved fury of Scots, vha hae m Mailace bled, ho 
 Las found atone and Words for every mood of man's heart— it wll 
 seem a small praise if we rank him as the first of all our song-writers ; 
 for we know not where to find one worthy of heing second to luiu. 
 
 It is on his Songs, as we believe, that Burns's chief influence as an 
 author will ultimately be found to depend : nor, if our Fletcher's 
 aphorism is true, shall we account this a small influence. " Let me 
 make the songs of a people," said he, " and you shall make its laws. 
 Surelv if ever any Poet uiight have equalled himself witli Legisla- 
 tors oi'i this ground, it was Burns. His s.jngs are already part of the 
 mother tongue, not of Scotland only, but of Britain, and of the mil- 
 lions tlu't in all the ends of the earth speak a British language. In 
 hut and hall, as the heart unfolds itself in the joy and woe of exist- 
 ence the name, the voice of that joy and that woe, is the name and 
 voice which Burns has given them. Strictly speaking perhaps uo 
 British man has so deeply affected the thoughts and fee ings of so 
 many men as this solitary and altogether private individual, with 
 
 means apparently the humblest. .^ xi • i, 4i „t -r„,„,,.„ 
 
 In another point of view, moreover, we incline to think that Burns 3 
 influence may have been considerable : we mean, as exerted specially 
 on the Literature of his country, at least on the Literature of bco - 
 land. Among the great changes which British, particularly bcottis i 
 literature, has undlrgone since that period, one of he greatest will 
 be found to consist in its remarka1)le increase of nationality. h.ven 
 the EnLdish writers, most popular in Burns's time, were little di^tm- 
 ffuished for their 1 terarv patriotism, in this its best sense. A certain 
 Attenuated cosmopolitanism luvd, in good measure, taken place of the 
 old insular home- feeling ; literature was, as it were, without any local 
 environment— was not nourished by the aftcctions whicli spring from 
 a n-itive soil Our Grays and Glovers seemed to write almost as if m 
 siacao ■ tiie thing written bears no mark of place ; it is not written so 
 jnuch'for Englishmen as for men ; or rather, which is the inevitable 
 result of this, for certain Generalizations winch philosophy termed 
 men. Goldsmith is an exception ; not so Johnson ; the scene of ins 
 liamhkr is little more Engli.sh than that of hin mmelas. But if sucli 
 was in some degree, the case >vith England, it was, m the lughe.st 
 dcL-ree the case with Scotland. In fact, our Scottish literature had, 
 at that period a very sintrular aspect; unexampled, so far as we 
 know except perhaps at Geneva, wh^^re the same state of matters ap-
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 8i 
 
 pears still to continiic. For a long period after Scotland became 
 British, we had no literature -. at the date when Addison and Steele 
 were writing their Spectators, our good Thomas Boston was writing, 
 with the noblest intent, but alilie in defiance of grammar and phil- 
 osophy, his Fourfold State of Man. Then came the schisms in our 
 National Ciiurch, and the fiercer schisms in our Body Politic : Theo- 
 logic ink and Jacobite blood, with gall enough in both cases, seemed 
 to have blotted out the intellect of the country ; however, it was only 
 obscured, not obliterated. Lord Kames made nearly the first attempt^, 
 and a tolerably clumsy one, at writiug English ; and, ere long, Hume, 
 Robertson, Srnith, and p whole host of followers, attracted hither the 
 eves of all Europe. And yet in this brilliant resuscitation of our 
 *'" fervid genius," there was nothing truly Scottish, nothing indige- 
 nous ; except, perhaps, tlie natural impetuosity of intellect, which we 
 sometimes claim, and are sometimes upbraided with, as a character- 
 istic of our nation. It is curious to remark that Scotland; so full of 
 writers, had no Scottish culture, nor indeed any English ; ourcu]turo 
 was almost exclusively i'rench. It was by studying Racine and Vol- 
 taire, Batteux and Boileau, that Kames had trained himself to be a 
 critic and philosopher : it wos the light of Montesquieu and Maljly 
 that guided Robertson in iiis political speculations ; Quesnay's lamp 
 that kindled the lamp of Adam Smith. Hume was too rich a man to 
 borrow ; and perhaps he reacted on the Freucli more than he was 
 acted on by them : but neither had he aught to do ^vith Scotland ; 
 Edinburgh, equally with La Fleche, was Imt the lodging and labora- 
 tory, in which lie not so much mcrally Uccd, as metaphysically iii- 
 vesliffated. Xever, perliaps, was there a class of writers, so clear and 
 well-ordered, yet so totally destitute, to all appearance, of any patri 
 otic affection nay, of any human affection whatever. The French 
 wits of the period were as unpatriotic ; but their general deficiency in 
 moral principle^ not to say their avowed sensuality and unl)elief in all 
 virtue, strictly .so called, render this accountable enough. We hope 
 there is a patriotism founded on something better than prejudice ; 
 that our country may be dear to us, without injury to our philosophy ; 
 that in loving and nistly prizing all other lands, we may prize justly, 
 and yet love before all others, our own stern Motherland, and the 
 venerable structure ol social and moral Life, which Mind has through 
 long ages been building np for us there. Surely there is nourish 
 ment for the better part of man's heart in all this : surely the roots, 
 that have fixed themselves in the very core of man's being, may be so 
 cultivated as to grow up not into briers, but into roses, in f Ik; field of 
 his life ! Our Scottiflh sages have no such propensities : the field of 
 their life sliows neither briers nor roses ; init only a fiat, continuous 
 thra-shing-tioor for Logic, whereon all que.stions, from the " Doetrino 
 of Ueut " to the " Natural History of Religion," are thrashed uiul 
 sifU'd with the same me<;han» al imimrtiality 1 
 
 With Sir Walter Scott at the head of ou' iiteratuie, it cannot b*
 
 83 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 «puied that much of this tivil Is past, or rapidly passing away : ova 
 chief literary men, whatever other fr.ults they may have, no longer 
 iive among us like a French Colony, or some knot of Propaganda Mis- 
 pjouaries ; but like natural-born subjects of the soil, partaking one. 
 iivnipathizing in all our attachments, humors, and habits. Our lite'- 
 at are no longer grows iji water, but in mould, and with the true racy 
 virtues of tlie soil and climate. How much of this change may be 
 due to Ikirns, or to any other individual, it might be difficult to esti- 
 mate. Direct literary imitation of Burns was not to be looked for. 
 But his example, in the fearless adoption of domestic subjects, could 
 not but opemte from afar ; and certainly in no heart did the love of 
 country ever burn with a Avamier glow than in that of Burns : " a 
 tide of Scottish prejudice," as he modestly calls this deep and gener- 
 ous feeling, "had been poured along his veins; and he felt that it 
 would boil there till the flood-gates shut in eternal rest." It seemed 
 to him as if he could do so little for his country, and yet would so 
 gladly have done all. One small province stood open for him ; that 
 of Scottish song, and how eagerly he entered on it ; how devotedly 
 he la1)ored there ! In his most toilsome journeyings, this object never 
 quits him ; it is the little happy- valley of his careworn heart. In the 
 gloom of his own affliction, he eagerly searches after some lonely 
 brother of the umse, aud rejoices to snatch one other name from the 
 oblivion that was covering it ! These were early feelings, and tlicy 
 abode with him to the end. 
 
 -a wish, (I mind its power), 
 
 A ■wish, tliat to luy latest liour 
 Will strongly hea 'e my breast ; 
 That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
 Some useful plan or book could make, 
 Or 8in» a sang at least. 
 The rough bur Thistle spreading wide 
 
 Aming the bearded bear, 
 1 tarn'd my wecding-clips aside. 
 
 And spared the symbol dear. 
 
 But to leave the mere literary character of Burns, which has nl- 
 readv detained us too long, we cannot Init think that the Life he 
 willed, and was fated to lead among his ffUow-men, is both more in- 
 t'^resting and instructive than any of his written w^orks. Thea-, 
 Poems are but like little rhymed fragments scattered here and there in 
 the grand unrhymed Komauce of his earthly existence ; and it is only 
 when intercalated in tliis at their proper ])laces, that they attain their 
 full measure of significance. And this too, alas, was l>ut a fragment ! 
 The plan of a mighty edifice had been sketched ; some columns, 
 r>orticoes, firm masses of building, stand completed ; the rsst more or 
 less clearly indicated; with many a far stretching tendency, which 
 only studious and fri(;ndly eyes can now trace towards the purposed 
 termmation. For the work is broken off in tlie middle, almost in tlio 
 l»eginning : and rises among us, beautiful and sad, at once unfinished
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. S8 
 
 and a niin ! If charitable judgment was necessary in estimating his 
 pix-ms, and justice required that the aim and the manifest power t-o 
 fulfil it must often be accepted for the fuKilment ; much more is this 
 the case in reg-ard to Ms life, the sum and result of all his endeavors, 
 where hLs difficulties came upon him not in detail only, but in mass ; 
 and so much has been left unac "omplished, nay, was mistaken, and. 
 altogether marred. 
 
 Properly speaking, there is but one era in the life of Burns, and 
 that the earliest. We have not youth and manhood ; but only youth : 
 for, to the end, we discern no decisive change in the complexion of 
 his character ; in his thirty- seventh year, he is still, as it were, in 
 youth. vVith all that resoluteness of judgment, that penetratingin- 
 sight, and singular maturity of intellectual power, exhibited in his 
 %/ritings, he never attains to any clearness regarding himself ; to the 
 'ast he never ascertains his peculiar aim, even with such distinctness 
 as is common among ordinary men ; and therefore never can pursue 
 it \nili that singleness of will, which insures success ond some con- 
 tentment to such men. To the last, he wavers between two pur- 
 poses : glorying in his talent, like a true poet, he yet cannot consent 
 to make this his chief and sole glory, and to follow it as the one thing 
 needful, through poverty or riches, through good or evil report. 
 Another far meaner ambition .still cleaves to him ; he must dream and 
 struggle about a certain "Rock of Independence;" wliich, natural 
 and even admirable as it might be, was still but a warring with the 
 world, on the comparatively insignificant ground of his being more or 
 less completely supplied with money than others ; of his standing at 
 a higher or at a lower altitude in general estimation, than others 
 For the world still appears to him, as to the young, in borrowed col- 
 ors ; he expects from it wliat it cannot give to any man ; seeks foi* 
 contentment, not within hiuLself, in action and wise effort, but from 
 without, in the kindness of circumstances, in love, friendship, honor, 
 pecuniary ease. He would be ha[)i)y, not actively and in himself, 
 but passively, and from some idi-al coniu.-o])ia of Enjoynients, not 
 earned by his own labor, l)ut showered on him by tlie Ijenoficence of 
 Destiny. Thus, like a young man, he cannot steady hinuself for any 
 fixed or sy.steniatic pursuit, but swerves to and f o, between passionata 
 hope and remorseful disappointment : ru';liing onwards "vvith a deep, 
 tempestuous force, he surmounts or breaks asunder many a barrier ; 
 travels, nay, advances far, but advancing only under uncertain 
 jruidance, is ever and anon turned from his path : and to the last, 
 •aimf)t n-acli tlie only true ha])f)iness of a man, tliat of clear, decided 
 Activity in the splx-n- for whicJi by nature and circumstances ho haa 
 been fitted and a|)t)ointed. 
 
 We do not say these tilings in dispraise of Burns : nay, perhaps, 
 they l)ut interest us the more in liis favf)r. This blessing is not given 
 B<K>riest to the Iwst ; but ratlnT, it is cjften tlie greatest minds that ara 
 lnt4rt(t iu obtaining it ; for whore most is to bo develojxid, moat tim»
 
 84 LIFE OF BURNy. 
 
 may l>e Toquirod to develop it. A comjilcx condition had boon as- 
 Bijiiiod him from Avitliout, as complex a condition from within : no 
 " pre-cstablishfd harmony " exi,slt>d hetweeu tlio clay soil of Mossgiel 
 and the em])yrcan soul ot Robert Burns ; it was not wonderful, there-) 
 fore, that the adjustment between them should have been long post- 
 poned, and his arm long cumbered, and his sight confused, in so vast 
 and discordant f.n economy as he had been ai)pomted steward over. 
 Byron was, at his death, but a year younger than Burns ; and through 
 life, as it might have appeared, far more simply situated ; yet in him, 
 too, we can trace no such adjustment, no such moral manhood ; but 
 at best, and only a little before his end, the beginning of what seemed 
 such. 
 
 By much the most striking incident m Burns's Life is his journey 
 to Edinburgh ; but perhaps a still more important one is his residence 
 at Irvine, so early as in his twenty-third year. Hitherto his life liad 
 been poor and toll worn ; but otherwise not ungeuial, and, with all its 
 distresses, l)y no means nuhappy. In his parentage, d(>ducting out- 
 ward circumstances, he had every reason to reckon himself fortunate : 
 liis father was a man of thoughtful, intense, earnest character, as the 
 best of our peasants are ; valuing knowledge, possessing some, and, 
 what is far better and rarer, open-minded for more ; a man with a 
 keen msight and devout heart ; reverent towards God, friendly there- 
 fore at once, and fearless towards all that God has made ; in one 
 word, though but a hard-handed pea.sant, a complete and fully un- 
 folded Man. Such a father is seldom found in any rank in society ; 
 and was worth descendhig far in society to seek. Unfortunately, he 
 was very poor ; had he been even a little richer, almost ever so little, 
 the whole might have issued far othermse. Mighty events turn on a 
 straw ; the crossing of a brook decides the conquest of the world. 
 Had this William Burns's small seven acres of nursery ground any- 
 wise prospered, the boy Robert had been sent to school ; had strug- 
 gled forward, as so many wealiier men do, to some university ; come 
 forth not as a rustic wonder, bu.!, as a regular well-trained intellectual 
 workman, and changed the whole course of British Literature — for it 
 lav in him to have done this ! But the nursery did not prosper ; pov- 
 erty sank his whole family below the help of even our cheap school- 
 system : Burns remained a hard-worked ploughboy, and British liter- 
 ature tooli its ov/n course. Nevertheless, eveu in this rugged scene, 
 there Ls much to nourish him. If he drudges, it is with his brother, 
 and for his father and mother, whom he loves, and would fain shield 
 from want. \Msdom is not banished from their poor hearth, nor the 
 balm of natural feeling : the solemn words. Let us irurship God, are 
 heard there from a "priest-like father;" if threatenings of unjust 
 men throw mother and children into tears, these are tears not of grief 
 only, but of ludiest affection ; every heart in that hundde group feels 
 itsf'lf the closer knit to every other; in their hard warfare they are there 
 together, "a little band of brethren." Neither are such tears, and
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. ' B5 
 
 the deop beautv tliat dwells in them, their or,'yy portion. Light Tisits 
 the hearts as it does the eyes of all living ; there is a force, too in 
 this youth that enables hhn to trample on misfortune ; nav, to bma it 
 under his feet to make him sport. For a bold, Avarm, buoyant humor 
 of character has been given him ; and so the thick-commg shapes of 
 eNil are welcomed with a gay. friendly irony, and m their closest 
 pressure he bates no jot of heart or hope. \ ague yearnmgs of ambi- 
 iion fail not, as he grows up ; dreamy fancies hang like cloud-cities 
 around him ; the curtain of Existence is slowly rising m many col- 
 ored splendor and gloom ; and the aurora light of first love is gi dmg 
 his horizon, and the music of song is on his path ; and so he walks 
 
 in glory and in joj' 
 
 Behind his plough, upon the mountain side I " 
 
 We know from the best evidence, that up to this date Burns wa_.i 
 happy : nav, that he was the gayest, brightest, most fantastic, fasci- 
 nating being to be found in the world; more so even than he ever 
 afterwards appeared. But now at this early age he quits the pater- 
 nal roof , goes forth into looser, louder, more exciting society, and he- 
 comes initiated in those dissipations, those vices, which a certain class 
 of philosophers have asserted to be a natural preparative for entering 
 on active life ; a kind of mud-bath, in which the youth is, as it were, 
 necessitated to steep, and, we suppose, cleanse himself, before the 
 real tojra of Manhood can be laid on him. ^\e shall not dispute 
 much with this cla.ss of philosophers; we hope they are mistaken; 
 for Sin and Kemor.se so easily beset us at all stages of lite, andar; 
 always such indifferent company, that it seems hard we should, at 
 any stacre be forced and fated not only to meet, but to yield to them ; 
 and eve°n serve for a term in their leprous armada. \\ e hope it is not 
 80 Clear we are, at all events, it cannot be the training one receives 
 in' this service, but only our determining to desert from it, tliat tits 
 for true manlv Action. We become men. not after we have been dis- 
 sipated and disappointed in the chase of false pleasure, but after we 
 have ascertained, in any way, what impassable barriers hem us in 
 tlirough this life; liow mad it is to hope for contentment to our inh- 
 nite soul from the r/ifts of this extremely finite world! that a man 
 must be sufficient for himself; and that " for suffenng and enduring 
 tliere is no remedy but striving and doing." Manhood begins when 
 we have in any wav made truce with Nece.ssity— begins, at all events, 
 when wo have surrendered to Necessity, as the most part only do; 
 but begins .joyfully and hopefully only when wo have reconcilerl our- 
 selves to Necessity, and thus, in reality, triumidied over it an>i le t 
 that in Necessity we are free. Surely such lessons as this last 
 which in one shape or other, is the grand lesson for every moitai 
 man, are better learned from the lins of a devout mother, in the oolcs 
 and actions of a devout father, while the heart is yet suit and pliant,
 
 33 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 than in collision with the sharp adamant of Fato, attractin/j; us to 
 sliipwn'ck us, when the lifart is grown liard, and may b« broken bo- 
 fori' it will become oontritc; ! Had Burns contiimcd to learn this, aa 
 he Wius already learning it, in his fatlier's (iottage, he would have 
 learned it fully, which he never did, and b(!en saved many a lasting 
 aberration, many a bitter hour and year of remorseful sorrow. 
 
 It seems to us another circumstance of fatal import in Ikirns's his- 
 tory, that at this time too he became involved in the religious quar- 
 rels of his district ; tliat he was enlisted and feasted, as the fighting 
 man of the New Light Pri(>stliood, m their highly unprofitable war- 
 fare. At the tables of these free-minded clergy, he learned much 
 more than was needful for him. Such lilieral ridicule of fanaticism 
 awakened in his mind scruples about Religion itself ; and a whole 
 world of Doubts, which it reqmred quite another set of conjurors 
 than those men to exorcise. We do not say that such an intellect as 
 his could have escaped similar doubts, at some period of his history ; 
 or even that he could, at a later period, have come through them al- 
 together victorious and unbanned : but it seems peculiarly unfortu- 
 nate that this time, above all others, should have been fixed for the 
 encounter. For now, with principles assailed by evil example from 
 without, by "passions raging like demons" from within, he had little 
 need of skeptical misgivings to whisper treason in the heat of the 
 battle, or to cut of[ his retreat if he were already defeated. He loses 
 his feeling of innocence ; his mind is at variance with itself ; the old 
 divinity no longer presides there ; but wild Desires and wild Re- 
 pentance alternately oppress him. Ere long, too, he has committed 
 liimself before the world ; his character for sobriety, dear to a Scot- 
 tish peasant, as few corrupted worldlings can even conceive, is de- 
 stroyed in tlie eyes of men ; and his only refuge consists in trying to 
 disbelieve his guiltiness, and is but a refuge of lies. The blackest 
 desperation now gathers over hlra, l)roken only by the red lightnings 
 of remorse. The whole fabric of his life is blasted asunder'/ for now 
 not only his character, but his personal liberty is to be lost ; men and 
 Fortune are leagued for his liurt ; " hungry Ruin has him in the 
 wind." .lie sees no escape but the saddest of all : exile from his 
 loved country, to a country in every sense inhospitable and abhorrent 
 to liim. ^Vhile the "gloomy night is gathering fast, in mental 
 Btonn and solitude, as well as in physical, he sings his wild farewell 
 to Scotland : 
 
 " Farewell, my friends, farewell, my foc8 t 
 My peace with these, my love with those : 
 The biirstincr tears my heart declare ; 
 Adieu, my native banka of Ayr I '' 
 
 Light breaks suddenly in on him in fiixjds ; but still a false transi- 
 tory light, and no real sunshine. Ho is invit(Hl to Edinburgh ; has- 
 tens thither with anticipating heart : is welcomed as in triumph, aiid
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 37 
 
 with universal blandishment and acclamation ; whatever is wisest, 
 whatever is greatest or loveliest there, gathers round him, to gaze on 
 his face, to show him honor, spnpathy, affection. Burns's appearance 
 among the sages and nobles "of Edinburgh must be regarded as one 
 of the most singular phenomena in modern Literature ; almost ILke 
 the appearance of some Napoleon among the crowned sovereigns of 
 modern Politics. For it is nowise as a "mockery king," set there by 
 favor, transiently, and for a purpose, that he will let himself be 
 treated ; still less is he a mad Rienzi, whose sudden elevation turns 
 Ids too weak head ; but he stands t ere on his own basis ; cool, un- 
 ■ astonished, holding his equal rank from Nature her.^elf ; putting forth 
 no claim wliich there is not strength in him, as well as about him, to 
 vindicate. Mr. Lockhart has some forcible observations on thia 
 point : 
 
 •' It needs no effort of imagination," says he, "to conceive what the 
 sensations of an isolated set of scholars (almost all either clergymen 
 or professors) must have been, in the presence of this big- boned, 
 black-browed, brawny stranger, with Ids great flashing eyes, who, 
 having forced his wav among tliem from the plough-tail, at a single 
 stride, manifested in "the whole strain of his bearing and conversa- 
 tion, a most tliorough conviction that in the society of the most em- 
 inent men of his nation, he was exactly where he was entitled to 
 be ; hardlv deigned to flatter them by exhibiting even an occasional 
 bvmpton of being flattered by their notice ; by turns calmly meas- 
 ured him.self against the most cultivated understandings of his time 
 in discussion ; overpowered the hoii mots of the most celebrated con- 
 vivialists by broad floods of merriment, impregnated with all the 
 burning life of genius ; astounded bosoms habitually enveloped in 
 the thrice piled folds of social reserve, by compelling them to trem- 
 ble — nay, to tremble visibly — beneath the fearless touch of natural 
 pathos ;" and all this without indicating the smallest willingness to bo 
 ranked among those professional ministers of excitement who are 
 content to be paid in money and smiles for doing what the spectators 
 and auditors would be ashunu'd (jf doing in their own ])ersons, even 
 if they had the power of doing it ; and last, aiul probably worst of 
 all, wiio was known to be in the habit of enlivening societies AvhicV 
 they would have scorned to approach, still more frequently than 
 their own, with elocpience no less magnificent ; with Avit in all like, 
 liliood still more daring ; often enough as the superiors whom li» 
 fronted without alunn might have guessed from the beginning, and 
 had ere long, no occasion to guess, with wit, pointed at themselves." 
 The farther we remove; from this scene, the more singular will it 
 isecm to us ; details of the exterior suspect of it are already full of in- 
 terest. Most read'TH vwAtWtxi Mr. Walker'.s personal interviews with 
 Burns a.s among the best ])asHnge,s of his Narrative ; :i tim • will ronift 
 when this reminiscence of Sir Walter Scott's, slight though it is, 
 will tdso be precious. ^"
 
 88 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 _'* As for Burns," writes Sir Walter, '-'I may truly say Yirgilium 
 rirU tUntum. 1 was a hid of fifteen in 178G-'7, wlion lie first, came to 
 Eilinlmrg-li, Init had senso and fct^iu!,^ < iiouo:h to bo much inlorosteJ 
 m his poetry, and would liave give the world to know him . but 1 
 had very little acquaintance with any literary people, and still less 
 Avitli the gentry of the west country, the two sets that he most fre- 
 quented. Mr. Thomas Orierson was at that time a clerk of my 
 father's. lie knew Uurns, and promised to ask him to his lodging.1 
 so dinner, but had no opportunity to keep his word ; otlierwise 1 
 might have seen more of this distinguislied man. As it was, 1 saAV 
 him o?ie day at tlu; late venerable Professor Ferguson's, where thero 
 were several gentlom(>n of literary reputation, among whom 1 remem- 
 ber the celebrated Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of course, we youngsters 
 sat_ silent, looked and listened. The only thing I remember 
 which was remarkal>lc in Burns's manner, was the effect produced 
 upon him by a print of Bunbury's representing a soldier lying dead 
 on the snow, his dog sitting in misery on one side — on the other, his 
 widow, with a child in her arms. These lines were wriWen beneath : 
 
 ' Cold on Canadian liills, or Minden's plain, 
 Perhaps tluit mother wept her soldier slain: 
 Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, 
 The bi<^ dro[)g mintjlinar WTth the milk he drew 
 (!ave l.he sad presaLje of his future years, 
 The child of misery baptized in tears.' 
 
 " Burns seemed much affected by the print, or rather by the ideas 
 which it suggested to his mind. He actually shed team. He asked 
 whose the lines were, and it chanced that nobody but myself remem- 
 bered that they occur in a half -forgotten poem of Laughorne's called 
 by the upromising title of " The Justice of Peace." I whispered my 
 information to a friend present, he mentioned it to Burns, who re- 
 warded me with a look and a word, Avhich, though of mere civility, 
 I then received and still recollect with very great pleasure. 
 
 " His person was strong and roljust ; his manners rustic, not clown- 
 ish ; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which received part 
 of its effect perhaps from one's knowknlge of his extraordinary tal- 
 ents. His features are represented in Mr. Nasmyth's picture ; but tc 
 me it conveys the idea that they are diminished, as if see«n in per-^ 
 Bpective. I think his countenance was more massive than it looks in 
 any of the portraits. I should have take the poet, liad I not known 
 what he was, for a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch 
 Bchool, i. c. none of your modern agriculturists who keep laborers fol 
 their drudgery, but the doure gudemri/i, who held his own plough 
 Tlvere wa-s a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all his lin(? 
 amenta ; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical cliaracter an" 
 temperament. It was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed (I say 
 literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling or interest. I never saw
 
 LIFE OF BLllXS. 39 
 
 euct another eve in a liuman liead, tliougli I have seen the most dis- 
 tiuffixished men of mv time. His conversation expressed perfect self- 
 conlidpnce, without the slightest presumption. Among the men who 
 were the most learned of their time and country, he expressed him- 
 self Avith perfect firmness, but without the least intrusive forward- 
 ness ; and when he differed in opinion, he did not hesitate to express 
 it firmly, yet at the same time with modesty. I do not remember any 
 part of his conversation distinctly enough to be quoted ; nor did I 
 ever see him again, except in the street, where he did not recognize 
 me as I could not expect he should. He was much caressed in Edin- 
 buro-h ; but (considering what literary emoluments have been since 
 his dav) the efforts made for his relief were extremely trifling. 
 
 " I remember, on this occasion I mention, I thought Burns's ac- 
 quaintance with English poetry was rather limited ; and also, that 
 liavino- twentv times the abilities of Allan Ramsay and of Ferguson, 
 he talked of them with too much humility as his models ; there was 
 doubtless national predilection in his estimate. 
 
 " This is all I can tell vou al«out Burns. I have only to add, that 
 his dress corresponded with his manner. He was like a farmer 
 dressed in his best to dine with the laird. I do not speak in ??ia?a?«. 
 partem when I sav I never saw a man in company with Ids superi- 
 ors in station or information more perfectly free from either the re- 
 Ality or the affectation of embarrassment. I was told, but did not 
 observe it that his ad.lress to females was extremely deferential, and 
 alwavs with a turn either to the pathetic or humorous, which en- 
 /ra.rpd their attention particularlv. I have heard the late Duchess of 
 Gol-don remark this. I do not know anythmg I can add to these re- 
 collections of fortv years since." 
 
 The conduct o"f Burns under this dazzling blaze of favor; the 
 calm unaffected, nianlv manner, in which he not only bore it but 
 estimated its value, h:is justly been regarded as the best proof that 
 could be given of his real vigor and integrity of mmd. A little 
 natural vanitv, some touches of hyi>ocritical modesty, some glimmer- 
 ingsof affectation, at least some fear of being thought affected, we 
 Cfjuld have pardoned in almost any man : but no such indication is to 
 be traced here In his unexampled situation the young peasant is 
 not a moment perplexed ; so many strange lights do not confuse him 
 do not lead l.im astrav. Nevertheless, we cannot but perceive that 
 this winter did liim great and lasting injury. A somewhat fl^'arer 
 knowledge of men's affairs, scarcely of their chanicters, it did afford 
 him • but a sharper feeling of Fortune' .s nnetpial arrangements m 
 their social dastinv it also left with him. He had s.'on the gay and 
 trorrreous arena, iii which tlie powerful are born to play their parts ; 
 nnv had himself stood in the midst of it ; and he felt more bitterly 
 than ever that Iwre he was but a looker-on, and had no ])art or lot m 
 that 8i>len'did game. From this time a j.-alous indignant fear of social 
 dogradutiou takes; poases-siou cl hJm ; and perycrt^J, ao lur aa augUt
 
 ^ LIFK OF BURNS. 
 
 could poryort, liLs private contentment, and his feolin-s towards hig 
 riclu-r lellows It Wiis clear cmu.u-U to Burns tluit he had talent 
 en.mgh to make a fortune, or a luindred fort,uncs, could he but have 
 r.^_ht,y Willed tins ,t wa.s clear also that he willed something far 
 ddTerent and theretorc could not make one. Unhappy it was that he 
 had not the power to choose the one and reject the other , but must 
 bait forever between two opinions, two objects ; making hampered 
 advancement towards either. But so is it with many men ; We '' lon^ 
 for the merchandise, yet would fain keep the price ; " and so stand 
 chaffermg with l^ate m vexatious altercation, till the Nio-ht come 
 and our tair is over ! ° ' 
 
 The EcUnburgh learned of that period were in general more noted 
 for clearness ot head than for warmth of heart ; with the exception 
 of the good old Blacklock, whose help was too ineffectual, sca?ccly 
 one among tlieni seems to have looked at Burns with anv true ^yra 
 pathy, or indeed much otherwise than as at a highly cm-ious tlLq. 
 By the great also he ,s treated in the customary fashion ; entertained 
 at their tables, and dismissed certain modica of pudding and praise 
 are, from time to time, gladly exchanged for the fascination of his 
 presence; which exchange once effected, the bargain is finished and 
 each party goes his several way. At the end of this strange season 
 Burn.s gloomily sums up his gains and losses, and meditates on the 
 chaotic future. In money he is somewhat richer; in fame and tlio 
 show of happiness, infinitely richer ; but in the substance of it as 
 poor as ev..r. x^ay, poorer, for his heart is now maddened still more 
 with the fever of mere worldly Ambition ; and through long yeara 
 the disease will rack him with unprofitable sufforingsT and wealvcn 
 his strength for all true and nobler aims. 
 
 What Burns was next to do or avoi.l, how a man so circumstanced 
 was now to guide himself towards his true advantage, might at this 
 point of time have been a question for the wisest ; and it was a ques- 
 tion which he was left altogether to answer for himself of his 
 learned or rich patrons it had not struck any individual to' turn a 
 thought on this so trivial m tter. Without claiming for Burns the 
 praise of periect sagacity, Ave must say that his Excise and Farm 
 scheme does not seem to us a very unreasonable one ; and that we 
 should be at a loss, even now, to suggest one decidedly better. Some 
 of his admirers, indeed, are scandalized at his ever resolving to 
 f.X' ''^^ ^''^"l*^ ^''^^« liad him apparently lie still at the pool 
 till the spirit of Patronage should stir the waters, and then heal 
 .wth one plunge all his worldly sorrows I We fear such counsel 
 Jors knew but little of Burns; and did not consider, that happiness 
 mipht in all cases be cheaply had by waiting for the fulfilment of 
 golden dreams, vyere : ^ not that in the interim the dreamer must 
 tlie ot hungi'i-. It reflects credit on the manliness and sound sen.sa 
 ot iJurns, that he felt so early on what ground he was standing 
 and preferred sell -help on the humblest scale to dependence and iu,
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 41 
 
 action, tliougli witliliope of far more splendid possibilities. But even 
 tLese possibilities were not rejected in las sclieme ; he miglit expect, it 
 it chanced that he had any friend, to rise in no long period, into 
 something even like opulence and leisure ; while again, if it chanced 
 that he had uo friend, he could still Jive in security ; and for the 
 rest, he " did not intend to borrow honor from any profession." 
 We think, then, that his plan was honest and well 'calculated ; all 
 turned on the execution of it. Doubtless it failed ; yet not, we be- 
 lieve, from any vice inherent in itself. Nay, after all, it was no 
 faUure of external means, but of internal, that overtook Burns. 
 His was no bankruptcy of the purse, but of the soul : to his last 
 day he owed no man anything. 
 
 Meanwhile he begins well, with two good and wise actions. Ilis 
 donation to his mother, munificent from a man whose hicome had 
 lately been seven pounds a year, was worthy of him, and n t more 
 than' worthy. Generous also, and worthy of him, was his treatment 
 of the woman whose life's welfare now depended on his pleasure. A 
 friendly observer might have hoped serene days for him : his mind 
 is on the true road to peace with itself : what clearness he still 
 wants wdl 1>g given as he proceeds ; for the best teacher of duties, 
 that still lie dim to us, is the Practice of those we see and have at 
 hand. Had the " patrons of genius," who could give him nothing, 
 but taken nothing from him, at least nothing more ! — the wounds of 
 his heart would have healed, vulgar ambition would have died away. 
 Toil and Frugality would have been welcome, since Virtue dwelt 
 with tliem, and poetry would have shown through them as of eld ; 
 and in her clear ethereal light, which was his own by birth-right, he 
 might have looked down on his earthly destiny, and all its obstruc 
 tions, not with patience only, but with love. 
 
 But the patrons of genius would not have it so. Picturesque 
 tourists,* all manner of fashionable danglers after literature, and, far 
 worse, all manner of convival Maecenases, hovered round hini in hi.i 
 retreat ; and his good as well as his weak qualities secured them in- 
 fluence over him. He wa.s flattered by t leir notice; and his warm 
 social nature made it impossible for him to shake them off, and liold 
 
 ♦ There is one little Fketch by certain " Englisli gentlenr.'n " of this class, which, 
 though adopted in Currie's Narrative, and since t en repeated in most others, we 
 liflve all alon-' felt an invincible disposition to regard as ima^nary : " On a rock 
 that projectea into tho stream they saw a man employed in angling, of a singnlar 
 a pcarance. He liad a cap made of fox-nkin on his head, a loose great-coat Hied 
 ronnd him by a belt, from which depended an enormous Highland broadsword. It 
 was iJurnx/' Now, we rather tliink, it was not Burns. ¥i>t, to say notliingof the 
 fox-skin win, loo^u and finite Hibernian wat(;h-co:it with Uic belt, wha: me we to 
 make of thin '■ enormous ILii/hlaiul broadsword " depending from him ? More es- 
 pecially, OH there i.-i no word of parisli constables on the outlook to see whether, aa 
 bennls phrases it, he had un eye to Ills own midrib?, or tliut of tho iniblic I Unrns, 
 <rf ull men, had tho leaht tendency to sock for distiiiciioa, cither in Lis own eyca or 
 tfcoio of ot^era, by iMtch poor muiameiic!).
 
 43 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 on hb way apart from thorn. Tliose men, as we l)elieve, were 
 proximately tlie means of his ruin. Not that they meant him any ill • 
 they only meant themselves a little good ; if he suffered harm, let 
 him look to it ! But they wasted his precious time and his precious 
 talent ; they disturbed his conqjosure, broke down his returninL^ 
 habits of tcinpi-rance and assiiluous contented exertion. Their pam- 
 pering; was ban.'fnl to him ; their cruelty, which soon followed, was 
 equally baneful. The old grudge against Fortune's inequality awoke 
 with new bitterness in their neighborhood, and Burns had no retreat 
 but to the " Rock of Independence," which is but an air-castle, after all, 
 that looks well at a distanc(% but will screen no one from real wind 
 and wet. Flushed with irn-gular excitement, exasperated alternately 
 by contempt of others and contemiit of himself, Burns was no 
 longer regaining his peace of mind, but fast losing it forever. There 
 was a hoUowness at the heart of his life, for his conscience did not 
 now approve what he was doing. 
 
 Amid the vapors of unwise enjoyment, of bootless remorse, and 
 angry discontent with Fate, his true loadstar, a life of Poetry, with' 
 Poverty, nay, with Famine if it nmst bo so, Avas too often altogether 
 hidden from his eyes. And yet he sailed a sea, where, without some 
 such guide, there was no right steermg. Meteors of French Politics 
 rise before him, but these were not his stars. An accident this, which 
 liastened, but did not originate, his worst distresses. In the mad 
 contentions of that time, he comes in collision with certain official 
 Superiors ; is wounded by them ; cruelly lacerated, we should say, 
 could a dead mechanical implement, in any case, be called cruel : and 
 shrinks, in indignant pain, into deeper self-seclusion, into gloomier 
 moodiness than ever. His life has now lost its unity : it is a life of 
 fragments ; led with little aim, beyond the melancholy one of secur- 
 ing its own continuance— in fits of wild false joy, when such offered, 
 and of black despondency when they passed away. His character- 
 before the world begins to suffer : calumny is busy with him ; for a 
 miserable man makes more enemies than friends. Some faults he 
 lias fallen into, and a thousand misfortunes ; but deep criminality is 
 v.-hat he stands accused of, and they that are not without sin cast the 
 first stone at him 1 For is he not a well-wisher of the French Revo- 
 lution, a Jacobin, and therefore in that one act guilty of all? These 
 accusations, political and moral, it has since api)eared, Avere false 
 enough ; but the world hesitated little to credit them. Nay, his con- 
 vivial M;ecenases themselves were not the last to do it. There is rea- 
 son to believe that, in his later years, the Dumfries Aristocracy had 
 partly withdrawn themselves from Burns, as from a tainted person. 
 no longer worthy of their acquaintance. That painful class, sta- 
 tioned, in all provincial cities, behind the outmost breastwork of 
 Gentility, there to stand siege and do battle against the intrusion of 
 Grocerdom and Grazierdum, had actually seen dishonor in the society 
 of Burns, and branded him with their veto •. had, as we vulgarly say.
 
 LIFE OF BHRNS. ^ 
 
 md Mm ! We find one passage in tliis work of Mr. Lockharfs, 
 
 whicli ^vill not out of our tiiouglits : 
 
 '•Aeentiemanof tiiat country, whose name I liave already mo<^s 
 tiian once had occasion to refer to, has often told me that he was sel- 
 dom more grieved than when, ridmg into Dumfries one fine s.immer 
 evening about this time to attend a country ball, he saw Barns walk- 
 iucr alone, on the shady side of the principal street of the town, whild 
 th? opposite side was gay with successive groups ofgentlejaien and 
 ladie< all drawn together for the festivities of the night not one of 
 whom' appeared willing to recognize him. The horseman dismounted, 
 and joined Burns, who, on his proposing to cross the street said 
 ' Nav nay my vouug friend, that's all over now ; and quoted, after 
 a'pause, some verses of Lady Grizzel Baillie's pathetic ballad : 
 
 His bonnet stood ance fu' fair on his brow, 
 
 His auld ane looked better tlian mony ane s new ; « 
 
 But now helets't wear ony way it will hm^x, 
 
 And ca?t3 hinisel" dowie upon the coiu-hmg. 
 
 « O were we youns, as we ance hae been, 
 We end hae been euHopin^ down on yon green, 
 And linking it ower the liTy-white lea I ^ 
 And iverena my haart light I -wad die. 
 
 It was little in Burns's character to let his feelings on certain subjects 
 escape in this fashion. He, immediately after reciting thes^e verses, 
 a.ssumed the sprightliness of his most pleasing manner ; and, taking 
 his young friend home with him, entertamed him very agreeably till 
 thehour"of the ball arrived." ,.,, • r„ 
 
 Alas ' when we think that Burns now sleeps where bitter indig- 
 nation can no longer lacerate his heart,"* and that most of these fair 
 dames and frizzled gentlemen already lie at his side, where the breast- 
 work of gentilitv is quite thrown down -who would not sigh over 
 the thin delusioiis and foolisli toys that divide heart from heart, and 
 make man unmerciful to his brother? . ^ ^ n „,,„, 
 
 It was not now to be lioped that the genius of Burns would (^^ er 
 reach maturity, nor accomplish aug],t worthy of its 11 1 is spirit 
 wn.s jarred in its m.dody ; not the soft breath of natural feeling but 
 til.- rud..' hand of Fate, was now sweeping over the strings. And yet 
 what hannonv was in him, what music even m his discords ! How 
 the wil.l tone; had a charm for the simplest and the wisest ; and nil 
 men felt and knew that here also was one of the f.ifted ! If he en 
 ter.-d an inn at midnight, after all the inmates were in bed, the news 
 of his arrival circulated from the cellar to the garret; and ere ten 
 minutes had elapsed, the landlord and all his guests were ass.nn- 
 bled ' •• Sfmir; brief, pure moments of poetic life were yet appointed 
 him, in the composition of his Songs. We can under.stand unv he 
 grasped at this employment, ^ljl|ow,_too^he_spurned at a ll other 
 
 • UOi »<eva indiffnatio cct uUertugkKararenequil.-HyfirT's Epitapli.
 
 «^ LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 r.-.vard for it but wl.at the labor itself broufrht him. For the soul of 
 JS. mis thou u-li scath.'d and marred, was yet liviii'r in its full ii-onij 
 .^.rength, thoucrh .suarply conscious of its erroi-s and alwsement • and 
 here, m lus destitution and deirradation, was one act of seeniiritr 
 nobleness and selfdevotedn.'ss left even for him to perform lie felt 
 too. that with all the " thou-hless follies" that had " laid him low '' 
 tlie world was unjust and cruel to him ; and he silently aiipealed to 
 another and calmer time. Not as a hired soldier, but* as a patriot 
 woukl he strive for the glory of his country ; so he cast from him the 
 poor sixpence a-day, and served zealously as a volunteer. Let us not 
 grudge Inm this last luxury of his existence ; let him not have ap- 
 pealed to us in vain ! The money was not necessary to him • ho 
 struggled through without it ; long since, the.se guineas would have 
 been gone, and now the highmmdedness of refusing them will plead 
 ,ior him m all hearts for ever. 
 
 We are here arrived at the crisis of Burns's life ; for matters had 
 now taken such a shape with him as could not long continue If im- 
 provement was not to be looked for, Nature could only for a Lmited 
 time maintain this dark and maddening warfare agamst the world 
 and Itself, We are not medically informed whether any continuance 
 ol years was, at this period, probable for Burns ; whether his death 
 IS to be looked on as in some sense an accidental event, or only as the 
 natural consequence of the long .series of events that had prec6ded 
 Ihe latter seems to be the likelier opinion, and yet it is by no means 
 a certain one. At all events, as we have said, some change could not 
 be very distant. Three gates of deliverance, it seems to us, were 
 open for Burns: clear poetical activity, madness, or death. The 
 hrst, with longer life, was still po.ssible, though not probable- for 
 physical causes were beginning to be concerned in it : and yet Burn.'j 
 had an iron resolution : could he but have seen and felt that not only 
 his highest glory, but his fir.st duty, and the true medicine for all his 
 woes, lay here. The second was still less probable ; for his mind Ava.s 
 ever among the clearest and firmest. So the milder third gate was 
 opened for him : and he pas.sed, not softly, vet speedily, into that 
 still country where the hail-storms and fire-showers do not reach 
 and the heaviest-laaen wayfarer at length lays (hnvn his load ! ' 
 
 Contemplating this sad end of Burns, and how he sank unaided by 
 any real help, uncheered by any wise sympathy, generous minds htlVe 
 sometimes figured s-o ti^omselves, with a reproachful sorrow, that 
 mnch might havp »«*u uone for him ; that by counsel, true affection 
 and friendly niip--«- »n;f,>.. he might have been saved to himself and' 
 the world. W e ^wiawion whether there is not more tenderness of 
 heart than sonn«v=v.«t< of judgment in these suggestions. It seems 
 dubious to us wh«.>*.riiie richf-st, wi.sest, mo.st benevolent individual 
 «)u]d have lent wutqs any effectual help. Counsel, which seldom 
 profits any one, h-< «iiM »ot need ; in his understanding, lie knew the 
 ngiit from tlic wrong, as well perhaps as any man ever did ; but the
 
 LIFE OF fJURNS. 45 
 
 persuasion which would have availed him lies not so much in the 
 head as in the heart, where no argument or expostulation could have 
 assLsted much to implant it. As to money again, we do not reallv be- 
 lieve that this was his essential want ; or well see how any privat? 
 man could, even presupposing Bums's consent, have bestowed on hiui 
 an independent fortune, with much prospect of decisive advantage. 
 It is a mortifving truth, that two men in any rank of society could 
 hardlv be foiind virtuous enough to give money, and to take it, as a 
 necessary gift, without injury ^o the moral entireness of one or both. 
 But so stands the fact : friendship, in the- old heroic sense of that 
 term, no longer exists, except in the cases of kindred or other legal 
 affinity ; it is in reality no longer ex^^ected, or recognized as a virtue 
 among men. A close" observer of manners has pronounced " Patron- 
 age," that is, pecuniary or other economic furtherance, to be " twice 
 cursed;" cursing him that gives and him that takes ! And thus, in. 
 regard lo outward matters also, it has become the rule, as in regard 
 to inward it alwavs was and must be the rule, that no one shall look 
 for effectual help to another ; but that each shall rest contented with 
 what help he can afford himself. Such, we say, is the principle of 
 mmlcrn Honor ; naturally enough growing out of that sentiment of 
 Pride which we inculcate and encourage as the basis of our whole 
 social morality. Many a poet has been' poorer than Burns ; but no 
 one was ever prouder : and avc may question whether, without great 
 precaution.s, even a pension from Koyalty would not have galled and 
 encumberfid, more than actually assisted him. 
 
 Still less, therefore, are we disposed to join with another class of 
 Burns's admirers, who accuse the higher ranks among us of having 
 ruined Burns bv their selfish neglect of him. We have already 
 stated our doubts whether direct pecuniary help, had it been offered, 
 would have been accepted, or could have proved very effecttial. We 
 shall reailily admit, however, that much was to be dene for Burns ; 
 that many a poisoned arrow might have been warded from his bosom ; 
 manv an 'entanglement in liLs patli cut asunder by the hand of the 
 powerful ; and light and heat sued on him from high places would have 
 made his himil)le atmos))liere more gc-nial, and the .softest heart then 
 breathing niight have lived and (lied with some fewer pangs. Nay, 
 B'c shall grant furtlier — and for Burns it is granting much— that with 
 ill his pride, he would have thanked, even with exaggerated grati- 
 tude, anv one who had cordially befriended him : patronage, unless 
 ©nee cursed, needed not to have been twice so. At all evente, the 
 poor promotion he desired in his calling might have been granted : it 
 •wa.s his own scheme, therefore likcli'r than any other to be of ser- 
 vice. All this it miglit liave been a luxury— nay, it was a duty— for 
 our nobility to »mve done. No |)art of all tliis, however, did any of 
 them do ; or apj)arently altempl, or wis i to do ; so much is granted 
 a(rain.sl them. But what, then, is the amount of their blame V Sim- 
 ply thut they were men of tho world, and walked by the prmciplea of
 
 46 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 Bucb men ; that thoy treated Burns as other nobles and other com- 
 nioiK.M-s had done other i)oets— as the English did Shakspeare, aa 
 King Cliarles and iiis cavaliers did Butler, as King Philip and his 
 grandws did Cervantes. Do men gather grapes of thorns '! or shall 
 we cut down our thorns for yiekling only a fence, and haws? How, 
 indeed, could the " nobility and gentry of his native land" hold out 
 any hidp to this "Scottish Bard, proud of his name and country'?" 
 Were the nobility and gentry so much as able rightly to help them- 
 selves '! Had they not their game to preserve, their borough interests 
 to strengthen — dinners, therefore, of various kinds to eat and give? 
 Were their means more than adequate to all this business, or less 
 tlian adequate? Less than adequate in general : few of them in real- 
 ity were richer than Burns ; many of them were poorer, for some- 
 times they had to wring their supplies, as with thumbscrews, from 
 the hard hand, and, in their need of guineas, to forget their duty of 
 mercy, which Burns was never reduced to do. Let us pity and for- 
 give them. The game they preserved and shot, the dinners they ato 
 and gave, the borough interests they strengthened, the lifUe Babylon? 
 tlu;y severally builded by the glory of their might, are all melted or 
 ^melting liack into the primeval Chaos, as man's merely selfish en- 
 'deavors are fated to do : and here was an action extending, in virtue 
 of it« worldly influence, we may say, through all time ; in virtue of 
 its moral nature, beyond all time, being immortal as the Spirit of 
 Goodness itself ; this action was offered them to do, and light was 
 not given them to do it. Let us pity and forgive them. But, better 
 than pity, let us go and do othericise. Human suffering did not end 
 with the life of Burns ; neither was the solemn mandate, " Love one 
 another, bear one another's burdens," given to the rich only, but to 
 all men. True, we shall find no Burns to relieve, to assuage by our 
 aid or our pity : but celestial nature^, groaning under thn fardels of 
 a weary life, we shall still find ; and that wretchedness which Fate 
 has rendered voiceless and tuneless is not the least wretched, but the 
 most. 
 
 Still we do not think that the blame of Burns's failure lies chiefly 
 with the world. The world, it seems to us, treated him wiift more, 
 rather than with less, kindness than it usually shows to such men. 
 It has ever, we fear, shown but small favor to its Teachers ; hunger 
 and nakedness, perils and reviling, the prison, the cross, the poison- 
 chalice, have, in most times and countries, been the market-place it 
 has offered fur \Visdom, the welcome with which it has greeted those 
 who have come to enlighten and purify it. Homer and Socrates and 
 the Christian Apostles belong to old days ; but the world's Martvr- 
 ology- was not completed with these. Roger Bacon and Galileo lan- 
 gTaish in priestly dungeons, Tasso pines in the cell of a mad-house, 
 Camoena dies begging on the streets of Lisbon. So neglected, so 
 ♦' persr-cut^d they the Prophets," not in Judea onlv, but iu all places 
 wiiere meu have been. We reckon that every poet of Burns's ordei
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 47 
 
 Is or sliould be, a prophet and teacher to his age ; that he has no 
 %Z therefore t^, expect great kindness from it but rather is bound 
 to do it -reat kindness ; that Burns, in panicular expcr euced fuUv 
 the usual proponion of the world's goodness ; and that the blame of 
 his faUure, as we have said, lies not chiefly with the world 
 
 Where, then, does it lie? We are forced to answer : With him- 
 Belf • it is his iilward, not his outward misfortunes, that bring him to 
 Se dust. Seldom, indeed, is it otherwise ; seldom is a hte morally , 
 ^vrp^ked but the grand cause lies in some internal mal-arrangement, ! 
 ime Infless^f good fortune than of good guidance. Nature, 
 fashions no creature without implanting in it the strength needful 
 for its action and duration ; least of all doe.s she so neglect her mas- 
 terpiece and darling, the poetic soul. Neither can we believe that it 
 
 sTn the power oT any external circumstances utterly to rum th^ 
 mind of a man ; nay, if proper wisdom be gi%;en him, even so mucu 
 S to affect its essential health and beauty. The sternest sum-totai 
 of all worldly misfortunes is Death ; nothing more can lie in the cup 
 o human woe : yet many men, in aU ages, have triumphed over 
 Death, and led it captive, converting its physica victory into a moral 
 victor^ for themselves, into a seal and immortal consecration for all 
 
 hat their past life had achieved. What has been done may be done 
 atain ; nav, it is but the degree and not the kind of such heroism 
 that differe in different seasons; for without some portion ot this 
 spirit not of boisterous daring, but of silent fearlessness, of beli- 
 
 deniai, in all its forms, no good man, in any scene or time, has ever 
 
 ''"wrhl^e^akeadr stated the error of Burns, and mourned over it 
 rather than blamed it. It was the want of unity in his purposes of 
 consistency in his aims ; the hapless attempt to mingle in tnenaly 
 Tn^ontlie common spirit.of the world with the spirit ot poetry, winch 
 is of a far different and ahogether irreconcilable nature Burns vvaa 
 notliing wholly, and Burns could be nothing ; no man formed as he 
 was can be. anything by halves. The heart not o a mere not^ 
 bkwded, popular verse-monger, or poetical Bestanrateur \mi ot a 
 true Poet and Singer, worthy of the old religious heroic times, had 
 }>een given him : and he fell in an age, not of heroism and religion. 
 but of skepticism, selfishness, and triviality, when true Noblene.ss 
 was little understood, and its place supplied by a ho low, dissocial 
 i^ltogeiher barren and unfruitful principle of Pride. The mtiuences 
 of that age. his open, kind. su^.ceptible nature, to say notlimg of h s 
 hichly untoward situation. >nada it more than u.sually <lil hcult for 
 him to repel or resifit ; ^he better spirit that was within ban ever 
 Btemlv demanded Us TigUt3, its supremacy; he spent his ^^^ii m vn- 
 deavo'ring to reconcile tliese 2wo, and lost it, aa he must have lost it. 
 without reconciling tliem heve. , i „ ™^„i.i 
 
 Burns was l>orn iKx.r ; and born al.so to continue poor, f"[/i« ^^^J;^ 
 toot eDd«aTor to bo otherwise ; ihis it had been well could he havt
 
 48 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 once for all adniittod and considered as finally settled. He was pool- 
 truly ; but huudreds even of his own class and ord(>r of minds Lve 
 been poorer, yet have suffered notliinsr deadly from it : nav his own 
 father had a far sorer battle with ungrateful destinv than his was ■ 
 and he did not yield to it, but died courageously warring, and to all 
 moral mteiits prevailing, against it. True, Burns had little means, 
 had even httle time for poetry, his only real ]3ursuit and vocation • 
 but so much the more precious was what little he had. In all tliese 
 external respects his case was hard, but very far from the hardest 
 IJoverty, incessant drudgery, and much worse evils, it has often been 
 the lot of poets and wise men to strive with, and their glory to con- 
 quer. Locke wa^ f anished as a traitor, and wrote his Essay on the 
 ^]i>nan Onderstandtng sheltering himself in a Dutch garret. Was 
 Milton rich, or at his ease, when he composed Paradise Lose? Not 
 only low, but fallen from a height ; not only poor, but impoverished; 
 lu darkness and with dangers compas.sed round, he sang his immor- 
 tal song, and found lit audience, though few. Did not Cervanteg 
 tnish his work a maimed soldier and in prison? Nay, was not the 
 Araucana, which bpain acknowledges as its Epic, written without 
 even the aid ot paper— on scraps of leather, as the stout fighter and 
 voyager snatched any moment from that wild warfare ? 
 
 And what then had these men which Burns wanted? Two things 
 Uoth which, It seems to us, are indispensable for sufh men Thev 
 had a true, religious principle of morals ; and a single not a double 
 aim in their activity. They were not self-seekers and self- worship- 
 pers ; but seekers and worshippers of something far better than Self 
 Not personal enjoyment was their object ; but a liigh, heroic idea of 
 Keligion, of Patriotism, of heavenly Wisdom, in one or the other 
 form, ever hovered before them ; in which cause, thev neither shrank 
 from suffering, nor caUed on the earth to witness it as something won- 
 derlul ; but patiently endured, counting it blessedness enough so to 
 t^pend and be spent. Thus the "golden calf of Self-love," however 
 curiously carved, was not their Deity ; but the Invisible Goodness 
 which alone is man's reasonable service. This feeling was as a celesl 
 tial fountaui, whose streams refreshed into gladness and beauty all the 
 provinces of their otherwise too desolate existence. In a word they 
 wiLsd one thing, to which all other things were subordinated and 
 made subservient : and therefore they accomplished it. The wedge 
 will rend rocks ; but its edge must be sharp and single ; if it be dou- 
 ble^ the wedge is bruised in pieces and will rend nothin"- 
 
 Part of this superiority these men owed to their age • in which 
 heroism and devotedness were still practised, or at least not yet di.s- 
 ivelieved in ; but much of it likou-ise thev owed to themselves With 
 Amtus again it was different. His morality, in most of its practical 
 points, is that of a mere worldly man ; enjoyment, in a finer or a 
 coarser shape, is the only thing he longs and strives for. A noble in- 
 Btmct sometimes raises him above this ; but an instiuct only and act-
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 49 
 
 lag only for moments. He lias no Religiou ; in the shallow age, 
 Avhere liis davs were cast, Religion was not discriminated from the 
 New and Old'Light/orwisof Religion; and Ts-as, with these, becom- 
 ing obsolete in the minds of men." His he'\rt, indeed, is alive with a 
 trembling adoration, but there is no t>5mple in his understanding. 
 He lives 'in darkness and in the shadow of doubt. His religion, at 
 best, is an anxious wish ; like that of Rabelais, "a great Perhaps." 
 
 He loved Poetry warmly, and Ia nis heart ; could he but have loved 
 it purely, and with his whole undivided heart, it had been well. For 
 Poetry,'as Burns could have followed it, is but another form of Wis- 
 dom, of Religion ; is itself Wisdom and Religion. But this also was 
 denied him. His poetry is a stray, vagrant gleam, which will not be 
 extinguished within him, yet rises not to be the true light of his path, 
 but i^ often a wiidfire *iiat misleads him. It was not necessary foi 
 Burns to be rich, to be or to seem " independent ; " but it teas neces- 
 sary for hirn to \)e at one with his own heart ; to place what was 
 liighest in his i^acure, highest also in his life ; "to seek withm him- 
 Beif for that TOnsistency and sequence which external events would 
 for ever refuse liim." He was born a poet ; poetry was the celestial 
 element of his being, and should have been the soul of his whole en- 
 deavors. Lifted into that serene ether, whither he had wings given 
 him to mount, he would have needed no other elevation : Poverty, 
 neglect, and all evil, save the desecration of himself and his Art, 
 ■were a small matter to him : the pride and the passions of the world 
 ]ay far beneath his feet ; and he looked down alike on noble and slave, 
 •li prince and beggar, and all that wore the stamp of man, with clear 
 recognition, with i)rotherly affection, with sympathy, with pity. Nay, 
 we question whether for his culture as a Poet, poverty, and much suf- 
 fering for a season, were not absolutely advantageous. Great men, in 
 looking back over their Uvcs, have testified to that effect. " I would 
 not ff)r much." says Jean Paul, " that I had been born richer." And 
 yet Paul's birth "was poor enough ; for in another place he adds : 
 " The prisoner's allowance is bread and water ; and I had often only 
 the latter." But the gold that is refined in the hottest furnace comes 
 out the purest ; or, as he has himself expressed it, "the canary bij-d 
 sings sweeter the longer it has been trained in a darkened cage." 
 
 A man like Burns might have divided his hours between poetry 
 and virtuous industry ; indu.stry which all true feeling sanctions, nay, 
 pre.scrib<;s, ami which has a beauty, for that cause, beyond the pomp 
 of thrones ; but to divide Ids hours between poetry and rich men's 
 banquets, was an ill-.starred and iiKius])iciousattein])t. How could he 
 be at eu.se at such banquiits'i! Wliat liud he to do tlieve, mingling his 
 music with the coarse roar of altogether earthly voices, and biightcn- 
 ing the tliick smoke of intoxication with fire lent him from heaven '? 
 Was it liis aim in rnjo)/ life? 'J'o-niorrow lie must go drudge as an 
 Kxfimnuan ! We won'dor not that Burns becawiw moody, indignant, 
 •'ud at times an offender against certain rules of society ; but rather
 
 50 LIFE OP BURNS. 
 
 that he did not grow utterly frantic, and run a-muck against them all. 
 How could a man, so falsely placed, by his own or others' fault, ever 
 know coiitentiuont or peaccahlo dilig-enco for an liour? Wliat he did, 
 uniler such ]ierverse guidance, and what he forbore to do, alike fill us 
 with astoni.slinient at the natural strength and worth of his character. 
 
 Doubtless there was a remedy for this perverseness : but not in 
 Bthers, only in himself; least of all in simple iucreaso of wealth and 
 worl.ily "respectability." We hope we have now heard enough 
 about the efficacy of wealth for poetry, and to make poets happy. 
 Nay. have we not .seen another instance of it in the.se very days? 
 Byi'on, a man of endowment considerably less ethereal than that of 
 Burns, is born in the rank not of a Scottish ploughnum, but of an 
 English peer : the highest worldly honors, the fairest worldly career, 
 arehis by inheritance : the richest harvest of fame he soon reaps, in 
 another province, by his own hand. And what does all this avail 
 him? Is he happy, is Ik; good, is he true? Alas, he has a poet's 
 soul, and strives towards tlie Infinite and the Eternal ; and soon feels 
 that all this is but mounting to the house-top to reach the stars ! Like 
 Burns, he is only a proud man ; might like him have " purchased a 
 pocket-copy of Milton to study the character of Satan ; " for Satan 
 also is Byron's grand exemplar, the hero of his poetry and the model 
 apparently of his conduct. As in Burns's case, too, the celestial ele- 
 ment will not mingle with the clay of earth ; both poet and man of 
 the world he must not be ; vulgar Ambition will not live kindly with 
 poetic Adoration ; he cannot serve God and Mammon. Byron, like 
 Burns, is not happy ; nay, he is the most wretched of all men. His 
 life is falsely arranged : the fire that is in him is not a strong, still, 
 central fire, warming into beauty the products of a world ; but it is 
 the mad fire of a volcano ; and now— we look sadly into the ashes of 
 a crater, which ere long will fill itself with snow ! 
 
 Byron and Burns were sent forth as missionaries to their genera- 
 tion", to teach it a higher doctrine, a purer truth : they had a message 
 to deliver, which left them no rest till it was accoTnplished ; in dim 
 throes of pain, this divine behest lay smouldering within them ; for 
 they knew not wlmt it meant, and felt it only in mysterious anticipa- 
 tion, and they had to die without arti uilately uttering it. They are 
 in the camp of the Unconverted. Yet not as liigh messengers of rigor- 
 »us though benignant truth, but as soft fiattering singers, and in 
 pleasant fellowship, Avill they live there ; they are first adulated, then 
 persecuted ; they accomidish little for others ; they find no peace for 
 Jthemselves, but "only death and the peace of the grave. We confess, 
 'it is not without a certain mournful awe that we view the fate of these 
 noble so\;ls, so richly gifted, yet ruined to so little ])urpose with all 
 their gifts. It seenis to us there Ls a stern moral taught in this ])iece 
 of hi.story — ticke told us in our own time ! Surely to men of like 
 genius, if there be any such, it carries with it a lesson of deej) impres- 
 sive significance. Surely it would become such a man, furnished for
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 51 
 
 the hi^liest of all ("iitCTprises. that of being the Poet of his Age, to 
 runsicler well what it is that he attempts, and in what spirit he at- 
 tempts it For the words of Milton are true in all times, and were 
 never trurer than in this: " He who would write heroic poems 
 must make his whole life a heroic poem." 
 
 If he cannot first so make his life, then let him hasten from this 
 arena ; for neither its lofty glories nor its fearful perils are for him 
 I^t him dwindle into a modish balladmonger ; let him worship and 
 be-sing the idols of the time, and the time will not fail to reward 
 him— if indeed, he can endure to live in tliat capacity ! Byron and 
 Burns could not live as idol-priests, but the fire of their own hearts 
 consumed them ; and better it was for them that they could not 
 For it is not in the favor of the great or of the small, but m a lite of 
 truth and in the inexpugnable citadel of his own soul, that a Byron s 
 or a Burns's strength must lie. Let the great stand aloof from him 
 or know how to reverence him. Beautiful is the union of wealth 
 with favor and furtherance for literature, like the costliest tiower- 
 iar enclosing the lovliest amaranth. Yet let not the relation be mis- 
 taken A true poet is not one whom they can hire by money or fiat- 
 terv to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer of occasional ver- 
 ses their purvevor of table- wit ; he cannot be their menial, he cannot 
 even be their partisan. At the peril of both parties, let no such 
 union be attempted ! Will a Courser of the Sun work softly m the 
 harness of a Drav-horse? His hoofs are of hre, and his path is 
 throu^rh the heavens, bringing light to all lauds ; will he lumber on 
 tnud iiighwavs, dragging ale for earthly appetites, from door to door ? 
 But we must stop short in these considerations, which would lead 
 us to boundless lengths. ^Ve liad something to say on the public 
 moral character of Burns ; but this also we must forbear. V\ e aie 
 far from regarding him a.s guilty before the world as guiltier than 
 the average ; nay, from doubting that he is le.ss guilty than one of ten 
 tliousand Tried at a tribunal far more rigid than that where tlicPleb- 
 uritaol common civic rei-utations are pronounced, he has seemed to 
 us even there less wortliy of blame than of pity and wonder, but 
 the world is habituallv unjust in its ju.lgments oi such men ; un]ust 
 on manv grounds, of 'wliicli tliis one may be stated as the substance : 
 it decirlesflike a court of law, by dead statutes ; and not positively 
 but negatively ; less on what is done right than on what is or is not 
 done wrontr N t tlie f.-sv inches of reflection from the mathematical 
 ,.rbit, whidi are so easily measured, but the rath cA these to the 
 whole diameter, constitutes the real al)rrrMtion. Ihis orbit may be a 
 planet's its diameter the breadth of the solar system ; or it may be a 
 ritv hippodrome ; nav, the circle of the ginhorse. its diameter a score 
 of Vef.t or paces. But the inches of deflection only are metusured ; and 
 it i.s assum(;d that the diameter of the ginhorse and that of the planet 
 will yield the sam.. ratio when comi)ared with them. Here Ik^s tho 
 root of many a blJad, ciuel coudeumation of Buruses, bwifts, Uous-
 
 63 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 BOftiis, which one novf^r listens to with approval. OrantH, th« ship 
 comes into hnrlH>r with shrouds and tiiclslo (Unnamed ; and the ]»ilot in 
 tlierofore blameworthy ; for htf hius not liccn all-wise and all-))ow«!r- 
 I'ul ; but to know hoin iilamoworthy, tell us first wliethcr his voyage 
 has been round the Ulobe, or only to Kamsgato and the Isle of Dogs. 
 With our readers in general, with men of right feeling anywhere, 
 we are not required to plead for Burns. In pitying admiration, he 
 lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a far nobler mausoleum than that 
 one of marble ; neither will his Works, even as they are, pass away 
 from the memm-y of man. While the Shakspeares and Miltons roll 
 on like mighty rivers through the country of Thought, bearing fleetu 
 of tratfickera and assiduous pearl-fishers on their waves, this little 
 Valclusa Fountain will also arrest our eye : for this also is of Nature's 
 own and most cunning workmanship, bursts from the depths of the 
 earth, with a full gushing current, into the light of day ; and often 
 will the traveller turn aside to drink of its elear waters, aud muse 
 among its rocks and pines 1 
 
 THE EITD.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 The genius of tlie Arabian propliet, tlie manners of liis nation, and 
 the sjjirit of liis religion, involve the causes of the decline and fail of 
 the Eastern empire ; and our eyes are curiously intent on one of the 
 most memorable revolutions, which have impressed a new and lasting 
 character on the nations of the globe.* 
 
 In the vacant sjiace between Persia, Syria, Egypt, and iEthiopia, 
 the Arabian peninsula may be conceived as a triangle of spacious but 
 irregular dimensions. From the northern point of Beles(«) on the 
 Euphrates, a line of fifteen hundred miles is tenninated by the straits 
 of Babelmandel and the land of frankincense. About half this lengtk 
 may be allowed for the middle breadth, front east to west, from Bas- 
 sora td Suez, from the Persian gulf to the Red Sea. The sides of the 
 triangle are gradually enlarged, and the southern basis presents a 
 front of a thousand miles to the Indian ocean. The entire surface of 
 the peninsula exceeds in a fourfold proportion that of Germany or 
 France; but the far greater part has been justly stigmatized with the 
 epithets of the stony and the sandy. Even the wilds of Tartary are 
 decked, by the hand of nature, with lofty trees and luxuriant herbage ; 
 and the lonesome traveller derives a sort of comfort and society from 
 the presence of vegttable life. But in the dreary waste of Arabia, a 
 boundless level of sand is intersected by sharp and naked mountains ; 
 and the face of the desert, without shade or shelter, is scorched by 
 the direct and intense rays of the tropical sun. Instead of refreshing 
 breezes, the winds, jjarticularly from the southwest, diffuse a noxious 
 and even deadly vapor ; the hillocks of sand which they alternately 
 raise and scatter are compared to the billows of the ocean, and whole 
 crravans, whole armies have been lost and buried in the whirlwind. 
 
 * The best works on the ancient geocT-apliy and ante-Mahometan history of Arabia 
 ere " The Histi-ricul Gcfirrraphy of Arabia," by the Rev. Chares Fors'ter, 2 voh. 
 fivo, London, 184^1, and " Rss.ii .snr THistoire desArabes avanl rislaniismc, pendant 
 'l'i''IX)pne de Mahomet, et jusqua la reduction de toutes les tnbut; sous la loi Musul- 
 mane," by A. P. CuiiB.sin de Perceval, Profewsenr d'Arabe au Colh'iTe Royal de 
 Franco, 3 voIh. 8vo,'Pari.s. 1R47-1848. Of the latter work there is an able account iu 
 the Calcutta Review, Jin. xli.— S. — Of modem travellers ma be mentioned the ad- 
 venturer who called himrtdf Ali Bey ; but, above all, the intelligent, the enterpris- 
 ing, the accurate Burckhardt.— M. 
 
 fa) It was in this plncc, the paradise or garden of a satrap, that Xenophou and the 
 Greeks first panned the KujjhrateM. 
 
 (1)
 
 2 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 Tho conirnon benefits of water are nn object of desire and contest ; 
 j'.'.id suck ifl llie scarcity of wood that some art is recjuisite to pr<!sei-v() 
 and proprtirate the element of lire. Araliia is destitute of nuvio;al)l(; 
 rivers, wliich fertilize tlio soil, and convoy its produce to the adjacent 
 regions ; the torrents that fall from the hills are imbibed by tlio 
 thirsty cartli : the rare and hardy plants, the tamarind or the acacia, 
 that strike their roots into the clefts of the rocks, are nourished by 
 the dews of night ; a scanty supply of rain is collected in cisterns and 
 aqueducts ; the wells and springs are tlie secret treasure of the desert ; 
 and the i)ilgrim of ]\Iecca(rt) after many a dry and sultry march, is 
 disgusted by the taste of the waters, wh'ich have rolled over a bed of 
 sulphur or salt. Such is the general and genuine })icture of the cli- 
 mate of Arabia. The experience of evil enhances the value of any 
 local or partial enjoyments. A shady grove, a green pasture, a stream 
 of fresh water, are sufficient to attract a colony of sedentary Arabs to 
 the fortunate spots which can afford food and refreshment to them- 
 selves and their cattle, and which encourage their industry in thecul- 
 livalion of the palm-tree and the vine. The high lands that border 
 on the Indian ocean are distinguished by their superior plenty of 
 wood and water ; the air is more temperate, the fruits are more deli- 
 cious, the animals and the human race more numerous ; the fertility 
 of the soil invites and rewards tho toil of the husbandman ; and tlio 
 peculiar gifts of frankincense(Z^) and coffee have attracted in different 
 ages the merchants of the world. If it be compared with the rest of 
 the peninsula, this sequestered region may truly deserve the appella- 
 tion of the happy ; and the splendid coloring of fancy and fiction has 
 been suggested by contrast and countenanced by distance. It was for 
 this earthly paradise that nature had reserved her choicest favors and 
 her most curious workmanship : the incompatible blessings of luxury 
 and innocence were ascribed to the natives • the soil was impregnated 
 with gold(i',') and gems, and both the land and sea were taught to ex- 
 
 (a) In the thirty days, or stations, between (^airo and Mecca, there are fifteen desti 
 tutf- of good watt-r. See the route of the Iladjces in Shaw's Travel.s, p. All. 
 
 {b\ 'I'lie aroniatics, especially the tkus or frankincense of Arabia, occupy the 
 twelfth book of Pliny. Our great poet (Paradito Lo,<t, 1 iv ) introduces, in a simile, 
 the bpicy odors that are blown by the northeast wind from tlie Sabacan coast : 
 
 ^lany a league, 
 
 Pleased with the grateful scent, old Ocean smiles. 
 
 (■'•) Agatharcides affirms that lumps of pure gold were found from the size of an 
 olive to that of a nut ; th.n.t iron was twice, and silver ten times, the value of gold. 
 (de Mari Ilubro, p. (iO. ) These real or imaginary treasures : re vanished, and uo <'oid 
 mines are at present known in Arabia. (Niebuhr, Description, p. 124.)* 
 
 * A brilliant passage in the geographical poem of Dionysius Peric'ctes embodies 
 tne notions of the ancients on the wealth and fertility of Yemen. Greek mytholo- 
 gy', and the traditions of the "gorgeous east," of India as well as Arabia, are 
 mingled together in indiscriminate sjilendor. Comi)aro on the Bouthern coast of 
 Arabia the rec€nt travels of Lieut. Wellstcd— M.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 hale the odore of aromatic sweets. This division of the sandu, tho 
 atony, and the happy, so familiar to the Greeks and Latins, is un- 
 known to the Arabians themselves : and it is singular enough that a 
 country, whose language and inhabitants have ever been the same, 
 should' scarcely retain a vestige of its ancient geography. The mari- 
 time districts of Bahrein and Oman are opposite to the realm of Per- 
 sia. The kingdom of Yemen chsplays the limits, or at least tha 
 situation, of Arabia Fajlix : the name of iV%CfZ is extended over the 
 inland space : and the birth of Mahomet has illustrated the province 
 of Utjaz'-' along the coast of the Red sea. 
 
 The measure of the population is regulated by the means of sub- 
 sistence ; and the inhabitants of this vast peninsula might be out- 
 numbered by the subjects of a fertile and muustrious province. Along 
 the sliores of tlie Persian gulf, of the ocean, and even of the Red 
 Sea, the IcUtyophagi, or fish-eaters, continued to wander in quest of 
 their precarious food. In this primitive and abject state, which ill 
 deserves the name of society, the human brute, without arts or laws, 
 almost without sense or language, is poorly distinguished from the 
 rest of the animal creation. Generations and ages might roll away in 
 silent oblivion, and the helpless savage was restrained from nuiltij^ly- 
 ing his race, by the Avants and pursuits whicli confined his existence 
 to the narrow margin of the sea-coast. But in an early period cf an- 
 tiquity the great body of the Arabs had emerged from this scene of 
 miserv ; and as tlie naked wildern(!ss could not maintain a people of 
 hunters', they rose at once to the more secure and plentiful condition 
 of the jiastoral life. The same life is uniformly pursued by the rov- 
 ing tribes of the desert ; and in the portrait of the modern Bcdoireevs, 
 we may trace the features of their ancestors, who, in tlie age of Moses or 
 Mahomet, dwelt under similar tents, and conducted their horses, and 
 camels, and sheep to the same springs and the same pastures. Our 
 toil is lessened, and our wealth is increased, by our dominion over the 
 useful animals ; and the Arabian shepherd liad acquired the absolute 
 possession of a faithful friend and laborious slave.(<'() Arabia, in the 
 opinion of the naturalist, is the genuine and original country of tho 
 hone; the climate most propitious, not indeed to the size, but to tho 
 spirit and swiftness of that generous animal. The merit of the Barb, 
 the Spanish, and tlie English breed, is derived from a mixture of 
 Arabian blood : the Bedcjweens preserve, with superstitious care, tlie 
 honors and tlie memory of the ])urest race; the mak« are so data 
 high price, liut the females are seldom alienated ; and the birth of a 
 
 I * IT^im means the "Imrricr" or "frontier," rs lying between the southern and 
 lU)rthi!m mernliantH, or. in other wordu, l)ctween Arabia Fx-lix ;nid Arabi:» Pctrrea. 
 It i-i u mountainous ( istrict, and includes iModlnaas well an ATccca. It ocoupie« tho 
 Hpace liftwecn Nfijed (Najd) and the Ked Sea. Spren^'er, Life of Molmiuiiicd, p. U; 
 Cde I'erceval, EsMai, Ac, vol. 1, p. 3.— S. 
 
 («>IU;nd (it is no unpIeaBant tOBk) the incomparable articles of tho Horse and tho 
 Camel, in the Natural History of M. dc liulTon.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 noble foal was esteemed among the tribes as a subject of ioy and 
 
 inutual congratulation. These horses are educated in the tents, among 
 
 u' children of the Arabs, with a tender familiarity, which trains 
 
 tliem m the Juibits of gentleness and attaclinient. Thcv 
 
 turned only to waUi and to gallop : their sensations are not blunted by 
 ,tlie incessant abuse of the spur and the whip ; their powers are re- 
 served for the moments of flight and pursuit : but no sooner do they, 
 i-eel the touch of the hand or the stirrup, than they dart aAvay with 
 tlio swiftness of the wind ; and if their friend be dismounted in the' 
 rapid career, they instantly stop till he has recovered his seat. In the 
 sands of Africa and Arabia, the camel is a sacred and precious gift 
 That strong and patient beast of burthen can perform, without eatino- 
 or drinking a journey of several days ; and a reservoir of fresh water 
 IS preserved ma large bag, a fifth stomach of the animal, whose body 
 IS imprinted witli the marks of servitude : the larger breed is capable 
 of trajisporting a weight of a tliousand ponnds ; and the dromedary 
 of a lighter and more active frame, outstrips the fleetest courser in 
 the race. Alive or dead, almost every part of the camel is serviceable 
 to man : her milk is plentiful and nut>ritious : the young and tender 
 flesh has the taste of veal : a valuable salt is extracted from the urine • 
 the dung supplies the deficiency of fuel ; and the long liair, which 
 tails each year and is renewed, is coarsely manufactured into the gar- 
 ments, the furniture, and the tents of the Bedoweens. In the rainy 
 seasons they consume the rare and insufiicient herbage of the desert • 
 during the heats of summer and the scarcity of winter, they remove 
 their encampments to the sea-coast, the l-ills of Yemen, or the neigh- 
 borhood of the Euphrates, and have often extorted the dan<rerou3 
 license of visiting the banks of the Nile and the villages of Syria and 
 Palestine The life of a wandering Arab is a life of danger and dis- 
 tress ; and though sometimes, by rapine or exchange, he niav appro- 
 priate the fruits of industry, a private citizen of Europe is in posses- 
 Bion of more solid and pleasing luxury than the proudest emir who 
 marches in the field at the head of ten thousand horse 
 
 1 et an es.sential difference may be found between the hordes of 
 bcytliia and the Araljian tribes, since many of the latter were col- 
 lected into towns and employed in the labors of trade and agriculture 
 Apart of their time and industry was still devoted to the management 
 ot their cattle ; they mingled, in peace and war, witli their brethren 
 ot ttie desert ; and tlie Bedoweens derived from their useful inter^ 
 course .some supply of their wants, and some rudiments of art and 
 knowledge Among tlie forty-two citi.;s of Arabia, enumerated by 
 ADulteda tlie most ancient and populous were situate in the hanmi 
 lemen : the towers of Saaua and the marvellous reservoir of Merab* 
 
 a lar^e'rosf^voir n^w'^^T"'^ """ '"""'lati^.^vlnch took place from the b.irstlnff of 
 Si'-^^foo i r ^^""iV'^r""''^''^^"'''*^ ffreat importance ill ttic AniWan aimals and 
 diicu-sscd at considerable leu^'th by modern orientalists -M '"""'"" """aib, ana
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 8 
 
 were constructed by tlio kings of the Homerites but tlieir profane 
 lustre wan eclipsed by the prophetic glories of Medina and Mecca,* 
 near the Red sea, and at the distance from each other of two hundred 
 and seventy miles. The last of these holy places was known to the 
 Greeks under the name of Macoraba ; and the termination of the word 
 is expressive of its greatness, which has not indeed, in the most 
 flourishing period, exceeded the size and populousness of Marseilles, f 
 Some latent motive, perhaps of superstition, must have impelled tho 
 founders in the choice of a most unpromising situation. They erected ; 
 their habitations of mud or stone in a plain about two miles long and 
 one mile broad, at the foot of three barren mountains: the soil is a' 
 rock ; the water even of the holy well of Zemzem is bitter or brack- 
 ish 4 the pastures are remote from the city ; and grapes are trans- 
 ported above seventy miles from the gardens of Tayei'. The fame 
 and spirit of the Koreishites, who reigned in Mecca, were con- 
 spicuous among the Arabian tribes ; but their urigrateful soil refused 
 the labors elf agriculture, and their position was favorable to the en- 
 terprises of trade. By the sea-port of Gedda, at tho distance only of 
 forty miles, they maintained an easy correspondence with Abyssinia ; 
 and that Christian kingdom afforded the first refuge to the disciples of 
 Mahomet. The treasures of Africa were conveyed over the peninsula, 
 of Gerrha or Katif, in the province of Bahrein, a city built, as it is 
 said, of rock-salt, by the Chaldean exiles ; and from thence, with tho 
 native pearls of the Persian gulf, they were floated on rafts to tho 
 mouth of the Euplirates. Mecca is placed almost at an equal distance, 
 a month's journey, between Yemen on tho right, and Syria on the 
 left haiul. The former was the winter, the latter the summer station 
 of lier caravans : and their seasonable arrival relieved the ships of 
 India from the tedious and troublesome navigation of the Red Sea. 
 In the markets of Saaua and Moral), in the harbors of Omen and 
 Aden, the camels of the Koreishites were laden with a ])recious cargo 
 of aromatics ; a supply of corn and manufactures was purchased in 
 the fairs of Bostra and Damascus ; the lucrative exchange diffused 
 
 • Even in the time of Gibbon, Mecca had hot been so inaccessible to Europeans. 
 It had been visited by Ludovico liartliemu, and by one Joseph Pitts, of Kseter, who 
 was taken prii^oner by the Moors, and forcibl / converted to Mahoinctanism. llis 
 volnmc is a curious tboMLrh piain account of liis sutTerings and travels. Since that 
 time Mecca ha<? been entered, and tlie ceremonies witnesiied. by Dr. .Seetzen, whose 
 papers were unfortunately lost ; by the Spaniard who called himself All Bey; and 
 la.stly by JJurckhard , whose deacription leaver nothing wanting to satisfy tho curi- 
 fosity.— .Vr. 
 
 t .Mr. ForHtcr identifies the Creek name with the Arabic Mechnrctf), " the warlike 
 city," or" the city of the Ilarb." Ccojy. of Arabia, vol. i., p. 2t).5.— S. 
 
 J I'Qrekhardt, however, observes : — 'The water is heavy in its taste, and Horae- 
 timesin its color re-^embles milk, but it is jwrfectbj sweet, and differs very nuirli 
 frf)m that of ths brackish wells dispersed over the town." (Travels in Anil)ia. p. 
 lU.i Elsewhere be nays :—" It seenn ])r()l)abl(; that the town of Mecca owed Its 
 oriyin to this well ; fur many miles roiiml no kwci-t water Is found, nor is tliwrw \t 
 any part of the country bo copioud a tupjily." (Ibid, p. 140.)— S. 
 A.IJ.— 5
 
 6 LIFE OF MAUOMET. 
 
 plenty and riclies in tlie streets of Mecca ; and the noblest of her 
 sons united the love of arms with the profession of merchandise. 
 
 The perpetual independence of the Arabs has been the theme of 
 praise among strangers and natives ; and the arts of controversy 
 transform this singular event into a prophecy and a miracle, in favoX 
 of the posterity of Ismael. Some exceptions, that can neither be dis 
 sembled nor eluded, render this mode of reasoning as indiscreet as i< 
 is superfluous ; the kingdom of Yemen has been successively sub- 
 dued by the Abyssinians, the Persians, the sultans of Egypt, and th( 
 Turks ; the holy cities of Mecca and Medina have repeatedly bowed 
 under a Scythian tyrant : and the Roman province of Arabia em^ 
 braced the peculiar wilderness in which Ismael and his sons mirst 
 have pitched their tents in the face of their brethren. Yet these ex- 
 ceptions are temporary or local ; the body of the nation has escaped 
 the yoke of the most powerful monarchies ; the arms of Sesostris* 
 and Cyrus, of Pomi)ey and Trajan, could never achieve the conquest 
 of Arabia ; the present sovereign of the Turks (a) may exercise a 
 shadow of jurisdiction, but his pride is reduced to solicit the friend- 
 ship of a people, whom it is dangerous to provoke and fruitless t( 
 attack. The obvious causes of their freedom are inscribed on the 
 character and country of the Arabs. Many ages before Mahomet, 
 their intrepid valor had been severely felt by their neighbors in offen 
 siv8 and defensive war. The patient and active virtues of a soldiel- 
 are insensibly nursed in the habits and disciiiline of a pastoral life. 
 The care of the sheep and camels is abandoned to the women of tlir 
 tribe ; but the martial youth under the banner of the emir, is ever on 
 horseback, and in the field, to practice the exercise of the bow, tht 
 javelin, and the scymitar. The long memory of their independence 
 is the lirmest pledge of its perpetuit_y, and succeeding generations aro 
 animated to prove their descent and to maintain their inheritance. 
 Their domestic feuds are suspended on tlie approach of a commoi? 
 enemy ; and in their last hostilities against the Turks, the caravan o( 
 Mecca was attacked and pillaged by fourscore thousand of the con- 
 federates. When they advance to battle, the hope of victory is in 
 the front ; in the rear the assurance of a retreat. Their horses and 
 camels, who in eight or ten days can perform a march of four or five 
 hundred miles, disappear tefore the conqueror ; the secret waters ol 
 the desert elude his search, and his victorious troops are consumei'' 
 with thirst, hunger, and fatigue, in the pursuit of an invisible foe, 
 who scorns his efforts and safely reposes in the heart of the burning 
 solitude. The arms and deserts of the Bedo weens are not only th j 
 safeguards of their own freedom, but the barriers also of the IIapi)y 
 
 (a) Niebuhr (Description de I'Arabic, pp. 302, 303, 329-331) affords tbciuost rcceni 
 and authentic intelligence of the Turkish empire in Arabia.* 
 
 * Niebahr's, notwithstanding the multitude of later travellers, maintains Its 
 ground as the classical work on Arabia.— JI.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 7 
 
 Arabia, whose inhabitants, remote from war, are enervated by the 
 luxury of the soil and climate. The legions of Augustus melted 
 awav 'in disease and lassitude; and it is only by a naval p)werthat 
 the 'reduction of Yemen has been successfully attempted. When 
 Mahomet erected his holy standard, that kingdom was a province of 
 the Persian empire ; yet seven princes of the Homerites still reigned 
 in the mountains ; and the vicegerent of Chosroes was tempted to 
 forget his distant country and his unfortunate master. The histori- 
 ansof the age of Justinian represent the state of the independent 
 Arabs, who were divided by interest or aifection in the long quarrel 
 of the east ; the tribe of Onssaii, was allowed to encamp on the Syrian 
 territory ; the princes of Hira were permitted to form a city about forty 
 mUes to the southward of the ruins of Babylon. Their service in the 
 field was speedy and vigorous ; but their friendship was venal, their 
 faith inconstant, their enmity capricious ; it was an easier task to ex- 
 cite than to disarm these roving barbarians ; and in the familiar in- 
 tercourse of war they learned to see and to despise the splendid weak- 
 ness both of Rome and of Persia. From Mecca to the Euphrates, 
 the Arabian tribes were confounded by the Greeks and Latins, under 
 the general appellation of Saracens, a name which every Christian 
 mouth has been taught to pronounce with terror and abhorrence. 
 
 The slavt-s of domestic tyranny may vainly exult in their national 
 independence ; but the Arab is 'personally free ; and he enjoys, in 
 some degree, the benefits of society without forfeiting the preroga- 
 tives of nature. In every tribe, superstition, or gratitude, or fortune, 
 has exalted a particular family above the heads of their equals. The 
 dignities of sheick and emir invariably descend in this chosen race ; 
 but the order of succession is loose and precarious, and the most 
 worthy or aged of the noble kinsmen are preferred to the simple, 
 though important office of composing disputes by their advice, and 
 guiding valor by their example. Even a female of sense and spirit 
 Las been permitted to c .mniand the countrymen of Zenobia. Tlie 
 momentary j auction of several tribes produces an army ; their more 
 lasting union constitutes a nation ; and the supreme chief, the emir 
 of emirs, whose banner is displayed at their head, may deserve, it 
 the eyes of strang(;rs, the honors of the kingly name. If the Arabian 
 princes aljuse their jjower they are ([uickly punished by the desertion 
 of their subjects, who had been accustomed to a mild and parental 
 jurisdiction. Their sijirlt is free, their stei)s are unconfined, the 
 d(«ert is ojten, and the triixis and families are held together \yj a mu- 
 tual and voluntary compact. The softer natives of Yeman supported 
 the pomp and majesty of a monarch ; but if he could not leave his 
 palace withoiit endangc-ring his life, the active powers of govern- 
 ment must have been devolvi.-d on his nol)les and magistrates. Tho 
 cities of Mecca and Medina present in the heart of Asia the form or 
 rather the siibstaiuM? of a commonwealth. Tlie grandfatlier of Ma- 
 homet, and bis lineal ancestors, ai)pear in foreign and domestic trau.
 
 8 LIFE OF MAIIOMJBT. 
 
 nacf ions as the princes of tlieir country ; but they reifjned like 
 Periclos at Athens or the Medici at Florence, by the opinion oT thoir 
 wisdom and integrity ; their influence Avas divided with their patri- 
 mony ; and the sceptre was transfernnl from the uncles of the pro- 
 phet to a younger branch of the tribe of Koreish. On sok^mn occa- 
 si-ous they convened tlie assembly of the people ; and since mankind 
 nmst be either compelled or persuaded to obey, the use and reputation 
 •of oratory among the ancient Arabs is the clearest evidence of pub- 
 lic freedom. But their simple freedom was of a very different cast 
 from the nice and artificial machinery of the Greek and Roman re- 
 publics, in which each member possessed an undivided share of the 
 civil and political rights of the community. In the more simple 
 state of the Arabs, tlie nation is free, because each of her sons dis- 
 dains a base submission to the will of a master. His breast is forti- 
 fied with the austere virtues of courage, patience, and sobriety ; the 
 love of independence prompts him to exercise the habits of self -com- 
 toand ; and the fear of dishonor guards him from the meaner appre- 
 hension of pain, of danger, and of death. The gravity and firmness 
 of the mind is conspicuous in his outward demeanor ; his speech is 
 slow, weighty, and concise ; he is seldom provoked to laughter ; his 
 only gesture is that of stroking his beard, the venerable symbol of 
 manhood ; and the sense of his own importance teaches him to accost 
 his equals without levity, and his superiors without awe. * The lib- 
 erty of the Saracens survived their conquests ; the first caliphs in- 
 dulged the bold and familiar language of their subjects ; they ascend- 
 ed the pulpit to persuade and edify the congregation ; nor was it be- 
 fore the seat of empire was removed to the Tigris, that the Abbass- 
 ides adopted the proud and pompous ceremonial of the Persian and 
 Byzantine courts. ' 
 
 In the study of nations and men, we may observe the causes that 
 render them hostile or friendly to each other, that tend to narrow or 
 enlarge, to modify or exasperate the social character. The separation 
 of the Arabs from the rest of mankind has accustomed them to con- 
 found the ideas of stranger and enemy ; and the poverty of the land 
 Las introduced a maxim of jurisprudence which they believe and 
 practice to the present hour. They pretend that in the division of 
 the earth, the rich and fertile climates were assigned to the other 
 branches of the human family ; and that the posterity of the outlaw 
 ilsmael might recover, by fraud or force, the portion of the inheritance 
 «f which he had been unjustly deprived. According to the remark of 
 Pliny, the Arabian tribes are equally addicted to theft and merchan- 
 dise ; the caravans that traverse the desert are ransomed or pillaged ; 
 and their neighbors, since the remote times of Job and Sesostria, 
 have been the victims of their rapacious spirit. If a Bedoween dis- 
 
 * See the curious romance of Aalar, the most vivid and authentic picture of Ar» 
 bian manners . — M .
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 9 
 
 covers from afar a solitary traveller, lie rides furiously against liim, 
 crving with a loud voice, "Undress thyself, thy annt {my icife) is 
 without a garment." A ready submission entitles him to mercy ;_ re- 
 sistance will provoke the aggressor, and his owm blood must expiate 
 the blood which he presumes to shed in legitimate defence. A single 
 robber, or a few associates, are branded with their genuine nam- ; but 
 the exploits of a numerous band assume the character of lawful and 
 honorable war. The temper of a people thus armed against mankind, 
 was doubly inflamed by the domestic license of rapine, murder, and 
 revenge, "in the constitution of Europe, the right of peace and war 
 is now confined to a small, and the actual exercise to a much smaller 
 list of respectable potentates ; but each Arab, with impunity and re- 
 nown, might point his javelin against the life of his countryman. 
 The union of the nation consisted only in a vague resemblance of lan- 
 guage and manners ; and in each community the jurisdiction of the 
 magistrate was mute and impotent. Of the time of ignorance which 
 preceded Mahomet, seventeen hundred battles are re:orded by tradi- 
 tion ; hostility was embittered with the rancor of civil faction ; and 
 the recital in "prose or verse, of an obsolete feud, was sutficient to re- 
 kindle the same passions among the descendants of the hostile tribes. 
 In private life, every man, at least every family, was the judge and 
 avenger of its own cause. The nice sensibility of honor which 
 weighs the insult rather than the injury, sheds its deadly venom on 
 the quarrels of the Ara-bs ; the honor of their women and of their 
 beards is most easily wounded ; an indecent action, a contemptuous 
 word, can be expiated only liy the blood of the offender ; and such is 
 their patient inveteracy, that "they expect whole months and years the 
 opportunity of revenge. A fine or compensation for murder is famil- 
 iar to the barbarians of every age ; but in Arabia the kinsmen ot the 
 dead are at liberty to acceirt the atonement, or to exercise with their 
 own hands the la"w of retaliation. The refined malice of tlie Arabs 
 refuses even the head of the murderer, sulistitutes an innocent to the 
 guilty person, and transfers the penalty to the best and most consid- ' 
 erabl'e 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 principal of the bloody delit are accumulated ; the 
 individuals of eitlier family lead a life of malice and suspicion, and 
 fifty years may sometimes elapse lefore the account of vengeance be 
 finally settled. This sanguinary spirit, ignorant of pity or foriifivcness, 
 iia.s been moderated, however, by the maxims of honor, wliich n;- 
 nuire in every jjrivate encounter some decent equality of age and 
 Btrength of numbers and weapons. An annual festival of two, perhaps 
 of four months, was observed l)y the Arabs, before the time of Mahom- 
 et, during which tlu.-ir swords were religiously sliearhed both in 
 foreign and domestic hostility ; and this partial truce is more strongly 
 ex])resHiv(! of the liabits of anarchy and warfare. 
 
 But tho spirit of rapine and revenge wa.s attempered by the milder
 
 10 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 influence of trade and literature. Tbo solitary peninsula is encom- 
 passed by the most civilized nation.s of the ancient world ; the mer- 
 chant is the friend of mankind ; and the annual caravans imported 
 the first seeds of knowledge and pol teness into the cities, and even 
 the camps, o:f the desert. ^^■hatever may be the pedigree of the 
 Arabs, their language is derived from the same original stock with 
 the Hebrew, the Syriac, and the Chaldean tongues ; the independence 
 of the tribes was marked by their peculiar dialects ; but each, after 
 their own, allowed a just preference to the pure and perspicuous 
 idiom of Mecca. In Arabia, as well as in Greece, the perfcctiou of 
 language outstripped the refinement of manners ; and her speech could 
 diversify the fourscore names of honey, the two hundred of a ser- 
 pent, the five hundred of a lion, the thousand of a sword, at a 
 time when this copious dictionary was intrusted to the memory'of an 
 illiterate people. The monuments of the Homerites were inscribed 
 with an obsolete and mysterious character : but tlie Cufic letters, tho 
 groundwork of the present alphabet, were invented on the bank's of 
 tiie Euphrates ; and the recent invention was taught at Mecca by a 
 Bt ranger who settled in that city after the birth of Mahomet. The 
 arts of grammar, of metre, and of rhetoric, were unknown to the free- 
 born eloquence of the Arabians ; but ..heir penetration was sharp, 
 their fancy luxuriant, their wit strong and sententious, {a) and their 
 more elaborate compositions were addressed Avith energy and effect 
 to the minds of their hearers. The genius ind merit of a rising poet 
 was celebrated by the applause of his own and the kindred triljes. A 
 solemn banquet was prepared, and a chorus of women, striking their 
 tjnnbals, and displaymg the pomp of their nuptials, sung in the pres- 
 ence of their sons and husbands the felicity of their native tribe 
 
 that a champion had now appeared to vindicate their rights — that a 
 herald had raised his voice to immortalize their renown. The distant 
 or hostile tribes resorted to an annual fair, which was abolished by 
 the fanaticism of the first Moslems — a national assembly that must 
 "have contribut(^d to refine and harmonize the barbarians. Thirty 
 days were employed in the exchange, not only of corn and wine, but 
 of eloquence and poetry. The prize was disputed by the generous 
 enmlation of the bards ; the victorious performance was deposited in 
 the archives of princes and emirs ; and avc may read in our own 
 language the seven orig n d poems which were inscribed in letters of gold 
 and suspended in the t mpie of Mecca. Tlie Arabian poets were the his- 
 torians and moralists of the age ; and if they sympathized with thvj 
 prejudices, they inspired and crowned the virtues of their country- 
 men. The indissolulde union of generosity and valor was the dar- 
 ling theme of their song ; and when they pointed their keenest satire 
 
 /«) Stated |rom the one hundred and sixty-nine sentences of All (translated by 
 OckJey, London, 1718) which afford a jast and favorable specimen of Arabian wit.* 
 
 * Compare the Arabic proverbs translated by Bmckhardt, London, lc30.— M,
 
 LIFE OP MAHOMET. 11 
 
 a.^mst a despicable race, they affirmed, in the bitterness of reproach, 
 tiiat the men knew not how to give, nor the women to deny. The 
 same hospitality which was practised by Abraham and celebrated by 
 Homer, is still renewed in tlie camps of the Arabs. The ferocious 
 Bedoweens, the terror of the desert, embrace, without inquiry or 
 hesitation, the stranger who dares to confide in their honorand to enter 
 their tent. His treatment is kind and respectful; he shares the 
 wealth or the poverty of lus hcst : and, after a needful repose, he is 
 dismissed on his way, with thanks, with blessings, and perhaps with 
 gifts. The heart and hand are more largely expanded by the wants 
 of a brother or a friend ; but the heroic acts that could deserve the 
 public applause must have surpassed the narrow measure of discre- 
 tion and experience. A dispute had arisen, who, among the citizeiis 
 of Mecca, was entitled to the prize of generosity ; and a successive 
 application was made to the three who were deemed most worthy of 
 tiie trial. Abdallah, the son of Abdas, had undertaken a distant 
 journey, and liis foot was in the stirrup when he heard the voice of a 
 suppliant, " O son of the uncle of the apostle of God, I am a traveller 
 and in distress ! " He instantly dismounted to present the pilgrim 
 with his camel, her rich caparison, and a purse of four thousand 
 pieces of gold, excepting only the sword, either for its intrinsic value, 
 or as the gift of an honored kinsman. The servant of Kais informed 
 the second suppUant that his master was asleep ; but he immediately 
 added, "Here is a purse of seven thousand ]>ieces of gold, (it is all we 
 have in the house), and here is an order that will entitle you to a 
 camel and a slave ; " the master, as soon as he awoke, praised and en- 
 franchised his faithful steward with a gentle reproof, that by respect- 
 ing his slumbers lie had stinted his bounty. The third of these 
 heroes, the blind Arabah, at the hour of prayer, was sujjporting his 
 steps on the shoulders of two slaves. " Alas ! " he replied, " my cof- 
 fers are empty ! but these you may sell ; i^f you refuse, I renounce 
 them." At these words, pushing away the youths, he groped along 
 the wall witli liis staff. The character of Hatem is the perfect moddle 
 of Arabian virtue ; * he was brave and liberal, an eloquent poet, and 
 a successful robVier ; forty camels were roasted at his hospitable 
 fpa.sts ; and at the prayer of a sujipliant enemy, he restored both the 
 captives and the spoil. Tlie frei-dom of his countrynu^n disdained 
 the laws of justice ; they proudly indulged the spontaneous impulse 
 of pity and benevoleuc<;. 
 
 The religion of the Arabs, as well as of the Indians, consisted in the 
 worship of the sun, the moon, and the fixed stars ; a primitive and 
 Kjiecious mode of superstition. Tlie bright luminaries of the sky dis 
 play the visible image of the Deity : their number and distances con- 
 vey to a philosopbic, or even a vulgar, eye, the idea of bound- 
 
 • 8cc the translation of tlio amiMini: I'<Tnian romance of IIa(itn Tai. I).v Dunwuj 
 Forbo(<, Kbq., ouioD^' the worka imblisbcd by tlic Oriental Translation Vund. M.
 
 12 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 less space : tlie character of eternity is marked on these solid globes, 
 that seem incapable of corruption or decay: the regularity of their 
 motions may be ascribed to a ])rinciploof reason or instinct ; and their 
 real or imaginary iafluence encourages the vain belief that the eartii 
 and its inhabitants are the object of their peculiar care. The science 
 Df a^ijtronoiny %vas cultivated at Babylon ; but the school of the Arabs 
 »vas a clear firmament and a naked plain. In their nocturnal marches 
 llxey steered by the guidance of the stars ; their names, and order, and 
 daily station, were familiar to the curiosity and devotion of the 
 Bedowcen ; and he was taught by experience to divide in twenty- 
 eight parts the zodiac of the moon, and to Ijless the constellations who 
 »-efreshed, with salutary rains, the thirst of the desert. The reign of 
 Ihe heavenly orbs could not be extended beyond the visible sphere ; 
 and some metaphysical powers were necessaiy to sustain the transmi- 
 gration of souls and the resurrection of bodies : a camel was left to 
 perish on the grave, that he might serve his master in anothei- life ; 
 and the invocation of departed spirits implies that they were still en- 
 dowed with consciousness and power. 1 am ignorant" and I am care- 
 less of the blind mythology of the barbarians , of the local deities, of 
 the stars, the air and the earth, of their sex or titles, their attributes, 
 or subordination. Each tribe, each family, each independent warrior, 
 created and changed the rites and the object of his fantastic worship, 
 but the nation, in every age, has bowed to the religion, as well as to 
 the language, of Mecca. The genuine antiquity of the Caaba as- 
 cends beyond the Christian era . in describing the coast of the Red 
 Sea, the Greek historian Diodorus has remarked, between the Thamu- 
 dites and the Sabians, a famous temple,* whose superior sanctitv was 
 revered by all the Arabians ; the linen or silken veil, which is an- 
 nually renewed by the Turkish emperor, was first offered by a pious 
 king of the Ilomerites, who reigned seven hundred years before the 
 time of Mahomet. A tent or a cavern might suffice for the worship 
 of the savages, but an edifice of stone and clay has been erected in its 
 place ; and the art and power of the monarch's of the east have been 
 confined to the simplicity of the original model. A spacious portico 
 includes the quadrangle of the Caaba — a square chapel, twenty-four 
 cubits long, twenty-tliree broad, and twenty-seven high : a door and 
 a window admit the light ; the double roof is .sui)ported by three pil- 
 lars of wood ; a spout (now of gold) discharges the rain-water, and the 
 well Zemzem is protectel by a dome from accidental pollution. The tribe 
 of Koreish, by fraud or force, liad acquired the custody of Caaba : the 
 sacerdotal office devolved through four lineal descendants to the 
 
 ♦ Mr. I orster (Geography of Arabia, vol. ii.. p. 118, et f?cq.') has raised an objec- 
 tion, as I tbink, f. tal to ti is hypothesis of Gibbon, ^'he temple, situatid in the 
 country of the Banizoineneis. was not between the Thaniudites and tli<! Sabians, but 
 lii;.'her up than the coast inlialtitod by the former. Mr. I'Virstcr would i)l:ice it as fat 
 north an MoiLnh lam not f|iiitc eatittfiud that this will ajireu with the whole de- 
 Bcnption of Diodorus.— M. 1&15.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 13 
 
 grandfatlier of Mahomet ; and the family of tlie Hasliemites, from 
 whence he sprung, was the most respectable and sacred in the e}\ s 
 of their country. The precincts of Mecca enjoyed tl»e rights of 
 sanctuary ; and, in the last month of each year, the city and temple 
 were crowded with a long train of pilgrims, who presented their, 
 vows and offerings in the house of God. The same rites which are 
 now accomplished by the faithful mussulman, were invented and 
 practised by the superstition of the idolaters. At an awful distance 
 they cast away their garments ; seven times, with hasty steps, tli=»y 
 encircled 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. Each tribe either 
 found or introduced in the Caaba their domestic worship : the temple 
 was adorned or defiled with three hundred and sixty idols of men, 
 eagles, lions, and antelopes ; and most conspicuous was the statue 
 of Hebal, of red agate, holding in his hand seven arrows, without 
 heads or feathers, the instruments and symbols of profane divination. 
 But this statue wa.s a monument of Syrian arts : the devotion of the 
 ruder ages was content with a pillar or a tablet : and the rocks of the 
 desert were hewn into gods or altars, in imitation of the black stone 
 of Mecca, which is deeply tainted with the reproach of an idolatrous 
 origin. From Japan to Peru, the use of sacrifice has universally pre- 
 vailed ; and the votary has expressed his gratitude or fear by de- 
 stroying or consuming, in honor of the gods, the dearest and most 
 precious of their gifts. The life of a man is the most precious obla- 
 tion to deprecate a public calamity : the altars of Pha?nicia and 
 Egypt, of Rome and Carthage, have been polluted with hunuin gore : 
 the cruel practice was long preserved aniong the Arabs : in the *hird 
 century a boy wa"; annually sacrificed by the tribe of Dumatians ; and 
 a royal captive was piously slaughtered by the prince of the t^aracens, 
 the ally and soldier of the emperor Justinian.* A parent who drags 
 his .son to the altar exhibits the most painful and sublime effort of 
 fanaticism : the deed or the intention was san(;tified liy the exaniplo 
 of saints and heroes , and the father of Mahomet himself was devj)tcd 
 by a rash vow, and hardly ransomed for the equivalent of a hun- 
 dred camels. In the time of ignorance, the Arabs, like the Jews and 
 Egyptians, abstained from the taste of swine's flesh ; they circum- 
 cised their children at tho age of puberty : the same customs, with- 
 out the censure or the prece])t of tlie Koran, "nave been silently trans- 
 mitted to their posterity and proselytes. It has been sagaciously 
 conjecturefl that the artful legislator indulged the stubborn ])reju(Ii- 
 
 * A writer in the " Calcutta Heview " (No. xliii , p. 15) maintains thnt tli ■ nacrilicu 
 of liiiman bein-j;** in Arabia was only incidentul, and in thu cukc of violent and cruul 
 tyrants ; where It in "lilegel to buvc been done unifonnly and on priiicipl*, the UQ- 
 thority ueeiu* doubtful.— S.
 
 H LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 cos of liis countrvmcn. It is move simple to believe tliat lie adlieren 
 to the habits and opinions of his youth, witliout foreseeinL' tliat a 
 practice congfiiial to tlie cliinale of I\lecca mii.}it l)ecome usclesa or 
 jiiconvcnu'iit on the Iwnks of the Dumibo or the Volga. 
 
 Arabia was free : the adjacent kingdoms ^verc shaken by the stonns 
 of comiucst and tyranny, and tlio persecuted scots fled to the happy 
 /and where they might profess what they thought, and practise wliat 
 they professed. Tbe religions of the Sabians and I\Iagians of the 
 Jews and Christians, were disseminated from the Persian gulf to the 
 Ked Sea. In a remote period of antiquity, Sabianism was diffused 
 over Asia by tlie science of tlie t'lialdeans and tlie arms of the Assyr- 
 ians. From tli(! observations of two thousand yeurs, the priests anJ 
 astronomers of Babylon deduced the eternal laws of nature aud prov- 
 idence. They adored the seven gods, or angels, who directed the 
 course of the sev(,-n planets, and shed their irresistible influence on the 
 earth. The attributes of the seven planets, with the twelve sii'-ns of 
 the zodiac, and the twenty-four constellations of the northern and 
 southern hemisphere, were represented by images and talismans • the 
 seven days of the week were dedicated to their'respective deities ' the 
 babians prayed thrice each day ; and the temple of the moon at Haran 
 was the term of their pilgrimage. But the flexible genius of their 
 faith was always ready eitlier to teach or to learn : in the tradition of 
 the creation, the deluge, and the patriarchs, they held a singular a<'ree- 
 ment with their Jewish captives ; they appealed to the secret books 
 of Adam, Seth, and Enoch ; and a slight infusion of the gospel has 
 transformed the last remnant of the polytheists into the Christians of 
 bt. John, in the territory of Bassora.* The altars of Babylon were 
 overturned by the Magians ; but the injuries of the Sabians were re- 
 venged by the sword of Alexander ; Persia groaned above five hun- 
 dred years under a foreign yoke ; and the purest disciples of Zoroaster 
 escaped from the contagion of idolatry, and breathed with their ad- 
 versaries the freedom of the desert. Seven hundred years before ths 
 death of Mahomet, the Jews were settled in Arabia ; and a far greater 
 multitude was expelled from the holy land in the wars of Titus and 
 Hadrian. The industrious exiles asi)ired to liberty and j)ower : they 
 erected synagogues in the cities, and castles in the wilderness ; and 
 their Gentile converts were confounded with the children of Israel 
 whom they resembled in tlie outward mark of circumcision. Tho 
 C hristian missionaries were still more active and successful : the 
 Catholics assL-rted their universal reign ; the sects whom they op- 
 pressed successively retired beyond the limits of the Roman empire ; 
 the Marcionites and the Manichsans dispersed their phaiitastic opin- 
 lona and apocryphal gospels ; th e churches of Yemen, and the princes 
 
 * The Codex Nasiraus, their sacred book, has been published by Norber<^, whose 
 researches contain almost all that is known of this Bingnlar people. But their ori-in 
 i.s almost as obscure as ever : if ancient, their creed has been bo corrupted with mya 
 Uciam and Mahometanisia, that ltd native lineaments are very indistinct - M
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 15 
 
 of Hira and Gassan, were instructed in a purer creed by the Jacobite 
 and Nestorian bisliops. Tlie liberty of choice was presented to the 
 tribes ; each Arab was free to elect or to compose his private religion ; 
 and the rude superstition of his house was mingled with the sublime 
 theology of saints and philosophers. A fundamental article of faith 
 was inculcated bv the consent of the learned strangers ; the existence 
 of one supreme God, who is exalted above the powers of heaven and 
 earth, but who has often revealed himself to mankind by the ministry 
 of his angels and prophets, and whose grace or justice has interrupted, 
 by seasonable miracles, the order of nature. The most rational of the 
 A'rabs acknowledged his power, though they neglected his worship ; 
 and it was habit rather than conviction that still attached tliem to the 
 relics of idolatry. The Jews and Christians were the people of the 
 hook; the Bible was alreadv translated into the Arabic language, and 
 the volume of the Old Testament was accepted by the concord of these 
 implacable enemies. In the story of the Hebrew pa riarchs, the Arabs 
 were pleased to discover the fa-thers of their nation. They applauded 
 the birth and promises of Ismael ; revered the faith and virtue of 
 Abraham ; traced his pedigree and their own to the creation of the 
 first man, and imbibed with equal credulity the prodigies of the holy 
 text and the dreams and traditions of the Jewish rabbis. 
 
 The base and plebeian origin of Mahomet is an unskilful calumny 
 of the Christians,* who exalted instead of degrading the merit of their 
 adversary. His descent from Ismael was a national privilege or fable ; 
 but if tlie first stejis of the pedigree are dark and douljtful, he could 
 produce manv generatif)ns of pure and genuine nobility : he sprung 
 from the tribe of Koreish f and the family of Hashem, the most illus- 
 trious of the Arabs, the jninces of Mecca, and the hereditary guardians 
 of the Caaba, t The grandfather of Mahomet was Abdol Motalleb, 
 the son of Hashem, a wealthy and generous citizen, who relieved the 
 distress of famine Avith the supplies of commerce. Mecca, which had 
 
 • The most orthodox Mahometans only reckon back the ancestry of the Propliet, 
 /or twenty trenerations, to Adnan. (Weil, Mohammed der Propliet, p 1).— M. 1.-45. 
 
 1 Accordin" to the usually received trailition, Koreish was origini Uy an epUhel 
 conferred upon Fihr (born about A. D. »X»), who was the ancestor, at the dit'tanccof 
 cieht penerations, of the famous Kussai mentioned in the next note. Sprenper, 
 however, maintains that the tribe of Korei^-h was first formed by Kussai, and that 
 the members of the n('W tribe called themselves the children of I'lhr as a symbol <)t 
 unity He ro'ards Filir as a mythical pcrsonaire. (See Caussin d(t IVrceval, vol. i., 
 D 42; Calcutra Review, .\o. xli, p 4^ ; Si)ren;.'er, Life of Mohammed p. '12)— S 
 
 X Kussai (bom about A. I). 4 0), (rreat-L'randfather of Alnlol Motalleb, and consr 
 
 1) V 
 
 vid-d'amonij M«'i~f^^'-''"'^'>"'''i ""''• thouirh the branch from which M(,.r author addn 
 beloiiL'pd nllhc rei^^nini; IInc. yet hiH family, especially uft<r the dcj-gi^jp ^yith a mou 
 futlirr, had hut lutle to do with the actual toveruuient of Mecc 
 mwl, pp. 4 *Dd 12).— S.
 
 IG LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 been fed by the liberality of tlie father, was saved by tlie courage of 
 the son. The kingdom of Yemen was subject to the Christian princess 
 of Abyssiui:i ; their vassal Alirahah was provoked by an insult to 
 avenge the honor of the cross ; and the holy city was invested by a 
 train of elephants and an army of Africans. A treaty was proposed ; 
 and, in the first audience, the grandfather of ISIahomet demanded the 
 rcsKtution of his cattle. " And why," said Abrahah, "do you not 
 rather implore my clemency in favor of your temple, which I liavo 
 threatened to destroy ? " "Because," replied the intrepid chief, " the 
 cattle are my own ; the Caaba belongs to the gods, and tlinj will de- 
 fend their house from injury and sacrilege." The Avant of ]u-ovisions, 
 or the valor of the Koreish, compelled the Abyssinians to a disgraceful 
 retreat ; their discomfiture has been adorned with a miraculous fliglit 
 of birds, who showered down stones on the heads of the infidels ; and 
 the deliverence was long commemorated by the era of the elephant.* 
 The glory of Abdol Motalleb was crowned "with domestic happiness ; 
 his life was prolonged to the age of one hundred and ten vears,f and 
 he became the father of sis daughters and thirteen sons.' His best 
 beloved Abdallah was the most beautiful and modest of the Arabian 
 youth ; and in the first night, when he consummated his marriage 
 with Amina4 of the noble race of the Zahrites, two hundred virgins 
 are said to have expired of jealousy and despair. Mahomet, or more 
 properly Mohammed,§ the only son of Abdallah and Amina,was born* 
 
 * The apparent miracle \va? nothin":!; else but the small pox, wh ch liroke out in 
 tne army of Abrahah. (Sprenger, Life of Mohammed, p. 3.5, who quotes Wakidi ; 
 Weil, Moha?amed, p. 10.) This seems to have been the fir.^t npijearance of the 
 i=mall-pos in Arabia. (Reiske, Opuscula Medica ex inonumentis Arabum, Ualaj, 
 1776. p. 8).— S. 
 
 t Weil gct3 liim down at about eighty-two at his death. (Mohammed, p. 28).— S 
 
 t Amina was of Jewish birth. (Von Hammer, Geschichte der Assass, p id) — M. 
 
 Von Hammer gives no authority for this important fact, which seems hardly fo 
 agree with Spren^er's account that she was a Koreishite, and the daugiiter of Wahb. 
 an elder of tne Zohrah family.— S. 
 
 § Mohammed means " praised," the name given to him by his grandfather on ac-' 
 count of the favorable omen attending his birth. When Amina had given oirth to 
 the prophet, she sent for his grandfatfier. and related to him that she had s^een in a 
 dream a light proceeding from her body, whicli illuminated the palaces of Bostra. 
 (Sprenger, p. 7b.) We learn from Burckhardt that among the Arabs a name is given 
 to the mfant immediately on its birth. The nam • is derived from some triflin" ac- 
 cident, or from some object which had struck the fancy of the mother or any of the 
 women present at the child's birth. (Xotes on the Bedouins, vol. i , p. 97).— S. 
 
 \ All authorities agree that Mohammed was born on a Mond.av, in the first half of 
 Raby" I. • but they differ on the year and on the date of the month. Most traditions 
 say that ho died at an age of sixty-three years. If this is correct, he was bom in 
 C7l.* There a e, however, good traditions in Bokhari, Moslim, and Tirmidzy. ac- 
 cording to which he attained an age of sixty-five years which would place his birth 
 in .569. With reference to the date, his birthd.ay js cclr-brated on the lath of Raby' 
 I. by the Musalnians, and for this day are almost all traditions. This w.as a Thurs- 
 day in ."71, and a Tuesday in 5f;9 ; and, supposing the new moon of Itaby' I. was 
 seen one day sooner than expected, it was a Monday in 569. A tradition of Abu 
 Ma'Bhar is for the 2d of R«by' I., which v.as a Monday in 571 ; but Abu Ma'shar 
 
 * This is the year wtiich Weil decides upon.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 17 
 
 at Mecca four years after the deatli of Justinian, and two uiontlis 
 after tlie defeat of tlie Abyssinians, whose victory would have intro- 
 duced into the Caaba the religion of the Christians In ns ear y m- 
 fancv * he was deprived of his father, his mother, and his grandfather 
 his uAcles were strong and numerous ; and m the division of the i - 
 h^riunce, the orphan^, share was reduced to five camels and an .Et i- 
 opian maid-servant.* At home and abroad, in peace and war, Abu 
 Seb the most respectable of his uncles, was the guide and guardian 
 of his youth ; in hS twenty-fifth year, he entered into the service of 
 Cadiiah a rich and noble widow of Mecca, who soon rewarded his 
 Sdel tv With the gift of her hand and fortune. The marriage con- 
 tract in the simpl! style of antiquity, recites the mutua love of Ma 
 hornet and Cadijah ; describes him as the most ^f "^^^^^^^^^^^Jj^^ 
 trilieof Koreish; and stipulates a dowry of twelve ounces of gold 
 and twentv camei^, which was supplied by the liberality of his uncle 
 By this alliance, the son of Abdallah was restored to the station of his 
 ancestoi^ ; and the judicious matron was content with his doniestic 
 v?rtues till in the fortieth year of his age, he assumed the title of 
 a prophet, and proclaimed the religion of the Koran 
 
 According to the tradition of his companions, Mahomet was dis- 
 tinguished by the beauty of his person, an outward gift which is sel- 
 
 lom despised, except by those to whom it has been refused. Before 
 e^poke the orator engaged on his side the affections of a public or 
 
 privS audfence. The y "applauded his commandi n g presence, lus 
 
 iiiiipSll^i 
 
 every t>'ird.ycur into a um^olar Pcnod (C. de P^J.^^Ki caIcuranon^%lo 
 
 Journal Asia.qae^^^^^^ ^^^ „„. i„ lunar years, 
 
 .^l^ll^'^''^' r 1 fferen°^e of ten days. Hence also we can expla n certain dis- 
 
 lar year in 
 
 ,.n(l nnntnes. ^^r theordHKary dales of hft H^^^ ^,_,, ^^^>^,^,^ ^, . 
 
 ^;^ ^';^:Sc!:(V;(;.: ;^^^i'.y':;,p;.rin^.hoep an occ.,,,.!;.. c<n.s|...^.d^ 
 
 named Saib. — B. _i.^
 
 18 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 maj:»stic aspect, his piercing eye, his gracious smile, his flowing 
 l>eavd, his countonance that painted every sensation of the soul, unci 
 Ills gestures that enforced each expression of tlio tongue.* In tlio 
 familiar offices of life he scrupulously adhered to the grave and cere- 
 monious politeness of his country ; his respectful attention to the rich 
 and powerful was dignified by his condescension and affability to the 
 poorest citizens of Mecca ; the frankness of his manner concealed the 
 artifice of his views ; and the habits of courtesy were imputed to 
 personal friendship, or universal benevolence. His memory was ca- 
 pacious and retentive, his wit easy and social, his imagination sub- 
 lime, his judgment clear, rapid, and decisive. He possessed the cour- 
 age both of thought and action ; and, although his designs might 
 gradually expand with his success, the first idea wliicli he entertained 
 of his divine mission bears the stamp of an original and superior 
 genius. The son of Abdallah was educated in the bosom of the 
 noblest race, in the use of the purest dialeet of Arabia ; * and the 
 fluency of his speech was corrected and enhanced by the practice of 
 discreet and sea.sonable silence. With these pov/ers of eloquence, 
 Maliomet was an illiterate barbarian ; his youth had never been in- 
 structed in the arts of reading and writing ; f the common ignorance 
 
 * To the sencral characteristics of Mahomet's person here recorded by Gibbon, 
 it may not be uninterestin? to add the more particuhir traits derived from the re- 
 pcarches of modern orientalists. " Mohammfd." says Dr. Sprengcr, "was of mid- 
 dling size, had broad shoulders, a wide chest, and large bones, and he was fleshy 
 but not stout. The immoderate size of hia head was partly disguised by the long 
 locks of hair, which in slight curls came nearly down to the lobes of his ears. Ills 
 oval face, though tawny, was rather fair for an Arab, but neither pale nor high cci- 
 ored. The forehead was broad, ami his fine and long, but narrow, eyebrows were 
 separated by a vein, which you could see throbbing if he was ungry. Under long 
 eyelashes sparkled bloodshot black eyes through wide-slit eyelids. Jli.s nose waa 
 large, prominent, and slightly hooked, and the tip of it seemed to be turned up. but 
 was not so in reality. The mouth was wide, and he had a good set of teeth, and 1 he 
 fore-teeth were asunder. Plia beard rose from the check-bones, and came down to 
 the collar-bone ; he clipped his niustachios, but did not shave them He stooped, 
 and was slightly humpbacked. Ifis gait was careUiss, and he walked fast but heavi- 
 ly, as if ho were ascending a hill ; * and if he looked back, he tnraed his whole 
 body. The mildness of his countenance pained him the confidence of every one ; 
 but ha could not look straight into a man's face ; he turned his eyes usually out- 
 wards. (Jn his b: ck he had a round, fleshy tumor of the size of "a pigeon's egg ; 
 its furrowed surface was covered v.ith hair, and its base was surrounded by black 
 moles. This was con.sidcred as the seal of his prophetic mission, at least during 
 the latter part of his career, by his followers who were so devout that they found a 
 cure for their ailings in drinking the water in which he had bathed : and it must 
 have been very refreshing, for he perspired profusely, and his skin exhaled a strong 
 smell." (Life of Jlohammed, p. 84.) 
 
 t Namely, both as being a Koreishite, and aa having been suckled five vears in 
 the desert by his foster-mother Ilalymah, of the tribe of Banu Sad, which spoke the 
 purest dialect. (Sprenger, i;. 77.)— S. 
 
 t .Modern orientalists are inclined to answer the question whether Mahomet could 
 read and write in the ajfinnativc. The point hinges upon the critical interpretation 
 
 * Weil's description, which agrees in other particulars, differs in this : " ITis handi 
 and feet," says that writer. " were very large, yet his step was so light '^at hia foot 
 left no mark behind in the sand." — p. 341.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 19 
 
 exempted liim from 'sliame or reproach, but lie was reduced to a nar- 
 ,-ow circle of existence, and deprived of those faithful mirrors, which 
 reflect t:> our mind the minds of sages and heroes. Yet the book of 
 aature and of man was open to his view ; and sonie fancy has been 
 Indulged in the political and philosophical observations which are as- 
 cribed to the Arabian traveller. He compares the nations and the re- 
 }io-ions of the earth ; discovers the weakness of the Persian and 
 Roman monarchies ; beholds with pity and indignation the degenc- 
 Tacv of the times ; and resolves to unite under one (lod and one king, 
 ihe" invincible spirit and primitive virtues of the Arabs. Our more 
 accurate inquiry will suggest, that instead of visiting the courts, the 
 /amps, the temples of the East, the two journeys of •Mahomet into 
 Syria were confined to the fairs of Bostra and Damascus ; that he was 
 onlv thirteen years of ago when he accompanied the caravan of his 
 uncle ; and that his duty compelled him to return as soon as he had 
 disposed of the merchandise of Cadijah. In these hasty and superfi- 
 cial excursions, the eye of genius might discern some objects invisi- 
 ble to his grosser companions : some seeds of knowledge might be cast 
 upon a fruitful soil : but his ignorance of the Syriac language must 
 have checked his curiosity ; and I cannot perceive, in the life or writ- 
 ings of Mahomet, that his prospect was extended far beyond the lim- 
 its^of the Arabian world. From every region of that solitary world, 
 the pilgrims of Mecca wore annually assembled by the calls of de- 
 votion and commerce ; in the free concourse of multitudes, a sim- 
 ple citizen, in his native tongue, might study the political state, 
 and character of the tribes, the theory and practice of the Jews 
 and Christians. Some useful strangers might be tempted or forced 
 to implore the rites of hospitality ; and the enemies of Mahomet have 
 named the Jew, the Persian, and the Syrian monk, whom they accuse 
 of lending their secret aid to the comi)Osition of the Koran. Conver- 
 sation enriches the understanding, but solitude is the school of genius ; 
 and the uniformity of a work denotes the hand of a single artist. 
 
 of certain p.-issa-^es of the Koran, and nnon the anthority of traditions. The 96th 
 Sara, adduced bv Gibbon in support of his view, 1« interpreted by tSilvestrc de Sacy 
 as an armiment on the opposite fide (Mem. de TAcad. des Inser. L., p. 95), and hia 
 opinlun^iu supported by Weil (p. 4U, note 50). Moslem aultiors are at variance on 
 the subject. Almost all the modern writers, and many of the old, deny the ability 
 of their prophet to read and wr.te ; but f,'ood authors, especially of the Shiite sect, 
 admit that he could read, thoU','h they describe him as an unskilful penman. Tha 
 former class of writers support their opinion by perverting' the tests of the Koran 
 which bear upon the snbject. "Several instances," says Dr. Sprenger, '-m which 
 Mohamm-d did read and write, are recorded by Bokhari. Nasay, and others. It is, 
 Jiowever, c-riain that he wished to appear iaTiorant, in order to raise the ele:raiicc of 
 the composition of the Koran into a miracle "' (p 102). The same wish v.-ould doubt- 
 less influence the views of Ihe more orthodox Musnlman commentators. It may 
 be further remarked, tnat reudinij and writinsj were far from bein? so rare among 
 the citizens of Mecca in the ti.ne of Mahomet as Gibbon represents (Sprentjer, p. 
 87i. Nor, on a t'oneral view, does it ai)pear probable that a work like the Koran, con- 
 tjiininjj frecpient rcfciences to the Scriptures aud other books, should have bccu 
 computed by " au illiterate barbarian. ' — S-
 
 20 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 From his earliest j'outh, Maliomot was addicted to religious contem. 
 Illation ; each year duriiifir the month of Ramadan, ho withdrew from 
 tlie. world, and from the arms of Cadijah ; in the cave of Hera, threo 
 miles from Meccti, he consnlte.l the spirit of fraud or enthusiasm, 
 whose abode is not in the heavens but in the mind of tlie projjliot. 
 The faith wliich, under tlie name of Islam, * he preached to his family 
 and nation, is comiiounded of an eternal truth, and a necessary fiction, 
 That there is only one God, and that Mahomet is theapostlh 
 OP God. 
 
 It is the boast of the Jewish apologists, that while the learned na- 
 tions of antiquity were deluded by the fables of polytheism, theif 
 simple ancestors of Palestine preserved the knowledge and worship 
 of the true God. The moral attributes of Jehovah may not easily bo 
 reconciled witli the standard of humnii virtue ; his metapliysical 
 qualities are darkly expressed ; but each page of the Pentateuch and 
 the Prophets is an evidence of his power ; tlie unity of his name is in- 
 scribed on the first table of the law ; and his sanctuary was never de- 
 filed by any visible image of the invisible essence. After the ruin of 
 the temple, the faith of the Hebrew exiles was purified, fixed, and 
 enlightened, by the spiritual devotion of the synagogue ; and the au- 
 thority of Mahomet will not justify his perpe"tual reproach, that the 
 Jews of Mecca or Medina adored Ezra as the son of God. But tho 
 chrildren of Israel had ceased to be a people ; and the religions of the 
 world were guilty, at least in the eyes of the prophet, of giving sons, 
 or daughters, or companions, to the supreme God. In the rude idola- 
 try of the Arabs, the crime is manifest and audacious ; the Sabian« 
 are poorly excused by tlxe pre-eminence of the first planet, or intelli- 
 gence in their celestial hierarchy ; and in the Magian system the con- 
 flict of the two principles betrays the imperfection of the con(iueror. 
 The Christians of the seventh century had insensiljly relapsed into a 
 semblance of paganism ; their jjulilic and private vows were address- 
 ed to the relics and images that disgraced the temples of the East ; 
 the throne of the Almighty was darkened by a cloud of martyrs, and 
 saints, and angels, the objects of ))opular veneration ; and the Collyri- 
 dlan heretics, who flourished in the fruitful soil of Arabia, invested 
 the Virgin Mary with the name and honors of a goddess. The mys- 
 teries of the Trinity and Incarnation appear to contradict the princi- 
 ple of the divine unity. In their obvious sense, tliey introduce three 
 equal deities, and transform the man Jesus into the substance of the 
 
 * Islttm is the verbal noun, or infinitive, and J^rodim, which has been cnmipted 
 into M'lmlman or AfuKi/lman, is tlit; iwrticiple of the cansiitive fonn of mlm, which 
 means immunity, peace. The ."iL'iiifJcation of h-l hn is therefore to make peace, or 
 to obtain, iinmunity, ('ithcr by compact, or by doiiiLr lioma'^'e to the stronger, acknowl- 
 cd^ng Ills Buperiority, and KurrciKierin<; to liiin the f)l)jeet of the dispute. It also 
 meaji.'? simply to f-urrender. In the Koran it Fi'inilU'-i in most instances to do 
 homage to Ood, to acknowledge liiin as our ab^iolute Lord, to the exclusion of 
 Idols. Sometimes, however, it occurs in that book in its technical meaning, as the 
 name of a religio:i. (Spronger, p. IG8.)— 8.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 21 
 
 Son of God ; an orthodox commentary will satisfy only a believing 
 mind ; intemperate curiosity and zeal had torn the veil of the sanc- 
 tuary ; and each of the Oriental sects was eager to confess that all, 
 except themselves, deserved the reproach of idolatry and polythe- 
 ism. The creed of Mahomet is free from suspicion or ambiguity ; and 
 the Koran is a glorious testimony to the unity of God. The prophet 
 of Mecca rejected the worship of idols and men, of stars and planets, 
 on the rational principle that whatever rises must set, that whatever 
 is born must die, that whatever is corruptible must decay and perish. 
 In the Author of the universe, his rational enthusiasm confessed and 
 adored an infinite and eternal being, without form or place, without 
 issue or similitude, present to our most secret thoughts, existing by 
 the necessity of his own nature, and deriving from himself all moral 
 an 1 intellectual perfection. These sublime truths, thus announced in 
 the language of the prophet, are firmly held by his disciples and de- 
 fined with metaphysical precision by the interpreters of the Koran. 
 A philosphic tlieist might subscribe the popular creed of the Mahom- 
 etans ; a creed too sublime perhaps for our present faculties. What 
 object remains for the fancy, or even the understanding, when we 
 have abstracted from the unknown substance all ideas of time and 
 space, of motion and matter, of sensation and reflection ? The first 
 principle of reason and revelation was confirmed by the voice of 
 Mahomet ; his proselytes from India to Morocco are distinguished 
 by the name of Unitarians ; and the danger of idolatry has been 
 prevented by the interdiction of images. The doctrine of eternal 
 decrees and absolute predestination is strictly embraced by the Ma- 
 hometans ; and they struggle with the common difficulties, liow to 
 reconcile the prescience of God with the freedom and responsibility 
 of man ; 7ww to explain the permission of evil under the reign of 
 infinite power and iminite goodness. * 
 
 * This sketch of the Arabian prophet and his doctrines is drawn \vith too mudi 
 partiality, and r.'qnires to be modified by the researches and opinions of later in- 
 quircrB. Gibbon was prot)ably led by his notion that Mahomet was a " philosophic 
 nieiNt," to reifurd him with Huch evident favor. Nothing, however, can be more 
 at variance with the prophet's enthusiastic temperament than such a character. 
 Hie apparently deistical opinions arose merely from his belief in the Mosaic revela- 
 tion, and his rejection of that of Christ. He was thus a deist in the sense that any 
 Jew may be called a deist. On this point Spren^'er well remarks, " He never c uld 
 reconcile his notions of Ood with the doctrine of the 'I'rinity and with the divinity 
 of Christ; and he was disgusted with the moiikisli institutions and sectarian dis- 
 putes of the Christians. His creed was : ' He is (Jod alone, the eternal (iod ; he has 
 not begotten, and is not begotten ; and none is his equal.' Nothing, however, can 
 be more erroneous than to suppose that Mohammed was, at any period of his early 
 career, a deist. Faith, when once extinct, cannot be revived ; and it was his enriiu- 
 siasfic faith In iii-pinition thnt made I iin a prophet" 'p. VM\. .And that Mahomet's 
 ideas of (Jod were far from biing of that abstract natnre whicli iniL'lit suit a "i)lnli)- 
 Bopbic theiBt," Is evident from his ascribing to the Omnipotent ninety-nine attri- 
 butes, thus reardin.; him as n bfinir of the most concrete kind, (lb., p. !I0.) 
 
 With regard, aL'ain, to the fjriginality of Mahomet's doctrines, there is reason to 
 Miink that It was not so complete as (iibbon would lead u? to believe bv character- 
 \Au^ the Koran asi the work " of a Min;;lu urtiiit,''' oiid by reprcacuting Sdubomct us
 
 22 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 The Ood of nature Ims written liis existence on all his works, and 
 his l;iw in the heart ol' man. To restore the knowledge of the one, 
 and the ])ractico of the other, lias been the real or pretended aim of 
 the ]>roi)hets of every age : th(? liljerality of Mahomet allowed to his 
 predecessors the same credit which he claimed for himself ; and the 
 chain of ins})iration was i)rolonged from the fall of Adam to the pro- 
 mulgation of the Koran. During that period, some rays of prophetic 
 light had been imparted to one Imndred and twenty-four thousand of 
 the elect, discriminated by their respective measure of virtue and 
 grace ; three hundred and thirteen apostles were sent with a sp(;cial 
 commission to recall their country from idolatry and vice ; one hun- 
 dred and four volumes liave been dictated by the Holy Spirit ; and six 
 legislators of transcendent brightness have announced to mankind the 
 six successive revelations of various rites, but of one immutable re- 
 ligion. The authority and station of Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, 
 Christ, and Mahomet, rise in just gradation above each other ; but 
 whosoever hates or rejects any one of the prophets is numbered with 
 the infidels. The writings of the patriarchs were extant only in the 
 apocryphal copies of the Greeks and Syrians ; the conduct of Adam 
 
 cut off from all subsidiary sources in consequence of his inability to read. Tho 
 latter point has been already examined ; and it now remains to show that Mahomet 
 was net without predecessors, who had not only held the same tenets, but even 
 openly preached tiiem. Gibbon admits, indeed, that before Mahomet's time "the 
 most rational of the Arabs acknowle<lged God's power, thout,'h they ne^'le;ted his 
 worship ; " and that it was habit rather than conviction that still attached them to 
 the relics of idolatry {itvpra, p. 57). But the new creed had made still more active 
 advances. The Koreishites charged Mahomet with takin>,' his whole doctrine from 
 a book called the"Asatyrof the Ancients," which is several times quoted in the 
 Koran, and appears lo have containetl the doctrine of the resurrection. (Sprenger, 
 p. 100 ) At the fair of Okatz, Qoss hud preached tho unity of God before Mahomet 
 assumed the prophetic oflice ; and contemporary with him was Omayah of Tayef, 
 to whose teachings Mahomet allowed that his own bore a great similarity, (lb., 
 pp. 5, 38. 39.) Zayd the sceptic was another forerunner of Mahomet, and his fol- 
 lowers were among the orophet's first converts (p. 167). Sprenger concludes his 
 account of the Pr;e-Mahonietans — or Reformers before the Eeformation— as follows: 
 •' From the preceding account of early converts, and it embraces nearly all those 
 who joined Mohammed during the first six years, it appears that the leading men 
 among them held the tenets which form the basis of the religion of the Arabic 
 prophet long before he preached them. They were not his tools, but his constitu- 
 ents. He clothed the sentiments which he had in common with then in poetical 
 language ; and his malady i;ave divine sanction to his oracles. Even when he was 
 acknowledged as the messengjr of God, Omar had as much or more influence on the 
 development of the Islam as Mohammed himself. He sometimes attempted to 
 overrule the convictions of these men, but he succeeded in very few instances. The 
 Islam is not the work of Mohammed ; it is not the doctrine of the impostor ; it 
 embodies the faith and sentiments of men who for their talents and virtues must be 
 considered as the most distinguished of their nation, and who acted under all cir- 
 cumstances so faithful lo the spirit of the Arabs that they must be regarded as their 
 repres ntatives. The Islam is, therefore, the offspring of the spirit of the time, and 
 the voice of the Arabic nation. And it is this which made it victorious, particu- 
 larly among nations whose habits resemble those of the Arabs, like the lierbers and 
 Tatars. There is, however, no doubt that the impostor lias defiled it by his im- 
 inorauty and perverscnesB of mind, and that most of the objectionabls doctriuea are 
 hla'ip. 174;.— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 2^ 
 
 had not entitled liim to the gratitude or respect of his children ; the 
 seven precepts of ^^oah were observed by an inferior and imperfect 
 class of the proselvtes of the synagogue ; and the memory of Abraham 
 was obscurely revered by the Sabians in his native land of Chaldrea,- 
 of the myriads of prophets, Moses and Christ alone lived and reigned . 
 and the remnant of the inspired writings was comprised in the books 
 of the Old and New Testament. The miraculous story of Moses is 
 consecrated and embellished in the Koran ; and the captive Jews enjoy 
 the secret revenge of imposing their own belief on the nations whose 
 recent creeds thev deride. For the author ot Christianity, th > Ma- 
 hometans are taught by the prophet to entertain a high and mysterious 
 reverence " Verilv, Christ Jesus, the son of Mary, is the apostle of 
 God and his word," which he conveyed unto Mary, and a Spirit pro- 
 cc. ding from him: honorable in this world, and in the world to come; 
 and one of those who approach near to the presence of God. llio 
 wonders of the genuine and apocryphal gospels are profusely heaped 
 on his head ; and the Latin Church has not disdained to borrow trom 
 the Koran the immaculate conception of his virgin mother, let Jesus 
 wa.s a mere mortal ; and, at the day of judgment, his testimony will 
 serve to condemn both the Jews, wlio reject him as a prophet and the 
 Christians, who adore him as the Son of God. The ma ice ot his ene- 
 mies aspersed his reputation, and conspired against his lite ; but tlieir 
 intention only was guilty; a phantom or a criminal was sulis ituted on 
 the cross and the innocent saint was translated to the seventh heaven. 
 During six hundred years the gosi)cl was the way of truth and salva- 
 tion • but the Christians insensibly forgot both the laws and the ex- 
 ample of their foundt;r ; and Mahomet was instructed by the Gnostics 
 to accuse the church, as well as the synagogue, of corruptmg the in- 
 tegrity of the sacred text. The piety of Moses and of C hrist rejoiced 
 in the assurance of a future prophet, more illustrious than themselves: 
 the evangelic promise of the Pamdete, or Holy Ghos-t, was prehgured 
 in the name, and accomplished in the person, of Mahomet, the great- 
 est and la.st of the apostles of God. f ♦1^„„.l,t on,1 
 Tho communication of ideas requires a similitude of thought anc 
 lamruaffe : the discourse of a philosopher would vibrate without effect 
 on thenar of a pea.sant ;• yet how minute is the distance of (Anrund.-r- 
 staiHliiu' if it be compared with the contact of an inhnite and finito 
 min.l, with the wonl of Go.l expressed by the tongue or the pen of a 
 mortal ' Tlie insT.iratir.n of llie ilebivw proi.bets, of the apostles and 
 evangelists of Clirist, might not be in.-<,mi.atible with the exercise of 
 tbc-ir rea.son and memory ; and th., div.Tsity of th.^r genius ,s strongly 
 marked in the stvle and composition of tl.e books of tho Old and .Nov 
 Testament l^ut* Mahf.in.'t wag content with a character more humble, 
 vet more sublime, of a sin.i'le editor : the substance of " tlie Koran 
 according to himself or liis diseii-les, is uncreat.-d and eternal ; sul>- 
 Bisfing in the ei^sence of the Deity, and inscribe.l with a pen ot light 
 on the table of his everlasting decrees. A pai*r copy, in a voluin(> ot
 
 21 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 silk and pjonis. was |>rou,<,^ht down to the lowest lioaven by the anffol 
 .al> url who,u„dcr tl... .j^,v,,h economy, had indeed been di/patchedl.n 
 t lie most unpc.rtant errands; and this trusty messenger successively 
 revealed the cliapters and verses to th(. Arabian prophet. Instead of 
 a perpetual and per ect measure of the divine will, tlie fragments of 
 he Koran were produced at the discretion of Mahomet , eadi revela- 
 lon is suited to the emergencies of his policy or passion ; and all con- 
 tiadiction.is removed by the saving maxim, that any text of scripture 
 IS abrogated or modihed by any subsequent passage. The word of 
 Uod. and of the apostle, was diligently recorded by his disciples on 
 pa ni-leaves and the shoulder-bo-nes of mutton ; and the page.s witl 
 out order and connection, were cast into a domestic cliest in the cus- 
 tody of one of his wives. Two years after the death of Mahomet, the 
 sacred volume was co lectedand published by his friend and successor 
 Abubeker ■* the work was revised by the caliph Othman, in the thir 
 t eth year of the Hegira ; f and the various editions of the Koran assert 
 the same miraculous privilege of a uniform and incorruptible text In 
 the spirit of enthusiasm or vanity, the projihet rests the truth of his 
 mission on the merit of his book, audaciously challenges botli men 
 ^.sserTfw r T''f' the beauties of a single page, and presumes to 
 assert that bod alone could dictate this incomparable performance 
 Ihis argument is most powerfully addressed to a devout Arabian' 
 whose mind is attuned to faith and rapture, wliose ear is deliglited 
 Dy the music of sounds, and whose ignorance is incapable of compar- 
 ing the productions of human genius. The harmonv and copiousness 
 ot style will not reach, in a version, the European infid. 1 . lie will 
 peruse with impatience the endless incoherent rhapsody of fable and 
 precept, and declamation, which seldom excites a sentiment or an idea 
 which sometimes crawls in the dust, and is .sometimes lost in the 
 clouds. The divine attributes exalt the fancy of the Arabian mission- 
 
 * Abubeker, at the suffi^estion of Omar, gave orders for its collection nnH nnhi! 
 cation ; but the editorial labor was actuall>>pcrfornied by Ze d iCtI abirwh?"hld 
 been one of Mahomet's secretaries. He in rclate.l to havi gathered the text-" from 
 date-leaves and tablets of white.stone. and from the br?ast.rof men.'' (We iT 
 348 ; Calcutta Keview, No. xxxvii., p. <j )— S ^ ' P" 
 
 inLTH^h''*^*^?^!"" °^ Othman has been handed down to us unaltered So carefully 
 indeed has it been preserved that there arc no variations of importance---we m"eht 
 tP^^'t^^' "h ^^"i'f'°"' fa"-?'"""^*' the innumerable copies (.ft he KorlnlcTt- 
 IJ-Ia ^fi^.'i^hout the vast bounds of the empire of Islam. Contending and embit- 
 tered factions priginating ,n the murder of Othman liimself, within a qu rtcr of a 
 yJ} h'Jt^^V'" '^r'"?^ Mahomet, have ever since rent the Mahon?e n vvor d 
 }^l}fl u'' Koran has always been current amongst them ; and the conKentnneous 
 use of It by all up to the present day, is an irrefragable proof that we have now be- 
 ThPr^l ^r^ f« f:'^^"^<' l<;-^t prepared, by the commands if that unfortunate caliph 
 There 13 probably no other work which has remained twelve centuries with%o pure 
 finpH V. h-.t'' '""''"''''■ '"^;''l'"Ss a'-e wonderfully U-m- in number, and are chiedy con 
 fined to differenco.s in the vowel points and diacritical signs ; but as these marks 
 were invented at a later date, and did not exist at all in the early copies thcv can 
 h^lj be said to uS<xt the text of Othman. (GalcutU Iteview, No;xSi p^ n >
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 25 
 
 ary ; but liis loftiest strains must yield to the sublime simplicity of 
 tlie book of Jol), composed in a remote age, in the same country, and 
 in the same language.* If the composition of the Koran exceed the 
 faculties of a man, to what superior intelligence should we ascribe the 
 Iliad of Homer, or the Philippics of Demosthenes'? In all religions 
 the life of the founder supplies the silence of his written revelation : 
 the sayings of Mahomet were so many lessons of truth ; his actions 
 so many examples of virtue ; and the public and private memorials 
 were preserved by his wives and companions. At the end of two 
 hundred years, the Sonna, or oral law, was fixed and consecrated by 
 the labors of Al Bochari, who discriminated seven thousand two hun- 
 dred and seventy-five genuine traditions, from a mass of three hun- 
 dred thousand reports, of a more doubtful or spurious character, f 
 Each day the pious author prayed in the temple of Mecca, and per- 
 formed iiis ablutions Avith the water of Zemzem : the pages were 
 successively deposited on the pulpit and the sepulchre of the apostle ; 
 and the work has been approved by the four orthodox sects of the 
 Sonnites. 
 
 The mission of the ancient prophets, of Moses and of Jesus, had 
 been confirmed by many splendid prodigies ; and Mahomet was re- 
 peatedly urged, by the inhabitants of Mecca and Medina, to produce 
 a similar evidence of his divine legation ; to call down from heaven 
 the angel or the volume of his revelation, to create a garden in the 
 desert, or to kindle a conflagration in the unlje-lieving city. As often 
 as he is pressed by the demands of the Koreish, he involves himself 
 in the obscure boast of vision and prophecy, appeals to the internal 
 proofs of his doctrine, and .shields himself behind the providence; of 
 God, who refuses those signs and wonders that would depreciate the 
 merit of faith, and aggravate the guilt of infidelity. But the modesi; 
 or angry tone of his apologies betrays his weakness ar.d vexation , 
 and these passages of scandal establish, beyond suspicion, the integ- 
 rity of the Koran. Tlie votaries of Mahomet are more assured than 
 himself of his miraculous gifts, and their confidence and credulity 
 increa.se as they arc further removed from the time and place of his 
 spiritual ex]>loits. Tli<-y believe or allirm that tn^^s went fort'h to 
 meet him ; that lie was saluted by stones : that water gushed from 
 his fingers ; that he fed the hungry, cured the sick, and raised the 
 
 * The age of the book of Job \a still, nnd prolinbly v.'ill still bo. dispiitofl. Rosnn- 
 Tn"ilI(T thUH BtatcM his own opinion : "Ccrte Kcrioribus re|nil>li!;i; ti'nii)oriujns iissi- 
 P .nudum nsBc, lit)ruin, sii .dcTO videtiir ad fhiildaisraiim v('.r.;cns Hcnno.'' Yet the 
 observations of KoKOLcnrten. wliich Jiosenmiillfr liiH tjivon in a noic, nnd cominnn 
 reason, BUKKect tliat thin ('lialdiiism may be tlic native form of a inncti cnrli r dia- 
 lect ; or the Clialduie miy have jidopfi'd the poetical arehaisms of a dialect dilTerini^ 
 from, but not lem ancii'tit tii.'in tin- Hebrew. (Sei; HoMe.miiilhr. I'rolci;. on Job, p. 
 41.) The poetry apiK-ar.H to me to beloni; to a much earlier period.— M . 
 
 + The number."! were much more disproportionuK; ihan tlieKC. (Jut of 000,000 tra' 
 dition.H. Hoklittri, found only 4,000 to be geuuim;. (AVcil, Uosch. dcr Ctuilifcu, vol, 
 L. p. 291.>— S
 
 20 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 dead ; that a beam groaned to liim ; tliat a camel complained to h'm • 
 that a should(M- of mutton infonuod him of its bein.?^ poisoned; and 
 that botli animate and inanimate nature were equally subject to tho 
 apostle of God. His dream of a nocturnal journey' is seriously de- 
 scribed as a real and corporeal transaction. A mysterious animal 
 the Borak, conveyed him from the temple of Mec(;a"to tliat of Jerusa! 
 Jem : with his companion Gabriel, he successiyely ascended tlie scyeii 
 heavens, and received and repaid the salutations of tho patriarchs 
 the prophets, and the angels, in their respective mansions. Beyond 
 the seventh heaven, Mahomet alone ^yas permitted to proceed ; ho 
 passed the veil of unity, approached within two bow-shots of the 
 throne, and felt a cold that pierced him to the heart, when his shoul- 
 der was touched by the hand of (iod. After this familiar thou-li im- 
 portant conversation, he again descended to Jerusa](>in, remounted the 
 Borak, returned to Mecca, and performed in tlie tenth part of a night 
 the journey of many tliousand years. According to another legend 
 the apostle confounded in a national assembly the malicious challenge 
 of the Koreish. His resistless word split asunder the orb of the moon ; 
 tlie obedient planet stooped from her station in the sky, accomplished 
 the seven revolutions round the Caaba, saluted Mahomet in the Ara- 
 bian tongue, and suddenly contracting her dimensions, entered at tho 
 collar, and issued forth through the sleeve, of his shirt. The vulo-ar 
 are amused with the marvellous tales ; but the gravest of the Mus^il- 
 num doctors imitate tlie modesty of their master, and indulge a lati- 
 tude of faith or interpretation. They might speciously allege, that 
 m preaching the religion, it was needless to violate tlie harmony of 
 nature ; that a creed unclouded with mvstery may be excused from 
 miracles ; and that the sword of Mahomet was not less putent than 
 the rod of Moses. 
 
 The polytheist is oppressed and distracted by the variety of super- 
 stition : a thousand rites of Egyptian origin were interwoven witli 
 the essence of the Mosaic law ; and the spirit of the gospel had 
 evaporated in the pageantry of the church. The prophet of Mecca 
 ^yas tempted by prejudice, or policy, or patriotism, to sanctify tho 
 rites of the Arabians, and the custom of visiting the holy stone of 
 the Caaba. But the precepts of Mahomet himself inculcate a more 
 S'mple and rational piety r prayer, fasting, and alms are the religious 
 duties of a Musulman ; and he is encouraged to hope that prayer will 
 carry him half way to God, fasting will bring him to the door of hi.<3 
 palace, and alms will gain him admittance. I. According to the tra- 
 dition of the nocturnal journey, tlie apostle, in his per.sonal conference 
 with the Deity, was commanded to impose on his disciples the daily 
 obligation of fifty prayers. By the advice of Moses, he applietl for an 
 Alleviation of this intolerable burthen ; the number wa.s gradually re- 
 duced to five : without any dispensation of business or jdeasure or 
 time or place : the devotion of the faithful is repeated at daybreak 
 at noon, iu the afternoon, in the evening, and at the first watch of
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 27 
 
 tlie nio-lit • and in tlie present decav of religious fervor, our travellers 
 are edTfied with the profound humility and attention of the Turks and 
 Persians. Cleanliness is the key of prayer : the frequent lustration 
 of the hands, the face, and the body, which was practised of old by 
 the Arabs, is solemnly enjoined by the Koran . and a permission is 
 formallv granted to supply with sand the scarcity of water. llie 
 words and attitudes of supplication, as it is performed either sitting 
 or standing'- or prostrate on the ground, are prescribed by custom or 
 authority but the prayer is poured forth in short and fervent ejacu- 
 lations • the measure of zeal is not exhaustea by a tedious liturgy ; 
 and each Musulman, for his own person, is invested with the charac- 
 ter of a priest. Among the theists, who reject the use of images, it 
 lias been found necessary to restrain the wanderings of the fancy by 
 directino-the eye and the thought towards a kehla, or visible point of 
 the hori'zon. The prophet was at first inclined to gratify the Jews by 
 the choice of Jerusalem ; but he soon returned to a more natural par- 
 tiality ; and five times every day the eyes of the nations at Astracan 
 at Fez at Delhi, are devoutly turned to the holy temple of Mecca. - 
 Yet every spot for the service of God is equally pure : the Mahome- 
 tans indifferently prav in their chamljer or in the street. As a dis- 
 tinction from the Jews and Christians, the Friday in each Aveek is set 
 apart for the useful institution of public worship : the people are 
 assembled in the mosch : and the imam, some respectable el- 
 der a.scends the pulpit to begin the prayer and pronounce the 
 sermon But the Mahometan religion is destitute of priesthood 
 or sacrifice ; f and the independent spirit of fanaticism looks 
 down with contempt on the ministers and slaves of superstition. 
 II The voluntary penance of the ascetics, the torment and glory 
 of their lives, was odious to a prophet who censured in his compan- 
 
 ♦Mahomet at CrH granted the Jews many privile-es in observins: their ancient 
 cn«tom'.. and especially tlieir Sabbath ; and he himself kept the fast, of tenda>;s 
 with which the Jewish year besdus- But "''"i he found I imseif deceived in his 
 expectations of converting them, these privilcKes were withdrawn Mecca was 
 Bubaiituted for Jerusalem as the IctJj'a, or quarter to which the face is directed dur- 
 ing prayer ; and. in place of the Jewish fa.st, that of Kamadhan was instituted. 
 (Weil, Mohammed, p. 90.)— S. , ,1.11 r^■^.^. 
 
 + Mr. Forster (Mahometanism Unveiled, vol. i , p. 4ir,) has severely rebuked Gibboii 
 for \\U inaccuracv in Haying that " the Mahometan reli-ion is destitute of pncsthood 
 or mrritlrf ; " bu"t this expression mwt he understood of the riciicral practice of the 
 Mahom'etans. The occa.'^ion of the pil.jriraafrc to Mecca formed an exception ; an(l 
 Gibbon has himself observed (vM;>ra. p. 4^<) that " the pilprimn-'o "as achieved, (us at 
 tlio irrwid hour, by u saciiiicc of sheep and camels " '1 he Koran sanctions sacn- 
 llcft on this fx;casion ; and Mahomet h:ms(lf. in \:i< last pikTimn^e t() Mecca, set 
 the example, bv ofterin,' up witli liis own hand the sLxty-thrce came.s which He iiaa 
 brow'htwlth him from Medina, ordenn;.' Ali to do the lik<' with the thirty-seven 
 which he h;id brouu'ht from Yemen. (Weil. Mohammed, pj). 21M. 31..) Inis ortn- 
 nance was probably a sort of politir-:il compromise witli the ancunt idolatrous rites 
 of Mec/a It miy be further r.uiarked, lliat there were two kinds of pilfrmnnKe, 
 viz ///i///and rrnrn. The rites accompanvinj,' them, however, were exactly simi- 
 lar—the only dl-tlnction heint; tliat the former took yilace oidv on the appointed fen 
 tivalB whilst the latter might be performed all the year round, (lb , p. 8'JO.)— 1>.
 
 28 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ions a rasli vow of iihstiiininp from flt;sli, and womcm, and slinop ; and 
 l.iriuly declared that he would suffer no monks in liis niligion. Yet 
 he instituted in each year a fast of tliirtydays; and strenuously 
 recommended the observance, as a disciplint; which purifies the soul 
 and subdues the body, as a salutary exercise of olxnlienco to tlu; will 
 of God and his a])ostle. Duriiif^ the month of Ramadan, from the 
 risin;:^ to ihe setting of tlu; sun, the Musulman abstains from eating, 
 and drinking, and women, and baths, and perfumes ; from all nour 
 ishments that can restore his strength, from all pleasure that can 
 gratify his senses. In the revolution of the lunar year, the Rama- 
 dan coincides, by turns, with the winter cold and the summer heat ; 
 and the patient martyr, without assuaging his thirst with a drop of 
 water, must expect the close of a t(niious and sultry day. The inter- 
 diction of wine, peculiar to some orders of priests or hermits, is con- 
 verted by Mahomet alone into a positive and general law : and a con- 
 siderable portion of the globe has abjured, at his command, the use of 
 that salutary, though dangerous, li(]uor. These painful restraints 
 are, doubtless, infringed by tlu; lilKU'line, and eluded by the hypo- 
 crite ; but the legislator, by whimi they are enacted, cannot surely be 
 accused of alluring his proselytes by the indulgence of their sensual 
 appetites.* III. The charity of the Mahometans descends to the ani- 
 mal creation ; and the Koran repeatedly inculcates, not as a merit, but 
 as a strict and indispensable duty, the relief of the indigent and un- 
 fortunate. JNIahomet, perhaps, is the only law giver who has defined 
 the precise nu-asure (jf charity : the standard may vary with th(! de- 
 gree and nature of property, as it consists either in money, in corn or 
 cattle, in fruits or merchandise ; but the Musulman does not accom- 
 plish the law unless he bestows a tenth of his revenue ; and if his 
 conscience accuses him of fraud or extortion, the tenth, under the 
 idea of restitution, is enlarged to a fiftJt. Benevolence is the founda- 
 tion of justice, since we are forbid to injure those whom we are 
 bound to a.ssist. A prophet nuiy reveal the secrets of heaven and of 
 futurity, but in his moral precepts he can only repeat the lessons of 
 our own hearts. 
 
 The two articles of belief and the four practical duties of Islam f 
 are guarded by rewards and punishments ; and the faith of the 
 Musulman is devoutly fixed on the event of the judgment and the 
 Ia.st day. The prophet has not presumed to determine the moment of 
 that awful catastrophe, though he darkly announces the signs, both 
 
 ^1 __^ — ^ 
 
 * Forster points ont the inconKifitency of this passage with the one on page 230 -. 
 "lIis voice invited the Arabs to freedom and \nct()ry, to arms and rapine, to the 
 indulgence of their darling passions in this world and the other." (Mahometanism 
 Unveiled, vol. ii., p. 498.)— H. 
 
 t The f(nir practical duties are prayer, fasting, alms, and pilgrimage. (Weil, Mo- 
 hammed, p. 2HH, note.) it is here obvious that Gibbon had not overl(X)ked tiie last, 
 though hf, has omitted it in ihit preceding enumeration of ih.^ ordinary a.n<l conalant 
 auLieo utC a Musulman. — S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 29 
 
 in heaven and eartli, wliicli will precede the universal dissolution-, 
 ■when life shall be destroyed, and the order of creation shall be con- 
 founded in the primitive chaos. At the blast of the trumpet new 
 worlds will start into being ; angels, genii, and men, will arise from 
 the dead, and the human soul will again be united to the body. The 
 doctrine of the resurrection was first entertained by the Egyptians ; 
 and their mummies were embalmed, their pyramids were constructed, 
 to preserve the ancient mansion of the soul, during a period of three 
 thousand years. But the attempt is partial and unavailing ; and it is 
 ■with a more philosophic spirit that Mahomet relies on the omnipo- 
 tence of the Creator, whose word can reanimate the breathless clay, 
 and collect the innumerable atoms that no longer retain their form or 
 substance. The intermediate state of the soul it is hard to decide ; and 
 those who most firmly believe her immaterial nature are at a loss to un- 
 derstand how she can think or act without the agency of the organs 
 of sense. 
 
 The reunion of the soul and body will be followed by the final 
 judgment of mankind ; and, in his copy of the Magian picture, the 
 prophet has too faithfully represented the forms of proceeding, and 
 even the slow and successive operations of an earthly tribunal. By 
 his intolerant adversaries he is upbraided for extending even to them- 
 selves the hope of salvation, for asserting the blackest heresy, that 
 every man who believes in God and accomplishes good works, may 
 expect in the last day a favorable sentence. Such rational indiffer- 
 ence is ill adapted to the character of a fanatic ; nor is it probable 
 that a messenger from heaven should depreciate the value and neces- 
 sity of his own revelation. In the idiom of the Koran, the be'lief of 
 (iod i.s. inseparable from that of Mahomet : the good works are those 
 which "lie had enjoined ; and the two qualifications imply the profes- 
 sion of Islam, to which all nations and all sects are equally invited. 
 Their spiritual blindness, though excused by ignorance and crowned 
 ■Nvith virtue, will be scourged with everlasting torments ; and the 
 tears which Mahomet shed over the toml)of his mother, for whom he 
 was forbidden to i)ray, dis[)lay a striking contrast of humanity and 
 enthusiasm. The doom of the infidel -i is common: the measure of 
 their guilt and punishment is determined by the degree of evidence 
 which they liave rejected, by the magnitude of the errors which tht-y 
 liave entertained r the eternal mansions of the Christians, the Jews, 
 the Sabians, the Magians, and the idolaters, are , sunk below each 
 other in the abyss ; an 1 ti-.c lowest hell is reserved for the faithless 
 hy]»ocrites who' l;ave jLssumed the mask of religion. After the great- 
 er jjart of maidtind has been condemned for their opinions, the true 
 believers only will be judged by their actions. The good and evil ot 
 {;ach Musulnian will be accurately weighed in a real or allegorical 
 bahuice, and a singular mode of conijiensation will b(! allowed for tlui 
 ])aymeiit of injuries : the aggressor will refun<I an e(|uivalent of his 
 owu good actions for the Ijeuelit of the porsou whom he has wronged ;
 
 80 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 and if he should ho destitute of anj moral property, the weight of 
 his sins will ho loaded with an adequate share of the demerits of tiie 
 sufferer. According as tlie sliares of guilt or virtue shall pri^ponder- 
 ate, the sentence will be pronounced, and all, witliout distinction, will 
 iwssover the sharp and jierilous bridge f)f tlio abyss ; but the innocent 
 treading in the footsteps of Mahonu;t, will gloriously enter the gates of 
 paradise, wliile the guilty will fall into the first and mildest of th) 
 seven hells. The term of expiation will vary from nine liundred to 
 seven thousand years but the pro]diet has judiciously promised tliat 
 <t/niis disciples, whatever may be their sins, shall be" saved l)y their 
 own faith and his intercession from eternal damnation. It is not 
 surprising that superstition should act most powerfully on the fear.i 
 of her votaries, since the human mind can paint with more energy the 
 misery ihan the bliss of a future life. With the two simple elements 
 of darkness and fire, we create a sensation of pain which may bo ag- 
 gravated to an infinite degree by the idea of endless duration. But 
 tlie same idea operates with an opposite off ect on the continuity of pleas- 
 ure ; and too mucli of our present enjoyments is obtained from tho 
 relief or the comparison of evil. It is natural enough that an Ara- 
 bian i)rophet should dwell with rapture on the groves, the fountains, 
 and the rivers of paradise ; but instead of inspiring the blessed in- 
 habitants with a liberal taste for liarmony and science, conversation 
 and friendship, he idly celebrates the pearls and diamonds, the robes 
 of silk, palaces of marble, dishes of gold, rich wines, artificial dain- 
 ties, numerous attendants, and the whole train of sensual and costly 
 luxury which becomes insipid to the owiu;r even in tlie short period 
 of this mortal life. Seventy-two JiDitru, or black-eyed girls of re- 
 splendent beauty, blooming youth, virgin purity, and exquisite sensi- 
 l)i]ity, will be created for the use of the meanest believer ; a moment 
 of pleasure will be prolonged to a thousand years, and his faculties 
 will be increased a hundred-fold to render him worthy of his felicity. 
 Notwithstanding a vulgar prejudice, the gates of heaven will be open 
 to both sexes ; but Malionujt has not specified the male companions 
 of the female elect, lest lin should either alarm the jealousy of their 
 former husbands or disturb their felicity by the sus])icion of an ever- 
 lastmg marriage. This image of a carnal paradise has provoked the 
 indignation, perhaps the envy, of tlie monks ; they declaim against 
 *he impure religion of Mahomet, and liis modest a])ologists are driven 
 to the poor excuse of figures and allegories. But the sounder and 
 more consistent ])arty adhere without shame to the literal interpreta- 
 tion of the Koran : usehiss would l)e the resurrection of tlie body un- 
 Jess it were restored to the possession and exercise of its worthiest 
 faculties ; and the union of .sensual and intellectual enjoyment is 
 requisite to complete the happiness of the douide animal, the perfect 
 man. Yet the joys of the Mahometan p;iradis(; will not Ix; confined 
 to tlie indulgimce of luxury and apf)etite, and the pro])het has ex- 
 prestsly declared that all meaner happiness will Ix' forgotten and de-
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 31 
 
 spised by llie saints and martyrs who sliall be admitted to the beati- 
 
 tude of the divine vision. , ,r , ^* ^i „« 
 
 Thefii-st and most arduous conquests of Mahome t » were those ot 
 
 * '^hPori<Tinal materials for a Life of Mahomet are— I. The Koran— II. The tra- 
 ditions o?ifXnSrsfonmvcrs.-in. Some poetical works.-IV. The earliest Ara- 
 bian biographiea of the propiiet. 
 
 I. The Korn ' " " ' 
 
 scholars are a; 
 hornet ; but the eye 
 
 "iTlfteHlahl^me't"' death, such of his follou-crs as had beenmuch about his per- 
 son ( S ••compauions") were surrounded by pupils who had no seen and 
 conversed with him, but who were desirous of acquirm- information .om those 
 who had enjoved that advantage. This second generation who were called Tabiys 
 (T-ibiiin '"4ccessor3"\ tranlmitted in turn to others the information thus ac- 
 Sd Great carewas employed iu comparing and sifting these traditions, which 
 were derVved from various and often distant sources ; and, as a guarantee of authen- 
 ticity th" name of the person on whose authority they rested was transmitted 
 fllon ''with them It is possible that some of them may have been committed to 
 w?An- in Mahomet-s lifetime; but the first formal collection of them was made 
 "bou a coiUury after his death, br command of the Caliph Om.^r II They mnl i- 
 rSapidly • and it is said that the books of the historian Bokhari-who died only 
 about two centuries after Mahomct-which consisted chiefly of these traditions, filled 
 ^ivh.indnd boxes each a load for two men. The most important among these collec- 
 to. s are he sif c\nont.al on,, of the Sunnies and four of the SMahs. The former 
 w^re corni) 1^^^^ r the influence of the Abasside caliphs, and were begun in the 
 
 S of "\ Mam in The Shiahs were somewhat lat^r, and are far less trustworthy 
 thai?theSunniesbeing composed with the party view ot supportuig the clams of 
 A Hand his descendants to supreme power , , ,, . i,„ „„„*„,„ 
 
 III Some extant Arabic poems ^^■cre probably composed by Mahomet's contem- 
 
 BervH Iced deep attention as the earliest literary r, mains of a period which con- 
 
 tS^^edUcKermotPsuch mighty events, but they give i.s little new insight into the 
 
 hi-torv or aaracter of Mahomet. (Calcutta Review No. xxxvii., p. 6i,.) 
 
 IV nBe.'n8tliut re-nlar biographies of Mahomet began to be composed towards 
 
 thcendof rfirstorV^^^ century of the Uegiri ;. but .the earliest 
 
 iiograpliicul writers, whose works are extant more or less in their original state 
 
 are-1 Ibn Ish/ic ; 2. Ibn Ilishim : 3. Wackidi and Ins secretary ; 4 I abari --1 Ibn 
 
 THhV aTabiv died \ II i.^KA. b. 7i:8). Ilis work, which was composed for tho 
 
 ^^ph Al MansQ . enjovsn high reputation among the Moslems ; audits stat^inent^ 
 
 h^ve been incorporatid into most 'of the subsecincnt biographies of the prophet. 
 
 1)T. Spn-nger, however, (p. (51), (hough h .rd!y, perhaps, on suflicient groun In le- 
 
 panlsHiim as 'little trustwort!,; and doubts whether his hook has come down to ns 
 
 jn its ori"inal fonn.-2. Ibn Ishac was succeeded by Ibn llisli.im (died A. II. .l.J. 
 
 A. 1) m, whose work, still extant, is founded on that of l",^ V,?r n'^^rM "d ^ 
 1 X-.. _ ...: ,.p K„ otni ir,i,a (rinjtiinr IV — n. W .ickidl. boni at iVleaiiiH 
 
 the best sources of infonnatlon respecting the proj^het. ^ '"i; '' V ' S.\\ 7, j ",' ' 
 discovcrf^l by Dr. .Sprenger ut Cawnpore V^ "P'7''^'''' I » b /i ih-v r m^^^^ 
 
 far the best biography of the Arabic prophet, but, being %'7''„\'f,,Xwc never 
 used by a Europcuu scholar. The vcrajiiy and knowledge of the author have novur
 
 33 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 j.iH wifo. his servant, his pupil, and his friend ; since he presented 
 lunisc-lf as a propliet to those who were nio^t conversant with liis in- 
 Jirmit.rs as a man. Yet Cadijah l.olioved the words, and cherished 
 tlieglorjof her husband; tlic obsequious and affectionate Zeid was 
 ti>mpted bv the prosj.ect of freedom ; the ilkistrious Ali, th3 son of 
 Abu i aleb, embraced the sentiments of his cousin with the spirit of 
 a youthful hero ; and the weahh, the mo.leration, the veracity of 
 Abubeker,* conhrmed the religion of the proj.liet whom he was des- 
 tmed to succeed. By his persuasion, t(;n <.f the most respectable citi- 
 zens of Mecca were introduced to tjie private lessons of Islam • they 
 yielded to the voice of reason and enthusiasm ; they repeated the 
 lundamenta creed, " there is but one God, and Mahomet is the apos- 
 tle of God ; and their faith, even in this life, was rewarded with 
 riches and lionors, with the command of armies and the government 
 
 been impngned by his contemporaries, nor by frood early writers " It is' wnpr<,n„ 
 ciuoted under the name of " WAckidi," probably for the sake of brevitf T I 
 
 cc o K hth'tnTn^^l'Z^^ Y^'^l^' "^"-^^ '''>' ^'^ confounded wi?Lt!c^-roma' 
 cc? 01 tiie eitjhth century which bear the same name and which form the ba^^iq of 
 
 H sT<rn'^,:>^^- Taban the mo.st celebrated of all the Arabii h s orians di -d A 
 n i;;.* Vil-'^mV A short account of this writer is given by Oihbon himse f oh 
 
 il"am Wu^r h"","^" '" f '""V' ^"^^ °*' MahoSet'8 lif. anrof /rpni e ^ 
 or i!,iam. i ne latter has lone: been known- and a nnvHn-n r.f u ;„ ,^,, ' '-''.^"7 
 
 Arabic, was published, with,1i Latin transition by l^oegarten in ^Sl""' BuTthl 
 trn'^fl' ,?'"■'' ''"''*'"? *° Mahomet, could be re-,d only in aiTuntrustworthy Pers^^a^^ 
 transla ion even so late as 185!, when Dr. Spren-er published wriX of /rilio^^^^^^^^ 
 It has, however been subsequently discovered in the ori'd nal lan-i a.% bv tl t ^e ' 
 of Snow"^Tf T?i'f °" ^y the Indian Government to search the natl^braS 
 n.-onf . ?^;.J nr. Sprenger, therefore, belongs the honor of havin.. discovered 
 tv.o of the most valuable works respecting the history of Mahomet " "'scoverea 
 But even the niost authentic traditions respecting Mahomet ha\'e be-n corrnntnrl 
 by superstition, faction, and other causes ; and itis hard™ necessarv i" saTthat a 
 ?="iT.f "''"t" niust.exercise the most careful and discriminathi". criticisn^ .* , tha 
 wo'rk '™- ^'^'^''<^''"°'' ^^ this point is the defect of Oagnler'e otherwise excellent 
 
 « Jh'nHHo^J" ^Tf '"^ bio^aphers of Mahomet are entitled to no credit as independent 
 
 t^rli?fnr!« onH^ fV '="»''l add no true information, but they often add many spuS 
 
 traditions and fabncited stories of later days. Hence such a writer as Abu If eZ 
 
 tZh^.']}''"" fremienMy quotes, is of no value as ^xnauZntv Abulfeda, 
 
 rhe best recent biographies of Mahomet by Europeans are Dr Rnrensrer's T ife of 
 
 BO called b^-cau^e C1nr?."'^A "^'V ^"!^'- literally, « the father of the virgin "- 
 
 lied-was a w "ihhv n, .r^h" f ^l^""^'^ "**'' i'^*^ ""'^ '"'"'^e" "'""" Wahoinc"t mar- 
 ii„^ ? a wealthy merchant of the Taym f.im: y, much respected for his benpvn 
 
 he'p^ophef ai^'t's^iM^^o"?" "'^•h ^' ^T-"""^ "^ *"^ «^«' to'accSttlie mission oi 
 'WfforAbu B ir^ '" ^'? V"ityof God bWore that event, 
 
 anteeof tho«inlwfv,K'r ^"^^ ^f" ^PT'="F^ '" '" "V "Pi'ii'^n the greatest guar- 
 f^, th ; Bincerity of Mohammed at the beginning of his career : and he did mcM-e 
 
 lent*^re:nSili V to'his''c?„''i'' 'T"'''' H"'''"'' >'« '"«''"? J"'""<i Mohammad 
 ^ounW to 4 fV dirh«,^ '^ ' ^t «Pent seven-eighths of lis property, whkU 
 ainonntia to 4 ),(XX) dirhams, or a thousand pounds, when he embraced the new 
 
 Im^aiX"d^„\'^?rnlS."' ''""•'^"' Ue continued the sa^a rrs' oJ'^lir.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. S3 
 
 »f kingfloms. Three years were silently employed in tlie conversion 
 of fourteen proselytes, "the first fruits of his mission ; 1)ut in the fourth 
 year he assumed the prophetic oifice, and resolving to impart to his 
 'family the light of divine truth, he prepared a hanquet, a lamb, as it 
 is said, and a bowl of milk, for the entertainment of fbrty guests of 
 the race of Hasliem. " Friends and kinsmen," said Mahomet to 
 the assembly, " I offer you, ftnd I alone can offer, the most precious 
 of gifts, the treasures of this world and of the world to come. God 
 has commanded me to call you to his service. Who among you will 
 support my burthen ? Who among you will be my companion and 
 my vizir?" No answer was returned, till the silence of astonish- 
 ment and doubt, and contempt, was at length broken by the impa- 
 tient courage of All, a youth in the fourteenth year of his age. " O 
 prophet, I ana the man ; whosoever rises against thee I will dash out 
 his teeth, tear out his eyes, break his legs, rip up his belly. O proph- 
 et, I will be thy v;zir o"ver them." Mahomet accepted his offer with 
 transport, and Abu Taleb was ironically exhorted to respect the su- 
 perior dignity of his son. In a more serious tone, the father of Ali 
 advised his nephew to relinquish his impracticable design. "Spare 
 vour remonstrances," replied the intrepid fanatic to liis nncle and 
 ijenefaetor ; "if they should place the sun on my right hand, and 
 the moon on my left, they should not divert me from my course." 
 lie persevered ten years in the exercise of his mission ; and the reli- 
 gion which has ove'rspread the East and West, advanced with a slow 
 and painful progress within the walls of Mecca. Yet Mahomet en- 
 joyed the satisfaction of beholding the increase of his infant congre- 
 gation of Unitarians, who revered him as a prophet, and to whom he 
 seasonably dispensed the special nourishment of the Koran. The 
 number of pro.selytes may be estimated by the absence of eighty- 
 three men and eighteen women, who retired to ^Ethopia in the seventh 
 year of his mission, * and liis party was fortified by the timely con- 
 version of his uncle llamza, and of the fierce and inflexible Omar, 
 who signalized in the cause of Islam the same zeal which he had cx- 
 ert(!d for its destruction. Nor was the charity of Mahomet confined 
 to tlie tribe of Koreish, or the precincts of Mecca; on solemn festi- 
 vals, in the days of ])ilgrimage, he frcquentt^d the Caal)a, accosted 
 the strangers of every trilje, and urged, both in private converse and 
 public discourse, the *l)elief and worship of a .sole Deity. Conscious 
 of liis reas<m and of his weakness, he asserted the liberty of con- 
 science, and disclaimed the use of religious violence ; but ho called 
 
 * Thero were two emierations to AbysHinia. The firft was in the lifth year of 
 the propliKt's iniHsloii, whon twelve nu-n mid fi)nr women cmiirratod. Thoy retiirnwl 
 to .Mecca In the coiir-*(j of tlx! pinni' yc:ir, iii)rMi lioariii^' tliiit a rccoiiciliatioii had 
 taken place hetwcen the prophet and liirf cncniicH. Tlie Kccond eniiu'nitiun wa:j in 
 the seventh year of the ml^fion, and ii the one nifiniioiiod in the text. Onmrhad 
 been convertwl in the procedlni; year, the Kixth of tlio mmsion ; and after liin con- 
 vernloii the nambcr of the faithful was almost unincdiately doubled. (Spruiigor, p. 
 lHsJ-ltO.)-S.
 
 34 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 tlio Arab3 to ^opontanr;^ and conjured them to remember tlie ancient 
 idolater ot vVd and Thaiuud, whom the divine justice ]iad swept 
 away from tlic face of the eartli. 
 
 The people of Mecca were liardcned in their unbelief by super- 
 stition and envy. The elders of the city, the uncles of the prophet 
 ailected to despise the presumption of an orphan, the reformer of liis 
 .'ountry ; the pious orations of Mahomet in the Caaba were answered 
 \)y the clamors of Abu Taleb. "Citizens and pilgrims, listen not to 
 the tempter, hearken not to his impious novelties. Stand fast in the 
 worship of Al Lata and Al Uzzah." Yet the son of Abdullah waw 
 ever dear to the aged chief : and he protected the fame and ])erson of his 
 jieplunv against the assaults of the Koreishites, who had long been 
 jealous of the pre-eminence of the family of Ilashem. * Their mal- 
 •ice was colored with the pretence of religion ; in the age of Job the 
 crime of impiety was punished by the Arabian magistrate ; and Ma- 
 homet was guilty of deserting and denying the national deities But 
 so loose was the policy of Mecca, that the leaders of the Koreish, in- 
 stead of accusing a criminal, were compelled to emplov the measures 
 of persuasion or violence. They repeatedly addressed Abu Taleb in 
 the style of reproach and menace. " Thy nephew reviles our re- 
 ligion ; lie accuses our wise forefathers of ignorance and folly ; silence 
 Jiiiu quickly, lest lie kindle tumult and discord in the city. If ho 
 persevere, we shall draw our swords ag-ainst him and his adherents 
 and thou wilt be resi)onsible for the blood of thy fellow- citizens " 
 The weight and moderation of Abu Taleb (;-!aded the violence of re- 
 ligious faction ; the most helpless or timid of the disciples retired to 
 yhthiopia, and the prophet withdrew himself to various places of 
 strength in town and country, f As he was still supported bv his 
 family, the rest of the tribe of Koreish engaged themselves to re- 
 nounce all intercourse with the children of Hashem, neither to buy 
 nor .sell, neither to marry nor give in marriage, but to pursue them 
 with implacable enmity, till they should deliver the person of Ma- 
 homet to the justice of the gods. The decree was suspended in the 
 l-aaba before the eyes of the nation ; the messengers of the Koreish 
 pursued the Musulman exiles in the heart of Africa ; they besieged 
 the prophet and his most faithful followers, intercep ed their water, 
 and inflamed their mutual animosity by the retaliation of injuries and 
 insults. A doubtful truce restored the appearances of concord, till 
 the death of Abu Tab;!) abandoned Mahomet to the power of his 
 enemies, at the moment when he was deprived of his domestic com- 
 
 * On one OPCaRion Mahomet narrowly escaped hvin-; f^trancrlcd in the Caaba ■ and 
 Ahj i,e;{r who camu to his aid, was beaten with bandal.s till hi.s nose was ilaUenod 
 lt» eil, p. .oo.) — S. 
 
 t Especially to a fortress or castle in a defile near Mecca, in which be seems to 
 hive spent nearly three years, often ia want of the neceswarie.s of life, and obliged 
 to Chan .0 hw bed every night for fear of btiug surprised by ussas-sins. (Wtil p 03 I
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET 35 
 
 forts hj the loss of liis faithful and generous Cadijah. Abu Sophian, 
 the chief of the branch of Ommiyah, succeeded to the principality of 
 the republic of Mecca. A zealous votary of the idols, a mortal foe of 
 the line of Hashein, he convened an assembly of the Koreishites and 
 their allies, to decide the fate of the apostle. His imprisonment 
 mio-ht provoke the despair of his enthusiasm ; and the exile of an ela 
 quent and popular fanatic would diffuse the mischief through the 
 provinces of Arabia. His death was resolved ; and they agreed that 
 a sword from each tribe should be buried in his heart, to divide the 
 guilt of his blood, and baffle the vengeance of the Hashemites. An 
 angel or a spy revealed tlieir conspiracy, and flight was the only re- 
 source of Mahomet. At the dead of night, accompanied by his friend 
 Abubeker, he silently escaped from his house ; the assassins watched 
 at the door ; but thev were deceived by the figure of Ali, who re- 
 posed on the bed, and was covered with the green vestment of the 
 apostle. The Korcish respected the piety of the heroic youth ; but 
 some verses of Ali, wliich are still extant, exhibit an interesting pic- 
 ture of his anxiety, his tenderness, and his religious confidence. 
 Three days Mahomet and his companions were concealed in the cave 
 of Thor, at the distance of a league from Mecca ; and in the close of 
 each evening, they received from the son and daughter of Abubeker 
 a secret supply of intelligence and food. The diligence of the Ko- 
 rcish explored every haunt in the neighborhood of the city ; they ar- 
 rived at the entrance of the cavern, but the providential deceit of a 
 spider's web and a pigeon's nest, is supposed to convince thein thrt 
 llie place was solitary and inviolate. * " \^'e are only two," said the 
 trembling Abukeker. " There is a third," replied the prophet ; " it 
 is God himself." No sooner was the pursuit abated, than the two 
 fugitives issued from the rock and mounted the'r (iamels ; on the road 
 to Medina, they were overtaken by the emissaries of the Koreish : 
 they redeemed themselves with prayers and promises from their 
 hands. In this ev(;ntful moment, the lance of an Arab might have 
 changed tlie history of the world. The flight of the jirophet from 
 Mecca to Mculina lias fixed the memorable era of the Hcrjirn{a) wliicb, 
 at th(! end of twelve centuries, still discriminates the lunar years ol 
 the Mahometan nations. 
 
 The religion of the Koran miglit have ])erished in its cradle, had 
 not Medina embraced with faith and reverence the holy outcasts of 
 
 * Accordin;? to another lei^eiul, which is less known, n tree frrownp before the 
 entrance of tiie cavern, ut tlio command of tlie prophet. (Weil, p. 7J, i.otc i)G.)— S. 
 
 <a) TTio ITeglra wan in.stitnted by Omar, the Becond caliph, in iiuilntion of the era 
 of the martyrs of the Cnri.stians I'O'lIerhi-lot, p. HI); and properly coiniiu'iii-cd 
 ni.tty-cl'.'ht dayK J>eforo tlic fliv'hl of Muhonict, witli tiie CirHt of Mohiirrcn, or tlrst 
 day of that Arabian year, which coincides with Friday. .Inly iOMi, a. d. ('.'.'J. ''\'>"'- 
 f^dii, Vit. .Mohani , c. ^:, -JS, j). i,-'M ; and Circavoa'd edition of L'llug \ivg'» lipochm 
 Arahuui, jtc., c. 1, p. 8, 10, is.)
 
 36 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 Mec<^, Medina, or the city* known under the name of Yothreb be. 
 fore It was sanctified by the throne of tlie prophet, was divided be- 
 tween the tribes of the Charegitesf and the Awsites, whose heredi- 
 tary feud was rekindled by tlie slightest provocation : two colonies of 
 .U'ws, who boasted a sacerdotal race, Avere their humble allies and 
 without converting the Arabs, they introduced the taste of science 
 and religion, which distinguished Medina as the city of the Book 
 Some of her noblest citizens, in a pilgrimage to the Caaba, were con-' 
 verted by the preaching of Mahomet ; on their return they diffused 
 the belief of God and his prophet, and the new alliance was ratified 
 by their deputies in two secret and nocturnal interviews on a liill in 
 the suburbs of Mecca. In the first, ten Charegites and two Awsites 
 united in faith and love, protested in the name of their wives, their 
 children, and their absent brethren, that they would forever p'rofc'^ 
 the creed and observe the precepts of the Koran, ij; The second was 
 a political association, the first vital spark of the empire of the Sara- 
 cens. Seventy-three men and two women of Medina held a solemn 
 conference with Mahomet, his kinsmen, and his disciples ; and pledo-ed 
 themselves to each other l)y a mutual oath of fidelity. They prom- 
 ised in the name of the city that if he should be banished they would 
 receive him as a confederate, obey him as a leader, and defend him to 
 the last extremity, like their wives and children. " But if you are 
 recalled l)y your country," they asked with a flattering anxiety " will 
 you not abandon your new allies?" " All things," replied Mahomet 
 with a smile, "are now common between us ; vour blood is as my 
 blood, your ruin as my ruin. We are bound to eacli other by the ties of 
 honor and interest. I am your friend, and the enemy of your foes." 
 "But if we are killed in your service, what." exclairned the deputies 
 of Medina, " will be our reward ? " " Pakadise," replied the jjroph- 
 et. " Stretch forth thy hand." He stretched it forth, and they reit- 
 erated the oath of allegiance and fidelity. Their treaty was ratified 
 by the people, who unanimously embraced the profession of Islam : 
 they rejoiced in the exile of the apostle, but they trembled for his 
 safety, and impatiently expected his arrival. After a perilous :;nd 
 rapid journey along the sea-coast he lialted at Koba, two miles from 
 the city, and made his public entry into ISIedina, sixteen days after 
 his flight from Mecca. Five hundred of the citizens advanced to 
 meet him ; he was hailed with acclamations of loyaltv and devotion ; 
 Mahomet was mounted on a she-camel, an umlnclla s"liaded his head, 
 and a turban was unfurled before him to supply the deficiency of a 
 standard. His bravest disciples, who had been scattered by the storm, 
 
 -S 
 
 tTliia first alli.inc8 was called " the agreement of womon," because It did not 
 contain the duty of fighting for the Islam. (Sprenger, p. 20».)— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. ' ?.7 
 
 ftPSfMublo'cl round liis person ; and tlie equal tliougli various merit of 
 the Moslems was distinguished by the names of Mohagerians and 
 Ansars, the fugitives of Mecca, and the auxiliaries of Medina. To 
 eradicate the seeds of jealousy, Mahomet judiciously coupled his 
 principal follo-wers with the rights and obligations of brethren, and 
 when Ali found himself without a peer the prophet tenderly declared 
 that lie would be the companion and brother of the noble youth. The ■ 
 expedient was crowned with success ; the holy fraternity was respect-' 
 ed in peace and war, and the two parties vied with each other in a 
 generous emulation of courage and fidelity. Once only the concord 
 was slightly ruffled by an accidental quarrel ; a patriot of Medina 
 arraigned the insolence of the strangers, but the hint of their expul- 
 sion was heard with abhorrence, and his own son most eagerly offered 
 to lay at the apostle's feet the head of his father. 
 
 From his establishment at jNIedina, Mahomet assumed the exercise 
 of the regal and sacerdotal office ; and it was impious to appeal from 
 a judge whose decrees were inspired by the divuie wisdom. A small 
 portion of ground, the patrimony of two orphans, was acquired by 
 gift or purchase ; on that chosen spot he built a house and a mosch, 
 more venerable in their rude shnplicity than the palaces and temples 
 of the A.ssyrian caliphs. His seal of gold, or silver, was inscribed 
 with the apostolic title ; when lie prayed and preached in the weekly 
 assembly, he leaned against the trunk of a palm-tree ; and it was 
 long before he indulged himself in the use of a chair or pulpit of 
 rough timber. After a reign of six years, fifteen liundred Moslems, 
 in arms and in the field, renewed their oath of allegiance; and their 
 chief repeated the assurance of protection till the death of the last 
 member, or the final dissolution of the party. It was in the same 
 camp that the deputy of Mecca was astonished by the attention of 
 the faithful to the words and looks of the prophet, by the eagerness 
 with which they collected his spittle, a hair that dropt on the ground, 
 the refuse water of liis lustrations, as if they participated in some 
 degree of the prophetic virtue. "I have seen," said he, "tbe 
 Chosroes of Persia and the Csesar of Rome, but never did I behold a 
 king among his subjects like Mahomet among his companions." Tlie 
 devout fervor of enthusiasm acts with more energy aiul truth than 
 the cold and formal servility of courts. 
 
 In tlie state of nature every man has a right to defend, by force of 
 arms, his person and liis possessions; to repel, or even to prevent, 
 the violence of liis enemies, and to extend his hostilities to a reasona- 
 ble measure of satisfaction and retaliation. In the free society of tho 
 Arabs, the duties of subject and citizen imposed a feeble restraint ; 
 and Mahomet, in tlie exercise of a i)eacefiil and benevolent mission, 
 liad betm desjjoiled and Iwinishiid by the injustice of his countrymen. 
 The choice of an independent people had exalted tli(! fugitive of 
 Mecca to the; rank of a sovereign, and lie was invested with the just 
 prerogative of forming alliaucos, and of waging olleusive and defou- 
 A.B.-6
 
 38 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 pive war. Tlio imperfection of luiman riglits was supplied and armeil 
 by tlie plenitude of divine power: the i)ropliet of Medina assuuKnl, 
 in l:is new revelations, a fiercer and more sanf^uinary tone, which 
 proves that his former moderation was the effect of weakness : tho 
 means of persuasion had been tried, tho season of forbearance was 
 elaps<Hl, and he was now commanded to propagate his religion by tho 
 sword, to destroy the monuments of idolatry, and, without regarding 
 .the sanctity of days or months, to pursue the unbelieving nations of 
 'the earth. Tlie same bloody precepts, so repeatedly inculcated in the 
 Koran, are ascribed by tlio author to the Pentateuch and the Gospel. 
 But the mild tenor of the evangelic style may explain an ambiguous 
 text, that Jesus did not bring })eace on the earth, but a sword : liis 
 patient and humble virtues should not be confounded with the intol- 
 erant zeal of princes and bishops, who have disgraced the name of 
 his disciples. In the prosecutioa of religious war Mahomet might 
 appeal with more propriety to the example of Moses, of the judges 
 and the kings of Israel. Tho military laws of the Hebrews arc still 
 more rigid than those of the Arabian legislator. The Lord of hosts 
 n»arched in person before the Jews : if a city resisted their summons, 
 the males, without distinction, were put to the sword : the seven 
 nations of Canaan were devoted to destruction ; and neither repent- 
 ance nor conversion could shield them from the inevitable doom, that 
 no creature within their precincts should be left alive. The fair 
 option of friendship, or submission, or battle, was proposed to tho 
 enemies of Mahomet. If they professed the creed of Islam, they were 
 admitted to all the temporal and spiritual benefits of his primitive 
 disciples, and marched under the same banner to extend the religion 
 which they had embraced. The clemency of the prophet was decided 
 by his interest, yet he seldom trampled on a prostrate enemy ; and ha 
 seems to promise that, on the payment of a tribute, the least guilty 
 of his unbelieving subjects might be indulged in their worship, or al 
 least in their imperfect faith. In the first months of his reign, he 
 practised the lessons of holy warfare, and displayed his white banner 
 before the gates of Medina : the martial apostle fought in person at 
 nine battles or sieges ; and fifty enterprises of war were achieved in 
 ten years by himself or his lieutenants. The Arab continued to unite 
 the professions of a merchant and a robber ; and his petty excursions 
 Tor the defence or the attack of a caravan insensibly ])repared hi8 
 troops for the conquest of Arabia. The distri))ution of the spoil was 
 regulated by a divine law ; the whole was faithfully collected in 
 one common mass ; a fifth of the gold and silver, the prisoners and 
 cattle, the movables and immovables, was reserved by the prophet for 
 pious and charitable uses;* the remainder was shared in ader^uate por- 
 
 * Before the time of Mabomet it was customary for tho hea<l of the tribe, or gen 
 eral, lo retain one-fourlh of the booty ; fo that this new regulation must have been 
 ?e{:ar<ied with favi.r by the army. (Weil, p. 111.)— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 89 
 
 tiona by the soldiers wlio bad obtained the victory or guarded the 
 camp ; tlie rewards of the slam devolved to their widows and orphans ; 
 and the increase of cavalry was encouraged by the allotment of a 
 double share to the horse and to the man. From* all sides the roving' 
 Arabs were allured to the standard of religion and plunder ; the aposl 
 tle sanctified the license of embracing the female captives as tlieir wives 
 9r concubines ; and the enjoyment of wealth and beautv was a feeble 
 t^-pe of the joys of paradise prepared for the valiant martvrs of the 
 faith. " The sword," says Mahomet, " is the key of heaven and of 
 hell ; a drop of blood shed in the cause of God, a night spent in arms, 
 is of more avail than two months of fasting and praver ; whosoever 
 falls in battle, his sins are forgiven ; at the day of judgment his 
 wounds shall be resplendent as venuilion, and odoriferous as musk ; 
 and the loss of his limbs shall be supplied by the wings of angels and 
 cherubim." The intrepid souls of tlie Arabs were fired with enthusi 
 asm . the picture of the invisible world was strongly painted on their 
 imagination ; and the death which they had always" despised became 
 an object of hope and desire. The Koran inculcates, in the most 
 absolute sense, the tenets of fate and predestination, which would 
 extinguish both industry and virtue, if the actions of man were gov- 
 erned by his speculative belief. Yet their influence in every age" has 
 exalted the courage of tlie Saracens and Turks. The first companions 
 of Mahomet advanced to battle witli a fearless confidence : there is 
 no danger where there is no chance : they were ordained to perish in 
 tlieir beds ; or they were safe and invulnerable amidst the darts of 
 the enemy. 
 
 Perhaps the Koreish would have been content with the flight of 
 Mahomet, had they not been provoked and alarmed by the vengeance 
 of an enemy, who could intercept tlieir Svrian trade as it passed and 
 repassed through the territory of Medina. Abu Sophian himself, 
 •with only thirty or forty followers, conducted a wealthy caravan of a 
 thou.sand camels ; the fortune or dexterity of his march escaped the 
 vigilance of Mahomet ; but the chief of *tlie Koreish was informed 
 tliat the holy robbers were placed in amlmsh to await his return. lie 
 dispatclied a messenger to his brethren of Mecca, and they were roused, 
 )iy the fear of losing their merchandise and their provisions, unles.s 
 they ha.stened to his relief with the military force of the city. The 
 sacred band of Mahomet was fomied of three liundred and thirt(H'n 
 Mfrslems, of wliom seventy-seven were fugitives, and the rest auxili- 
 aries : tliey mounted by turns a train of seventy cannls (the camels 
 of Yathreb were fomiidable in war) ; but such was the poverty of liia 
 first disciples that only two could appear on hor.seback in the field. 
 In the fertile and famous vale of IJeder, three stations from Medina, 
 lie wa.s informed by his K<x)uts of the caravan tliat appn^ached on one 
 side; of the Korei.sh, on<! liundred liorse, eight hundred and fifty 
 foot,* wlio advanced on the other. After a short debate, he sacrifircd 
 
 • Of these, however, 800 of the tribe of Zohra returned to Mecca before the en-
 
 40 LIFE OF MAHOMET, 
 
 tlie i)rospoct of wealtli to tlip jiursnit of glory anrl rpvengn ; and a 
 Klijj:lit iiitrt'uchint'iit was Inrmed, to coxiw liis troops, and a stream of 
 fresh water that glided tlirougli tlie valley. " O God," he exclaimed, 
 as the numbers of the Koreish descended from the hills, " (iod, if 
 these are destroyed, by whom wilt thou be worshipped on the eaith ? — 
 Courage, my children, close your ranks ; discharge your arrows, and 
 the day is your own." At these words he placed himself, witli Abu- 
 bekcr, on a throne or pulpit,* and instantly demanded the succor of 
 Gabriel and three thousand angels. His eyes were fixed on the field 
 of battle : the Musulmans fainted and were pressed : in that decisive 
 moment the prophet started from liis throne, mounted his horse, and 
 cast a handful of sand into the air ; "let their faces be covered with 
 confusion." Both armies heard the thunder of his voice : their fancy 
 beheld the angelic warriors : the Koreish trembled and Hed : seventy 
 of the bravest were slain ; and seventy captives adorned the first vic- 
 tory of the faithful. f The dead bodies of the Koreish were despoiled 
 and insulted : two of the most obnoxious prisoners were punished 
 with death ; and the ransom of the others, four thousand drachms of 
 silver, compensated in some degree the escape of the caravan. But 
 it was in vain that the camels of Aim Sophian explored a new road 
 through the desert and along the road through the Euphrates : they 
 were overtaken by the diligence of the Musulmans ; and wealthy 
 must have been the prize, if twenty thousand drachms could be set 
 apart for the fifth of the apostle. The resentment of the public and 
 private loss stimulated Abu Sophian to collect a body of three thou- 
 sand men, seven hundred of whom were armed with cuirasses, and 
 two hundred were mounted on horseback ; three thousand camels at- 
 tended on his march ; and his wife Ilenda, with fifteen matrons of 
 Mecca, incessantly sounded their timbrels to animate the troops, and 
 to magnify the greatness of Hobal, the most popular deity of the 
 
 gagement, and were joined by many others . The battle began with a fight, like 
 Uiat of the Horatii and Curiatii, of three on ejch side. (Weil, p. 105-111 ) — S. 
 
 * Weil ip. 103) calls it a hid (Hiitte), which his followers had erected for him on a 
 gentle eminence near the field of battle. Gibbon is solicitous for the reputation of 
 Mahomet, whom he has before characterized (mpra, p. 67) as possessing "the cour- 
 age both of thought and action." Weil, however, draws a very differ nt portniit o^ 
 him (p. 344). " According to his Musulftian biographers, whom Europeana hava 
 followed without further incjniry, 5iis physical strength was accompanied with the 
 greatest valor; yet not only is this assertion destitute of all proof, but his behavior 
 in his different campaiOTis, as well as in the first years of his appearance as a prophet 
 and also towards the close of his life, when he was become very powerful, compel 
 us, despite his endurance and perseverance, to characterize him as very timorous. 
 It was not till after the conversion of Omar and Hamza that he ventured openly to 
 appear in the mos(jue along with t!;e professors of liis faith, as a Moslem. He not 
 only took no part in the fight in the battle of liedr, but kept at some distance from 
 the field, and had some dromedaries ready before his tent, in order to fly in case of a 
 reverse.'' — S. 
 
 t According to others, 44. (Weil, p. 109.) Among the captives was Abbas, the 
 rich uncle of Mahomet, who was obliged to pay raiisom, although he alleged that 
 inwardly lie was a believer, and had been forced to take part in the expedition. lie 
 returned to Mecca, where, it is said, he served Mahomet aa a spy. (lb., p. 1U9-114.) — S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 41 
 
 Caaba. Tlie standard of God and Mahomet was upheld by nine hun- 
 dred and fitly believers ; the disproportion of numbers was not more 
 alarming than in the field of Beder ; and their presumption of vic- 
 tory prevailed against the divine and human sense of the apostle * 
 The second battle was fought on Mount Ohud, six miles to the north 
 of Medina ; the Koreish advanced in the form of a crescent ; and the 
 right wing of cavalry was led by Caled, the fiercest and most success- 
 ful of the Arabian warriors. The troops of Mahomet were skilfully 
 posted on the declivity of a hill, and their rear was guarded by a de- 
 tachment of fifty archers. The weight of their charge impelled and 
 broke the centre of their idolaters ; but in the pursuit they lost the 
 advantage of their ground : the archers deserted their station ; the 
 Musulmans were tempted by the spoil, disobeyed their general, and 
 disordered their ranks. The intrepid Caled, wheeling his cavalry on 
 their flank and rear, exclaimed with a loud voice, that Mahomet was 
 slain. He was indeed wounded in the face with a javelin ; two of his 
 teeth were shattered with a stone ; + yet in the midst of tumult and 
 dismay, he reproached the infidels with the mtirder of a prophet, and 
 blessed the friendly hand that staunched his blood, and conveyed him 
 to a place of safety.:]: Seventy martyrs died for the sins of the peo- 
 ple ; they fell, said the apostle, in pairs, each brother embracing his 
 lifeless companion ; their bodies were mangled by the inhuman fe- 
 males of Mecca ; and the wife of Abu Sophian tasted the entrails of 
 Hamza, the uncle of Mahomet. They might applaud their supersti- 
 tion, and satiate their fury ; but the Musulmans soon rallied in the 
 field, and the Koreisli wanted strength or courage to undertake the 
 siege of Medina. It was attacked the ensumg year by an army of ten 
 thou.sand enemies ; and this third expedition is variously named from 
 the nations, which marclied under the banner of Abu Sophian, front 
 the ditch which was drawn before the city, and a camp of three thou- 
 sand Musulmans. Tlie prudence of Mahomet declined a general en- 
 gagement ; tlio valor of Ali was signalized in single combat ; and tlie 
 war was protracted twenty days, till tlie final separation of the con- 
 federates. A tempest of wind, rain, and hail, overturned their tents ; 
 
 * But on this occasion Abd Allah, with 200 men, abandoned Mahomet, so thtit the 
 disproportion of forces was vastly greater than at Bedr. See note * supra, paiic 1:39. 
 (Weil. p. VU.)-ii. 
 
 t Two of Mahomefs teeth arc (or were) preserved at Constnntinople ; but as, ac- 
 cordin;,' to the Oext aiil/iori>ies, he only lost one on iliicj occasion, one-half at least of 
 the^e relics must be reiiarded with the same suspicion that attaches to most otlier 
 articles of the same description. (See ^\■(•il, p. IJT )— S. 
 
 t The person of the prophet was protected by a helmet and double coat ' f mail. 
 lie was recognized amoni; the wounded hy C'aab. the son of Malok ; by whom, .\l)u 
 Bekr, Omar, and ten or twiilve otliers. he was carried to a cave upon an eminence. 
 Here he was pursued by Iljejj Ilui Ctiallnf, who had lou'/ Iicimi kfci)iii'/ a hnrsc in 
 extraorilinary coi'dition for the iiurposc of Huri)risin>: and killiii',' Mahomit ; hut the 
 latter dealt hitn a blow of which he died. This was the oidy time that Mahomet 
 took any personal share iu an octioa. (Weil, p. 1^8.)— S.
 
 43 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 tlipir private quarrels woro fomontcMl by an insidious adversary ; and 
 the Kort'ish, dcst-rU^d by llior allies, no longer hoped to subvert the 
 throne, or to check the concpiests of their invincible exile. 
 
 The choice of Jerusalem for the first kebla of prayer discovers the 
 early ]>ropensity of Mahomet in favor of the Jews ; and ]ia])py would 
 it have been for their temporal interest, had they recognized, in the 
 Arabian prophet, the hope of Israel and the promised Messiah. Their 
 obstinacy converted his friendship into implacable hatred, with which 
 he pursued that unfoi"tunato people to the last moment of his life ; 
 and in the double character of an apostle and a conqueror, his perse- 
 cution was extended to both worlds. The Kainoka dwelt at Medina 
 under the protection of the city ; he seized the occasion of an acci- 
 dental tumult, and summoned them to embrace his religion or con- 
 tend with him in battle. " Alas ! " replied the trembling Jews, " we 
 are ignorant of the use of arms, but we persevere in the faith and 
 worship of our fathers ^ why wilt thou reduce us to the necessity of 
 a just defence?" The unequal conflict was terminated in fifteen days ; 
 and it was with extreme reluctance that Mahomet yielded to the im- 
 l)orlunity of his allies, and consented to spare the lives of his captives. 
 But their riches were confiscated, their arms became more effectual 
 in the hands of the Musulmans ; and a wi'etched colony of seven 
 hundred exiles were driven with their wives aud children to implore 
 a refuge on the confines of Syria. The Xadhirites were more guilty, 
 since they conspired in a friendly interview to assassinate the prophet. 
 He besieged their castle, three miles from Medina, but tlieir resolute 
 defence obtained an honorable capitulation ; and the garrison, sound- 
 ing their trumpets and beating their drums, was permitted to depart 
 with the honors of war. The Jews had excited and joined the war 
 of the KoreLsh ; no sooner had the nations retired from the ditch, 
 than Mahomet, without laying aside his armor, marched on the same 
 day to extirpate the hostile race of the children of Koraidha. After 
 a resistance of twenty-five days they surrendered at discretion. They 
 trusted to the intercession of their old allies of Medina : they could 
 not be ignorant that fanaticism obliterates the feelings of humanity. 
 A veneral)le elder, to whose judgment they appealed, pronounced the 
 sentence of their death : seven hundred Jews were dragged in chains 
 to the market place of the city ; they descended alive into the grave 
 prepared for their execution and burial ; and the apostle beheld with 
 an. inflexible eye the slaughter of his helpless enemies. Their sheep 
 aiid camels were inherited by the Musulmans ; three hundred cuirasses, 
 five liund'-ed ]iikes, a thousand lances, composed the most useful por- 
 tion of thi^ spoil. Six days' journey to the northeast of Medina, the 
 ancient and wealthy town of Chailjar, was the seat of the Jewish 
 power in Aral>ia : the territory, a fertile spot in the desert, was cov- 
 ered with plantations and cattle, and protected by eight castles, some 
 of whicli were esteemed of impregnable strength. The forces of 
 Mahomet consisted of two hundred horse and fourteen hundred foot ;
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 43 
 
 in the succession of eight regular and painful sieges tliey were ex- 
 ]x»sed to danger, and fatigue, and hunger ; and the most undaunted 
 chiefs despaired of the event. The apostle revived their faith and 
 courage by the example of Ali, on whom he bestowed the surname 
 of the Lion of Uod ; perliaps we may believe that a Hebrew cham- 
 pion of gigantic stature was cloven to the chest by his irresistible scym- 
 itar ; but we cannot praise the modesty of romance, vv'hich represents 
 him as tearing from its hinges the gates of a fortress, and wieldmg 
 the ponderous buckler iu his left hand. After the reduction of the 
 castles, the town of Chaibar submitted to the yoke. The chief of the 
 tribe was tortured in the presence of Mahomet, to force a confession 
 of his hidden treasure : the industry of the shepherds and husband- 
 men was rewarded with a precarious toleration ; they were permitted, 
 so long as it should please the conqueror, to improve their patrimony 
 in equal shares, for his emolument and their own. Under the reign 
 of Omar, the Jews of Chaibar were transplanted to Syria ; and the 
 caliph alleged tlie injunction of his dying master, that one and the 
 true religion shonld be professed in his native land of Arabia. 
 
 Five times each day the eyes of ^Mahomet were turned towards 
 Mecca, and he was urged by the most sacred and powerful motives to 
 revisit, as a conqueror, the city and temple from whence he had been 
 driven as an exile. The Casil)a was present to his waking and sleep- 
 ing fancy ; an idle dream was translated into vision and prophecy ; he 
 unfurled the holy banner ; and a rash promise of succe.ss too hastily 
 dropped from the lips of the apostle. His march from Medina to 
 Mecca displayed the peaceful and solemn pomp of a pilgrimage : 
 seventy camels chosen and bedeclced for sacrifice preceded the van ; 
 the sacred territory was respected ; and tlie captives were dismissed 
 without ransom to proclaim his clemency and devotion. But no 
 sooner did Mahomet descend into the plain, within a day's journey of 
 the city, than he exclaimed, " They have clothed themselves with' the 
 skins of tigers : " the numbers and resolution of the Koreish opposed 
 his progress ; and tlie roving Arabs of the desert miglit desert or be- 
 tray a leader whom tliey had followed for the hopes of spoil. Tho 
 intrepid fanatic sunlc into a cool and cautious politician : he waved in 
 the treaty his title of apostle of God, * concluded with the Koreish 
 and tlieir allies a truce of ten years, engaged to restore tlie fugitives 
 of Mecca who sliould eml)race his religion, and stipulated only, for, 
 the ensuing year, tlie liuinble jirivilege of entering the city as ii friend, 
 and of remaining three days to accompli.sh tlio rites of the iiilgrim-' 
 age. A cloud of shame and sorrow liung on tho retreat of the Mus- 
 ulmans, and their disappointment miglit justly accuse the failure of 
 a pro])hft who liad so often a])])(;ale(l to tlic? evidence of success. Tho 
 faith and liope of the pilgrim* were rekindled by the prospect of 
 
 * He gtnick out tD(9 title with his own Iiand. as Ali had refused to do it. (Weil, 
 p. 17«».;— 3.
 
 44 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 Mecca ; their swords were slieatliod : seven times in the footsteps of 
 tlie apostle they encompassed tlie Caaba : the Koreish liad retired to 
 tlie hills, and Mahomet, after the customary sacrifice, cvacuat(>d the 
 city on the fourth day. The people were edilled by his devotioa ; the 
 hostile chiefs were awed, or divided, or seduced" ; and both C'aled 
 and Amrou, the future conquerors of Syria and Egypt, most season- 
 ably deserted the sinking cause of idolatry. Th<! ])o\vur of Mahomet 
 was increased by the submission of the Arabian tribes ; ten thousand 
 soldiers were assembled for the conquest of Mecca ; ■••" and the idola- 
 ters, the weaker party, were easily convicted of violating the truce. 
 Enthusiasm and discipline impelled the march and preserved the se- 
 cret, till the blaze of ten thousand lires proclaimed to the astonished 
 Koreish the design, the approach, and tlie irresistible force of the 
 enemy. The haughty Abu Sophiun ])!esented the keys of the city ; 
 admired the variety of arms and ensigns tliat passed before hini in re- 
 view ; ol>served that tlie son of Abdallah had acquired a mighty 
 kingdom ; and confessed under the scyniitar of Omar, that he was 
 the apostle cf the true God. The return of Marius and Sylla was stained 
 with the blood of the Romans : the revenge of Maliomet was stimulated 
 by religious zeal, and his injured followers weree.ager to execute or to 
 prevent the order of a massacre. Instead of indulging their passions 
 and his own, the victorious exile forgave the guilt, and united the 
 factions of Mecca. His troops, in three divisions, marched into the 
 city : eight and twenly of the inhabitants were slain by the sword of 
 Caled ;f eleven men and six women were proscribed by the sentence 
 of Mahomet ; :(: but he blamed the cruelty of liis lieuten mt ; and sev- 
 eral of the most obnoxious victims were indeljted for their lives to his 
 clemency or contempt. The chiefs of the Koreish were prostrate at 
 liis feet. " What mercy can you expect from the man whom you 
 have wronged V" "We conlide in the generosity of our kinsman." 
 
 * The e.^pedition of ]\Iahomct aj^ainst TVIccca took place in the ICth Ramadhan of 
 the 8th Ilegira (1 Jan. 630). (Weil, p. 912.)— 3. 
 
 t These men — their numbers are variously crivcn at less and more--were slain on 
 the hill 'alltd Cliandnma b^'fore the entrance of Chaled into the city, which they had 
 (jppo^sed. It was on a different occasion that Chaled incurred the censure of Ma- 
 homet. The prophet h;id sent him on an expedition to the province of Tehama, 
 end, on passin',' through I'ae territory of the Beni Djasima, Chaled caused a consid- 
 erable number of them to be put to death, .".lthou<.'h they were already IMusulmana. 
 Unfortunately, when required to confess their faith, they had, from ancient custom, 
 used tlie word Saba'' nn (converts or renegades), instead of the usual Mo.slem e.x'prcs- 
 6\on, All I urn.) I a. On hearing of the act, Mahomet raised his hands to heaven, and 
 exclaimed, ' O God, I am pure before thee, and have taken no part in (lialed's 
 deed."' Mahomet compensated the Beni Djasima for the slaughter of their kins- 
 men ; but the services of Chaled obliged him to overlook his offence. (Weil, p. 
 
 t Kleven men and four women ; but the sentence was executed on'y on three of 
 the former and one of the latter. (VV^eil, p. 2.'0.) Mahomet remained two or three 
 weeks i.i M3cca, during which he sent his caiitains to destroy the idols in the sur- 
 roundinj' ''^untry, and to Kummon the Arabians to submisbiou and belief. (Weil, 
 p. 228.)- ^.
 
 LIFE OF ]SrAliOMET. 45 
 
 " And you shall not confide in rain ; begone ! you are safe, yon are 
 free." The people of Mecca deserved their pardon bj the profession 
 of Islam ; and after an exile of sevon years, the fugitive missionary 
 was enthroned as the prince and prophet of his native country. But 
 the three hundred and sixty idols of the Caaba were ignomini- 
 ouslv broken : the house of God was purified and adorned : as an ex- 
 ample to future times, the apostle again fulfilled the duties of a pil- 
 grim ; and a perpetual law was enacted that no unbeliever should 
 ■'dare to set his foot on the territory of the holy city. 
 
 The conquest of Mecca determined the faith and obedience of the 
 Arabian tribes ; who, according to the vicissitudes of fortune, had 
 obeyed or disregard-xl the eloquence or the arms of the prophet. In- 
 difference for rites and opinions still marks the character of the Be- 
 doweens, and they might accept, as loosely as they hold, the doctrine 
 of the Koran. Yet an obstinate remnant still adhered to the religion 
 and liberty of their ancestors, and the war of Honain derived a 
 proper appellation from the iiJo's whom Mahomet had vowed to de- 
 stroy and whom the confederates of Tayef had sworn to defend. 
 Four thousand pagans advanced with secrecy and speed to surprise 
 the conqueror : they pitied and despised the supine negligence of the 
 Koreish, Imt they depended on the wishes and perhaps the aid of a 
 people who had so lately renounced tlieir gods and bowed beneath 
 the yoke of their enemy. The banners of Med'ua and Jlecca were 
 llisi)layed l)y the prophet ; a crowd of Bedoweens increased the 
 .strength or numbers of the army, a:ul twelve thousand Musulnuui ; 
 e'.itertained a rash and sinful presumption of their iuvincil)le strength. 
 They descendc^d without precaution into the valley of Ilonain : th ) 
 heights had lieen occupied by the archers and slingers of the con 
 federal(« ; their numjjers were oppressed, their discipline was con- 
 founded, their courage was appalled, and the Koreish smiled at thcii' 
 impending d(;strL;ctlon. The prophet on his white mule was encom- 
 y)as.sed by tlie enemies : he attempted to rush against tlieir spears la 
 search of a glorious death ; ten of his faithful companions interposed 
 tlieir weai)ons and their breasts ; three of tlieso fell dead at liis feet ; 
 " (J iny In-ethren," h(! repeatedly cried with sorrow and indignation, 
 " 1 ani the son of Abdallah, I am tlie apostle of truth ! O man, stand 
 fa.st in the faith ! <) (iod, send down thy succor ! " Ills uncle Abbas, 
 who, like the heroes of Ilonuu-, excelled in tlie loudness of bis voice, 
 made the valley resound with tin; recital of the gilts and ])roniises of 
 Ood ; the Hying Moslems returned from all sides to the holy standard ; 
 and Mahomet obs(-rved with phsasure that the furnace was again re- 
 kiiKlled : his conduct and example restored the battle, and he ani- 
 iinit<-d ills victorious troops to inlli'-t a mercili-ss r<'veng(^ on the au- 
 thors of their shame. From thcr field of Honain he marched without 
 delay to tho siege of Tayef, sixty niibr;-! to tlu; .southeast of Mecca, a 
 fortress of strength wliose fertile lands 'iJaKluce tlio fruits of Syria 
 in tho midst of the Arabian desert. A friendly tribe instructed (I
 
 ^ LIFE OP MAIIOxMET. 
 
 know not how) in the art of si<>gos, supplitHl hhn with a train of bat 
 termg mms and inihtary engines, with a body of five hundred artili- 
 cers But It was in vain tliat he <,ffer(,.l freedom to the .slaves of 
 layef ; that he violated his own laws by the extirpation of tlio fruit- 
 trees ; that the ground was opened by the miners; tliat the breach 
 was assaulted by the troops. After a siege of twenty days the 
 .prophet sounded a retreat, but he retreated with a song of devout tri- 
 ium])h, and affected to pray for the repentance and safety of the un- 
 believing city. The spoil of tliis fortunate expedition amounted to 
 SIX thousand captives, twenty-four thousand camcils, forty thousand 
 sheep, and lour thousand ounc(>s of silver : a tribe who had fouo-ht 
 at Ilouain redeemed their prisoners by the sacrifice of their id.jls ; but 
 JNlahomet compensated the loss by resigning to the soldiers his fifth 
 ot tiie plunder, and wished, for their salce, that he possessed as many 
 iiead ot cattle as there were trees in the i)rovince of Tehama. Instead 
 of chastising the disaffection of the Koreisli he (endeavored to cut out 
 their tongues (Ins own expression) and to secure their attachment by 
 a superior measure of liberality , Abu Sophian alone wasprcsented with 
 three hundred camels and twenty ounces of silver; and Mecca was 
 sincerely converted to the profitable religion of the Koran. 
 
 The fiigUivfls imd auxiliane,<i complained that they who had borne 
 the burthen w^ere neglected in the season of victory. " Alas" re- 
 plied the artful leader, " suffer me to conciliate these" recent enemies 
 these doulrtful ])rose]ytes, by the gift of some perishable goods To* 
 your guard I intrust my life and fortunes. You are the companions 
 ot my exile, of my kingdom, of my paradise." * He Avas followed by 
 the deputies of Tayef , Avho dreaded the repetition of a siege f 
 " Grant us, O apostle of God ! a truce of three years, with the tohira- 
 iion of our anc ient worship." " Not a month, not an hour." "Ex- 
 
 * Weil gives this addres.s of Mahomet'.? differently (from the Insan Al Ujun, and 
 Sirat Arrasub, ob.scrvin<? th^t it has not before been presented to the European 
 reader Uis version ih as follows :-" Were ye not wandcrin- in the paths of error 
 when I came unto you, and was it not throu-h me that you obtained the K.iidance 
 of God / Were ye not poor, and are ye not now rich ? Were yc not at variance 
 and are ye not nowumted ? ' ' Tiiey answered, -'Surely, O Prophet of God, thou 
 hast overloaded us with he.iefits." Mahomet proceeded :-"Lo ! ye au.xiliarie- if 
 ye won d, ye might with all truth oljject to me. Thou cameet to ua branded for a 
 liar yet we beheved m thee ; as a persecutor, and we protected thee ; as a fugitive, 
 ana we harbored thee ; as one in need of assistance, and we supported thee. Yet 
 Kuch are not your thoughts ; how. then, can ye find fault with me because I have 
 given a few wor dly toys to some persons in order to win their hearts ? Arc ye not 
 content, ye au.vilianes, if these people return home with sheep and camels, wliilst 
 ?r«ho ^A, '^'f I"""P''<'t of God in tlie midst of vou ? Ry him in wlioso hand is 
 juonammed s soul, were it not the reward of the fugitives, i should wish to belong 
 VnJJr ' r," ,' r"''" "" "^'^ world went one way and yon another, I would choose 
 ?hiM^;„ ,.?..., '"'^'■"''"' ""^"^ y°"' ""'1 ^^ .vo'ir children, and vour children's 
 cmiaren I At the^'c words the auxiliaries sobbed aloud, and exclaimed, "We aro 
 content with our loL," (M'eil. p. !M1.)— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 47 
 
 cuse us at least from tlie obligation of prayer." " Without prayer 
 religion is of no avail." Tliev sulimitted in silence : their temples 
 were demolished, and the same sentence of destruction was execiUed 
 on all the idols of Arabia. His lieutenants on the shores of the Ked 
 Sea the ocean, and the gulf of Persia, were saluted by the acclama- 
 ;tions of a faithful people ; and the ambassadors who knelt before the 
 throne of Medina were as numerous (says the Arabian proverb) as 
 the dates that fall from the maturity of a palm-tree. The nation sub- 
 mitted to the God and the sceptre of Mahomet : the opprobrious 
 name of tribute was abolished : the spontaneous or reluctant obla- 
 tions of alms and tithes were applied to the service of religion ; and 
 one hundred and fourteen thousand Moslems accompanied the last 
 pilgrimage of the apostle.* , ^ . , 
 
 When Heraclius returned in triumph from the Persian war, he en- 
 tertained at Einesa, one of the amb-ASsadors of Mahoment, who in- 
 vited the princes and nations of the earth to the profession of islam. 
 On this foundation the zeal of the Arabians has supposed the secret 
 conversion of the Christian emperor ; the vanity of the Greeks has 
 feipned a personal visit to the prince of Medina, who accepted from 
 the roval bountv a rich domain, and a secure retreat in the province 
 of Syria But the friendship of Heraclius and Mahomet was of short 
 continuance : the new rcdigion had inllamed rather than assuaged the 
 rapacious spirit of the Saracens ; and the murder of an envoy afford- 
 ed a decent pretence for invading with three thousand soldiers the 
 territory of Palestine, that extends to the eastward of the Jordan. 
 The holy banner was intrusted to Zeid ; and such was the discipline 
 or enthusiasm of the rising sect, that the noblest chiefs served with- 
 out reluctance under the slave of the prophet. On the event of his 
 decease Jaafar and Abdallah were successively substituted to the 
 command • an<l if the three should perish in the war, the troops were 
 authorized to elect their general. The three leaders were slain in the 
 battle of Muta, tlic first military action which tried the valor of the 
 Moslems against a foreign enemy. Zeid fell, like a soldier in the 
 foremost ranks ; the death of Jaafar was heroic and meniorabi(^ : he 
 lost his ri'Mit hand ; he shifted the standard to his left : the left was 
 seven-d from his bodv : lu^ eml)raced the standard with his bleeding 
 stumps, till lie was transfixed to the ground with fifty honorable 
 wounds. " Advance," cried Abdallah. who stepped into tlu; vacant 
 place, "advance with confidence: either victory or paradi.se is our- 
 own." Tlie lance of a Roman decid<-d the alternative ; bat the fallmg 
 standard w;us rescued by C'aled, the proselyte of Mecca ; ninci swords 
 were broken in his hand : and his valor withstood and repulsed the 
 Buperior numbers of tlie rhristians. In the nocturnal council of the 
 cami) he was cliosen to cnnunand ; his .skilful evolutions of the en - 
 
 * The more prnbablfi trniWfum^ m-ntion 4ft.nnO. Thl«, tho last pUgrlmage of M» 
 bomet, took place in Uio tcath year of IUj Hc^ira. (Weil, c'a. 8.)— S.
 
 43 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 suinc^ day socured cither the victory or tlic retreat of the Searacens ■ 
 nnd filled is renowned ainon^j liis I)rethren and his enemies by tlio 
 glorious ui>p.-lhit ion of the .S/rord of God. In the pulpit, Mahomet 
 d&scribed wirh i)roplu.tic raptun^ the crowns of the blessed martyrs • 
 but in private he betrayed tlie feelings of human nature : he was sur' 
 prised lus he we])t over the daughter of Zeid : " What do I see'?" said 
 the astonished votary. "You see," replied the apostle, '-a friend 
 .who is deploring the loss of his most faithful friend." After the 
 conquest of Mecca, * the sovereign of Arabia affected to prevent the 
 iiostile ])reparations of Ileraclius ; and solemnly proc'laimed war 
 against the Romans, without attempting to disguise the hardshii^s and 
 dangers of the enterprise. The Moslems were discouraged • they 
 alleged the want of money, or horses, or provisions ; the season of 
 harvest, and the intolerable heat of the summer : " Hell is much hot- 
 ter," aaid the indignant prophet. He disdained to compel their ser 
 vice; but on his return he admonislKnl the most guiltv by an 
 excommunication of fifty days. TJieir desertion enhanced 'tlie merit 
 ot Abubeker, Othman, and the faithful companions who devoted their 
 lives and fortunes ; and Mahomet displayed his banner at the head of 
 ten thousand horse and twenty thousand foot. Painful indeed was 
 the distress of the march ; lassitude and thirst were aggravated bv 
 the scorching and pestilential winds of the desert : ten men rode by 
 turns on the same camel ; and they were reduced to the shameful ne. 
 cessity of drinking the water from the belly of that useful animal 
 In the mid- way, ten days' journey from Medina and Damascus they 
 reposed near the grove and fountain of Tabuc. Beyond tiiat Vlaco 
 Mahomet declined the prosecution of the war ; lie declared himself 
 satisjied with the peaceful intentions ; he was more probably daunted 
 by the martial array of the emperor of the East, f But the active 
 and intrepid Caled spread around the terror of his name; and 
 
 * Tlie battle of Mata took place before the cononest of TVIecca, as Gibbon here 
 ^^«^"\f T"'"'- '°°"^'' ^ r I 'imuie'- Pl»cc.^ it after that event. (Weil, u.-Z note 
 81S.) Weil supposes that the defeat of the Musuhnanson that occasioa eAcouraged 
 i..c Meccans to violate I he truce. (lb., p. 207 )— S. eiii,yurageu 
 
 t The expedition of Tabuc was undertaken in the month of Radjab, of the ninth 
 jear of the Hegira (A. D t>31>. Mahomet's more devoted friends gave a gr" at part 
 of their subBtaiico towards defraying its expenses . Abu Bekr gave the whole of his 
 popcrty, consistin;^ of 4,00;) drachms ; and when Mahomet iiujuired, "What then 
 ban thou kft for thy family ? " he answered, " God and his prophet." The tradi- 
 tions vary exf-eedingly respecting the number of the armv assembled on this occa- 
 sion. 1 Uirty thousand i.s the lowest number assigned ; but even this i.s probably 
 rxagteiated, and a large part deserted at the commencement of the march (Weil 
 Moham., p 2fi0 ) When Mahomet at Tabuc, consulted lii.s companions as to the 
 further prosecution of the enterprise, Omar said, "If you arc commanded by God 
 to go farther, do it." Mohamet answered, "If I had the command of God, I should 
 liot u.slv your advice." Omar replied, " O pvoi)liet of (Jod ! (lie Greeks are a numer 
 €)as people, and (here is not a single Musulman among them. Moreover we have 
 already nearly approached them, and your neighborhood has struck them with terror 
 Tliin year, therefore, let us return, till you find it convenient to undertake anothei 
 caiupm^'U a^iuiust them, or till God offers some opportunity." (Weil, natc 4U& )—ii.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 49 
 
 the prophet received the submission of the \^^^^%^''^ ^'f^'^ 
 from the Euphrates to Ailah, at the head of the Red Sea. lo his 
 [listen subjects. Mahomet readily granted the security of their 
 pereons the freedom of their trade, the property of their goods and 
 The toleralion of their M'orship. The weakness of their Arabian 
 brethren had restrained them from opposing his ambition , tlie Qis- 
 cXs of Jesus were endeared to the enemy of the Jews ; and it was 
 the interit of a conqueror to propose a fair capitulation to the most 
 powerful religion of the earth. -. ,r i t. ,.„c 
 
 ^ Tin the a|e of sixtv-three years, the strength of ]\Iahomet was 
 equal to the temporal and spiritual fatigues of his mission. His eP^- 
 leptic fits, and absurd calumny of the Greeks would be aii ob^ct of 
 ihv rather than abhorrence ;* but he seriously believed that Jie ^^as 
 pSoned at Chaibar by the revenge of a Jewish female During four 
 yeai^ the health of the prophet declined; his mfirmities increased ; 
 but Ws mortal disease was a fever of fourteen days which deprived 
 h m bv intervals of the use of reason. As soon as he was conscious 
 ofTiis danger, he edified his brethren by the humility of his virtue or 
 penitence^ ''If there be any man," said the apostle from the pu pi 
 ^. whom I have unjustly scourged I submit niy own \ack « ^^« ^^^^ 
 of retaliation. Have 1 aspersed the reputation of a Musulman? let 
 him proclaim wy faults in the face of the congregation. Has any one 
 b^n despoiled of his goods? the little that I possess shall compensate 
 tl e pSple and the^interest of the debt." '' Yes," replied a voic« 
 froni the crowd, " I am entitled to three drachms of silver Ma- 
 homet heard the complaint, satisfied the demand and thanked his 
 creditor for accusing him in this world rather than at the day of 
 iudfnnent. He beheld with temperate firmness the approach of 
 d.-ath; enfranchised his slaves (seventeen men, as they are named 
 and eleven women) ; minutely directed the order of his funeral, and 
 moderated the lamentations of his weeping friends, on whom he be- 
 Twed the benediction of peace. Till the third day l^^^ore hi^ J/j^' 
 he regularly performed the functions of public prayer : the choice ot 
 Abvxlfek.r ^o supply his place app-an-d to mark tha ancient and 
 faitliful fri.-nd as bis KU<-cessor in the sacerdotal and regal ottice , 
 hut he pru.h-ntlv dc-clin.-.l th., risk and envy of a niore explicit nom 
 ination. At a mom.nt when Ids faculties were visibly im,.aired he 
 call(;d for a pen and ink to write, f or more properly to dictate a di- 
 
 * The opinion, however, of modem Oriental Pcholars tends the other way Dr 
 Bpren-erTp 77, Hhows, on the authority of Ibnlshac, that M«honK|t. wh nt huI a^^ 
 f,?fant"under the care of his foster mother had an attack \\l|'c>' "' a" even « ^cry 
 irnnh roaemhlod cnllensv Three Other fits are recorded (il).. V- '^"7",V",» j 
 Weil (MSnu-dpW note 11) ren.ark« that the uord r«;to, wh.cli Al.nlfeda 
 ^8P.«U1? S to^JahCt i. partituh.riy used of epileplic atlacks '^^<^.^"^ 
 anthw l^a« OTllected .-everal inntunces of the«e lltn (Ih, p .!'2,.note 48, and i o 
 Journal ABiatiqne. .T.UlU-t, 1«42>, and is of opinion that his vi.io„s were, for th« 
 
 "'r^^:;!'^;a^;ir :;:' n ■' !; h'^ubUm ; tut. if true, it proves, as Dr. Weil romarkB.
 
 ^'^ LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 vinft book, the sum and accomplishment of all his revelations ; a dis 
 jMito Arose in the chanil^er, whether he should be allowed to super, 
 secle the authonty of the Koran ; and the prophet was forced to re- 
 prove tlKMndecent vehemence of his disciples. If the slightc<st credit 
 may be alTorded to the traditions of his wives and conuianions ho 
 maintaineu m the l)osom of liis family and to the last moments of his 
 ,ife the dignity of an apostle and the faith of an enthusiast ; described 
 tlie visits ot (.abnel, wlio bade an everlasting farewell to the earth ; nd 
 expressed his ively confidence, not only of the mercy,but of the favor ot 
 the iMipreme Being. In a familiar discourse he had mentioned his siie- 
 cial prerogative, that the angel of death was not allowed to take his 
 soul till lie liad respectfully asked the permission of tlie prophet The 
 request was granted ; and Mahomet immediately fell into the agon v 
 of his disso ution ; his head was reclined on the lap of Ayeshafthe 
 best beloved of all his wives ; he fainted with the violence of pain ■ 
 recovering his spirits, he raised his eyes towards the roof of the 
 house, and, with a steady look, though a faltering voice, uttered the 
 last broken, though articulate words: " O (iod ! . . pardon my sins 
 ^ . le.s, . .1 come, . . . among my fellow-citizens on high ;"" and 
 thus peaceably expired on a carpet spread upon the floor. An expe- 
 dition for the conquest of Syria was stopped by this mournful event : 
 the army halted at the gates of Medina ; the chiefs were assembled 
 around their dymg master. The city, more especially the house of 
 the propliet, wa.s a scene of clamorous sorrow or silent despair : fanat- 
 iCKSm alone could suggest a ray of hope and consolation. " How can 
 ne oe dead, our witness, our intercessor, our mediator Avith God "^ Bv 
 God he IS not dead : like Moses and Jesus, he is wrapt in a holy trance, 
 and speedily will he return to his faithful people." The evidence of 
 Pn^H%'''''f .? '^^^I^jded ; and Omar, un.sheathing his scymitar, threat- 
 ened to strike off the heads of the infidels who should dare to affirm 
 tliat the prophet was no more. The tumult was appeased bv the 
 weight and moderation of Abubeker. " Is it Mahomet," said he to 
 
 Sin 9 ^r? ^f^ ?"l"Vrt' ""'■ ^^'^ ''°^ "f Mahomet, whom you wor- 
 J^Z\ v^ '^ /'^ Mahomet liveth forever : but the apostle was a 
 
 mortal like ourselves, and according to his own prediction, he has ex- 
 penenced the common fate of mortality." * He was piously interred 
 
 mo?eToDerh^'lo-''di*.?..f':"'^\'?"'^ '^ no authority for Gibbon's addition. " or. 
 more properl>, to dictate, which seams to be a sa vo for his own theory Aerorrl 
 
 fS?iVu"R.'k,!''7ro r^th^/'.orf "° P^-h™«"t.."r a table, U.mTri^i.ometh^^ 
 
 a sffi nn^eVVw Voh°" ^?"".";S' ^as erroneou.sly translated " book." It was only 
 note 527.)-S. ^^lal»«met wished to write, probably to name his successor. (lb.. 
 
 * After this address, Abu Bekr read the follow! nsj verse from the Koran --"Mo 
 whZ he M« 1 '^' ^ "!"•''''"' • ;"","y P^"P»"'''« ''=^^'« departed bef on. him ; wiH v^ thea 
 I i. 1 nf ',"1''" 't''""' '"■ "^"'d a natural death, turn upon your heels a e forsake 
 t^Lwuf'' "ura M TZJ^'V^'""'"" ^-^^ G^f hutPood^eward?thos;\vho are 
 y^t thev acccDl^ if fmrnTh, ?^ P^'Ple seemed never to have heard of this verse, 
 yei incy accepted it from Aba Bckr, aad it ran from mouth to mouth. Umax him-
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 51 
 
 by the hands of his nearest kinsman, on the same spot on which he 
 expired. * (a) Medina has been sanctified by the death and bunal of 
 Mahomet ; and the innumerable pilgrims of Mecca often turn aside 
 from tlie way to bow in voluntary devotion, before the simple tomb 
 \)f the prophet. 
 
 At the conclusion of the life of Mahomet, it may perhaps be ex- 
 pected that I should balance his faults and virtues, that I sliould de- 
 cide whether the title of enthusiast or impostor more properly belongs 
 to that extraordinary man. Had I been intimately conversant with 
 the son of Abdullah, the task would still be difficult, and the success 
 uncertain : at the distance of twelve centuries, I darkly contemplate 
 his shade through a cloud of religious incense ; and could I truly de- 
 lineate the portrait of an hour, the fleeting resemblance would not 
 equally apply to the solitary of Mount Hera, to the preacher of Mecca, 
 and to the conqueror of Arabia. The author of a mighty revolution 
 appears to have been endowed with a pious and contemplative dispo- 
 sition : so soon as marriage had raised him above the pressure of 
 want, he avoided the paths of ambition and avarice ; and till the age 
 of forty, he lived with innocence and would have died without a 
 name. The unity of God is an idea mo.st congenial to nature and 
 reason • and a slight conversation with the Jews and Christians would 
 teach h'iin to despise and detest tlu; idolatry of Mecca. It was the 
 duty of a man and a citizen to impart the doctrine of salvation, to 
 rescue his countrv from the dominion of sin and error. The energy 
 of a mind incessantly bent on the same obj( ct, would convert a gen- 
 eral obligation into a particular call ; the warm suggestions of the un- 
 derstanding or the fancy would be felt as the inspirations of heaven ; 
 the labor of thought would expire in rapture and vision ; and the in- 
 
 Bflf wa8 f.0 stmck when he heard it that he fell to the ground, and perceived that 
 Mahomet wa. dead. Weil (p. 2i&) observes that this anecdote vvhicli is important 
 to a critical view of the Koran, is entirely new to EuropL^ans — b. .<,.,„ 
 
 • That .8, in the house of his wife Ayesha ; but after the enlargement of the 
 mosqne by the chalif Walid, his grave was comprehended withm Us walls. (VV eil, 
 p. 339.)— S.. 
 
 (a) The Greeks and Latina have invented and propagated the vulgar and ridiculous 
 Bt<)ry that .Maliomet's iron tomb is su8neuded in ttie air at Mecca (an,xa /«"u,pc 
 <,;>..io„ Laonicus Chalcocondyles de Hc'Imis TiircicH, 1 m . p. 06) by the action of 
 equal and potent loadstones. (Dictionnaire de Bayle. Mauomet, Kern. J!.J<.. i<t>.) 
 Witho.it any philosophical inquiries, it may suftke that,! 'I he projjhet was not 
 buried at Mec-a ; anti, a. Thatliis to.nb at Medina, which has boin V's' ^d'^ ";,''; 
 lions, i-i placed on the ground (Hehiiid. de lielig. Moham. 1. ii., c. 19, p. .iUe-~ll.) 
 UOfcTiier. (Vie de Mahomet, torn, lii., p. 2(3-208.) * 
 
 Pabia 
 This 
 
 the (lay of liis death, it i.s pro 
 
 uioath, imd that he died ou the 8th of June. (VVoil, p. 331.)-
 
 53 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 ward sensation, the iuvi.sil)lo monitor, would 1)0 doscribod with thfl 
 form and attributes of an angel of God. From enthusia.sni to 
 imposture tbo stop is perilous and slippery ; tlie daemon of Socrates 
 aHords a memorable instance liow a wise nuin may deceive liimseK, 
 how a good man may deceive others, how the conscience may slumber' 
 in a mixt'd and middle state between self-illusion and Voluntary 
 fraud. Charity may believe that the original motives of Mahomet 
 were those of pure and genuine benevolence ; but a human miss on- 
 ary is incapable of cherishing the obstinate unbelievers who reject his 
 claims, despise his arguments, and persecute his life ; he might for- 
 give his personal adversaries, he might lawfully hate the enemies of 
 God ; the stern piissions of prides and revenge were kindled in the 
 bosom of Mahomet, and he sighed, like the prophet of Nineveh, for 
 the destruction of the rebels whom he had condemned. The injustice 
 of Mecca and the choice of Medina transformed the citizen into a 
 prince, the humble preacher into the leader of armies ; but his sword 
 was consecrated l)y \\w example of the saints ; and the same God who 
 afflicts a sinful world with pestilence and earthquakes, might inspire 
 for their conversion or chastisement the valor of his servants. In the 
 exercise of political government, he was compelled to abate the 
 stern rigor of fanaticism, to comply in some measure with the pre- 
 judices and passions of his followers, and to employ even the vices of 
 mankind as the instruments of their salvation. The use of fraud and 
 perfidy, of cruelty and injustice, were often subservient to the prop- 
 agation of the faith : and Mahomet commanded or approved the as- 
 sassination of the Jews and idolaters who had escaped from the field 
 of battle. By the repetition of such acts, the character of Mahomet 
 must have be(!n gradually stained : and the inHuence of such perni- 
 cious habits would be poorly compensated by tlie practice of the per- 
 sonal and social virtues which are necessary to maintain the reputation 
 of a prophet among his sectaries and friends. Of his last years, am- 
 bition was the ruling passion ; and a politician will suspect that he 
 secretly smiled (the victorious impostor !) at the enthusia.sm of his 
 youth and the credulity of his proselytes. A philosopher will ob- 
 serve, that their credulity and htn success would tend more strongly 
 to fortify the assurance of his divine mission, that his interest and re- 
 ligion were inseparably connected, and that his conscience would be 
 soothed l)y the persuasion, that he alone was absolved by the Deity 
 from the obligation of positive and moral laws. If he retained any 
 vestige of his native innocence, the sins of Mahomet may be allowed 
 as an evidence of his sincerity. In the support of truth, the arts of 
 fraud and fiction may he deemed less criminal ; and lie would have 
 started at the foulness of the means, had he not been satisfied of the 
 importance and justice of the end. Even in a confjueror or a priest, I 
 can surprise a word or acticni of unaffected humanity ; and the decree 
 of Mahomet, that in the sale of captive,s the mothers should never
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 53 
 
 be separated from their cliildren, may suspend or moderate tlie cen- 
 sure of the historian. * 
 
 * It mav be remarked that, in estimating Maliomet's character, Gibbon entirely 
 leases out of sight his physical temperament. Thus he indignantly rejects the ac- 
 counts of his epileptic seizures, and everywhere directs his attention to the moral 
 qualities of the prophet, either as a philosophical and contemplative enthusiast, or, 
 as he seems to consider him in the latter part of his career, as a political impostor. 
 Yet the physical constitutiou of Mahomet was of so peculiar a kmd, that it can 
 hardly be passed over in a complete and accurate sketch of his character, upon 
 which it must have undoubtedly exercised a wonderful influence ; and we have, 
 therefore, inserted the following interesting details from the pages of Dr. Sprenger: — 
 
 " The temperament of Mohammed was melancholic and in the highest degree 
 nervous. He was generally low-spirited, thinking and restless ; and he spoke little, 
 and never without necessity. His eyes were mostly cast on the ground, and he 
 seldom raised them towards heaven. The excitement under which he composed the 
 more poetical Suras of the Koran was so great, that he said that they had caused him 
 grey hair ; his lips were quivering and his hands shaking whilst he received the 
 inspirations. An offensive smell made him so uncomfortable, that he forbade per- 
 sons who had eaten garlic or onions to come into his place of worship. In a man 
 of semi-barbarous habits this is reuiaikable. He had a woollen garment, and was 
 obliged to throw it away when it began to smell of perspiration, on account ox his 
 delicate constitution. When he was taken ill, ho sobbed like a woman in hysterics 
 — or, as Ayesha savs. he roared like a camel ; and his friends reproached him for 
 hi.s unmanly bearing. During the battle of Bedr, his nervous excitement seems to 
 have bordered on frt-nzy. The faculties of his mmd were very unequally developed: 
 he was unlit for the common duties of life, and, even after his mission, he was led 
 in all practical questions by his friends, iiut he had a vivid imagination, the great- 
 est elfcvati n of mind, refined sentiments, and a taste for the sublime. Much as ho 
 disliked the name, he was a poet ; and a hannonious language and sublime lyric 
 constitute tho principal merits of the Koran. His mind dwelt constantly on the 
 contemplation of God; he saw his finger in the rising sun, in the falling rain, in 
 the growing crop ; he heard his voice in the thunder, in the murmuring of the 
 waters, and in the hymns which the birds sing to his praise ; and in the lonely 
 de.sfrts and ruins of ancient cities lie saw the traces of nis anger." (Life of Mo- 
 hammed, p. H9.) "The mental excitement of tlie prophet was much increased dur- 
 ing the fatrah (intermission of revelations) ; and, like ihe ardent scholar in one of 
 Scniller's paenis, who dared to lift the veil of truth, he was nearly annihilated by 
 the light which broke in upon liim. He usually wandered about m the hills near 
 Mecca, and was so absent, that on odc occasion his wife, being afraid tliat he was 
 lest, sent men in search of him. He suffered from hallucinations of his senses; 
 and, to finish his sufferings, he several times contemplated suicide, by throwing 
 himself down from a precipice. His friends were alarmed at his state of mind. 
 Home considered it as the eccentricities of a poetical genius ; others thought that 
 he wa.s a /rrj/iJH, or sootlisayer ; but the ina.iority took a less charitable view, and 
 declared t^at he was insane ; and as madness and melancholy are ascribed lo super- 
 natur 1 inflaence in the East, they said that he was in the power of Satan and his agents, 
 the jiim." (lb., p. IM.'j.) "(Jne day, whilst he was wandering about in the hills near 
 Mecca, with the intention of destroying himself, he heard a voice, and on raising 
 his head he beheld Gabriel between heaven and earth ; and the angel assured liim 
 that he was the prophet of f ;od. Frightened bv this apparition, lie returned home. 
 and, feeling unwell, he called for covering, lie had a lit, and they poured cold 
 water upon him, and when he was recovering from it he rec(Mved the revelation :— 
 '(> thou covered, ari-ie and i)r('acli, and magnify thy Lord, and cleanse thy garment, 
 and fly every abomination;' and hencefortli. we are told, he reccMved revelations 
 without intermisoion, that is to say, the fatrah was at an end, and he assumed bid 
 ofBce." (P. liCJ.) " Some authors consider the fits of the prophit as the iirincipal 
 evidence of his mlBsion, and it is, therefore, necessary to say a few words on tli<ni. 
 Tlioy were preceded by great depn-ssion of spiritH, and his faie was chnidcd ; and 
 they were ushered in Gy coldnesia of the extremitiea and Bhiveriuii. Ho shook as if
 
 64 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 Tlie i^ood sense of Mahomet despiseil the pomp of royalty ; the 
 apostle of Uod submittetl to the menial offices of the family ; he kin- 
 dled the fire, swept the floor, milked the ewes, and mended with his 
 own hands his shoes and his woollen garments. Disdaining the pen- 
 ance and merit of a hermit, lie observed, without effort or vanity, the 
 abstemious diet of an Arab and a soldier. On solemn occasions he 
 feasted his coinpanions with rustic and hospitable plenty ; but in his 
 domestic life, many weeks would elapse witliout a fire being kindled 
 " on the hearth of the prophet. The interdiction of wine was con- 
 firmed by his example ; his hunger wrfs appeased with a sparing 
 allowance of barley-bread : he delighted in the taste of milk and 
 honey ; but his ordinary food consisted of dates and water. Per- 
 fumes and women were the two sensual enjoyments which his nature 
 required, and his religion did not forbid ; and Mahomet affirmed that 
 the fervor of his devotion was increased by these innocent pleasures. 
 The lieat of the climate inflames the blood of the Arabs, and their 
 libidinous complexion has been noticed by the writers of antiquity. 
 Their incontinence was regulated by the civil and religious laws of 
 the Koran ; their incestuous alliances were blamed ; the boundless 
 license of polygamy was reduced to four legitimate wives or concu- 
 bines ; their riglits both of bed and dowry were equitably deter- 
 mined ; the freedom of divorce was discouraged ; adultery was con- 
 demned as a capital offence ; and fornication, in either sex, was 
 punished with a hundred stripes. Such were the calm and rational 
 precepts of the legislator ; but in his private conduct Mahomet in- 
 dulged the appetites of a man, and abused the claims of a prophet. 
 A special revelation dispensed him from tlie laws which he had im- 
 posed on his nation ; the female sex, without reserve, was abandoned 
 to his desires ; and this singular prerogative excited the envy rather 
 tlian the scandal, the veneration rather than the envy, of the devout 
 MuHulmans. If we remember the seven hundred wives and three 
 hundred concubines of the wise Solomon, we shall applaud the mod- 
 esty of the Arabian, who espoused no more than seventeen or fifteen 
 wives ; eleven are enumerated who occupied at Medina their separate 
 apartments round the house of the apostle, and enjoyed in their turns 
 the favor of his conjugal society. What is singular enough, they 
 were all widows, excepting only Ayesha, the daughter of Abubeker. 
 
 he were sufferine from ajrne, and called out for coverinj?. ITis mind was in a most 
 painfully excited state. He heard a tinkling: in hi.s ears as if bc-Hs ^yerc ringing, or 
 a humininc; as if bees were fiwamiing round his hcjid, jind lii.-s lips quivered, but this 
 potion was under the control of volition. If the attack proceeded beyond this 
 'stage, his eyes became fixed and staring, and the motions of his head convulsive 
 and automatic At length perspiration broke out, which covered his face in large 
 drops : and with this ended the attack. Sometimes, however, if he had a vio.ent 
 fit, he fell comatose to the tTOund, like a person who is intoxicated ; and (at least 
 at a later period of his life) his face was flushed, and liis respiration stertorous, and 
 he remained in that state for some time. The bystanders spri klcd water in hia 
 face : but he himself fancied tliat he would derive a threat benelit from being cupped 
 on the head." db, p. 111.)— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 55 
 
 She was doubtless a virgin, since Mahomet consummated liis nuptials 
 (such is the premature ripeness of the climate) when she was only 
 nine years of age. The youth, the beauty, tlie spirit of Ayesha gave 
 her a superior ascendant ; she was beloved and trusted by the pro- 
 phet ; and, after his death, the daughter of Abubeker was long re- 
 vered as the mother of the faithful. Her behavior had been ambigu- 
 ous and indiscreet : in a nocturnal march she was accidentally left 
 behind, and in the morning Ayesha returned to the camp with a man. 
 Tiie temper of Mahomet was inclined to jealousy ; but a divine reve- 
 lation assured him of her innocence : he chastised her accusers, and 
 ]>ublished a law of domestic peace, that no woman should be con- 
 denmed unless four male witnesses had seen her in tha act of adul- 
 tery.* In his adventures with Zeineb, the wife of Zeid, and with 
 Mary, an Egyptian captive, the amorous prophet forgot the interest 
 of his reputation. At the house of Zeid, his freedman and adopted 
 son, he beheld, in a loose undress, the beauty of Zeinib, and burst 
 forth into an ejaculation of devotion and desire. The servile, or 
 grateful, freedman understood the hint, and yielded without hesita- 
 tion to the love of his benefactor. But as the filial relation had 
 excited soino doubt and scandal, the angel Gabriel descended from 
 heaven to ratify the deed, to annul the adoption, and gently to re- 
 prove the prophet for distrusting the indulgence of his God. One of 
 his wives, Ilafna, the daughter of Omar, surprised him on her own 
 bed, in the embraces of his Egyptian captive : she promised secrecy 
 and forgiveness : he swore that he would renounce the possession of 
 Mary. Both i)arties forgf)t their engagements ; and Gabrie. again 
 descen led with a chapter of the Koran, to absolve him from his oath, 
 and to exhort him freely to enjoy his captives and concubines, with- 
 out listening to the clamors of his wives. In a solitary retreat of 
 thirty days, ho labored, alone with Mary, to fulfil the commands of 
 tlie angel. When liis love and revenge were satiated, he summoned 
 to his i>resence his eleven wives, reproached their disobedience and 
 indiscretion, and tlireatened them with a sentence of divorce, both in 
 tliis world and in the next — a dreadful sentence, since those who had 
 ascended the bed of tlie i)roi)liet were forever excluded from the hope 
 of a second marriage. PAhajis the incontinence of I\hdiomet may be 
 palliated by the tradition of liis natural or prc^ternatural gift; ho 
 united tlie manly virtue of thirty of the cliildrcn of Adam ; and the 
 ajjostle might rival the thirteenth lalxjr of the Grecian Hercules. A 
 more serious and decent excuse may be drawn from his fidelity to 
 t'adijah. During the twenty-four years of their marriage, her ycnith-' 
 ful husband abstained from the right of polygamy' and the pride or 
 
 ♦ This law, however, related only to nccuHations by Ktraiigcrs. By a subsnqnent 
 law (Sur.iil, V. C-lO) aim Imnd wliu pnsjxicted lil.-i wife iniu'lit j)rocurc ii divorce I)y 
 lakiii" ronroalhH lo tlic tnitli of liis cli;iru<'. and n flftli invokiii)j: (Jod'H riirsi- upon 
 Mm If lie had sworn falstfy- ''"'": wodiuii escaped punisjliiiieiit if she look an oath 
 of the eamc description (Weil, p. 'i7ii.)~H.
 
 5G LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 t.cudcrnps55 of the voncrablo matron was never insulted by the societj 
 of a rival. After her death he placed her in the rank of the four 
 ]ierfect women, with the sister of Moses, the motlier of Jesus, and 
 Fatima, the best beloved of his daugliters. "Was she not old?" 
 said Ayesha, with the insolence of a blooming beauty ; " lias not Ood 
 given you a better in her place V" "No, by God," said Mahomet, 
 with an effusion of honest gratitude, "there never can be a better 1 
 ■She believed in me when men despised me ; she relieved my wants 
 when I was poor and persecuted by the world." 
 
