The Gallery of Portraits: with Memoirs. Volume 4 (of 7)
Date: 2017-10-07T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Biography

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Title: The Gallery of Portraits: with Memoirs. Volume 4 (of 7)

Author: Arthur Thomas Malkin

Release date: October 7, 2017 [eBook #55688]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GALLERY OF PORTRAITS: WITH MEMOIRS. VOLUME 4 (OF 7) ***

Transcriber's Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE.

THE
GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
WITH
MEMOIRS.

VOLUME IV.

LONDON:

CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET.

1835.

[PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]

LONDON:

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES,

Duke-Street, Lambeth.

PORTRAITS AND BIOGRAPHIES
CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.

1. | Daguesseau | 1
2. | Cromwell | 11
3. | Lionardo da Vinci | 21
4. | Vauban | 29
5. | William III. | 37
6. | Goethe | 46
7. | Correggio[1] | 57
8. | Napoleon | 67
9. | Linnæus | 77
10. | Priestley[1] | 85
11. | Ariosto | 93
12. | Marlborough | 104
13. | De l’Epée | 113
14. | Colbert | 122
15. | Washington | 128
16. | Murillo | 137
17. | Cervantes | 147
18. | Frederic II. | 155
19. | Delambre | 165
20. | Drake | 170
21. | Charles V. | 179
22. | Des Cartes | 189
23. | Spenser | 194
24. | Grotius | 201

1.  The paging of Part XXVII. has accidentally been repeated in Part XXVIII.

Engraved by J. Mollison.

DAGUESSEAU.

(From am original Picture by Mignardi in the
possession of the Conntesa Segur.)

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

DAGUESSEAU.

The Chancellor Daguesseau is said to have been descended from a noble family of the province of Saintonge; if so, he was careless of his privileges, for he never used between the two first letters of his name the comma, indicative of noble birth. He came however of distinguished parentage; for his grandfather had been First President of the Parliament of Bordeaux, and his father was appointed, by Colbert, Intendant of the Limousin, and subsequently advanced to the Intendancies of Bordeaux and of Languedoc. In the latter government he suggested to Colbert the grand idea of uniting the Ocean and the Mediterranean by means of that mighty work, the Canal of Languedoc. In the persecution raised against the Protestants of the South of France by Louis XIV., he was distinguished by mildness; and to his honour be it remembered, one person only perished under his jurisdiction. Disgusted by the dragonnades, and by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he resigned his Intendancy, and removed to Paris, where he continued to enjoy the royal favour, and to be employed in offices of trust: so that he may be said not only to have formed his son’s youth, but to have watched over his manhood.

That son, Henry François Daguesseau, was born at Limoges, November 7, 1668. In 1690, he was appointed King’s Advocate in the Court of the Chatelet, and soon after, at his father’s recommendation, Advocate-General in the Parliament of Paris. On hearing the wisdom of so young a choice brought into question, the king observed, that “the father was incapable of deceit, even in favour of his son.” So brilliantly did the young lawyer acquit himself in his charge, that Denis Talas, one of the chief of the magistracy, expressed the wish, “that he might finish as Daguesseau had begun.” The law-officers of that day did not confine themselves to a mere dry fulfilment of legal functions; there was a traditional taste, a love of polite and classic literature, a cultivation of poetry and eloquence, on which the jurists prided themselves, and which prompted them to seize every opportunity of rivalling the ecclesiastical orators and polite writers of the age. Thus, at the opening of each session, the Avocat-Général pronounced an inaugurative discourse, which treated rather of points of high morality than law. Daguesseau acquired great fame from these effusions of eloquence. Their titles bespeak what they were: they treat of the Independence of the Advocate; the Knowledge of Man; of Magnanimity; of the Censorship. “The highest professions are the most dependent,” exclaimed Daguesseau on one of those occasions; “he whom the grandeur of his office elevates over other men, soon finds that the first hour of his dignity is the last of his independence.” These generous sentiments are strongly contrasted with the despotism of the government and the general servility of the age.

In 1700, Daguesseau was appointed Procureur-General, in which capacity he was obliged to form decisions on the gravest questions of state. A learned Memoir, drawn up by him in the year 1700, to prove that no ecclesiastics, not even cardinals, had a right to be exempt from royal jurisdiction, shows his mind already imbued with that jealousy of Papal supremacy which afterwards distinguished him. But his occupations were not confined to legal functions, the administration of that day being accustomed to have recourse, in all difficult and momentous questions, to the wisdom and authority of the magistracy. Thus Daguesseau was enabled, by directing his attention to the state of the hospitals, to remedy the enormous abuses practised in them, and to remodel these charitable institutions upon a new and philanthropic system. In the terrible famine of 1709, he was appointed one of the commission to inquire into the distresses of the time. He was the first to foresee the famine ere it arrived, and to recommend the fittest measures for obviating the misery which it menaced.

There existed, at that time, few questions on which a French statesman or magistrate found himself in opposition to the sovereign. Constitutional political liberty was unknown; and even freedom of conscience had been violated by the persecuting edicts of Louis XIV. The magistracy had allowed the Protestants to be crushed, awed by the fear of being considered favourers of rebellion. The legal and the lettered class of French, however they had abandoned the great cause of Reform, exaggerated as it had been by Calvin, were nevertheless still unprepared to submit to the spiritual despotism of Rome. They did not presume to question fundamental doctrines of faith; but they rejected the interference of the Pope in matters of ecclesiastical government, and their claim to independence was sanctioned by the ancient privileges of the Gallican Church. And they were resolutely opposed to the faithless and insidious doctrines of the Jesuits, who sought to make the rule of conscience subordinate to the dictation of the priesthood. These two grounds of opposition to Rome and to the Jesuits constituted the better part of Jansenism. Louis XIV., in his later years, commenced a crusade against this species of resistance to his royal will; and, amongst other acts of repression, he procured a Bull from Rome, called Unigenitus, from its first word, which condemned the combined opposition of the Gallican clergy and the anti-Jesuit moralist. In order to be binding upon the French, it was necessary that it should be registered in Parliament. The consent of the great legal officers was requisite, and they were accordingly summoned before Louis XIV. The First President and the Advocate-General had already been won over to the court. The independent character of Daguesseau was the only obstacle; and they had hopes that he might be induced to yield, from the known mildness of his disposition. His parting from his wife on this occasion is recorded both by Duclos and St. Simon: “Go,” said she, as she embraced him; “when before the king, forget wife and children: sacrifice all but honour.” Daguesseau acted by the noble counsel, and remained immoveable, though threatened by his despotic master with the loss of his place. The death of Louis XIV., in 1715, soon relieved Daguesseau from the difficulty of his position.

On the establishment of the Regency, the administration was reorganized on a different plan, each department being intrusted to a council. Daguesseau was appointed member of the Council of Conscience, being, in fact, the ecclesiastical department. He proposed the immediate banishment of the Jesuits from the kingdom; but this measure he was unable to compass. In February, 1717, a vacancy occurred in the office of Chancellor, and the Regent immediately sent for Daguesseau, who was at mass in his parish church, and refused to come until he was twice sent for. When he arrived, the Regent exclaimed to the company, “Here is a new and very worthy Chancellor!” and carrying him to the Tuileries in his coach, made the young king present him with the box of seals. Daguesseau escaped from the crowd to acquaint his brother with his good fortune: “I had rather it was you than I,” exclaimed the latter, continuing to smoke his pipe.

The Regent, however, did not long remain satisfied with his choice, which had been made from a generous impulse of the moment. During the last years of Louis the Fourteenth’s reign, there had been a confusion of parties and of opinions, which were almost all united against the bigotry and despotism of the monarch’s dotage. The grandee and the magistrate displayed equal discontent, and joined in common protestations. On the demise of the monarch, however, this union disappeared. The grandee hoped to see that aristocratic influence restored, which had been suspended since the wars of the Fronde. The magistracy did not favour this idea, being of opinion that the Parliament was the fittest council and check to the authority of the crown. Daguesseau of course inclined to the magistracy, in whose interest he laboured, in conjunction with the Duc de Noailles, to root out the Jesuits, and deprive the church of ultra-montane support. The Duc de St. Simon was of the opposite opinion. He was the partisan of an aristocratic government, and he defended the church, and even the Jesuits, as useful allies. These discordant views led to bickerings in the council. St. Simon accused some magistrates of malpractices. The Chancellor sought, more than was just, to screen them. He obtained a rule, about the same time, that all the members of the Great Council, consisting chiefly of magistrates, should be rendered noble by their office, another offence to the nobility of birth. The Regent, at first inclined to be neutral, soon leaned to the noblesse. The Parliament thwarted him, and showed symptoms of an intention to support his rival the Duke of Maine, the illegitimate son of Louis XIV. The difference between the Regent and the magistracy was widened into a breach by the scheme of Law, and by the advancement of that foreigner to influence in political and financial affairs, which had hitherto been chiefly in the hands of the magistracy. The legists looked upon Law as an intruder, and regarded his acts as audacious innovations. Their remonstrances accordingly grew louder and louder, and their opposition more bold, until the Regent began to fear the renewal of the scenes of the Fronde. The Memoirs of the Cardinal de Retz were then published for the first time; and their perusal, filling the public mind, excited it strongly to renew the scenes and the struggle which they described. The Chancellor’s true office, as a minister, had been to manage the Parliament, to cajole, to persuade, to menace, to repress; but the task suited neither the character nor the principles of Daguesseau, and accordingly nothing but censure of him was heard at court. He was weak, he was irresolute, and lawyers were declared to make very bad statesmen. “They might have reproached the Chancellor with indecision,” says Duclos, “but what annoyed them most was his virtue.”

On the 26th of January, 1718, the seals were re-demanded of him and given to D’Argenson, the famous lieutenant of police. Daguesseau was exiled to his country-house at Fresnes. Whilst in retirement he occupied his time chiefly in the education of his children. His letters to them on the subject of their classical and mathematical studies, lately given to the public, bear witness to his simple and literary bent of mind. Happy it was for Daguesseau to have been removed from the troublesome scene of public life during the two years of Law’s triumph and the disgrace of the magistracy. When Law’s scheme exploded, amidst the ruin and execration of thousands, the Regent, not knowing whither to turn for counsel and support, resolved at least to give some indication of returning honesty by the recall of Daguesseau, who resumed the seals with a facility that was censured by many. Law was deprived of the place of Comptroller-General of Finance, though continued in the management of the Bank and the India Company. In his place certain of the Parliament were admitted to the Councils of Finance, so that Daguesseau seemed to have had full security against the continuance of that infamous jobbing by which the public credit had been destroyed. He was disappointed. The Place Vendôme, in front of his abode, being the exchange of the day, was crowded by purchasers and venders of stock; until the Chancellor, unable to suppress the nuisance, caused it to be removed elsewhere.

The reconciliation between the government and Parliament, produced by Daguesseau’s return, did not last long; and Law having sent an edict respecting the India Company for that body to register, a tumult occurred while they were debating on it, in which the obnoxious financier was torn to pieces. Elated by the news, the Parliament rejected the edict, and hurried from the hall to assure themselves of the fate of Law, who was the great object of their odium. The Regent took fire at this mark of their contempt for his authority, and resolved to exile the Parliament to Blois. Daguesseau himself could not excuse their precipitancy; he obtained, however, that the place of exile should not be Blois, but Pontoise, within a few leagues of Paris.

In addition to these causes of quarrel, another matter occurred to widen the breach between the court and the Parliament, and to place Daguesseau, who stood between them, in a position of still greater difficulty. This was the old question of the bull Unigenitus, the acceptance of which the prime minister Dubois was labouring to procure, as the condition on which he was to receive a Cardinal’s hat from the court of Rome. The Regent, who had at first supported the Jansenists, or Parliamentary party, was now disgusted at not finding in them the gratitude which he had hoped. “Hitherto,” said he, “I have given every thing to grace, and nothing to good works.” He leaned, in consequence, to the other party; and it was resolved to obtain the acceptance of the bull, or Constitution, as it was called, in the Great Council. The Great Council was a court of magistrates acting somewhat like the English Privy Council, or present French Conseil d’Etat, and pronouncing judgment on points where the crown or government was concerned. It was the rival of the Parliament, in the place of which Dubois proposed to substitute it as a high court of judicature; an idea acted upon at a later period of French history. The Regent, attended by his court and officers, went to the Great Council, and enforced the acceptance of the bull. Daguesseau attended as Chancellor, and by his presence seemed to countenance this act, which forms the great reproach, or blot of his life. He is reported, on this occasion, to have asked a young councillor, who was loud in opposition, “Where he had found these objections?” “In the pleadings of the late Chancellor Daguesseau,” was the keen retort. The conduct of Daguesseau admits, however, of excuse. The bull had been already registered, under conditions, by the Parliament in the reign of Louis XIV.; and the present agitation of the question being rather to satisfy the Pope than make any real alteration in the law. Daguesseau was for making every concession of form, and some real sacrifices, to avoid further extremities or hostilities against the Parliament. He hoped, indeed, that registration by the Great Council might spare the Parliament further trouble on the subject. But the Cardinal de Noailles, the head of the Jansenist party, continued to protest; and the Regent, concluding that he was incited by the Parliament, re-determined to extend the exile of that body from Pontoise to Blois. Daguesseau learning this, seeing his concessions of no effect, and that extreme measures were intended against the Parliament, came instantly to offer his resignation. The Regent, in answer, bade him wait a few days; and the Cardinal having desisted from his extreme opposition, at length he was satisfied. The Parliament was recalled, and Law finally disgraced, a point gained from Dubois, no doubt, as the price of moderation in the affair of this bull.

The Regent and Dubois had now both made all the use they required of Daguesseau’s presence in the ministry; and both were anxious to get rid of a personage so little in harmony with their politics or morals. Nevertheless, the Regent felt his obligations as well as the respect due to the Chancellor, and evinced them in a manner peculiar to himself. A person of some rank and influence had proposed for the daughter of Daguesseau, allured perhaps by the hope of being allied to a minister. The Regent learning this, determined to defer the Chancellor’s disgrace, lest it might prevent the match. When Daguesseau’s future son-in-law went to ask the Regent, as is customary in France, for his sanction to the marriage, the latter, while granting it, turned to those near him, and remarked, in a style usual with him, “Here is a gentleman about to turn fishmonger at the end of Lent,” thus intimating the Chancellor’s approaching downfall. Daguesseau had irritated Dubois by joining the Dukes and Marshals, who retired from the council table rather than yield precedence to the minister who, in his new rank of Cardinal, pretended to this honour. The seals were again taken from him in February, 1722, and he returned to his estate at Fresnes.

Again resuming the volume of his private letters, as the only history of his years of retirement, we find Daguesseau occupied with the progress of his son at the bar, and in the functions of Advocate-General. At the epoch of the Duke of Orleans’ death, and the accession of the Duke of Bourbon to the ministry, there were evident intentions of recalling Daguesseau. Recourse was had to his advice in some affairs, but he refused to take cognizance of them in a position where his word might be misrepresented. In short, he refused to take any part in political affairs without, at the same time, “having the ear of the prince,” thus positively refusing to act any subordinate part. These overtures were made at the commencement of 1725. “What you must avoid of all things,” he writes to his son, “is to do any thing that might afford cause of imagining that conditions are asked of me as the price of my return, or that I engage myself in any party.” The son was, nevertheless, anxious for the return of his father to power, and, on one occasion, entreats him to open his mansion to Mademoiselle de Clermont, sister of the Duke of Bourbon, who was travelling near Fresnes; but Daguesseau refused to pay any such expensive compliments, even to the sister of the minister.

At length, in August, 1727, not very long after the installation of Cardinal Fleury in the office of Prime Minister, Daguesseau was recalled. At the same time the seals were not given back to him, but intrusted to Chauvelin as Lord Keeper. The Parliament wished to make some resistance on this point, but Daguesseau, who, as he grew in years, seems to have grown also in reverence for the royal authority, dissuaded and silenced them. Even before his restoration to power, his advice to his son marks strongly the moderation of his views. “Never push the government to extremes,” writes he (Lettres Inédites, p. 254). “We should all feel the great distance that exists between a king and his subjects. Moderation is the most efficacious. If the Parliament take too strong a resolution, it will but justify the rigour of the government.” We no longer recognize here the bold man who withstood the threats of Louis XIV.

His character for consistency and principle suffered in consequence. In 1732, the old quarrel of ultra-montanism and Jesuits was renewed with great animosity. Some bishops and ecclesiastics resisted the Papal Bull. Those who suffered for their opposition appealed to the Parliament, who, as of old, upheld liberty of conscience, and, in connexion with it, personal freedom. Daguesseau sought to act as moderator, to calm at once the resistance of the Parliament and the rigour of the court. He was obliged, in consequence, to make himself party to some of the complaints of the one, and to some acts of persecution on the part of the other. Four of the more violent young counsellors were exiled. The high personal character of the Chancellor alone enabled him to bear up against the obloquy and reproach that were directed against him from both sides; but fortunately the storm was of short duration, for the menaces of foreign war drowned the voices of ecclesiastical and legal disputants. On the disgrace of Chauvelin, in 1737, the seals were returned to Daguesseau, who thus once more reunited in his person all the functions and honours of his place. He kept them until the year 1750, when, feeling that his infirmities rendered him incapable of performing his duty, he resigned. At the King’s request, he retained the titular dignity of Chancellor until his death, February 9, 1751.

It is hard, in a brief and popular memoir, to assign reasons for the high reputation enjoyed by Daguesseau. His celebrity is rather traditional than historical; it can be appreciated only by those skilled in the science and history of French law, by those who are acquainted with the great and innumerable ameliorations wrought in the system of law and legal proceeding by his assiduity and talents. Indeed that part of his career, which is necessarily most prominent in history, the share which he took in politics and administration, was by far the least honourable. Renowned as a pleader, his very talents in this respect are said to have unfitted him for judicial functions. “Long habits of the parquet (the office of the Attorney-General) had perverted his talents. The practice is there to collect, to examine, to weigh, and compare the reasons of two different parties; to display, in different balances, their various arguments, with all the grace and flowers of eloquence, omitting nothing on either side, so that no one could perceive to which side the Advocate-General leaned. The continual habit of this during twenty-four years, joined to the natural scruples of a conscientious man, and the ever-starting points and objections of the learned one, had moulded him into a character of incertitude, out of which he could never escape. To decide was an accouchement with him, so painful was it.” From this account by St. Simon, we learn how honourable and impartial was the office of the public accuser in the old French courts; and that he blended with his functions the high impartiality of the judge; a characteristic that the office has since lost, in that court at least. It also explains the Chancellor’s indecision, and his failure as a judge. Whatever were his defects as a decider of causes, he made amends by his talents as a legislator and an organizer of jurisprudence. To this, indeed, he gave himself up in his latter years almost exclusively, declining to meddle more with politics, and devoting himself to ameliorate the laws and the forms of procedure. It is on this subject that it is difficult to explain his merits to the reader. One of the first objects of his attention was to separate the functions of the Grand Council from those of the Parliament. When he resumed the seals in 1737, he suppressed the Judges and Presidents of the former court, to do away with its pretensions of usurping the place of the Parliament. He at the same time collected and remodelled the law of appeals, and regulated the respective jurisdiction of different courts; and we learn from Isambert, that the Ordonnance issued by him at this period still serves as the rule of law procedure before the Court of Cassation and the Council of State. The law for repressing forgery formed the subject of another long Ordonnance. The next legal subject of importance that absorbed the attention of Daguesseau was that of Entails. This forms the subject of a voluminous Ordonnance, bearing date August, 1747. One of its clauses nullifies entails extending beyond two degrees, not including the testator. An Ordonnance, signed May, 1749, not enough attended to, establishes a sinking fund for paying the debts of the state, and the levy of a twentieth to constitute it. The question of Mortmain is the subject of an Edict in the same year. Wills form another source of legal difficulties which Daguesseau sought to simplify or remove.

The character of Daguesseau has been drawn minutely, and at great length, by one of the most penetrating of his contemporaries, who sat at the council board with him, and was his most decided political enemy. Nevertheless, we need go no farther than this very writer, the Duc de St. Simon, for a record of the Chancellor’s virtues and genius:—“An infinity of talent, assiduity, penetration, knowledge of all kinds, all the gravity of a magistrate, piety and innocence of morals, formed the foundation of his character. He might be considered incorruptible (St. Simon makes an exception); and with all this, mild, good, humane, of ready and agreeable access, full of gaiety, and poignant pleasantry, without ever hurting; temperate, polished without pride, noble without a stain of avarice. Who would not imagine that such a man would have made an admirable Chancellor? Yet in this he disappointed the world.” His faults, according to the same writer, were indecision as a judge, and too high a respect for the Parliament and the legal profession, to which St. Simon asserts he sacrificed the royal authority. In this the aristocratic writer is mistaken. Daguesseau compromised too much for the independence of Parliament; it is among his faults. “He was the slave of the most precise purity of diction, not perceiving how excess of care rendered him obscure and unintelligible. His taste for science added to his other defects. He was fond of languages, especially the learned ones, and took infinite delight in physics and mathematics; nor did he even let metaphysics alone: in fact, it was for science that he was born. He would, indeed, have made an excellent First President, Chief Judge of Parliament; but he would have been best placed of all at the head of the literature of the country, of the Academies, the Observatory, the Royal College, the Libraries; there his tediousness would have incommoded no one, &c.” In short, the Duke, in his scheme of restoring the aristocracy to exclusive influence, found the Chancellor in his way, and wished him out of it. He tells us that Daguesseau was of middling stature, with a full and agreeable countenance, even to the last expressive of wisdom and of wit.

Engraved by E. Scriven.

CROMWELL.

From the Picture presented by Cromwell To Coll. Rich,
and bequeathed by his great grandson, Sir Robt. Rich, Bart. to the British Museum.

Under the Superintendance of the Society far the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

CROMWELL.

There have been few men known to history, who can be worthily compared with the subject of these pages for the extraordinary circumstances of their rise to power, or for their prudence and greatness in its enjoyment. We see in him a man of middle rank and moderate fortune, breaking out from privacy, if not obscurity, at a time of life when the fame of most men is at its meridian, of many at its close, and in a very few years raising himself to absolute power on the shoulders of his friends and on the necks of his enemies; and though we censure both the end of his political labours and the measures which led the way to it, yet in both there is much left for us to respect and to admire.

Oliver, the only son of Robert Cromwell and Elizabeth Stuart (the daughter of a knightly family in the Isle of Ely, said to have been related to the royal house), was born at Huntingdon, April 24, 1599. His grandfather, Sir Henry Cromwell, was four times Sheriff of the counties of Cambridge and Huntingdon; his uncle, Sir Oliver Cromwell, after whom he was named, was reputed to be the richest knight in England; and his family was related to the Earls of Essex, and to the houses of Hampden, St. John, and Barrington. It is necessary to mention the respectability of Cromwell’s connexions, because he is reported to have been a man of mean birth, by persons who vainly thought to fix a stigma on his great name by assigning to him a low origin.

After having received a good school education he was sent, at the age of seventeen, to Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge. He did not remain there long enough to complete his studies, but, leaving the University before the usual time, was entered at Lincoln’s Inn. His enemies accuse him of having been guilty of all manner of debaucheries, both at college and as a student of law; but as we know that his whole life, from the age of twenty-one, was severely moral, this accusation may be allowed to rest with the obscure memories of its authors. His father dying when Oliver had attained the age of twenty, he left London, and went to reside with his mother, who eked out her small jointure with the profits of a brewery which she had established, and conducted herself: hence came the contemptuous appellation, often bestowed upon Cromwell, of the “brewer of Huntingdon.” At the age of twenty-one he married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir James Bourchier, of the county of Essex. At this period of his life he was involved in some pecuniary difficulties, from which he was relieved by the death of his maternal uncle Sir Thomas Stuart, who bequeathed him an estate of between four and five hundred pounds yearly value in the isle of Ely, on which he took up his residence. Some of his biographers declare, “that because he prayed and expounded the word too much, and caused his servants to do the like,” he became again straitened in his circumstances. This has been the more readily believed, because he at this time became highly disgusted with the want of liberty of conscience in his own land, and had, in consequence, determined to exile himself to New England, along with his friend and cousin Hampden. He was actually embarked, when an order from the Privy Council, disallowing emigration without special license from the crown, put a stop to his voyage. He returned to his county, and was soon after elected by the burgesses of the town of Cambridge to serve them in the House of Commons. One of the first notices we have of his taking an active share in public business was his determined opposition to a plan, originated by the Earl of Bedford, and supported by government, for the drainage of the fens. His objection to this scheme was entirely of a political nature, since, during his Protectorate, it became a measure of his own. Hampden foretold his future rise from his vigorous conduct in this matter:—“He was a man who would sit well at the mark.” Cromwell was not, properly so called, an eloquent man. His ordinary speeches were rambling, verbose, and inelegant; but when he wished to make his purpose clear, his style was close, bold, and manly.

In the memorable year 1640, Cromwell was returned by the same borough to serve in the famous LONG PARLIAMENT,—the last Parliament of Charles the First. It was unfortunate for this prince that he fell on such times and such men. He came to the throne with his father’s overweening belief in the sacredness of kingly prerogative, and with the same obstinate notions concerning unity of creed and worship in matters of religion. The consequence of the first of these inherited feelings was his introduction, or rather enforcement, of unconstitutional modes of raising money, and distributing justice, beyond the patience of an age newly escaped from the thraldom of feudal restrictions; the effect of the latter was also past the endurance of a nation jealous of its lately-acquired and highly-prized religious liberty. In the struggle between the prince and the people, which these causes produced, Cromwell was among the foremost. He was one of seventy-five gentlemen who offered to raise each a troop of sixty horse in the service of the Parliament. This was the beginning of the military career which afterwards proved so glorious. He took great pains in the formation of his levies. This appears from his expostulation with Hampden, recorded by himself. “Your troops, said I, are most of them old decayed serving men and tapsters, and such kind of fellows, and their’s are gentlemen’s younger sons, and persons of good quality. And do you think that the mean spirits of such base and mean fellows will ever be able to encounter gentlemen that have honour, and courage, and resolution in them? You must get men of a spirit, and take it not ill what I say, of a spirit that is likely to go as far as gentlemen will go, or else I am sure you will be beaten still: I told him so. He was a wise and worthy person, and he did think that I talked a good notion, but an impracticable one. I told him I could do somewhat in it; and I accordingly raised such men as had the fear of God before them, and made some conscience of what they did. And from that day forward they were never beaten; but, whenever they were engaged against the enemy, they beat continually.” It is probable that to this choice of his recruits, Cromwell owed much of his military success and his political fortune. Being desirous of proving their courage, he chose from among their number a few that he could put confidence in, and ordered them to lie in ambush on his route; then, at a preconcerted signal, they rushed from their hiding place as if to charge the rest of the troop, upon which the poltroons of the company fled, and, finding their mistake too late, were glad to sneak home and leave their saddles to be filled by better men. After this trial the ‘Ironsides’ of Cromwell never shrunk from the enemy, and gradually the whole army was formed on the same model.

One of Cromwell’s first military services was the securing the town and county of Cambridge to the Parliamentary interest. He treated the University, several colleges of which had transmitted plate and money for the king’s use, with severity, arresting some of its principal members. Then passing through the county he disarmed the cavalier gentlemen, taking care not to provoke enmity by personal violence. An anecdote may here be mentioned illustrative of Cromwell’s peculiar character. While on this expedition, in the Isle of Ely, he visited his uncle Sir Oliver, who was a staunch royalist. Having surrounded the house with his troop he entered, hat in hand, nor could he be prevailed on either to cover his head or to sit down in his uncle’s presence; but having begged his blessing, and besought him to set what he did to the account of strict performance of his duty, he departed, carrying with him the various weapons that the house contained, as well as all the plate and valuables.

From this time, as the cause of the commonwealth prospered, Cromwell rose rapidly in the army, soon becoming the real head of it, though nominally the second in command. When the House of Commons entered into the agreement called the self-denying ordinance, for the separation of civil and military offices, Cromwell, along with some few others, still contrived to keep both his seat in the House and his command in the army. It seems to have been a resolution of his never to give up an authority once obtained.

The first battle in which he distinguished himself particularly was that of Marston Moor, fought July 2, 1644. The parliamentary forces were driven back on one side, and even their centre wavered under the furious attack of the cavaliers; but Oliver completely changed the fortune of the day by charging, at a critical period of the battle, with his sword-arm in a sling, and “driving the enemy from before him like chaff before the whirlwind.” Throughout the war he fought no battle in which he was beaten. But while he was thus earnest in forwarding the cause in which he was engaged in the field, he did not forget to fight his private battles with fearful and envious enemies, who were alarmed at his growing power. A plot between the Lord General Essex, the Scots Commissioners, and others, was laid against him, which would have proved the ruin of most men, but by his management and decision was crushed before it had fully ripened. He was an Independent, and as such took the covenant between the Scotch and English with great reluctance. “He was a free soul in matters of faith and worship, and was desirous, before all things, that men should be allowed to serve God in their own fashion, and not be bound down to generally-established forms.”

After the loss of the decisive battle of Naseby, fought June 14, 1645, the king was glad to trust himself to any party that might be willing to receive him, rather than throw himself into the hands of the two Houses. Accordingly, he sought refuge in the Scottish camp at Newark, and the Scotch rewarded his confidence by selling him to the Parliament. The Presbyterians, who formed the majority of that assembly, hoped that they could now dispense with the army, of which they began to be afraid. This caused great discontent. A system of agitation was instituted, at which Cromwell connived; and the troops became rebellious to their employers, though they remained faithful to their leaders who seemed to have no concern in the matter. Skippon, Cromwell, Ireton, and Fleetwood were sent down by the Parliament to conciliate them, in which they were partially successful. Nevertheless the army marched towards London for the purpose of intimidating the Houses into a concession to their wishes. After this matter was concluded, the Parliament (of which at that time the majority was Presbyterian) thought fit to invite the king to Richmond, and, having agreed to their proposal, he was shortly after removed to Hampton Court, where he was kept in an honourable captivity. Being now in the power of the army, he entered into treaties both with it and with the Parliament concerning his restoration, contriving, at the same time, to play both parties false. From this period the ambition of Oliver Cromwell to govern the state without a rival or master may be safely dated. He knew and felt that he was, in power and capacity, the first man in his country. He had risen to that height by his own individual exertions; and, perhaps perceiving that the communications of Charles with the Long Parliament might be brought to an amicable close destructive of his own power, he determined on the bold strokes which followed. He accordingly contrived to entrap the king into a flight from Hampton Court to the Isle of Wight, where he was placed under the care of Hammond, Governor of Carisbrook Castle. While at this place Charles kept up his correspondence with the Parliamentary and Scottish Commissioners, and also with those of the army. He moreover intrigued with the Irish party and with foreign courts for assistance. He planned an unsuccessful escape from his prison; and, to fill up the measure of distrust of him on the part of Cromwell, it was asserted that his intercepted letters to the queen hinted, in no obscure terms, at the expediency of removing the general by the method of private assassination. It became clear that there could be no hope of a cordial reconcilement or cooperation between them; and Cromwell from this time became the king’s most vigorous enemy, and spared no pains to bring him to the scaffold. The rest is well known. The king was brought to London, and refusing to plead his cause, or acknowledge the authority of his judges, was condemned and executed, January 30, 1649. Upon this the House of Commons declared the House of Peers to be useless, and that monarchy in England was at an end.

Soon after this another and a more dangerous mutiny broke out in the army, which was speedily quelled by the decision of Cromwell and the authority of Fairfax. The former was then appointed to serve in Ireland against Ormond and his supporters, who were in arms for the young king. As his presence was almost necessary in England, he resolved to perform this duty with vigour. At that time the Commonwealth had to bear the brunt of insurrections at home, the impending likelihood of a Scotch war, and the cabals of its own members. The case was urgent, and his measures were stern, arbitrary, and severe. Wanton cruelty does not appear to have been a part of Cromwell’s character; yet neither does the plea of a bold and unscrupulous policy excuse the wholesale slaughters perpetrated in that unhappy island. At the reductions of Drogheda, Wexford, Kilkenny, and Clonmel, both the avowed defenders and the citizens were slaughtered without quarter. Cromwell says, in his dispatch after the first of these sieges, “that the enemy was filled with much terror at this issue, and that he was persuaded that the bitterness used on this occasion would prevent much effusion of blood.” He added to his severities this kindness:—a proclamation was issued, “that no soldier should on pain of death take any thing from the inhabitants of conquered Ireland without paying for it, and that all should have the peaceable exercise of their religion.” In ten months’ time Cromwell was again in his seat in Parliament, having brought that country into complete subjection: a subjection bought with much blood and suffering, yet alleged by him to be better than a harassing and long-continued warfare. Lord Broghil, whom he had won over by his judicious kindness from the royalist party, was of great service to him in this campaign. He was a man of sound and temperate character, and seems to have been one of Oliver’s most faithful friends.

On his return to England he found that much remained to be done. Fairfax, as Commander-in-Chief, and Cromwell were almost immediately ordered into Scotland to stop the progress of the young Charles Stuart in that country. The Lord-General being unwilling to fight against his friends the Presbyterians, resigned his command, and Cromwell was immediately appointed Commander-in-Chief of all the English army. He prepared for service with the utmost dispatch, and marched directly to Edinburgh. Thence he fell back upon Musselburgh, the Scotch Presbyterian army being close at hand. Both parties attempted to reduce the other to extremity by want of provisions, and Cromwell made a retreat on Dunbar for the purpose of supplying his troops from the sea. His army consisted of ten thousand men; the Scotch of more than twice that number. For some time the Parliamentary army continued in a state of blockade, but by skilful manœuvring Cromwell at last induced the enemy to come down into the plain and risk the issue of a pitched battle. The moment that, looking through his glass, he saw them move, he said, “I profess they run: the Lord hath delivered them into our hands!” The Scotch were beaten with tremendous slaughter. This failure for a time seemed to have done Charles more good than harm: for it freed him from the heavy yoke of the Presbyterians, and his cause became more generally popular on that account. Another and a better army was soon collected on his behalf. Oliver allowed this second host to make a descent upon England; but following it, and harassing its rear, and gathering to himself fresh troops in his course, he finally came up with Charles at Worcester, and gained what he called, in his letter to the Parliament, “the crowning victory.” After this he returned to London, almost adored by the inhabitants of every place in his progress, and welcomed at the end of it by the sincere and earnest praises of his masters, fated soon to become his subjects.

The remainder of the Long Parliament, although sneered at and hated, were the flower of the patriots, whose energy had begun and continued the contest, and well they supported the character of able rulers to the end of their domination: but their time was come. Cromwell, finding himself in reality the most powerful man in his country, was desirous of putting the key-stone to the structure of his ambitious fortunes. Without notice of his intention, he closed up the avenues of the House of Commons, surrounded it with his soldiers, and, entering the House, upbraided the members severally with their ingratitude, besides launching at them other idle charges of a personal kind: then stamping with his foot, the signal for his soldiers who were in the lobby, “Let them come in,” he cried, and they entered. At his command they took away the mace, and forcibly removed the Speaker from his chair. Then, turning out the members, Cromwell shut up the doors, and declared the Parliament at an end. Having completed this extraordinary performance, he is said to have put the key into his pocket, and walked quietly away to his lodgings at Whitehall. After this he issued a commission for calling together a new Parliament, which proved equally unfavourable to his views of government, but finally resigned its powers into his hands.

On December 16, 1653, he was installed Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland, not daring to accept the proffered title of “King,” as it was opposed to the feelings and opinions of his most powerful friends. The first act of his reign was to make peace on honourable and advantageous terms with the Dutch: soon after he broke off a treaty with Spain, and entered into an agreement with France. In these transactions he was blamed by some, but his genius was of a stamp not to be lightly judged. The Spanish war was conducted under the captainship of Admiral Blake, whose name will ever stand in the first rank of the prudent, the daring, and the free. Judgment in the choice of men was one of Cromwell’s most peculiar talents: witness the names of Milton, Hale, and Ludlow, of Ireton, Blake, Monk, and Henry Cromwell; with a crowd of lesser men, all exactly suited to the stations in which he placed them. He concluded peace with Denmark and Sweden, dictated advantageous terms of reconciliation and alliance to Portugal, and caused the name and flag of England to be respected throughout Europe during his Protectorate. His court was grave and orderly; and as it is plain, from several passages of history, that he would willingly with the power have assumed the name and ensigns of a king, so in his mode of life he adopted something not far short of kingly state. After having tried to govern England by the unpopular Major-Generals of Districts, and by the constitutional method of Parliaments, his only obstacle to success seeming to be the want of the name and hereditary strength of royalty; after having passed through many private dangers and public difficulties, Cromwell called a third and last Parliament, and instituted a House of Peers; but before they ever met in Parliament, the Protector was seized with a quartan ague, which, after a few weeks’ illness, brought him to the grave at the age of fifty-nine years.

His reign was momentous, short, and arbitrary; yet less severe than would be supposed in the circumstances in which he placed himself. His severity was chiefly directed against the cavalier party, who never ceased to plot against his person and his power. But his vengeance, though strict, was not bloody, his punishments seldom exceeding confiscation, fine, or imprisonment. There are some instances of his packing juries, and some of his diverting the ordinary course of justice by other means. His parliaments were elected unconstitutionally; it could hardly be otherwise, when the power that brought them together was usurped and absolute. But his main object seems to have been the general happiness, virtue, and honour of his people. Few of England’s hereditary kings had governed so well or so mildly; scarcely any so bloodlessly. His prayer on his death-bed was as follows:—“Lord! I am a poor, foolish creature; this people would fain have me live; they think that it will be best for them, and that it will redound much to thy glory. All the stir is about this. Others would fain have me die. Lord, pardon them, and pardon thy foolish people; forgive their sins, and do not forsake them; but love, and bless, and bring them to a consistency, and give them rest; and give me rest, for Jesus Christ’s sake; to whom, with thyself and the Holy Spirit, be all honour and glory.” He died Sept. 3, 1658, on the anniversary of his victories at Dunbar and Worcester. Some hours before his death he declared his eldest son Richard to be his successor in the Protectorate. He was buried with the pomp that became his high place, and his remains were interred amidst those of England’s kings. The empty spite of the minions of the Restoration was wreaked on his dead body, which was disinterred, hanged at Tyburn, and burnt. This was the only revenge that the courtly followers of Charles could take on the man, the terror of whose name still made them tremble.

Cromwell’s natural character was kindly and benevolent, in proof of which may be adduced the ardent love felt for him by his family, his personal friends, and his soldiers. His humanity was displayed in his toleration of religious differences of opinion, and in his earnest interference against the persecutions of the Vaudois. Those of his letters which remain, though often on subjects where a contrary feeling might have been shown, contain nothing contradictory, and much that is favourable to this opinion. His humour was wont to show itself in a rude and boisterous manner. He laughed, and joked, and even romped with his friends and officers. This, perhaps, was not done without motive; for the discovery of character was one of Cromwell’s main objects, and in the unrestrainedness of this kind of mirth the minds of many men were laid open to his view. His return from such scenes to his wonted manly and quiet dignity, destroyed the undue familiarity which might have been their consequence.

Cromwell has been called by some an enthusiast; by others, a hypocrite. Tillotson says of him, that he seems to have deceived others so long that he at last deceived himself. It would, perhaps, be more just to say, that he long deceived himself, and when that ceased, he began to deceive others. That he had a strong sense of religion there can be no doubt, inasmuch as that at one time of his life he had determined to give up his native country for the free exercise of his faith. On his death-bed he declared, that he had assuredly at one time been in a state of grace. His judgment was sound, and his mind powerful; and it is not men of this character who commonly prove self-deceivers. That he deceived others there is no doubt; but that deception was rather political than moral. He was very diligent to inspect the minds of his friends and followers, and in doing so, frequently kept his opinions and feelings in the background, the better to effect his purpose: that this can be called hypocrisy may be well doubted. He left his kingdom in a flourishing condition; respected abroad, in a good state at home, and notwithstanding the few grants of money given to him, inconsiderably in debt.

Cromwell was possessed of a robust body, and of a manly but stern and unprepossessing aspect. The picture from which our portrait is engraved was presented by him to Nathaniel Rich, then serving under him as Colonel of a regiment of horse in the Parliamentary army. It was bequeathed to the British Museum by the great-grandson of that gentleman, Lieut.-General Sir Robert Rich. The books in which the history of this period may be studied are too well known to require minute enumeration. Milton, Harris, Godwin, are favourable to Cromwell: most other writers of note have gone against him. The character given of him by Cowley is justly celebrated.

[Central Group from West’s Picture of the Dissolution of the Long Parliament.]

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.

LEONARDO DA VINCI.

After a Picture by himself engraved by
Raffaelle Morghen.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

LION. DA VINCI.

Two centuries elapsed from Cimabue to Lionardo da Vinci. The most distinguished artists in this interval were Giotto, who immediately followed Cimabue, and Masaccio, who immediately preceded Lionardo; but, although we can trace a gradual improvement from the infancy of Tuscan art to the surprising works of Masaccio, in the Chiesa del Carmine, at Florence, (works which afterwards Raffaelle himself did not disdain to imitate,) the appearance of Lionardo may be justly considered the commencement of a new æra. Vasari, who composed his lives of the painters when the most excellent specimens of the art had been recently produced, emphatically calls the style of Giorgione, Titian, Correggio, and Raffaelle, “the modern manner,” as opposed to that of Mantegna, Signorelli, and others, and still more to that of Lippi, Giovanni da Fiesole, and the earlier masters. Of this “modern manner,” Lionardo da Vinci was the inventor. His chiaro-scuro is to be traced in the magic and force of Correggio and Giorgione; his delicate and accurate delineation of character, and his sweetness of expression, reappear in Raffaelle; while, in anatomical knowledge and energetic design, he is the precursor of Michael Angelo; but we should look in vain for the teacher from whom he derived these excellences. The original genius, of which this affords so striking a proof, was apparent in every thing to which he applied his mind; and not only every art, but almost every science that was studied in his time, seems to have engaged his attention. He was conversant in chemistry, geometry, anatomy, botany, mechanics, astronomy, and optics; and there is scarcely a subject which he touched in which he did not, in more or less important points, anticipate the discoveries of later philosophers. With these astonishing powers of mind, he possessed great personal beauty and a captivating eloquence; the first musician of his time, and an accomplished improvisatore, he excelled besides in all manly exercises, and was possessed of uncommon strength. This extraordinary man was born at Vinci, a small burgh, or castle, of Val d’Arno di Sotto, in the year 1452. He was the son of one Piero, a notary of the Signoria of Florence. His father, who had at first intended to educate him for a mercantile life, having noticed his wonderful capacity and his particular fondness for drawing, placed him with Andrea Verocchio, originally a sculptor, but who, with the versatility of his age, was occasionally a designer and painter.

Vasari relates, that Verocchio being occupied on a picture of the Baptism of Christ, Lionardo was permitted to paint an accessory figure of an angel in the same work. Verocchio, perceiving that his own performance was manifestly surpassed by that of his young scholar, abandoned the art in despair, and never touched a pencil again. Although Lionardo thus excelled his master while a boy, and soon enlarged the boundaries of the art, it is justly observed by Lanzi that he retained traces of the manner and even general tastes of Verocchio all his life. Like his master, he studied geometry with ardour; he was fonder of design than painting: in his choice of form, whether of face or limb, he preferred the elegant to the full. From Verocchio too he derived his fondness for drawing horses and composing battles, and from him imbibed the wish to advance his art by doing a few things well, rather than to multiply his works. Verocchio was an excellent sculptor; in proof of which the S. Tommaso at Or San Michele, in Florence, and the equestrian statue before S. Giovanni e Paolo, in Venice, may be adduced. Lionardo modelled the three statues, cast in bronze by Il Rustici, for S. Giovanni at Florence, and the colossal equestrian statue of the first Francesco Sforza, (destroyed by the French before it was cast,) at Milan. To his knowledge of sculpture must be also greatly attributed that roundness and relief which he infused into many of his pictures, and which had hitherto been wanting in the art. To this period of Lionardo’s life belong the Medusa’s head, now in the Florence gallery; the cartoon of Adam and Eve; a Madonna, once in the Borghese palace in Rome, known by the accompaniment of a crystal vase of flowers; a triumph of Neptune; and other works mentioned by Vasari. Some of the feebler pictures ascribed to him in Rome and Florence may also belong to this time. His genius for mechanics had already manifested itself: he invented machines for sinking wells, and lifting and drawing weights; proposed methods for boring mountains, cleansing ports, and digging canals. His architectural schemes too were numerous and daring: with the boldness of an Archimedes, he offered to lift the Baptistery, or church of S. Giovanni, in the air, and build under it the basement and steps which were wanting to complete the design. It does not appear that his fellow-citizens availed themselves of these powers in any memorable work; but his plan for rendering the Arno navigable seems to have been adopted two centuries afterwards by Viviani.

Lionardo remained at Florence till about the age of thirty, after which we find him at Milan, in the service of Lodovico Sforza, known by the name of Lodovico il Moro. The artist’s residence at the court of this prince, from 1482 to 1499,[2] may be considered the most active and the most glorious period of his life. Lodovico il Moro, whatever may have been his character as a potentate and as a man, certainly gave great encouragement to literature and the arts, and the universal genius of Lionardo was in all respects calculated for the restless enterprise of the time. A letter is preserved, addressed by him to Lodovico Sforza, in answer to that prince’s first invitation, (and it is sufficient to disprove Vasari’s story, that the artist recommended himself by his performance on the lute,) in which he gives a list of such of his qualifications as might be serviceable to the Duke. After an account of new inventions in mining operations and gunnery, with a description of bridges, scaling ladders, and “infinite things for offence,” in the tenth and last item, he professes competent knowledge of architecture and hydrostatics, confident that he can “give equal satisfaction in time of peace;” and adds, “I will also execute works of sculpture in marble, bronze, or clay; in painting too I will do what is possible to be done, as well as any other man, whoever he may be.” All his powers were put in requisition by the Duke of Milan. The warlike habits of the sovereigns of Italy at this time rendered the science and services of the engineer particularly useful, and Lionardo was constantly inventing arms and machinery for attack and defence. He was engaged in the architecture of the cathedral; he superintended all the pageants and masques, then so commonly conducted with splendour and taste in the Italian courts, and in some of which his knowledge of mechanics produced almost magical effects; he improved the neighbourhood of the Ticino by canals and irrigation, and attempted to render the Adda navigable between Brivio and Trezzo. The colossal equestrian statue before-mentioned occupied him, at intervals, for many years; want of means alone, it seems, prevented the Duke from commissioning him to cast it in bronze. The model existed till the invasion of Milan by Louis XII., in 1499, when it was broken to pieces by his Gascons.

2.  The erroneous dates of Vasari have been corrected in this particular by Amoretti.

As the founder of the Milanese Academy, the first, in all probability, established in Italy, Lionardo composed his Treatise on Painting; which Annibale Carracci declared would have saved him twenty years of study had he known it in his youth. This work was first published in Paris, in 1651, by Raffaelle Dufresne, and was illustrated with engravings from drawings by N. Poussin, with some additions by Errard. The drawings of Poussin were in a MS. copy, which belonged to the Cavaliere del Pozzo. To this last object were directed the studies of Lionardo in optics, perspective, anatomy, libration, and proportion. In this active period of his life also were composed the numerous MS. books, explained by designs, which appear to have comprised specimens of the whole range of his vast knowledge. Thirteen of these books became the property of the Melzi family of Milan, on the death of Lionardo. The history and vicissitudes of these interesting works cannot now be accurately traced. The documents and observations of Dufresne, Mariette, and others, have been collected by Rogers, in his “Imitations of Drawings by the Old Masters.” Six or seven books, which cannot be accounted for after having been collected by one Pompeo Leoni, are supposed to have become the property of Philip II. of Spain. Some of the remaining volumes, augmented by less voluminous MSS. of Lionardo, were presented to the Ambrosian Library by Galeazzo Arconato. The inscription which records this donation, in 1637, states, that Arconato had been offered 3000 pistoles of gold by a king of England, (probably Charles I., and not James I., as Addison, Wright, and latterly Amoretti, suppose,) but which he, Arconato, “regio animo,” had refused. Another volume was presented to the Ambrosian Library by its founder, the Cardinal Borromeo; and Amoretti states, that another, containing drawings relating to hydrostatics, was sold “al Signor Smith, Inglese.” The whole of the MSS. of Lionardo, preserved in the Ambrosian Library, were taken from Milan to Paris, in 1796. A large folio volume of Lionardo’s Drawings, collected by the above-mentioned Pompeo Leoni, is in this country, in His Majesty’s collection. On its cover is inscribed, “Disegni di Lionardo da Vinci, restaurati da Pompeo Leoni:” it contains 779 drawings, various in subject and execution; the most remarkable are, perhaps, some accurate anatomical drawings. The whole are illustrated, like the contents of his other books, by notes written with his left hand, which can only be read through a glass. This volume was discovered, at the bottom of a large chest, about sixty years ago, by Mr. Dalton, the librarian of George III.; and in the same chest were Holbein’s drawings of the principal personages of the court of Henry VIII. It is supposed that they were placed there for security by Charles I., who retained a sincere love for the arts even in his misfortunes.

Lionardo’s works in painting during his residence in Milan were by no means numerous, owing to the quantity and variety of his occupations. The portraits of Cecilia Gallerani and Lucrezia Crivelli, done in the earlier part of this period, received unbounded praises from the poets of the day. A picture of the Virgin and Child, St. John, and St. Michael, now in the possession of the Sanvitali family of Parma, is dated 1492. The portraits of Lodovico Sforza, his wife and family, were painted on the wall of the refectory in the Convent delle Grazie, where the Last Supper was afterwards painted. These portraits faded, owing to the damp of the wall, soon after they were done. Other works, in the same place, are mentioned by some writers as having been done on canvass, but they all perished from the same cause. A colossal Madonna, painted on a wall at the villa of Vaprio, belonging to the Melzi family, still exists, but it was much injured during the last occupation of Milan by the French. The paintings on the walls of the castle of Milan were destroyed by invaders of the same nation, in 1499. Various portraits, and a half figure of St. John, are preserved in the Ambrosian Library.

In 1496, Lionardo began his greatest work, the Last Supper, in the refectory of the Convent delle Grazie: it was painted on the wall in oil, to which circumstance Lanzi, and others who have followed him, attribute its premature decay. But had it been in fresco, it would probably have suffered as much, since that part of Milan, where the convent stands, has frequently been subject to inundations; and so late as 1800, the floor, or rather ground, of the refectory, was several feet under water for a considerable time. The walls have thus been never free from damp: fifty years only after the picture was painted, Armenini describes it as half decayed. Vasari found it indistinct and faded. Later writers speak of it as a ruined work; and in 1652, the friars of the convent showed how worthless it was considered, by cutting a door through the wall, and thus destroyed the lower extremities of some of the figures. In 1726, a painter, named Bellotti, was unfortunately commissioned to restore it, and it appears that he almost covered the work of Lionardo with his own. The dampness, however, soon reduced the whole to its former faded state; and the next restorer, one Mazza, in 1770, actually scraped the wall (from which the original colour was chipping) to have a smooth surface to paint on, and even passed a coat of colour over the figures before he began his operations. Three heads were saved from his retouchings; but it must be evident that very little of the original work can be visible in any part. Bonaparte ordered that the place should not be put to military uses; but his commands were not attended to in his absence, and the refectory was long used as a stable. The building however was finally repaired, and, as far as possible, secured from damp. Fortunately numerous copies were made from this painting soon after it was done, and one of the best, by Marco de Oggiono, or Uggione, a scholar of Lionardo, is in this country, in the Royal Academy, where is also preserved a cartoon of the Virgin and St. Anne, by Da Vinci himself. Uggione’s copy, from which the print by Frey was taken, is nearly the size of the original; it was, however, enlarged from a smaller copy, so that it cannot be considered very accurate. The head of the Christ is inferior even to the ruins of Lionardo’s work; and it may here be observed, that when Vasari says this head was declared unfinished by the painter, the imperfection is to be understood in the same sense in which Virgil spoke of the incompleteness of the Æneid. Two series of original studies for the heads in this picture are in this country; the greater part of one series is in the possession of Messrs. Woodburn. The print by Morghen was done from drawings taken from the original painting.