 In the largest indulgence of polygamy, the founder of a religion 
 and empire might aspire to multiply the chances of a numerous pos- 
 terity and a lineal succession. The hopes of Mahomet were fatally 
 disappointed. The virgin Ayeslia, and his ten widows of mature ago 
 and approved fertility, were barren in his potent embraces. The 
 four sons of Cadijah died in their infancy. Mary, his Egyptian con- 
 1 "ubine, was endeared to him by the birth of Ibrahim. At the end of 
 •fifteen months the prophet ivept over his grave ; but he sustained 
 with firmness the raillery of his enemies, and checked tlie adulation 
 or credulity of the Moslems, by the assurance that an eclipse of the 
 sun was not occasioned by the death of the infant. Cadijah had 
 likewise given him four daughters, who were married to the most 
 faithful of his disciples : the three eldest died before their father ; 
 but Fatima, who possessed his confidence and love, became the wife 
 of her cousin Ali, and the mother of an illustrious progeny. The 
 merit and misfortunes of Ali and his descendants will lead me to an- 
 ticipate, in this place, the series of the Saracen caliphs, a title which 
 describes the commanders of the faithful as the vicars and successors 
 of the apostles of God.* 
 
 The birth, the alliance, the character of Ali, which exalted him 
 above the rest of his countrymen, might justify his claim to the va- 
 cant throne of Arabia. The son of Abu Taleb was, in his own right 
 the chief of the family of Hashem, and the hereditary prince or 
 guardian of the city and temple of Mecca. The light of prophecy 
 was extinct ; but the husband of Fatima might ex])ect the inheritance 
 and blessing of her father : the Arabs had sometimes been patient of 
 a female reign ; and the two grandsons of the i)rophet had often been 
 fondled in his lap, and shown in his pulpit, as the hope of his ago 
 and the chief of the youth of paradise. The first of the true believ- 
 ers might aspire to march before them in this world and in the next ; 
 and if some were of a graver and more rigid cast, the zeal and virtue 
 of Ali were never outstripped by any recent proselyte. He united 
 the qualifications of a poet, a soldier, and a saint ; his wisdom still 
 breathes in a collection of moral and religious sayings ; and every 
 
 * The moKt valuable work since Gibbon's time upon the history of the Caliphs ia 
 Weil's "Geschichte dcrChrilifcn" (.Mimnhcim, 3 voIh. 8vo, l*tG, ttei/X founded upon 
 original sources. This ^vo^k is rcTerrcd to in 8eb»e(iucnt notes under the name of 
 Weil.— S.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 57 
 
 antafi-onist, in die combats of tlie tongiie or of the sword, was Bub- 
 duecf by bis eloquence and valor. From the first hour of bis missioa 
 to the last rites of his funeral, the apostle was never forsaken by a 
 generous friend, wbom he delighted to name his brother, his vicege- 
 rent, and the faithful Aaron of a second Moses. The son of Abu 
 Tale'b was afterwards reproached for neglecting to secure his interest 
 by a solemn declaration of his right, which would have silenced all 
 competition and sealed his succession by the decrees of Heaven 
 But the unsuspecting hero confided in himself : the jealousy of em- 
 pire, and perhaps the fear of opposition, might suspend the resolu- 
 tions of Mahomet ; and thi bed of sickness v/as besieged by the art- 
 ful Ayesha, the daughter of Abubeker, £md the enemy of All.* 
 
 The silence and death of the prophet restored the liberty of the 
 people : and his companions convened an assembly to deliberate on the 
 choic of his successor. The hereditary claim and lofty spirit of Ali 
 were offensive to an aristocracy of elders, desirous of bestowing an-J 
 resuming the sceptre by a free and frequent election : the Kort sli 
 could never be reconciled to the proud pre-eminence of the line of 
 Hashem : the ancient discord of the tribes was rekindled : the fvgi- 
 tires of Mecca and the auxiliaries of Medina asserted their respective 
 merits ; and the rash proposal of choosing two independent caliphs, 
 would liave crushed in iheir infancy the religion and empire of the 
 Saracens. The tumult was appeased by the disinterested resolution 
 of Omar, wlio, suddenly renouncing his OA^^^ pretensions, stretched 
 forth his hand and declared himself the first subject of the mild and 
 venerable Abubeker. The urgency of the moment and the acquies- 
 cence of the people might excuse this illegal and precipitate measure ; 
 l)ut Omar himself confessed from the pulpit, that if any Musulmau 
 sl;ould hereafter presume to anticipate the suffrage of his brethren, 
 ])Oth tlie elector and the elected would be worthy of death.(«) After 
 
 • Gibbon wrote cliiefly from the Arabic or Sunnito account of these transactions, 
 the only Hoiirces acc('6i»il)le at the time when he composed his history. Major 
 Trice, writins from Persi in aiuliorities, affords ns the advuntaKe of comparing 
 Ihroughout what mav be fairlv considered tlie .Sliiite version. The plory of AJi is 
 the constant burden 'of tlieir strain. He wan destined, and, acrordinj,' to ^ome ac- 
 counts, deslt,Tiated, for the ealii)hate liy the prnpliet : but while the others were 
 fiercely jMishing their own interests, Ali was wutchinj; the remains of Mahomet with 
 pious ndelity. His disinterested maLmaniniity. on each separate occasion, declined 
 the pceptre, and gave the noble example of obedience to the appointed caliph. He 
 !.•» described in retirement, on the throne, and in the field of battle, as transcendently 
 l>lous, magnanimous, valiant, and liiimane. lie lost his emi)ire through his cxcesj 
 •>f virtue and love for the faithful ; his life through his confidence in Uod, and sub- 
 mission to the decrees of fate. 
 
 Compare the curious account of this apathy in Price, chap. 2. It is to be regret- 
 ted, I must adfl, tliat Major I'rice has contente 1 himself with qonting the names o( 
 the J'ersian work" whicli be follows, without any aeccunt of their chanlcler, uge, 
 ftiid authority.— .\I . _^_ 
 
 (a) Ocklev (Hist, of the Saracens, vol. 1., p. 6, 6) from an Arabian MS. represent* 
 Ayesha as adverse t < the subsiitntlon of her father in the place of the apostle.* 
 
 • The anecdote here mentioned eccma to be an allusion t j the following Bceue,
 
 53 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 the siinplo inauf^uration of Abubekor, he was obeyed in Medina, Mec- 
 ca, and tlio provinces of Arabia : tlie Ilashemi+es alone declined the 
 oath of fidelity ; and their chief in his own house maintained above 
 six months a sullen and independent reserve, without listening- to the 
 threats of Omar, wlio attempted to consume with fire the habitation 
 of the daughter of the apostle. The death of Fatima and the decline 
 of his party subdued the indignant spirit of All : he condescended to 
 salute the" commander of the faithful, accepted his excuse of the 
 ■necessity of subjugating their common enemies, and wisely rejected 
 "his courteous offer of abdicating the government of the Arabians. After 
 a reign of two years the aged caliph * was summoned by the angel of 
 death. In histestament, with the tacit approbation of his compan- 
 ions, he bequeathed the sceptre to the firm and intrepid virtue of 
 Omar. "I have no occasion," said the modest candidate, "for the 
 place." "13ut the place has occasion for you," replied Abubeker ;t 
 who expired with a fervent prayer that the (lod of Mahomet would 
 ratify his choice, and direct the Musulmans in the way of concord and 
 obedience. The prayer was not ineffectual, since Ali himself, in a 
 life of privacy and prayer, professed to revere the superior worth and 
 dignity of his rival ; who comforted him for the loss of empire by the 
 most flattering marks of confidence and esteem. In the twelfth j;. year 
 of his reign, Omar received a mortal wound from the hand of an as- 
 sassin ; he rejected with equal impartiality the names of his son and 
 of Ali, refused to load his conscience with the sins of his successor, 
 and devolved on six of the most respectable companions the arduous 
 task of electing a commander of the faithful. On this occasion Ali 
 was again blamed by his friends for submitting his right to the judg- 
 ment of men, for recognizing their jurisdiction by accepting a place 
 among the six electors. He might have obtained their suffrage had 
 he deigned to promise a strict and servile conformity, not only to the 
 Koran and tradition, but likewise to the detenninations of two 
 xftiiors.^ With these limitations, Othman, the secretary of Mahomet, 
 
 which took place befom the death of Mahomet : Finding that h > had not strength 
 to offer up the cvenin:; praj-er, the prophet ordered that Aim Bckr should pray in 
 his place. Ayesha, however, several times requested that Omar should perform the 
 service, since her father was so touched that he could not pray aloud. But Mahomet 
 answered, "Thou art a second Potiphar's wife "—that is, as great a hypocrite as 
 Phe ; since he well knew that she muj-t wish her father, and nobody else, by offer- 
 ing np the prayers, to appear in a certain degree as his representative. (Weil, Mo- 
 bammed, p. 327.)— S. 
 
 * Caliph in Arabic means " successor."— S. 
 
 + Abu Bekr died on the 32d August, G34, after a reign of two years, three months, 
 and a few days. (Weil, vol. i, p. 40 and 53.)— S. ^ , . 
 
 ± E'even/h. Gibbon's computation ia wrong on his own showing. Omar s reign 
 lasted ten lunar years, six months, and four days. He died on the 3d November, 
 644. (Weil, vol. i, p. 130, seq.)— S. ^ ^. ,„ , „ 
 
 § This conjecture of Gibbon's is confirmed by Dr. WciPs narrative of the election 
 from .\rabian authorities (vol. i., p. 13^). The nomination was finally intrusted to 
 Abd Errahmnn. who had been appointed one of the six electors, but who declined 
 for himself all pretensions to the caliphate. He ilid not, however, discharge hl» 
 office without lirst consulting the people, (lb., p. 130, 131, and 150-155.)— b.
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 58 
 
 accepted tlie government ; nor was it till after tlie tliird caliph, 
 twenty-four years after the death of the prophet, tliat Ali was invest- 
 ed by "the popular choice with the regal and sacerdotal office. The 
 manners of the Arabians retained their primitive simplicity, and the 
 son of Abu Taleb despised the pomp and vanity of this world. At 
 the hour of praver he repaired to the mosch of Medina, clothed in a 
 thia cotton gown, a coarse turban on his head, his slippers in one 
 hand and his bow in the other instead of a walking-staff. The com- 
 panions of the prophet and the chiefs of the tribes saluted their new 
 sovereign, and gave him their right hands as a sign of fealty and al- 
 
 iGfifiO-DCG. 
 
 The mischiefs that flow from the contests of ambition are usually 
 confined to the times and countries in which they have been agitated. 
 But the religious discord of the friends and enemies of Ali has been 
 renewed in everv age of the Hegira, and is still maintained in the im- 
 mortal hatred of the Persians and Turks. The former, who are 
 branded with the appellation of Shiites or sectaries, have enriched the 
 Mahometan creed with a new article of faith ; and if Mahomet be the 
 apostle, his companion Ali is the vicar of God. In their private con- 
 verse in their public worship, they bitterly execrate the three usurp- 
 ers wiio intercepted his indefeasible right to the dignity of Imam and 
 Caliph ; and the name of Omar expresses in their tongue the perfect 
 accomplishment of wickedness and impiety.* The Sonmtes, who are 
 .suppoited bv the general consent and orthodox traditions of the 
 Musulmaus,' entertain a more impartial, or at least a more decent 
 opinion. Thev respect the memory of Abubeker, Omar, Othman, and 
 AH, the holv and legitimate successors of the prophet. But they 
 n-ssign the last and most humble place to the husband of Fatima, in 
 the pcrsua-sion that the order of succession was determined by the 
 degrees of sanctity. An historian who balances the four caliphs with 
 a hand unshaken by superstition will calmly pronounce that their 
 manners were alike pure and exemplary ; that their zeal was fervent 
 and probably sincere ; and that, in the midst of riches and power, their 
 lives were devoted to tlu^ practice oi moral and religious duties. But 
 the public virtues of Abubeker and Omar, the prudence of the first, 
 the severity of the second, maintained the peace and prosperity of 
 their reigns. The feeble temper and declining age of Othman were 
 incapable of sustaining the weight of coiuiuest and empire. He chose, 
 and he was deceived ; he trusted, and he was betrayed ; the most de- 
 serving of the faithful became useless or hos tile to his government^ 
 
 •The first sect that arose among the Moslems was n political one, aiuj liafl for its 
 object the detbronemont of Othman. It was founded in R-ypt by Abdull.ili IDn 
 Saba, a native of Yemen, and of Jewish descent, whom Othm m had bniiiohid froni 
 Medina for nndint; fanlt witli his trovcrnmont. .\bdallah mauituincd that All had 
 been Mahr)met'8 assistant, or vizior, and as such was entitled to the cahpliate, out 
 of whirh he had been cheated hv Abd Errahinan. The chief article of his specula- 
 tive belief was that Mahomet would return to life, whence his sect woe named that 
 of "the return." (Weil. vol. i., p. 173, 6oq.)-S.
 
 00 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 and his lavish bounty was proilnctivc only of ingratitude and discon- 
 tent. The spirit of discord went forth in the provinces ; their do[)U- 
 ties assembled at Medina ; and tlie Charcgitc^s; the desperate I'anaticn 
 who disclainied the yoke of subordination and reason, were confound- 
 ed among the free-born Arabs, who demanded the redress of their 
 wrongs and the punishment of their op])ressors. From Cufa, from 
 Bassora, from Egypt, from the trll)es of the desert, they rose inarms, 
 encamped about a league from Medina, and dispatched a hanghty 
 mandate to their sovereign requiring him to execute justice or to de- 
 scend from the throne.* His repentance began to disarm and disperse 
 the insurgents ; but their fury was rekindled l)y the arts of his ene- 
 mies , and the forgery of a ])er{idious secretary' was contrived to blast 
 his reputation and precipitate his fall. The caliph had lost the only 
 guard of his predecessors, the esteem and confidence of the Mos- 
 lems ; during a siege of six weeks his water and provisions were inter- 
 cepted, and the feeble gates of the palace were protected only by the 
 scruples of the more timorous rebels. Forsaken by those who had 
 abused his simplicity, the helpless and venerable caliph expected the 
 approach of death : the brother of Ayesha marched at the head of the 
 assassins ; and OtJiman,! with the Koran in his lap, was pierced with 
 a multitude of wounds. A tumultuous anarchy of five days was ap- 
 peased by the inauguration of All : his refusal would have provoked 
 a general massacre. In this painful situation he supported the be- 
 coming pride of the chief of the Ilashcmites ; declared that he had 
 rather serve than reign ; rebuked the presumption of the strangers, 
 and required the formal if not the voluntary assent of the chiefs of 
 the nation. He has never been accused of prompting the assassin of 
 Omar, though Persia indiscreetly celebrates the festival of that holy 
 martyr. The quarrel between Othman and his subjects was assuaged 
 by the early mediation of Ali ; and Jhi.ssan, the eldest of his sons, 
 was insulted and wounded in the defence of the caliph. Yet it 
 is doubtful whether the father of Hassan was strenuous and sincere in 
 his o))position to the rebels ; and it is certain that he enjoyed the 
 benefit of their crime. The temptation was indeed of such magnitude 
 as might stagger and corrupt the most obdurate virtue. The ambi- 
 tious candidate no longer aspired to the barren sceptre of Arabia : the 
 Saracens had been victorious in the East and West ; and the wealthy 
 
 * The principal complaints of the rebels were that Othman, on the occasion of his 
 new edition of tbie Koran— which probably contained some alterations— had caused 
 all the previous copies to be burned ; that he had endowed and appropriated thi 
 best pasturages ; that he had recalled Eakam, who had been banished by MahomefJ 
 that he had ill-treated some of the companions of the prophet ; and that he hail 
 named several youn;? persons as governors merely because they were his relations. 
 He was likewise accused of ne^lectini? to tread in the footsteps of his predecessors, 
 as he had promised to do at his election ; and on this point Abd Errahman himself, 
 who had nominated him, was his accuser. (Weil, vol. i., p. 178.)— S. 
 
 t Died June 17, G5fl. Othman was uuwards of uighty years of age at the time ol 
 his death. (Weil. vol. i.. v. IBS,)- «,
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 61 
 
 kingdoms of Persia, Syria, and Egypt were the patrimony of tlie com- 
 mander of the fa- thful. ,,•■■, ^- i 
 
 A life of prayer and contemplation had not chilled the martial ac- 
 tivity of Ali ; but in a mature age, after a long experience of mankind, 
 iio stiU betrayed in his conduct the rashness and indiscretion of youth. 
 In the first diiys of his reitrn he neglected to secure, either by gifts or 
 letters the doubtful allegiance of Telha and Zobeir, two of the most 
 'powerful of the Arabian chiefs. They escaped from Medina to Mecca 
 'and from thence to Bassora ; erected the standard of reyolt ; and 
 usurped the goyernmentof Irak, or Assyria, which they had vainly so- 
 licited as the reward of their services. The mask of patriotism is al- 
 lowed to cover the most glaring inconsistencies ; and the enemies, 
 i)erhaps the assassins, of Othman now demanded vengeance for his 
 blood They were accompanied in their flight by Ayesha, the widow 
 of the prophet, who cherished to the last hour of her life an implaca- 
 ble hatred against the husband and the posterity of Fatima.- Tho 
 most reasonable Moslems were scandalized, that the mother of the 
 faithful should expose in a camp her person and character ; but the 
 sui)c-rstitious crowd was confident that her presence would sanctify 
 the justice and assure the success of their cause. At the head of 
 twenty thousand of his loval Arabs, and nine thousand valiant auxili- 
 aries of ("ufa, the caliph e'ncountered and defeated the superior num- 
 bers of the rebels under the walls of Bassora.f Their leaders, Telha 
 anil Zobeir,:^ were slain in the first battle that stained with civil blood 
 thfiarmsof the Moslems. After passing through the ranks to ani- 
 mate the troops, Ayesha had chosen her post amidst the dangers of 
 the field. In the heat of the action seventy men who held the bridle 
 of her camel were successively killed or wounded ; i; and the cage, or 
 litter in wliicli she sat was struck with javelins and darts like tho 
 (uiiils of a porcupine. The vcneralde captive sustained with fiminess 
 tlie reproaclies of the compieror, and was speedily dismissed to her 
 p.-op.-r station, at tlie tomb of Mahomet, witli the respect and tender- 
 ness that was still due to the; widow of the apostle. || After this vic- 
 torj', whicli was styled the Day of the Ca!nel, 1[ Ali marched agamst a 
 
 • Ali is said to liavo incnirfd licr hatred by reniMrkiiis; to Mahomet, at the time 
 wlicn lie was dejerted by his suspicions of her uMluithfiilncss-" Why do you lake 
 it HO much to heart .' There arc plenty more women in the world. (.W eil, vol. i,, 
 
 ^ t Thercluctance of .Mi to shed the blood of tr le believers is st.ikingly described 
 bv Mai rPrice'rt Persian hiHtoriaim. (Pricv, p. 22-.e.)--M. •, .^ v • 
 
 t Sec (in Price) tlie siii'-nlar adventures of Zobeir. He was murdered after having 
 abandoned the arniv of the jnsur;,'<'nts. Telha was about to do tlie siimc. when his 
 1.-'^' was pierced with an arrow by one of his own party. 'I he wound was mortal. 
 
 ^^8 Accordhi'i/To Price, two hundred and el,'hty of the Benni Beianzlat alone lost a 
 ri"bt hand iirtlii i sirvice (\>. 'i-^i'u. -M. . 
 
 I She was CK'-orted by a jruard (.f ftiiinl s iiis;.MiiHed iin soiduTH. When she dis- 
 covered thlo, Av.' Iia wuH as in ;ri. ,;rn.iii.;'.i by I he dclicacv "f the Hrranj,'eiiu> t u^ 
 Bin- had been oifcnded by H'e faiailinr approach of so many men. (Price, p. ii\>.)- -M. 
 
 ^ From the cauicl v/hich Aye.slia rode. (Weil, vol. i., p. 21u.)— y.
 
 33 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 more formidablo adversary ; against Moaw'ya!., Cn*^, son oi' Abu 
 Sopliian, who had assiiiupd the title of cali^/ii, anu wnCrtC ciairn was 
 supported by the forces of Syria and the lUttrresc of the house of 
 Omniiyali. From the passage of Tiiansacus the phiin of Siffiu ox- 
 tomlsah)iig tlie western baulv of the Euphrates. On this spacious and 
 level theatre the two competitors waged a desultory war of one huu- 
 dred and ten days. In the course ui ninety actions or skirmishes, tlw 
 loss of Ali was estimated at twenty-five, that of Moawij^ah at forty-five, 
 thousand soldiers ; and the list of the slain was dignified with th« 
 names of five-and-twenty vcrterans who had fought at Beder under thn 
 standard of Mahomet. lu this sanguinary contest the lawful * caliph 
 displayed a superior character of valor and humanity. Ilis troopu 
 ■were strictly enjoined to await the first onset of the enemy, to spare 
 their flying brethren, and to respect the bodies of the dead and the 
 chastity of the female captives. He generously proposed to save the 
 blocd of the Moslems by a single combat ; l)ut his trembling rival de- 
 clined the challenge as a sentence of inevitable death. The ranks of 
 the Syrians were broken by the charge of a hero who was mountcid on 
 a piebald horse, and wielded with irresistible force his ponderous and 
 two-edged sword. As often as ho smote a rebel he shouted the Allah 
 Acbar, " God is victorious !" aud in the tumult of a nocturnal battle, 
 he was heard to repeat four hundred times that tr^-mendous exclama- 
 tion. The prince of Damascus already meditated his flight ; but the 
 certain victory was snatched from the grasp of Ali by the disobedience 
 and enthusiasm of his troops. Their conscience was awed by tho 
 solemn api«al to the books of the Koran which Moawiyah exposed 
 on the foremost lances ; and AH was compelled to yicdd to a disgrace- 
 ful truce and an insidious compromise. He retreated Avith sorroAV 
 and indignation to Cufa ; his party was discouraged ; the distant 
 provinces of Persia.f of Yemen, and of Egypt w^re subdued or se- 
 duced by his crafty rival ; and the stroke of fanaticism, which was 
 aimed against the three chiefs of the nation, was fatal only to the 
 cousin of Mahomet. In the temple of Mecca three Charegites,|: or 
 enthusiasts, discoursed of the disorders of the church and state : they 
 
 * Weil remarks that it must not be forsotton that the history of the first caliplis 
 was collected or for^'wl under tlie rei'^n of t :e Abassides, with whom it was a life 
 and de ith point to dcpresi ^loawiyali and the Omrnijalids, and to elevate Ali. If 
 all is true that is related in All's praise, it is incomprehensible how he should have 
 been set aside by Abu Bekr. Omar, and Othman, and should not even have been, 
 able to maintain his ground vv'hen named caliph. (Vol. i., p. 354, seq.) — S. 
 
 t According to VTeii, Ali retained Persia. (Vol. i.. p. 247.)— S. 
 
 X Chawarij, or Charijires fdeserters, rebels), was the name given to all those Wi\ 
 revolted from the lawful Imam. Gibbon seems here to confound them with the 
 Chazmjites, one of the two tribes of Medina. (See above, p. 30 ) They were 
 divided into six principal sects ; jjut they all agreed in rejecting the authority both 
 of Othman and Ali, and the damnation of those caliphs formed their chief "t nc' , 
 (Weil, vol. i., p. 2JJ1.) They were very numerous, and had risen in open rebellion 
 against Ali, who was obliged to resort to force to reduce them to obedieace. (lb , 
 p. »J7.)— S.
 
 LIFE OF MxVHOMET. 63 
 
 fcoon agreed tliat the deaths of Ali, of Moawiyah, and of his friend 
 Aiiirou, tlio viceroy of Egypt, would restore the peace and unity of 
 r-^ligion. Each of the assassins chose his victim, poisoned his dag- 
 ger, devoted his hfe, and secretly reijaired to the scene of action. 
 Their resolution was equally desperate : but the first mistook the per- 
 son of Ararou, and stabbed the deputy Avho occupied his seat ; the 
 prince of Damascus was dangerously hurt by the second ; the lawful 
 caliph, in the mosch of Cufa, received a mortal wound from the hand 
 of the third. He expired in the sixty-third year of his age,* and 
 mercifully recommended to his children that they would dispatch the 
 murderer by a single stroke. The sepulchre of Ali was concealed 
 from the tyrants of the house of Ommiyah ; but in the fourth age of 
 the Hegira, a tomb, a temple, a city, arose near the ruins of Cufa. 
 Many thousands of the Shiites repose in holy ground at the foot of the 
 vicar of God ; and the desert is vivified by the numerous and annual 
 visits of the Persians, who esteem their devotion not less meritorious 
 than the pilgrimage of Mecca. 
 
 The persecutors of Mahomet usurped the inheritance of liis chil- 
 dren ; and the champions of idolatry became the supreme heads of 
 )iis religion and empire. Tlie oi)position of Abu Sophian had been 
 fierce and obstinate ; his conversion was tardy and reluctant ; his 
 new faith was fortified by necessity and interest ; he served, he 
 fought, perhaps he believed ; and the sins of the time of ignorance 
 were expiated by the recent merits of the family of Ommiyah. 
 Moawiyah, the son of Abu So])liian and of the cruel Henda, was 
 dignified in his early youth with the office or title of secretary of the 
 prophet: the judgment of Omar intrusted him with the government- 
 of Syria ; and he administered that important pro\ ince above forty 
 years, either in a subordinate or supreme rank. Without renouncing 
 the fame of valor and liberality, he affected the reputation of hu- 
 manity and moderation : a grateful people were attached to their 
 benefactor ; and the victorious Moslems were enriched vith the spoils 
 of Cyprus and Rhodes. The sacred duty of pursuing the assassins 
 of O'thman was the engine and ])retence of his ambition. The bloody 
 shirt of the martyr was expo.sed in the mosch of Dama-scus : the emir 
 deplored tlie fate of his injured kinsman ; and sixty thousand Syrians 
 were engaged in liis service l)y an oath of fidelity and revenge. Am- 
 rou, the conqueror of Egyi)t, himself an army, was the first who 
 saluted the new monardi, and divulged tlie dangerous secret that the 
 Arabian caliphs might be created elsewhere than in the city of the 
 ])roy)het. Tlie policy of Moawiyah eludeil the valor of liis rival ; and, 
 after the death of Ali, he negotiated the abdication of his son Ha.ssan, 
 whose mind was either above or below the government of tlie world, 
 and who retired without a sigh from the palace of Cufa to an humblo 
 
 » On the 21st of January, 661, two days after the mortal blow. fW'eil, vol. 1., p. 
 850.)— S.
 
 o 
 
 61 L1K1-: OF MAHOMET. 
 
 coll noar tlie tomb of his f^fraiuinitlicr. Tlio a.si)iring wishes of t.ho 
 culiph wiM-c liiKilly fi-owiH-d by lliu imporLaat cliaiigt! of im oloctive to 
 ail hereditary kingdom, yonio murmurs of freedom or fanaticism at- 
 tested the reluctance of the Arabs, and four citizens of Medina re- 
 fused the oath of lidelity ;" but the designs of Moawiyah were con- 
 ducted with vigor and address ; and his son Yezid, a feeble and dis- 
 solute youth, was proclaimed as the commander of the faithful and 
 the successor of the aposth^ of (iod. 
 
 A familiar story is related of the benevolence of one of tlio sons of 
 AH. In serving at table, a slave had inadvertently drojjped a dish of 
 scalding broth on liis master : the heedless wretch fell prostrate to 
 deprecate his punishment, and repeated a verse of the Koran : " Para- 
 dise is for those Avho command their anger : " — " I am not ano-ry : " 
 
 " and for those who pardon offences:"—"! pardon your oScnce : " 
 — "and for those who return good for evil : " — "I give you your 
 liberty and four hundred pieces of silver." With an equal measure 
 of pietv, Hosein, the younger brother of Hassan, inherited a remnant 
 of his father's spirit, and served with honor against the Christians in 
 the siege of Constantinople. The i)rimogeuiture of the line of Hash- 
 em, and the holy character of grandson of the apostle, had centred in 
 liis person, and he was at liberty to prosecute his chiim against Yezid, 
 the tyrant of Damascus, whose vices he despised, and whose title he 
 had never deigned to acknowledge. A list was secretlv transmit- 
 ted from Cufa to Medina of one hundred and forty thousand Moslems 
 who jjrofessed their attachment to his cause, and who were eager to 
 draw their swords so soon as he should appear on the banks of the 
 Euphrates. Against the advice of his wisest friends, he resolved to 
 trust his person and family in the hands of a perfidious people. He 
 traversed the desert of Arabia with a timorous retinue of women and 
 cliildren ; but as he approached the confines of Irak, he was alarmed 
 by the solitary or hostile face of the country, and suspected either the 
 defection or ruin of his party. His fears were just : Obeidollah, the 
 governor of Cufa, had extinguished the first sparks of an insurrection ; 
 and Hosein, in the plain of Kerbela, was encompassed by a body o^ 
 five thousand horsemen, who intercepted his ccmaiunicaiion with the 
 city and the river. He might still have escaped to a fortress in the 
 desert that had defied the power of Caesar and Chosroes, and confided 
 
 * These were, Hosein, All's son ; Abd Allah, the son of Zubeir : Abd Errahman 
 eon of Aba Bekr ; and Abd Allah, i^on of Omar. Moawiyah, havins failed in his 
 attempts to j,'ain them over, caused them to be seized and led into the mosch each 
 uccoiupanied bv two soldiers with drawn swords, who were ordered to stab them if 
 they attempted to speak. Moawiyah then mounted the pulpit, and, addressiiif tho 
 assembly, said that he had seen the necessity of having his son's title recognized 
 before his death, but that he had not taken this step w-ithout consulting' tlie four 
 pnncipal men in Mecca, who were then present, and who had entirely a'T-eed with 
 ins \news. He then called upon the assembly to do homage to his son • and a-< the 
 four prisoners did not venture to contradict his a«sertion, Yezid was acknowledged 
 by those present as Moawiyah's successor. (Weil, vol. i., p. aso.)— t-
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 63 
 
 •n tliR fidplity of tlifc tribe of Tai, wliicli would liavp armpd ten tl-ou- 
 uud warriors in Lis defence. In a conference with the chief of tho 
 enemv, he proposed the option of tliree honorable conditions : tliat 
 he should be allowed to return to Medma, or be stationed in a fron- 
 tier e-arrison affamst the Turks, or safely conducted to the presence of 
 Yezid. But the commands of the caliph, or his lieutenant, were 
 stern and absolute ; and Bosein was informed that he must either 
 submit as a captive and a criminal to the commander of the faithful 
 or expect the consequences of his rebellion. " Do you thiulc," replied 
 he, " to terrify me %vith death ? " And during the short respite of a 
 ni'^ht, he prepared with calm and solemn resignation to encounter 
 his fate. He checked the lamentations of his sister Fatima, who de- 
 plored the impending ruin of his house. " Our trust," said Hosem 
 '• is in God alone. All things, both in heaven and earth, must perish 
 and return to their Creator. My brother, my father, my mothe.", were 
 better than me, and everv Musulman has an example in the prophet." 
 He pressed his friends to" consult their safety by a timely flight : they 
 unanimouslv refused to desert or survive their beloved master ; and 
 their couraife was fortified by a fervent prayer and the assurance of 
 paradise. On the morning of the fatal day he mounted on horsebadc, 
 with his sword iu one hand and the Koran in the other : his generous 
 band of martvrs consisted only of thirty-two horse and forty foot ; 
 Ijut their Hanks and rear were secured by the tent ropes, and by a 
 deep trench which they had filled with lighted faggots, according to 
 the practice of the Arabs. The enemy advanced with reluctance, and 
 one of their chiefs deserted with thirty followers, to claim the part- 
 nership of inevitable death. In every close onset or single combat, 
 the despair of the Fatimites was invincible ; but the surrounding 
 multitudes galled them from a distance witu a cloud of arrows, and 
 the horses and men were successively slain : a truce was allowed on 
 both sides fur the hour of prayer ; and the battle at length e.K;pired 
 by the death of the last of the champions of Ilosein. Alone, weary 
 and wounded, he seated himself at the door of his tent. Ashe tasted 
 a drop of water, he was pierced in the mouth with a dart ; and his son 
 and nephew, two beautiful youths, were killed in his arms. He lifted 
 Lis hand.s to heaven — they were full of blood — and he uttered a fune- 
 ral prayer forlhe living and the dead. In a transport of despnir his 
 Bister issued from the tent, and adjured the general of the Cufian? 
 that lie would not suffer Ilosein to be murdered before his eyes : a 
 tear trickled down his venerable beard ; and the ])oldest of his sol- 
 diers fell back on every side as the dying hero threw liimself among 
 them. The rf.-morseless Shamer, a name detested by the faithtul, re- 
 proa'.-hed their cowardice ; and tlie grandson of Mahomet wius .slain 
 with tliree and thirty .strokes of lances and swords. After ihey had 
 trampled on liis bodv, they carried his head to the castle of Oufa, and 
 tlio inhuman Obcidollah" struck hiiu on the mouth with a cane. 
 '■ .fUas !" exclaimed an a;;ed Musulman, "on these lipa have 1 seen
 
 ^'^ LIFE OF MAHOMET. 
 
 llic lipn of thfi apor,tlo of (UnW" In a distant iiffe and climato tho 
 frai,nc scene of tl.o death of llosein will awaken tl..^ syninatliy of the 
 fohlestreader. On the annual festival of his martyrdom in the de- 
 vout i.il-runa,<ie to his sepulchre, his I'ersian votaries abandon their 
 6oim to the reli,o-i„us irenzy of sorrow and indignation 
 
 When tlie sisters and children of Ali were brought in cliains to tlie 
 throne otD.auascus, tlie caliph was advised to extirpate the onniitv 
 ot a popular and liostile race, wlioin he h ;d injured beyond the l.ope 
 of reconciliation. But Yezid preferred the counsels of mercy • and 
 the mourning lamily was honorably dismissed to mingle theiV 'tears 
 with their kindre.I at Medina. The glory of martyrdom superseded 
 the right of primogeniture ; and the twelve Imams or pontifis of tlie 
 iersian creed are Ali, ILx.ssan, Iloscin, and tlie lineal descendants of 
 Hosein to the nmth generation. Without arms or treasures or sub- 
 jects, tliey successively enjoyed tlie veneration of the people and pro- 
 fokeu the jealousy of the reigning caliphs ; their tombs at Mecca or 
 Medina, on the banks of the Euphrates, or in the province of Chora- 
 <5an, are still visited by the devotion of their sect. Their names were 
 often the ])retence of sedition and civil war ; but these royal saints 
 despLsed the pomp of the world, submitted to the will of God and the 
 mjustice of man, and devoted their innocent lives to the study and 
 practice of religion. The twelfth and last of the Imams, conspicuous 
 by tlie title of Muhadi, or the Guide, surpassed the solitude and 
 sanctity of his predecessors. He concealed himself in a cavern near 
 liagdad : the tune and place of his death are unknown ; and his vo- 
 taries pretend that he still lives, and will appear before the day of 
 judgment to overthrow the tyranny of Dejal, or the Antichrist In 
 the lapse of two or three centuries the posterity of Abbas, the uncle 
 ot Mahomet, had multiplied to the number of thirty-three thousand ; 
 the race of Ali might be equally ])rolific ; tlu; meanest individual wa.s 
 above the first and greatest of princes ; and the most eminent were 
 supposed to excel the perfection of angels. But their adverse fortune 
 and the wide extent of the Musulman empire, allowed an amiilo 
 scope for every bold and artful impostor who claimed affinity with tlu3 
 holy seed ; the sceptre of the Almohades in S[)ain and Africa, of the 
 I^atimites in Egypt and Syria, of the sultans of Yemen, and of the 
 sopliis of Persia, has been consecrated by this vague and ambiguous 
 title. Lnder their reigns it might be dangerous to dispute the legiti- 
 macy of their birth ; and one of the Fatimite caliphs silenced an in- 
 di.screet question by drawing his scvmitar : "This," said Moez "is 
 my pedigree; and the.se," casting a' handful -of gold to his soldiers 
 "and these are my kindred and my children." In the various con- 
 ditions of princes, or doctors, or nobles, or merchants, or beggars, a 
 swarm of the genuine or fictitious descendants of Mahomet and Ali is 
 Honored with the appellation of sheiks, or sherifs, or emirs. In the 
 Ottoman empire they are distinguished by a green turban, receive a 
 stipend from the treasury, are judged only by their chief, and, how-
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET. 67 
 
 ever debased by fortune or character, still assert the proud pre- 
 eminence of the"ir birth. A family of three hundred persons, tho 
 pure and orthodox branch of the caliph Hassan, is preserved without 
 taint or suspicion in the holy cities of Mecca and iledhia, and still re- 
 tains after tlie revolutions of twelve centuries the custody of the tern 
 pie and the sovereignty of their native land. The fame and mcril 
 of Mahomet would ennoble the plebeian race, and the ancient blood of 
 the Koreish transcends the recent majesty of the kings of the earth.' 
 The talents of Mahomet entitle him to our applause, but his succesJ 
 has perhaps too strongly attracted our admiration. Are we surprised 
 that a multitude of proselytes should embrace the doctrine and the 
 passions of an eloquent fanatic ? In the heresies of the church the 
 same seduction has been tried and repeated from the time of tho 
 apostles to that of the reformers. Does it seem incredible that a pri- 
 vate citizen should grasp the sword and the sceptre, subdue his na- 
 tive country, and erect a monarchy by his victorious arms ? In the 
 moving picture of the dynasties of 'the East, a hundred fortunate 
 usurpers have arisen from a baser origin, surmounted more formida- 
 ble obstacles, and filled a larger scope af empire and conquest. . Ma- 
 homet was alike instructed to preach and to fight, and the union of 
 these opposite qualities, while it enhanced his merit, contributed to 
 his success : the operation of force and persuasion, of enthusiasm and 
 fear, continually acted on each other till every liarrier yielded to their 
 irresistible power. His voice invited the Arabs to freedom and v;-:- 
 tory, to arms and rapine, to the indulgence of their darling passions 
 in this world and the other ; tlie restraints which he imposed were 
 requisite to establish the credit of the prophet and to exercise tho 
 ohedit'nce of the people ; and the only objection to his success was 
 liis rational creeil of the unity and perfections of God. It is not the 
 propagation, but the ])ermanency of his religion that deserves' our 
 wonder : the same ])ure and perfect impression which he engraved at 
 Mecca and Medina is preserved after the revolutions of twelve cen 
 turies by the Indian, the African, and the Turkish proselytes of tho 
 Koran. If the C'iiristian apostles, St. Peter or St. Paul, could return 
 to the Vatican, they might possil>ly inquire 1 ho name of tho Deity 
 who is worsliipped' with such mysterious rites in that magnificent 
 temple: at Oxford or Oeneva they would experience less surprise ; 
 but it might still be incumbent on'tlu^m to peruse the catecliisni of 
 the cluircli, and to study the orthodox commentators on their own 
 writings and the words of their Master. But the Turkish dome of 
 St. Sophia, witli an increascof s]>lendor and size, represents the hum- 
 ble tal)fii^acle erected at Medina by the luinds of Mahomet. Tho 
 Mahometans liave uniformly withstood the temptation of reducing 
 the objects of tlieir faitli and devotion to a level with the senst) 
 and imagination of man. "I helii've ii\ one (io I, and Mahomet liu! 
 apostle of (fod," is the simple and invariable jjrofession of Islam. 
 The intellectual image of th<^ Deity liar, never been degraded by any
 
 68 LIFE OF MAHOMET. i 
 
 visible idol ; the honors of the prophet have never transgressed the 
 moasure of human virtue; and his livin- precepts have restrained 
 Uie gratitude of lus disciples within the bounds of reason and religion 
 1 ho votaries of All have indeed consecrated the memory of their 
 hero, Ills wife, and his children ; and some of the Persian doctors 
 pretend tliat the divine essence was incarnate in the person of tho 
 Imams ; but their superstition is universally condcunned ])v the Son- 
 nites ; and their impiety has afforded a seasonable warning a'rainst 
 the worship of saints and martyrs. The metaphysical questions on 
 tlie attributes of Qod and the liberty of man have been a^-itated in 
 the schools of the Mahometans as well as ii those of the Christians • 
 but among the former they liave never enraged the passions of the 
 people or disturbed the tranquillity of ths state. The cause of this 
 miportant difference may be found in the separation or union of the 
 regal and sacerdotal characters. It ^vas the interest of the caliphs 
 the successors of tlie prophet and commanders of the faithful, to re- 
 press and discourage all religious innovations : the order, the disci- 
 phne, the temporal and spiritual ambition of the clergy, are unknown 
 to the Moslems ; and the sagos of the law are the gaidVs of their con- 
 science and the oracles of their faith. From the Atlantic to the (Jan- 
 ges the Koran is acknowledged as the fundamental code, not onlv of 
 theology but of civil and criminal jurisprudence ; and the laws which 
 regulate the actions and the propertv of mankind, are guarded by tho 
 mfaJhble and immutable sanction of the will of God. This religious 
 servitude is attended with some practical disadvantage ; the illiterate 
 legislator had been often misled by Iut, own jirejudices and tJiose of 
 his country; and the institutions of the Ara])ian des-rt may be iU 
 adapted to the wealth and numbers of Isi)nhan and Constantinople 
 On these occasions the Cadhi respectfully places on his head the holy 
 volume, and substitutes a dexterous interpretation more apposite to 
 the i)rinciples of equity, and the manners and policy of the times 
 
 Ills beneficial or pernicious influence of the public happiness is the 
 last consideration in the character of Mahomet. The most bitter or 
 most bigoted of his Christian or Jewish foes, will surely allow that 
 he assumed a false commission to inculcate a salutary doctrine less 
 perfect only than their own. He piously supposed, as the basis of his 
 religion, the truth and sanctity of their prior revelations, the virtues 
 and miracles of their founders. The idols of Arabia were broken be- 
 fore the throne of God ; the blood of human victims was expiated by 
 prayer, and fasting, and alms, the laudable or innocent arts of devo- 
 tion : and his rewards and i)uiiisliments of a future life were painted 
 by the images most congenial to an i^rnorant and carnal generation. 
 Mahomet was perha])s inca])able of dictating a moral and political 
 system for the use of his countrymen : but he breathed among tho 
 faithful a spirit of charity and friendship, recommended the ))ractice 
 of the social virtues, and checked, by hislawsjmd precepts, the thirst 
 for rcvcugc and the oppres-sion of widows and orphans. The hostile
 
 LIFE OF MAHOMET 69 
 
 tribes were, united in faith and obedience, and the valor which had 
 been idlv spent in domestic quarrels was vigorously directed against 
 a foreign enemy. Had the impulse been less powerful, Arabia, free 
 at home and formidable abroad, might have flourished under a suc- 
 cession of her native monarchs. Her sovereignty was lost by the ex- 
 tent and rapidity of conquest. The colonies of the nation were scat- 
 tered over the East and West, and their blood was mingled with tlie 
 Mood of their converts and captives. After the reign of three caliphs 
 the throne was transported from Medina to the valley of Damascus 
 and the banks of the Tigris ; the holy cities were violated by impious 
 war ; Arabia was ruled by the rod of a subject, perhaps a stranger ; 
 and the Bedoweens of the desert, awakening from their dream of 
 domiuion, resumed their old and solitary independence 
 
 rs^ESo 
 
 A B.-?
 
 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 The originality of the Pucelle, the secret of her success, was not ker 
 courage or her visions, but her good sense. Amidst all her enthu- 
 siasm the girl of the people clearly saw the question, and knew how- 
 to resolve" it. The knot which politician and doubter could not un- 
 loose she cut. She pronounced, in God's name, Charles VII. to be 
 the heir; she reassured him as to his legitimacy, of which he had 
 doubts himself, and she sanctified this legitimacy by taking him 
 straight to Reims, and by her quickness gaining over the English the 
 decisive advantage of tlie coronation. 
 
 It was by no means rare to see women take up arms. They often 
 fought in sieges : witness the eighty women wounded at Amiens : 
 witness Jeanne Hachette. In the Pucelle's day, and in the self-same 
 years as she, the Bohemian women fought like'men in the wars of the 
 Hussites. 
 
 No more, I repeat, did the originality of the Pucelle consist in her 
 visions. \\'ho but had visions in the middle age ? Even in this pro- 
 saic fifteenth century excess of suffering had smgularly exalted 
 men's imaginations. We find at Paris one brother Richard 'so excit- 
 ing the populace by liLs sermons that at last the English banished 
 him the city. Assemblies of from fifteen to twenty thousand souls 
 were collected by the preaching of the Breton Carmelite friar, <^'o- 
 necta, at Courtrai and at Arras. In the space of a few years, before 
 and after the Pucelle, every province had its saint — either a Pierrette, 
 a Breton peasant girl who liolds converse with Jesus Christ ; or a 
 Marie of Avignon, a Catherine of Rochelle ; or a poor shepherd, such 
 OS Saintraillcs brings u]) from his own country, who has tlie stigmata 
 on his feet and hands and who sweats blood'ou holy days like the 
 present holy woman of the Tyrol. 
 
 Lorraine, a])))arently, was one of the last provinces to expect such 
 a phenomenon from. The Lorrainers are brave and apt to blows, but 
 most delight in .stratagem and craft. If the great Uuise saved Franco 
 before disturbing her, it was not by visions. Two Lorrainers maka 
 themselves conspicuous at tlie siege of Orleans, and Ijoth displav the 
 natural liiimor of their witty countryman, ('allot ; one of these is the 
 cannonier, master J(!an, who used to counterfeit death so well ; the 
 other is a knight who, being taken by the English and loaded with
 
 2 JOAN OF ARC 
 
 chains, when they withdrew, returned riding on the back of an Eng 
 lish nioiilv. 
 
 Tlio character of the Lorraine of the Vosges, it is true, is of gravef 
 kind. This lofty district, from wliose mountiun sides rivers run sea- 
 ward tlirough France in every direction, was covered with forests of 
 such vast size us to be esteemed by the Oarlovingians the most worthy 
 of their imperial hunting, parties. In glades of these forests rose the 
 venerable abbeys of Luxeuil and Reiniremont ; the latter, as is well 
 known, under the rule of an abbess who was ever a princess of the 
 Holy Empire, who had her great officers, in fine, a whole feudal 
 court, and used to be preceded by her seneschal, bearing the naked 
 sword. The dukes of Lorraine had been vassals, and for a long 
 period, of this female sovereignty. 
 
 It was precisely between the Lorraine of the Vosges and that of the 
 plains, between Lorraine and Champagne, at Dom-Remy, that the 
 brave and beautiful girl destined to bear so well the sword of France 
 first saw the light. 
 
 Along the Meuse, and within a circuit of ten leagues, there are 
 four Dom-Remys ; three in the diocese of Toul, one in that of Lang- 
 res. It is probable that these four villages were in ancient times de- 
 pendencies of the abbey of Saint-Remy at Reims. In the Carlovin- 
 gian period, our great abbeys are known to have held much more dis- 
 tant possessions ; as far, indeed, as in Provence, in Germany, and 
 even in England. 
 
 This line of the Meuse is the march of Lorraine and of Champagne, 
 so long an object of contention betwixt monarch and duke. Jeanne's 
 father, Jacques Dare, was a worthy Champenois. Jeanne, no doubt, 
 inherited her disposition from this parent ; she had none of the Lor- 
 raine ruggedness, but much rather the Champenois mildness ; that 
 simplicity, blended with sense and shrewdness, which is observable 
 in Joinville. 
 
 A few centuries earlier Jeanne would have been born the serf of 
 the abbey of Saint-Remy ; a century earlier, the serf of the sire de 
 Joinville, who was lord of Vaucouleurs, on which city the village of 
 Dom-Remy depended. But in 1335 the king obliged the Joinvilles 
 to cede Vaucouleurs to him. It formed at that time the grand chan- 
 nel of communication between Champagne and Lorraine, and was the 
 high road to Germany, as well as that of the bank of the Meuse — the 
 cross or intersecting point of the two routes. It was, too, we may 
 say, the frontier between the two great parties ; near Dom-Remy was one 
 of the last villages that held to the Burgundians ; all the rest was for 
 Charles VIL 
 
 In all ages this march of Lorraine and of Champagne had suffered 
 cruelly from war ; first, a long war between the east and the west, 
 between the king and the duke, for the possession of Neufchateau 
 and the adjoining places ; then war between the north and south, be- 
 tween the Burgundians and the Armagnacs. The remembrance of
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 3 
 
 these pitiless wars has never been effaced. Not long since was seen 
 near Neut'chateuu an antique tree with sinister name, whose branches 
 had no doubt often borne human fruit — Chine dcs Partisans (the 
 Partisans' Oak). 
 
 The poor people of the marcJi had the honor of bemg directly sub- 
 ject to the king ; that is, in reality, they belonged to no one, were 
 neither supported nor managed by any one, and had no lord or pro- 
 tector but God. People so situated are of a serious cast. They know 
 that they can count upon nothing ; neither on their goods nor on their 
 lives. They sow, the soldier reaps. Nowhere does the husbandman 
 feel greater anxiety about the affairs of his country, none have a di- 
 recter interest in them ; the least revei-se shakes him so roughly ! 
 He inquires, he strives to know and to foresee ; above all, he is re- 
 signed : whatever happens, he is prepared for it ; he is patient and 
 brave. Women even become so ; they must become so among all 
 the^e scldiers, if not for the sake of life, for that of honor, like Goethe's 
 beautiful and hardy Dorothea. 
 
 Jeanne was the third daughter of a laborer,* Jacques Dare, and of 
 Isibella liomee.\ Her two godmothers were called, the one, Jtrt«nf, 
 the other, Sibylle. 
 
 Their eldest son had been named Jaeques, and another, Pierre. 
 The pious parents gave one of their daughters the loftier name Saint- 
 Jean. 
 
 While tlie other children were taken by their father to work in the 
 fields or set to watch cattle, the mother kept Jeanne at home sewing 
 or spinning. She was taught neither reading nor writing ; but she 
 learned all her mother knew of sacred things. She imbibed her re- 
 ligion, not as a le.sson or a ceremony, but in the popular and simple 
 form of an evenmg fireside story, as a truth of a mutlun's telling 
 . . . What we imbibe thus with our blood and milk is a living tiling, 
 is life itself. . . . 
 
 As regards Jeanne's piety, we have the affecting testimony of the 
 friend of her infancy, of her bosom friend, Haumette, who was 
 younger than she by three or four yeai-s. " Over and over again," she 
 said, " I have been at her father's and have slept witli her. in all 
 love {de bonne amitie). . . . She was a very good girl, simple and 
 gentle. She was fond of going to cliurch and to holy places. She 
 spun and attended to the house like other girls. . . . She con- 
 fes.sed frequently. She blushed when told that she was too devout, 
 and went too often to church." A laborer, also summoned to give 
 
 * Tfiere m.ay bo pccn at thi.s da)'. aboTc the door of the hut where Jeanne Dare 
 !lved. tlirco HciitcheoiiH caircd on stone— that of J.ouis XI., wlio beautified the hut ; 
 that which wax undoubt<Hlly civen to one of her brother-, alon>r with the snrnaine 
 of I>u Lin ; and a iliird, charged with a niar and three plouKhsliaref, to luiatrine the 
 miH.-»io:) (jf thi: I*iic<.'lle and tlie hnnible condition of her piirentM. Vallet, Jk'nioire 
 ndrpaae a I'lnstltut IlrKtorique. fUT Ic norn <le fainille de la Pucelle. 
 
 t The name of Ilcmue wan often a^HUinod in the middle age by those who had made 
 the pilgrimage lu iXomu.
 
 4 JOAN OF ARC, 
 
 evidence, adds, tliat she nursed tlie sick and was charitable to the 
 poor. •• 1 know it well," were liis words ; " I was then a cliild, and 
 it was she who nursed nie." 
 
 Her rliarity, her piety, were known to all. All saw that she was 
 the best girl in the village. What they did not see and know was. 
 tliat in her celestial ever absorbed worldly feelings, and suppressed 
 their development. She had the divine gift to remain, soul and body, 
 a child. She grew up strong and beautiful : but never knew the 
 ])hysical sufferings entailed ou woman. They Avero spared her, that 
 she might be the more devoted to religious thought and inspiration. 
 Born under the very walls of the churcji, lulled in her cradle by the 
 chimes of the bells, and nourished by legends, slie was herself a le- 
 gend, a quickly passing and pure legend, from birth to death. 
 
 She was a living legend, . . . but her vital spirits, exalted and 
 concentrated, did not become the less creative. The young girl creat- 
 ed, so to speak, unconsciously, and realized her own ideas, endowing 
 them with being and imparting to them out of the strength of her 
 original vitality such splendid and all-powerful existence, that tliey 
 threw into the shade the wretched realities of this world. 
 
 If poetry mean creation, this undoubtedly is the highest poetry. 
 Let us trace the hteps by which she soared thus high from so lowly'a 
 starting-point. 
 
 Lowly in truth, but already poetic. Her village was close to the 
 vast forests of the Vosges. From the door of hei" father's house she 
 could see the old oak wood, the wood haunted by fairies ; whose fa- 
 vorite spot was a fountain near a large beech, called the fairies' or 
 the ladies' tree. On this the children used to hang garlands, and 
 would sing around it. The.se antique ladien and iiiistresses of the 
 woods were, it was said, no longer permitted to assemble round the 
 fountain, barred by their sins. However, the Church was always 
 mistrustful of the old local divinities ; and to ensure their complete 
 expulsion the cu?'e annually said a mass at the fountain. 
 
 Amidst these legends and popular dreams, Jeanne was born. But, 
 along with these, the land presented a poetry of a far different char- 
 acter, savage, fierce, and, alas ! but too real — the poetry of war. 
 War ! all passions and emotions are included in this 'single word. It 
 is not that every day brings with it assault and plunder, but it bringsi 
 ^he fear of them — the tocsin, the awaking with a start, and, in the 
 dl-stant horizon, the lurid light of conflagration, ... a fearful 
 but poetic state of things. The most prosaic of men, tlm lowland 
 Scots, amidst the hazards of the hordrr. have l)ccome poecs ,; In this 
 sinister desert, which even yet looks as if it were a region accursed, 
 ballads, wild but long-lived flowers, have germed and flourished. 
 
 Jeanne had her share in these romantic adventures. Sho would see 
 poor fugitives .seek refuge in her village, would a.ssist iu sheltering 
 them, give them uj) her bed, and sleep herself in the loft. Once, too," 
 her parents had been obliged to turn fugitives ; and then when the
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 5 
 
 food of brigands had swept by, the family returned and found the 
 village sacked, the house devastated, the church burnt. 
 
 Thus she knew what war was. Thoroughly did she understand 
 this anti-Christian state, and unfeigned was her horror of this reign 
 of the devil, in which every man died in mortal sin. She asked her- 
 self whether God would always allow this, whether he would not 
 prescribe a term to such miseries, whether he would not send a liber- 
 ator as he had so often done for Israel — a Gideon, a Judith ? . . . 
 She knew that Avoman had more than once saved God's own people, 
 and that from the beginning it had been foretold that woman should 
 bruise the serpent. No doubt she had seen over the portal of the 
 churches St. Margaret, together with St. ilichael, trampling under 
 foot the dragon. . . . If , as all the world said, the ruin of the king- 
 dom was a woman's work, an unnatural mother's, its redemption 
 might well be a virgin's : and this, moreover, had been foretold in a 
 prophecy of Merlin's ; a prophecy which, embellished and modified 
 Ijy the habits of each province, had become altogether Lorraine in 
 Jeanne Dare's country. According to the prophecy current here, it 
 was a Pucelle of the marches of Lorraine who was to save the realm ; 
 and the prophecy had probably assumed this form through the recent 
 marriage of Rene of Anjou with the heiress of the duchy of Lor- 
 raine, a marriage which, in truth, turned out very happily for the 
 kingdom of France. 
 
 One summer's day, a fast-day, Jeanne being at noontide in her 
 fatlier's garden, close to the church, saw a dazzling light on that side, 
 and heard a voice say, "Jeanne, be a good and obedient child, go 
 often to church." The poor girl was exceedingly alarmed. 
 
 Another time she again heard the voice and saw the radiance ; and, 
 in the midst of the effulgence, noble figures, one of which had wings, 
 and seemed a wise 7)?v/fr/(rt//i//(<;. " Jeanne," said this figure to her, 
 " go to the succor of the King of France, and thou slialt restore his 
 kingdom to him." She replied, all treml)ling, " Messire, lam only 
 a poor girl ; I know not how to ride or lead men-at-arms." The voice 
 replied, "(io to M. de Baudricourt, captain of Vaucouleurs, and he 
 will conduct thee to the king. St. Catherine and St. Marguerite will 
 be thy aids." She reinain(;d stupified and in tears, as if her whole 
 destiny liad been revealed to lier. 
 
 Tiie prud'hoximc was no less than St. Michael, tlie severe archangel 
 of judgments and of battles. lie reappeared to her, inspired her 
 witii courage, and told her "the pity for the kingdom of France." 
 Tlien appeared sainted women, all in white, with countless lights 
 around, rich crowns on their heads, and their voices soft and moving 
 unto tears : iiii* Ji-anne siieil iliem nmch inor*^ co])ioiisly when .saints 
 and angels left her. "1 longed," she said, " for the angels to take 
 UK! away too." 
 
 If in tht» midst f)f happiness like tliis she wej^t, her tears were not 
 cau.sele.S8. Bright and glorious as these visions were, a change had
 
 6 JOAN OF ARC, 
 
 from that moment como over her life. Slie who had hitherto heard 
 but one voice, that of her mother, of wliich her own was tlio echo, 
 now heard tlie powerful voice of anp:els — and what sought the heaven- 
 ly voice '! That she should quit that motlu>r, quit lier dear home. 
 She, whom but a word put out of countenance, was required to mix 
 with men, to address soldiers. She was oblii^e(l to quit for the world 
 and for war her little garden under the sliadow of the church, where 
 she heard no ruder sounds than those of its bells, and where the birds 
 ate out of her ha^^.d : for such was the attractive sweetness of the 
 young saint, that animals and the fowls of the air came to her, as 
 formerly to the fathers of the desert, in all the trust of God's peace. 
 
 Jeanne has told us nothing of this first struggle that she Lad to un- 
 dergo : but it is clear that it did take place, and that it was of long 
 duration, since five years elapsed between her first vision and her final 
 abandonment of her home. 
 
 The two authorities, the paternal and the celestial, enjoined her two 
 op]iosite commands. The one ordered her to remain obscure, modest, 
 and laboring ; the other to set out and save the kingdom. The angel 
 bade her arm herself. Her father, rough and honest peasant as ho 
 was, swore that, rather than his daughter should go away with men- 
 at-arms, he would drown her with his own hands. One or other, dis- 
 obey she must. Beyond a doubt this was the greatest battle she was 
 called upon to fight; those against the English were play in comparison. 
 
 In her family, she encountered not only resistance but temptation ; 
 for they attempted to marry her, in the hope of winning her back to 
 more rational notions, as they considered. A young villager pretend- 
 ed that in her childhood she had promised to marry him ; and on her 
 denying this, he cited her before the ecclesiastical Judge of Toul. 
 It was imagined that, rather than undertake the effort of speaking in 
 her own defence, she would submit to marriage. To the great aston- 
 ishment of all who knew her, she went to Toul, appeared in court, 
 and spoke — she who had been noted for her modest silence. 
 
 In order to escape from the authority of her family, it behooved 
 lier to find in the bosom of that family some one who would believe 
 in her : this was the mo.st difficult part of all. In default of her 
 father, she made her uncle a eonvertite to the truth of her mission. 
 He took her home with him, as if to attend her aunt, who was lying-- 
 in. Slie persuaded hini to appeal on her behalf to the sire de Baud- 
 ricourt, captain of Vaucouleurs. The soldier gave a cool reception to 
 tlie peasant, and told him that the best thing to be done was " to give 
 lier a good whipj)ing," and take her back to her father. She was not 
 discouraged ; she would go to him, and forced her uncle to accompany 
 her. This was the decisive; moment ; she quitted forever her village 
 and family, and embraced her friends, almve all, her good little friend, 
 Mengette, whom slie recommended to God's keeping ; as to her eider 
 friend and c<)mj)anion, Ilaumette, her Avhom she loved most of all, 
 she preferred quitting without leave-taking.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. ? 
 
 At length sht •eaclied this city of Vaucouleurs, attired in ner coarse 
 ted peasant's Oi ss, and took up her lodging with her uncle at the 
 house of a wJie Iwright, whose wife conceived a friendship for her. 
 Shs got herseii taken to Baadricourt, and said to him in a firm tone, 
 " That she c&v .e to him from her Lord, to the end that he miglit send 
 the dauphin -word to keep firm and to fix no day of battle with the 
 enemy, for his Lord would send him succor in Mid-Lent. . . . 
 The realm was not the dauphin's, but her Lord's ; nevertheless her 
 Lord willed the dauphin to be king, and to hold the realm in trust." 
 She added, that despite the dauphin's enemies, he would be king, and 
 that she would talce liim to be crowned. 
 
 Tlie captain was much astonished ; he suspected that the devil 
 must have a hand in the matter. Thereupon, he consulted the cure, 
 who apparently partook his doubts. She had not spoken of her vi- 
 sions to any priest or churchman. So the cure accompanied the cap- 
 tain to the wheelwright's house, showed his stole, and adjured Jeanno 
 to depart if sent by tlie evil spirit. 
 
 But the people had no df>ubts ; they were struck with admiration. 
 From all sides crowds flocked to see her. A gentleman, to try her, 
 said to her, " Well, sweetheart ; after all, the king will be driven out 
 of the kingdom and we must turn English." She complained to him 
 of Baudricourt's refusal to take her to tho dauphin ; " And yet," she 
 said, " before Mid-Lent, I must be witli the king, even were I to wear 
 out my legs to the knees ; for no one in the world, nor kings, nor 
 dukes, nor daughter of the King of Scotland, can recover the kingdom 
 of France, and he has no other who can succor him save myself, al- 
 beit I would ])refer staying and spinning with my poor mother, but 
 this is no woric of my own ; I must go and do it, for it is mv Lord's 
 will."— •' And wlio is your Lord?"— "(iod !" . . . The" gentle- 
 man was touclied. He ])lodg(<d licr " his fuitli, his hand jdaced in 
 hers, that with (iod's guiding h(i would conduct her to the king." 
 A y(.»ung man of gentle birth felt himself touched likewise; and de- 
 clared that he would follow this holy maid. 
 
 It appears that Baudricourt s<'nt to ask the king's pleasure ; and 
 that in the interim li ; took Jeanno to se ; tluj duke of J^iorraine, who 
 was ill, and desin-d to consult her. All that the duke got from her 
 was advice to appease Uod by reconciling himself with his wife. 
 Nevertlieless, he gave her enajuragenuMit. 
 
 On returning to V'a'icouleurs slie found tTiero a messenger from the 
 king, wlio autliorized her to repair to court. The reverse of the battla 
 of herrings liad deterniined his counsellors to try any and every 
 means. Jeanne luul ])ro(Iaiiiir-d llu; battle and its result on fh<! very 
 day it was foUL-^ht ; and the pc'0])li;of Vaucouleurs, no longer doubting 
 her mission, subscribed to e(|uip lier ami buy her a horse. Baudri- 
 court only gave her a sword. 
 
 At this moment an obstacle arose. Her parents, informed of lier 
 apjirooching deijurture, nearly lost their senses, and made the strong-
 
 8 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 rst efforts to retain her, commanding, threatening. She withstood 
 this last trial ; and got a letter writtcu to them, beseeching them to 
 forgive her. 
 
 The journey she was about to undertalce Avas a rough and a most 
 dangerous one. The whole country was overrun by the men-at-arms 
 of both parties. There was neither road nor bridge, and the rivers 
 were swollen ; it was the month of February, 1429. 
 
 To travel at sueh a time witli five or six men-at-arms was enough to 
 alarm a young girl. An English woman or a German would never 
 have risked such a step ; the indelicacy of the proceeding would have 
 horrified her. Jeanne was nothing moved by it ; she was too pure to 
 entertain any fears of the kind. She wore a man's dress, a dress sho 
 wore to the la^t ; this close and closely fastened dress was her best 
 safeguard. Yet was she young and beautiful. But there was around 
 lier, even to those who were most with her, a barrier raised by reli- 
 gion and- fear. The youngest of the gentlemen who formed her es- 
 cort deposes that though sleeping near her, the shadow of an impure 
 thought never crossed his mind. 
 
 She traversed with heroic serenity these districts, either desert or 
 infested with soldiers. Her companions regretted having set out with 
 her, some of them thinking that she might be perhaps a Avitch ; and 
 they felt a strong desire to abandon her. For h-rself, she was so 
 tranquil that she would stop at every town to hear mass. "Fear 
 nothing," she said. "God guides me my way ; 'tis for this I was 
 born." And again, "My brothers in paradise tell me what I am to 
 do." 
 
 Cliarles VII. 's court was far from being unanimous in favor of tho 
 Pucelle. This inspired maid, coming from Lorraine, and encouraged 
 by the duke of Lorraine, could not fail to stnmgthen the queen's and 
 her mother's party, the party of Lorraine and of Anjou, witli tho 
 king. An ambuscade was laid for tlie Pucelle some distance from 
 Chinon, and it was a miracle she escaped. 
 
 So strong was the opposition to lier, that when she arrived, the 
 question of her being admitted to the king's presence was debated for 
 two days in the council. Iler enemies hoped to adjourn the matter 
 indefinitely, by proposing that an inquiry should be instituted con- 
 cerning her in her native place. Fortunately, slie had friends as Avell ; 
 the two queens, we may be assured, and, especially, the duke of 
 Alen(;on, who, having recently left English keeping, was impatient to 
 carry the Avar into the north in order to recover'his duchy. The men 
 of Orleans, to Avhom Dunois had been promising this "lieaA^enly aid 
 ever since the 12th of February, sent to the king and claimed the 
 Pucelle. 
 
 At last the king received her; and surrounded by all the splendor 
 of his court, in the hope, apparently, of disconcerting her. It Avaa 
 evening ; the light of fifty torches illumed tho hall, and a brilliant 
 array of nobles and above throe liuudred knights Avere assembled
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 9 
 
 round the monarch. Every one was curious to see the sorceress, or, 
 as it might be, the inspired maid. 
 
 The sorceress was eighteen years of age ; she was a beautiful and 
 most desirable girl, of good height, and with a sweet and heart-touch- 
 ing voice. 
 
 She entered the splendid circle with all humility," like a poor little 
 shepherdess," distmguished at the first glance the king, who had 
 purposely kept himself amidst the crowd of courtiers, and, although 
 at first he maintained that he was not the king, she fell down and 
 embraced his knees. But as he had not been crowned, she only 
 styled him dauphin: — "Gentle dauphin," she addressed him, "my 
 name is Jehanye la Pucelle. The King of Heaven sends you word 
 by me that you shall he consecrated and crowned m the city of Rheims, 
 and shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is King of France." 
 The king then took her aside, and, after a moment's consideration, 
 both changed countenance. She told him, as she suljsequcntly ac- 
 knowledged to her confessors : "I am commissioned by my Lord to 
 tell you that you are the true Jieir to the French throne, and the 
 king's son." * 
 
 A circumstance which awoke still greater astonishment and a sort 
 of fear is, that the first prediction which fell from her lips was ac- 
 complished the instant it was made. A soldier who was struck by 
 her b(!auty, and who expressed his desires aloud with the coarseness 
 of the camp, and swearing by his God: "Alas!" she exclaimed, 
 "tliou deniest liim, and art so near thy death ! " A moment after, 
 lie fell into the river and was drowned. 
 
 Her enemies started the objection, that if she knew the future it 
 must he through the devil. Four or five bishops were got together 
 to examine her ; but through fear, no doubt, of compromising them- 
 selves with either of the parties which divided the court, they referred 
 the examination to the University of Poitiers, in which great city was 
 both university, parliament, and a number of able men. 
 
 The Archbishop of Rliciins, Chancellor of France, President of the 
 Royal Council, Lssued liis mandate to the doctors and to the professors 
 of theology — the one priests, the others monks — and charged them to 
 examine the Pucelle. 
 
 Tlie doctors introduced and placed in a hall, the young maid seated 
 herself at the end of tlio bcncli, and replied to tlieir ([ucstionings. 
 She relat(;d with a slni{)lifity that rose to grandeur the a|)])ariti()ns of 
 angels with which slio liad been visited, aud their words. A single 
 objection was raised by a Dominican, but it was a serious one — 
 
 ' Aconlini,' to a Hoinfjwhat Ifili^r, but still very prohnbln nccount, she rotniiideil 
 him of u clrcuiii-'tmiu • known In liiiuMflf alone; niirufly, Ili'it one inorniii.; in his 
 oratory Ik; liuil i)ray<:(l tiMiixl to rcHtore his kinftdoni to him if he. iditi" tlif lawful 
 liHr, hut that ii he wnrv. not, that He vvonld tTant liini tlic mercy not to \n: killed or 
 thrown into priflon, bit to b« able to take refuiie in Spain or in [Scotland.— Sala, Kx- 
 emplcA de llardiei;i,c AI.S. Fraui;ai9, dc la liibl. Itoyalc, Iso. 13U.
 
 10 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 " Ji'liannc, thou sayost tliat God wishes to deliver the people of 
 France; if such bo his Avili, ho has no need of men-at-anns." She 
 was not disconcerted : — " Ah ! my (iod," was lier reply, " the men-at- 
 anus will fight, and God will give the victory." 
 
 Another was more difhcult to be satisfied — a Limousin, brother 
 Scguin, professor of theology at the University of Poitiers, a "very 
 sour man," says the chronicle. He asked her, in liis Limousin French, 
 ■what tongu(> tiiat pretended celestial voice spoke ? Jehannc answered, 
 a little too hastily, "Abetter tlian yours." — "Dost thou believe in 
 God?" said the doctor, in a rage : " Now, God wills us not to havo 
 faith in thy words, except thou showest a sign." She replied, "I 
 have not come to Poitiers to show signs or work miracles ; my sign 
 will be the raising of the siege of Orleans. Give me men-at-arms, 
 few or man J', and I will go." 
 
 MeanwhiJe, it happened at Poitiers as at Vaucouleurs, her sanctity 
 seized the hearts of the people. hi a moment all were for her. 
 Women, ladies, citizens' wives, all flocked to see her at the house 
 where she was staying, with the wife of an advocate to the parlia- 
 ment, and all returned full of emotion. Men went there too; and 
 counsellors, advocates, old hardened judges, who had suffered them- 
 selves to be taken thither incredulously, when they had heard her, 
 Avept even as the women did, and said, "" The maid is of God." 
 
 The examiners themselves went to see lier, Avith the king's equerry ; 
 and on their recommencing their never-ending examination, quoting 
 learnedly to her, a d proving to her from the writings of all the doc- 
 tors that she ouglit not to be believed, " Hearken," she said to them, 
 "there is more in God's book than in yours. . . . I know neither 
 A nor B ; but I come commissioned by God to raise the siege of Or- 
 leans, and to have the dauphin crowned at lihoims. . . . First, 
 however, I must write to the English, and summon them to depart ; 
 God will have it so. Have you paper and ink ? Write as I dictate. 
 
 . . . To you I SulTort, Classidtis, and La Poule, I summon you, 
 on the part of the King of Heaven, to depart to England." . . . 
 They wrote as she dictated ; she had won over her very judges. 
 
 They pronounced as tlieir opinion, that it was lawful to have re- 
 cour.se to the young maiden. The Archbishop of Embrun, who had 
 l)een consulted, i)ronounced similarly ; supporting his opinion by 
 showing how God had frequently revealed to virgins, for instance, 
 to the sibyls, wliat he concealed from men ; how the demon could not 
 make a covenant witli a virgin ; and recommending it to be ascertain- 
 ed whether Jehanne were a virgin. Thus, being pushed to extremity, 
 and either not being able or l)eing unwilling to explain the delicate 
 distinction betwixt good and evil revelations, knowledge humbly re- 
 ferred a ghostly matter to a cor])f)real test, and made this grave ques 
 tion of the spirit depend on woman's mystery. 
 
 As the doctors could nf)t decide, the ladies did ; and the honor of 
 the Pucelle was vindicated by a jury, with the good Queeu of Sicily,
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 11 
 
 • 
 
 the king's mother-in-law, at their head. This farce over, and somo 
 Franciscans who had been deputed to inquire into Jehanne's character 
 in her own country bringing the most favorable report, there was no 
 time to lose. Orl'eans was crying out for succor, and Dunois sent en- 
 treaty upon entreaty. The Pucelle was equipped and a kind of es- 
 tablishment arrangeil for her. For squire she had a brave knight, of 
 mature years, Jean Daulon, one of Dunois's household, and one of its 
 best conducted and most discreet members. She had also a noble page, 
 two heralds-at-arms, a maitre d'hotel, and two valets ; her brother, 
 Pierre Dare, too, was one of her attendants. Jean Pasquerel, a 
 brother eremite of the order of St. Augustin, was given her for con- 
 fessor. Generally speaking, the monks, particularly the mendicants, 
 were staunch supporters of this marvel of inspiration. 
 
 And it was in truth, for those who be'neld the sight, a marvel to see 
 for the first time Jehanne Dare in her white annor and on her beauti- 
 ful black horse, at her side a small axe, and the sword of St. Cather- 
 ine, which sword had been discovered on her intimation behind the altar 
 of St. Catherine-de-Fiferbois. In her hand she bore a white standard 
 embroidered with fleur-de-lis, and on which God was represented with 
 the world in his hands, having on his right and left two angels, each 
 holding a fleur-de-lis. ' ' I will not," she said, " use my sword to slay 
 any one ; " and she added, that although she loved her sword, she 
 loved "forty times more" her standard. Let us contrast the two 
 parties at the moment of her departure for Orleans. 
 
 The English had been much reduced by tlieir long winter siege. 
 After Salisbury's death, many men-at-arms wliom he had engaged 
 tliought themselves relieved from their engagements and departed. 
 The Burgundians, too, liad been recalled by tlieir duke. When the 
 most important of the English bastilles was forced, into which the 
 defenders of some other bastilles had thrown themselves, only five 
 hundred men were f(Mmd in it. In all, the English force may have 
 amounted to two or three tliousand men ; and of this small number 
 part were French, and no doubt not to be much depended upon by the 
 English. 
 
 Collected together, they would liave con.stituted a respectable force ; 
 but they were distriinited among a dozen bastilles or boulevards, be- 
 tween wliich there was, for the most ])!irt, no communication ; a dis- 
 pfwition of their forces, which i)n)ves thai Tall)ot and the other Eng^ 
 li.ih leaders liad liitherto been rath(;r brave and lucky than intelligent 
 and skilful. It wiis evident that each of these small isolated forts 
 would be weak against tho large city which they i)ret(MKled to hold in 
 cheek ; that its numerous poi)ulation, rendered warlike by a siege, 
 would at last besiege the Ix'siegcrs. 
 
 On reading the formidable list of tho captains wlio threw them, 
 selves into Orleans, La Hire, Saiiitraillen, (iaucourt, ("ulan, Coaraze, 
 Amiagnar ; and n'ineni)>ering tliat indcjx'ndently of Ihe Hretons un- 
 der MarshaJ dc llctz, and the Uuacoua under ^Marshal de St. Severe-'
 
 13 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 the captain of Chateaudun, Florcnt d'Uliers, had brought all the no- 
 bility of the neighborhood with hira to this short expedition, the 
 deliverance of Orleans seems less miraculous. 
 
 It must, however, be acknowledged that for this great force to act 
 with efficiency, the one essential and indispensable requisite, unity of 
 action, was wanting. Had skill and intelligence sufficed to impart it, 
 the want would have been supplied by Dunois ; but there was some- 
 thing more required — authority, and more than royal authority too, 
 for the king's captains were little in the habit of obeying the king ; 
 to subject these savage, untamable spirits, God's authority was called 
 for. Now the Clod of this age wa.s the Virgin much more than 
 Christ ; and it behooved that the Virgin should descend upon earth, 
 be a popular Virgin, young, beauteous, gentle, bold. 
 
 War had changed men into wild beasts ; these beasts had to be re- 
 Btored to lunnan shape, and be converted into docile Christian men — a 
 great and a hard change. Some of these Armagnac captains were, 
 perhaps, the most ferocious mortals that ever existed ; as may be in- 
 ferred from the name of but one of them, a name that strikes terror, 
 Gilles ds Retz, the original of Blue Beard. 
 
 One hold, however, was left upon their souls ; they had cast off hu- 
 manity and nature, without having been able wholly to disengage 
 themselves from religion. These brigands, it is true, hit upon strange 
 means of reconciling religion and robbery. One of them, the Gascon 
 La Hire, gave vent to the original remark, " Were God to turn man- 
 at-anns, he would be a plunderer ; " and when he went on a foray he 
 offered up his little Gascon prayer without entering too minutely "into 
 his wants, conceiving that God would take a hint — " Sire God, I pra^ 
 thee to do for La Hire what La Hire would do for thee, wert thou » 
 captain and wert La Hire God." * 
 
 It was at once a risiljle and a touching sight to see the sudden conver- 
 eion of the old Armagnac brigands. They did not reform by halves. 
 La Hire durst no longer swear ; and the Pucelle took compassion on 
 the violence he did himself, and allowed him to swear "by his 
 baton." The devils found themselves all of a sudden turned into 
 little saints. 
 
 The Pucelle had begun by requiring them to give up their mis- 
 tresses, and attend to confession. Next, on their march along the 
 Loire, .she had an altar rai.sed in the open air, at which she partook of 
 the communion, and they as well. The beauty of the season, the 
 charm of a spring in Touraine must have added singularly to the re- 
 ligious supremacy of the young maid. They themselves had grown 
 young again, had utterly "forgotten what they were and felt, as in the 
 spring-time of life, full of good-will and of "hope, all young like her, 
 all children. . . . '\^'■ith her tliey commenced, and unreservedly, 
 
 • " Sire Biea, je tc prie de fairo pour La Hire ce que La Hire ferait pour toi, hi tu 
 ftiua oapitaine et si La Hire etait Dieu." Memoires concernant la Pucelle, ColleetioB 
 Potitot, viii. 137
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 13 
 
 a new life. Where was she leading them ? Little did it matter to 
 them. Thev would have followed her not to Orleans only, but just a.s 
 readily to Jerusalem. And the English were welcome to go thitlier 
 too : in a letter she addressed to them she graciously proposed that 
 they all, French and English, should unite, and proceed conjointly to 
 deliver the Holv Sepulchre. 
 
 The first night of encamping she lay down all armed, having no 
 females with her ; and, not being yet accustomed to the hardships of 
 such a mode of life, felt indisposed the next day. As to danger, she 
 knew not what it meant. She Avanted to cross the river and advance 
 on the northern or English side, right among their bastilles, asserting 
 that the enemy would not budge ; but the captains would not listen 
 to her, and they followed the other bank, crossing tv/o leagues below 
 Orleans. Dunois came to meet her : " I bring you," she said, "the 
 best succor mortal ever received, that of the King of Heaven. It is 
 no succor of mine, but from God himself, who, at the prayer 'of ^ St. 
 Louis and St. Charlemagne, has taken pity on the town of Orleans 
 and will not allow the enemy to have at one and the same time the 
 duke's body and this city." 
 
 She entered the city at eight o'clock of the evening of April 29th, 
 and so great and so eager was the crowd, striving to touch her horse 
 at least, that her progress through the streets was exceedingly slow ; 
 they gazed at her " as if they were beholding God." * She rode along, 
 speaking kindly to the people, and, after offering up prayers in the 
 church, repaired to the house of the Duke of Orleans's treasurer ; an 
 honorable man, whose wife and daughter gladly welcomed her ; she 
 slept with Charlotte, one of the daughters. 
 
 She Lad entered the city with the supplies ; but the main body of 
 the reUeving force fell down as far as Blois, where it crossed the 
 river. Nevertheless, she was eager for an immediate attack on the 
 English bastilles, and would summon the northern bastilles to sur- 
 render, a summons which she repeated, and then proceeded to sum- 
 mon tlie southern bastilles. Here Glasdale overwhelmed her with 
 abuse, calling her cowherd and prostitute (vachere et ribaude). In 
 reality they believed her to be a sorceress, and felt great terror of her. 
 They'detalned her herald-at-arms and were minded to burn him, in 
 the hope that it would break the charm ; but first they considered it 
 advi-sable to cf>nsult the doctors of the Tniversity of Paris. Besides, 
 Dunois threatened to retaliate on th(;ir herald, whom he had in his 
 power. As to the Pucelle, she had no fears for her herald, but sent 
 another, saying, "(io, tell Talbot if lie will appear in arms, so will 
 I. . . . If lie can take me, let him burn me." 
 
 • She Bccmcd, at the least, an an?el, a creature above all physical wants. At times 
 Fhe would continue a whole day on horseback withojt alii;hlin^', catinc or drinking, 
 Lnd wrmld only tukc in the evenins some ninpots of brcfid in wine and i^ater. Se« 
 • ho cvldenca of tho vanons witnesses, and the Chronique do U Pucolle. 6a. Bnchou 
 yl827), p. 309.
 
 M JOAN OF AUC. 
 
 Thn armr dolaring, Dunois vonturod to sully fortli in search of it ; 
 and tho I'ucelU', loft hchind, found herself absoluti; mistress of tho 
 city, where all authority but here seemed to be at an end. She cara- 
 colled round the walls, and th>^ people followed her fearlessly. The 
 next day she rode out to reconnoitre the English bastilles, and young 
 women and children went too, to look at these famous bastilles, "where 
 all remained still and betrayed no sign of movement. She led back 
 the crowd with her to attend vespers at the church of Saint-Croix ; 
 and as she wept at prayers, they all wept likewise. The citizens 
 were beside themselves ; they were raised above all fears, were drunk 
 with religion and with war — seized by one of those formidable ac- 
 cesses of fanaticism in which men can do all and believe all, and 
 in which they are scarcely less terril)le to friends than to enemies. 
 
 Charles VII. 's chancellor, the Archbishop of Rheims, had detained 
 the small army at Blois. The old politician was far from imagining 
 such resistless enthusiasm, or, perhaps, he dreaded it. So he re- 
 paired to Orleans with great unwillingness. The Pucelle, followed 
 by the citizens and priests singing hymns, went to meet him, and the 
 whole procession passed and repassed the English bastilles. The 
 army entered protected by priests and a girl. 
 
 This girl, who, with all her enthusiasm and inspiration, had great 
 penetration, was quickly aware of the cold malevolence of the new- 
 comers and perceived that they wanted to do without her at the risk 
 of ruining all. Dunois having owned to her that he feared the ene- 
 my's being reinforced by the arrival of fresh troops under Sir John 
 Falstoff, " Bastard, bastard," she said to him, " in God's name I com- 
 mand thee as soon as you know of his coming to apprize me of it, for 
 if he pas.ses without my knowledge, I promise you that I will take off 
 your head." 
 
 She was right in supposing that they wished to do without her. Ag 
 she was snatching a moment's rest with her young bedfellow, Char- 
 lotte, she suddenly starts up and exclaims, " Great God, the blood of 
 our countrymen is running on the ground. . . . 'Tis ill done ! 
 Why did they not awake me? Quick, my arms, my horse ! " She 
 was armed in a moment, and finding her young page playing below, 
 " Cruel boy," she said to him, " not to tell me that the blood of 
 France was spilling." She set off at a gallop, and coming upon the 
 wounded who were being brought in, " Never," she exclaimed, 
 " have I seen a Frenchman's blood without my hair rising up !" 
 
 On her arrival the flying rallied. Dunois, who had not been ap- 
 ; prized any more than she, came up at the same time. The bastille 
 (one of the northern bastilles) was once more attacked. Talbot en- 
 deavored to cover it, but fresh troops sallying out of Orleans, the Pu- 
 celle put herself at their head, Talbot drew off his men, and the fort 
 was carried. 
 
 Many of the Engli.sh who had put on the priestly habit by way of 
 protection were brought in by the Pucelle, and placed in her own
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. !5 
 
 house to ensure tlieir safety ; she knew tl;e ferocity of her followerh 
 It was her first victory, the first time she liad ever seen a field of car- 
 nage. She wept on seeing so many human beings who had perished 
 unconfessed. She desired the benefit of confession for herself and re- 
 tainers, and as the nest day was Ascension Day, declared her inten- 
 tion of communicating and of passing the day in prayer. 
 
 They took advantage of this to hold a council ^lithout her, at which 
 It wasdetermmed to cross the Loire and attack St. Jean-le-Blanc, the 
 bastille which most obstructed the introduction of supplies, making 
 ftt the same time a false attack on the side of La Beauce. The Pu- 
 celle's enviers told her of the false attack only ; but Dunois apprized 
 her of the truth. 
 
 The English then did what they ought to liave done before ; they 
 concentrated their strength. Burning down the bastille, which was 
 the object of the intended attack, they fell back on the two other bas- 
 tilles on the south — the Augustins' and the Tournelles : but the Au- 
 gustins' was at once attacked and carried. This success again was 
 partly due to the Pucelle ; for the French being seized with a panic 
 terror, and retreating precipitately towards the floating bridge which 
 had been thrown over the river, the Pucelle and La Ilire disengaged 
 themselves from the crowd, and, crossing in boats, took the English 
 in flank. 
 
 There remained the Tournelles, before which bastille the conquer- 
 crs paased the night ; but they constrained the Pucelle, who had not 
 broken her fast the whole day (it was Friday), to recross the Loire. 
 Meanwhile the council a.ssenibled : and in the evening it was an- 
 nounced to the Pucelle that they had unanimously determined, as the 
 city was now well victualled, to wait for reinforcements before attack- 
 ing thu Tournelles. It is difficult to suppose such to have been the 
 serious intention of the chiefs ; the p]nglish momentarily expecting 
 the arrival of Sir John FalstofE with fresh troops, all delay was dan- 
 gerous. Probably the object was to deceive the Pucelle, and to de- 
 prive her of the honor of the success to which she had largely pre- 
 pared the way. But she was not to be caught in the snare. 
 
 " You have been at your council," she said, " I have been at mine ;" 
 then, turning to her chaplain, " Come to-morrow at break of day and 
 
 ?uit me not ; I shall have much to do — blood will go out of my body ; 
 .shall be wounded below my l)osom." 
 
 In the morning her host endeavored to detain her. " Stay, Jeanne," 
 he said, "let us partake togetlier of this fish which is just fresh 
 caught." " Keep it," she answered gaily, " keep it till night, when I 
 siiall come back over the biidge, after having taken the Tournelles, 
 and I will bring you a (/udfh.n, to eat of it with us."* 
 
 • " The witness Colette deposed that (Jodon f^odden Y\ was a nickname for the 
 En'rllsh, taken from thoir common i-xclamntion nf ' Cod damn it,' ho thnt thiH vul- 
 ijnrity wiw a national characteristic in the rcijii of Henry VI "—Note, p. 78, \ol. ilL, 
 Tunier'tf llUt. of Un^luud.
 
 1<^ JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 Tlun sLo Imrriod foru-ard with a number of men-at-arms and of 
 cazcA^s to the parte d>'.Bourffo,,ne; which she found kopVclosed by 
 thes:redo Oaucourt, grand master of the king's liousel.old '< You 
 are a w.ckod man," said Jeanne to him ; " but whether you will or 
 not, the men-at-arms shall pass." Gaucourt felt that with this ex' 
 cited multitmlo las hfe hung by a thread; and besides his ow^ fol 
 hewers wou d not obey him. The crowd opened a gate and forced 
 another which was close to it. lorotu 
 
 The sun w^is rising upon the Loire at tlie very moment this multi- 
 tude were throwing tliemselves into boats. However when thev 
 f"?'il"in,o7, Touniellcs they found their want of artillery and se/t 
 
 l]\t ^T'\ \ 1 I^ngli«h made a brave defence. Perceiving that 
 the assailants began to slacken in their efforts, tlie Pucelle threw her- 
 self into the fosse, seized a ladder, and was rearing it against the wall 
 
 ThePntrr' 1'"f ^^: "^ T-T^^'^^-^-^ her^neck^nd slfouTder; 
 ii.t^^lf J'''^ °"* to make her prisoner, but she was borne off. 
 Swn 1 ^™™/l^« l^'^''^ of «'nflict, laid on the grass and disarmed. 
 
 behind-she was terrified and burst into tears. Suddenly she rises • 
 her holy ones had appeared to lier ; she repels the men-at-arms who 
 were for charming the wound by words, protesting that she would 
 not be cured contrary to the Divine will. She onlv allowed a dress- 
 ing of oil to be applied to the wound, and then confessed herself 
 
 Menwlule no progress was made and it was near nightfall. Dunoi^ 
 himself ordered the retreat to be sounded. " Rest awhile," she said. 
 
 e^t and drink; 'and she betook herself to prayers in a vineyard 
 A Basque soldier had taken from the hands of the Pucelle's squire her 
 
 ^^Jl\ nit TZ '"^ ^'■'?f >.'''\ ''^ ^^'"^ ^"^'"^ • " ^^ «o"" a« the stan- 
 dard shal touch the wall," she exclaimed, "you can enter."-" It 
 touches It. -"Then enter, all is yours." And in fact the assail- 
 ants, transported beyond themselves, mounted "as if at a bound" 
 
 1? ^"pisii .^^-ere at this moment attacked on both sides at once 
 f J^H ^,'*"*''^'i of Orleans, who had eagerly watclied the struggle 
 from the other side of the Loire, could no longer contain themselvis 
 but opened their gates and rushed upon the bridge. One of the 
 arches being broken, they threw over it a sorry plank ; and a knight of 
 St. John, completely armed, was the first to venture across. At last 
 the bridge was repaired after a fashion, and the crowd flowed over 
 Ihe Lughsh seeing this sea of people rushing on. thought that the 
 whole world was got together. Their imaginations grew excited • 
 some saw St Aignan the patron of the city ; others the Arcliangel 
 Michael, fighting on the French side. As Glasdale was about to re- 
 treat from the redoubt into the bastille, across a small bridge which 
 connected the two, the bridge was shivered by a cannon-ball, and li , 
 wa.s precipitated into the water below and drowned before the eyes of 
 the Pucelle, whom he had so coarsely abused. " Ah ! " she exclaimed
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 17 
 
 " how I pity tliy soul." There were five hundred men in the bastille •. 
 thev were all piit to the sword. , . ^ t • r. 4i 
 
 Xot an Engli.shman remained to the south of the Loire. On the 
 next dav Sundav, those who were on the north side abandoned 
 their bastilles, their artillery, their prisoners, their sick Talbot and 
 Suffolk directed the retreat, which was made m good order and with 
 a bold front The Pucelle forbade pursuit, as they retired ot their 
 own accord. But before thev had lost sight of the city, she ordered 
 an altar to be raised on the plain, had mass sung, and the Orlcanois 
 returned thanks to God in the presence of the enemy (Sunday, 
 
 Wav 8). „ ^ , , , J 1 
 
 The effect produced bv the dehverance of Orleans was beyond cal- 
 culation. All recognized it to be the work of a suiiernatural power ; 
 which, though some ascribed to the devil's agency, most referred to 
 God, and it began to be the general impression that Cliarles VII. had 
 
 right on his side. , ,. , , ,• 
 
 Six days after the raising of the siege, Gerson published a discourse 
 to prove" that this marvellous event might be reasonably considered 
 God's own doing. The good Cliristine de Pisan also wrote to congratu- 
 late her sex ; and manv treatises were published, more favorable than 
 hostile to the Pucelle, and even by subjects of the Duke of Burgundy, 
 the ally of the English. 
 
 CORONATION OF CHARLES VII. 
 
 (Tiarles VII.'s policy was to seize the opportunity, march boldly 
 from Orleans to Rheims, and lay hand on the crown— seemingly a 
 rash but in realitv a safe step— l^efore the English had recovered 
 from their panic. ' Since they had committed the capital blunder of 
 not having vet crowned their' young Henry VI., it behooved to be be- 
 forehand with them. He who was first anointed king would remain 
 king. It would also be a great thing for Charles VII. to make his 
 royal progress through English France, to take possession, to show 
 that in every part of France the king was at home. 
 
 Such was tlie counsel of the Pucelle alone, and this heroic folly was 
 consummate wisdom. The politic and shrewd among the royal coun- 
 sellors, those wliose judgment was held in most esteem, smiled at tlie 
 idea, and recommended ])roceeding slowly and surely : in other words, 
 giving the English time to recover their spirits. They all, too. had 
 an interest of tlieir own in the advice tliey gave. The Duke of Alcn- 
 con recommended marching into Normandy— with a view to the re- 
 covery of Alenf;on. Others, and th.-y were listened to, counselled 
 staying upon tlie Loire and reducing the smaller towns. 'I'liis was 
 th<; most timid counsrl of all : but it was to the interest of the Ixmses 
 of Orleans and of Anjou, and of the Poitevin, La Tremouille, Charles 
 VII.'s favorite. 
 
 Suffolk liad thrown himself into Jargeau : it was attacked, and car-
 
 18 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 riod hy assnnlt. -Roanprenry was noxt taken, before Talbot could re- 
 o'nntlio ivinlorcoiiK.ius sent liim l)y the recent, under the romTTi>,nH 
 of S.r John FalstoiT. The constable, Richemont who had Zr e 
 mained secluded m lus own domains, came with his Bretons, contrary 
 to the wishes of either the king or the Pucelle, to the aid of the vi7 
 tonous army. 
 
 A battle was imminent and Richemont was come to carry off its 
 honoi-s. Talbot and Falstoff had effected a junction ; but, stfanlo to 
 ell, though the circumstance paints to the life tlie state of the c^un 
 ry and he fortuitous nature of the war, no one knew where to find 
 the Lnghsh army lost in the desert of La Beauce, the which district 
 was then overrun with thickets and brambles. A stag led to tlie d s 
 ;:^;:rtL;^S.'4t ^--^-•-^-^^' *^- scared^mmal rushed 
 Tlie English happened to be on their march, and had not as usual 
 entrenched themselves behind their stakes. Talbot alone wished to 
 give battle, maddened as he Avas at having shown his back to the 
 French at Orleans Sir John Falstoff, on^ the contrary who lad 
 gained the battle of herrings, did not require to fight to recover Ss 
 reputation, but with much prudence advised, as thS troops were d s 
 couraged remaimng on the defensive. The French men at-arms did 
 not wait for the English leaders to make up their minds, but, coming 
 up at a gallop, encountered but slight resistance. Talbot would fiHit 
 seeking, p.^rhaps, to fall ; but he only succeeded in getting mado 
 prisoner The pursuit was murderou.s ; and the bodies of tvvo thou 
 
 of dead La Pucelle shed tears ; but she wept much more bitterly when 
 she saw the brutality of the soldiery, and how tliev treated prison- 
 ers who had no ransom to give Perceiv ng one" of them felled 
 dying to the ground, she was no longer mistress of herself, but threw 
 herself from her horse, raised the poor man's head, sent for a priest 
 comforted him, and smoothed his way to death ^ ' 
 
 After this battle of Patay (June 28 or 29), the hour was come or 
 never, to hazard the expedition to Rheims. The politic still advised 
 
 rhIri/)^'''^Th- r ^'""W" ' ""^*^'" '^"^""^ possession of Cosne and La 
 Chanto This tinie they spoke in vain ; timid voices could no longer 
 gain a hearing. Every day there fiocked to the camp men from all 
 the provnnces, attracted by the reports of the Pucelle's miracles be- 
 lieving in her only, and, like her, longing to lead the king to Rheims 
 There was an irresistible impulse abroad to push forwa?d and drive 
 out the English— the spirit both of pilgrimage and of cru.sade The 
 mdolent young monarch himself was at last hurried away by this 
 popular tide, which swelled and rolled in northwards Kinjr cour 
 tiers, politicians, enthusiasts, fools, and wise were off togetlier either 
 voluntarily or compulsorily. At starting they were twelve tliousand ■ 
 b.it the mass ga hered Imlk as it rolled along, fresh comers following 
 fresh comers. Ihey who had uo armor joined the holy expedition
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 19 
 
 with no other defence than a leathern jack, as archers or as cOutilicrs 
 (daccsmen), although, may be. of gentle blood. 
 
 The army marched from Gieu on the 28th of June, and passed be- 
 fore Auxerre without attempting to enter ; this city being in the 
 hands of the Duke of Burgundy, whom it was advisable to observe 
 terms with. Troves was garrisoned partly by Burgundians, partly 
 by English ; and they venture^ on a sally at the first approach of tlie 
 royal army. There seemed little hope of forcing so large and well 
 garrisoned a citv, and especially Avithout artillery. And how delay, | 
 in order to invest it regularly ? " On the other hand, how advance and 
 leave so strong a place in "their rear '? Already, too, the array was 
 suffering from want of provisions. Would it not be better to return ? 
 The pofitic were full of triumph at the verification of their forebod- 
 ings. 
 
 There was but one old Armagnac counsellor, the president Ma(;on, 
 who held the contrary opinion, and who understood that in an enter- 
 prise of the kind the wise part was the enthusiastic one, that in a 
 popular crusade reasoning was beside the mark. " When the king 
 undertook this expedition," he argued, " it was not because he had 
 an overwhelming force, or because he had full coffers, or because it 
 was his opinion that the attempt was practicable, but because Jeanne 
 told him to march forward and be crowned at Rheims, and that he 
 would encounter but little opposition, such being God's good pleasure. 
 Here the Pucelle, coming and knocking at the door of the room in 
 which the council was held, assured them that they should enter 
 Troyes in three days. " ^^'e would willingly wait six," said the 
 chancellor, "were we certain that you spoke sooth." — "Sis! you 
 shall enter to-morrow." 
 
 She snatches uji her standard ; all the troops follow her to the fosse, 
 and they throw into it fagojj^ doors, tables, rafters, whatever they 
 can lay their hands upon. So quickly was the whole done, that the 
 citizens thought tliere would soon be no fosses. Tlie English began 
 to lose their head as at Orleans, and fancied they saw a cloud of 
 wlute butterflies hovering around tlie magic standard. The citizens 
 for their i)art were filled with alarm, remembering that it was in 
 tiieir city tin; treatv had been concluded which disinherited Charles 
 VII. They feared "being made an exumi)l(! of, took refuge in the two 
 churches, and cried out to surrender. The garrison askf'il no better, 
 opened a conference, and capitulated on condition of being allowed to 
 march out witli what they had. 
 
 W/i<tt th<i/ had was principally prisoners, Frenchmen. No stipu- 
 lation on belialf of these unhiipily men Imd been made by Charles's 
 counsellors, who had drawn uj) the terms of surrender. The Pucelle 
 nloiie thought of them : and when the English were about to march 
 forth with their manacled prisoners, .shestatione(i her.self at the gates, 
 exclaiming, " O my («o(l ! they shall not hear them away ! " Shu de- 
 tained them and the king puid their ransom.
 
 20 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 Mastor of Troyos on tlio 0th of July, on tlin 15th lio mado his entry 
 Into Rheims ; and on the, 17th (Sunday) he was crowned. That very 
 morning tiio Puccllo, fulfilling the gospel command to seek reconcili- 
 ation before ofToring sacrifice, dictated a beautiful letter to the Duke 
 of Burgundy ; without recalling anything ])ainful, without irritating, 
 without humiliating any onn, sIk; said to him with infinite tact and 
 nobleness — " Forgive one another heartily, as good Christians ought 
 to do." 
 
 Charles VII. was anointed by the archbishop with oil out of th« 
 holy ampulla, brought from Saint-Remy's. Conformably with tlui 
 antique ritual, he was installed on his throne by the spiritual peers, 
 and served by lay peers both during the ceremony of the coronation 
 and the liancpiet which followed. Then he went to St. Marculph's 
 to touch for the king's evil. All ceremonies thus duly observed, 
 without the omission of a single particular, Charles was at length, ac- 
 cording to the belief of the time, the true and tlie only king. The 
 English might now crown Henry ; but in the estimation of the people 
 this new coronation would only be a parody of the other. 
 
 At the moment the crown was placed on Charles's head, thePucelle 
 threw herself on her knees and embraced his legs with a flood of 
 tears. All present melted into tears as well. 
 
 She is reported to have addressed him as follows : " O gentle king, 
 now is fulfilled the will of God, who was pleased that I should raiso 
 the siege of Orleans, and should bring you to your city of Rheims to 
 be crowned and anointed, showing you to be true king and rightful 
 possessor of the realm of France." 
 
 The Pucclle wa.s in the right ; she had done and finished what she 
 liad to do : and so amidst the joy of this triumphant solemnity, .she 
 entertained the idea, the presentiment, perhaps, of her approaching 
 end. When on entering Rheims with the king the citizens came out 
 to meet them singing hymns, "Oh, the worthy, devout people ! " she 
 exclaimed. . . . " If I must die, happy should I feel to be buried 
 here." — " Jehanne," said the archbishop to her, "where then do you 
 think you will die?"—" I have no idea ; where it shall please God. 
 . . . I wish it would please Him that I sliould go and tend sheep 
 with my sister and my brotliers. . . . They would be so liappy 
 to see me ! ... At least I have done what r)ur Lord commanded 
 me to do." And raising her eyes to heaven, she returned thanks. 
 All who saw her at that moment, says tin; old chronicle, " believed 
 more firmly than ever that she was sent of God." 
 
 CARDINAIi WINCHESTER. 
 
 Such was the virtue of the coronation, and its all-powerful effect in 
 northern France, that from this moment tlie expedition seemed but 
 to Ix; a peaceable taking of possession, a triumj)!!, a following up of 
 the Rheims festivities. The roads became smooth before the king ;
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 21 
 
 the cities opened their gates and lowered t^^.f ^.^^^^'^^^f^g^f-. T^^ 
 march was as of a royal pilgrimage from the Cathedral of Klieims to 
 St Medard's, Soissons, and Notre- Dame, Laon. Stopping for a few days 
 in 'each citv. and then riding on at his pleasure, he made his entry 
 into Chate'an-Thierri, Provins, whence, rested and refreshed, he re- 
 sumed his triumphal progress towards Picardy. i ,,_■ 
 Were there any English left in France ?-It might be doubted. 
 Since the battle of Patay, not a word had been heard about Bedford ; 
 not that he lacked actiyity or courage, but that he had exhausted his 
 last resources. One fact alone will serve to show the extent of his 
 distress-he could no longer pay his parliament : the courts were 
 therefore closed, and even the entry of the young King Henry could 
 not be circumstantially recorded, according to custom, m the registers, 
 " for want of parchment." n- j 
 So situated, Bedford could not choose his means ; and he was obliged 
 to have recourse to the man whom of all the world he least loved 
 his uncle, the rich and all-powerful Cardinal W mchester, who, not 
 }ess avaricious than ambitious, began haggling about terms, and spec- 
 ulated upon delay. The agreement with him was not concluded un- 
 til the 1st of July, two days after the defeat of Patay. Charles VII 
 then entered Troves, Rheims— Paris was in alarm, and \\-mchester 
 \ya.s stUl in England. To malce Paris safe, Bedford summoned the 
 Duke of Burgundy, who came indeed, but almost alone ; and the only 
 advantage which the regent derived from his presence was getting 
 liini to figure in an assembly of notables, to speak therein, and again 
 to recapirulatethe lamentable story of his father's death. This done 
 he took Lis departure : leaving with Bedford, as all the aid he could 
 spare, some Picard men-at-arms, and even exacting in return posses- 
 sion of the city of Meaux. . . , . -n. 
 
 There was no hope but in Winchester. This priest reigned m Eng- 
 land His nepliew, the Protector, Gloucester, the leader of the 
 irirty of the nobles, had ruined himself by his miprudence and fol- 
 ies From vear to vear his influence at the council table had dimin- 
 ished and Winchester's had increased. He reduced the protector to 
 a cipher, and even managed yearly to pare d<>wn the income assigned 
 tr, the protectorate ; this, in a land where each man is strictly valued 
 u<:cording to hLs rental, was murdering him. W inche.ster, on he 
 contrary was the wealthiest of the English pnnces and one of the 
 great iduralists of the world. Power follows as wealth grows The 
 cardinal and the rich bishops of Canterbury of lork, of London, of 
 Ely and Bath, constitut.'d the council, and if they allowed laynieu to 
 Hit there, it was only on conditi..n that they should nut opn. the.r lips ; 
 to important sittings, they were not even summoned. 1 he L' f, «1 
 trovernment, as might have been foreseen from the moment the house 
 of L>inciLst.;r a.scended the throne, had become entirely episcopa. : a 
 fact evident on the face of the acts pa.ssud at this period. In 1 l.J 
 the chancellor opeuH the parllumeiit with a tremendous denunciation
 
 ^ JOAN OF AltC. 
 
 of heresy ; ami the council prepares articles against the nobles, whom 
 Jie accuses of brigandage, and of surrounding themselves with armies 
 or retainers, &c. 
 
 In order to raiso the cardinars power to the highest pitch, it requir- 
 ed Bedford to be sunk as low in France as (Gloucester was in England 
 hat he should be reduced to summon Winchester to his aid, and tliat 
 tJie latter, at the head of an army, should come oyer and crown the 
 young Henry \1. ^Vinchester had the army ready. Having be n 
 charged by the pope with a crusade against the Hussites of Bohemia 
 he had raised, under tliis j.retext, several thousand men. The pope 
 had assigned him for this ol)jeet the money arising from the sale of 
 mdu gences ; the council of England gave him more money still to de- 
 tain his levies in France. To tlie great astonishment of the crusaders 
 they tound themselves sold by the cardinal, who was paid twice over 
 lor them paid for an army wliich S(>ryed him to make himself kinc- 
 \\ itli this army \Vincliester was to malcesure of Paris, and to briiio- 
 and croNvn young Henry there. But this coronation could only secure 
 the cardimil s power in proportion as he should succeed in decrvin.- 
 that ot -Charles VII., in dishonoring his victories and ruining him in 
 the minds of the people. Now he had recourse, as we shall see to 
 one and the same means (a very efficacious means in that day) against 
 Charles Vll. m France, and against Gloucester in England— a charjre 
 of sorcery. ° 
 
 It was not till the 25th of July, nine days after Charles VII had 
 been well and duly crowned, that the cardinal entered with his army 
 into Pans. Bedford lost not a moment, but put himself in motion 
 with these troops to watch Charles VII. Twice they were in presence 
 and some skirmishing occurred. Bedford feared for Normandy and 
 covered it ; meanwhile the king marched upon Paris (Auo-ust) 
 
 Tins was contrary to the advice of tlie Pucelle ; her voices warned 
 lier to go no further than St. Denys. The city of royal burials like 
 the city of coronations, was a holy city ; beyond, she had a presenti- 
 ment, lay something over which she would have no power. Charles 
 _V II. must have thought so likewise. Was there not danger in bring- 
 mg this inspiration of warlike sanctity, this poesy of crusade which 
 Jiad so deeply moved the rural districts, face to face with this reasonin"-, 
 prosaic city, with its sarcastic population, with pedants and Cabo- 
 chiens ? 
 
 It was an imprudent step. A city of the kind is not to be carried 
 by a coup cle main ; it is only to be carried by starving it out 
 But this was out of the question, for the English held the Seine both 
 above and below. ^I'hey were in force, and were besides supported 
 by a considerable numl)er of citizens who had compromised them-l 
 selves lor them. A report, too, was spread tiiat the Armagnacs wera 
 coming to destroy the city and raze it to the ground. 
 
 Nevertlieless, the French carried one of the outposts. The Pucelle 
 crossed the first fo.sse, aad even cleared the mound which separated 1»
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS, 23 
 
 from the second. Arrived at the brink of the latter she found it full 
 of water ; when, regardless of a shower of arrows poured upon her 
 from the city walls, she called for fascines, and began sounding the 
 depth of the water with her lance. Here she stood, almost alone, a 
 mark to all ; and at last an arrow pierced her thigh. Still she strove 
 to overcome the pain, and to remain to cheer on the troops to the as- 
 sault. But loss of blood compelled her to seek the shelter of the first 
 fosse ; and it was ten or eleven o'clock at night before she could be 
 persuaded to withdraw to the camp. She seemed to be conscious that 
 this stern check before the walls of Paris must ruin her beyond all 
 hope. 
 
 Fifteen hundred men were wounded in this attack, which she was 
 wrongfully accused of having advised. She withdrew, cursed by her 
 own side, bv the French, as Avell as by the English. Slie had not 
 scrupled to give the assault on the anniversary of the Nativity of Our 
 Lady (September 8th), and the pious city of Paris was exceedmgly 
 scandalized thereat. 
 
 Still more scandalized was the court of Charles Vll. Libertmes, 
 the politic, the blind devotees of the letter— sworn enemies of the 
 
 spirit all declared stoutlv aa:ainst the spirit the instant it seemed 
 
 to fail. The Arclibishop o'f Rheims, Chancellor of France, who had 
 ever looked but coldly on the Pucelle, insisted, in opposition to her ad- 
 vice, on commencing a negotiation, lie himself came to Saint-Denys 
 to propose terms of truce, with perhaps a secret hope of gaining over 
 the Duke of Burgundv, at the time at Paris. 
 
 Evil regarded and badly supported, the Pucelle laid siege during 
 the winter to Saint-Pierre-le-Moustiers and La Charite. At the siege 
 of the first, though almost deserted by her men, she persevered in de- 
 livering the as.sault, and carried the town. The siege of the second 
 dragged on, languished, and a panic terror dispersed the besiegers. 
 
 CAPTURE OP THE PUCELLE, 
 
 Meanwhile theEnglisii liad persuaded the Duke of Burgundy to aid 
 them in good earnest. The weaker ho saw thcMu to be the stronger 
 V as his hope of retaining the ])laces which he might take in Picardy. 
 The English, who liad just lost Louviers, placed themselves at his dis- 
 7)o.sal ; and tlie duke, the richest prince in Christendom, no longer 
 hesitated to embark men and money in o war of which he lioped to 
 real) all the i)rolit. He bribed tin! (lovcrnor of Soissons to surrender 
 that city ; and then laid sir;g(! to Compiegne, the governor of whicli 
 wa.<? likewise obnoxious to susi)icion. Tlie citizens, how;iver, had 
 rompromised themselves too mncli in t1i« cause of Charles VII. to al- 
 low of their town's being b(!l rayed. The Pucelle threw lierself into 
 it. On the very same day she lieuded a sorti*;, and had nearly siir- 
 )>ii.se(l the be«ieg(!rs ; i)Ut tliey i|iii(;kly recovcired, and vigorously 
 drove back their aasailants as lav m tho city bridge. The Pucelle,
 
 24 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 who had remained in the rear to cover the retreat, was too late to en- 
 
 tor tlie gates citlier hindered by tlie crowd that thronged the bridg-o 
 or l)y the sudd.-n shutting of tlie barriers. She was conspicuous by 
 her dress and u-as soon surrounded, seized, and dragged from her 
 lioree. Her captor, a Picard archer— according to others, the bastard 
 of \ endome— sold lier to John of I.uxeniliourg. All English and 
 Burgundians saw with astonishment tliat this object of terror tliia 
 monster, this devil, was after all only a girl of eighteen 
 
 Tliat it would end so, she kn,-w beforehand ; her cruel fate was in- 
 evital)le. and-we must say the word-necessary. It was necessarv 
 tliat she should sulTer. If she had not gone through her last trial and 
 punhcation. doubttul shadows would have interposed amidst the rays 
 of glory which i^est on that holy figure : she would not have lived in 
 men s minds the Maid of Orleans. 
 
 When speaking of raising tlie siege of Orleans, and of the corona- 
 tion at Rheims, she had said, " "Vis for this that I was born." These 
 two tilings accomplished, her sanctity was in peril. 
 
 War, sanctity— two contradictory words ! Seemingly, sanctity is the 
 direct opposite of war : it is rather love and peace. What youn^ 
 courageous heart can mingle in battle without participating in the san- 
 guinary intoxication of the struggle and of the victory? On 
 Betting out, she had said that she would not use lier sword to" kill any 
 one. At a later moment she expiates with pleasure on the sword 
 which she wore at Compiegne, " excellent," as she said, "either for 
 thrustmg or cutting." Is not this proof of a change? The saint has 
 become a captain. The Duke of Alenron deposed that slic displayed 
 a singular aptitude for the modern arm, the murderous arm— aitillerv 
 the leader of indisciplinal)le soldiers, and incessantly liurt and ag- 
 grieved by their disorders, she became rude and choleric, at least when 
 bent on restraining their excesses. In particular she was relentless 
 towards the dissolute women who accompanied the camp One day 
 she struck one of these wretched beings with St. Catherine's sword 
 with tlie liat of the sword only ; but the virginal weapon, unable to 
 endure the contact, broke, and it could never he reunited 
 
 A short time before her capture she had herself made prisoner a 
 Burgundian partisan, Franquet d'Arras, a brigand held in execration 
 tliroughout tlie whole north of France. The king's bailli claimed 
 him in order to hang him. At first she refused, thinking to exchange 
 him ; but at last consented to give him up to justice. He had deserv- 
 ed hanging a hundred times over. Nevertli'eless, the havino- given 
 up a prisoner, the having consented to the death of a human being 
 must have lowered, even in the eyes of her own party, her character 
 for .sanctity. 
 
 T:nhai)py condition of such a soul, fallen upon the realities of this 
 world ! Kach day she must have lost something of herself One 
 does not suddenly become ricli, noble, honored, the equal of lords and 
 prmc€S, with impunity. Rich dress,- letters of nobilitv, royal favor
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 23 
 
 —all this could not fail at tne last to have altered her neroic simpli- 
 city She had ohtaiued for her native village exemption from taxes 
 aud the king had bestowed on one of her brothers the provostship of 
 Vaucouleurs. 
 
 But the greatest peril for the saint was from her own sanctity— 
 from the respect and adoration of the people. At Lagny, she was be- 
 souo-ht to restore a child to life. The count d'Armaguac wrote, beg- 
 ginS her to decide which of the two popes was to be followed. Ac- 
 cording to the replv she is said to have given (falsified perhaps), she 
 promised to deliver her decision at the close of the war, confiding m 
 her internal voices to enable her to pass judgment on the very head 
 of authority. 
 
 And yet there was no pride in her. She never gave herself out tor 
 a saint": often she confessed that she knew not the future. The eve- 
 nino- before a battle she was asked whether the king would conquer, 
 and^replied that she knew not. At Bourges, when the women prayed 
 her to touch crosses and chaplets, she began laughing, and said to 
 dame Marguerite, at whose house she was staying, '"Touch them 
 vourself, they will be just as good." . , j 
 
 ' The singular originalitv of this girl was, as we have said, good 
 sense in th .- midst of exaltation ; and this, as we shall see, was what 
 rendered her judges implacable. The pedants, the reasoners who 
 Jiatcd her as an mspired being, were so much the more cruel to her 
 from the impossibility of despising her as a mad woman, and from 
 the freciuency with which her loftier reason silenced their arguments. 
 It was not"ditficult to foresee her fate. She mistrusted it herself. 
 From the outset she had said—" Employ me, I shall last but the year 
 or little longer." Often addressing her chaplain, brother Pasquerel, 
 she repeated, " If I must die soon, tell the king our lord, from me, to 
 found chapels for the offering up of prayers for the salvation of such 
 as have died in defence of the kingdom." 
 
 Her ])arents asking her when they saw her again at Rheims, wheth- 
 er she had no fear of anything, her answer was, "Nothing, except 
 trea.son." 
 
 Often on the approach of evening, if there happened to be any 
 church near the place where the army encamped, and particularly if 
 it belonged to the Mendicant orders, slu; gladly repaired to it, and 
 woulil join thf; children who were being prepared to receive the sac- 
 rament. Acajrding to an ancient chronicle, the very day on which 
 she was fated to be made prisoner, she communicated in the chundi of 
 St. .Tarxiues, Compiegne, where, l(;aning sadly against a i)illar, sho 
 said to the good people and children who crowded the church : "My 
 good friends and mv dear children, I tell you of a surety there is a 
 man who lias sold liie ; I am betrayed, and shall soon be given up to 
 deatli. Pray to (iod for me, I best-ech you ; for I shall no longer bo 
 able to serve mv king or tli<; nol)le realm of France." 
 
 The probability ia that the Pucelle was bargained for and bought.
 
 -(> JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 even as Soissons had just been bought. At so critical a moment anil 
 wh.^n tht'ir young king was landing on Frencli ground, tiie Englisli 
 ^vuuld bo ruaily to give any sum for lier. But the Burgundians longed 
 to have her in tlieir grasp, and they succeeded ; it was to the interest 
 not of the duke only and of the Biirgundian party in general but it 
 Avas besides the direct interest of John of Ligny, who uagerly bouirht 
 the pri.5oner. 
 
 For tJie Purcelle to fall into the hands of a noble lord of the house 
 of Luxembourg, of a vassal of the chivalrous Duke of Burgundy of 
 the good duke, as he was called, was a hard trial for the chivalry of 
 the day A prisoner of war, a girl, so young a girl, and above all a 
 maid, what had she to fear amidst loyal knights V Chivalry was in 
 every one's mouth as the protection of afilicted dames and damsels 
 Marshal Boucicaut had just founded an order which had no other ob- 
 ject. Besides the worship of the Virgin, constantly extending in the 
 middle age, having become the dominant religion, it seemed as if vir- 
 ginity must be an inviolable safeguard. 
 
 To explain what is to follow, we must point out the singular want 
 of harmony which then existed between ideas and morals, and how- 
 ever shocking the contrast, bring face to face with the too sublime 
 ideal, with tiie Imitation, with the Pucelle, the low realities of the 
 time ; we must (beseeching pardon of the chaste girl who forms the 
 subject of this narrative) fathom the depths of this world of covetous- 
 ness and of concupiscence. Without seeing it as it existed, it would 
 be impossible to understand how knights could give up her who seem- 
 ed the living embodiment of chivalrv, how while tlie Virgin reio-ned 
 the Virgin should show herself, and be so cruelly mistaken. " 
 
 The religion of this epoch was less the adoration of the Virgin than 
 of wonian ; its chivalry was that portrayed in the Petit Jehan de 
 Saintre— but with the advantage of chastity, in favor of the romance 
 over the truth. 
 
 Princes set the example. Charles VII. received Agnes Sorel as a 
 present from his wife's mother, the old Queen of Sicily ; and mother, 
 wife, and mistress, he takes them all with him as he marches along 
 the Loire, the happiest understanding subsisting between the three. 
 
 The English, more serious, seek love in marriage onlv. Gloucester 
 marries Jacqueline ; among Jacqueline's ladies his regards fall on one 
 equally lovely and witty, and he marries her too. 
 
 But in this respect, as in all others, France and England are far out- 
 stripped by Flanders, by the Count of Flanders, bv the great Duke 
 of Burgundy. Tlie legend expressive of the Low" Countries is that 
 of the famous countess who brought into the world three hundred 
 and sixty-five children. The princes of the land, without going quite 
 so far, seem at the least to endeavor to approach her. A ccmnt of 
 Cleves has sixty-three bastards. John of Burgundy, Bishop of (^am- 
 brai, officiates pontifically with his thirty-six bastards and sons of 
 bastards ministering with him at the altar.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 27 
 
 Pliilippe-lc-Bon liad only sixteen bastards, but he bad no fewer 
 tban twtnty-seven wives, three lawful ones and twenty-four mistresses. 
 In these sad years of 1429 and 14:30, and during the enactment of 
 this tragedy of the Pucelle's, he was wholly absorbed in the joy- 
 ous afEair of his third marriage. This time his wife was an Infanta 
 of Portugal, English by her mother's side, her mother having been 
 Pldlippa of Lancaster ; so that the English missed their point in giv- 
 ing him the command of Paris, as detain him they could not ; he was in 
 a hurry to quit this land of famine and to return to Flanders to wel- 
 come his young bride. Ordinances, ceremonies, festivals, concluded, 
 or mterrupted and resumed, consumed whole months. At Bruges in 
 particular, unheard-of galas took place, rejoicings fabulous to tell of, 
 insensate prodigalities which ruined the nobility — and the burgesses 
 eclipsed them. The seventeen nations which had their ^^ arehouses at 
 Burges displayed the riches of the itniverse. The streets were hung 
 with the rich and soft carpets of Flanders. For eight days and eight 
 nights the choicest wines ran in torrents ; a stone lion poured forth 
 Rhenish, a stag Beaune wine ; and at meal-times a unicorn spouted 
 out rose water and malvoise. 
 
 But the splendor of the Flemish feast lay in the Flemish women, 
 in the triumphant beauties of Bruges, such as Rubens has painted 
 them in his Magdalen, in his Descent from the Cross. The Portu- 
 gue.se could not have delighted in seeing her new subjects : already 
 had the Spaniard, Joan of Navarre, been filled with spite at the sight, 
 exclaiming, against her will, " I see only queens here." 
 
 On his wedding day (January 10th, 1430), Philippe-le-Bon institut- 
 ed the order of the Golden Fleece, "won by Jason," taking for do- 
 vice the conjugal and reassuring words, " Autre n'auray." (No other 
 will I have). 
 
 Did the young bride believe in this ? It is dubious. This Jason's, 
 or Gideon's fleece (as the Church soon baptized it), was after all the 
 golden fleece, reminding one of the gilded waves, of the streaming 
 yellow tresses which Van Dyck, Philippe-le-Bon's great painter, llings 
 amorously round the shoulders of his saints. All saw in the new or- 
 der the triumph of the fair, y(nmg, flourishing beauty of the north 
 over the sombre beauties of the south. It seemed as the Flemish 
 ])rince, to console the Flemish dames, addressed this device of double 
 meaning, "Autre n'auray," to them. 
 
 Under these forms of chivalry, awkwardly imitated from ro- 
 mances, the history of Flanders at this period is neverihelcss one 
 firry, joyous, brutal, bacchanalian revel. Under color <;f tournays, 
 f--ats of arms, and feasts of the Round Table, there is one wild 
 whirl of light and common gallantries, low intrigues, and intermi- 
 nable junketings. The true device of the epoch is that ])resumptu- 
 ously taken Ijy the sire de Ternant at the lists of Arras : " Que j'nia 
 de vies deiars annoaci>iit(incf, it ju/uain d'aulre l/kn." (Let my desires 
 be satisfied, I wish no other good.J
 
 ^^ JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 The surprising part of all this is that, amidst these mad festival! 
 and tlii.s ruinous niagnifici>nco, tluj alTairs of the Count of Fhindors 
 si'Mued to go on all tho better. The more he gave, lo.st, and .squan- 
 dered, tlie more flo\\cd in to liiin. He fattencnl and was enriched by 
 the general ruin. In Holland alone he met with any obstacle • but 
 without much trouble he acquired the positions commanding tlie 
 ISomnie and the Meuse— Namur and Peronno. Besides the latter 
 town the English placed in his liands Bar sur-Seine, Auxerre Meaux 
 tiie approaches to Paris, and lastly. Paris itself. 
 
 Advantage after advantage, Fortune piled her favors upon liini 
 without leaving him time to draw breath between her gifts. She 
 threw into the power of one of his vassals the Pucelle, that precious 
 gage for which the English would have given any sum. And at this 
 very^ moment his situation became complicated by another of For- 
 tune's favors, for the duchy of Brabant devolved to him ; but he 
 could not take possession of it without securing the friendship of the 
 Enj^lish. 
 
 '1 he death of the Duke of Brabant, who had talked of marrying 
 again and of raising up heirs to himself, happened just in the nick of 
 time for the Duke of Burgundy. He had acquired almost all the 
 provinces which bound Brabant— Flanders, Hainault, Holland, Na- 
 mur, and Luxemburg— and only lacked the central province, that is, 
 rich Lou vain, with the key to tlie whole, Brussels. Here was a 
 strong temptation ; so passing over the rights of his aunt, from 
 whom, however, he derived his own, he also sacrificed the rights of 
 his wards and his honor and probity as a guardian, and seized Bra- 
 bant. Iherefore, to finish matters with Holland and Luxemburg, 
 and to repulse the Liegeois, who had just laid siege to Namur, ho 
 was necessitated to remain on good temis with the English : \n other 
 words, to deliver up the Pucelle. 
 
 Philippe-Ie-/?o/i (good) was a good man, according to the vulgar 
 Idea ot goodness, tender of heart, especially to women, a good son a 
 good father and with tears at will. He wept over the slain at Azin- 
 court ; but las league with the English cost more lives than Azincourt. 
 He shed torrents of tears at his father's death ; and then, to avenge 
 him, torrents of l^lood. Sensibility and sensuality often go together ; 
 but .sensuality and concupiscence are not the le,ss cruel when aroused. 
 Let the desired object drawback, let concupiscence .see her fly aud 
 conceal herself from its pursuit, then it turns to blind raee. . 
 Woe to whatever opposes it ! . . . The .school of Rubens, in its 
 ■pagan bacclianaha, rejoices in bringing together tigers and satyrs, 
 "lust liard by hate." o » s a j , 
 
 He wlio held tlie Pucelle in his hands, John of Ligny, the Duke of 
 Hurgundy s vassal, found lilmself precisely in the same situation as 
 his suzerain ; like him, it was his hour of cupidity, of extreme temp- 
 tation. He belonged to the glorious house of Luxemburg, and to bo 
 of km to the Emperor Henry VII., and to King John of Bohemia, was
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 23 
 
 an honor well worth preserving unsullied ; but John of Ligny was 
 poor, the youngest son of a youngest son. He had contrived to get 
 his aunt, the rich Countess of Ligny and of Saint-Pol, to name him 
 her sole heir, and this legacy, which lay exceedingly open to question, 
 was about to be disputed by his eldest brother. In dread of this, 
 John became the docile and trembling servant of the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, of the English, and of every one. The English pressed him 
 ,to deliver up his prisoner to them ; and indeed they could easily have 
 'seized her in the tower of Beaulieu, in Picardy, where he had placed 
 lier. But if he gave her up to them, he would ruin himself with the 
 Duke of Burgundv, his suzerain, and the judge in the question of 
 his inheritance, wlio, consequently, could ruin him by a single word. 
 So he sent her, provisorily, to his castle of Beaurevoir, which lay 
 Avithin the territory of the empire. 
 
 The English, wild with hate and humiliation, urged and threatened. 
 So great was their rage against the Pucelle that they burned a woman 
 alive for speaking well of her. If the Pucelle herself were not tried, 
 condemned, and burned as a sorceress— if her victories were not set 
 down as due to the devil, they would remain in the eyes of the people 
 miracles, God's own works. The inference would be that God was 
 against the English, that they had been rightfully and loyally de- 
 feated, and that their cause was the devil's. According to the no- 
 tions of the time, there was no medium. A conclusion l,ke this, in- 
 tolerable to P^nglish i^ride, wius infinitely more so to a government of 
 bi.shops like that of England, and to the cardinal, its head. 
 
 Matters were in a de>;perate state when Winchester took them in 
 hand. Gloucester being reduced to a cipher in England, and Bed- 
 ford in France, he found himself uncontrolled. He had fancied that 
 on bringing the young king to Calais (April 33), all would Hock to 
 him : not an Englishman budged. He tried to pique their honor by 
 fulminating an ordinance " against those who fear the enchantments 
 of the Pucellf' ; " it liad not the slightest effect. The king remained 
 at Calais, like a stranded vf-ssel. Winchester became eminently 
 ridiculous. After the crusade for the recovery of the Holy Land had 
 dwindled down in his hands to a crusade against Bohemia, he had 
 cut down till! latter to a crusade against Paris. This bellicose prelate, 
 who had flattered hims(df that he should oiriciato as a conqueror in 
 Notre- Dame, and crown his charge there, found all the roads blockcnl 
 up. Holding ('oini.iiVrne, the enemy barred the route through Pi- 
 cardy, and holding Louviers, that tlirongh Nf)rmandy. Meaiiwhilo 
 ,the war dragged slowly on, his money wasted away, and the crusade 
 dissolved in smoke. Api)arently the Devil had to do with the mat- 
 t(-r ; for the cardinal could only get out of the scrape by bringing tho 
 deceiver to his trial— bv burning him in tin; ))erson of the Pucelle. 
 
 He felt that he must' havt^ her, must force her out of tho hands of 
 the Burgundians. She had been made prisoner May 2;5d ; by tho 
 26th a message is despatched from Rouen, in the name of the vicar of
 
 30 JOAX OF ARC. • 
 
 the Inquisition, summoning the Dukeof Burgundy and John of Ligny 
 to dchver up this woman suspected of sorcery. Tlie Inquisition had 
 not much power m France ; its vicar was a poor and very timorous 
 monlv. a Dommican, and, undoubtedlv, like all the other Mendicants 
 farorahle to the Pucellc. But ho was here, at Rouen, overawed by 
 the all-powerful cardinal, who hold the sword to his breast, and wlio 
 Jiad ju.st appointed captain of Rouen a man of action, and a man de- 
 voted to himself, the Karl of Warwick. Heurv's tutor. Warwick 
 held two posts, assuredly widely different from one another, but both 
 of great trust : the tutelage of the king, and the care of the kino-'s 
 enemy ; the education of the one, the superintendence of the triarof 
 the other. 
 
 The monk's letter was a document of little weight, and the Univer- 
 sity was mido to write at the same time. It was hardly possible that 
 the lieads of the University should lend any liearty aid to expediting 
 a process mstituted by the Papal Inquisition, at the very moment 
 they were going to declare war on the people at Bale on behalf of the 
 episcopacy. Winchester himself, at the head of the English episcopacy 
 must have preferred a trial by bishops, or, if he could, to l)rin<r 
 bishops and inquisitors to act in concert together. Now he had in 
 Jus train and among his adherents a bishop just fitted for the busi- 
 nes.s a bi-ggared bishop, who lived at his table, and who assuredly 
 would sentence or would swear just as was wanted. 
 
 Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, was not a man without merit 
 Born at Rheims, near Gerson's place of birth, he was a very influen- 
 tial doctor of the University, and a friend of Clemengis, who asserts 
 that he was both "good and beneficent." This goodness did not 
 hinder him from being one of the most violent of the violent Cabo- 
 chien party ; and as- such he was driven from Paris in 1413 He re- 
 entered the capital with the Duke of Burgundy, became Bishop of 
 Beauvais. and, under the English rule, was elected by the University 
 conservator of its privileges. But the invasion of northern P>ance 
 by Charles VII., in 1429. was fatal to Cauchon. who sought to keep 
 Beauvais in the English interests, and was thrust out by the citizens. 
 He did not enjoy himself at Paris with the dull Bedford, who had no 
 means of rewarding zeal ; and repaired to the fount of wealth and 
 power in England, to Cardinal Winchester. He became Engli.sh, he 
 spoke English. Winchester perceived the use to which such a man 
 might be put, and attached him to himself by doing for him even 
 more than he could have hoped for. The Archbishop of Rouen hav- 
 ing been translated elsewhere, he recommended him to the Pope to 
 fill that great see. But neither the Pope nor the chapter would have 
 anything to do with Cauchon ; and Rouen, at war at the time with 
 the Lniversity of Paris, could not well receive as its archbishop a 
 member of that University. Here was a complete stop ; and Cau- 
 chon stood witli gaping mouth in siglit of the magnificent prey, ever 
 in hopes that all obstacles would disa])pear befoni the invincible car- 
 dinal, full of devotion to him, and having' no other God.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 31 
 
 It was exceedingly opportune that tlie Pucelle sliould have been 
 taken close to the limits of Cauchon's diocese ; not, it is true, within 
 the diocese itself ; but there was a hope of making it believed to be 
 so. So Cauchon wrote, as judge ordinary, to the King of England, 
 to claim the right of trying her ; and, on the 12th of June, the Uni- 
 versity received the king's letters to the effect that the bishop and the 
 inquisitor were to proceed to try her with concurrent powers. Though 
 the proceedings of the Inquisition were not the same as those of the 
 ordinary tribunals of the Church, no objection was raised. The two 
 jurisdictions choosing thus to connive at each other, one difficulty 
 alone remained ; the accused was still in the hands of the Burgun- 
 dians. 
 
 The University put herself forward, and wrote anew to the Duke of 
 Burgundy and John of Ligny. Cauchon, in his zeal, undertook to be 
 the agent of the English, their courier, to carry the letter himself, 
 and deliver it to the two dukes ; at the same time, as bishop, he hand- 
 ed them a summons, calling upon them to deliver up to him a pris- 
 oner over whom he claimed jurisdiction. In the course of this 
 strange document of his, he quits the character of judge for that of 
 negotiator, and makes offers of money, stating that although tliis 
 woman cannot be considered a prisoner of war, the King of England 
 is ready to settle a pension of two or three hundred livres on the 
 bastard of VendOme, and to give the sum of six thousand livres to 
 those who have her iu their keeping ; then, towards the close of this 
 missive of his, he raises his offer to ten thousand, but pointing out 
 emphatically the magnitude of the offer — "as much," he says, "as 
 the French are accustomed to give for a king or a prince." 
 
 The English did not rely so implicitly on the steps taken by tho 
 University, and on Cauchon's negotiations, as to neglect the more en- 
 ergetic means. On the same day that the latter presented his sum- 
 mons, or the day after, the council in England placed an embargo on 
 all traflic witli the markets of the Low Countries, and, above all, with 
 Antwerp (July 19), prohibiting the English merchants from purchas- 
 ing linens there, and the other goods for which they were in the 
 liabitof exchanging their wooL This was intbrting on the Duke of 
 Burgundy, Count of Flanders, a blow in the most sensible part, 
 tlirough the medium of tlie great Flemish manufactures, linens and 
 cloth ; the English discontinued purchasing the one, and supplying 
 the material for the other. 
 
 While the English were thus strenuously urging on the destruction 
 of the Puadle, did Cliarles VII. take any steps to save her? None. 
 it appears ; yet lie liad pri.soners in his bands, and could Itave pro- 
 tected her by llircatfiiing rf])risals. A short time before, be had set 
 negotiations on foot tiirougb tlie medium of his chancellor, the Arch- 
 lu.shop of Uheims ; l)ut neither be nor the other politicians of th« 
 council liad ever regarded the I'ucclli', with much favor. The Aiijou- 
 borraine party, with the old tiaeeu of Sicily, who had talccu her by 
 A.B.-«
 
 32 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 the hand from the first, could not, at tliis precise juncture, interfere 
 on I'.iT bohall' witli the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke of Lorraine 
 was on his death-bed, the succession to the duchy disputed l)efore tlie 
 breath was out of his body, and Pliilipjx3-le-Bon was giving Ida sup- 
 port to a rival of Kene of Anjou's — son-in-law and heir to the Duke of 
 Lorraine. 
 
 Tlius, on every side, interest and covetousne.ss declared against the 
 Pucelle, or produced indiiference to her. The good Charles VIL did 
 nothing for her, the good Duke Philippe deli\ered her up. The 
 house of Anjou coveted Lorraine, the Duke of Burgundy coveted Bra- 
 bant ; and, most of all, he desiderated the keeping open the trade be- 
 tween Flanders and England. The little had their' interests to at- 
 tend to as well. John of Ligny looked to inherit Saint-Pol, and Cau- 
 chon was grasping at the archbishopric of liouen. 
 
 In vain did John of Ligny's wife throw herself at his feet, in vain 
 did she supplicate him not to dishonor himself. He was no longer a 
 free man, already had lie touched English gold ; tliough he gave her 
 up, not, it is true, directly to the English, but to the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy. This house of Ligny and of Saint-Pol, with its recollections 
 of greatness and its unbridled aspirations, was fated to pursue fortune 
 to the end — to the Greve. The surrenderer of the Pucelle seems to have 
 felt all his misery ; he had painted on his arms a camel succumbing 
 under its burden, with the sad device, unknown to men of heart, 
 " Nul n'est tenu a I'impossible " (No one is held to impossibilities). 
 
 What was the prisoner doing the while ? Her body was at Beaure- 
 voir, her soul at Compiegne ; she was fighting, soul and spirit, for 
 the king who had deserted her. Without her, she felt that tlie faith- 
 ful city of Compiegne would fall, and with it the royal cause througli- 
 out the North. She had previously tried to effect her escape from the 
 towers of Beaulieu ; and at Beaurevoir she was still more strongly 
 tempted to fly : slie knew that the English demanded that she sliould 
 be given up to them, .and dreaded falling into their hands. She con- 
 sulted her saints, and could obtain no other answer than that it be- 
 hooved to be patient, " that her delivery would not be until she had 
 seen the King of the English." "But," she said within herself, 
 "can it be that Uod will suffer these poor people of Compiegne to 
 die, who have been and who are so loyal to their lord?" Presented 
 under this fonn of lively compassion, the temptation prevailed. For 
 the first time she turned a deaf ear to her saints : she threw herself 
 from the tower, and fell at its foot half dead. Borne in again and 
 nursed by the ladies of Ligny, she longed for death, and persisted in 
 remaining two days without eating. 
 
 Delivered up to the Duke of Burgundy, she was taken to Arras, 
 and then to the donjon-keep of Crotoy, which has long been covered 
 by the sands of the Somme. From this place of confinement she 
 looked out upon the sea, and could sometimes descry the English 
 downs — that hostile land into which she had hoped to carry war for the
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 33 
 
 deliverance of the Duke of Orleans. Mass was daily performed here 
 by a priest who was also a prisoner, and Jeanne prayed ardently ; she 
 asked, and it was given unto her. Though confined in prison, she 
 displayed her power all the same ; as long as she liv^ed, her prayers 
 broke through the walls and scattered the enemy. 
 
 On the very day that she had predicted, forewarned by the arch- 
 angel, the siege of Compiegne was raised — that is, on the 1st of No- 
 vember. The Duke of Burgundy had advanced as far as Noyon, as 
 if to meet and experience the insulting reveree personally. He sus- 
 tained another defeat shortly afterwards at Germigny (November 20). 
 Saintrailles then offered him battle at Peronne, which he declined. 
 
 These humiliations undoubtedly confirmed the duke in his alliance 
 vnth the English, and determined him to deliver up the Pucelle to 
 them. But the mere threat of interrupting all commercial relations 
 would have been enough. Chivalrous as he believed himself to be, 
 and the restorer of chivalry, the Count of Flanders was at bottom the 
 servant of the manufacturers and the merchants. The manufactur- 
 ing cities and the tiax-spinning districts would not have allowed com- 
 merce to he long interrupted, or their works brought to a stand-still, 
 but would have burst forth into insurrection. 
 
 At the very moment the English had got possession of the Pucelle, 
 and wore free to proceed to her trial, their affairs were going on very 
 badly. Far from retaking Louviers, they had lost Chateau-Galliard. 
 La Hire took it by escalade, and finding Barbazan a prisoner there, 
 set that formidable captain at liberty. The towns voluntarily went 
 over to Charles VH. . the inhabitants expelling the English : those of 
 Melun, close as the town is to Paris, thrust the garrison out of the 
 gates. 
 
 To put on the drag, if it were possible, while the affairs of Eng- 
 land were thus going rapidly down hill, some great and powerful en- 
 gine was necessary, and \Vlnche6ter had one at hand — the trial and the 
 coronation. Thase two things were to be brought into play together, 
 or rather, they were one and the same thing. To dishonor Charles 
 VII.. to prove that he liad been led to be crowned by a witch, was be- 
 stowing so much additional sanctity on the coronation of Henry VI. ; 
 if the one were avowedly the anointed of the Devil, the other must 
 be recognized as the anointed of God. 
 
 Henry mad(! his entry into Paris on the 2d of December. On the 
 21st of the i)rcceding month, the University luid been made to write 
 to Cauchon, ronii)laining of his delays, and beseeching the king to 
 order the trial to be Ijegun. Cauchon was in no haste, perhaps, 
 thinking it hird to begin the work before the wage was a.ssured ; and 
 it was n(jt till a montli afterwards that lie procured from tlie chapter 
 of Rouen autliority to pr^xx-cd in that diocese. On the instant (Jan- 
 uary '.], 14:{1), Winclicster i.ssued an ordinance, in which th<' king 
 was madi' to say, " that on the requisition of the Bishop of Beauvais, 
 and exhorted thereto by his dear daughter, the University of Paris,
 
 34 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 he coraniauded her keepers to conduci the accused to the bishop. " 
 Tbo word was eliosen to sliow that the ])ri,soiier was not given up to 
 the ecclesiastical judn:e, but only lent, " to be taken back again if not 
 convicted." The English ran no risk, she could not escape death ; if 
 fire failed, the sword remained. 
 
 Cauchon opened the i)roceedings at Rouen on the 9th of January, 
 1431. lie seated the vicar of the Inquisition near himself, and began 
 by holding a sort of consultation with eight doctors, licentiates or 
 masters of arts of Ilouen, and by laying '^before them the inquiries 
 which he had instituted touching the Pucelle, but which, having 
 been conducted by hi-r enemies, appeared insufficient to these legists 
 of Rouen. In fact, they were so utterly insufficient, that the prose- 
 cution, which on these worthless data was about to have been com- 
 menced against her on the charge of magic, was instituted on the 
 charge of lieresy. 
 
 With the view of conciliating these recalcitrating Normans, and 
 lessening their superstitious reverence for the forms of procedure. 
 Cauchon nominated one of their number, Jean de la Fontaine, exam- 
 ining counsellor (comcilUr examiiiateur). But he reserved th'e most 
 active part, that of promoter of the prosecution ipromoteur da proces), 
 for a certain Estivet, one of his Beauvais canons by whom he was 
 accompanied. He managed to consume a month in these prepara- 
 tions ; but the young king having been at length taken back to Lon- 
 don (February 9), Winchester, tranquil on this head, applied himself 
 earnestly to the business of the trial, and would trust no one to super- 
 intend it. He thought, and justly, that the master's eye is the best, 
 and took up his residence at Rouen in order to watch Cauchon at 
 work. 
 
 His first step was to make sure of the monk who represented the 
 Inquisition. Cauchon, having assembled his assessors, Norman 
 priests and doctors of Paris, in the house of a canon, sent for the 
 Dominican, and called upon him to act as his coadjutor in the pro- 
 ceedings. The shaveling timidly replied, that "if his powers were 
 judged sufficient, he would act as his duty recjuired." The bishop 
 did not fail to declare that his powers were amply sufficient ; on 
 which the monk further objected, " that ho was anxious not to act as 
 yet, both from scruples of conscience and for legality of the trial," 
 and begged the bishop to substitute some one in his place, until he 
 should a.scertain that his ]X)wers were really sufficient. 
 
 His objections were useless ; ho was not allowed so to escape, and 
 had to sit in judgment, whether he would or not. There was another 
 motive besides fear, which undoubtedly assisted in keeping him to 
 his post : Winchester assigned him twenty gold sous for his pains.' 
 Perhaps the Mendicant monk had never seen such a quantity of irold 
 in his life. ^ j t.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 35 
 
 TRIAL OP THE PUCELLE. 
 
 On Februarr 21, tlie Pucelle was brought before her judges. The 
 bishop of Beauvais admonished her " witli mildness and charity," 
 praj-ing her to answer truly to whatever she should be asked, with- 
 out ev^ion or subterfuge, both to shorten her trial and ease her con- 
 science. Answer: "I do not know what you mean to question me 
 about ; vou might ask me things which I would not tell you." She 
 consented to swear to speak the truth upon all matters, except those 
 which related to her visions ; " but with respect to these," she said, 
 " you shall cut off my head first." Nevertheless, she was induced to 
 swear that she wouldanswer all questions " on points affecting faith." 
 
 She was again urged on the following day, the 22d, and again on 
 the 2-4th, but held firm. " It is a common remark even in children's 
 mouths," was her observation, " that people are often hung for telling 
 tJce truth." At last, worn out, and for quietness' sake, she consented 
 to swear "to tell what she knew upon her trial, but not all she 
 knew." 
 
 Interrogated as to her age, name, and surname, she said that she 
 was about nineteen years old. "In the place where I was born,* 
 they called me Jehanette, and in France, Jehanne. ..." But 
 with regard to her surname (the Pucelle, the maid), it seems that 
 through some caprice of feminine modesty she could not bring her- 
 self to utter it, and that she eluded the direct answer by a chaste 
 falsehood — " As to surname, I know nothing of it." 
 
 She complained of the fetters on her limbs ; and the bishop told 
 her that as she had made several attempts to escape, they had been 
 obliged to put them on. " It is true," she said, " I have done so, and 
 it is allowable for any prisoner. If I escaT)ed, I could not be re- 
 proached with having bnjkea my word, for I had given no promise." 
 
 She was ordered to repeat the Pater and the Ave, perhaps in the 
 superstitious idea that if she were vowed totlie devil she durst not. 
 "I will willingly repeat them if my lord of Beauvaii* will hear me 
 confe.ss." Adroit and touching demand! by thus reposing her confi- 
 dence in her judge, her enemy, she would have made him both her 
 spiritual fath(!r and the witness of her innocence. 
 
 Cauchon declined the request ; but I can w(;U believe that he was 
 moved by it. He l)roke up the sitting for that day, and on tin; day 
 following did not cfjntinue the interrogatory himself, but diqjuteil the 
 office to one of his a.ssessors. 
 
 At the fourth sitting she displayed unwonted animation. She did 
 not conceal lier having lieard her voices. " They awakc^ned me," she 
 said, " I clasped my hands in prayer, and besought them to givt; me 
 counsel; they said to me, 'Ask'of our Lord.'"— " And what more 
 did they say V " — " To answer you boldly." 
 
 » Domr-iny In f:iiunii)airnc, on tho frontifrH of Burgundy, would be dlBtinguished 
 in Joou'tt tiuio from France i>roper.— Thaj<blatou.
 
 {W JOAN OP ARC. 
 
 "... I cannot tell all ; I am much moro fearful of saying 
 anything M'hich may displease them, tiian 1 am of answering you. 
 . . . For to-day I beg you to question me no further." 
 
 The bishop perceiving her emotion persisted : " But, Jehanne, God 
 is offended tlien if one tells true things ?— " My voices have told me 
 certain things, not for you, but for the king." Then she added with 
 fervor, " Ah ! if he knew them, he Avould eat his dinner with greater 
 relish. . . . Would that he did know them, and would drink no 
 wine from this to Easter." 
 
 She gave utterance to some sublime things, while prattling in this 
 simple strain : " I come from Glod, I have naught to do here ; dismiss 
 me to God, from whom I come. . . ." 
 
 " You say that you are my judge ; think well what you are about, 
 for of a truth I am sent of God, and you are putting yourself in great 
 danger." 
 
 There can be no doubt such language irritated the judges, and they 
 put to her an insidious and base question, a question which it is a 
 crime to put to any man alive : " Jehanne, do you believe yourself to 
 be in a state of grace?" 
 
 They thought they had bound her with an indissoluble knot. To 
 say no was to confess herself unworthy of having been God's chosen 
 instrument ; but, on the other hand, how say yes ? Which of us, 
 frail beings as we are, is sure here below of being truly in God's 
 grace ? Not one, except the proud, presumptuous man, who of all 
 is precisely the furthest from it. 
 
 She cut the knot with heroic and Christian simjdicity : 
 
 " If I am not, may God be pleased to receive me into it : if I am, 
 may God be pleased to keep me in it." 
 
 The Pharisees were struck speechless. 
 
 But with all her heroism, she was nevertheless a woman. . . . 
 After giving utterance to this sublime sentiment, she sank from the 
 high-wrought mood, and relapsed into the softness of her sex, doubt- 
 ing of her state, as is natural to a Christian soul, interrogating her- 
 self and trying to gain confidence : " Ah ! if I knew that I were not 
 in God's grace, I should be the most wretched being in the world. 
 . . . But if I were in a state of sin, no doubt the voice would 
 not come. . , . Would that every one could hear it like my- 
 self." 
 
 These words gave a hold to her judges. After a long pause they 
 returned to the cliarge with redoubled hate, and pressed upon her 
 question after question designed to ruin her. "Had not the voices 
 told her to /wi<(; the Burgundians ? " . . . " Did she not go when 
 a child to the Fairies' tree 1 " etc. . . . They now longed to burn 
 her as a witch. 
 
 At the fifth sitting she was attacked on delicate and dangerous 
 ground, namely, with regard to the appearances she had seen. The 
 bishop became all of a sudden compassionate and honied, addressed
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 37 
 
 her with : " Jehanne, how have you been since Saturday?" — "You 
 see," said the poor prisoner, loaded with chains, " as well as I might." 
 
 " Jehanne, do you fast every day this Lent '?" — " Is the question a 
 necessary one?" — "Yes, truly." — "Well then, yes, I have always 
 fasted." 
 
 She was then pressed on the subject of her visions, and with re- 
 gard to a sign shown the dauphin, and concerning St. Catherine and 
 St. Michael. Among other insidious and indelicate questions, she, 
 was asked whether, when St. Michael appeared to her, he was naked. 
 . . . To this shameful question she replied, without under- 
 standing its drift, and with heavenly purity, " Do you think then 
 that our Lord has not Avherewith to clothe him ? " 
 
 On March 3, otlier out-of-the-way questions were put to her in 
 order to entrap her into confessing some diabolical agency, some evil 
 correspondence with the devil. "Has this Saint Michael of yours, 
 have these holy women, a body and limbs ? Are you sure the figures 
 you see are those of angels?" — " Yes, I believe so, as firmly as I be- 
 lieve in God." This answer was carefully noted down. 
 
 They then turn to the subject of her wearing male attire and of her 
 standard. "Did not the soldiery make standards in imitation of 
 yours? Did they not replace them with others?" — " Yes, when the 
 lance (staff) happened to break." — " Did you not say that those stand- 
 ards Avould bring them luck ? " — " No ; I only said, ' Fall boldly upon 
 the English,' and I fell upon them myself." 
 
 "But why was this standard borne at the coronation, in the church 
 of Kheims, rather than those of the other captains? . . ." "It 
 had seen all the danger, and it was only fair that it should share the 
 honor." 
 
 "What was the impression of the people who kissed your feet, 
 hands, and garments ? " — "The poor came to me of their own free^ 
 will, ^cause I never did them any harm, and assisted and protected 
 them as far as was in my ])Ower." 
 
 It wa.s imi)ossil)le for heart of man not to be touched with such an- 
 swers. Cauchon thought it ])rudent to proceed henceforward with 
 only a few assessors on whom he could rely, and quite quietly. We 
 Jind the number of assessors varying at each sitting from the very 
 lieginning of the trial : some leave; and their places are taken by 
 otliers. The place of trial is similarly changed. The accused, wlio 
 at first is interrogated iiv the hull of lli<; castle of Rouen, is now ques- 
 tioned in prison. " In order not to fatigue the rest," ("auclion took 
 tliere only two assessors and two witnesses (from the 10th to the 17th 
 of March), lie was, perhaps, emi)f)ldened thus to proceed Avith shut 
 doors, from being sun; of tin; su])iiort of th(! In(ialsition ; the vicar 
 having at lenglli received from tlio liKiuisitor-lieiicral of France full 
 jiowcpH to preside at tlw f rinl along willi tlie l)isho]> (Marcli 12). 
 
 In tliese fresh examinations, slio is pressed only on a few points 
 indicated Ixiforohand by Cauchon.
 
 38 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 " Did the voices command her to make that sally out of Compicgnfl 
 in which she was taken ? " To this she docs not give a direct reply : 
 " Tlie saints liad told me that I should be taken before niidsmnnier ; 
 that it beliooved so to be, that I must not be astonished, but suffer all 
 cheerfully, and God would aid me. . . . Since it has so ])leased 
 (jod, it is for the best that I should liave been taken." 
 
 "Do you think you did well in setting out without the leave of 
 your father aiid mother ? Ought we not to honor our parents '! " 
 '" They have forgiven me." — " And did you think you were not sin- 
 ning in doing soV" — " It was by God's command ; and if 1 had had a 
 hundred fathers and mothers, I shoukl luive set out." 
 
 "Did not the voices call you daughter of God, daughter of the 
 Church, the maid of the great heart ?" — " Before the siege of Orleans 
 was raised, and since then, the voices liave called me, and they call 
 me every day, ' Jehanne the Pucelle, daughter of God.'" 
 
 "Was it right to attack Paris the day of the Nativity of Our 
 Lady?" — "It is fitting to keep the festivals of Our Lady; and it 
 would be so, I truly think, to keep them every day." 
 
 " Why did you leap from the tower of Beaurevoir?" (The drift of 
 this question was to induce her to say that she had wished to kill 
 herself.) — " I heard that the poor people of Compiegne would all be 
 slain, down to children seven years of age, and I knew, too, that I 
 was sold to the English ; I would rather have died than fall into the 
 hands of the English." 
 
 "Do St. Catherine and St. Margaret hate the English ?"—" They 
 love what our Lord loves, and hate what he hates." — "Does God 
 hate the English ? " — " Of the love or hate God may bear the English, 
 and what he does with their souls, I know nothing ; but I know that 
 they will be put forth out of France, with the exception of such as 
 shall perish in it." 
 
 " Is it not a mortal sin to hold a man to ransom, and then put him 
 to death?" — "I have not done that." — " Was not Franquet d' Arras 
 put to death ? " — " I consented to it, having been unable to exchange 
 him for one of my men; he owned to being a brigand and a traitor. 
 His trial lasted a fortnight, before the bailli of Senlis." — " Did you 
 not give money to the man who took him ?" — " I am not treasurer of 
 France, to give money." 
 
 "Do you think that your king did well in killing, or causing to be 
 kilW, my lord of Burgundy ?" — " It was a great pity for the realm 
 of "ranee ; but whatever might have been between them, God sent' 
 me to the aid of the King of France." 
 
 "Jehanne, has it been revealed to you whether you will escape?"/ 
 — " That does not liear upon your trial. Do you want me to depone 
 against myself ?" — " Have the voices said nothing to you about it? " 
 — "That dofs not concern your trial; I put myself in our Lord's 
 hands, who will do as it pleaseth him." . . . And, after a pau.se, 
 " By my troth, I know neither the hour nor the day. God's will be
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 3{, 
 
 done." — " Have not your voices told you anything about the result, 
 generally?" — "Well, then, yes ; they have told me that I shall be 
 delivered, and have bade me be of good cheer and courage. . . ." 
 
 Another day she added : " The saints tell me that I shall be victo- 
 riously delivered, and they say to me besides, ' Take all in good part • 
 care not for thy martyrdom ; thou shalt at the last enter the kingdom 
 of Paradise.' "— " And since they have told you so, do you feel sure 
 of being saved, and of not going to hell?" — "Yes, I believe what 
 they have told me as firmly as if I were already saved." — "This 
 assurance is a very weighty one." — " Yes, it is a great treasure to me."' 
 ' — "And so you believe you can no longer commit amortal sin ? " — " I 
 know nothing of that ; I rely altogether on our Lord." 
 
 At last the judges had made out the true ground on which to 
 bring the accusation ; at last they had found a spot on which to lay 
 stronghold. There was not a chance of getting this chaste and holy 
 girl to be taken for a witch, for a familiar of the devil's ; but in her 
 very sanctity, as is invariably the case with all mystics, there was a 
 side left open to attack ; the secret voice considered equal, or pre- 
 ferred to, the instruction of the Church, the prescriptions of authority 
 — inspiration, but free and independent inspiration — revelation, but 
 a personal revelation — submission to God ; what God ? the God 
 within. 
 
 These preliminary examinations were concluded by a formal de- 
 mand, whether she would submit her actions and opinions to the 
 judgment of the Church ; to which she replied, " I love the Church, 
 and would support it to the best of my power. As to the good works 
 which I have wrought, 1 must refer them to the King of Heaven, 
 who sent me." 
 
 The question being rejirated, she gave no other answer, but added, 
 "Our Lord and the Churcli, it is all one." 
 
 She wa.s then told that there was a distinction ; tliat there was the 
 Church triumpha/tt, God, tlie saints, and those who had betai admitted 
 to salvation ; and the Church militant, or, in other words, the Pope, 
 tlu! cardinals, the clergy, and all good Christians — the which Church, 
 " y)ro|)erly assembled," cannot err, and is guided by the Holy Gho.st. 
 " Will you not then submit yourself to the Cliurch militnnt?" — "I 
 am come to tlie King of Franct! from God, from the Virgin Mary, tlio 
 saints, and tlu; Church mftorionH there al)ove ; to that Churcli I sub- 
 mit myself, my works, all that I have done or have to do." — "And 
 to the Church militant? " — " 1 will give no other answer." 
 
 According to one of the a.ssessors she said that, on e(Ttain points, 
 slie trusted to neither bishop, pope, nor any one ; but held her belief 
 of God alone. 
 
 'J"he qu«;stion on wliich the trial was to turn was thus laid down in 
 all its siTn|)licity and grandeur, and the tru<! debate comnuMiced ; on 
 the one hand, the visii>l(! Church and authority, on the other, inspi- 
 ration attesting tlie invisible Church ; . . . invisible to vulirar eyes,
 
 40 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 but clearly seen by the pious girl, who was forever contemprating it, 
 forever hearing it within herself, forever carrying in her heart tlieso 
 Kaints and angels. . . . There was her Church, there God shone 
 lu His brightness ; everywhere else, how shadowy He was 1 . . . 
 
 Such being the case at issue, the accused was doomed to irremedia- 
 ble destruction. She could not give way ; she could not, save falsely, 
 disavow, deny wliat she saw and heard so distinctly. On the otlier 
 hand, could authority remain authority if it abdicated its jurisdiction ; 
 if it (lid not punish? The C'hurch militant is an armed Churcli, 
 armed with a two-edged sword ; against whom ? Apparently, against 
 the refractory. 
 
 Terrible was this Church in the person of the reasoners, the scholas- 
 tics, the enemies of inspiration ; terrible and implacable, if repre- 
 sented by the Bishop of Beauvais. But were there, then, no judges 
 superior to this bishop ? How could the episcopal party, the party 
 of the University, fail, in this peculiar case, to recognize as supreme 
 judge its Council of Bale, which was on the eve of being opened? On 
 the other hand, the papal Inquisition, and the Dominican who was its 
 vicar, would undoubtedly be far from disputing the superiority of the 
 Pope's jurisdiction to its own, which emanated from it. 
 
 A legist of Roueu, that very Jean de la Fontaine who was Cauchon's 
 friend and the enemy of the Pucelle, could not feel his conscience at 
 ease in leaving an accused girl without counsel, ignorant that there 
 were judges of appeal, on whom she could call without any sacrifice 
 of the ground on which she took up her defence. Two monks like- 
 wise thought that a reservation should be made in favor of the su- 
 preme right (jf the Pope. However irregular it might be for assessors 
 to visit and counsel tlie accused, apart from their coadjutors, these 
 three worthy men, who saw Cauchon violate every legal form for the 
 triumph of iniquity, did not hesitate to violate all forms themselves 
 for justice's sake, intrepidly repaired to the prison, forced their way 
 in, and advised her to appeal. The next day she appealed to the 
 Pope aiul to the council. Cauchon, in his rage, sent for the guards 
 and inquired who had visited the Pucelle. The legist and the two 
 monks were in grtsat danger of death. From that day they disap- 
 pear from among the assessors, and with them the last semblance of 
 justice disappears from the trial. 
 
 Cauchon, at first, had lioped to have on his side the EHthority of 
 the lawyers, which carried great w<;ight at Rouen. But he had soon 
 found out that he must do without the^m. When he showed the 
 minutes of the opening proceedings of the trial to one of these grave 
 legists, master Johan Lohier, the latter plainly told him that the 
 trial amounted to nothing ; that it was all informal ; that the assess- 
 ors were not free to judge ; that the proceedings were carried on with 
 closed doors ; that the accused, a simple country girl, was not capa- 
 ble of answering on such grave subjects and to learned doctors ; and, 
 finally, the lawyer had the boldness to say to the churchman : " The
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 41 
 
 proceedings are, in point of fact, instituted to ^P^^^" t^,f, j^^^^^ "^ 
 tlio prince, whose side this girl espouses ; you shall cite h m to ap- 
 pear as well, and assign him an advocate." This intrepid gravity 
 which recalls Papinian's bearing towards Caracalla, woula have cost 
 Lohier dear ; but the Norman Papinian did not like the other, 
 calmlv wait the death stroke on his curule chair ; he set off at once 
 for Rome, where the Pope eagerly attached such a man to himselt, 
 and appointed him one of the judges of the Holy See ; he died deau 
 
 ^ Apparently, Cauchon ought to have been better supported by tho 
 theologians. After the first examinations, armed with the answers 
 which she had given against herself, he shut himself up with his in- 
 timates, and availing himself, especially, of the pen of an able mem- 
 ber of the University of Paris, he drew from these answers a few 
 counts, on which the opinion of the leading doctors and of the eccle- 
 siastical bodies was to be taken. This was the detestable custom, but 
 in reality (whatever has been said to the contrary) the common and 
 reerular way of proceeding in inquisitorial trials. These propositions, 
 extracted from the answers given by the Pucelle, and drawn up in 
 general terms, bore a false show of impartiality ; although in point 
 of fact they were a caricature of those answers, and the doctors con- 
 sulted could not fail to pass an opinion upon them, m accordance witli 
 the hostile intention of their iniquitous framers. 
 
 But liowever the counts might be framed, however great the ter- 
 ror which hung over the doctors consulted, they were far from being 
 unanimous in their judgments. Among these doctors, the true the^- 
 loffiaus the sincere believers, those who had preserved the firm faith 
 of the Middle age, could not easily reject this tale of celestial appear- 
 ances, of visioni ; for then they might have doubted all the marvels 
 of the lives of the saints, and discussed all their legends The vener- 
 able Bishop of Avranches replied, on being consulted, that according 
 to the teaching of St. Thomas, there was nothing impossible in what 
 this girl affirmed, nothing to l)e lightly rejected. ^ 
 
 The Bishop of Lisieux, while acknowledging that Jeanne s revela 
 tions might be the work of the devil, humanely added that they 
 mifclit also be fdrnple lies, and that if she did not submit herself to the 
 Church, she must be adjudged schismatic, and be vehemently sus- 
 
 ncrted in regard to faitli. ,01-1 -i. , 
 
 Many legists answered like true Normans, by finding her gui ty 
 anrl most guiltv, frrrpt sh>'. aHcd hjf Ood'.^ command. One bachelor 
 at law went further than this ; while condemnmg her, he demandcul, 
 in consideration of the weakness of her sex, that the tioehe propmu 
 tionn Khould he. read owr to her (he suspected, and with reason, that 
 they had not b.-on coinmuniratcd to her), iin.l that they should then 
 U-, laid before the Pope— this would have br.-n adjourning the matter 
 
 ""The° ass^rs, assembled in the chaptl of the archbishopric, had
 
 43 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 docidofl acrtiinst hor on tlio showing of these propositions. The chap- 
 ter of lloiicn, likewise consulted, was in no haste to eotno to a de- 
 cision and to give the victory to the man it detested and trembled at 
 having for its archbishop, but chose to wait for the reply from the 
 I'niversity of Paris, which had been applied to on the subject. There 
 could be no doul)t what this r(>ply would be ; the Galilean party, that 
 is, tlie University and scholastic part}', could not bo favorabki to the 
 Pucelle : an individual of this party, the Bishop of Coutances, went 
 beyond all others in the harsliness and singularity of his answer. 
 He wrote to tlie Bishop of Beauvais that he considered the accused 
 to be wholly the devil's, " because she was without two qualities re- 
 quired by St. Gregory — virtue and humanity," and that her assertions 
 were so heretical, that though she should revoke them, she must 
 nevertheless be held in strict keeping. 
 
 It was a strange spectacle to see these theologians, these doctors, 
 laboring with all their might to ruin the very faith which Avas the 
 foundation of their doctrine, and which constituted the religious prin- 
 ciples of the middle age in general — belief in revelations ; in the in- 
 tervention of supernatural beings. . . . They might have their 
 doubts as to the intervention of angels ; but their belief in the devil's 
 agencies was implicit. 
 
 And was not the important question whether internal revelations 
 ought to be hushed, and to disavow themselves to the Church's bid- 
 ding, was not this question, so loudly debated in the outer world, 
 silently discussed in the inner world, in the soul of her who affirmed 
 and who believed in their existence the most lirmly of all? Was not 
 this battle of faith fought in the very sanctuary of faith — fought in 
 this loyal and simple heart? . . . I have reason to believe so. 
 
 At one time she expressed her readiness to submit herself to the 
 Pope, and asked to be sent to him. At another she drew a distinction, 
 maintaining that as regarded faith she acknowledged the authority of 
 the Pope, the bishops, and the Church, but as regarded what she had 
 done, she could own no other judge than God. Sometimes, making 
 no distinction, and offering no explanation, she appealed " to her 
 King, to the judge of heaven and of earth." 
 
 Whatever care has been taken to throw these things into the shade, 
 and to conceal tliis, the human side, in a being who has been fondly 
 painted as all divine, her fluctuations arc visible, and it is wrong to 
 charge her judges with having misled her so as to make her prevari- 
 cate on those questions. " She was very subtle," says one of ths 
 witnesses, and truly; "of a woman's subtlety." I incline to at- 
 tribute to these internal struggles the sickness which attacked her, 
 and which brought her to the point of death ; nor did she recover, as 
 she her.self informs us, until the period that the angel Michael, the 
 angel of battles, ceased to support her, and gave place to Gabriel, the 
 angel of grace and of divine love 
 
 She fell sick in Passion week. Her temptation began, no doubt,
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 43 
 
 on Palm Sunday.* A country girl, born on the skirts of a forest, and 
 havino- ever lived in the open air of heaven, she was compelled to pass 
 this fine Palm Sunday in the depchs of a dungeon. The grand swcc(;r 
 which the Church invokes f came not for her ; the doors did not 
 
 Tliey were opened on the Tuesday ; but it was to lead the accused 
 to the great hall of the castle before her judges. They read to her 
 the articles which had been founded on her answers, and the bishop 
 previously represented to her " that these doctors were all churchmen, 
 clerks and well read in law, divine and human: that they were all 
 leader and pitiful, and desired to proceed mildly, seeking neither ven- 
 geance nor corporeal punishment, but solely wishing to enlighten her, 
 and to put her in the way of truth and of salvation ; and that, as she 
 was not sufficiently informed on such high matters, the bishop and 
 the inquisitor offered her the choice Jt one or more of the assessors to 
 act as her counsel." The accused, in presence of this assembly, m 
 which she did not descry a -.ingle friendly face, mildly answered, 
 "For what you admonish me as lo my good, and concerning our 
 faith, I thank you ; as to the counsel you offer me, I have no inten- 
 tion to forsake the counsel of our Lord." 
 
 The first article touched the capital point, submission, blie repliecl 
 as before " Well do I believe that our Holy Father, the bishops, and 
 others of the Church are to guard the Christian faith, and punish 
 those who are found wanting. As to my deeds (faits), I submit my- 
 eelf only to the Church in heaven, to God and the Virgin, to the 
 tainted "men and women in Paradise. I have not been wanting in 
 regard to the Christian faith, and trust I nevo. shall be." 
 
 And, shortly afterwards : " T would rather die than recall what i 
 have done by our Lord's command " 
 
 What illustrates the time, the uninformed mind of these doctors, 
 and ilieir blind attachment to the letter without regard to the spirit, 
 is, tiiat no point seemed graver to them than the sin of having as- 
 sumed male attire. They represented to her that according to the 
 canons those who thus cl'iange the liabit of their sex are abominable 
 in the sigho of God. At first she would not give a direct answer, and 
 begged for a respite till the next day ; but her judges insisting on her 
 discarding the dress, she replied, " that she was not empowered to say 
 when she could quit it."—" But if you should be deprived of the 
 
 « "1 knownotwhy,' sayaa ereat fipiritual teacher, "God chooses the most solemn 
 ic^tival*. to try and to purify his elect. . . . It ih at.ove only, in the ^'^t'val of 
 heaven, that we wliall be delivered from all our troubles."— bamt-Cyrau. in Iht Mc- 
 
 ""t'ThJ office '^for' prime, on this day, runs : " Deus, In adjutorivm menm intende. 
 
 . " (Come, O God, to my aid.) . , . ^ ♦»,„ 
 
 I Every one knows that the Hcrvice for this festival is one of those in whicli tne 
 
 l)0,iutiful dramatic forms of the middle «qe liave been preserved The procession 
 
 /liids the door of th(! church hhiM. the luiiasterkuockw : "AttolUte portuB. . . . 
 
 Ajid the Uoor ii opened to the Ixird. ^_
 
 44 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 privilogo of henrinc: mass ? " — " Well, our Tiorrl can prant mo to hear 
 it wilhoiil you." — " Will you put on a woman's dress in order to re- 
 ceive your Saviour at Easter?' — "No; I cannot quit this dress ; it 
 matters not to me in what dress I receive my Saviour." — After this 
 she seems shaken, asks to be at least allowed to hear mass, adding, 
 " I won't say but if you were to give me a gown such as the daugh- 
 ters of the burghers wear, a very long (/own. . . ." 
 
 It is clear she shrank, through modesty, from explaining lierself. 
 The poor girl durst not explain her position in prison, or the constant 
 danger she was in. The truth is, that three soldiers slept in her 
 room,* three of the brigand ruffians called houKiylUeurs ; that she was 
 chained to a beam by a large iron chain, f almost wholly at tlieir 
 mercy ; the man's dress they wished to compel her to discontinue 
 was all her safeguard. . . . What are we to think of the imbe- 
 cility of the judge, or of his horrible connivance? 
 
 Besides being kept under the eyes of these wretches, and exposed 
 to their insults and mockery, :[: she was subjected to espial from with- 
 out. Winchester, the inquisitor, and Cauchon i^ had each a key to 
 the tower, and watched her liourly through a hole in the wall. Each 
 stone of this infernal dungeon had eyes. 
 
 Her only consolation was that she was at first allowed interviews 
 with a priest, who told her that he was a prisoner, and attached to 
 Charles VII. 's cause. Loyseleur, so he was named, was a tool of 
 the English. He had won Jeanne's confidence, who used to confess 
 herself to him , and at such times her confessions were taken down 
 by notaries concealed on purpose to overhear her. , . . It is said 
 that Loyseleur encouraged her to hold out, in order to insure her de- 
 struction. On tho question of her being put to the torture being dis- 
 cussed (a very useless proceeding, since she neither denied nor con- 
 cealed anything), there were only two or three of her judges who 
 counselled the atrocious deed, and the confessor was one of these. 
 
 The deplorable state of the prisoner's health was aggravated by her 
 
 * Five Englishmen ; three of whom 8'ayed at night in her room. (Ilo-ii.'fjnUar is 
 to worry like a do'.,'— hence the name ITompiUevr.) Notices des MSS., lii. 506. 
 
 + •' She slept with double chain.s round her limbs, and closely fastened to a chain 
 traver:iini? the foot of her bed, attached to a large piece of wood Ave or six feet long, 
 and padlocked, so that she could not etir from the place."— Ibidem. Another wit- 
 nfs.s states: "There was an iron beam, to keep her straight [firectam).'" Pi-ocls 
 Jus., Evidence of Pierre Cusquel. 
 
 ' The Count de Li^Tiv went to see her with an English lord, and said to her, 
 " Jeanne, I come to hold you to ransom, provided you promise never again to bear 
 fcrms against us." She replied : " Ah ! my God, you are laughing at me ; I know 
 you have neither the will nor the power." And when he repeated the words, she 
 added, " I am convincixl these English will put me to death, in the hope of winning 
 til.: kingdom of France. IJut though the Godom^ (Goddens} should be a hundred 
 '■-onsand more than they are to-day, thoy would not win the kingdom." The Eng- 
 lish lord was so enraged that be drew bis dagger to pluntre it into her, but was hin- 
 ilcrcd by the Earl of Warwick. Notices dea M.SS., iii. 371 
 
 « Not precisely Cauchon, but his man, i>jtivet. promoter of the prosecutiot, 
 \bid., lii. Wt. ^
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 
 
 45 
 
 beine deprived of the consolations of religion during Passion Week 
 
 *^ On tWontrary her courage had revived. Likening her own suf- 
 fer^nitoth"osroV(^^^^^^^ theShought had roused her trom her de- 
 ^flnv She answered when the question was again put to her 
 
 rSrSi i7„p?„° ffilTo'-of l.o,y Ue. ...? Jop. to .he 
 cardinals archbBLop^W.o,,s^a^ 
 
 ''"iha firmness did not desert lier once on the Saturday : bat on the 
 
 ourenvying llrem, those crowds ot l»:lievers ssning Irom the Chun: 
 made /oung again and revived by the d.vine table ( . . . ^he 
 
 Svkife.n."'a:.'nts = .:lTt S. ..» .initeftolK 
 
 -S'Sn;a^:tvi;te^oSsS^^';:rtr»^ 
 
 * •> 
 
 . .Usque quo o6/ir«..mmc in nncmr- (IIow 1om« wilt thou forget me V) Ser- 
 ^^;c-oi^he'ra"Llrfcn above, aa to the deep impreBsion mode on her 6, 
 the 8uuud o{ bcllu.
 
 ^ JOAxN OP AKC. 
 
 tinn world was still ono, still imdividod ? WT,n+ r«„<,» ^, 
 
 6lie said, a girl altogethrsubm Se ^^^; P.'''''V^ " "" ^^''^^5^1." ^s 
 out terror see the Cliurch aS ler" %^^'''''^-^ould «he witli- 
 with God-alone excepted fmm fh^^ ,a^ .' f^'^'' ''" ^''^ ""^^ed 
 communion, on the day on Xh the" J es'of'f "'^^ "'^^ ""^^^^'^^^ 
 mankind-alone to be excluded > ^ ^^^''^'' ^^'^ ^P^^^^d ** 
 
 And was this exclusion unjust V ' * ti,^ ni • .■ , ( 
 
 too humble ever to pretend tl-it if !,.,« n'- ,\ 7 ''^ Cl^nstian's soul is^ 
 After all, what, wh^wl i.e to u do, t if t '"^ '•'"'^' \'' ^°^- ' ' 
 these doctors? How dannl she sZt "" ^'''"^'''^ *^'^^« prelates, 
 
 who had studied ? Was t ere nTr^r ^•^^'^'"^.P ^^"7 able men-men 
 
 in an ignorant giH^s opposi^^ herseirt^Ttiln l"" "".^ '^"'^^"''^^^^^ P"'^^ 
 girl to men in authofi?y ?" ^'^""^^^ /f^ ^^'^ 'f^V^^-?— -^ POor simple 
 agitated her mind ^ ' ■ ■ ■ Undoubtedly fears of the kind 
 
 this time, sustained her ^^^^^^'J her answers to her. and, up to 
 
 more in this pressing need" of * hers 9 AV, "'f ' ^^^^ ' ^? ^^^^^ ^''"^^ "« 
 countenances of the saints anne«rn ^^h^^<^f"r« do those consoling 
 and growing paler TX">'^'"^' ^'^ wTpVeT^'^* ?/ ^^^'^^^'^^ ^*^'^*^ 
 ised deliverance delayed "^ ' " ' ul\Zf'''V^ ^^"'■. «« long-prom- 
 these questions to heLlf ov'er'and ov^^r l • *^'! ^7?"'^" ^'^« P'^* 
 gently, she has over and overM.in ^f 'i ' ^""l^tless, silently, 
 
 angels. But an Js who do n off "^"arrelled with her saints and 
 
 ofhVht? . ^ LetusWth^^ *^"^^^ ^"ff«'« 
 
 cur to her mind ^ "'''* *^'^ ^'^""'"^^^ thought did not oc- 
 
 lawyers thouo-ht it en«v f.>.. i" 1 •^' ^* seems to me." Tho 
 
 ing soul. . ^" • • • ^d the body was following the sink 
 
 whLrthSXH;!;;^^^:,.^;^^?^^^ eaten P^^ "^ ^ fish 
 imagined herself poisone The 1^7 i""? '"•* ^"^'' ^"^^ '"'.^h* ^^ve 
 it would have put^an e ncl to this S '' "'-^ ^'" "^.'"'■^^"* "^ h^'' ^eath ; 
 
 not .J. ,„ „, «..;;:;i\^2™r^rst2.-'^.',:s^irct.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 47 
 
 her dear. . . . She must die by justice and be burnt . . . 
 
 See and cure her. " . . •, j n •, v ^ 
 
 All attention, indeed, was paid her ; she was visited and bled, but 
 was none the better for it, remaining weak and nearly dying. 
 Whether through fear that she should escape thus and die without 
 retracting, or that her bodily weakness mspired hopes that her mind 
 would be more easily dealt with, the judges made an attempt while 
 she was Iving in this state (April 18). They visited her in her cham- 
 ber, and represented to her that she would be in great danger if sha 
 did not reconsider and follow the advice of the Church. " It seems 
 to me, indeed," she said, "seeing my sickness, that I am in great 
 dano-er of death. If so,' God's will be done ; I should like to confess, 
 recetve my Saviour, and be laid in holy ground."—" If you desire the 
 sacraments of the Church, you must do as good Catholics do, and sub- 
 mit yourself to it." She made no reply. But on the judge's repeat, 
 ing his words, she said : " If the body die in prison, I hope that you 
 wfll lay it in holy ground ; if you do not, I appeal to our Lord." 
 
 Already in .^he course of these examinations she had expressed one 
 of her last wishes. Question. "You say that you wear a man's 
 dress by God's command, and yet, in case you die, you want a 
 woman's ahiiV'."— Answer. "All I want is to have a long one." 
 This touching answer was ample proof that, in this extremity, she 
 •was much less occupied with care about life than with the fears of 
 modesty. 
 
 Tlie doctors preached to their patient for a long time ; and he who 
 had taken on himself the especial care of exhorting her. Master 
 Nicolas Midy. a scliolastic of Paris, closed the scene by saying bitter- 
 ly to her : " If you don't obey the Church, you will be abandoned for 
 a Saracen."— " I am a good Christian," she replied meekly, "I was 
 properly baptized, and will die like a good Christian." 
 
 The slowness of these proceedings drove the English wild with im- 
 patience. Winchester had hoped to have been able to bring the trial 
 ta an end before the campaign ; to have forced a confession from the 
 prisoner, ami have dishonored King Charles. Tliis blow struck, ho 
 would recovt^r Louvi(;rs, stxuro Normandy and the Seine, and then 
 repair to Bale to begin another war— a theological war— to sit there as 
 arbiter of Christendom, and make and unmake popes. At the very 
 moment he had these high designs in vi(!W, he was compelled to cool 
 his heels, waiting upon what it iniglit please this girl to say. 
 
 Tlie unlucky Cauchon liarP''"<-d at this i)recise juncture to have 
 ofF(!nd(!d tlic Cliapttrr of Kouen, from whicli he was soliciting a de- 
 cision against the Pucclle : he liad allowed himself to be addressed 
 beforcdiand as " My lord, the archbishop." Winchester determined 
 to disregard the dtdays of these Normans, and to refer at once to the 
 great theological tribunal, the University of Paris. 
 
 While waiting for tlie answer, new attempts were made to over- 
 come the resistance of the accused ; and both stratagem and terro*
 
 48 JOAN OF ARC, 
 
 were brought into play. In tlie course of a second admonition (May 
 2), the preaolitT, Ma-s'ter Cliritillon, proposed to her to submit the 
 question of the truth of her visions to persons of her own party. She 
 did not give in to the snare. " As to tliis," she said, " I depend on 
 my Juilgo, tlie Kiug of heaven and earth." She did not say tliis 
 time, as before, "On God and the Pope." — "Well, the Church will 
 
 five you up, and you will be in danger of fire, both soul and body, 
 ou will not do what we tell you until you suffer body and soul." 
 
 They did not stop at vague threats. On the third admonition, 
 which' took place in her chamber (May 11), the executioner was sent 
 for and she was told that the torture was ready. . . . But the 
 manoeuvre failed. On the contrary, it was found that she had resumed 
 all, and more than all her courage. Raised up after temptation, she 
 seemed to have mounted a step nearer the source of grace. "The 
 angel Gabriel," she said, " has appeared to strengthen me ; it was he, 
 my saints have assured me so. . . . God has been ever my 
 master in wliat I have done ; the devil has never had power over me. 
 . . . Though you should tear off my limbs and pluck my soul 
 from my body, I would say nothing else." The spirit was so visibly 
 manifested in her that her last adversary, the preacher Chatillon, was 
 touched and became her defender, declaring that a trial so conducted 
 seemed to him null. Cauchon, beside himself with rage, compelled 
 liim to silence 
 
 The reply of the University arrived at last. The decision to which 
 it came on "the twelve articles was, that this girl was wholly the dev- 
 il's ; was impious in regard to her parents ; thirsted for Christian 
 blood, &c. This was the opinion given by the faculty of theology. 
 That of law was more moderate, declaring her to be deserving of 
 punishment, but with two reservations — 1st, in case she persisted m 
 her non-submission ; 2d, if she were in her right senses. 
 
 At the same time, the University wrote to the Pope, to the cardi- 
 nals, and to the King of England, laudiug the Bishop of Beauvais, 
 and setting forth, " that there seemed to it to have been great gravity 
 observ^ed, and a holy and just way of proceeding, which ought to be 
 most satisfactory to all." 
 
 Armed with this response, some of the assessors were for burning 
 her without further delay ; which would have been sufficient satisfac- 
 tion foi^ the doctors, whose authority she rejected, but not for the 
 English, who required a retraction that should defame {infamdt) King 
 Charles. They had recourse to a new admonition and a new preacher, 
 Master Pierre Morice, which was attended by no better result. It was 
 in vain that he dwelt upon the authority of the University of Paris, 
 " which is the light of all science." — " Though I .should see the exe- 
 cutioner and the fire there," she exclaimecT, "though I were in the 
 fire, I could only say what I have said." 
 
 It was by this time the 23d of May, the day after Pentecost ; Win 
 Chester could remain no lunger at Rouen, and it behooved to make an
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 49 
 
 end of the business. Therefore, it was resolved to get up a great and 
 terrible public scene, which should either terrify the recusant into 
 submission, or, at the least, blind the people. Loyseleur, ChatiUon, 
 and Morice, were sent to visit lier the evening before, to promne 
 her that if she would submit and quit her man's dress, she should be 
 delivered out of the hands of the English, and placed m those of 
 
 the Church. . c- • x /-> i 
 
 This fearful farce was enacted in the cemetery of bamt-Ouen, be- 
 hind the beautifully severe monastic church so called ; and which had 
 by that dav assumed its present appearance. On a scafEolding raised 
 for the purpose sat Cardinal Winchester, the two judges, and thirty- 
 three a.ssessors, of whom many had their scribes seated at the^ir feet. 
 Ou another scaffold, in the midst of htiissiers and tortures, was Jeanne, 
 in male attire, and also notaries to take down her confessions, and a 
 preacher to admonish her ; and, at its foot, among the crowd, was re- 
 marked a strange auditor, the executioner upon his cart, ready to bear 
 her off as soon as she should be adjudged his. 
 
 The preacher on this dav, a famous doctor, Guillaume Erard, con- 
 ceived liimself bound, on so fine an opportunity, to give the reins to 
 his eloquence ; and by his zeal he spoiled all. " O, noble house of 
 France " he exclaimed, "which wast ever wont to be protectress of 
 the faith how ha.st thou been abused to ally thyself with a heretic 
 and schismatic, . . ." So far the accused had listened patiently, 
 but wlien the t>reacher. turning towards her, said to her, raising his 
 finger, " It is to thee, Jehanne, that I address myself, and 1 tell thee 
 that thy king is a heretic and schismatic,' the admirable girl, forget- 
 ting all her danger, burst forth with, " On my faith, sir, with all due 
 respect, I undertake to toll you, and to swear, on pain of my life that 
 lie is the noblest Christian of all Christians, the sincerest lover of the 
 faith and of the Church, and not what you call him."—" Silence her, 
 called out Cauchon. 
 
 Thus all these efforts, pains, and expense, had been thrown away. 
 The accused adhered to what she had said. All they could obtain 
 from her was her consent to submit herself to (he Pope. Cauchon re- 
 plied " The Pope is too far off." He then began to read the sentence 
 of condemnation, which had been drawn up beforehand, and m 
 which, among other things, it was specified : " And furthermore, you 
 have obstinatelv persisted in refusing to submit yourself to the Iloly 
 Father and to' the Council," &c. Meanwhile Loyseleur and Erard 
 conjured her to have pity on herself ; on which the bi.shop, catching 
 at a shadow of hope, discontinued his reading. This drove; the Eng- 
 lish mad ; and one of Winchester's secretaries told Caucheon it was 
 clear that he favored the girl— a charge repeated by the cardinal's 
 charilain. " Thou art a liar," exclaimed the bishop. "And thou, 
 wa.s the retort, "art a traitor to the king." These grave personages 
 Beemtxl to be on the jx/mt of going to cuffs on the judgnxnt-seat. 
 Erard, not discouraged, threatened, prayed. One while he said,
 
 50 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 "Jplianno, wo pity roa so ! . . . " and another, " Abjuro or 
 bo burnt ! " All pr(>sont evinced an interest in the matter, down even 
 to a worth}' oatchpole {himsier), who, touched with compassion, be- 
 sought her to give way, assuring lier that she should be taken out of 
 the hands of the English and placed in those of the Church. " Well 
 then," she said, " I will sign." On this, Cauchon, turning to the car- 
 dinal, respectfully inquired what was to be done next. "Admit her 
 to do penance," replied the ecclesiastical prince. 
 
 Winchester's secretary drew out of his sleeve a brief revocation 
 only six lines long (that which was given to the world took up six 
 pages), and put a pen in her hand, but she could not sign. Sho 
 pmilod and drew a circle : the secretary took her hand, and guided it 
 to make a cross. 
 
 The sentence of grace was a most severe one : — " Jehanne, we con- 
 demn you, out of our grace and moderation, to pass the rest of your 
 days in prison, on the bread of grief and water of anguish, and so 
 to mourn your sins." 
 
 She was admitted by the ecclesiastical judge to do penance no 
 doubt, nowhere save in the prisons of the Church. The ecclesiastic 
 in pace, however severe it might be, Avould at the least withdraw her 
 from the hands of the English, place her under shelter from their in- 
 sults, save her honor. Judge of her surprise and despair when the 
 bishop coldly said : " Take her back whence you brought her." 
 
 Nothing was done ; deceived on this wise, she could not fail to re- 
 tract her retraction. Yet, though she had abided by it, the English, 
 in their fury, would not have allowed her so to escape. They had 
 come to Saint Ouen in the hope of at last burning the sorceress, had 
 waited panting and breathless to this end ; and now they were to be 
 dismissed on this fashion, paid with a slip of parchment, *a signature, 
 a grimace. ... At the very moment the bishop discontinued 
 reading the sentence of condemnation, stones flew upon the scaffold- 
 ing without any respect for the cardinal. . . . The doctors were 
 in peril of their lives as they came down from their seats into the 
 public place ; swords were in all directions pointed at their throats. 
 The more moderate among the English confined themselves to insult- 
 ing language : " Priests, you are not earning the king's money." 
 The doctors, making off in all haste, said tremblingly : "Do not" be 
 uneasy, we shall soon have her again." 
 
 And it was not the soldiery alone, not the English moh, alwavs so 
 ferocious, which displayed this thirst for blood. The better born, the 
 great, the lords, were no less sanguinary. The king's man, his tutor, 
 the Earl of Warwick, said like the soldiers : " The king's business 
 goes on badly : the girl will not be burnt." 
 
 According to English notions, Warwick was the mirror of worthi- 
 ness, the accomplished Englishman, the perfect genUeman. Brave 
 and devout, likr; his master, Henry V., and the Z(!aJous champion at 
 the establiaJvtd Church, he had performed the pilirrimage to the Holy
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS 51 
 
 Land, as well as many other chivalrous expeditions, not failing to 
 irive t'ournays on his route : one of the most brilliant and celebrated 
 of which took place at the gates of Calais, where he defied the whole 
 chivalry of France. This tournay was long remembered ; and the 
 oravery and magnificence of this Warwick served not a little to pre- 
 pare tlie way for the famous Warwick, the king-maker. 
 
 With all ills chivalry, Warwick was not the less savagely eager for 
 the death of a woman,' and one who was, too, a prisoner of war. The 
 best and the most looked-up-to of the English, was as little dete:rcd 
 by honorable scruples as the rest of his countrymen from puttmg 
 to death on the award of priests, and by fire, her who had humbled 
 them by the sword. 
 
 This great English people, with so many good and solid qualities, 
 is infected by one vice, which corrupts these very qualities them- 
 selves. This rooted, all-Doisoning vice is pride ; a cruel disease, but 
 which is nevertheless the" principle of English life, the explanation of 
 its contradictions, the secret of its acts. With them, virtue or crime 
 is almost ever the result of pride ; even their follies have no other 
 source. This pride is sensitive, and easily pained in the extreme ; 
 they are great sufferers from it, and again make it a point of pride to 
 conceal these sufferings. Nevertheless, they will have vent. The two 
 expressive words, disappointment and mortification, are peculiar to 
 the English language 
 
 This self -adoration, this internal worship of the creature for its own 
 sake, is the sin by which Satan fell ; the height of impiety. This is 
 the reason that with so many of the virtues of humanity, with their 
 seriousness and sobrietv of demeanor, and with their Biblical turn of 
 mind, no nation is further off from grace. They are the only people 
 wlio have been unal)le to claim the authorship of the Imitation of 
 Jesus : a Frenchman might write it, a Gennan, an Italian, never an 
 Englishman. From Shakspeare to Milton, from Milton to Byron, 
 their beautiful and sombre literature is skeptical, Judaical, satanic, 
 in a word, antichri.stian. " As regards law," as a legist well says, 
 " the English are Jews, the French Christians." A theologian might 
 express himself in the same manner as regards faith. The American In- 
 dians, with tliat jjenctration and originality they .so often exliibit, ex- 
 pressed this distinction in their fa-shion. " Christ," said one of them, 
 " was a Freucliman whom the English crucified in London ; Pontius 
 Pilate was an officer in the service of (J rent Britain." 
 
 The Jews never exhibited the rage against Jesus which the English 
 did against Pucelle. It must be owned that she had wounded them 
 cruelly in the most sensible ])art— in the simple but deep esteem they 
 have 'for themselves. At Orh'ans, the invincible men-at-arms, the 
 famous archors, Tall)ot at tln-ir head, luui sliown their imcks ; at Jar- 
 geau, slieltered 1)V tiie good walls of a fortified town, they had suf- 
 fered themselves to be ti^ken ; at I'atuy, they had fled as last as ih.ii- 
 Icfs would carry them, Oed before a girl. . . . This was hard t«
 
 53 JOAN OF ARtl. 
 
 he borne, and tliesc laciturn English were forever pondering over the 
 disgrace. . , , They had been afraid of a girl, and it was not 
 very certain but that, chained as she was, the/ felt fear of her still, 
 . . . though, seemingly, not of her, but of the Devil, Avhose 
 agent she was. At least, they endeavored both to believe and to 
 have it believed so. 
 
 But there was an obstacle in the way of this, for she was said to bo 
 a virgin ; and it was a notorious and well-ascertained fact, that the 
 Devil could not make a compact with a virgin. The coolest liead 
 among the English, Bedford, the regent, resolved to have the point 
 cleared up ; and his wife, the duchess, intrusted the matter to some 
 matrons, who declared Jehanne to be a maid :* a favorable declaration 
 which turned against her, by giving rise to another superstitious no- 
 tion ; to wit, that her virginity con.stituted her strength, her power, 
 and that to deprive her of it was to disarm her, was to break the 
 charm, and lower her to the level of other women. 
 
 The poor girl's only defence against such a danger had been wear- 
 ing male attire ; though, strange to say, no one had ever seemed able 
 to understand her motive for wearing it. All, both friends and ene- 
 mies, were scandalized by it. At the outset, she had been obliged to 
 explain her reasons to the women of Poitiers ; and when made pris- 
 oner, and under the care of the ladies of Luxemburg, those excellent 
 persons prayed her to clothe herself as honest girls were wont to do. 
 Above all, the English ladies, who have always made a parade of 
 chastity and modesty, must have considered her so di-sguising herself 
 monstrous, and insufferably indecent. The Duchess of Bedford sent 
 her female attire ; but by whom ? by a man, a tailor. The fellow, 
 with impudent f.imiliarity, was about to pass it over her head, and, 
 when she pu.shed him away, laid his unmannerly hand upon her ; 
 his tailor's hand on that hand which had borne the flag of France — 
 she boxed his ear. 
 
 If women could not understand this feminine question, how much 
 If ss could priests ! . . . They quoted the text of a council held in 
 the fourth century, which anathematized such changes of dress ; not 
 seeing that the prohibition specially applied to a period when man- 
 ners had been barely retrieved from jtagan im]nirities. The doctors 
 belonging to the party of Cluirles VIII., the ajmlogists of the Pucelle, 
 find exceeding di<Iiculty in justifying her on this head. One of them 
 (thouglit to be O^TSOD ( makes the gratuitous supposition that the mo- 
 ment she dismounted from her horse, she was in the liabit of resum- 
 ing woman's apparel ; confessing that Esther and Judith had had 
 recourse to more natural and feminine means for their triumphs over 
 the enemies of God's people. Entirely preoccupied with the soul, 
 these theologians seem to have held the body cheap ; provided the 
 
 * MuHt it bfi paid that the Duke of Bedford, so generally cHteemed as an honorable 
 and well-rea-ulaled man, " saw what took place on this occasion, concealed " fcrat 
 in quodam loco eecreto ubi \-idebat Joannam visitari). Notices del MiiS., iii. oTi.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 
 
 53 
 
 written U^ bd followed, tlie soul will be saved ; the flesh may take 
 iTs chance . A poor and simple girl may be pardoned her ina- 
 
 ''^l^S!S^^£^e below, that soul andbody are so clc^ely 
 bound one with the other, that the soul takes the flesh along with 
 undergoes the same hazards, and is answerable for it. . . . i ms 
 hL e'5r been a heavy fatality ; but how much more so does it become 
 uTder a reli-ious law, which ordains the endurance of insult, and 
 whkh does not allow imperilled honor to escape by flmging away the 
 Lodv and taking refuge in the world of spirits ! i •, j 
 
 On the Friday and the Saturday, the unfortunate prisoner, despoiled 
 of her man's dress, had much to fear. Brutalitv, furious hatred, ven- 
 geance might severally incite the cowards to degrade her before she 
 lerished to sullv what they were about to burn . . . ^fff^ 
 ?hev might be tempted to varnish their iniamy hy ^ reason oj state 
 accord^nl to the notions of the day-by depriving her ot her virgin- 
 Uv they would undoubtedly destroy that secret power of which the 
 Eng ish entertained such great dread, who perhaps, might recover 
 thefr courage when thev knew that, after all, she was but a woman. 
 Accord^ncto her confeksor, to whom she divulged the fact an Eng- 
 iTshman not a common soldier, but a rjentlomm, a ord, pa riotically 
 devShiinself to this execution, bravely undertook to violate a girl 
 faden wUh fetters, and, being unable to effect his wishes, ramed 
 
 ^^""'^OnTe ^s'undav morning, Trinity Sunday, when it was time for 
 her to ri^e (as she told him who speaks), she said to her English 
 guards 'LelTo me, that I may get up.' One of them took off her 
 ^^oman• s dress, emptied the bag in which was the ^^-[^'^^^^^^f ;j^^f^ 
 said to her ' Get up.'—' Gentlemen,' she said, you know that diess 
 trforbidden me; excuse me, I will not put it on.' The point was 
 contested tm noon ; when, being compelled to go out for some bodily 
 wrnrshe put it on. When she came back, they would give her no 
 
 "^ In^Syril? w^r^ Jhl'interest of the English that she should 
 resume her man's dress, and so make null and void a retraction ob- 
 tafneTwith such <lifficuhy. But at this moment, their rage no longer 
 knew any bounds. Saintrailles had just made a bold attempt upon 
 Roul ^It would have been a lucky hit to jave swept off tl;« -luc f^;« 
 from the iudgment-scat, and have .'arried Winchester and Bedford to 
 p'' i" ers Cc^ atter w^;, suhsecpi.Titly, all but taken on us return. 
 IbXeen Rouen and Paris. As long as this accursed girl hved, who 
 beyond a doubt, continued in prison to practice her sorceries, theio 
 was no safety for th e English : perish, she must. 
 
 . I, it not Bun-HMn. *.> fi.ul Lln.ard and Tur^ ^io'uirf ^ 
 
 ^l^'^S'^othl^c cXil\l:";;.d'thL^l^a;;sta.:;'i:.^torian .ink into the mere EngUsh- 
 
 loau.
 
 54 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 The assessors, x^■llo had notice instantly given them of her cliang-o 
 ot dress, found some hundred English in tlie court to obstruct their 
 passanre ; wlio, tliinkino^ that if these doctors entered, tliev miffht spoil 
 alJ tiireatcned tliem witli their axes and swords, and chajJed th^-m out 
 caning them traitors of Armagnacs. Cauchon , introduced witli m uch 
 difficulty, assumed an air of gayety to pay his court to Warwick, and 
 said with a laugh, " She is caught." 
 
 On the Monday, he returned along with the inquisitor and eiffht 
 assessors, to question the Pucelle, and ask her why slie had resumed 
 that dress, fehe made no excu.se, but bravely facing the danger, said 
 that the dress was fitter for her as long as she was guarded ^by men 
 and that faith had not been kept with her. Her saints, too, had told 
 lier, ' that it was great pity she had abjured to save her life "' Still 
 she did not refuse to resume woman's dress. "Put me in a seemly 
 and safe prison," she said, " I will be good, and do whatever the 
 Church shall wish." 
 
 On leaving her, the bishop encountered Warwick and a crowd of 
 iiHglish ; and to show himself a good Englishman, he said in their 
 tongue, ' ' I arewell, farewell. " This ioyous adieu was about synony- 
 mous with " Good evening, good evening ; all's over." 
 
 On the Tuesday, the judges got up at the archbishop's palace a 
 court of assessors as they best might ; some of them had assisted at 
 the tirst sittings only, others at none • in fact, composed of men of all 
 sorts priests, legists, and even three physicians. The judges recapit- 
 ulated to them what had taken place, and asked their opinion This 
 opmion, quite diilereut from what was expected, was that the pris- 
 oner should be summoned, and her act of abjuration be read over to 
 lier. U hetliL-r this was in the i)()wer of the judges is doubtful In 
 the midst of the fury and swords of a raging soldiery, there was in 
 reality no judge, and no possibility of judgment. Blood was the one 
 tiling wanted ; and that of the judges was, perhaps, not far from flow- 
 ing. J hey hastily drew up a summons, to be served the next morn- 
 ing at eight o'clock ; she was not to appear, save to be burnt. 
 
 Cauchon sent her a confessor in the morning, brother Martin I'Ad- 
 venu, to prepare her for her death, and persuade her to repentance. 
 
 . . . And when he apprized her of the death she was to die thai 
 day. she began to cry out grievously, to give wav, and tear her hair : 
 Alas ! am 1 to be treated so liorribly and cruelly v must my body 
 pure as from birth, and which was never contaniinated, be this day 
 consumed and reduced to ashes ? Ha ! ha ! I would rather be belieaded 
 seven times over than be burnt on this wise. . . Oh i I makci 
 
 my appeal to God, the great judge of the wrongs and grievances done 
 
 After this burst of grief, she recovered herself and confessed ; she 
 then asked to communicate. The brother was embarrassed ; but 
 cmsul ing the bishop, the latter told him to administer the .sacra- 
 ment, and whatever else she might ask." Thus, at tho very mo-
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 55 
 
 ment he condemned lier as a relapsed heretic, and cut her off from 
 the Church, he gave her all that the Church gives to her faithful. 
 Perhaps a last sentiment of humanity awoke in the heart of the 
 wicked judg-e : he considered it enough to burn the poor creature, 
 without driving her to despair and damning her. Perhaps, also, the 
 wicked priest, through freethinking levity, allowed her to receive 
 the sacraments as a thing of no consequence, whieh, after all, might 
 uerve to calm and silence the sufferer. . . . Besides, it was at- 
 tempted to do ^t privately, and the eucharist was brought without 
 stole and 1 ght. But the liiouk complained, and the Church of Rouen, 
 duly warned, was delighted to show what it thought of the judgment 
 pronounced bv Cauchon ; it sent along with the body of Christ numer- 
 ous torches and a large escort of priests, who sang litanies, and as 
 they passed through the streets, told the kueellng people, " Pray for 
 
 her." , . X V 
 
 After partaking of the communion, which she received with abun- 
 dance of tears, she perceived the bishop, and addressed him with the 
 words, "Bishop, I die through you. . . ' ." And, again, " Had 
 you put me in the prisons of the Church and given me ghostly keep- 
 ers, this would not have happened. . . . And for this I summon 
 you to answer before God." 
 
 Then seeing among the bystanders Pierre Morice, one of the preach- 
 ers bv whom she had been addressed, she said to him, " Ah, Master 
 Pierre, where shall I be this evening?"—" Have you not good hope 
 in the Lord? " — " Oh ! yes ; God to aid, I shall be in Paradise." 
 
 It was nine o'clock ; she was dressed in female attire, and placed 
 on a cart. On one side of her was brother Martin I'Advenu ; the con- 
 stable, Massieu, was on the other. The Augustine monk, brother 
 Isambart, who had already displayed such charity and courage, would 
 not quit her. It is stated that the wretched Loyseleur also ascended 
 the cart to ask ln;r pardon : but for the Earl of Warwick, the Eng- 
 lish would have killed nim.* 
 
 U]) to this moment the Pucelle had never despaired, with the ex- 
 ception, perhaps, of her temptation in the Pussion week. While say- 
 ing, as she at tinier would say, " These Engli.sh will kill me," .she in 
 reality did not think so. She did not imagine that she could ever be 
 deserted. She had faith in her king, in tlie good people of France. 
 She had said expressly, "There will be .some disturbance either in 
 ])ri.sou or at the trial, by whicli I shall be delivered, . . . greatly, 
 victoriously delivered." . . . But though king and people de- 
 serted her, she had another source of aid, and a far more jjowerful 
 and certain one, from her friends above, her kind and dear saints. 
 . Wlicn she was assaulting Saint- Pierre, and d(^s<.T«ed by 
 her followers, her saints sent an invisible army to her aid. How 
 
 • Thin, however, is only a rumtr (Audivit dici. . . .), a druiniitic incident, 
 with wliich popular tradition has, perhaps, gratuitouely adorned the talc.
 
 56 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 couM tlipy abandon tlieir obedient girl, they who had so often pro- 
 niistnl luM- safcti/ and deliverance ? . . . 
 
 Uliiit then must her thoughts have been when she saw that slio 
 must die ; when, carried in a cart, she passed through a trembling 
 crowd, under the guard of eight hundred Englishmen armed with 
 sword and lance V She wei)t and bemoaned herself, yet reproached 
 neither her king nor her saints. . . . She Avas only heard to utter, 
 "O Rouen, Rouen ! must I then die here?" 
 
 Tlie term of her sad journey was the old marV^t- place, the fish- 
 market. Three scaffolds had been raised : on one v as the Episcopal 
 and royal chair, the throne of the Cardinal of England, surrounded 
 by the stalls of his prelates ; on another were to figure the principal 
 per-sonagcs of the mournful drama, the preacher, the judges, and the 
 bailH, and lastly, the condemned one ; apart was a large scaffolding 
 of plaster, groaning under a weight of wood— nothing had been 
 grudged the stake, which struck terror by its height alone. This 
 was not only to add to the solemnity of the execution, but was done 
 with the intent that from the height to which it was reared, the ex- 
 ecutioner might not get at it save at the base, and that to light it only, 
 so that he would be unable to cut short the torments and relieve the 
 sufferer as he did with others, sparing them the flames. On this oc- 
 casion, the important point was that justice should not be defrauded 
 of her due, or a dead body be committed to the flames ; they desired 
 that she should be really burnt alive, and that, placed on the summit 
 of this mountain of wood, and commanding the circle of lances and 
 of swords, she might be seen from every part of the market-place. 
 There was reason to suppose that being slowly, tediously burnt be- 
 fore the eyes of a curious crowd, she might at last be surprised into 
 some weakness, that something might escape her which could be set 
 down as a disavowal, at the least some confused words which might 
 be interpreted at pleasure, perhaps, low prayers, humiliating cries for 
 mercy, such as proceed from a woman in despair. . . . 
 
 A chronicler, friendly to the English, brings a heavy charge 
 against them at this moment. According to him, they wanted her 
 gown to hi burnt first so that she might remain naked, "in order to re- 
 move all the doubts of the people;" that the fagots should then bj 
 removed so that all might draw nigh to see her, " and all the secret.? 
 which can or should be in a woman : " and that after this immodest," 
 ferocious exhibition, " the executioners should replace the great fire 
 on her poor carrion. . . ." 
 
 The frightful ceremony began Avith a sermon. Master Nicolas 
 Midy, one of the lights of the University of Paris, preached upon the 
 edifying text: " When one limb of the Church is sick, the whole 
 (Imrch is sick." This poor Church could only be cured by culling 
 off a iiml). He wound uj) with the formula : " Jeanne, (jo in peace, 
 ihe Church can no longer defend thee." 
 
 The ecclesiastical judge, the Bishop of Beauvais, then Ijonignly ex
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 57 
 
 horled Tier to take care of her soul and to recall all her misdeeds in 
 order tliat she might awaken to true repentance. The assessors had 
 ruled that it was the law to read over her abjuration to her; the 
 bishop did nothing of the sort. He feared her denials, her disclaim- 
 ers But the poor girl had no thought of so chicaning away life : her 
 mind was fixed on far other subject.. Even before she was exhorted 
 to repentance, she had knelt down and invoked God, the \ irgin, bt. 
 Michael, and St. Catherine, pardoning all and asking pardon, saying 
 tothebvstanders, "Pray for me!" . In particular, she be^ 
 
 souo-ht the priests to say each a mass for her soul. . . . Ana an 
 this°so devoutly, humbly, and toucliingly, that svmpathy becoming con 
 ta^ious, no one could any longer contain himself ; the Bishop ot Beau 
 vals melted into tears, the Bishop of Boulogne sobbed, and the very 
 English cried and wept as well, Winchester with the rest. 
 
 Mitrht it be in this moment of universal tenderness, of tears, ot 
 contagious weakness, that the unhappy girl softened, and relapsing 
 into the mere woman, confessed that she saw clearly shehad eired. 
 and that apparently she had been deceived when promised deliver- 
 ance. This is a point on which we cannot implicitly rely on the in- 
 terested testimony of the English. Nevertheless it would betray 
 scant knowledge of human nature to doubt, with l^er liopes so frus- 
 trated her having wavered in her faith. . . . ^^ he her she con 
 fessed to this etfect in words is uncertain ; but I will confidently 
 affirm that she owned it in thought. .^„„„^« >,o,l 
 
 Meanwhile the jadg(;s, for a moment put out of countenance, had 
 recovered their usual bearing, and the Bishop of Beauvais, drying his 
 eves began to read the act of condemnation. He reminded the 
 guilty one of all her crimes, of her schism, idolatry, invocation of 
 demons how she had been admitted to repentance and liow, se- 
 duced by the prince of lies, she had fallen, O grief ! Uke the dog which 
 returns to hili vomit. . . . Therefore, we pronounce you to be a 
 rotten limb, and as such to be lopped off from the Cliurch We de- 
 liver you over to the secular power, prayin^^ it at the same time to re- 
 lax its sentence, and to spare you death and the mutilation of your 
 
 '"Deserted thus by the Church, she put lier whole trust in God. She 
 a<ked for the cross. An KtiglishiiKm lian.h-d her a cross which he 
 made out of a stick ; she took it, nidely fashioned as it was, with not 
 less devotion, kissc^d it, an<l placed it under her garments next to her 
 ^kin But what she desired w.is the crucifix Ix-i.-ngmg to t ho 
 
 Church to have it before h(!r eyes till she breathed her last Iho 
 goo.i husdrr Massieu and brother Isambart. interfered with such 
 efr.-<:t tliat it was brought h.-r from St. Sauveur's. W lido she was 
 embraciiK' lliiH crucifix, and bn.tlier Isambart wa.s encouraging liei , 
 the English began to think all this exceedingly tedious ; it was now 
 noon a^ least ; the soldiers grumble.l and the caplams called on , 
 ' • \V hat's this, priest ; do you mean us to dine here '.' . . . 1 1'*-".
 
 58 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 losiiin. pationro, nnd without waiting for the order from the bailli 
 who alone had aiitliority to dismiss licr to (h^ath, they sent two consta- 
 Mes ft) take her out of tlio hands of tiie priests. She was seized at 
 the foot of tlie tribunal by the meu-at-arras, who dragged her to 
 the executioner witli tlie words, " Do tliy office. . . ." The fury 
 of the sokliery fHh-.d all present witli horror ; and many there evea 
 of the judges, iied the spot that they might see no more. 
 
 ^^ hen she found herself brought down to the market place sur- 
 rounded by English, laying rude hands on her, nature asserted her 
 nglits, and tlie Hesh was troubled. Again she cried out, " O Rouen 
 thou art then to be my last abode ? . . ." Slie said no more, and' 
 11^ thyr^ hour of fear and tronhle, did not si?itcith her lips. 
 
 She accused neither her king nor her holy ones. But when she set 
 foot on the top of the pile, on vitnving this great city, this motionless 
 and silent crowd, she could not refrain from exclaiming " Ah ! 
 Kouen, Rouen, much do I fear you will suffer from my death ! " She 
 who had saved the people, and whom that people deserted, gave voice 
 to no other sentiment when dying (admirable sweetness of soul ') than 
 that of compassion for it. 
 
 She was made fast under the infamous placard, mitred with a mitre 
 on which was read—" Heretic, relapser, apostate, idolater " 
 
 And then the executioner set fire to the pile. . . . She saw this 
 from above and uttered a cry. . . . Then as the brother who was 
 exhorting her paid no attention to the fire, forgetting herself in her 
 fear for him, she insisted on his descending. 
 
 _ The proof that up to this period she had made no express recanta- 
 tion is, that the unliappy Cauchon was obliged (no doubt by tlie hi^rh 
 Satanic will which presided over the whole) to proceed to the foot "of 
 the pile, obliged to face his victim, to endeavor to extract some ad- 
 mission from her. All that he obtained was a few words, enough to 
 rack his soul. She said to him mildly what she had already said • 
 IJishop, I die through you. ... If you had put me into the 
 church prisons this would not have happened." No doubt liopes had 
 been entertained that on finding herself abandoned by her kino- she 
 would at last accuse and defame him. To the last she defended'him ■ 
 \V hether I have done well or ill, my kmg is faultless ; it was not 
 he who counselled me. 
 
 Meanwhile the flames rose. . . . When they first seized her 
 the unhappy girl shrieked for holy water— this must liave been tho 
 cry of fear. . . . But soon recovering, she called only on (Jod 
 on her angels and her .saints. She bore witness to them :— " Yes. my 
 voices were from God, my voices have not deceived me." The fact 
 that all her doubts vanished at this trying moment must be taken as 
 a proof that she accepted death as the promised deliverance; that she 
 no longer understood lier salvation in the Judaic and material sense, 
 as until now she liad done, that at length she saw clearly ; and that 
 rising alxjve all shadows, her gifts of illumination and of sanctity 
 were at the final hour made perfect unto her.
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 5D 
 
 Tlie great testimony she thus bore is attested by the sworn and com- 
 pelled witness of her death, l)y the Dominican who mounted the pile 
 with her, whom she forced to descend, but who spoke to her from its 
 foot, listened to her, and lie.d out to her the crucifix. 
 
 There is yet another witness of this sainted death, a most grave 
 witness, who must himself have been a suint. This witness, whose 
 name history ought to preserve, was the Augustine monk already 
 mentioned, brother Isarabart de la Pierre. During the trial, he had 
 hazarded his life by counselling the Pucelle, and yet, though so clearly 
 pointed out to the hate of the English, he persisted in accompanying 
 her in the cart, procured the parish crucifix for her, and comforted 
 her in the midst of the raging multitude, both on the scaffold where 
 she was interrogated and at the stake. 
 
 Twenty years afterwards, the two venerable friars, simple monks, 
 vowed to poverty, and having nothing to hope or fear in this world, 
 bear witness to the scene we have just described : " We heard lier," 
 they say, "in the midst of the flames invoke her saints, her arch- 
 angel ; several times she called on her Saviour ... At the last, 
 as her head sunk on her bosom, she shrieked, ' Jesus ! ' " 
 
 " Ten thousand men wept. ..." A few of the English alono 
 laughed, or endeavored to laugh. One of the most furious among 
 tliem had sworn that he would throw a fagot on the pile. Just as he 
 brought it, she breathed her last. He was taken ill. His comrades 
 led him to a tavern to recruit his spirits by drink, but he was beyond 
 recovery. " I saw," he exclaimed, in his frantic despair, " I saw a 
 dove tiy out of her mouth with her last sigh." Others had read in 
 the flames the word " Jesus," which she so often repeated. The ex- 
 ecutioner repaired in the evening to brother Isambart, full of conster- 
 nation, and confessed himself ; but felt persuaded that God would 
 never i)ardon him. . . . One of the English King's secretaries 
 said aloud, on returning from the dismal scene, "We are lost; wo 
 have burnt a saint." 
 
 Though these words fell from an enemy's mouth, they are not the 
 less important and will live, uncontradicted by the future. Yes, 
 whether considered religiously or patriotically, Jeanne Dare was a 
 saint. 
 
 Where find a finer legend than this true history? Still, let us be- 
 ware of converting it into a legend ; let us jiiously preserve its every 
 trait, even such as are most akin to human nature, and respect i.s 
 terriljlo and touching reality. 
 
 Let the spirit of romance profane it by its touch, if it dare ; poetry 
 will ever abstain. For what could it add V . , . Tlie idea which, 
 throughout the middle age, it had ])ur.sued from legend to legend, 
 was found at tin; lust to b(! a living being — the dream was a realit)'. 
 The Virgin, succorer in battlt^ invoked by knights, and looked for 
 from abov(!, was here below. . . . nnd in whom? Here is tlio 
 marvel. In what was deajji-sed, in what was lowliest of all^ in a child.
 
 CO JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 in a simple country girl, one of the poor, of the people of France. 
 . . . For there was :i i)eople, there was a France. Tliis last ini- 
 j)er.sonation of the ])a.st was also the first of the period that was com- 
 mencing. In her there at ouce appeared the Virgin. . . . and 
 already, country. 
 
 Such is the poetry of this grand fact, such its philosophy, its lofty 
 truth. But the historic reality is not the less certain ; it was but too 
 positive, and too cruelly verified. . . . This living enigma, this 
 mysterious creature, whom all concluded to bo supernatural, this 
 angel or demon, who, according to some, was to fly away some morn- 
 ing, was found to be a woman, a young girl ; was found to be without 
 Avings, and, linked as we ourselves to a mortal body, was to suffer, to 
 di.' — and how frigiitful a death ! 
 
 But it is precisely in this apparently degrading reality, in this sad 
 trial of nature, that tlie ideal is discoverable, and shines brightly. 
 Her contemporaries recognized in tlie scene Chri.st among the Phari- 
 sees. . . . Still we must see in it something else— the Passion of 
 the Virgin, the martyrdom of purity. 
 
 There have been many martyrs : history shows us numberless ones, 
 more or less pure, more or less glorious. Pride has had its martyrs ■ 
 .so have hate and the spirit of controver.sy. No age has been without 
 martyrs militant, who no doubt died with a good grace when they 
 could no longer kill. . . . Such fanatics are irrelevant to our sub- 
 ject. The sainted girl is not of them ; she had a sign of her own — 
 goodness, charity, sweetness of soul. 
 
 She had the sweetness of the ancient martyrs, but with a differ- 
 ence. The first Christians remained gentle and pure only by shun- 
 ning action, by sparing themselves the struggles and the trials of the 
 world. Jehanne was gentle in the roughest .struggle, good amongst 
 the bad, pacific in war itself ; she bore into war (that triumph of the 
 devir.s) the spirit of God. 
 
 She took up arms, when she knew "the pity for the kingdom of 
 France." She could not bear to see " French blood flow." This ten- 
 derness of heart she showed towards all men. After a victory sho 
 would weep, and would attend to the wounded English. 
 
 Purity, sweetness, heroic goodness — that this supreme beauty of the 
 soul should have centred in a daughter of France may surj)rise 
 foreigners who choose to judge of our nation by tlie levity of its man- 
 ners alone. We may tell them (and without ])artiality, as we si)eak 
 of circumstances .so long since past) that under this levity, and in the 
 midst of its follies and its very vices, old France was not styled with- 
 out reason the most Christian people. They were certainly the peo- 
 ple of love and of grace ; and whether we understand this humanly or 
 Christianly, in either sen.se it will ever hold good. 
 
 The deliverer of France could be no other than a woman. Franca 
 lierself was woman ; having her nol^ility, but her amiable sweetness 
 likewise, her prompt and charming pity ; at the least, possessing tho
 
 THE MAID OF ORLEANS. CI 
 
 virtue of quickly-excited sympatliies. And though she might take 
 pleasure in vain elegances and external refinements, she remained at 
 bottom closer to nature. The Frenchman, even when vicious, pre- 
 served, beyond the man of every other nation, good sense and good- 
 ness of heart. 
 
 May new France never forget the saying of old France ; "Great 
 hearts alone understand how much glory tliere is in being good! " To 
 . be and to keep so, amidst the injuries of man and the severity of 
 Providence, is not the gift of a happy nature alone, but it is strengtli 
 and heroism. . . To preserve sweetness and benevolence in the 
 
 midst of so many bitter disputes, to pass tlirough a life's experiences 
 without suffering them to touch this internal treasure — is divine. 
 They who persevere, and so go on to the end, are the true elect. And 
 though they may even at times have stumbled in the difficult path of 
 the world, amidst their falls, their weaknesses and their infancies, 
 they will not the less remain children of God ! 
 
 JTSBKSo'
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 Twice in history has there been witnessed the struggle of the high- 
 e<5t individual o-enius against the resources and institutions of a great 
 nation ; and in both cases the nation lias been victorious. For sev- 
 enteen years Hannibal strove against Rome ; for sixteen ye:irs ^a- 
 poleon. Buonaparte strove against England: the efforts ot the tirst 
 ended in Zama, tliosc of the secouil in Waterloo. 
 
 True it is as Polybius has said, that Hannibal was supported by 
 the zealous exertions of Carthage ; and the .strength of the opposi- 
 tion to his policy has been very possibly exaggerated by the Komau 
 writers. But the zeal of his country in the contest, as Polybius him- 
 self remarks in another place, was itself the work ot his tamily. 
 Never did great men more show themselves the living spirit of a na- 
 tion than liamilcar, and llasdrubal, and Hannibal, during a period of 
 nearly fifty years, approved themselves to be to Carthage. It is not 
 then merely tlii'ough our ignorance of the internal state of Carthage, 
 chat Hannibal stands so prominent in all our conceptions of the sec- 
 ond Punic war : he was really its moving and directing power ; and 
 the energy of his country was but a light reflected from his own. 
 History therefore gathers itself into his single person : in that vast 
 tempest, which, from north and south, from the west and the east, 
 broke upon Italy, we see nothing Imt Hannibil. 
 
 But if llanuihars genius may l)e likeiH.'d to the Homeric god, who 
 In his hatred of the Trojans rises from the deep to rally the fainting 
 Greeks, and to lead them against the enemy ; so the calm courage 
 with which Hector met his more than huiniui adversary in his coun- 
 try's cau.se, is no unworthy image of the unyitilding magnanimity 
 displayed by the aristocracy of Home. As llannil)al utterly eclip.ses 
 Carthage, so, on the contrary, Fabius, Ararccilus, Claudius Nero, even 
 Hcipio himself, are as nothing wlieu compared to llie spirit, and wis- 
 dom, and power of Rome. The .senate wliich \oU:d its tliaiiks to its 
 political enemy Varro, aft(;r his disastrous defcuit, " because he had 
 not despaired of the Commonwealth," and which disdained either to 
 w^lital, or to reprove, or to llireiiten, or in any way to notice the 
 twelve colonies which had refu.sed their aucustoined supplies of mea
 
 -f LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 for the army, is far more to be honored than Ihc conqueror of Zama. 
 This we .should the nunc fiirel'ully bear in mind, because our ten- 
 denc}' is to admire individu:d ^lealne.ss far moie than national ; and 
 as no single Roman will bear eompaiison with Hannibal, we are apt 
 to murmur at the event of the contest, and to think that the victory 
 was awarded to the least worthy of the comhalants. On the con- 
 trary, never was the wisdom of Gcd's providence more mar^fest than 
 lin the issue of the struggle l)elween Itome and C'ar;hag< . It was 
 clearly for the good of mankind that Hannibal should be cvflcpiered : 
 his triumph would have stopped the progress of the world. For 
 great men can only act permanently by forming great nations , and 
 110 one man, even though it were Hannibal liimself, can in one gen- 
 eration effect such :i work. But AVJiere the nalion lias been merely 
 enkindled for a while by a great man's spirit, the light passes away 
 ■with him who communicated it ; and the nation, when he is gone, is 
 like a dead body, to which magic power had lor a moment given an 
 unnatural life : when the charm has ceased, ihe body is cold and 
 stiEf as before. He who grieves over the battle of Zama, should 
 carry on his thoughts to a period thirty years later, when Hannibal 
 must, in the course of ratuie, have been dead, and consider hov/ the 
 isolated Phoenician city of Carthage was fitted to receive and to con- 
 solidate the civilization cf Greece, or by its laws and institutions to 
 bind together barbaiianscf every race and language into an organized 
 empire, and prepare them for becoming, when that empire w'as dis- 
 solved, the free members of the commonwealth of Christian Europe. 
 The year of Hannibal's birth is not mentioned by any ancient 
 writer, "but from the .state ni'nlr, concerning his age at t'^e battle of 
 Zama, it appears Ibat he must have been born in the very year in 
 which his father, Hanulcar, was first appointed to the command in 
 Sicily. He was only nine years of age when his father took him with 
 him into Spain ; and it Avas on this occasion that Hamilear made him 
 swear upon the altar eternal hostilhy to Rome. The story was told 
 by Hannibal himself, many years afterwards, to Antiochus, and is 
 one of the best attested in ancient history.* Child as he then was, 
 Hannibal never forgot his vow, and his whole life was one con- 
 tinued struggle against the power and domination of Home. He was 
 early trained in arms under the eye of liis father, and probably 
 accompanied him on most of his campaigns in Spain. We find him 
 present with him in the battle in which Hamilear perished ; and 
 though onl}^ eighteen years old at this time, he had already displayed 
 fio much courage and capacity for war, that he Y^as intrusted by 
 Hasdrubal (the son-in-law and successor of Hamilear) with the chief 
 command of most of the military enterprises plainied by that general. 
 Of the details of these campaigns we know nothing ; but it is clear 
 
 ♦ Polyb. iii. 11 ; Li v. xxl. 1 ; xxxv. 19 ; Corn. Ncp. Uann. ; Appian- Hup. fc," 
 Val. Max. ix. 3, est. S 3.
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 5 
 
 that Hannibal thus earl}- lave proof of that remarkable power over 
 the minds of men, which he afterwards di.sphiyed m so eminent a 
 (le"rec and secured to himself the devoted attachment of the army 
 under iiis commind. The consequence was, that on the assassma- 
 tiou of Hasdrubal, ihe soldiers unanimously proclaimed then- youth- 
 ful leader cammander-in-chief, and the government of Carthage has- 
 tened to ratify an appointment which they had not, m fact, tk 
 power to prevent. 
 
 Hannibal was at, this time in the twenty-sixth year of his age; 
 There can be n^ doubt that he already looked forward to the inva- 
 sion and conquest of Italy as the goal of his ambition ; but it waa 
 npcessary for him, lirst, to complete the w^ork which had beenso 
 ably begun by his two predecessors, and to establish the Carthaginiau 
 power as tirmly as po-isible in Spain, before he made that country 
 the base of his subsequent operations. This was the work of two 
 campaigns. Immediately after he had received the command, he 
 turuelhis arm^ a^-ainst the Olcades, a nation of the interior, Vho 
 were speedily conioelle i to submit by the fall of their capital city, 
 Althaji. Haanibaf levied large sums of money from them and the 
 nei"-li boring tribes, after wliich he returned into winter quarters at 
 Ne?v Cirthage. The next year he penetrated farther into the coun- 
 try, in order'tu assiul the powerful tribe of the Vaccieans, and reduced 
 their two strong aid populous cities of Ilelmautica and Arbocala. 
 Ou his return from this exirjdition, he was involved in great danger 
 by a sudden attack from the Carpetanian-^, together with the remain- 
 in-r forces of the Olcades and Vace«ans, but by a dexterous ma- 
 ncSuvre he placed the river Tagus between himself and the enemy. 
 and the barbarian army was cut to pieces in the attempt to force their 
 passage. After these successes he again returned to spend the win- 
 ter at New Carthage.* 
 
 Two years, we have seen, had been employed in expeditions 
 ao-a'.nst tiie riiul ve Spaniards ; the third year was devoted to the siege 
 o? Sagunium. Hannibal's pretext for attacking it was, that tlrj 
 Sagunlines had oppressed one of the Spanish tribes in alliance wilii 
 CaTlhage ; but no caution in the Saguntine government could have 
 avoided a quirrel, which their enemy was determined to provoke. 
 Saguutum, although not a city of native Spaniard.s, resisted as ob- 
 Btiiiately as if the very air of Spain had l)iTathed into foreign seltlers 
 on its soil the spirit so often, in many diil'erent ages, displayed by 
 the Spanish people. Saguntum was defended like Numantia and 
 Gerona : tiie siege lasted eiglit months ; and wlimi all hope was gone, 
 several of the chi(;fs kindled a tire in the market-i)lace, and after Imv- 
 lu"- thrown in their most precious ellects, leaped into it themselves, 
 and perislied. Still the spoil found in tbe phice was very consldersi- 
 ble ; there was a large treasure of money, which llaiinihal kei)t for 
 
 • Polyb. lii. 13-15 ; Liv. xxi. 5.
 
 LIFE OF IIANNIHAL. 
 
 liisAvaroxponsos ; lli(.T(Mvcn' numerous raplivcs, whom lie ciistrihiited 
 liuuni-ist liis soldiers as llieirsliare of tlic pluucler ; uiul lliere was 
 much coiiWy iuniilure I'roui the public and private buildinns ^vhich 
 he sent home to decorate the temples and palaces of CarthaW 
 
 It u)ust have been towards the close of the year, but apparently be- 
 fore the consuls were returned from lllyria, that the news of the fall 
 •f baguntum reached Kome. Immediately ambassadors were sent to 
 I'arthage ; :M. Fabius Buleo, who had been consul seven-and-twenty 
 years before, C. [.iciuius Varus and Q. JJa'bius Tamphiliis. Their 
 orders were simply to demand that Hannibal and liis principal offi- 
 cers should be given up for their attack upon the allies of Rome in 
 breach of the treaty, and, if this were refused, to declare war. the 
 Carthaginians tried to discuss the previous question, whether the at- 
 tack on baguutum was a breach of the treaty ; but to tliis the Ro- 
 mans would not listen. At length M. Fabius gathered up his toga 
 as It he were wrapping up something in it, and holding it out thus 
 together, he said, " Behold, here are peace and war; take which 
 you choose !" The Carthaginian suirele or judge answered "Give 
 whichever thou wilt." Hereupon Fabius shoo\ out the folds of 
 his toga, saying, "Then here we give you war ;" to which several 
 members of the council shouted in answer, " With all our hearts we 
 welcome it." Thus the Roman ambassador left Carthage and re- 
 turned straight to Rome. ' 
 
 But before the result of the embassy could be known in Spain 
 Hannibal had been making preparations lor liis intended expedition' 
 in a manner whicli showed, not only that he was sure of the support 
 ot his government, but that he was able to dispose at his pleasure ^f 
 all the military resources of Carthage. At his suggestion fresh 
 Iroops from Africa were sent over to Spain to secure it during his 
 absence, and to be commanded by his own brother, Hasdrubal ; and 
 their place was to be supplied by other troops raised in Spain so 
 that Africa was to be defended by Spaniards, and Spain by Africans, 
 the soldiers of each nation, when quarteied amongst foreigners, be- 
 ing cut off from all temptation or opportunity to revolt. So com- 
 pletely was he allowed to direct every military measure, that he is 
 said to liave sent Spanish and Numidian troops to garrison Carthage 
 itself ; in other words, this was a part of his general plan, and was 
 adopted accordingly by the government. Meanwhile, he liad sent 
 ambassadors into Gaul, and even across the Alps, to the Gauls who 
 had so lately been at war with the licmans, both to obtain infoima- 
 tion as to the country through which his march lav, and to secure the 
 assistance and guidance of the Gauls in his passage of the Alps, and 
 their co-operation in arms when he should arrive in Italy. His Span- 
 ish troops he had dismissed to their several homes, at the end of the 
 last campaign, that they might carry their spoils with them, and tell 
 ot their exploits to their countrymen, and enjoy, during the winter, 
 that almost listless ease whicli is the barbarian's relief from war and
 
 LIFE OF ITAXNIBAL. 7 
 
 plmuler. At length he refcivetl the news of the Roman erabassy to 
 ('artha"-e, and the aeliial dcclaratk.n of war ; liis olliceis also had re- 
 turned'l'rom Cisalpine Gaul. " The natural dillicuhies of the passage 
 of the Alps were great," they said, " but by no means insuperable ; 
 while the disposition of the Gauls was most friendly, and they were 
 eagerly expecting his arrival." Then Hannibal called his soldiers 
 together, aL,d tohl them openly that he was going to lead them into 
 Italy. "The Romans," he yaid. " have demanded that I and my 
 principal officers should be delivered up to them as malefactors. Sol- 
 diers, will you suffer such an indignity ? The Gauls are holding out 
 llieir arms "to us, inviting us to come to them, and to assist them in 
 revenging their manifold injuries. And the country which Ave shall 
 invade, so rich in corn and wine and oil, so full of flocks and herds, 
 60 covered with flourishing cities, wid be the richest prize that could 
 be offered by the gods to reward your valor." One common shout 
 from the soldieiB assured him of their readiness to follow him. He 
 thanked them, fixed the day on which they were to be ready to 
 march, and then dismissed them. 
 
 In this interval, and now on the very eve of commencing his ap- 
 pointed work, to which for eighteen years he had been solemnly de- 
 voted, and to whioh he had so long been looking forward with al- 
 most sickening hope, he left the headquarters of his army to visit 
 Gades, and there, in the temple of the supreme god of Tyre, and all 
 the colonies of Tyre, to offer his prayers and vows for the success of 
 his euterpriije. Ho was attended only by those inunediately attached 
 to his person ; and amongst these was a Sicilian Greek, Silenus, who 
 followed him throughout his Italian expedition, and lived at his 
 table. When the sacrifice was over, Hannibal returned to his army at 
 New Carthage; and everything being leady, and the season suHi- 
 ciently advanced, for it was now late in May, he set out on his march 
 for till! Ib(!rus. 
 
 And here the fulness of his mind, and his strong sense of bemg 
 tlie devoted instrument of his country's gods to destroy their enemies, 
 haunted him by night as they possessed him by day. In his sleep, 
 80 he told Sil(;u;is, he fancied that the sut)reme god of hisfather.s 
 had called him into the presence of all the gods of Carthage, Avho 
 were sitting on their thrones in council. There he leceived a solemn 
 charge to invade Italy; and one of the heavenly council went with 
 him and with hi*; army, to guide him on his way. He went on, and 
 his divine L^iide cominandcd him, "See that thou look not behind 
 thee." Ihit after a whiic;, impatient of th(! restraint, he turned to 
 look I)ack ; ainl there he beheld a linge and monstrous form, thick 
 set all over with serpents ; wherever it moved orc'liards and woods 
 and houses fell crasiiing before it. He asked his guide in wonder, 
 wiiat lliat monst(!r form was ? The god answered, " Thou scest tho 
 desolation of Italy ; go f)n thy way, .straight forward, and cast no 
 look behind." Thusj with uodivided heart, and with an entire reu.
 
 ^ LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 }<r„ation of all porson^il and .lomoslic enjoyments forever, nfinnibal 
 m-utfurtlial the n.ui' of twenty-seven, tu do the^vo;kof lus conn- 
 trv's 'Mxls, and to redeem Ins early vow. 
 
 The eonsuls at Kome eanie into ollict- at tins period on the L.th of 
 MaVeh U\ -as possible therefore for a consular army to arrive < n the 
 seSne of eti^n n time to dispute with Hannibal not only the passage 
 of the Khon . but that of the Pyrenees. But the Romans exaggc - 
 ac the diiVieulties of his mareh. and seem to have expected that 
 the resistance of the Spanish triber; between the Iberus and the P3 )- 
 enecs and of the Uauls between the Pyrenees and the Rhone would 
 s^cklay him that he would not reach the Rhone tdl the end cf the 
 season They therefore made their preparations lcis"rely 
 
 Of the consuls for this year, the year of Rome 536 ^» ^218 be ore 
 the Christian era, one was P. Cornelius Scipio, the s^.. of L. fccipio 
 who hd been consul in the sixth year of the first Punic war, and 
 he".l"ndsou">f L. Scipio Rarbatus. whose services in ^1- thml Sam- 
 niteVar arc recorded in his famous epitaph The other was 1 .. 
 Sempronius Longus, probably but not cert.unly the son of that C 
 
 Sempronms Rhesus who had been ^^^f ^i- ^^^^JfJ^'/^.i^ihi wo 
 consuls' provinces were to be Spam and Sicily; Scipio, ^^ijli t^^'' 
 Roii^n le'Ls, and lo,GOO of the Ralian a lies, and with a flee of 
 ^ X V mi nqueremes, was to command in Spain ; Sempronius with a 
 smiln^ arier armv, and a lleet of IGO quincpieremes, was to cro.s 
 ov"r o Lilybamm, and from thence, if ciicurnstances favored to 
 make a descent on Africa. A third army, consisting also of two K. - 
 ma k-ions and 11,(J00 of the allies, was stationed in Cisalpine Gaul 
 under tirpiitorL. Manlius Yulso. The Romans suspected Ilia 
 Ue Gauls would rise in arms ere long ; and they hastened to send 
 oS ^i colol^sts of two colonies, whicli had ^-'- -- ^J ^^^J^^J^' 
 but not actually founded, to occupy the "^^^F f"^ '''^^J;?"'.^^^^^^^ 
 ceutia and Cremona on the opposite banks o t e 0. rhe^°l«^^^»] 
 sent to each of these places were no lewer tV"^^., '^^^ f^^'g^"^^^^^^ 
 thev received notice to be at their colonies in thiity ^'^JS- iiiree 
 conUssioners, one of them. C. L'^^atius Catu us bem^^^^^^ 
 rank, were sent out, as usual, to «"P^'"Qtend the alio ment ot lands 
 to the settlers; and these 12,C0U men, together with the prjetor 3 
 army were supposed to be capable of keeping the Gauls quiet 
 
 Tt is a curious fact, that the danger on the side of bpam was con- 
 Bideredto be so much the least urgent, ^l-t Scipio s army wa^s^^^^^^^^^ 
 thela'^t after those of his colleague and of the prtetor L Manuus 
 
 nd id'B^ipio was still at Rome, when tidings ^ame tha the Bo ans 
 ftndlnsubrianshad revolted, had dispensed ^he new settlers at 1 1 a- 
 centia and Cremona, and driven Ihcm to take refuge at Mutina, ad 
 
 reacierou.sly seized the three commissioners at a .con erence, ml 
 had defeatecl the p..etor L. Manlius, and obbged h.ni also to take 
 
 shelter in one of the towns of Cisalpine Gaul, where they an ere 
 
 blockading him. One of Scipio's legions, with five thousand of the
 
 LIFE OF HAN2TIBAL. y 
 
 allies, was immediately sent off into Gaul under another preetor, C. 
 Autilius Serniuus ; and Scipio waited till bis own army should again 
 be completed by new levies. Thus he cannot have left Rome till lute 
 in the summer'; and when he arrived with his tleet and army at the 
 mouth of the eastern branch of the Rhone, he found that Hannibal 
 had crossed the Pyrenees ; but he still hoped to impede his passage 
 of the river. 
 
 Hannibal meanwhile, having set out from New Carthage with an 
 army of 90,000 foot and 12,000 horse, crossed the Iberus ; and from 
 thenceforward the hostile operations of his march began. He might 
 probably have marched through the country between the Iberus and 
 the Pyrenees, had that been his sole object, as easily as he made his 
 way from the Pyrenees to the Rhone ; a few presents and civilities 
 would easilv have induced the Spanish chiefs to allow him a free 
 passage. But some of the tribes northward of the Iberus were 
 friendly to Rome : on the coast were the Greek cities of Rhoda and 
 Emporia?, ^lassaiiot colonies, and thus attached to the Romans as 
 the old allies of their mother city : if this part of Spain were left un- 
 conquered, the Romans would immediately make use of it as the 
 base of their operations, and proceed from tlience to attack the wliole 
 Carthaginian dominion. Accordingly, Hannibal employed his army 
 in subduing the whole country, which he effected with no great loss 
 of time, but at a heavy expense of men, as he was obliged to carry 
 the enemy's strongh(^rds by assault, rather than incur the delay of 
 besieging them. He left Hanno witli eleven thousand men to retain 
 pos.session of the newly-conquered country ; and he further dimin- 
 ished his army by sending home as many more of his Spanish sol- 
 diers, probably those who had most distinguished themselves, as an 
 earnest to the rest, that they too, if they did their duty well, might 
 expect a similar release, and might look forward to return ere long 
 to their homes, full of spoil and glory. These detachments, together 
 with the heavy loss sustained in the field, reduced the force with 
 which Hannibal entered Gaul to no more than 50,000 foot and 9000 
 horse. 
 
 From the Pyrenees to the Rhone his progress was easy. Here he 
 had no wish to make regular confjuests ; and presents to the chiefs 
 mostly succeedeil in coiiciiiating tlieir friendship, so that he was 
 allowed to pass freely. But on" the left bank of the Rhone, the in- 
 fluence of the Massallots with the Gaulish tribes had disposed them 
 to resist the invader ; and the passage of the Rhone Avas not to be 
 elTected without a contest. 
 
 Scipio by this time had landed his army near the eastern mouth of 
 the Rbt)ne ; and his information of Ihinuilial's movements was vaguo 
 and imperfect. His men had sulfcred from sea- sickness on their 
 voyage from I'isa to tin; Rhone ; and he wisiied to gi\'e them a nhort 
 time to recover their strenglh and spirits, before lie led tiiem against 
 the enemy. He still felt confident that Hannibal's advance from the
 
 10 LIFE OF HANNIBAL, 
 
 Pyrcn*ies must be slow, supposing th-at he ■would be obliged to fight 
 bis way ; so that he uever doubted that he siiould have ample time to 
 oppose his passage of the Khone. :Meainvi)ile he seut out JOU horse, 
 Avith some Gauls who were iu the service of the Massaliots, orderin'' 
 them to asceud the left bank of the Khone, and discover, if i)ossibl(f 
 the situation of the enemy. He seems to have been unwilling to 
 place tlie river on his rear, and therefore never to have thought of 
 couducliug his operations on the right bank, or even of sending out 
 reconnoitring parties in this direction. 
 
 The resolution which Scipio formed a few davs afterwards, of 
 sendmg his army to Spain, when he himself returned to Italy, was 
 deserving of such high praise, that we must hesitate to accuse him of 
 over-caution or needless delay at this critical moment. Yet he was 
 sittmg idle at the mouth of the Khone, while the Gauls weie vainly 
 endeavormg to oppose Hannibal's passage of the river. We must 
 understand that Hannibal kein his army as far away from the sea as 
 possible in order to conceal his movements from tlie Romans ; there- 
 fore he came upon the Pihonc, not on the line of the later Roman load 
 from Spain to Ita /, which crossed the liver at Tarasco, belvveeu 
 Avignon and Aries, but at a point much higher up, above its conflu- 
 «nce with the Durance, and nearly half wav, if we can trust Poly- 
 bius's reckoning, from the sea to its conllucnce with llie Iserc. Here 
 lie obtained from the natives on the right bank, by paying a fixed 
 price, all their boats and vessels of every description with which they 
 were accustomed to traffic down the river : they allowed him also to 
 cut timber for the construction of others ; and thus iu two days he 
 was provided with the means of transporting his anny. But landing 
 that the Gauls were assembled on the eastern bank to oppose his pas*- 
 sage, he sent off a detachment of his army by night with native guides, 
 to ascend the right bank, for about two-and-twenty miles, and there 
 to cross as they could, where there was no enemy to stop them. 
 The woods, which then lined the river, sui)plied this detachment.wilh 
 the means of constructing barks and rafts enough for the passage ; 
 they took advantage of one of the many islands^iu this part of the 
 Rhone, to cross where the stream was divided ; and thus they all 
 reached the left bank in safety. There they look up a strong posi- 
 tion, prol)ably one of those strange masses of rock which rise here 
 and there with steep cliffy sides like islands out of the vast plain, and 
 rested for four-and-twenty hours afte.- their exertions in the march 
 and the pas.'-age of the liver. 
 
 Hannibal allowtd eight-and-forty hours to pass from the time Wlien 
 the detachment left his camp ; and then, on the morning of the fiftb 
 day after his arrival on the Rhone, he made his preparations for the 
 passage of his main arm\'. The mighty stream of the j-iver, fed by 
 the snows of the high Alps, is swelled rather than diminished Ijy the 
 beats of summer ; .so that, although the .season was that when the 
 eoutherD rivers arc generally at their lowest, it was rolling the vast
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 11 
 
 mass of its waters along with a stavtling fulness and rapidity. The 
 heaviest vessels were therefore placed on the left, highest up the 
 stream, to form something of a brcaU water for the smaller craft cross- 
 ing below ; the small boats held the flower of the light-armed foot, 
 while the cavalry were in the larger vessels ; most of the horses being 
 towed astern swimmioir, and a sin:^-le soldier holding three or four 
 tosrethep by their bridles. Everything was ready, and the Gauls on 
 the opposite side had poured out"^of their camp, and lined the bank in 
 scattered eroups at the most accessible points, thinking that their task 
 of stopping the enemy's landing would be easily accomplished. At 
 length Hannibal's eye observed a column of smoke rising on the far^ 
 Iher shore, above or on the right of the barbarians. This was the 
 concerted signal which assured him of the arrival of his detachment ; 
 and he iustantlv ordered his men to embark, and to push across with 
 all possible speed. They pulled vigorously against the rapid stream, 
 cheering each other to 'the work; while behind them were their 
 friends, cheerins; them also from the bank ; and l)efore them Avere the 
 Gauls, singing dieir war-songs, and calling them to come on with 
 tones and gestures of defiance. But on a sudden a mass of fire was 
 seen on the rear of the barbarians ; the Gauls on the bank looked be- 
 hind, and besian to turn away from the river ; and presently the 
 bright arms and white linen coats of the African and Spanish soldiers 
 appeared above the bank, breaking in upon the disorderly line of the 
 Gauls. Hannibal himself, who was with the party ci'ossing the river, 
 leaped on .shore amongst the first, and, forming his men as fast as 
 tliey landed, led them "instantly to the charge. , But the Gauls, con- 
 fused and bewildered, made little resistance ; they fled in utter rout ; 
 whilst Hannibal, not losing a moment, sent back his vessels and boats 
 for a fresh detachment of his army ; and before night his whole 
 force, with the exception of his elephants, was safely established ou 
 the eastern side of the Rhone. 
 
 As the river was no longer between him and the enemy, Hannibal 
 early on the next morning sent out a party of Numidian cavalry to 
 discover the position and number of Scipio's forces, and then called 
 his army together, to see and hearthe communications of some chiefs 
 of the Ciaalpine Gauls, who were just arrived from the other side of 
 the Alps. Their words were explained to the Africans and Spaniards 
 in the army by interpreters ; but th(! very sight of the chiefs was it- 
 Bcif an ciicouragement ; for it told the soldiers that the communica- 
 tion witli Cisalpine Gaul was not impracticable, and that the Gauls 
 had undertaken so long a jourm-y for the purpose of obtaining the 
 aid of the Carthaginian aniiy against their old enemies, the Romans. 
 Besides, the interpreters exfilained to the soldiers that the chiefs un- 
 dertook to guide lliern into Italy l)y a short and safe route, on which 
 Ihoy would be abl(! t(j find provisions : and spoke strongly of the 
 great extent and richness of Ilaly. when tliey did arrive there, and 
 how zealously the Gauls would aid them. Hannibal then came for-
 
 12 LIFE OF HANXlJiAL. 
 
 waid liimself (xnd aiWresacd liisanny : tlicir work, lie said, was more 
 than accomplished by the passai^e uf I he Khouc ; their owu eyes and 
 ears had wiluessed the zeal of Ihiir (laulish a'iics in their cause ; for 
 the rest, their business was to do their dut}', and obey his orders im- 
 plic'.tly, le;iving everything else to him. The cheers and shouts of 
 the soldiers again satisfied him how fully he might depend upon 
 them ; and hethm addressed his piayers and vows to the gods of Car- 
 thage, imjiloring them to watch over the army, and to prosper its 
 Work to the end, as they hati prospered its beginning. Tlie soldiers 
 •were now dismissed, with orders to prepare "for theii' march ou the 
 morrow. 
 
 Scarcely was the assembly broken up, when some of the Kumidians 
 who had been sent out in the morning were seen riding fur their lives 
 to the camp, manifestly in flight from a victorious enemy. Not half 
 of the original party returned ; for they had fallen in with Scipio's 
 detachment of Roman and Gaulisli horse, and after an obstinate con- 
 flict had been completely beaten. Presently after, the Roman horse- 
 men appeared in pursuit ; but when they observed the Carthaginian 
 camp, they wheeled and rode off, to carry ])ack word to their gen- 
 eral. Then at last Scipio put his army in motion, and ascended the 
 left bank of the river to tind and engage the euemj'. But when he 
 arrived at the spot where his cavalry had seen the Carthaginian 
 camp, he found it deserted, and was told that Hannibal had ])ecn gone 
 three days, having marched northwards, ascending tiie left bank of 
 the river. To follow him seemed desperate : it was plunging into a 
 coiintry whollj' unknown to the Romans, where they had neither 
 allies nor guides, nor resources of any kind ; and where the natives, 
 over and above the common jealousy felt by all barbarians towards a 
 foreign enemy, were likely, as Gauls, to regard the Romans with 
 peculiar hostility. But if Hannibal could not be followed now, he 
 might easily be met on his first arrival in Italy ; from the mouth of 
 the Rhone to I'isa was the chord of a circle, while Hannibal was 
 going to make a long circuit ; and the Romans had an army already 
 in (Ji.salpine Gaul ; while the enemy would reach the scene of action 
 exhausted with the fatigues and privations of his march across the 
 Alps. Accordingly Scipio descended the Rhone again, embarked his 
 army, and sent it on to Spain under the command of his brother 
 Cna;us Scipio, as his lieutenant ; while he himself in his own ship 
 sailed for Pisa, and immediately crossed the Apennines to take the 
 command of the forces of the two praetors, iVIanlius and Atilius, who, 
 as we have seen, had an arm}' of about 2.-), 000 men, over and above 
 the colonists of Placentia and Cremona, still disposable in Cisaloina 
 Gaul. 
 
 This resolution of Scipio to send his own army on to Spain, and to 
 meet Hannibal with the army of the two pnetors, at)pears to show 
 that he pos.se.ssed the highest qualities of ageueral, which involve the 
 wisdom of a statesman no less than of a soldier. As a mere military
 
 LIFE OF nAXXIBAL. 13 
 
 question, bis calculation, though baffled by the event, was sound, 
 but if we view it in a higher liglit, tiie importance to the Romans o! 
 retaining their hold on Spain would have juslitied a far greatei 
 hazard ; for if the Carthaginians were satlered to consolidate theit 
 dominion in Spaiu, and to avail themselves of its immense resources, 
 not in money only, but in men, the liardiest and steadiest of bar- 
 barians, aud,"uuder the training of such generals as Hannibal and 
 his brother, equal to the best soldiersm the world, the Romans would 
 hardly have been able to maintain the contest. Hud not P. Scipio 
 then dispatched his army to Spain at this critical moment, instead of 
 carr\'ing it home to Italy, his son in all probability would never have 
 won the battle of Zarai. 
 
 Meanwhile Hanniiial, on the day after the skirmish with Scipio'a 
 horse, had sent forward his infantry, keeping the cavalry to cover his 
 operations, as he still expected the Romans to pursue him ; whilst he 
 himself waited to superintend the passage of the elephants. These 
 were thirty-seven in number ; and their dread of the water made 
 their transport a very ditlicult operation. It was effectefl by fasten- 
 insr to the bank large rafts of 2U0 feet in length, covered carefully 
 wUh earth : to the end of these, smaller rafts were attached, covered 
 with earth m the same manner, and with towing line.s extended to a 
 number of tlie largest birks, wiiich were to tow them over the 
 stream. The elepliants, two females leading the way, were brought 
 upon tJie rafts b}" their drivers without difticulty ; and as soon as they 
 came upon the smaller rafts, these were cut loose at once from the 
 larger, and towed out into the middle of the river. Some of the ele- 
 ]ihants in their terror leaped overboard, and drowned their drivers ; 
 but they themselves, it is said, held tiieir huge trunks above water, 
 and struggled to the shore ; so that the wliole thirty-seven were 
 landed in safety. Then Hannibal called in his cavalry, and covering 
 his march with' them ami with the elephants, set forward up the left 
 bank of the Rhone to overtake the infantry. 
 
 In four days they reached the spot where the Isere, coming down 
 from the main Alps, brings to tlie Rhone a stream hardly less full or 
 mighty than liis own. In the plains a!)ove the confluence two Gaul- 
 ish brothers were contending which should be chief of their tribe; 
 and the elder called in the stranger general to support his cause. 
 Hannibal readily comi)lied, established him firmly on the throne, and 
 received important aid from liim in return. He supplied the Cartha 
 ginian army plentifully with provisions, furnished them with nc.v 
 arms, gave them new clothing, especially shoes, ■which were found 
 very useful in the sub.secpient mareh, and accompanied them to the 
 first entrance on the numntain country, to secure them from attacks 
 on tlie part of iiis counlrymcn. 
 
 The attentive reader, who is acciuainted with the geography of tho 
 Alps and ihcir neighborhood, will perceive that this account of Han- 
 nibal's rnaich is va;i;ue. it does not appear wiiether the t!arthu
 
 ^^ LII'K OF IIANNinAL. 
 
 pnians ascnulcd llic l^'fl. bank of tlic Tsorc or U.o li^hL Jmnk or 
 Nvli.tluT Ihvy contMuuMl (0 ascend (he llhone for a ihim, ,uul leav'in.r 
 t on y sc, far as to avoul Iho ^n-oat an-lo which it makes at Lyons, r'- 
 oi cd i( ayani jiusl before they entered the mountain country, a I ttle 
 to the left of llic present road from Lyons to ChamI.erri. But thc-se 
 uucertamties cannot now be removed, because J'oiybius neither nos 
 sesscd a sullicient knowlc^lK^ of the bearings of the cmmt y^uar 
 sufhc.ent bvelu.ess as a painter, to describe the line of the mioh so 
 as to be clearly reco.iiuizcd. I believe, however that H-innil)fll 
 a-ossed the Isere, and a.ntim.ed to aseend'the Rhone'; and tha ■ S 
 %va.ds. strdvui- ofl to the right across the plains of Daur.hine he 
 reached what Polybius calls the lirst ascent of the Alps, at h io'rth 
 orn extre.n.ty of t lat ridge of limestone mounlams, vvhich. risino- ab- 
 uptiy from the plain to the height of 4()(M) or 5000 feet, and lilling up 
 
 (Tienoble first introduces the traveller coming from Lyons to the 
 remarkable features of Alpine scenery. 
 
 At the end of the lowland country, the Gaulish chief, who had ac- 
 companied Hannibal thus far, took leave of him : his influence prob- 
 ably did not extend to the Ali,ine valleys ; and the mountaineers far 
 } mm respecting his safe conduct, might be in tlie habit of inaldnff 
 efJ'ViTin7J'r'''^'r'/ ''r ^'\" }^"-'^\o,y. Here, then, Hannibal wal 
 ett to himself ; and he found that the natives were prepared to beset 
 his passage. I hey occupied all sucli points as commanded the road ; 
 which, a.s usual was a sort of terrace cut in the mouPiain side, over- 
 lianging the valley whereby it ]umelrated to the central ridge But 
 as the mountam hue is of no great breadth here, the natives guarded 
 tlie defile only by day, and withdrew when night came on To their 
 own homes, m a town or village among the mountains, and lying in 
 the valley behmr them. Hannibal, having learned this from some of 
 his Gaulish iruides whom lie sent among them, encamped in their 
 sight just below the entrance of the defile ; and as soon as it was 
 dusk, he set out with a detachment of light troops, made his way 
 through the pass, and occupied the positions which the barbarians 
 after their usual practice, had abandoned at the approach of night 
 
 Day dawned ; tlie main army broke up from its camp, and began 
 to enter the defile; while the natives, finding their positions occu- 
 pied by the enemy, at first looked on (iuietiy,'and offered no disturb- 
 ance to the march. But when they saw the long narrow line of tho 
 Carthaginian army winding along the steep mountain-side, and the 
 cavalry and baggage cattle struggling at every step with the difficul- 
 ties ot the road, the temptation to plunder was too strong to be re- 
 SLsted ; and from many points of the mountain, above the road thcv 
 rushed down upon the ("arthaginians. The contusion was terrible • 
 for the road or track was so narrow, that the least crowd or disorder 
 pushed the heavilv loaded baggage cattle down the steep below • and 
 the hor.'jes, wounded by the barbarians' missiles, and ulvui^ing about
 
 LIFE OF HAXXIBAL. 15 
 
 wildly in their pain and terror, increased the mischief. At last Ilan- 
 nibal was oblia;cd to charge down from his position, which com- 
 manded the whole scene of confusion, and to drive the barbarians 
 off This he effected : vet the conflict of so many men on the narrow 
 road made the disorder "worse for a time ; and he unavoidably occa- 
 sioned the destruction of many of his own men. At last, the bar- 
 barians being quite beaten off, the army wound its way out ot tlie 
 defile in safety, and rested in the wide and rich valley which ex- 
 lends from the Lake of Bourget, with scarcely a perceptible cliauge 
 of level to the Isere at Montmeillan. Hannibal meanwhile attacked 
 and stormed the town, which was the barbarians' principal strong- 
 hold • and here he recovered not only a great many of his own men 
 horse's and baggage cattle, but also foimd a large supply of corn and 
 cattle belonging to the barbarians, which he immediately made use ot 
 for the consumption of his soldiers. , , j 
 
 In the plain which he had now reached, he halted for a whole clay, 
 and then resuming his march, proceeded for three days up the va ley 
 of the Isere on the right bank, without encountering any dithculty. 
 Then the natives nift him with brandies of trees in their hands\ and 
 wreaths on their heads, in token of peace : they spoke fairly, offered 
 hostages, and wished, they said, neitiier to do the Carthaginians any 
 iniury nor to receive any from them. Hannibal mistrusted them 
 yet did not wisa to offend them ; he accepted their terms, received 
 their hostages, a/.d obtained large supplies of cattle ; and their wholo 
 behavior seemed no trustworthy, that at last he accepted their guid- 
 ance it is said, Uuough a difficult part of the country, which he was 
 now approaching. For all the Alpine valleys become narrower as 
 they draw near to a\e central chain ; and the mountains often como 
 so close to the stream, that the roads in old times were often obliged 
 to leave the valley «ud ascend the hills by any accessible point, to 
 descend again when the gorge became wider, and follow the stream 
 as before. If this ii not done, and the track is carried nearer the 
 river, it passes often l\u-ougli defiles oi the most formidable character, 
 being no more than a .-varrow ledge above a furious torrent, with cliffs 
 risin" above it absolutely precipitous, and coming down on the other 
 side of the torrent al)ruptly to the water, leaving no ))assage by which 
 man, or even goat, couiil make his way. 
 
 It appears that the barbarians persuaded Hannibal to pass through 
 one of these defiles, instead of going round It ; and wiiile his army 
 was involved In il, they suddenly, and without provocation, as wo 
 arc told, attacked him. Making tlieir way along the mountain sides, 
 above the defile, they rolled down masses of rock on tin; Cartha- 
 ginians below, or even threw stones upon them from their hands, 
 stones and rocks being cfiually fatal against an enemy so entangled. 
 It wa^ well for Hannibal, that, still doubling the barbarians' lailh 
 he had si'iil forward his cuvalry and bag-age, and covered Mk; march 
 with his iufanlly, wIid thus had lo sustain the brunt of the alluck.
 