After the fall of Lodovico il Moro, in 1500, Lionardo returned to Florence, where he remained thirteen years, occasionally revisiting Milan. Among his first works done in Florence, at this time, Vasari names the above-mentioned cartoon of the Madonna and Child, St. Anne, and the Infant St. John, and a portrait of Genevra Benci. At this period too he produced the celebrated portrait of Mona, or Madonna Lisa, wife of Francesco del Giocondo. This was the labour of four years, and this too, Vasari says, was left at last imperfect. We may thus understand the meaning of the expression, as applied to the head of the Christ in the Last Supper. The portrait of Mona Lisa, now in the Louvre, is most highly wrought, although it by no means agrees with the absurd encomiums of Vasari, who almost leads his reader to believe that the hair of the eyebrows and pores of the skin are perceptible, whereas the execution resembles rather the broad softness of Correggio. His next work was the celebrated cartoon, of which the composition known by the name of the Battle of the Standard was a part only. The subject was the defeat of Nicolo Piccinino, the general of Filippo Maria Visconti, by the Florentines, near Anghiara, in Tuscany, in the year 1440. This was to have been painted in the Council Hall, at Florence, in competition with Michael Angelo, whose rival work was the celebrated composition known by the name of the Cartoon of Pisa. Lionardo’s attempt to paint in oil on the wall failed in this instance, even in the commencement, and the picture was never done. The large cartoon disappeared, but a drawing for a part of it was preserved, which was published in the Etruria Pittrice, and the same group was engraved by Edelinch, from a copy, or rather free imitation, by Rubens. To this period belong also his own portrait in the Ducal Gallery, at Florence; the half figure of a nun, in the Nicolini Palace; the Madonna, receiving a lily from the infant Christ; the Vertumnus and Pomona, miscalled Vanity and Modesty, in the Sciarra Palace at Rome; a holy family, now in Russia; the supposed portrait of Joan of Naples, in the Doria Palace; and the Christ among the Doctors, formerly in the Aldobrandini Palace at Rome. His numerous imitators render, however, all decision as to the originality of some of these works doubtful; and the last-mentioned picture, now in the National Gallery, has been thought, by more than one writer, to have been, at least in part, painted by his scholars. A portrait of the celebrated Captain, Giangiacomo Triulzio, may have been painted in one of Lionardo’s short visits to Milan. For a fuller list of his works, Amoretti, and the authors he quotes, may be referred to.

In 1514, after the defeat of the French at Novara, Lionardo, being then at Milan, left that city for Rome, passing through Florence. His stay in Rome was short. Pope Leo X. seems to have been prejudiced against him by the friends of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle, and was displeased at his dilatory, or rather desultory habits. From the notes of Lionardo himself, collected by Amoretti, it appears that, while in Rome, he improved the machinery for the coinage; but the only certain painting of his done at this time is a votive picture on the wall of a corridor in the Convent of S. Onofrio.

Francis I., who succeeded Louis XII. in 1515, having reconquered the Milanese, Lionardo again repaired to Milan, and once more superintended a pageant, in this instance intended to celebrate the triumph of the king after the victory of Marignano. Francis, having in vain attempted to remove the painting of the Last Supper from Milan to Paris, desired, at least, to have the painter near him. Lionardo accepted the invitation, and afterwards accompanied his new patron to France. This being little more than two years before the death of Lionardo, and as he was occupied in planning canals in the department of the Cher et Loire, he painted nothing, although the king repeatedly invited him to execute his cartoon of the Virgin and St. Anne, which was afterwards painted by Luini. His usual residence in France was at Cloux, a royal villa near Amboise, in Touraine, where he died, May 2, 1519. The story of his having expired in the arms of Francis I., which, as Bossi observes, does more honour to the monarch than to the artist, appears to be without foundation. Francesco Melzi, who wrote an account of Lionardo’s death from Amboise soon after it happened, not only does not mention the circumstance, but was the first, according to Lomazzo, to inform the king himself of the artist’s decease; and Venturi has ascertained, that on the day of Lionardo’s death the court was at St. Germain en Laye. He was buried in the church of St. Florent, at Amboise, but no memorial exists to mark the place; and it is supposed that his monument, together with many others, was destroyed in the wars of the Hugonots.

The accounts given of Lionardo da Vinci by Vasari, Lomazzo, and the older writers, were repeated by Dufresne, De Piles, Felibien, and others. The more recent and accurate researches of Amoretti, prefixed to Lionardo’s Trattato della Pittura, in the thirty-third volume of the “Classici Italiani;” of Bossi, “Del Cenacolo di Lionardo da Vinci;” and of Venturi, “Essai sur les Ouvrages Physico-Mathématiques de Léonard da Vinci, avec des fragmens tirés de ses manuscrits apportés de l’Italie;” may be consulted for further particulars respecting the life and works of this great man.

[Group from the Battle of the Standard.]

Engraved by W. T. Fry.

VAUBAN.

From an original Picture by Lebrun
in the War Office at Paris.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

VAUBAN.

Sebastien le Prestre de Vauban, son of Albin le Prestre and Aimée Carmagnol, was born May 1, or, by other accounts, May 15, 1633, at St. Leger-de-Foucheret, a small village between Saulieu and Avallon, in the province of Burgundy. He became an orphan at an early age, his father having lost both his life and fortune in the public service. Under the protection and instruction of M. de Fontaines, prior of St. John at Semur, he acquired some knowledge of geometry, a science then but little cultivated among military men. At seventeen years of age he deserted his home, and entered as a volunteer in the regiment of Condé, then employed in the Spanish service, in which his zeal and abilities soon procured him a commission. Nor was it long before he showed his talent for the science of engineering. In 1652 he was employed in the erection of the fortifications of Clermont, in Lorraine; and the same year, serving at the first siege of Ste. Menehould, he made several lodgments, and during the assault swam the river under the enemy’s fire. Public notice was taken of this exploit; and by this means Vauban’s family heard, for the first time, that he had embraced the military profession. In 1653 he was taken prisoner by a French corps, and conducted to Cardinal Mazarin, who thought it worth while to purchase his services with a lieutenancy in the regiment of Bourgogne. In the same year he served as an engineer under the Chevalier de Clerville, at the second siege of Ste. Menehould; and the charge of repairing the fortifications of that town, when retaken by the troops of Louis XIV., was confided to him.

In May, 1655, Vauban received his commission as engineer, and in the following year he was rewarded for his services with the command of a company in the regiment of the Maréchal de la Ferté. Not to mention the numerous situations in which he bore an active but subordinate part, we proceed at once to the year 1658, in which he had the chief direction of the sieges of Gravelines, Ypres, and Oudenarde; where, being free to act on his own opinions, yet still doubting his strength, he showed, by judicious though slight innovations, what might be ultimately expected from his matured experience. He was also charged with the improvement of the port and fortifications of Dunkerque, on the surrender of that once important place to France by the treaty of October 17, 1662.

When the war with Spain was renewed in 1667, Vauban had the principal direction of the sieges at which Louis XIV. presided in person. At Douay he received a musket-wound in his cheek, the scar of which is preserved by Coisevox and Lebrun in his bust and portraits. The capture of Lille, after only nine days of open trenches, procured for him a lieutenancy in the Guards and a pension, accompanied with the far more gratifying commendations of his sovereign. Hostilities were ended by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1668, in which year he prepared designs for the citadel of Lille, for Ath, and several other places; and in 1669 the king appointed him governor of the citadel of Lille, the first reward of this description created in France.

Soon after the peace Vauban accompanied the minister Louvois on a mission to the Duke of Savoy, and furnished plans for the fortifications of Verrue, Verceil, and the citadel of Turin. Returning to Flanders, the works of Dunkerque were prosecuted under his immediate direction with unexampled activity. Three corps of 10,000 men relieved each other daily, every four hours, proceeding from the camp with their arms, and resuming them on the completion of their task. In the midst of these labours he prepared his first work on the attack of fortresses, for the instruction of Louvois, pointing out in it many of the errors committed in former sieges, and proposing remedies for them.

The war with Holland, which commenced in 1672, afforded Vauban many opportunities of displaying his superior abilities. Louis again took the field in person; and again Vauban had the principal direction of the sieges of which the king was a spectator. Previous to the siege of Maestricht, in 1673, the regular method of assaulting a fortified place was to excavate a trench parallel to the general contour of the fortress, and from batteries erected near it to fire indiscriminately on the works and the town. On this occasion Vauban introduced three parallel trenches, connected by oblique or zigzag approaches, which enabled him to place large bodies of infantry near the head of his attack, each successive parallel more closely shutting in the garrison, and restraining their offensive operations.

In 1674 Vauban was promoted to the rank of Brigadier. In the following year he had the magnanimity to second with his recommendation the ineffectual application made by his rival, Coehorn, for employment by the French government.

In 1676 Vauban’s services were rewarded with the rank of Major-General; and in 1677 the mode of attack adopted at Maestricht was perfected at Valenciennes, where the fronts attacked were completely shut in by the parallels, the flanks of which rested on the Scheldt and the marsh of Bourlin.

At this siege it was determined to assault an earthen crown-work, and Vauban proposed to make the attack during the day. Five Marshals of France, Louvois, Monsieur, and even the king himself, opposed this advice. Vauban was immoveable; he maintained that it was the only way to avoid confusion and mistakes, to surprise the enemy, and to overpower him by opposing fresh troops to his wearied garrison. “Night,” said he, “has no shame! Open day and the eye of the commander restrain the cowardly, animate the feeble, and add fresh courage to the brave.” The king at length yielded to his arguments. The enemy was found, as he had predicted, harassed with watching, sleeping, or absent in the fortress seeking provisions. The crown-work, and a ravelin which served as an interior intrenchment, were successively carried. The enemy, retreating into the Paté, an extensive irregular work covering the place, was promptly pursued. Four grenadiers got possession of a sally port, while others entered by a subterraneous passage. The besieged fled into the body of the place, and raised the bridge. An immediate and vigorous assault soon placed the disputed works in the possession of the assailants, who, pushing forward to the canal which traverses the city, intrenched themselves in the houses bordering it. They were strongly and speedily supported, and thus the place was taken at a single assault, justifying Vauban’s advice, even beyond his most sanguine expectations. His services on this occasion were rewarded with a gratuity of 25,000 crowns.

Cambray was besieged next. The town surrendered after a few nights of open trenches. The citadel was then attacked. Du Metz proposed assaulting the ravelin: Vauban opposed this counsel, representing that the strength of the work, and the vigour of the defence, prescribed an attack en règle. “Sire,” said he to the king, “you will lose some one who is of more value than the ravelin.” The success at Valenciennes inspired the troops with temerity: assault was given, the ravelin was carried, and a lodgment in it was commenced; but the enemy brought a heavy fire to bear on the work and its approaches, and then sallying forth speedily drove back the assailants. Du Metz reproached Parisot, the engineer who traced the lodgment, with having caused the failure of the attack. Vauban however insisted that the work was lost, not through any vice in the lodgment, but because the assault could not be sufficiently supported. The siege was then proceeded with in the ordinary manner, and the ravelin secured with the loss of five men only. “I will believe you another time,” said the king to Vauban, and he kept his word. A practicable breach being made, Louis expressed his intention of giving no quarter to the three thousand men who formed the garrison, and had so vigorously defended themselves. Vauban alone ventured to oppose his views, representing that such conduct was contrary to the usages of warfare among civilized nations; that the place would be taken, but would cost more bloodshed; and, “Sire,” he added, “I would rather have preserved 100 soldiers to your majesty than have deprived the enemy of 3000.”

Vauban succeeded to the Chevalier de Clerville, as Commissary-General of the Fortifications of France, in December, 1677. In 1678 he received the congratulations of Colbert on the success attending the execution of his projects for the improvement of the Port of Dunkerque, which, having been previously used only by fishermen, was now made accessible to vessels carrying forty guns. It would be useless to reckon all the labours of this part of his life: the fortifications of Maubeuge, Thionville, Sarre-Louis, Phalzbourg, Béfort, and the citadel of Strasburg, were among the new works projected by him, while all the principal ports and fortifications of France were more or less improved by his master-hand.

The war of 1683 contributed to the increase of Vauban’s reputation. The siege of Luxemburg, in 1684, was carried on under his direction; and he here displayed an admirable presence of mind when discovered one evening by the enemy, in reconnoitring the works of the place. He instantly made a signal to them not to fire, and, instead of retreating, advanced towards them; they mistook him for one of their own officers, and having skirted the glacis, he retired slowly without exciting further suspicion. After having surmounted the many difficulties presented by the nature of the ground over which the attack was necessarily carried, the assailants attained the covered way. To drive the enemy out of its long branches, Vauban caused elevated parapets to be constructed on their prolongations, whence a plunging musketry-fire was thrown into the covered way, and the mass of its defenders were compelled to retreat; the few who remained concealed behind the traverses being gradually dislodged, as the crowning of the covered way was extended along the crest of the glacis. This siege was remarkable both for the difficulties which were overcome, and for the improvements made in the method of conducting an attack and protecting the troops employed in it.

The new fortresses of Mont-Royal, Landau, and Fort Louis, together with extensive projects for the improvement of the canal of Languedoc, formed part of Vauban’s labours during the truce of Ratisbon. He likewise prepared a general project for the improvement and defence of all the ports, roadsteads, and coasts of France. To his exertions the French are indebted for the first general statistical account of their country, he having caused blank forms to be prepared and printed, which he distributed, to be filled up by the several intendants, governors, and other public functionaries with whom his frequent journeys through the country in the execution of his ordinary duties brought him acquainted. Louis XIV. afterwards caused these returns to be made generally throughout France.

The war of 1688 commenced with the siege of Philisbourg, where the Dauphin commanded in person, and Vauban directed the attacks. He here tried the effect of firing en ricochet, of which he was the original proposer. The superiority of this method of attack was not so decisively shown in this first instance as on subsequent occasions: still it proved so far effectual in subduing the fire of the town, as to cause its surrender after twenty-four days of open trenches. The Duc de Montausier said in a letter to the Dauphin, “I do not offer you my congratulation on the fall of Philisbourg: you had a good army, mortars, guns, and Vauban.” On the same occasion, Louis XIV. wrote thus to the successful engineer:—“You know, long since, in what estimation I hold you, and the confidence I have both in your knowledge and affection. Believe that I do not forget the services you render me, and that I am particularly pleased with your conduct at Philisbourg. If you reciprocate the feelings of my son you must be on the best of terms, for I feel assured that he, equally with myself, knows how to esteem and value you. I cannot conclude without earnestly recommending you to preserve yourself for the benefit of my service.”

Manheim and Franckenthal were next besieged and taken. On the surrender of the latter, the Dauphin presented Vauban with four pieces of artillery, to be selected by him from the arsenals of the conquered fortresses, to ornament his chateau of Bazoches. He was this year promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-General. The difficulty with which the obstacles presented at the siege of Philisbourg were overcome, induced Vauban to renew, with greater earnestness, his project for the formation of a corps of sappers, originally suggested shortly after the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. Louvois, though he yielded to Vauban’s arguments in favour of this new force, postponed its formation, and subsequent events prevented his adding this to the other establishments which he created.

When the reverses suffered by the French armies in 1689, the disordered finances, and the exhausted resources of the kingdom, had reduced Louis XIV. to the greatest difficulties, Vauban alone had courage to propose the re-establishment of the edict of Nantes. In a manuscript addressed to Louvois, he says, “Forcible conversions, and the belief that they yield no faith to sacraments, the profanation of which they make a jest, have inspired an universal horror of the conduct of the clergy. If it is resolved to proceed, either the new Protestants must be exterminated as rebels, or banished as madmen: both execrable projects, opposed to every Christian virtue, dangerous to religion itself; for persecution propagates sects, as was proved when, after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, a new census showed that the Protestants had increased in number not less than 110,000.” He proposed, therefore, to re-establish, purely and simply, the edict of Nantes; to restore all civil rights to the Protestants and their clergy; to recall the one from exile; to deliver the others from the galleys; to leave their consciences free; and to permit the re-opening and rebuilding of their places of worship.

After the fall of Mons, in 1691, Vauban greatly strengthened that fortress; placing outworks in the marshes, inaccessible to an enemy, and seeing in reverse all the points of attack.

In 1692 Vauban directed the operations of the siege of Namur, where Coehorn commanded the stronghold of Fort William. The army watched with eagerness this struggle between the rival engineers, one of whom defended his own work. Fort William was soon taken, and the triumph rested with Vauban. The order of St. Louis, the first restricted to the reward of military distinction, was instituted before the campaign of 1693. It is said to have been suggested by Vauban, who was one of the seven Grand Crosses named at its creation.

In 1693 he conducted, with his usual skill, the siege of Charleroi, a place which he had fortified, and of which he might well be supposed to know the weakest points; yet it was confidently believed among the besiegers that their celebrated engineer had at last made a mistake, in having selected the strongest fronts as points of attack. Vauban soon convinced them of their error, by the capture of Charleroi.

The system of ricochet firing, devised at Philisbourg, and employed with various success at subsequent sieges, was fully developed at the siege of Ath, in 1697, when Vauban placed his first batteries in the second parallel with such good effect as to reduce the place to surrender after only three days of open trenches.

During the peace of Ryswick, Vauban made a tour of the northern frontiers, in which he was occupied three years, preparing projects for canals and various other public works, as well as for the improvement of existing and the construction of new fortresses; among others, of Neuf-Brisach, his last work, in which he improved on his system of tower bastions, previously applied at Béfort and Landau. In 1699 he was elected an honorary member of the French Academy; and, January 2, 1703, was promoted to the rank of Marshal of France; a dignity which he modestly wished to decline, lest it might, at a future period, deprive him of the opportunity of serving his country.

In the autumn of 1703 Vieux-Brisach was besieged by the army under the orders of the Duc de Bourgogne, who is reported to have thus addressed Vauban:—“Monsieur Maréchal, you must lose your honour before this place: for either we shall take it, and if so, they will say you have fortified it badly; or we shall fail, and they will then say that you have ill assisted me.” “Monseigneur,” replied Vauban, “it is already known how I have fortified Brisach; they have yet to learn how you will take the places I have fortified.” The siege lasted only thirteen days, and was the last at which Vauban served. The following year he presented to the Duc de Bourgogne his treatise on the Attack of Fortresses, first published at the Hague by Pierre Dehoult, in 1737.

When Turin was attacked, in 1706, M. de la Feuillade rejected the project of attack submitted by Vauban, and the result was, that a perfect investment was not completed until after three months’ fighting. Louis XIV., annoyed at the duration of the siege, and at the progress of Prince Eugene, sent for Vauban, who, after pointing out the faults of the attack, offered to give his assistance as a volunteer. “Recollect,” said the king, “that this employment is beneath your dignity.” “Sire,” replied Vauban, “my dignity consists in serving my country. I will leave my baton at the door, and perhaps may assist M. de la Feuillade in taking the city.” La Feuillade refused the proffered aid, lest he should have to share with Vauban the honour of taking Turin: an honour, however, which he did not acquire, being forced to raise the siege after ninety-seven days of open trenches.

From the period of Vauban’s promotion to the dignity of Marshal of France, his active labours in the public service were necessarily much less numerous; much of his time being devoted to the arrangement of his numerous memoranda, projects, &c., a compilation extending to twelve volumes, entitled ‘Mes Oisivetés,’ of which however seven volumes are lost. In 1706, after the battle of Ramillies, he was sent to command at Dunkerque, and on the coast of Flanders, where, by his presence, he reassured the timid, and prevented the destruction of a tract of land which it was proposed to inundate, in order to avert an attack on Dunkerque. This he did more effectually by forming an entrenched camp between that place and Borgues.

The imperfect defence of several of the fortresses of France during the same campaign induced him to commence a treatise on the defence of fortresses, which he did not live to complete.

The Duc de St. Simon affirms that Vauban’s days were shortened by chagrin, at having displeased his sovereign by the publication of his scheme of taxation, entitled Dixme Royale, and that Louis XIV. was so much offended as to be indifferent to the loss of a man beloved by his countrymen, and celebrated throughout Europe. According to Dangeau, on the contrary, so soon as Louis heard of Vauban’s illness, he sent his principal physician to attend him. Fontenelle distinctly states that his death, which took place March 30, 1707, was occasioned by an inflammation of the lungs.

An authorized edition of Vauban’s treatise on the Attack and Defence of Fortresses was published, in 1829, by M. le Baron de Valazé. His other works principally consisted of projects for the defence and improvement of France, and many of them are preserved in the depôt, of fortifications, and in the collection of M. de Rosambo. A list of Vauban’s works may be found in the notes to ‘L’Histoire du Corps Impérial du Génie, par A. Allent,’ the best authority for an account of his labours; the Eloges of Fontenelle and Carnot may also be consulted. Honest, independent, humane, Vauban is characterised by Voltaire as the “first of engineers and best of citizens.” The industry of his life may be estimated from the calculation that he improved, more or less, three hundred fortified or trading places, built thirty-three new fortresses, conducted fifty-three sieges, and was present in a hundred and fifty actions, greater or less.

Engraved by W. Holl.

WILLIAM III.

From a Picture by Netscher in the
possession of the Publisher.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

WILLIAM III.

William, Prince of Orange, the third King of England of that name, born November 14, 1650, was the posthumous son of William II., Prince of Orange, and Mary Stuart, daughter of Charles I. of England. The fortunes of his childhood did not promise that greatness which he attained. His father had been thought to entertain designs hostile to the liberties of the United Provinces, and the suspicions of the father produced distrust of the son. When Cromwell dictated terms of peace to the Dutch in 1654, one of the articles insisted on the perpetual exclusion of the Prince of Orange from all the great offices formerly held by his family; and this sentence of exclusion was confirmed, so far as Holland was concerned, thirteen years after, by the enactment of the Perpetual Edict, by which the office of Stadtholder of Holland was for ever abolished. The Restoration of the Stuarts, however, was so far favourable to the interests of the House of Orange, as to induce the princess-royal to petition, on her son’s behalf, that he might be invested in the offices and dignities possessed by his ancestors. The provinces of Zealand, Friesland, and Guelderland warmly espoused her cause: even the States of Holland engaged to watch over his education, “that he might be rendered capable of filling the posts held by his forefathers.” They formally adopted him as “a child of the state,” and surrounded him with such persons as were thought likely to educate him in a manner suited to his station in a free government.

A storm broke upon Holland just as William was ripening into manhood; and discord at home threatened to aggravate the misfortunes of the country. The House of Orange had again become popular; and a loud cry was raised for the instant abolition of the Perpetual Edict, and for installing the young prince in all the offices enjoyed by his ancestors. The Republican party, headed by the De Witts, prevented this; but they were forced to yield to his being chosen Captain-General and High-Admiral. Many persons hoped that William’s military rank and prospects would incline his uncle Charles II. to make common cause with the friends of liberty and independence; but the English monarch was the pensioner of the French king, and France and England jointly declared war against the States, April 7, 1672. The Dutch made large preparations; but new troops could not suddenly acquire discipline and experience. The enemy meditated, and had nearly effected, the entire conquest of the country: the populace became desperate; a total change of government was demanded; the De Witts were brutally massacred; and William was invested with the full powers of Stadtholder. His fitness for this high office was soon demonstrated by the vigour and the wisdom of his measures. Maestricht was strongly garrisoned; the Prince of Orange, with a large army, advanced to the banks of the Issel; the Dutch fleet cruised off the mouth of the Thames, to prevent the naval forces of England and France from joining. The following year, 1673, Louis XIV. took Maestricht; while the Prince of Orange, not having forces sufficient to oppose the French army, employed himself in retaking other towns from the enemy. New alliances were formed; and the prince’s masterly conduct not only stopped the progress of the French, but forced them to evacuate the province of Utrecht. In 1674 the English Parliament compelled Charles II. to make peace with Holland. The Dutch signed separate treaties with the Bishop of Munster and the Elector of Cologne. The gallantry of the prince had so endeared him to the States of Holland, that the offices of Stadtholder and Captain-General were declared hereditary in his male descendants. Meanwhile he continued to display both courage and conduct in various military operations against the French. The battle of Seneffe was desperately fought. After sunset, the conflict was continued by the light of the moon; and darkness, rather than the exhaustion of the combatants, put an end to the contest, and left the victory undecided. The veteran Prince of Condé gave a candid and generous testimonial to the merit of his young antagonist: “The Prince of Orange,” said he, “has in every point acted like an old captain, except in venturing his life too much like a young soldier.”

In 1675 the sovereignty of Guelderland and of the county of Zutphen was offered to William, with the title of Duke, which was asserted to have been formerly vested in his family. Those who entertained a bad opinion of him, and attributed whatever looked like greatness in his character to ambition rather than patriotism, insinuated that he was himself the main spring of this manifest intrigue. He had at least prudence enough to deliberate on the offer, and to submit it to the judgment of the States of Holland, Zeeland, and Utrecht. They viewed with jealousy the aristocratic dignity, and he wisely refused it. This forbearance was rewarded by the province of Utrecht, which adopted the precedent of Holland, in voting the Stadtholdership hereditary in the heirs-male of his body.

The campaign of 1675 passed without any memorable event in the Low Countries. In the following year hopes of peace were held out from the meeting of a congress at Nimeguen; but the articles of peace were to be determined rather by the events of the campaign than by the deliberations of the negotiators. The French took Condé, and several other places; the Prince of Orange, bent on retaliation, sat down before Maestricht, the siege of which he urged impetuously; but the masterly movements of the enemy, and a scarcity of forage, frustrated his plans. Aire had already been taken; the Duke of Orleans had made himself master of Bouchain; Marshal Schomberg, to whom Louis had entrusted his army on retiring to Versailles, was on the advance; and it was found expedient to raise the siege of Maestricht. It was now predicted that the war in Flanders would be unfortunate in its issue; but the Prince of Orange, influenced by the mixed motives of honour, ambition, and animosity, kept the Dutch Republic steady to the cause of its allies, and refused to negotiate a separate peace with France. In October, 1677, he came to England, and was graciously received by the king his uncle. His marriage with Mary, eldest daughter of the Duke of York, was the object of his visit. That event gave general satisfaction at the time; the consequences which arose from it were unsuspected by the most far-sighted. At first the king was disinclined to the match; then neutral; and at last favourable, in the hope of engaging William to fall in with his designs, and listen to the separate proposals of the French monarch. The Prince, on his part, was pleased with the prospect, because he expected that the king of England would, at length, find himself obliged to declare against Louis, and because he imagined that the English nation would be more strongly engaged in his interest, and would adopt his views with respect to the war. In this he was disappointed, though the Parliament was determined on forcing the king to renounce his alliance with Louis. But the States had gained no advantage commensurate with the expense and danger of the contest in which they were engaged, and were inclined to conclude a separate treaty. Mutual discontent among the allies led to the dissolution of the confederacy, and a peace advantageous to France was concluded at Nimeguen in 1678; but causes of animosity still subsisted. The Prince of Orange, independent of political enmity, had now personal grounds of complaint against Louis; who deeply resented the zeal with which William had espoused the liberties of Europe and resisted his aggressions. He could neither bend so haughty a spirit to concessions, nor warp his integrity even by the suggestions of his dominant passion, ambition. But it was in the power of the French monarch to punish this obstinacy, and by oppressing the inhabitants of the Principality of Orange, to take a mean revenge on an innocent people for the imputed offences of their sovereign. In addition to other injuries, when the Duchy of Luxembourg was invaded by the French troops, the commanding officer had orders to expose to sale all the lands, furniture, and effects of the Prince of Orange, although they had been conferred on him by a formal decree of the States of the country. Whether to preserve the appearance of justice, or merely as an insult, Louis summoned the Prince to appear before his Privy Council in 1682, by the title of Messire Guillaume Comte de Nassau, living at the Hague in Holland. In the emergency occasioned by the probability of the Dutch frontier being attacked in 1683, the Prince of Orange exerted all his influence to procure an augmentation of the troops of the Republic; but he had the mortification to experience an obstinate resistance in several of the States, especially in that of Holland, headed by the city of Amsterdam. His coolness and steadiness, qualities invaluable in a statesman, at length prevailed, and he was enabled to carry his measures with a high hand.

The accession of James II. to the throne of Great Britain, in 1685, was hailed as an opportunity for drawing closer both the personal friendship and the political alliance between the Stadtholder of the one country and the King of the other; but a totally different result took place. The headstrong violence of James brought about a coalition of parties to resist him; and many of the English nobility and gentry concurred in an application to the Prince of Orange for assistance. At this crisis William acted with such circumspection as befitted his calculating character. The nation was looking forward to the Prince and Princess, as its only resource against tyranny, civil and ecclesiastical. Were the presumptive heir to concur in the offensive measures, he must partake with the King of the popular hatred. Even the continental alliances, which William was setting his whole soul to establish and improve, would become objects of suspicion to the English, and Parliament might refuse to furnish the necessary funds. Thus by one course he might risk the loss of a succession which was awaiting him; by an opposite conduct, he might profit by the King’s indiscretion, and even forestall the time when the throne was to be his in the course of nature. The birth of a son and heir, in June, 1688, seemed to turn the scale in favour of James; but the affections of his people were not to be recovered: it was even asserted that the child was supposititious. This event, therefore, confirmed William’s previous choice of the side which he was to take; and his measures were well and promptly concerted. A declaration was dispersed throughout Great Britain, setting forth the grievances of the kingdom, and announcing the immediate introduction of an armed force from abroad, for the purpose of procuring the convocation of a free parliament. In a short time, full four hundred transports were hired; the army rapidly fell down the rivers and canals from Nimeguen; the artillery, arms, stores, and horses were embarked; and, on the 21st of October, 1668, the Prince set sail from Helvoetsluys, with a fleet of near five hundred vessels, and an army of more than fourteen thousand men. He was compelled to put back by a storm; but, on a second attempt, he had a prosperous voyage, while the King’s fleet was windbound. He arrived at Torbay on the 4th of November, and disembarked on the 5th, the anniversary of the Gunpowder Treason. The remembrance of Monmouth’s ill-fated rebellion prevented the western people from joining him; but at length several persons of consideration took up the cause, and an association was formed for its support. At this last hour James expressed his readiness to make concessions; but it was too late; they were looked on only as tokens of fear: the confidence of the people in the King’s sincerity was gone for ever. But, how much soever his conduct deserved censure, his distresses entitled him to pity. One daughter was the wife of his opponent; the other threw herself into the hands of the insurgents. In the agony of his heart the father exclaimed, “God help me! my own children have forsaken me.” He sent the Queen and infant Prince to France. Public affairs were in the utmost confusion, and seemed likely to remain so while he stayed in the island. After many of those perplexing adventures and narrow escapes which generally befall dethroned royalty, he at length succeeded in embarking for the continent.

The Prince issued circular letters for the election of members to a Convention, which met January 22, 1689. It appeared at once, that the House of Commons, agreeably to the prevailing sentiments both of the nation and of those in present authority, was chiefly chosen from among the Whig party. The throne was declared vacant by the following vote:—“That King James the Second, having endeavoured to subvert the constitution of the kingdom by breaking the original contract between king and people; and having, by the advice of Jesuits and other wicked persons, violated the fundamental laws, and withdrawn himself out of the kingdom, has abdicated the government, and that the throne is thereby vacant.” By the national consent, the vacancy was supplied by his daughter Mary and her husband William conjointly. Anne was nominated the next in succession, to the exclusion of the infant prince. The Bill of Rights was passed at the same time, settling disputed points between king and people, circumscribing and defining the royal prerogative, and affirming the rights of the nation. That “original contract between king and people,” referred to by the vote of Parliament, seemed hitherto to have existed rather as a theory than as a practical and binding engagement; but at this crisis the contract was put into legal form, and duly executed; the general principles of free government were distinctly promulgated; and a precedent was established which fixed the succession to the British monarchy on Protestantism, and on the choice of the nation through its parliamentary organ.

William was thus chosen for the sovereign of a powerful kingdom; but he had little personal knowledge of his new subjects, and party feuds ran high, so that it was more difficult to steer between the opposing factions of the British court than it had been between those of the United Provinces. His reign accordingly was pregnant with events, both domestic and foreign, of the highest historical interest; though we shall mention none but those in which he was immediately and personally concerned.

The Prince of Orange lost no time in apprising the States-General of his accession to the British throne. He assured them of his persevering endeavours to promote the well-being of his native country, which he was so far from abandoning, that he intended to retain his high offices in it. War with France was renewed early in 1689 by the States, supported by the house of Austria and some of the German princes; nor was it difficult for William to procure the concurrence of the English Parliament, when the object was the humiliation of France and her arbitrary sovereign. But the Commission for reforming church discipline threw him into difficulties with his new subjects. The high church party branded the King as an enemy to the hierarchy, because he was inclined to relieve the Dissenters from the oppressions of which they complained. The two Universities declared against all alterations. Dr. Jane, the most violent partisan in the convocation, was chosen prolocutor, and in a speech to the Bishop of London, as president, asserted that the English Liturgy needed no reform, and concluded with the declaration of the barons, “Nolumus leges Angliæ mutari.” The Bishop’s exhortation to charity and indulgence towards the Dissenters was so ill received, that it was necessary to prorogue the convocation, on the plea that the royal commission was invalid from not having been sealed. In the spring of 1689, James landed in Ireland with a French force, and was received by the Catholics with marks of strong attachment. Marshal Schomberg was sent to oppose him, but was able to effect little during the campaign of that year. William, in the mean time, had been successful in suppressing a Jacobite insurrection in Scotland, and embarked for Ireland with a reinforcement in the summer of 1690. He immediately marched against James, who was strongly posted on the river Boyne. Schomberg passed the river in person, and put himself at the head of a corps of French Protestants. Pointing to the enemy, he said, “Gentlemen, behold your persecutors!” With these words he advanced to the attack, but was killed by a random shot from the French regiments. The death of this general was near proving fatal to the English army; but William retrieved the fortune of the day, and totally dispersed the opposite force. In this engagement the Irish lost 1500 men, and the English about one-third of that number.

Disturbances again took place among the Jacobites in the Scotch Highlands. A simultaneous insurrection was planned in both kingdoms, while a descent from the French coast was to have divided the attention of the friends of government; but the defeat of the French fleet near Cape La Hogue, in 1692, frustrated this combined attempt, and relieved the nation from the dread of civil war. In 1691 the King had placed himself at the head of the Grand Alliance against France, of which he had been the prime mover; he was therefore absent on the continent during the dangers to which his new kingdom was exposed. His repeated losses in the first two campaigns rather impaired than enhanced his military renown. He resolved to seize the first opportunity of retrieving his honour by a spirited attempt to surprise Marshal Luxembourg, at Steenkirk, but was again defeated, after having fought with courage and perseverance against unequal numbers. In 1693 he was defeated at Landen by Luxembourg, notwithstanding his brave efforts to retrieve the fortune of the day. The victory was held by the allies to have been gained solely by superior numbers; and though the allies suffered severely, the enemy lost a greater number both of officers and men, and gained no solid advantage by the battle. William charged wherever the danger was greatest: his dress was penetrated by three musket balls. But in this, as in other battles, his arrangements were severely censured. When Luxembourg saw the nature of his position, immediately before the engagement, he is said to have exclaimed, “Now I believe Waldeck is really dead:” in allusion to that general’s acknowledged skill in choosing ground for an encampment. The campaign of 1694 was opened by William with superior forces; but the genius and skilful tactics of Luxembourg prevented the allies from availing themselves, in any considerable degree, of their advantages. The death of Queen Mary, which took place early in 1695, proved a severe calamity, both to the king and the nation. She had been a vigilant guardian of her husband’s interests, which were constantly exposed to hazard by the conflicts of party, and by the disadvantages under which he laboured as a foreigner. In 1696 a congress was opened at Ryswick, to negotiate a general peace; and William was so far cured of ambition as not to interpose any obstacles. In the following year the treaty was concluded.

The leading object of the English Parliament, when the war no longer pressed on its resources, was the reduction of the military establishment. In this all parties concurred: the friends of liberty, from jealousy of a standing army, as dangerous to the constitution; the friends of the excluded family, from personal dislike of its supplanter, and a desire to thwart him in his favourite pursuit. The King of Spain’s death was the last event of great importance in William’s reign. The powers of Europe had arranged plans to prevent the accumulation of the Spanish possessions in the houses of Bourbon and Austria; but the French King violated all his solemn pledges, by accepting the deceased monarch’s will in favour of his own grandson, the Duke of Anjou. In consequence of this breach of faith, preparations were made by England and Holland for a renewal of war with France; but a fall from his horse prevented William from further pursuing his military career, and the glory of reducing Louis XIV. within the bounds of his own kingdom was left to be earned by the generals of his successor. The King was nearly recovered from the lameness consequent on his fall, when fever supervened. While he lay sick, the Earl of Albemarle arrived from Holland, to confer with him privately on the state of continental affairs; but his information was coldly received, and the King said that he was approaching his end. In the evening he thanked his principal physician for his attention, and said, “I know that you and the other learned physicians have done all that your art can do for my relief; but all means are ineffectual, and I submit.” He died on the 8th of March, 1701–2, in the fifty-second year of his age and thirteenth of his reign.

The character of King William has been drawn with all the exaggeration of panegyric and obloquy by the opposing partisans in a cause, which is still the subject of controversy on general principles, although the personal interest of contending individuals and families has long been extinguished. William therefore can scarcely, even now, be viewed with the cool impartiality of mere history. His personal character was neither amiable nor interesting: but his native country owes him a lasting debt of gratitude, as the second founder of its liberty and independence; and his adopted country is bound to uphold his memory, as its champion and deliverer from civil and religious thraldom. In short, the attachment of the English nation to constitutional rights and liberal government may be measured by its adherence to the principles established at the Revolution of 1688, and its just estimate of that Sovereign and those statesmen who placed the liberties of Great Britain on a solid and lasting foundation.

[Histoire des Provinces Unies, Voltaire, Burnet, Hume, Smollett.]

[From West’s Picture of the Battle of the Boyne.]

GOETHE.

If the opinion of his contemporaries become the judgment of posterity, the name of Goethe is destined to occupy, in future ages, that pre-eminent station in the literary history of Germany which is now undisputedly held in their respective nations, by Shakspeare, Dante, and Cervantes. Until this judgment be pronounced by the final tribunal, we may characterize him as the happiest of great poets. He attained a length of years granted to few; and his long life was spent in successful literary labour, not imposed by necessity, but prompted by the suggestions of his own genius and love of art. Nature had endowed him with the much-prized gifts of bodily strength and personal beauty. He indulged freely in the pleasures of society; associated with his superiors in station as their equal; lived in ease and affluence; and, finally, in exception to the general rule, enjoyed, during his life,

“The estate that wits inherit after death.”

The founders of the new theory of poetics in Germany, the Schlegels, have characterized his genius as universal. Its productions, including posthumous writings, will occupy fifty-five volumes of works of imagination and science, and cannot be even named by us individually. A few of these works, which have occasioned volumes of criticism, we shall be constrained to designate in brief sentences, and we shall as briefly advert to the main incidents of the author’s life.

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.

GOETHE.

From a Picture by George Dawe, Esqr. R.A.
in the possession of Henry Dawe, Esqr.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was born of affluent parents, August 28, 1749, at Frankfort on the Main. He attended successively the universities of Leipzig and Strasburg; and, in 1771, took a doctor’s degree in jurisprudence; but from his early youth literature was his ruling passion. In his twenty-fourth year he had already acquired unexampled popularity by his original and daring tragedy of ‘Götz von Berlichingen,’ published in 1773. In 1774 he gained a European celebrity by the ‘Sorrows of Werter;’ and he had already rendered himself an object of admiration to the young, and of terror to the timid, by the publication of several pungent satirical writings, when his good genius guided to the vicinity of Frankfort the young Duke of Saxe Weimar, who was about to assume the government on coming of age. In accepting the friendship, and taking up his residence at the court of this prince, Goethe entered on an unvarying career of prosperity. For a few years the young Duke and his friend led a life of gaiety, of which there are many curious anecdotes current in Germany; but, during a joyous and somewhat wild life, the intellectual singularly prevailed over the sensual. Even during that course of dissipation, the most important of Goethe’s works were commenced, though none of them were published until after his return from Italy. That country he visited in 1786, and to the time which he spent in it he ever after recurred with delight. Though Shakspeare was the individual poet he most prized, and Greek the literature which he held up as the rule of all excellence, Italy was the land of his affections. He remained two winters in Rome. Here he cultivated the studies of archaeology and the fine arts, which he had begun to practise in his youth, but now abandoned for poetry and the study of nature.

To these pursuits, on his return to Germany, he applied as the chief business of his life; and the insignificance of the patron as a sovereign tended to render the poet more conspicuous, and to increase his power over the minds of the Germans. The Duke was a general in the Prussian service, and, as a minor power, followed the course of policy pursued by the head of his house, the Elector of Saxony. He could not indulge in ambition, and spent his small revenue more like a private nobleman than a sovereign prince. He was desirous to collect a library for the use of himself and the inhabitants of Weimar. He had mines on one portion of his small territory. With the other Dukes of Saxony he was jointly the possessor of a university, Jena. He wished to found a school of drawing; and the creation of a German theatre, and the collecting eminent men of all kinds at Weimar and Jena, were the especial objects of his ambition. In all these things Goethe was the right-hand to execute, if his, in fact, was not the mind to design. In the matters which most governments make their prime concern, such as finances, military affairs, and courts of justice, Goethe had certainly no inclination to take any part; he was what, in France, would be called a minister of public instruction. Scarcely was he settled in his new office when the French Revolution broke out. This led to one famous exception to the life he was pursuing. He has recorded it in the volume of his ‘Memoirs,’ relating his participation in the too famous campaign of 1792, when he, as a non-combatant, accompanied the Duke of Saxe Weimar, who served under the Duke of Brunswick in his famous march which did not reach to Paris. The early retirement of Prussia from the league against France restored peace to the North of Germany, and Goethe was at liberty to return to his favourite pursuits. In the prosecution of these he had the happiness soon to connect himself with Schiller, a man ten years younger than himself, of a genius totally opposite to his own, and therefore perhaps best adapted to act in concert with him.

Goethe has, with delightful frankness, related how, exceedingly disliking the ‘Robbers,’ Schiller’s first, worst, and most famous play, and feeling a strong aversion towards the Kantian philosophy, to which Schiller was attached, he had conceived an antipathy towards the offending poet, whom he resolutely shunned. But having once met, the passionate zeal of Schiller in pursuit of their common objects was irresistible. Dislike subsided into tolerance, and was at last converted into warm admiration and love. Memorable consequences followed from their union, and their literary correspondence remains an instructive example of what may be effected by the collision of powerful minds of opposite character. Schiller died in 1804. During the time allotted to their joint exertions, Goethe produced many of his greatest works, and Schiller all the best of his. During the same period, Goethe pursued his philosophical studies with the eminent men who then filled professors’ chairs at Jena. The metaphysical systems of Fichte, and afterwards of Schelling, which succeeded that of Kant, met with some favour in his eyes. At least, though he kept aloof from the controversies of the day, he laboured to connect with philosophical speculations his own particular studies in various branches of natural history and science.

It was after Schiller’s death, and when Goethe was approaching his sixtieth year, that the storm of war unexpectedly burst upon Weimar and Jena. He did not leave Weimar; but aware of the peril to which he with every one was exposed, on the very day of the battle of Jena, the 14th of October, 1806, he married a lady with whom he had lived for many years, and at the same time legitimated his only child, a son. During the short period of extreme degradation into which Prussia and Saxony sunk, from 1806 till the fall of Bonaparte in 1813, he withdrew, as much as possible, from political life; he would not suffer newspapers to be brought him, or politics to be discussed in his presence, but fled to the arts and sciences as an asylum against the miserable realities of life. Such had always been his practice. He has said of himself that he never had a disease of the mind which he did not cure by turning it into a poem. In his early youth, having lost a mistress through foolish petulance of temper, he, as a penance, made his own folly the subject of a comedy. And, in after life, while Europe was convulsed, he was absorbed in studies independent of the incidents of the day. Thus varying his pursuits, he kept on his serene course with no other interruptions than such as inevitably befall those who attain old age. It was his lot to survive the associates of his youth. In 1827, he lost his early friend, from whom he had never been estranged, the Grand Duke of Weimar. In 1830, he met with a severer privation, in the death of his son at Rome. It was feared that this calamity would prove fatal to Goethe, whose strength was sensibly declining; but he survived the blow, and enjoyed the best consolation which could be afforded to him in the exemplary care of his amiable and gifted daughter-in-law, and in his two young grand-children, to whom he was tenderly attached. His last years were spent in cheerful retirement. He possessed an elegant and spacious house in Weimar, but he also had a cottage in the park, where he dwelt alone, receiving his friends tête-à-tête; and, on particular occasions, going into the town to entertain company. He retained his faculties to the last, and made a very precise disposition of his property. His extensive collections in natural history and art were directed to be preserved as a museum for twenty years. These were among the objects of his latest solicitude. He died March 24, 1832, in the eighty-third year of his age.

Goethe’s figure was commanding, and his countenance severely handsome. He appears to have acquired a great ascendency over his fellow-students at the universities, and to have kept the professors in awe. In after life he was reproached by Bürger and others with haughtiness, and was accused of making his inferiors in station and in genius too sensible of their inferiority; but his powers of captivation were irresistible when he pleased to exert them. His social talents were of the highest order. Such was Goethe for his own generation and country. To posterity he will live chiefly as a poet. Of his most remarkable works we will now speak, not chronologically, but according to the classes which are recognised by systematic writers.

In epic poetry, his pretensions will be derided by those who adhere to the theory of M. Bossu, adopted by Pope. According to this, the common opinion, the ‘Epos’ requires supernatural machinery, illustrious actors, and heroic incident. The German critics, on the contrary, maintain that the essential character of the Homeric poetry lies in the epic style, not in the subject of the narrative; a style analogous to that of Herodotus, whom they place at the head of the epic historians, and to be found in a very large proportion of our own ancient ballads, such as relate to Robin Hood, Chevy Chase, &c. Goethe on this idea began a continuation of the Iliad in his ‘Achilleis,’ and he threw the graces of his own style over the old epic fable of ‘Reynard the Fox.’ But it was in ‘Herman and Dorothea’ that he displayed all his powers: this is both a patriotic and domestic tale; the characters in humble life; the incident, a flight over the Rhine on the invasion of the French. It abounds in maxims of moral wisdom, and in pathos; but it is too national to bear translating.

It is as a lyric poet that Goethe is popular in the fullest sense of the word, and may challenge comparison with the greatest masters of all ages. In the song, he abounds in master-pieces, passionate and gay. His elegy has sometimes the erotic character of Propertius, (as in the famous ‘Roman Elegies,’) and sometimes emulates the refinement and purity of Petrarch: his ballads are as wild and tender as any that Spain or Scotland have produced. His very numerous epigrams bear more resemblance to the Greek Anthology than to the pointed style of the Latin writers. Besides these he has produced a number of allegorical and enigmatical poems on art and philosophy, which cannot be placed under any known class.

Goethe’s dramatic works are about twenty in number. There is this peculiarity in his career as a dramatic poet, that though the drama is essentially the most popular branch of poetry, he never wrote for the people; his plays are all experiments, and no two resemble each other. He seems to have been unaffectedly indifferent to their reception on the stage. His first juvenile play, ‘Götz von Berlichingen,’ was in prose, and unlike any thing that had appeared on the German boards. It exhibited, in a strong light, the manners of the Germans at a romantic period when the petty barons and knights were a sort of privileged freebooters, sometimes generously resisting the oppressions of the emperor and the higher nobility, and sometimes plundering the citizens of the free towns. The style was in harmony with the subject, daring in its originality, and all but licentious in its freedom. By audiences accustomed only to pedantic imitations of the French, it was received with tumultuous applause; but the admiration of the more cultivated classes was given to the ‘Iphigenia in Tauris,’ an echo, as Schlegel expresses it, of the Greek, yet neither a translation nor a copy. Christian purity of morals harmoniously blending with pagan incident, not a line disturbs the exquisite symmetry of this the most generally admired of Goethe’s dramas.

Not less perfect in style is the anomalous ‘Torquato Tasso,’ which deserves especial notice, though not as a play adapted to the stage: it is rather a didactic poem in dialogue than a drama. Tasso and the warrior statesman Antonio exhibit in contrast the poetical character and that of the man of the world. It could secure the attention of an audience only when performed on the Duke’s private theatre, where the members of the Ducal family usually represented the princes of the House of Este, and Goethe himself acted the part of Tasso; and when it was performed as a sort of funeral obsequies on the death of the poet himself.

‘Egmont’ is an historical play in prose, founded on the real tragedy perpetrated by the bloody Alba, in Belgium. Its most remarkable feature is the unheroic character of Egmont himself. While William of Orange is the common stage hero, patriotic and wise, destined to save his country, Count Egmont is the warm-hearted, sensual, and munificent nobleman, a patriot not from reflection but impulse, whose love for the humble Clara is much more prominent than his patriotism, and who is therefore doomed to perish. The pathos lies in the dissonance between the man and the necessities of his position. Goethe, in drawing such a character, probably thought of Hamlet, of whom he makes an analogous remark.

We pass over a number of dramas, all original, all experiments in furtherance of his own studies, and name only ‘Faustus,’ the unique, the undefinable. Begun in youth, continued at intervals during a long life, and finally left unfinished, it has been called a grotesque tragedy. Who knows not the popular legend of the learned magician who sold his soul to the devil? This coarse tale of vulgar superstition is here used as a vehicle into which the adventurous poet has cast all that

“Perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.”

The erring philosopher is attended on the wrong road by a laughing devil, Mephistophiles, who leads him through scenes of the wildest frolic and the most appalling wretchedness. All that is most deplorable, most frightful in human life, is here displayed with the running comment of the dæmon whom Omnipotence does not confound; and the most awful problems of divinity and moral philosophy are treated with pathetic sadness by the wretched victim, or with infernal satire by his master-slave. These repulsive elements are nevertheless combined with the soothing, not to say sanctifying, influence of a Margaret, a confiding, loving, innocent woman, whose very destruction works on the heart like an act of grace, and prepares the spectator for the promised salvation of her lover.

In the romance, as in the drama, Goethe commenced a career which he immediately abandoned. His Werter breathes a spirit of dissatisfaction with the world and its institutions. But by writing that book, which infected the rising generation with the same spirit, he cured himself of the disease; and he then became the declared foe of the sentimental, which he attacked in his romantic comedy, ‘The Triumph of Sentimentality.’

In later years, when he was become the meditating philosopher, and, at the same time, indulged in more cheerful contemplations of life, he produced ‘Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship,’ intended to elucidate problems of psychology. The stage being the symbol of life, his hero is thrown among players, and both the real drama, and the drama of life are analyzed, with perpetual illustrations of the one by the other. After an interval of some years, Goethe, in a second part, exhibited his pupil advanced as on a sort of journey. Conscious that his problem, like that of Faustus, was insoluble, he has not dared to exhibit either Faustus in heaven or Wilhelm as a master. Like the Faustus, Wilhelm Meister is still ‘caviare to the million.’

In a third romance, ‘Elective Affinities,’ Goethe treats subtilely of that passion to which Lord Bacon says “the stage is more beholden than the life of man.” As the chemical title suggests, he shows how the felicity of a married couple is marred by the intrusion of other minds, with which each consort has more affinity than with the companion previously chosen.

When ‘Wilhelm Meister’ first appeared, the narrative of Wilhelm’s childhood was related with such spirit and air of truth, that it was believed to be the author’s own personal history; and, in truth, the resemblance between the feigned and real history was soon made manifest by the appearance of Goethe’s own memoirs, under the puzzling title ‘From my Life: Fiction and Truth;’ so entitled, to allow for the unconscious illusions to which we are exposed, when, in advanced life, we try to recollect the occurrences of childhood, and unintentionally confound memory with imagination. These memoirs, including his foreign travels, amount already to nine volumes, and others are to follow; but these earlier volumes treat solely of the author’s intellectual life. Concerning much that men are inquisitive about, he says nothing. Not a hint is dropped concerning the fortune of his father, or the amount of profit which he himself derived from his writings. His being ennobled was an incident which he thought too unimportant for notice; and of honours and distinctions conferred on him he seldom condescends to speak.

Among the studies which partook of Goethe’s attention were antiquities and the fine arts. This led to the composition of a masterpiece, his critical characteristic of Winkelman, and an account of Hackert, the landscape painter. The same course of study led him to translate that delightful work, the auto-biography of Benvenuto Cellini, which was first made known to the European public by the Earl of Bristol, late Bishop of Derry, and which is now in the hands of all lovers of the fine arts. On art, in its various branches, Goethe’s prose writings are very numerous. As a critic also he has written much, and his criticism is remarkably indulgent and generous.

Such being the variety of works in which he has recorded his speculations on man, his powers, his actions, and his productions, it will be naturally asked, what were the main features of his philosophy, and to what results did they lead on those great points which unhappily disunite mankind, religion and politics?

Hume has well designated the great varieties of intellect and moral character by the significant scholastic names of the Platonist, the Stoic, the Epicurean, and the Sceptic. According to this classification, it may be said that Goethe was too devotedly attached to the study of nature and actual life to be a Platonist; he loved contemplation too intensely, and was too indolent and self-indulgent to be a stoic; he was too intellectual to be a gross sensualist, or, in the worst sense, an Epicurean; and he had too much imagination to be able to tolerate the modern rational philosophy, a mere system of negatives. In so far, therefore, he was an enemy of vulgar scepticism; yet, blended with the refinement which the poetic mind presupposes, he had a large portion of scepticism and Epicureanism in his nature. Towards the positive religion which he found established in his own country he manifested respect, though he never made any distinct profession of faith upon doctrinal matters; he conformed however to the Lutheran church. On two occasions only do we recollect the expression of any strong feeling as to religion. He early betrayed great contempt towards the German Rationalists, whom he rather despised for their shallowness than reproached with being mischievous. His love of Rome by no means reconciled him to the Church of Rome, against which he would inveigh with a warmth unusual in him. He maintained that Catholic superstition had deeply injured the poetic character of Calderon, and considered the Protestantism of Shakspeare as a happy accident in the life of that incomparable man. It appears from his memoirs, that Judaism and Christianity had occupied his mind very seriously from his childhood. He delighted in portraying the Christian enthusiast in a tone of kindred enthusiasm, as in his ‘Confessions of a Beautiful Soul,’ of which the original was a Moravian lady, his friend; and it was only in incidental bursts of sarcasm, especially in his gayer poems, that he alarmed the timid and the scrupulous. In spite of occasional ebullitions of spleen or rash speculation, he was habitually hostile towards the French anti-religious party. He makes his devil in Faustus describe himself as the “spirit that always denies,” in the same way that Alfieri scornfully terms Voltaire “Disinventor ed Inventor di nulla.” It was this negative, this merely destructive character, to which Goethe was in all things most resolutely opposed.

This sentiment extended to politics. Long before the words “Conservative” and “Destructive” were applied to English parties, Goethe had made frequent use of them. It was the tendency of his mind to look with indulgence, if not with favour, on whatever he found in the exercise of productive power. Laudo manentem might have been his motto. He saw in the French revolutionists, as in their philosophers, the spirit of destruction, and he clung with affection to institutions under which so many fine arts and rapidly advancing sciences had flourished. With reference to public life, Goethe has been severely reproached on two grounds. He has been accused of wanting patriotism; but before a passion can be generated, an object must be presented. What country had Goethe to love in his youth? A walled city, which he could run round before breakfast. The first great political event which he witnessed, was the Seven years’ war. His native city was in the possession of the French, whom one party considered as allies and the other as enemies. Goethe’s father adhered to Frederick, his grandfather was attached to the Imperial House: at the best he could love but half a nation. Hence Wieland said, “I have no fellow-countrymen; I have only sprach-genossen,”—speech-mates. Thus German patriotism could be but a sort of corporation spirit; like the affections of a liveryman, confined to the members of his company. It was not till the close of the last war that the common oppression exercised by Bonaparte generated a common hatred towards France, and with it something like patriotism on a great scale. Yet so anomalous is the condition of Germany, that at this moment this sentiment, or the loud avowal of it, is looked on as akin to disloyalty; and, at the universities, students are forbidden to frequent clubs, or to assume denominations, which have a reference to one general national character. There are few appeals among Goethe’s writings to national feeling; and, in truth, his studies led him to be, in sentiment, the fellow-citizen of the great poets and artists of all nations, the contemporary of the great men of all ages. The other reproach is, that, being admitted to familiarity with princes, he lost his love of the people, as such. Now, it must be owned, that in this respect he felt pretty much as Milton did, in whom attachment to the aristocracy of talent was a marked quality. Of the people, as such, he seems to have thought lowly; his affections were exercised on the select few,—the nobles of nature, not of the herald’s office. That he had no vulgar reverence for persons in authority, or for the privileged orders, is amply proved by all he wrote. It may finally be remarked, as the most characteristic feature of his moral speculations, that he had habitually contemplated mankind, not as a moralist, but as a naturalist. There are some thinkers who never consider men but as objects of praise or blame; others, who only study men with a view of making them different from what they are. Such are reformers, the leaders of institutions, philanthropists, who think only in order to act. To neither of these classes did Goethe belong. He took men as he found them; he was content to take society as he found it, with all its complex institutions. He was disposed to make the best of what he found, but seemed reluctant to waste his powers in the vain attempt to make men materially different from what they were before; hence arose an inert, or indolent acquiescence in what he found existing.

He had early in life laboured to catch a new point of view from which nature might be contemplated on all sides; or a law in conformity with which the manifold operations of nature might be seen as if they were one. He first made this idea known in his ‘Metamorphosis of Plants.’ His botanical studies were continued for many years of his life. He afterwards busied himself with the minute and experimental study of chromatics. He edited a journal of science, and wrote more or less on mineralogy, geology, comparative anatomy, optics, and meteorology. A metaphysical spirit runs through all these writings, so alien from the mode of study pursued in other countries, that we do not recollect any notice of them by any English writer, except Professor Lindley, in his ‘Introduction to Botany,’ who confines his remarks to Goethe’s botanical works. The Professor represents Goethe as having revived a nearly-forgotten doctrine, first promulgated by Linnæus. But, for thirty years after the first appearance of the ‘Metamorphosis,’ it produced little or no effect even in Germany. Now, indeed, “it has come to be considered the basis of all scientific knowledge of vegetable structure.” Whether, in the revolutions of opinion, the bold polemical writings of Goethe against the Newtonian theory of light and colours will ever be looked upon as more than the extravagances of a great genius wandering out of his own sphere, time will show. For the present this is the view taken of the great poet’s scientific writings, both by Italians and Frenchmen. But, whatever dreams he may have mixed up with his investigations, Goethe was no mere dreamer: to the last hour of his life, he made it his business to inform himself concerning the progress of the sciences in foreign countries. All new books were brought to him, even to the end of his life; he composed elaborate poems at the age of seventy; and when beyond sixty years of age, entered with zeal upon the study of Oriental poetry, to apply the spirit of which, to Western notions and feelings, he composed his ‘West-Eastern Divan.’ In this the infinite variety of his studies and pursuits lay that ‘all-sidedness’ (if we may be pardoned for adopting such a word from the German) for which he was so remarkable. From the same quality proceeded that unusual toleration of novelties which he could reconcile to the love of what is established. He would not permit a clever farce to be acted on the stage, when he was manager, written in derision of Gall’s cranioscopy. Instead of joining in the ridicule of animal magnetism, he would fairly investigate its pretensions. When a book on the Clouds was published by Howard, in England, Goethe instantly wrote an account of it, inventing appropriate German words to designate the forms pointed out. In his hunger and thirst after knowledge, he was omnivorous. This was the ruling passion strong in death. Only the evening before his decease he received some new books from Paris, by which he was greatly excited. It is said that a volume, by Salvandy, was grasped in his hand when he died; and his last words were singularly appropriate to his temper, and might be received by his admirers as almost prophetic. He ordered the window-shutters to be opened, exclaiming, “More light! More light!”

Engraved by H. Meyer.

CORREGGIO.

After a head by himself in the Cathedral of Parma.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

CORREGGIO.

The beginning of the sixteenth century, a period remarkable for the general developement of Italian genius, was peculiarly distinguished by the appearance of four great painters, who attained a perfection, since unequalled, in different departments of their art. Form and sublimity of conception were the attributes of M. Angelo; expression and propriety of invention were among the prominent excellencies of Raffaelle; colour was the strength of Titian; and harmony, founded on light and shade, chiefly characterised Correggio. Antonio Allegri was born in 1493, or 1494; the name of his birth-place superseded that of his family, and he has been celebrated under the name of Antonio da Correggio. He was the son of Pellegrino Allegri, a merchant of some property, and his lineage, which was long doubtful, has been traced with sufficient accuracy by his latest biographer, Pungileoni. The family name was sometimes Latinised to Lætus and de Allegris, and again Italianised to Lieto, which accounts for the various inscriptions on Correggio’s pictures. Till the researches of the author above-named, who supplied, as far as possible, what Mengs had left imperfect, the most contradictory accounts were repeated respecting the family, the fortunes, and even the precise time of the birth and death of Correggio. The story of his extreme poverty, in particular, has been often copied without examination from Vasari; but, as Fuseli observes, “considering the public works in which Correggio was employed, the prices he was paid for them, compared with the metropolitan prices of Raffaelle himself, it is probable that his circumstances kept pace with his fame, and that he was nearer to opulence than want.” It is still doubtful under whom he studied; but, as his uncle Lorenzo was a painter, it is probable that Antonio learned the rudiments of art from him; and a single specimen extant of one Antonio Bartolotto, a contemporary master, is so much in the style of Correggio, as to justify the conjecture that the example, at least, of the elder painter was not without its effect. The residence of Andrea Mantegna at no greater distance than Mantua, has perhaps led some writers to rank Correggio among his scholars; but his death, when Correggio was only thirteen years of age, renders the supposition improbable. That Correggio studied the works of Mantegna is most certain: his fondness for foreshortening was probably derived from that master; nor should it be forgotten, that the school of Andrea was celebrated after his death, and was still continued by his sons Francesco and Lodovico. Vedriani mentions another master, Francesco Bianchi, of Modena, but with as little certainty as the rest. The peculiar impasto[3] which distinguishes the pictures of Correggio, a mode of execution which he carried to sudden perfection, and which has never since been surpassed, is less to be recognised, as Lanzi supposes, in the manner of Mantegna than in that of Lionardo da Vinci; and even the chiaro-scuro of Correggio, however enlarged and improved, is manifestly derived from the same source. The art of foreshortening on ceilings, called by the Italians “il di sotto in su,” was also practised in the Mantuan school before Correggio; whether in imitation of the celebrated ceiling of Melozzo da Forlì, the first known effort of the kind, painted in Rome in 1472, it is impossible to say.

3.  Impasto is literally an impasting or thick application of the colour. The peculiarity of Correggio’s method is, that this impasto is solid without roughness of surface, and blended without heaviness or opacity. Sir Joshua Reynolds says, “His (Correggio’s) colour and mode of finishing approach nearer to perfection than those of any other painter.”

Among the earliest works of Correggio, Lanzi mentions some frescoes at Mantua, supposed to have been done while the artist was in the school of the sons of Mantegna; but a very feeble tradition is the only ground for this supposition. The same author speaks of more than one Madonna in the Ducal Gallery at Modena, as belonging to this early period. A considerable picture, painted by Correggio when eighteen years of age, and the undoubted work of his hand, is preserved at Dresden; it was originally done for the church of S. Niccola, at Carpi. It represents the Virgin seated on a throne, surrounded by various saints; the inscription is, “Antonio de Allegris.” The colouring of this picture, as Mengs observes, is in a style between that of Perugino and Lionardo da Vinci. The head of the Virgin, he adds, greatly resembles the manner of Lionardo; the folds of the drapery appear as if done by Mantegna, that is, in the mode of encircling the limbs, but they are less hard, and are in a larger style. Two pictures painted about the same time are mentioned, and somewhat differently described, by Tiraboschi and Lanzi. One was an altar-piece for a church at Correggio, representing various saints; it was blackened and injured by a varnish, and removed from the altar as useless, a copy being substituted in its place. The original has been since cleaned, and according to Lanzi is recognised as an early work of the master. The other was an altar-piece, in three compartments, the centre subject of which was a repose of the Holy Family. The two wings, representing two saints, are lost; but the Holy Family is probably the picture now in the Florence Gallery, attributed by Barry to Correggio, and only doubtful, in the opinion of some connoisseurs, from its dryness of manner, as compared with the later works of the master. A picture belonging to the Duke of Sutherland, and formerly in the Orleans gallery, representing a muleteer and other figures, is supposed by some to be an early work of Correggio, but it has none of the hardness of the Carpi altar-piece to warrant this conjecture.

In the picture in the Florence Gallery of the Madonna adoring her Infant, and in the Noli me tangere of the Escurial, to which Lanzi adds a Marsyas, in the possession of the Marchese Litta of Milan, the artist already approached that excellent style, which has been designated by the epithet ‘Correggiesque.’ The Marsyas is mentioned in the catalogue of Charles I. The two small pictures of the marriage of St. Catherine, one in the gallery at St. Petersburgh, the other in that of Naples, belong to the same period. In that preserved at St. Petersburgh, the name of Allegri is translated to Lieto; the date is 1517. The larger, and probably later picture of this subject, with the addition of the figure of St. Sebastian, is in the Louvre. The celebrated picture of S. Giorgio, now at Dresden, has been considered to belong to this period. It was painted for the confraternity of S. Pietro Martire, at Modena. This work, containing many figures, and among the rest some children, in the peculiarly graceful manner of Correggio, which were afterwards the admiration of Guido, has all the excellencies of the master, except that magic of chiaro-scuro for which he was subsequently so celebrated. It may be remarked, that the sweetness of expression in Correggio’s children and women was probably derived from Lionardo da Vinci, as certain peculiarities of resemblance are to be traced between them.

In 1519, Correggio married Girolama Merlini, from whom Pungileoni supposes the Madonna, called the Zingarella, to have been painted. She was a lady of birth and condition, and brought him a sufficient dowry; and this is an additional proof of the incorrectness of the assertions of Vasari, respecting the extreme poverty of the painter. It must be remembered too, that from this time, when he was about twenty-five years of age, his employment constantly increased; and from the nature of the works he was engaged in, it is quite evident that he was reckoned the best painter in Lombardy.

About this period Correggio began his career in Parma, and his first paintings there were the admirable frescoes in the monastery of S. Paolo. A particular and most satisfactory account of these has been published by Padre Affò. The reputation which this performance gained him, induced the monks of S. Giovanni to employ him in the decoration of their church. The works executed by Correggio on this occasion are in his grandest manner: the Cupola represents the ascension of Christ; the figures of the Apostles, of gigantic size, occupy the lower part. The subject in the Tribune was the Coronation of the Virgin. It was so esteemed, that when that part of the church was demolished to enlarge the choir, the design was repainted for the new Tribune by Cesare Aretusi, according to some, from a copy by Annibale Caracci. The principal group of the original was fortunately saved, and is still to be seen in the Library at Parma; its grandeur of invention and treatment classes it among the highest productions of the art. Round the central group were some figures and heads of angels. The fragments of these were dispersed when the Tribune was destroyed; and the portions of frescoes by Correggio, which exist in various collections, are probably a part of these ruins.

Those who contend that Correggio had visited Rome, suppose that he may have caught some inspiration from the works of M. Angelo; and Ratti imagines, that the Last Judgment was seen and imitated by him; but this work was not begun till after the death of Correggio. Lanzi smiles at the mistake of the author just mentioned; but if Correggio visited Rome, which, on the whole, does not appear probable, he may have seen the ceiling of the Capella Sistina, painted in 1511; and this is more likely to have inspired him than the Last Judgment, even supposing that he could have seen both. There is, however, a remarkable difference between the treatment of the cupolas of Correggio and that of the ceiling of M. Angelo (even setting aside the well-known distinctions of their taste in design), and the execution in both the examples alluded to, is exactly analogous to the styles of the two painters. M. Angelo, though a master of foreshortening, has not supposed his figures to be above the eye, but opposite to it, so that they are still intelligible when seen in any other situation, as for instance, when copied in an engraving. Correggio, on the other hand, always aimed at giving the perspective appearance of figures above the eye; and the violent foreshortening, which was the consequence, renders his figures unintelligible, because improbable, except in their original situation, where their effect, aided by his light and shade, must undoubtedly have been astonishing. Nevertheless, if the end and perfection of the art is to meet the impressions of nature by corresponding representation, and to embody the remembered appearances of things, it is quite evident that foreshortening on ceilings, as it necessarily presents the human figure, and indeed all objects, in a mode absolutely foreign to our experience, must in the same degree depart from the legitimate end of imitation, and can only excite wonder at the artist’s skill. The difference of treatment alluded to belongs in other respects to two distinct views of the art. M. Angelo aimed at the real and permanent qualities of whatever he represented; a taste derived from his knowledge of sculpture, and certainly, as producing a most intelligible style of art, more nearly allied to the principles of the Greeks. Correggio, on the contrary, loved all the attributes of appearance and illusion; his skill in the management of aërial perspective, and the magic of his chiaro-scuro, by which he secured space, relief, and gradation, are qualities less allied to the reality and perspicuity which characterise the grandest style of the formative arts in general, (as opposed to the vagueness of poetical description,) than to the specific excellencies which distinguish painting from sculpture. Even his colour, true as it is, is still subordinate to his light and shade. It is with reference to the uniting and blending principle of light and shade, which presents differences of degree, but not of kind, that the term harmony has been so often employed as describing the characteristic style of Correggio, and the expression is quite distinct from that harmony (the commoner acceptation) which is often applied to the balance and opposition of colours. In the same church of S. Giovanni were the pictures of the Deposition from the Cross, and the Martyrdom of S. Placido and Sta. Flavia, which were taken to Paris; and on the outside of a chapel are the remains of a grand figure of St. John, in fresco. The well-known Madonna della Scodella, and a fresco of a Virgin and Child, in the Capella della Scala, were perhaps painted about this time. The frescoes of S. Giovanni occupied Correggio from 1520 to 1523. The celebrated picture of the Nativity, generally called the Notte, now at Dresden, appears to have been begun in the interval, as the agreement respecting it bears the date of 1522; but it was not placed in the church of S. Prospero at Reggio, for which it was destined, till 1530. The Notte is the picture most frequently referred to as a specimen of that harmony, founded on the skilful management of light and shade, in which Correggio is unrivalled. The source of the picturesque in this work, the emanation of the light from the infant Christ, is at the same time sublime as an invention. “The idea,” as Opie observes, “has been seized with such avidity, and produced so many imitations, that no one is accused of plagiarism. The real author is forgotten, and the public, accustomed to consider this incident as naturally a part of the subject, have long ceased to inquire when, or by whom, it was invented.” Even the angels in the upper part of the picture still receive light from the infant, and the attention is thus constantly directed to the principal subject. The same end is very happily answered by a shepherdess, shading her eyes with her hand, as if dazzled by the light: this figure is particularly mentioned by Vasari. It is remarkable that the same feeling for gradation in the mutable effects of light and shade, displays itself in this composition in the rapid perspective diminution of the figures. The shepherd in the foreground is quite gigantic, compared with the more distant figures; and the effect of proximity and distance, and the space of the picture, is greatly aided by this contrivance. The same principle is observable in Correggio’s cupolas.

The commission for the St. Jerome, placed in the church of S. Antonio Abbate, at Parma, in 1528, one of the artist’s finest works, was given in 1523. There is a copy of this picture by Lodovico Caracci in the Bridgewater Gallery. The attitude and expression of the Magdalen are justly celebrated: she is represented paying her homage to the infant Christ, by pressing his foot against her cheek. The St. Sebastian, now at Dresden, one of the most striking specimens of Correggio’s magic chiaro-scuro, is supposed by Pungileoni to belong to this period. This picture, like the Notte, is remarkable for an exquisite truth of tint in the passages from light to dark. The infinite gradations of chiaro-scuro are rendered still more mysterious from this truth of colour in the half-tints and shadows, and, as in nature, the spectator is soon unconscious of the presence of shade. These imperceptible transitions are confined to the treatment of light and shade, and contrast finely with the pronounced differences of local colour. In this respect the style of Correggio is very different from the system of blending, or, as it is called, breaking the colours: the contrast of hues is undoubtedly mitigated by the negative nature of his shade; but though fully alive to the value of general tone, of which the St. Sebastian is a powerful instance, he seems never to have lost sight of the principle, that the office of colour is to distinguish, and that of light and shade to unite—the first being proper to each object, the second common to all objects.

The peculiar softness for which Correggio is distinguished, is also to be traced to his feeling for the richness and union produced by shade; but he is by no means uniformly soft, like some of his imitators; as, for example, Vanderwerf, whose model seems to have been the Magdalen at Dresden. The principal figures in Correggio’s pictures, or their principal portions, are sometimes relieved in the most distinct manner; as, for instance, the head of the Madonna in this very picture of St. Sebastian, remarkable above all his works for its general softness of outline. As in his light and shade the two extremes of bright and dark are united by every minutest degree between them, so in his forms, every gradation from absolute hardness to undefined and almost imperceptible outline, is also to be observed. Variety in the intensities of shade evidently involves variety in the precision of outlines; but the distinctness of forms in Correggio’s finest works is also regulated by their prominence, importance, or beauty. Lastly, characteristic imitation is greatly aided by his discrimination in this particular. Vasari justly commends Correggio’s peculiarly soft manner in painting hair; but this extreme softness, so true a quality of the object, is generally contrasted in his works with the character of some totally different substance. Thus, in the Reclining Magdalen Reading, the print of which is well known, the crystal vase, her usual attribute, placed near her head, is painted with the utmost sharpness, and thus heightens the beauty and truth of the hair, which is remarkable for its undulating softness.

The fame which the frescoes of S. Giovanni procured for their author, even in their commencement, led to his decorating the cathedral of Parma; and the engagement respecting the works therein executed is dated 1522. The subject of the octagonal cupola of the cathedral is the Assumption of the Virgin: a multitude of figures covered the vast surface, and, when the work was in its best state, are described as appearing to float in space. The foreshortenings in this cupola are such as to make the figures appear altogether distorted, except when seen from below, and Mengs himself was astonished at their apparent deformity when he inspected them near. The figures of the Apostles and angels, in various attitudes, occupy the lower portion of the cupola; and in four lunettes underneath are represented the patron saints of the city, the whole being supposed to be lighted by the glory from above. It is evident that Correggio’s feeling for gradation dictated the invention and treatment of his subject in many instances: the whole scale of light and shade cannot be more happily or naturally available, than when the light is supposed to emanate from a point, and gradually lose itself in the opposite extremes; and it happens, that in every instance in which this painter employed the principle, as in the cupolas, the Notte, the St. Sebastian, the Christ in the Garden, &c., the subject itself gained in sublimity. The difference between the cupola of the cathedral and that of S. Giovanni, affords an additional proof of the tendency of Correggio’s general taste as it became further developed. A grandeur more allied to simplicity is the comparative characteristic of the latter, while in the cathedral the multitude of figures, the variety of arrangement and attitude, and the richness and splendor of the light and shade, are calculated to affect the imagination as with a dazzling vision. It has been justly observed by Fuseli, that Correggio’s treatment of this cupola is “less epic or dramatic than ornamental.” It must, however, be remembered, that the surface he had to cover, the interior of a high cupola, could hardly have been occupied by subjects in which form on expression, as predominant qualities, could have produced their effect when seen from below. The only mode which remained was assuredly altogether adapted to the genius of Correggio: space, gradation, chiaro-scuro, were not only the means most likely to be effective in such a situation, but they were precisely the excellencies in which he was pre-eminent. Nevertheless, the example was a seducing one, and was likely to be followed where local circumstances would not so entirely warrant it; and, as the author above quoted observes, “if the cupola of Correggio be, in its kind, unequalled by earlier or succeeding plans, if it leave far behind the effusions of Lanfranco and Pietro da Cortona, it was not the less their model; the ornamental style of machinists dates not the less its origin from him.” In order to give that true foreshortening which was calculated to produce illusion from below, Correggio was assisted by the sculptor Begarelli, who supplied him with small models in clay from which he drew. According to Ratti, one of these was found on the cornice of the cupola by a Florentine painter towards the close of the last century. Some of the drawings by Correggio in the Lawrence collection are supposed to have been studies made from these models. It has been asserted that Correggio himself worked in marble; some figures in a group, by Begarelli, in the church of Sta. Margherita, are ascribed to him, but on very slight grounds. After all, it appears that he never entirely finished the work he had undertaken to do in the cathedral. The Tribune was not begun, and even a few figures in the lower part of the cupola are said to have been added by Bedoli. The cause of this suspension of Correggio’s labours has been attributed, with some probability, to the absurd criticisms of his employers. It is said that they referred to Titian (who is supposed to have visited Parma with the Emperor Charles V.) to decide whether they should cancel the whole, and that the great Venetian rebuked their ignorance, by pronouncing it to be the finest composition he had ever seen.

Correggio ceased to work in the cathedral in 1530, about four years before his death. A great number of his oil pictures are assigned to this period, more indeed than he could have executed, and some of them must therefore belong to an earlier time. Be the precise order of their dates what it may, the quantity which Correggio did in his short life is quite as astonishing as the multitude of Raffaelle’s productions, especially when we consider the number of assistants employed by the latter. Among his last works, Correggio painted two pictures for Federigo, Duke of Mantua; the subjects were Leda, and Venus, according to Vasari. The latter was probably the Mercury teaching Cupid to read, in which composition Venus is introduced; or it may have been the Jupiter and Antiope, now in the Louvre. Both are mentioned in the catalogue of Charles I., as having come from Mantua; and the Antiope is described as “a Sleeping Venus and Cupid, and a Satyr, &c., three entire figures, so big as the life.” The original Leda, much mutilated, is now at Potsdam; a repetition of the Danaë is in the Borghese palace in Rome; the Io, a picture of the same class, is supposed to have been destroyed, but repetitions of it exist in Vienna and in this country. The taste for such subjects, which, in Correggio’s time, was encouraged by the example of the great, is now reprobated as it deserves, and it is to be hoped will never be revived; but, in reference to the tendency of the painter’s taste and powers in the choice and treatment of subjects, it must be evident that the effect of soft transitions of light and shade, as opposed to the lively distinctness of colour and forms, is of itself allied to the voluptuous. The principle was applied by Correggio, as we have seen, in subjects of purity and sublimity: these, united with the soothing spell of his chiaro-scuro, and with forms of grace and beauty, excite a calm and pleasing impression by no means foreign to the end proposed; but the application was unfortunately still more successful where he united beauty and mystery in subjects addressed to very different feelings.

The Magdalen Reading, now at Dresden; the Christ praying in the Garden, in the possession of the Duke of Wellington; and the Ecce Homo; are all celebrated pictures of the best time of Correggio. The Ecce Homo, and the Mercury teaching Cupid to read, have lately been secured for the National Gallery; the first came from the Colonna palace at Rome, the other was purchased out of the collection of Charles I. by the Duke of Alva, in whose family it remained till it became the property of Murat; and a few years since it was restored to this country. The small picture of the Virgin and Child, in the National Gallery, is also a pleasing specimen of the master.

Vasari, who is silent as to the time of Correggio’s death, relates an absurd story of the manner in which it happened, now scarcely worth contradicting. According to him, the painter received a payment of sixty crowns in copper, which he carried from Parma to Correggio, and caught a fever in consequence from over-fatigue, of which he died. The sum thus paid in copper is computed to exceed two hundredweight! This incident, unobjectionable in a work of fiction, is introduced in an interesting drama called ‘Correggio,’ by the Danish poet Oehlenschläger. The researches of Pungileoni have proved that Correggio died in easy, if not in affluent circumstances. The exclamations of Annibale Caracci, in some of his letters, respecting the unhappy fate of Correggio, amount only to regret that he was confined to a comparatively remote part of Italy, and that he was not known in Rome or Florence, where his talents would undoubtedly have been still better rewarded.

This great painter died almost suddenly, at his native place, of a malignant fever, March 6, 1534, in the forty-first year of his age. He was buried in the Franciscan convent of the Frati Minori at Correggio, where the record of his death was found.

For a full account of Correggio and his works, the history of Pungileoni, above mentioned, may be consulted. It was published at Parma, in three octavo volumes, in 1817, 1818, and 1821. The best account in English is contained in an anonymous work, entitled, “Sketches of the Lives of Correggio and Parmegiano.”—1823.

The original, from which our engraving is taken, is a face painted on the wall adjoining the Cathedral door at Parma, by Correggio himself, from which it was copied, with the necessary additions to suit it for an engraving, by J. B. Davis, Esq.

[Virgin and Child.]

NAPOLEON

Engraved by W. Holl.

From a Picture by F. Gerard
in the possession of the Publisher.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

NAPOLEON.

Born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, August 15, 1769. He was the eldest but one of a family of thirteen children; and his father, who was poor, though well descended, gladly embraced an opportunity of sending him to the Military College at Brienne, in France. Here he was noted for aversion to the society of his fellows, and to the amusements of boyhood. He was fond of imitating the operations of war, and displayed an unusual taste for the study of history and civil government; but he made no extraordinary progress in any branch of his education, except mathematics, in which he succeeded so well, that in his fifteenth year he was selected for removal to the Royal Military School at Paris. There he so zealously devoted himself to military studies, that on completing his sixteenth year he received his commission as Lieutenant of Artillery.

He remained unknown, and with little chance of promotion, until after the overthrow of the French monarchy in 1793. In the excesses of the Revolution he did not share; but his Jacobinical principles, which he advocated in a pamphlet entitled the ‘Supper of Beaucaire,’ recommended him to Robespierre and his colleagues, and, in conjunction with his reputation as an engineer, procured him the command of the artillery at the siege of Toulon, the capture of which was wholly owing to his skill. He mainly contributed to the success of the French arms on the Italian frontier; but the honour and the rewards were gathered by his superiors: and, in 1794, on the downfall of Robespierre’s government, he was deprived of his command as chief of battalion. For a time he remained in a state of neglect and poverty; and, without prospect of immediate advancement, indulged alternately in visionary schemes of greatness, and sober plans for obtaining a moderate competency. In 1795, his fortunes were suddenly advanced by the danger of the French Government, which, at the suggestion of Barras, entrusted to him the defence of the Tuileries against the National Guard and mob of Paris, on the 13th Vendémiaire (October 4th). The authority of the Government was restored by the successful exertions of Buonaparte; and, in requital for this service, he was made General of the Army of the Interior. This office soon ceased to afford scope for his abilities; and the Directory, aware of the necessity of employing his ardent talents, appointed him General of the Army of Italy, then opposed to the Austrians. A few days before his departure from Paris he married Josephine, the widow of Viscount Beauharnois, an amiable woman, who by her talents and graces assisted in advancing his fortunes, and during some years exercised great influence over him.

Buonaparte entered Italy early in 1796, passing between the Alps and the Apennines. In the course of eighteen months he made six successful campaigns, destroyed five Austrian armies, and conquered nearly the whole of Italy. He obliged the Pope and other Italian sovereigns to send their choicest treasures of art to Paris, a measure imitated from ancient Rome, and savouring more of the spirit of ancient conquest, than of the mitigated warfare of modern times. Among the more memorable battles fought during this war, were those of Lodi, Roveredo, Arcole, Rivoli, and Tagliamento. Buonaparte’s activity and skill counterbalanced the numerical inferiority of his troops; and his personal courage, and readiness of resources under difficulties, procured him a great ascendency over the soldiery, by whom he was familiarly called the “Little Corporal.” At the conclusion of this war, in 1797, the territories of Venice were divided between France and Austria, the Pope was deprived of part of his temporal dominions, and a number of the conquered states were united to form the Cisalpine Republic. His military talents being now no longer needed, Buonaparte was obliged to resign his command. Hitherto he had professed a warm attachment to the democracy, and even sided with that party in the revolution of the 18th Fructidor (September 4, 1797), when the democratic members of the Directory deposed their colleagues. His conduct in remodelling some of the Italian governments threw a doubt on the sincerity of his democratic principles, which was latterly increased by the assertion of the dignity of his rank amongst his officers, and by his tenacious resistance to every attempt made by the Directory to divide or control his power in the command of the army.

He returned to Paris in January, 1798; and although keenly attentive to the state of the various political parties, he maintained a prudent reserve, adopting the appearance and pursuits of a private citizen. Finding no immediate chance of obtaining a share in the Government, and that he was daily incurring suspicion, he again sought military employment. Being satisfied at this period of the impracticability of invading England, he projected the conquest of Egypt. For this purpose, in May, 1798, a splendid armament was equipped at Toulon, with every requisite for colonizing the country and prosecuting scientific and antiquarian researches. He reached Egypt in July, expelled, after several hard-fought battles, the dominant military caste of Mamelukes, and made subjects of the native Egyptians. His administration, except in an absurd attempt to conciliate the natives by professing Mahometanism, was that of a wise and politic statesman; and there was every prospect that the French, although insulated from Europe by the destruction of their fleet at Aboukir, would permanently establish themselves in Egypt. Many improvements, by which the country has since derived signal benefit, were introduced by him; and to the scientific department of the expedition we are indebted for the foundation of our present knowledge of the natural history and antiquities of Egypt. Early in 1799, Buonaparte apprized Tippoo Saib of his design of marching against the British in India. The hostilities of the Ottoman Porte induced him, however, to invade Syria. After crossing the desert, and taking El-Arish, Jaffa, and Gaza, he was repulsed at Acre by Sir Sidney Smith, and compelled to make a disastrous retreat on Egypt. Jaffa is remarkable for two occurrences which have deeply affected the fame of Buonaparte. One of these is the massacre of a large body of Turkish prisoners, who were shot under the pretext that they had previously been liberated at El-Arish upon parole not to serve against the French. The other is his ordering some of his own soldiers, who were incurably sick of the plague, to be poisoned with opium, rather than abandon them to the enemy, or endanger the rest of the army by transporting them with it. The suggestion was certainly made; but it appears equally certain that it was not acted on, in consequence of the remonstrances of the medical officers. The retreat was closed by a battle at Alexandria, in which the Turkish army was totally defeated.

The French rule being established in Egypt, Buonaparte became very anxious to return to France, where circumstances seemed to favour his ambition. He left his army secretly in August, and arrived in Paris in October, having by singular good fortune escaped the British cruisers, and evaded the impediments imposed by the quarantine laws. He was received with joy by the people, now weary of the feeble administration of the Directory, which, having lost all the late conquests, could preserve their country neither against invasion from abroad, nor from anarchy at home.

Three weeks after his return, Buonaparte overthrew the existing Government by a conspiracy, in which he was assisted by all men of military or political eminence, with very few exceptions: and, with a general concurrence, he was invested with the supreme executive authority, under the title of First Consul of France. His nominal colleagues soon became the mere instruments of his ambition. Although he left France only the semblance of a free government, it cannot be denied that Buonaparte was, in some respects, a real benefactor to the state. Social order was maintained. The public exercise of religion was restored, and a treaty, termed the Concordat, was concluded with the Pope, by which the French Church was released from the supremacy hitherto claimed and exercised by the Holy See. A uniform code of laws, which recognised no adventitious distinctions, henceforth afforded equal protection to the whole community; office and power were fairly opened to the competition of merit, and the Legion of Honour was instituted for the reward of talent and worth in every class of life. Buonaparte restrained the contentions of parties, and rendered their leaders, such as Talleyrand, Carnot, Fouché, Moreau, and Bernadotte, subservient to his interests; whilst the people, enjoying the benefit of an able and safe administration, were indifferent to their ruler’s schemes for personal aggrandizement.

Having restored peace and security at home, Buonaparte sought to gratify the national thirst for glory by foreign victories. In 1800, he marched an army across the Alps by the route of the Great St. Bernard, descended unexpectedly on the rear of the Austrians, and, June 14, gave them a complete overthrow at Marengo. Having recovered nearly all the former conquests of the French by this battle, he returned to Paris to avail himself of this triumph to advance his power. But the rejection of the overtures of the Bourbons, and the obvious design of Buonaparte to appropriate the crown to himself, led to a union between the Royalists and Jacobins; and plots were formed against his life, from one of which he narrowly escaped. In November he resumed hostilities against Austria; and the battle of Hohenlinden, gained by Moreau, December 2, concluded the war. Austria then acknowledged the Cisalpine Republic, and permitted France to possess the boundary of the Rhine, and to annex Holland to her dominions. The war, continued by England, was distinguished for the battle of Copenhagen, fought April 2, 1801, by which the Northern Maritime Confederacy was broken up; and for the recovery of Egypt from the French by the army of Abercrombie: it was ended in 1802, by the Treaty of Amiens. A short interval of peace ensued, during which Buonaparte strengthened his personal power by becoming First Consul for life, with the right of naming his successor. He also constituted himself President of the Italian and Helvetian Republics, by which these states became in fact provinces of France.

In 1803, Great Britain, provoked by the restlessness of Buonaparte’s ambition, again declared war against France. The First Consul answered this declaration by imprisoning about ten thousand English subjects, who were travelling in his dominions. He also seized the Electorate of Hanover, and made vast preparations for invading England. Early in 1804, the Royalist and Jacobin parties again endangered his life. Amongst the conspirators were Pichegru and Moreau; the latter, however, was not privy to any design of assassination. These plots also proved abortive, and, in crushing them, Buonaparte increased the stability of his power. He established a special commission for the trial of all persons suspected of political crimes, without resorting to the ordinary courts of judicature. He believed, or affected to believe, that the recent plots were promoted by the Bourbons and the British ministers, and resolved to retaliate. By his orders the Duc d’Enghien was carried off, in March, 1804, from the neutral state of Baden, and, after an informal trial, put to death. He seized the British minister at Hamburgh, and confined him for a short period in the Temple. Captain Wright, a British naval officer, was also confined in the Temple, upon pretext that his ship had been captured while in the service of the Bourbon conspirators: he was said to have been murdered in prison; but there is no proof of this improbable crime. It was asserted that Pichegru perished in the same way.

In December, 1804, the First Consul assumed the titles of Napoleon, Emperor of the French and King of Italy. The Pope assisted in the ceremony of his coronation at Notre Dame: but Napoleon placed the crown on his own and his consort’s head with his own hand. In like manner, in May, 1805, he crowned himself King of Italy at Milan. In this year, Austria, Russia, and Sweden formed an alliance with England against France. In the same year, October 21, the naval power of France was destroyed by the battle of Trafalgar. But on the other hand, in a single campaign, which was concluded, December 2, by the battle of Austerlitz, Napoleon overthrew the fabric of the German empire, and obliged the other members of the coalition to separate from England and sue for peace. He then associated Bavaria, Wirtemberg, the Grand Duchy of Berg, and several smaller German states, under the title of the Confederation of the Rhine, of which he constituted himself Protector, receiving in return the services of about sixty thousand soldiers. Venice was added to the kingdom of Italy; while Joseph and Louis Buonaparte were appointed respectively kings of Naples and Holland. At the conclusion of this war Napoleon created a new order of nobility; many of whom bore foreign titles, and received extended grants in the territories recently conquered by France. He was now surrounded by men of the most opposite character and principles, yet all so well chosen for aptitude to their several offices that he was devotedly and efficiently served. He had a keen perception of talent in others, and judgment in giving it a suitable direction: not a few of his ablest followers, among them, Lannes, Junot, Murat, Victor, Augereau, and Soult, were of humble origin. Napoleon usurped the entire control of the civil and ecclesiastical polity, and by means of compulsory laws for military service, and the suppression of public opinion by an inquisitorial police and an enslaved press, established a complete despotism in France. In arrogating the style and pretensions of the Emperor Charlemagne, he desired to bury all remembrance of the late dynasty, and of his own origin. He had a strong tendency to fatalism, and believed that his career depended on destiny. This weakness was often manifested in those inflated bulletins, which announced his deeds in a manner calculated to impress the belief of his infallibility, and never acknowledged the occurrence of reverses.

Prussia had been induced to remain neutral during the war of which we have just spoken, by a promise of the cession of Hanover. Instead of fulfilling this engagement, Napoleon, by a series of injuries, provoked a declaration of war in 1806. Prussia was subjugated by the battle of Jena, fought October 14th: and Napoleon then marched into Poland against the Emperor of Russia; whom, after several battles, at Pultusk, Preuss-Eylau, and Friedland, he compelled to sue for peace. By the treaty of Tilsit, Prussia was dismembered, her sovereign retaining but a scanty portion of his dominions. Jerome Buonaparte received the kingdom of Westphalia, which was formed from the Prussian and Hanoverian territories, whilst the Prusso-Polish provinces were formed into the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, and bestowed on Napoleon’s ally the Elector of Saxony, who was also gratified with the title of King.

The want of a navy rendering Napoleon unable to contend with England, he endeavoured to separate her from the European world. In 1806, by certain decrees issued at Berlin and Milan, and acknowledged at the Treaty of Tilsit by every continental power, England was declared in a state of blockade, and all articles of English growth and manufacture were excluded from their ports. But as the rigid enforcement of these decrees was prevented by the access of the English to the Peninsula, Napoleon devised a scheme for rendering this part of Europe also amenable to his authority. In 1807 a treaty was concluded with Spain; and, by a joint invasion of the Spanish and French forces, Portugal was subdued and the House of Braganza expelled. But under pretext of supporting this invasion, Napoleon filled the most important military stations in Spain with his own troops. The royal family were enticed into France, and compelled by threats of violence to renounce all claims to their hereditary throne. Joseph Buonaparte, resigning the kingdom of Naples to Murat, repaired to Madrid, and was crowned king of Spain. But a fierce war breaking out between Joseph and his new subjects, the French, who had already been driven from Portugal by Sir Arthur Wellesley, seemed on the point of losing the whole Peninsula. Napoleon, in a campaign which he conducted in person, re-established his power in the Peninsula; but a declaration of war by Austria recalled him in mid-conquest. He hurried to the German frontier, and, after beating the Austrians at Abensberg, Landshut, and Eckmuhl, and taking Vienna, concluded the war by the battle of Wagram, fought July 6, 1809. A treaty was signed at Schoënbrun in October, by which Austria made great sacrifices of territory and population. At Schoënbrun Napoleon narrowly escaped death by the hand of a young German enthusiast, named Stabbs. During this war, Rome was annexed to France, as the second city of the empire; and the Pope, thus entirely stripped of his temporal dominions, was soon after removed to Fontainebleau, where he was confined as a prisoner.

Desirous of an heir to succeed to his vast empire, Napoleon, on his return from Schoënbrun, divorced his empress, and, in accordance with one of the articles of the late treaty, married Maria Louisa, daughter of the Emperor of Austria, in March, 1810. This marriage was followed, in 1811, by the birth of a son, who was styled King of Rome. Although Napoleon remained in Paris in attendance on his new consort, his plans of ambition suffered no interruption. In 1810 he deposed his brother Louis, who thought too much of the welfare of his own subjects; and annexed Holland, together with the Hanse Towns and the whole sea-coast of Germany, to the French empire. The election of the French Marshal Bernadotte to the crown of Sweden seemed to place all Europe, except England, Russia, and the Peninsula, in the power of France. On the departure of Napoleon from Spain, in 1809, England again attempted to deliver the Peninsula; and, during the two succeeding years, Wellington did much towards effecting this object. The Emperor of Russia, who, at the treaty of Tilsit, was supposed to have agreed with Napoleon on the division of the European world, now found the power of the latter dangerous to his own kingdom, which also suffered greatly from the prohibition of commerce with England. Napoleon, perceiving that his brother Emperor designed to avail himself of the reverses in the Peninsula to insist on a more liberal course of policy, and security against future aggression, determined on war. In 1812 he invaded Russia, with the largest army that had ever been assembled under one European leader. After beating the Russians at Smolensko and Borodino, he took possession of Moscow, September 14. But the approach of winter, the burning of the city, and the consequent want of food and shelter, rendered it impossible to remain there; and the Czar refusing to listen to proposals for peace, Napoleon, after five weeks’ residence at Moscow, was obliged to withdraw. In the celebrated retreat which followed, the French army was utterly destroyed, more by the climate than by the enemy; the Emperor himself escaped with difficulty.

The spirit of the French people was roused by this disaster, and Napoleon speedily found himself at the head of another vast army. But Prussia and Sweden now joined the league against him, and experience had made his enemies more fit to cope with him; and though, in 1813, he won the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen in Saxony, he derived no material advantage from them. Having refused to accede to the terms proposed through the mediation of Austria, which would have restricted France to her ancient power and boundaries, this state also took part with the allies against him. After gaining the battle of Dresden, in August, Napoleon was compelled, by the successive defeat of four of his Marshals, to abandon his position on the Elbe, and retire on Leipsic. In October was fought the great battle of Leipsic, where, in three days, the French lost upwards of fifty thousand men. The Emperor then retreated across the Rhine. The Rhenish Confederacy was forthwith dissolved, and the Pope and Ferdinand were permitted to return to their respective dominions.

Napoleon having thus lost all his allies and foreign possessions, still refused the reasonable terms of peace which were offered to him, and prepared to defend France against invasion. Wellington crossed the Pyrenees in 1814, and about the same time the Russian and German armies passed the Rhine. During this campaign Napoleon showed wonderful energy in encountering his numerous enemies, but still adhered, with obstinate arrogance, to what he considered due to his own personal glory, and refused to treat for peace. After losing the battles of Brienne and La Rothière, in February, he entered on a negotiation with the Allies; during the discussion of which he attacked and defeated the Prussians on the Marne: and, on the 17th and 18th, with a perfect knowledge that his minister had signed the preliminaries of peace, he assaulted the Austrians and defeated them at Nangis and Montereau. These successes were useless, and only served to exasperate his foes. In March he was beaten at the battles of Craonne and Laon, and finding the Allies getting the superiority, he skilfully marched on their rear with the view of inclosing them between his own army and the capital. But the Allies obtained possession of Paris, and finding the people alienated by the tyranny of the Emperor, declared they would no more treat with Napoleon Buonaparte. The weakened state of his army, and the defection of most of his ministers and generals, left him without resources. On the 11th of April Napoleon renounced, for himself and his heirs, the thrones of France and Italy. He was allowed to retain the title of Emperor, and received the sovereignty of the island of Elba.

He reached his miniature kingdom May 4; and for a time appeared to occupy himself as intently with its affairs as if they had equalled in importance those of his late empire. But perceiving that the Bourbon government caused great discontent, he suddenly returned to France, and landed at Cannes, March 1, 1815, accompanied by about seven hundred soldiers. He reached Lyons on the 10th, and resumed the functions of sovereignty. On the 17th he was joined by Marshal Ney and a large body of men, and on the 19th by the army of Macdonald. The following day he entered Paris. He was immediately declared an outlaw by the Allied Powers, who, with upwards of a million of soldiers, prepared to dethrone him. Although he made many specious promises of freedom and good government, the feelings and interests of the people were opposed to him; and, after the decisive battle of Waterloo, he was again obliged to abdicate. Being foiled in attempting to escape to America, he took refuge in a British ship of war. The British Government rejecting his proposal to reside in England, it was determined that the rest of his life should be passed in the island of St. Helena, with the observances of etiquette due to a general officer. He arrived at St. Helena, October 15, 1815. A few courtiers and domestics attended him in his exile, and by them the form and ceremony of a court were always maintained. His ambition was not corrected by past experience, and he was continually forming plans for returning to Europe. His escape from the island was strictly guarded against. This exposed him to an unpleasant degree of superintendence, which he did not bear with the calmness of a great mind. Of the Governor’s conduct it is unnecessary to speak: but Napoleon’s constant and undignified disputes with that officer concerning the regulations for his personal treatment, lowered his character, while they added to the bitterness of his captivity. In the last year of his life Napoleon lost all his cheerfulness and disposition for active employment. He died, May 5, 1821, of a cancerous affection of the liver, and was borne, by a party of British grenadiers, to his grave in a secluded valley on the island.

Napoleon Buonaparte was short in stature, but handsome and well formed, and capable of enduring great fatigue and great vicissitudes of climate. We abstain from offering a summary of his character, as we have abstained for the most part from passing judgment upon his actions. The time is not yet come for him to be judged dispassionately. A multitude of books have been written concerning him, with the more important of which most readers are familiar.

The picture from which our engraving is taken was formerly in the collection at Malmaison, from whence it was purchased, on the restoration of the Bourbons, by Mr. Hamlet.

[Statue of Napoleon, by Canova.]

Engraved by C. E. Wagstaff.

LINNÆUS.

From a Copy by Pasch in the possession of R. Brown, Esqre.
of the original at the Royal Academy of Sciences at Stockholm.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

LINNÆUS.

Carl von Linné, commonly called Linnæus, was born at Rashult, in the province of Smaland, in Sweden, May 24, 1707. His father, the Protestant minister of the parish of Stenbrohult, was a collector of curious plants; and Carl soon became acquainted with the plants in his father’s garden, as well as with the indigenous species in the neighbourhood. Being intended for the church, he was placed, first at the Latin school, and then at the Gymnasium of the neighbouring town of Wexio; but he neglected his professional studies to devote himself almost exclusively to the physical sciences. Botany, which was then little cultivated in Sweden, more particularly engrossed his attention: he formed a small library of botanical works, and although unable to comprehend some of the authors he possessed, yet he continued to read them day and night. He even learnt some of them by heart, and acquired, among his teachers and fellow scholars, the name of the Little Botanist. His father, whose object was to fit his son for gaining a livelihood in his own sacred calling, and who was ill able to defray the expenses of a learned education, was greatly mortified by this misapplication of time. He determined therefore, without wasting, as he considered it, any more money, to employ Carl in some manual occupation. His design was changed by the interference of Dr. Rothman, a physician of Wexio, who advised him, instead of forcing his son into a profession for which he had no taste, to let him follow the study of medicine and natural history. Rothman rendered this scheme practicable, by taking Carl into his own house for a twelvemonth; during which he instructed the youth in physiology, and likewise upon the right method of studying his favourite science of botany, according to the system of Tournefort.

Linnæus was equally fortunate in gaining admission into the family of Dr. Stobæus, professor of physic and botany at the University of Lund, whither he repaired in 1727. Here he pursued his botanical studies with zeal, and acquired the esteem and affection of his host. He went to the University of Upsal in 1728, by advice of his early friend Dr. Rothman, hoping to obtain some situation in it. But he was disappointed: and, his scanty means being soon exhausted, he found reason to repent of having quitted the friendly roof of Stobæus, who was much offended that a pupil, whom he had treated so kindly, should have left the University without consulting him. A fortunate incident relieved him from this state of anxious suspense. One day, in the autumn of 1729, while examining some plants in the University Garden, he was accosted by an aged clergyman, Dr. Olaf Celsius; who, after some inquiry into the nature and extent of his botanical studies, received him into his own house, and employed him to assist in a work on the plants mentioned in Scripture, and to collect botanical specimens around Upsal.