 16 LIFE OF HANXIRAL. 
 
 Foot-soldiers on sucli ground were able to move where horses wonld 
 be quite helpless ; and thus, at last, ITannibal, with his infantry, 
 forced his way to the summit of one of the bare cliffs o\'er!i;ui,i,nng 
 the defile, and remained tliere during ihe night, whilst liie cavalry 
 and baggage slowly struggled out oflhe defile. Thus, again baffled, 
 the barbaiians made no more general attacks on the army ; some par- 
 tial annoyance was occasioned at intervals; and S(Jme'bairga<re was 
 carried otT ; but it was observed, that wherever the elephants Avere, 
 the line of march was secure ; for the barbarians beheld those liuge 
 creatures with terror, having never had the slightest knowledge of 
 them, and not daring to approach when they saw llieni. 
 
 Without any further recorded difficulty, the army, on the ninth 
 day after they had left the plains of Daupliine, arrived at the summit 
 of the central ridge of the Alps. Here there is always a plain of 
 some extent, immediately overhung by the snowy summits of the 
 high mountains, but itself in sunnner presenting, in many parts, a 
 carpet of the fre'^hest grass, with the chalets of'the shepherds scat- 
 tered over it, and gay with a thousand llowers. But far different is 
 its aspect through the greatest part of the year : then it is one un- 
 varied waste of snow; and the little lakes, which, on many of the 
 passes, enliven the summer landscape, are now frozen over and cov- 
 ered with snow, so as to be no longer distinguishable. Hannibal was 
 on the summit of the Alps about the end of October ; the first winter 
 snows had already fallen ; but two hundred years before the Chris- 
 tian era, when all Geimany was one vast forest, the climate of the 
 Alps was far colder than at present, and the snow lay on tlie passes 
 all through the year. Thus the soldiers were in dreary quarters ; 
 they remained two days on the summit, resting from their fatigues, 
 and giving opportunity to many of tlie stragglers, and of the horses 
 and cattle, to rejoin them by following their track ; but they were 
 cold, and worn, and disheartened ; and mountains still rose before 
 them, through which, as they kneAv too well, even their descent 
 might be perilous and painful. 
 
 But their great general, who felt that he now stood victorious on 
 the ramparts of Italy, and that the torrent which rolled before him 
 Avas carrying it's waters to the rich plains of Ci.sal[)ine Gaul, endeav- 
 ored to kindle his soldiers Avith his oAvn spirit of hope. He called 
 them together ; he pointed out the valley beneath, to which the de- 
 I scent seemed the work of a moment : " That valley," he said, "is 
 Italy ; it leads us to the country of our friends the Gauls ; and yon- 
 der is our way to Rome." His eyes were eagerly fixed on that point 
 of tlie horizon ; and as he gazed, the di.stance between seemed to van- 
 isli, till he could almost fancy that he was crossing the Tiber, and as- 
 sailing the capital. 
 
 After the two days' rest the descent began. Hannibal experienced 
 no more open hostility from the barbarians, only some petty attempts 
 here and there to plunder ; a fact strange in itself, but doubly so
 
 LIFE OF IIAN'NIUAL. 1~ 
 
 If be wte really dc-scemllDg tl« valley of the D.-ril EaUea. ""ough 
 flie eo"uu." of fhe Sak«a„., -Le -f.-SneeT ^In ubr'i an» 
 
 beasts ^villi something of ^fP^.'^J';^^J^Jg 4 Greater thau ever. The 
 
 above readered it hopeless to s^f;^,,^^Jl'j^,?^exten was found, and 
 but to repair the road. A f*;^"^™/. /^^,^^^,^efe oW to encamp 
 
 cleared of tUe «iiow; a^ad here the am^^^^^^ 
 
 whilst the work went on. ,.Tli^[,<;;Vold therefore wus restored, and 
 man was laboring for his life the [o^- ^^^^/fl^,^'^ ,i^o-ie day it was 
 supported with solid ^^^bstruc ions l^^elow, and la^an^^^^^^^ > .^_ 
 
 miKle practicable for the cavalry ^^" ^ ^^ff ' "J„J4" v^Hey iu safety. 
 
 IMIpiliiiliil 
 
 bte cavalry aud J/'f »f,^.,;,/;,<^,;°/S SJd°U« coualry of tl.eir 
 SS '^'^^£rt^S^S^'S^!S^''^i by US 
 
 ttic seventy of the A'P i'- ^"IV;.,, '. =„ ....^^ in this condition, some 
 
 iifeiliii
 
 18 LI it: or JIANXIIiAL. 
 
 Taurinians, a Lii!:urian people, wlin were constant enemies of llio In 
 pul)ri;uis, and lliercl'ore would not listen to Hannibal wlicn lie in- 
 vited them to join his cause. He therefore attacked and stormed 
 their principal town, ])nt the sjarrison to the sword, and struck such 
 terror into the neighboring^ tril)es, tJiat they submitted immediately, 
 and became liis allies. 'I'his was his tirst accession of strength m 
 Italy, the first fruits, as he hoped, of a long succession of defections 
 among the allies of Rome, so that the swords of the Italians might 
 effect for him the conquest of Italy. 
 
 3Iean while Scipio had landed at Pisa, had crossed the Apennines, 
 and talcen the command of the pra'tors' army, sending the prtctora 
 themselves back to Koine, had crossed the Po at Placentia, and was 
 ascending its left bank, being anxious to advance with all possible 
 haste, in order to hinder a general rising of the Gauls by Ids pres- 
 ence. Hannibal, for the opposite reason, was e([ually anxious to 
 meet liim, being well aware that the Gauls were only restrained from 
 revolting, to the ( Carthaginians, by fear, and ihat on his first success 
 in the field they would join him. He therefore descended the left 
 bank of tlie Po, keeping the liveron his right ; and Scipio having 
 thrown a bridge over the Ticinus, liad entered what are now tlie Sar- 
 dinian dominions, and was still advancing westward, with the Po on 
 his left, although, as the river here makes a bend to the southward, 
 he was no longer in its immediate neighborhood. 
 
 Each general was aware that his enemy was at hand, and both 
 pushed forward with their cavalry and liglit troops in advance of 
 their main aimics, to reconnoitre each other's position and numbers. 
 Thus was brought on accidentally the first action between Hannibal 
 and the Romans in Italy, which, willi some exaggeration, has been 
 called tlie battle of the Ticinus. The ISumidians in Hannibal's army, 
 being now properly supported liy heavy cavalry, were able to follow 
 their own manner of figliting, and falling on the flanks and rear of 
 the Romans, Avho were already engaged in front with Hannibal's 
 lieavy liorsemen, took ample vengeance for their defeat on the 
 Rhone. Tlie Romans were routed ; and the consul liimself was 
 severely wounded, and owed his life, it is said, to the courage and 
 fldelity of a Ligurian slave. With their cavalry thus crippled, it was 
 impossible to act in such an open country ; the Romans therefore 
 ha.stily retreated, recro.ssed the Ticinus, and broke down the bridge, 
 A'et with so much liurry and confusion, that 600 men were left on tha 
 right hank, and fell into the enemy's hands ; and then crossing tlie Po 
 
 / also, established themselves under the walls of their colony Placentia. 
 
 ' Haniiibal, finrling the bridge over the Ticinus destroyed, reascended 
 the left bank of the Po till he found a convenient jioint to cross, and 
 then, liaving constructed a bridge with the river boats, carried over 
 his army in safety. Immediately, as he had expected, the Gauls on 
 the right bank received him with open arms ; and again descending 
 the river, lie arrived on the .-iecond da^' after his ^lassage in sight of
 
 LIFE OF HAXXIBAL. 
 
 19 
 
 tlie Roman army, and on the following day offered llicm battle. But 
 as the Romans did not move, he chosd out a spot for his cainp, and 
 po^tf^d his army five or six miles from the enemy, and apparently on 
 the east of Placentia, cutting off their direct communication with 
 Ariminum and Rome. . -r , , 
 
 On the first news of Hannibal's arriral in Italy, the senate sent 
 orders to the other consul, Ti. Sempronius, to return immediately to 
 i-einforce his colleague. No event of importance had marked the 
 first summer of the war in Sicily. Hannibal's spirit so animated the 
 Cartha"-inian government that they were everywhere preparing to act 
 on the offensive ; and before the arrival of Sempronius, il-.mihus, the 
 prffitor had already had to fight a naval action with the enemy, in 
 order to defend LJlybtBum. He had defeated them, and prevented 
 their landiuir, but the Carthaginian fleets still kept the sea ; and whilst 
 Sempronius" was emploving his whole force in the conquest of the 
 Island of Mehta, the enemy were cruising on the northern side of 
 Sicily and making descents on the coast of Italy. On his return to 
 Lilybium he was going in pursuit of them, when he received orders 
 to return home and join his colleague. He accordingly left part of his 
 fleet with the prtetor in Sicily, and part he committed to Sex. Pom- 
 ponius his lieutenant, for the protection of the coasts of Lucama and 
 Campania ; whilst, from a dread of the dangers and delays of the 
 winter navigation of the Adriatic, his army was to march from 
 Lilvbseum to Messana, and after crossing the strait to go by land 
 throu'di the whole length of Italy, the soldiers being bound by oatli 
 to appear on a certain day at Ariminum. They completed their long 
 marcli, it is .said, in forty days ; and from Ariminum they has- 
 tened to the scene of action, and effected their junction with the army 
 
 of Scipio. . . . , 
 
 Sempronius found his colleague no longer m his original position, 
 close by Placentia and the Po, but withdrawn to the first hills which 
 bound the great plain on the south, and leave an interval here of 
 about six miles between themselves and the river. But Haimibal's 
 army, lying, as it seems, to the eastward, tlie Roman consul retreated 
 westward, liiid leaving Placentia to its own resources, crosseil to the 
 left bank of the Trebia, and there lay encamped, just wliere the 
 stream is-sues from the last hills of the Apennines. It appears that 
 the Romans had several magazines on the right bank of the Po above 
 Placentia, on which the consul probably depended for his subsistence • 
 and these posts, totrether with the jjre.sence of his army, kept the 
 Gauls on the immediate bank of the river quiet. .<o tliiit they gave 
 Hannibal no assistance. When tiic Romuns fell l)ack behmd tlia 
 Trebia. Hannibal followed them, and encmnped iil.'out five miles off 
 from them, directly between them and Placentia. But his powerful 
 cavalry kept his communicatif)ns oi^en in every direction ; and the 
 Gauls who lived out of the immediate control of the Homan army and 
 garrisons, supplied him with provisions abundantly.
 
 VO J.ILIC OF ll.VXNlliAL. 
 
 It U not explained by any existing writer liow Sempronius wa? 
 able to cllVct liis jnuctiuii with his colleague without uny opposition 
 from Ilannibiil. The regular road frolu Aiiininuin to Placentia 
 passes through a country \nivariud hy a singl. hill ; and liie approach 
 of a large ainiy should liave been "announced to Hannibal by his 
 Numidian cavalry, soon enough to allow him to interrupt it. But so 
 much in war depends upon trifliug accidents, that it is in vain to 
 guess where we are without information. We only know that the 
 two consular armies were united in Scipio's position on the left bank 
 of the Trebia ; that their united forces amounted to 40,000 men ; and 
 that IIannil)al, with an army so reinforced by the Gauls since his 
 arrival in Italy, that it was little inferior to his enemy's, was so far 
 from fearing to engage either consul singly, that he wished for noth- 
 ing so much as to bring on a decisive battle with the combined armies 
 of both. Depending on the support of the Gauls for his subsistence, 
 lie nmst not be loo long a burden to them : they had hoped to be led 
 to live on the plunder of the enemy's country, not to maintain him at 
 the expense of their own. In order to force the Romans to a battle, 
 he begun to attack their magazines. Clastidium, now Castiggio, a 
 small town on the right bank of the Po, nearly opposite to the mouth 
 of the Ti(dnus, was betrayed into his hands by the governor ; and lie 
 here found large supplies of corn. 
 
 On the other hand, Sempronius, having no fears for the event of a 
 battle, was longing for the glory of a triumph over such an enemy as 
 Hannibal ; and as Scipio was still disabled b}^ his wound, he had the 
 command of the whole Roman army. Besides, the Gauls who lived 
 in the plain between the Trebia and Placentia, not knowing which 
 side to espouse, had been plundered by Hannibal's cavalry, and be- 
 sought the consuls to protect them. This was no time, Sempronius 
 thought, to neglect anj' ally who still remained faithful to Rome : he 
 sent out his cavalry and light troops over the Trebia to drive olf the 
 plunderers ; and in such skirmishes he obtained some partial success, 
 which made him the n\orc disposed to risk a general battle. 
 
 For this, as a Roman officer, and before Hannibal's military talents 
 ■were fully known, he ought not to be harshly judged ; but his manner 
 of engaging was rash, and unworthy of auableg-eueral. He allowed 
 the attacks of Hannibal's light cavalry to tempt him to follow them 
 to their own field of battle. Early in the morning the Numidiansj 
 crossed the river, and skirmished close up to the Roman camp : the 
 consul first sent out his cavalry, and then his light infantry, to repel 
 them ; and when they gave way and recro.ssed"the river, he led his 
 regular infantry out of his camp, and gave orders for the whole 
 army to advance over the Trebia and attack the enemy. 
 
 It was midwinter, and the wide pebbly bed of the Trebia, which 
 the summer traveller may almost pass dry-shod, was now filled with 
 a rapid stream running breast-high. In the night it had I'aiued or 
 snowed heavily ; and the morning was raw and chilly, threatening
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 21 
 
 sleet or snow. Yet Sempronius led his soldiers through the river, 
 Ijofore they had enten anythiug ; and wet, cold, and luiugry as tliey 
 were, lie formed them in order of battle on the plain, ^^leanwhila 
 Hannibal's men liad eaten their breakfast in their tents, and hail oded 
 their bodies, aaci put on th«ir armor around their lires. Then, wlien 
 the enemy liad crossed trfie Trebia, and were advancing in the open 
 plain, the Carthaginians marched out to meet tliem ; and about a 
 mile in front of their camp, they formed in order of battle. Their 
 disposition was sim)le : the heavy infantry. Gauls, Spaniards, ant 
 Africans, to the number of 20,000, were drawn up in a single line : 
 the cavalrv, 10,000 strong, was, with the elephants, on the two 
 win'^3 ; the light infantry and Balerian slingers were in the front of 
 the whole army. This was all Hannibal's visible force. But near 
 the Trebia, and now left in their rear by the advancing Roman 
 legions, we're lying close hid in the deep and overgrown bed of a 
 small watercourse, two thousand picked soldiers, horse and foot, com- 
 mauded by Hannibal's younger brother :\rago, whom lie had posted 
 there during the night, and whose ambush tbe Romans passed with 
 no suspicion. ArriVed on the field of battle, the legions were formed 
 in their usual order, with the allied infantry on the wings ; and their 
 weak cavalrvof 4000 men, ill able to contend with the numerous 
 horsemen of 'Hannibal, were on the thinks of the whol'! line. 
 
 The Roman velites, or light infantry, who had been in action sinca 
 daybreak, and had already shot away half their darts t\nd arrows, 
 were soim driven back upon the hastati and principes, and passed 
 through the intervals of the maniples to the rear. With no less ease 
 were Uic cavalry beaten on both wings, by llannibars horse and ele- 
 phants. But when tiie heivy infantry, superior in munber and bet- 
 ter armed both for offence and defence, closed with the enemy, the 
 confidence of Sempronius seemed to be justified ; and the Romans, 
 numbed and exhausted as they were, yet, by their excellence in ali 
 soldierly ciualities. maintained the fight with etpial advantage. 
 
 On a sudden a loud alarm was heanl ; and Mngo, with Ids chosep 
 banrl, broke out from his ambush, and assaulted them furiously ii\ 
 the rear. Meantime liolh wing-s of the Rriman infantry were lirokes 
 down by the eleplmnls, and overwhelmed by the missiles of the 
 light infantry, till they were utterly routed, and fied towards the 
 Trebia. The legions in the centre, finding themselves assailed on tht 
 rear, pushed desperately forwards, forced their way tlirough the en- 
 emy's line and m irchel olT the fiehl .straiglit to Placentia. Many oi 
 the routeil cavalry made off in the same direction, and so escaped 
 Hut tho.se who lied towards the river were slaughleied unceasingly 
 by ihe coiKiuerors till they reached it ; and the loss here Avas enor- 
 mous. The (Jarthaginians, howevr^r, .stop[)ed theii' pursuit on the bank 
 of tlic Trebia : the cold wan piercing, and to the elephants .so intoler- 
 able thai they almost all perished ; (-ven of tlie men and horse*; inMiv 
 were lost, so that the wreck of thj; Roman army reached I heir cami/
 
 12 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 Kf*J 
 
 in safety ,- ;\iiil wiicn night came on, Scipio again led tlicm across the 
 river, iilul, imssing unnoticed by the camp ot the enemy, toolc refuge 
 with his colleague wiiiiin the walls of Placenlia. 
 
 So ended Hannibal's tirst campaign in Italy. The Romans, after 
 their defeat, despaired of maintaining their ground on the Po ; and 
 the two consular armies retreated in opposite directions, Bcipio's 
 upon Ariniinun>, and that of Sempronius across the Apennines into 
 Etruria. Hannibal remained master of Cisalpine Gaul ; but the 
 season did not allow him to l)esiege Placenlia and Cremona ; and tho 
 temper of the Gauls rendered it evident that he must not make their 
 country the seat of war in another campaign. Already they bore the 
 burden of supporting his army so impatiently, that he made an at- 
 tempt, in the dead of the winter, to cross the Apennines into Etruria, 
 and was only driven l)ack l)y the extreme severity of the weather, 
 tlie Aviud swee]iiug with such fiuy over the lidges, and through the 
 passes of the mountains, that neither man nor beast could stand 
 against it. Ho was forced, therefore, to winter in Gaul ; but the 
 innate ticklcness and treachery of the people led him to suspect that 
 attempts would be made against liis life, and that a Gaulisli assassin 
 might hope to purchase forgiveness from the Romans for his coun- 
 try's revolt, liy destroying the general who had seduced them. He 
 therefore put on a variety of disguises to baflle such designs ; he 
 w^orc false hair, appearing sometimes as a man of mature years, and 
 sometimes with the gray liairs of old age ; and if he had that taste 
 for liumor which great men arc seldom without, and which some 
 anecdotes of him imply, lie must have been often amused by the mis- 
 lakes thus occasioned, and liave derived entertainment from that 
 whi(,'h policy or necessity had dictated. 
 
 We should be glad to catch a distinct view of the state of Rome, 
 when the news first arrived of the battle of the Trelna. Since the 
 disaster of Caudium, more; than a hundred years before, there had 
 been known no defeat of two consular armies united ; and the sur- 
 prise and vexation must have been great. Sempronius, it is said, 
 returned to liome to hold the comitia ; and the people resolved to 
 elect as consul a man who, however unwelcome to tlie aiistocracy, 
 had already distinguished himself by l)rilliaiit victories, in the very 
 country which wa.s now the seat of war. They accordingly chose 0. 
 Flaminius for the second time consul ; and with him was elected Ca 
 Bervilius (Jeminus, a man of an old patrician family, and personally 
 attached to the aristocratical i)arty, but unknown to us before his 
 present consulship. Flaminius' election was most unpalatable to the 
 aristocracy ; and, as numerous prodigies were reported, and the Sibyl- 
 line books consulted, and it was certain that various rites would be or- 
 dered to pro))itiate tlie favor of the gods, he had some reason to suspect 
 that his election would again be declarefl null and void, and he /liin- 
 c^lf thus deprived of his command ; he was an.xious therefore to leave 
 *-ji>mo a« Boou as possible ; as his colleague was detained by the re--
 
 LIFE OF HANXIBAL. 23 
 
 li.tnoiis ceremonies, and by the care of superintendirm- (he new levies, 
 Flaminius, it is said, left the city before the 15lli of Murch, when hia 
 consulship was to begin, and actually entered upon his office at An- 
 minum, whither he had gone to superintend the formation of luMga- 
 ziues, and to examine the state of tlie army. But the aristocracy 
 thought it was no lime to press party animosities ; they made no at- 
 tempt to disturb Flaminius' election ; and he appears to have had his 
 province assigned liini without opposition, and to have been ap- 
 pointed to command Serapronius' army in Etruria, while Servilius 
 succeeded Scipio at Ariminum. The levies of soldiers went on vig- 
 orously ; two legions were employed in Spain ; one Avas sent to 
 Sicily, another to Sardinia, and another to Tarentum ; and four 
 le"-ions, more or less thinned by the defeat at the Trcbia, still formed 
 the nucleus of two armies in Ariminum and in Etruria. It appears 
 that four new legions were levied, with an unusually large propor- 
 tion of soldiers from the Italian allies and the Latin name ; and these 
 being divided between the two consuls, the armies opposed to Han- 
 nibaton either line, by which he might advance, must have been in 
 point of numbers exceedingly formidal)le. Servilius, as we have 
 seen, had hi-i headquarters at Ariminum ; and Scipio, whom he 
 superseded, sailed as proconsul into Spain, to take command of his 
 ori"-inal army there. Flaminius succeeded to Sempronius in Etruria, 
 auftlay encamped, it is said, in the neighborhood of Arrctium. 
 
 Thus the m un Roman armies lay "nearly in the same positions 
 which they had held eight years before, to oppose the expected in- 
 vasion of the Gauls. But ar; the Gauls then In-okc into Etruria im- 
 pcrceived, by either Roman army, so the liomans were again sur- 
 prised by Hannibal on a line where they had Jiot expected him. Ho 
 crossed the Apennines, not by the ordinary road to Lucca, descend- 
 ing the valley of the Macra, but, as it ai)pcars, by a slraighter line 
 do°vn the valley of the Anser or Serchio ; and leaving Lucca on his 
 right, he proceeded to struggle through tlie low and flooded country 
 which lay between the right bank of the Arno and the Apennines 
 below Florence, and of which the marsh or lake of Fucecchio still 
 remains a specimen. Here, again, the sufferings of the army were ex- 
 treme ; but they were rewarded when they reached the linn ground 
 below Fijesuhe, and were let loose upon the plunder of the rich valley 
 of the upper Arno. 
 
 Flaminius lay quietly at Arrctium, and did not attempt to give 
 battle, but sent messengers to his colleague, to inform him of the 
 enemy's appearance in Etruria. Hannibal was now on the south of 
 the Apennines, and in the heart of Italy ; but the experience of the 
 Samnites and of i'yrrJius had shown tiial the Etruscans were scarcely 
 more to l)e r(;lied uii lli;in tlie (iauls; and it was in»lhe south, in 
 Samnium and Lu< ania and Apulia, that the only malc-ials existed f(»r 
 (Cganizing a new Italian war against Unme. Accordingly Haiiuiha; 
 wivanccd'rajiidly into Etruria. luid fLu'lL^ig Inat F!:uumlut tlill did
 
 }14 LI it: UF JIANXIBAL. 
 
 not move, passed by Arrctium, Icavinrj llic Homan army in liiu rcr.r, 
 anil m;irt'liiiig-, as it seemed, to gain the great plain of central Itiily, 
 •which rcaclics from Periisia to Spolctimi, and was traversed by tlic 
 groat road from Ariminum to Rome. 
 
 The consul Fhuninins now at last broke up from his position, and 
 followed the enemy. Hannibal laid waste the country on every side 
 with tire and sword, to provoI<e the Romans to a hasty battle ; and 
 leaving Cortona on bis left untouched on its mountain scat, he ap- 
 liroached the Lake of Thrasymcnus, and followed the road along its 
 north-eastern shore, till it ascended the bills which divide the lake 
 from the basin of the Tiber. Flamiuius was fully convinced that 
 Hannibal's object was not to fight a battle, but to lay waste the rich- 
 est part of Italy : had he wished to engage, whj' had he not attacked 
 him when he lay at Arretium, and while his colleague was far aw\ay 
 at Ariminum ? With this impression lie pressed on his rear closely, 
 never dreaming that the lion would turn from the pursuit of his de- 
 fenceless prey, to spring on the sliopherds who were dogging his 
 steps behind. 
 
 The modern road along the lake, after passing the village of Passig- 
 nano, runs for some way, close to the water's edge on the right, 
 hemmed in on the left by a line of cliffs, which make it an absolute 
 defile. Then it turns from the lake and ascends the hills ; yet. 
 although they form something of a curve, there is nothing to deserve 
 the name of Valley ; and the road, after leaving the lake, begins to 
 ascend almost inmied lately, so that there is a very short distance 
 during which tlie hills on the right and left command it. _ The 
 grouml, therefore, does not well correspond with tlic description of 
 Polybius, who states that the valley in which the Romans were 
 (taught was not the narrow interval between the hills and the lake, 
 but a valley beyond this defile, and running down to the lake, so that 
 the Romans, when engaged in it, had the water not on their right 
 flank, but on their rear. Livy's account is different, and represents 
 the Romans as caught in the defile beyond Passignano, between the 
 cliff and the lake. It is possible that, 'if the exact line of the ancient 
 road could be discovered, it might assist in solving the difRcuIly . in 
 the mean time the l)attle of Thrasymenus must be one of the many 
 events in ancient military history, where the accounts of historians, 
 dillering cither with each other or with the actual appearances of 
 the ground, are to us inexplicable. 
 
 The consul had encamped in the evening on the side of the lake, 
 just witiiin the present Roman frontier, and on the Tuscan side of 
 Passignano : he had made a forced march., and had arrived at his 
 position so late that he could not examine the ground before him. 
 Early the nex-t morning he set forward again ; the raoi-ning mist 
 hung thickly over the lake and the low grounds, leaving the lieights, 
 as i.s often the case, quite clear. Flaminius, anxious to overtake 1::.°, 
 enemy, rejoiced in the friendly veil which '.hus concealed his ad-
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 25 
 
 vaace, and hoped to fall upon Ilanuibal's army while it was still in 
 marching order, and its columns eucinnbeicd with the plunder of the 
 valley of the Arno. lie passed through the delile of Passignano, and 
 found no enemy ; this coutiruied him in his belief lluit Hannibal did 
 not mean to fight. Already the Xuniiciiau cavalry were on the edge 
 of the basin of the Tiber : unless he could cvertake them speeddy, 
 they would have reached the plain ; and Africans, Spaniards and 
 Gauls, would be rioting in the devastation of the garden of Italy, 
 So the consul rejoiced as the heads of his columns emerged from the 
 defile, and, turning to the left, began to ascend the hills, where he 
 hoped at least to find the rear-guard of the enemy. 
 
 At this moment, the stillness of the mist was broken by barbarian 
 war-cries on every side ; and both flanks of the lloman column were 
 assailed at once. Their ritjht was overwhelmed by a storm of jave- 
 lins and arrows, shot as if from the midst of darkness, and striking 
 into the soldier's unguarded side, where he had no shield to cover 
 liim ; while ponderous stones, against which no shield or helmet could 
 avail, came crashing down upon their heads. On the left were heard 
 the tramphng of horse, and tiie well-known war-cries of the (iauls ; 
 and presently Hannibal's dreaded cavalry emerged from the mist, and 
 were in an instant in the midst of their ranks ; and the huge forms 
 of the Gauls, and their vast broadswords, broke in upon them at 
 the same moment. The head of the Roman column—which was 
 already ascending to the higher ground— found its advance also 
 barred ; for here was the enemy wliom they had so longed to over- 
 take : liere were some of the Spanish and African foot of Hannibal s 
 army drav/u up to wait their assault. The Romans instantly attacked 
 these troops, and cut tiieir wav through ; these must be the covering 
 parties, they thought, of Hannibal's main battle ; and, eager to bring 
 the contest to a decisive issue, they pushed forward up tlie heights 
 not doubting that on the summit tlic-y should find the whole force of 
 the enemy. And now they v/ere on the top of the ridge, and to their 
 astonishment no enemj' was there ; but tlie mist drew up, and, as 
 they looked l)eliind, they saw too plainly where Hannibal was ; the 
 whole valley was one scene of carnage, whilst on the sides of the hills 
 above were the masses of the Spanish and African foot witnessing 
 the destruction of the Roman army, whicii had scarcely cost them a 
 single stroke. 
 
 The advanced troop.s of the Roman column had thus escaped the 
 slaur^hter ; but, being too few to retrieve the day, they continued their 
 advance, which was now become a fligiil, and took refuge in one of ' 
 the neighl)oriiig villages. Meantime, while the centre of the army 
 was cut to pieces in the valley, the rear was still winding through the 
 defile iicyond, between the clilTs and the lake. But they, too, wero 
 attacked from tlie lieighls above l)y the Gauls, and forced in con- 
 fusion into the water. Some of the soldiers, in desperation, strut k 
 out into the deep water, swimming ; and, weighed down b^- llieU
 
 26 LIFE OK HAxNNIIUL. 
 
 amior, presently sank : others ran in as far as was williin (lieir depth, 
 ami tliere stood helplessl3^ till tiic eneinj^'s cavalry dashed in after 
 them. Then they lifted up their hands, and cried for quarter ; hut, 
 on this day of sacriliec, the gods of ('aithage were not to he de- 
 frauded of a single victim ; and the horsemen pitilessly fulfilled 
 Hannibal's vow. 
 
 Thus, with the exception of the advanced troops of the Koman col- 
 •amn, who were about GOOO men, IIk; rest of the army were utterly 
 destroyed. The consul himself had not seen the wreck consum- 
 mated. On linding himself surrounded, he had vainly endeavored to 
 form his men amidst the confusion, and to offer some regular resist- 
 ance ; when tliis was hopeless, he continued to do his duly as a l)rave 
 soldier, till one of the Gaulish horsemen, who is said to liave known 
 him by sight from his former consulship, rode up and ran him through 
 the body with his lance, crying out, " So perish the man who slaug-li- 
 tered our brethren, and robbed us of the lands of our fathers." In 
 these last words, we probably rather read tiie nnqnencjiable hatred 
 of the Roman aristocracy to the author of an agrarian law. than the 
 genuine language of the Gaul. Flaminius died bravely, sword in 
 hand, having committed no graver military error thaii many an 
 impetuous soldier, whose death in his country's cause lias been 
 felt to throw a veil over his rashness, and whose memory is 
 pitied and honored. The party feelings which have so colored 
 the language of the ancient writers 'respecting him, need not 
 be shared by a modern historian ; Flaminius was indeed an unequal 
 antagonist to Hannibal ; but in his previous life, as consul and as 
 censor, he had served his country well ; and if the defile of Thrasy- 
 menus witnessed his rashness, it also contains his honorable grave. 
 
 The battle must have been ended before noon ; and Hannibal's in- 
 defatigable cavalry, after having destroyed the centre and rear of the 
 Roman army, hastened to pursue the" troops who had broken off 
 from the front, and had for the present escaped the general over- 
 throw. They were supported by the light-armed foot and the Span- 
 iards, and finding the Romans in the village to which they liad re- 
 treated, proceeded to invest it on every side. The Romans, cutoff 
 from all relief, and with no provisions, surrendered to Maharbal, wlio 
 commanded tiie party sent against them. They were brought to 
 Hannibal ; with the other prisoners taken in the baltle, the whole 
 number amounted to 15,0(J0. The general addressed them by an in- 
 ter[)reter ; he told the soldiers who had surrendered to Maharbal, 
 that their lives, if he pleased, were still forfeited, for Maharbal liiid 
 no authority to grant terms without his consent ; then he proceeded, 
 with the vehemence often displayed ))y Napoleon in similar circum- 
 stances, to inveigh against the Roman government and people, and 
 concludi'd by giving all his Roman ]>risoners to the custody of the 
 several divisions of his army. Then be turned to the Italian allies ; 
 they were not bis enemies, he said ; on the contrary, he had invaded
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 27 
 
 Italy to aid them ia castiu,2: off the yoke of Rome ; lie should still 
 deal with them as he had treated his Italian prisoners taken at the 
 Trebia ; they were free from that mumeut, and without ransom. 
 This being done, he halted for a short tmie to rest his army, and 
 buried w^itli great solemnity thirty of the most distinguished of those 
 who had fallen on Jiis own side in the battle. His whole loss had 
 amounted only to 1500 men, of whom the greater part were Gauls. It 
 is said also that he caused careful search, but in vain, to be made for 
 the body of the consul, Flaminius, being anxious to give liim honor- 
 able burial. So he acted afterwards to L. iEmilius and to Marcellus ; 
 and these humanities are worthy of notice, as if he had wished to 
 show that, thougli his vow bound him to unrelenting enmity towards 
 tiie Romans while living, it was a pleasure to him to feel that he 
 might honor them when dead. 
 
 The army of Hannibal now broke up from the scene of its victory, 
 and, leaving Perusia unassailed, crossed the infant stream of the 'fi- 
 ber and eotered upon tiie plains of Umbria. Here Maharbal, with 
 tlie cavalry and liglit troops, obtained another victory over a party 
 of some thousand men, comniinded by C. Centenius, and killed, 
 took prisoners, or dispersed the whole body. Then that rich phiin, 
 extending from the Tiber, under Perusia, to Spoletum, at the foot of 
 tlie ]\Ionte Somma, was laid waste by the Carthaginians without 
 inercy. The wliite o.xen of the CMitumnus, so often offered in sacri- 
 lice to the gods of Rome by her triumphant generals, were now the 
 spoil of the enemy, and were .slaughtered on the altars of the gods of 
 Carthage, amidst prayers for the destruction of Rjine. The left 
 bank of the Tiber again heard tlie G.iuli.'^h war-cry ; and the terri- 
 lied inhabitants fled to the mountains or into the fortified cities, from 
 this unwonted storm of barbarian invasion. The figures and arms 
 of the Gauls, however formidalile, might be familiar to many of the 
 Umbrians ; but they gazed in wonder on the slingers from the Ba- 
 learian islands, on the liardy Spanish foot, conspicuous by their white 
 linen coats bordered with 'scarlet ; on the regular African infantry, 
 who had not yet exchanged their long lances and small shields for 
 the long .shield and stabbing sword of tiie Roman soldier; on the 
 lieavy cavalry, .so numerous, and mounted on hor.ses so superior to 
 those of Italy ; above all, on the band.s of wild Numidians, who rode 
 without saddle or bridle, as if the rider and his hor.se were one crea- 
 ture, and wdio scoured over the country with a speed and impetuosity 
 defying escape or resistance. Amidst such a scene, the colonists of 
 Spoletum ile.served well of their country, for shutting their gates 
 boldly, and not yielding to the geu(;ral panic ; and when tin; Xumi- 
 diaii horsen-.en reined up their horses, anil turned away from its 
 well-marmcd walls, the ((jlonisls, wilh ;ui excu.sable boasting, might 
 claim the glory of Imviiig repulsed ilaiuiibal. 
 
 Rut Ilannibal's way lay not over tin; Monte; Somma, although its 
 steep pass, rising immediately behind Spoletum, was the last natural
 
 28 LIFE OF HANNIBAL, 
 
 olistacio between him and Rome. Bcj'ond fhfit pass the country wag 
 full, not of Roman colonics merely, but of Roman citizens : he 
 ■would soon liuve entered on the territory of the thirty-live Roman 
 tribes, Avhere every man whom he would have met was liis enemy. 
 His eyes were fixed elsewhere : the south was entirely open to him ; 
 tiie way to Apulia and Sanuiium was cleared of every impediment. 
 lie crossed the Apennines in the direction of Ancona, and invaded 
 
 , Picenum ; he then followed the coast of the Adriatic, through the 
 country of tlie Marnicinians and Frcntanians, till he arrived in the 
 northern part of Ajjulia, in the country called by the Greeks Datmia. 
 He advanced slowly and leisurely, encamping- after short marches, 
 and spreading devastation far and wide : the plunder of slaves, cat- 
 
 . tie, corn, wine, oil, and valuable property of every description, was 
 almost more than tlie anny could carry or drive along. The sol- 
 diers, who, after their exhausting march from Spain over the Alps, 
 had ever since been in active service, or in wretched quarters, and 
 •who, from cold and the want of oil for anointing the skin, had 
 suffered severely from scorbutic disorders, were now revelling in 
 plenty in a land of corn and olives and vines, where all good things 
 were in such abundance that the very horses of the army", so said re- 
 port, were bathed in old wines to improve their condition. Mean- 
 while, wherever the army passed, all Romans, or Latins, of an age 
 to bear arms, were, by Hannibal's express orders, put to the .sword. 
 Many an occupier of domain land, many a farmer of the (axes, or of 
 those multiplied branches of revenue which the Roman government 
 po.s.sessed all over Italy, collectors of customs and portdutics, sur- 
 veyors and farmers of the forests, faimers of the mountain pastures, 
 farmers of the salt on the sea-coast, and of the mines in the moun 
 tains, were cut off by the vengeance of the Carthaginians ; and Rome, 
 having lost lhou.sah'ds of her poorer citizens in battle, and now losing 
 hundreds of the licher classes in this exterminating march, lay bleed- 
 ing at every pore. 
 
 But her spirit was invincible. When the tidings of the disaster of 
 Thrasymenus reached the city, the people crowded to the Forum, 
 and called upon the magistrates to tell them the whole tiuth. The 
 praitorperegrinus, ^I. Pomponius Matho, ascended the rostra and said 
 to the assembled multitude, " We have been beaten in a great battle ; 
 our army is destroyed ; and C. Flaminius, the consul, is killed." Our 
 colder temperaments scarcely enable us to conceive the effect of such 
 tidings on the lively feeling.s of the people of the south, or to image 
 to ourselves the cries, the tears, the h;inds uplifted in prayer or 
 clenched in rage, the confused .sounds of ten thousand voices, giv- 
 ing utterance with breathless ra])idity to (heir feelings of eager in- 
 terest, of terror, of grief, or of fury. AH the northern gates^f tho 
 city were beset with crowds of wives and mothers, im])loring every 
 fresh fugitive from the fatal tield for some tiilings of those most dear 
 t-0 tliem. The praetors, M. -£milius and M. Pomponius, kept the sen-
 
 LIFE OF HANXIBAL. 29 
 
 ate sitting for several days, from sunrise to sunset, without atljourn- 
 meiit, in earnest consultation on the alarming state of their country. 
 
 Peace was not thought of for a moment ; nor was it proposed to 
 withdraw a single soldier from Spain, or Sicily, or Sardinia ; but it 
 was resolved that a dictator ought to be appointed, to secure unily of 
 command. There had been no dictatorship for actual service since 
 that of A. Atilius Calatinus, two-and thirty years before, in the dis- 
 astrous consulship of P. Claudius Pulcher and L. Junius PuUus. 
 But it is probable that some jealousy was entertained of the senate's 
 choice, if, in the absence of ihe consul Cn. Servilius, the appoint- 
 ment, according to ancient usage, had rested with them ; nor was it 
 thought safe to leave the dictator to nominate his master of the horse. 
 Hence, an unusual course was adopted ; the centuries in their corai- 
 tia elected both the one and tlie otlier, choosing one from each of the 
 two parties in the state ; the diclaior. Q. Fabius ]VIaximus,_from one 
 of the noblest, but at tlie same time the most moderate families of the 
 aristocracy, and himself a mm of a nature no less gentle than wise ; 
 the master of the horse, M. Minucius Kufus, as lepresenting the pop- 
 ular party. . 
 
 Reliiriou in the mind of Q. Fabius was not a mere instrument tor 
 party purposes ; although lie may have had little belief in its truth, 
 he was convinced of its excellence, and that a reverence for Ihe gods 
 was an essential element in the character of a nation, without wlucli 
 it must assuredly degenerate. Tiierefore, on the very day that he en- 
 tered on his ofhce, he summoned the senate, and, dwelling on tlie 
 importance of iiropitiating the gods, moved that the sibyHine books 
 .should forthwitli be consulted. They directed, among other things, 
 that tlie Itoman people should vow to the gods what was called " a 
 holy spring" — that is to say, that every animal fit for sacrilice born 
 in the spring of that year, between the lirst day of March and the 
 thirtieihof April, and reared on any mountain, or plain, or river-bank, 
 or upland pasture throughout Italy, should bo olfered to .Jupiter. 
 Extraordinary games were also vowed to be celebrated in the (jintus 
 Maximus ; prayers were put up at all the temples ; new temples were 
 vowed to be built ; and for three days those solemn sacrifices were 
 performed, in wliich the ima<_a's of the gods were taken down froni 
 their temples, and laid on couches richly covered, with tables full of 
 meat and wine set l)eforc them, in the sight of all the people, as if 
 the gods could not but bless the city where they had deigned to re- 
 ceive hospitality. 
 
 Then the dictator turned his attention to the state of the war. 
 A long campaign was in prospect ; fcr it was still so early in the sea- 
 son, that tlie i)r;etors had not yet gone out of their provinces; and 
 Hannibal was alreiidy in the heart ot Italy. All measures weie taken 
 for the defence of tlie country ; even the walls and towers of Home 
 were ordered to lie made good against an attack. Biidges were to 
 be broken down ; the inhabitants cf opoa towns were to withdraw
 
 30 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 into places of spcurity ; nnd, in the expected lino of ll;mnil)ar3 
 iniircli. the coiinlry was to l)c laid waste before liini, (lie corn de- 
 stroyed, and the houses burnt. This would probably be done elfcc- 
 tually in the Koman territory ; but the allies were not likely to make 
 such extreme sacrifices: and this, of itself, was a reason why Han- 
 Dibid did not advance directly upon Koine. 
 
 More than thirty thousand men, in killed and prisoners liad been 
 lost to the Romans in the late battle. The consid, Cn. Servihus com- 
 , mandcd above thirty thousand in Oisalpine (laul ; and he was now 
 1 retreating in all hs:Ae, after having heard of the total defeat of his 
 colleague. Two new legions were raised, besides a large force out of 
 the city tribes, which was employed ixirtly for tlie defence of Rome 
 itselt, and partly, as it consisted largely of the poorer citi/ens for the 
 service of the tleet. This last indeetl was become a matter of urgent 
 necessity ; for the Carthaginian lleet was already on the Italian coast 
 and luul taken a whole convoy of corn-ships, off Cosa, in p:truria' 
 carrying supplies to the army in Spain ; whilst the Roman ships both 
 in bicily and at Ostia, had not yet been launched after the winter 
 Inow all the ships at Ostia and in the Tiber were sent to sea in hastej 
 and the consul. On Serviiius, commanded tliem ; whilst the dictator 
 and master of the horse, having added the two newiy-iaised legions 
 to the consul's army, proceeded through Campania and Samnium into 
 Apulia, and, with an army greatly superior in numbers, encamped 
 at the (hstance of about live or six miles from Hannibal. 
 
 Besides the advantage of numbers, the Romans had that of being 
 regularly and abundantly supplied with provisions. They had no 
 occa.sion to scatter their forces in order to obtain subsistence ; but, 
 keeping their army together, and exposing no weak point to fortune,' 
 they followed Hannibal at a certain distance, watched their oppor- 
 tunity to cut off his detached parties, and above all, by remaining in 
 the field with so imposing an army, overawed the allies, and checked 
 tlieir disposition to revolt. Thus Hannibal, finding that the Apulians 
 did not join him, recros.sed the Apennines, and moved through the 
 country of the Hirpiuians, into that of the Caudiniau Hamnites.'^ But 
 Beneventum, once a great Samnite city, was now a Latin (tolony ; 
 and it.s gates were close shut against the invader. Hannibal laid 
 waste its territory with fire and sword, then moved downwards under 
 the south side of the :Matese, and took possession of Telesia, the na- 
 tive city of C. Pontius, but now a decayed and defenceless town : 
 thence descending the Calor to its junction with the Vulturnus, and 
 ascending the Vulturnus till he found it easily fordable, he finally 
 crossed it near Allifte, and passing over the hills behind Calatia, de- 
 scended by Cales into- the midst of the Faleruian plain, the glory of 
 Campania. 
 
 Faliius .steadily followed him, not descending into the plain, but 
 keeping his armv on the iiills above it, and watching all his move- 
 ments. Again the Numidian cavalry were seen scouring the country
 
 LIFE OF TTA>fXIBAL. 31 
 
 on every side ; and the smoke of burning houses marked their trark. 
 The soldiers in the Roman army belielJ the sight with tlie greatest 
 impatience : tliey were burning for battle, and the master of the 
 horse himself shared and encouraged the general feeling. But Fa- 
 bius was lirm in his resolution ; he sent parties to secure even the 
 pass of Tarracina, lest Hannibal should attempt to advance by the 
 Appian road Tipon Rome; he garrisoned Casilinum, on the enemy's 
 rear ; the Vulturnus, from Casilinum to the sea, barred all retreat 
 southwards ; the colony of Cales stopped the outlet from the plain by 
 the Latin road ; while from Cales to CasiUnum the hills formed an 
 unbroken barrier, steep and wooded, the few paths over which were 
 already secured by Roman soldiers. Thus Fabius thought that Han- 
 nibal was caught as in a pitfall ; that his escape was cut off, whilst 
 his army, having soon wasted its plunder, could not possibly winter 
 where it was.without magazines, and without a single town in its pos- 
 session. For himself, he had all the resources of Campania and Sam- 
 nium on his rear ; Avhilst on his right, the Latin road, secured by the 
 colonies of Cales, Casinum, and Fregclke, kept his communications 
 with Rome open. 
 
 Hannibal, on his part, had no thought of wintering where he was ; 
 but he had carefully husbanded his plunder, that it might supply lijs 
 winter consumption, so that it was important to him to carry it off in 
 safely. He ha 1 taken many thousand cattle ; and his army besides 
 was encumljered with its numerous prisoners, over and above the 
 corn, wine, oil, and other articles, which had been furnished by the 
 ravage of one of the ricliest districts in Italy. Finding that the 
 passes ia the hills between Cales and the Vulturnus were occupied by 
 the enemy, he began to consider how he could surprise or force his 
 passage without abandoning any of his plunder. He first thought of 
 his numerous prisoners ; and dreading lest in a night march they 
 should either escape or overpower their guards and join their coun- 
 trymen in attacking him, he commanded tiiem all, to the numl)er, it 
 is said, of olJOU men, ti) be [)Ut to tlie sword. Then he ordered 20U0 
 of the stoutest o.xen to be selected from the plundered cattle, and 
 pieces of split pine wood, or dry vine wood, to be fastened to their 
 hora.s. About two hours before midnight the drovers began to diive 
 them straight to the iiills, having first set on fire the bundles of wood 
 about tiieir heads ; whilst the light infantry following them till they 
 began to run wild, then made tlieir own way to the hills, scouring 
 the points just above the pass occupied by the enemy. Hannil)al 
 then commenced his march ; his African infantry led the way, fol- 
 lowed by the cavalry ; then cami; all tin; baggage ; and the rear was 
 covered"i)y the Spaniards and (jauls. In this order he followed the 
 road in the detile. by which he was to iret out into tiie upper valley of 
 the V'uUurnus. al)(ive Casilinum and the enemy's army. 
 
 He founil the way (piite clear ; for tiie l{oinans wiio had guarded 
 it, seeing the hills above llicm illuminated on a sudden with a mulli-
 
 o^ 
 
 i lAVE OF IIAXXIBAL. 
 
 tude of movinnj lights, ami iiothinii: doubtint;; that ITannibal's army 
 wa.s ■.ilteii'iptiiiu: lo^hroak out over Ihu hilly in despair of lorcing the 
 road, ([uiltid Ihi-h- posilion in haste, and ran towards the luiuhls to 
 interrupt or embarrass his retreat. Meanwhile Fabius. with his main 
 armj-, confounded at the strangeness of the sight, and dreading lest 
 Hannibal was tempting him to his ruin as he had tempted Flumiuius, 
 kept close within his camp until the morning. Day dawne<l only to 
 show him his own troops, who had been set to occupy the defile, en- 
 gaged on the hills above with Hannibal's light infantry. But pres- 
 ently the Spanish foot were seen scaling the heights to reinforce the 
 enemy : and the Komans were driven down to the plain with great 
 loss and confusion ; while tlie Spaniards and the liglu troops, liaving 
 thoroughly done their work, disappeared bebind the hills, and fol- 
 lowed tlieir main army. Thus completely successful, and leaving 
 bis shamed and balUed enemy behind him, Hannil)al no longer 
 thought of returning to Apulia by the most direct road, but resolved 
 to extend his devastations still farther before the season ended. He 
 mo\uited the valley of the Vidturnus towards Vcnafrum, marched 
 from thence into Samnium, crossed the Apennines, and descended 
 into the rich Peliguian plain by Sulmo, which yielded him an ample 
 harvest of plunder ; and thence retracing his steps into Samnium, he 
 finally returned to the neighborhood of his old quaiters in Apulia. 
 
 The summer was far advanced ; Hannibal had overrun the greater 
 part of Italy : the meadows of the Clitunnuis and the Vulturnus, and 
 the forest glades of the high Apennines, had alike seen their cattle 
 driven away by the invading army ; the Falernian plain and the plain of 
 Sulmo had alike yielded their tribute of wine and oil ; but not a single 
 city had as yet opened itf5 gates to the conqueror, not a single state of 
 Samnium had welcomed him as its champion, under whom it might 
 revenge ils old wrongs against Kome. Everywhere the aristocrati- 
 cal parly had maintained its ascendency, and had repressed all men- 
 tion of revolt from Kome. Hannibal's great experiment therefore 
 had hitherto failed. He knew that his single army could not con- 
 quer Italy ; as easily might King William's Dutch guards have con- 
 quered England: and s^ix monllis had brought Hannibal no fairer 
 prospect of^ aid within the countrv itself than the first week after his 
 landing in Torbav brouuht to King William. But among Hanndial's 
 greatest qualities\vas the i)atience with which he knew how to abide 
 his time ; if one campaign had failed of its main object, another must 
 be tried ; it the fidelitv of the Roman allies had been un.shaken by 
 the disaster of Thrasymenus, it must be tried by a defeat yet moie i 
 fatal. Meantime he would take undisputed possession of the best 
 winter quarters in Italy ; his men would be plentifully fed ;_ his in- i 
 valuable cavalry would have forage in abundance ; and this at no 
 cost to Carthage, but wholly at the expense of the enemy. The point 
 which lie fixed upon to winter at was the very edge of the Apulian 
 plain, where it joins the mountains : on one side was a boundless ex-
 
 LIFE OF HA^TNIBAL. 
 
 33 
 
 nanse of corn, intermixed with open grass land, burnt up m summer, 
 but in winter fresh and green ; whilst on the other side were the 
 wide na'^turos of the mountain forests, where his numerous cattlo 
 mi^ht be turned out till the first snows of autumn fell. These were 
 as "vet far distant ; for the corn in the plain, altnough ripe was stilj 
 standing ; and the rich harvests of Apulia were to be gathered this 
 vear bv unwonted reapers. , , * 
 
 , Descending from Samnium, Hannibal accordmgly appeared before 
 . the little tow'a of Geronium, which was situated somewhat more than 
 '•wenty miles northwest of tlie Latin colony of Luceria,m the Imme- 
 diate neighborhood of Larinum. The town, refusing to surrender, was 
 taken and the inhabitants put to the sword ; but the houses and walls 
 were left standing, to serve as a great magazme for the army ; and 
 the soldiers were quartered in a regularly lortihed camp wiihout he 
 town Here Hannibal posted himself ; and keepm- a third par of his 
 men imder arms to guard the camp and to cover his foragers, he sent 
 out the other two thirds to gather in all the cora of the surrounding 
 country, or to pasture his cattle on the adjoining mountains In tins 
 manner the store-houses of Geronium were in a short time tilled wita 
 
 ^^Meanwhile the public mind at Rome was strongly excited against 
 the dictator. He seemed like a man who. having played a cautiou:* 
 game, at last makes a false move, and is beaten ; his slow detensipo 
 svstem unwelcome in itself, seemed rendered contemptible by Han- 
 nibal's'triumphant escape from the Falernian plain But here, too 
 Fabius showed a patience worthy of all honor. Vexed as he must 
 have been at his failure in Campania, he still felt sure that his sys- 
 tem was wise ; and again he followed Hannibal into Apulia, and en- 
 camped as before in the high grounds in his neighborhood. Certain 
 roli'nous offices called him at this time to Rome ; but he charged 
 Miuucius to observe his system strictly, and on no account to risk a 
 
 battle. . •Ill 
 
 The master of the horse conducted his operations wisely : he ad- 
 vanced his camp to a projecting ridge of hills, immediately above the 
 plain and sending out his cavalry and light troops to cut olt Hanni- 
 bal 's'fora"-ers, obliged the enemy to increase his covering force, and 
 to restrict~"the rantre of his harvesting. On one occasion he cut otf a 
 irreat number of the foragers, and even advanced to attack Hannibal s 
 Samp, which, owing to the necessity of detaching so many nieii al 
 over the country, was left with a very inferior lorce to dutend it. 
 The return f.f some of the foraging parties obliged the Romans to re- 
 treat ; but Minuciiis was greatly elated, and sent home very encour- 
 aging n^poi ts of his success. . 
 
 The feeling against Fabius could no longer be restrained. .Mmu- 
 ciushad known how to manage his .'system more ably Ihan he bad 
 done him.self ; such merit at wich a crisis deserved to be rewanlcl ; 
 nor was it fit that the popular parly should continue to be delinked
 
 34 LIFE OF nANNIBAL. 
 
 of its share in the conduct of the war. Even among Ills own party 
 Fabius was not universally popular : lie had maiijnitied himself and 
 liis system somewhat oifeusivcly, and had spoken too harshly of the 
 bluuilers of former j^enerals. Thus it does not appear tliat tlie aris- 
 tocracy offered any stron.e,' resistance to a bill brouj^ht forward by the 
 tribune M. 3Ietilius, for .ixiving the master of the horse power equal 
 to the dictator's. The lull was strongly supported by C. Terentius 
 Varro, who had been pnetor in the preceding year, and was easily 
 carried. 
 
 The dictator and master of the horse now divided the army be- 
 tween them, and encamped apart, at more than a mile's distance 
 from each other. Their want of co-operation was thus notorious ; 
 and Hannibal was not slow to profit by it. He succeeded in tempt- 
 ing Minucins to an engagement on his own ground ; and liaving 
 concealed about 5000 men in some ravines and hollows close by, he 
 called them forth in the midst of the action to fall on tiie enemy's 
 rear. The rout of the Trebia svas well-nigh repeated ; but Fabius 
 was near enough to come up in time to the rescue ; and liis fresh 
 legions checked the pursuit of the conquerors and enabled the bro- 
 ken Romans to rally. Still the loss already sustained was severe ; 
 and it was manifest that Fabius had saved his colleague from total 
 destruction. Minucins acknowledged this generously: he instantly 
 gave up his equal and separate command, and placed himself and 
 his army under the dictator's orders. The rest of the season 
 passed quietly ; and the dictator and master of the horse resign- 
 ing their offices as usual at the end of six months, tbe army during 
 the winter was put under the command of the consuls ; Cn. Servilius 
 having brought home and laid up the fleet, which he had commanded 
 during the summer, and M. Atilius Regulus having been elected to 
 fill the place of Flaminius. 
 
 Meanwhile the elections for the following year were approaching ; 
 and it was evident that they would be marked by severe party strug- 
 gles. The mass of the Roman people were impatient of the continu- 
 ance of the war in Italy ; not only the poorer citizens, whom it 
 obH2;ed to constant military service through the winter, and with no 
 prospect of plunder, but still more perhaps the moneyed classes, 
 whose occupation as farmers of the revenue was so greatly curtailed 
 by Hannibal's army. Again, the occupiers of domain lands in re- 
 mote parts of Italy could get no returns fr(jm their property ; the 
 wealthy graziers, who fed their cattle on tli(.- domain pastures, saw 
 their .stock carried off to furnish winter provisions for the enemy. 
 Besides, if Hannibal were allowed to l)c unassailable in the field, the 
 allies, sooner or later, must be expected to join him ; tliey would not 
 sacrifice everything for Rome, if Rome could ncnther protect them 
 nor herself. The excellence of the Roman infantry was undisputed : 
 if with ecpial numbers they could not con(juer Hannibal's veterans, 
 let their numbers be increased, and they must overwhelm him.
 
 LIFE OF HANXIBAL. 35 
 
 These were no doubt the feelings of many of the nobility themselves, 
 as well as of the majority of the people ; but they were embittered 
 by party animosity : the aristocracy, it was said, seemed beat on 
 throwing reproach on all generals of the popular party, as if none but 
 themselvres were fit to conduct the war ; Miuucius himself had 
 yielded to this spirit by submitting to be commanded by Fabius, 
 when the law had made him his equal : one consul at least must be 
 chosen, who would act tirmly for himself and for the people ; and 
 such a man, to whose merits the bitter hatred of the aristocratical 
 party bore the best testimony, was to be found in C. Terentiua 
 Varro. . 
 
 Varro, his enemies said, was a butcher's son ; nay, it was added 
 that he had himself been a butcher's boy, and had only been 
 enabled by tlie fortune which his father had left him to throw 
 aside his ignoble calling, and to aspire to public offices. So Crom- 
 well was called a brewer : but Varro had been successively elected 
 quaestor, plebeian, and curule, sedile, and prnetor, whilst yve are 
 not told that he was ever tribune ; and it is without example in 
 Roman history, that a mere demagogue, of no family, with no other 
 merits, civil o'r military, should be raised to such nobility. Varro 
 was eloquent, it is true"; but eloquence alone would scarcely have so 
 recommended him ; and if in his pnetorship, as is probable, he luid 
 been one of the two home pnetors, he must have possessed a compe- 
 tent knowledge of law. Besides, even after his defeat at Cannae, he 
 was employed for several yeans in various important offices, civil and 
 military ; wliich would never have been the case had he been the 
 mere factious braggart that historians have painted him. Tiie aris- 
 tocracy tried in vain to prevent his election : he was not only re- 
 turned consul, but he was returned alone, no other candidate obtain- 
 ing a sufficient number of votes to entitle him to the suffrage of a 
 tribe. Thus he held the comitia for the election of his colleague ; 
 and considering the great iulluence exercised by the magistrate so 
 presiding, it is creditable to him, and to the temper of the people gen- 
 erally, that the other consul chosen was L. Jilmilius Paullus, who waa 
 not only a known partisan of tlie aristocracy, but having been consul 
 three years before, had lieen brought to trial for an alleged misap- 
 propriation of the plunder taken iu the Illyrian war, and, although 
 acquitted, was one of the most impnpular men in Rome. Yet he was 
 known to ha a good soldier ; and liie jieople, having obtained the 
 election of Varro. did not ol)iect to gratify the aristocracy by accepU 
 ing the candidate of tlieir choice. 
 
 No less moderate and impartial was the temper shown in the elec- 
 tions of prsetors. Twd of the four were decidedly of the aristocrati- 
 cal party, M. Marcelius and L. Postumius Albinus ; the otlier two 
 were also men of consular riink, and no way known as opponents of 
 tlie nobility, I'. Furiiis I'iiiiii.-t anil .M. i'oinixniius Matiio. Tlie two 
 latter were to have the hoine prujlorships ; Marcelius was to com- 
 
 A.B.— 10
 
 36 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 mnnd the fleet, and take charc^c of the southern coast of Italy ; L. 
 rostuniius was to watch the fronfu-r of Cisalpine Gaul. _ 
 
 The winter and pprin? passed without any militarj^ events of im- 
 portance Se-viHus anil Kc!!;ulus retained tlicir command as procon- 
 Buls for Home time after tiieir successors had come into ollice ; but 
 nothin-' beyond occasional skirmishes took place between them and 
 the enemy Hannibal was at Geronium, maintaining his army on the 
 supplies which he had so carefully collected in the preceding cani- 
 pai.'ii • the consuls apparently were posted a little to the southward, 
 receiving their supplies from the country about Canusium and im- 
 mediately from a large magazine which they had established at the 
 small town of Canna\ near the Aufidus. 
 
 Never was Uaunibal's genius more displayed than during this 
 hwr period of inactivity. More than half of his army consisted of 
 Gauls of all barbarians the most impatient and uncertain in their hu- 
 mor whose fidelity, it is said, could only be secured by an ever-open 
 band • no man was their friend any longer than he could gorge them 
 h'ith pay or plunder. Those of his soldiers who were not Gauls were 
 either Spaniards or Africans ; the Spaniards were the newly-con- 
 quered subjects of Carthage, strangers to her race and language and 
 accustomed to divide their lives between actual battle and the 
 most listless bodily indolence ; so that, when one of their tnhes 
 frst saw the habits of a Roman camp, and observed the cen- 
 turions walking up and down before the pr:etorium for exercise 
 the Spaniards thought them mad, and ran up to guide li^m fo 
 their tents thinking that he who was not fighting could do noth- 
 n' but lie at his case and enjoy himself. Even the Africans 
 were foreigners to Carthage : they were subjects harshly governed 
 and had been engaged within the last twenty years in a war _ot 
 ex ermination with their masters. Yet the long inactivity of w;m- 
 ler quarters trying to the discipline of the best national arrnics, 
 wLrrne pltie^tlf by Hannibali soldiers : there was neither deser- 
 tion nor mutiny amongst them ; even the fickleness of he Gauls 
 seemed spellboifnd ; they remained steadily in their camp in Apuha. 
 neither -oin-r home to their own country, nor over to he enemy. 
 On he ?ontnuy, it seems that fresh bands of Gauls must have joined 
 the Carthagini-in army after the battle of Thrasymenus, and the re- 
 ireatof th? Roman army from Arimmum. ffj'l^^']^'^^^^^^^ 
 Snaniards and the Africans were overpowered by the ascendency ot 
 Snibars character : under his guidance they felt 1^'':;;^^ ^es ^^ 
 vincible: with such a general the yoke of Carthage "i'S>»t seem to 
 the Africans and Spaniards tbe natural dominion of superior beings , 
 in such a champion the Gauls beheld the appointed instrument of 
 their country's gods to lead them once more to '^^sault the capital^ 
 
 Silanus, the Greek historian, was living with Hannibal ^^v Y . »"« 
 though not intrusted with his military and political secrets, he must 
 Uve seen and known Ixim as a «an ; he must have been familiar with
 
 LIFE OF ha:n^nibal. 3V 
 
 his habits of life, and must have heard his conversation in those iin- 
 rcstraiued moments when the lightest words of great men display the 
 character of their minds so strikingly. His Avork is lost to us ; but 
 had it been worthy of his opportunities, anecdotes from it must have 
 been quoted bv other writers, and we should know what Hannibal 
 was. Then, too, the generals who were his daily companions would 
 be something more to us than names : we should know Maharbal, 
 the best cavalry officer of the finest cavalry service in the world ; 
 and Hasdrubal, who managed the commissariat of the army for so 
 many years in an enemy's country ; and HannibaFs young brother, 
 Mago, so full of youthful spirit and enterprise, who commanded the 
 ambush at the battle of the Trebia. We might learn something too 
 of that Hannibal, surnamed the Fighter, who was the general's coun- 
 sellor, ever prompting him, it was said, to deeds of savage cruelty, 
 but whose counsels Hannibal would not have listened to, had they 
 been merelv cruel, had they not breathed a spirit of deei) devotion to 
 the cause of Carthage, and of deadly hatred to Rome, such as pos- 
 sessed the heart of Hannibal himself. But Silanus satv and heard 
 without heeding or recording ; and on the tent and camp of Hanni- 
 bal there hangs a veil, which the fancy of the poet may penetrate ; 
 but the historian turns away iu deep disappointment ; for to him it 
 yields neither sight nor sound. 
 
 Spring was come, and well-nigh departing ; and in the warm 
 olains of Apulia the corn was ripening fast, wdiile Hannibal's winter 
 supplies were now nearly exhausted. He broke up from his camp 
 before Geronium, descended into the ApuHan plains, and widlst the 
 Roman array was still in its winter position, he threw himself on its 
 rear, and surprised its great magazme at Cannae. The citadel of 
 Cannje was a fortress of some strength ; this accordingly he occu- 
 pied, and placed liimself, on the very eve of harvest, between the 
 Roman army and its expected resources, whilst he secured to himself 
 all the corn of soutliern Apulia. It was only in such low and warm 
 situations that the corn was nearly ready ; the higher country, ui the 
 immediate neighborhood of Apulia, is cold and backward ; and the 
 Romans were under the necessity of receiving their supplies from a 
 great distance, or else of retreating, or of olfering battle. Under 
 these circumstances the proconsuls sent to Rome, to ask what they 
 were to do. 
 
 The turning-point of this question lay in the disposition of the allies. 
 We ciinnot doubt that Hannibal had been busy during the winter in 
 sounding their feelings ; and now it ap|)eare(l that, if Italy was to bj 
 ravaged by the enemy for a second summer, without resistance, liiei.- 
 patience would endure no longer. The Roman government, there- 
 fore, resolved to risk a battle ; l)ut they sent orders to the proconsuls 
 to wait till the consuls should join them with their newly-nused 
 army ; for a battle being resolved ui)ijn, tiie senate lioped to secure 
 Buccess by an overwhelming superiority of uum'^ers. We do not
 
 38 LTFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 ox'Vfllv know the proportiou of Uie new levies to the old soldiers ; 
 Imt when the two consuls arrived on tlie scene of action, and took 
 the supreme c-onnnund of the whole army, there were no lewer than 
 oio-ht Uoniaii k-ions under their orders, with an equal force of allies ; 
 60 that the armv opposed to Hannibal nuist have amounted to )0,000 
 men It was evident that so great :i multitude could not long l)e led 
 at a distance from its resources ; and thus a speedy engagement was 
 
 j'iiicvitul)l(? 
 
 But the details of the movements, by which the two armies were 
 brou'dit in presence of each other, on the baulcs ot tlie Aulidus, are 
 not easy to discover. It appears that the llomans, till the arrival of 
 tlie new consuls, had not ventured to follow Hannibal closely ; tor, 
 when they did follow him, it took them two days' march to arrive la 
 his neighborhood, where they encamped at about six miles distance 
 from him They found him on the left bank ot the Auhdus about 
 ei<^ht or nine miles from the sea, and busied, probably, in collecting 
 th°e corn from the early district on the coast, the season being about 
 the middle of June. The country here was so level and open, that 
 the consul, L. Jilmilius, was unwilling to approach the enemy moro 
 closely, but wished to take a position on the hilly ground larther 
 from the sea. and to bring on the action there. But ^ ario. impatient 
 lor battle, and having the supreme command of the ^yhole army, 
 alternately with .Emilius every other day, decided the question 
 irrevocably on the very next day, by interposing himself between the 
 enemy and the sea, with his left resting on the Autidus, and his right 
 communicating with the town of Salapia. . , ,, , .„ 
 
 From this position yEmilius, when he again took the command in 
 chief found it impossible to withdraw. But availing himself ot his 
 great' superiority in numbers, he threw a part of his army across the 
 river and posted them in a separate camp on the right bank to have 
 the supplies of the country, south of the Autidus, at command and to 
 restrain the enemy's parties who might attempt to forage in that di- 
 rection When Hannibal saw the Romans in this situation he also 
 advanced nearer to them, descending the left^bank of the Aul^^dus 
 and encamped over against the main army of the enemy, with his 
 rio-ht resting on the river. , , ^i 
 
 The next day, which, according to the Roman calendar, was the 
 lust of the month Quinctilis, or July, the Roman reckoning bemg sa 
 or seven weeks in advance of the true season. Hannibal was making 
 hi.^ preparations for battle, and did not stir from his camp ; so that 
 Varro whose command it was. could not bring on an action But on the 
 tst of Sextilis. or Aui,mst, Hannibal, being now quite ready, drew out 
 his army in front of his camp, and offered battle, ^milius, however 
 remainc-d quiet, resolved not to tight on such ground and hoping that 
 Hannibal would soon be obliged to fall back nearer the hills, when he 
 found that he could no longer forage freely in the country near the 
 Hannibal, seeing that the enemy did not move, marched bacK 
 
 8ca
 
 LIFE OF HAXNIBAL. 39 
 
 fais iafantrv into his cain;j, but sent his Numidian cavalry across the 
 river to attack the Itamaus on that side, as they were coiniug dowa 
 in straa-glini; parties to the bank to get water. For the Autidus, 
 thonghTts bed is deep and wide to hold its winter floods, is a sh.iUow 
 or a^uarro'.v stream in summer, with mmy points easily fordable, 
 not by horse only, bat by infantry. Ta3 watering parties were driven 
 in with some loss, and the Xaraidians followed them to tlie very 
 gates of the camp, and obliged the Rjmans, on the right bank, to 
 pass the summer night in the haruing Apulian plain without water. 
 
 At daybreak on the next in)rning, the red ensign, which was the 
 well-known signal for battle, was seen flying over Varro's head- 
 quarters ; and he issued orders, it being his day of command, for 
 the main army to cross the river, and form in order of battle on the 
 ri^ht bank. Whether he had any further object in crossing to the 
 right bank, than to enable the soldiers on tliat side to get water in 
 security, we do not know ; but Hannibal, it seems, thought that the 
 ground on either bank suited him equally ; and he, too, forded the 
 stream at two separate points, and drew out hi^ army opposite to the 
 enemy. The strong town of Canusium was scarcely tliree miles off 
 in his" rear ; he had left his camp on the other side of the river ; if he 
 were defeated, escape seemed hopeless. But w^hen he saw the wide 
 open plain around him, and looked at his numerous and irresistible 
 cavalry, and knew that his infantry, however inferior in numbers, 
 were far better anil older soldiers than the great mass of tlieir oppo- 
 nents, he felt that defeat was impossible. In this conlidence his 
 spirits were not cheerful merely, but even mirthful ; he rallied one of 
 his otlicers jestingly, who noticed the overwhelming uuml)ers of the 
 lif)man3 ; those near him laughed ; and as any feeling at such a mo- 
 ment is contagious, the laugh was echoed by others ; and the sol- 
 diers, seeing their great general la such a mood, were satisfied that 
 he was sure of victory. 
 
 The Carthaginian army faced the north, so that the early sun shone 
 on their riglii Hank, wiViie the wind, wliich blew strong from the 
 gouth, but without a (irop of rain, swept its clouds of dust over their 
 backs, and carried them full into the faces of tiie enemy. On their 
 left, resting on the river, were the Spanish and Gaulisii hor.se ; next 
 in the line, hut thrown back a little, were half (>f the African infantry 
 armerl like the il)mins ; on their ri'i:lit, somewiiat in ailvance, were 
 the (iauls and Spaniards, witli their com-panies infcnnixed ; then 
 came the rest of I he .Vfrican foot, again thrown h'uk like tlieir com- 
 rades ; and on tiie right of the whole line were the Numidian light 
 horsemen. The riglit of the army rested, so far as appears, on noth- 
 ing ; the ground was open and level ; but at some distance were hilla 
 overgrown with cop.sewoud, and furrowed with deep ravines, ia 
 which, acftording to one accf)Uiil of the battle, a liody of horsemen 
 and of light infiintry lay in ambush. Tlie rest of the light troops, iuid 
 the BalcHrian slingers, skirniisheJ as usual iu front of the whole line.
 
 40 ' LIFE OF IIAJ5NIBAL. 
 
 Mcanwliile tho nmssps of llic "Roman infantry were forming their 
 linf' c.ppositf The yun on their U-ft tliishcd ol)lifiuely on their hni/.en 
 hdnicts now uncovered for bailie, and lit up the waving forest of 
 tlieir reJl and bli\ck plumes, which rose upright from their helmets a 
 
 foot and a half high. , , ., , .., .v • 
 
 Thev stood hrandishim;; their formidable pila, covered with their 
 Ion"- shields, and bearing'on their right thigh their peculiar and fatid 
 weapon, the heavy sword, fitted alike to cut and to stab. On the 
 ri"-ht of the line were the Roman legions ; on the left the infantry of 
 flie allies ; whilst between the Kcman right and the river were the 
 Roman horsemen, all of them of wealthy or noble families ; and on 
 the left opposed to the Numidians, were the horsemen of the Ital- 
 ians and of the Latin name. The velites or light infantry covered 
 the front, and were ready to skirmish with the light troops andshng- 
 
 ers of the enemy. , . •, . 4. * 
 
 For some reason or other, which is not explained m any account of 
 the battle, the Roman infantry were formed in columns rather than in 
 line the liles of the 'maniples containing many more than their 
 ranks This seems an extraordinary tactic to be adopted in a plain 
 by an army inferior in cavalry, but very superior m infantry. 
 Whether the Romans relied on the river us a protection to their right 
 flank and their left Avas covered in some manner which is not men- 
 tioned—one account would lead us to suppose that it reached nearly 
 to the sea— or whether the trreat proportion of new levies obligea the 
 Romans to adopt the system of the phalanx, and to place their raw 
 soldiers in the rear, as incapable of lighting in the front ranks with 
 Hannibal's veterans— it appears at any rate that the Roman infantry 
 thouirh nearly double the number of the enemy, yet formed a hne of 
 onlv~e(iual lenirlh with Hannibal's. 1 . ., „ 
 
 the skirmishin"- of the liirht-armed troops preluded as usual to the 
 battle • the Baleanan tliugCTS slung their stones like hail "ito the 
 ranks of the Roman line, and severely ^vounded the consul ^mihus 
 himself Then the Spanish and Gaulish horse charged the Romans 
 front to front, and maintained a standing fight with tlum, many leap- 
 ino- off their horses and IJirhting on foot, till the Romans, outnum- 
 bered and badly armed, nilhout cuirasses, with light and brittle 
 spears, and with shields made only of ox-hide. weie totally routed, 
 and driven off the field. Hasdrubal, who commanded the Gauls 
 and Spaniards, followed up his work effectually ; he chased the Ro- 
 mans along the river till he had almost destroyed them ; and then, 
 ridin"- off to the right, he came up to aid the Numidians, who. alter 
 their'nianncr. had "^been skirmishing indecisively with the cavalry of. 
 the Italian allies. These, on seeing the Gauls and Spaniards advanc- 
 ing broke away and lied : the Numidians, most effective in pursuing 
 a living enemy, chased them with unweariable speed, and slaughtered 
 them unsparingly ; while Hasdrubal, to complete his signal services 
 on this day, charged liercely upon the rear of the Roman infantry.
 
 LIFE OF HAXJSIBAL. 41 
 
 He found its huge masses already weltering in helpless confusion, 
 crowded upon one another, totally disorganized, and lighting each 
 man as lie best could, but struggling on against all hope by mere in- 
 domitable courage. For the Roman columns on the right and left, 
 finding the Gaulish and Spanish foot advancing in a convex line or 
 wedge, pressed forward to assail what seemed the Hanlvs of the enC' 
 my's column ; so that, being already drawn up with too narrow a 
 front by their original formation, they now liecame compressed still 
 more by their own movements, the right and left converging towards 
 the centre, till the whole army became one dense column, which 
 forced its way onward by the weight of its cliarge, and drove back 
 the Gauls and Spaniards into the rear of their own line. Meanwhile 
 its victorious advance had carried it, lilce the English column at 
 Fontenoy, into the midst of Hannibal's army ; it had passed between 
 the African infantry on its right and left ;" and now, whilst its head 
 was struggling against the Gauls and Spaniards, its long flanks were 
 fiercely assailed by the Africans, who, facing about to tlie right and 
 left, charged it home, and threw it into utter disorder. In this state, 
 when they were forced together into one unwieldj' crowd, and 
 already falling by thousands, whilst the Gauls and Spaniards, now 
 advancing inlhcir turn, were barring further progress in front, and 
 whilst the Africans were tearing their mass to pieces on both flanks, 
 Hasdrubal with his victorious Gaulish and Spanish horsemen broke 
 with thundering fury upon their rear. Then followed a butcbery 
 such as has no recorded equal, except the slaughter of the Persians 
 in their camp, when the Greeks forced it, after the battle of Plataga. 
 Unable to fight or fly, with no quarter asked or given, the Romans 
 and Italians feU before the swords of their enemies, till, when the 
 sun set upon the field, there were left out of that vast multitude no 
 more than three thoustmd men alive and miwounded ; and these fled 
 in straggling parties, under cover of the darkness, and found a refuge 
 in the neighboring towns. The cimsul, ^Emilius, the proconsul, Cn. 
 Servilius, the late master of the horse, M. Minucius, two qu;cstors, 
 twenty-one military tribunes, ami eighty senators, lay dead amidst the 
 carnage : Varro with seventy horsemen liad escaped from tlie rout (;f 
 the allied cavalry on the right of the army, and made his way safely 
 to Venusia. 
 
 But the Roman loss was not yet completed. A large force had 
 been left iu the camp ou the li-ft bank of the Autidus, to attack Han- 
 niital s camp during the action, wliich it was supposed that, with his 
 inferior nunilKjrs, lie could not leavi; adecjuately guarded. But it wasj 
 defende<l so olistinately, that the Itomans were still besieging it in 
 vain, when IIannii)al, now complelel}' victorious in the battle, cros-siHl 
 the river to its rcilicf. Tlien the besii^gers lied in their turn to theii 
 own camp, and there, cut off from all succor, they prcs(;ntly surren- 
 dered. A few resolute men iiad forced their way out of the snudlei 
 camp on the right bank, and had escaped lo Cauusium : the rest whe
 
 42 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 were in it followed tho example of their comrades on the left bank, 
 and surrondtTod to the couquerar. , , <• „ 
 
 Less thiiu six thousand men of Hannil)al s army had fallen : no 
 irreater price had he paid for the total destruction of mr<re than eighty 
 tnousand of the enemv, for the capture of their two camps, for the 
 utter annihilation, as it seemed, of all their means tor oilensive war- 
 fare It is no wonder that the spirits of the Cartha.uuuan ofhcers 
 were elated by this nne(iualled victory. Maharbal, seemg what his 
 cavalry had done, said to Hannibal, " Let me advance instantly with 
 the horse and do thou follow to support me ; in four days from thib 
 time thou Shalt sup in the capitol." There are moments when rash- 
 ness is wisdom ; and it may be that this was one of them. Ihe 
 statue of the goddess Victory in the capitol may well have trembled 
 iu every limb on that day, and have drooped her wings, as it for- 
 ever • but Hannibal came not ; and if panic had for one moment un- 
 nerved the iron couraue of the Roman aristocracy, on the next their 
 inborn spirit revived fand their resolute will, striving beyond its pres- 
 ent power, created, as is the law of our nature, the power which it 
 
 '^^The'^Iiomans knowing that their army was in presence of the enemy, 
 and that the consuls had been ordered no longer to decline a battle, 
 were for some days in the most intense anxiety. Every tongue was 
 repeating some line of old prophecy, or relating some new wonder 
 or portent ; every temple was crowded with supplicants ; and in- 
 cense and sacrifices were offered on every altar. At last the tidings 
 arrived of the utter destruction of both the consular armies, and of a 
 slau.-hter such as Rome had never before known. Even Eivy felt 
 himself unable ade.iuately to paint the grief and consterna ion of that 
 day • and the experience of the; bloodiest and most embittered w-ar- 
 f are of modern times would not help us to conceive it ^vorthi^^ But 
 one simple fact speaks eloquently ; the whole number of l/oman citi- 
 zens able to bear arms had amounted at the last census to 2-0,000 
 and supposing, as we fairly may, that the loss of the Romans in the 
 hue battle had been equal to that of their allies, there must have been 
 
 i led or taken, williin the last eighteen months no fewer than 
 60 000 or more than a fifth part of the whole population of citizens 
 above seventeen years of age. It must have been irue, without exag- 
 reration that every house in Rome was in mourning. 
 '^ The two home prtetors summoned the senate to considt for the de- 
 fence of the city. Fabius was no longer dictator ; yet the siUKerae 
 government at kis moment was effecually in his hands : for the res- 
 ohitions which he moved were instantly and unanimously adopted. 
 Sm horsemen were to be sent out to gather t.dmgs of. f^l^^^H 
 movements ; the members of the senate acting as mag.s rates, we e 
 Tkeep order in the city, to stop all lou.l .;r P!'l'^»;/''"|;:f ^.'J^^''^,.^' 
 to lake care that all intelligence was conveyed in the list instance t 
 
 he praetors : above all, the city gates were to be strictly guarded
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 43 
 
 that no one mi?ht attempt to fly from Rome, but all abide the com- 
 mon danger togetlier. Then the forum was cleared, and the assem- 
 blies of the people suspended ; for at such a moment, had anj- one 
 tribune uttered the word "peace," the tribes would have caught it 
 up with eagerness, and obliged the senate to negotiate. 
 
 Thus the first moments of panic passed ; and Yarro's dispatches 
 arrived, informing the senate that he had rallied the wrecks of the 
 army at Canusium, and that Hannibal was not advancing upon 
 Rome. Hope then began to revive ; the meetings of the senate were 
 resumed, and measures taken for maintaining the war. 
 
 M. Marcellus, one of the pr^toi's for the year, was at this moment 
 at Ostia, preparing to sail to Sicil3% It was resolved to transfer him 
 at once to the great scene of action in Apulia ; and he was ordered to 
 give up the fll-et to his colleague, P. Furius Philue, and to march 
 with the single legion, which he had under his command, into Apu- 
 lia, there to collect the remains of Varro's army, and to fail back, as 
 he best could, into Campania, whilst the consul returned immediately 
 to Rome. 
 
 In the mean time, the scene at Canusium was like the disorder of a 
 ship going to ]nece3, when fear makes men desperate, and the in- 
 stinct of solf-pr?servation swallows up every other feeling. Some 
 young men of the noblest families, a Metullus being at the head of 
 them, looking upon Rome as' lost, were planning, to escape from the 
 ruin, and to fly beyond sea, in the hope of entering into somy 
 foreign service, riuch an example, at sucli a moment, would have 
 led the way to a general panic : if the noblest citizens of Rome de- 
 spaired of their country, what allied state, or what colonj', could bi' 
 expected to sacrifice themselves in defence of a hopeless cause ? The 
 consul exerted himself to the utmost to check this spirit, and, aided 
 by some firmer spirits amongst, the officers themselves, he succeeded 
 in repressing it. He kept his men together, gave them over to the 
 praetor, Marcellus, on his arrival at Canusium, and prepared instantly 
 to obey the orders of the senate, by returning to Rome. The fate of 
 P. Claudius and L. Junius, in the last war, might have warned him 
 of the dangers wliich threatened a defeated general ; he him.self wa.s 
 personally liateful to the prevailing party at Rome ; and if the mem- 
 ory of Flaniinius was persecuted, notwithstanding his glorious death, 
 what could he look for, a fugitive general from that lield, where hi.-} 
 colfcugue and all his soldi<'rs had perished ? Demosthenes diU'cd not 
 tnist himself to the Athenian people afti.T Ids defeat in ^]tolia ; but 
 Varro, with a manlier s[)irit, returned to bear the oblociuy ami tho 
 punishmf-nt which the popular feeling, excited by jiarty animosity, 
 was so likely to heap on him. He stopped, as usual, without the 
 city walls, and summoned the senate to meet him in the Ca.npUB 
 Martins. 
 
 The senate felt his confidence in them, and answered it nobly. All 
 party feeling were suspended ; all popular irritation was subdued ;
 
 44 LIFK 01' HANNIBAL. 
 
 the butclKM-'s son, the turbulent (le.mu-o-ue the defeated general 
 'v ere I 1 for-ottei ; only Varro's latest conduct was remembered, 
 thth ha 1 .existed the panic of his cfticers, and. instead of seeking 
 s he He a the court of a foreign kin- had submitted himself to he 
 udl'meiVof his countrymen." The senate voted hiin their thanks. 
 •' because he had not despaired of the commonweal h 
 
 It vas resolved to name a dictator; and some writers i elated UiU 
 ,neVei?eral voice of the senate and people offered the f tatorslup o 
 Varro himself, but that he positively refused to accept it. ^ >« f OJT 
 is extremely doubtful; but the dictator actually "/^'"f^l , Y'»^,,^{f 
 
 Junh Pisa a member of a popular f^;."' 1^' ;^^\t'.'. T 4^1 
 been consul and censor. His master oi the horse was 1. bempro- 
 nius Oracchus, the first of that noble, but ill fated, name wlxo ap- 
 
 ^"^■i"d^'^i^f;;;^tl "aSdntment of the dictator, the Roman gov- 
 ernme t hadXwn that its resolution was fixed to carry on the war 
 lo lie eath. Hannibal had allowed his lloman prisoners to send en 
 of their number to Kome, to petition that the -"f ^^^ ;^\f ™ /,' ^ 
 whole body to be ransomed by their friends at the sum ot hrt*. 
 mint or 3000 ases, for each prisoner. But the --f,;;,^^^^f \\t«l/J,«. 1 
 bade the money to be paid, neither choosmg to fuini-sh lianu b, 
 with so large a sum. norVo show any .^-nn^assion o men who luid 
 rulowed themselves to fall alive into the enemy « f ",!•., J '7X"l, 
 ers, therefore, were left in hopdess captivity ; ■^^ll^'^:^}"^^^; ^^^^'^ 
 the state required, were to be formed ou ot « ^^^ "^'^^^'^'^l^'*- ^^^« 
 expedients adopted showed the urgency of the danger. . 
 
 When the con'^uls took the field at the beginning of the campaign, 
 two Soislmd been left, as usual, to cover the capital. These were 
 
 less° importance. The contingents from tlie allies ^fll^y^^'g: 
 and there was no time to wait or thesi J° «'^^^^' '/ ^'^^^^^^^^^ slaves 
 
 ..niml lo serve tlie stole, <in m;civiii|; an indemnity lor uieir pasi
 
 LTPE OF HAXNIBAL. 45 
 
 colony of Cales in his front, and communicating by the Latin road 
 
 with Rome. ,, „ ■ -. ^, t 
 
 The dictator was at Teanum, and M. Marcellus, with the army of 
 Cannje whom we left in Apulia, is described as now lymg encamped 
 above Suessuht— that is, on the risjht bank of the Yulturnus, on the 
 hills which l)ound the Campiinian plaiu, ten or twelve miles to the 
 east of Capua, on the riijht of the Appian road as it ascends the pass 
 of Caudium towards Beueventum. Thus we find the seat of war re- 
 moved from Apulia to Campania ; but tlie detail of the intermediate 
 movements is lost ; and we must restore the broken story as well as 
 we can, by tracing Hannibal's operations after the battle ot Lannaj, 
 ■which are undoubtedly the key to those of his enemies. 
 
 The fidelity of the allies of Rome, which had not been shaken by 
 the defeat of Thrasymenas, could not resist the fiery trial of Cannae. 
 The Apulians joined the conciucror immediately, and Arpi and bala- 
 pia opened their gates to him. Bruttium. Lucania and Samnuira 
 were ready to follow the example, and Hannibal was oblis?cd to 
 divide his army, and send officers into difEcrcnt parts of the country, 
 to receive and protect those who wished to join him, and to orgaai/.e 
 their forces for effective co-operation in the field. Meanwhile he 
 himself remained in Apulia, not, perhaps, without hope that this last 
 blow had broken the spirit as well as the power of the enemy, and 
 tiiat they would listen readily to proposals of peace. With this view, 
 lie sent a Carthaginian othcer to accompany the deputation of the 
 Roman prisoners to Rome, and ordered him to eucourage any dispo- 
 sition on the part of the Romans to open a negotiation. When he 
 found, therefore, on the return of the deputies, that his officers had 
 not been allowed to enter the city, and that the Romans had refused 
 to ransom their prisoners, liis disappointment betrayed him into acts 
 of the most inhuman cruelty. The mass of the prisoners lelt in his 
 hands, he sold for slaves ; and, so far, he did not overstep the recog- 
 nized laws of warfare ; but many of the more distinguished among 
 them he put to death ; and those who were senators, he obliged to 
 fight as gladialors with each other, in the presence of his whole 
 army. li is added that brothers were in some instances brought out 
 to figiit with their brothers, and sons with their fathers ; but that the 
 prisoners refused .so to .sin against nature, and chose rather to suffer 
 the worst torments than to draw their swords in su(;h horrible com-. 
 hats.* Hannibal's vow may have justified all these cruelties in his 
 
 • Diodonw. XXVI. Exc. do Virtiit. ct Vitiis. Appian, VII. 28. Zonaras, TX. 3. 
 Valerius Muxiinns. IX. 2, Kxt. 2. But, as even Uvy docn not mcniioii thcs(;Hlorio.s, 
 thoUL'h thc-v woiilil liiivc alTDrded such :i topic foi- his rhctoru;— nor docs 1 olybins, 
 tlthoriiilX 21 wh'-M spcikiii^' ()f II:iiiiiil).ir« ull< ;,'(•! cnu'lly, or lu VI. 58, wlicru 
 he Kiv.w thiMici'ouiit of the nii-'Kioii of the captive-, there iniiHt,, doiil)tlct;s, hi- a 
 ercat deal of exai'-'craiioii in th ■in, even if Ihey hud any foundiition at all. 1 ha 
 Plory ill I'liny VIII. 7, that the last mirvivorof Ihe-e t;ladlatnrial coinhnls hiid to 
 fl.'ht iigainst an elephimt. and killed him, and waa tlien inacli'ioiisly waylaid and 
 murdered by Hannibal's orders, was probably invc!ited with refcrc-nce to thio very
 
 45 LIFE OF HA^rNir-AL. 
 
 eves • l)ut his passions deceived him, and he v.-as provoKcd to fury by 
 Ih- nW)hite spirit whicli (ni!;bt to have excited his iidnunUioii. la 
 admire the virtue wliicli thwarts our dearest ])uri)()ses, liowevernatu, 
 ral it may seem to indiffereut spectators, is one of the hardest trials ot 
 
 humanitv. ,, ., , , , -. , • 
 
 Fiiuliii"- the Romans immovable, Hannibal broke up from his posi- 
 tion in Apulia, and moved into Samnium. The populai party in 
 Compsa opened their t-atos to him, and he made the place serve as a 
 depot for his plunder,"and for the heavy baggage of his army. Hia 
 brother Ma<>-o was then ordered to march into lirutlmm with a divi- 
 sion of the armv, and after having received the subnussion of the 
 Hirpinians on his way to eml)ark at one of the Bruttian ports and 
 carrv the tidings of his success to Carthage. Ilanno, with another 
 division was sent into Lucauia to protect the revolt ot the Luca- 
 nians whilst Hannibal himself, in pursuit of a still greater prize, de- 
 scended once more into the plains of Campania, 'i'he Pentium ham- 
 nites partly restrained by the Latin colony of (Esernia, and partly 
 by tiie influence of their own countryman. Num. Decimius, ot 
 Bovianum a zealous supporter of the Roman alliance, remained tirm 
 in their adherence to Rome ; but the Hirpinians and the Caudinian 
 Samnitesal! ioined the Carthaginians, and their soldiers, no doubt, 
 formed part of the army with which Hannibal invaded Campania. 
 There all was ready for his reception. The popular party m Capua 
 were headed by Pacuvius Calavius, a man oi the highest nobility, 
 and married to a daughter of Appius Claudius, but whose ambition 
 Icfl him to aspire to the sovereignty, not of his own country only, 
 but throu^h Hannibal's aid, of the whole of Italy, Capua succeed- 
 ing' as he hoped, to the supremacy now enjoyed by Rome. The 
 arlstocratical party were weak and unpopular, and C(juld otler no op- 
 position to him, whilst the people, wholly subject to his inlluence, 
 concluded a treaty with Hannibal, and admitted the Caithaginian 
 ccneral and his array into the city. Thus the second city in Italy, 
 fapaLle, it is sai<l, of' raising an army of yO.OOO foot and 4000 horse, 
 connected with Rome by the closest ties, and ^vln(•h for nearly a cen- 
 tury had remained true to its alliance under all dangers threw itselt 
 into the anns of Hannibal, and took its place at the head of the new 
 coalition of southern Italy, to try the old quarrel of the bammte wars 
 
 "°Thbf revolt of Capua, the greatest result, short of the submission 
 cf Rome itself, which could have followed from the battle of Cannae 
 drew the Roman armies towards Campania. Marce lus had probably 
 fallen back from Canusium by the Appian road through Leneven- 
 lum, moving by au interior and shorter line ; whilst Hannibal aa- 
 
 «<•- aPion Ttie rcmnTkx of PolylihiH Rhoulrl malcr us Blow to believe- the storicB of 
 HamXi-« cruJuTs whicli ho Boon became a the.nc for U.e u.venUo.i of poets and 
 ihetoricianu.
 
 LIFE OF HAXNIBAL. 
 
 n 
 
 vanced by Compsa upon Abellimim, descending into the p'am of 
 Campania liy ^\il:lt is now the pass of Monteforte. Hannibal's cav- 
 alry "-ave hiin the wliole command of the country ; and Marccllus 
 could do no more tlian watch his movements from his camp above 
 Suessula, and wait, for some opportunity of impeding his operations 
 
 in detail. . . , 
 
 At this point in the story of the war, the (piestion arises, how was 
 it possible for Rome to escape destruction V Nor is this question 
 merely prompted by the thought of Hannibal's great victories in the 
 field, and the enormous slaughter of Roman citizens at Thrasymenus 
 and Canuje ; it appears even' more perplexing to tliose who have at- 
 tentively studied the preceding history of Rome. A single battle, 
 evenlv contested and hardly won, had enabled Pyrrhus to advance 
 into the heart of Latium ; the Heruican cities and the impregnable 
 PrcEneste had opened their gates to him ; yet Capua was tnen 
 faithful to Rome ; and Samnium and Lucania, exhausted by long 
 years of unsuccessful warfare, could have yielded him no such 
 succor as now, after fifty years of peace, they were able to 
 afford to Hannibal. But now, when Hannibal was received into 
 Capua, the state of Italy seemed to have gone backward a hun- 
 dred years, and to have returned to what it had been after the 
 battle of LautuUic, in the second Samuite war, witli the immense ad- 
 dition of the genius of Hannibal and the power of Carthage thrown 
 into the scale of the enemies of Rome. Then, as now, Capua had 
 revolted, and Campania, Samnium and Lucania, were banded to- 
 gether against Rome ; but this same confederacy was now supported 
 by all tlie resources of Carthage : and at its head in the field of bat- 
 tle was an army of thirty thousand veterans and victorious soldiers, 
 led by one of the grestest generals whom the world has ever seen. 
 How could it happen that a confederacy so formidable was only 
 formed to be defeated ? -that the revolt of Capua was the term of 
 Hannibal's progress ?—tliat from this day forward his great powers 
 were shown ratlier in repelling defeat than in commanding victory? 
 —that, instead of besieiriag Rome, he was soon employed in protect- 
 ing and relieving Capua V— and that his protection and succors were 
 alike unavailing? 
 
 No single caune will cxphiin n result so extraordinary. Itome 
 owed her deliverance principally to the strength of tlie aristocratical 
 interest througliout Italy— to her nunuTOUs colonies of the Latin 
 name— to the scanty numbers of Hannibal's Africans and Spaniards, 
 and to liis want of an eilicient artillery. The material of a good artil- 
 lery mnst surely have existed in (Japua ; but there seem to have been 
 DO odiccrs cai>abli; of dircctinii- it ; and no great general's operations 
 cxhil)ils so striking a contrast of strencth and weakness as may be 
 seen in Hannibal's battles and sieges. And when Cann.'e iiad tanght 
 the Rom'kus to avoid pitched battles in the open field, tin; war became 
 ncccBtiarily a series of sieges, where Hauuibal's strongest arm, his
 
 .^ LI IF. OV HANNIBAL. 
 
 cavalry, could render little service, while his infnntry wns in quality 
 not more tlian c(jual to the enemy, and his artillery was decidedly 
 
 inferior. . . , -n t 
 
 With two divisions of his army absent in I.nennia anrl LSrut- 
 tium, and whilst anxiously waiting for the reinforccnicnl-s which 
 ]\[aL!;o was to procure from Carthage. Hannibal could not undertake 
 ouv" great olTensive operation after his arrivsd in Campania. He at- 
 tempted only to reduce the remaining cities of the Ciimimnian plam 
 ond sea-coast, and especially to dislodge the Romans from Casilinum, 
 ^'hich, lying within three miles of Capua, and commanding the pas- 
 sage of the Vultnrnus, not only restrained all his movements, but waa 
 a serious annoyance to C!apua, and threatened its territory with con- 
 tinual incursions. Atilla and Calalia had revolted to him already 
 with Capua ; and he took Nuceria, Alfaterna, and Acerra?. The 
 Greek cities on the coast, Neopolis and Cum*, were firmly attached 
 to Rome, and were too strong to be l)esicged with success ; but Nola 
 }ay in the midst of the plain nearly midway between Capua and 
 Nuceria ; and the popular party there, as elsewhere, were ready 
 to open their gates to Hannibal. He was preparing to appear before 
 the town ; bul the aristocracy had time to apprise the Romans of 
 their danger ; and Marcellus, who was then at Casilinum, marched 
 round behincl the mountains to escape the enemy's notice, and de- 
 scended suddenly upon Nola from the hills %\hich lise directly above 
 it. He secured the place, repressed the popular party by some 
 bloody executions, and when Hannibal advanced to the walls, made 
 a sudden sally, and repulsed him with some loss. Having done this 
 service, and left the aristocratical party in absolute possession of the 
 government, he returned again to the hills, and lay encamped on the 
 edge of the mountain boundary of the Campanian plain, just above 
 the entrance of the famous pass of Caudium. His place at Casili- 
 num was to be supplied >:7 the dictator's army from Teanum ; but 
 Hannibal watched his rppo lunity, and anticipating his enemies this 
 time, laid regular sicL,e to Jasilinum, which was defended by a gar- 
 rison of about 1000 men. , , •.• e 
 This garrison had acted the very same part towards the citizens ot 
 Casilinum which the Campanians had acted at Rhegium in the war 
 with Pyrrhus. About 500 Latins of Pra'neste, and 450 Etruscans of 
 Perusia having been levied too late to loin the consular armies when 
 thev took the field, were marching after them into Apulia, by the 
 Appian road, when they heard tidings of the deieat of Cannae. 
 Thev immediately turned about, and fell back upon Casilmum, where 
 tliev established "them.selves, and for their better security massacred 
 theX'ampanian inliat)itanfs, and, abandoning the (piarter ot the town 
 which was on the left bank of the Vulturnus, occupied the (luiirter 
 on the ri'dit bank. Marcellus, when he retreated from Apulia with 
 tiie wreck of Varro's army, had fixed his headfiuarters lor a, lime at 
 Casilinum the position being one of great importance, and there bemfi
 
 LIFE OF HAXiflBAL. 49 
 
 some danger lest the garrison, whilst thej' kept off Hannibal, should 
 resolve to'liold the town lor Ihemselves rallier than for tlie Koniuns. 
 They were now left to themselves ; and dreading Hannibal's ven- 
 geance for the massacre of the old inhabitants, they resisted hisassanlts 
 desperately, and obliged him to turn the siege into a blockade. This 
 was the last active operation of the campaign: all the armies now 
 went into winter quarters. The dictator remained at Teanum ; Mar- 
 cellus lay in his mountain camp above Nola ; and Hannibal's armv 
 was at Capua. Being quartered in tbe houses of the city, instead of 
 being encamped by tliemselves, their discipline, it is likely, was 
 somewhat impaired b}^ the various temptations thrown in their way : 
 and as the wealth and enjoyments of Capua at that time were noto- 
 rious, the writers who adopted the vulgar declamations against lux- 
 ury pretended that Hannibal's army was ruined by the indulgences 
 of this winter, and that Capua was the Canute of Cartbage. 
 
 Meantime the news of the battle of Canuaj had been carried to 
 Carthage, as we have seen, by Hannibal's brother Mago, accompa- 
 nied witli a request for reinforcements. Nearly two years before, 
 when he first descended from the Alps into Cisalpine Gaul, his Afri- 
 cans and Spaniards were reduced to no more than 20,000 foot and 
 0;)OU liDrse. The Gauls, who had joined bini since, had indeed more 
 than doubled this number at first ;"but three great battles, and many 
 partial actions, besides the unavoidable losses from sickness during 
 two years of active service, must have again greatly diminished it ; 
 and this force was now to be divided : a part of it was employed in 
 Bruttium, a part in Lucania, leaving an inconsiderable body under 
 Ilnnnibal's own command. On the other hand, the accession of the 
 Campanians, Samnites, Lucanians, and Bruttians supplied him with 
 au.viliary troops in abundance, and of excellent quality ; so that largo 
 reinforcements from home were not required, but only enough for 
 the Africans to form a substantial part of every army employed in 
 the field, and, above all, to maintain his superiority in cavalry. It is 
 •said that .some of the reinforcements which were voted on Mago's de- 
 mand were afterwards diverted to other services ; and we do not 
 know what was the amount of force actually .sent over to Italy, nor 
 when it arrived.* It consisted chietly, if not entirely, of cavalry and 
 elephants ; for all the ele])hants which Hannil)al had brought with 
 liim into Italy had long since perished ; and his anxiety to obtain 
 others, troublesome and hazardous as it must have Ijeen to transport 
 them from Africa by sea, speaks strongly in favor of their u.se in 
 war, which modern writers are perhaps too much inclined to depre- 
 ciate. 
 
 We have no information as to the feelings entertained by Hannibal 
 and the Campanians towards each other, whilst the Carthaginians 
 
 ♦ He li represented as liavin^ clcpliaiits nt Hk; mc.'^u of (!asiliiimn. Livy, XXIII. 
 18. If this be correct, the rcinlorcfmonto innut alroudy have joiuod him.
 
 50 LIFE OF IIANXI15AL. 
 
 were wintorins; in Capua. The treaty of alliance had provided care- 
 fully for the iudepeudeucc of the Canipauiiius, tiuit they might iiul 
 be treated as Pyrrhus had troateil the Taieulines. Capua was to 
 have its own laws and magistrates ; no Campauian was to be com- 
 pelled to any duty, civil or military, nor to be in any way subject to 
 the authority ot the Cartiiaginian oflicers. There must have been 
 something of a Roman party opposeil to tiie alliance witli Carthago 
 altogether ; though the Roman writers mention one man only, Decius 
 |Magius, who was said to have resisted Hannibal to bis face with such 
 vehemence that Hannibal sent bim prisoner to Carthage. But three 
 bundred Campanian liorsemen of the richer classes, who were serv- 
 ing in the Roman army in Sicily when Capua revolted, went to 
 Rome as soon as tlieir service was over, and were there received as 
 Roman citizens ; and others, though unal)le to resist the general voice 
 of their countrymen, must have longed in their licarts to return to the 
 Roman alliance. Of the leaders of the Campanian people, we know 
 little : Pacuvius Calavius, the principal autiior of the revolt, is never 
 mentioned afterwards ; nor do we know the fate of his son Perolla, 
 who, in his zeal for Rome, wished to assassinate Hannibal at his own 
 father's table, when he made liis public entrance into Capua. Vibius 
 Virrius is also named as a leading partisan of the Carthaginians ; and 
 amidst the pictures of the luxury and feebleness of the Campanians, 
 their cavalry, which was formed entirely out of the wealthiest 
 classes, is allowed to have been excellent ; and one brave and piac- 
 tised soldier, Jubellius Taurea, had acquired a bigh reputation 
 amongst the Romans when be served with tbcm, and bad attracted 
 the notice and respect of Hannibal. 
 
 During the interval from active warfare afforded by tlie winter, 
 the Romans took measures for filling up tbe numerous vacancies 
 Avhicb the lapse of five j'cars, and so many disastrous battles, had 
 made in the numbers of the senate. The natural course would liave 
 been to elect censors, to whom tbe duty of making out the roll of the 
 senate properly belonged ; but the vacancies were so many, and the 
 censor's power in admitting new citizens, and degrading old ones, 
 Avas so enormous, that the senate feared, it seems, to trust to the re- 
 sult of an ordinary election ; and resolved that the censor's business 
 should 1)0 jjerformed by the oldest man in point of standing, of all 
 those who liad already been ccusois, and that be should be appointed 
 dictator for this especial duty, although there was one dictator 
 already for the conduct of the war. Tbe person thus selected was 
 • M. Fabius Buteo, avIio bad been censor six-and-twenty years before, 
 at the end of the first Punic war, and who had more recently been 
 the ciiief of the eml)assy sent to dcclaie vv:ir on Carthage after the 
 destruction of Saguntum. That his appointment might want no 
 legal formalit}', C. Varro, the only surviving consul, was sent for 
 home from Apulia to nominate him, tbe senate intending to detain 
 Varro in Rome till he should liave presided at tbe comitia for the
 
 LIPE OF IIANNIUxVL. 
 
 51 
 
 election of the next year's magistrates. Tlie nomination as usual 
 took place at midni-lit ; and on the following morning M. tabius 
 appealed in the forum with liis four-and-tweuty lictors and ascended 
 the rostra to address the people. Invested with absolute po\yer for 
 six months, and especially charged with no less a task than the for- 
 mation, at his discretion, of that great council winch possessed the 
 supreme government of the commonwealth, the noble old mtin 
 nether shrunk weakly from so heavy a burden, nor ambitiously 
 abused so vast an authority. He told the people thathe would no 
 strike off the name of a single senator from the list of the senate, and 
 that in filling up the vacancies, he would proceed by a dclined rule ; 
 tnat'he would first add all those who had held curule ofiices withiu 
 the last five years, without having been admitted as yet into the sen- 
 ate ■ that in the second place, he would take all who within the same 
 period had lieen triliunes, ajdiles, or qucestors ; and, thirdly, all those 
 who could show in their houses spoils won in battle tvom an enemy, 
 or who had received the wreath of oak fur saving Ihc life ot a citizen 
 in battle In tliis manner 177 new senators were placed on (he roll ; 
 tlie new members thus forming a large majority of the wh()le number 
 of the senate, which amounted to only three hundred. This being 
 done forthwith, the dictator, as he stood in the rostra, resigned his 
 ollice dismissed his lictors, and went down into the torum a priva e 
 man ' Tliere he purposely lingered amidst the crowd, lest the people 
 should leave their business to follow him home ; but their admiration 
 was not cooled by tiiis delay ; and when he witlidrew at tlie usual 
 liour the whole people attended him to his house. Such was i^abius 
 Buteo'8 dictatorship, so wisely fulfilled, so simply and nobly re- 
 signed, that the dictatorship of Fabius Maximus himselt has carneU 
 
 no purer "lory. 
 
 Varro Tt is said, not wishing to be detained in Rome, returned to 
 his army the next night, witliout giving the senate notice of his de- 
 parture. The dictator, M. Junius, was therefore requested to repair 
 to Rome to hold the comilia ; and Ti. Gracchus and M. Marccllus 
 weie to come with him to report on tlu; state of their several armies, 
 and concert measun'S for tlie ensuing campaigQ. There is no doubt 
 liiat the senate determined on the persons to be proposed at the ensu- 
 iti" elections, and tliat, if any one else had come forward as a candi- 
 date the dictator who pnisid.Ml would have refused to receive votes 
 for liim. Accordingly tlu; consuls and pnetors chosen were all men 
 of tlie hi'^hest reputation for ability and experience : the consuls were 
 L Postumius, wliose defeat and death in Cisalpine Gau! were not yet 
 known in Home, and Ti. (iracclius, now master of the horse. Ihe 
 praitors were M. Valerius Lievinus, Ap. Cnaudius Pulchei-, a grand- 
 son of the famous censor, Apj.ius (he blind, q. Fulvius Haccus, old 
 in years but vigorous in mind and body, wiio had already been cen- 
 sor, and twice con.nul. and (?. Mucins Sctevola ^V In^n/l'^' «1^-;"' of 
 L Postumius Avas known, his place was hnally filled liy no less &
 
 62 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 pen >n limn Q. Fabius Maximus : whilst Msircelhis was still to retaiH 
 bis command witli prooonsiilur power, as his activity and euergy 
 could ill be spared at a time so critical. 
 
 The officers for the year being thus appointed, it remained to de- 
 termine their several provinces, and to provide them with sntlicient 
 forces. Fabius was to succeed to the army of the dictator, M. Juni- 
 us ; and his headquarters were advanced from Teunum to Cales. at 
 the' northern extremity of the Falernian plain, about seven English 
 miles from C'asilinum and tlie Vultiirnus, and less than ten from 
 Capua. The other consul. Ti Sempronius, was to have no other 
 Roman army than two le<;ions of volunteer slaves, who were to be 
 raised for tlie occasion ; but both he and his colleague had the usual 
 contino-ent of L itin and Italian allies. Gracchus named Simiessa on 
 the Apiiiau road, at the point where the Massic hills run out with 
 a bold headland into the sea, as the place of meeting for his soldiers ; 
 and his Inisiuess was to protect the towns on the coast, which were 
 still faithful to Rome, such as Cuma and Neapolis. Marcelliis was 
 to command two new Roman legions, and to lie as before in his camp 
 above Nola ; whilst his old ariny was sent into Sicily to relieve the 
 legions there, and enable them to return to Italy, where they formed 
 a fourth army under the command of M. Valerius Lreviuus, the prae- 
 tor pereffrinus, in Apulia. The small force which Vano had com- 
 manded Tn Apulia was ordered to Tarentum, to add to the strength 
 of that important place ; whilst ^'arro himself was sent with procon- 
 sular power into Picenum, to raise soldiers, and to watch the road 
 alon"- the Adriatic by which the Gauls might have sent reintorce- 
 menls to Hannibal. Q. Fulvius Flaccus, the prajtor urbanus, re- 
 mained at Rome to conduct the government, and had no other mili- 
 tarv command than that of a small fleet for the defence of the coast 
 on'both sides of the Tiber. Of the other two pr^tors, Ap Uaudms 
 was to command in Sicily, and Q. :\Iucius in Sardinia ; and 1 . Scipio 
 as proconsul still commanded his old army of two legions in Spain. 
 On the whole, including the volunteer slaves, there appeared to have 
 been fourteen Roman legions in active service at the beginning of 
 the year o39, without reckoning the soldiers who served in the tleets ; 
 and'of these fourteen legions, nine were employed in Italy. It we 
 suppose that the Latin and Italian allies bore their usual proportion 
 to the number of Roman soldiers in each army, we shall have a total 
 of 140 000 men, thus divided : 20,000 in Spain, and the same number 
 in Sic'ilv ; 10,000 in Sardinia ; 20,000 under each of the consu s ; 
 20,000 with Marcellus ; 20,000 under Devinus in Apulia ; and 10,000 
 in Tarentum. 
 
 Seventy thousand men were thus in arms, besides the seamen, out 
 of a population of citizens which at the last census before the war 
 had amounted only to 270,213, and which had since been thinned by 
 BO many disastrous battles. Nor was the drain on the hnances ol 
 Rome less extraordinary. The legions in the provinces had indeed
 
 LIFE OF HAXXIBAL. 
 
 53 
 
 been left to their own resources as to mouey ; but tbe nine legion 
 serving in Italv must have been paid regularly ; for ^'ar cou d not 
 there be made'to support v,-av ; and if the Romans had been eft ta 
 hve at free quarters upon their Italian allies, they would iiave dnven 
 hem to ioin Hannibal in mere self-defence. 1 et the legions in Italy 
 cost the government in pay, food, and clothmg, at_ the rate o o41,800 
 denarii a month ; and as they were kept on service throughout the 
 rear the annual expense was 6,5Ul,600 denaru, or m Greek money. 
 Sckoning the denarius as equal to the drachma, 1083 Luboic talents 
 To meetlhese enormous demands on the treasury, the governmen 
 resorted to the simple expedient of doubling the year s taxes, and 
 caUing at once for the payment of one half of this amoun , leaving 
 the other to be paid at the end of the year. It was a L-truggle tor i.fe 
 and death ; and the people were in a mood to refuse no sacrifices 
 however costly : but the war must have cut off '^^> f^^^y '^''I'Jr^'i 
 wraith, and agriculture itself must have so suffered from the calling 
 away of so many hands from tiie cultivation of the land that we 
 wonder how ihe mouev could be found, and how many of the poorer 
 citizens' families could be provided with daily I'read 
 
 In addition to the live regular armies which the Romans brought 
 into the field in Italy, an irregular warfare was also going on, we 
 know not to what extent ; and bands of peasants and slav-es were 
 armed in many parts of the country to act against the revolted Ital- 
 ians and to ra'vage their territory. For instance, a great tract ol tor- 
 est in Bruttium, as we have seen, was the domain of the Roman peo- 
 ple • this would be farmed like all the other revenues ; and the pub- 
 licani who farmed it, or the wealthy citizens who turned out catt e to 
 pasture in it, would have large bodies of slaves employed as .shep- 
 herds iierdsmen, and woodsmen, who, when the Bruttian towns on 
 the coast revolted, would at once form a guerilla force capable oi ( o- 
 ing them great mischief. And lastly, besides all these forces, regular 
 and irregular, the Romans still hehl most of the principal towns in 
 the .-^outh of Italy ; because they had long since converted them lute 
 Latin colonies. Brundisium on the Ionian sea, ra'stum on tiie coast 
 of Lucania, Luceria, Venusia, and Veneventnm in the interior, were 
 all so many strong fortres.ses. garrisoned by soldiers ot the Latin 
 name, in the very heart of the revolted districts ; whilst the Greek 
 cities of Cumaj and Neapolis in Canipania, and Rliegmm on he 
 Straits of Messina, were iield for R<Jine by their own (Mtizens with a 
 devotion no wav inferior to that of the Latin colonies tliemselves. 
 
 Against this mass of enemies, the moment that they had learned to 
 use their strength, Hannibal, even within six months after the bat- 
 tle of Cann:e. was already contending at a disadvantage. We have 
 seen that he delached two ollieers with two divisions of his army 
 one into Lucania, the other into Bruttiuiu, to encourage the revolt ot 
 those countries, and then to org.mize tiieir resources m men aiwl 
 money for the advancement of the common cause. >\lobt ot lh«
 
 51: i.IFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 Rrultiaiis took up arms immediately as TTannil)al's aliios, jiiid pnt 
 llu'iiisclvcs under tlic cominand of Iiis ofliccr, Ilimilcon ; but Peteliit., 
 oi\e of their cilios, was for some reason or otiier inflexible in its de- 
 votion to Home, and endured a siei::e of eleven monfiis, sulterinu- all 
 extremities of famine before it surrendered. Thus Ilimilcon liivist 
 have been still engati'ed in besieging it long after the ciunpaign was 
 opened in the neighborhood of Capua. The Sanuiites also had taken 
 \ip arms, and apparently were attached to Hannibal's own army : 
 the return of their whole population of the military age, made tea 
 years before during the Gaulish invasion, Iiad stated it at 70,000 
 foot and 7000 horse; but the Pentriuus, the most powerf id tribe of 
 their nation, were still faithful to Rome ; and the Samniles, like tho 
 Romans themselves, luirl been thinned by the slaughter of Thrasy- 
 menus and Canna', which they had shared as their allies. It is vexa- 
 tious that we have no statement of the amount of Hannibal's old 
 army, any more than of the allies who joined him, at any period of 
 the war later than the b.ittle of Cannse. His reinl'orcemeuts from 
 home, as we have seen, were very tritling ; while his two divisions 
 in Lucania and Bruttium, and the garrisons whicli ho had been 
 obliged to leave in some of the revoUed towns, as, for example, at 
 Arpi in Apulia, must have considerably lessened the force under his 
 own personal command. Yet, with the accession of the Samnites 
 and Canipanians, it was probabl}' much stronger than any one of the 
 Roman armies opposed to him ; (juite as strong indeed, in all likeli- 
 hood, as was consistent with the possibility of feeding it. 
 
 Before the winter was over, Casilinum fell. The garrison had 
 made a valiant defence, and yielded at last to famine : they were al- 
 lowed to ransom themselves by paying each man seven ounces of 
 gold for his life and liberty. T]\e plunder which they had won from 
 the old inhabitants enabled them to discharge this large sum ; and 
 they were then allowed to march out unhurt, and retire to Cnmaj. 
 Casilinum again became a Campanian town ; but its important posi- 
 tion, at once covering Capua, and securing a passage over the Vul- 
 turnus, induced Hannibal to garriscm it with seven hundred soldiers 
 of his own army. 
 
 The season for active operations was now arrived. The three 
 Roman armies of Fabius, Gracchus, and IVIarcellus, had taken up 
 their positions round Campania ; and Hannibal marched out of 
 Capua, and encamped his army on the mountain above it, on that 
 Bame Tifata where the Wamnites had so often taken post in old times 
 when they were preparin.gto invade the Campanian plain. Tifata did 
 not then exhibit that bare and parched appearance which it has now ; 
 the soil, which has accunudated in the plain below, so as to have 
 risen several feet above its ancient level, has been washed down in 
 the course of centuries, and after the destruction of its protecting 
 woods, from the neighboring mountains ; an'l Tifata in Hanniljal's 
 time furnished grass in abundance for his cattle in its numerous
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 55 
 
 fflades, au.1 offered cool and healthy summer quarters for his men. 
 There 'he 'av waitino: for some opportuuity of striking a blow against 
 his ^nemies■ around him, and eageriy watching the progress of his 
 intrigues ^^>tt^ the Tarentines, and his negotialions with the lung of 
 Mactdoa. A party at Tarenlum began to open a ccrrespondencn 
 with him immediately after the battle of Cannae ; and since he had 
 been in Campmia he had received an embassy from Philip, king of 
 Macedon and liad concluded an alliance, offensive and defensive, 
 wUh the ambassadors, who acted with full powers in their master s 
 aame. Such were his prospects on one side, whilst, if he looked west- 
 ward and southwest, he saw Sardinia in open revolt against Rome ; 
 and in Sicily the death of Iliero at the age of ninety, and the succes loa 
 of his grandson Hieronymus, an ambitious and inexperienced youth, 
 were dliLaching- Syracuse also from the Roman alliance. Hannibal 
 had already received an embassy from Hieronymus, to which he had 
 replied by sending a Carthai^dnian officer of his own name to biciij^ 
 and two Syracu=an brother's, Hippocrates and Epicydes, who had 
 long served with him in Italv and in Spain, being m fact (Cartha- 
 ginians by their mother's side, and having become naturalized at 
 Carthage, since Agathocles had banished their grandfather, and their 
 father had married and settled in his place of exile. Thus the effect 
 of the battle of Caiinae seemed to be shaking the whole labnc of the 
 Roman dominion ; their provinces were revolting ; their firmest allies 
 were desertimr them ; whilst the king of Macedon himself, the suc- 
 vcssor of Alexander, was tlirowing tlic weight of his power, anci of 
 all his acquired and inlierited glorV: into the scale of their enemies. 
 Seein"- the fruit of his work thus fast ripening, Hannibal sat quietly 
 en the summit of Tifata, to break forth like the liglitning flash when 
 Ihc storm should be fully gathered. . , . , , „ 
 
 Thus the summer of 5:19 was like a breath ing-time, m which both 
 parties were looking at each other, and considering each other s re- 
 Bources whilst they were recovering strength after their past efforts, 
 and preparing for a renewal of tlie struggle. Fabius, with the 
 authority of the senate, issued an order, calling on the inhabitants of 
 all the countrv which either actually was, or was likely to become, 
 the seat of war, to clear their corn off the ground, and carry it into 
 the fortified cities, before the lirst of June, threatening to lay waste 
 the laud, to sell the slaves, and burn the farm buildings, of any one 
 •who should disobey tiie order. In the utter confii.sion of the Roman 
 calendar at this period, it is difficult to know whether in any given 
 year it was in ailvance of the true time or behind it ; so that we 
 can scarcely tell whether the corn was only to be got in when ripe 
 ■without needless delay, or wlielher it was to be cut when green, lest 
 Hannibal slioukl use it as forage for his cavalry. But at any rate 
 Fabins whs now repeating the system which he bad laid down in liia 
 dictatorshii), and hoped by wii.Miiig the country looblige Haiituliid to 
 relrKat ; for hi.'j means of iransporl were not sufficient lor him to feed
 
 6d LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 his army from n distance : lienco, when tlie resources in liis immc. 
 (iiate ncijriiborhood were exhausted, he was obliged lo move else- 
 whc'iv. 
 
 Meanwhile Gracchus had crossed the Yulturnus near its mouth, 
 and was now at Liternum, busily einfiloycd in exercising and train- 
 mg his lu'terogcneous army. The several ('ampanian cities were ac- 
 cu'stomed to hold a joint feslival every year at a place called llamaj, 
 only three miles from CUnnte. Those festivals were seasons of gcn- 
 crai truce, so that the citizens even of hostile nations met at them 
 safely : tlie government of (Japua announced to the Cumacans, that 
 their chii^f magistrate and all their senators would appear at llama3 
 as usual on the day of the solemnity ; and they iuvitetl the senate of 
 Cuma; to meet them. At the same time they said that an armed force 
 would be present to repel any int(;rruption from the Romans. The 
 Cuma'ans informed Gracchus of this ; and he attacked the Capuaus 
 in the niaht, when they were in such perfect security that they had 
 not even fortitied a can\p, but were sleeping in the open country, and 
 massacred about 2000 of them, among whom was Marius Altius, the 
 supreme magistrate of Capua. The Romans cliarge the Capuans 
 with having meditated treachery against the Cumacans, and say that 
 they were caught in their own snare ; but this could only be a sus- 
 picion, whilst tlic overt acts of violence were their own. llannil^al no 
 sooner heard of this disaster, then he descended from Tifata, and 
 hastened to llam;e, in the hope of provoking the enemy to batUe in 
 the confidence of their late success. But Gracchus was loowar3'to 
 be so tempted, and had retreated in good time to CuraiC, where lie lay 
 safe within the walls of the town. It is said that Ilannibul, having 
 supplied himself witli all things necessary for a siege, attacked the 
 place in form, and was repulsed with loss, so that lie returned de- 
 feated to his camp at Tifata. A consular army defending the walls of a 
 fortitied town was not indeed likely to be beaten in an assault ; and 
 neither could a maritime town, with the sea open, be easily starved ; 
 nor could Hannibal linger before it safely, as Fubius, with a second 
 consular army, wa.s preparing to cross the Vulturnus. 
 
 Casilinum l)eing held by the enemy, Fabius was obliged to cross at a 
 higher point behind the mountains, nearly opposite to Alliffc ; and he 
 then descended the left bank to the conliuence of the Calor with the 
 Yulturnus, crossed the Calor, and passing between Taburnus and the 
 mf)untains above Caserta and Maddaloni, stormed the town of Sati- 
 cula, and joined Marcellus in his camp above Sucssula. He was 
 again an.xious for Nola, where the popular party were said to be still 
 plotting the surrender of the town lo Hannibal : to stop this mischief, 
 he sent Marcellus with his whole army tf) garrison Nola, whilst he 
 himself took his place in the camp above Wuessula, Gracchus on hi.s 
 side advanced from C'umse towards Capua ; so that three Roman 
 armies, amounting in all to about si.xty thousand men, were on tho 
 left bank of the Vulturaus together ; and all, so far as appears, in
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 57 
 
 fi-ee communication with each other. They ava. ed themselves of 
 thdr nvmS and of their position, to send plundermg parties out oa 
 he r ?ear to over?au the lamls of the revolted Samn.tes and Hirp^ 
 nians and as the best troops of both these nations vrere with Hanni- 
 ^ronTifata no force was left at home sufficient to check the en- 
 «^\r^^nPnrsions Acco-dindy the complaints of the sufferers were 
 S^nTa deputatbu'wi sen't to Hanni^bal imploring him to protect 
 
 *'' Alleadv Hannibal felt that the Roman generals understood their 
 butness an S numbers wisely. On ground 
 
 X?e his cavalry could act, he would not have feared to engage 
 J^ertlree armies together ; but when they were amongst mountains 
 or beh nd w^aUs his cavalry were useless, and he could not venture to 
 attack them besides, he did not wish to expose the territory of 
 cinua to their ravages ; and, therefore, he did not choose lightly to 
 Lapua to ineir ici d , , ' f ^j^^ Samnites were urgent: 
 
 SrparSSi. iXa migh re&^ aid, or might be able to adm t 
 wXtoIhe town ; and his expected reinforcement of cavalry and 
 S'li^s from Carthage had lamled safely in Bruttium, and was on 
 Us way 1^) V^ liim. which the position of Fabius ^"^1 Parcel us rnight 
 rondc-r ditncult if he made no movement to favor it. He thereloic 
 S Tifata ivanced upon Nola, and timed his operation so well 
 that his reinforc^me ts arrived at the moment when he was before 
 Nola- and neither Fabius nor Marcellus attempted to prevent their 
 
 ^"ThuTencouracred, and perhaps not aware of the strength of tho 
 carrSi Smil-alnot only overran the territory of IN o a, busur- 
 
 ^ nsiuTi^^s^tike^tSiiui ^dtssi r hit^'o^s 
 
 SrS^s aSa!l:r;?^.S;^Uy; ..y which ^^J-- back^he .. 
 eniy within their camp; and tins success, ««^ f^^, ^V i\ ''^.^,t^^^^^^^^^^ 
 and popular bearing, won him, it is said, the ^ T^'^'O'^^ ^f all X^J^^^^^] 
 N.^1-1 -ind nut a ston to all intrigues within llie walls A more im- 
 Snt mSiue^^lce of this action was the de.sertion of above we vc 
 hundred menispanish foot and N.nnidiau horse-from "^"'"J^;?; /* 
 tmvtotKKomans; as we do not tind t bat tl.eir example wa.s to- 
 lowcV V otl crs it is probable tbat tlu^y were not lann.bars old so - 
 £ mt some o tie troops which liad just joined hmi and whic 
 couT(i t as yet have felt tiie spell of his pei-ontd ascendency. St 1 
 thdrtre son naturally ma.le him uneasy, and would l(;r the moment 
 •xcitc rS^^nen s^^ in the army ; the summer too was drawmg 
 
 to a die and wisl.ing to relieve Capua froni the ^fl^^;-;;^^^^^ 
 his trooos he m-irched awav into Apulia, and lixcd his (piartcistor 
 ?he w nS ear Arpi. Gracchus, with one consular army, ol Owed 
 limwh 1 Fabius, after having ravaged the country round (anm 
 uml carried oil the green corn, as soon as it was high enough it o 
 Jhe ground, to his camp above Buessula, to furnish winter lood lor
 
 58 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 Jiis cavalry, quarterpd his own aniij^ there for the winter, and ordertd 
 Marcelhis to retain a suMlcicnt force to secure Nola, and to send the 
 rest of his men honie lo be disbanded. 
 
 Thus tlic campaign was ended, and Hannibal had not marked it 
 with a victory. The Romans Jiad employed their forces so wisely, 
 that they had forced him to remain mostly on the dcfen.sivc ; and his 
 two olTensive operations against Cumie and aga/nst Nohi had both 
 been bailled. lu Sardinia, tlieir success had been brilliant and de- 
 cisive. Fortune in another quarter served the Romans no less effectu- 
 tlly. The JNIacedonian ambassadors, after having concluded their 
 treatj' with Hannibal at Tifata, made their way back into Brultium 
 in safety, and embarked to return to Greece. But their ship was 
 taken oil the Calabrian coast by the Roman stpiadron on that station ; 
 and the ambassadors, with all their papers, were sent prisoners to 
 Rome. A vessel which had been of their company escaped the 
 Romans, and informed the king what had happened. lie was 
 obliged, therefore, to send a second eml)assy to Hannibal, as thcj 
 former treaty had never reached him ; and, altliough this second mis- 
 sion went and returned safely, 3"et the loss of time was irreparable, 
 and nothing could be done till another j'car. Meanwhile the 
 Romans, thus timely made aware of the king's intentions, resolved 
 to lind sucli employment for him at home as should prevent his in- 
 vading Italy. M. Valerius Lssvinus was to take the command of the 
 fleet at Tarentum and I^rundisium, and to cross the Ionian (Julf in 
 order to rouse the yEtolians and the barbarian chiefs whose tribes 
 bordered on Philip's western frontier, and, Avith such other allies as 
 could be engaged in the cause, to form a Greek coalition against 
 Macedon. 
 
 These events, and the continued successes of their army in Spain, 
 revived the spirits of the Romans, and encouraged them to make still 
 greater sacritices, in the hope tliat they would not be made in vain. 
 Whilst the commonwealth was making extraordinary efforts, it was 
 of tlie last importance that they should not be wasted by incompetent 
 leaders, either at iiome or abroad. Gracchus was watching Hannibal 
 in Apulia, so that Fabius wint to Rome to hold the comitia. It was 
 not by accident, doubtless, that he had previously sent home to fix 
 the day of the meeting, or that his own arriral was so nicelj' timed, 
 that he reached Rome when the tribes were actually met in tlie Cam- 
 pus Martins ; thus, without entering the city, he passed along under 
 the walls, and took his place as presiding magistrate, at tlie comitia, 
 while his lictors still bore the naked axe in the midst of their faces, 
 the well-known sign of that absolute power which the consul enjoyed 
 everywhere out of Rome. Fabius, in concert no doubt Avith Q. Ful- 
 vius and T. Manlius, and other leading .senators, had already deter- 
 mined who were to l)e consuls : when the lirst century, in the free 
 exercise of its choice, gave its vote in favor of T. Gtacilius and M. 
 jEmilius Regillus, he at once stopped the election, and told the
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. o9 
 
 people that this was no time to choose ordinary consuls ; that they 
 were elecliu"- o-enerals to oppose Hannibal, ami should h\ upon those 
 men under whom they would most gladly risk their sons' lives and 
 their own if they stood at that moment on the eve of battle. \\ here- 
 fore, crier," he concluded, " call back the century to give its votes 
 
 ^^OtaSuus who was present, although he had married Fabius' 
 niece protested loudlv against tliis interference with tlie votes of the 
 people, and charged Faljius with trying to procure las own re- 
 election The old man had always been so famous for the gentleness 
 of his nature, that he was commonly known by the name of ' the 
 Lamb ;" but now he acted with the decision of Q. iulvius or I. 
 Manlius ■ he peremptorily ordered Otacilius to be silent, and bade 
 him remember tliat his lictors carried the naked axe : the century 
 was called back, and now gave its voice for Q. Fal)ius and M Mar- 
 cellus All the centuries of all the tribes unauimously confirmed 
 this choice. Q. Fulvius was also re-elected piuHor ; and the senate 
 by a special vote continued hira in the prajtorsliip of the city, an 
 office which put him at the head of the home government ^ 
 
 The election of the other three prtetors, it seems, was left iree ; r,o 
 the people as they could not have Utaciiius for their consul, gave him 
 one of the remaitiiug prtetorships, and bestowed the other two on 
 Q Fabius, the consul's son, who was then curule aidile, and on 
 P. Cornelias Ivcntulus. . 
 
 Great as the exertions of the commonwealth had been in the pre- 
 ceding year, they were still greater this year. Ten legions were to be 
 employed in different parts of Italy, disposed as follows : Cales, and 
 the camp above Suessula and Nola, were again to be the head- 
 quarters of the two consuls, each of whom was to command a regular 
 consular army of two legions. Gracchus.with proconsular power, was 
 to keep his own two legions, and was at 'present wintering near 
 Hannibal in the north of Apulia. Q. Fabius, one of the new pristors, 
 was to be ready to enter Apulia with an army of equal strength, so 
 soon as (Iracciius should be called into Lucania and Sanuiium, to 
 take part in the active operations of tiie cami)aig». C. Varro, with 
 his single li-trion, was still to hold Picenum ; and I\I. Lfevinus, also 
 with procoiisalar power, was to remain at Bruudisium with another 
 ■Vngle legion. The two city legions served as a sort ot depot, to re- 
 cruit the'armies in the field in case of need ; and there was a large 
 armed population, serving as garrisons in the Latin colonies, and in 
 other impoilaiit posts in various parts of the country, the amount Oi 
 which it is not pos^ii)le to estimate. Is'or can we calculate the mun- 
 bers of the guerilla bands, whicli were on foot in Liicaiiia. Brultiiim, 
 and possibly in Sanmium, and which hindered llaniiil)al from having 
 the whole resources of thnsc; countries at his disposal. The Komaa 
 parly was nowhere (.lobablv altogelherextinct. Weallliy Lucauians, 
 who were attached to Koine, would muster their slaves and peas-
 
 60 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 antrj'. and cither by themselves, or getting some 'Roman officer to 
 he;ui them, would ravage the lauds of the Carthaginian party, and 
 carry on a coutimied liavassing warfare against the towns or districts 
 wliic-ii iiad joined llannihjil. Thus the whole south of Italy was one 
 wide flood of war, the waters were everywhere dashing and eddying, 
 and running in cross cvnrents innunienil)le ; whilst the legular 
 armies, likethe channels of the rivers, held on their way, distinguish- 
 able amidst the chaos by their greater rapidity and power. 
 
 IIannii)al watched this mass of war with the closest attention. To 
 mal<.f head against it directly being impossible, his l)usincss was to 
 mark his op|iorlunities, to strike wheiever there was an opening ; and 
 being sure tliat the enemj' would not dare to attack him on his own 
 groulid, he might maintain his army in Italy for an indefinite time, 
 ■whilst Carthage, availing herself of Uie distraction of her enemy's 
 power, renew'ed her ettorts to conquer tSpain, and recover Sicily. 
 He hoped ere long to win Tarentum ; and, if left to his own choice, 
 he would probably have moved thither at once, when he broke up 
 from his winter ([uartcrs ; but the weakness or fears of the Campa- 
 nians'hung with encumbering weight upon him; and an earnest 
 request wa's sent to him from Capua, calling on him to hasten to its 
 defence, lest the two consular armies should besiege it. Accordingly 
 he broke up from his winter quarters at Arpi, and marched once more 
 into Campania, where he established his army as before on the sum- 
 mit of Tifata. 
 
 The perpetual carelessness and omissions in Livy's narrative, drawn 
 as it is from various sources, with no ])ains to make one part corre- 
 spond with another, render it a work of extreme diflicvdty to present 
 an account of these operations, which shall be at once minute and 
 intelligible. We also miss that notice of chronological details which 
 is esselitial to the history of a complicated campaign. Even the year 
 in which important events happened is s(.metimes doubtful ; yet we 
 want not to fix the year only, but the month, that we may arrange 
 each action in its proper order. WhcD. Hannibal set out on his march 
 into Campania, Fabius was still at Kome ; but the two new legions 
 •which were to form his army were alieady assembled at Cales ; and 
 Fabius, on hearini; of Hannibal's approach, set out instantly to take 
 the command, itis old army, which had wintered in the camp above 
 Suessula, hud apparently been transferred to his colleague, ]Marcel- 
 lus ; and a considerable force had been left at the close of the last 
 campaign to garrison Nola. Fabius, however, wi.shed to have three 
 Roman armies co-operatmg with each other, as had been the case the 
 year Ijefore ; and he sent orders to Gracchus to move forward from 
 Apulia, and to occupy Beneventum ; whilst his son, Q. Fabius, the 
 prietor, with a fourth army, was to supply the place of Gracchus, at 
 Luceria. It seemed as if Hannibal, having once entered Campania, 
 was to be hemmed in on every side, and not permitted to escape : 
 but \hese movements of the Roman armies induced him to call Hanno
 
 LIFE OF HANXIBAL. 61 
 
 (0 his aitl, the ofHcer who commanded in Lncania and Bruttium, and 
 who, witli u .small force of JSumidiaii cavalry, had an auxiliary army 
 under his orders, consistinj^ chiefly of Italian allies. Hauno advanced 
 accordingly in the direction of Beueventum, to watch the army of 
 Gracchus, and. if an opportunitj- ofEered, to bring it to action. 
 
 Meanwhile, Hannibal, having left some of his best troops to main- 
 tain his camp at Tifata, and probably to protect the immediate neigh- 
 borhood of Capua, descended into the plain towards the coast, partly 
 in the hope of surprising a fortified post which the Romans had lately 
 established at Puteoli, and partly to ravage the territory of Cunu* and 
 Neapolis. But the avowed object of his expedition was to offer sac- 
 rifice to the powers of the unseen world, on the banks of the dreaded 
 lake of Avernus. That crater of an old volcau j, where the very 
 soil still seemed to breathe out lire, while the unbroken rim of its ba.sia 
 was covered with the uncleared masses of the native Avoods, was tho 
 subject of a thousand mysterious stories, and was regarded as one of 
 those spots where the lower world approached most nearly to the 
 light of day, and where offerings, paid to the gods of the dead, were 
 most surely acceptable. Such worship was a main part of the na- 
 tional religion of the Carthaginians ; and Hannibal, whose latest act 
 before he set out on his great expedition, had been a journey to 
 Gades, to sacrifice to the god of his fathers, the Hercules of Tyre, 
 visited the lake of Avernus, it is probable, quite as much in sincere 
 devotion as in order to mask his design of attacking Puteoli. 
 Whilst he was engaged in his. sacrifice, five noble citizens of Tarentiim 
 came to him, entreating him to lead his army into their country, and 
 engaging that the city should be surrendered as soon as his .standard 
 should be visible from the walls. He listened to their invitation gladly ; 
 they offered him one of the richest cities in Italy, with an excellent 
 harbor, equally convenient for his own communication with Carthage, 
 and for the reception of the fleet of his Macedonian allies, whom he 
 was constantly expecting to welcome in Italy. He promised that he 
 would soon be at Tarentum ; and the Tarentines returned home to 
 prejiare their plans against his arrival. 
 
 With this prospect before him, it is not likely that he would engage 
 In any serious enterprise in Campania. Finding that he could not 
 surprise Puteoli, he ravaged the la.nds of the Cunueaus and ]Seapoli- 
 taus. According to the ever-suspicious stones of the exploits of 
 Marcellus, he made a third attempt ujkju Xola, and was a third lime 
 repuLsed, Marcellus having called down the army from the camp 
 above Suessuia to assist him in defending the town. Then, says the 
 writer whom Livy copied, despairing of taking a place which he had 
 80 often attacked in vain, lie marched off at once towards Tarentum. 
 Tlie trulii probably is, that, finding a complete consular army in 
 Nola, and having left his light cavalry and some of the llower of his 
 infantry in the camp on Titata, he hud no thought of attacking llie 
 town, but returned to Tilala to take the troops from llience ; aiiJ
 
 C3 LIFE OF HANNIRAL. 
 
 li.'iving dono this, and stsiycd long enough in Campania for llie ^» All- 
 ans to grt ill tht'ir iiarvcst. safely, he set oir on his march for T^/en- 
 tum. None of the Roman armies attempted to stop liim, or so much 
 as ventured to follow him. Fabius and Marcellus took advantage of 
 his al)sciice to besiege Casilinum with their united forces ; Gracchus 
 kept wisely out of liis reacli, whilst he swept on like a tiery tlood, 
 laying waste all before him from Tifata to the shores of the Ionian 
 Sea. He certainly did not burn or jjlunder the lauds of his own 
 allies, either in Sauuiium or Lucauia ; but his march lay near tho 
 ' Latin colony of Venusia, and the Lucanians and Samuitea in hia 
 army would carefully point out those districts which belonged to their 
 countrymen of the Roman party ; above all, those ample tracts 
 which the Romans had wrested from their fathers, and which wero 
 now farmed by the Roman publicani, or occupied by Roman citi. 
 zens. Over all these, no doubt, the African and Numidian horso 
 poured far and wide, and the tire and sword did their work. 
 
 Yet, after all, Hannibal missed his prey. Three days before ho 
 reached Tarentum, a Roman otKcer arrived in the city, whom M. 
 Valerius ]j;\;vinus had sent in haste from Rrundisium to provide for 
 its defence. There was probably a small Roman garrison in the 
 citadel to support him in case of need ; but the aristucratical party 
 in Tarentum itself, as elsewhere, was attached to Rome ; and with 
 their aid, Livius, the oflicer whom Ltevinus had sent, effectually 
 repressed the opposite party, em))odied the population of the town, 
 and made them keep guard on the walls, and selecting a certain 
 number of persons, whose fidelity he most suspected, .sent them off aa 
 hostages to Rome. AVhen the Carthaginian army, therefore, ap- 
 peared before the walls, no movement was made in their favor, and 
 after waiting a few days in vain, Hannibal was obliged to retreat. 
 His disappointment, however, did not make him lose his temper ; ho 
 spared the Tarentine territory, no le.ss when leaving it than when he 
 first entered it, in the hope of winning the city, a moderation which 
 doubtless produced its effect, and contirmed the Tarentines in the 
 belief that his professions of friendship had been made in honesty. 
 But he carried off all the corn which he could find in the neighborhood 
 of Metapontum and Heraclea, and then returned to Apulia, and fixed 
 his quarters for the winter at Salapia. His cavalry overran all the 
 forest country above Bruiidisium, and drove off such numbers of 
 Lor.ses whicii were kept there to jjasture, that lie was enabled to have 
 four thousand ])njken in for the service of his army. 
 
 Meanwhile the Roman con.suls in Campania were availing them- 
 selves of liis absence to press the siege of Casilinum. The place was 
 80 close to Capua, that it was feared the Capuans would attempt to 
 relieve it ; iSIarcellus, therefore, with a second consular army, ad- 
 vanced from Nola to cover the siege. The defence v/as very obsti- 
 nate, for there were seven hundred of Hannibal's soldiers in the 
 place, and two thousand Capuans, and Fabius, it is said, was dis-
 
 LIFE OF HAXXIBAL. C3 
 
 posed to raise the siege, but liis colleague reminded him of the loss 
 of repulatiou, if so small a town were allowed to baffle two consular 
 armies, and the siege was continued. At last the Capuans oiTered to 
 Fabius to surrender the town, on condition of being allowed to retu-e 
 to Capua ; and it appears that he accepted the terms, and that the 
 p-arrison had begun to march out, when 3Iarcellu3 broke in upon 
 them, seized the open gate from which they were issuing, cut them 
 down ri"-ht and left, and forced his way into the city Fabius, it is 
 ' said wali able to keep his faith to no more tlian fifty of the garrison, 
 who had reached his quarters before Marccllus arrived, and whom 
 he sent unharmed to Capua. The rest of the Capuans and of Han- 
 nibal's soldiers were sent prisoners to Rome, and the inhabitants were 
 divided amongst the neighboring cities, to be kept in custody till the 
 senate should determine their fate. 
 
 After this scandalous act of treachery, Marcellus returned to JNola, 
 and there remained inactive, being confined, it was said, by filncss, 
 till the senate, before the end of the summer, sent him over to Sicily 
 to meet the danger that was gathering tliere. Fabius advanced into 
 Samnium, combining his operations, it seems, with his son, wlio 
 commanded a prietorian army in Apulia, and witli Gracchus, wlio 
 was in Lucania, and whose army formed the link between the prsetor 
 in Apulia and his father in Samnium. These three armies were so 
 formidable, that llanno, the Carthaginian commander in Lucania, 
 could not maintain Ids ground, but fell back towards Bruttium, leav- 
 ing- his allies to their own inadequate means of defence. Accord- 
 ingly the Romans ravaged the country far and wide, and took so 
 many towns that they boasted of having killed or captured 25,000 of 
 the enemy. After lhe.se expeditions, Fabius, it seems, led back his 
 army to winter quarters in the camp above Suessula ; Gracchus re- 
 mained in Lucania, abd Fabius, the prietor, wiutereil at Luceria. 
 
 I have endeavored to follow the operations of the main armies on 
 both sides throiigliout the campaign, without noticing those of 
 Gracchus and ilanno in Lucania. But the most important action of 
 the year, if we believe tlie Roman accounts, was the victory obtained 
 by Gracchus, near Benevcntum, when he moved thither out of 
 Apulia to co-operate with the consuls in Campania, and llanno was 
 ordered by Hannibal to march to tlie same point out of Lucania. 
 Hanno, it is said, had about IT.UOO foot, mostly Bruttiaus and 
 Lucanians, and 1200 Xuinidian and .Moorish horse ; and Gracchus, 
 tncounlering him near Benevcntum, defeated lum, with the loss of 
 almost all liis infantry ; he himself and his cavalry being tiie only 
 part of the army that escaped. Tlie numbers, as usual, are proliably 
 exaggerated inuneusely ; but tliere is no reason to doubt that (Jraccihus 
 gained an important "vict(jry ; and it was rendered famous by his 
 givin"- liberty to the volunteer slaves, by whose valor it had mauily 
 been won. Some of these had beliaved ill in the action, and were 
 ftfraid that they .should ije punished, rather than rewarded ; but
 
 (i4 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 Grarclms first set tlicm ;ill free wilhoiif, distinction, and then, sending 
 for (liosc who liad inishchtivcd, muilc Ihcni severally swear that tlicy 
 would eat and drink standinj;', so lonLi,- as their niiiitury service should 
 last, b}' way of penance lor their fault. Such a sentence, so dillerent 
 from the usual merciless severity of the l^mian discipline, added to 
 the general joy of the army ; the soldiers marched back to Beneven- 
 hnu in triumph ; and tlio people i)C)und out to meet them, and en- 
 treated Gracchus that they might invite them all to a public enter- 
 taimnent. Tables were set out iu the streets ; and the freed slaves 
 attracted every one's notice by their white caps, the well-known sign 
 of their enfranchisement, and by the strange sight of those who, iu 
 fultilment of their jx'iiance, ate standing, and waited upon theii 
 worthier comrades. The whole scene delighted the generous and 
 kind nature of Gracchus : to set free the slave, and to relieve the 
 poor, appear to have been liereditary virtues in his family : to him, 
 110 less than to his unfortunate descendants, beneficence seemed tlie 
 highest glory. He caused a picture to ))e painted, not of his victory 
 over Hauno, but of the feasting of the enfranchised slaves iu the 
 /treets of Beneveutum, and placed it in the temple of Liberty on the 
 ^ventine, which his father had built and dedicated. 
 
 The battle of Beneveutum obliged Ilanno to fall back into 
 {jucania, and perhaps as far as the confines of Bruttium. But he 
 ioon recruited his army, the Lucanians and ]?iuttians, as well as the 
 Picentines, who Hved on the shores of the Gulf cf Salerno, being very 
 ;.ealous in the cause ; and ere loni'; he revenged liis defeat by a signal 
 victory over an army of Lucanians of the Roman part}', whom 
 Gracchus had cj listed to act as an irregular force against their coun- 
 trymen of the opposite faction. Still Hanno was not tempted to ri.'-k 
 another battle with a Bomau consular army ; and when Gracchus 
 ^uivanced from Beneveutum into Lucauia, he retired again into 
 Bruttium. 
 
 There seems to have been no further disptite with regard to the 
 uppointment of consuls. Fabius and the leading members of the 
 senate appear to have nominated such men as tliey thought most 
 pqual to the emergency ; and no other candidates c:ame forward. 
 Fabius again Jield the comitia ; and his son, Q. Fabius, who was 
 prtetor at tlic lime, Vv^as elected consul together with Gracchus. The 
 I)ra; ors were entirely changed. Q. Fulvius was succeeded in tiio 
 city prx'lorship by M. Atilius Regulus, who had just resigned the 
 censorship, and wIjo had already been twice consul ; the otlier three 
 pra-tors were .M. .tEmilius Lepidus, Cn. Fulvius C'entumahis, and P. , 
 Hempronius Tuditanns. Tlic two former were men of noljle families : 
 Sempronius appears to have owed his appointment to liis resolute 
 conduct at Canute, when lie cut his way from the camp through the 
 surn;unding enemies, and escaped in safety to Cauusium. 
 
 Thus another year passed over ; and although the state of affairs 
 was still dark, the tide seemed to be on the turn. Hannibal had
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. ^5 
 
 gained no new victory ; Tarentum had been saved from his hands ; 
 onH r'fi^ilinnm had been wiested from him. 
 
 The fo ?eT o be employed in Italy in the approachmg campaign 
 were to consist of nine legions, three fewer than in the year befoie 
 ?he consuls were each ^to have their two legions. Gracchns n 
 ine consub >- Anulia M ^milius was to command two 
 
 L"^'^"^^'l'."'^;^''''rnnS huvma- h\s headquarters at Luceria ; Cn 
 ,^uMus wUh Iwo^'r Je^a^S'o'ccupy the cLp above Bue^sula ; - 
 V arro was to remain with his one legion in Piceuum. Tw o consular 
 armSsT^ftwoTc-ions each were required in Sicily ; one commanded 
 
 •md two in Sardinia under their old commander Q. ^^iucius m. 
 ^irTus Lv inus retained his single legion and h.s fleet, to act 
 ao-aSst Philip on the eastern side of the Ionian sea ; and P. bcipio 
 aid his b er were still continued in their command m Spain. 
 
 Hann bal mssed the winter at Salapia. where, the Komans said, 
 wa^ aTdv whom hel^ved, and who became famous from her intlu- 
 rnc^^over^iim Whether his passion for her made him careless of 
 e?emhim! dse, or whether he was really taken ^Y /Y^^^^'l^ n o 
 knoJv nol^: but'the neighboring t^'.wn of AriM ^'as a^^^^^^^^^^ 
 consul Fabius and given up to him by the inhabitan s ana some 
 sSard who forried part of the garrison, entered into the Rom 
 servct Gracchus obla ned some slight successes in Lucania ; and 
 one of the Brutlian towns returned to their -^^Y'-^^^ZZtS^Zn 
 but a Roman contractor. T. Pomponius X.^l^^^'l"^^ ^,.^/^^,^ '^^\^^^^^ 
 ^mnowercd l)v the government to raise soldiers in IJiuttium, ana o 
 cmKthemin phmdering the enemies' lands, was ^f^^^^^^^^ 
 venture a regular action with Hanno, in which he was defeated and 
 made prfsone?. This disaster checked the reaction in Bruttium for 
 
 %l'^l^li\o Ilannibal-s eyes were still fixed "P;|;,^":^^^y,S;^ 
 thither he marclied again as soon as lie took the held, leaving i^alnus 
 
 id in n \pulia. He passed tiie whole s.unmer m the neigh- 
 bor iod o Ta enlum, and reduce.l sevc-ral small towns m the sur- 
 rouS^ CO, t try : but his f rien.ls in Tarentum made no movement ; 
 fort "'dared not compromise the safety of the.r <,'«""^'-y>ne" aid 
 relationH who had l)een carried off as hostages to Rome Accor - 
 in lv "he season wore away unmarked by any memorable action 
 
 la mi a^t i!im.n.r..l \h the r^ountry of the Salk.ilincs, unwillin.g o 
 g ie u all Viope of winning the prize he had - '"f .-"^^f ',,£^3 
 full the suspicions of the Rr)mans, he gave out that he %%as .''"1 " ^^ 
 to his camp l.V illness, an.l that this had prevenl.Hl his army Irom ,e- 
 
 turniu"- to its usual winter (piarters in Apulia. 
 
 Matrers wrnrm this state; when iKters arrived at 'larenum tha 
 tlie hostage^ for whose safety th-ir friends had been so anxious, had 
 t^en a c?uelly put to death at Rome for Imving ntlempled to cscapa
 
 Of) LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 from their captivity. Released in so shocking a manner from thfci. 
 former hesitation, and burning to revenge the l)lood of their friends, 
 Hannil)al's partisans no longer delayed. They commnnicated 
 secretly with him, arranged the details of their attempt, and signed a 
 treaty of alliance, by which he bound himself to respect the indepen- 
 dence and lii)erty of the Tareutines, and only stipulated for the ])lun- 
 der of such houses as were occupied by Roman citizens. Two young 
 men, Philemcnus ami Nicon, were the leaders of the enterprise. 
 Philemenus, under the pretence of hunting, had persuaded tlie olhccr 
 at one of the gates to allow him to pass in and out of the town by 
 night without interruption. He was known to be devoted to his 
 sport ; he scarcely ever returned without having caught or killed 
 some game or other ; and by liberally giving away what he had 
 caught, he won the favor and confidence, not only of the officer of. 
 the gate, but also of the Roman governor him.self, M. Livius Maca- 
 tus.'a relation of M. Livius Salinator, who afterwards defeated Has- 
 diubal, but a man too indolent and fond of good cheer to be the gov- 
 ernor of a town threatened by Hannibal. So little did Livius suspect 
 any danger, that on the very day which the conspirators had fixed 
 for their attempt, and when Hannibal with ten thousand men was 
 advancing upon the town, he had invited a large party to meet him 
 at the Temple of the ]SIuscs near the market-place, and was engaged 
 from an early hour in festivit3^ 
 
 The city f)f Tarentum formed a triangle, two sides of which were 
 washed by the water ; the outer, or western side, by the Mediter- 
 ranean ; the inner, or northeastern side, by that remarkable land- 
 locked basin, now called the Little Sea, which has a mouth narrower 
 than the entrance into the Norwegian Fiords, but runs deep into the 
 laud, and spreads out into a wide surface of the calmest water, 
 scarcely ruftled by the hardest gales. Exactly at the mouth of this 
 basin was a little rocky knoll, forming the apex of the ti-iangle of the 
 city, and occupied by the citadel : the city itself stood on low and 
 mostly level ground ; and its south-eastern wall, the base of the tri- 
 ande, stretched across from the Little Sea to the Mediterranean. 
 Thus the citadel commanded the entrance into the basin, which was 
 the port of tlie Tarentines ; and it was garrisoned by the Romans, 
 althoutrh many of the officers and soldiers were allowed to lodge in 
 the city. All attempts upon the town by land must be made then 
 against the south-eastern side, which was separated from the citadel 
 by the whole length of the city : and there was another ciicumstance 
 which was likel^'^to favor a surprise ; for the Taroutines, following 
 the direction of an oracle, as they said, buried their dead within the 
 city walls ; and tlie .street of the tombs was interjiosed between the 
 gates and the inhabited i)arts of the town. This the conspirators 
 turned to their own ])urposes : in this lonely ([uai'ter two of their 
 number, Nicon and Tragiscu.s, were wailin.u for Ilannibiil's lurival 
 without the gates. As soon as they perceived the si;i;ual whic.li waa
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 67 
 
 to announce his presence, they, wuh aparty of their friends, were to 
 Burnrise the sates from within, and put the guards to the sword ; 
 while others "had been left in the city to keep watch near the museum, 
 and prevent any communication from being made to the Komau 
 
 ^^ThTevenino- wore away ; the governor's party broke up ; and his 
 friends attended him to his house. On their_ way home they met 
 some of the conspirators, who, to lull all suspicion, began to ]est witU 
 them as though themselves going home from a revel, and ]ommg the 
 nartv' amidst riotous shouts and loud laughter, accompanied the 
 eovernor to his own door. He went to rest in joyous and careless 
 mood ; his friends were all gone to their quarters ; the noise of rev- 
 eller« returuin»- from their festivities died away through the city ; 
 and when midniirht was come, the conspirators alone were abroad. 
 Thev now divided into three parties : one was postad near the gov- 
 ernor's house, a second secured the approaches to the market-place, 
 and the third hasLened to the quarter of the tombs, to watch tor 
 Hannibal's signal. . . , ^ vi 
 
 Tiiey did not watch lone; in vain ; a fire in a particular spot with- 
 out the walls assured them that Hannibal was at hand. Ihey lit a 
 fire in answer ; and presentlv, as liad l)een agreed upou, the fire with- 
 out the walls disappeared. Then the conspirators rushed to the gate 
 of the city, surprised it with ease, put the guards to the sword, ami 
 be"an to hew asunder the bar by which the gates were fastened. No 
 sooner was it forced, and the gates opened, thau Hannibal s soldier.H 
 were seen rea<lv to euter ; so exactly had the time of the operations 
 been cali'ulat(^d. The cavalry were left without the walls as a re- 
 serve ; but the infantry, marcliiiig in regular column, advanced 
 through the quarter of the tombs to the inhabited part of the city. 
 
 Meantime Fhilemeuus with a thousand Africans had been sent to 
 secure another gate by stratagem. The guards were accustomed to 
 let him in at all hours, whenever he returned from his hunting ex- 
 peditions • and now, Avhen Ihey heard his usual whistle, one of them 
 went to the gate to admit him. Philemenus called to the guard from 
 without to open the wicket (piickly ; for that he and his triends had 
 killed a huge wild l)oar, and could scarcely bear the weight any 
 longer Tin;' guard, accustomed to liave a share in the spoil, opened 
 the wicket ; and Piiiiemenus, and three other conspirators, disguised 
 as countrymen, stepi)ed in, carrying the boar between them. They 
 instantly killed the poor cuard, as he was ndmiring and feelmg their 
 prize • and then let in about thirty Africiins. who were following 
 close beiiind. With this force they mastercxl the giite-house and 
 towers killed all the guards, and hewed asunder the i)ars of the mani 
 gates t() admit the whole column of Afriean.s, who marched in ou tlu.s 
 fcide also in regular order, and advanced towards the market-place. 
 
 No .sooner llad both Hannibal's columns rciicluni tluur deslination 
 and as it seems without exciting any gcucrul alarm, than he detached 
 A.B -II
 
 68 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 three bodies of Gaulish soldiers to occupj'' the prineipal streets which 
 loti In the niarkct-piiice. The ollieers in command of tiiese troops 
 )iad orders to icill every Kninan wiio fell in liicir way ; but some 
 Tarcnline conspirators were sent with each party to Avarn their coun- 
 irymcn to go home and remain quiet, assuring tiicm tliat no mischief 
 was intended to them. The toils being thus spread, the prey wius 
 now to be enticed into them. Plulemenus and his friends had pro- 
 vided some Roman trumpets ; and these were loudlj' blown, sound- 
 ing the well-known call to arms to the lloman soldier. Housed at this 
 Bvunmons, the Romans quartered about the town armed tliemselves 
 in haste, and poured into tlie streets to make their way to the citadel. 
 But they fell in scattered parties into the midst of Hannibal's Gauls, 
 and were cut down one after another. The governor alone had been 
 more fortunate : the alarm had reached liim in lime ; and being in 
 no condition to oiler any resistance — for he felt, says Polybius, that 
 the fumes of wine were still overpowering him — he hastened to the 
 harbor, and getting on board a boat, was carried safe to the citadel. 
 
 Day at last dawned, but did not quite clear up the mystery of the 
 night's alarm to the mass of the inhabitants of Tarentiun. They 
 Avere safe in their houses, uumassacred, unplundered ; the only blast 
 of war had been blown by a Roman trumpet ; yet Roman soldiers 
 were lying dead in the streets, and Gauls were spoiling their bodies. 
 Suspense at length was ended by the voice of the public crier sum- 
 moning the citizens of Tarentum, in Hannibal's name, to appear 
 without their arms in the market-place ; and by repeated sho\its of 
 " Liberty ! Liberty !" uttered l)y some of their own countrymen, 
 who ran round the town calling the Carthaginians their deliverers. 
 The firm partisans of Rome made haste to escape into the citadel, 
 while the multitude crowded to the marketplace. They found it 
 regularly occupied by Carthaginian troops ; and the great general, of 
 whom they had heard so much, was preparing to address them. lie 
 spoke to them, in Greek apparently, declaring as usual that he had 
 come to free the inhabitants of Italy from the dominion of Rome. 
 •' The Tarentines therefore had nothing to fear ; they should go home 
 and write each over his door, a Tnrentine's hoxse ; these words would 
 be a suthcient security ; no door so marked sliould be violated. But 
 :' ihe mark must not be set falsely upon any Roman's quarters ; a Tareii- 
 ' tine guilty of such treason would be put to death as an enemy ; for 
 all Roman property was the lawful prize of the soldiers." Accord- 
 ingly, all houses where Romans had been quartered were given up 
 tobe plundered ; and the Carthaginian soldiers gained a harvest, says 
 Polybius, wliich fully answered their hopes. This can only bo ex- 
 plained l»y suppo.-ing that the Romans were quartered generally in 
 the houses of the wealthier Tarentines, who were attached to the 
 Roman alliance ; and that the plunder was not Die scanty baggage of 
 the legionary soldiers, but the costly furniture of the richest citizens 
 in the greatest city of southern Italy.
 
 LIFE OF HAXiaBAL. 69 
 
 Thus Tarentum was won ; t)ut the citadel ou its rockj' knoll was 
 still held bv the Romaus ; and its position at once tlireatened the 
 town and shut up tlie Tarentine fleet useless in the harbor Hanni- 
 bal proceeded to sink a ditch, and throw up a wall along tlie side of 
 the town towards the citadel, in of der to repress the sallies of the gar- 
 rison While engaged in these works he purposely tempted tbe-Ko- 
 mans to a sallv, and having lured them on to some distance from 
 their cover, turned liercely upon them, and drove them back witb 
 such slau<^hter that their effective strength was greatly reduced, tie 
 thenhope'dto take tlie citadel ; but the garrison was rein torced by 
 sea from Metapontum, the Romans withdrawing their roops f rom 
 thence for this more important service; and a successful night .ally 
 destroyed the besiegers' works, and obliged them to trust to a block- 
 ade "But as this was hopeless, whilst llie Romans were masters of 
 the sea HanniiKil instructed the Tarentines to drag their ships over- 
 land through the streets of the Lily, from the harbor to the outer sea ; 
 and this being effected without .iifficulty, as the ground ivas quite 
 level the Tarentine fleet became at once effective, and the sea com- 
 munications of the enemy were cut off. Having thus, as lie hoped, 
 enabled the Tarentines to deal by themselves with the Roman garri- 
 son, he left a small force in the town, and returned with he mass of 
 his troops to his winter quarters in the country of the ballentmes, or 
 
 on the edsre of Apulia. » ., , i i ^ 
 
 Hannibal was far awav in the farthest corner of Italy : and as long 
 as the citadel of Tarentum field out, he would be unwilling to moyc^ 
 towards Campania. Even if he siiould move, four armies were reacy 
 to oppose him ; those of the two consuls, of the consul s brother, tu. 
 Fulviiis, who was prator in Apulia, and of another prator, C. Clau- 
 dius Nero, who commanded two legions in the camp above buessula. 
 Besides this mass of forces, Ti. Gracchus, the consul of the prcceduiLr 
 Year, still retained his army as proconsul in Lucania, and might be 
 supposed capable of keeping Hanno and the army of Bruttmm m 
 
 ^ it was late in the spring before the consuls took the field. One of 
 them succeeded to the army of the late consul, Fabius ; the other 
 took the two legions with which Cn. Fulvius Centumulas had heUl tli't 
 camp above Suessula. These armies marching, the one from Apulia, 
 the other from Campania, met at Bovianum : there at the back o. 
 the Matf'se in the country of the Pentrian Samnites, the faithtul al ie»i 
 of Rome, the consuls were making preparations for the siege o Ca 
 nua and perhaps were at the saim^ time watching the state of affair.=i 
 ,in the south, and the movements of Hannilial. The Campanians su*. 
 pecfed that mischief was coming upon them, and sent a deputation 
 to Hannil)al praying him to aid them. If they were to stand a siege, 
 it was imporlant that the city should be well supplied with provi- 
 sious ; and their own harvest had been so insuflicient owing to thf 
 devaatatioa caused by the war, tliat they had .scarcely cnougli loJ
 
 70 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 their present consumption. Hannibal would therefore be pleased to 
 order tiiat sui)i>li('s sliould be sent to tiieni from tiic country of his 
 Saninito and Lucanian allies, before tlieir communications were cut 
 off by the presence of tlu; Roman armies. 
 
 IIaanil)al was still near Tarentum, whether lioping to win the town 
 or the citadel, the doubtful chronoloLry of this period will aot allow 
 us to decide. He ordered llanno, with tlie army of Bruttium, to 
 move forward into Samnium ; a most delicate operation, if tlie two 
 consuls were willi their armies at Hovianum, and Gracchus in Luca- 
 nia itself, in the very line of llaunos march, and if C Nero with 
 two legions more was lying in the camp above Suessula. - But the 
 army from Suessula had been given to one of the consuls ; and the 
 legions whicli were to tal^e its place were to be marched from the 
 co^ist of Piceuum, and perhaps had hardly reached their destination. 
 The Lucanians themselves seem to have found sufficient employment 
 for Gracchus ; and Ilanuo moved witli a vapidity which friends and 
 enemies were alike unprepared for. lie arrived safely in the neigh- 
 borhood of Beueventum, encamped his army in a strong position 
 about three miles from the town, and dispatched word to the Capu- 
 ans that they should instantly send off every carriage and beast of 
 burden in their city, to carry home the corn which he was going to 
 provide for them. The towns of the Claudiue Samnites emptied 
 their magazines for the purpose, and forwarded all their corn to 
 Hauno's camp. Thus far all prospered ; but the negligence of the 
 Capuans ruined everything ; they had not carriages enough ready ; 
 and Hauno was obliged to wait in his perilous situation, where every 
 liour's delay was exposing him to destruction. Beneventum was a 
 Latin colony — in other words, a strong Roman garrison, watching all 
 his proceedings : from thence information was sent to the consuls at 
 Boviauum : and Fulvius Avith his army instantly set out, and entered 
 Beneventum by night. There he found that the Capuans, with their 
 means of transport, were at length arrived ; and all disposable hands 
 had been pressed into the service ; that Ilanuo's cam]) was crowded 
 with cattle and carriages, and a mixed multitude of unarmed men, 
 and even of women and children ; and that a vigorous blow might 
 win it with all its spoil : the indefatigable general was absent, scour- 
 ing the country for additional supplies of corn. Fulvius sallied from 
 Beneventum a little before daybreak, and led his soldiers to assault 
 Hanno's position. Under all disadvantages of surpiise and disorder, 
 the Carthaginians resisted so vigorously that Fulvius was on the 
 point of calling off his men, when a biave Pelignian officer threw the 
 standard of his cohort over the enemy's wall, and desperately climbed 
 tlie rampart and scaled the wall to recover it. His cohort ru.shed after 
 him : and a Roman centurion then set the same example, which was 
 followed with eijuaj alacrity. Then the Romans broke into the camp 
 on every side, even the wounded men struggling on with the mass, 
 that they might die within the enemy's i-amparls. The slaughter
 
 LIPE OF HAXXIBAL. 
 
 71 
 
 was .^reat and the prisoners many ; but, above all, the whole of the 
 romwhkh Hanuo had collected for the relief of C apua was lost, and 
 the object of his expedition totally frustrated. He hunseit. hearing of 
 the wreck of his army, retreated with speed intoBru tuun. 
 
 A-^ain the Capuans sent to Hannibal requestnig him to aid them 
 ere it was too late. Their negligence had just cost liim aa army, and 
 had frustrated all his plans for their reliet : but with unmoved tem- 
 per he assured them that he would not forget them, and sent oack 
 2000 of his invincible cavalry with the deputation, lo protect their 
 lands from the enemy's ravages. It was important to him not to 
 leave the south of Italy till the very last moment ; for since he had 
 taken Tarentum, the neighboring Greek cities of Metapontum Her- 
 aclea, and Thurii. had joined him ; and as he had betore won Croton 
 and Locri. he was now master of the whole coast trom the btraits of 
 Messana to the mouth of the Adriatic, with tlie exception of Khe- 
 gium and the citadel of Tarentum. Into the latter the Humans md • 
 hitely thrown supplies of provisions ; aud the gairison wa^ so .stiong 
 
 that Hannibal was unwilling to ^^^'C^j'^lo 9^^l"P=^'"^^ ^tworaWe n 
 powerful force of the enemy was left behind in so favorable a 
 
 ^'"Ihe^'consuls, meanwhile, not content with their own two armies, 
 and with the two legions expected, if not yet arrived, ^J decamp 
 above Suessula, sent to Gracchus in Lucama, desiring him to bring up 
 his cavalry and light troops to Beneventum, to streng hen them in 
 that kind of force in which they fully felt their intenonty. Bu be- 
 fore he could leave his o\vn province, he was drawn into an ambus- 
 cade by the treachery of a Lucanian in the Roman interest, and per- 
 ished HisquEestor, Cn. Cornelius, marched with his cavalry towards 
 Beneventum, according to the consuls' orders ; but the intantiy con- 
 £t"n-of the slaves whom he had enfranchised, thought that their ser- 
 vices were ended by the death of their deliverer, aud immediately dis- 
 persed to their homes. Tiiua Lucania was left without either a vo- 
 man army or general ; but M. Centeniiis, »u old centurion, distn- 
 euished for liis strentrth and courage, undertook the command tlieie. 
 if the senate would intrust him wilii a force equal lo a single egiou. 
 Perhans likeT. romponius Veientauus, he was connected with some 
 of the contractors and moneyed men, and owed iiis appomtmeut as 
 much to their interest us to his own reputation. But he was a brave 
 apd popular soldi(=r ; and so many volunteers louie.l 1"" /'« ^^^ 
 march, hoping to be enriched by the plunder of Lucan.a, that 1 e ar- 
 rived there with a force, it is said, amounting to near sixteeu thousand 
 men Hi.s confidence and that of his f.)lloweis was doomed to bo 
 
 "te^oiSrS that Hannibal was far nway; and they did nc. 
 know that any of his cavalry wen. in Capua They issued oily 
 therefore froni the Caudiue Forks on tiie great Caiu|.a;i.:u. pla.n and 
 Bcatlercd their forces far and wide to destroy the stdl grceii ' 
 
 and 
 curu
 
 72 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 To llioir nstonislimont tlio sntos of Capiia were tlirown open ; and 
 uilli the Cainpaniuii inraiitrv llicy r(.('0,i;nizc(l tlie dreaded eavsdry of 
 llaiiiiil)al. Ill a inoinciil llirir fo"rai;cTs were diiveii in ; and as they 
 hastily furnicd tlieir legions in order ot !)alt!c to cover them, the 
 horsemen broke upon ("hem like a whirlwind, and drove Ihem with 
 great loss and confusion to their camp. 'J'his sharp lesson taught 
 them caution ; but (heir numbers were overwhelming ; and their 
 two armies, encamped liefore ('ajiua, cut off the commimications of 
 the city, and had the harvest of the whole country in their poVer. 
 
 But ere many days had elapsed, an in)welcome sight was seen on 
 the summit of Tifala ; Ilanniljal was there once more with his army. 
 He descended into Capua ; two days afterwards he marched out to 
 battle ; again his invincible Numidiaus struck terror into tlie Roman 
 line, when the sudden arrival of Cu. Cornelius with the cavalry of 
 Cracchus' army broke off the action ; and neither side, it is said, 
 knowing what this new force might be, both as if by common con- 
 sent retreated. How Hannibal so outstripped Cornelius as to arrive 
 from Tarentum on the scene of action two or three days l)efore him, 
 who was coming from Lucania, we are not told, and can only con- 
 jecture. But tiie arrival of this reinforcement, though it liad saved 
 the consuls from defeat, did not embolden them to liold then- ground : 
 they left their camps as soon as night came on; Fulv ins fell down 
 upon the coast, near Cunuie ; Appius Claudius retreated in tlie di- 
 rection of Lucania. 
 
 Few passages in history can offer a parallel to Hannibal s cam- 
 paigns ; but this confident gathering of the enemies' overflowing 
 numbers round tlie city of his nearest allies, his sudden march, the 
 unlooked-for appearance of his dreaded veterans, and the instant .scat- 
 terin"- of the besieging armies before him, remind us of the deliver- 
 ance "of Dresden in 1813, when Napoleon broke in upon the allies 
 confident expectations of victory, and drove them away m signal de- 
 feat. And, like the allies in that great campaign, the Roman gen- 
 erals knew their own strength ; and though yielding to the shock ot 
 their adversary's surpassing energy and genius, they did not allow 
 themselves to be scared from their purpose, but began again steadily 
 to draw the toils which he had once broke through. Great was the 
 joy iu Capua, when the people rose in the morning and sawthc Ro- 
 man camps abandoned : there needs no witness to tell us with what 
 sincere and deep admiration they followed and gazed on their de. 
 jiverer ; how confident they felt that, with him for a shield, no harm 
 could reach them. But almost within sight and In'aring of their joy, 
 the stern old Fulvius was crouchiLg as it were in his thicket, watch- 
 ing the moment for a second spring upon his ])rey ; and wiien Han- 
 nibal left that rejoicing and admiring muliitude to follow the traces 
 of Appius, he passed through the gates of Capua, to enter them again 
 
 no more. . ,, , , . 
 
 Appius retreated in the direction of Lucania : this is all that is re-
 
 LIFE or HANNIBAL. 73 
 
 ported of his march ; and then, after a while, having led his enemy 
 in the direction which suited his purposes, he turned off by another 
 road and made his way baclv to Cumpania. With such a total ab- 
 sence of details, it is impossible to tix the line of his march exactly. 
 It was easy for Appius to take the round of the Matese ; retirmg hrst by 
 the o-reat road to Beueveotum, then turning to liis left and regaming 
 hisotd quarters at Boviauum, f rora wlience, the instant that Hannibal 
 ceased to follow him, he would move along under the north side ot the 
 Matese to.E^ernia and descend again upon Campaniu by the valley ot 
 the Vulturnus. Hannibal's pursuit was necessarily stopped as soon as 
 Appius moved northward fnmi Beneventum : he couldnot support his 
 armv in the country of the Pentaian Samnites, where everything was 
 hosHle to him ; nor did he like to abandon his line of direct communi- 
 cation with southern Italy. He had gained a respite for Capua, and had 
 left an auxiliary force to aid in its defence ; meanwhile other objects 
 must not be neldect.d ; and the fall of the citadel of larentum might, 
 of itself, prevent or raise the siege of Capua. So he turned oli trom 
 following- Appius, and w-as marching back to the south, when he was 
 told tharalloman army was attempting to bar his passage in Lu- 
 cania This was the motley multitude commanded by Centemus, 
 which had succeeded, as we have seen, to the army of Gracchus. 
 With what mad hope, or under what false impression, Centcnius 
 could have been tempted to rush upon certain destruction, we know 
 not • but, in the numlier, no less than in the quality of his troops, he 
 must have been far inferior to his adversary. His men touglit 
 bravely : and he did a centurion's duty Avell, however he may have 
 failed as a general : but he was killed, and nearly fifteen tnousand 
 men are said to have perished with him. , , ^ 
 
 Thus Lucania was cleared of the llomans ; and as tho firmest par- 
 tisan of the Roman interest among tlie Lucanians had bc'cn the very 
 man who had betrayed Gracchus to his fate, it is likely that the Car- 
 thatrinian party Avas triumphant through the whole country. Only 
 one Roman army was left in the south of Italy, the two legions com- 
 manded by C'n. Fulvius Flaccus. the consul's brother, in Apulia. 
 But Cn Fulvius had nothing of his brother's ability ; he was a man 
 grown old in i)rolligacy ; and the diseipline of his army was saul to 
 he in the worst condition. Hannil)al, iiopiug to complete Ins work 
 moved at once into Apulia, and found Fulvius in the neighborhood 
 of Herdonea The Roman general met him in the open held, with- 
 out hesitation, and was prescnilly defeated : he himself escaped from 
 the action, but Hannibal had oeeii|)icd llie principal roads in the reai 
 of the enemy with his Ciivalry ; aii.l tho greatest part of the Roman 
 army was cut to pieces. 
 
 We naturally ask, Wiiat result followed from these two great vkn 
 tories? and to this queslitni we liiid no recorded answer. Hannibal 
 we are told, ntiiriied to Tareiilum ; but nndiiig that the citadel .slijl 
 held out, and could neither be forced nor sur[)nsed, and that provi-
 
 i-i LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 sions were slill introduced by sea, a naval blockade, in r.ncicnt war 
 fare, beiiia; always incflicient, lie marched olT towards Urundisiuni, 
 on sonii- prospect thai tlie town would ho bctriived into bis liands. 
 Tills hope also failed him ; and he remained inactive in Apulia, or in 
 the country of the Salientines, during the rest of the year. Mean- 
 time, the consuls received orders from the senate to collect the 
 wrecks of the two beaten arnues, and to search for the soldiers of 
 Gracchus' army, who had dispersed, as we have seen, after his death. 
 The city praetor, P. Cornelius, carried on the same searcii nearer 
 Rome ; and these duties, says Livy, were all jjcrformed most carefully 
 and vifforously. This is all the information which exists for us iu 
 the remains of the ancient writers ; but, assuredly, this is no military 
 bistory of a campaign. 
 
 It is always to be understood that Hannibal cculd not remain 
 long in an enemy's countrj', frcm the difiiculty of feeding liis 
 men, especially his cavahy. But the counlrj- round Capua was 
 not all hostile ; Atella and Calalia, in the plain of Campania it- 
 self, were still his allies : so were many of the Caudine Sam- 
 uites, from whose cities Ilanno had collected the corn early in this 
 year for the relief of Capua. Again, we can conceive how the num- 
 ber of the Roman armies sometimes oppressed him : how he dared 
 not stay long in one quarter, lest a greater evil should befall him in 
 another. But at this moment, three great disasters, the dispersion oi' 
 the army of Gracchus, and the destruction of those of Centenius and 
 Fulvius^ had cleared the south of Italy of the Romans ; and his 
 friends in Apulia, in Lucania, at Tarentum, and in Bruttiura, could 
 have nothing to fear, had he left them, for the time, to Iheir own re- 
 sources. "NVhy, after defeating Fulvius, did he not retrace his steps 
 towards Campania, hold the field, with the aid of his Campanian and 
 Samnite allies, till the end of the military season, and then winter, 
 close at hand, on the shores of the Gulf of Salerno, in the country of 
 his allies, so as to make it impossible for the Romans either to under- 
 take or to maintain the siege of Capua ? 
 
 That his not doing this was not his own fault, his extraordinary 
 ability and energy may sufticiently assure us ; but, where the hin- 
 drance was, we "cannot, for certain, discover : his armj^ must have 
 been worn l)y its long and rapid marcli to and from Campania, and 
 by two battles fought with so sliort an interval : his wounded must 
 have been ntmierous : nor can we tell how such hard service, in (he 
 beat of summer, may have tried the health of his soldiers : his horses, 
 too, must have needed rest ; and to overstrain the main arm of his 
 strength would have been fatal : perhaps, too, great as was Hanni- 
 bal's ascendency over his army, there was a point beyond which it 
 could not be tried with .safety : long marches and hard-fought battles 
 XCave the .soldier, especially the Gaul and the Spaniard, what, in his 
 eyes, was a rightful claim to a .seasf)n of rest and enjoyment : tlie 
 men might Lave murmured had they not been peiraitied to tasto
 
 LIFE OF HANK^IBAL. 75 
 
 some reward of their victories : besides all these reasons, the necessity 
 of H second march into Campania may not have seemed urgent : the 
 extent of Capua was sreat ; if the Roman consuls did encamp before 
 it still the city was ill no immediate danger ; after the winter, an- 
 other advance' would again enable him to throw supplies into the 
 town, and to drive off the Roman armies ; so Capua was left, for the 
 present, to its own resources, and Hannibal passed the autumn and 
 winter iu Apulia. . 
 
 Immediatelv the Roman armies closed again upon their prey. 
 Three <^rand magazines of corn were established, to feed the besieg- 
 in"- army duriu"- the wiuter, one at Casilinum, within three miles of 
 Capua • anothe^ at a fort built for the purpose at the mouth of the 
 Vulturnus ; and a third at Puteoli. Into these two last magaziuos tha 
 corn was conveyed by sea from Ostia, whither it had already h-eu 
 collected from Sardinia and Etruria. Then the consuls summoned 
 C Xero from his camp above Suessula ; and the three armies began 
 tlieVeat work of surrounding Capua with double continuous liut'S, 
 stron^- enouo-h to repel the besieged on one side, and Ilaimibal on the 
 oth'^r°when^he should again appear in Campania. The inner line 
 was carried round the city, at a distance of alwut a quarter of a mUc 
 from the walls ; the outer line was concentric with it ; and the space 
 between the two served for the cantonments and magazines of the 
 besie"-ers The lines, savs Appian, looked like a great city, inclosing 
 a smaller city in the middle ; like the famous lines of the Peloponne- 
 sians before Plataa. What time was employed in completing them, 
 we know not : they were interrupted by continual sallies of the be- 
 sieged • and Jubellius Taurea and the Capuan cavalry were gener- 
 ally too strong for the Roman horsemen. But their infantry could do 
 nothin"- agamst the legions ; the besieging army must have 
 amounted nearly to sixty thousand men ; and slowly but surely the 
 imprisonin"- walls were raised and their circle completed, shutting 
 out the last'gleams of liglit fn^m the eyes of the devoted city. 
 
 Before the works were closed all round, the consuls, accordmg to 
 the senate's directions signified to them by the city pra;lor, an- 
 nounced to the Capuans, that whoever chose to come out of the city 
 with his family and property before the ides of March, might do so 
 with .safety, ami siiouhl be untouched in body or goods. It would 
 seem, then, that the works were not completed till late in the waiter ; 
 for we cannot -suppose that the term of grace would have been pro- 
 longed to a remoU? day, especially as the ides of Marcii were the be- 
 irinnin"- of the new consular year ; and it could not be known long 
 beforehand whether the iiresent consuls would be continued u\ their 
 command or iif). T\v olfcr was received hy the besieged, it is said, 
 with open scorn ; their provisions were as yet abundant, their cav- 
 alry excellent ; their hope of aid from Hannibal, as soon as the cam- 
 paign should open, was crmfident. But Fulvius waited his lime ; 
 nor was his tliirst for Capuan blood to be disappointed by his remo-
 
 76 LIFE OF HANNUIAL. 
 
 ral from tlio siege at Ihn end of the year : it would seem as if the 
 new consuls were men of no great consideration, ai)i)ointed probably 
 for that verv reason, that then- claims might not interfere with those 
 of their predecessors. One of them, P. Sulpicius (Tall)a, Inid filled 
 no curule otlicc previously ; the other, Cn. Fnlvius Centumalus, had 
 been pra-tor two years before, but was not distinguished by any re- 
 markal)le action. The siege of Capua was still to be conducted by 
 Appius t'laudius and Fulvius ; and they were ordered not to retiie 
 from their positions till they .should have taken the city. 
 
 What was the state of affairs in Ca]nia meantime, we know not. 
 The llomau stories are little to be credited, which represent all the 
 richer and nobler chi/ensas abandoning the government, and leaving 
 the office of chief magistrate, Meddi.x Tuticus, to be filled by one Sep- 
 pius Lesius, a man of obscure condition, who olTcred liimself as a 
 candidate. Neither Vibius Yirrius nor Juhellius Taurea wanted res- 
 olution to abide by their country to the last ; and it is expressly said 
 that, down to tlie latest peri<jd of the siege, there was no Roman party 
 in Capua ; no voice was heard to speak of peace or surrender ; no 
 citizen had embraced the consul's offers of mercy. Even when they 
 liad failed to prevent tlie completion of the Roman lines, they con- 
 tinued to make frequent sallies ; and the proconsuls could only with- 
 stand their cavalry by mi.xing light-armed foot soldiers amongst the 
 Roman horsemen' and thus strengthening that weakest arm in the 
 Roman service. Still, as the blockade was not fully established, fam- 
 ine mu.st be felt sooner or later ; accordingly aNumidianwas sent to 
 implore Hannibal's aid, and succeeded in getting through the Ro- 
 man lines, and carrying his message safely to Bruttium. 
 
 Hannibal listened to the prayer, and leaving his heavy baggage 
 and the mass of his army behind, set out with his cavalry and light 
 infantrv, and with thirty-three elephants. Whether his Saninite and 
 Lucanian allies joined him on the march is not stated ; if they did 
 not and if secrecy and expedition were deemed of more importance 
 than an addition of force, the troops which he led with him must 
 liave been more like a single corps than a complete army. Avoiding 
 Beneventum, he descended the valley of the Calor towards the Vul- 
 turnus, stormed a Roman post, which had been built apparently to 
 cut off the communications of the besieged with the upper valley 
 of the Yulturnus, and encamped immediately behind the ridge 
 of Tifata. From thence he descended once more into the plain of 
 Capua, disi)layed his cavalry before the ]{oman lines in the hope of 
 tempting tiiein out to batth^ and finding that this did not succeed, 
 commenced a general assault upon their works. 
 
 Unprovided with any artillery, his best hope was that the Romans 
 might be allured to make some rash .sally : his cavalry advanced by 
 squadrons up to the edge of the trench, and discharged showers of 
 missiles into the lines ; whilst his infantry assailed the rampart, and 
 tried to force their way through the palisade which surmounted it.
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 7? 
 
 From within the lines were attacked by the Campauiiins siml Hanni- 
 bal's auxiliary garrison ; but the Romans were numerous enough to 
 defend both fronts of their works ; they held their ground steadily, 
 neither yielding nor rashly pursuing ; and Hannibal, finding his 
 utmost efTorts vain, drew off his army. Some resolution must be 
 tiiken promptly ; his cavalry could not be fed where he was, for the 
 Romans had preyiousl}' destroyed or carried away everything that 
 might serve for forage ; nor could he venture to wait till the new 
 consuls should have raised their legions, and be ready to march from 
 Rome and threaten his rear. One only hope remained ; one attempt 
 might yet be made, which should either raise the siege of Capua or 
 accomplisii a still greater object : Hannibal resolved to march upon 
 Rome. 
 
 A Numidian was again found, who undertook to pass over to the 
 Roman lines as a deserter, and from thence to make his escape into 
 Capua, bearing a letter from Hannil)al, which explained his purpose, 
 and conjured the Oapuans patiently to abide the issue of his attempt 
 for a little while. When this letter reached Capua, Hannil)al was 
 already gone ; his camp-tires had been seen burning as usual all night 
 in his accustomed position on Tifata ; but he liad begun his march 
 the preceding evening, immediately after dark, while the Itomans 
 still tiiouglit that his army was hanging over their heads, and were 
 looking for a second assault. 
 
 His army disappeared from the eyes of the Romans behind Tifata ; 
 and they knew not whither he w\as gone. Even so it is with us at 
 this day ; we lose him from Tifata ; we lind him before Rome ; but 
 we know nothing of his course between. Coullicting and contradic- 
 tory accounts have made the truth imdiscoverable : what regions of 
 Ital}^ looked with fear or hope on the march of the great general and 
 liis famous soldiers, it is impossible from our existing records to de- 
 termine. All accounts say that, descendmg nearly liy the old route 
 of the Gauls, he kept the Tiber on his right and the Anio on his 
 left ; and that, finally, he crossed the Anio, and encamped at a dis- 
 tance of less than four miles from the walls of Rome. 
 
 Before tlie sweeping pursuit of his Numiilians. crowds of fugitives 
 were seen Hying towards the city, whilst the s.iioke of burning houses 
 arose far and wide into the sky. Within the walls the confusion and 
 terror were at their licight ; he was come at last, this llannil)al, 
 whom they liad so long dreafied ; he had at length dared what evea 
 the slaughter of Canniu had not endjoldened him to venture ; some 
 victory greater even than Cannre nuist have given him tbis confi- 
 dence ; the three armies before Cajjua must be utterly destroyed ; 
 last year lie had destroyed or dispersed three other armies, and had 
 gained possession of the entire south of Italy ; and now he had 
 stormed the lines l)efore Cajiua, had cut to pieces the whole remain- 
 ing force of the Roman pi;o|)li', ami was come to Rome to liiiisli bin 
 work. So the wives and mothers of Rome lamented, as they hor-
 
 ib LIFE OF HANNIBAL. 
 
 ried to the temples ; and there, prostrate before the gnds, and sweep 
 inir tlif s;uic(i pavement wiili their unhouiid hiiir'in the agony of 
 their fear. Mh'v remained pouriii.ir t'orlh their pia^'ers for dehvenvnce. 
 Tlieir sons and husl)aiids liastened to man tlie walls and the ciladei, 
 and lo seeMre the most important jxjints withotit the city ; whilst the 
 senate, as calm as their fathers of old, whom the Gaids massacred 
 when sitting at their own doors, but with the energy of manly resolu- 
 tion, rather than the resignation of desi)air, met in the' forum, and 
 there remained assembled, to direct every magistrate ou the iustaut 
 how he /night best fulfil his duty. 
 
 But God's rare watched over the safety of a people whom he had 
 chosen to work out the purposes of his providence : Rome was not 
 to jierish. Two city legions were to be raised, as usual, at the be- 
 ginning of the year ; and it so happened that the citizens from the 
 country tribes were to meet at Rome on this very day for the enlist- 
 ment for one of these legifjus ; whilst the soldiers of the other, which 
 had b';en enrolled a short time before, were to appear at Rome ou 
 this same day in arms, having been allowed, as the custom was, to 
 return home for a few days" after their enlistment, to prepare for 
 active service. Thus it happened that ten thousand men were 
 brought together at the very moment when they were most needed, 
 and were ready to repel any assault upon tlie Wiills. The allies, it 
 seems, were not ordinarilj^ called out to serve with the two city 
 legions ; but on this occasion it is mentioned that the Latin colouj' of 
 Alba, having seen Hannibal pass by their walls, and guessing the ob- 
 ject of his march, sent its whole force to assist in the defence of 
 Rome ; a zeal whic;h the Greek writers compared to that of Plataea, 
 whose citizens fought alone by the side of the Athenians on the day 
 of Marathon. 
 
 To assault the walls of Rome was now hopeless ; but the open 
 country was at Hannibal's mercy, a countr}' which had seen no ene- 
 my for near a hundred and fifty years, cultivated and inhabited in 
 the full security of peace. Far and wide it was overrun by Hanni- 
 bal's soldiers ; and the army appears to have moved about, encamp- 
 ing in one place after another, and sweeping cattle and prisoners and 
 plunder of every sort, beyond numbering, within the enclosure of its 
 camp. 
 
 It was probably in the course of these excursions, that Hannibal, 
 at the head of a large body of cavalry, came close up to the Colline 
 gate, rode along leisurely under the walls to see all he could of the 
 city, and is said to have east his javelin into it as in defiance. From 
 farthest Spain he had come into Italy ; he had wasted the whole 
 countiy of the Romans and Iheii allies with fire and sword for more 
 than .six jears, had slain more of their citizens than were now alive 
 to bear arms again.st him ; and at last he was shutting them up with- 
 in their city, and riding freely under their walls, while none dared 
 meet him m the field. If au^'thiug of disappoiutmeut depressed hitt
 
 i,lFE OF HAXXIBAL. '<9 
 
 mind at that instant ; if he felt that Rome's strengtli vras not broker. 
 S^r tlie .s, r t of her people (^uellt-d, that his own tortuoe ^v.^^ waver- 
 fnc m Urn his last effort had been made, and made in vam ; yet 
 Shlldno- w ere he was, and of the shame and loss which his presence 
 wifcaSsn" to his enemies, he must have wished that his father 
 could have lived to see that day, and must have thanked the gods of 
 hS country that they had enabled him so fully to pertonn his vow^ 
 ^^For soml tin.e, w'e know not how long, tins ^I'^vastat.on of he Ro- 
 man territory lasted without opposition. ]\Ieanwhile the siege of 
 Sua was no raised ; and Fabius, in earnestly dissuading such a 
 cSsion of fear, showed that he could be hrm no 1-J ^f ^.'7,^^; 
 tious when boldness was the highest prudence. But tulvius wi.n 
 a .mall portion of the besieging army, was recalled to Rome : Fabius 
 hacUveJ acted with him, and was glad to have the aid of his courage 
 and abiity ; and when he arrived, and by a vote of the senate was 
 Suited wh the consuls in the command, the Roman forces were led 
 ou of thi city, and encamped, according to Fabms' old Pohci% witn- 
 
 S ten stadia if the enemy, to check "^'^ ^'^^ I'^i^^'^tf^^Z. htd 
 the same time, parties acliug on the rear of Hanniba s aimy had 
 brokXlown t hi bridges over the Anio, his lino ot retreat like his 
 advance being on thc'right bank of that river, and not by the Latin 
 
 '°?Lnibal had purposely waited to all..)W time for ^is movement to 
 produce its intended effect in the raising of the siege of Capua 
 That time according to his calculations, was now come ; the news 
 of h s aldval beforeliome must have reached the Roman Imes before 
 Capua ; and the armies from tliat quarter, hastening by the Latin 
 nS to the defence of their city, must have left the comnu.mca ion 
 with Capua free. The presence of Fulvius with his army in Latium 
 well Hannibal would in..tantly discover, by the thrice-repea ed 
 sounding of tbe watch, as llasdrubal found out Isero s arrival m the 
 camp ot"Livius near Sena, would conlirm him in his expectation that 
 Ue other proconsul was on his mr.rch with tlie mass of the army ; 
 and he accordingly commenced his retreat by the Tiburtme road 
 that he might not encounter Appius in front, while the consuls and 
 1 abius were pressing on his rear. i i ^^ ,.fr„r.t- 
 
 Accordin-dV. as the bridges were destroyed, he proceeded to effect 
 his passage ""through the river, and carried over his army under the 
 Section of his cavalry, although the Ron.an.s attacked him during 
 the passage, and cut off a larg.-, part of the plunder whu-n he hac col- 
 lected fronl the neighborhood of Rome. He then continued his 
 retreat ; an.l the Romans followed him. but at a (.irelul distance, and 
 keeping steadily on the higher grounds, to be safe from the assaults 
 
 ""S^rtldTnllinner'lIannil.al marched with the greatest rapidity for 
 five .lavs, which, if he w:is moving by the Valerian road, must have 
 brought him at least as far us the country of the Marsians. and Iho
 
 60 LIFE OF IIANNIHAL. 
 
 shores of (he lake Fuciuus. From Ihence, he would again have 
 crossed by the Forca Carrosa to tlie plain of (he Pcligniaiis, and so 
 retraced his steps throuiih Saniniuin, towards C'apua. But at tliis 
 point, he received inlc-iliyence that the Itonian annies were still in 
 (heir lines ; that his march upon Rome had, therefore, failed ; aufl 
 that his communications with Capua were as hopeless as ever. In- 
 stantl}-, he changed all his plans ; and, feeling obliged to al)andon 
 Capua, the importance of his operations in the south rose upon hini 
 in proportion. Hitherto, he had not tliought til to delay his march 
 for the sake of attacking the army whicli was pursuing him ; but 
 now he resolved to rid himself of this enemy ; so he turned fiercely 
 upon them, and assaulted their camp in the night. The Romans, 
 surprised and confounded, were driven from it, with considerable 
 loss, and took refuge in a strong position in the mountains. Hanni- 
 bal then resumed his march ; but, instead of turning short to his 
 right, towards Campania, descended towards the Adriatic and the 
 plains of Apulia, and from thence returned to what was now the 
 stronghold of his power in Italy, the country of the Bruttians. 
 
 The citadel of Tareutimi still held out against him ; but Rhegium, 
 contident in its remoteness, had never yet seen his cavalry in its terri- 
 tory, and was now less likely than ever to dread liis presence, as he 
 had so lately been heard of in the heart of Italy, and under the walls 
 of Rome. With a rapid march, therefore, he hastened to surprise 
 Rhegium. Tidings of his coming reached -the city just in time for 
 the Rhegians to shut their gates against him ; hut 'half their people 
 were in the country, in the full security of peace ; and these all fell 
 into his power. We know not whether he treated them kindly, as 
 lioping tlirough their means to win Rhegium, as he had won Taren- 
 turn, or whether disappointment was now stronger than hope ; and 
 despairing of drawing the allies of Rome to his side, he was now as 
 inveterate against them as against the Romans. He retired from his 
 fruitless attempt to win Rhegium only to receive the tidings of the 
 loss of Capua. 
 
 The Romans had patiently waited their time, and were now to reap 
 their reward. The consuls were both to command in Apulia with 
 two consular armies ; one of them therefore must have returned to 
 Rome, to raise the two additional legions which were required. 
 Fulvius hastened back to the lines before Capua. His prey was now 
 in his power ; the straitness of the blockade could no longer be en 
 dured, and aid from Hannibal was not to be hoped. It is said that 
 mercy was still promised to any Capuan who should come over to the 
 Romans before a certain day, but that none availed them.selves of the 
 oflfer, feeling, says Livy, that their offence was beyond forgiveness. 
 This can only mean that they believed the Romans to be a,s faithless 
 as they were cruel, and felt sure that every promise of mercy would 
 Ije evaded or openly broken. One last attempt was made to summon 
 Hannibal again to their aid ; but the Numidians employed on the
 
 LIFE OF HANXIBAL. 81 
 
 service were detected this time in tlie Roman lines, and were sent 
 baclc torn witli stripes, and with their liauds cut oft", inlo the city. 
 
 Xo Capuan writer has survived to record the last struggle of his 
 country ; and never were any people less to i»e l)elieved than the Ro- 
 mans, when spealdno; of their enemies. Yet the greatest man could 
 not have supported Ihe expiring weakness of an unheroic people ; 
 and we liear of no great man in Capua. Some of the principal men 
 in the senate met, it is said, at the house of one of then- number, 
 Vibius Virrius, where a magniticeut banquet had been prepared for 
 them ; they ate and drank.^and when the feast was over, they alL 
 swallowed poison. Then, having done with pleasure and with life, 
 they took a last leave of each other ; they embraced each other, 
 lamenting- with many tears their own and their country's calamity ; 
 and some" remained to be burned together on the same funeral pile 
 whilst others went away to ilie at their own homes. All were dead 
 before the Romans entered the city. 
 
 In the mean while the Capuan government, unable to restrain their 
 starving people, had been obliged to surrender to the enemy. In 
 modern warfare the surrender of a besieged town involves no ex- 
 treme suffering ; even in civil wars, justice or vengeance only de- 
 mands a certain number of victims, and the mass of the population 
 scarcely feels its condition affected. Bat surrender, deddM, accord- 
 ing to the Roman laws of war, ijlaccd the property, liberties, and 
 lives of the whole surrendered people at the absolute disposal ot the 
 conquerors ; and that not formally, as a right, the enforcement of 
 which were monstrous, but as one to abate Avhich in any instance 
 was an act of free mercv. 
 
 The conquest of Capua was one of the most important services 
 ever rendered by a Roman general to his country. It did not 
 merely deprive Hannibal of the greatest fruit of his greatest victory, 
 and thus seem to undo the work of Cannse ; but its effect was felt far 
 and wide, encouraging the allies of Rome, and .striking terror into 
 her enemies ; tempting the cities which had revolted to return with- 
 out delay to their allegiance, and tilling Hannibal with .suspicions of 
 those who were still true to him, as if they only waited to purchase 
 their pardon by some act of treachery towards his garrisons. By 
 the recovery of Capua his great experiment seemed decided against 
 him. It appeared impossible, under any circumstances, to rally such 
 a coalition of the Italian states against the Roman power in Italy, as 
 might be able to overtlirow it. \Ve almost ask, AVilh what reason- 
 ubie hoi)es could Hannibal from this tiuK; fi)rward contiiuR' the war^ 
 or, Wliy did he not change the seal of it from Soutlieru Italy tc 
 Elruria and Cisalpine (Jaul ? 
 
 But with whatever feelings of di.sappointmeiit and grief he may 
 have heard of the fall of Capua, of the ruin of his allies, the l)l()()dy 
 death of .so maiiv of the Capuan senators, and of tiie brave Jubcllms 
 Taurca, whom he had personally known and honored, yet the last
 
 82 LIFE OF IIANNIUAL. 
 
 campaign was not without many solid grounds of onroiirngonient. 
 Never had the invincible force of his army been more fully proved. 
 He had overrun half Italy, had crossed and recrossed the passes of 
 the Apennines, had plunged into the midst of the I^oman allies, and 
 had laid waste the territory of Kome with fire and sword. Yet no 
 superiority of numbers, no advantage of ground, no knowledge of 
 the country, had ever emboldened tlie Romans to meet him in the 
 field, or even to beset his road, or to ul)struct and harass Iiis march. 
 .Once only, when he was thought to be retreating, had they ventured 
 4 to follow him at a cautious distance ; but lie had turned upon them in 
 his strength ; and the two consuls, and Q. Fulvius witli them, were 
 driven before him us fugitives to the mountains, their camp stormed, 
 and their legions scattered. It was plain, then, that he might hold 
 his ground in Italy as long as he pleased, supporting his aimy at its 
 cost, and draining the resources of Rome and her allies year after 
 year, till, in mere exhaustion, the Roman commons would probably 
 join the Latin colonies and the allies, in forcing the senate to make 
 peace. 
 
 At this very moment Etruria was restless, and required an army 
 of two legions to keep it quiet : the Roman commons, in addition to 
 their heavy taxation and military service, had seen their lands laid 
 ■waste, and yet were called upon to bear fresh burdens : and there 
 ■was a spirit of discontent working in the Latin colonies, which a lit- 
 tle more i)rovocation might excite to open revolt. Spain, besides, 
 seemed at last to be freed from the enemy ; and the recent defeats 
 and deaths of the two Scipios there held out the hope to Hannibal 
 Ihat now at length his brother Ilasdrubal, having nothing to detain 
 him in Spain, might lead a second Carthaginian army into Italy, and 
 establish himself in Etruria, depiiving Rome of the resources of the 
 Etruscan and Umbrian states, as she had already lost those of half 
 Bamnium, of Lucania, Brutl ium, and Apulia. Then, assailed, at once 
 by two sons of Ilamilcar, on the north and the sonth, the Roman pow- 
 er, which one of them, singly, had so staggered, must, by the joint 
 efforts of both, be beaten to the ground and destroyed. "With such 
 hopes, and with no unreasonable confidence, Hannibal consoled 
 himself for the loss of Capua, and allowed his army, after its severe 
 marching, to rest for the remainder of the year in Apulia. 
 
 The commencement of the next season ■u'as marked by the fall of 
 Salapia, which was betrayed by the inhabitants to Marcellus ; but 
 tliis loss was soon avenged by the total defeat and destruction of the 
 i army of the proconsul Cn. Fulvius, at Ilcrdonea. Marcellus, on hia 
 part, carefully avoided an action for the rest of the campaign ; wliilst 
 he harassed his opponent by every possible means. Thus the rest o! 
 that summer, too, wore away without any important results. But 
 thi.s state of comparative ir.activify was necessarily injurious to the 
 cause of Hannibal : the nations of Italy that Iiad espoused that cause, 
 ■when triumphant, now began to waver in thtir attachment ; and, in
 
 ~ LIFE OF HANNIBAL. S'^ 
 
 the course of the following summer, the Samnites and Lucanians 
 submitted to Rome, and were admitted to favorable terms. A stiil 
 more disastrous blow to the Carthaginian cause -was the loss of 
 Tareutum, which wa3 betrayed into the hands of Fabius, as it had 
 been into those of Hannibal." In vaia did the latter seek to draw the 
 Roman General iuto a snare ; the wary Fabius eluded his toils. But 
 Marcellus, after a pretended victory over Hannibal, during the earlier 
 part of the campaign, had shut himself up %vithin the walls of 
 Venusia, and remai^ned there in utter inactivity. Hannibal, mean- 
 while, still traversed the open country unopposed, and laid waste the 
 territories of his enemies. Yet we caiinot suppose that he any longer 
 looked for ultimate success from any efforts of his own : his object 
 was, doubtless, now only to maintain his ground in the south, until 
 his brother Hasdrubal should appear in the north of Italy, an event 
 to which he had long looked forward with anxious expectation. 
 
 Yet the following summer was not unmarked by some brilliant 
 achievements. Tiie Romans having formed the siege of Locri, a 
 legion, which was dispatched Id their support from Tareutum, was 
 intercepted in its march, and utterly destroyed ; and not long after- 
 wards, the two consuls, Crispinus and JMarcellus, who, with their 
 united armies, were opposed to Hannibal in Lucania, allowed them- 
 selves to be led into an ambush, in which Marcellus was killed and 
 Crispinus was mortally wouucled. After this, the Roman armies 
 withdrew, while Hannibal hastened to Locri, and not only raised the 
 siege, but utterlv destroyed, the besieging army. Thus he again 
 found himself imdisputed master of the south of Italy during the re- 
 mainder of tliis campaign. 
 
 Of the two consuls of the ensuing year, C. Nero was opposed to 
 Hannibal, while M. Livius was appointed to take the tield against 
 Hasdrubal, who had at length crossed the Alps, and descended into 
 Cisalpine Gaul. According to Livy, Hannibal was apprised of his 
 brother's arrival at Placentia before he had himself moved from his 
 winter quarters ; but it is difficult to believe that, if this had been the 
 ca.se, he would not have made more energetic efforts to join him. If 
 we can trust the narrative transmitted to us, which is certainly in 
 many respects un.satisfactory, Hannibal spent much time in vari- 
 ous unimportant movements, before he advanced nortiiward into 
 Apulia, where he was met by the Roman consul, and not onlv held 
 in check, but so effectually deceived that he knew nothing of Nero's 
 march to support his colleague until after his return ; and the lirst 
 tidings of the battle of Metaurus were conveyed to him by the sight 
 of the head of Hasdrubal. 
 
 But, whatever exaggeration Ave may justly suspect in this relation, 
 it i.s not the less certain that the defeat ami death of Ha-<lrubiil was 
 decisive of the fate of the war in Italy ; and llie conduct of Hannil)al 
 shows that he felt it to be such. From tliis time he abandons all 
 thou^jhts of offensive operations, and, withdrawing his garrisons from
 
 M LIFK OF ll.VNXIliAL. 
 
 Metapoutum aud other towns that he still held in Lncania, collected 
 together his forces within the peninsula of Bruttium. In the fast- 
 nesses of that ■« ild and mountainous region, he maintained his ground 
 for nearly four jears ; whilst the towns that he still possessed on the 
 coast gave him ihe ciimniand of the sia. Of Ihe events of these four 
 years, we know but little. It appears that the Romans at lirst con- 
 tented themselves with shutting him up within the peninsula, but 
 gradually began to encroach upon these bounds ; and though the 
 statements of their repeated victories are gross exaggerations, if not 
 altogether unfounded, yet the successive loss of Licri. Consentia, and 
 Pandosia, besides smaller towns, must have hemmed him in within 
 hmits continually narrowing. Crotoua seems to have been his chief 
 stronghold and centre of operations ; and it was during this period 
 that he erected, in the temple of the Lacinian Juno, near that city, a 
 column bearing an inscription which recorded the leading events of 
 his memorable expedition. To this imporlaut monument, which was 
 seen and consulted by Polybius, we are indebted for many of t)ie 
 statements of that author. 
 
 It is difficult to judge, wliether it was the expectation of effective 
 assistance from Carthage, or the hopes of a fresh diversion being 
 operated by Mago in the Xorth, that induced Hannibal to cling so 
 pertinaciously to the corner of Italy that he still held. It is certain 
 that he was, at any time, free to quit it ; and when, at length, he 
 was induced to comply with the urgent request of the Carthaginian 
 government that he should return to Africa, to make head against 
 Seipio, he was able to embark his troops without an attempt at oppo- 
 sition. His departure from Italy seems, indeed, to have been the 
 great object of desire with the Romans. For more than fifteen years 
 had he carried on the war in that country, laying it waste from one 
 extremity to the other, and during all this period his superiority in 
 the field had been uncontested. The Romans calculated that in these 
 fifteen years their losses in the field alone amounted to not less than 
 300,000" men ; a statement which will hardly appear exaggerated, 
 when we consider the continual combats in w hich they were engaged 
 by their ever-watchful foe. 
 
 Hannibal landed, with the small but veteran army which he was 
 able to bring with him from Itah', at Leptis, in Africa, apparently 
 before the close of the year 203.' From thence he proceeded to the 
 strong citj' of Hadrimietum. The circumstances of the campaign 
 which followed are very differentl}' related ; nor will our space allow 
 us to enter into any discussion of the details. Some of these, es- 
 pecially the well-known account of the inter\iew between Seipio and 
 Hannibal, savor strongly of romance, notwithstanding the high 
 authority of Polybius. The decisive action was fought at a place 
 called Xaragara, not far from the city of Zama ; and Hannibal, ac- 
 cording to the express testimony of his antagonist, displa^'ed, on this 
 occasion, all the qualities of a consummate general. But he was
 
 LIFE OF UAXXIBAL. 85 
 
 now particularly deficiont in that formidable cavalrj' wliicli liarl so 
 often decided the victory in bis favor: bis elephants, of which he 
 had a ^ reat number, were rendered unavailing by the skilful man- 
 ai-emeut of Scipio ; and the batile ended in his complete deteat, not- 
 withstandiu''- the heroic exertions of his veteran infantry. Twenty 
 thousand of his men fell on the field of battle ; as many more were 
 made prisoners and Hannibal himself with difficulty escaped the pur- 
 suit of Masinissa, and he fled with a few horsemen to Hadrumetum. 
 Here he succeeded in collecting about 6000 men, the remnant of his 
 scattered army, with whom he repaired to Carthage. But all hopes 
 of resistance were mw at an end, and he was one of the first to urge 
 the necessity of an immediate peace. Much lime, however, appear3 
 to have been occupied in the negotiations for this purpose ; and the 
 treatv was not finally concluded until after the battle of Zama. 
 
 By this treatv. Hannibal saw the object of his whole life frustrated, 
 and Carthafj-e was effectually humbled before her imperious rival. 
 But his entnitv to Rome was unabated ; and though now more than 
 45 veurs old, he set himself to work, like his father Hamilcar aflei 
 the' end of the first Punic war, to prepare the means of renewing thff 
 contest at a distant period. His first measures related to the internal 
 affairs of Carthage, and were directed to the reform of abuses in thi 
 administration, and in the introduction of certain constitutional 
 rhan.fes, which our imperfect knowledge of the government of Car- 
 tiia"-*? wholly disqualifies us clearlv to understand. We are told that 
 after the termination of the war with Rome. Hannibal was assailed 
 by the opposite faction with charges of remissness, and even 
 treachery, in his command ; accusations so obviously false, that they 
 appear to have recoiled on the heads of his accusers ; and he was not 
 only acqudte 1. but shortly afterwards was rai.sed to the chief mag- 
 istracy of the repu!)lic, the office styled by Livy prrctor : by which it 
 is probable that he means one of the suffetes. But the virtual con- 
 trol of the wliole government had at this time been assumed by the 
 assembly of judges, apparently the sam^ as the council of one iiun- 
 dred, evidentlv a high and aristocratic body ; and it was only by 
 the overthrowof this power th it Hannibal was enabled to introduce 
 order into the finances of the state, and thus prepare the way for the 
 gradual restoration of the republic. But though he succeeded in ac- 
 complishing this object, and in introducing the most beneficial re- 
 forms, such a revolution could not but irritate the adverse faction, 
 and they soon found an opportunity of revenging themselves, by de- 
 nouncing him to the Rom uis, as l)ciug engaged in negotiations with 
 Antiochus HI., King of Svria, to induce him to take up arms 
 a'Minst Rom". Tlicre can be little doubt that the charge was well 
 f.tunded, and H.iiinib.il saw (hat iiis enemies were too strong for him. 
 No sooner, therefore, did t\vi Roman envoys appear at Carthage, 
 thui he secretly took to flight, and escaped by sea to the island of 
 Cercina, from whence he retired to Tyre, and thence agam, afi^r a
 
 8« 
 
 LIFE OF HANNIBAL, 
 
 plior*, .nlorval, to the court of Autinclius .it Ephesus. Tlie Syrian 
 inoiKi.x)! was at this lime on the eve (>f war wilh Home, tiioueh hos- 
 lihties ihidnotyotconimeucecl. lleuce llaDiiiha! was wtlcdiiied with 
 Iho utmuM iiouors. lint xVuliocliiis, partly lUThaps from incapacitv 
 partly, aiso, trom personal jealousy, encuuran-cd by the iiitri-ues of 
 us courtiei., could nor be induced to listen to his judicious counsels, 
 the wisdom ')f winch he was compelled to acknowled-e when too 
 Jate. llaumbal m vam ur-ed the necessity ol cairyiny- ihe war at 
 once into Italy, instead of awaitin- the Romans in Greece The 
 king could not be persuaded to place a force at his disposal for this 
 J^.".''P°-^'iv'"fl «?')t ^i'" instead to assemble a Iket for him from the 
 cities of Plurmcia. This Hannibal ellected, and took the command 
 ot it in person ; but his previous habits could liave little ()unlilied him 
 for this service, and he was defeated by tlie Ehodiau Heet. in an 
 action near bide. But UL.mportant as his services in this war appear 
 o have been, he was still i. warded by the Komiuis with such appre- 
 hension, that his surrender ,vas one of the conditions of the peace 
 granted to Antiochus after hL defeat at Mannesia. ' Hannibal, how- 
 ever toresaw his danger, and nade liis escape to Crete, from whence 
 he atterwards repaired to the court of Prusias, King of Bithynia 
 Another account represents him as repairing from the court of Anti- 
 ochus to Armenia, where it is .said he found refuo-e for a time with 
 Artaxias, one of the generals of Antiochus, who had revolted from 
 his master, and that he supeiinlended tlie foundation of Artaxata, 
 the new capital ol the Armenian kingdom. In any case it was irl 
 the kingdom of Prusias that he took iip ]iis abode.* That monarch 
 was in a state of hostility with Eumenes, the faithful ally of Rome' 
 and on that account unfriendly, at least, to the Romans. Here' 
 therefore, he found, for .seme jears, a secure asylum, during which 
 time we are told that he ccmmanded the fleet of Prusias in a naval 
 action against Eumenes, and trained a victory over that monarch 
 absurdly attributed, by Cornelius Nepos and Justin, to the stratagem 
 of throwing vessels filled wdth serpents into the enemy's ships ! But 
 the Romans could not be at ease so long as Hannibal lived ; and T 
 Quiutius Flamininus was at length dispatched to the court of' Prusias 
 to demand the surrender of the fugitive. The Bithynian king was 
 unable to resist, and he sent troops to arrest liis illustrious guest ; but 
 Hannibal, who had long been in expectation of such an event, as, 
 soon a.s he found that all approaches were beset, and that flight was 
 impossible, took poison, to avoid falling into the hands of his ene- 
 mies. The year of his death is uncertain, having been a subject of 
 much dispute among the Roman chronologers. The le.'-tim'ouy ot 
 Polybius on the; point, which would have appeared conclusive, is 
 doubtful. Prom the expressions of Livy, we should certainly have 
 iul;erred that he placed the death of Hannibal, together wilh tho.se of 
 Scipio and Philopa'men. in the consulship of M. 'Claudius Marcellui 
 »iid Q. Fabius Labcs ; and liiis, which was the date adopted by
 
 LIFE OF HAN^'IBAL. 87 
 
 Atticus, appears on the whole the most probable : but Corneiiug 
 Nepos expressly says that Polybius assigned it to tlie following year, 
 and Sulpicius to the year after that. The scene of his death and 
 burial was a villagv; named Libyssa, on the coast of Bithynia. 
 
 Hanaibal's character has been very variously estimated by different 
 writers. 
 
 A man who had rendered himself formidable to the Roman power, 
 and had wrought them such extensive mischief, could hardly fail to be 
 the object of tiie falsest calumnies and misrepresentations during his 
 life ; and there can be no doubt that many such were recorded in the 
 pages of tiie historian Fabius, and have been transmitted to us by 
 Appian and Zonares. He was judged with less passion, and, on tho 
 whole, with great impartiality, by Polj'bius. An able review of his 
 character will be found also in Dion Cassius. But that writer tells 
 us that he was accused of avarice by the Carthaginians, and of 
 cruelty by the Romans. ]Many instances of the latter are certainly 
 recorded by the Rjman historians ; but even if we were to admit 
 them all as true (and many of them are demonstrably false), they do 
 not exceed, or even equal, wha* tiie sam ; writers "have related of 
 their own generals: and severity, often degenerating into cruelty,' 
 seems to have been so characteristic of the Carthaginians in general, • 
 that Hannibal's conduct in this respect, as compared with that of his 
 countrymen, deserves to be regarded as a favorable exception. We 
 find him readily entering into an agreement with Fabius for an ex- 
 change of pris jncrs ; and it was only the sternn'jss of the Romans 
 themselves that prevented the same humane arrangements from be- 
 ing carried throughout the war. On many occasions, too, his gen- 
 erous sympathy for his fallen foes bsars witness of a noble spirit, and 
 his treatment of the dead bodies of Flaminius, of Gracchus, and of 
 Marcellus, contrasts most favorably with liie barbarity of Claudius 
 Nero to that of ILisdrubal. Tlie charge of avarice appears to have 
 been as little founded : of such a vice, in its lowest acceptation, he 
 was certainly incapable ; though it is not imlikeli'that he was greedy 
 of money for the prosecution of his great schemes ; and, perhaps, 
 unscrupulous in his modes of accjuiring it. Among other virtues he is 
 extolled for his temperance and continence, and for the fortitude with 
 ■which he endured every species of toil and hardship. Of ids abil- 
 ities as a general it is unneces.sary to speak : all the great masters of 
 the art of war, from Scipio to Napoleon, have concurred in their 
 homage to his genius. But in comparing Hannibal with any other 
 of the great leaders of antii|uity, we must ever bear in mind the pecu- 
 liar circumstances in whicli he was placed. He was not in Ihe 
 position eithi'r of a jjowcrful mnnarcii, disposing at bis picasur<! of 
 tlie whole resources of llie stat(t, nur yil in Iliiilof a icpiililicun !( ader 
 pupported by the patriolisin and national spirit of {]\v. pcoi)le liiat fol- 
 lowed him to battle. Feebly and griidginglv supported b^' the gov- 
 erumcnl at home, he stood alone at the head of an army composed of
 
 88 LIFE OP IIANXIRAL. 
 
 xnorconarics of many nations, of men fickle and trcaclierous to nil 
 others but Iiimself, men wlio had no otlier l)on(l of union than their 
 common coiitiiieiice in their leaiier. Yet not only did he retain the 
 attaeiimenl of tliese men, unshal^en by any cliange of fortune, for a 
 period of more llian fifteen years, l)ut he trained up amiy after 
 army ; and, long after tlie veterans that followed him over the Alps 
 had dwindled to an inconsiderable remnant, his new levies were still 
 85 invincible as their predecessors. 
 
 Of the private character of Hannibal, we know very little : no man 
 ever played so conspicuous a part in history of whom so few personal 
 flnccdotcs have been recorded. Yet this can Iiuidly have been for 
 want of the opportunity of preserving lliem ; for we are told that he 
 was accompanied throughout his campaigns by two Greek writers. 
 Silenus and Sosilus ; and we know that the works of both these 
 authors were extant in later times ; but they seem to liave been un- 
 worthy of their subject. Sosilus is censured by Polybius for the 
 fables and absurdities with wliich he had overlaid his history ; and 
 Silenus is cited only as an authority for dreams and prodigies. The 
 former is said also to have acted as Hannibal's instructor in Greek, a 
 language which, at least in the latter years of his life, he spoke wi'th 
 fluency ; and in which he even composed, during his residence at the 
 court of Prusias, a history of the expedition of Cn. Manlius Vulso 
 against the Galatians. If we may believe Zonares, he was, at an 
 early age, master of several other languages also, Latin among the rest ; 
 but this seems at least very doubtful. Dion Cassius, however, also 
 bears testimony to his having received an excellent education, not 
 only in Punic, but in Greek learning and literature. During his res- 
 idence in Spain, Hannibal had married the daughter of a Spanish 
 rhieftain ; but we do not learn that he left any children. 
 
 THE BIO).
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 mOM THE CONSULSHIP OF POJrPEY AXD CRAS8U3 TO THE RETURN 
 OF POMPEY FROM THE EAST— CESAR— CICERO — CATILINE. (09-61 
 B.C.) 
 
 C. Julius Cesar was born of an old patrician family in the year 
 100 B.C. He was therefore .six years younger than Pompey and 
 Cicero. His father, C. Ca?sar, dic^ not live to reach tlie consulship. 
 His uncle Sextus held tliat hisjrii dignity in 91 B.C., just before the 
 outbreak of tlie Social War. Tliat L. C;rsar wlio held command in 
 the first 3-ear of that war (90 B.C.), and was author of the famous 
 Julian law for enfranc-hisinc; the Allies, was a more distant kinsman, 
 wlio adhered to the aristocratical party and fell a victim in the Marian 
 massacre. But the connection on which the young patrician most 
 prided himself was the marriage of his aunt Julia with the famous 
 C. Marius ; and at the early age of seventeen he declared his adlie- 
 sion to the popular party l)y espou.sing Cornelia, the daughter of 
 Cinna, who was at tliat time absolute master of Rome.* On the re- 
 turn of Sylla, lie boldly refused to repudiate this wife, and onl}"- saved 
 his life by skulking in the Apennines. But at length liis aristocratic 
 friends induced the dictator to pardon liim. Sylla gave way against 
 his own judgment, and told the nobles to whom he bequeathed 
 authority to "beware of tliat dissolute boy."t His first military 
 service Wiis performed under the pnetor L. ^linucius Tliermus, who 
 was left by Sylla to take ^fitylene ; and in tlie .siege of that place he 
 won a civic crown for saving the life of a Roman citizen. On the 
 death of Sylla lie returned to Home, and, after the custom of am- 
 bitious youn^^ Romans, though lie was but in his twenty-tliird year, 
 lie indicted Cn. Doiabella. a partisan of Sylla, for extortion in his 
 province of Macedonia. The senatorial jury acquitted Doiabella as 
 
 ♦ Yet he had iilrcady 1)ei'n married before lo Coasutia, u licli lifiresH. llo di- 
 vorced lier to miin-y Corneliu. 
 t Dlo C. xlili. 43, etc.
 
 4 LIFE OF JULIUS C.-l^SAK. 
 
 a matter of course ; but tlio credit .cainod by tlie younfr orator was 
 great ; and he went to l^hodes tn study rhetoric under jMolo in whose 
 scliool Cifcro hiid lately been taking lessons. It was on liis way to 
 Rhodes tiiat lie fell into the hands of Cilieian pirates. Kedecmed ])v 
 a lieavy ransom, he collected some s]ii]is at jAIiktus, attacked his can- 
 tors, took the greater part of them prisoners, and crucified tliem at 
 1 ergamus. according to a threat wliicli lieliad often made wliile Le 
 had been their prisoner. About the year 74 i;.c. lie heard that he had 
 lieen chosen as one of the pontifices, to succeed his uncle C. Aurelius 
 C'otta, and he instantly returned to Rome, where he remained for 
 some years, leading apparently a life of pkasure, taking little out- 
 ward part in politics, but yet, by his winnins: manners and open- 
 handed generosity, laying in a large store of popularity. JNIany wri- 
 ters attribute to him a secret agency in most of the events of the time 
 The t-iirly attachment which he showed to the Maiian party, and his 
 bo d defiance of Sylla's orders, prove that he was quite willing and 
 able to act against the senatorial oligarchy whenever opportunity 
 might offer. But we have no positive evidence on the matter fur- 
 ther than that it was his uncle C. Cotta who in 75 ii.c. proposed to 
 restore to the tribunes some portion of the dignity they had lost by 
 the hyllan legislation, and that it was another uncle, L. Cotta who 
 was author of the celebrated law (70 B.C.) for reorganizing the juries 
 After his consulship, as we have seen, Pompey^had remained for 
 two years in dignitied ease at Rome, envied by Ciassus, and reposin" 
 on the popularity he had won. In 67 li.c. he left the city to fake the 
 command against the pirates. In that year Ca\sar, beintr now in his 
 thirty-third year, was elected qua'stor, and signalizcd^his year of 
 ofBce by an elaborate panegyric over the body of his aunt Julia the 
 Avidow of ^larius. His wife Cornelia died in the same year,'and 
 gave occasion to another funeral harangue. In both of these speeches 
 the political allusions were evident ; and he ventured to have the 
 bust of Marius carried in procession among his family images for the 
 first time since the terrible dictatorship of'Sylla. In Co B.C. he was 
 elected curule a.'dile, and increased his popularity by exhibiting 
 three hundred and twenty pairs of gladiators, and conducting all the 
 games on a scale of unusual magnificence. The expense of the.se 
 exhibitions was in great measure borne bv his colleague M. Bibulus 
 who naively complained that C;esar had all tiie credit of tlie .shows— 
 .lu.st as the temple of the Dioscuri, thouLrh belonging both to Castor 
 and 1 ollux, bore the name of Castor only. " But he did not confine 
 luinself to winning applau.se by theatrical spectacles. As curator of 
 the Appian Way he expended a large sum from his own resources. 
 J lie Cimljri.'in trophies of ^larius liad been thrown down by Sylla 
 and no public remembrance existed of the services rendered to Rome 
 l)y her greatest soldier. The popular adile ordered the images and 
 trophies, witli suital)le inscriptions, to be secretly restored ■ and in 
 one night he contrived to have them set up upon the Capitol, so that
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 at daybreak men were astonished by the j^'J^ff Coined sight _ Old 
 soldiers who had served with Marius shed tears All the party op- 
 posed to Sy 11a and the senate took heart at this boldness and recog- 
 nized their c-hief. So important was the matter deemed that . was 
 brou-ht before the senate and Catulus accused Caesar of openly as- 
 saultrn- the constitution. But notliing was done or could be done 
 ?o check his movements. In all things he kept cautiously withm the 
 
 ^'^The year of his ajdileship was marked by the appearance of a man 
 destine??^ an infamous notoriety-L. Sergius Oatdma, famdiar to 
 all imder the name of Catiline. . i j • e 
 
 For son e time after the death of Sylla, the wearmess and desire o 
 repose which always follows violent revolutionary movements had 
 disposed all ranks 6f society to acquiesce in the senatorial rule estab- 
 fished by the dictator. But more tlian one class of men_ soon found 
 themselves ill at ease, and the elements of i';o^^!^, ^S^^^Sedn' 
 move freely All the families proscribed by by] la, rLniemoei n 
 Teh sor^elLe wealth and conse!iuence. el-dished the tLouglits^tu^^ 
 by a new revolution they miglit recover what tliey .l^f If , and to 
 enthusiasm displayed when by the happy temerity of Upsar the 
 UoDhSs of M^r us were restored, revealed to the senate both the num- 
 ber a^d the increasing boldness of their political enemies But be- 
 sides these avowed enemies there was a vast number of persons, 
 forr^eriy attached to Sylla, ^vho shared the discontent of the Marum 
 party The dictator pliid the services of his instruments, biU he leit 
 an real power in tile hands of a few great families His own 
 creatures were allowed to amass money, but remained wihout polit- 
 ical power. Poinpey and Crassus, who rose indepeudeiitly ot him 
 and almost in despite of his will, belonged to famd.es so distinguished 
 Sin any state if things they might have reached the con^uM;;- 
 But the upstarts who enjoved a transient .rreatness while Sy awas 
 Sator found themselves" rapidly reduced to obscurity. ^Vlth he 
 recklessness of men who lia.l become suddenly rich, they had for the 
 most part squan.iered their fortunes. Neither money nor power was 
 theirs These men were for the most part soldiers, and ready for any 
 v olencc whicli might restore tlieir weidlli and their importance. 
 Tlu'V only wanted cliiefs. Tiiese chiefs they found among the spend- 
 thrift an(l profligate members of noble families, who like themselves 
 liad enjoyed the license of the revohitionury times now gone by and 
 
 ke tllJniselves were excluded from the councils of the respectable 
 thou.d/ narrow-minded m.'n who composed the senate and admmis- 
 
 tere dthe government. These were tin. young nobles, effemi.iat.; and 
 
 ,k-bauchea, reckless of blood, of whom Wcero often speaks with 
 
 ^'7k t'hese adventurers (.'atiline was by far the most remarkable lie 
 h.iongedto an ol<l patrician gens, and had diBt^nguished hn sell 
 both by valor and cruelty in the late civil war. He is said lo have
 
 6 LIFE OF JULIUS C.^SAR. 
 
 murdered his own brother, and to have secured hnpunity by getting 
 the name of his victim placed on the proscnI)ed lists. A beaiilifiil 
 and protiigalc lady, by name Amelia Orcstilla, refused his prolT.erecl 
 hanil because he had a grown-up son by a former marriage ; and this 
 son speedily ceased to live. Nolwitlislauding these^ and oilier 
 crimes, real or imputed, the personal (pialities oi' Catiline gave him 
 great, ascendency over the people at huge, and especially over the 
 young nobles, who lacked money, and who were jealous of the few 
 great families tha^now, as before the times of the Gracchi, had ab- 
 sorbed all political power. His strength and activity were such, 
 that, notwithstanding his debaucheries, he was superior to the 
 soldiers at their own exercises, and could encounter skilled gladi- 
 ators with their own weapons. His manners w^ere open and genial, 
 and he was never known to desert friends. By qualities so nearly 
 resembling virtues, it is not strange that he deceived many, and ob- 
 tained mastery over more. In 08 B.C. he was elected praetor, and in 
 the following year became governor of the province of Africa. Here 
 he spent two 3'ears in the practice of every crime that is imputed to 
 Roman provincial rulers. During the year of Caesar's a'dilesliip, 
 Catiline was accused by no less a person tnan the profligate P. Clodi- 
 us Pulcher, who cared not how or at whose expense he gained dis- 
 tinction. Catiline had intended in that year to offer hiniself candi- 
 date for the consulship. But while this accusation was pending, the 
 law forbade him to come forward ; and this obstacle so irritated him 
 that he took advantage of a critical juncture of circumstances to plan 
 a new revolution. 
 
 The senatorial chiefs, in their wish to restore at least an outward 
 show of decency, had countenanced the introduction of a very severe 
 law to prevent bribery by L. Calpurnius Piso, consul for the ycav 07 
 B.C. Under this law P. Cornelius Hulla and P. Autronius Patus, 
 consuls-elect for 05 B.C., were indicted and found guilty. Their 
 election was declared void. L. Aurelius Cotia and L. Manlius Tor- 
 quatus, their accusers, were nominated by flic senate consuls in their 
 stead, without the formality of a new election. Catiline found 
 Autronius ready for any violence ; and these two entered into a con- 
 spiracy with another profligate young nobleman, by name Cn. Piso, 
 to murder the new consuls on the calends of Januai-y — the day on 
 which they entered upon ollice — and to seize the sunieme authority 
 for themselves. The scheme is said to have failed only because Cat- 
 iline gave the signal of attac:k before tlie armed assassins had as- 
 ^ sembted in sufhcient numbers to begin their work. 
 
 That this attempt was either not generally known or not generally 
 believed is indicated by the fact that Cn. Piso was intrusted by the 
 senate with the govcrmncnt of Spain. Haidly had lie arrived when 
 lie was murdered by the Spanish horsemen in attendance upon his jier- 
 son, men who had formerly served under Pompey in the Sertorian war. 
 But who were the instigators and what the causes of this dark deed 
 were things never known.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. '^ 
 
 CaUline wa, acquiuea on Ms trial no ^o>AU,y .he Intentaal m^s- 
 condact of the casi! by "»'!">:"'« f 'djo S a nrivatc letter of 
 
 was clear as nooiiday another movement in ad- 
 
 lu the nex ^-^^ ' f^^-^;^^,l^^^^^'^^Qgfi,g to trial two obscure men 
 
 Sn. They wire found gf Jy ^^^/-^^^h^- hhu £ Lu'dus 
 Kellienus was an uncle of LatiUne. un luis uiui. 
 
 SSt Catiline hj.,elf to trial tor If -^S^ S^^^- 
 
 Ta\l^"™: noi'^Stoffef irniSrioVS'^onsulship^ The 
 
 Catilme ^\ as Q"^^ Yp.,r hk success Five of the s x candidates who 
 TprsST.rwe e' nlroI'lfltTeToS: and many of them tnen of .n- 
 opposeu uuu v>c Cicero, whose obscure birth was 
 
 fSo^^c^SagShhnin thee,esof ^l- sej^torhil nobility 
 Rut thev had no chmce. C. Antonius, brother of M. Antonius Lrt 
 tici s and youm^er son of the great orator, was considered sure of s 
 . W?ion and he was iuclined to form a coalition with Catiline. Ci- 
 cero was supported by the Equites, by the friends of Po^'-y -^\«- 
 ^f. bad so well served bv his speech for the ^lanilian law, and bj a 
 number ofTe sons whom he had obliged by las services as advocate 
 
 support of the aristocracy placed him at the head ot the poll. An-
 
 8 LIFE OF JULIUS C^ilSAR. 
 
 toniua was rotunied as liis colleague, though he headed Catiline by 
 the votes of very few centuries. 
 
 We uow come to the memorable year of Cicero's consulship, G;} 
 B.C. It was generally believed that {'utiline'.s second disappoint- 
 ment in suing for the chief object of a Roman's ambition would 
 drive him to a second conspiracy. Immediately after his election, 
 Cicero at once attached himself to the senate and justified their 
 choice. To detach Antonius from connection with Catiline, he vol- 
 untarily ceded to him the lucrative province of Macedonia, which he 
 liad obtained by lot. But Catiline's measures were conducted with 
 80 much secrecy that for several mouths no clue was obtained to his 
 designs. 
 
 Meantime Cicero had other difficulties to meet. Among the trib- 
 unes of the year were two persons attached to Caesar's party, Q- Ser- 
 vilius Rullus and T. Atius Labienus. The tribunes entered' ujion 
 their oftice nearly a month before the con.suls ; and in these few days 
 Ilullus had come forward with an agrarian law, by which it was 
 proposed to revive the measure of Cinna, and divide the rich public 
 lauds of Campania among the poor citizens of the tribes. Cicero's 
 devotion to his new political friends was shown by the ready alacrity 
 with which he opposed this popular measure. On the calends of 
 January, the very day upon which he entered office, he delivered a 
 vehement harangue in the senate against the measure, which he fol- 
 lowed up by elaborate .speeches in the forum. He pleased himself 
 by thinking that it was in consequence of these efl'orts that Rullus 
 withdrew liis I)ill. But it is proljable that Ca\sar, the real author of 
 the law, cared little for its present success. In bringing it forward 
 he secured favor for himself. In forcing Cicero to take part against 
 it, he deprived the eloquent orator of a large portion of his hard-won 
 popularity. 
 
 Soon after this Cscsar employed the services of T. Labienus to 
 follow up the blow which in "the preceding year he had struck 
 against the proscription of Sylla by an assault upon the arbitrary 
 power assumed by the senate in dangerous emergencies. It will be 
 remembered that in the sixth consulship of Marius the revolutionary 
 enterprise of the tribune Saturninus liad> been ))ut down by resort- 
 ingto the arbitrary power just noticed. Labienus, whose uncle had 
 perished by the side of Saturninus, now indicted C. Rabirius, an 
 aged senator, for having slain the tribune. It was well known that 
 the actual perpetrator of the deed was a slave named Scajva, who 
 had been publicly rewarded for his services. But Rabirius had cer- 
 tainly been in liie midst of the assidlants, and it was easy to accii.se 
 him of comiijicily. The actual charge bi-ougiit against him was that 
 he was guilty of high treason (peniudlio) \ and if he were found 
 guilty, it would follow that all jiersons who liereafter obeyed the 
 senate in taking up arms against .seditious persons would be liable to 
 a similar charge. The cause was tried before the duumviri, one of
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAE. 'J 
 
 whom was L. Cftsar, consul of the preceding year ; the other was C 
 CtBsar hhnsclf. Horteusius and ('ice ro defended the old senator It 
 would seem almost impossible for Ctvsar to condemn an act which 
 was iustified by :\Iarius himself, who had been obliged to lead the 
 assault upon the tribune's party. But Cesar's object was wholly 
 political, and he was not troubled by scruples. The duumvu-i found 
 
 Fromlhls iud'^ment the old senator appealed to the popular assembly. 
 Cicero again came forward, in his consular robes, to defend him. lie 
 was only allowed half an hour for his speech ; but the defence which 
 he condensed into that narrow space was unanswerab e and must 
 have obtained a verdict for his client, if it had been addressed to a 
 calm audience. The people, however, were eager to humiliate the 
 senatorial government, and were ready to vote, not according to the 
 justice of the case, but according to their present political passion. 
 In vain the senators descended into the ashcinbly and implored tor a 
 vote of acquittal. Rabirius would certainly have been condemned 
 had not Q. Metellus Cclcr, pnetor of the city, taken down the standard 
 which from ancient times floated from the Janicuhim during the sit- 
 tinc' of the comitia." But Cajsar's purpose was elfectually answered. 
 The governing body had been humbled, and their right to place 
 seditious persons under a sentence of oullawry had been called m 
 (luestion. AVe may almost suppose that Ciesar himself suggested to 
 Metellus the mode of stopping the trial ; for he was never inclined to 
 shed blood and oppress the innocent, unless when he deemed it 
 necessary for his political ends. ■ t. n 
 
 About the same time Ctesar promoted an accusation against C. 
 Calpurnius Piso for malversation in his government of Gallia JNar- 
 boneusis. Piso, when consul, had led the opposition to the Gabiniau 
 law. lie was acquitted on the present charge, and became cue ot 
 Caesar's most determined enemies. f ^ , . . , • , , „ 
 
 Cicero lost still more favor bv the successful opposition winch he 
 offered to an allemi.t to restore to their political rights the sons of 
 those who had t)i;en on the proscrilied lists of Sylla. In this he well 
 Bcrved the purpose of the senate by excluding from the coniitia their 
 mortal enemies ; but he incurred many personal enmities, am he ad- 
 vocated a sentence which was manifestly unjust and could be just 
 fled only by necessity. In return for these .services ho induced his 
 new friends to second him in scnne measures of practical reiorm. 
 He procured a law against bribery sti ll more stringent than the L-al- 
 
 • A cnctom urohably derived from the limes when tlie Etriiwaiis were f<)«« of 
 Ron^ T r.?. ovM Ifr ll>e H.aiHbnd van. in IIx.hc .ime«, a .i^nal of 'l';';"X,' 
 Bpproacb and on tl.i« Hiffnal the Cou.itia Cenlnnala hecan.e an a.iny ready lor bai- 
 lie The form remained, though the reason '''"'"VF ,'."'""■.'',"",">:■„-„ cn VUn the 
 
 t ThiHC. FiHo, the arlBtocral, nin-.t be earcMiliy dislinmnslwc rrom f^"- | f"'',* 
 dissolute a8«ociate. ofCaliline, and from h. IMho, the enemy of Cieero and falJier-in- 
 law of C«rr Several other I'i.oB occur iu Ihi. iK-riod, oud Iheir ideutu.y of uauw 
 kaUii to BOino coDt'ualoo.
 
 10 LIFE OF JULIUS C^:SAK. 
 
 piirnian Iftw of 07 B.C. At his instance the senate gave up the priv- 
 il('i:;t' by which every senator was cntiMod to free ((uarters in any city 
 of t lie. empire, ou pretence that they were engaged iu the service of 
 the state. 
 
 About tliis time the ago and infirmities of IMelelbis Pius made 
 
 £robable a vacancy in tlie liigh ollice of pontifcx maximus ; and 
 .abienns introduced a !aw by v/liich tlic riglitof election to this office 
 was restored to the tril)es, according!,- to tlie rule observed before 
 Sylla's revolution. Very soon after, Metellus died, and Caesar offered 
 himself as a candidate for this liigh ofhce. Catulus, cliief of the sen- 
 ate and the respectable leader of the governing party, also came for- 
 ward, as well as P. 8ervilius Isauricus. (,'a;sar had been one of the 
 pontiffs from eiirly youth ; but he was known to be unscrupulous in 
 his pleasures as in his politics, overwhelmed with debt, careless of 
 religion. His election, however, was a trial of political strength 
 merely. It was considered so certain, that Catulus attempted to take 
 advantage of the heavy debts which embarrassed him by offering 
 liim a large sum if he would retire from the contest. Cajsar peremp- 
 toril}' refused, saying that if more money were necessary for his pur- 
 poses he would borrow more, lie probably anticipated that the sen- 
 ate would use force to oppose him ; for on iJie morning of the elec- 
 tion he parted from his mother Aurelia with th-i words, " I shall re- 
 turn as pontifex maximus, or you will see me no more." His suc- 
 cess was triumphant. Even in the tribes to which his opponents be- 
 longed he obtained more votes than they coimted altogether. No 
 fact can mure strongly prove the strength which the popular party 
 liad regained under his adroit but unseen management. It is woitii 
 noting that in this year, when he first appeared as master of the 
 forum, was born his sist<;r's son, M. Octavius, who reaped the fruit 
 of all his ambitious endeavors. 
 
 The year was now fast waning, and nothing was known to the 
 public of any attempts on the part of Catiline. That dark and enler- 
 l)rising person had offered hipij^eif again as candidate for the consul- 
 ship, and he was anxious to keep all quiet till the result was known. 
 But Cicero had become acquainted with a woman named Fulvia. 
 mistress to Curius, one of CatilineVj conlidential friends, and by her 
 means he obtained immediate know'edge of all the designs of the 
 conspirators. At length he considered! hem so far advanced, tliat on 
 the 21st of October he convened the senate and laid all his informa- 
 tion before them. So convinced were they of the danger, that on the 
 next day a decree was framed to invest the consuls with dictatorial 
 power, to be used at their discretion. At present, however, this de- 
 cree was kept secret. 
 
 Soon after, the consular comitia were held, and the election of the 
 cenlurie-s fell on D. Junius Silauus and L. Liciuius Murena, l>oth of 
 them adherents of the senatorial party. Catiline, disapi^ointeii of his 
 last hopes of election, convened his friends at t!ie houst of M. Poi'-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. li 
 
 ciu3 Lreca, on the nights of the Cth and 7th of November ; * and at 
 this meelin? it was determined to proceed to action. 0. M.illiis, an 
 old cTntu ?oa who had been employed in levying troops secretly m 
 EtrurS " s^s sent to Faesula3 as headquarters, and ordered to prepare 
 for war ; Catiline and the rest of his associates were to orgamze rev- 
 olutionarv movements within the city. 
 
 Ci?ero was immediately informed of these resolutions throug 
 • FuMa and resolved to dally no longer with the peril. He summoned 
 Uhe senate to meet on the 8t'h of Kovember in tl^e Temple ot Jupiter 
 St-itor Catiline himself a senator, with marvellous effronteij , ap- 
 peared in s lace ; but every senator quitted the bench on which 
 he took his seat and left him alone. Cicero now rose and delivered 
 at famous speech which is entitled his First ^^^^^^ 'Sf^^^.^^^^^^i-^.^- 
 The conspirator attempted to reply ; but a general shout of execra- 
 tion drowned his voice. Unable to ol)tain a hearing, he left the 
 inate house; and, perceiving that his life was in danger if he re- 
 mained at Rome, he summoned his associates together, and handed 
 ^ver the execution of his designs at home to M. L^^^^^^^f fura. ijra.to 
 of the city and C. Cethegus, while on that same night he himsclt 
 kft Some'to join l^lMms at F.esukx. On the followmg mm-ning 
 Cicero assembled the people in the forum, and there in his second 
 speS he tSd them of the tlight of Catiline and exp lamed its cause 
 ^ The senate now made a second decree, in which Catiline and Mal- 
 lius were proclaimed public enemies ; and the consul Antonlus^^ as 
 Ilirected to take the command of an army destined to act agamst 
 l,im while to Cicero was committed the care ot the city. Cicero 
 was'at a loss how to act ; for he was not able to ^'"ng forward Ful^ 
 via as a witness, and after the late proceedings against Rabi i s c 
 was obliged to be very cautious iu resorling to the use of dictator al 
 power But at this moment he obtained full and direct proof of the 
 intentions of the conspirators. There were then present at liomc 
 ambassadors from the Allobroges, whose business it was to sohcit 
 relief from the oppression of their governors and from the debts 
 which they had incurred to the Roman treasury. The senate heard 
 them cokllv, and Lentulus took advantage ot their disf^onten to 
 make overl'ures to them in hope of obtaining military au f';»m 1>^;'' 
 countrymen against the senatorial leaders. At hrst hey lent a ready 
 car to his ofTcrs, but thr)uglit it prudent to disclose these ollei. to Q 
 Fabius Hanga, whose family had long been engaged to protect their 
 interests at Rome.f Fabius at once communicated with Cicero 1 y 
 the cousul-a directions, the Allobrogian envoys continued then in- 
 
 * Our Jin mil Oi ii.c. In tl.iH and all followi.iK daten corro.lion in';sf, \roiu\e 
 
 ;;;^^P^he^n'in«'o 7.!:; A-l^r/;iuy. ^ What we call the ni.ht of tl.c Oil. of
 
 1^ LIFE OF JULIUS C.^SAR. 
 
 trigue with Lentulus, and demanded written orders, signed by him- 
 self, Cethegus, and otiiers of tlie chief conspinitor.s, to serve as cre- 
 dentials to their nation. Bearing these fatal documents, they set out 
 from Home on the evening of the 3d of December (oth of February 
 B.C.), accompanied by one T. Vulturcius, who carried letters from 
 Lentulus to Catiline himself. Cicero, kept in full information of 
 every fact, ordered the pnttors L. Flaccus and C. Pomptinus to 
 take post with a sufficient force upon the ]\Iulvian Bridge. Here the 
 envoys were quietly arrested, together with Vulturcius, and all their 
 papers were seized. 
 
 Early ne.xt morning, Cicero sent for Lentulus, Cethegus, and the 
 others who liad signed the Allobrogian credentials, to his house. 
 Utterly ignorant of what had passed, they came ; and the consul, 
 lioldiug the pnctor Lentulus by the hand, and followed by the rest, 
 went straight to the Temple of Concord, where he had summoned 
 the senate to meet. Vulturcius and the Allobrogian envoys were 
 now brought in, and the prnstor Flaccus produced the papers which 
 he had seized. The evidence was so clearly bi ought to a point that 
 the conspirators at once confes.sed their liandwriting ; and the senate 
 decreed that Lentulus should be deprived of his pifclorship, and 
 that he with his accomplices should be put into the hands of eminent 
 senators, who were to be answerable for their ])ersons. Lentulus fell 
 to the charge of P. Lentulus Spinther, who was then ajdile, Cethegus 
 to that of Q. Cornifieius, Statilius to Caesar, Gabinius to Crassus, 
 Ca?parius to Cn. Terentius. Immediately after the execution of this 
 decree, Cicero went forth into the forum, and in his third speech de- 
 tailed to the assembled peDple all the circumstances which had been 
 discovered. Not only had two knigl./s been commissioned by 
 Cethegus to kill Cicero in his chamber, a fate which the consul 
 eluded by refusing them admission, but it had been resolved to set 
 the city on lire in twelve places at once, as soon as it was known that 
 Catiline and ]\Iallius were ready to advance at the head of an armed 
 force. Lentulus, who belonged to the great Cornelian gens, had 
 been buoyed up by a Sibylline prophecy, which promised the domin- 
 ion oA-er Rome to " three C's :" he was to be the third Cornelius 
 after Cornelius Cinna and Cornelius Sylla. But it was to his slug- 
 gish remissness that the fiery Cethegus attributed their ignominious 
 failure ; and it is proltable tiiat if the cliief conduct of the Imsiness 
 had been left to this desperate man, some attempt at a rising would 
 have been made. 
 
 The certainty of danger and the feeling of escape tilled all hearts 
 with indignation against the Catilinarian gang ; and for a moment 
 Cicero and the senate rose to the height of popularity. 
 
 Two days after (December 5 = February 7, (52 B.C.), tlie senate 
 was once more summoned to decide the fate of the captive conspira- 
 tors. Silanus, as consul-elect, was tirst asked his opinion, and he 
 gave it in favor of death. Ti. Nero moved that th-- (juestion should
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 13 
 
 '"itTdiffloult 10 SCO how the stato could have been taperilM by 
 
 rhe^'udgml of cl. whea he proclaimed Cleero to have justly de. 
 indicted l.v C Sulpicius, cue of las competitois, to buberj^ iiie 
 
 i^'Suris^'^s:i?e..rs"h:i;:l5s;'j;s r^l; 
 HlliJ^jkm'if^^E^'^s-a-LS^ffii^w^ss.'^^ 
 
 Fate uccessfuT m au^^^^ ia crusliing tlie conspiracy at home 
 
 There can be no doul.I that Murcna was guilty. The only argument 
 nf an v force us" I in his defence by Cicero was his sta ement of the 
 din"cT of Tea^ n-^^ state with but one consul when Catiline was a 
 She S olan Ifrmy in the field. And this argument probably it 
 wm tli'it nrocured tiie acquittal ot the consul-elect. 
 
 i e ^iu cl miv be bri.^1 v related. B.iore the execution of Ins ac- 
 compliSrCa iline was at the head of two complete legions con ut^ 
 fn^ch eflv of Sylla'3 veterans. But servile insurrections m Apulu 
 and o her places, on which Catiline counted were prompt y re- 
 messed hirowuHinall army was very imi)erfectly armed ; and their 
 a'Kr avo led a conflict with Antonius, who was continued in com- 
 mand i^so consul. When the failure of the plot at home reached 
 
 1 e insur e is inanv deserted ; an.l Catiline endeavored to make 
 cL Ids ret . a't l.v I' .Htoja int.. Cisalpine Gaul. But the i.asses were 
 Sreadv beset y the piJpnetor Metellus Celer ; the consul Antou.us 
 
 wu^ dose bchia^d ; and it' became necessary cither to light or .uneu- 
 
 -4.B.-12
 
 14 LIFE OV JULIUS C^SAK. 
 
 der. Caliline and his desperadoes chose the braver course. His 
 email army was drawn up with Hkill. Aiitouius, mindful of former 
 iutimac}' with C'atilini!, iiUcgcd illness as a plea f'jr giving up the 
 command of his troops to M. Petreius, u skilful soldier! A siiort hut 
 desperate conlliet followed. Maliius and his best ollicers fell light- 
 ing bravely. Catiliue, after doing the duties of a good general and a 
 brave .soldier, saw that the day was lost, and rushing iulo the lluck 
 of battle fell with many wounds. Uc was taken up,"'sliil breatliiug, 
 ■with a menacing frown stamped upon his brow. None were taken 
 prisoners ; all who died had their wounds iu front. 
 
 It is impossible to part from this strange history without adding a 
 word with respect to the part taken by"Ca;sar and Crassus. ]ioth 
 these eminent persons were supposed to have been more or less privy 
 to Catiline's designs. If the lirst conspiracy atlril)uted to Caliline 
 had succeeded, we are told that the assassins of the consuls had in- 
 tended to declare Crassus dictator, and that C«sar was to be nuxster 
 of the horse. Suetonius, in his love for improbable gossip, goes so 
 far as to make Ca)sar a princip;d actor in that lirst conspiiacy ; and 
 many senators believed, or determined to believe, that he at least, if 
 not Crassus, was guilty. 
 
 Nothing seems more improbable than that Crassus should have 
 countenanced a plan which involved the destruction of the city, and 
 which must have been followed by the ruin of credit. He had con- 
 stantly employed the huge fortune which he had amassed in the Syl- 
 lau proscription for the purposes of .speculation and jobbing. One 
 prohtable branch of the latter business was to buy up promising 
 youths, give them a first-rate education in music or any art to which 
 they showed an aptitude, and then sell them at enormous prices. Spec- 
 idalions of this soit could oidy succeed iu a state of iiolitical security. 
 To a money-lender, speculator, and jobber, a violent revolution, at- 
 tended by destruction of property and promising abolition of debts, 
 Avould he of all things the least desirable. Crassus was not without 
 ambition, but he never gratified the lust of power at the expense of 
 his pur.se. 
 
 The case against Ca'sar bears at first sight more likelihood. Sal- 
 lust represeuls Cato as hinting that Casar's wish to spaie the con- 
 spirators arose from his complicity with them. As that unllinching 
 politician was speaking in the debate on the punishment of the con- 
 spirators, a note was privately put into Ca-.sar's hand. Cato stopi)ed 
 and demanded that the note should be read aloud. Caesar handed it 
 to his accuser ; it was a billet-dou,\ from Hervilia, the sister (jf Cato 
 Jumself and wife of iSilanus. " Take it, drunkard," retorted the disap- 
 pointed .speaker. This first attack, then, had signally failed. But iu 
 the next year (02 B.C.), after Cu;sar had entered upon his pra'torship, 
 accusations were brought against .several persons who were doubtless 
 guilty. Among them Autronius, the accomplice of Catiliue in his 
 tirst conspiracy', earnestly implored Cicero to be bis advocate. The
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C.^=:SAR. 15 
 
 orator refused, and Autroniiis was condemned. But, immediately 
 after this, the world was scandalized to see the orator undertake the 
 defence of P. SvUa, who had been the colleague of Autronius, when 
 both %vere ejected from the consulship— more especially when it was 
 whispered that he had received a large sum for his services. The 
 speech remains, and a comparison of this pleading with his Catilina- 
 rian speeches shows that the latitude which Cicero allowed himself 
 a.s an advocate was liltle compatil)le with his new character of a po- 
 litical leader. Notwithstanding the failure of the indictment against 
 P. Sylla, the success which had lately attended their political efforts 
 encouraged some of the senatorial chiefs to raise a formal accusation 
 against Ciesar. A person called Vettius, already employed by Cicero 
 as a spy, had made a gaiufultrade of his informations, and he offered 
 to produce a letter from Cassar to Catiline which would prove his 
 guilt. Curius also came forward with similar assertions. Cicero 
 and the more prudent of the senators wished at once to quash these 
 tales. But Csesar would not be content with this, and in lull senate 
 he called on the ex-consul to state what he knew of the matter. 
 Cicero rose, and in the most explicit manner declared that so far 
 from Caesar being implicated iu the plot, he had done all that could 
 be expected from a good citizen to assist in crushing it. The people, 
 having learned what was the question before the senate, crowded to 
 the doors of the house and demanded Caesar's safety. His appear- 
 ance assured them, and he was welcomed with loud applause. It 
 was only by his interference that Vettius was saved from iK-ing torn 
 in pieces. Curius was punished by the loss of the reward which had 
 been promised for his information. 
 
 In truth, of evidence to prove Caisar's complicity with Catiline, 
 there was really none ; and the further the case is examined the less 
 appears to be the probability of such complicity. The course he had 
 pursued for the purpose of undermining the power of the senatorial 
 aristocracy was perfectly consistent, and had been so successful 
 hitherto that he was little likely to abandon it at this precise moment 
 for a .scheme of reckless ruin and violence from which others would 
 reap the chief advantage. ?>en if Catiline had succeeded, he must 
 have been crushed almost immediately- by Pompey, who was prepar- 
 ing to return to Italy at the head of his victorious legions. The de- 
 sire of Ca-sar to save the lives of Lentulus. Ccthegus, and the rest, is 
 at once explained, when we remember that he had just before pro- 
 moted the prosecution of lialiirius for obeying an order of the very 
 kind against which he now argued. As the leader of the party of 
 the Gracchi, of Saturninus, and of IMarius, it was his cue always and 
 everywhere to protest against the al)solute power iissumed by the 
 ienate in such emergencies as unconstitutional and illegal. It is 
 possible that he may have su.spected the designs of Catiline ; and at 
 an earlier period he may have been sounded by that reckless person, 
 as a well-known opponent of the senate. But without claiming for
 
 10 LIFE OF JUIJUS C^CSAU. 
 
 Cffisar any credit for priuciple or scrupulosity, we may safely con- 
 fludo that it was utterly iucxpedioul lor iiim to have any dealiugs 
 Willi Catiline ; and we may be sure that he was the last man to bo 
 misled into a rash enterprise which was not expedient I'or himself. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 rOHPEY'S KETURN— FIRST TRIUMVIRATE— C^SAR'S CGNSULSniP — 
 
 CLODIUS. (62-58 R.C.) 
 