Linnæus enjoyed great advantages in his new situation. He had the full use of an extensive library, rich in botanical works; he lived on most familiar terms with his patron, by whom he was introduced to Dr. Rudbeck, the professor of botany; and Rudbeck, obliged by age to execute the duties of his office by deputy, obtained that office for Linnæus in 1730. The young man’s reputation as a naturalist was now established in the University; and, in 1731, the Royal Academy of Sciences at Upsal deputed him to make a tour through Lapland, with the sole view of examining the natural productions of that desolate region. He set out, on horseback, May 12, 1732 (O.S.) without incumbrances of any kind, and bearing all his luggage at his back. In the flower of youth, bold, enterprising, and in robust health, he was well adapted to traverse the wild countries of northern Sweden and Lapland, in which he met with some romantic and dangerous adventures. When in the districts of Pithea and Lulea, on the Gulf of Bothnia, he was near perishing from a danger of which he has given the following animated account:—

“Several days ago the forests had been set on fire by lightning, and the flames raged at this time with great violence, owing to the drought of the season. I traversed a space, three quarters of a mile in extent, which was entirely burnt, so that the place, instead of appearing in her gay and verdant attire, was in deep sable: a spectacle more abhorrent to my feelings than to see her clad in the white livery of winter. The fire was nearly extinguished in most of the spots we visited, except in ant-hills and dry trunks of trees. After we had travelled about half-a-quarter of a mile across one of these scenes of desolation, the wind began to blow with rather more force, upon which a sudden noise arose in the half-burnt forest, such as I can only compare to what may be imagined among a large army attacked by an enemy: we knew not whither to turn our steps. The smoke would not suffer us to remain where we stood, nor durst we turn back. It seemed best to hasten forward, in hopes of speedily reaching the outskirts of the wood; but in this we were disappointed. We ran as fast as we could, in order to avoid being crushed by the falling trees, some of which threatened us every minute. Sometimes the fall of a huge trunk was so sudden that we stood aghast, not knowing whither to turn to escape destruction, and throwing ourselves entirely on the protection of Providence. In one instance a large tree fell exactly between me and my guide, who walked not more than a fathom from me; but, thanks to God! we both escaped in safety. We were not a little rejoiced when this perilous adventure ended, for we had felt all the time like a couple of outlaws, in momentary fear of surprise.”

In the space of five months Linnæus performed, mostly on foot, a journey of 3798 English miles, and with the approach of winter he returned to Upsal. On that occasion he was admitted a member of the Academy, and received about ten pounds for his expenses. The ‘Flora Lapponica’ was the result of this journey. Scarce recovered from the fatigues of this tour through Lapland, he again felt the pressure of poverty. He commenced a course of lectures on the assaying of metals, but his success excited the jealousy of Dr. Rosen, the successor of Dr. Rudbeck, who insisted that, in conformity with the statutes, Linnæus should no longer be allowed to lecture. The Senate had no choice but to enforce the statutes, and this severe blow deprived Linnæus of all present means of advancement. He quitted Upsal, and took up his residence at Fahlun, the capital of Dalecarlia, where he gave lectures on assaying to the copper miners of that district. In 1735, having saved a small sum of money, he resolved to travel, and take a medical degree at some foreign university. He bent his course through Hamburgh to Holland, and obtained the degree of M.D., at the little University of Harderwych. He gained the friendship of Gronovius and Boërhaave, by whom he was strongly urged to settle in Holland, then in the height of its commercial prosperity. But Linnæus’ mind was set upon returning to Sweden, where he had formed an attachment to the eldest daughter of Dr. Moræus, a physician at Fahlun. Intending to pass homewards through Amsterdam, he obtained from Boërhaave an introduction to an eminent botanist, Dr. Burman, with whom he resided for a short time. During this visit he became acquainted with Mr. Clifford, a rich burgomaster of Amsterdam, who had a magnificent country-seat and garden at Hartecamp, near Haarlem. This gentleman wished for the assistance of a man who could arrange his collections of natural history, and put his garden into order. Linnæus entered into his employment in this capacity, and the connexion proved equally satisfactory to both parties.

In 1736, Linnæus made a tour to England at the expense of Mr. Clifford, who wished him to inspect the gardens of our country, and to communicate with the eminent botanists then alive. The English professors were warmly attached to the system of Ray; but Dillenius, the botanical professor at Oxford, was so impressed with the talents of Linnæus, that he urged him to take up his residence there, offering to share the profits of his professorship with him. Professor Martyn of Cambridge, Miller, Collinson, &c., held friendly intercourse with him, and he returned to Holland with the most favourable impressions of the scientific men in England. Contrary to the wishes of Mr. Clifford, he left Hartecamp towards the close of 1737, with the intention of returning to Sweden. No stronger proof can be given of the estimation in which Linnæus was held in Holland than the regard expressed for him by Boërhaave, even on his death-bed. Before the time of Linnæus’ intended departure from Leyden, Boërhaave became too ill to admit visitors. Linnæus was the only person in whose favour an exception was made, that the dying physician might bid him an affectionate farewell. “I have lived,” he said, “my time out, and my days are at an end; I have done every thing that was in my power: May God protect thee! What the world required of me it has got; but from thee it expects much more. Farewell, my dear Linnæus!”

When upon the point of leaving Leyden, Linnæus was attacked by illness; and upon his recovery he determined to visit Paris before his return to Sweden. At Paris he experienced great kindness from the Jussieus; and he received the high compliment of being elected a corresponding member of the Academy of Sciences.

In the summer of 1738, he embarked at Rouen for Helsingburg. Soon after his arrival in Sweden, he married the lady to whom he had been so long attached.

Dr. Pulteney, in his “View of the Writings of Linnæus,” gives a full account of the numerous publications put forth by him during his residence in Holland, and adds,—“It is scarcely to be conceived how this great man found time to finish so many works, any one of which would have been sufficient for establishing his character as a botanist.” The most important of these were the “Systema Naturæ,” 1735, and the “Genera Plantarum,” 1737, in which the sexual system of plants is fully developed.

In 1738 Linnæus settled as a physician at Stockholm, where he met with so much opposition, that he almost resolved to quit his native country. But by perseverance he worked his way into practice; and he was fortunate enough to be employed by the Queen of Sweden. In 1739 he contributed, with some other spirited persons, to form an Academy at Stockholm, of which he was elected President.

His professional success did not lead him aside from his favourite studies; and he kept his eye steadily on the great object of his ambition, the botanical chair at Upsal. In 1741 he was appointed medical professor. He soon entered into an agreement with Professor Rosen to allow him to perform the duties of the botanical chair, while his colleague lectured on physiology and other subjects. Before entering on the duties of his professorship, he pronounced a Latin oration before the University, “On the Necessity of Travelling in our own Country.”

Linnæus was now placed in the situation which of all things he had most coveted. The academical garden was soon laid out on a new plan. When he was appointed professor, it did not contain above fifty exotic plants. In 1748, six years afterwards, he published a catalogue, from which it appears that he had introduced eleven hundred; besides the vegetable productions of Sweden itself.

He now applied to all his correspondents for plants; and, writing to Albert Haller, he says, “Formerly I had plants, but no money; and now, of what use is my money without plants?” His exertions so much extended the fame of the University, that the number of students considerably increased, particularly during the time he held the office of rector. They came from Russia, Norway, Denmark, Great Britain, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, and even from America. He made summer excursions attended by his pupils, often to the number of two hundred. When some rare or remarkable plant, or other natural curiosity, was found, a signal was given by a horn, at which the whole party assembled round their leader.

Linnæus published his “Amœnitates Academicæ,” “Philosophia Botanica,” and “Species Plantarum,” respectively in 1749, 1751, and 1753. Of these, the first is a collection of treatises on various subjects; the second is the foundation of the Linnæan system of botany, and from it most of our popular introductions have been compiled; the third is termed, by Haller, “Maximum opus, et æternum!” In this work he first employed trivial words as specific names: thus, the species of every genus is designated by a single epithet, expressive of some obvious character, and the tiresome plan of quoting an entire description to distinguish the species was abandoned. His fame had now rapidly increased, and his scientific connexions and correspondence with foreign countries had become very extensive.

In 1753 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of London; and in the same year his sovereign, Gustavus III., bestowed upon him a most flattering mark of his regard, by creating him a Knight of the Polar Star. This order had never before been conferred on any literary character; nor had any person below the rank of a nobleman been honoured with it. Foreign countries were not backward in testifying their sense of his merits; he was a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Paris, of St. Petersburgh, and of Berlin; and there was hardly a learned body in Europe but was anxious to enrol his name among their numbers. The most flattering compliment which he received was from the King of Spain, who invited him to settle at Madrid, with the offer of an annual pension for life of 2000 pistoles, letters of nobility, and the free exercise of his own religion. He, however, did not accept of this offer, but answered, that if he had any merit, his services were due to his own country.

The University of Upsal had now become an object of curiosity: strangers were attracted there, and prolonged their stay, solely with the view of becoming acquainted with Linnæus. Among other visitors, the Earl of Macartney, when he was English Minister at St. Petersburgh, went from that city on purpose to visit him. His writings were soon appreciated in foreign countries, and his system was first publicly taught in our own by Professor Martyn, in the University of Cambridge. His pupils spread themselves over the globe; they carried everywhere with them the spirit of their master, and diffused the love of natural history. When Captain Cook’s first voyage was undertaken, one of Linnæus’s most celebrated pupils, Dr. Solander, accompanied Mr. Banks in the capacity of naturalist. It was not, however, from his pupils alone that Linnæus received information; in every part of the world persons were found anxious to forward specimens to him, and his collections thus became unrivalled.

The introduction of the Linnæan system was attended with such great change, especially of nomenclature, that it experienced considerable opposition from the older naturalists; and the biographers of Linnæus have recorded several literary feuds with distinguished contemporaries, and especially with Albert Haller, a genius of equal merit with himself.

The latter years of Linnæus were spent in a state of ease, affluence, and honour, very different from the poverty and obscurity of his early life. He was one of those great men, who have shown by example how much the genius and activity of an individual are capable of accomplishing. He was the reformer of botany, and perhaps the greatest promoter of natural history that ever lived; and so much has never been done for that science, in so short a space of time, as at the period he flourished, and immediately after.

In 1773 the reigning King of Sweden appointed him, in conjunction with others, to make a new translation of the Bible into the Swedish language. In the month of May, 1774, whilst lecturing in the Botanical Garden, he was attacked by apoplexy, the debilitating effects of which obliged him to relinquish the more active parts of his professional duties, and to close his literary career. In 1776 a second apoplectic fit paralysed his right side and impaired his mental powers. Even in this painful and miserable state the study of nature remained his greatest pleasure, and he was constantly carried into his museum to survey the treasures there accumulated. He died January 10, 1778, in the seventy-first year of his age.

On his death a general mourning took place at Upsal. A medal was struck upon the occasion, and a monument erected to his memory in the cathedral church of Upsal. The King of Sweden himself pronounced a panegyric on his distinguished subject before the Royal Academy of Sweden.

Nature was eminently liberal in the endowments of Linnæus’s mind. He had a lively imagination; a correct judgment, guided by the strict laws of system; a most retentive memory; and unremitting industry. He laboured to inspire the great and opulent with a taste for natural history, and he wished particularly that ecclesiastics should have some knowledge of it. He thought such knowledge would sweeten retirement, and that pastors had great opportunities for observing nature. He was decidedly religious himself, and not one of his greater works begins or ends without some passage expressive of admiration for the Supreme Creator.

His strength and weakness alike consisted in a rigid adherence to system. He arranged, according to a system of his own invention, all natural objects, from man down to the simple crystals. The Linnæan school is more fitted to arrange and describe the materials of science than to extend its boundaries. Its pupils have too rigidly adhered to a system, which is ill adapted to our increased sphere of knowledge.

In botany, the merits of Linnæus were transcendent. He found it a chaos, and reduced it to a system, which enabled the student to study it with ease. The great objection to his arrangement, founded on the sexual parts of plants, is, that it is artificial, and has rather retarded the knowledge of a system more philosophical, and in stricter accordance with the rules of nature. The labours of the Jussieus and De Candolle have done much to introduce a better system; but much still is wanting to complete it.

After the death of Linnæus’s only son, in November, 1783, the late eminent botanist, Sir James Smith, purchased his museum of natural history, books, and manuscripts, for 1029l. This collection consisted of nearly everything possessed by the great Linnæus and his son. Sir James Smith directed in his will that these treasures should be offered, after his own death, to the Linnæan Society of London. They were accordingly purchased by that body for 3000 guineas; and are now placed in the Society’s rooms in London.

This memoir is compiled almost entirely from a Life of Linnæus written for the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, and from the article ‘Linnæus,’ in the ‘Biographie Universelle,’ by the late Baron Cuvier.

[Linnæus in his Lapland dress.]

Engraved by W. Holl.

PRIESTLEY.

From a Picture by Gilbert Stewart
in the possession of T. B. Barclay, Esqr. of Liverpool.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

PRIESTLEY.

It was the fortune of this eminent philosopher, in the course of a long, uncompromising advocacy of his own views of truth, to become prominently engaged in controversy on those two great sources of discord, religion and politics. He was grossly maltreated by those who disapproved of his doctrines; and, as the natural consequence, he was regarded with warm, not to say immoderate, admiration by his friends. His opinions, however, were the result of patient inquiry, instituted and pursued, as we believe, with a sincere desire to arrive at truth; and therefore he is entitled to be treated with respect, even by those who think his opinions of pernicious tendency. A good life of such a man can hardly satisfy both friends and enemies. It is, however, as a man of science, not as a party disputant, that Priestley is entitled to a place here; and we shall therefore hold ourselves excused from entering at length into his political or theological controversies.

Joseph Priestley was born at Fieldhead, near Leeds, March 13, 1733, O.S. His father was of middle rank, engaged in the woollen manufactures of the neighbourhood. His mother died while he was still a child: but this loss was alleviated by the kindness of his paternal aunt, who undertook the care of his education from the time that he was nine years old. He underwent some disadvantage, in being shifted about from one tutor to another; but being of a studious turn, he made considerable progress in the study of ancient and modern languages, Asiatic as well as European, of mathematics, metaphysics, and other branches of learning; so that he was found to be unusually well informed, on his admission at the Dissenting Academy at Daventry, in 1752. His father and his aunt were Calvinistic Dissenters, and Priestley was brought up in an unusually strict observance of all the external duties of religion. He acknowledges in his memoirs an obligation to this course of life, as having early given him a serious turn of mind, but without recommending a similar course for general adoption. As was natural, he imbibed the principles of Calvinism; and suffered at one time severe uneasiness, because he could not realize in his mind those feelings which he had been taught to consider as the index of salvation. This we mention, because it shows that his early prepossessions were diametrically opposed to that system of religion to which he ultimately worked his way.

For three years Priestley continued at Daventry, labouring sedulously in studying to qualify himself for the ministry. At the end of that time, he accepted an invitation to become assistant preacher to a dissenting congregation at Needham Market, near Ipswich. His residence there, a period of three years more, was one of considerable want and difficulty. His stipulated salary amounted only to 40l., and was so ill paid, that his receipts generally fell short of 30l.: insomuch that, without occasional assistance, procured from different charities by his friends, he could scarcely have subsisted. This deficiency arose partly from the poverty of the congregation, partly from his own unpopularity. His religious views, which, during his abode at Daventry, had changed to Arianism, did not accord with those of his hearers; and he laboured under an impediment of speech. Yet, notwithstanding these unfavourable circumstances, he says, “I was far from being unhappy at Needham. I firmly believed that a wise Providence was disposing every thing for the best, and I applied with great assiduity to my studies, which were classical, mathematical, and theological. These required but few books. As to experimental philosophy, I had always cultivated an acquaintance with it, but I had not the means of prosecuting it.” The result of his theological studies was a still more decided rejection of the doctrines in which he had been brought up In his own words, “I had become, in consequence of much pains and thought, persuaded of the falsity of the doctrine of atonement, of the inspiration of the authors of the books of scripture as writers, and of all idea of supernatural influence, except for the purpose of miracles. But I was still an Arian, having never turned my attention to the Socinian doctrine, and contenting myself with seeing the absurdity of the Trinitarian system.”

Priestley’s situation was somewhat improved by an invitation to Nantwich, in Cheshire, in 1758. He remained there for three years, engaged in the double duty of preaching and keeping a school; and then accepted an appointment as tutor of languages in the Dissenting Academy newly established at Warrington. Not confining himself to the strict letter of his duties, he composed and delivered lectures on the theory of language, oratory, and criticism; on history in general, and on the history, laws, and constitution of England. It is a remarkable instance of his versatility and activity of mind, that, in addition to this extensive course of study, he undertook to write his History of Electricity, a subject with which he then was little acquainted, and finished it within a year, though in the course of the work he had been led into a large field of original experiments. After a residence of six years, the situation affording him a bare livelihood, he removed to Leeds, and took the charge of Mill Hill Chapel, in September, 1767.

At Leeds, Priestley resided for another period of six years, actively employed in clerical and scientific labours. Here his experiments on fixed air were undertaken, and published. He undertook a History of Discoveries relating to Vision, Light, and Colours, as part of a projected history of all the branches of experimental philosophy; but the sale of this portion was discouraging, and he abandoned the rest of the undertaking. He also published his well-known Chart of History, and wrote an Essay on Government, with other pieces, in addition to a great number of religious pamphlets. These various pursuits, with occasional visits to London, made him well known to literary men; and, by the friendship of Dr. Price, he was recommended to the Earl of Shelburne, as well qualified to fill the station of a literary companion and friend. In consequence, he removed to Calne in Wiltshire, close to that nobleman’s seat, Bowood. Nominally filling the office of librarian, and treated by Lord Shelburne with uniform respect and kindness, he had access to the best society, both at Bowood and in London: he also had the advantage of foreign travel. But at length a coldness grew up on the part of his patron; and at the end of seven years the connection was dissolved. By the terms of his agreement, Dr. Priestley became entitled to an annuity of 150l., which was punctually paid. Each party bore testimony to the honourable conduct of the other. The cause of this estrangement never was avowed; but it is probable that the boldness with which Priestley wrote in support of his peculiar metaphysical and religious doctrines may have displeased Lord Shelburne.

Induced by motives of family connection, Dr. Priestley now took up his residence at Birmingham. Local convenience and the society of various distinguished men, among whom James Watt was pre-eminent, rendered that town peculiarly suitable to his scientific pursuits, which, however, were never suffered to occupy him to the exclusion of theology. He undertook the ministry of a chapel. He revived the Theological Repository, which had been commenced and discontinued at Leeds. He composed and published his History of the Corruptions of Christianity. This work involved him in a well-known controversy with Dr. Horsley, who is commonly said to have owed his bishopric to his exertions in it. Priestley pursued the dispute in a history of early opinions concerning Jesus Christ; and for some time he wrote an annual pamphlet in answer to the attacks on Unitarianism. His intimate friend, Dr. Price, was the most distinguished among his opponents, and their controversy was carried on with eminent decency and candour. It was published in 1778, entitled “A free Discussion of the Doctrines of Materialism and Necessity, in a Correspondence between Dr. Price and Dr. Priestley, &c.” The Socinian tenets of the latter were again advocated in his General History of the Christian Church to the Fall of the Western Empire. These active labours in the field of controversy, backed by his general reputation, caused Priestley to be regarded as the leading person among the Dissenters, a body at that time distrusted by the government, and disliked by a large portion of their fellow-countrymen. The agitation of the repeal of the Test Act increased the prejudice against them, while it gave Priestley a fresh motive for exertion. Loud was the outcry, and bitter the hatred of the “Church and King” party. One of the clergy of Birmingham attacked him from the pulpit. To him and to another he replied in a series of Familiar Letters to the Inhabitants of Birmingham. At length party rage grew so high, that a meeting (at which Priestley was not present) being held by some persons, who looked favourably on the commencement of the French Revolution, July 14, 1791, to celebrate the anniversary of the destruction of the Bastile, the house in which they assembled was attacked by an infuriated mob. Dr. Priestley’s meeting-house and dwelling-house were the next objects of outrage; and the latter, with his valuable library, philosophical apparatus, papers, &c., was destroyed. The houses of several other Dissenters were more or less injured. He recovered a certain compensation for his losses; but the sum awarded, according to his statement, fell two thousand pounds short of their real amount. The liberality of his friends, however, more than made up the pecuniary deficiency. The French testified a warm sense of his ill-usage; and on the meeting of the National Convention, several of the departments invited him to become a member of it. This compliment he wisely declined.

Birmingham was no longer a pleasant, nor even a safe abode for the philosopher. He removed to Hackney, where the congregation of Dr. Price soon invited him to become the successor of his deceased friend. By degrees he replaced his philosophical instruments, and resumed his studies, hoping to finish his life without more removals. But as the French Revolution advanced, and political dissension in England ran higher and higher, his situation grew more unpleasant, and, in his estimation, more dangerous. He found himself shunned at the meetings of the Royal Society, and he ceased to attend them; he was harassed by threats and insults; he believed the violence of the high church party against him to be on the increase; he saw oppressive political prosecutions instituted against others, and thought himself a likely person to be marked for ruin. Above all, he found the evil repute into which he had fallen an effectual bar to the favourable establishment of his sons in England; and when they were gone to seek their fortunes in America, he resolved to follow them. He landed at New York in June, 1794, and shortly after settled at Northumberland, a town about one hundred and thirty miles N. W. of Philadelphia. There rejecting more than one advantageous offer of situations in the University of Philadelphia, he spent the remainder of life, continuing to the last his philosophical and theological studies. The chief fruit of these latter years was his General History of the Christian Church, in four volumes. After a gradual decline of strength, he died, February 6, 1804.

The private character of Priestley was such as to command respect. Modest, benevolent, pious, of studious and retired habits and unimpeached morals, the worst his enemies had to say of him was, that he taught heresy, and was an enemy of the established order of things. His works, not including those on scientific subjects, have recently been edited by Mr. Rutt, in twenty-five volumes 8vo., the first of which contains his own memoirs, illustrated by notes by the editor, and very numerous letters; and a catalogue of his publications in the order in which they appeared. The same memoirs, written by himself, in an unpretending and dispassionate style, and continued down to the author’s death, by his son Joseph Priestley, appeared in 1805, with an appendix, containing notices of his works and opinions. With respect to his philosophical merits, the eloge pronounced on him by Cuvier to the Institute, of which Priestley was an associate, in 1805, will command attention, like every production of its distinguished author.

In the space to which we are restricted, it will be impossible to give an adequate idea of the vast importance of Dr. Priestley’s chemical discoveries: they are justly regarded as forming the basis of our knowledge of pneumatic chemistry, and indeed of the science in general; for upon one of them alone, that of oxygen gas, is founded our acquaintance with the nature of air, earth, and water, and the same discovery has served also to explain the action of fire.

Dr. Priestley’s residence at Leeds was near a brewery; and his first pneumatic experiments were made on the carbonic acid gas, or fixed air, largely generated during fermentation. Gradually pursuing the subject, he examined various other aëriform bodies, and submitted to experiment numerous substances which were convertible into, or capable of yielding, air. These investigations led him to the discovery of new gaseous bodies, both elementary and compound. So little cultivated had been the field in which he commenced his researches, that he was under the necessity of imagining and constructing new instruments, in order to carry them on. To his inventive genius chemistry is indebted for the pneumatic trough, the method of receiving and retaining gases over mercury, and the process of combining and decomposing them by electricity. “The very implements,” Dr. Henry remarks, in his Estimate of the Philosophical Character of Dr. Priestley, “with which he was to work were, for the most part, to be invented; and of the merits of those which he did invent, it is a sufficient proof that they continue in use to this day, with no very important modification. All his contrivances for collecting, transferring, and preserving different kinds of air, and for submitting those airs to the action of solid and liquid substances, were exceedingly simple, beautiful, and effectual. They were chiefly, too, the work of his own hands, or were constructed under his directions by unskilled persons.” Dr. Priestley’s first publication on pneumatic chemistry appeared in 1772; it was called “Directions for impregnating Water with fixed Air,” &c. &c. In this work he proposed the use of a condensing engine for the purpose of causing the water to dissolve a larger quantity of the gas, and thus to prepare artificial mineral waters: this plan, it is well known, is now practised to a great extent. In the Philosophical Transactions for 1772, he announced the discovery that air, which had been vitiated by respiration or the burning of candles, was restored by the vegetation of plants; that air exposed to a mixture of sulphur and iron filings, as had previously been done by Hales, was diminished by about one-fourth or one-fifth in bulk, and that the residual air was lighter than atmospheric air, and noxious to animals. This diminished air he afterwards called phlogisticated air; it is now named azotic, or nitrogen gas. The discovery of this fluid is generally attributed to Dr. Rutherford, who, in his treatise “De Aëre Mephitico,” also published in 1772, mentioned a few of its properties without giving it any name. As Dr. Priestley’s papers were read before the Royal Society so early as in March, it is not improbable that he was the first discoverer of the gas in question. In 1774 appeared the first of three volumes, entitled “Experiments and Observations on different kinds of Air;” and these were followed by three more, entitled “Experiments and Observations relating to various Branches of Natural Philosophy, with a continuation of the Observations on Air:” the last of these was published in 1786. This work contains a series of experiments, unrivalled for their number, novelty, and importance.

Dr. Priestley’s greatest discovery, that of oxygen gas, which he called dephlogisticated air, was made on the 1st of August, 1774, and announced in the Philosophical Transactions for 1775. This gas he first procured from red oxide of mercury, and afterwards from red oxide of lead, and several other substances.

In 1776 Dr. Priestley’s Observations on Respiration were read before the Royal Society. In these he showed that atmospheric air, during inspiration, was diminished in quantity, and deteriorated in quality, by the action of the blood upon it through the blood-vessels of the lungs. He also proved that gases have the power of acting through bladders, and one of his latest papers was on this curious subject: it appeared in the fifth volume of the American Philosophical Transactions, and seems to have been completely overlooked by later experimenters on the same subject. Another of his early and important observations related to the permanent mixture of gases of different densities, in cases in which they do not combine; and he cited this circumstance to account for the perfect mixture of the two gases which form the atmosphere, and which are well known to be of different densities.

In addition to oxygen gas, already mentioned, Dr. Priestley also discovered muriatic acid gas, sulphurous acid gas, fluoric acid gas, nitrous oxide gas, ammoniacal gas, and carbonic oxide gas; but he entirely mistook the nature of the last-mentioned body. He also showed that muriatic acid gas and ammoniacal gas, when mixed, condense into solid sal ammoniac. He must also have obtained chlorine gas, but it escaped his notice, because, being received over mercury, it quickly combined with it. Hydrogen gas and carbonic acid gas were known before his time; but his experiments upon them greatly extended our acquaintance with their properties. Nitrous gas, barely discovered by Dr. Hales, was first investigated by Priestley, and applied by him to eudiometry, a most important branch of chemical science originating with himself.

In 1778, he pursued his experiments on the property of vegetables growing in the light, to renovate impure air, and on the use of vegetation in this part of the economy of nature. Chemistry is also indebted to him for the method of decomposing metallic oxides by means of hydrogen gas, and for noticing that this gas has the property of dissolving iron. He observed also that lime is less soluble in hot than cold water; and that when a solution of lime in cold water is heated, part of the lime is deposited.

In the first volume of his work on air (p. 278), Dr. Priestley has anticipated the idea of Dr. Arnott and Sir J. F. W. Herschel, that electricity, acting on the brain and nerves, may excite muscular action.

Dr. Henry, in the memoir already quoted, has remarked, that facts are to be met with in various parts of Dr. Priestley’s works that might have given him a hint of the law, since unfolded by the sagacity of M. Gay-Lussac, “that gaseous substances combine in definite volumes.” From the same memoir we extract the following observations, in conclusion of this short account of Dr. Priestley’s scientific labours:—“He greatly enlarged our knowledge of the important class of metals, and traced out many of their most interesting relations to oxygen and to acids. He unfolded, and illustrated by simple and beautiful experiments, distinct views of combustion; of the respiration of animals, both of the inferior and higher classes; of the changes produced in organized bodies by putrefaction, and of the causes that accelerate or retard that process; of the importance of azote as the characteristic ingredient of animal substances, observable by the action of dilute nitric acid on muscle and tendon; of the functions and economy of living vegetables; and of the relations and subserviency which exist between the animal and vegetable kingdoms.”

Engraved by Robt. Hart.

ARIOSTO.

From a Print by Raffaelle Morghen.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

ARIOSTO.

Ludovico Ariosto was born at Reggio, near Modena, in September, 1474. From boyhood he showed a turn for versifying, and a distaste for the severer study of the law, to which he was destined. This repugnance triumphed over the wishes of his father, an Officer in the Duke of Ferrara’s service, and obtained license for him to pursue his own inclinations. His father died about the year 1500, leaving a small inheritance, and ten children, of whom Ludovico was the eldest. Thus, the care of the family, and the education and establishment of its younger branches, devolved upon him; and this onerous and important duty he faithfully performed, while to his mother, who survived his other parent many years, he ever manifested a filial affection.

In the midst of his domestic cares he still found time to cultivate literature, and he composed several lyric pieces; among others, a Latin epithalamium on the marriage of Alfonso d’Este, son of the reigning Duke of Ferrara, with the infamous Lucrezia Borgia, daughter of Pope Alexander VI. Ariosto was then but a young man, and probably little acquainted with the political and domestic history of the Borgias; the praises therefore which he bestows on Lucrezia, not merely for her beauty, but for her moral qualities, ought not to be too severely criticised; the same excuse, however, cannot be made for a repetition of the same eulogium in his subsequent great poem, when he must certainly have become acquainted with the contemporary chronicles. But all poets were in that age tainted with court flattery, and Ariosto’s object was to gain the favour of his sovereigns and patrons, the princes of Este. Princely patronage was then absolutely necessary to a literary man who was not himself rich, as there was no reading public upon which to depend. Italy was divided into principalities, and distracted by foreign war and intestine dissensions, and the notice of the courts could alone bestow fame upon an author, and save him from neglect and distress.

These compositions attracted the favourable notice of Cardinal Ippolito d’Este, Alfonso’s younger brother, a man of information and abilities. Upon personal acquaintance, he was pleased with Ariosto’s manners, and received him as one of the gentlemen of his retinue about the year 1503. Ippolito was a busy politician, and deeply concerned in all the intrigues of that most busy period of Italian politics. He soon perceived that Ariosto’s talents might be turned to account, and employed him in various missions, to Florence, Urbino, and other Italian courts; in the course of which the poet became acquainted with many persons of rank and consequence, and especially with Cardinal Giovanni de’ Medici, afterwards Leo X., who took a particular liking to him, and admitted him to his familiar society.

Ariosto was recommended by his first patron, Cardinal Ippolito, to Alfonso d’Este, who succeeded to the ducal crown of Ferrara in 1505; and from that time he enjoyed the confidence of both the brothers.

In 1509, Alfonso joined in the league of Cambray with the Pope, the French, and the Emperor Maximilian, against the Venetians; and Ippolito, who was a soldier as well as a statesman, took the command of his brother’s troops. Ariosto accompanied his master to the field, and was present at the campaign of that year on the banks of the Po. He has described, in the thirty-sixth canto of his Furioso, the atrocities perpetrated by the Sclavonian mercenaries in the Venetian service.

It is not our province to follow the operations of this war, farther than to state, that Ariosto was present in several battles, and employed in two political missions to Pope Julius II. The second time, he was compelled to make a hasty retreat from Rome, as Julius had publicly threatened to have him thrown into the Tiber. In 1513, Leo X. succeeded to the Papal throne. Ariosto soon after repaired to Rome to congratulate the new Pope. Leo received him as an old and intimate acquaintance. “He stooped graciously from his holy chair towards me, took me by the hand, and saluted me on both the cheeks. From that moment my credulous hopes were raised to the unknown regions of heaven.” In short, Ariosto now thought his fortune was made. But he had not sufficient patience; he soon grew tired of waiting at Rome without receiving any more substantial proofs of Leo’s benevolence, and, too independent to be importunate at levees and audiences, he turned his back upon all his prospects from that quarter. Having returned to Ferrara, he applied himself with renewed earnestness to his favourite studies. He had long since formed the plan of a great poem on the subject of the wars of Charlemagne against the Saracens, a traditional theme derived from the fabulous chronicle of Turpin, in which some truth was intermixed with a mass of exaggerations, anachronisms, and wondrous tales of paladins, knights-errant, and giants, the offspring of older traditions of Welch or Armorican invention. (See Warton’s “History of English Poetry,” Ellis’s “Specimens of early English Metrical Romances,” etc.) Many French, Spanish, and Italian ballad and romance writers had treated this fanciful theme, each adding something to the common stock of the marvellous from his own imagination. In Italy, three poets of considerable genius, Pulci, Boiardo, and Bello, had composed long poems on the subject, in which the celebrated Orlando or Roland, figured as the great champion of Christendom. Boiardo, departing from his predecessors, gave a new interest to his poem by making Orlando fall in love with Angelica, a Pagan or Saracen (the two are often taken as synonymous in all these romances) princess, of supernatural beauty, and possessed of magical powers, who had come from the farthest Asia to Charlemagne’s camp for the express purpose of exciting the jealousy of the Christian leaders, and thus, by spreading dissension among them, rendering them unable to cope successfully with the infidels. Boiardo did not complete his poem, which he called “Orlando Innamorato;” and he left off the story of Angelica, where Charlemagne, weary of the discord which raged in his camp since Angelica’s appearance, gives her in charge to Namo, one of his squires, until such time as he shall have decided upon the rival claims of Rinaldo and Orlando, his two bravest paladins, to her hand. It is from this point that Ariosto took up the thread of his story, and in consonance with the proverb that from love to madness there is but one step, he determined to make Orlando run mad with jealousy, on discovering that Angelica had eloped with a young and handsome, but obscure squire, of the name of Medoro, for whom she forgets all the objects of her journey to the west, and despises the sighs of Orlando and the other renowned paladins of Charlemagne’s court. Ariosto styled his poem “Orlando Furioso,” and he wrote it at first in forty cantos, which he afterwards increased to forty-six. Orlando’s madness runs through the greater part of the poem, until he is restored to reason by his cousin Astolpho, who brings back his wits in a phial from the moon. Meantime the principal action of the poem, namely, the war between Charlemagne and the Saracens, continues throughout, and ends with the final expulsion of the Moors from France, and the death of their great champion Rodomonte, whose death, like that of Turnus in the Æneid, closes the poem. But it would be idle to look for the unity and the consecutiveness of epic action, as some critics have done, in a poem which is not an epic. There are many actions in the Furioso, all skilfully interwoven together, and making in the end an harmonious whole; but during their progress, the reader finds himself often lost as in a labyrinth, and perplexed how to recover the thread of his recollections. And yet the beauties of description, the fine touches of character and feeling, are so many, that we wander on delighted, as pilgrims who have strayed into an enchanted world, and then gaze, and wonder, and idle along, thoughtless of the end or purport of their journey.

Ariosto was employed for ten years about his poem, from his first beginning to the completion of it in forty cantos. It was printed at his own expense, at Ferrara, in April, 1516, by Mazocco del Bondeno, in one volume quarto. He sold one hundred copies of this first edition to the bookseller, Gigli, for twenty-eight scudi, being at the rate of about fifteen pence a copy, on condition that the bookseller should not sell the copies for more than twenty pence each. This edition is now extremely rare.

Ariosto hastened to present a copy to Cardinal Ippolito, to whom there is an affectionate dedication in the third stanza of the first canto, besides several other passages throughout the work which are highly laudatory of him, of his brother Alfonso, and of the house of Este in general. The Cardinal, after perusing the poem, seems to have been puzzled about the meaning and purpose of it, and he is said to have asked the author “Where in the devil’s name he had picked up so many absurdities?” But whether this story be true or not, it is certain that Ippolito did not relish the work, and that Ariosto gained by it no additional favour with him. Cardinal Ippolito was a busy worldly man; his mind was anything but poetical, his tastes and pursuits were matter of fact; his abilities—and he had abilities—were in a different line, and he told Ariosto that “he would have been better pleased, if, instead of praising him in idle verse, he had exerted himself more earnestly in his service.” This remark we have from Ariosto himself, in his second satire. Much declamation has been wasted on the Cardinal for his want of taste, and for what has been called his ungenerous conduct towards the great poet. But a want of taste for poetry is no ground for moral censure; and if the Cardinal thought no better of Ariosto for exerting a talent which he could not appreciate, at least it does not appear that he esteemed him the less. He retained him in his service as before, until the end of 1517, when being on the point of setting off for his diocese of Gran in Hungary, of which he was Archbishop, he requested Ariosto to follow him; but Ariosto excused himself on the plea of his delicate health and the rudeness of the Hungarian climate. His brother Alessandro, however, accompanied the Cardinal. Ippolito was certainly displeased at Ariosto’s refusal, but he did not stop his pension in consequence of it. It was not until a year or two after that the small pension of twenty-five scudi every four months, of which Ariosto speaks, was stopped, during the Cardinal’s absence; and it is stated by Barotti, in his life of Ariosto, that this took place in consequence of the Duke’s abolishing a local tax, on the produce of which Ariosto’s pension was assigned. Besides this pension, Ariosto enjoyed one-third of the fees paid to the Notarial Chancery for every deed registered, which brought him about one hundred scudi per annum. This he did not lose after the Cardinal’s departure. He seems to have enjoyed some other perquisites, which were, of course, the fruits of his connection with the princes of Este. He was not rich, but, at the same time, he was not in distress. Although he sometimes indulges in outbreakings of poetical querulousness in his satires, which are the best authority for his biography, yet, in the very midst of these, we find expressions of sincere regard and grateful affection for both the Cardinal and the Duke, for Ariosto was a right-hearted man.

After the Cardinal’s death, which happened in 1520, Ariosto was taken by Duke Alfonso into his own service, as one of his gentlemen attendants. The duties of this office, we are told by the poet himself, were merely nominal, and left him ample leisure to pursue his favourite studies. Yet the Duke was very fond of his company, and willingly granted those favours which he requested for himself or his friends. (See Ariosto’s Seventh Satire.) From the general character of Ariosto, however, we may conclude that he was not an indiscreet or importunate petitioner. In 1521, he published a second edition of his great poem, with many corrections, but still in forty cantos only: this edition is as scarce as the first. As he expressed a wish to be more actively employed, Alfonso, in 1522, appointed him Governor of the province of Garfagnana, bordering on the Modenese territory, and situated on the western slope of the Apennines, on the side of Lucca. This country had just been restored to the house of Este, after having been for years occupied by the Florentines and the Pope. The people were divided into factions, which openly defied the law. Ariosto humorously describes in his fifth satire the difficulties of his new office. He remained about three years at Castelnuovo, the chief town of this mountain district, and seems to have succeeded by his firm, yet liberal and conciliatory conduct, in restoring order among that turbulent and rude population, who showed him marked proofs of esteem on several occasions. In 1523, the Duke’s secretary, Pistofilo, wrote to offer him the appointment of ambassador to the new Pope, Clement VII.; but Ariosto declined the honour, saying, that he had already had enough of Rome and the Medici, alluding to his disappointment which he had experienced from Leo X. In 1524, he returned from his government to Ferrara, which he does not seem to have ever quitted afterwards. He had there long before formed an attachment to a lady, whose name he has carefully concealed; and this appears, from his own hints, to have been an additional reason, on several occasions above mentioned, for his not wishing to remove far from Ferrara. By this lady he had a son, Virginio, whom he legitimated by a regular act done before Cardinal Campeggio, in April, 1530. Virginio was then twenty-one years of age. The deed still exists in the archives of the house of Ariosti. In it the Christian name alone of Virginio’s mother, Orsolina, is mentioned, and she is qualified as a spinster; but her family name and rank are left out, honestatis causâ, as it is there stated. This Virginio took orders, and became afterwards a canon of the Cathedral of Ferrara. Ariosto had another natural son, Giovanbattista, who rose to the rank of captain in the Duke’s service.

After his return from Garfagnana, Ariosto recast some comedies which he had composed in youth, and wrote others, making in all five comedies in blank verse, which pleased the Duke so much upon perusal that he resolved on having them performed, and for this purpose had a theatre constructed in a wing of the ducal palace. No pains or expense were spared to add to the splendour of the representation, which the Duke and his court attended. These plays are modelled upon Plautus and Terence; the unities are preserved, and the plot is made to turn upon the shifts and stratagems of dissipated and needy young men, aided by base domestics or panders, to deceive their parents, or the parents or guardians of their mistresses. And, like the contemporary comedies of Bibbiena and Machiavelli (co-founders with Ariosto of Italian comedy,) they are stained by frequent indecency of allusion and language.

In the division of his father’s scanty property, Ludovico had for his share the house at Ferrara, which stands, or stood till lately, in the street of Santa Maria di Bocche, and on the door of which was seen the marble escutcheon of the Ariosti. He purchased, in 1526, a small house of a person of the name of Pistoja, near the street Mirasole. He afterwards bought several adjoining lots of ground, and built himself a commodious house, which he surrounded by a garden and trees. This is still seen in the street Mirasole, with an inscription to commemorate its former inmate. There he spent, in studious and pleasant retirement, the latter years of his life, continuing to enjoy the favour of Duke Alfonso, and of his son Prince Ercole d’Este, afterwards Duke Hercules II., to whom he gave instruction in literature.

In October, 1532, Ariosto, after sixteen years passed, since its first publication, in the continual and almost daily revision of his great poem, published a third edition in forty-six cantos, which, notwithstanding some misprints, has remained the legitimate text of the Orlando Furioso. This was the last edition which he published himself. The six additional cantos are the 33d, 37th, 39th, 42d, 44th, and 45th; and in the others, stanzas are added or altered from time to time. Soon after Ariosto had thus completed his work, he fell ill of a painful internal complaint, which, after several months of lingering sufferings, terminated in death, June 6, 1533. He was then in his fifty-ninth year. He was buried privately in the church of San Benedetto, near his house, and his funeral was attended by the monks, who volunteered to pay this honour to his remains. Forty years later, the church having been rebuilt, a monument was raised to him on the right of the great altar by Agostino Mosti of Ferrara, who in his youth had studied under Ariosto, to which the poet’s bones were transferred with great ceremony. In 1612, Ludovico Ariosto, the poet’s grand-nephew, raised another monument, more splendid than the first, and placed it in the chapel to the left of the great altar; and thither Ariosto’s remains underwent removal for the second time. They were then left in peace for nearly two centuries, until the French took possession of the country at the beginning of the present century, when they removed the monument (we believe the last of the two, though we cannot positively say) to the Lyceum or University; where Ariosto’s chair and his ink-stand are also preserved, as well as the autographs of the Furioso. In the convent of San Benedetto is a painting, representing paradise, by Garofalo, who had known Ariosto personally, in which the poet is seen between St. Catherine and St. Sebastian.

Virginio Ariosto left several curious memoranda of his father’s habits, which are given by Barotti. He was tall, of a robust and naturally healthy frame, and a good pedestrian. One summer’s morning he strayed out of Carpi, near Reggio, where he then resided, in his morning gown and slippers, to take a walk. Being absent in thought, he had gone more than half way to Ferrara before he recollected himself; and then continued his route, and arrived at Ferrara in the evening, having walked a distance of at least forty miles. He was generally frugal, and not choice in his meals, though at times he ate much and hurriedly, because, his son says, he was not then thinking of what he was doing, being busy in his mind about his verses or about his plans for building. One day a visiter appeared just after he had dined. While they were conversing, the servant brought up dinner for the stranger; and, as the latter was engaged in talking, Ariosto fell on the viands laid on the table, and ate all himself, the guest of course not presuming to interrupt him. After the visiter was gone, Ariosto’s brother remonstrated with him on his inhospitable behaviour, when the poet, coming to himself, exclaimed, “Well, it is his fault, after all; why did he not begin to eat his dinner at once?”

The Italians have bestowed on Ariosto the epithet of “the Divine,” and they also call him “the Homer of Ferrara.”

The character of Ariosto may be easily gathered from this brief sketch of his life. He was trustworthy, loyal, and sincere, free from envy or jealousy, and a warm friend; he was fond of meditation and retirement, often absent and absorbed in thought, and yet he could be very pleasant and jovial in company. He was not a great reader, and he selected the Latin classics in preference to other authors. He studied men and nature more than books. Of Greek he acquired some knowledge late in life. He was very fond of architecture, and regretted that his means did not permit him to satisfy his passion for building. He also took pleasure in gardening, but he was too absent and impatient to prosper in that occupation. His character, by his own confession, was stained by licentious amours: and his works are tainted by impure passages, which render them unfit for indiscriminate perusal. Still this is the fault of detached passages, not of the general spirit or object of his compositions; and if judged in comparison with his contemporaries, he will not be severely censured as an immoral writer.

Ariosto’s great poem, the Orlando Furioso, is too generally known to require a long discussion of its merits. It is by universal consent the first of all poems of chivalry and romance. It is a wonderful creation of man’s imaginative powers, extending far beyond the limits of the natural world. But the poet in his wildest flights takes care not to fall into too palpable extravagance or absurdity. He has the art of endowing the creatures of his fancy with features and attributes apparently so appropriate to their supposed nature, as to remove from his readers the feeling of the improbability of their existence. There are also other merits in the poem besides those of imagination and description. There is often a vein of moral allusion half concealed within Ariosto’s fanciful strains, the evidence of a mind deeply acquainted with the mysteries of the human heart, fully alive to the beauty of virtue, and imbued with sound notions of moral philosophy. At other times he tries to cast off his pensive mood and to appear careless and satirical, and he succeeds in exciting laughter at men’s follies and even vices; a laughter which we doubt whether the writer felt in his own heart. In his satire, however, although rather broad and licentious, he was not bitter or misanthropical. His is the humour of a good-tempered poco curante, who has no intention to break with mankind on account of its faults, and who wishes to make the best of the present world, such as it is. His touches of the pathetic, though not many, are exquisite of their kind: we will only mention, as instances, the story of Ginevra, that of Zerbino and Isabella, and the death of Brandimarte. His acquaintance with history, geography, and other sciences, was respectable, considering the time he lived in. His language is generally natural and flowing, and the justness and clearness of his expressions render the perusal of his poem of great use even to prose writers. Galileo used to say that he had formed his style chiefly by assiduous study of the Furioso. Ariosto has been accused of using trivial expressions, borrowed from popular use rather than from books. Many of these, however, have been since adopted by the best Italian writers. Several of his lines certainly are harsh and inharmonious, but it is not improbable that this was intentional, for the sake of expression, or to give variety to the sound of his verse, as it is well known that Ariosto was not a negligent writer; he corrected and recorrected his poem with the greatest care, and his apparent facility is the result of much study and labour. It is said that he altered not less than twenty times the 142d stanza of the eighteenth canto, in which he describes the beginning of a storm at sea, before he fixed on the text as it how stands.

After the three editions of the Furioso superintended by Ariosto himself, numerous editions appeared in various parts of Italy during the sixteenth century, all however more or less incorrect, and some of them—for instance, the one of 1556, by Ruscelli—deliberately mutilated or interpolated, either by editorial presumption, or through scruples of morality. The Aldine edition of 1545 is one of the best of that age; it is also the first that contains five additional cantos, which are the beginning of a new chivalric poem, left in MS. by the author, and given by his son Virginio to Antonio Manuzio. The edition of 1584, by Franceschi of Venice, is rich in comments and illustrations, but the text is often incorrect. The editions of the seventeenth century are all likewise imperfect. The edition of Orlandini, 2 vols. folio, Venice, 1731, contains all the works of Ariosto, with three biographies by Pigna, Fornari, and Garofalo, and several comments and illustrations. The learned Barotti of Ferrara brought out an edition of all Ariosto’s works, Venice, 6 vols. 12mo., 1766, in which he restored in many places the original reading, and added a life of Ariosto, which is still considered the best extant. The Birmingham edition of the Furioso, 4 vols. 4to., with plates, some of which are by Bartolozzi, is remarkably handsome, and one of the most correct. But the best text of the Furioso is that of the edition of Pirotta, Milan, 1818, in 4to., in which the editor, Morali, has succeeded in faithfully restoring the original text of Ariosto’s last edition of 1532, which has been since adopted by Molini in his edition, Florence, 2 vols. 12mo., 1823, by the Padua edition of 1827 in 4to., and by other later Italian editors. Ciardetti has published all the works of Ariosto, Florence, 8 vols. large 8vo., 1823–4.

The Orlando Furioso has been translated into most European languages. Of the English translations, Harrington’s is spirited, but far from faithful; it is in reality rather an imitation than a translation. That by T. H. Croker, 1755, has the merit of being faithful and literal, stanza for stanza. The recent translation by Mr. S. Rose is considered the best.

The Satires of Ariosto are seven in number; they are addressed to his brothers and other friends. As the author did not intend them for publication in his lifetime, he expressed himself freely in them, and related many curious particulars of his history. They were first published in 1534, and have been often reprinted, both separately and with the rest of his works. They have been twice translated into English, by Robert Toft in 1608, and by Croker in 1759. Ariosto is one of the best Italian satirists. He has followed the Horatian model; he corrects without too much bitterness or scurrility. He reprobates the vices of his age and country, and they were many and great. He speaks of popes, princes, and cardinals, of the learned and the unlearned, of clergymen and laymen, of nobles and plebeians, with great freedom, but without violence or exaggeration, and in language generally, though not always, decorous. Ariosto’s satires deserve to be more generally read than they are, both as a mirror of the times, and as a model of that species of composition which, from the pens of ill-tempered or vulgar men, has too often assumed a tone of malignancy and licentiousness equally remote from justice and truth.

Besides the Orlando Furioso, his comedies, and his satires, Ariosto left some minor works, in Italian and in Latin verse, such as epigrams, canzoni, sonnets, capitoli in terza rima, and other lyrics; and a curious Latin eclogue, which long remained inedited, composed in 1506, on the occasion of a conspiracy against the life of Duke Alfonso by his two brothers, Ferrante and Giulio. He also wrote a dialogue in Italian prose, called “l’Erboleto,” on medicine and philosophy. We have no other works of his in prose, except one or two letters; his correspondence, which probably was extensive, has never been collected.

The number of commentators, critics, and biographers of Ariosto is very great: a complete collection of them would form a considerable library. Some of the best have been mentioned in this sketch. We must add Baruffaldi, junior, who wrote a life of Ariosto, Ferrara, 1807, and Count Mazzuchelli, who has given a good biography of him in his “Scrittori d’Italia.”

[House of Ariosto at Ferrara.]

MARLBOROUGH.

John Churchill, first Duke of Marlborough, was born at Ashe in Devonshire, the seat of his maternal grandfather, Sir John Drake, June 24, 1650. His father, Sir Winston Churchill, was a man of some literary repute, a zealous royalist, and in good esteem at the court of Charles II., to which John Churchill was introduced at the early age of twelve. He soon became one of the Duke of York’s pages; gained that prince’s favour, and was presented with a commission in the guards. In 1672, he held the rank of Captain in the English troops which served as auxiliaries to France under the Duke of Monmouth; and he was so fortunate as to gain the good opinion of Turenne, and to be honoured with the public thanks of Louis XIV. for his gallant conduct at the siege of Maestricht. On his return to England, he was again attached to the Duke of York’s household. He married Miss Sarah Jennings in 1681; and was created a peer of Scotland in 1682, and a peer of England soon after the Duke’s accession to the throne, by the title of Baron Churchill of Sandridge in Hertfordshire. In this early part of his life he prudently abstained from active interference in politics. Gratitude and present interest combined to render him averse to thwart the wishes or policy of his master: political foresight and attachment to the established church warned him not to co-operate in the King’s imprudent measures. He does not appear to have been embarrassed by an over-generous and enthusiastic temper; and therefore, whether or no he was of those who invited William of Orange to England, he had the less difficulty, on the landing of that prince, in making up his mind to the painful task of abandoning a kind master and a falling cause. But, in doing so, he was guilty of no treachery. Entrusted with the command of 6000 men, he carried over no troops, and betrayed no post; but quietly withdrew with a few fellow-officers from King James’s camp.

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.

MARLBOROUGH.