 In the first Iieat of liis triumph, Cicero disclosed the weakness of 
 his character. He Avas, to speak plainly, full of inordinate vanity, a 
 quality which above all others deprives a man of the social and polit- 
 ical influence which may otherwise be due to his inteiiiity, industry, 
 and ability. The more violent among the senators who liad taken 
 him for their leader in the Catilioarian troubles were ollended by his 
 refusal to assail Caesar ; all the (jrder Avas disgusted by the constant 
 iteration of his merits. An oligarchy will readily accept the service? 
 of men of the people ; but they never cordially unite with them, and 
 never forgive a marked assumption of personal superiority. But it 
 was not only the senate at home that was irritated by hearing Cicero 
 repeat, " I am the savior of Rome ; I am the father of my coun- 
 try." Pompey was now in Greece, on the eve of returning to Italy, 
 and he had been watching Cicero's rise to political eminence not 
 without jealousy. Metellus Nepos,* his legate, had already re- 
 turned to Rome with instructions from his chief, and had been 
 elected Tribune for the next year. Cicero, in the fulness of his 
 heart, wrote Pompey a long account of his consulate, in which he 
 had the ill address to compare his own triumph over Catiline Avith 
 Pompey's eastern conquests. The general in his reply took no no- 
 tice of Cicero's actions ; and the orator wrote him a submissive let- 
 ter, in which he professes his hope of playing La^lius to his great 
 correspondent's Africanus. Meanwhile Metellus Nepos had entered 
 upon his tribuniciau office, and made no secret of his disapproval of 
 Cicero's conduct in putting citizens to death Avilhout trial. On the 
 calends of January, Avhen the ex-consul intended to have delivered 
 an elaborate panegyric on himself and the senate for their conduct 
 in the late CA'ents, the tribune interdicled Jiim from speaking at ad. 
 He could do nothing more than step forward and swear aloud that 
 " he alone had preserved the republic." The jieople, not yet recov- 
 
 * several MctoUi are mixed np with the liistory of this period. Met'lIiiB Nepos 
 was the younger hrotiier of Metellus Celer, who iiH i)r;il<]r was in ;irmH iiKa'nst 
 Catiline in Cisalpine (iaul. 'I'liey were gruat-grandsoiis of MetclhiB Balearicus, and 
 therefore dietaui cousiuB of MctcUus Pius.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAK. 1? 
 
 ered from the fear of Catiliae and Ins crew, shouted in answer that 
 
 ^'^'i'^^l^^'oSoVfollowed up this assault by two blUs-ope empow- 
 eri^'^ P' mp^^'o Ve1"ected cinsul for the second time m Ij-bsency 
 
 of CiuelUng the msur,.ct.on ^^^-^t^^-^,^-- -^Ihe people^ previ- 
 also one of the ^'^^^^'^'^ ,^'''}^' {''^'^^^^^^ began to re- 
 
 Sl^icS tilo^l^uiXmS" Jlhc p.-„-,>;,.t„,- set out fov S,>a,a .t 
 
 U3 ^lonk on the ^}:*; "^ |'!^ j iciilousics were dissipated lor the 
 
 """■''T^wun hf add e^ed iS so diei-s at Brnndusium,_ thanRed
 
 18 LIFE OF JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 gave the orator iin opportunity of dcliverins; the elaborate speech 
 wliicli lie liail prepared for the calt^iuls of January. Cicero sat down 
 amid cheers from all siiles of the house. It was probably the hap- 
 piest moment of his life.* 
 
 The consuls-elect were L. Afranius, an old and attached olllcer of 
 Pompey, and Q. Metellus Celer, elder brother of Nepos.f The chief 
 ollicers of state, therefore, seemed likely to be at the beck of the 
 great general. But Afranius proved to be a ciplier on tlie political 
 staire, and Metellus Celer, exasperated because Pompey Iiad just di- 
 vorced his sister, sided warndy with the senate. Ca'sar was in Far- 
 ther Spain ; Crassus. stimulated (as we have said) by ancient jeal- 
 ousy, had shown a disposition to oppose Pompey ; and the game, if 
 prudently played, mii,dit have been won by the .senatorial leaders. 
 But about this time they lost Catulus, their most respected and most 
 prudent chief ; and the blind obstinacy of Metellus Celer, Cato, and 
 others, converted Pompey from his cold neutrality into a warm an- 
 tagonist. 
 
 During his stay in the East after the death of Mithridates, he had 
 • formed ])rovinco3 and rc-dislribuled kingdoms by his own judgment, 
 iinassisted by the senatorial commission, which usually advised a 
 proconsul in such matters. He now aiiplied to have the arrange- 
 ments which he had made confirmed by axithority of the senate. 
 But Luculhis and Metellus Creticus, though they had been allowed 
 the lionors of a triumph, were not unjustly irritated at seeing that in 
 the blaze of his triumphant success their own unquestionalile merits 
 had been utterly over-past and forgotten. They spoke warmly in 
 the senate of the imfair appropriation of their labors by Pompey, 
 and persuaded the jealous majority to withhold the desired contir- 
 mation. 
 
 At the same time a tribune named L. Plavius proposed an agrarian 
 law liy which it was i:)roposed to assign certain lands in guerdon to 
 Pompey's veteran soldiers. It seems that by the original terms of 
 this bill certain of Sylla's assignments were cancelled, and thus arose 
 a general sense of insecurity in such property, till Cicero came for- 
 ward and proposed the removal of all tliese objectionable clauses. 
 But even in this amended form the huv, like all agi'arian laws, was 
 hateful to the senate. The consul Metellus Celer opposed it with 
 rancorous detijrminalion ; and Pompey, who disliked popidar tu- 
 mults, suffere(l tlie measure to be withdnnvn, and brooded over the in- 
 Biilt in haughty silence. Cicero made advances to the great man, . 
 and received scraps of praise and flattery, which pleased him and de- ' 
 chived him, while it increased the coldness which had already sprung 
 
 * For a lively desciiption of the whole scene, fee Cicero's letter to Atticus, 1. 14. 
 t II was from this year tliat Pollio began his history cl this civil war : 
 
 "Motum ex Metello Consule civicum, 
 Belliquecausas," etc.— Horat. Od. ij. 1.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^TiSAR. 19 
 
 np between lilm and the senatorial chiefs. But Pompey well knew 
 the political impotence of the great orator, and it was tn a very- 
 different quarter that he cast his eyes to gain support against the 
 
 senate. . , j- c ■ ■, r 
 
 Cfflsar (as we have said) had taken his departure for Spain belore 
 Pompey's return. In that province he liad availed himself of some 
 disturbances on the Lusitanian border to declare war against that 
 gallant people. He overran their country with constant success, and 
 then turned his arms against the Galkecians, who seem to have been 
 unmolested since the days of Dec. Brutus. In two campaigns he 
 became master of spoils sufficient not only to pay off a great portion 
 of his debts, but also to enrich his soldiery. There can be no doubt 
 that he must have acted with great severity to wring these large 
 Bums from the native Spaniards. He never, indeed, took any 
 thoiKrht for the sufferings of the people not subject to Roman rule. 
 But he was careful not to be guilty of oppression toward the proviu- 
 cials : his rule in the Spanish provinces was long remarked for its 
 equitable adjustment of debts and taxes due to the Roman publicani 
 and money-lenders. , , , , 
 
 He left Spain in time to reach Rome before the consular elec- 
 tions of the year GO B.C. ; for he intended to present himself as a 
 candidate. But he also claimed a triumph, and till this was over he 
 could not begin his canvass. He therefore applied to the senate for 
 leave to sue for the consulship without presenting himself personally 
 in the city. The .senate probably repented of their stiffness in re- 
 fusing Pompey's demand a year before, and were disposed to make 
 a merit of granting Csesar's request. But Cato, who never Avould 
 give way to' a plea of expediency except in favor of his own party, 
 adjourned the decision of tlie (picstion by speaking against time ; 
 and Caisar, who .scorned the appearance in comparison with the re- 
 ality of power, relinquished his triumph and entered the city. He 
 found Pompey, as he expected to lind him, in high dudgeon with 
 tlie senate ; for secret uegf)tiations had already been opened between 
 lliom. To.strenffthen their liands still further, Cajsar proposed to in- 
 clude Crassus in their treaty. Tliis ricii and unpopidar nobleman 
 had, as we liave seen, made' advances t^ Cicero and to the senate; 
 but 'the.se advances liad l)een ill received, and he lent a ready ear to 
 the overtures of the dexterous negotiator wlio now addressed iiini. 
 Pompey also, at the instance of Cicsar, relinrpiished the old enmity 
 which he bore to Crassus ; and thus was formed tiiat famous cabal 
 which is commoidy, tliougli improperly, called the First Triumvi- 
 rate.* It was at present kept studiou.sly secret, and Cicero for some 
 time after counted upon Pompiiy for neutralizing tlie ambitious _de- 
 Bigns of Caesar, whose expected return filled him with apprehension. 
 
 ♦ Improperly, bcraimc It wan a Hccret combination, and not an open asxnmptlon 
 of politic*! power, Bucii aa to Roman ears was implied in tlie word Uiumvlratc.
 
 20 LIFE OF JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 Thus supported sccrctl}' by the influence of Pompej', by the weallh 
 of Crassnr,, and by his own ])opulanly, Cocsar -was cloi'tfd to the cou- 
 sulship by acclauiafiou. lie had formed a coalition wilhL. Lucxeius, 
 a man of letters, who liad taken an active i)art against Catiiine, and 
 who was expected to write a memoir of C'icero's consuli^hip. But 
 the senatorial chiefs exhausted cvvry art of intrigue and bribery to 
 secure tlie return of 31. Caipurnius Bi'julus, who'liad been the col- 
 league of Ciesar in his previous olUces, and was known to be a man of 
 uutliuching resolution. lie was son-in-law to Cato, -who to oljtain a 
 political advantage did not hesitate to sanction tie bribery and cor- 
 rupt practices which on other occasions he loudly denounced. 
 Bibulus was elected ; and from the resolute antagonism of the two 
 consuls, the approaching year seemed big with danger. 
 
 Cajsar began the acts of his consulship by a mea.suie so adroitly 
 drawm up as to gratify at once his own adherents and Pompey and 
 Cicero. It w^as an agrarian law, framed very carefully on llie 
 model of that which had been proposed last year by Pomjiey's agents 
 and amended by the orator. Befere l)rmging it forward in Ihe pop- 
 ular assembly, he read it over clause by cTause in the senate, and not 
 even Cato was able to find fault. But Bibulus declared that the 
 measure, however cautiously framed, was revolutionary, and should 
 not pass Avhile he was consul, ile therefore refused to sanction any 
 further meetings of the senate. Cocsar, unable to convene the great 
 council without the consent of his colleague, now threw himself 
 upon the people, anil enlarged his agrarian bill to the dimension of 
 the laws formerly proposed by Cinna and by Rullus. Cicero now 
 took alarm, and the senatorial order united in opposition to any dis- 
 tribution of their favorite Campanian lands. On the day appointed 
 for taking the votes of the people, the most violent of the oligarchy 
 met at the house of Bibulus. Hence they sallied out into the forum 
 and attempted to dissolve the assembly bj^ force. But Cicsar ordered 
 Ills lictors to arrest Cato ; Lucullus was only saved from violence 
 by the consul himself, and the other leaders were obliged to seek 
 safety in flight. After this vain efl'ort, in which the senators set an 
 example of violence, Bibulus attempted to stop proceedings by .send- 
 ing word that he was engaged in consulting the heavens to deter- 
 mine whether the assembly could be legally held ; and that, till his 
 divinations were concluded, no bu.siness was to be done. But Ciesar 
 eet Ids message at naught, and proceeded as if all formalities had 
 been regularly observed. Finding that arms and auguries weie 
 equally powerless, Bibulus shut himself up in his house for the re- 
 mainder of his term of office, and contented himself wilh protesting 
 from time to timi; against the acts of his colleague. After this vic- 
 tory, Caesar called u))on Pompey and Cra.ssus before the whole assem- 
 bly to express their opinions wilh respect to the bill. Pompey 
 warnily approved it, and declared that if others drew swords, to op- 
 pose it he would cover it with his shield. Crassus spoke in a similar
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 21 
 
 Strain After this public manifestation of the union of the triumvirs 
 all opposition ceased. The bill became law, and C«sar forced every 
 senator to swear obedience to ils provisions. Cato and some others 
 made a struggle, but finally complied. Cicero looked on m blank 
 
 CfEsar immediately followed up this successful movement by pro- 
 curino- from the peo[3le a full acicuowlcdgment of Pompey's acts m 
 the East Here airain the senate saw what they had captiously re- 
 fused employed as'^a means for cementing the union of the trumivus 
 ao-ainst thein. It was also a great annoyance that the department of 
 foreii^n affairs which they regarded as absolutely their own, siiould 
 thus unceremoniously be invaded by the assembly of the people. _ 
 The next step taken by the dexterous consul was to establish his 
 credit with another class in the community, the Equiles, who also 
 (it may be observed) were especially favored both by Pornpey and 
 Cicero. The orator, during his consulship, had prided himselt on 
 effectin"- a union between the senatorial and equestrian orders. Ihe 
 tax-collectors (it seems) had made a high offer for the taxes of Asia 
 at the last auction, and they prayed to be let off their coutmct 
 Cicero undertook their cause, and at the time when he iulin(iuished 
 office had good hopes of suoces.s. But Cato, always jealous of indul- 
 gent measures, opposed it with his utmost force, and the Lquites 
 were held strictlv to their bargain. At Ctesar's suggestion, a law 
 was passed remitting a third part of what they had agreed to give 
 The refusal of the senate appears to have been somewhat harsh ; and 
 the favor which they might have achieved with little loss was trans- 
 ferred to their most dangerous enemy. 
 
 Other popular laws, mostly beneficial in their tendency, were 
 passed at the instance of C«sar, among which may Ite noted on3 
 which at an earlier stage might have done much toward establishing 
 the authority of the senate, i)y forcing it into harmony with public 
 opinion. liy the law in (piestion it was provided that the acts and 
 proceedings of the senate sboiild be regularly published. 
 
 Before he ([uitted olfice, Ctesar dcterniined to provide for his future 
 power. The senate had assigned him the insignificant province of 
 managing the forests and public pastures of Italy. But the tribune 
 VatiiiTus'jiis creature, proposed a law by which the selection of con- 
 sular provinf:es by tin; senate was suspended, and a special provi- 
 sion made for C:esar. liy this law he was invested, as proconsul, 
 with the government of (lisalpine Gaul ami Illyricuin, and the coin- 
 mand of Two legions ; and this government was conferred upon him 
 for the extraordinary term of five years. No <loubt his purpose m 
 obUiining this province was to remain as near Rome as possible, and 
 by mean^s of the troops necessarily under his command to assume a 
 commanding pr.sition willi regard to Roman polities. Circumslances 
 unexpectedly enlarged his spiiere of action, and enabled him to add 
 to hia political .succu3.9e3 that which his brief career in Bpain hardly
 
 22 LIFE OF JULIUS C.'ESAR. 
 
 justified— the character of a skilful and triumphant {general. For 
 some time past there had been threntening movcmenls in Transali)uu! 
 Gaul. The Allohrogiaiis, wlio had been treated with little consider- 
 ation after the services rendered by their envoys in the Catilinarian 
 conspiracy, had endeavored to redress their grievances by arms, and 
 had been subdued by Pontinus, one of the prtetors employed by 
 Cicero in the arrest at the Mulvian Bridge. The ^duans (who in- 
 liabited modern Burgundy), though in alliance with Riune, were .sus- 
 pected of having favored this revolt. On the banks of the Bhine tho 
 iSuevi, a powerful German tribe, w-ere threatening inroads which re- 
 vived the memory of the Cimbric and Teutonic times ; and the Hel- 
 vetian mountameers were moving uneasily within their narrow bor- 
 ders. An able and active commander was reipured to meet these 
 various dangers ; and the senate perhaps thought that by removing 
 Ctcsar to a distant. iK'rilous, and uncertain war, they might expose 
 him to the risk of failure, or at least that abseuce might diminish tho 
 prestige of his name. At any rate, it was the senate which added 
 the province of Transalpine Gaul, with an additional legion, to the 
 provinces already conferred upon him by popular vote. Pompey 
 and Crassus warmly supjiorted the decree — a fact which might have 
 caused the senate to repent of their liberality. 
 
 Pompey, we have said, had divorced his wifeGcTcilia on his return 
 from Asia ; and C'a?sar took advantage of this circumstance to 
 cement his political union Avith Pomi)ey by offering to him the hand 
 of Julia, his young and beautiful daughter. Pompey accepted the 
 offer, and had noreason to repent it as a husband, whatever rnay be 
 thought of its effect on his public career. The letters of Gicero to 
 Attiais, written diu-ing this period, reveal in a very lively manner the 
 perplexity of the orator. lie still hoped against hope in Pompey, 
 but in private he does not di.ssemble his misgivings. At length affairs 
 took place which effectually opened his eyes. Early in the day he 
 tries to put a good face upon the matter : he represents hi.s union 
 with Pompey as being so close that the young men nicknamed the 
 great general Cnaus (Jiri'.vo ; he professes his unshaken confidence in 
 liis illustrious friend ; he even hr>pes that they may be able to reform 
 Caesar. His contldence is nuich shaken by Pompey 's approbation of 
 Caesar's agrarian law; and he begins to fear that the great Eastern 
 conqueror — Sampsiceranus, Alabarches, the Jcrusalemite (such are 
 the names which he u.ses to indicate the hatighly reserve of Ppm- 
 pey)— is aiming at a tyraimy ; then again he relents, affects to believe 
 that young Curio, an ardent supporter of the senate, is more popular 
 than Ca'sar, and regrets Pompey's isolation. Still he believes in his 
 unaltered attachment, and continues to hojie that he will ultimately 
 declare himself for the senate, till at length he is roused from his 
 waking dream by the marriage of the great man with Julia, and by 
 the approach of personal danger to himself. 
 
 During Casar's prtctorship, he had lent the house which belonged
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 23 
 
 fr l.im as chief pontiff fortbe celebration of the mysteries of the Bona 
 mt^rites a Xh it .vas not lawful for any but women to be pres^ 
 ?nt YoSmr Ipp. Clodius either bad or aspired to have an mtngue 
 Sitii Porapela Cesar's third wife, and contrived to enter the forbid- 
 w nil i o™l;^.^"*',y*,. „ ,1 .,, „ sin'nn"- "-irl. He was discovered by his 
 vo'c^^Ti' Ith m^U te"^^^^^^^ important enough to be inves- 
 
 ted by tie senate But nothing was done till the next year when 
 cfodius was qu^tor. He was tlien brought to trial, and pleaded aa 
 nl bi C*txr and Cicero were summoned as witnesses against him. 
 Sar ffddi "reed his wife in consequence of the ^,}^-^Vro^ 
 fessed i^rnorance of all that had passed. A\ hj then, i> was 
 asked '"have you put away your wife ?"-a question to which he 
 fave the fkmous reply, " CiBsar's wife must be above suspicion, 
 ncero on the her hand, who justly detested the profligate charac 
 [;r of cfil s d clared that he had seen and spoken with Clodms on 
 hat very day at Rome. He thus overthrew his plea of an alibi, and 
 oUowed uThis evidence by --ral pointed speeches in the sen^^^^ 
 There was no doubt of the guilt of Clodius. But ^he matter v. as 
 
 treated as a trial of political strength; ^Y ^^Y'^'^'^Jtt^Z^A 
 he was acquitted ; aud, before Caesar's consulship, he ha IconcLrve^ 
 ti.P rlP^ire of =;atisfvinf his vengeance upon Cicero and tiie senate oy 
 S-om n^ tr lune of the plebs^ But his patricmn pedigree-the sole 
 rehcTthe old distinction betsveen the orders-forbade his election to 
 [hirotfice Oesar. in the first instance, attempted to gam the sup- 
 port of Ciceroras he had gained the support of Pompey, by promises 
 But thou-h tl e orator received these advances with some pleasure, it 
 w ^ mo e° n he hope of converting the popular statesman to his ojvm 
 ophiSn ihan with any thought of being converted. But Ctesar was 
 no the man to l)e led l.y Cicero. He soon saw that he should not 
 prevaS by fa r means, ind therefore endeavored to a arm the orator 
 IvtlKcatenimMo int oduce a law for making Clodius a plebeian. 
 But Cicero elied on Pompey, and felt no alarm for li ms(.U. After 
 The mirraA of Pompey wit^ Julia, he still .stood aloof, and presen - 
 V D^vokc?l aesar to fuUil his threats. C. Antonius, Cicero s col- 
 &e hi the consulship, had lately returned from his Macedonian 
 government. He had l.een guilty of more than the usua measure of 
 fxtort"on and oppression, and Clodius sought popularity by nnP*'^^^ " 
 hS h m Cice o appeared as his advocate, and took occasion to co - 
 IrashTs own forgo ten services in the Qitil narian conspiracy wlh 
 the present condhion of public aifairs. An immediate report o this 
 Sh wuscouveve.1 to C'a^sar. It was delivered at noon, and the 
 ame afU nioon cLar gave his consent to tl.e propose, '^w o'" ;e- 
 movin- Clodius from his patrician rank. Presently after the leek- 
 's yo°uu.' noble was elected tribune for the ensuing year-that is, for 
 58 11C Cicero was justly thrown into consternation. , ,. . 
 
 The consul ir elect ons were equally disheartening Ciesar had jus^ 
 •spoused Calpurnia. the dauijhtcr of L. Piso, who also had bec^ lately
 
 2-i LIFE OF JULIUS C^FSAU. 
 
 accusnil by the busy Cloiliur,. This Piso was now chosen consul, at 
 (.'.Tsar's iTComnu-uclalion, together with Au. Gabinias, who, as Iri- 
 hune, liail moved the law for conferrin|j the extraordinary command 
 of tlie Mediterranean ii))ou Pompey. It was evident that these con- 
 suls, one the father-in-law of Ca'sar, the other a mere creature of 
 Pompey, would serve as the tools of the trimnviral cabal. 
 
 In December Clo'dius entered ujwn ofliee as tril)ime. Csesar did 
 not set out for his province before the end of March in the next year 
 (58 B.C.) During these three months, he was actively employed in 
 removing from Rome the persons most likely to thwart his policy. 
 Close tolhe gates lay the legions which he had levied for service in 
 Gaul ; so that, if need were, military force was at hand to support 
 Clodius in the forum. 
 
 Immediately after entering upon office, the tribune began his as- 
 saults upon the senate, and Cicero was one of the lirst objects of his 
 attack. Caesar was detei mined at all risks to lemovc the orator from 
 Rome ; but he was willing to have spared him the nule treatment 
 which he was certain to experience from Clodius. He had therefore 
 olfercd him first one of the commissionerships for executing the 
 agrarian law, and then a lieutenancy under himself in Gaul. But 
 Cicero declined both otters, and Ca>sar left him to the mercies of the 
 vindictive tribune. Clodius at once gave notice of a bill enacting 
 that any magistrate who had put Roman citizens to death without a 
 regular'triurshould be banished from the soil of Italy, thus embody- 
 ing in a direct law the ])rinciple which Ca\sar had sought to estab- 
 lish by the indictment of Rabirius. At first Cicero trusted to Pom- 
 pey and his own imaginary popularity. But the haste with which 
 Cicero had acted was condemned by Metellus Nepos, the agent of 
 Pompey, even l)efore the league with Ctesar ; and many who had ai>- 
 plauded Cicero at the time now took part with Clodius. Finding 
 also that the reckless tribune was supported by Ciesar and his legions 
 in the background, the frightened orator put on mourning, and can- 
 vassed for acquittal. The greater part of the senators and knights, 
 if we mav believe Cicero, followed his example, but Clodius per- 
 severed, and the consuls ordered the mourners to resume their usual 
 apparel. Notwithstanding this .significant hint, he applied to the.se 
 very magistrates for protection. ^Gabinius, the friend of Pompey, 
 rudely repulsed his advances ; Piso, the father-in law of Crcsar, gave 
 Lim fair words, but no real hope. As a last chance, he appealed to 
 Pompey himself, who maintained the cold reserve wliich he had 
 affected ever since his return, and told him, with what in truth was 
 bitter mockery, to seek assistance from the consuls. In this des- 
 perate case lie held counsel with his friends. Tlie senators felt that 
 Cicero's cause had become their own. and repented of the coldness 
 which they had .shown to their most distinguished partisan, since the 
 time that he had served them well in the matter of Catiline's plot. 
 LucuUus shook off his luxurious indolence for a moment, and ad-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C.i:SAE. ^^ 
 
 1 < „.^c. P.nt nfter full deliberation, even Calo 
 vised an appeal lo arms f^' ^j ^ efore the law passed, and 
 recommended the orator to lea%e I^^J.,|^^*^'\^^^^^^ 
 wait for better times. He comphed u ^J^<^4^ , ^^\t'^i,^_,,,d i,ft 
 . the forum, and the sfnate-hoa.e ^^ cie Ul ^^^^^^ » ^^ ^ooiier 
 
 the capital betore |^^'f ^l" ^. ^^^^SSius a c ien^of the audacious tri- 
 was his back turned, than ^^^.^^^^''''J,' 4^"(3icero was expressly at- 
 buno, brouglit ma ^^^^f ,,{ fj;^,^^ ^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 tacked by name. He f f , ^^^^Ji ^ ^ fl'fn those limits were sub- 
 miles of Rome ; all who ^^^' ^^his DrS)ertV was conhscaled. Hic- 
 jectedto heavy Penaltie ; all 1^^ P^^/Myj^ Tusculum and at 
 favorite house on Ij^ Pakt !J°^- "^Thegrea orator lingered on the 
 Formiae, were to be dest o^ca. yi^ fe Thurii at Taren- 
 
 SS 1. ^n^ich le woS'taiu Uavc flxe.l his place ot exje, ^^as 
 ruled by a magistrate ot «'« -""f/f If ">■;, cato This remarkable 
 
 I'," ?'';l;'ri"au us hf S't rte moi"d^r"n'r,;ea ,I.'t i,t o„pos 
 Uie (Icalli '■','-■'"; J,'''-, T,, I „ sioir pliili.sonbv ivliicli be professed 
 lug llie poinilur .arty I,.t tic ^liep 1 . „,,„„,,„,, „„. 
 
 almost imlittcd l.iin for b I' ; ' " ,, i„ll«iblc lo,;ic willi 
 
 mmmmmm 
 
 ':Z S.a'S'c;rwlti;:''b Jsiu:L''cr m-ut7ou„r. noleu,-, brolUer
 
 20 LIFE OF -ULIUS CESAR. 
 
 of the Kine: of Egypt, was Prince of Cj'pius ; unrl when Clodius was 
 in llie hands of tin' pirates this prince contiihulcd the paltry sum of 
 two talents toward his ransom. The. Iriijime, who never forgot or 
 forp:avc, brouiihl in a law bv whieh (Jypnis was annexed to the 
 Koman Empire ; and Cato, though he held no cur>de ofliec, was in- 
 vested with pni-torian rank for the execution of this iuiciuilous busi- 
 ness. Cato pretended not that lie was ignorant of the real purpose 
 of this mission. Ihil lie declared himself ready to obey the law, left 
 Rome soon after Cicero's departure, and remained absent for about 
 two years. WJieu, therefore, C;esar left liome in the spring of the 
 year 58 b.c. to assume the government of Caul, the senate was left 
 in a stale of paralysis frcmi the want of able and resolute leaders. 
 
 After Cajsar's departure, Ciudius pursu(!d his democratic measures 
 without let or hindrance. He abolished the law of the comitial aus- 
 pices by which Bibulus had allempled to thwart C;csai' in the former 
 year. He distributed the freedmen and city rabble throughout all 
 the tribes. He restored the trade-unions anil eumpanies, wineh had 
 been abolished by the senate nine years before. He deprived the 
 censors of the power of removing senators or degrading citizens, un- 
 less each person so dishonored had previously been found guilty by 
 .1 verdict of the law courts, and unless both censors concurred in 
 every sentence. He gave such an extension to the unwise corn laws 
 of C. Gracchus and Saturninus, that grain, instead of being sold at a 
 loAv rate, was distributed without priee to all citizens of Rome. 
 Some of these laws were probably based upon suggestions of Caesar's. 
 But even tliose of which he may have approved generally were passed 
 in a form and in a manner of which he could not approve ; and of 
 some he is known utterly to liave disapproved. 13ut for the time 
 Clodius and his gang weie masters of Rome. Caesar was in Gaul. 
 Kcilher Pompey nor Crassus stirred hand nor foot to interfere. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CM8AH IN GAUL — BUEACU BETWEEN POMPEY AND CiESAR. (oS-oO B.C.) 
 
 It was hut a few days after Cicero had left Rome that Caesar re- 
 reived news from Gaid whicli compelled his i^recipitatc departure. 
 The Helvetians in great numbers were advancing upon Geneva, with 
 the purpose of crossing the Rhone near that town, the extreme out- 
 post of the province of Transalpine Gaul, and forcing their way 
 Mirough that ))roviuce to seek new settlements in the West. In eight 
 *mys, the active i^roconsul travelled from the gates of Rome to 
 Ueneva. Arrived there, he lined the river with fortifications such as 
 compelled the Helvetians to oass into Gaul by a longer and more dilfi-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS CJiSAK. ^^ 
 
 rr^^ ti,P Tnn • he then followetl them across the Avar 
 
 r ?n J^ h theXnaus ; but Cffisar promptly re acted all such over- 
 Gaul with the «o»^'^"^ ' ^ alarmed were the lioman legionaries at 
 S'^ecT of a on elt .ithllie Germans, huge in f ram'e and mul- 
 ; XSS^Iilmhe.^^^^^^ 
 
 H^^SSaS^--- 
 
 tlT^a across She |reat river.which was long destiued to remam as 
 
 the boundaiy between the Celtic and Teutomc races. 
 
 Thiis n one campaign, not only the Roman province, but all Gaul, 
 
 was del vercd f mi the presenc-e of those German invaders whose 
 
 ronc4ners in the time of Marius had overrun the whole country, and 
 
 wha'c descendants at a later period gave to the conquered land its 
 
 "^T-J^s^i^s tTorms wintered in the heart of the country which he had 
 iust set free from the Snevian invaders. This position at once roused 
 the iealousy of the Belgic tribes to the north of the Seine, and a pow- 
 erful confederacy was formed to bar any designs which might be en- 
 tenained by Sr for extending the dominion of Rome beyond its 
 nresent Unfits. C*sar, informed of their proceedings, did not wai to be 
 ait-icked He raised two new legions without expecting the autliority 
 of the senate and early in the next year (57 B.C.) entered the Belgic ter- 
 Htory Si was then bounded southward by the Seine and Marne. 
 Here he occupied a strong position on the Aisnc, and bat] led all ho 
 efforts of the confederates to dislodge him or draw him out to battle. 
 Wearied out, tiiey dispersed, each to their own homes; and ( a'sar 
 advanced rapidly into the country of the .Nervians. the most formid- 
 able neor.le of the Belgic League, wiio then occupied the district be- 
 tween tie Sambre and the Scheld. As he was forming his camp 
 upon the ri-iit bank of the lirst-named river, he was surprised by the 
 watchful enemy, and his whole army was nearly cut on . e re- 
 trieved the disaster only at the most imminent peril to himseit. and 
 
 id to do the duty both of a common soldier and a general. But 
 when the first confusion was over, the Hon.an dis.iplme P'^^vailed ; 
 
 uiid ti»c brave barbarians were repulsed with prodigious slaughter.
 
 28 LIFE OF JULirs Cil'^SAK. 
 
 After this desperate biittle, he received the submission-of the whole 
 country soulli of tiic Lower Rhine. 
 
 lu the following year (rui n.c), he built u fl^et, and quickly reduced 
 the ani]ihihious people of Brelapne, who had delied his power and 
 in.^ultetl his ollicers. He then attempted, but Avithout success to 
 occupy a post at or near Martifruy, in the; Valais, for the purpose of 
 commanding (he Pass of the Pennine Alp (Great St. iJcruard), re- 
 ceived the submission of the Aquitaniaus in the extreme south 
 through his young lieutenant P. Cra.ssus, son of the triumvir, and 
 1 himself chastised the wild tribes who occupied the coast-lands Avhich 
 now form Picardy, Artois, and French Flanders— the Menapii and 
 the Morini, " remotest of mankind. " Thus in three marvellous cam- 
 paigns, he seemed to have conquered the whole of (-laui, from the 
 Rhine and ]\Iount Jura to the Western Ocean. The brilliancy and 
 rapidity of his successes silenced all questionings at liomc. No at- 
 tempt was made to call him to account for levying armies beyond 
 what had been allotted U, him l)y law. Thanksgivings of fifteen 
 days— an unprecedented length of time— were decreed by the senate. 
 The winter months of each year were passed by the proconsul on 
 the Italian side of the Alps. After travelling through liis Cisalpine 
 province to liold assizes, inspect public works, raise money for his 
 wars, and recruit his troops, he fixed his head(iuarters at Luca 
 (Lucca)— a town on the very frontier of Roman Italy, within two 
 liundred miles of Rome itself. Here he could hold easy communica- 
 tion with his partisans at home. Luca during his residence was more 
 like a regal court than the quarters of a Roman proconsul. Alone 
 time two hundred senators were counted among his visitors ; one 
 hundred and twenty lictors indicated the presence of the numerous 
 magistrates wlio attended his levees. This was in the spring of 5(5 
 B.C., when both Pompey and Crassus came to hold conference with 
 him. To explain the object of this visit, we must know what had 
 been passing at Rome since his departure two years before. 
 
 It has been mentioned that Clodius, supported by the consuls Piso 
 and Galjinius, remained absolute at Rome during the year 58 B.C. 
 But the insolence and audacity of the patrician tribune after the de- 
 parture of Caisar at length gave offence to Pompey. Clodius had ob- 
 tained possession of the person of a son of Tigranes, whom the great 
 conqueror had brought with him from the East ; and in order toVaise 
 money for some of his political projects, the tribune accepted a large 
 ransom for the young prince. The pra-tor L. Flavius, a creature of 
 . Poinpey's, endeavored to arrest the liberated prisoner ; but Clodius in- 
 terfered at the head of an armed force, and in the struggle which ensued 
 sev(;ral of Pomj)ey"s adiierenls were slain. The gi'ca't man was irrev- 
 ocably offended, and detemnned to punish the tribune by promoting 
 the recall of Cicero, his chief enemy. Ever since the departure of the 
 orator, his friends had been using all exertions to compass this end. 
 His brother Quintus, who had lately returned from a three years'
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C.liSAR. 20 
 
 eoverntncnt io Asia, and was about to join Ccesar asonc of his legates, 
 his friend Atticus, whoou this occasion forsook his usual epicurean 
 ease his old but generous rival Hortensius— all joined with his w^ile 
 Terentia, a woman of masculine spirit, to watch every opportunity 
 for promoting his interests. The province of Macedonia had been 
 as«i-ned by a law of Clodius to Piso ; and Cicero, partly through fear 
 of" the new proconsul, partly through desire of approaching Italy, 
 ventured before the end of the year to Dyrrhachium, though it was 
 within the prescribed four hundred miles. But Ponipey s quarrel 
 with Clodius had already been announced by the election to the cori- 
 sulate of P. Leutulus Spinther, a known friend of Cicero, and ^. 
 MetellusNepos, a creature of Pompey. , ., „ i„„ 
 
 An attempt had been already made m the senate to cancel the law 
 by which C:icero had been banished, on tlu; ground of its having been 
 carried without reg:ird to constitutional forms. But this attempt 
 was stopped at once by tribuniciau veto, and the impatient orator 
 was obliged to wait for the new year. The new consuls, on entering 
 ollice (58 B.C.), immediately moved for the orator s recall ; and it 
 was proposed by L. Cotta that the law by which he was banished, 
 being informal,' should be set aside by the authority ot the senate. 
 But t^omper, botli for the sake of pea(-e, and also that Cicero might 
 l)e restored Vith all honor and publicity, urged that a law should Do 
 brought in lr)r the purpose. It was not, however, easy to carry 
 such\i law. Clodius, thouu:h no longer tribune, had adherents in the 
 new college, vho resolutely interposed their veto. The motion waa 
 dropped for tlie moment, but was presently renewed ; and Clodius 
 entered the fo'-um at the head of a large retinue fuliy armed and 
 prepared for any violence. A regular battle followed, which lett 
 Clodius master of the field. For some days Rome was at his mercy. 
 With his own lund he tired the Temple of the Nymphs and oestroyeil 
 the cen.sorial rejjslers. He attacked his enemies' houses, and many 
 persons were slaii in these riotous assaults. No public attempt was 
 made to stop him The consuls were powerless. Of I'l'iup^Y :'.i>'l 
 Crassus we hear xot. But a voung nobleman, named f. Amiius 
 Milo, bold and rec'cless as Clodius himself, niised a body of gladi- 
 ators at his own clurge, and succeeded in checking the lawless vio- 
 lence of the tribuneby the use of violence no les.s lawless. The bill 
 for Cicero's recall w\s now for the third time brought forward ; and 
 after long delays, caised by fresh interference of the Clodian tri- 
 bunes, it'^was passed ii the month of August. 
 
 Meantime the impalfcnt orator had been writing letters from llies- 
 salonica and Dyrrliaclinni, in which he continued to accuse hia 
 friends of coldness aiukinsincerily. But when the law was passed, 
 all the clouds v;misiied. Early in September, about a year and lour 
 months after his departu-o, he upproaclicd the city, and crowds at- 
 
 t , . 1 . .1-,. 1 1 -ii. «P 41.;,. A .^.^;„.> Wf.ii' Vmni tlii» 
 
 tended him along the whoo length of the Appian Way. 1' i 
 Porta Cupena to the Cupit>], nil the steps of the temples aii( 
 
 om the 
 d every
 
 30 LIFK OF .TL'LirS C-1':SAR. 
 
 place of vanlaire were Uironj^cd liy mulliliules, wlio testified tbeiv 
 salisfaclioii by loiui api>Iaus('. For Ihc moment, the popularity 
 Avliic'h had followed his consulship returned, and in honest pride ho 
 aseiridcd to the Capitoline Temple to return tiianks to the gods for 
 turninu' the hearts of the j)eople. 
 
 At tliis time there was a great scarcity of corn at Rome. This 
 miirht in part he occasioned by the dlstin'bed state of Egypt, one of 
 the chief giauaries of Italy. The king, Ptolemy Aulctes, had lately 
 been expelled by his subjects, and was now at Home seeking aid 
 from the senate to procure restoration to his throne. \Thatever was 
 the cause, tlse people, accustomed to be fed bj^ the state, murmured 
 loudly. Prices had fallen after the return of Cicero, and his friends 
 attributed this cheai)ness to the orator's recall. But before his re- 
 turn to Home, they had again risen ; andClodius hastened to attribute 
 this untoward change to the same cause. On tiie day after his tri- 
 umphant entry, tlierefore, the orator appeared in the senate, and 
 after returning thanks for his recall, he moved that an extraordinary 
 commission should be i-sued to Pompey, by whicli he was to be in-- 
 trusted with a complete control over the corn-market of tiie empire. 
 The consuls eagerly closed with the proposal, and added that the 
 commission should run for five years, with the command of money, 
 troops, fleets, and all things necessary for absolute authority. The 
 senate dared not oppose "the liungiy mob ; and the bill passed, 
 though Pompey was obliged to relinquish the clauses which in- 
 vested him with military power. He proved unaljle to intluenco 
 prices, or, in other w^ords, to force nature, and the coveted appoint- 
 ment resulted in unpopularity. 
 
 At the same time, handsome sums were voted to C'ccro to enable 
 him to rebuild his ruini;d houses, and to compensate liim for the de- 
 struction of his property. Encouraged both l)y the favor of the 
 senate and by his present popularity in the forum. >ie proceeded to 
 institute a prosecution against Clodius for assuming the tribunate 
 illegally, and for seditious conduct during his office. The reckless 
 demagogue prepared to resist by means of his arntjd mob. IJut he 
 received su[)port from an unexpected quarter. Jato had returned 
 from executing the hateful commission given hin by Clodius. The 
 lielpless Prince of Cyprus, despairing of resisUnce, though Cato 
 wa.s unattended by an armed force, put an end <o his own life ; and 
 the Roman, with rigorous punctuality, procecdel to sell all the royal 
 property and reduce the island to the conditionjf a Roman jirovince. 
 On ids return, he paid large sums into the treasury, insisted on his 
 •accounts being examined with minute scruthy, and took pride iu 
 having executed his commission, without regird either to tlie justice 
 of its origin, or to mercy in its execution But this commission 
 would become illegal were the tribunate o' Clodius declared illegal. 
 Cato, therefore, with the u.sual jierversity <f his logic, came forward 
 im a warm defender of Clodius and the act) of his tribunate.
 
 LIPE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 31 
 
 While the question was pending, fresh passions were excited by 
 The application of Ptolemy Aulctes. The king had consulted Cato 
 duriui? his soiouru in tlie East, though the Roman was at that tmie 
 entra^d in ruming the king's brother ; and Cato had vainly advised 
 him to procure restoration by any means rather than by application 
 to Rome \^hose assistance was only to be bought by ruin, iiut 
 Ptolemy ne^'-lected the well-meant advice ; and when he appeared at 
 Rome to oemaud succor, every senator of influence claimed the 
 lucrative task of giving back her king to Egypt. Pompey sought 
 it • Crassus sought it ; and the latter person now appears lor the hrst 
 time as the mover of a popular force, independent of his brother tri- 
 umvirs But the senate was too jealous of the triumvirs to increase 
 their power— and all the great expectants of the Egyptian commis- 
 sion were disappointed. It was conferred, as if in the regular course 
 of thiu"-s upon the late consul Lentulus Spiuther, who had obtained 
 the province of Cilicia; but the tribune C. Cato produced an oracle 
 from the Sibylline Books which forbade the use of an army. Len- 
 ♦ulus therefore, obtained a commission without the power of execut- 
 in-- it and the question in reality was left open for future aspirants 
 
 In the heat of this contest, Clodius had been elected a'dile, and 
 thus for the nonce escaped the impeachment which was menacing. 
 The armed conflicts between iiim and Mho continued ; and the con- 
 sular election for the year 55 B.C. threatened to become the oppor- 
 tunity of serious bloodshed. The consuls of the current year (o7 
 B c ) Cn. Lentulus Marcellinus and L. Philippus, were decidedlyiu 
 the interest of tiie senate ; and they supported with their whole in- 
 fluence L Pomilius Alienol)arl)us, biothcrin-law of Cato and a de- 
 termined antagonist of the iriumviral cabal. This man threatened 
 lliat his first act should ])e to recall Ciesar from his province. Pompey 
 also and Crassus met with little favor from him. And thus common 
 (lau"er again united the threo men who liad lately been diverging. 
 It was to concert measures for thwarting the reviving energy of the 
 senate, that the ominous meeting at Luca was j-iroposed and took 
 effect.' What passed between the three is only knoAvn from the results. 
 Pompey and Crassus returned to Rome from their interview at 
 Luca fully pledged (fUi is evident from what followed) to prevent 
 the election of Domitius and the recall of Coesar. To fultil both 
 these conditions, they came forward themselves as joint candulates 
 for a second consulsiiip. The senate, however, had gathered courage 
 of late. Milo held (;i<)dius in check, and the consuls hindered the 
 election of the powerful confederates by refusing to hold the 
 oomitia. The powers oi government were in abeyance. The 
 calends of January came, and there were no magistrates to assume 
 tiie <rovernment. The young Crassus had just arrived in the neigh- 
 ])orh<-od c.f R(jmc with a sln^iig body of the Gallic veterans fr(jm 
 Cnjsar's army. I'mliT the f(ar of violence, the senatorial chiefs 
 drew back, and allowed Pompey and Crassus to assvxme the cousul-
 
 32 LIFE OF JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 sl\ip, as IMnriiis aiiil Cinna hail assumed i(. •without any rc'<riilar 
 form of election. Tiicy imnieilialely iield comilia for the t^iectiou of 
 the other ciinile magistracies. Cuto olfored liimself for tlio prjclor- 
 ship, but was (iefeated by Vatinius, a person chielly kuowu as a mer- 
 cenary instrument of C;esar's polio}'. 
 
 Soon after, further fruits of the conference of Luca appeared. 
 The tribune, C. Trehonius, moved in t!ie Asscml)ly of Tril)es that 
 the consuls should receive special provinces for tlie space of tivo 
 years — Syria binnix allotted to Crassus, Spain to Pompey. Wlietliei 
 viie consuls intended to bring forward a snppicmentary law to extend 
 <Jtesar's command, or whether tliey purposed to break faith with their 
 absent confederate, cannot be known. But the (^aisarian party at 
 Ronie exclaimed so loudly against the omission of their leader's name, 
 that Poraiiey himself added a clause to tiie Trebouian laAv, by which 
 Caesar's government of the Gauls and Illyria was extended for an ad- 
 ditional five years, to date from the expiration of the first term.* 
 Duiing the first day Cato obstructed the law by his old device of 
 Hpeakiug against time. But when a second daj' seemed likely to be 
 wasted in like manner, Trebouius committed liim to prison. Two 
 tribunes who threatened to interpose their veto were prevented from 
 attending the assembly by the u.se of positive force. 
 
 Pompey endeavored to outdo even Ciesar in bidding for the favor 
 of the people by magnificent spectacles. In his name, his freedraan 
 Demetrius erected the first theatre of stone which Rome had yet 
 seen, and exhibited combats of wild beasts on a scale never before 
 witnessed. Then for the first time a combat between elephants was 
 w'itnessed in the arena. 
 
 Cicero after his return from exile had for a time eagerly engaged 
 in professional pursuits. To pass over the speeches which he deliv- 
 ered with respect to himself and the restoration of his property iu 
 the j'^ear 57 u.c., we find him defending, among others, P. Sestius, 
 M. Cselius, and L. Balbus, and the speeches he delivered as their ad- 
 vocate are full of interesting allusions to the state of political affairs. 
 In the senate also he had taken an active part in the debates. Before 
 the conference of Luca the trinmviral cabal seemed shaken, and 
 Pompey seemed to l)e roused from his apathy by the insolence of 
 Clodius. At that juncture the orator ventured to move in the senate 
 the repeal of Caesar's law for dividing the Cfimpanian lands, and his 
 motion was warmly received by the leading senators. But after the 
 conference a message w^s conveyed to him through Crassus which 
 convinced him at once of the renewed union of the triumvirs, and of 
 the danger which might again overtake him. He was, moreover, be- 
 coming disgusted with the bcnatoriai chiefs. Lucullus, after spend- 
 
 * Veil. Pat. ii. 40. By Ihe Vatiiiiaii law, CiC^ar's rommand oxtcnrl'd from tlio 
 l)e<riniiinL' of 158 to the eud of 54 B.C.; by the Tieboriian, from the bi-giiining of 53 
 toUic oud oim.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAK. ^» 
 
 incr his latter days in profuse and ostentati^ous luxury, was sinking 
 Sro a state of senile apatliv. Hortensius, always more o an advo- 
 cate tlin a statesman, \vas devoted io his lish-ponds and h.s planta- 
 [fo^ With Cato the gentler nature of Cicero ^^^^'.^^^^^l^^ 
 ouslv The persons wiio were now n.mg o be chiefs '-^f 1^^^^;^^^' 
 such as Domi ius Abenobarbus, Milo. and otliers, were as little loath t 
 use la^'less force as Clodius. It had been best for Cicero if he had 
 Sen he advice of his friend Atticus and retired altogether from 
 DubUc life a a time when there seemed no place left for huu on the 
 field of poiiUes But he could not bring him.elf to give up those ac- 
 Sve and s rin- pursuits which he had followed from youth up- 
 ward IL could 1 at l^ear to abandon the senate-house and forum ; 
 he would not^in the violent members of the scriatonal P=^;y j j^o 
 dared not oppose the triumvirs. It was impossible to satisfy thc.e 
 conflic^hi- fears and wishes without quilting the ranks ot the sen-. - 
 Srt oferchy and ioining the supporters of the triumvual ca ml 
 The first step Cicero took with little regret; the second no doubt 
 J. ve h m mucir^ihi. Nevertheless he took it. Soon after the con- 
 Sence of L:ica a change appeared in his politics. He spoke in 
 favor of the prolongalioS of Caesar's command, and pronounced ^ 
 labo-ed pane-^yric ou Crassus, whom he had aiways dislu.ed. lo 
 Ss^r he^ 1 uT^been reconciled by his brother Quintus, who was a 
 wm^lmirerof the great proconsul. The S^^n^ ^l^,^^^"^^ 
 who had returned llushcd with trmmph from the Gallic ^''isj^-^^ 
 a devoted follower of Cicero; and perhaps P/^f "^^^ ^^'f {"S for Ui'. 
 ^m supplied feelings and words which the father could not ha c 
 chimed It may well be supposed that Cicero was disgusted with 
 tleTcrocity of Milo and the new senatorial chiefs. It is even possi- 
 b e thatiii really believe.l the.best hope of ^^^'^^ {lH^j;^^^"^ 
 ernment was from the triumvirs. At all even s his lettc.s ^^ riltui at 
 Sinie show that he labored to convince his friends and perhaps 
 himself that such was his belief. • i *i, ,f r;,.^.-n mrriod 
 
 lusome points, however, it cannot be denied that Cicc.ocaircd 
 his compliance beyond tiie liuMts even of political mo.ahty. biuce 
 e ^'extraordinary appointment of Pompey to command in the 
 Mediterranean, it had become common to confer provinces and com ■ 
 mands notaccor.ling to the provisions of the Sempron.an law, but 
 bv special votes of the people. In this way the prolligate Piso, Cos- 
 «.fr's fa er. in-law. had received tiic government of Macedonia, and 
 Gabiniu . Pompey's cn.iture, that of Syria. These men had used 
 hei power in a 'manner now too c<munon ; Cicero ''''l "^^^''J^' ; 
 again.'t them in his most vehcm.a.t manner 80on after his retu . an 1 
 the ellect of his speech was such tliat Pis-> was recalled. Gabmui, 
 meaSe. had taken a daring step. Lentulus Spmther, Pl'oconsul 
 of Ciiicia. was (as has been sai.l) unable to execute his commissi u 
 JJstoring Ptolemy Auletcs. The king, therefore, applied t o G b i^ 
 nius and by oiler of enormous sums prevailed upon him to maith to
 
 34 LIFE OF JULIUS C.liSAR. 
 
 Alexandria wilhout waiting for a commission. Gabinins, by the aid 
 of an armed force, had no dillicuity in reinstating Ptohimy. This 
 was (luring the cou.sulyhip of Ponipey and Crassus. Being suijer- 
 sodcd by Crassns in his Syrian g )vernment, (Jabinius returned to 
 Kome. lie found llie people infuriated against liim for daring to 
 lead an army into Kgypt in despite of the Sibylline oracles, and he 
 ■was impeached. By the influence of Ponipey, douljtless. he was ac- 
 f]uilted. But he was again indicted for extortion in his province, 
 and Cicero, at the solicitation of Porapey, came forward to defend 
 him. But this time he was condemned, uo doubt most justly, and 
 sought safety in exile. 
 
 The triumviral cabal now hastened to dissolution. In the year 
 54 15.C., .Julia, the daughter of C^iesar and Avifc of l^ompey, died in 
 childbed. Though Pompcj'- Avas old enough to be her father, slie 
 had been to him a loving and faithful wife. lie on his part was so 
 devoted to liis young and beautiful consort, tliat ancient authors at- 
 tribute much of his apathy in public matters to the happiness which 
 ho found in domestic life. This faithful attachment to Julia is the 
 most amiable point in a character otherwise cold and unattractive. 
 So much was Julia beloved by all, that the people voted her the ex- 
 traordinary honor of a public funeral in the Campus Martins. Ilcr 
 death set Pompey free at once from ties which might long liavc 
 bound him to Csesar, and almost impelled him to drown the sense of 
 his loss in the busy whirl of public life. 
 
 Meauwiiile Crassus had left Rome for the East, and thus destroyed 
 another link in the chain that had hitherto mniulained political union 
 among the triumvirs. Early in the year after his consulship (51 
 B.C.) he succeeded Gabinius in the government of Syria. His chief 
 object in seeking this province was to cany the Roman arms beyond 
 the Euphrates, and by the conquest of the Parthians to Avin fresb ad- 
 ditions to his enormous fortune, while a great military triumph might 
 serve to balance the con(iuests of Pompey in the same regions, and 
 of Csesar in (4aul. Toward the close of the year 53 u'c, about 
 twelve months after the death of Julia, Rome was horror-struck by 
 hearing that the wealthy proconsul and his gallant son had been cut 
 off by the enemy, and that the greater part of his army had been de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 The Parthians, a people originally found in the mountainous dis- 
 trict to the south-west of the Caspian Sea, had, on the death of Alex- 
 ander, fallen under the nominal sway of Seleucus and his successcra 
 on iJie Gricco-Syrian throne. As that dynasty fell into decay, the 
 Parthians continually waxed bolder ; till at the time of the great 
 Mithridatic war we find their king Pharnaces claiming to be called 
 king of kings, and exercising despotic pow(!r over the whole of Per- 
 sia and the adjacent countries to the Euphrates westv.'ard. Their 
 capital was fixed at the Greek city of Seleuceia on the Tigris ; and 
 here Iko king maintained a court in which the barbaric Bplcndor of
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C'^SAR. 35 
 
 the East was stranseU' minified with the frugal refinements intro- 
 d iced bVTheClreek" settlers and adventurers, who abounded in all 
 nuar er? They possessed a numerous cavalry, clad in light armor 
 2sed to scour thVbroad plains of the countries they overran trained 
 to disperse like a cloud before regular troops, but to fire on the ad- 
 vancing enemy as they fled. Orodes, their present king already 
 Sreateid with an attack by Gabinius, was not unprepared for the 
 war which Crassus lost no time in beginning. . 
 
 In the first year of his proconsulship, Crassus was too late f or » 
 serious attack ; but early in the next spring (53 b.c ) he ad- 
 vanced in stremrth from the Euphrates, at the head of a well- 
 Ippointed army." Artabazus, the present k>ng of Armenia who 
 throu-h fear of the Parthian monarch, was smcerely attached 
 to Rome wished the proconsul to take Armenia as a basis of 
 opeSns, and to descend the valley of the Tigris so «« " avo.d 
 the open plains, where the Parthian horsemen, seconded by the heat 
 ,.f summer would act against him at terrible advantage C. Lassius 
 ongZs the most experienced officer of the P.7«°'^«\^-^^ "l,^"^ ^^ V! 
 afterward became famous as the chief author ot Qesar s tea Ui-took 
 the same view. But Crassus was impatient, and, neglecting al a.l- 
 vce nmrcied straight across the plains. , What was foretold hap- 
 pened. The Partliians, avoiding a general l)attle, drew on the Ko- 
 nans into the heart of Mesopotamia, till the legionaries, famt w th 
 heat and hunger, could advance no farther. As they began to e- 
 treat they were enveloped by a crowd of horsemen, and pursued by 
 Sea army commanded by Snrenas, a P^-^^-Uf ^ °*f ^^ ,Pjtd 
 AtCliarraj, the Haran where Abraham once dwelt he l^^^'ted and 
 offered battle. It was accepted, and the proconsul was descale 
 Still he contrived to make good his retreat and ^^a^^^;; "^^ J=^tJ^1„^^ 
 the mmmtains that skirt the western side of the great plain of Meso- 
 potamia when he was induced to accept a conference offered by the 
 treacherous Snrenas. At this conference he was seized and slam as 
 the chiefs of the ten thousaml had been dealt with three centuries 
 before His head was sent to Orodes, who ordered molten gold to 
 be poured into the mouth. Young Publius, the friend ot C^sar and 
 Cicero fell in tlie struggle, fighting valiantly for his father, i^as- 
 Mus alone of the chief olficers did the duty of a genera , and .suc- 
 ceeded in drawing off his division of the army in salety to the Ko- 
 n an frontiers. For two years he continued to .lefen-l the province 
 a-ainst the Parthian assaults, till in .^l li.c. a decisive viciory on 1 o 
 .■onfines of Cili.-ia and Syria checked their advances and enable 
 Cassius to hand over the latter province in a peaceful condition to 
 
 ''Meanwhile CJfesar in (iaul was also involved in unexpected diflicul- 
 tic9. In his three first campaigns {m-W u.v) as has been said he 
 seemed to have reduced ail Gaul to silent submission. In the two 
 uext years he was engaged iu expeditious calculated rather to astou-
 
 36 LIFE OF .HJLIIS C'.KSAR. 
 
 ish and il:izz'o men's minds at Rome than necessary to secure liis 
 con(niests. Fresli swarms ofGcrnians liud heiriiu to cross tlie Rhine 
 near ("oblen?:.* lie defeated lliem near tiiat place with slaughter so 
 terrible that upward of ino.oOO men aie said to l)avc been slain by 
 the sword or to have perished in the Rhine. To terrify tliehn still 
 further, he threw a bridge over tlie Lr^jad river at a spot probably be- 
 tween Coblenz and Anderuach, which was completed in ten days— a 
 miracle of engineering art. lie theiK advanced into Germany, burn- 
 ing and destroying, and broke up his bridge as he retired. Cresar's 
 account of the victory of Coblenz was not received with the same ap- 
 plause in the senate as liad welcomed the triiunphs of previous years. 
 It appeared that (he (4erman cliiefs had come into the Roman camp, 
 that Ciesar detained them on the ground that they had broken an 
 armistice, and while they were captives had attacked their army. 
 The facts as narrated by him-;elf bear an ap]iearancc of ill faith. 
 Cato rose in the senate, and prc|-tosed that Ctrsar should be delivered 
 up to the Germans, as an offiiriug in expiation of treachery'. Rut 
 such a proposition came with a; i ill grace even from Cato's mouth. 
 Few Romans acknowledged th.i duty of keejiing faith wilh barba- 
 rians ; and if Cassar had not been the enemy of tlie senatorial party, 
 probably nothing would have been said of his treachery. But how- 
 ever this might be, it is clear that the decree would have been an 
 empty threat. Who could have been found to " bell the cat" ? Who 
 would or couM have arrested Ca'sar at the licad of his legions? 
 
 It was in the aulumn of the same year (.'J.'} n.c.) that lie passed over 
 into our own island, taking ship probably at Witsand near Calais, 
 and landing on the open beach near Deal. In the next year he re- 
 peated the invasion of Britain wilh a much larger force, marched up 
 the Stour, took Canter])ury, crossed the Thames above London, prob- 
 ably near Walton, defeated Cassivelaunus, the gallant chief of the 
 T_rin()l)antes, and took their town, which stood probably on tlie site 
 of the modern St. Albans. Little result followed from these ex- 
 peditions except to .spread the terror of the Roman name, and to 
 alTord matter of wonderment at Rome. Cicero's curiosity about 
 these unknown lands was satisfied ])y letters from his brother Quin- 
 tus, and from C. Trebatius Testa, a learned lawyer, who attended Cae- 
 .sar in a civil capacity at the recommendation of Cicero himsclf.f 
 
 But it was soon discovered how hollow was Ihe pacification of 
 Gaul. During the winter of 54-5;:! is.c. Ctesar had spread his troops 
 in wiuter-(juarters over a wide area. Ambiorix, a crafty and able chief 
 of the Kburones, a half-German tribe on either side of the Mouse, as- 
 hiuilted the camp of Cotta and Habinus. and bv adroit cunning con- 
 trived to cut off two legions, lie then attacked QI Cicero. But this offi- 
 
 * It cecmf certain that, this is what Ciesar means by "ad confluentcm Mosae. et 
 Ilhetii." liell. (rail. iv. 15. The Musa here must be the Aloselle, not th&Meute—x>r 
 elrt€ Monulue nmn h-. rcrs-torcd. 
 
 t Kpist. ad An. iv. 16, 13 ; 17, 3 ; ad Quintum Fratrem, ii. 16, 4.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C-DSAll. 
 
 3? 
 
 cer thoudi stationed in the hostile country of tlie Nervii with one 
 legion only, gallantly defended his camp till he was ^-^liev^^^^i^by ^re. 
 sar himself, who had not yet. accordmg to his custom Idt Tiansa - 
 Dine Gaul. Alarmed by the general insurrection which was threat- 
 ened by these bold muvemeuts of Ambiorix, Caesar asked Pompey to 
 lend him a legion from his Spanish army ; and his request was 
 granted at once? The next year's campaign quelled the aitempt of 
 Ambiorix, and Ctcsar returned to Italy during the wm er of ^^-^-^^^fr 
 where his presence was needed, as we shall presently hear Bat m 
 the years 53 and 51 B.C. all central Gaul rose against the Romans, 
 under the able conduct of Verciugetorix, chief of the ^r^e mans 
 The combined Gauls for the most part declined open couliich,, and 
 threw themselves into to^ms fortified with great skill and dei ended 
 with great obstinacy. But. notwithstanding s.mie reverses, tlie rapid 
 movements and steady resolution of Ca3sar and his officers triumphed. 
 The last hope of tlie Gauls lay in the strong fortress of Avancum 
 (Bourges) ; and when this at last yielded, all actual resistance was at 
 an end. But for the two next winters he was again obliged to winter 
 beyond the Alps ; and l)y the besiuning of the year oO B.C., the ninth 
 of his command, be had conquered the whole country, and reduced 
 every murmur to silence. This conquest was achieved at a tearlul 
 loss of life Is'early a million of Gauls and Germans are computed to 
 have been .sacriticed in those eight years of war Caesar was humane 
 in tlie treatment of his fdlow -citizens ; but, like a true Ivomau, he 
 counted the lives of barbarians as naught. , 
 
 Wiiiie therefore Ciassus was engaged, never to return in the i^ast, 
 and Ca;sar was occupied with serious dangers in Gaul. Pompey no 
 longer bound by marriage ties, was complete master ot Kome. coii- 
 trar°y to all precedent, he sent lieutenants to govern !^pam in Ins 
 stead, pleading his employment as curator of the corn market as a 
 reason for his remaining at home. As a matter of form, he 
 lived outside the city at his Alban villa, and never appeared 
 
 publicly at least wilhin the walls ol Rome. But he did riot 
 the less keep a watchful eye on political eveuts. At present, m- 
 deed he interfered little. He seems to have expected that the 
 condition of things wimld at length become so desperate, and 
 all government so impossible, that all orders would unite in pro- 
 flaimiiig him diclaKjr. In 54 B.C. consuls were elected who were 
 more in the intcrctof the .senate tium of the popular party, probably 
 by a free u.ne of money. Wiien the elecli(jns for 5;J B.C. approaeheil 
 several tribunes of the popular parly l)ound themselves together, and 
 by their veto prevented all elections whatsoever ; antl for eight months 
 the city was left in a state of anarchy, without any responsible gov- 
 ernment At len"-lh two consuls ^vere chosen ; but when they pro- 
 posed to hold the e<;miiia for the elections of 52 B.C., the same scenes 
 were renewed. The tribunes obsliiiutely refused to permit any elec- 
 tions ; and when the calends oi January came round, th«rc were uo
 
 38 LIFE OF JULIUS C.^SAR. 
 
 magistrates to assume the !>;ovennnent. But in a few days au event 
 hiippciu'd wiiich complotely altered all political relations. 
 
 \\'e may attribute all tlie late movements of the tribunes to the in- 
 spiration of CHodius. In Oaisar's absence he had become the leadei 
 of the pupuJar party. Durinsi' the present interregnum, he came for- 
 ward as candidate for the pra-torsiiij), while his enemy Milo .sought to 
 be consul. On the ISlh of January, 52 n.c, Milo was travelling with 
 his wife and family, attended (as usual) by a strong armed retinue, 
 along the Appian Koad to Lanuvium, where he held a municipal 
 cilice. Near Bovilke he met Clodliiis riding with a small number of 
 attendants also armed. A quar''ej arose among the servants ; Clo- 
 dius mingled in the fray, and, being wounded, took refug(! in a tav- 
 ern. Milo. determined not to sulfer for an imperfect act of violence, 
 surrounded the house, drew forth his wounded enemy, and left liim 
 dead upon the road. The body was i^icked up by n frieml soon 
 after, and carried to Kome. Here it was exposed in the forum, and 
 a dreadful riot arose. The houses of Milo and other senatoi'ial chiefs 
 were assaulted, but they were strongly built and prepared for de- 
 fence, and the i)opulace was beaten off. But the furniture of the curia, 
 the ancient meeting-place of the senate, was seized to make a funeral- 
 pile to the deceased demagogue ; the curia itself and r ther buildings 
 were involved in tlames. Every day witnessed a fresh riot, till the 
 senate named Pompey as head of a commission to restore order. 
 This was done ; and it was supposed that he would have been ap- 
 pointed dictator at once, had not C'lesar t)ecu at Luca during this 
 winter, watching for a false move of the party opposed to him. To 
 avoid a direct collision, Calo and Bibulus recommended that Pompey 
 should be named as sole consul. Milo was soon after brought to trial 
 for the death of Clodius. Cicero was his advocate, and had exerted 
 himself to the utmost to prepare a speech in justitication of the 
 slaughter of Clodius. The jury were willing to have ac(iuitted Milo. 
 But Pomi^ey ^vas anxious to get rid of a citizen as troublesome on the 
 one .side as "Clodius had been on the other : and he placed soldiers at 
 every avenue of the court for the purpose, as he said, of preserving or- 
 der. ' This unwonted sight, and the fear of popular violence, robbed 
 Cicero of his eloquence and the judges of their courage. Milo was 
 t jndemned, and tied to ^Marseilles. Cicero sent him there a written 
 speech, such (he said) as he intended to have spoken. Milo, who 
 knew no fear, sarcast^ically replied, that '' he was glad that it had 
 not been delivered ; else he should not then have been eating the 
 ^ fine mullets of jMarseilles." 
 
 Pompey had now reached the height of his ambition. He was vir- 
 tually raised to the position of dictator, without being bound to any 
 party — popular or senatorial. 15ut from this time he seems to have 
 made up his mind to brciik with (^tesar, .and to put himself at the head 
 of the senatorial nobility without binding himself to its traditional 
 policy. He married Cornelia, the daughter of 3Ietellus Scipio, a lead.
 
 LIFE or JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 39 
 
 \nrr member of the aristocracy, and on the 1st of August associated 
 his new father-in-hnv in the consul^^hip with himself He repealed 
 some of the democratic measures of Clodius, and made rules for the 
 better conduct of elections, and the assignment of provinces. He 
 struck indirectly at Ctesar by several new enactments He procured 
 a decree of the senate by which his government oi bpain was pro- 
 loD'^ed for five years lon-Ver,whereas Caesar's command m Gaul would 
 terminate in little more than two years. By this law Pompey calcu- 
 lated that he would be able to keep his own army on foot after the 
 Gallic conqueror had disbanded Ms. In anticipation of Ctesar s seeli- 
 in'' to obtain a second consulship, it wasfurlherprovidedthat no one 
 should hold a province till live ye.irs had elapsed from tlie end uf his 
 tenure of office. By this law Pompey calculated tuat his rival would 
 be left for this period without any military force. It is strange tliat 
 Pompey witli the intimate knowledge that he ought to have gained 
 of Cajsar's character duiinff his long political connection with him, 
 should not have foreseen that a mau so resolute and so ambitious 
 would break through the cobwebs of law by the strong hand. 
 
 Pompev was disappointed in his hope of remaining as supreme 
 arbiter of" tiie fate of Rome, without joining heart and hand witli the 
 senatorial uobility. The men who were now coming forward as 
 leaders of that party were men of action. Luculhis was dead. Uor- 
 teiisins al^o was dead to public life. Cicero left R(mie at this moment 
 to assume the government of Cilicia in virtue of the law just passed 
 bv Pompey by which magistrates lately iu office were excluded from 
 ffoverument'; for it was added, that the present need should be sup- 
 plied by those consulars or prfetorians who had not yet held govern- 
 ments The orator was absent from the beginning of 51 to the end 
 of 50 n and during this time the chief authority in the senate be- 
 longed to the brothers M. Marcellusand C. ]\Iarcellus, who held the 
 con°sulsliip successively in the above-named years, together with 
 Domitius Ahenobarhus and others, who hnted Pompey almost as 
 much as Casar. The people of Home and Italy looked on with little 
 interest They had no sympathy either with Pompey or the senate, 
 and Cte'sar's long absence had weakened his influence in the lonim. 
 It was simply a dispute for power, between the senatorial nobility on 
 the one hand and two military chiefs on the other. These chiet.s at 
 lirst united against the senate, and tl)en parted so irreconcilably that 
 one of them was thrown into a forced alliance with that body. 
 Pompey and the .senatorial leaders agreed only in cue point— th« 
 ueoossily of stripping Caesar of power.
 
 40 LIFE OF JULIUS C.liSxVll. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SECOND CIVIL "WAR— DEATH OF POMPEY. (50-48 B.C.) 
 
 The senatorial ohic-fs had resolved to break with Cresar. The at- 
 tnL-k was commenced by the consul j\I. Marcelltis, in September, 51 
 B.C. The proconf^ul had at that lime just succeeded in putting down 
 the formidable ins-urrection prganized by Vercingctorix, and the fact 
 of his complete success cou'ld not yet be known at Rome. It was 
 the eighth year of his command, and therefore little more than two 
 years \vere yet to run before he became a private citizen. He had, 
 however, already intimated his intention of olferiug himself for the 
 consulship, eitlier in the ne.xt year or the year after that, in order 
 that he might, l)y continued tenure of office, be safe from the prose- 
 cution with which he was threatened on laying down his proconsular 
 command ; and it was intended to ask permis.sion of the senate that 
 he miiiht become a candidate without returning to Rome. For, if 
 he continued to be proconsul, he could not legally enter the gates ; 
 and if he ceased to be proconsul, he would be exposed to personal 
 danger from the enmity of the senatorial chiefs. But M. Marcelhis 
 was"^not content to wait" to try tlie matter on tliis is.sue. On his mo- 
 tion a decree was passed, by wiiich the consuls of the next year were 
 ordered at once to bring before the senate the cpiestion of redistribut- 
 ing the i)rovincial governments ; and clauses were added providing, 
 first, that no tribune should be allowed to interpose his veto ; sec- 
 ondly, that the senate would take upon themselves the task of pro- 
 viding for Caesar's veterans. The purpose of this decree was mani- 
 fest. It was intended at the beginning of the next year to supersede 
 Caesar, though the law gave him two years more of command in 
 Gaul ; it was intended to stop the mouth of any tribune in Caesar's 
 interest ; it was intended to sap the fidelity of his soldiers, by tempt- 
 ing them with hopes of obtaining lands in Italy. 
 
 But the movement was too open and unadvised. Ser. Sulpicius, the 
 other consul, though a member of the senatorial party, ojiposed it, 
 and it was allowed^to fall to the ground. Still a move had been 
 made, and men's minds were familiarized wilh the notion of strip- 
 ping Ca»sar of his command. 
 
 Ca-sar felt that the crisis was at hand. The next year of his Gallic 
 government he .^pent in organizing Gaul. All .symptoms of insurrec- 
 tion in that country were at an end. The military population had 
 suffered too terribly to lie able to resume arms. The mild and equit- 
 able arrangements of Ctesar gave general satisfaction. The Gallic chiefs 
 and cities beffan to prefer the arts of Roman civilization to their own 
 rude state. There can be little doubt that if Caesar had been reduced
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^'ESAR. 41 
 
 to play the part of Sertorius in Gaul, he would have been able to do 
 so with emiaent success. 
 
 He did not, however, ueglect precautions at home. Of lliC new 
 consuls (for the year 50 b.c), C. Marcellus, btother of Marcus, tlie 
 late consul, was his known and declared enemy ; but L. ^milius 
 PauUus had been secretly won by a share of the gold which the con- 
 Ciueror had collected during his long command. Among the tribunes 
 of the year w;is a young man named M. Scribonius Curio, son of one 
 cf Sylla's most determined partisans. His talents were ready, his 
 eloquence great, his audacity incomparable. He had entered upon 
 political life at an extremely early age, and was a leader among those 
 young nobles who had hoped to proht by Catiline's audacity, and 
 whom Cicero ten years before designated as "the bloodthirsty 
 youth." Since that time he had attached himself to Cicero ; and the 
 credulous orator was pleased to think that he had reclaimed tliis im- 
 petuous and profligate young man. But Cicero was not the only per- 
 son who had attempted to sway the pliant will of Curio. Caesar also, 
 or his Gallic gold, had made a convert of him. The nobles, ignorant 
 of this secret, promoted his election to the tribunate, and thus uu- 
 Avarily committed power to a bold and uncompromising foe. 
 
 M. Cffilius Rufus, another prolli^ite youth of great ability, whom 
 Cicero flattered iumself he had won over to wliat he deemed the side 
 of honor and virtue, was also secretly on Cesar's side. During the 
 whole of tiie orator's absence in Cdicia. tliis unprincipled young man 
 kept up a Ijrisk correspondence with him, as if he was a linn adher- 
 ent of the senatorial party. But on the flrst outbreak of the quarrel 
 he joined the enemy. 
 
 A third person, hereafter destined to play a conspicuous part in 
 civil broils, uov/ appeared at Rome as the avowed friend and parlisiui 
 of Caesar. This was young ]\I. Antonius, better known as Mtuk An- 
 tony, son of M. Antonius Creticus, and therefore grandson of the 
 great orator. His uncle, C. Antonius, had been consul with Cicero, 
 and had left a dubious reputation. His mother was Julia, daughter 
 of L. Ca'sar, consul in the year before Cicero held the olfice, a dis- 
 tant relation of the great Caisar. Antony had served under Gabinius 
 iu the East, and for the last two years had been one of Cesar's 
 officers in Gaul. He now came to Rome to sue for the augurate, 
 vacant l)y the deatli of the orator Hortensius ; and, assisted by 
 Caesar's influence and liis own great connections, he was elected. 
 He was tliirty-tiiree years of age, as ready of tongue, as l)old and un- 
 scrupulous in action as Curio, and appropriately offered liiiuseif to 
 be elected as successor to that young adventurer iu the College of 
 Tribunes. Tnus, for tlie year .VJ ij.c. Ciesur's interests a\ ere watched 
 by Curio, and in the year 40 u.c. Antony succeeded to tlie ta.sk. 
 
 C. Marcellus did not venture to revive, in 50 B.C., the bold attack 
 which hiul been made by M. ^Iar(;ellus in the preceding year. But 
 at Tompey'a suggestion, it was represented that a Parthian war was
 
 4'^ LIFE OF JULIUS d:3An, 
 
 imminent, ami l)Oth Uie rivals were desired to fiirnisli one legion for 
 service in the Eu«t. C;es:ir at once complied. Ponipey evaded the 
 demnud by askinji- Ca'snr to return the legion which had been lent by 
 himself after the dcsl ruction of the two legions by Ambiorix. This 
 request also Ca-sar obeyed, so that in lact both legions were with- 
 drawn from his army. Their employment in the East proved to be 
 a mere pretext. Thej^ were both stationed at Cnpua, no doubt tO' 
 i)verawe the Campanian district, which, since the agrarian law of 
 Caesar's consulship, had been completely in his interest. 
 
 Any further assault was anticipated by a proposal made by CurL(3. 
 It was that both Pompey and Ca'sar should resign their commands 
 and disband their armies ; " this was but fair," he said, " for both ; 
 nor could the will of the senate and people of Home be considered 
 free while Pompej' was at hand with a military force to control their 
 deliberations and their votes." But the senate turned a deaf car to 
 ihis dexterous proposal, and the year closed as it began, without any 
 approach to a peaceful settlement. Cuiio now threw otT all disguise, 
 and openly avowed himself the agent of Ca;sar in the senate. 
 
 The consuls for the ensuing year (49 B.C.) were L. Lentulus Crus, 
 and another C. Marcellus, cousin-german of the two brothers who 
 had preceded him. Both wer.e in the interest of Pompey. Scarcely 
 Jiad they entered upon ollice, when the crisis which had been so long 
 lUspeuded arrived. 
 
 On the calends of January,* letters from Ca\sar were laid before 
 die senate by Curio, in whicli the proconsul expressed his readiness 
 "to accept the late tribune's proposal that Pompey and himself 
 eliould both resign their military power ; as soon as he was assured 
 that all soldiers were removed from the neighborhood of Rome, he 
 would enter the gates as a private person, and olfcr himself candi- 
 date for the consulsiiip." Warm debates followed, in which Metel- 
 lus Seipio,f Pompey's father-in-law, and Cato urged that Caisar 
 t^hould be declared a public enemy, unless he laid down his command 
 by a certain day. But even this did not satisfy the majority. Not 
 only was Ca?sar outlawed, but on the 0th of January a decree was 
 framed investing the consuls with dictatorial power, in the same 
 form that had been used against C. Gracchus, against Baturninus. 
 against Catiline. On the following night, Mark Antony, who had 
 vainly essayed to stem the tide, lied from the cit\-, together with his 
 brother tribune, Q. Cassius Longinus, brother of the more famous 
 C Cassiu.s. 
 
 The die was now cast. Cajsar had no longer any choice. lie 
 must either offer an armed resistance or save himself by flight. 
 
 * Strictly speaking, the year 49 B.C. had not yet began ; for the Roman calendar 
 was now nearly two niontlib in advance of the ro;.l lime: Jan. iLt, 705 a.0.c.:=Nov. 
 i;ith. .'■.Ob.c. See Fiachcr'aJidtnisc/te ZeUiafdn, )). 221. 
 
 + He was a Scipio Ijv birtli, Ijoing frreut-gran'lson of S(ii)io Nasica (nicknamed 
 Berapio), the slayer of Ti. Gracclais, and waii adopted by Melcllus Pius.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAK. 43 
 
 There can be no doubt that both parties were unprepared for imme- 
 diate war. CiEsar had but cue legion in Cisalpine Gaul ; for the long 
 hesitation of his enemies made him doubt whether they would ever 
 defy him to mortal conflict. Pompey knew the weakness of his 
 rival's forces. He also knew that Labienus, the most distinguished 
 of Caesar's otticers, was ready to desert his leader, and he believed 
 that such an example would be followed by many. He calculated 
 that Csesar would not dare to move forward, or that if he did he 
 'would fall a victim to his own adventurous rashness. For himself 
 he had one legion close to Rome, Cajsar's two legions at Capua ; and 
 Sylla's veterans were, it was supposed, ready to take arms for the 
 senate at a moment's notice. " I have but to stamp my foot," said 
 tlie great commander, " and armed men will start from the soil of 
 
 Italy. ' ' 
 
 But CjEsar's prompt audacity at once remedied his own want of 
 preparation, and disconcerted all the calculations of his opponents. 
 At the close of the preceding year, after a triumphant reception in 
 the cities of Cisalpine Gaul, he had stationed himself with the single 
 legion, of which we spoke just now^ at Kaveuua. Here he was sur- 
 prised by letters announcing the decree of the 0th of January. His 
 resolution was at once takeu. He reviewed his legion, addressed 
 them, and without betraying what had happened, ascertained their 
 readiness to follow whithersoever he led. At nightfall he left Ra- 
 venna secretly, crossed the Rubicon, which divided his provinces 
 from Italy, and at daybreak entered Arirainum.* Here he met the 
 tribunes Antony and Q. Cassius, on their way from Rome. Ills legion 
 arrived soon after, and orders were sent oif to tlie neai-est troops in 
 Transali)ine Gaul to follow his steps with all speed. But he waited 
 not for them. With his single legion, he appeared before Picenum, 
 Fanum, Ancona, Iguvium, Auximum, and Asculum. All these 
 towns surrendered without a blow, and thus by Iho beginning of 
 February Ca;sar was master of all Umln'ia and Picenum. Hy the 
 middle of that mjuth he had been reinforced by two additional 
 legions from Gaul, and wus strong enough to invest the fortress of 
 Corfiniuna, in the Pelignian AiKjimincs. -But tliis place was vigor- 
 ously defended by tl>e energetic Domitius Aiienobarhus, accompanied 
 by a number of senators. At the close of a week, however, news 
 came tliat Pompey and the consuls had marched southward from 
 Capua ; and Domitius, tinding himself utterl3" unsuifported, surren- 
 dered at discretion. Ctesar idiowi'd him and all his senalorial friends 
 to go their way, and to take willi tliem a large sum of pulilie money, 
 even without exacting a promi.se tiiat they woidd take no further 
 part in the war. On entering the town he strictly ordered that his 
 
 * This is Cii'Rar'H «imi)lft nnrrntivc. Thn rlramnfic Rccno, Inwhirh he is roprc- 
 Kinlwl i«H pauHirij; on Ihi; baiik.'i nf tin; Kiiliicoii, and anxiously \vijf,'linif,' llic i)rol(a- 
 bie coaBcquenccB of ono irremediable slci», Is due l<7 rhetorical writers or later 
 times.
 
 4-1 LIFE OF JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 men should abstain, not only from personal violence, but even from 
 petty pilla<::c. Reports luid been iiulustriously spread tliat the pro- 
 consnrs troops were not Romans but Gauls, ferocious barbarians, 
 wliose hands would be against every Italian as their natural enemy. 
 The politic Inunauity which he now sliowcd produced the more sur- 
 prise, and iiad a great cirect in reconciling to his cause many who 
 had liithcrlo stood aloof. Almost all tlic soldiers of Domitius took 
 service under the lenient conqueror. 
 
 After the fall of Corlinium, Caesar hastened onward through Apulia 
 in pursuit of Pompe}'. By successive reinforcements, his legions had 
 now been swelled to the number of six. But when he arrived at 
 Bnmdusium, on the 9th of I^Iarch,* he found that the ccnsuls had 
 sailed for Dyrrhachium, thougli Pompcy was still in the Italian 
 port. The town was too 'strong to be taken bj^ assault ; and nine 
 days after Ca;sar appeared before its walls, Pompey embarked at 
 leisure and carried his last soldier out of Italj'. Disappointed of his 
 prey, Cassar returned upon his steps, and reached Rome upon the 1st 
 of April, f where M. Antony, after receiving the submission of 
 Etruria, liad prepared the way fur his reception. The j)Cople, on the 
 moti(m of the same tribune, gave Cae.sar full power to fake what money 
 he desired from the treasury, without sparing even tlie sacred hoard 
 which had been set apart after the invasion of the Gaids, and had 
 never since been touched except in the necessities of the Hannibalic 
 war. There was no longer any need of a reserve fund against tho 
 Gauls, it was argued, now that tlie Gauls had become peaceful sub- 
 jects of the republic. Notwithstanding this vote, the senatorial tri- 
 bune, L. ]Mctellus, a son of Metellus Creticus, refused to produce tljc 
 keys of tho treasury, and, when Caesar ordered the doors to be broken 
 open, endeavored to bar his passage into the sacred chamber. 
 " Stand aside, j'oung man," said Caesar, " it is easier forme to do 
 than lo say." J 
 
 He was now master of Italy, as w^ell as Gaul. To pursue Pompey 
 to Epirus was impossible, because the senatorial officers swept the 
 sea with a large and well-appointed tleet, and Ciesar had very few 
 ships at his di.sposol. Moreover, in Spain, winch had been subject to 
 Pompey's rule for the last five years, there was a veteran army, ready 
 to enter Italy as soon as he left it. The remainder of the season, there- 
 fore, he resolved to occupy in the reduction of tiiat army. 
 
 On his way to Spain, he found tliat Marseilles, the chosen retreat 
 of Milo, being Ijy its aristocratical form of government attached to 
 the senatorial party, had declared for Pompey. Leaving Dec. Brutus 
 
 * I.e., the 9th of March of the current Roman year = Jan. 17th, 49 b.c, of oar 
 time. 
 
 t -Feb. 9lli, of our time. 
 
 X Plut. Vif. CiKs. c. :i6, CireTO nrf jitt.x. 4, and other anlliors. C-Esar himself 
 tells us that Lentiiliiij the consul IcH the trr^asury ot>en (LeU. Civ. i. 1^). Metellus, 
 then, inu.sl have locked it after the flight of Pojiipcy.
 
 LIFE OP JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 45 
 
 with twelve ships, and C. Trebonius with a body of troops, to block- 
 ade the to^^^a both by sea aud laad. he continued his march, and 
 crossed the Pyrenees early in tlie summer. Hither Spain was heicl 
 bv L Afranius, an old officer of Pompey, whom he had raised to the 
 consulship in (50 B.C.. and M. Petreius. the experienced soldier who 
 had destroyed the army of Catiline. Farther Spain was intrusted to 
 the care of the accomplished ]M. Terentius Varro. 
 - Near Ilerda (Lerida). on the river Sicoris, an affluent of the i!.bro, 
 Caesar was encountered by the Pompeian leaders He giyes us a 
 very full account of the movements which followed, from which it is 
 pretty clear that so far as military science went, Cffisar was outgen- 
 eralle'd by Petreius. At one time he was in the greatest peril from a 
 sudden rising in the river, which cut him off from all his supplies 
 He released himself by that fertility of resource which distinguished 
 him He had seen in Britain boats of wiclver, covered with hide, 
 such as are still used on the Severn under the name of coracles ; a 
 number of them were secretly constructed, and by their help he re- 
 established his communications. But whatever miglit be his military 
 inferiority yet over the weak Afranius and the rude Petreius his dex- 
 terity in swaying the wills of men gave him an unquestioned superi- 
 ority. Avoiding a battle always, he encouraged communications Ije- 
 tween liis own men and the soldiers of the enemy ; at length the 
 Pompeian leaders, finding themselves unable to control their own 
 troops, were obliged to .surrender their command. Two thirds of then- 
 force took .service with the politic conqueror. 
 
 Varro in Fartlier Spain, by dexterous intrigue, contrived to evade 
 immediate submission. But after a vain attempt to collect a force, 
 he surrendered to the conqueror at Corduba (Cordova), and Nvas al- 
 lowed to go where he pleased. Before autumn closed, all Spain was 
 at the feet of Ca;sar, and was committed to the government of q. 
 Cassius the tribune who had supported his cause at Pome. Being 
 thus secured from danger in the West, he hastened to return into Italy, 
 As he passed throusrh Southern (km\ he found lliat Marseilles htiU 
 held out againsl Dec.lirutus and Trebonius. The defence had been 
 most <raili,nt. The Ijlockade by .sea had been interrupted by a de- 
 taciimt-nt from Pompey's lleet ; and the great works raised by the 
 bcsietrers on land had been met by counter-works of equal magnitude 
 on tlfe part of the l)esieged. But Trel)onius had per.severingly re- 
 paired all losses ; and on the arrival of Ca;sar, the ]\lassdians surren- 
 dered themselves witli a good grace. As in all other cases, he treated 
 them with the utmost clemency. , t^, • e .^ 
 
 On reachin'.,^ Italy, he was obli^rcd to turn aside to Placentia for the 
 purpo«(> of qiMlliiii: a mutiny that hiul arisen in a legion which had 
 been left there, and whieh ci.niplained that promises of discharge and 
 reward made to them liad not been kept. His preseuci; at once .sup. 
 pressed the nmliny. But he selected twelve of the rmgleaders lor 
 capitid i)uni.s!iinent. Among these twelve was one who proved tlmk 
 A.B.-13
 
 46 LIFE OF JULIUS C.^SAR. 
 
 he liad been absent when llie mutiny broke out. In his place the 
 centurion who accused him was executed. 
 
 During liis ubsenco in tSpaiu, M. .'Ennlius Lcpidu.s, whom lie had 
 k'it as prefect of tiie city to govern Italy, had nanjcd liim dictator. 
 From lliiceutia lie liastened to Rome and assumed tlie great dio'uity 
 thus conferred upon him. But lie held it only eleven days. lu^'that 
 period he presided at the comitia, and was there elected consul, to- 
 gether wilh^ P. Servilius Isauricus, one of his old competitors for the 
 chief pontilicate. He also passed several laws. One of these restored 
 all e.xilcs to the city, except .Milo, thus undoing one of the last rem- 
 nants of Sylla's dictatorship. A second provided for the payment 
 of debts, so as to lighten the burdens of the debtors witlxjut satisfy- 
 ing the democratic ery for a complete abolition of all contracts. A 
 thu-d conferred the franchise on the citizens of Transpadane Gaul, 
 who had since the Social war enjoyed the Lalin right only. 
 
 Of the doings of his lieutenants in other quarters during this 
 memorable year, Caisar did not receive accounts at all commensurate 
 with his own marvellous success. In lllyria, P. Cornelius Dolabella, 
 son-m-law of Cicero, who had joined the conqueror, had been dis- 
 gracefully beaten, and Caius, brother of Mark Antony, taken pris- 
 oner, so that all the eastern coast of the Adriatic was now in the 
 hands of the Pompeians. 
 
 Curio had been sent to occupy Sicily, where Cato commanded in 
 the name of the senate. The philosopher, having no force adequate 
 to resist, retired from the nneciual contest, and joined Pompey in 
 Epirus. Curio then passed over to Africa, where the Pompeian gen- 
 eral Varus held command, lie took the field, and was at first de- 
 feated in- Curio. But presriilly Juba, King of Mauritania, appeared 
 in the field as an ally of the senatorial party ; and Curio was obliged 
 in his turn to retreat before the combined forces of the enemy, till he 
 took refuge in the famous «3amp of Scipio. From this position he 
 was drawn out by a feigned retreat of the African prince ; and 
 being surprised Ijy an overj owering force, he was defeated and slain. 
 Africa, therefore, as well ra all the eastern world, remained in the 
 hands of the Pornpeians, ft-hile Italy, Gaul, and Spain owned the 
 authority of C;esar. 
 
 Cicero had returned fre'n his Cilician province to Rome, while the 
 debates were being held which issued in the decree of the eth of Jan- 
 uary. During his two years' government he had nearly been en- 
 gaged in very serious wv.rfare with the Parlhians. But C. Cassius, 
 as we have mentioned, give them so severe a blow that Cicero's milt 
 itury abilities were only iested in reducing some of the wild moun- 
 tain tribes who infested llie borders of his province. He claimed a 
 triumpli for these achi'.Tcmeuts, and therefore would not enter the 
 walls of the city V^ be present at the termination of these moment- 
 ous debates. Tho r'rivjtion of his triumph was soon forgotten in tho 
 rapid course of everM which followed, and he retired to his Formian
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAIi. ^"^ 
 
 Villa still attended by his lictors with their fasces -wreathed iii laurel. 
 From this place he wout frequenlly to have interviews with Pom- 
 peian leadeVs on their retreat through Caiupania At the same time 
 many of his personal friends, Curio. Caehus, Dolabe la, Balbus, Tre- 
 Imtius, and others had joined Osar, and wrote to him urging him 
 to make common cause with their generous leader. On his leturn 
 from Brundusiumlo Rome, Caesar himselt visited him But the orator 
 could not be prevailed upon to forsake the cause of tlie sena e ; and 
 after long hesitation, about the end of May he took ship and joined 
 
 Pompey in the East. , j , *-„„i„ 
 
 Durincr the whole of the preceding year, Pompey had been actively 
 ensao-edln levying and disciplining an army for the eusiuug cam- 
 Daftm He was lutterly ceusin-ed by many of his party for quitting 
 Itafv without a blow. But it may he concluded that when he was 
 surprised by Ccesar's rapid advance, the only troops besides those 
 under Domitius at Corfinium were the two legions lulcly sent from 
 Gaul by Cajsar ; and these (it may well be supposed) he dared not 
 trust to do batlle against their old commander. 
 
 It is probable, tlicrefore, that he was really compelled to (luit Italy. 
 But his fleet was now so large that it Avould have been easy lor him 
 to have regained Italian soil. lie made no attempt to cross the sea ; 
 and we inav therefore assume that he purposely chose Epirus as the 
 eround for'ballle. He had all the Enst behind him, long used to 
 reverence his name, and at the head of an armyout of Italy he was 
 less likely to be thwarted by the arrogant senatorial chiCiS,\yho hated 
 him while they used him. Such especially was Domitius Ahenobar- 
 bus who loudly complained that he had been deserted at Corlinium. 
 
 His headquarters were fixed at Thcssalonica, the chief city of the 
 province of Macedonia. Here the senators who had fled from Italy 
 met and formed a senate, while the chief officers assunied titles of 
 authority. Pompcv had employed the time well. The province^ 
 and kings of the East filled his military chest with treasure ; he liad 
 collected seven Roman legions, with a vast number of irregular 
 auxiliaries from every surrounding monarchy, and a powerful force 
 of well-appointed cavalry; large magazines of provisions and mili- 
 tarv stores were foniied ; above all, a fleet, increasing every day m 
 numbers was supplied by the maritime states of Illyria, Greece, Asia 
 Minor Phrrnicia, and Egypt. Bibulus, tlie ol<l adversary of Cajsar, 
 took tiie command as admirnl-in-chief, supported by able lieutenant^s 
 With tliis naval force actively employed, it was hop<'d lliut il would 
 be made imi)Ossible for Cte.sar to land in Epirus. But here again lua 
 liappy audacity frustrated all regular opposition 
 
 Cscsar arrived in Brundusium at th e end of October, 41) n.c.*' 
 
 * This is llie trno date, (iccordiiiK to our rorkoninp:. Bv tlie Komnn ciilordar, it 
 was December. But, lor the niililary op.nUious which follow it ih ho iiiinortniit to 
 roTolhe t".i«7ea^"i)s, th.it vve «hall, fruui IhiH point, give the dates as if tlie Uouaan 
 tal'jndar had already been eoriected.
 
 48 Lli'E OF JULIUS CyESAR. 
 
 Twelve k'pious h.id been ussoinblcd there. So mucli Imd their imm- 
 1)(TS been thinneil by war, futi^nie, and the antiininal fevers prevalent 
 in Apulia, that eacli legion averai^^ed less than IjOOO men. His trans- 
 ports were so insunicienl, lliat lie was nut able to ship more Ihan 
 seven of these imperfeet legions, witli (iOO horse, though naea and 
 otHcers were allowed to take no heavj' baggage and no servants. All 
 the harbors were occupied by the enemy's ships ; but it was not the 
 ' practice for the ancients to maintain a blockade by cruising ; and 
 Caesar, having left Brundusiuni on the nth November, was able to 
 laud his tirst corps on the open coast of Epirus, a little south of the 
 Acrocerauniau headland. lie sent his empty ships back directly, 
 and marched northward to Oricum and Apollonia, where he claimed 
 admission in virtue of his consular olflce. The claim was admitted, 
 and these two important towns fell into his hands. Pcmpey, who was 
 still at Thessalonica, on the lust tidings of his movement had put 
 bis army in motion, and succeeded in reaching Dyrrhachium in time 
 to save that important place. He then pushed his lines forward to 
 the mouth of the Apsus, and the two hostile armies lay inaciive dur- 
 ing the remainder of the winter with this stream between their 
 camps— Ciiesar occupying the left or southern bank, Pompey the 
 right or northern side. 
 
 As the winter i)assed away, Caesar was rendered extremely anxious 
 by the non-appearance of his second corjjs, which Antony was 
 charged to bring across. News soon reached him that Bibulus, 
 stung to the quick by the successful landing of the first corps, had 
 put to sea from Corcyra with all his fleet, had overtaken and de. 
 stroyed thirty of the returning transports, and had ever since, not- 
 withstanding the winter season, kept so strict a watch on the coast 
 of Italy, that Antony did not dare to leave Brundusium. Intelli. 
 gence also reached him that Cailius, now raised to the rank of praetor^ 
 had proclaimed an abolition of debts at Rome, and had made com- 
 mon cause with the reckless Milo, who had appeared in Italy at the 
 head of a gang of desperate men. This bold enterprise, it is true, 
 had failed, and both the leaders had fallen ; but it quickened Ca3sar'a 
 anxiety to bring matters to issue. Still no troops arrived. So stub- 
 born was the will of Bibulus, that he fell a victim to his own vigilant 
 exertions, and died at sea. But L. Scribonius Libo, who had com- 
 manded a squadron under the deceased admiral, appeared at Brun- 
 dusium, and occupied an island off the harbor, so as to establish a 
 strict blockade. This, however, did not last ; for it was found im- 
 po.ssible to keep the men supplied with fresh water and provisions, 
 and Libo was ol)]iged to resume the tactics of Bibulus. Meantime, 
 Cajsar's impatience was rising to the height. He had been lying idle 
 for more than two months, and complained thai Antony had neglected 
 several opportunities of crossing the Ionian Sea. At length he en- 
 gaged a small boat to take him across to Italy in person. The sea 
 ran high, and the rowers refused to proceed, till the general revealed
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 49 
 
 himself lo them in the famous words : " You carry CaDsar and his 
 fortunes." All night they toiled, but when day broke they had made 
 no way, and tiie treneral reluctantly consented to put back into the 
 Apsus. ' But presently after he succeeded in sending over a positive 
 message to Antony to cross over at all risks ; and if Antciuy dis- 
 obcj'ed, the messenger carried a commission to his chief officers by 
 •which 'they Avere ordered to supersede their commander, and dis . 
 charge the'dutv which he neglected to perform. Stung by this piac- 
 tical rebuke, Antony shipped his troops, and resolved to attempt the 
 passage at all risks. As he neared the coast of Epirus, the wind 
 shifted to the south-east, and being unable to make the port of On- 
 cum, he was obliged to run northward past Pompey's camp, in tub 
 view of the enemy. Tiiey gave chase ; but he succeeded m landing 
 all his men, four legions and eight hundred horse, near the headland 
 of Nymnhceum, m )re than fifty miles north of the Apsus. His 
 position 'was critical, for Pompey's army lay between him and 
 Csesar. But Ca;sar. calculatinij: the point at which the squadron 
 would reach land, had already made a rapid march round Pompey's • 
 position, and succeeded in joining Antony before he was attacked. 
 Pompey had also moved northward, but finding himself too late to 
 assail Antony alone, he took a new position some miles to ihe north 
 of Dvrrhachium, and here formed a strongly intrenched camp resting 
 upon the sea. These intrenchments ran in an irregular half circle of 
 nearly fifteen miles in length, the base of which was the coast-hne of 
 Epirus. The camp was well supplied with provisions by sea. 
 
 The spring of 48 B.C. was now beginning. It was probably in 
 March that Csesar effected his union with Antony. Even after this 
 junction, he was inferior in numbers to Pompey ; and it is not with- 
 out wonder that we read his own account of the audacious attempt 
 with which he began the campaign. His plan was to draw lines 
 round and outside of Pompey's vast intrenchments, so ixs to cut him 
 off from Dyrrhachium and from all the surrounding country. _ As 
 Pompey's intrenchments formed a curve of nearly fifteen miles, 
 Caesar's lines must have measured considerably more. And as his army 
 was inferior in numbers, it might have been e.vpected that Pompey 
 would not suliinit to be shut m. But the latter general could not 
 interrupt the works without hazaraiug a general action, and his 
 troops were not (he thouglU) sulliciently disciplined to encounter 
 Caesar's veterans : the command of the sea also insured him supplies 
 and enabled him to shift his army to another po.sition if necessary. 
 He therefore allowed Ca-sar to carry on his lines with little interrup- 
 tion. 
 
 During the winter Caesar's men had suffered terribly for want o.. 
 grain and vegetable food. But as spring advanced, and the crops 
 began to ripen, brighter days seemed at hanil. Pompey's men, 
 meanwhile, though supplied from tlie sea, began to be distressed by 
 want of fresh water, and their animals by want of green fodder.
 
 50 LIFE OF JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 He therefore tletormincd to assume tbe offensive. At each extremity 
 of Ca'sjir's liiH's, v.licre tlicy ahuttcd upon the sea, a second Vma of 
 intrcndunonts had buen marked out loacliiug some way inland, so 
 tliat at least for some distance from the sea the lines mi;cht be pro- 
 tected from an attack in rear from the land. But Oils part of the 
 work was as yet untiniisiied ; and, in particular, no atlcnipl had bcea 
 made to carry any defence aloni,- the coast between the extremities 
 of these two lines of iutrenchment, so as to cover them from an as- 
 sault by sea. Pompey was instructed of this defect by some Gallic 
 deserters ; and he succeeded in landing some troops at the southern 
 extremity of the works, so as to make a lodgment between Caisar's 
 front and rearward lines. A series of severe and well contested 
 combats followed. But the Pompeians maintained their ground, and 
 C'lesar at once perceived that his works were completely turned,' and 
 that all his labor was thrown away. Pompey had re-establi.shcd his 
 jand commtmication with Dyrrhachium, and circumvallation was 
 made unpossible. Under these circumstances C*sar determined to 
 shift the scene of action without delay. 
 
 During the spring he had detached Cn. Domitius Calvinus with 
 two legions into Macedonia, where lie possessed considerable influ- 
 ence, for the purpose of intercepting the march of .Mctellus Scipio 
 who had succeeded Bibulus in the government of Syria, and was ex- 
 pected every day to bring reinforcements to the army of Pompey. 
 Scipio had been delayed by the necessity of securing his province 
 against the Parthians ; and had also spent much time in levying 
 heavy contributions on his line of march. When he arrived in Mace- 
 donia he found his passage westward barred by Calvinus, who oc- 
 cupied a strong camp in the neighborhood of Pella. He, therefore, 
 also intrenched himself, and awaited succors. 
 
 About the time of Ca\sar's defeat at Dynhachium, Calvinus had 
 been obliged by want of provisions to fall back toward Epirus, while 
 Cajsar liimself marched by way of Apollonia up the valley of the 
 Aoiis. Pompey immediately detached a strong force to separate Cal- 
 vinus from his chief. But Calvinus, informed of Ca;sar's retreat, 
 moved with great rapidhy to the southward, and effected a union with 
 his general at ^Egimium, in the north-western corner of The.ssaly. 
 The Caesarian army, thus skilfully united, advanced to Gomphi, 
 w^hich was taken and given up to plunder. All other Thessalian 
 cities, except Lari.'-sa, which had i)een occupied by Scipio, opened 
 their gates ; .and the harvest being now rip(;, the Ca'sarian army re- 
 vcllf d in the abimdant supplies of the rich Thessalian plain. 
 
 Meanwhile Pompey had entered Thcssaly from the north and 
 joined Scipio at I.arissa. The Pompeian leaders, elated l)y victory, 
 were quarrelling among themselves for the prize, which Ihey regarded 
 as already won. Lentulus Spintber, Domitius Ahenoljarbus, and 
 Metellus Scipio, all claimed Ca>.sar's pontificate. Domitius proposed 
 that all who had remained in Italy or had not taken an active part
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS d:SAR. ^ 51 
 
 in the contest should be brought to trial as traitors to the cause — 
 Cicero, who was at Dyrrhachium with Cato, being the person here 
 chiefly aimed at. Pompey himself was not spared. Domitius, 
 angry at not liaving been supported at Corfinium, nicknamed him 
 Agamemnon King of Men, and openly rejected his authorit}'. The 
 advice of the great general to avoid a tlecisive battle was contemptu- 
 ously set at naught by all but Cato, who from first to last advocated 
 any measure which gave a hope of avoiding bloodshed. Even Fa- 
 vonius, a blunt and simple-minded man, who usually echoed Cato's 
 sentiments, loudly complained that Pompey's reluctance to fight 
 would prevent his friends from eating their figs that summei; at Tus- 
 culum. 
 
 From Larissa Pompej' had moved southward, and occupied a 
 Btrong position on an eminence near the citv of Pharsalus, orerlook- 
 ing the plain which skirts the left bank of the river Enipeus. Cffisat 
 followed and encamped upon the plain, within four miles of the en 
 emy's position. Here the hostile armies lay watching each other for 
 some time, till CiEsar made a movement which threatened to inter- 
 cept Pompey's communications with Larissa. The latter now at 
 length yielded to the angry impatience of the senatorial chiefs. He 
 resolved to descend from his strong position and give battle upon the 
 plain of Pharsalus or Pharsalia. 
 
 The morning of the Gth of June* saw both armies drawn out in 
 order of battle. The forces of Pompey consisted of about 44,000 
 men, and were (if Cassar's account is accurate) twice as numerous as 
 the army opposed to them. But Ca^sac's were all veteran troops ; 
 the greater part of Pompey's were foreign levies recently collected in 
 Macedonia and Asia, far inferior to the soldiers of Gaul and Italy. 
 Pompey's army faced the north. His right wing, resting on the 
 river, was commanded by Scipio, the centre by Lcntulus Spinther, 
 the left by Domitius. His cavalry, which was far superior to 
 Caesar's, covered tlie left flank. Cuisar drew up his forces in tliree 
 lines, of which the rearmost was to act in reserve. His left was 
 npon the river ; and his small force of cavalry was placed upon his 
 right, opposite to Pompey's left wing. To compensate for his infe- 
 riority in this arm, he picked out si.\ veteran cohorts, who were to 
 charge through the files of the horse if the latter were obliged to re- 
 tire. Domitiu.s Calvinus commanded in the centre, Antony on the 
 left, Caisar himself upon the right, where he kept the tenth legion in 
 rear to act in reserve. 
 
 The attack began along Caesar's whole line, which advanced run 
 ning. Pompey ordered his men to wait the charge without moving, 
 in hopes that tlic enemy would lo.se breatli l)efore they tame to clo9' 
 quarters. Bui the e.vperionced veterans, observing that tlie Pom- 
 pcians kept their ground, halted to re-form their line and recovej 
 
 * By the Roman calendar, It was the 0th of August.
 
 r)'i LIFK OF JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 breath before they closed with the enemy. A desperate conflict fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 "While the legions were encraged along tlie whole line, Pompey's 
 cavalry lUtackrd flic weak scjuadrons of (,';i.'sar's horse and drove 
 tlieni hack. Ihit the voteran.s who were ordered to support them 
 sallied out of the ranks and drove their formidable pila straight at 
 the imarnied faces of tiie euem}'.* After a brave struggle, Pompey's 
 cavalry was completely brokeri and lied in disorder. 
 
 Upon this, Ctesar brought up Iiis llnrd line, which was in reserve ; 
 nnd tlic infantry of Poinpey being assailed by these fresh troops in 
 front, and attacked in Hank by tlie cavalry and cohorts which had 
 triumphed over tlieir opponents, gave way everywiiere. A general 
 order was now issued by Ca'sar to spare the Romans among their op- 
 ponents, and to throw all their strengtli upon the Eastern allies. The 
 Pompeian legionaries, on hearing of this politic clemency, offered 
 no farther resistance ; and Pompey iiimself rode oil tiie field to his 
 tent, leaving orders for the troops to retreat behind their intrench- 
 ments. 
 
 But this was not permitted. Ilis legionaries, instead of returning 
 to man the ramparts, di.spersed in all directions. Tlie Eastern allies, 
 after a terrible slaughter, lied ; and Pompey had only time to mount 
 his horse and gallop off tlirougli the decuman or rearward gate of 
 his camp, as the soldiers of C'a^sar forced their way in by the pra'to- 
 rian or front gale. The booty taken was immen.se. The hardy veter- 
 ans of Gaul gazed with surprise on the tent of Lentulus, adorned 
 with festoons of Bacchic ivy, and on the .splendid services of plate 
 which were set out everywhere for a banquet to celebrate the ex- 
 pected victory. 
 
 But before Cajsar allowed his tired soldiers to enjoy the fruits of 
 the victory of Pharsalia, he required them to complete the conquest. 
 The pursuit was continued during the remainder of the day and on 
 the morrow. But the task was eas}'. The clemency of the con- 
 queror induced all to submit. When Casar entered the camp and 
 saw the dead Ixjdies of many Romans lying about, he exclaimed, 
 " Thej' would have it so : to have laid down our arms would have 
 sealed our doom." Yet most of those who perished were foreigners 
 or freedmen. The only distingui.sbed person who fell was Donutius 
 Ahenobarbus. Among those who came in and submitted volunta- 
 rily was 31. Junius Brutus, a young man of whom we shall hear 
 more. 
 
 Pompe}' fled precipitately to Larissa, and thence through the gorge 
 
 * The common story, rereived from Plutarch, is that the order was jciven because 
 Pompey'8 cavalry consisfod chiefly of youiif^ Ronians. who were afr.iid of havinif 
 their beatity spoilt, ('ajsar. however, mciuiouR that Pompey V cavalry was excel- 
 lent, and does not notice Ihut he (.'avc any order at all ahoat strikinj; at the face. 
 The foot-8oldiei« would naturally sirilie nt I hi; most dcfencelefs part, and the story 
 of the •' spoiled beauty " would be readily added by boine gcornful Cxsarian.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS CJiSAE. 53 
 
 of Tempe to the mouth of tlie Peneus, where he found a merchant 
 vessel, and embarked in company with Lentulus Spinther, Lentulus 
 Crus, and others. He dismissed all his slaves. Honest Favonmg 
 proved his fidelity lo the general by undertaking for him such 
 menial offices as usually '"'ere left to slaves. The master of the ship 
 knew the adventurers, and offered to take them whithersoever they 
 would. Pompey tirsl directed his course to Lesbos, where his wife 
 Cornelia and his younger son Sextus had been sent for safetv. Hav- 
 ing- taken them on board he sailed round to Cilicia, where he col- 
 lected a few ships and a small company of soldiers. With these he 
 crossed over to Cyprus, where he stayed a short time, deliberating 
 on his future course of action. He still had a powerful fleet at sea, 
 under the command of his eldest son Cna;us, assisted by C. Ca^sms. 
 Africa was still his own, and King Juba anxious to do him service. 
 But after considering and rejecting several plans proposed, he deter- 
 mined to seek an asylum io Egypt. ^ , . . -r. 
 
 Ptolemy Auletes, who had been restored by Gabinius, Pompey s 
 friend, had died some time before. He had left bis kingdom to the 
 divided sway of his son Ptolemv Dionysus and his daughter Cleo- 
 patra under the guardianship of the senate ; and the senate had dele. 
 gated this trust to Pompey. Hence no doubt his reason for choos- 
 ing Egypt as his place of retreat. But the country was in a very 
 unsettled state. Cleopatra, who was older than her brother, had been 
 driven from Alexandria by the people ; and the government had 
 been seized by three Greek adventurers— Potheinus, an eunuch, 
 Theodolus, a rhetorician, and Achillas, an officer of the army. When 
 Pompey appeared off Alexandria with a few ships which had joined 
 him on his route, and a small force of al)out 20U0 men, these minis 
 ters were engaged in repelling Cleopatra, who was endeavoring to 
 return by means of force. iS. messenger from Pompey, sent to sig- 
 nify his intention of lauding, threw them into great alarm. In tho 
 E"yptian army were a number of otliceis and soldiers who had for- 
 merly served under Pompey in the East, and had been left there by 
 Gabinius. It was feared that these men would betray Egypt to their 
 old general ; at least this was tlie reason afterward given for tho 
 way in which he was treated. All was left to the conduct of Achil- 
 liis, a bold man, troubled by no scruples. A small boat was sent to 
 receive tlie fugitive, reidly to prevent any attendants from lauding 
 with him, but under the false pretence tiiat the water was too shal- 
 low to allow a larger vessel to reach tho shore. In the boat were 
 Achillas himself, a Roman officer named Salvius, and another namiid 
 Heptimius, who had served as a tribune uuiler Pompey in the war 
 against the pirates. The great general recognized aad salutecl his 
 oFd officer, and entered lliiri)i)at ak)iie amid the sad bodings of his 
 wife and friends. They :inxiously watched it as it slowly made its 
 way back to shore, and were somewhat (;oniff)rted by seeing a nuin- 
 ber of persons collected on the beach us if to receive their friend witU
 
 54 LIFE OF JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 honor. At length the boat slopped, and Ponipey took the hand o\ 
 the person next him 1o assist him in risinir. At this monjcut Septi- 
 mius sinuk him with his sword from beliind. lie luiew his fate, 
 puhmitled wKlioul a strugirle, ani^ fell ])ierced by a mortiil thrust. 
 His head was then cut olT^itid taken away, and his body left upon 
 the beath. When the crowd dispersed, a freedman of Ponipey's, 
 whose name ought to have been recoidcd, assisted l)y an old soldier 
 of the great commander, had the piety to break up a lishing-l)oat and 
 form a rude fimeral-inle. By these humble obsequies alone was the 
 sometime master of the world honored. 
 
 So died Pumpey. lie had lived nearly sixty years, and had enjoyed 
 more of the world's honors than almost any Koman before him._ In 
 youth he was cold, calculating, and hard-heart ed, covetous of military 
 'fame, and not alow to appropriate what belonged to others ; but his 
 affable manners and generosity in giving won him general favor, 
 which was increased by his early successes. His talents for war were 
 really great, greater perhaps than any of Rome's generals except Ma- 
 rius.'as was fullv proved by his campaigns in the East. In the war 
 with Ca'.sar, it is'iilain that, so far as military tactics went, Pompey 
 was superior to his great rival ; and had he not been hampered by 
 haughty and impatient colleagues, the result might have been differ- 
 ent, lu ])olitics he was grasping and selfish, but irresolute and im- 
 jirovident. He imaginecl that his military achievements gave him 
 a title to be acknowledged as the virtual sovereign of Rome ; and 
 when neither senate nor people seemed willing to acquiesce in the 
 claim, he formed a coalition with politicians whose jirinciples he dis- 
 liked, and made himself responsible for the acts of such men as Clo- 
 dius. Lastlv, when he found that in this coalition he was unable to 
 maintain his superiority over Cssar, he joined the oligarchy who 
 liatcd him, and lost even the glory which as a soldier he hadwell 
 deserved. In private life he was free from those licentious habits in 
 which most persons of that day indulged without scruple or reproach ; 
 and the affection he bore toward Julia must always be quoted as an 
 amiable trait in a character that has in it little else of attraction. Hi? 
 tragical death excited a commiseratiou for him which by his life he 
 hardly deserved. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ABSOLUTE RULK OP C^SAR. (48-44 B.C.) 
 
 On the third day after the battle of Pharsalia, Caesar pursued 
 Pompey by forced marches. He arrival at xVmphipolis just after the 
 fugitive had touched there. When he reached the Hellespont, he fell 
 in with a squadron of Pompey 's tleet under the command of 0. Qua-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAK. 00 
 
 sins. This oflicer. whose military skill had been proved in the Par- 
 thian campaiirn, might have intercepted Cwsar. But, whatever were 
 his motives, he surrendered his ships to Coesar in token of full and 
 unreserved submission, and was received by the conqueror with the 
 same favor which he had shown to Brutus, and to all who had either 
 fallen into his hands or yielded of free will. Caesar now immediately 
 crossed the Hellespont "in boats ; and in Asia Minor, where he was 
 delayed at several places by business, he heard that Pompey had taken 
 ship from Cvprus, and immediately concluded that Egypt must be 
 his destination. Whhout a moment's hesitation, he sailed from 
 Rhodes for this country, though it was as yet an independent king- 
 dom, though he was unable to carry with him more than 4000 men, 
 and though he incurred imminent risk of being intercepted by the 
 Pompeian fleet. As soon as his arrival off Alexandria was known, 
 Theodotus came off, bearing Pompey 's head and ring. The con- 
 queror accepted the rin2r, but turned with tears in his eyes from the 
 ghastly spectacle of the head, and ordered it to be burned with duo 
 honors. Over the place of the funeral-pyre he raised a shrine to 
 Nemesis, the goddess assigned by the religion of the Greeks to be the 
 punishcr of arrogant prosperity. lie then landed and entered Alex- 
 andria with his consular emblems displayed, followed by his small 
 army. Immediately after his arrival, Cleopatra secretly resorted to 
 the capital city, and introduced herself in disguise into the palace 
 where Caesar had flxed his residence. The conqueror, from his 
 earliest youth, had been notorious for unrestrained indulgence in sen- 
 sual pleasures, and he yielded readily to the blandishments of the 
 young and fascinating princess. But the ministers of the youthful 
 king,"Potheinus and Achillas, had no wish to lose tiieir importance 
 by agreeing to a compromise between their master and his imperious 
 sister. The people of Alexandria were alarmed at Caesar's assump- 
 tion of authority, especially when he demanded payment of a debt 
 ■which he alleged was due from the late king to Rome. A great 
 crowd, supported by Achillas with his army, as.saulted Caesar sud- 
 denly. His few troops were overmatched, and he escaped with diffi- 
 culty to Pharos, the (juarter of the city next the sea. In vain he en- 
 deavored to ruin the cause of Achillas by seizing tlieper.son of young 
 Ptolemy. ArsinoO, another daughter of llie blood-royal, was set up 
 by the army ; and Ciesar was completely blockaded in Pharos. An 
 attempt was made to reduce him l)y turning the sea into the vast 
 tanks constructed to sui>[)ly that (piartcr of the city with fresh water. 
 But by sinking pits in tlie"l)each, the Romans obtained a supply of 
 water suflicient, thougl^ not good. Constant encounters took place 
 by land and water ; and in one of these Cajsar was in so much dan- 
 
 fer, that he was obliged to swim for his life from a sinking ship, 
 olding his coat-ofmail between his teeth, and his note book above 
 water in liis left hand. 
 He was shut up in Pharos about August, and the blockade con-
 
 56 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAIl. 
 
 timied till (he winter was far spent. But at the beginning of the new 
 ymir lie was relieved by the arrival of considerable forces. Achillas 
 was obliged to raise the siege of Pharos, and a battle in the open field 
 resulted in a signal triumph to C'tesar. Vast numbers of tiie fugi- 
 tives were drowned in attempting to cross tlie Kile : among them the 
 young king himself. Creaar now formally installed Cleopatra as sov- 
 ereign of Egypt, and reserved ArsinoO to grace his triumph. 
 
 During the half year that followed Pharsalia, the Pompeian cliiefs 
 bad in some measure recovered from tlieir tirst consternation. C^najus, 
 /he eldest son of tlie great Pompey, had joined C'ato at Gorcyra ; 
 and in this place also were assem])ied Cicero, Labienus, Afranius, 
 and others. The chief command was otfered to Cicero, as tlie oldest 
 consular. But the orator declined a dangerous post, for which he liad 
 neither aptitude nor inclination, and was nearly slain upon the spot 
 by the impetuous Cnajus. Scipio soon after arrived, and to him the 
 command was given. C. Cassius, with the greater portion of the 
 lleet, had surp'rised and destroyed a number of Ciesar's ships in 
 Sicily, and was proceeding to make descents upcm the coast of Italy 
 when the news of the great defeat at Pharstdia reached him. He 
 immediatelv sailed for the East, and fell in with CiEsar (as we have 
 narrated) on the Hellespont. His defection was a heavy blow to the 
 hopes of the Pompeian party. 
 
 Still, notwitlistauding Pompey's disappearance and the defection 
 of Cassius, a considerable lieet was assembled at Corcyra. Scipio 
 and the rest embarked with the troops that they liad rallied, and 
 steered for Egypt, in the hope of learning news of their chief. They 
 reached the coast of Africa, and were steering eastward along the 
 coast, when they fell in with Pompey's ships, in which were Cornelia 
 and young Sextus, with their friends, full of the tragic scene they 
 liad 'ju^t witnessed on the beach of Alexandria. The disheartened 
 leaders returned to Cyiene, which refused to admit any one within its 
 walls except Cato and such men as he would be answerable for. 
 The fleet, therefore, with Scipio, Labienus, and the greater part of 
 the troops, pursued its course across the great gulf of the Syrtcs to 
 the province of Africa, wiiere the Pompeian cause was upheld by 
 Varus and his ally Juba. Cato and his followers wero left to follow 
 by land. He accomplished an arduous march across the desert in 
 safety, and by the beginning of the lujxt year all the Pompeian lead- 
 ers were assembled in the province of Africa. Dissensions arose be- 
 tween Varus and Scipio for the command ; to compromise the mat- 
 ter it was offered to Cato. The disinterested philo.sopher declined it, 
 on the plea that he held no official position, a;f 1 persuaded all the rest 
 to acquiesce in the appointment of Scipio. It was then propo.sed to 
 destroy tlie city of Utica, as IxMog favorable to Caesar. But Cato, with 
 rare humanity, offered to assume tlie government of the town, and 
 be responsiliie for its fidelity, thus finally separating himself from the 
 active warfare, which from "the first he had deprecated and disavowed.
 
 I,IFE OF JULIUS CiESAR. 57 
 
 In Other parts of the empire also, affaii»s were in a disquiet state. 
 Pharuaces, son of Mithridates, was daily gathering strength in 
 Pontus. In Farther Spain, the oppressive rule of Q. Cassius, brother 
 of Caius, had excited a mutin}^ in the army, and discontent every- 
 ■where. In Illyricum, Gabinins, who had deserted his patron Pom- . 
 pcy on occasion of the flight from Italy, had been ignomiuiously worst- 
 ed by the Pompeian leader, ]\I. Octavius, and had died at Salona. 
 In Italy, P. Cornelius Dolabella, elected tribune, had renewed the 
 propositions of Caelius and Milo to abolish all debts ; and two legions 
 stationed at (Jupua, one of which was the favored Tenth, had risen 
 in open nmtiny against their officers, declarmg that they had been 
 kept under their standards long enough, and demanding their 
 promised rew .rd. 
 
 We know not when the news of these threatening events reached 
 Ccesar's ears at Alexandria. Early in the j'ear47B.c. he had been 
 proclaimed dictator for the second time, and had named Mark An- 
 tony master of the horse. This oihcer was intrusted with the gov- 
 ernment of Italy. But the peninsula seemed to be exposed by 
 mutiny and discontent to a descent of the Pompeiaus from Africa, 
 and the presence of the dictator himself seemed to be imperiously 
 demanded. Still he lingered in Egypt, detained (as his enemies say) 
 by the blandishments of Cleopatra, or (as his admirers contend) by 
 the necessity of contirming Roman influence in that country. It was 
 not for the space of four months after his victory on the Nile (hat he 
 left Egypt, having remained there altogether for not less than three 
 quarters of a year. 
 
 But when once he had shaken off this real or apparent lethargy, 
 all his startling rapidity of action returned. He left Egypt at tho 
 end of May (47 ii.c), and marched norlliward through Syria to crush 
 tiie rising power of Pharnaces. On his way he received the hearty 
 congratulations of the Jews, who hated the memory of Pompey ; 
 accepted tiie excuses of Deiotarus, chief of Galalia, who had fought 
 against him at Pharsalia ; and in a few days appeared in Pontus. 
 Pharnaces, proud of a victory over Ciesar's lieutenant, ventured to 
 attack Ctesar himself near Zela, where his father Mithridates had 
 once defeated the Romans. The victory gained by the Romans was 
 easy but decisive ; and w;is ainiounced at Rome in the famous dis' 
 patch, " Veni, vidi, vici."* The kingdom of Rosphorus was con- 
 ferred on a friendly chief, l)caring the name of Mithridates. Caesar 
 now devoted a short time to the task of .settling the alfairs of Asia. 
 This province had been warmly attached to the senatorial cause by 
 tlie mild rule of LucuUus and Pompey. Lately, however, the exac- 
 tions of Metellus Scipio, on his march to join Pompey in Epirus, had 
 
 ♦ This in^crintlon wns cortniiily placed upon tho Hpoil.s laltpn from tlic I'ontlo 
 kinp whi-ii carriird in Iriuinplial procuBhiou ; uiid I'lutarch repicsfiits it aa forming 
 the dictator'tt dispatch. _
 
 58 
 
 T.TFK OF .IITJUS C^SAR. 
 
 cwsod ixrrat (iisconlcnt ; iirul C.Tsar found it, easy to win popularity 
 by irmittinj; a i)()rlion of llie moneys due to the imperial treasury 
 
 Before tiiis, also, Oclaviiis had been exjieljed from lllyria. Vati- 
 nins, who was in eonunand at Brundusium, hearing of the defeat and 
 death of Gahinins, imnicdialely crossed the Ach'ialie, and attacked tho 
 fleet of Oclavins willi so nuicli success that the Pompeian leader was 
 glad to make his escape and join his fellows in misforimie in Africa 
 
 Two months after Cicsar left Alexandr/a, all parts of the East 
 -;\'ere again restored to tranquil submissitm ; and early in July Kome 
 was astonished to see the great conqueror enter hbr gales for the Uurd 
 time since he had crossed the Rubicon. 
 
 lie had been again named dictator, as we have said ; auu, on his 
 arrival at Kome, he applied himself with his usual industry and 
 rapidity to settle the most pressing difficulties. Tlie disturbances 
 raised by the profligate promises of Caelius and Dolabelhi had been 
 quelled by Antony ; and the dictator in some decree gratified those 
 who had clamored for an abolition of debts by paying a year's house- 
 rent for all poor citizens out of tlie public purse— an evil precedent 
 which in tlie present emergency he deemed necessary. 
 
 The mutiny of the soldiers at Capua was more formidable. But 
 Caesar, as was his wont, overcame the danger by facing it boldly. 
 lie ordered the two legions to meet him in the Campus Martins un- 
 armed. They had demanded their discharge, thinking that thus tJiey 
 would extort a large donation, for they considered themselves indis- 
 pensable to the dictator. lie ascended the tribunal, and they ex- 
 pected a speech. "You demand your discharge," he simply said, 
 "I discharge j'ou." A dead silence followed these unexpeeted 
 words. Cjesar resumed : " The rewards which I have promised you 
 shall have, when I return to celebrate my triumph with my other 
 troops." Shame now filled their hearts, mingled with vexation at 
 the thought that they Avho had borne all the heat and burden of the 
 day would be excluded from the triumph. They passionately be- 
 sought him to recall his words, but he answered not. At length, at 
 the earnest entreaty of his friends, he again rose to speak. " Quiri- 
 tes"— he began, as if they were no longer soldiers, but merely private 
 citizens. A burst of repentant sorrow broke from the ranks of the 
 veterans ; but Caesar turned away as if he were about to leave tho 
 tribunal. The cries rose still louder : they besought him to punish 
 them in any way, but not to dismiss them from his service. After 
 long delay, he said that " he would not punish any one for de- 
 manding his due ; but that he could not conceal his vexation that 
 the Tenth Legion could not bide his time. That legion at least 
 he must dismiss." Loud applause followed from the rest; the 
 men of the Tenth hung their heads in shame, and begged him to dec- 
 imate them, and restore the survivors to his favor. At length, Casar, 
 deeming them sufliciently humbled, accepted their re[)entanre. The 
 whole scene is a striking illustrullon of the cool and dauntless
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C-llSAK. 53 
 
 resolution of the man. We at once say, here was one born for com- 
 maud. 
 
 Having completed all pressing business in little more than two 
 montlis, lie again left Rome to talce measures for reducing tlie for- 
 midable force wliicli tlie Pompeian leaders had assembled in Africa. 
 At Lilybneum six legions and 2000 horse had been collected ; and 
 about the middle of October (47 b.c.) he reached Africa. An inde- 
 cisive combat took place soon after lie lauded, aud then he lay en- 
 camped waiting for reinforcements till uear tlie beginning of Decem- 
 ber. AVhen he took the field, a series of manoiuvres followed ; till, 
 on the 4th of February (40 B.C.). he eucamped uear Tliapsus, and two 
 days after fouglit the battle which decided the fate of the campaign. 
 After a long and desperate conOict, which lasted till evening, the 
 senatorial army was forced to give wa\' ; and Cajsar, who always 
 pressed an advantage to the utmost, followed them so closely that 
 they could not defend their camp. The leaders fled in all directions. 
 Varus and Lal)ienus escaped into Spain. Scipio put to sea, but be- 
 ing overtaken by the enemy's ships sought death b}' ins own Iiands. 
 Such also was the fate of Afranius. Juba lied with old Petreius ; 
 and these two rude soldiers, after a last banquet, heated with wine, 
 agreed to end their life by siuglu combat. The Roman veteran was 
 sfain by the nimble African prince, and Juba souglit death at the 
 hand of a faithful slave. 
 
 Meanwhile, Cato at Utica had received news of the ruin of his party 
 b3' tlie battle of Thapsus. lie calmly resolved on self-slaughter, and 
 discussetl the subject both in conversation with Ins friends and in 
 meditation with himself. After a conversation of this kind he retired 
 to rest, aud for a moment forgot his philosopliic calm when he saw 
 that his too careful friends liad removed his sword. Wratbfully re- 
 proving them, he ordered it to be brought back and liung at his bed's 
 head. There he lay down, and turned over tlie pages of Plato's 
 Phffido till he fell asleep. In the niglit he awoke, aud taking his 
 sword from the slieath he thrust it into his body. His watchful 
 friends heard him utter an involuntary groan, and, entering the room, 
 found him writhing in ai^ony. They procured surgical aid, and the 
 wound was carefully dresi=ed. Cato lay down again, apparently 
 insensible ; but, as soon as he was left alone, he quietly removed tbo 
 dressings and tore open tlie wound, so that his bowels broke out, and 
 after no long time he breathed Ids last. The Romans, one and all, 
 even Cicero, admired and ajiplauded his conduct. It is true that the 
 Stoics, though on principles dilTerent from Christianity, reconimended 
 the endurance of all evils as indifferent to a philosoiiher. Rut life 
 liad become intolerable to one who lield the politicid opinions of 
 Cato ; and while Christian judgment must condemn his impatience, 
 it must be confessed that from his own point of view the act was at 
 least excusable. 
 
 After this miserable end of the moHt upright and most eminent
 
 60 LIFE OF JULIUS C.T';SAK. 
 
 among the Bcnatorial chiefs, Cicsav busied liimself in rcgiihiling the 
 countries he liad contiuered. Julia's i^ingdom of Numidia he 
 formed into a new province, and gave it into the care of the historian 
 Salhist, wlio with otliers liad been exiujlled from tlie senate in the 
 year 50 B.C., professedly because of his prolligate manners, but really 
 because of his devoted attachment to Ctesar's cause. His subsequent 
 life justified both the real and the alleged cause. He proved an 
 oppressive ruler, and his luxurious habits were conspicuous even in 
 I that age. In the terse and epigrammatic sentences of his two im- 
 i mortal works were immortalized the meiits of Marias and of Caesar, 
 the vices and errors of their senatorial antagonists. 
 
 After some delay in Sardinia, Avhere his presence also was required, 
 Caesar returned to Rome for the fourth lime since the civil war 
 broke out, about the end of May, 40 B.C. At length he had found 
 time to celebrate the triumphs which he had earned since his first 
 consulship, and to devote his attention to those internal reforms, 
 which long years of faction and anarchy had made necessary. 
 
 His triumphs were four in number, over Gaul, Egypt, Pontus, and 
 Numidia ; for no mention was made of the civil conflicts, which had 
 been most dangerous and most difhcidt of all. A Koman could not 
 triumph over lellow- citizens ; therefore the victories of Ilerda and 
 Pharsalia were not celebrated by public honors ; nor would Thapsus 
 have been mentioned had it not been observed that here Juba was 
 among the foes. These triumphs were made more attractive by 
 splendid gladiatorial shows and combats of wild beasts. But what 
 gave much more real splendor was the announcement of a gen- 
 eral amnesty for all political olTenccs committed against the party of 
 the dictator. The memory of the ]\Iarian massacres and the Syllau 
 proscriptions were still present to many minds. Domitius Aheuobar- 
 bus and the chief senatorial leaders had denounced all who took part 
 again.st the senate, or even those who remained neutral, with the 
 severest penalties. Men could not believe tliat the dictator's clemency 
 was real ; they could not rid themselves of the belief that when all 
 fear of the enemy had ceased he would glut his vengeance by a 
 hecatomb. Tlie certainty that no more blood would flow was so 
 much the more grateful. 
 
 After the triumphs all his soldiers were gratified by a magnificent 
 donation ; naj^, every poor citizen received a present both of grain and 
 money. 
 
 The veterans now at length received their rewards in lands, which 
 I were either public property or were duly purchased with public money. 
 But no .Julian military colonies were planted on lands wrested by force 
 from citizens, to emulate the (.'orneliau military colonies and main- 
 tain a population of turbulent agitators. Here also the example of 
 Sylla, who confiscated private property to reward his troops, was 
 tarefully avoided. 
 
 After\he triumphs every kind of honor was bestowed upon him.
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. ^^ 
 
 Above an he was named dictator for the third lime ; but now it 
 Above ai'' "^^7;'' "'.„.._„ TT. ^,^3 also invested with censorial 
 Sodty li?thre y ar Sd ia viHue of these combiaed offices he 
 was dec ared aSute master of the lives and fortunes d all the cit- 
 was Qotiaieu au.unA several months he remained at 
 
 Someltily oSpie'd' iara^url'nSed to remedy the evil effects 
 S The l^u-coatiLed civil discords and to secure order or le 
 future ButTa the middle of his work he ^as compelled to qut 
 Rome bv tbe axil of another war. It will be well to dispose of this 
 before we 'fve a b ief summary of his great legislative measures 
 
 Spain wa the province that required his P^f ^'f ^^■,,.i,^:[f,^^',VnTv 
 sons of Ponioev with Labienus and \ arus, had rail ed the scant} 
 rL nf fh," \fric m armv The province was already in a state of 
 relics of the Atrican ""'^^y '^ \^^^1^^.^^^^ lie had left as governor- 
 revolt ^.g=\f f ,^*f^;; . 2.- that even the ledons rose, mutinied, and 
 ^pXd U c1^ari^t^nan£;r Bocchus, King of Mauritania 
 SSa'l t£s the malcontents m «P;^;;i-^-;;S^£,?S^^ f 
 formidable front. Coesar arrived in Spain late i-J J^^^^^^f ;^i'^^;^-^;„^: 
 after a journey of c.Ktraordinar); rapidity, and ^^^ ,pn!d<wT" But 
 Pnmnpius had Concentrated his forces near Corduba (Cordova), i^iu 
 anTtSo ninesTcompcUed the dictator to delay operations and t 
 was no ill the first month of the next year tl^^t lie was able to ake 
 flip field He then began olfeusive measures with his usual rapi^l'ty. 
 fp wa.i extremelv aaxious to force the enemy to a battle, but this 
 hey Sut^oisly declined, till several strong towns being taken by 
 lorm and others having surrendered, '^^^^^'^'''-^t^J^^^^^^ 
 suites obli--ed to retreat toward the coast ot the Meet terranean. 
 Here Caliar found them in a. strong poshioa near MuncK a ^ma^^ 
 town about five aud twenty miles west of Malaga, and as tliey oiiercu 
 him batt" he determined oa attacking, notwithstaading the dirticul- 
 ies of the -round. Success was for some time doubtful But 
 cSsar exerted inself to lead his troops again and agaia to tlM3 des- 
 perate coatiict, and their dauntless courage at en,nh prj^vail d^ So 
 desperate wa. it that Ca;sar is reporte.l '« l^^^^^^^,'^)',.. ^P Xt the 
 ra<?ion=i I have fou'dit for v ctory, here I fought for hfe. liut me 
 W IP of Si i\v?i3 decisive. 'M')re thaa :U),()00 men fell. Among 
 S wert rar 3^^^^^^ ^vhose heads were bronght^to C*sar 
 
 a tokls <,f their fate. Ca. Pompeius lied to the cm^st. leve as he 
 was-ettiiigoa board a small boat he eatangled ^ys foot n a rope 
 and a friend endeavoriug to cut awiy the rope struck the foot ui- 
 'ietr Ti^euufortuaate'voung man landed again hoping to he hid 
 ? n his wo mr was healed. Findiag his lurking-place ^^seovered ho 
 n '1 wearily up a mouataia path, but was soon overtake, and 
 8la a His head also was carried to the comiueior. wlio ordere. it to 
 receive loaoralle burial. Sext. Pompeius escaped into ^^rlhe a 
 Snaia wheaee he reappeared at a later tunc to vex tlie peace of tho 
 Koma'a woSd Corduba, Hispalis (Seville), and other places garn^
 
 (J2 LIFE OF JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 eoucd by the last desperate relics of the Pompeian party, held out for 
 some time after the batllc of Miiuda. So inipovtaut did Ctesar con- 
 sider it to qucncli the hist sparli of disalTcctiou iu a province which 
 for several years had been under Pompey's government that he 
 stayed in Spiiin till August, and did not return to Rome till Beptem- 
 ber or October (45 B.c.l, having been absent from the capital nearly 
 a year. On this occasion he w7is less scrupulous than before, for he 
 celebrated a fifth triumph iu honor of his successes in Spain, though 
 these were as much won over Roman citizens as his former victories 
 in that same countrj', or his crowning glory of Pharsalia. 
 
 From his last triumph to his death was somewhat more than five 
 niontlis (October, 45 B.C.— March, 4-1 B.C.) : from his quadruple Iri- 
 umpii to the Spanisli campaign was little more than four months 
 (June— September, 46 B.C.). Into tiiese two brief periods were com- 
 pi-essed most of the laws which bear his name, an(l of which we will 
 now give a brief account. Most of the evils, however, which he en- 
 deavored to remedy were of old standing. His long residence at 
 Rome, and busy engagements in all political matters from early youth 
 to the close of his consulship, made him familiar with every sore 
 place, and with all the proposed remedies. His own clear judgment, 
 his habits of rapid decision, and the unlimited power which he held 
 in virtue of the dictatorship, made it easier for him to legislate than 
 for others to advise. 
 
 The long wars, and the liberality with which he had rewarded his 
 soldiers and tlie people at his triumphs, had reduced the sums in the 
 treasury to a low ebb. We may believe that no needs were more 
 pressing than these. 
 
 Together with the dictatorship he had been invested with censorial 
 power under the' new title of prjtfectus morum. He used this power 
 to institute a careful revision of the list of citizens, principally for the 
 purpose of abridging the list of those who were receiving monthly 
 donations of grai'n from the treasury. Numbers of foreigners had 
 been iri-eiruiarly placed on the lists, and so great had been the temp- 
 tations held out by the pernicious poor-law originally passed by C. 
 Gracchus, and made still worse by Saturninus and Clodius, that he 
 was able to reduce the list of state-paupers resident in or near Rome 
 from 320,000 to about half that number. The treasury felt an im- 
 mediate and a permanent relief. 
 
 But thouffh, for this purpose, Csesar made severe distinctions be- 
 tween Ronian citizens and those subjects of the republic A\ho were 
 not admitted to the franchise, no ruler ever showed himself so much 
 alive to the claims of all classes of her subjects. Other popular lead- 
 ers had advocated the cause of the Italians, and all free people of the 
 Peninsula had for the last thirty years been made Romans ; but ex- 
 cept the mea.sure of Pompcius Svrabo, by which the free people of 
 Transpadane Gaul— who were almost Italians— had been invested 
 with the Latin rights, no popular Btatesman had as yet shown any in-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS CJESAH. 63 
 
 •crest ia the claimsof the provinciul subjects of Eome _ ScTlorius in- 
 deed haJ caieavored to raise a Roman governmeat m Spa n ; but 
 Uiis was f orcel upon him by the necessity of the case and was a 
 transference of power from Italians to Spaniards, ratlrer than an in- 
 corporation of Spain with Italy. Caesar was_ the hrst acknowledged 
 ?uler of the Roman State who extended his views beyond the politics 
 of the city and took a really imperial survey of the vas dominions 
 subject to her sway. Toward those who were at war ^J'^th Kome he 
 was relentless and illiberal as the sternest Roman of then f - but^no 
 one so well as he knew how " to spare the submissive ; ^;^rdl> ^uy 
 one except himself felt pleasure in so sparing A the .^^^^s «f 
 Transpadane Gaul, already Latin, were raised to the Roman fran- 
 chise. The same high privilege was bestowed on many communilic 
 of Transalpine Gaul akd Spain. The Gallic legion which he Imi 
 raisea called Aulada from the lark which was the emblem on their 
 ar^ wS rewarded for its services by the same gift. Medica iKjic- 
 titioners and scientific mm, of whateverongm were to l^e fo^ued 
 to claim the Roman franchise. After his death a Pl"" ^^J^^^^jJ 
 amonn- his papers for raising the Sicilian communities to the rank ot 
 Latin citizL-a design which seems to prove that a truly imperial 
 idea gave character to his whole government . , p „ _„„. 
 
 NoUiiu'' proved this more th-:\n the unfulhlled projects of the great 
 dictator, which were afterward completed. Among these were the 
 draining of the b^ontine marshes, the opening of ukes Lucnnus and 
 AverniS to form a harbor, a complete survey and map ot the whole 
 empire— plans afterward executed by Agrippa. the great minister ot 
 Au-'ustus Another and more memorable design was that ot a code 
 of laws pmbodvirig and organizing the scattered judgments and pre- 
 cedents which at that tim^ regulated the courts It ^yas several cen- 
 turies before this great work was accomplished, by which Roman law 
 became the law of civilized Europe. 
 
 The liberal tendency of the dictator's mind was shown by the man- 
 ner in which he .supplied the great gaps which the civi war had 
 made in the benches of the senate. Of late years the number of t hat 
 assembly had bL;en increased from its original three hundred. Wo 
 lind so many as four hundred and fifteen taking part in its votes ; 
 and many of course were absent. PmU CcCsar raised it to no kss than 
 nine hundred, tiius probably doubling the largest iiuml;er tliat had 
 ever been counted in its ranks. r^Iauy of the new senators were tor- 
 tunate .soldiers who had served him well. In raising such men to 
 senatorial rank he followed the example of Sylla. But many of the 
 n<'w nobles were enfranchised citizens of the towns of Cisalpine (Taul. 
 The old citizens were indignant at this invasion of the barbarians 
 Pasquinades, rife in ancient as in modern Rome, aboundea. 1 nc 
 Gauls " said one wit, " had exchanged the trews for the toga, and 
 
 • Cicero ad AU. 1. 14, 5.
 
 CI LIFE OF JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 nad followed the conqueror's triumphul car into the senate." "It 
 were a good deed," Kaid another, " if no one would show Ihc new 
 senators ihe way to liie house." 
 
 Thcoflicesof consul, pro3lor, and other high magistracies, however, 
 •were still conferred on men of Italian biith. The first foreigner who 
 reached the consulship was L. Cornelius IJalbus, a Spaniard of Gades, 
 the friend of Caisar and of Cicero; but this was not till four years 
 after tlie dictator's death, wheu the principles of his government were 
 more fully carried out by his successors. 
 
 To revive a military population in Italy was not so much the ob- 
 ject of Ca>sar as that of former leaders of the people. His veterans 
 received comparatively few assignments of land in Italy. Only six 
 small colonies in the ncighboihood of Rome were peopled by vhese 
 men. The principal settlements by which he enriched them were in 
 the provinces. Corinth and Carthage were made military colonies, 
 and rapidly regained somewhat of their ancient splendor and renown. 
 
 He endeavored .to restore the wasted population of Italy by more 
 peaceful methods than military scttkmcnls. The niarri;ige-tie which 
 had become exceedingly la.x in these protl gite times was encouraged 
 by somewhat singular means. A married matron was allowed a 
 greater latitude of ornament and the use of more costly carriages than 
 the sumptuary laws of Rome permitted to women generally. A 
 married man with three children born in lawful wedlock at Rome, 
 with four born in Italy, with five born in the provinces, enjoyed 
 freedom from certain duties and charges. 
 
 The great abuse of slave-labor was difficult to correct. It was 
 attempted to apply remedies familiar to despotic governments in all 
 ages. An ordinance was issued that no citizens between twenty and 
 forty years of age should be absent from Italy for more than three 
 years. And an ancient enactment was revived that on all estates at 
 least one third of the laborers should be freemen. N^o doubt these 
 measures were of little effect. 
 
 Caesar's great designs for the improvement of the city were shown 
 by several facts. Under his patronage the first public library wa.s 
 opened at Rome by his friend C. A.siniusPollio, famous as a poet, and 
 in later years as the historian of the civil war. For the Iran.saction of 
 public business, he erected the magniticent series of buildings called 
 the Basilica .Julia, of which we will tay a few words in a later page. 
 
 Of all his reforms, that by which his name is best remembered is 
 the reform of the calendar. " The Roman j^ear had hitherto consisted 
 jf 355 days, with a month of 30 days intercalated every third year, 
 so that the average length of the year was 365 days. 'If the intercala- 
 tions had been regularly made, the Romans would have Ifjst a day's 
 reckoning in every period of four years ; since the real length of the 
 Bolar year is about 305 i days, lint the business was so carelessly 
 executed, that the difference between the civil year and the solar yciir 
 wjinetirnes amounted to several months, and ail dates were most 
 uncertain-
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS C.ESAK. ^0 
 
 C^sar. himself not -acquainted .^h astronomy^ 
 assistance of th%;-^'7^,^°^'Seue^ o lecu^^ t^^^^^ ^^^^ ,,^ „f 
 
 prevent error f-^/ ^be futme It was cle^trn ^^^ ^f j^^. 
 
 January of the Roman year 709 a u.c.coincme ^,,iculated 
 
 uary of the solar year which we call 4. b.c ism .^ 
 
 tlJ this 1st of January «ttl^^/^7,^;t-\.S\,ond concur not with 
 advance of the true Ume ; "^-/^ ■« f ^[^^^oa of October 40 B.C. x\.ud 
 the 1st of January 4o B.C., ^"^J^ Vtv.Hno- together 67 days, were 
 therefore two i"t"-cala,T nionths malv n^^^ to^^^^^^^ December 
 
 inserted between the last <lay o ^o^^^ber aiul^^^^ ^ ^^^^ 
 
 of the year 708. ^a interc^ a y m^^^^^^^ Ther 
 
 addedtoIM)ruapo lutjuu^ .^ ^^^j ^^ theprodi- 
 
 fore. on the whole, the Roman > ^J^ '^Jj ,j ^..Hed in the pasquinades 
 
 ^s: ^::^:^^!^"'^^4'' " '- -"«^' ^' ''""°- 
 
 daJs, each monlh bemg l'^«'''™-'v«f "ff u,f tlS Uar couaisls of 
 IhJ rule wLicli we still "''»r:"v,,,''f ■,VaecS'aTto ailil one day 
 
 present in our leap year. p^ip„,i.T,r which with a slight altera- 
 
 ti^tSlniSs S^^'eJ;:?^ tSS^r'^a every, letter of the 
 
 ^^^SeStL occupation requi^d ^^Jj-J^-^S^^.^^SS^ 
 
 reform, all executed in the ^Pf «.«.^.^'.'^,^?^ '"^^^ the free 
 
 absorbed the cb ef P^^^^°f J ^f^^/^'^'e'eorded to su tors and visitors by 
 acccsrwhich at Rome was usually hccoi aea J<J ^ . ^,,^ ^^uc 
 
 the consuls and great men. <^f ;«" ^ "3 ^S the fact diminished 
 
 reason for J^^-^-,^^!;! i ^^^^i fS^ Sever, and a letter 
 
 ;;r Slil'a'whiS'he^ljSibes'a visit hereccnved^^^ 
 
 + /.«., 355 + 23 + 67=445. 
 
 • Called }ferce<loni't8. T J; ;;;,„i(i t,o correct if the eolar year 
 
 + The addition of "n.Mlay in every fonr years wuQ u con8istH of 365 
 
 noTimnted ex.. tly of ^f ^^l^^y^'^J^J^'^: ^^ai^M^^n year i« longer than the 
 ,l,iy.H, 5 honrs, 48 minutes 51 >f. f.^^onoa, 8 - J „ronomor>f lincw this enor, but 
 ';;ib^ir^^SbVn""K:^ar X%y .U.bo,in,un« of the^ Juhau year 
 
 ■* 'o'^ ' ,rt 1 .>-,.l....,l (Wn trill* timU. IT OPl 
 
 bebUi'd thai ot tiie re«l of Europe
 
 C6 LIFE OF .IILIUS CyLSAR. 
 
 conqueror in his villa at Putcoli, Ifiivcs a plcnsius^ impression of both 
 host and puost. Cicero iiKkcdliad fully buwcil lo circunislancos. IIq 
 spoke iu (iereiice of the I'onipciau parlisans, M. iVIarcellus and Q. 
 Liirarius, and introduced into his si)eeches compliments to Ca'sar too 
 fulsome to be genuiru\ In his enforced retirement from public life 
 after the battle of Pharsalia, he composed some of those pleasing 
 dialogues which we still read. Both to him and to evei'y other 
 senatorial chief ('.esar not onl}' showed pardon but favor. 
 
 Yet the remnant (jf the nobles loved him not. And with the pcoplo 
 at large he sulfered still more, from a belief that he wished to bo 
 made king. On his return from Spain, he had been named dictator 
 and impcrator for life. His head had been for some time placed on 
 the money of the republic, a regal honor conceded to n(nie before 
 him. Quintilis, the fifth month of the calendar, received from him 
 the name which it still bears. The senate took an oaUi lo guard the 
 safety of his person. He was honored with sacrificial offerings, and 
 other honors, which had hitherto been reserved for the gods. But 
 C'a'.sar was not satisfied, lie was often heard to quote the sentiment 
 of Euripides, that " if any violation of law is excusable, it is excus- 
 able for the sake of gaining sovereign power." The craving desire 
 to transmit power to an heir occupied him as it occupied (Jiomwell 
 and Napoleon ; and no title 3'et conferred upon him was hereditary. 
 It was no doubt to ascertain the popular sentiments that various prop- 
 ositions were made toward an assumption of the style and title of 
 king. His statues in the forum were found crowned with a diadem ; 
 but two of the tribunes tore it off, and the mob applauded. On thy 
 2(5th of January, at the great Latin festival on the Alban Mount, 
 voices in the crowd saluted him as king : but mutlerings of discon- 
 tent reached his car, and he promjitly said; "I am no king, but 
 Caesar." Yet the tribunes who punished those who were detected 
 in raising the cry were deposed by the dictator's will. The final 
 attempt was made at the Lupercalia on the 15th of Febiuar}'. Antony, 
 in the character of one of the priests of Pan, approached the dictator 
 as he sat presiding in his golden chair, and offered him an cmljroidcrcd 
 band, such as was worn on the head by oriental sovereigns. The 
 apphuisc which followed w'as partial, and the dictator put tiie offered 
 gift aside. Then a burst of genuine cheering greeted him, which 
 waxed louder still when he rejected it a second time. Old tradition;il 
 feeling was too strong at liome even for Ca'sar's daring temper to 
 brave it. The people would submit to the despotic rule of a dictator, 
 but would not have a king. 
 
 Disapi)ointed no doubt he was ; and one more attempt was made to 
 invest iiimself with hereditary title. A large camp had for some time 
 been formed at Apollonia in Illyricum ; in it was present a young 
 man, wlio had long been the declared heir of the dictator. This was C. 
 Octavius, son of his niece Atia, and therefore his grand-nephew. 
 He was born, as we have noted, in the memorable year of Catiline's
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 fnr militarv service. Notwithstam m viu-, j^.^^ i,e was ( luietly 
 touli a mastership of tl.e ^^^^ ^t of war at ApoUonia. 
 Sed, and sent to take lusl^rsle,.oa.m ^^^^ assembled The 
 
 where a large and ^'^^^^-fi ''P^r^ ^ Jot publicly announced. But 
 destination of this P^^^''^*'^"' f,^,f "io^tlv to P^^r^lii'^ : for the death of 
 Ser-'i^ belief pointed, no ^^«,^,V Roman eao-les were still retamed as 
 fvSsus was unavenged, and tHe i^,?"'-)^\.'^;^- feUef was contirmed by 
 
 SSs by the barbaric <'f^'^^^\^JZ^Znt this time, saying, 
 .i IfnPf nf a Sibvllne oracle bemgprouuLLu. ^_ ^^^^ .^ 
 
 !!'?uiTa„t\uti W°f,,riT°?; wl oh'S.u w.S'.o.b^ ™*u. 
 decree was moved m the stnate oy ^^^^. style of kmg. With- 
 
 not atRome, but in theprovmces t^^^J^^^^^^'.^verof royalty, itwa. 
 S the well-known emblems ^^^ P^'^J^.'^^'gct the submissive homage 
 
 b^:^^^^:^^^^^^^^^ ''^ '--' ''•'''' "'"^ 
 
 carried into effect. ,iic,.nntent had been agitatmg various 
 
 ^%leanwhile -^J^^^^'i:^;^,l\^l^^^^^^ Rome with a boy whom s^ie 
 rlnsses at Rome. Lleopaua. ayiJ . (^.g^.j[.. it was uer 
 
 named Ca^sarion and declare [^^^^l ^j' ^, obtain the dictator s 
 ambition to be acknowledged a hi, ^^^^^f^^,,^ t, the degenerate 
 
 inheritance for the ^«>p-;V Le mo 'i^^^ P'"'^'^^^ 
 
 Romans of that day. ruen, t Ue mo ^^,,^i^,,t,^ad his wish no 
 
 approved of his ^1*^"^^"" ' ,\''Jadcr of a party, but the impartial 
 Un-er to be the unsci-upuloas eaacr oi .^^t were angry at 
 
 uler of the empire. ^1=;'^^ f *^,^,r?' UeTovlncials from extortion 
 the re-nilations he made to secure me i iteration of his 
 
 and o'ppression. Antony 1"'^^^^^' ^[^c ' of ^ '^f^ 
 
 servicel^xpect.d tlie same extrava^an^^^^^^ _^^ o^Yr^oAio 
 
 granted by Sy la to l^'^.f'^;*'' se .'.f Pompey in the Carime of which 
 miv its full price for the ^>"'^;^;^ \,^^e^of the city complaincd-the 
 he'had taken possession. ^ ^« P'^ g'^^^^or extended to provincial-J, 
 srenuine Romans at seeing ^^o n icb J^^^^^^^^ 
 
 So of foreign origin becau e tl ^ ^ ;^^i;j^^^';^\„ his army, and escape 
 i^untv Cajsar no doul)twas eager lo ii^"^ .^ .OTgrumcnt. 
 
 Tom ^iie increasing ^^^^^^Z^!^],^^'^^^ ^A !>« ^Y^-]^^ 
 But itseeme<l likely ^^^'^'^ t'^ .^^ZvtvJoi\hi'- late decree ; and this 
 Lume monarchical P';7,;,"SJr;,-n.Uion the remains of the ok 
 consideration urge.l on t" '' ^' ."ji;^, to Ca^ar's clemency, who Iwd 
 
 spvs Trs'. ";;,;';::id .cnu... not . .u™ .. own
 
 68 LIFU OK JILIUS C^SAR. 
 
 fonder of plntonic speculations (hnn of political iicl ion. His habits 
 were cokl ami reserved, rallior Ihose of a student than a statesman. 
 lie had rcluclaiitly joined the cause of Ponipey, for ho could ill 
 foru:et ihat is was hy |-*onipey that his father had been put to death 
 in cold l)lood ; but he yielded to the aii^aunenta of Cato, and mastered 
 bis private feud by ^iiat he considered zeal for the public good 
 After Pharsalia, he vt'as received by Ca>sar with the utmost kindness, 
 and treated by him almost like a son. He seems to have felt this, 
 and lived (piietly without harboring any desi";nsa^!;ainsthis benefactor. 
 In the present year he had been proclaimed pra'lor of the city, with 
 the promi.se of" the consulship presently alter. But the discontented 
 remnants of the old senatorial party assailed him with constant re- 
 proaches. The name of Brutus, dear to all Koman patriots, was 
 made a rebuke to him. " His ancestor expelled the Tartjuins ; and 
 could he sit quietly under a new king's rule?" At the foot of the statue 
 of that famous ancestor, or on his own piatorian tribunal, notes were 
 placed, containing phrases such as these: "Thou ait not Brutus : 
 would thou wert." " Brutus, thou sleepest." "Awake, Brutus." 
 Gradually his mind was e.xcited ; and he was brought to think that 
 it was hfs duty as a patriot to put an end to Ca'sar's rule even by 
 taking his life. The most notable of those who arrayed themselves 
 under him was (,'assius him.'^elf. What was this m^jn's motive is 
 unknown. He liad never taken much part in pol.i(ics ; and the 
 epicurean philosophy which he profes.sed gave him no .strong reasons 
 for hating u despotic government. He had of his own accord made 
 submission to the conqueror, and iiad been received with markeil 
 favor. Sonic personal reason probably actuated his unquiet spii it. 
 More than sixty persons were in the secret. All of whom we know 
 anything were, like C'assius, under obligations to the dit'ator. P. 
 Serviliu's Ca.sca was by his grace tribune of the plebs. L. Tillius 
 Cimber was promised the government of Bithynia. Dec. Biutus, 
 one of his old Gallic officers was piator-elect, and was to be giatilied 
 with the rich province of Cisalpine Gaul. C. Trebonius, another of 
 Ids most trusted ollicers, had received every favor which the dictator 
 could bestow ; he had just laid down the consulship, and was op 
 the eve of departure for the coveted government of Asia. Q. Li- 
 garius, who had lately accepted a free pardon from the dictator, 
 rose from a sick-bed to join the conspirators. 
 
 A meeting of the senate was called for the Ides of March, at wbi h. 
 Csesar w^as to be present. This was the day appointed for the murd^'r. 
 f he secret hail oozed out. Many persons warned Casar that some 
 danger was impending. A (5reek soothsayer told him of the very 
 day^ On the moiiiiiig of tli(; Tdes his wife arose so disturbed by 
 dreams, that she persuaded him to relinquish his purpose of presiding 
 in the senate, and he sent Antony in his stead. 
 
 This change of purpose was reported in the senate after the house 
 was formed. The conspirators were in despair. Dec. Brutus at cnco 
 went to Cfiesar, told him that the fathers were only waiting to confer
 
 LIFE OF JULIUS CAESAR. 69 
 
 upon him the sovereign power wliich lie desired in the provinces, 
 and beiiged liim not to listen to auguries and dreams. Csesar was 
 persuaded to cbange his purpose, and was carried fortli iu Lis litter. 
 On his way, a slave who bail discovered tlie conspiracy tried to 
 attract the dictator's notice, but was unable to reach him from the 
 crowd. A Greek phiiosoplier, named Artemidorus, succeeded iu 
 putting a roll of paper into his hand, containing full information of 
 tbe colispiracy ; but Ca'sar, supposing it to be a petition, laid it in 
 the litter by his side for a more convenient season. Meanwhile the 
 conspirators bad reason to tbiuk tbat their yjlot had been discovered. 
 A friend came up to Casca and said, " Ah, Casca, Brutus has told me 
 your secret !" The conspirator started back, but was relieved by the 
 next sentence : " Where will you lind money for the expenses of the 
 cedilesliip?" More serious alarm was felt when Popillius Laenas 
 remarked to Brutus ami Cassius, " You have mv good wishes ; but 
 what you do, do quickly"— especially when the same senator stepped 
 up to Caesar on his entering tlie house, and began whispering in his 
 ear. So terrified was Cassius, that he thought of stabbing himself 
 instead of Caesar, till Brutus quietly observed that the gestures of 
 Popillius indicated that he was asking a favor, not revealing a fatal 
 secret. Caesar took his seat without further delay. ^ i 
 
 As was agreed, Cimber presented a petition, praying for his brother 3 
 recall from banishment ; and all the conspirators pressed round the dic- 
 tator, urging his favorable answer. Displeased at their thronging round 
 him, Ca;.sar attempted to rise. At that moment, Cimber seized the 
 lappet of liis robe and pulled him down ; and immediatejy Casca 
 struck him from the side, but iutlicted only a slight wound. Then all 
 drew their daggers and assailed him. Ctesar for a time defended 
 himself witii the gown folded over his left arm, and the sharp-pointed 
 Btile which lie lield in his right hand for writing on the wax of his 
 tablets. But when he saw Brutus among the assassins he exclaimed, 
 " You too, Brutus :" and, covering his face with his gown, offered no 
 further resistance. In tiieir eagerness some blows intended for their 
 victim fell upon themselves. But enough reached Ca>sar to do the 
 hloody work. Pierced by three-and-twenty wouuds.lu; fell at the 
 base of Pompey's statue, which hud been removed after Phar.-^alia by 
 Antony, but liud been restored by the magnanimity of Ca;sar to be 
 Ihe witness of bis bloody end. 
 
 Thus died " the foremost man in all the world," a man who failed 
 in nothing that he attempted, lie might. Cicero tiiought, have l)een 
 a great orator ; Iiis Commentaries remain to prove that he was a great 
 writer. A.s a general he had few superiors ; as u statesman and 
 politician no e(iual. That which stamps liim as a m;in of true 
 greatness, is the entire absence (»f vanity and self-conceit froni his 
 character. If it were not known that Ca'.sar was the narratf r of lii.s 
 
 wa campaii^ns, no one could guess that (-old and dispa.ssionato 
 narrative to be from his i)en. His genial temper ami e;isy, iinafTected 
 manners bear testimony to the same jioint. It is well known indeed
 
 70 LIFE OF JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 that he paid great attention lo his personal appearance— a foiblo 
 wiiich he shared in couMnon with many great men equally free from 
 other vanity. In voutli he was strikingly handsome, ami was the 
 ■welcome lover of many dissolute llomau dames. His hard life and 
 unremitting? activity liad furrowed his face with lines, and left him 
 with that lueniire vfsai:;e which is made familiar to us from his coins. 
 To tliL- same clause is to be attributed Ids lial)ility, iu later life, to fits 
 of an ejiileptic nature. But even in these da\she was sedulous in 
 arraniringhis robes, and was pleased to have the privile.t^e of wearing 
 11 laurel "crown to hide the scantiness of his hair. His morality in 
 d jme.stic life was not better or worse than commonly prevailed in 
 * .lose licentious davs. He indulged in prolligate amours freely and 
 ■A'ithout scruple. But public opinion reproached him not for this. 
 When it was sought to blacken his character, crimes of a deeper dye 
 were imputed to^him ; but they were never proved, and he always 
 indiirnantly denied them. He seldom, if ever, allowed pleasure to 
 interfere with business, and here his character forms a notable con- 
 trast to that of Sylla. In other respects the men were not unlike. 
 Both were men of real genius, and felt their strength without vanity. 
 But Sylla loved pleasure more than power ; Ca;sar valued power 
 al)0ve all things. As a general, C«sar was probably no less inferior 
 to Pompev than Sylla to Marius. Yet his successes iu war, 
 achieved by a man who, in his forty-ninth year, had hardly seen a 
 camp, add to nur conviction of his real genius. Those successes 
 were due not so much to scientific and calculated mancouvres as to 
 rapid audacitv of movemcut and perfect mastery over the wills of 
 men. That he caused the death or captivity of some million of^Gauls, 
 to provide treasure and form an army for his jiolilical purpo.sds, is 
 shockin"- to us ; but it was not so to Roman moralists. Any Roman 
 commander with like powers, except, perhaps, Cato, wouhl have acted 
 in like manner. But the clemency with which Ciesar spared the lives of 
 his opponents in the civil war, a^id the easy indulgence with which 
 he received them into favor, were peculiarly his own. His political 
 career was trouliled by no scruples : to gain his end he was utterly 
 careless of the means^ But before we judge him severely, we must 
 remember the manner in which the Marian party had been tramplc(« 
 under foot bv Svlla and tlie senate. If, however, the mode in which 
 lie rose to power was questionable, the mode in winch he exercised 
 it was admirable. By the action of constant civil broils the constN 
 lutional system of Rome had given way to anarchy, and tliere seemed 
 ^no escape except by submission to the strong domination ot one 
 ' capabl'e man. The only effect of Ca'sar's fall was to cause a 
 renewal of bloodshed for anotiier half generation ; and then his work 
 was linishcd by a far less noble and generous ruler. Tliose who sicW 
 Ca;sar were giiilty of a great crime, and a still greater blunder. 
 
 TILQ KKD.
 
 LIFE OF CROMWELL. 
 
 (A.D. 1599-1658.) 
 
 The name of Cromwell up to the present period has been identified 
 •with ambition, craftiness, usurpation, ferocity, and tyrannj^ ; we think 
 that his true cliaracler is that of a fanatic. ' History is like the sibj-l, 
 and only reveals lier secrets to time, leaf by leaf. Hitherto she has 
 not exhibited tlie real nature and composition of this human enigma. 
 He has been thought a profound politician ; he was only an eminent 
 sectarian. Far-.sighted historians of deep research, such as Hume, 
 Lingard, Bossuet, and Voltaire, have all been mistaken in Cromwell. 
 The fault was not tlieirs, but belonged to the epoch in which the}"" 
 wrote. Autlientic documents had not then seen the light, and the 
 portrait of Cromwell had only been painted by his enemies. His 
 memory and his body have been treated with .similar infamy ; by the 
 restoration of Charles the Second, by the royalists of both branches, 
 by Catholics and Protestants, by Whigs and Tories, eciually interest- 
 ed in degrading the image of the republican Protector. 
 
 But error lasts only for a time, while truth endures for ages. Its 
 turn was coming, hastened by an accident. 
 
 One of those men of research, who are to history what excavators 
 are to monuments, Thomas Carlyle, a Scotch writer, endov/ed with 
 the combined qualities of exalted entimsiasm and enduring patience, 
 dissatisfied also witli the conventional and superficial portrait hither- 
 to depicted of Cromwell, resolved to search out and restore liis true 
 lineaments. Tiir? evident contradictions of tlie liistorians of his own 
 and otlier countries who had iuvarial)ly exliihitt'd him as a fa<itaslic 
 tyrant and a melodramatic lu'pocrite, induced Mr. Carlyle to think, 
 witli justice, that beneath these discordant components tlierc miglit 
 Ije found anotlier Cromwell, a being of nature, not of the imagina- 
 tion. Guided by tliat instinct of truth and logic in wiiich is com- 
 prised tlie genius of erudite discovery, Mr. Carlyle, himself possess- 
 ing tlie spirit of a sectary, and delighting in an indcper^dert course, 
 undertook to .search out and examine all the correspoudenoc buried 
 in the depths of puiilic or private archives, and in which, at the 
 different dates of his domestic, military, and political life, Cromwell,
 
 4 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 williout thinking thnt he should thus paint liimsclf, has in fact dont, 
 so for Iho study of posterity. Supplied with tljese treasures of truth 
 and revelati.)n.Mr. I'arlyle shut himself uj) for some years in the 
 solitude of the eounlry, tlial uolUiug might distniet Ins tlioughts trom 
 his work Then haviii"; collected, classed, studied, conuiK'uled on, 
 and rearran«-ed these voluminous letters of Ids heio, and iiavmg re- 
 suscitated as if from the tomb, the spirit of the man and llie age, he 
 committed to Europe this hitherto unpublished correspondence, say- 
 in"- with more reason than Jean Jacques Kousseau. " Keceive, and 
 read ; behold the true Cromwell !" It is froni these new and incou- 
 testable documents that we now propose to write the hfe ot this die- 
 
 titor 
 
 ' Cromwell, whom the greater number of historians (echoes of the 
 pnmplileteers of his day) state to have been the son of a brewer, or 
 butcher, was in reality born of an ancient famdy descended from 
 some of the lirst English nobility. His great-uncle, Thomas Crom- 
 well, created Earl of Essex by Henry the E.glith. and afterward 
 beheaded in one of those ferocious revulsions of character in which 
 that monarch frequently indulged, wus one of the most zealous de- 
 spoilers of Romish churches and monasteries, after Protestantism 
 had been established by Ins master. The great English dramatist, 
 Shakespeare, has introduced Thomas Cromwell Earl of Essex m 
 one of his tragedies. It is to him that Cardinal Wolsey says, when 
 sent to prison and death by the fickle Henry, 
 
 " Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 
 Had 1 hut served my God with half tlie zeal 
 I served my king, he would uot in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies." 
 
 This Cromwell, Earl of Essex, was for a hrief space Henry the 
 Eighth's minister ; he employed one of his nephews, Richard Crom- 
 well in the persecution of the Catholics, enriching him with the 
 spoils of churches and convents. Richard was the great-grandtatker 
 of Oliver the Protector. , 
 
 His grandfather, known in the country hy the name of the 
 "Golden Knight," in allusion to the great riches which were be- 
 stowed on histamily at the spoliation of the monasteries, was called 
 Henry Cromwell. He lived in Lincolnshire, on the domain of Hin- 
 chinbrock, formerly an old convent from which the nuns had been 
 expelled, and wliich was afterward changed by he Cromwells into 
 a seic-noiial manor-house. His eldest son. Richard, married a 
 daughter of one of the branches of the house of Stuart, who resided 
 in the same county. This Elizabeth "Stuart was the aunt of Oliver 
 Cromwell, who afterward immolated Charles the I irst. It appears 
 as if destiny delighted tluis to mingle in the same veins the blood ot 
 llie victim and his executioner. i , • „ ^„ i,ia 
 
 King James the First, when passing through Linco nshiro on his 
 way to take possession of tlie English crown, honored the dwelling
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 5 
 
 of the Crorawells by his presence, oa account of his relationship to 
 Elizabeth Stuart, aunt of the future Protector. The child, born in 
 1599, was then four years old, anil in after years, when he himself 
 reigned in the palace' of the Stuarts, he niijjht easily remember hav- 
 ing seen under bis own roof and at the table of his family this king, 
 father of the monarch he had dethroned and beheaded ! 
 
 It was not long before the family lost its wealth. The eldest of 
 the sons sold for^a trifling sum the'mauor of Hinehinbrook, and re- 
 tired to a small estate that lie possessed in the marshes vf Hunting- 
 donshire. His youngest brother, Robert Cromwell, father of the 
 future sovereign of England, brought up his family in poverty on a 
 fiinall adjoining estate upon the banks of the river Ouse, called Ely. 
 The poor, rough, and unyielding nature of this moist country, the 
 unbroken horizon, the muddy river, cloudy sky, miserable trees, 
 scattered cottages, and rude manners of the inhabitants, were well 
 calculated to contract and sadden the dispo.silion of a child. The 
 character of the scenes in which we arc l)iought up impresses itself 
 upon our souls. Great fanatics generally proceed from sad and 
 sterile countries. Mahomet sprang from the scorching valleys of 
 Arabia ; Luther from the frozen mountains oi Lower Germany ; 
 Calvin from the inanimate plains of Picardy : Cromwell from the 
 Stagnant marshes of the Ouse. As is the plac^i, so is the man. The 
 mind is a mirror before it becomes a home. 
 
 Oliver Cromwell, whose history we are writing, was the fifth child 
 jf his father, who died before he attained maturity. Sent to the 
 University of Cambridge, a town adjoining his paternal residence, he 
 there received a liberal education, and returned at the age of eigh- 
 teen, after the death of liis father, lo be the support of liis mother 
 flod a second parent to his sisters He conducted, with sagacity beyond 
 his years, the family e.state and establishment, under his mother's 
 eye. At twenty-one lie married Elizabeth Bouichier, a young and 
 beautiful heiress of the county, whose portraits show, under the 
 chaste and calm figure of the North, an enthusiastic, religious, and 
 contemplative soul. She was the lirst and only love of her husband. 
 
 Cromwell took up his abode with his wife in the house of hif 
 mother and sisters at Huntingdon, and lived there ten years in do- 
 mestic felicity, occupied with the cares of a confined income, the 
 rural employments of a gentleman farmer who cultivates his own 
 estate, and lho.se religious contemplations of reform which at that 
 ])eriod agitated alninst to insanity Scotland, England, and Europe. 
 
 His family, friends, and neighbors were devotedly attached to the 
 new cause of puritanic Protestantism ; a causo which hail always 
 been opposed in England l>y the remnant of the old fonquered 
 church, ever ready to revive. The celebrated patriot Hampden, who 
 tras destined to give the signal for a revolution on the throne, by re- 
 /using to pay the impost of twenty shillings to the crown, was tlio 
 young Cromwell'* cousin, anil a puritan like himself. The family,
 
 6 OLIVER CROMWELI- 
 
 rovolntionists in reliaion and politics, mutually encouraged each 
 olluT ill their solitude, l)y tiic picvailiui!; passion of tli(! tiuK.-s llien 
 rDiu'ciilratcd in a small "body of faitlifui adlicronts. This passion, 
 in the ardent and uioouiy disposition of Cromwell, almost produced 
 I* disease of the ima,!i;ination. He trembled for his eternal f-alvation, 
 and dreaded lest he should not sacrifice enoui;-h for his faith, lit! 
 reproached himself for an act of cowardly toleration in i)ermittinf,' 
 t'atholi(r symbols, such as the cross on the summit, and other relig- 
 ious ornaments, left by recent Protestantism, to remain upon the 
 chureh at Iluntinutlou. He was impressed with the idea of an early ^ 
 death, and lived under the terror of eternal punishment. Warwick, 
 one of his contemporaries, relates that Cromwell, seized on a i>articu- 
 lar occasion with a lit of religious melancholy, sent frequently (lur- 
 ing the night for the physician of the neighboring village, that he 
 might talk to him of his doubts and terrors. He assisted assiduously 
 at "the preachings of those itinerant puritan ministers who came to 
 stir up polemical ardor and antipathies. He sought solitude, and 
 meditated upon the sacred te.vts by the banks of the river which 
 traversed his fields. The disease of the times, the interpretation of 
 the Bible, which had then taken possession of every mind, gave a 
 melancholy turn to his retlections. 
 
 He felt within himself an internal inspiration of the religious and 
 political meaning of these holy words. He acknowledged, in com- 
 mon with his puritanic biethrcn, the individual and enduring reve- 
 lation .shown in the pages and verses of a divine and infallible book, 
 but which, without the Spirit of God, no prompting or explanation 
 can enable us to understand. The puritanism of Cromwell consisted 
 in aljsoiute obedience to the comnumds of Sacred Writ, and the 
 right of interpreting the Scriptures according to his own conviction 
 —a contradictory but sediu'tive dogma of his sect, which commands 
 on the one hand implicit belief in the divinity of a book, and on the 
 other permits free license to the imagination, to bestow its own 
 meaning on the inspired leaves. 
 
 From this belief of the faitiiful in true and permanent inspiration, 
 th-.'re was but one step to the hallucination of prophetic gifts. The 
 devout puritans, and even Cromwell himself, fell naturally into this 
 extreme. Each became at the .same time the inspirer and tiie in- 
 spired, the devotee and the prophet. This religion, ever audibly 
 .speaking in the soul of the believer, was in fact the religion of 
 diseased imaginations, wlio.^.e piety increased with their fanati- 
 cism. Cronnvell. in his retreat, was led away by these miasmas of 
 the day, which became the more powerfully incorporated with his 
 nature" from youth, natural e'lergy, and isolation of mind. , 
 
 He had no'diversion for his tlioughls in this .solitude, beyond the 
 increase of liis family, the cultivation of his fields, the multiplying 
 and disposing of his Hocks. Like an economical farmer, he fre- 
 quented fairs that he might there purchase you»g cattle, which lio
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. * 
 
 % thirtv six- veirs old His correspondence at that tune w as nuca \\ u ^ 
 
 n^milaritv which points out an unobtrusive man as worlliy ot the 
 
 heoossSsed no natural eloquence, and whose ambition at that time 
 went no further than his own domestic felicity, moderate fortune, 
 Tnd limited estate solicited not the suffrages of the electors of flunt^ 
 andlimileaesiau; soi ^^ relision, which was all- 
 
 ™i:,'u;sa°wSi'".hrrdt;'o7 a-omw.,11 i„ «>». position ■,. 
 
 „l^ 1 «'m« i° lis own connivance, dcsliny U»l placet! In™, jd "» 
 rxlincrSalo of England at Ihe pcio.l ,vl,cn 1.0 cnlcrca. nn. 
 
 'Ti:,?rru,:Slfh:r'caiyrS-f Bnlain. in am of anger asains, 
 
 ih! Wc lot io no cliangcclthe religion ot his kingdom. This was 
 
 S ™> est act o ahsolntc anthority wer exercised by one man ovel 
 
 wSltrfnaUon'-Uo caprice of i king became the conse|mce of 
 
 ■X-K.de ad temporal authority s.d.j,.gatcd tl..;,r so,, s 1 he o i 
 
 s;is?;;iiS;:rr!i.s;ir4?ur'ffl^^>g;s.;;ssf^i;:^ 
 
 I • o?nnm Ir : the CaUi(flic nation had disappeared beneath tho 
 En^' :.';;;;;.. Henry the KiKlah and l-'^ counejUo,^ J!;^! 'l^';^; 
 w^yluMl to nrescrvc the ancient rehj,n(;n of tlio state, so tai as i. waa 
 7 tl^^> Uw. intercs s of tlie kin-', useful to the cler-y, and delu- 
 
 s?;:'?:^;' he p ^. e' n olher wo^^ kin, was U, possess su™u, 
 
 authority aXil of th«Ghurch,over the souls of his subjects ; cede-
 
 8 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 slfistical dignities, lionors, and riches •were to lie secured to tho 
 bishops ; the Hturiry and ceremonial pomp to the people. Selecting 
 a politic medium between the Church of Rome and the church of 
 Luther, England constituted her own. This church, rebellious 
 against Ronre, whom siie imitated -while opposing her, submitted to 
 Luther, whom she restrained -while she encouraged his tenets. It 
 -v\-as a civil rather than a religious arrangement, which cared for Ihe 
 bodies before the souls of the community, and gave an appearance 
 more of show than reality to the formal i)iety of the nation. 
 
 The people, proud of having thrown olf the Romish yoke, and dis- 
 liking the ancient supremacy -which had so long bent and governed 
 the island ; recoiling in horror from the name of the Papacy, a word 
 in which was summed up all that was superstitious and all that re- 
 lated to foreign domination, readily attached themselves to the new 
 church. They beheld in her the emblem of their independence, a 
 palladium against Rome, and the pledge of their nationality. Every 
 king since Henry the Eighth, whatever may have been his personal 
 creed, has been obliged to protect and defend the worship of the 
 Church of England. An avowal of the Roman Catholic faith would 
 be his signal ol abdication. The people would not trust their civil 
 Jiberties tothe care of a prince who professed spiritual dependence 
 on the Church of Rome. 
 
 The right of liberty of conscience liad naturally followed this 
 change in the minds of Englishmen. Having revolted, at the com- 
 mand of their sovereign, against the ancient and sacred authority of 
 the Romish Church, it was" absurd to think that the conscience of the 
 nation would submit without a murmur to the unity of the uew in- 
 stitution, the foundations of which had been planted before their 
 eyes in debauchery and blood, by the English tyrant, too recently 
 for them to believe in its divine origin. Every conscience wished to 
 profit by its liberty, and different sects sprang up from this religious 
 anarchy ; they were as innumerable as the ideas of man delivered up 
 to his own fancies, and fervent in proportion to their novelty. To 
 describe them would exceed our limits. The most widely-extended 
 were the puritans, who may l)e called the .Tanscnists of the Reforma- 
 tion ; an extreme sect of Protestants, logical, practical, and republi- 
 can. Once entered into the region of liberal and individual creeds, 
 they saw no reason why they should temporize with what they called 
 the superstitious idolatries, abominations, symbols, ceremonies, and 
 infatuations of the Romish Church. They admitted only the author- 
 ity of tiie Bible and the supiemacy of yacied Writ, of which they 
 ■would receive no explanation or application but that which was com- 
 municated to them from the Spirit ; in oliicr words, from the arbi- 
 trary mspiratiou of their own thoughts. They carried their oraclo 
 within their own bosoms, and perpetually consulted it. In order to 
 invest it \s\\\\ more power, they held religious meetings and estab' 
 lishtd conventicles and churches, where each, as the Spirit move</
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 9 
 
 him, spoke ; and the incoherent ravings of the faithful passed as the 
 word of God. 
 
 Such was the sect which, from the time of Henry the Eighth, 
 struggled at the same time against the power of the Anglican Cimrch 
 andlhc remains of the proscribed Romanism. 
 
 Three reigus had been disturbed by religious dissensions — that 
 of Mary, the C'atholic daughter of Henry the Eighth, v/ho had fa- 
 vored the return of her subjects to their original faith, and whose 
 memor}' the puritans abhorred as that of a papistical Jezebel ; that 
 of Elizabeth, the Protestant daughter of the same king by another 
 wife, who persecuted the Catholics, sacrificed jMary Stuart, and or- 
 dained recantation, imprisonment, and even death to those who re- 
 fused to sign at least once in six months their profession of the re- 
 formed creed ; and, finally, that of James the First, son of Mary 
 Stuart, who had been educated in the Protestant faith by the Scotch 
 puritans. This priuce succeeded to the English throne, by right of 
 inheritance from the house of Tudor, upon the death of Elizabeth ; 
 a mild, philosophical, and indulgent monarch, who wished to tolerate 
 both faiths and make the rival sects live peaceably together, although 
 they trembled with ill-suppressed animosity at this imposed truce. 
 
 Charles the First, his son, succeeded to the throne in his twenty- 
 sixth year. He was endowed by nature, character, and education 
 with aU the qualities necessary for the government of a powerful and 
 euligiitened nation in ordinary times. He Avas handsome, brave, 
 faithful, eloquent, honest and true to the dictates of his conscience ; 
 ambitious of the love of his people, solicitous for the welfare of his 
 country, incapable of violating the laws or liberty of his subjects. 
 and only desirous of preserving to his successors that uulimited and 
 ill-defined exercise of the royal prerogative which the constitution, 
 in practice rather than in true essence, affected to bestow upon its 
 kings. 
 
 Upon ascending the throne, Charles found and retained in the 
 ofBce of prime minister, out of respect to the memory of his father, 
 his former favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, a man of no merit, 
 v.'Jio.se personal beatity, graceful manners, and overljearing pride 
 were Jiis sole recommendations ; and who furnishes a remarkable in- 
 stance of the ca{)ricc of fortune and the foolish partiality of a weak 
 king, wliicii could transform him into a powerful noble, while it 
 failed to render him an able statesman. He was more qualified to fill 
 the place of favoiite than minister. Buckingham, having repaid with 
 ingratitude the kindness of tiie father, against whom he secretly ex- 
 cited a i)arliamentary cabal, en<leavored to continue his habitual 
 sway under Ihc new reign of tiie stin. The dillidrtKw; of Charles 
 allowed Buckuigliam for several years to agitate England and Cii:- 
 broil the state. By turns, according to the dictates of his own inter- 
 ests, he caused his new master Um increase or lessen that relationship 
 bctwcon the crown and parliament, beyond or below llui limits which 
 A.B.-H
 
 10 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 right or tradition attributed to these two powers. lie created thus a 
 epirit of rcsistanre and ciRToaciiment on the pa t of the parliament, 
 in opposition to the spirit of enterprise and preponderance, on tliat 
 of tlie royal authority. Biickinglunn affected the absolute power of 
 Cardinal Richelieu, without possessing either his character or genius. 
 The p;niiard of a fanatic wIki stabbed hiiu at Portsmouth, in revenge 
 for an act of private injustice which had deprived him of his rank in 
 the army, at length delivered Charles from this presumptuous fa- 
 Toritc. 
 
 From this time the King of England, like Louis the Fourteenth 
 of France, resolved to govern without a prime minister. But the 
 unfortunate Charles had neither a Richelieu to put down opposition 
 by force nor a Mazarin to silence it by bribery. Besides, at the 
 moment when Louis the Fourteenth ascended the throne, the civil 
 wars which had so long agitated France were just concluded, and 
 those of England were "about to commence. AVe cannot, therefore, 
 reasonabl}' attribute to the personal insufficiency of Charles those 
 misfortunes which emanated from the times rather than from his 
 own character. 
 
 In a few years the struggles between the young king and his par- 
 liament, struggles augmented by religious more than political fac- 
 tions, threw England, Scotland, and Ireland into a general ferment, 
 whicli formed aprelude to the long civil wars and calamities of the 
 state. The parliament, frequently dissolved from impatience at 
 these revolts, and always reas.sembled from the necessity of further 
 grnnts. became the heart and active popular centre of the dilTerent 
 parties opposed to the king. All England ranged herself behind her 
 orators. The king was looked upon as the commtm enemy of every 
 religious sect, of public liberty, anil the foe of each ami)itious 7nal- 
 content who expected to appropriate a fragment of the crown by the 
 total subversion of the royal authority. Charles the First energeti- 
 cally .struggled for some time, fust with one ministry then with an- 
 other. The spirit of opposition was so universal that all who ven- 
 tured into the royal council became instantly objects of suspicion, 
 incompetence, and discredit, in the estimation of i\u^ public. 
 
 A bolder and mor** able minister than any of his predeeessors,Thomas 
 "Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, amanwho'had acquired a hi^h reputa- 
 tion with the oppo.sition party by his eloquence, and whose fame had 
 pointed him out to the notice of the kmg, devoted his po[)ularity and 
 talents to the service of his sovereign. 
 
 Strafford appeared for a lime, by the force of perstiasion, wisdom, 
 and intrepid firmness, to support the tottering throne, b>it the parlia- 
 ment denounced, and the king, who loved was unable to defend 
 him. Strafford, threatened with capital punishment, more for actual 
 services tiian for imaginary crimes, was summoned by the parlia- 
 ment, after a long capt^ivity, to aitpeaj- l)efore a conimi.ssiou of judges 
 •omposcd of his enemies. The king could only obtain the favor of
 
 OLIVIER CROMWELL. 11 
 
 being present in a grated gallery, at the trial of his minister. He was 
 struck to the heart b}-- ths blows levelled through the hatred of the 
 parliament against his friend. Xever did an arraigned prisoner reply 
 with greater majesty of innocence than did Suailord in his last de- 
 fence before his accusers and his king. Neither Athens nor Rome 
 record aay incident of more tragic subUmity ia their united annals. 
 
 " Unable to find in my conduct," said" Strafford to his judges. 
 " anything to which might be applied the name or punishment of 
 treason, my enemies have invented, in defiance of all law, a chain of 
 constructive and accumulative evidence, by which my actions, 
 although innocent and laudable when taken separately, viewed in this 
 collected light, become treasonable. It is hard to be questioned on a 
 law which cannot be shown. AVhere hath this fire lain hid so many 
 hundreds of years, without smoke to discover it till it thus bursts forth 
 to consume me and my children ? It is better to be without laws 
 altogether than to persuade ourselves that we have laws by which to 
 regulate our conduct, and to find that they cousist only in ihe enmity 
 and arbitrary will of our accusers. If a man sails upon the Thame's 
 in a boat, and splits himself upon an anchor, and no buoy be floating 
 to discover it, he who owneth the anchor shall make satisfaction ; 
 but if a buoy be set there, every one passeth it at his own peril. 
 No%v where is the mark, where the tokens upon this crime, to declare 
 it to be high treason '>. It has remained hidden under the water ; no 
 humau prudence or innocence could preserve me from the ruin with 
 which it menaces me. 
 
 " For two hundred and forty years, every species of treason has 
 been defined, and during that long space of time I am the first, I am 
 the only exception for whom the definition has been enlarged, that I 
 may be enveloped in its meshes. My Lords, we have lived happily 
 within the limits of our own land ; we have lived gloriously beyond 
 them, in the eyes of the whole world. Let us be satisfied with what 
 our fathers have left us ; let not ambition tempt us to desire that we 
 may become more acquainted than they were with these destructive 
 and perfidious arts of incriminating innocence. In this manner, my 
 Lords, you will act wi.sely, you will provide for your own safety and 
 the safety of your descendants, while you secure that of the whole 
 kmgdom. If you throw into the fire 'these sanguinary and mysteri. 
 OU3 selections of constructive treason, as the first Christians consumed 
 their books of dangerous art, and confine yourselves to the simple 
 meaning of the statute in its vigor, who shall say that you have done 
 wrong? Where will be your crime, and how, in abstaining from 
 error, can you incur punishment. Ueware of awakening these sleep- 
 ing hon.s for your own deslniction. Add not to mv other atilictions 
 that which I shall esteem the heaviest of all— that" for my sins as a 
 man, and not for my ofTences as a ministei; I should l)e the unfortu- 
 nate means of introducing such a precedent, such an example of a 
 proceeding so opposed to the laws and liberties of my country.
 
 ^2 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 ••MvI.or(l<^ 1 have troiibkd you Inn.s^'fir llian I should have done 
 were knot tor tlie interest of these dear pledges a saii.t in heav.ai 
 Irith'left me " I Here he stopped, leltin- fall some tears, an<l then 
 resuiS '' What I forfeit myself is nothing, but that my indiscre- 
 bahouhl extend to my posterity, woundeth "^Vl'^v^'-STu't 
 Y.m will pardon my inlirmity, somelhmg I should have added, but 
 sm not alle. therefore let it pass And -;f •/V^.I-Vl^.'.f/^^l.^^fl £ 
 1 have been, by the l)lessing ot Alnughty God, taught that the atUic 
 tions of this pi^sent life are not to be compared to the eternal weight 
 of " o y whidi shall be revealed hereafter. And so, my Lords, even 
 so. with all tranquillity of mind, 1 freely submit ^X^'^/o your judg- 
 ment • and whetlier that judgment be for life or death- Te Deum 
 Laidanms ! ' " Sentence of death was the reply to this eloquence and 
 
 ""'The warrant was illegal without the signature of the king ; to 
 sign it was to be false ?o conviction, gratitude, riendship, and d g- 
 nifv to refuse to do so would be to defy the parliament and people, 
 and d aw down upon the throne itself the thunderbolt of popular 
 Ld.-^nU on which the death of the minister would lor a ^nne divert 
 Cha?les tried by every means of delay to avoid the shame or danger ; 
 he appeami mo^e as I suppliant than as a king before the l^ 'ament 
 and besou<d)t them to spare him this pun shment ^'p'^^Vor 
 nueeu who disliked Strafford, and whose heart could not hesitate for 
 ann;tant between the death of Charles or his minister, the king 
 acknowledged that he did not think Strafford quite nnmcen of some 
 irregularities and misuse of the public money, and added, tha if the 
 pa llament wou d confine the sentence to the crime of embezzlement 
 hS would give his sanction conscientiously to the punishment ; b t 
 for^hd treason his own internal conviction and honor forbade his 
 Snfir^inrSumny and iniquity by signing the death-warrant of 
 
 ^'¥hc"i;!uliament was inflexible ; the q^^^^-^P^' ,^iStr'The 
 {&nSf of SS'daS^r^of Sy S^^^^ lb 1^^ 
 f 1 and SSished princess, for whom until his death the king pre- 
 
 se ved tKSty of a^ husband and the P--- «; J^J-j^ff/JSwr^^n 
 herself before him in mourning, accompanied by her ""l^/")"^'-"- 
 S csougl t him on her knees to yield to the vengeance ot the pec. 
 
 b?^:m^^t^e:ts^^^^^ 
 
 '1^a;iS,';ruck'^th horror at the idea of sacrificing l|i^;-|-ed 
 wife I d nfant children, the hopes of the monarchy, replied that he 
 ?a cd nor fo his own life, for he would willingly give it to save his 
 minister ; bit to endanger Henrietta and her children was beyond
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 13 
 
 his strength and desire. lie, however, still delayed to si,o;n the war- 
 rant. Stralford, yieldini^ prohably to the secret solicitatious of the 
 queen, wrote a letter himself to his unhappy master, to ease the cou' 
 science and affection of the king as being the cause of his death. 
 
 " Sire." said lie in this letter— a sublime effort of that virtue which 
 triumphed over the natural love of life thai he might lessen the re- 
 morseful feelings of his murderers—" Sire, hesitate not to sacrifice 
 me to the malignity of the times, and to public vengeance which 
 thirsts for my life. i\Iy voluntary consent to the signature of my 
 own death warrant which they require of you will acQuit you before 
 God more than the opinion of the whole world. There is no injustice 
 in consenting to that which the condemned desires and himself de- 
 mands. 
 
 " Since Heaven has granted me sufficient grace to enable me to for- 
 give my enemies with a tranquillity and resignation which impart an 
 indescribable contentment to my soul, now about to change its dwell- 
 ing-place, I can. Sire, willingly and joyfully resign this earthly life, 
 filled with a just sense of gratitude for all those favors with which 
 your Majesty has blessed me." 
 
 This letter overcame the last scruples of the king ; he thought that 
 the consent of the victim legalized his murder, and that God would 
 pardon him as the condemned had done. He accepted the sacrifice 
 of the life offered him in exchange for the lives of his wife and chil- 
 dren, perhaps for his own, and the safety of the monarchy. Love 
 for his family, the hope of averting civil war, and of bringing back 
 the parliament to a sense of reason and justice from gratitude for 
 this sacrifice, completely blinded his eyes. He thought to lessen the 
 horror and ingratitude of the act i)y appointing a commission of three 
 members of his council, and delegating to them the power of signing 
 the parliamentary death-warrant against Strafford. The commission- 
 ers ratified the sentence, and the king shut himself up to weep, and 
 avoid the light of that morning which was to witness the fall of his 
 faithful and innf)ceut servant. He thought that by obliterating this 
 day from his life he would also cx-jiunge it from the memory of heav- 
 en and man. II(! passcfl the whole time in darkness, in prayers for 
 the dying and in tears ; but the sun rose to commemorate the injus- 
 tice of the monarch, the treachery of the friend, and the greatness of 
 Houl of the victim. 
 
 "I have sinned against my conscience," wrote the king several 
 years after to the queen, when reproaching himself for that signature 
 drawn from him liy tiie love lie bore his wife and children 
 " It warned me at the time ; I was seized with remorse at the instant 
 when I signed this ba.se and criminal conces.siun." 
 
 "God grant," cried th'; archl)ishop, his ecclesiastical adviser, on 
 seeing him liirow down his pen after signing the nomination of tlie 
 commissioners ; " C}od grant that your Majesty's conscience may not 
 reproach you for this act "
 
 14 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 " Ah ! StralTonl is happier tlian T am," replied the prince, conceal- 
 ing l»is eyes with his hands. " Tell him that, did it not concern tlio 
 sufetj' of the kini^dom, 1 would willingly gi^'e my life for his !" 
 
 Tlie king still Hattered himself that llie House of Commons, .■satis- 
 fied with his humiliation and deference to their will, would spare tlie 
 life of his friend and grant a commutation of the punishment. He 
 did not know these men, who were more implacable than tyrants—for 
 factions aregovern(.Hl by the mind, not the heait, and are inaccessible 
 to emotions of sympathy. Men vole unanimously with their party, 
 fnmi fear of each other, for measures wdiich, wdien taken singly, 
 they would abhor to thiidc of. Man in a. mass is no longer man— he 
 becomes an element. To move this deaf and cruel element of the 
 House of Commons, Charles used every effort to Hatter the pride and 
 touch the feeling of these tribunes of the people. He wrote a most 
 pathetic letter, bedewed with his tears, and sent it to the parliament, 
 to render it more irresistible, by the hand of a child, his son, the 
 Pi-iuce of Wales, whose beauty, 'tcnd(;r age, and innocence ought to 
 liave made refusal impossible from subjects petitioned by such a sup- 
 pliant. 
 
 The king in this letter laid bare his whole heart before the Com- 
 mons, displayed his woimded feelings, described the agony he felt in 
 sacrificing his kingly honor and bis personal regard for the wishes 
 of his subjects. lie enlarged upon the great satisfaction he had at 
 length given to the Commons, and only demanded in return for 
 such submission the perpetual imprisonment, instead of the death, of 
 his former minister. But at the end, as if he himself doubted the 
 success of his petition, he conjured them in a postscript at least to 
 defer until the Saturday following the execution of the condemned, 
 that he might have time to prepare for death. 
 
 All remained deaf to the voice of the father and the intercession 
 of tlie child. The parliament accorded neither a commutation of the 
 punishment nor an additional hour of life to the sentenced criminal. 
 Their popularity forced them to act before the people with the same 
 inexorable promptness that they exacted from the king. The beautiful 
 Countess of Carlisle, a kind of EnL'Hsh Cleopatra, of whom Strafford 
 in the season of his greatness had been the favored lover, used every 
 effort with the parliament to obtain the life of the man whose love 
 liad been her pride. The fascinating countess failed to soften their 
 hearts. . 
 
 As if it were the fate of Strafford to suffer at the same time the 
 loss of both love and friendship, this versatile beauty, moie attached 
 to the power than to tlie persons of her admirers, transferred her 
 affections quickly from Strafford to Pym, and became the mistress of 
 the murderer, who succeeded to the victim. 
 
 "Pym," says the English history so closely examined by M. 
 Ohasles, " was an ambitious man who acted fanaticism without con- 
 viction. Homo exluto et argllla Epicurea /actus," according to the
 
 OLIVER CKOMWELL. 15 
 
 energetic phrase of Hacket, " A man moulded from the mud and 
 clay of sensuality." Such men are often seen in popular or in mon- 
 archical factions ; servants and flatterers of their sect, who in their 
 turn satisfy their followers by relieving the satiety of voluptuousuesa 
 with the taste of blood. 
 
 Strafford was prepared for every extremity after beins: abandoned 
 by the two beings he had most loved and served on earth. Neverthe- 
 less, when it was announced to him that the king had signed the 
 death-warrant, nature triumphed over resignation, and a reproach 
 escaped him in his grief. " Nolitejidere principibus etfiUis hominum," 
 cried he, raising his hands in astonishment toward the vaulted ceil- 
 ing of his prison, " quia Jion est salus in illis." 
 
 " Put not your trust in princes, nor in any child of man, for in 
 them is no salvation." 
 
 He requested to be allowed a short interview with the Archbishop 
 of London, Laud, imprisoned in the Tower on a similar charge with 
 himself. Laud was a truly pious prelate, with a mind superior to 
 the age in which he lived. This interview, in which the two royal- 
 ists hoped to fortify each other for life or death, was refused. 
 " Well," said Strafford to the governor of the Tower, " at least tell 
 the archbishop to place himself to-morrow at his window at the hour 
 •when I pass to the scaffold, that I may bid him a last farewell." 
 
 The next day it was pressed upon Strafford to ask for a carriage to 
 convey him to Ihe place of execution, fearing that the fury of the 
 people would anticipate the executioner and tear from his hands the 
 victim, denounced by Pym and the on'.tors of the House of Commons 
 a-s the public enemy. "No," replied Strafford, "I know how to 
 look death and the people in the face ; wliether I die by the hand of 
 the executioner or by the fury of the populace, if it should so please 
 them, matters little to me." 
 
 In passing under the archbishop's window in the prison-yard, 
 Strafford recollected his rcciucst of tlie previous night, and raised his 
 eyes toward the iron bars, which prevented him from seeing Laud 
 distinctly. He could only perceive the thin and treml)ling hands of 
 the old man stretched out between the bars, trying to bless him as he 
 passed on to death. 
 
 Strafford knelt iu the dust, and bent his head. " My lord," said 
 he to the archbi.'^hop, " let me have j'our prayers and benediction." 
 
 The heart of tiie old man sank at the sound of his voice and enif ■ 
 tion, and he fainted iu the arms of his jailers while uttering a parting 
 prayer. 
 
 " Farewell, my lord," cried Strafford, " may God protect your in- 
 nocence." lie then walked forward! with a firm stc]), j'llhough 
 Buffering from the effects of illness and debility, at the )',.j(id of the 
 Boldiers wlin appeared to follow ratlier than to escort hlr.«. 
 
 According to the humane custom of England and liome, which 
 permits the coudemutd, whoever he may \)0, to go to t.ie scaffold sur
 
 U OLIVER CROMWKLL. 
 
 rounded by his relations and friends, StrafTord's l)rother nccompa- 
 niedhim, weeping. " Brother," said he, " why do you giievc thus ; 
 do yon see anytiiini!; in my life or death which can cause you to feel 
 any shame? Do 1 tremble like a (;riminal, or hoasl like an atheist? 
 Come, he (irni, and think only that this is my third marriage, and 
 that you are my bridesman. This block," ])oinLirig to that upon 
 which he was about to lay his head, " will he my pillow, and I shall 
 repose there well, without pain, giief, or fear." 
 
 Having ascended the scaffold with his brother and friends, ho 
 knelt for a moment as if to .salute the place of sacrifice ; he soon 
 arose, and looking aroiuid upon the innumerable and silent multitude, 
 which covered the hill and Tower of London, the place of execu- 
 tion, he raised his voice in the same audible and firm tone which he 
 was accustomed to use in the House of Commons, that theatre of his 
 majestic elociuenoe. 
 
 " People," said he, " who are assembled here to see me die, bear 
 witness that I desire for this kingdom all the prosperitj' that God caa 
 bestow. Living, I have done my utmost to secure the happiness of 
 England ; dying, it is still my most ardent wish ; but I beseech each 
 one of those who now hear me to lay his hand ujjon his heart and 
 examine seriously if the commencement of a salutary reform ought 
 to be written in characters of blood. Ponder this well upon your re- 
 turn liome. God grant that not a drop of mine may be required at 
 your hands. I fear, however, that you cannot advance by such a 
 fatal path." 
 
 After Strafford had spoken these words of anxious warning to his 
 country, he again knelt and prayed, with all the signs of humble and 
 devout fervor^ for upward of a quarter of an hour. The revolution- 
 ary fanaticism of the English, at least, did not interrupt the last mo- 
 meats of the dying man ; but StralFord, hearing a dull murmur either 
 of pity or impatience in the crowd, rose, anil addressing those who 
 immediately surrounded him, said, " All will soon be over. One 
 blow will render my wife a widow, my dear children orphans, and 
 deprive my servants of their master. God bo with tliem and you ! 
 
 " Thanks to the internal strength that God has given me," added 
 he, while removing his upper garment and tucking up his hair that 
 nothing might inlCrfere with the stroke of the axe upon his neck, 
 " I take tilts off with as tranquil a sjnrit as I have ever felt when 
 taking it off at night ujion retiring to rest." 
 
 He then made a sign to the executioner to approach, pardoned him 
 for the blood he was about to shed, and laid his liead upon the 
 block, leoking up and praying to heaven. His head rolled at the 
 feet of his friends. " God save the king !" cried the executioner, 
 holding it up to exhibit it to tlie jieople. 
 
 The populace, silent and orderly uiUil this instant, uttered a cry 
 of joy, vengeance, and congratulalion, which demonstrated the 
 frenzy of the times. They rejoiced like madmen at the fall of their
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 17 
 
 greatest citizen, and rushed through the streets of London to order 
 public illuminations. 
 
 The king, during this, shut himself up in his palace, prayin-g to 
 God to forgive him his consent to a murder forced from his weak- 
 ness. The ecclesiastic who had accompanied Strafford to the scaf- 
 fold was the only person admitted into Charles's apartment, that he 
 might give an account of the last moments of his minister. " Noth- 
 ing could exceed," said the clergjman to the king, " the cahnness 
 and majesty of his end. I have witnessed many deaths, but never 
 have I beheld a purer or more resigned soul return to liim who 
 gave it." At these words the king turned away his liead and wept. 
 
 Repentance for his yielding, and a presentiment of the inutility of 
 this concession to purchase the welfare and peace of the kingdom, 
 were mingled with agonizing grief in his soul. He saw clearly that 
 the same blow which he had permitted to fall upon his friend and 
 servant woidd .sooner or later recoil upon himself, and that the ex- 
 ecution of Strafford was only a rehearsal of his own. Vv'ith subdued 
 spirit, but awakened conscience, Charles no longer defended himself 
 ■with sophistry from the feelings of remorse, lie ceased to excuse 
 himself inwardly, politically, or before God ; but blamed liimself 
 with the same severity that subsequent historians have bestowed on 
 this act of weakness, lie deeply lamented his fault, and vowed that 
 it should be the first and last deed by which he w-ould sanction the 
 iniquity of his enemies ; and he derived from the bitterness of his re- 
 gret, strength to live, to fight, and die, for his own rights, for the 
 rights of the crown, and for the rights of his last adherents. 
 
 The parliament saw only in the death of Strafford a victory over 
 the royal power and the h(;art of the king. The conllicts between 
 the crown and the House of Commons recommenced instantly, upon 
 other i)retences and demands. The king m vain selected his minis- 
 ters from the bosom of the parliament ; he was unable to discover 
 another Stralf'jrd— nature had not made a duplicate. Charles could 
 only choose between faitliful nvliocrity or implacable enmity ; and 
 again his enemies, summoned by the king lo his council that lio 
 might place the government in their hands," refused to attend. The 
 spirit of faction was so irresistiiile and irreconcilable against the 
 crown that the popular members of parliament fe'.t themselves more 
 powerful as tlie heads of their j)arties in the House of Conmiona 
 than they could hccAmu', as ministers of a susjjected and condemned 
 sovereign. The puritan party in the ('ommons held Charles tho 
 First of England as isolated as the Cirondins afterward held Louis 
 the Sixteenth of France, in 17i)l ; eager for government, yet refus- 
 ing to bu ministers, that they might have tlie right of attacking tlie 
 royal power, offered to them in vain, or only consenting to accept 
 that they miglit betray it ; from adulation giving it into the hands of 
 the people, or from complicity burrenderiug it into those of the ro- 
 pubiicuus.
 
 18 OLIVER CKOMWKLL. 
 
 Swell was the rolalivo positions of the kino; and the parlimnpnt 
 duriiij;- tlic lirsL years when Cromwell sat as a member of the Iluiise 
 of C'onunons. 
 
 Parliainentar\'- disputes had no interest for Cromwell, and purely 
 politieal aijilations afTccted him ])ul litUe. lie was not naturally fac- 
 tious, but hafl heeonic a sectarian. Religious motives induced him 
 to aid the triumph of the puritan party ; not a desire to triumph over 
 the crown itseii, but over the Anglican and lioman Catholic 
 Churches which the crown was suspected of favoring. All other 
 motives were strangers to his austere nature. His feelings, cold in 
 all that related not' to religion. Ins ju-t but ill-understood mind, his 
 abrupt elocution, without imagery or clearness, hisnmbition hounded 
 by the success of his co-religionists, and actuated by no prospect of 
 personal advantage beyond the salvation of his soul, and the service 
 of his cause, made him abstain from taking a jiart in any of the 
 debates. A silent member for many sessions, he was onlv remark- 
 able in the House of (knnnions for his abnegation of all personal im- 
 portance, for his disdain of popular applause, and the fervor of his 
 zeal to preserve libertj' of conscience to his brethren in the faith. 
 
 There was certainly nothing either in Cromwell's persontil appear- 
 ance or genius to excite the aUention of an assembly occupied by the 
 elocpience of Strafford and Pym. His face was ordinary, combining 
 tlie features of a peasant, a soldier, and a priest. There might be 
 seen the vulgarity of the rustic, the resolution of the warrior, and the 
 fervor of the man of prayer ; but not one v( these characteristics pre- 
 dominated sulUciently to announce a brilliant orator or to convey the 
 presage of a future ruler. 
 
 He^^was of middle height, square-chested, stout-limhed, with a 
 heavy and unequal gait, a broad, prominent forehead, l)luo eyes, a 
 large nose, dividing his face unequally, somewhat inclining to the 
 left, and red !it thcTtip, like the noses attributed to those addicted to 
 drink ; but which in Cromwell indicated only the asperity of his 
 blood heated by fanaticism. His lips were wide, thick, and clum- 
 sily formed, indicating neither (juick intelligence, delicacy of .senti- 
 ment, nor the tluency of speech indispen.saljle to persuasive elo- 
 cjuence. His face was more round than oval, his chin was solid and 
 prominent, a good foundation for the rest of his features. His like- 
 nesses, as executed either in painting or sculpture, by the most re- 
 nowned Italian artists, at the order of their courts, represent only a 
 vulgar, commonplace indiviilual, if they were not ennobled by the 
 name of Cromwell. In studying them attentively, it becomes im- 
 po.ssible for the most decided partiality to di-scover either the traces or 
 organs of genius. AVc acknowledge there a man elevated by the 
 choice of his party and the coml)ination of circum.stances rather than 
 one great by nature. We might even conclude from the close in- 
 Bpection of this countenance that a loftier and more developed intel- 
 lect would have interfered with his exalted destiny ; for if (jromwclJ
 
 OLIVER CROilWELL. 19 
 
 had been endowed with higher qualities of mind he would have 
 been less of a sectarian, and had he been so, his party would not 
 have been exactly personified in a chief who participated in all its 
 passions and credulities. The greatness of a popular character is less 
 according to the ratio of his genius than the sympathy he shows with 
 the prejudices and even the absurdities of his times. Fanatics dp 
 not select the cleverest, but the most fanatical leaders ; as was evi- 
 denced in the choice of Robespierre by the French Jacobins, and iu 
 that of Cromwell by the English Puritans. 
 
 The only traces of the presence of Cromwell in the House of Com- 
 mons for ten years, which the parliamentary annals retain, are a few 
 tvords spoken by him, at long intervals, in defence of his brethren, 
 the puritanic missionaries, and in attack of the dominant Anglican 
 churcli and the Roman Catholics, who were again struggling for su- 
 premacy. It might be seen, from the attention paid by liis colleagut 8 
 to the sentences uttered with such religious fervor by the repre- 
 sentative of Huntingdon, that this gentleman farmer, as restrained in 
 speech as in his desire of popularity, was treated in the House with 
 that consideration which is always shown in deliberative assemblies 
 to those men who are modest, sensible, silent, and careless of appro- 
 bation, but faithful to their cause. 
 
 A justice of the peace for liis county, Cromwell returned after 
 each session or dissolution of parliament to fortify himself in the re- 
 ligious opinions of his puritan neighbors, by interviews with the mis- 
 sionaries of his faith, by sermons, meditations, and prayers, the sole 
 variations from his agricultural pursuits. 
 
 The gentleness, piety, and fervor of his wife, devoted like himself 
 to domestic cares, country pursuits, the education of her sons, and 
 affection for her daughters, banished from his soul every other am- 
 bition than that of spiritual progress in virtue and the advancement 
 of his faith in the consciences of men. 
 
 In the whole of his confidential correspondence during these long 
 years of domestic seclu-sion there is not one word which shows that 
 he entertained any other passion than that of his creed, or any am- 
 bition distinct from heavenly aspirations. What advantage could it 
 have been to this man thus to conceal that hypocrisy which histori- 
 ans have descril)ed as tlie foundation and master sprin_^ of his char- 
 acter? Wlien the face is unknown to all, of what use is the mask? 
 No ! Cromwell could not dissemble so long to his wife, his sister, his 
 daughters, and his (lod. History has only i)re.sented him in disguise, 
 because his life and a(;tions were distinctly revealed. 
 
 Let us give a few extracts from the familiar letters which throw 
 some light upon this obscure period of his life : 
 
 " My very dear good fiiend," wrote he from St. Ives, Jan. 11th. 
 1635, to one of his confidants in pious labors; "to build material 
 temples and hospitals for the bodily comfort, and assembling
 
 20 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 gelhor of llie failliful, is (l()u])lless fi s^nod work ; but lliosc "vvho build 
 up spiritual tcir,[)los, and alTord lunnishiiu'iit to the souls of tlunr 
 brotliivn, ui)' frieud, are the truly pious men. Suidi a work have 
 yoii perforuied in cstablishinLr a pulpit, and appointing Doctor Wells 
 to fill it ; an able aud religious man, -whose superior I have never 
 «een. 1 am conviucrd that since his ai rival here, the Lord has done 
 much among us. I <r\ist that He who has inspired you to lay this 
 foundation will also inspire you to uphold and finish it. 
 
 " Kaise your hearts lo Him. You who live in London, a city cel- 
 ebrated for its great luminaries of the Gospel, know that to stop the 
 salary of the preach-rr is to cause the pulpit to fall. For who will go 
 to war at his own expense? I beseech you then, by the bowels of 
 Jesus Christ, put t'-is affair into a srood train ; pay this worthy min- 
 ister, and the souls oi God's cliildreu will bless you, us I shall bless 
 you myself. 
 
 " I remaii'., ever your afTcctionate 
 
 " Frleud in the Lord, 
 
 "Oliver Cromwell." 
 
 It was not alon-^ by words, but by contributions from his small for- 
 tune, the produce of hard and ungrateful agricultural labor, that 
 Cromwell sustained the cause of his faith. We read, three years 
 after the dale of the above lines, in a confideutial letter written to 
 Mr. Hand, one of his own sect : 
 
 " I wish you to remit forty shillings" (then a considerable sum) 
 _" to a poor farmer who is struggling to bring up an increasing fam- 
 ily, to remunerate the doctor for his cure of this man Benson. If 
 our friends, when we come to settle accounts, do not agree to this 
 disposal of the money, keep this note, and 1 will repay you out of 
 my private purse. 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "Oliver Cromwell." 
 
 " I live," wrote he, sevcra. years after, but always in the samo 
 spirit of compunction, to his cousin, Ihe wife of the Attorney-Gen- 
 eral yt. Jolin ; " I live iu Kedar, a name which signilies sIkkIoid and 
 davknexH ; nevertheless the Lord will not desert me, aud will finally 
 conduct me to his chosen place of repose, his tabernacle. My heart 
 rests upon this hope with my brethren of the first-born ; and if I can 
 ehow forth the glory of the Lord, either by action or endurance, I 
 ghall be greatly consoled. Truly no creature has more reason to de- 
 vote him.self to the cause of God than 1 have ; I have received so 
 many chosen graces that I feel I can never make a sufficient return for 
 all these gifts. That the Lord may be pleased to accept me for the 
 sake of liis Son. Jesus Christ, and that he may give us grace to walk 
 in tLe light, lor it is light indeed. I cannot say that he has alto-
 
 OLIVEE CROilWELL. 21 
 
 getber hid his face from me. for he has permitted me to see the light 
 at least in him, and even a sinirle ray shed upon this dark path is 
 most refreshincc. Blessed be his name that shines e^^en m such a 
 dark place as my soul. Alas ! vou know what my life has been 1 
 loved darkness ; I lived in it ; I hated the light ; I was the chiet of 
 einners : nevertheless God has had mercy on me. Praise ban toi 
 me pray for me, that he who has commenced such a change in my 
 soul may finish it for Jesus Christ's sake. The Lord be with you. i^ 
 
 the prayer of 
 
 " Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 " Oliver Crojtwell." 
 
 All that we find written by the hand of Cromwell during this long 
 examination of his life from the age of twenty to forty, bears the 
 same stamp of mysticism, sincerity, and excitement. A profound 
 raelancholv enlivened sometimes by momentary flashes of active 
 faith formed the basis of liis character. Tliis melancholy was in- 
 creased by the monotony of his rural occupations and by the som- 
 bre sky and situation of the district in which fortune had placed 
 
 him. , ^ , . , 
 
 His house still shown to travellers in the low country which sur- 
 rounds the little hamlet of iSt. Ives, bears the appearance of a desert- 
 pd cloister The shadows of the trees, planted like hedges on the 
 borders of his fields in the marshes, intercept all extent of view from 
 the windows. A lowering and misty sky weighs as heavily on the 
 ima-^ination as on the roofs of houses. Tradition still points out an 
 oratory supported by broken arches, built of brick by the devout 
 puritan' behind his house, adjoining tlie family siltiug-room, Avhere 
 Cromwell a.ssembled the peasants of the neighborhood to listen to the 
 Word of God from the mouths of the missionaries, and where he 
 often praved and preached himself, when the spirit moved him. 
 Lonn- and'deep lines of old trees, the haljitations of ill-omened crows 
 bound the view on all sides. These trees hide even the course of 
 the river Ouse. who.se Ijlack waters, confined between muddy banks. 
 look like the refuse from a manufactory or mill. Above them 
 appears only the smoke of tiie wood fires of the; little town of bl. 
 tves, wiiich continually taints the sky in this sombre valley. Such a 
 epot is calculated eitlier to confine the minds of its inhabitants to the 
 <'ul."-ar ideas of trafiic, industry, or grazing, or to cause them to raise 
 thefr thou"-hts above the earth in the ecstasy of pious contemplation. 
 
 It was there, nevertheless, that Cromwell and liis young wife, who 
 modelled her own character upon the simplicity and piety of her hus- 
 band's, brought up in poverty and seclusion their seven children. 
 They sou-'ht not the world— the world sought them. 
 
 It maylM; seen from all that has been discovered relating to t no life 
 of Cromwell at lliiit period, how much the report of the religious 
 controversies in England, Irebu.l, tiud boot land, and the political
 
 22 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 painphlots which increased with the ])assion of tlio puhlic, occupied 
 his solitude, and witli what avidity he perused them ; hut, lus atten- 
 tion was entirely directed to the portions of those wiiluigs whuh 
 •were contined to scriptural arguments. ,. , ta 
 
 Tiie innnortal name of the creat poet Milton, the Lngh;,h Uante, 
 appcaretl for the first lime as the author of one of these republicau 
 
 riamphlets. ■ ■, , • e 
 
 m\Um had just relumed from Italy, where, amid the rums ot 
 ancient Rome, he had become impressed with the grandeur ot her 
 former lilx'rty and the melancholy spectacle of her modern corrup- 
 tion Rome drove him back to independent thought m matters of 
 belief. Milton, like Chateaubriand and ]\Ia(lame de StaOliul8l4, has 
 given immortality to the lleetin;^ passions of the times. 
 
 Independence in reliii:ious faith gave rihc to the desire of equal m- 
 depcudeuce in aflairs of governmeiU. The one necessarily followed 
 the other for how could free opinions in faith be maintained in the 
 servitude' which prevented the expression of feelings and the practice 
 of a creed V The strong vcarning of Oomwell to profess and propa- 
 gate the doctrines of his "belief inclined him to republican opinions. 
 " Hampden, his relative, then at the height of populatity from resist- 
 ance to the royal prerogative, wishing to strengthen the republican 
 party by the accession of a man as conscientious and irreproachalile 
 in conduct as Cromwell, procured his return to parliament. as mem- 
 ber for Cambridge, where Hampden exercised predominant inllu- 
 
 This new election of Cromwell by a more important county did 
 not distract liis thoughts from the sole aim of his life. " Send me, 
 wrote he to his friend Willingham in J.ondon, "the Scottish argu- 
 ments for the maintenance of uniformity in religion as expressed lu 
 iheir proclamations. I wish to I'ead them before we_ enter upon the 
 debate which will soon commence in the House of Commons. 
 
 Popular interest was for tlie moment mixed up with the cause of 
 reliffion Ciomwull, without doubt, embraced this from attachment 
 to his sect and the love of lustice, and also to bring the people over 
 to the side of the republicans and independents, by that support 
 which the popular cause found in the adherents of this party against 
 the encroachments of the crown. He contested the right of inclos- 
 ing' the common lands, by adding them to the fiefs which the kmga 
 of"Enirland had formerly accorded to their favorites ; and this right 
 the people with justice denied. " Cromwell," said the prime minis- 
 ter in his memoirs, " who I never heard open his mouth in the house, 
 ha"* been eh-cled member of a parliamentary committee, charged Avith 
 addressing the ministers upon this subject. Cromwell argued against 
 rne in the discussion. He reproached me with intimidating the wit- 
 nesses and spoke in such a gross and indecent manner. Ins action was 
 80 rough and his attitude so iu.solen^ that 1 was_ forced to adjourn 
 \he committee. Cromwell will never forgive me."
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 23 
 
 The popularity acquired by Cromwell and his party from their ad- 
 vocacy of this cause encouraijed him to increase it 1)3' the defence of 
 those bitter writers against the crown and church, whose pamphlets 
 were delivered by the king and the bisiiops from time to time, to be 
 burned by the hinds of the executioner. He presented a petition to 
 the parliament from one of these martyrs. Indignation and his 
 wounded conscience caused him for the first time to open his lips. 
 
 "It was in November, 1G40," says a royalist spectator* in his 
 memoirs, " that I, who was also a member, and vain enough to think 
 ray.self a model of elegance and nobility, for w-e young courtiers 
 pride ourselves on our attire, beheld on entering the house a person 
 speaking. I knew him not ; he was dressed in the most ordinary 
 manner, in a plain cloth suit wdiich appeared to have been cut by 
 some village tailor. His linen too was coarse and soiled. I recollect 
 also observing a speck or two of blood upon his little band, which 
 was not much larger than his collar. His hat was without a hat- 
 band ; his stature was of a good size ; his sword stuck close to his 
 side ; his countenance swollen and reddish ; his voice sharp and un- 
 tunable ; and his eloquence full of fervor, for the subjpct-matter 
 would not bear much of reason, it being in behalf of a libeller in the 
 hands of the executioner. I must avow that the attention bestowed 
 bj' the assembl}' on the discourse of tliis gentleman has much dimin- 
 ished my respect for the House of Commons." 
 
 All means of resistance and concession on the part of Charles 
 toward his parliament l)emg exhausted, the presentiment of an inevi- 
 table civil war weighed upon every breast. They prepared for it; 
 more or less openly on both sides. 
 
 Cromwell profited by one of those calms which precede great 
 political tempests, to return home to console his wife and mother, 
 and to embrace liis children at St. Ives before he entered upon the 
 struggle. He animated the people of his neighorhood by his religious 
 ardor, and converted sectarians into soldiers. He spent all his 
 household and agricultural savings in sending arms to Cambridge. 
 He ventured even to take possession, as a member of parliament,"of 
 the castle there ; and to defray the expenses of the militia he con- 
 fi.scated the lloyal University plate which had been deposited in the 
 cas-tle treasury. This militia regiment recognized him as their colo- 
 nel in right of his membersiiip ; and as he was one of the most reso- 
 lute of cltiz.ens, he also, by the .sole appeal to the feelings which they 
 possessed in common, raiseil tlie militia in the country between 
 Cambridge and Huntingdon, intercepted the royalists who were about 
 to join the king, and everywhere disarmed the partisans of tho 
 crown. 
 
 '' I shall not harm you," replied he at this troubled time, to a 
 neigliboriug gentleman wjio remonstrated again.st the invasion of 
 
 • Sir Philip Warwick.— Tb.
 
 24 OLIVKK CKOMAVELL. 
 
 tlicir homes, " for, on the coiitrar}', I wisli to Pivvc the country from 
 being more torn (o pieces. Behave with integrity and fear nothinf^ ; 
 but if you should act l)adly, then you must forgive the rigor which 
 my duty toward tlie people will force mc to exercise." 
 
 He did not even spare the manor-house of his uncle, Cromwell of 
 ninchinbrook, a ruined royalist gentleman who lived in an old keep in 
 the marshes. " The present age is one of conlenlion," wrote ho to 
 another gentleman. " The worst of these struggles in my mind aie 
 those which originate in differences of opinion. To injure men per- 
 sonall}', either by the destruction of their houses or possessions, can- 
 not be a good remedy against this evil. Let us protect the legitimate 
 rights of the people." 
 
 Associations for the defence of independence and religion against 
 the church and crown, were formed all over England, but were not 
 long before they dissolved from the want of an active chief and united 
 minds. 
 
 There only remained of these associations the seven western coun- 
 ties, of which Cromwell was the arm and soul. His fame spread 
 over the country, and began to designate him a future chief of the 
 religious war. 'They caHed him, in the pm-ituniciil assemblies, the 
 Maccabteus of God's Church. " Continue," wrote Cromwell, how- 
 ever, to a clergyman of the C^hurch of England, " to read the Scrip- 
 tures to the people, and to preach iu^your cathedral as you have been 
 accustomed to do, and even a Utile more frecjuently." 
 
 Thus Cromwell, who had risen to tight for libert}* of faith for him- 
 self and his friends, protected that of (jthei's. " You dismiss from 
 your troop an anabaptist officer," thus he wrote to one of his lieuten- 
 ants, " and in this you are certainly badly advised. I cannot under- 
 stand how a deplorable unbeliever, known for his irreligion, swear- 
 ing, and debauchery, can appear to you more worthy of confidence 
 than he who siiuns all these sins. Be tolerant toward those who 
 hold a faith different from your own. The state, sir, in choosing her 
 servants, thinks not of their opinions, but of their actions and 
 fidehty." 
 
 It may be seen from this that the first acts of Cromwell, precursors 
 to him of civil war and future empire, were imbued with that spirit 
 of government which drew partisans to his cause instead of deliver- 
 ing up victims to those who had already espoused it. 
 
 The a.ssociation of the seven counties", submitting thus willingly to 
 the influence of such an active patriot and zealous religionist, was 
 the stepping-stone of Cromwell's ensuing popularity. It soon be- 
 came the lever with which the Long Parliament rai.sed and sustained 
 the civil war. 
 
 We have seen that from day to day tiiis war had become inevita- 
 ble. Scotland, more fanatical even than England through her puri- 
 tan chiefs, men of ardent faith and .sanguinary dispositions, gave the 
 first signal of hostilities. This kingdom, aithough retaining indu-
 
 OLIVER CllOJlWELL. '^o 
 
 pendent laws and a local parliament, still formed a part of Charles's 
 dominions. The spirit of revolt, concealed as in England under that 
 of independence and oppLsiliou, caused a Scottish army to advance 
 into the English territory, on the pretence of defending, in conjunc- 
 tion with tlie puritans and parliament of London, the rights of the 
 two nations, which were menaced by the crown. Emboldened by 
 this support, the opposition orators in" the English legislative assem- 
 bly, and the zealous puritans, placed no bounds to their audacity and 
 encroachments on the royal prerogative. Even tlie least infatuated 
 of the professors of the new faith, siich as Pym, Han^pden, and 
 Vane, assumed tlie appearance of extreme partisans. They became, 
 in the eyes of the republicans, the Catos, Brutuses and Cassiuses of 
 England, while in the opinion of the puritans they were consecrated 
 as martyrs. The suspicious susceptibility of the party was outraged 
 at beholding several Catholic priests, who had been brought from 
 France by Queen Henrietta as her spiritual advisers, residing at the 
 court, and exercising in London the ceremonial duties of their creed. 
 They alTccted to see a terrible conspiracy against Protestantism, in 
 this liai-mless fidelity of a young and charming queen to the impres- 
 sions of her conscience, and the religious rites to which she had been 
 accustomed from lier youth. They accused the king of weakness, or 
 of being an accomplice with the wife he adored. 
 
 Charles, in the spirit of peace, yielded to all these exigencies. He 
 was called upon to sanction a bill authorizing the parliament to re- 
 assemble of itself, in case an interval of three years should elapse 
 without the royal convocation. 
 
 Until then tiie annual or triennial meeting of parliament had been 
 more a custom than a privilege of English liberty. Charles, in con- 
 .seuting, acknowledged tins representative sovereignty as superior to 
 his own. The parliament, whose ambition was increased by all these 
 concessions on liie part of tlie monarcii, established, still with his 
 con.sent, the permanence of tlieir control and power through a coru' 
 mitlee which was always to sit in Loudon during the interval between 
 the sessions. They also appointed another, to attend the king in the 
 journey wliich he undertook to conciliate the Scotch. 
 
 At length they even carried their audacity and usurpation to the 
 length ot demanding the a|ipointmentuf a ])rolector of the kingdom — 
 a kind of national tribune or parliamentary viceroy raised in opposi- 
 tion to the king himself. It was this title, thought of even since that 
 time in the delirium of party spirit, that was naturally bestowed upon 
 Cromwell when the civil war had made him the ruler of his country. 
 He did mot, as has been imagined, invent it for his o»vn use ; he 
 found it already created by the factions which dethroned the king. 
 
 During the absence of the king in Scotland, Ireland, left to herself 
 by the recall of the troops who had luainlaiiied peace there in 
 Charles's name, became agitated even to revolt against the royal 
 authority. The Irish Parliament ul»o followed in its turbulence and
 
 26 OLIVEH OUOMWKLL. 
 
 cncroarlimonts llio oxiiinple of the English Icsrishitive asscmblj'. Iro- 
 hind, divitifd into two classes and two religions, who had ever been 
 violently opposed to ea'.h other, agreed for oneo unanimously to 
 throw olT tiic yoke of the rrown. 
 
 The Catholics and the old Irish of the distant jirovinccs were the 
 first to break the leauu?. They took advantage of the feehlenes^s of 
 the royal authority thai, sought to control lliem, and perpetrated a 
 more "sanguinary massacre than that of the Sicilian Vespers, by 
 slaughteriliig indiscriminately all the English colonists who had for 
 ceuluries resided in the same villages, ami who, by the ties of friend- 
 slii[>, relationship, and marriage, had long been amalgamated with 
 the original iidiabiJanls. 
 
 The mtissacres of 8t. Bartholomew and of the days of September, 
 the Roman proscriptions \uider Tvlaiius, or those of France during Iho 
 reign of terror, fell below the cruel atrocities committed by the Irish 
 in these counties ; atrocities which cast a stain upon their character 
 and sidly the annals of their country. 
 
 The chiefs ol this conspiracy in the province of Ulster even shudr 
 Jered themselves at the ferocity of tht revengeful, fanatical, and in- 
 exorable people they had let loose. The feasts by which Ihey com- 
 memorated llieir victory, gained by assassination, consisted of more 
 slow and cruel tortures than the imaginations of cannibals ever con- 
 ceived. They prolonged the nrirtyrdom and sufferings of both sexes, 
 that they r>3ight the longer revel in this infernal pastime. They caused 
 blood lo'falfdrop by drop, and life to ebb by lengthened gasps, that 
 their revengeful fury might be the more indulged. The murders 
 spread by degrees over every district of Ireland, except Dublin, 
 where a feeble body of royal troops preserved the peace. The 
 corpses of more than one hundred thousand victims, men, women, 
 children, the infirm and aged, strewed the thresholds of their habita- 
 tions, and the iields tliat they had cultivated in common with their 
 •destroyers. The tlames m which their villages were envelopi'd were 
 •extinguished only in their blood. All who escaped by flight the fury 
 of tli'ij'ir assassins, carrying their infants in their arms to the summits 
 of the mountains, perished of inanition and cold in the .snows of 
 winter. Ireland appeared to open, to become the tomb of lialf the 
 sons she had brouglit forth. 
 
 We cannot read, even in the most impartial histories, the accounts 
 of this enduring national crime without a feeling of execration 
 toward its instigators and executioners. "We can then umlerstand 
 the misfortunes inflicted by Heaven upou this devoted country. 
 Tyranny can never be justified, but a nation which has such cruelties 
 to expiate ought not to accuse its oppressors of harsh treatment 
 without at the same time recalling the memory of its own delin([uen- 
 cie.s. The misfortunes of a people do not always proceed from the 
 crimes of their conquerors ; they are more frecpieutly the jjunishment 
 of their own. Thes« evils are the most irremediable, for they sweep 
 ftway with them independence and corapassiou.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 27 
 
 The parliament accused the king as the author of these calamities ; 
 the kio2 with more justice reproached the parliament as the cause of 
 his inability to chi'-ck them The republican party gained fresh 
 slren2;tli in the country from this obstinate and fruitless struggle be- 
 tween the kinix and llie parliamentarians, which allowed the kingdom 
 to be torn to pieces and their co-religionists to be murdered by the 
 Catholics. The leaders easily persuaded the parliament to issue, un- 
 der the form of a remonstrance, an appeal to the people of great 
 Britain, which was in fact a sanguinary accusation against the royal 
 icovernment. They therein set forth, in one catalogue of crime, all 
 liie mistakes and misfortunes of the present reign. They accused the 
 kinz of every olfence committed by both parties, and accumulated 
 upon his head even the blood of the English murdered in Ireland by 
 liic Catholics. They therefore concluded, or tacitly resolved, that 
 henceforth there was no safety for England l)ut in the restriction of 
 the royal power and the unlimited increase of the privileges of par- 
 liament. The king, driven to the utmost limits of concession, re. 
 plied to this charge'in a touching but feeble attempt at justification. 
 The insolence of several members of the House of Commons, which 
 burst forth in evident violation of his dignity and ro3^al prerogative, 
 left him no choice betweeh the shamefid abandonment of his title as 
 king or an energetic vindication of his rights. He went down him. 
 selTto the house, to cause the arrest of those members who were 
 guilty of high treason, and called upon the president to point them 
 out. 
 
 " Sire," replied he, kneeling, " in the place that I occupy I have 
 only eyes to see and a tongue to speak according to the will of thw 
 house I serve. I therefore humbly crave your Majesty's pardon foi 
 venturing to disobey you." 
 
 Charles, humiliated, retired with his guards, and repaired to Guile 
 hall to request the city council not to harbor these guilty men. Th" 
 people only replied to him on his return with cries of " Long live the 
 Parliament." The inhabitants of London armed themselves at th(5 
 scriptural call, "To your tents, O Israel !" and passed proudly iu 
 review by land and water under the windowsof Whitehall, where the 
 king resided. Tiie king, powerless, menaced and insulted by thesC 
 uutnur.sts, retired to the palace of Hampton Court, a solitary country 
 residence, but fortified and imposing, situated at some little distanc*> 
 from London. 
 
 The (lueen, alarmed for her husband and children, besought the king 
 to appease the peoph; by submission. All was in vain. The parlia- 
 meiit. which since the retreat of the king had become the idol and 
 .safeguard of tlie nation, was beset with inllammatory petitions. 
 Under the pretext of protecting the people against the return of the 
 royal army, they took ui)on themselves the military authority, and 
 appointed the generals of the troops and governors of the fortified 
 placea. Charles, who retained ouly a few parlisaus and followers u»
 
 23 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 ITampfon Court, was icsnlved to declare war, but before adnptiii!> 
 lliisla<:t rosoince lie conducted the queen to tlic seaside and pei'^ 
 stiadrd licr lo ( uibark for the Continent, thai she, at least, who was 
 dearest to him on earth, miglit bo secure from misfortune and the 
 evil pressure of the times. 
 
 The separation was heart-rending, as if they had a presentiment of 
 an eternal farewell. The unfortunate monarcii adored the coin{)aniou 
 of his youth, and looked upon her as sujierior lo ail other women. 
 He could not suffer her to share his liiuniliations and reverses, and 
 desired to sliield her as much as possible Irom the catastrophe which 
 he foresaw would inevilai)ly arrive. 
 
 Henrietta was carried fainting on board the vessel, and only re- 
 covered to utter reprpaches lo the waves which bore lier from the 
 English shores, and prayers to heaven for the safely of her belovetl 
 partner. 
 
 The king, agonized at the loss of his consort, but strenu:thened in 
 courage by her departure, left Hamnton Court and eslablTslied him- 
 self m his most loyal city of York, s\irrounded by an attached people 
 and devoted array. He took his ctn'ldren with him. 
 
 The parliament, representing this act as a declaration of public 
 danger, raised an army to oppose that of the king, and gave the com- 
 mand to the Earl of Es.sex. The people rose at the voice of the Com- 
 mons, and each town contributed numerous volunteers to swell the 
 ranks of the republicans. 
 
 Charles, greater in adversity than when on the throne, foimd in a 
 decided course that resolution and light which had often failed him 
 in the ambiguous struggles with a parliament which he knew not 
 either how to combat or subdue. The nobility and citizens, less im- 
 pressed than the lower orders by the doctrines of the puritans, and 
 less open to the seductions of the parliamentary tribunes, for the 
 most part espoused the party of the king. They were designated 
 Camlim. London and the large cities, "hoi beds of agitation and 
 popular opinion, devoted themselves to the parliament. 
 
 The Earl of Essex, an able but temporizing ueneial, and more ex- 
 perienced in regular war than civil conunotion, advanced at the head 
 of fifteen thousand men against the king, whose camp contained only 
 ten thousand. 
 
 The first encounter (doubtful in its result) between the two armies, 
 proved only the personal valor of the king. He fought more like a 
 soldier than a monarch, at the head of the foremost squadrons. Five 
 thousand slain on both sides covered the field of liattie. London 
 trembled, but recovered confidence on learning that the king was too 
 much weakened by the conliict to advance against the capital. 
 
 This first engagement, called the battle of Edge-IIill, though glori- 
 ous for the arms of Charles, decided nothing. The almost imiversal 
 fanaticism of the nation augmented incessantly the forces of the par- 
 liament. The nobility and soldiers of the regular troops aloue re-
 
 OLIVfiR CROMWELL. 29 
 
 cruited the ranks of tlie king. The royal cause was defended only 
 by an army ; the cause of the rebels was upheld by the nation. A 
 protracted war would exhaust the one while it streuglheuea the 
 other. " Let our enemies tight for their ancient honor," exclaimeil 
 the republican Hampden, iu'^the House of Commons; "we combat 
 for our religion." 
 
 The French ambassador at Charles the First's court, notwith- 
 standing his partiality for the royal cause, wrote thus to Cardinal 
 Mazarin : " I am astonished to behold how little care the king takes 
 of his life ; untir ng, laborious, patient under reverses, from morning 
 till night he marches with the infantry, oftener on horseback than in 
 a carriage. The soldiers appear to understand all the wants and 
 distresses of their sovereign ; they content themselves cheerfully 
 with the little he can do for them, "and without pay advance boldly 
 against troops better ecpupped and better armed tlian themselves. I 
 observe all this with my own eyes. This prince, in whom misfor- 
 tune reveals a dauntless hero, shows himself the most brave and 
 judicious of monarchs, and endures with fortitude these terrible 
 vicissitudes of politics and war. lie delivers all orders himself, even 
 to the most minute, and siuns no paper without the most scrupulous 
 examination. Often ho alights from his horse and marches on foot 
 at the head of the army. He desire^ peace, but as he sees that peace 
 has been unanimously rejected, he is compelled to have recourse to 
 war. I think he will gain advantages at lirst, but his resources are 
 too limited to allow of'his maintaining them long." 
 
 The king hatl not even bread to give his soldiers, who demand- 
 ed nothing from him but food. The history of these four years of 
 unequal and erratic warfare resembles more the romantic life of au 
 adventurer than the majestic struggle of a king against rebels, in the 
 mid.st of his armies and people. "At one time," says the faithful 
 follower who preserved a journal of this momentous period, "we 
 sleep in the palace of a bishop, at another in the hut of a wood- 
 cutter. To-dav the king dines in tlie open air, to-morrow he has not 
 even a crust of bread to eat. On Sunday, at Worcester, we had no 
 dinner; it was a dreadful day; we marched without tasting food 
 from six in the morning until midnight. Another day we trave'lod 
 for a long time on foot in the mountains, and the king tasted noth- 
 ing but two small apples. We could often procure no food until two 
 inlhe morning. We lay df)wn with no shelter over us before tho 
 castU; of Donnin-rtoM." Again the same; chronicler says, " The king 
 slept in his chariot on BockonnoU heath ; he had not dined. The 
 next day he breakfiusted with a poor widow on the borders of a 
 forest." ,. . , , . . . 
 
 The fortitude displayed by the king m strugglmg with his misfor- 
 tunes, and his patient sulitnission to tlie same privations and dangers, 
 bound the soldiers to him l)y a feeling of personal attachment. 'I'hey 
 only desert kings who desert themschvea. Uc resembled Ueury
 
 30 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 Quatro, fi^liting for liis kiujrdom wilh the samo courage, but witlj 
 unequal fortune. Tlie sight of tliis constanev and resigiiatiou in- 
 duced ev'i'n some of ids enemies in llie countries tiiey passed tlirough 
 tojointlie royal cause. One of tlieni uiiined Koswell deserted the 
 parliamentary army, and joined the inferior forces of the king. Being 
 taken prisoner by the rcpu])lieans, tliev interrogated him as to his 
 motives for this defection. " I passed"," replied Koswell, " along a 
 road which bordered the heath, where King Charles, surroimded only 
 by a few faithful sidjjects, was .seated, dividing a morsel of bread with 
 his followers. I approached from curiosity, and was so struck by 
 the gravity, sweetness, patience, and majesty of this prince, that the 
 impression dwelt in my breast and induced me to devote myself to 
 his cause." 
 
 Charles concealed his feelings from his soldiers and attendants, lest 
 he should display in the king the more permissi1)Ie weakness of tho 
 man. One day, wlien he beheld I>ord i^ilchlield, one of his most 
 faithful and intrepid companions in arms, fall at his feet, struck mor- 
 tally by a cann(.n-])all, he continued to give Ids orders and to fight 
 with an appearance of insensibility wldch deceived everybocly. 
 After having secured the retreat and saved the army by taking the 
 command of the rear guard, he ordered the troops to encamp, and 
 then shut himself up in his ten^ to consider the operations of the 
 morrow. He spent the night alone, writing, but his servants, on eu- 
 tcrinir his tent at daybreak, perceived froufhis still moist eyes that a 
 portion of the time at least had been occupied iu weeping for Litch- 
 field. 
 
 While Cromwell, his antagonist, who then fought against the king 
 under Essex, spoke and acted with such mystical excitement tha?, 
 according to the writers of the dav, many looked upon this enthu- 
 siasm of religion as the effect of inebriety, Charles, as became a man 
 who was grappling with misfortune, exhibited his recovered majesty 
 by imperturbable .serenity. "Never," wrote one of his generals, 
 " have I beheld liim exalted by .success or depressed by reverses. The 
 equality of his soul ajipears to defy fortune, and to rise superior to 
 circumstances." 
 
 " lie often," says another writer, " rode the whole night, and at 
 break of day galloped up to the summit of some hill that he nught 
 examine the position or movements of the parliamentary army." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he one day to a small group of cavaliers who 
 followed him, "it is morning; you had better .separate, you liave 
 beds and families. It is time you should .seek repose. I have neither 
 house nor home ; a fresh horse awaits me, and he and 1 must march 
 incessantly by day and night, if God has made me suffer sufiicient 
 evils to try my patience, lie has also given me patience to support 
 the.«e intiictions. " 
 
 "Thus," .said a poet of the age, "did he struggle for the main- 
 tba&aoe of his rights ; he rowed on without a haven of .'lifu^e ia
 
 OLIVEK CROMWELL. 31 
 
 J^Iew. "War increased the greatness of this king, not for the throne 
 but for posterity. " 
 
 Our limits will not permit us to follow all tlie various changes of 
 fortune that occurred durmg this four years' war between the king 
 and his people ; the longest, the most dramatic, and the most diver- 
 sified of all civil contests. Cromweli, who at the beginning com- 
 manded a'regiment of volunteer cavalry in Essex's army, raised among 
 his Huntingdon confederates, grew rapidly in the opinion of the whole 
 camp, from the religious enthusiasm by which he was animated, and | 
 which he comnmnicated to the soldiers. Less a warrior than an 
 npostle, he sought martyrdom upon the tield of battle rather than vic- 
 tory. Neither success, reverses, promotion, nor renown, diverted 
 him from the one absorbing passion of his soul during this holy war. 
 The Earl of Esse.v, Lord Fairfa.x, Waller, Hampden, andFulklaudi 
 fought, yielded, or died, some for their prince, and others for their 
 country and their faith ; Cromwell alone never sustained a defeat. 
 Elevated by the p:irliament to the rank of general, he strengthened 
 his own division by weeding and purifying it. He cared little for 
 numbers, provided his ranks were tilled with fanatics. By sanctify- 
 ing thus the cause, end. and motives of the war, he raised his sol- 
 diers above common liumanily, and prepared them to perform im- 
 possibilities. The historians of both sides agree in allowing that this 
 religious enthusiasm inspired by Cromwell in the minds of his troops 
 transformed a body of factionaries into an army of saints. Victory 
 iuvariably attended his encounters with the king's forces. On ex- 
 amining and comparing his correspondence, as we have already done 
 at the various dates of his military life, we find that this piety of 
 Cromwell was not an assumed bnt a real enthusiasm. His letters 
 show the true feehngs of the man in the leader of his party ; and the 
 more convincingly as tliey are nearly all addressed to his wife 
 sisters, daughters, anil most intimate friends. Let us look over them' 
 for each of tliese letters is another stroke of the pencil to complete 
 the true portrait of this characteristic hero of the times. 
 Jirst, we must give a description of his troops. 
 '•The puritan soldiers of Crtmiwell are armed with all kinds of 
 weapons, clothed in all colors, and sometimes in rags Pikes hal- 
 berds, and long straight swords are ranged side by side with pistols 
 an<i muskets. OfK-n he causes his troops to halt that he may preach 
 to them, and frcMjuently they sing psalms while performing their ex- 
 ercise. III.- captains are heard to cry, 'Present, fire! in the name 
 oj thely)rd! After calling over the muster-roll, the onicers rea<l a 
 portion of the New or Old Testament, ^riicir colors are covered with 
 symbolical paintings and verses from the Scrii.tures. They march to 
 the Psalms of David, while the royalists advance singing loose bac- 
 chanalian songs." 
 
 The license of the nobility and cavaliers composing the kin<r"s 
 regular troops could not prevail, notwithstanding their bravery,
 
 32 OLIVKU CROMWELL. 
 
 against these martyrs for thoir fuilh. The warriors wlio l)clieve 
 tliomselves the soltliors of God must sooner or later gain the victory 
 jver tliose who are oulv the t-ervants of man. Cromwell was the tirst 
 to feel this convicliou, and predicted the fulfilment, after the first 
 battles, in a letter to his wife. 
 
 '• Our soldiers," wrote he the day after an engagement, " were in 
 a state of exhaustion and lassitude such as I have never before be- 
 held, but it pleased Cod to turn the balance in favor of this handful 
 of men. Notwithstanding the disparity of numbers, we rushed horse 
 against horse, and fought witli sword and pistol for a considerable 
 time. ^Ye obliged the" enemy to retreat, and pursued them. I put 
 their commander (the young "Lord Cavendish, twenty-three years of 
 age, and the flower of the court and arm)-) to flight as far as the 
 borders of a marsh, where his cavalry fell into the mire, and my 
 lieutenant killed the young nobleman himself by a su ord-thrust in his 
 short ribs. We o\\ethis day's victory more to God than to any 
 human power. May he still be with us, in what remains to do !" 
 
 He bestowed his 'fortune as well as his energies upon the cause 
 •which he considered sacred. " I declare," he wrote in the second 
 year to his cousin St. John, " that the war in Ireland and England 
 lias already cost me 1200?. ; this is the rea.sou why I can no longer 
 •with my private purse assist the public treasury. I have bestowed 
 on the cause my fortune and my faith. I put my trust in God, and 
 for his name I would willingly lose my life. My companions, sol- 
 diers, and family would all do the same. My troops are daily aug- 
 mented by men that you would esteem if you knew them— all true 
 and exemplary believers." These soldiers were called " Zronsuks," 
 in allusion to their imperlurbable confidence in God. 
 
 " My soldiers do not make an idol of me," said lie in another 
 letter to the president of the parliament ; " 1 can say truly that it is 
 not upon me but upon you that their eyes are fixed, ready to fight 
 and die for your cause. They are attached to their faith, not to their 
 leader. AVe seek only the glory of the ]Most High. The _Lord is 
 our strength ; pray for us, and ask our friends to do so also." 
 
 "They say that we are factious," said he some days after to a 
 friend, "and that we seek to propagate our religious opinions by 
 force, a proceedinc: that we detest and abhor. I declare that I could 
 not reconcile myself to this war if 1 did not believe that it was to se- 
 cure the maintenance of our lawful rights, and in this just quarrel 1 
 hope to prove myself houest, sincere, and upright." 
 
 '•Excu.se me 'if I am troublesome; but I write rarely, and this 
 jetter affords me an opportunity, in the midst of the calumnies by 
 ■which we are misrepresented, of pouring my feelings into the 
 bo.som of a friend." 
 
 He relates next to his colleague, Fairfax, an encounter that took 
 place between his troops and an assembly of Clubmen, a neutral but 
 armed party, whose patriotic feelings induced them to unite and
 
 OLIVER CROinVELL. 33 
 
 throw themselves between llie parliamentariaus nnd royalists, that 
 they might save their country from tlie calamities Avhich stained it 
 with blood. 
 
 " Having assured Ihcm,"' wrote Cromwell, " thatwewere only de- 
 sirous of peace, and that we firmly intended to put a stop to all vio- 
 lence and pillage, I sent back their deputies, charging them to trans- 
 mit my message to their employers. They fired on my troo|)s, where- 
 upon I charged theirs, and we made several hundred prisoners. Al- 
 though theyhad treated some aiptives of oar party with cruelty, I 
 looked upon them as idiots, and set them at liberty." 
 
 There had loug ceased to be any communication between tlie two 
 extreme parties tiiat divided the kingdom. The royalists refused to 
 temporize with a parliament that fought against its kiug. The par- 
 liamentarians liad become republican upon logical principles, having 
 originally been factious from anger. The biblical texts against 
 kings, commented upon by the puritans in town and country, made 
 the^eople and the army all republicans ; and thus republican doc- 
 trines thenceforth became a part of the religion of the people. Crom- 
 wcl!, naturally indifferent to controversies purely political, could not 
 assure the triumph of his own faith without associating it wiih the 
 popular government. The established Church of England and the 
 monarchy were one, in the person of Charles and every other sovereign 
 of his race. Tne only .safeguard of the puritans was republicanism. 
 The clear .sense of Cromwell made him decide upon dethroning the 
 house of Stuart and establishing the Reign of God. 
 
 His conviction soon rendered him insensible to all spirit of pacifi- 
 cation. He mnrche(i from victory to victory, and, although he did 
 not 3'et assume the actual title of Lord-General-in-Chief of the parlia- 
 mentary army, he pos.sessed all the authority of the ollice which 
 public opinion could bestow upon him. The parliament was only 
 victorious where he fought, and he ascribed to God the praise and 
 glory of his sueces.ses. " Sir," wrote he, after the taking of Worces- 
 ter and Bristol, "this is a fresh favor conferred on us by Heaven, 
 You see that God does not cease to protect us. I again repeat, the 
 Lord be praised for this, for it is his work." 
 
 All liis dispatches and military notes show the same confidence in 
 the divine intervention. " ^^ hoever peruses the account of the battle 
 of Worcester," said he in concluding his narrative of this event, 
 " must .see that there has been no oilier hand in it but that of God. 
 He must be an atheist," added he witli enthusiasm, "who is not 
 convinced of this. Remember our soldiers in your prayers It is 
 their joy and recompense to think tiiat they ]iav(> been instrumenta! 
 to the glory of God and the salvation of their country. He has 
 deigned to make use of them, and those who are employed in this 
 great work know tiiat faith and jjrayer alone have enabled them to 
 gain these towns. Prcsbyteiians, jiuritans, independents, all arc in- 
 spired with the same spirit of faith and prayer, asking the same
 
 34 OLIVKH CROMWELL. 
 
 thin-s. and obttunin- Hum from on high. All are ngrcccl in tnU 
 Vviutt a nitv it is thai they are nut e<iaally unanimous m politics . K 
 'pi t 1 1 liiings wc employ toward our brethren no olher (•onstra.i. 
 t n It of reason. As lo other matters, God has placed the sworn 
 the hauels of the parliament lo tlie terror o those who do evil 
 Shoukl anv one try to wrest this weapon fiom them, I austlhcy may 
 oc confounded. God preserve it in your hands. 
 
 In the interval between tlie campaigns, CUomwell had married two 
 of his daughters ; the youngest and dearest was united to the rcpub- 
 Hr n 1 leton She was called Bridget. Her cnhghlene.l intellect and 
 Vm.n 1 i tv made her tiie habitual confidant of all her father's reu^^- 
 imis feVlin-s. We may trace in some scraps of his letters to this 
 voun"- female the constant iireoccupation of his muid. 
 ^ • 1 do not write to your husl,and, because he replies by a thousand 
 letters to every one that I address to him. Tiiis makes him sit up too 
 a e • besides I have many other things to attend to at present. 
 
 ' Your sister Claypole (his eldest daughter) s laboring under 
 troubled thou<dits. She sees her own vanity and the evils ot her cai- 
 nSii and seeks the onlv thing which will give her peace. Seek 
 also and V .a will gain the lirst place next to lho.sc who have found it. 
 Eve'ry faiUiful and humble soul who struggles to gam such peace 
 w llJssure ly find it in the end. Happy are those who seek ; thrice 
 la, y are tliLe who find ! Who has ever experienced the grace of 
 Co Iw hout desiring to feel the fulness of Us joy My dear love 
 pAVfevenliy that neither your huslKind nor anything in the world 
 Say lessen your love for Christ. 1 trust that your husband may te 
 r^you an imcouragement to luvo him ■--'^-V, f?!!', 1' hV S 
 What you ought to love in him is the image of Chriot t'''\t f ' ^f ^^ 
 in lis person.' Behold that, prefer that, and ove all ^'l^;^ only fo. the 
 « be of Urit Farewell ; I pray for vou and him ; pray for me 
 
 l'H i ti^ style of a cn.fty. hypocritical politician, who would not 
 even unmask liimself be^re his favoiite daughterV and whose 
 most familiar family confidences are to be considered unworthy tncks 
 to deceive a world, not likely to read them during his life ime ? 
 
 This mvsticism was not confined to the general, but imbued the 
 hea of Uie whole army. " While we were d-mg the mine under 
 the c'stle"-thus he writes at a later period from Scotland- Mr 
 Stapleton preached, and the soldiers who listened expressed their 
 fomniinclion bv tears aiul gioans. r n i 
 
 " E sa f.^lc)rious day," said he after the victory of Pr^sto'i; 
 4 >• God" rant tlmt England may prove worthy of and grati^fui for his 
 xn rde,i:- And after another defeat of the royalists ma leero his 
 • cf Tr.i.r, iw. .'nvQ ^a if he were overcome With gratitude : L 
 caS spei^fi mt y m^ldng luii that the Lord my God is a great 
 aT'dorLus God, and Ih- alone'ieserves by turns our f^'V^''' /-O" " 
 Sei c^ W<! ought always lo feel that 1..; is present, f "'/l'^^^' « ; '^ 
 never fail his people. Let all that breathe praise the Lord. Remenw
 
 OLIVER CUOMWELL. 35 
 
 ber me to my dear father, Henry Vane" (his parliamentary colleague, 
 wlio was inflamed by the same religious and republican zeal) ; " may 
 God protect us both. Let us not care for the light in which men 
 regard our actions; for whether they think well or ill of them is 
 according to the will of God ; and we, as the benefactors of future 
 ages, shall enjoy our reward and repose in another world : a world 
 that will endure forever. Care not for the morrow, or for anything 
 else. The Scriptures are my great support. Read Isaiah, chapter 
 viii. verses 11, 14. Read the entire chapter. 
 
 " One of my poor soldiers died at Preston. On the eve of the 
 battle he was ill, and near his last moments ; he besought his wife. 
 who was cooking in his room, to bring him a handful of herbs. She 
 did so, and holding the green vegetable in his hand, he asked her if 
 it would wither now that it was cut. ' Yes, certainly," replied the 
 poor woman. ' "Well, renieml)er then,' said the dying man, ' that 
 such will be the fate of the king's anuy ;' and he expired with this 
 prophecy on his lips." 
 
 Cromwell called the civil war an appeal to God. He defended the 
 parliament against those whoreproacbed thtni for having carried the 
 revolt too far, and asserted that they had been actuated Ity religious 
 motives alone, lie endeavored to rouse his friends fron'i thcxr hesita- 
 tion and dislike of war, b}' impressing them witii the sanctity of their 
 mission. Tbis :Mahomet of the North was endowed, under adverse 
 circumstances, with the same unfailing resignation as the ^lahomet 
 of the East. The character of martyr^became him as readily as that 
 of victor. He had made himself the popular idol at the conclusion 
 ■of these years of conflict, but never was he for an instant into.xlcatcd 
 by vainglory. " You sec this crowd," said he in a low voice to his 
 friend Vane, on the day of his triumphant entry into London ; "there 
 would liave been a nuich greater assemblage to sec me hanged !" 
 