From the Picture by G. Kneller
in the Collection of the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

Soon after the Revolution, Lord Churchill was sworn into the Privy Council, and created Earl of Marlborough. He commanded the British contingent in the Netherlands in 1689, and had a large share in gaining the battle fought at Walcourt, August 25. In the two following years he served in Ireland and on the Continent, with the high approbation of King William. But his prosperity was suddenly checked by an abrupt dismissal from all his offices. This was soon followed by his committal to the Tower for high treason; but the falsity of this charge, the profligate contrivance of an obscure criminal, was soon shown. The cause of his dismissal from office is not clearly ascertained: it has been assigned to his advocacy of the interests of the Princess Anne; to his remonstrances against the undue favour shown by William towards his Dutch followers; to the detection of a clandestine correspondence with James II. It is at least certain that such a correspondence existed, and that it is a deep stain upon the honesty of Marlborough’s character; whether we suppose him to have been earnest in the wish to bring back the Stuarts, or merely to have sought an opportunity for grace, if the political changes of that eventful period had restored the exiled family to the throne.

Marlborough continued in disgrace until after the death of Queen Mary, which produced a reconciliation between the King and the Princess. In 1698, he was recalled to the Privy Council, and appointed Governor to the presumptive heir to the crown, the young Duke of Gloucester. From that time to the King’s death, he continued, ostensibly at least, in favour, though not employed in any military capacity; and one of the King’s last acts was to recommend him to Anne, as the fittest person to command her armies. This was not necessary to secure her favour. The Countess of Marlborough had long been endeared to her by the ties of a much closer and more familiar friendship than usually exists between a sovereign and a subject; and the Earl had stood in opposition to the court in support of her interests, and had been disgraced, as many believed, on that account. Accordingly, one of the Queen’s first acts was to confer on him the order of the Garter, and to nominate him Captain-general of the forces, at home and abroad. He was mainly instrumental in inducing the new government to confirm the alliances made by the late King for prosecuting the war of the Spanish succession; was sent ambassador to Holland, and finally invested with the command of the allied army. We can only give a summary of the operations of each campaign in that war, in which Europe was delivered from the fear of France. The first, in 1702, was eminently successful, though the general was much hampered by the interference of the Dutch deputies who attended the army. The strong fortresses which line the Meuse, from Venloo to Liege, were wrested from France. The Queen expressed her gratitude for this auspicious beginning by conferring on Marlborough a dukedom, and a pension of 5000l.: the two houses of Parliament voted their thanks. The following year was distinguished by no decisive events, chiefly owing to the difficulty of getting the Dutch to act with cordiality or concert: the conquests of the preceding campaign, however, were confirmed and extended. The memorable campaign of 1704 was remarkable for the boldness, political as well as military, of its conception, and the secrecy of its execution. The successes of the French in Germany having reduced the Emperor almost to despair, it became Marlborough’s first object to prevent the total ruin of that monarch, and the consequent dissolution of the confederacy. To this end, without communicating his real views either to the States or to the English ministry, he obtained their sanction for opening the next year’s operations on the Moselle; and passing that river, led his troops on to the Danube, and effected a junction with the imperial generals, the Margrave of Baden and Prince Eugene, almost before his real design was known at home, or even to the enemy. The first fruit of this was the battle of Schellenberg, near Donawerth, on the Danube, where the Elector of Bavaria’s lines were forced, and his army beaten. The French, under Marshal Tallard, advanced to the support of their ally; and, with the Bavarians, took up a strong position near Hochstet, their right flank resting on the village of Blenheim, and being covered by the Danube. The British and allied troops, commanded by Marlborough and Eugene, amounted to about 52,000 men; the enemy were rather more numerous, and very strongly posted. To engage was dangerous; but the circumstances of the campaign rendered it necessary; and, against the advice of several officers and the expectation of the French, the attack was made on the morning of August 7. After a bloody battle, the French position was carried, and their army utterly disorganized or destroyed. By this victory the whole Electorate of Bavaria fell into the hands of the Imperialists; and the French were driven to repass the Rhine. The allies followed them, and besieged and took the strong fortress of Landau, while the Duke, by hasty marches, led a detachment to the Moselle, and secured the city of Treves and the fortified town of Traerbach. To this expedition he attached great importance. “I reckon,” he said, “the campaign well over, since the winter quarters are settled on the Moselle, which I think will give France as much uneasiness as anything that has been done this summer.” In this single campaign, the Emperor was relieved from the fear of being besieged in his capital; Germany freed from the pressure of war; and the troops established in those quarters which afforded the best prospect of opening the next campaign to advantage. And, above all, the charm of a long series of victories, the fancied invincibility of the French, was effectually destroyed.

Every mark of gratitude which a nation can pay was bestowed on the Duke of Marlborough. To perpetuate the memory of his services, the royal manor of Woodstock was granted to him and to his heirs; and, in addition to this, in testimony of her own affection and respect, the Queen gave orders for erecting, at her own expense, the splendid pile of Blenheim.

The advantages which Marlborough hoped to derive from his position on the Moselle were entirely lost, through the inactivity of the German confederates. As if aware that this would be the case, the French concentrated their exertions to recover their losses in the Netherlands; and they succeeded so far, that the Dutch sent pressing messages to Marlborough to return to their help. He did so, and soon restored the superiority of the allies in that quarter. But his success was attended with mortification, for the German general left to act on the defensive on the Moselle abandoned his trust, and retired, having burnt the magazines collected on that river; and thus effectually frustrated that scheme of invasion from the Moselle, to which Marlborough had attached so much importance. To guard against invasion from the Netherlands, the French had drawn strong lines across the country, from the Scheldt to the Meuse, from Antwerp to Namur, behind which Marshal Villeroi took post on Marlborough’s junction with the Dutch army. These lines, which had been three years in forming, at a vast expense, were attacked and penetrated almost without resistance or loss. This success, if properly followed up, would have thrown all Brabant into Marlborough’s hands; he was continually embarrassed by the jealousy or supineness of the Dutch generals. Once, at the passage of the Dyle, and again nearly on the field of Waterloo, he was prevented from engaging, when he considered himself certain of victory. By these disappointments, the Duke was severely mortified. Whether from fear that the States, if affronted, would readily conclude a separate peace, or from whatever cause, the misbehaviour of the Dutch officers and deputies was endured by the English Government and General with singular patience. On this occasion, Marlborough’s remonstrances, public and private, though very guarded, procured the removal of those whose conduct had been most offensive. In the course of this autumn the Emperor Joseph created Marlborough a prince of the empire, and conferred on him the principality of Mindelheim.

Disgusted by the vexatious contradiction to which he had been exposed in the past year, Marlborough earnestly desired to march an army into Italy, and to co-operate with Prince Eugene in driving the French beyond the Alps; and he was empowered by the British cabinet to take this step. But he was unable to procure troops for the purpose either from the Dutch or from the German princes; and he relinquished his intention the more willingly on account of some unexpected successes of the French on the Rhine. Marlborough opened the campaign of 1706 with a demonstration against Namur. Marshal Villeroi received positive orders to risk a battle for the safety of the place, and was anxious to fight before a reinforcement of Danish and Hanoverian troops could join the allies. The two armies met, in nearly equal numbers, near the village of Ramillies, May 23; and the French army received a signal overthrow, which led to the immediate submission of all Brabant. Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent, and the other chief towns of the province, opened their gates, and with expressions of joy acknowledged Charles of Austria as their legitimate sovereign, and the rightful heir to the Spanish crown. The siege of Ostend was the next military operation; and that important place, celebrated for its desperate resistance to the Spaniards in the preceding century, yielded in a few days. The strong towns of Menin, Dendermond, and Ath also submitted before the end of the campaign.

The following year was fruitful in intrigues at home, and remarkable for the decline of the Duchess of Marlborough’s favour with Queen Anne: the military operations were barren of incident or of interest. The campaign of 1708 opened with a reverse of fortune. Disgusted by the overbearing conduct of the Dutch, some of the most important places which had surrendered to the allies in the preceding year entered into negotiations to recall the French. Antwerp and Brussels were saved by a timely discovery of the plot. Ghent and Bruges passed over to the enemy, who prosecuted their success by forming the siege of Oudenard; but the rapid march of Marlborough compelled them to abandon this design, and brought on another battle, July 11, in which victory again rested with the allies. The next operation was to undertake the siege of Lille, one of the strongest fortresses of France, where the attempt was considered so impracticable, that it became the subject of general ridicule. It proved successful, however, in spite of the presence of a superior army, commanded by the Dukes of Vendôme and Berwick. The prosecution of the attack was committed to Prince Eugene, while Marlborough remained at the head of the covering army, which he manœuvred so ably, that the enemy never found opportunity to venture a battle for the relief of Lille. Marshal Boufflers, the governor, surrendered the town October 23, after a gallant resistance of two months, and retired into the citadel, which he maintained till December 9. Even at that late period of the season Ghent was besieged, and soon submitted. Bruges followed its example. “Thus terminated this extraordinary campaign, perhaps one of the most scientific occurring in the annals of military history. From the commencement to the close, the confederates had to struggle against a force far superior in numbers; to attack an army posted in a position considered as impregnable; to besiege a place of the first magnitude at the very moment when they were themselves in a manner invested; to open and maintain their communications in spite of innumerable obstacles, both of nature and art; and, finally, to reduce, in the depth of winter, two fortresses, defended by garrisons which in other circumstances would have been considered as forming an army of no common magnitude.”[4]

4.  Coxe. Life of Marlborough.

Discouraged by these reverses, Louis commenced a negotiation for peace; but the terms demanded by the allies were too hard, and with the return of spring both parties took the field with larger forces than had yet been brought together. Tournay, a place of formidable strength, but half garrisoned and half provided, soon yielded to the arms of the allies. The siege of Mons was next formed. No effort had been spared by the French to concentrate their forces against their most formidable enemy; and they took the field with an army not inferior to that of the allies. Villars, the most enterprising and successful of the French marshals, commanded in chief, and the gallant veteran, Marshal Boufflers, volunteered to serve under Villars, though his junior. A crowd of generals of minor note, yet well known in the wars of the age, filled the subordinate commands; and the household troops, the Swiss and Irish brigades, with others, the flower of the French army, were collected in the camp. Not less imposing was the army on the other side, commanded by Marlborough and Eugene, assisted by a train of princes and generals. Numerically, the two armies seem to have been about equal; and both were supported by formidable parks of artillery. The spirit of the French soldiers was high, and Villars undertook to save Mons, at the hazard of a general engagement, which took place September 11, near the village of Malplaquet, a few miles south of the besieged town. Villars had spared no trouble to fortify a post naturally strong; and it was defended with desperate valour. The attack was commenced by the Dutch on the right of the enemy’s line, and by Prince Eugene on the left. Little progress was made on these points, during an obstinate conflict of four hours; but the centre of the French line was weakened by the demands for reinforcements to the wings, and the crisis of the battle at length arrived in a successful attack made upon the centre. Boufflers made a desperate attempt with his cavalry, whom he led repeatedly to the charge, to retrieve the fortune of the day, but the progress of the allies was irresistible. He saw his right wing dislodged, his centre broken, and at length was compelled to order a retreat, which he conducted in a masterly manner, and without loss. All the generals signalised their courage in the hottest of the strife. Villars was severely wounded, and carried fainting off the field, so that the command devolved on Boufflers. Eugene was hurt, but refused to quit the field. Marlborough and Boufflers escaped almost by miracle. The generals were devotedly served by their officers and troops; and the list of casualties presents an unusual number of names of the highest ranks. The official returns of the confederates show a loss of 18,250 men; that of the French was probably considerably less. Villars asserted that it did not amount to 6000, and that the loss of the allies was 35,000. In his anxiety for the honour of his troops, the Marshal said too much; for if their loss was comparatively so small, they ought never to have been beaten. Nevertheless, there was some semblance of truth in his gasconade, that such another victory would destroy the enemy; nor were the results commensurate in importance with the loss of men. Mons was taken, and the campaign concluded.

After placing his troops in winter quarters, the Duke, according to his usual practice, repaired to London. He found his favour on the decline, and the Whig ministry greatly shaken; and after undergoing many vexations, and having been on the point of resigning his command, he was glad to hasten his return to Holland. The most important events of the campaign of 1710 were the capture of Douay, followed by that of the smaller fortresses of St. Venant and Aire. The triple line of fortresses, which protected France on the side of the Netherlands, was nearly broken through by these successes, and the capture of Arras would have opened the way to Paris; but the skilful conduct of Villars rendered it impossible to besiege that town, and checked the progress of Marlborough, without risking a battle. In the course of the summer the long-projected change of ministry was completed, and Marlborough, still retaining the command, was forced to act in concert with his bitter enemies. His correspondence strongly portrays the mortification which he felt, and his evil auguries as to the event of the war.

Villars spent the winter in completing a new series of lines, extending from Namur to the coast near Boulogne, by which he hoped to defend the interior of France; and, confident in their strength, he boasted that he had brought Marlborough to his ne plus ultra. To get within these lines was the British general’s first object; and, by a long and deep-laid series of masterly manœuvres, he fairly outwitted his antagonist, and passed the works which had cost such labour, without a shot being fired. This enabled him to take Bouchain, the last operation of the campaign. Marlborough’s ruin was now determined. He was deprived of his employments in the beginning of 1712, and the utmost virulence of party spirit was let loose against him. England therefore became uneasy to him, and he went abroad in the November following. He returned in August, 1714, and landed at Dover, just after the Queen’s death. On the accession of George I. he was treated with respect, and reinstated in his offices of Captain-general and Master of the Ordnance; but he was not admitted to take a leading part in the measures of government. In May, 1716, he was struck by palsy; but he recovered the possession of his bodily and mental powers, and continued to attend Parliament and discharge the regular duties of his office. He tendered his resignation, but the King, out of respect, declined to accept it. From henceforward, however, we consider his public life as at an end. He died of a fresh attack of palsy, June 16, 1722, in the 72d year of his age.

It will be observed that we have taken no notice of Marlborough’s conduct as a negotiator and a statesman, though for a time he was the master-spring which regulated, with princely power, the operations of half Europe. Our apology for this must be found in the length of this memoir: to have entered upon that still more complicated part of the subject would have doubled it. And if we have omitted to discuss the various heavy charges made against Marlborough’s character, it is not that we believe or wish to represent him as a faultless hero, but that in such a memoir as this it is fairer, and to better purpose, to set forward the exceeding value of the services which he rendered to his country, than to expose his failings in a prominent light. And we believe those charges for which there was any ground to have been greatly exaggerated by party spirit.

The private character of Marlborough was adorned by many virtues, but lessened by some weaknesses which laid him very open to the venomed ridicule of his enemies; we allude to his avarice, and his deference for his busy and imperious wife. He was prudent, clearsighted, and not deceived nor led away by his passions; faithful to his domestic, and diligent in the performance of his religious, duties. In the field he was humane, sedulous to promote the comfort of his soldiers, and especially anxious, after battles, to minister all possible help and relief to the wounded. He was zealous in enforcing respect to the observances of religion, and in endeavouring to raise the moral character of his troops. “His camp,” says a biographer who had served in it, “resembled a great, well-governed city. Cursing and swearing were seldom heard among the officers; a sot and a drunkard was the object of scorn; and the poor soldiers, many of them the refuse and dregs of the nation, became, at the close of one or two campaigns, tractable, civil, sensible, and clean, and had an air and spirit above the vulgar.”

The Duchess of Marlborough collected ample materials for her husband’s life, and committed the task of writing it first to Glover, then to Mallet. Neither of them, however, executed the commission. Ledyard, who served under the Duke, published a life of him (from which the above quotation is taken), in three volumes 8vo., in 1736. The latest and the most important is that of Mr. Coxe. The materials for the Duke’s military history are abundant, but scattered: they will be found indicated and referred to in Coxe. His political history will be found in the histories of the times; and the literature of the age—the works of Burnet, Swift, Bolingbroke, and others—contain abundant references to the public and private actions of this great man.

[Blenheim House.]

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.

ABBÉ DE L’EPÉE.

From the original by Desine in the possession of the
Abbé Salvan, at Paris.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall East.

DE L’EPÉE.

Among those persons who possess the highest claim to the gratitude of mankind, that of having devoted their lives, without a selfish motive, to the alleviation of human misery, the Abbé de l’Epée claims a high and honourable place. Time, as is usual in cases of real excellence, has established on a sure basis merits which were at first slowly acknowledged. Unknown, and unappreciated, this good man lived for many years in obscurity; and, worse than this, he had to endure intolerance and persecution during the greater part of his beneficent career. There exists no memoir worthy of his exalted character. The brilliant genius of Bouilly has glanced upon his virtues and his talents; the eulogy of Bébian (himself a living and a worthy successor in the art of teaching the deaf and dumb) has shed additional lustre on a fame already bright; but still we have much to desire. Our glimpses of the good Abbé in his public capacity, and in the retirement which he loved and courted, only present us with a faint outline of his character,—an outline, however, which is sufficiently distinct to show that the finished picture would have been surpassingly beautiful.

Charles Michel de l’Epée was born at Versailles, in November, 1712. His father was the king’s architect, a man of distinguished talents and enlightened piety. He devoted himself to the instruction of his children, and taught them from their earliest years to moderate their desires, to fear God, and to love their neighbour. Under such a guide, the docile heart of young De l’Epée imbibed its first feelings of virtue. The thought of evil was as displeasing as evil itself to his pure mind, so strictly had he been trained in the love of things “honest, just, pure, lovely, and of good report.” It is said that when, at an advanced age, he looked back upon his long career, he did not remember to have had more than one trial to sustain; and the humility which adorned his life led him to consider virtue which had been thus acquired without effort as possessing no merit. The piety which directed all his actions, and the obedience to the precepts of the gospel which regulated his will, seemed peculiarly to fit him for the service of the altar. To this service his early wishes tended, and his parents, who at first resisted, at length complied with his requests.

He received an education to fit him for the church, but at the commencement of his career he had to encounter difficulties and opposition. When he presented himself for admission into the priesthood, probably as a deacon, according to the established practice of the diocese of Paris, he was required to sign a formulary of faith. As he was a Jansenist, and as the form prescribed was contrary to his principles, he refused to avow by his hand what his conscience disapproved. Notwithstanding this, he was admitted to the rank of deacon, but was at the same time told never to pretend to holy orders. This humble station in the ministry was too humiliating for even this lowly-minded man. His breast glowed with ardent charity towards mankind which he longed to put into practice, but which could find no fit sphere for action in his humble office at the foot of the altar. The intolerance of those ecclesiastics who stood in the way of his preferment in the church, obliged him to direct his attention to the bar, to which his parents had at first destined him; he passed through the course of prescribed studies, and took the customary oath. In the practice of the law De l’Epée could find no pleasure. Its scenes of violence, cunning, and cupidity, its hatreds, divisions, chicanery and fury, too deeply affected his mild and tranquil spirit. All his wishes were directed to the service of the altar; his only desire was to be a minister of the gospel of peace, and at last he was successful.

A nephew of the learned and liberal Bossuet, who seems to have emulated his uncle in piety and liberality, was at this period the bishop of Troyes. This good man loved to call around him ecclesiastics of strict piety. Through his means M. de l’Epée was regained to the church; he was ordained to the sacred office, and received a canonry in the cathedral of Troyes. He now devoted himself to the preaching of the gospel; and he knew how to render pleasing by his example those precepts which penetrated the hearts of his hearers. Love towards our neighbour was his predominant theme, and his efforts produced abundant fruits. His happiness was not of long duration. M. de Bossuet died, and Providence had decreed new trials for M. de l’Epée. About this time M. de Soanen was persecuted for holding the religious principles of the Jansenists; and his friend M. de l’Epée, who held the same opinions as this virtuous prelate, was included in the same interdiction. Never was there a devotion less offensive, or a creed more tolerant than that professed by this worthy man. His eulogist says of him, “He spoke rarely to persons of a different opinion of the objects of their faith. When he was led into such subjects, his discussions never degenerated into disputes, he had the talent of keeping them within the boundary of those agreeable conversations where confidence reigns.”

Circumstances apparently accidental, which will be related, led M. de l’Epée to devote himself to the wants of the deaf and dumb. In earlier times some learned individuals had bestowed some attention upon the means of educating this unfortunate class of mankind, but they had done this philosophically rather than practically. One of the first of these experimenters was Pedro de Ponce, a Benedictine monk of Leon, who lived between the years 1520 and 1584. Paul Bonet, also a Spaniard, taught several deaf and dumb persons, and published the first known work on the subject in 1620. A relation of his success has been left us from the pen of Sir Kenelm Digby. Bonet’s work was accompanied by a manual alphabet, from which the one now used on the Continents of Europe and America was derived. In England, John Bulwer published his “Philocophus, or the Deaf and Dumb Man’s Friend,” in the year 1648. In 1653 Dr. Wallis appeared as an author on the same subject; he was succeeded by Dr. Holder, George Sibscota, and George Dalgarno. The latter published his “Didascalocophus, or Deaf and Dumb Man’s Tutor,” in 1680. During the same period the attention of several individuals in various parts of Europe was directed to a similar object; the most distinguished of whom was John Conrad Amman, a Swiss physician, who resided at Leyden.

It is not our province here to describe the various methods pointed out by these scientific philanthropists; we have mentioned their labours merely with the view of showing that the art was not altogether unknown to the learned of various countries previous to the time of the Abbé de l’Epée. France was the last to commence this labour of science and charity. It has, however, good cause to be proud of its successful efforts in the great work. It has produced a De l’Epée, a Sicard, a Bébian, and a De Gerando, all energetic labourers in the same vineyard. Its disinterested beneficence in our own days has done enough to perpetuate its name above all nations, in the hearts of those for whom its exertions have been called forth.

The following incident directed M. de l’Epée’s attention to the great work which became the leading object of his life. It is said by M. Bébian that up to this period he possessed no knowledge of the attempts previously made for the instruction of the deaf, and we shall presently give the Abbé’s own account of the first works on the art which came under his notice. Business took him one day to a house where he found only two young women; they were occupied in needlework which seemed to engross all their attention. He addressed himself to them; they did not answer, their eyes continued fixed upon their work. He questioned them again, and still obtained no answer. At this he was much surprised; being ignorant that the two sisters were deaf and dumb. The mother arrived soon after, and explained to him with tears the nature of their infirmity, and of her sorrow. An ecclesiastic, named Vanin, had commenced the education of these young persons by means of pictures. Death having taken away from them this charitable man they remained without further assistance, no person being willing to continue a task so difficult, and apparently so uncertain in its results. “Believing,” says M. de l’Epée, “that these two children would live and die in ignorance of their religion, if I did not attempt some means of instructing them, I was touched with compassion, and told the mother that she might send them daily to my house, and that I would do whatever I might find possible for them.”

The pictures of Father Vanin he found to be a feeble and unsatisfactory resource; the apparent successes obtained by means of articulation had not solidity enough to seduce his philosophical mind. But he had not forgotten that, at the age of sixteen, in a conversation with his tutor, who was an excellent metaphysician, the latter had proved to him this incontestable principle:—that there is no more natural connexion between metaphysical ideas, and the articulated sounds which strike the ear, than between these same ideas, and the written characters which strike the eye. He also recollected that his tutor drew this immediate conclusion from his premises,—that it was as possible to instruct the deaf and dumb by writing, always accompanied by visible signs, as to teach other men by words delivered orally, along with gestures indicative of their signification. “How little did I then think,” says M. de l’Epée, “that Providence was thus laying the foundation of the work for which I was destined!” From that period he devoted himself exclusively to the work which he had commenced, and while some people smiled at his endeavours, he found in his occupation his chief happiness. A respectable minister, after being present at one of his lessons, said to him, “I formerly pitied you, I now pity you no longer; you are restoring to society and to religion beings who have been strangers to both.” The sanguine temperament and zeal of M. de l’Epée led him into some errors, particularly that very pardonable one of supposing his pupils to understand more than they really did understand. His report of their rapid advancement, as compared with the actual practice of modern times, shows this; but with a less active mind, and with less zeal, he would never have succeeded in awakening the public feeling to the important object of his life, and he would never have overcome the opposition of other teachers, and of minds less generous than his own.

“One day,” says M. de l’Epée, “a stranger came to our public lesson, and offering me a Spanish book, he said that it would be a real service to the owner if I would purchase it. I answered, that as I did not understand the language it would be totally useless to me: but opening it casually, what should I see but the manual alphabet of the Spaniards neatly executed in copper-plate! I wanted no further inducement; I paid the messenger his demand, and kept the book. I then became impatient for the conclusion of the lesson; and what was my surprise when I found this title, Arte para enseñar à hablar los Mudos! I had little difficulty to guess that this signified The Art of teaching the Dumb to speak, and I immediately resolved to acquire the Spanish language for the benefit of my pupils.”

Soon after meeting with this work of Bonet, he heard of Amman’s Dissertatio de loquelâ Surdorum et Mutorum, in the library of a friend. Conducted by the light of these two excellent guides, De l’Epée continued his task with a success which quite satisfied himself.

It will be well, in the present Memoir, to touch but lightly upon the disputes which agitated the learned in France and Germany when the partial success of the Abbé de l’Epée became generally known. We cannot but give praise to the Abbé for the openness and candour with which he made known his experience and his views; and if his arguments to prove the superior excellence of his own method appear unsatisfactory and inconclusive to the enlarged experience of the present day, such arguments ought to be viewed as those of a zealous-minded teacher of an art yet in the first stages of its infancy. Had his antagonist M. Heinich, the Leipsic teacher, been as communicative respecting his plans as his liberal opponent, good might have resulted from this learned warfare; as it was, to the satisfaction of almost everybody, the Abbé de l’Epée was left master of the field, and received compliments from all quarters, among which should be especially noted the “Decision” of the Academy of Zurich in his favour.

The chief fault in the system of the Abbé de l’Epée seems to have consisted in its being the philosophy of the master, not sufficiently lowered to the comprehension of the pupil; a common error for master-minds to fall into. The pupil might mechanically translate methodical signs into language, without knowing the ideas intended to be conveyed by such signs and by such language. Has not this always been a fault among the instructors of youth? Our school books of the present day contain sufficient evidence of this failing. Before the time of Pestalozzi it was scarcely dreamed of, that the teacher should exchange places with the learner; that he should suffer himself to be led by his pupil to a certain point, in order that he might commence his superstructure on the foundation already formed; that he should ascertain the manner in which infantine impressions are received, and become acquainted with the bent and genius of his pupil, to enable him to determine upon the best mode of rendering his lessons beneficial, so as to correct that which is erroneous, and develop that which is hidden. This is the “true method of instructing the deaf and dumb,” and not less the true method of instructing children gifted with all their faculties. If the good Abbé committed only that error, which was common in his generation, and which is still too common in ours; if he taught words instead of ideas—what did he less than others? This is the great fault in all our seminaries of learning.

The number of children under the care of the Abbé de l’Epée was very considerable. We read in one part of his writings of six hundred and eight pupils having been at various times under instruction, and this was written several years before he closed his career of usefulness. Again we read of upwards of sixty pupils being under his care at one time. All this was performed for the poor, unassisted by any pecuniary aid except his own patrimony. It is stated that the income which the Abbé de l’Epée inherited from his father amounted to about 400l. sterling; of this sum he allowed about 100l. per annum for his own expenses, and he considered the remainder as the inheritance of his adopted children,—the indigent deaf and dumb,—to whose use it was faithfully applied. “The rich,” says he, “only come to my house by tolerance; it is not to them that I devote myself, it is to the poor; but for these I should never have undertaken the education of the deaf and dumb.” There was no kind of privation which he did not impose on himself for the sake of his pupils. In order to supply their wants he limited his own. So strictly did he adhere to the appropriation which he had made of his income, that in the rigorous winter of 1788, when suffering under the infirmities of age, he denied himself fuel, in order not to intrench upon the moderate sum to which he confined his annual expenditure. All the remonstrances of his friends on this point were fruitless. His housekeeper having observed his rigid restriction, and doubtless imputing it to its real motive, led into his apartment his forty pupils, who conjured him to preserve himself for their sakes. He yielded, not without difficulty, to their persuasions, but afterwards reproached himself for this concession. Having exceeded his ordinary expenditure by about 300 livres (about 12l.), he would afterwards exclaim in the midst of his pupils, “My poor children, I have wronged you of a hundred crowns!”

With that liberality which ever characterizes the true friend of mankind, the good Abbé formed preceptors for many institutions. Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Spain, Holland, and many other countries participated in the benefits which were being conferred on the deaf-mutes of Paris.

It is worthy of remark that two of the most eminent European sovereigns of that day encouraged the labours of the Abbé de l’Epée—Catherine II., Empress of Russia, and Joseph II., Emperor of Germany. In 1780 the ambassador of Catherine waited upon the Abbé to congratulate him in her name, and to offer him rich presents from that Empress, who knew well how to appreciate all that was truly great. “My lord,” said the Abbé, “ I never receive gold; tell her majesty, that if my labours have appeared to her to claim her esteem, all that I ask is that she will send me a deaf and dumb person, or a master to be instructed in this art of teaching.” The Emperor Joseph bestowed a still more flattering notice upon these labours. After witnessing the success of the Abbé de l’Epée, he resolved to found in his own dominions an institution so necessary to the wants of his subjects. During two hours and a half, the qualifications attainable by the deaf and dumb, when their powers have been properly developed, were attentively regarded by the Emperor, who had in his thoughts a young lady of high birth at Vienna in this deplorable state, whose parents wished to give her a Christian education. On being consulted as to the measures to be taken for this end, the Abbé offered either to educate the young lady gratuitously, if she were brought to Paris; or to instruct any intelligent person, who might be sent to him, in the method to be pursued. The Emperor accepted the latter proposal, as it opened the prospect of permanent relief for others of his subjects who might be in the same affecting circumstances. On his return to Vienna, he addressed a highly flattering letter to M. de l’Epée by the Abbé Storch, the person whom he selected for introducing the education of deaf-mutes into his dominions. The Abbé Storch is spoken of by the Abbé de l’Epée as “filled with the purest sacerdotal spirit, and amply endowed with every talent his mission could require.” A royal institution for deaf-mutes was founded at Vienna, which was the first national establishment ever erected for the deaf and dumb.

A subject of painful and anxious interest occupied the thoughts of the Abbé de l’Epée during his declining years. He had solicited from government an endowment to perpetuate his institution after his own death, but he obtained only promises. However, he knew that his art would exist in Vienna if it should be forgotten at Paris, and this gave him some consolation. When the Emperor Joseph visited his institution he expressed his astonishment, that a man so deserving had not obtained at least an abbey, whose revenues he might apply to the wants of the deaf and dumb. He offered to ask one for him, or even to give him one in his own dominions. “I am already old,” said M. de l’Epée: “if your majesty wishes well to the deaf and dumb, it is not on my head, already bending to the tomb, that the benefit must fall, it is on the work itself.”

M. de l’Epée found, however, some feeling hearts in France. Many masters, taught by him, carried the fruits of his instructions into different cities in that kingdom, as well as into foreign countries. At Bordeaux an establishment had been formed by the archbishop, M. de Cicé, which owed its celebrity to its instructor, the Abbé Sicard, a young priest who had been sent to learn the theory and the practice of the method employed by the illustrious teacher at Paris. It is said by De Gerando, that “the pupil soon became acquainted with his master’s views, and seized them with enthusiasm.” He was eminently calculated to see their value. Gifted with a vivid and fertile imagination, he had a singular ability in clothing abstract notions in sensible forms; he had a particular talent for that pantomime which is the proper language of the deaf-mute, and which the Abbé de l’Epée had proposed to carry to a high degree of developement in his system of methodic signs: endowed with an enterprising and flexible mind, he would search for and discover new and various modes of expressing and explaining ideas and precepts. He appeared to possess a kind of natural talent for communicating with deaf-mutes.

This was the man who was destined to succeed M. de l’Epée. His talents and his virtues proved him to be worthy of receiving that inheritance of glory and of beneficence. His successes filled his master with joy, who, in the overflowing of his hopes, said to him one day, “Mon ami, j’ai trouvé le verre, c’est à vous d’en faire les lunettes.” A testimony as honourable to the modesty of the one, as to the talent of the other. Sicard was in full possession of his master’s ideas; amply has he developed and extended them by his own clear and analytical mind.

If the Abbé de l’Epée was not the first inventor of a system for teaching the deaf and dumb, he was the first who benefited society by any extensive application of the discovery. We hesitate not to assert that he was an inventor of great merit, particularly as regards those details which made the discovery of service to those for whose instruction it was designed. Previous to his time, it had been discussed rather as a possible, than as an extensively practicable, art; and the few persons who had been previously instructed must be viewed more as the results of experiments to test philosophical principles, than as pupils regularly and systematically taught.

The Abbé de l’Epée died December 23, 1789. The Abbé Fauchet, preacher to the king, pronounced his funeral oration; but next to his mute eulogists in all countries, M. de Bébian and M. Bouilly have been the means of making known his fame and his merits to the world. From their writings much of the present Memoir is derived. M. de Seine, a deaf-mute pupil of the Abbé de l’Epée, wrote the following distich to be placed under the bust of his benevolent teacher:—

“Il révèle à la fois secrets merveilleux,

De parler par les mains, d’entendre par les yeux.”

COLBERT.

Jean Baptiste Colbert was born at Rheims, August 29, 1619. His relations, both on the father’s and on the mother’s side, were connected with the civil service of the state. This facilitated his entrance into public life, and may have been the means of directing his mind to the study of statistics, and of the causes of national wealth and greatness: for to these abstruse pursuits it appears that he devoted his attention from an early age. He entered into the service of the Secretary of State, Tellier, in 1648. Tellier introduced him to the prime minister, Mazarin, who exercised the authority of a regent during the minority of Louis XIV.; and having gained the esteem of Mazarin, to whose interests he remained firmly attached during the stormy period of the Fronde, he was rewarded, on the minister’s final triumph over his enemies, by an entire confidence, and an abundant share of lucrative, honourable, and important employment. Mazarin died in 1661, and on his death-bed recommended Colbert to his master in these strong terms:—“I owe every thing to you, Sire; but in presenting Colbert to you, I regard my debt as in some sort acquitted.”

Engraved by W. Holl.

COLBERT.

From the original by P. Mignard
in the Collection of the Institute at Paris.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

Colbert, in his daily intercourse with the minister, had many opportunities for explaining and exposing to his youthful master the malversations and abuses practised in all matters connected with the revenue. Louis, therefore, was already prepossessed in his favour, and at once appointed him Intendant of Finance. But Fouquet, the chief minister of that department, interfered both with Colbert’s hopes of promotion, and his power of introducing any beneficial reforms. Fouquet was a patron of art and learning, of generous temper, and agreeable manners; but he was a corrupt and lavish financier, and his unbounded expenses were defrayed from the public purse. To attempt reform under such a superior was hopeless; and to declare open hostility was dangerous: avoiding both these perils, Colbert made it his business privately to open the eyes of Louis to the frauds practised on the government. In this he succeeded. Fouquet was displaced in 1661, and Colbert succeeded to his functions, with the new title of Comptroller General of Finance. His conduct in this affair did not escape censure, and the epithet of traitor was liberally bestowed upon him by the friends of Fouquet. It is clear that Colbert was right in bringing to justice the frauds of his predecessor; and it is easier to expose continued, than to give proof of foregone abuses. But, in such cases as this, concealment and duplicity are separated by a very uncertain boundary; and while we hesitate, in the absence of minute information, to stigmatize with treachery this high-minded and unbending man, we must confess that his character would have been spared some obloquy, if his hostility to the rival whom he supplanted had been more open.

In 1669, Colbert, in addition to his other offices, assumed the functions of Secretary of State and Minister of Marine; but from the year 1670 his influence declined, in proportion as his rival Louvois obtained a greater ascendency over the king’s mind. He died, September 6, 1683, unregretted by the king, who owed the means of his greatness to him; and lampooned and hated by the people, for whose relief he had done more, both by the correction of abuses, and by opening new sources of national wealth, than any French minister either before or since.

To estimate his services properly, it must not be forgotten that, since the time of Sully, no minister had seriously endeavoured to lighten the public burdens, to reform the system of taxation, or to introduce order and economy into the public expenditure; and the good which Sully had done was neglected or undone in the long administrations of Richelieu and Mazarin. When Colbert came into office, all was in confusion: taxes were levied without system; money spent without thought how to meet the expenditure; new taxes imposed and farmed to collectors, as new wants for money occurred; until disorder reached such a height, that as the nominal taxes were increased, the money paid into the treasury diminished. The whole was a system of shifts, temporising, and corruption, in which every public servant felt the insecurity of his position, and made the most of his opportunities while they lasted. The first business of the new Comptroller General was to introduce strict order into every department of the revenue, and to render every subordinate officer duly responsible. Under the pernicious system which exempted the nobility from payment of direct taxes, a great number of persons had fraudulently assumed titles, and claimed rank, while another class had obtained immunity from taxation, by the prostitution of court-favour, or the abuse of official privileges. These cases Colbert caused to be investigated, and those who failed in making out a legal claim to immunity, were compelled to pay their share of the public burdens, to the relief of the labouring classes, on whom nearly the whole weight of taxation fell. A more extensive relief was afforded by modifying and diminishing the existing imposts; which was done with so much judgment, that the revenue was improved, in consequence of the stimulus thus given to industry. Colbert abolished most of the provincial tolls, which offered a continual temptation to fraud, and a constant hinderance to internal trade: he mitigated the taille, which pressed most heavily upon the poor cultivators of the soil: he improved the means of transport, by altering old roads, cutting new ones, and digging canals, especially the celebrated Canal of Languedoc, connecting the Mediterranean and Atlantic. By these facilities of communication the interests of agriculture and trade were alike promoted: but to the improvement of the latter, to render France a manufacturing nation, and to increase her commercial resources in every respect, the minister’s attention was particularly directed. The silk trade of Lyons; the cloth trade of Abbeville, Elbœuf, and Louviers; the celebrated Parisian manufactories of plate-glass and tapestry, with other sources of wealth, owed their commencement or their extension to his care. To tempt capital and talent into these new employments, Colbert advanced sums of money without interest; he granted exemptions, honorary distinctions, and even letters of nobility. By another regulation, which shows a mind advanced beyond the prejudices of his day, liberty was granted to the nobility to enter into commerce, and for a time to lay down their rank; with the power of resuming it, when the purpose of their temporary industry had been answered. Thus far the valuable services, and the enlightened views of the minister, will be acknowledged by all; but when it is added that the infant manufactures of France were propped by prohibitory laws, minute regulations, and protecting duties, the agreement ceases; and the two great parties which respectively support and oppose free trade, will judge him in accordance to their opinions on this important subject. So also with respect to another great question, the free or limited exportation of corn. M. Necker, in his ‘Eloge de Colbert,’ has argued strongly in favour of the course which the minister pursued, of opening and shutting the ports by royal edict, as the exigencies of the season seemed to require; and his authority is entitled to respect, from those who hesitate to admit the soundness of his arguments on this subject. But whatever judgment be passed on Colbert’s policy touching these questions, it should not be forgotten, in estimating his character, that at the time, political economy had no existence as a science, and that he had to think out for himself the principles which conduct nations to wealth and happiness. What wonder then if old prejudices did sometimes stand in his way, or if he deviated from the straight line to his object, where there was no track to guide him?

A similar difference of opinion may exist upon another of Colbert’s measures,—the establishment of trading companies to the East and West Indies, and to Africa, with exclusive privileges. Here again his policy has had an able advocate in M. Necker. Under Colbert’s administration, the colonial possessions of France were extended; fisheries were encouraged; a new trade was opened with the North of Europe, and a fresh impulse given to that with the Levant; while the depredations of the Mediterranean pirates were repressed by arms, the only arguments to which they have ever listened. The effect of his sedulous attention to the springs of national wealth, is shortly shown in the comparison given in the ‘Biographie Universelle,’ of the state of the revenue at the epochs of Colbert’s accession to office, and of his death. At the former, there was a debt of 52 millions of livres, and a revenue of 89 millions; at the latter, a debt of 32 millions, while the revenue was increased to 115 millions: at the former, the disposable revenue was only 32 millions; at the latter, it amounted to 83; yet the oppressive taille had been reduced in the interval from 53 millions to 35. And it is to be remembered, that the operations of the financier were not assisted by an economical and peaceful monarch: on the contrary, vast sums were lavished in courtly pomp, and a series of wars was carried on with vigour and eminent success.

As Minister of Marine, he displayed his usual ability. He raised the French Fleet from insignificance to hold the second rank in Europe; and gave scope for the talents of Duquesne, Forbin, Jean Bart, and other eminent naval men, to display themselves.

Strict in his attention to economy, Colbert never showed a niggardly disregard to the arts and sciences, which furnish our best and most intellectual pleasures, and offer the purest incentives for men to labour in amassing national or individual wealth. France, under his administration, saw a profuse expenditure in works of public splendour or utility; and Paris owes to him a large portion of the magnificence which it now boasts. The Quays, the Boulevards, the Palace of the Tuileries, the Hotel des Invalides, &c., were improved or constructed under his care; and the splendid colonnade of the Louvre was designed and executed by Perrault, a native artist, in preference to the Italian, Bernini. Colbert was anxious to persuade the king to complete the Louvre in preference to wasting money on the sandy plains of Versailles. “Your Majesty knows,” he said, “that in the absence of dazzling actions nothing so strongly indicates greatness of mind in princes as splendour in building. While you have spent immense sums in Versailles, you have neglected the Louvre, which is the grandest palace in the world, and the one most worthy of your Majesty.” Nor was he careless of more homely improvements; for the paving, lighting, and watching of the capital were remodelled, and taken under the charge of government.

To literary and scientific merit, Colbert was a liberal and active patron. At his instance Louis XIV. granted pensions to the most distinguished savans of Europe, as well foreigners as Frenchmen; and though the amount of the gratifications thus conferred was not large, it was sufficient to make the praises of ‘Le Grand Monarque,’ as of a second Augustus, ring through Europe. Under his auspices were founded the Académie des Inscriptions, and the Académie des Sciences; the Academies of Painting and Sculpture, and the School of Rome, whither the most promising pupils of the Parisian Academies were sent to complete their studies. The King’s Library, and the Jardin des Plantes, were extended; the Observatory of Paris was founded; and the celebrated astronomers, Cassini and Huygens, were invited thither.

Such is the outline of Colbert’s ministerial life. He accomplished much; but the will of an opinionated master, and the jealousy of his ministerial colleagues, especially the celebrated Louvois, compelled him to leave much undone, which he would gladly have done, and to undo, before his death, some of the good which he had done. His plans were deranged by long and expensive wars; and he was obliged to reimpose taxes which he had taken off, and to yield to abuses which he had at first successfully resisted. The good which he had done was then forgotten. He would have escaped much unpopularity by resigning office as soon as his views were thwarted, and his principles laid aside; but if he acted from a desire to serve his country by doing for her the best which was permitted, and mitigating evils which he could not prevent, he had his reward in the solitude of his closet for the ingratitude of the public. Yet it is a severe trial for one who has laboured zealously for his countrymen, to exchange their admiration for their hatred; and that not because he has himself changed, but because the change of circumstances has crippled his powers. That courtiers and nobles should have disliked and persecuted Colbert is no wonder; but it was hard that he, who had lent his whole mind to the relief of the productive classes, should have incurred the hate of the people to such a degree, that from a fear of outrage to his remains, his funeral was celebrated by night, and under military escort. The readiness with which his services were forgotten may be ascribed, in part, to his disposition and manners, which were cold and unconciliating. The king said of him, that in spite of his long residence at court, he had always preserved the air and manner of a bourgeois; and his piercing eye, his stern and frowning brow, were calculated to assist the natural austerity of his temper, and to exact obedience, not to inspire good-will.

The ‘Vies des Hommes Illustres de France,’ by D’Auvigny, is said to contain a good life of Colbert. The materials of this account are principally derived from the Eloge of M. Necker, (which obtained the prize of the Académie Française in 1775,) and partly from the Biographie Universelle.

[Interior of the Libraire du Roi, formerly Libraire du Panthéon.]

WASHINGTON.

George Washington was born in February, 1732, on the banks of the river Potomac, in Virginia. His father dying when he was ten years old, he received a plain but useful education at the hands of his mother. He soon manifested a serious and contemplative disposition, and, in his thirteenth year, drew up a code of regulations for his own guidance, in which the germs are visible of those high principles which regulated his conduct in mature life. As a boy, he conceived a liking for the naval service, but, being dissuaded from this, he qualified himself for the occupation of a land-surveyor; and, at the age of eighteen, obtained, through his relation Lord Fairfax, the office of Surveyor of the Western District of Virginia. This introduced him to the notice of Governor Dinwiddie, and in the following year he was appointed one of the Adjutant-Generals of Virginia, with the duty of training the militia.

Engraved by W. Humphreys.

WASHINGTON.

From a Picture by Gilbert Stewart
in the possession of T. B. Barclay, Esqr. of Liverpool.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

The boundaries of the British and French possessions in America were at that time subjects of dispute. In 1753, Washington was sent on a mission to the French settlement on the Ohio, which he executed successfully; and, on his return, published a journal of his route, which attracted much notice. In the following year he was less fortunate, being taken prisoner with his party, while in command of an expedition against the French. Being allowed to return home, he withdrew from the service and went to reside at Mount Vernon, an estate which descended to him on the death of an elder brother. In 1755, he accepted the rank of Aide-de-camp to General Braddock, and was present at the surprise of the British in the woods near the Monongahela, where his coolness, courage, and knowledge of Indian warfare, chiefly contributed to the preservation of a handful of the troops. He escaped unhurt, but had three horses killed under him, and his dress was four times pierced with rifle-balls. Having gained much credit by his conduct on this occasion, Washington was next employed to defend the western frontier against the incursions of the French and Indians. He concluded this harassing service at the end of four years, by reducing Fort du Quesne, and driving the French beyond the Ohio, and then resigned his commission.

After his return to Mount Vernon, in 1759, Washington married; and during the next fourteen years, his time was divided between his duties as a member of the Colonial Assembly, and agricultural pursuits, in which he took great interest. The disputes which preceded the Revolution again drew him from private life. He maintained that the Americans were entitled to all the rights of British subjects, and could not be taxed by a legislature in which they were not represented; and he recommended that, on the failure of peaceful and constitutional resistance, recourse should be had to arms. In 1774, the command of the troops raised by Virginia was given to him; and in 1775, he represented that State in the Convention held at Philadelphia. When the war began, Washington was chosen Commander-in-Chief of the American Army, an office which he accepted without remuneration, saying, that emolument would not have tempted him to forego the pleasures of private life, and that he should only require to have his expenses reimbursed. His private letters have since proved, that his object, at that time, was not to procure separation from England; but his alacrity in entering into the contest, and his constancy throughout its continuance, refute the insinuation, only countenanced by certain forged letters, that he was not hearty in the cause of independence.

About fourteen thousand people were at this time collected around Boston, where General Gage was held in a state of siege. Washington reached the insurgent camp in July, 1775, and proceeded to give to the assembled multitude the form and discipline of a regular force. His next endeavours were to extend the period for which men enlisting were obliged to serve, and to ensure the maintenance of the troops by appointing a Commissary-General to collect supplies, instead of depending for them on the voluntary and uncertain contributions of the several States. Neither of these wishes was complied with, and the want of every requisite obliged Washington to change the siege into a blockade, until the following March, when, having obtained artillery and engineers, he forced the English to give up the town and embark on board their fleet. His conduct during this siege is admirable, both for the resolution with which he maintained the blockade with an inferior army composed of untried men, and the patience with which he endured the reproaches of the people, to whom the real difficulties of his situation, with respect to arms and ammunition, could not be disclosed. He also established the principle, that captured Americans should be treated as prisoners of war.

In April, 1776, Washington anticipated the British in occupying New York, and the adjacent islands. Before the arrival of Lord Howe, in July, independence was proclaimed; and the American general refused to negotiate unless acknowledged as the functionary of an independent government, saying, that America, being her own mistress, and having committed no fault, needed no pardon. A severe defeat on Long Island, and subsequent losses, compelled him to abandon the State of New York to the English, to retreat with great loss through New Jersey, and to take shelter behind the Delaware, near Philadelphia. He showed much skill in preventing the British from taking advantage of these reverses, which he sought to repair by surprising their posts at Trenton and Princetown, in Jersey, where he made many hundred prisoners. These successes were well timed, and revived the broken spirit of the country. In 1777, Washington applied to Congress for more extensive powers, which were granted him, with the title of Dictator, by which he was empowered to act on his own responsibility in all military affairs. But he was not supplied with the means of acting effectually; and the campaign of that year was one of misfortunes, the Americans being defeated at Brandywine, and forced to yield Philadelphia to the English. During the winter months Washington occupied a fortified camp at Valley Forge, and his army, ill-supplied with ammunition and provisions, was daily in danger of being destroyed by hunger or the enemy. He freely expressed his opinion to Congress of their misconduct, and his remarks occasioned a faction which desired to displace him from his command, and to substitute General Gates; but this was never seriously attempted. The campaign of 1778 was favourable to Washington; he recovered Philadelphia, and following Clinton in his retreat through New Jersey, brought him to action at Monmouth. The issue of this engagement gave new confidence to the people, and completely restored him to the good will of Congress. During the years 1779 and 1780, the war was actively carried on in the South, and Carolina and Virginia were reduced by the British. In the autumn of 1780, Major André, who had been sent by Clinton to concert with Arnold measures for betraying the post at West Point, was seized within the American lines, and tried and hanged as a spy. Whatever were the merits or misfortunes of the British officer, the duty of Washington was too plain to be mistaken, and the obloquy he incurred in its performance was undeserved.

Washington had throughout contended that the country could only be delivered by raising a permanent army, and consolidating the union of the States, so as to form a vigorous government. Five years’ experience had taught Congress the inefficiency of temporary armies, and they resolved to form a permanent one with a system of half-pay and pensions, as an inducement to enter the service. But as the government of each State was empowered to levy its own taxes, and conduct all the measures for carrying this resolve into effect, such delay was occasioned, that although Count Rochambeau arrived from France in August, 1780, with an auxiliary force of five thousand men, the American army could not actively co-operate with him during that year. The temporizing policy pursued by the States had severely tried the constancy of Washington, but did not lead him to despair of final success. The army, suffering extreme want, was kept in the field chiefly by attachment to his person. Attentive to alleviate their hardships, he did not permit any disorderly license; and although early in 1781 he allowed Congress to pacify the revolted troops, he, on a second occasion, shortly after, forcibly compelled the mutineers to submit, and summarily tried and executed many of them.

The pecuniary aid of France, and increased activity of the American Government, enabled Washington to resume offensive measures in the summer of 1781. Earl Cornwallis, then in Virginia, and but feebly opposed by La Fayette, sent a part of his army to strengthen Clinton in New York. Shortly after, De Grasse arrived off the coast of Virginia with a French fleet. Washington took advantage of this conjuncture to transfer the war to the South. Deceiving Clinton as to his real design, he marched rapidly through New Jersey and Maryland, and, embarking his army on the Chesapeake, effected a junction at Williamsburgh with La Fayette. By the combined operation of their forces, assisted by the fleet under De Grasse, Lord Cornwallis was compelled to surrender at York Town, with his whole force, October 19, after a siege of thirteen days. This event decided the war; but Washington remained watchful to preserve the advantages gained, and to provide for future contingencies, until 1783, when a general peace was concluded.

Washington then prepared to resume his station as a private citizen. The army had become disaffected towards the States, and appeared not unwilling to subvert the freedom of their country, if the general had sought his own aggrandizement. But he nobly rejected all such schemes, and persuaded the soldiers to return home, and trust to the assurance of Congress for the discharge of the arrears due to them. Having publicly taken leave of his officers, he repaired to Annapolis, and, December 23, 1783, appeared in Congress, and resigned his commission. He also presented the account of his receipts and expenditure during the late war, the items of which were entered in his own handwriting. His expenditure amounted to 19,306l., and it subsequently appeared that he had applied considerable sums of his own to the public service, which he neglected to claim. He asked no favour or reward for himself, except that his letters should be free from postage, but he strongly recommended to Congress the claims of his late army. Having delivered a farewell address to Congress, and forwarded one of a like character to the government of each State, pointing out the advantages they at present possessed, and giving his advice as to the future conduct of their affairs, he retired to Mount Vernon to enjoy the pleasures of private life. But although the next two years were passed in retirement, the mind of Washington was actively directed to public affairs. Beside maintaining a correspondence with the most eminent men, as well in Europe as in his own country, he was engaged in various projects to promote the agricultural and commercial interests of his native State. Under his direction, companies were formed to improve the navigation of the rivers James and Potomac, thus making Virginia the trading mart of the Western States. A number of shares in the James River Company, which were presented to him in 1785 by the legislature of Virginia, he employed in founding the college in Virginia, now called by his name. His deference to the popular feelings and prejudices on the subject of liberty, was shown in his conduct with regard to the Cincinnati, a military society of which he was President, instituted to commemorate the occurrences of the late war. An outcry was raised that the honours conferred by this society being hereditary, a titled order would be created in the State. Washington therefore prevailed on the members to annul the obnoxious regulations, and to agree that the society should cease at the termination of their lives.

The want of union amongst the States, and the incapacity of the government, engaged the attention of every able man in America, and more especially interested Washington, who desired to witness the establishment of a great republic. The principal defect of the existing government was, that no acts of Congress in forming commercial treaties, borrowing money, or introducing national regulations, were binding on the individual States, each of which pursued its own interests, without showing any disposition to redeem the engagements of the government with the public creditors, either at home or abroad. Washington’s principles were democratic; but he was opposed to those who contended for the absolute independence of the individual States, being convinced that each must sacrifice a portion of its liberty for the security of the whole, and that, without an energetic central government, the confederation would be insignificant. His representations to the Congress and the individual States, backed by the increasing distress of the country, at length brought about the Convention of Philadelphia, which met in May, 1787, and having chosen Washington President, continued sitting until September; when the federal constitution was finally decided on, and was submitted to the States for their approval.

Having acquitted himself of this duty, Washington retired to private life until March, 1789, when he was elected President of the United States. He had used no exertion to obtain this distinction, which his impaired health and love of retirement rendered unsuitable to him: he, however, accepted it, and his journey to New York was one continued triumph. April 30, he took the oaths prescribed by the constitution, and delivered his inaugural address, in which he dwelt most fully on his own reasons for again entering on public life, and on the duties incumbent upon members of the Congress. He declared that he would receive no remuneration for his services, and required that a stated sum should be allowed for defraying the expenses of his office.

The President of the Union being a new political personage, it became requisite to establish certain observances of etiquette towards him. Washington’s arrangements in this respect were sufficiently simple, yet they excited jealousy, as savouring of regal and courtly customs. The restriction placed on the admission of idle visitors, who hourly intruded on him, caused much offence, and became the subject of remonstrance, even from intelligent men. One of the first acts of Washington’s administration was to empower the legislature to become responsible for the general debt of the States, and to levy taxes for the punctual discharge of the interest upon it. The operation of the new government was in every respect satisfactory, its beneficial influence being apparent in the increasing prosperity of the country; and before the end of the second year’s presidency, Rhode Island and North Carolina, which at first were dissentient, desired to participate in the benefits of the Union, and were admitted as members. In 1790, Washington concluded a treaty with the hostile Indians on the Southern frontier; but the war which he directed against the Indians on the North Western frontier was unfortunate, the American forces sustaining three severe defeats. Upon the whole, however, the period of his first Presidency passed over prosperously and tranquilly. He was annoyed by occasional differences in his cabinet, and by the discontent of the anti-federal party; but being supported by John Adams, Hamilton, and other able men, his government suffered no real embarrassment.

In 1792, as he possessed the general confidence of the people, he was unanimously re-elected President; and in March, 1793, again took the oaths of office. The French Revolution was hailed with joy by the Americans, among whom an almost universal wish prevailed, to assist in establishing, as they thought, true freedom in Europe. But Washington perceived that the real interests of his country required peace. He acknowledged the Government of the French Republic, and sent an ambassador to Paris; but declared his resolution to adopt a strict neutrality in the contest between France and the allied powers of Europe. Still the enthusiasm in favour of the French continued to increase; and, at the instigation of M. Genet, envoy from Paris, privateers were armed in the American ports, and sent to cruise against the British. Washington promptly suppressed this practice; and the conduct of Genet having been intemperate and insolent towards the President, and calculated to produce serious disturbance in the States, he took the requisite steps for having him recalled. The determination of the President to preserve peace was not the only ground of popular discontent. The imposition of excise taxes, as they were termed by the people, excited serious murmurings; and, in 1794, a general rising took place in Pennsylvania, which was put down without bloodshed by a vigorous display of force, and the principals, after being condemned to death, were pardoned. The ferment among the people made a war with England seemingly unavoidable. Washington, at this juncture, appointed Mr. Jay envoy to England, with full powers to conclude a treaty, in which all points then at issue between the two nations should be adjusted. With the concurrence of the Senate he ratified this treaty, regardless of the outcry raised against it; and subsequently upheld the authority of the President, in refusing to permit the House of Representatives to revise the articles it contained. The people soon perceived that the advantages to be derived from the contentions in Europe made it impolitic for their own country to become a party to them, and confidence and good will towards the President were in a great measure restored. These favourable dispositions were confirmed by the termination of a successful war against the Indians, and by a treaty with Spain, by which the navigation of the Mississippi to the Ocean was secured to the Americans.

Among the acts which immediately proceeded from Washington during his Presidency, were those for forming a fund to pay off the national debt, and for organizing the militia of the country. He was active and assiduous in his duties as chief magistrate, making tours through the States, and ascertaining the progressive improvement in each, and the means which would most tend to increase it. The limited powers conferred on the President prevented his effecting so much as he desired, and the public measures originating from him were but few. He declined being nominated a third time to the office of President, and on his retirement published an address to the people of the United States, in which, after remarking on the condition and prospects of the country, he insisted on the necessity of cementing the Union of the States, and upholding the supremacy of the Federal Government; he also advised them never to admit the influence of foreign powers, and to reap benefit from the quarrels amongst the States of Europe, by remaining at peace with all.

Washington passed the rest of his days at Mount Vernon, engaged in the society of his friends, and in the improvement of his estate. He was for several years a member of the British Agricultural Association; and the efforts he made to form a similar society in America, and his letters to Sir John Sinclair, (a fac simile copy of which is deposited in the British Museum,) show the interest he took in agricultural affairs. He died December 13, 1799, in his sixty-eighth year, after a few days’ illness, and was buried at Mount Vernon. He left no family. Congress suspended its sitting on receiving the intelligence of his death, and a public mourning was ordered for him.

In person, Washington was robust, and above the middle height. He was thoughtful and reserved, without being repulsive; and his manners were those of the old school of English gentlemen. Although mild and humane, he was stern in the performance of duty, and never, upon such occasions, yielded to softness or compassion. His speeches and official letters are simple and earnest, but wanting perhaps in that conciseness which marks vigour of thought. Whilst President, he was assailed by the violence of party spirit. On his decease his worth was justly appreciated, and the sorrow at his loss was universal and sincere. Washington was distinguished less by the brilliancy of his talents than by his moral goodness, sound judgment, and plain but excellent understanding. His admirable use of those sterling, though homely qualities has gained a rank for him among the greatest and best of men; and his name will be co-existent, as it was co-eval, with that of the empire, of which, no less by his rare civil wisdom than his eminent military talents, he may be considered the founder.

The virtues which distinguish him from all others who have united the fame of statesman and captain, were two-fold, and they are as great as they are rare. He refused power which his own merit had placed within his reach, constantly persisting in the preference of a republican to a monarchical form of government, as the most congenial to liberty when it is not incompatible with the habits of the people and the circumstances of society; and he even declined to continue longer than his years seemed to permit at the head of that commonwealth which he had founded. This subjugation of all ambitious feelings to the paramount sense of duty is his first excellence; it is the sacrifice of his own aggrandizement to his country’s freedom. The next is like unto it; his constant love of peace when placed at the head of affairs: this was the sacrifice of the worthless glory which ordinary men prize the most, to the tranquillity and happiness of mankind. Wherefore to all ages and in all climes, they who most love public virtue will hold in eternal remembrance the name of George Washington; never pronouncing it but with gratitude and awe, as designating a mortal removed above the ordinary lot of human frailty.

The words of his last will in bequeathing his sword to his nephews—the sword which he had worn in the sacred war of liberty—ought to be graven in letters of gold over every palace in the world: “This sword they shall never draw but in defence of freedom, or of their country, or of their kindred; and when thus drawn, they shall prefer falling with it in their hands to the relinquishment thereof.”

For farther information we refer to the works of Ramsay and Marshall; and to the Correspondence of Washington, published by Mr. Sparkes.

[Statue by Canova in the Capitol at Washington.]

Engraved by E. Scriven.

MURILLO.

From the original Picture by Himself
in the Private Collection of the King of the French.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

MURILLO.

The Spanish school may be said to hold a middle place between the schools of Italy and Flanders. The most natural and the most indigenous style it can boast is, unquestionably, that of Murillo, who was never out of Spain; and although it is true that he formed his manner, in a great degree, from the study of Ribera and Vandyck, the principles of those painters are so different, that it would be difficult to recognise either model in a union of the two. But Murillo superadded much that was his own, and much that was immediately, and somewhat too indiscriminately, derived from the observation of nature. The artists of the school of Seville, of which Murillo is the chief, were generally called naturalistas, as opposed to those who followed the Italian purity of taste in design, invention, and imitation. Although it is hardly safe to class all the professors of one province under a particular designation, the earlier school of Valencia may be considered the rival of the naturalistas: its Italian character is to be traced from Vincent Juanes, who was compared by Palomino to Raffaelle; in Ribalta, a work by whom, it is said, was mistaken in Rome for a performance of Raffaelle’s; in Jacinto Gerónimo di Espinosa, by Cean Bermudez called a second Domenichino; and in Pedro Orrente and Luis Tristan, who imitated Bassano and Titian. The appearance in Italy of the fac-similists and tenebrosi (corresponding with the Spanish naturalistas, with whom they are connected by Ribera’s imitation of Caravaggio) is considered, with some reason, to have hastened the decline of painting in that country; in Spain and Flanders, on the other hand, the art which had before been a feeble or mannered imitation of the best Italian works, then only began to be great when the style of the naturalistas was introduced. The practice of the Sevillian painters in copying objects of still life as a preparatory study, was probably derived from the Netherlands, and this style again, which was ominous of degradation and decay in Italy, was the cause of much of the excellence of the Andalusian painters. The taste of these painters, in short, was for individual nature; a taste which was in some degree, and in spite of themselves, corrected by their being almost exclusively employed in painting for churches. The arts in Spain, from their earliest introduction, have been devoted to religion; nor is it to be wondered that this should be the case in a country which seems to have considered itself in an especial manner the representative of Catholicism, a natural consequence, perhaps, of its defending the outposts of Christendom from the infidels. The representation of the human figure is strictly forbidden by the Koran, and there can be no doubt that the spirit of opposition was manifested in this point, as in every other, by the antagonists of the Moors. The conquest of Granada at the close of the fifteenth century happens to correspond with the beginning of the great æra of art in Italy, but the demand for altar-pieces in Spain, before and after that time, is proved by a constant influx of Italian, Flemish, and even German painters; a fact which is commonly explained by the wealth which flowed or was expected to flow into the country by the discovery of America about the same period. However this may be, so late as the seventeenth century, when painting may be supposed at length to have been appreciated for itself, and to have been applied to the ends of general cultivation, as the handmaid of history and poetry, it is a curious fact that neither Roelas, Castillo, nor Murillo, not to mention earlier names, ever painted a mythologic or merely historic subject. From the sublimest mysteries of the church, and from themes demanding more than ordinary elevation, the Sevillian painters turned with eagerness to the homely materials of modern miracles, and from these descended only to indulge their fondness for indiscriminate imitation. The pictures of Beggar Boys by which Murillo is perhaps most known in this country, come under the class of subjects and display the mode of treatment which a school of mere copyists of nature would prefer. Some works of this kind, however, attributed to Murillo, and possessing great merit, are said, with probability, to be the work of Nuñez de Villavicencio, his pupil. It was, however, precisely such studies as these, which enabled Murillo and his contemporaries to infuse into their religious subjects that powerful reality which was among the means of naturalizing the art in Spain, and which thus produced a new style, uniting sometimes the dignity of the Italian School with the truth and vivacity of Flemish imitation.

Bartolomé Esteban Murillo is supposed by the writers who follow Palomino, among whom Cumberland is one, to have been born at Pilas, a town five leagues west of Seville, in the year 1613; but the discovery of the memorial of his baptism in Seville, with every proof of identity, shows that he was born in that city, January 1, 1618. His early fondness for drawing induced his parents to place him with Juan del Castillo, a designer of some merit, although not remarkable as a colourist. The gentle manners and good education of Murillo soon recommended him to his master, who appears to have preferred him to his other scholars, among whom were Pedro de Moya, and Alonzo Cano; but this preference did not exempt the favourite from the servile offices of grinding colours, preparing canvasses, and all the mechanical preparations which the Spanish painters considered an essential part of an artist’s education. It appears that the schools of Seville generally were deficient in casts from the antique: and in investigating the structure of the human frame, the studies of the artists were chiefly limited to an anatomical figure by Becerra, a sculptor who had returned to Spain early in the sixteenth century, from the school of M. Angelo. The living model was, however, constantly referred to, and the fellow-students of Murillo were in the habit of sitting to each other for portions of figures that were wanted, when they could not afford to pay hired models. It was also the custom of the schools to study drapery arranged on the mannequin, or lay-figure, by the master. It was more usual to paint than to draw from the figures, but no student was permitted to copy the model thus till he had attained dexterity with the brush by imitating objects of still life: a practice which accounts for the number of well-painted Spanish pictures of this class. Such pictures, often representing eatables with kitchen utensils, are known by the general name of Bodegones. Herrera el Mozo was called by the Italians “Lo spagnuolo de’ pesci,” from his skill in painting fish, and Pedro de Camprobin equalled the best masters in fruit and flowers. Velasquez and Murillo, it is said, acquired their power of execution from their early practice in this kind of imitation. The mode of copying the human figure was dictated by these preliminary studies; freedom of hand, a disdain of minuteness more than compensated by powerful effects, indifference as to selection, and consequently, a very moderate degree of beauty of form, distinguish the Spanish naturalistas. About the time Murillo began his career, the school of Seville was rapidly advancing under the influence of four distinguished masters and teachers of the art, Herrera the elder, or, to give him his Spanish appellation, Herrera el viejo, Pacheco, (under both of whom Velasquez studied), Roelas, and Castillo. The greatest emulation existed among their respective scholars; and in all public works in which the latter competed, the credit of the master was considered at stake as well as their own.

Murillo soon distinguished himself in the school of Castillo; his first commissions from public bodies were a Madonna del Rosario, with St. Domingo, painted for the college of Santo Tomas; and a Virgin, with St. Francis and other saints, for the convent of “la Regina.” In these works the artist followed, in some degree, the style of Castillo. His master having removed to Cadiz, the young painter remained without recommendation and without employment, and was compelled to do coarse altar-pictures and saints for the feria, or market, which was held once a week in the parish “Omnium Sanctorum,” and which seems to have been chiefly devoted to the commerce with South America. The paintings offered in this market, or fair, for sale, were generally the work of the most inferior artists, and the expression “pintura de feria” is still proverbially applied to pictures of the lowest class. Such was the rapidity with which these works were done, that it appears it was not uncommon for the artist to produce his saint while the purchaser was cheapening the bargain, and the Spanish writer, whose authority is chiefly followed in this memoir, goes so far as to say, that a San Onofre was presently transformed to a San Cristobal, or a Virgen del Carmen to a San Antonio, or even to the representation of the Souls in Purgatory. Better artists, however, occasionally condescended to paint such pictures, and with some augmentation of price; but even the worst performers were known, in some instances, to acquire such dexterity by this work, that very little additional study in the regular schools converted them into respectable artists. This singular mode of attaining mechanical facility must therefore be reckoned among the causes which influenced the executive style of the Sevillian painters; and Murillo, among others, no doubt benefited by his practice in the feria.

A circumstance occurred about the same time which had great influence on his life. His fellow-student, Pedro de Moya, who had accompanied the army to Flanders, conceived a great admiration for the works of Vandyck, and went to London to study under the Flemish painter, where he soon formed a style bearing a strong resemblance to that of his master. On the death of Vandyck, Moya returned to Seville, where he presently attracted the attention of his former companions by the accurate, yet powerful manner of painting which he had acquired. To Murillo the style was so new, that he determined at once to go either to Flanders or Italy, to perfect himself in the art. It was at this moment that he felt his poverty to be a serious misfortune; but, not dismayed by difficulties, he set to work afresh for his South American and West Indian patrons, and having saved a small sum of money, without communicating his intentions to any one, and without even taking leave of his sister, whom he left with an uncle, he quitted Seville for Madrid, with the intention of proceeding to Italy, at the age of twenty-four. On his arrival at the capital, he naturally waited on Diego Velasquez, who was a native of Seville and had received his professional education there; he was at this time first painter to the king (Philip IV.). To this distinguished artist Murillo opened his desire to visit Italy, and begged some letters of introduction for Rome. Velasquez received him with kindness, promised him assistance, and made him most liberal offers for his immediate advantage. Meanwhile the desire of the young painter to see the best specimens of the art was in a great measure gratified under the auspices of his new friend, by his inspection of the pictures in the Royal Palace, at Buen Retiro, and in the Escorial. He immediately expressed a wish to make copies of some of these works, and while Velasquez accompanied the King to Aragon, in the year 1642, Murillo copied some pictures by Vandyck, Spagnoleto, and Velasquez himself. These copies were shown to the King on his return by Velasquez, and were admired by all the court. The disgrace of the minister Olivarez, in 1643, was deeply felt by Velasquez, to whom the Count Duke had been a generous patron; and although it did not diminish the esteem in which the King held the painter, this circumstance seems first to have disgusted Murillo with Madrid. On the return of Velasquez from Zaragosa, in 1644, he was astonished at the progress of his scholar, and finding him sufficiently advanced to profit by a visit to Italy, he offered to procure for him letters of recommendation and other assistance from the King himself. Murillo had, however, already determined to return to Seville, influenced either by domestic considerations, or by having already satisfied the wish which first urged him to leave his native city. Velasquez regretted this resolution, imagining that the young painter would have arrived at still greater perfection if he could have studied for a time in Rome.

The first works done by Murillo after his return to Seville in 1645 were the pictures of the convent of San Francisco. The building was destroyed by fire in 1810, but several of the paintings are now in the collection of Marshal Soult. In the pictures of San Francisco, Cean Bermudez recognises an imitation of Vandyck, Ribera, and Velasquez, the three painters whom Murillo chiefly studied while at Madrid. His new works excited general attention; so little had he been known before he left Seville, and so studious and retired had been his habits, that his absence had scarcely been noticed, and his re-appearance with so masterly a style of painting astonished his fellow-citizens. The fame of Herrera, Pacheco, and Zurbaran, was at once eclipsed, and he was universally acknowledged the first painter of the Sevillian School. The obscurity in which he had lived before his visit to Madrid was now exchanged for the most flattering attentions of the powerful and wealthy, and many of the chief citizens wished to have their portraits done by him. Meanwhile he painted the Flight into Egypt, in the church de la Merced, which has been attributed to Velasquez, and other works now no longer in Spain. In 1648, he married Doña Beatriz de Cabrera y Sotomayor, a lady of birth and some fortune, a native of Pilas, from which circumstance, perhaps, originated the mistake of Palomino in assigning that town as the birth-place of her husband. A change in his manner of painting, adopted, as Cean Bermudez asserts, to please the public, is observable soon after this period. It succeeded in pleasing all parties, for the new manner was extolled even by the warmest admirers of the previous performances of the master. The works of Murillo may be divided into three distinct styles: the first, necessarily very different from his subsequent manner, is to be sought in the specimens which date before his departure for Madrid; the second, is that which he acquired in the capital, and is exemplified by the works above-mentioned, done immediately after his return; the third manner dates from about 1650, and the first public work which may be cited as illustrating it, is an Immaculate Conception (a subject often treated by the Spanish painters) in the convent of San Francisco, painted in 1652.

The latter and characteristic style of Murillo may be generally described as possessing more suavity, and softer transitions of light and shade, than that of the naturalistas of his time. It is remarkable, besides, for a general harmony of hues; for considerable, but by no means uniform, softness of contour; for simplicity and propriety of attitude and expression; for physiognomies, if not always distinguished by beauty or refinement, yet interesting from a certain character of purity and goodness; for free yet well-arranged drapery; for a force of light on the principal objects, and, above all, for surprising truth in the colour of the flesh, heightened by an almost constant opposition of dark-grey backgrounds. The two pictures of St. Leander and St. Isidore, in the sacristy of the Cathedral, were done in 1655. In the same year Murillo painted the Nativity of the Virgin, now in the Cathedral; and in 1656 the great picture of St. Antony of Padua, the altar-piece of the Baptistery of the same church: the picture of the Baptism of Christ in the same Retablo, or architectural frame, is also by Murillo, but by no means equal to the St. Antony. The four half circles, formerly in the church of Santa Maria la Blanca, belong to the same time, as well as a Dolorosa, and St. John the Evangelist, done for the same church. In 1658 Murillo undertook, without any aid from the government, to establish a public academy in Seville; and, after great difficulties, owing to the imperious temper of his rivals Juan de Valdes Leal and Francisco de Herrera el Mozo, who was just returned from Italy, he succeeded in his object, and the academy was opened in 1660. Murillo was the first president, but, from whatever cause, he was not re-elected to that office after the first year: the multitude of his occupations is, however, the most probable reason to be assigned for this. Although the best Spanish painters, such as Velasquez, Murillo, Zurbaran, and others, arrived at the excellence they attained without an early acquaintance with the antique, there being, as we have seen, no casts from the Greek statues in the private schools of Seville, yet, on the establishment of a public academy, it might be supposed that it would have been furnished with the best examples of form. Such, however, does not appear to have been the case: except a few drawings by the professors, which were copied by mere beginners, there were, it seems, no other models than the living figure and the draped mannequin; and when once admitted to copy from the life, the students were in the habit of confining their practice to painting, without considering that of drawing at all essential. This method of instruction was peculiar to the Academy of Seville, as distinguished from other similar establishments in Spain; and it is evident that the object was to follow up the method which had already been sufficient by itself to render the school illustrious. It may be observed that the study of drapery in this school had the effect, to a certain extent, of ennobling the style of the painters; and they were perhaps led to pay attention to this branch of the art, from so often witnessing the fine effect of drapery in the dresses of the religious orders. Sir Joshua Reynolds has somewhere justly observed, that a grand cast of drapery is sometimes of itself sufficient to give an air of dignity to a picture.

About 1668, Murillo began the celebrated series in the Hospital de San Jorge, or de la Caridad, whence came several of the pictures now in the possession of Marshal Soult. Among those that remain, the most remarkable and most copious compositions, are the Moses striking the Rock, and the miracle of the Loaves and Fishes. The Prodigal Son, Abraham receiving the Angels, the Pool of Bethesda, and the Deliverance of Peter from Prison are now in Paris; they are all excellent specimens of the master. The Picture of San Juan de Dios bearing an infirm mendicant, is celebrated for its strength of effect, and has been compared, and even attributed, to Spagnoleto. Another composition, now in Madrid, representing Santa Isabel curing the diseased poor, a wonderful specimen of imitation, was the greatest favourite of the series with the common people, when in its original place, owing, perhaps, to the very familiar and disgusting details of the subject; it was generally known by the name of el Tiñoso, from the principal figure, a boy whose sore head the Saint is dressing. The habit of copying to illusion the merest accidents of nature without distinction, naturally led the Spanish painters to all the deformities that can be excused by the epithet “picturesque.” The details of the picture just mentioned would be loathsome, even in words, yet other Sevillian painters went beyond it; and Murillo himself, on seeing a picture in which some dead bodies are painted with repulsive reality by Juan de Valdes, in the church of the Caridad, observed to that artist, that “it could only be looked at while holding the nostrils.”

Cean Bermudez remarks of the Tiñoso, that the figure of the Queen Santa Isabel (whom by the way he makes a Queen of Portugal in one of his works and a Queen of Hungary in another) is equal to Vandyck; the face of the boy illuminated by the reflection of a basin of water, worthy of Paul Veronese; and an old woman and a mendicant unbinding his leg, as fine as Velasquez. He concludes by asserting, that if instead of the numbers of copies, good, bad, and indifferent, that have been made from all the pictures of the Caridad, a series of accurate engravings after them had been executed, these compositions would be as much celebrated and admired as those of the best Italian painters. The pictures of the Caridad were finished in 1674. The Capuchin Convent is another vast gallery of the fine works of Murillo. Without reckoning smaller pieces, there are twenty pictures by his hand in the convent with figures the size of life. Among these one is said to have obtained the especial preference of the painter himself; the subject is Santo Tomas di Villanueva distributing alms. In the Nativity, Murillo has followed the artifice of Correggio, by making the light emanate from the infant: this picture is one of the best of the series. The Annunciation is remarkable for the beauty and dignity of the Angel, and for the graceful humility of the Virgin. Three pictures, done for the Hospital de los Venerables, about 1678, are mentioned by the author already quoted as admirable performances: among them the Penitence of St. Peter is described as surpassing the same subject by Ribera, and an Immaculate Conception as superior in colour and admirable management of light and shade to every similar composition by the artist himself. In the refectory of the convent is the portrait of Don Justino Neve, by whom Murillo was employed to paint the pictures just mentioned; his biographer says it is in all respects equal to Vandyck. The altar pictures of the Convent of San Agustin, and a long list of single figures of saints, some larger than life, together with many portraits of superiors of religious orders, scarcely complete the catalogue of Murillo’s public works in Seville, and it would be too long to enumerate those which exist in other parts of Spain. The pictures which he executed for private collections were almost equally numerous, and his biographer asserts, that at the beginning of the last century there was scarcely a house of respectability in Seville that was not ornamented with some work of his. They began to disappear when Philip V. and his court visited the city. Many were presented or sold to the noblemen and ambassadors who accompanied the king, and are now in galleries of Madrid and other cities of Europe. Since that time, however, several of the principal families have made their pictures heir-looms, and thus guarded, as far as possible, against a further dispersion of their countryman’s works. Murillo’s last work was the altar-piece of the Capuchins, at Cadiz, representing the Marriage of St. Catherine. While employed on this picture he fell from the scaffold; and a serious malady, which was the consequence, compelled him to return to Seville, where he soon after died, April 3, 1682. He was buried in a chapel of the Church of Santa Cruz. It was to this chapel he was in the habit of going to contemplate Campana’s picture of the Descent from the Cross; and shortly before his death, being asked by the sacristan, who wanted to shut the church, why he lingered there, he answered, “I am only waiting till these holy men shall have taken down the Lord from the Cross.” The picture of the marriage of St. Catherine was finished by Francisco Menéses Osorio, one of the eleven scholars of Murillo enumerated by Cean Bermudez.

The short account of Murillo, in Cumberland’s “Anecdotes of eminent Painters in Spain,” is taken from the incorrect but amusing “Parnaso Español pintoresco laureado” of Palomino. A very good general and concise history of the Spanish school (though containing several errors of the press in dates), with an interesting list, not to be found elsewhere, of the early pictures of Murillo, is contained in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 26. There are, probably, no other English works on the subject, except in a Dictionary of Spanish Painters, not yet complete, and the incidental notices in books of travels. The foregoing account is chiefly taken from a Letter by Cean Bermudez, “Sobre el estilo y gusto en la Pintura de la Escuela Sevillana, &c. Cadiz, 1806,” published subsequently to his “Diccionario Histórico de los mas ilustres profesores de las Bellas Artes en España, Madrid, 1800,” which has also been consulted.

[Holy Family of Murillo.]

Engraved by E. Mackenzie.

CERVANTES.

After the Spanish Print, engraved by D. F. Selma.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

CERVANTES.

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra was baptized October 9, 1547, at Alcalà de Henares, a town of New Castile, not far from Madrid. The exact date of his birth does not appear; and even the locality of it has been disputed by several towns, as the Grecian cities contended for the honour due to the birth-place of Homer. Sprung from noble, but not wealthy parents, he was sent at an early age to the metropolis, to qualify himself for one or other of the only lucrative professions in Spain, the church, the law, or medicine; but his attention was diverted from this object by a strong propensity to writing verses. Juan Lopez de Hoyos, a teacher of some note, under whom he studied ancient and modern literature, thought Cervantes the most promising of his pupils; and inserted an elegy, and other verses of his favourite’s composition, in an account of the funeral of Queen Isabel, wife of Philip II., published in 1569. These, like the greater number of Cervantes’ early poems, which are very numerous, do not rise above mediocrity; though the author, who was a long time in discovering that his real talent lay in prose writing, seems to have thought otherwise. He was an indefatigable reader, and used to stop before the book-stalls in the street, perusing anything that attracted his attention. In this manner he gained that intimate knowledge of the old literature of his country, which is displayed in his works; especially in the “Canto de Caliope,” the “Escrutinio de la libreria de Don Quixote,” and the “Viage al Parnaso.” Thus he spent his time, reading and writing verses, seemingly heedless of his future subsistence, until the pressure of want, and the ill success of his poetry, drove him to quit Spain, and seek his fortune elsewhere. He went to Rome, and entered the service of Cardinal Giulio Acquaviva; but soon after enlisted as a private in the armament which Pope Pius V. fitted out in 1570 for the relief of Cyprus, then attacked by the Turks. In 1571 he fought in the famous battle of Lepanto, when the combined squadrons of the Christian powers, commanded by Don Juan of Austria, defeated and destroyed the Ottoman fleet. On that memorable day Cervantes received a gun-shot wound, which for life deprived him of the use of his left hand. Far however from repining, the generous Spaniard always expressed his joyfulness at having purchased the honour of sharing in that victory at that price. The wounded were landed at Messina, and Cervantes among them. Having recovered his health, he enlisted in the troops of Naples, then subject to the crown of Spain. In 1575, as he was voyaging to Spain, the vessel was taken by corsairs; and being carried to Algiers, Cervantes became a slave to Dali Mami, an Albanian renegade, notorious for cruelty. The high-spirited Spaniard bent all his energies to effect an escape; and contrived to get out of the city of Algiers, and conceal himself in a cave by the sea-coast, near a garden belonging to a renegade, named Hassan, whose gardener and another slave were in the secret. He was there joined by several Christian prisoners; and the party remained in the cave for several months, hoping that the opportune arrival of some vessel might deliver them from their anxious duress. At last a ransomed captive, a native of Majorca and friend of Cervantes, left Algiers, and returning to his country, fitted out a vessel, with the intention of releasing his countrymen. He arrived off the coast in the night, and was on the point of landing near the entrance of the cave, when some Moors, who were passing by, spied him, and raised the alarm, on which the vessel stood out again to sea. One of Hassan’s two servants next day went to the Dey, and, in hopes of a reward, informed him that fifteen Christians were concealed in the cave. They were immediately seized and loaded with chains. Cervantes, who appeared the leader, was closely questioned by the Dey himself, whether he had any accomplices in the city. He answered steadily, that the scheme had been planned and carried on by himself alone. After this examination, he was returned to his master. Nothing disheartened, he devised other means of escape, which likewise failed; until at last he conceived the daring scheme of organising a general rising of the Christian slaves in Algiers, and taking forcible possession of the town. But by the cowardice of some of them, the plot was betrayed; and Cervantes was again seized, and carried to the prison of the Dey, who declared that his capital and his ships were not safe “unless he kept himself a close watch over the crippled Spaniard.” So earnest was he in this feeling, that he even purchased Cervantes from his master, and kept him confined in irons; but he did not otherwise ill treat the prisoner, partly, perhaps, out of respect for so brave a man, partly in the hope of obtaining a high ransom for him. Father Haëdo, in his “Topografia de Argel,” gives an account of Cervantes’ captivity, and of the repeated attempts which he made to escape. Meantime his widowed mother and his sister in Spain had not forgotten him, and they contrived, in the year 1579, to raise a sum of 300 ducats, which they delivered to two monks of the order of Trinity, or Mercy, who were proceeding to Algiers for the ransom of slaves. In 1580 they arrived, and treated with the Dey for Cervantes’ ransom, which, after an extravagant sum had been demanded, was settled at 500 golden scudi. The good fathers made up the deficiency in the sum they had been intrusted with; and at last, in September of that year, Cervantes found himself free. Early in the following year he returned to Spain. Having met nothing but misfortunes and disappointment in his endeavours to make his fortune in the world, he now determined to return to his literary pursuits. In 1584 he published his “Galatea,” a pastoral novel. At the end of that year he married Doña Catalina Palacios de Salazar, a lady of ancient family, of the town of Esquivias. This marriage, however, does not seem to have much improved his fortune, for he began soon after to write for the stage as a means of supporting himself. In the next five years he composed between twenty and thirty plays, which were performed at Madrid, and, it would seem, most of them with success. A few are still remembered, namely, “Los Tratos de Argel,” in which he describes the scenes of Algerine captivity; “La Destruccion de Numancia,” and “La Batalla Naval.” He ceased to write for the stage about 1590, when Lope de Vega was rising into reputation. After this he lived several years at Seville, where he had some wealthy relatives, and where he appears to have been employed as a commercial agent. He was at Seville in 1598, at the time when Philip II. died. The pompous preparations for the funeral, the gorgeous hearse and pall, and the bombastic admiration of the people of Seville at their own magnificence on the occasion, excited the grave and sober Castilian’s vein of irony, and he ridiculed the boastful Andalusians in a sonnet which became celebrated, and which begins

Voto à Dios que me espanta esta grandeza.

“I declare to God that all this magnificence quite overwhelms me,” &c.

He has also given an amusing account of the peculiar character, taste, and habits of the Sevillians in one of his tales, “Rinconete y Cortadillo,” in which he describes the several classes of the inhabitants of that city, which is the second in Spain, and, in many respects, offers a strong contrast to Madrid. It was in one of his journeys between these two cities that he resided some time in the province of La Mancha, which he has rendered famous by his great work. He examined attentively both the country and the people; he saw the cave of Montesinos, the Lagunas de Ruydera, the plain of Montiel, Puerto Lapice, the Batanas, and other places which he has described in Don Quixote. Being intrusted with some commission or warrant for recovering certain arrears of tithe due from the village of Argamasilla to the Prior of St. John of Consuegra, he incurred the hostility of the villagers, who disputed his powers, and threw him into prison; and he seems to have remained in confinement for some time, as during that period he imagined and sketched the first part of Don Quixote, as he himself has stated in the preface. He fixed upon this village of Argamasilla as the native place of his hero, without however mentioning its name, “which,” he says at the beginning of the book, “I have no particular wish to remember.” After this occurrence, we find Cervantes living with his family at Valladolid in 1604–5, while Philip III. and his court were residing there. There is a document among the records of the prison of that city, from which it appears that, in June 1605, Cervantes was taken up on suspicion of being concerned in a night brawl which took place near his house, and in which a knight of Santiago was mortally wounded. The wounded man came to the house in which Cervantes lived, and was helped up-stairs by one of the other lodgers whom he knew, assisted by Cervantes, who had come out at the noise. The magistrate arrested several of the inmates of the house, which contained five different families, living in as many sets of chambers on the different floors. From the examinations taken it appears that Cervantes, his wife and daughter, his widowed sister and her daughter, his half sister, who was a monja, or domestic nun, and a female servant, occupied apartments on the first floor; and that Cervantes was in the habit of being visited by several gentlemen, both on commercial business and on account of his literary merit. Cervantes was honourably acquitted; as the wounded man, before he died, acknowledged that he had received the fatal blow from an unknown stranger, who insolently obstructed his passage, upon which they drew their swords. Soon afterwards, in 1605, the first part of Don Quixote appeared at Madrid, whither Cervantes probably removed after the court left Valladolid. It seems at once to have become popular; for four editions were published in the course of the year. But it was assailed with abuse by the fanatical admirers of tales of chivalry, by several dramatic and other poets unfavourably alluded to, and also by some of the partisans of Lope de Vega, who thought that Cervantes had not done justice to their idol.

Cervantes did not publish anything for seven years after the appearance of the first part of Don Quixote. He seems to have spent this long period in studious retirement at Madrid: he had by this time given up all expectations of court favour or patronage, which it would appear that he at one time entertained. Philip III., although remarkably fond of Don Quixote, the perusal of which was one of the few things that could draw a smile from his melancholy countenance, was not a patron of literature, and he thought not of inquiring after the circumstances of the writer who had afforded him some moments of innocent gratification. Cervantes, however, gained two friends among the powerful of the time, Don Pedro de Castro, Count de Lemos, and Don Bernardo de Sandoval, Archbishop of Toledo. To the first he was introduced by his friends, the two brothers and poets Argensola, who were attached to the household and enjoyed the confidence of the Count. In 1610, when De Lemos went as Viceroy to Naples, Cervantes expected to go with him; but he was disappointed; and he attributed his failure to the coldness and neglect with which his application to that effect was treated by the Argensolas. It is certain, however, that he received from the Count de Lemos some substantial marks of favour, and among them a pension for the remainder of his life. To this nobleman Cervantes dedicated the second part of his Don Quixote, and other works, with strong expressions of gratitude. The Spanish biographers say also that he received assistance in money from the Archbishop of Toledo. These benefactions, added to his wife’s little property at Esquivias and the remains of his own small patrimony, kept him above absolute want, though evidently in a state of penury.

In 1613 he published his “Novelas Exemplares,” or moral tales. They have always been much esteemed, both for the purity of the language and for the descriptions of life and character which they contain.

In 1614 Cervantes published his “Viage al Parnaso,” in which he passes in review the poets of former ages, as well as his contemporaries, and discusses their merits. While rendering justice to the Argensolas, he alludes to the above-mentioned disappointment which they had caused him. He complains of his own poverty with poetical exaggeration, and styles himself “the Adam of poets.” He next sold eight of his plays to the bookseller Villaroël, who printed them; after observing, however, that Cervantes’ prose was much better relished by the public than his poetry, a judgment which has been generally confirmed by critics. These plays were dedicated to the Count de Lemos, whom he tells that he was preparing to bring out Don Quixote armed and spurred once more. Cervantes had then nearly finished the second part of his immortal work; but before he had time to send it to press, there appeared a spurious continuation of the Don Quixote, the author of which, apparently an Aragonese, assumed the fictitious name of Avellaneda. It was published at Tarragona towards the end of 1614. It is very inferior in style to the original, which it strives to imitate. The writer was not only guilty of plagiarisms from the first part of Cervantes’ work, already published, but he evidently pirated several incidents from the second part, which was still in MS., and to which, by some means or other, he must have found access. At the same time, he scruples not to lavish vulgar abuse on Cervantes, ridiculing him for the lameness which an honourable wound had entailed upon him, and for his other misfortunes. This disgraceful production was deservedly lashed by the injured author in the second part of Don Quixote, which was published in 1615, and received with universal applause. His fame now stood at the highest, and distinguished strangers arriving at Madrid were eager to be introduced to him. His pecuniary circumstances, however, remained at the same low ebb as before. The Count de Lemos, who was still at Naples, appears to have been his principal friend.

In October, 1615, Cervantes felt the first attacks of dropsy. He bore the slow progress of this oppressive disease with his usual serenity of mind; and occupied himself in preparing for the press his last production, “Persiles y Sigismunda,” an elegant imitation of Heliodorus’s Ethiopian story. The last action of his life was to dictate the affecting dedication of this work to the Count de Lemos. He died without much struggle, April 23, 1616, in his sixty-ninth year. It is a singular coincidence, that Spain and England should have lost on the same day of the same year the peculiar glory of their national literature: for this was the day upon which Shakspeare died. By his will he appointed his wife and a friend as his executors, and requested to be buried in the monastery of the Trinitarios, the good fathers who had released him from captivity. After the custom of pious Spaniards, he had inscribed himself as a brother of the third order of St. Francis, and in the dress of that order he was carried to his grave. No monument was raised to his memory. The house in which he died was in the Calle (or street) de Leon, where the Royal Asylum now stands.

Cervantes’ great work is too generally known to require criticism. It is one of those few productions which immortalize the literature and language to which they belong. The interest excited by such a work never dies, for it is interwoven with the very nature of man. The particular circumstances which led Cervantes to the conception of Don Quixote have long ceased to exist. Books of chivalry have been forgotten, and their influence has died away; but Quixotism, under some form or another, remains a characteristic of the human mind in all ages: man is still the dupe of fictions and of his own imagination, and it is for this, that, in reading the story of the aberrations of the Knight of La Mancha, and of the mishaps that befell him in his attempt to redress all the wrongs of the world, we cannot help applying the moral of the tale to incidents that pass every day before our own eyes, and to trace similarities between Cervantes’ hero and some of our living acquaintances.

The contrast between the lofty, spiritual, single-minded knight, and his credulous, simple, yet shrewd, and earth-seeking squire, is an unfailing source of amusement to the reader. It has been disputed which of the two characters, Don Quixote or Sancho, is most skilfully drawn, and best supported through the story. They are both excellent, both suited to each other. The contrast also between the style of the work and the object of it affords another rich vein of mirth. Cervantes’ object was to extirpate by ridicule the whole race of turgid and servile imitators of the older chivalrous tales; which had become a real nuisance in his time, and exercised a very pernicious effect on the minds and taste of the Spaniards. The perusal of those extravagant compositions was the chief pastime of people of every condition; and even clever men acknowledged that they had wasted whole years in this unprofitable occupation, which had spoiled their taste and perverted their imaginations so much, that they could not for a long time after take up a book of real history or science without a feeling of weariness. Cervantes was well acquainted with the nature and the effects of the disease: he had himself employed much time in such pursuits, and he resolved to prepare a remedy for the public mind. That his example has been taken as a precedent by vulgar and grovelling persons, for the purpose of ridiculing all elevation of sentiment, all enthusiasm and sense of honour, forms no just ground of censure on Cervantes, who waged war against that which was false and improbable, and not against that which is noble and natural in the human mind. Nature and truth have their sublimity, which Cervantes understood and respected.

The best Spanish editions of Don Quixote are that of the Spanish Academy, in four vols. 4to., 1788; the edition by Don Juan Antonio Pellicer, with a good life of Cervantes, five vols. 8vo., 1798; and the edition by Don Martin F. de Navarrete, five vols. 8vo., 1819. The edition published by the Rev. J. Bowle, six volumes in three, 4to. London, 1781, contains a valuable commentary, explanatory of idioms, proverbs, &c. Of the English translations, the oldest by Skelton is still much esteemed; there are also versions by Motteux, Jarvis, and Smollet. A new translation was made for the splendid London edition of 1818, four vols. 4to., enriched with engravings from pictures by Smirke. Le Sage translated Don Quixote into French; but with omissions and interpolations which render this a very unfaithful version.

Next to Don Quixote, Cervantes’ best works are his ‘Novelas.’ They have been translated into English. The language of Cervantes is pure Castilian, and is esteemed by learned Spaniards to be one of the best models for prose composition.

Don Agustin Garcia de Arrieta published in 1814 an inedited comic novel of Cervantes, styled ‘La Tia Fingida,’ or ‘The Feigned Aunt,’ to which he added a dissertation on the spirit of Cervantes and his works. The best biographers of Cervantes are Pellicer and Navarrete, already mentioned.

[Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. From one of a series of designs by Vanderbanck.]

Engraved by E. Scriven.

FREDERICK II.

From the original by Carlo Vanloo
in the Private Collection of the King of the French.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

FREDERIC II.

The celebrated King of Prussia was in no respect indebted for his personal greatness to the virtues or example of his immediate progenitors. His grandfather Frederic I., the first of the House of Brandenburg who assumed the title of King, was a weak and empty prince, whose character was taken by his own wife to exemplify the idea of infinite littleness. His father, Frederic William, was a man of a violent and brutal disposition, eccentric and intemperate, whose principal, and almost sole pleasure and pursuit, was the training and daily superintendence of an army disproportionately greater than the extent of his dominions seemed to warrant. It is however to the credit of Frederic William as a ruler, that, notwithstanding this expensive taste, his finances on the whole were well and economically administered; so that on his death he left a quiet and happy, though not wealthy country, a treasure of nine millions of crowns, amounting to more than a year’s revenue, and a well-disciplined army of 76,000 men. Thus on his accession, Frederic II. (or as, in consequence of the ambiguity of his father’s name, he is sometimes called, Frederic III.) found, ready prepared, men and money, the instruments of war; and for this alone was he indebted to his father. He was born January 24, 1712. From Frederic William, parental tenderness was not to be expected. His treatment of his whole family, wife and children, was brutal: but he showed a particular antipathy to his eldest son, from the age of fourteen upwards, for which no reason can be assigned, except that the young prince manifested a taste for literature, and preferred books and music to the routine of military exercises. From this age, his life was embittered by continual contradiction, insult, and even personal violence. In 1730, he endeavoured to escape by flight from his father’s control: but this intention being revealed, he was arrested, tried as a deserter, and condemned to death by an obedient court-martial; and the sentence, to all appearance, would have been carried into effect, had it not been for the interference of the Emperor of Germany, Charles VI. of Austria. The king yielded to his urgent entreaties, but with much reluctance, saying, “Austria will some day perceive what a serpent she warms in her bosom.” In 1732, Frederic procured a remission of this ill treatment by contracting, much against his will, a marriage with Elizabeth Christina, a princess of the house of Brunswick. Domestic happiness he neither sought nor found; for it appears that he never lived with his wife. Her endowments, mental and personal, were not such as to win the affections of so fastidious a man, but her moral qualities and conduct are highly commended; and, except in the resolute avoidance of her society, her husband through life treated her with high respect. From the time of his marriage to his accession, Frederic resided at Rheinsberg, a village some leagues north-east of Berlin. In 1734, he made his first campaign with Prince Eugene, but without displaying, or finding opportunity to display, the military talents by which he was distinguished in after-life. From 1732 however to 1740, his time was principally devoted to literary amusements and society. Several of his published works were written during this period, and among them the ‘Anti-Machiavel’ and ‘Considerations on the Character of Charles XII.:’ he also devoted some portion of his time to the study of tactics. His favourite companions were chiefly Frenchmen: and for French manners, language, cookery and philosophy, he displayed through life a very decided preference.

The early part of Frederic’s life gave little promise of his future energy as a soldier and statesman. The flute, embroidered clothes, and the composition of indifferent French verses, seemed to occupy the attention of the young dilettante. His accession to the throne, May 31, 1740, called his dormant energies at once into action. He assumed the entire direction of government, charging himself with those minute and daily duties which princes generally commit to their ministers. To discharge the multiplicity of business which thus devolved on him, he laid down strict rules for the regulation of his time and employments, to which, except when on active service, he scrupulously adhered. Until an advanced period of life he always rose at four o’clock in the morning; and he bestowed but a few minutes on his dress, in respect of which he was careless, even to slovenliness. But peaceful employments did not satisfy his active mind. His father, content with the possession of a powerful army, had never used it as an instrument of conquest: Frederic, in the first year of his reign, undertook to wrest from Austria the province of Silesia. On that country, which, from its adjoining situation, was a most desirable acquisition to the Prussian dominions, it appears that he had some hereditary claims, to the assertion of which the time was favourable. At the death of Charles VI., in October 1740, the hereditary dominions of Austria devolved on a young female, the afterwards celebrated Maria Theresa. Trusting to her weakness, Frederic at once marched an army into Silesia. The people, being chiefly Protestants, were ill affected to their Austrian rulers, and the greater part of the country, except the fortresses, fell without a battle into the King of Prussia’s possession. In the following campaign, April 10, 1741, was fought the battle of Molwitz, which requires mention, because in this engagement, the first in which he commanded, Frederic displayed neither the skill nor the courage which the whole of his subsequent life proved him really to possess. It was said that he took shelter in a windmill, and this gave rise to the sarcasm, that at Molwitz the King of Prussia had covered himself with glory and with flour. The Prussians however remained masters of the field. In the autumn of the same year they advanced within two days’ march of Vienna; and it was in this extremity of distress, that Maria Theresa made her celebrated and affecting appeal to the Diet of Hungary. A train of reverses, summed up by the decisive battle of Czaslaw, fought May 17, 1742, in which Frederic displayed both courage and conduct, induced Austria to consent to the treaty of Breslaw, concluded in the same summer, by which Silesia, with the exception of a small district, was ceded to Prussia, of which kingdom it has ever since continued to form a part.

But though Prussia for a time enjoyed peace, the state of European politics was far from settled, and Frederic’s time was much occupied by foreign diplomacy, as well as by the internal improvements which always were the favourite objects of his solicitude. The rapid rise of Prussia was not regarded with indifference by other powers. The Austrian government was inveterately hostile, from offended pride, as well as from a sense of injury; Saxony took part with Austria; Russia, if not an open enemy, was always a suspicious and unfriendly neighbour; and George II. of England, the King of Prussia’s uncle, both feared and disliked his nephew. Under these circumstances, upon the formation of the triple alliance between Austria, England, and Sardinia, Frederic concluded a treaty with France and the Elector of Bavaria, who had succeeded Charles VI. as Emperor of Germany; and anticipated the designs of Austria upon Silesia, by marching into Bohemia in August, 1744. During two campaigns the war was continued to the advantage of the Prussians, who, under the command of Frederic in person, gained two signal victories with inferior numbers, at Hohenfriedberg and Soor. At the end of December, 1745, he found himself in possession of Dresden, the capital of Saxony, and in condition to dictate terms of peace to Austria and Saxony, by which Silesia was again recognised as part of the Prussian dominions.

Five years were thus spent in acquiring and maintaining possession of this important province. The next ten years of Frederic II.’s life passed in profound peace. During this period he applied himself diligently and successfully to recruit his army, and renovate the drained resources of Prussia. His habits of life were singularly uniform. He resided chiefly at Potsdam, apportioning his time and his employments with methodical exactness; and, by this strict attention to method, he was enabled to exercise a minute superintendence over every branch of government, without estranging himself from social pleasures, or abandoning his literary pursuits. After the peace of Dresden he commenced his ‘Histoire de mon Temps,’ which, in addition to the history of his own wars in Silesia, contains a general account of European politics. About the same period he wrote his ‘Memoirs of the House of Brandenburg,’ the best of his historical works. He maintained an active correspondence with Voltaire, and others of the most distinguished men of Europe. He established, or rather restored, the Academy of Sciences of Berlin, and was eager to enrol eminent foreigners among its members, and to induce them to resort to his capital; and the names of Voltaire, Euler, Maupertuis, La Grange, and others of less note, testify his success. But his avowed contempt for the German, and admiration of the French literature and language, in which all the transactions of the Society were carried on, gave an exotic character to the institution, and crippled the national benefits which might have been expected to arise from it. In 1751, after a considerable expenditure of flattery, Frederic induced Voltaire to take up his residence at Potsdam. From this step he anticipated much pleasure and advantage, and for a time every thing appeared to proceed according to his wishes. The social suppers in which he loved to indulge after the labours of the day, were enlivened by the poet’s brilliant talents; and the poet’s gratitude for the royal friendship and condescension was manifested in his assiduous correction of the royal writings. For a time each was delighted with the other; but the mutual regard which these two singular characters had conceived was soon dissipated upon closer acquaintance, and after many undignified quarrels, they parted in the spring of 1753 in a manner discreditable to both. In the cause of education Frederic was active, both by favouring the universities, to which he sought to secure the services of the best professors, and by the establishment of schools wherever the circumstances of the neighbourhood rendered it desirable. It is said that he sometimes founded as many as sixty schools in a single year. This period of his reign is also marked by the commencement of that revision of the Prussian law (a confused and corrupt mixture of Roman and Saxon jurisprudence) which led to the substitution of an entirely new code. In this important business the Chancellor Cocceii took the lead; but the system established by him underwent considerable alterations from time to time, and at last was remodelled in 1781. For the particular merits or imperfections of the code, the lawyers who drew it up are answerable, rather than the monarch; but the latter possesses the high honour of having proved himself, in this and other instances, sincerely desirous to assure to his subjects a pure and ready administration of justice. Sometimes this desire, joined to a certain love and habit of personal inquiry into all things, led the king to a meddling and mischievous interference with the course of justice, as in the instance of the miller Arnold, which probably is familiar to most readers; but in all cases his intention seems to have been pure, and his conduct proves him sincere in the injunction to his judges:—“If a suit arises between me and one of my subjects, and the case is a doubtful one, you should always decide against me.” If, as in the celebrated imprisonment of Baron Trenck, he chose to perform an arbitrary action, he did it openly, not by tampering with courts of justice: but these despotic measures were not frequent, and few countries have ever enjoyed a fuller practical license of speech and printing, than Prussia under a simply despotic form of government, administered by a prince naturally of impetuous passions and stern and unforgiving temper. That temper, however, was kept admirably within bounds, and seldom suffered to appear in civil affairs. His code is remarkable for the abolition of torture, and the toleration granted to all religions. The latter enactment, however, required no great share of liberality from Frederic, who avowed his indifference to all religions alike. In criminal cases he was opposed to severe punishments, and was always strongly averse to shedding blood. To his subjects, both in person and by letter, he was always accessible, and to the peasantry in particular he displayed paternal kindness, patience, and condescension. But, on the other hand, his military system was frightfully severe, both in its usual discipline and in its punishments. Numbers of soldiers deserted, or put an end to their lives, or committed crimes that they might be given up to justice. Yet his kindness and familiarity in the field, and his fearless exposure of his own person, endeared him exceedingly to his soldiers, and many pleasing anecdotes, honourable to both parties, are preserved, especially during the campaigns of the Seven Years’ War.