 His heart was on earth ; his glory above. Nobody could govern 
 the people better ; and in governing he did not think he had the 
 riirlit to despise them, for the lowest are God's creatures. He merely 
 desired to rule that he might serve them. He cared not for perma- 
 nent empire ; he had no desire to found a dynasty. He was nothin^^ 
 more than an interregnum. God removed him when he had achieved 
 his work and established his faith by assuring the right of liberty of 
 conscience to the i)e<)plc. 
 
 In the mean time the bravery of the king and the fidelity of his 
 partisans prolonged the struggle with varied success. 
 
 The queen, impatient aijatn to behold her husband and children. 
 had returned to England with reinforcements from Holland and 
 France. The admiral who cuinmaiuied the parliamentary fleet, not 
 having been able to prevent the disembarkation of the (lueen, ap- 
 proached the coast on which slie had landed, and fired during the 
 whoh- night at the cottage which served as an asylum for the heroic 
 Henrietta. She was obliged to escape half clothed from the ruins of
 
 36 OLlVliU C ROM WELL. 
 
 tho liul, fiml peek slieller l)eirni(l a hill from llie arlillory of licr own 
 Hiibjecls. Slio al h-w^lh joined lliu king, to uliom love imparl-wi 
 fresh courniro. 
 
 lu a battle with equal forces at ISIarston Moor, Charles commanded 
 in person ac;ainst the army led by Cromwell.* Fifty thousand men, 
 children of' the same soil, dyed their native land with blood ! The 
 kimr, who, during the early part of the day, was victorious, in the 
 evening being abandoned by his itrineipal generals and a portion of 
 ihis troops, w-iis forced to retire into tlie Norlii. 
 
 I During the retreat he ventured to attack the Earl of Essex, gen- 
 cralissiuK) of the parliament, who, being surprised and vanquished, 
 embarked and returned to London without his army. 
 
 The parliament, after tlie example of the Romans, thanked their 
 general for not having despaired of liis country, and appointed him 
 to the command of fresh levies. Essex, reinforced by Cromwell and 
 the Earl of Manchester, routed the king at Newbury ; but, though 
 victorious he became weary of the dissensions which existed in the 
 army, and was replaced by Fairfax, a model of patriotism and a hero 
 m battle, yet in(tiipable of directing war on a grand scale. The mod- 
 esty of Fairfax induced him to ask for Cromwell as his lieutenant 
 and adviser. These two chiefs united deprived the king of all 
 hopes of reconquering England, and scarcely left him the choice of a 
 field of battle Fairfax, Cromwell, and Ireton, Cromwell's son-m- 
 law, attacked and vanquished the royal forces at Naseby. Tlic rem- 
 nants of Charles's last supporters were successively destroyed by 
 Fairfax and Cromwell. 
 
 While England was thus gliding rapidly from the grasp of the 
 king, a young hero, the Earl of jVIoutrose, raised by a chivalric com- 
 Linutiou the royalist cause in Scotland, and gained a battle against 
 the puritans of that kingdom. ]\Iontrose'3 brave mountaineers, more 
 qualilied, like our own Vendeans, for dashing exploits than regular 
 campaigns, having di.spersed after the victory to visit their families, 
 lie was attacked by the puritans during tiieir absence, and lost in one 
 day all that he had gained in many gallant actions. He was obliged 
 to take refuge in the mountains, and hide himself from his enemies 
 under various disguises ; but the remarkable beauty of his features 
 l)etrayed him ; he was recognized, taken prisoner, and ignommiously 
 executed. Ilis death was as sublime as his enterprise had been 
 lieroic. lie died a martyr of iidelily to his king, as while living he 
 liad been his firmest friend. 
 
 Charles, who now only retained about his person a handful ot 
 cavaliers, 'wrote to his wife that as he could no longer light as a 
 kiu"- he wished to die like a soldier, lie once more compelled the 
 queen, his only object of anxiety, to embark for the Continent, and 
 
 * Tliis is a mistake. Churles was not pieseiit at Maiston Moor, »nd Fairfax, not 
 Crcmwell, coiumamlcd iu cliief on the Bide of the parliuuient.— Tn.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 37 
 
 siirreoded in cnnducting the wreck of liis army fo Oxfnrrl. lie left 
 thai place iu the night, by a secret portal, accompanied oiilj' by three 
 gentlemen, and reached without being recognized the summit of 
 Harrow-ou-the-Hill, from whence he for a long time contemplated his 
 capital, deliberating whether he should enter the city and throw 
 himself upon the mercy of the parliament, or embarrass them by his 
 presence. Then changing his mind, he, with a slender hope, pro- 
 ceeded to join Ihe Scottish army, acting in alliance with his enemies, 
 but which had not, as yet, like the English, totally abjured their 
 fidelity to the crown. 
 
 The generals of the Scottish forces, astonished at his arrival, and 
 not daring at first to deceive his confidence, received him with the 
 honors due to their sovereign, and appointed him a guard, intended 
 more to watch than to defend him. These outward distinctions ill 
 concealed the fact of his captivity. Negotiations were again opened 
 between Charles and the parliament. The conditions proposed by 
 the latter actually involved the abdication of the throne, and antici- 
 pated the constitution of 1791, imposed by the legislative assembl}' 
 and the Jacobins upon Louis the Sixteenth. The king refused to 
 agree to them. 
 
 During these negotiations, the Scottish army in the most base and 
 treacherous manner sold the liberty of the prince who had trusted to 
 their honor, and consented to deliver him up to the parliament for 
 the sum of three millions sterling ;* a Jewish traffic which, from that 
 dav to this, has been an enduring stigma on the name of Scotland. 
 
 iThe Scottish parliament at first refused to ratify the bargain, but 
 the popular and fanatical party of their own clergymen compelled 
 them to do so. Charles the First was playing at chess in his room 
 at the moment when they brought the dispatch which deprived him 
 of the last illusion he had indulged in with regard to his fate. He 
 had become from habitual adversity sp resigned, and possessed such 
 command over himself, that he continued his game with undimin- 
 ished attention, and without even a change of color, so that the 
 spectators began to doubt if it were really the order for his arrest that 
 he liad perused. 
 
 Delivered up that evening by the Scotch to the parliamentary com- 
 missioners, Jje traversed as a captive, but without insult, and even 
 amid tokens of respect and the tears of the people, the counties which 
 Heparaled Scotland from Holmijy, the place chosen as his prison, lie 
 there endured a confinement often ligorous even to brutality. The 
 parliament and army, who wcmc already at variance, disputed the 
 Dos.se.ssion of the prisoner. Cromwell, wlio had e.vcited in the troops 
 1 fanaticism equal to iii.s own, and who feared lest the parliament, 
 row master of the king's i)erson, should enter into a compromise) 
 with royalty fatal to the interests of the republic, the only giiaranteo 
 
 * M. de Lamuriiue ba« miiftakca the auin, wbicb did not exceed £&(X),000.— Tb.
 
 3S OLIVER CROMWKLL. 
 
 in his opinion for tho sonirity of the purilsin faith — without the 
 knowlodjii' of Fairfax, liis ininiediate comniaudcr, sent one of hi.s 
 oflicers at tlie licail of live hiiiKhvil chosen men to carry off the k'\n<^. 
 Charles, who foresaw a worse falc at the liands of the soldiers than 
 of llie people, vainly attempted to resist the emissary and orders of 
 from well. At lentrlh he yielded, and reluctantly submitted to his 
 new jailers. He was then conducted to the army, in the close vicinity 
 of Cambridire. 
 
 The parliament, indi^rnant at this assumptive authority on the part 
 of the army, demanded that the kin<!; should be delivered up to them. 
 The army, already ac;customed to i)lace itself above the civil power, 
 declareil rebelliously against the parliament and Fairfax, in favor of 
 Cromwell, whom they placed at their head, and marched upon Lon- 
 don, forcing their generals to accompany them. The parliament, in- 
 limidatcd, stopped their advance at the gates of the cajjilal, by con- 
 LX'ding all their demands. 
 
 From that daj', the parliament became as much subjugated by the 
 army as the king had formerly been controlled bj'^ the parliament, 
 imd sank into the mere tool of Cromwell. He himself purged the 
 legislative assembly of those members who had shown the greatest 
 opposition to the troops. Cromwell and Fairfax treated the kino- 
 with more consideration than the parliamentary commissioners had 
 sbown. The}'^ permitted liim to .see his wife and younger children, 
 wlio imtil then had been retained in Jjondon. Cromwell, himself a 
 father, being present at the interview between Charles and his family, 
 ehed _tears of emotion. At that moment the man triumphed over 
 the sectarian. L'p to that time he believed that his cause required 
 only the dethronement, not the sacrifice of the king. He showed 
 toward his captive all tlie respect and compassion compatible with 
 Ills safe cu.stody. He always spoke with the tenderest admiration of 
 Ciiaries's personal virtues, and the amiable light in which he shone 
 forth as a husband and a parent. 
 
 Charles, touched by this respect, and holding even in prison a 
 shadow of his court, said to Cromwell and his officers, " You are 
 driven back to me l)y necessity, you cannot do without me ; you will 
 never succeed in satisfying the nation for the loss of the sovereign 
 authority." The king now looked for better things from the army 
 than from the parliament. A royal lesidence was appointed for him, 
 the palace of Hampton Court ; and he there became, although a 
 prisoner; the centre and arbitrator of tiie negntinlions between the 
 principal factions, who each wi.shed to strengthen them.selves with, 
 his name by associating him to their cause. 
 
 The three leading parties were the army, the parliament, and the 
 Scotch. Oomwell and his son-in-law, Ireton, were contident in 
 their personal intluence over the king; an accident undeceived mem. 
 The king, having written a private letter to his wife, charged one of 
 Lis coutidential servants to conceal this letter in his horse's saddle,
 
 OLIVER CROMAVELL. 39 
 
 and convey it to Dover, where the fishing-boats served to transmit 
 his correspondcuce to the Continent. Cromwell and Ireton, who 
 had some suspicion of the nature of this missive, resolved to ascertaia 
 by personal examination the private sentiments of the king. In- 
 formed of the departure of the messenger, and of the manner in 
 which he had concealed the letter, they mounted their horses aai 
 rode tliat night to Windsor, which place they reached some hours be- 
 'fore the emissary of the king. 
 
 ' " We alighted at the inn, and drank beer for a portion of the 
 ^night," said Cromwell subsequently, " until our spy came to an- 
 nounce that the king's messenger had arrived. We rose, advanced 
 with drawn swords toward the man, and told him we had an order to 
 search all who entered or quitted the inn. We left him in the street, 
 and carried his saddle into the room wiiere we had been drinking, 
 and having opened it vve took from thence the letter, and then re- 
 turned the saddle to the messenger without his suspecting that it had 
 been despoiled. He departed, imagining that he had preserved the 
 secret. After iie was gone we read the kings letter to his wife. 
 He told her that each faction was an.xious that he should join them, 
 but he thought he ought to conclude with the Scotch in preference 
 to any other. We returned to the camp, and seeing that our cause 
 had nothing to expect from the king, from that moment we resolved 
 on his destruction.'" 
 
 The guard was doubled, but the king eluded their vigilance. Fol- 
 lowed only by Berkley and Asliburnliam, his two confidential 
 friends, he 'crossed Windsor forest by night, and hastened toward 
 the sea-slinre, where the vessel appointed to await him was not to be 
 seen. He then sought a safe and udependent asylum in the Isle of 
 Wiirht, tiio strong castle of wliich, commaniled by an ollicer lie be- 
 lieved devoted to Ills .service, promised him security. He expected 
 from thence to treat freely with his people, but he found too late that 
 he was a prisoner in the castle, where he had supposed liimself 
 master. 
 
 Charles passed the winter in negotiations with the commissioners 
 appointed by tlie iiarliament. During tliese vain discussions, Crom- 
 well, Ireton, and the most fanatical of the ollicers, unea.sy at delay, 
 assembled at Windsor in secret council, and after having in their en- 
 thusiasm implored with prayers and tears that they might be en- 
 dowed with spiritual ligiit, they took the resolution of proclaiming 
 the republic, of bringing the king to trial, and of sacrilicing him to 
 the welfare of the nation. " There will be no peace," cried they, 
 *' for the people, no .security for the saints, so long as this prince. 
 even witiiin the walls of a prison, is made tlie in.strument of factious 
 treaties, tiie .secret hope of the amt)itious, and an object of pily to 
 the nation." 
 
 Implacable religion insiiireil the fanatics', fear imixilled the base, 
 ambition excited liie during, and the individual passion uf each ap-
 
 40 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 peared in the ej'cs of all as the announced decree of heaven. The 
 consummaliou •vvus decided on without a dissentient voice. From 
 this day fortli, the crime, already accomplished in the anticipation of 
 Cromwell, visibly appears to disorder liismind, to deprive his religion 
 of its innocence, his words of tiicir sincerity, his actions of their 
 piety, and to associate fatally in all his conduct tlie craftiness of 
 ambition and the cruelty of the executioner with the superstitious 
 bigotry of the sectarian. His soul is no longer clear ; it becomes ob- 
 scure and enigmatical for the world as well as for himself ; he wavers 
 between the fanatic and the assassin ; just punishment of a criminal 
 resolution, which assumes that the interest of a cause conveys the 
 right of life and deatii over the victim, and employs murder as the 
 means of producing the triumph of virtue. 
 
 At the same moment when the conspirators of Windsor decreed the 
 arrest of Charles, he himself pronounced his own sentence, in break- 
 ing ofT the rigorous negotiations with tlic parliameut, and in refusing 
 to affix his signature to the degradation of the royal aulliority. From 
 that time forward his captivity was no lonticr disguised under the 
 outward semblance of honor and respect. Shut up in the keep of a 
 strong castle, and deprived of all conmiunicalion with his friends, ho 
 had no society during a long winter i)ut that of an old domestic 
 who lit his fire and brought in his food. Throughout this protracted 
 and painful solitude, with a menacing fate present to ids iinagLnatiou, 
 and llie waves of the ocean bursting on his ears, he fortified liis mind, 
 naturally courageous tliough tender, by the aid of religion, and 
 prepared for the death with which all parties combined to threaten 
 him. His life constituted a pledge which each faction was afiaid to 
 leave in the hands of their opponents. None of them haled tlie man, 
 but all were equally anxious to get rid of the monarch. His death, 
 like tliat of the proscribed victims of Antony, Octavius, and Lcpidus, 
 at Rome, became a mutual sacrifice, reciprocally demanded by op- 
 posing ambition or baseness. 
 
 Another faction still more radical, that of the Levellers, the relig- 
 kus communists of the day, had already begun to spread among the 
 trrops of Cromwell. Armed, after his example, witii texts from the 
 Old and New Testament, interpreted by them as ordaining a perfect 
 equality of all classes, and an impartial division of the gifts bestov/cd 
 by heaven on man. this sect, which Cromwell bad, without liis own 
 knowledge, excited, he energetically and promptly suppressed in tlie 
 blood of several of his own soldiers. In proportion as he approached 
 bupreme authority, and exerci.sed uncontrolled command, tlie relig- 
 ionist gave way to the politician. In his soul the .spirit of sectarian- 
 ism disappeared under the desire of rule. He r( legated to heaven 
 all sublimated theories, saintly in their essence, but, utterly inapplica- 
 ble to liumiui iii.stilutions. His clear natural sense impres.sed on hinx 
 the necessity of power and the .sacredness of personal property, tho 
 two leading instincts of pubhc and domestic government. He re'
 
 OLIVER CKOilWELL. 41 
 
 paired to London, purified the parliament, through the agency of Colo- 
 nel Pride, of those members who were opposed to him, and pro- 
 claimed the republic, under the title of an assembly or convention of 
 the people. 
 
 The army and the parliament, insti.^ated by the puritans and re- 
 publicans, determined on the king's trial. Cromwell appeared 
 to hesitate before the enormity of the outrage. Fi-om his place in 
 the Plouse he spoke more in the tone of an inspired enthusiast than 
 a rational politician, and appeared to surrender his consent under the 
 influence of a supernatural impression. " If anyone," said he, with 
 an extravagant emotion which approached insanity, " had volunta- 
 rily proposed to me to judge and punish the king, I should have 
 looked upon him as a prodigy of treason ; but since Providence and 
 necessity have imposed this burden on us, I pray heaven to bless 
 your deliberations, although I am not prepared to advise you in this 
 weighty matter. Shall I confess to you," added he, in a tone and at- 
 titude of inward humiliation, " that when a short time since I offered 
 up a prayer for the preservation of his Majesty, I felt my tongue 
 cleave to my palate ? I took this extraordinary sensation as an unfa- 
 vorable answer from heaven, rejecting my humble entreaty." This 
 expression recalled the "Alert jacki est" of Ctesar, when he pushed 
 his horse into the Rubicon. But the Rubicon of Cromwell was the 
 blood of an innocent man and a sovereign shed by the crime and in- 
 gratitude of his people. 
 
 The i)arliament, carried away by the animosity and veheuience of 
 tlie common excitement, decreed the trial. Colonel Harrison, the 
 sou of a butcher, brutal in manners and sanguinary in disposition, 
 was .sent to conduct the king from the Isle of Wight, as a victim for 
 the shambles. Charles, passing through Windsor, under the shadow 
 of the royal castle of his ancestors, heard a voice, clioked with tears, 
 which addressed him through the bars of a dungeon : " Mv master • 
 my beloved m;ister ! is it really you that I behold again, and in this 
 condition?" The words proceeded fiom on(i of his old servants, 
 Ilainilloti, a prisoner, and, like himself, designed for the sciaffold! 
 The king recognized him, and replied, " Yes, it is I, and this is what 
 I have always wished to suffer for my friends." The savage Harri- 
 son would not permit any further conversation, but forced the king 
 to accelerate his pace. Hamilton I'ollowed him with his eyes, his 
 gestures, and his speech. 
 
 A high court of justi(;e, nominally composed of 333 members, but 
 of which seventy alone assumed their jilaces, awaited the arrival of 
 the monarch in L')ndon. He was lodged in his own palace of 
 Whitehall, now for the occasion converted into a prison. 
 
 It was di(li(Mdt to recognize the noble countenance of the captive, 
 still stamped with its usual characteristics of grace, majeslv, and se 
 renity. Durini; his solitary conliiiciiienl: in the (castle of ('';iiisl>roi)k 
 he had allowed his beard to grosv, and the gloomy shade of his duu-
 
 43 OLIVKU CROMWELL. 
 
 <j;con appeared to give au iiiinaliiial pallor to liis complexion. lie 
 was habited in moiirniug, as if in aulicii»atioa of death. lie had 
 abandoned all hopes on eartii ; hi.s looks and thoughts were now cen- 
 tred solely on eternity. No victim was ever more thoroughly pro- 
 j)ared to submit to lunnau injustice. The judges assembled in the 
 vast Gothic hall of AVeslminsler, the«]ialace of the ComuKMis. At 
 tlie first calling over of the list of menil)ers destined to compose the 
 tribunal, when the name of Fairfax was pronounced without re- 
 sponse, a voice from the crowd of spectators cried out, " lie has too 
 much sense to be here." When tlie act of accusation against the king 
 was read, in the name of (he peojHe of Enijla/ul, the same voice again 
 replied, "Not one tenth of them!" -The olHcer commanding the 
 guard ordered the soldiers to lire upon the gallery from whence these 
 rebellious words proceeded, when it was discovered that they had 
 been uttered by Lady Fairfax, the wife of the lord-general. This 
 lady, originally induced to adopt the cause of the parliament, from 
 party spirit and attachment to the opinions of her husband, now 
 trembled with him at the consequences of their own act, and re- 
 deemed, by a courageous expression of indignation and pity, the mis- 
 chief they had promoted by leading the sufferer to the feet of his 
 judges. 
 
 The king listened to this avowal of repentance, and forgave Fair- 
 fax in his heart for the victories which he had tempered with mercy, 
 and the success he had used Avilh moderation. The act of accusa- 
 tion was read to him, drawn up after the ciistomary formula, in 
 Avhich the words traitor, murderer, and public enemy, were, as 
 usual, freely applied by the concjuering to the vanquished party. He 
 li.steued to "them unmoved, with the calm superiority of innocence. 
 Determined not to degrade the inviolable majesty of kings, of which 
 he conceived himself the depositary and responsible representative, 
 he replied that he would never stoop to justify himself before a self- 
 elected tribunal of his own subjects, a tribunal which the religion as 
 •well as the laws of England equally forbade him to acknowledge. 
 " I shall leave to God," said he, in conclusion, " the care of my de- 
 fence, lest by answering I should acknowledge in you au authority 
 which has no better foundation than that of robbers tuid pirates, 
 and thus draw on my memory the reproach of posterity, that I had 
 my.self l)etrayed the constitution of the country, instead of selecting 
 the most estimable and enviable fate of a martyr." 
 
 Tlie president. Bradshaw, repelled this nibble recusancy of the king 
 as an act of blasphemy ; his words, in which personal hatred super- 
 seded dignity and ju.stice, mingled the bitterness of a revolted subject 
 with the calmness of au impartial judge. The soldiers, with whom 
 Cromwell had surrounded the hall, imitated the example of Brad- 
 shaw, and heaped insults upon their former sovereign, now their 
 prisoner. As he passed through their ranks on his return to White- 
 hall, he was assailed with cries of "Death!" on every side, and
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 43 
 
 some even spat in his face. Charles, without irritation, or feelin-' 
 himself degraded by these intemperate ebullitions, raised his eves *o 
 heaven in pious resio:nation, and bethought him of thp patience of 
 the sacred founder of the faith he professed, under similar outrao-es" 
 ^ Poor wretches !" exclaimed he to those who accimipanied him' 
 they would do the same to-morrow to their own officers for the 
 tnttiag remuneration of sixpence." The unsteady temper of the 
 army, alternately the tool of all parties, had struck his mind forcibly 
 since the revolution, and inspired him with piiy rather than with 
 
 A single veteran protested against the base venality of his com- 
 rades. As he saw the discrowned monarch pass before him he fell 
 on his knees, and with a loud voice called for tlie blessiu"' of heaven 
 on that royal and unhonored head. The officers indigumtly struck 
 him witii their swords, and punished his prayer and compassion as a 
 double crime. Ciiarles turned his head aside, an 1 uttered mildly 
 1 ruly, the punishment was too hea/y for tlie offence " The pop- 
 ulace, overawed by the soldiers, remained immovable spectators of 
 the trial and confined themselves to expressing by a mournful 
 silence their repugnance at being compelled to submit to this 
 national tragedy. 
 
 It was expected by many that the army, having obtained the sen- 
 tence of their sovereign, would spare England the disgrace of the 
 punishment. The king himself had no longer hope in man The 
 republicans were determined imt to acknowledge the ri"-hts'of his 
 children to the crown, which might be construed into a superstitious 
 weakness m favor of monarchy. Cromwell, however, did not con- 
 ceal from himself the certainty of a restoration, after a temporary 
 «:lipse He knew the dispositions of men too well to suppose that 
 he could found a dynasty of his own blood. He had ever too much 
 religious disinterestedness to desire that selfish glorv The transi- 
 tory nature of earthly grandeur disappeared in his eyes, when com- 
 pared with futurity. His eternal safety was, at the bottom the 
 leading point of bis aml)ition ; l)ut he was desirous that the republic 
 cemented !,y the blood of the king, and thus protected from moaai-: 
 chical enterprises, should last at least until religious liberty was too 
 Bolidly foun. ed in the three kingdoms for eith.T the ifomish or An- 
 glican church ever again to interfere with the unshackled freedom of 
 conscience. Lverytl.u.g in the confidential letters and private con- 
 vers.at.ons of Cronnyell with his family at this epoch proves that he 
 had no otl.er object in sunendering Charles the First to the scalfoKl 
 An utter disregard of .selfish motives at this momentous crisis of hi.s 
 life hid from him the ferocity and inLpiily of the act, and enabled 
 him, when once his inspiration was cxamiiK",! and obeyed, to assume 
 mat calmness of demeanor and imperturbable serenity of counte- 
 /lancc wlirch historians have described as cruelty, but which, in fact 
 won only f anal icisrn. '
 
 44 OLIVKK (IIO.MUELL. 
 
 Tliis singular tranquiHity. which M. Villemain has oloquontly des- 
 innated the (jmjeti, of crime, sijiuifu'il itself by the most repiilsivo 
 wonls and qiu'stions'durini; the lust days of Ihe trial. The military 
 sectariau appears to have entirely replaee.! the man of human syinpa- 
 thies iu Cromwell, a lender hushand to his wife, a father all'ection- 
 ate even to Aveakness to his own chililren, he spared neither the hus- 
 hand nor the fathe- nor the rhildren in the victim he offered up to 
 heaven, as if he had been a leader under the old law, commanded 
 by an implacable jirophet of the Bible lo sacrifice a kin<!;. the enemy 
 of his people. From the records of those scriptural limes he had im- 
 pressed his heart with their ferocity. He grasped the knife of the 
 executioner with a hand as obedient as that which had hitherto 
 wielded the sword. The punishment of C'luuies the First was less 
 an English than a Jewish murder. Cromwell with difhculty granted 
 the respite of three days wbich Charles demanded after his sentence 
 was pronounced, to prepare for death, and to administer his last con- 
 tiolation lo his ab.sent wife, and chililren who were with him. He 
 deluded, by miserable and ironical subterfuges, the pity and indeci- 
 sion of the other generals le.ss hardened Ukui himself, and who ear- 
 nestly represented to him the enormity, the uselessness, and the bar- 
 barism of the execution. He equally evaded the remonstrances of 
 the foreign ambassadors, who offered to purcha.se the life of Charles 
 by large subsidies to England and an enormous tribute to himself. 
 He piUlessly set aside the intercession of his near relative, Colonel 
 Sir John Cromwell. He answered all by the oracle and in>piration 
 repeatedly consulted in his prayers, and to which he declared, in 
 spite of tears and entreaties, that there was but one sxmvfGv— Death / 
 Another of his relations, Colonel Ingoldsby, entered the hall acciden- 
 tally while the officers were signing the sentence of the parliament, 
 and refused to set his name to an act that his conscience (disapproved. 
 Cromwell rose from his seat, and clasping Ingoldsby in his arms, as 
 if the death-warrant of the king was a camp frolic, carried Inm to 
 the table, and guiding the pen in his hand, forced him to sign, with 
 a laugh and a joke." AVhen all had affixed their names, Cromwell, 
 as if unable lo contain his joy, snatched the pen from the fiugers of 
 the last, dipped it anew in the ink, and smeared the face of his next 
 neighbor, either thinking or not thinking that in that ink he beheld 
 the blood of his king. 
 
 Never before had there been exhibited such a striking contrast be- 
 tween the murderer and his victim— the fanatic and the man of gen- 
 uine pietv. While Cromwell sported thus, with the sword m his 
 hand, the three days of respite accorded to the king by the decorum of 
 political justic ■ unveiled lo the world all that Ihe heart of a monarch 
 a man, a husband, a father, and a Christian could contain, of 
 h'^roism, manly tenderness, resignation, immortal hope, and holy 
 
 reliance. ' ,.,..» 
 
 Tiie.se last hours were entirely employed, minute by minute, by
 
 OLIVER CROilWELL. 45 
 
 Charles, iu living to the last with the superhuman self-possession of 
 a sage whose whole existence hud been an apprenticeship to death, 
 or of a man who saw before him the certainty of a protracted lite. 
 His resigned conversations, his pious exercises, his severe scrutiny, 
 without'indulgence or weakness, of his own conscience, his examina- 
 tion of his past conduct, his remorse for having sacriticed Strafford, 
 to smooth a difficulty in his reign which became more insurmount- 
 able toward the end"^; his royal and patriotic anxieties respecting the 
 fate of the kinsidom, which he lett to all the hazards of a gloomy 
 future; f. nail vT the revived feelings of love for a young, beautiful, 
 and adored wife, and the agonizing thoughts of a father for the chil- 
 dren of tender age still in England iu the hands of his inveterate en- 
 emies—all these conflicting emotions tilled those funereal days and 
 nitrhts with worldly cares, with tears of anguish, with recommenda- 
 tions of his soul toheaven, and, above all, with an earnest of eternal 
 peace ; that peace from above, which descends through the vaulted 
 roof of the dungeon and nestles in the heart of the just and innocent. 
 Of all modern historical sufferings, including those of Louis the 
 Sixteenth in the Temple, the end of Charles ihe First bears the most 
 striking reseml)lance to the end of an ancient philosopher. Royalty 
 and religion add to both something even more august and divine thau 
 we can discover in any of the earlier examples. The throne and the 
 scaffold appear to be divided by -i more immeasurable abyss tiian tlie 
 narrow interval which separates ordinary life and deatli. The great- 
 er the portion of earthly grandeur and hapt)iness we are called upon 
 to abandon, so much more sublime h the philosophy which can re- 
 nounce it with a tranquil smile. But although the virtue of the two 
 monarchs is equal, that of Charles is the most brilliant ; for Charles 
 the First was a hero, while Louis the Sixteenth was only a saint. In 
 Charles tliere was the courage of a great man, while in Louis there 
 was only the resignation of an exemplary martyr. 
 
 Nature nevertheless (and herein consists the pathetic sublimity of 
 his last hours, for nothing is truly beautiful whicii departs from na- 
 ture) combated witliout subduing his lirnuiess, when it became ncC' 
 essary to take leave of his belovt-d children. These were the Prin- 
 cess Elizabeth and the Duke of Gloucester, scarcely old enough to 
 weep for the parent they were about to lose. Their mother hail res- 
 cued the otliers, iiichnling tiio I'rince of Wales, from the power of 
 parliament. Slie kept them in France, to preserve the suceessiuu 
 and revenge their father. Her daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, was 
 endowed willi reason and maturity of feeling beyond her age. The 
 vicissitudes, tlie flights, the imprisonments, the domestic woes of the 
 family, to whicli she had been accustomed from her cradle, had 
 btrengthened her intellect by misfortune, and given her a precocity 
 fluperior to iier years. Her father dehgiited to recognize in her the 
 grace and sensibility of her alisciit mother, whom she replaced in tiio 
 hat confidence of the dying husband. He consoled himself with Iha
 
 4G OLIVEIl rROinvELI, 
 
 idea IlKXt she ^'oul.l n-tain the vivid imi)resj;iou of his farewell 
 u>H,ls. a.ul transmit tliem still glowing with tenderness to his be- 
 U)v'd,)a.'tner. - Tell her," said lie to his young daughter, _ that 
 throuohout the whole course of our union I have never, even in im- 
 a.' don, violated the tidelity I pledged to '.'V^.'^'^^^ f''^'" ^J,^'«« 
 K duty, and that my love will only expire with the mum es which 
 llJJmiaate my existence. I shall end by loving her ^here below, to 
 recommeuee mv alfection again through all eternity. 
 
 tZu takingUie little Dukeof Gloucester, who was only hye years 
 old upon his^kuees, and desiring to impress upon the mind of the 
 fnfant bya trairical ima-e, the counsel which through him he ai- 
 drS d o all the familyC " My child," said he •' they are gomg to 
 cvuoff thy father's head!" The boy gazed ^^^th >mx.ous and as^ 
 t-mished looks upon the countenance ot the speaker. les, con- 
 iS the king, seeking to fix the terrible remembrance by r^^^^^^^ 
 '! ley ill cut'of my ifea.l, and perhaps make thee king But pay 
 attention to my words ; thou must not be made a king by ^ em ^h.^ 
 thv elder brothers. Charles and James, are hviug. riiej ^^ 1 c t oil 
 their heads also, if they can lay banc s on them, and ^v' '^n I Y cut- 
 ling oil thine. I therefore command thee never to be made a king 
 
 ^'Vhe dii'ld, who was impressed with the mournful scene and solemn 
 ^v-arniug, appeared suddenly struck by a light am a sense of obed i- 
 c-nce bevond his aire. " No," he replied. •' I will not consent-thev 
 sSall never make' me a king. I will be torn to pieces fi st ! 
 Charles in this infantine heroism, recognized a voice from heaven 
 whk-h assured him that his posterity would be *^;^ ^^^^f^^"^ 
 8eekin<r to restore the throne alter his decease. He sled ttais ot ]oy 
 as he I'urrcndered back the Duke of Gloucester to the arms ot the 
 
 ^"^Frmn his chamber in the palace of AVhitehall he could distinctly 
 hear te noise of the workmen, who were hastily employed mght 
 anL in erceting the timber work of the scaffold on which he .was 
 to sviffer These^reparations, which multiplied while they an tiei 
 pated the keen senLti ,ns of his approaching death neither disturbed 
 hS step nor hiterrupted his conversations.* On the morning of h s 
 execuio. I e r,se before the dawn. He called Herbert, tlie only at- 
 Sant "lowed to wait upon him. and instructed him to bestow more 
 ban ordnirv care on his apparel, b<jming such a great and ham 
 SJL'v, a.s L designated i/-^A. <^lose <^ hi. eartMytrouI^na ^ 
 commejicement of his eternal heippiness. He passed some time in pri- 
 ?Lte p aTer wUh the Bishop of London, the venerable and eloqut^nt 
 Juxon?a mag worthy by his virtu e_toc omprehend, console, and em. 
 
 ' * M. deLamartine appears to l-vefoU;;^inm,je in tl,iB account^ ^M^, 
 ^S^Z^:^ nX.^ U^e i^ra^le!:^«rU^'^uaH. to It. Banquet. 
 fngTiouic' at Whitehall, where the scaffold wa« erected.
 
 OLIVEK CKOMWELL. itt 
 
 ulate his death. Already they communicated with heaven. The 
 oflBcers of Cromwell interrupted them to announce that the hour of 
 execution had struck, and that the scatfold waited for the victim. 
 It was tixed against the palace, facing the great square of Whitehall, 
 and was reached by passing through a gallery on the same flour! 
 Charles walked with a slow and steady step, which sought not to 
 hasten the last moment, as if, by an involuntary emotion of human 
 weakness, the victim desired to anticipate the hour appointed by hea- 
 ven. A dense mass of Cromwell's troops surrounded the place of 
 execution. The inhabitants of London, and stranscers from the 
 neighboring districts, crowded the open space in front, the roofs of 
 the houses, the trees, and the balconies on every side, from which it 
 was possible to oljlain a glimpse of the proceedings. Some came to 
 see, others to rejoice, but by far the greater portion to shudder and 
 weep. Cromwell, knowing well the general impression of horror 
 which the death of the king would convey to the minds of the peo- 
 ple, and which they looked upon as a species of deicide, was deter- 
 mmed to prevent the favorable effect ids last words might produce, 
 and removed tiie crowd of citizens beyond the reach of a human 
 voice. Colonel Tomlinson, selected especially to guard the prisoner 
 and conduct him to the block, was overcome by the consistent spec- 
 tacle of intrepidity, resignation, and majesty which the royal victim 
 exhibited. The jailer had been converted into the friend and con- 
 soler of his captive. The other officers had also experienced tiie 
 softening of hatred and involuutary respect for innocence which 
 Providence often reserves for the condemned as the last adieu of 
 earth, and a tardy acknowledgment of human justice. Surrounded 
 by this cortege of relenling enemies or weeping friends, Charles, 
 .standing erect, and more a king than ever, on the steps of his eternal 
 throne, assumed the privilege awarded in England to every sentenced 
 criminal, of si^.-aklug llie last words in his own cause. 
 
 After having clearly demonstrated that he only performed his duty 
 in appealing to arms when tiie parliament had first resorted to that 
 alternative, and tiiat he was called upon to defend in the royal prero"-- 
 ative a fundamental principle of the coiistitulion. for which he was 
 responsible to his successors, to his i)eople, and to God himself he 
 acknowledged, with true Christian iiuiiulitv, that although innocent 
 belore the law of the crimes for wiiidi he was about to sutfer his 
 conscience told him that he had been guilty of many faults 'and 
 weaknesses, for which he accepted without a murmur his present 
 death as a meet and salutary expiation. " I bas(;ly ratilied " said 
 he. in allusion to tlie fate of Slrairurd. '• an unjust sentence, and the 
 similar injuslico I am now to undergo is a seasonable retribution for 
 the punishment I inflicted on an iniioeent man. I hold none 
 among you respoiiMhle for the death to which I am condemned by 
 divme decree, and which works its ends by human instriiinents. I 
 lay not my blood on you or on my people, and demand no other
 
 48 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 compensation for my pnnislimcnt than iho return of peace, and a ro. 
 vival of the fidelity which the kingdom owes to my children." 
 
 At thesi! words every eye was suffused wiUi tears. He concluded 
 by bidding adieu to those who liad been hir, subjects, and by a last 
 BOlenm mvoeation to the oidy Jiiduie ta whom he was now respon- 
 sible. Sighs alone were heard during the intervals wliieh marked 
 these last outpourings of his heart. lie spoke, and was silent. 
 Bishop Juxon, who attended him to the last moment, as ho ap- 
 proached the block, said to him, " Sire, there is but one step more, 
 a sharp and short one ! Hemembcr tliat in another second yon will 
 ascend from earth to heaven, and that there you will find in an infi- 
 nite and inexhaustible joy the reward of your saciifice, and a crown 
 that shall never pass away." 
 
 " ^ly friend." replied Charles, interrupting him with perfect com- 
 posure, " I go from a corrupnl)le crown to an incorruptible one, and 
 which, as you say, I feel convinced I shall possess forever without 
 trouble or anxiety." 
 
 He was proceeding to speak further, when, perceiving one of 
 the assistants stumble against the weapon of the executioner, which 
 lay by the side of ".he block, and who by bhmting the edge might in- 
 crease the sensation of thebloAv, " Touch not the axe !" he exclaimed 
 in a loud voice, and with an expression of anger. He then prajed 
 again tor a few moments, in a low tone, and approaching Bishop 
 Juxon to embrace him for the last time, while pressing his luind with 
 fervor, uttered in a solemn tone the single word, " lleiaember!" This 
 cnicmatical expression, which afterward receivc-d many mysterious 
 and forced interpretations, was simply a repetition of what he had 
 already instructed Juxon to convey to his children when they grew 
 up, and became kings — to forgive their enemies. Juxon bowed 
 without speaking, which indicated implicit obedience to liis royal 
 master's wishes. The king knelt down, and calmly inclined his head 
 upon the block. Two men in masks laid hold of Charles respect- 
 fully, and arranged him in a suitable position. One of them then 
 raised the axe, and severed his head at a single blow. The other 
 lifted it up, still sircamiug with blood, and exhibiting it to the people, 
 cried out, " Behold the head of a traitor !" 
 
 A general murmur of disapprobation arose simultaneously from 
 that vast crowd when they hciird those words, which seemed to sur- 
 pass the outrage of the execution itself. The tears of the nation 
 protested against I he ferocious butchery of the army. England felt 
 as if she harl laid upon herself the crime and future punishment 
 of parricide. Cromwell was all-powerful, but detested, in him, the 
 murderer was thenceforward associated with the politician and the 
 hero. Liberty could no longer voluntarily bend under the iron rule 
 of a man who had thus abused his authority and reputation. He 
 ceased to govern except by the iniluence of tlu; army, whose com 
 plicity he had purchased, who obeyed without reasoning, and who
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 49 
 
 had no conscience beyond their pay. He reached the dictatorship 
 through the avenues of crime. The parliament had already become 
 too subservient to the army, and too much estranged from the popular 
 feeling of England, to offer any opposition to the views of Cromwell, 
 To obtain a protector they were forced to accept a master ; they 
 had voted for the suppresMon of the monarchy, but not for the es- 
 tablishment of slavery. The royal children embarrassed them. It 
 was debated whether or not the Princess Elizabeth should be appren- 
 ticed 10 a butt(*nmaker in the cit}-, but this, the beloved daughter of 
 her father, more susceplil)le of grief than her young L, other, died of 
 the shock occasioned by the king's execution. The Duke of Glou- 
 cester was permitted to join his mother in France. 
 
 A terrible book, the posthumous work and justification of Charles 
 the First, entitled Eikoii Bdsilike, came forth like a subterranean 
 voice from the tomb which had scarcely closed over the king, and 
 excited the conscience of England even to delirium. It was the ap- 
 peal of memory and virtue to posterity. This book, spreading with 
 rapidity among the people and throughout Europe, commenced a 
 second trial, an eternal process between kings and their judges. 
 Cromwell, intimidated by the universal murmur which this publica- 
 tion excited against him. sought among his partisans a living voice 
 sufficiently potent to counterbalance that of the dead. 
 
 He found Milton, the most epic of poets, and the only candidate 
 for immortality among the republicans of England. Milton had just 
 returned from Italy ; there he had iml)ibed, Avith the dust of many a 
 Brutus and Cassius, the miasmas of political assassination, justified, 
 according to his notions, by individual tyraun}-. He had contracted, 
 in his literary commerce with the great popular celebrities of history, 
 the noble passion of republican liberty. He saw in Charles the First 
 u tyrant, in Cromwell a liberator. He thought lo serve the oppressed 
 cause of tlie people by combating the dogmas of the inviolability of 
 the persons and lives of kings ; but in this particular instance he was 
 ba.se enough to plead the cause of the murderer against the victim. 
 His book on regicide jjaralyzed the worhl. These are questions to bo 
 probed with the sword, and never with the pen. "Whenever the death 
 of one by the hands of many forms the basis of a polemical principle, 
 that death is an act of cowardice, if not of criminality ; and a just 
 and generous mind abstains from defending it, either in mercy or 
 from conviction. Milton's book, rewarded by the gratitude of Crom- 
 well, and by the place of .secretary to the new council of state under 
 the republican government, is a .stain of blood on the pure page of 
 his reputation. It became effaced in his old aije, when blind,"'indi- 
 gent, and proscribed, like Homer, he celebrated, after his example, 
 in u divine poem, the early innocence of man, the n-volt of the in- 
 fernal powers, tiie factions of the heavenly agents, and the triumph 
 of eternal Justice over the .spirit of evil. 
 Cromwell, compelled to support tyranny by imposing silence, or-
 
 50 OLIVKK CKO.MWKLL. 
 
 dorod his pnrliiimont to interdict the liberty of the press. lie trem- 
 bled for a inoinout before the popular faction of the Levellers, who 
 wished to erect on cvangelic;d equality the anti-social consequence 
 of a conununitv of lands and i!;oo(ls. For the second time he discov- 
 ered tliat every dictator who abandoned public and domestic rights 
 lo these Avild" dreams, subversive of proprietorship and hereditary 
 rights (the only conditions on which hiunan nistitutions can subsist), 
 w7)uld soon become a chief of banditti, and not the head of a govern- 
 ment. Ilis strong sense showed him the impossibility of reasoning 
 with such extreme doctrines, and the necessity of utterly extirpating 
 their advocates. " There can be no middle course here," ex(;laimed 
 lie to the parliament and the leaders of the army ; " we must reduce 
 this party to dust, or must submit to be scattered into dust by them." 
 The Levellers vanished at tlie word, as they disappeared some years 
 later before the insurrection of London imder Charles the Second, 
 and as the impossible will ever give way before the really praclicat)le. 
 But all the opposing factions, whetlier in the jjarliament or the 
 army, airrecd in calling upon Cromwell to reduce rebellious and an- 
 archical' Ireland. He set out in regal state, in a carriage drawn by- 
 six horses, escorted bv a stiuadron of guards and attended by the 
 parliament and council of state, who accompanied him as far as 
 Brentford. The Marquis of Ormond, who commanded the forces of 
 the royali.sts, was defeated near Dublin. Cromwell converted his 
 victories into massacres, and pacilicd Ireland through a tleluge of 
 blood. Recalled to London, after nine mouths of combats and exe- 
 cutions, by the commotions in Scotland, lie left Ireland to the care 
 of his .son-in-law and fieutenant, Ireton. 
 
 The royalist cause sprang up anew under his feet from its sub- 
 verted fouiulations. The Prince of Wales, the eldest sou of Charles 
 the First, and now king by the execution of his father, but aban- 
 doned and shanu;fully banished from France by the complaisance of 
 Cardinal .Afazarin for Cromwell, had taken refuge in Holland, and 
 afterward in the little island of Jersey, to watch the favorable mo- 
 ment for re-entering England thnnigh the avenue of Scotland. The 
 Scotch parliament, composed of fanatical Presl)yterians, as hostde to 
 the independent faith of Cromwell as to the papacy itself, treated for 
 the throne with the Prince of Wales. They only required of him 
 in acknowledgment of his restoration in Scotland, the recognition of 
 their national Church. This Church was a species of biblical mysti- 
 cism savage, and calling itself inspired, founded on the ruins of the 
 Kom'ish fa?tli' by a prophet named John Knox, with the sword in his 
 hand, excommunication on his lips, and superstition in his heart— the 
 true religion of civil war, replacing one intolerance by another, and 
 adding to the natural ferocity of the people the most ridiculous as- 
 sumption of exireme sanctity. Scotland at that time resembled a 
 Hebrew tribe, governed by a leader a.ssuming divine inspiration, la^ 
 Icrpreled through his disciples and priests. It was the theocracy of
 
 OLIVEJi CKOMWELL. 51 
 
 madness, and the practice was worthy of the dogma. An lionest 
 superstition in some, a sombre hypocrisy in others, impressed on the 
 manners, tlie government, and the army itself, an austerity and re- 
 morseless piety which gave to this insurrection against Catholicism 
 the silence, the terrors, and the flaming piles of the Spanish Inquisi- 
 tion. The Prince of Wales, young, handsome, thoughtless, volup- 
 tuous, and unl)elieving— a true English Alcibiades— condemned to 
 govern a nation of bigoted and cruel sectarists, hesitated to accept a 
 throne which he could only keep by feigning the hypocrisy and fa- 
 naticism of his parliament, or by rashly repudiating the yoke of the 
 clergy. 
 
 But at the same moment when the parliament offered him the 
 crown on these debasing conditions, another promised it to him as 
 the price of glorious and daring achievements. This was the young 
 Montrose, one of those lofty .spirits cut short in the flower of their 
 career, equally belonging by nature to antiquity and chivalry, and al- 
 ternately compared, by the historians of the time, to the demigods 
 of romance and the heroes of Plutarch. 
 
 Montrose was a Scottish nobleman of high rank and opulent pos- 
 sessions. After having combated at the head of the royal army for 
 Charles the First until his chances were extinguished," he had fled 
 for refuge to the Continent. His name, his cause, his youth, his per- 
 sonal beauty, the graces of his conversation, and the report of his 
 character, Irad obtained for him at the difl'erent courts of Germany a 
 reception which encouraged his hopes of restoring the leijilimate 
 monarchy in his own country. He detested and despised tlie ultra- 
 puritans as the leprosy of the land. He was adored by the Highland 
 clans, a rural and warlike class^ somewhat resembling the Vendeans 
 of France, who acknowledged only their sword and their king. 
 Montrose, having levied at his own expense live hundred German 
 auxiliaries, to serve as a nucleus for the army that he expected the 
 sound of his steps would raise for Charles the Second in the moun- 
 tain.s, landed in Scotland, and fought like an adventurer and a hero, 
 at the head of llie flrst groups of his partisans he could collect to- 
 gether, lint being surrounded by the army of the Scottish parliii- 
 ment, before he could assemble the insurgent clans he was conqiiered, 
 wounded, imprisoned in irons, and carried in triumph to Edinburgh^ 
 to serve as a mockery and a victim to I he clergy and the govern- 
 ment. His ff)rehcad bare and cicalrizcd by wounds, his garments 
 slained with his r)w n blood, an ir<jn collar encircling his neck, chain.s 
 tiistened round his arms and attached on each side to the .stock of the 
 wheel of a cart in which ho was placed, the executioner on horseback 
 in front of the veiiicle— in this manner he entered the capital of 
 Scotland, while tin- nicmbcrs f)f the j)arlinnient and tlu; minisl(!rs of 
 the Chtirch alternately howled torlh psalms and overwhelmed him 
 with execrations. 'I'lic pco|)le wept at the sad spectacle, but con- 
 cealed their tears, lest pity thould be coustrued into blasphemy by
 
 b2 OLIVHII CROMWELL. 
 
 tlic Prcsb^'tcrians of Knox. The clergy, on Uio following Sunday, 
 proat'hcd against tins coniiiassionate ■weakness, and declared tliat. a 
 hardening of Uie heart was liie chosen token of tlie elect. Montroso 
 defended himself with el(K[nence, to vindicate his honor, not to pre- 
 serve his life. His discourse wa.s worthy of the most clo(iuent advo- 
 cates of Rome or Athens. It was answered by a prompt and igno- 
 minious execution. 
 
 The Presbyterian ministers, under the pretext of prajdng for his 
 salvation, after liaving demanded his blood, came to insult him in his 
 dungeon by their derisive chnrity. " Have pity, Lord !" cried 
 they aloud, " on this unl)eliever, this wicked persecutor, this traitor, 
 who is about to pass from the scaffold of his earthly ijuuishment to 
 the eternal condemnation reserved for his imjueties.' 
 
 Tiiey announced that the sentence condemned him " to be hung on 
 a gibbet thirty feet high, where he was to be exposed during three 
 hours ; that his head would then he cut off and nailed to the gates of his 
 prison, and that his arms and legs, severed from his body, would be 
 distributed to the four principal cities of the kingdom." " I only 
 Avish," replied Montrose, "that I had limbs enough to be dispersed 
 through every city in Europe, to bear testimou}' in the cause for 
 which I have fought and am content to die." 
 
 Delivered from the presence of his leligious persecutors, Montrose, 
 who had cultivated poetry as the relnxation of his mind, composed 
 some verses, inspired by love and death, in which he perpetuated, in 
 language that will endure forever, his last farewell to all he hiid 
 valued on earth. The poet in these parting lines is worthy of tlie 
 hero. On the following day he underwent his punishment wilii the 
 constancy of a martyr, ilis head and limbs were exposed, according 
 to the sentence, in the four leading cities of Scotland. Charles the 
 Second, on learning at Jersey the defeat and death of his friend, with 
 the triumph of the parliament, hesitated no longer to accept the crown 
 from the ensanguined hands of the Scotch Presbyterians, hencefor- 
 ward without comr)etit(jrs in Edinburgh. He disembarked in Scot- 
 land, in the midst of the army whicii came to meet him. The first 
 sight that greeted his eyes was a fragment of the body of his devoted 
 partisan Montrose, nailed to tlie gate of the city. 
 
 It is easy to imagine what must have been the reign of this young 
 sovereign ; enslaved by a pa'liament ; watched by the clergy ; domi- 
 neered over by the generals of the army ; a prisoner rather than a 
 king among his .superstitious subjects ; ol)lige(i to feign, in order to 
 conciliate them, a fanatical austerity whicli lie laughed at in his heart ; 
 persecuted even in his palace by the exiiortations of Presbyterian 
 prophets, who spied into his inmost thoughts and construed the light- 
 ness of youth into public enormities. One morning he escaped from 
 them by flight, preferring liberty to a throne held on such conditions. 
 He was overtaken and carried back to Edinljurgii ; the necessity of 
 bis name induced them to grant him a small addition of authority.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. • 53 
 
 Re was permitted to fight at the head of the army, destined to invade 
 England, at the instigation of the roj'alists ot the north. Cromwell 
 marched against him and enlerfd Scotland. The Prince of Wales, 
 escaping, with 14,000 Scotchmen, from the ill-combined mananivres 
 of his opponent, penetrated boldly through the rear of his army and 
 advanced into the heart of the kingdom. He obtained possession of 
 Worcester, and there rallied round him his supporters from every 
 quarter. Cromwell, surprised but indefatigable, allowed him no 
 time to collect reinforcements. He fell upon Worcester with 40,000 
 men, fought in the streets of the town, inundated them with blood, 
 and utterly dispersed the army of the Prince of Wales. The Prince 
 himself, after performing prodigies of valor, worthy of his rank and 
 pretensions, escaped uncfer cover of the darkness, attended only by a 
 handful of devoted cavaliers. After having traversed twenty leagues 
 in a single night, they abandoned their horses and dispersed them- 
 selves in the woods. 
 
 Attended only by the Earl of Derby, an English nobleman who 
 had brought him succors from the Lsle of Man, Charles sought refuge 
 With a farmer named Pendereii, assumed the garb and implements of 
 a woodcutter, and worked with the four sons of the farmer, to deceive 
 the search of C^rom well's troopers, scattered through the fields ajad 
 forests in pursuit. Sleeping on a bed of straw, and furnished with 
 coar.se barley-bread iu the cottage of Pendereii, he was even com- 
 pelled, 1)3' the domiciliary visits of the puritans, to quit that humble 
 abode and conceal himself for several nights within the branches of 
 a large tree, called ever after the Roijid Oak, the thickly spreading 
 leaves of which concealed him from tlie soldiers posted below. 
 
 A royalist colonel named Lane sheltered him afterward at Bentley, 
 and a.ssisted him to reach tiie port of Bristol, where he hoped to em- 
 bark for the Continent. The feet of the young king were so blistered 
 by walking that he was obliged to pass on horseback through the 
 districts traversed by the dragoons of the enemy. The second 
 daughter of Colonel Lane conducted him in the disguise of a peasant 
 to the hoii.se of her sister, Mrs. ]\Iorton, in the vicinity of Bristol. 
 Arriving at her sister's abode, she intrusted to no one the name of 
 the young coiuitryman svlio attended Ikt ; she merely asked for an 
 apartment and a Ijcd lor him, siiying that he was sulfeiing from a 
 fever, and recommended him to the special care of the servants. 
 One of them entered the room to i)riug him refreshments. The noble 
 and majestic countenance of tiie prince .shone forth under his liumble 
 vestments, and carried conviction to the eyes of the; domestic. He 
 fell on his knees before the couch of Charles, saluted him as his 
 master, ami uttered aloud the prayer in common use iuiiong the roy- 
 alists for the pre.servation of the king. Charles in vain endeavored 
 to deceive him ; he was forced to acknowledge his identity, and to 
 enjoin silence. 
 
 From thence, not being able to liud a vessel on the coast, he wad
 
 54 oi-ivi:ii c uo.m\vi:ll. 
 
 convej'cd to the residenre of a widow named Windham, who had 
 Inst ht'i- hiisband and tluee eldest sons iu the cause of Charles the 
 First, and with uiishakcu devotitjn now offered her two surviving 
 ones to the successor of the decapitated monarch. She received 
 Charles, nut as a fu-?itive hut as a Uiii,-;-. " When my husband lay on 
 liis death-bed," said she, " he called to him om- five sons, and thus 
 addressed them : ' My children, we have hitherto enjoyed calm and 
 peaceful days under oiu- three last sovereigns ; Imt I warn you that 
 I see clouds and tempests gathering over the kingdom. I perceive 
 factions spriu^nng up in every quarter, which menace the repose of 
 our beloved coun'trv. Listen to me well : wha'.ever turn events may 
 take, be ever true to your lawful sovereign ; obey him, and remain 
 loyal to the crown ! Yes,' added he with vehemence, ' 1 charge you 
 to stand by the crown, even though it should hiinfj upon a bush I' These 
 last words engraved their dutv on the hearts of my children," cou- 
 tinned the mother, " and those who are still s[)ared to me are yours, 
 as their dead brothers 'vcre given to your father." 
 
 All the rovalists of the neighborhood were acquainted witli and 
 guarded thesec.r''t of the residence of Charles at the hou.se of the 
 Windhams. '^ c seal of fidelity was upon the lips as upon the hearts 
 of the entire c-,..ntry. This secret, so long and miraculously kept, 
 was only iu dan^:er of being betrayed at the moment when the young 
 king, still disi^aiised, was llyiug toward the coast to place the seas 
 between his head and the sword of Cromwell. His horse having 
 loosened a shoe, a farrier to whom he applied to fasten it, with the 
 quick intelligence of his trade, examined the iron, and said, in a lov/ 
 and suspicious tone, " These shoes were never forged in this country 
 but in the north of England." But the smith proved as di.screet and 
 faithful as the servant. Charles, remounting his horse without dis- 
 covery, galloped toward the beach, where a skilf was waiting for 
 him. The Continent a second time protected him from the pursuit 
 
 of Cromwell. , , , t ^^ 
 
 The royalists conquered, the king beheaded, the Levellers sup- 
 pressed Ireland slaughtered, Scotland reduced to subiection, the no- 
 bility cajoled, the parliament tamed, religious factions deadened or 
 extin"-uished by liberty of conscience, the maritime war against Hoi- 
 hind teeming with naval triumphs, the resignation of his command 
 by Fairfax through dissust and lepentance, the subserviency ol 
 Monk, left by Cromwell in Edinburgh to keep the Scotch in order— 
 the voluntarj', servile, and crouching submission ol the other nulitary 
 leaders, eatrer to rally round success— all these coinciding events, all 
 these crimes, all these acts of crinuing ])aseness, all these accumulated 
 successes, which never fail to attend the steps of the lavorites of 
 fortune during her smiles, left nothing for Cromwell to desire, it the 
 undisputed passession of England had been his only object. But all 
 who study his character with impartiality will perceive that he had 
 yet another— the possession of heaven. His future salvation occu-
 
 OLIVER CKO.M\VEi.L. C-^ 
 
 pied his tboughls beyoud earthly empire. He was never more a 
 /heologian than when he was an uncontrolled dictator. Instead of 
 Announcing his sovereignty under a special title, he allowed his 
 friends to proclaim the republic. Pie was content to bold the sword 
 and dictate the word. His decrees were oracles ; he sought only to be 
 the great inspired prophet of his country. His correspondence at this 
 epoch attests the humble thoughts of a father of a Christian family, 
 who neither desires nor foresees a throne as the inheritance of his 
 ehildren. 
 
 " Mount your father's little farm-horse, and ride not in luxurious 
 carriages." he writes to his daughter-in-law, Doroth}'. He married 
 Lis eldest son, Richard, to the daughter of one of his friends, of mid- 
 dle st.'v.tion and limited fortune, and on his espousals gave him more 
 delts than property. To this friend, the father-in-law of his sou, he 
 writes thus : " I intrust Richard to you ; I jjray you give him sage 
 counsiel ; I fear lest he should suffer himself to be led away by the 
 vain pleasures of the world. Induce him to study ; study is good, 
 particularly when directed to things eternal, which are more profitable 
 than the idle enjoyments of this life. Such thoughts will lit him for 
 the public service to which men are destined." 
 
 " Be not discouiaged," he suys to Lord Wharton, another of his 
 own sect; "you are offended because at the elections the people 
 often choose their representatives perversely, rejecting prolitable 
 members and. returning unfruitful ones. It has been so for nine 
 years, and behold, nevertheless, what God has done with these evil 
 iastrunients in that time. Judge not the manner of his proceedings !" 
 
 " With you, in consequence of these murmuriugs of the sprdt," 
 continues Cromwell, '-there is trouble, pain, tWbarrassment, and 
 doubt ; with me, cunfideace, certainty, light, satisfaction ! Yes. 
 complete internal satisfaction ! Oh, weakness of human hearts !" 
 concluded he, hastily, as his thoughts flowed ; " false promises of 
 the world ! shortcoming ideas which Hatter mortal vanity ! How 
 much better is it to be the follower of the Lord, in the heaviest 
 work ! In this holy duty, how ditlicult do we find it to rise above 
 the weakness of our nature to the elevation of the .service which God 
 requires from us ! How soon we sink under discouragement when 
 the llesh prevails over the spirii, .'" 
 
 The pomp and enthusiasm which greeted him on his return from 
 the double conquest of Ireland and Scotiantl daz/.ied not his con- 
 stancy. "You see thiit crowd, you hear those shouts," he whis- 
 pered in the ear of a friiMid who attended in the procession ; " l)oth 
 would be still greater if 1 were on my way to the gallows." A light 
 from above im|)re.ssed on his clear judgment the emptiness of worldly 
 popularity. 
 
 His private letters to his son Pdr.hard arc full of that piety and do- 
 mestic affection which we should never e.xpect in a man whose feet 
 were bathed in the blood of his king, of Ireland, of Scotland, of
 
 5G OLlVi:il CUOMWELL. 
 
 England ; but wlioso heart was caim in tlie serenity of a false con 
 science, while liis head was encircled by a glory of mysticism which 
 he persuaded himself was sincere. 
 
 " Your letters please and affect me," he wrote to Richard Crom- 
 well, addressing him by the infantine diminutive of Dick ; " I love 
 words which tlow naturally from the heart, without study or re- 
 search. I believe that the special goodness of heaven has placed you 
 in the family where you now reside. Be happy and grateful for 
 i this ; and carefully discharge all the duties you owe them, for the 
 glory of God. Seek the Lord continually, and his divine presence ; 
 make this the object of your life, and give it your whole strength. 
 The knowledge of God dwells not in i)0()ks and theological detini- 
 tions ; it comes from within ; it transforms the spirit by a divine ac- 
 tion independent of ourselves. To know God is to partake his divine 
 nature, in him, anrl through him ! How little are the Holy Scriptures 
 known among us ! May" my feeble prajers fortify your intentions. 
 Endeavor to understand the republic 1 have established, and the 
 foundations on which it rests. 1 have suffered much in giving my- 
 self up to others. Your wife's father, my intimate associate. IMayor, 
 will assist you with much information on this point. You will, per- 
 haps, think that it is unnecessary for me to enjoin you to love your 
 dear wife. May the Lord instruct you to cherish her with worldly 
 affection, or you will never feel for her a saintly regard. When the 
 bed and the love are pure, such an union is justly compared to that 
 of the Lord with the lowly members of his Church. Give my regards 
 to your wife ; tell iier that I love her with my whole heart, and I 
 rejoice in the favors which heaven has poured upon her. I earnestly 
 pray that she may be fruitful in every sense : and you, Dick, may 
 the Lord bless you with many blessings ! 
 
 " Vour affectionate father, 
 
 " Oliver Cromwell." 
 
 The same devotion to heavenly matters, mixed with uneasiness re- 
 specting the affairs of this world, is revealed in every line of his 
 private letters to his early friends. What cause liad he to dissemble 
 with his children and his intimates? What a strange hypocrisy 
 must that have Ijeen which never dropped the mask for a single 
 moment throughout his life, even in the most familiar intercom se 
 with his family, and in his last hours, when he lay upon the bed of 
 i death ! 
 
 " I am verv anxious to learn how the little fellow goes on" (the 
 child of Richard and Dorothy), he writes to the father-in-law of his 
 Bon, his former gossip and friend ; " I could readily scold both father 
 and mother for tlieir negligence toward me. 1 know that Richard is 
 idle, but I had a better opinion of Dorothy. 1 fear her husband
 
 OLIYEK CROMWELL. 57 
 
 spoils her ; tell them so for me. If Dorothy is again in the family 
 way, I forgive her, but not otherwise. May the Lord bless her ! 1 
 hope you give good advice to my son Kichard ; he is at a dangerou< 
 period of Fife, and this world is full of vanity. How good it is to 
 approach tlie Lord early ! We should never lose sight of this. I 
 hope you continue to remember our ancient friendship. You see how 
 I am occupied ; I require your pity. I know what I suffer in my 
 own heart. An exalted situation, a high employment in the woilci, 
 are not worth seeking for. I should have no inward consolation in 
 my labors, if my hope and rest were not in the presence of the Lord. 
 I have never desired this earthly grandeur ! Truly, tlie Lord himself 
 has called me to it. In this conviction alone I trust that he will be- 
 stow upon his poor worm, his feeble servant, the force to do his will, 
 and reach the end for which he was created. To this elTect I demand 
 your pravers. Remember me to the love of my dear sister, to my 
 son, to our daughter Dorothy, and to my cousin Anna. 
 
 '■ 1 am always your affectionate brother, 
 
 "Olivek." 
 
 The same expressions, rendered still more tender by the holy union 
 of a long life, are continually repeated with emotion in his corre- 
 spondence with his wife. Tlie following letter bears liie superscrip- 
 tion, " For my beloved wife, p:iizabeth Cromwell." " You scold me 
 in your letters, because by my silence I appear to forget you and our 
 children. Truly, it is I who ought to complain, for I love you too 
 much. Tliou art dearer to me than all the world ; let that suffice ! 
 The j^ord has shown us an extreme mercy. I have been miraculous- 
 ly sustained within. Notwiihstanding that 1 strive, I grow old, and 
 feel the inlirmilies of advancing years rapidly pressing on me. May 
 God grant that my propensities to sin may diminish in the same pro- 
 portion with my physical powers. Pray for me that I may receive 
 this grace." 
 
 lie contirms the stronir, he fortifies the doubtful, he instructs the 
 weak in faith, with a burning fever of conviction, which shows how 
 sincerely he was himself convinced. He perceives that his zeal some- 
 times carries him to extravagant expres.sions. " Pardon me," he 
 writes, when at the apogee of his power, to a friend who had kept 
 aloof from him in consecpience of his military severities in Ireland 
 and Scotland ; " sometimes this harshness with which you reproach 
 mc lias been productive of good ; although not easily made evident, 
 it is inspired by charity and zeal ! I beseech you to recognize in me 
 a man sincere in tlie Lord." " O Lord !" he concludes, "I beseech 
 thee, turn not thy face and thy mercy from my eyes ! Adieu." 
 
 On another occasion he addres.sed Ids wife as follows: " I car.not 
 Huffer tliis <;ouri(;r to ilepart witiiout a word for you, although, in 
 truth. I have little to write, but 1 do so for the sake of writing to my 
 wcll-b«loved wife, whose image i.s always at the bottom of my heart.
 
 58 olivp:k cromwkll. 
 
 May the Lord muUiply his blessings upon yon. The great and only 
 pood that vour so\il can desire is that the Lord sliould spread over 
 von the lig-hi of his streiislii, wliicli is of more value tlian life itself. 
 May his blessing liglit on your insduclions and example to our dear 
 fhiidren. Pray for your attached Oliver." 
 
 His son-iu-la'\v. Fleetwood, one of the lieutenants he had left ia 
 command in Scotland willi ^lonk, shared e(iualiy in these effusions, 
 at once afTeclionate and theological. After expressing his grief at 
 heimi necessarily separated by business from that portion of hi.? 
 famdv, he says, in writing to him, " Embrace your beloved wife for 
 me, and caution her to take care (in her piety) of noiui.shing a servile 
 heart. Servility produces fear, tlie opposite of love. Poor Biddy ; 
 I know that is her weak point. Love reasons very difTerenlly. 
 "What a father we possess in and through the Saviour '. He desig- 
 nates him.self tlie merciful, the patient, the bestowerof all grace, the 
 pardoner of all faults and transgressions ! Truly tlie love of God is 
 sublime ! Remeral)er me to my son Henry ; I pray incessantly that 
 he may increase and fortify himself in the love of the Lord. Kemem- 
 ber me to all the officers." 
 
 Everything succeeded with Cromwell, and he attributed all the 
 glory and prosperity of tlie republic to heaven. There is no evi- 
 dence, cither public or private, which betrays any desire on his part 
 to establish his fortune and power by a change in his title of general, 
 or iu the voluntary submission of the parliament, the army, and the 
 people. Hi.story, which ultimately knows and reveals everything, 
 has discovered notiiing in Cromwell at this epoch but an extreme re- 
 pmrnance against elevating himself to a higher position. It is evi- 
 deiit from Ins own expressions that he souglit God in his will, and 
 the oracle of God in events. Neither were sufficiently explained to 
 him. Equally ready to descend or rise, he waited for the command 
 or the inspiration. Both came from the natural iustabihty of the 
 people and the ambitions impatience of the army. 
 
 The long parliament of five years' duration, christened, by one of 
 those contemptuous designations which mark popular disgust, The 
 Rump, a term susrgested by its apparently interminable sessions upon 
 the benches of Westminster, had thoroughly wearied out the people 
 of England. The long harangues of the puritans, the bigoted dis- 
 courses of the saints, the personal unpopularity of the demagogues, 
 the anti social absurdities of the Levellers, the murder of an innocent 
 and heroic monarcli, which penetrated the con.science of the nation 
 with remorse, the imposts and .slaughters of the civil war ; finally, 
 the heaviness of that anonymous tyranny which the people endured 
 more impalieutlv than the autocracy of a glorious name— all these 
 combined objections fell back in accumulated odium and ridicule on 
 the parliament. 
 
 Cromwell had had the art, or rather the good fortune, to act while
 
 OLIVEK CROMWELL. 59 
 
 the parliament talked, to strengthen himself as they became weak, to 
 leave on them the responsibility of crime, and to attribute to himself 
 the advantages of victory. The parliament, unconscious of weak- 
 ness, began to writhe under a master. Five or six iuHueutial repub- 
 licans thought to compass the fall of Cromwell. Sir Henry Vane, iheir 
 principal orator, disputed altogether the intervention of military 
 au^hol■it}^ His speech was received with significant applause, which 
 sounded like a menace to the army. The principal leaders present 
 ia London, foreseeing the danger, united together, and petitioned 
 Cromwell to insist on the dissolution of this corrupted senate. Crom- 
 well, who hits been accused of suggesting the petition to the army, 
 bad uo participation in the act. It is never necessary to suggest am- 
 bition to generals, or despotism to soldiers. The petition was too 
 plain to be mistaken. The strife between the army and the parlia- 
 ment was hastening to the issue. The victory of either would equally 
 sweep away Cromwell, if he persisted in remaining neuter. " Take 
 care ; stop this in time, or it will prove a very serious alYair," whis- 
 pered in a low voice Bulstrode, one of his most intimate friends, 
 while the ofllcers were haranguing on their petition. Cromwell hesi- 
 tated lo decide, and contined himself to thanking their orator for the 
 zeal demonstrated by the army in the public safety. Night and re- 
 flection suggested to him the course he should pursue. He attempt- 
 ed to bring about an accommodation between thearmy and the pailia- 
 ment. in a conference held in his presence. The parfiament tilled up 
 i,h( ..ull measure of their demands by recfuiring a permanent com- 
 mittee, chosen from the present members, who should ratify or 
 invai^ jiite, at their own pleasure, all future elections. 
 
 " Till.", is too much !" exclaimed (Cromwell, at last, and still un- 
 decided, when he was informal of this unqualified proposal, It was 
 on the 20lh v April, early in the morning ; he was walking up and 
 down his room, dressed in black, with gray stockings. He came 
 forth in this simple costume, ciying out to alfhe encountered, " This 
 is unjust ! It is dishonest ! It is not even the commonest honesty, " 
 As he passed by he ordered an officer of his guards to repair with 
 three hundred soldiers to Westminster and take possession of all the 
 avenues to the palace. He entered him,seir, and .sat down in his usual 
 place, apparently listening for some lime in silence lo the debates. 
 The republiftan orators and members were at that moment speaking 
 in favor of the bill, which was to assure the perpetuity of their 
 power, by giving them arbitrary control over all future elections. 
 The bill was going to be put to the fiuestion, wlien Cromwell, as if 
 he had wailed the moment to stril<(! llie whole body at Ihe crisis of 
 their inifiuitous tyranny, raised his head, hitlierto reclined l)et\v(!en 
 hi.s hands, ;md made a sign lo ll;irris,')ii, his mosl fanatical follower, 
 to ccmie and sit close to him. Harrison obeyed the .signal. Crom- 
 well remained silent for another rpiarter of an hour, arul then, as if 
 suddenly yielding, in his own despite, to an internal imi)ulse, which
 
 fiO OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 j'onquercd n1, hesitation in liis soul, exclaimed to Harrison, " The 
 nioinoiit hiis arrived ! I feel it !" He rose, advnneed toward the 
 presidi'iit laid his hat upon tlie table, and prepared to speak amid 
 ihe profound silenee and consternation of liis colleagues. Aceordmg 
 10 his ordinary custom, his slow phraseology, obscure, embarrassed, 
 ■ncoherent, full of circumlocution and parentheses, rauibhng from 
 one point to another, and loaded with repetitions, rendered his tram 
 of thought and reasoning almost \mintelligible. He began by such a 
 ■waim euloiiium on the services which the parliament had rendered to 
 Ihe cause of liberty and free conscience, and to the country in gen- 
 eial. that the members who had proposed the bill expeiaed that be 
 was going to side with them in its favor. Murmurs of encourage- 
 ment and satisfaction arose from the republican party as he paused 
 on an emphatic period ; when suddenly, as if long-suppressed anger 
 had at last mastered his Ihouglits, and inllamed tlie words upon his 
 lips, he resumed, and looking with a stern and contemptuous air on 
 the fifty-seven members who" on that day composed the entire parlia- 
 ment, passed at once by rapid transition from tlatterv to insult, tl'i 
 enumerated all the cringing baseness and insolence of tliat cor;:upt 
 body, alternately practised for revolt or servitude, and fulminated 
 against them, in the name of God and the people, a sentence of con- 
 demnation. . T i 
 
 At these unexpected invectives, for wdiich his complimentary exor- 
 dium had so little prepared them, the members rose in a burst of m- 
 dignation. The president, worthy of his office by his courage, com- 
 manded him to be silent. Wenlworth, one of the most illustrious 
 and influential of the extreme party by his personal character, de- 
 manded that he should be called to order. " This language said 
 he " is as extraordinary as criminal in the mouth of a man who yes- 
 terday possessed our entire confidence, whom we have honored with 
 the highest functions of the republic ! of a man wno— Cromwell 
 would not suffer him to conclude. " Go to ! go to !' exclaimed he 
 in a voice of thunder, " we iiave had enough of words like theie. it 
 is time to put an end to all this, and to silence these babblers ! _ Ihen ■ 
 advancin- to the middle of the hall, and f)lacing his hat on his head 
 with a gesture of defiance, he stamped upon the tloor, and cried 
 aloud, "^You are no longer a parliament ! Vou shall not sit here a 
 single hour longer ! Make room for belter men than yourselves ! 
 At these words, Harrison, instructed by a glance from the general, (iis- 
 apjK-ared, and returned in a moment after at the head of thirty soldier.s, 
 veterans of the long civil wars, who surrounded Cromwell with their 
 raked weapons. These men, hired by the parliament, hesitated not 
 at the command of their leader to turn their arms against those who 
 had placed them in their hands, and furnished anollicr example, lol- 
 lowing the Jiubicon of C«sar, to prove ihe iiieoinpatibility ()t freedom 
 with standing armies. '• Miserable wretches !"-resumed Cromwell, 
 jis if viylencc without insult was insufficient for his auger, you cal
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. Gl 
 
 yourselves a parliament ! You ! — no, you are nothing but a mass of 
 tipplers and libertines ! Tliou," he continued, pointing with his fin- 
 ger to the most notorions profligates in tlie assembl\', as they passed 
 him in their endeavors to escape from the hall, " thou art a dumk- 
 ard ! Thou art an adulterer ! And thou art a hireling, paid fur Miy 
 speeches ! You are ail «eaudalous sinners, who bring shame on (lie 
 gospel! And A'ou fancied yourselves a fitting parliament for God's 
 people ! No, uo, begone ! let me hear no more of you ! The Lord 
 rejects }-ou !" 
 
 During these apostrophes, the members, forced by tlie soldiers, 
 were driven or dragged from the hall. Cromwell returned toward 
 the table, and lifting witli a contemptuous air the silver mace, the 
 venerated s^'mbol of parliamentary sovereignty, showed it to Harri- 
 son, and said, " What shall we do with this bauble ? Take it awa}'." 
 One of the soldiers stepped forward and obeyed him. Cromwell 
 turned round and saw bcliiud him Lenthall, the speaker of the House 
 of Commons, who, faithful to his delegated duty, retained his place 
 and refused to siuTender up right to force. " Descend from that 
 seat," cried aloud the Dictator. " I shall not abandon the post thn 
 parliament Las confided to me," replied Lenthall, " until I am com- 
 pelled by violence." At these words Harrison rushed forward, 
 dragged him from liis chaic, and thrust him into the midst of the 
 soldiers. 
 
 Cromwell carried away the keys of Westminster Hall in his 
 pocket. " I do not hear a dog bark in the city," he wrote to a friend 
 a few days afterward. The long parliament, so powerful to destroy, 
 proved itself impotent to re-establish. The civil war excited by this 
 very parliament had produced the never-failing consequences ; it had 
 substituted the army for the people, and had creat(Hi a dictatorship in 
 the place of a government. It had extinguished right and inaugu- 
 rated force. A single man had taken the place of the country. 
 
 This individual was Cromwell. Men always gain credit from the 
 force of events and the power of circumstances. Results which are 
 oftcui the effect of chance are supposed to be achieved by long 
 concerted ambition, slow premeditation, and wily combinations. 
 Everything unites in this instance to show, on the contrary, that the 
 outrage of Cromwell against the Coiimions was unpremeditated, that 
 lie was tirged on to it by the inllu(;nce of passing occurrences, by the 
 people and the army, and that he was decided at the last moment l)y 
 that internal fivjlitig wliich Socrates called his demon, Ca-sar his 
 counsellor, Mahomet his angel Gabriel, and Cromwell his ;nsi)iralion 
 — that divinity of great instincts which strikes conviction to the 
 mind and sounds the hour in the ear. The lai)')rious clforts made 
 by Cromwell to reconcile on the pi('C(;ding evening the ])arlianieiit 
 and the armv ; tlie new parliament that lu,' convokeil on the following 
 day, anil to which he transfericd all legislative .■uilliority, without 
 even reserving U) himself the fij^hi of sanctioning the laws ; and
 
 G2 OI.IVKR <:rom\vkll. 
 
 fiufilly a political conversation which took place some days before 
 with "closed doors between him nn'l his leading arlvisnrs in these 
 matters — all appeared to attest that this thunderclap emanated spon- 
 taneously from an accumulation of clouds. 
 
 t'romwcll and his council itccnpied themselves at tins debate ia 
 seekinir out, amid the wrecks of the destroyed monarchy, the ele- 
 ments of a parliamentary constitution. The members present were 
 Cromwell, lIarri.iou, his disciple ; Dcsbomugh, CJromwcH's brother-in- 
 law ; Oliver Cromwell, his cousin ; Whitelocke, his friend ; Widflring- 
 tnn, an eminent orator and statesman of the Cemimons ; tlie speaker 
 of the House, Lenthall, and several other officers or membe's, en- 
 lightened republicans. 
 
 " It is proposed," said Harrison, " to consider together, in concert 
 ■with the general, how we should organize a government." 
 
 " The great question is, in fact," sai>l Whitelocke," whether we 
 shall constitute absolute republicanism or a republic combined with 
 some of the elements of miuiarchy V" 
 
 " Just so," said Cromwell ; " shall we then establish a complete re- 
 public, or one qualified by some monarchical principles and monar- 
 chical authority V And in the latter cas(\ in whose hands shall we 
 place the power thus borrowed -from the crown V" 
 
 "VViddrington argued for a mixed government, which should cora- 
 lline republican liberty and m.onarchical authority, and that the latter 
 should be placed in the hands of its natural possessor, one of the sons 
 of the decapitated king. Widdrington, who was a llatterer, and of 
 a gentle disposition, would not have made sue.h a proposal before 
 Cromwell if he could have divined that the dictator possessed an in- 
 satiable ambition in himself, which would never allow him to pardoa 
 this suggestion. 
 
 " ItTs a delicate question." said Fleetwood, without compromising 
 himself further. 
 
 The lord chancellor, St. John, declaied that in his opinion, unless 
 they desired to undermine all the old laws and customs of the nation, 
 a large portion of monarchical power would be necessary in any gov- 
 ernment that they might establish. 
 
 " There would, in fact, be a strange overturning of all thinirs," said 
 the speaker, " if in our government there were nut something of the 
 monarchical character." 
 
 Desborough, Cromwell's relative and a colonel in the army, de- 
 clared that lie saw no reason why England should not govern itself 
 on republican principles, after the example of so many other ancient 
 and modern nations. 
 
 Colonel Whalley pronounced Willi his military colleague in favor 
 of pure republicanism. " The eldest son of our king is in arras 
 against us," said he , " his second sun is equally our enemy, and yet 
 you deliberate." 
 
 " But the king's third sou, the Duke of Gloucester, is in our
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 63 
 
 iiands." reioined Widdrington ; "he is too youGg to have raised his 
 hand against us, or to have been infected by the principles of our 
 
 enemies." , , ,, ,. . 
 
 " The two eldest sons can be summoned to attend the parliament 
 
 upon an appointed day, and debate with them upon the conditions of 
 
 a free monarchical government," said Whiteloclie, without fearing to 
 
 offend Cromwell. i • i • + 
 
 Cromwell hitherto silent and unmoved, now spoke in Ins turn. , 
 " That would beadifficult ueiiotiation," said he ; " nevertheless I do 
 not think it would be impossible, provided our rights as Englishmen 
 as well as Christians are secured ; and i am convinced that a liberal 
 constitution, with a strong dose of monarchical principles in it, would 
 be the salvation of England and religion." 
 
 Btill they arrived at no conclusion. Cromwell appeared to lean 
 toward the repu])lic consolidated by monarchical authority, conhdeu 
 to one of the king's sons ; a government which would have assured 
 to himself the long guardianship of a child, and to the country the 
 peaceable transmission of national power and liberty. 
 
 A council, entirely selected by him from his partisans ana most 
 fanatical friends assembled, and constituted a republican form of 
 frovernment under a protector. , 
 
 One individual alone possessed all the executive power for lite ; 
 this was Cromwell : and one elected body retained all the legislative 
 authority ; this was the parliament. Such was in its simplicity the 
 whole mechanism of the English constitution— an actual dictator, 
 with a move acceptable and specious name, which disguised serviludo 
 under the appearance of confidence, and power under that ot 
 
 c(|uality. , „ „ ., . 
 
 All the. prerogatives of royalty devolved upon Cromwell, even that 
 of dissolving parliament and of appointing a new election in case ot 
 a conllict between the two powers. He had, moreover, the almost 
 dynastic privilege of naming his successor. He had sous ; what, 
 therefore, was wanting to his actual royalty but the crown ? Cromwell 
 sufliciently showed hv the ten years iit his absolute government that 
 he was far from dc'sifiiig it. Though he fell himselt t/ie elect oj hod, 
 chosen by inspiration to govern his peoi)le, he by no means felt tha' 
 the same inspiration extended to his family. He took only from the 
 nation that which he believed he received from heaven— the resi)onsi. 
 bility of governing for life— trusting the rest to other divme inspira- 
 tions which would raise up successors eiiuaily inspired with himself. 
 
 In studying alteiitivelv his conduct, we liiid bis entire sect revealed 
 in his politics. It was "then more dillicult for him to elude the title 
 of kin"- than to accept it. The parliament would ghuily have i>laced 
 liim on tiie throne to fortify themselves against the army ; the army 
 almo.st forced it upon him to deliver themselves from the parliament. 
 In Cromwell's speeches before the newly-elected bou.se, we luul thy 
 truth of all his self-denial. Far from desiriug a higlier utie, he even
 
 64 OLIVEll CUOMWELL. 
 
 tried to release himself from that of protector, which he liad boon 
 
 forced to accept. ^, . , p ., 
 
 " The members of the council, of the Commons, and ot the army, 
 who have debated," said he, " iu my absence upon this constitution, 
 did not communicate their plan to me until it had bee^n deliberately 
 and riiiely considered bv them. I opposed repeated delays and re- 
 fu'^als to "their proposals! Tiicv showed me plainly that it I did not 
 cham^e the present ^overnment all would be involved in contusion 
 ruin.^and civil war ; 1 was, therefore, obliged to consent, m spite of 
 mv £cre:it repunnance, to assume a new title. All went well, i 
 wished for no liiore ; I was satisfied with my position. I possessed 
 arbitrary power in the general command of the national army ; and 
 I venture to say, with the approbation of both army and people 1 
 believe, in all sincerity, that 1 should have been more acceptable to 
 them if I had remained as I was. and had declined this title ot pro- 
 tector I call upon the members of this assembly, the olhcers ot the 
 army and the people, to bear witness to my resistance, even to the 
 point of doing violence to my own feeling.s. Let tliem speak ; Jet 
 them proclaim this. It has not been done in a corner but in open 
 day and applauded by a large majority of the nation. I do not wish 
 to be believed on my own word, to be my own witness ; let "le peo- 
 ple of En"-land be my testimonies ! However, I swear to upJiokl tins 
 conslilutiSn, and consent to be dragged upon a hurdle from my tomb, 
 and buried in infamy, if I sutler it to be violated. ^V e aie ost in dis- 
 putes carried on in the name of the liberty of Ea'jlaral! _ fhis liberty 
 God alone can give to us. Henceforward none are privileged before 
 God or man. The plenitude of legislative power belongs tons, i 
 am bound to obey you if you do not listen to my remonstrances ; 1 
 shall tirst remark upon your laws, and then I must submit. _ 
 
 He kept his word faithfully ; lie only reserved his inspiralion as his 
 sole prerogative ; and as often as he saw the spirit of resist ance ot 
 faction or of languor in his Houses of Commons, he did not hesitate 
 to dissolve them as he had dissolved their predecessor, the long par- 
 
 ''\he confined space that the nature of this work imposes on the his- 
 torian obliges us to pass over some of the less impoitant acts ot tiis 
 administration. This interregnum added more strength and pros- 
 perity to Entrland than the nation had ever experienced under her 
 most illustrious monarchs. Factions had recognized the authoiKy ot 
 the leader of factions. Nothing is more compliant or more servile 
 than subjugated parties. As they are generally endovyed with more 
 insolence than stren-th. and more passion than patriotism, when Ihe 
 passion is exhausted within them factions resemble balloons wIikI 
 appear to occupy a large space in the heavens, and are confounded 
 with the stars when thev ascend in their inflation , but when the ga, 
 evaporates they fall collapsed to the ground i.iul a chid may liol.i 
 them in its hand. True patriotism and the real spirit ot liberty wer';
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 65 
 
 not aonibilated even by the ten years' eclipse of parliamentary fac- 
 tions. 
 
 The English nation, proud of having so long banished kings with- 
 out being lowered in the eyes of Europe, and without internal 
 divisions^ only recalled their monarchs upon the understanding that 
 those prerogatives and dignities of the people were secured which 
 made England a true representative republic, with a royal and hered- 
 itary protector, the crowning glory of this free government. The 
 idea was borrowed from Cromwell himself, as avc have seen in his 
 conference with his friends. He ruled as a patriot, wlio only thought 
 of the greatness and power of his country, and not as a king, avIio 
 would "have been reduced to temporize with different parties or courts 
 for the interests of his kingdom. He had, moreover, through the 
 supreme power of the repuljTic, the strength to accomplish that which 
 was beyond the power of kings. Republics l)nng an increase of 
 viiror to the nation. This increase multiplies the energy of the gov- 
 ernment by the collected energy of the people. They do not even 
 find that impossible which has palsied the resolution of twenty mon- 
 archies. Anonymous and irresponsible, they accomplish by the 
 hands of all, revolutions, changes, and enterprises, such as no single 
 royalty could ever venture to dream of. 
 
 It was thus that Cromwell had conquered a king, subjugated an 
 aristocracy, put an end to religious war, crashed the Levellers, re- 
 pressed the parliament, established liberty of conscience, disciplined 
 the army, formed the navy, triiunphed by sea over Holland, Soain, 
 and theGenoese, conquered Jamaica and those colonies since become 
 empires in the New World ; obtained possession of Dunkirk, coun- 
 terbalanced the power of France, and obliged the ministers of the 
 3'outhful Louis the Fourteenth to make concessions and alliances 
 with him ; and finally, by his lieutenants or in person, annexed Ire- 
 land and Scotland to England so irrevocably tliat he accomplished 
 the union of the British empire by this federation of three disconlant 
 kingdoms, whose struggles, alliances, skirmishes, and quarrels con- 
 tained the germ of eternal weakness, and threatened destruction to 
 the whole fabric. The revolution lent him its aid to put down des- 
 potism on the one hand and factious on the other, and to accomplish 
 a comi)lete nationality. 
 
 All this was accDmplished in ten years, under the name of a dicta- 
 tor ; Init in reality l»y the power of the repui)lic, whi<;li, to ellect 
 these greai works, hiid heconie concentrated, incarnaled, and disci- 
 plined in his single p(;rson. 'i'liis might have occurred in France in 
 ITliO, if the Freiicli lievolution had selected a dictator for life from 
 one of the great revolulicjnists luiininted by fanaticism, such as Mira- 
 beau, Lafayette, or Danlon, insicad of confiding to a soldier the task 
 of forming a new empire upon the old foiunlalions. 
 
 A doni«!stic misfortune .'Struck Croiuwcl'. tn tlic heart at thiM exalted 
 epoch of bis life ; and wo arc a.st<juished to behold the man moved to
 
 B(i OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 tears who had wifiifsscd with dry eyes the unfortunate Charles the 
 First torn from liis ciiildren's jii-ms to pcrisli on the soalfold. He 
 lost hismotlicral tlu> advanced aire of ninety-four. This was the 
 Eli/.alifth Stuart, a descendant of tiiat race of kinirs wliifii her son 
 had (letlnoned. iSlie was siiieercly veliu:ious. niotlier of a numerous 
 family, the source of their piety and the nurse of their virtues ; .she 
 inspired them witli a lively passion lor the lilierty of conscience, 
 wliicli their sect upheld, and enjoyed, in the full possession of her 
 faculties, the mortal fame, but al)()ve all the heavenly glnry, of the 
 greatest of her sons, the ]\Iaecah;eiis of her faith. Ciomweil, in all 
 iiis o-reutness, respected and regarded his mother iis the root of his 
 heart, his belief, and his destiny. 
 
 " The Lord Protectors mother" (wrote at this date, 1654, the pri- 
 vate secretary of Cromwell, Thurloe), " died last night, nearly a cen- 
 tury oid. At the moment when she was about to expire she sum- 
 moned her son to her bedside, and extending her hands to bless him, 
 said, ' ]\Iay the splendor of the Lord's countenance continually shine 
 upon you, my son. ]\Iay he sustain you in adversity, and render 
 your strength ecpial to the great things which the Most Mighty has 
 charged you to accomplish, to the glory of his holy name and the 
 welfare of his people. My dear son,' added she, dwelling on that 
 name in which she gloried even in her dying moments ; ' my dear 
 son, I leave mv spirit and my heart with you ; farewell ! farewell : ' 
 and .she fell back," continued Thurloe, "uttering her last sigh." 
 Cromwell burst into tears, like ii man who had lost a portion of the 
 liglit which illummated hisduikness. His mother, who loved him 
 as a son. and respected him as the chosen instrument of Cod, lived 
 •with him at (he palace of ■\Vliitehall, but in a retired and unadorned 
 apartment, "not wishing," as she said, "to appiopriate to herself 
 and her other children that splendor which the Lord had conferred 
 upon him alone ;" but which resembled only the furnit\u-e of an 
 hotel, to which she did not desire to attach her heart or to rely 
 upon it for the future subsistence of her family. Anxious cares dis- 
 turbed her days and nights in this legal palace, and she regretted her 
 simple country farm iii the principality of Wales. 
 
 The hatred" of the royalists, the jealousy of the republicans, the 
 anger of the Levellers, the sombre taualicism of the Presbyterians, 
 the vengeance of the Irish and Scotch, the plots of the parliament, 
 always present to her mind, showed her the jwniard or the pistol of 
 the assassin aimed fnces.santly at the heart of her son. Although 
 \ 8he had formerly been cnurageous, she could not latterly hear the 
 report of firearms in the court without shuddering and running to 
 Cromwell's aparti-.ients, to assure herself of his safety. Cromwell 
 caused his mother to tie buried with the funeral nljsequies of a (jueea, 
 more as a proof of his filial piety than of his ostentation. Hlie was 
 interred in tlie midst of royal and illustrious dust, under the porch of 
 AVestmiiister Abbey, llie St. Denis of British dynasties and deparled 
 heroism.
 
 OLIVER CKOMVVELL. 67 
 
 Cromwell had himself thoui^ht for some years tliat he should per- 
 ish b}^ assussiuution. He wore a cuirass under his clothes, aud car- 
 ried defensive arms vvithin reacli of his hand. He never slept long 
 in the same room in the palace, continually changing his bed-cham- 
 ber to mislead domestic treason and military plots. A despot, he 
 suffered the punishment of tyrannv. The unseen weight of the 
 natred whicU he had accumulated weighed upon his imagination 
 and disturbed his sleep. The least murmuring in the army appeared 
 to him like the presage of a rebellion against liis p^nver. Sometimes 
 he punished, sometimes he caressed tho^e of his lieutenants whom he 
 suspected would revolt. He encou.aged Warwick, flattered Fair- 
 fax, subdued Ireton. with much difficulty reconciled the republican 
 Fleetwood, who had married one of his daughters, also a republican 
 and as strongly opposed to the dictator as her husband ; he banished 
 Monk ; he trembled before the intriguing spirit and popularity of 
 Lambert, a general who one moment sought to join the royalists, the 
 next the republicans, and, fmally, the malcontents of the army. He 
 feared to wound or alienate the military section by dealing harshly 
 with this ambitious soldier. He compensated for I he command he 
 took from liira by a pocketful of money, which secured iiis obedi- 
 ence through the powerful bonds of corruption. But parties were 
 too much divided in England to combine in a mortal conspiracy 
 against the dictator, as in tlie ciise of the Konian senate against 
 Ciesar. Tlie one was a vlieck and spy upon the other. Cromwell 
 was permitted to live because none felt certain that they should 
 profit by liis death. Nevertheless he was ( onscious of his unpopu- 
 larity ; his modest ambition and his ten speeches to the different par- 
 liaments during the interregnum iittest the efforts, sometimes humil- 
 iating, to which he descended to ol)tain jwrdon for having seized the 
 supreme power. We should be incapable of understanding the man 
 if we were not ac({uainted with his style. The soul speaks in the 
 tongue. We comprehend a few .-sentences iu this deluge of phrase- 
 ology. The meaning .';eems confounded iu a mass of verbiage, alter- 
 nately cringing aud imperious. We see throughout, the farmer 
 promoted to the throne and the sectarian converting the tribune 
 into a pulpit to preach to his congreg^itions after he lias subdued 
 tiiem. •' What hail become," .said lie, iu his lirst speech to the 
 united rei)reseii(atives of the three kiiig(!oms alter the dissolution of 
 llie long |)arliament; " what had become, before your time, of tho.se 
 fundamental privileges of ]<]ngland, libcrtv of con.science and liberty 
 of citizensliip V Two possessions, for wluch it is as hon()rai)le anil 
 ju.st to contend as for any of tlie benclits whicih Cod has vouchsiifcd 
 to u.s on (;artl!. Formerly tiie Hible c luld imt \w printed without tbe 
 permission ot a magistrate ! Was not that placing the free faith of 
 the people; at the mercy of the legislative aiitiiority? Was it not 
 denying civil and religious liberty to this nation, who have received 
 those unalienable riglits with theii' blood? Who now shidl dare to
 
 68 OLIVER (HOMWKLL. ■ 
 
 Imm^o such rostiiclions on tlie public conscience ?" lie fulminated, 
 more in the lone of u prophet IIkui a stuKisiniui, u.i-ninst tlic ' hftli 
 mun-irohv men," a relii^'iousand politieal sect who announced llie ini- 
 mediate reii;n of Christ upon earih. relurning in person to govern his 
 chosen iieoiSle. It was even asserted that he had alreiidy appeared m 
 the llesh in the person of a voung adventurer, who had caused hina- 
 sdf to he worshipped under the sacred name of Jesus. 1 hen sua. 
 deidv he passed without preparation to his joy at seemg betore him 
 •V iKilliament freely elected. " Yes," declared he, with warm satis- 
 faction " I see before me a free parliament ! Let us now diseusa 
 a little the state of public affairs." lie then proceeded to detail 
 the progress and success of his operations in Holland, I" ranee, bpain, 
 and Pollugal. Finally, he dismissed them with a paternal air, 
 declarin"- that he should pray for them, and enjoining every man to 
 return quickly to ids own abode, and rellect on the excellent manage, 
 inent of public alTaus, which he was going to submit lor their con- 
 
 ''''ln'\he" following speech he dwells bitterly on the heavy yoke 
 which the public safety imposes on him, so contrary to his own cle- 
 sire " I declare to you,' he said, " in the candor of my soul, that i 
 love not the nost in which I am placed. I have said this already m 
 my previous'interviews with you. Yes, I have said to you 1 have 
 but one desire, munely, to enjoy the same liberty with others, to re- 
 tire into private life, to be relieved from my charge, i have de- 
 manded this again and again ! And let God judge bBt\yecn me and 
 n y fellow-meS if I have uttered falseliood in saying so ! Many liere 
 run attest that I lie not ! But if I speak falsely m telling you what 
 you are slow to believe, if I utter a lie or act the hypocrite, may 
 heavenly wrath condemn me ! Let men without chanty, who ]udge 
 of others by themselves, say and think what they please, 1 repeat to 
 you that 1 utter the truth. But alas ! I ^^^""Oj. f J'-^-J^.T^i^'^Sj^^^ 
 ardently desire, what my soul yearns to accomplish ! Otheis have 
 decided that I could not abandon my post without a crime-i_ am, 
 however unworthy of this power which you force me to retain in 
 Whandc I am a miserable sinner '" He then rambled into an in- 
 coherent digression on the state of affairs. " At last," he concluded 
 '•we have been raised up for the welfare of this nation ! We enjoy 
 peace at home and peace abroad 1" • 4- ti ;„ 
 
 His fourth speech comprises a vehement reproach against thi.q 
 same parliamenr. w.iich he said had suffered itself to become cor- 
 runted bv the old fiictions, and which he suddenly dissoved after 
 having i)alanced for two hours between caresses and maledictions 
 uccor'ling to the suggestions of the spirit which soothed and the 
 
 words which crushed. ,. . • , :•„.. ,„>>, 
 
 Tlie fifth delivered before the n(!W parliament, is a rambling jum- 
 ble of incoherencv, which lasted for four hours ; at this distance ot 
 lime it is totally Incomprehensible, and finishes by the recitation ot
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. G9 
 
 a psalm. " I confess," says Cromwell, " that I have been diffuse , 
 I know th:\t I have tired vou ; but one word more : Yesterday I read 
 a psalm, which it will not be out of place to introduce. It is the 
 sixty- sixth, and truly a most instructive and applicable one in our 
 particalar circumstances. I call upon you to peruse it at leisure— it 
 commences thus : ' Lord, thou wert meicifu! to man ; thou hast 
 redeemed us from the captivity of Jacob ; thou hast remitted all our 
 sins.' " He then recited the entire psalm to his audilory, and closing 
 his Bible, added, " Verily, I desire that tliis psalm may be engraved 
 on our hearts more legibly than it is printeil in this book, and that we 
 may all cry with David, ' It is thou, Lord, ailone, who hast done 
 this ! ' Let us to the work, my friends, with courage !" continued 
 he, addressing the whole house, " and if vre do so we shall joyfully 
 sin'' this additional psalm : ' In the name of the Lord, our enemies 
 shall be confounrled. ' Xo ! we shall fear neither the pope nor the 
 Spaniards, nor the devil himself ! No ! we shall not tremble, even 
 though the plains should be lifted above the mountains, and the 
 mountains should be precipitated into the ocean 1 God is with 
 us !— I have linished ! I have linished !" he exclaimed at last ; 
 " I have said all that I had to say t() you. Get you gone together, 
 and in peace to your own dwellings !" 
 
 These speeches, of which wc have given only a few textual lines, 
 lasted for hours ; it is very difficult to follow their meaning. In the 
 same voice we recognize 'Tiberius, Mahomet, a soldier, a tyrant, a 
 patriot, a priest, and a madman. We perceive the laborious inspira- 
 tion of a triple S(ml, which seeks its own idea in the dark, finds it, 
 loses it, finds it again, and keeps its auditors floating to satiety, be- 
 tween terror, weariness, and compassion. When the language of 
 tyranny ia no longer brief, like the stroke of its will, it becomes ridic- 
 ulous. It resembles the letters from Capreai to the Eon)an senate, 
 oi the appeals of Bonajnirtj vanquished to the French legislative 
 body in 181:1 The absolutism which seeks to make itself under 
 stood, or to enter into explanations with venal senates or enslaved 
 citizens, becomes embarrassed in its own sophisms, mounts into the 
 clouds or creeps into nothingness. Silence is the sole eloquence of 
 tyranny, becau.se it admits of no replj'. 
 
 Never did these peculiar characteristics of Cromwell's oratory dis- 
 play themselves more than in his answers to the parliament, which 
 thrice offered him the crown in lOriH. The first time it was merely 
 a depulalion, wiio came to api^rischim, in his own jirivate apartment, 
 of the intended proposal. The answer and the interview are equally 
 familiar tons. He desires not the title of king, liccause his politi- 
 cal inspiration told hitn that instead of increasing his actual .strength 
 it would tend to destroy it. On the other hand, he dared not reject 
 the offer with too peremptory a refusal, because his generals, more 
 ambitious liian himself, would insist on liis acceptance of the throne, 
 to compromise beyond recall his greatness and that of his family,
 
 villi llu'ir own fortunos. He dreaded lost in discontent for his de- 
 nial, tliey niiirlit oiler the .sovereignly to some other leader in the 
 army, more darina; and less scnipulous than himself. His embar- 
 rassincnt may he construed in his words. It took him oi.i^ht days 
 and a thousand cireuml(ic\ilions before be could explain himself. 
 
 " GeulIenuMi," replied he, on tiie lirstday, to the conlidenlial dep- 
 utation of the parliament, " I have pas.sed the iirealer part of my 
 life in lire (if I may so .speak), and surrounded by cominniions ; but 
 all that has happened to me since I have meddled with public afTairs 
 for the general good, if it could be gathered into a single heap and 
 placed before me in one view, would fail to strike me with the terror 
 and respect for God's will which I undergo at the thought of this 
 thing you now mention, and this title j'ou offer me! Ihit T liave 
 drawn confidence and tramiuillity in every crisis of my past life, from 
 the conviction that the heaviest burdens I have borne have been im- 
 jiosed upon me by His hand without my own paiticipation. Often 
 have I felt that I should have given way under these weighty loads 
 if it had not entered into the views, the plans, and the great bounty 
 of the l;0rd to assist me in sustaining them. If then I should sufTer 
 myself to deliver you an answer on this matter, so suddenly and unex- 
 pectedly brought under my consideration, without feeling that this 
 answer is suggested to my heart and lips by Him who has ever been 
 my oracle and guide, I should therein exhibit to j'ou a slender evi- 
 dence of my wisdom. To accept or refuse your offer in one word, 
 from desires or feelings of personal interest, would savor too much 
 of the flesh and of "human appetite. To elevate myself to this 
 height by motives of amiiition or vainglory would be to bring down 
 a curse upon myself, upon my family, and upon the whole empire. 
 Better would it"be that I had'ncver been born. Leave me then to 
 seek counsel at my leisure, of God and my own conscience ; and I 
 liope neither the declamations of a light and thoughtless people, nor 
 the selfish wishes of those who expect to become great in my great- 
 ness, may influence my decision, of which I shall communicate to you 
 the result with as little delay as possiljlc." 
 
 Three hours afterward, the parliamentary committee returned to 
 press for his answer. It was m many respects confused and unin- 
 telligible. We can fancy that we behold the embarrassed motion of 
 Cicsarwhen he pushed "aside the crown offered to him l)y Antony 
 and the soldiers, in the circus. There was, as yet, no decision. 
 After four days of urtrent and lepeated entreaty on the part of the 
 parliament, of polite but significant delays on that of the protector, 
 Cromwell linallv explained iiimself in a deluge of words : 
 
 " K-)valty," said he. "is composed of two matters, the title of 
 king and tlie functions of monarchy. These functions are so united 
 by ""the very roots to an old form of legislation that all our laws 
 woidd fall to nothing did we not retain in their appliance u portion 
 uf the kingly power. But as to the title of king, this distinction im-
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 71 
 
 plies not only a supreme authority, but, I may venture to say, an au 
 thority partaking of tlie divine ! I liave assumed the place I now 
 occupy lo drive away the dan!=^ers which threatened my couutri', and 
 to prevent their recurrence. 1 shall not quibble between the titles of 
 king or protector, for I am prepared to couliaue in your service, as 
 either of these, or even as a simple mnstable, if you so will it, the 
 lowest officer in the land. For, in truth, I have often said to myself 
 I that 1 am, in fact, nothing more than a constable, maintaining the 
 I order and peace of the parish ! I am therefore of opinion that it is 
 unnecessary for j"ou to offer or for me to accept the title of king, 
 seeing that any other will equally answer the purpose !" 
 
 Then, with a frank confession, too humble not to be sincere, " Al- 
 low me," he added, " to lay open my heart here, aloud, and in your 
 presence. At the moment wlien I was called to this great work, 
 and preferred by God to so many others more worthy than myself, 
 what was I ? Nothing more than a simple captain of dragoons in a 
 regiment of militia. ^\y commanding officer was a dear friend 
 who possessed a noble nature, and whose memory I know you cherish 
 as warmly as I do myself. This was Mr. Hampden. The first time 
 I found myself under fire with him I saw that our troops, newly 
 levied, without discipline, and composed of men who loved not God, 
 were beaten in every encounter. With the permission of Mr. Hamp- 
 den I introduced among them a new spirit, a spirit of zt-al and 
 piety ; I taught them to fear God. From that day forward they 
 were invariably victorious. To him be all the glory ! 
 
 " It has ev(;r been thus, it will ever continue to be thus, gentle- 
 men, with the government. Zeal and pietj' Avill preserve us without 
 a king ! Understand me Avell ; I would willingly consent to become 
 a victim for the salvation of all ; but I do not think — no, truly, I do 
 not believe that it is necessary this victim should bear the title of 
 a king!" 
 
 Alas ! lie had unfortunately thought otherwise in the case of 
 Charles the First. The bloo(I of that monarch rose up too late and 
 protested against Ids words. He had in him chosen an innocent vic- 
 tim, not for ihe people, but for the army ! 
 
 Remorse began to weigh upon Jiim. It has been said that to ap- 
 pca.se or encourage lliese sensations, while the debates in parliament 
 held the crown, us it were, su.spended over his head, he descended 
 into tlie vaults of Whitehall, where the body of the decapitaU'd 
 Charles the First had l)een temporarily placed. Did he go to seek in 
 this .'spectacle an orach,' to solve Ids dmilits, or a les.son to regulate his 
 ambition ? Did lie go to iini)l()re from thi^ dead a pardon for tlie 
 murder he had permillcd, or forgiv(;ness for the throne and life of 
 "which he iiad deprived him ? We cannot say ; all lliat is certain ia 
 that he rai.sed the lid of the coffin which inclosed tlie embalmed 
 body and head of the executed monardi ; that lie caused all wit- 
 nesses to absent themselves, and that he remained for a long time
 
 t V 
 
 I OLlVlill CROMWELL. 
 
 alone, silcnllv lookin^r on the deceased— an interview of stoical firm- 
 ness if not <)f repentance ; a solemn honr of rcdectiou, from which 
 he must liave returned hardened or sliaken. His attendants ob- 
 served an uinvonU'tl paleness on his features and a melancholy conu 
 pression of his lips. Paiuliii.i,^ has often revived this strange scene. 
 Some have recognized in it tlie triumph of ambitiuii over its victim ; 
 we should prefer to recognize the agony of the remorseful mur- 
 
 derer 
 
 His private correspondence at this lime expresses the weariness of 
 aspirations which have sounded the deptlis of human grandeur, and 
 which see nothing but emptiness in a destiny so apparently full. 
 They breathe also a softening of the heart, which slackens the sever- 
 ity of government. " Truly," says he, in a letter to Fleetwood his 
 son-in-law, and deputy in Scotland, " truly, my dear Charles 1 have 
 more than ever need'of the help and prayers of my Christian friends. 
 Each party wishes me to adopt their own views. The spirit o. gen- 
 tleness which I feci within me at present pleases none of them. 1 may 
 say with sincerity, my life has Iteen a voluntary sacrifice for the ben- 
 efit of all Persuade our friends who are with you to Ijccome very 
 moderate. If the Lord's day approaches, as many maintain our 
 liioderation ought so much the more to manifest itself. In my heav- 
 iness I am ready to exclaim, ' Why have I not the wings ot a 
 dove' that I might fiee away ? ' But I fear me, this is a most culpa- 
 ble impatience. ^ I bless tlie Lord that I possess in my wife and chil- 
 dren ties whicii attach me to life ! Pardon me, if I have discoverec 
 to you mv inmost thoutrhts. (Jive my love to your dear wife, and 
 my blessin<^, if it is worth anything, to your infant child.' 
 
 In the niidst of these heavenly aspirations, he was anxious to leave 
 independent fortunes to his sons and daughters. The large income 
 allotted by parliament to maintain the splendor of his rank, his hered- 
 itary estate and the au.stere economy of his habits, had enabled him 
 to acquire some private property. The list of his possessions is con- 
 tained in his letters to his son Richard. Tliey compri.se twelve 
 domains, producing an annual rent of about :30();. " Ot what eon.se- 
 quence is this," he said sometimes ; " I leave to my family the favor 
 of God who has elevated me from nothing to the height on which i 
 am placed." It would seem as if he anticipated his approaching 
 
 Those who came in contact with him were sensible of it tl»cm- 
 selves The Quaker Fox, one of the founders of liiat pious and phil- 
 osophic sect, who ccmprise all theology in charity, ^yas in the habit 
 of familiar intercourse with Cromwell. About this time he wrote to 
 one of his friends as follows: "Yesterday I met Cromwe 1 in the 
 park of Hampton Court; he was on horseback, attended liv his 
 guards IJcforc I approaclu'd him I perceived tliat there came from 
 him an odor of death. When we drew near to each other I noticed 
 the paleness of the grave upon his face. Ho slopped, and 1 spoKe to
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 73 
 
 him of the persecutions of the Friends (Quakers), usinj? the words 
 •which the Lord suggested to my hps. He replied, ' Come and see 
 me to-morrow. ' On the following day 1 went to Hampton Court,, 
 and was mformed that he was ill. From that day 1 never saw him 
 more." 
 
 Hampton Court, the magnificent feudal residence of Henry the 
 Eighth, was an abode which by its melancholy and monastic gran- 
 deur was Avell suited to the temperament of Cromwell. The cha- 
 teau, flanked by large towers resembling the bastions of a fortress, 
 was crowned with battlements, blackened incessantly by broods of 
 rooks. It stood on the border of vast forests, luxurious produce of 
 the soil, so dear to the Saxon race. The aged oaks of the extensive 
 park appeared to assume the majesty of a royal vegetation, to accord 
 with the Gothic architecture of the castle. "Long avenues, veiled in 
 shadow and mist, terminated in a perspective of green meadow, 
 silently traversed by herds of lame deer. Narrow, low portals with 
 pointed arches, resembling the apertures of a cavern m the solid 
 rock, gave admission to subterraneous apartments, guard-rooms and 
 vaulted fencing-schools, decorated with devices of ancient armor, 
 escutcheons, and knightly banners. Everything breathed that mis- 
 trustful superiority which creates a void round monarchs, either 
 through respect or terror. Hampton Court was the favorite resi- 
 dence of Cromwell, but at the period of which we are writing ho 
 wau detained there as much by pain as relaxation. 
 
 Providence, as often happens to exalted individuals, had deter- 
 mined to inflict the expiation of his prosperous fortunes, tliroue;h the 
 medium of his own family. Several daughters had embellislied his 
 domestic hearth. The eldest was married to Lord Falconbridge, the 
 second to Fleetwood, the third to Claypole, while the fourth 'and 
 youngest was already, at seventeen, the widow of Lord Rich, grand- 
 son of the Earl of Warwick, an old companion-in-arms of the protec- 
 tor. The grief of this j'oung woman, the favorite of her mother, 
 saddened the internal happniess of tiie circle at Hampton Court. 
 Fleetwood, a moody republican, ever divided between the ascen- 
 dency of Cromwell, to wliicii he submitted with a pang of conscience, 
 and the pure democratical opinions which saw individual tyranny k, 
 the protectorate, continually reproaclied his father-in-law with hav- 
 ing ab.sorbed the repulilic whicli he appeared to save. Between fanat, 
 ici.sm and airecliou he had drawu over his vouiig wife to j^iu in his 
 discontented murmurs. Lady Fleetwood, like the second iirutus, ex- 
 perienced at th(; same time an invincilile attachment and repugnance 
 to her father, who had become the tyrant of his country. The tics 
 of blood and the spirit of sectarianism divided her heart. She embit- 
 tered the life of the protector by iuce.'^.sant reproaches. Cromwell, 
 surrounded by the f!ares of government, was at the same time beset 
 by the iuvcfaives of Ids republiean daugliler against his absolute 
 mciisures, jiiid trend^led to di.scovcr the hand of Fleetwood and his 
 
 A.B.-ir,
 
 74 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 •wife in some hostile machinations. Tlie deprecatory lone of Ins let- 
 ters to Lady Fleetwood describes the nngiiish endured hy this father, 
 compelled to justify his actions to his own family, when England and 
 all Europe trembled at his nod. iiut this chdd of Cromwell, per 
 jielually agitated by remorse for ruined liiierty, never remained long 
 hiient under his urgent remonstrances. It was necessary to convince 
 lier, for fear of being compelled to punish. She was, in truth, the 
 Xemesis of her father. * 
 
 His daughter Elizabeth, Lady Claypole, became his consoling 
 spirit. This young and amiable female, in grace, in mind, in senti- 
 ment, was endowed with every quality which justifies the prefer- 
 ence, or, we should rather say, the admiration by which Cromwell 
 distinguished her. The royalist historian, Hume, who can scarcely 
 be suspected of flattery, or even of justice, when speaking of the 
 family of the nuu-derer of his king, acknowledges that Lady Claypole 
 possessed charms and virtue sufficient to excuse the admiration of 
 the whole world. One of those cruel fatalities which resemble 
 chance, but are in fact ordained chastisements of tyranny, had re- 
 cently pierced the heart of this accomplished woman almost to death, 
 and excited between her and her father a tragical family dissension, 
 in which nature, torn by two conflicting feelings (like Camille,* 
 divided between her country and her lover), is imable to renounce 
 one without betraying the other. Death is the only issue of such an 
 awful predicament. In one of the recent royalist conspiracies 
 against the authority of the protector, a young Carulier (the name 
 commonly applied to the partisans of "Charles the Second) had 
 been condemned to death. Cromwell had the j^ower of mercy, 
 which he Avould have exercised if the guilty prisoner, for whom 
 he was aware his daughter felt the Avarmest interest, would have 
 afforded him the least pretext for clemency, by even a qualified 
 submission. But the intrepid Hewett (such was the name of 
 the criminal) had defied the protector on his trial, as he had l)rave(i 
 the danger in the conspiracy. Cromwell, deaf for the first time 
 to the .--iipplications, the sobs, and despair of his daughter pros- 
 trated at his feel, imploring the lite of a man who was dear to her, 
 ordered the execution to proceed. Lady Chiypole felt herself stricken 
 mortally by the same blow. Cromwell had slain his daughter through 
 the heart of one of his enemies. Elizabeth, sinking under a deadly 
 weakness, retvirued to Hampton Court to receive the tender cares ot 
 her mother and sisters, and only roused herself from her stupor tu re- 
 proach her father with the blood of his victin). Her lamentable im- 
 precations, interrupted by the remorse and leturning tenderness of 
 lier father, filled the palace wilh trf)uble, mystery, and consternation. 
 The life of I^ady Cllaypole rapidly consumed itself in these sad alter- 
 nations of tears and maledictions. Cromwell was consumed by an- 
 
 • 111 tl»e " Horace" o* Corneille.— Tb.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 75 
 
 guisli, fruitless supplication, and unavailing repentance. He felt that 
 liis cruelty had made him hated by the being whom he loved most 
 on earth ; and, to complete his agonj", he himself had launched the 
 bolt against his child. Thus the republic that he had de- 
 ceived on the one hand and the royally he had martyred on the 
 other seized on the fanaticism and feelings of his two daughters, to 
 revenge on his own heart aud under his domestic roof the ambition 
 and inhumanity with wliich he had trampled on both. He presented 
 a modern Atrides, apparently at the summit of prosperity, but in fact 
 an object of compassion to his most implacable enemies. Ladj- Clay- 
 pole died in his arms at Hampton Court, toward the end of 1658. 
 With her last words she forgave her father, but nature refused to 
 ratify tlie pardon. From the day when he buried his beloved daugh- 
 ter he languished toward his end, aud his own hours were num- 
 bered. 
 
 Although he was robust in appearance, and his green maturity of 
 fifty-nine, maintained by warlike exercises, sobriety, aud chastity, 
 had enabled him to preserve the activity and vigor of his j^outh, 
 disgust of life, that paralysis of the soul, inclosed a decayed heart in 
 a healthy body. He seemed no longer to take any interest in the 
 affairs of government or in the divisions of his own family. His 
 confidential friends endeavored to direct his thouglits from the grave 
 of his daughter, by inducing him to change the scene aud vary his 
 occupations so as to dissipate the depressing moral atmosphere which 
 surrounded him. His secretary, Thurloe, and others of his most 
 trusted adherents, in concert with his wife, contrived, without his 
 knowledge, revii;ws, hunting-])arties, races, and avocations of duty 
 or amusement to distract or occupy his attention. They took him 
 back to London, but he found the city even more distasteful than the 
 country. Tliey thought to reanimate his languor by repasts in the 
 open air, brought by liis servants from the house, and prepared on 
 the gra.ss under the shadow of the finest trees, and in liis' favorite 
 spots. His earliest taste, the love of rural nature and of the animals 
 of the field, was the last that remained in his closing hours. The 
 gentleman farmer and trainer of cattle again broke forth under the 
 master of an empire. Tlie Bible and tlie patriarciial life, to whic-h ho 
 cons'antjy alluded, associated them.selves in his mind witii the re- 
 membrances of rural occupations, which he regretted even in the 
 tsplendors of a palace : he often exclaimed, as Dauton did long after- 
 ward. " Happy is he who lives imder a thatched roof and cultivates 
 ills own field !" • 
 
 One morning, when Thurloe and the attendants of Cromw(;ll had 
 spread his meal on the grountl. under the shadow of a clum;) of mag. 
 nificcnt oaks, more distant from the neighi)oring city and thicker 
 than at present, he felt his spirits lighter and more .serene than usual, 
 and expressed a wish to pass the remainder of I he day in that delight- 
 ful solitude. He ordered his grooms to bring out six line bay horses.
 
 7G OLIVEU CUOMWFJ;!.. 
 
 wlH(i) till! States of Uolliind had lately sent liim as a present, to try 
 tluMii in lianu'ss in one of the avenues of the park. Two ])Ostiliona 
 mounted the leaders. Cronwvell desired Thnrioe to seat himself ip 
 the carriaue, while he ascended the ho.K and took the reins in hi» 
 own hiuids. The fiery and unbroken animals began to rear, threw 
 their riders, and ran away with the liglit vehi(;le, which they dashed 
 a"-ainst a tree, and Cromwell was violently precipitated to the ground. 
 In his fall a loaded pistol went off, which he always carried concealed 
 under liis clothes. For a moment he was dragged along on the 
 gravel entangled with the broken carriage. Although he escaped 
 without a wound, his fall, the explosion of the pistol, revealing to 
 those about him his precautionary terrors, the sarcastic remarks to 
 ■which this mishap gave rise, all appeared to him ominous of evil, and 
 caused a sudden shock which he concealed with difficulty. ^ He 
 affected, notwithstanding, to laugh at the accident, and said to Thur- 
 loe, " It is easier to conduct a government than to drive a team of 
 
 horses !" . e ■.- 
 
 He returned to Hampton Court, and the constant image ot his 
 cherished daughter appeared to people those halls, which her presence 
 no longer animated, with remembrances less painful than oblivion. 
 He was prayed for throughout the three kingdoms : by the puritans, 
 for their prophet ; bv the republicans, for their champion ; by the 
 patriots, for the bulwark of their country. The antechambers 
 resounded with the munnured applications of preachers, chaplains, 
 fanatics, personal friends, and meml)ers of his own family— all be- 
 seeching God to spare the life of their s/niit. Whitehall resembled 
 more a sanctuary than a palace. The same spirit of mystical inspira- 
 tion which had conducted him there governed him in the last moments 
 of his residence. He discoursed only of religion, and never alluded 
 to politics, so much more was he occupied by the thoughts of eternal 
 salvation than of prolonging his earthly power. 
 
 He had designated his son Kichard as his successor (in a sealed 
 paper which had since gone astray), on the same day when he had 
 been named protector. Those who now surrounded him wi.shed him 
 to renew this act, but he appeared either indifferent or unwilling to 
 do so. At last, when he was asked, in the presence of witnesses, it it 
 was not his will that his son Kichard should succeed him. Yes, 
 he muttered, with a single affirmative motion of his head, and imme- 
 diately changed the subject of conversation. It was evident that 
 this man, impressed with the vici.ssitudes of government and the 
 fickleness of the people, attached but little importatice to the will of 
 a dictator, and left in the hands of Providence the fate of his author- 
 ity after his dcalii. "Cod will govern l)y the in.strument that ho 
 may please to .select." said he ; ""it is he alone who has given me 
 power over his people. " He believed that ]w had left this document 
 at Hampton Court, where messengers were dispatched to seek it 1 ni 
 without success, and the topic was never again adverted to.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL, 77 
 
 Riehard, who reskled usually in the country', in the paternal man- 
 sion of his wife, hastened to London, witli his sisters and brofeers-iu- 
 law, to attend the death-bed of the cliief of tlie family. He seemed 
 as indifferent as his father as to the liereditary succession of liis 
 office, for which he had neither tlie desire nor the ambition. The 
 whole generation, left by the protector in the mediocrity of private 
 life, appeared ready to return to it, as actors quit the stage when the 
 drama is over. They had neither acquired hatred nor envy by inso- 
 lence or pride. Like the children of Sylla, who mixed unnoticed 
 with the crowd, the tender alTection of his united family and their 
 unfeigned tears constituted the only funeral pomp which waited 
 round the coucli of the protector. 
 
 A slow intermittent fever seized him. He struggled with the first 
 attack so successfully that no one about him suspected he was seri- 
 ously ill. The fever became tertian and more acute ; his .strength 
 was rapidly giving way. The physicians summoned from London 
 attributed the disease to the bad air engendered by the marshy and 
 ill-drained bank-; of the Thames, which joined the gardens of Hamp- 
 ton Court. He was brought back to Whitehall, as if Providence had 
 decreed that he should die before the same window of the same 
 palace, in front of which he had ordered to be constructed, ten years 
 before, the scaffold of his royal victim. 
 
 Cromwell never rose again from the bed on which he was placed 
 •when he returned to London. His acts and words, during his long 
 agony, have been wildl}' misrepresented, according to the feelings of 
 the different parties who sought revenge for his life or who gloried 
 in his death. A new document, equally authentic and invaluable, 
 notes taken without his knowledge, calculating every hour and every 
 sigh, and preserved by the comptroller of his household, who 
 ■watched him day and night, have verified beyond dispute his 
 thoughts and expressions. The sentiments expressed in these last 
 moments speak the true secrets of tlie soul. Death unmasks every 
 face, and hypocrisy disappears before the raised linger of God. 
 
 During the periods between tiie paroxysms of the fever, he occu- 
 pied tlie time with listening to passages from the sacred volume, or 
 by a resigned or despairing reference to the death of his daughter. 
 " Read to me," he said to his wife in one of those intervals, " the 
 Epistle of St. I*aul to the Pliilippiaiis." She read these words: "1 
 know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound : everj-- 
 where and in all things I am instructed I)oth to be full and to be 
 hungry, both to abound and to suff(!r need. I can do all things 
 throiigh Christ, which strengtheneth me." The reader paused 
 " That ver.se," said Cromwell, " once saved my life wIh'U the death 
 of my (eldest born, the infant Oliver, piere(.'d my heart like tlie sharp 
 blade of a [jonianl. Ah ! St. Paul," lie continued, " you are entilleil 
 to speak tlnis, for you answered to the call of grace ! Hut 1 — " he 
 broke off, but after a .short silence, resuming a tone of contideuce,
 
 78 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 continued, " but he who was the Saviour of Paul, is he not also 
 mine '?" 
 
 " Do not weep Urns," said ho to his wife and children, who were 
 sobbing loudly in the clianihcr ; " love not this vain world ; I tell 
 you from the brink of the grave, love not the things of earth !" 
 There was a moment of weakness when he seemed anxious for lif(\ 
 " Is there no one here," he demanded, " who can deliver me from 
 this danger?" All hesitated to answer. " Man is helpless,"' lie con- 
 tinued, " God can do whatever he pleases. Are there none, then, 
 who will pray with me ?" 
 
 The silent motion of his lips was interrupted from time to time by 
 indistinct and mystical murmurings which indicated inward suppli- 
 cation. " Lord, thou art my witness, that if I still desire to live it 
 is to glorify thy name and to complete thy work !" " It is terrible, 
 yea, it is very terrible," he muttered three times in succession, " to 
 fall into the hands of the living God !" " Do you think," said hd to 
 his chaplain, " that a man w-ho has once been in a state of grace can 
 ever perish eternally?" " No," replied the chaplain, " there is no 
 possibility of such a relapse." "Then I am safe," replied Crom- 
 well ; " for at one time I am confident that I was chosen." All his 
 inquiries tended toward futurity, none bore reference to the present 
 life. " I am the most insignificant of mortals." continued he after a 
 momentary iiause ; " but I have loved God, praised be his name, or 
 rather I am beloved by him !" 
 
 There was a moment when the dangerous symptoms of his malady 
 were supposed to have subsided ; he even adopted this notion him- 
 self. Whitehall and the churches resounded with thanksgivings. 
 The respite was sliort, for the fever speedily redoubled. Several 
 days and nights were passed in calm exhaustion or incoherent de- 
 lirium. On the morning of the ;30th of August, one of his officers, 
 looking from the window, recognized the republican Ludlow, ban- 
 ished from London, who happened to be crossing the square. Crom- 
 well, inff)rmed of his presence, became anxious to know what motive 
 could have induced Ludlow to have the audacity to show himself in 
 the capital, and to pass under the very windows of his palace. He 
 sent his .son Kichard to him, to endeavor if possible to fathom the 
 secret views of his party. Ludlow assured Richard Cromwell that 
 lie came exclusively on private affairs, and was ignorant when he 
 arrived of the illness of the protector. He promised to depart from 
 the capital on that .same day. This is Uie Ludlow who, being pro- 
 scribed among tlic regicides after the death of Cromwell, retired to 
 grow old and die impenitently at Vevay, on the borders of Lake 
 Lcman, where his tomb is still exhibited. 
 
 Cromwell, satisfied as to the intentions of the republicans, thought 
 no longer but of making a religious end. The intendant of his 
 chamber, who watched by Jiim, heard him offer up his last prayers in 
 detached sentences, and in an audible tone. For his own satisfaction
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 79 
 
 he noted down the words as they escaped from the lips of the dying 
 potentate, and long afterwiird transmitted them to history. 
 
 " Lord, I am a miserable creature ! But by thy grace I am in the 
 truth, and I hope to appear before thee in behalf of this people. 
 Thou hast selected me, although unworthy, to be the instrument of 
 good here Ijelow, and to have rendered service to my brethren. Many 
 of them have thought too favorably of my strength, while many 
 others will rejoice that I am cut off. Continue, O Lord, to give thy 
 help to all ; endow them with constancy and a right understanding ; 
 render through them the name of our Saviour Jesus Christ more and 
 more honored upon earth ; teach them who trust too much to thy 
 instrument to rely on thee alone. Pardon those who are impatient 
 to trample under their feet this worm of earth, and grant me a night 
 of peace, if it be thy good pleasure." 
 
 On the following da3^ the anniversary of the battles of Dunbar and 
 Worcester, his two greatest victories, the sound of the military music 
 by which they were celebrated penetrated to his dying chamber. 
 " I could wish," he exclaimed, " to recall my life, to repeat once 
 more those services for the nation ; but my day is over. May God 
 continue ever present with his children." 
 
 After a last restless night, he was asked If he wished to drink or 
 sleep. " Neither," he replied, " hut to pass quickly to my Father." 
 B}' sunrise his voice failed, but he was still observed to pray in an 
 inarticulate tone. 
 
 The equinoctial gale, which had commenced on the preceding day, 
 now swelled into a storm which swept over England with the effect 
 of an earthquake. The carriages which conveyed to London the 
 friends of the protector, apprised of his extreme danger, were unable 
 to stem the violence of the wind and took refuge in the inns on the 
 road. The lofty liouses of London undulated like vessels tossed 
 upon the ocean. Roofs Avere carried oif, trees that had stood for 
 centuries in Hyde I*ark were torn up l)y the roots ami prostrated on 
 the ground like bundles of straw. Cromwell expired at two o'clock 
 in the afternoon, in the midst of this convulsion of nature. lie de- 
 parted as he was born, in a tempest. Popular superstition recog- 
 nized a miracle in this coincidence, which seemed like the expiring 
 efforts of the elements to tear from life and emi)ire the single man 
 who was capable of enduring the might of Engianil's de^^tiny, anci 
 whose decease created a void which none but himself could till. 
 Obedience had become so habitual and fear so universally survived 
 hi.s power that no opposing faction ilared to raise its head in presence 
 of his remains ; his enemies, like those of Caisar, were comi)elled to 
 simulate mourning at his fuiu-rul. Several months elapsed luiforo 
 England felt ihoroughly convinced (hat her master nolong<T existed, 
 and ventured l(> exiiibit a few faint throbs of libcTty after such a 
 memorable sciv-iturle. If at that time there had been found an 
 Antony to place himself at the hcjid of the army in London, and if a
 
 80. OLIVER CROMWKLL. 
 
 now Octavius had appeared in Richard Cromwell, (he Lower Empire 
 might liave commenced in the British Islands. But Richard al)di- 
 cated after a very short exercise of power, lie had formerly, with 
 tears, emhraccd his father's knees, imploring him to spare the head 
 of (;;harles the First. His resignation cost him nothing, for he had 
 exanuned too closely the price of supreme power. Ilirhecame once 
 more a simple and unostentatious citi/en, enjoying, iuthe tranquillity 
 of a country life, his ohscurity and Ins innocence. 
 
 We have souglit to describe the true character of Crnmwell, rescued 
 from romance and restored to history. This supposed actor of sixty 
 hecomes a veritaljle man. Formerly he was misapprehended, now he 
 is correctly understood. 
 
 A great man is ever the personification of the spirit which breathes 
 from time to time upon his age and country. Tlie inspiration of 
 Scripture predominated, in 1000, over llie three kingdoius. Crom- 
 well, more imhued than any other with this sentiment, was neither a 
 politician nor an ambitious conqueror, nor an Octavius, nor a 
 Caesar. He was a Judge of the (Jld Testament ; a sectarian of the 
 greater power in proportion as he was more superstitious, more strict 
 and narrow in his doctrines, and more fanatical. If his genius had 
 surpassed his epocli he would have exercised less influence over the 
 existing generation. His nature was less elevated than the part 
 assigned to him ; his religious bias constituted the half of his fortune. 
 A true military Calvin, holding the Bible in one hand and the 
 sword in the other, he aimed rather at salvation than temporal em- 
 pire. Historians, hitherto ill-informed, have mistaken the principle 
 of his ambition. It was the feature of the times. All the factions of 
 that age were religions, as all tho.se of the present day are political. 
 In Switzerland, in Germany, in the North, in France, in Scotland, in 
 Ireland, in England, all parties borrowed their convictions, their 
 divided opinions, their opposing fierceness from the Bible, which had 
 become tiie universal oracle. Interpreted differently by the dilferent 
 i-ccts, this oracle imparted to each exposition the bitterness of a 
 whism, to each destiny the holiness of a revelation, to each leader the 
 authority of a prophet, to each victim the heroism of a martyr, and 
 t) eacli conqueror the ferocity of an executioner offering up a sacri- 
 fice to the Deity. A paroxysm of mystical fienzy had seized upon 
 the whole Christian world, and the most impassioned trampled upon 
 the rest. Danton has said that in a revolution the greatest scoundre! 
 must gain the victory. With eipial justice it may i)e observed that 
 in religious wars the most superstitious leader will win the day. 
 When that leader is at tlie same time a soldier, and inspires his 
 followers with his own enthusiasm, there is no longer a limit to his 
 career of fortune. He subjects the people by the army, and the army 
 by the superstitions of tlie people If endowed with genius, he be- 
 comes a Mahomet ; a Cromwell, if gifted only with policy and 
 fanaticism.
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 81 
 
 It becomes, therefore, impossible to deny that Cromwell was sin- 
 cere. Sincerit}- was the inciting motive of his elevation, and, without 
 excusing, completely explains his crimes. This quality, which con- 
 stituted his virtue, impressed on his actions, faith, devotednees, en- 
 thusiasm, consistency, patriotism, toleration, austerity of manners, 
 application to war and business, coolness, mode.sty, piety, denial of 
 personal ambition for his family, and all those patriarchal and 
 romantic features of the lirst republic which characterized his life 
 and the period of his reign. It also imparted to his nature the im- 
 placability of a religionist who believed that in striking his own ene- 
 mies he was smiting the enemies of God. Tlie massacres of the van- 
 quished rebels in Ireland and tlie cold-blooded murder of Charles the 
 First exhibit the contrasted extravagance of this false conscience. In 
 Cromwell it was untempered by the natural clemency wliich palliates 
 in the first Caesar the barbarities of ambition. Vie recognize the we 
 victis of the sectarian, the demagogue, and the soldier united in the 
 same individual. 
 
 Thus, as it always happens, these two leading crimes, perpetuated 
 without pity, rebounded back upon his cause and his memorj^ Wliat 
 did Cromwell desire ? Assuredly not the throne, for we have seen 
 that it was frequently within his grasp, and he rejected it that Provi- 
 dence alone miglit reign. He wished to secure for his own party, the 
 Independents, full religious liberty in matters of faith, guaranteed by 
 a powerful representation of the people ami the p-.u-liament, and pre- 
 sided over by a monarchical form of government at the head of this 
 republic of saints. This is the direct conclusion to be drawn from 
 his entire life, his actions, and his words. 
 
 Now, in sparing the life of the vanquished sovereign, and in con- 
 cluding, either with hitn or his sons, a national compact, a new 
 Masna Charta, establishing religiuus and representative freedom 
 throughout England, Cromwell would have left a head to the repub- 
 lic, a king to tlie royali.sts, an all-powerful parliament to the people. 
 and a victorious independence to the conscience of the nation. By 
 putting Charles to death and Ireland to tlie sword he furnished a 
 never-dying grievance to the supporters of the throne, martyrs U) the 
 ))6r.secuted faiths, with a long and certain reaction to absolute power, 
 llie estahlislied Protestantism of the State, and the followers of the 
 Homiin Catholic Cluirch. He prepared the inwvitable return of the 
 la.st Sluaits, for dynasties are never extinguished in blood ; they 
 (■.xjilre rather by ah.sence. His severity, .sooner or later, recoiled 
 uf)on hi.4 cause and tarnished Ills memory. This biblical JIarius can 
 never be ab.solved from his proscriptions. After much slaughter, 
 tli.-it he governed well and wisely cannot bp, dis|)ule(l. He laid the 
 fouiidnlions of the great power of England, both by laiiil and sea. 
 iJul nations, who are often ungralcful for the virtue .sacriliced in 
 tlioir cause, are doubly so for the crimes comuiilted to promote 
 their grandeur. Whatever the disciples of .Miu;hiavelli, and the cou-
 
 83 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 ventiou may say to the contrary, there are such tliiugs as national re- 
 pentance and remorse, whicli perpetuate themselves with natioiml 
 lii'itorv Cromwell deeply wounded the conscience and hunianUy 
 of^Eii-'iand bv his systematic cruellies. The stains of the royal iuid 
 plebei-m blood which he shed without compunction, have indelibly 
 iniDrinled themselves on his name. He has left a lofty but an un- 
 popular memory. His glory belongs to England, but England in- 
 clines to suppress it. Her historians, her orators, her patriots sel- 
 dom refer to his name, and evince no desire to have it paraded bel ore 
 Ihem They blush to be .so deeply indebted to such a man. British 
 patriotism, which cannot historically ignore the reality of us services 
 prolitsby the basis of national power which Cromwell has estao- 
 ished in Europe, but at the same time denies his P;;[««^^l„'; ,'^,''^,J. ' ^'^ 
 acknowledges the woik but repudiates the workman. Ihe name 
 of Cromwell, in the acceptation of the English people, resembles one 
 o \hL massive druidicil altars upon which t^lieir l^'' -f "jJ^^V^ 
 lurs olfeied up sacrifices to their goas ; and which ^^^'^^l^'^'J''^'^^ 
 been thrown in to assist in the foundations of latei edihces, can 
 never ir disinterred or restored to light without disclosing the 
 Uaces of the blood so profusely scattered by savage superstition. 
 
 TBH IUID.
 
 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, a celebrated British states- 
 man and orator, was born on the loth of ^'ovember, 1708. He was 
 the youngest son of Mr. Robert Pitt, of Boconnock. in Cornwall, the 
 jrrandson of Mr. Thomas Pitt, governor of Fort St. George, in the 
 East Indies, in the reign of Queen Anne, who sold an extraordinary 
 diamond to the King of France for £1:35. 000, and thus obtained the 
 name of Diamond Pitt. The subject of this notice was educated at 
 Eton, whence, in January. 1T26, he was removed to Triuity College, 
 Oxford, which he entered as a gentleman commoner. Here the 
 superiority of his mind soon attracted notice, and he w-as also re- 
 marked for his powers of elocution : but at the age of sixteen he ex- 
 perienced the fir.st attacks of an hereditary and incurable gout, which 
 continued at intervals to torment him during the remainder of his 
 life. He quitted the university without taking a degree, and visited 
 France and Italy, whence he returned without having received much 
 benefit from his excursion. His father was now dead, and as he had 
 left very little to the younger children, it l)ecame necessary that Wil- 
 liam should choose a profession. He decided for the army, and a 
 cornet's commission was purchased for iiim in the Bines. But, small 
 as his fortune was, his family had the power and the inclination to 
 serve him. At the general election of 1784, his elder ])rother Thom- 
 as was chosen both for Old Sarum and for Oakhampton. When 
 Parliament met in 17:iT, Thomas made his election for Oakhampton, 
 and William was returned for Old Sarum. At the time when he ob' 
 tained a seat in Parliamint he was not (luite twenty-one j'cars of age. 
 Tiie intention of bringing liini thus early into Parliament was to op- 
 po.se Sir Robert Walpole, who had now been fourteen years at the 
 head of affairs. In fact, his abilities soon attracted notice, and he 
 ppoke with great vehemence against the Spanish Convention in 1788. 
 It was on tlie occjusion of the bill for registering seamen, in 1740, 
 which he oppo.sed as arbitrary and unjustirial)le, that he is said to havo 
 made liis celebrated r'-ply to' Walpole, who had taunted him on ac- 
 count of liis youth ; tiut'the language of that reply, as it now stands, 
 is not the dirtion of Pitt, who may have said something like what is 
 *scribed to him, hut of Ur. JoLnson, who then reporie 1, or ralliei
 
 4 riTT, eai:l of Chatham. 
 
 wroto, the dolnilos for the Genfkman'a Marjazine. In 17-10 PUl was 
 ;il>lioiiiti'(l joint vic('-tn;:isiiicr of Ireland ; and in the same year tiras- 
 urcr and payniaster-general of tiic army, and a privy councillor. 
 The olliee of paymaster he discliarjj^ed with such intlexihU; integrily, 
 even refusing many of the ordinary perfiiiisites of oflice, Ihat Ins liil- 
 terest enemies could lay nothini,^ lo liis charge, and lie soon became 
 the darling of the people. The old Duchess of Marll)ornugh, w/i.o 
 carried to the grave the reputation of lieing decidedly llu; best hater 
 of lier time, and who most cordially detested Walpole and his associ- 
 ates, left Pitt a legacy of £10,000, in consideration of " the noble de- 
 fence he iiad made for the support of the laws of England, and to 
 prevent the ruin of liis country." In the year 1755, PitI, deeming it 
 necessary to otfer a strong opposition to the continental connections 
 then formed by the ministry, resigned his jilaces, and remained some 
 time out of ottice. But his resignation having alarmed the people, 
 he was, in December, 175G, called to fill a higher office, and ap- 
 pointed secretary of state. In this situation, however, he was more 
 successful in obtaining the confidence of the public than in conciliat- 
 ing the favor of the king, some of whose predilections he had con- 
 ceived himself bound te oppose. The consequence was, that soon 
 afterward Pitt was removed from oflice, while Legge, with some 
 others of his friends, vtrc at the same time dismissed. But the 
 nation had a mind not to be deprived of his services. The most ex- 
 alted notion had been formed of him throughout the country ;_ his 
 patriotism Avas l)elieved t/o be as pure and disinterested as his abilities 
 and eloquence were confessedly transcendent ; and his colleagius 
 shared in the same gcueral favor. In a word, the opinion of the 
 country was so strongly expressed, botli directly and indirectly, that 
 the king thought it prudent to yield ; and on the 2oth of June, 1757, 
 Pitt was again appointed secretary of stale, Legge became chancellor 
 of the exchequer, a-.d the other arrangements were made conforma- 
 bly to his wishes^. Titt was now in effect prime minister ; and the 
 chana;e which so'-j. took place in the asj)cct of public aifairs evinced 
 the ability of h':< measirres and the vigor of his administration. His 
 spirit animate J the whole nation, and his activity pervaded every de- 
 partment of (he public service. His plans were ably conceived and 
 promptly executed ; and the depression which had I)een occasioned 
 by want of enersry in the cabinet and ill success in the field was fol- 
 lowed by exertion, confidence, and triumph. The whole fortune of 
 the war was changed. In every quarter of the globe success at- 
 tended our arms. The boldest attempts were made both by land and 
 by .sea, and almost every attempt proved fortunate. In America the 
 French lost Quebec ; in Africa they were deprived of their principal 
 settlements ; their power was abridged in the East Indies ; in Europe 
 their armies were defeated ; and, to render their humiliation more 
 complete, their navy, tlieir commerce, and their linances were almost 
 ruined. Amid this full tide of success George 11. died, ou the ^5tk
 
 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. O 
 
 of October 1760, and was succeeded by George III., who ascended 
 the throne at a time when the French court had just succeeded in ob- 
 taminif the co-operatiou of Spain. ,,,.,, .i 
 
 The'treatv commonly called " family compact" had been secretly 
 concluded ; but the English minister, correctly informed of the hos^- 
 tile intentions of Spain, determined to anticipate that power and 
 strike a l.low before this new enemy should be/uUy prepared for ac- 
 tion He therefore proposed in the council an immediate declaration 
 of war against Spain, urging forcibly that the present was the favor- 
 able moment for humbling the whole House of Bourbon._ Lut when 
 he stated this opinion in the privy council, the other ministers, averse 
 to so bold a measure, opposed the proposition of the premier, a tg- 
 ino- the necessity of mature deliberation before declaring war against 
 so°powerful a state. Irritated by the unexpected opposition of his 
 colK^agues, Pitt replied, " I will not g;ive them leave to think ; his is 
 the time; let us crush the whole House of I^»';i,^'^«'.\ , ^u t e 
 members of this board are of a different opinion, this is the hibt tune 
 I shall ever mix in its councils. I was called into the ministry by the 
 voice of the people, and to them I hold myself answerable for my 
 conduct. I Im to thank the ministers of the late king for their sup- 
 port ; I have served my country with success ; but I will not be re- 
 sponsible for the conduct of the war any longer than while i have 
 the direction of it." To this declaration the president of the council 
 answered " I find the gentleman is determined to leave us ; nor can 
 I <^-dV that I am sorry for it, since he would otherwise have certainly 
 compelled us to leave him. But if he is resolved to assume the right 
 of advising his .Majesty, and directing the operations of the war, to 
 what purpo.se are we called to this council '! ^V hen he talks of being 
 responsible to the people, he talks the language of the House of Com- 
 mons, and forgets that at this board he is responsible only to the 
 king However, though he may possibly have convinced himself of 
 his Infallibility, still it remains that we should be equally convinced 
 before wu can resign our understandings to liis direction, or .]om with 
 him in the measure he proposes." The oppo.sition he thus encoun- 
 tered the nation attril)uted to the growing mfluencu of J.ord Bute. 
 But however this may have been, Pitt was a man ol too high, not to 
 Bay imperious a temper, to remain as the nomuial heail ol a cabinet 
 which he was no longer able to direct. Accordingly, on the oth of 
 October ITfil, he resigned all his appointments ; and, as some reward 
 for his services, his wife was created Baroness Chatham in her owa 
 right, while a pension of £:}()00 a year was settled on the lives of 
 himself, iiis lady, and his eldest son. 
 
 No fallen minister, if fallen he could be called, ever carried with 
 him more completely the confidence: and regret of the nal^ion, whoso 
 alTairs he had so successfully administered. But at this lime tbo 
 king was also popular ; and the war being continued by hifl new mm- 
 iaters with vigor and succcbs, no dibcouteut appeared uutd after tho
 
 6 PITT, EAKL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 coudusiou of the peace. The impulse given by Pitt hatl carried them 
 forward in the same direction wliich he had pursued ; but they wero 
 equally incapable of proilling by the advantULn'S which had been al- 
 ready piincd, or of prosecuting the war until Ihe objects for which 
 it was originally undertaken slioidd be accouiplished. The victoiics 
 gained over France and Spain having greatly elated the nation, the 
 feeling which almost universally prevailed among the people was, 
 that wo should either dictate peace as concpierors, or continue the 
 war xintil our adversaries were more elfectnally luunbled. This was 
 likewise Pitt's opinion. Accordingl}', when llie iircliminaiies of 
 peace came to be discussed in Parliament, he went dcnvn to the House 
 of Commons, though sutlering severely from an attack of gout, and 
 spoke for nearly three hours in the debate, giving his opinion on each 
 article of the treaty in succession, and, upon the whole, maintaining 
 that it was inadequate to the conquests ot our arms, and the just ex- 
 pectations of the country. Peace was, however, concluded on the 
 loth of February, 1768, and Pitt continued unemployed. 
 
 After his resignation in ITGl, Pitt conducted himself in a manner 
 worthy of his high character. Bo far from giving a vexatious and 
 undiscriminaling opix)sitiou to the niinistrj' which had succeeded his 
 own, he maintained his popularity in dignified retirement, and came 
 forward only when questions of great importance were to be dis- 
 cussed. One of these occurred in 17G4, on the subject of general 
 warrants, the illegality of which he denounced with all the energy 
 and vigor of his eloquence. Another occasion, when he came for- 
 ward in all his strength, was the cc/usideration of the discontents 
 which had arisen on account of the Stamp Act. In March, 17G6, the 
 repeal of that act having been proposed b}'' the Rockingham minis- 
 try, Pitt, though not connected willi them, ably supported the meas- 
 ure, which was carried, but whether prudently or the contrary is still 
 a matter of dispute. About this time Pitt had devised to liim by will 
 a considerable estate in Souicrselshire, the property of Sir William 
 Pynsent of Burton-Pynsent in that county, who, from admiration of 
 his public character, disinherited liis own relations, in order to be« 
 queath to him the bulk of liis fortune. After the dissolution of the 
 Rockingham ministry, a new adniiiiistralion was formed, and in 1766 
 Pitt was appointed ford privy sinl. At the same time he %vas created 
 a peer by the titles of Viscount Pitt of jJtirton I'ynsenl, In the county 
 of Somerset, and Earl of Chatham, in the county of Kent. 
 
 Whatever might be his motives in accepting a peerage, it is certain 
 that it proved very prejudicial to his character, and that in conse- 
 quence he sank as much in popularity as he lose in nominal dignity. 
 The " great commoner," as he was sometimes called, had formed a 
 rank for himself, on the basis of liis talents and exertions, which 
 titular honors might obscure, but could not illustrate ; and, with the 
 example of PuUeney before him, be should have hem careful to pre- 
 Berve it untarnished by empty distinctions, sharetl by the mean and
 
 PITT, EAHL OF CHATHAM. < 
 
 the worthless as well as by the great, the gifted, and the gooJ Lord 
 Chatham however, did not loaff continue in office after being elevated 
 to the peerage On the 2d of November, 1768, he resigned the place 
 of lord privy seal, and never afterward held any pul)lic employment ; 
 nor does he appear to have been at all desirous of returumg to othce. 
 He was now sixty, and the gout, by which he had so long been 
 afflicted, disabled' him, by its frequent and violent attacks, tor close 
 and ren-ular application to business. In the intervals of his disorder, 
 however he failed not to exert himself upon questions of great mag- 
 nitude • 'and in 1775, 1776, and 1777, he most strenuously opposea 
 the measures pursued by the ministers in the contest with America. 
 His last appearance in the House of Lords was on the 2d of April, 
 1778 He was then very ill, and much debilitated ; but the question 
 was important, being a motion of the Duke of Richmond to address 
 his Maiesty to remove the ministers, and to make peace with Amer- 
 ica on any t(^rms. His lordship made a long speech, in which ho 
 summoned up all his remaining strength to pour out his disapprobation 
 of a measure so inglorious. But the effort overcame liim, for in at- 
 tempting to rise a second time, he fell down in a convulsive fit ; and 
 thou"-h he recovered for the time, his disorder continued to increase 
 untiftlie lltli of May, when he expired at his seat at Hayes. His 
 death was lamented as a nationnl loss. As soon as the news reached 
 the House of Commons, which was then sitting, Colonel Bane made 
 a motion that an address should be presented to his Majesty, rc- 
 questin''- that the P]arl of Chatham should be buried at the public ex- 
 nense ^But Mr. Rigby having proposed the erection of a statue to 
 his memory, as more likely to perpetuate the sense of his great 
 merits entertained liy the public, this was unanimously agreed to. A 
 bill was soon afterward passed, by which £4000 a year was settled 
 upon .John now Earl of Cbatham, and the heirs of the late earl to 
 whom that titk; might descend. His lordship was married in 1754 to 
 Lady Hester, sister of Earl Temple, by whom he had three sous and 
 two diiughters. . 
 
 The principal outlines of Pitt's character liave been variously 
 sketched sometimes with and sometimes without any depth of 
 shadow. ' The truth is, that there scarcely ever lived a person who 
 had less claim to be painted altogether en beau, or who so little mer- 
 ited unsparing censure. Lord Macaulay says, " That he was a great 
 man cannot for a moment be doubted ; but his was not a complete 
 and 'well-proporti(jned greatness. The public life of Hampden or ot 
 Bomers resembles a regular drama, whicli can be criticised as a whole, 
 and every scene of wliicli is to be viewed iu connection with the 
 main action. The public life of Pitt, on the other hand, is a rudo 
 tliouo'h striking piece, abounding in incongruities, and without any 
 unity of plan, but redeemed by some noble pa-ssages, the effect of 
 whiili is increased by the tameness or extravagance of what precedes 
 tind of what follows. His opinions were uutixed ; and his conduct.
 
 8 PITT, KARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 at some of Ihe most important conjunctures of his life, was evidently 
 determined by pride and resentment, lie had one fault, which of 
 all human faults is most rarely found in company with true greatness, 
 lie was extremely alTected. lie was an ahnust solitar}' instance of a 
 man of real genius, and of a brave, lofty, and connnanding spirit, 
 without simplicitj' of eliaracter. He was an actor in the closet, an 
 actor iu the ccmncil, and an a(;tor in Parliament ; and even in private 
 society he couiii not lay aside his theatrical tones and attitudes. Wo 
 know that one of the most distinguished of his partisans often com- 
 plained that he could never obtain admittance to Lord Chatham's 
 room till everything was ready for the representation ; till the light 
 was thrown with Remlirandt-like efTcet on the head of the illustrious 
 performer ; till the llanucls had been arranged with the air of Grecian 
 (iraperj-, and the crutcli i)laced as gracefully as tliat of Belisarius or 
 Lear." Yet, with all his faults and alfcctations, he posses.sed, in a 
 very extraordinary degree, many of the elements of true greatness. 
 He liad splendid' talents, strong passions, ((uiek sensibility, and 
 vehement enthusiasm for the grancl and the beautiful. There was 
 something about him which ennol)led even tergiversation itself. He 
 often went wrong, very far wrong ; but, an^id the abasement of 
 error, he still retained what he had received from nature, " an in- 
 tense and glowing mind." In an age of low and despicable prostitu- 
 tion, the age of Dodington and Sandys, it was something to have a 
 man who niight perhaps, under some strong excitement, have been 
 tempted to riiin his country, but who never would have stooped to 
 pilfer from her ; a man whose errors arose, not from a sordid desire 
 of gain, but from a tierce thirst for power, glory, and vengeance. 
 " History owes him this attestation, that, at a time when anything 
 .s)iort of direct enil)e/,zlement of the public money was considered as 
 quite fair in public men, he showed the; most scrupulous disinterested- 
 ness ; that, at a time when it seemed to be generally taken for granted 
 that government could be upheld only by the ])asest and most immor- 
 al aits, he appealed to the better and nobler pnrts of human nature ; 
 tliat lie made a brave and splendid attempt to do, by means of public 
 opinion, what no other statesman of his day thought it possible to 
 do except liy means of corruption ; that he looked for support, not, 
 like the Peliiams, to a strong arislocratical connection, not, like Bute, 
 to tiie personal favor of the sovereign, but to the middle class of 
 Englishmen ; that he inspired that class with a firm confidence in his 
 integrity and al)ility ; tliat, backed by them, he forced an unwilling 
 ' court and an unwilling oligarchy to admit him to an ample share of 
 power ; and that he used his power in such a manner as clearly 
 proved that he hail sought it, not for tlie sake of jirofit or patronage, 
 but from a wish to establish for lumself a great and durable reputa- 
 tion, by means of eminent services rendered to the state." 
 
 A great many unmeaning phrases have been employed, and much 
 rhetorical exaggeration Jias been expended, in attempts to charac-
 
 PITT, EAKL OF CHATHAM. U 
 
 terize Lord Chatham's style of eloquence. The following estimate by 
 Lord Macaulay, from wiiom we have borrowed some of the foie- 
 going observations, is at once deep, discriminating, and brilliant : 
 
 " in our time the audience of a member of Parliament is the nation. 
 The three or four hundred persons who may be present when a speech 
 is delivered may be pleased or disgusted by the voice and action of the 
 orator ; but in the reports which are read the next day by hundreds 
 of thousands, the difference between the noblest and the meanest fig- 
 ure, between the richest and the shrillest tones, between the most 
 graceful and the most uncouth gesture, altogether vanishes. A hun- 
 dred years ago, scarcely any ro{)ort of what passed within the walls 
 of the House of Commons was suffered to get abroad. In those 
 times, therefore, the impression which a speaker might make on the 
 persons who actually heard him was everything. The impression 
 out of doors was hardly worth a thought. In the parliaments of that 
 time, therefore, as in the ancient coinuionwealths, those qualitications 
 which enhance the nnmediate efforts of a speech were far more im- 
 portant ingredients in the cwnposition of an orator than they would 
 appear to be in our time. All tho.se qualifications Pitt possessed in 
 the highest degree. Ou the stage, he would have been the finest; 
 Brutus or Coriolanus ever seen. Those whf) saw him in his decay, 
 when his health was broken, when his mind was jangled, when he 
 had been rem )ved from that stormy assembly of which he thoroughly 
 knew the temper, and over which he possessed unbounded influence, 
 to a small, a torpid, and an unfriendly audience, say that his speak- 
 ing was then for the most part a low monotonous muttering, audible 
 only to those who sat close to him ; that, when violently excited, he 
 sometimes raised his voice for a few minutes, but that it soon sank 
 again into an unintelligible murmur. Such was the Earl of Chat- 
 ham ; but such was not William Pitt, llis figure, when he first ap- 
 peared in Parliament, was strikingly graceful and commanding, his 
 features high and noble, his eye full" of fire. His voice, even when 
 it sank to a whisper, was heard to the remotest benches ; when he 
 strained it to its full extent, the sound rose like the swell of the 
 organ of a great cathedral, shook the house with its peal, and was 
 heard through lotjbies and down staircases, to the Court of Requests 
 and the precincts of Westminster Hall. Ho cultivated all these em- 
 inent advantages with the most assiduous care. Ilis action is de- 
 scribed, l)y a very malignant observer, as equal to that of Garrick. 
 His play of countenance was wonderful ; lie frequently disconcerted 
 a hostile orator by a single glance of indignation or scorn. Every 
 tone, from the inq)assioned cry to the thrilling aside, was perfectly 
 at his eommind. It is by no means inq)rol)al)le that the pains which 
 he took to improve his great i)ersonal advantages had in some re- 
 gpccts a prejudicial operation, and tended to noin-ish in him that pas- 
 Bion for theatrical effect which was one of the most couspicuoua 
 blemishes in his character.
 
 10 I'lTT, KARL OK CHATHAM. 
 
 " But it was not sok-ly (ir principiilly to outward acrcomplisliments 
 that Pillowed the vast "iutlii(;iice wliicli, diiiiut? n(;arl.v lliirly years, 
 he exercised over the House of Commons, lie was undouhtecily a 
 i^reat orator ; and from the des(!riplioiis of his contemporaries, and 
 The frau;ments of ins speeches whicii still remiun, it is not dilUcult to 
 discovci' the nature and extent of his oratorical powers. 
 
 '• ll(; was no speaker of set speetthes. His lew prepared dis- 
 courses were com|)Iete failures. The elaborate panegyric -whic;!! ho 
 l>ronounced on General Wolfe was cousideied as the very worst of 
 all his performances. ' No man,' says a critic who had often heard 
 ]nm, 'ever knew so little what lie was jroini;- to say.' Indeed, his 
 facility amounled to a vice ; lu; W!is not the master, l.ut the slave of 
 his own sjieech. [So little self-conuiiand had he when once he felt 
 the impulse, that he did not like to lake part in a debate when his 
 mind was full of an important secret of state. ' I must sit still,' he 
 once said to Lortl Shelburne on such an occasion, ' for when once I 
 am up, evervthing that is in my mind comes oul.' 
 
 " Yet he was not a great debater. Tluit he should not have been 
 so when he tirst entered the House of Conmions is not strange ; 
 scarcely any person has ever become so without long practice and many 
 failures. It was by slow degrees, as Burke said, that Mr. Fox became 
 the most brilliant and powerful debater that Parliament ever saw. 
 Mr. Fox himself attributed his own success to the resolution which he 
 formed, when verv yountr, of speaking, well or ill, at least once every 
 night. ' During Hve whole sessions,' he used to say, ' I spoke every 
 uifflit but one ; and I regret only that I did not .speak that night too. 
 Indeed, it would be difficult to name any great debater who has not 
 made hims(;lf a master of his art at the expense of his audience. 
 
 " But as this art is one which even the ablest men have seldom ac- 
 quired without long practice, so it is one which men of respectable 
 abilities with assiduous and intrepid practice, seldom fail to acquue. 
 It is singular thai, in .such an art, Pitt, a man of splendid talents, 
 great tlifency, and dauntless lioldness, whose whole life was passed in 
 parliamentary contlicts, and who during several years was the lead- 
 in<'- minister of the crown in the House of Commons, should never 
 havo attained to high excellence. He spoke without premeditation ; 
 ]>ut his speech followed the course of his own thoughts, and not that 
 of the previous discussion. He could, indeed, treasure up m his 
 memory some detached expression of a hostile orator, and make it 
 the text for sparkling ridicule or burning invective. Some of the 
 most celebrated bursts of his eloquence were called forth by an un- 
 guarded word, a laugh, or a cheer. But this was the only. sort of 
 reply in whicli he appears to have excelled. He was perhaps the 
 onlv great English orator who did not think it an advantage to have 
 the" last word, and who generally spoke by choice before his most 
 formidable opponents. His merit was almost entirely ilietor^cal. 
 He did not succeed either iu exposition or refulatiou ; but hia
 
 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 11 
 
 speeches aboundeti with lively illustrations, striking apothegms, well- 
 toid anecdotes, happy allusions, passionate appeals. His invective 
 and sarcasm were tremendous. Perhaps no English orator was 
 e^er so much feared. 
 
 " But that which gave most effect to his declamation was the air 
 of sincerity, of vehement feeling, or moral elevation, which belonged 
 to all that he said. His stj'le was not always in the purest taste. 
 Several contemporary judges pronounced it too florid. Walpole. 
 in the midst of the rapturous eulogy which he pronounces on one of 
 Pitt's greatest orations, owns that some of the metaphors were too 
 forced. The quotations and classical stories of the orator are some- 
 times too trite for a clever schoolboy. But these were niceties for 
 which the audience cared little. The enthusiasm of the orator in- 
 fected all who were near him ; his ardor and his noble bearing put 
 fire into the most frigid conceit, and gave dignity to the most puerile 
 allusion." 
 
 Such is the character of this great statesman and orator, as drawn 
 by one masterly hand. It may perhaps both instruct and interest our 
 readers if we present another, delineated by an artist equally dis- 
 tinguished for the vigor, judgment, and fidelity with which he paints 
 such grand pieces for the gallery of history. The preceding, as we 
 have already said, is from the pen of Lord Macaulay ; the following 
 is understood to be from that of Lord Brougham : 
 
 " The first place among the great qualities which distinguished 
 Lord Chatham is unfiueslionahly due to firmness of piu'pose, resolute 
 determination in the pursuit of his objects. This was the character- 
 istic of the younger BruUis, as he said, who had spared his life to fall 
 by his hand — Qnirqukl rult, id vakle vuU ; and although extremely 
 apt to be shown in excess, it must be admitted to be the foundation 
 of all true greatness of character. Everything, however, depends 
 upon the endowments in whose company it is found ; and in Lord 
 Chatham these were of a very high order. The (juickness with which 
 he could ivscertain his object, and discover his road to it, was fully 
 commensurate with his perseverance and his lirddness in pursuing it ; 
 the firmness of grasp with whicii he helil iiis advantage was fully 
 equalled l)y the rapidity of the glance with which he discovered it. 
 Add to this r, mind eminently fertile in resources, a courage wliicli 
 nothing could daunt in the choice of liis means, a resolution equally 
 indomitable in their application, a genius, in short, original and 
 daring, which l)ouu<led over tlie petty obstacles raised by ordinary 
 men — their s(|ueaniisliness, and their precedents, and their forms, 
 and their regularities — and forced away its path through the en- 
 tanglements of this ba.se undergrowth to the worthy object ever in 
 Ills view, the iirosjierity and the renown of his country. Far superior 
 to the paltry objects of a grovcllJMg ainhition, and regardless aliki' of 
 party and f)f pi'fsonal coiisidciatioiL-i, be conslantly set before hiw 
 eyes the highcit duly of a public man, to further the interests of hirt
 
 J 3 riTT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 (species. In pursiiinu; his course toward that goal, he disregarded 
 ulike Ihi' frowns of power and liie gales of popular applause ; exposed 
 liiinself undaunted to the vengeanee of the court, while he battled 
 u<!;ainst its corruptions, and confronted, unabashed, the rudest shocks 
 of public iudiicnation, while he resisted the dictates of pernicious 
 nirilators ; ami' could conscientiously exclaim, with an illustrious 
 statesman of antiquity, ' Ego hoc animo semper fui ut iuvidiam vir- 
 tute partam, gloriam non invidium ])ularem.' 
 
 " Nothing could be more entangled than tl'c foreign policy of this 
 country at'the time when he took the supreme direction of her 
 alYairs"; nothing could be more disastious tiiaii the asjiect of her for- 
 tunes in every quarter of the globe. With a single ally in Europe, 
 the King of Prussia, and him beset by a combination of all the con- 
 tiuenlarpowers in unnatural union to effect his destruction ; with an 
 army of insignificant amcunt, and commanded by men only desirous 
 of graspimr vt the emolumenls. without doing the duties or incurring 
 the risks of their profession ; with a navy that could hardly keep the 
 sea, and whose chiefs vied w ith their comrades on shore in earning 
 the character given them by the new minister, of being utterly unfit 
 to be trusted in anv enterprise accompanied with ' the least appear- 
 ance of danger ; ' with a generally prevailing dislike of both services, 
 which at once repressed all desire of joining either, and damped all 
 public spirit in the country, by extinguishing all hope of success, and 
 even all love of glory : it was hardly possible for a nation to be 
 placed in circumstances more inauspicious to military exertions ; and 
 yet war raged in every quarter of the world where our dominion ex- 
 tended, while the territories of our only ally, as well as those of our 
 own sovereign in Germany, were invaded by France, and her forces 
 by sea and land menaced our shores. In the distant possessions of 
 the crown the same want of enterprise and of spirit prevaded. 
 Armies in the West were paralyzed by the inaction of a captain who 
 would hardly take the pains to write a dispatch recording the non- 
 entity of his operations ; and in the East, while frightful disasters 
 were brought upon our settlements by liarbariau powers, the only 
 military capacity that apijeared in their defence was the accidental 
 display of genius and valor by a merchant's clerk, wdio thus raised 
 hmiself to celebrity (Mr., afterward Lord, Clive). In this forlorn 
 state of affairs, rendering it as impossible to think of peace as it 
 seemed hopeless to continue the yet inevitable war, the base and 
 sordid views of politicians kept pace with the mean spirit of the md- 
 itary caste ; and parties were split or united not upon any dill'crence 
 or agreement of public principle, but upon nusre questions of patron- 
 age and share in the public S]mi\, while all seemed alike actuated uy 
 one only passion, the thirst alternately of power and of gain. 
 
 " As soon as Mr. Pitt took the helm, the steadiness of the hand that 
 held it came to be felt in every motion of the vessel. There was no 
 more of wavcriu^j councils, of torpid iuactiou, of listless expectancy,
 
 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 13 
 
 cf abject despondcDCV. His firmness gave confidence, his spnit 
 roused courao-e, his vigilance secured exertion, in every department 
 under his sway. Eacii man. from the First Lord of the Admiralty 
 down to the niost humble clerk in the victualling office— each soldier, 
 from the commander-in-chief to the most obscure contractor or com- 
 missary—now felt assured that he was acting or indolent under the 
 eye of one who knew his duties and his means as well as his own, 
 and who would very certainly make all defaulters, whether through 
 misfeasance or throuirh nonfeasance, accountable for whatever detri- 
 ment the commonwealth might sustain at tluar hands. Over his 
 immediate coadjutors his influence swiftly obtained an ascendent 
 which it ever after retained uninterrupted. Upon his first proposition 
 for changing the conduct of the war he stood single among his col- 
 ]ea<^ues, and tendered his resignation should they persist in their dis- 
 aenl ; tl'iey at once succumbed, and from that hour ceased to have an 
 opinion of their own upon any branch of the public affairs. Nay, so 
 ab.solutely was he determined to have the control of those measures 
 of which* he knew the responsibility rested upon him alone, that he 
 insisted upon the First Lord of the Admiralty not having the corre- 
 spondence of his own department ; and no less eminent a naval char- 
 acter than Lord Anson, with his junior lords, were obliged to sign 
 the orders issued by Mr. Pitt while the writing was covered over 
 
 from their eyes. . , , , * ^ .1 ^ 
 
 " The effects of this change in the whole management of the pub- 
 lic business, and in all the plans of the government, as well as in 
 their execution, were speedily made manifest to all the world. Iho 
 German troops were sent home, and a well-regulated militia being 
 established to defend the country, a large disposable force was dis- 
 tributed over the various points whence the enemy might be an- 
 noyed. France, attacked on some points and menaced on others, 
 was compelled to retire from Germany, soon afterward suffered the 
 most disastrous defeats, and, instead of threatening England and her 
 allies with invasion, had to defend herself against attack, suffering 
 severely in several of her most Important naval stations. No less 
 than sixteen islands, and settlements, and fortresses of importance, 
 were taken fnjm her in America, and Asia, and Africa, including all 
 her West Indian colonies except St. Domingo, and all her settlements 
 in the East. The whole important j)rovince of Canada was likewise 
 conquered, and the Havana was taken from Spain. Besides lliis, the 
 seas were .swept clear of the fleets that had so lately been insulting all 
 our colr.nies, and even all our coasts. Many general actions wero 
 fought and gained ; one among them the most decisive that had ever 
 been fougiit by our navy. Thirty-six sail of the line were taken or 
 destroy(;d. fifty frii,'ales. fortyliv(j sloops of war. So brilliant 11 
 course of uninterrupted succe.ss had never in modern times attended 
 the arms of any nation carrying on war with other stales e(/ual to it 
 in civilizitiou, and nearly a mutch in jjower. 13ul it is a niorc glori-
 
 14 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 ous feature in the uuexaiuplcd atlministnuion whidi history has to 
 record, wlieu it adds thut ull public distress luid disappeared ; all 
 discontent in any quarter, i)olli of the colonies and parent state, had 
 ceiused ; that no oppression was anywhere practised, no abuse 
 suffered to prevail ; that no cucroachnienls were nuide upon the 
 rights of tlie sul)ject, no malversations tolerated in the possessors of 
 power ; and thai En.iiland, for the first time and for the last time, 
 presented the astonishing picture of a nation supporting without mur- 
 mur a widely extended and costly war, and a people hitherto torn 
 with coullictiug parties so united in the service of the common- 
 wealth, that tiie voice of faction had ceased in the laud, and any dis- 
 cordant whisper was heard no more. 'These,' said the son of his 
 first and most formidable adversary, Wal]K)le, when informing his 
 correspondent abroad that the session, as usual, had ended without 
 any kind of opposition, or even of debate — ' these are the doings of 
 Mr. Pitt, and they are wondrous in our eyes.' 
 
 " To genius irregularity is incident, and the greatest genius is often 
 marked by eccentricity, as if it disdained to move in the vulgar orbit. 
 Hence he who is lltted by his nature, and trained by his hal)its, to be 
 an accomplished ' pilot in extremity,' and whose inclinations carry 
 him forth to seek the deep when the waves run high, may be found, 
 if not ' to steer too near the shore,' yet to despise the sunken rocks 
 which they that can only be trusted in calm weather would have 
 more surely avoided. To this rule it cannot be said that Lord Chat- 
 ham afforded an}' exception ; and, although a plot had certainly been 
 formed to eject him from the ministry, leaving the chief control of 
 affairs in the feeble hands of Lord Bute, whose only support was 
 court favor, and whose only talent lay in an experlness at intrigue, 
 yet there can be little doubt that this scheme was only rendered prac- 
 ticable by the hostility whicii the great minister's imbcnding habits, 
 his contempt of ordinary men, and his neglect of every-day matters, 
 had raised against him among all the creatures both of Downing 
 Street and St. James's. In fact, his colleagues, who necessarily felt 
 \iumbled by his superiority, were needlessly mortified by the con- 
 stant display of it ; and it would have betokened a still higher reach 
 of understanding, as well as a purer fabric of patriotism, if he whose 
 great capacity threw those sul)ordinates into the shade, and before 
 whose vigor in action they were sufficiently willing to yield, had 
 united a little suavity in his demeanor with his extraordinary powers, 
 nor made it always necessary' for them to acknowledge as well as to 
 feel their inferiorit}'. It is certain that the insulting arrangement of 
 the Admiralty, to which reference has been already made, while it 
 lowered that department in the pul)lic opinion, rendered all connect- 
 ed with him his personal enemies ; and, indeed, though there have 
 since his days been prime ministers whom he would never have suf- 
 fered to sit even as i)iniy lords at his boards, yet were one like him- 
 self again to govern the country, the Admiralty chief, who might be
 
 PITT, EAKL OF CHATHAM. 15 
 
 ^'ar inferior to Lord Anson, would never submit to the liumiliation 
 inflicted upon tliat 2;allant and skilful captain. Mr. Pitt's policy 
 seemed formed upoulbe assumption that either each public funcUon- 
 ary was equal to himself in boldness, activity, and resource, or that 
 he was to preside over and animate each department in person ; and 
 his confidence was such in his own powers that he reversed the max- 
 im of governina:, never to force your way where you can win it, and 
 always disdained to insinuate where he could dash in, or to persuade , 
 where he could command. It thus happened that his colleagues were 
 but nominally coadjutors, and though Ihey durst not thwart him, yet 
 rendered no heart-service to aid his. schemes. Indeed, it has clearly 
 appeared since his time that thev were chiefly induced to yield huu 
 implicit obedience, and leave the undivided direction of all operations 
 in his hands, by the expectation that the failure of what they were 
 wont to sneer at as ' Mr. Pitt's visions,' would turn the tide of public 
 opinion against him, and prepare his downfall from a height of 
 which they felt that there was no one but himself able to dispossess 
 
 The same powerful writer, having thus sketched the character of 
 the statesman, proceeds next to delineate that of the orator, as far as 
 this can now be done from the extremely scanty and imperfect mate- 
 rials which have been preserve<l. The fame of Lord Chatham's elo- 
 quence is, in truth, almost wholly traditional. 
 
 " There is, indeed, hardly any eloquence, of ancient or of modern 
 times, of which so little that can be relied on as authentic has l)een 
 preserved ; unless perhaps that of Pericles, Julius Caesar, and Lord 
 Boliughroke. Of the actions of the two first we have suflicieut 
 records, as we have of Lord Chatham's ; of their speeches we have 
 little that can be regarded as genuine ; although, by unquestionable 
 tradition, we kuowlhat each of them was second only to the great- 
 est orator of their respective countries ; while of Bolingbroke we only 
 know, from Dean Swift, that he was tlie most accomplished speaker 
 of his'time ; and it is related of Mr. Pitt (the younger), that when llie 
 conversation rolled upon lost works, and some said they should prefer 
 restoring the books of Livy, some of Tacitus, and some a Latin trag- 
 edy, he at once decitled for a speech of Bolingbroke. What we 
 know of his own father's oratory is much more to be gleaned from 
 contempoi ary panegyrics, and accounts of its effects, than from tiio 
 Bcanty, and for the most part doubtful, remains which iiave reached us. 
 
 " All accounts, however, concur in representing those ellectts to 
 have Ijcen prodigious. The spirit and vehemence which animated its / 
 greater passag(!s, tlieir perfect application to tin; subject-matter of 
 debate, the appositeness of his invective to the indiviiiual assaded, 
 the boldness of tlie feats whicli be ventured ujion, tlie grandeur of 
 the ideas wliieli lie unfolded, the heart-stirring nature of his apix'als. 
 are all confessed by tiie united testimony of all his conteiyporanes ; 
 and the frugmenls which remain bear out to a considerable extent
 
 1<J Pirr, EAUL OK CHATHAM. 
 
 sucli reprcsenlations ; nor are we likely lo be misled by those frajr- 
 monls, for the more slrikin^' jjorlions were certainly thu ones least 
 likely lo he cither forii'oUeii or l'al)riealeil. To these mighty attrac- 
 tions was adiied liie imposinii:, the animating-, the commaiiding power 
 of a eountenanee singularly expressive ; an eye so piercing tiial hardly 
 any one could stand its glare ; ami a manner altogether singularly 
 .striking, original, and chari»cteristic, notwithstanding a peculiarly 
 defective and even awkward action. Latterly, indeed, his inlirmities 
 precluded all action ; and he is described as standing in the House of 
 Lords, leaning upon his crutch, and speaking for ten minutes together 
 in an undertone of voice scarcely audi])Ie,"but raising his notes to 
 their full pitch when he broke out into one of his grand bursts of in- 
 vective or exclamation. But in his earlier time, his whole manner is 
 represented as having been beyond conception animated and impos- 
 ing. Indeed, the things which he effected by it principally, or at least 
 which nothing but a most striking and conimanding tone could have 
 made it possible to attempt, almost exceed belief. Some of these 
 sallies are indeed examples of that approach made to the ludicrous 
 by the sublime, which has been charged upon him as a prevailing 
 fault, and represented under the name of charlatanerie—n favorite 
 phrase with his adversaries, as it in later times has been with the 
 ignorant uudervaluers of Lord Erskine. It is related that once in the 
 House of Conuuons he began a speech with the words, ' Sugar, ]\Ir. 
 Speaker '—and then, observing a smile to prevail in the audience, he 
 paused, looking fiercely around, and with a loud voice, rising in its 
 notes, and swelling into vehement anger, he is said to have pro- 
 nounced again the word ' Sugar ! ' three times ; and having thus 
 quelled the house, and extinguished every appearance of levity or 
 laughter, turned round, and disdainfully a.^ked, ' Who will laugh at 
 sugar now ? ' We have this anecdote on good traditional authority ; 
 that it was believed by those who had the best means of knowing 
 Lord Chatham is certain ; and this of itself shows their sense of the 
 extraordinary powers of his manner, and the reach of his audacity in 
 trusting to those powers. 
 
 " There can be no doubt that of reasoning— of sustained and close 
 argument— his speeches had but little, llis statements were desuL 
 tory though striking, perhnps not very distinct, certainly not all de- 
 tailed, and as certainly every way inferior to those of his celebrated 
 son. If he did not reason cogently, he a.ssuredly did not compress 
 his matter vigorously. He Avas anything rather than a concise or a 
 Khort speaker ; not that liis great passages, were at all difru.se, or in 
 the least degree loaded with superfluous words ; l)ut lie was prolix in 
 She whole texture of his discourse, and he was cerlaiidy the first who 
 introduccfl into our senate the ])ra<;li(.e, adopted in the American war 
 by .Mr. Burke, and coiilinued by others, of lf>n^ speeches— speeches 
 of two and three hours, by whicli oratory has tjained little and busi- 
 UU.S.S less. His discourse was, liowever, tidly info.'ined with mailer—
 
 PITT, EAKL OF CHATHAM. 1 
 
 -V 
 
 his allusions to analogous subjects, and his reference to the history of 
 past events, were frequent— bis expression of liis own opinions was 
 copious and free, and stood very generally in the place of any elabo- 
 rate reasoning in their support. " A noble statement of enlarged views, 
 a generous avowal of dignified sentiments, a manly and somewhat 
 severe contempt for all peUy or mean views, whether their baseness 
 proceeded from narrow understanding or from corrupt bias, always 
 pervaded his whole discourse ; and, more than any other orator since 
 Demosthenes, he was distinguished by the nobleness of feeling witli 
 which he regarded, and the amplitude of survey wliicli he cast upon, 
 the subject-matters of debate. His invective was unsparing and hard 
 to be endured, although he was a lesseminent master of sarcasm than 
 his son, and rather overwhelmed his antagonist with the burst of 
 words and vehement indignation, than Avounded him by the edge of 
 ridicule, or tortured him with the gall of bitter scorn, or fixed his 
 arrow in the wound l)y the barb of epigram. These things seemed 
 as it were to betoken too much labor and too much art ; more labor 
 than was consistent with absolute scorn, more art than could stand 
 with heartfelt rage, or entire contempt inspired by the occasion, at 
 the moment and on the spot. But his great passages— those by 
 which he has come down to us, those which gave hi.-, eloquence its 
 peculiar character, and to which its dazzling success was owing— 
 were as sudden and unexpected as thi-y were uaiuial. Every one 
 was taken by surprise when they rolled lorth ; every one felt them to 
 be so natural that he could hardly understand why he had not 
 thought of them himself, although into no one's imagination had 
 Ihey ever entered. If the quality of being natural without being ob- 
 vious is a pretty correct description of felicitous expression, or Avhat 
 is called fine writing, it is a yet more accurate representation of liuo 
 passages or felicitous hits in speaking. In these all popular assem- 
 blies take boundless delight ; by these, above all others, are the 
 minds of an audience at pleasure moved or controlled. They form 
 the grand charm of Lord Chatham's oratory ; they were the dis- 
 tinguishing excellence of liis great predecessor, and gave him at will 
 to wield the tierce democracy u\. Athens, and to fuhiiine over C-rreece. " 
 
 J^Iany years ago, a small volume was pulilislu'd by Lonl (irenville, 
 containing letters written by the Earl of Chatham to his nephew 
 Thomas l-'itt. Lord Camelford. They are rei)lele with excellent ad- 
 vice, conve^'ed in an easy, allectionale, and not inelegant style, hav- 
 ing all of them been piMiiied evidently without elYoit, under the sim- 
 ple impulse of the kinily feelings and anxious iiileresi which they 
 manifest throughi;ul. At the .same tiiiu!, they miglit have been writ- 
 ten by a person vastly inferior to Lord C'lialham ; and indeed one can 
 scarcely a>oid surprise at the aijsence of every trace of that genius, 
 l)Ower, and originality for wliich the writer was so greatly dis- 
 tinguishi'd. 
 
 Almon, the book.scUer, has wntten " Anecdotes of the Life of the
 
 18 PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM. 
 
 Earl of Chatham," 3 vols. 8vo ; the Rev. Mr. Thackeray has illiis- 
 trated the subject more accurately, as well as fully, iu liis " History 
 of the Earl of Challiani," 2 vols. 4to. None of his own writings 
 have been given to the world, except a small volume of letters to the 
 sou of his elder brother, afterward Lord Camelford, published some 
 years ago by Lord (Jrenville ; and his " Correspondence," in 4 vols. 
 8vo, isij8-4b. The " Correspondence" illustrates very fully his life 
 ami character, and furnishes valuable materials for the political his- 
 tory of his time. His wife, who died in 180;S, bore him three sons 
 and two daughters. The second son, the subject of the next article, 
 gained a political fame capable of rivalling that of his illustrious 
 father.
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 Wn.LiAM Pitt, the second son of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, 
 and of Lady Hester Grenville, daughter of Hester, Countess Temple, 
 was born on the 28th of May, 1759. The child inherited a name 
 which, at the time of his birlh, was the most illustrious in the civil 
 ized world, and was pronounced by every Eni:lishman with pride, 
 and by every enemj^ of England with mingled admiration and terror. 
 During the tirst year of his life, every month had its illuminations 
 and bonfires, and every wind brought some messenger charged with 
 joyful tidings and hostile standards. In Westphalia the English in- 
 fantry wonli great battle which arrested the armies of Louis the Fif- 
 teentli in the midst of a career of conquest : lioscawen defeated one 
 French fieet on the coast of Portugal ; Hawke put to flight another 
 in the Bay of Biscay ; Johnson took Niagara ; Amherst took Ticon- 
 deroga ; Wolfe died by the most enviable of deaths under the walls 
 of Quebec ; Clive destroyed a Dutch armament in the Hoogley, and 
 established the Enirlish supremicy in Bengal ; Coote routed Lally at 
 Wandewa.sh, and established the English supreniac)' in the Carnatic. 
 The nation, while loudly applauding the successful warriors, con- 
 sidered them all on sea and on land, in Europe, in America, and in 
 Asia, merely <is instruments which received their direction from one 
 superior mind. It was the trreat William Pitt, the great commoner, 
 who had vanquished French marshals in Germany, and French ad- 
 mirals on the Atlantic ; who had conquered for his country one great 
 empire on the frozen sliores of Ontario, and another under the tropi- 
 cal sun near the moiiths of the Ganges. It was not in Ihe nature of 
 things that popularity such as he at tiiis time enjoyed should be per- 
 manent. That popularity had lo<;t its gloss before his children were 
 old enough to understand that their father was a great man. He was 
 at length placed in situations in which neither his talents for admin- 
 istration nor iiis talents fur debate apix-ared to the best advantage. 
 Tlie eneri^y and decision which had eminently litled him for the di- 
 rection of war v.-ere not needed in time of peace. The lofty and 
 Bpiril-slirring eloquencx', wliicli Inul made him siq)reme in the House 
 of ('onimons, often fell dead on the House of Lonis. A cruel malady 
 racked his joints, and left his joints only to fall on his nerves and ou
 
 20 WILLIAM IMTT. 
 
 Jiia brain. Diirin,!"' the closing years of his life, ho was odious to llu! 
 fourt, and 3'et was not on cordial terms with the groat bod}^)? 1h(; 
 opposition, ('liatham was only the ruin of Pitt, but an avful and 
 majestic ruin, not to be contemplated by any man of sense and feel- 
 ing witliout emotions resembling those which are excited by tiic re- 
 mains of tiie Parthenon and of tlie (Joliseum. In one respect tlie old 
 statesman was eminently h.appy. Whatever might be tlie vicissitudes 
 of his public life, he neVer failed to find peace and love by Iiis own 
 , hearth. He loved all his children, and was loved by them ; and, of 
 'all his children, the one of wliom lie Avas fondest and proudest was 
 his second son. 
 
 The child's genius and ambition displayed themselves with a rare 
 and almost unnatural precocity. At seven, the interest which he 
 took in grave subjects, the ardor with which he pursued his studies, 
 and the sense and vivacity of his remarks on bonks and on events, 
 amazed his parents and instructors. One of his sayings of tliis date 
 was reported to his mother by his tutor. In August, 177(i, when the 
 world was agitated by the news that Mr. Pitt had become Earl of 
 Chatham, little William exclaimed, "1 am glad that I am not the 
 eldest son. I want to speak in the House of Commons like papa." 
 A letter is extant in which Lady Chatham, a woman of considerable 
 al)ilities, remarked to her lord that their younger son at twelve had 
 left far l)ehind him his elder brother, who was fifteen. " Tiie fine- 
 ness,'' she wrote, " of William's mind makes him enjoy with the 
 greatest pleasure what would be above the reach of any other creat- 
 ure of his small age." At fourteen the lad was in intellect a man. 
 Hayley, who met him at Lyme in the summer of 1778, was aston- 
 ished, delighted, and somewhat overawed, by hearing wit and wis- 
 dom from so young a mouth. Tlie poet, indeed, was afterward 
 ijorry that his shyness had prevented liim from submitting the plan 
 of an extensive literary work, which he was then meditating, to the 
 judgment of this extraordinary boy. The boy, indeed, had already 
 written a tragedy, bad of course, but not worse than the tragedies of 
 his friend. This piece is still preserved at Chevening, and is in 
 some respects hiirhly curious. There is no love. The whole plot is 
 political ; and \C\s remarkable that the interest, such as it is, turns 
 on a contest about a regency. On one side is a faithful servant of the 
 crown, on tiio other an amliitious and unprincipled conspirator. At 
 length the kiii'j;, who had been missing, reappears, resumes his 
 power, and rewards the faithful defender of his rights. A reader 
 who should judge only by internal evidence would have no hesitation 
 in pronfaincing'that tlie play was written by some Pittite poetaster 
 at Die time of tiie rejoicings for the recovery of George tlie Third in 
 
 The pleasure witli whicli William's parents observed the rapid de- 
 velopment of his intellectual jiowers was alloyed by apprehensions 
 about his health. He shot up alarmingly fast ; he was often ill, and
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 21 
 
 always weak ; and it was feared that it would be in possible to rear 
 a stripiia!< so tall, so slender, and so feeble. Port-wine was pre- 
 scribed by his medical advisers ; and it is said that he was, at four- 
 teen, accustomed to take this ai^reeable pliysic in ([uauUties which 
 would, in our abstemious ag-e, be Ihoughi much more than sufficient 
 for any fulI-!,'rown man. This regimen, though it would probably 
 have killed mnety-nine boys out of a hundred, seems to have been 
 well suited to the peculiarities of William's constitution ; for at tif. 
 'teen he ceased to be molested by disease, and, though never a 
 strong man, continued, during many years of labor and anxiety, 
 of niglits passed in debate, and of summers passed in Lon- 
 don, To be a tolerably healthy one. It was probably on account 
 of the delicacy of his frame that he was not educated like other 
 boys of the same rank. Almost all the eminent English states- 
 men and orators to whom he was afterward opposed or allied, 
 North, Fox, Shelburne, Windham, Grey. Wellesley, Grenville, Sher- 
 idan, Canning, went through the training oi great public schools. 
 Lord Chatham had himself been a distinguished ELouiun ; and it is 
 seldom that a distinguished Etonian forgets his obligations to Eton. 
 But William's infiru'iities required a vigilance and tenderness such as 
 could be found only at home. He was therefore bred under the pa- 
 ternal roof, llis studies were superinten'led by a clergyman named 
 AVilson : and those studies, though often interrupted l)y illness, were 
 prosecuted with extraordinary success. Before the l;ul liad completed 
 his fifteenth year, his knowledge botli of the ancient languages and 
 of mathematics was such as very few men of eighteen then carried 
 up to college. He was therefore sent, toward the close of the year 
 1V73, to Pembroke Hall, in the University of Cambridge. So young 
 a student required much more than the ordinary care which a college 
 tutor bestows on undergraduates. The governor, to whom the 
 direction of William's academical life waseontided, was a bachelor of 
 arts named Pretyman, who hatl been senior wrangler in the preceding 
 year, and who, though not a man of prepossessing apiiearance or 
 brilliant parts, was eminently acute and laborious, a sound scholar, 
 and an excelhnt geometrician. At Cambridge, Pretyman was, dur- 
 ing more tlism two years, the inseparable companion, and indeed 
 almost t!ie only comijanion, of his pupil. A close and lasting friend- 
 ship spnuig up between the pair. The disciple was aiile, before he 
 compl'jtc'J his twenty-eighth year, to make his preceptor Bishop of 
 Lincoln and Dean of St. Paul's ; and tlie preceptor showed his grat- 
 itude by writing a Life of the disciple, which enjoys the distiaction 
 Oi being the worst biographical work of its size in the world. 
 
 Pilt, till he graduated, had scarcely one ac(|u;iiiitaiH-(', attendee^ 
 chapel regularly mornnig and evening, dined every day in hall, and 
 never went to a single evening party. At seventeen, he was adiuil- 
 ted, after the bad fashion of those times, by right of birth, without 
 uny examination, to the degree of Master of Arts. But he couLiuued
 
 29 WILUAM PITT. 
 
 fw -W 
 
 lUiriii? some years to resiile at college, ami to apply himself vigor, 
 oiislvruiulcr Pretyinau's (iircctioii, to the studies of the place, while 
 inixiuj;- freely in tlie liest acaihniic society. 
 
 The stock of learning whicii Pitt laid in during this part of his life 
 was certainly very extraordinary. In fact, it was all that he ever 
 possessed ; for he very early became too busy to have any spare time 
 for books. The work in which he took the greatest delight was 
 Newton's Principia. Ilis liking for mat hematics, indeed, amounted 
 to a passion, which, iu the opinion of his instructors, themselves dis- 
 tinguished matliematicians, required to be checked rather than en- 
 couraged. Tho acuteness and readiness with which he solved prob- 
 lems was pronounced by one of the ablest of the moderators, who iu 
 those days presided over the disputations iu the schools and con- 
 ducted the examinations of the Senate House, to be unrivalled in the 
 university. Xor was the youth's proticieucy in classical learning iess 
 remarkable. In one respect, indeed, he appeared to disadvantage 
 when compared with even seconilratc and third-rale men from pub- 
 lic schools. He had never, while under Wilson's care, beeu iu the 
 habit of composing iu the ancient languages ; and he therefoie never 
 acquired that knack of versification which is sometimes possessed by 
 clever boys whose knowledge of the language and literature of Greece 
 and Rome is very superticial. It would have been utterly out of his 
 ])ower to produce such charming elegiac lines as those in wiiich 
 "Wellesley bade farewell to Eton, or such Virgilian hexameters a3 
 those in which Canning described the pilgrimage to Mecca. But it may 
 be doubted whether any scholar has ever, at twenty, had a more solid 
 and profound knowleduc of the two great tongues of the old civilized 
 world. The facility with which he penetrated the meaning of the 
 most intricate sentences in the Attic writers astonish(;d veteran critics. 
 He had set Jiis heart on being intimately acquainted witii all the ex- 
 tant poetry of Greece, and was not salisticd till he had mastered 
 Lvcoplirou's Cassandra, the most obscure \.'ork in the whole range of 
 ancient literature. This strange rhapsody, the difficulties of which 
 have perplexed sind repelled many excellent scholars, "he read. 
 Bays his preceptor, " with an ease at first which, if I had not wit- 
 nessed it, I should have thought beyond the compass of human intel- 
 lect. " 
 
 To modern literature Pitt paid comparatively little attention, lie 
 knew no living language except French ; and French he knew very 
 imperfecllv. With a few of the best p:ngiish writers he warj mti- 
 mate, particularly with Shakespeare and iMillon. The debc.te lu 
 Pandemoni.im was, as it well deserved to be, one c/f his favorite pas- 
 sages ; and his early friends used to talk, long after his death of the 
 just emphasis and the melodious cadence with which they had heard 
 him recite the incompaiai)le speech of Belial. lie had indeed beeu 
 carefully trained from infancy in the art of managing his voice, a 
 voice uuturallv clear and dcep-toued. Hii' father, whose oratory owe'?
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 2.1 
 
 no small part of its effect to that art, had been a most skilful and 
 -'udicious instructor. At a later period, the wits of Brookes's, irri- 
 tated by observing, night after niglit, how powerfully Pitt's sonorous 
 elocution fascinated the rows of country gentlemen, reproached him 
 with having been " taught by his dad on a stool." 
 
 His education, indeed, was well adapted to form a great parliament- 
 ary speaker. One argument often urged against those classical 
 I studies which occupy so large a part of the early life of every gentle- 
 «man bred in the south of our island is, that they prevent him from 
 acquiring a command of his mother tongue, and that it is not unusual 
 to meet with a vouth of e.xcellent parts, who writes Ciceronian Latin 
 prose and Horatian Latin Alcaics, but who would find it impossible 
 to e.xpress his thoughts in pure, perspicuous, and forcible EngUsh. 
 There may perhaps be some trutli in this observation. But the classi- 
 cal studies ot Pitt were carried on in a peculiar manner, and had the 
 effect of enriching his English vocabulary, and of making him won- 
 derfully expert in the art of constructing correct English sentences. 
 His practice was to look over a page or two of a Greek or Latin 
 author, to make himself master of the meaning, and tlien to read tho 
 passage straight forward into his own language. This practice, be- 
 gun under his first teacher Wilson, was continued umler Pretyman. 
 It is not strange that a young man of great abilities, who had been 
 exercised daily in this way during ten years, should have acquired au 
 almost unrivalled power of putting his thoughts, without premedita- 
 tion, into words well selected and well arranged. 
 
 Of all the remains of antiquity, the orations were those on which 
 he bestowed the most minute examination. His favorite employ- 
 ment was to compare harangues on opposite sides of the same ques- 
 tion, to analyze them, and to observe which of the arguments of the 
 first speaker' were refuted by the second, which were evaded, and 
 which were left untouched. Xor was it only in books that he at this 
 lime studie 1 the art of parliam .'iitary fencing. When he was at 
 homo, he had frequent opportunities of hearing important debates at 
 Westminster ; and he heard them, not only with interest and enjoy- 
 ment, but with a clo.se scientific attention, resembling that with 
 which a diligent pupil at Guy's llo.'-pital watches every turn of the 
 hand of a great surgeon through a dillicult operation. On one of 
 these occasions, Pitt, a youth whose abilities were as yet known only 
 •to hi.s.own family and to a small knot of college friends, was intro- 
 duced on the steps of 'he throne in the House of Lords to Fox, who 
 was his senior by eleven years, and who was already the greatest de- 
 baler and one of the greatest orators that liad a[)peared in P^n'dand. 
 Fox u.sed afterward to rdatc that, as the discussion jiroceeded, IMt 
 repeatedly turned to him, and said, " But surely. Mr. Fox. that 
 might be mrA thus ;" or, " Yes ; but he lays himself open to this re- 
 tort." What the particular criticisms wen-, Fox liad forgotten ; but 
 he said that he was much struck at the time by the precocity of a
 
 24 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 lad who, through tho whole, sitting, seemed to be thinking only how 
 all the spcechc8 on botii sides could be answered. 
 
 One of tlie young man's visits to the House of Lords was a sad 
 and memoralne era in liis life. He had not (luite cnmpletcd his nine- 
 teentii year, when, on tho 71 'i of April. 1778, he attended his father 
 to Wesnninster. A great debate was expected. It was known that 
 France had recognized the indei)endence of the LUiiled States. The 
 Duke of Richmond was about to declare his opinion that all thought 
 of subjugating those staters o\ight to be relinquished. Chatham liad 
 always niaintruned that the resistance of the colonies to the mother 
 country was justitiable. But he conceived, very erroneously, tliat on 
 the day on which their independence shoidd be acknowledged the 
 greatness of England would beat an end. Though sinking under 
 the weiglit of years and infirmities, he detei mined, in spite of the 
 entreaties of his family, to be in his place. His son supported him to 
 a seat. The excitement and exertion were too mucli lor the old 
 man. In the very act of addressing the peers, he fell back in convul- 
 sions. A few weeks later his coipse was borne, with gloomy pomp, 
 from tlie Painted Cliamber to the Abbey. The favorite child and 
 namesake of the deceased statesman followed the coffin as chief 
 mourner, and saw it deposited in the transept where his own was des- 
 tined to lie. 
 
 His elder brother, now Earl of Chatham, had means sufficient, and 
 oarely sufficient, to support the dignity of the peerage. The other 
 members of the family were poorly provided for. William had little 
 more than three hundred a year. It was necessary for liim to fol- 
 low a profession. He had already begun to eat his terms. In the 
 spring of 1780 he came of age. He then quitted Cambridge, was 
 called to the bar, took chambers in Lincoln's Inn, and joined the 
 western circuit. In the autumn of that year a general election look 
 place ; and he offered himself as a candidate for the university ; but 
 be was at the bottom of the poll. It is said that the grave doctors 
 who then sat, robed in scarlet, on the benches of Golgotha, thought 
 it great presumption in so young a man to .solicit so high a distinction. 
 He was, however, at the request of a hereditary friend, the Duke of 
 Rutland, brought into Parliament by Sir James Lowtlicr for the 
 borouirh of Applebj'. 
 
 Thc^danirers of the country were at that time such as might well 
 have disturbed even a constant mind. Army after army had betn. 
 sent in vain against the rebellious colonists of Nortii America. On 
 pitched lields'of battle the advantage had been with the disciplinul 
 troops of the motlier country. But it was not on pitched fields of 
 battle that the event of such a contest could be decided. An armed 
 nation, witli iuuii^er and the Atlantic for auxiliaries, was not to be 
 subjugated. Meanwjiile, the Ilou.se of Bourbon, humbled to the 
 dust a few years before by the genius and vigor of Chatliam. had 
 bcized tiie opportunity of revenge. France and Spain were united
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 25 
 
 asiiinst us, and had receolly been joined by Holland. The command 
 of the Mediterranean had been for a time lost. The Ikitish nag had 
 been scarcely able to maintain itself in the British Channel. Ihe 
 northern powers professed neutrality ; but their neutrality had_ a 
 menacing aspect. In the East, Hyder had descended on the Carnatic, 
 had destroyed the little army of Baillie, and had spread terror even 
 to tiie ramparts of Fort St. George. The discontents of Ireland 
 threatened nothing less than civil war. In England the authority o 
 the government had sunk to the lowest point. The king and th 
 House of Commons were alike unpopular. The cry for parliamentari 
 reform was scarcely less loud and vehement than in the autumn of 
 1830 Formidable associations, headed, not by ordinary demagogues 
 but by men of high rank, stainless character, and distinguished 
 ability, demanded a revision of the representative system. The pop- 
 ulace emboldened by the impotence and irresolution of the govern- 
 ment' had recently broken loose from all restraint, besieged the 
 chambers of the legislature, hustled peers, huuted bishops, attacked 
 the resideaces of ambassadors, opened prisons, burned and pulled 
 down houses. London had presented during some days the aspect 
 of a city taken by storm ; and it had been necessary to form a camp 
 among the trees of St. James's Park. 
 
 In spite of dau"-ers and dilliculties, abroad and at home, Lreorge 
 the Third, with a firmness which had little affinity with virtue or 
 with wisdom, persisted in his determination to put down the Ameri- 
 can rebels by force of arms ; and his ministers submitted their judg- 
 ment to his. Some of them were probably actuated merely by selhsh 
 cupidity, but their chief. Lord North, a man of high honor, amiable 
 temper winning manners, lively wit, and excellent talents both tor 
 business and for debate, must be aciiuitted of all sordid motives. He 
 remained at a post from which he had long wished and had repeatedly 
 tried to escape, only because he had not sufficient fortitude to resist 
 the entreaties and reproaches of the king, who silenced all arguments 
 by passionately asking whetlier any gentleman, any man of spirit. 
 could have the heart to desert a kind master in the hour ot ex- 
 tremity. , , 1 , 1 .-1 
 
 The opposition con.sisted of two parties which had once been hostilo 
 to each other, and which had been very slowly, and, as it soon ap- 
 peared very imperfectly reconciled, but which at this conjuncture 
 Beemed to act together with cordiality. The larger of these parties 
 consisted of the great body of l!ie Whig aristocracy. Its head wa.' 
 Cliarles, Manpiis of Itockinirhaui, a man of sense and virtue, and i** 
 wealth and parliamentary infercst eipialled by very few of the Eng 
 ]i.sh nobles, but afllicted with a lurvous timidity wliich prc.v.'iitea 
 him from taking a prominent part in debate. In the House of Com- 
 mons the adherents of Kockinghana were led l)y Fox, Aviiose dis.-n.- 
 !)ated habits and ruined fortunes were the talk of the wliole town. 
 »ut who.se commanding genius, and whose Bweet, generous, am/ 
 A.B.-J7
 
 26 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 affectionnte disposition extorted the admiration and lovo of iliose 
 •who most Inmi'uled the rrrors of his private life. Burke, Superior to 
 Fox in hu\i:;enfss of compiclu'iisioii, in extent of knowledi^^e, and in 
 splendor of imairiniition, but less skilled in that kind of loj;ie and in 
 that kind of riietorie whicli eonvinee and persuade f^reat assemblies, 
 Avas willuig to be the lieutenuul of a young ehief who miylit have been 
 his son. 
 
 A smaller section of the opposition was composed of tlie old follow- 
 ers of (;hatham. At their head was William, Earl of yhelbnrne, dis- 
 tinguished both as a statesman and as a lover of science and letters. 
 AVilli him were leagued Lord L^aindeu, who had foimerly lield the 
 great seal, and whose integrity, ability, and constitutional knowledge 
 conuiiauded the public respee't ; 15arre, an elocjuent and acrimonious 
 <leclaimer ; and Dunning, who had long held the (irst place at the 
 English bar. It was to this party that Pitt was naturally attracted. 
 
 On the 2tlth of February, 1781," he made Ids first speech in favor of 
 Burke's i^lan of ecouomic'al refonn. Fox stood up at the same 
 moment, but instantly gave way. The lofty yet animated deport- 
 ment of the young member, his perfect self-p'os.session, the readiness 
 with Avhich he replied to the orators who had preceded him, tlie silver 
 tones of his voice, the perfect str ucture of his unpremeditated sen- 
 tences, astonished and delighted liis hearers. Burke, mov(-d even fo 
 tears, exclaimed, " It is not a chip of the old block ; it is tlie old 
 block itself." " Pitt will be one of the first men in Parliament," sai(l 
 a member of the opposition to Fox. " lie is so already," answered 
 Fox, in Avhose nature envy had no place. It is a curious fact, well 
 remembered by some wlio were very recently living, that soon after 
 this debate Pitt's name was put up by Fox at Brookes's. 
 
 <)u two subscfiuent occasions during that session f-*ilt addressed the 
 house, and on both full^^ sustained the reputation which he had ac- 
 ([uired on his first appearance. In the summer, after the prorogation, 
 lie again Avent the Avestern circuit, held several briefs, and acciuitted 
 himself in such a manner that lie was liighly complimented by Buller 
 from the bench, and by Dunning at the bar. 
 
 On the 27th of November the l^arliament reassembled. Only forty- 
 eight hours before had arrived tidings of the surrender of Oornwallis 
 and his army ; and it consequently became necessary to rewrite tiie 
 royal speech. Every man in the kingdom, except the king, was now 
 convinced that it Avas mere madness to think of coiuiuering the 
 United States. In the debate on the report of the address, Pitt spoke 
 with even more energy and lirilliaucy than on any former occasion. 
 He Avas Avarmly applauded by his allies; b.ut it was remarked that 
 no person on his own side of the house was so loud in eulogy as 
 Henry Dundas, the Lord Advo(;ate of Scotland, avIio spoke from the 
 ministerial ranks. That able and versatile politician distinctly fore- 
 saw the approadiing (lownfall of the government with Avhich he was 
 connected, and was preparing to make his own escape from the ruin.
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 37 
 
 From that ni<^ht dates liis connection with Pilt, n connection which 
 6ooa ijccame aclose intimacy, and which lasted till it was dissolved 
 
 by death. .^^ , , 
 
 About a fortuiffht later, Pitt spoke in the committee of supply on 
 the army estimates. Symptoms of dissension had begun to appear 
 on the treasury bench. Lord George Germaine. the secretary of 
 state who was especially charged witli the direction ot the war la 
 America, had held language not easily to be reconciled with declara- 
 tions made by the first lord of the treasury. Pitt noticed the dis- 
 crepancy with much force and keenness. Lord George and Lord 
 North heo-an to whisper together ; and \Velborc Ellis, an ancient 
 placeman^ who had been drawing salary almost every quarter siuco 
 the days of Henry Pelham, bent down between them to put in a 
 word Such interruptions sometimes discompose veteran speakers. 
 Pitt stopped, and, looking at the group, said, A^ith admirable readi- 
 ness, " I shall wait till Nestor has composed the dispute between 
 Agamemnon and Achilles. " 
 
 \fter several defeats, or victories hardly to be distinguished from 
 defeats the ministry resigned. The king, reluctantly and uu- 
 graciou.>lv consented to accept Rockingham as first minister, iox 
 and Shelburne became secretaries of state. Lord John Cavendish, 
 one of the most upright and honorable of men, was made chancellor 
 of the exchequer, thuiiow. whose abilities and force of character 
 liad made him the dictator of the House of Lords, continued to hold 
 
 the great seal. , . . i • c 
 
 To Pitt was offered, through Shelburne, the vice-treasurership of 
 Ireland, one of the easiest and most highly paid places m the gd't of 
 the crown ; but the offer was, without hesitation, declined, iho 
 youn-j- statesman had resolved to accept no post which did not entitle 
 him to a seat in the cabinet ; and, a few days later, he annoimcei 
 that resolution in the House of Cojnmons. It must be remeinberett 
 that the cabinet was then a much smaller and more select body tlum 
 at present. We have seen cabinets of sixteen. lu the time of our 
 grandfathers a cabinet of ten or eleven was thought inconveniently 
 large. Seven was a usual number. Even Burke, who had taken 
 the lucrative oQice of paymaster, was not in the cabinet. Many 
 therefore thought Pitt's declaration indecent. He himself was sorry 
 that he had made it. The words, lie .said in private, had escaped 
 him in tlie heat of spi'akiug ; and he had no sooner uttered them than 
 he would iiave giv.-n tiie world to recall them. They, however, did 
 him no harm with the public. The second William Pitt, it was said, 
 had shown lliat he had inherited the spirit as well as the genius of tlio 
 first. In the son. as in the father, there might perhaps be too much 
 piido ; but there was nothing low or sordid. It might be called ar 
 rogance in a young barrister, living in chambers on three liuudied a 
 y<^ar, to refuse a siilarv of live tliousaiid a year, merely because ho 
 did not choose to l*iud "himself to speak or vole fur plans which hu
 
 28 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 liad no share in framing ; but surely sucli arrogance was not very 
 fat' roiii()\cil from virlue. 
 
 Pitt .uave a general support to the administration of Rockingham, 
 but omitted, in the mean lime, no op[H)!tuuity of courting that ultru- 
 ■\vhig jiarty wlueh the persecution of Willies and the j\liddlesex elec- 
 tion had called into existence, and which the disastrous events of 
 war, and the triumph of republican principles in America, had made 
 formidable both in numbers and in temper. He supported a motion 
 for shortening the duration of parliaments. lie made a motion for a 
 committee to examine inio the state of tlie represeutation, and, in the 
 speech by which that motion was introduced, avowed himself the 
 enemy of the close boroughs, the strongholds of that corruption to 
 which he attributed all the calamities of the nation, and which, as he 
 phrased it in one of those exact and sonorous sentences of which he 
 had a boundless command, had grown with the growth of England 
 and strengthened with her strength, but had not diminished with her 
 diminution, or dccuyed with her decay. On this occasion he was 
 supported by Fox. The motion was lost by only twenty votes in a 
 house of more than thiee hundred members. The reformers never 
 again had so good a division till the year 1831. 
 
 The new administration was strong in abilities, and was more pop- 
 ular than any administration which had held office since the first year 
 of George the Third, but was hated by the king, hesitatingly sup- 
 ported by the Parliament, and torn by internal dissensions. The 
 chancellor was disliked and distrusted by almost all his colleagues. 
 The two secretaries of state regarded each other with no friendly feel- 
 ing. The line between their departments had not been traced with 
 precision ; and there were consequently jealousies, encroachments, 
 and complaints. It was all that Kockingham could do to keep the 
 peace in his cabinet ; and before the cabinet had existed three 
 months, Rockingham died. 
 
 In an instant all was confusion. The adherents of the deceased 
 statesman looked on the Duke of Portland as their chief. The king 
 placed Shelburne at the head of the treasury. Fox, Lord John Cav- 
 endish, and Burke, inmiediately resigned their offices ; and the new 
 prime minister was left to constitute a government out of very dc' 
 , fective materials. His own parliamentary talents were great; but 
 he could not be in the place where parliamentary talents were most 
 '/leeded. It was necessary to find some member of the House of Com- 
 mons who could confront the great orators of the opposition ; and 
 Pitt a'lOne had the eloiiuence and the courage which were required. 
 He was offered the great place of chancellor of the exchequer, and 
 he accepted it. He had scarcely completed his twenty- third year. 
 
 The Parliament was speedily prorogued. During the recess, a ne- 
 gotiation for peace which had been commenced under Rockingham 
 was brought to a successful termination. England acknowledged 
 the iudependeuce of her revolted colonies ; and she ceded to her
 
 ■WILLIAM PITT. 29 
 
 European enemies some places in the Mediterranean and in the Gulf 
 of Mexico. But the terms which she obtained were quite as advan- 
 tageous and honorable as the events of the war entitled her to expect, 
 or as she was likelv to obtain liy persevering in a contest against im- 
 mense odds. All her vital parts, all the real sources of her power re- 
 mained uninjure;!. She preserved even her dignity ; for she ceded 
 to the House of Bourbon only part of what she had won from that 
 liouse in previous wars. She retained her Indian empire undiminish- 
 ed ; and, iu spite nf the mightiest efforts of two great monarchies, 
 her flag still waved on the rock of Gibraltar. There is not the slight- 
 est reason to believe that Fox, if he had remained iu office, would 
 have hesitated one moment about coucludiug a treaty on such con- 
 ditions. Unhappilv that great and most amiable man was, at this 
 crisis, hurried by liis passions into an error which made his genius 
 and his virtues^ duriug a long course of years, almost useless to his 
 country. 
 
 He saw that the great body of the House of Commons was divided 
 into three parties, his own, that of North, and that of Shelburne ; 
 that none of those three parties was large enough to stand alone ; 
 that, therefore, unless two of them united, there must be a miserably 
 feel)le administration, or, more probably, a rapid succession of 
 miserably feeble administrations, and this at a time when a strong 
 government was essential to the prosperity and respectability of the 
 nation. It was then necessary and right that there should be a coa- 
 lition. To every possible coalition there were objections. But, of 
 all possible coalitions, that to which there were the fewest objections 
 was undoubtedly a coalition between Shelburne and Fox. It would 
 have been generally applauded by the f(jllowers of both. It might 
 have been made without any sacrifice of put)lic principle on the jmrt 
 of either. Unhappily, recent bickerings had left in the mind of Fox 
 a profound dislike and distrust of hlielburne. Pitt attempted to 
 mediate, and was authorized to invite Fox to return to liie service of 
 the crown. " Is Lord Shelburne," .said Fox, " to remain prime min- 
 ister?" Pitt an.swered in the alfirniative. " It is impossible that I 
 can act under him," said Fox. "Then negotiation is at an end," 
 said Pitt; "for I cannot betray him." Thus Hk; two statesmen 
 parted. They were never again in a private ro(»in together. 
 
 As Fox and his friends would not treat with Shelhurne, nothing 
 remained to them iiut to treat with North. That fatal coalition, 
 which is emphatically called " The Coalition," was formed. Not 
 three quarters of a year had elapsed since Fox and Burke had threat- 
 ened North with iinix^achment. and had descrilied him. night after 
 niglit, an the most arl)ilrary, the most corrupt, the most incapable of 
 ministers. They now allied thctnselves with him for the ])urpose of 
 driving from otlice a statesman with whom they cannot be said to 
 liavc (iillercd as to any important (picstif)!!. Nor had tiiey even the 
 prudence and llie patience to wait for some occaaiou on which lliey
 
 30 "" WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 mi^tlht, wiUiout inconsistency, have conibineti wiUi llioir old enemies 
 in opposition to tlu," .liovonnnciit. Tliat nothing might 1k! wanting to 
 lliL' scandal, llic\greal orators vvholiad, during seven ycais, tlumdercd 
 against the war, determiued to join with the authors of that war iu 
 passing a vote of censure on the peace. 
 
 Tlie Parliament met before Christmas, 1782. But it was not till 
 January, ITS:!, that the preliminary treaties were signcni. On the 
 17th of February they were taken iiiio couijideration by the House of 
 Commons. There had been, during some days, floating rumors that 
 Fox aud North had coalesced ; and the del)ate indicated but too 
 clearly that those rumors were uot unfounded. Pitt was sutfering 
 innn indisposition : he did not i-ise till his own strength and that of 
 his hearers were exhausted ; aud he was consecpiently less successful 
 than on any former occasion. His admirers owned that his speech 
 was feeble and petulant. He so far forgot himself as to advise ISher- 
 idan to confine lumself to amusing theatrical audiences. This igno- 
 ble sarcasm gave Sheridan an opportunity of retorting with great 
 felicity. " After what 1 have seen and heard to-night," he said, " I 
 really teel strongly tempted to venture on a competition with so great 
 an artist as Ben Jonson, and to bring on the stage a second Angry 
 Boy." On a division, the addres^s proposed by the supporters of the 
 government was rejected by a majority of sixtceu. 
 
 But Pitt was not a man to be disheartened i)y a single failure, or 
 to be put down by the most lively repartee. When, a few days later, 
 the opposition proposed a resolution (iirectly censuring Uie treaties, 
 he spoke with an ehxiuence, energy, and dignity, wliiidi raised his 
 fanu' and popularity higher than ever. To the coalition of Fo.x 
 and North he alluded in language which drew forth lunudtuous ap- 
 plause from his followers. " If," he said, " this ill omened and un- 
 natural marriage be not yet consummated, I know of a just ;ind law- 
 ful impedient ; aud, iu the name of the public weal, I forbid the 
 banns." 
 
 The ministers were again left in a minority, and Shelburne con- 
 sequently tendered his resignation. It was accepted ; luit the king 
 struggled long and hard before he submitted to the terms dictated 
 b}' Fox, whose faults he detested, and whose high spirit and power- 
 ful intellect he detested still more. The first place at the l)oard of 
 treasury was repeatedly oliered to Pitt ; but the offer, though tempt- 
 ing, was steadfastly declitu;d. The young man, whose judgnu;nt 
 was as precocious as his eloquence, saw that his time was coming, 
 but was not come, and was deaf to royal iinporlunities and re« 
 proaches. His Majesty, bitterly complaiiung of Pitt's faint-hearted- 
 ness, tried to break the coalition P^very art of seduction was prac- 
 tised on North, hut in vain. During several weeks the country re- 
 mained without a government. It was not till all devices had failed, 
 and till the aspect of the House of Commons became threatening, 
 tiiat the king gave way. The Duke of Portland was declared first
 
 WILLI Ail PITT. 31 
 
 lord of the treasuiy. Thnrlow was dismisssd. Fox and North be- 
 came secretaries of state, v/itli power ostensibly equal. But Fox was 
 the real prime miui.sler. 
 
 The year was far advanced before the new arrangements were 
 completed ; and notbiu": very important was done during the remain- 
 der of the session. Pitt, now seated on the opposition bench, 
 brought the question of parliament :ir\^ reform a second time under 
 the consideration of the Commons. He proposed to add to the house 
 at once a hundred county members and several members for metro- 
 politan districts, and to enact that ever}" borough of which an election 
 committee should report that the majority of voters appeared to bo 
 corrupt, should lose the franchise. The motion was rejected by 293 
 votes to 149. 
 
 After the prorogation, Pitt visited the continent for the first and 
 last time. His travelling companion was one of his most intimate 
 friends, a young man of his own age, who had already distinguished 
 himself in Parliament by an engaging natural eloquence, set off by 
 the sweetest and most exquisitely modulated of human voices, and 
 whose affectionate heart, caressing manners, and brilliant wit, made 
 him the mo.st delightful of companions, William Wilberforce. Thai 
 was the time of Anglomania in France ; and at Paris the son of the 
 great Chatham was absolutely hunted by men of letters and women 
 of fashion, and forced, much against his will, into political disputa- 
 tion. One remarkable saying which dropped from him during this 
 tour has been preserved. A French gentleman expressed some sur- 
 prise at the immense influence which Fox, a man of pleasure, ruined 
 by the dice-box and the turf, exercised over the English nation, 
 "You have not," said Pitt, "been under the wand of the magi 
 cian." 
 
 In November, 1783, the Parliament met again. The government ha(i 
 irresistible strength in the House of Commons, and seemed to be 
 scarcely less strong in the House of Lords, but was, in truth, sur- 
 rounded on ever\' sirle by (Lingers. The king was impatient!}' wait- 
 ing for the moment at which he could emancipate himself from a 
 yoke which galled him so severely that he had more than once 
 seriously thought of retiring to Hanover ; and the king was scarcely 
 more eager for a change than the nation. Fox and North had com- 
 mitted a fatal error. They ought to have known that coalitions be 
 tween parties which have long been hostde, can succeed only wiieo 
 the wisii for coalition pervades the lower ranks of both. If the lead- 
 ers unite before there is any disposition to union among the fol- 
 lowers, the probability is that there will he a mutiny in both camps, 
 and that lint two revolted armies will make a truce with each other, 
 in order to be revcn<red on those by whom they think that liieyhave 
 been betrayed. Tiius it was in 17k:5. At (he beginning of that 
 eventful year, North had been the recognized head of the old Tory 
 party, which, though for a moment prostrated by the disastrous issue
 
 32 WILLIAM riTT. 
 
 of tlie American war, was still a great power in Ihe state. To him 
 the clergy, the universities, and that large body of country gentlemen 
 whose rallying cry was " Church and king," had long looked ujv 
 with respect and conlideucc. Fox had, on the other hand, Ix'cn Iho 
 idol of tlie Wiiigs, and of the whole l)ody of Protestant disKcnters. 
 The coalition at once alienated the most zealous Tories from North, 
 and the most zealous Whigs from Fox. The University of Oxford, 
 which had marked its approbation of North's orthodoxy by electing 
 him chancellor, the city of London, which had been, during two- 
 and-twenty years, at war with the court, were e([ually disgusted. 
 Squires and rectors, who had inherited the principles of "the cavaliers 
 of the preceding century, could not forgive their old leader for com- 
 bining with disloyal subjects in order to put a force on the sovereign. 
 The members of the Bill of Rights Society and of the Reform Asso- 
 ciations were enraged by learning that their favorite orator now called 
 the great champion of tyranny and corruption his noble friend. 
 Two great multitudes were at once left without an}' head, and both 
 at once turned their eyes on Pitt. One partj'- -saw in him the only 
 man who could rescue the king ; the other saw in him the only man 
 who could purify the Parliament. He was supported on one side by 
 Archbishop Markham, the preacher of divine light, and by Jenkin- 
 son, the captain of the pra>torian band of the king's friends ; on the 
 other side by Jebb and Frie.'-tlej% Sawbridge and Cartwright, Jack 
 Wilkes and "llorne Tooke. On the benches of the House of Com- 
 mons, however, the ranks of the ministerial majoril}' were unbroken ; 
 and that any statesman would venture to brave such a majority was 
 thought impossible. No prince of the Hanoverian line had ever, 
 under any provocation, ventured to appeal from the representative 
 body to the constituent body. The ministers, therefore, notwith- 
 standing the .sullen looks and muttered words of displeasure with 
 which their suggestions were received in the clo.set, notwithstanding 
 the roar of obloquy which was rising louder and louder every day 
 from every corner of the island, thought themselves secure. 
 
 Such was their conlideuce in their strength that, as soon as the 
 Parliament had met, they brought forward a singularly bold and 
 original plan for tjie government of the British territories in India. 
 What v.'as proposed was that the whole authority, which till that 
 time luul been exercised over tho.se territories by the East India Com- 
 pany, should be transferred to seven commissioners, who were to be 
 named by Parliament, and were not to be removable at the pleasure 
 of the crown. Earl Fitzwilliam, tlie most intimate jiersonal friend 
 of Fox, was to be chairman of this board, and the eldest son of North 
 was to be one of the members. 
 
 As .soon as the ouilines of the scheme were known, all the hatred 
 wliich the coalition had e.xcited burst forth with an astounding ex- 
 plosion. The question which ought undoubterlly to have been con- 
 sidered as paramount to every other was, whether the proposed
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 33 
 
 chanee was likely to be beneficial or injurious to the thirty millions 
 of people who were subject to the company. But that question can- 
 not be said 10 have been even seriously discussed Burke who, 
 whether ri^ht or wrona; in the conclusions to which he came had at 
 least the nferit of looking at the subject in ihe right point of view 
 vainly reminded his hearers of that mighty population whose daily 
 rice mi^ht depend on a vole of the British Parliament. He spoke, 
 with even more than his wonted power of thought and language, 
 about the desolation of llohileuud, about the spoliation of Benares, 
 about the evil policy which had suffered the tanks of the Caruatic to 
 20 to ruin : but he could scarcely obtain a hearing. 1 he contending 
 parties, to their shame it must be said, would listen to none but Lug- 
 lish topics. Out of doors the cry against the ministry was almost 
 universal. Town and country were united. Corporations exclauned 
 a'-ainst the violation of the charter of the greatest eprporation in the 
 realm Tories and democrats joined in pronouncmg the proposed 
 board an unconstitutional body. Il was to consist ot 1 ox s nomi- 
 nees The effect of his l)ill was to give, not to the crown, but to him 
 personally, whether in office or in opposition, an enormous power, a 
 patronage sufficient to counterbalance the patronage of the Treasury 
 and of the Admiralty, and to decide the elections tor fifty boroughs. 
 He knew, it was said, that he was hateful alike to king and people ; 
 and he had devised a plan which would make him independent of 
 both Some nicknametl him Cromwell, and some Carlo Ivluin. 
 Wilberforce with his usual felicity of expression, and with very un- 
 usual bitterness of feelin-, described the scheme as the genuiue oll- 
 sprin'' of the coalition, as marked with the features of bota its par- 
 ents the corruption of one and the violence of the other. In spite 
 of ail opposition, however, the bill was supported in every stage by 
 .Treat majorities, was rapidly passed, and was sent up to the Lords. 
 To the general astonishment, when tlie second reading was moved m 
 the upper house, the opposition proposed an adjournment, and car- 
 ried It Iiy eightv-seven votes to seventy-nine. Ihe cause ot this 
 stran-'c turn of fortune was soon known. Pitt s cousin. Earl leni- 
 ple, had been in the royal closet, and had there been authorized to 
 let ;t be known that his Majesty would consider all who votetl for the 
 bill as his enemies. The ignominious eoinnust^ion was pertormcd. 
 and instantly a troop of lords of tlie bedchamber, of bishops who 
 wished to be translated, and of Scotch peers who wished to be re- 
 elected, made haste to change sides. On a later day the Lords re- 
 iecled the bill. Fox and North were iinmeilial.-ly directed to senU 
 their seals to the palace by their undersecretaries ; and 1 itt was ap- 
 pointed first lord ol the tivasury and chancellor of the exchequer. 
 
 Tlie general opinion was, that there would be an immediate disso- 
 lution But I>ilt wisely determined to give the pul)lic leelmg timo 
 to L'aliier strength. On tiiis point he dillered from his kinsman 1 em- 
 ple The couacqueuce was, that Temple, who had been appomlod
 
 34: WILLIAM I'l'lT. 
 
 one of the seorcfario.'; of state, resiLrncd his ofTicn forfy-ciirht lionrg 
 aflcr ho liad acccpti'il it, and thus ivlicved tin,' new iiovrnnneiit from 
 a great load oi' unpopidaiilv ; lor all men of sense and honor, how- 
 t'vor stron,;;- iniglit he their dishke of the India i)ill, disapproved of 
 the manner in whieli that liill had been thrown out. Temjjle carried 
 .•iwii}' with him the scandal which the bet^t friends of the new govern- 
 ment could not but lament. The fame of the young prime minister 
 pieserved its whiteness. lie could declare with perfect truth, that 
 if uuconstitulioual machinations had been emplo^'e^i, lie had been uo 
 party to them. 
 
 He was, however, surrounded by ditliculties and dangers. In the 
 House of Lords, indeed, he Jiad a "majority ; nor could any orator of 
 the opposition in that assembly be considered as a match for Thur- 
 low, who Wiis now again chancellor, or for Camden, who cordially 
 supported the son of his old fiieiid Chatham. But in the other 
 house there was not a single eminent speaker anujng the ollicial men 
 who sat round Pitt. His most useful assistant was Dundas, who, 
 though he had not eloquence, had sense, knowledge, readiness, and 
 boldness. On the opposite benches was a powerful majority, led by 
 Fox, who was suoported l>y Burke, North, and Hheridan. The heart 
 of the young nuuister, stout as it was, almost died witliin liim. He 
 could not once close his eyes on the night which followed Temple's 
 resignation. But, whatever Ins internal emotions might be, his lan- 
 guage and dejiortmeut indicated iiothing but uncon(iu7;rable lirnines3 
 and haughty conlidence in his own powers. His ccnitest against the 
 House of Commons lasted from the ITlh of December, 17b8, to the 
 8tli of Mai'ch, 1TS4. In sixteen divisions the opposition triumphed. 
 Again and again the king was requested to (lismiss his ministers. 
 But lie was determined to go to (krmany rather than yield. Pitt's 
 resolution never wavered. The cry of the nation ni his favor liecame 
 vehement and almost furious. Addresses assuring him of public 
 support came up daily from every part of the kingdom. The free- 
 dom of the city of London was presented to him in a gold box. He 
 went in state to receive this mark of distinction. He was sumptu- 
 ously feasted in Grocers' Hall ; and the .shopkeepers of the Strand 
 und Fleet Street illuminated tlieir houses in his honor. These things 
 could not but produce an ellect within the walls of Parliament. The 
 ranks of the majority began to waver ; a few passed over to the en- 
 emy ; some skulked away ; many were for capitulating while it was 
 still possible to capitulate with the honors of war. Negotiations 
 were opened with the view of foiming an administration on a wide 
 basis, but they hail scarcely been opened when the}' Avere closed. 
 The opposition demanded, as a preliminary arlicle of the treaty, thai 
 Pitt should resign the treasury ; and with this demand Pitt stead- 
 fastly refused to comply. While jibe contest was raging, the clerk- 
 Ehip of the Pells, a sinecure placfe for life, worlh three thousand a 
 yciir, and tenable with u seat in the Houae of Commons, became
 
 "WILLIAM PITT. 35 
 
 vacant. The appointment -was witli the chancellor of the cxch&. 
 quer ; nobody doubted that he would appoint himself ; and nobody 
 could have blamed him if he had done so ; for such sinecure offices 
 had always been defended on the ground that they enabled a few 
 men of eminent abilities and small incomes to live without any pro- 
 fession, and to devote themselves to the service of the state. Pitt, iu 
 Bpite of tiie remonstrances of his friend.s, gave the Pells to his father's 
 o'.d adherent, Colonel Barre, a m ui distinguished by talent and elo- 
 quence, but poor and afflicted with blindness. By this arrangement 
 a pension which the Kockingha.m ari ministration had granted to 
 Barre was saved to the public. Never was there a happier stroke of 
 policy. About treaties, wars, expeditions, tariffs, Imdgets, there will 
 always be room for dispute. The policy which is applauded by half 
 the nation may be condemned by the other half. But pecuniar}' dis- 
 mterestedness everjdjody comprehends. It is a great thing for a man 
 who has only three hundred a year to be able to show that he con- 
 siders tiiree thousand a year as mere dirt beneath his feet, when com- 
 pared with the pui)lic interest and the public esteem. Pilt had his 
 reward. No minister was ever more rancorously libelled ; but even 
 when he was known to be overwhelmed with debt, when millions 
 were passing through his hands, when the wealthiest magnates of the 
 realm were soliciting him for marquisates and garters, his bitterest 
 enemies did not dare to accuse him of touching unlawful gain. 
 
 At length tlie hard-fought tiglit ended. A final remonstrance, 
 drawn up by Burke with admirable skill, was carried on the 8th of 
 March by a single vote in a full house. Had the experiment been re- 
 peated, the supporters of the coalition would probal)ly have been in 
 a minority. But the supplies had been voted ; the mutiny bill had 
 been passed ; and tlie Parliament was dissolved. 
 
 Tlie popular constituent bodies all over the country were in gen- 
 eral enthusiastie on tlie side of the new government. A hundred and 
 sixty of the supporters of the coalition lost their seats. The first 
 lord of the treasury himself came in at the head of tiie poll for the 
 University of C'aml)ridge. His j^oung friend, Will)erforce, was 
 elected knight of the great shire of York, in opposition to the whole 
 influence of tlie FitzwiJJiams, Cavendishes, Dutidases, and Saviles. 
 In the midst of such triurnpiis Pitt completed his twenty-tifth year. 
 Jlii was now tiie greatest subject that England had seen during many 
 generations. He domineered ab.solulely over the cabinet, and was 
 IIk; favorite at once of tlie .sovereign, of the Parliament, and of the 
 nation. His father had never been so powerful, nor Walpole, nor 
 Marlborough. 
 
 This narrative has now reached a point bej'ond which a full his- 
 tory of the life of Pitt wculd i)e a history of England, or rather of the 
 •whole civilized worhl ; and for such a history this is not the proper 
 plaee. Wcic. a very sliiiit sketch must ;;ulliee ; and in that sketch 
 prominence will be given Iu tucli points as may enable a reader wlio
 
 80 
 
 WILLIAM riTT. 
 
 13 f.lrcaily acquahucrl wiili tlic general course of cvenls to form n 
 jUKt nolioii of ihc cljarac'ler of the man on whom so much depended 
 It we wush to arrive at a correct judgment of Pitt's merits and de- 
 fects, we must never forget that lie belonged to a peculiar class of 
 ehxtesmen, and that he must be tried hy a peculiar standard It is 
 not easy to comimre him fairly with such men as Ximenes and Sully 
 JRicheheu and Oxenstiern, John J)c Wilt au.t Warren Hastings' 
 1 he means by which those politicians governed great communities 
 were of quite a dilTerent kind from those which Pitt was under the 
 necessity of employing. Some talents, which tiiey never had anv on- 
 portumty of showing that they possessed, were developed in him to 
 an extraordinary degree. In some qualities, on the other hand, to 
 whi(.-h they owe a large part of their fame, he was decidedly their 
 mterior. i hey transacted business in their closets, or at boards 
 where a few conhdential coundllors sat. It was his lot to be born 
 m an age and ma country in which parliamentary government was 
 comnlelely established ; his whole training from infancy was such as 
 Utted iiim to bear a part in parliamentary governmenl ; and from the 
 prinreot his manhood to his death, all the powers of his vigorous 
 mind ^^ ere almost constantly exerted in the work of parliamentary 
 government. He accordingly became the greatest master of the 
 w note ar. ot parliamentary government that has ever existed, a greater 
 than Momague or Walpcde, a greater than his father Chatham or hia 
 alTd PcT' " ^'^^''^^'^'^ ^^^^ ^^^^^'^ ^^ ^'^ illustrious successors Canning 
 
 Parliamentary government, like "eveiy other contrivance of man. 
 has Its advantages and its disadvantages. On the advantages there 
 is no need to dilate. The history of England during the hundred 
 and .seventy years which have elapsed since the House of Commons 
 became the most powerful body in the state, her immense and still 
 growing prosperity, her freedom, her tranciuillity, her greatness in 
 arts, in sciences, and in arms, her maritime ascendency, the marvels 
 of her public credit, her American, her African, her Australian her 
 Asiatic empires, suthcienlly prove the excellence of her in.stitutions. 
 i^ut those institutions, though excellent, are assuredly not perfect 
 t arliameutary government is government by si)eaking In such a 
 government, the power of speaking is the most highly prized of all 
 the qualities which a politician can possess; and^hat power may 
 exist, in the Highest degree, without judgment, without fortitude 
 without skill lu reading the characters of men or the signs of the 
 times, without any knowledge of the principles of legislation or of 
 political economy, and without any skill in diplomacy or in the ad- 
 ministration of >var. Nay, it may well happen that those very intel- 
 lectual qualities winch give a peculiar charm to the speeches of a 
 public man, may be incompatible with the qualiths which would lit 
 him to meet a pre.ssing emergency with prompliludc and firmness. 
 U waa tbus with v/iiarles Townsheud. It was thus with Windham.
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 37 
 
 It was a privilege to listen to those accomplished and ingenious ora- 
 toi? But iu a perilous crisis they would have been fouud far mte- 
 rSrina ItheqSalitiesof rulers to such a man as Oliver Cromwell, 
 who tallied noisense, or as ^Yilliam the Sdent who did not talk at 
 all When parliamentary government is established, a Shares 
 Townshend or a Windham will almost ah^ays exercise much greater 
 influence than such men as the great Protector of England, or as the 
 founder of the Batavian commonwealth. In such a government, par- 
 liarJentary talent though quite distinct from the talents of a good 
 exS ive or ud cial officer, will be a chief qualification for execu- 
 tive and iud id al office. From the Book of Dign ties a curious list 
 Sht be male out of chancellors ignorant of the principles of equity, 
 Sid first lords of the admiralty ignorant ot the principles of naviga- 
 Sn of colonial ministers who could not repeat the names of the col- 
 onies of lords of the treasury who did not know the difference be- 
 tween funded and unfunded debt, and of secretaries of he India 
 board whTdd not know whether the Mahrattas were Mahometans 
 or Hindoos On these grounds, some persons, incapable of seeing 
 morp aim one side of a question, have pronounced parliamentary 
 S'-ernment a positive evil, and have maintained that the administnv 
 fion would be greatly improved if the power, now ^^^^-'^^^d ^^J ^ 
 lar-e assembly, were transferred to a single person Men of_ sense 
 wilpobablv think the remedy very imich worse than the disease 
 and will be o'f opinion that there would be small gain in exchangmg 
 Charles Townshend and Windham for the prmce ot the peace, or the 
 noor slave and dog iSteenie. , 
 
 ^ P t was emphal.cally the man of Pf^JJi''^>"<^^t^^y government, he 
 tvpe of his class, the minion, the child, the spoded child, of the 
 Ese of Commons. For tl.e Ilou.se of Commons he had a heredi- 
 S?y an infantine love. Through his whole boyhood, the House of 
 Commons was never out of his thoughts, or out of the If "gl» ^ oj 
 h-HXictors. Reciting at his father's knee, reading Ihucydules 
 iid Cicero nio English tl^e great Attic speeches on he 
 
 en bussy n on the ci^own. he was constantly n traimng for the 
 conl£;£ of the House of Cumnions. He was 'S' '^^-;:;;;f ^ ^iXS 
 her of the House of (Jommoiis at twenty-one. 1 he a!)ilit\ ^\hlUl ne 
 ia 1 dis layed in the Hou.se of Commons made him tue niost power- 
 ful sulject in Europe before he was twenty-live 1 wojild have 
 been happy for himself and for his country if his oleva ion had been 
 (leferre. Ei-hl or ten years, during which he would have had lei- 
 su e an 1 opportunity for'reading and rellection for foreign travel for 
 social iute;cour..e and free exchange of th-night on '=;i>- , f'";, 
 a greril variety of cHupauions. would have .supplied \'' ' •' j ^\'^''"''; 
 aiiV fault on his part, was wanting to his p-werln "itelle : 1 
 had all the knowledge that he could be expected to have ; '1'^ '^ 
 say all the knowle.ige that a man can acquire while he is a .stiulint 
 at Cambri.lge. and all the knowledge that a man can acquire when
 
 38 ■WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 \ie is first lord of tlie treasury and cliaiuollor of llio oxclioquer. Jiut 
 Ihe stock of geueral information which lie brought from coilcfro, ex- 
 Iraordinary for a boy, was far inferior to wliat Fox possessed, 'and 
 l)Og,y:aily when compared with tlie massy, the s[)]e)i(Ud, the various 
 h-easures laid up in the large mind of Uurke. After Pitt became 
 minister, he had no leisure to learn more tiiau was necessary for the 
 purposes of the day wiiicii was passing over him. What was neces- 
 sary for those purposes such a man could learn with little difiicult}\ 
 He was surrounded by experienced and able public servants, lie 
 could at any moment command their best assistance. From tlie 
 stores which they produced his vigorous mind rapidly collected tiio 
 materials for a good parliamentary case ; and that was enough. 
 Legislation and administration were with him secondary matters. 
 To the work of framing statutes, of negotiating treaties, of organizing 
 fleets and armies, of sending forth expeditions, he gave only flic leav- 
 ings of his time and the dregs of his fine intellect. The strength and 
 sap of his mind were all drawn in a dilTeient direction. It was when 
 the House of Commons was to be convinced and persuaded that he 
 put forth all his powers. 
 
 Of those powers we must form our estimate cliieily fi'om tradition ; 
 for of all the eminent speakers of the last age, Pitt has suffered most 
 from the reporters. Even while he was slill living, critics remarked 
 that his eloquence could not be preserved, that he must be heard to 
 be appreciated. They more than once applied to him the sentence 
 in which Tacitus describes the fate of a S(;nator whose rhetoric was 
 admired in the Augustan age : " Haterii canorum illud et prolluens 
 cum ipso simul exstinctum est." There is, however, abundant evi- 
 dence that nature had bestowed on Pitt the talents of a great orator ; 
 and those talents had l)een developed in a very peculiar manner ; 
 first by his education, and secondly by the high omcial position t() 
 which he rose early, and in which he passed the greater part of his 
 public life. 
 
 At his first appearance in Parliament he showed himself superior to 
 all his contemporaries in command of language. He could pour 
 forth a long succession of round and stately periods, without pre- 
 meditation, without ever pausing for a word, without ever repeating 
 a word, in a voice of silver clearness, and with a pronunciation so 
 articulate that not a letter was slurred over. He had loss amplitude 
 of mind and less richness of imagination than Burke, less ingenuity 
 than Windham, less wit than Sheridan, less perfect maslery'of dia- 
 lectical fence, and less of that highest sort of eloquence which cou- 
 si.sts of reason and passion fused together, than Fox. Yet the gimost 
 unanimous judgment of those who were in the hal)it of listening to 
 that remarkable race of men placed Pitt, as a speaker, above Uurke, 
 al)0ve Windham, above Sheridan, and not below Fox. His declama- 
 iion was copious, polished, and splendid. In i)ower of sarca:>m he 
 ^OB probably not surpassed by uuj sueaker, ancient or modero ; and
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 39 
 
 of this formidable weapoD he made merciless use. In two parts of 
 the oratorical art which are of the highest value to a minister of state 
 he was singularly expert. No man knew better how to be luminous 
 or how to be obscure. ^Yhen he svislied to be understood he never 
 failed to make himself understood. He could with ease present to 
 his audience, not perhaps an exact or profound, but a clear, popular, 
 and plausible view of the most extensive and complicated subject. 
 Kothing was out of i)lace ; nothing was forgotten ; minute details, 
 dates, sums of monej', were all faithfully jjreserved in his memor3\ 
 Even intiicate questions of finance, when explained by him, seemed 
 clear to the plainest man among his hearers. On the other hand, 
 when he did not wish to be explicit — and no man who is at the head 
 of affairs always wishes to be explicit — he had a marvellous power of 
 saying nothing in language which left on his audience the impression 
 that he had said a great deal. He was at once the only man who 
 could 0[)en a budget without notes, and the only man who, as Wind- 
 liam saiii, could speak that most elaborately evasive and unmeaning 
 of human compositions, a king's speech, without premeditation. 
 
 The effect of oratory will always, to a great extent, depend on the 
 character of the orator. There perhaps never weie two speakers 
 whose eloquence had more of what may be called the race, more of 
 the flavor imparted by moral qualities, than Fox and Pitt. The, 
 speeches of Fox owe a great part of their charm to that Avarmth and 
 softness of heart, that sympathy with human suffering, that admira- 
 tion for everything great and beautifid, and that hatred of cruelty 
 and injustice, which interest and delight us even iu the most defec- 
 tive reports. No person, on the other hand, could hear Pitt without 
 perceiving him to be a man of high, intrepid, and commanding 
 spirit, proudly conscious of his own rectitude and of his own intel- 
 lectual superiority, incapable of the low vices of fear and envy, but 
 too ))rone to feel and to show disdain. Pride, indeed, pervaded the 
 whole man, was written in the harsh, rigid lines of his face. 
 ■wan marked by the way in which he walked, iu which he 
 sat, in which he stood, and, above all, in which he bowed. Such 
 pride, of comse, inllicted manj' wounds. It may conlidently be 
 affirmed that there cannot be found, in all the ten tliousaud invectives 
 written against Fox, u word indicating that Ills demeanor had ever 
 made a single personal (!nemy. On tlie other hand, several men of 
 uote who had l)een partial to Pitt, and who to the; last continued to 
 approve liis i)ubiic conduct and to support his administration, Cum- 
 berland, for example, Boswell, and Maltiiias. were so nuidi irritated 
 by tiie contenij)! with which he treated them, that they comi)Iaincd 
 in |)rinl of tlicir wrcjngs. 15ut lus jiride, though it maile him liilteriy 
 disliked l)y individuals, ins[)ired the gicat body of his followers iu 
 Parliament and throughout the country wilh respect and ftonlidence. 
 They tof;k him at his own valuation. They saw tiiat his seU-esleem 
 wa« not that of au upstart, who waa drunk with good-luck and with
 
 *^ WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 applause, and ^vho. if fortune furnerl, would sink from arrogance 
 
 ^vhlclI would have uunervcMl and bowc-d down nnror, in ry S 
 I It was coscly connected too with an nml.ition which S^T^^ 
 
 idShrnwiTh widest-, ^""'T --.--^'^•-g noble in ulecySi 
 
 ?nTr\, '"^^V , :"'^'i the mighty minister scattered riches and titles 
 
 2Jnf oul of 'hV'""""^ those who valued them, while he purned 
 
 them out of his own way. Poor himself, he was surrounded hv 
 
 fiends on whom he had bestowed three tiiousand, sTv Esand^ 
 
 Inn 'mv'TlH-f ^^'''■■- /^l^^'" M'^^"" ^'''"■'^^■"'' '^^ ^^^^^ made mire S 
 than any tn-ec ministers that had preceded him. The garter fr 
 
 ^S/ "] dm an dT 'T ''"^'""^ ''''' ««"^^"^-^. -^ SJcSed?; 
 uiiLUAi 10 iiim, and otierod in vain ^ j 
 
 nubliP H!!r'f 't ^''V''"'"'^^^ '**'^ •'^^^I'^d •""^-h to the dignity of his 
 fr on? f'.^'"'"'^^'"- I" the relations of son, brother, uncle master 
 friend, his conduct was exemplary. In the small c rcle of hil i it? 
 mate associations, he was andable.'affectionate, even pkvful Tl ey 
 
 iardly admit that he who was so kind and gentle with them coidd 
 ?oo1rJeh'?nwine='^f •";',' fT' , "^ '"^"'^ed, indeed somewhl^ 
 cSe Sd whiTn'. ?''' '"^'^'■'^ been directed to takeas a medi- 
 cme, and winch use had made a necessary of life to him But it wiq 
 very seldom that any indication of undue excess cou d be de?ecled^fn 
 his tones or gestures ; and, in truth, two bottles 'of port were little 
 more to him than two dishes of tea. He had, when he JflJrs h^ 
 trod, ced into he clubs of St. James's Street, shown a stron J tas e 
 
 tlds' aiti lr!a'\ ^'"- ^^« P'-"^J-''« «"^1 »'"' >--o""ion to slop 'be; e 
 
 this taste ha acquired tiie strength of habit. P^rora the pa.ssion 
 
 A\ mcli generally exercises the most tyrannical dominion over the youn<r 
 
 c possessed an immunity, which is probably to be ascribed partly 
 
 was'f'eelT^'r"''"'' ""^ T'""^ '' '"^ «'''^^"'"»- ^is consUtS^ 
 was feeble : he was very shy ; and he was very busy. The strictness 
 
 Mo risTm '•' ^^"""'^^^ ^."^'^ '^"^^"'^^ ^' P'^tir PiJdar and C^ta n 
 kinfl ll:^ "lexhaus^tible theme for merriment of no very delicate 
 nofsee^he SP't,^'^'""^ the middle class of Englishi^en eould 
 commnnr mn^ V ^^-^ '''^'"j'^. P""^''^^ ^•^^ ^'O"'!^ statesman for 
 fbf. Ifr^.? decorous obscurity, and would have been very far in- 
 r. Z\?\ '"^'^"^^ ''° ''•'^^' ^in'iicated himself from 
 
 sSnsra^tian^eSk.'^' '^'"^' -'^"- ^"'^ P-^ection aNa^cy Par- 
 
 be^anrCpi lo^'ti'^'^'f '• P»P"^nty which Pilt long enjoyed is to 
 be attributed to the eulogies of wits and poets. It might liave been
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 41 
 
 naturally expected that a man of genius, of learning, of taste, an ora- 
 tor whose diction was often comoared to that of Tully, the represent- 
 ative too of a great university, would have taken a pccuhur pleas- 
 ure in befriending eminent writers, to whatever political parly they 
 might have belonged. The love of literature had induced Augustus 
 to heap beuetits on Pompeians, Somers to be the protector of non- 
 iurors Harlev to make the fortunes of Whigs. But it could not move 
 Pitt to show' any favor even to Pittites. He was doubtless right m 
 thinkiu"- that, in general, poetry, history, and philosophy ought to be 
 suffered, like calico and cutlery, to find their proper pric^ m the 
 market and that to teach men of letters to look habUually to the 
 state for their recompense, is bad for the state and bad for letters. 
 Assuredlv nothing can b3 more ateurd or mischievous than to waste 
 the public money in bounties, for the purpose of inducing people 
 who ought to be weighing out grocery or measuring out drapery to 
 write bad or middling books. But, though the sound rule is that 
 authors should l)e left to be remunerated by their readers, there wil , 
 in everv s^eneration, be a few exceptions to this rule. To distinguish 
 these special cases from the masses, is an employment well worthy 
 of the faculties of a great and accomplished ruler ; and Pitt would 
 assuredly have had liltle dilhculty in finding such cases. \\ hile ha 
 was in power, the greatest philologist of the age, his own contem- 
 porary at Cambridge, was reduced to earn a livelihood by the lowest 
 literary drudgery, and to spend in writing squibs for the Morning 
 Chronicle years to which we might have owed an all but perfect text 
 of the whole tragic and comic drama of Athens. The greatest histo- 
 rian of the ao-e, forced by poverty to leave his country, completed his 
 immortal work on the shores of Lake Leman. Tlie political het ro- 
 doxy of Porson and the religious heterodoxy of Gibbon may per- 
 haps be pleaded in defence of the minister by whom those eminent 
 men were neglected. But there were other cases in which no such 
 excuse could' i)e set up. Scarcely had Pitt obtained possession of un- 
 bounded powciT. when an aged writer of the highest eminence, who 
 had made very little l)y his writings, and who was sinking into tiio 
 grave under a" load of infirmities and sorrows, wanted five or six hun- 
 dred pounds to enable him, during tiie winter or two which might 
 still remain to him. to draw his breath more easily in the soft clunalo 
 of Italy. Not a farthing was to be obtained ; and before Christmas the 
 author of the English Dictionary and of the Lives of the Poets had 
 ga-sped his last in tlie river fog and coal smoke of Fleet Street. A few 
 months after the death of Jolinson appeared the Task, incompara!)ly 
 the best poem that any Knglishmari then living had produced— a 
 poem, too, which could hardly fail to excite in a well-coustilutea 
 mind a feeling of esteem and compassion for the poet, a man of 
 genius and virtue, whose means were scanty, and whom the most 
 cruel of all the calamities incident to humanity had made incapable of 
 supporting himself by vigoroas and sustained exertion. Mowhere
 
 42 WILLIAM PI"'l\ 
 
 liad Cliatham been praised wilh more enthusiasm, or iu verse more 
 worthy of the subject, than iu tlie Task. The sou of Cliatham, 
 however, contented liimself with reading and a(hiiifiug the book, and 
 left the author to starve. The pension wliich, long after, enabled 
 poor Cowper to close his meluucholj' life, unmolested by duns and 
 baililYs, was obtained for him by the strenuous kindness of Lord 
 iSpencer. What a contrast between the way in which I^ilt acted tow- 
 ard Johnson, and the way iu which J^oni Grey acted toward his 
 political euemy Scott, when bcott, worn out by misfortune and dis- 
 ease, was advised to try the effect of the Italian air ! What a con- 
 trast between the way in wliich Pitt acted toward Cowper, aud 
 the way in which Burke, a poor man aud out of place, acted toward 
 Crabbe ! Even Dundas, who made no pretensions to literary taste, 
 aud Avas content to be considered as a iiard-headed and somewhat 
 coarse man of business, was, when compared with his eloquent and 
 classically educated friend, a IVIa'cenas or a Leo. Dundas made 
 liurns an exc-iseman, with seventy pounds a year ; and this was 
 more than Pitt, during his long tenure of power, did for the encour- 
 agement of letters. Even those who may think that it i:^, in genei'al, 
 no part of the duty of a government to reward literary merit, will 
 hardls'^ deny that a government, which has much lucrative church 
 preferment in its gift, is bound, in distributing that preferment, not 
 to overlook divines whose writings have rendered great service to the 
 cau.se of religion. But it seems never to have occurred to Pitt that 
 he lay under any such obligation. All the theological works of the 
 numerous bishops whom he made and translated are not, when put 
 together, worth fifty pages of the lioix Paulina?, of the Natural 
 Theology, or of the Views of the Evidences of Christianity. But on 
 Paley the all-powerful minister never bestowed the smallest benefice. 
 Artists Pitt treated as contemptuously as writers. For painting he 
 did simply nothing. Sculptors, who had been selected to execute 
 monnmeuls voted b}' Parliament had to haunt the antechambers of 
 the treasury during many years before they could obtain a farthing 
 from him. One of them, after vainlj^ soliciting the minister for pay- 
 ment during fourteen years, had the courage to present a memorial 
 to the king, aud thus obtained tardy and ungracious justice. Archi- 
 tects it was absolutely necessary to employ ; and the worst that could 
 be found seemed to have been employed. Not a single fine public 
 building of any kind or in anj' style was erected during his long ad- 
 ministration, it maj' be confidently afiirmed that no ruler whoso 
 abilities and attainments would bear any comparison with his has 
 ever shown such cold disdain for what is excellent in arts and letters. 
 Ilis first administration lasted seventeen years. That long period is 
 divided by a strongly maiked line iuto two almost exactly equal 
 parts. The first part euued and the second began in the autumn of 
 1792. Throughout both parts Pitt displayed in the highest degree the 
 talents of a parliamentary leader. During the first part he was a for-
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 43 
 
 tunate, and, in many respects, a skilful administrator. "With the 
 difficulties which he had to encouater durino the second part he waa 
 altogether iucap^ible of contending ; but his eloquence and his per- 
 fect mastery of the tactics of the House of Commons concealed hia 
 incapacilv from tlie ni'illitude. 
 
 The eight years which followed the general election of 1784 were as 
 tranquil and prosperous as any eight years in the whole history of Eng- 
 land. Neighboriu? nations which had lately been in arms against 
 her, and which had flattered themselves that, in losing her American 
 colonies, she had lost a chief source of her wealth and of her power, 
 saw, with wonder and vexation, that she was more wealthy and more 
 powerful than ever. Her trade increased. Her manufactures flour- 
 ished. Her e.xchequer was full to overflowing. Very idle apprehensions 
 were generallv entertained that the public debt, though much less 
 than a'third of the debt which we now bear with ease, would be 
 found loo heavy for the strength of the nation. Those apprehensions 
 might not, perhaps, have beeu easily quieted by reason. But Pitt 
 quieted them by a juggle. He succeeded in persuading first himself, 
 aud then the wjiole nation, his oppoaents included, that a new sink- 
 ing fund, which, so far as it dillered from former .sinking funds, 
 differed for the worst, would, by virtue of some Tny.sterious power of 
 propagation belonging to money, put into the pocket of the public 
 creditor great sums not takeu out of the pocket of the taxpaj'cr. 
 The country, terrified by a danger which was no danger, hailed with 
 delight and boundless confidence a remedy which was no remedy. 
 Tiie minister was almost universally extolled as the greatest of finan- 
 ciers. Meanwhile both the branches of the House of Bourbon found 
 that Enirland was as formidal)le an antagonist as she had ever been. 
 France had formed a plan for reducing Holland to vassalage. But 
 England interposed, and France receded. Spain interrupted by vio- 
 lence the trade of our merchants with the regions near the Oregon. 
 Bat Enirland arinel. aud Spain receded. VVithin the island tlieie 
 was pr(7found tranquillity. The king was, for the first time, popular. 
 During the twenty-three years which Iiad followed his accession he 
 had not beeu loved by his subjects. His domestic virtues were ac- 
 knowledged. But it was generally thought that the good (pialitie.s by 
 which he was distinguished in private life were wanting to his political 
 character. As a sovereiirn, he was resentful, unforgiving, stubborn, 
 cunning. Under his rule the country had sustained cruel disgraces 
 and disasters ; and every one of those disgraces and disasters Avas 
 imputed to liis strong antipathies, and to his i)erverse obstinacy in the 
 wrong. One statesman after anotiier comidained that he had been 
 induced by royal caresses, entreaties, and promises, to undertake the 
 direction of .-ilTairs at a difilcult conjuncture, and that, as soon as he 
 had, not without sullying iiis fame and alienating Ids licst friends, 
 Bcrvcd the turn f(*r uiijrh he wa.s wanted, his ungrateful m.astcr be- 
 gan to intrigue against him, aud _U) canvass agaiust him. GrcQville,
 
 44 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 Rookinglmm, Clialliam, men of -n-idcly difTcrcnt characters, but all 
 Uirco iipriiiiit and lii<ili-.spiriled, agreed in thinking that the prince 
 under whom tliej' liad successively held the highest place in the gov- 
 urument was one of the most insincere of mankind. His conlidence 
 was reposed, they said, not in those known and respousihlc counsel- 
 lors to whom he had delivered the seals of office, but in secret advisers 
 ■who stole up the back stairs into his closet. In Pailiameut, his min- 
 isters, while defending themselves against the attacks of the oppo- 
 fiitiou in front, were perpetually, at his instigation, assailed on the 
 flank or in the rear by a vile baud of mercenaries avIio called them- 
 selves his friends. These men constantly, while in possession of 
 lucrative places in his service, spoke and voted against bills which he 
 had autli(u-ized the first lord of the treasury or the secielary of 
 state to bring in. But from the day in which Pitt was placed at the 
 head of affaus there was an end of secret influence. His lunighty and 
 aspiring spirit was not to be satisfied with the mere show of power. 
 An}^ attempt to undermine him at court, any mutinous movement 
 among his followers in the House of Commons, was certain to be at 
 once put down. He had only to tender his resignation ; and he 
 could dictate his own terms. For he, and he alone, stood between 
 the king and the coalition. He was therefore little less than mayor 
 of the palace. The nation loudly applauded the king for having the 
 wisdom to repose entire confidence in so excellent a minister. His 
 Majesty's private viitucs now began to produce their full effect. He 
 was generally regarded as the model of a respectable countiy gentle- 
 man, honest, good-natured, sol)er, religious. Pie rose early ; he dined 
 temperately , he was strictly faithful to his wife ; he never missed 
 church ; and at church he never missed a response. His people 
 heartily prayed that he might long reign over them ; and they prajed 
 the more heartily because his virtues were set off to the best advan- 
 tage by the vices and follies of the Prince of Wales, who lived inclose 
 intimacy with the chiefs of the opposition. 
 