During this peace Austria had recruited her strength, and with it her inveterate hostility to Prussia; and it became known to Frederic that a secret agreement for the conquest and partition of his territories existed between Austria, Russia, and Saxony. The circumstances of the times were such that, though neither France nor England were cordially disposed towards him, it was yet open to him to negotiate an alliance with either. Frederic chose that of England; and France, forgetting ancient enmities, and her obvious political interest, immediately took part with Austria. The odds of force apparently were overwhelming; but, having made up his mind, the King of Prussia displayed his usual promptitude. He demanded an explanation of the views of the court of Vienna, and, on receiving an unsatisfactory answer, signified that he considered it a declaration of war. Knowing that the court of Saxony, contrary to existing treaties, was secretly engaged in the league against him, he marched an army into the electorate in August, 1756, and, almost unopposed, took military possession of it. He thus turned the enemy’s resources against himself, and drew from that unfortunate country continual supplies of men and money, without which he could scarcely have supported the protracted struggle which ensued, and which is celebrated under the title of the Seven Years’ War. The events of this war, however interesting to a military student, are singularly unfit for concise narration, and that from the very circumstances which displayed the King of Prussia’s talents to most advantage. Attacked on every side, compelled to hasten from the pursuit of a beaten, to make head in some other quarter against a threatening enemy, the activity, vigilance, and indomitable resolution of Frederic must strike all those who read these campaigns at length, and with the necessary help of maps and plans, though his profound tactical skill and readiness in emergencies may be fully appreciable only by the learned. But when these complicated events are reduced to a bare list of marches and countermarches, victories and defeats, the spirit vanishes, and a mere caput mortuum remains. The war being necessarily defensive, Frederic could seldom carry the seat of action into an enemy’s country. The Prussian dominions were subject to continual ravage, and that country, as well as Saxony, paid a heavy price that the possession of Silesia might be decided between two rival sovereigns. Upon the whole, the first campaigns were favourable to Prussia; but the confessed superiority of that power in respect of generals (for the King was admirably supported by Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, Prince Henry of Prussia, Schwerin, Keith, and others) could not always countervail the great superiority of force with which it had to contend. The celebrated victory won by the Prussians at Prague, May 6, 1757, was balanced by a severe defeat at Kolin, the result, as Frederic confesses, of his own rashness; but, at the end of autumn, he retrieved the reverses of the summer, by the brilliant victories of Rosbach, and Leuthen or Lissa. In 1758, Frederic’s contempt of his enemy lulled him into a false security, in consequence of which he was surprised and defeated at Hochkirchen. But the campaigns of 1759 and 1760 were a succession of disasters by which Prussia was reduced to the verge of ruin; and it appears, from Frederic’s correspondence, that, in the autumn of the latter year, his reverses led him to contemplate suicide, in preference to consenting to what he thought dishonourable terms of peace. The next campaign was bloody and indecisive; and in the following year the secession of Russia and France induced Austria, then much exhausted, to consent to a peace, by which Silesia and the other possessions of Frederic were secured to him as he possessed them before the war. So that this enormous expense of blood and treasure produced no result whatever, except that of establishing the King of Prussia’s reputation as the first living general of Europe. Peace was signed at the castle of Hubertsburg, near Dresden, Feb. 15, 1763.

The brilliant military reputation which Frederic had acquired in this arduous contest did not tempt him to pursue the career of a conqueror. He had risked every thing to maintain possession of Silesia; but if his writings speak the real feelings of his mind, he was deeply sensible to the sufferings and evils which attend upon war. “The state of Prussia,” he himself says, in the ‘Histoire de mon Temps,’ “can only be compared to that of a man riddled with wounds, weakened by loss of blood, and ready to sink under the weight of his misfortunes. The nobility was exhausted, the commons ruined, numbers of villages were burnt, of towns ruined. Civil order was lost in a total anarchy: in a word, the desolation was universal.” To cure these evils Frederic applied his earnest attention; and by grants of money to those towns which had suffered most; by the commencement and continuation of various great works of public utility; by attention to agriculture; by draining marshes, and settling colonists in the barren, or ruined portions of his country; by cherishing manufactures (though not always with a useful or judicious zeal), he succeeded in repairing the exhausted population and resources of Prussia with a rapidity the more wonderful, because his military establishment was at the same time recruited and maintained at the enormous number, considering the size and wealth of the kingdom, of 200,000 men. One of his measures deserves especial notice, the emancipation of the peasants from hereditary servitude. This great undertaking he commenced at an early period of his reign, by giving up his own seignorial rights over the serfs on the crown domains: he completed it in the year 1766, by an edict abolishing servitude throughout his dominions. In 1765, he commenced a gradual alteration in the fiscal system of Prussia, suggested in part by the celebrated Helvetius. In the department of finance, though all his experiments did not succeed, he was very successful. He is said, in the course of his reign, to have raised the annual revenue to nearly double what it had been in his father’s time, and that without increasing the pressure of the people; and from his last biographer, he has obtained the praise of having “arrived, as far as any sovereign ever did, at perfection in that part of finance, which consists in the extracting as much as possible from the people, without overburthening or impoverishing them; and receiving into the royal coffers the sums so extracted, with the least possible deductions.”

In such cares and in his literary pursuits, among which we may especially mention his ‘History of the Seven Years War,’ passed the time of Frederic for ten years. In 1772, he engaged in the nefarious project for the first partition of Poland. Of the iniquity of that project it is not necessary to speak; the universal voice of Europe has condemned it. It does not seem, however, that the scheme originated, as has been said, with Frederic: on the contrary, it appears to have been conceived by Catherine II., and matured in conversations with Prince Henry, the King of Prussia’s brother, during a visit to St. Petersburg. By the treaty of partition, which was not finally arranged till 1777, Prussia gained a territory of no great extent, but of importance from its connecting Prussia Proper with the electoral dominions of Brandenburg and Silesia, and giving a compactness to the kingdom, of which it stood greatly in need. Frederic made some amends for his conduct in this matter, by the diligence with which he laboured to improve his acquisition. In this, as in most circumstances of internal administration, he was very successful; and the country, ruined by war, misgovernment, and the brutal sloth of its inhabitants, soon assumed the aspect of cheerful industry.

The King of Prussia once more led an army into the field, when, on the death of the Elector of Bavaria, childless, in 1778, Joseph II. of Austria conceived the plan of re-annexing to his own crown, under the plea of various antiquated feudal rights, the greater part of the Bavarian territories. Stimulated quite as much by jealousy of Austria, as by a sense of the injustice of this act, Frederic stood out as the assertor of the liberties of Germany, and proceeding with the utmost politeness from explanation to explanation, he marched an army into Bohemia in July, 1778. The war, however, which was terminated in the following spring by the peace of Teschen, was one of manœuvres, and partial engagements; in which Frederic’s skill in strategy shone with its usual lustre, and success, on the whole, rested with the Prussians. By the terms of the treaty, the Bavarian dominions were secured, nearly entire, to the rightful collateral heirs, whose several claims were settled, while certain minor stipulations were made in favour of Prussia.

A few years later, in 1785, Frederic again found occasion to oppose Austria, in defence of the integrity of the Germanic constitution. The Emperor Joseph, in prosecution of his designs on Bavaria, had formed a contract with the reigning elector, to exchange the Austrian provinces in the Netherlands for the Electorate. Dissenting from this arrangement, the heir to the succession entrusted the advocacy of his rights to Frederic, who lost no time in negotiating a confederation among the chief powers of Germany, (known by the name of the Germanic League,) to support the constitution of the empire, and the rights of its several princes. By this timely step Austria was compelled to forego the desired acquisition.

At this time Frederic’s constitution had begun to decay. He had long been a sufferer from gout, the natural consequence of indulgence in good eating and rich cookery, to which throughout his life he was addicted. Towards the end of the year he began to experience great difficulty of breathing. His complaints, aggravated by total neglect of medical advice, and an extravagant appetite, which he gratified by eating to excess of the most highly seasoned and unwholesome food, terminated in a confirmed dropsy. During the latter months of his life he suffered grievously from this complication of disorders; and through this period he displayed remarkable patience, and consideration for the feelings of those around him. No expression of suffering was allowed to pass his lips; and up to the last day of his life he continued to discharge with punctuality those political duties which he had imposed upon himself in youth and strength. Strange to say, while he exhibited this extraordinary self-control in some respects, he would not abstain from the most extravagant excesses in diet, though they were almost always followed by a severe aggravation of his sufferings. Up to August 15, 1786, he continued, as usual, to receive and answer all communications, and to despatch the usual routine of civil and military business. On the following day he fell into a lethargy, from which he only partially recovered. He died in the course of the night of August 16.

The published works of the King of Prussia were collected in twenty-three volumes, 8vo. Amsterdam, 1790. We shall here mention, as completing the body of his historical works, the “Mémoires depuis la Paix de Hubertsbourg,” and “Mémoires de la Guerre de 1778.” Among his poems, the most remarkable is the “Art de la Guerre;” but these, as happens in most cases, where the writer has thought fit to employ a foreign language, have been little known or esteemed, since their author ceased to rivet the attention of the world by the brilliance of his actions, and the singularity of his character. A list of Frederic’s works is given at the end of the article in the “Biographie Universelle.” For his campaigns, see the works of Lloyd and Templehoff, and Jomini’s “Histoire critique et militaire des Guerres de Frédéric II.” Among the numerous lives of him, we may refer to the “Essai sur la Vie et le Règne de Frédéric II.,” by the Abbé Denina, who had been employed in the King of Prussia’s service. Much that relates to him is to be found among the writings of Voltaire. The lives by Gillies and Lord Dover will satisfy the curiosity of the English reader.

[Gate of the Palace at Potsdam.]

Engraved by B. Holl.

DELAMBRE.

From the original by Boilly
in the possession of Delambre’s Family at Amiens.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

DELAMBRE.

The time is not yet come when a memoir of the personal life of Delambre could be attempted with any chance of interesting the reader. The accounts which have been published from authentic sources are very meagre; and, as may be supposed, this country is not the place in which better can be obtained. We must therefore content ourselves with offering a slight table of the principal events of his public career, and proceed to give some account of his extraordinary labours.

Jean Baptist Joseph Delambre was born September 19, 1749, at or near Amiens. He studied under Delille at the college of Plessis, applying himself particularly to the learned languages. His accurate and ready knowledge of Greek afterwards proved an element of no mean importance in the merit of his ‘History of Astronomy.’

Though the extent of his works would give the idea of a very long life applied to one subject in all its bearings, yet Delambre was more than thirty years old before he turned his attention to astronomy. It is said that he accidentally entered the room where Lalande was delivering a lecture on some part of that science, while either waiting for or coming from another on the Greek language. Be that as it may, he commenced his studies under the celebrated astronomer just named before 1785, in which year the calculation of the longitudes and latitudes of the stars in Mayer’s Catalogue, by Delambre, was published, in the ‘Connaissance des Tems’ for 1788. In 1789 he published Tables of Jupiter and Saturn; and in 1790 Tables of Uranus, which gained the prize of the Academy of Sciences; at the same time he was actively engaged in correcting, by observation, the existing tables of right ascensions. In 1791 he published new Tables of Jupiter’s Satellites, which Lalande calls “Un des plus grands travaux astronomiques qu’on ait faits.”

In 1792 Delambre aided Lalande in calculating the planetary tables for the third edition of his ‘Astronomy;’ and was appointed a member of the Institute, and also of the Commission for measuring a Degree of the Meridian. Of his share in this operation we shall presently speak. In the same year he published his first Tables of the Sun, and a second set in 1806, together with Tables of Refraction. In 1817 he again constructed Tables of Jupiter’s Satellites. In 1795 he was appointed to the Bureau des Longitudes; in 1802 he was made Inspecteur Général des Etudes, in which capacity he formed the Lyceums of Moulins and Lyons. In 1803 he became perpetual secretary of the class of mathematics in the Institute, and the various éloges which are found in the Memoirs of that body till 1822 are from his pen. In 1807 he succeeded Lalande as Professor at the College of France; in 1808 he was appointed Treasurer of the University, and in 1821, Officer of the Legion of Honour. He died August 19, 1822, at the age of seventy-three.

The dry catalogue of tables and works becomes curious and interesting when we consider them all as the production of one man, who was also actively engaged either on the great Survey or in continual observation. But the list is yet far from complete. The Histories of Astronomy (Ancienne, Moyenne, Moderne, du dix-huitième Siècle), comprised in six volumes 4to., appeared between 1817 and 1821, with the exception of the last, which was published in 1827, after the author’s death. His large work on astronomy, in three 4to. volumes, came out in 1814, and the ‘Base du Systême Métrique,’ a detailed account of the operations of the Survey, in four volumes 4to. (of which the first three are the work of Delambre), appeared at different times between 1806 and 1810. He had previously (in 1799 if we recollect rightly) published a shorter description of the methods employed. His decimal tables of Logarithms appeared in 1801, and his Report on the Progress of all the Sciences since 1789 was presented to the Emperor Napoleon in 1808, and published in 1810. We have still to add the numerous memoirs which he contributed to the ‘Connaissance des Tems,’ the ‘Memoirs of the Institute,’ and other periodicals, to the list of Delambre’s labours; a list which shows that he possessed a degree of energy rarely surpassed, and a quantity of reading, on the subject of astronomy at least, certainly never equalled.

But though it is only justice to the memory of Delambre to insist upon the amazing quantity of work which he performed, all of the first order of utility, in which he appears to us to stand altogether without a rival in the history of science, we have yet to point out how much of that work was of a more laborious character than is usually necessary to produce the same number of pages. We need not dwell on the planetary tables, &c., or on the ‘Base du Systême Métrique,’ almost every page of which is a separate record of toil and patience. The History of Astronomy is a work of a peculiar kind. It is not merely a digest of ideas which the author had acquired from the perusal of the writings of others, but an actual abstract of every work which has exercised the least influence on the progress of the science, whether Greek, Arabian, or modern European. This task by itself would have been abundantly sufficient to secure to its author the reputation of a long life well spent; for he had to wade through the writings of every age and country, and in particular to acquire a knowledge of the mathematical styles of different times, which are sufficiently distinct to render them, we might almost say, sciences of different species. The student of astronomical history is thus with very little trouble put in possession of all the records of the only science whose history is a part of itself, and must be studied with it. If the author sometimes appears prejudiced or hasty in his conclusions, it must be recollected that (intentional misquotation of course apart, of which he was never suspected) the plan of the work is such as to render the conclusions which a reader may draw from it, to a great degree independent of any colouring arising from the bias or misconception of the author.

The ‘History’ of Delambre was preceded by that of Bailly, a work of such totally different character, that the description of it after the other may almost seem exaggerated for the sake of contrast. With much general knowledge, and, perhaps, considerable research, but with too much previous self-instruction what to find, Bailly has made conjectures of his wishes, and positive theories of his conjectures. His fanciful accounts of people whom he has caused, as has been observed, to give us all knowledge, except that of their own name and existence, perhaps drove Delambre a little into the other extreme: it so, the circumstance is not to be regretted; and the reader, who has amused himself with the former, by inventing inventors for all that has ever been invented, may fall back upon the latter, to learn how many of his conclusions are founded on the rational basis of written testimony. A strong predilection for the latter kind of evidence is the characteristic of Delambre’s writings; and if familiarity with the Greeks rendered him somewhat prejudiced in their favour, he has but paid too much interest for a large and acknowledged debt; whereas Bailly has squandered his whole substance upon creatures of his own imagination.

A very striking feature of Delambre’s writings upon the history of astronomy, is the avidity with which he throws himself upon any calculation which comes in his way, repulsive as such details are to writers in general. Not content with the fullest numerical exposition of the process as practised by the astronomer he is describing, he frequently adds the modern method of doing the same thing. This is one of the most useful parts of his undertaking; for astronomy is not, as so many imagine, only the art of looking at the heavens, but also of knowing what to do with the results of observation; and Delambre, in his character of an unwearied calculator, has been of more use than the most assiduous observer[5] of his day.

5.  We are far from undervaluing the higher species of observation which, when combined with the sagacity of the inventor, finds new general laws. We speak only of the vulgar notion entertained of an astronomer, which, however excusable in the general ignorance of the science, portrays only a part of the character, useful indeed, but not the most difficult.

But in the character of an observer Delambre was conspicuous. In conducting his part of the Survey, we cannot help admiring his fortitude as well as skill. In a letter to Lalande, written in 1797, he thus expresses himself, and it is no exaggerated instance of the impediments he frequently met with: “I had about six hours’ work, and I could not do it in less than ten days. In the morning I mounted to the signal, which I left at sunset. The nearest inn was that at Salers, to which it took me three hours to go, and as much to return, and the road was the worst I have met with. At last I resolved to take up my lodging in a neighbouring cowhouse; I say neighbouring, because it was only at the distance of an hour’s walk. During these ten days I could not take off my clothes; I slept upon hay, and lived on milk and cheese. All this time I could hardly ever get sight of the two objects at once; and during the observations, as well as in the long intervals which they left, I was alternately burned by the sun, frozen by the wind, and drenched by the rain. I passed thus ten or twelve hours every day, exposed to all the inclemency of the weather; but nothing annoyed me so much as the inaction.”

It was with extreme difficulty that permission to encounter these inconveniences was granted. The republican government, which, in its hurry to change the weights and measures,[6] had ordered the commission, began to fear lest a latent tinge of royalism in some one of their agents might infect the new standard. At least such a suspicion forces itself upon us, when we find that “The Committee of Public Safety, considering how important it was to the amelioration of the public mind that those employed by government,” in the Survey for instance, “should be distinguished,” not by their knowledge of the theodolite and repeating circle, but “by their republican virtues and hatred of kings,” struck Delambre and others off the list, and would have served Méchain in the same way (who was on the frontier, with public money in his possession), had not they found within themselves the suspicion that he would play them false. But we must not be less than just to the instances of liberal feeling which the most bigoted times produce. When Delambre returned to Paris, he was allowed, after some hesitation, to retain the diploma of the Royal Society of London, written in Latin, with the arms of the King of England upon it.

6.  For some of our readers we may state that the object was the measurement of the earth’s circumference, or rather the deduction of it from the measurement of a part, in order that the metre might be made an exact aliquot part of the circumference.

Such were the feelings with which the government regarded even their own favourite project, and we may therefore be surprised at the endurance with which Delambre solicited, and at length partially obtained, leave to recommence his operations; add to which, that his astronomical instruments caused him frequently to be molested as a spy by the ignorant populace of the departments—a fact nowise to be wondered at, when we remember that at Paris Lalande’s observatory was searched for arms, and the tube of a telescope carried off to the authorities as some strange species of gun.

Delambre did not interfere in politics; it would have been strange indeed if he had found time. It was amply sufficient for one man to link his name to the science of astronomy, past, present, and future, by history, observations, and tables.

DRAKE.

Francis Drake, the first British circumnavigator of the globe, was born in Devonshire, of humble parents. So much is admitted: with respect to the date of his birth, and the method of his nurture, our annalists, Camden and Stowe, are not agreed. By the latter we are told that Drake was born at Tavistock, about 1545, and brought up under the care of a kinsman, the well-known navigator, Sir John Hawkins. Camden, on the other hand, anticipates his birth by several years, and says that he was bound apprentice to a small shipowner on the coast of Kent, who, dying unmarried, in reward of his industry, bestowed his bark upon him as a legacy. Both accounts agree that in 1667 he went with Hawkins to the West Indies on a trading voyage, which gave its colour to the rest of his life. Their little squadron was obliged by stress of weather to put into St. Juan de Ulloa, on the coast of Mexico; where, after being received with a show of amity, it was beset and attacked by a superior force, and only two vessels escaped. To make amends for his losses in this adventure, in the quaint language of the biographer Prince, in his ‘Worthies of Devon,’ “Mr. Drake was persuaded by the minister of his ship that he might lawfully recover the value of the King of Spain by reprisal, and repair his losses upon him any where else. The case was clear in sea divinity; and few are such infidels as not to believe in doctrines which make for their profit. Whereupon Drake, though then a poor private man, undertook to revenge himself upon so mighty a monarch.”

Engraved by W. Holl.

DRAKE.

From an original Picture in the possession of
Sir T. F. Eliott Drake Bart. of Nutwell Court, near Exeter.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

Dr. Johnson, in his ‘Life of Drake,’ states, with perfect complacency and without a word of qualification, that the bold sailor determined on an expedition, “by which the Spaniards should feel how imprudently they always act who injure and insult a brave man.” In his national zeal, the moralist seems to have forgotten that the retaliation of which he speaks was a lawless robbery, exercised upon the peaceable subjects of a king with whom we were not at war, in satisfaction of a wrong in which they the sufferers had neither part nor interest, and that this forcible levying of satisfaction, without national warrant and commission, is what in modern language we call piracy. It is fortunate for the peace of the world that this system of “sea divinity” is gone by. But in judging of this undertaking, which the courage, constancy, and success of its contriver could not by themselves save from the stigma of piracy, we must take into account the peculiar circumstances of the times. War, it is true, was not declared between Spain and England; but the bigotry of Philip II., his deep-rooted hatred and persecution of the Protestant religion, and his known support of the Catholic malcontents, caused Spain to be regarded by the English Protestants as their deadliest enemy; so that the plunder of Spanish America might be regarded, in the language of the Puritans, merely as a spoiling of the Egyptians; and the more because it was pretty clear, however the Queen’s prudence might delay it, that a breach must ensue between the two nations ere long. This feeling was strengthened by the jealous care with which the Spaniards sought to exclude all foreigners from navigating the new-discovered seas; and there is some justice in Elizabeth’s reply to the Spanish ambassador, when he complained of Drake’s piracies, that his countrymen, by arrogating a right to the whole new world, and excluding thence all other European nations who should sail thither, even with a view of exercising the most lawful commerce, naturally tempted others to make a violent irruption into those regions.

In the years 1570–1 Drake made two voyages to the West Indies, apparently to gain a more precise acquaintance with the seas, the situation, strength, and wealth of the Spanish settlements. In 1572 he sailed with two ships, one of seventy-five tons, the other of twenty-five tons, their united crews mustering only seventy-three men and boys, all volunteers. His object was to capture the now ruined city of Nombre de Dios, situated on the isthmus of Panama a few miles east of Porto Bello, then the great repository of all the treasure conveyed from Mexico to Spain. Off the coast of America his little armament was augmented by an English bark with thirty men on board; so that, deducting those whom it was necessary to leave in charge of the ships, his available force fell short of an hundred men. This handful of bold men attacked the town, which was unwalled, on the night of July 22, and found their way to the market-place, where the captain received a severe wound. He concealed his hurt until the public treasury was reached, but before it could be broken open, he became faint from loss of blood, and his disheartened followers abandoned the attempt, and carried him perforce on board ship. Such at least is the account of the English: there is a Portuguese statement in ‘Hakluyt’s Voyages,’ vol. iii. p. 525, less favourable both to the daring and success of the assailants.

Failing in this attempt, Drake continued for some time on the coast, visiting Carthagena and other places, and making prize of various ships; and if we wonder at his hardihood in adventuring with such scanty means to remain for months in the midst of an awakened and inveterate enemy, how much more surprising is it that the wealthy, proud, and powerful monarchy of Spain should so neglect the care of its most precious colonies, as to leave them unable to crush so slight a foe. The English appear to have felt perfectly at their ease; they cruised about, formed an intimate alliance with an Indian tribe, named Symerons, the bond of union being a common hatred of the Spaniards, and built a fort on a small island of difficult access, at the mouth of a river, where they remained from September 24, to February 3, 1573. On the latter day, Drake set forth with one portion of his associates, under the conduct of the Symerons, to cross the isthmus. On the fourth day they reached a central hill, where stood a remarkable “goodly and great high tree, in which the Indians had cut and made divers steps to ascend up neere unto the top, where they had also made a convenient bower, wherein ten or twelve men might easily sitt; and from thence wee might without any difficulty plainly see the Atlantic Ocean, whence now wee came, and the South Atlantic (i. e. Pacific), so much desired. After our captain had ascended to this bower with the chief Symeron, and having, as it pleased God at that time, by reason of the brize, a very faire day, had seen that sea of which he had heard such golden reports, he besought Almighty God of his goodness to give him life and leave to sayle once in an English ship in that sea.” We quote from a tract entitled ‘Sir Francis Drake Revived,’ written by some of Drake’s companions, corrected, it is said, by himself, and published by his nephew in 1626, which contains a full and interesting account of this adventurous expedition. Drake’s present object was to intercept a convoy of treasure on the way from Panama to Nombre de Dios. The route was this: eight leagues from Panama, lying inland to the north-west, is the town of Venta Cruz, high on the river Chagre. For this distance merchandise was carried on mules, then embarked in flat-bottomed boats, and carried down the river to its mouth, then shipped for Nombre de Dios, or after the abandonment of that town, for Porto Bello; and this is the route by which it has often been proposed to make a canal to join the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. By this route the treasures of Peru and Chili, as well as Mexico, were brought to Europe, for the passage round Cape Horn was then unknown, and no ship but Magalhaens’ had yet accomplished the passage round the world to Europe. Guided by the Symerons, the English approached Panama, learned that a valuable treasure was expected to pass, and beset the lonely forest road which it had to travel. But the haste of one drunken man gave a premature alarm, in consequence of which the march of the caravan was stopped: and Drake with his party, their golden hopes being thus defeated, forced their way through Venta Cruz, and returned by a shorter route to their encampment, after a toilsome and fruitless journey of three weeks. It was not till April 1, that the long-desired opportunity presented itself, on which day they took a caravan of mules laden with silver, and a small quantity of gold. They carried off part of the spoil, and buried about fifteen tons of silver; but on returning for it, they found that it had been recovered by the Spaniards.

Drake returned to England, August 9, 1573. In dividing the treasure he showed the strictest honour, and even generosity; yet his share was large enough to pay for fitting out three ships, with which he served as a volunteer in Ireland under the Earl of Essex, and “did excellent service both by sea and land in the winning of divers strong forts.” In 1577, he obtained a commission from Queen Elizabeth to conduct a squadron into the South Seas. What was the purport of the commission we do not find: it appears from subsequent passages that it gave to Drake the power of life and death over his followers; but it would seem from the Queen’s hesitation in approving his proceedings, that it was not intended to authorize (at least formally) his depredations on Spanish property.

With five ships, the largest the Pelican of one hundred tons burden, the smallest a pinnace of fifteen tons, manned in all with only 164 men, Drake sailed from Plymouth, November 15, 1577, to visit seas where no English vessel had ever sailed. Without serious loss, or adventure worthy of notice, the fleet arrived at Port St. Julian, on the coast of Patagonia, June 20, 1578. Here the discoverer Magalhaens had tried and executed his second in command on a charge of mutiny, and the same spot did Drake select to perform a similar tragedy. He accused the officer next to himself, Thomas Doughty, of plots to defeat the expedition and take his life; plots undertaken, he said, before they had left England. “Proofs were required and alleged, so many and so evident, that the gentleman himself, stricken with remorse, acknowledged himself to have deserved death;” and of three things presented to him, either immediate execution, or to be set on shore on the main, or to be sent home to answer for his conduct, he chose the former; and having at his own request received the sacrament together with Drake, and dined with him in farther token of amity, he cheerfully laid his head on the block, according to the sentence pronounced by forty of the chiefest persons in the fleet. Such is the account published by Drake’s nephew, in ‘The World Encompassed,’ of which we shall only observe, without passing judgment on the action, that Drake’s conduct in taking out a person whom he knew to be ill affected to him, was as singular as is the behaviour and sudden and acute penitence attributed to Doughty. But we have no account from any friend of the sufferer. It is fair to state the judgment of Camden, who says, “that the more unprejudiced men in the fleet thought Doughty had been guilty of insubordination, and that Drake in jealousy removed him as a rival. But some persons, who thought they could see further than others, said that Drake had been ordered by the Earl of Leicester to take off Doughty, because he spread a report that Leicester had procured the death of the Earl of Essex.”

Having remained at Port St. Julian until August 15, they sailed for the Straits, reached them August 20, and passed safely into the Pacific, September 6, with three ships, having taken out the men and stores, and abandoned the two smaller vessels. But there arose on the 7th a dreadful storm, which dispersed the ships. The Marigold was no more heard of, while the dispirited crew of the Elizabeth returned to England, being the first who ever passed back to the eastward through Magellan’s Strait.[7] Drake’s ship was driven southwards to the 56th degree, where he ran in among the islands of the extreme south of America. He fixes the farthest land to be near the 56th degree of south latitude, and thus appears to claim the honour of having discovered Cape Horn. From September 7 to October 28, the adventurers were buffeted by one continued and dreadful storm: and in estimating the merits of our intrepid seamen, it is to be considered that the seas were utterly unknown, and feared by all, those who had tried to follow in Magalhaens’ course having seldom succeeded, and then with much pain and loss, and little fruit of their voyage; that their vessels were of a class which is now hardly used for more than coasting service; and that the imperfection of instruments and observations laid them under disadvantages which are now removed by the ingenuity of our artists. Add to this, that as the Spaniards gave out that it was impossible to repass the Straits, there remained no known way to quit the hostile shores of America, but by traversing the unexplored Pacific.

7.  This is the general statement: but in the ‘Lives of Early English Navigators,’ in the Edinburgh Cabinet Library, vol. v., it is said that a Spaniard named Ladrilleros had made the passage twenty years before.

The storm at length ceased, and the lonely Pelican (which Drake however had renamed the Golden Hind) ran along the coast of Lima and Peru, reaping a golden harvest from the careless security of those who never thought to see an enemy on that side of the globe. There is something rather revolting, but very indicative of the temper of the age, in the constant reference to the guidance and protection of God, mixed with a quiet jocularity with which ‘Master Francis Fletcher, Preacher in this employment,’ from whose notes the ‘World Encompassed,’ which is a narrative of this voyage, was compiled, speaks of acts very little different from highway robbery, such as would now be held disgraceful in open war: as, for instance, on meeting a Spaniard driving eight lamas, each laden with 100 pounds weight of silver, “they offered their service without entreaty, and became drovers, not enduring to see a gentleman Spaniard turned carrier.” Enriched by the most valuable spoil, jewels, gold, and silver, Drake steered to the northward, hoping to discover a homeward passage in that quarter. In the 48th degree of latitude he was stopped by the cold; and, determining to traverse the Pacific, he landed, careened his ship, and, in the Queen’s name, took possession of the country, which he named New Albion. September 29, 1579, he sailed again, and reached the Molucca Islands November 4. In his passage thence to the island of Celebes, he incurred the most imminent danger of the whole voyage. The ship struck, as they were sailing before a fair wind, on a reef of rocks, so precipitous that it was impossible to lay out an anchor to heave her off. They stuck fast in this most hazardous situation for eight hours. At the end of that time the wind shifted, and the ship, lightened of part of her guns and cargo, reeled off into deep water, without serious injury. Had the sea risen, she must have been wrecked. This was Drake’s last mishap. He reached Plymouth in the autumn of 1580, after near three years’ absence. Accounts differ as to the exact date of his arrival.

Since Drake had for this voyage the Queen’s commission, by which we must suppose the license to rob the Spaniards to have been at least tacitly conceded, he seems to have been rather hardly used in being left from November to April in ignorance how his bold adventure was received at court. Among the people it created a great sensation, with much diversity of opinion: some commending it as a notable instance of English valour and maritime skill, and a just reprisal upon the Spaniards for their faithless and cruel practices; others styling it a breach of treaties, little better than piracy, and such as it was neither expedient nor decent for a trading nation to encourage. During this interval, Drake must have felt his situation unpleasant and precarious; but the Queen turned the scale in his favour by going, April 4, 1581, to dine on board his ship at Deptford, on which occasion she declared her entire approbation of his conduct, and conferred on him the honour, and such it then was, of knighthood. His ship she ordered to be preserved, as a monument of his glory. Having fallen to decay, it was at length broken up: a chair, made out of its planks, was presented to the University of Oxford, and probably is still to be seen in the Bodleian library. Cowley wrote a Pindaric ode upon it.

Drake had now established his reputation as the first seaman of the day; and in 1585 the Queen, having resolved on war, intrusted him with the command of an expedition against the Spanish colonies. He burnt or put to ransom the cities of St. Jago, near Cape Verde, St. Domingo, Carthagena, and others, and returned to England, having fully answered the high expectations which were entertained of him. He was again employed with a larger force of thirty ships in 1587, with which he entered the port of Cadiz, burnt 10,000 tons of shipping, which were to form part of the Armada, took the castle of Cape St. Vincent, and sailing to the Azores, made prize of a large and wealthy ship on its way from the Indies. Still more eminent were his services against the Armada in the following year, in which he served as vice-admiral under Lord Howard of Effingham. But these are well-known passages of history, and we have shortened our account of them, to relate at more length the early incidents of Drake’s adventurous life.

In 1589 Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Norris were joined in the command of an expedition, meant to deliver Portugal from the dominion of Spain. This failed, as many expeditions have done in which the sea and land services were meant to act together; and, as usual, each party threw the blame on the other. Drake’s plan appears to have been most judicious: it was at least accordant with his character, downright and daring. He wished to sail straight for Lisbon and surprise the place; but Norris was bent on landing at Corunna, where he did indeed some harm to the Spaniards, but no service towards the real objects of the expedition. When the land-forces did at last besiege Lisbon, Drake was unwilling or unable to force his way up the Tagus to co-operate with them, and for this he was afterwards warmly blamed by Norris. He defended himself by stating that the time misspent by the English at Corunna had been well employed by the Spaniards in fortifying Lisbon; and we fully believe that neither fear nor jealousy would have made him hesitate at any thing which he thought to be for the good of the service. This miscarriage, though for a time it cast something of a cloud upon Drake’s fame, did not prevent his being again employed in 1595, when the Queen, at the suggestion of himself and Sir John Hawkins, determined to send out another expedition against Spanish America, under those two eminent navigators, the expenses of which were in great part to be defrayed by themselves and their friends. Great hope was naturally conceived of this expedition, the largest which had yet been sent against that quarter, for it consisted of thirty vessels and 2500 men. The chief object was to sail to Nombre de Dios, march to Panama, and there seize the treasure from Peru. But the blow, which should have been struck immediately, was delayed by a feint on the parts of the Spaniards to invade England; the Plate fleet arrived in safety, and the Spanish colonies were forewarned. Hawkins died, it was said of grief at the ruined prospects of the expedition, November 12, while the fleet lay before Porto Rico; and on the same evening Drake had a narrow escape from a cannon ball, which carried the stool from under him as he sat at supper and killed two of his chief officers. Repulsed from Porto Rico, the admiral steered for the Spanish main, where he burnt several towns, and among them Nombre de Dios. He then sent a strong detachment of 750 men against Panama; but they found the capture of that city impracticable. Soon afterwards he fell sick of a fever, and died January 28, 1596. His death, like that of his coadjutor, is attributed to mental distress; and nothing is more probable than that disappointment may have made that noxious climate more deadly. Hints of poisoning were thrown out; but this is a surmise easily and often lightly made. “Thus,” says Fuller, in his Holy State, “an extempore performance, scarce heard to be begun before we hear it is ended, comes off with better applause, or miscarries with less disgrace, than a long-studied and openly-premeditated action. Besides, we see how great spirits, having mounted up to the highest pitch of performance, afterwards strain and break their credits in trying to go beyond it. We will not justify all the actions of any man, though of a tamer profession than a sea-captain, in whom civility is often counted preciseness. For the main, we say that this our captain was a religious man towards God, and his houses, generally speaking, churches, where he came chaste in his life, just in his dealings, true of his word, and merciful to those that were under him, hating nothing so much as idleness.” To these good qualities we may add that he was kind and considerate to his sailors, though strict in the maintenance of discipline: and liberal on fit occasions, though a strict economist. He cut a watercourse from Buckland Abbey to Plymouth, a distance of seven miles in a straight line, and thirty by the windings of the conduit, to supply the latter town with fresh water, which before was not to be procured within the distance of a mile. He is honourably distinguished from the atrocious race of buccaneers, to whom his example in some sort gave rise, by the humanity with which he treated his prisoners. And it should be mentioned, as a proof of his judicious benevolence, that in conjunction with Sir John Hawkins, he procured the establishment of the Chest at Chatham, for the relief of aged or sick seamen, out of their own voluntary contributions. The faults ascribed to him are ambition, inconstancy in friendship, and too much desire of popularity.

In person, Drake was low, but strongly made, “well favoured, fayre, and of a cheerefull countenance.” The scarf and jewel which he wears in our portrait (which is engraved from a picture in the possession of Sir Trayton Drake, of Nutwell Court, near Exeter, the present representative of the family) were given him by Queen Elizabeth; the former when he took leave of her before sailing to meet the Armada. The jewel contains a portrait of herself: these relics are still in the possession of the family. Drake left no issue: his nephew was created a baronet by James I., and the title is still extant.

The collection of voyages by Hakluyt, and the accounts published by Drake’s nephew, quoted in this memoir, contain the fullest accounts of Drake’s adventurous history. Prince’s ‘Worthies of Devon,’ Dr. Johnson’s ‘Life of Drake,’ Kippis’s ‘Biographia Britannica,’ and the ‘Edinburgh Cabinet Library,’ vol. v., all give satisfactory accounts of this eminent ornament of the British navy.

[From “a drawn Plan of Her Majestie’s (Elizabeth) Harbour at Berwick.” Cottonian MSS.
Augustus, vol. ii., in British Museum.]

Engraved by W. Holl.

CHARLES V.

From the Original by Holbein in the Private
Collection of the King of the French.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

CHARLES V.

Charles V. was born at Ghent, February 24, 1500. His parents were the Archduke Philip, son of the Emperor Maximilian, and Joanna, daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon and Isabella of Castile. To those united kingdoms Charles succeeded on the death of his grandfather Ferdinand, in 1516. The early part of his reign was stormy: a Flemish regency and Flemish ministers became hateful to the Spaniards: and their discontent broke out into civil war. The Castilian rebels assumed the name of The Holy League, and seemed animated by a spirit not unlike that of the English Commons under the Stuarts. Spain was harassed by these internal contests until 1522, when they were calmed by the presence of Charles, whose prudence, and we may hope his humanity, put an end to the rebellion. He made some examples; but soon held his hand, with the declaration, that “too much blood had been spilt.” An amnesty was more effectual than severities, and the royal authority was strengthened, as it will seldom fail to be, by clemency. Some of his courtiers informed him of the place where one of the ringleaders was concealed. His answer is worthy of everlasting remembrance,—“You ought to warn him that I am here, rather than acquaint me where he is.”

Spain, the Two Sicilies, the Low Countries, and Franche Comté, belonged to Charles V. by inheritance; and by his grandfather Maximilian’s intervention, he was elected King of the Romans: nor had he to wait long before that prince’s death, in 1519, cleared his path to the empire. But Francis I. of France was also a candidate for the imperial crown, with the advantage of being six years senior to Charles, and of having already given proof of military talent. The Germans, however, were jealous of their liberties; and not unreasonably dreading the power of each competitor, rejected both. Their choice fell on Frederic, Elector of Saxony, surnamed the Wise, celebrated as the protector of Luther; but that prince declined the splendid boon, and recommended Charles, on the plea that a powerful emperor was required to stop the rapid progress of the Turkish arms. It was, however, surmised, that two thousand marks of gold, judiciously distributed by the Spanish ambassador, had some little influence in fixing the votes. On his election, Charles was required to sign a capitulation for the maintenance of the liberties and rights of the Germanic body, with a proviso against converting the empire into an heir-loom in his family. From the time of Otho IV. it had been customary for new emperors to send an embassy to Rome, giving notice of their election, and promising obedience to the papal court; but Charles V. thought this more honoured in the breach than the observance; nor have the pretensions of the Holy See been since strong enough to recover that long established claim. So true it is, that practices resting on no better foundation than absurd or pernicious precedents, require only a successful example of resistance, to ensure their abolition.

The political jealousy, embittered by personal emulation, which existed between the Emperor and the King of France, broke out into war in 1521. France, Navarre, and the Low Countries, were at times the seat of the long contest which ensued; but chiefly Italy. The duchy of Milan had been conquered by Francis in 1515. It was again wrested from the French by the Emperor in 1522. In 1523, a strong confederacy was formed against France, by the Pope, the Emperor, the King of England, the Archduke Ferdinand, to whom his brother Charles had ceded the German dominions of the House of Austria; the states of Milan, Venice, and Genoa; all united against a single power. And in addition, the celebrated Constable of Bourbon became a traitor to France, to gratify his revenge; brought his brilliant military talents to the Emperor’s service; and was invested with the command of the Imperial troops in Italy. To this formidable enemy Francis opposed his weak and presumptuous favourite, the Admiral Bonnivet, who was driven out of Italy in 1524, the year in which the gallant Bayard lost his life, in striving to redeem his commander’s errors.

The confidence of Francis seemed to increase with his dangers, and his faults with his confidence. He again entered the Milanese, in 1525, and retook the capital. But Bonnivet was his only counsellor; and, under such guidance, the siege of Pavia was prosecuted with inconceivable rashness, and the battle of Pavia fought without a chance of gaining it. Francis was taken prisoner, and wrote thus to his mother, the Duchess of Angoulême;—“Everything is lost, except our honour.” This Spartan spirit has been much admired; but whether justly, may be a question. From a Bayard, nothing could have been better: but the honour of a king is not confined to fighting a battle; and this specimen, like the conduct of Francis in general, proves him to have been the mirror of knighthood, rather than of royalty.

Charles, notwithstanding his victory at Pavia, did not invade France, but, as the price of freedom, he prescribed the harshest conditions to the captive king. At first they were rejected; but haughty spirit and conscience were at length both reconciled to the casuistry, that the fulfilment of forced promises may be eluded. Francis therefore consented to the treaty of Madrid, made in 1526, by which it was stipulated that he should give up his claims in Italy and the Low Countries; surrender the duchy of Burgundy to Spain; and return into captivity, if these conditions were not fulfilled in six weeks. When once at large, instead of executing the treaty, he formed a league with the Pope, the King of England, and the Venetians, to maintain the liberty of Italy. The Pope absolved him from his oaths, and he refused to return into Spain. This deliberate infraction of an oath savoured neither of the mirror of knighthood, nor royalty. Nor did the Emperor appear to advantage in this transaction: his want of generosity was conspicuous in his extravagant demands, and his failure in the higher tone of princely feeling was not compensated to himself by the success of his politics.

In 1527, Bourbon laid siege to Rome, and was slain in the assault; but the Imperialists took and plundered the city, and are said in derision to have proclaimed Martin Luther Pope. The Emperor’s conduct on this occasion was not less farcical, than his hypocrisy was disgusting. On receiving news of the captivity of the head of the church, instead of setting him at liberty, he commanded processions for his deliverance, and ultimately exacted from him a heavy ransom. Meanwhile the treaty of Madrid was not fulfilled; and this was the cause of another war between Spain, and France supported by England. The passions of the rival monarchs were now much excited, and challenges and the lie were exchanged between them. No duel was fought, nor probably intended; but the notoriety of the challenge went far to establish a false point of punctilio, we will not call it honour, among gentlemen, and single combats became more frequent than in the ages of barbarism.

In 1529, the course of these calamities was suspended by the treaty of Cambray, negotiated in person by two women. The Duchess of Angoulême, and Margaret of Austria, governess of the Low Countries, met in that city, and settled the terms of pacification between the rival monarchs.

For Charles’s honourable conduct on Luther’s appearance before the diet of Worms, the reader may refer to the life of the Reformer in our second volume. The cause of Lutheranism gained ground at the diet of Nuremberg; and if Charles had declared in favour of the Lutherans, all Germany would probably have changed its religion. As it was, the Reformation made progress during the war between the Emperor and Clement VII. All that Charles acquired from the diet of Spire in 1526, was to wait patiently for a general council, without encouraging novelties. In 1530, he assisted in person at the diet of Augsburg, when the Protestants (a name bestowed on the Reformers in consequence of the protest entered by the Elector of Saxony and others at the second diet of Spire) presented their confession, drawn up by Melancthon, the most moderate of Luther’s disciples. About this time Charles procured the election of his brother Ferdinand as king of the Romans, on the plea that, in his absence, the empire required a powerful chief to make head against the Turks. This might be only a pretence for family aggrandisement: but the Emperor became seriously apprehensive lest the Lutherans, if provoked, should abandon the cause of Christendom; and policy therefore conceded what zeal would have refused. By a treaty concluded with the Protestants at Nuremberg, and ratified at Ratisbon in 1531, Charles granted them liberty of conscience, till a council should be held, and annulled all sentences passed against them by the Imperial chamber: on this they engaged to give him powerful assistance against the Turks.

In 1535, Muley Hassan, the exiled king of Tunis, implored Charles’s aid against the pirate Barbarossa, who had usurped his throne. The Emperor eagerly seized the opportunity of acquiring fame, by the destruction of that pest of Spain and Italy. He carried a large army into Africa, defeated Barbarossa, and marched to Tunis. The city surrendered, being in no condition to resist: and while the conqueror was deliberating what terms to grant, the soldiery sacked it, committed the most atrocious violence, and are said to have massacred more than thirty thousand persons. This outrage tarnished the glory of the expedition, which was entirely successful. Muley Hassan was restored to his throne.

In 1536 a fresh dispute for the possession of the Milanese broke out between the King of France and the Emperor. It began with a negotiation, artfully protracted by Charles, who promised the investiture, sometimes to the second, sometimes to the youngest son of his formerly impetuous rival, whom he thus amused, while he took measures to crush him by the weight of his arms. But if misfortune had made the King of France too cautious, prosperity had inspired Charles with a haughty presumption, which gave the semblance of stability to every chimerical vision of pride. In 1536 he attempted the conquest of France by invading Provence; but his designs were frustrated by a conduct so opposite to the national genius of the French, that it induced them to murmur against their general. Charles however felt by experience the prudence of those measures, which sacrificed individual interests to the general good, by making a desert of the whole country. Francis marked his impotent hatred by summoning the Emperor before parliament by the simple name of Charles of Austria, as his vassal for the countries of Artois and Flanders. The charge was the infraction of the treaty of Cambray, the offence was laid as felony, to abide the judgment of the court of peers: on the expiration of the legal term, the two fiefs were decreed to be confiscated. A fresh source of hostility broke out on the death of the young Dauphin of France, who was said to have been poisoned, and the king accused Charles V. of the crime. But there is neither proof nor probability to support the charge: and the accused could have no interest to commit the act imputed to him, since there were two surviving sons still left to Francis.

But the resources even of Charles were exhausted by his great exertions: arrears were due to his troops, who mutinied everywhere, from his inability to pay them. He therefore assembled the Cortes, or states-general, of Castile, at Toledo, in 1539, stated his wants, and demanded subsidies. The clergy and nobility pleaded their own exemption, and refused to impose new taxes on the other orders. Charles in anger dissolved the Cortes, and declared the nobles and prelates for ever excluded from that body, on the ground that men who pay no taxes have no right to a voice in the national assemblies. Toledo at that time witnessed a singular instance of power and haughtiness in the Spanish grandees. The Emperor with his court was returning from a tournament, when one of the officers making way before him struck the Duke d’Infantado’s horse: the proud nobleman drew his sword, and wounded the offender. Charles ordered the grand provost to arrest the duke; but the Constable of Castile compelled the provost to retire, claimed his exclusive right to judge a grandee, and took the duke, whom the other nobles rallied round, to his own house. Only one cardinal remained with the king, who had the good sense to pocket the affront. He offered to punish the officer; but Infantado considered the proposal as sufficient reparation, and the grandees returned to court. But the people of Ghent made a more serious resistance to authority, on account of a tax which infringed their privileges. They offered to transfer their allegiance to Francis, who did not avail himself of the proposal, not from either conscientious or chivalrous scruples, but because his views were all centred in Milan: he therefore betrayed his Flemish clients to the Emperor, in hopes of obtaining the investiture of the Italian duchy. By holding out the expectation of this boon, Charles obtained a safe-conduct for his passage through France into Flanders, whither he was anxious to repair without loss of time. His presence soon reduced the insurgents. The inhabitants of Ghent opened their gates to him on his fortieth birthday, in 1540; and he entered his native city, in his own words, “as their sovereign and their judge, with the sceptre and the sword.” He punished twenty-nine of the principal citizens with death, the town with the forfeiture of its privileges, and the people by a heavy fine for the building of a citadel to coerce them. He broke his word with Francis by bestowing the Milanese on his own son, afterwards Philip II. If his duplicity be hateful, the credulity of Francis is contemptible.

Our limits will not allow of our detailing the circumstances of the Emperor’s calamitous expedition against Algiers; but his courage, constancy, and humanity in distress and danger, claim a sympathy for his misfortunes, which is withheld from the selfish and wily career of his prosperity.

Francis devised new grounds for war, and allied himself with Sweden, Denmark, and the Sultan Soliman. This is the first instance of a confederacy with the North. But he had alienated the Protestants of Germany by his severe measures against the Lutherans, and Henry VIII. by crossing the marriage of his son Edward with Mary of Scotland, yet in her cradle. Henry therefore leagued with the Emperor, who found it convenient to bury the injuries of Catherine of Arragon in her grave. The war was continued during the two following years with various success: the most remarkable events were the capture of Boulogne by the English, and the great victory won by the French over the Imperialists at Cerisolles, in Piedmont, in 1544. In the autumn of that year a treaty was concluded at Crespi, between Charles and Francis, involving the ordinary conditions of marriage and mutual renunciations, with the curious clause that both should make joint war against the Turks. In the same year the embarrassments created by the war, and the imminent danger of Hungary, increased the boldness of the German Protestants belonging to the league of Smalkald, and the Emperor, while presiding at the diet of Spire, won them over by consenting to the free exercise of their religion.

The Catholics had always demanded a council, which was convened at Trent in 1545. The Protestants refused to acknowledge its authority, and the Emperor no longer affected fairness towards them. In 1546 he joined Pope Paul III. in a league against them, by a treaty in terms contradictory to his own public protestations. Paul himself was so imprudent as to reveal the secret, and it enabled the Protestants to raise a formidable army in defence of their religion and liberties. But the Electors of Cologne and Brandenburg, and the Elector Palatine, resolved to remain neuter. Notwithstanding this secession, the war might have been ended at once, had the confederates attacked Charles while he lay at Ratisbon with very few troops, instead of wasting time by writing a manifesto, which he answered by putting the Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse under the ban of the empire. He foresaw those divisions which soon came to pass, by Maurice of Saxony’s seizure of his cousin’s electorate.