 How strong this feeling was in the public mind appeared signally 
 on one great occasion. In the autunm of 178S the king became in- 
 sane. The opposition, eager for office, conunitled the great indiscre- 
 tion of iisserting that tlie heir-apparent had, by the funciamental laws 
 of England, a right to be regent with the full powers of royalty. 
 Pitt, on the other hand, maintained it to be the constitutional doc- 
 trine that, when a sovereign is, by reason of infancy, disease, or ab- 
 sence, incapable of exercising the regal functions, it belongs to the 
 estates of the realm to determine who shall be the vicegerent, and 
 with what portion of the executive authority such vicegerent 
 shall be intrusted. A long and violent contest followed, in which 
 Pitt was supported by the great body of the ])eople with as much en- 
 thu.siasm as during the first months of his administration. Tories 
 with one voice applauded him for defending the .sick-bed of a virtu. 
 ous and unhappy bovereign against a disloyal faction and an undutif ul
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 45 
 
 BCD. Not a few Wlii,!^ applauded liini for asserting the authority of 
 parliaments and the priaciplesof the revohilion, in opposition lo a doc- 
 trine wliich seemed to have too much affinity with the servile theory 
 of indefeasible hereditary right. The middle class, always zealous 
 on the side of decency and the donn^slic virtues, looked forward 
 with dismay to a reign resembling that of Charles II. The pahice, 
 which had now been, during thirty years, the pattern of an Euglisii 
 home, would be a pal)lic nuisance, a scliool af protligacy. To the 
 good king's repast of mutton and lemonade, dispatclied at three 
 o'clock, would succeed midnight bancjuets, from wliich the guests 
 would be carried home speechless. To the backgammon-board at 
 which the good king played for a little silver with his equerries, 
 would succeed faro-tables, from which young patricians wlio had sat 
 down rich would rise up beggars. The drawing-room, from which 
 the frown of the queen had repelled a whole generation of frail beau- 
 ties, would now be again what it had been in the days of Barbara 
 Palmer and Louisa de Querouade. Nay, severely as the public rep- 
 robated the prince's man}' illicit attachments, his one virtuous at- 
 tacliment was reprobated more severely still. f]ven in grave and 
 pious circles his Protestant mistresses gave less scandal than his 
 Popish wife. That he must be regent nobody ventured to deny. 
 But he and his friends were so unpopular that Pitt could, with gen- 
 eral approbation, propose to limit tlie powers of the regent by re- 
 strictions to which it would have been impossible to sul)Ject a prince 
 beloved and trusted by the country. Some interested men, fully ex- 
 pecting a change of admmistration, went over to the opposition. But 
 the majority, purilied by these desertions, closed its ranks, and pre- 
 sented a more firm array than ever to the enemy. In every division 
 Pitt was victorious. When at length, after a stormy interregnum of 
 tiiree months, it was announced, on tlie very eve of the inauguration 
 of the regent, that tiie king was himself again, the nation was wild 
 with delight. (Jn tiie evening of the d ly (ju which his Majesty re- 
 sumed his functions, a spontaneous illumin:ition, the most general 
 tiiat had ever been seen in Euglan 1, brightened the whole vast space 
 from ilighgate to Tooting, and from Hammersmith to Greenwich. 
 On the day on which lie returned thanks in the cathednU of his cap. 
 itai, ail the hor.ses and carriages within a hundred miles of London 
 were too few for the mullitudes which Hocked to .see liim jjass 
 through the streets. A stcjonl illumination followed, which was 
 even superior to the first in magnilicence. I'itl witli (lilliculty es- 
 caped from the tunudtuous kindness of an innumerable nudtilude, 
 whicii insisted on drawing his coach from St. Paul's churchyard to 
 Downing Street. This was the moment at which his fame and for- 
 tune may be said toliav(; I'eacheil the zenith. His inllucncc! in the closet 
 was as great as that of (^'arror Villifrs had Ik-cii. His dominion over 
 the I'ariiamenl was more ab.-*olute than that of \V;ilpoIc or i^'lham had 
 beeu. He was at the same limu as lii^jli in the favor of the populace
 
 46 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 ns over Wilkes or Saclievcrcll liiul been. Nothing did more to raise 
 his chartictcr than l\is noble poverty. It was well known lluit, if he 
 had been dismissed I'lom ollice after more thtm tive years of bound- 
 less power, he would hardly have carried out with him a sum 
 suiricieiit to furnish the set of 'chambers in which, he cheerfully de- 
 clared, he nie-ant to resume the practice of the law. His admirers, 
 however, were Ity no means disposed to suffer him to de|)cnd on daily 
 toil for his daily bread. The voluntary contriliutions which were 
 awaiting his acceptance in the city of "London alone Avould have 
 sufficed to make him a rich man. " Ikit it may be iloubled whether 
 his haughty spirit would have stooped to accept a provision so hon- 
 orably earned and so honoiabiy bestowed. 
 
 To such a height of power and glory had this extraordinary man 
 risen at twenty-nine years of age. And now the tide was on the 
 turn. Only ten days after the triumphant procession to St. Paul's, 
 the States-General of France, after an interval of a hundred and 
 seventy- four years, met at Versailles. 
 
 The nature of the great Revolution which followed was long very 
 imperfectly understood in this country. Burke saw much farther 
 than any of his contemporaries ; but whatever his sagacity descried 
 Avas refracted and discolored by his passions and his imagination, 
 jlore than three years elapsed before the principles of the English 
 administration underwent any material change. Nothing could as 
 ret be milder or more strictly constitutional than the minister's 
 domestic policy. Not a single act indicating an arbitrary temper or a 
 jealousy of the people coukflje imputed to him. He had never applied 
 t'- Parliament f(;r any extraordinary powers. He had never used with 
 harshness the ordinary powers intrusted by the constitution to the ex- 
 ecutive irovernnient. Not a single state prosecution which would even 
 now be called oppressive had been instituted by him. Indeed, the only 
 oppressive slate prosecution instituted during the first eight year.s 
 of his administration was that of Siockdale, which is to be attributed 
 not to the government, but to the chiefs of the opposition. In 
 office, Pitt had redeemed the pledges which he had, at his entrance 
 into pu!)lic life, given to the supporters of parliamentary reform. 
 He had, in 1785, brought forward a judicious plan for the improve- 
 ment of the representative system, and had prevailed on the king, not 
 only to refrain from talking against that plan, but to recommend it 
 to the houses in a speech from the throne.* This attempt failed ; 
 but there can be little dotd)t that, if the French Revolution had not 
 tDroduced a violent reaction of public feeling, Pitt would have per- 
 ■fonned, with little difficulty and no danger, that great work which, 
 at a later period. Lord Grey could accomplish only by means which 
 
 * Tlie speerh with wliich the king opened tlie ses-sion of 178.5 concluded with an 
 assurance lliat liis Mujcwty would hcaitily concur in every measure wliich could 
 lend to secure the true principles of Uie const itutiou. These words were al tbq 
 lime uuUerstood to nkcr to Pitt's liefonu Bill.
 
 YFILLIAM PTTT. 4? 
 
 for a time loosened the very foundiilions of the commonwealth. 
 When the atrocities of the slave trade were lirst brought under tlie 
 consideration of Parliament, no abolitionist, was more zealous than 
 Pitt. When sickness prevented Wilberforce from appearing in pub- 
 lic, his place was most etficiently supplied by his friend the minister. 
 A humane bill, which mitigated the horrors of the middle passage, 
 •was, in 1788, carried by the eloquence and determined spirit of Pitt, 
 in spite of the opposition of some of his own colleagues ; and it ought 
 always to be remembered to his honor that, in order to cany that 
 bill, he kept the houses silting, in spite of many murmurs, long after 
 the business of the government had been done, and the appropriation 
 act passed. In 17'Jl he cordially concurred with Fox in maintaining 
 the sound constitutional doctrine that an impeachment is not ter- 
 minated by a dissolution. In tlie course of the same year the two 
 erreat rivals contended sitle by side in a far more important cause. 
 They are fairly entitled to divide the high honor of having added to 
 our statute-book the inestimable law which places the liberty of the 
 press under the protection of juries. On one occasion, and one alone. 
 Pitt, during the first half of his long administration, acted in a man- 
 ner unworthy of an enlightened Whig. In the debate on the test act, 
 he stooped to gratily the master whom he served, the university which 
 he represented, and the great body of clei-gymen and country gentle- 
 men on whose support he rested, by talking, with little heartiness, 
 indeed, and with no asperity, the language of a Tory. With this 
 Bingle exception, his conduct from the end of 1783 to the middle of 
 17iJ2 was that of an hone.st friend of civil and religious liberty. 
 
 Kor did anything, during that period, indicate that he loved war, 
 or harbored any malevolent feeling against any neighboring nation. 
 Those French writers who have rei)resented him as a Hannibal sworn 
 in childhood by his father to bear eternal hatred to France, as having, 
 l)y mysterious intrigues and lavisli bribes, instigated the leading 
 Jacobins to commit those e.\ces.ses which dishonored the lie\()luli(jn, 
 as having been the real author of the first coalition, know iiolhing of 
 his character or of his history. So far was he from being a deadly 
 enemy to France, that his laudable attemi)ts to bring about a closer 
 connection with that country by means of a wise and liberal treaty of 
 commerce, brouglit on him the .severe censure of the opposition. He 
 was told in the House of Commons that he was a degenerate son, and 
 that his partiality for tlie hereditary foes of our'islnnd was enough to 
 make Ids great father's Itones stir under the pavement of the Abiiey. 
 
 And tiii.s man, whose name, if he had been so fortunate as to ilio 
 in 1702, would now have been a.s.sociated with peace, with freedom, 
 with philanthropy, with tein[)erate reform, with mild and constitu- 
 tional administration, lived to associate his name with arbitiary gov- 
 crnnient, with iiarsh laws hansldy e.xcculed, with alien bills, with 
 gagging bills, with suspen.sions of the Habeas Corpus .\<t, with cruel 
 puuishmcDls iutliclbd on some puliticul ugitatons, with unjusti liable
 
 48 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 prosecutions iustitulcd against others, and with the most costly and 
 most sanguinary wars of modern times. lie lived to be held up to 
 obkxiuy as the stern oppressor of England, and the indefatigable dis- 
 turber of Euroiie. Poets, contrasting his earlier with his later years, 
 likened him sometimes to the apostle who kissed in order to betray, 
 and sometimes to the evil angels who kept not Iheir first estate. A 
 satirist of great genius introduced the fiends of Famine, Slaughter, 
 and Fire, proclaimiug that they had received their conunission from 
 one whose name was formed of four letters, and promising to give 
 their employer ample proofs of gratitude. Famine -would gnaw the 
 multitude till they should rise up against him in madness. Tlio 
 demon of Slaughter would impel them to tear him from limb to limb. 
 But Fire boasted that she aione could reward him as he deserved, and 
 that she would cling round him to all eternity. By the French piess 
 and the French tribune every crime that disgraced and every calamity 
 that afflicted France was ascribed to the monster Pitt and his guineas. 
 While the Jacobins were dominant, it was he who had corrupted the 
 Gironde, who had raised fjyons and Bordeaux against the conven- 
 tion, who had suborned Paris to assassinate Lepelletier, and Cecilia 
 Kegnault to assassinate Robespierre. When the Thermidoriau reac- 
 tion came, all the atrocities of the Reign of Terror were imputed to 
 him. Collot D'llerbois and Fouquier Thinville had been his pen- 
 sioners. It was he who had hired the murderers of September, who 
 had dictated the pamphlets of ]\Iarat and the Carmagnoles of Barrere, 
 who had paid Lebon to deluge Arras with blood, and Carrier to choke 
 the Loire with corp.ses. 
 
 The truth is, that he liked neither war nor arbitrary government. 
 He was a lover of peace and freedom, driven, by a stress against 
 which it was hardly possible for any will or any intellect to struggle, 
 out of the course to which his inclinations pointed, and for which his 
 abilities and actpiirements fitted him, and forced into a policy repug- 
 nant to his feelings and unsuited to his talents. 
 
 The charge of apostasy is grossly unjust. A man ought no more 
 to be called an apostate because his opinions alter with the opinions 
 of the great body of his contemporaries, than he ought to be called 
 an oriental traveller l)ecause he is always going round from west to 
 east with the globe and everylhiiig that is upon it. Between the 
 spring of ITH'J and the close of 17'J2, tiie public mind of England un- 
 derwent a great change. If the change of Pitt's sentiments attracted 
 peculiar notice, it was not because he changed more than his neigh- 
 Ijors ; for m fact he changed less than most of them ; but because 
 his position was far more conspicuous than theirs, because he was, 
 till Honaparte appeared, the individual who filled the greatest space 
 in the eyes of the inhabitants of the civili/ed world. During a short 
 time the nation, and Pitt, as one of the nation, looked with interest 
 and approbation on the French Revolution. But soon vast confisca- 
 tions, the violent sweeping away of ancient institutions, the domina-
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 49 
 
 tion of dubs, the barbarities of mobs maddeued by famine and 
 hatred, producetl a reaction here. The court, the nobihty, the 
 gentry, the clergy, the mauufiicturers, the merchants— in short 
 nineteen twentieths of tliose who had good roofs over their heads and 
 good coats on their backs, became eager and intolerant Antijacobms. 
 This feehng was at least as strong among the minister's adversaries 
 as among ifis supporters. Fox in vain allempted to restrain his fol- 
 lowers. "^All his genius, all his vast personal iutluence, could not pre- 
 vent them from rising up against him in general mutiny. Burke set 
 the example uf • revolt ; and Burke was in no long time joined by 
 Portland, Spencer, Fitzwilliam, Loughborough, Carlisle, Malaiesbiiry, 
 Windham, Elliot. In the House of Commons, the followers of the 
 great Whig statesman and orator diminished from about a hundred 
 and sixty to fifty In the House of Lords he had but ten or twelve 
 adherents left. There can be no doubt that there would have been a 
 similar mutiny on the ministerial benches if Pitt had obstinately 
 resisted the general wish. Pressed at once by his master and by his 
 colleagues, by old friends, and by old opponents, he abandoned, 
 slowly and reluctantlv, the policy which was dear to his heart. He 
 labored hard to avert" the European war. When the European war 
 broke out, he still tlattered himself that it would not be necessary for 
 tills country to take either side. In the spring of 17i)2. he congrat- 
 ulated Parliament on the prospect of long and profound peace, and 
 proved his sincerity by proposing large remissions of taxation. 
 Down to the end of that vear he continued to cherish the hope that 
 England might be able "to preserve neutrality. But the passions 
 whTch raged on both sides of the Channel were not to be restrained. 
 The republicans wlio ruled France were inflamed by a fanaticism 
 resembling that of the Mussulmans, Avho, with the Koran in one 
 hand and the sword in the other, went forth, con(iuering and convert- 
 ing, eastward to the Bay of Bengal, and westward to the Pillars of 
 Hercules. The higher and middle classes of England were animated 
 by a zeal not less tiery than that of the Crusaders who raised the cry 
 of Dcas vuU at Clennliiit. The impulse whicli drove the two nations 
 to a collision was not to he arrested by the al)ilities or by the authority 
 of any single man. As Pitt was in front of his fellows, and lowered 
 high above tliein, he seemed to lead them. Bui in fact he was violently 
 pu.-hed on by tlieni. and. h id Ik; iield back but a little more than he 
 did, would have Ijceu thrust out of their way or trampled under their 
 feet. 
 
 He yielded to the current ; and from that day his misfortunes be- 
 gan. Tlie trutJi is, tiiat there were (Jiily two (lonsistent courses before 
 him. Since he did not ciujo.se to oppose himself, hide by side witii 
 Fox, to tlie public feeling, he should have taken the advice of 
 Burke, and should have availed liimself of that feeling to the full ex- 
 tent. If it Wiis inipossiblt; to preserve peace, he shouUl have ad(>pte(l 
 the only policy which could lead to victory. He should have pro-
 
 50 \^^LLIAM PITT, 
 
 claimed a holy war for religion, inoralily, property, order, p\i1)lic 
 law, and should l;ave thus opposed to the Jacobins an energy equal 
 to their own. L'uhappiiy he tried to lind a middle path ; and ho 
 found one wiiicli united all tiiat was worst in both extremes. lie 
 went to war : but lie would not understand the peeuliar character (if 
 that war. He was obstinately blind to the plain fact that lie was 
 1 cntending against a slate which was also a sect ; and that tiie new 
 quarrel between England and France was of quite a different kind 
 from the old quarrels about colonies in America and fortresses in the 
 iS'etlierlands. He had to combat frantic enthusiasm, boundless am- 
 biti(ju, restless activity, the wildest and most audacious spirit of in- 
 novation ; and he acted as if he had to deal with the harlots and fops 
 of the old court at Versailles, with i\Iadame de Pompadour and tiie 
 Abbe de Bernis. It was pitiable to hear him, year alter year, prov- 
 ing to an admiring audience that the wicked republic was exhausted, 
 that she could not hold out, that her credit was gone, that her assig- 
 nats were not worth more than the paper of which they were made ; 
 as if credit was necessiiry to a government of which the principle 
 was rapine, as if Alboin could not turn Italy into a desert till he had 
 negotiated a loan at five per cent, as if the exchequer bills of Attila 
 had been at par. It was impossible that a man who so completely 
 mistook the nature of a contest could carry on that contest success- 
 fully. Great as Pitt's abilities were, his military administratirm was 
 that of a driveller. He was at the liead of a nation engaged in a 
 struggle for life and death, of a nation eminently' distinguished by all 
 the physical and all the moral qualities "ftliich make excellent soldiers. 
 The resources at his command were unlimited. The Parliament was 
 even more ready to grant him men and monej'' than he was to ask 
 for them. In sucli an emergency, and with such means, such a 
 statesman as Richelieu, as Louvois, as Chatham, as Wellesley, would 
 have created in a few months one of the finest armies in tlic world, 
 and would soon have discovered and brought forward generals 
 Avorthy to command such an army. Geimany might have been 
 saved by anotlier Blenheim ; Flanders recovered by another Pami- 
 lies ; another Poitiers might have delivered the Royalist and Catholic 
 provinces of France from a yoke which they abhorred, and might 
 have spread terror even to tl:e barriers of Paris. But the fact is, that, 
 after eight years of war, after a vast destruction of life, after an ex- 
 penditure of wealth far exceeding the expenditure of the Americaa 
 war, of the Seven Years' War, of the war of the Ausliian Hucces- 
 ^ sion, and of the war of the Spanish Succession united, the English 
 army, under Pitt, was the laughing-stock of all Europe. .It could 
 not boast of one single brilliant exploit. It had never showed itself 
 on the continent but to be beaten, chased, forced to re embark, or 
 forced to capitulate. To take some sugar island in the West Indies, 
 to scatter some mnb of lialf-naked Irish peasants, such were the most 
 splendid victories won by the British troops under Pitt's auspices.
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 51 
 
 The English navy no misr.ianugement could ruin. But during a 
 long period whatever mismauagement could do was done. The Karl 
 of Chatham, -svithout a siuirle qualiticatioa for high public trust, was 
 made, by fraternal partiality, lirst lord of the admiralty, and was 
 kept in that Ecreat post during two years of a war in which the very 
 ■existence of the state depended ou the efficiency of the fleet. He 
 continued to doze away and triHe away the time which ought to have 
 been devoted to the public service, till the whole mercautde body, 
 though generally disposed to support the government, complamed 
 bitterly that our flag gave uo protection to our trade. Fortunately 
 he was succeeded by George E.irl Spencer, one of those chiefs of the 
 Whig party who, in the great schism caused by the French Revolu- 
 tion, had followed Burke. Lord Spencer, though inferior to many 
 of his colleagues as an orator, was decidedly the best administrator 
 among themr To iiim it was owing that a long and gloomy succes- 
 sion of davs of fasting, and, mo.st emphatically, of humiliation, was 
 interrupted, twice ia the short space of eleven mouths, by days of 
 thanksiiiviug for areat victories. 
 
 It mliy seem paradoxical to say that the incapacity T>-hich Pitt 
 showed in all that related to the conduct of the war is, in some sense, 
 the most decisive proof that he was a man of very extraordinary abil- 
 ities. Yet this is the simple truth. For assuredly one tenth part of 
 his errors and disasters would Ivave been fatal to the power and influ- 
 ence of any minister who had not possessed, in the highest degree, 
 the talents of a parliamentary leader. "While his schemes were con- 
 founded, while his predictirns were falsitied, while the coalitions 
 whicii he had iabored to form were falling to pieces, Avhile tiie expe- 
 ditions which he had sent forth at enormous cost were ending in rout 
 and disgrace, whUe the enemy against whom he was feebly contend- 
 ing was subjugating Flanders and Brabant, the electorate of Mentz 
 and the electorate of Trevcis, Holland, Piedmont, Liguria, Lombarciy, 
 his authority over the House of Commons was constantly becoming 
 more and more absolute. There was his empire. There Avere his 
 victories his Lodi and his Areola, his Piivoli and his Marengo. If 
 some great misfortune, a jjitclied battle lost by the allies, the annexa- 
 tion of a new department to the French republic, a sanguinary in- 
 surrection in Ireland, a mutiny in tlie licet, a panic in the city, a run 
 on the bank, liad spread dismay through the ranks of liis majurity, 
 that dismay lasted only till he rose from the treasury bench, drew up 
 his haughty head, stretched his arm with commanding gesture, and 
 poured forth, in deep and sonorous tones, the lofty language of iu- 
 oxlinguishable hope and inllexible resolulion. Thus, through a long 
 and calamitous period, every disaster tliat happened williout tlie walls 
 of Parliament w;us regularly followetl by a tnunipli willdii tliem. At 
 length Ik; had no lon^ger an oppo.sition to encounter. Uf the great 
 paily which had contended again.st him during llie lirst eiiiht years 
 of his admimstratiou, more than one half uow murclicd under hla
 
 52 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 Ptnndard, with his old ftompctitor tlioDiike of Portland althoir licad ; 
 jiiui llie rest h;ul, al'ltT many vuin slrugylcs, (luitlcd the, field in de- 
 spair. Fox had retired to t lie sliadcs of St. Anne's Hill, and had 
 there found, in the society of friemls Avhom no vicissitude could 
 estrange from him, of a woman whom he tenderly loved, and of the 
 illustrious dead of Athens, of liome, and of Florence, ample com- 
 pensation for all the misfortunes of his public life. Session followed 
 session with scarcely a single division. In the eventful year 1799, 
 the largest minority that could be mustered against the government 
 was twenty-live. 
 
 In Pitt's domestic policy there was at this time assuredly no want 
 of vigor. While ho offered to French Jacobinism a resistance so fee- 
 hie that it only encouraged the evil which he wished to suppress, he 
 put down English Jacobinism with a strong hand. The Habeas Cor- 
 pus Act was repeatedly suspended. Public meetings were ])laced un- 
 der severe restraints. The gcwernment obtained from I'arliameut 
 power to send out of the country aliens who were suspected of evil 
 designs ; and that power was not suffered to be idle. Writers who 
 propounded doctrines adverse to monarchy and aristocracy were 
 proscribed and punished without mercy. It was hardly safe for a 
 republican to avow his political creed over his beefsteak and his bot- 
 tle of port at a chop-house. The old laws of Scotland against sedi- 
 tion, laws which were considered by Englishmen as baibarous, and 
 which a succession of governments had suffered to lust, were now 
 furbished up and sharpened anew. Men of cultivated minds and 
 polished manners were, for offences which at Westminster would 
 have been treated as mere misderncanois, sent to herd with felons at 
 Botany Bay. Some reformers, whose opinions were extravagant, 
 and whose language was intemperate, but who had never dreamed 
 of subverting the government by physical force, were indicted for 
 high treason, and were saved from the gallows only by the righteous 
 verdicts of juries. This severity was at the time loudly applauded 
 by alarmists whom fear had made cruel, but will be seen in a very 
 different light by posterity. The truth is, that the Englishmen who 
 wi.shed for a revolution were, even in mmiber, not foimidable, and, 
 in everything but number, a faction utterly contemptible, without 
 arms, or funds, or plans, or organization, or leader. There can Ijo 
 no doubt that Pitt, strong as he was in the .support of the great body 
 of the nation, miglit easily have repressed the tuibulence of the dis- 
 contented minority by lirmly yet temperately enforcing the ordinary 
 law. Whatever vigor he showed during this unfortunate i)art oi: his 
 life was vigor out of place and season. He was all feebleness and 
 languor in his eonllict with the foreign enemy who was really to be 
 dreaded, and reserved all his energy and resolution for the domes- 
 tic enemy who might safely have been despised. 
 
 One part only of Pitt's conduct during the last eight years of the 
 eighteenth century deserves high ijraise. He was the tirst English
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 53 
 
 minister who formed great designs for the benefit of Ireland. The 
 niuiiuer in ■^\'hich tlie Roman Catholic ropi;lation of that unfortunate 
 country had been kejit down during many generations seemed to him 
 unjust and cruel ; and it was scarcely possible for a man of his abili- 
 ties not to perceive that, in a contest ac:aiust the Jacobins, the Roman 
 Catholics were his natural allies. Had he been able to do all that he 
 •wished, it is probable that a wise and liberal policy would have 
 averted the rebellion of 1798. But the ditflculties which he encoun- 
 tered were great, perhaps insurmountable ; and the Roman Catholics 
 were, rather by his misfortune than by his fault, thrown into the 
 hands of the Jacobins. There was a third great rising of the Irishry 
 against the Englishry, a rising not less formidaljle than the risings of 
 1641 and 1689. The Englishry remained victorious ; and jt was nec- 
 essary for Pitt, as it had been necessary fur Oliver Cromwell and 
 William of Orange before him, to consider how the victory should be 
 used. It is only just to his memory to say that he formed a scheme 
 of policy so grand and so simple, so righteous and so humane, that 
 it wovdd alone entitle him to a high place among statesmen. He de- 
 termined to malvc Ireland one icingdom with England, and, at the 
 same time, to relieve the Roman Catholic laity from civil disabilities, 
 and to grant a pul)!ic maintenance to the Roman Catholic clergy. 
 Had he been able to carry these noble designs into effect, the Union 
 Avoidd have been a L'nion indeed. It woTild have been inseparably 
 associated in the minds of the great majority of Irishmen with civ'il 
 and religious freedom ; and tlie old parliament in College Green 
 would have been regretted only by a small knot of discarded jobljers 
 and oi)i>ressors, and woidd have been remembered by the body of the 
 nation witii tlie loathing and contempt due to the most tyrannical 
 and tiie most corrupt assembly that had ever sat in Europe. But 
 Pitt coidd execute oidy one half of what he had projected. lie suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining the consent of the parliaments of both kingdoms 
 to the Union ; but tiiat reconciliation of races and sects, whhout 
 which the Union coulil e.xist only in name, was not accomplished. 
 He was well aware that he was likely to lind dilticulties in the closet. 
 But he llatterctl himself that, by cautious and dexterous manage- 
 ment, those diiliculties might be overcome. Unhapiiiiy, there weie 
 traitors and .sycophants in high place, who did not sulfeV him to take 
 liis own time and his own way, but prematurely disclosed liis scheme 
 to the king, and disclosed it in the manner most likely to irritate and 
 alarm a weak and di.sciised miml. His -Majesty ab.surdly imai!;ined 
 that ids coronation oath bound him to refuse his assent to any bill 
 for relieving Roman (.'athfilics from civil disabilities. To argue with 
 him was imiKjssihh;. Dundas tried to explain the matter, but was 
 told to keep Jiis Hcotch metaphysics to himself. I'itt, and Pitfa 
 ablest colleagues, resigned their olTices. It was necessary that the 
 king should make a new arrangement. But by this time his anger 
 uud distress had brought back the malady which hud, many years be-
 
 54 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 fore incapacitated him for the discharge of his functions. He aclu- 
 nlly'asscnihlwi liis family, read the coronation oath to tl)em, and tiikl 
 them that if lie broke it, the crown would inuni'diately i)ass to the 
 Hou^eof Savoy. It was not until after an iuteiregnum of several 
 weel^s that he regained tlie full use of his small lacullies, and that a 
 minislrv after his^own heart was at length formed. 
 
 The materials out of which he had to construct a government were 
 neither solid uor splendid. To that party, weak in numbers, but 
 stron'-- in every kind of talent, which was hostile to the domestic and 
 foreign policy of his late advisers, he could not have recourse. For 
 that party while it diifered from his late advisers on every point on 
 which they had been honored with his approbation, cordially agreed 
 with them as to the single matter which liud l)rought on them hisdis- 
 pleasurc All that was left to him was to call uji the rear rank ot the 
 dd ministry to form the front rank of a new ministry. In an age 
 pre-eminently fruitful of parliamentary talents, acabmet was lonm-( 
 coutaiuin"- hardly a sintrle man Avho, in parliaiuentary talents, could 
 1)0 considered as eveii of the second rate. The most important 
 offices in the state were bestowed on decorous and laborious i"edioc- 
 ritv Henry Addintrton was at the head of the treasury. He had 
 been an early, indeed a hereditary friend of Pitt, and had by Pitt s 
 innuence bJcn placed, while still a young man, \n the chair ot lie 
 House of Commons. He rvas universally admitted to have been the 
 best speaker that had sat in that chair since the retirement ot Ons- 
 low But nature had not bestowed on him very vigorous faculties ; 
 and the hi'dily respectable situation which he had long occupied with 
 honor had° rather unlitted than fitted him for the discharge ot his 
 new duties. His business had been to bear himself evenly between 
 contending factions. He had taken no part in the war of words ; 
 and he had always been addressed with marked deference by the 
 ..•reat orators who thundered against each other from his right and 
 from his left. It was not strange that when, for the hrst lime, he 
 had to encounter keen and vigorous antagoni.sts, who dealt hard 
 blows without the smallest ceremony, he should have been awkward 
 and uL-ready, or that the air of dignity and authority which he had 
 acciuired in his former post, and of which he had not divested hiinseU, 
 should have made his helplessness laughable and pitiablp. Neverthe- 
 less diiriu" many months, his power seemed to stand tirm. lU: was 
 a favorite with the kina, wliom he resembled in nariowness of mind. 
 and to whom he was more ob.seciuious than Pitt had ever been. I he 
 nation was put into high good-humor by a peace with luauce. l uo 
 enthusiasm with which the upper and middle classes had rushed into 
 tiie war had spent itself. Jacobinism was no longer formidalj.e. 
 Evervwhere there was a strong reaction against what was called llie 
 atheistical and anarchical philosophy of the eighteenth cen ury. 
 Bonaparte, now First Consul, was busy in constructing out ot the 
 ruiua of old institutions a new ecclesiastical establishment and a new
 
 AVILLIAM PITT. 55 
 
 order of knighthood. That nothing less than the dominion of the 
 whole civilized world would satisfy his seltish ambition was not yet 
 suspected; nor did even Avise men S(;e any reason to doubt that *hij 
 might be as safe a neighbor as any prince of the House of Bourbon 
 had been. The treaty of Amiens was therefore hailed bv the great 
 body of the English people with extravagant joy. The popularity of 
 the minister was for tbe moment immense. His want of parliament- 
 ary abiiiiy was, as yet, of little consequence ; for he had scarcely 
 1 any adversary to encounter. The old opposition, delighted by the 
 , peace, regarded him with favor. A new opposition had indeed been 
 formed by some of the late ministers, and was led by Grenville in 
 the House of Lords, and by Windham in the House of Commons. 
 But the new opposition could scarcely muster ten votes, and was re- 
 garded with no favor by the countr}\ On Pitt the ministers relied as 
 OQ their tirmest .support. He had not, like some of his colleagues, 
 retired in anger. He had expressed the greatest respect for the°con- 
 scientious scruple which had taken possession of the royal mind ; 
 and he had promised his successors all the help in his power. lu 
 private his advice was at tiieir service. In Parliament he took his 
 seat on the bench behind them ; and, in more tlian one debate, de- 
 fended them with powers far superior to tlieir own. The kinsr per- 
 fectly understood the value of such assistance. On one occasion, at 
 the palace, he took the old minister and the new minister aside. " If 
 we tiiree," he .said, " keep together, all will go well." 
 
 But it was hardly possible, human nature being what it is, and, 
 more especially, Pitt and Addington being what they were', that 
 this union should be durable. Pitt, conscious of superior pcAvers, 
 imagined that the place which he had (piitted was now occupied by 
 a mere puppet which he had set up, Avhich he was to govern while 
 he sutlered it to remain, and which he was to lling aside as soon as he 
 wished to resume his old position. Nor was it long before he be"-au 
 to pine for the power which he had relinquished. He had been so 
 early raised to supreme authority in the slate, and had enjoyed tiiat 
 authority so long, that it had become necessary to him. 'in retire- 
 ment his days pas.sed heavily. He could not, 'like Fox, forget the 
 pleasures and cares of amiiition in the conijiany of Euripides or 
 Herodotus. Pride restrained him from inlimatiiiir, even to his dear- 
 est frienrls, that he wished to be airain minister. " But he thou'dit if 
 stranw. almost ungrateful, that his wish had not been divined^ that 
 It Jiad not been anticipated, by one whom he regarded as his deputy. 
 
 Addington, on the other hand, was I)y no means inclined to de- 
 scend from his high position. He was, indwjd, under a delusion 
 much resembling that of Abou Ha.ssan in the Arabian tale. His 
 brain was turned by his .^-hort and unreal caliphate. He took his 
 cl(;vation (piile seriously, atlribiiled it to ids own merit, and consid- 
 ered him.self as one of the great triumvirate of English statesmen aa 
 worthy to make u third with Pitt and Pox.
 
 56 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 Such being the feelings of Ihc late minister and of the pros- 
 cnt minister, a rupture was inevitable ; and there was no want 
 of persons bent on makine; tliat rupture speedy and violent. Some 
 of these persons wounded Addington's pride b^ represeutuig 
 him as a laclcey, sent to keep a place on the treasury bencli 
 till his muster should find it convenient to come. Others took 
 every opportunity of praising him at Pitt's expense. Pitt had 
 wa"-ed a loni;, a bloody, a costly, an unsuccessful war. Adding- 
 ton° had made peace. Pitt had suspended the constitutional 
 liberties of Englishmen. Under Addingtou tliose liberties were agaui 
 euioved. Pitt had wasted the public resources. Addington was 
 carefully nursing them. It was sometimes but too evident that these 
 compliments were not unpleasing to Addington. Pitt became cold 
 and reserved. During many months he remained at a distance from 
 London Meauwhile'liis most intimate friends, in spile of his decla- 
 rations that he made no complaint, and that he had no wish for 
 office exerted themselves to effect a change of ministry. His favor- 
 ite disciple, George Canning, young, ardent, ambitious, with great 
 powers and great virtues, but with a temper too restless and a wit 
 too satirical for his own happiness, was indefatigable, lie spoke ; he 
 wrote ; he intrigued ; he tried to induce a large number of the sup- 
 porters of the government to sign a round robin desiring a change ; 
 he made game of Addington and of Addington's relations in a suc- 
 ces«'on of lively pasiiuinades. The minister's partisans retorted with 
 equal acrimony, if net with ecpial vivacity. Pitt could keep out of 
 the affray only by keeping out of politics altogether ; and this it 
 soon became impossible forliim to do. Had Napoleon, content with 
 the first place among the sovereigns of tlie continent, and with a mil- 
 itary reputation surpassing that of Marlborough or of Turenne de- 
 voted himself to the noble task of making France happy by in i Id ad- 
 ministration and wise legislation, our country might have long con- 
 tinued to tolerate a government of fair intentions and feeble abilities. 
 Unhappily, tin; treaty of Amiens had scarcely been signed, when the 
 restless ambilion and the insupportable insolence of the 1 irst Consul 
 convinced the great body of the English people that the peace, so 
 eagerly welcomed, was only a precarious armistice. As it l)ecame 
 clelirer and clearer that a war for the dignity, the independence, the 
 very existence of the nation was at hand, men looked with increasing 
 uneasiness on the weak and languid cabinet, which would have to 
 contend a.-'ainst an enemy who united more than llie power ot l.ewis 
 the Grcat'to more than tlie genius of Freilerick the Great. _ it is true 
 that Addington might easily have been a better war minister than 
 Pitt and could not possibly have been a worse. IJut Pitt had cast a 
 spell on tlie public mind. The eloquence, the judgment, the calni 
 and disdainful lirmness which he had, during many years, disi)luycfl 
 in Parliament, (ieluded the world into the bebc'f tliat lie must he emi- 
 nently qualitied to superintend every department of politics ; and
 
 ■\vrLLIAM PITT. 57 
 
 they imajined, even after the miserable failures of Dunkirk, of Qui- 
 \)erbn, and of the Helder, that he was the only statesman who could 
 cope with Bonaparte. This feeling was nowhere stronger than 
 among Addinglou's own colleagues. The pressure put on him was 
 go strong, that he could not help yielding to it ; yet, even in yielding, 
 he showed how far he was from knowing his own place. His first 
 proposition was, that some insignificant noljicman should be first 
 lord of the treasury and nominal head of the administration, and that 
 the real power should be divided between Pitt and himself, who 
 ■were to be secretaries of slate. Pitt, as might have been expected, 
 refused even to discuss such a scheni^ and talked of it with bitter 
 mirth. " Which secretaryship wa^ offered to you ?" his friend Wil- 
 berforce asked. " Really," said Pitt, " I had not the curiosity to in- 
 quire." Addington was frightened into bidding higher. He offered 
 to resign the treasury to Pitt, on condition that there should be no. 
 extensive change in the government. But Pitt would listen to no 
 such terms. Then came a dispute such as often arises after negotia 
 tions orally conducted, even when the negotiators are men of strict 
 honor. Pitt gave one account of what had passed ; Addington gave 
 another ; and though the discrepancies were not such as necessarih'- 
 implied any intentional violation of truth on either side, both were 
 greatly exasperated. 
 
 Meanwhile tlie (piarrel witii tlie First Consul had come to a crisis. 
 On the 16tli of May, 180;!, the kii)g sent a message calling on the 
 House of Commons to support him in withstanding the ambitious 
 und encroacliiug poli(;y of France ; and on the 2'2d the House took 
 the message into consideration. 
 
 Pitt had now been living many months in retirement. There had 
 been a general election since he had spoken in Parliament, and there 
 were two hundred meml)ers who Iiad never heard him. It was 
 known that on tiiis occasion lie would l)e in his place, and curiosity 
 was wound up to tin; liighe.-t jioint. Unfortunately, the short-hand 
 writers were, in conse(pience of some mistake, shut out on that day 
 from the gallery, so that the newsjiapers contained only a very mea- 
 gre report of the i)rocecdirigs. But several accoimts of what passed 
 are extant ; and of tlio.se accounts, the mo.st interesting is contained 
 in an unpublished letter written by ji very young member, John 
 William Wani, afterward Earl of D'udley. When Pitt rose, iie was 
 received with loud cheering. At every pause in his .speech there 
 was a burst of applaii.se. The pi;roration is said to have been one of 
 the most animated and magnificent ever heard in Parliament. 
 " Pitt'.s speech," Fox wrote a few days later, "was admired very 
 much, anil very Justly. I think it wjis the itest he ever made; in that 
 Btyle." The (iehale was adjourni.'d ; an<I on the second night Fox 
 replied in an oration which, as the ni'ist zealous Pittites wen; forced 
 to acknowledge, left the- pidm of eloquence douijtlul. Addington 
 made a pitiable appearance hetwccn the two great rivals ; and it was 
 A.R.— IS
 
 58 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 observed tlmt Pitt, -wliile exhorting tbo Commons to stand resolutely 
 by the executive goveninient uiiiiinvst Friuice, said not a word iudicat- 
 iiiir esteem or friendship for the prime minister. 
 
 War -was speedily declared. The First (Jonsid llireateued to ia 
 vade EnL::land at the liead of the conquerors of Belgium and Italy, 
 and t'ormetl a great camp near the Straits of Dover. On the other 
 side of tiiose straits tlie whole ]>oi)ulatic)U of our island was ready to 
 rise up as one man in defence of the soil. At this conjuncture, as at 
 some other great conjunctures in our history, the conjuncture of 
 IGGO, for example, u[id the conjuncture of 1()88, there was a general 
 disposilion among honest and patriotic men to forget old tjuarrels, 
 and to regard as a friend evety person who was ready, in the exist- 
 ing emergency, to do his part toward the saving of the state. A 
 coalition of all the first men in the country would, at that moment, 
 have been as popular as the coalition of 1788 had been unpopular. 
 Alone in the kingdom, the king looked with perfect complacency on 
 a cabinet in which no man superior to himself in genius was to bo 
 found, and was so far from being willing to admit all his ablest sub- 
 jects to otlice, that he was bent on excluding them all. 
 
 A few months passed before the diilerent parties which agreed in 
 regarding the government with dislike and contempt came to an 
 understanding with each other. But in the spring of 1804, it became 
 evident that the weakest of ministries would have to defend itself 
 against tlie strongest of oppositions ; an opposition made up of 
 three oppositions, each of which Avould, separately, have l)een for- 
 jnidable from abdity, and which, when united, were also formidable 
 from number. Tlie party which had opposed the peace, headed 
 by Grenville and Windham, and the party which had opposed the 
 renewal of the war, headed by Fox, concurred in thinking that the 
 men now in power were incapable of cither making a good jieace or 
 waging a vigorous war. Pitt had, in 1802, spoken for peace against 
 the party of" Grenville, and had, in 1803, spoken for war against the 
 party of Fox. But of the capacity of the cabinet, and especially of 
 its chief, for the conduct of great affairs, he thoucbt as meanly as 
 either Fox or Grenville. Questions were easily found on which all 
 the enemies of the government could act cordially together. The 
 imfortunate first lord of the treasury, who had, during the earlier 
 months of his administration, been supported by Pitt on one side 
 and by Fox on the other, now had to answer Pitt, and to be an 
 Bwered by Fox. Two sharp debates, followed by close divisions, 
 made him weary of his post. It was known, too, that the upper 
 house was even more hostile to him tlian the lower, that the Scotch 
 representative peers wavered, tliat there were signs of mutiny among 
 the bishops. In the cabinet itself there was discord, and, worse 
 than discord, treachery. It was necessary to give way : the minis- 
 try was dissolved ; and the task of forming a government was iu- 
 trusted to Pitt.
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 59 
 
 Pitt was of opmion that there was now an opportunity, such as 
 had never before offered itself, and such as might never offer itself 
 again, of uniting in the public service, on honorable terms, all the 
 eminent talents of the kingdom. The passions to which the French 
 Revolution hud given birtli were extinct. The madness of the inno- 
 vator and the madness of the alarmist had alike had their day. 
 Jacobinism and Anti-jacobinism had gone out of fashion together. 
 The most liberal statesman did not think that season propitious for 
 schemes of parliamentary reform ; and the most conservative states- 
 man could not pretend that there was any occasion for gagging bills 
 and suspensions of the Habeas Corpus Act. The great struggle for in- 
 dependence and natiouid honor occupied all minds ; and those who 
 were agreed as to the duty of maintaining that struggle with vigor 
 mitrht well postpone to a more convenient time all disputes about 
 ma'tters compai'atively unimportant. Strongly impressed by these 
 considerations, Pitt wished to form a ministry including all the tirst 
 men m the country. The treasury he reserved for himself ; and to 
 Fox he proposed to assign a .share of power little inferior to his own. 
 
 The plan was exeellenit ; but the king would not hear of it. Dull, 
 obstinate, unforgiving, and, at that time, half mad, he positively re- 
 fused to admit Fox iiito his service. Anybody else, even men who 
 liad gone as far as Fox, or farther than Fox, in what his Majesty 
 considered as Jacobinism, Sheridan, Grey, Erskine, should be gra- 
 ciously received ; but Fox never. During severid hours Pitt labored 
 in vain to reason tlown this senseless antipathy. That he was per- 
 fectly sincere there can be no doubt ; but it was not enough to be sin- 
 cere ; he should have been resolute. Had he declared himself de- 
 termined not to take office without Fox, the royal obstinacy would 
 have given way, as it gave way, a few months later, when opposed 
 to the immutable resolution of Lord Grenville. In an evil hour Pitt 
 yielded. He ilattered himself with the hope that, though he con- 
 sented to forego the aid oi his illustrious rival, there would still re- 
 main ample materials for the formation of an ellicient ministry. 
 Tliat hope was cruelly disappointed. Fox eutreat,ed his friends to 
 leave persr)nal considerations out of the question, and declared that 
 lie would support, with the utmost (cordiality, an efficient and patri- 
 otic ministry from whif;h he, .should be liiin.self excduded. Not only 
 his friends,' however, but Grenville, and (Jrenville's adherents, an- 
 swered with one voice, that the (|ueslion was not personal ; that a 
 great constiluliomd \)rineiple was at stake, and that they would not 
 take oflice while, a m.-iii eminently (piali/ied to render service to tiie 
 cominonwealth was placed under a ban merely becau.se he was dis- 
 liked at court. All that w;is left to I'itt was to construct a. govern- 
 ment out of the wreck of Addiiigton's feeide admiiiislralioii. The 
 small circle, of his p«rsoiial retainers furnisiied him with a very few 
 useful assistants, particularly Duiidas, who had been created Vis- 
 count Melville, Lord Harrowby, and Canning.
 
 CO AVILLIAM I'lTT. 
 
 Siich was (he insuispicious maniUT in wliicli Pitt entered on his 
 Bccoutl administration. The whole history of that aihninistration 
 ■was of a piece with the connncn(;ement. Ahnost every monlli 
 bronglit some new disaster or thsgrace. To ihe war with France 
 ■was soon added a war willi Spain. Tlio opponents of tlie minister 
 •were nnmerous, able, and active. His most useful coadjutors he 
 iiuou lost. Sickness deprived him of the help of Lord llarrowby. 
 It was discovered that Lord iSIelville had been guilty of highly cul- 
 pable laxity in transactions relating to public money, lb; was cen- 
 sured by the House of Commons, driven from office, ejected from 
 the privy council, and impeached of high crimes and misdemeanors. 
 The blow fell heavy on Pitt. It gave him, he said in Parliament, a 
 deep pang ; and, as he uttereel the word pang, his lip ciuivered ; liis 
 voice shook ; he paused ; and his hearers thought that lie was about 
 to burst into tears. Such tears shed by Eldon would have moved 
 nothing but laughter. Shed liy the warm-hearted and open-hearted 
 Fox, tiiey would have moved sympathy, but would have caused no 
 surprise. But a tear from Pitt would luive been something porten- 
 tous. He suppressed his emotion, however, and proceeded with his 
 usual majestic self-possession. 
 
 His dithculties compelled him to resort to various expedients. At 
 one time Addinglon was persuaded to accept office with a peerage ; 
 but he brought no additional strength to the government. Though 
 lie went through the foiin of reconciliation, it was impossible for 
 him to forget the past. While he remained in place he was jealous 
 and punctilious ; and he soon retired again. At another time Pitt 
 renewed his efforts to overcome his master's aversion to Fox ; and it 
 -was rumored that the king's obstinacy was gradually giving way. 
 But, meanwhile, it was impossible for the minister to conceal from 
 the public eye the decay of his health and the constant anxiety which 
 gnawed at his heart. His sleep was broken. His food ceased to 
 nourish him. All who passed him in the park, all wlio had inter- 
 views with him in Downing Street, saw misery written in his face. 
 The peculiar look which he wore during the last months of his life 
 was often pathetically described by VVllberforce, who used to call it 
 the Austerlitz look. 
 
 Still the vigor of Pitt's intellectual faculties, and the intrepid 
 haughtiness of his spirit, remained imalteied. He had staked every- 
 thing on a irreat venture. He liad succeeded in foiniing another 
 mighty coalition against the French ascendency. The united force* 
 of Austria, Russia'^ and Enirland might, he hoped, oppose an insur- 
 mountable barrier to the amijilion ot the common enemy. But the 
 genius and energy of Napoleon prevailed. While the English troops 
 •were preparing to embark for (Tcrmauy, while the Russian troops 
 were slowly coming up from Poland, he, with rajiidity unpre'ce- 
 dented in modern war, moved a hundred thousand men from the 
 shores of the ocean to the Black Forest, and compelled a great Aus-
 
 WILLIAM PITT. Gl 
 
 tnan army to surrender at Ulm. To the first faint rumors of this 
 culamity Pitt would give no credit. He was irritated b}' the alarms 
 of those around him. " Do not belie re a word of it," he said ; " it 
 is all a fiction." The next day he received a Dutch newspaper con- 
 taining the capitulation. He knew no Dutcli. It was Sundtiy ; and 
 the public offices were shut. He carried the paper to Lord Malmes- 
 bury, who had been minister in Holland ; and Lord Malmesbury 
 translated it. Pilt tried to bear up, but the shock was too great ; and 
 he went away with death in his face. 
 
 The news oi the battle of Trafalgar arrived four days later, and 
 seemed for a moment to revive him. Forty-eight hours after that 
 most glorious and most mournful of victories had been announced to 
 the country came the Lord Mayor's day ; and Pilt dined at Guild- 
 hall. His popularity had declined. But on this occasion the multi- 
 tude, greatly exciled"^ by the recent tidings, welcomed him enthusias- 
 tically, took off his horses in Cheapside, and drew his carriage up 
 King Street. When his health was drunk, he returned thanks in two 
 or three of those stately sentences of which he had a boundless com- 
 mand. Several of those who heard hnn laid up his words in their 
 hearts ; for they were the last words that lie ever uttered in public : 
 " Let us hope that England, having saved herself by her energy, 
 may save Europe by her example." 
 
 This was but a momentary rally. Austerlitz soon completed what 
 Ulm had begun. Early in December Pitt had retired to Bath, in the 
 liopethat he^ might there gather strength for the approaching session. 
 While he was languishing there on his sofa arrived the news that a 
 decisive battle had been fought and lost in ]\Ioravia, that the coali- 
 tion was dissolved, that the continent was at the feet of France. 
 He sank down under the blow. Ten days later, he was so emaciated 
 that his most intimate friends hardly knew him. He came up from 
 Bath by slow journeys, and, on the Itth of January, 1806, reached 
 Ids villa at Putney. Parliament was to meet on the 21st. On the 
 20th was to be the parliamfutary dinner, at the house of the fir.st 
 lord of the treasurj', in Downing Street ; and the cards were 
 already issued. But the days of the great minister were num- 
 bered. Tiie only chance for his life, and that a very slight 
 chance, was, that he should resign his cflice, and pass some 
 montb.s in profound repose. His colleagues paid him very short 
 visits, and carefully avoided political conversation. But his spirit, 
 long accu.stomed to dominion, could not, even in that extremity, re- 
 linfpd.sh hopes wiiicli everybody but himself perceived to be vain. 
 On the day on which he was carried into his bedroom at Putney, the 
 Marijuess Wellesley, wlioin he had long loved, whom he had sent to 
 govern India, and whose administration had l)cen eminently able, en- 
 ergetic, and successful, arrived in ]>t)ii(ion after an absence of eight 
 years. The friends saw each other onc<- jiiore. 'J'here was an affec- 
 tionate meeting, and a last parting. Tliat it was a last parting, Pitt
 
 02 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 did not seem to be awaro. He fancied himself to be recovering, 
 talked ou various subjects cheerfully, and with an unclouded mind, 
 and pronounced a warm and disteiuiug eulugiuni on the IMaKjuess's 
 brother Arthur. " 1 never," he said, " met with any military man 
 •with whom it was so satisfactory to converse." The excitement and 
 exertion of this interview were too much for the sick man. He 
 fainted away ; and Lord Wellcsley left the house, convinced that 
 the close was fast approaching. 
 
 And now niembfis of Failianicnt were fast coming \ip to London. 
 Tlie chiefs of the oijposition met for the purpose, of considering the 
 course to be taken on the first day of the session. It was easy to 
 guess what would be the hiuguage of the king's speech, and of the 
 address which would be moved in answer to that speech. An 
 amendment condemning the policy of the government had been pre- 
 pared, and was to have been proposed in the House of Conmions by 
 Lord Henry Petty, a yoimg uobkman who had already won for him- 
 self that place in the esteem of his country which, after tlie lapse of 
 more than half a century, he still retains. He was unwilling, how- 
 ever, to come forward as the acciLser of one who was incapable of 
 defending himself. I^ord Grenville, who had been informed of l-'itt's 
 state by I^ord Wellesley, and had been deeply alfected by it, carne.'-tly 
 recommended forbearance ; and Fox, with characteristic generosity 
 and good nature, gave his voice against attacking Ids now helpless 
 rival. " Sunt lacryma) rerum," he said, " et menltm moitalia tan- 
 gunt." On the first day, therefore, there was no debate. It was 
 rumored that evening that Pitt was better. But on the following 
 morning his physicians pronounced that there were no hopes. Tlie 
 commanding faculties of which he had b(en too proud were l)egin- 
 ning to fail. His old tutor and friend, the IJishop of Lincoln, in- 
 formed him of his danger, and gave such religious advice and conso- 
 latioQ as a confused and obscured mind could receive. Stories were 
 told of devout sentiments fervently utleied bj' the dying man. But 
 the.se stories found no credit with anybody who knew him. Wil- 
 berforce pronounced it impossible that lliey could be true ; " Pitt," 
 he added, " was a man who said less llian he thought on sucli topics." 
 It was asserted in many after-dinner speeches. Grub Street elegies, 
 and academic prize poems and prize declamations, that the great 
 minister died exclaiming, " Oh, Kiy countiy !" This is a fable ; but 
 it is true that the last words which he utleied, while he knew what 
 he .said, were broken exclamations about the alai icing stale of public 
 affairs. He ceased to breathe on the moining of the 28d of January, 
 1800, the twenty-fifty anniversary of the day in Avhich he fiist took 
 his .seat in Parliament. He was in his forty-seventh year, and had 
 been, during near nineteen years, fiistlord of the treasury, and undis- 
 puted chief of the administration. Since parliamentary government 
 was cstabli.shed in England, no English statesman has lield supreme 
 power so long. "VValpole, it is true, was first loidof the trtaiiuiy
 
 "WILLIAM PITT, 63 
 
 during more than twenty years, but it was not till "Walpole had been 
 Bouie time tirst lord of the treasury that lie could be properly called 
 prime minister. 
 
 It was moved in the House of Commons that Pitt should be hon- 
 ored with a public funeral, and a mouument. The motion was op- 
 posed by Fox iu a speech which deserves to be studied as a model of 
 good taste and good feeling. The task was the most invidious that 
 ever an orator undertook ; but it was performed with a humanity 
 and delicacy which were warmly acknowledged b}' the mourning 
 friends of him who was gone. The motion was carried by 288 votes 
 to 89. 
 
 The 22d of February was ^xed for the funeral. The corpse hav- 
 ing lain in state during two days in the Painted Chamber, was borne 
 with great pomp to the northern transept of the Abbey. A. splendid 
 train of princes, nobles, bishops, and privy -councillors followed. The 
 grave of Pitt had been made near to the spot where his great father 
 lay, near also to the spot where his great rival was soon to lie. The 
 sadness of the assistants was bej'ond that of ordinary mourners. For 
 he whom they were committing to the dust had died of sorrows and 
 anxieties of which none of the survivors could be altogether without 
 a share. Wilberforce, who carried the banner before the hearse, de- 
 scribed the awful ceremony with deep feeling. As the coffin de- 
 scended into the eartli, he said, the eagle face of Chatham from 
 above seemed to look down with consternation iuto the dark house 
 which was receiving all that remamed of so much power and glory. 
 
 All parties in the House of Commons readily concurred in voting 
 forty thousand pounds to satisfy the demands of Pitt's creditors. 
 Some of his admirers seemed to consider the magnitude of his em- 
 barrassments as a circumstance highly honorable to him ; but men 
 of sense will probably l)e of a dilTerent opinion. It is far better, no 
 doubt, that a great minister siiould carry his contempt of money to 
 excess tiian tliat he sli!)ulil contaminate his hands with unlawful 
 gain. But it is neither riglit nor becoming in a man fo whom the 
 public has given an income more than sufficient tor Ids comfort and 
 dignity, to bequeath to that public a great debt, the effect of mere 
 negligence and profusion. As lirst lord of the treasury and chancel- 
 lor of tlieexclidiuer, Pitt never had less than si.\ thou.si'uid a year, be- 
 sides an excellent house. In 17112 he was forced by his royal mas- 
 ter's fri(;ndly unpoiluiuty to accept for life the office of warden of 
 tlie Cin(jue Ports, with near four thousand a year m(;re. He had 
 neither wife nor child ; he had no needy relations ; he Ikid no ex- 
 pensive tastes ; he had no long election iiills. Had he given but a 
 quarter of an hour a week to tlie regulation of his liousdiohl, he 
 would have kept his expeniliture witiiiii liounds. Or, if he coukl 
 not spare evi^n a quarter of an lujur a week for tliiit puri)o,se, he had 
 numerous friends, excellent men of business, who would have been 
 proud to act as his stewards. One of those friends, the chief of a
 
 (J4 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 great commercial house in the citj', made an attempt to put tho 
 establishment in Downing ytroot to rights ; hut in vain. He found 
 that the wastt; of tho 8ervants*-hall was alniOFt fabulous. Tiie (luan- 
 tity of butcher's meat v;liar!^''C(l in the bills Avas nine lauidred weight 
 a week. The consumption of poultry, of lish, of t(a, was in pro- 
 portion. The character of Pitt -would have stood higlier if, with the 
 disinterestedness of Peiicles and of l)e Witt, he had united their dig- 
 nified frugality'. 
 
 The memory of Pitt has been assailed, times innumerable, often 
 justly, often uiijuslly ; but it has suffered much less from his assail- 
 ants than from' his eulogists. For, during many years, his name 
 ■was the rallying cry of a class of men Avilh whom, at one of those 
 terrible conjunctures which confound all ordinary distinctions, he 
 ■was accidentally and temporarily connected, but to whom, on almost 
 all great <]uestions of principle, he -was diametrically opposed. The 
 liaters of parliamentary rcfoim called tliemselves Pittites, not 
 choosing to remember that PiU njadc three motions for parlia- 
 mentary reform, and that, though he thought tliat such a re- 
 form could not safely be made -while the passions excited by the 
 French Revolution -were raging, he never uttered a woid indicat- 
 ing that he should not be prepaied at a more convenient season 
 to'bring the (juestion forwiird a foni 111 time. The toai-t of Protestant 
 ascendency was drunk on Pitt's biithday by a set of Pittites, yvhc 
 covdd not but be aware that l^itt had resigned his office liecause he 
 could not carry Catholic emancipation. The defendeis of the Test 
 Act called themselves Pittites, though they could net be ignorant 
 lliat Pitt had laid before George the Third unanswerable reasons for 
 abolishing the Test Act. The enemies of free trade called them- 
 selves Pittites, thoudi Pitt was far more deeply imbued with the 
 doctrines of Adam "Smith than either Fox or Grey. The very 
 negro-drivers invoked the name of Pitt, whose eloquence was never 
 more conspicuously displaved than when he spoke of the wrongs of 
 the negro. This mythical Pitt, who resembles the genuine Pitt as 
 little as the Charlcmairne of Ariosto resembles the Chaikmagne of 
 Eginhard, has had his day. Ilislovy will vindicate the real man from 
 Cidumnv dissuised undcr^he semblance of adu];ition, and will exhibit 
 him as "what" he was, a minister of grea', tale■^l^^, honest intentions, 
 and liberal opinions, pre-eminently qualihed, intellectually and mor- 
 ally, for the part of a parliamentary leader, and capable of adnunis- 
 tering with prudence and moderation the government of a prosperous 
 and tranquil country ; but unecjual to surprising and terrible emer- 
 gencies, and lial)le, in sudi emergencies, to err grievously, both on 
 the side of weakness and on the side of violence. 
 
 THE END.
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 Luther's life is both Ihe epos and the tragedy of his age. I\ is am 
 epos because its first part presents a hero and a propliet who con- 
 quers apparently insuperable ditiiculties and opens a new world to the 
 human mind without any power but that of divine truth and dt.ep 
 conviction, or any authority but that inliereut in sincerity and liu- 
 daunted, unselfish courage. But Luther's life is also a tragedy ; it is 
 the tragedy of Germany as well as of the hero, her son, who in vain 
 tried to rescue his country from unholy oppression and to regenerate 
 her from within as a nation by means of the Gospel ; and who died 
 la unshaken faith in Cbrist and in his kingdom, although he lived to 
 see his beloved fatiierland going to destruction, not through but in 
 spite of the Reformation. 
 
 Both parts of Luther's life are of the highest interest. In the epic 
 part of it we see the most arduous work of the time — the woric for 
 two hundred j'ears tried in vain by councils, and by prophets and 
 martyrs, witli and without emperors, kings, and princes —uudertaken 
 by a poor monk alone, wlio carried it out under tlie baa botli of tlie 
 pope and the empire. In the .second, we see him surrounded by 
 friends and discii)le«?, always the spiritual head of his nation, and the 
 revered adviser of princes and preacixT of the people ; living in the 
 same poverty as before, and leaving his descendants as unprovided 
 for as Aristides left iiis daugliter. So lived ami died tlie greatest hero 
 of Chri.stendom since the apostles ; the restorer of tiiat form of 
 Christianity which now sustains Europe, and (with all its defects) 
 regeneratiug and [Hirifying the whole liuman race ; tlie founder of 
 the modern German language and literature ; the first speaker and 
 debater of his country ; and, at the .same time, the first writer in 
 prose and verse of his age. 
 
 Afid in what state hail he found his native countrj' ? The onco 
 free and iwwerful aggregate; of nations, which had overthrown the 
 Western Empire, conrpiered Gaul, and transfused healthier blood into 
 tiie Romanized Celtic iiopulation of Britain, had gradually been broken 
 :ip into nearlv four iuindrerl (with tin; barons of the empire twelvo 
 liundred) sovereignties, under a powerli'ss iuipi-rial goveriunent rep- 
 rctiC'utcd by emperors l)ent upon the destruction of nationality, and
 
 4 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 bv an oli"-:\rchic diet with seven electoral princes at its head, three 
 of whom! as ecclosiastics, were creatures of the pope, while the re- 
 mainins,- four, iniitatinsr the emperor, were occupied rather with tlie 
 seltish ^interests of their princely houses than with those of their 
 country When, in 14S(), Maximilian was to be elected king ot the 
 Konnuis and when he became emperor (in 1493), Archbishop Ber • 
 thold cl'eclor of Mayencc, a great and patriotic man, had preiiiired, 
 with some other German princes, a plan for a sort of national execu- 
 tive the members of which were not to be mslallcd, as heretotore, 
 by the emperor alone, but appointed by the Diet and the electors m 
 order to form a federal senate to co-operate W'ith tlu; emperor Lut 
 the Austrian prince, son-in-law of Charles of Burgundy and heir to 
 ])is kin-ly estates, was liberal in promises imfultilled, having lived 
 not only to maintain but to strengthen the imperial autocracy. His 
 trreat comfort on his death-bed was the uflcction that his whole life 
 had been devoted to the nggrandizemcut of his own House of Austria. 
 The smaller German lords and knights of the empire made a last at- 
 tempt to maintain their independence, and to restore tbe ancient Jib- 
 erties of the German nation ; but acting in a lawless manner and 
 without any political wisdom, they were crushed by the united power 
 of the emperor and the electors. The more eminent and powerful 
 portion of the mass of the nation was represented by the wealthy towns 
 which had purchased from theemperorstheprivileges of tree imperial 
 cities ; and which, with the Hanseatic towns, woulcl have formed 
 united with the estate of the knights, the most complete constituent 
 parts of a House of Commons, by the side of the princes dukes, and 
 rounts of the empire as House of Peers. The formation of such an ef- 
 fective fedenxl empire must have been in the mind ot those enlightened 
 men who at the election of Maximilian perceived that a constitution 
 was necessary to prevent Germany from becoming a mere domain ot 
 the emperors. A truly representative government, federal and unitary 
 monarchical and aristocratical, and popular, W()uld have followed 
 as a matter of (;ourse from such a beginning as that proposed. Jiut 
 since the failure of that plan nothing effectual had been accom- 
 plished ; isolation and separation became more complete ; the peace 
 of the land was enforced at last, although imperfectly ; and the im- 
 perial tribunal established by Maximilian acted with msuthcien 
 authority, and, as was believed, not with equal :)ustice. The greatest 
 iniquity was the condition of the peasantry. 1 he freeholders had m 
 many parts of Germany been, if not absorbed, at least considerably 
 diminished by the feudal .system ; but the great grievances were the 
 illejral abuses which had grown out of that system and the always 
 increa.sing exactions of the lords of the manor, who, particularly m 
 Southern Germany, had reduced the i)easants to real serrs--nien 
 who had to render^inlimited .services and scarcely could sui)port lite. 
 There had been insurrections of peasants, particularly along the 
 Upper llhiue, in 1491, and again iu 1503 ; but being without leaders,
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 thev were each time crushed after a bloody struggle, and the ultimato 
 result was a still greater amount of hardship. The chains of the 
 sufferers were riveted. In short, Germany was suffermg from all the 
 same evils as France and England, without having gamed that unity 
 and streuo-th of government which in those countries had resulted 
 from simUar stru^-gles. On tlie other hand, however, the age was 
 one of general progress. The invention of printing had given wmg^ 
 to the hum:m mind ; philology had opened the sources ot historical 
 knowledge as well as of philosophy and poetry ; astrology began to 
 give waf to astronomy, and the idea of the universe emerged out ot 
 Jewish and other fables. As to Germany in particular, the cradle ot 
 the art of printing, Augsburg and other great cities were, with the 
 Hanseatic towns, centres of European commerce, and iiartook of the 
 resources opened by the discovery of America. The religious mind, 
 too had been awakened since the days of Wycliffe and of Huss. Ee- 
 lievin.' Christendom, and, above all. believing Germany, had hoped 
 for a real reform of the Church, the abuses of which were doubly 
 felt in consequence of the shameful immorality of the popes and the 
 ever-increasing exactions of the court of Rome. The issue of im- 
 mense efforts on the part of emperors, princes, and people was that 
 the Council of Constance delivered Huss to the flames, and both the 
 Councils of Constance and Basle ended in a more decided suprem- 
 acy of the Roman pontiff:^. Certainly the religious mind of Ger- 
 many was not a little damped by these disappointments ; but the 
 thir.4 after a reform was not quenched by the evident unwuliuguess 
 of Rome to reform itself. The wise and good men of the tune, iiow- 
 ever could not discover any means to achieve what was generally 
 de-sired and demanded. The faith in human, and gradually also in 
 divine justice upon earth had long disappeared m uutorHuiate Italy, 
 as the writings of the aire prove ; but now it threatened to vanish 
 even in the minds of the Germans, in whom that taith maj-^bc cal eil 
 eminently their innate individual and national religion. Ihe liiblo 
 liad been repeatedly printed in the vernacular tongue, but it was, 
 and continued to be, a book closed with seven seals. There was a 
 general feeling that the gospel ouirht to be made the foumlation ot 
 purified religion and doctrine ; but where was the man to resuscitate 
 its letter and spirit, and to find the way from Christ to the soul 
 throuLdi the darkness and the fictions, the usages and the abuses ot the 
 intervening centuries? The voice of the Friends of God with 
 Taiiler at their head had been choked in blood, like that ot the 
 Wa.denses ; and then, supposing such an evangelical basis to hava 
 been found, was the (•xisting state of injustice and wrong to con- 
 tinue Y Were the emperors to continue to sacrifice the empire to 
 their dynastic interests— the princes and the nobles to th(!ir covetous- 
 ness and licentiousness? Ves ; would not the overthrow ol the ec- 
 clesiastical power lead to universal contiagration and rcbelbon and 
 destruction, and thus Chrustcndom be thrown back into a worse bar-
 
 6 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 Iiarism IIkaii (liat out of which Ihcy were anxious to emerge? In 
 eiiort, the work (so il seemed) could not be undertaken but in despair 
 or in entiiusiastic faith. In Ihe former case it nuist succumb neces- 
 parily ; but even if begun with the faith of Wyclitre and of Huss, 
 w-ould not the attempt in any <'ase laad to a long-continued struggle, 
 the end of wliicii none of those who began it could live to witness? 
 AVho should enter on so tremendous a course ? 
 
 Such was the work to be done, and such were the general and pe- 
 culiar difficulties and the state of things in Germany when Luther 
 imdertook it. Luther devoted a life of almost supernatural energy 
 and suffering to secure its basis ; and although at his death lie left it 
 stirroimded by the greatest dangers, and one hundred years of bloody 
 struggle were succeeded by anotlier hundred years of agony and of 
 exhaustion, still the Keforniation survived and proved essentially the 
 renovating element of mankind instead of bang (as its enemies proph- 
 esied) the promoter of revolution. It subsists to tliis liour as the 
 only durable preserver of all liberties, religious or political ; and the 
 nations and states which have embraced the Reformation are those 
 only which have escaped the revolutions which for seventy years 
 have agitated those of the Roman faith. 
 
 The life of hitu who was the beginner of this great and holy work, 
 and who broke down the double tyranny of pope and emperor arrayed 
 against him, must therefore be considered from a higher point of view 
 than that of individual biography or sectarian panegyric, or national 
 vanity and prejudices. The article upon Luther will have to be 
 treated from the central point of the universal history of mankind. 
 This must be also the rule for fixing the epochs of Lutiier's life. One 
 of the reasons why this life is not yet fully appreciated is that it is 
 not sufficiently understood ; and this again ari.ses in great measure 
 from the want of due observation of thiTcritical points in the develop- 
 ment of the Reformation and of the history of Europe, and of Ger- 
 manv in particular. 
 
 We shall divide tlu' following condensed but complete survey into 
 three periods. The first will be the period of preparation, extending 
 to Luther's first publication of theses against the indulgences, 31st 
 October, lol7 ; the second will comprise the next eijjht years of 
 preaching the gospel and gospel-doctrine in its three fundamental 
 parts ; the third is that of political and theological struggles, from 
 1525 to his death in ir)4f)— preparation, progressive action, and tiien 
 struggle within and without. Luther's grand character and true 
 piety shine in both periods of liis public career ; but the culminating 
 point of his active and creative agency is in the first. It is, accord- 
 ing to our view, the year 1523 which forms the critical epoch. In 
 1524 the foundation of the practical realization of the principles of 
 the Reformation was laid with triumphant success. Tlie year 15r>5 
 betran hopefullv, but ended with the preparation for a struggle, of 
 which Luther felt at once that he never should see the end. Hciora
 
 MARTIX LUTHER. 7 
 
 the close of 153.5, he gave up the cause of Germany, not in conse- 
 quence of any fault committed by himself, but because he saw that 
 his party was not prepared for tlie struggle with the empire, and was 
 still less resigned to leave the matter to God, who, as Luther firmly 
 believed to his death, would never allo^v his work to perish till the 
 end of the world. But was not the end of the world coming now V 
 
 First FKmoD.—T/ie Tears of Preparation ; or, the First Thirty-four 
 Tears of Luther's Life (1483—1517). 
 
 Martin Luther was born at Eislehen, in the county of Mansfeld, in 
 Thuringia, on the 10th November, 1488, on the eve of ISt. Martin's 
 day, in the same year as Raphael, nine years after IMichael Angelo, 
 and ten after Copernicus. His father was a miner, descended from 
 a family of poor but free peasants, and possessed forges in Mansfeld, 
 the small protits of which enabled him to send his son to the Latin 
 school of the place. There Martin distinguished himself so much 
 that bis father (by thai time become a member of the municipal 
 council) intended him for the study of the law. In the mean time 
 Martin had often to go about as one of the poor choristers, singing 
 and begging at the doors of charitable people at Magdeburg and at 
 Eisenach, to the colleges of which towns lie was successively sent. 
 His remarkable appearance and serious demeanor, his fine tenor voice 
 and musical talent, procured him the attention and afterward the 
 support and maternal care of a pious matron, wife of Cotta, burgo- 
 master of Eisenacii, into whose house he was taken. Already, in 
 his eighteenth year, he surpassed all his fellow-students in knowledge 
 of the Latin classics, and in power of composition and of eloquence. 
 His mind took more and more a deeply religious turn ; but it was 
 not till he had been for two jears studying at Eisenach that he dis- 
 covered an entire Bible, having until then only known the ecclesias- 
 tical extracts from tiie sa(;red vohiinu, and the history of Hannah and 
 Samuel. He now determined to study Greek and Hebrew, the two 
 original languages of the Bil)le. A dangerous illness brought him 
 within tlie near prosi)ect of death ; but he recovered, and prosecuted 
 his study of philosophy and law, and tried hard to gain inward peace 
 by a pious life and the greatest strictness in all external ol)servances. 
 His natural cheerfulness disappeared ; and after experiencing the 
 shock of tlie deatli of one of his friends by a.ssassination in the sum- 
 mer of 1505, and soon after that being startled by a thunderbolt 
 striking the earth by his siile, he determined to give up the world and 
 retire into liie conviait of the Augustiniaus at Erfurt— much against 
 the wishes and advice of his father, who, indeed, most strongly re- 
 monstrated, r.uliier soon cxtierienccd the u.selessness of monastic 
 life and discipline, and sulTeicd from the coarseness of his brethren, 
 w\io felt his exercises of study and nieililalion to be a reproach upf<» 
 Ihuir owu habits of gossiping and meiidicaucy. It waa at this perioa
 
 g MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 that he bc^an to study the Old Testament in ITchrew, yet continuing 
 to fulfil scTupulously the rules of his order. " ] tormented myse it 
 to death " he said at a later period, "to make my peace with God, 
 but I was in darkness and found it not." The vicar general of the 
 order Johann Yon Staupitz, who had passed through the same dis- 
 cipline with the same result, comforted him by those remarkable 
 •words which remained forever engraven m jAither's heart : ' Ihere 
 is no true repentance but that which begins with the love ot right- 
 eousness and of God. T.ove him then who has loved thee hrst ! in 
 the stru"-"les which followed Luther's real beginning of a new lite, 
 and in the perplexities into which Augustine's doctrine ot election 
 threw him, the book which, after the Bible, exercised the greatest 
 and most beneficial iniluence upon his mind, was that practical con- 
 centration of the sermons and other works of Tauler-the enlighteued 
 Dominican preacher and (Miristian philosopher of the middle ot the 
 fourteenth century— the Theolorjia Germanicn,\\YiVien by an anony- 
 mous author toward the latter part of that century, of which we 
 shall have to speak hereafter. 
 
 When Luther recaiued his mental health, he took courage to be 
 ordained priest, in^Mi-.y, 1507. Next year the elector of baxony 
 nominated him professor of philosophy at the LiUiversity of Wi"em- 
 berg • and in 150!) he began to give, as bachelor m divinity, bil)lical 
 lectures These lectures were the awakening cause of new lite in the 
 university, and soon a grei't number of students, from all parts ot 
 Germany gathered round Luther. Even professors came to attend 
 his lectures and hear his preaching. The year 1511 brought an ap- 
 parent interruption, but in fact only a new development ot Luther s 
 character and knowledge of the world, lie was sent by Ins order to 
 Rome on account of some discrepancies of opinion as to its govern- 
 ment His first impressujn of the city was that of profound admira- 
 tion, soon mixed with a melancholy recollection of Scipio s Homeric 
 exclamation on the ruins of Carthage. The tone ol fiippant impiety 
 at the court and among the higher clergy of Rome under Julius XL 
 shocked the devout German monk. Ee then discovered the real state 
 of the world in the centre of the Western Church ; and olteu in after 
 life he used to say, " I would not take 100,000 florins not to liave 
 seen Rome." Always anxious to learn, he took during his stay He- 
 brew lessons from a celebrated rabbi, Ellas Leyita ; but the grand 
 effect upon him was, that now for the first time he understood Christ 
 nnd St Paul. " The just shall live by f£dih"-that mighty saying 
 ivith which he had begun at Wittemberg hif^ interpretatiou of the 
 Bible— now sounded on his ears in the midst of Rome. Le saw that 
 external works are nothing ; that the pious spirit m which any work 18 
 done or any duty fullilled-an humlile liandicraft or the pr'?aching ot 
 Bcrmons-is the only tiling of value in the eye of God On his re- 
 turn to the university, the favor of Staupitz and the Senerosity of 
 the elector procured him a present of fifty florins (ducuis) to deliaj
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 9 
 
 the expenses of his promotion to the degree of Doctor of Divinity at 
 the end of 1512 The solemn oath he had to pronounce on that oc- 
 casion (to most onlv a formuhiry without deep meaning) "to devote 
 his whole life to study, and faithfully to expimnd and defend the 
 Holy Scripture," was to him the seal of his mission. He began hia 
 biblical teaching by attacking scholasticism, which at that time was 
 called Aristotelianism. He sliowed that the Bible was a deeper phi- 
 losophy ; that, teaching the nothingness and wickedness of man as 
 lono^ as he is a sdhsh creature, it refutes and c.mdenms all philo- 
 sophical tenets which consider man separately from his relation to 
 Deity All his contemporaries praised as unparalleled the clearness 
 of his Christian doctrine, the impressive eloquence of his preaching, 
 and the mildness and sanctity of his character. Erasmus himself e.x- 
 claimed " There is not an honest divine who does not side with 
 Luther.'' Christ's self-devoted life and death— Christ crucifled— was 
 the centre of his doctrine ; God's eternal love to mankind, and the 
 sure triumph of Faith, were his texts. Already, in 1510, philosoph- 
 ical tenets deduced from these spiritual principles were publicly de- 
 fended at academical disputations over which he presided. Luther 
 himself preached at Dresden and other places the doctrine of justify- 
 jn"- and vivifyin^-- failh ; and then accepted, for a short time, the place 
 of° vicar-general of his order in that year. Even in the convents. 
 spiritual, moral Christianity made its way in spite of forms and ob- 
 servances. When the plague came to Wittemberg, he remained 
 when all others fled : " It is my post, and 1 have to tinish my com- 
 mentary upon the Epistle to the Galatiaus. Should brother Martin 
 fail, yet the world will not fail." 
 
 Thus came the year of the Keformation, lolT. With more bold- 
 ness than ever, the new pope Leo had'sent, in 1510, agents tlirough 
 the world to sell indulgences, and the man chosen for Saxony, Tetzel 
 the Dominican, and his band, were among the most zealous preach- 
 ers of this initpiity. " I would not exchange," said he in one of his 
 haran"-ues, " my privilege (as vender of the papal letters of absolu- 
 tion) against those which St. Peter has in heaven ; for I have saved 
 more souls by my indulgences than the apostle ])y his sermons. 
 Whatever crime one may have committed ' •—naming an outrage upon 
 the person of the Virgin Mary— " let him pay well and he wdl re- 
 ceive pardon. Likewise the sins which you may be disposed t(; com- 
 mit in future, may be atoned for beforehand." But he soon found 
 that a spirit hail been asvakeiu-d among the serious minds of Germany 
 to which such blasphemies were revolting. Luther preached and 
 spoke out against this horrible almse, which he said he could not 
 believe to be saiictioneil by the pope. As a great exhibition of rehc>*, 
 together with indulgences, was to take place on the day ot All hamta 
 in the church of Wiltemberg, Luther appeared on the eve, 31st Oc- 
 tober, in the midst of the pilgrims wiio had flocked to the festival, 
 uud paBtod up at the church door the uinety-flvo theses against m-
 
 10 MARTI K LUTHER. 
 
 diligences nntl the superstitions connected with them, in Ann althoiiHj 
 guarded language. The Reformation began, like tliat of St. John 
 the Baptist, by the preaching of inward penitence, in opposition to 
 penance and to absolution purchaseable by gold ; but Luther's preach- 
 ing had tlie advantage that it was Ijascd upon man's redemption 
 by Christ. Penitence was preached, as originating in the conscious 
 ness of man's unworthiness, God's mercy, and the ledemptiou 
 through Ciirisl as placed befoie us in the gospVl. The entire doctrine 
 iof these immortal theses is summed up in the two last (94, 95) which 
 i i-un thus : " The Christians are to be exhorted to make every effort 
 to follow Christ their iiead through the cross, througli death and hell ; 
 for it is much better they should through much tribulation enter 
 into the kingdom of heaven than acquire a carnal security b^' the 
 consolations of a false peace." A great deed had been done that 
 evening ; a door had been opened for mankind into a course whose 
 end is even now far from being reached. Tiiose words— not the re- 
 sult of design and premeditation, but of the irresistible impulse of an 
 honest mind brought face to face with the horrible reality of blas- 
 phemy—soon cclioed through the whole world. Luther's public 
 life had opened ; the Reformation had begun. 
 
 Second Peuiod.— TAe First Part of the Public Life of Luther ; or, 
 the Time of Progressive Action. 
 
 The pilgrims had come to Wittemberg to buy indulgences, and re- 
 turned with the theses of Luther in their hands, and the impression 
 of his powerful evangelical teaching in their hearts. Luther was 
 urged on in his great work, not liy his friends, wlio were timid and 
 terrified, but by the violence and frenzy of Tetzel and his adherents, 
 and soon afterward by the despotic acts of tlie pope Leo X., who 
 having at first desjiised the affair as a monk's quarrel, thought he 
 could crush it by arbitrary acts. The national mind in Germany had 
 taken up the matter with a moral earnestness which made an impres- 
 sion not only upon the princes, but even upon bishops and monks. 
 Compelled to examine the ancient history of the Church, Luther 
 soon di.scovered the whole tissue of fraud and imposture by which 
 the canon law of the popes— the decretals— had been, from the ninth 
 century downward, foisted, advisedly and purposely, upon the 
 Christian world. There is not one essential point in the ancient ec- 
 clesiastical history bearing upon the question of the Invocation of 
 saints, of clerical priesthood, and of episcopal and metropohlan pre- 
 tensions, which his genius did not discern in its proper light. It is 
 a remarkable fact, and must needs be considered by the philosop-her 
 of history as a proof of tlic Spirit of God having guided Luther, that 
 what he saw and said, at the earliest stage of hi.-torical criticism, re- 
 specting ecclesiastical forgeries and impostures, lias all proved true. 
 Boon after Luther, the Centuriatores Magdeburgici, the fathers of
 
 MARTIN LUTHEE. H 
 
 criticism as to ecclesiastical liistor}', took the matter up. Of course 
 She llomanists denied their assertions for two hundred years, and 
 ■wherever they dare, tliey sUll come back to the old fables and false- 
 jioods But the learned discussion has been given up, step by step, 
 reluctantlv, and with a very bad grace. Whatever Luther denounced 
 as fraud oV abuse from its contradiction to the canonical worship, 
 may be said to have been since openly or tacitly admitted to be such. 
 But what produced the greatest effect at the time were his short pop^ 
 ular treatises, cxegetical and practical. xVniong those are particularly 
 remarkable his Interpretation of the Magnificat, or the Canticle oj the 
 Virgin M<iry, Ids deep and earnest Ei'posilion of the Ten Coinmand- 
 inents, and his Exposition of the Lord's Prayer, which latter soon 
 found its way into Italy, although without Luther's name, and which 
 has never vet been surpassed, eitlier in genuine Christian thought or 
 in style. Having resolved to preach in person throughout Germany, 
 Luther appeared'-in the spring of 1518 in Heidelberg, where a general 
 meeting of his order was held. The count palatine, to whom Luther 
 had lieen introduced ))y the elector of Saxony, received him very 
 courteouslv. In order to rouse the spirit of the professors, he held a 
 public disputation on certain theses, called by him paradoxes, by 
 -which lie intended to make apparent the contrast of the external view 
 of religion taught by the schoolmen, and the spiritual and energetic 
 view of gospel truth based upon justifying faith. It was here that 
 Bucer, then a Dominican monk, but soon a zealous Reformer and 
 controversialist, anrl the man who, after Calvin, had among foreigners 
 the greatest influence upon the English Reformation, heard the voice 
 of the gospel in his own heart, and resolved to confess and preach it 
 at the university. . , , 
 
 " It is not the pope (said Luther in one of his disputations) who 
 governs the ciiurch militant of Christ, but Chri^st himself ; for it is 
 written that ' Christ must reign till he has put all his enemies under 
 his feet.' lie evidently has not done so yet. Christ's reign, in this 
 our worid, is the reign of faith ; we do not see our Head, but we have 
 
 On his return to AVittemberg, in May, 1518, Luther wrote and pub- 
 lishcd an able and moderate exposition of the theses, and sent it to 
 some German bisliops. He then proclaimed the absolute necessity of 
 a thorough n-formation of the Church, which could only be elfected, 
 with the aid of God, by an earnest co-opeiation of llie whole of Chris- 
 tendom. But already Home meditated his excommunication, uttering 
 tiireata wliich he discussc-d with great courage and e-iuauimity, say- 
 ing, " God alone can reconcile with liimsi-lf the fallen soul ; he alone 
 can dissolve llie union of the sjjuI with himself: blessed the man 
 who fiies under an unjust excommunication." In reijuesting his 
 superior to send liis very humble; letter to I'ope Loo, in whicii he de- 
 clared his readiness to (icfuMd his cause, Lutlusr added, " Mark. I do 
 not wish to entuugic yoa iu my owu perilous affair, the cousetjueucoi
 
 iZ 
 
 MARTIN LUTIlEIt. 
 
 
 
 of which I am ready to bear alone. My cause is Christ's an:l Gorr.s. ' 
 In the mean time Luther was cited repeatedly to appear before lii^ 
 pope's tribunal at Kouk. Leo, indeed, graciously promised to pay 
 the expenses of his journey, which certainly would have been no iar^-y 
 outlay, as none wouki have been required lor liis return. But Lutliu- 
 constantly de(;iined summonses and invitations, and proposed inslend 
 one or other of the German universities as judge. This proposal was, 
 ef course, not acceptable to Kome, and therefore he was summoned 
 before the pope's legate in Germany. 
 
 The pope's legate was Cardinal Cajetanus. Luther was summoned 
 to appear b-fore him at Augsburg, and all princes and cities were 
 threatened with the interdict if they did not deliver Luther into the 
 liands of the pope's tribunal. It was in tliese critical circumstances 
 that Luther formed his actpiaintance with Melanchlhon, Avho soon i)e- 
 came his most faithful friend, and remained his zealous adherent for 
 life. When Melanchlhon and all his other friends advised Luther not 
 to go to Augsburg to be given up to the machinations of the legale, 
 he replied, "' They have already torn my honor and my reputation '; 
 let them have my body, if itistl'ie wid of God ; but my soul they shall 
 not lake." He undertook the journey, as a good monk, on foot ; 
 only provided wilii letters of recommendation horn the elector, and 
 accompanied by two friends, but without a safe-conduct. He arrived 
 ut Augsburg on the evening of the 7th 0(;tober, 1518, almost exhausted 
 by the hardships of the journey. The cardinal and his assistants 
 employed m vain alternately threats and blandishments ; scholastic 
 arguments fell powerless, as he answered them by the Bilile, and 
 demanded to be refuted by the word of God, to wdiich he showed the 
 decretals to be opposed, and therefore, according even to the declara- 
 tion of the canonists, of no value. For these reasons he constantly 
 refused to retract, as he was required to do, his two propositions— 
 the one that the treasure of indulgences is not composed of the merits 
 of Christ ; the other, that he who receives the sacrament must have 
 faitli in the grace offered to him. Luther left Augsburg after having 
 addressed a lirm but respectful letter to the legate ; and his friends. 
 Avho were sure that his life was not safe a moment longer, cscorte(i 
 liim before daybreak out of the town on hor.seback. On his return to 
 Wittemberg he found the elector iu great anxiety of mind, in con- 
 sequence of an imperious missive of the cardinal legate. Luthe? 
 ■wrote to the prince a dignified letter, saying, "I would, in your 
 place, answer the cardinal as he deserves for insulting an honest man 
 without proving him to be wrong ; but I do not wish to be an in- 
 cumbrance to your Highness ; I am ready lo leave your states, but I 
 will not go to Home." The elector refused to deliver him up to the 
 legate or to send him out of the states. Luther would have gone to 
 France if deprived of his asylum in Saxony. The elector, however, 
 having desired him to leave Wittemberg, and Luther Ijeing on the 
 point of obeying his orders, the piiace, touched by bis humility and
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 13 
 
 firmness, allowed liiui to remaiQ and to prepare himself for anew con- 
 ference At the end of I0I8 the papal bull conccrnmg mdulgences 
 apDcared, continning the old doctrine, without any reference to the 
 late dispute. Luther had alreivdy appealed from the pope to a general 
 
 ^^The' Years 1519 lo20, lo21 were the time of a fierce but triumphant 
 stru<r.de with the'hitherto irresistible power of Rome, soon openly 
 supported by the empire. The two first of these years passed in pub- 
 lic conferences and disputations at Leipzig and elsewhere with Eck 
 and other Romanist do(;tors, in which Luther was seconded by the 
 clocjucnce of the ardent and acute Carlstadt, as wel as l)y the learninj; 
 and argumentative powers of MelaQclithou. People and princes took 
 more and more part iu the dispute, and the controversy widened froin 
 day to day. Luther openly declared that Huss was right on a great 
 many points, and had been uujustU' condemned ^\ittemberg be- 
 came crowded with students and iu<iuirers, who flocked there trom 
 all sides. Luther not onlvconlinued his lectures, but wrote during this 
 period his most important expositions and commentaries on tlie rsew 
 Testament— beginning with tlie Epistle to the Galatians (beptembcr, 
 ir,li>). which he used to call his own epistle. During the second year 
 (1520) the first great political crisis occurred, on occasion ot the aeatli 
 of Ma.ximilian, and ended fatally, in consequence of the total want 
 of patriotic and political wisdom among the German princes. Iho 
 elector of Saxony was offered, by one of the most eminent and in- 
 fluential of his colleagues, the Archbishop of Treves, to be cho.scn 
 cmp.'ror ; imt had not the courage to accept a dignity which he sup- 
 nosed to re(iuire for its support a more powerful house tlian his own. 
 Of all the political acts which may be designated, with Dante, vsraii 
 vU rifiato this wa-* the greatest and most to be regretted, supposing 
 the elector to have been wi^e and courageous enough to give the 
 knights and cities their proper share iu the government, and patriotic 
 enough to make the common good his own. „,..,, ^. ,, 
 
 The (ierraan writers have called the elector Frederic the Wise 
 partirtularly also with regard to this question. But long betore llanko 
 pointcil out the political elements then existing for an ellective im- 
 provcmenl of the mis>;rable German constitution, Justus .Moser ot 
 Osnabruck ha.l i)roi)hetically uttered the real truth-" if the einperor 
 at tiiat time iiad destroyed the feudal system, this deed wouh have 
 been, according to the spirit in which it was done, the grandest or 
 the blackest iu Ih.; liistory of the world." Miiser means that it I he 
 emperor had embraced the Reformed faith, and placed himselt at the 
 lir-ad of the lower nobility and the cities, united in one body as the 
 lower house of a German parliament, this act would have saved Ger- 
 many But we ought to go further, and say, to exi)ect sucii a rev()- 
 Uition from a Spanish king wa.H simply absurd. Frederic alone could, 
 hikI probaldy would, have been led into that course, just because he 
 Lad nothing to rely ui)on except the German nation, then nioro
 
 14 
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 iminrrmis anrl pow(-rful tluin it ever lifis l)eon since. Tlie so-called 
 eapitiilalioiis of the empire, wiiicli were aeecptcd by Clmrlc.« euii- 
 jaiiuHl nol, ihe slightest guarautec against religious cncrouclunents ou 
 the side ai Home. 
 
 Peisecutions aimed at the life of Lutiier began very earlv BeMv 
 one day accosted by a stranger, who concealed a pistol in his sleev(^^ 
 and asked him, ' Why do you walk Ihus alone?" the intrepid heio 
 uuswered" Because lam on Ihe side of God, wlio is my stren-lh 
 aiul my sliield. 1 he unknown person turned pale and slunk awa^' 
 Ihe pope s emissaries in Germany openly demanded the death of 
 Luther, flattery and threats were used alternately to that end 
 Luther said. '; I do not wish for a cardinal's hat ; let them allow the 
 way of sa vation to be open to Chrislians, and I .shall be satisfied. 
 All their threats do not frighten me. and all their promi.ses do not 
 seduce me. When Francis of Siekinuen, the most powerful and 
 spirited of the kmghfs of the empire, and the brave and enlightened 
 Llrich Von Illiiten and others, offered aid, and said, " force of arras 
 was required to drive out the devil," Luther answered in tho.se im- 
 mortal words: "By the Word the world has been conquered; by 
 the Word the Church has been saved ; by the Word, too, si,e will bo 
 restored : I do not despise your offers, but I will not lean upon any 
 one but Chn.st." ^ 
 
 Luther's writings of this period are the finest productions of his 
 pen. Ills book Oii. Good Works is the best exposition of the doctrine 
 ot justihcalion by faith. Melanchthon says, in reference to this treatise 
 No writer ever came nearer St. Paul than Luther has done " 
 In the same jx'ar (1.j20) he publi.shed that grand address to the nobles 
 of the German nation, Oii, the Jlcfonnation <,f Christendom, which 
 may be considered as the finest specimen of the political and patriotic 
 wisdom of a Christian. There he shows the reality and supreme 
 dignity of the universal priesthood of Christians, and at the same 
 time demands a thorough reform of the .«ociaI system of Germany 
 and Italy, beginning with the abrogation of the usurped power of the 
 pope, uhile he calls for a national system of education as the foun- 
 dation of a better order of things. This address, published ou the 
 .^Olh June, 1.j30, electrified the nation. It was this appeal which first 
 moved the patriotic and sainted spirit of Ulrich Zwingle, the Swiss 
 lieformer, who tried in vain to dissuade Home from endeavoring to 
 crush Luther by a bull of excommunication. It was too late The 
 great .step had been decided upon. 
 
 Luther meanwhile continued his course of preaching and lecturin" 
 at Wittemberg, where neaily two thousand students were assemblecb 
 Jle publi.slied at this time his Traitise on the Mass, in whieii he ap- 
 jjlied to the sacraments the pervading doctrine of faith, proving from 
 Scripture that every sacrament is dead without faith in God's word 
 and promises. But his most striking work of this ijcriod is that on 
 \.\n: BaJjylonian VaptivUy of tlui Chuick (October, 1520j, iu wliicU ho
 
 MARTI>f LUTHER. 15 
 
 bDM'y took the oflfonsive against Rome, attacking the papacy in ils 
 principles. It is remarkable that in this treatise he speaks of the 
 baptism of infants, who necessarily are incapable of faith, as of an 
 apparent contradiction, ■which, however, might be defended. Man is 
 to have faith in the baptismal vow (to be ratified later, after the 
 necessary instruction), and therefore he must not allow himself to be 
 bound by any other vow, and must consider the work of his vocation, 
 whatever it be, as equally sacred with that of piiest or monk. Till 
 the Christian Church is organize;! upon that principle, the Christian 
 people live in Babylonian captivity. In order to please some of his 
 friends, and show to the world that he was not iutraclable, he ad- 
 dres.sed a letter to Leo X., and inclosed a treatise, O/i (he Libert)/ of 
 tlui G'i.ri4inn. lie pities the pope for having been thrown like Daniel 
 into the midst of wolves, and predicts that the Roman court {Curia 
 RjinaiKi) will fall because she hates reform, and that the world will 
 be obliged, sooner or later, to applj'' to her the words of the prophet : 
 " We woultl have healed Babylon, but she is not healed : forsake 
 her, and let us go every one unto his own country." (.lerem. 51 : 9.) 
 " O most holy father (he adJ-s), do not listen to those flattering sirens 
 around you !" The treatise itself is a sublime and succinct exposi- 
 tion of the two truths, that by faith the soul acquires all that Christ 
 has, and beconie.s free through Ilim ; but then it begins to serve His 
 brethren voluntarily from thankfulness to God. The pope's bull ar- 
 rived in due time, but found the German naticm deaf to its curses 
 and armed against its arguments. It was called Dr. Eck's bull ; and 
 Luther raised, on the 4lh November, his voice of thunder against it 
 in a short treatise, A(]aiiisl the Ball of Antichrist ; and on the 17th of 
 the same month he drew up, before a notary and live witnesses, a 
 solemn protest, in which he appealed to a general council. After 
 this manifesto he invited the university, on the 10th December, 
 1520, to see tiie anti-Ciiristian bull burned before the church door, and 
 said : " Now the serious work begins ; I have begun it in the name 
 of God— it will be brought to an end by his might." But where was 
 the power to resist the pope, if the emperor supported the pope's 
 cau.se? And, indeed, he had promised this support to the pontifical 
 minister soon after his coronation at Aix-la-Chapelle on the C2d 
 Octoljer. lie dechired, however, at the same time, that he must act 
 witii every possible regard toward the elector ; and this prince had 
 courage enough to propose, as the only just measure, to grant to 
 Luther a safe conduct, and place him before learned, pious, and im- 
 partial judires. Erasmus, whom he invited, in order to learn hi.s 
 opinion, said, " There was no doui)t that the more virtuous and at- 
 tached to the Go.spel any man was, the more he was found to incline 
 toward Luther, who liail been condemncKl only by two univ(!rsitio;?, 
 and by tlnim liad not b(;cn confuted." 
 
 Tiio cmp(rror agreed at last to the proposal of the elector Frederic, 
 and convened a diet at Worms for Uth January, 1021, where the two
 
 IG MARTIN LUTIIEI?. 
 
 questions of religion and of a reform in the constitution of the empire 
 Averc to 1)0 treated. Luther, thougli in a sufTering state of health, 
 resolved immediately to ajipear when summoned. " If the emperor 
 rails, it is (Jod's eail — I must go : if I am too weak to go in good 
 health, I shall have myself earned thither sick. They will not have 
 my blood, after which they thirst, unless it is God's will. Two 
 tilings I cannot do — shrink "from the call nor I'etract my opinions." 
 Thenuncio and his party, on their side, moved heaven and earth to 
 procure Luther's condeniiiation, and threatened the Germans with 
 extermination, snying, " We shall excite the one to fight against the 
 other, that all may perish in their own blood" — a threat Avhich the 
 papists have carried out to the best of their power during two hun- 
 dred years. The emperor permitted the nuncio to appear ofhcially 
 in the diet, and to try to convince the princes of the empire there as- 
 seml>led. Alexander tried in vain to communicate to the assembly 
 Ills theological hatred, or to obtain that Luther should be condemned 
 as one judged by the pope, his books burned and his adherents perse- 
 cuted. The impression produced by his powerful harangue was only 
 transitory ; even princes who hated Luther personally would not 
 allow his person and writings and the general cause of reform to be 
 confounded, and all crushed together. The abuses and exactions of 
 Rome were too crying. A committee, appointed by the diet, pre- 
 sented a list of one hundred and one griev^ances of the German nation 
 against Rome. This startled the emperor, who, instead of ordering 
 Luther's books to be burned, issued only a provisional order that they 
 should be delivered to the magistrates. When LiUher heard of the 
 measures preparing against him he composed one of his most admir- 
 al)le treatises, The Exposition of the Magnificat, or the Canticle of the 
 Viryin Mary. He soon learned what he was expected to retract. "If 
 that is meant, I remain where I am ; if the emperor will call me to 
 liave me put to death, I shall go." The emperor summoned him, 
 indeed, on the Gth March, 1521, to appear before him, and granted 
 him at last a .safe-conduct, on which all his friends insisted. Luther, 
 in spite of all w^arnings, set out with the imperial herald on the 2d 
 April. Everywhere on the road he saw the imperial edict against hi.? 
 book posted up, but witnessed also the hearty sympathies of the 
 nation. At Erfurt the herald gave way to the universal nMpiest, and, 
 against his instructions, consented to Luther's preaching a .sermon — 
 none the less remarkable for not containing a single word about 
 himself. On the 10th Luther entered the imperial city amid an im- 
 mense concourse of people. On his approach to Worms the elector's 
 chancellor entreated him, in the name of his master, not to enter a 
 town where; liis death was decided. The answer which Luther re- 
 turned was simply this : " '^ell your master that if there were as 
 many devils at Worms as tiles on its roofs, I would enter." When 
 purrounded by his frii-nds on the morning fif the 17tli, on whicli day 
 he was to appear before the august assembly, he said : " Christ is lo
 
 MARTIK LUTHER. 
 
 17 
 
 me what the head of the gorgoa was to Perseus : I must hold it up 
 acrainst the devil's attack." When the hour approached, he fell upon 
 hts knees and uttered in great agony a i)rayer such as can only be 
 pronounced by a man filled with the spirit of Hun who prayed at 
 Gethsemane ' Friends took down his words ; and the authentic doc- 
 ument has l>een published by the great historian of the Eeformation. 
 He rose from prayer and followed the herald.- Before the throne he 
 was asked two questions, Whether he acknowledged the works be- 
 fore him to have been written by himself? and whether he wou d 
 retract what he had said in them V Luther requested to be told 
 tlie titles of the books, and then, addressing the emperor, acknowl- 
 ed«^ed them as his ; as to the second, he asked for time to retlect, as 
 he°mio-ht otherwise confound his own opinions Avith the declarations 
 of the°Word of God, and either sav too much or deny Christ and say 
 too little, incurring thus the penalty which Christ had denounced— 
 •' Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny betore 
 my Father which is in heaven." The emperor, struck by this very 
 measured answer, which some mistook for hesitation, after a short 
 consultation granted a day's delay for the answer, wduch was to be 
 bv word of mouth. Luther's resolution was taken : he only desired 
 to convince his friends, as well as his enemies that no did not act 
 with precipitation at so decisive a moment. Ihe next day lie em- 
 ployed in prayer and meditation, making a solemn vow upon the 
 volume of Scripture to remain faithful to the gospel, should he have 
 to seal his confession with his blood. Luther s address to the 
 emperor has been preserved, and is a masterpiece of eloquence as 
 well as of courage. Confining his answer to the first point he said 
 that " nobodv could expect him to retract indiscriminately a 1 he had 
 written in tho.se books, since even his enemies admitted that they 
 contained much that was good and conformable to bcnpture. But i 
 have besides," he continued, " laid open the almost incredible corrup- 
 tions of popery and given utterance to complaints almost universa . 
 Bv retract in" what f have said on this score, should I not fortify rank 
 tvrannv and open a still wider door to enormous impieties V JSor can 
 1 recall what, in my controversial writings, I have expressed with too 
 L'reat harshness against the supporters of popery my opponents lest 1 
 should give them encouragement to oppress Christian people still 
 more. I can only sav with Christ, ' U I have spoken evil, bear 
 witnes-s of the evil' (John 18 : 2:5). I thank God I see how that the 
 eospel is in our days, as it was before, tlu; oc(;a.sion of doubt and dis- 
 cord This is the doctrine of the word of God—' I am not come to 
 send peace but a sword ' (-Matt. 10 : :U). Mny this new nngn n(»t 
 begin, and still less continue, under p(.Tnicious uuspices. liie 1 lia- 
 raohs of Egypt, the kings of Babylon and of Israel, never worked 
 more cITecluiillv for their own ruin than when they thought to 
 htrenglhen their power. I si..-ak tluis boldly, not becau.sc 1 IhuiU that 
 such great princes want my advice, but because 1 will tulhi my duty
 
 18 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 towrird Gcrman^^ as slie has a ri,2:ht to cxprct from lier childrpn." 
 The emperor, probably in order to eonfound (be poor moid<, wbo. 
 liaviiiiT been kepi standing so hm'j; in tbe midst, of sueii an assembly, 
 and in a siitTocatinii: heat, was almost exhausted in l)ody, ordered him 
 to repeat the discourse m Latin. Ilis friends told him he miglit ex- 
 (Misu himself, but he rallied boldly, and pronounced his speech in Latin 
 with the same composure and energy as at first ; and to the reiterated 
 (juesliou, whether he would retract'/ Luther replied, "I cannot sub- 
 mit my faith either to the pope or to councils, for it is clear that they 
 have often erred and contradicted themselves. I will retract noth- 
 ing, unless convicted by the very passages of the word of God which 
 I have quoted. " And then, looiuug up to the august assembly before 
 him, he concluded, saying, " Here I take my stand ; I cannot do 
 otherwise : so help me God. Amen !" The courage of Luther made 
 a deep impression even upon the emperor, who ex(;laimed, "For- 
 sooth, the monk speaks with intrepidity, and with a eoidident spirit." 
 The chancellor of the empire said, " Tbe emperor and the state will 
 see what steps to take against an obstinate heretic." All his friends 
 trembled at this undisguised declaration. Luther repeated, " So help 
 me God ! I can retract: nothing." Upon this he was dismissed, then 
 recalled, and again asked whether he would retract a part of what he 
 had written. " I have no other answer to make," was his reply. 
 The Italians and Spaniards were amazed. Luther was told the diet 
 would come to a decision the next day. When returning to his inu 
 he (iuieted the anxious multitude with a few words, who, seeing the 
 Spaniards and Italians of the emperor's household follow him with 
 imprecations and threats, exclaimed loudly, in the apprehension that 
 he was about to be conducted to prison. 
 
 The elector and other princes now saw it was their duty to protect 
 such a man, and sent their ministers to assure him of their support. 
 The next day the emperor declared, " He could not allow that a 
 single monk should disturb the peace of the Church, and he was re- 
 solved to let him depart, under condition of creating no trouble ; but 
 to proceed again.st his adherents as against heretics who are under ex- 
 counnunication, and interdict thciii by all means in his power ; and he 
 demanded of the estates of the empire to conduct themselves as faith- 
 ful C^hristians. " This address, the suggestion of the Italian and Span- 
 ish party, created great commotion. The most violent membiirs of 
 that party demanded of the emperor that Luther should be burned 
 and his a.shes thrown into the Khine, and it is now proved that, tow- 
 ard the end of Ids life, Charles reproa(;hed himself bitterly for nolt 
 having thus sacrificed his word for the good of the Church. But Iho 
 gr(,'al majority of the (Jerman parly, even Luther's personal enemies, 
 rejected such a i)ioi)ositiun with horror, as unworthy of the good 
 faith of Germans. Some said open'y, they liad a child, ini.sled by 
 foreigners, for an emperor. The emperor decided at last that three 
 days sliould be given to Luther to reconsider what he had suid. The
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 19 
 
 theologians began to try their skill upon him. " Give up the Bible 
 as the last appeal ; vnu allow all heresies have come from the Bible. 
 Luther reproached them for their unbelief, and added, " The pope 
 is not judge in the thini^s that belong to the Word of God ; every 
 Christian man must see and understand himself how he is to live and 
 to die " Two more days were granted, without producing any other 
 result'thau Luther's declaration", " I am ready to renounce the safe- 
 conduct, to deliver mv life and body into the hands of the emperor, 
 but the Word of God", never ! I am also ready to accept a council, 
 but one which shall judge only after the Scripture. " " ^V hat remedy 
 can you then name?" asked the venerable Archbishop of Treves. 
 " Only that indicated by Gamaliel," replied Luthor ; '• if this council 
 or this work be of men,' it will come to naugiit ; but if it be of (iod. 
 ye cannot overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even to tight against 
 Gi>d." (Acts 5 : 38, ;W.) .^ , . 
 
 Frederic the Wise knew well that Luther s life was no longer sate 
 anywhere at this moment. Charles pronounced an edict of condem- 
 nation couched in the severest terms. Luther was placed under the 
 ban of the empire. After twenty-one days his safe-conduct would 
 expire, and all persons be forbidden to feed or to give him shelter, 
 and enjoined to deliver him to the emperor or to place him m safe 
 keeping till the imperial orders should arrive ; all his adherents were 
 to be seized, and their soods contiscaled ; his books burned ; and the 
 authors of all other books and prints obnoxious to the pope and the 
 Church were to be taken and punished. Whoever should violate this 
 edict should incur the ban of the empire. 
 
 This Draconian edict had been passed by the majority ; the friends 
 of Luther, foreseeing the issue, had left Worms previously. Such 
 wa.s the condign punishment that befell the Germans for havmg 
 chosen as their emperor the most powerful foreign prince of Europe, 
 broii'dit up among the most bigoted of nations. Under these circum- 
 slanc^es Frederic did what he could. In the forest of Thuringia, not 
 far from Eisenach, Luther (who was not in the secret) was slopped 
 l)y armed knigJits, set upon a horse, and conduclcd to the fortified 
 castle altove Eisenacii— the Warlburg. Here the dress of a knight 
 was ready for him. He was desired to consider himself as a prisoner, 
 and to let his beard irrow. None of his friends, even at Wittembcrg, 
 knew what had become of him. He had di.sippeared ; the miijoritjr 
 believed he had l)e(-n kidnapped by his powerful enemies. Su(!h was 
 llie indignation of the people at this supposed treachery that the 
 ).rinces opposed to the Refonnation, and even the i)ope's agents, be- 
 gan to be alarmed, and took pains to convince the people that Lulhcr 
 had not met with illusiiL'e. I. other remained ten months at the 
 Warlburg ; and it was here liiat li<- began his gr<'atcst work, the Irans- 
 lalif)n of the liible from the original Helirew and (ireek text. Al- 
 thou^'h sudering much in healtii from the coiilinement, which ho 
 modilied latterly by excursion.s in the woods urouud the castle, ho
 
 20 MARTIN- LUTHER. 
 
 soon ftlso began to compose new works, and obtained the necessary 
 books through Melanchthon, to whom he in time made known that ho 
 Wiis safe. 
 
 It is a most astonishing fact, highly characteristic l)0lli of Lnthc?' 
 and of the German nation, that though for nearly four years the true 
 doctrine of tlie gospel had heen preached through Germany and the 
 Romish rites and ceremonies exhibited as abuses, yet not one single 
 word or portion of these ceremonies had heen chaugefl. Luther coa- 
 sclent iously believed, what may be called the latent conviction of hio 
 countrymen, that inward truth will necessarily correct outward errors, 
 and mould for itself tilting forms of expression. " The Wpirit of 
 (iod," he often said, "must first have regenerated minds, imbued 
 with true gospel doctrine ; then the new forms will result naturally 
 from that Spirit." But it was clearly an unnatural and highly dau- 
 gevous state of things, that the outward acts of worship should be 
 utterly at variance with the belief of the worshippers ; and Luther 
 saw that if he would not take the matter in hand others were certain 
 to do so ; the people themselves might proceed to precijiitate acts. 
 Luther felt this, and so strongly that he broke silence ; and in Sep- 
 tember pul)lished a declaration against monkish vows, iu the form of 
 theses, addressed to the bishops and deacons of Wittemberg. The 
 audacious attempt of the Cardinal-Archbishop of ]\Iayence, Albert of 
 Brandenburg, to renew at Halle the sale of indulgences, called fortli 
 Luther's philippic (1st November) AfjaUiKt the Netc Idol of llulle. 
 
 This attack frightened even the court of the elector of Saxony, who 
 was at that time rather of opinion that Luther could do nothing 
 better than to cause himself to be forgotten. " I cannot allow him 
 to attack my brother elector and to disturb the ])ublic peace." 
 Luther's greatness of soul had elevated the minds of the princes for 
 the moment ; they had .saved his life, but they wished now to live in 
 peace, such as they had before. Luther was indignant. " Do they 
 think I suffered a defeat at Worms ? It was a brilliant victory : so 
 manv against me, and not one to gainsay the truth." To Spalalin, 
 the chaplain and adviser of the elector, he thus writes : " How, the 
 elector will not allow me to write ! and I, for my part, will not allow 
 him to disallow my writing. I will rather destroy you and the prince 
 and every creature ! Having resisted the pope, should I not resist his 
 agents ?" At the request of Melanchthon, he laid aside the treatise he 
 had prenared, but wrote to the Cardinal-Archbishop : " The God who 
 rai.sed such a tire out of the spark kindled by the words of a poor 
 hnendicant monk lives still ; doubt it not. He will resist a c;ardinal 
 of Maycnce, even though supported by four emperors ; for above all 
 lie lives to lay low the" high cfdiir anil humble the proiul Pharaolis. 
 Put down the idol within a fortnight or I shall attack you publicly.' 
 
 The cardinal was frightened by the sternness of the man of God, 
 and had the meanness to play the hypocrite. He thanked Lutlier by 
 letter for his " Christian and bix)therly reproof," promisiug, " with
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 21 
 
 the belp of God, to live lieaceforth as a pious bishop and Christian 
 prince " Luther, however, could not credit the sincerity of this dec- 
 laialion: "This man, scarcely capable to rule over a small ptuish, 
 will stand in the wav of salvation as Ion? as he docs not throw otl the 
 mask of a cardinal and the pomp of a bishop." 
 
 Tlie fact was the cardinal elector wanted money. He liatl haa to 
 pay 26 OiJO ducats to R(jme for his pallium, and half of that sum he 
 had char"-ed upon the venders of indulgences in his ecclesiastical prov- 
 ince ; he himself having to spend all his princely income on his court 
 
 Duriu" these nearly ten months of seclusion Luther s healtli 
 suffered'greatly, and subjected him to visions and hallucinations, m 
 which he believed he saw the devil in form. His absence from lu3 
 conffrecmtion his students, and his friends and books at U ittemberg. 
 weighed heaviiy upon him. Still he held out patiently till events oc- 
 curred which called upon the Ilofonner no longer to absent himselt. 
 He reappeared, without previous notice, among his friends at VVit- 
 tember"- whom he found in great commotion. Thirteen monks ot 
 Luther^;' own convent had left it on the ground of religious convic- 
 tion with the approbation of Melanchthon, who also countenanced 
 the f'eneral demand for the abrogation of the mass. " N\ hat we are 
 to celebrate," said he, "in tlie communion, is a sign of the grace 
 given U3 through Christ, but differing from symbols invented by man 
 Ijy its im\-ard power of rendeiing the lieart certain of the will ot 
 God." This is the .simplest and truest form of Luther's own view 
 of the Lord's Supper, when he looked on it not scholasticatly. 1 here 
 is a realitv in Christ's sacrifice for us ; indeed, it is the reality of our 
 destiny tliat we remember it, as he has bidden his disciples to do : it 
 has therefore naturally an inward force, not an imaginary effect, like 
 lookin*'- on a cross and similar outward forms. What calamities 
 wouldlhe world have been spared if this view, in its profound sim- 
 plicity and deplli, had not been dressed up in formularies partaking 
 of that very scholasticism whicii the Reformation was to abolish ! 
 Th<' prior of the convent discontinued from that time low masses. 
 It was high time, indeed, that this central point of CMiristian \yorship 
 should Ije taken in hand by tiie Keforniers ; for at Zwickau, lu Sax- 
 onv an enthusiast named Stork arose, wlio pretended to have a 
 cofn'missioD from the arcliaiigel Gabritd to reform and govern tlie 
 Church and the worlfi, and wiio was supported in tiiis by a fanatic 
 named Tiiomas Munzer. When they appeared at Witt.emberg an- 
 nouuciu"- liieir visions, even .Melanciilhon was slarlled, ami esi)e(aally 
 hesitated as to tlie (juestion of picdo-baplism. Carlstadt, Luther s 
 disciple ami friend, advocated the most revolutionary changes. He 
 broke down liie images, preached against learning and study, and 
 exhorted his hearers to go home and gain their bread i)y digging tlie 
 ground. Luther did not hesitate a moment to condemn the whole 
 movement as a delusion for men wlio gloried in tlieir own wisdom, 
 which could only cause a triumph to the enemies of relurm. At au
 
 22 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 jntorview wliirh he liail with ^riinzer and Horst, they said they could 
 l^rovc to Iiim that thoy had the Spirit ; for tlicy wouhi (ell him what 
 now passed iu his niitid. Luther ehalleiiged them to the proof. 
 ■■ You tliiiik iu your owu heart that we are right." Luther ex- 
 ^lai^led. " Get thee behind uie, Satan," and dismis-sed thorn. 
 "They are quite right," he said to his friends afterward; "that 
 thought crossed ray mind as to some of their assertions. A spirit 
 evidently was in them, i)ut whiit could it be but t!ie evil one?" Here 
 we see the difference between Luther and Melanchlhon. Luther was 
 not startled from his solid judgment as Melauchthon had been by this 
 movement ; and JMelancthon in after years was a more violent an- 
 tagonist of anabaptism than Luther. 
 
 It was on the 3d March, 1522, that Luther left forever his asylum 
 and phmged into the midst of struggles very dilferent iu their char- 
 acter from those which he had hitherto so victoriously overcome. 
 Before arriving at \Vitteml)erg lie wrote a remarkable 'letter to the 
 elector : " You wish to know what to do in the present troublesome 
 circumstances. Do nothing. As for myself, let the command of the 
 emperor be executed iu town and country. Do not resist if they 
 come to seize and kill me ; only let the doors remain open for the 
 preaching of the word of God." One of the editors of Luther's 
 w^orks observes on the margin, " This is a marvellous writing of the 
 third and last Elijah." The elector was touched by Luther's mag- 
 nanimity. " 1 will take up his defence at the diet ; ou/y let him ex- 
 plain his reasons for liaviug returned to Wittemberg and say he did 
 so without my orders." Luther complied, adding, " I can Ijear your 
 Highness' disfavor. I have done my duty toward those whom Gotl 
 has intrusted to me." And indeed he made it his first duty to preach 
 almost daily the gospel of peace to his lioek. "No violence," he 
 exclaimed, " against the superstitious or uubelieving. Let him who 
 believes draw near, and let him who does not believe stand aloof. 
 Nobody is to be constrained ; liberty is essential to faith and all that 
 belongs to it. . . , Y'ou have acted in faith," he said, 'but do 
 not forget charity, and the wisdom which mothers show in the care 
 of their children. Let the reform of the mass be undertaken with 
 earnest prayer. The power of the word is irresistible : the idols of 
 Athens fell not by force, but before the mighty words of the apostle." 
 This evangelical meekness of the man who had braved pope and 
 emperor, and knew not fear, acted with divine 2>owL'r uijon all minds. 
 The agitation and sedition disappeared. The pretended propliets 
 tlispersed, or were silenced in public debate. 
 
 On the 21st September, l.")22, the translation of the New Testament 
 appeared in two volumes folio, which sold at about a ducat and a half. 
 The translation of tlie Old Testament was commenced in the same 
 year. Thousands of copies were read with indescribable delight by 
 the people, who had now access to the words of Him whom Luther 
 had preached to them as the author of our salvation in tlieir mother
 
 AIARTIX LUTHER. 23 
 
 tnugue, in a purity and clearness unknown before, and never sur- 
 passed since. By choosing the i'rauconian dialect, in use in the im- 
 perial chancery, Luther made himself intelligible both to those whose 
 vernacular dialect was High German orLow'"German. Luther trans- 
 lated faithfully but vernacularly, with a native grace which up to 
 this day makes his Bible the standard of the German language. It is 
 Luther's genius applied to the Bible which has preserved the only 
 unity, which is, in our days, remaining to the German nation — that 
 of language, literature, and (bought. There is no similar instance 
 in the known history of the world of a single man achieving such a 
 work. His prophetic mind foresaw that the Scripture would per- 
 vade the living languages and tongues all over the earth— a process 
 going on still with more activity than ever. 
 
 Meanwhile the vanity and presumption of Henry .VIII. induced 
 him to publish a book agamst Luther, in which he heaped upon 
 Luther every opprobrious epithet ; even called in question his honesty 
 and sincerity, and declared him worthy to he burned. His' Defence 
 of the Seven Sacniments merely recapitulates the old scholastic tradition 
 without the slightest understanding of the Bible or of the evangelical 
 doctrine. Henry's ambassador declared to the pope, in presentin<^ 
 the book, that the king was now ready to use the sword against 
 Luther's adherents, after having refuted the errors of Luther himself. 
 Luther, after iiaving read the book, declared, contrary to the desire 
 of tlie elector and of his other friends, that he must answer it. 
 " Look," he writes, " what weapons are used against me : tire and 
 the fury of those stupid Thomists. Let them burn me : alive I shall 
 be the enemy of popery ; burned I shall belts ruin. Everywhere thev 
 will find me iu their way, like a bear or a lion. " In the answer itself 
 he pays the king in his own coin. After having taken the crown 
 from liis head and beaten him like any other controversial writer, he 
 exclaims. " I cry Gospel ! Gospel ! Christ ! Christ ! and they cease 
 not to answer, Usages, usages ! ordinances, ordinances ! fathers, 
 fathers ! The apostle St. Paul annihilates with a tliuuderKtorm from 
 heaven all these fooleries of Henry." The king wrote to the elector 
 and the dukes of Sa.xony, e.xhorling them to extirpate this heresy, 
 as being the revival of that of Wyclilfe. Their answer referred Henry 
 to the future council. Tlie cause of the Reformation sulfered nothing 
 from Henry's attacks and the invectives of his courtiers. The move- 
 ment against the .sacerdotal and monkish vows extended througli the 
 whole of Germany, affecting e(iually priests and laymen. Zealous 
 preachers of the gospel rose froiji all ranks. Noble and i)ious women 
 came forward to declare their faith. Luther's activity was unparal- 
 lelitd. In ir,2i he published one hundied and thirty treatises, and 
 eighty-liiref" in the following year. 
 
 The whole national literature of Germany became Protestant ; and 
 it is certainly a remarkaiile fact that, in spite of the Keformalion 
 having biuco lost almost one half of Germany, its literature, as well
 
 24 MARTIN LUTUEIl. 
 
 as Us lustorical learning -nd philolp^ sUU remair^Prot^ 
 Iho free oilies. Avhieh were the cradle ot the Ji»«J !i"S as am.ii as m uk 
 Ivr. h of he country, declared in favor of the Reformation In 
 Saxoi V here^^^^^ as Luther had proposed and demanded, perfec. 
 Uber^y of conscience ; the Romish bishops had their preachers a 
 
 "^ lluhe?s heS[™^andcd in the consciousness of the Reformer. 
 Jce 'i such as he liad never hoped to see. But he shrunk from t » 
 K ih'it t is work shoulrl be regarded as his. and that he sliouh 
 
 I' e the l.onor of My true clisciples," he said. " do not behev. 
 
 n Lu 1 er but in Josus Chdst ; I myself care "ot}'"S about Luther 
 Ain.Vt io 1 in 711P whetiier he be a samt or a miscreant / It is nor, 
 Jim I ;reacl^" t ChS'^'lf the devil can let him have Christ ; but 
 
 '' ^S^ StS:ais^ar(S Adrian the Flemish tutor of 
 M^Y.% successor, a single-minded profe^or^ ^ouM ^^^^ ^ 
 Varus tells us) at first conceive how people could hnd a ithcul y in 
 the matter of indulgences, which he had explained so Avell in his lec- 
 u e^T^x'cSlal remarked to him ^I'^jf Uie vmbelu^mg peop c 
 had no faith in indulgences ,^-\>al.soevcT, and that soit^^^^^^^^^ 
 believed in Christ thought that exactly foi , ^^''^^^^J^^^.V^'^f gleVb' 
 ,.. ., t 11. Mil "The CMiurch must reform, said lie, out sitp uy 
 TteD •• '' Yes "sdd Luther, " putting some centuries between every 
 sen •' Nobody wanted hi.; reforms^ess than the Romans; and 
 Addan exchdmSl at last, " How unfortunate is the position of the 
 
 most zealous preache s ;^\ "^^^^j^-^^^ '^^^^^^ ^f the free city de- 
 SrulVr^^'eUTlJf ; to is..ea^^^^^ 
 
 irefSo "wLonf V;X«a V^nli "r^Mirand ..crn^^^^
 
 MARTIX LUTHER. 25 
 
 and civil war. and the princes ■will be in danger of losing their do- 
 minions. Tliey wish to destroy me, but I wish to save them. Christ 
 lives and reigns ; and I shall live and reign with him." Indeed, a 
 bloody persecution began in many parts of Germany and in the 
 Netherlands. Four Augustinian monks of Antwerp were the first 
 mart^TS ; they were burned on the 1st July, 152o. Their blood called 
 fortli a rich harvest of new witnesses in Brussels and elsewhere. 
 < When the successor of Adrian VI., Clement VII. (Julius de Me- 
 idici), sent in 1534 the celebrated legate Campeggi to Nuremberg, he 
 intended, according to usage, on passing through Augsburg, to give 
 the people the papal benediction ; but finding that the ceremony 
 called forth public derision, the legate entered Nuremberg as much 
 incognito as Luther had entered Worms two years before. The Ger- 
 man princes asked what had become of the one hundred and one 
 grievances of the German nation, to which Rome never had deigned 
 to return an answer. Campeggi declared the document to have been 
 considered at Rome merely as a private pamphlet ; on which th(! 
 diet, in great indignation, insisted upon the necessity of a universal 
 council, and proceeded to annul the edict of Worms ; declaring, how- 
 ever, in their communication to the pope, that " it should be con- 
 formed to as much as possible ;" which, with respect to mau}^ princes 
 and cities, meant iioi at all. Finally it was resolved that a diet, to 
 be held at Spires in November, was to decide on religious differences. 
 Many states which had hitherto kept aloof — tlie landgrave of Bran- 
 denburg (not the elector, a strong papist) at the liead — declared im- 
 mediately for the reform, and against the seven sacraments, the abuses 
 of the mass, tlie worship of saints, and supremacy of the pope. " That 
 is a good move," said Luther. " Frederic must lose his electoral hat," 
 cried the Roman agent, " and France and England must interfere." 
 A Catholic league was formed, by Bavarian and other bishops, at 
 Katisbon, under Campeggi's direction and jiresidenc}'. But tlic 
 princes were still afraid oi" the universally spreading national move- 
 ment. Charles threw his power into the balance and declared that 
 not tiie German nation but the emperor alone had a riirht to de- 
 mand a council, and the pope alone had the riirht to grant it. IHa 
 designated .successor, his brother Ferdinand, began the l)luody work 
 of persecution in the hereditary states of Austria immediately after 
 the congress of the league at Ratisbon. At Passau in Bavaria, ahd 
 at iiuda in Hungary, the fagots were lighted. The dukes of Bavaria 
 followed the .same impulse. 
 
 Meanwhile l)egan at Wittemberg the unhappy dispute about the 
 mode in which the consecrallou affected the elenjents in the celebra- 
 tion of the cf)Mnniinloii ciijoiii'-d hy Christ. liUther as yet had not 
 lakeu up that doctrinal scholastic opinion which afterward pi\)- 
 duced the fatal .schisiu. In opposing ( 'arlstadt's view, he cdmhated 
 not so muf;h the hiU'.r Swiss exposition iis (Jarlstadt's false interpreta- 
 tiou of the words, " This is my body," which was, that Christ, ia
 
 o(5 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 nrononncins^ them, had pointed to his own body, which soon would 
 die lie admitted soon aftcrwiird, in rcfcreuce to that exposition 
 iu iv'O tint he was very near thinkiiiir the Swiss interpretation the 
 reasonable 'view of the case, but that he had rejected the notion as a 
 •' temination," the words of the text sceinins to him not to allow of 
 
 that interpretation. , i *.,<•, i 
 
 But in tiie same manner as this dispute was a prelude to the tatal 
 s'lcrnmcntal disputes with Zwinole and Calvin, Luther's defeat in the 
 attempt to detach the congregation of a small lown(Orlamunde, near 
 Jena) from Carlstadt, who introduced iconoclastic and violent pro- 
 ccedin<-s proved an index of the critical state of public feeling. 
 Luther" felt the urgent necessity of applying the principles of the 
 frosnel to Christian worship and to the constitutions of the C luirch. 
 But on the first point he wished changes to be introduced gradually, 
 and rather as a purification of the existing forms than by an ubroga- 
 tiou While as to the second, ho felt that it was not his immediate 
 vocation, and he thought he must leave the work to the princes, and 
 content himself with pieaching to them the leading evangelical prin- 
 ciples This, of course, was not the view of the real friends ot the 
 lieformatiou, nor was it consistent with Luther's usual profound 
 sagacity but must be regarded as a remnant of the effect produced 
 bv^his monkish scholastic education brought into accordance with 
 Chri'^tiauity. His more practical and perhaps impatient friends 
 Avanted to see the pagan condition of the world, with its social rela- 
 tions changed into a Christian state of things, as an earnest and 
 pledge of the reality of the gospel preaching, btdl, tor some time 
 longer Lutiier and the popular feeling marched peaceably together 
 and he remained the national as well as the theologica leader. 1 
 was at this time that he directed a powerful address to the muncipal 
 councils of the German towns, in order to exhort them to establish 
 everywhere Christian schools, as well elementary as learned. Uli, 
 my dear Germans," he exclaims, " the Divine ^\ord is now in abun- 
 dance offered to you. God knocks at your door ; open it to him ! 
 For'-et not the poor youth. Look how the ancient Jewish, tTreek 
 and'lloman world lost tlie Word of God, and perished. 1 he sirenglh 
 of a town does not consist in its towers and buildings, but in count- 
 inf^ a great number of learned, serious, honest, well-educatejl cili/ens. 
 Do nSt fancy Hebrew and Greek to be unnecessary.^ Ihese lau- 
 rua<res are the sheath which covers the sword of the bpirit. I he igno- 
 nuic^e of the ori-inal Scriptures was an impediment to the progiess ot 
 the Waldenses, Vhose doctrine is perfectly pure. How couk I have 
 combated and overthrown pope and sophists even having Ihe I'uc 
 faith if I had not po.ssessed the languages V ^ ou must found libia- 
 ries for learned books-not only the fathers, but also the pa-an 
 writers the fine arts, law, history, medicine, must lie represented la 
 such collections." These expressions prove thai from the very be- 
 ginnincr and iu the very person of Luther, the Keformalioa was con-
 
 MAKTIN LUTHER. 27 
 
 nected with scholarship — with philology ia its most extended sense, 
 tnd equally with the highest aspirations of the fine arts. 
 
 Here we must conclude tliis lirst glorious period of Luther's life, 
 which, taken altogether, has no parallel since tlie days of the apostle 
 Paul. But the problem to be solved was not to be solved by Luther 
 and by Germany ; the progressive, vital element of reformation passed 
 from G-ermany to Switzerland, and through Switzerland to France, 
 Holland, England and Scotland. Before he descended into the grave 
 and Germany into thraldom, Luther saved (as much as was in him) bis 
 country and the world, by maintaining the fundamental principles of 
 the Reformation against Melanchthon's pusillanimity ; but three Prot- 
 estant princes and the free cities were the leaders ; the confession was 
 the work of ^lelanchthon, but the deed of the laity of the nation. The 
 German Reformation was made by a scholastically trained monk, 
 seconded by professors ; the Swiss Reformation was the work of a 
 free citizen, an lionest Christian, trained by the classics of antiquity 
 and nursed in true hard-won civil liberty. That was the providen- 
 tial saving of the world. Luther's work was continued, preserved, 
 advanced by the work of the Swiss and French Reformers. The 
 monk and the Semitic element began ; the citizens and tlie Japhetic 
 element finished. If the one destroyed .Judaism, the other converted 
 paganism, then mo.st powerful, both as idolatry and as irreligious 
 learning. But as long as Luther lived he did not lose his supremacy, 
 and he deserved to keep it. His mind was universal, and therefore 
 catholic in the proper sense of the wurd. 
 
 Third 'PEmov.— Luther's Life from 1525 to 154G ; or, the Period 
 of Stagnation. 
 
 The first year after Luther's return to Wittemberg was a glorious 
 period : tlie true halc3'on days of the Refcjrm and of Luther's per- 
 sonal history. In the second period of his life tiie epic was changed 
 into tragedy ; for the Anabaptist tumult arose, and the war of the 
 peasants broke out in (lie Black Forest, in July. 1524. 
 
 The Anabaptist movement of Thomas Munzer was the movement of 
 C'arlstadt nii.ved up with wild enthusiasm, ignorance, rebellion, and im- 
 posture. Luther's doctrioal opposition to it was constant and con- 
 sistent ; but it would have been more effectual if Luther had not 
 involved himself as a .schoolman in an indissoluble difliculty. He 
 was safe in defending p;e.lo baptism ; ])ut that could be done with 
 out iuscribing to it the power of individual regeneration ; ffn opinion 
 from which the greatest part of (,'hristendom has most decisively 
 declared its dissent all over the globe. He was equally justified iu 
 maiiilainiiig the word of the gospel : " Whoever believes iiiul is bap- 
 tized sliall br- saved ;" l»ut he ought not to liav(! forgotten that tliis is 
 ii ju.Maposition of two things of whieJi the one can only l)c of value 
 a.s ii (;ousequ{!Uce of the irst. This brings the question back to a «»ol^
 
 28 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 cmn profession and vow before tlie Christian congregation of h in 
 wlio having been instnicted in (Christ's saving faith finds himself 
 ready and Voniptlled to nialcc that solemn promise, whieli Ht. Peter 
 calls (1 Teller ;] : 21) "the promlsu (or vow) of a good con- 
 science " iMunzer and all the other so-called apostles of the Spirit 
 attacked Lvither as a mere worklly man who had sold himsidf to the 
 princes. They abolished chanting and all ceremonies, and com- 
 initted acts of violence against churches and convents. Luther said 
 to jNIunzer, " The spirit who moves thee must be an evil one, ten- it 
 jrincs forth nothing but pillage of convents and churches ; the 
 greatest robbers on the earth could do no more." While combating 
 them by preaching and writing, he advised, however, the elector to 
 let them preach freely. " The Word of God itself must come tor- 
 ward and contend with them. If their spirit is the true one, Munzer 
 ■will fear our constraint ; if ours is the true one, he will not tear then- 
 violence Let the spirits meet with all might, and tight each other. 
 Perhaps some will be seduced ; well, there is no batt^le without 
 wounds ; but he that fights faithfully will be crowned. But if they 
 have recourse to the sword, then defend your own subjects, and or- 
 der the Anabaptists to leave the country." , , .. • 
 
 It was indeed a wonderful faith that produced such toleration in 
 these times, and it had a wonderful result— the elector's states re- 
 mained undisturbed. Munzer fled into Switzerland. 
 
 It was otherwise with the war of the peasants. We have already 
 observed that the Reformation did not originate the rebellion of the 
 peasants, but found it pn-pared. The first coalitions ol the peasants 
 a-'ainst the intolerable rapacity and ciuelty of the feudal aristocracy 
 had be^nm before the close of the fifteenth century ; then they broke 
 out along the upper Rhine, in Alsace, and tlie palatinate, in i.m, 
 consequently eighteen years before the beginning of Luther s Ketor- 
 matiou No doubt Luther's preaching, in the spirit of the gospel, 
 against all the revolting injustice and oppression of the conscience 
 of Christian men had kept back that movement for a lime ; but 
 ]VIunzer carried the spirit of rebellion and fanaticism among the peas- 
 ants and part of the citizens of the countiies of the Upper Khme. 
 The fact was, that all the oppressed inclined toward Luther and the 
 oppressors, most of whom were the sovereigns, bishops, and abbots, 
 toward the pope. The struggle which now began was theretore 
 between the reforming and the papist party, and it was easily to bo 
 foreseen that Luther would soon be dragged into it Indeed tiic 
 revolutiomiry movement was already, in Jai.uary, 152o, extending 
 from the Black Forest to Tiiurinaia and Saxony, the very heart or 
 Luther's sphere of action. The peasants had proclaimed twelve arti- 
 cles of half iiiblical half political character. In the introduction to 
 these articles they protest against the imputation of wanting any- 
 thing but the gospel applied to the social body. They declare IJ-i'' 
 desire to uphold its injunctions— peace, patience, and union. Ihev.
 
 MARTIX LUTHER. 29 
 
 (s no doubt that many of them were sincere in their professions. At 
 all events, neither the gospel nor its true preachers and followers 
 were the revolutiouisls, but the wild, seltish, passiouate enthusiasts 
 among them and their leaders. Like tlie Puritans in the following 
 century, the peasants say they raise their voice to God who saved the 
 people of Israel ; and they believe that God can save them as well 
 from their powerful oppressors as he did the Israelites from the hand 
 of Pharaoh. 
 
 As to what they demaiuled in their twelve articles, all impartial 
 historians declare thai, on the whole, their demands were just ; and all 
 of them are now the law of Germany. As to the influence of the Ref- 
 ormation, the very words of Scripture, brought forward this time by 
 the peasants, prove clearly that Luther's preaching of the gospel and 
 of tiTith had not acted upon the movement as an incentive but as a 
 corrective. It was Luther himself who now, in the critical moment, 
 brought the Word of God to speak out against the insurrection, as 
 being in itself an act of unchristian self-defence, although he ac- 
 knowledged their case to be ver}^ hard, and their cause, on the whole, 
 u just one. Luther's position was grand ; he spoke as the arbiter be- 
 tween lord and peasant ; in the name of Christ exhorting both parties 
 to peace, and as a good citizen and patriot giving them advice equal- 
 ly practical and Christian. He first speaks thus in substance to the 
 lords : "I might now make common cause with the peasants 
 against you, who impute this insurrection to the gospel and to m)"- 
 teaching ; whereas I have never ceased to enjoin obedience to au- 
 thority, even to one so tyrannical and intolerable as yours. But I 
 will not envenom the wound ; therefore, my lords, whether friendly 
 or hostile to me, do not despise either the advice of a poor man, oV 
 this sedition ; not that you ought to fear the insurgents, but fear God 
 the Lord, who is incensed against you. He may punish you and 
 turn every stone into a peasant, and then neither your cuirasses nor 
 your strength would save you. Put then bounds to your exactions — 
 pauso in your hard tyranny, consider them as intoxicated, <uad treat 
 them with kindness, that God may not kindle a tire throughout Ger- 
 many wliicU none will be aljle to extinguish. What y(ni may per- 
 haps lose will be made good to you a hundredfold by peace. Some 
 of the twelve articles of the peasants are so e(iuiial)l(; that they dis- 
 honor you before God and the world ; they cover the princes with 
 shame, as the lOiJth Psalm saj's. I should have yet graver things to 
 tell you respecting the government of Germany, and I have ad- 
 dressed ^ou in this cau.se in my hook to the German nobility. But 
 you have considered my words as wind, and therefore all these de- 
 mands come now upon you. You nutst not refuse their demand as 
 to dioo.sing i)asto.'s who preach to them the gospel ; the government 
 Jias only to see tha' insurrection and rebellion be not preached ; but 
 there must l)e perfec*. liberty to preach the true gospel as well as tho 
 false. The remaining,- articles, which regard the social state of tho
 
 30 MAUTIK LUTHER. 
 
 peasant, aro equally just. CJovernmcnt is not established for lis owa 
 interest, nor to niiik(; the peojile subservient to caprice anil evil pas- 
 sions, hut for the interest of tlie ])eo[ile. Your exactions are intoler- 
 able ; you lake away from the peasiint llie fruit of liis labor, in order 
 to spend his money upon your liuery and luxury. !So much for 
 you. 
 
 " Now, as regards you, my dear friends, the peasants. You want 
 the free preaehiui;; of the tiospel to be secured to you. God will as- 
 stet your just cause if yon follow up your work with conscience and 
 justice. In that case you are suye to ti iumph in the end. Those of 
 you who may fall in the struggle will be saved. But if you act 
 otherwise you are lost, soul and body, even if you have success, and 
 defeat the princes and lords. Do not believe the false prophets who 
 have come among you, even if they invoke the holy name of the gos- 
 pel. They will call me a hypocrite, but I do not mind that. I wish 
 to save the pious and honest men among you. I fear God and none 
 else. Do you fear him also, and use not his name in vain, that he 
 may not punish you. Does not the Word of God say, ' He who 
 takes uu the sword shall perish l)y the sword ; ' and ' Let every soul be 
 subject" to the higher powers'? You must not take justice into 
 your own hands ; that is also the prescription of the natural law. 
 Do you not see that you put yourself in the wrong by rebellion V The 
 government takes away part of what is yours, but you take away all 
 in destroying principle. Fix your eye on Clirist at Gelhsemane re- 
 buking St. Peter for using the sword, although iq|jciefence of his Mas- 
 ter, and on Christ on the cross praying for his persecutors. And haa 
 not his kingdom triumphed ? Why have pope and emperor not been 
 able to put me down V Why has the gospel spread the more the 
 greater the effort they made to hinder and destroy it ? Because I 
 Lave never had recourse to force, but preached obedience even tow- 
 ard those who persecuted me, depending exclusively on God. But 
 •whatever you do, do not try to cover your enterprise by the cloak of 
 the gospel and the name of Christ. If war there must be, it will be 
 a w^ar of pagans, for Christians use other weapons; their general 
 suffered the cross, and their triumph is humility : that is their chiv- 
 alry. Pray, my dear friends, stop and consider before you proceed 
 further. Your quotations from tiie Bible do not prove your case." 
 
 After having thus spoken out boldly and fearlessly to each party, Lu- 
 ther concludes with a tcniching expostulation to both. The substance 
 of his address is in these words : " You see you are both in I he wrong, 
 and iire drawing the divine punishments upon yo\i and upon your 
 common country, Germany. ]\Iy advice would be that arbitrators 
 sliould be chosen, some from the nobility and some from the towns. 
 You both have to give up something ; let the matter be settled equi- 
 tal)lv bv human law." 
 
 This'certainly was the voice of the true prophet of the age, if ever 
 there was any. It was not heard. The lords showed little dispo-
 
 MARTIX LUTHER. 31 
 
 sition toward concessions, and what they did offer came too late, 
 when the blood}' struggle had already begun. The peasants, excited 
 by Munzer, exceeded, on their side, all bounds, and Luther I'elt him- 
 self obliged, when the stream of rebellion and destruction rolled on 
 to Thuriugia and Saxony, to speak out most strongly against them. 
 The princes leagued together (for the empire, of course, did nothing, 
 Charles haviug full employment in Spain), and the peasants were 
 routed everywhere. Fifty thousand of their party were slain or 
 butchered by wholesale executions. Among this number there were 
 many of the quietest and most moderate people made victims in the 
 general slaughter, because they were known or suspected to be friends 
 of the Reformation and of Luther, which indeed all the citizens and 
 peasants of Germany were at that time. 
 
 None felt more deeply' this misery and what it involved in its 
 effects on the cause of the gospel in Germany ; and he never recov- 
 ered the shock. He thus unburdens his soul at the close of this fatal 
 year, which crushed for centuries the rights and hopes of the peas- 
 ants and laborers, and weakened the towns and cities, the seats of all 
 that was best in the national lire : " The spirit of these tyrants is pow- 
 erless, cowardi}', estranged from ever}'' honest thought. They de- 
 serve to be the slaves of the people. But by the grace of Christ I am 
 sufficiently revenged by the contempt I have for them, and for Satan 
 their god." And in the next year he said, "I fear Germany is 
 lost ; it cannot be otherwise, for they will employ nothing but the 
 sword." 
 
 In all this Luther stands higher than ever, but as a sufferer. He 
 sees the work in Germany is lost for this time. I{e submits, and is 
 supported l)y his faith. So he is consoled when he sees how Ferdi. 
 nand of Austria and the Duke of Bavaria imprison and slaughter 
 Christians on account of the gospel, and that not only the pope and 
 the einiieror are leagued together against the Reformation, but also 
 the king of France, Itesides the king of England. All the powers of 
 the world aie against him ; (Germany is doonjcd to perish, but the 
 word and I he work of God cianiol perish. Even the sad results of a 
 general vi^iinlion of tin; churches which he umiertook tliroughout 
 the slates of tlie elector did not shake his faith, lie sees how igno- 
 rant and savage all these wars and revolts have rendered even the 
 Priitestaut congregations ; i)ut he .says the Spirit of God will not 
 forsake them. The eh.-ctor Frederic, Luther's timid biii hmiest sup- 
 p.M-ler, liad descendc;! into the linnb on the nth May, 1025, conle.ss- 
 ing on his death-bed his linn belief in Christ as his only Saviour. 
 His successor, .Joim, known by the well-deserved nann;, .John the 
 Constimt, followed in his foMtyteps, and was a firm friend to Luther. 
 
 Rut the Koinisli league al.so gained friends in the north of Ger- 
 many. Duke 'George of Saxony had. in July of this year, concluded 
 at Dessau an alliance .igainst the Reformation with Albert of l>ran- 
 denburir, Archbishop of .Mainz and Magdeburg, anil with the dukca
 
 S'Z MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 of Rrnnp.wiek, ami proved himself in earnest liy ransinc: two citizens 
 (if i.eipziir to l)e belieiuled for liavin.ij,- tiic writings of Ijiither in tlieir 
 houses. At the sunic time ('liurles docliired from Spain liis inten- 
 tion to hold a diet at Angslung, evidently in order to crush the Kef- 
 ormatioD by means of the Catholic league acting in the name of the 
 empire. His viclory at Pavia made him more than ever the master 
 of (lermany. Finally, the remains of the paity of Munzer declared 
 they would take the life of Luther as a traitor. 
 
 ll was under such auspices that Luther decided at last (o take a 
 wife, as he had long advised his friends among the priests and monks 
 to do. They had often reminded him of his profession, and of (he 
 duty of himself setting an example to prove liis sincerity. His 
 father himself urged him continually to marry. All around him 
 was now in a stationary if not a retrograde state. The University of 
 Wittemberg had suffered much during the late troubles, and it was 
 generally believed that the new elector did not mean to support it. 
 Luther's warm and loving heart opened the more readily to the con- 
 templation of matrimonial union with Calhcrina von liora, a lady 
 twenty-four years of age, of a noble Saxon family, in 1523, who had 
 left her convent, together with eight other sisters, iu order to worship 
 Christ without the oppression of endless ceremonies, which gave 
 neither light to the mind nor peace to the soul. Since that time they 
 had lived^logethcr in utter retirement, forming a free Christian com- 
 munity. Pious citizens at Torgau were their protectors, and by them 
 they were presented to Luther in the convent of the Auguslinians. 
 Soon followed, as we have seen, the great regenerative movement of 
 the Christian worship ; and Luther "appeared, on the 9th October, 
 1524, before the congregation in the simple habit of a secular priest. 
 Luther soon remained alone in the convent ; all the monks had left 
 it. At the end of the year he sent the key to the elector, who, how- 
 ever, desired him to continue to inhabit it. In the mean time, Luther 
 had observed and witnessed the Christian faith and life of Catheriua 
 von Bora, and on the 11th June he married her, in the presence of 
 Lucas Cranach, the celebrated painter, and of another friend, as wit- 
 nesses. Catherina von Bora had no dowry, and Luther lived on his 
 appoii]tment as professor ; he would never take money for any of his 
 books, but only some copies for presents. His marriage was a happy 
 cue. and was blessed with six children. Luther was a tender hus- 
 band and the most loving of fathers. 
 
 Tiie princes who were friendly to the Keformation gradually 
 gained more courage ; the elector .John of Saxony established a prin- 
 ciple in his stales that all rites should l)e aljrogated which were con- 
 trary to the Scriptures, and that the mris.ses for the dead I)e abolished 
 at once. The young landgrave, Pliilippe of Hesse, gained over t lie 
 son of the furious Duke George to the cause of the Reformation. 
 Albert, Duke of Prussia, had established it at Konigsberg, as hered 
 itury duke, abolishing the vows of the Order, whose master he had
 
 ^ MARTIN LUTHER. 33 
 
 been, saying, " There is only one Order, and that is Christendom." 
 At the request of the pope, Charles placed Albert under interdict 
 as an apostate monk. The evangelical princes t'ouad in all these cir- 
 cumstances a still stronger motive to act at Augsburg as allies in the 
 cause of the evangelical party ; and when the diet opened in Decem- 
 ber, 152.J, they spoke out boldly . "It is violence wliich brought on 
 the war of the peasants. If you will by violence tear the truth of God 
 out of the hearts of those who believe, you will draw greater dangers 
 and evils upon you." The Romanist party was startled. "The 
 cause of the holy faith" was adjourned to the next diet at Spires. 
 The landgrave and the elector made a formal alliance in February, 
 1526, at Torgau. 
 
 Luther, being consulted as to his opinion, felt helpless. " You have 
 no faith ; you put not your trust in God ; leave all to him." The 
 landgrave, the real head of the evangelical alliance, perceived that 
 Luther's advice was not practical — that Luther forsook the duty of 
 self-defence and the obligation to do one's duty according to the dic- 
 tates of reasou, in religious matters as well as iu other political ques- 
 tions. But the alliance foimd no new friends. Germany showed 
 all her misery by the meanness of her princes and the absence of any 
 great national body to oppose the league formed by the pope, the em- 
 peror, and the Romanists, throughout Europe. The Archbishop of 
 Treves preferred a peusion from Charles to the defence of the 
 national cause. The evangelically-disposed palatine desired to avoid 
 getting into trouble on that account. The imperial city of Frank- 
 fort, thus surrounded by open enemies and timid fricr.ds, declined to 
 accede to the alliance. There was more national feeling and courage 
 in the Anglo-Sa.\on north of Germany. The princes of Bnuiswick, 
 Luxemburg, Mecklenburg, Anhalt, aud Mausfeld, assemliled at 
 Magdeburg, and made a solemn and heroic declaration of their reso, 
 lutiou to pledge their " estates, lives, states and subjects, for the 
 maintenance of the Holy Word of God, relying on Almighty Gotl, aa 
 ■who.se instrument they would act." The town of Magdei)urg {which 
 then had about tliree times as many inhabilanls as now) and Duko 
 Albert of Prussia adhered to the alliance. The league doubled its 
 efforts. Charles, strong and rendered .safe by the peace of Madrid con- 
 cluded with Francis, seut word from Seville, iu March, 1~)2C), through 
 the Romisii Duke Henry (jf Bnmswick, that he would .soon come 
 bim.self to criLsh the heresy. Lutiier saw the dangers crowding 
 arouml Jiim ; his advice was, " We are threatened with war ; ht 
 us force our enemies to keep the peace, con(iuered by the Spirit of 
 God, before whose throne we must now combat with the arms cf 
 prayer ; that is the first work to be done." 
 
 Toward the end of l.")25 Luther had resolved to au-swer a book 
 which iiad been written against him in the jjrevious autunui by 
 Eriwnnis, uniler the catching title, (Jii Jure \[iU. Erasmus wai 
 in his heart rather a skeptic . lie would in his earlier days have pro.
 
 34 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 fos«^e(l oprnlv the cause of llio gospel, and defended it, with his supe- 
 rior oruditum mul knowledge h:id he l)e]ieved in its success ; but 
 ncitlier the Swiss nor the German lieiorniation irave huii that cer- 
 tainty, and thus, at last, he gave way to King Henry and others, 
 who" urged him to attack J.uthcr. No controversy has l)een Itn^s 
 ecnerallV understood than this ; but it may also be said tiiat it might 
 have been carried on not only with less malice by Erasmus, but also 
 with more speculative; skill" by Luther. The antagonism is essen- 
 tially the same as that of Augustine and Pelagius, or that between the 
 Jansenists and Jesuits; a better speculative method and a deeper 
 philosophy of the mind have since shown how the scholastic mtthou 
 never could solve that most important as well as most dithcult prol)- 
 lem We have no hesitation in saying that the result ot dialectic 
 metaphysics is no other than that Luther was peifectly right and 
 Erasmu"s totally wrong in this dispute ; but it was hopeless from the 
 bc-iuuing. Erasmus detiued free-will as the faculty ot man to de- 
 cide for himself, be it for good or evil. Consequently to deny his 
 thesis in this sense would have been to deny the mora responsibility 
 of man. But Luther's ideas respecting moial free-will were as dis- 
 sonant from this termiuo'ogy as Bt. Paul's leasonmg on taith from 
 the use of that word in the sense in which St. James employs or 
 rather attacks it. In regard to Luther's terms and fundamental 
 ideas we have touched upon them in speaking of the mtluence ot 
 Tauler and of the Thcologia Girmanica upon his mind, when he was 
 disturbed by what a]>peared to him the dieadlul consequences ot the 
 doch-ine of grace and election. The theology of the German school 
 of the fourt"eenth century rested upon a f"U^ler,^J-'cause a deeper 
 basis than thatof Augustine, and, moie lately, of Calvm and Pascah 
 There is in man, as a creature, the power of se t-wi ^1"^ snot 
 only evil as such, but the root of all evil, and sin. Ihe 1 o^cr of 
 deciding whether or not to commit an action is therefore nothing but 
 he power of measuring and contrasting selfish pnnciples, neither of 
 idcli l^ing good can produce good actions. ,There is no power 
 a-uinst this selfishness of the creature but the divine principle. Thus 
 the old German school maintained, is equally an inherent element in 
 man-not as a creature, but as God's image- and the instrument of 
 the infinite, divine Spirit, which is t;ssentially goodnc^ss and love of 
 what is good and true as such, apart from any lelerence to ou selves^ 
 To follow up this view .successfully it is evidently ^^^^^^.^'^^^^ 
 establish an d^solute separation between the divine principle n i self 
 an God the infinite) and in man ; and this was not clearly understood 
 by \u.ru.tine(whose-iutiuence upon Luther was puramoun , in eonse- 
 qience o his earliest i>npre.ssion.s) and still less skilful!)' nsed by 
 Luther. The absurdities to which, as each of the combatants proved 
 of his opponent, the consistent following up of an antagonislu; p u ■ 
 .uplccoillucts, are .shown by Kant to be the ^^'^^^^^^^^^^S^ 
 qucnce of our reasouinu vvilh liuite notions upon the infinite , his
 
 MARTIX LUTHER. 85 
 
 kntinomies of free-will and necessity are those of Erasmus and Luther, 
 divested of theological and dogmatic terms. But the same philoso- 
 phy (and Kant himself in his Moral Philosophy and his Philosophy oj 
 Reliffwn) shows that Christianity and the analysis of conscience and 
 moral consciousness of ourselves teach equally what Luther main- 
 tained against Erasmus. The lationalism of Erasmus and the Jesuits 
 is condemned by this philosophy ; and whatever may be thought of 
 the philosophical demon.stration (which wo think c pable of great sim- 
 pHfication), St. John and St. Paul are certainly irreconcilable with it. 
 "Erasmus ignores God," said Luther, " aud that word is more 
 pov/erful than any scholastic argument." Erasmus felt himself 
 crushed by Luther's strong hits, against which liis eloquence availed 
 him nothing. "The victory must remain," Lulher said, "with 
 stammering truth, not with h'ing eloquence ;" and he concluded 
 thus: "Who ever possessed so much science and eloquence, aud 
 such art in speaking and in writing? I have nothing of all this ; 
 but I glory in one thing — I am a Christian. IVIay Goci raise you in 
 the knowledge of the gospel infinitely above me, so that you may 
 surpass me as much in this respect as j'ou do already in all others." 
 Erasmus henceforth lost all measure and philosophical equanimity 
 never having sought truth for its own sake. 
 
 Tlie diet of Spires, which was to put an end to Luther's Reforma- 
 tion, opened on June 25th, 152G. Ferdinand indeed republished, on 
 the 3d Augu.st, the decree of Seville, enjoining strict execution of 
 the edict of Worms ; but in the mean time Clement YIL having 
 quarreled with Charles, and Ferdinand being called to Hungary iu 
 order to maintain against Soliman and other competitors the crowns 
 of Hungary and Boiiemia. left to him by King Louis after the battle 
 of Mohacz, Charles commissioned the famous Captain Frundsberg 
 (the same who liad gooil-naturedly accosted Luther at Worms, and 
 who was devoted to llie evangelical cause) to enlist an armj' in Ger 
 many against the pope, and tliousands hastened to join his ranks in 
 consequence. And ti)us the Reformation was saved this time, and a 
 proposition presented b}' tiie cities was accepted, " tlial luUil a coun- 
 cil met, every governor should, witliin liis own states, act according 
 to liis conscience." Within a year, if not a universal, at least a 
 national council was to meet. Li couscjueuce, tiie Reformation had 
 Vinie to con.solidate it.self from lo2G to 1;")2!). Tlie man of Germany 
 ^ lliat time among the princes was the landgrave, Philip of Hesse, 
 and lie was enlightened by a citi/.en. James Sturm, the deputy of 
 Stnusburg at the diet of Spires, had convinced him that the basis of 
 tlie true evangelical church was the acknowledgment of the self- 
 government of the church by synods coniiiosed of representatives oi 
 the whole Christian pi-ople. Tlius the lirst Protectant constitution — 
 that agreed upon in llcsse — wa.s essentially that wliich bus i)roved 
 Biiice to be th(^ most nniversal and the most ]H)werful. For that con- 
 Hlitutiun is ueitJier liUtheran nor .\ngliean, lint synodal Christianity,
 
 g6 MAUTIX LUTHER. 
 
 which has converted and is now converting find conquerin.a: tha 
 world. Tiie constitution acknowledged the episcopal element, but 
 not episcopal rule— sovereignty being invested in the peojile of God. 
 "We aihuit (suj the articles^ uo word but thai of our sovereign pastor. 
 Bishops and\lcacous are to be elected by the Cnuislian people; 
 bishops are to be consecrated by the imposition of hands of three 
 bishops ; and deacons may be instituted ])y imposition of the hands 
 of the elders, The general synod is to be held annually, consistmg 
 of the pastor of each parish and of pious men electetl from the nudst 
 of each church, or rather congregation, or from single churches. 
 Three men are to be elected yearly to exercise the right of visitation. 
 This was soon found to be an inconvenient form ; six superintend- 
 ents (episcopi) for life wcfc substituted. This board of superintend- 
 ents became afterward an oligarchy, and at last a mere instrument 
 of the state— the consequence of the disruption of Germany and the 
 paralysis of all national institutions. Luther had professed already, 
 in 1523 and in lo'ii, principles entirely identical with those estab- 
 lished in l."J2() in Hesse. But there his action ceased ; he left to the 
 princes what they had no mind to carry out ; and what could a peo- 
 ple do cut up into four hundred sovereignties? Never, however, did 
 Luther acknowledge Cesaropapism or Erastianism as a principle 
 and as a right, lie considered the rights of the Christian people as 
 a sacred trust, provisionally deposited in the hands of their represent- 
 atives. " Where (he asked) are the people to form the synods? i 
 cannot find them." This was a political calamity or mistake, but it 
 was not a treason to the lights of the Christian people. Still more 
 did Luther abhor the rapacity of the nobility and of the courtiers to 
 possess themselves of the spoils of the Church. It was Melanchthon s 
 influence which facilitated the despotic system and hampered the 
 thorough reform of the forms of worship. L\ither wUhdrew trom a 
 sphere which was not his. He composed, in lo2<J, the small and 
 great Catechisms, of which the former has maintained its place as a 
 guide of popular doctrine up to this day ; but when measures of per- 
 secution were proposed, he raised his voice against them. He wrote, 
 in 1528, FaUe Teachers are not to be put to Death ; it sii:ffiees //> lie7nove 
 them. While Luther preached this doctrine, the most bloody perse- 
 cution went on in the estates of the elector of Brandenburg (vvhere 
 the electress professed courageously the principles of the gob_pel), m 
 Bavaria, and, above all, in the hereditary states of Austria. In 1^ elj- 
 ruary 1528, the impetuous landgrave was on the point of commit- 
 ting a rash act. in eon.sequence of a forged document which had been 
 %hown to him. purporting to be a secret convention to assassinate 
 Luther and Melanchthon and crush the evangelical princes, i iiHip 
 infected the elector with his apprehensions, and violent measures ot 
 persecution were to be resorted to, when Luther and Melanchthon 
 both gave, as their solemn advice, this verdict : "The attack must 
 uot come from our side, and the guilt of blood-shedding must not
 
 MAKTIN LUTHER. ^7 
 
 „ .„^«r, ,1= T(»t ilif> cmneror know of this odious conspiracj'. " 
 Sr Ztor howevc as ?mbled his troops ; but the forgery ^va. 
 .non Uscovered when the document was communicated to the 
 ^.^. ? nrinces The attitude talvcn by tlie Protestant princes 
 haThowev r ?he ell ct of making the irchbishop of Mainz re. 
 noance?7n 1528. the spiritual .iurisdielion lae \f,^^^^^^ 
 over Saxonv and Hesse. But among the puljlic at laige a 1 oeueve.i 
 'a tL SStLce of a secret plot against the ^^^^f^^^""^^^^,,, j. 
 
 Tender these auspices was opened the celebrated diet ot bpiresiD 
 1-509 The empe'-W who in the mean time had taken Rome and 
 annihilated Ambitious plans of Clement YII now took agam^o 
 his natural irut German credulity and good-nature had served his 
 
 rn 41 tilt he felt himself master of the field, he spoke as a 
 Sprnish^^spo"; the 'elector and landgrave -ere forbidden to ce e 
 br.te divine worship in their hotels, as tiiey had done m lo~<, alter 
 ?beuseoiachurch^iad been denied tl^m. 'i}^.«^l^?l-"^^,-J,7^, 
 Rioners desired to return to the edict of Worms of lo21. ihe solemn 
 act ottrSTon voted l)y the diet of 1527 was abrogated by an ar bi- 
 i^r rv act o? hS Inperor alone, contrary to the constitution o the 
 Im ?ir5? Luther, thl proscribed, was not present In.t MelanclUhon, 
 who had ac:companied tlie princes reported to Im ^ l^J^ passea^ 
 The majority of the diet passed at last, on ah ^pnl, a lesolul on 
 that where the edict of Wuruis could not be executed without fear ot 
 eJolu on no further reform would be allowed. This evulently was . 
 Lolhing but the intended forerunner of the restoration o^ Popery 
 
 It wSs a.^ain.st this iniriuitous decree that the f .^^0% the kn l- 
 irrave the Margrave of Brandenburg, the Prince of Anha t, and the 
 SSncelloro Luneburi-, together with the dignitaries of the towns, 
 kd down that solemn^prol^estation from which ?''Mma es he name 
 of" Protestants." " Tlie diet has overstepped its authority, they 
 "aid •'' our 'Squired right is, that the decree of l'^"^'^- ^^'^'^^''^.''^ ^ 
 adopted, do re.nain in force until a councd can be convened^ Lp to 
 ?his tirn^ the decree has maintained the peace since, and we P est 
 a" aiiist abrogation.- Of thirty-five free cities, fourteen stood oat 
 Sy wheni^erdinanci threatened them with the loss of their priv- 
 Se"es^' St ashurc, which was at the head of the protesting cities, was 
 
 Kl by this most arbitrary act under the interdict. '1 he princes 
 KdinanVdeclare<l there reJnained. nothing for them ^^u"; .to.subm t 
 and he closed the diet without awaiting the resolutions of he cvan- 
 
 into an adjoining apartment in order to delibe ate jl/^^ P' ^^f 
 ihon drew up their declaration, and caiise.l it to be read to the (lit 
 Xh had renrained .sitting when Ferdinand rose with the imperial 
 
 "T^'Sf^d Protestor the 15th April. 1520 is one of the linejt 
 an.l noblest documents of ChrisHan history ^ '^P ^^-V'^j-' *!" "'X vS 
 faith in Chriet and Scripture, and u dignilicd adherence to uation.a
 
 38 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 I)vw as far as constil.utional libcntics are concerned. The protesting 
 princes and cities claim as llieir ripjlit. as Germans, wliat tliey con- 
 sider a sacred dutv as Cliristians— freely to preacii the word of Gocl 
 and the uiessaixe of salvation, that all who will hear it may join the 
 conununity of^lhe believers. 'i"l)is g-reat act was, besides, an earnest 
 of true evanuelical union : for it was well known that most of the 
 cities iacliucil more toward Zvvingle's than toward Luther's view of 
 the sacrament. And this union was not a neiiative but a positive 
 one ; it was founded on the faith, energetically and sincerely professed 
 by fficolampadius, as the organ of the Swiss Reformed chuiches, 
 that, " wiih the visible symbols invisible grace is given and re- 
 ceived." 
 
 if one considers this great act impartially, it is impossible not to 
 see that neither Luther nor ^lelanchtlum were the real leadeis of the 
 time. Alrcad;^, in 1526, Luther had so little real comprehension of 
 what ought to Le done, or was now doing in Germany, to i)reserve 
 the cospel from destruction, that lie wiote to a friend on the very 
 same day that tho decree of that first diet at Spires was published : 
 "The diet is goir.g on in the German way— they drink and they 
 gamble ; for the nst, nothing is done there." He sliows no sympa- 
 thy for the first a:tcmpt made in Hesse at self-government of the 
 Church ; stdl less oid he see the importance of the great act now 
 achieved at Spires b,- iiie combined courage and Christian commoii- 
 sensc of some few pi'nces, and all cities which could act freely. It 
 •was evident that Charles was now, after the peace of Cambray, per- 
 fect master of Germany ; so far, ai least, as to make it impossible 
 that Germany should become a Protestant nation, and that the pro- 
 testinir piinces and cities had seen the necessity of strengthenmg that 
 a'Mance of which they had .just laid the foundation. Luther dissuad- 
 ed the elector from sending deputies to the meelu^.g agreed upon to 
 be held at Schmalkalden. " In silence and rest will be your 
 stren'^th," was his vote. The elector sent deputies in order to hmder 
 thit anvthing .sliould be decided. Luther was proud of this success. 
 " vJhrist the Lord will deliver us without the landgrave, and even 
 against the landgrave," was his saying. This apparent blindness 
 and perversion of mind in Luther at this time admits of twofold ex- 
 planation. The tirst is Luther's loyal and .sound policy. He ab- 
 horred rebellion, and shuddered from a civil war, even if it .should be 
 unavoidable as self-defence. He besides saw clearly that (he princes, 
 divided among themselves as they were, could do nothing agamst the 
 emperor without the best part of the nation, represented by the 
 cities ; and that here, too, there was want of mutual trust and good- 
 will, and above all of unity. But this key opens only the outer door to 
 Luther's mind. To understand ium, when he s(,M;ins proof against 
 reason, and reasoning even his own, it is necessary to consider his 
 unshaken faith, and that he partook of the quietism of his German 
 xnaiiter, Tauler, and the Thcolofjui GermanUxi. " Suffer God to d(7
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. '69 
 
 his work in you and about you," Avas the motto of that school. But 
 tlie scholastic training also had ils influence as to his view of the 
 Zwinglian Reformation, and it centred in Luther's sacranientalism. 
 This point requires a more ample consideration. 
 
 It must be confessed that there was a theological scruple at the bot- 
 tom of Luther's opposition to a vigorous Protestant alliance and 
 national attitude, which was sure not to bring on war. but to prevent 
 it by making the execution of the aggressive plans of the pope and 
 emperors impossible. This betrays Usclf, first, in an uneasiness about 
 Zwimrle's rising influence in Germany ; and, second, as a doctrinal 
 idiosyncrasy respecting the sacrament of the communion. Philip of 
 Hesse instantly saw throuuh this, and said, "I see they are against 
 the alliance oti account of the Zwinglians ; well, let us see whether 
 we cannot make these theological ditferenccs disappear." It is well 
 known that all the efforts made to effect a union between the Zwin- 
 glian and Lutheran parties, from the conference at Marburg in l.")2i) 
 to the end of Luther's life, were fruitless ; and it is impossible not to 
 admit that the fault was Luther's, and that he became aware of that 
 only on his death bed. As we are thus arrived at the deepest tragedy 
 of Luther's life and of the history of Protestantism, and as we must 
 endeavor, within the narrow limits of an article, to establish historical 
 truth on these important points, as far as it is indi.spensahle for a true 
 and philosophical view of Luther's life, we think it unnecessary to 
 prove that there were no mean passions at work in Luther's mind ; 
 but we will say shortly that it was the great tragedy of the Christian 
 mind during more than one thousand j^ears to which Luther paid now 
 his tribute. 
 
 When Luther was raised above himself by the great problem before 
 him, in that glorious period of action, from 1518 to 15'34, he consid- 
 ered the sacraments altogether as a part of the services of the Church, 
 and a secondary point, in comparison with the right view of faith, or 
 the inward Christianity which implies necessarily an unselfish, be- 
 lieving, and tlianliful mind. Having come to the conviction that 
 there was no inherent virtue iu the elements abstractedly from the 
 communion, it was indifferent to him how the spirituality of the 
 action and the real presence, even the tran.substautinliun, might be 
 reconciled with tliat faith. But when he felt himself called upon at 
 n later period to form a theory respecting the doctrine of the sacra- 
 ment, he could never get free from the action of those two theological 
 schools, tlie mvstical German and the Latin scholastic, in tiie point 
 where liiey cor'nbined. Tims U> iiis end Lutiier lirmly believed that 
 the act of tlie priest pronouncing the words, " This is my body." pro- 
 duced a change in the elements, making them the boily and blood of 
 Chri.st, which lie interpreteil, however, as meaning the whole creature of 
 Christ. Now nothing was ever more historically erroneous. It hnsbeen 
 shown elsewhere by the writer of tiiis article, Ihrougii an uninterrupted 
 cluiin of documentary evidence of tlie very liturgies, from the second
 
 40 MARTIN" LUTHER. 
 
 to the sixtli century, that the recital of the words of the inslilutiori 
 was notliiiiy hut the historicul introtiuction to a prayer of hl( ssinir for 
 the coinnumicants. This prayer invoked the Spirit of God to descend 
 upon the asscinlikd worsliipping congregation. Tlie lirst .-tcp wiiich 
 \uiconsciously led to niisunderstaudiugs was that the hlcssing of God 
 was also called down upon the elements in order to make the food 
 prepared for the faithful the body and blood of Christ. The conse- 
 cration, in other words, was not the recital of the words of institu- 
 tion, but a prayer, down to the time of Basilius, extemporized, or at 
 least freely spoken, and always ending with the Lord's Prayer. It is 
 a tragicar complication that the quc'stion as to what the elements 
 became — a (piestion unknown and even unintelligible during tlie first 
 live centuries— should have entangled the mighty evangelical mind of 
 the Reformer, whose appointed ^vork was the destruction of the 
 Romish system of delusion, founded upon a total perversion of the 
 fundamental Clu-istian notions respecting sacritice, priest, and atone- 
 ment. It was this fatal ignorance of tlie o])laLion of the sound and 
 organic as well as the morbid Christian worship development which 
 blinded Luther to such a degree as not only to put a simply absurd 
 interpretation upon the words of the institution, but to base the 
 question of Christian communion between evangelical Christians 
 upon the same, instead of allowing it to be freely discussed as a scho- 
 lastic question. A7hcn staking all upon what he called a literal in- 
 terpretation of the words, " This is my body," he ought to have ac- 
 knowledged at least that others might as well take objection, if not 
 to the absurdity of such a meaning, at least to the liberty which Luther 
 claimed for himself at the same time, of making the body stand ior 
 the whole life contained in it, not to speak of the objection founded 
 upon the words of institution as we find them in Luke and St. Paul. 
 
 After these ireneral observations, our historical relation of what 
 remains to be told of Luther's life may be very short. 
 
 The first event was the conference of Marburg. The undaunted 
 spirit of the landgrave, and the heroic, seU-devoted spirit of Zwingle, 
 who accepted the invitation at the evident risk of his life, brought 
 about tiiat celebrated meeting on the first five days of October, 1527. 
 The frank antl liberal declarations and concessions of the Swiss Re- 
 formers soon cleared away all shadows of difference and dissent, ex- 
 cept tiiat about the sacrament. In the half-public disputation of the 
 2d October, Zwingle embarrassed Luther by observing that if 
 the body of Chri.st was in the bread and wine, in any other than a 
 spiritual sense, he must be present in a given place, by the very 
 nature of matter, and not above matter, in heaven. Luther parried 
 that stroke by saying, "I do not mind its contradicting nature, 
 provided it do not contradict the faith." Still less could lie disen- 
 tangle himself from the words of Christ in the sixth chapter of St. 
 John, which Zwingle declared he could not discaril, as it was a text, 
 and a clear o>»c. Not more satisfactory was Luther's appeal to the
 
 MAUTIX LUTHER. 
 
 41 
 
 fathers The discussions of the four follovvmg days however, re- 
 euUedin recogniziu- the point of difference, but reducing its es- 
 nreiion to th'e mildest form, and placing it m the background as 
 compared with the full statement of tlie points on which both parties 
 were united. Tears of jov filled all eyes ; and Zwingle, with (Eco- 
 lampadius and Bucer. returned satisfied, although the promised alli- 
 ance between Germany and Switzerland was not concluded owing 
 fo Luthe^.freluctance. Zwingle had triumphed ; his views became 
 nat^.ralized in Germany, where hitherto they were little known aM 
 the d eudful words of Luther, " Submit yourselves ; believe as we 
 do or vou cannot be acknowledged as Christians," were forgotten 
 But no^sooner had Luther returned to Wittemberg than he modified 
 tl.c articles in an exclusive sense, which necessarily shocked and 
 
 the appearances were changed ; the elector, who as well as the land- 
 grave went there in great pomp, was received by the emperor in the 
 most flattering manner. All was to be peace and concord in Ger- 
 mSv Behind the scenes we see the emperor quieting his brother 
 Ferdinand, the he<ul of the Romi.sh and fanatical party who pro- 
 tested a-ainst such encouragement to heresy He writes to hini : 
 •I shaTl go on negotiating? without concluding anything ; fear 
 nothin- if 1 even should conclude ; there will never be pretexts want- 
 in "to you to chastise the rebels, and you will find people enough too 
 happy to offer you their power as a means of vengeance 
 
 Charles was\n Austrian tyrant and a Spanish bigot, and a great 
 politician of the Italian school, which has procured him, even from 
 Criansof our time, the name of a great man Ihe only reason 
 why le <lid not now follow the advice of the cardinal-lega e and the 
 Spaniards, and of his own brother Ferdinand, was simply that he 
 hou-ht tile good Germans would do the work of destruction them- 
 selves and that in the mean time he would have in them a check upon 
 the pope. But in his own mind he was ready to sacrihce to the big- 
 oted party all the constitutional rights of the diet as he had s^icnficed 
 that wonderful republic of Florence to the Medici family at the 
 rcjuest of the holy father, who (said Charles) cou d not demand any- 
 Ihing wrong ; of course, least of all in a ca.se which regarded his osmi 
 
 house ! 
 
 The diet of Aug.sburg is the bright point in tlie life of he ck^tor 
 John the Constant, :v.s the conference ol Marburg is m l'a\; /»'« 
 landirrave When the emperor's ministe-s, who precedec him at 
 Augsburg, announced to the elector the emperor s 'ntenHo'is m 
 nr.ler to^intimidale liim. he said. " If the emperor i"t«"J«J« ,f »P 
 the preaching of the gospel. 1 shall immediately betake myself to 
 my C " Luther Imd been left at Coburg, the nearest safe place
 
 •i^ MAIITIX l.UTIIER. 
 
 for the proRcrihed, and was consulted daily. He told the elector hti 
 had no rig-lit to sa}' so ; " the emperor was his master, and Augsburg 
 was an iniperial town." (Jrand and heroic, altlunigli erroneous, ad- 
 vice of the man whoso life must liave been the tirst sacrifice of a 
 policy which tlie elector meant to resist ! Tlie lawyers, however, 
 were here also in fault ; their Byzantine notions of imperial rights 
 made Ihein timid in the application of the principles of the German 
 constitution. The Protestant princes had a clear constitutional right 
 to resist the emperor, standing upon the resolutions and the edict^of 
 < Worms and the solemn declaration of Spires. jVLelanehlhon himself 
 thought they might maintain the right of preaching the gospel, only 
 abstaining from any controversial point. J3ut undoubtedly tlioso 
 were right who advised the elector to remain. As to the chief prac- 
 tical point. Chancellor Bruck confirmed the elector in his resolution 
 not to allow the preaching of the gospel to be interdicted to him and 
 his friends. As to alliances and leagues the elector said, "I have 
 formed no secret alliances ; but 1 wilfshow those I have entered into 
 if the others will show theirs." In the mean time Melanc-hthon had by 
 the middle of April prepared the articles of the confession with tlieir 
 defence, the so-called apology. Luther sat ail the time in his solitary 
 castle. " It is my Sinai," he said, " where I lift up my hands to pray 
 as Moses did during the battle." lie worked at the psalms and the 
 prophets (he translated here Jeremiah and Ezekiel) and dedicated liis 
 hours of recreation to a popular edition of what was called yEsop's 
 Fables, as Socrates did in his prison. " I am making a Zion out of 
 this Sinai, and build there three tents, viz., one for the psalms, one for 
 the prophets, one for Jisop ;" a truly German saying, which the his- 
 torian of the lleformation ought not to have censured. How could 
 liUther endure his solitude in that tremendous crisis which, as far as 
 the affairs of Germany were concerned, he saw in darker colors than 
 anybody, unless he had some recreation of this kind ? But besides 
 his object was to place his ^sop (which contains many compositions 
 of his own) in the hands of the people instead of a common popular 
 book of the time of the same title, of the lowest and most immoral de- 
 scription. It was also in this solitude that he wrote that admirable 
 letter to his son Ilans, with the description of the garden of wonders. 
 ■yVhile here he received the news of his father's death, which affected 
 ■ lim deeply, so that his health began to give way, and his hallucina- 
 tions or waking dreams recommenced. The news of tlie league be- 
 tween Charles V., Francis I., the Pope, and Venice roused at times the 
 political spirit which was in him. " I do not believe a word," he said, 
 " as to tlie reality of such a league. Monsieur pur ma foi ! (Francis) 
 cannot forget the battle of Pavia ; Monsieur in nomine domini (Clem- 
 ent VIII.) is, tirst, a Welsh (Italian), whicli is bad enough ; secondly, a 
 Florentine, which is worse ; thirdly, a bastard, a child of the devil ; 
 and, fourthly, he will never forget the indignity of Ihe plundering of 
 Rome. The Venetians, finally, are Venetians, and they have reasons
 
 IIARTIX LUTHER. 43 
 
 enough to hate the posterity of Maximilian. Poor Charles, he is like 
 a sheep atnon? wolves ; God will save him!" There is the sound 
 politician aud^'the loyal German, hoping against hope, and trusting 
 his prince's promises as long as he breathes ! 
 
 He wrote letters full of comfort to the elector, and at the same time 
 addressed one of his most powerful Avrilings to the clergy assembled 
 iu the diet at Augsburg, in which he sLows them the absurdity of 
 their system and'the unchristian spirit of their claims. The address 
 concludes with the prophetic verse : 
 
 " Pestis eram vivna ; moriens ero mors tua Papa !" 
 
 [" O Pope, thy plague I was in life ; iu death I shall be thy destruction I"] 
 
 On the 4th June Gattinara, the chancellor of Charles, died— an 
 Italian, who most earnestly wished a real reform of the Church ; and 
 the advocates of persecution got the upper hand. On the side of the 
 Protestants, the Swiss party began to suspect ]SIelanchthon, and com- 
 plained of the use of Latin chants and surplices in Saxony ; while, on 
 his side, Melanchthon detested what he called the seditious principles 
 and worldly reasoning of the Swiss. Soon afterward we see him 
 ready to give up some of the essential points to the emperor, who, oa 
 his approach to Augsburg, said, " What do the electors want? I 
 shall do what I like." Well had he learned in Spain the lessons of 
 tvranny which Cardinal Ximenes knew so well to apply under Philip 
 II. But he prayed four hovu's every day, so that the people said (as 
 lie scarcely ever spoke), " He talks more with God than with men." 
 When iu the conference with the Protestant princes he demanded 
 of them to cease from their present mode of worship, they declared 
 that their conscience did not allow them to do so, and the Margrave 
 of Brandenburg, bowing down toward Charles, and putting his hands 
 upon his neck,' cried out, "' lialher than allow myself to be deprived 
 of the word of the Lord, and rather than deny my God, 1 will have 
 my head cut off at your Majesty's feet." This startled the Spaniard. 
 " Dear prince," lie exclaimed, " not the head, not the head !" Im- 
 prisonment will do, he thought all the while, and those incautious 
 wonls l)etray that thought. This was all his Sacred Csesarean Majesty 
 deignerl to utter during the diet. Great was his wrath when the 
 princes dechired indignantly that they would not consent to follow the 
 procession of the host at the fc.-,tiviils of Corpn.i DoiiUiu. Why not 
 worship a wafer which the priest has made God ? And why not .show 
 this respect to the emperor and cardinal V asked Ferdinand. " We can 
 and we will worship none but (iod," they unanimously declared. 
 Their worshi]) went on, and the vast church of the Franciscans was 
 always crowded ; an elmiuent Zwinglian iircachcd powerful sermons 
 from the book of Josliu.i iibout the people of Israel in the face of 
 Canaan. Charles was furious, an insidious compromi.sc was proposed ; 
 the emperor would name i)reacheis who should simply read the 
 epistles and gospel of the day and the ordinary jirayer of confessiou
 
 44 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 before tlie mass. The yinsilluniinity of IVIelrtnrhthon, and the legal 
 opinions of some of tho lavvj-ers of the Protestant princes as to the 
 emperor's i)o\v<'r in an imperial town, overeame tlie repti<,^niUK'e of 
 the elector. All the I'rotestant preachers left the place in di^may. 
 The whole town was in consternation. " Our Lord (Tod," exclaimed 
 the elector, " has received order to hold his tongue at the diet !" 
 Luther all the while had been quiet, waiting in patience. But this 
 was too mucli for him. "This is the first step," said he, "to the 
 demand that we give up our faith. We have to tij>ht against the gates of 
 hell." " Keep up 3^our courage," he wrote to IMelanclithon, "for you 
 are the aml)assador of a great King. '* The elector and his theologians 
 tliought it justitiable that, in virtue of his oflice as grand marshal of 
 the smpire, he should bear before the emperor the sword of state, 
 when the latter attended the mass of the Holy Ghost at the oi)ening 
 of the diet, on which occasion an Italian archbishop preached a most 
 fanatical and insulting sermon against the Germans, as being worse 
 enemies of God than the Turks. In the imperial opening speech 
 Charles spoke of the lamentable dissensions which encroached upon 
 the impel ial majesty and must produce sedition and murder. The 
 Protestants were required to present their confession. The elector 
 signed it first ; four other princes and two cities after him, witliout 
 any observation ; the Landgrave of Hesse, however, did not sign it 
 without saying he did not agree as to the doctrine of tlie communion. 
 The article says, " That the body and blood of Christ are verily 
 present, and are administered in the Lord's Supper to those who 
 partake of it [and we disapprove those who teach otherwise.]" The 
 words in brackets were left out in later editions made during Luther's 
 lifetime. On this occasion the princes took really the lead, and tlio 
 whole was done as a great national, not as a sacerdotal work, in spile 
 of poor Melanchthon's scruples. This good man was indeed entirely out 
 of his sphere, and lost his time and conmiitted the cause of Protes- 
 tantism b}^ trying to bring about a compromise where there was no 
 possibility of an honest understanding. In the mean time Luther was 
 left in complete and cruel ignorance of all that was going on ; and 
 when at last the letters of Alelanchthon arrived they were full of fears 
 and sad misgivings. During all this an.xious time Luther sought and 
 found his comfort in constant prayer and occupation with the Word 
 of God. "Where is Christ's Church, if it is not with us V Failh 
 alone is required. I will rather fail with Christ than stand wilU 
 Cajsar." Luther reprimanded Melanchthon sharply for his pusillan- 
 imity, and some of his letters to him are addressed, " To Master 
 Philip Kleinmuth" (pusillanimous). 
 
 After many tergiversations the Protestants obtained their just de- 
 mand ; the confession, drawn up by Melanchthon and approved by 
 Luther, was read in jjublic sitting on the 25th June, 15i3<). A great 
 day, worthy of the most glorious days of the apostolic times. Lulhev 
 wua not present. lie was dead as a public man. Lot he lived in God,
 
 MAKTIX LUTHER. ^^ 
 
 and for his faith and country. Nothing could damp his spirits 
 - asi luve mv diet," he said; -and .vhat lively discussions! 
 _re?erring p'^vfully to the rooks which swarmed round us towei. ^ 
 
 The emperor ordered the confession to be read m Latin. No, 
 sakl the d c or ; 'we are Germans, and on Genmn ground. I hope, 
 the et ore 'our Majesty will allow us to speak German " The em^ 
 r^ror^-ave-wy recollecting for the nonce he was in Germany and 
 Fhlt tif- rprnrnis had a lau-uatre of their own and tlie strange fancy 
 of ' g^ "n fa thedogical affairs. When the chanceUor o^ ^o 
 eiectm-had read the first part of that grand confession, whc ex- 
 nmnds the nrinciples of the Reformation, and m particulai the 
 flo trine of j^ £ ion by faith-" that faith which is not the meye 
 £ owed-- of a historical fact, but that which believes not only tha 
 hi'orv out as> the effect of that history upon the ""^d '-"^f.^^ 
 was ai indescribable effect visibly produced upon the assembly Ihe 
 op onents felt that there was a reality before tl\<;'^ J^^^^IV'^^, Sx 
 never ima-ined ; and others said such a profession of faith by such 
 prill. OS was a more effectual preaching than that which had beeu 
 £ ned "Christ," exclaimed Jonas (Melanchthon-s companion), 
 '• i in he diet, and he does not keep silence ; the word of God is in- 
 deed not to be bound." And forth these words have gone through 
 io wider than that to which the apostles preached Af^r a 
 muse the second part, the articles alwut the abuses of the Chuicl 
 of Konie was read an^ heard with profound silence by the m.tred 
 urelales of that church who were there assembled. As to the emperor, 
 he slept (Ting the whole of the reading, or seeme.I to sleep, hke a tiger 
 readv t/espy the most convenient moment for leaping upon lis prey 
 In the mcaiAime he calculated, undoubtedly, ^vhat political capital 
 he could make of the Protestants against the pope. 
 
 Luther dressed a letter to the cardinal elector of Main/., demand- 
 in.' not hi. - but one article, but insisting upon that unconditionally 
 l!-th lil erly of preaching the gospel. " Neither empei^r, he says 
 " nor nope lias the right of forcing any one to beheye With Mc- 
 lauchtRoi; and the other friends he i-'^^'Kl uprm thcnr leav^ Augs- 
 bur"- inunediatcly. " Home— home- Imme ! he exclaimed .Ui..,u.. 
 t ifease God that I should be iiunu.lated at this cmmc.l, as.lohn nus,s 
 w-K ronstance •" All the sayings of Luther dunng this crisis arc 
 Tu'Shm a d'o a iruly prophdic character. lie foresaw that now 
 Ivery effort would b./madc at Augsburg to destroy he r,rinc.pl<s of 
 the lleformatiou by a treacherous c.n.pronuse and '%[;J*^ l^'f ^^ 
 •'Tiie <liet " he .said, "is a regular (Uamatic piece: first theie la 
 the prologue, then the exposition, th.'n the a<>tH.n-now comes the 
 c lastrophc ; but I think it will not be a tragic but a comic 
 And indeed .so it turned out to l)e, tragical as it was. Ihe hist 
 triuinphai.t c-lTe.-l of the confession .soon passed away :/ '«.":;;^ *;;;"- 
 Tcrts. particularly among the p.Tlates, withdrew ; he " '^ '' >^^' 'J 
 doub cd its efforts, and Charles gave way to it, and aided il^ eiidb by
 
 40 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 all diplomatic artifices. i\roliinch(hou was causlit. He entered into 
 
 conrcreiK^c's in tiio vain liopc tliey would load to concord ; iic de- 
 clared himself ready to maintain and obey the supreme autiiorily of 
 the pope, if he would, by an act of clemency, connive at if not ap- 
 prove some points which they could not (change. During the; treach- 
 erous conferences which now beijau, the emperor tried to intimidate 
 Uie elector by threatening!; not to grant him the investiture, which tiic 
 elector claimed, however, as his hereditary right as brother of his 
 predecessor, and to frighten all the Protestant princes and the Prot- 
 estant imperial city of Augsburg with measures of violence, by call 
 ing in the imperial troops and keeping ihe gates closed. The land- 
 grave escaped. This act caused dismay among the ranks of the 
 Catholics, for a war could not be risked at this moment. The Roman- 
 ists changed their tactics ; they conceded, or rather feigp.ed to con- 
 cede ; for meanwhile the pope had declared solemnly that he would 
 not give up those very points. The Protestants acknowledged the 
 jurisdiction of the bishops and the supremacy of the pope. A cry 
 of indignation rose among the princes, and, among all, among the 
 brave citizens of Augsburg. "Rather die with .Tesus (Christ," they 
 declared, " than conquer without him the favor of the whole world." 
 
 At this critical moment Luther's indignation rose to a holy wrath, 
 like that of the prophets of old. " I understand," said he to Melanch- 
 thon, "that j-ou have begun a marvellous work, namely, to make 
 Luther and the pope agree together ; but the pope will say that he 
 will not, and Luther begs to be excused. Should you, however, after 
 all, succeed in your affair, I will follow your example and make an 
 agreement between Christ and Belial. Take care tiiat you give not 
 up the justification by faith ; that is the heel of the .seed of the 
 woman to crush the serpent's head. Take care not to acknowledgi; 
 the jurisdiction of the bishops ; they will soon take all. In short, all 
 your negotiations have no chance ol success unless the pope will re- 
 nounce papacy. Isow, mind, if you mean to .shut up that glorious 
 eagle, the gospel, in a sack, as sure as Christ lives Luther will come 
 to deliver that eagle with might." 
 
 But Melanchlhon was changed ; l4illier's voice had lost its power 
 over him. The extreme Protestant views maintained in a declaration 
 which Zwingle had delivered to the emperor disposed him to cling 
 Btill more tolRome. All seemed for the moment lo.st ; but Luther's 
 faith had discerned the way in which God meant to save the Prot- 
 estant cause, and had said, "Christ lives; he who has vant^uished 
 the violence of our enemies can also give us the power of breaking 
 through their artifices." The Romanists fortunately insisted upon 
 four points— celibacy, confession, the denial of the cup to the laity, 
 and the retaining of private masses. This was too much ; the con- 
 ference . separated. The Piomanists now conceded the cup and the 
 marriage of the priests ; butthey would not give up the private masses 
 nor the obligation of confession and penance for the remission of siu,
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 47 
 
 and required an acknowledgment of the meritorious character of 
 good worlcs. Melauchthon sUiod firm, on which the emperor and 
 Clement played out their last card ; an ecumenical council shou.d be 
 convened ■ but in the mean time the Protestants should conform to 
 the doctrine and rites of the Catholic Church. Charles accompiinied 
 this communication with the most insu.ting threats a^-alnst the Prot- 
 estant princes, who declined to negotiate, and declared their resolu- 
 tion to abide bv the status quo of Worms until the councd shoula 
 assemble. The'emperor indeed went so far as to forbid the princes 
 to quit Auo-sburg, but the elector was tirm as a rock ; his son left ihe 
 town on the 12th September. Meianchthou had regained his courage 
 and sa<racity. When Luther heard what was taking place he raised 
 his voice from Cobunj : " Depart ! depart ! even if it must be with 
 the curse of pope aud^emperor upon vou. You have confessed Jesus 
 Christ you have offered peace, you have obeyed the emperor you 
 have supported insults of every kind, you have withstood Was- 
 -)hemies • now I will encourase vou, as one of the faithful members 
 of Jesus Christ. He is making ready our enemies as victims for the 
 sacrifice ; he will presently consume tlieir pride and deliver his people.^ 
 Yes lie will bring us safely out of Babylon and her burning walls. 
 When the emperor saw that the elector was resolved on departing,_he 
 communicated to the five princes and the six towns (four more having 
 joined since Nuremberg and lieutlingen) a proposal for a recess, or 
 definitive decree of the^'diet— tliat six moullis should elapse to give 
 time for an arrangement ; and meantime Protestants and Catholics 
 should unite in a common attack upon the Anabaptists and those who 
 denied tlie holy sacrament, the Zwinglians ; but the Protestants alike 
 withstood threats and fialteries ; and tlie elector took his leave, as 
 he had announced, on the 23d September. 
 
 The author of this article cannot agree with the saying of the elo- 
 quent historian of the Reformation, that if the glorification of man 
 ,vas the purpose and end of Coil's ways, and not God's glory alone, 
 one must wish Luther had died at tlie Wartburg. We have seen 
 ihat it was he who, in 1524, pacified Wittemberg and Saxony by his 
 reappearance, and acliieved wonders as a practical Reformer ; and in 
 ir,2."> attempted, sis pacificator of tJermaiiy, what nobody but hmiseli 
 .■:ould and would have done. But whose was the never-shaken mind ? 
 Who among the German theoU.L'ians and Reformers was the organ 
 of God and of the German nation during the greater part of the mo- 
 mentous diet of Augsburg? Who else but the man in the solitary 
 tower at Coburg? From tliis time forth, liowever, he had nothing left 
 lo do but to look the trage.ly in the face;, as a believer in God and his 
 kin,"-doin on (-artli, pniyiiig ami i)reacliing, ami tinally to die the ileatli 
 of a faithful and h(n'ef'"l Christian .saint. All Hh; rest is piilient. 
 fiutfcrinir miirlyrddm. . , , ■ • e 
 
 Some' Of the most powerful Romanist pniuies, the Arciihisnoi) ot 
 Mayence at their head, a.ssured the elector on his departure that lUejf
 
 48 MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 won'ui never join llie emperor in ailopling any violent measures against 
 liin), allhougii tlic l)r()llier of tlic arclihi.slio]^ Joachim, elector of Bran- 
 tlonlmrs);, lind presumed to promise in llieir name that they would. 
 Even Ferdinand said some civil words. But wjiy ? Simply because 
 (as Charles could not refrain from saying in his wrath) the emperor 
 was more than ever resolved to resort to arms. '" Nothing butartna- 
 ments will iiave any elTect," he said. Indeed, lie announced this as 
 his resolution innncdiately to the pope, and requested him to summon 
 all Christian princes to assist him. Tlie (Jatholic league was signed 
 on the loth October. The anti-reformatory movement was begua 
 in the town of Augsburg itself. The answer to this was the declara- 
 tion of sixteen imperial towns, instead uf six, that tiiey would not 
 grant any subsidies against the Turks so long as the aifairs of (jrer- 
 many remained unsettled. The Zvvinglian and Lutheran towns shook 
 hands ; and this was the expression of tiie real feeling of the whole 
 C4erman nation, only priests, pastors, and theologians excepted. The 
 Protestant dignitaries declared that they rejected the imperial closing 
 declaration, as the emperor had no right to connnand in matters of 
 faith. Luther was the organ of the universal feeling of the German 
 people, when lie exclaimed, " Our enemies do not till me with fear. 
 I, on the contrary, shall put th(;m down in the strength of the Lord. 
 My life shall bo their executioner ; my death their hell." Indeed, his 
 work was accomplished for all countries and for all ages. The rest 
 of his life was one long pang, although he did not live to see the most 
 dreadful calamity— the lireaking out of the civil war of religion which 
 began immediately after his death. He wrote an address to the Ger- 
 man nation, warning them not to yield to Rome, and not to trust 
 any negotiations; "for," said he, " tliey know no argument but 
 force. Be not deceived by their words about obedience to the Church. 
 The Church is a poor erring sinner without Christ ; not the Church 
 but Christ is the fnilh." The cause of the Reformation made prog- 
 ress ; the Protestant alliance, begun by the convention of Schmal- 
 kaldeu, gained new members ; Denmark acceded, and .Joachim 11. 
 became as stanch a defender of the faith of his mother as Joachim 
 I. had been its violent enemy. As Luther had prophesied, the nego- 
 tiations with tlie popish party in 1541, renewed at Ratisbon, led to 
 no result. The emperor, at "the Diet of Spires, in 1544, dared no 
 longer refuse to the Protestants the equal right which they claimed. 
 The Romish council opened at Trent in 1544, and its first proceeding 
 was to read the pope's anathema against the Protestants. 
 
 It was in this latter period (from 15:59 to 154:}) that a secret letter 
 of advice, drawn up by Melanclilhon, was given by Luther and his 
 friends to the landgrave Philip in answer to his "pressing request 
 (sanctioned by thr; landgravine, wlit) siilfenHl from an incurable in- 
 ward disorder) to deliver him from the sin of fornication, liy allowing 
 liini to marry a laily of Die lamlgraviiie's court. After the masterly 
 dldcusgioa of thiB subject by Archdeacon Hare, in'ius Vindication of
 
 MARTIN LUTHER. 49 
 
 Lutlier, republished (1855) from tlie notes to his Mission of the Com- 
 forter, it is not necessary, least of all to English readers, to enter into 
 details in order to prove the report of Bossuet to be a tissue of false- 
 hoods and malisnity. We limit, therefore, ourselves to sta ing the 
 decisive facts, yint. The error committed in this secret advice by 
 the keformers T\'as a perfectly sincere one ; it arose from an indis- 
 tinct view of the applicability of the patriarcha ordinances and of 
 the Mosaic law, which admits a second wife legal y, as mdeed Moses , 
 himself seems to have had two wives at the same tmie. Now, as the 1 
 Reformers could not show an express abrogation of those ordinances 
 and of this law. thev were led into this sad mistake, becondhj 1 here 
 was in their advice ho worldly regard whatever as to any benehls and 
 advauta-es whidi mi-ht accrue to themselves or to the cause ot the 
 Reformation. Thev knew that the landgrave had his whole heart in 
 the cause of the Reformation, and had often risked his lite and 
 states for it. Thirdly. When in 1540 Philip divulged the secret, 
 contrary to his promise, they spoke out and confessed their mistake. 
 and Melanchthou was brought by his grief to the verge of the grave. 
 Fonrthlv. When, in the course of the controversy, Bucer published 
 in 1541 his pamphlet in defence of polygamy (under the nanie of 
 Hulderic Xeobulus). Luther pronounced his judgment upon the book 
 and on the subject in the following solemn words : He who desires 
 my judgment upon this book, let him hear. Thus says Dr. Martin 
 Luther on the book of Xeobuhis : He who follows this rogue and 
 hook and thereupon takes more than one wife, and means that this 
 should be a matter of right, may the devil bless his bath in the 
 bottom of hell. This, God be praised, I well know how to maintain. 
 Much less shall they establish the law that a man may sepa- 
 rate himself from his wife rightfully, when she has not already sepa- 
 rated lierself by open adultery, which this rogue would a so like to 
 teach " We possess also the sketch of his intended full reply to 
 Bucer's book ; and there we find the following sentence : ' \\ e have 
 already shown in a numlier of books that the law ot Moses does not 
 concern us, and that we are not to look to the examples in the history 
 of the saints, much less of the kings, to their faith, and to God s 
 
 commandments." ^ x , - vr • i ^„<,.- 
 
 The dark side of this latter portion of Luther s life is his contro- 
 versy with the Reformed. He seemed now and then inclined to yu' d 
 to their entreaties for a union, as is shown by his letter ol 1.).51 O 
 Bucer of Slrasburg ; and he declared his sincere wish lor a union l.i 
 the landgrave in 15:J4. He does not think the work ought to be pre- 
 cipitaterC I'Ht he ))ravs lo live to .see it take place. Ihe concord ol 
 Wittemberg, b.-Lmn by Ihicer in 15:JG, which ielt it just pos.sible lo 
 the Reformed not to see their view of the sacrament e.xcluded. has 
 hiH cordial sympathy. Finally, on the 17th February. 1.):.;. h.' wriled 
 to the BurgoinjLSter of Basel, James Muyer, in terms w uch excited 
 among the Swiss the hope that he would give up his exclusive views.
 
 '^^ MARTIN LUTIIKU. 
 
 But when CEooliimpailius published the writin}>-s of Zwingle uftcr 
 this great aiui lioly man had died a patriot's death in the battle of 
 tap])e], Luther became so incensed that he wrote, in 1544 two years 
 before li.s death, the most violent of all his sacramentary treatises 
 A hnovt Confesftion rcsprrt/'/iff the Lovd'ft Supper. 
 
 However, liis last word (m his deathbed was one of peace lie is 
 credibly reported to have said toMelauchthon in tlie course of a dvinc 
 conycrsition, "Dear Philip, I confess to have gone too far in the 
 affair of the sacrament." 
 
 The year lo4G began with unmistakable indications that Charles 
 was now ready to strike a decisive blow. 
 
 Luther had been sullering much during the last few years, and he 
 telt Ills end to be near at hand, In the month of January 1546 he 
 undertook a journey to Eisleben in very inclement weather, in order 
 to restore peace in the family of the counts of Mausfeld ; he caught 
 a violent cold ; preached four times ; and took all Ihe time an active 
 part in the work of conciliation. On the 17th February he felt 
 that his release was at hand ; and at Eisleben, where lie was born, he 
 died, in faith and prayer, on the following day. Nothing can be 
 more edifying than the .scene presented by the last davs of Luther, of 
 which we have the most authentic and detailed accounts. When 
 dying he collected his last strength and offered up the followin"- 
 prayer: "Heavenly Father, eternal, merciful God, thou hast re- 
 vealed to me thy dear Son, our Lord Jesus Christ ; Him I have 
 taught, Him I have confessed. Him I love as my Saviour and Re- 
 deemer, whom the wicked persecute, dishonor, and reprove Take 
 my poor soul up to thee !" Then two of his friends put to him the 
 solemn question, " Reverend Father, do you die in Christ and in the 
 doctrine you have constantly preached ?" He answered by an audi- 
 ble and joyful "Yes;" and repeating the verse, "Father, into thy 
 hands I commend my spirit," he expired peaceably, without a 
 struggle, on the 18th February, 1540, at four o'clock in tho after- 
 
 XtOOD.
 
 SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF LUTHER. 
 By tho:mas carltle. 
 
 Luther's birthplace was Eisleben in Baxony ; he came into the 
 world there on the 10th of November. 1483. It was an accident that 
 cave this honor to Eisleben. His parents, poor mine-laborers in a 
 village of that region, named Mohra, had gone to the Eisleben 
 Winter-Fair : in the tumult of this scene the Frau Luther was taken 
 Avith travail found refug(; in some poor house there, and the boy she 
 bore was named Mahtin Luther. Strange enough to reflect upon 
 it This poor Frau Luther, eho had sone with her husband to make 
 lier small inerchaudisings : perluxps to sell the lock of yarn she had 
 been <;ninnin"-, to buy the small winter-ueccssanes for her narrow hut 
 or househokf; in the wl.ole woild, tluit day, there was not u more 
 entirely unimportant-looking pair of people than this mmer and Ins 
 wife 'And yet what were all emperors, popes, and potentates, in 
 comparison ? There was born here, once more, a mighty man ; 
 who.se light was to thune as the biacon over long centuries and 
 epochs of the world; the whole world audits history was waiting 
 for this man. It is strange, it is great. It lends us back to another 
 birth-hour in a still meaner environment, eighteen hundred years 
 a"-o -of which it is til that we sm/ notliing, that we think only m 
 silence: for what words are there! The age of miracles past? 
 The aire r.f miracles is forever here ! . , i 
 
 I find it altogether suitable to Luther's function m tins eartli, and 
 doubtless wisely ordered to that end by the Providence presiding 
 over him and us and all things, that he was born poor, and brought 
 up poor, one of the poorest of men. He had to beg, as the sciioul- 
 children in those times did ; singing for alms and bread, troiu door 
 to door. Hardship, riL^orous necessity was the poor boy's com- 
 iianion ■ no man nor no thing woulil put on a false face to tlalter 
 Martin Luther. Among things, not among the shows ol things, had 
 iietogrow A boy of rude figure, yet with weak iicalth, witli his 
 large greedy soul, full of all facuilty and sensihility, hr sunere( 
 treally. 15ut it was his ta.sk to get ac(iuainted with nuli/tc.^ and 
 keep iicquainled with them, at whatever cost : his task was to bring
 
 B3 SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF LUTHER, 
 
 the wliolc world back to reality, for it had dwelt too lou-r -n-ith scm- 
 bianco ! A youtli nui-Ked-ii|> in wintry wliirlwinds, in desolate dttrlc, 
 ness and diflicidly, that he may step fortli at last I'rom las stormy 
 Scandinavia, strong as a trne man, as a god: a Cliristian Odin— a, 
 riglit Thor once more, witli liis tliunder-luimmer, to smite asunder 
 ugly enougli Jotuns and giant-monsters ! 
 
 Periiaps the turning incident of Ids life, we may fancy, was that 
 deatii of his friend Alexis, by lightning, at the gate of Erfurt. Luther 
 had Strug-led up tln-ougii boyiiood, better and worse ; displaying, in 
 spite of all hindrances, the largest intellect, eager to learn : his fatlier, 
 iudging doubtless that he nught promote himself in the world, set 
 1dm upon the study of law. This was tlic path to rise ; Luther, 
 witli little will in it either way, had consented ; he was now nineteen 
 years of age. Alexis and he had been to see the old Lutlier peo[)]e 
 at :Mansfeld ; were got back again near Erfurt, when a thunderstorm 
 came on ; the bolt struck Alexis, he fell dead at Luther's feet. What 
 is this life of ours ?— gone in a moment, I)urnt np like a scroll, into 
 the blank eternity ! What are all earthly prefeiments, chancellor- 
 ships, kingships? Tliey lie shrunk together— there I The earth 
 has opened on them ; in a moment tliey are not, and eternity is. 
 Luther, struck to the heart, deternuned to devote himself to God, and 
 God's service alone. In spite of all dissuasions from his father and 
 others, he became a monk in the Augustine convent at Erfurt. 
 
 This was probably the first light-point in the history of Luther, 
 his purer will now first decisively uttering itself ; but, for the pres- 
 ent, it was still as one light-point in an efement all of darkness, lie 
 says he was a pio\is moidv, ichhin liiifrommcr Monchgewesen ; faith- 
 fully, painfully struggling to work out the truth of this high act of 
 his ; but it was to little purpose. His misery had not lessened ; had 
 rather, as it were, increased into infinitude. The drudgeries he had 
 to do, as novice in his convent, all sorts of slave-work, were not his 
 grievance : the deep earnest soul of the man had fallen into all man- 
 ner of black scruples, dubitations ; he believed himself likely to die 
 soon, and far worse than die. One hears with a new interest for poor 
 Luther that, at this time, he lived in terror of llie unspeakable 
 misery ; fancied that he was doomed to eternal reprobation. Was it 
 not the humble sincere nature of tiie man ? What was he, that he 
 sliould be raised to heaven ! He that had known only mi.sery, and 
 mean slavery : the news was too blessed to be (a-cdible. It cou'ld not 
 become clear to him how, by fasts, viu:ils, formalities and mass-work, 
 a man's soul could be saved, lie fell into the blackest wretchedness ; 
 had to wander staggering as on the verge of bottondess despair. 
 
 It must have been a most blessed discovery, that of an old Latin 
 Bible wldch he found in the Erfurt Library about this lime. Ho 
 l)ad never seen the book before. It taught liim another lesson than 
 that of fasts and vigils. A brotlier monk too, of pious experience, 
 was helpful. Luther learned now that a man was saved not by
 
 BT THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 53 
 
 Bin-iag masses, but by tlie infinite grace of God : a more cred.hle 
 livpotbesis. He -raduallv got himself touuded as on he rock No 
 l-ondoT he shouldWenerafeThe Bible, which had brought this blessed 
 he n to him He prized it as the Word of the Highest niust be 
 nri?ed bv such a man. He determined to hold by that ; as through 
 life and 'to death he tirmly did. , . ^ w • , ^ -„„ 
 
 This then i^ his deliverance from darkness, his final triumph over 
 darkness what we call his conversion ; for himself the most impor- 
 tant of all epochs. That he should now grow daily m peace and 
 clearness ; that, unfolding now the great talents and virtues im- 
 planted in him, he should rise to importance in his convent, in his 
 countrv and be found more and more useful m all honest business 
 of life " is a natural result. He was sent on missions by his Augus- 
 tine O'rder, as a man of talent and fidelity fit to do t^ieir businesa 
 well- the Elector of Saxony, Fnedncii. named the A\ ^e, a truly 
 wise and just prince, had cast his eye on liira as a valuable person ; 
 made him professor in his new University of W ittenberg, a preac ei 
 too at Wittenberg ; in both which capacities, as in all duties he did, 
 this Luther, in the peaceable sphere of common life, was gaming 
 more and more esKiem with all good men. 
 
 It was in his twentv-seventh year that he first saw Rome ; being 
 sent thither, as I said, on mission from his convent Fope Julius 
 the Second, and what was going on at Rome, must have filled the 
 mind of Luther with amazement. He had come as to the bacred 
 City throne of Gk)d's high-priest on earth ; and he found it— what 
 we know ' Manv thoughts it must have given the man ; many 
 which we have no record of, which perhaps he did not himself know 
 how to utter. This Rome, this scene of false priests, clothed not 
 in the beautv of liobness. but in far other vesture, \sfalM : but what 
 is it to Luther V A mean man he, how shall he reform a world ;' 
 That was far from his thoughts. An humble, solitary man, why 
 should he at all m(;d He with the world ? It was the task of quite 
 higher men than he. His business was to guide his own foot.steps 
 wisely througli the world. Let him do his own obscure duty in it 
 well ; the rest, horrible and dismal as it looks, is in God's hand, not 
 
 It i.s curious to reflect what might have been the issue, had Roman 
 popery liappened to pass this Luther by ; to go on in its great 
 wasteful orijit. antl not come athwart his litth- path, and tor(!e him to 
 assault it! Conceivable enough that, in this (a.se. he might have 
 held hi.s peace aliout the abuses of Rome ; left Providence, and God 
 on liigh. to deal with them ! A modest, quiet man ; not prompt ha 
 to attack irreverenllv persons in authority. His clear task, as 1 say 
 was to do Ills own duty ; to walk wisely in this world of con useil 
 wickedness and save his own soul alive. Hut the Roman lugh- 
 nrieslliooddid come athwart him : afar oil at Wittenberg he. Lulher. 
 could not get lived in honesty for it ; he remonstrated, resisted, cam*
 
 »>i SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF LUTHER, 
 
 to extipmity ; was struck nt, struck aj^iiin, and so it came to wage? 
 of battle botwcon them ! Tliis is wortli attemling to in Lutlier's ius- 
 toiy. Porliaps no man of so humble, iicaceable a dispositioii ever 
 tilled the wurld with contention. We cannot but see that he would 
 have loved privacy, cjuiet diiiirence in the shade ; that it was against 
 his will he ever became a notoriety. Notoriety : what would ihat do 
 tor him ? The goal of his marcli through this" world was the inlinito 
 heaven ; an indubitable goal for him": in a few j-ears he should 
 cither have attained that, or lost it forever ! We will say nothing at 
 all, I think, of that sorrovvfullest of theories, of its beinir some mean 
 shopkeeper grudge, of the Augustine monk against the'Domiuican, 
 that first kindled the wrath of Luther, and produced the Pi-otestant 
 Eeformatiou. W'e will say to the people who maintain it, if indeed 
 nny such exist now : Get tirst into the sphere of thouirht bv which it 
 is so much as i)ossible to judge of Luther, or of any man like Lu- 
 ther, otherwise f ban distractedly ; we may then begin arguing with you. 
 The monk Tetzel, sent out cai-elessly in the way ot^ trade, bv Leo 
 Tenth— who merely wanted to raise a little ruoney, and for th'e rest 
 seems to have been a Pagan rather than a ("hiistian, so far as he waa 
 anything— arrived at Wittenberg, and drove his scandalous trade 
 there. Luther's Hock bought indulgences ; in the confessional of liis 
 Church, people pleaded to him that they had already got their sins 
 pardoned. Luther, if he would n(jt be found wanting at his own 
 post, a false sluggard and coward at the very centre of the litllc space 
 of ground that was his own and no other man's, had to step forth 
 against indulgences, and declare aloud that ^//c?/ M'cre a futility and 
 sorrowful mockery, Ihat no man's sins could be pardoned by (hem. 
 It was the beginning of the whole Reformation. We know how rt 
 went ; forward from this tirst public challenge of Tetzel, on the last 
 day of October, 1517, through remoristratic^; and argumcrrt ; — spread- 
 ing ever wider, rising ever higher ; till it became unquenchable, and 
 enveloped all the world. Lutlier's heart's desire was to have this 
 grief and other griefs amended ; his thought was still far other than 
 that of introducing separation in the Church, or revolting against the 
 pope, father of Christendom. The elegant pagan pope cared liltle 
 about this monk and his doctrines ; wished however to have done 
 with the noise of him : in a space of some three years, hsviug iv'w.d 
 various softer methods, he thought good to end it hy fire. He dooms 
 the monk's writings to be burnt by the hangman, and his body to be 
 sent bound to Rome— probably for a similar purpose. It was the 
 ■way tliey had ended with Huss, with Jerome, the century before. A 
 Bhort argiunrnt, tire. Poor IIiiss : he came to that Constance Coun- 
 cil with all imaginable promises and safe-conducts ; an earnest, not 
 rebellious kind of man: the}' laid him instantly in a stone dungeon 
 " tJiree feet wide, six feet high, seven feet long ;" iiirnt the true 
 voice of him out of this world ; choked it in riinoke and fire. Thai 
 was not weli done 1
 
 BY THOilAS CARLYLE, 55 
 
 I, for one, pardon Luther for now altogether revolting against the 
 pope. The elegant pagan, by this fire-rieoree of his, had kindled 
 nito no1)lL' just wrath tlie bravest heart then living in this world. 
 The bravest, if also one of the humblest, peaceablest ; it was now 
 kindled. These words of mine, v.-ords of trulli and soberness, aim, 
 ing faithfully, as human inability would allow, to promote God's 
 truth on earth, and save men's souls, you, God's vicegerent on 
 earth, answer them by the hamrraan and fire ? You will burn mo 
 and them, for answer to the God's message they strove to bring you? 
 Tou are not God's vicegerent ; you are another's than his, I think ! 
 I take your bull, as an emparchmented lie, and burn it. You will 
 do what you see good next : this is what I do. — It was on the 10th 
 of December, 1530, three j'ears after the beginning of the business, 
 that Luther " with a great concourse of people," took this indignant 
 step of burning the pope's fire-decree " at the Elster-Gale of Witteii> 
 berg." Wittenberg looked on " with shoutings ;'' the whole world 
 was looking on. The pope should uot have provoked that " shout !" 
 It was the shout of the awakening of nations. The quiet German 
 heart, modest, patient of much, had at leu^jth got more than it 
 could bear. Formulism, pagan popism, and other falsehood and 
 corrupt semblance had ruled long enough : and here once more was 
 u man found wlio durst tell all men that God's world stood uot on 
 semblances but on realities ; that life was a truth, and not a lie ! 
 
 At l;otlom, as was said above, we are to consider Luther as a proph- 
 et idol-breaker ; a bringer-back of men to reality. It is the func- 
 tion of great men and teachers. Mahomet .said, These idols of yours 
 are wood ; you put wax and oil on them, the flies stick on them, 
 tiiey are not God, I tell you, they are black wood ! Luther said to 
 the pope, This thing of yours that 3'ou call a pardon of sins, it is a 
 bit of rag-paper wiih ink. It is nothing else ; it, and so much like 
 it, is nothing else. God alone can pardon .sins. Popcsliip, spirit- 
 ual fatherhood of God's Church, is that a vain semblance, of cloth 
 and parchment ? It is an awful fact. God's Church is not a 
 semblance, heaven and hell are not semblances. I stand on this, 
 since you drive me to it. Standing on this, I, a poor German monk 
 am stronger than you all. I stand solitary, friendless, but on God's 
 truth ; you with your tiara-;, triple-hats, with your treasuries and 
 armories, Ihumlers spiritual and temporal, stand on the devil's lie, 
 and are not so strong I 
 
 Tlie Diet of Worms, Luther's appearance there on the ITlh of 
 April, l.y^l, ma}' be considered as the greatest scene in modern Eu- 
 ropean history ; the point, indeed, from whicli tlie whole subse(iuent 
 liistory of civilization takes its rise. After multiplied negotiations, 
 disputations, it had f:ome to this. The young Emp(!ror Charles 
 Fifth, v/ilh all the princes of Germany, papal nuncios, dignitaries 
 apiiitual and temporal, are as.sembled there : Luther is to appear ;ind 
 answer for himself, whether he will recant or not. The world's
 
 50 SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF LUTHER, 
 
 pomp and pnwor sils Uiero on this hiind : on that, stands up for 
 God's (null, one mnn, the poor uiiner IFans Lntlier's son. Friends 
 had reminded liim of Hnss, advised liim not to go ; he would not be 
 advised. A large company of friends rode ont to meet liim, witiv 
 still more earnest warnings ; he answered, " V/erc there as many 
 devils in Worms as there are roof -tiles, I would on." The people, 
 on the morrow, as he went to the hall of Kie diet, crovvdcd the win- 
 dows and housetops, some of them calling out to liim, in solemn 
 words, not to recant : " Whosoever denieth me before men !" they 
 cried to him — as in a kind of solemn petition and adjuration. Was 
 it not in reality our petition too, the petition of the whole world, 
 13'ing in dark bondage of soul, paralyzed under a black spectral night- 
 mare and triple-hatted chimera, calling itself father in God, and what 
 not : " Free us ; it rests with thee ; desert us not !" Luther did not 
 desert us. His speech, of two hours, distinguished itself by its re- 
 spectful, wise and honest tone ; sulmiissive to whatsoever could law- 
 fully claim submission, not submissive to any more than that. His 
 writings, he said, were partly his own, partly derived from the 
 Word of God. As to what was his own, Iiuman infirmity entered 
 into it ; unguarded anger, blindness, many things doubtless which it 
 were a blessing for him could he abolish altogether. But as to wliiit 
 stood on sound truth and the Word of God, he could not recant it. 
 How could he ? " Confute me," he concluded, " by proofs of Scrip- 
 ture, or else by plain just arguments : I cannot recant otherwise. 
 For it is neither safe nor prudent to do aught against conscience. 
 Here stand I ; I can do no oilier : God assist me !" — It is, as we say, 
 tiie greatest moment in the modern history of men. English Puri- 
 tanism, England and its Parliaments, Americas, and vast work these 
 two centuries ; French Revolution, Europe and its work everywhere 
 at present : the germ of it all lay there : liad Lutlier in that moment 
 done other, it Inid all been otherwise ! The P^uropean world was 
 asking him : Am I to sink ever lower into falsehood, stagnant piUres- 
 ccnce, loathsome accursed death ; or, willi whatever jmroxysm, to 
 cast the falsehoods out of me, and be cured and live ? 
 
 Great wars, contentions and disunion followed out of this Refor- 
 mation ; which last down to our day, and are yet far from ended. 
 Great talk and crimination has been made about these. They are 
 himentablc, undeniable; but after all, what has LiUher or his cause 
 to do with them ? It seems strange reasoning to charge the Refor- 
 mation with all this. When Herciiles turned the purifying river into 
 King Augeas's stables, I have no doubt the confusion tliat resulted 
 was considerable all around ; but I think it was not Hcrcules'a 
 blame ; it was some other's blame ! The Reformation might bring 
 what results it liked when it came, but the Reformation simply could 
 not iielp coming. To all popes and popes' advocates, expostulat- 
 ing, lamenting and accusing, the answer of the world is : Once for
 
 BY THOMAS CAKLYLE. 57 
 
 all, your popehood has become untrue. No matter how good it was, 
 how good you say it is, we cauuot believe it ; the light of our whole 
 mind, given us to walk b}' from heaven above, tinds it henceforth a 
 thing unbelievable. We will not believe it, we will not try to be- 
 lieve it — we dare not ! The thing is untrue ; we were traitors against 
 the Giver of all truth, if we durst pretend to think it true. Away 
 with it ; let whatsoever likes come in the place of it ; with it we 
 ,can have no farther trade ! Luther and his Protestantism is not re- 
 , sponsible for wars ; the false simulacra that forced him to protest, 
 they are responsible. Luther did what every man that God has 
 made has not oulv the right, but lies under the sacred duty to do : 
 answered a falsehood when it questioned him. Dost thou believe 
 me ?— Xo I— At what cost soever, without counting of costs, this 
 thing behoved to be done. Union, organization spiritual and mate- 
 rial, a far nobler than any popedom or feudalism in their truest days, 
 I never doubt, is coming for the world ; sure to come. But on fact 
 alone, not on semblance and simulacrum, will it be able either to 
 come, or to stand when come. With union grounded on falsehood 
 and ordering us to speak and act lies, we will not have anything to 
 do. Peace? A brutal lethargy is peaceable, the noisome grave is 
 peaceable. We hope for a living peace, not a dead one ! 
 
 And yet, in prizing justly the indispensable blessings of the new, 
 let us not be unjust to tiie old. The old was true, if it no longer is. 
 In Dante's days it needed no sophistry, self- blinding or other dis- 
 honesty, to get'itself reckoned true. It was good then ; nay there is 
 in the soul of it a deathless good. The cry of " No Popery," is fool- 
 ish enough in these days. The speculation that popery is on the in- 
 crease, building new chapels, and so forth, may pass for one of tho 
 idlest ever started. Very curious : to count up a few popish chapels, 
 listen to a few Protestant logic-choppings— to much dull-droning 
 drow.sy inanity that still calls'itself Protestant, and say : See, Proi- 
 chtantism is dead ; Popism is more alive than it, will be alive after 
 it : — Diov/.sy inanities, not a few, that call themselves Protestant are 
 dead ; but Pr^Aexttudiiirn iias not died yet, that I hear of ! Protes- 
 tantism, if we will look, has in these days produced its Goethe, its 
 Napolerm ; German liilerature, and the "French lievolution ; rather 
 consideral)le signs of life ! Nay, at bottom, what else is alive but 
 Protestantism? Tiie life of most else that one meets is a galvanic 
 one merely — not a pleasant, not a lasting sort of life ! 
 
 Popery can build new chapels ; weh-ome to do so, to all lengths. 
 Popery cannot come bat:k, any nu)re tlian paganism can — iDldek also 
 Btili lingers in souk; countries. ]5ut, indeed, it is with these things, 
 lis with tho eiiliiiig of the sea : you look at the waves oscillating 
 liilher, thither on the beaeli ; for minalcH you cuiiiiot tell how it is 
 going ; look in half an hour where it is — look in half a century w hero 
 your popehood is ! Alas, would there were no greater <langer to our 
 Europe than the poor old popc'a revival I Tlior may as soon try to
 
 58 SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF I/UTIIER, 
 
 revive. — And \vitli:il this oscillation has a meaning. Tlic poor old 
 popehood will not die nway entirely, as Thor has done, for some 
 time yet ; nor ought it. We may say, the old never dies till this hap- 
 pen, til! all the soul of good that was in it have got itself transfused 
 into tlie praclieid new. While a good work remains <;apable of being 
 done hy the i^iniish form ; or, what is inclusive of all, while ^pioits 
 life remains capal)le of being led by it, just so long, if we consider, 
 will this or the other human soul adopt it, go about as a living wit- 
 ness of it. So long it will obtrude itself on the eye of us who reject 
 it, till we in our practice too have appropriated whatsoever of truth 
 was in it. Then, but also not till then, it will have no charm more 
 for any man. It lasts here for a purpose. Let it last as long as it 
 can. 
 
 Of Luther I will add now, in reference to all these wars and blood- 
 shed, the noticeable fact that none of them began so long as he con- 
 tinued living. The controversy did not get to fighting so long as he 
 was there. To me it is proof of his greatness in all senses, this fact. 
 How seldom do we find a man that has stiri-ed up some vast commo- 
 tion, who does not himself perish, swept away in it ! Such is the 
 usual course of revolutionists. Luther continued, in a good degree, 
 sovereign of this greatest revolution : all Protestants, of what rank or 
 function soever, looking much to him for guidance : and he held it 
 peaceable, continued firm at the centre of it. A man to do this must 
 have a kingly faculty : he must have tiie gift to discern at all turns 
 where the true heart of the matter lies, and to plant liimself cour- 
 ageously on that, as a strong true man, that other true men may rally 
 round him there. He will not continue leader of men otherwise. 
 Luther's clear deep force of judgment, his force of all sorts, of 
 silence, of tolerance and moderation, among others, are very notable 
 in these circumstances. 
 
 Tolerance, I say ; a very genuine kind of tolerance : he distin- 
 guishes what is essential and what is not ; the unessential may go 
 very much as it will. A complaint comes to him that such and such 
 a Reformed preacher " will not preach without a cassock." Well, 
 answers Luther, what harni will a cassock do the man? " Let liim 
 have a cassock to preach in ; let him have three cassocks if he find 
 benefit in them !" His conduct in the matter of Carlstadt's wild 
 image -breaking ; of the Anabaptists ; of the Peasants' War, shows a 
 noble strength, very different from spasmodic violence. With sure 
 prompt insight he discriminates what is what : a strong just man, 
 lie .speaks forth what is the wise course, and all men follow him in 
 that. Luther's written works give .siinil.'ir testimony of him. The 
 dialect of these speculations is now^ grown obsolete for us ; but one 
 still reads tliem with a singular attraction. And indeed the mere 
 grammatical diction is still legible enough ; Luther's merit in liter- 
 ary hisKjry is of the greatest ; his dialect became the language of all
 
 BY THOMAS CARLYLE. 59 
 
 writing. They are not well written, these four-and-twenty quartos 
 of his T written hastily, with quite other than literary objects. But 
 in no books have I found a more robust, genuine, I will say noble 
 faculty of a man than in these. A rugged honesty, homelmess, 
 sunplicity ; a rugged sterling sense and strength. He flashes out 
 illumination from him ; his smiting idiomatic phrases seem to cleave 
 into the very secret of the matter. Good humor too, nay tender 
 affection, nobleness, and depth ; this man could have been a poet 
 too ! He had to work an epic poem, not write one. I call him a 
 great thinker ; as indeed his greatness of heart already betokens 
 
 Richter says of Luther's words, "his words are half battles." 
 Thev may be called so. The essential quality of hira was, that he 
 could fight and conquer ; that he was a right piece of human valor. 
 No more valiant man, no mortal heart to be called braixr, that one 
 has record of, ever lived in that Teutonic kindred, whose character is 
 valor. His defiance of the " devils" in Worms was not a mere boast, 
 as the like misht be if now spoken. It was a faith of Luther's that 
 there were devils, soiiitual denizens of the pit, continually besetting 
 men. Many times,'in his writings, this turns up ; and a most small 
 sneer has been grounded on it by some. In the room of the Wart- 
 burg where he sat translating the Bible, they still show you a black 
 spot on the wall ; the strange memorial of one of these conflicts. 
 Luther sat translating one of the Psalms ; he was worn down with 
 long labor, with sickness, abstinence from food : there rose before 
 him some hideous indefinable image, which he took for the evil one, 
 to forbid his work : Luther started up, with fiend-defiance ; flung 
 his inkstand at the spectre, and it disappeared. The spot still re- 
 mains there ; a curious monument of several things. Any apothe- 
 cary's apprentice can now tell us what we are to think of this appa- 
 rition, in a scientific sense : but the man's lieart that dare rise de- 
 fiant, face to face, against hell itself, can give no higher proof of fear- 
 lessness. The thing he will quail before exi.sts not on this earth or 
 under it.— Fearless enough! "The devil is aware," writes he on 
 one occasion, " that this does not proceed out of fear in me. I have 
 seen and defied innumerable devils. Duke George," of Leipzig, a 
 great enemy of his, " Duke George is not equal to one devil"— far 
 short of a devil ! " If I had business at Leipzig, I would ride into 
 Leipzig, though it rained Duku Georges for nine days running." 
 What a reservoir of dukes to ride into I 
 
 At the same time, they err gi-eatly who imagine that this man .s 
 courage was ferocitv, mere coarse disobedient obstinacy and .sav- 
 Rjrery. as manv dn. " Far from that. There may he an absence of 
 fear which arises from the absence of thought or alfection, from the 
 presence of Jiatred and stupid fury. WcmIo not value the courage of 
 iIk; tiger liighly ! With Lutlicr it was far otherwise ; no accusation 
 could Ix; more unjust than this of mere ferocious violence brought 
 A.n.-20
 
 60 SPIRITUAL PORTRAIT OF LUTHER, 
 
 against him. A most gentle licurt withal, full of pity and love, as 
 indeed the truly valiant heart ever is. The tiger before a Ktronger 
 foe — llics : the tiger is not what we call valiant, only fierce and criiel, 
 1 know few thingji more touching than those soft hreathings of 
 affection, soft as a child's or a mother's, in this great wild heart of 
 Luther. So honest, unadulterated with any cant ; homely, rude in 
 their utterance : pure as water welling from' the rock. What, in fact, 
 was all that downpressed mood of despair and reprobation, which 
 we saw in his youth, but the outcome of pre-eminent thoughtful 
 gentleness, affections loo keen and fine ? It is the course such men 
 as the poor poet Cowper fall into. Luther to a slight observer might 
 have seemed a timid, weak man ; modesty, affectionate shrinkhig 
 tenderness the chief distmctiou of him. It is a noble valor which is 
 roused in a heart like this, once stirred up into defiance, all kindled 
 into a heavenly blaze. 
 
 In Luther's TaUc-Talk, a posthumous book of anecdotes and saj'- 
 ings collected by his friends, the most interesting now of all the 
 books proceeding from him, ve have many beautiful unconscious 
 displays of the man, and what sort of nature he had. His behavior 
 at the death-bed of his little daughter, so still, so great and loving, is 
 among the most affecting things. He is resigned that his little Mag- 
 dalene should die, j'et longs inexpressibly that she might live ; — fol- 
 lows in awe-struck thought the flight of her little sourthrough those 
 unknown realms. Awe-struck ; most heartfelt, we can see ; and 
 sincere — for after all dogmatic creeds and articles, he feels what 
 nothing it is that we know, or can know : his little Magdalene shall 
 be with God, as God wills ; for Luther too that is all : hlnm is p.ll. 
 
 Once he looks out from his solitary Patmos, the Castle of Coburg, 
 in the middle of the night : the great vault of immensity, long flights 
 of clouds sailing through it — dumb, gaunt, huge : — who supports all 
 that ? " None ever saw the pillars of it ; yet it is supported." God 
 supports it. We must know that God is great, that God is good ; 
 and trust where we cannot see. — Returning home from Leipzig once, 
 he is struck by the l)eauty of the harvest-fields : How it stands, that 
 golden yellow corn, on its fair taper stem, its golden head t)ent, all 
 rich and waving there — the meek earth, at God's kind bidding, has 
 produced it once again ; the bread of man ! In the garden at Witten- 
 berg one evening at sunset, a little bird has perched for the night. 
 That little bird, says Luther, above it arc the .stars and deep heaven 
 of worlds ; yet it has folded its little wings ; gone trustfully to rest 
 there as in its home; the Maker of it has given it too a home ! — 
 Neither are muthful turns wanting : there is a great free human 
 heart in this man. The common speech ^f him has a rugged nol)le- 
 ness, idiomatic, expressive, genuine ; gleams here and there with 
 beautiful poetic tints. One feels him to be a great brother man. His 
 love of music, indeed, is not this, as it were, the sunmiary of all these 
 affections in liim? Many a wild unutlcrability he spoke foith from
 
 BY THOMAS CARLYLE. 61 
 
 him in the tones of his flute. Tlie devils fled from his flute, he says. 
 Death-dctiance on the one hand, and such love of music on the 
 other ; I could call tliese the two opposite poles of a great soul ; be- 
 tween these two all great things had room. 
 
 Luther's face is to me expressive of him-; in Kranach's best por- 
 traits 1 find the true Luther. A rude, plebeian face ; with its huge 
 crag-like brows and bones, the emblem of rugged energy ; at first, 
 almost a repulsive face. Yet i-ii the eyes especially there is a ■wild 
 silent sorrow ; an unnamable melancholy, the element of all gentle 
 and fine affections ; giving to the rest the true stamp of nobleness. 
 Laughter was in this Luther, as we said ; but tears also were there. 
 Tears also were appointed him ; tears and hard toil. The basis of his 
 life was sadness, earnestness. Li his latter days, after all triumphs 
 and victories, he expresses himself heartily wear}' of living ; he con- 
 siders tliat God alone can and will regulate the course things are 
 taking, and that perhaps the day of judgment is uot far. As for 
 1dm, he longs for one thing ; that God would release him from his 
 labor, and let him depart and be at rest. Thoy uudeistand little of 
 the man who cite this in (Z/«credit of him ! — I will call this Lulher a 
 true great man ; great in intellect, in courage, aireetion and integrity ; 
 one of our most lovable and precious men. Great, not as a hewn 
 obelisk ; but as an Alpine mountain — so simple, honest, spontaneous. 
 not setting up to be great at all ; there for quite another purpose than 
 being great I Ah yes, unsul)duable granite, piercing far and wide 
 intothe heavens ; "yet in tlie clefts of it fountains, green beautiful 
 Valleys with flowers ! A right spiritual hero and prophet ; once 
 more, a true son of nature and fact, for whom these centuries, and 
 many that are to come yet, will be thankful to heaven. 
 
 TUB BBS.
 
 MART STUART, QXJEEI^ OF SOOTS. 
 
 Ip another Homer were to arise, and if the poet were to seek an- 
 other Helen for the subject of a modern epic of war, religion, and 
 love, he would beyond all find her in ]\Iary Stuart, the most beauti- 
 ful, the weakest, the most attractive and most attracted of women, 
 raising around her, by her irresistible fascinations, a wiiirlwind of 
 love, ambition, and jealousy, in which her lovers became, each in his 
 turn, the motive, the instrument, and thi> victim of a crime ; leaving, 
 like the Greek Helen, the arms of a murdered husband for those of 
 his murderer ; sowing the seeds of iuterneciue, religious, and foreign 
 war at every step, and closing by a saintly death the life of a Clyteni- 
 ixestra ; leaving behind her indistinct memories exaggerated equally 
 by Protestant and Catholic parties, the former interested in condemn- 
 ing her for all, the latter in absolving her from all, as if the same 
 factious who had fought for her during her life had resolved to con 
 tinue the combat after her death ! Such was Mary Stuart. 
 
 That which a new Homer has not yet done in poetry, a sympathetic 
 historian, M. Dargaud, eniightenetl by the researches of other learned 
 writers, has recently achieved in his history of the Queen of Scots. 
 It is from the extremely interesting documents collected by M. Dar- 
 gaud that we shall now recorapose — though frequently in a different 
 spirit — that fair tigure, and give a rapid sketch of a great picture. 
 
 n. 
 
 Maky Stuaut was the only daughter of James V., King of Scot- 
 land, and of Marii! de Lnriain'.-. daughter of the Duke of (iui.se. She 
 was born in Scotland on tlie Ttli December, 1542. Her father was one 
 of tlifwe adventurous, romantic, gallant, and poetic charaeter.s who 
 leave beliiml tiiem i)opidar tradilions of bravery antl of lieentiousne.ss 
 in the imagination of their couiitr3% like Francis I. and Hi;nry IV. of 
 France. Her mother possessed tliat genius, at once grave, aml)itious, 
 and sectarian, which distinguished the princes of tlie House of Guise, 
 tho.sc true Mac(;abees of Popc'ry on this side the Alps. 
 
 James V. died yovmg, proi)he.sying a nujuruful destiny for his 
 daughter, yet in her cradle. This prophecy was suggested by his
 
 i MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 mis£^ivings rcganling the fate of a diild, delivered up, during a long 
 niiiu)rity, to the contentions of a small kinicdoni torn by feudal anJ 
 priestly faetiuns and coveted by a nei^^hbor so powerful as England. 
 Protestantism and Catholicism had already embittered llieir disseU' 
 sions with the fanaticism of two hostile religions defying each other 
 face to face. The dying king had, after long hesitation, adopted the 
 Catholic policy and' proscribed the Puritans. ]\I. Dargaud sees in 
 this policy of James V. the cause of the ruin of Heotland and of the 
 misfortunes of u\[ary, and at first sight we Avere tempted to think a.s 
 he does. After a closer view, however, and on a consideration of 
 the general political situation of Europe, and more particularly of 
 Scotland, perhaps the Catholic party adopted by the king might have 
 been safest for that country, if, indeed, Scotland could have been 
 saved by state measures. It was not the Catholicism of Mary Stuart 
 that proved fatal to Scotland ; it was her youth, ber levity, her loves, 
 and her faults. 
 
 Hi. ^ 
 
 Where, in fact. Hay the true and permanent danger for Scotland ? 
 In the neighborhood, the ambition, and the power of England. Had 
 Scotland at once become Protestant, as England iiad been since the 
 time of Henry VIII. , one of the greatest obstacles to lier absorption 
 by England would have disappeared with the difference of religion. 
 Catholicism was therefore esteemed a part of Scottish patriotism, and 
 to destroy it would have been to tear their native country from the 
 hearts of the Catholic portion of the people. 
 
 Moreover, Scotland, ceaselessly menaced by the domination or in- 
 vasions of England, stood in need of powerful foreign alliances in 
 Europe to aid lier in preserving her independence and to furnish her 
 with that moral and material support necessary to counterbalance the 
 gold and the arms of the English. What were these continental 
 alliances ? France. Italy, the Pope, Spain. Scotland lived by such 
 imposing protection ; there lay her friendships, her vessels, her gold, 
 her diplomacy, her auxiliary armies. Now all those powers— Italy, 
 Spain, France, the House of Austria, the Hoiise of Lorraine— had 
 adopted the Catholic cause with fanaticism, as opposed to the new 
 religion. The Inquisition reigned at Madrid, the St. Bartholomew 
 already cast its shadow over France, the Guises, uncles of Mary, 
 were the very core of that league which attempted to proscribe Henry 
 IV. on suspicion of heresy. Community of religion, therefore, could 
 alone and at once interest the Pope, Italy, Austria, France, and Lor- ( 
 raine, to maintain with a strong hand the independence of S«otland,. 
 The day she ceased to become part of the great Catholic system es- 
 tablished on the continent slie fell, having no ally left save her 
 mortal and natural enemy— England. Looking at the political rather 
 than the religious aspect of alfairs under James V., an alliance with 
 Protestaatism was an alliance with death. M. Dargaud 'a reproach
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEN" OF SCOTS. 5 
 
 of the dying king, therefore, may be an error engendered by his un- 
 compromising predilection ^wliich is also ours) for the cause of re- 
 ligious liberty. But religious liberty in Scotland at that time had 
 no existence in either camp ; parlies attacked eacli other with equal 
 ferocit}', and Knox, the deadly foe of the Catholics, was not less in- 
 tolerant than Cardinal Beatoun, who proscribed the Puritans. Kings, 
 had only a choice of blood, for the fanatics of each communion 
 equally demanded that it should be shed. For Scotland, then, the 
 question was purely a diplomatic one. In confiding his daughter to 
 Catholic Europe, James V. may have acted the part of a far-seeing 
 parent and king. If fortune betrayed his policy and his tenderness, it 
 was the fault of his heir and not of his testament. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His widow, Mary of Lorraine, deposed from the regency by the 
 jealousy of the nobles, reconquered it by her ability, anil allowed the 
 cardinals — ihe usual supporters of thrones at that period — to govern 
 the kingdom under her. Her daughter was sought after by all the 
 courts of Europe, not only because of her precocious reuowu for 
 genius and beauty, but also, and principally, for the purpose of ac- 
 quiring, by marriage with her, a right to the Scottish crown— an ac- 
 quisition strongly coveted ])y the wearers of other crowns After a 
 journey to Lorraine and France to pay a visit to her uncles, the 
 Guises, the queen determined, by their advice, to marry her daughter 
 to the Dauphin, son of Henry II. 
 
 Diana of Poitiers, the Aspasia of the age, had ruled Henry II. for 
 twenty years, as much by the love she bore him as by the affection 
 with which he regarded her ; we know not, in fact, which of the 
 two, the king or liis mistress, may be said to have possessed the 
 other, such a miracle of tenderness was the witchcraft of this passion 
 of a young king and a woman of fifty. The Guises cultivated the 
 friendship of Diana of Poitiers for the purpose of governing the 
 league. 
 
 Tlie Queen-Regent of Scotland left her child-daughter in the cha- 
 teau of St. Germain, to grow up under their protection in the almos- 
 pliere of that France over which she was destincil one day to reign. 
 " Votre fille est cnie, et croit tons les jours en bonlc, lieautt'; et vcrtu," 
 writes the Cardinal de Lorrame, her uncle, to the Quren, liis si.ster, 
 after her return to Edinljurgh, " le roi passe bien .son temps a deviser 
 avec elle. . . . Elle le salt au.ssi l)ien entretenir de bons et sages 
 propos comme feraitunc; fenmie de vingt cinci ans." " Your daugh- 
 ter ban grown much, and continues to grow every day in goodness, 
 beauty, and virtue. . . . The king passes niucli (;f his time in 
 auiusiiig liim.self witii her. . . Sin; also knows well how to cn- 
 
 tcrlaiu him with wise oonverse, like tliut of a woman of fivc-aiid 
 twenty."
 
 6 MARY STUAUT, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 The learned uiul Italian education of the young ycottisli woman de. 
 vclo[)od Mie ixalural gifts she possessed. Frencli, Italian, CTfcek, 
 Latin, history, theology, poetry, niusic, and dancing, were all learned 
 and studied under the wisest masters and greatest artists. In the re- 
 lined and voluptuous court of the Valois, governed by a favorite, she 
 was brought up rather as an accomplished court lady tliaii as a future 
 queen ; and her education rather seemed to tit her for l)ecoming tl « 
 mistress than the wife of the Dauphin. The Valois were the Medici 
 of France. 
 
 The poets of the court soon began to celebrate in their verses the 
 marvels of her beauty and the treasures of lier mind — 
 
 "En voire esprit, le ciel s'est stirmonto, ^ 
 
 Niituie et iirtont en voire l)(.aute, "^ 
 
 Mis tout le beau dont la beaute s'aeemble !" 
 
 *'■ The gods themselves excelled, in framing thy fair mind, 
 Nature and art in thy young form their liighcst powsrs combined, 
 All beauty of the beautiful to concentrate in thee." 
 
 writes du IJellay, the Petrarch of the time. 
 
 Ronsard, who was the Virgil of the age, expresses himself, when- 
 ever he speaks of her, in such images and with such delicacy ar-d 
 polish of accent, as prove that his praise sprang from his love — that 
 his heart h;.d subjugated his genius. Mary was evidently the Beatrix 
 of the poet 
 
 '' An milieu du prinlrmps entre les lis naquit 
 Son corps ((ui de biiinclu-nr les lis meuitB vainquit, 
 Et les roses, qui sout du sang d'Adonis teintes 
 Furent jiar isa couleur de leur vermeil dupeintes, 
 Amour de s^cs beaux traits lui composa les yeux, 
 Et les graces qui sont les trois filles des cieux 
 Ue leurs dons les jilus beaux cette princesse orncreut 
 Et pour mieux la servir les cieux »l)andonncrent." 
 
 " In fakiess of the springtide, from among the lilies fair, 
 Spranir foith that form of \vliitene8:J, (airer than tlie lilies there. 
 Thou.^h stained with Adonis' hlood, the gentle summer rose 
 Lies vanquished by the ruby tint her cheeks and lips disclose. 
 Young Love himself wilh arrows keen halh armed her peerless eye, 
 The Graces too, thos^e fairest three, briglil daughieis of the sky, 
 With all their richcsr, rarest gifts my princess have endowed, 
 And evermore to serve her well have left their high abode. " 
 
 " Notre petite rcinette Ecossaise," said Catherine de Medici herself 
 who looked upon her with distaste, "our little Scottish queeniiug 
 has only to smile in order to turn all the heads in France !" 
 
 Neither did the child love the Italian (luecu, whom, in her girlish 
 Bcorn for the low- born house of Medici, she called " that Florentine 
 market-woman." Her prOflilections were all in favor of Diana oC 
 Poitiers, who seems to liave cducatx.'d in her a daughter, a future 
 competitor in beauty and empire. Diana cherished besides, in tho
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEK OF SCOTS. 7 
 
 youn.^ Scottish woman, a rival or possible victim of that Queen T^liza- 
 beth of Eno-hmd whom she detested, and whose power Mary had not 
 yet felt The proof of this is to be found in a curious letter written 
 by Diana of Poitiers, and communicated in autograph to the historian 
 we are following : 
 
 " To Madame, mv good friend, Madame de Montaigne : 
 
 " I have just been told about the poor young queen, Jane Grrey, 
 beheaded, at the age of seventeen, and cannot help weepmg at the 
 sweet lano-ua^e of resignation she spoke at the hour of lier death. 
 For never have we seen so gentle and accomplished a princess, 
 and yet she must perish under the blows of the wicked. When are 
 you coming to visit me, my good friend ? I am very desirous of your 
 presence, which would console me in all my sorrows, whaever there 
 mav be that arise and weigh so heavily on me, turning everything 
 into evil. Sometimes these become annoying to such a degree as to 
 make one believe that an abyss lurks in high places. The courier 
 from England has brought me many line dresses from that country, 
 which if you come soon to see me, will have a good share in inducing 
 you to leave the place where you are, and make active preparations 
 for stayino- some time with me. and orders will be given that you 
 shall be provided with everything. Do not pay me otl then with 
 fine words or promises, for I VAOuld press you in my arms to assure 
 myself the more of your presence. Upon which I pray God very 
 devoutly that he may keep you in health according to the desire of 
 " Your affectionate, to love and to serve, 
 
 "Diana." 
 
 This letter, this pity, and the fine expression " an abyss in high 
 places," prove that the witchery of Diana lay in her genius and in 
 her heart as much as in her fal)ulous beauty. 
 
 The sudden death of Henry II., killed in a tournament by Mont- 
 gomery, sent Diana to the solitary Chateau of Auet, where she had 
 prepared her retreat, and where she grew old in tears. The young 
 Mary of Scotland was crowned with her husband, Francis II., who 
 was even more a child in mind and in weakness than in age. The 
 Guises reaped what they had sown in advising this marriage ; they 
 rei"-ned through their niece over her husband, and through the king 
 over France. They had the boldness to proclaim publicly their pre- 
 ten-sions to the inheritance of the Scnttish crown, by eniblazoniiig the 
 arms of the two nations on the escutcheon of the young (pieen. 1 hey 
 testified their utlachinent for the (tausc of the Pope by the murder of 
 the Calvini^^t Anne du I'.(>urg, a heroic confessor of the Protestant 
 faith. " Six feet of earth for'my imdy, and the infinite heavens for 
 my soul, is what I shall ."^oon have." cried Anne du IJourg at sight 
 of the scaffold, antl in i)reEeiHe of her executioners. Mary Stuart. 
 in whose veins flowed the fiinatical blood of her mother, took a bitter 
 Boctarian delight in the execution of these heretics by her uncles.
 
 ft MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 This reign only lasted eleven months ; France lost the phantom of 
 a king ratiier than a master, and l)arely granted him royal ohsequiea. 
 Mary alone sincerely mourned him as the mild and agreeable com- 
 panion of her youth rather than as a husband. The verses which sho 
 composed in the first months of her widowhood neither exaggerate 
 nor lessen the sentiment of her grief ; they are sweet, sad, but lukC' 
 ■warm as the first melancholy of the soul before the age of p*ssiouato 
 despair. 
 
 " Ce qui in'ostait plaisant * 
 Ores m'cst jjcino dure ; '• 
 Le jour )e plus luisiint 
 West nuit noire et obscure. 
 
 "Si en quelque st'jour, 
 
 Soit en bois ou en pree, 
 
 Soit surTaube du jour 
 Ou soiteur la vespree. 
 
 Sans cesse mon cceur bent 
 
 Le regret d'un absent. 
 
 " Si je suis en repos, 
 
 Sommeilhint sur ma couche, 
 L'oy qui me tient propos, 
 
 .)e le sens qui me louche. 
 En liibeur et rcquoj-, 
 Toujours est pres de moi." 
 
 " All that once in pleasure met 
 Now is pain and sorrow ; 
 The brilliant day hath quickly set 
 In night with dreary morrow. 
 
 " Where'er I sojourn, sad, forlorn, 
 
 lu forest, mead, or hill; 
 Whether at the dawn of morn, 
 
 Or vesper hour so still— 
 My sorrowing heart shall beat for thee. 
 This absent one I ne'er shall see ! 
 
 " When slumbering on my couch I lie, 
 And dreams the past reveal. 
 Thy form, beloved, seems ever nigh, 
 Thy fond caress I feel." 
 
 It was in a convent at llheims, where she had retired to enjoy the 
 tociety of the Abbess Renue of Lorraine, that she lamented so sweetly, 
 not the loss of a throne, but the loss of love. Soon after, she heard 
 of the death of iier mother, the Queen of Scotland. A new throne 
 awaited her at Edinburgh, and she prepared for her departure. 
 
 " Ah 1" cries her poet and adorer, the great Ronsard, on learamg 
 the approaching return of the young queen to Scotland — 
 
 •• Comme le ciel sMl perdait ses 6to;les 
 Lamer sea eaux, le navire ses voiles. 
 
 Et un anneau sa perle preciense 
 Ainai perdra la France soucieuse 
 Son ornament, perdant la rovaut6 
 ^ai fut ea Ucur, son eclat eabeuut^ 1"
 
 MART STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 9 
 
 " Like to the heaven when starless, dark, 
 Like seas dried up or saillcs?? bark, 
 Like ring its precious peiirl ^onc. 
 Mourns France, ^vitlioiit thee sad and lone. 
 Thou wert her gem, lier flower, her pride, 
 Her young and beauteous royal bride." 
 
 " Scotland," continues the poet, " which is about to snatch her 
 from us, becomes so dim in the mist of its seas that her ship will 
 Beyer reach its shores." 
 
 " Et celle done qui la poiirsuit envain 
 Ketournerait en France tout soudain 
 Pour habiter son chateau de Tourainc 
 Lorsde chansons j'anrais la bouche pleine 
 Et dans mes vers ei fort je la louerais 
 Que comme uu Cygne en chautant jc mourais 1" 
 
 * But she I've sought long time in vain 
 May soon to France return again, 
 To dwell in castle of Touraine! 
 Then, full of song, my lips would try 
 To swell her praise, and sing till I, 
 Like fabled swan, might singing die I" 
 
 The same poet, when contemplating her dressed in mourning in the 
 park of Fontainebleau some daj's before her departure, thus with a 
 loving pen traces her image, blending it forever with the beautiful 
 shades of Diana of Poitiers and of Lavalliere, which people, in im- 
 agination, the waters and woods of that exquisite spot : 
 
 " Un crespe long, subtil et delie, 
 . Pli cnnirc pli retors et replie. 
 
 Habit d(! deuil, vous eert decouverturo - 
 
 Depuis le chef jusques ii la ceinture. 
 
 Qui s'enflo ainsi qu'un vode, quand Ic vent 
 
 houlTle la barque ct la ciugla in avant. 
 
 De tel habit vous csticz accoustrie, 
 
 Partant, hdlas I de la belle contree 
 
 Dont aviez cu lo sceptre dans la main, 
 Lorsque pensive, et baignant votre eein 
 
 Dubeau crystal de vos larmes roulfies, 
 
 Triste marchiez par lea lon"UC3 allees 
 
 Du grand jardin de co royal chasteau 
 
 Qui preud son noni de la heaute d'uue cau." 
 
 " A long and slender veil of sable crape; 
 Its folds unfolding, ever folds anew ; 
 The niouniing symbol that enwraps thy shapo 
 From head to girdle falls ; 
 Now swelling to the wind, even as the sail 
 Of bark nrgitd onward by the passing gale ; 
 (Leaving, alas ! this ever beauteous land. 
 Whose Bceptri- onrc was borne by thy fair liand ;) 
 Thus wert thou (-lad, when thou didst pensive stray 
 Along the royal gardiMis paths that day, 
 Balbnig thy bosom wiUi the trysial tears. " 
 
 Who does not himself become a lover by reading the verses of such
 
 10 MARY STUART, QUKEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 a poet? But love, or even poetry, according to Brantoine, wcro 
 powerless to tlepict her at this still progressive period of her life ; to 
 paint that Ju'tuity which consisted less in her foiin than in her 
 fascinating grace ; youth, heart, genius, passion, still shaded by 
 the deep melancholy of a farewell ; tlie tall and slender shape, 
 the harmonious movement, the round and flexible throat, the 
 ovul face, the fire of her look, the grace of her lips, her Saxon 
 fairness, the pale beauty of her hair, the light she shed around 
 her wherever she went ; the night, tiie void, the desert slie left 
 behind when no longer present ; the attraction resembling witch- 
 craft, which unconsciously emanated from her, and which drew 
 toward her, as it were, a current of eyes, of desires, of hearts ; the 
 tone of her voice which, once heard, resounded forever in the ear of 
 the listener, and that natural genius of soft eloquence and of dreamy 
 poesy which distinguished this ^youthful Cleopatra of Scotland. The 
 numberless portraits which poetry, painting, sculpture, and even 
 stern prose have preserved of her all breathe love as well as art ; we 
 feel that the artist trembles with emotion, like Konsard, while paint- 
 ing. A contemporary writer gives a finishing stroke to these delinea- 
 tions bj' a simple expression, conveying the idea of a restoration of 
 the feelings of youth to all who looked upon her : " II n'y avait point 
 devieillarddevautelle," cried he — " No man iu her presence could feel 
 old ;" she could almost vivify deatli itself. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A CORTEGE of regret, rather than of mere honor, accompanied her 
 to the vessel which was to bear her to Scotland, lie who appeared 
 most grieved among the courtiers was the Mari'chal de Damvilie, son 
 of the Great Constable de Montmorency ; being unable to follow her 
 to Scotland, on account of his oflicial duties, he resclved to have a 
 constant representative there in the person of a young gentleman of 
 his household, Du Chatelard, by whom he might be daily gratified 
 with a narrative of the sliirhtest events, and, so to speak, of every 
 breath drawn by his idol. Du Chateliird, unhappily for himself, fell 
 madly iu love with her to wiiom he was the accredited aml)assador of 
 another's love. lie was a descendant of the Chevalier Hayard, brave 
 and adventurous as his ancestor, a scholar and a poet like Konsard, 
 with a tender soul rciKly to be speedily scorched by such a tiame. 
 Everj'body knows the touching ver.ses written by ^lary, through her 
 tears, on the deck of the vessel, while the coast of France faded in 
 the distance. 
 
 " Adieu, plaisnnt pays de Frauce, 
 U ma palrie 
 La plus clu'rie, 
 iiil a iiourri ma jciitie enfancel 
 Idieu, France ; ailitii, nius beaux joura) 
 La nc'f qui (lif^joint nos amours, 
 M'a ca de moi que la muiiis. 
 
 23
 
 , ' MART STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 11 
 
 Une part te restc, elle est tienne, 
 
 Jc la lie a ton amitie 
 Pour que de I'autre il te souvienne !" 
 
 " Farewell, thou ever pleasant soil of France, 
 Beloved land of cllildhood's early day ! 
 Farewell, my Prance ; farewell, my happy years 1 
 
 Thouph from thy shores I now am snatched away, 
 Thou still retainest half my loving heart, 
 The rest will ne'er forget thee though we part !" 
 
 On the 19th of August, 1561 — the very day on which she completed 
 ter nineteenth year — Mary landed on Scottish ground. The lords'who 
 had governed the kingdom in her absence, and the Presbyterian part 
 of the nation, witnessed her arrival with repugnance ; they feared 
 her presumed partiality for the Catholicism in which she had been 
 brought up in the courts of the Guises and of Catherine de Medici. 
 Respect, however, for hereditary legitimac}', and the hope of being able 
 to fashion so young a queen to other ideas, prevailed over these prej- 
 udices. She was escorted like a queen to the palace of Holyrood, 
 the dwelling of the Scottish monarchs at Edinburgh. The citizens 
 of that capital expressed in mute language a symbolic but conditional 
 submission to her rule, presenting to her, bj' the hands of a child, the 
 kej's of the city, placed between a Bible and a Presbyterian psalm- 
 book, on a silver platter. She was saluted Queen of Scotland on the 
 following day, amid a splendid concourse of Scottish lords and of the 
 French seigneurs of her family and suite. Knox, the Calvin of Scot- 
 land, the prophet and agitator of the popular conscience, abstained 
 from appearing at this inauguration ; he seemed desirous of making 
 his submission as a subject depend on the fullilment of the conditions 
 expressed by the appearance of the Bible and psalm-book on the 
 silver platter. Knox was the Savonarola of Edinburgh ; as over- 
 bearing, popular, and cruel as he of Florence, he stood alone between 
 the people, tiie throne, and the parliament, as a fourth power repre- 
 senting sacred sedition, a power which claimed a place side by side 
 with the otlier powers of the state ; a man the more to be feared by 
 the queen because his virtue was, .so to speak, a kind of fanatical 
 conscience. To become a martyr or to make martyrs for what he 
 believed to be the cause of God were to him indilferent. lie was 
 ready to give liimself up to the death, and why should he hesitate to 
 devote others to the scaffold '! 
 
 Scarcely had the first Queen Mary been invested with the regency 
 than he had fulminated against her a pamphlet, entitled 'First Blast 
 of the I'nanjM nf/aiiint tlic wjruitrous Jitf/ii/icn of Women." 
 
 " There was in the Lothians— one of the Scottish provinces— a 
 solitary spot where Knox passed several liours every day. Under the 
 shade of the nultrees, leaning against a rock, or stretched upon the 
 sward near a .small hjcii, he read his Bible, traiislaled into the vulgar 
 tongue ; there he concocted his schemes, watcliing with anxiety for 
 the propitiou-s moment when they should explode mto action. Whcu
 
 12 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 tired of rcfloctinn and rcndinc:. lie would nppTo;\ch nenrer to (lie pool, 
 .iCiit hiiUM'lf ou its hauks, and crumble some broad to feed the moor- 
 ;o\vl and wild ducks he had succeeded iu taming." 
 
 Striking image this of his mission among men, which called liim to 
 distribute to them the Word — that Bread of Life 1 Knox loved that 
 desert solitude on the banks of t'le little lake. " It is sweet," said he, 
 " to rest there, but avo must Irj to please Christ." To please Christ 
 was, in the eyes of Knox, as in those of Philip II. of Spain, or 
 Catherine of Medici, to condemn his enemies. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The young queen, feeling tlie necessity of securing the good-will 
 of such a man, succeeded iu attracting him to the palace. lie appeared 
 in his Calvin istic dress, a short cloak thrown over his shoulder, tlio 
 Bible under his arm. " Satan," said he, " cannot prevail against a 
 man whose left hand bears a light to illumine his right, when he 
 Bcarches the Holy Scriptures in the hours of night." 
 
 "I would," said the queen, "my words might have the same 
 effect upon you as yours have upon Scotland ; we should then un- 
 derstand each other, become friends, and our good intelligeuee would 
 do much for the peace and happiness of the kingdom !" " Madam," 
 replied the stern apostle, " words are more barren than the rock when 
 they are only worldly ; but when inspired by God, thence proceed 
 the flower, the grain, and all virtues ! I have travelled over Ger- 
 many ; I know the Saxon law, which is just, for it reserves the 
 sceptre for man alone, and only gives to woman a place at the hearth 
 and a distaff 1"— thus plainly declaring that he saw in her only a 
 usurper, and that he was himself a republican of the theocratic order. 
 
 The queen, alarmed at the impotence of her charms, her words, 
 and her rank on the mailed heart of fanaticism, wept like a child 
 before the sectary ; her tears moved but did not discourage him ; he 
 continued to preach with wild freedom against the government oi 
 women and the pomps of the palace. The populace, already in a 
 state of irritation, became still more excited by his words. 
 
 " The pupil of the Guises," he said to them, *' parodies France ; 
 her farces, prodigalities, banquets, sonnets, masquerades. . . . 
 The paganism of the south invades us. To provitle for these abomi- 
 nations the burgesses arc taxed, the cit}' treasuries pillaged ; Roman 
 idolatry and French vices will speedily reduce Scotland to beggary. 
 Do not the foreigners brought over by this woman infest the street* 
 of Edinburgh by night in drunkenness and debauchery ?" 
 
 " There is nothing to be hoped for from this !>[oabite." he added. 
 ' Scotland might as well build upon clouds, upon an abyss, over a 
 volcano. The spirit of caprice and of pride, the spirit of popery, the 
 gpini of her accursed uncles, the (Juise-s, is within her." 
 
 ftepelled sls she was from the heart of the ucople, she threw herself
 
 MARY STUAllT, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 13 
 
 mio the arras of the nobles. She confided the direction of the gov- 
 erumeiit to a natural sou of her father James V. who bore the n'arae 
 of the " Lord James," wlioni she treated as a brother, and elevated 
 to tbe rank of Earl of Muri-ay. Murray was. by character and spirit, 
 worthy of the confidence of his sister ; young, handsome, elrjqueut like 
 her, he was better acquainted with the country than she was ; he had 
 the friendship of the nobles, wisely managed'tlie Presbyterians, had 
 acquired tlie esteem of the people, and possessed that loyal ability, 
 that skilful uprightness, which is the gift of great statesmen. iSucli 
 a brother was a favorite given by nature to the young queen, and 
 so long as he remained the only favorite he made 'his sister popular 
 by his gcvernment as by his arms. He led her into the midst of the 
 ciiraps, and she fascinated all by her charms and her courage ; her 
 address in horsemanship astonished her .subjects ; she was present at 
 the battle of Corrichie, in which Murraj^ vanquished the lebels and 
 killed the Earl uf Iluntly, their leader. 
 
 Once more mistress of pacified Scotland, Mary returned in triumph 
 to EdiulHirgh. The moderate but pious Protestantism of ilurray 
 cmtriiiuteu to this pacification, by furnishing in his own persona 
 pledge of toleration and even of favor for the new religion. Every- 
 thing premised Mary Stuait a happy reign for herself and her kimr- 
 dom, had her heart been devoted to nothing but state jjolicy ; biit 
 hers was ::he heart not merely of a queen but of a woman accustom- 
 ed to the court of France, and to the idolatry of her Leauty professed 
 by an entire kingdom. The Scottish nobles were not less enthusiastic 
 than wae those of France in this chivalric worship ; yet to declare 
 herself sensible to the homage of any one of her subje<;ts would only 
 have been to alienate all the rest by exciting llieir jealousy ; but the 
 politic watclifulness over herself with relation to tlie Scottish lords, 
 which lud bfcn reconmiended by Murray, her brother and minister, 
 was precisely that which ruined her. Unconsciously to herself, an 
 obscure favorite insinuated himself into her heart ; this favorite, so 
 celebrated afterward for his sudden elevation and tragical death, wa» 
 named David Kizzio. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Rrzzro was an Italian of low birth and menial station. Gifted witi 
 8 touching voice, a pliant spirit, which enabled him to bow before 
 tue great ; possessing a talent for playing on the lute, and for com- 
 losing and for singing that laiiguisliing'music which is one of Iho 
 ''ITemmacies of Italy, liizzio bad been attached at Turin to the house- 
 hold of the French ambassador at the court of Pietlmont in the ca- 
 pacity of musical attendant. On his return to France, theamliiussado! 
 liad brought Rizzio with him to the court of Francis II., and lie en- 
 tered the Huile of one of the French nobles who had escorted Mary 
 »o ScoUaud. The young queen luid begged bun of this noLlemHU,
 
 J* MART STUART, QUEKN OF SCOTS. 
 
 tliat slic might retain in Uie rouiitry when! slic was lest; a qiioen tha» 
 an t'xilo one wiio would be to lier" as ii livinu- memory of the arts, 
 leisure, and deii,i,^iits of France! and lialy, tiiose lands of lier soul. A 
 musician lierself, as slio was also a i)oel— charming frciiueutly her 
 3aduess by composing words and airs in whicli she exhaled her sighs 
 — the society of the Picdmonlese musician became liabitual and dear 
 to her. The study of his ait and even the inferiority of Ki/zio's con- 
 dition concealed for some lime the assiduity and tamiliaiity of this 
 intimacy from (lie observation of tlie couit of llolyrood. 
 
 Love for the art had uufortunatt^ly led to ;in undue preference for 
 tlie artist. There is in music an attractive language without words., 
 which unconsciously creates sympathy, and wliicli gives the musician 
 a powerful inlluence over the imagination of women of cultivated 
 mmds. The ilelicious, impassioned, or heroic notes of the voice or 
 of the instiumcntscem to breathe a sold in unison witl? thosesnblimo 
 or touching chords. The music and tJie musi(;ian become, as it were, 
 one. Kizzio, after having merely furnished her with amusement in 
 times of sachicss, ended by becoming her confidant, and her favor 
 speedily became mainfest to all. The musician, rapidly eievated by 
 her from his servile position to the summit of credit and honors, 
 became, under the name of secretary, the reigning favorite and the 
 minister of lier policy. 
 
 IX. 
 
 RuMons in the palace regarding this preference of the queen for 
 the Itahan were not slow to lind an echo in the city, and from tltence 
 they spread all over Scotland. Kuo.x made the pidpit resound witif 
 allusions and declamations on the corruption of the " woman ff Baby- 
 lon." .Alurray was grieved and the ncjbles oifended ; tho clergy 
 thundered ; the people were incensed against the (pieen. Tlie court, 
 meanwhile, was devoted to tourneys, hunting-feasts, banquets shows, 
 and music, concealing or betraying ignoble love adventures. The 
 queen alienated from herself all liearts for tlic sake of a inereliistrio, 
 of a player on tlie lute, an Ilulian, a iei)robate I'apist, who pjissedfor 
 a secret agent of tin; Holy See, charged with the task of seducing the 
 queen and fettering the conscience of the kingdom. 
 
 X. 
 
 Everything indicates that Mary and Rizzio liaa resolved to give a 
 ; tragic diversion to this public scandal, by sacriticing to the Presbyte- 
 rian rage of tlie i)eople another favorite than the true one, and thus 
 to satisfy the Protestant <'lergy by shedding the blood of a foolish en- 
 thusiast, the page of the Marechal de DamvilJe, tlie young Du Chate- 
 lard, who had remained, as we have seen, at Ib^Iyrood, for the pur- 
 pose of eulertaining liis ina.ster with letters aliout all that related to 
 the queen, his idol. Du Chatelard, treated as u child by the playful
 
 MAKY STUART, QVEEX OF SCOTS. 15 
 
 iiidulgenr.e of the queen, bad conceived for liis mistress a passion 
 borderiui^ un madness. The queen had encouraged him too much io 
 retain the right of punishing him. Uu Chatelard, eonstantly admit. 
 ted to tlie most intimate familiarity wilh his mistress, ended by mis- 
 taking sport for earnest, persuading himself that she only desired a 
 pretext for yielding to Ins audacity. The ladies of the palace dis- 
 covered him one night hidden under the queen's bed ; lie was ex- 
 pelled with indignation, but his boldness was placed to the account 
 of the thoughtlessness of his age and character. Raillery was lai? 
 only punishment. He continued to profess at court an adoring wor- 
 ship for .Mary, hlling the palace witli his amorous verses, and reciting 
 to the courtiers those lines which Konsard, possessed with the same 
 image, had addressed to her in Paris. 
 
 " Qnand cet yvoire blanc qui enfle votre seiii 
 Qu.iiul votro longiu!, ^rc?le ct delicati' main 
 Quand votre bellu taille el votrc beau corsage 
 Qui resseinble au porirait d'un celeste image; 
 Quand vos s^ifjes propos, quand vos-tre douce voix 
 Qui pourroit emoiivoir les rocliers et les bois, 
 Las ! ne sout plus icy ; quand taut de beautez rarcs 
 Dont les graces dos cieus ne vous fuient avares, 
 Abandon iiant la France onl d"un autre costo 
 L'agrealjle sujet de m)s vers euiporte. 
 Comment pourroit cliantrr les l^ouches des poijtes, 
 Quaud par vostrc depart les muses sont nuiettesf 
 Tout ce qui est dc beau ne se garde longtemps ; 
 Les roses et les lys ne regnent qirun priutemps. 
 Aiiisi votre beaute seuienient apparue 
 Quinze aus en nostre France est soudain disparue 
 Comme on voit d'un esclair s'evanouir le trait, 
 Et d'elle n'a laisse si non que le regret, 
 8inou le deplaisir qui me remet sans cosse 
 Au C(eur le souvenir d'une telle priucesse. 
 
 J'envoyray mes penser? qui volent comme oiseaiiz 
 Par eux je revoiray sans danger a toute heure 
 C'ette beile princesse et sa belle demcure ; 
 El lii pour lt)Ut jamais je voudiay sejouruer, 
 Cur d'un lieu si plaisant on ne pent retourner. 
 
 La nature a toujours dedans la mer lointaine 
 
 I'ar les bois par les rocs, sous les monceaux d'arei*6 
 
 ¥n\l naistre lea beautez et n"ii ))oint a nos yeux 
 
 N'y li nous fait present de ses don« precieux : 
 
 Les peiles, les rubis, sont enfants des rivages, 
 
 Et toiij<Jurs les odeurs sont aux lerres sauvagcs. 
 
 Ain(-i IJIeu (|ui a soin de vostre royaute 
 
 A fait (miracle griiiid) naistre vostre beaut6 
 
 8iir le bcjrd estnitiucr, comme cliose laissee 
 
 Non pour nos yeux lielas I mais pour nostre penEoc." 
 
 " The ivory wbifencs" of thy bonom Tair ; 
 Thy long and >l>-n(lcr hand so sofl and rare; 
 Thy all-Hiirpnssiu;; look .'ind form of love, 
 Knchanling us a vision from alxjve ; 
 Then thy sweet voice and music of thy ppcech, 
 That rocks and woods might iUvjvc, nor art could rcacK
 
 « MAKY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 When these are lost, fled to a foreifrn shore, 
 
 \yith loves anilKiacef, France behcTld^ no n'lore. 
 
 Ijow shall the poft sin^r now thou art jroiip ? 
 
 For >ilcnt is Iho inline since thou hasl Jlown : 
 
 All that is hcaiitcoiis short time doth aliide, 
 
 The rose and lily only bloom while lastelh the spring-tide. 
 
 " Thus here, in France, thy bcnnty only shone, 
 J or tlirice five '..nrs, and siuldc-nlv isV'one ; 
 Llketo the l)glitiiin;,'-nasli, a moment bii^'ht 
 lo leave but darkness and re-ret like ni>'ht, •' 
 To leave a deal bless memory behind. " • 
 
 Of that fair princess, in mv heart enshrined 
 Jjly wm-ed thoii-,'hts, like birds, now lly lo I'hee. 
 My beauKius jninee^s, and her home 1 see. 
 And I here for evermore I Jain would slay, 
 Nor from that aweetcst dwelling ever stray. 
 
 " Nfttnre hath ever in her deepest floods, 
 On loftiest hills, in lonely locks :nid woods 
 Her choicest treasures hid from mortnl ken,' 
 With lich and precious gems unseen ol meii. 
 'J'lie pearl and iiiby sleep in secret stores. 
 And softest pci-fuines spring on wildest shores. 
 Thus (jod, who ovej' thee his watch dolh keep ' 
 Hath borne thy beauty safe across the deep ' 
 On foreign shore, in regal j)ride to rest. 
 Far from mine eyes, but hidden in my breast." 
 
 These beautiful verses of Ronsard were doubtless esteemed an ex. 
 cuse for the passion of a poet equally fascinated, but less discreet 
 
 Du Chatelard, surprised a second lime liidden behind the curtains 
 of the queen's bed, was sent to trial and condemned to death by the 
 judges of Edinburgh for a meditated treason. Wi'th a single word 
 Mary might htive commuted his punishment or granted hmf pardon 
 but she imgenerously abandoned him to the executioner. Ascendine 
 tlie scalTold erected before the windows of llolyrood palace the 
 theatre of his madness and the dwelling of the queen, he faced death 
 ike a hero and a poet. " If," said he, " I die not withoui reproach 
 Jike the Chevalier Bayard, my ancestor, like him I die, at least, mih- 
 outjeur. lor bis last prayer he recited Eonsard's beautiful Ode on 
 Uealh. Then casting his last looks and thoughts toward the win- 
 dows of the palace, inhabited by the charm of his life and the cause 
 »f his death, " P^arewell !" he cried, " thou who art so beautiful and 
 •o cruel ; who killest me, and whom I cannot cea.se lo love '" 
 
 This tragedy was only the prelude to others which were soon after 
 to fall the palace with consternation and bloodshed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 _ But already state politics began to iutermingie with love and to 
 invade Uie happiness of the young queen. England, by right of 
 kindred, had always e.\erci.sed, i)arlly i)v habit, ]jartly by force u 
 8orl of recognized mediation over bcollaud. Elizabeth, the daughter
 
 MART STUAET, QUEE>7 OF SCOTS. 17 
 
 of Henry VIII., less -svoman than statesman, was not of a character 
 hkcly to forego this right of mediation. Public and personal policy 
 alike prompted her to retain it, the more so that Mary Stuart possessed 
 eventual rights to I he crown of England — rights even more legiti- 
 mate than lier own In the case of IClizabeih— who gloried inthe 
 title of virgin queen — dying without issue, Mary might be called to 
 succeed her on the English throne. The marriage of the Queen of 
 Scots was, therefore, a question which essiintialTy interested Eliza- 
 beth, for, according as the Scottish princess should marrj' a foreign. 
 a Scottish, or an English prince, the fate of England would not fail 
 to be powerfully inlluenced by Ihe king wiih whom 3Iary should 
 divide her two crowns. Elizabeth had begun by supporting the pre- 
 tensions of her own favorite, the handsome Leicester, to the hand of 
 Marj' ; then jealousy restrained her, and she transferred her favor to 
 a 3'ouug Scot of the almost royal house of Lenno.x, v.diose father was 
 devoted to her, and lived at court. She indirectly intimated to Mary 
 that such a marriage would cement an eternal friendship between 
 them, and would be agreeable to both nations. The young Darnlej', 
 .son of the Earl of Lennox, would thus exclude the pretensions of 
 foreign princes, whose domination might menace the independence 
 of Scotland, and later, perhaps, even that of England, and would 
 besides give to Queen Mary a pledge of domestic harmony in a com- 
 mon Catholic faith. It would please the English, because the house 
 of Lennox had immense possessions in England, and the family in- 
 iiabited London ; it would accommodate the Scotch, for he was a'Scot 
 l)y blood and race, and the Scottish nobles would more readilN' sub- 
 mit to one of their own countrymni than to an Englishman or a 
 stranger. This judicious reasoning shows in Elizai)eth no trace at 
 tiiat time of the perfidy and hatred which historians attribute to lier 
 in tliis negotiation. Slie certainly gave in this case lo her sister Mary 
 of Scotland the wisest counsel likely to assure repose to iierself, hap- 
 pinpss to her people, and friendship oetween the two crowns. This 
 advice, moreover, could not fail to be well received by a young 
 (pieen, wliose heart siiould naturally take precedence of her hand, for 
 Darnley, then in the 11 )wer of his youth, was one of the hand.some.st 
 of rnen, and the most likely to captivate the eyes and the heart of a 
 young queen by the graces of his person. 
 
 liizzio might perhaps have made liimself the sole obstacle to the 
 marriage of .Mary; but wiiether it arose from womanly caprice or 
 from tiie refined policy of Hizzio, which prom[)tetl him to concede a 
 throne in order to retain his influence, he favored the idea of Elizji- 
 beth by every means, thinking, doubtless, that he might be unable to 
 resist alone, or for a lengtii of time, the enmity of the Scottish noblei 
 leagued against him ; that a king was necessary to reduce them to 
 ol)(;dicnf:e, and that Daniley, who, tliougii possessing a charming ex- 
 Iffior, had only an inferior mind, would lie ever gnitcful tr) him for 
 placing him ou the throne, and Nvyjild leave him lo reign in rcalit/,
 
 18 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 Bhcltercd from public cnv}' under (he protection of the king. Histoiy 
 on this point is whollj' conjectural, but the renewed and continuous 
 preference of ]Mary for her favorite leads to the presumption that she 
 accepted Darulcy for the purpose of retaining Rizzio in power. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Darnlky appeared at Ilolyrood, and charmed all eyes by his in. 
 comparable beauty, but it was that incomplete kind of beauty want- 
 ing in the manliness bestowed l)y years ; he had youth in his face, and 
 something of the woman in his shape, which was too slender and un- 
 steady for a king. A change, however, seemed to come over Mary's 
 heart on seeing him, and she bestowed upon him her whole soul with 
 her crown. The recitals of the French ambassador at the Scottish 
 court represent this marriage as the perfect union of two lovers, hav- 
 ing but one heart, and ardently enjoying the prolonged revelries of 
 this first bliss of their lives. The Presbyterians alone, with Knox at 
 their head, formed a discordant element in the general happiness. 
 " We should be satisfied," ironically remarked the Earl of Morton ; 
 " we are going to be governed by a buffoon Kizzio, a silly child 
 Darnley, and a shameless princess Mary Stuart." " You will hear," 
 writes Paul de Vols., envoy of Catherine de Medici at ilolyrood, " of 
 the graceful and pleasatit life of the said lady, who employs every 
 morning in hunting, and the evenings in dancing, music, and mas- 
 quel-ades." " She is not a Christian," cried Knox from his pulpit, 
 " neither is she woman ; she is a pagan divinity — Diana in the morn- 
 ing, Venus in the evening !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Murray, the brother of Mary, who had firmly established tho 
 kingdom under her rule by his spirited and wise administration, was 
 soon dismissed b}'' the new king, now counselled and governed by 
 Rizzio. He retired, carrying with him the esteem of the nobles and 
 universal popularity in the nation ; the levity of the queen thus 
 prompted her to discard the first statesman in Scotland for a musi 
 cian, and leave everything to the government of caprice. Under the 
 influence of Charles IX., who then meditated the coming St. Barthol- 
 omew, of the Duke of All)a, l-'hilip the Second's fanatical execu- 
 tioner, and of Catherine of Medici, the fountain-head of the religioua 
 per.<*ecution in France, Mary joined the League of Bayonne, wiiose 
 object was to form a plan for the religious unity of all Europe by the 
 extermination of Protestantism. She boasted that she would soon 
 lead her Scottish troops and her Catholic continental allies to the con- 
 quest of England, and achieve the triumph of Po[><.'ry even in London 
 itself. Wo can easily conceive what dissension and animosity 
 between the two queens would immediately spring from such words 
 when rex)orled to Eliiiiibeth b.y her envoys at Ilolyrood ; feminine
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEif OF SCOTS. 19 
 
 rivalries speedily became intermixed ^vitli those of a religious and 
 political nature, to envenom still more the bloody leaven of their 
 hypocritical friendship. The inconstancy of Mary soon began lo 
 work out the vengeance of Elizabeth. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Mary had, after a few days of marriage abandoned her transient 
 fondness for the youth she imagined she had loved, conceived a cool- 
 ness for Darnley, and became again prodigal of everything toward 
 Rizzio, on whom she lavished power and honors, violating the almost 
 sacred etiquette of the limes by admitting him to her table in her 
 private apartnients, and, suppressing the name of the king in public 
 papers, substituteil ihat of llizzio. Sc^otland found she had two 
 kings, or, rather, the nominal king disappeared to give place to the 
 favorite. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Daunley, a prey at once to shame and to jealousy, bore all this 
 like a child, dreaniing of the vengeance which he had not the strength 
 to accomplish. The Scottish nobles, feeling themselves humbled in 
 his person, secretly excited in him this ferment of hatred, and olfered 
 to rid him at once from the worthless parasite slie had palmed on the 
 kingdom as its ruler. Wiiat may be called a national plot was formed 
 between them and Darnlc}', whose objects were tire death of the 
 favorite, ♦he imprisonment of tlie queen, and the restoration of the 
 outraged roya! power into the hands of the king. 
 
 The clergy and the people would evidently l)e favorable to the plot ; 
 there was no need to conceal it from them, so certain were the con- 
 spirators not only of imijunit}' but of public af^.^cuse. The Earl of 
 Murray, l)rother of the queen, whom she had so imprudently'' driven 
 away to deliver herself up to the ascendency of Rizzio, was consult- 
 ed, and listened with caution to the incomplete revelations of tlie 
 plotters. Too honest to par* :c-i pate by his consent in an assassination, 
 he gave his approbation, or at least his silence, lo the enterprise for 
 the delivery of Scot'.aiid. Jle promised to return to llolyrood at tlie 
 call of the lords, ;uid lo resume the reins of government in the inter- 
 est of the heir to' the throne, whom ]\Iary already carried in her 
 boaom. Kiz/.io, defeated and captured, migiit be embarked and 
 thrown up';n tlie coast of France. 
 
 The (pjeen and the favorite, ill-served by a disalTected court, sus- 
 pected nothing of the plot, tliough the conspirators, tlocking from tho 
 most distant (castles in .Scotland, were already armed and ass(;iiibled 
 in her antechamber. 
 
 On the night of tb(! 9lh or lOlli of March, I'jCO. Darnley, the Earl 
 of lx;nnox, his fallicr, iiOrd Jiiilhven. (ieorge Douglas, Lindsay, 
 A.O(ircw Kcr, and aoine other lord^j of Urn I'rolcBluut iiarty, awaitoii
 
 ?0 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 the hour in the kinc;'s chamber ; three hundred men-at-arms, furnished 
 oy the different counties, <riided silently into Edinburgh one by ono 
 luidcr the siiadc of the walls by the str<"et leadinu; from the city to tho 
 palace, ready to succor the conspirators if the queen's guards' shoulcj 
 r.ttempt to defend her. 
 
 i\ccording to the French ambassador, the murderers had a sti/I 
 more flagrant and justifiable pretext for the assassination of the fa- 
 Torite than historians relate. 
 
 " The king," we read in the dispatches of Paul de Foix to Cathe- 
 rine of 3Iedici, "a fow days before had gone to the door of the 
 queen's chamber, ?.'hich was inmiedialely above his own, about an 
 liour after midnight. After having knocked frequently and no one 
 replying, lie called the queen several times, praying her to open the 
 door, and finally threatening to break it open' upon which she ad- 
 mitted him. The king supposed her to be alone in the chamber, till, 
 after having searched everywhere, he discovered David in the cabi- 
 net, his only gamier ^ being a furred roljG." 
 
 This was probai)l\, the ollicial version given by the king and his 
 accomplices, but the witnesses, and even the actors in the murder, 
 gave a more truthful one of it afterward. The following is the 
 account given by Lord Iluthven, one of the conspirators, after his 
 flight to England, contirmed by unanimous testimony and by docu- . 
 mentary evidence. 
 
 The queen had unsuspectingly prolonged a nocturnal supper with 
 her favorite, in company with a single female contidaiite, in a small 
 room of the palace next to her bedchamber. Here let us quote the 
 French writer, who has studied on the spot the most minute circum- 
 stances of this event, and who engraves them in our memory as ho 
 relates them : 
 
 " The king had supped in his own apartment in company with the 
 Earls of .Morton, Eutliven, and Lindsay ; the king's rooms were on 
 tiie ground floor, elevated by a few steps, and were situated under 
 the apartments of the queen in the same lower. During the dessert 
 he seni to see who was with the queen. He was told that the queen 
 had hnished supper in her little cabinet, with Rizzio and her natural 
 sister, the Duchess of Argyle. Their conversation had been ioj'oua 
 and brilliant. The king went up by a back .stair, while Morton. 
 Lindsay, and a troop of tluiir bravest va.ssals dt;cupied the greai 
 staircase, and dispersed in their passage some of the queen's frienOv 
 and servants. 
 
 " The king passed from the chamber into Mary's cabineV 
 Rizzio, dressed in a short mantle, a satin vest, and lower clothes ot 
 purple velvet, was .seated, with his head covered. He wore a cap 
 decorated with a feather. The queen .said to the king, ' My lord, 
 have you .supped ? I thought you were supping now? The king 
 leaned on tlie back of the (queen's chair, who turned round toward 
 5xiai ; they embraced, and Darulcy took a shaxe in the conver8at>'>n.
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 21 
 
 HLs voice trembled, his face was inflamed, and from time to time 
 he cast anxious glances toNvard a liltlc door he had left ajar. 
 Soon after a man issued from under the fringes of the curtain which 
 covered it — Ruthven, still pale and shaking with fever, who, in spita 
 of his extreme weakness, had determined to join in the undertaking. 
 He wore a damask doublet lined with fur, a brass helmet, and iron 
 gauntlets ; was armwl as if for battle, and accompanied by Douglas, 
 Ker, Ballantj'ne, and Ormiston. At this moment Morton and Lind- 
 say violentl}- burst into the bedchamber of the queen, and, pushing 
 toward the cabinet, ruslied into that small room. 
 
 " Ruthven threw himself forward with such impetuosity that the 
 floor groaned beneath his weight. Mar}' and her guests were terri- 
 fied ; his livid, tierca aspect, distorted b}' illness and wrath, froze 
 them with terror. 
 
 " ' Why are j'ou here, and who gave you permission to enter?' 
 cried the queen. 
 
 " ' 1 have a matter to settle with David,' replied Ruthven in a deep 
 voice. 
 
 " Another of the conspirators coming forward, Mary said to him, 
 ' If Uavid be guilty, I am readv to deliver him up to justice. ' ' This 
 is justice I ' replied the conspirator, taking a rope from under his 
 mantle. 
 
 " Haggard with fear, Rizzio retreated to a corner of the chamber. 
 He was followed, and the poor Italian, approaching the queen, took 
 hold of her dre.ss, crying, ' I am a dead man ! giustizia I giustizia ! 
 save me, madame ! save me ! ' Mary threw herself between Rizzio 
 and the assassins. She tri(;d to stay their hands. All were crowded 
 and pressed together in that narrow space in one confused mass. 
 Ruthven and Lindsay, brandisliing their naked dirks, spoke roughly 
 to the queen ; Andrew Ker placed a pistol to her breast anr^ threat- 
 ened to fire, and Maiy, throwing open her bosom, cried, 
 
 " ' Fire, if you do not respect tlie infant I bear ! ' 
 
 " The table was overturned during this tumult. The queen still 
 struggling, Darnley threw his arms round her and pressed her into a 
 chair, in which he held her down ; while the others, taking Rizzio by 
 the neck, dragged him from the cabinet. Douglas seized Darnley '.s 
 dirk, .struck the favorite with it, and leaving the dagger in his back, 
 cried, ' That is the king's stroke ! ' Rizzio still struggled desperately. 
 He wept, prayed, and supplicated with laraentabfe groans. He at 
 first clung to the door of the cabinet, and afterward crept to the 
 fireplace ; then lie grasped the bed-posts of the queen's bed ; tho 
 conspirators threatened, struck, insulted him, and forced him to let 
 go his hold by pricking his hands with their dirks. Having at last 
 l>een dragged from the (jueen's chiiinber into the anteroom, Rizzio 
 fell, pierced with lifty-five dagijerwouiids. 
 
 " The queen made almost superhuman efforts to fly to the succor 
 of the unhappy man. The kiug could scarcely restraiu her. Plot*'
 
 ^3 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 ing her in other hands, lie liastened to Ihe room wlicro Rizzio lay 
 expiring. He asked if there yet remuiued aiiythinir to do, ami plunged 
 his dagger into the poor corpse. Alter this, Rizzio was tied i)yth(! 
 feet witli the rope l.rouirhl by one of the party, and was then dragged 
 down tlie stairs of tlie palaee. 
 
 "Lord Riitliveu then returned to the queen's cabinet, where tiie 
 table had been replaced. He then sat down, and asked for a little 
 wine. The queen was enraged at his insolence. He said he was 
 sick, and pouring out some wine with his own hand into an empty cup 
 (Rizzio's perhaps), he added that 'he could not submit to be gov- 
 erned by a servant. Your husband is here ; he is our chief ! ' 
 
 "'Is it so?' replied the queen, still doubtful of Rizzio's death. 
 ' For some time,' said Darnley, ' you liave been more devoted to him 
 than to me.' The queen was about to repiv, when one of her ofBcers 
 entered, of whom she asked whether David had been taken to prison, 
 and where? ' Madam,' replied he, ' we must speak no more about 
 Rizzio ; lie is dead.' 
 
 '_' The queen uttered a cry, and then turning to the king, ex- 
 claimed, ' Ah, traitor and son of a traitor ! is this the reward you re- 
 served for him who has done so mucli for your good and for your 
 honor? Is this my reward for having by his advice elevated you to 
 so high a dignity V Ah ! no more tears, but revenge ! No more joy 
 for me till your heart shall bo as desolate as mine is this day ! ' Say- 
 ing the.se words, she fainted away. 
 
 " All her friends at Holyrood immediately fled in disorder. The Earl 
 of Athol, the Flemings, and Livingstone escaped bv a dark passage ; 
 the Earls of Bothwell and Iluntly slid down a pillar into the 
 garden. 
 
 " ]Meantime a shudder ran through the city. The bells were rung ; 
 the burgesses of Edinburgh, with the Lord Provost at their liead, 
 assembled instantly around the palace. They asked for the queen, 
 who had now recovered her senses. While some of the conspirators 
 threatened that if she called out she would be slain and thrown over 
 the walls, others assured the burgesses tluit all went well ; th.at they 
 had only poniarded the Piedmontese favorite, who had conspired 
 with the Pope and the King of Spain to destioy the religion of the 
 Holy Gospel. 
 
 " Darnley himself opened a window of the fatal tower and begged 
 the people to retire, with the assurance that all was done by order of 
 Uie queen, and that instructions would be given next day. 
 
 " Guarded as a prisoner in her own palace, and even in her bed- 
 chamber, without a sinirle female attendant, ]\Liry remained alone all 
 night, delivered up to the horrors of despair. She had been preg- 
 nant for seven months, and her emotions were so powerful that the 
 infant she afterward bore, and who became James I. of England, 
 could never look upon a naked sword without a shudder of fear."
 
 MAR-x STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 23 
 
 I 
 
 XYI. 
 
 Brr if Aland's offence w«6 womanly, her vengeance -n-as childish. 
 Rizzio had trusted all to Slarv's preference ; the accomplices of tho 
 km"- had confided in his puerile jealousy, a sentiment as mcousistent 
 as love in the heart of a husband ready to pardon the (lueeu s tault if 
 she would forgive his revenge. The queen, burying in her memory, 
 with Italian and feminine dissimulation, both the outrage and her 
 resentment in order the better to pave the way for expiation, passed, 
 in some hours, from imprecations and sobs to a feigned resignation. 
 Tremblino- for her throne, her liberty, her own life, and that of her 
 unborn child, she undertook to fascinate in his turn the offended 
 husband whose anger seems to have been at once extmguished m 
 the blood of the offender. The imagination can alone fathom the 
 profound depths of the queen's avenging dissimulation toward him 
 who had given the last stab to the dead body of her favorite. 
 
 With astonishing promptitude Mary charmed, reconquered, and 
 a"-ain drew toward'^herself more than ever the eyes and the heart of 
 her young husband. " From the 12th of :\Iarch, while the blood of 
 Rizzio was still reeking on the floor of the chamber and on the king's 
 hands " writes the French envoy, " the queen resumed all her em- 
 pire over Darnley ; the fascination was so rapid and complete that 
 people believed in the influence of witchcraft on the part of the queen 
 over her husband." , j ^ *i * 
 
 The real witchcraft was the beauty of the one, the ardent youth ot 
 the other, and the intellectual superiority of a woman who now em- 
 ployed her genius and her charms in apparent submission, as she had 
 formerly employed them in offence. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This reconciliatien entirelv concealed the new conspiracy between 
 the king and queen against Darnley "s own accomplices in the murder 
 of the favorite, but which suddenly became apparent on the loth of 
 ]\[arch six days after tlia assassination, by the nocturnal fliglit ot the 
 kin-r and queen to the castle of Dunbar, a fortress whence the king 
 couTd brave his accomplices and the queen her enemies. From 
 thence Mary wrote to her sister. Queen Elizabeth of England, re- 
 couutin" her misfortunes in her own way, and demanding succor 
 an-ainst her revolted subjects. She then summoned to Dunbar those 
 nobles who were innocent of the conspiracy agamst her and eight 
 tliousand faithful Scots obeyed her call. Placing herself with the 
 kin" at til.; head of these troop.^, she marched upon Edinburgh ; 
 lu^tonishment and tenor went before her; the presence of the king 
 disroncert(;d the insurgent nobles, clergy, and pcoiile, and, without 
 Btriking a blow, she oulcred ilolyiood. A proclamatioa was issucU
 
 ii-L MARY STUARt, Qv'EEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 forbidding any mention of Diirnlcy as a participator in Kir-zio's mur- 
 der, and all the accomplices in that deed who fell into the queiin'a 
 hands were beheaded ; Kuthven, Douglas, and jMorton fled beyond 
 the frontiers ; she recalled, as chief of her council, the able ;ind up- 
 right Murray, who had been suiruMently mixed up with the conspir- 
 acy to insure his popularity, though suflicienlly guardeil to preserve 
 his honor. Finally, to gratify her alfection, after having attained 
 the objects of her ambition, slu; threw aside the mask, bewailed tho 
 fate of Rizzio, ordered his bodj- to be exhumed, and buried it with 
 regal obseiiuies in the sepulchre of the kings iu Holyrood chapel. 
 
 Reconciled with Darnlc}'', whom she more and more despised ; well 
 served by Murray, who brought back to her the alfections of the 
 nation, on the 19lh of the following June Mnry gave birth to a son, 
 destined one diiy to reign over England. An amnest}^ ably coun- 
 selled by Murray, granted a pardon to tin; conspirators on tlie occa- 
 sion of the auspicious event, and allowed those who had been pro- 
 scribed to return to their country and homes. 
 
 The hour of vengeance on lier luisliand had, however, come ; her 
 aversion for him made their lives miserable, and she no longer took 
 any pains to conceal it. jMelvil, one of lier most intimate conlidants, 
 says, in his memoirs of the reign of his mistress, " I constantly 
 found her, from the time of Rizzio's murder, with her lieart full of 
 rancor, and the worst way to pay court to her was to speak of her 
 reconciliation with the king." Such testimony reveals to us the 
 hearts of the actors in this great drama, though hidden under the 
 mask of false appearances. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The secret cause of this growing aversion was a new love, more 
 resembling a fatality of heart in the career of a modern Phedra 
 than the aberration of a woman and a queen in an age enjoying the 
 light of civilization. 
 
 The ol)ject of this love was as extraordinary as the passion itself 
 •was inexplicable, unless, indeed, we attribute it to the effect of 
 mairic or of prmessio/i, a supernatural explanation of the phenomena 
 of the heart which was common in those superstitious times. But 
 the female heart contains Avithin itself greater mysteries than even 
 masic can explain. The man now bcFoved by Mary Stuart was 
 Bolliwell. 
 
 The Earl of Bothwell was a Scottish noble of a powerful and illus- 
 \ trious house, whe.se principal stronghold was Llerinitagc Castle in 
 Roxburghshire. He was born witlf those perverse and unruly in- 
 stincts which indifferently drive men from exploit to exploit, or from 
 crime to crime— to a throne or to a scalfold. Impetuous in every 
 impulse, in ambition, and in enterprise, Bothwell was one of those 
 adventurers gifted with superhuman daring, who, in their doveloji- 
 naent and aa their desires expand, seek to burst the social boiuida
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 25 
 
 within -u'liich they exist, to make room for themselves or pcrisii in 
 the attempt. Some meu seem born to madness, and Bothwell was 
 one of those. Byron, whose mother's anc^cstry was connected with 
 the line of Lady Jean Gordon, Bothwell's wife, has depicted him in 
 the romantic and sombre " Corsair ;" but the poem is far behind his- 
 toric truth, for the sovereign poet, Nature, outvies fiction by reality, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 We know not whether precocious crime, parental severity, or vol- 
 untary flight exiled him from the paternal home, but in his early 
 youth he became enrolled among those corsairs of the ocean who 
 stained the coasts, the islands, and the waves of the North Sea with 
 blood. His name, his rank, his courage, had speedily promoted him 
 to the command of one of those squadrons of criminals who had a 
 den wherein to stow their spoils, and an arsenal for their vessels, in 
 a rock-fortress on the coast of Denmark. The crimes of Bothwell, 
 and his exploits among tho.se pirates, lie hidden in the shadow of the 
 past ; but his name inspired terror along the shores of the North Sea. 
 
 After this stormy youth the death of his father recalled him to his 
 Scottish domains and wild vassals. The troubles of the court of 
 Edinburgh had attracted him to Holyrood, where he discovered a 
 wider field for ambition and crime. He was among those Scotti-sh 
 chiefs who, at the appeal of the king to his subjects while in the 
 castle of Dunbar, hastened thither with their vassals, in the hope of 
 seizing and pillaging Edinl)urgh. Since the return of the court to 
 Holyrood, he had distinguished himself among the fo'-emost partisans 
 of the queen. Whether inspired by anil)itiou or s[)urred on b}' ati 
 indefinite hope of subjugating the lieart of a woman by striking her 
 imagination, he, at all events, succeeded in bis enterprise ; perhaps 
 he knew that the surest way to conquer feminine pride is to appear 
 indillerent to it. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Bothwell was no longer in the flower of his youth ; but altliougb 
 he liad lost an eye by a wound received in one of his sea-fights, he 
 was still hand.some. His beauty was not effeminate, like Darnley's, 
 nor melancholy and pensive like Kizzio's, but of that rude and manly 
 order which gives to jta.ssion the energy of heroism. The licentious- 
 ness of his manners liud the victims of his libcrtinagc had made him 
 well known at the court of Holyrood. He had many attaclimeuls 
 among the wonieii of that court, less for their love than their dis- 
 honor. One of those mislres.ses. Lady Reves, ^a dissipated woman, 
 celeljrated by IJrantome for the notoriety of her adventures, was tiio 
 confidante of the (jiieen. She had retained for Bothwell an admira- 
 tion which survived their iiiliruacy. The <)uecn, who anuised hersi'lf 
 hj interrogating her coufidaule reuardiug the exploits and amours of
 
 -G MARY STUAUT, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 
 
 heroltl favorite, allowed hersolf to bo c^radimlly attracted toward 
 iiim 1)3' a sciUiinont wliicli, at first, ussuined the appearance of a mere 
 good -iial tired ciuiosity. The conruhuite, diviniug, or believing she 
 divined, the yet uiu-xpressed desires of the queeu, introduced IJoth- 
 well one evening into tlie jranieu, and even to the aparlmeut of her 
 mistress. This secret meetiu<>: forever sealed the ascendency of 
 Bothwell over the queen. Her passion, though liidden, was, for that 
 reason, still more commanding, ;ind became for the first lime appar- 
 ent to all some weelvs after this interview, on the occasion of a 
 wound Bothwell had received in a border feud, on the marches of 
 which he had the command. On hearing of this, Jlary mounted ou 
 horseback, and rode, without resting by the way, to the Hermitage 
 where he had been carried, assured herself with her own eyes of the 
 danger he had run, and returned the same da^ to Ilolyrood. 
 
 " The Earl of Bothwell," writes at this time tlie French ambassa- 
 dor to Catherine of ]\Iedici, " is out of danger, at which the queen is 
 well pleased. To have lost him would have been no small loss indeed 
 to her." 
 
 She herself avows her anxiety iu verses composed ou the occasion : 
 
 " Pour lui anssi j'ai plcure maiute larme 
 
 D"aljord (juaiid il ."^e tit <le ce corps posaesseur 
 Duqnul iilors il n'avait pas le cceur ! 
 Puis me doiina iiiie autre dure alarme 
 Et me peiita otcr vie ct frayeur !" 
 
 " Wlien first my master he became. 
 For liim I slied lull iniiiiy a tear ; 
 But now this new and dire ah'rru 
 Destroys in me both life and fear 1" 
 
 After his cure Bothwell became master of the kingdom. Every 
 t^ing was lavished on him as previously on Rizzio, and he accepted 
 all, not as a subject but as a master. The king, shut out from the 
 councils of the queen, and even from her society as his wife, 
 "walked al)out alone," .says JMelvil, "from place to place, and it 
 was evident to all that she regarded it as a crime that any one should 
 keep company with him." 
 
 " The Queen of Scots and her husband," writes the Duke of Bed- 
 ford, envoy of Elizabeth at the court of Scotland, " live together as 
 before, and even worse ; she rarely sits at table, and never sleeps 
 with him ; she in no wise esteems his society, and loves not those 
 who entertain friend.ship for him. To such an extent does she ex- 
 clude him from business that when she leaves the palace to go out 
 he knows nothing. 3Iodesty forbids me to repeat what she has said 
 of liim, and which wpidd not be honorable to the queen." 
 
 The insolence of the new favorite partook of the ferocity of hia 
 former life ; he once drew his dagger in full council before tho 
 queen to strike Lethingtou, another member of the council, for hav. 
 ing objected to his advice.
 
 MART STUART, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 27 
 
 The king, outraged every day by Bothwell's coutempt, and some- 
 times by his insults, retired to Glasgow, where he lived in Ihe house 
 of his father, the Earl of Lennox. The queen and Bothwell became 
 alarmed lest he should make pul)lic complaint against the humilia- 
 tion and neglect to which he was condemned, appeal to the discon- 
 tented among the nobility, and in his turn march against Edinburgh. 
 It is to this motive and to Bothwell's tear, rather than to his desire 
 to become the husband of the queen, that we must attribute the odi- 
 ous crime which soon after threw the world into consternation, and 
 of which Mary Stuart was at least the accomplice, if she were not 
 the principal actor. In all the acts of the queen which preceded 
 this tragedy there are not only proofs of complicity in the plan for 
 assassinating her husband, but something even still more atrocious — 
 namely, the hypocritical art of a woman who hides murderous inten- 
 tions under the appearance of love ; who lends herself to the vile 
 office of decoying lier victim and drawing him within reach of the 
 sword of the assassin. 
 
 Without granting to ]Mav)'"s correspondence with Bothwell, be it 
 real or apocryphal, more historical authority than it deserves, it U 
 evident that a correspondence of that nature did exist between the 
 queen and her seducer, and if she did not write what is contained in 
 those letters (which are not written by her own hand, and the au- 
 thenticity of which is consequently suspected), still she anted in all 
 the preliminaries of the tragedy in such a manner as to leave no 
 doubt of her participation in tlie snare by which the unfortunate and 
 amorous Darnley was inveigled. 
 
 The letters -written at Glasgow by the queen to Bothwell breathe 
 Insensate lo\ e for her favorite and implacable aversion for her hus- 
 band. They inform Bothwell day b}' day of the state of Darnley'a 
 health, of his supplications to be received by the queen as a king and 
 a husband ; of tlie progress which her blandishments make in the 
 confidence of the young king, whose hopes she now nursed ; of hia 
 resolution to return witTi lier and to go with her wherever she might 
 wish, even to death, provided she would restore to him her heart and 
 Ids connubial rights. Altliough these letters, we repeat, may possess no 
 material textual authenticity in our eyes, though they even bear the 
 traces of falsehood and iinpo.ssibility in the very excess of their 
 wickedness and cynicLsm, it is yet certain that they verj' nearly ap- 
 proach the truth ; for a grave and confidential witness of the conver- 
 sations between Darnley and the (jueen at Gla.sgow gives a narrativa 
 in perfect conformity with this correspondence. lie even quotes ex- 
 pressions identical with tbo.se in the letters, proving that if the word* 
 were not written they were at least spoken between the queen and 
 her husband. 
 
 We therefore dismi.'^s as improbable the text of these letters, 
 adopted as authentic by M. Dargand and by a number of the most 
 accredited huitoriaus of England ; but it Lj impuusibic for us to avoid
 
 28 MARY STUART, QURCN OF SCOTS. 
 
 ncknowl(;di2;iug thrit the part taken by Mary in tlie death-snare spread 
 for Danik-y ■^vas a suhstanlial confinnation of the peilidy inferred 
 from Iliis eurrospDndciice. 
 
 Ccrlai'.i it is that (lie (luecu, on hearing,' of the lliijht of Darnley to 
 the house of his fuLlier, Uic Earl of Lennox, suddenly left her favor- 
 ite Bothwell, and rei)airing to one of her pleasure castles called 
 CJraiirmillar, near Edinburgh, secrelly convoked the confederated 
 lords' of her own and Both well's party. The FreneJi and)assador re- 
 marks on her sadness and anxiety ; her torment between the fears of 
 her husband and the demands of her favorite was such as to make 
 her cry out in presence of the ambassador, " I wish I were dead !" 
 She craftily proposed to the assembled lords, who were friendly to 
 Bothwell, to give up to Darnley the government of Scotland ; they 
 protested' against this, as she doubtless expected, and gave utterance 
 to threats of deadly import against Darnley ! "We will deliver 
 vou from this competitor," they said. " ]\Iurray, though present 
 and protesting as we do, will not join in our measures, but he wdl 
 leave us free to act, wutchin;/ us as from between his fingers! Leave 
 us to act for ourselves, and when things are accompUsheil the parlia- 
 ment will approve of all." The queen's silence was sutticient to 
 give authority to these sinister resolutions, and her departure for Gbs- 
 gow on the following day served them yet more elTectually. She 
 leaves the conspirators at Craigmillar ; against all propriety or ex- 
 pectation she proceeds to Glasgow, where she tinds Darnley recover- 
 ino- from the smallpox, overwhelms him with tenderness, passes days 
 and iii'i-hls by his pillow, renews the scenes of Ilolyrood after the 
 nuirder of Rizzio, and finally con.sents to the conjugal conditions 
 implored by Darnley. In vain is Darnley wained of the danger he 
 incurs in following the (|ueen to Craigmillar into the midst of his en- 
 emies ; he replies 1.hat though it may appear strange, he will follow 
 the queen he adores even to death. The queen leaves Glasgow be- 
 fore him, to await his restoration to health, prolongs with him the 
 tcnderest farewells, and places on his finger a ring, as a precious 
 pledge of reconciliation and love. 
 
 What is there in the disputed letters more perfidious than this r 
 These particulars are at all events authentic ; they are the narrative 
 of Mary's daily life at Glasgow with her husband. 
 
 XXL 
 
 Cektaik now that he will fall into the snare, she returned to Holjy-. 
 rood where she was received by torchlight in the midst of a festi- 
 val prepared for her. Darnley followed her shortly after Luder 
 pretext of })romoting his recovery, apartments were prepared tor him 
 in a solitary country-house in the neighborhood, called Kirk o !> leici, 
 with no other attendants than live or six servants, underlings sold to 
 Bothwell and whom he ironically called his laintjs. Only a favonto
 
 % 
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 29 
 
 page, named Taylor, slept in Darnley's chamber. The queen came 
 to visit him vr'ith the same demonstrations of tenderness us she ex- 
 hibited at Glasgow, but refused to live with him yet. Darnley, as 
 tonished at this isolation, fell into deep melancholy, from, which h(. 
 sought relief by praying and weeping with his page. An inward 
 presentiment seemed to warn him of approachmg death. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 * MEA:?>TrsfE the festivities at Holyrood continued. At the dose of 
 one of these feasts, during which Bothwell had conversed much and 
 alone with the queen, the favorite (according to the testimony of his 
 valet Dalglish) came home and retired to bed ; soon afterward he 
 calls his valet aud dresses ; one of his agents enters and whispers 
 something in his ear ; he takes his riding-cloak and sword, covers 
 his face with a mask, puts on a hat with a broad brim, and proceeds, 
 at one o'clock in the mornina;, to the king's solitary dwelling. 
 
 What happened on that mysterious night ? We know not ; the 
 only thing known is that before the morning twilight a terrible ex- 
 plosion was heard at Holvrood and in Edinburgh. The house of 
 Kirk o' Field was blown 'to atoms, and its ruins would have buried 
 the victim, but owing to a strange forgetfulness on the part of the as- 
 sassins, the bodies of Darnley and his page had been left lying in an 
 orchard attached to the garden, where they were found next morn- 
 Idlt, bearing on llieu- bodies, not the marks of gunpowder l)ut those 
 of^'u deadly struggle and of strangulation. It was supposed that 
 ♦he king and his page, hearing the steps of the murderers early in the 
 night, had tried to escape by the orchard, but had been overtaken 
 and strangled by Bothwell 's assa.ssins, and their bodies left on the 
 scene of the murder by negligence, or in ignorance of the explosion 
 which was to have destroyed the murderers with their victims. It is 
 added that Bothwell, believing that the corpses of Dlirnley and the 
 page were in the house, had needlessly fired the mine, aud had re- 
 turned to Holyrood after the explosion, believing that no vestiges of 
 the murder remained, and hoping that Darnley's death would l>e at- 
 tributed to the accidental explosion of a store of gunpowder fired by 
 his own imprudence. * 
 
 However timt might be, Bothwell went home without betraying 
 any agitation ; again went to rest before the end of the night, and 
 when lii.s attendants awoke him and told him of what had occurred, 
 manifested ail tlic surpri.se and grief of perfect innocence, and, leap- 
 ing from hi.s bed, cried " Treason !" 
 The two bodies were not discovered in the orchard till daylight. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 MoKNi.vo spread liorror witli the rumor of thi.s iiuirdcr aiiiouir Ika 
 people of Edinburgh. The emotion was so yieat thai the queen was
 
 30 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 forced to leave Ilolyrood and take refuge in the castle. She was in- 
 sulted by tlie women as she jvasscd lilong the streets ; avenging phi- 
 cards covered the walls, invoking peace to the soul of Dainley and 
 the vengeance of heaven on his guilty wife. Bothwell, mounted on 
 horseback, and sword in iiand, galloped through the streets, crying, 
 " Death to the rebels, and to all who speak against the queen !" 
 
 Knox ascended the pulpit for the last time and fearlessly ex- 
 claimed, " Let those who survive speak and avenge !" Then shak- 
 ing the dust from off his feet, he turned his back upon Edinburgh, 
 and retired to await death or vengeance. 
 
 Such was the fate of Darnlej'. Up to this point the queen might 
 be suspected, but had not been convicted of his murder ; but what 
 followed removed all doubt of her participation — by espousing the 
 murderer she adopted the crime. 
 
 Sedition being calmed for a time, she proclaimed her grief at Holy- 
 rood by assuming the garb of a mourning widow, and remained for 
 some days shut up in her apartments, with no other light than the 
 dim glimmering of lamps. Bothwell wiis accused of regicide before 
 the judges of Edinl)urgh, at the instance of the Earl of Lennox, the 
 king's father. The favorite, with undaunted audacity, supported by 
 the queen and bj' the troops, devoted, as usual, to the reigning 
 power, appeared in arms before the judges and insolently exacted 
 from them an accjuittal. The same (lay lie rode forth, mounted on 
 one of Darnley's favorite horses, which the people recognized with 
 horror bearing his murderer. The queen saluted him from her bal- 
 cony with a gesture of encouragement and tenderness. The French 
 ambassador .saw this, and expressed to his court the indignation it 
 excited in him. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " The queen seems insane," writes at the same period one of the 
 witnesses of these scandalous outbursts of passion ; " all that is most 
 infamous is uppermost in this court — God lielj) us ! The queen will 
 very soon marry Bothwell. She has drunk all .shame to the dregs. 
 ' What matters it,' she said yesterday, ' if 1 lose for his sake France, 
 Scotland, or England ? sooner than leave him I would go with him 
 to the ends of the world in nothing but a petticoat ! ' She will never 
 stop till she has ruined all here ; she has been persuaded to let her- 
 self be carried off by Bothwell to accomplish the marriage sooner. 
 This was an understood thing between them before the murder of 
 Darnley, of which she was the adviser and he the executioner." 
 
 This was the hmguage of an enemy, but the event very soon justi- 
 f]e<i the wrathful prophecy. Some days aftei' the 24lh of April, 
 while returning from Stirling, where slie had been visiting her son, 
 Bothwell, witli a body of his friends, awaited her at Almond Bridge, 
 six miles from Edinburgh. He dismuuuted from his horse, respect- 
 fully took hold of the bridle of the queen's palfrey, feigned a slight
 
 MABr STUAKT, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 31 
 
 compulsion, and conducted liis voluntary captive to the castle of 
 Dunbar, of which he was governor, as warden of the borders. 
 There she passed with liim eight days, as if sufEeriug violence, and 
 returned on the 8th of ilay with him to Edinburgh, " resigned, she 
 said, •' to marry with her consent him who had disposed of her by 
 force." This comedy deceived no one, but saved Mary from the 
 open accusation of espousing from choice the assassin of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Bothwell, besides the blood which stained his hands, had three 
 other wives living. By gold or threats he rid himself of two, and he 
 divorced the third, Lady Gordon, sister of the Earl of Huntly. In 
 order to secure this divorce, he consented to be found guilty of 
 adultery. The verses written by Mary at this period and addressed 
 to Bothwell prove the jealousy with which she regarded this repudi- • 
 »ted but still loved wife. 
 
 " See paroles fardees. 
 Sea pleura ses plaincts remplis cFaffection 
 Et 868 hauls cris et lamentation, 
 Ont tant gagne que par vous eont gardeee 
 A sea ecrits encor foy vous doiinez 
 Aossi I'aymez et croyez plus quemoy. 
 
 Vous la croyez. las ! trop je Tapperceoy, 
 
 Et vous doubtez de ma lerme, constanoi, 
 
 A mou seul bien et lua eeule espGrance, 
 
 Et iii vous puis asseurer de ma foy, 
 
 Vous in'cstimez legero que je voy, 
 
 Et n'avez en inoi nulle assureauce, 
 
 Et souiiceonuez inon canir pane apparenco 
 
 Vous deliaul a trop f;raiid tort de iiioy, 
 
 Vous i^'norez I'aniour que je vous porte. 
 
 Vous soupceonuez qu'aultre amour me transpose, 
 
 Vous estimez mes paroles du vent, 
 
 Vous depei'^nez decire elas ! mou cwur 
 
 Vous me i>eii8ez ferame sans jugemeut, 
 
 Et tout ccla augmeute mon ardeur. 
 
 Non amour croist, et plus en plus croistra, 
 Tant que vivry." 
 
 " Iler painted words, complaints, and tears, 
 Her cries, her loud lauients, lier fears. 
 Though feigned, deceitful, every art. 
 Are cherislied still within thy heart. 
 To all she writes full faith Ihou givest. 
 In her love more than mine thou livest. 
 Still, still thou truste^t her too well, I Bce, 
 And douUted ever my firm conntancy. 
 O my sole hope ! My Holilary bliss! 
 (;ould 1 but sliow line my true faithfulneae. 
 Too lightly Ihou csiecmVt my lovi', my i)aUi, 
 Nor of my faith can full as-Mrimce gain. 
 With dark Kiispicio?! Hum dost wrong my hoaii, 
 As if another in my '"ve had part ; 
 My words and vows niiii hit a llfClirig wind, 
 Bcruft of wit, a wouiau's idle mind I 
 A.M. -21
 
 83 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 Alas ! an this incroapcsbnt tlifi flame 
 That burna for tlicc forever and tlie *nme. 
 
 My love still grows, and uvinnore will ;;^row, 
 So long as life ahull in tliia bosom glow '." 
 
 Why, after such an avowal , carved in characters of poetic iiBmor- 
 tality. need we calumniate the queen who thus calumniates heraelf 
 with her own hand ? 
 
 She only refused Bothwell one thing— the tutelage and guardian- 
 chip of her son, who was kept at Stirling. Violent and noisy quur- 
 rels took place about this at Holyrood. even on the evening before 
 the marriage of the widow and her husband's assassin. The French 
 ambassador heard the turmoil. Bothwell insisted, and the queen, 
 determined to resist, called loudly for a dagger wherewith to kill 
 herself. 
 
 " On the day after the ceremony," writes the ambassador, " I per- 
 ceived strange clouds on the countenances both of the queen and her 
 husband, which she tried to excuse, saying that if 1 saw her sad it 
 was because she had no reason to rejoice, desiring nothing but 
 death." 
 
 The expiation had begun. A league of indignation was formed 
 by the Scottish lords against her and Bothwell. Thus confederated 
 to avenge the blood-stained and dishonored throne, they, on the 13lh 
 of June, 1567, met the troops of the queen and Bothwell at Carberry 
 Hill. Courasie deserted their partisans before the battle ; they were 
 defeated. Bothwell, covered with blood, rode up to the queen, when 
 all hope of safety from flight was already lost. " Save your life," 
 ( ried he, " for my sake ; we shall meet in happier times !" Bothwell 
 seemed to de.sire death. The queen burst into tears. "Will you 
 keep faithful to me, madam," said he, in a doubtful accent, " as to a 
 husband and king?" "Yes," she replied, "and in token of my 
 promise I give you my hand !" Bothwell carried her hand to his lips, 
 kissed it, and fled to Dunbar, followed l)y only a dozen horsemen. 
 
 The lords conducted the queen as a prisoner to Edinburgh Castle. 
 In passing through the army she was assailed with the imprecations 
 of the military and the populace. The soldiers waved before her 
 horse a banner, on which was represented the dead body of Darnley 
 lying beside his page in the orchard of Kirk o' Field, and the little 
 King James on his knees invoking the vengeance of heaven against 
 his mother and the muiderer of his unhappy father, in these words 
 of the royal poet of Israel, " Judge and avengi- my cause, () Lord !" 
 
 " By this royal hand," she said to Lord Lindsay, who had aided in 
 the unpardonable murder of her first favorite, Kizzio, " I'll have your 
 heads for this !" 
 
 On her arrival in Edinburgh she took courage even in the excess of 
 her humiliation. Slie appeared, says a chronicle of Edinburgh, at 
 (he window fronting the High Street, and addressing the people in a 
 firm Toice told ihem how sue had been thrown into prison by her
 
 MART STUART, QUEEX OP SC(7!ra. 33 
 
 own traitorous subjects ; she showed herself many times at the same 
 -wiudow ill miserable plight, her dishevelled hair tiowing over her 
 shoulders and bosom, her body uncovered nearly to the girdle. At 
 other times she became softened, and assuming the accents of a sup- 
 pliant " Dear Lethiugton," she said. "you. who have the gift of 
 persuasion, speak to these lords ; tell them I pardon all who will 
 consent to place ine in a vessel witli Bolhwell, whom 1 espoused with 
 their approbation at Holyrood, and leave us to the mercy of (he 
 winds and waves." She wrote the most impassioned letters to Both- 
 well, which were intercepted by her jailers at the gates of her prison. 
 Finally she was conducted with a small escort through a hostile, 
 country to the castle of Lochieven, belonging to the Douglases. 
 
 Lady Doui^das. who inhabited this stronghold, had been the mis- 
 tress of King James V., the queeu's father, and was the mother of 
 Lord James^Murray. " Of a proud and imperious spirit." says a 
 Scottish historian, '"' sbe was accustomed to boast that she was the 
 lawful wife of James, and her sou Murray his legitimate issue, who 
 had been supplanted bv the queen." 
 
 The castle, situated in the county of Kinross, was built on an island 
 in the middle of a small lake which bathed its walls and intercepted 
 all flight. There she was treated by the Douglases with the respect 
 due to her rank and misfortunes. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth saw with alarm the triumph of this revolt against 
 ttie (jueeu. She prevailed on Murray, who was respected by all par- 
 ties, to undertake the government during Mary's captivity. Murray 
 went to Lochieven to confer with his captive sister about the fate of 
 the kingdom, and of James, the infant heir to the throne. Hope- 
 fully she .saw hiiu assuinj the supreme authority, believing with rea- 
 son that he would be indulgent toward her. She learned from hira 
 that Botiiwell had lied to the Shetland Islands, where he had em- 
 barked for Druiuark. there to resume, with his old companions, the 
 sea robbers, the life of a pirate and a brigand, the only refuge fortune 
 had left him. We .shall afterward find him closing in captivity and 
 insanity a life pa.ssed alteriialely in disgrace and on a throne, in ex- 
 ploits and in assassinations. The (pieen's heart never forsook him. 
 
 She made several attempts to escape from Lochieven to join Both- 
 well or to lly to England. The historian w(! quote, who has visited 
 ilK ruins, thus descriiies this first prison of the <iueen : 
 
 " The sojourn at Lotdileven. over which romance and poetry have 
 filled their light, must !>« deiiicted by history only in its nakedness 
 und horrors. The castle, or r.Uher fortress, is a massive block of 
 granite, flanked by hea»ry lowers, peopled by owls and bats, eternally 
 bathed in mists, and defended by the waters of the lake. There !an- 
 puished -Mary Stuart. oppresse<i by the violence of the Presbyterian 
 lords, torn by remoise, troubled by the phantoms of the past and by 
 the terrors of lite futun^" 
 
 There she is said to have given birth to a daughter, the frmt of htl 
 Kuilly love, who died louy alter unknown in a convent in Paris.
 
 34 MARY STUAKT, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 Tlie English ftmbassador, Drury, tluis nilatos to his sovereign the 
 hist uiisiicc'ossful altonipt iit escape : 
 
 " Toward Uic 'Joth of last mojith (April, 15G8) she very nearly 
 escaped, (hauks to her l)abit of passing the mornings in bed. She 
 acted in this way : The washerwoman came early iu the morning, 
 as she had often done, and the queen, as had been arranged, donned 
 the woman's cap, took up a bundle of linen, and covering her face 
 Vitli lier cloak, left the castle and entered the boat used iu traversing 
 Jiie loch. After some minutes one of the rowers said laughingly, 
 '• Let us see what kind of lady we have got," at the same time at- 
 teraptmg to uncover her face. To prevent him she raised her hands, 
 and he remarked their beauty and whiteness, Avhich nuidc him im- 
 mediately suspect who she was. She showed little fear, and ordered 
 the boatmen, under i)ain of death, to conduct her to the coast. They 
 refused, however, rowed back toward the island, ]iromising secrecy 
 toward the conuiuuider of the guard to wUom she was confided. 
 It appears that she knew the ptace where, once landed, she could 
 take refuge, for she saw, in Kinross (a little village near the banks of 
 the loch), George Douglas and two of her former most devoted ser- 
 vants wanderin'g about in expectation of her arrival. 
 
 Georu-e Douglas, the youngest son of that house, was passionately 
 in love'with the captive. His enthusiastic admiration for lier beauty, 
 rank, ami misfortunes, determined him to brave all dangers in tiie 
 attempt to restore her to liberty antl her lb rone. He arranged signals 
 with the Hamiltons and other chiefs, who, on the opposite side of 
 the loch, awaited the hour for an enterprise in favor of the queen. The 
 Bicual agreed upon for the flight, which was to be a fire kindled on the 
 highest tower of the castle, at length .shone forth in the eyes of the 
 Bamiltons. Soon an unperceived boat glides over the lake, and. ap- 
 proaching its banks, delivers to them the fugitive queen. They 
 throw themselves at her feet, carry her off to the mountains, raise 
 their Catholic vassals, form an army, revoke her abdication, fight for 
 her cause under her eyes at Langside against the troops of Murray, 
 and are a second time defeated. Mary, without refuge and without 
 hope, fled to England, where the letters of Queen Elizabeth led her 
 to expect the welcome due from one sovereign to another. Mary 
 thus wrote to Elizabeth from the Cuml)erland borders : 
 
 •' It is my earnest request that your Majesty will send for me aa 
 soon as possible, for my condition is pitiable, not to say for a queen, 
 but for a simple gentlewoman. I have no other dress than that in 
 which I escaped from the field ; my first day's ride was sixty milea 
 a^Toss the country, and I have not since dared to travel except by 
 night. Make known to me now the sincerity of your natural aflee- 
 tion toward vour true sister, cousin, and sworn friend, liemember 
 that I once sent you my licart on a ring, and now I bring you mj^ 
 true heart and my body with it, to tie more firmly the knot of friend. 
 ehin between us 1"
 
 XARY STL'ARl, 'jaLKM OF SCOTS. 35 
 
 XXV. 
 
 We may see bv the tone of this letter, so different from her boastinr, 
 when she threatened tlie downfall of Elizabeth and the invasion of 
 England \^- the Scottish Catholics, how Mary's miud and tongde 
 could conform to the changing limes. 
 
 Elizabeth had the choice^of two policies— the one magnanimous, U- 
 \welcome and relieve her unfortuuate cousin ; the other upenly hostile^ 
 to profit bv her reverses, or to dethrone her a second time by her 
 freely exp'ressed condemaalion. She adopted a third policy, iudeti, 
 nile, dissembling, caressing in speech, odious in action, which de 
 livered up her "".sister" by turns to hope and to despair, wearing out 
 the heart of her rival by 'endless longing, as if she had resolved thai 
 grief, anguish, and tinie should be her executioners. This queen, 
 so great in genius, so mean in heart, cruel by policy, and rendered 
 more so by feminine jealousies, proved herself, in this instance, the 
 worthy daughter of Henry the Eighth, all whose passions were 
 slaked in blood. 
 
 She offered to Mary the castle of Carlisle as a royal refuge, and 
 detained her there as in a prison. She wrote that she could not with 
 propriety treat her as a queen and a sister till she should clear her-self 
 of the crimes imputed lo her by her Scottish subjects. She thus 
 evoked before her uwa tribunal, as a foreign queen, the great suit 
 pending between Mary Stuart and her people. By assummg this at- 
 titude, her inrtueuce in Scoiland, who.se queen she retained as a pris- 
 oner, and whose regent, Murray, had everything to hope or to fear 
 from her, became all-powerful. She was about to rule over Scotland 
 as arbiter, and even without an army. This policy, counselled, it U 
 said, by hergieat minister Cecil, was ignoble, but national. To receive 
 Mary with liinor would infer an amnesty to the murderers of Darnley, 
 a[)probalion of the mariiage with Bothwell. and the supremacy of adul- 
 tery. It would b(! to restore her to the throne of Scotland. Ail this 
 would give mortal offence to Protestant England, and to the Presbyte- 
 rian liaff of Scotland. By setting Mary at lii)erty, she would only deliver 
 her into the hands of Spain, of France, and of the Catholic house of 
 Au.stiia, to make her the lever, liy the aid of whicii liio.se powe:s 
 Wfjuld agitate Sff)llan'l, sn.ucliiiig her from Enghwid to give her up to 
 ('opery. These ideas were expedient in |)olicy, but tiie avowal of 
 Hiem wa.s humliling lo a rjueen, and above all lo a woman, the more 
 bo that Mary was lier own kinswoman. Tiie whole secret of this 
 leni|)orizing craft of Eli/.ib-.th lay in the impossibility of openly 
 Hvoiving a course wliiclj .served herviews, but wjiich dishonored her 
 in the eycH of Europe. 
 
 " No. marlam," replied Mary from Carlisle Castle, " I have not 
 rnmc hither to justify myself before my sui)jeels, but lo punish them, 
 und 10 demand vour succor airaiust Ibem. i ueithor can nor will
 
 33 MAUY STUAUT, QUEEN OF SOOTS. 
 
 reply to their false accusations ; but Unowins^ well your friendship 
 atul'uood i)lwisuro, 1 am wiiiiiiti- lo justify myself to you, tjiouyh not 
 iu the form of a suit with my suhjucis. Tliey and I i\ro. in no wise 
 equal ; and should I even remain here forever, rather would 1 die 
 ll;an recognize such a thing !" 
 
 Already she was in reality a captive. The Spanish ambassador in 
 Lv^ndon, Don Guzman da Silva, who had gone to Carlisle to offer to 
 Ikt the condolence of his court, thus describes her abode in th« 
 fastle ; j 
 
 " The room occupied by the queen is dark, and has but one wia- 
 dow, garnished with bars of iron. It is entered through three other 
 rooms, guarded and occupied by armed men. In the last, which 
 forms an antechamber to the queen's room, Lord Scrope is stationed, 
 who is governor of the border district of Carlisle. The (pieeu has 
 only three of her women with her. Her attendants and domestics 
 sleep outside of the castle. The gates are opened only at ten o'clock 
 in the morning. The (jueen is allowed to go as far as the city 
 church, but is always escorted by a hundred soldiers. On asking 
 Lord Scrope to send her a priest to say mass, he replied that in 
 England there were none." 
 
 Alarmed at the evidently evil intentions of Elizabeth, Mary implored 
 the interference of France. Forgetting her secret hatred of Catherine 
 de iMedici, she wrote to her, and also to Charles IX. and the Duke 
 of Anjou, asking lliem to aid her. 
 
 To the Cardinal of Lorraine she wrote, with the same purpose, as 
 
 follows : 
 
 " Carlisle, 2l8t June, 1568. 
 
 "I have not wherewith to buy bread, nor shift, nor robe. Tlie 
 queen has sent nie a little linen, and has furnished ine with a dish 
 (plat). You also have a share in tins shame ; Sandy Clarke, who 
 Ktays in France on the part of that false bastard (Murray), has boasted 
 Iha't you would not give me money, nor interfere witli my affairs. 
 (.Tod tries me much. At least, be assured that I shall die a Catholic. 
 God will take me away from these miseries very soon ; for I have 
 suffered insults, calumnies, imprisonmenls, hunger, cold, heat, flight, 
 without Uhowiiig whither ; ninety miles have I rode across tlie coun- 
 try without Mo[)pirig or dismounting, and then have had to sleep on' 
 hard l>eds, driid< .sour milk, and eat'^oatmeal without bread. I have 
 been three nights witiiout my women in this place, where, after all, 
 I am no bettcT than a prisoner. They liave pulled down the houses 
 of my servants, anrl I cannot help or reward them ; but they still re- 
 main constant lo me, abhorring those cruel traitors, who have only 
 three thousand men under their command, and if I had succor, tht 
 iialf woidd leave them for certain. 1 pray God that he .send help to 
 me, which will come when it pleases him, and that he may give you 
 health and long life. 
 
 " Your humble and obedient nioce, ILaiile R"
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEX OF SCOTS. 37 
 
 The silence of Elizabeth froze her with terror, and she resorted to 
 much feminine persuasion in order to obtain an answer from her : 
 
 "From Carlisle, 51h July, 1568. 
 " My good sister, . . . seeing j-ou, I think I could satisfy you 
 in all. Alas ! do not act like the serpent, who shutteth his ear : for 
 I am not an enchanter, but your sister and cousin. ... I am 
 not of the nature of the basilisk, nor of the chameleon, to turn j'oq 
 into my likeness, even if I were so dangerous or so bad as thej' say ; 
 you are sufficient!}- armed with constancy and justice, the which I 
 ask also of God, and that he may give you grace to make good use 
 of them, with tongue and with a happ}' life. 
 
 " Your good sister and cousin, M. R." 
 
 Mary's apprehensions were soon realized. Elizabeth determined to 
 remove her from the Scottish Marches. On the 28th July, 15(58, the 
 august captive was conducted, in spite of her energetic protestations, 
 to Bolton Abbey, in the countj' of York, which belonged to Lord 
 Scrope, brother-in-law to the Earl of Norfolk. 
 
 After her arrival there she wrote in a very different style to the 
 Queen of Spain, wife of Philip II. : 
 
 " If I had hope of succor from you or your kindred, I would put 
 religion in Subs [meaning that she would promote tlie triumph of 
 Catholicism], or would die in tlie work. All this country where I 
 am is devoted to the C-atholic faith, and because of that, and of my 
 right that I have in n)e to this kingdom, little would serve to teach 
 this Queen of England the consequence of intermeddling and aiding 
 rebel subjects agamst their princes ! For the rest, you have daugh- 
 ters, madam, and I have a son ; . . . Queen Elizabeth is not 
 much loved by either of the two religious, and, thank God, I have a 
 good part in the hearts of tlic honest people of this country since my 
 arrival, even to the risk of losing all tliey have with me and for my 
 cause ! . . . Keep well my secret, for it miglit cost me my life !" 
 
 It will be seen tliat, from the first days of her sta}' in England, 
 while caressing Elizabeth with one hand she wove with the otlu"-, 
 and with strangers as well as with her own sul)jects, that net in v,-hich 
 she was herself caiight at last, ('jiptivity was her excuse, religion 
 her pretext ; oppression gave her aright to conspire ; but if .she could 
 urge her misfortunes as a rcjuson for thus plotting, she could not with 
 truth urge her innocence. She unceasingly demanded from Matirid 
 and from Paris armed interventions against Scotland and against 
 ■Elizabeth. Her whole life during her captivity was one long con- 
 spiracy ; the inhuman and unprincipled duplicity of Elizabeth's 
 policy juslilicd all she did. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 A Ciuci'MHTA.NTi M. narrative of llii^ captivity, of this conspiracy 
 of ninet<j'm years, however interesting in reality, would be moaoto-
 
 38 MARY STUART, QUKEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 nous as history. Nothing dirersiflcs it save the dilleront loculities 
 ami prisons, and the plots continually renewed, only to be as often 
 
 fnistrjited. 
 
 At lIaini)ton (.'ourt, the paltu'c prcsL'ntcd to Henry VIII. by Wol- 
 sey, coulcrouccs were opened to settie the diU'ereuces between Queen 
 Mary and her subjects. JNIurruy and the Scots brought forward, as 
 proofs of the complicity of Mary in the murder of her husband, her 
 sonnets to Bothwell, and the letters of that favorite, found in a silver 
 casket carved with the arms of Francis II., her lirst h\isbaud. 
 
 Neither accusations nor justilications being satisfactory, Elizabeth 
 broke olf the conference without pronouncing judgment, Avatching 
 the struggle between the dillerent factious which distracted Scotland. 
 It seems piobal)le that she trusted to these very factions for deliver- 
 ing their country into her hands sooner or later. Meantime she left 
 Scotland to its fate. 
 
 "Would j-ou like to marry my sister of Scotland?" ironically 
 asked Elizabeth of the Earl of Norfolk, who was believed to be smit- 
 ten by the charms of his prisoner. "Madam," replied the carl, 
 horrified at such an idea, " I shall never espouse a wife whose hus- 
 band cannot lay his head with safety on his pillow." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 MuRUAT, guardian of the infant king James and dictator of the 
 kingdom, governed the ludiappy country with vigor and address. 
 But a proscril)ed gentleman of good family, Janies Hamilton of 
 Bothwellhaugh, whose wife Murray had left to die in misery and 
 madness on the threshold of her own dwelling, which had been be- 
 stowed by tlie regent on Belleuden, one of lus partisans, swore to 
 avenge at once his wife and his counlr3^ Gathering a handful of 
 the eartli which covered the bier of his wife, he wore it within his 
 girdle as an eternal incentive to revenge ; and, repairing in disguise 
 to the small town of Linlithgow, through which ]\Iurray had to pass 
 on hi.s return to Edinburgh, he placed himself at a window, tired 
 upon and killed the regent. He then mounted a horse ready for 
 lum behind the house, and by swift flight escaped the regent's 
 puard.s. " I alone," cried the dying Murray, " could have saved the 
 church, the kingdom, and the king ; anarchy will now devour them 
 all !" 
 
 Tlie assassin fled to France, where he was Avell received by the 
 Guises, who saw in him an instriuiient of murder, ready to delivei 
 them from their enemy, tlie Admiral Coliguy. They wrote to .thcii 
 niece Mary, persuading her to urge Bothw'elihaugh to the commissic<\ 
 of this crime. Mary's reply was characterized by all the shameless- 
 ness of the times, when assassination was merely regarded as a justi- 
 liable act of hatred. 
 
 " As for that of which you write from my cousin M. de Guise, I
 
 MAEY STUART, QUEEif OF SCOTS. 34 
 
 wish that so -wicked a creature as the personage in question [the 
 Admiral] were out of the world, and would be ver}^ glad if some ona 
 pertammg to me should be the instrument, and yet more, that he 
 should be hanged by the hands of the executioner, as he deserves ; 
 you know how I have that at lieart, ... but to meddle or order 
 anythmg in this way is not my business. What Bothwellhaugh 
 has done was without my command ; but I am well pleased with him 
 for it— better than if I had been of his counsel." 
 
 Murray was her brother, and had twice been her minister and her 
 preserver from the avengers of Darnley's death. Elizabeth deplored 
 him as the protector of the reformed reliirion in Scotland. The an- 
 archy he had foretold in his dying words immediately followed. 
 The Earl of Lenno.x, father of Darnley, father-in-law of Mary, and 
 grandfather of James, was named regent. The party of James an^ 
 the party of his mother, Mary, vied with each other in crimes. Leu 
 nox was killed in battle. The Earl of Morton assumed the reirenc^ 
 in his place. lie ruled like an executioner, sword in hand, "ovei" 
 whelmed the party of the queen by the terrors of his govcrumeni 
 and by a deluge of blood. But scarcely had he placed the sceptre ii\ 
 the hands of his ward than the favorites of the young king had him 
 put to death as an. accomplice in the murder of Kizzio. He did not 
 deny the crime, and died like a man who expected the inirratitude of 
 princes. James VI. had been brought up by him in detestation of 
 the religion of his mother and in conierui)t for herself. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 During the minority of the Scottish king, Mary conspired with 
 the Earl of Norfolk, wiiom she had fa.sciualed anew, to iret posses- 
 sion of England in the name of Catholicism. A correspondence 
 with Home, revealed by unfaithful agents, furnished proofs of this 
 plot. Norfolk was consigned to the scaffold, :Mary shut up in a still 
 closer captivity, and Elizabeth began to tind out the danger of keep- 
 ing in her strongholds an enchantress whose jailers all became her 
 adorers and accomplices. 
 
 Thema.ssacre of St. Bartholomew, those Sicilian Vespers of reli"-ion 
 and policy, made Elizabeth tremble. T4ic example of so triumphant 
 A plot, she feared, might tempt the Catholics of England, who would 
 Jmd in Mary another Catherine of Medici, younger, and hardly leSL 
 .scrupulous than tlie (jueen-mother of Charles IX. 
 
 The advisers of Elizabeth represented to her, for tlie first time, 
 the r^ecesHity of the immediate trial and death of the Queen of Scots! 
 to secure the peace of the kingdom, and perhaps even the safety of 
 her own life. Her most eminent statesmen. l}urleii,di, Leicester, and 
 Walsiugham, were unanimous in recommending tins sacrifice. 
 
 "Alas:" hypocritically replied Elizabeth, " the Queen of Scot- 
 land IS my daughter, but sue who knows not how to behavo toward 
 her mother de«trve.s a step-mother."
 
 40 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 The feelings and intercourse of the two queens was still fnrtlier 
 eniMltered l)y the feminine nKilice of Miiry's eoiuhict toward Eliza- 
 belli. Ilistoiy would not credit this, if the proof did not exist among 
 its archives. Knowing the somewhat e(|uivocal predilection of 
 Elizabeth for her handsome favorite Leicester, whom she had herself 
 hoped to fascinate, and with whom she kept up a correspondence, 
 she had the audacity to rally lier rival on the inferiority of he 
 ch^irms. 
 
 Under cover of recrimination against the (Jonntess of Shrewsbury, 
 ■who liad accused ISIary of attracting her husband to Sheffield, Mary 
 wrote a letter to Elizabeth, in which she attril)utes to Lady Shrews- 
 bury remarks so insulting to f^lizabeth as a woman and a (lucen that 
 the wickedness of the expressions forbids us to quote them. She 
 ends the letter thus : " She told me that your speedy death was pre- 
 dicted in an old Ijook ; that the reign succeeding yours would uot 
 last for three years ; after that there was another leaf in the book 
 which she would never tell me of." 
 
 We may well suppose that this last leaf related to Mary herself, 
 and doubtless predicted her accession to the throne of England, and 
 the restoration of the Cluircli throughout that kingdom ! The terms 
 u.sed in this letter show that it was an indirect method, ingeniously 
 contrived by the liatred of an imprisoned rival, to t,hrow at her enemy 
 those insults which were likely to be most keenlv felt by the heart of 
 a queen and a woman. One is astonished at so much audacity and 
 outrage on the part of a captive queen, when, by a single word, 
 Elizabeth could have retorted with death ; but death at this ijiomenl 
 was less terrible to Mary than revenge was swefit. What a spectacle 
 history offers in these two queens condescending thus to unyielding 
 strife ; the one tempting punishment, the oth3r holding the sword of 
 Damocks constantly suspended over the head, of her rival I 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Meatwhile Europe, upon which Mary had relied, forgot her ; 
 but she did not forget Europe. Her de'-ention, attended at lirst by 
 circumstances befitting her royal rank, became closer and closer as 
 she changed her prisons. She descrihes in pathetic terms the sulTer- 
 iuga of her last prison but one, in a better to the envoy of Charles 
 IX. at London : 
 
 " It is of oUl carpentry, with openings at every half foot, so that 
 the wind blows into my chamber on all sides; 1 know not how it 
 will he possible for me to keep the little health I have recovered. My 
 physician, who has himself suffered much from it, has protested that 
 lie will altogether give up my cure if I be not placed in a better lodg- 
 ing, lie him.self, while watching me during my meals, having expe- 
 rienced the incredible cold cau.sed by the wind in my chamber, uot- 
 Withstaudiog the stovee aad fires that are always there, and the hew.
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 41 
 
 of the season of the year ; I leave you to judge how it will be in the 
 middle of winter. "This liouse is situated on a mountain, in the 
 middle of a plain ten miles in extent, being exposed to all the winds 
 and inclemencies of heaven. ... I pray you to request her in 
 my name, assuriua: her that there arc a hundred peasants in these 
 mean villaires better lodged than I am, who have for my sole dwell- 
 ing two small chambers. ... So that I have not even a room 
 where I can retire apart, as I have divers occasions for doing, no; 
 for walking about alone ; and, to tell you all, I have never befoi>i 
 been so badly lodged in England." 
 
 Her Scottish attendants, the companions of her flight and her cay. 
 livity, sank one by one under this tedious agony of imprisonmeiU, 
 She "learned, we know not whether with joy or grief, the deat'i of 
 her husband Bothwell, after a wandering life on the waves of the 
 Xorth Sea, where, as we have seen, he had resumed the iufavr.oua 
 calling of a pirate. Surprised in a descent on the coast of Dera.ark, 
 and chained in the cell of a rock-prison, Bothwell died in a sfate of 
 insanitv ; the extraordinary oscillations of his fortune, his miracu- 
 lous elevation and dizzy fall, had shaken his reason. He /.'covered 
 it, however, at the last moment, and whether it arose frcm the 
 power of Irulh or of tenderness, he dictated to his jailers f. justifica- 
 tion of the queen in the matter of Darnley's death, ajil took the 
 crime and its expiation wholly upon himself. The .^ueeu was 
 moved by this dying declaration, which, in the eyes of h?r partisans, 
 restored "to hsr that innocence which her enemies still deny to her 
 memory. Bothwell was so loaded with crimes that cv(;a his dying 
 •words were no pledge of truth, l.Hit his declaration v/as at least a 
 proof that his love had survived twenty years of sepaixtLon and pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The dangers to which the Protestant succession in /Tngland would 
 be exposed if Elizahi'th — now advanced in age, and who had never 
 shared her throne wilh a husband— should die before ]Mary, appear 
 to have decided her coimcil to perpetrate the state crime, which the 
 queen till then had refused to authorize. No one enrertaiued doubts 
 of the permanent conspiracy of the Queen of Scots with the Catholic 
 princes of Europe, and with the Catiiolic party in Scotland and in 
 EngUnd. This conspiracy, which was the right of a captive (lueen, 
 could oidy a[)pfar crinrmal in the eyes of her jailers and persecutors. 
 No guilt had yet apneareil to Elizabeth or to her chief counsellors 
 suflicicntiy clear to hrin.;^- the Queen of Scots to trial ; it was neces- 
 sary to Hnd another crune of a more (lugrant and oiHous nature in 
 order to justify tin; murder in the eyes of Europe. Tke unscrupu- 
 lous temerity of Mary and the cunning of her enemiei; in council 
 Boon furnished one to F>lizai)eth. 
 
 ilary was ceaselessly tijgaged iu concocting iKo'jc inuunierablo
 
 42 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 plots so idontificd in her mind with the Catholic canse ; her cnrro- 
 spondcnce, anient as licr siglis, agitated Scotland, England, and t1ie 
 Continent. Notwitlistandiiiij; her age, her inefTaceaijle beauty, lier 
 grace, lier seductive manners, her rank, her genius, attracted toward 
 her new agents, whose worship for her was intimately allied to love. 
 
 In the words of 3Ir. Frascr Tytler, the emuient Scottish historian, 
 " we now enter upon one of the most involved and intricate portions 
 of the history of England and of Scotland — the ' Babingtnn plot,' in 
 which ]SIarj-"was implicated, and for which she afterward sulfered." 
 
 One of the Earl of Derby's gentlemen, named Bahington, brought 
 tip in the household of the Earl of Shrewsbury, Avhere he had be- 
 come acquainted witli the cpieen while she was a prisoner at Bolton 
 Abbey, had resolved to serve and save her. Babington had gone 
 over to the Continent, and was at Paris the agent of the correspond- 
 ence in which the cpieen was engaged with France and Spain to 
 bring about her deliverance and restoration. The death of Elizalieth 
 was the preliminary object of this plot. Two Jesuits of llheims, 
 named Allen and Ballard, did not recoil from this regicidal crime. 
 Ballard came to London, sought out Babington, who had returned 
 from France, enlisted liim in the cause of Queen Hilary's deliverance, 
 and also tlirough him enrolled a handful of Catholic conspirators, 
 ready to dare all for the trhimph of religion. Walsingham, the chief 
 counsellor and minister of Elizabeth, who had brought the spy-system 
 to a state of what might lie called infamous perfection, and had his 
 tools and agents everywhere, who insinuated themselves into the 
 confidence of the conspirators, urged them on to the execution of 
 their designs, at the same time revealing all to liim, and, with a ma- 
 lignant ingenuity, even adding to the reality by inventions of their 
 own, in order, douljtless, to i>iease their employer and lead the more 
 certainiv to the accom])lishment of his aim. 
 
 One of the.se spies, named Gifford, Avhose earnestness seemed to 
 place him above suspicion at the French embassy, in which was the 
 repository of the correspondence, received letters, pretended he liad 
 forwarded them to tlieir address, t)ut conveyed them secretly to Wal- 
 singham. These letters prove some hesitation at first on the part of 
 the conspirators regarding the propriety of the assassination of Eliza- 
 beth, and afterward a more decided resolution in favor of the mur- 
 der, after a consultation with P'alher Ballard, the Jesuit of Bheims. 
 One of the letters, bearing the signature of Babington, thus addressed 
 Mary : 
 
 " Veiy dear Sovereign : I myself, with six gentlemen, and a hundred 
 others of our company and following, will undertake the deliverance 
 of your royal person from the. hands of your enemies. As for that 
 which tends to rid us of the usurper, from the subjection of the ..." 
 
 At the sui)sequent trial the mpi/oiilu of a letter from Mary in reply 
 "Yas prcKluccd, containing these words ; "These things being pre- 
 ijarod, and tli€ forces, witiiout as well as within the kingdom, bein^;
 
 MARY STUAKT, Qi'EEN OF SCOTS. 43 
 
 all ready, it is necessary that the six gentlemen should be set to 
 work, aod orders given that, their design being effected, I may then 
 be taken hence, and all the troops be at the same time in the field to 
 receive me while awaiting the succors from abroad, who must also 
 
 hasten with all diligence " Mar}' solemnly declared that 
 
 •he never wrote this letter ; and although she insisted on the original 
 being shown, it never appeared, its only substitute being an alleged 
 copy in the handwriting of Phellips, one of Walsingham's creatures, 
 and an expert forger of autographs. No trace of any such original 
 letter has ever been found ; and when we consider Elizabeth's evi- 
 dent anxiety to get rid of lier troublesome captive, her subsequent 
 remorse, the unscrupulous efforts of Walsingham to please his mis- 
 tress, by fair means or foul, and the zeal of his spies and tools, we 
 cannot but arrive at the conclusion that this letter, which was so 
 fatal to Mary, but which no one ever saw, was a forgery executed 
 by Phellips, who, besides, is proved to have added a postscript of 
 liis own to another of Mary's letters now extant. 
 
 These letters were placed by Gifford in the hands of the queen's 
 council, and Ballard and Babington were arrested by Walsingham. 
 The conspirators could not denj' the plot, for portraits of all the six 
 were found in a regicide picture, executed by their own order, sur- 
 mounted by this device : "Our common peril is the bond of our 
 friendship." They were tried and executed on the 20th of Septem- 
 ber, together with Ballard and Babington. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The puni.shment of her friends impressed Mary with a presenti- 
 ment of her own fate. Involved in their plots, and more feared than 
 they were, she could not long remain in susjiense as to her owu des- 
 tiny. She was carried, in fact, some days afterward to Fotheriiigay 
 Castle, her last prison. This feudal residence was solemn and 
 gloomy, even a.s the hour of approaching de; th. Elizabeth, after 
 long and serious deliberation, at last named thirlj^-six judges to ex- 
 amine Mary and to report to the council. The C^uren of ScoUs protest- 
 ed again.st t)>e right of trying a (juecii and of judging her in a foreign 
 country, wiiere she was for(-ib|y dcliiiiici] us a prisoner. 
 
 "Is it thus," cried she, when she appeared before the commis- 
 sioners, "that Queen Eli/abelh makes kings be tried by their sub- 
 jects V I only accept this place " (pointing to a seat lower than that 
 of the judges) " bccau.se as a Christian I liumble my.self. My place 
 is thoj-e," .she added, raising her Jiand toward the dais. " I was a 
 queen from Ihr; cradle, and llie first day that saw mo a woman saw 
 me a <|iie<!n I" Then turning toward Melvil, her esipiire, and the 
 chief of her household, on whose arm .slie leaned, she said, " Here nro 
 matiy judges, l)ut not one friend !" 
 
 She denied energetically having consented to tlie pl«vn for a8sa8si>
 
 44 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 natins: Elizabeth ; she instmiatrd, but without fonnally tissoitinc:, th(\t 
 secrcUirics miijht easily have added to the meaning of the letters dic- 
 tated to them, as none were produced in her own handwriting. 
 " When 1 came to Scotland, " she said to Lord Burleigii, the princi- 
 pal minister, who interroi^ated her, "I offered to your mistress, 
 throui^h Lethintrton, a rinti: shaped like a heart, in token of my 
 friendship ; and'when, overcome by rebels, I entered England, I in 
 my turn received from her this pledge of encouragement and protec- 
 tion." Saying these words, she drew from her finger the rmg 
 ■which had been sent her by Elizabeth. "Look at this, my lords, 
 and answer. Durinsr the eighteen years that I have passed under 
 your bolts and bars, "how often have your queen and the English 
 people despised it in my person !" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The commissioners, on their return to London, assembled at West- 
 minster, declared the Queen of Scots guilty of participation in the 
 plot against the life of Elizabeth, and pronounced upon her sentence 
 of deaUi. The two houses of parliament ratified the sentence. 
 
 Mary asked, as a single favor, not to be executed in secret, but be- 
 fore her servants and the people, so that no one might attribute to 
 her a cowardice unworthy of her rank, and that all might bear testi- 
 mony to lier constancy in suffering martyrdom. Thus she already 
 spoke of her punishment, a consolatory idea most natural in a queen 
 who desired that her death should be imputed to her faith rather than 
 to her faults. She wrote letters to all her relatives and friends in 
 France and Scotland. 
 
 " My good cousin," she wrote to the Duke of Guise, " who art the 
 most dear to me in the world, I bid you farewell, being ready by un- 
 just judgment to be put to death— what no one of our race, thanks 
 to God, has ever suffered, much less one of my quality. But, praise 
 God, my good cousin, for 1 was useless in the world to the cause of God 
 nnd'of his CTmrch, being in the state in which I was; and I hope 
 that my death will testify my constancy in the faith, and my readi- 
 ness to die for the mainte'nance and restoration of the Catholic Church 
 in this unhappy island ; and though never executioner dipped hi« 
 hands in our blood, be not ashamed, my friend, for the judgment of 
 heretics and the enemies of the Church, who have no jurisdiction 
 over me, a free queen, is profitable before God to the children of his 
 Church. If I had yielded to them I would not liave suffered this 
 stroke. Ail of our house have been persecuted by this sect ; witness 
 your good father, with whom I hope to be received by the mercy of 
 tlie just .Judge. I rcconmiend to you my poor servants, the payment 
 of my debts, and tin; foundmg of some annual nr.asses for my soul ; 
 tujt at your expense, but to make solicitation and ordinance as maybe 
 T«'f|uiicd, nnd :vs you will learn my intentions from my ix>or afflicted 
 servants, eyc-wilncsscs of this my last tragedy.
 
 MART STCART, QUEEN' OF SCOTS. 45 
 
 " God prosper you. your wife, cliildren, brothers, and cousins, and 
 above all our chief, my trood brother and cousin, and all his. May 
 the blessina; of God and 'that which I would bestow on my children 
 be yours, whom I recommend less to God than my own— who is un- 
 fortunate and ill-used. j. „ 
 
 " You will receive tokens from me to remind you to pray tor the 
 soul of vour poor cousin, deprived of all help and counsel but that of 
 God, who ^ives me strength and courage to resist alone so many 
 wolves howling after me ; to him be the gloiy. 
 
 " Believe, in particular, what will be told you by a person who 
 ■will ffive vou a ruby rino- from me, for I take it to my conscience that 
 you shaU'be told the tnith in that with which I have charged her, 
 specially as to what regards my poor servants, and the share ot each. 
 I recommend to you this person for her simple sincerity and honesty, 
 that she mav be settled in some good place. I have chosen her as 
 the least partial, and who will the more plainly report to you my 
 commands. I pray you that it be not known that she have said any- 
 thing particular to vou. for envy might injure her. 
 
 " 1 have suffered much for two years and more, and have not made 
 it known to you for an important reason. God be praised for all, 
 and give you the grace to persevere in the service of the Church as 
 Ion"- as you Uve ; and never may this honor depart from our race, 
 that men as well as women, we have been ready to shed our blood to 
 tnaintain the cause of the faith, putting aside all other worldly con- 
 iitions ; as for me, I esteem myself born, on both father s and 
 mother's side, to offer my blood in this matter, and have no inten- 
 tion of falling back. Jesus crucified for us and all the holy martyrs, 
 make us, through their intercession, worthy of the voluntary sacri- 
 fice of our bodies for his glory ! 
 
 " Thinking to humble me, iny dais had been thrown down, and, 
 afterward, iny guardian offered to write to the queen, as this act was 
 not by her command, but by the advice of some one in the council. 
 I showed them, in place of my arms on the said dais, the cross ot my 
 Saviour. You will understand all this discourse ; they were milder 
 
 afterward." , . . r •*. 
 
 This letter is signed, " Votre affectionee cousine et parfaitte amye-, 
 Marie K. d'Ecosse, D. de France." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 When she was shown tlic ratification of her sentence, and the 
 order for her execution signed by Elizal)eth, she tran(iuilly re- 
 marked, " It is well ; this is the generosity of Queen Llizaneth ! 
 Could any one believe she would have dared to go to tiiese extreme- 
 lies with ni<'. who am her sister and her equal, and wlu) could not be 
 her subject ? Nevertheless, (iod be praised for all. since he doea me 
 thia honor of dying for him and for his Church 1 Blessed be tho
 
 'i 
 
 46 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 moment that will cud my sad pilgrimaf^o ; a soul so cowardly as rwl 
 to accept this last combat ou earth would be uoworlhy of heaven !" 
 On the last moments of her life we shall follow the learned and 
 pathetic historian who has treasuicd up, so to speak, her last aghs. 
 The queen, guilty till then, became transformed into a martyr by tho 
 approach of death. When the soul is truly great it grows with its 
 destiny ; her destiny was sublime, for it was at once an accepted ex- 
 piation and a rehabilitation through blood. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 It was niglit, and she entered her chapel and prayed, with her 
 naked knees ou the bare pavement. She then said to her women, 
 *' I would eat something, so that my heart may not fail me to- 
 morrow, and that I may do nothing to make my friends ashamed of 
 me." Her last repast was sober, solemn, but not without some 
 sallies of liumor. " Wliercforc," she asked Bastien, who had been 
 her chief buHoou, "dost thou not seek to amuse me? Thou art a 
 good mimic, but a better servant." 
 
 Returning soon after to the idea that her death was a martyrdom, 
 and addressing Bourgoin, her physician, who waited on her, and 
 Melvil, her steward, who were both kept under arrest, as well as 
 Preaux, her almoner : " Bourgoin," said she, " did you hear the Earl 
 of Kent ? It would have taken another kind of doctor to convict me. 
 He has acknowledged besides that the warrant for my execution is 
 the triumph of heresy in this country. It is true," she rejoined with 
 pious satisfaction, " {hey put me to death not as an accomplice of 
 con.spiracy, but as a queen devoted to the Church. Before their 
 tri1)unal my faith is my crime, and the same shall be my justification 
 before my Sovereign Judge." 
 
 Her maidens, her officers, all her attendants were struck with grief, 
 and looked u\yjn her in silence, being scarcely able to contain them- 
 selves. Toward the end of the repast Mary spoke of her testament, 
 in which none of their names were to be omitted. She asked for the 
 silver and jewels which remained, and distributed them witli her 
 hand as with her heart. She addressed farewells to each, with that 
 delicate tact so natural to her, and with kindly emotion. She asked 
 their pardon, and gave her own to every one present or absent, her 
 secretary Xau excepted. They all burst into sobs, and threw them- 
 selves on their knees around the table. The queen, much moved, 
 • drank to their health, inviting them to drink also to her salvation. 
 They weepingly o])eye(], and in their turn drank to their mistress, 
 carrying to their lip.s' the cups iu which their tears mingled with the 
 wine. 
 
 The queen, affected at this sad spectacle, wished to be alone. She 
 composed her last will. Wlien written and finished, Mary, alone in 
 her ehjunber with Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curie, uska how
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 47 
 
 much money she has left. She possessed five thousand crowns, 
 ■which she separates into as many lots as she has servants, proportion, 
 in" the sums to their various ranks, functions, and wants. These 
 pol-tions she placed in an equal numlier of purses for the followmg 
 day. She then asked for water, and had her feet washed by her 
 niaids of honor. Afterward she wrote to the king of France : 
 
 " I recommend to you my servants once more. You will ordain, 
 if it please you, for my soul's sake, that 1 be paid the sum that you 
 ©we to me, and that for the honor of Jesus Christ, to whom I shall 
 pray for you to-morrow at the hour of my death, there may be 
 enough to found a mass for the repose of my soul, and for the need, 
 ful alms. This Wednesday, at two of the clock after midnight. 
 
 " M. R." 
 
 She now felt the necessity of repose, and lay down on her bed. On 
 her women approaching her, she said. "I would have preferred a 
 sword in the French manner, rather than this axe." She then fell 
 asleep for a short time, and even during her slumber her lips moved 
 as if in prayer. Her face, as if lighted up from within with a spirit. 
 tial beatitude, never shone with a beauty so charming .and so pure. 
 It was illuminated with so sweet a ravishment, so bathed in the 
 grace of God. that she seemed to " smile with the angels," according 
 to the expression of Elizabeth Curie. She slept and prayed, praying 
 more than she slept, by the liglit of a little silver lamp given her by 
 Henry II., and which she had preserved through all her fortunes. 
 This little lamp, Mary's last light in her prison, was as the twilight 
 of lier tomb ; humble implement made tragic by the memories it 
 recalls ! 
 
 Awaking before daylight, the queen rose. Her first thoughts were 
 for eternity. She looked at the clock, and said, " I have only two 
 hours to live here below." It was now six o'clock. 
 
 She added a postscript to her letter addressed to the King of 
 France, requesting that the interest of her dowry should be paid after 
 her death to her servants ; that their wages and pensions should con- 
 tinue during their lives ; that her physician (Bourgoin) should be re- 
 ceived into the service of the king, and that Didier, an old olHcer of 
 her hou.sehold, 'night retain the place she had given him. She add- 
 ed, " Moreover, that my almoner may be restored to his estate, and 
 in my favor provided with some small curacy, where he may pray 
 God for my soul during the rest of his life." The letter was thus 
 subscribed : " Faict Ic matin de ma mort, cemercrcdy huitiesmc Fey. 
 rier, ir)H7. ;Marie, Uoync. Done on this morning of my death, Ihia 
 Wednesday, eightii February, 1587. Mar)-, Ciueen." 
 
 A pale winter daylm^ik iiiuMiir.ated these last linu«. Mary per- 
 ceived it, and, calling to her Elizabeih Curie and Jane Kennwly, 
 made a sign to them lo robe her for this laet ceremony of royalty.
 
 48 MAllY STUAUT, l^UEEK OF SCOTS. 
 
 While their fiiendly liands tluis apparelled her she remained silent 
 "NVlieu full}' dressed she iilaced herself hefore one of her two large 
 mirrors inlaid with mother-ofpearl, and seemed to consider her face 
 ■with pity. She then turned round and said to her maidens : " This 
 is the moment to guard against weakness. I remember that, in my 
 youth, my uncle Francis said to me one day in his house at Meudon, 
 ' ^ly niece, there is one mark above all by which I recognize you 
 as of my own blood. You are brave as the bravest of my men-at- 
 arms, and if women still fought as in the old times, I think you 
 would know well how to die. '" It remains for me to show to both 
 friends and enemies from what race I have sprung." 
 
 She had asked for her almoner Preaux ; two Protestant ministers 
 •were sent to her. "Madam, we come to console you," they said, 
 stepping over the threshold of her chamber. " Are jou Catholic 
 priests?" she cried. "No," replied they. "Then I will have no 
 comforter but Jesus," she added, with a melancholy lirmness. 
 
 She now entered her chapel. She had there prepared with her own 
 hands an altar, before Avhich her almoner sometimes said mass to her 
 secretly. There, kneeling down, she repeated many prayers in a low 
 voice. She was reciting the prayers for the dying when a knock at 
 the door of her chamber suddenly interrupted her, " What do they 
 wish of me?" asked the queen, arising. Bourgoin replied from the 
 chamber where he was placed with the other servants, that the lords 
 awaited her Majesty. " It is not yet time," she replied ; " let them 
 return at the hour fi.xed." Then, throwing herself anew ou her 
 kiiees between Elizabetii Curie and Jane Kennedy, she melted into 
 tears, and striking her breast gave thanks to God for all, praying to 
 him fervently and with deep sf)bs that he would support her in her 
 last trial. Becoming calmer bj' degrees, in trying to calm her two 
 companions, she remained for some time in silent and supreme con- 
 verse with her God. 
 
 What was passing at that moment within her conscience ? 
 
 She then went to the window, looked out upon the calm sky, the 
 river, the meadows, the woods. Returning to the middle of the 
 chamber and casting her eyes toward the time- piece (called la 
 Jieale), she said to Jane, " The hour has struck, they will soon be 
 here." 
 
 Scarcely had she pronounced these words when Andrew, sheriff 
 of the county of Northampton, knocked a second time at the door, 
 and, her women drawing back, she mildly commanded them to open 
 it. The officer of justice entered, dressed in mourning, a white rod 
 in his right hand, and, bowing before the queen, twice repeated, " I 
 am here." 
 
 A slight blush mounted to the queen's cheeks, and, advancing with 
 majesty, she said, " Let us go." 
 
 She took with her the ivory crucifix, which had never left her for 
 ieveuteen years, and which she had carried from cell to cell, sus-
 
 MARY STUART, QUEEi^ OF SCOTS. 49 
 
 peudincr it in the various chapels of her captivity As she suffered 
 much from pains brought on by the dampness of her P-i-^on^ ^ue 
 leaned ou two of her domestics, who led her to the threshold of the 
 chamber. There thev stopped, and Bourgoin explained to the queea 
 the stram^e scruple of her altendauts, who desired to avoid the ap- 
 pearance^of conducting her to slaughter. The queen, though she 
 would have preferj-ed their support, made allowance for their weak- 
 ness. and was content to lean on two of Paulet s guards. Then all 
 her attendants accompanied her to the upperniost flight of stairs, 
 where the ^uards barred their passage in spite of their supplications, 
 despair, and lamentations, with their arms extended toward the dear 
 mistress whose footsteps they were hindered from following. _ 
 
 the queen, deeply pained, slightly quickened her steps, with the 
 design of protesting against this violence and of obtaining a more 
 
 lilting escort. _ , e t^ x, • 
 
 Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drew Drury, the governor of Fothenn- 
 cav the Earl of Shrewsbury, the Earl of Kent, the other commis- 
 sioners, and many stran-ers of distinction, among whom were Sir 
 Henry Talbot Edn-ard and William Montague, Sir Richard Knight- 
 ly, Thomas Tiruduell Bevil, Robert and John Wingfield, received her 
 
 at'the bottom of the stair. . , ^. ^ •„ <• , 
 
 Perceiving UcWW bent down with grief, ' Courage, my faithtul 
 friend," she said ; " learn to resign thyself." " Ah, madam, cried 
 Melvil, approaching his mistress and falling at her teet i have 
 lived too lontr, since mv eyes now see you the prey ot the_ execu- 
 tioner, and since mv lips must tell of this fearful punishment in bcot- 
 Imd " Sobs then burst from his Ijrcast instead of words. 
 ' " No weakness, mv dear Melvil !" slie added. " Pity those who 
 thirst for mv blood, and who shed it unjustly. As tor me, I mak(, 
 no complaint. Life is but a valley of tears, and I leave it without 
 rc'TCt I die for the Catholic faith, and in the Catholic faith ; 1 die 
 the friend of Scotland and of France. Bear testimony everywhere 
 to the truth. Once more, cease, Melvil, to alllict thyself ; ratlier re- 
 joice tliat the misfortunes of Mary Stuart are at an end. Tell my 
 son to rememl)er his mother." 
 
 While tlie queen spoke, Melvil, still on his knees, shed a torrent of 
 tears Marv having raise! him up, took liis hand, and, leaning 
 forward embraced him. "Farewell," she added, "farewell, my 
 dear Melvil ; never forget me in Ihy heart or thy prayers !" 
 
 Addressing the Earls of Slirewsl)ury and K(!nt, she then a.sked Ur.vt 
 her .secretary Curie might be pardoned; Nau was left out. 1 he 
 earls keeping silence, she again prayed them to allow her women 
 and servants to ac(om[ianv her, and to be present at her deatli. 1 ho 
 Earl of Kent replied tliat'sudi a course wa»u1(1 he unusual, and even 
 dan-'f-rous ; that the boldest would desire to dip tiieir haiidkerclucfs in 
 herhiood ; that the most timid, and, al)OV(; all, the women, would at 
 Itast trouble the courbC of Elizabeth's justice by their 'ones. Mary
 
 50 MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 pcrpislcd. " My lords," said slie, " if vour ([uecn ^\-crff here, your 
 virgin qiiccn, slie would not thiuk it lilting- for my rank aud my sex 
 to die in the midst of men ouly, and would irrunt me some of my 
 women to he beside my hard aud last pillow.'"' Her words were so 
 eloquent and touching that tiie lords who surrounded her Avouid have 
 yielded to her request but for the obstinacy of the Earl of Kent. 
 The queen perceived this, and, looking upon the puritan earl, slie 
 cried in a deep voice, 
 
 _" Shed the blood of Henry YII., but despise it not. Am I not 
 Btill ^lary Stuart ? a sister of your mistress and her e(iual : twice 
 crowned ; twice a queen ; dow^ager Queen of France ; legitimaie 
 Queen of Scotland." The earl was affected, but sdll unvielding. 
 
 Mary, witli softer look and accent, then said, "My lords, fgive 
 you my word that my servants will avoid all you fear. Alas f the 
 poor souls will do nothing but take farewell of me ; surely you will 
 not refuse this sad satisfaction either to me or to them ? 'Think, my 
 lords, of your own servants, of those who please you best ; the niirsos 
 who have suckled you ; the squires who have "borne your arms in 
 war ; these servants of your prosperity are less dear to you than to 
 me arc the attendants of my misfortunes. Once more, my lords, do 
 not send away mine in my hist moments. They desire nothing 'but 
 to remain faithful to me, to love me to the end, and to see me die." 
 
 The peers, after consultation, agreed to Mary's wishes. The Earl 
 of Kent said, however, that he was still doubtful of the effect of their 
 lamentations on the assistants, and on the queen herself. 
 
 " 1 will answer for them," 3Iary replied ; " their love for me will 
 give them strength, and my example will lend them courage. To 
 me it will be sweet to know they are there, and that I shall have 
 witnesses of my perseverance in the faith." 
 
 The commissioners did not insist further, and granted to the 
 ([uecn four attendants and two of her maidens. She chose Melvil 
 her steward, Bourgoin her physician, Gervais her surgeon, Gosion 
 her druggist, Jane Kennedy aud Elizabeth Curie, the two companions 
 who had replaced Elizabeth Pierrepoiut in her heart. ]\Ielvil, who 
 was present, was called by the queen herself, and an usher of Lord 
 Paulet was sent for the others. Avho Iiad remained at the upper bal- 
 cony of the stair, and who now hastened down, liappy even in their 
 anguish to perfonn this last duty of devotion and fidelity. 
 
 Appeased by this complaisance on the part of the earls, the queen 
 beckoned to the sheriff and his followers to advance. She was the 
 first to lead the melanclioly iiro(tcssion lo the scaffold. 
 
 She arrived in the hall of death. Pale, but uuflincliing, she con- 
 templated the dismal preparations. There lay the block and the axe. 
 Tnere stood the executioner and his assistant. All were (-lolhed in 
 mourning. On the floor was scattered the .sawdust which was to 
 .^ak her blood, and in a dark corner lay the bier which was to be her 
 last prison.
 
 MARY STUAllT, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 51 
 
 It was nine o'clock when the queen appeared in the funeral hall. 
 Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, and certain privileged persons to 
 the number of more than two'liuudred, were assembled. The hall 
 was hung with black cloth ; the scaffold, which was elevated about 
 two feet and a half above the ground, was covered with black friezo 
 of Lancaster ; the armed chair in which Mary was to sit, the foot-, 
 stool on which she was to kneel, the block on which her head was to 
 be laid, weye covered with black velvet. 
 
 The queen was clothed iu mourning like the hall and as the en- 
 signs of puuishment. Her black velvet robe, with its high collar 
 and hanging sleeves, was bordered with ermiae. Her mantle, lined 
 with mirten sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long train. 
 A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to which was attached a scapu- 
 larj', and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her bosom. Two 
 rosaries were suspended tocher girdle, and a long veil of white lace, 
 which, in some measure, softened this costume of a widow and of a 
 condemned criminal, was thrown around her. 
 
 She was preceded by the sheriff, by Drury and Paulct, the earls 
 and nobles of Englaud, and followed l)y her two maidens and four 
 officers, among whom was remarked ^lelvil, bearing the train of the 
 royal robe. Mary's walk was firm and majestic, for a single mo- 
 ment she raised her veil, and her face, on which shone a hope no long- 
 er of this world, seemed beautiful as in the days of her youth. The 
 whole assembly were deeply moved. In one hand she held a cruci- 
 fix and in the other one of lier chaplets. 
 
 The Earl of Kent rudely addressed her, ' We should wear Christ 
 in our liearts. " 
 
 " And wherefore," she replied quickly, " should I have Christ in 
 my hand if he were not in my heart?" Paulet assisting her to 
 mount the scaflSold, she threw upon him a look full of sweetness. 
 
 " Sir Amyas," .she said, " I thank you for your courtesy ; it is the 
 last trouble! will give you, and the most agreeable service j'ou caa 
 render me." 
 
 Arrived on the scaffold, ]VIary seated herself in the chair provided 
 for her, with her face toward* the spectators. Tiie Dean of Peter- 
 borough, in ecdesiii-stical costume, sat on the right of the queen, with 
 a black velvet footstool before him. The Earl.s of Kent and Shrews- 
 bury were seated like him on the right, l)ut upon larger chairs. On 
 the other side of the (pieen stood the sheriff Andrews, with wh"te 
 wand. In front of Mary were seen the executioner and his assistant, 
 distinguishable by their vestments of iilack velvet, with red crape 
 round tlic Ml arm. Behind the queen's chair, ranged l)y Iho wall, 
 went her attendants and maidens. In the body of the hall the nobles 
 and citizens from the neighboring counties were guarded by the 
 musketeers of Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Dri'W Drury. Beyond thft 
 balustrade wa» Ihe bur of the tribunal. The sentence was read ; the 
 <|ue«n prot«Blec! a^aiiiiil it in the uamo of royalty and inuocence, but 
 accepted death for the sake of the fditli.
 
 62 MART STUART, QUEKN OF SCOTS. 
 
 She then knt'lt down 1)cfore the block, and the executioner pro- 
 ccodod to remove 1 cr veil. Slie repelled him bj^ a gesture, and turn- 
 inir toward tiie earls '.villi a blush 0!i her forehead, " I am not accus- 
 tomed," she said, " to be undressed before so numerous a company, 
 and by the hands of such grooms of the chamber." 
 
 She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curie, who took ofT 
 "her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross, and seapulary. On their 
 touching her robe, Ihe ((ueen told them to unloose the corsage and 
 fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bear for the axe. 
 Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. Mclvil and 
 the three other attendants wept and lamented, and Mary placed her 
 finger on her lips to signify that they should be silent. 
 
 '" My friends," she cried, " I have answered for you, do not melt 
 me ; ought you not rather to praise God for having inspired your 
 mistress with courage and resignation ?" Yielding, however, in her 
 turn to her own sensibility, she warmly em])raced her maidens ; then 
 pressing them to descend t'n;m the scaffold, where they both clung 
 to her dress, with hands bathed in their tears, s)ie addressed to them 
 a tender blessing and a last farewell. Melvil aLd his companions 
 remained, as if choked with grief, at a short distance from the queen. 
 Overcome by her accents, the executioners themselves besought her 
 on their knees to pardon them. 
 
 " I pardon y(m, " she said, " after the example of my Redeemer. 
 
 She then arranged the handk(;rchief embroidered with thistles of 
 gold, with which her eyes had been covered by Jane Kennedy. 
 Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, " Lord, into thy 
 hands I commend my spirit." She knelt anew, and leaned her head 
 on that block which was already scored with deep ma'-ks ; and in 
 this solemn attitude she again recited some verses from the psalms. 
 The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a blow of the 
 axe, but its tremblintr stroke only grazed her neck ; she groaned 
 slightly, and the second blow separated the head from the body. 
 The executioner held it up at the window, within Sight of all, pro- 
 claiming aloud, according to usage, " So perish the enemies of our 
 
 queen !" , i - . i j 
 
 The queen's maids of honor and attendants enshroudeu the body, 
 and claimed it, in order that it should be sent to Frunce ; but these 
 relics of their tenderness and faith were pitilessly refused. Relics 
 which might rekindle fanaticism were to be feared. 
 
 But that cruel prudence was deceived by the result. Mary s death 
 resembled a martvrdom ; her memory, which had been execrated 
 alike by the Scottish Presbyterians and the English Protestants, was 
 practically adopted by the Catholics as that of a saint. The passions 
 were Mary's judges ; therefore she was not fairly judged, nor will 
 bIic (*vcr be 
 
 Elizabeth, having thus mercilessly sacrificed the life of her whom 
 sb« Uod so long aud eo unjubtly retained iu hopeless captivity, now
 
 MAKY STUAKT, QUEEN- OF SCOTS. 53 
 
 ^ded the most flasrant duplicity to licr cruelty. Dcnymg, with 
 many oaths, a'.l inteutiou of having her own warrant carried into «x- 
 ecution, she attempted to tlirosv the entire odium on those who in 
 reality had acted as her blind and devoted agents. This policy of the 
 English queen was unsuccessful, hov^-ever ; posterity has with clear 
 voice proclaimed her guilty of the blood of her royal sister, and the 
 sanguinary stain will ever remain ineffaceable from the ch'iractei of 
 mat" otherwise great sovereign. 
 
 If we regard .Mary Stuart in the light of her charms, her talents, 
 her magicat influence over all men who approached her, s)\e may be 
 called the Sappho of the sixteenth century. All that was ujt love in 
 her soul was poetry ; her verses, like those of Konsard, her worship • 
 per and teacher, possess a Greek softness combined with a quaint 
 simplicity ; they aie written with tears, and even after the lapse of 
 80 many years retain sometliing of the warmth of her sighs. 
 
 If we judge her by her life, she is the Scottish Semiramis ; castmg 
 herself, befol-e the eyes of all Europe, into the arms of the assassin of 
 her husband, and thus giving to the people slie had thrown inio civil 
 war a coronation of murder for a lesson of morality. 
 
 Her direct and personal participation in the death of her young 
 husband has been denied, and nothing in effect, except those sus- 
 pected letters, proves that she actually and peisonahy accomplished 
 or permitted the crime; but that she had attracted tlie victun mto 
 the snare ; that she liad given Bolhwell tlie right and the hope of suc- 
 ceeding to the tlirone after his death ; that she had been the end, 
 the means, and the alleged prize of the crime ; finally, that she ab- 
 solved the murderer by bestowing upon him her hand— no doubt can 
 be entertained regarding these points. To provoke to murder and 
 then to absolve tlie perpetrator— is not this etiuivalent to gudtV 
 
 In fine, if she be judged by her death— comparable, in Us majesty, 
 its piety, and its courage, to the most heroic and the holiest sacrifices 
 of tlio primitive martyrs— the horror and aversion with which sha 
 had been regarded change at last to pity, esteem, and admiration. 
 As long as tiiere was no expiation she remained a criminal ; by ex- 
 I)iatiou slie became a victim. In her history blood .seems to be washed 
 out by l)iooil ; tlie guilt of hor furmer years fiows, as it were, from 
 lier veins with tiie crimson stream ; we do not absolve, we sympa- 
 liiize ; our pity is not absolution, but rather approaches to love ; we try 
 to find excuses for her conduct in tlie ferocious and di.ssolute manners 
 c,f the age : in tluit education, depraved, sanguinary, and fanatical, 
 which she received at the court of the Valois ; in hei youth, her 
 beauty, her love. We are constrained to say with M. Dargaud— to 
 ■wliom we fci:\ deeply indebted for the researches which have guided 
 \ii—-' We judge not ; we only relate. " 
 
 THE END.
 
 Jl 
 
 An
 
 CHEISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 (1435-1506.) 
 
 Provtdexce conceals itself in the detail of human affairs, but be- 
 comes unveiled in the generalities of history. No sensible person 
 has ever denied that the great events which mark the history of 
 man are connected and linked together by an invisible chain, sup- 
 ported by the almighty hand of the great Creator of worlds, to give 
 them unity of design and plan. How can He be blind who has givea 
 sight to the eye ? How can He who has endowed His work with 
 thought be him.self without thought "? The ancients gave to this oc- 
 cult, absolute, and irresistible influence of God over human affairs 
 the name of Destiny, or Fate ; the moderns call it Providence, a 
 more intelligent, more religious, and more affectionate name. 
 
 In studying the history of humanity, it is impossible not to discern 
 the paramount action of Providence concurrent with and control- 
 ling tiie free action of man. This general and collective movement 
 is not in any way incompatible with the freedom of will which 
 alone constitutes the morality of individuals and of nations ; it seems 
 lo let them move, act, and go astray with complete liberty of inten- 
 tion, and of choice of good and evil, in a certain sphere of action, 
 and with a fi.xed logical sequence of penalties incurred, or rewards 
 deserved, according to the intention, whether vicious or good ; but it 
 reserves to itself tlie guidance of the great general results of these 
 acts of individuals or nations. It appears to reserve them, indepen- 
 dently of us, for divine ends with wiiich we are unacquainted, and of 
 whicli it allows us only a glimpse! when they are almost attained. 
 Good and evil are of us and for us. but Providence uses our vices and 
 cnir virtues alike, and with the same unfailing wisdon, oljtains from 
 evil, as fron> good, the accomiilishmcnt of its designs respccling 
 humanity. Tlie hidden but divine; instrument of this Providence, 
 wlien it tliinks fit to n)ake use of mcjn to prepare or acconqili.sh a 
 part of its plans, is inspiration. Inspiration is indeed a human mys- 
 tery, for which it is dillicult lo lirid a cause in man himself. It seems 
 to come from a higher and niorr distant source. Ui'iuc. has arisen a 
 name, mysleriouB also, and not well defined iy any language— jycfttua.
 
 4 CnRISTOPIIEIl COLUMBUS. 
 
 Providence causes a man of genius to be born ; genius is a gift it 
 ^ no acquired by labor, nor is it even obtained by viv uc ; t ex sts, 
 or it exSs not, xvitliout its possessor being able to explain its nature 
 o ou lie came to possess it. To this genius ^^<>^f-'f^^'^ 
 iiniration. Inspiration is to genius what tlie inagnet is to ^lec , it 
 <iuSit irrespectively of all knowledge or ^Vlll, toward son.etlung 
 fita and unl n, wa, as to its pole. Genius follows tie inspiration by 
 wh . is attracted, and an ideal or an actual world is d.sc-ovcrea. 
 So was t with Chr stopher Columbus and the discovery ot America 
 Columbus aspired in thought to the completion of the globe, which 
 annea edtohimtowant one of its hemispheres. The idea of tl€ 
 eSti's eoo-raphical unitv incited him. This notion was generally 
 mevalent in lis time. There seem to lie ideas floating in the air, a 
 Ca" s of nt i eclual miasma, which thousands of men. without con- 
 cert breathe at once. Whenever Providence is preparing the wor d, 
 unknown to kself, for a relidous, moral, or political change, this 
 Phenomenon SCanicrally be^observcd-a tendency or progress, more 
 or kss complete to the unity of the earth by concpiest, language, re- 
 Slious pTs lyt\sm, navigati'on,. geographical .discovery, or the mul. - 
 niicaliou of the relations of difl'crent countries with eacb othc by 
 Sefac 1 ta ion of intercourse and frequency of contact between those 
 couSs of which easy means of communication, common necessi- 
 tie and %!scba, ges make but one people. This tendency to the 
 uSy of the eartir at certain periods, is one of the most remarkable 
 instances of providential interference that occurs m his ory. 
 
 TMis when he -reat oriental civilization of India and Egypt seems 
 exlmied rom v^e and God wishes to call Asia and the West to a 
 
 Younger no^^^^^ 
 
 So\it w ^knowing why, from the valleys of Macedon taking 
 w 1 hL t e Susia'm and the soldiers of (Greece ; and before the 
 Te ror nd glor of Ids name the known world becomes one, from 
 
 Wh^H^ wisher pS.--h^^ audience for the trans- 
 
 ^•^^ ^rd i 'christLiSy in the E..t and intbe Wes, I^spreads 
 
 S^;ni::g. tt Snion^n;Uhea;msof>ome ai^ 
 
 e siio'efof'the Persian Gulf to the -"^"l^^'SJ "{.f ^, f„"^',^';'^/^§ 
 under one mind and under a common aulhoiity Italy, tlie iwo 
 r- lis Great Britain Sicily, Greece, Africa, and Asia. 
 
 W.Viie ii some centuries afterward, to snatch Arabm. 
 Persia and their dependencies ln>m barbarism, and o make the re- 
 ^ ^,?ess doctrine of \he Divine Unity If vaiU.vor the idola nes^^^ 
 indifference of these remote or corrupt P"''\'^"^,/'^ '".^^ ^/J' ,e' 
 :,rms Mahomet with the Koran and the ^^^'^ ^j^y^^'^^^*,^^^^^^^ 
 li.rion of Islam in two centuries to conquer all he ^^P^^>',.^"™P;'; ','; 
 etwcen the Oxus and th(- Tagus, Thibet and Lebanon, At la.s and the 
 TamiT An inimense unit/ of empire is the sure forerunner of 
 unity of tuought.
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 So with Charlemagne in the West, when his universal monarchy, 
 IjL-stridini;- the Alps.^irepares, even in Scythia and Gernuiuy, llie vast 
 tield in w'hich Christian civilization is to receive and baptize the bar- 
 barians. 
 
 So also with the French Revolution, that reform of the w^estcrn 
 world by reason, when Napoleon, as enterprising as Alexander, 
 marches his victorious armies over the subjugated continent of 
 Europe, constitutes for a moment the great unity of France, and, 
 hoping to found an empire, only succeeds in so\ving tlie seeds of the 
 launuiige, the ideas, and the institutions of the Eevoluliou. 
 
 Thus too, in our days— no longer in the shape of conquest, but 
 under the form of intellectual, commercial, and peaceful communi- 
 cations among all the continents and all the nations of the earth - 
 science l)ecomes the universal conqueror, to the asivautage and honor 
 of all. Providence seems now to have charged the genius of indus- 
 try and of discovery with the task of preparing for Ilim the »uost 
 complete unity of the terrestrial globe that has ever condensed tune, 
 space, and people into a close, compact, and homogeneous mass. 
 Navigation, printing, the discovery of steam— that cheap and irre- 
 sistible power whicl^i propels man, with his armies and his merchan- 
 dise, as far and as quick as his thouglits ; the construction of rail- 
 roads, which pass through mountain and over valley, bringing all 
 the earth to one level ; the discovery of the electric telegraph, which 
 gives to communications between the two hemispheres the rapidity 
 of lightning ; the invention of balloons, to which a helm is still want- 
 ing, but whicli will soon render the air a more simple and more uni- 
 versal element of navigation than llie ocean : all these nearly contem- 
 porary revelations of J'rovidence tlirough the inspiration of the spirit 
 of industry, are means of concentration, drawing tiie earth as it were 
 together, and instruments of union and assimilation for the human 
 race. These means are so active and so evident, that it is impossible 
 not to perceive in them a new i)lan of Proviilence, a new teildency iu 
 an unknown direction— impossible to avoid the conclusion that God 
 meditates for us, or for our descemlauts, some design still hidden to 
 ournarrow sight; a de-ign for which lie is taking measures, by 
 causing the world to advance to the most powerful of unities, the 
 unity of thought, which auaounces some great unity of action in the 
 future. 
 
 In like muuner was the spirit of the fifteenth century prepared for 
 some great human or divine manifestation, when the illustrious man 
 whose history we are aljoiit to relate was born. Homelhing was vx- 
 pceted ; for the human mind has its forebodings, the vague i)resage3 
 jf api»r')acliiiig events. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1471, at midday, beneath the burning sun 
 that scorclied the roads of Andalusia, on a hill about half a league 
 from the little seaport of I'alos, two strangers, travelling ou foot, 
 their shoes almost worn out with walking, their tlress, which still
 
 6 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 retained tlic marks of srcntility, soiled with dust, and their forelieail < 
 Blreaininii wilii perspiration, stopped to sit down beneatii tlie siiiuio 
 ol' the ouler porcli of a little convent called Santa Maria de llabida. 
 Their appearance and fatigue were a suflicient prayer for hospitality. 
 The Franciscan convents' were at that period the hostelrics for all 
 pedestrians whose poverty prevented their seeking another refuge. 
 These two strangers attracted the attention of tiie monks. 
 
 One was a man who had scarcely reached the prime of life, tall in 
 stature, powerfully built, of majestic gait, with a noble forehead, 
 open countenance, thoughtful look, and pleasing and elegant mouth. 
 His hair, in his youth of" a light auburn, was sprinkled here and there 
 about the temples with the white streaks prematurely traceil by mis- 
 fortune and mental anxiety, llis forehead was higli ; his com 
 plexion, once rosy, had been made pale by study, and bronzecf by 
 sun and sea. The tone of his voice was deep and sonorous, power- 
 ful and impressive, as that of a man accustomed to utter profouuil 
 thoughts. There was nothing of levity or thoughtlessness m his 
 behavior : everything was grave and deliberate, even in his slightest 
 movement ■. he seemed to have a modest self-respect, and to retain 
 habitually the controlled demeanor of a pious worshipper, as though 
 he always felt himself to be in the presence of God. 
 
 The other was a child of eight or ten years old. IIis features, 
 more feminine, but alrciidy matured by the fatigues of life, bore so 
 fitron'' a resemblance to those of the other stranger, that it was im- 
 possible to avoid taking liim for a son or a brother of tlie elder man. 
 The two strangers Avere Christopher Colund)US and his sou Diego. 
 The monks, interested and moved at the sight of the noble counte- 
 nance of the father and the elegance of the child, in such strong 
 contrast with the poverty of their condition, invited them into tlie 
 monastery, to partake of the shelter, the food, and the rest always 
 accorded to wayfarers. While Columbus and his child were refresh- 
 in*^ and recruiting their strength with the water, bread, and olives 
 supplied by their 'hosts, the monks went to inform tne prior of the 
 arrival of the two travellers, and of the singular interest inspired by 
 their noble appearance, so little in accordance with their poverty. 
 The prior came down to converse with them. 
 
 I'he superior of this convent of La Kabida was Juan Terez de la 
 Marchenna, formerly confessor to Queen Isabella, who then reigned 
 over Spain with Ferdinand. A man of piety, of science, and ot 
 thou--ht he had preferred the retirement of the cloister to the honors 
 and iulrigues of the court ; but this very retirement had secured him 
 great respect in the palace, and great intluence over the mind of the 
 queen Providence, rather than chance, appeared to have direclea 
 the steps of Columbus, as if it had intended to open to him, by a sate, 
 tliough unseen, hand, the readiest approaches to the ear, the mind, 
 and the heart of the sovereigns. , i • i, 
 
 The prior saluted the stranger, caressed the clnld, and kindly
 
 CHltlSTOPnER COLUMBUS. 7 
 
 inquired into the circumstances wliicli obliged them to travel on foot 
 through tlie byroads of Spain, and to seelc the liumble roof of a poor 
 and lonely monastery. Cohimbus related his obscure life, and un- 
 folded his great thoughts to the attentive monk. This life, these 
 thoughts, were but an expectation and a foreboding. This has since 
 been learned of them. 
 
 Christopher Columbus was the eldest son of a Genoese wool-carder, 
 a business now low, but then respectable, and almost noble. In the 
 manufacturing and commercial republics of Italy, the operatives, 
 proud of their discoveries and inventions, formed guilds, which were 
 ennobled by their arts, and intluential in the state. Christopher was 
 born in 143G. He had two brothers, Bartholomew and Diego, whom 
 he afterwards sent for, to share his labors, his fame, and his ad- 
 versity. He had also a sister, younger than her brothers. She mar- 
 ried a Genoese arti.san, and oi)scurity long sheltered her from the 
 glory and misfortunes of her kindred. 
 
 Our tastes depend on the tirst views which nature presents to our 
 eyes in the places of our birth, especially when these views are ma- 
 jestic and intinite, like mountains, sea, and sky. Our imagination is 
 but the echo and reliection of the scenes which have originally struck 
 us. The lirst looks of Columbus, Avhile an infant, were upon the 
 heavens and the sea of Genoa. Astronomy and navigation soon di- 
 rected his thoughts to the spaces thus spread before" his eyes. He 
 peopled them in his imagination before he tilled their charts with 
 continents and islands. Contemplative, taciturn, and from his 
 earliest years disposed to piety, his genius carried him, while yet a 
 ciiiid, far and high through space, not only to vaster discoveries, but 
 to more fervent worship. ^\hat, in the divine works, he sought be- 
 yond all things was God himself. 
 
 His father, a man of liberal mind, and wealthy in his trade, did not 
 attempt to oppose the studious bent of his son's inclinations. He sent 
 liim to Pavia, to study geometry, geography, astronomy, astrology 
 (an imaginary science of that day), and navigation. His powers soon 
 overstepped the limits of those sciences, in their tlien incomplete 
 state. He was one of those that always pass l)ey()nd the boundary at 
 ■which the common run of peoi)le stop and cry "Enough." At 
 fourteen years of age he knew all that was taugiit'in the schools, and 
 he returned to his family at Genoa. His mind could not brook the 
 sedentary and unintellectual eonlinemcrit of his father's business. 
 He sailed for several yc.-ars in trading ves.sels and ships of war, and in 
 the adventurous expeditions whicii the griiat houses of Genoa 
 launched on the .Mediterranean, to contest its waves and its pons 
 •Willi the Spaniard, the Arab, and the Moor; a sort of perpetual 
 crusade, in which trade, war, and religion made these lieets of tln^ 
 Italian republics .schools of coinmcrc<', of wealth, of lieroism, and of 
 devotion. At once a sailor, a philosoplKa-, and a soldier, he en'ibarked 
 in one of the vessels wliich his country lent the Duke of Anjou when
 
 CIIKISTOPHKU COliL'MBUS. 
 
 ho wpnt 10 ronnuer Naples, in tl.ft lleet wl.iHi the King of Napks 
 in r a t-u^'S^^ the squadrons cllspa.clu.l by ^^-^--^^^^ 
 
 S.iiu \h' ovi-n rose it is said, to the (^oinmaud ol some of t e ol.- 
 , Sr uaJai Expeditions ofthe city. But '-tory loses^.g. o Imn 
 in tills his earlv career. Ills destiny was uot theie , he tclt Inmst r 
 
 ra. n ellecl in the narrow seas, and am d ^1^^>«« «"^;;"^ ^'^.^"^^^^..t^o r 
 thoughts were vaster than his counlry ITc mcditate.l a conquest ioi 
 the luiman race, not for the little republic of ^^•-^^'/;i-;;. . ,, , ^„ <^,_l^j,,,. 
 Duriu'' the intervals between his expeditions, Chusto phcr Oolum 
 bu;fo.md means of satisfying, by the study of ^VV^^^iL time 
 for ^eo-raphv and uavi-atiou, and of increasing his humble tortuiu. 
 He'di^ew cmnaved and sold nautical charts; and this business 
 Sorded'him a sc;,aty livelihood. .He looked to it less with a view 
 to gain than to the progress of science. His mim f . '^^^^''i^^'^^,',; 
 always fixed on the sea and stars, secretly pursued an object Kuottii 
 
 ""V^^k caused by his vessel taking fire in tl.e roads of Lis- 
 bon ftert. naval engagement, obliged him to remain m Portug 1 
 irhnw himself into the water to escape the tire ; and ^-^^^ "^^ 
 himself bN^ an oar with one hand, and swimming with t'l^ot'itr 
 
 cTeached the shore. Portugal, then ^-}V^^ffy ^^^S'S^^^ 
 passion for maritime discovery, was a held suited to 1 '^ i^^J^l'";^^ «"if^ 
 He honed to find in it opportunities and means of sailing where nc 
 nleasedove the ocean : he only found the unpleasing sedentary aboi 
 
 p" ;„«a T utter bad co,.rukd l.cr l„ clK- <'»«,?' '''".JLfl.nJ 
 
 id ."Sire 1 Both wiUio-Jt relations and ivillioul torlii. c n a 
 
 tmmi^ e "i h^-Slelli. the famous Florer^line nav^iUjiv gave 
 him it is suid precise information al)out the distant seas ( t J'h' '';' ^ 
 
 mmmmmm
 
 CHKISTOPHER COLUMBUS. ^ 
 
 associates were only mariners, either returned from distant expe- 
 ditions, or dreaming of unknown lands, and unbeaten paths ic the 
 ocean. ' His Wiirehouse of charts and globes was a source of ideas, 
 conjectures, and projects which kepi his imagination always fixed 
 on the unsolved problems of the world. His wife, the child and sis- 
 ter of seamen, shared his enthusia-^m. While turning his globes 
 under his hand, or dotting his charts with islands and continents, his 
 attention had been seized by the immense void space in the middle 
 of the Atlantic. On that side, the earth seemed to want the counter- 
 poise of a continent. The imaginations of navigators were excited 
 by vague, wondrous, and terrible rumors of shores indistinctly seen 
 from Uie mountains of the Azores— said by some to be Hoatiug, and 
 by others fixed, appearing at intervals in clear weather, but disap- 
 pearing or seeming to retire when any venturous pilot endeavored to 
 approach them. A Venetian traveller, Marco Polo, then regarded as 
 an inventor of fables, and whose veracity time has since shown, re- 
 lated to the West the wonders of the deserts, the states, and the civ- 
 ilization of Tartt;ry, which was then supposed to extend to the longi- 
 tudes in reality occupied by the Americas. Columbus hitiself ex- 
 pected to find, on tiie other side of the Atlantic, those countries of 
 gold, pearls, and mvrrh from which Solomon drew his wealth— tlie 
 Ophir of the Bible, since veiled by the clouds of distance and 
 credulity. It was not a new continent, but a lost continent that ho 
 sought. The i)ursuit of a falsehood was leading him to truth. 
 
 liis calculations, founded on Ptolemy and the Aiabian geogra- 
 phers, led him to suppose that the earth was a globe which it was 
 possible to journey round. He considered this globe less l)y some 
 thou.sands of miles than it really is. He therefore concluded that 
 the extent of sea to be passed ])efore reaching tiiese unknown cotm- 
 tries of India vvas less than navigators usually thought. The exist- 
 ence of tliese lands seemed to be confirmed by the singular testuuouy 
 of the pilots who had .sailed the fartiiest lieyond the Azores. Somo 
 had seen, floating on the waves, Itranches of trees unknown in tho 
 West ; others, pieces of wood carved, but nut with steel tools ; hugo 
 pines hollowed into canoes of a single log, capable of carrying eighty 
 rowers ; others, gigantic reeds ; otliers, again, had seen corpses of 
 •.vhite or copper- colored men, whose features did not at all resemble 
 the races of we-ster n Eurcjpe, of .\sia, or of Africa. 
 
 All these indication^, floating from lime to time in the ocean, after 
 storms, combined with the vague instinct wiiich always precede:; 
 events, even as the shadow goes before one who has the sun at his 
 back, appeared as marvels to the ignorant, but were regarded by 
 Columbus as proofs that other lands existed beyond lho.se engraved 
 by gcograpliers on their maps of the world. lie was, however, eon- 
 vinced that these lands were; oidy the prolongation of Asia, which 
 would thus oeeup}' more than a tliird of the cireumference of the 
 globe. This circumference being then unkuowu to ]ihiIosophcr8 uud
 
 10 CHRISTOniER COLUMBUS. 
 
 geometricians, the extent of the ocean whicli would have to be 
 crossed in order to rcacli this imagiriiiry Asia was left entirely to con- 
 jecture. Some lliouglit it incominensurahh! ; otliers considered it a 
 species of deep and boundless ether, in whicii navigators migiit lose 
 themselves, as aeronauts do now in the wastes of the almospliere. 
 The greater number, ignorant of the laws of gravity, and of the at- 
 traction wlucli draws M things toward the centre, and yet neverthe- 
 less admitting the roundness of tlie globe, thought that vessels and 
 men, if tlicy^could ever reach the antipodes, would start away from 
 the earth and fall eternally through the abysses of infinite space. 
 The laws which govern the level and movement of the ocean were 
 alike unknown to" them. They considered the sea— beyond a certain 
 horizon l)ounded by isles already known— as a liquid chaos, whose 
 huge waves rose into inaccessible mountains, leaving between them 
 bottomless abysses, into which they rolled down from above in irre- 
 fiistible cataracts, which would swa'llow any vessels daring enough to 
 brave them. The more learned, while they admitted the laws of 
 gravity and of a certain level in the liquid spaces, thought that the 
 spherical form of the earth would give the ocean a slope toward the 
 antipodes, might carry vessels onward to nameless shores, but 
 would not allow them to return up this slope to Europe. From 
 these divers prejudices concerning the nature, form, extent, ascents, 
 and descents of the ocean there resulted a general and mysterious 
 dread, on which only enterprising minds Vvould speculate in thought, 
 und which none but sui)erliuman boldness would venture to brave 
 in .ships. It would l.'e a stnigde between the ndnd of man and the 
 illimitable sea ; to attempt this seemed to demand more than a 
 mortal. 
 
 The uncon(iueral)lc predilection of the poor geographer for this 
 enterprise was the real cause that detained Columbus so many years 
 in Lis!)on, the country of his thoughts. It was diu-ing the time that 
 Portugal, governed by John the Second— an enlightened and enter- 
 prising prince, and im!;ued with the spirit of colonization, commerce, 
 and adventure— was making incessant attempts to connect Asia with 
 Europe l)y sea, and when Ya.sco de Gama, the Portuguese colonist, 
 was on the point of discovering the Cape of (iood Hope. Columbus, 
 convinced that he should find a more open and direct road by dash- 
 ing straightforward to the West, obtained, after repealed solicita- 
 tions, an audience of the king, to whom he explained his plans of 
 discovery, and applied for the "means of accomplishing them, to the 
 ladvantage and honor of his states. The king listened to him with 
 interest"; he did not Ihiidc the stranger's faith in his hopes sutliciently 
 devoid of foundation to be classed as chimerical. Columbus, besides 
 natural elofiuence, possessed the eloquence of earnest conviction. 
 He induced the kimr to appoint a council composed of learned men 
 and politicians to examine the jiroposuls of the (tenoese navigator, 
 tind report upon the probability of its success. This council, con-
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. H 
 
 sisting of the king's confessor and of some geographers -who enjoyed 
 all the more credit in the king's court from falling in with common 
 prejudices, declared the ideas of Columbus to be chimerical, and 
 contrary to all the laws of nature and of religion. 
 
 A second board of examiners, to whom Columbus appealed by the 
 kino-'s permission, confirmed the previous decision. Nevertheles?. 
 with a perfidy to which the kimr was no party, they communicated 
 the plans of Columbus to a pilot, and secretly sent a vessel to try the 
 passage to Asia which he pointed oat. This vessel, after cruising 
 about'^for some davs beyond the Azores, came back, with its crew- 
 frightened by the" immensity of the void abyss, and confirmed the 
 council in their contempt for the conjectures of Columbus. 
 
 Pending these fruitless solicitations at the Poituguese court, the 
 unfortunate Columbus had lost his wife, the love of his heart, and 
 the consolation and encouragement of his thoughts. His fortune, 
 neglected for these expectations of discovery, was ruined ; his cred- 
 ilo°s seized the produce of his labor, even to his maps and globes, 
 and actually threatened his liberty. Many years had thus been lost 
 in expectation : his age was increasing, his child growing, and the 
 extreme of misery was his only prospect, in place of the New World 
 which he contemplated. He escaped by night from Lisbon, on foot, 
 without any resources for his journey Imt chance hospitality ; and 
 sometimes leading his sou Diego by the hand, sometimes carrying him 
 on his stalwart shoulders, he entered Spain, with the determination 
 of otTering to Ferdinand and Isabella, who then governed it, the 
 continent or the empire vvhicli Portugal had refused. 
 
 It wa-s during this tedious pilgrimage to the shifting quarters of the 
 Spanish court.'that he reached the gate of the convent of La Rabida, 
 near Palos. He intended first to go to the little town of Huerta, in 
 Andalusia, in which there lived a brother of his wife, with whom he 
 wa.s going to leave his son Diego ; and then he would set forth alone 
 to en'counler delays, risks, and perhaps unbelief, at the court of Isa- 
 bella and Ferdinand. 
 
 It has been said that, before going to Spain, he had thought it right. 
 as an Italian and a Genoese, to oifer his discovery to Genoa, his 
 countrv, first ; and tliat lie then offered it to the Venetian Senate ; 
 but that these two republics, occupied with ambitious projects and 
 rivalries nearer liome, had met his applications with cold refusal.^. 
 
 The prior of tiie moniu^tcry of La Rabida was better versed in the 
 sciences relating to navigation llian was usual for a man of his pro- 
 fession. His convent, within siglit of the sea, and near the little port 
 of Palos, then one of tlie busiest^ in Andalusia, had thrown the monk 
 into habitual cf)nta(i willi tin; mariners and armorers of this littlij 
 town, wliicli was comiiiftcly drpcndiiit on the sea. During his resi- 
 dence in I he ca|>ital and at court, lie had occupied liimself with tin; 
 study of tlic natural sciences, and of tli(- i)roblems whicl^ were then 
 of interest. He first felt i)ity, and his daily conversations with 
 
 A.B.-W
 
 12 CHRISTOPHEll COLUMBUS. 
 
 Columbus soon produced entluisiasm and confidence, for a man who 
 appeared so superior to his condition. He sinv in liini one of those 
 sent by (Jod, hut thru.st from the yales of cities and piinees, lowhom 
 liieir poverty brin.ijcs the invisible treasures of truth. Heliuion under- 
 stood jjeuius— a species of revelation whicli, like the other, requires its 
 believers. lie felt di-sposed to be among those trusting few who 
 phare in the revelations of genius, not by inventive talent, but by 
 faith. Providence almost always sends to supi^-ior men one of these 
 f)elievers, to prevent their being discouraged liy the incredulity, the 
 harshness, or the persecutions of the niultitude. They exhibit 
 friendship in its ncjblest from. They are tlie friends of disowned 
 truth, believers in the impossible future. 
 
 Juan Perez felt himself predestined by Heaven, from the depth of 
 his solitude, to introduce Columbus to the favor of Isabella, and to 
 preach his great design to the woi Id. What he loved in Columbus 
 was not only the design, but the man himself ; the beauty, energy, 
 courage, modesty, gravity, eloquence, piety, virtue, gentleness, 
 grace, patience, and misfortune nobly borne, revealing in this 
 stranger a disposition marked with innumerable perfections by that 
 divine stamp which prevents our forgetting and compels us to admire 
 a truly great man. After his first conversation, the stranger won 
 over not only the opinion but also the heart of the monk ; and, 
 Avhat was more strange, he never lost it. Columbus had gained a 
 friend. 
 
 Juan Perez ])crsuadcd Columlius to accept, for some days, a 
 refuge, or at least a resting-place, for himself and his child, in the 
 poor convent. During this short stay the prior communicated to 
 some of his friends and neighbors of Palos the arrival and the ad- 
 ventures of his guest. lie begged them to come to the convent to 
 converse with the stranger upon his conjectures, his intentions, and 
 his plans, in oider to see how his theories agreed with the practical 
 views of the seamen of Palos. An eminent man, and friend of the 
 prior, the physician Fernandez, and a skilful pilot, Pedro de Velasco, 
 spent, at his invitation, several evenings in the convent, listened to 
 Columbus, felt their eyes opened by his conversation, entered into 
 his plans with all the warmth of earnest minds and simple hearts, 
 and formed that first conclave, in which everj^ new faith is hatched 
 with the cognizance of a few proselytes, under the shadow of inti- 
 
 jmacy, .solitude, and mystery. Every great truth begins as a secret 
 among friends before bursting forth brilliantly to the world. The 
 first adherents won over to his belief l)y (Julumbus, in the cell of a 
 j)Oor monk, were perhaps dearer to him than the applause and en- 
 tliusiusm of all Spain, when success had coiitinned his predictions. 
 
 , The first believed on the faith of his wortl, the others only on seeing 
 
 / his discoveries ascertained. 
 
 The monk, confirmed in his opinion, and having tested his impres. 
 6ion3 by th5 science of the physician Fernandez and the experience
 
 CHRISTOPHEK COLUMBUS. 13 
 
 of the pilot Velasco, was move tlian ever charmed with his guest. 
 He persuaded Columbus to leave the child in his care at the convent, 
 to so to court to offer the discovery of tlie New World to Fetdiuaud 
 and Isabella, and to ask those sovereigns for the assistance necessary 
 to carry out his plans. Cliauce made tiie poor monk a powerful pa- 
 tron add intercessor at the Spanish court. He had liveil there long, 
 had governed thj conscience of Isabella, and, when his taste for re- 
 tirement induce! him to withdraw from the palace, he luid kept up 
 friendly relations with the new confessor, whom he had recom- 
 mended to the queen. The confessor, at that time keeper of the 
 sovereign's conscience, was Fernando de Talavera, superior of the 
 monastery of the Prado, a man of merit, reputation, and virtue, to 
 whom all the doors in the palace were open. Juan Perez gave 
 Columbus a strong letter of recommendation to Fernando de Tala- 
 vera, and fiirnishe'd him with the etiuipment necessary to appear de- 
 cently at ourt— a mule, a guide, and a purse of zecchins. Then, 
 embracin;^ him at the gates of the monastery, he recommended him 
 and his designs to the care of the GoJ who inspires, and llie chances 
 which favor great ideas. 
 
 Full of gratitude for the first generous friend, whose eyes and 
 lieart never quitted him, and to whom he always ascribed the origin 
 of his good fortune, Columbus set out for Cordova, where the court 
 then resided. He went with that oDutidence of success which is the 
 illusion of genius, but also its fortunate star. It was not long before 
 this illusion was to be dispelled, and the star to be overshadowed. 
 The moment seemed badly chosen for the Genoese adventurer to 
 offer a new world to the crown of Spain. Far from dreaming of 
 conquering questionable possessions be^'ond unknown seas, Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella were occupied with the recovery of their own 
 kinirdom from the Moors in Spain. These Moslem conquerors ot 
 the Peninsula, after a long and prosperous occupation, saw snatched 
 away from them, one by one, the towns and provinces whicdi they 
 had luad'j their country. Vanquished everywhere, despite their ex- 
 ploits, all that they now possessed were the mountains and valley 
 surrounrlliiL^ (!ranad:i, the capital and the wonder of their empire. 
 Ferdinand an 1 Lsabdia ertiployel all their power, all their efforts, 
 and all the resources of tlujir uniti'il kingdoms, to wrest from the 
 Moors this citadel of Spain. United by a marriage of policy, by 
 mutual affection, and by a glory shared by both alike, one had 
 brought the kingdom of Arragon and the other the crown of Castilo 
 to their d)uble tiiroui. Mat although the king and (pieen had thus 
 united their separate provinces into one country, each still retained a 
 dislinet and indepcn lent dominion over their hereditary kingdom. 
 'I'liey had eaeii a council and ministers, for the se]>ar. te interests of 
 their own subjects. These councils were oidy fused into one govern- 
 m -nt on (piestions of common importance to tin; two states and llio 
 iwo sovereigns. Nature seems to have endowed them with beauty,
 
 14 CHRISTOPTIER COLUMBUS. 
 
 quiUilifs, and excellences of mind and body different, hut nearly 
 e^\\m\ ; as if one was intended to supply what was wanting to the 
 other for the conquests, the civilization, and prosperity wiucli were 
 in store for them. Ferdinand, a lillle older Ihan lsal)ella, was a skil- 
 ful warrior and a consummate politician. Before the age when sad 
 experience is teaching others to understand men, he could see through 
 them. His only defect was a certain coldness and suspicion, arising 
 from mistrust, and closing the heart to enthusiasm and magnanimity. 
 .'But these two virtues, in which he was to some extent" ^\ anting, 
 were supplied to his councils by the tenderness and genius of the 
 full-hearted Isabella. Young, beautiful, admired by all, adored by 
 him, well educated, pious without superstition, eloquent, full of en- 
 thusiasm for great achievements, of admiration for great men, of 
 faith in great ideas, she stamped on the mind and policy of Ferdi- 
 nand the heroism which springs from the lieait, and the love of the 
 marvellous which arises from the imagination. She inspired — he ex- 
 ecuted. The one found her reward in the fame of her husband ; the 
 other, his glory in the affection of his wife. This double reign, des- 
 tined to become of almost fabulous import in the annals of Spain, 
 only awaited, in order to immortalize itself among all reigns, the 
 arrival of the destitute foreigner who came to beg admittance 
 within the palace of Cordova, with the letter of a poor friar in his 
 band. 
 
 This letter, read with prejudice and unbelief by the queen's con- 
 fessor, opened to Columbus a long vista of dela^', exclusion, and dis- 
 couragement. It is only in solitude and leisure that men give audi- 
 ence to bold ideas. Amid the tumult of business and of courts, 
 they have neither the kindness nor the time. Columbus was driven 
 off from every door, as the historian Ovicdo, his contemporary, re- 
 lates, " because he was a foreigner, because he was poorly clad, and 
 because he brought the courtiers and ministers no other recommen- 
 dation than a letler from a Franciscan monk long since forgotten at 
 the court." 
 
 The king and queen did not even hear of him. Isabella's confess- 
 or, either from indift'erence or contempt, completely belied the ex- 
 pectations Juan Perez had founded upon •him. Columbus, with the 
 obstinacy that arises from certainty biding its time, stayed at Cor- 
 dova, to be near enough to watch for a favorable moment. After 
 'exhau.sting the scanty purse of his fiiend, the prior of La Ilabida, he 
 earned a slender livelihood by his trade in globes and maps, thus 
 triding with the images of the w'orld which he was destined to con- 
 quer. Ilis hard and patient life during many years is but a tale of 
 misery, labor, and blighted hope. Young in heart, however, and 
 affectionate, he loved and was beloved in those years of trial ; for a 
 second son, Fernando, was about this time the offspring of a myste- 
 rious attachment, never sanctified by marriage, and of which he 
 records the fact and the repentance in touching language in his "wilL
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 15 
 
 He brouglit up this natural son with as much tenderness as his other 
 8on, Diei^o. 
 
 llis extera:Al grace and dignity, however, showed themselves, de- 
 spite his humble profession, the distinguished characters with 
 whom his scientific trade occasionally brought him iuto contact re- 
 ceived of his person and conversation an impression of astonislmieut 
 and attraction— tliy magnetic influence of a great mind in a lowly- 
 condition. His trade an I conversation by degrees gained him friends 
 in Cordova, and e?en at court. Among the friends whose names 
 history has preserved, as associated by gratitude to the New World. 
 are those of Aloazo de Quintanilla, high-treasurer of Isabella ; Ger- 
 aldini, the tutor of the young princes, her children ; Antonio Geral- 
 dini, papal nuncio at Fe'rdinaud's caurt ; and lastly Mendoza, Cardi- 
 nal Archbishop of Toledo, who enjoyed such royal favor that he 
 was called the third king in Spiin. 
 
 The Archbishop of Toledo— at first alarmed at these geographical 
 novelties, which seeinei, from a mistaken idea, to clash with the 
 notions of celestial mechanics contained in the Bible— was soon 
 quieted by the sincere and exalted piety of Columbus. He ceased to 
 fear blasphemv in ideas which increase the proofs of the wisdom and 
 greatness of God. Persuaded by the system and delighted with the 
 man, he obtained from his sovereigns an audience for his protege. 
 After two years' expectation, C.)lumbus appeared at this audience 
 with the modesty becoming a poor foreigner, but yet with the confi- 
 dence of a tributary who is bringing his m isters more than they can 
 give him in return. " Thinking on what I was," he himself after- 
 wards remarks, " I was overwhelmed with humility ; but, thinking 
 of what I brought, I felt myself on an eciuality with tlie two crowns ; 
 I perceived that I was no longer my humble self, but the instrument 
 of God, chosen and marked out for the accomplishment of a great 
 design." 
 
 Ferdinand listened to Columbus with attention, Isabella with en- 
 thusiasm. From his first look and his first tones, she felt for this 
 messenger of God an admiration amounting to fanaticism — an attrac- 
 tion which partook of alf.jclion. Nature had given to Columi)us the 
 personal recommjndations which fascinate the eye, as well as the 
 eloquence wliich persuades th:; mind. It might have been suppo.sed 
 that he was destined to iiave for his first apaslle a queen ; and that 
 the truth with which he was to enrich liis age was to be first re- 
 ceived and fostered in the heart of a woman. Isabella was that 
 woman. Her constancy in favor of Columbus never wavered before 
 the indifT-rence of her court, l)efore his enemies, or liis reverses. 
 Hhe believed in him from tlie day she first .saw him : she was his pros- 
 elyte on tiie throne, and his fri(;nd even to the grave. 
 
 Ferdinand, after hearing Columbus, appointed a council of exam- 
 ination at Salamanca, under the presidency of Fernando dc T.ilavera, 
 prior of the I'rado. This council coubisted of the men the most
 
 16 CnRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 vcrsod in divine and luimau knowledge in the two kingdoms. It as- 
 sembled in tills the literaiy capital of Spain, in tiic Dominican eou- 
 veut in whicii Ooluinbiis was received as a guest. At that time 
 priests and monks managed everything in Spain. (Uvilization was 
 of the sanctuary. Kings were only concerned with acts : ideas 
 belonged to the priest. The Inciuisition — a .sacerdotal police — 
 watched, reached, and struck all that savored of heresy, even at the 
 foot of the throne. 
 
 To this council the king had added the professors of astronomy, 
 of goograph}', of mathematics, and of all the sciences taught at Sala- 
 manca. The audience did not alarm Columbus. He expected to be 
 tried by his peers, but he was only tried by his despisers. The first 
 time he appeared in the great hall of the convent, the monks and so- 
 called wise men, convinced beforehand that ail theories surpa-ssing 
 their ignorance or their routine were but the dreams of a diseased or 
 arrogant mind, saw in this ob.scure foreigner only an adventurer seek- 
 ing iiis fortune !)}• these chimeras. None dei^;ned to listen to him, 
 save two or three fria.fs of the convent of St. Stephen of Salamanca, 
 obscure monks without any influence, who devoted themselves in 
 their cells to studies despised by the superior clergy. The other ex- 
 aminers of Columbus puzzled him by quotations from the Bible, the 
 prophets, the psalms, the Gospels, and the lathers of the Church ; 
 who demolished by anticipation, and bj^ indisputable texts, the 
 theory of the globe, and the absurd and impious idea of antipodes. 
 Among others, Lactantius had expressed himself deliberately ou 
 this subject in a passage which was cited to Columbus : " Can any- 
 thing be more absurd," Lactantius writes, " than to believe in the 
 existence of antipodes having their feet opposed to ours — men who 
 walk with their feet in the air and their heads down, in a part of the 
 world where everything is topsy-turvy— the trees growing with their 
 roots in the air and their branches in the earth V" St. Augustine 
 had gone further, branding with impiety the mere belief in antipo- 
 des r " For," he said, " it would involve the supposition of nations 
 not descended from Adam. Now, the Bible says that all men are 
 descended from one and the same father." Other doctors, taking a 
 poetical metaphor for a system of cosmogony, (pioted to I he geogra- 
 pher the verse of the psalm in which it is said that God s])read the 
 sky above the earth as a tent— from v.'hich it followed, they said, 
 that the earth was flat. 
 
 In vain Columbus replied to his examiners with a piety which did 
 not clash with nature ; in vain, following them respectfully into the 
 province of theology, he proved himself more religious and more or- 
 thodox than they, because more intelligent and more reverent of the 
 works of God. Ilis elocjuencc, enhanced by truth, lost all its power 
 and brilliancy amid the wilful darkness of their obstinate igno- 
 rance. A few monks only appeared either doubtful or convinced 
 that Columbus was right. Diego de Deza, a Dominican friar— a
 
 CHEISTOPHEB COLUMBUS. 17 
 
 man beyond liis age, and who afterward became Arclabisliop of 
 Toledo — ventured boldly to oppose the prejudices of the coun- 
 cil, and to give the weight of his word and his influence to Co- 
 himbus. Even this unexpected assistance could not overcome 
 the indifference or obstinacy of the examiners. The confer- 
 ences were many, without coming to a detinite conclusion. They 
 still lingered, and avoided truth by delay, the last refuge of error. 
 They were interrupted by a fresh contest of Ferdinand and Isabella 
 with the ^Hoors of Granada. Columbus— sorrowful, despised, put 
 off and dismissed, encouraged only by the favor of Isabella and the 
 conversion of Diego de Deza to his views— followed in miserable 
 plight the court and the array from camp to camp, and from town 
 to town, waiting in vain for an hour's attention, which the ciin of 
 Avar prevented him from receiving. The queen, however, as faithful 
 to him in her secret favor as fortune was cruel, continued to hope 
 well of and to protect this disowned genius. She had a house or a 
 tent reserved for Columbus wherever the court stopped. Her treas- 
 urer was instructed to provide for the learned foreigner — not as for 
 an undesired guest who demands hospitality, but as a distinguished 
 stranger, who honors the king lom by his presence, and whom the 
 sovereigns wish to retain in their service. 
 
 Thus passed several years, in the course of which the kings of 
 Portugal, England, and France, hearing through their ambassadors 
 of this .strange man, who promised monarchs a new world, made 
 overtures to Columbus to enter into tiieir service. The deep grati- 
 tude he owed to Isabella, and his love for Donna Beatrice Enriquez 
 of Cordova, already the mother of his .second son. Fernando, made 
 liim reject these offers, and remain a follower of the court. He re- 
 served to the young queen an empire in return for her kindness to 
 him. lie was present at the siege and conquest of Granada. He 
 saw Boabdil give up to Ferdinand and Isabella the keys of his capi 
 tal, the p.alace of tiie Ahencerragcs, and the domes of the Alhambra. 
 He took part in tlie jirocessi on wiiich escorted the Spanish .sover- 
 eigns in their triiimplial entry into tiiis last lefuge of Islam. lie was 
 already looking l)eyonfi the ramparts and vales of Granada to fresh 
 conquests, and otiier triumphal entries into vaster territories. Com- 
 pared with the greatness of his ideas, everything .seemed small. 
 
 The peace which followed this conciuest. in i l',»2, caused a second 
 assembly of examiners of his plans at Seville to give their advice to 
 the cro\vn. This a Ivice, long ojiposed, as at Salamanca, by Diego 
 de Deza, was to reject the oiler of the Genoese adxenlurer, if not as 
 impious, at least as chimerical, and as comjiromising the dignity of 
 the Sj)anish Crown, whicli could not undertake an eiUerprise on si^^-h 
 slender j)rospects. Ferdinand, however, inlluenced by Isaln^ila, m 
 communicating this (iccisir)ti of the council, softened its hanshness, 
 and gave him to undcr.-ytand that as sf)on as Ik; was in (juiet [(o.sses- 
 Biou of Spain hy the complete expulsion of the Moors, the court
 
 18 CIIRISTOI'lIEll C0LUMI5US. 
 
 would assist him with money and ships in this expedition of discov- 
 ery and conquest for wliich he had pressed for so many years. 
 
 "While waitinjj;, without too sanginne hopes, the ever-delayed ac- 
 complishment of the king's promises and the sincere wishes of Isa- 
 bella, C'olumlius tried to" iiersuade tvvo threat Spanish nohles, the 
 Dukes of -Medina Sidonia ami Medina Cell to earry out this enter- 
 prise at their own expense. Each possessed ports and ships on the 
 Spanish coast. Tiiey first smiled at these prospects of glory and 
 niaritime possessions for their own families, and then abandoned 
 them throuii'h incredulity or indiffeience. Envy preyed on Columbus 
 even befoie he had earned it by success : it persecuted him by antici- 
 pation and by instinct, awn through Ins hopes ; it contested with 
 him even what it termed las follies, lie again, with tears, gave up 
 his endeavors. The unwillingness of the ndnisters to listen to him, 
 the obstinacy of the priests in opposing his ideas as a sclent tic irn- 
 piety, the vain promises and eternal delays of the court, threw him, 
 after six years' trial, into such discouragement that he finally gave 
 up all idea of again soliciting the Government of Spain, and resolved 
 to go and offer "his undiscovered empire to the King of Erance, from 
 whom he had already received overtures. 
 
 Ruined in fortune, disappointed in hope, worn out by delay, and 
 heart-broken at the necessity of quitting Donna Ikatrice, he again 
 set out on foot from Cordova, without any views for the future, ex- 
 cei)t to seek out his faithful friend, the prior Juan Perez, in the con- 
 vent of llabida. lie mtended to fetch his son Diego, whom he had 
 left there, to bring him back to Cordova, and to place him, before 
 leaving for France, under tlie care of Donna Beatrice, tlie niotiier of 
 his natural son Fernando. The brothers, thus brought up together 
 by the care of one woman, would love each other with a fraternal 
 affection, the only iidieritance lie had to leave them. 
 
 Tears flowed from the eyes of the iirior .Tuan Perez, at seeing liis 
 friend come on foot, more miserably clad than at first, to knock at 
 tlie gate of the convent, sufficiently attesting, by the shabbiness of 
 his clothes and the sadness of his face, the incredulity of men and 
 the ruin of his hopes. But Providence had again hidden the key of 
 Columbus's fortune in the bosom of fiient'ship. The poor friar's 
 faitli in the trulh and future discoveries of his protege, instead of 
 discourairing made him bear up against it, with a kindly indigna- 
 tion at his disappointment. He embraced his guest, condoled and 
 ■wept with him ; but soon, recalling all his energy and resolution, 
 sent to Palos for the physician Fernandez, his old confidant in the 
 mysterious projects of Columbus, Alonzo Pinzon, a rich seaman of 
 that port, and Sebastian Kodriguez, a skilful pilot of Lepi. The 
 ideas of Columlms. again unfolded before! this little conclave of 
 friends, raised the fanaticism of his audience still liiglier than before. 
 They begged of liim to stay and try his fortune again, and to re- 
 Bcrve for Spain, though unbelieving and ungrateful, the glory of an
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 19 
 
 enterprise unrivalled in history. Pinzon promised to assis* with his 
 wealth and his vessels, the equipment of this memorable tlotilla, as 
 soon as the govcvnraeut should consent to sanction it. Juan Perez 
 wrote not now to the confessor, but to the queen herself, to interest 
 her conscience as much as her glory in an enterprise which woukl 
 convert whole nations from idolatry to religion. He spoke m the 
 name of heaven and of earth : he drew warmth and persuasion from 
 his desire for the greatness of his country and from his personal inenrt- 
 ship. Columbus; thoroughly discouraged, refusing to take this let- 
 ter to a court of which he had .so long experienced the delays and 
 neo-lect the pilot Rodriguez undertook to carry it himself to (rra- 
 nada where the court then resiiled. He set out, followed by the vowa 
 and prayers of the convent, and of the friends of Columbus at Palos. 
 The fourteenth day after his departure, he came back m triumph to 
 the monastery. The queen had read the letter of Juan Perez, and 
 while reading it all her prepossessions in favor of the Genoese man- 
 ner had returned. She sent for the venerable piior to come instantly 
 to her court, and desired Columl)as to await, at the convent ot L,a 
 Rabida the return of the monk and the decision of the council. _ 
 
 Juan' Perez, delighted witli his friend's good fortune, saddled his 
 mule without' losing an hour, and set out by night, alone, to cross a 
 country infested wilh Moors. He felt that in him Heaven protected 
 the "-reat design which lie held in trust for his friend. He arrived : 
 the gates of the palace were opened to him ; he saw the queen, and 
 aroused in her, by the strength of his own conviction, the laitli and 
 7X'al which she herself felt for this great work. The Marchioness of 
 Maya Isabella's favorite, interested herself, from enthusiasm and pity, 
 in the holy friar's protege. The hearts of two women, involved by 
 the eloquence of a monk in the projects of an adventurer, tri- 
 umphed over the opposition ot the court. Isabella sent Columbus a 
 sum of money from her private treasury to purchase a mule and 
 clotiies, and directed him to come at once to court. Juan Perez re- 
 mained' witli lier, to support his friend by his exertions and influ- 
 ence, and forwarded the news and liie pecuniary succors to Kaluda 
 by a'inessenger. who gave; the lett(!r and the money to the physician, 
 Fernandez of Palos, to lie handed over to Columbus. 
 
 Having bought a miih; and hired a servant, Columbus went to 
 Granada" and was admitted to discuss his plans ami rcquirementa 
 ■vyith the mini.sters of Ferdinand. " Then was seen," says an eye- 
 witness, " an obscure and unknown follower of the court, cla.ssed by 
 Mie mini.'^ters of the two crowns among" the troublesome appli 
 cants, feeding liis iiiiagiiialion in the corners of the antechambers 
 witli the ma^'-ni(i(;ent project of discovering a new world ; grave, 
 melanclioly, and depressed amid the piililic rejoicing, he seemeil to 
 look with "inditTerence upon tiie completion ol the (.oiuiuest ot Gra- 
 nada, wiiich filled with pride a nation and two courts. Tins man wh» 
 Christopher Columbus !'
 
 20 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 Tins time, the obstacles were raised by Cohimbus. Certain of the 
 contineut ■which he olfeied Spain, he wi.slicd, even out of respect 
 to Ihe greatness of the gift he was about (o make to the world and to 
 his sovereigns, to obtain for himself and his descendants conditions 
 worthy, not of his position, but of his work. If he had been want- 
 ing in'proper prdc, he would liave thought liimsclf wanting in faith 
 inGod and the worthinesH of his mission. Poor, imsupported, and 
 dismissed, he trcali'd of pus.sessions which be as yet only saw in 
 thought, as if he had been a monarch. " A beggar," said Fernan- 
 dez (le Talavcra, president f)f the council, " stipulates with kings for 
 royal conditions." He demanded the title and privileges of admiral, 
 the rank and power of viceroy over all the lands, which liis discov- 
 eries might annex to Spain, and the perpetuity of the title, for him- 
 self and his descendants, with all the revenues of these possession.s. 
 " Singular demands for an adventurer," said his enemies in the 
 council: " the}' secure to him beforehand the command of a fleet, 
 and, if he succeeds, an unlimited viceroyally, while lie undertakes 
 nothing in case of failure, because, in his present poverty, ho has 
 nothing to lose." 
 
 The.«e requirements at first excited astonishment, and at last indig- 
 nation : he was offered conditions less burdensome to the crown. 
 Kotwilhstanding his indigence and his misery, he refused all. 
 Wearied but not overcome by eighteen years of expectation from 
 the day that he had conceived hi-s^idea and offered it in vain to the 
 Christian powers, he would have blushed to abate one jot of his 
 price for the gift that God had given him. He respectfully retired 
 from the conference with Ferdinand's commissioners, and mounting 
 his mule, the gift of the queen, alone and unprovided, he took the 
 road to Cor.iova, to proceed from thence to France. 
 
 Isabella, hearing of her protege's departure, seemed to have a pre- 
 sentiment that these great prospects were deserting her with this 
 man of destiny. She was indignant at the commissioners, who, she 
 said, were haggling with God for the pric:e of an empire, and espe- 
 cially of millions of souls whom their fault would leave to idolatry. 
 The Marchioness of ]\Iaya, and Quintanilla, Isabella's treasurer, 
 shared and encouraged these feelings. The king, cooler and more 
 calculatintr, hesitated ; the expense of the undertaking and an empty 
 trea.surv made him hold back. "Well!" said Isal)ella, in a trans- 
 port of generous enthusiasm, "I will undertake the enterprise 
 ahme, for my own crowi^ of Castile. I will pawn my diamonds and 
 jewels to meet the expenses of the expedition." 
 
 This womaidy burst of feeling triumphed over the king's econ- 
 omy, and, by a noI)ler estimate, acquired incalculal)le tre;i.sures in 
 wealth aud'teriitory to the two kingdoms. Disinleresledness, in- 
 spired by enthusiasm, is the true economy of great n)iuds, and the 
 true wisdom of great politicians. 
 
 The steps of the fugitive were followed. The queen's messengwr
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 31 
 
 overtook him a few leagues from Granada on the bridge of Tinos in 
 the famous defile where the Moors and the Christians had so often 
 min'ded their blood in the torrent which separates the two races. 
 Columbus, much moved, returned to the feet of Isabella. Her tears 
 obtained from Ferdinand the ratification of his conditions. \> hile 
 Bervino- the hopeless cause of this great man, she thought she was serv- 
 in<T the cause of God himself, unknown to that part of the human 
 race which he was to bring over to the faith. She thought of the 
 kino-doni of heaven in the possessions which her favorite was to ac- 
 quire for the empire. Ferdinand only saw the earthly kingdom. 
 The champion of Christendom in Spain, and conqueror of the Moors, 
 as mauv of the faithful as he brought over to the faith of Rome, so 
 many subjects had the pope added to his rule. The millions of rnen 
 whom he was to rally round the cross by the discoveries of this 
 strant'er had been iiy anticipation given over to his exclusive domin- 
 ion by the court of Rome. Every one who was not a Christian was 
 in its eves a slave as of right. Every portion of the human race not 
 stamped with the seal of Christianity stood without the pale ot liu- 
 mauilv It gave or exchansed them away in the name of its spirit- 
 ual supremacy on earth and in lieaveii. Ferdinand was sufficiently 
 credulous, and, at the same time, sufficiently cunning, to accept 
 
 Tiie treaty between Ferdinand and Isabella and this poor Genoese 
 adventurer who had arrived in their capital on foot some years be- 
 fore and had no other refus^e than the hospitality of the convent 
 porch was signed in the plain of Granada, on the l.th of April, 
 14<J2 Isabella took upon herself, on behalf of her kingdom ol Cas- 
 tile all the expenses of the expedition. It was right that she who 
 hadi rtrst Ijelieved in llie enterprise should encounter the greatest 
 risk • and it was also riLdit that the glory and honor of success should 
 be attached to her name rather tlian to any other. The little haven 
 of Palos in Andalusia was assigned to Columbus as the place of 
 equipment for his expedition, and the port from which his squadron 
 was to sail The idea conceived at the convent of La Rabida, near 
 Palos by Juan Perez and his friends, in their first interview with 
 Columbus, thus returned to the place of its birth. The prior of the 
 convent w;is to take chargr- of the arrangemeiils, and to see from his 
 retreat the tir.st .sails of iiis friend spread for that new world which 
 they had both beheld with the eye of genius and of faith. 
 
 Numberless unforeseen impedimenls, to all appearance insur- 
 mountable, now crossed the favors of Isabella, and tiie fulfilment of 
 Ferdinand's promises. The royal treasury was short of money. \ es- 
 sels were leaving the S|)aijish ports on more urgent expeditions. The 
 Heann-ii nduscd to engage for .>o long and mysterious a VDyiige, or de- 
 serted after enlistment. The towns of Uie sea-(;oast ordered by the 
 court to supply the vessels, iiesilnted to obey, and unrigged their 
 Hliips, which were commonly considered as devoted to certain de-
 
 23 CHIlISTOniER COLUMBU& 
 
 slruction. Unbelief, fear, envy, ridicule, avarice, and even mutiny, 
 airaiii and airain rcnderod useless to Columbus, even in si)ite of the 
 royal otlicers. the means of e(iuii>ment, which tiie favor of Isabella 
 had placed at his disposal. It seemed as tliough some evil genius, ob- 
 stinately struggling against the genius of the world's unity, tried to 
 keep separate forever these two couliueuts which the mind of one 
 man wished to unite. 
 
 Columbus superintended everything from the monastery of La 
 Rabida, where he was again the guest of his friend the prior, Juan 
 Perez. Without the intervention and inllneuee of the poor monli, 
 the expedition would again have failed. The orders of the court 
 •were powerless and disobeyed. The monk had recourse to his friends 
 at Palos. They yielded to his conviction, his entreaties, and his ad- 
 vice. Three brothers, wealthy mariners at Palos, the Pinzons, were 
 at last imbued with the faith and spirit which inspired the friend of 
 Columbus. They imagined they heard tiie voice of God in that old 
 man. They volunteered to join in the undertaking : they found the 
 money, they equipped three vessels of the kind then called caravel- 
 las, hired seamen in the little harbors of Palos and Moguer, and in 
 order to give an impluse and an example of courage to their sailors, 
 two of the three brothers, ]\Iartin Alonzo Pinzon and Vincent Yanes 
 Pinzon, resolved to embark and to take command in person of their 
 own vessels. Thanks to this generous assistance from the Pinzons. 
 three shrps, or rather boats, "the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the 
 Niiia, were ready to put to sea on Friday the 3d of August, 1492. 
 
 At break of day, Columbus, escorted down to tlie shore by the 
 prior and monks of the convent of La Kabida, who blessed the sea 
 and his vessels, embraced his son, whom he left under the care of 
 Juan Perez, and embarked in the largest of his three barks, tlie Santa 
 Maria, on board of which he hoisted his flag as admiral of an un- 
 known sea, and viceroy of undiscovered lands. The people of the 
 two harbors and of the coast came down to the shore in crowds to be 
 present at their departure on a voyage from which it was commonly 
 supposed that there would be no return. It was a mourning proces- 
 sion rather than an augury of a happy result : there was more sorrow 
 than hope, more tears than hurraiis. The mother's, wives, and sis- 
 ters of the seamen secretly cursed the fatal stranger, whose en- 
 chanted words had seduced the mind of the queen, and who risked 
 so many men's lives on the accomplishment of a dream. Columbus, 
 unwillingly followed, like all men who lead a nation beyond the pale 
 of its prejudices, launched upon the unknown expanse airrid male- 
 dictions and complaints. Such is the law of hiunan nature. All 
 that surpasses humanity, even to conquer an idea, a truth, or a 
 world, makes it com))lain. JMan is like the ocean, with a restlessness 
 lending to movement, and an inertia inclining to repose. Frona 
 tliese two opposite tendencies ari.'jes the e(iuilibrium of his nature. 
 Woe to him that disturbs il !
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 23 
 
 The appearance of this little flotilla, scarcely equal to a fishing or 
 coastin.r squadron, offered a strong contrast iu the people s eyes to 
 the marmituae of the dangers it was so rashly going to brave. Of 
 the thr^ee vessels, only one was decked, ^^^'^^^ .^""'f} f^j]"}";^,^^^ 
 himself was ; a crank and narrow trading craft, already veij old and 
 weather-beaten. The others were open boats, which a heavy breaker 
 rai-ht have swamped. But the poop and forecastle of these vesse s, 
 railed hi-li out of the water like the ancient galleys, had two half- 
 decks umler which the sailors could find shelter in bad weather, and 
 would prevent the caravelia from foundering if she shipped a sea. 
 They had two masts, one amidships and the other aft On the fore- 
 mast they carried one great square-sail, and on the other a riaugular 
 lateen-sail. In calm weather, long sweeps, used but seldom and 
 then with ditnculty, fixed iu the low gunwale of the caia^^ la s 
 waist, could, in case of need, give slow motion to the vessels These 
 three ships of unequal size contained the 130 men of whom the crews 
 were composed. He alone went on board with a calm face, a tirm 
 countenance, and a courageous heart. His conjectures had assumed 
 in his mind, after the lapse of eighteen years, the shape of certa ml} 
 ^Ithouc'h he was even then past the term ot middle life being n his 
 fiftv-.seveuth year, he looked upon the years that had gone by as 
 thou-^h thev were nothing. In his idea, all his life was to come. He 
 felt the youthfulness of hope and his future immortality As it to 
 take possession of those worlds for which he spread his sails, he wrote 
 and published before embarking a solemn account of all the vicissi- 
 tudes his mind and fortunes had passed through up to that period, in 
 the conception and execution of his design ; he added an enumera- 
 tion of all the titles, honors, and dignities, with which he had l)cen 
 invested bv his sovereigns in respect of his future possessions ; and 
 he involved God and man to support his faiMi, and bear witness to 
 his constancy. " And it is for this purpose," he say.s, m concluding 
 his proclamation to tiic Old and New Worlds, that I have deter- 
 mined never to sleep during this navigation, and uutd these tlunss 
 sliall have Iteen accomplisheil." •, x ^ 
 
 \ favorable wind fiom iMiropc wafted them toward the Canaries, 
 the hi-sl resling-pla<e of tlios(; who .sailed into the Atlantic. Although 
 lie eave thanks to Cod for the.^; auguries which calmed the mmd.s of 
 hi.s crew, lie would have i)referred tiiat a gale had swept hiin in full 
 sail out of the beaten track of vessels. He feared, with reason, that_ 
 tlie si'dit of land so far from Spain might recall tlic foml idea ot 
 home'to the ;ninds and hearts of liis sailors who had hesitated to 
 embark In momentous enterprises, no time; must be given to meu 
 lor reflection, and no opportunity for rep.aitance. Coluinl)Us knew 
 this and he burned to pa^s the hmils of I lie well known wat<Ts. and 
 in lock in lii.s own i)reast the nossibiiily of relunuiig. an.l the secret 
 of the track, of liis rharls and his compass. His nni.ati.-nc.'. to lose 
 si-hl of the coasts of the old world was but too well founded. Ouo
 
 ii-i CHlUSTOniEU C0LUMI5US. 
 
 of his ships, the Pinta, which hud Ihc rudder broken nnd leaked in 
 tlic hnhl, ohliti^i'd liini, much nsxuinst liis iucliuiition, to put into the 
 Canaries to ch;ui<j:e this vessel for anolher. He lost tiiice weeks in 
 these ports, without l)einL!!' able to Ihul any craft (it for his lon;^ V03'- 
 &ge. All he couhl do was to repair tlie Pinta's damage, and jirocure 
 a new sail for the Nina, his third vessel, a heavy and slow sailer 
 which delayed his voj'age. He took in fresh provisions and water, 
 for the small stowage in his open vessels only allowed liirn to carry 
 victuals for his crews, of 120 men, for a limited number of daj's. 
 
 On quitting the Canaries, the ap[)earanee of the Peak of TenerifTe, 
 whose eruption illumined the heavens, and was retlectcd in the sea, 
 cast terror into the minds of his seamen. They thought they saw in 
 it the flaming sword of the angel who expelled the first man from 
 Eden, driving back the chihhen of Adam from tlic entrance to the 
 forbidden seas and lauds. The admiral passed from ship to ship to 
 disperse this general panic, and to explain scicnfilically to these sim- 
 ple people the physical laws of the phenomenon. But the disap- 
 pearance of the volcano's peak, as it sank below the horizon, caused 
 them as nuich sadness as the eruption had caused them fright. It 
 was their last beacon, the farthest sea-mark of the old world.' Losing 
 sight of it seemed to be losing the last traces of their road through ini- 
 mcasurable space. They felt as if they were detached from^eartii, 
 and sailing in the atmosphere of a new planet. They were seized 
 with a general prostration of mind and body, like spectres who have 
 lo-st even their toml)s. The admiral again "called them around him 
 in his own ship, infusing his own energy into their minds ; and giv- 
 ing way, like the prophet of the future, to the inspiring elorjuence of 
 his hopes, he described to them, as if he had already beheld them, 
 the lands, the islands, the seas the kingdoms, the riches, the vegeta- 
 tion, the sunshine, the mines of gold, the sands covered with pc-ajls, 
 the mountains shining with precious stones, the plains loaded with 
 spice, that to his mind's eye already loomed in sight, ijcj'ond the ex- 
 panse of which each wave carried them nearer to these wonders and 
 enjoyments. These images, tinged with the brilliant colors of their 
 leader's rich imagination, infused hope and spiiit into their discour- 
 aged minds ; and the trade-winds, blowing constantly and gently 
 from the east, seemed to second tiie impatience of the seamen. The 
 distance alone could now terrify them. To deceive them as to the 
 space across wiiich he was hurrying, Columbus u.sed to subtract a 
 certain number of leagues from his reckcming, and made his pilots 
 and seamen think they had only gone half thcTdistance they had ac- 
 tually traversed. Privately, and for him.sclf alone, he noted the true 
 reckoning, in order that he alone might know the number of waves 
 he had crossed and the track of his path, which he wished to keep 
 unknown to hi.s rivals. And, indeed, the crews, deceived by the 
 Bteudiness of the v/iud, and the long roll of the waves, thought tbey 
 'AH re slowly crossing the farthest seas of Europe.
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 25 
 
 He would also have wished to conceal from them a new phenome- 
 non which be^^an to disconcert his own science, at about two hiuuired 
 leases from teneriffe. It was the variation of the magnetic needle, 
 hislast and. as he tliought, his infallible guide, but which now be- 
 can to' vacillate before its approach to an untracked hemisphere. 
 For several days he kept to himself this terrible doubt ; but the 
 nilots who watched the binnacle as closely as he did hiinself, soon 
 discovered this variation. Seized with the same astonishment as 
 their chief but less linn in their resolution to brave even nature it- 
 self "they imagined that the very elements were troubled, or changed 
 the laws of their existence, on the verge of infinite space. The sup- 
 posed giddiness of nature affected their minds The evil tidings 
 passed from one pale face to another, and they left their vessels to 
 the direction of the winds and waves, now the only guides that re- 
 mained The hesitation of the pilots paralyzed all the sailors. Co- 
 lumbus, who endeavored in vain to explain to himself a mystery ot 
 which science still seeks the cause, had again recourse to his lertilc 
 ima'nnation, the internal guide with which nature had endowed him. 
 He Invented an explanation, false, but specious euouj,di to unedu- 
 cated minds of the variation of the magnetic needle. He attributed 
 it to new stars revolving round the pole, whose alternating moUou in 
 the skv was followed bv the compass. This explanation, according 
 with the astrological no'tions of the day, satisfied the pilots and their 
 credulitv renewed the faith of the sailors. The sight of a heron, and 
 of a tropical bird, which came next day, and tiew round the masts ot 
 the squadron, acted upon their senses, as the admiral's explanation 
 had swaved their minds. They appeared two witnesses wiio came 
 to confirm by ocular demonstration the reasoning of Columbus. 
 They sailed with more couraize, on the faith of these birds, the mild, 
 efiuabie and serene climate of this part of the ocean, the clearness ot 
 tiie sky ' the transparency of the waves, the dolphins playing across 
 their bows, the warmth of the air, the perfumes which the waves 
 brought from afar, and seemed to exhale from their foam, the great 
 cr brUliancy of the stars aud constellations by night— everything m 
 thes« latitudes seemed to breathe a feeling of serenity, bringing con- 
 viction to their minds. They felt the presentiment of the still invisi- 
 ble world. They recalled the bright days, the clear stars, and the 
 shining nights of an Andalusian spring. " It only wanted the night- 
 ingale," says Columbus. 
 
 The .sea also began to bring its warnings. Lnknown vegetations 
 were ofleii .seen floating on its surface. Some, as the historians of 
 the first voyage across the Atlantic n;late, were marine substances, 
 which only grow on the shallows near the coast; som;' were rock 
 l)lanls, that had been swept off the clilfs by the waves ; some were 
 fre.sh-waler plants; and others, recently torn from their roots, 
 were still full of sap ; one of them carried a live cral>— a little sailor 
 aUoutou a tuft of grass. Theae plants and living creatures could
 
 ~<J CHKISTOFHKK COLUMhUS. 
 
 not liavo passed many days in the water without fading and dyin?. 
 Oiw. of those birds whicli never settle on the waves, or sleep on tiie 
 waters, crossed the sky. Wlienct; eaine lie ? AVliere was he ffoinir? 
 And could tiie place of liis rest Ix; far off? Farther on, the sea 
 chanijed its temperature and its color, a proof of an uneven bottom. 
 Eisewhen; it resembled inunense meadows, and the prow cut its way 
 but slowly among its weed-strewn waves. At eve and moinin"- 
 the distant, wauini,^ clouds, like those wiiich gather round the moun- 
 tain-tops, took the form of cliffs and hills skirting the horizon. The 
 
 i cry of land was on the tip of every tongue. Cofumlnis was unwill- 
 ing either to confirm or entirely to extingiush tiiese hopes, which 
 served his purpose by encouraging his companions. But he tiiought 
 himself still only 800 leagues from Teneriffe, and he calculated that 
 he had 'JOG or 800 more to go before he should reach the land he 
 sought for. 
 
 Nevertheless, he kept his conjectures to himself; finding among 
 liis companions no friend whoso heart was litm enough to support 
 liis resolution, or suthciently safe to intrust with his secret fears. 
 During the long passage he conversed only with his own thoughts', 
 with the stars, and with God, whom he felt to be his protector. Al- 
 most without sleep, as he undertook to be in his farewell proclama- 
 tion to the Old World, he occupied the days in his after-cabin, not- 
 ing down, in characters intelligible to none but himself, the degrees 
 of latitude and the space which he thought he had traversed. The 
 nights he passed on deck with his pilots, studying the stars and 
 watching the sea. xVlone, like Moses conducting the people of God 
 in the desert, his thoughtfid gravity impressed upon his companions 
 sometimes respect, and sometimes a mistrust and awe, that kept 
 them aloof— an insolation or distant bearing generally observable in 
 men superior to their fellows in conception and determination, 
 whether it be that the inspired genius requires more solitude and 
 quiet for reflection, or whether the inferior minds whom they over- 
 awe fear to approach too near them, lest they may invite a compari- 
 son and be made to feel their littleness, as contrasted with the great 
 men of the earth. 
 
 The land, so often pointed out, was seen to be only a mirage de- 
 ceiving the sailors. Each morning the bows of the ves.sels plunged 
 Uirough the fantastic horizon, which the eveningmist had made them 
 mistake for a shore. They kept rolling on through the boimdless 
 and bottomless abyss. The very regularity and steadiness of the east 
 
 , wind which drove them on, withotit their having had to shift their 
 sails once in .so many days, was to llicm a source of anxiety. They 
 fancied that this wind prevailed elernally in this reirion of the great 
 ocean which encircled the world, and that after carrying them on so 
 easily to the westward, it would be an insurmountable obstacle to 
 their return. Mow should they ever get back against this current of 
 contrary winri, b\it by beating across the immen.se space? And if
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 27 
 
 thev had to make endless tacks to reach the shores of the Old World 
 how would their provisions and water, already half consumed, ho d 
 out throu<rh the lous? months of their return-voyage? Who could 
 save themlrom the horrible prospect of dying of hunger and thirst 
 in this loun- contest with the winds which drove them from their 
 ports •' Several alreadv besan to count the number of days, and the 
 rations fewer than the days, and they murmured against the fruitless 
 obstinacy of their chief, and blamed themselves secretly for persever- 
 ing in an obedience which sacrificed the lives of 120 men to the mad- 
 ness of one. , J ^ T 1 4. • t„ 
 But each time that the murmurs threatened to break out into 
 mutiny Providence seemed to send them more convincing and more 
 unexpected signs, wdiich changed their complaints to hope. 1 hus, 
 on the 20lh of September, these favorable breezes, whose steadiues.s 
 caused such alarm, veered round to the south-west. The sauors 
 hailed this change, though opposed to their course, as a sign ot lite 
 and motion in the elements, which made them feel the wind stirring 
 in their sails. At evening, little birds, of tlie most delicate species 
 that build their nests in the shrubs of the garden and orchard, hovered 
 warbling about their masts. Their delicate wings and joyous notes 
 bore no marks of weariness or fright, as (.f birds swept far awiy to 
 sea by a storm. Their song, like those which the sailors used to hear 
 amid the groves of myrtles and orange-trees of their Audalusian 
 liome reminded them of their country, and invited them to the now 
 neio-hborin"- shore. They recognized sparrows, which always dwell 
 beu°eath the roof of man. The green weed on the surface of the 
 waves looked like the waving corn before the ear is ripe. The vege- 
 tation lieneath the water seemed the forerunner of land, and deliglited 
 the eyes of the sailors, tired of the endless expanse of blue. But it 
 soon became so thick that they were afraid of entangling their rud- 
 ders and keels, and of remaining prisoners in the forests of ocean, as 
 the ships of tiie northern seas are shut in by the ice. Thus each joy 
 soon turned to fear, so terriljle to man is the unknown. Clolumbus, 
 like a guide .seeking his way amid the mysteries of the ocean, was 
 obliged to appear to understantl what surprised himself, and to in- 
 vent an explanation for every cause tliat astonished his seauKsn. 
 
 The calms of the tropics alarmed them. If all things, iiuludmg 
 even the wind, perished in these latitudes, whence should sprmg up 
 liie breeze to lill their sails and move their vessels ? The sea suddenly 
 rose witliout wind : thev ascribed it to submarine convulsions at the 
 bottom. An immense whale was seen sleeping on the waters : tli<;y 
 fancied there were monsters which would devour their shii>s. 1 he 
 roll of the waves drove them uiion currents which they ((mid not 
 stem for want of wind.: they imagined they were aiiiiroachmg the 
 cataracts of tlie ocean, and that they were being hurried toward the 
 abysses into which the delmre had poured its world of waters. 
 Fierce and angry faces crowded round the must :, the murmurs rose
 
 ^'^ CIIRI.STOPHF.R COLUMBUS. 
 
 louder nnd louder ; llioy lalkod of ronipellinc: the pilots to put about 
 !iml ')f throwuig- tlie iulminil into tlie sea, as'a madman wlio left liis 
 companions no choice but l)et\veen suicide and murder. (;olum!;us 
 to whom their looks and threats reveaU'd these plans defied them by 
 bis bold bearing:, or disconcerted them l)v his coolness. 
 
 Nature at len,a:th came to his assistance, by ii;iving him fresh 
 breezes from the east, and a calm sea under his bows. Before the 
 close of day, Alonzo Pinzon, in command of the Pluta, which was 
 sailing sullicicntiy ucar the admiral to hail him, gave the first cry of 
 "Land ho !" from his lofty poop. All the crews, repeating this crv 
 of safety, life, and triumph, fell on their knees ou the decks and 
 stnick up the hymn, " Glory be to Uod in heaven and upon earth." 
 
 1 his religious chant, the first hymu that ever rose to the Creator 
 from the bosom of the new ocean, rolled slowly over the waves 
 \\ hen it was over, all climbed as high as they could up the masts ' 
 yarils, and rigging, to see with their own eves the sliore wliich Pin- 
 zou had discovered to the southwest. Colu'mbus alone doubted ; but 
 he was too willing to believe, to think of contiadictinsr the fond 
 hopes of his crews. Altliough he himself only expected t'o find land 
 to the westward, he allowed them to steer south through the night, 
 to please his companions, rather than lose the temporary populality 
 caused by their illusion. The sunrise destroyed it but too quickly. 
 The imaginary land of Pinzon disappeared with the morning mist 
 and the admiral resumed his course to the westward. 
 
 Again the surface of the sea was .still, and the unclouded sun was 
 shining on it as brightly as in the blue skv aiiove. The rippling 
 waves w-ere foaming round the bows. Numberless dolphins were 
 bounding in their wake. The water was full of life ; the flying- 
 fish leaped from their element, and fell on the decks of the ships. 
 Everything in nature seemed to combine with the efforts of Colum- 
 bus in raising the returning hopes of his sailors, who almost forgot 
 how the days pas.sed. On the first of October, thev thought they 
 were only (JUO leagues beyond the usual track of ships ; but the .se- 
 crct reckoning of the admiral gave more than 8U0. The signs of 
 approaching land became more frequent around them, yet none 
 loomed in the horizon. Terror again took possession of the crews. 
 Columbus himself, notwithstanding his apparent calmness, felt some 
 an.xiety. He feared lest he might have jiassed among the isles of 
 an archipelago without seeing them, and have left behind him the 
 extremity of that Asia which he sought, to wander in another ocean. 
 
 Tiie litditest vessel of hi.s squadron, the Nina, which led the way 
 at length, on the 7th of October, hoisted the sisrnal of land in siirht,' 
 and fired a gun to announce it to her companions. On nearin^Ml' 
 they found tiiat tlie iNina had been deceived .bv a cloud. The wTnii' 
 wliich dispersed it, scattered their fond hopes, "and converted them tti 
 fear. Nothing wearies the lieart of man so much as these alterna- 
 tious of false hope and bitter disappointment. They arc the sar^
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 29 
 
 ca'ms of fortune. Reproaches against the admiral were heard 
 from all (iMurlers. It was now no longer for their ialigues and difii- 
 c;ilties that they accused him, but for their lives hopelessly sacnhced 
 —their bread and water were beginning to fad 1 <• t , 
 
 Columbus, disconcerted lij" the immeusity ot this space, of which 
 h- had hoped already to have reached the boundary, abandoned the 
 ideal route he had traced upon the map, and followed lor two days 
 and nights the night of the birds, heaveuly pdols seemmgly sent to 
 him by Providence when human science was begmning to iail. 1 he 
 instinct of these birds, he reasoned, would not direct them all 
 toward one point in the horizon, it they did not see and tlieie. But 
 even the very birds seemed to the sailors to join with the expanse of 
 ocean, and the treacherous stars to sport with their vessels and the r 
 lives At the end of the third day, the pilots going up he shrouds 
 when the setting sun shows the most distant horizon, beheld him sink 
 into the same waves from ^vhence he had risen in vain for so many 
 mornings. They believed in the intinite expanse ot w-aters. llie 
 despair which depressed them (.hanged to tury. What terms had 
 they now to keeo with a chief who had deceived the Court ol ^pam. 
 and whose tilles'and authority, fraudulently obtained from ii3 sover- 
 eigns, were about to perish with him and his expectations . \V oukl 
 not following him farther make them the accomplices ot his guil ( 
 Did the duty of obedience extend beyond the limits of the world ? 
 AVas there any other hope, if even that now remuiued, bu to turn 
 the heads of their ships to Europe, and to beat back against the winds 
 that had favored the admiral, whom they would chain to the masr 
 of Ills own vessel as a mark for their dying curses, if they were t» 
 die. or irive him up to the vengeance of Spain, if they were ever per- 
 mitted to see again the ports of their country ? , . , 
 
 These complaints ha 1 now i)ecoTne clamorous. The admiral re 
 strained them by the cahnuess of his countenance. He reminded tii/t 
 mutineers of the authority, sacred to a subject, with which their 
 sovereigns had invested him. He called upon Heaven itselt to decide 
 between him and them. He tlluched not ; he offered his life a-s the 
 pled<'e of his promises ; but he askwl them with the spirit ot a 
 proDhet wiio sues iiimself wliat the vulgar (^nly see througii him, to 
 suspend for three days their liubclief. and their deterui.iiation to put 
 back. He swore a ra-sh but iiecess;.ry oath, that if, in the course ot 
 the third day. laud was not visible on the horizon, he would yicli to 
 llicir wishes and steer for Europe. The signs of the neighborhood of 
 a continent or islands were .so obvious to the admiral, tliat, in l)eg- 
 L'in" these three days from his mutinous crew, he felt certain ot 
 bein" able to attain his end. He tempted (4od by lixing a limit to his 
 revelation; l)Ul he liid to man:i;ie men. Thesi; iikmi rcluetantiy 
 KJlowed him the three days, and God, who inspired him, did not pun- 
 ish him for having hf)pe(i much. 
 At sunriae ou the second day. eomc rushes recently torn up w-^ra
 
 30 CHRISTOPnEU COLUMBUS. 
 
 popji near llir vessels. A plank evidently liewn hy an axe, a stiek 
 sUilfully caivod by .some euKin.i;- iiistniinent, a l)()ii.i;h of liawtlioni in 
 l)lossoin, anil, lastly, a binl'.s-nest builL on a braneli vvbieli the wind 
 had broken, and lull of eiru:s, ou which the parent bird was silting 
 amid the i;ently rotiinLC waves, were seen floating i>ast on the waters. 
 The sailors brought on board tiiese living and inanimate witnesses of 
 their approach to land. They were a voice from the shore, confirm- 
 ing the assurances of Columbus. Before tiie land actually appeared 
 in sight, its neighborhood was inferred from these marks of life. 
 The mutineers tell ou their knees to the admiral whom they had in- 
 sulted but the day before, craved pardcm for their mistrust, and 
 struck up a hymn of thanksgiving to God for associating them with 
 his triumph. 
 
 Night fell on these songs of the Church welcoming a new world. 
 The admiral gave orders that the sails should be close reefed and 
 the lead kept going ; and that they should sail slowly, being afraid of 
 breakers and shoals, and feeling certain (hat the first gleam of day- 
 break would discover land under their bows. On that last an.xious 
 night none slept. Impatient expectation had lemoved all heaviness 
 from their e3-es ; the pilots and the seamen, clinging about the masts, 
 yards, and shrouds, each tried to keep the best^jlace and the closest; 
 watch to get the earliest sight of the new hemisphere. The admiral 
 had offered a reward to the first who should cry land, provided his 
 announcement was verified by its actual discovery. Providence, 
 however, reserved to Columbus hims(.'lf this first tdimpse, which he 
 had purchased at the expense of twenty years of his life, and of un- 
 tiring perseverance amid such dangers. While walking the quarter- 
 deck alone at midnight, and sweeping the dark horizon with his keen 
 eye, a gleam of tire passed and disappeared, and again sliowed itself 
 on the level of the waves. Fearful of l)eing deceived by the phos- 
 phorescence of the sea, he quietly called a Spanish gentleman oif Isa- 
 bella's Court, named Guttierez, in whom he had more confidence than 
 in the pilots, pointed out the direction in which he had seen the light, 
 and asked him whether he could discern anything there. Guttierez 
 replied that he did indeed see a flickering light in that quarter. To 
 make still more sure, Columbus called Kodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, 
 another in whom he had confidence. Sanchez had no more hesital 
 tiou than Guttierez in pronouncing that there was a light on the hori- 
 zon But the blaze was hardly .seen before it again "disappeared in 
 the ocean, to sliow itself anew the next moment— whether it was the 
 light of a fire on a low shore alternately ajipearing and disappearing 
 beyond the broken horizon, or whether it was the floating beacon o"f 
 a fisherman's boat now rising on the waves and now sinking in tho 
 trough of the sea. Thus lioth land and safety appeared together in 
 the shape of tire to Columbus and his two friends, on the night be- 
 tween the mil and 12tli of (Jctoi)er, 1^)2. The admiral, enjoining 
 edence to R^drigo and Guttierez, kept Lis observation to himself for
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 31 
 
 fear of a?:iiu raisin? false hopes and givinir a bitter disappointment 
 to bis sliFp's companies. He lost sight of tlie light and remained on 
 deck until two in the morning, praying, hoping, and despairing alone, 
 awaiting the triumph or the return on wiiieli the morrow was to 
 
 decide. , , . i- 
 
 lie was seized with tiiat anguish which precedes the great discov- 
 eries of truth, like the struggle which anticipates the liberation of the 
 soul by death, when a cannon-shot, soundmg over the sea a tew hun- 
 dred yards in advance of him, burst upon his ear ; the announcement 
 of a new-born world, which made him tremble and fall upon liis 
 knees. It was the sisinal of land in sight ! made by firing a shot, as had 
 been arranged witirthe Piuta, which was sailing in advance pf tho 
 squadron, to guide their course and take soundings. At this sig- 
 nal a general shout of •' Land ho !" arose from all the yards and rig- 
 o-ing of the ships. The sails were furled and daybreak was au.xiously 
 awaited. The mvsterv of the ocean had breathed its first whisper in 
 the bosom of niglit. Daybreak would clear it up openly to every 
 eye. Delicious and unknown perfumes reached the vessels from the 
 dini outline of the .shore, with the roar of the waves upon the reefs 
 and the soft land breeze. Tiie fire seen by Columbus indicated the 
 presence of man and of the first element of civilization. Never did 
 the night appear so long in clearing away from the horizon ; for thi.s 
 horizon was to Columbus and his companions a second creation of 
 
 God. . , , , 
 
 The dawn, as it spread over the sky, gradually raised the .shores of 
 an island from liie waves. Its distant extremities were lost in the 
 morning mist. It ascended gradually, like an amphitheatre, from 
 tiie low^beach to the summit of the hills, whose durk-green covering 
 coutnisted stronirly with the clear blue of the heavens. Within a few 
 paces of the foani of the waves breaking on the yellow sand, forests 
 of tall and unknown trees stretched away, one above another, over 
 the successive terraces of the island. Green valleys and bright clefts 
 in the hollows afforded a half glimpse into these mysterious wilds. 
 Here and there coidd be discovered a few scattered huts, which, with 
 their outlines and roofs of dry leaves, looked like beehives, and thiiv 
 columns of blue smoke rose above the tops of the trees. Half naked 
 groups of men, women, and cliildrcn, more astonished than fright- 
 ened, appeared anvMig the thickets near the .shore, advancing 
 timidly, and then drawing back, exliibiting by their gestures and de- 
 meanor as much fear a.s curiosity and wonder at the siizht of these 
 strange vessels, wiiich the previous night had brought to Mn^ir .shores 
 Columbus, after gazing in silence on this foremost shore of the land 
 so often determined by hislftlculations, and fo magnificently colored 
 by his imagination, found it to cxcecil even his own expectations. 
 He burnecrwith impiUience to be the first European to set foot on 
 the sand, and lo iiliml the cross and tlie tlag of ."^pain — tin' slandiird 
 of tiie conqucbl of God and of his .sovereigns, ell'ected l)y his geuiu.i.
 
 d% CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 But he restraini'd the oaajerness of himself and his rrcw to land, 
 In'ini; desirous of givinu: to the acl of taking possession of a new 
 ■\vorid a solemnity worthy of tiie greatest deed, perhaps, ever accom- 
 plished hy a seaman ; and, in (kfauit of men, to call God and his 
 jmgels, sea. earth, anil sky, as witnesses of his cou(iuest of an un- 
 known hemis|)iiere. 
 
 lie put on all the insignia of his dignities as Admiral of the Ocean, 
 and viceroy of these future realms ; he wrapp'.ci himself in his purple 
 cloak, and, taking in his hand a Hag embroidered witii a cross, in 
 which the initials of Ferdinand and Isabella were interlaced like their 
 two kingdoms, and surmounted by a crown, he entered his boat, and 
 pulled toward the shore, followed by the boats of Alonzo and Yones 
 Piuzon, his two lieutenants. On landing, he fell on his knees, to 
 acknowledge, by this act of humility and worship, the goodness and 
 greatness of God in this new sphere of his works, lie kissed the 
 ground, and, with Ids face on the earth, he wept tears of a double 
 import and of a double meaning, as tJiey fell on the dust of this hem- 
 isphere now for the lirst time visited by Europeans — tears of joy for 
 Columbus ; the overfiowing of a proud spirit, grateful and pious — 
 tears of sadness for this virgin soil, seeming to foreshadow the calam- 
 ities and devastation, w'th lire and sword, and blood and destruction, 
 ■which the strangers were to bring with their pride, their knowledge, 
 and their power. It was the man that shed these tears ; but it was 
 the earth that was destined to weep. 
 
 " Almighty and eternal God," said Columbus, as he raised Ids 
 forehead from the dust, with a Latin prayer which his companions 
 have handed down to us, " Avho by the energy of thy creative word 
 hast made the lirmament, the earth and sea ; l)Ies8ed and glorified be 
 thy name in all places ! May thy majesty and dominion be exalted 
 forever and ever, as thou hast permitted thy holy name to be 
 made known and spread by the most humble of thy servants in this 
 hitherto unknown portion of thy empire." 
 
 He then baptized this land in the name of Christ— the island of 
 San Salvador. 
 
 His lieutenants, his pilots, and his seamen, full of gladness, and im- 
 pressed with a superstitious respect for him whose glance had pierced 
 {)e3'ond the visible horizon, and whom they had offended by their 
 unbelief — overcome by tiie evidence of their eyes, and by that men- 
 tal superiority which overawes the minds of men, fell at the feet of 
 the iwhniral, kl.ssed his hands and bis clothes, and recognized for a 
 moment tiie power and the almost divine nature of genius ; yesterday 
 the victims of ids obstina(;y — now Ihe companions of his success, 
 and sharecs in the glory which they had BBxjked. Such is humanity, 
 persecuting discoverers, yet reaping the fruits of their inventions. 
 
 During the ceremony of taking possession, the inhabitants of tho 
 islands, first kept at a distance by fear, afterward attracted by tiiat 
 iusliiujtive curiosity which forms the first connection between m&n
 
 CHKISTOPIIER COLUMBrS, 33 
 
 and man had drawn near. They were talking with each other ahout 
 the wonderful events of the uight and morumg. These vessels 
 working-- their sails, vards, and musls, like huge limbs opeumg and 
 closing at will, seemed to them animated and supernatural beings de- 
 scended durin"- the uiuht from the crystal tirmament which_ sur- 
 rounded their horizon, mhabitauls of heaven floating on their wmgs, 
 and settlinfr upon the shores of which they were the tutelar deities. 
 Struck with respect at tlie sight of the boats lauding on their island, . 
 and of men in brilliant clothing, and covered with armor gleaming m | 
 the sun. thev at last came close, as if fascinated by almighty power. 
 Thev worshipped and adored them with the simplicity of children, 
 unsuspicious of the approach of evil under a pleasing appearance 
 The Spaniards, on examining them, were in their turn astonished at 
 not fiudin.- in these islanders any of the phy.sical characteristics, or 
 even the color, of the African, Asiatic, or Europenn races with which 
 thev usuallv came in contact. Their co!)per complexion, their lank 
 hair faliin'^' loo.se over their .shoulders, their eyes dark a.s their sea, 
 their delicate and almost feminine features, their open and couhding 
 countenances, and. lastly, their nakedness, and the colored patterns 
 with which they stained their skins, marked them as a race com- 
 pletely distinct from any of tiie human families spread over the an- 
 cient hemisphere ; a race still preserving the simplicity and the gen- 
 tleness of infancy, lost for centuries in this unknown portion ot the 
 world, and retaininir. through sheer ignorance of wrong, the mildness, 
 truthfulness, and innocence of the world's youth. . t ^• 
 
 Columbus satisfied that this island was hut an outpost ot India, 
 toward which he stiil thouirht he was sailing, gave them the imagi- 
 nary name of Indians, which they retained until their extermination ; 
 the verhal error having lasted lung after the physical mistake was 
 
 explained. , , . ^ » 
 
 The Indians, soon becoming accustomed to their stranger-guests. 
 showed them 'their springs, their houses, their villages, and their 
 canoes and Ijrought them as offerings their eatable truit, their cassava 
 bread whicii replenisiied the provisions of tlie Spaniards, and some 
 omanients of pure gold, which they wore in their ears and nostrils, 
 or a.s bracelets, necklaces, or anklets am-^ng the women. Tiiey 
 were ignorant of commerce or of the use of money, thai mercenary 
 but indispensable suljstitule for tlie virtue of hospitality, and tiiey 
 were ddi'dited to receive the merest tritles from tho Europeans m ex- 
 chamre for their valuables. In their eyes, novelty was value. Hire 
 and /W/Vy/.'* are equivalent words in all countries. The Spaniards, 
 who souu-Sit the country of gold and precious stones, asked by sign.s 
 whence Uiis metal earn-, tiui Indians pointed to the south ; the ad- 
 miral and hi.s companions unilerstr)od tiiem to mean tliat in lliat di- 
 re<'tion there was an island or ctMitinent of India, correspoiuliiig l)y 
 its riches and its arts witii tlic wonders related by the Veiietuui .Marc;» 
 Polo The hind whidi they now thought themselves near was, they
 
 34 OITRTSTOPIIEll COLUMBUS. 
 
 supposed, the fabulous island of Zipangu, or Japan, llio sovereign of 
 wiiich walked on a i>aveincnt of trnld." Tlicir inipatience to resume 
 their course lowanl lliis object of tlieir iinau-jnalion or of their 
 covetousness, made lln-iu return (luiciciy to Uielr ships. They had 
 supplied them.selves Willi water from (he si)rings of the island, and 
 their decks were loaded witli fruit, cassava-cakes, and roots, which 
 ;iie poor but liajipy Indians liad tiivcii tliein. They took one of the 
 aborigines witii them to learn tlair language, and to act as interpreter. 
 
 On getting clear of the island of San Salvador, they found them- 
 selves as it were lost in the channels of an archipelago, composed of 
 more than a hundred isles of various sizes, but all with an appear- 
 ance of the most luxurious freshness and feitility of vegetation. 
 They landed on the largest and most populous. They were sur- 
 rounded Ijy canoes, hollowed from the trunk ol a single tree ; they 
 traded witli the inhal)itants, exchanging buttons and tnnkets. Their 
 navigation and their stoppages amid "this labyrinth of islands were 
 but a repetition of the scene at tlieir landing at' San Salvador. They 
 were everywhere re(;eived with the same inoffensive curiosity. They 
 were enchanted with the climate, the flowers, the perfumes, the 
 colors, and the plumages of unknown birds, which each of these 
 oases of the ocean offered to their senses ; but their minds, impressed 
 with the sole idea of discovering the land of gold at what tliey sup- 
 posed to be the extremity of Asia, rendered them less attentive to 
 these natural treasures, and prevented their suspecting the existence 
 of the now and immense continent of which these isles were the out- 
 posts on the sea. Guided by the signs and looks of tiie Indians, who 
 pointed out to him a regicn still more splendid than their own archi- 
 pelago, Columl)us steered for the coast of Cuba, wiiere he landed 
 after three days' pleasant sailing, without losing sight of the beauti- 
 ful Bahamas whicli enamelled his path. 
 
 Cuba, with its long terraces stretching away into the far distance, 
 and backed by cloud-piercing mountaiiis, with its havens, estuaries, 
 gulfs, liays, forests, and villagcf-, reminded him, on a more majestic 
 scale, of Sicily, lie was uncertain whether it was a continent or an 
 isLand. He cast anchor in the shady liosom of a mighty river, and, 
 going ashore, strolled about the shores and forests, tiie grcves of 
 oranges and palm-trees, and the villages and dwellings of the inhab- 
 itants. A duml)dogwas tlie only living thing he found in the«e huts, 
 which had been abandoned at his approacli. lie re-embarked, and 
 ascended the river, shaded by broad-leaved palms, and gigantic tree.'\ 
 bearing both fruit and llowers. Nature seemed to have bestowed, 
 of her own accord, and without labor, the necessities of life and hap. 
 pincss witliout work on the.se fortunate races. Everything reminded 
 them of the Kdeu of Holy Writ. Harmless animals, "birds with 
 azure and purple plumage, parrots, macaws, and birds of paradise, 
 fiiirieked and sang, or Hew in colored clouds from branch to branch ; 
 lumiuou.s insects lighted the air by night ; the sun, softened by the
 
 CHRl^-OPHER COLUMBUS. 35 
 
 breeze of the mountain, the s,hade of the trees, and the coolness of 
 the water, fertiUzed eyervthin.^; without scorching ; the moon and 
 stars were reflected in the rivsr with a mild light which took away 
 Ihe terror of darkness. A scueral enthusiasm had seized upon the 
 minds and senses of ColumTjus and his companions ; they felt that 
 thev had readied a new country, more fresh and yet more fruitful 
 than the old land which they had left behind. "It is the most 
 beautiful isle," says Columbus, in his notes. " that ever the eye of 
 man beheld. One would wish to live there always. It is impossible 
 to think of misery or death in &,uch a place." 
 
 The scent of the spices which reached his vessels from the interior, 
 and his meeting with pearl oysters on the coast, satisfied him more 
 and more that Cuba was a continuation of Asia. He fancied that 
 beyond the mountains of this continent or island (for he was still 
 uncertain whetiier Cuba was or was not a portion of the mainland) 
 he should find the empires, the civilization, the gold mines, and the 
 wonders which enthusiastic travellers had attributed to Cathay and 
 Japan. Being unable to seize any of the natives, who all fied the 
 coast on the approach of the Spaniards, he sent two of his com- 
 panions, one of whom spoke Hebrew and the other Arabic, to look 
 fur the fabulous cities in which he supposed the sovereign of Cathay 
 to dwell. Tnese envoys were loaded with presents for the inhab- 
 itants. Tliev had orders to exchange tiiera for nothing but gold, of 
 which they thought there were inexhaustible treasures in the interior. 
 
 The messensrers returned to the ships without having discovered 
 any other capUal than huts of savages and an immense wilderness of 
 vegetation, perfumes, fruits, and flowers. They had succeeded, by 
 means of presents, in encouraging some of the natives to come back 
 with them to the admiral. Tobacco, a plant of slightly intoxicating 
 quality, which they made into little rolls, lighting them at one end to 
 inhale the sinoke at the other ; the potato, a farinaceous root, which 
 heat converted at once into bread ; maize, cotton spun by the 
 women, oranges, lemons, and other nameless fruits, were the only 
 trea.'^ure.s they had found about the houses scattered in the glades of 
 the-iurest. 
 
 Di.sappoinled of his golden dreams, the admiral, on some mis- 
 understood directions of the natives, unwillingly (juitted this enchant- 
 ing country, to .sail on to the east, where he still placed his imaginary 
 A-sia. He took on i)oard some men and women from Cuba, bolder 
 and more confident thaLi the rest, to serve as interpreters for the 
 neighboring countries which he was going to visit, to convert them 
 to the true faith, and to olTer to Isabella these souls which his gener- 
 ous enterprise had saved. Convinced that Cuba, of which he had 
 not asccrlained the liinils. Avas a \y.ut of the mainland of Asia, he 
 8»uli*d several <lays at a short distance from the coast of the true 
 American continent without seciing it. He was not yet to discover 
 the truth .-^o close to hi.', eyes. Vtl envy, which was to be the poisou
 
 3G CHRISTOPHER C0LUM15US. 
 
 of his life, had arisen in the minds of his companions on the very 
 day that his discoveries had crown-jd tiie liopes of liis whole exist- 
 ence. Aincriu;o Vespucci, an obscure Florentine, embarked in one 
 of his vessels, gave his name to this new world, to which Columbus 
 alone had been the guide. Vespucci owed this good fortune entirely 
 to chance, and to his subsuquent voyages with Columbus in the same 
 latitudes. A sul)altern oflicer, devoted to the admiral, he had never 
 sought to rob him of his glory. The caprice of fortune gave it to 
 him wiMinut his having sought to deceive Europe, and custom has 
 retained it. The chief was dej)rived of due honor, and the name of 
 the inferior prevailed. Thus is human glory set at naught ; but 
 though Columbus was the victim, Amerigo was not guilty. Posterity 
 must bear the blame of the injustice and ingratitude, but a wilful 
 fraud cannot be laid to the charge of the fortunate pilot of Florence, 
 
 Envy, which arises in the heart of man in the very hour of suc- 
 cess, already began to prey upon the mind of Columbus's lieutenant, 
 Alonzo Pinzon. He connnaiuled the Pinta, the second vessel of the 
 squadron, a faster sailer than eitlierof the others. Piuzon pretended 
 to lose them in the night, and got away from his (;ominodore. He 
 had resolved to take advantage of Columbus's discovery, to find out 
 other lands by himself, without genius and witliout trniil)le, and after 
 giving them his name, to be foremost to return to Europe, to reap 
 the produce of the glory and to gather the rewards due to his ma.ster 
 and guide. Columbus had for some days past noticed the envy and 
 insuI)ordiuatiou of his second in command. But he owed much to 
 Alonzo Pinzon ; fur, without his encouragement and assistance at 
 Palos, he would never have succeeded in equipping his vessels or in 
 engaging seamen. Gratitude had prevented him from punishing the 
 first acts of disobedience of a man to whom he was so deeply in- 
 debted. The modest, magnanimous, and forgiving character of 
 Columbus made him avoid all harshness. Fidl of justice and virtue 
 himself, he expected to find ecpial justice and virtue in others. This 
 goodness, which Alonzo Pinzon took for weakness, served as an en- 
 couragement to ingratitude. He boldly dashed between Columbus 
 and the new discoveries of which he had resolved to deprive him. 
 
 The admiral understood and regretted the fault, but pretended to 
 believe that the Pinta's separation was accidental, and steered with 
 his two vessels to the .south-east, toward a dark shade that he per- 
 ceived over the sea, and made the island of Hispaniola, smce called 
 San Domingn. Had it not been for this cloud on the moimtaius of 
 San Domingo, which induced him to put about, he would have 
 reached tlie mainland. The American archipelago, by enticing him 
 to wander from isle to isle, .seemed to keep him, as if purposely, from 
 the goal which he almost touched without seeing it. Tiiis phantasm 
 of Asia, which had led him to the shores of America, now stood be- 
 tween America and him, to deprive him of the reality by the substi- 
 tution of a chimera.
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 37 
 
 This vast new country, pleasant and fruitful, suiTOuntled by an 
 atmosphere as clear as crystal, and batlied by a sea with perfume lu 
 its waves appeared to him to be the marvellous island, detacher 
 from the continent of India, that he had sought through such voyages 
 and (lano-ers under the fabulous name of Zipangu. He named it 
 Hispauiola, to mark it as his adopted country. The natives, simple, 
 mild hospitable, open-hearted and respectful, crowded round them 
 on the shore, as though they were beings of a superior order, whom 
 rt celestial miracle had sent from the verge of the horizon or the bot- 
 tom of the ocean to be worshipped and adored as gods A numer- 
 ous and happy population then covered the plains and valleys ot 
 Hispaniola The men and women were models of strength and 
 beauty The perpetual peace which reigned among these ufitions 
 eave tlieir countenances an expression of gentleness and benevolence. 
 Their laws were only the best instincts of the heart, passed into tra- 
 ditions and customs. They might have been supposed to be a young 
 race, who.se vices iiad not yet had time to develop themselves, and 
 whom tlie natural inspirations of innocence sufficed to govern. Ut 
 agriculture,<rardeniu-, and tlie other arts of life, tliey knew enough tor 
 tiieir '--overnment, tlieir building, and tlie lirst nece-ssilies of existence. 
 Their fields were admirahly cultivated, and their elegant cottages were 
 grouped in villages on the edges of forests of fruit-trees, in the neigh- 
 borhood of rivers or springs. In a genial climate, without eitlier 
 the severity of winter or the scorching heat of a tropical summer 
 tlieir clotiiing consisted only of personal ornaimnits, or of belts and 
 aprons of cotton-cloth, sufficient to protect their modesty. 1 lieu- 
 form of government was as simple an 1 natural as their ideas. It was 
 but the circle of the family, enlarged in the course of generations but 
 always grouped round an here.iitary chief, called the cacique. I hese 
 caciques were the heatis, not the tyrants, of their tribes. Their cus- 
 toms, laws unwritten, yet inviolable as divine ordinances, governe( 
 tliese petty princes : an autliority paternal on the one side, and hhal 
 on tlie otlier, rebellion against which seemed out of the question. 
 
 Tiie Cuban natives, whom (Jolumbus had brought with him to 
 serve as guides and internrcters on the.se seas and islands, already be- 
 gan to comprehend S|)aiiish. Tiiey partly understood the language 
 of the iiihai)itants or Hispaniola, a (httaciied branch ol the same race. 
 They thus established an easy and ready means of comiuunicatiou 
 between ('olumhus and the people wiiom he had just reached. 
 
 The suppo.sed Indians fearlessly conducted the Spaniards into their 
 houses, and presented liiein with cas.sava bi'ead, unknown fruits, lish, 
 8Wi;(;t roots, tame birds witli rich plumage and melodious notes. How- 
 crs palms, bananas, lemuiis, all the; gifts of their sea, sky, earth, and 
 clir'nate. Tliey treated tiiem as giKists. as brothers, almost even as 
 gods. " NatuVe," says (;olumbus, " is there so iirolitic, that prop- 
 erly has not prodiiwrd the feeling of avarice or cu|>iiiily. I Ikso 
 people seem to live iu a golden um:, happy and quiet uniid open and
 
 38 CHIITSTOPIEEII COLUMl'US. 
 
 cnilless gardens, neither surroiindetl by ditch'js, divided by fences, 
 nor proteclcd by walls. They Itchavo lunionibly toward onefinolher, 
 AvitlKMit laws, AvUiunil books, without jiuli;es. They consider him 
 wicked who takes delitjlit iu harniiny another. This aversion of tho 
 good to the bad seems to be all their ](!gislatiou." Their religion 
 also was but the sentiment of their own inferiority, and of gratitude 
 and love for the invisible Being who had granted them life and hap- 
 piness. 
 
 What a contrast between the state of these happy races when the 
 Europeans lirst discovered tliem mul brought them the spirit of the 
 Old World, and the condition into which these unfortunate Indians 
 fell a few years after this visit from those who assuiTied to civilize 
 them ! What a mystery of Providence was this unexpected arrival 
 of Columbus in a new world, to which lie thought he 'vas bringing 
 liberty and life, but iu which, without knowing it, he was sowing 
 tyranny and death ! 
 
 As Columbus was exploring the bays and havens of tho island, the 
 pilot ran the vessel aground while the admiral was asVep. Tlie 
 ship, threatened with instant destruction by the heavy brealers, was 
 abandoned by the pilot and part of the crew, who, under ]-)retfince of 
 taking an anchor ashore, pulled to the other vessel, thinking Colum- 
 bus doomed to inevitable death. The admiral's energy again ,^aved, 
 not the ship, but the lives of his companions. He faced tiie bregkers 
 as long as a plank held, and having placed his men on a raft, he 
 landed as a shipwrecked mariner on the same shore that he had just 
 visited as a conqueror, lie was soon joined by the only vessel he 
 had remaining. His shipwreck and his misfortunes did not cool tbo 
 hospitality of the cacique whose guest he had been some days prev.'- 
 ously. This cacique, named Guacanagari, the first friend and after- 
 ward the first victim of these strangers, shed tears of compassion over 
 Columbus's disaster. He offered his house, his provisions, and 
 assistance of every kind to the Spaniards. The riches of the Euro- 
 peans, rescued from the waves and spread out upon the beach, were 
 preserved, as if sacred, from all pillage, and even from troublesome 
 curiosity. Tliese men, who knew no property as between each other, 
 seemed to recognize and respect it in their unfortunate guests. 
 Columbus, in his letters to the king and queen, is loud in his praise 
 of the easy generosity of this race. 'There is nowhere in the uni- 
 verse, " he exclaims, "a better nation or a better country. They 
 love their neighI)ors as themselves ; their language is always soft and 
 gracious, and the smile of kindness is ever on their lips. They are 
 njiked, it is true, but veiled by modesty and frankness." 
 
 Columbus, having established with the 3'ounger cacique relations 
 of the closest and most confiding intimacy, was presented by bim 
 with some gold ornaments. At the sight of gold, the countenances of 
 the Europeans suddenly expressed such passionate avidity and fierce 
 desire, that the cacique and his subjects instinctively took alarm, aa
 
 CHRISTOPHER TOLUMBUS. 38 
 
 if their new friends had, on the instant, dumgcd tlieir nature anil 
 disposition towunl them. It was l)ut too true. The companions of 
 Columbus were only coveting tlie fancied riches of tlie East, while he 
 himself NTas seeking tlie mysterious remnant of theworhl. The sight 
 of gold had recalled their avarice ; their faces had become stern and 
 savage as their thoughts. The caciqne, being informed that this 
 'metal was the god of the Europeans, explained to them, by pointing 
 to tlie mountains beyond the range thej^ saw, the situation of a coun- 
 I try from which he received this gold in abundance. Columbus no 
 longer doubted that he bad reached the source of Solomon's wealth, 
 and, preparing everything for his speedy return to Europe, in order 
 to announce his triumph, he built a fort in the cacique's village, to 
 afford security to a paity whom he left behind. He selected from 
 his officers and seamen "forty men, whom he placed under tlie com- 
 mand of Pedro de Arana. He instructed them to collect information 
 about the gold region, and to keep up the respect and friendship of 
 the Indians for the Spaniards. He then set out on his return to 
 Europe, loaded with tlie gifts of the cacique, and bringing away all 
 the ornaments and crowns of pure gold that he had been able to pro- 
 cure during his stay from the natives, either by gift or exchange. 
 
 While coasting round the island, he met his faithless companion, 
 Alouzo Pinzon. Under pretence of having lost sight of the admiral, 
 Pinzon had taken a separate course. Concealed in a deep inlet of the 
 island, he had landed, and instead of imitating the mildness and 
 gentle policy of Columbus, had marked his first steps with l)lood. 
 'J'he admiral having found his lieutenant, appeared satisfied with his 
 e.xcuses, and willing to attribute his desertion to the night. He 
 ordered Pinzon to follow iiim to Europe with his vessel. They set 
 sail together, impatient to auuounce to Spain the news of their won- 
 derful navigation. But the ocean on wiiich the trade-winds had 
 wafted them gently from wave to wave toward the shores of 
 America, setane 1 with adverse winds and waters to drive them reso- 
 lutely l)ack from the land to which lliey were so anxious to return. 
 CoIuml)us alone, through his knowledge of navigation and his reck- 
 oning, the secret of which he concealed from his pilots, knew the 
 course and the true distances. His companions thought they were 
 Btill thousands of miles from Europe, wliile he was already aware of 
 being nesir tiic Azores. He soon pc-rceived them. Tremendous 
 squalls of wind — cdoud heaped on cloud— and lightning such as he 
 had never before seen Hash across ibe heavens and disappear in the 
 sea— huge and foaming waves driving his vessels helplessly about 
 ■without aid fiom helm or sails, seemed aH(!rnalely to open and clos» 
 the gates of death to him and his companions even on the very 
 threslif)ld of tlii^ir country. The signals which the two vessels made 
 recipror-allv at night di.sappeared. Kacli, while driving before the 
 unceasing t(;rn|»est, between th(' A/ores and the Spanish coast, be- 
 lieved the other lost. Columbus, who did not doubt that the Pintu
 
 4U OHKISTOl'HEIl COLUMBUS. 
 
 with Pin/.on was buried beneath Ihc waves, nncl whose own torn sails 
 :iu(l daiiianvd rudder would no lontji r strcr his l)ark, expected every 
 instant lo luund( r licneath f)nc ol' these, niounlair . of water that ho 
 labored up, to lie .';\vei)t down again i'ron\ their I'oamin.ij crests. Ho 
 had risked his life freely, but ho could not bear to saeriiieo his plorj'. 
 I'o feel that the discovery, which lie was brinujing to the Old World, 
 was to be buried for ages with him oven when so near his port, 
 seemed such a cruel sport of Providence that he could not make 
 even his piety bend to it. His soul revolted against this slight of 
 fortune. To die when he had but touched with his foot the s!)il of 
 Europe, and after having placed his secret and his treasure upon tiie 
 records of his country, was a destiny that he could joyfully accept ; 
 but to allow a second world to perish (so to speak) with him, and to 
 curry to the grave \hv. solution, at last found, of the earth's problem, 
 which his brother xnen nught perhaps be seeking for as many ages as 
 they had alread}^ been Vt-irhout it, was a thousand deaths in one. In 
 his vows lo all the shrines of Spain, he only asked of God that he 
 might carry to the shore, even with his wreck, the proof of his return 
 and of his discovery. ]\Icanwhile storm followed storm ; the vessel 
 became water-logged, and the savage looks, the angry murmurs, or 
 the sullen silence of his companions reproached him for the obsti- 
 nacy which liad driven or persuaded them to this fatal cruise. They 
 considered this continued wrath of the elements as the vengeance of 
 ocean, angry that the boldness of man should have penetrated its 
 mystery. They talked of throwing liim into the sea, in order, by a 
 grand e.vpiatiou, to still the waves. 
 
 Columbus, heedless of their anger, but completely taken up with 
 the fate of his discover3\ wrote upon parchment several short ac- 
 counts of his voyage, and closed up some in rolls of wax, and others 
 in cedar cases, and threw them into the sea, in hopes that perchance 
 after his death they might be carried upon tiie shore. It has been 
 said that one of these cases, thus thrown to the winds and waves, 
 drifted about for three centuries and a half upon or beneath the sea, 
 and that not very long since a sailor from a European vessel, while 
 getting ballast for a ship on the African coast, opposite Gibraltar, 
 picked up a petrified cocoanut, and brought it to his captain as a 
 meie natural curiosity. The captain, on opening the nut to see 
 whether the kernel had resisted fhe action of time, found that the 
 liollow shell concealed a i^archment which contained, in a Gothic 
 charaeter, deciphered with difficulty by a scholar at Gibraltar, these 
 words : " \Ve cannot survive the storm one daj' longer. We are, 
 between Sjiain and (he newly discovered Eastern Isles. If the cara- 
 vel fovinders, may some one [)ick up this testimony ! — CumsToruEU 
 
 Coi.L'.MIJL'8. " 
 
 T!ie ocean kept this message for 858 years, and did not give it to 
 Europe, until America — colonized, nourishing, and free — already 
 rivalled the old continent. A freak of forlune, to teach men what
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 41 
 
 mig-ht have remained concealed so long, if Providence had not for- 
 bidden tlic vruves to drOu'n, in Columbus, its great announcer ! 
 
 The next day, " Land ho !" was cried. It was the Portuguese isle 
 of St. Miry, tLie last of the Azores. Columbus and his conipanions 
 were driven from it by the jealous persecution of the Portuguese. 
 Again given up to the suifeiiugs of hunger and tempest for many 
 long days, it was not until the 4th of JIarch that they entered the 
 Tagus, where they at length anchored off a European shore, though 
 of a rival kingdom. Columbus, on being presented to the King of 
 Portugal, related his discoveries, without exjilaining his course, lest 
 this prince might anticipate the fleets of Isabella. The nobles of the 
 Court of John the Second of Portugal advised this prince to have the 
 great navig^ator assassinated, in order to bury with him his secret, as 
 well as the rights of the Spanish Crown over these new lands. John 
 was indignant at this cowardly advice. Columbus was treated with 
 honor, and permitted to send a courier to his sovereigns, to announce 
 his success, and his approaching return by .sea to Palos. lie landed 
 there on the loth of March, 14'Jo, at sunrise, in the midst of a crowd 
 frantic with joy and pride, which even rushed into the water to carry 
 him triumphantly ashore. lie threw himself into the arms of his 
 friend and protector, the poor prior of the convent of La Rabida, 
 Juan Perez, who alone had believed in him, and whom a new hemi- 
 sphere rewarded for his faith. Columbus walked barefoot at the heail 
 of a procession, to the church of the monastery, to return thanks for 
 his safety, for his glory, and for the acquisition to Spain. The 
 whole population followed him with blessing-5 to the door of this 
 humble convent, at wiiich he had some years before, alone with his 
 child, and on foot, craved hospitality as a beggar. Never has any 
 among men brought to his country or posterity such a con(iuest 
 since tiie creation of the globe, except tho.sc who have given to earth 
 the revelation of a new idea ; and this conquest of Columbus had 
 until then cost humanity neither a crime, a single life, a drop of 
 blood, nor a tear. The most delightful days of his existence were 
 tlio.se which he passed wliile resting from his hopes and his gloiy in 
 the monastery of f.,a llabida, in the arms of Iiis chihhxn, an-i in the 
 comi)any of his friend and host, the piior of the convent. 
 
 And as if lli;aveu had tiiought lit to crown his happiness and to 
 avenge him on the envy Avhicli wa.s pursuing him, Alonzo Pinzon, 
 the commander of his .second vessel, brouglit Ihc Pinta next day ml<; 
 the harbor of Palos, where he hoped to arrive before his commander, 
 and to rol) him of tiie lirst-fruits of his trium[)h. I>ut foiled in his evil 
 d(;sign, and fearing lest the admiral miglil. rei)ort and punish his de- 
 sertion, I'inztMi died of vexation and disppointment on seeing th« 
 vessel of C'olumbiis at anclior in the pnrt. Columbus was too gener- 
 ous to rejoice, much more to have punished him ; and the mulico 
 that pursues tlie stejjs of the great seemed to expire at his feel. 
 
 Ferdinand and Lsabcllu, having been informed of the return and
 
 4:^ CHRISTOPHKR COLUMHUS. 
 
 discoveries of their admiral, by the messenger ■whom he had dis- 
 patched from Lisbon, awaited him at Barcelona with lionor and 
 nuinilicence wortii.y tlie greatness of his services. The Spanisli no- 
 bility came from all tiu^ provinces to meet him. lie made a triumphal 
 entry, as a prince of future kingdoms. The Indians brought over by 
 the squadron, as a living proof of the e.\istence of new races of men 
 in these newly discovered lands, marched at the head of the proces- 
 sion, their bodies painted with divers colors, and adorned with gold 
 necklaces and pearls. The animals and birds, the unknown plants, and 
 the precious stones collected on those shores, were exhibited in golden 
 basins, carried on the heads of Moorish or Negro sliives. The eager 
 crowd pressed close upon them, and wondrous tales Avere circulated 
 around the officers and companions of Columbus. The admiral him- 
 self, mounted on a richly caparisoned charger presented b}' the king, 
 next appeared, accompanied b}'' a numerous cavalcade of courtiers and 
 gentlemen. All ej^es were directed toward the man inspired by Heaven, 
 who tirst had dared to lift the veil of ocean. People .sought in his face 
 for a visible sign of his mission, and thought they could discern one. 
 The beauty of his features, the thoughtful majesty of his counte- 
 nance, the vigor of eternal youth joined to tiic dignity of riper 
 age, the combination of thought with action, of strength with 
 experience, a thorough appreciation of his worth, combined with 
 piety toward God, who had chosen him from among others, 
 and' with gratitude toward his sovereigns, who awarded him 
 the honor which he brought them as a con({ueror, made Columbus 
 then appear (as those relate who saw him enter Barcelona) like a 
 prophet, or a hero of Holy A7rit or of Grecian story. " None could 
 compare with him," they wy ; " all felt him to be the greatest or the 
 most fortunate of men." Ferdinand and Lsabella received him on 
 their throne, shaded from the sun by a golden canopy. They rose up 
 before him as though he had been an inspired messenger. They then 
 made him sit on a level with themselves, and listened to the solemn 
 and circumstantial account of his voj'age.s. At the end of his recital, 
 which habitual eloquence had colored with his exuberant imagination, 
 and impregnated with his fervid enthusiasm, the king and queen, 
 moved even to tears, fell on their knees and repeated the Te Beam, a 
 hymn of thar,ksgiving for the greatest conquest that the Almighty 
 had ever yet vouchsafed to sovereigns. 
 
 Courie;s were instantly dispatched, to carry the wondrous news 
 and fame of Columbus to all the courts of Europe. The obscurity 
 with (\diich he had until then been surrounded changed to a brilliant 
 renown, filling the earth with his name, ('oluml)us neither suffered 
 his mind to be elated by tlic honor decreed to his name, nor his 
 pride to be humiliated by the jealousy which l)egau to arisi! of liis 
 glory. One day, when he was dining at the table of Ferdinand and 
 Isabella, one of the guests, envious of the honor paid to the wool- 
 comber's son, asked him snecringly whether he thought no one. eitc
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 4!o 
 
 T^ould have discovered the nevr hemisphere if he had not been born. 
 Columbus did not answer the question, for fear of saying too muck 
 or too Httle of himself ; but he took an egg between his lingers, and, 
 addressing the wliole company present, asked them if they could 
 make it sUmd upright. None could manage this. Columbus then 
 crushed tlie csg at^one end, and placing it erect on the broken ex- 
 tremity, showed hi» detractors that, if there were no merit in a sim- 
 ple idea, yet none could find it out before some inventor showed 
 others the example ; thus rendering to God the honor of the discovery, 
 but taking to himself the credit of being the first by whom it was 
 made. Tliis apologue has since become the answer of every man 
 whom Providence has selected to point out a way for his fellows, and 
 to tread it before tiiein, without, however, being greater, but only 
 more inspired, than his brethren. 
 
 Honors, titles, and territorial rights over the lands of which he 
 Bhould hereafter complete the discovery and conquest, became, by 
 formal treaty with the court, the reward of Columbus. Hj obtained 
 the viceroyalty and the government, with one fourth of the riches 
 and produce of the seas, the islands, and the contments on which he 
 should plant the cross of the Church and the flag of Spain. The 
 Archdeacon of Seville, Fonseca, received the title of Patriarch of the 
 Indies, and was charged with the preparations and armaments of the 
 new expedition which Columbus was preparing to guide to new con- 
 qaests. But, from that day, Fonseca became the secret rival of the 
 great navigator ; ami, as it he had been desirous of crushing the 
 genius which it was his duly to second, while appearing to procure 
 (lid for Columbus, was really raising obstacles. His delays and false 
 pretences reduced to seventeen sail the fleet which was to escort the 
 admiral back across the Atlantic. 
 
 The adventurous disposition of the Spaniards of that day, the ardo? 
 of religious proselytism, and the spirit of chivalry, collected in thest, 
 ve*els a great number of priests, gentlemen, and adventurers ; soni'.) 
 anxious to spread the faith, others desirous of winning renown and 
 fortune by being the first to settle in these new countries in which 
 their imagination revelled. Workmen of all trades, laborers from all 
 climates, domestic animals of all races, seeds, plants, vine-shoots, 
 filips of fruit-trees, sugar-canes, and specimens of all the arts and 
 trades of Europe, were embarked in these ships, to try the climate 
 and soil, to tempt tlu; iidial)itants of the new realms, and to rob them 
 of the gold, pearls, perfumes, and s|)ices of India, in return for 
 worthless trifles frf)m I'jirope. It was the crusade of religion, war, 
 "ndustry, glory, and avidity ; for some, heaven ; for others, earth ; 
 for all, th(^ unknown and the marvellous. 
 
 Tlie most illustrious of the companions who embarked with Cohim- 
 Lus was Alonzo de Ojeda, formerly a page of Queen Isabella, and 
 Ihe handsomest, bravest, and most adventurous cavalier of her 
 court. His uiiud and body were so oveillowini; with courage, that 
 
 A.B.-23
 
 44 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 ho carried liis hardihood to tlie verge of madness. One day, when 
 Isabella had ascended the lofty tower called the Giralda of Seville, to 
 enjoy its wonderful height, and look down fron\ iis .summit on tho 
 streets and hotises of the town, appearing like an open ant-heap at 
 lier feet, he sprung on to a narrow beam which projected over the 
 rormce, and balancing himself on one foot at the end of it, executed 
 the most extraordinary feats of boldness and aclivity to amuse his 
 sovereign, without being in the least alarmed or dizzy at the fear of 
 imminent death. 
 
 ^ On the 23lh of September, 1493, the fleet left the Bay of Cadiz. 
 Shouts of joy from the shore aceompanied this second departure, 
 ■which seemed destined to a continued triumph. The two sous of 
 Columbus accompanied their father on board his tlag-ship. lie gave 
 them his blessing and left them in Spain, that at least the better half 
 of his existence might remain sheltered from the perils he was going 
 to encounter. His squadron consisted of three large ships, and four- 
 teen caravellas. The lleet discovered on the 2d of November the 
 island of Guadaloupe, and cruised among the Caribbee islands, to 
 which he gave names derived from his pious recollections ; and soon 
 afterward making the point of Ilispaniola, now called Ilayti, 
 Columbus set sail for the gulf where he had built the fort in which 
 ]ie had left his forty companions. Night concealed the shore from 
 Ins view, when, full both of hope and of anxiety, he cast anchor in 
 the roadstead, lie did not wait for dawn to announce his arrival to 
 the colony. A salute from his guns boomed over the waves to ac- 
 (piaint the Spaniards with his return ; but the cannon of the fort re- 
 mained silent, and this salute lo the New World was only answered 
 by the echo from the lonely cliffs. Next morning, with daybreak, 
 lie discovered the beach deserted, the fort destroyed, the guns half 
 buried under its ruins, the l)ones of the Spaniards bleaciiing on the 
 shore, and the village of the cacicpics abandoned by its inhabitants. 
 The few natives who appeared in the distance, at the edge of the 
 forest, seemed afraid to come near, asif they were withheld by a feel- 
 ing of remorse, or by the dreafl of revenge. The cacicpic, more con- 
 fident in his innocence and in the justice of Columbus, whom he had 
 learned to esteem, at length advanced, and related the crimes of the 
 Spaniards who had abused the hospitality of his subjects by oppress- 
 ing the natives, carrying off their wives and daughters, reducing 
 their hosts to .slavery, and, at length, rousing the hatred of the tribe. 
 After having slaughtered u great number of Indians and burned their 
 huts, they had themselves been killed. The ruined fort covering 
 their bones was the first monument of the contact of these two* 
 human races, one of which was bringing slavery and destruction on 
 the other. Columbus wept over tiie crimes of his companions and 
 the misfortunes of the cacnque. He resolved to seek another i)laco 
 to disembark and colonize the island. 
 The most beautiful among the young Indian girls captured from
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 45 
 
 the neif'liborinf isles, and kept prisoners in the ships, named Catalina, 
 had attnicted the attention of a cacique, who visited Ct)luml)us ou 
 board his ship. A plan of escape was arranged between the cacique 
 and the object of his love, by signs which the Europeans did not 
 understand The night that Columbus set sail, Catalina and her com- 
 panions foiling the watchfulness of their guards, sprang into the 
 water 'They swam, pursued in vain by the boats of the Europeans, 
 toward the shore, where the young cacique had lighted a hre to 
 suidc them The lovers, uuitt-d by this feat of skill and strength, 
 took shelter in the forests, and concealed themselves from the ven- 
 geance of the Europeans. 
 
 Columbus landed again on virgm soil, at some distance farther on, 
 and founded the town of Isabella. He established friendly relations 
 with the natives, built, cultivated, and governed the first European 
 colony the nucleus of so many others, and sent around detachments 
 to scour the plains and mountains of Ilispaniola. lie first enticed, 
 then attracted, and finally subjected, by mild and equitable laws, the 
 various tribes of this vast island. He built forts, and marked out 
 roads toward the different parts of the empire. He searched for 
 cold which ho discovered to be less abundant than he expected in 
 the-e re<'ions which he still took for India ; but he only found the 
 inexhaustible fertility of a rich land, and a people as easy to govern 
 as to subdue. lie sent back the greater part of his vessels to bpain, 
 to ask his sovereign for fresh supplies of men, animals, tools, plants, 
 and seeds, required by the immensity of the countries which he was 
 }roin<'- to win over to the customs, religion, and arts of Europe, liut 
 the 3isalTected. the jealous, and the envious were the first to rush 
 on board his Ueet, to raise murmurs, accusations, and calumnies 
 a"-ainst him. He liimself remaiued behind, afflicted with the gout 
 suflerin"- c.xcrucialiiur pain ; condemned to inactivity of body and 
 unceasin<r mental au.xiety, and harassed, in his rising colony, by the 
 rivalries, the seilitions, the plots, the disgraceful insubordination, and 
 the famine of his companions. , , ^ , 
 
 Always indulgent and noble-minded, Columbus triumphed, tnrougli 
 sheer force of character, over the turbulence of his countrymen and 
 the di.sobediencc of his lieutenants, and was satisfied with cinifining 
 the mutineers on board the vessels. On recovering from his long ill- 
 ness lie traversed the island with u picked body of men, seeking in 
 vain' for the gold mines of Solomon, but studying the natural histtny 
 andpeculiarili(!Sof the soil, and spreading, throughout his journey, 
 respect and affection for his name. 
 
 He found on his icturn to the colony, the same disorder, mutiny. 
 find vice. The Spaniards made a bad use of the superstition and lear 
 with wlii( h llicy and tiieir liorses inspired the natives. The Indians 
 took them for monstrous beings— horse and rider forming but one 
 rreat^ire -striking down, crushing, aiul i)Iasting with fire the ene- 
 mies of the Europeans. By the iMfluence of this dread, they BUb-
 
 46 cnnisTOPHEU columbus. 
 
 *luo(l. enslaved, viohilod, abused, and tortund this genllo and ohcdi- 
 ent race. Cohimbiis again inlcrl'ered to punish the tyranny of lii.s 
 companions, lie desired to bring the Indian tribes (he religion and 
 arts of Europe, not itsyoke, its vices, and its sins. After re eslabiish- 
 ing some sort of order, ho emharlced to visit the scarcely discovered 
 island of Cuba, lie reached it, ami sailed for a long time past its 
 shores, ^vithout discovering the extremity of the laud, wliicli he took 
 for a continent. He sailed from then(;e toward Jamaica, another 
 island of immense extent, whose mountain peaks he saAv among the 
 clouds. Then, crossing an archipelago, which lie called the Cardea 
 of the Queen, from the richness and sweet perfume of tlie vegetation 
 on its isles, lie returned to Cuba, and succeeded in establishing rela- 
 tions with the natives. The Indians looked on with respect at the 
 ceremonies of Christian worship which the Spaniards celebrated in a 
 recess among palm-trees by the shore. One of their old men came 
 up to Columbus, after the ceremony, and said, in a Bolenin tone, 
 " What thou hast done is well, for it appears to be thy Avorshij) of 
 the universal God. Tliey say that thou comest to these lands with 
 great might and power beyond all resistance. If that be so, hear 
 from me what our ancestors have told our fathers, who have repeated 
 it to ourselves. When the souls of men are separated by the divine 
 will from their bodies, they go, some to a country without sun and 
 without trees, others to a region of beauty and delight, according as 
 they have acted ill or well here below, by doing evil or good to their 
 fellows. If, therefore, thou art to die like us, Lave a care to do no 
 wrong to those who have never injured thee." 
 
 This discourse of the old Indian', related by Las Casas, showed (hat 
 they had a religion rivalling Christianity in the simplicity of its pre- 
 cepts and purity of its morality— either a mysterious emanation of 
 primitive nature untarnished by depravity and vice, or the traditioa 
 of an ancient civilization long since worn out and exliausted. 
 
 After a long and fatiguing voyage of discovery, Columbus re- 
 turned in a dying state to Ilispaniola. His fatigue and'anxiety, added to 
 suffering and to the approach of age, unfelt by his mind, hut weigh- 
 ing upon liis body, for a time triumiihed over his genius. His sailors 
 brought him back to Isabella insensible and exhausted. But Provi- 
 dence, which had never abandoned him, watched over him during 
 tljc abeyance of his faculties. On recovering from his 2ong uncon- 
 teciousncfs, lie found his beloved brother, Bartholomew Columbus, 
 sitting by Ids liedside. He had come from Europe to Ilispaniola, aa 
 though he had felt a presentiment of liis brother's danger and need. 
 Bartholomew was endowed with the strength of ihe faiuily, as Diego 
 liad the gentleness, and Christopher the genius. The vigor of hia 
 liody equalled the energy of his mind. Of athletic frame andiron 
 nerve, with robust health, a commanding aspect, and a powerful 
 voice, that could be heard above wind and waves ; a sailor from Ida 
 youth, u soldier and an adventurer all his life ; gifted by nature and
 
 CHKISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 47 
 
 bj' habit with the bolduess that secures obedience, and the integrity 
 which insures submission ; ns tit for comrauud as for contest ; he 
 was the verv man whom Columbus most wanted in the dangerous 
 extremity to whicli anarchy had reduced liis kingdom ; and more 
 than all this he was a brother imbued with as much respect as at- 
 tachment for the head and honor of his house. His near relationship 
 made Columbus certain of the fidelity of his lieutenant. The attach- 
 ment of the brothers to each other was the pledge of conhdence on 
 one side and submission on the other. Columbus, during the long 
 months throughout which exhausted nature compelled himself to in- 
 action and rest, trave up the government and authority to him, under 
 the title of Adelantado, or superintendent and vice-governor of tho 
 lands under his rule. Bartholomew, a severer administrator than 
 Christopher, commanded more respect, but raised more opposition 
 than his brother. . . 
 
 The rashness and treachery of the young Spanish warrior, Ojeda, 
 raised a war of despair between the Indians and the colony. Ihat 
 intrepid adventurer, having advanced with some horsemen into the 
 most distant and independent portions of the island; persuaded one 
 of the caciques to return with him to Isabella, with a great nuniber 
 of Indians to see the grandeur and wealth of the Europeans. I ho 
 caciuue was induced to follow him. After some days' march, when 
 Ihev halted on the bank of a river, Ojeda, practising on the simplicity 
 of the Indian chief, showed him a pair of handcuffs of polished steel, 
 whose brilliancy dazzled him. Ojeda told him that these irons were 
 bracelets, which the kings of Europe wore on grand days when they 
 met their subjects. Ilis host was induced to wear them, and to ricle 
 on horseback like a Spaniard, that his subjects might see him in this 
 pretended dress of the sovereigns of the Old World, ihe caciquo 
 had scarcely put on the haudcuITs, and mounted behind the cunning 
 Ojeda when the Spanish horsemen galloped oif with their prisoner, 
 crossed the i.sland, and brought him in chains to the colony, where 
 they kept him in the irons which his childish vanity had induced him 
 
 to put on. . , ■ c^ ( 
 
 A vast insurrection roused the Indians against this portirly ot 
 strangers, whom they had at first considered as guests, friends, bene- 
 factors, and gods. This insurrection brought down upon them tho 
 ven"-eance of the Spaniards. They rculuced the Indians to a state ot 
 slavery, and sent four vessels to Spain, loaded with these victims of 
 their avarice, to make an infamous trallic in human cattle ; thus 
 making up, by the price of slaves, for the gold which they expected 
 to pick up like dust, in countries where they found notlung Init 
 blood, the war degenerated into a man-hunt. Dogs brought from 
 Europe and trained to this chase in the forests, tracking down, 
 throttling, and worrying the natives, assisted the Spaniards m this 
 inhuman devastation of the country. 
 
 Columbus, at length recovered from his long illness, on rc-assuming
 
 48 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 the reins of Kovcrnmonl. was himself drawn into the wars which had 
 broken out ilurin- his illness. He became a warrior and then a 
 neaecmaker. after liis sailor's life, lie gamed some decisive battles 
 over the Indians, oblii^ed them to submit to the yoke which gentle- 
 ness and policy made easy, and merely subjected them to a small 
 tribute of -old and the fruits of their country, rather as a token of 
 alliance tlitm of slavery. The island again nourished under his 
 moderation ; but the unhappy and confiding cacique, Guacanagari 
 who had been the first to receive the strangers, ashamed and vexed 
 even to despair at having been the involuntary accomphce of his 
 country's ruin, fled into the innaccessible mountams of the interior 
 anddiecl there a freeman, rather than live a slave under the laws ot 
 those who had taken a shameful advantage of his kindness _ 
 
 During the sickness of Columbus and the troubles in the island, 
 his enemies at court had injured him in the favor of lerdinand. 
 Isabella more firm in her admiration of this great man, tried in vain 
 to interpose her protection. The court sent to Ilispaniola a magis- 
 trate invested with secret powers, authorizing him to take intorma- 
 tions concerning alleged crimes of the viceroy, and to dispossess him 
 ot- his authority and send him back to Europe, if the accusations 
 ^vere confirmed. This partial judge, named Aguado arrived at IIis- 
 paniola, while the viceroy was at the head ot the troops la the in- 
 terior of the island, employed in pacifying and managing the coun- 
 trv Foro-etting the gratitude which he owed Columbus, as the first 
 cau^e of his wealth, Aguado, even before collecting information, 
 declared Columbus guilty, and provisionally deprived him of his 
 sovereign authority. Surrounded and applauded on landing by he 
 nialcontents of the colony, he ordered Columbus to come to Isabella. 
 Se Spanish capital, and to acknowledge his authority Columbus, 
 BurroSnded by his friends and his devoted soldiery, might easily bavo 
 refused obedienc-e to the insolent commands of a subordinate. He. 
 however bowed before the mere name of his sovereign went unarmed 
 to Aguado, and giving up all his authority, allowed him o carry on 
 he ilfamous trial to which his calumniators had sub.iected him. 
 
 But at the very moment when his fortune was thus waning before 
 pefsecution, it bJstowed on him the favor of all others the most suro 
 ?o reconcile him with the court. One of his young ofiicers, named 
 Miguel Dias, having killed one of his companions in a duel fled 
 away for fear of chastisement, into one of the back parts of the 
 island. The tribe that inhabited that district wa^ governed by the wid- 
 ow of a cacique, a young Indian of great beauty. , She became deeply 
 enamoured of the Spanish fugitive, and married him. Bt Dias, 
 thou-h loved and presented with a crown by the object of his atlec- 
 tion "could not fortret his country, or conceal the sadness which his 
 exile threw over hun. His wife, questioning him as to the cause ot 
 his melancholy, was informed that gold was the passion of tho 
 Bpaniards, and that they would come and live witli him in that coun-
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 49 
 
 try if ttey could hope to find the precious metal. The young Indian, 
 overjoyed at having the means of retaining the man she loved, ac- 
 quainted him with the existence of inexhaustible mines hidden 
 amou"- the mountains. Havius learned this secret, and being cerlam 
 that ifwould procure his pardon, Dlas hastened to inform Columbus 
 of the discovery of this treasure. The brother of the viceroy, Bai- 
 tholomew, went off with Dias and an armed escort to verify the dis- 
 covery, in a few days they reached a valley in which a stream 
 rolled down gold-dust among its sand, and where the rocks m the 
 bed of the river were covered with shining particles of the metal. 
 Columbus established a fort in the neigliborhood, worked and en- 
 ]ar"-ed mines opened long before, and collected immeuse wealth tor 
 his°soverei"-ns, becoming more and more convinced that he bad dis- 
 covered the fabulous laud of Ophir. Dias, grateful and true to the 
 voung Indian to whom he owed his pardon, his fortune, and his hap- 
 piness, had his marriage witli her blessed by the priests ol his own 
 faith, and governed her tribe in peace. 
 
 After this discovery Columbus yielded without hesitation to tiie 
 orders of Aeuado, and embarked with his judge for Spain. He 
 arrived, after a voyage of eight months, more like a criminal led tf) 
 execution than a c^onqiieror returning with trophies. Calumny 
 incredulity, and reproach met him at Cadiz. Spain, wiiich expected 
 wonders, saw nothing come back from the land of its dreams but 
 broken adventurers, accusers, and naked slaves. The unfortunate 
 cacique, still cunlined in the fetters of Ojeda, and taken over as a 
 living trophy for Ferdinand and Isabella, died at sea, cursing his 
 confidence in the Europuans and their treachery. 
 
 Columbus, adapting his dress to the .sadness and misery of his situ- 
 ation, went to Burt,ms, where the court then was, in a Franciscan's 
 dress! "^vith nothing'over it but a cord for a girdle ; his head bowed 
 down with years, care, and affliction ; white-liaired and barefooted. 
 He represented (xenius kneeling to Glory for pardon. Isabella alonu 
 received him with kind comi)assion, and persisted in giving credit to 
 hi.s virtue and his services. This constant though secret favor of the 
 queen sustained the admiral against the detractions and calumnies 
 of the court. He proposed new voyages and vaster di.scoveric-s. 
 They con.sented to trust him with more vessels, but they made liim 
 waste, by systematic delays, the few years for which his ath-aiice.l 
 age left him strength. Tin; pious Isabella, wbili; granting Columl)US 
 fresh titles and powers, stipulated, on bcliaU" of the Indians, for con- 
 ditions of liberty anrl humanity far in advance of the ideas of her 
 time. Tlie instinct of a woman's heart condemned that slavery 
 which religion and pbilosopliy could not abolish until four huiuired 
 yciars later. At length Columbus was aequittcd, and again allowed 
 to eml)ark and set sail for his new country ; but hatred and envy fol- 
 lowed him even on board I li(! vessel on wbieh he hoisted his Hag as 
 Admiral of the Ocean. Brcviesca, the treaauror of the patriarch of
 
 50 CIIRISTOPIIKR COLUMBUS. 
 
 tlio Indies, iind Fonsoca, llie enemy of Columbus, outrageously- 
 abused !lie admiral just as he was lieaving anchor. CJolumhiis, who 
 u:iiil then had been restrained by his own strengUi of cliaracter, his 
 nalienee, and bis feeHug of the greatness of Jus mission, now, for 
 tiie lirsl time, gave vent to his vvratii. At this last insult of his ene- 
 mies lie at length gave way to human passion, and striking witli all 
 ilhe vigor of his spirit and all tlie strength of his arm, redoubled by 
 anger, at h'B vile persecutor, he felled him to the deck, and trampled 
 liim under loot in his scorn. Such was llie farewell to the jealousy 
 of Europe of him who seemed too great or too fortunate for a mor- 
 tal. Tbi'j sudden vengeance of the admiral raised a new cause of 
 hatred >« the heart of Fonseca, and gave his enemies a new point of 
 attack. The wind which sprung up carried him out of the reach of 
 the io'jults, and out of sight of the shore, of his country. 
 
 In diis voyage he changed his course, and reached the island of 
 Trifiidad, wiiicL he named. lie rounded this island, and coasted the 
 Irv.e shore of the American continent, near the mouth of the Orinoco. 
 Tiio freshness of the sea- water which he tasted in this neighborhood 
 <" uglit to have convinced him that a river which poured a sufficient 
 ' lood upon the ocean to freshen its waves could onl}' come from the 
 )osom of a continent. Helaud(;d, however, on this coast without sus- 
 pecting that it was the shore of the unknown world. lie found it 
 ieserted and silent as a land waiting for inhabitants. A distant 
 :o!umn of smoke rising over its vast forests, an abandoned hut, and 
 i'lme traces of bare feet on the .snud, were all that he beheld of 
 iVmerica. He did but plant his footstep there, and pass a single night 
 mdir the sail which served him for a tent ; but even this short land- 
 \ng ougiit to have been sufficient to bequeath his name to the new 
 Lemisphcre. 
 
 lie quitted the Gulf of Paria, and after a laborious survey of these 
 5eas, revisited the coasts of llispaniola. His afflictions of mind and 
 body, ins long delay in Spain, the ingratitude of his fellow-country- 
 men, the coldness of Ferdinand, the hatred of his ministers, his want 
 Df sleep during his voyages, and the infirinities of age, had alTected 
 iiim more than fatigue. His eyes were inllamed from want of rest 
 and from gazing upon maps and stars ; his limbs, stillened and 
 achinsr with the gout, could scarcely support him. Ilis mind alone 
 ivas vigorous ; ;uul his genius, piercing into the future, carried him 
 in thought beyond his sufferings and beyond his time. Bartholomew 
 Columbus, his brother, who had continued to govern the colony dur- 
 ing his al)sencc, was again his consolation and succor. lie came to 
 meet the atimiral as soon as his scouts signalled a sail in sight. 
 
 Bartholomew related to his brother the vicissitudes of the colony dur- 
 iiu: his absence. lie had scarcely finished the exploration and subjuga- 
 tion of the country, when the disorders of the [Spaniards and the 
 conspirar:ies of his own lieutenants undid the clfects of his wisdom 
 and energy. A superintendent of the colony, named Roldan, popu-
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, 53 
 
 lar and cmuinr. got together a party among tho sa.lors and adven- 
 tiirer« the refuse of Spain, thrown off by tlie mother country upon the 
 colony He estabUshed himself with them on the opposite shore oi 
 San Domin"-o and leagued atraiust Bartholomew, with the caciques 
 of the neh'-hborimr tribes. He built or captured forts, in which he 
 defied the'' authority of his legitimate chief. The Indians, seeing 
 these divisions among their tyrants, took advantage of them t;) rise 
 in insurrection, and to refuse the tribute. The new settlement wa.H 
 in complete anarchy. The heroism of Bartholomew alone retained 
 some fragments of power in his hands. Ojeda freighted vessels on 
 his own account for Spain ; he cruised ami made a descent on the 
 southern shore of the island, and leagued himself with lio dan. i hen 
 Roldan betrayed Ojeda, and ranged himself again under the authority 
 of the o-overnor. During these disturbances of the colony, a young 
 Spaniard of remarkableljeauty, Don Fernando de Guerara, won the 
 love of the daughter of Anacoana, tlie widow of the cacique whom 
 Oieda had sent to Spain, but who died on the voyage. Anacoana 
 herself was still young, and celebrated among the tribes ot the 
 island for her incomparable beauty, her natural genius, and her poet- 
 ical talent, which made her the adored Sibyl of her countrymen 
 Notwithstanding the misfortunes of her husband, she entertained 
 a great admiration and an unconquerable predilection for the 
 Spaniards The numerous tribes which she and her brother gov- 
 erned afforded a safe asvlum to these strangers. She extended to 
 them hospitality, money, and protection in their disgrace. Her sub- 
 jects, more civilized than the other Indian tribes, lived m peace, rich 
 and happy under her government. .,,,., i 
 
 Koldan who ruled over that part of the island which was under 
 the beautiful Anacoana, became jealous of the sojourn and influence 
 of Fernando de Guerara at the court of this princess. He forbade 
 him to marry her daughter, aud ordered him to embark. Fernando, 
 influenced bv love, refused to obey, and conspired against Roldati, 
 but wa.s surprised and taken prisoner by Koldan's soldiery in the 
 liouse of Anacoana, and sent to Isabella to be tried. An expedition 
 left tiie capital of the colony nnd(;r i)retence of surveying the island, 
 and was received with great kindness in Anacoana's capital. The. 
 pcrfirlious chief of this expedition, abusing tlic confidence and hos- 
 pitality of this (lueeu, liad induced her to invite thirty caciques from 
 the south of the island to see the festivities she was preparing for the 
 Spaniards. Tlie Spaniards, during the dances and fea.sts that they 
 Htteiided arranged to lire tlie housi;, and kill thtiir generous liostess, 
 witli her' family, her guests, and her people. They persuaded Ana- 
 coana, her daughter, and the lliirty caeicpies, to sei; Iroin their bal- 
 cony the evolutions of their horse, and asliam figiit among i\w. cav- 
 Aiiers of their escort. The cavalry suddenly fell upon the unarmed 
 nopulace that curiosity had collected in the square ; they sabred 
 lliem and rode them down under the horse*' feet ; then, throwing a
 
 52 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 body (jf infantry round tlic pulacc, to prevent tlie escape of the 
 queen and her guests, they tired the huildinir, still containing the re- 
 mains of the feast at wliich they had themselves been seated ; and 
 bolicld. with a cruelty only equalled by tluur ingratitude, the beauti- 
 fnl and unhappy Anacoana, forced back into her palace, expire 
 among the Humes, hnprecating upon her nunderers the vengeance 
 of her gods. 
 
 Tins crime against hospitality, innocence, roj'alty, beauty, and 
 genius, of which Anacoana was the tyjx? among the "Indians, threw 
 tlie island into a horror and commotion, which Columbus, with all 
 his policy and all his virtue, was for a long while unable to subdue. 
 The tlames of the palace, and the blood of this ([ueen, whose dazzling 
 beauty and national poetry tilled her people with affection and en- 
 thusiasm, roused the oppressed against the oppressors : the island 
 became a field of carnage, a prison", and a grave, to the unhappy In- 
 dians. The Spaniards, as fanatical in their proselytism as they were 
 barbarous in their avarice, now entered in Ilispaniola upon the career 
 of crime and cruelty which was shortly afterward to depopulate 
 Mexico. The embrace of the two races was fatal to the weakest. 
 
 While Columbus was trying to separate and pacify these different 
 portions of the population. King Ferdinand, iuformed by his enemies 
 of tlK? misfortunes of the island, imputed them to the governor. 
 Columbus had asked the court to send him a magistrate of high 
 rank, whose decision might command the respect "of his undisci- 
 plined companions. The court sent him Bobadilla, a man of unim- 
 peachable morality, but fanatical, and of excessive pride. The ill- 
 detined pov/er with which the royal decree had invested him, while it 
 made him a subordinate officer, raised him at the same time above all 
 autliority. On arriving at Ilispaniola. prejudiced against the admi- 
 lal.^he summoned him to appear before him asaprisoner, and, having 
 had chains brought, ordered the soldiers to confine their generab 
 The soldiers, accustomed to respect and love their chief wliom age 
 and glory had made more venerable in their eyes, refused, and re- 
 mained still, as if they liad been desired to commit a sacrilege. But 
 Columbus himself, holding out his hands to receive the chains his 
 king had sent him, allowed himself to be fettered by one of his own 
 domestics — a volunteer executioner, a vile ruffian in his own pay 
 and household service — called Espinosa, and whose name Las Casas 
 has preserved as the type of servile insolence and ingratitude. 
 
 Columbus himself ordered his two brothers, Bartholomew and 
 Diego, who still commanded the army in the interior, to submit with- 
 out resistance and without a murmur to his judge. He was shut 
 up in the dungeon of Fort I.sabclla for several months, while the in- 
 formations were being taken for his trial, in which his rebellious sub- 
 jects and all his enemies, now liis accu.sers and jury, vied with each 
 other in charging him with the most absurd and most hateful impu- 
 tations. Au obicct of public scoru and detestation, he heard iroiv
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 53 
 
 his piison the savage jests and boasts of his persecutors, who assem- 
 bled roimd him every eveaiug to iusiilt his misfortunes, lie ex. 
 pected hourly to see the order tor his execution. But Bobadilla did 
 not venture upon this last crime. He ordered the admiral to be 
 banished the colony and sent to Spam, there to meet the justice or 
 mercy of tlie king. Alonzo de Villejo was appointed to guard him 
 during the passag^ — a man of honor, obedient from a sense of mili- 
 tary duty ; but, though obedient, disgusted at his orders and merci. 
 ful to his prisoner. Columbus, seeing him enter his dungeon, did 
 not doubt that his last hour had come. His innocence and prayer 
 had prepared him to meet death. Human nature, however, made 
 him feel some anxiety. " Where are you going to take me ?" said ho 
 to the officer, with an inquiring look as well as tone. " To the ves- 
 selin which you are to embark, my lord," said Villejo. " To em, 
 bark?" said Columbus, hesitating to believe in this message, which 
 
 No, 
 
 igis 
 and 
 
 placed him on board, loaded with irons, and'pursued by the hooting 
 of a vile populace. 
 
 The vessel had hardlv set sail, "when Villejo and Andreas Martin, 
 commanders of the ship which had become the floating dungeon of 
 their chief, respectfully addressed him, at the head of the crew, and 
 desired to take off his irons. Columbus, to wdiom these fetters were 
 both a sign of obedience to Isabella and a sjTnbol of the wickedness 
 of men, from which he suffered in body, but at which he rejoiced in 
 mind, thanked them, but obstinately refused to take off his gyves. 
 "No," said he, " mv sovereigns have written to me to submit to 
 Bobadilla. It is in their names that I have been put in these irons, 
 ■which I will wear until they themselves order them to be removed ; 
 and I will afterward preserve them," he added, with an allusion to 
 his services and innocence, " as a reminiscence of the reward bestowed 
 by men upon my labors." 
 
 His son and Las Casas both relate that Columbus faithfully kept this 
 promise ; that he always had his cliains iiung up in his sight wher- 
 ever he lived ; and that in his will he ordered them to be placed with 
 him in his coffin ; as if he had desired to appeal to God against tlia 
 injustice and ingnititude of his contemporaries, and to take with him 
 to heaven a material proof of the wickedness and cruelty with which 
 he had been treated on earth. 
 
 But party hatred did not cross the ocean. Tiie spoliation, the im. 
 prisonracnt, and the fetters of Columbu.s roused the pity and tlie in- 
 dignation of tiie people of Cadiz. Wlicri they saw the old man who 
 had i)rcscntcd a new empire to their country— himself l)rought back 
 from that empire as a vile mi.screant, and repaid for liis services with 
 disgra'-e—all cxc;laim<;d against Bobadilla. Isabella, who was then 
 at Granada, shed tears over this indignity ; and commanded that Ids
 
 S-i CIIRISTOI'HKU columhur. 
 
 fetters should be rh.anged for ricli robes and liis jailers for an escort 
 of lioiior. Slic si'iu for him to Gninada : lie fell at her feel, and sobs 
 of tli;ink fulness for some time interruptyd his speech. The king and 
 queen did not even deign to examine the accusations which were laid 
 to his charge, lie was acquitted as nnuh in consequence of their re- 
 spect us of Ills own meiits. Tlu-y kept the admiral some time at their 
 court, and .sent out another governor, named Ovando, to replace 
 Bobadilla. Ovando had tlie principles which make a man honest, 
 rather than the virtues whicli produce generosity of character. He 
 was one of those with whom everything is narrow, even to their 
 sense of duty, and in whom honesty seems rather to have arisen from 
 contracted scruples than from a feeling of honor. Least of all was he 
 fitted to understand and leplace a great man. He was oidered by 
 Isabella to protect the Indians, ana was forbidden to sell them as 
 slaves. The 'share in the le venue, guaranteed by treaty to Columbus, 
 was to be remitted to him in Spain, as well as the treasures of which 
 he had been deprived by Bobadilla. A fleet of thirty sail escorted th» 
 new governor to Ilispaniola. 
 
 Columbus, unaffected by old age, and recruited from his sufferings, 
 was impatient of rest and even of the honois of tlie whole countrj'. 
 Vasco de Gama had just discovered the road to India by the Cape of 
 Good Hope. The world was full of admiration at this discoverv of 
 the Portuguese mariner. A noble spirit of rivalry occupied the inind 
 of the Genoese navigator. Convinced of the circularity of the earth, 
 bethought to reach the prolongation of the eastern continent by 
 sailing on a straight course westward, and he solicited of the Spanish 
 Court the command of a lourth exijcdition. He tmbaiked at Cadiz, on 
 the 19th of i\lay, in02, for the last time, accompanied by hisbrrrther 
 Bartholomew Columbus, and his son Fernando, liien fcurtctn years of 
 age. His squadron consisted of four small vessels adapted for cruis- 
 ing on the coast, and exploring without danger the gulfs and estuaries 
 which he wished to examine. His crews only musteicd 150 strong. 
 Although nearly seventy, his vigorous old age had, from his mental 
 energj', resisted the waste of years : neither his severe illnesses nor 
 the approach of death could turn him aside from Ids puipose. 
 Man,'' he would say, "is an iustiument that must work until it 
 breaks in the hands of Providence, which uses it for its own pur- 
 poses. As long as the body is able, the .spirit must be willing." 
 
 He had intended to touch at Ilispaniola to refit, and had authority 
 from the court to do so. He cross(;d the ocean in stormy weather, 
 and arrived off Ilispaniola with broken masts and torn s-ails, short of 
 water and provision.s. His nautical experience made him foresee a 
 hurricane more terrible than he Jiad yet encounter( d. He sent a boat 
 to ask Ovando's leave to take slielter'in the roads of Isabella. Aware 
 of the impending danger, Ccdumbus, in his letter, warned Ovando to 
 delay the departuie of a numerous convoy ready to start from Ilis- 
 paniola for Spain, laden with all the treasures of the New World.
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 55 
 
 Ovando mercilessly refused Columbus a brief refuge ic the very port 
 that he himself hi^d discovered. He bore away iadignantl}^ aud seek- 
 ing a shelter under the remotest cliffs of the island beyond the juris, 
 diction of Ovaudo, waited for the tempest that he had foretold. It 
 destroyed the governor's whole fleet, with all its treasures, and cost 
 the lives of lOJO Spimiards. Columbus felt its effects even in this 
 distant roadstead, in which he had taken shelter. He sighed over 
 the misfortunes of his countrymen, and, leaving this inliospilablo 
 island, revisited Jamaica, aud at length landed on the continent in 
 the Bay of Honduras. He encountered sixty days of continued tem- 
 pest, buffeted about from caps to cape and isle to isle, ou the un- 
 known shore of that America whose conquest the elements seemed 
 to dispute with him. He lost one of his vessels, and the tifty men 
 who compoied its crew, at the mouth of a river which he named 
 Desastro. 
 
 As the sea seemed resolutely to obstruct the road to the Indies, 
 which he always had in his mind, he cast anchor between the con- 
 tinent and a charming island. He was visited by the Indians, aud 
 kept seven of them on board with him, in order that he might learn 
 their language and obtain intelligence. He cruised with them along 
 a shore where the natives had gold and pearls in abundance. At the 
 beginning of the year lol)4, he ascended the river Veragua, and sent 
 his brother Bartholomew, at the head of sixty Spaniards, to visit the 
 villages on its banks, and search for gold mines. He found nothing 
 but forests and naked savages. The "admiral quitted this river, and 
 sailed up another of which the banks were peopled by Indians, wlio 
 exclranged gold witli his crews for the commonest trifles of Europe. 
 He thonglit lie had attained the object of his hopes. He had reached 
 the climax of his misfortunes. War broke out between this handful 
 of Europeans and the numerous population of these shores. Bartho- 
 lomew Columbus struck down with his own hand the mn.st powerful 
 and most dreaded cacique of the Indians, and made him prisoner. 
 A village wliich the companions of Columbus had built on the coast 
 to establish a trade with the interior, was s\n-pris«d and burned by the 
 natives. Eight Spaniards, pierced by arrows, perished under the 
 ruins of their cabins. Bartholomew rallied the boldest of his com- 
 pany, and drove back the savages into their forest ; but the blood 
 that had been shed increased the mutual hatred of the races, and the 
 Indian canoes in great force attacked a boat from the squadron, which 
 was trying to pull fartJier up tiie river. All the Europeans on board 
 were massacred. During tliis sanguinary struggle, Columbus, who 
 was confined to his ship by his boflily infirmities and sickness, kept 
 the cacique and tlie Indian clii('fs prisoners on board the vessel. 
 These chief:;, being made acquainted witli the wasting of tlieir ter- 
 ritories ami the ca[)ture of tlicir \viv(;s, tried to escapi- dwrimr a dark 
 night liy lifting up IJic hatcii that covered their lloatiiig dunKCou. 
 The crew, aroused by the noiBC, drove them down below, and (ttst-
 
 5o CIIKISTOPIIER COLUMBUS. 
 
 ened Uie scuttle with an iron bar. The next day, when tho Kcnttlc 
 ■was opened to give tlieni food, tiiey were all found dead. They had 
 all killed one another in despair, to escape slavery. 
 
 Columbus was shortly afterward separated by the breakers fronr: 
 Lis brother Bartholomew, who had remained ashore with the remain- 
 der of the expedition, and his only means of communieation was 
 owing to the courage of one of the olheeis, who swam to and fro 
 across the surf, with news that became worse and worse every day. 
 He could not leave liis companions, or abandon them in their mis- 
 fortunes. Anxiety, sickness, hunger— the prospect of a shipwreck 
 without relief, and unwitnessed, on the much -desired but fatal con- 
 tinent—were warring in his breast with his heroic constancy an<l 
 pious submission to the commands of God, of whom he felt that lie 
 was at once the messenger and the victim. lie thus described tho 
 state of his mind during his vigils : " I was tired, and had fallen 
 asleep, when a sad and piteous voice spoke these words to me, 
 ' Weak man, slow to believe and to serve thy God, the God of the 
 universe ! How otherwise did God unto Moses and David liis ser- 
 vants ? From the time of thy ])irth, he has had great care of thee. 
 As soon as thou rcachedst man's estate, he made thy obscure name 
 wonderfully known throughout the world ; he gave thee possession 
 of the Indies, the favored part of his creation ; he let thee tind the 
 key of the gates of the unmeasiued ocean, until then an impassable 
 barrier. Turn thee toward him and bless his mercies to thee ; and 
 if there is yet a great enterprise to be accomplished, thy age will be 
 no obstacle to his designs. Was not Abraham more than a liuudred 
 years of age when he begat Isaac, or was fSarah young? Who 
 caused thy present afflictions, God or the world ? The promises he 
 made thee he hath never broken. He never told thee, after thou 
 hadst done his l)idding, that thou hadst not understood his orders. 
 He renders all that he owes, yea, and more besides. What thou 
 Bufferest to-day is thy payment for the labor and danger thou hast 
 undergone for other masters. Fear nothing, therefore ; take courage 
 even in thy despair. All thy tribulations are engraven on marble, 
 and not without reason, for surely will they be accomplished ; ' and 
 the voice which had spoken to me left me full of consolation and of 
 courage." 
 
 A ciiange of season at length brought about a change of weather, 
 and the two brothers, so long separated, again met on board. They 
 sailed slowly toward Ilispaniola. One of the three remainin.^ car- 
 avels foundered from utter decay as they neared the shore, lie had 
 now only two crazy old vessels for himself and his three crews. Ilis 
 companions, depressed in spirits, without provisions and without 
 Btrength, his anchors lost, his vessels leaky, and all their planks 
 worm-eaten and completely honeycombed, tlie pitiless storms driv- 
 ing him b.'ick from Hispaniola toward Jamaica, he had just time to 
 run his water-logged vessels aground upon the sand of an unknown
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 57 
 
 Srui^ ci.w\e nS siluatiouof a shipwrecked 
 
 '^KrldhnV^uSed^^y'thf^Su'wreck and the singular .fortres. 
 
 The Indians, auracicu "i '■'^ hpnph pxchan^-ed pro%'ision3 for 
 
 built by the .strangers up.,n ^^^n^^^^ch ex^^^°-^^e^^i.^ ^^^ 
 
 worthless objects, to ^\bich ^^^J^' ;\>;''f. ^ „„„rpe and fear for the 
 months passed away, provisions ^^f;f"^^S scarce ana ic ^^^^ 
 
 future and the seditious murinurs^of ')^J^'^'^l^ ^^'^ ^^ ,,fetyleft 
 anxiety in the Jf '^^,!^^, ^^^J^^m'T^^^^^^^ of IlispTniola, Lcquainted with 
 
 SiSw^^^suS^^^ 
 
 panions upon such a long ^^f ^| P^^ %7,%^Slendez a young officer 
 
 msmmi 
 
 mains an txpcrimmt to Ije Ir^ will vmi be tl.at onet" . Mcuilcz 
 dealU in .1,0 endeavor »£« ^ver^J ti, >°s ri*cS" y Wc tor my 
 ?5r£os/l/nt'"^£t e™ ..... an^^^^ 
 
 tbcm » ""ll'Ti''''^, ';\Sal «d as He Sez dcsire.l. All llie erew 
 liff. to Insp • but I am ready to risk it in jour strvici., au i 
 
 »'iiiiUp°S^n;s'y»^^ 
 
 favorite olhccrs, Diego and l^;"^^';'^^" . ^^ ^^,° nri ncipal command 
 
 =\?^,s "Te;:^;^;f »rr3H iin. n..„^
 
 58 cTiuisTopnnn columbus. 
 
 of "Castile! CasUle !" and abus-ed and insulted the admiral. Co- 
 lumbus, whose iliuess made him helpless, and who could scarcely 
 raise his hands to heaven to pray, iu vain begged of tiiem to return 
 to their duly. They despised alike his entreaties and his orders 
 They reproached him wiih his age, his wliite hairs, his personal 
 Bufferings, and even raised tlieir weapons against him. Bartholo- 
 mew Columbus seized his lance and rushed between the mutineers 
 and the admiral, who was supported iu the arms of his servants. 
 
 , Assisted by a part of the crew, he succeeded in saving the life and 
 
 i maiutaming the authority of his brother on board the vessels. The 
 two Porras and fifty of their accomplices quitted the ships, ravaged 
 the country, raised the enmity of the n itives by their excesses and 
 tried unsuccessfully to build vessels to enable them to reach Ili'spa- 
 niola— an attempt in which part of them perished. They then came 
 Lack and attacked Columbus and their fellow-countrymen on board 
 the ships, but were repulsed by the stalwart arm of Bartholomew 
 who killed their chief, Fiancesco Porras; and the remainder at 
 length submitted to their du*y, begging Columbus to forgive their 
 ingratitude and their rebellion. 
 
 Meanwhile the messenger of Columbus in his frail bark, guided by 
 Providence across the waste of waters, had at length been thrown, a 
 remnant of a distant wreck, upon the rocks of Ilispanlola. Guided 
 across the island by the natives, he had succeeded, after endless 
 fatigue and dangers, iu reaching the 'governor Ovando. He gave 
 him the admiral's nies.sage, and added to the interest of his mission 
 by the pity which liis account of the desperate situation of Columbus 
 and his companions ought to have inspired in his countrymen. But, 
 whether from incredulity, or indolence, or a secret hope of effecting 
 the ruin of a rival too great for his presence not to be embarrassing, 
 the Spanish authorities of ITispaniola allowed, under various preten- 
 ces, days, and even months, to pass. Then they sent, as it were un- 
 willingly, a small vessel, commanded by Escobar, merely to recon- 
 noitre the position of the shipwrecked vessels without landing on 
 the coast or speaking with the crews. This vessel had appeared at a 
 distance one night to Columbus and his sailors, and again disap- 
 peared from their eyes so mysteriously, that their superstition had 
 made thenx take it for a phantom-sliip, which came to mock their 
 
 ,' hopes or to announce their death. 
 
 Ovando at length made up his mind to send ships to the admiral, 
 to rescue him from sedition, famine, and death. After a sixteea 
 
 I months' shipwreck, the admiral, overcome with age and infirmities, 
 increased by his misfortunes, revisited, for a short season, the island 
 which he had made an (anpire, and from which jealousy and ingrati- 
 tude had driven him. He remained for sonic inoiiihs in the house of 
 tiie governor, well received in appearance, but deprived of all influ- 
 ence in the government, seeing his enemies in favor, and his friends 
 banished or perbecutcd for tlieir tidelity to him • grieving over the
 
 CIIiaSTOPnER COLUMBUS. 50 
 
 ruin and slavery of the land which he had found a garden, and now 
 left a grave to his beloved Indians. His own property contiscated, 
 his revenues plundered, his estates depopulated or wasted, exposed 
 him in his old a^-^e t-o poverty, want, and sickness. He, and his son 
 and brother, witli a few servants, were at length put on board a ves- 
 sel bound for Europe, and a continued tempest swept him on 
 through storm after stoi-m to San Lucar, where he disembarked on 
 the 7th of November. He was thence removed to Seville, where he 
 arrived broken down in health, in a dying state, but unsubdued in 
 spirit, unconquerable in will, and still full of hope for the future. 
 
 The possessor of so many islands and continents had not where to 
 lay his head. " If I want to eat or to sleep, ' ' he writes to his son, "I 
 must knock at the door of an inn, and oftentimes I have not the money 
 to pay for a mejil or a bed." His misfortunes and his poverty were 
 less burdensome to him than the iiiisery of his companions and ser- 
 vants, whom his expectations bad induced to follow his fortunes, 
 and who reproached him v.ith their want. He wrote to the king 
 and queen on their behalf. Bui the ungrateful Porras, a defeated 
 rebel, who owed his life V, the magnanimity of Columbus, had pre- 
 ceded him at court, and prejudiced Ferdinand against his benefac- 
 tor. "I have served your Majesty," Columbus Avrote to the king 
 ami queen, "with as' much zeal and constancy as I would have 
 worked for the hope of heaven, and if I have fai'icd in anything, it 
 is because my .'^kill or power could not reach it. " 
 
 He relied with reason on the justice and favor of his protectress 
 Isabella, hut this support of his cause was also about to fail him. 
 Domestic misfortune had reached her also ; she was languishmg, in- 
 consolable for her favorite daughter's death. AVhile dying, she 
 wrote in her will this evidence of her humility in her exalted station, 
 and of constant love for the husband to whom she wished to remain 
 united even in death : " I desire that my body be buried in the Al- 
 hambra of Granada, in a grave level with the ground and trodden 
 down, and tiiat my name be engraved on a Hat tombstone. But if 
 my lord the king chooses a burial-place in some other temple, or in 
 some other part of our dominions, then I desire that my body be ex, 
 humed, and removed, and buried by the side of his, in order tliat tlio 
 union of our bodies in the grave may signify and attest the union of 
 our hearts during our lives, and I hope, by the mercy of God, tho 
 union of our souls in heaven." 
 
 On iiearing of the death of his benefactress, Columbus wrote to 
 Diego in these words : " O my son, let tiiis serve to teach you wluU 
 is now your duty. The first thing is to recommend the soul of out 
 sovereign lady i)iously and alfectionately to Goil. She was so good 
 and so lioly, that we may feel suie of her eternal glory, and of her 
 being now shelteicd in llie btisom of God from the cares and tribvda- 
 tionsTof tiiis world. The second iliing lliat I liavc to desire is, that 
 you will wulch uad lahoi- with all your might for the king's service;
 
 GU CHHl.ST(Jl'ni;U CULLTMBUS. 
 
 he is Uie chief of Christendom. Rcineml)o:', with rcijard to hltn, 
 that when the head suffers, all the liniljs feel it. All the world ought 
 to pra}' for the peace and preservation of his life, but especially we 
 who are his servants." 
 
 Such were Columbus's feelings of gra'itudc and fidelity, even at 
 the height of his disappointments. But the death of Isabella affected 
 not only his fortunes, but his life. Obliged to stop at Seville, for 
 ■want of means and by increasing infirmities, his only comforters wero 
 his brother Bartholomew and his second son Fernando. This son, 
 now sixteen years of age, exhibited all the serious qualities of middle 
 life, with all the graces of youth. "Love him as a brother," Co- 
 lumbus writes to his eldest sou Diego, then at court ; " you have no 
 other. Ten brothers would not be too many for you. I never had 
 better friends than my brothers." Ho desired Bartholomew to take 
 the youth to court, and commend him to the care of his legitimate 
 son, Diego. Bartholomew started with Fernando for Segovia, where 
 the court then resided. He in vain solicited attention and justice for 
 Columbus. When the approach of spring made the air more genial, 
 Columbus, accompanied by his brotlier and his sons, set out himself 
 for Segovia. His presence was troublesome to the king, and his 
 poverty was felt as a reproach. The judgment on his conduct, and 
 the quefition of restoring his property, were referred to courts of con- 
 science, which, without venturing to deny his rights, wore out his 
 patience by delay. They were at tlie same time wearing out his life. 
 His mental anxiety, and his sense of tlie poverly in which he was 
 likely to leav<! his brothers and sons, added to hi's bodily sufferings. 
 From his sick-bed he wrote to the liing : "Your Majesty does not 
 think fit to keep the promises which I liave received from you, and 
 from the queen, who is now in glory. To struggle with your will 
 would be wrestling with the wind. I have done my duty. May 
 God, who has always been good to me, accomplish what remains, ac- 
 cording to his divine justice !" 
 
 He felt that life, arid not Ids firmness, was about to fail him. His 
 brother Bartholomew and his son Diego had gone by his order to 
 petition the Queen Juana, Isabella's daughter, wbo -was returning 
 from Flanders to Castile. Physical sufferings and mental anguish ; 
 the feeling that his days, of which too few remained to leave him a 
 hope of seeing justice done, were drawing to a close ; the triumpl]( 
 of his enemies at court, the contempt of the courtiers, tlie coldness 
 of the prince, the approach of death, the loneliness in which he was 
 left in a forgetful or ungrateful town by the absence of his brotlier 
 and sons ; the remembrance of a life of which one half was spent iu 
 waiting for the advent of a great destiny, and the other half in brood- 
 ing over the uselcssness of genius : doubtless, also, i)ity for the inno- 
 cent and hajipy race of Indians, wlujin he had found free and infan- 
 tile in their garden of delight, and whom he left slaves, despoiled and 
 outraged, iu the hands of their oppressors ; his brothers without su^*-
 
 CHRISTOPnER COLUMBUS. 61 
 
 port, and his sons wilhout inbcritance ; doubts as to the judgment of 
 posterity on his fame ; the ajiony of guniiis misunderstood— all 
 these afflictions of his limbs, body, soul, and mind— of the past, the 
 present, and the future— united in weighintr upon the spirit of the 
 old man in his lone chamber in Segovia, duiiug the absence of his 
 brothers and his sons. He asked one of his servants— the old and last 
 remainino- companion of his voyages, his glory, and his misfor- 
 tunes— to bring to his bedside a little breviary, a gift made him by 
 Pope Alexander the Sixth, at the time when sovereigns treated him 
 as a sovereign. He wrote his will, with a weak hand, on a page of 
 this book, to which h.'. attributed the virtue of divine consecration. 
 
 Stran-i-e sight for his poor servant I An old man abandoned by tho 
 world, and dying on a pauper's bed in a hired chamber at Segovia, 
 distributing, i'n his will, seas, hemispheres, islands, continents, na- 
 tions, and empires ! He appointed, as his principal heir, his legiti- 
 mate .son Diego ; in case of his dying without issue, his rights were 
 to pass to his natural brother, the young Fernando ; and lastly, if 
 Fernando also died without leaving children, the inheritance passed 
 to his uncle, Don Bartholomew, and his descendants. "I pray my 
 sovereio-ns and their successors," he continued, " to maintain forever 
 my wishes in the distribution of my rights, my goods, and my 
 charges— for I, a native of Genoa, came to Castile to serve them, and 
 have" discovered in the far West the continent and the isles of In- 
 (iia ! ... My son is to inherit my otHce of admiral of the seas 
 to the westward of aline drawu from one pole to the other ! . . _." 
 Passing from this to the distribution of the revenue guaranteed to him 
 by his" treaty with Isabella and Ferdinand, the old man divided, 
 with liber.ality and wisdom, the millions which Avere to accrue to his 
 familv, between his sons and his brother Bartholomew. He assigned 
 one fourth to this brother, and two millions a year to Fernando, his 
 second son. He remembered the mother of this child, Donna Bea- 
 trice Enriquez, whom he had never married, and with whose aban- 
 donment during his long wanderings on the ocean his conscience re- 
 proached him. He charged his heir to make a liberal pension to her 
 who had been the companion of his days of obscurity, when he was 
 struggling at Toledo, against the hartfships of his former lot. He 
 even seemed toaccu.se himself of some ingratitude or neglect toward 
 this his second love, for he appends to the legacy on her behalf these 
 words, which must have hung heavy on his dying hand— " and let 
 tills be done for the relief of my conscience, for her name and recol- 
 lection are a heavy load upon my soul." 
 
 Then, reverting to that first country which the adoption of .another 
 can never cfTace from remembrance, he called to mind tin; cily of 
 Genoa, in which time had swept away all his father's hinisi". but 
 where he .still inul some distant relatives, like the roots which re- 
 main in the ground when the trunk is hewn down. " I command 
 Diego, my son," he writes. " always to maintain in the city of Geu«i
 
 G3 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
 
 a nirnibor of our family, who may reside there with liis ■wife, and to 
 Bccure him im hmioriblo suslcuancc, such as befits a relative of 
 ours. I desire that this relative mti^' retain his domicile, and the cit- 
 izenship of that city ; for there was 1 boin, and thence did 1 come." 
 
 " Let my son, "he adds, with that chlvahons seulimeuL of his 
 own vassalai:e and allegiance to the sovereign, which at that time 
 constituted almo.st a second religion — " let my son serve, in remem- 
 brance of me, the king and ((ucen and their successors, even to the 
 loss of the goods of this life, since, after God, it wfis they who fur- 
 nished me with the means of making my discoveries." 
 
 " It is ver3' true," he goes on to say, with an involuntary bitter- 
 ness of expression, like an ill repressed feeling of injury, " that I 
 came from afar to make tiie offer, and that muc:h time elapsed before 
 any one would believe in the gift 1 brought their ^Majesties ; but this 
 was natural ; for it was for all the world a mystery which could not 
 fail to excite unbelief ! Wherefore I must share the glory with these 
 sovereigns who were the first to put faith in me." 
 
 Columbus's thoughts next i everted to God, whom he had always 
 looked upon as his onh' true suzerain, as ff he had been the immedi- 
 ate vassal of that Providence, wliose instrument and minister above 
 all others he felt himself to be. Resignation and enthusiasm, the 
 two mainsprings of his life, did not fail him in the hour of death. 
 He humbled himself beneath the hand of nature, and was exalted by 
 the hand of God, whona he had always held in sight through all his 
 triumphs and reverses, and of whom he had a nearer view at the 
 moment of his departure from earth. He was full of repentance for 
 Ids faults, and of hope in his double immortality. A poet in his 
 heart, as may be seen in his discourses and writings, he took from 
 the sacred poetry of the psalms the last yearnings of his soul, and the 
 last utterance of his lips. He pronounced in Latin his last farewell 
 to this world, and yielded up aloud ids soul to the Creator. A ser- 
 vant satisfied with his work, and dismissed from the visible world, 
 which his labors had extended, he departed for the invisible world, 
 to take pos.session of the immeasurable expanse of the infinite uni- 
 verse. 
 
 The envy and ingratitude of his age ajid of his king vanished with 
 the la«t breath of the great man whom they had made their victim. 
 His contemporaries seemed anxious to make amends to tiie dead for 
 the persecutions they had inflicted on the living. They gave Colum- 
 bus a ro3'al funeral. His body, and afterward that of his son, after 
 having successivelj' occupied several monuments in various Spanish 
 cathedrals, were removed and buried, according to their wishes, in 
 Hispaniola, as conquerors in the land they had won. They now rest 
 in Cuba. But, by a lingular dc'ci«i(in of i*rovidence or an ungratefid 
 caprice of man, of all the lands of America which disputed the honor 
 of retaining his ashes, not one retained his name. 
 
 All the characteristics of the truly great man arc united in Colum-
 
 CHRI6T0PHEK COLUMBUS. 63 
 
 bus. Gema?, labor, patience, obscurity of origin, overcome by en- 
 ergy of will ; inilil but persisting firmness, resignation toward Hea- 
 ven, struggle against the world ; long conception of the idea in soli- 
 tude, lierorc execution of it in action ; intrepidity and coolness in 
 storms, fearlessness of death in civil strife ; confidence in the dt s- 
 tiny — not of an individual, but of the human race — a life risked w ith- 
 out hesitation or retrospect in venturing into the unknown and phan- 
 tom-peopled ocean, 15U0 leagues across, and on which the first step 
 no more allowed of second thoughts than Caesar's passage of the 
 Rubicon ! — untiring stud}', knowledge as extensive as the science of 
 his day, skilful but honoiable management of couits to persuade 
 them to truth ; propriety of demeanor, nobleness and dignity in out- 
 ward bearing, which affords proof of gieatness of mind, and altiacts 
 e3'esand hearts ; language adapted to "the grandeur of his Ihoughts ; 
 eloqiience which could convince kmgs, and quell the mutiny of his 
 crews ; a natural poetry of style, which placed his narrative on a par 
 ■with the wonders of his discoveries and the marvels of nature ; an 
 immense, ardent, aud enduring love for the human race, piercing 
 even into that distant future in which humanity forgets these that 
 do it service ; legislative wisdom aud philosophic mildness in the 
 government of his colonies ; paternal compassion for those Indians, 
 infants of humanitv, whom he wished to give over to the guardian- 
 ship—not to the tyranny and oppression— of the Old World ; forget- 
 fulness of injury, anirninguanimous forgiveness of his enemies; 
 and, lastlv, piety, that virtue wiiich includes and exalts all other vir- 
 tues, when it exists as it did in the mind of Columbus— the constant 
 presence of God in the soul, of justice in the conscience, of mercy iu 
 thehcart, of gratitude in success, of resignation in reverses, of worship 
 alwavs and everywhere. 
 
 Such was Ihe man. "We know of none more perfect. He con- 
 tained several impersonations within himself. He was worthy to rep- 
 resent the ancient world before that unknown continent on which 
 he was the first to set foot, and to carry to these men of a new race 
 all the virtues, without any of the vices, of the elder hemisphere. 
 His influence on civilization was immeasurable. He completed the 
 •world; he realized the physical imityof the globe. He advanced, 
 far beyond- all that had been done before his time, the work of God— 
 the sriuiTUAL CNFTV OK THK in.MAN HACK. Tliis work, in which 
 Columbus had so largely assisted, wius indeed too great to be wor- 
 thily rewarded even by affixing his name to the fourth continent. 
 America bears not that name ; l)ut the liuman race, drawn together 
 and cemented by him, will spread his renown over the face of the 
 whole earth. 
 
 TUK axD.
 
 VITTORIA GOLONNA. 
 
 (1490-1547.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Changes in th* Condition of Italy.— Dark Days.— Circnrngtatices which led to the 
 Invasion of the French.— State of things in Naples.- Fall of the Arragoncse 
 Dynasty.— Birth of Vitioria.- The Colonna.— Marino. — Vittoria'a Betrothal. —The 
 Ducheaa di Francavilla.— Literary Culture at Naples.— Education of Viitoria in 
 Ischia. 
 
 TiTE signs of change, ■wliicli were perplexing monarchs at the 
 period of Vittoria Colouna's entry on the scene, belonged simply to the 
 material order of thing.s ; and such broad outline of them a.s is nec- 
 es.sary to give some idea of the general position of Italy at that day 
 mjiy i)e drawn in few words. 
 
 Certain more important symptoms of changes in the world of 
 thought and speculation did not rise to the surface of society till u 
 few years later, and these Avill have to be spoken of in a subsequent 
 page. 
 
 When Galeazzo IMaria Sforza, Duke of Milan, was murdered in 
 1476, his son, Gian Galeazzo, a minor, succeeded to the dukedom. 
 But his uncle Ludovico, known in history as " Ludovico il Moro," 
 under pretence of protecting his nephew, usurped the whole power 
 and property of the crown, which he continued wrongfully to keep 
 in his own hands, even after the majority of his nephew. The latter, 
 however, having married a grand-daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon, 
 King of Naples, her father, Aiphonso, heir apparent of that crown, 
 became exceedingly discontented at the state of tutelage in which his 
 son-in-law was thus held. And his remonstrances and threats be-' 
 came .so urgent that " Black Ludovjck" perceived that lie should be 
 imal)le to retain his usur|)ed position unless he could find means of 
 disabling Ferdinand and his son Aiphonso from exerting their 
 strength against him. With ibis view lie persuaded Charles VIII. of 
 France to imderluke with his aid the coniiuest of the kingdom of 
 Naples, to which the French monarch a.sseited a claim, derived from 
 the hotjse of Atijou, which had reigned in Naples till they were 
 ousted by thehoii.se f)f Arr:ig<i?i. 'j'liis invitatirjii. which the Italian 
 bulorinus consider the lirst fotmluia head ut all their calaiuitiea, wua
 
 4 VITTOKIA COLON N.V. 
 
 trivcn in 1493. On the 2:k\ of August. 14!)'l, Cliarlcs left France on 
 ills march to Italy, and arrived in Home on the yist of December of 
 that year. 
 
 On the previous 25th of January, Ferdinaiul, llie old King of Na- 
 ples, died, and his son Alphonso succeeded him. But the new 
 monarch, who during the latter years of his lather's life had wielded 
 the whole power of the kingdom, was so much hated by his subjects 
 that, on the news of the French king's approach, they rose in rebel- 
 lion and declared in favor of the invader. Alphonso made no at- 
 tempt to face the storm, but forthwith abdicated in favor of his son 
 Ferdinand, lied to Sicily, and " set about serving God," as the chroni- 
 clers phrase it, in a monastery, where he died a few months later, ou 
 the 19th of November, 1495. 
 
 Ferdinand II., his son, was not disliked by the nation ; and Guic- 
 ciardiiu gives it as his opinion that if the abdication of his father in 
 his favor had been executed eailicr it might have had the effect of 
 saving the kingdom from falling into the hands of tiie French mon- 
 arch. But it was now too late. A large portion of it had already 
 declared itself in favor of the invaders. "Ferdinand found the contest 
 hopeless, and early in 1495 retired to Ischia. Charles entered Naples 
 the 21st of February, 1495, and the whole kingdom hastened to ac- 
 cept him as its sovereign. 
 
 JMeautime. however, Ludovico. Duke of Milan, whose oppressed 
 nephew had died on the 22d of October, 1494, began to be alarmed 
 at the too complete success of his own policy, and entered into a 
 league with the Venetian?!, the King of the Komans, and Ferdinand 
 of Castile, against Charles, who seems to have immediately become 
 as nmch panic-stricken at the news of it as Alphonso had been at his 
 approach. The French, moreover, both the monarch and his fol- 
 lowers, had lost no time in making themselves so odious to the Nea- 
 politans that the nation had already repented of having abandoned 
 Ferdinand so readily, and were an.\ious to get rid of the French and 
 receive him hack again. Towards the end of ISIay, 1495, Charles 
 hastily left Naples on his return to France, leaving Gilbert de Mont- 
 pensier as Viceroy ; and on the 7th of July Ferdinand returned to 
 Naples, and was gladly welcomed by the people. 
 
 And now, having thus the good-will of his subjects, already dis- 
 gusted Avith their French rulers, Ferdinand might in all probability 
 have succeeded without any foreign assi.stanee in ridding his country 
 of the remaining French troops feft behind him by Charles, and in 
 re-establishing the dynasty of Arragon on the throne of Naples, had 
 he not, at the time when things looked worst with him, on the first 
 coming of Charles, committed tlic fatal error of asking assistance 
 I'rom Ferdinand the Catholic, of Caslile. 
 
 Ferdinand th(! Catholic and the crafty, did not wait to be asked a 
 second time ; but in.stantly dispatched io his aid Consalvo Ernandez 
 d'Aguilar, known therea'fter in Neapolitan hi.story as " II gran
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 5 
 
 Capitano," both on account of his rank as Generalissimo of llie Span- 
 ish forces, and of his high military merit and success. Ferdinand of 
 iVrmgon, with the help of Consalvo and the troops he brought with 
 him, soon succeeded in driving liie French out of liis kingdom ; and 
 appeared to be on tlie eve of a more prosperous period, when a sud- 
 den illness put an end to his life, in October, 14i)G. He died without 
 offspring, and was succeeded by' his uncle Frederick. 
 
 Thus, as the Xeapolitau historians remark, Naples had passed un- 
 der the sway of no less than live mouarchs in the space of three 
 years, to wit : 
 
 Ferdinand of Arragon, the first, who died the 2oth of January, 
 1494. 
 
 Alphonso, his son, who abdicated on the od of February, 1495. 
 
 Charles of France, crowned at Naples on the 20th of May, 1195, 
 and driven out of the kingdom immediately afterwards. 
 
 Ferdinand of Arragon, "ll., son of Alphonso. wlio entered Naples 
 in triumph on the 7th of July, 1495, and died in October, 149G. 
 
 Frederick of Arragon, his uncle, who succeeded him. 
 
 But these so rapid changes had not exiiausted the slides of For- 
 tune's magic lantern. She had other hailcquinade transformations 
 in hand, suffieient to make even Naples tired of change and desirous 
 of repose. Fiedericli, the last, and perhaps the best, and best-loved 
 of the Neapolitan sovereigns of the dynasty of Arragon, resigned but 
 to witness the linul discomfiture and downfall of his house. 
 
 Charles VIII. died in April, lli)3: but his successor, Louis XII., 
 wa.s equally anxious to possess himself of tlie crown of Naples, and 
 more ahlc to carry his viesvs into cllect. Tlie principal obstacle to 
 his doing so was llic power of Ferdinand of Spain, an(i the presence 
 of the Spani-ii troops under Consalvo of Naples. Ferdiuimd tlie 
 Catholic could by no means permit the spoliation of his kinsman and 
 ally, Frederick, who loyally relied on his protection for the profit of 
 the King of France. Louis knew that it was impos.sible he should do 
 8o. But the Most Ciiristian King thought thnt the jMost Catholic 
 King miglit very prol)ably find it consistent with kingly honor to 
 take a diiferent view of the case, if it were proposed to him to go 
 shares in the plunder. And tlie ]\[f)st Christian King's estimate of 
 royal nature was so just that the Most Catholic King acceded in the 
 frankest manner to his royal brother's proposal. 
 
 Louis accordingly sent an arm}' t;) invade Naples in the year 1500. 
 Tlie unfortunate Frederick was beguiled the while into thinking that 
 his full trust might be placed on llu; assistance of Spain. But when, 
 on tlie 25lh of June, 1501, the Borgia Pf)pe, Alexander Yif., pub- 
 li.shed a bidl graciously dividing his dominions b!;l\veen the two eld- 
 est .sons of the church, he jxTceivul at once that his jjosilion av:!s 
 hop(;lcs.s. Resolving, however, not to abandon liis kingdom without 
 milking an allempt to preserve it, ho determined lo defend himself iii 
 Capua. That city was, however, taken by the French on the 24lh of
 
 " VITTOlilA COLONNA. 
 
 for the nonce dnrin- he nonedon nf Vlf ^^ Vl.^^'f"'' <1>™ '» Power 
 ihc life of Cateri.nlsfoiv^^ TW , .'^ ^"^ ^X' ^'"' '^'^'^^ '"^'^ted iu 
 
 m^^com" ! " t Srivr/i^' ""', '^"'' !'«''""■ -><' "y fef <»» 
 
 of llic prinre-toXfrT^R ,,',';"' ''""'?'' '" '*""''" ">" expense 
 llic Priiie ss^ mnyT.i ; ■> '"' "'" «'<:--'si»" of liis mnrringi, Willi 
 
 completed the numl)f.r rVf .i,';! i , K '""f'^) Jnfreased and 
 
 dauiliter of FrJJer d Duke :^^^^ ^^^'^ «f MontefeJtre, 
 
 band. " lie adds in -1 nofP -^ i ■ ^ '""''' ^'/"^ Presented to ],er hus- 
 
 ^ ^c;!n^;^\,t^^^l F^an j!;;s;i^let?::^?^^ ^^^ ^^^ --' 
 
 • ^ '" "n^t. i.cd Ijy this discrepancy to examine far- 
 
 • Storia di Nap., lib. i. cap. 1. ~ ' 
 
 was" leS'^c!"'"'' *"• ''^'' "' «^'«"^ "« '^ l^'othcr of Ascanio ; adding that ho
 
 YITTORIA COLOXXA. 7 
 
 ther the accuracy of Yisconti's statement, I found that Agnes di 
 Montefeltre was born in 1472 ; and was, consequently, eighteen years 
 old at the tune of Viltoria's birth. It became clear, therefore, that 
 it M^as exceedingly iniprobaljle, not to say impossible, that he should 
 have had five children previously. But I found farther, that Freder- 
 ick, the eldest son. and always hitherto said to have been the eldest 
 child of Agnes, died, according to the testimony of his tombstone,* 
 still existing in the Church of Santa Maria di Pallazzola, in the year 
 151G, being then in his nineteenth year. He was, therefore, born in 
 1497 or 1498, and must have been seven or eight years younger than 
 Vittoria ; who must, it should seem, have been the eldest, and not 
 the youngest, of her parents' children. 
 
 It can scaicely hs necessary to tell even the most exclusively Eng- 
 lish reader how ancient, how noble, how magnificent, was tho 
 princely house of Colonna. They were so noble that their lawless 
 violence, freebooting habits, private wars, and clan enmities, rendered 
 them a scourge to their country ; and for several centuries contrib- 
 uted largely to the mass of anarchy and barbarism, that rendered 
 Rome one of the most insecure places of abode in Europe, and still 
 taints the instincts of its populace with characteristics which make 
 it one of the least civilizable races of Italy. The Orsini being equally 
 noble, and equally poweiful and lawless, the high-bied mastiffs of 
 cither princely house for more than two hundred years, with short 
 respites of ill-kept truce, never lost an opportunity of fiying at each 
 other's throats, to the infinite annoyance and injury of their less no- 
 ble and more peaceably-disposed fellow -citizens. 
 
 Though the possessions of the Colonna clan had before been wide- 
 spread and extensive, they received consideral)le additions during the 
 Papacy of the Cjlonn:^ pope, Martin V., great uncle of Fabrizio, 
 Vittoria's father, who occupied tlie Papal chair from 1417 to 14:31. 
 At the period of our heroine's birth the family property was im- 
 mense. 
 
 Very many were the fiefs held by the Colonna in the immediate 
 neighborhood of the city, and especially among the hills to the east 
 ua(I south-east of the Campagna. There several of the strongest 
 positions, and most delightfully situated towns and castles, be- 
 longed to them. 
 
 Among the more important of these was Marino, admirably, 
 placed among the lulls that surround the lovely lake of Albano. 
 
 Few excursionists among the storied sites in the environs of Rome 
 make Marino the object of a pilgrimage. The town ha;) a bad name 
 in these days. The Colonna vassals who inhabit it, and still pay to 
 th(! feudariord a tribute, recently ruled by the Roman trit)unals to 
 l)e due (a suit liaving been instituted by tiie inh:il)itanl.* w'\h a view 
 of shaking off this old mark of vassalage), are said to Ite eminent 
 
 • CoppI, Mem. Col., p. 2C9.
 
 VITTOlilA COLONNA. 
 
 be able to assure a eSu utensdv F..n /^""^ '^"'i '^^ '^''-'^^ ^^^"''^ 
 that lie is iu error in suDnolS'Mft.f^' biographer of Vittcria 
 liave so entirely pedshS and li<fn^^^^ j"'"^ ^"''^^'^ ^^ ^^^"^o 
 even is now unknown '* forgotten ibat the site of Ihem 
 
 ern'^zed'lnr a\T;;'rHndt?nf n!n.V"T,"^'^ '^^" ^^'^^^^^^ -^ --^ 
 110 sniall injury ofLoutwrd J^> fteenth-century residence, to the 
 torical point oTi^ew 1^ ./^^ ' -l^''^ '" ^' picturesque and his- 
 of the nol.ly proponioned o cT 1 X '^' T''''''' "^^^-"ged several 
 when mighty revels in the rn-.b ^'^^ '''''■^ P^'*"""* «* '» ti"ie 
 more uomial cSiou of H. n I -f ' ""^ ^'''f ' ^°^ ^^^^^^'^^^ ^" ^J»o 
 bv the l.uil l< , \ ^ warfare, were the object held in view 
 
 ftronS easn;^ icfeLld '^^^^^ "n"""'"'" P'^^^'"'" ^« extremely 
 
 Fathc^r to be adn^iill ad 'nte^^^^ government of the Holy 
 
 potism, a prison fo po]^S3 of^^nde s ^'tZ Tf ^^ " ^'f P"'.^*^^" 
 ■were invited to sell it tn t ,„ o+ ♦ ^ ^^^^ Colounas, ihtrefore, 
 
 them ^n Un • ' ^ °P^'"^ ^'^ *be matter could be peimitted 
 
 ancSntmemorirthS hadtn "^^'^ ''''\^'' transfe?afleT/"he 
 fortress in tTe bourse of StSes '^ ''"""^ '^' '^^"°^"- "^«""^^'" 
 
 unusu^lV'U'on "ed'neael'" n' ''"' "'^'■°'. ^'^ =^ '^'' P^"'«d of most 
 from amS eh nuS^^^^^^ ,";!;, P^-'f f , ^'="l.;<;l^'-ctcd. we are told, 
 
 tlu.t\VtoSuKve'bSt"eir^^rt'ch^^^^^ ''"'""''= ^"'^« ^'-° above, to show
 
 YITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 9 
 
 and driven off a £?reat quantity of cattle,* had been followed by a 
 peace made under "the auspices of Innocent VIII. on the 11th of Au- 
 gust 148C which seems absolutely to have lasted till U94, when we 
 find the two cousins at open Avar with the new Pope Alexander VI. 
 
 Far more important contests, however, were at hand, the progress 
 of which led to the youthful daua;hter of the house bemg treated, 
 while vet in her fifth vear, as part of the family capital to be made 
 use of "'for the advancement of the family mterests, and thus fixed 
 the destiny of her life. 
 
 When Charles YIII. passed through Rome on his march against 
 N'lples at the end of 1494, the Colonna cousins sided with him ; 
 placed themselves under his banners, and contributed materially to 
 aid his successful invasion. But on his flight from Naples, in 1490, 
 they suddenly changed sides, and took service under Ferdinand 11. 
 The fact of this change of party, Avhich to our ideas seems to require 
 so much explanation, probably appeared to their contemporaries a 
 perfectly simple matter ; for it is mentioned as such without any 
 word of the motives or causes of it. Perhaps they merely sought to 
 sever themselves from a losing game. Possibly, as we find them re- 
 warded for their adherence to the King of Naples by the grant of a 
 great number of fiefs previously possessed by the Orsini, who were 
 on the other side, they were induced to change their allegiance by 
 the hope of obtainiug those possessions, and by the Colonna instinct 
 of enmity to the Orsini race. Ferdinand, however, was naturally 
 anxious to have some better hold over his new friends than that 
 furnished by their own oaths of fealty ; and with this vi&w caused 
 tiie infant Vittoria to be betrothed to his subject, Ferdiuaml 
 d'Avalos, son of Alphonso, Marquis of Pescara, a child of about the 
 same age as the little bride. _ 
 
 Little, as it must appear to our modern notions, as the cUiia s 
 future happiness could have been cared for in the stipulation of a 
 contract entered into from such motives, it so turned out that noth- 
 ing could have more effectually secured it. To Vittoria's parents, if 
 any doubts on such a point had presented themselves to their 
 minds, it would doubtless have appeared abundantly suflicient to 
 know that the rank and position of ihe affianced bridegroom were 
 such as to secure their daughter one of the highest places among the 
 nobility of tiie court of Naples, and the enjoyment of vast and wide- 
 spread possessions. But to Vittoria herself all this would not have 
 been enough. And the earliest and most important advantage arising 
 to her from her befrotiial was the bringing her under the inllucnce 
 of tliat training, which made her such a woman as coulil not lind 
 lier iiai)pine.s.s in such matters. 
 
 We are told that hencefortli— that is, after the betrothal— .she was 
 educated, together with her future husband, in the island of Ischia, 
 
 ♦ Coppl. Mem, Col., p. 298.
 
 ^^ VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 five, years old. then quite recently L ?otl.e( to v1uor , l^u ^.H ''"' 
 d. Fraucavilla assumed the entire a^!S.n ^T^h^'J^'^'Z 
 
 truhtworthmess m every wav that nn tl.r. fio.,n. ^* i i*-'^; ■ 
 King Ferdinand made her governor am '' chatehino'' ^'^''t^^V'"'""^' 
 o the most important keys^f the kingdom'' Nir^^^re' J,' II?; alJd 
 qualities only such as were calculated" to lit her fm- ifoliin^ si'ch a 
 
 ./•^. 1 •' co'it^™Porary, Caterina Sforza, would have" made a 
 tanJf rf )''^'^'''^?-'' ''»' P^"^^'°t' ^« '^••''^v;. ancl energetic as Cos 
 
 Tntti. . ^'^ Neapo htaa lady was something more thfn thff 
 
 en h4Sd ; ^" ^^'""-^^^ Naples dlmng the 
 
 olfu^ I ■'J^''"^ l''.^'' ^^''"••^ «^' literature and patrons of earninT 
 
 Sndipo """/-'I ""i"'" ^'^"^"* P"'"^ P'-"''«l^'y n^ore tempeied by those 
 
 cftroa;e;';^r'tTlS[y "^^ "^'"^^ ^^"^ "'^"--' ^^- ^^-^^X 
 
 he protectress and friend to her youthfu^l sisto-in S T^ie Sns" 
 lantat.on mdeed, of the infant Colonna from her nat ve feuda cas" 
 tie to the Duchessa di Francavilla's home in Ischia was a chane-e to 
 complete and so favorable that it may he fairly supposed tharSith 
 om u the young Roman girl would L have g^^owKTo th"wo^n,^a 
 
 n Sr^ ''^i ^\']^^'c ^,^^"°0' little calculated, as it will be supposed such 
 a stronghold of the ever turbulent Colonna was at anyTime ?o xffor 
 the means and opportunity for intellectual culture, becTme si ort 
 
 h iv unK'offir 1 '^"'"'•'^ ''''T'r' '' '''' 1-ir of the irlvS^, 
 \\ iioii\ unl t to otter her even a sale home. Whether it continued in 
 
 u'vu^'t'ln "' ^^V' ^''^''" J'<--'- iHisband Fabriiio was Stm' 
 Iw'x^i ?^'''-T'^'T'''^"■^''^""^l'-''^ the care of the Duch?ssa dl 
 1 1 ancavi la m Lschia. has not been recorded. But we find that w-hcu 
 Fabnziohad deserted the French king, and ranged hTmselfoSuio
 
 VITTORIA COLONN'A. H 
 
 cMPof Ferdinand of -Naples, he >s'as fully aware of the danger to 
 fh oh hTscaSes would b^ exposed at the ^^^^^ f ,^«/!,?.^ts To 
 r« tl.Pv ivissed throu'--h Home on their Avay to or from ^aples. lo 
 movicfe^aAfnst thLsIxe had essayed -to place them m safety by con- 
 P^, f m as a dj^it in tru^t to the Sa^ ^- P^ 
 
 S'';aiTf"of 'so^ 0? he etta^^ refused to permit 
 
 Sfs oSerin-tliatThey should, instead, be delivered into his keeping. 
 On thiVbdn- refused he ordered Marino to be levelled to the ground. 
 '?nd lu cdm^ni wd tes.t that the Colonna, having placed gam- 
 mons in AmeUd aU Roc'Ja di Papa, two other of Jbe famjy strong 
 holds, abandoned all the rest of the possessions '^the Roman btates 
 It seems probable, therefore, that Agnes accompan ed her husband 
 andTu-hter to Naples. Subsequently the same historian relate | 
 ?hat Marino was burned by order of Clement VH. m 1526. So tha 
 it must be supposed that the order of Alexander for its utter ae 
 fltruction in 1501 was not wholly carried into execution. 
 
 The kin-dom and city of Naples was during this time by no 
 means without a large sfiare of the turmoil and -f f^ca t dunn ' 
 vexine every part of Italy. Yet whosoever had his lot cast am m.., 
 Se years elsewhere than in Rome was in some degree fortunate. 
 Andclnsidering the general state of the peninsula, and her own so- 
 cial no" Uion and connections, Vittoria may be deemed very particu- 
 Sy^so to h;;e found a safe retreat and an admirably governed 
 home or; he rock of Ischia. In after-life we find her clinging to it 
 wirtenaciorallection, and dedicating more t^an one son.et o 
 the remembrances wliich made it sacred to her. And though in lier 
 widowhood her memory naturally most fequeny recurs o the 
 hanpv years of her married life there, the remote little ^^^'^'''}^^^-\^ 
 leSa strong claim upon her afEections as the 1'"";;=. "^ ^'^.^f ^^^^^^^^^ 
 For to the years there passed under the care ot her noble sistti n 
 law Costanza d'Avaloi, she owed the possibility that the daughter 
 of a Roman chieftain wiio passed his life in Y^^P^^j^^^^'!';^ 
 hanierl himself, and in acquiring as a " condottiere captain tlie rep- 
 u a ion of one of the first soldiers of his day, could become eituer 
 morally or intellectually the woman Vittoria Colonna became. 
 
 r^pi.Mem.Col.,p243. .^ , ..... t Book v. chap. ii. 
 ^^ \ Uook xvil. chaps, ni. and iv.
 
 ^^ VITTORIA COLONK-A. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 n' is ia iuu .."fn ^^'^"''^ '"in^lprfent playmate, and incS 
 xiife. as m suture, so m every grace both of mind and bodv Ti.,. 
 young Pescara seems also to lave profited byXe golden onnortu^^^^ 
 
 cneuuiei A taste for literature, and especially for noesv wis fl.nn 
 
 of ?ec\'iS'°;bS; r""""^' «»« ^»°^Pa^ion of his studies and bours 
 «ii ^^^f'^^'^OQ-.V.^^''''""'-''" "^oodwas doubtless modilied • and with 
 
 fore&'imellad 'f^^^T^ '' ^'"' ^^-'-^^ -tural enough 'bat^c! 
 lore me ume had come for consummat ng the infant betrotb'il fl,r> 
 
 b" lovfmTch %^^%^'r'''''' '''" f ^"S«^^ i'elf inlo'a'v 'r^ 
 
 side and vSori.? l.''^^'''? 'T^' ^° ^''" '^^''^'^ ^^"'^l O" ^iH"-^- 
 blue ana Nittoria, if we are to believe the concurrent testimonv of 
 
 tifu! ^.n ?' '^'''!? '"^.^ literateurs of her day, must have been Se^au 
 
 portrait? o?'b;.^''l''^^ '"^ "" "'^',""''^ ^^^^^^- The most au then l^ 
 «n^,..i t / ^'^ '^""'^ preserved in the Colonna gallery at liome 
 supposed to be a copy by Girolamo Muziano, fronf an o^i.^ n. n c' 
 
 iiomS: u!^' ^'''f °^ ^'''^^''' ""'^- I^ i^ ^ '^^=^>'lif"I face f the tn'c' 
 lioman type, perfectly regular, of exceeding purily of outline^ .[nd 
 perhaps a little he.,vy about the lower pail of l\L face But tie 
 
 Sur'eu1rom'an?'i!;;L^^f' r' ''\' -P-'^b' developed fo^dlead 
 The fu nes. of n?P^ ^11"^='^^; ^^"^'^^ '"i expression of sensualism 
 fo or,^ ■ ■ ^''' '•'^ °"'y sulhcient to ndicate that sensitiveness 
 
 to and appreciation o f beauty, which constitutes an cSnilaT de!
 
 VITTORIA COLuNITA. 
 
 13 
 
 mcnt iu the poetical temperament. The hair is of that bright golden 
 tint that Titian loved so well to paint ; and its beauty has been espe- 
 cially recorded bv more than one of her contemporaries. The poet 
 Galeazzo da Tarsia, who professed himself, after the fasluon of the 
 time, her most fervent admirer and devoted slave, recurs in many 
 passages of his poems to those fascinating chiome d oro ; as 
 l»ere he sings, with more enthusiasm than taste, ot the 
 
 ."Trccce cVor, che in gli nlti giri, ^^ 
 
 Non c che' uuqua pareggi o sole o Stella ; 
 
 or again where he tells us that the sun and his lady-love appeared 
 " Ambi con chiome d'or hicide e terse." 
 
 But the testimony of graver writers, lay and clerical, is not waut- 
 inc to induce us tQ-beheve that Vittoria, in her prime, really mi^ht 
 be considered " the most beautiful woman of her day, with more 
 truth than that hackneyed phrase often conveys. So when at length 
 the Colonna seniors, and the Duchessa di Francavilla thought that 
 the fittin"- moment had arrived for carrying into effect the long- 
 gtandin'- "engagement— which was not till loOO, when the promessi 
 tposi wire both in their nineteenth year— tlie young couple were 
 thoroughly in love with each other, and went to the altar with every 
 prospect of wedded happiness. , , , . • thi„ 
 
 But durin"- these (luiet years of study and development in little 
 rock-bound tschia, the world witliout was anything but quiet, as the 
 outline of Neapolitan history in the last chapter sufficiently indi- 
 cates • and Fabrizio Colonna was ever in tlie thick of the contusion. 
 As long as the Aragonese monarchs kept up the struggle, lie fought 
 for them upon the losing side ; but when, after the retreat of Fred- 
 erick the last of them, the contest was between the French and tlie 
 Spaniards, he cliose tlie latter, which proved to be the winning side. 
 Frederick on abandouimr Naples, threw himself on the hospitality 
 (jf the Kin."- of France, an enemy much less hated by him than was 
 Fcrdinand'of Spain, who had so shamefully deceived and betrayed 
 bim. But his hiiih constable, Fabri/.lo Colonna, not sharing, as it 
 Bhoiild .seem, bis sovereign's feelings on the subject, transferred his 
 jilleglance to the King of Spain. And again, this change of fealty 
 »nd^servire seems to have been considered so much in the usual 
 course of things that it elicits no remailc from the contemporary 
 
 In fact, the noble Fabrizio, the bearer of a grand old Italian name 
 the lord of many a powerful barony and owner of many a mile of 
 fiiir doiiiiiin, a Uoinan piitiician of pure Italian race, to whom, it to 
 any the lioiior, llie independence, the interests, and the name of 
 Italy shoiiM liave been dear, was a mere ciiptain of five lances— a 
 soldier of forlune, ready to sell his Idood an<l great mililary talents 
 in the best market. The best oi his fellow nobles m all parts of 
 
 A.n.-a4
 
 14 VITTOEIA COLONNA. 
 
 Italy were the same. Their profession was fighting. And more 
 fighting, in whatever cause, so it were bravely and knightly done, 
 was the most honored and noblest profession of that day. »o much 
 of real greatness as could be inijiarted to the profession of war, by 
 devotion to a person, might oceasioually— though not very frequently 
 in Italy— have been met with among tlie soldiers of tliat period. But 
 all those elements of srenuine heroism, which are generated by devotion 
 to a cruise, and all those ideas of i)atnotism, of resistance to wrong, 
 anrl assertion of human rights, which compel tlie philosopli^r and 
 philanthropist to admit that war may sometimes be rii^hteous, noble, 
 elevating, to those engaged in it, and prolific of higli thoughts and 
 great deeds, were wholly unknown to the chivalry of Italy at the time 
 in question. 
 
 And, indeed, as far as the feeling of nationality is concerned, the 
 institution of knighthood itself, as it then existed, was calculated to 
 prevent the growth of patriotic sentiment. For the commonwealth 
 of chivalry Avas of European extent. The knights of England. 
 France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, were brothers in arms, "linked 
 together by a community of thought and sentiment infinitely strong- 
 er than any which bound them to the other classes of fheir own 
 countrymen. The aggregation of caste wholly overbore that of na- 
 tionality. And the nature of the former, though not wholly evil lu 
 its influences, any more than that of the latter 'is wholly good, is yet 
 infinitely narrower, less humanizing, and less ennobling in its action 
 on human motives and conduct. And war, the. leading aggregative 
 occupation of those days, was proportionably narrowed in its scope, 
 deteriorated in its influences, and rendered incapable of supplying 
 that stimulus to healthy human development which it has in its moie 
 noble forms indisputably sometimes furnished to mankind. 
 
 And it is important to the great history of modern civilization that 
 these truths should be recognized and clearly understood. For this 
 same period, which is here in question, was, as all know, one of 
 great intellectual activity, of rapid development, and fruitful pro- 
 gress. Acd historical speculators on these facts, finding this un- 
 u.sual movement of mind contemporaneous with a time of almost 
 universal and unceasing warfare, have thought that some of the 
 producing causes of the former fact were to be found in the exist- 
 ence of the latter ; and have argued that the general ferment and 
 stirring up produced by these chivalrous l)ut truly ignoble wars as- 
 sisted mainly in generating that exceptionally fervid condition of tluj 
 human mind. But, admitting that a time of national struggle for 
 some worthy ol)ject may probably be found to exercise sucli an in- 
 fluence as that attributed to the Italian wars of the fifteenth and six- 
 teenth centuries, it is certain that these latter were of no Buch enno- 
 bling nature. And the causes of the great int(!lleciual movement of 
 those centuries mu.st therefore be sought elsewhere. 
 From the time when " il gran Capitano" Consalvo, on behalf ol
 
 YITTORIA COLOifNA. 15 
 
 his master, Ferdinand of Spain, having previously assisted the 
 French in tlriviug out the uufortuuate Frederick, the last of the 
 Ara^onese kings of Naples, had afterwards finally succeeded in ex- 
 pelling- the Fr'ench from their share of the stolen kingdom, the 
 affairs' of the Colonna cousins, Fabrizio and Frospero, began to 
 hrif'hten. The last French troops quitted Naples on January 1st, 
 1504. By a diploma, bearing date November 15th. 1504,* and still pre- 
 nerved among the Colonna archives, eighteen baronies were con- 
 ferred on Frospero Colonna by Ferdinand. On the 28th of the same 
 month, all the fiefs which Fabrizio had formerly possessed in the 
 Abruzzi were restored to him ; and by another deed, dated the same 
 day, thirty-three others, in the Abruzzi and the Terra di Lavoro, 
 were bestowed on him. 
 
 In the mean time earth had been relieved from the presence of 
 the Borgia Vicegerent of heaven, and Julius II. reigned in his stead. 
 By him the Colonna were relieved from their excommunication 
 and restored to all their Roman possessions. So that the news of 
 the familv fortunes, which from time to time reached the daughter 
 of the house in her happy retirement in rocky Ischia, from the pe- 
 riod at which she began to be of an age to appreciate the importance 
 of such matters, were altogether favorable. 
 
 But the tranquil life there during these years was not unbroken by 
 sympathy with the vicissitudes which were variously affecting the 
 excitable city, over which the little recluse court looked from their 
 island home. The untimely death of Ferdinand II., on Friday, Octo- 
 ber 7th, 1490, threw the first deep shade over the household of the 
 Duchessa di Francavilla, which had crossed it since Vittoria had be-^ 
 come its inmate. Never, according to the contemporary journalist 
 Giuliano Passeri,f was prince more truly lamented by his people of 
 every cla-ss. Almost immediately after his marriage, the young king 
 and his wife both fell ill at Somma, near Naples. The diarist de- 
 scribes the melancholy spectacle of the two biers, supporting the 
 sick kJDff and queen, entering their capital side by side. Every thing 
 that the science of the time could suggest, even to the carrying in 
 ])rocPSsion of the head as well as the blood of St. Januarius, was 
 tried in vain. The young king, of whom so nuich was hoped, died ; 
 and there arose thiousrhout the city, writes Passeri, " a cry of weep- 
 ing so great that it seemed as if the whole worid were falling in 
 ru?n, all, both great and small, male and female, crying aloud to 
 heaven for pity. So that 1 truly think that, since God made tho 
 world, a greater weeping than this w^as never known." 
 
 Then came the great juljilee year, 1500 ; on which oceasion a cir- 
 cum.stanee occurred that .s(!t all Najjles talking. It was discussed, 
 we may shrewdly conjecture, in a somewhat different spirit in tha/ 
 Ischia household, which most interests us, from the tone in whicl/ 
 
 •Coppl.Mem. Col.,p. 249. + Note 1.
 
 IG VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 the excitable city chattered of it. At the beginning of April,* the 
 Neapolitans, in honor of the great jul)ilec, sent a depulatiun, carry- 
 ing with thcni the celebrated virgin, della Bruna dello Carmine, who 
 justified her reputation, and did credit to her country, by working 
 innumerable miracles all the way as she went. But what was the 
 mortification of her bearers, wlien, arrived at Rome, the result of the 
 fame arising from their triumphant progiess was, that Pope Borgia, 
 jealous of a foreign virgin, which might divert the alms of the faith- 
 ful from the Roman begging-boxes, showed himself so thorough a 
 protectionist of the home manufacture that he ordered the Neapoli- 
 tan .virgin to be carried back again immediately. This had to be 
 done ; but Madonna della Bruna, nothing daunted, worked miracles 
 faster than ever as she was being carried off, and continued to do so 
 all the way home. 
 
 In July, 1501, there came a guest to the dwelling of Costanza 
 d'Avalos, whose coming and going must have made a durable im- 
 pression on the opening mind of Vittoria, then just eleven j'ears old. 
 This was Frederick, the last of the Aragouese kings. AVhen all had 
 gone against him, and the French had taken, and most cruelly 
 sacked, Capua, and were advancing on Naples,! he sought refuge 
 with his wife and children on the island of Ischia, and remained 
 there till he left it, on the 0th of September, to throw himself on the 
 generosity of the French king. Fabrizio Colonna was, it is re- 
 corded, with him on the island, where the fallen king left for a while 
 his wife and children ; and had then an opportunity of seeing— as 
 far as the brave condottiere chieftain had eyes to see such matters — 
 the progress his daughter had made in all graces and good gifts dur- 
 ing six years of the superintendence of Costanza d'Avalos. 
 
 Then there came occasionally events, which doubtless called the 
 Duchessa di Francavilla from her retirement to the neighboring but 
 strongly contrasted scene of Naples ; and in all probability furnished 
 opportunities of showing her young pupil something of tlie great and 
 gay world of the brilliant and always noisy capital. Such, for in- 
 stance, was the entry of Ferdinand of Spain into Naples, on Novem- 
 ber 1st, 1500. The same people, who so recently were making the 
 greatest lamentation ever heard in the world over the death of Ferdi- 
 nand of Aragon, were now e(|ual]y loud and vehement:}: in their 
 welcome to his false usurping kinsman, Ferdinand of Castile. A 
 pier was run out an hundred paces into the sea for him and his queen 
 to land at, and a tabernacle, "all of fine wrought gold," .says Pas- 
 seri, erected on it for him to rest in. The city wall was thrown down 
 to make a new passage for his entrance into the city ; :dl Naples was 
 gay with triumphal arches and hangings. The mole, writes the same 
 gossiping authority, was so crowded that a grain of millet thrown 
 among them would not have reached the ground. Nothing was to 
 
 ♦ Paeseri, p. 122. t Passeri, p. I~'6- t Paaseri, p. 146.
 
 VITTOlilA COLONNA. 
 
 17 
 
 be l.f ard in all Naples but the thunder of cannon, and no lung to be 
 seen but velvet, silk, and brocade, and gold on all sides. 1 he streets 
 were lined ^^•ith richlv tapestried seats, filled Avith all the noble dames 
 of Xanles avIio, as the royal cortege passed, rose, and advancing, 
 kissed the 'hands of the king, " et lo signore Re di qnesto si pig lava 
 ffran piacere." It is a characteristic incident ot the tunes that, as 
 miickas the cortege passed, all the rich and costly preparations for its 
 passage were as Palseri tells us, scrambled for and made booty of 
 
 %'he ffiSsa di Francavilla, at least, who had witnessed the mel- 
 ancholy departure of Frederick from her own root, when he went 
 forth J wanderer from his last kingdom, must have telt the hol- 
 lowness and little worth of all this noisy demonstration if none other 
 among the assembled crowd felt it. And it may easily be ^^^ gined 
 how she moralized the scene to the lovely blonde girl at her side, now 
 at sixteen, in the first bloom of her beauty, as they returned tued 
 with the unwonted faligue of their gala doings, to their quiet home 
 
 '"^ Kerens a specimen from the pages of the gossiping weaver -"-of 
 the sort of subjects which were the talk ot the day m Naples in those 
 
 1 1 FTl S 
 
 In December. Io07. a certain Spaniard, Pietro de Pace by name, a 
 hunchback, and much deformed, but who " was of high courage, 
 and in terrestrial matters had no fear of spirits or of venomous ani- 
 mals," determined to explore the caverns of Pozzuoh ; and discov- 
 ered in them several bronze statues and medals and antique lamps. 
 lie found also .some remains of leaden pipes, on one of Avhich the 
 words " Imperator Ca-sar" were legible. Moreovc-r, he saw cer- 
 tain lizards as large as vipers." But for all this, Pf^^o ^o^^'f^^ "'^ 
 his adventure an unsuccessful one ; for he had hoped to hnd hidden 
 
 treasure in the caverns. . , , i . ^ ,^ 
 
 Then there was barely time for this nine days wonder to run out 
 its natural span before a very much more serious matter was oceai- 
 pying every mind and making every tongue wag in Naples. On the 
 nifflit preceding Clirislmas day, in the year ir,(h the Convent ot b . 
 Clare wa.s discovered to be on lire. The building was destroyed, 
 and the nuns, belonging mostly to noble Neapohtau lamnies, were 
 burnt out of their holy home-distressing enough on many ac- 
 counts. Hut still it was not altogether the niistortune of these holy 
 ladies that spread consternation tliroughout the city, it was tlic 
 practice, it seems, for a -reat numl)er of the possessors of valuables 
 of all sorts. " IJ.-iruni ..d altri," as Pas.seri says.f m his homely .Nea- 
 politan dialect, to provi.le again.st the continual dangers o which 
 movable property was exposed, by consigning tbcir i-^"'><»^/« / « 
 keeping of some rcligiou.s community. And the n uns ot bt. i^iaic 
 
 • PasBcri, p. 151. t PuBScrl, p. 152.
 
 18 VITTOUIA COLONNA. 
 
 especially were very largely employed in this way. The conse^ 
 tiuonec was lliat the almost iiicn^lihly lur!j;e amount of three hundred 
 thousand ducats' worth ol' valual)le arlicles ol' all sorts was destroyed 
 iu this disastrous lire. Takini,^ into consideration the dillereuce in 
 the value of money, this sum must l)e calculated to represent at least 
 a million and a half sterling of our money. And it is necessary to 
 bear in miiul how large a proportion of a rich man's wealth in those 
 days consisted iu chattels to render the estimate of the loss at all 
 credible. 
 
 The prices, however, at which certain of the products of artistic 
 industry were then estimated were such as to render such an accu- 
 mulation of property possible enough. For instance, among the 
 valuables recorded by Passeri as belonging to Ferdinand of Aragon 
 I. were three pieces of tapestry which were called " La Fastorella," 
 uud were considered to be worth 130,000 ducats. 
 
 And thus the years rolled on ; Naples gradually settling down into 
 tranquillity under the Spanish rule, administered by the first of the 
 long list of viceroys, the "Gran Capitano," Don Consalvo dc Cor- 
 duba, and the star of the Colonua shining more steadily than ever in 
 Ihe ascendant, till, in the year IHOO, the nineteenth of Vittoria's and 
 of the bridegroom's age, it was determined to celebrate the long ar- 
 ranged marriage. 
 
 It took place on the 27th of December in that year ; and Passeri 
 mentions * that Vittoria came to Ischia from Marino on the occasion, 
 escorted by a large company of Roman nobles. It appears, there- 
 fore, that she must have quitted Ischia i)reviously. But it is proba- 
 ble that she did so only for a short visit to lier native iiome, before 
 liually settlmg iu her husband's country. 
 
 The marriage festival was held iu Ischia, with all the pomp then 
 usual on sucli occasions ; and that, as will be seen in a subsequent 
 page, from the account preservetl by Passeri of another wedding, at 
 which Vittoria Avas present, was a serious matter. The only particu- 
 lars recorded for us of her own marriage ceremony consist of two 
 lists of the presents reciprocally made by the bride and bridegroom. 
 Tliese have been printed from the original documents in the Colonna 
 archives, by Signor Visconti, and are curious illustrations of the 
 habits and m.anners of that day. 
 
 The -Marquis acknowledges to have received, says the document, 
 from the Lord Fabrizio Colonna and the Lady Vittoria : 
 
 1. A bed of French fashion, with the curtains and all the hang- 
 ings of crimson satin, lined with blue taffetas with large fringes of 
 gold ; with three mattresses and a counterpane of crimson satin of 
 similar workmanship ; and four pillows of crimson satin garnished 
 with fringes and tassels of gold. 
 
 2. A cloak of crimson raised brocade. 
 
 * Passeri, p. 102.
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 10 
 
 3. A cloak of black raised brocade, and white silk. 
 
 4. A cloak of purple velvet and purple brocade. 
 
 5 A cross of diamonds and a housing for a mule, of -wrought gold. 
 The other document sets forth the presents offered by Pescara to his 
 
 1. A cross of diamonds with a chain of gold, of the value of lOOO 
 
 ducats. , . ,, ,,, , - 
 
 3. A ruby, a diamond, and an emerald set m gold, of the value of 
 
 400 ducats. ^ s -, .i i e 
 
 5. A " desciorgh" of gold (whatever that may be), of the value of 
 
 one hundred ducats. 
 
 4. Twelve bracelets of gold, of the value of forty ducats. 
 
 Then follow fifteen articles of female dress, gowns, petticoats, 
 mantles, skirts, and various other finery with strange names, only to 
 be explained by the ghost of some sixteenth-century milhner, and al- 
 together ignored by Ducange and all other lexicogi-aphers. But they 
 are described as composed of satin, velvet, brocade ; besides crimson 
 velvet trimmed with gold fringe and lined with ermine, and flesh- 
 colored silk petticoats trimmed with black velvet. The favorite 
 color appears to be decidedly crimson. 
 
 It is noticeable that while all the more valuable presents of Fes- 
 cara to Yittoria are priced, nothing is said of the value of her gifts to 
 the bridegroom. Are we to see in this an indication of a greater deli- 
 cacy of feeling on the part of the lady ? 
 
 So the priests did their office— a part of the celebration, Avhich, cu- 
 riously enough, we learn from Passeri, Avas often, in those days, at 
 Naples, deferred, sometimes for years, till after the consummation of 
 the marriage— the Pantagruclian feastings were got through, the 
 guests departed, boat -load after boat-load, from the rocky shore of 
 Ischia ; and the little island, restored alter the unusual hubbub to its 
 wonted quiet, was left to be the scene of as Iiappy a honeymoon as 
 the most romantic of novel readers could wish for her favorite hero- 
 iue. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Vlttoria'8 Married Life.-Poscara Roes where Glory awaita nim.-Tlic R""* pf 
 Ravenna.-PcHcara in Prison turns PenniHn.-His "Dialog di Ainorc — V't- 
 torla'8 Poetical EinHlle to l.er lliisbund.-ViUoria and tlio Marchebe del Vasto. 
 —Three Cart-I.oadu of Ladic.-*, and three 3SIulc-Load.s of bwcetmeats.— Character 
 of Pescara.— Ills Cmelty.— Anecdote in Proof of it. 
 
 Thk two years which followed, Vittoria always looked back on as 
 the ojily truly hapi)y portion of her life, and many are the passages 
 of her poems wliirh recall tlieir trancpiil and unbroken felicity, a 
 sweet dream from wliich she was too soon to be awakened to the or- 
 dinary vicissitudes of sixteenth-century life. The happiest years of
 
 20 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 iiulividuals, as of nations, afford least materials for history, and of 
 Yitloria's two years of honeymoon in Lschia, the whole record is that 
 she was happy ; and slie wrote no jioefry. 
 
 Early in l.TIJ came the wr.kini;- from lliis pleasant dream. Pescara 
 was of eoiirso to l)o a soldier. In his position, not to have begnn to 
 tight as soon as his beard was fairly grown would have been little 
 short of infamy. So he set forth to'joiu the army in Lombardy, in 
 company with his father in-law, Fabrizio. Of course there was an 
 army in Lombardy, where towns were being besieged, fields laid 
 waste, and glory to be had for the winning. There always was, in 
 those good old times, of course. French, Swiss, Spanish, German, 
 Venetian, Papal, and Milanese troops were fighting each other, with 
 changes of alliances and sides almost as frequent and as confusing as 
 the changmg of partners in a cotillion. It is troublesome, and not of 
 much consequence, to understand who were just then friends and 
 who foes, and what were the exact objects ail the different parties had 
 in cutting each other's throats. And it will be quite sulticient to say 
 that the Duchy of ]MiIan was at that moment the chief bone of con- 
 tention—that the principal pretenders to the glory of " annexing" it 
 were the king of France and the king of Spain, who was now also 
 king of Naples— that the Pope was just then allied with Spain, and 
 the Venetians with France, and that Italy generally was i)reparing 
 for the destiny she has worked out for herself, by the constant en- 
 deavor to avail herself of the destroying presence of these foreign 
 troops, and their rivalries, for the prosecution of her internal quar- 
 rels, and the attainment of equally low and yet more unjustifiable, 
 because fratricidal, aims. 
 
 Pescara, as a Neapolitan subject of the king of Spain, joined the' 
 army opposed to the French, under the walls of Ravenna. Vittoria, 
 though her subsequent writings prove how much the parting cost 
 her, showed how thoroughly she was a soldier's daughter and a sol- 
 dier's wife. There had been some suggestion, it seems, that the 
 marquis, as the sole surviving scion of an ancient and noble name, 
 might fairly consider it his duty not to subject it to the risk of ex- 
 tinction by exposing his life in the field. The young soldier, how- 
 ever, wholly refused to listen to such counsels ; and his wife 
 strongly supported his view of the course honor counselled him to 
 follow, by advice, which a young and beautiful wife, who was to re- 
 main surrounded by a brilliant circle of wits and poets, would 
 scarcely have ventured on offering, had slie not felt a perfect secur- 
 ity from all danger of being misinterpreted, equally'- creditable to 
 wife and husband. 
 
 So the young .soldier took for a motto on his .shield the well-known 
 " With this, or on this ;" and, having expended, we are told, nuicU 
 care and cash on a maLMiilicent equiptnent, was at once appointed to 
 the command of the ligiit cavalry. The knowledge and experience 
 necessary for such a position conxes by nature, it must be supposed.
 
 YITTORIA COLONKA. 
 
 21 
 
 to the descendant of a Ions; line of noble knights, as surely as pmnt. 
 in"- does to the scion of a race of pointers. But the young warrior 3 
 entscopal * biographer cursorilv moDtious that certam old and trustv 
 veterans, who had obtained then- military science by experience, and 
 not by right of birth, were attached to his person. 
 
 The o-eneral of light cavalry arrived at the camp at an unfortunate 
 momeni The total defeat of the United Spanish and Papal army 
 by the French before Ravenna, on the Olh of April, lol3, immediately 
 followed Fabrizio Colonna and his son-in-law were both made 
 prisoner*. The latter had been left for dead- on the field, covered 
 with wounds, which subsequently gave occasion to Isabella ot Ara- 
 gon Duchess of Milan, to say, "I would fain be a man, bignor 
 Slarchese, if it were only to receive such wounds as yours in the 
 face that 1 mi^ht see if they would become me as they do you. f 
 
 Pescara, when picked up from the field, was carried a prisoner to 
 Milan wiiere by means of tiie good offices and powerful intluenceot 
 Trivuizio, who had married Beatrice d'Avalos, Pescara's aunt, and 
 was now a o-eneral in the service of France, his detention was ren- 
 dered as little disagreeable as possible, and he was, as soon as his 
 wounds were healed, permitted to ransom himself for six thousand 
 
 ducats.t , . , . , 
 
 During his short confinement he amused his leisure l)y compo.sing 
 a " Dialo"-o d'Amore," whicli he inscribed and sent to his wife. The 
 bishop of°Conio, his bioi^raplier, testifies tliat this work was exceed- 
 ingly pisw.sant reading— " sutnina; jueunditatis" — and full of grave 
 and willy conceits and thoughts. The world, however, has seen fit 
 to allow this treasury of wit to perish, notwithstanding the episcopal 
 criticism. And in all probability the world was iii the right. If in- 
 deed the literary general of light horse had written his own rea. 
 thoughts and speculations on love, there might have been some inter- 
 est in seeing a si.\teentli century soldier's views on that ever interesl- 
 in" subiecL But we may lie quite certain that the Dialogo, 
 " stuired full," as Giovio. says, "of grave sentiments and exquisite 
 conceits," contained only a reproduction of the classic banalities and 
 ingenious absurdities which were current in the fashionable literature 
 of"the day. Yet it must be admitted that the employment of his 
 leisure in anv such manner, and still more, the dedication of his la- 
 bors on sucii a subject to his wife, are indications of an amount of 
 cultivation and right feeling which would hardly have been found, 
 cither one or the other, among many of the preux chevaliers, his 
 brotliers-in-arms. . , , 
 
 Meanwliile, Vitlorfa, on hor part, wrote a poetical epistle to her 
 husband in pri.son, wjiieh is the first production of her pen that has 
 readied us. It is written iu Dante's " terza rima," and consisted of 
 
 • (iiDvlo, Bp. of (.'oiiio, Life of P.;Hcnra, book i. 
 
 t FUcKuio, us. Life of Pescara, cited by Vincoiiti, p. Ixxxii. t Giovio, bb, 1.
 
 22 virroRiA colonna. 
 
 one hmiflr^f', and twelve lines. Both Italian and French critics have 
 expressed^ highly favorable jiidgmonis of this little poem. And it 
 may be ac'.mitted that the lines are ele!2:ant, clas.sicul, well-turned, and 
 inirenioiis. Hut those who seek sonielliiiig niore Hum all this in 
 poetr}- — who look for passion, liigli and noble Ihoughls, liappy illus- 
 tration, or deep analysis of huiuaii feeling— will thul nothuig of the 
 sort. That Vittoria did feel aeutely her husband's misfortune, and 
 bitterly regret his ab.sence from jier, there is every reason to believe. 
 But she is unable to express these sentiments naturally or forcibly. 
 She, in all probability* made no attempt to do so, judiring from the 
 models on which she had been taught to form her style, that when 
 she sat down to make poetry the aim to be kept in view was a very 
 different one. Hence we have talk of Hector and Achilles, Eolus, 
 Sirens, and marine deities, Pompey, Cornelia, Cato, Martia, and 
 Mithridates— a parade of all the treasures of the school-room. The 
 pangs of the wife left lonely in her home are in neatlv antithetical 
 phrase contrasted with the dangers and toils of the husband in the 
 Held. Then we have a punning allusion in her own name : 
 
 "Se Vittoria volevi, io i' era appresso ; 
 Ma tu, lasciando me, lasciastl lei." 
 
 " If victory was thy desire, I was by thy side ; but in leaving me, 
 thou didst leave also her." 
 
 The best, because the simplest and most natural lines, are the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 " Seguir si devc il eposo e dentro e fora ; 
 E, b' egli pate affaiino, alia patisca ; 
 Se lieto, lieta ; e ae vi more, mora. 
 A quel clic arrisca run, V aliro s' arrisca ; 
 Egiiali in vita, eguali siano in niorte ; 
 E cio chu avviene a lui, a lei sortisca." 
 
 " At home or abroad the wife should follow her husband ; and if 
 he suffers distress, she .should suffer ; should be joyful if he is joyful, 
 and .should die if he dies. The danger confronted by the one should 
 be confronted by the other ; equals in life, they sliould be equal in 
 death ; and that which liappens to him should be her lot also"— a 
 mere farrago of rhetorical prettinesses, as cold as a school-boy's prize 
 verses, and unauimated by a spark of genuine feeling ; although the 
 •writer was as truly affectionate a wife as ever man had. 
 
 But although all that Vittoria wrote, and all that the vast number 
 of the poets and poetesses, her contemporaries, wrote, was olmo.xious 
 to t!ie same remarks, still it will be seen that in the maturity of her 
 powers .she could do better than this. Her religious poetry may be 
 said, generally, to be much .superior to her love verses ; either be- 
 cause they were composed when her mind liad grown to its full stat- 
 ure, or, as seems probable, because, model wife as she was, the sub- 
 ject took a deeper hold of her mind, and stiired the depths of her 
 iieart more powerfully.
 
 VITTORIA COLONiirA. 
 
 23 
 
 Very shortlv after the dispatch of her poetical epistle, \ ittona was 
 overioyed by the unexpected return of her husband And again for 
 a brief interval she considered lierself the happiest of women. 
 
 One circumstance indeed there was to mar the entirety of her con- 
 tentment. She was still childless. And it seems that tlie science 
 of that day i2;norantly dogmatical, undertook to assert that slie 
 would conlinue^to be so. Both husband and wife seemed to have sub- 
 milted to the award undoubtingly ; and the dictum, however rashly 
 uttered, was justified by the event. ^ .• „ ^* 
 
 Under these circumstances Yittoria undertook the education ot 
 Alphonso d'Avalos, ^Slarchese del Ya.sto, a young cousin of her hus- 
 band's. The task was a sufhcieutly arduous one;* for the boy 
 beautiful, it is recorded, as an angel, and endowed with excellent 
 capabiHties of all sorts, was so wholly unbroken, and of so violent 
 and un-overnable a disposition, that lie had been the despair and ter- 
 ror of "all who had hitherto attempted to educate him. Vit oria 
 thou ht that she saw in the wild and passionate boy the materials ot 
 a worthy man. The event fully justified her judgment, and proved 
 the really superior powers of mind she must have brought to the ac- 
 complishment of it. Alphonso became a soldier of renown, not un- 
 tinctured by those literary tastes which so remarkably distinguished 
 his gentle preceptress. A strong and lasting affection grew between 
 them • and Yittoria, proud with good reason of her work, was often 
 wont 'to say that the reproach of being childless ought not to be 
 deemed applicable to her whose moral nature might well be said to 
 have brousht forth that of her pupil. . 
 
 Pescara^s visit to :Naples was a very short one. Larly in lolo.we 
 find him again with the armies in Lombardy, taking part in most ot 
 the mischief and glory going. . . ,t- i 
 
 Under the date of July the 4lh in that year the gossiping JNaplcs 
 weaver, who rarely fails to note the doings of the Neapolitan general 
 of light horse with infinite pride and admiration, has preserved for us 
 a rather picturesque little bit of Ariosto-flavored camp life. The 
 Spanish army, imd'T Don Raymond di Cardona, who, on Consalvo s 
 death, had succeeded him asA'iceroy of Naples, was on its march 
 from Pcschiera to Yerona, when a mcs.senger from the beautiful young 
 Marchioness of Mantua came to the general-in-chief t<o say that she 
 •wished to see those celebraied Spanish troops, who were marcliing 
 under his banners, and was then waiting their passage in the vine- 
 yards of the (;a.stlc of Villafranca. " A certain gentle lady ot Man- 
 tua, named the Signora Laura, with whom Don ]{aymond wjis in 
 love," writes the weaver, was with the Marchioness ; and much 
 plciised was he at the message. So word was passed to the variou.i 
 captains ; and when tin; colunui reacluNl thesiK.t, where the Marchion- 
 ess with a great numlxjrof ladies and cavaliers of Mantua were re- 
 
 • Viscontl, p T7
 
 24 VITTOUIA COLONNA. 
 
 posing in ll)c shade of the vines, " Don Fcrranlc d'Alarconc, as chief 
 marshal, Avith his baton in liis liand, made; all the troops halt, and 
 niaeed theniselves in order of battle ; and the Siijnor JMarchese di 
 Pescara niarclu-il at the head of the infantry, with a pair of breeches 
 cut after the Swiss fashion, and a plume on his head, and a two- 
 handed sword in liis hand, and all the standards were unfurled." 
 And when the Marchioness, from among the vines looking down 
 through the checkered shade on to the road, saw that all wa's in or- 
 der, she and her ladies got into three carts, so that there came out of 
 the vineyani, says Tasseri, three carrsful of ladies surrounded by the 
 cavaliers of IMantua on horseback. There they came very slowly jolt- 
 ing over the cultivated ground, those three heavy bullock carts, with 
 their primitive -wheels of one solid circular piece of wood, and their 
 huge cream-colored oxen with enormous horned heads gayly deco- 
 rated, as Leopold Robert shows them to us, and the brilliant tinted 
 dresses of the laughing bevy drawn by them, glancing gaudily in the 
 sunlight among the soberer coloring of the vineyards in their sum- 
 mer pride of green. Then Don Raymond and Pescara advanced to 
 the carts, an(l liandcd from them the Marchioness and Donna Laura, 
 who mounted on handsomely equipped jennets prepared for them. 
 It does not appear that this attention was extended to any of the other 
 ladies, who must therefore be supposed to have remained sitting in 
 the carts, while the Marchioness and the favored Donna Laura rode 
 through the ranks " con multa fcsta et gloria." And when she had 
 seen all, with much pleasure and admiration, on a given signal three 
 mules loaded with sweetmeats were led forward, with which the gay 
 Marchioness " regaled all the captains." Then all the company with 
 much content— excepting, it is to be feared, the soldiers, who l>ad to 
 stand at arms under tiie July sun, while their officers were eating 
 sugar-plums, and Don Raymond and Donna Laura were saying and 
 ^wallowing sweet things — took leave of each other, the army pursu- 
 ing its march toward Verona, and the iilaichioness and her ladies re- 
 turning in their carts to Mant\ia.* 
 
 The other scattered notices of Pescara's doings during his cam. 
 paign are of a less festive character. They show him to have been 
 a hard and cruel man, reckless of human sutfering, and eminent even 
 among his fellow-captains for the ferocity, and often wantonness, of 
 the ravages and widespread miserj' he wrought. On more than one 
 occasion Passeri winds up his narrative of some destruction of a 
 town, or desolation of a fertile and cultivated district, by the remark 
 that the cruelty committed was worse than Turks would have been 
 guilty of. Yet this same Passeri, an artisan, belonging to a class 
 which had all to suffer and nothing to gain from such atrocities, 
 write.s, when chronicling this same Pescara's f death, thut " on tliat 
 day died, I would have you know, gentle readers, the most glorious 
 
 • Pasccri, p. 197. t Passeri, p. 336.
 
 TITTORIA COLOXXA. 25 
 
 and honored captain tliat the world has seen for the last hundred 
 j^ears." It is curious to observe how wholly the popular mind was 
 enslaved to the prejudices and conventional absurdities of the ruling 
 classes ; how entirelj' the feelings of the masses were in unison with 
 those of the caste which oppressed Ihem ; how little reason they con- 
 ceived they had to complain under the most intolerable treatment, 
 and how little hope of progressive amelioration there was from ihft 
 action of native-bred public opinion. 
 
 Bishop Giovio, the biographer and panegyrist of Pescara, admits thav 
 he was a stern and cruelly- severe disciplinarian, and mentions ai\ 
 anecdote in proof of it. A soldier was brought before him for hav- 
 ing entered a house en route for the purpose of plundering. The gen- 
 eral ordered that his ears should be cut off. The culprit remon- 
 strated, and begged, with many entreaties, to be spared so dishonor- 
 ing and ignomilTious a punishment, saying in his distress that death 
 itself would have been more tolerable. 
 
 "The grace demanded is granted," rejoined Pescara instantly, 
 with grim pleasantry. " Take this soldier, who is so careful of his 
 honor, and hang him to that tree !" 
 
 In vain did the wretch beg not to be taken at his word so cruelly ; 
 no entreaties sufficed to change the savage decree. 
 
 It will be well that we should bear in mind these indications of the 
 essential nature of this great and glorious captain, who had studied 
 those ingenuous arts which soften the character, and do not suffer 
 men to he ferocious, as the poet assures us, and wlio could write dia- 
 logues on love, when we come to consider the curious phenomenon 
 of Vittoria's unmeasured love for her husband. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Society in Ipchia.— Bernardo Tasso'e Sonnet thereon.— llow a Wedding was cele- 
 brated ill Nai)l.:8 in 1517.— A Sixteeutli Century Troueseuu.— Sacit of Genoa.— Tlio 
 batlle of Pavia.— Italian Conspiracy aiiaiiii't Charles V.— Character of Peacara — 
 Honor In l.'jio.— Pescara's TreaHoii.— Vitloria'n.SeiUiment8 on the Occasion.— Pes- 
 cara'8 Infamy,— Patriotism unknown in Iialy in the Sixteenth Century.— No sucU 
 Sentiment to be found in the Writings of Vittoria.— Evil Influence of her Hue- 
 band's Character on her Mind.— Death of Pescara. 
 
 Meanwhile Vittoria continued her peaceful and quiet life in 
 Ischia, lonely indeed, as far as the dearest affections of her heart was 
 concerned, but cheered and improved by the society of thtit .select 
 knot of poets and men of learning whom Costan/.a d! Fiaiicavilla, 
 not unassisted by the presence of Vittoria, attracted to her littlo 
 island court. We liiid .Miisctilo, Filoralo, (liovio, Miiiliirno, Cariteo, 
 Rota, Haiiiiz/.arn. ati<l Hcriianlo Ta.sso, among tho.se who helped to 
 mukc this rcinole rock celebrated throughout Europe at that duy, Wi
 
 26 
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 one of the hest-loved haunts of Apollo and the muses, to sneak in the 
 plirascoloijy of the time. 
 
 Many ainoiiL,^ tlicin liavc left passages recording the happy days 
 spent on that f.n-timate island. The social circle was douhtless a 
 charming and hrilliaiil one, and tlie more so as contrasted with the 
 general tone ami habits of the society of the period. But the style 
 of the following sonnet by Beinardo Tasso, selected by Visconti 
 as a specimen of the various elTusions by members of the select circle 
 upon the subject, while it accurately illustrates the prevailing modes 
 ot thought and diction of that period, will hardly fail to suggest the 
 Idea of a comparison— mutatis mutandi.s— l)etween this company of 
 sixteenth century choice spirits and that which assembled and pro- 
 voked so severe a lashing in the memorable Hotel de Rambouillet 
 more than an hundred years afterward. But an Italian Moli^re is 
 as wholly unpossible in the nature of things as a French Dante 
 And the sixteenth century swarm of Petrarchists and Classicists have 
 unlike true prophets, found honor in their own country. 
 
 Gentle Bernardo celebrates in this wise these famed Ischia meet- 
 mgs: 
 
 "Bnperbo scoglio, altero e bcl ricetto 
 Di tauti chiari eroi, d'itnperadori, 
 Onde ra^gi di gloria escono fiioii, 
 Ch' ojnii altro luine f<in i^ciiro e negletto ; 
 Sepor vera virtute al ben perfetto 
 Salir si ])iiote ed agli eterni onori, 
 Quci^te pill d' altre define alme c migliori 
 V andraii, clie cliindi up) iietroso pc-Uo. 
 II lumc c in tc dill' amii ; in te s'asconde 
 Ca^ta belta, valore e cortcsia. 
 Quanta mui vide il tempo, o diode il cielo, 
 Ti sian secondi i fati, e il vento e 1' onde 
 Rendanti onore, e 1' aria liia natia 
 Abbia sempre temprato il caldo e il gelo !" 
 
 Which may be thus " done into Ensjlish," for the sake of giving 
 those unacquainted with the language of the original some tolerably 
 accurate idea of Messer Bernardo's euphuisms : 
 
 " Prond rock ! the loved retreat of fsuch a band 
 
 Of earth's best, noblest, greatest, that their light 
 Pales other glories to the dazzled sight, 
 And like a bcaeon shine.s thronghout the land, 
 If trnest worth can reach the perfect state, 
 And man may hope to merit heavenly Vest, 
 Those whom thou harboresf, in thy rocky breast. 
 First in the race will reach the heavenly gate. 
 Glory of martial deeds is thine. In thee. 
 
 Brightest the world e'er saw, or heaven gave. 
 Dwell chastest beauty, worth, and cointcsy : 
 Well be it with thee ! May both wind and Bca 
 Itespect Ihee : and thy native air and wave 
 Be temper'd ever by a genial sky !" 
 
 Such is the poetry of one of the brightest stars of the lechian gaJ- 
 *xy ; and the incredulous reader is assured that it would bo easy to
 
 YITTORI.V > M.OXls A. *• 
 
 find much worse sonnets bv the r«im among the extant productions 
 of the cro Jl^^'o were afflicted with the prevalent Petrarch mania of 
 ?hatenoch The statistical returns of the ravages of this maladj 
 Sven^iv the i oHical registrar-gsneral Crescimbeni, would as onish 
 fien Paternoster Row at the present day. But \ittoria Colonna 
 ?E.^h a -Tat number of her sonnets do not rise above the level of 
 Bernirdo TaS in the foregoing specimen, could occasionally espe^ 
 SaU) Jn ie^ iVer years, reaclf a much higher tone, as will, it is 
 
 'Tha'hcSn I^S^irSS S^?dfeous feelings which inspired her 
 latPr nnPt?v were thoiic^h not more genuine, yet more absorb ng 
 iai trSnjSu'love. which is almost^^xclush^ly the th^^^^^^ „ her 
 earlier efforts And it is at all events certain that the former so en 
 
 " r^Sl^rthergnificence and P^-P -iJ-^^J t£ ^^^sS 
 young wife made her appearance among her fello^^ nobles was sucn 
 as few of them could equal, and none surpass 
 
 thf costume of each in the order o their arrival ^\^l'< . ^i^""^ . ; 
 Vin..,l till- rcidwav of t'ne nob e guests, and miglit nave uctuhixu, 
 
 8walloW(d np by ih.; dark nave ot the huge church. 
 
 " l-aa»crl, p. 284.
 
 ^^ VITTOUIA COLONNA. 
 
 It ia not necessary to fittempt a translation of all the chanires Mag. 
 
 tei lasscri nn^-s ou velvet, satin, goUi. l.mcade. and cS furs 
 
 Merely noting that the bride's dre.s is estimated to l,e worth ™ 
 
 hoasiuul dueats, we let them all pass on till 'Mhc i hiSSn IS 
 
 the ^ignora \ittoria. Marchioness of Pescarn ''arrives SWJa 
 
 vei iiingect uitli gokl. She is accompauiec by six ladies in waif inn- 
 n. ormiy cJad in azure danmsk, and attended by six groos on foot 
 ^A ilh cloaks and jerkins of blue and yellow satin. The ladv heiS f 
 
 oeaien cold on it. bhe has a crimson sal n can with a lieq<l drpoa «p 
 ^.^ought gold above it ; and a.ound her waiS Ts^a |irdTe'of beaten 
 
 the^irrfrdL*\'n ?f T^"''^ company one might think, would require 
 iTclui c Itt ..""i f "'' 'Tiore yielding material. For, on quilting 
 tne Chinch, thej sRt down to table at sx hi the evening- " and h^ 
 .^an to eat," says Passeri, "and left off at five 5n thfmorn?n . r" 
 The order and materials of this more than Homeric feast are h^n'dpH 
 down to posterity with scrupulous accuracy brour chronicler But 
 he stupendous menu, in its entirety, would be almost SSierable 
 to the reader as having to sit out the eleven hours' orgy in person 
 A few particulars culled here and there, partly because thevafer.?H" 
 bli'tlvfn i^'n"^ '"'""^'^ "'^ "^^'-^"'"^ «f ''^' words is mo?J inte llig -" 
 '^^^£;!'SS^Z^y^::Zr''''''''^'^ to a Neapolitan of tie 
 
 special subject of glorification. There was ' put^SrUnS^^^^^^^^ '' 
 Hungary soup, stuffed peacocks, quince pies, ind thrushes^ servk 
 with bergamottes, which were not pears, as an English reader St 
 perhaps suppose, but small highly-scented citrons of the k nd f om 
 fv^l?\/''«. perfume of that name is, or is supposed to be made 
 slmV.ffirsf''"'f°. mangiare," our familiarity -Ivith " blanc-mSge'' 
 seems at first sight to make us more at home. But we are thrown 
 out by finding that it was eaten in lol7, "con mosta.da " E 
 S tl'^f P'*"7 T""' 'according to our habits, much out of propor- 
 tion to the rest. Sweet preparations also, whether of animal or veil- 
 table composition, seem greatly to preponderate. At the queen's 
 own table a fountain gave forth odoriferous waters. But to all the 
 
 t]i(^'fi?st'Tabler^ "'""'"' ''' "'' ''"'•' ''''' ''''''" ^' "'^ rVr^ovil 0? 
 
 " And thus having passed this first day with infinite dehVht " thP 
 who e party passed a second and a ,hi,.( in the same inannS ' ' 
 
 Ihat eleven hours shouh! have been spent in eating and drinking is 
 of course simply impossible. Large interludes must be su pos "d to 
 have been occupied by music, and very likely by recitations of 
 poetry. On the first day a considerable thne nufst have been taken
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 29 
 
 np by a part of the ceremonial, which was doubtless far more inter- 
 esting to the fairer half of the assembly than the endless gormandiz- 
 insr. This was a display, article by article, of the bride's trousseau, 
 which took place while the guests were still sitting at table. Passeri 
 minutely catalogues the whole exhibition. The list begins with 
 twenty pairs of sheets, all embroidered with ditferent colored silks ; 
 and seven pairs of sheets, " d'olanda," of Dutch linen, fringed with 
 gold. Then come an hundred and five shirts of Dutch linen, all em- 
 broidered with silk of divers colors ; and seventeen shirts of cambric, 
 " cambraia." with a selvage of gold, as a present for the royal bride- 
 groom. There were twelve head-dresses, and six ditto, ornamented 
 with gold and colored silk, for his majesty ; an hundred and twenty 
 handkerchiefs, embroidered with gold cord ; ninety-six caps, orna- 
 mented witii gold and silk, of which thirty-six were for the king. 
 There were eighteen counrcrpanes of silk, one of which was wrought 
 "alia moresca;'* forty-eight sets of stamped leather hangings, 
 thirty-six others " of the ostrich-egg pattern," sixteen " of the arti- 
 choke pattern," and thirty-six of silk tapestry. Beside all these 
 hundred sets, there were eight large pieces of Flanders arras, " con 
 seta assai." They represented the seven works of mercy, and Avero 
 valued at a thousand golden ducats. There was a litter, carved and 
 gilt, with its four mattresses of blue embroidered satin. Passing on 
 to the plate department, we have a silver waiter, two large pitchers 
 wrought in relief, three basins, an ewer, and .six large cups, twelve 
 large plates, twelve ditto of second size, and twenty-four soup plates 
 made " alia franzese," a massive salt-cellar, a box of napkins, spoons, 
 and jugs, four large candlesticks, two large flasks, a silver pail, and 
 cup of gold worth two hundred ducats for the king's use. Then for 
 the chapel, a furniture for the altar, with the history of the three 
 kings embroidered in gold on black velvet ; a missal on parchment, 
 with illuminated miniatures, bound in velvet, ornamented with silver 
 clasps and bosses ; and a complete set of requisites for the .service in 
 silver. Then, returning to the personal department, came twenty- 
 one gowns, each minutely described, and one of blue satin spangled 
 with bees in solid gold, particularly specified as being worth four 
 thousand ducats. 
 
 Wiien ail this and much more had been duly admired, there were 
 brought forward an empty casket and fifteen trays, in which were 
 an iiundred thousand ducats of gold, which were put into the casket 
 " before all the Signori." But our chronicler is compelled by his 
 love (jf truth to add reluctantly that there were several false ducats 
 among tin in.* 
 
 It is evident, from the nature of many of the articles in the above 
 list, that this " trou.s.seau" was not merely a bride's littiug outi)ur- 
 chased for the occasion, but was a collection of all the Lady Bouu'i 
 
 • See N0U9 2.
 
 30 VlTJc/RrA rJCLONNA. 
 
 clmttt'l property, and represented, as was llien usually the case with 
 all wcallliy persons, a very large, if not the principal part, of the 
 worldly goods. 
 
 •It may well be imagined that Vittoria was not sorry to return to 
 the (Hiie't and intellecluul socii'ty of Ischia after these tremendous 
 three days at Naple-;. Tiiere she was cheered from time to time 
 by three' or four short visits from her husband, and by continual 
 tidings of his increasing reputation and advancement in dignity and 
 weahii — a prosperity which she considered dearly purchased by hia 
 almost continual absence. The death of her father Fabrizio, in 
 ;March, lo'JO, and that of her mother, in 1522, made her feel more 
 poignantly this loneliness of heart. 
 
 In October of 1522 Pescara made a flyinj' visit to Ins wife and 
 home. He was with her three days only, ano then hastened back to 
 the army. It was the last time she ever saw him. His career with 
 the army mean time was very glorious. In IMay, 1522, he took anfl 
 sacked Genoa ; " con la maggior crodelilate de lo mundo," writes 
 admiring Passcri. The plundering lasted a da}' and a half ; and, 
 " da che lo mundo fo mundo," never was seen a sacking of so great 
 riclies, " for tliere was not a single soldier who did not at the least 
 get a thousand ducats." Then,"with the year 1525, came, on the 
 24th of February, the memorable day of Pavia, which was so glori- 
 ous tiuit, as Passeri writes, the desolation inflicted by it on the coun- 
 try around was such that neither house, tree, nor vine was to be seen 
 for miles. All was burned. Few living creatures were to be met 
 with, and those subsisting miserably on roots. 
 
 The result of that " tield of honor" is sulliciently well known. 
 Pescara, who received three wouiirls, though none of them serious, 
 in the battle, considered that he was ill-used, when the rojal captive 
 Francis was taken out of his hands to Hpain, and made complaints 
 on the subject to his master Charles V., who had succeeded Ferdinand 
 on the thrones of Spain and Naples in 151(). He' was now, however, 
 »t theUge of thirty- live, general-in-chief for that monarch in Lom- 
 bardy. and enjoyed' his perfect contidence, when circumstances arose 
 calculated to try his lidelity severely. Whether that, almost the only 
 virtue recognized, lionored, and professed by his own class at that 
 day, remained altogether intact and imblemished is doubtful. But it 
 is certain that, in any view of the case, his (;onduct was such as would 
 consign him to utter infamy in any somewhat more morally enliglit- 
 ened age than his own, and' such as any noble-hearted man, however 
 untaught, would have instinctively shrunk from even then. 
 The circumstances brietiy were as follows : 
 
 Clement VII., who had succeeded to the Popedom in 1523, had, 
 4fter much trimming and vacillation between Francis I. and Charles 
 v., become, like the rest of Italy, exceedingly alarmed at the pre- 
 ponderating power of Charles, after the discomtiture of the Frencli at 
 Pttviu. Now the discontent of Pescara, mentioned above, being
 
 VITTORIA COLOXNA. 3i 
 
 notorious, the pope and bis counsellors, especially Giberti. bisbop of 
 Verona, and Morone, chancellor and ])rime minister of the Duke of 
 Milan, thought that it might not be impossible to induce him to turn 
 traitor to Charles, antl make use of the armj' under his command to 
 crush once and forever the Spanish power in Italj'. The prime 
 mover and agent in tiiis conspiracy was Morone, who had the reputa- 
 tion of being one of the profoundest and most far-sighted statesmen 
 of his day. Guicciardini * has recorded that he (the historian) had 
 often heard Morone declare that there did not exist a worse or more 
 faithless man in all Italy than Pescara. The conspiring chancellor, 
 therefore, being empowered by the pope to promise the malcontent 
 general the throne of >Japles as the price of his treason, thought that 
 Jie might well venture to make the proposal. 
 
 Pescara received his overtures favorably, saying that, if he could be 
 tatisiied that what icas proposed to him could be done without injury to 
 his-'homr, he would willingly undertake it, and accept the reward 
 offered to him.f Upon this reply being communicated to the pope, 
 a couple of cardinals forthwith wrote to the Marchese, assuring him 
 that the treason required of him was, " according to the dispositions 
 and ordinances of the laws, civil as well as canon," | perfectly con- 
 sistent with the nicest honor, ^leanwhile, however, it chanced that 
 one Messer Gismondo Santi, who had been sent by the conspirators 
 with letters on the subject into France or Switzerland, was mur- 
 dered for the purpose of robbery by an innkeeper with whom ho 
 lodged at Bergamo, and was buried under the staircase, as was dis- 
 covered some years afterward. And as no tidings were heard of 
 this mcs.senger, all engaged in the plot, and Pescara among them, 
 suspected that he had been waylaid for the sake of his dispatclies, 
 and that thus all was i)robai)Iy made known to Charles. Thereupon 
 Pescara immediately wrote to the emperor, revealing the whole con- 
 spiracy, and declaring that he had given car to their proposals only 
 for the purpose of obtaining full information of the conspirators' 
 designs. 
 
 Such is the version of the story given by Varchi, probably the 
 most trustworthy of all the numerous contemporary historians. lie 
 adds, " It is not unknown to me that many sa}', and perhaps think, 
 that the Marchese, acting loyally from the beginning, had all along 
 given the emperor true informalicn of every thing ; all which I, for 
 my part, knowing nothing further than Avhat I have said, will not 
 undertake to deny. It would indeed be agrecai)le to me to believe 
 that it was .so, raihcr than that the character of so great a soldier 
 Bhould be stained with so foul a blot. Though indeed I know not 
 what sort of loyalty or sincerity that may be, which consists in hav- 
 ing deceived and betrayed by vile trickery and fraud a pope, who, if 
 
 • iBt. Iml.. lih. xvf. cap. 4. 
 
 i Varchi, fctorw Florentlua, vol. 1. p. 88, tdit. Fircuzc, 1843. t Varchi, p. 80.
 
 32 
 
 VITTORIA COLONXA. 
 
 hr>( nng CISC, wns at loast very friendly to liim. a republic such aa 
 tUnt ot Veuice. uiul mauy other pcrsoiiacres, for I ho eakc of acquiring 
 favor M'lth Ins master. This I know well, that the lady Vittoria 
 Lolonua, his wife, a woman of the hiohest charaeler, and aboundipf 
 lu all the virtues which can adorn her sex, had no sooner heard of 
 he intrigue on foot than, wholly untcmpted by the brilliant bono 
 luiiii,' out to her, she with infinite sorrow and anxiety wrote most 
 warmly to her husband, urging him to bethink liim of liis liilhcrto 
 unstained character, and to weigh well what he was about assuring 
 him that, as far as she was concerned, she had no wish to be the wlfa 
 of a king, but only of a loyal and upright man. " 
 
 This letter from Vittoria, urging her husband not to be seduced to 
 swerve from the path of honor and dutv, is recorded by most of the 
 writers ; and V isconti asserts that it was the means of inducing 
 lescara lo abandon the idea of betraying liis sovereign. At all 
 events, the existence of such a letter is very strong evidence tliat 
 Pescara had not from the lir.st informed Charles of the plot, but liad 
 at least liesitated whether he should not join in it, inasmuch as his 
 communications to her upon the sul^ject had oiven her reason to fear 
 lest he should do so. 
 
 On the other hand, it is fair to observe that several of those con- 
 cerned m the intrigue saw reason to suspect the pos.sibility of 
 1 escara s having from the first listened to their overtures only to 
 betraj' them, as is proved by extant letters from one to another of 
 them.* 
 
 ^^ Perhaps this, too, was consistent with the nicest honor, as defined 
 by the ordinances of canon and civil law." But whether he were a 
 traitor to his king or not, he was determined to shrink from no depth 
 of treachery toward his dupes that could serve to ingratiate him with 
 lus master. While still feigning to accede to their proposals, he sent 
 to Moroueto come to him at Novara, that all might be arranged 
 between them. Morone, against the advice of many of his friends 
 and,_ as Guicciardini thought, f with a degree of imprudence astonish- 
 ing in so practised and experience<i a man, went to the meeting. He 
 was received in the most cordial manner by Pescara, who, as .?oon as 
 they were alone together, led him to .speak of all the details of the 
 propo.sed plan. The trap Avas complete ; for behind the hangings of 
 the room in which they were sitting he had hidden Antonio da 
 Leyva, one of the generals of the Spani.sh army, who arrested him as 
 he was quitting the house, and took him to the prison of Novara, 
 where Pescara the next day liad the brazen audacity to examine as a 
 judge the man whom a few hours previously he had talked with as 
 ail accomplice.! 
 
 .^!i V'^^lf ® dc Principi, vol. i. p. 87. See Letters from Gibcrto to Gismondo Santi 
 •nd to Domenico Sanli. 
 t Stoiia, lib. xvii. chap. iv. * Quicciardini, lib. xvii. chap. iv.
 
 VITTORIA COLDNNA. ^3 
 
 Surely, whichever version of the story may be believed, hs to 
 Fescara's original iiitcnlions, vliere is enough here in evidence to go 
 far toward justifying Chancellor >loroue"s opinion that he was one 
 of the worst and' most faithless men in Italy. Some modern Italian 
 writers, with little moral, and less historical, knowledge, have rested 
 the gravamen of the charge against him on his want of patriotic 
 Italian feeling on the occasion. In the first place, no such motive, 
 however laudable in itself, could have justified him in being guilty 
 of the treason proposed to him. In the second place, the class of 
 ideas in question can hardly be found to have had any existence at 
 that period, althougli disl inct traces of such may be met with in Italian 
 history 200 years earher. Certainly the Venetian senate were not 
 actuated by any such ; and still more absurd would it be to attribute 
 them to Pope Clement. It is possible that Moione, and perhaps still 
 more Giberti, may not have been untinctured by them. 
 
 But Pescara was one of the last men, even had he been as high- 
 minded as we find him to have been the reverse, in whom to look for 
 Italian "/"<"'*' *«''^'^"'* " enthusiasm. Of noble Spanish blood, his 
 family had always been the counsellors, friends, and close adherents 
 of a Spanish dynasty at Naples, and the man himself was especially 
 Spanish in all' his sympathies and ideas. "He adopted,"* says 
 Giovio, " in all his costume the Spanish fashion, and always preferred 
 to speak in that language to such a degree that, with Italians, and 
 even with Vittoria his wife, he talked Spanish." And elsewhere he 
 is said to have been in the habit of expressing his regret that he was 
 not born a Spaniard. 
 
 Such habits and sentiments would have been painful enough to a 
 wife, a Roman, and a Colonna, if Vittoria had been sufficiently in 
 advance of her age to have conceived patriotic ideas of Italian nation- 
 ality. But though her pursuits and studies were infinitely more 
 likely to have lecl her mind to such thoughts than were those of the 
 actors in the political drama of the time to generate any such notions in 
 them, yet no trace of any sentiment of the kind is to be found in her 
 writings. Considering the e.\lent of the field over which her mind 
 had travelled, her ac(juaintance with classical literature and with the 
 history of her own country, it may seem surprising that a nature 
 certainly cjipable of high and noble aspirations should have remained 
 untouched by one of tiie noi)lest. Tliat it was so is a striking proof 
 of the utter insensibility of the age to any feelings of the sort. It is 
 possible, too, that the tendencies and modes of thought of her hus- 
 ban<l on the subject of Italy may have exercised a repressing intluence 
 in this respect on Vittoria's mind ; for who does not know how 
 powerfully a woman's intelligence and heart may i)e elevated or 
 degraded Ijy the nature of the object of her all'eclions ; and, doubt- 
 
 ♦ Vita. lib. 1.
 
 3^ VIITORIA COLONNA. 
 
 !!;!,'•■ nfT.'^"""'"\^'/? '° "V*"-^' "i'""'^'' of every- age, do the admirable 
 llnc!^ ot the poet aildross themselves : 
 
 tiT,ot • rt ..',' J''?" «l"''f' l""tT to his level (lay by dav, 
 \VTiat , fl„o ^v,t „M hcc irroyvin- co:.,ve lo sv.npathi/.c uith clay 
 As 1 ,■ hiusban.l is, t lo wife is-; ll,„„ art mute.l Ivitli a do^vn ^' 
 And the grossucas of his nature will have weight to drag thee down." 
 
 When we come to examine tlio tone of sentiment nrcvailinff in 
 \ittoria s poetry, other indications of this deteriorating inllnence w II 
 he perceptible, and if much of nobleness, purity, hi.di aspinUion be 
 nevertheless stiil found in her, this partial immunity f om irevH 
 
 er'ld'e 'n-;;S ''' {''''f'^''^^ % ^^'^ tn«i»S duration of that por ion o 
 tier lile passed in her liusband s company 
 
 bim«'?f in tT' '^^^""■•^■'I'ded for the infamy with which he covered 
 ? Z^J /i "" ''''"^-^ ,"^. '"' ""'''"'"• "^ obtained the rank of ireneral- 
 i^simo of tlie imperial forces in Italy. But lie eniovcd the iTr-ititicn 
 
 fsH c"o? Sil'wr^V"" '■/ ^!" ^'^^ '-'' of th-rytnLYd!' hUo 
 
 a state of healt! which seems to have been not well accounted for by 
 
 PiviTin f; '"'"'' 'V^r-'' '^'^y- ^^"^ ^-"'"^^^^ l'« 1'"^^ received tU 
 Wimr , ! V'^'^'om February are specially described by Pas.seri as 
 haying been very slight yome writers have supposed that either 
 
 probability misgiving as to the possibility of the emperor's discover- 
 ing the real truth of the facts (for the fate of Gismondo Santi and 
 his papers was not Known ^et), was the real cause of his illness It 
 seems clear y to have been of the nature of a suddeu and premature 
 decay of all the vital forces. ^ 
 
 Toward the end of the year he abandoned all hope of recovery 
 
 and sent to Ins wife to desire her to conu; to him with all speed. He 
 
 was then at Milan, hhc set out instantly on her painful journey, and 
 
 ad reached Viterbo on her way northward when she was met by 
 
 tne news of ins death. -^ 
 
 ihl^-m?u ?'']f^°" t lie 25th of November. 15S5. He was buried on 
 the 30th of that month, says Giovio, at Milan ; but the body was 
 ■ho^tly afterward transported with great pomp and magniticence 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 Vitloria a Widow, with the Nuns of San Pilvestro. -Returns to Ischia -Her Popfr* 
 d.visihlo into two fMa..os.-Specin,ens of her So.u.et«.-Thcy rapidly atflij 
 rdel.nty thronghout Italy.-Vittona'« Sentiments toward h<T liusband -He? 
 m.^blenu«hed Charactcr.-i'latonic Love.-The Love Poetry of the SUteenth c"n- 
 
 ViTTOuiA became thus a widow in the thirty-sixth year of lier age 
 She was still in tlie full pride of her beauty, as contemporary writers 
 assert, and as two extant medals, struck at Milan shortly before hei
 
 vittoria' colonxa. 35 
 
 husband's death, attest. One of them presents the bust of Pcscara 
 on the obverse, and that of Vittoria on the reverse ; the other has the 
 same portrait of her on the obverse, and a militarj' trophy on the 
 reverse. The face represented is a very beautiful one, and seen thus 
 in profile is perhaps more pleasin.^ than the portrait, "which has 
 been spoken of in a previous chapter. She was, moreover, even now 
 probably the most celebrated woman in Italy, although she had 
 done little as yet to achieve that immense reputation which awaited 
 her a few years later. Very few, probably, of her sonnets were 
 written before the death of her husband. 
 
 But the exalted rank and prominent position of her own family, 
 the high military grade and reputation of her husband, the wide- 
 spread" hopes and fears of which he had recently been the centre 
 in the affair of the conspiracy, joined to the fame of her talents, 
 learning, and virtues, which had been made the subject of enthu- 
 siastic praise by nearly all the Ischia knot of poets and wits, ren- 
 dered her a very conspicuous person in the eyes of all Italy. Her 
 husband's premature and unexpected death added a source of in- 
 terest of yet anotiier kind to her person. A young, beautiful, and 
 very wealthy widow gave rise to quite as many hopes, speculations, 
 and designs in i-ae sixteenth century as in any other. 
 
 But Vittoria's first feeling, on receiviug that fatal message at 
 Viterbo, was, that she could never again face that world which was 
 80 ready to open its arms to her. Escape from tlie world, solitude, a 
 cell, whose walls should resemble as nearly as might be those of the 
 grave, since that asylum was denied to her, was her only wish. And 
 she hastened, stunned by iier great grief, to Rome, with the intention 
 of throwing herself into a cloister. The convent of San Silvestro in 
 Capite — so called from the supposed possession by the community 
 of the Baptist's head — had always been a special object of veneration 
 to the Colonna family ; and there she sought a retreat. Her many 
 friends, well knowing tlie desperation of her afHiction, feared that, 
 acting under the spur of its first violence, she would take the irrevo- 
 cable step of pronouncing the vows. That a Vittoria Colonna should 
 be so lost to the world \va.s not to be thought of. So Jacopo Sadoleto, 
 bishop of Carpcntras, and afterward made a cardinal by Pope Paul 
 III. , one of the most learned men of his day, himself a poet, and an in- 
 timate friend of Vittoria, luustened to Pope Clement, whose secretary 
 he wius at the time, and obtained from him a brief addressed to tlie 
 abbess and nuns of San Silvestro, enjoining them to receive into their 
 hou.se, and console to the l)cst of their ability, the Marche.sana di 
 Pescara, "omnibus spiritualibus ct temporalibus consolationibus," 
 but forbidding them, under pain of the greater excommunication, to 
 permit her to take the veil, " impetupotius sui doloris, quam maturo 
 consilio circa mutationern vestium vidualium in monasticiis. " 
 
 This brief is dated the 7tli December, bl^.l. 
 
 She remained with the sisters of San Silvestro till the autumn of
 
 36 VITTOUIA rOLOXXA. 
 
 the follnwins: year . and would liave fiiitlior deferred retvfrning ^Tlto 
 a world, whicli tlie eonditfous of the time made less than ever (empt- 
 in.ff to lier, had not her brother Ascanio, now her only remaining 
 natural proteetor, taken her from the convent to Marino, in conse- 
 quence of the C'olonna clau being once again at war with the pope, 
 as partisans of the emperor. 
 
 On the iOth of September, 1526. this ever-turbulent family raised a 
 tumult in Rome to the cry of ■' Imperio! Imperio ! Liberta ! Liberta I 
 Coionua ! Colonna !" and sacked the Vatican, and every house 
 belonging to the Orsini ; * the old clan hatred showing itself as usual 
 on every pretext and opportunity. 
 
 The result was a papal decree depriving Cardinal Colonna of his 
 hat, and declaring confiscated all the estates of the family. Deeply 
 grieved by all these exce.'s.ses, l)oth by the lawless violence of her kins- 
 men and by the punishment incTured by them, she left 3Iarino, and 
 once more returned to the retirement of Ischia. in the beginnini;: of 
 1527. It was well for her that she had decided on not remainiiig in 
 ornear Rome duiing that fatal j-ear Wliile the eternal city and its 
 neighborhood were exposed to the untold liorrors and atrocities com- 
 mitted by the soldiers of the ]\Iost Catholic king, Vittoria was safe 
 in her island home, torn indeed to the heart bv the tidinirs which 
 reached her of the ruin and dispersion of many' valued friends, but 
 at lea.st tranquil and secure. 
 
 And now, if not perhaps while she was still with the nuns of San 
 Silvestro, began her life as a poetess. She had hitherto written hut 
 little, and occasionally only. Henceforward poetical composition 
 seems to have made the great occupation of her life. Visconti, the 
 latest, and by far the be.st editor, of her works, has divided them into 
 two portions. With two or three unimportant exceptions, of which 
 the letter to her husband already noticed is the most considerable, 
 they consist entirely of sonnets. The first of Signor Visconti's 
 divisions, comprising 1:34 sonnets, includes those fnspired almost 
 entirely by her grief for the loss of her husl)and. They form a nearly 
 uninterrui)led series " In Memoriam," in which the changes are rung 
 with infinite ingenuity on a very limited number of ideas, all turning 
 on the glory and high qualities of him whom she had lost, and her 
 own undiminished and hopeless misery. 
 
 • " I only -write to vent that inward pain 
 
 On whicli my heart doth feed itself, nor willi 
 Aujjlu otlicr nourishment," 
 
 begins the first of these elegiac sonnets ; in which she goes on to dis- 
 claim any idea of increasing her husband's glory — " non per giunger 
 liinie al mio bel sole," which is the phrase she uses invariably to 
 designate him. This fancy cf alluding to Pescara always by the 
 6anic not very happily-chosen metaphor contributes an additional 
 
 • Contemporary copy of the Act of Accusation, cited by Visconti, p. ci.
 
 TITTORIA COLONJ^A. 
 
 37 
 
 element of monotony to verses still further deprived of variety by 
 the identity of their highly arlificial form. 
 
 This form it is hardly necessary to remark, more than any othet 
 mode of the Ivre, needs and exhibits tiie beauties of accurate hnish 
 and neat polish. Shut out, as it is, by its exceedmg artificiality and 
 difficult construction from many of the higher beauties of more 
 spontaneous poetical utterance, the sonnet, '* totus teres atqu« 
 rotundus," is nothing if not elaborated to gem-like pertectioa. 
 
 Yet Viltoria writes as follows : 
 
 " Se in man prender iion soglio unqna la lima 
 
 Del buon giudicio. e ricercauao intomo 
 
 Con occhio disdcgnoso, io iion adorno 
 Ne tert;o la mia rozza incolta rimn, 
 Na.«ce perche non e nii;i cura prima 
 
 Procacciar di cu> lode, o fuggir scorno ; 
 
 Ne die dopo il mio lieto al ciel ritorno 
 Viva ella al inoudo in piii onorata stima. 
 Ma dal foco divin, cho 'I mio iutelletto 
 
 Sua mercc- inftamnia, convien die escan fUOTe 
 
 Mai mio grado laloi- qucste faville. 
 E pe alcnna di loro un rrontil core 
 
 Avvien die scaldi, mille volte e mule 
 
 Ringraziar dubbo il mio felice errore." 
 
 Which may be thus Englished with tolerable accuracy of meanings 
 if not with much poetica'f elegance : * 
 
 "If in these rude and artless sonjrs of mine 
 
 I never take the file in hand, nor try 
 
 With curious care, and nice fastidious eye, 
 To deck and polish each uncultured line, 
 'Tis that it makes small portion of my aiui 
 
 To merit prai.-e, or "s^cape scorn's bliglitin.2 breath; 
 
 Or thai my verse, when I have welcomed death, 
 May live rewarded with the meed of fame. 
 But it must be that Heaveu'sown gracious gift, 
 
 Which with its bnath divine inspires my soul. 
 
 Strike forth these spirks, unbidden by my will. 
 And should one such but haply serve to lift 
 
 One gentle heart, I thankful reach my goal. 
 
 And, faulty tho' the stiaiu, uiy every wish fulfil.' 
 
 Again, in another sonnet, of which the first eight lines are perhaps 
 as favorable a specimen of a really poetical image as can^be found 
 throughout her writings, she repeats the same profession of " pouring 
 «Q unpremeditated lay." 
 
 " Qual digfuno angelHn. che vede od ode 
 Hatter T ali alia madre intorno, quando 
 (ill recu il nutriinenu>; end cgli aniaudo 
 
 II cibo e ((udia, si ralkgra e gode, 
 
 Kdi'nii-o al nido sno .-i sirnggi? e rode 
 J'er desio di seguirla andi' ei volnndo, 
 K la ringra/.ia in tal niodo caiilaiido, 
 
 Che par ch' oUrc "1 jioter la lingua snode ; 
 
 • Sec Note 3.
 
 ^^ VITTOFHA COLONN-A. 
 
 Tal" io qiialor il rnldo rngrKio e vivo 
 
 J)el (liviii sole, oiule niitrisco il core 
 
 I HI del iiK.-Uo liioiilo I;iiiii)cr;[riji 
 Muovo III jx-iiiiM, spiiilM (l;iir iinioVn 
 
 jMicnio : (^scnyjioir io slcssii ra'avvogeift 
 
 Di qufl ch' 111 Uico Io 8iu; lodi i-cnvo." 
 
 Which in English runs pretty exactly as follows : 
 
 "Like to a hun^rry nestling bird, tlint hoars 
 
 Andt-tTs the »hilfcrin-of liis niothci-'s HijiM 
 
 Ami''!!' I''; V" ■"""''• "'"•"'•<'. l"viMs what .-lie brings 
 And her no U>ss. a jovfiil mien hr wc:irs *" 
 
 And struralcs in the nest, and vainly stirs, 
 V\ i.shfiil to rollow hfi- fire wmidcriiin-s 
 
 T)„.? ,. f"'^^ '":'■ '". ■''"^'' '■^''^I'io'i. "hnc he sings, 
 That the free voice beyond his strength appear!: 
 So I, whene er the warm and liviii"- glow 
 
 Of him my sun divine, that feediTniy heart 
 TT, J'k* ';rs''tL''- than its wont, take np the pen. 
 Urged by the force of my deep l<,ve ; and so 
 
 Unconscious of the words unkempt by art 
 
 1 write his praises o'er and o'er again." 
 
 .2!!1T^''\''T-'''^''''^ ''''^^} Italian poetry will have already seen 
 enough to make lum aware that the Colonna's compositions are by 
 no means unkemp , unpolished, or spontaneous. The merirof Ihem 
 
 aSthi ' T Iv^"-'- ^'^-'^ '^ ^'^''^^ '^''y ''"•'^ '^^^'^y 11^« reversed 
 Sp it J \ . Higcnious neat, highly studied, elegant, and elabo- 
 rate It n ay be true, mdeed, that much thought wal not expended 
 
 ZnlTr'-'^'T' ' '^"1' '' ''''' °^^ ^1^'^"^ '^ ^''« auction, veSca 
 Z'l o \'r\ ^"^ "'"'■' '^^'^"^ "^="'y «^' i^er sonnets were re- 
 touched altered, improved, and finally left to posterity, in a form 
 
 J.P fl'f^^'"'^ f'-orn that m which they were lir.st Iiande 1 round tlm 
 erary world of Italy.* The tile, in truth, was constantly in hand! 
 though the nice fastidious care bestowed in dressing out with curious 
 conceits a jepinc or trite thought, which won the enthusiastic ap- 
 plause ot her contemporaries, does not to the modern reader com- 
 pensate for llie absence of passion, earnestness, and reality 
 ^ Then, arrain. the declaration of the songstress of these would-be 
 wood-notes wild.' that they make no pretension to the meed of 
 priise. nor care to escape contempt, nor are inspired bv any hope of 
 a h'e of fame after the author's death, leads us to contVast with such 
 professions the destiny thtit really did-suiely not altogether un- 
 sougl..— await tlie.se grief-inspired utlerauces of a breaking heart 
 , during the author's lifetime. ^ 
 
 No .sooner was each memory-born pane: illustrated by an ingenious 
 metaplior or pretty simile, packed neatly in its regulation case of 
 tourteen lines, with tlieir complexity of twofold rhymes all riVht 
 llian^was hnnded all over Italy. Copies were as etigerly souglit for 
 
 VenK f^f^"^«'°^°^"'^ Jettori" of Rinaldo's Corso-s edition orth^"s^n~et
 
 VITTORIA COLOXXA. 39 
 
 89 the novel of the seasoa at a nineteenth-century circulating-library. 
 Cardinals, bishops, poets, wits, diplomatists, passed Iheni from one to 
 another, made them the subject of their correspondence with each 
 other, and with the fair mourner ; and eagerly looked out for the 
 next poetical bonne-boiiche which her undying grief and constancy 
 to her " bel sole" shonld send them. 
 
 The enthusiasm created by these tuneful wailings of a young widow, 
 as lovely as inconsolable, as irreproachable as noble, learned enough 
 to correspond with the most learned men of the day on their own 
 Bubjects, and with all this a Coionna, was intense. Vittoria became 
 epeedily the most famous woman of her day, was termed by universal 
 consent "the divine," and lived to see three editions of the grief- 
 cries, which escaped from her " without her will." 
 
 Here is a sonnet, which was probably written at the time of her 
 return to Ischia in 1527 ; when the sight" of all the well-loved scenery 
 of the home of her happy years must have brought to her mind 
 Dante's — 
 
 " Nessun maggior dolore 
 Che ricordari-i del tempo felice 
 Nclla miseria !" 
 
 Vittoria looks back on the happy time as follows : 
 
 " Oh ! che tranquillo mar, oh che chiaro onde 
 
 Solcavagia lamiaepalniata barca, 
 
 li'i ricca e nobil mcrce adonia e carca, 
 Con 1' aer puro, e con 1' aure seconde, 
 II ciel, ch'ora i bci vaglii himi asconde 
 
 Porgea screna luce e d' ombra searca ; 
 
 Ahi ! quanto ha da temer chi lieto varca! 
 Che lion seuipre al principio il fin rispouda, 
 Ecco 1' empia u voluhile fortnna 
 
 Scoperse poi 1' irala inicjua IVonte, 
 
 Dal ciii furor hI gran procella insorge. 
 Veiili, piogiiia, eaetti; insienic adiina, 
 
 E fiere intorno adivorarmi pronte ; 
 
 Ma 1' alma ancor la Ada Ktella scorge." 
 
 In English, thus : 
 
 " On what smoolh si'as, on what clear waves did sail 
 My fresh careened bark ! what col^tly freight 
 Of noble merchandise adorn'd its ptate! 
 
 How i)nre the breeze, how favoring the gale I 
 
 And fleuven, which now its beauteous rays doth vej 
 Shone then serene and shadowless. Hut fate 
 For tliR tO) happy voyager lies in wait. 
 
 Oft fair beginnln'js in lh<-ir endings fail. 
 
 And now doth imploiiM chaiigefnl fortune bare 
 Her angry ruthless brow, whose thrent'ning power 
 Rouses the tempest, and lets loose its war! 
 
 But thouiili rains, winds, and lightnings fill the air, 
 And wild beasts seek to rend me and devour, 
 Still shinea o'er my true soul its faithful btar." 
 
 Rearing in mind what we have seen of Pescara, it wotild seem 
 evident that some monstrous illusion with respect to him must havo 
 
 If
 
 4^ VITTOKIA COLONNA„ 
 
 obscured Vittorla's mind and jiulgntcnt. It might have been expected 
 liiat she would hiire been foimd attribntiug to him hicrh and noble 
 qualities, which existed only in her own imau;iuation. But it is 
 remarkable that, though in general terms she sperdts of him as all that 
 was n()I)l(!st and greatest, yet in describing his merits, she confines 
 herself to the few which he really liad. This highly-cultured, devout, 
 thoughtful, intellectual woman, seems really to" have believed, that a 
 merceniry swordsman's calling was the noblest occupation earth 
 could offer, and the successful following of it the best preparation 
 and surest title to immortal happiness liereafter. 
 
 The following sonnet is one of many expressing the same senti- 
 ments ; 
 
 " Alle Vittorie tue, mio lurae etemo, 
 
 Non diede il tempo o la stagion favore ; 
 La ppada, la virtu, 1' invitto core 
 Fur li ministri tuoi la state e' vcrno. 
 Col pnidento occliio, e col saggio govemo 
 L'altrui forze spezzasii in si brev" ore, 
 Che "I modo all" alto imprcse accrebbe onore 
 Non men che 1" opre al tuo valore interuo. 
 Non t'lrdaro il tuo corso auimi altiori, 
 O Uniiii, o monti ; c le maggior cittadi 
 I'er cortesia od ardir rimasir vinte. 
 Salisti al mondo i piu prcgiati gradi ; 
 Orgodi in ciel d'altri triouH^e veri, 
 D' altre frondi le tempie ornate ecinte." 
 
 Which may be Englished as follows : 
 
 " To thy great victories, my eternal light, 
 
 Nor time, nor seasons, lent their favoring aid ; 
 
 Thy sword, thy might, thy courage undismay'd, 
 Suramt-r and winter serv'd thy will aright. 
 By thy wise governance and eagle sight. 
 
 Thou didst so rout the foe with headlong speed, 
 
 The manner of the doing crownd the deed. 
 No less than did the deed display thy might. 
 Mountains and streams, and haughty souls in vain 
 
 Would check tliy course. By force of courtesy 
 
 Or valor vanquished, cities of name were won. 
 Earth's highest honors did thy worth attain ; 
 
 Now truer triumphs Heaven reserves for thee, 
 
 And nobler garlands do thy temples crown." 
 
 Often her wishes for death are checked by the consideration that 
 haply her virtue may not suffice to enable her to rejoin her liusband 
 in the mansions of the blessed. Take the following example • 
 
 " Quando del suo tormento il cor f^i diiole 
 
 Si ch" io hranio il niio fin. tiuior m" assale, 
 
 E dice ; il morirtosto a clic ti vale 
 Si forse lungi V!ii dal tuo bel sole? 
 Da questa fredda tema nascer suole 
 
 Un caldo ardir, ch* pon d' intorno V ale 
 
 All alma ; onde disgombra il mio mortale 
 Quanto ella pu^, da quel ch' 1 mondo vnole. 
 
 Coal lo spirto mio »' ascondc e copra
 
 YITTOHIA COLOXXA. 41 
 
 Qui dal piaoer uraan, non giii per f ama 
 
 O van L'lido, o pregiartropuo se stesso ; 
 Ma sente 'I lumesiio. che ogiior lo Qhiama, 
 
 E vcdo il volto, ovuiiinic iiiira, impresso, 
 
 Che gli misura i pussi e scorge I'opre." 
 
 Thus done into Euglish : 
 
 " When of it.s panss my heart doth sore complain. 
 
 So that I long to die, fear falls on rae, 
 
 And saith, what boots such early death to thee. 
 If far from thy bright siin thou shouldst remain ? 
 Then oft from this cold fear is born again 
 
 A fervent boldness, which doth prer^ently 
 
 Lend my soul wings, so that mortality 
 Stfives to put off its worldly wishes vain. 
 
 For this, my spirit here herself enfolds, 
 And hides fro'm human joys ; and not for fame, 
 
 Nor empty praise, nor overblown conceit; 
 But that she hears iier eun still call her name, 
 
 And still, where'er she looks, his face doth mret, 
 
 Who measures all her steps, and all her deeds beholds." 
 
 A similar cast of thought, both as regards her own disgust of life 
 nnd the halo of sanctity, which b}' some mysterious process of mind 
 she was able to throw around her husband's memory, is found again 
 in this, the last of the sonnets selected to illustrate this phase of our 
 poetess's mind and exemplify the first division of her writings : 
 
 " Cara union, che in si mirabil modo 
 
 Fosti ordinata dal siguor del cielo, 
 
 Che lo spirto divino, e 1' uman velo 
 Lego con uolce ed amoroso nodo, 
 lo, benchi lui disi bell' opralodo. 
 
 Pur cerco, e ad altri il mio pensier non celo, 
 
 Sciorre il luo iarcio ; ni piu a caldo o gelo 
 Serbarti ; poi che qui di te non godo. 
 
 Che r alma chiusa in questo career rlo 
 Come nemico 1' odia ; onde smarrita 
 
 Ne vive qui, ue vola ove desia. 
 Quando san'i con suo gran sole unita, 
 
 Felice giomo ! allor contenta fla ; 
 Che eol nel viver suo conobbe vita." 
 
 Of which the subjoined rendering, prosaic and crabbed as it is, ia 
 perhaps hardly more so than the original : 
 
 "Sweet bond, that wast ordain'd bo wondrous well 
 By the Almighty ruler of the sky. 
 Who did utiite in one sweet loving tie 
 
 The godlike ppirit and its fleshy shell. 
 
 I, while I praise lii- loving work, yet try — 
 Nor wiffh my thought from others to withhold — 
 To loose lliy knot ; nor more, Ibrough heat or cold, 
 
 Preserve thee, since m thee no joy have I. 
 
 Therefore my soul, shut in this dungeon stern, 
 DelC'lH ituHu foe ; whence, all astray, 
 She lives not iiere, nor flics where she would go. 
 
 When to her glorious sun she (<liall return. 
 All ! then content shull come with that blest day, 
 Foi bbe, but while he iivd, a sense of life could know."
 
 42 
 
 VITTOIIIA COLOXNA. 
 
 In consK onng llie collection of 117 sonnets from wliich the above 
 BiH'nnu'ns huvc heen sdccto.], nn.i wl.ich worn probably tlie pro.luct 
 ol about seven or cii;-ht yours, from mu to mH-i (in ono sho i 
 monts tbi.t tbo sovonth year from hor busband's (Icatli should l,ave 
 bro.ii^lit Willi It no alleviation of her i>riof). tlie most ii loreS 
 quostion that suggests itself is. whether we aie to suppose hescn? 
 t.n.enis expressed in them to be genuine outpourings of the heart or 
 rather to consider them all as part of the professional erjuipment of a 
 
 i)",l V-^:l''f' r / ',", "'" '''"'•' "*' '^^'J'i^'^ii'fe^ 'I I'igh and brilliant poet- 
 ic.il repulat^ion ^ J he question is a prominent one, as regards the 
 
 •oucrete notion to be formed of the sixteenth-century woman, V t- 
 toria Colonna ; and is not without interest as bearing on the great 
 Nubject of woman's nature. mc gitat 
 
 Vittoria's moral conduct, both as a wife and as a widow was 
 wholly irreproachable. A mass of concurrent contemporary 'testi- 
 mony seems to leave no doubt whatever on this point. More than 
 one of he poets ot her day professed themselves her ardent admirers 
 devoted slaves and despairing lovers, according to the most an- 
 proved poetical and Platonie fashion of the time ; and she received 
 
 leir inflated bombast not unpleased with the incen.se, and answered 
 tliein with other bombast, all ca regie and in character. The " carte 
 (le tendre was then laid down on the Platonic proiectiou : and the 
 si.xteenlh-century fashion in this respect was made a convenient 
 screen, lor those to whom a screcjn was needful, quite as freniientl\r 
 as the less classical whimsies of a later period. But Platonic love 
 to Vittoria was merely an oecasi:)n for indulging in the spiritualistic 
 pedantries by which the classicists of that day sought to link the 
 infant metaphysical speculations, then beginning to grow out of ques- 
 lions of church doctrine, with the ever-interesting subject of roman- 
 
 A recent French writer,* having translated info prose Vittoria's 
 poetical epi.stle to her husband, adds that she lias been " oblio-ed to 
 veil and soften certain pas.sages which might damnee the waiter's 
 poetical character in the eyes of Iier fair readers, byexhibitin"- her 
 as more woman than poet in the ardent and ' positive ' manner in 
 whieh .she speaks of her love. " Never was there a more calumnious 
 )nsiiuiation. It is true indeed that the French woman omits or slurs 
 over some pas.sages of the original, but as they are wholly void of 
 the shadow of offence it can only be siippo.sed that the translator 
 did not understand the meaning of them. 
 
 There is no word in Vitforia^'s poetry which can lead to any othei 
 conclusion on this point, than that she was, in Jier position and .social 
 rank, an examijle, rare at that period, not only of perfect retrnlaiity 
 ot conduct, but of great purity and considerable elevation of mind 
 buch other indications as we have of her moral nature are all favora- 
 
 • Madf me Lamaze, fitudes Bur Trois Feinmes Celebres -, Paris, 1848, p. 41.
 
 YITTORIA COLONNA. 43 
 
 ble We find her. uninfluenced by the bitter hereditary hatreds of 
 her family striving to act as peacemaker between hostile faclions. 
 nd wS'? over the mischiefs occasioned by their struggles AVe 
 find her*^ he constant correspondent and valued fnend of ahnos 
 every 'ood and great man of her day. And i her scheme of moral 
 SiS^^sgatli^rable fron. U.at P-tionoer poems w^d. we 
 
 ' 2-enerallv prevalent around her. i i „,i 
 
 ^ Sue ^N^s Vittoria Colonna. It has been seen what herhusband 
 Pescara was And the question arises-how far can it be imagined 
 po"ShSsht should not onl^^ lavished on him to tlie last 
 
 while living all the treasures of an almost idolatrous affection ; not 
 on havi feoked back on his memory after his death with fondness 
 and charitable, even blindly charitable, indulgence, but should abso- 
 utelv have so canonized him in her imagination as to have doubted 
 of her own fitness to consort hereafter with a soul so holy ! J^ may 
 be said that Vittoria did not know her husl)and as we know him 
 that the few years they had passed together ^^f 'V^J^^ w th^t'ho h-u 
 only the belter phases of his character. But she knew that he ha 
 at least doubted whether he should not be false to his sovereign and 
 had been most infamously so to h^^ accomplices or dupes, bhe knew 
 at least all that Giovio's narrative could tell her ; for the bishop pre- 
 sented it to her, and received a sonnet in return. 
 
 But it is one of the most beautiful properties of woman s nature. 
 Bome men say, that their love has power to blind their jud-ment. 
 Novelists and poets are fond of representing womcin whose altections 
 remain unalterably fixed on tiieir object, despite the manifest un- 
 worthiness of it ; and set .such examples before us, as something 
 hich noble, admirable, "beautiful," to the considerable demorali- 
 zation of their confiding students of cither sex. There is a tendency 
 in woman to refu.se at all risks the dethroning of the sovereign she 
 baa placed on her heart's throne. The pain of deposing him is so 
 trreat that she is tempted to abase her own soul to escape it ; lor it is 
 only at that cost that it can be escaped. And the speclac e ot a line 
 nature " dra-^L'ed down to symi)athize with clay, is not beautitul 
 but exceedinglv tiie reverse. Men do not usually set forth as wortliy 
 of admiralion— liioiigh a certain sclujol of writers do even this in 
 the trasli talked of love at first siglit-tliat kind of love bctw^-n the 
 sexes which arisen from causes wholly iii(iei)eiideiit of the higlier part 
 of our nattiH!. Yet it is that love alone which can survive esteem 
 And it is highly important to the destinies of woman, that .she .shoultl 
 undcrsland and be Ihorou-lilv persuaded that she cannot love liat 
 which does not merit love, witlioul degrading her own nature ; that 
 "nder whatsoever circumstances love should cease when resix-ct. ap- 
 probation and esteem have come to an end ; and that those who tmU
 
 *^ VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 poetry and beauty in the love M'hich no moral cliansre m its oblecft 
 can k.il. are simp y toachiut,- her to attribute a fatally debasing ^ 
 preuiacy to those lower instincts of our nature, on whose duo siibor- 
 diua i(,n to tlie diviuer portion of our being all nobleness, all moral 
 purity and spiritual pro.irrcss depends. ' i"oicn 
 
 Vittoria Colonna was not one whose intellectual and moral self had 
 thus abdica ed its sceptre. The texture of her mind and its habits of 
 thought forbid the supposition ; and, bearing this in mind, it becomes 
 wholly impossible to accept the glorification of her " bel sole," which 
 makes the staple of the first half of her poems, as the sincer; expres- 
 sion of genuine feeling and opinion. ^ 
 
 Slie was probably about as much in earnest as was her great model 
 and master, Petrarch, in his adoration of Laura. Tlie poetical mode 
 of the day was almost exclusively Petrarchist ; aud the abounding 
 Castahan fount of that half century in "tlie land of song," played 
 from its thousand jets little less than Petrarcli and water in different 
 degrees of dilution. Vittoria has no claim to be excepted from the 
 servum pecus, though her imitation has more of self-derived 
 vigor to support it. And this assumption of a mighty, undyintr 
 exalted and hopeless passion, was a necessary part of 'the poet's prol 
 fessional appurtenances. Where could a young and beautiful widow 
 ot unblemished conduct, who had no intention of changing her con- 
 dition, and no desire to risk misconstruction by the world find this 
 needful part of her outfit as a poet, so unobjcctiouably as in the mem- 
 ory of her husband, sanctified and exalted by the imagination to the 
 point proper for the purpose. 
 
 For want of a deeper s]Mritual insight, and a larger comprehension 
 of the finer affections of the human heart and the manifestations of 
 them, with the Italian poets of the "renaissance," love-poetry was 
 little else than the expression of passion in the most restricted sense 
 of the term. But they were often desirous of elevating, purifying 
 and spiritualizing their theme. And how was this to be accom- 
 plished ? The gratification of passion, such as they painted, would 
 they felt, have led them quite in a ditferent direction from that they 
 were seeking. A hopeless passion, therefore, one whose wishes the 
 reader was perfectly to understand, were never destined to be grati- 
 fied—better still, one by the nature of things impossible to be gratl- 
 fled— this was the contrivance by which love was to be poetized and 
 moralized. 
 
 The passion-poetry, which addres.sed itself to the memory of one 
 no more, met the requirements of the case exactly: and Vittoria'a 
 ten years' despair and lamentations, her apotheosis of the late cavalr-r 
 <'aptain. and lomjini; f(; rejoin him, must be regarded as poetical 
 properties brougiit out for u.se, wlieu she sat down to make poetry 
 for the perfectly self-conscious thougii very laudable purpose of ac- 
 quiring for herself a poet's reimtation. 
 But it must not be supposed that any thing in the nature of hypoc-
 
 VITTORIA COLOXNA. 45 
 
 risv was involved in the assumption of the poetical role of iaconsol- 
 ahle widow. Everybody understood that the poetess was only raak- 
 ng poetry, and saving the usual and proper things for that purpose. 
 She was no more attempting to impose on anybody than was a poet 
 when on entering some " academia" he termed liimself Tyrtaius or 
 Lycidas, instead of the name inherited from liis father. _ 
 
 And from tliis prevaiUug absence of all real and genmne feelmg 
 arises the utter coldaess and shallow insipidity of the poets of that 
 time and school. Literature has probably few more unreadable de- 
 partments than the productions of the Petrarchists of the begmnmg 
 of the sixteenth century. 
 
 Vittoria when she began to write on reri,gious subjects, was more 
 la earnest ; and the result, as we shall see, is accordingly improved. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 Vittoria in Rome in 15.30.— Antiquarian Rambles.— Pyramua and Thi9b«Med*l.p 
 Coateraporary Commentary on Vittoria's Poems.— Paul the Tliird.— Rome agwa 
 in 15;i6.— Visit to Lucca.— To Ferrara.— Protestant Tendencies.— Invitation Jrom 
 Giberto, — Return to liame. 
 
 The noble rivalry of Francis I. and Charles V. was again, in 1530. 
 making Naples a tield of glory in such sort that outraged nature ap- 
 peared also on the scene with pestilence in her baud. The first in- 
 fliction had driven most of the literary society in Naples to take refuge 
 in the comparative security of Ischia. The latter calamity had 
 reached even that retreat ; and Vittoria some time in that year again 
 visited Rome. 
 
 Life was bet;inning there to return to its usual conditions after the 
 tremendous catastrophe of ir)27. Pestilence had there also, as usual, 
 followed in the train of war and military license. And many in all 
 classes had been its victims. Great numbers fled from the city, aud 
 among these were probably most of such as were honored by Vit- 
 toria's personal friendship. Now they were venturing back to their 
 old haunts on the Piucian, tiie Qiiiriiial. or tbo.se favorite Coionna 
 gardens stiil ornamented i)y the ruins of Auiclian's Temple to the 
 Sun. The tide of modern Golhs, vvlio had UirciUeued to make tliu 
 eternal city's name a mockery, liad been swept back at the word of 
 that second and " most Catliolic" Alaric,, Charles V. Cardinals, poet- 
 asters, wits, Cicerouian bi.sliops, stiUesmen, embassadors, and artists, 
 busy in tlie achievement of immortality, were oace morii forming i\ 
 society, w bid), gave the JIdiik! of that day a fair title to be consid- 
 ered, in ainnis pohiU of view, the capital of the world. The golden 
 Roman sunlight was still glowing over aqueduct, arch, and temple ; 
 And liome the Eternal was lierscif again. 
 
 15y this varied and distinguished society Vittonif w<y; l-eccived with 
 
 A a— 26
 
 46 virroRiA colonna. 
 
 open arms. Tbe Colonna family bad become reconciled to Pope 
 Clement, and bad liad tlicir fiefs restored Jo tbem ; so tbat tbere was 
 no cloud on tbe political borizon to prevent tbe celol)rated Marcbe- 
 saua from receiving tbe boniage of all parties. Tbe Marcbcse del 
 Vasto, Vittoria's fortner pupil, for vvbom slic never ceased to feel tbe 
 warmest afTection. was also tben at Home.* ]n bis company, and 
 tbat of some otbers of tbe gifted knot around her, Viltoria visile^ tbe 
 ruins and vestiges of ancient Rome, witb all tbe cntbusia.'-m of one 
 deeply versed in classic lore, and tborougbly imbued with tbe then 
 prevailing admiration for tbe works and memorials of Pagan an- 
 tiquity. Vittoria's sister-in-law. Donna Giovanna d'Aragona, the 
 heauliful and accomplished wife of her brother Ascanio, in whose 
 house she seems to have been living during this visit to Home, was 
 doubtless one of the party on these occasions. The poet Molza has 
 chronicled his presence among them in more than one sonnet. His 
 muse would seem to have " made increment of any thing." Tor no 
 less than four sonnets f were tbe result of the exclamation from Vit- 
 toria, " Ah, happy tliey"— tbe ancients, " who lived in days so full 
 of beauty !" Of course, various pretty things were obtainable out of 
 this._ Among otbers, we have the gallant Pagans responding to the 
 lady's ejaculation, tbat on the contrary their time was less fortunate 
 than the present, in tbat it was not blessed by the sight of her. 
 
 It would have been preferable to have had preserved for us some 
 further scraps from tbe lips of Vittoria, while tbe little party gaze at 
 sunset over that matchless view of the aqueduct-bestri:lden Cum- 
 pagna from the terrace at the western front of the Lateran, looked 
 up at tbe Colosseum, ghostly in tbe moonlight, from the arch of 
 Titus, or discoursed on tbe marvellous i)roportions of the Pantheon. 
 
 But history rarely guesses aright what tbe after^ages she works 
 for would most thank her for handing down to them. And we must 
 be content to construct frr ourselves,' as best we may, from the stray- 
 hints we have, the singularly pleasing picture of tlicse sixteenth cen- 
 tury rambles among the ruins of Pome by as remarkable a company 
 of pilgrims as any of the thousands who have since trodden m their 
 steps. 
 
 Vittoria's visit to Pome upon this occasion was a short one. It 
 was probably early in tbe following year tbat she returned to Iscbia. 
 Signor Visconti attributes Ibis journey to the restlessness arising from 
 a heart ill at ca.se, vainly hoping to find relief from its misery by- 
 change of place. He assumes all tbe expressions of despair to be 
 found in Jier .sonnets of ibis period, to be so many reliable autobio- 
 graphical documents, and builds bis nanativ*; upon tbem accord- 
 ingly. To this period he attributes tbe sonnet, translated in a previ- 
 ous chapter, in which tbe poetess declares that she has no wish to 
 conceal from the world the temptation to suicide which assails her. 
 
 * Lcttfre di Bembo, vo). i. p. 115, ed. 1560. 
 t Edit. Serassi, pp. 14, 15. S7, 40.
 
 VITTORIA COLOKXA. 47 
 
 And in commemoration of this mood of mind, he adds, in further 
 nroof of the sad truth, a medal was struck upon this occasion in 
 Rome of which he -ives an engraving. It represents, on one side, 
 the inconsolable lady as a handsome, well-nourished, comfortable- 
 looking widow, in mourning weeds, more aged m appearance, cer- 
 tainly, since the striking of the former medal spoken of, than the 
 laose of seven years would seem sufhcient to account for And, on 
 the reverse, is a representation of the melancholy stovyof Pyramus 
 and Thisbe the former lying dead at the feet of the typical paragon, 
 who is pointing toward her breast a sword, grasped m both hands, 
 half way down the blade, in a manner sure to have cut her hngers. 
 The two sides of the medal, seen at one glance, as m Signor Viscouti s 
 engraving, are, it must be admitted, calculated to give rise to ideas 
 the reverse of pathetic. . , „ . j ^^ :„ 
 
 To this period too belongs the sonnet, also previously alluded to, m 
 which Vittoria speaks of the seventh year of her bereavement having 
 arrived without bringing with it any mitigation of her woe bignor 
 Visconti takes this for simple autobiographical material, it is curi- 
 ous as a specimen of the modes of thought at the time, to see how 
 the 'same passage is handled by Vittoria's first editor and commenta- 
 tor Rinaldo Corsi. who published her works foe the second time at 
 Venice in lo.jg. His commentary begins as follows : " On this son- 
 net it remains for me to speak of the number seven as 1 have done 
 already of the number four. But since Varro, Macrobms, and 
 Aulus Gellius. together with many others, have treated largely ot the 
 subiect, I will only add this— which, perhaps, ladies, may appear to 
 vou somewhat strange ; that, according to Hippocrates, the number 
 four enters twice into the number seven ; and 1 find it stated by most 
 credible authors as a certain fact, and proved by the testimony of 
 their own observation, that a male child of seven years old has been 
 known to cure persons afflicted by the infirmity called scrofula by no 
 other meaas than by the hidden virtue of that number seven, etc., 
 
 etc etc 
 
 In this sort, jMesser Rinaldo Corso composed, and the literary 
 ladies to whom throughout, as in the above passage, his labors are 
 especially dedicated, uuist be suiiposed to have read more than five 
 hundred close-printed iiatresof commentary on the works of the cele- 
 brated poetess, who, in all probability, when she penned the sonnet 
 in question, had no more intention of setting forth the reasons for 
 her return to Ischia lliaii slie had of alluding U> the occult properties 
 of the mysterious number .seven. The natural supposition is, that as 
 Bhe had been driven fn.m her home by the pestilence, she returned 
 to it when that rea.son for absence was at an end. 
 
 There she seems to have remained tranquilly employed on her 
 favorite pursuits, increasing lier already great reputation, and cor- 
 responding assiduously with all tli'.- best and most distinguished mea 
 of Italy, whether laymen or ecclesiastics, till the year 15UG.
 
 48 
 
 VITTOUIA COLONNA. 
 
 In that yoar she again visited Rome, and resided durino: her etar 
 there with Donna (Jiovanna d'Aniiroiia, lior si.stcr-in-law Paul III 
 larncse, had in inu succeeded Clement in the cliair of St ]\'tcr"' 
 and though Paul was on many accounts very far from bein"- a cood 
 pope or a good priest, yet the Farnese wjiii an improvement oif the 
 i>leihci. As ever, Rome began to sliow signs of improvement when 
 danger to her sj'stem from without began to make itself felt Paul 
 seems very soon to have become convinced that the general council 
 which had been so haunling a dread to Clement during the whole of 
 his pontihcate. could no longer be avoided. But it was still hoped in 
 the council chambers of the Vatican, that the doctrinal diniculties of 
 the German reformers, which threatened the church with so fatal a 
 schism, might be got over by conciliation and dexterous theological 
 diplomacy. As soon as il became evident that this hope was vain fear 
 began to mfluence the papal policy', and at its bidding the ferocious 
 persecuting bigotry of Paul IV. was contrasted with the shameless 
 profligacy of Alexander, the epicurean indifferentism of Leo, and the 
 pettifogging worldliness of Clement. 
 
 Between these two periods came Paul III., and the illusory liopea 
 that the crisis might be tided over by finding some arrangement of 
 terminology which should satisfy the refonners, while Rome should 
 abandon no particle of doctrine on which any vital portion of her 
 system of temporal power was based. To meet the exigencies of this 
 period, Paul III. signalized his accession by raising to the purple a 
 number of the most earnest, most learned, and truly devout men in 
 Italy. Contarini, the Venetian ; CaralTa, from Naples ; Sadoleto 
 Bishop of Carpentras ; Pole, then a fugitive from England ; Giberti 
 Bishop of Verona ; and Fregoso, Archbishop of Salerno, were men 
 chosen solely on account of their eminent merit. 
 
 With most, if not all of these, Vittoria was connected by the bonds 
 of mtimate friendship. With Contarini, Sadoleto, and Pole, especial- 
 ly, she corresponded ; and the esteem felt for her by such men is 
 the most undeniable testimony to the genuine worth of her charac- 
 ter. It is easy to imagine, therefore, how warm a reception awaited 
 her arrival on this occasion in Rome, and how delightful must have 
 been her stay there. She liad now reached the full measure of her 
 reputation. The religious and doctrinal topics which were now oc- 
 cupying the best minds in Italy, and on which her thoughts were 
 frequently busied in her correspondence with such men as those 
 named above, had recently begun to form the subject-matter of her 
 poems. And their superiority in vigor and earnestness to her earlier 
 works must have been perfectly apparent to her reverend and 
 learned friends. 
 
 Accordingly, we are told that her stay in Rome on this occasion 
 was a continued ovation ; and Signor Visconti informs us, on the 
 authority of the Neapolitan historian, Gregorio Rosso, that Charles 
 v., being then m Rome, " condescended to visit in their own house
 
 VITTORIA COLONNA. 4:0 
 
 the Indies Giovanua di'Aragona, wife of Ascanio Colonna, and Vit- 
 toria Cnlouua, Marches-.i di Fescara." 
 
 The follow ng year. loUT thai is. she went, Viscon i says, t^ Luc- 
 ca from which °city she passed to Ferrara, arriving there on he 8th 
 of' April '-in humole guise, with six waiting-women only. 
 Erode cl'Este, the second of the name, was nieii ^l^J re^gmng dvd.e 
 havin"- succeeded to his father Alphonso in iao4. And the court nt 
 Sam wliich had been for several years pre-eminent among tlie 
 nrTncipalUies of Italy for its love of literature and its patronage of 
 Kcrarv men became yet more notably so in consequence of the mar. 
 S of Hercules II. with Renee of France, the daughter of Louis 
 XII Thi Protestant tendencies and sympathies of tins princess had 
 rendered Ferrara also the resort, and in some instances the refuge, of 
 Sany profeiors and favorers of the new ideas which w^re begin^ 
 uin/to stir the mind of Italy. And though \ ittoria s orthodox 
 Catholic biographers are above all things anxious to clear her fiom 
 all suspicion of having ever held opinions eventually condemned by 
 the cam c ilhere is .y.vy reason to believe that her journey to Fer- 
 rara was prompted l.v-tho wish to exchange ideas upon these sub- 
 w'swith somlof those leading minds which were kno^-'^^o have 
 Imbibed Protestant tendencies, if not to have acquired fu ly-formtd 
 Protestant convictions. It is abundantly clear, rom tln^ change te o 
 lier friendships, from her correspondence, and from the tone of er 
 poetry at this period, and during the remamder of her life, th her 
 mind was absorbingly occupied witli topics of this "'^^"^'^ , .^;^^,."^ 
 short examination of the latter division of her works %\hicii it is 
 pSposed to attempt in the next cluq^ter. will probably convince 
 such as Iiave no partisan Catholic feelings on the subject, that Vi - 
 toria's mind had made very considerable progress in the Frotestaat 
 
 ' No reason is assigned for her stay at Lucca. Visconti with un- 
 usual brevity and dryness, merely states that she visited that city.t 
 And it is probable that he has not been able to discover any docu- 
 ments directly accounting for the motives of her visit. iSnt lie lor- 
 bcars to mention that the new opinions had gained so much ground 
 there that that republic was very near declarmg Protestaiitism U c 
 reli-Mon of their state. After her totally unaccounted-for visit to Jic 
 heresy-stricken city, she proceeds to another almost cuually tamlca 
 
 ^ It'is nS dllulit perfectly true that Duke Hercules and his court re- 
 ceived her with every possible distinction on the score oi her poeti- 
 cal celebrity, and deemed his city honored by her presence He in- 
 vited we are told, the most distinguished poets and men ot letters or 
 Venice and Lombardy to meet her at Ferrara. And so much was 
 
 * Mum. i)or la St. di Ferrara, di Antouia Frizzi, vol. Iv. p. W3. 
 t VlU. p. tJtiii.
 
 50 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 her visit prized tliat when Cardinal Oiberto sent thitlier liis secretary 
 Francenco dolla Torre, to iHu-sinuie 1km- to visit his episcoi)al city Ve- 
 rona, thai ambassador wrote to Jiis friend JJenibo, at Venice, that he 
 "had like to have l)ecn banished by the duke and sloned by the 
 people for coming there with tlie intention of robbing Feriara of its 
 most precious tieasure, for the jjurpose of euriehing Verona. " Vit- 
 toria, however, seems to have held out some ho])e that she mi'dit be 
 induced to visit Verona. For the secietary, continuing his lelter to 
 the literary Venetian cardinal, says, " Who knows but^vhat we may 
 succeed in making reprisal on them ? And if that should come to 
 pass, I should hope to see your lordship more frequently in Verona 
 as I should see Veroua the most honored as well as the most envied 
 city in Italj'. " * 
 
 It is impossible to have more striking testimony to the fame our 
 I)oetess had achieved by her pen : and it is a feature of the age and 
 {^''"^^.■^y-''^ worth noting, that a number of small states, divided by 
 hostdities and torn by warfare, should have, nevertheless, possessed 
 among them a republic of letters capable of conferring a celebrity 
 so cordially acknowledged throughout the whole extcnt^of Italy. 
 
 From a letter f written by Vittoria to Giangiori!-io Trisino of Vicen- 
 7.a, the author of an almost forgotten epic,''entiUcd " Italia liberata 
 da Goti," bearing date the 10th of January (1537), we learn that she 
 found the chmate of Ferrara "unfavorable to her indisposition •" 
 which would seem to imply a continuance of ill-health. Yet it was at 
 this tune that she conceived the idea of undertaking a journey to the 
 Holy Land.t Her old pupil, and nearly lifelonii;' friend, the Mar- 
 chese del Vasto, came from Milan to Ferrara to^lissuade her from 
 the project. And with tiiis view, as well as to remove her from the 
 air of Ferrara, he induced her to return to Rome, where her arrival 
 was again made a matter of almost pid)lic lejoieing. 
 
 The date of this journey was probidily about the'end of 1537. The 
 society of the Eternal City, especially of that particular section of it 
 which made the world of Vittoria, was in a happy and hopeful 
 mood. The excellent Contarini had not yet departed i^ thence on his 
 mission of conciliation to the conference, which had' been arranged 
 with the Protestant leaders at Ratisbon. The brightest and most 
 cheering hopes were based on a total misconception of the nature, or 
 •rather on an entire ignorance of the existence of that undercurrent 
 of social change, which, to the north of the Alps, made the reforma- 
 tory movement something infinitely greater, more fruitful of vast re- 
 sults, and more inevitable, than any scholastic dispute on points of 
 •theologic doctrine. And at the time of Vittoria's arrival, that littl ^ 
 
 ♦ Letter, dated lUh September, 1537, from Bembo's Correspondence, cited by 
 y isconti, p. cxv. 
 
 + Visconti p. cxiv. J Vi,«conti, p. cxvi. 
 
 sue left Jtome llth November, 15,38. Letter from Contarijii to Pole, cited by 
 Kanli«. Aufctin 8 trons., vol. i. p, 154,
 
 VITTORIA COLOXNA. 
 
 51 
 
 band of pure, amiable, and high-minded, but not large-nimdcd men 
 who fondly hoped that, hv the amendment of some practical abuses, 
 Tnd a mutuallv forbearing give-and-take arraDgeraent ot some nico 
 Suesti^s of metaphysical theology, peace on earth and good-.vdl 
 ?mon- men migiit j-et be made compatible with the undunuiished 
 retensbnsamf theory of an universal and infallible church were 
 TtiU lapped in the happmess of their day-dream. Of this knot of 
 cxcdeSt men. which comprised all that was best, most amiable 
 and most learned in Italy. Vittoria was the disciple, ^^e friend and 
 the inspired Muse. The short examination of her religio s poetry, 
 therefore ^-hlch will be the subject of the next chapter, will not only 
 open to us the deepest and most earnest part ot her owa mind but 
 will in a measure, illustrate the extent and nature of the Protestant- 
 izing tendencies then manifesting themselves in Italy. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 «nd Rc^r'^ou«Sonnefi-.\l)sencefrom the Sennets of Moral Toi.ic*.--bpec.men 
 ofher P'fen" al Powcr.-Romanist Ideas. -Absence from the Sonnets ot all Patn- 
 otic Feeling. 
 
 The extreme corruption of the Italian church, and in some degree 
 al.so the influence of German thought, had even as early as l^e I on- 
 t ficate of Leo X. led several of the better minds lu Italy to desire 
 ardently some means of religious reform. A contemporary writer 
 S by Hankc,* tells us tiiat in Leo's time some fifty or sixty car- 
 ne-st ami pious men formed themselves into a society at Home, which 
 rhey called the " Oratory of Divine Love," and strove by example 
 an/prSing to stem as much as in them lay the tide of profl.gacy 
 and infidelity Among these men were t'ontarmi, the learned and 
 Lint-like Venetian. Sadolet, Giberto. Caralla (a man, wlu., however 
 earnest in his piety, showed himself at a later period when he be- 
 came pope as Paul IV., to be animated with a very different spirit 
 from that of most of his fellow-religiomsts), Gaetano, Ihiene who 
 was afterward canonized, etc. liut in almost every part of Italy, 
 not less than in Rome, tliere were men of the same stamp, who car- 
 ried the new ideas to greater or les.ser kngtiis, were tlie objects of 
 more or less ecclesiastical censure and persecution ; and win. died 
 aome reconciled to and some e.vcommunicateil by the church they 
 so vainly strove to amend. 
 
 • Cwaceiolo, Viu di Paolo 4, mb. Kanke, Popes, vol. i. p. 136, edit dt.
 
 ^3 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 in Naples, Juan Valdez, a Spanianl, secretary to (he viceroy 
 warmly embriicod the new doctrines ; and lieini;- a man much bel 
 loved and of great influence, he drew many converts to the cause 
 It was a pupd ai.d friend of his, wliose name it has been vainly sou'Wit 
 .0 ascertain, who composed the celebrated treatise, " On tiie Bendity 
 of tile Dcalh of Clirist," wliich was circulated in immense numbers 
 over the whole ot Italy, and exercised a very powerful influence. A 
 little later, when the time of inquisitorial persecution came, this book 
 was so vigorously proscribed, sought out and destroyed, that despite 
 the vast number of copies which nnist have existed in every corner 
 of Italy, It has utterly disappeared, and not one is known to be iu ex- 
 istence.* It IS impossible to have a more striking proof of the vio- 
 lent and searching nature of the persecution under Paul IV An- 
 other friend of Valdez, who was also intimate with Vittoria was 
 Marco Flaminio, who revised the treatise " On the Benefits of 
 Christ s Death." 
 
 In Modena, the Bishop Morone, the intimate friend of Pole and 
 Conlanni, and his chaplain, Don Girolamo de Modena, supported 
 and taught the same opinions. 
 
 In Venice, Gregorio c;ortese, abliot of San Giordo Masgiore Lui"-i 
 Priuli, a patrician, and the Benedictine ISIarco, of Padiia, formed'a 
 society mainly occupied in discussing the subtle questions which 
 formed the " symboliim" of the new party. 
 
 _ " If wc inquire," says Ranke.f " what was the faith which chiefly 
 inspired these men, we shall find that the main article of it was that 
 same doctrine of justification, whi(-h, as preached by Luther had 
 given rise to the whole Protestant movement." ' 
 
 The reader fortunate enough to be wholly unread in controver.«ial 
 divinity will yet probably not have escaped hearing of the utterly 
 interminable disputes on justification, free-will, election, faith, good 
 works, prevenient grace, original sin, absolute decrees, and predesti- 
 nation, which, with much of evil, and as yet little good consequence 
 have occupied the most acute intellects and most learning-stored 
 brains of Europe for the last three centuries. Without any accurate 
 knowledge of the manner in which the doctrines represented by 
 the.se familiar terms are dependent on, and necessitated by, each 
 other, and of the precise point on which the opposing creeds have 
 fought this eternal I)attle, he will bo awaie liiat the system popularly 
 known as Calvinism represents the side of the question taken by tlio 
 reformers of the sixteenth century, while the opposite theory of justi- 
 fication by good works was that held by the orthodox Catholic 
 Church, or unreforming party. And with merely these ireneral ideas 
 to guide iim, it wiil appear stramrelv unaccountable to-find all the 
 best, iiol)!est, and jjuresl minds adopting a svstcm which in its sim- 
 plest logical development inevitably leads to the most debasing 
 
 • Bonkc, ed. cit., vol. i. p. 217.^^ . t Ed. cit., vol. i. p. 138.
 
 VITTORIA COLOIflirA. 
 
 53 
 
 demonolatry, and lays the axe to the root of all morality and noble 
 action ; while the corrupt, the worldly, the ambitious, the unspinlual, 
 the unintelleclual natures that formed the domuiaut party, held the 
 opposite opinion, apparently so favorable to virtue. 
 
 An explanation of this phenomenon by a partisan of either school 
 would probably be long and somewhat intricate. But the naattcr 
 becomes intelligible enougli, and the true key to the wishes and con- 
 duct of both parlies is found, if, without regarding the moral or 
 theolcgical results of either scheme, or troubling ourselves with the 
 subtleties by which either side sought to meet the objections of the 
 other we consider simply the bearings of the new doctrines on tlaat 
 ecclesiastical system, which the orthodox and dominant party were 
 determined at all cost to support. If it were admitted that man is 
 iustitiable by faith alone, that his election is a matter to_ be certmed 
 to his own heart by the immediate operation of the Divine bpirit, it 
 would follow that the whole question of his religious condition and 
 future hopes might be, or rather must be, settled between him and 
 his Creator alone. And then what would become of ecclesiastical 
 authority and priestly interference ? If the only knowledge possible 
 to be attained of any individual's standing before God were locked 
 in his own breast, what hold can the Church have on him ? it is 
 absolutely necessary to any system of spiritual tyranny that no doc- 
 trine should be admitted by virtue of which a layman may tell a 
 priest that despite the opinion he, the priest, may form upon the 
 subject, he, the layman, has the assurance of acceptation before Cxod, 
 by means of evidence of a nature inscrutable to the priest. Once 
 admit this, and the whole foundation of ecclesiastical domination is 
 .sapped. Nay, by a very logical and short route, sure to be soon trav- 
 elled Ijy those who have made good this first fundamental pretension, 
 they would arrive at the negation and abolition of all priesthood. 
 J'reachers and teachers might still have place under such a system, 
 but not priests, or prie-stly power. To this an externally ascertainable 
 religion is so vitally necessary that the theory of justification by good 
 works was far from sufficient for tiie purposes of the Catholic priest- 
 hood, as long as good works could be understood to mean a general 
 course of not very accurately nu;asurabie virtuous living. This was 
 not sufficient, because, tiiough visible, not sufficiently tangible, count- 
 able, and tariirable. Hence the good works most urgently pre- 
 Bcribed became reduced to that mass of formal practices so well 
 known as the material of Romanist piety, among which, the most 
 vahi.'ible for tin; end in vicsw, are of course those which can only be 
 performed by the intervcnlion of a iiriest. 
 
 lint it must not \m supiiosfnl thiit ail this was as plainly discerned 
 1 by the comi)atants in that cc-nfiiscd .strife as it may be by lookers 
 \ back on it from a vantage-ground three centuries high. The innova- 
 \ tors were iti all probal)iiity few, if any of tluan, conscious of the ex- 
 tent and importance of the principle they were fighting for. And,
 
 64 TITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 on the other hand, there is no reiison to attribute an evil conscious- 
 ness of niolivcs, such as those nalvcflly set fortii above, to the con- 
 servative party. The fact tliat a doctrine would tend to abridc^e 
 diurcli power and endanger clnircii unity would doubtless have ap- 
 peared to many a good and conscientious man a sufficient proof of 
 its unsoundness and falsity. 
 
 Indeed, even among tlie reformers in Italy the fear of schism was 
 so great, and the value attached to church unity so higb, that these 
 considerations probably did as much toward clieclving and finally ex- 
 tinguishing Protestantism in Italy as did the strong hand of persecu- 
 tion. From the lirst, many of the most earnest advocates of the new 
 doctrines were by no means prepared to sever themselves from the 
 Church for the sake of their opmions. Some were ready to face such 
 schism and martyrdom also in the cause ; as, for instance, Bernardino 
 Ochino, tlie General of the Capuchins, and the most powerful 
 preacher of Iiis day, who lied from Italy and became a i>rofessed 
 Protestant, and C!arnesecchi, the Florentine, who was put to death 
 for his heresy at Rome. 
 
 But it had not yet btcome clear how far the new doctrines might 
 be held compatibly with perfect community with the Church of 
 Rome at the time when Vittoria arrived in that city from Ferrara. 
 The conference with the German Protestants, by means of which it 
 was hoped to effect a reconciliation, was then being arranged, and 
 the hopes of Viltoria's friends ran liigh, When these hopes proved 
 delusive, and when Rome pronounced herself decisively on the doc- 
 trines held by the Italian reformers, the most conspicuous friends of 
 Vittoria did not quit the church. She herself writes ever as its sub- 
 missive and faithful daughter. But as to her having held opinions 
 which were afterward declaied heretical, and for which others 
 suffered, much of her poetry, written probably about this time, affords 
 evidence so clear that it is wonderful Tiraboschi and her biographers 
 can deem it possible to maintain her orthodoxy. 
 
 Take, for example, the following sonnet : 
 
 " Qiiand' io li^arrto il iiobil laggio ardente 
 
 Dflla fcr.Tziu di\ina, c ciuel valore 
 
 Ch' illn.^tra 'I intellctto. iiifiamma il core 
 Con virtu" nopr' uinaiia. alta, e po.Msciite, 
 L' alma le vo<;lic allor Ut-t-a cd iuUnte 
 
 Kaccnglie tnlte insic'nie a fargli onore ; 
 
 y\A tanto hu di potcr, quaiit' e '1 favore 
 Clie dul luiiie e dal foco iiittnde e sunte. 
 
 Ond' olla piio l)en far certa ellicace 
 L' alta Mia clczioii, ma iiisiiio n\ segno 
 
 Ch' all alitor d'()j,nii hen, sua nurci'', piacu. 
 Non sproiia il corno Il<)^t^^) indiistria o iiigegno; 
 
 ilnvl CDire |>iii sicmo c i>iii v vace, 
 C tia dul favor del ciel inaggior so^tcgno." 
 
 Thus rendered into English blank verse, with a greater closeness to 
 the sense of the original than might perhaps have been attained ia a 
 transkliou hampered by the necessity of riiymiug :
 
 TITTORIA COLOXNA. 55 
 
 " When I reflect on that bright noble ray 
 Of grace divine, and on tliat niijibty power, 
 Which clears the intellect, inflames the heart 
 With virtue, atroni; with more tlian human strength, 
 Aly sonl then <rathers \ip her will, intent 
 To render to that Power the lion'.r due; 
 But only so much can she, as free i;race 
 Gives her to feel and know th" inspiring fire. 
 Thus can the sonl her high election make 
 Fruitful and eure ; but only to such point 
 As, in his goodness, wills the Fount of good. 
 Nor art nor industry can ppeed her course ; 
 He most securely and alertly runs 
 Who most by Heaven's free favor is upheld." 
 
 The leading points of Calvinistic doctrine could hardly be in the 
 limits of a sonnet more clearly and comprehensively stated. Devo- 
 tional meditation inclines the heart to God ; but the soul is powerless 
 even to worship, except in such measure as she is enabled to do so 
 by freely -given grace. By this means only can man make sure his 
 election. To strive after virtue is useless to the non-elect, seeing that 
 man can safely run his course only in proportion as he has received 
 the favor of God. 
 
 Again, in the following .sonnet will be remarked a tone of thought 
 and style of phrase perfectly congenial to modern devotional feeling 
 of wliat is termed the evaugehcal .school; while it is assuredly not 
 such as would meet the ap[)roval of orthodox members of either the 
 Homaa Catholic or Anglo-Catholic churches : 
 
 " Quando dal lume. i1 cui vivo pplendore 
 
 Kende il petto fedel licto c sicuro. 
 
 Si dissolve per grazia il ghiaccio duro, 
 Che sovcnte si gela intorno al core, 
 Sento ai bei lampi del possente ardorc 
 
 Cader delle mie colpe il maiito oscuro, 
 
 E vestinni in quel punlo il chiaro e pnro 
 Delia prima innocenza e primo amore. 
 E sebbeii con serrnta e Ada cliiave 
 
 Serro quel raggio ; egli e scivo e sottile, 
 
 Si ch" nil basso pcnsicr lo pcucci.i e fdegna. 
 Ond' ei rat to sen vola ; io mestji c grave 
 
 Riniango, e "I prego die d' ogni oinbra vilo 
 
 ili spogli, accio piu prualo a me bcn vegna." 
 
 Which may be thus, with tolerable accuracy, rendered into Englisb 
 
 " When by the liirht. whose living ray both peace 
 
 And joy to faithful bosoms doth impart, 
 
 The indurated ice, around the heart 
 80 often L'lither'd, is dissolved througli grace, 
 Beneath that bleHscd radiance from above 
 
 FallH from me the dark mantle of my sin ; 
 
 Sudden I stand forth pure and r.idianl in 
 The garl> nt jirinnil innocence and love. 
 And Ihoiigii I strive with lock and liusly key 
 
 To keep th:it ray, ho subtle 'tis and coy, 
 By one low ihoi:'.;ht "lis Mcured and put to flight. 
 80 flies il friini rne I in sorrowin;.' jilight 
 
 litrmain. and jMay, that he from base alloy 
 May purge me, ito ibc light come eooncr buck to me."
 
 f'*3 TITTORlA COI.ONNA. 
 
 Here, in addition to tlie " points of doctrine" laid down in the pre- 
 vious sonnet., ■\vc iiavc tliat of sudden and instantaneous conversion 
 and sanctification ; and that without any aid from sacrament, altar, 
 or priest. 
 
 Similar thoughts arc again expressed in the next sonnet selected, 
 M-hich In Sii^'uor Yiscouti's edition immediately follows the preced- 
 ing : 
 
 ".Spicj;o per voi, niia liico, indarno 1" ale. 
 
 1'rinia clio "1 caldo Vdstro intiTiio vcnto 
 
 M' iipni r aiTf (i' iiiionio, ora rir io scnto 
 Viuccr (la nuovo anlir V aiilico male ; 
 Clic' giuiiga air iufiniio opra iiiortu'e 
 
 Opia Tostia c, Signor, die in tin niomento 
 
 La pu6 far cic,i,'na ; ch' io da inu puvcuto 
 Di cadcr col iicnsicr quand' ci jjiii, i^alc. 
 Branio qncU' in\isibil cliiaro liinie, 
 
 Che fiiga d( nsa iichbia ; e quell' accesa 
 
 Sccrota fiamina. ch' ogni gel consuma. 
 Ondc poi, ggomlira dal tcrrcn costume, 
 
 Tiitta al diviiio ainor 1" aiiima intesa 
 
 Si mova al volo altcro in ultra piuma." 
 
 Thus done into English : 
 
 " Feeling new force to conqner primal sin. 
 
 Yet all in vain I spread my wings to thee. 
 
 My light, until the air around sliall be 
 Made clear for me by thy wami breath within. 
 That mortal works t<hoiild reach the infinite 
 
 Is thy worlc. Lord ! For in a moment thou 
 
 Can.'t give them worth. Left to myself I know 
 My lliou^'ht would fall, when at its n'tinost height. 
 
 I long for that clear i adiance from above 
 That puts to flight all cloud : and that bright flame 
 
 M'hich secret hurning warms the frozen boul ; 
 So that set free from every mortal aim. 
 
 And all intent alone on heavenly love, 
 
 She flies witb stronger pinion toward her goaL" 
 
 In the following lines, which form the conclusion of a sonnet in 
 which she has been saying that God does not permit that any pure 
 heart should be concealed from His all-seeing eye " by the fraud or 
 force of others," we have a very remarkable bit of such here.sy on 
 the vita', point of the confessional, as has been sufficient to consign 
 more than one victim to the stake : 
 
 " Sccuri del Biio dolce e giiisto impero, 
 
 Non come il primo padre e la i*ua docnn, 
 Dobbiam del nostro error bin!<imare allrui ; 
 Ma con la npeme acce.sa c dolor vero 
 Aprir dentro, pnManr/o oltra l<i gonna 
 Ij'iUli iioxtri a solo a eol con luiy 
 
 The underlined words, " pa.ssando oltra la gonna," literally, 
 " passing beyond the gown," though the sense iippetirs to be unmi.s- 
 takablc, are yet sufficiently ob.scure and unobvious, and the phrase 
 sufficiently farfetched, to Ica<l to tlie suspicion of a wish on the part
 
 VITTORIA COLOXXA. 5? 
 
 of the writer in some degree to veil ber meaning. " That in fhe cap- 
 tain's but a cboleric word, which in the soldier is foul blasphemy." 
 And the high-born Colonna lady, the intimate friend of cardinals 
 and princes, might write much with impunity which would have beoa 
 
 {)erilous to less lofty heads. But the sentiment in this very remarka- 
 )le passage implies an attack on one of Rome's tenderesl and sorest 
 points. Id English the lines run thus : 
 
 " Confldiug in His just and Rentle sway 
 
 We should not dare, like Adnm and his wife, 
 
 On other's backs our proper blame to lay ; 
 But with new-kindled hope and unfeigned grief. 
 
 Passing by irriestly robes, lay bare within 
 
 To Ilim alone the sea-el of our sin.''' 
 
 Again, in the conclusion of another sonnet, in which she has been 
 speaking of the benefits of Christ's death, and of the necessity of a 
 ■' sopraunatural divina fede" for the receiving of them, she writes in 
 language very similar to that of many a modern advocate of " free 
 inspiration," and which must have been distasteful to the erudite 
 clergy of the dominant hierarchy, as follows : 
 
 " Que' ch' avrii eol in Ini Ic Inci flsse, 
 
 Non que' ch' intese mcglio, o che piu lesee 
 Volunii in terra, in ciel sani beato. 
 In carta quest a lcgL;e non si scrisse ; 
 Ma con la etampa sua nel cor purgato 
 Col foco deir amor Gesu 1' impresse." 
 
 In English : 
 
 " He who hath fixed on Christ alone his eye3. 
 Not he who best hath understood, or read 
 Most earthly volumes, shall Heaven's bliss attain. 
 For not on paper did He write His law. 
 But printed it on expurgated hearts 
 Stamped with the fire ofJesus' holy love." 
 
 In another remarkable sonnet she gives expression to the prevail- 
 ing feeling of the pressing necessity for church reform, joined to a 
 marked declaration of belief in the doctrine of Papal infallibility ; a 
 doctrine which, by its tenacious hold on the Italian mind, contributed 
 mainly to extinguish the sudden straw l)laze of reforming tendencies 
 throughout Italy. The lines run as follows : 
 
 " V(*ggio d' alga e di faiigoomai si carca, 
 
 Pietro, la rete tua, che se qualche onda 
 
 Di fuor r assale o iiitorno circonda. 
 Potria f pezzarsi, e a rischio andar la barca ; 
 La qnal, non come guol le;,'giera e scarca, 
 
 Sovra 'I turbato mar corre a secouda. 
 
 Ma in poppa e'n prora, all' una e all' altra sponda 
 E' Rravi; HI cir a gran jxTiglio varca. 
 11 tuo buon cncecssor, cA' alia cagione 
 
 IHrellurniiiile duKse, e cor c roano 
 
 Move poveiite i)er conduria a porto. 
 Ma contra 11 volcr mho ratio k' opponc 
 
 L' altnii malizia ; ond<: (^laHcuni m' u nrcorlo, 
 
 Ch' egli seuza '1 tuo aiutu odopra in vuuo."
 
 68 
 
 VITTORIA COLOXXA. 
 
 Wl.icli may he tlius read in English blank verse, riving not vcrv 
 poetically, but with tolerable fidelity, the sense of the origin^: ^ 
 
 " !?^'"' "i"'l JiiT^ weedy frrowth so foul I see 
 Thy net, O Peter, that Pboulcl anv wave 
 Assail it fiom wiihoiit or trouble"!' 
 It might be rencic'd, and so risk the' ship 
 For now thy bark, no more, «s erst, skims licrht 
 \Vith favorinfr breezes o'er the troubled sea" 
 But labors biirthen'd so from stem to stern ' 
 7 hat dan-er menaces the conrse it steers 
 Thy good successor, hy direct decrte 
 or providevce elect, with heart and hand 
 A.-'Sidnous strives to bring it to the port. 
 But spite his striving liis intent is foiled 
 Bv others- evil, bo that all have seen 
 Ihat without aid from thee, he strives in vain." 
 
 The lofty pretensions of the Bishop of Rome, which o.ir poetess 
 w,th all her reforming aspirations, goes out of her way to declare and 
 mam am in the phrase of the above sonnet marked by italics were 
 <lear to tiie hearts of Italians. It may be that an antagonistic bias 
 arising from feelings equally beyond the limits of the rdSis m es- 
 tion, helped to add acrimony to the attacks cf the transalpine Re- 
 formers. _ Bu there can be no doubt that Italian self-love w£ active 
 
 -^or^d .ml nn S ^™^"./^^^ ?«s,'.^'on as capital of the Christian 
 Tcrces '• t4i rBrhi^''™A 'T.i'^'T ^'«^J^^«'^^««ic to issue his lofty 
 S^f tr. • A '■ -"^"'^ ^^"'^'^ ''^'"^ acquainted with the Italian 
 mind of that period as evidenced by its literature, and illustrated bv 
 
 ; vten 't'.'w; -"t »^'°?%""f.-^ '-"^^ prejudices, will r;,ost apprecSe t he 
 h 5nL • f ''' I";"^'""' ""^I"^^^tionably operated in preventing 
 the reformation from taking root, and bearing fruit in Italy 
 , -.Kfu 1 ^" the foregoing sonnets, even those who are familiar 
 fW . i^t ^^°g7?f "f t^'? o'-'gi^al, will probably have wondered at 
 Uic greatness of the poetical reputation, which was built out of such 
 materials It is but fair, however, to the poetess to stale, that the 
 citations have been selected, rather with the view of decisively prov- 
 ing these Protestant leanings of Vittoria, which have been so eaSeriy 
 denied, and of illustrating the tone of Italian Protestant feeling at 
 that period, than of presenting the most favorable specimens of her 
 
 ^r'..''^'-K-^''"?''^^^^'^^^''°^'""'^^ feeling may be clothed in poetry 
 of the highest order, controversial divinity is not a happy subject 
 for ver.se. And Vittona, on the comparatively rare occasions, when 
 she permits herself to escape from the consideration of disputed 
 dogma, can make a nearer approach to true poetry of thou<-ht and 
 expression. ° 
 
 In the following sonnet, it is curious to observe how the expres'^ion 
 of the grand and .simple sentiment of perfect trust in the will and in- 
 tentions of the omnipotent Creator, which, in the .irst ei-ht lines 
 rises into something like poetry, becomes flattened and del^ised into
 
 VITTOKIA COLOXNA. 59 
 
 ^e ihost prosaic doggerel, as soou as the author, recollecting the con- 
 wrove-rsics rat::ing round her on the subject, bethinks her of the neces- 
 sity of daly (defining the theological virtue of " Faith," as being of 
 that sort fit for the production of worlis. 
 
 " Deh ! niandi oagi, Sigfnor, novelJo e chiaro 
 
 Raggio al niicTcor di quelia ardente fede, 
 
 Ch' opra sol per amor, non per mercede, 
 Onde ngiialiueiite il'tno voter gli e caro ! 
 Dal dolce fonte tuo pensa che amaro 
 
 Nascer non possa, anzi riceve e crede 
 
 Per buou quant' ode, e per bel quanto vede. 
 Per largo il ciel, quand' ei si mostra avaro. 
 
 Se chieder grazia all' umil pervo lice, 
 Questa fede vorrei, che illustra, acceude, 
 
 E pasce 1' alma sol di Inmc vero. 
 Con quest:i in parte il gran vnlor s' intende, 
 
 Che pianta e ferma in noi 1' alta radice, 
 
 Qual rende i frutti a lui tatti d'amore." 
 
 Which may be thus rendered : 
 
 " Grant to my heart a pure fresh ray, O Lord, 
 
 Of that bright ardent faith which makes thy will 
 
 Its best-loved law, and seeks it to fulfil 
 For love alone, not looking for reward ; 
 That faith, which deems uo ill can come from thee. 
 
 But humbly trusts, that, rightly understood. 
 
 All that meets eye or ear is fair and good. 
 And Heaven's love oft in prayers refused can see. 
 
 And if thy handmaid might prefer a suit, 
 I would that faith possess that fires the heart. 
 
 And feeds the soul with the true light alone ; 
 I mean hereby, that mighty power in part, 
 
 Which plants and strenijthens in us the deep root, 
 
 From which all fruits of love for him are grown." 
 
 In the following sonnet, wliich is one of several dictated by the 
 eame mood of feeling, the more subjective tone of her thought affords 
 us an autobiographical glimpse of her state of mind on religious sub- 
 jects. We find that the new tenets which she had imbibed had 
 failed to give her peace of mind. That comfortable security, and un- , 
 doubting satisfied tranquillity, procured for the mass of her orthodox 
 contemporaries, by the due performance of their fasts, vigils, peni- 
 tences, etc., was not attained for Vittoria by a creed, which required 
 ter, as she here tells us, to stifle the suggestions of her reason. 
 
 " Se con r armi celesti avess' io vinto 
 
 Me stessa, i sensi, e la ragione umana, 
 
 Andrei con altro spirto alta e lontana 
 Dal niondo, e dal suo onor falso dipiiito. 
 Sull" ali della fede il pen.'^ier (into 
 
 Di spcmc, omai non piii caduca e vana, 
 
 Sarebbe fmir di questa valle insana 
 Da veraee vlrtute alzato e spinto. 
 
 Ben ho gii femio 1' occhlo al iniglior Qu» 
 Dei noslro corso ; ma non volo aneora 
 
 Per lo deslro scntler Milda e leggiera. 
 Vegglo i Hegni del boI, Hcor^o 1" aurora ; 
 
 Ma |>er li sacri ((Iriallc divine 
 
 Utuuze non cntro in quellu luce Tcra."
 
 CO VITTOHIA COLONNA. 
 
 Englished as follows : 
 
 " Had I with hcavfiily arms 'gainst PclT and eenee 
 
 And human rfafon w af;cd Kiircoi-sfiil war, 
 
 Then with a diflVniit F))irit .soiiriii'r fur 
 I'd fly ihe world's vain gh)ry iind prctonce. 
 Then soaring tlioufjlit oli winj^s of faith might rise, 
 
 Armed by a hoijc no longer vain or frail. 
 
 Far from the madness of lliis earthly vale. 
 Led by tnic virtno towaid itw native bUies. 
 That better aim is ever in my ^ight, 
 
 Of man's existence ; but not yet 'tis mine 
 
 To speed sure-footed on the happy way. 
 
 Signs of the rising sun and coining day 
 
 I see : but enter not the courts divine 
 Whose holy portals lead to perfect light." 
 
 A touch of similar feeling may be ob.scrved also in the following 
 sonnet, imited witli more of poetical feeling and expression. Indeed, 
 this sonnet may be offered as a specimen of the author's happiest 
 efforts : 
 
 " Fra gelo e iiebbia corro a Dio sovente 
 Per foco e lume, onde i ghiacci disciolti 
 Sieno, e gli onil)rosi veli aperti e tolti 
 Dalla diviria luce e flanima ardente. 
 E ee freda ed oscura e ancor la mente. 
 Pur son tutti i pensieri al ciel rivolti ; 
 E par ehe dentro in gran silenzio ascoiti 
 Un snon, che sol nell' anima si nente ; 
 
 E dice ; Non lemer, che venne al mondo 
 Gesvi d' eterno ben largo arapio mare, 
 Per far leggiero ogni gravoso pondo. 
 Semprc son P onde s^ue piii dolci e cliiare 
 A chi con nmil harca in quel gran londo 
 Dell' alta sua bont^ si lascia andurc." 
 
 If the reader, who is able to form a judgment of the poetical merit 
 of this sonnet only from the subjoined translation, should fail to find 
 in it anything to justify the opinion that has been expressed of it, he 
 is entreated to believe that the fault is that of the translator, who can 
 promise only that the sense has been faithfully rendered : 
 
 *' Of I limes to God through frost and cloud I go 
 
 P'or light and warmth lo break my icy chain, 
 
 And pierce and rend my veils of doubt in twain 
 With his divinest love, and radiant glow. 
 And if my soul sit cold and dark below 
 
 Yet all her longin^js fixed on heaven remain ; 
 
 And seems she 'mid deep silence to a strain 
 To listen, which the soul alone can know, 
 
 Saying, Fear naught ! for Jesus came on earth — 
 Jesus ofcndless joys the wido deep sea — 
 
 To ease each heavy load nf iiioriiil birth. 
 His waters ever clearest, swc( test he 
 
 To him, who in a lonely hark orift^^ forth, 
 Ca his great deeps of goodness tiustfully." 
 
 It will probably be admiffed Ihj't (he foregoing extracts from Vit. 
 toria Colonna's poetry, if they do not «iufficc to giv?^ the outline of
 
 VITTORIA COLONXA. 
 
 61 
 
 the entire fabric of her relit^ious faith, yet abundantly prove that slie 
 must be classed among the Protestant and reforming purty ot her age 
 and country rather than among the orthodox Catholics, their oppo- 
 nents Tlie'passa";'S quoted all bear, more or less directly, on a tew 
 special points of doctrine, as do also the great bulk of her religious 
 poems But these points are precisely those on which the retorming 
 movement was based, the cardinal points of difference between llie 
 parties They involve exactly those doctrines which Kome, on ma- 
 ture examination and reflection, rightly found to be fatally mconi- 
 patible with her system. For the dominant party at Trent were as- 
 suredlv wiser in their generation than such children of light as the 
 .rood Contarini, who dreamed that a purified Papacy was possible, 
 and that Kome might still be P.ome, after its creed had been thus 
 modified. Caraffa and Ghislieri, Popes Paul 1\ . and Pius \ . and 
 their inquisitors knew very clearly belter. _ ,■,.., 
 
 It is, of course, natural enough that the points of doctrine then 
 new and disputed, the points respecting which the poetess differed 
 from the majority of the world around her, and which must have 
 been the subject of her special meditation, should occupy also the 
 most prominent position in her writings. Yet it is remarkable, that 
 in so large a mass of poetry on exclusively religious themes, there 
 should i)e found hardly a thought or sentiment on topics of practical 
 morality The title of " Rime nacre e moraii," prefixed by Visconti 
 to this portion of Vittoria's writings, is wholly a misnomer. If these 
 sonnets furnish the materials for forming a tolerably accurate notion 
 of her scheme of theology, our estimate of her views of morality 
 must be sought elsewhere. 
 
 There is every reason to feel satisfied, both from such records as 
 we have of her life and from the perfectly agreeing testimony of 
 lier contemporaries, that the tenor of her own life and conduct was 
 not only blameless but marked liy the consistent exercise ot many 
 noble virtues. But, much as we hear from the lamentations ot 
 preachers of the habitual tendency of human conduct to fall short of 
 human professions, the opposite phenomena exhibited by men, who.se 
 intuitive moral sense is superior to the teaching derivable from their 
 creed, is perhaps quite as common. That band of eminent men, who 
 were especially known as the maintainers and defenders of the pecu- 
 liar tenets held by Vittoria, were unquestionably in all respects the 
 best and noblest of their age and country. Yet tlieir creed was as- 
 jredly an immoral one. And in the rare passages of our poetess s 
 writin-'s in wiiich a glimpse of moral theory can be discerned, tlie 
 low and unenlightened nature of it is such as to prove that the 
 heaven-tauirht heart reached purer heights than the creed-taught in- 
 telligence could attain. 
 
 What could be worse, for instance, than the morality ot the lol- 
 lowing conclusion of a .sonnet, in which she has been lamenting tlio 
 blindness of those who sacrifice eternal bliss for the sake of worldly 
 pleasures. She writes :
 
 In Eniilish 
 
 VirrOKIA COLONNA. 
 
 " Poiclu^ '1 mal per imtur.i iion gll nnnola, 
 E del ben jxt rns^'ion piiicr iioii haiino, 
 Al)bian aliiicii ell Diogiusto timorc.'" 
 
 " Since evil by it? nature pains them not. 
 Nor r'ood for its own proper siike delights. 
 Let them ut least have riglueoiis lear of Qod. 
 
 She appears incapable of understanding that no fear of God couM 
 in any wise avail to improve or protit liim who has no aversion from 
 evil and no love for good. She does not perceive that to inculcate 
 80 godless a fear of God is to make the Creator a mere bugbear for 
 police purposes ; and that a theory of Deity constructed on this basia 
 would become a degrading demonolatry ! 
 
 Vittoria Colouua has survived in men's memory as a poetess. But 
 she is far more interesting to the historical student, who would ob- 
 tain a full understanding of that wonderful sixteenth century, as a 
 Protestant. Her highly gifted and ricidy cultivated intelligence, her 
 great social position, and above ail, her close intimacy with the emi- 
 nent men who strove to set on foot an Italian reformation which 
 should not be incompatible with the papacy, make the illustration of 
 her religious opinions a matter of no slight historical interest. And 
 the bulk of the citations from her works has accordingly been 
 selected with this view. But it is fair to her reputation to give one 
 soimet at least, chosen for no other reason than its merit. 
 
 The following, written apparently on the anniversary of our 
 Saviour's crucilixion, is certainly one of the best, if not the best, in 
 the collection : 
 
 " Gli angeli eletti at gran bene inflnito 
 
 Braman oggi soffrir i)enosa morte, 
 
 Accio nella celeste enipirea corte 
 Non sia piii il servo, che il siguor, gradito. 
 Piange 1" antica madre il gii^iio ardito 
 
 Ch' n' tigli euoi del ciel chiuf^e le porte ; 
 
 Echo due man piagate or sieno scorte 
 Da ridurne al cammiu per lei Bniarrito. 
 
 Ascondo il sol la sua fulgente chioma ; 
 Spezzansi i f^assi vivi ; apronsi i monti ; 
 
 Trema la terra e '1 ciel ; turhanni 1' acque ; 
 Piangou gliBpirti. al nostro iiial si pronti, 
 
 Delia catene lor 1' aggiunta soma. 
 
 L' iiomo non piange, e pur piangendo taat-que !'• 
 
 Of which the following is an inadequalb but tolerably faitlifu) 
 translation : 
 
 " The angels to eternal bliss preferrt(!, 
 
 Ix)ng on this daj', a painful dcjtii tc die, 
 
 LL'i<t in ilio heavenly niansir.is of tlie sky 
 The servant be more favored than his Lord. 
 Man's ancient mother weeps the deed, this day 
 
 Tliat shut the gateact heaven against her race, 
 
 Weeps the two pierced hands, whose work of grace, 
 Befludd tUe path, from wbicb Btie made man siray.
 
 TITTORIA COLONNA. 63 
 
 The enn hia ever-bnming ray doth veil ; 
 
 Earth and sky tremble ; ocean quakes amain, 
 
 And mountains gape, and living rocks are torn. 
 The liends, on watch for human evil, wail 
 
 The added weight of their restrainin;,' cham. ^^ 
 
 Man only weeps not ; yet. was weeping ijorn. 
 
 As the previous extracts from the works of Vittoria have been, as 
 has been stated, selected principally with a view to prove her Protest- 
 antism it is fair to observe thtit there are several sonnets addressed 
 to the Vir"-in Mary, and some to various saints, from which (though 
 they are whollv free from any allusion to the grosser superstitions 
 that Rome encourages her faithful disciples to connect with these 
 personages) it is yet clear that the writer believed in the value ot 
 saintly intercession at the throne of grace. It is also worth remark- 
 inc that she nowhere betrays the smallest consciousness that she is 
 diil'erin"- in opinion from the recognized tenets of the Church, tinless 
 it be found, as was before suggested, in an occasional obscurity of 
 phrase which seems open to the suspicion of having been intentional. 
 The "-real majority of these poem^, however, were in all probability 
 composed before the Church had entered on her new career of perse- 
 cution And as regards the ever-recurring leading point of " justifi- 
 cation l)y grace," it was impossible to say exactly how far it was 
 orthodox to go in the statement of this tenet, until Rome had hnally 
 decided her doctrine by the decrees of the Council of Trent. 
 
 One other remark, which will hardly fail to suggest itself to the 
 modern reader of Vittoria's poetry, may be added respecting these 
 once celebrated and enthusiastically received works. There is not to 
 be discovered throughout the whole of them one spark of Italian or 
 patriotic feeling. The absence of any such, must, undoubtedly, be 
 regarded only as a coiilirmation of the fact asserted in a previous 
 chapter that no seutimuut of the kind was then known in Italy. In 
 that earlier portion of her works, which is occupied almost exclu- 
 sively Willi her husband's praises, it is htirdly possible that the ex- 
 pression of such feelings should have found no place, had they ex- 
 isted in her mind. But it is a curious instance of the degree to which 
 even tiu- heller intellects of an age are blinded by and made subscr- 
 vienl to tiie tf)ne of f(;eiing and habits of thought prevalent around 
 them tlial it never occuis to this pure and lofty-minded Vittoria, m 
 rclebraling the prowess of her hero, to give a thought to the cause 
 for which'liewas drawing the sword. To prevail, to be th(! stronger, 
 ■' to Uike great cities," " to rout the foe," appears to be all that her 
 beau ideal of heroism required. ,1.1 
 
 Wrong is done, and the strong handed dorr of it admired, the 
 moral srnsc is blunt. 'd bv IIk; cowardly worship of success, and 
 ini.'hl tal-..-s from riuht llie sullrages of the feebh-, in the nineteenth 
 ns"in the sixteciilir century. Ihit Ihc coiilcmplalioii of tl:e total 
 abwjncc from such a niiud as thai of Viti"iia Colonua. of all recog-
 
 64 VITTORIA COLONNA. 
 
 nition of a right and a wrong in such matters, furnishes highly in- 
 structive evidciicc of the reality of the moral progress mankind has 
 achieved. 
 
 CnAPTER VIII. 
 
 Return to Rome -Her Great Reputation.— Friendship with Mlchad An^elo - 
 Medal of tins Period.— Removal to Orvieto.— Visit from Luca Contlle -Her Do- 
 torminat.on not to quit the Church.— France.vco d'Olanda.— Iliw Record of Coii- 
 versatious witli Viitoria.— Viltoria ut Vitcrbo.— Innuenc*; of (Jardiual Polo ou her 
 Mind.— Last Return to Rome.— Her Death. 
 
 ViTTORi.v arrived in Home from Ferrara in all prohahillty about 
 the end of the year 1537. She was now in the zenith of her reputa- 
 tion. The learned and elegant Beniho * writes of her that he consid- 
 ered her poetical judgment as sound and authoritative as tiiat of the 
 greatest masters of the art of song. Guidiccioni, the poetical Bishop 
 of Fossombrone, and of Paul III. 's ablest diplomatists, declares f Ihat 
 the ancient glory of Tuscany had altogether passed into Latium in 
 her person ; and sends her sonnets of his own, with earnest entreaties 
 that she will point out the faults of them. Veronica Gambara, her- 
 self a poetess of merit perhaps not inferior to that of Vittoria, pro- 
 fessed herself her most ardent admirer, and engaged Rinaldo Conso to 
 write the commentary on her poems, wiiich he executed as we have 
 seen. Bernardo Tasso made her the subject of several of his poems 
 Giovio dedicated to her his life of Pescara, and Cardinal Pompeo 
 Colonna his book on " The Praises of Women ;" and Contarini paid 
 her the far more remarkable compliment of dedicating to her his 
 work, " On Free Will." 
 
 Paul III. was, as Muratori says,t by no means well disposed 
 toward the Colonna farai]3^ Yet Vittoria must have had influence 
 with the haughty and severe old Farnese. For both Bembo and 
 Fregoso, the Bishop of Naples, have taken occasion to acknowledge 
 that they owed their promotion to the i)uiple in great measure to 
 her. 
 
 But the most noteworthy event of this period of Viltoria's life, 
 was the commencement of her acrpiaintance with Michael Angelo 
 Buonarroti. § That great man was then in his 63d year, while the 
 poetess M-as in her 47th. The acquaintanceship grew rapidly into a 
 close and durable friendship, which hi.sled during the remainder of 
 Vittoria's life. It was a friendsliip eminently honorable to both of 
 them. Michael Angelo was a man whose inlluence ou his age was 
 felt and acknowledged, while he was yet living and exercising it tc 
 
 • Bembo, Opere, toI. iii. p. 65. } Annnlcn. ad. ann. 1540. 
 
 t Opere, ed. Veu., p. ItH. $ Visconli, p. 12a.
 
 yiTTORIA COLONNA. ^5 
 
 ft AP<^<•Pt. mrelv Observable even in the case of the greatest minds. 
 HeS irthe Urae in question, akeady reached the zenith of his 
 SLe although heTved to witness and enjoy it for ^^nother quarter 
 ofTcen u,yr He was a man formed by nature, and already hab tu 
 Sedbv the social position his contemporaries had accorded to h ira, 
 ?o mould men-iotto be moulded by them-nol a smooth or p lable 
 r^.n riicrS^rather self-relyin-, self-concentrated, and, thougli full 
 Skindnelfo those wTo nelded kindness, almost a stern man no 
 coSer thou 'h accustouied to the society of courts ; and apt.to con- 
 Sr SurUer^like courtesies and habitudes as impertinent impedi-- 
 
 S-sTnt?olrmtwasn^ou\d?d^S^^^ 
 
 ""'^^^S^'^^^T^e"^. artist's nature had scarcely 
 shWout'for itself anymore defined and substantial form of ex- 
 pSon than a worship/of the beautiful ^^ f^^.f^l^::^^,^^!^ 
 We Vittrvrii he was made a devout Christian, ihe cnange is sirouoij^ 
 marled in hrspoery rand in several passages of thepoems, our or 
 five in number%ddJessed to her, he attributes it entirely to her m- 
 
 ^"some*sillv stuff has been written by very silly writers, by way of 
 imnrtin' he "interesting" cuaracter of a belle passion, more or le s 
 prtink °to this friendship between the sexagenarian artis and he 
 Fmmacuiate Oolonna. No argument is necessary to intucate he 
 uTr absurdity S idea whicli implies a thorough ignorance of the 
 nTsonfinuest^oa of the circumstances of their friendship and of 
 Suhat remains on record of wliat passed between them. Mr Har- 
 ?nrd who^ '* LSe of Michael Angelo" has been already quoted, was 
 ™.rmiued he sa?"^ to hear read the letters from Vittoria to her 
 Friend which are'preerved in that collection of papers and meniori- 
 anttheTreatarist. which forn.s the most treasured possession of 
 S d'^scenSn s ; f and he gives the following accoun of them : t 
 
 •* f hcv are five in number ; and there is a sixth, addressed by her 
 
 to a friend whidi relates to Michael Angelo. Two of these leUers 
 
 rcf?r n ve;y grateful terms to tUe line drawings he had been making 
 
 or h r anJ t^o which she allu.les with admiration. ^AnoOier glances 
 
 with deep interest at the devout sentiments o f /«^?,^ '.^f i f^^'^l 
 
 Sfullnm'tcs of Uie convent of ^t- Cathei;ine at^Yiter 1..^^ 
 not of their fre<,u.mtly excbanging letters. Tins «'; •''.^ ''^^J J "-"-J 
 written just a yeir l.efr,re her death, wluc.h «^^\7^-^ '" ^^f f^lfj f ^^J 
 Angelo became architect of at. Teler s in lolO. Ihtbt iclicrs me 
 
 • See narfi.rd'fl Mirhtcl AnRplo, vol. Up. 148, et nq. 
 X ilarfordu Michiwl Angelo, vol. U. p. lot). 
 
 t Note 4.
 
 66 
 
 YITTORIA COLONJS'A. 
 
 written with the most perfect case, in a firm, strong hand ; hut there 
 IS not a syllable in any of them approacliing to teniierness." 
 
 The period of Vittoria's stay in Rome on tliis occasion must have 
 been a pleasant one. The acknowledged leader of the best and most 
 mtellcctual society in that city ; surrounded by a company of gifted 
 and high-miuded men, bound to her and to each other by that most 
 intimate and ennobling of all tics, the common profession of a higher 
 nobler, purer theory of life than that which prevailed around them', 
 and a common membership of what might almost be called a select 
 church within a church, whose principles and teaching its disciples 
 hoped to see rapidly spreading and benelicially triumphant ; dividing 
 her time between her religious duties, her literary occupations and 
 conversation with well-loved and well-understood friends— Vittoria 
 can hardly have been still tormented by temptations to commit sui- 
 cide, let in a medal struck in her honor at this period of her life 
 the last of the series engraved for Visconti's edition of her works the 
 reverse represents a phoenix on her funeral pile gazing on the sun 
 while the tlames are rising around her. The obverse has a bust of 
 the poetess, showing the features a good deal changed in the course 
 of the SIX or seven years which had elapsed since the execution of ' hat 
 silly Pyramus and Thisbe medal mentioned in a previous chapter 
 though still regular and well formed. The tendency to fatness, and 
 to a comfortable-looking double chin, is considerably increased. She 
 wears a singularly unbecoming head-dress of plaited linen, sitting 
 close to and covering the entire head, with long pendants at the sides 
 falling over the shoulders. 
 
 These pleasant Roman days were, however, destined to be of brief 
 duration. They were cut short, strange as tlie statement may seem, 
 by the imposition of an increased tax upon salt. For when Paul III. 
 resorted, in 1539, to that always odious and cruel means of pillaging 
 his people, Ascanio Colonna maintained that, by virtue of some an- 
 cient privilege, the new tax could not be levied on his estates. The 
 pontifical tax-gatherers imprisoned certain of his vassals for refusing 
 to pay ; whereupon Ascanio assembled his retainers, made a raid 
 into the Campagna, and drove off a large number of cattle.* The 
 pope lost no time in gathering an army of ten thousand men, and 
 " war was declared" between the sovereign and the Colonna. The 
 varying fortunes of this " war" have been narrated in detail by more 
 than one historian.f Much mischief was done, and a great deal of 
 misery occasioned by both the contending parties. But at length the 
 forces of the sovereign got the better of those of his vassal, and the 
 principal fortresses of the Colonna were taken, and theu- fortifica- 
 tions ordered to be razed. 
 
 It was in con.sequence of tliese misfortunes, and of that remarka- 
 ble ' solidarity" which, as has been before observed, united in those 
 
 r 
 
 " — ■- ■ ■ "— .1 — _.,■■■■ 
 
 • C^)ppi, Mem. Col., p. 306. t Eepecially Adriani, Stoiia di aaoi tempi.
 
 VITTOKIA COLONNA. 67 
 
 days the members of a family in Iheir fortunes and reverses, that 
 Yittoria quitted Rome, probably toward the end of 1540, and retired 
 to Orvieto But the loss of their brightest ornament was a misfor- 
 tune whicii the highest circles of Roman society could not submit to 
 patiently Many of the most influential personages at Paul 111. s 
 court visited the celebrated exile at Orvieto, and succeeded ere lon^ 
 in obtaining her return to Rome after a very short absence.* And 
 >ve accordingly find her again in the Eternal City in the August of 
 
 There is a letter written bv Luca Contilc.f the Sienese historian, 
 dramatist and poet, in which he speaks of a visit he had paid to Yit- 
 toria in Rome in that month. She asked him, he writes, for news 
 of Fra Bernardino (Ochino), and on his replying that he had left be- 
 hind him at Milan the highest reputation for virtue and holiness, she 
 answered, " God grant that he so persevere !" . , , , 
 
 On this passage of Luca f 'c^iile's letter, Visconti and others have 
 built a long argument in proof of Yittoria's orthodoxy. It is quite 
 clear they say, that she already suspected and lamented Ochino s 
 procuress toward heresy, and thus indicates her own aversion to 
 auo-ht that might lead to separation from the Church of Rome. It 
 wo°uld be difficult, however, to show that the simple phrase in ques- 
 tion had necessarily anv such meaning. But any dispute on this 
 point is altogether nugatory ; for it may be at once admitted tliat 
 Yittoria did not quit, and in all probability would not under any cir- 
 cumstances have quitted, the communion of the Church. And it 
 this is all that her Romanist biographers wish to maintain, they un- 
 questionably are correct in their statements. She acted in this re- 
 spect in conformity with the conduct of the majority of those eminent 
 men whose disciple and friend she was duriog so many years. And 
 the final extinction of the reformatory movement in Italy was in- 
 ^reat measure due precisely to the fact, that conformity to Rome 
 was dearer to most Italian minds than the independent assertion of 
 their own opinions. It may be freely granted, that there is every 
 reason to suppose that it would have been so to \ ittoria, liad she not 
 been so fortunate as to die before her peculiar tenets were so defini- 
 tively condemned as to make it necessary for her to choose between 
 abandoning them or abandoning Rome. But surely all the interest 
 which belongs to the (juestion of her religious opmions consists m 
 the fact that .she, like the majority of the best minds of her country 
 and age, assuredly held doctrines which Rome discovered and de- 
 clared to be incoinpatil)le with her creed. 
 
 A more agreeable record of Yittoria's presence in Rome at this 
 time, and an interesting glimpse of the manner in whi(;h many of her 
 hours were pa.s.sed, is to be found in the papers left by one Iran- 
 cesco d'Olauda,! a Portuguese painter, who was then in the Lterual 
 
 • VUconU. p. cxxvll. t Contile, Leltere, p. 19 ; Venice, 15W. t Note 5.
 
 68 
 
 VITTOKIA COLONNA. 
 
 City. He KK been nilroduced, lie tells us, by (he kindness of Mcsser 
 Luttnnzio lok'inei of Siena to (lie Marchesa de Pescara, and also (o 
 Michael Augelo ; and he lias jecorded at length several conversa- 
 tions between (hose and (wo or three odier members of their society 
 in which he took part. Tlie object of his notes appears 1o liave 
 been chiefly to preserve the opinions expressed bv the great Florcn. 
 tine on subiects connected with the arts. And it^nust^be admitted 
 that the conversation of the eminent personages mentioned, as re- 
 corded by the I ortuguese painter, appears, if judged by the standard 
 of nmeteenth-century notions, to have been wonderfully dull and 
 
 _ The record is a very curious one even in this point of view. It Is 
 interesting to measure the distance between what was considered 
 hrst-rate conversation in 1540, and what would ))e tolerated among 
 intelligent people in 1850. The good-old-times admirers, who would 
 have us believe that the ponderous erudition of past generations is 
 distasteful to us, only by reason of (he (ouch-and-go bu((erfly frivo- 
 lousness of (he modern mind, are in error. The long discourses 
 Which charmed a six(een(h-cen(ury audience are to us intolerably 
 boring, because they are filled with platitudes— with facts, inferences 
 and speciilations, tha( is. which have passed and repassed (hrouiill 
 the popular mind (ill (hey have assumed the appearance of self- 
 evident truths and fundamental axioms, which it is loss of time to 
 spencl words on. And time has so wonderfully risen in value ! And 
 though there are more than ever men whose discourse might be in- 
 structive and profitable to their associates, the universality of the 
 habit of reading prevents conversation from being turned into a lec- 
 ture. Ihose who have ma((er wordi communicating can do so more 
 etfectually and to a larger audience by means of the pen ; and those 
 willing to be instructed can make themselves masters of the thoughts 
 of others far more satisfactorily by the medium of a book. 
 
 But the external circumstances of these conversations, noted down 
 for us by Francesco d'Olanda, give us an amusing peep into the lit- 
 erary lite of the iioman world three hundred years ago. 
 
 It was one Sunday afternoon (hat (he Portuguese ar(ist went (o 
 call on Messer Lattanzio Tolemei, nephew of the cardinal of that 
 "r??^- J}^^ servants told him that their master was in the church 
 of han bilvestro, at Monte Cavallo, in company with the Marchesa 
 di 1 escara, for the purpose of hearing a lecture on the Epistles of St. 
 1 aul, from a certain Friar Ambrose of Siene. Maestro Francesco 
 lost no time in following his friend thither. And "as soon as the 
 reading and the interpretations of it were over, " the Marchesa. turning 
 to the stranger, and inviting him (o sit beside her, .said, " If I am no't 
 mistaken, Francesco d'Olanda would better like to hear Michael 
 Angelo preach on painting, than to listen to Friar Ambrose's lecture." 
 Whereupon the painter, " feeling him.self piqued," assures the lady 
 that he can take mterest in other matters than painting, and that,
 
 YITTORIA COLONNA. 69 
 
 however willingly he would listen to Michael Angelo on art, he 
 would prefer to hear Friar Ambrose when St. Paul's epistles were la 
 question. 
 
 "Do not be auc^r}', Messer Francesco," said Signer Lattanzio, 
 thereupon. " The Marchesa is far from doubting that the man ca- 
 pable of painting may be capable of aught else. We, in Italy, have 
 too high an estimate of art for that. But perhaps we should gather 
 from the remark of the Signora Marcliesa tlie intention of adding to 
 the pleasure you have already had, that of hearing Michael Angelo." 
 
 " In that case," said I, " her Excellence would do only as is her 
 wont — that is, to accord greater favors than one would have dared 
 to ask of her." 
 
 So Vittoria calls to a servant, and bids him go to the house of 
 Michael Angelo and tell him " that I and ^lesser Lattanzio are here 
 in this cool chapel, that the church is shut, and very pleasant, and 
 ask him if he will come and spend a part of the day with us, that we 
 may put it to profit in his company. But do not tell him that Fran- 
 cesco d'Olanda the Spaniard is here." 
 
 Then there is some very mild raillery about how Michael Angelo 
 was to be led to speak of painting — it being, it seems, very question- 
 able whether he could be induced to do so ; and a little bickering 
 follows between Maestro Francesco and Friar Ambrose, who feels 
 convinced that 3Iichael will not be got to talk before the Portuguese, 
 wJiile the latter boasts of his intimacy with the great man. 
 
 Presently there is a knock at the church door. It is Michael 
 Angelo, who lias been met 1)3' the servant as he was going toward the 
 baths, talking with Orbino, his color-grinder. 
 
 " The Marchesa rose to receive him, and remained standing a good 
 while before making him sit down between her and ^lesser Lattan- 
 zio." Then, " with an art which I can neitiier describe nor imitate, 
 she began to talk of various matters with infinite wit and grace, 
 without ever touching the subject of painting, the better to make 
 sure of the great painter." 
 
 " One is sure enougii," she says at last, "to be completely beaten, 
 as often as one ventures to attack Michael Angelo on his own ground, 
 wliicii is lliat of wit and raillery. You will see, ^lesser Lattanzio, 
 that to put him down and reduce him to silence we must talk to 
 him of briefs, law processes, or painting." 
 
 By whicii suljtle and deep laid plot the great man is set off into a 
 long discourse on painters and painting. 
 
 " His Holiness," said tiie Marchesa, after a while, " has grante<I me 
 the favor of authorizing nie to build a new convent, near this spot, 
 on t!ie slope of Monte Cavallo, where there is the ruined portico, 
 from the top of which, it is .said, that Nero looked on while Rome 
 was burning ; so that virtuous W)men may efface the trace of so 
 wicked a nian. I do not know, Michael Ang(!lo, what form or pro- 
 portions to give the building, or on which side to make the eulraucu.
 
 70 VITTORIA COLONNA, 
 
 "Would it not be possible to join together some parts of the ancient 
 conslruc'tiona, and make them available toward the new building?" 
 
 " Yes," said Michael Angelo ; " the ruined portico might serve fof 
 a bell-tower." 
 
 This repartee, says our Portuguese reporter, Avas uttered with so 
 nuich seriousness ami aplomb that Messer Lattanzio could not for- 
 bear from remarkin.ii; it. 
 
 From which we are led to infer that the great Michael was imder- 
 stood to have made a joke. He added, however, more seriously, " I 
 think that your Excellence may build the proposed convent without 
 difficulty ; and when we go out, we can, if j'our Excellence so please, 
 have a look at the spot, and suggest to you some ideas." 
 
 Then, after a complimentary speech from Vittoria, in which she 
 rteclares thit the public, who know Michael Angelo's works only 
 without being acquainted with his charactei-, are ignorant of the best 
 part of him, the lecture, to which all this is introductory, begins. 
 And when the company part at its close, an appointment is made to 
 meet again another Sunday in the same church. 
 
 A painter in search of an unhackneyed subject might easily choose 
 a worse one than that suggested by this notable group, making the 
 cool and quiet church their Sunday afternoon drawing-room. 
 
 The few remaining years of Vittoria's life were spent between 
 Rome and Viterbo, an episcopal city some thirty miles to the north 
 of it. In this latter her home was in the convent of the nuns of St. 
 Catherine. Her society there consisted chietiy of Cardinal Pole, the 
 governor of Viterbo, her old friend Marco Antonio FIam;iiio, and 
 Archbishop Soranzo. 
 
 During these years the rapidly increasing consciousness on the part 
 of the Church of the danger of the doctrines held by the reforming 
 party was speedily making it unsafe to profess those opinions, 
 which, as we have seen, gave the color to so large a portion of Vitto- 
 ria's poetry, and which had formed lier spiritual character. And 
 these friends, in the closest iutimac}- with whom she lived at Viterbo, 
 were not the sort of men calculated to support her in any daring re- 
 liance on the dictates of her own soul, when these chanced to be in 
 opposition to the views of the Church. Pole appears to have been at 
 this time the special director of her conscience. And we know but 
 too well, fiom tlie lamcntal)le setpiel of his own career, the sort of 
 counsel he would be likely to give her under the circumstances. 
 There is an extremely interesting letter extant, written by her from 
 Viterbo to the Cardinal Cervino, who was afterward Pope Marcellus 
 II., w hich proves clearly enough, to the great delight of her orthodox 
 admirers, that let her opinions have been what they might, she was 
 ready to " submit" them to the censorship of Rome. \Ve liave seen 
 how closely her opinions agreed with those Avhich drove IJcrnardino 
 Ochino to separate himself from the Church and ily from its ven- 
 geance. Yet under Pole's tutelage she writes as follows ;
 
 YITTORIA COLONXA. 71 
 
 " Most Illustrious and most Reverend Sir : Tlie more op- 
 portunity I have had of observing the actions of his Eminence the 
 Cardinal of Eutrland (Pole), the more clear has it seemed to me that 
 he is a true an7l sincere servant of God. Whenever, therefore, ho 
 charitably condescends to give me his opinion on any point, I con- 
 ceive mvself safe from error in following his advice. And he told 
 me that, in his opinion, I ought, in case any letter or other matter 
 should reach me from Fra Bernardino, to send the same to your most 
 lleverend Lordship, and return no answer, unless I should be directed 
 to do so. I send you therefore the inclosed, which 1 have this day 
 received, together with the little book attached. The whole was in 
 a packet wliich came to the post here by a courier from Bologna, 
 without any other writing inside. And 1 have thought it best not to 
 make use of any other means of sending it, than by a servant of my 
 own." . . . 
 
 She adds in a postscript : 
 
 " It grieves me much that the more he tries to excuse himself the 
 more he accuses himself ; and the more he thinks to save others 
 from shipwreck, the more he exposes himself to the flood, being 
 himself out of the ark which saves and .secures."* 
 
 Poor Ochino little thought probably that his letter to his former 
 admiring and fervent disciple would be passed on with such a re- 
 mark to the hands of his enemies '. He ought, however, to have been 
 aware that princesses and cardinals, whatever speculations they may 
 have indidged in, do not easily become heretics. 
 
 She returned once more from Viterbo to Rome toward the end of 
 the year lo44, and took up her residence in the convent of Benedic- 
 tines of St. Anne. AV'hile there she composed the Latin prayer, 
 printed in the note,+ which has been much admired, and which, 
 though not so Ciceronian in its diction asBembo might have written, 
 ■will bear comparison with similar compositions by many more cele- 
 brated persons. Several of the latest of her poems were also written 
 at this time. But her health began to fail so rapidly as to give great 
 uneasiness to her friends. Several letters are extant from Tolomei to 
 her physician, anxiou.sly inquiring after her healtli, urging him tp 
 neglect no resources of his art, and bidding him remember that " the 
 lives of many, who continually receive from her their food— some 
 that of the body and otliers that of the mind— are bound up in hers.'_'| 
 The celebrated i>hysician and poet, Fracastoro, was written to in 
 Verona. In his reply, after suggesting meilical remedies, be .says, 
 " Would tliat a physician for Iict mind could be found ! Otherwise 
 the fairest light in this world will, from causes by no means clear (a 
 non go flui Htrano itwdt) he extinguished and taken from our oyes."§ 
 
 The medical opinion of Fracastoro, writing from a distance, nniy 
 
 • Viitconti, p. cxxxi. Printed alno hy Tiroboschi, vol. 7. + Note 0. 
 
 } Lcttcre del Tolomei. Venezitt, 1578. § Viscoiiti, p. cxxxiv.
 
 73 virroiUA coLONifA. 
 
 not lie of much value. Rut it is certiiiu that many circumstances 
 coinliiued to render tiicsc decliuiiijj years of Vittoria's life unhappy. 
 T)ie fortunes of her family were under a cloud ; and it is probable 
 that she was as much grieved by her broliier's conduct as by the 
 consequences of it. The death also of tlie Marchese del Vasto, in 
 the flower of his age, about this time, was a severe blow to her. 
 Ever since those happy early days in Ischia, when she had been to 
 him. as she said, morally and intellectually a mother, the closest ties 
 of affection had united them ; and his loss was to Vittoria like that 
 of a sou. Then again, though she had perfectly made up her mind 
 as to tiie lice of conduct it behooved her to take in regard to any 
 difflculties of religious opinion, yet it cannot be doubted that the 
 necessity of separating herself from so many whom she had loved 
 and venerated, deserting them, as it were, in their falling fortunes, 
 must have been acutely painful to her. Possibly also conscience was 
 not wholly at rest with her on this matter. It may be that the still 
 voice of inward conviction would sometimes make obstinate murnmr 
 against blindfold submissicju to a priesthood, Ayho ought not, accord- 
 ing to the once expi-esscd opinion of the poetess, to come between 
 the creature and his Creator. 
 
 As she became gradually worse and weaker, she was removed from 
 the convent of St. Anne to the neighboring house of Giuliano Cesarini, 
 the husband of Guilia Colouna, the only one of her kindred then left 
 in Rome. And there she breathed her last, toward the end of Feb- 
 ruary, 1547, in the 57th year of her age. 
 
 In her last hours she was visited by her faithful and devotedly at- 
 tached friend, Michael Angclo, who watched the departure of the 
 spirit from her frame ; and who declared,* years afterward, that ho 
 had never ceased to regret that in that solemn moment he had not 
 ventured to press his lips, for the first and last time, to ths marble 
 forehead of the dead. 
 
 She had directed that her funeral should be \u all respects like that 
 of one of the sisters of the convent in which she last resided. And 
 so completely were her behests attended to that no memorial ci any 
 kind remains to tell the place of her sepulchre. 
 
 «Condivi. Vita.
 
 l^OTES 
 
 TO THI 
 
 UI^E OF yiTTORIA COLOKNA. 
 
 1.— Page 15. 
 
 Qniliano Passeri. tie anther of the diary quoted in the text, was an honest 
 Weaver, living by his. ai t at Naples, in the time of Ferdinand of >pain and Charles 
 V. His work appears to have been composed wholly for his own satisfaction ancj 
 amusement. The entire work is written in the form of a diary. But as the lirst 
 entry records the coming of Alphonso I. to Naolcs, on "this day, the 20th 
 l-ebnmry, 1443," and the last describes the funeral ol the Marchese di Pescara, 
 Viitoria's husband, on the l^th May, 15-.'0, it is difficult to suppose that these could 
 liave been the daily jottings of one ana the samu individual, extending over a 
 Ijeriod of S.3 years, althousjh it is possible that they may have been so. As the work 
 ends quite abruptly, it seems reasonable to suppose that it was carried on till the 
 death of the writer. The probability is, that the memorials of the e.-irlier years are 
 due to another jien. 'l"he work is written in Neapolitan dialect, and concerns itself 
 very little with au<,'ht that i)assed out of Naples. It has all the marks of hcins; 
 wriiten by an eye-witness of the circumstances recorded. The accounts especially 
 of all public ceremonies, ;,'ala-do;ngs, etc.. are given in great detail, and with all 
 the gusto of a regular si"ht-seer. And the book is interesting as a rare specimen of 
 t Je writing and ideas or an artisan of the sixteenth century. 
 
 It was printed iu a quarto volume at Naples in 1785, and is rather rare. 
 
 a.— Page 29. 
 
 These false dncats eave rise, we arutold. to the king's saying, that his wife had 
 6'ought him three gifts : 
 
 Faciem pictam, 
 Monetaiii lictani, 
 
 to which the nngallant and brutal royal husband added annlher, the statement o^ 
 whii'h endin;{ iu " striciain," Is so grossly coarse that it cannot be repeated here, 
 even with the partial veil of its Latin clothing. 
 
 8.— Pago 87. 
 
 The translations of the Bonncfs In the text have been piven solely with the view 
 of enabling those who do not read Italian to form i-oine Idea of the subject-inatler 
 and mode of thought of tli<) author, and not with any hope or jinitenKlon of pi esent- 
 ing anything that might be accepted ns a toh'rable Knglisb sonnet. In many iii- 
 Ktnnces the rcmiired contitmation of the rhyme has not even been nttempled. If 
 it be asked, why then were the traublationa not given in simple prose, which would
 
 74 VllTOHIA COLONNA. 
 
 have ntlinittod a vot Rreater accuracy of literal renderiiiK?— It is answered, that n 
 fraIl:^hlti()Il po made would l)e ko intolerably bald, Hat, and Billy-uoiindiiig, that a 
 still more iiDl'avorable conception of the original vould remain in the Knglish 
 reador's mind than tliat wliicii. it i^ hu|)e(l, may be produced liy I ho more or less 
 poetieally-cast translations given. Tlie oriKinals, printed in every instance, will do 
 TUsii'-e Of not more) to our poetess in the eyes of those acquainted witli her 
 laniruage, for the specimens chosen may be relied on as being not unfavorable 
 Fpecim»'ns. And many readei-a, i)rt)bably, who might not take the trouble to 
 iindei stand the original in a hmguasje they imperfectly understand, may yet, by the 
 lielp of tlie translation, if they thuiji it worth while, obtain a tolerably accurate 
 notion of Vittoria's poetical uiyle. 
 
 4.— Page 65. 
 
 ■^Tien Mr. Harford beard these letters read, the exceedingly valuable and inter- 
 estin<' museum of papers, pictures, drawings, etc., of Michael Angelo, was tho 
 property of his lineal descendant, the late Minister of I'ublic Instruction in 
 'i'uscany. Wlien dying, he bequeathed this exceedingly important collection to the 
 "Communita," or corporation of Florence. The Tuscan law requires tliat the 
 notary who draws a will should do so in ilie presence of the testator. Unlortunalely, 
 on the sick man complaining ofihe heat of the room, the notary employed to draw 
 this important instrument, retired, it seems, into tlie next room, which, as a ddot 
 was open between the two chambers, he conceived was equivalent to being in prea. 
 ciue of the testator, as required by law. It has been decided, however, by the tri- 
 bunals of Florence, that the will was thus vitiated, and that the property must pase 
 to the heirs at law. An appeal still pending (September, IS.'iS) lies to a higher 
 court: but there is every reason to believe that the original judgment musi be con- 
 lirmed. In the mean time, the papeib, etc., are under the inviolable seal of the law. 
 
 5.— Page 67. 
 
 The MS. of Francois de Holland, containing the noticeB of Vittoria Colonnft, 
 given in the text, is to be found translated into French, and printed in a volume 
 entitled, " Les Arts en Portugal, par le Comtc A. Kaczynski. Paris, 1846." 
 
 My attention was directed to the notices of Vittoria to be found in this volume 
 by a review of M. Dcumier's book on our poetess, by Signor A. Reumont, inserted 
 in the fifth volume of the new series of the " Archivio Storico Italiano, Firenze, 
 185T," p. 138. 
 
 C.— Page 71. 
 
 The prayer written by Vittoria Colonna is as follows : 
 
 "Da, precor, Domiue, ut ea animi depressioue, qua; humilitati meae ccnvenit, 
 eaque mentis elatione, quam tua postulat celsitudo, to semper adorem ; ac iu 
 tiinore, quern tua incutit justitia, et in spe, (juam tua dementia permittit, vivani 
 continue, meque libi nii potcntissimo subjiciam, tanquam sapientissimo disponam, 
 et ad te nt perfeetissimum et optimum convertar. t)bse(:ro. Pater Pientii-simc, ut 
 me ignis tnus vivacissimus depuret, lux tua clarissima illustret, et amor tuns ille 
 aincerissimus ita proficiat ut ad to uuUo mortalium rerum obice dementa, felix 
 redeam eCsecura.
 
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