Delivered by the death of Francis in 1547, in which year Henry VIII. also died, from the watchful supervision of a jealous and powerful rival, and relieved from the fear of the Turks by a five years truce, Charles was at liberty to bend his whole strength against the revolted princes of Germany. He marched against the Elector Frederic of Saxony, who was defeated at Mulhausen, taken prisoner, and condemned to death by a court-martial composed of Italians and Spaniards, in contempt of the laws of the empire. The sentence was communicated to the prisoner while playing at chess: his firmness was not shaken, and he tranquilly said, “I shall die without reluctance, if my death will save the honour of my family and the inheritance of my children.” He then finished his game. But his wife and family could not look at his death so calmly: at their entreaty he surrendered his electorate into the Emperor’s hands. The other chief of the Protestant league, the Landgrave of Hesse, was also forced to submit, and detained in captivity, contrary to the pledged word of the Emperor; who, fearless of any further resistance to his supreme authority, convoked a diet at Augsburg in 1548. At that assembly Maurice was invested with Saxony: and the Emperor, in the vain hope of enforcing a uniformity of religious practice, published by his own authority a body of doctrine called the “Interim,” to be in force till a general council should be assembled. The divines by whom that “Interim” was composed, had inserted the fundamentals of Catholic doctrine, and preserved the ancient form of worship; but they allowed the communion in both kinds, and permitted married priests to perform sacerdotal functions. This necessarily was unsatisfactory to both parties; but its observance was enforced by a master, with whom terror was the engine of obedience.

These measures, however, did not preserve tranquillity long in Germany. Maurice of Saxony and the Elector of Brandenburg urged the deliverance of the Landgrave of Hesse, as having made themselves sureties against violence to his person. Charles answered by absolving them from their pledges. The Protestants of course charged him as arrogating the same spiritual authority with the popes. And Maurice, offended at the slight put upon him, directed his artful policy to the humiliation of Charles. He had compelled his subjects to conform to the Interim by the help of the timid Melancthon, who was no longer supported by the firmness of Luther. On the other hand, he had silenced the clamours of the more sturdy by a public avowal of his zeal for the Reformation. In the meantime, the diet of Augsburg, completely at the Emperor’s devotion, had named him general of the war against Magdeburg, which had been placed under the ban of the empire for opposition to the Interim. He took that Lutheran city, but by private assurances regained the good will of the inhabitants. He also engaged in a league with France, but still wore the mask. He even deceived the able Granville, Bishop of Arras, afterwards cardinal, who boasted that “a drunken German could never impose on him;” yet was he of all others most imposed on. At last, in 1552, Maurice declared himself, and Henry II. published a manifesto, assuming the title of “Protector of the liberties of Germany and its captive princes.” He began with the conquest of the three bishoprics of Toul, Baden, and Metz. In conjunction with Maurice he laid a plan for surprising Charles at Inspruck, and getting possession of his person; and the daring attempt had almost succeeded. Charles was forced to escape by night during a storm, in a paroxysm of gout, and was carried across the Alps in a litter. In the subsequent conferences at Passau, the deliverance of the Landgrave of Hesse, the abolition of the Interim, and the assembling of a diet within six months, to end all religious differences, were the conditions imposed upon the Emperor. In the meantime, liberty of conscience was to be enjoyed in the fullest manner, and Protestants were made admissible into the imperial chamber. The examination of grievances affecting the liberties of the empire was to be referred to the approaching diet; and if the ecclesiastical disputes were not then adjusted, the treaty now concluded was to remain in perpetual force. These disputes were adjusted, in 1555, at the diet of Augsburg, by the solemn grant of entire freedom of worship to the Protestants. The King of France was abandoned by his allies, and scarcely named in the treaty. Dr. Robertson’s remark on this is worth quoting: “Henry experienced the same treatment which every prince who lends his aid to the authors of a civil war may expect. As soon as the rage of faction began to subside and any prospect of accommodation to open, his services were forgotten, and his associates made a merit with their sovereign of the ingratitude with which they abandoned their protector.” Henry resolved to defend his acquisition of the three bishoprics, and Charles to employ his whole force for their recovery. The Duke of Guise made adequate preparations for the defence of Metz, the siege of which the Emperor was compelled to raise, after sixty-five days spent in fruitless efforts, with the loss of 30,000 men by skirmishes and battles, and by diseases incident to the severity of the season. “I perceive,” said he, “that Fortune, like other females, forsakes old men, to lavish her favours on the young.” This sentiment probably sunk deeper into his reflections, than might be inferred from the sarcastic terms in which it was clothed: for in the year 1556, after various events of war, alternately calamitous to the subjects of both nations, he astonished Europe by his abdication in favour of his son. In an assembly of the states at Brussels, he addressed Philip in a speech which melted the audience into tears. The concluding passage, as given by Robertson, is worth transcribing, to show how much easier it is to utter the suggestions of wisdom and virtue than to act up to them, and how much an experienced observer of human character may be misled to gratuitous assumptions by parental affection. “Preserve an inviolable regard for religion; maintain the Catholic faith in its purity; let the laws of your country be sacred in your eyes; encroach not on the rights and privileges of your people; and if the time should ever come when you shall wish to enjoy the tranquillity of private life, may you have a son endowed with such qualities that you can resign your sceptre to him with as much satisfaction as I give up mine to you!” Charles retired into a monastery, where he died, after more than two years passed in deep melancholy, and in practices of devotion inconsistent with sound intellect, when only between fifty-eight and fifty-nine years of age. His activity and talents had been the theme of universal admiration: the ardour of his ambitious policy had been extreme, and his knowledge of mankind profound: but he should have followed up the objects of his high aspiring by a straighter road. His glory would have been truly enviable had he devoted his efforts to the happiness of his subjects, instead of harassing their minds by dissensions, and mowing down their lives by hundreds of thousands in war.

To the statesman or the politician the history of this period is an inexhaustible fund of instruction and interest, and to the general reader it is rendered more than usually attractive by the almost dramatic contrast of character among the principal actors in the scene. Francis seems to have been the representative of the expiring school of chivalry; Charles was not the representative, but the founder of the modern system of state policy: Henry was the representative of ostentation, violence, and selfishness, to be found in all ages.

We are absolved from the necessity of dilating on the state of the fine arts at this era of their glory, by referring the reader to the lives of the artists of the time scattered through our volumes. The life of Titian affords the most ample evidence of Charles’s personal taste, and feeling of painting; and his warm and generous friendship for that great artist is at once a proof of his discernment, and perhaps the most attractive feature in his character.

It is scarcely necessary to name Robertson as the modern historian of Charles, and his work is the best direction to original authorities. Sismondi may also be consulted.

[Charles V., from a picture by Vandyke.]

Engraved by W. Holl.

DES CARTES.

From the original Picture by Francis Hals
in the Gallery of the Louvre.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

DES CARTES.

The space which we can devote to this biography would be utterly insufficient to give the smallest account of the varied philosophical labours of its subject; still less to recount their consequences. We shall therefore confine ourselves almost entirely to his personal life; the more so, as the private history of Des Cartes is not so well known to the world in general, as is the history of the mathematician, the optician, the natural philosopher, the metaphysician, the anatomist, the musician, &c., to those who study these several sciences.

René Des Cartes[8] du Perron (the latter name being derived from a lordship inherited from his mother, by which he was distinguished from his elder brother) was born at La Haye, in Touraine, March 31, 1596. From his mother, who died shortly after, he inherited a feeble constitution. His father, Joachim Des Cartes, had served in the civil wars, and was of a noble family, of which, says Baillet, neither origin could be traced, nor mésalliance while it lasted.

8.  The life of Des Cartes has been written with great minuteness by M. Baillet author of the ‘Jugemens des Savans,’ &c., in two vols. 4to., Paris, 1690; abridged, Paris, 1693; translated into English the same year. This appears to have been the source from which all accounts have been derived.

His early inclination for study induced his father to send him to the College of La Flèche when he was only eight years old. We have the accounts of extraordinary progress which are usually related of men after they have become distinguished; but what is not so common, we find that he was allowed to keep his bed in the morning as long as he pleased, partly from the weakness of his health, and partly because he was observed to be of a meditative turn. We mention this because it afterwards became his usual habit to study in bed; and certainly some parts of his philosophy bear the marks of it.

He left La Flèche in eight years and a half, with great reputation, and a disgust for all books and methods then in use. He was sent to Paris at the age of seventeen, under the care of a servant, and fell into the fashionable vice of gambling; but at the same time he cultivated the acquaintance of Mydorge[9] and Mersenne. He finally became disgusted with his favourite pursuit, hired a solitary house in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and resumed his studies.

9.  To explain in the briefest terms who these and other friends of Des Cartes were, would make us exceed the prescribed bounds. Our reader must be content to be referred to a biographical dictionary for these and others not known, except to mathematicians.

At the age of twenty-one, he enlisted as a volunteer under the Prince of Orange. At Breda, the solution of a problem introduced him to Beekman. Here he wrote his ‘Treatise on Music,’ of which the latter (to whom it had been entrusted) gave himself out as the author. In 1619, he enlisted as a volunteer under the Duke of Bavaria; and while thus engaged, he tells us he laid the foundations of his philosophy (November 10); after three wonderful dreams. Quitting the service he was engaged in, after having been present at the siege of Prague, he travelled till the end of 1619. He then returned to Paris, where it was believed he was a Rosicrucian, and his continual presence in public was necessary to repel the suspicion. At this time he appears to have laid the foundation of his mathematical methods. After travelling into Italy, he settled again at Paris, and we now find him in habits of friendship with Beaune (afterwards his commentator), Morin, Frenicle, and others, and occupying himself with practical optics. In 1628, he served at the siege of Rochelle.

To avoid society, in 1629, he migrated to Holland, where he passed twenty years. He removed from town to town, hiding his actual residence from all but one or two friends. He occupied himself at first with his optics, and with the considerations which led him, in a few years, to publish his ‘Treatise on Meteors,’ as also with chemistry and anatomy. We now find him in communication with Reneri and Gassendi. He made a short voyage to England, of which nothing is recorded, except some magnetic observations made near London. About 1633, his philosophical opinions were first taught by Reneri, at Deventer. His ‘Treatise on the World,’ written about this time, was suppressed by him when he heard what had happened to Galileo in Italy; and except some meteorological observations, we find nothing to notice till 1637, when he published his ‘Principles of Philosophy,’ in which the well-known hypothesis of vortices is propounded, together with his dioptrical and meteorological theories. This publication was immediately combated in different parts by Roberval, Fromondus, Plempius, Fermat, the elder Pascal, and others. Without going into these and other now uninteresting disputes, it is only necessary to state, that Fermat, Pascal, Roberval, and several others, were soon after in friendly communication with Des Cartes. After the famous problem of the Cycloid, which was propounded about this time (1638–39), Des Cartes, as he had several times done before, renounced geometry; and his work bearing that title (but which is, in fact, his celebrated application of algebra to geometry) was not published by himself, but by his friend De Beaune, who wrote a comment on it at his desire.

In the meantime, his philosophy was fast rising into repute in Holland, where, in 1639, a public panegyric was made upon it at Utrecht, on the death of Reneri. We pass over the various disputes upon it, both at Utrecht and Paris. In 1640, Des Cartes was nearly induced to take up his residence in England, under the protection of Charles I.: but the domestic troubles, which within two years broke out into civil war, interfered with the completion of this arrangement. His father died at the end of the same year; in which he also lost a child named Francina, whom he owned as his daughter, but concerning whose parentage, whether it were legitimate or not, nothing certain is known. Des Cartes was attacked at this time by the Jesuits in France, and by a party in Holland, which asserted that he himself was a Jesuit. The hostility of his Dutch opponents did not materially retard the progress of his opinions, nor could the Jesuits prevent his receiving a flattering invitation from Louis XIII. to return to France.

In 1641, appeared his Meditations De Primâ Philosophiâ, on the Soul, on Freewill, and on the Existence of a Creator. Various parts of this treatise were criticised by Hobbes, Gassendi, and some others; but so much was the reputation of Des Cartes increased in France, that the exertions of Mersenne, made by the desire of the author, could not obtain more than one opponent to this work out of all the Sorbonne. This was the afterwards celebrated Arnaud, between whom and Des Cartes a friendly controversy was maintained. But in Holland, the active enmity of Voet, the rector of the university of Utrecht, and others, raised a clamour against Regius, who publicly taught Cartesian doctrines at Utrecht. Des Cartes himself, averse to controversy, wrote strongly to his pupil not to deny or reject any thing commonly admitted, but merely to assert that it was not necessary to the proper conception of the doctrine taught. But Voet, not content with writing books, instituted an unworthy course of clandestine persecution against Des Cartes, by which, in 1642, he obtained the condemnation of the ‘Meditations’ by the magistracy of Utrecht, and gave the author some personal trouble and anxiety. On the other hand, the new philosophy at this time made great progress among the Jesuits, its former opponents. In the middle of the year Des Cartes returned to France, and superintended a new edition of his Principles of Philosophy. But in the following year he went again to Holland, where some decisions in his favour, in matters of alleged libel, the too virulent enmity of Voet, the public teaching of Cartesian doctrines at Leyden by Heereboord, and other things of the same kind, made his reputation gain ground rapidly. About 1647, we find him clear of violent opposition, and actively engaged in the dissemination of various opinions by personal correspondence. He returned again to France, where a pension of 3000 livres was obtained for him: but he is said never to have received any part of it. He came back to Holland, but next year was recalled to France by the promise of another pension, which turned out to be fallacious. He once more returned to Holland, which he left the same year, to fix his residence in Sweden, at the desire of the queen Christina, with whom he had been some time in correspondence. He arrived at Stockholm in September, and while engaged in projecting an Academy of Sciences, at the desire of the queen, was seized with an inflammation of the lungs, which carried him off, February 11, 1650, at the age of 54. His body, seventeen years after, was removed to the church of St. Geneviève at Paris.

Des Cartes was under the middle size, and well proportioned, except that his head was rather too big for his body. His voice, owing to an hereditary weakness of the lungs, was unable to sustain any long conversation. He was very temperate, slept a good deal, and, as before noticed, wrote and thought much in bed. He was very particular in choosing his servants, engaging none but such as were both well-looking and intellectual; and several of his attendants afterwards rose in the world. Baillet mentions a physician, a Regius professor, a mathematician, and a judge, who had served Des Cartes in different capacities. He inherited from his mother an income of about 6000 livres a year. His expenses in experimenting were considerable, but he never would accept the offered assistance of his friends. He read little, and had few books. We have already noticed the obscure connection from which his daughter Francina derived her birth: he also paid his addresses to a lady, for whom he fought a duel with a rival. With these exceptions, he seems to have been insensible to female influence. He told the last-mentioned lady, somewhat bluntly, that he found nothing so beautiful as truth. He was a devout Catholic, and writers of that persuasion think that his doctrines were more favourable to them than those of Aristotle.

His character as a philosopher is that of extraordinary power of imagination, which frequently carried him beyond all firm foundations. His ingenuity is very great; and had he been contemporary with Newton and Leibnitz, he might have been a third inventor of fluxions. Father Castel says of him, that he built high, and Newton[10] deep; that he had an ambition to create a world, and Newton none whatever. It is usual to compare these two great men; but we do not think them proper objects of comparison. Des Cartes lived at a time when the power of mathematical analysis was but small, compared with what he himself, Wallis, Newton, and others afterwards made it. He pursued his studies before Stevinus and Galileo had yet made the first additions to the mathematical mechanics of Archimedes. It is not, therefore, with Newton that he ought to be tried, but with those philosophers of his own age, who were in the same position with himself, and wrote upon similar subjects with similar methods. And here if we had room we could easily show, that, for variety of power, and comparative soundness of thinking, he was above all his contemporaries, and well deserves his fame.

10.  The good Father first transcribed Newton, then read him twenty times, then wrote his comparison of the two, and kept it twenty years; and finally, decided that Des Cartes was the better philosopher, for the reasons given in the text. Nous avons changé tout cela.

It were much to be wished that his writings were better known in this country, particularly by those who represent him as nothing but a wild schemer, because they hold the system of Newton. It is a sort of article of faith in many popular English works on astronomy, that Des Cartes was a fool. To any one who has imbibed that opinion, we recommend the perusal of some of his writings.

SPENSER.

The materials for the personal history of Edmund Spenser[11] are very scanty; and it may not be amiss to warn the reader of what he will find exemplified in the present article, that early biography, with any pretension to authenticity, must partake nearly as much of a negative as of a positive character.

11.  Our engraving is from a copy of the picture in the possession of the Earl of Kinnoull, which was made some years since by Mr. Uwins.

As to the year of Spenser’s birth, we are thrown for any thing like admissible evidence on the date of his matriculation at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, in 1569, which, according to the usual age of admission in those days, would place his birth about 1553. The monument erected to him by the Countess of Dorset, afterwards of Pembroke and Montgomery, places his birth in 1510, and his death in 1596. This monument, having been erected only thirty years after the poet’s death, might have been expected not to be very inaccurate as to dates; but its authority is completely put down by the college entry. It is altogether at variance with university practice at any period, that a man should be matriculated at the age of fifty-nine, for the purpose of passing through his seven years in statu pupillari, and proceeding to the degree of M.A. at the ripe age of sixty-six. Neither do any facts on record give countenance to the supposition that the poet lived to the advanced age of eighty-six.

The parentage of Spenser is supposed to have been obscure: the only information he has given us on that point is confined to the unimportant fact, that his mother’s name was Elizabeth. But although his silence respecting his parents, and his entering the university as a sizar, give reason to suppose that his nearest connexions had fallen into humble life, his claim of alliance with “an house of ancient fame” indicated that his blood was not altogether plebeian. The dedications of his ‘Muiopotmos’ to Lady Carey, of his ‘Tears of the Muses’ to Lady Strange, and of ‘Mother Hubbard’s Tale’ to the

Engraved by J. Thomson.

SPENSER.

From an original Picture in the possession of
The Earl of Kinnoull.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

Lady Compton and Mounteagle, express affection and bounden duty, on the score of kindred, to the house whence those ladies sprang, who were three sisters, and daughters of Sir John Spencer of Althorpe.

Spenser took the degree of Bachelor in 1572, and that of Master of Arts in 1576, in which year it is said that he was an unsuccessful competitor for a fellowship; but Mr. Church, student of Christ Church in Oxford, who has been more minute in his inquiries than Spenser’s other biographers, thinks that the story has no foundation. It is agreed on all hands that Sir Philip Sidney was the person who drew the poet from obscurity, and introduced him at court. On this subject we are told that Spenser sent a copy of the ninth canto of the first book of the ‘Faery Queene’ to Leicester House; and that Sidney was so transported at the discovery of such astonishing genius, as, after having read a stanza or two, to order his steward to give the author fifty pounds: after the next stanza the sum was doubled. The steward was not so enthusiastic as his master, and therefore in no hurry to make the disbursement; but one stanza more raised the gratuity to two hundred pounds, with a command of immediate payment, lest a further perusal should tempt the gallant knight to give away his whole estate. The obvious drift of this story is to magnify the genius of its subject; but it is rather hard on Sir Philip, that a reputation fully capable of standing by itself should have been unnecessarily propped at the expense of his character for common sense. The plain fact is, that the celebrated Gabriel Harvey, Spenser’s college friend, introduced him to Sidney; that he wrote part of his ‘Shepherd’s Calendar’ at Penshurst, and under the modest name of Immerito, inscribed it to his patron. The general strain of this poem is serious and pensive, but with occasional bursts of amorous complaint. Without the latter it was considered that there could be no pastoral poetry; but in this instance the wailings are thought not to have been altogether fictitious. The name of Rosalinde is said to have shadowed forth a mistress who had deserted him, as that of Colin Clout both there and elsewhere denoted himself. Sidney lost no time in introducing his new friend to the Earl of Leicester, and finally to Queen Elizabeth. On his presenting some poems to her, the Queen ordered him a gratuity of a hundred pounds. Lord Treasurer Burleigh, better qualified to appreciate the useful than the ornamental, said, “What! all this for a song?” The Queen in anger repeated the order; and the minister from that time became the personal enemy of the poet, who alludes to this misfortune in several parts of his works.

The Earl of Leicester seems to have undertaken to provide for Spenser by sending him abroad. A letter to Gabriel Harvey from Leicester House fixes this to the year 1579; but either there is a mistake in the date, or the scheme must have been abandoned; for in 1580 he was appointed secretary to Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton, who was sent as lord-deputy to Ireland. While in that country he wrote his ‘Discourse on the State of Ireland,’ a judicious treatise on the policy then best suited to the condition of that country. His services were rewarded with a grant of 3028 acres in the county of Cork, out of the forfeited lands of Gerald Fitz Gerald Earl of Desmond. Spenser’s residence was at the castle of Kilcolman, near Doneraile. The river Mulla, which he has more than once introduced into his poems, ran through his grounds. Here he contracted an intimacy with Sir Walter Raleigh, who was then a captain under Lord Grey. ‘Colin Clout’s come Home again,’ in which Sir Walter is described as the Shepherd of the Ocean, is a beautiful memorial of this friendship, founded on a similarity of taste for the polite arts, and described with equal delicacy and strength of feeling. The author acknowledges services at court rendered to him by Raleigh; probably the confirmation of the grant of land, which he obtained in 1586. The friends returned to England together, and Spenser wished to have obtained a settlement at home, rather than to have continued in a country at that time little better than barbarous. To mortifications, and ultimate disappointment in his attendance at court, we probably owe the well-known lines in ‘Mother Hubbard’s Tale.’ If his forced return to Ireland was the cause of his writing the ‘Faery Queene,’ his country was benefited, and his fame immeasurably enhanced by the disappointment of his wishes. On the publication of the first three books the Queen rewarded him with a pension of fifty pounds a year; and in him the office of Laureate may be considered to have commenced, although not conferred under that title.

Spenser’s marriage is placed by most biographers in 1593; by Mr. Church in 1596: the year of his death, if we could rest our faith in the monument. All we know of the lady is, that her Christian name was Elizabeth: a name, he says in his 74th sonnet, which has given him three graces, in his mother, his queen, and his mistress. In his ‘Epithalamion’ he says,

“Tell me, ye merchants’ daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,

Adorn’d with beauty’s grace and virtue’s store:

Her goodly eyes, like sapphire, shining bright.

*       *       *       *       *

Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire,

Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flow’rs atween,

Do, like a golden mantle, her attire.”

He probably dwells the more on this latter circumstance, because the Queen’s hair was yellow. But even if the marriage took place in 1593, his term of domestic happiness was very short. In the Earl of Tyrone’s rebellion, in 1598, he was plundered and deprived of his estate. No direct or authentic account of the circumstances attending this calamity has come down to us; but among the heads of a conversation between Ben Jonson and Drummond at Hawthornden, given in the works of the latter, Jonson, after saying that neither Spenser’s stanzas pleased him, nor his matter, is stated to have given the following appalling description of his misfortune: that “his goods were robbed by the Irish, and his house and a little child burnt: he and his wife escaped, and after died for want of bread in King Street, Westminster.” Jonson however adds a circumstance, the strangeness of which throws suspicion over the former part of the story: “He refused twenty pieces sent him by my Lord Essex, and said he was sure he had no time to spend them.” But whether these particulars be true or not, it is certain that he died in London, ruined, and a victim to despair, according to Camden, in 1598, but according to Sir James Ware, who wrote the preface to the ‘View of the State of Ireland,’ in 1599. Sir James, after having given a high character of his poetry, says, “With a fate peculiar to poets, Spenser lived in a continual struggle with poverty: he was driven away from his house and plundered by the rebels: soon after his return in penury to England he died. He was buried in Westminster Abbey near Chaucer, at the expense of the Earl of Essex; the poets of the time, who attended his funeral, threw verses into his grave.” In order to account for the inaccuracy of the dates on the monument, it is alleged that the inscription had been defaced, perhaps by the Puritans in revenge for the descriptions of the Blatant Beast; and that on its renewal, the carver (the year of birth being illegible) put ten at a venture, and ninety-six instead of ninety-eight or ninety-nine.

Respecting Spenser’s private character, conversation and manners, his contemporaries leave us nearly in the dark. We know that Burleigh was his enemy, that Sidney and Raleigh were his friends: and from the dignity of sentiment and moral tendency prevailing throughout his works, we may reasonably infer that his virtue was not unworthy of his genius. Milton speaks of him as “our sage and serious poet, whom I dare be known to think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas.” ‘The Shepherd’s Calendar,’ the first of Spenser’s works in print, is generally said to have come out in 1579. It is a series of pastorals, formed on no uniform plan, but lowered to the standard supposed to be appropriate to that style of composition. But the rustic language of these pieces renders them so utterly untunable to a modern ear, that what obtained the applause of Sidney would not have saved the author’s name from oblivion, had it not been borne up to imperishable fame by the splendour of the ‘Faery Queene,’ the three first books of which were published in 1590. Six years afterwards three other books came out; and after his death two other cantos, and the beginning of a third. The poem, therefore, exists as a fragment: there is a traditionary story that he had completed his design in twelve books, as was his avowed intention; but that the last six books were lost by a servant who had the charge of bringing them over to England. Yet, unfinished as the poem is, any one canto has merit and beauties enough to have secured its author’s fame. In 1591 a quarto volume was published, containing the following nine pieces:—‘The Ruines of Time;’ ‘The Tears of the Muses;’ ‘Virgil’s Gnat;’ ‘Mother Hubbard’s Tale;’ ‘Ruines of Rome;’ ‘Muiopotmos;’ ‘Visions of the World’s Vanitie;’ ‘Bellay’s Visions;’ ‘Petrarche’s Visions.’ ‘Daphnaida,’ published in 1592, was dedicated to the Marchioness of Northampton, on the death of her niece, Douglas Howard. The pastoral elegy of ‘Astrophel’ was devoted wholly to the memory of Sir Philip Sidney, and inscribed to Lady Essex. To enter on the subject of his Sonnets, &c. &c. would carry us far beyond our prescribed limits.

In a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, Spenser sets forth the general design of the ‘Faery Queene,’ and settles the scheme of the whole twelve books. But the following passage proves that he contemplated twelve more. “I labour to pourtraict in Arthur, before he was king, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve Moral Vertues, as Aristotle devised, the which is the purport of these first twelve books: which if I find to be well accepted, I may perhaps be encouraged to frame the other part of Politic Vertues in his person, after that he came to be king.” He also says, “In the person of Prince Arthur I set forth Magnificence in particular.” By magnificence Dryden understands him to mean magnanimity, in succouring the representatives of the particular moral virtues when in distress, and considers his interposition in each legend as the only bond of uniformity in a design, which in all other respects insulates his allegorical heroes, without subordination or preference. This plan gave him much opportunity of drawing flattering portraits of individual courtiers, though few of the likenesses have been recognized, and the originals seem to have shown but little gratitude for the compliment. It is generally allowed that Prince Arthur was meant for Sir Philip Sidney, who was the poet’s chief patron. The prevailing beauty of this great poem consists in its vein of fabulous invention, set off by a power of description and force of imagination, so various and inexhaustible, that the reader is too much pleased and distracted to be sensible of the faults into which his judgment is betrayed by occasional excess. It is remarked by Sir William Temple, in his ‘Essay on Poetry,’ that “the religion of the Gentiles had been woven into the contexture of all the ancient poetry with an agreeable mixture, which made the moderns affect to give that of Christianity a place in their poems; but the true religion was not found to become fictions so well as the false one had done, and all their attempts of this kind seemed rather to debase religion than heighten poetry.” Critics in general, and common sense itself, have confirmed Temple’s remark as to the hazard, which it required such a mind as Milton’s successfully to face, of giving a poetical colouring to the solemn truths of religion. To a feeling of this difficulty we probably owe the peculiarity of Spenser’s epic, if so it may be called. In other epics, instruction is subordinate to story, and conveyed through it; in the ‘Faery Queene,’ morality is the avowed object, to be illustrated by the actions of such shadowy personages, that but a thin veil is thrown over the bare design. Whatever may be thought of allegorical poetry as a system, the execution in this instance is excellent, the flights of fancy brilliant, and often sublime. Rymer finds fault with Spenser for having suffered himself to be “misled by Ariosto;” and says that “his poem is perfect Fairyland.” The readers of poetry in the present day will probably receive that censure as praise: marvels and adventures, even if probability be not made matter of conscience, may have more attraction than classic regularity and strict adherence to the unities. But though Spenser frequently imitated both Tasso and Ariosto in descriptions of battles, and his general delineation of knight-errantry, the plan and conduct of his poem deviated widely from Ariosto’s model, and, it is generally thought, not on the side of improvement. Ariosto narrates adventures as real, however extravagant, and only occasionally intermixes portions of pure allegory. But allegory is the staple of Spenser’s design; and his legendary tales are interwoven with it so far only as they are connected with his one human hero. With the exception of Prince Arthur, his heroes are abstractions; they bear the names of knights, but are in reality Virtues personified. Dryden finds fault with Spenser’s obsolete language, and the ill choice of his stanza. The poems of the Elizabethan age, now considered as the golden age of poetry, are so much more read and better understood in these later times, than they were in Dryden’s days, that the language is no longer felt as a serious obstacle to the pleasures of perusal. With respect to the form of stanza, it was natural for Dryden, the mighty master of the couplet, to condemn it; and it may be in itself objectionable as favouring redundancy of style, not only in respect of expletives and tautology, but of ideas. Its fulness of melody however, and sonorous majesty, have of late brought it into favour both with writers and readers.

Of all critics, none can be better worth hearing, on such a subject as that of the Faery Queene, than the historian of English poetry. Warton writes thus:—“If the Faery Queene be destitute of that arrangement and economy which epic severity requires, yet we scarcely regret the loss of these, while their place is so amply supplied by something which more powerfully attracts us; something which engages the affections, the feelings of the heart, rather than the cold approbation of the head. If there be any poem whose graces please, because they are situated beyond the reach of art; and where the force and faculties of creative imagination delight, because they are unassisted and unrestrained by those of deliberate judgment, it is this: in reading Spenser, if the critic is not satisfied, yet the reader is transported.”

The principal editions of Spenser are Upton’s ‘Faery Queene, with a Glossary and Notes,’ London, 1751; and Mr. Todd’s Variorum Edition of his Works, 8 vols. 8vo. 1805.

[Illustration of the ‘Faery Queene,’ after a design by Stothard.]

Engraved by J. Posselwhite.

GROTIUS.

From an original Picture by M. J. Mirevelt
in the possession of the Publisher.

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.

London. Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street.

GROTIUS.

Hugh de Groot, or Hugo Grotius, as he is more generally designated, was born at Delft in Holland, on Easter Sunday, April 10, 1583[12]. His family was ancient and of noble extraction, both on the paternal and maternal sides. His father, John de Groot, who was Curator of the University of Leyden, was a lawyer and a poet of considerable reputation.

12.  A discrepancy appears in the accounts of the different biographers of Grotius respecting the date of his birth; some fixing it in 1582, and others in 1583. The fact is only material with reference to the anecdotes of his early acquirements, and it is ascertained beyond a doubt, by a very simple circumstance. That Grotius was born on Easter Sunday, and on the 10th of April, appears in numerous passages of his letters and poems; and as Easter Sunday fell on the 10th of April in 1583, and did not fall on that day for many years before and afterwards, the date of his birth seems to be satisfactorily proved by that coincidence. See Nicolas’s Tables.

The mind of Grotius was developed with unusual rapidity. In his ninth year he is said to have made extemporaneous Latin verses; in his fifteenth year he published his edition of Martian Capella, and before that time, his biographers state that he disputed twice publicly in the schools on questions of philosophy and civil law. His memory is said to have been so prodigious, that being present at the muster of a regiment on some particular occasion, he afterwards repeated accurately every name which had been called. Anecdotes of this kind are seldom to be traced to any good authority, and are frequently merely fabulous; but there is no doubt that, at a very tender age, Grotius had made extraordinary progress in the acquisition of learning. The knowledge and critical discernment displayed in his edition of Capella, which was unquestionably published in 1599, excited the astonishment of his contemporaries. Scaliger, De Thou, Lipsius, Casaubon, have characterised this work as a prodigy of juvenile learning; and those who have patience to read it at the present day will collect from the annotations, that at the age of fifteen the editor must have read critically and carefully the works of Apuleius, Albericus, Cicero, Aquila, Porphyry, Aristotle, Strabo, Ptolemy, Pliny, Euclid, and many other ancient and modern authors, in different languages and on various subjects, and cannot fail to consider Grotius as a wonderful instance of early talents, industry, and acquirement. “Reliqui viri,” says his contemporary Heinsius, “tandem fuêre; Grotius vir natus est.” In the following year Grotius published the ‘Phenomena of Aratus,’ an astronomical poem, written originally in Greek, and translated into Latin by Cicero, when a very young man. Part of Cicero’s translation had been lost in course of time; and in this publication the deficiencies were supplied by Grotius in Latin verse with much elegance and success. In a letter to the President de Thou, written in 1601, when he was not eighteen years of age, he thus modestly refers to those astonishing works:—“I was exceedingly glad when I understood that my Capella and Aratus were not only come to your hand, but were also favourably received by you. My own opinion of Martianus and the other Syntagm is only this, that they are capable of some excuse from my age; for I wrote them when I was very young. But you are pleased to augur well from these beginnings, and to express a judgment that they may grow up into some hope hereafter. I hope it may be so; for it is my greatest desire and ambition a laudatis laudari.”

Before he went to the university, he was placed under the care of an Arminian clergyman, named Uitenbogard, from whom he derived that strong sectarian bias, which had afterwards a powerful effect upon his character and fortune. At twelve years of age Grotius was sent to the University of Leyden, where, though he remained only three years, he became so much distinguished, that he attracted the notice of Scaliger, and many of the most celebrated scholars of the times. He had always been intended for the profession of the law; and lest the allurements of general literature, and the flattery of successful authorship, which had greatly withdrawn him from legal studies, should lead him to renounce the lucrative and honourable employment for which he was designed, his father sought to turn his thoughts into a new channel. It happened that about this time the celebrated Grand Pensionary, Barneveldt, was sent on an embassy from the Dutch States to Henry IV., for the purpose of persuading him to conclude a new treaty of perpetual alliance with Holland and England against Spain. John de Groot readily obtained for his son a situation in the train of Barneveldt. Grotius remained in France a whole year, and during that time was treated with marked distinction and respect by the learned men of that country, and received the degree of Doctor of Laws from the University of Paris. He was also graciously noticed by the king himself, who gave him at his departure his own portrait and a chain of gold. From some unexplained cause, Grotius did not upon this occasion become acquainted with the President de Thou; but soon after his return to Delft, he wrote him a letter accompanied by a copy of his Aratus. From that time until the death of the President a constant correspondence was maintained between them, and Grotius furnished many notes and materials for that part of De Thou’s history which relates to the Netherlands and Holland.

Immediately after his return from France to Holland in April 1599, Grotius published his “Limeneuretica, sive Portuum investigandorum Ratio,” a treatise for the instruction of seamen in ascertaining the exact situation of a ship at sea. This work was merely a translation, and has been of course long since superseded by modern discoveries; but it is worthy of remark, as a proof of the extraordinary acquirements of a youth of sixteen, that he should have added to his critical and scholastic knowledge so competent an acquaintance with magnetism and practical navigation as the translation of such a work implies. In the course of the same year he enrolled himself on the list of Advocates at the Hague, and before he was eighteen years of age commenced the actual practice of his profession. In this occupation he was eminently successful, though he always disliked it, and lamented the time which it claimed from more congenial pursuits. His reputation and practice, however, daily increased, until in the year 1607, being recommended by the suffrages of the courts, and nominated by the States of Holland, Prince Maurice conferred upon him the important and responsible office of Advocate-General of the provinces of Holland and Zealand. Soon after this appointment, he married Mary Reygersburgh, the daughter of an opulent family in Zealand, with whom he lived in the most complete harmony.

In the year 1608, while he held the office of Advocate-General, Grotius composed his ‘Mare Liberum,’ the general design of which was to show, upon the principles of the law of nations, that the sea was open to all without distinction, and to assert the right of the Dutch States to trade to the Indian seas, notwithstanding the claim of the Portuguese to an exclusive title to that commerce. This tract was published without the consent of Grotius; and at a subsequent period of his life he expressed his disapprobation of it. “My intention,” he says, “was good; but the work savours too much of my want of years.” Many years afterwards, Selden published his profound work on maritime rights, entitled ‘Mare Clausum,’ in which he incidentally notices this treatise of Grotius with much respect, though he advocates a contrary doctrine. Soon after the appearance of his ‘Mare Liberum,’ Grotius published a ‘Dissertation on the Antiquity of the Batavian Republic,’ for which he received the thanks of the States of Holland, accompanied by a present.

In 1613, he was advanced from his practice as an advocate to the judicial station of Pensionary of Rotterdam, which office was given him for life, the usual tenure having been only at will. In the same year a difference of opinion having arisen between England and the States of Holland, respecting the right of fishing for whales in the Northern seas, Grotius was sent into England for the purpose of effecting an amicable arrangement of the dispute. He there became personally acquainted with Isaac Casaubon, with whom he had previously corresponded. He was favourably noticed by the king during his stay in England, and formed an intimate connexion with several of the most eminent English divines of that day, which he maintained by letters for many years afterwards. In the political object of his embassy he appears to have failed; the subject in dispute was resumed at Rotterdam in 1615, before commissioners of both countries, but with no more favourable result to the Dutch States.

Soon after his return from England, Grotius became deeply involved in the religious animosities which at that time prevailed in Holland. He had adopted the principles of Arminius from Uitenbogard, the instructor of his early youth, and he now zealously maintained the doctrines of the Arminian party in opposition to the tenets held by the followers of Gomar. The questions in dispute related for the most part to predestination and other abstract points of Christian doctrine, the discussion of which by the disciples of Arminius on the one hand, and of Gomar, a professor of Leyden, on the other, had divided the United Provinces into two parties, animated by the most furious hostility towards each other. The public peace being endangered by the violence to which these religious differences were carried, the States of Holland, in 1614, published an edict, drawn up by Grotius, enjoining forbearance and mutual toleration between the contending parties, but denouncing in unqualified terms the doctrines of the Gomarists. The effect of this partial and injudicious edict was to increase the virulence of party spirit; frequent riots ensued, attended with popular demonstrations of an alarming kind. The powerful city of Amsterdam favoured the Gomarists; and hesitated to submit to the edict of 1614. Under these circumstances, the States sent a deputation, of which Grotius was the chief, for the purpose of converting the Town Council of that city to their opinion. Upon this occasion Grotius made a judicious and temperate harangue, which was afterwards translated into Latin, and is published among his works. It was, however, unsuccessful in its result, as the Senate declared that the city of Amsterdam could not adopt the edict without endangering the church, and risking their commercial prosperity. In the mean time popular tumults continued and increased; and in this position of affairs the Grand Pensionary, Barneveldt, proposed to the States of Holland, that the magistrates of the several cities in that province should be authorized to levy soldiers for the purpose of securing the public tranquillity. The representatives of several towns vehemently opposed this proposition, but it was adopted, after a stormy debate; and, August 4, 1617, a proclamation was issued to carry it into execution.

This decree directly induced a train of circumstances, which eventually led to the death of Barneveldt, and the ruin and banishment of Grotius. Prince Maurice of Nassau, who was at that time Governor and Captain-general of the United Provinces, denounced it as an act illegal and unjustifiable in itself, and an invasion of his authority. He influenced the States-General to write to the magistrates of those provinces and cities which had acted under the decree by raising soldiers, commanding them to disband their levies; and upon the refusal of many of them to comply with this requisition, he obtained authority to proceed to the recusant cities, and enforce their obedience. Having executed this commission successfully in the towns of Nimeguen, Overyssel, and Arnheim, Maurice, who on the death of his brother in February, 1618, had assumed the title of Prince of Orange, proceeded to Utrecht, with the same object. The States of Holland had in the mean time sent thither Grotius and Hoogerbertz, the Pensionary of Leyden, for the purpose of opposing the Prince’s commission. They stimulated the magistrates of the city to resist the assumed authority of the States-General, to increase their militia, and to double the guards at the gates. They also brought letters from the States of Holland to the officers of the ordinary garrison, persuading them that it was their duty to obey the States of Utrecht, in opposition to the States-General and the Prince of Orange. Notwithstanding these preparations the Prince entered the city without forcible resistance, and having disbanded the new levies, displaced several magistrates, and arrested some of those who had been most active in their opposition, returned to the Hague. Grotius was now satisfied that all further attempts at opposition would be useless, and prevailed upon the magistrates of Rotterdam at once to dismiss the levies made under the obnoxious decree.

The Prince of Orange and the States-General were highly incensed at the measures taken to excite a forcible opposition at Utrecht; and Barneveldt, Grotius, and Hoogerbertz, were arrested, August 29, 1618, upon the charge of having raised an insurrection at that place, and committed to close custody in the castle of the Hague.

In the ensuing November, the prisoners, having previously undergone repeated examinations, were separately tried before twenty-six commissioners, chosen from the principal nobility and magistracy of the Seven Provinces. Barneveldt was tried first, and was condemned to be beheaded, for various acts of insubordination towards the States; and in particular for having promoted the insurrection at Utrecht. The trial of Grotius followed a few days afterwards. He complains of having been treated then, and during the previous examinations, with great hardship and injustice: he says that he was pressed to answer ensnaring questions directly, when he required time, and that the commissioners refused to read over his examinations to him, after they had written down his answers. He was, however, found guilty, and sentence was passed upon him, May 18, 1619, recapitulating the heads of the charges of which he had been convicted, and condemning him to imprisonment for life, and the confiscation of his estate.

The castle of Louvestein was selected for his place of confinement, a fortress situated near Gorcum, in South Holland, at the point of the island formed at the junction of the Waal and the Meuse. Here he was kept a close prisoner: his father was refused permission to see him, and his wife was only admitted on condition of sharing his imprisonment, being told that if she left the castle she would not be allowed to return. These restrictions were afterwards, however, considerably relaxed: his wife obtained leave to quit the castle twice a week, and Grotius was permitted to borrow books, and to correspond with his friends on all subjects except politics.

It is not for such minds as that of Grotius that “stone walls can make a prison.” During nearly two years of close imprisonment, with no society but that of his wife, who constantly attended him, he employed himself in digesting and applying those stores of learning which he had previously acquired, and study became at once his business and his consolation. “The Muses,” says he, in a letter to Vossius during his confinement, “are a great alleviation of my misfortune. You know that when I was most oppressed by business, they furnished my most delightful recreation; how much more valuable are they to me now, when they constitute the only enjoyment which cannot be taken from me!” During his captivity he occupied much of his time in legal studies, of which other pursuits had for some years caused an intermission, and also in arranging and completing his improvements and additions to Stobæus, which were afterwards published; but his favourite employment appears to have been theology, and especially a laborious and critical examination of the Sermon on the Mount. He also at this time wrote a treatise in the Dutch language on the Truth of the Christian Religion, which a few years afterwards, while at Paris, he enlarged and translated into Latin. In its improved state it became more generally known and popular than any of his works, having been translated, during the seventeenth century, into the English, French, Flemish, German, Persian, Arabic, and Greek languages. This treatise was well worthy of the great attention which it excited: in point of force of argument and clearness of arrangement it will not suffer on a comparison with the works of Paley and other popular modern writers on the same subject; and in temper and candour it is superior to most of them. Grotius says, in the introduction, that he originally wrote it to furnish an occupation to his countrymen during the unemployed leisure of long voyages on commercial adventures; and in the hope that, by thus instructing them in the most intelligible and convincing arguments in favour of Christianity, they might become the means of diffusing its advantages among distant nations. In the first book, he maintains the existence, attributes, and providence of a Supreme Being; in the second, he enumerates the particular arguments in favour of the divine origin of the Christian religion; in which part of the subject his illustration of the internal evidence derived from the superior dignity and excellence of the moral precepts of Christianity is peculiarly admirable. The third division of the treatise contains a critical defence of the authenticity of the books of the New Testament; and the three remaining parts are devoted to a refutation of Paganism, Judaism, and Mahometanism. The perspicuity of the style, and the spirit of candour which pervades the whole treatise, well adapted it to the purpose for which it was intended; and though many modern authors have followed in the same course of reasoning, it may still be read with advantage as an excellent epitome of the arguments for the truth of Christianity.

In the early part of 1621, after nearly two years had been passed by Grotius at Louvestein, the fertile invention of his wife devised the means of his escape. It was his practice to return the books, which he borrowed from his friends, in a large chest, in which his wife sent linen from the castle to be washed at Gorcum. During the first year of his imprisonment the guards invariably examined this chest before it left the castle, but as they continually found nothing but books and dirty linen, they gradually relaxed in their search, until at last it was wholly omitted. Grotius’s wife resolved to turn their negligence to her husband’s advantage. The chest was large enough to contain a man, and she prevailed upon him to try whether he could bear to be shut up for so long a time as would be necessary to convey the chest across the water to Gorcum. The experiment proved the scheme to be practicable, and the first favourable opportunity was seized for carrying it into execution. On the 22nd of March, during the absence of the governor from the castle, Grotius was placed in the chest, and holes having been bored in it by his wife in order to admit air, it was carried down from the castle by two soldiers on a ladder. One of the soldiers, suspecting something from the weight, insisted upon taking it to the governor’s house to be opened; but the governor’s wife, who was probably in the secret, told him she was well assured that the chest contained nothing but books, and ordered him to carry it to the boat. In this manner Grotius crossed the water and arrived safely at a friend’s house in Gorcum. He then passed through the streets in the disguise of a mason, and stepped into a boat which took him to Valvic in Brabant, from whence he afterwards escaped to Antwerp. Upon the first discovery of the trick which had been practised upon him by the wife of Grotius, the governor of Louvestein confined her rigorously; but she was discharged upon presenting a petition to the States-General.

By the advice of various powerful friends in France, Grotius determined to make Paris his city of refuge. He was well received in the French metropolis, both by learned men and politicians, and in the beginning of the following year was presented to the King, who bestowed upon him a pension of 3000 livres. In the year 1622 he published his ‘Apology,’ in which he vindicates his conduct from the particular charges which had formed the subject of the proceedings against him, and argues against the legality of his sentence and the competency of the tribunal by which he was tried. His work excited much attention throughout Europe, and greatly irritated the States-General, who published so violent an edict against it, that the friends of Grotius entertained fears for his personal safety. In order, therefore, to place himself more fully under the protection of the French government, he obtained letters of naturalization from Louis XIII.

In 1625 he completed his treatise ‘De Jure Belli et Pacis,’ which was published at Paris in that year. None of the works of Grotius have excited so much attention as this treatise: it was the first attempt to reduce into a system the subject of international law; and the industry and extensive learning of the author well qualified him for the task. More complete and useful works upon this subject have been written since the time of Grotius; but in order to estimate properly the magnitude and value of his labours, it should be considered that, before he wrote, the ground was wholly unbroken. In his own age, and in that which succeeded it, this work was held in the highest estimation, being translated into various languages, and circulated as a standard book throughout Europe.

Grotius remained more than nine years in France, and during that period published, in addition to the works already noticed, several theological treatises of small interest at the present day. The latter part of his residence in France was rendered uncomfortable by several disagreeable circumstances, and in particular by the backwardness of the French government in paying his pension. He made various attempts to return to Holland, which were discouraged by his friends, as the sentence against him was still in force; but towards the latter end of the year 1631, finding his abode in France intolerable, he determined at all hazards to revisit his native country. He soon found, however, that he had taken an unwise step: the States-General issued an order for his arrest, and after in vain endeavouring to appease his enemies, he quitted Holland in March 1632, intending to take up his abode at Hamburgh, which place he did not, however, reach before the end of the year.

There is reason to believe that Gustavus Adolphus, the King of Sweden, was about to take the Dutch jurist into his employment, when he was killed at the battle of Lutzen, in November, 1632. Two years afterwards, however, Oxenstiern, who conducted the government of Sweden, appointed Grotius resident ambassador to the infant Queen at the court of France; and he made his public entry into Paris in that character, March 2, 1635. He filled this arduous and responsible situation for ten years, to the entire satisfaction of the government which he represented. Towards the close of his service many circumstances concurred to render it far from agreeable. Disputes arose between him and other ambassadors upon questions of precedency, which were fomented and encouraged by the French government; and the irregular remittance of his salary from Sweden occasioned him frequent and vexatious embarrassment. At the end of the year 1642 he writes thus to his brother: “I am come to the age at which many wise men have voluntarily renounced places of honour. I love quiet, and would gladly devote the remainder of my life to the service of God and of posterity. If I had not some hope of contributing to a general peace, I should have retired before this time.” At length the appointment of an agent to the crown of Sweden at Paris, with whom Grotius foresaw that constant disagreements and broils would arise, determined him to solicit his recall. This request was granted; and the Queen of Sweden wrote to him with her own hand, expressing the greatest satisfaction at his services, and promising him some future employment more suitable to his age and inclinations. He left Paris in June 1645, and travelling through Holland, where he was courteously received by those who had previously treated him with every kind of indignity, arrived at Stockholm in the following month. The Queen seems to have entertained him honourably and kindly: both she and the members of her council praised his past services, and gave him abundant promises for the future; and in a letter to his brother, dated July 18, 1645 (the last of his letters which is known to be extant), he speaks with gratification of the honourable notice which he had received. He appears, however, to have taken an insuperable dislike to Sweden, and to have resolved at once not to spend the remainder of his days in that country. The Queen pressed him repeatedly to remain, and assured him that if he would continue in Sweden, and form part of her council, she would amply provide for him. He pleaded the decline of his health, that the climate was injurious to his constitution, and that his wife was unable to live in Sweden; and adhered to his determination. The Queen hesitated to grant him a passport; upon which he left Stockholm without one, and was overtaken and brought back by a messenger. At length the Queen, seeing that his resolution was not to be overcome, permitted him to depart, dismissing him with a considerable present in money and plate.

A vessel had been provided to transport him from Lubeck to Hamburgh, in which he embarked on the 12th of August. He had scarcely put to sea, when a violent storm arose and drove the vessel into a port near Dantzic. From this place he set out in an open carriage, in the most inclement weather, intending to return to Lubeck, and arrived at Rostock on his way thither, August 28. He there complained of extreme illness, and desired a physician to be sent for, who soon discovered that his end was approaching. A clergyman, named Quistorpius, also attended him, and has given an interesting account of his last moments. Grotius died in the night of the 28th of August, 1645. His body was carried to Delft, and laid in the tomb of his ancestors. In modern times a handsome monument has been erected to his memory.

The reader who may wish for fuller information respecting the biography of Grotius may consult with much advantage ‘La Vie de Grotius,’ par M. de Burigny, which was published at Paris in 1752, and translated into English two years afterwards. Mr. Butler, the author of the ‘Memoirs of the English Catholics,’ published a life of Grotius in 1826; but it is neither so copious nor so accurate as the work of M. de Burigny.

END OF VOL. IV.

LONDON:

Printed by William Clowes,

Duke-street, Lambeth.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Corrected the pagination error mentioned in footnote 1 as well as incorrect page number references in the Contents.

2. Did not change “Lionardo da Vinci” used consistently used throughout the book with exception of picture caption.

3. Silently corrected typographical errors.

4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

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Table of Contents

- THE GALLERY OF PORTRAITS: WITH MEMOIRS. VOLUME IV.

- PORTRAITS AND BIOGRAPHIES CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.

- DAGUESSEAU.

- CROMWELL.

- LION. DA VINCI.

- VAUBAN.

- WILLIAM III.

- GOETHE.

- CORREGGIO.

- NAPOLEON.

- LINNÆUS.

- PRIESTLEY.

- ARIOSTO.

- MARLBOROUGH.

- DE L’EPÉE.

- COLBERT.

- WASHINGTON.

- MURILLO.

- CERVANTES.

- FREDERIC II.

- DELAMBRE.

- DRAKE.

- CHARLES V.

- DES CARTES.

- SPENSER.

- GROTIUS.

- TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE