The Gallery of Portraits, with Memoirs. Vol 2 (of 7)

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Title: The Gallery of Portraits, with Memoirs. Vol 2 (of 7)
Author: Anonymous
Language: English
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UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL
KNOWLEDGE.

THE
GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
WITH
MEMOIRS.

VOLUME II.

LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET, AND 13, PALL-MALL EAST.

1833.

[PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES,
Duke-Street, Lambeth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PORTRAITS, AND BIOGRAPHIES
CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.

Page

1. Lord Somers 1

2. Smeaton 13

3. Buffon 19

4. Sir Thomas More 25

5. La Place 34

6. Handel 40

7. Pascal 49

8. Erasmus 56

9. Titian 63

10. Luther 73

11. Rodney 82

12. Lagrange 88

13. Voltaire 93

14. Rubens 99

15. Richelieu 107

16. Wollaston 121

17. Boccaccio 126

18. Claude 136

19. Nelson 141

20. Cuvier 150

21. Ray 160

22. Cook 165

23. Turgot 175

24. Peter the Great 183

[Illustration:

_Engraved by T. A. Dean._

LORD CHANCELLOR SOMERS.

_From a Picture by Sir G. Kneller,
in the possession of the Royal Society._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

GALLERY OF PORTRAITS.

[Illustration]

SOMERS.

John Somers was born at Worcester, in an ancient house called the White
Ladies, which, as its name seems to import, had formerly been part of a
monastery or convent. The exact date of his birth cannot be ascertained,
as the parish registers at Worcester, during the civil wars between
Charles I. and his Parliament, were either wholly lost, or so
inaccurately kept as not to furnish any authentic information. It
appears probable, however, from several concurring accounts, that he was
born about the year 1650. The family of Somers was respectable, though
not wealthy, and had for several generations been possessed of an estate
at Clifton, in the parish of Severnstoke, in Gloucestershire. Admiral
Sir George Somers, who in the reign of James I. was shipwrecked on the
Bermudas, and afterwards died there, leaving his name to that cluster of
islands, is said by Horace Walpole, in his ‘Catalogue of Royal and Noble
Authors,’ to have been a member of the same family. The father of Somers
was an attorney, in respectable practice at Worcester; who, in the civil
wars, became a zealous Parliamentarian, and commanded a troop in
Cromwell’s army.

Of the early education of Somers, we have only a meagre and
unsatisfactory account. The house called the White Ladies, in which he
was born, was occupied by a Mr. Blurton, an eminent clothier of
Worcester, who had married his father’s sister. This lady, having no son
of her own, adopted Somers from his birth, and brought him up in her
house, which he always considered as his home till he went to the
university. He appears for some years to have been a day-scholar in the
college-school at Worcester, which before his time had attained a high
character for classical education, under the superintendence of Dr.
Bright, a clergyman of great learning and eminence. At a subsequent
period, we find him at a private school at Walsall in Staffordshire: he
is described by a school-fellow as being then “a weakly boy, wearing a
black cap, and never so much as looking out when the other boys were at
play.” He seems indeed to have been a remarkably reserved and
“sober-blooded” boy. At a somewhat later period Sir F. Winnington says
of him, that “by the exactness of his knowledge and behaviour, he
discouraged his father and all the young men that knew him. They were
afraid to be in his company.” In what manner his time was occupied from
the period of his leaving school until he went to the university, is
unknown. It has been suggested that he was employed for several years in
his father’s office, who designed him for his own department of the
profession of the law. There is no positive evidence of this
circumstance, though the conjecture is by no means improbable. It
cannot, however, be doubted that, during this period, he devoted much of
his time to the study of history and the civil law, and laid in a
portion of that abundant store of constitutional learning which
afterwards rendered him the ornament of his profession, and of the age
in which he lived. About this time also he formed several connexions,
which had great influence upon his subsequent success in life. The
estates of the Earl of Shrewsbury were managed by Somers’s father; and
as that young nobleman had no convenient residence of his own in
Worcestershire, he spent much of his time at the White Ladies, and
formed an intimate friendship and familiarity with young Somers. In 1672
he was also fortunate enough to be favourably noticed by Sir Francis
Winnington, then a distinguished practitioner at the English bar, who
was under obligations to his father for his active services in promoting
his election as a Member of Parliament for the city of Worcester.
Winnington is described by Burnet as a lawyer who had “risen from small
beginnings, and from as small a proportion of learning in his
profession, in which he was rather bold and ready, than able.” It is
natural to suppose that such a man, feeling his own deficiencies, would
readily perceive with what advantage he might employ the talents and
industry of Somers in assisting him both in Westminster Hall and in
Parliament. It was probably with this intention that Winnington advised
him to go to the university, and to prosecute his studies with a view to
being called to the bar.

In 1674 Somers was entered as a Commoner of Trinity College, Oxford,
being then about three and twenty years of age. The particulars of his
progress through the university are not recorded; but here, as at
school, his contemporaries could perceive few indications of those
splendid talents which afterwards raised him to such extraordinary
eminence. His college exercises, some of which are still extant, are
said to have been in no respect remarkable; and he quitted the
university without acquiring any academical honours beyond his
Bachelor’s degree. Mr. Somers was called to the bar in 1676, by the
Society of the Middle Temple; but he continued his residence at the
university for several years afterwards, and did not remove to London
until the year after his father’s death, in 1681, upon which event he
succeeded to his paternal estate at Severnstoke. During his residence at
Oxford he had the advantage of being introduced by the Earl of
Shrewsbury and Sir F. Winnington to many of the patriotic opponents of
the arbitrary measures of the Court. At this time he published several
tracts, which sufficiently displayed to the world his familiar and
accurate knowledge of constitutional history. His first acknowledged
work was the Report of an Election Case, and is entitled ‘The Memorable
Case of Denzil Onslow, Esq., tried at the Assizes in Surrey, July 20,
1681, touching his election at Haslemere in Surrey.’ His next
performance was ‘A Brief History of the Succession, collected out of the
Records and the most authentic Historians.’ This work was written at the
time when the proposal to bring in a Bill to exclude the Duke of York
from the succession occupied universal attention, and excited the most
intense interest. The object of Mr. Somers’s tract was to exhibit the
principles upon which the Parliament of England has authority to alter,
restrain, and qualify the right of succession to the Crown; and he
places the historical arguments in support of this proposition in a
forcible and convincing light. Indeed, though it might be difficult to
justify such a proposition by abstract arguments upon what is called the
theory of the British Constitution, it has been so repeatedly acted upon
in several periods of our history, that even in the time of Charles II.
the practice had, as Somers justly contended, to all intents and
purposes established and sanctioned the principle. An excellent tract
upon the same subject, entitled ‘A just and modest Vindication of the
two last Parliaments,’ which appeared shortly after the breaking up of
the Oxford Parliament in March, 1681, has been partly ascribed to
Somers. Burnet says that this tract, which he characterizes as “the best
writ paper in all that time,” was at first penned by Algernon Sidney,
but that a new draught was made by Somers, which was corrected by Sir
William Jones. Upon occasion of the attempt of the Court party in 1681,
by the illegal examination of witnesses under the direction of the
King’s Counsel in open court, to induce a grand jury at the Old Bailey
to find a true bill for high treason against the Earl of Shaftsbury, Mr.
Somers wrote his celebrated tract entitled ‘The Security of Englishmen’s
Lives, or the Trust, Power, and Duty of the Grand Juries of England
explained.’ Of this work, Bishop Burnet says, “It passed as writ by Lord
Essex, though I understood afterwards it was writ by Somers, who was
much esteemed, and often visited by Lord Essex, and who trusted himself
to him, and writ the best papers that came out in that time.” In later
times, this work has been universally ascribed to Somers. During his
residence at Oxford, Somers was not inattentive to polite literature; he
published a translation of some of Ovid’s Epistles into English verse,
which at the same time that it shows that he could never have borne so
distinguished a rank as a poet, as he afterwards attained as a lawyer
and statesman, is by no means a contemptible performance. His
translations from Ovid, and a version of Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades,
are the only published proofs of his classical studies at Oxford.

In the year 1682 he removed to London, and immediately commenced an
assiduous attendance upon the courts of law, which at that time was
considered as the highway of the legal profession. Under the powerful
patronage of Sir Francis Winnington, who had been Solicitor-General, and
was then in the full stream of business, he rose with considerable
rapidity into good practice at the bar. In 1683 he appeared as junior
counsel to Winnington in the defence to an important political
prosecution instituted against Pilkington and Shute, with several other
persons, for a riot at the election of sheriffs for the city of London.
His employment in a case of so much public expectation may be taken as a
proof that at that time his professional merits were in some degree
appreciated; and in the reign of James II. his practice is said to have
produced £700 a-year, which at that time was a very large income for a
common lawyer of five years’ standing. But such was the character for
research and industry which he had attained within a very few years from
the commencement of his professional career, that on the trial of the
Seven Bishops in 1688, he was introduced as counsel into that momentous
cause at the express and peremptory recommendation of Pollexfen, one of
the greatest lawyers of that day. The rank of the defendants, the
personal interest of the King in the question at issue, the general
expectation excited by this conflict amongst all classes of the people,
and above all, the event of the prosecution which drove James from his
throne and kingdom, and immediately introduced the Revolution of 1688,
render the trial of the Seven Bishops one of the most important judicial
proceedings that ever occurred in Westminster Hall. It was no trifling
testimony, therefore, to the high estimation in which Somers was held by
experienced judges of professional merit, that he should be expressly
selected by the counsel for the defendants to bear a part in the
defence. We are told that upon the first suggestion of Somers’s name,
“objection was made amongst the Bishops to him, as too young and obscure
a man; but old Pollexfen insisted upon him, and would not be himself
retained without the other; representing him as the man who would take
most pains and go deepest into all that depended on precedents and
records[1].” How far the leading counsel for the Bishops were indebted
to the industry and research of Somers, for the extent of learning
displayed in their admirable arguments on that occasion, cannot now be
ascertained; his own speech, as reported in the State Trials, contains a
summary of the constitutional reasons against the existence of a
dispensing power in the King, expressed in clear and unaffected
language, and applied with peculiar skill and judgment to the defence of
his clients.

Footnote 1:

Kennett’s Complete History, vol. iii. p. 513, n.

The intimate connexion of Somers with the leaders of that political
party by whom the Revolution was effected, and in particular with his
early friend Lord Shrewsbury, leaves little room for doubt that he was
actively employed in devising the means by which that important event
was brought about. It is said by Tindal that he was admitted into the
most secret councils of the Prince of Orange, and was one of those who
planned the measure of bringing him over to England. Immediately upon
the flight of James II., the Prince of Orange, by the advice of the
temporary assembly which he had convened as the most proper
representative of the people in the emergency of the time, issued
circular letters to the several counties, cities, and boroughs of
England, directing them to summon a Parliamentary Convention. On this
occasion Mr. Somers was returned as a representative by his native city
of Worcester. We find him taking a conspicuous part in the long and
laborious debates which took place in that assembly respecting the
settlement of the government. Upon a conference with the Lords upon the
resolution, “that James II. having withdrawn himself out of the kingdom
had abdicated the government, and that the throne had thereby become
vacant,” Mr. Somers spoke at great length, and with much learning, in
support of the original resolution against some amendments proposed by
the Lords. This resolution having been ultimately adopted by both Houses
of Parliament, and the Prince and Princess of Orange having been
declared King and Queen of England, a committee was appointed, of which
Somers was a member, to bring in heads of such things as were necessary
for securing the Protestant religion, the laws of the land, and the
liberties of the people. The Report of this Committee, which was a most
elaborate performance, having been submitted to the examination of a
second committee, of which Somers was chairman, formed the substance of
the Declaration of Rights which was afterwards assented to by the King
and Queen and both Houses of Parliament, and thus adopted as the basis
of the Constitution.

It is impossible to ascertain with precision the particular services
rendered by Somers in the accomplishment of this great measure. There
was perhaps no individual at that moment in existence who was so well
qualified to lend important aid in conducting his country with safety
through the difficulties and dangers of a change of government, and in
placing the interests of the nation upon a secure and solid foundation.
Fortunate was it for the people of England and their posterity that the
services of a man of his industry and settled principles, of his sound
constitutional information, and his rational and enlightened views of
the relative rights and duties of kings and subjects, were at that
critical juncture available to his country; and that, at the instant of
the occurrence of this momentous revolution, his character was
sufficiently known and appreciated to render those services fully
effective.

Shortly after the accession of William and Mary, Somers was appointed
Solicitor-General, and received the honour of knighthood. Bishop Burnet
says, that in the warm debates which took place in Parliament on the
bill respecting the recognition of the King and Queen, and the validity
of the new settlement of the government, it was strongly objected by the
Tories that the convention, not being summoned by the King’s writ, had
no legal sanction; and that Somers distinguished himself by the spirited
and able manner in which he answered the objection. “He spoke,” says
Burnet, “with such zeal and such an ascendant of authority that none
were prepared to answer it; so that the bill passed without more
opposition. This was a great service done in a very critical time, and
contributed not a little to raise Somers’s character.”

In April, 1692, Sir John Somers became Attorney-General, and in the
month of March following was appointed Lord-Keeper of the Great Seal.
While he presided in the Court of Chancery as Lord-Keeper, he delivered
his celebrated judgment in the Bankers’ case, which Mr. Hargrave
describes as “one of the most elaborate arguments ever delivered in
Westminster Hall.” It is said that Lord Somers expended several hundred
pounds in collecting books and pamphlets for this argument. In 1697 he
was appointed Lord Chancellor, and raised to the peerage, with the title
of Baron Somers of Evesham.

In the year immediately succeeding his elevation to the peerage, it was
the fate of Lord Somers to experience the virulence of party animosity,
and the selfishness and instability of royal favour. His influence with
the King, and the moderation and good sense with which he had restrained
the impetuosity of his own party, had been long the means of preserving
the Whig administration; and the Tories saw plainly that there were no
hopes for the attainment of their objects so long as Lord Somers
retained the confidence of the King. William had been, from the
commencement of his reign, continually vacillating between the two
parties according to the circumstances of his affairs; at this period he
was so incensed and embarrassed by the conduct of the contending parties
in the House of Commons, that he readily listened to the leaders of the
Tories, who assured him that they would undertake to manage the
Parliament as he pleased, if he would dismiss from his councils the Lord
Chancellor Somers, whom they represented to be peculiarly odious to the
Commons. In fact, the Tory party in the House of Commons had, in the
course of the stormy session of Parliament which commenced in November,
1699, made several violent but ineffectual attacks upon the Lord
Chancellor. The first charge brought against him was, that he had
improperly dismissed many gentlemen from the commission of the peace:
upon a full explanation of all the circumstances, this charge was proved
to be so utterly groundless that it was abandoned by those who had
introduced it. The second accusation had no better foundation than the
first. Great complaints having been made of certain English pirates in
the West Indies, who had plundered several merchant ships, it was
determined to send out a ship of war for the purpose of destroying them.
But as there was no fund to bear the charge of such an expedition, the
King proposed to his ministers that it should be carried on as a private
undertaking, and promised to subscribe £3,000 on his own account. In
compliance with this recommendation, Lord Somers, the Duke of
Shrewsbury, the Earls of Romney, Oxford, Bellamont, and several others,
contributed a sufficient sum to defray the whole expense of the
armament. Unfortunately one Captain Kidd was appointed to command the
expedition, who was unprincipled enough to turn pirate himself, and
having committed various acts of robbery on the high seas, was
eventually captured, brought to England, and some time afterwards tried
and executed for his offences. It was then insinuated that the Lord
Chancellor and the other individuals who had subscribed towards the
expedition were engaged as partners in Kidd’s piratical scheme; so that
an undertaking, which was not only innocent, but meritorious and
patriotic, was construed by the blindness of party prejudice into a
design for robbery and piracy. A resolution in the House of Commons,
founded upon this absurd imputation, was rejected by a great majority.
Shortly afterwards, after ordering a list of the Privy Council to be
laid before the House, a question was moved in the House of Commons,
“that an address should be made to his Majesty to remove John Lord
Somers, Chancellor of England, from his presence and councils for ever.”
This motion, however, was also negatived by a large majority. The
prosecution of these frivolous charges against Lord Somers was a source
of perpetual irritation to the King, in consequence of the vexatious
delay it occasioned to the public service, and the virulent party spirit
which it introduced into the House of Commons; and it was under the
influence of this feeling, and in order to deliver himself from a
temporary embarrassment, that he selfishly determined to adopt the
interested advice of the Tory leaders, and to remove the Lord Chancellor
from his office. He accordingly intimated to Lord Somers that it was
necessary for his service that he should resign the seals, but wished
him to make the resignation himself, in order that it might appear as if
it was his own act. The Chancellor declined to make a voluntary
surrender of the seals, as such a course might indicate a fear of his
enemies, or a consciousness of misconduct in his office; upon which Lord
Jersey was sent with an express warrant for the seals, and Lord Somers
delivered them to him without hesitation.

The malignity of party spirit was not satisfied by the dismissal of Lord
Somers from his office, and from all participation in the government.
Soon after his retirement, namely in the year 1701, the celebrated
Partition Treaties gave occasion to much angry debate in both Houses of
Parliament. His conduct, with respect to these treaties, seems to have
been entirely irreproachable; but it became the subject of much
misrepresentation, and the most unreserved invective and abuse in the
House of Commons. It appears that in 1698, when the King was in Holland,
a proposal was made to him by the French Government for arranging the
partition of some of the territories belonging to the crown of Spain
upon the expected death of Charles II. This partition was to be made in
certain defined proportions between the Electoral Prince of Bavaria, the
Dauphin of France, and the Archduke Charles, the second son of the
Emperor. The King entertained these proposals favourably, and wrote to
Lord Somers, who was at that time Lord Chancellor, desiring his opinion
upon them, and commanding him to forward to him a commission in blank
under the great seal, appointing persons to treat with the Commissioners
of the French Government. Lord Somers, after communicating with Lord
Orford, the Duke of Shrewsbury, and Mr. Mountague, as he had been
authorized to do, transmitted to the King their joint opinions, which
suggested several objections to the proposed treaty, together with the
required commission. This was the “head and front of his offending” in
this respect; for the treaty was afterwards negotiated abroad, and
finally signed without any further communication with Lord Somers.

Understanding that he was accused in the House of Commons of having
advised and promoted the Partition Treaties, Lord Somers requested to be
heard in that House in his defence. His request being granted, he stated
to the House, in a calm and dignified manner, the history of his conduct
respecting the treaties, and contended, with much force and eloquence,
that in the whole course of that transaction he had correctly and
honestly discharged his duty both as Chancellor and as a Privy
Councillor. After he had withdrawn, a warm debate ensued, which
terminated in a resolution, carried by a small majority, “that John,
Lord Somers, by advising his Majesty to conclude the Treaty of
Partition, was guilty of a high crime and misdemeanour.” Similar
resolutions were passed against the Earl of Orford and Lord Halifax, and
all of them were impeached at the bar of the House of Lords. The
articles of impeachment against Lord Somers principally charged him with
having affixed the great seal to the blank commission sent to the King
in Holland, and afterwards to the treaties; with having encouraged and
promoted the piracies of Captain Kidd; and with having received grants
from the Crown for his own personal emolument. To each of these articles
Lord Somers answered promptly and fully; to the two first he replied the
facts of each case as above related; and in answer to the third, he
admitted that the King had been pleased to make certain grants to him,
but denied that they had been made in consequence of any solicitation on
his part. After many frivolous delays and repeated disputes between the
two Houses, a day was fixed for the trial of the impeachment; on which
day the Commons not appearing to prosecute their articles, the Lords, by
a considerable majority, acquitted Lord Somers of the charges and
dismissed the impeachment.

The violence and folly exhibited in the conduct of these proceedings
opened the eyes of the King to his error in having changed his ministry
at so critical a time. He found to his infinite disquietude that instead
of enabling him to manage the Commons as they had promised, the Tory
leaders had rendered them more intractable and imperious than before;
and that instead of sincerely endeavouring to promote peace abroad and
quiet government at home, they were actuated entirely by motives of
private passion and revenge. In this state of affairs he again directed
his attention to Lord Somers, in consequence, probably, of the urgent
advice of Lord Sunderland, and wrote him a note from Loo, dated the 10th
of October, 1701, assuring him of the continuance of his friendship. By
the united exertions of Somers and Sunderland a negotiation was entered
into with a view to the formation of a Whig ministry; but after some
little progress had been made, the death of the King, in March 1702, put
an end to the project, and the succession of Queen Anne confirmed the
establishment of the Tory administration.

The state of parties for some years after the accession of Queen Anne
excluded Somers from taking any active part in political affairs. It is
probable that at this period of his life he devoted his attention to
literature and science, as in 1702 he was elected President of the Royal
Society. He afterwards applied himself with diligence to the removal of
several gross defects in the practice of the Courts of Chancery and
Common Law. In 1706 he introduced into the House of Lords an extensive
and effectual bill for the correction of such abuses. In passing through
the House of Commons “it was found,” says Burnet, “that the interest of
under-officers, clerks, and attorneys, whose gains were to be lessened
by this bill, was more considered than the interest of the nation
itself. Several clauses, how beneficial soever to the subject, which
touched on their profit, were left out by the Commons.” Still the Act
“for the Amendment of the Law and the better advancement of Justice,” as
it now stands amongst the statutes of the realm, effected a very
important improvement in the administration of justice.

Lord Somers is said to have had a chief hand in projecting the scheme of
the Union with Scotland; and in discussing and arranging the details of
this great measure in the House of Lords, he appears to have been one of
the most frequent and distinguished speakers, though he was then
labouring under great bodily infirmity.

In the year 1708, on occasion of the temporary return of the Whigs to
power, Lord Somers again formed part of the administration and filled
the office of President of the Council. But the powers of his mind were
at this time much enfeebled by continual ill-health; and it was probably
with feelings of satisfaction that the change of parties in 1710, by
causing his dismissal from office, enabled him finally to retire into
private life.

Of the mode in which the remaining period of his life was spent after
his removal from public business, little is known. There is, however, no
doubt that the concluding years of his existence were darkened by much
sickness and some degree of mental alienation on the accession of George
I. he formally took his seat at the Council-Board; but a paralytic
affection, which had destroyed his bodily health, had so impaired the
faculties of his mind as to incapacitate him entirely for business. At
intervals, however, when the pressure of disease was suspended, he
appears to have recurred with strong interest to passing events in which
the welfare of his country was involved. When the Septennial Bill was in
progress, Lord Townshend called upon him: Lord Somers embraced him,
congratulated him on the progress of the bill, and declared that “he
thought it would be the greatest support possible to the liberty of the
country.” On a subsequent occasion, when informed by the same nobleman
of the determination of George I. to adopt the advice of his ministry,
by executing the full rigour of the law against Lord Derwentwater, and
the other unfortunate persons concerned in the Rebellion of 1715, he is
said to have asked with great emotion, and shedding many tears, “whether
they meant to revive the proscriptions of Marius and Sylla?”

He soon afterwards sunk into a state of total imbecility, from which, on
the 26th of April, 1716, he was happily released by death.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by R. Woodman._

JOHN SMEATON.

_From an original Picture ascribed to Mortimer,
in the possession of the Royal Society._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

SMEATON.

John Smeaton will long be remembered as one of the most laborious and
most successful civil engineers whom Britain has produced: a class to
which our country is deeply indebted for its commercial greatness. He
was born at Austhorpe, near Leeds, May 28, 1724. His father was an
attorney, and intended to bring his son up to his own profession: but
the latter finding, to use his own words, “that the law did not suit the
bent of his genius,” obtained his parent’s consent that he should seek a
more congenial employment.

From a very early age he had shown great fondness for mechanical
occupations. “His playthings,” it is said by one long acquainted with
him, “were not the playthings of children, but the tools men work with;
and he appeared to have greater entertainment in seeing the men in the
neighbourhood work, and asking them questions, than in any thing else.”
At the age of eighteen he was in the habit of forging iron and steel,
and melting metal for his own use: and he possessed tools of every sort
for working in wood, ivory, and metal. Some of these were of his own
construction; and among them an engine for rose-turning, and a lathe by
which he had cut a perpetual screw, a thing little known at that time.

In the year 1750 he established himself in the Great Turnstile in
Holborn, as a philosophical instrument-maker. While he followed this
trade, he became known to the scientific circles by several ingenious
inventions; among which were a new kind of magnetic compass, and a
machine for measuring a ship’s way at sea. He was elected fellow of the
Royal Society in 1753; and contributed several papers to the
Philosophical Transactions, one of which, entitled ‘An Experimental
Enquiry concerning the natural powers of water and wind to turn mills
and other machines, depending on a circular motion,’ obtained the gold
medal in 1759.

In 1755 the Eddystone light-house was destroyed by fire. At this time
Smeaton had never practised as an architect or engineer. But the
proprietors, to use his own words, “considered that to reinstate it
would require, not so much a person who had been merely bred, or who had
rendered himself eminent in this or that given profession, but rather
one who from natural genius had a turn for contrivance in the mechanical
branches of science.” Thinking thus, they applied to the President of
the Royal Society to recommend a fitting person, and he without
hesitation named Smeaton. We shall speak hereafter of the difficulties
which attended this work, and the method of its execution; the nature of
it is familiar to every reader. Two light-houses had been destroyed
within half a century: his own, after the lapse of seventy-three years,
stands unimpaired;—a proud monument of the power of man to overcome the
elements. This building was finished in 1759, and established his
reputation as a civil engineer: but it was some time before he devoted
his attention solely to practising in that capacity. In 1764 he was
appointed one of the Receivers of the Greenwich Hospital Estates, and in
the discharge of his duty, he suggested various improvements which were
of material service to the property. He resigned that office about 1777,
in consequence of the increase of his other business. In 1766 he was
employed to furnish designs for new light-houses at the Spurn Head, at
the mouth of the Humber, and after considerable delay, was appointed
Surveyor of the Works in 1771. These were completed in April, 1777.
Among other undertakings he repaired and improved the navigation of the
river Calder; he built the bridge over the Tay, at Perth, and some
others on the Highland road, north of Inverness; he laid out the line,
and superintended the execution of a considerable portion of the great
canal connecting the Forth and Clyde. His high reputation was shown
shortly after the two centre arches of old London bridge had been thrown
into one. The foundations of the piers were discovered to be damaged,
and the danger of the bridge was esteemed so imminent that few persons
would venture to pass over it. The opinions of the architects on the
spot were deemed unsatisfactory; and Smeaton, being at the time in
Yorkshire, was summoned by express, to say what should be done. He found
that the increased volume of water passing through the centre arch had
undermined the piers; and removed the danger by the simple expedient,
the success of which he had proved on the river Calder, of throwing in a
large quantity of rough stone about them. The interstices of the heap
soon are filled up by sand and mud, and the whole is consolidated almost
into one mass, and forms a secure and lasting barrier. The best known of
Smeaton’s works, after the Eddystone light-house, is the magnificent
pier and harbour of Ramsgate. This undertaking was commenced in 1749,
and prosecuted for some time with very imperfect success. In 1774
Smeaton was called in; and he continued to superintend the progress of
the works till their completion in 1791. The harbour is now enclosed by
two piers, the eastern nearly 2000, the western 1500 feet in length, and
affords a safe and a much needed refuge to ships lying in the Downs,
even of five and six hundred tons, which before, when driven from their
anchors by stress of weather, were almost certain to be cast ashore and
wrecked.

It would be vain to enumerate all the projects in which he was
consulted, or the schemes which he executed. The variety and extent of
his employments may be best estimated from his Reports, of which a
complete collection has been published by the Society of Civil
Engineers, in consequence of the liberality of Sir Joseph Banks, who had
purchased, and presented them to the Society for this purpose. They fill
three quarto volumes, and constitute a most interesting and valuable
series of treatises on every branch of engineering; as draining,
bridge-building, making and improving canals and navigable rivers,
planning docks and harbours, the improvement of mill-work, and the
application of mechanical improvements to different manufactures. His
papers in the Philosophical Transactions are published separately, and
fill another quarto volume. They contain descriptions of those early
inventions which we have mentioned, and of an improved air-pump, and a
new hygrometer and pyrometer; together with his treatise on Mill-work,
and some papers which show that he was fond of the science of astronomy,
and practically skilled in it.

His health began to decline about 1785, and he endeavoured to withdraw
from business, and to devote his attention to publishing an account of
his own inventions and works; for as he often said, “he thought he could
not render so much service to his country as by doing that.” He
succeeded in bringing out his elaborate account of the Eddystone
Light-house, published in 1791. But he found it impossible to withdraw
entirely from business: and it appears that over-exertion and anxiety
did actually bring on an attack of paralysis, to which his family were
constitutionally liable. He was taken ill at his residence at Austhorpe,
in September, 1792, and died October 28, in the sixty-ninth year of his
age. He had long looked to this disease as the probable termination of
his life, and felt some anxiety concerning the likelihood of out-living
his faculties, and in his own words, of “lingering over the dregs after
the spirit had evaporated.” This calamity was spared him: in the
interval between his first attack and his death, his mind was unclouded,
and he continued to take his usual interest in the occupations of his
domestic circle. Sometimes only he would complain, with a smile, of his
slowness of apprehension, and say, “It cannot be otherwise: the shadow
must lengthen as the sun goes down.”

His character was marked by undeviating uprightness, industry, and
moderation in pursuit of riches. His gains might have been far larger;
but he relinquished more than one appointment which brought in a
considerable income, to devote his attention to other objects which he
had more at heart; and he declined the magnificent offers of Catharine
II. of Russia, who would have bought his services at any price. His
industry was unwearied, and the distribution of his hours and
employments strictly laid down by rule. In his family and by his friends
he was singularly beloved, though his demeanour sometimes appeared harsh
to strangers. A brief, but very interesting and affectionate account of
him, written by his daughter, is prefixed to his Reports, from which
many of the anecdotes here related have been derived.

Of the many great undertakings in which Smeaton was engaged, the most
original, and the most celebrated, is the Eddystone light-house. The
reef of rocks known by the name of the Eddystone lies about nine miles
and a half from the Ram Head, at the entrance of Plymouth Sound, exposed
to the full swell of the Atlantic, which, with a very moderate gale,
breaks upon it with the utmost fury. The situation, directly between the
Lizard and Start points, makes it of the utmost importance to have a
light-house on it; and in 1698 Mr. Winstanley succeeded in completing
one. This stood till 1703, but was entirely carried away in the
memorable storm of November 26, in that year. It chanced, by a singular
coincidence, that shortly before, on a doubt of the stability of the
building being uttered, the architect expressed himself so entirely
satisfied on that point, that “he should only wish to be there in the
greatest storm that ever blew under the face of the heavens.” He was
gratified in his wish; and perished with every person in the building.
This building was chiefly, if not wholly of timber. In 1706 Mr. Rudyerd
commenced a new light-house, partly of stone and partly of wood, which
stood till 1755, when it was burnt down to the very rock. Warned by this
accident, Smeaton resolved that his should be entirely of stone. He
spent much time in considering the best methods of grafting his work
securely on the solid rock, and giving it the form best suited to secure
stability; and one of the most interesting parts of his interesting
account, is that in which he narrates how he was led to choose the shape
which he adopted, by considering the means employed by nature to produce
stability in her works. The building is modelled on the trunk of an oak,
which spreads out in a sweeping curve near the roots, so as to give
breadth and strength to its base, diminishes as it rises, and again
swells out as it approaches to the bushy head, to give room for the
strong insertion of the principal boughs. The latter is represented by a
curved cornice, the effect of which is to throw off the heavy seas,
which being suddenly checked fly up, it is said, from fifty to a hundred
feet above the very top of the building, and thus to prevent their
striking the lantern, even when they seem entirely to enclose it. The
efficacy of this construction is such, that after a storm and spring
tide of unequalled violence in 1762, in which the greatest fears were
entertained at Plymouth for the safety of the light-house, the only
article requisite to repair it was a pot of putty, to replace some that
had been washed from the lantern.

To prepare a fit base for the reception of the column, the shelving rock
was cut into six steps, which were filled up with masonry, firmly
dovetailed, and pinned with oaken trenails to the living stone, so that
the upper course presented a level circular surface. This part of the
work was attended with the greatest difficulty; the rock being
accessible only at low water, and in calm weather. The building is faced
with the Cornish granite, called in the country, moorstone; a material
selected on account of its durability and hardness, which bids defiance
to the depredations of marine animals, which have been known to do
serious injury by perforating Portland stone when placed under water.
The interior is built of Portland stone, which is more easily obtained
in large blocks, and is less expensive in the working. It is an
instructive lesson, not only to the young engineer, but to all persons,
to see the diligence which Smeaton used to ascertain what kind of stone
was best fitted for his purposes, and from what materials the firmest
and most lasting cement could be obtained. He well knew that in novel
and great undertakings no precaution can be deemed superfluous which may
contribute to success; and that it is wrong to trust implicitly to
common methods, even where experience has shown them to be sufficient in
common cases. For the height of twelve feet from the rock the building
is solid. Every course of masonry is composed of stones firmly jointed
and dovetailed into each other, and secured to the course below by
_joggles_, or solid plugs of stone, which being let into both,
effectually resist the lateral pressure of the waves, which tends to
push off the upper from the under course. The interior, which is
accessible by a moveable ladder, consists of four rooms, one over the
other, surmounted by a glass lantern, in which the lights are placed.
The height from the lowest point of the foundation to the floor of the
lantern is seventy feet; the height of the lantern is twenty-one feet
more. The building was commenced August 3, 1756, and finished October 8,
1759; and having braved uninjured the storms of seventy-three winters,
is likely long to remain a monument almost as elegant, and far more
useful, than the most splendid column ever raised to commemorate
imperial victories. Its erection forms an era in the history of
light-houses, a subject of great importance to a maritime nation. It
came perfect from the mind of the artist; and has left nothing to be
added or improved. After such an example no accessible rock can be
considered impracticable: and in the more recent erection of a
light-house on the dangerous Bell-rock, lying off the coast of
Forfarshire, between the Frith of Tay and the Frith of Forth, which is
built exactly in the same manner, and almost on the same model, we see
the best proof of the value of an impulse, such as was given to this
subject by Smeaton.

[Illustration: Light-houses of (1) Winstanley, (2) Smeaton, and (3)
Rudyerd.]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by Robert Hart._

BUFFON.

_From an original Picture by Drouais in the
collection of the Institute of France._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

BUFFON.

Buffon is reported to have said—and the vanity which was his predominant
foible may have given some colour to the assertion—“I know but five
great geniuses, Newton, Bacon, Leibnitz, Montesquieu, and myself.”
Probably no author ever received from his contemporaries so many
excitements to such an exhibition of presumption and self-consequence.
Lewis XV. conferred upon him a title of nobility; the Empress of Russia
was his correspondent; Prince Henry of Prussia addressed him in the
language of the most exaggerated compliment; and his statue was set up
during his life-time in the cabinet of Lewis XVI., with such an
inscription as is rarely bestowed even upon the most illustrious of past
ages[2]. After the lapse of half a century we may examine the personal
character, and the literary merits, of this celebrated man with a more
sober judgment.

Footnote 2:

Majestati naturæ par ingenium.

The history of Buffon is singularly barren of incident. At an early age
he devoted himself to those studies of natural history which have
rendered his name so famous; and at eighty years old he was still
labouring at the completion of the great plan to which he had dedicated
his life.

George Lewis le Clerc Buffon was born at Montbar, in Burgundy, on the
7th September, 1707. His father, Benjamin le Clerc, was a man of
fortune, who could afford to bestow the most careful education upon his
children, and leave them unfettered in the choice of an occupation. The
young Buffon had formed an acquaintance at Dijon with an Englishman of
his own age, the Duke of Kingston. The tutor of this nobleman was,
fortunately, an accomplished student of the physical sciences; and he
gave a powerful impulse to the talents of Buffon, by leading them
forward in their natural direction. Without the assistance of this
judicious friend, the inclination of his mind towards honourable and
useful exertion might have been suppressed by the temptations which too
easily beset those who have an ample command of the goods of fortune. It
was not so with Buffon. Although he succeeded, at the age of twenty-one,
to the estate of his mother, which produced him an annual income of
12,000_l._, he devoted himself with unremitting assiduity to the
acquisition of knowledge. Having travelled in Italy, and resided some
little time in England, he returned to his own country, to dedicate
himself to the constant labours of a man of letters. His first
productions were translations of two English works of very different
character—‘Hales’ Vegetable Statics,’ and ‘Newton’s Fluxions;’ and,
following up the pursuits for which he exhibited his love in these
translations, he carried on a series of experiments on the strength of
timber, and constructed a burning mirror, in imitation of that of
Archimedes.

The devotion to science which Buffon had thus manifested marked him out
for an appointment which determined the course of his future life. His
friend, Du Fay, who was the Intendant of the ‘_Jardin du Roi_’ (now
called the ‘_Jardin des Plantes_’), on his death-bed recommended Buffon
as the person best calculated to give a right direction to this
establishment for the cultivation of natural history. Buffon seized upon
the opportunities which this appointment afforded him of prosecuting his
favourite studies, with that energetic perseverance for which he was
remarkable. He saw that natural history had to be written in a manner
that might render it the most attractive species of knowledge; and that
philosophical views, and eloquent descriptions, might supersede the dry
nomenclatures, and the loose, contradictory, and too-often fabulous
narratives which resulted from the crude labours of ill-informed
compilers. To carry forward his favourite object, it was necessary that
the museum, over which he had now the control, should be put in order
and rendered more complete. He obtained from the government considerable
funds for the erection of proper buildings; and the galleries of the
‘_Jardin des Plantes_,’ which now hold the fine collection of mammals
and birds, were raised under his superintendence. Possessing, therefore,
the most complete means which Europe afforded, he applied himself to the
great task of describing the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms of
nature. A large portion of this immense undertaking was left
unperformed, although, to use his own words, he laboured fifty years at
his desk; and much of what he accomplished was greatly diminished in
value by his determination to see natural objects only through the
clouded medium of his own theories. But, nevertheless, he has produced a
work which, with all its faults, is an extraordinary monument of genius
and industry, and which will long entitle him to the gratitude of
mankind. “We read Buffon,” says Condorcet, “to be interested as well as
instructed. He will continue to excite a useful enthusiasm for the
natural sciences; and the world will long be indebted to him for the
pleasures with which a young mind for the first time looks into nature
and the consolations with which a soul weary of the storms of life
reposes upon the sight of the immensity of beings peaceably submitted to
necessary and eternal laws.”

Buffon was in some particulars unqualified for the laborious duty he had
undertaken. He delighted to indulge in broad and general views, and to
permit his imagination to luxuriate in striking descriptions. But he had
neither the patience, nor the love of accuracy, which would have carried
him into those minute details which give to natural history its highest
value. He, however, had the merit and the good fortune, in the early
stages of his undertaking, to associate himself with a fellow-labourer
who possessed those qualities in which he was deficient. The first
fifteen volumes of ‘_L’Histoire Naturelle_,’ which treat of the theory
of the earth, the nature of animals, and the history of man and
viviparous quadrupeds, were published between 1749 and 1767, as the
joint work of Buffon and Daubenton. The general theories, the
descriptions of the phenomena of nature, and the pictures of the habits
of animals, were by Buffon. Daubenton confined himself to the precise
delineation of their physical character, both in their external forms
and their anatomy. But Daubenton refused to continue his assistance in
the ‘History of Birds;’ for Buffon, unwilling that the fame which he had
acquired should be partaken by one whom he considered only as a humble
and subordinate labourer, allowed an edition of the History of
Quadrupeds to be published, of which the descriptive and anatomical
parts had been greatly abridged. In the History of Birds, therefore,
Buffon had to seek for other associates; and the form of the work was
greatly changed from that of the previous volumes. The particular
descriptions are here very meagre, and anatomical details are almost
entirely excluded. In some of the volumes, Buffon was assisted by
Guéneau de Montbeillard, who, instead of endeavouring to attain the
accuracy of Daubenton, affected to imitate the style of his employer. To
the three last volumes of the Birds the Abbé Bexon lent his aid. The
nine volumes of Birds appeared between 1770 and 1783. Buffon published
alone his ‘History of Minerals,’ which appeared in five volumes, between
1783 and 1788. Seven volumes of Supplements complete the Natural
History. The first appeared in 1773; the last was not published till the
year after its author’s death, in 1789. The fifth volume of these
Supplements is a distinct work, the Epochs of Nature[3].

Footnote 3:

The best edition of the works of Buffon is the first, of 36 vols. 4to.

The study of natural history, and the composition of his great work,
occupied the mind of Buffon from his first appointment as Intendant of
the ‘_Jardin du Roi_,’ to within a few days of his death. In the
prosecution of the plan he had laid down, he never permitted the
slightest interruption. Pleasure and indolence had their
attractions;—but they never held him for many hours from his favourite
pursuits. Buffon spent the greater part of his time at Montbar, where,
during some years, his friend Daubenton also resided. It was here that
Buffon composed nearly the whole of his works. Many interesting details
have been preserved of his habits of life, and his mode of composition.
He was, like all men who have accomplished great literary undertakings,
a severe economist of his time. The employment of every day was fixed
with the greatest exactness. He used almost invariably to rise at five
o’clock, compelling his man-servant to drag him out of bed whenever he
was unwilling to get up. “I owe to poor Joseph,” he used to say, “ten or
twelve volumes of my works.” At the end of his garden was a pavilion
which served him as a study. Here he was seated for many hours of every
day, in an old leathern chair, before a table of black birch, with his
papers arranged in a large walnut-tree escritoire. Before he began to
write he was accustomed to meditate for a long time upon his subject.
Composition was to him a real delight; and he used to declare that he
had spent twelve or fourteen hours successively at his desk, continuing
to the last in a state of pleasure. His endeavours to obtain the utmost
correctness of expression furnished a remarkable proof of the
persevering quality of his mind. He composed, and copied, and read his
works to friends, and re-copied, till he was entirely satisfied. It is
said that he made eleven transcripts of the Epochs of Nature. In his
domestic habits there was little to admire in the character of Buffon.
His conversation was trifling and licentious, and the grossness which
too often discloses itself in his writings was ill-concealed in his own
conduct. He paid the most minute attention to dress, and delighted in
walking to church to exhibit his finery to his wondering neighbours.
Although he was entirely devoid of religious principle, and constantly
endeavoured in his writings to throw discredit upon the belief of a
great First Cause, he regularly attended high mass, received the
communion, and distributed alms to pious beggars. In his whole character
there appears a total absence of that simplicity which is the
distinguishing attribute of men of the very highest genius.

The literary glory of Buffon, although surpassed, or even equalled,
during his life, by none of his contemporaries, with the exception
perhaps of Voltaire and Rousseau, has not increased, and is perhaps
materially diminished, after having been tried by the opinions of half a
century. In literature, as well as in politics, as we have learnt to
attach a greater value to accurate facts, have we become less captivated
by the force of eloquence alone. Buffon gave an extraordinary impulse to
the love of natural history, by surrounding its details with splendid
images, and escaping from its rigid investigations by bold and dazzling
theories. He rejected classification; and took no pains to distinguish
by precise names the objects which he described, because such accuracy
would have impeded the progress of his magnificent generalizations.
Without classification, and an accurate nomenclature, natural history is
a mere chaos. Buffon saw the productions of nature only in masses. He
made no endeavour to delineate with perfect accuracy any individual of
that immense body, nor to trace the relations of an individual to all
the various forms of being by which it is surrounded. Although he was a
profound admirer of Newton, and classed Bacon amongst the most
illustrious of men, he constantly deviated from the principle of that
philosophy upon which all modern discovery has been founded. He carried
onward his hypotheses with little calculation and less experiment. And
yet, although they are often misapplied, he has collected an astonishing
number of facts; and even many of his boldest generalities have been
based upon a sufficient foundation of truth, to furnish important
assistance to the investigations of more accurate inquirers. The
persevering obliquity with which he turns away from the evidence of
Design in the creation, to rest upon some vague notions of a
self-creative power, both in animate and inanimate existence, is one of
the most unpleasant features of his writings. How much higher services
might Buffon have rendered to natural history had he been imbued not
only with a spirit of accurate and comprehensive classification, but
with a perception of the constant agency of a Creator, of both of which
merits he had so admirable an example in our own Ray.

The style of Buffon, viewed as an elaborate work of art, and without
regard to the great object of style, that of conveying thoughts in the
clearest and simplest manner, is captivating from its sustained harmony
and occasional grandeur. But it is a style of a past age. Even in his
own day, it was a theme for ridicule with those who knew the real force
of conciseness and simplicity. Voltaire described it as ‘_empoulé_;’ and
when some one talked to him of ‘_L’Histoire Naturelle_,’ he drily
replied, ‘_Pas si naturelle_.’ But Buffon was not carried away by the
mere love of fine writing. He knew his own power; and, looking at the
state of science in his day, he seized upon the instrument which was
best calculated to elevate him amongst his contemporaries. The very
exaggerations of his style were perhaps necessary to render natural
history at once attractive to all descriptions of people. Up to his time
it had been a dry and repulsive study. He first clothed it with the
picturesque and poetical; threw a moral sentiment around its commonest
details; exhibited animals in connection with man, in his mightiest and
most useful works; and described the great phenomena of nature with a
pomp of language which had never before been called to the service of
philosophical investigation. The publication of his works carried the
study of natural history out of the closets of the few, to become a
source of delight and instruction to all men.

Buffon died at Paris on the 16th April, 1788, aged 81. He was married,
in 1762, to Mademoiselle de St. Bélin; and he left an only son, who
succeeded to his title. This unfortunate young man perished on the
scaffold, in 1795, almost one of the last victims of the fury of the
revolution. When he ascended to the guillotine he exclaimed, with great
composure, “My name is Buffon.”

A succinct and clear memoir of Buffon, by Cuvier, in the _Biographie
Universelle_, may be advantageously consulted. Nearly all the details of
his private life are derived from a curious work by Rénault de
Séchelles, entitled _Voyage à Montbar_, which, like many other domestic
histories of eminent men, has the disgrace of being founded upon a
violation of the laws of hospitality.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by R. Woodman._

SIR THOMAS MORE.

_From an Enamel after Holbein,
in the possession of Thomas Clarke Esq._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

MORE.

This great man was born in London, in the year 1480. His father was Sir
John More, one of the Judges of the King’s Bench, a gentleman of
established reputation. He was early placed in the family of Cardinal
Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Lord Chancellor of England. The
sons of the gentry were at this time sent into the families of the first
nobility and leading statesmen, on an equivocal footing; partly for the
finishing of their education, and partly in a menial capacity. The
Cardinal said more than once to the nobility who were dining with him,
“This boy waiting at table, whosoever lives to see it, will one day
prove a marvellous man.” His eminent patron was highly delighted with
that vivacity and wit which appeared in his childhood, and did not
desert him on the scaffold. Plays were performed in the archiepiscopal
household at Christmas. On these occasions young More would play the
improvisatore, and introduce an extempore part of his own, more amusing
to the spectators than all the rest of the performance. In due time
Morton sent him to Oxford, where he heard the lectures of Linacer and
Grocyn on the Greek and Latin languages. The epigrams and translations
printed in his works evince his skill in both. After a regular course of
rhetoric, logic, and philosophy, at Oxford, he removed to London, where
he became a law student, first in New Inn, and afterwards in Lincoln’s
Inn. He gained considerable reputation by reading public lectures on
Saint Augustine, De Civitate Dei, at Saint Lawrence’s church in the Old
Jewry. The most learned men in the city of London attended him; among
the rest Grocyn, his lecturer in Greek at Oxford, and a writer against
the doctrines of Wickliff. The object of More’s prolusions was not so
much to discuss points in theology, as to explain the precepts of moral
philosophy, and clear up difficulties in history. For more than three
years after this he was Law-reader at Furnival’s Inn. He next removed to
the Charter-House, where he lived in devotion and prayer; and it is
stated that from the age of twenty he wore a hair-shirt next his skin.
He remained there about four years, without taking the vows, although he
performed all the spiritual exercises of the society, and had a strong
inclination to enter the priesthood. But his spiritual adviser, Dr.
Colet, Dean of St. Paul’s, recommended him to adopt a different course.
On a visit to a gentleman of Essex, by name Colt, he was introduced to
his three daughters, and became attached to the second, who was the
handsomest of the family. But he bethought him that it would be both a
grief and a scandal to the eldest to see her younger sister married
before her. He therefore reconsidered his passion, and from motives of
pity prevailed with himself to be in love with the elder, or at all
events to marry her. Erasmus says that she was young and uneducated, for
which her husband liked her the better, as being more capable of
conforming to his own model of a wife. He had her instructed in
literature, and especially in music.

He continued his study of the law at Lincoln’s Inn, but resided in
Bucklersbury after his marriage. His first wife lived about seven years.
By her he had three daughters and one son; and we are informed by his
son-in-law, Roper, that he brought them up with the most sedulous
attention to their intellectual and moral improvement. It was a quaint
exhortation of his, that they should take virtue and learning for their
meat, and pleasure for their sauce.

In the latter part of King Henry the Seventh’s time, and at a very early
age, More distinguished himself in parliament. The King had demanded a
subsidy for the marriage of his eldest daughter, who was to be the
Scottish Queen. The demand was not complied with. On being told that his
purpose had been frustrated by the opposition of a beardless boy, Henry
was greatly incensed, and determined on revenge. He knew that the actual
offender, not possessing anything, could not lose anything; he therefore
devised a groundless charge against the father, and confined him to the
Tower till he had extorted a fine of £100 for his alleged offence. Fox,
Bishop of Winchester, a privy councillor, insidiously undertook to
reinstate young More in the King’s favour: but the Bishop’s Chaplain
warned him not to listen to any such proposals; and gave a pithy reason
for the advice, highly illustrative of Fox’s real character. “To serve
the King’s purposes, my lord and master will not hesitate to consent to
his own father’s death.” To avoid evil consequences, More determined to
go abroad. With this view, he made himself master of the French
language, and cultivated the liberal sciences, as astronomy, geometry,
arithmetic, and music; he also made himself thoroughly acquainted with
history: but in the mean time the King’s death rendered it safe to
remain in England, and he abandoned all thoughts of foreign travel.

Notwithstanding his practice at the bar, and his lectures, which were
quoted by Lord Coke as undisputed authority, he found leisure for the
pursuits of philosophy and polite literature. In 1516 he wrote his
Utopia, the only one of his works which has commanded much of public
attention in after times. In general they were chiefly of a polemic
kind, in defence of a cause which even his abilities could not make
good. But in this extraordinary work he allowed his powerful mind fair
play, and considered both mankind and religion with the freedom of a
true philosopher. He represents Utopia as one of those countries lately
discovered in America, and the account of it is feigned to be given by a
Portuguese, who sailed in company with the first discoverer of that part
of the world. Under the character of this Portuguese he delivers his own
opinions. His History of Richard III. was never finished, but it is
inserted in Kennet’s Complete History of England. Among his other
eminent acquaintance, he was particularly attached to Erasmus. They had
long corresponded before they were personally known to each other.
Erasmus came to England for the purpose of seeing his friend; and it was
contrived that they should meet at the Lord Mayor’s table before they
were introduced to each other. At dinner they engaged in argument.
Erasmus felt the keenness of his antagonist’s wit; and when hard
pressed, exclaimed, “You are More, or nobody;” the reply was, “You are
Erasmus, or the Devil.”

Before More entered definitively into the service of Henry VIII. his
learning, wisdom, and experience were held in such high estimation, that
he was twice sent on important commercial embassies. His discretion in
those employments made the King desirous of securing him for the service
of the court; and he commissioned Wolsey, then Lord Chancellor, to
engage him. But so little inclined was he to involve himself in
political intrigues, that the King’s wish was not at the time
accomplished. Soon after, More was retained as counsel for the Pope, for
the purpose of reclaiming the forfeiture of a ship. His argument was so
learned, and his conduct in the cause so judicious and upright, that the
ship was restored. The King upon this insisted on having him in his
service; and, as the first step to preferment, made him Master of the
Requests, a Knight and Privy Councillor.

In 1520 he was made Treasurer of the Exchequer: he then bought a house
by the river-side at Chelsea, where he had settled with his family. He
had at that time buried his first wife and was married to a second. He
continued in the King’s service full twenty years, during which time his
royal master conferred with him on various subjects, including
astronomy, geometry, and divinity; and frequently consulted him on his
private concerns. More’s pleasant temper and witty conversation made him
such a favourite at the palace, as almost to estrange him from his own
family; and under these circumstances his peculiar humour manifested
itself; for he so restrained the natural bias of his freedom and mirth
as to render himself a less amusing companion, and at length to be
seldom sent for but on occasions of business.

A more important circumstance gave More much consequence with the King.
The latter was preparing his answer to Luther, and Sir Thomas assisted
him in the controversy. While this was going on, the King one day came
to dine with him; and after dinner walked with him in the garden with
his arm round his neck. After Henry’s departure, Mr. Roper, Sir Thomas’s
son-in-law, remarked on the King’s familiarity, as exceeding even that
used towards Cardinal Wolsey, with whom he had only once been seen to
walk arm in arm. The answer of Sir Thomas was shrewd and almost
prophetic. “I find his Grace my very good lord indeed, and I believe he
doth as singularly favour me as any subject within this realm. However,
Son Roper, I may tell thee, I have no cause to be proud thereof; for if
my head would win him a castle in France it should not fail to go.”

In 1523 he was chosen Speaker of the House of Commons, and displayed
great intrepidity in the discharge of that office. Wolsey was afraid
lest this parliament should refuse a great subsidy about to be demanded,
and announced his intention of being present at the debate. He had
previously expressed his indignation at the publicity given to the
proceedings of the house, which he had compared to the gossip of an
ale-house. Sir Thomas More therefore persuaded the members to admit not
only the Cardinal, but all his pomp; his maces, poll-axes, crosses, hat,
and great seal. The reason he assigned was, that should the like fault
be imputed to them hereafter, they might be able to shift the blame on
the shoulders of his Grace’s attendants. The proposal of the subsidy was
met with the negative of profound silence; and the Speaker declared that
“except every member could put into his one head all their several wits,
he alone in so weighty a matter was unmeet to make his Grace answer.”
After the parliament had broken up, Wolsey expressed his displeasure
against the Speaker in his own gallery at Whitehall; but More, with his
usual quiet humour, parried the attack by a ready compliment to the
taste and splendour of the room in which they were conversing.

On the death of Sir Richard Wingfield, the King promoted Sir Thomas to
the Chancellorship of the Duchy of Lancaster. At this time the see of
Rome became vacant, and Wolsey aspired to the Papacy; but Charles V.
disappointed him, and procured the election of Cardinal Adrian. In
revenge, Wolsey contrived to persuade Henry that Catharine was not his
lawful wife, and endeavoured to turn his affections towards one of the
French King’s sisters. The case was referred to More, who was assisted
by the most learned of the Privy Council; and he managed, difficult as
it must have been to do so, to extricate both himself and his colleagues
from the dilemma. His conduct as ambassador at Cambray, where a treaty
of peace was negotiated between the Emperor, France, and England, so
confirmed the favour of his master towards him, that on the fall of the
Cardinal he was made Lord Chancellor. The great seal was delivered to
him on the 25th of October, 1530. This favour was the more
extraordinary, as he was the first layman on whom it was bestowed: but
it may reasonably be suspected that the private motive was to engage him
in the approval of the meditated divorce. This he probably suspected,
and entered on the office with a full knowledge of the danger to which
it exposed him. He performed the duties of his function for nearly three
years with exemplary diligence, great ability, and uncorrupted
integrity. His resignation took place on the 16th May, 1533. His motive
was supposed to be a regard to his own safety, as he was sensible that a
confirmation of the divorce would be officially required from him, and
he was too conscientious to comply with the mandate of power, against
his own moral and legal convictions.

While Chancellor some of his injunctions were disapproved by the common
law judges. He therefore invited them to dine with him in the council
chamber, and proved to them by professional arguments that their
complaints were unfounded. He then proposed that they should themselves
mitigate the rigour of the law by their own conscientious discretion; in
which case, he would grant no more injunctions. This they refused; and
the consequence was, that he continued that practice in equity which has
come down to the present day.

It was through the intervention of his friend the Duke of Norfolk that
he procured his discharge from the laborious, and under the
circumstances of the time, the dangerous eminence of the chancellorship,
which he quitted in honourable poverty. After the payment of his debts
he had not the value of one hundred pounds in gold and silver, nor more
than twenty marks a year in land. On this occasion his love of a jest
did not desert him. While Chancellor, as soon as the church service was
over, one of his train used to go to his lady’s pew, and say, “Madam, my
Lord is gone!” On the first holiday after his train had been dismissed,
he performed that ceremony himself, and by saying at the end of the
service, “Madam, my Lord is gone,” gave his wife the first intimation
that he had surrendered the great seal.

He had resolved never again to engage in public business; but the
divorce, and still more the subsequent marriage with Anne Boleyn, which
nothing could induce him to favour, with the King’s alienation from the
see of Rome, raised a storm over his head from which his voluntary
seclusion at Chelsea, in study and devotion, could not shelter him. When
tempting offers proved ineffectual to win him over to sanction Anne
Boleyn’s coronation by his high legal authority, threats and terrors
were resorted to: his firmness was not to be shaken, but his ruin was
determined, and ultimately accomplished. In the next parliament he, and
his friend Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, were attainted of treason and
misprision of treason for listening to the ravings of Elizabeth Barton,
considered by the vulgar as the Holy Maid of Kent, and countenancing her
treasonable practices. His innocence was so clearly established, that
his name was erased from the bill; and it was supposed to have been
introduced into it only for the purpose of shaking his resolution
touching the divorce and marriage. But though he had escaped this snare
his firmness occasioned him to be devoted as a victim. Anne Boleyn took
pains to exasperate the King against him, and when the Act of Supremacy
was passed in 1534, the oath required by it was tendered to him. The
refusal to take it, which his principles compelled him to give, was
expressed in discreet and qualified terms; he was nevertheless taken
into the custody of the Abbot of Westminster, and upon a second refusal
four days after was committed prisoner to the Tower of London.

Our limits will not allow us to detail many particulars of his life
while in confinement, marked as it was by firmness, resignation, and
cheerfulness, resulting from a conscience, however much mistaken, yet
void of intentional offence. His reputation and credit were very great
in the kingdom, and much was supposed to depend on his conduct at this
critical juncture. Archbishop Cranmer, therefore, urged every argument
that could be devised to persuade him to compliance, and promises were
profusely made to him from the King; but neither argument nor promises
could prevail. We will give the last of these attempts to shake his
determination, in the words of his son-in-law, Mr. Roper:—

“Mr. Rich, pretending friendly talk with him, among other things of a
set course, said this unto him: ‘Forasmuch as is well known, Master
More, that you are a man both wise and well learned, as well in the laws
of the realm as otherwise, I pray you, therefore, sir, let me be so bold
as of good-will to put unto you this case. Admit there were, sir, an act
of parliament that the realm should take me for King; would not you, Mr.
More, take me for King?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ quoth Sir Thomas More, ‘that would
I.’ ‘I put the case further,’ quoth Mr. Rich, ‘that there were an act of
parliament that all the realm should take me for Pope; would not you
then, Master More, take me for Pope?’ ‘For answer, sir,’ quoth Sir
Thomas More, ‘to your first case the parliament may well, Master Rich,
meddle with the state of temporal princes; but to make answer to your
other case, I will put you this case. Suppose the parliament would make
a law that God should not be God; would you then, Master Rich, say that
God were not God?’ ‘No, sir,’ quoth he, ‘that would I not; sith no
parliament may make any such law.’ ‘No more,’ quoth Sir Thomas More,
‘could the parliament make the King supreme head of the Church.’ Upon
whose only report was Sir Thomas indicted of high treason on the statute
to deny the King to be supreme head of the Church, into which indictment
were put these heinous words, _maliciously_, _traitorously_, and
_diabolically_.”

Sir Thomas More in his defence alleged many arguments to the discredit
of Rich’s evidence, and in proof of the clearness of his own conscience;
but all this was of no avail, and the jury found him guilty. When asked
in the usual manner why judgment should not be passed against him, he
argued against the indictment as grounded on an Act of Parliament
repugnant to the laws of God and the Church, the government of which
belonged to the see of Rome, and could not lawfully be assumed by any
temporal prince. The Lord Chancellor, however, and the other
Commissioners gave judgment against him.

He remained in the Tower a week after his sentence, and during that time
he was uniformly firm and composed, and even his peculiar vein of
cheerfulness remained unimpaired. It accompanied him even to the
scaffold, on going up to which, he said to the Lieutenant of the Tower,
“I pray you, Master Lieutenant, see me safe up, and for my coming down
let me shift for myself.” After his prayers were ended he turned to the
executioner and said, with a cheerful countenance, “Pluck up thy
spirits, man, and be not afraid to do thine office. My neck is very
short, take heed, therefore, thou strike not awry for thine own credit’s
sake.” Then laying his head upon the block, he bid the executioner stay
till he had removed his beard, saying, “My beard has never committed any
treason;” and immediately the fatal blow was given. These witticisms
have so repeatedly run the gauntlet through all the jest-books that it
would hardly have been worth while to repeat them here, were it not for
the purpose of introducing the comment of Mr. Addison on Sir Thomas’s
behaviour on this solemn occasion. “What was only philosophy in this
extraordinary man would be frenzy in one who does not resemble him as
well in the cheerfulness of his temper as in the sanctity of his
manners.”

He was executed on St. Thomas’s eve in the year 1555. The barbarous part
of the sentence, so disgraceful to the Statute-book, was remitted. Lest
serious-minded persons should suppose that his conduct on the scaffold
was mere levity, it should be added that he addressed the people,
desiring them to pray for him, and to bear witness that he was going to
suffer death in and for the faith of the holy Catholic Church. The
Emperor Charles V. said, on hearing of his execution, “Had we been
master of such a servant, we would rather have lost the best city of our
dominions than such a worthy councillor.”

No one was more capable of appreciating the character of Sir Thomas More
than Erasmus, who represents him as more pure and white than the whitest
snow, with such wit as England never had before, and was never likely to
have again. He also says, that in theological discussions the most
eminent divines were not unfrequently worsted by him; but he adds a wish
that he had never meddled with the subject. Sir Thomas More was
peculiarly happy in extempore speaking, the result of a well-stored and
ready memory, suggesting without delay whatever the occasion required.
Thuanus also mentions him with much respect, as a man of strict
integrity and profound learning.

His life has been written by his son-in-law, Roper, and is the principal
source whence this narrative is taken. Erasmus has also been consulted,
through whose epistolary works there is much information about his
friend. There is also a life of him by Ferdinando Warner, LL.D., with a
translation of his Utopia, in an octavo volume, published in 1758.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

LA PLACE.

_From an original Picture by Nedeone,
in the possession of the Marchioness De la Place._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

LAPLACE.

Pierre Simon Laplace was born at Beaumont en Auge, a small town of
Normandy, not far from Honfleur, in March, 1749. His father was a small
farmer of sufficient substance to give him the benefit of a learned
education, for we are told[4] that the future philosopher gained his
first distinctions in theology. It does not appear by what means his
attention was turned to mathematical science, but he must have commenced
that study when very young, as, on visiting Paris at the age of about
eighteen, he attracted the notice of D’Alembert by his knowledge of the
subject. He had previously taught mathematics in his native place; and,
on visiting the metropolis, was furnished with letters of recommendation
to several of the most distinguished men of the day. Finding, however,
that D’Alembert took no notice of him on this account, he wrote that
geometer a letter on the first principles of mechanics, which produced
an immediate effect. D’Alembert sent for him the same day, and said,
“You see, sir, how little I care for introductions, but you have no need
of any. You have a better way of making yourself known, and you have a
right to my assistance.” Through the recommendation of D’Alembert,
Laplace was in a few days named Professor of Mathematics in the Military
School of Paris. From this moment he applied himself to the one great
object of his life. It was not till the year 1799 that he was called to
assume a public character. Bonaparte, then First Consul, who was himself
a tolerable mathematician, and always cultivated the friendship of men
of science, made him Minister of the Interior; but very soon found his
mistake in supposing that talents for philosophical investigation were
necessarily accompanied by those of a statesman. He is reported to have
expressed himself of Laplace in the following way:—“Géometre du premier
rang, il ne tarda pas a se montrer administrateur plus que médiocre. Dés
son premier travail, les consuls s’aperçurent qu’ils s’étoient trompés.
Laplace ne saisissait aucune question sous son vrai point de vue. Il
cherchait des subtilités partout, n’avait que des idées problématiques
et portait aufin _l’esprit des infiniments petits_ dans
l’administration.” Bonaparte removed him accordingly to the _Sénat
Conservateur_, of which he was successively Vice-President and
Chancellor. The latter office he received in 1813, about which time he
was created Count. In 1814 he voted for the deposition of Napoleon, for
which he has been charged with ingratitude and meanness. This is yet a
party question; and the present generation need not be hasty in forming
a decision which posterity may see reason to reverse. After the first
restoration Laplace received the title of Marquis, and did not appear at
the Court of Napoleon during the hundred days. He continued his usual
pursuits until the year 1827, when he was seized with the disorder which
terminated his life on the 5th of May, in the seventy-eighth year of his
age. His last words were, “Ce que nous connoissons est peu de chose; ce
que nous ignorons est immense.” He has left a successor to his name and
title, but none to his transcendent powers of investigation.

Footnote 4:

A scanty account in the _Biographie des Contemporains_, and the Eloge
read to the Institute by M. Fourier, form our only materials for the
personal life of LAPLACE.

The name of Laplace is spread to the utmost limits of civilization, as
the successor, almost the equal, of Newton. No one, however, who is
acquainted with the discoveries of the two, will think there is so much
common ground for comparison as is generally supposed. Those of Laplace
are all essentially mathematical: whatever could be done by analysis he
was sure to achieve. The labours of Newton, on the other hand, show a
sagacity in conjecturing which would almost lead us to think that he
laid the mathematics on one side, and used some faculty of perception
denied to other men, to deduce these results which he afterwards
condescended to put into a geometrical form, for the information of more
common minds. In the Principia of Newton, the mathematics are not the
instruments of discovery but of demonstration; and, though that work
contains much which is new in a mathematical point of view, its
principal merit is of quite another character. The mind of Laplace was
cast in a different mould; and this perhaps is fortunate for science,
for while we may safely assert that Laplace would never have been Newton
had he been placed in similar circumstances, there is also reason to
doubt whether a second Newton would have been better qualified to follow
that particular path which was so successfully traversed by Laplace. We
shall proceed to give such an idea of the labours of the latter as our
limits will allow.

The solution of every mechanical problem, in which the acting forces
were known, as in the motions of the solar system, had been reduced by
D’Alembert and Lagrange to such a state that the difficulties were only
mathematical; that is, no farther advances could be made, except in pure
analysis. We cannot expect the general reader to know what is meant by
the words, _solution of a Differential Equation_; but he may be made
aware that there is a process so called, which, if it could be
successfully and exactly performed in all cases, would give the key to
every motion of the solar system, and render the determination of its
present, and the prediction of its future state, a matter of
mathematical certainty. Unfortunately, in the present state of analysis,
such precision is unattainable; and its place is supplied by slow and
tedious approximations. These were begun by Newton, whose object being
to establish the existence of universal gravitation, he was content to
show that all the phenomena which might be expected to result, if that
theory were true, did actually take place in the solar system. But here,
owing to the comparatively imperfect state of mathematical analysis, he
could do little more than indicate the cause of some of the principal
irregularities of that system. His successors added considerably to the
number of phenomena which were capable of explanation, and thereby
increased the probability of the hypothesis. Lagrange, the great rival
of Laplace, if we consider his discoveries, and his superior in the
originality of his views, and the beauty of his analysis, added greatly
to the fund; but it was reserved for the latter to complete the system,
and, extending his views beyond the point to which Newton directed his
attention, to show that there is no marked phenomenon yet observed by
astronomers, regarding the relative motions of the planets or their
satellites, but what must necessarily follow, if the law of gravitation
be true. We shall select a few instances of the success of his analysis.
The average motions of Jupiter and Saturn had been observed to vary;
that of the former being accelerated, and of the latter retarded. This
fact, which Euler had attempted in vain to explain, was linked by
Laplace to the general law, and shown to follow from it. A somewhat
similar acceleration in the moon’s mean motion was demonstrated, as we
have observed more fully in the life of Halley, to arise from a small
alteration in the form of the earth’s orbit, caused by the attraction of
the planets. A remarkable law attending the motions of the satellites of
Jupiter, viz.—that the mean motion of the first satellite, together with
double that of the second, is always very nearly equal to three times
that of the third—was so far connected with the general law, that if, in
the original formation of the system, that relation had been nearly
kept, the mutual attractions, instead of altering it, would tend to
bring it nearer the truth. We can here do no more than mention the
analysis of the phenomena of the tides, one of the most important and
most brilliant of Laplace’s performances. Indeed there is no branch of
Physical Astronomy, we might almost say of physics in general, which is
not materially indebted to him. Superior to Euler in the power of
conquering analytical difficulties, he is almost his equal in the
universality of his labours.

The great work of Laplace is the ‘Mécanique Céleste,’ a collection of
all that had been done by himself or others, concerning the theory of
the universe. It is far above the reach even of the mathematical reader,
unless he has given a degree of attention to the subject, which few, at
least in our day, will exert. But Laplace was an elegant and
clear-headed writer, as well as a profound analyst. He has left, we will
not say for the common reader, but for those who possess the first
elements of geometry, a compendium of the Mécanique Céleste, in the
‘Système du Monde.’ This work is free from mathematical details, and,
were it his only production, would rank him high among French writers.
We recommend it as the best exposition of the present state of our
knowledge of the solar system.

But if it be said that Laplace was much indebted to the labours of
Lagrange and others, for the methods which form the basis of the
Mécanique Céleste, which is undoubtedly true, we have a splendid
instance of what might have been expected from him under any
circumstances, in the ‘Théorie des Probabilités.’ The field was here
open, for though the leading principles of the science had been laid
down, and many difficult problems solved, yet some method was still
wanting by which sufficient approximation might be made to problems
involving high numbers. In the theory of chances the great complexity of
the operations required, soon renders the application of the clearest
principles practically impossible; or, we should rather say, would have
done so had it not been for the researches of Laplace. His work on this
subject is, in our opinion, even superior to the Mécanique Céleste, as a
proof of the genius of the author. The difficulties above described
disappear under an analysis more refined and artificial than any other
which has ever been used. The mathematician may or may not read the
Mécanique Céleste, according to whether he would wish or not to turn his
attention to physical astronomy; but the analyst must study the Théorie
des Probabilités, before he can be said to know of what his art is
capable. The philosophical part of his work, with its principal results,
was collected by the author in the ‘Essai Philosophique sur les
Probabilités,’ in the same manner as those of the Mécanique Céleste were
exhibited in the Système du Monde.

The mathematical style of Laplace is entirely destitute of the
simplicity of that of Euler, or the exquisite symmetry and attention to
the principles of notation, which distinguishes that of Lagrange. We may
almost imagine that we see the first rough form in which his thoughts
were committed to paper; and that, when by attention to a particular
case, he had hit upon a wider method, which embraced that and others, he
was content to leave the first nearly as it stood before the
generalization opened upon him. His writings abound with parts in which
the immediate train of investigation is dropped, either not to be
resumed at all, or at a much later period of the subject. He seems, like
the discoverer of a new channel, to have explored every inlet which came
in his way, and the chart of his labours consequently shows the
unfinished surveys on either side of the main track. This habit is no
fault, but quite the reverse, in a work intended for finished
mathematicians, to be the storehouse of all that could be useful in
future operations: but it makes both the Mécanique Céleste and the
Théorie des Probabilités present almost unconquerable difficulties to
the student. These are increased by the very wide steps left to be
filled up by the reader, which are numerous enough to justify us in
saying, that what is left out in these writings would constitute a mass
four times as great as that which is put in, and this exclusive of
numerical calculations. When we add that those two works are contained
in six quarto volumes, which hold more than two thousand five hundred
pages, some notion may be formed of the extent of Laplace’s labours.

It will be perceived that this slight sketch is intended only for those
who are not mathematicians. In conclusion, we may take the opportunity
of expressing a hope, that at no distant period analytical knowledge
will have become so general, and the public mind be so far informed upon
the great theory first propounded by Newton, and reduced to
demonstration by Lagrange and Laplace, that the evidence furnished by
the two last shall possess equal weight with the authority of the first.

[Illustration]

HANDEL.

George Frederic Handel, whom we will venture to call the greatest of
musicians, considering the state in which he found his art, and the
means at his command, was born at Halle, in the Duchy of Magdeburg,
February 24, 1684. He was intended, almost from his cradle, for the
profession of the civil law; but, at the early age of seven, he
manifested so uncontrollable an inclination, and so decided a talent for
the study of music, that his father, an eminent physician, wisely
consented to change his destination, and suffered him to continue under
the direction of a master those studies, which he had been secretly
pursuing with no other guide than his own genius.

Friedrich Zachau, organist of the cathedral church of Halle, was the
first and indeed the chief instructor of Handel. He discharged the
duties of his office so well, that his pupil, when not nine years old,
had become competent to officiate for his teacher, and had composed, it
is said, many motets for the service of the church. A set of sonatas,
written by him when only ten years old, was in the possession of George
III., and probably forms part of the musical library of our present
sovereign.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by J. Thomson._

HANDEL.

_From a Picture in the Collection of
His Majesty at Windsor._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

In 1703 Handel went to Hamburg, where the opera was then flourishing
under the direction of Reinhard Keiser, a master of deserved celebrity,
but whose gaiety and expensive habits often compelled him to absent
himself from the theatre. On one of these occasions Handel was appointed
to fill his place as conductor. This preference of a junior roused the
jealousy of a fellow-performer, named Mattheson, to such a degree that a
rencontre took place between the rivals in the street: and Handel was
saved from a sword-thrust, which probably would have taken fatal effect,
only by the interposition of a music-score, which he carried buttoned up
under his coat. Till this time he had occupied but a very subordinate
situation in the orchestra, that of second _ripieno_ violin; for from
the period of his father’s death he had depended wholly on his own
exertions, nobly determining not to diminish his mother’s rather
straitened income by any demands on her for pecuniary assistance. But
now an opportunity for making known his powers was arrived; for the
continued absence of the conductor Keiser from his post induced the
manager to employ Handel in setting to music a drama called Almeria. So
great was the success of this piece, that it was performed thirty nights
without interruption. The year following he composed Florinda; and soon
after, Nerone, both of which were received in as favourable a manner as
his first dramatic effort; but not one of these is to be found in the
collection formed by George III., and they seem quite unknown to all
writers on music, except by their titles.

The success of his operas at Hamburg produced a sum which enabled him to
visit Italy. Florence was the first city in which he made any stay. He
was there received in the kindest manner by the Grand Duke Giovanni
Gaston de Medicis, and produced the opera of Rodrigo in 1709, for which
he was presented with a hundred sequins, and a service of plate. Thence
he proceeded to Venice, where he brought out Agrippina, which was
received with acclamation, and performed twenty-seven nights
successively. It seems that horns and other wind-instruments were in
this opera first used in Italy as accompaniments to the voice. Here the
charms of his music made an impression on the famous beauty and singer,
Signora Vittoria, a lady particularly distinguished by the Grand Duke;
but in this, as in every instance of a similar kind, Handel showed no
disposition to avail himself of any partialities exhibited in his
favour. His thoughts were nearly all absorbed by his art, and it is but
just to conclude that he was also influenced by those sentiments of
moral propriety which so distinctly marked his conduct through life. It
is to be admitted, however, that he was too much inclined to indulge in
the pleasures of the table.

On visiting Rome he was hospitably and kindly entertained by the
Cardinal Ottoboni, a person of the most refined taste and princely
magnificence. Besides his splendid collection of pictures and statues,
he possessed a library of music of great extent, and kept in his service
an excellent band of performers, which was under the direction of the
celebrated Corelli. At one of the parties made by the Cardinal, Handel
produced the overture to Il Trionfo del Tempo, which was attempted by
the band so unsuccessfully, that the composer, in his hasty manner,
snatched the violin from Corelli, and played the most difficult passages
with his own hand. The Italian, who was all modesty and meekness,
ingenuously confessed that he did not understand the kind of music; and,
when Handel still appeared impatient, only said, “Ma, caro Sassone,
questa musica è nel stilo Francese, di ch’io non m’intendo”—(“But, my
dear Saxon, this music is in the French style, which I do not
understand”). And so far Corelli was perfectly right; Handel’s overtures
are formed after the model of Lully, though, it is hardly necessary to
add, he improved what he imitated. This anecdote indicates the vast
superiority in point of execution possessed by the moderns. A learner of
two years’ standing would now play the violin part of any of Handel’s
overtures at first sight, without a fault.

At Rome Handel composed his Trionfo del Tempo, the words of which were
written for him by the Cardinal Pamphilii, and a kind of _mystery_, or
oratorio, La Resurrezione. The former he afterwards brought out in
London, with English words by Dr. Morell, under the title of the Triumph
of Time and Truth. From Rome he went to Naples, where he was treated
with every mark of distinction. But he now resolved, notwithstanding the
many attempts made to keep him in Italy, to return to Germany; and in
1710 reached Hanover, where he found a generous patron in the Elector,
who subsequently ascended the English throne as George I. Here he met
the learned composer, Steffani, who, having arrived at a time of life
when retirement becomes desirable, resigned his office of Maestro di
Capella to the Elector, and Handel was appointed his successor, with a
salary of 1500 crowns, upon condition that he would return to the court
of Hanover at the termination of his travels.

Towards the end of 1710 Handel arrived in London. He was soon introduced
at court, and honoured with marks of Queen Anne’s favour. Aaron Hill was
then manager of the Italian opera, and immediately sketched a drama from
Tasso’s Jerusalem, which Rossi worked into an opera under the name of
Rinaldo, and Handel set to music. This was brought out in March, 1711;
and it is stated in the preface that it was composed in a fortnight, a
strong recommendation of a work to those who delight in the wonderful
rather than in the excellent: but in fact there is nothing in this which
could have put the composer to much expense either of time or thought.
Handel undoubtedly wrote better operas than any of his contemporaries or
predecessors; but he was controlled by the habits and taste of the day,
and knew by experience that two or three good pieces were as much as the
fashionable frequenters of the Italian theatre would listen to, in his
time.

At the close of 1711 he returned to Hanover, but revisited London late
in 1712; and shortly after was selected, not without many murmurs from
English musicians, to compose a Te Deum and Jubilate on occasion of the
peace of Utrecht. The Queen settled on him a pension of two hundred
pounds as the reward of his labour,—and as he was solicited to write
again for the Italian stage, he never thought of returning to his
engagement at Hanover, till the accession of the Elector to the British
throne reminded him of his neglect of his royal employer and patron. On
the arrival of George I. in London, Handel wanted the courage to present
himself at court; but his friend, Baron Kilmansegge, had the address to
get him restored to royal favour. The pleasing _Water-Music_, performed
during an excursion made up the river by the King, was the means by
which the German baron brought about the reconciliation; and this was
accompanied by an addition of two hundred pounds to the pension granted
by Queen Anne.

From the year 1715 to 1720, Handel composed only three operas. The three
first years of this period he passed at the Earl of Burlington’s, where
he was constantly in the habit of meeting Pope, who, though devoid of
any taste for music, always spoke and wrote in a flattering manner of
the German composer. The other two years he devoted to the Duke of
Chandos, Pope’s Timon; and at Cannons, the Duke’s seat, he produced many
of his anthems, which must be classed among the finest of his works,
together with the greater number of his hautbois concertos, sonatas,
lessons, and organ fugues.

A project was now formed by several of the English nobility for erecting
the Italian theatre into an Academy of Music, and Handel was chosen as
manager, with a condition that he should supply a certain number of
operas. In pursuance of this, he went to Dresden to engage singers, and
brought back with him several of great celebrity, Senesino among the
number. His first opera under the new system was Radamisto, the success
of which was astonishing. But there were at that time two Italian
composers in London, Bononcini and Attilio, who till then had been
attached to the opera-house, and were not without powerful supporters.
These persons did not passively notice the ascendancy of Handel, and the
insignificance into which they were in danger of falling; they persuaded
several weak and some factious people of noble rank to espouse their
cause, and to oppose the German intruder, as they called the new
manager. Hence arose those feuds to which Swift has given immortality by
his well-known epigram; and hence may be traced Handel’s retirement from
a scene of cabal, persecution, and loss. The final result of this,
however, was fortunate, for it led to the production of his greatest
works, his oratorios, which not only amply compensated him for all the
injury which his fortune sustained in this contest, but raised him to a
height of fame which he could never have gained by his Italian operas.

The two contending parties, wishing to appear reasonable, proposed
something like terms of accommodation: these were, that an opera in
three acts should be composed by the three rivals, one act by each, and
that he who best succeeded should for ever after take the precedence.
The drama chosen was Muzio Scevola, of which Bononcini set the first
act, Handel the second, and Attilio the third. Handel’s “won the cause,”
and Bononcini’s was pronounced the next in merit. But, strange to say,
though each no doubt strained his ability to the utmost in this
struggle, not a single piece in the whole opera is known in the present
day, or is, perhaps, to be found, except in the libraries of curious
collectors.

This victory left Handel master of the field for some years, and the
academy prospered. During this period he brought out about fifteen of
his best operas. But the genius of discord must always have a seat in
the temple of harmony, and a dispute between the German manager and the
Italian soprano, Senesino, renewed former quarrels, broke up the
academy, materially damaged the fortune of the great composer, and was
the cause of infinite vexation to him during much of his future life.

Dr. Arbuthnot, always a staunch friend of Handel, now became his
champion, and his ridicule had more weight with the sensible portion of
the public than the futile arguments, if they deserve the name, advanced
by the noble supporters of Senesino. But fashion and prejudice were, as
usual, too strong for reason: a rival opera-house was opened in
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and after having composed several new operas,
comprising some of his best, and having sacrificed nearly the whole of
his property and injured his health, in a spirited attempt to support
the cause of the lyric stage against the presumption of singers, and the
folly of their abettors, Handel was at last compelled to terminate his
ineffectual labours, and stop his ruinous expenses, by abandoning the
contest and the Italian opera together.

The sacred musical drama, or oratorio, was ultimately destined to repair
his all but ruined fortune, and to establish his fame beyond the reach
of cavil, and for ever. Esther, the words of which it is said were the
joint production of Pope and Arbuthnot, was composed for the Duke of
Chandos in 1720. In 1732 it was performed ten nights at the Haymarket,
or King’s Theatre. Deborah was produced in 1733, and in the same year
Athalia was brought out at Oxford. These three oratorios were performed
at Covent Garden, in the Lent of 1734. Acis and Galatea, and Alexander’s
Feast, were brought out in 1735; Israel in Egypt, in 1738; L’Allegro ed
il Penseroso, in 1739. Saul was produced at the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn
Fields in 1740. But up to this period his oratorios failed to reimburse
him for the expenses incurred; and even the Messiah, that sublime and
matchless work, was, as Dr. Burney, Sir John Hawkins, and Handel’s first
biographer, Mr. Mainwaring, all agree in stating, not only ill attended,
but ill received, when first given to the public, in the capital of the
empire, in 1741.

Such miscarriages, and a severe fit of illness, the supposed consequence
of them, determined him to try his oratorios in the sister kingdom,
where he hoped to be out of the reach of prejudice, envy, and hostility.
Dublin was at that time noted for the gaiety and splendour of its court,
and the opulence and spirit of its principal inhabitants. Handel,
therefore, judged wisely in appealing to such a people. Pope in his
Dunciad alludes to this part of his history, introducing a poor phantom
as representative of the Italian opera, who thus instructs Dullness:—

But soon, ah soon, rebellion will commence,
If Music meanly borrows aid from sense:
Strong in new arms, lo! giant Handel stands,
Like bold Briareus, with a hundred hands:
To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes,
And Jove’s own thunders follow Mars’s drums.
Arrest him, empress, or you sleep no more.—
She heard—and drove him to th’ Hibernian shore.

“On his arrival in Dublin,” we are told by Dr. Burney, in his
Commemoration of Handel, “he, with equal judgment and humanity, began by
performing the Messiah for the benefit of the city prison. This act of
generosity and benevolence met with universal approbation, as well as
his music, which was admirably performed.” He remained in Ireland about
nine months, where his finances began to mend, an earnest, as it were,
of the more favourable reception which he experienced on returning to
London in 1742. He then recommenced his oratorios at Covent Garden;
Sampson was the first performed. And now fortune seemed to wait on all
his undertakings; and he took the tide at the flood. His last oratorio
became most popular, and the Messiah was now received with universal
admiration and applause. Dr. Burney remarks, “From that time to the
present, this great work has been heard in all parts of the kingdom with
increasing reverence and delight; it has fed the hungry, clothed the
naked, fostered the orphan,” and, he might have added, healed the sick.
Influenced by the most disinterested motives of humanity, Handel
resolved to perform his Messiah annually for the benefit of the
Foundling Hospital, and, under his own direction and that of his
successors, it added to the funds of that charity alone the sum of
£10,300. How much it has produced to other benevolent institutions, it
is impossible to calculate; the amount must be enormous.

He continued his oratorios till almost the moment of his death, and
derived considerable pecuniary advantage from them, though a
considerable portion of the nobility persevered in their opposition to
him. George II., however, was his steady patron, and constantly attended
his performances, when they were abandoned by most of his court.

In the close of life, Handel had the misfortune to lose his sight, from
an attack of gutta serena, in 1751. This evil for a time plunged him
into deep despondency; but when the event was no longer doubtful, an
earnest and sincere sense of religion enabled him to bear his affliction
with fortitude, and he not only continued to perform, but even to
compose. For this purpose, he employed as his amanuensis Mr. John
Christian Smith, a good musician, who furnished materials for a life of
his employer and friend, and succeeded him in the management of the
oratorios. “To see him, however,” Dr. Burney feelingly observes, “led to
the organ after this calamity, at upwards of seventy years of age, and
then conducted towards the audience to make his accustomed obeisance,
was a sight so truly afflicting to persons of sensibility, as greatly
diminished their pleasure in hearing him perform.”

His last appearance in public was on the 6th of April, 1759. He died
that day week, on Good-Friday, thus realizing a hope which he expressed
a very few days before his decease, when aware that his last hours were
approaching. He was buried in Westminster Abbey; the Dean, Dr. Pearce,
Bishop of Rochester, assisted by all the officers of the choir,
performed the ceremony. A fine monument, executed by Roubiliac, is
placed in Poet’s Corner, above the spot where his mortal remains are
deposited; but a still more honourable tribute to his memory was paid in
the year 1784, by the performances which took place under the roof which
covers his dust. A century having then elapsed from the time of his
birth, it was proposed that a Commemoration of Handel should take place.
The management of it was intrusted to the directors of the ancient
concert, and eight of the most distinguished members of the musical
profession. The King, George III., zealously patronised the undertaking,
and nearly all the upper classes of the kingdom seconded the royal
views. A vocal and instrumental band of 525 persons was collected from
all parts, for the purpose of performing in a manner never before even
imagined, the choicest works of the master. The great aisle in
Westminster Abbey was fitted up for the occasion, with boxes for the
Royal Family, the Directors, the Bench of Bishops, and the Dean and
Prebendaries of the Church; galleries were erected on each side, and a
grand orchestra was built over the great west door, extending from
within a few feet of the ground, to nearly half-way up the great window.
There were four morning performances in the church: the tickets of
admission were one guinea each; and the gross receipts (including an
evening concert at the Pantheon) amounted to £12,736. The disbursements
rather exceeded £6,000, and the profits were given to the Society for
Decayed Musicians and the Westminster Hospital; £6,000 to the former,
and £1,000 to the latter. Such was the success of this great enterprise,
that similar performances, increasing each year in magnitude, took place
annually till the period of the French Revolution, when the state of
public affairs did not encourage their longer continuance.

As a composer, Handel was great in all styles—from the familiar and airy
to the grand and sublime. His instinctive taste for melody, and the high
value he set on it, are obvious in all his works; but he felt no less
strongly the charms of harmony, in fulness and richness of which he far
surpassed even the greatest musicians who preceded him. And had he been
able to employ the variety of instruments now in use, some of which have
been invented since his death, and to command that orchestral talent,
which probably has had some share in stimulating the inventive faculty
of modern composers, it is reasonable to suppose that the field of his
conceptions would have expanded with the means at his command.
Unrivalled in sublimity, he might then have anticipated the variety and
brilliance of later masters.

Generally speaking, Handel set his words with deep feeling and strong
sense. Now and then he certainly betrayed a wish to imitate by sounds
what sounds are incapable of imitating; and occasionally attempted to
express the meaning of an isolated word, without due reference to the
context. And sometimes, though not often, his want of a complete
knowledge of our language led him into errors of accentuation. But these
defects, though great in little men, dwindle almost to nothing in this
“giant of the art:” and every competent judge, who contemplates the
grandeur, beauty, science, variety, and number of Handel’s productions,
will feel for him that admiration which Haydn, and still more Mozart,
was proud to avow, and be ready to exclaim in the words of Beethoven,
“Handel is the unequalled master of all masters! Go, turn to him, and
learn, with such scanty means, how to produce such effects!”

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by H. Meyer._

PASCAL.

_From the original Picture by Philippe de Champagne,
in the possession of M. Lenoir at Paris._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

PASCAL.

Blaise Pascal was born June 19, 1623, at Clermont, the capital of
Auvergne, where his father, Stephen Pascal, held a high legal office. On
the death of his wife in 1626, Stephen resigned his professional
engagements, that he might devote himself entirely to the education of
his family, which consisted only of Blaise, and of two daughters. With
this view he removed to Paris.

The elder Pascal was a man of great moral worth, and of a highly
cultivated mind. He was known as an active member of a small society of
philosophers, to which the Academie Royale des Sciences, established in
1666, owed its origin. Though himself an ardent mathematician, he was in
no haste to initiate his son in his own favourite pursuits; but having a
notion, not very uncommon, that the cultivation of the exact sciences is
unfriendly to a taste for general literature, he began with the study of
languages; and notwithstanding many plain indications of the natural
bent of his son’s genius, he forbad him to meddle, even in thought, with
the mathematics. Nature was too strong for parental authority. The boy
having extracted from his father some hints as to the subject matter of
geometry, went to work by himself, drawing circles and lines, or, as he
called them in his ignorance of the received nomenclature, rounds and
bars, and investigating and proving the properties of his various
figures, till, without help of a book or oral instruction of any kind,
he had advanced as far as the thirty-second proposition of the first
book of Euclid. He had perceived that the three angles of a triangle are
together equal to two right ones, and was searching for a satisfactory
proof, when his father surprised him in his forbidden speculations. The
figures drawn on the walls of his bed-chamber told the tale, and a few
questions proved that his head had been employed as well as his fingers.
He was at this time twelve years old. All attempts at restriction were
now abandoned. A copy of Euclid’s Elements was put into his hands by his
father himself, and Blaise became a confirmed geometrician. At sixteen
he composed a treatise on the Conic Sections, which had sufficient merit
to induce Descartes obstinately to attribute the authorship to the elder
Pascal or Desargues.

Such was his progress in a study which was admitted only as the
amusement of his idle hours. His labours under his father’s direction
were given to the ancient classics.

Some years after this, the elder Pascal had occasion to employ his son
in making calculations for him. To facilitate his labour, Blaise Pascal,
then in his nineteenth year, invented his famous arithmetical machine,
which is said to have fully answered its purpose. He sent this machine
with a letter to Christina, the celebrated Queen of Sweden. The
possibility of rendering such inventions generally useful has been
stoutly disputed since the days of Pascal. This question will soon
perhaps be set at rest, if it may not be considered as already answered,
by the scientific labours of an accomplished mathematician of our own
time and country.

It should be remarked that Pascal, whilst he regarded geometry as
affording the highest exercise of the powers of the human mind, held in
very low estimation the importance of its practical results. Hence his
speculations were irregularly turned to various unconnected subjects, as
his curiosity might happen to be excited by them. The late creation of a
sound system of experimental philosophy by Galileo had roused an
irresistible spirit of inquiry, which was every day exhibiting new
marvels; but time was wanted to develope the valuable fruits of its
discoveries, which have since connected the most abstruse speculations
of the philosopher with the affairs of common life.

There is no doubt that his studious hours produced much that has been
lost to the world; but many proofs remain of his persevering activity in
the course which he had chosen. Amongst them may be mentioned his
Arithmetical Triangle, with the treatises arising out of it, and his
investigations of certain problems relating to the curve called by
mathematicians the Cycloid, to which he turned his mind, towards the
close of his life, to divert his thoughts in a season of severe
suffering. For the solution of these problems, according to the fashion
of the times, he publicly offered a prize, for which La Loubère and our
own countryman Wallis contended. It was adjudged that neither had
fulfilled the proposed conditions; and Pascal published his own
solutions, which raised the admiration of the scientific world. The
Arithmetical Triangle owed its existence to questions proposed to him by
a friend respecting the calculation of probabilities in games of chance.
Under this name is denoted a peculiar arrangement of numbers in certain
proportions, from which the answers to various questions of chances, the
involution of binomials, and other algebraical problems, may be readily
obtained. This invention led him to inquire further into the theory of
chances; and he may be considered as one of the founders of that branch
of analysis, which has grown into such importance in the hands of La
Place.

His fame as a man of science does not rest solely on his labours in
geometry. As an experimentalist he has earned no vulgar celebrity. He
was a young man when the interesting discoveries in pneumatics were
working a grand revolution in natural philosophy. The experiments of
Torricelli had proved, what his great master Galileo had conjectured,
the weight and pressure of the air, and had given a rude shock to the
old doctrine of the schools that “Nature abhors a vacuum;” but many
still clung fondly to the old way, and when pressed with the fact that
fluids rise in an exhausted tube to a certain height, and will rise no
higher, though with a vacuum above them, still asserted that the fluids
rose because Nature abhors a vacuum, but qualified their assertion with
an admission that she had some moderation in her abhorrence. Having
satisfied himself by his own experiments of the truth of Torricelli’s
theory, Pascal with his usual sagacity devised the means of satisfying
all who were capable of being convinced. He reasoned that if, according
to the new theory, founded on the experiments made with mercury, the
weight and general pressure of the air forced up the mercury in the
tube, the height of the mercury would be in proportion to the height of
the column of incumbent air; in other words, that the mercury would be
lower at the top of a mountain than at the bottom of it: on the other
hand, that if the old answer were the right one, no difference would
appear from the change of situation. Accordingly, he directed the
experiment to be made on the Puy de Dôme, a lofty mountain in Auvergne,
and the height of the barometer at the top and bottom of the mountain
being taken at the same moment, a difference of more than three inches
was observed. This set the question at rest for ever. The particular
notice which we have taken of this celebrated experiment, made in his
twenty-fifth year, may be justified by the importance attached to it by
no mean authority. Sir W. Herschell observes, in his Discourse on the
Study of Natural Philosophy, page 230, that “it tended perhaps more
powerfully than any thing which had previously been done in science to
confirm in the minds of men that disposition to experimental
verification which had scarcely yet taken full and secure root.”

Whatever may be the value of the fruits of Pascal’s genius, it should be
remembered that they were all produced within the space of a life which
did not number forty years, and that he was so miserably the victim of
disease that from the time of boyhood he never passed a day without
pain.

His health had probably been impaired by his earlier exertions; but the
intense mental labour expended on the arithmetical machine appears to
have completely undermined his constitution, and to have laid the
foundation of those acute bodily sufferings which cruelly afflicted him
during the remainder of his life. His friends, with the hope of checking
the evil, sought to withdraw him from his studies, and tempted him into
various modes of relaxation. But the remedy was applied too late. The
death of his father in 1651, and the retirement of his unmarried sister
from the world to join the devout recluses of Port Royal-des-Champs,
released him from all restraint. He sadly abused this liberty, until the
frightful aggravation of his complaints obliged him to abandon
altogether his scientific pursuits, and reluctantly to follow the advice
of his physicians, to mix more freely in general society. He obtained
some relief from medicine and change of habits; but, in 1654, an
accident both made his recovery hopeless, and destroyed the relish which
he had begun to feel for social life. He was in his carriage on the Pont
de Neuilly, at a part of the bridge which was unprotected by a parapet,
when two of the horses became unruly, and plunged into the Seine. The
traces broke, and Pascal was thus saved from instant death. He
considered that he had received a providential warning of the
uncertainty of life, and retired finally from the world, to make more
earnest preparation for eternity. This accident gave the last shock to
his already shattered nerves, and to a certain extent disordered his
imagination. The image of his late danger was continually before him,
and at times he fancied himself on the brink of a precipice. The evil
probably was increased by the rigid seclusion to which from this time he
condemned himself, and by the austerities which he inflicted on his
exhausted frame. His powerful intellect survived the wreck of his
constitution, and he gave ample proof to the last that its vigour was
unimpaired.

In his religious opinions he agreed with the Jansenists, and, without
being formally enrolled in their society, was on terms of intimate
friendship with those pious and learned members of the sect, who had
established themselves in the wilds of Port Royal. His advocacy of their
cause at a critical time was so important to his fame and to literature,
that a few words may be allowed on the circumstances which occasioned
it.

The Jansenists, though they earnestly deprecated the name of heretics,
and were most fiercely opposed to the Huguenots and other Protestants,
did in fact nearly approach in many points the reformed churches, and
departed widely from the fashionable standard of orthodoxy in their own
communion. They were in the first instance brought into collision with
their great enemies the Jesuits by the opinions which they held on the
subjects of grace and free-will. As the controversy proceeded, the
points of difference between the contending parties became more marked
and more numerous. The rigid system of morals taught and observed by the
Jansenists, and the superior regard which they paid to personal holiness
in comparison with ceremonial worship, appeared in advantageous contrast
with the lax morality and formal religion of the Jesuits. Hence, though
there was much that was repulsive in their discipline, and latterly, not
a little that was exceptionable in their conduct, they could reckon in
their ranks many of the most enlightened as well as the most pious
Christians in France. It was natural that Pascal, who was early
impressed with the deepest reverence for religion, should be attracted
to a party which seemed at least to be in earnest, whilst others were
asleep; and it is more a matter of regret than of surprise, that
latterly, in his state of physical weakness and nervous excitement, he
should have been partially warped from his sobriety by intercourse with
men, whose Christian zeal was in too many instances disfigured by a
visionary and enthusiastic spirit. The Papal Court at first dealt with
them tenderly; for it was in truth no easy matter to condemn their
founder Jansenius, without condemning its own great doctor the
celebrated Augustin. But the vivacious doctors of the Sorbonne, on the
publication of a letter by the Jansenist Arnauld, took fire, and by
their eagerness kindled a flame that well nigh consumed their own
church.

Whilst they were in deliberation on the misdoings of Arnauld, Pascal put
forth under the name of Louis de Montalte the first of that series of
letters to “a friend in the country”—à un provincial par un de ses
amis—which, when afterwards collected, received by an absurd misnomer,
the title of the Provincial Letters of Pascal. In these letters, after
having exhibited in a light irresistibly ludicrous, the disputes of the
Sorbonne, he proceeds with the same weapon of ridicule, all powerful in
his hand, to hold forth to derision and contempt the profligate
casuistry of the Jesuits. For much of his matter he was undoubtedly
indebted to his Jansenist friends, and it is commonly said that he was
taught by them to reproach unfairly the whole body of Jesuits, with the
faults of some obscure writers of their order. These writers, however,
were at least well known to the Jesuits, their writings had gone through
numerous editions with approbation, and had infused some portion of
their spirit into more modern and popular tracts. Moreover, the Society
of Jesuits, constituted as it was, had ready means of relieving itself
from the discredit of such infamous publications; yet amongst the many
works, which by their help found a place in the index of prohibited
books, Pascal might have looked in vain for the works of their own
Escobar. However this may be, it is universally acknowledged, that the
credit of the Jesuits sunk under the blow, that these letters are a
splendid monument of the genius of Pascal, and that as a literary work
they have placed him in the very first rank among the French classics.

It seems that he had formed a design, even in the height of his
scientific ardour, of executing some great work for the benefit of
religion. This design took a more definite shape after his retirement,
and he communicated orally to his friends the sketch of a comprehensive
work on the Evidences of Christianity, which his early death, together
with his increasing bodily infirmities, prevented him from completing.
Nothing was left but unconnected fragments, containing for the most part
his thoughts on subjects apparently relating to his great design,
hastily written on small scraps of paper, without order or arrangement
of any kind. They were published in 1670, with some omissions, by his
friends of Port Royal, and were afterwards given to the world entire,
under the title of the Thoughts of Pascal. Many of the thoughts are such
as we should expect from a man who with a mind distinguished for its
originality, with an intimate knowledge of scripture, and lively piety,
had meditated much and earnestly on the subject of religion. In a book
so published, it is of course easy enough to find matter for censure and
minute criticism; but most Christian writers have been content to bear
testimony to its beauties and to borrow largely from its rich and varied
stores. Among the editors of the Thoughts of Pascal are found Condorcet
and Voltaire, who enriched their editions with a commentary. With what
sort of spirit they entered on their work may be guessed from Voltaire’s
well known advice to his brother philosopher. “Never be weary, my
friend, of repeating that the brain of Pascal was turned after his
accident on the Pont de Neuilly.” Condorcet was not the man to be weary
in such an employment; but here he had to deal with stubborn facts. The
brain of Pascal produced after the accident not only the Thoughts, but
also the Provincial Letters, and the various treatises on the Cycloid,
the last of which was written not long before his death.

He died August 19th, 1662, aged thirty-nine years and two months.

By those who knew him personally he is said to have been modest and
reserved in his manners, but withal, ready to enliven conversation with
that novelty of remark and variety of information which might be
expected from his well stored and original mind. That spirit of raillery
which should belong to the author of the Provincial Letters, showed
itself also occasionally in his talk, but always with a cautious desire
not to give needless pain or offence.

He seemed to have constantly before his eyes the privations and
sufferings to which a large portion of the human race is exposed, and to
receive almost with trembling, those indulgences which were denied to
others. Thus, when curtailing his own comforts that he might perform
more largely the duties of charity, he seemed only to be disencumbering
himself of that which he could not safely retain.

As a philosopher, it is the great glory of Pascal, that he is numbered
with that splendid phalanx, which in the seventeenth century, following
the path opened by Galileo, assisted to overthrow the tyranny of the
schools, and to break down the fences which for ages had obstructed the
progress of real knowledge; men who were indeed benefactors to science,
and who have also left behind them for general use an encouraging proof
that the most inveterate prejudices, the most obstinate attachment to
established errors, and hostility to improvement may be overcome by
resolute perseverance, and a bold reliance on the final victory of
truth. No one, however, will coldly measure the honour due to this
extraordinary man by his actual contributions to the cause of science or
literature. The genius of the child anticipated manhood: his more
matured intellect could only show promises of surpassing glory when it
escaped from the weak frame in which it was lodged.

For further information the reader is referred to the discourse on the
life and works of Pascal, which first appeared in the complete edition
of his works in 1779, and has since been published separately at Paris;
to the Biographie Universelle; and to the life of Pascal, written by his
sister, Madame Perier, which is prefixed to her edition of his Thoughts.

[Illustration]

ERASMUS.

Desiderius Erasmus was born at Rotterdam on the 28th of October, 1467.
The irregular lives of his parents are related by him in a letter to the
secretary of Pope Julius II. It is sufficient to state here, that this
great genius and restorer of letters was not born in wedlock. His
unsophisticated name, as well as that of his father, was Gerard. This
word in the Dutch language means _amiable_. According to the affectation
of the period, he translated it into the Latin term, Desiderius, and
superadded the Greek synonyme of Erasmus. Late in a life of vicissitude
and turmoil, he found leisure from greater evils to lament that he had
been so neglectful of grammatical accuracy as to call himself Erasmus,
and not Erasmius.

In a passage of the life written by himself, he says that “in his early
years he made but little progress in those unpleasant studies to which
he was not born;” and this gave his countrymen a notion that as a boy he
was slow of understanding. Hereon Bayle observes that those unpleasant
studies cannot mean learning in general, for which of all men he was
born; but that the expression might apply to music, as he was a
chorister in the cathedral church of Utrecht. He was afterwards sent to
one of the best schools in the Netherlands, where his talents at once
shone forth, and were duly appreciated. His master was so well satisfied
with his progress, and so thoroughly convinced of his great abilities,
as to have foretold what the event confirmed, that he would prove the
envy and wonder of all Germany.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by E. Scriven._

ERASMUS.

_From the original Picture by G. Penn,
in his Majesty’s Collection at Windsor._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

At the age of fourteen Erasmus was removed from the school at Deventer
in consequence of the plague, of which his mother died, and his father
did not long survive her. With a view to possess themselves of his
patrimony, his guardians sent him to three several convents in
succession. At length, unable longer to sustain the conflict, he
reluctantly entered among the regular canons at Stein, near Tergou, in
1486. Much condescension to his peculiar humour was shown in dispensing
with established laws and customary ceremonies; but he was principally
led to make his profession by the arts of his guardians and the
dilapidation of his fortune. He describes monasteries, and his own in
particular, as destitute of learning and sound religion. “They are
places of impiety,” he says in his piece ‘De Contemptu Mundi,’ “where
every thing is done to which a depraved inclination can lead, under the
mask of religion; it is hardly possible for any one to keep himself pure
and unspotted.” Julius Scaliger and his other enemies assert that he
himself was deeply tainted by these impurities; but both himself and his
friends deny the charge.

He escaped from the cloister in consequence of the accuracy with which
he could speak and write Latin. This rare accomplishment introduced him
to the Bishop of Cambray, with whom he lived till 1490. He then took
pupils, among whom was the Lord Mountjoy, with several other noble
Englishmen. He says of himself, that “he lived rather than studied” at
Paris, where he had no books, and often wanted the common comforts of
life. Bad lodgings and bad diet permanently impaired his constitution,
which had been a very strong one. The plague drove him from the capital
before he could profit as he wished by the instructions of the
university in theology.

Some time after he left Paris, Erasmus came over to England, and resided
in Oxford, where he contracted friendship with all of any note in
literature. In a letter from London to a friend in Italy, he says, “What
is it, you will say, which captivates you so much in England? It is that
I have found a pleasant and salubrious air; I have met with humanity,
politeness, and learning; learning not trite and superficial, but deep
and accurate; true old Greek and Latin learning; and withal so much of
it, that but for mere curiosity, I have no occasion to visit Italy. When
Colet discourses, I seem to hear Plato himself. In Grocyn, I admire an
universal compass of learning. Linacre’s acuteness, depth, and accuracy
are not to be exceeded; nor did nature ever form any thing more elegant,
exquisite, and accomplished than More.”

On leaving England, Erasmus had a fever at Orleans, which recurred every
Lent for five years together. He tells us that Saint Genevieve
interceded for his recovery; but not without the help of a good
physician. At this time he was applying diligently to the study of
Greek. He says, that if he could but get some money, he would first buy
Greek books, and then clothes. His mode of acquiring the language was by
making translations from Lucian, Plutarch, and other authors. Many of
these translations appear in his works, and answered a double purpose;
for while they familiarized him with the languages, the sentiments and
the philosophy of the originals, they also furnished him with happy
trains of thought and expression, when he dedicated his editions of the
Fathers, or his own treatises, to his patrons.

We cannot follow him through his incessant journeys and change of places
during the first years of the sixteenth century. His fame was spread
over Europe, and his visits were solicited by popes, crowned heads,
prelates, and nobles; but much as the great coveted his society, they
suffered him to remain extremely poor. We learn from his ‘Enchiridion
Militis Christiani,’ published in 1503, that he had discovered many
errors in the Roman church, long before Luther appeared. His reception
at Rome was most flattering: his company was courted both by the learned
and by persons of the first rank and quality. After his visit to Italy,
he returned to England, which he preferred to all other countries. On
his arrival he took up his abode with his friend More, and within the
space of a week wrote his ‘Encomium Moriæ,’ the Praise of Folly, for
their mutual amusement. The general design is to show that there are
fools in all stations; and more particularly to expose the court of
Rome, with no great forbearance towards the Pope himself. Fisher, Bishop
of Rochester, Chancellor of the University, and Head of Queen’s College,
invited him to Cambridge, where he lived in the Lodge, was made Lady
Margaret’s Professor of Divinity, and afterwards Greek Professor. But
notwithstanding these academical honours and offices, he was still so
poor as to apply with importunity to Colet, Dean of St. Paul’s, for
fifteen angels as the price of a dedication. “Erasmus’s Walk” in the
grounds of Queen’s College still attests the honour conferred on the
university by the temporary residence of this great reviver of classical
learning.

On his return to the Low Countries, he was nominated by Charles of
Austria to a vacant bishopric in Sicily; but the right of presentation
happened to belong to the Pope. Erasmus laughed heartily at the prospect
of this incongruous preferment; and said that as the Sicilians were
merry fellows, they might possibly have liked such a bishop.

In the year 1516 he printed his edition, the first put forth in Greek,
of the New Testament. We learn from his letters, that there was one
college in Cambridge which would not suffer this work to be brought
within its walls: but the public voice spoke a different language; for
it went through three editions in less than twelve years. From 1516 to
1526 he was employed in publishing the works of Saint Jerome. Luther
blamed him for his partiality to this father. He says, “I prefer
Augustine to Jerome, as much as Erasmus prefers Jerome to Augustine.” As
far as this was a controversy of taste and criticism, the restorer of
letters was likely to have the better of the argument against the
apostle of the Reformation.

The times were now become tempestuous. Erasmus was of a placid temper,
and of a timid character. He endeavoured to reconcile the conflicting
parties in the church; but with that infelicity commonly attendant on
mediators, he drew on himself the anger of both. Churchmen complained
that his censures of the monks, of their grimaces and superstitions, had
paved the way for Luther. On the other hand, Erasmus offended the
Lutherans, by protesting against identifying the cause of literature
with that of the Reformation. He took every opportunity of declaring his
adherence to the see of Rome. The monks, with whom he waged continual
war, would have been better pleased had he openly gone over to the
enemy: his caustic remarks would have galled them less proceeding from a
Lutheran than from a Catholic. But his motives for continuing in the
communion of the established church, are clearly indicated in the
following passage: “Wherein could I have assisted Luther, if I had
declared myself for him and shared his danger? Instead of one man, two
would have perished. I cannot conceive what he means by writing with
such a spirit: one thing I know too well, that he has brought great
odium on the lovers of literature. He has given many wholesome doctrines
and good counsels: but I wish he had not defeated the effect of them by
his intolerable faults. But even if he had written in the most
unexceptionable manner, I had no inclination to die for the sake of
truth. Every man has not the courage necessary to make a martyr: I am
afraid that, if I were put to the trial, I should imitate St. Peter.”

In 1522 he published the works of Saint Hilary. About the same time he
published his Colloquies. In this work, among the strokes of satire, he
laughed at indulgences, auricular confession, and eating fish on
fast-days. The faculty of theology at Paris passed the following censure
on the book: “The fasts and abstinences of the church are slighted, the
suffrages of the holy virgin and of the saints are derided, virginity is
set below matrimony, Christians are discouraged from becoming monks, and
grammatical is preferred to theological erudition.” Pope Paul III. had
little better to propose to the cardinals and prelates commissioned to
consider about the reform of the church, than that young persons should
not be permitted to read Erasmus’s Colloquies. Colineus took a hint from
this prohibition: he reprinted them in 1527, and sold off an impression
of twenty-four thousand.

In 1524 a rumour was spread abroad that Erasmus was going to write
against Luther, which produced the following characteristic letter from
the Great Reformer: “Grace and peace from the Lord Jesus. I shall not
complain of you for having behaved yourself as a man alienated from us,
for the sake of keeping fair with the Papists; nor was I much offended
that in your printed books, to gain their favour or soften their fury,
you censured us with too much acrimony. We saw that the Lord had not
conferred on you the discernment, courage, and resolution to join with
us in freely and openly opposing these monsters; therefore we did not
expect from you what greatly surpasseth your strength and capacity. We
have borne with your weakness, and honoured that portion of the gift of
God which is in you.... I never wished that deserting your own province
you should come over to our camp. You might indeed have favoured us not
a little by your wit and eloquence: but as you have not the courage
requisite, it is safer for you to serve the Lord in your own way. Only
we feared that our adversaries should entice you to write against us, in
which case necessity would have constrained us to oppose you to your
face. I am concerned that the resentment of so many eminent persons of
your party has been excited against you: this must have given you great
uneasiness; for virtue like yours, mere human virtue, cannot raise a man
above being affected by such trials. Our cause is in no peril, although
even Erasmus should attack it with all his might: so far are we from
dreading the keenest strokes of his wit. On the other hand, my dear
Erasmus, if you duly reflect on your own weakness, you will abstain from
those sharp, spiteful figures of rhetoric, and treat of subjects better
suited to your powers.” Erasmus’s answer is not found in the collection
of his letters; but he must have been touched to the quick.

In 1527 he published two dialogues: the first, on ‘The pronunciation of
the Greek and Latin Languages;’ full of learning and curious research:
the second, entitled ‘Ciceronianus.’ In this lively piece he ridicules
those Italian pedants who banished every word or phrase unauthorized by
Cicero. His satire, however, is not directed against Cicero’s style, but
against the servility of mere imitation. In a subsequent preface to a
new edition of the Tusculan Questions, he almost canonizes Cicero, both
for his matter and expression. Julius Scaliger had launched more than
one philippic against him for his treatment of the Ciceronians; but he
considered this preface as a kind of penance for former blasphemies, and
admitted it as an atonement to the shade of the great Roman. Erasmus had
at this time fixed his residence at Bâsle. He was advancing in years,
and complained in his letters of poverty and sickness. Pope Paul III.,
notwithstanding his Colloquies, professed high regard for him, and his
friends thought that he was likely to obtain high preferment. Of this
matter Erasmus writes thus: “The Pope had resolved to add some learned
men to the college of Cardinals, and I was named to be one. But to my
promotion it was objected, that my state of health would unfit me for
that function, and that my income was not sufficient.”

In the summer of 1536 his state of exhaustion became alarming. His last
letter is dated June 20, and subscribed thus: “Erasmus Rot. ægra manu.”
He died July 12, in the 59th year of his age, and was buried in the
cathedral of Bâsle. His friend Beatus Rhenanus describes his person and
manners. He was low of stature, but not remarkably short, well-shaped,
of a fair complexion, grey eyes, a cheerful countenance, a low voice,
and an agreeable utterance. His memory was tenacious. He was a pleasant
companion, a constant friend, generous and charitable. Erasmus had one
peculiarity, humorously noticed by himself; namely, that he could not
endure even the smell of fish. On this he observed, that though a good
Catholic in other respects, he had a most heterodox and Lutheran
stomach.

With many great and good qualities, Erasmus had obvious failings. Bayle
has censured his irritability when attacked by adversaries; his editor,
Le Clerc, condemns his lukewarmness and timidity in the business of the
Reformation. Jortin defends him with zeal, and extenuates what he cannot
defend. “Erasmus was fighting for his honour and his life; being accused
of nothing less than heterodoxy, impiety, and blasphemy, by men whose
forehead was a rock, and whose tongue was a razor. To be misrepresented
as a pedant and a dunce is no great matter; for time and truth put folly
to flight: to be accused of heresy by bigots, priests, politicians, and
infidels, is a serious affair; as they know too well who have had the
misfortune to feel the effects of it.” Dr. Jortin here speaks with
bitter fellow-feeling for Erasmus, as he himself had been similarly
attacked by the high church party of his day. He goes on to give his
opinion, that even for his lukewarmness in promoting the Reformation,
much may be said, and with truth. “Erasmus was not entirely free from
the prejudices of education. He had some indistinct and confused notions
about the authority of the Catholic Church, which made it not lawful to
depart from her, corrupted as he believed her to be. He was also much
shocked by the violent measures and personal quarrels of the Reformers.
Though, as Protestants, we are more obliged to Luther, Melancthon, and
others, than to him, yet we and all the nations in Europe are infinitely
indebted to Erasmus for spending a long and laborious life in opposing
ignorance and superstition, and in promoting literature and true piety.”
To us his character appears to be strongly illustrated by his own
declaration, “Had Luther written truly every thing that he wrote, his
seditious liberty would nevertheless have much displeased me. I would
rather even err in some matters, than contend for the truth with the
world in such a tumult.” A zealous advocate of peace at all times, it is
but just to believe that he sincerely dreaded the contests sure to rise
from open schism in the church. And it was no unpardonable frailty, if
this feeling were nourished by a temperament, which confessedly was not
desirous of the palm of martyrdom.

It is impossible to give the contents of works occupying ten volumes in
folio. They have been printed under the inspection of the learned Mr. Le
Clerc. The biography of Erasmus is to be found at large in Bayle’s
Dictionary, and the copious lives of Knight and Jortin.

[Illustration: From the bronze statue of Erasmus at Rotterdam.]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. Holl._

TITIAN.

_From the Picture of Titian & Aretin painted by Titian,
in his Majesty’s Collection at Windsor._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

TITIAN.

On looking back to the commencement of the sixteenth century, by far the
most brilliant epoch of modern art, we cannot but marvel at the
splendour and variety of talent concentrated within the brief space of
half a century, or less. Michael Angelo, Raphael, Correggio, Titian, all
fellow-labourers, with many others inferior to these mighty masters, yet
whose works are prized by kings and nobles as their most precious
treasures—by what strange prodigality of natural gifts, or happy
combination of circumstances was so rare an assemblage of genius
produced in so short a time? The most obvious explanation is to be found
in the princely patronage then afforded to the arts by princes and
churchmen. By this none profited more largely or more justly than the
great painter, whose life it is our task to relate.

Tiziano Vecelli was born of an honourable family at Capo del Cadore, a
small town on the confines of Friuli, in 1480. He soon manifested the
bent of his genius, and at the age of ten was consigned to the care of
an uncle residing in Venice, who placed him under the tuition of
Giovanni Bellini, then in the zenith of his fame. The style of Bellini
though forcible is dry and hard, and little credit has been given to him
for his pupil’s success. It is probable, however, that Titian imbibed in
his school those habits of accurate imitation, which enabled him
afterwards to unite boldness and truth, and to indulge in the most
daring execution, without degenerating into mannerism. The elements of
his future style he found first indicated by Lionardo da Vinci, and more
developed in the works of Giorgione, who adopted the principles of
Lionardo, but with increased power, amenity, and splendour. As soon as
Titian became acquainted with this master’s paintings, he gave his whole
attention to the study of them; and with such success, that the portrait
of a noble Venetian named Barbarigo, which he painted at the age of
eighteen, was mistaken for the work of Giorgione. From that time, during
some years, these masters held an equal place in public esteem; but in
1507 a circumstance occurred which turned the balance in favour of
Titian. They were engaged conjointly in the decoration of a public
building, called the Fondaco de Tedeschi. Through some mistake that part
of the work which Titian had executed, was understood by a party of
connoisseurs to have been painted by Giorgione, whom they overwhelmed
with congratulations on his extraordinary improvement. It may be told to
his credit, that though he manifested some weakness in discontinuing his
intercourse with Titian, he never spoke of him without amply
acknowledging his merits.

Anxious to gain improvement from every possible source, Titian is said
to have drawn the rudiments of his fine style of landscape painting from
some German artists who came to Venice about the time of this rupture.
He engaged them to reside in his house, and studied their mode of
practice until he had mastered their principles. His talents were now
exercised on several important works, and it is evident, from the
picture of the Angel and Tobias, that he had already acquired an
extraordinary breadth and grandeur of style. The Triumph of Faith, a
singular composition, manifesting great powers of invention, amid much
quaintness of character and costume, is known by a wood engraving
published in 1508. A fresco of the Judgment of Solomon, for the Hall of
Justice at Vicenza, was his next performance. After this he executed
several subjects in the church of St. Anthony, at Padua, taken from the
miracles attributed to that saint.

These avocations had withdrawn him from Venice. On his return, in the
thirty-fourth year of his age, he was employed to finish a large picture
left imperfect by Bellini, or, according to some authorities, by
Giorgione, in the great Council Hall of Venice, representing the Emperor
Frederick Barbarossa on his knees before Pope Alexander III. at the
entrance of St. Mark’s. The Senate were so well satisfied with his
performance, that they appointed him to the office called La Senseria;
the conditions of which were, that it should be held by the best painter
in the city, with a salary of three hundred scudi, he engaging to paint
the portrait of each Doge on his election, at the price of eight scudi.
These portraits were hung in one of the public apartments of St. Mark.
At the close of 1514 Titian was invited to Ferrara by the Duke Alphonso.
For him he executed several splendid works; among them, portraits of the
Duke, and of his wife, and that celebrated picture of Bacchus and
Ariadne, now in our own National Gallery.

The first works executed by Titian after his return to Venice, prove
that he had already accomplished that union of grand design with
brilliant colouring, which was designated by Tintoret as the highest
perfection of painting. His immense picture of the Assumption, formerly
in the church of Santa Maria Gloriosa, and now in the Academy of Venice,
exhibits, in the opinion of some first-rate judges, various excellences,
such as have never been combined in any single performance, but by
Titian himself[5]. The Virgin, whose figure relieves dark on the
irradiated back-ground, seems to ascend amid a flood of glory. She is
surrounded and sustained by angels of ineffable beauty, and the
disciples below are personifications of apostolic grandeur. It will
scarcely be credited that the Monks, for whom this picture was painted,
objected to it on account of its apparent reality; but the voice of
public admiration soon made them sensible of its merits, and they
refused a large sum offered for it by the Imperial Ambassador. Such a
report of this work was made to Leo X. by Cardinal Bembo, that Titian
received an invitation to Rome from the Pontiff, with the offer of
honourable appointments. A similar proposal from Francis I. of France,
whose portrait he painted in 1515, he had already declined; but he
yielded to the temptation of visiting Rome, being not less anxious to
see the great works of contemporary genius, than the wonders of ancient
art. He did not, however, carry his purpose into effect at this time,
but remained at Venice; and thus secured to her the possession of those
noble works, which, when they were produced, formed the brightest
ornament of her power, and even now, when her other glories are set,
confer upon her an imperishable distinction.

Footnote 5:

The writer has been informed by Canova that this was his own opinion,
and that of Sir Thomas Lawrence.

To recompense in some degree his relinquishment of this invitation,
Titian was employed by the Senate to paint the Battle of Cadore, fought
between the Venetians and the Imperialists; a splendid production, which
perished when the Ducal Palace was burnt. About this time was painted
the fine altar-piece of the Pesari Family returning thanks to the Virgin
for a victory over the Turks. This picture, as an example of simple
grandeur, has been contrasted by Reynolds with the artificial splendour
of Rubens; and Fuseli alludes to it as constituting the due medium
between dry apposition and exuberant contrast. The sublime picture of S.
Pietro Martire was painted in 1523. Of this it is difficult to speak in
adequate terms, without the appearance of hyperbolical panegyric. The
composition is well known by engravings; but these convey only a faint
notion of the original, which unites the utmost magnificence of
historical design, with the finest style of landscape-painting. The
gorgeous hues of Titian’s colouring are attempered in this picture by an
impressive solemnity. The scene of violence and blood, though expressed
with energy, is free from contortion or extravagance; grandeur pervades
the whole, and even the figure of the flying friar has a character of
dignity rarely surpassed. Two pictures on the same subject, the one by
Domenichino, in the Academy of Bologna, the other by Giorgione, in our
National Gallery, if compared with that of Titian, convey a forcible
impression of the difference between first-rate genius and the finest
talents of a secondary order. The picture of Giorgione is, however, most
_Titianesque_ in colouring.

In 1526 the celebrated satirist Aretine, and Sansovino the sculptor,
came to reside in Venice. With these distinguished men Titian contracted
an intimacy, which was the source of great pleasure to him, and ceased
only with their lives. When Charles V. visited Bologna in 1529, Titian
was invited to that city, where he painted an equestrian portrait of the
Emperor. Charles, not only an admirer but a judge of art, was astonished
at a style of painting of which he had formed no previous conception; he
remunerated the artist splendidly, and expressed his determination never
to sit to any other master. On returning to Bologna in 1532, he summoned
Titian again to his court, and engaged him in many important works,
treating him on all occasions with extraordinary respect and regard. It
is affirmed, that in riding through Bologna he kept upon the artist’s
right hand, an act of courtesy which excited such displeasure among the
courtiers that they ventured upon a remonstrance. The answer given by
Charles is well known, and has been since ascribed to other monarchs: “I
have many nobles in my empire, but only one Titian.” On leaving Bologna,
Titian accompanied Frederic Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua, home to his own
state; where, besides painting portraits of the Duke and his brother the
Cardinal, he ornamented an apartment of the palace contiguous to the
rooms painted by Giulio Romano, with portraits of the twelve Cæsars,
taking his authorities from medals and antique marbles.

In passing through Parma, on the way to Mantua, he first saw the works
of Correggio, who had been engaged in painting the dome of the
cathedral. So little was that great man’s genius appreciated, and such
was the ignorance of his employers, that they had actually dismissed him
as inadequate to the task he had undertaken; nor was he allowed to
resume it, until the lavish admiration bestowed on his work by Titian,
had taught them better how to estimate his talents.

On returning to Venice, Titian found that a strong party had been raised
in favour of Pordenone. He expressed no slight indignation at the
attempt to exalt that painter to an equality with himself. Pordenone,
nevertheless, was an artist of considerable powers, although certainly
not qualified to compete with such an antagonist. The number of pictures
which Titian continued to execute, would far exceed our limits to
enumerate, and is so great as to excite astonishment; more especially as
there is little evidence in his works that he was much assisted by
inferior hands. In 1543, when Pope Paul III. visited Bologna, Titian
painted an admirable portrait of him, and received an invitation to
Rome. But he was unable to accept it, having engagements with the Duke
of Urbino, whose palace he accordingly enriched with portraits of
Charles V., Francis I., the Duke Guidobaldo, the Popes Sixtus IV.,
Julius II., and Paul III., the Cardinal of Lorraine, and Solyman,
Emperor of the Turks.

Truth, it appears, rather than embellishment, was sought for in the
portraits of those days. Titian’s portrait of Paul III. is executed with
uncompromising accuracy. The figure is diminutive and decrepit, but the
eyes have a look of penetrating sagacity. His Holiness was greatly
pleased with it; and, as a mark of his favour, made offer to the artist
of a valuable situation in a public department; which Titian declined,
upon finding that his emoluments were to be deducted from the income of
those who already held possession of it. He obtained, however, the
promise of a benefice for his son Pomponio. Aretine thought his friend
illiberally treated by Paul, and did not scruple to publish his opinion
on the subject.

In 1545, when the Venetian Senate was compelled by the public exigencies
to lay a general tax on the city, Titian was the only person exempted
from the impost,—a noble homage to genius, which attests at once the
liberality and the wisdom of that government. In this year, Titian
having completed his engagements with the Duke of Urbino, and being,
through the Cardinal Farnese, again invited to Rome, determined on a
visit to that city; and he set out, accompanied by his son Orazio,
several pupils, and a considerable number of domestics. He was received
at Urbino by the Duke Guidobaldo II., and splendidly entertained for
some days. On his departure, the Duke accompanied him from Urbino to
Pesaro, and from thence sent forward with him a suite of horses and
servants, as far as the gates of Rome. Here he was greeted with
corresponding honours, and lodged in the Belvedere Palace. Vasari was,
at this time, in the employment of Cardinal Farnese, and had the
gratification of attending the great artist about the city. Titian was
now engaged to paint a whole length portrait of Paul III., with the
Cardinal Farnese and Duke Ottavio in one group. This picture is at
present in the Museo Borbonico; and is a fine example of that highest
style of portrait painting, which is scarce less difficult, or less
elevated as a branch of art, than historical composition. An “Ecce
homo,” painted at the same time, does not appear to have excited that
admiration which his works usually obtained. The taste of the Roman
artists and connoisseurs had been formed on the severe examples of
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Polidoro, and others; so that the style of
Titian was tried by a new and conventional standard, to which it was not
fairly amenable. It was insinuated that his chief excellence lay in
portrait-painting. Vasari relates that, in company with Michael Angelo,
he made a visit to Titian at the Belvedere, and found him employed on
the celebrated picture of Danae. Michael Angelo bestowed high
commendations on it; but, as they went away, remarked to Vasari on
Titian’s inaccurate style of design, observing, that if he had received
his elementary education in a better school, his works would have been
inimitable. Nothing, perhaps, has tended more than this anecdote to give
currency to a belief that Titian was an unskilful draughtsman; an
opinion which, if tried by the test of his best works, is utterly
erroneous. There is not perhaps extant on canvass a more exquisite
representation of female beauty, even in point of design, than this
figure of Danae; and, with due reverence to the high authority of
Michael Angelo, it may be doubted whether his notion of correct design
was not tinctured by the ideal grandeur of his own style; which, however
magnificent in itself, and appropriate to the scale of the Sistine
chapel, is by no means a just medium for the forms of actual nature, nor
adapted to the representation of beauty. Michael Angelo however
frequently returned to look at this Danae, and always with expressions
of increased admiration.

After a residence of two years at Rome, Titian returned to Venice,
taking Florence in his route. The first work on which he engaged after
his return, was a picture of the Marquis del Vasto haranguing his
troops. He likewise began some altar-pieces, but finished little, being
summoned in 1550, by the Emperor Charles, to Vienna. The princes and
ministers assembled at the Imperial Court were astonished at the
confidence with which Titian was honoured by the Emperor, who gave him
free access to his presence at all times, a privilege extended only to
his most intimate friends. The large sums which the Emperor frequently
sent him, were always accompanied with the courteous assurance that they
were meant to testify the monarch’s sense of his merits, not in payment
for his works, those being beyond all price. On one occasion, while the
Emperor was sitting for his portrait, Titian dropt a pencil; the monarch
picked it up, and presented it to him, saying, on Titian’s apologizing
in some confusion, “Titian is worthy to be served by Cæsar.” The same
jealous feeling which had been evinced towards him at Bologna, again
manifested itself; but the artist, who amidst his loftier studies had
not neglected the cultivation of worldly knowledge, found means to
obviate envy, and to conciliate, by courtesy and presents, the good will
of the whole court. It was at this time that Charles, sated with glory
and feeling the advances of infirmity, began to meditate his retreat
from the world. This intention, it is said, he imparted to Titian, with
whom he delighted to confer concerning the arrangement of a large
picture, which he then commissioned the artist to paint, and which he
intended to be his companion in his retirement. The subject was an
apotheosis, in which Charles and his family were to be represented as
introduced by Religion into the presence of the Trinity. At Inspruck,
whither he accompanied the Emperor, Titian painted a superb picture, in
which Ferdinand, King of the Romans, and his Queen Anna Maria, are
represented with the attributes of Jupiter and Juno, and round them are
the seven princesses, their daughters. From each of these illustrious
ladies, Titian received a jewel each time they sat to him. Here also he
collected portraits for the apotheosis.

On the Emperor’s departure for Flanders, Titian returned to Venice;
where, soon after his arrival, he offered to finish the works which were
wanting in the great hall of the council. This offer was cordially
accepted by the Senate; and he was empowered to select the artists whom
he thought best qualified to be his coadjutors. He nominated Paul
Veronese and Tintoret, nor did those great painters feel themselves
humiliated in working under his directions. In 1553 the Emperor Charles
returned to Spain, and being at Barcelona, nominated Titian a Count
Palatine of the empire, with all the privileges, authority, and powers
attached to that dignity. He also created him a Knight of the Golden
Spur, and a noble of the empire, transmitting the dignity to his
legitimate children and descendants. Crowned with these honours, and
with faculties scarcely impaired, Titian had now reached his
seventy-fifth year; and it would be difficult to select a man the
evening of whose life has been more fortunate and happy. He still found
in the practice of his art a source of undiminished pleasure; his works
were sought by princes with emulous avidity; he was considered the chief
ornament of the city in which he dwelt. He was surrounded by friends
distinguished by their worth or talents; he had acquired wealth and
honour sufficient to satisfy his utmost ambition; and he was secure of
immortal fame!

But at this period, to most men one of secession from toil, Titian
engaged in new undertakings with as much alacrity as if life were still
beginning, and the race of fortune still to run. He enriched Serravalle,
Braganza, Milan, and Brescia, with splendid works, besides painting a
great number for the churches of Venice, for different noblemen, and for
his friends. Philip II. of Spain showed no less anxiety to possess his
works, than Charles, his father, had done: and nowhere perhaps, not even
in Venice, are so many of his pictures to be found, as in the palaces of
Madrid and the Escurial. When Rubens was in Spain, he copied Titian’s
picture of Eve tempting Adam with the fatal fruit, nobly acknowledging
that he had only made a Flemish translation of an elegant Italian poem.
It is said by some of Titian’s biographers, that he himself made a visit
to Spain; but this has been clearly disproved. The most important works
which he executed for Philip II. are the pictures of the Martyrdom of
St. Lorenzo, and the Last Supper. In the first, three different effects
of light are admirably expressed; the fire which consumes the saint, the
flame of a tripod placed before a pagan deity, and the glory of a
descending angel. This picture is said to be equal to any of his earlier
productions. The Last Supper betrays signs of a feebler execution, which
is, however, atoned for by more than usual purity of design. Titian in
this work partially imitated Lionardo da Vinci, but in the spirit of
congenial feeling, not as a plagiarist. To this picture, which he began
at the age of eighty, he devoted the labour of nearly seven years. For
Mary of England, Philip II.’s consort, he painted four mythological
subjects, Prometheus, Tityus, Sisiphus, and Tantalus, the figures as
large as life, and conceived in the highest style of grandeur.

In 1570 died Sansovino the sculptor. Aretine had paid the debt of nature
some years before, an event which sensibly affected Titian; and this
second loss plunged him into such affliction, that his powers, it is
said, from that time perceptibly gave way. We learn, however, from
Ridolfi, that the Transfiguration on Mount Tabor, which he saw when in
good condition, was ably executed. Some visions from the Apocalypse, in
the monastery of St. John, painted about the same time, exhibit vivid
imagination and fine colouring.

Henry III. of France, being in Venice in 1574, paid Titian a visit,
accompanied by a numerous train. The venerable artist, then in his
ninety-fifth year, received the monarch with dignified respect; his fine
person was scarcely touched by decrepitude, his manners were still noble
and prepossessing. In a long conversation with the King, he adverted,
with the complacency natural to an old man at the close of so splendid a
career, to honours which he had received from the Emperor Charles and
King Ferdinand. When Henry, in walking through the galleries, demanded
the prices of some of the pictures, he begged his Majesty’s acceptance
of them as a free gift. In the mean time the courtiers and attendants
were entertained with a magnificence, which might have become the
establishment of a great prince.

Titian had nearly attained his hundredth year, when the plague, which
had been raging some time in Trent, made its appearance in Venice, and
swept him off, together with a third part of the inhabitants, within
three months. He was buried in the church of the Frari; but the
consternation and disorders prevalent at such a period, prevented his
receiving those funeral honours which would otherwise have attended him
to the tomb.

In comparing Titian with the great artists of the Roman and Florentine
schools, it has been usual to describe him as the painter of physical
nature, while to those masters has been assigned the loftier and
exclusive praise of depicting the mind and passions. The works on which
Titian was most frequently employed, appertaining to public edifices and
the pomp of courts, were certainly of a class in which splendid effect
is the chief requisite; but can it be said that the painter of the
Ascension of the Virgin, and the S. Pietro Martire, was unequal to cope
with subjects of sublimity and pathos? May it not be asked with greater
justice, on the evidence of those pictures, whether any artist has
surpassed him in those qualities? Even in design, on which point his
capacity has been especially arraigned, Titian knew how to seize the
line of grandeur without swelling into exaggeration, and to unite truth
with ideality. Of all painters he was most above the ostentation of art;
like Nature herself, he worked with such consummate skill that we are
sensible of the process only by its effect. Rubens, Tintoret, Paul
Veronese, were proud of their execution; few painters are not,—but the
track of Titian’s pencil is scarcely ever discernable. His chiaroscuro,
or disposition of light and shade, is never artificially concentrated;
it is natural, as that of a summer’s day. His colouring, glorious as it
is, made up of vivid contrasts, and combining the last degree of
richness and depth with freshness and vivacity, is yet so graduated to
the modesty of nature, that a thought of the painter’s palette never
disturbs the illusion. Were it required to point out, amidst the whole
range of painting, one performance as a proof of what art is capable of
accomplishing, it is surely from among the works of Titian that such an
example would be selected.

There is scarcely any large collection in which the works of Titian are
not to be found. The pictures of Actæon and Callisto in the possession
of Lord F. L. Gower, and the four subjects in the National Gallery, are
among the finest in this country. The Venus in the Dulwich Gallery must
have been fine; but the glazing, a very essential part of Titian’s
process, has flown.

Details of the life of Titian will be found in Vasari, Lanzi, Ridolfi,
but more especially in Ticozzi, whose memoir is at once diffuse and
perspicuous. There is a life of Titian, in English, by Northcote.

[Illustration: Titian and Francisco di Mosaico, from a picture by
Titian.]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by C. E. Wagstaff_

LUTHER.

_From the original Picture by Holbein
in his Majesty’s Collection at Windsor._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

LUTHER.

Martin Luther was born at Eisleben in Saxony in the year 1483, on the
10th of November; and if in the histories of great men it is usual to
note with accuracy the day of their nativity, that of Luther has a
peculiar claim on the biographer, since it has been the especial object
of horoscopical calculations, and has even occasioned some serious
differences among very profound astrologers. Luther has been the subject
of unqualified admiration and eulogy: he has been assailed by the most
virulent calumnies; and, if any thing more were wanted to prove the
_personal_ consideration in which he was held by his contemporaries, it
would be sufficient to add, that he has also been made a mask for their
follies.

He was of humble origin. At an early age he entered with zeal into the
Order of Augustinian Hermits, who were Monks and Mendicants. In the
schools of the Nominalists he pursued with acuteness and success the
science of sophistry. And he was presently raised to the theological
chair at Wittemberg: so that his first prejudices were enlisted in the
service of the worst portion of the Roman Catholic Church; his opening
reason was subjected to the most dangerous perversion; and a sure and
early path was opened to his professional ambition. Such was _not_ the
discipline which could prepare the mind for any independent exertion;
such were not the circumstances from which an ordinary mind could have
emerged into the clear atmosphere of truth. In dignity a Professor, in
theology an Augustinian, in philosophy a Nominalist, by education a
Mendicant Monk, Luther seemed destined to be a pillar of the Roman
Catholic Church, and a patron of all its corruptions.

But he possessed a genius naturally vast and penetrating, a memory quick
and tenacious, patience inexhaustible, and a fund of learning very
considerable for that age: above all, he had an erect and daring spirit,
fraught with magnanimity and grandeur, and loving nothing so well as
truth; so that his understanding was ever prepared to expand with the
occasion, and his principles to change or rise, according to the
increase and elevation of his knowledge. Nature had endued him with an
ardent soul, a powerful and capacious understanding; education had
chilled the one and contracted the other; and when he came forth into
the fields of controversy, he had many of those trammels still hanging
about him, which patience, and a succession of exertions, and the
excitement of dispute, at length enabled him for the most part to cast
away.

In the year 1517, John Tetzel, a Dominican Monk, was preaching in
Germany the indulgences of Pope Leo X.; that is, he was publicly selling
to all purchasers remission of all sins, past, present, or future,
however great their number, however enormous their nature. The
expressions with which Tetzel recommended his treasure appear to have
been marked with peculiar impudence and indecency. But the act had in
itself nothing novel or uncommon: the sale of indulgences had long been
recognized as the practice of the Roman Catholic Church, and even
sometimes censured by its more pious, or more prudent members. But the
crisis was at length arrived in which the iniquity could no longer be
repeated with impunity. The cup was at length full; and the hand of
Luther was destined to dash it to the ground. In the schools of
Wittemberg the Professor publicly censured, in ninety-five propositions,
not only the extortion of the Indulgence-mongers, but the co-operation
of the Pope in seducing the people from the true faith, and calling them
away from the only road to salvation.

This first act of Luther’s evangelical life has been hastily ascribed by
at least three eminent writers of very different descriptions, (Bossuet,
Hume, and Voltaire,) to the narrowest monastic motive, the jealousy of a
rival order. It is asserted that the Augustinian Friars had usually been
invested in Saxony with the profitable commission, and that it only
became offensive to Luther when it was transferred to a Dominican. There
is no ground for that assertion. The Dominicans had been for nearly
three centuries the peculiar favourites of the Holy See, and objects of
all its partialities; and it is particularly remarkable, that, after the
middle of the fifteenth century, during a period scandalously fruitful
in the abuse in question, we very rarely meet with the name of any
Augustinian as employed in that service. Moreover, it is almost equally
important to add, that none of the contemporary adversaries of Luther
ever advanced the charge against him, even at the moment in which the
controversy was carried on with the most unscrupulous rancour.

The matter in dispute between Luther and Tetzel went in the first
instance no farther than this—whether the Pope had authority to remit
the divine chastisements denounced against offenders in the present and
in a future state—or whether his power only extended to such human
punishments, as form a part of ecclesiastical discipline—for the latter
prerogative was not yet contested by Luther. Nevertheless, his office
and his talents drew very general attention to the controversy; the
German people, harassed by the exactions, and disgusted with the
insolence of the papal emissaries, declared themselves warmly in favour
of the Reformer; while on the other hand, the supporters of the abuse
were so violent and clamorous, that the sound of the altercation
speedily disturbed the festivities of the Vatican.

Leo X., a luxurious, indolent, and secular, though literary pontiff,
would have disregarded the broil, and left it, like so many others, to
subside of itself, had not the Emperor Maximilian assured him of the
dangerous impression it had already made on the German people.
Accordingly he commanded Luther to appear at the approaching diet of
Augsburg, and justify himself before the papal legate. At the same time
he appointed the Cardinal Caietan, a Dominican and a professed enemy of
Luther, to be arbiter of the dispute. They met in October, 1518; the
legate was imperious; Luther was not submissive. He solicited reasons;
he was answered only with authority. He left the city in haste, and
appealed “to the Pope _better informed_,”—yet it was still to the Pope
that he appealed, he still recognized his sovereign supremacy. But in
the following month Leo published an edict, in which he claimed the
power of delivering sinners from _all_ punishments due to every sort of
transgression; and thereupon Luther, despairing of any reasonable
accommodation with the pontiff, published an appeal from the Pope to a
General Council.

The Pope then saw the expediency of conciliatory measures, and
accordingly despatched a layman, named Miltitz, as his legate, with a
commission to compose the difference by private negotiations with
Luther. Miltitz united great dexterity and penetration with a temper
naturally moderate, and not inflamed by ecclesiastical prejudices.
Luther was still in the outset of his career. His opinions had not yet
made any great progress towards maturity; he had not fully ascertained
the foundations on which his principles were built; he had not proved by
any experience the firmness of his own character. He yielded—at least so
far as to express his perfect submission to the commands of the Pope, to
exhort his followers to persist in the same obedience, and to promise
silence on the subject of indulgences, provided it were also imposed
upon his adversaries.

It is far too much to say (as some have said) that had Luther’s
concession been carried into effect, the Reformation would have been
stifled in its birth. The principles of the Reformation were too firmly
seated in reason and in truth, and too deeply ingrafted in the hearts of
the German people, to remain long suppressed through the infirmity of
any individual advocate. But its progress might have been somewhat
retarded, had not the violence of its enemies afforded it seasonable
aid. A doctor named Eckius, a zealous satellite of papacy, invited
Luther to a public disputation in the castle of Pleissenburg. The
subject on which they argued was the supremacy of the Roman pontiff; and
it was a substantial triumph for the Reformer, and no trifling insult to
papal despotism, that the appointed arbiters left the question
undecided.

Eckius repaired to Rome, and appealed in person to the offended
authority of the Vatican. His remonstrances were reiterated and inflamed
by the furious zeal of the Dominicans, with Caietan at their head. And
thus Pope Leo, whose calmer and more indifferent judgment would probably
have led him to accept the submission of Luther, and thus put the
question for the moment at rest, was urged into measures of at least
unseasonable vigour. He published a bull on the 15th of June, 1520, in
which he solemnly condemned forty-one heresies extracted from the
writings of the Reformer, and condemned these to be publicly burnt. At
the same time he summoned the author, on pain of excommunication, to
confess and retract his pretended errors within the space of sixty days,
and to throw himself upon the mercy of the Vatican.

Open to the influence of mildness and persuasion, the breast of Luther
only swelled more boldly when he was assailed by menace and insult. He
refused the act of humiliation required of him; more than that, he
determined to anticipate the anathema suspended over him, by at once
withdrawing himself from the communion of the church; and again, having
come to that resolution, he fixed upon the manner best suited to give it
efficacy and publicity. With this view, he caused a pile of wood to be
erected without the walls of Wittemberg, and there, in the presence of a
vast multitude of all ranks and orders, he committed the bull to the
flames; and with it, the Decree, the Decretals, the Clementines, the
Extravagants, the entire code of Romish jurisprudence. It is necessary
to observe, that he had prefaced this measure by a renewal of his former
appeal to a General Council; so that the extent of his resistance may be
accurately defined: he continued a faithful member of the Catholic
Church, but he rejected the despotism of the Pope, he refused obedience
to an unlimited and usurped authority. The bull of excommunication
immediately followed (January 6, 1521), but it fell without force; and
any dangerous effect, which it might otherwise have produced, was
obviated by the provident boldness of Luther.

Here was the origin of the Reformation. This was the irreparable breach,
which gradually widened to absolute disruption. The Reformer was now
compromised, by his conduct, by his principles, perhaps even by his
passions. He had crossed the bounds which divided insubordination from
rebellion, and his banners were openly unfurled, and his legions pressed
forward on the march to Rome. Henceforward the champion of the Gospel
entered with more than his former courage on the pursuit of truth; and
having shaken off one of the greatest and earliest of the prejudices in
which he had been educated, he proceeded with fearless independence to
examine and dissipate the rest.

Charles V. succeeded Maximilian in the empire in the year 1519; and
since Frederic of Saxony persisted in protecting the person of the
Reformer, Leo X. became the more anxious to arouse the imperial
indignation in defence of the injured majesty of the Church. In 1521 a
diet was assembled at Worms, and Luther was summoned to plead his cause
before it. A safe-conduct was granted him by the Emperor; and on the
17th of April he presented himself before the august aristocracy of
Germany. This audience gave occasion to the most splendid scene in his
history. His friends were yet few, and of no great influence; his
enemies were numerous, and powerful, and eager for his destruction: the
cause of truth, the hopes of religious regeneration, appeared to be
placed at that moment in the discretion and constancy of one man. The
faithful trembled. But Luther had then cast off the encumbrances of
early fears and prepossessions, and was prepared to give a free course
to his earnest and unyielding character. His manner and expressions
abounded with respect and humility; but in the matter of his public
apology he declined in no one particular from the fulness of his
conviction. Of the numerous opinions which he had by this time adopted
at variance with the injunctions of Rome, there was not one which in the
hour of danger he consented to compromise. The most violent exertions
were made by the papal party to effect his immediate ruin; and there
were some who were not ashamed to counsel a direct violation of the
imperial safe-conduct: it was designed to re-enact the crimes of
Constance, after the interval of a century, on another theatre. But the
infamous proposal was soon rejected; and it was on this occasion that
Charles is recorded to have replied with princely indignation, that if
honour were banished from every other residence, it ought to find refuge
in the breasts of kings.

Luther was permitted to retire from the diet; but he had not proceeded
far on his return when he was surprised by a number of armed men, and
carried away into captivity. It was an act of friendly violence. A
temporary concealment was thought necessary for his present security,
and he was hastily conveyed to the solitary Castle of Wartenburg. In the
mean time the assembly issued the declaration known in history as the
“Edict of Worms,” in which the Reformer was denounced as an
excommunicated schismatic and heretic; and all his friends and
adherents, all who protected or conversed with him, were pursued by
censures and penalties. The cause of papacy obtained a momentary,
perhaps only a seeming triumph, for it was not followed by any
substantial consequences; and while the anathematized Reformer lay in
safety in his secret _Patmos_, as he used to call it, the Emperor
withdrew to other parts of Europe to prosecute schemes and interests
which then seemed far more important than the religious tenets of a
German Monk.

While Luther was in retirement, his disciples at Wittemberg, under the
guidance of Carlostadt, a man of learning and piety, proceeded to put
into force some of the first principles of the Reformation. They would
have restrained by compulsion the superstition of private masses, and
torn away from the churches the proscribed images. Luther disapproved of
the violence of these measures; or it may also be, as some impartial
writers have insinuated, that he grudged to any other than himself the
glory of achieving them. Accordingly, after an exile of ten months, he
suddenly came forth from his place of refuge, and appeared at
Wittemberg. Had he then confined his influence to the introduction of a
more moderate policy among the reformers, many plausible arguments might
have been urged in his favour. But he also appears, unhappily, to have
been animated by a personal animosity against Carlostadt, which was
displayed both then and afterwards in some acts not very far removed
from persecution.

The marriage of Luther, and his marriage to a nun, was the event of his
life which gave most triumph to his enemies, and perplexity to his
friends. It was in perfect conformity with his masculine and daring
mind, that having satisfied himself of the nullity of his monastic vows,
he should take the boldest method of displaying to the world how utterly
he rejected them. Others might have acted differently, and abstained,
either from conscientious scruples, or, being satisfied in their own
minds, from fear to give offence to their weaker brethren; and it would
be presumptuous to condemn either course of action. It is proper to
mention that this marriage did not take place till the year 1525, after
Luther had long formally rejected many of the observances of the Roman
Catholic Church; and that the nun whom he espoused had quitted her
convent, and renounced her profession some time before.

The war of the peasants, and the fanaticism of Munster and his
followers, presently afterwards desolated Germany; and the papal party
did not lose that occasion to vilify the principles of the reformers,
and identify the revolt from a spiritual despotism with general
insurrection and massacre. It is therefore necessary here to observe,
that the false enthusiasm of Munster was perhaps first detected and
denounced by Luther; and that the pen of the latter was incessantly
employed in deprecating every act of civil insubordination. He was the
loudest in his condemnation of some acts of spoliation by laymen, who
appropriated the monastic revenues; and at a subsequent period so far
did he carry his principles, so averse was he, not only from the use of
offensive violence, but even from the employment of force in the defence
of his cause, that on some later occasions he exhorted the Elector of
Saxony by no means to oppose the imperial edicts by arms, but rather to
consign the persons and principles of the reformers to the protection of
Providence. For he was inspired with a holy confidence that Christ would
not desert his faithful followers; but rather find means to accomplish
his work without the agitation of civil disorders, or the intervention
of the sword. That confidence evinced the perfect earnestness of his
professions, and his entire devotion to the truth of his principles. It
also proved that he had given himself up to the cause in which he had
engaged, and that he was elevated above the consideration of personal
safety. This was no effeminate enthusiasm, no passionate aspiration
after the glory of martyrdom! It was the working of the Spirit of God
upon an ardent nature, impressed with the divine character of the
mission with which it was intrusted, and assured, against all obstacles,
of final and perfect success.

As this is not a history of the Reformation, but only a sketch of the
life of an individual reformer, we shall at once proceed to an affair
strongly, though not very favourably, illustrating his character. The
subject of the Eucharist commanded, among the various doctrinal
differences, perhaps the greatest attention; and in this matter Luther
receded but a short space, and with unusual timidity, from the faith in
which he had been educated. He admitted the real corporeal presence in
the elements, and differed from the church only as to the manner of that
presence. He rejected the actual and perfect change of substance, but
supposed the flesh to subsist in, or with the bread, as fire subsists in
red-hot iron. Consequently, he renounced the term transubstantiation,
and substituted consubstantiation in its place. In the mean time,
Zuinglius, the reformer of Zuric, had examined the same question with
greater independence, and had reached the bolder conclusion, that the
bread and wine are no more than external signs, intended to revive our
recollections and animate our piety. This opinion was adopted by
Carlostadt, Œcolampadius, and other fathers of the Reformation, and
followed by the Swiss Protestants, and generally by the free cities of
the Empire. Those who held it were called Sacramentarians. The opinion
of Luther prevailed in Saxony, and in the more northern provinces of
Germany.

The difference was important. It was felt to be so by the reformers
themselves; and the Lutheran party expressed that sentiment with too
little moderation. The Papists, or Papalins (Papalini), were alert in
perceiving the division, in exciting the dissension, and in inflaming
it, if possible, into absolute schism; and in this matter it must be
admitted, that Luther himself was too much disposed by his intemperate
vehemence to further their design. These discords were becoming
dangerous; and in 1529, Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, the most ardent
among the protectors of the Reformation, assembled the leading doctors
of either party to a public disputation at Marpurg. The particulars of
this conference are singularly interesting to the theological reader;
but it is here sufficient to mention, without entering into the
doctrinal merits of the controversy, that whatever was imperious in
assertion and overbearing in authority, and unyielding and unsparing in
polemical altercation, proceeded from the mouth and party of Luther;
that every approach to humility, and self-distrust, and mutual
toleration, and common friendship, came from the side of Zuinglius and
the Sacramentarians. And we are bound to add, that the same
uncompromising spirit, which precluded Luther from all co-operation or
fellowship with those whom _he thought_ in error (it was the predominant
spirit of the church which he had deserted) continued on future
occasions to interrupt and even endanger the work of his own hands. But
that very spirit was the vice of a character, which endured no
moderation or concession in any matter wherein Christian truth was
concerned, but which too hastily assumed its own infallibility in
ascertaining that truth. Luther would have excommunicated the
Sacramentarians; and he did not perceive how precisely his _principle_
was the same with that of the church which had excommunicated himself.

Luther was not present at the celebrated Diet of Augsburg, held under
the superintendence of Charles V. in 1530; but he was in constant
correspondence with Melancthon during that fearful period, and in the
reproofs which he cast on the temporizing, though perhaps necessary,
negotiations of the latter, he at least exhibited his own uprightness
and impetuosity. The ‘Confession’ of the Protestants, there published,
was constructed on the basis of seventeen articles previously drawn up
by Luther; and it was not without his counsels that the faith,
permanently adopted by the church which bears his name, was finally
digested and matured. From that crisis the history of the Reformation
took more of a political, less of a religious character, and the name of
Luther is therefore less prominent than in the earlier proceedings. But
he still continued for sixteen years longer to exert his energies in the
cause which was peculiarly his own, and to influence by his advice and
authority the new ecclesiastical system.

He died in the year 1546, the same, as it singularly happened, in which
the Council of Trent assembled, for the self-reformation and re-union of
the Roman Catholic Church. But that attempt, even had it been made with
judgment and sincerity, was then too late. During the twenty-nine years
which composed the public life of Luther, the principles of the Gospel,
having fallen upon hearts already prepared for their reception, were
rooted beyond the possibility of extirpation; and when the great
Reformer closed his eyes upon the scene of his earthly toils and glory,
he might depart in the peaceful confidence that the objects of his
mission were virtually accomplished, and the work of the Lord placed in
security by the same heaven-directed hand which had raised it from the
dust.

[Illustration]

RODNEY.

This eminent officer was descended from a younger branch of an ancient
family, long resident in the county of Somerset. His father lived at
Walton upon Thames, where George Brydges Rodney, afterwards Lord Rodney,
was born, February 19, 1718. He received the rudiments of his education
at Harrow School, from which he was removed when only twelve years old,
and sent to sea. He gained promotion rapidly, being made Lieutenant in
February, 1739, and Captain in 1742. He was still farther fortunate in
being almost constantly employed for several years. In the Eagle, of
sixty guns, Captain Rodney bore a distinguished part in the action
fought by Admiral Hawke with the French fleet, off Cape Finisterre,
October 14, 1747. The year after he was sent out with the rank of
Commodore, as Governor and Commander-in-Chief on the Newfoundland
station, where he remained till October, 1752.

Returning to England, he took his seat in Parliament for the borough of
Saltash, and was successively appointed to the Fougueux, of sixty-four
guns, the Prince George, of ninety, and the Dublin, of seventy-four
guns. In the last-named ship he served under Admiral Hawke in the
expedition against Rochefort in 1757, which failed entirely, after great
expense had been incurred, and great expectations raised; and he
assisted at the capture of Louisburg by Admiral Boscawen in 1758. He was
raised to the rank of Rear-Admiral, May 19, 1759, after twenty-eight
years of active and almost uninterrupted service.

In July following he was ordered to take the command of a squadron
destined to attack Havre, and destroy a number of flat-bottomed boats,
prepared, it was supposed, to assist a meditated invasion of Great
Britain. This service he effectually performed.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by E. Scriven._

LORD RODNEY.

_From a Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds
in his Majesty’s Collection at S^{t.} James’s Palace._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

He was soon raised to a more important sphere of action, being named
Commander-in-Chief at Barbadoes and the Leeward Islands, in the autumn
of 1761. No naval achievement of remarkable brilliance occurred during
the short period of his holding this command: but the capture of the
valuable islands of Martinique, St. Lucia, and Grenada, bears testimony
to the efficiency of the fleet under his orders, and the good
understanding between the land and sea forces employed in this service.
He was recalled on the conclusion of peace in 1763. Eight years elapsed
before he was again called into service; a period fruitful in marks of
favour from the crown, though barren of professional laurels. He was
created a Baronet soon after his return; he was raised by successive
steps to the rank of Vice-Admiral of the Red; and he was appointed
Governor of Greenwich Hospital. This office he was required to resign on
being again sent out to the West Indies as Commander-in-Chief at Jamaica
in 1771. This was a period of profound peace: but the duties of peace
are often more difficult, and require more moral courage for their
discharge, than those of war. It is one of Rodney’s best claims to
distinction, that he suffered none under his command, or within the
sphere of his influence, to neglect their duties with impunity: and in
the mode of carrying on naval affairs then practised in the West Indies,
he found much ground for immediate interference, as well as for
representation and remonstrance to his superiors at home. He earnestly
desired to obtain the government of Jamaica; but on a vacancy occurring
in 1773, another person was appointed; and he was recalled, and struck
his flag at Portsmouth, September 4, 1774.

The next four years of Sir George Rodney’s life were much harassed by
pecuniary embarrassment. The habits of a sailor’s life are proverbially
unsuited to strict economy: and moving, when at home, in the most
fashionable society of London, it is no wonder that his expenses outran
his professional gains. He was compelled to retire to Paris, where he
remained until the American war afforded a prospect of his being called
into active service again. In May, 1778, he was promoted to the rank of
Admiral of the White: but it was not till the autumn of 1779 that he was
gratified by being re-appointed to the command on the Barbadoes station.
He sailed from Plymouth December 29, to enter on the final and crowning
scene of his glory.

At this time Spain and France were at war with England. The memorable
siege of Gibraltar was in progress, and a Spanish fleet blockaded the
Straits. The British navy was reduced unwarrantably low in point of
disposable force; and was farther crippled by a spirit of disunion and
jealousy among its officers, arising partly perhaps from the virulence
of party politics, and partly from the misconduct of the Admiralty,
which threatened even worse consequences than the mere want of physical
force. By this spirit Sir George Rodney’s fleet was deeply tainted, to
his great mortification and the great injury of the country. At first,
however, every thing appeared to prosper. The fleet consisted of
twenty-two sail of the line, and eight frigates. Before Rodney had been
at sea ten days, he captured seven Spanish vessels of war, with a large
convoy of provisions and stores; and on January 16, near Cape St.
Vincent, afterwards made memorable by a more important action, he
encountered a Spanish fleet commanded by Don Juan de Langara, of eleven
ships of the line and two frigates. The superiority of the British force
rendered victory certain. Five Spanish ships were taken, and two
destroyed; and had not the action been in the night, and in tempestuous
weather, probably every ship would have been captured. These at least
are the reasons which Rodney gave in his despatches, for not having done
more: in private letters he hints that he was ill-supported by his
captains. Trifling as this success would have seemed in later times, it
was then very acceptable to the country; and the Admiral received the
thanks of both Houses of Parliament. The scandalous feeling of jealousy
of their commander, ill-will to the ministry, or whatever other
modification of party spirit it was, which could prevent brave men (and
such they were) from performing their duty to the utmost in the hour of
battle, broke out again with more violence when Rodney next came within
sight of the enemy. This was near Martinique, April 17, 1780, about a
month after his arrival in the West Indies. The French fleet, commanded
by the Comte de Guichen, was slightly superior in force. Rodney’s
intention was to attack the enemy’s rear in close order and with his
whole strength; but his captains disobeyed his orders, deranged his
plan, and careless of the signals for close action, repeatedly made,
kept for the most part at cautious distance from the enemy. His own
ship, the Sandwich, engaged for an hour and a half a seventy-four and
two eighty-gun ships, compelled them to bear away, and broke completely
through the enemy’s line. Not more than five or six ships did their
duty. Had all done it, the victory over De Grasse might have been
anticipated, and the end of the war accelerated perhaps by two years. In
his despatches Rodney censured the conduct of his captains; but the
Admiralty thought proper to suppress the passage. In his private letters
to Lady Rodney, he complains bitterly. One only of his captains was
brought to trial, and he was broken. That ampler justice was not done on
the delinquents, is to be explained by the difficulty of finding
officers to form courts martial, where almost all were equally guilty.
But this partial severity, with the vigorous measures which the Admiral
took to recall others to their duty, produced due effect, and we hear no
more of want of discipline, or reluctance to engage. For this action
Rodney received the thanks of the House of Commons, with a pension for
himself and his family of £2000 per annum.

Nothing of importance occurred during the rest of the spring; and De
Guichen having returned to Europe, Rodney sailed to New York, to
co-operate, during the rainy season in the West Indies, with the British
forces engaged in the American war. In November he returned to his
station. In the course of the autumn he had been chosen to represent
Westminster without expense, and had received the Order of the Bath. The
commencement of the following year was signalized by acts of more
importance. The British ministry had been induced to declare war against
Holland; and they sent out immediate instructions to Rodney, to attack
the possessions of the states in the West Indies. St. Eustatius was
selected for the first blow, and it surrendered without firing a shot.
Small and barren, yet this island was of great importance for the
support which it had long afforded to the French and Americans under
colour of neutrality, and for the vast wealth which was captured in it.
In the course of the spring, Demerara, Essequibo, and Berbice, with the
French island of St. Bartholomew, were also taken.

In the autumn, Rodney returned to Europe for the recovery of his health.
He was received with distinguished favour by the King, and with
enthusiasm by the people, and during his stay, was created Vice-Admiral
of Great Britain, in the place of Lord Hawke, deceased. He returned in
the middle of January, being invested with the command of the whole West
Indies, not merely the Barbadoes station, as before. The situation of
affairs at this time was very critical. The French fleet, commanded by
the Comte de Grasse, consisted of thirty-three sail[6] of the line, two
fifty-gun ships and frigates, with a large body of troops, and a train
of heavy cannon on board. A powerful Spanish fleet was also in the West
Indies. It was intended to form a junction, and then with an
overwhelming force of near fifty sail of the line, to proceed to
Jamaica, conquer that important island, and one by one to reduce all the
British colonies.

Footnote 6:

Or thirty-four, according to the official list found on board the
Ville de Paris after the engagement.

The French quitted Fort Royal Bay, in Martinique, April 8, 1782.
Intelligence was immediately brought to the British fleet at St. Lucia,
which lost no time in following them. In a partial action on the 9th,
two of the French ships were, disabled. A third was crippled by accident
on the night of the 11th. Thus, on the morning of the 12th, the decisive
day, the French line was reduced to thirty or thirty-one ships, and
numerically the British fleet was stronger: but this difference was more
than compensated by the greater weight of metal in the French broadside,
which was calculated by Sir Charles Douglas to have exceeded the British
by 4396 pounds. On that morning, about seven o’clock, Rodney bore down
obliquely on the French line, and passed to leeward of it on the
opposite tack. His own ship was the eighteenth from the van: and the
seventeen leading ships having pushed on and taken their position each
abreast of an enemy, Rodney, in the Formidable, broke through the line
between the seventeenth and eighteenth ships, engaged the Ville de
Paris, De Grasse’s flag-ship, and compelled her to strike. The battle
was obstinately fought, and lasted till half-past six in the evening.
The loss of the British in killed and wounded was severe, but
disproportionately less than that of the French. Seven ships of the line
and two frigates fell into the hands of the victors.

This battle ruined the power of the allied fleets in the West Indies,
and materially contributed to the re-establishment of peace, which was
concluded in January, 1783. Many other circumstances have combined to
confer celebrity upon it. It restored to Britain the dominion of the
ocean, after that dominion had been some time in abeyance; it proved the
commencement of a long series of most brilliant victories, untarnished
by any defeat on a large scale; and it was the first instance in which
the manœuvre of breaking through the enemy’s line, and attacking him on
both sides, had been practised. The question to whom the merit of this
invention, which for many years rested with Lord Rodney, is due, has of
late been much canvassed before the public. It has been claimed for Mr.
Clerk, of Eldin, author of a treatise on Naval Tactics, and for Sir
Charles Douglas, Captain of the Fleet, who served on board the
Formidable, and is said to have suggested it, as a sudden thought,
during the action. The claim of Mr. Clerk appears now to be generally
disallowed. The evidence in favour of each of the other parties is
strong and conflicting; and as we have not space to discuss it, we may
be excused for not expressing any opinion upon it. The claims of Sir
Charles Douglas have been advanced by his son, Sir Howard Douglas, in
some recent publications: the opposite side of the question has been
argued in the Quarterly Review, No. 83. It has also been repeatedly
discussed in the United Service Magazine. It would appear, however, at
all events, that as the final judgment and responsibility rested with
the Admiral, so also should the chief honour of the measure: and it is
certain that the gallant and generous officer for whom this claim has
been advanced, rejected all praise which seemed to him in the least to
derogate from the glory of his commanding officer.

A change of ministry had taken place in the spring; and one of the first
acts of the Whigs, on coming into office, was to recall Rodney, who had
always been opposed to them in politics. The officer appointed to
succeed him had but just sailed, when news of his decisive and glorious
victory arrived in England. The Admiralty sent an express, to endeavour
to recall their unlucky step; but it was too late. Rodney landed at
Bristol, and closed his career of service, September 21, 1782. He was
received with enthusiasm, raised to the peerage by the title of Baron
Rodney, and presented with an additional pension of £2000 per annum.
From this time he lived chiefly in the country, and died May 23, 1792,
in the seventy-fifth year of his age. He was twice married, and left a
numerous family to inherit his well-earned honours and rewards.

The life of Lord Rodney, published by General Mundy, is valuable, as
containing much of his official and private correspondence. The former
proves that his views as a Commander-in-Chief were enlarged, judicious,
and patriotic; the latter is lively and affectionate, and shows him to
have been most amiable in domestic life. Memoirs of his life and
principal actions will be found in most works on naval history and
biography.

[Illustration: Monument of Lord Rodney in St. Paul’s Cathedral.]

[Illustration]

LAGRANGE.

Joseph Louis Lagrange was born at Turin, January 25th, 1736. His
great-grandfather was a Frenchman, who entered into the service of the
then Duke of Savoy; and from this circumstance, as well as his
subsequent settlement in France, and his always writing in their
language, the French claim him as their countryman: an honour which the
Italians are far from conceding to them.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by Rob^t. Hart._

LA GRANGE.

_From a Bust in the Library of the
Institute of France._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

The father of Lagrange, luckily perhaps for the fame of his son, was
ruined by some unfortunate speculation. The latter used to say, that had
he possessed fortune, he should probably never have turned his attention
to the science in which he excelled. He was placed at the College of
Turin, and applied himself diligently and with enthusiasm to classical
literature, showing no taste at first for mathematics. In about a year
he began to attend to the geometry of the ancients. A memoir of Halley
in the Philosophical Transactions, on the superiority of modern
analysis, produced consequences of which the author little dreamed.
Lagrange met with it, before his views upon the subject had settled: and
immediately, being then only seventeen years old, applied himself to the
study of the modern mathematics. Before this change in his studies,
according to Delambre[7], after it, according to others, but certainly
while very young, he was elected professor at the Royal School of
Artillery at Turin. We may best convey some notion of his early
proficiency, by stating without detail, that at the age of twenty-three
we find him—the founder of an Academy of Sciences at Turin, whose
volumes yield in interest to none, and owe that interest principally to
his productions,—a member of the Academy of Sciences at Berlin, an
honour obtained through the medium of Euler, who shortly after announced
him to Frederic of Prussia as the fittest man in Europe to succeed
himself,—and settling, finally, a most intricate question[8] of
mathematics, which had given rise to long discussions between Euler and
D’Alembert, then perhaps the two first mathematicians in Europe. He had
previously extended the method of Euler for the solution of what are
called _isoperimetrical problems_, and laid the foundation for the
_Calculus of Variations_, the most decided advance, in our opinion,
which any one has made since the death of Newton.

Footnote 7:

Éloge de Lagrange, Mémoires de l’Institut. 1812.

Footnote 8:

The admissibility of discontinuous functions into the integrals of
partial differential equations.

In 1764 he gained the prize proposed by the Academy of Sciences for an
Essay on the Libration of the Moon; and in 1766, that for an Essay on
the Theory of the Satellites of Jupiter. In the former of these we find
him, for the first time, using the _principle of virtual velocities_,
which had hitherto remained almost a barren truth, but which he
afterwards made, in conjunction with the principle known after the name
of D’Alembert, the foundation of the whole of mechanical science.

In 1766, Euler, intending to return to St. Petersburg, resigned the
situation which he held at the Court of Berlin, that of director of the
physico-mathematical class of the Academy of Sciences. Frederic offered
this place to D’Alembert, who refused it for himself, but joined with
Euler in recommending Lagrange. The King of Prussia acceded to their
suggestion, and Lagrange was invited to establish himself at Berlin,
with a salary equivalent to 6,000 francs.

Lagrange remained at Berlin till after the death of Frederic. He here
married a lady who was related to him, and who came from Turin at his
request. She died after a lingering illness of several years, marked by
the most unceasing attention on the part of her husband, who abandoned
his pursuits to devote himself entirely to her during her illness.
Nevertheless the period of his sojourn at Berlin is perhaps the
brightest of a life, most years of which, from the age of eighteen to
that of seventy, were sufficient to ensure a lasting reputation. He here
laid the foundation of his Theory of Functions, of his general method
for determining the secular variations of the planetary orbits; and here
he wrote his _Mécanique Analytique_.

At the death of Frederic, he found that science was no longer treated
with the same respect at the Court of Berlin. He had found from the
commencement of his stay there, that foreigners were looked upon with
dislike, and his spirits had not recovered the loss of his wife. Many
advantageous offers were made to him by different courts, and among the
rest by that of France. Mirabeau, who was then at Berlin, first pointed
out to the ministers of Louis XVI. the acquisition which was in their
power. Lagrange removed to Paris in 1787, and remained there till his
death.

He was then weary of his pursuits, and it is said that his _Mécanique
Analytique_, which he had sent from Berlin to be printed in Paris, lay
unopened by himself for more than two years after its publication in
1788. He employed himself in the study of ecclesiastical and other
history, of medicine, botany, and metaphysics. When the discoveries of
the chemists changed the theory and notation of their science, or rather
created a science where none existed before, he threw himself upon the
new study with avidity, and declared that they had made it easy; _as
easy as algebra_.

In 1792, being then fifty-six years of age, he married Mlle. Lemonnier,
daughter of the astronomer of that name, and daughter, grand-daughter,
and niece of members of the Academy of Sciences. This lady well deserves
honourable mention in every memoir of Lagrange, for the affectionate
care which she took of his declining years.

When, after the subversion of the monarchy, a commission was appointed
to examine into the system of weights and measures, Lagrange was placed
at its head. In this post he continued, not being included in the
_purification_, which three months after its formation, deprived the
commission of the services of Laplace, Coulomb, Brisson, Borda, and
Delambre. He took no part in politics, and appears to have given no
offence to any party; hence, when the government of Robespierre
commanded all foreigners to quit France, an exception was made in his
favour by the committee of public safety. All his friends had advised
him to retire from the country; and the fate of Lavoisier and Bailly was
sufficient to show that scientific talents of the most useful character
were no protection. He now regretted that he had not followed their
advice, and even meditated returning to Berlin. He did not, however, put
this scheme in execution; and as the Normal and Polytechnic Schools were
successively founded, he was appointed to professorships in both. His
_Leçons_, delivered to the former institution, appear in their published
series, and among them we find the _Leçons sur la Théorie des
Fonctions_, which has since appeared as a separate work.

It is almost needless to say, so well as the public know how science was
encouraged under the Consulate and the Empire, that Lagrange received
from Napoleon every possible respect and distinction. The titles of
senator, count of the empire, grand cordon of the legion of honour, &c.
were given to him. It is also gratifying to be able to add that his
abstinence from political engagements has left his memory unstained by
such imputations as, we know not how justly, rest upon that of Laplace.
We might have omitted to state that he belonged to all the scientific
academies of Europe; but that it is necessary, for the sake of the
scientific reputation of this country, to correct an inadvertence into
which the able author of the ‘Life of Lagrange,’ in the _Biographie
Universelle_, appears to have fallen. He states that Lagrange was not a
member of the Royal Society of London[9]. The fact is, that he was
elected in 1798, and his name continued on the list of foreign members
all the remainder of his life.

Footnote 9:

Les principales sociétés savantes de L’Europe, _celle de Londres
exceptée_, s’empressèrent de décorer de son nom la liste de leurs
membres.

About the end of March, 1813, Lagrange was seized with a fever, which
caused his death. He had previously been subject to fits of fainting, in
the last of which he was found by Madame Lagrange, having fallen against
the corner of a table. He preserved his senses to the last, and on the
8th of April conversed for more than two hours with M.M. Monge,
Lacepède, and Chaptal, who were commissioned by the Emperor to carry him
the grand cordon of the order of the _Réunion_. He then promised them,
not thinking himself so near his end, full details of his early life.
Unfortunately this promise remains unfulfilled, as he died on the 10th
of April, in his seventy-eighth year. His father had died some years
before him at the age of ninety-five, having had eleven children, all of
whom, except the subject of this memoir, and one other, died young.
Lagrange himself had no children. His private character, as all accounts
agree in stating, was most exemplary. His manners were peculiarly mild,
and though occasionally abstracted and absent, he was fond of society,
particularly that of the young. In the earlier part of his life he was
attacked in an unworthy manner by Fontaine, who at the same time boasted
of some discovery which he attributed to himself. Lagrange replied with
the urbanity which always accompanied his dealings with others, and
while he overthrew the claim of his opponent, he repaid his incivility
by the compliment of admitting that his talents were such as would have
enabled him to attain the discovery, if it had not been previously made.
Such moderation is rare, and as might be expected, it was accompanied by
the utmost modesty in speaking of himself. In the latter half of his
life, it would have been affectation in him to have denied his own
powers, or spoken slightingly of his own discoveries; nor do we find
that he ever did so. In giving opinions or explanations, he broke off
the moment he found that his ideas were not as clear or his knowledge as
definite, as he had thought when he begun; concluding abruptly with _Je
ne sais pas, Je ne sais pas_. Among his studies, music found a place;
but, though pleased with the art, he used to assert that he never heard
more than three bars: the fourth found him wrapped in meditation, and by
his own account, he solved very difficult problems in these
circumstances. He would, therefore, as M. Delambre remarks, measure the
beauty of a piece of music by the mathematical suggestions which he
derived from it; and his arrangement of the great masters would be not a
little curious.

He never would allow a portrait of himself to be taken. A very well
executed bust, which is now in the Library of the Institute, was made
from a sketch by a young Italian artist, sent by the Academy of Turin.
From this bust our portrait is engraved.

Of the character of Lagrange as a philosopher, no description, in so few
words, can be better than that of M. Laplace: “Among the discoverers who
have most enlarged the bounds of our knowledge, Newton and Lagrange
appear to me to have possessed in the highest degree that happy tact,
which leads to the discovery of general principles, and which
constitutes true genius for science. This tact, united with a rare
degree of elegance in the manner of explaining the most abstract
theories, is the characteristic of Lagrange.” This power of
generalization distinguishes all that he has written, and the student of
the _Mécanique Analytique_ is amazed when he comes to a chapter headed
“Equations Différentielles pour la solution de tous les problèmes de
Dynamique,” which, on examination, he finds equally applicable, and
equally applied, to the vibrations of a pendulum or the motion of a
planet. On the exquisite symmetry of his notation and style, we need not
enlarge: the mathematician either is acquainted with it, or should
become so with all speed; and others will perhaps only smile at the
notion of one set of algebraical symbols possessing more elegance or
beauty than another.

The separate works of Lagrange are—1. _Mécanique Analytique_, the second
edition of which he was engaged upon when he died; the first edition was
published in 1788. 2. _Théorie des Fonctions Analytiques_, a system of
Fluxions on purely algebraical principles; first edition, 1797; second
edition, 1813. 3. _Leçons sur le Calcul des Fonctions_; first published
separately in 1806. 4. _Résolution des Equations numériques_; three
editions, in 1798, 1808, and 1826. To give only a list of his separate
memoirs would double the length of this life: they will be found in the
_Miscellanea Taurinensia_, tom. i.-v., and 1784–5; _Memoirs of the
Berlin Academy_, 1765–1803; _Recueils de l’Académie des Sciences de
Paris_, 1773–4, and tom. ix.; _Mémoires des Savans Etrangers_, tom. vii.
and x.; _Mémoires de l’Institut_, 1808–9; _Journal de l’École
Polytechnique_, tom. ii. _cahiers_ 5, 6, tom. viii. _cahier_ 15;
_Seánces des Écoles Normales_; and _Connoissance des Tems_, 1814, 1817.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by Ja^s. Mollison._

VOLTAIRE.

_From an original Picture by Largillière
in the collection of the Institute of France._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

VOLTAIRE.

François Marie Arouet, who is commonly known by his assumed name, De
Voltaire, was born at Châtenay, near Sceaux, February 20, 1694. He soon
distinguished himself as a child of extraordinary abilities. The Abbé de
Châteauneuf, his godfather, took charge of the elements of his
education, and laboured successfully to improve the talents of his ready
pupil without much regard to his morals. At three years old the future
champion of infidelity had learned by heart the Moisade, an irreligious
poem of J. B. Rousseau. These lessons were not forgotten at college,
where he passed rapidly through the usual courses of study, and alarmed
his Jesuit preceptors by the undisguised licence of his opinions. About
this time some of his first attempts at poetry obtained for him the
notice of Ninon de l’Enclos; and when the Abbé de Châteauneuf, who had
been the last in her long list of favourites, introduced him at her
house, she was so pleased with the promising talents of the boy, that
she left him by will a legacy of 2,000 francs to purchase books. The
Ecole de Droit, where Arouet next studied, was much less suited to his
disposition than the College of Louis le Grand. In vain his father urged
him to undertake the drudgery of a profession: the Abbé was a more
agreeable monitor, and under his auspices the young man sought with
eagerness the best Parisian society. At the suppers of the Prince de
Conti, he became acquainted with wits and poets, acquired the easy tone
of familiar politeness, and distinguished himself by the delicacy of his
flatteries, and the liveliness of his repartee. In 1713 he went to
Holland as page to the French ambassador, the Marquis de Châteauneuf.
This place had been solicited by his father in the hope of detaching him
from dissipated habits. But little was gained by the step, for in a
short time he was sent back to his family, in consequence of an intrigue
with a M^{lle.} Du Noyer, whose mother, a Protestant refugee at the
Hague, gained her living by scandal and libels, and on this occasion
thought something might be got by complaining to the ambassador, and
printing young Arouet’s love-letters. He was, however, not easily
discouraged. He endeavoured to interest the Jesuits in his affairs, by
representing M^{lle.} Du Noyer as a ready convert, whom it would be
Catholic charity to snatch from the influence of an apostate mother.
This manœuvre having failed, he sought a reconciliation with his father,
who remained a long while implacable; but touched at last by his son’s
entreaties to be permitted to see him once more, on condition of leaving
the country immediately afterwards for America, he consented to receive
him into favour. Arouet again attempted legal studies, but soon
abandoned them in disgust. The Regency had now commenced; and among the
numerous satires directed against the memory of Louis XIV., one was
attributed to him. The report caused him a year’s imprisonment in the
Bastille. Soon afterwards he changed the name of Arouet for that of
Voltaire. “I have been unhappy,” he said, “so long as I bore the first:
let us see if the other will bring better fortune.” It seemed indeed
that it did so, for in 1718 the tragedy of Œdipe was represented, and
established the reputation of its author. It had been principally
composed in the Bastille, where he also laid the foundation of his
Henriade, which occupied the time he could spare from amorous and
political intrigue, until 1724. Desiring to publish it, he submitted the
poem to some select friends, men of severe taste, who met at the house
of the President de Maisons. They found so many faults that the author
threw the manuscript into the fire. The President Hénault rescued it
with difficulty, and said, “Young man, your haste has cost me a pair of
best lace ruffles: why should your poem be better than its hero, who was
full of faults, yet none of us like him the worse?” Surreptitious copies
spread rapidly, and gained for the author much both of celebrity and
envy. But it displeased two powerful classes: the priests were
apprehensive of its religious, the courtiers of its political, tendency;
insomuch that the publication was prohibited by government, and the
young king refused to accept the dedication. Soon after this, Voltaire
was sent again to the Bastille, in consequence of a quarrel with the
Chevalier de Rohan: and on his liberation, he was banished to England.
There he remained three years, perhaps the most important era of his
life, for it gave an entirely new direction to his lively mind. Hitherto
a wit, and a writer of agreeable verse, he became in England a
philosopher. Returning to France in 1726, he brought with him an
admiration of our manners, and a knowledge of our best writers, which
visibly influenced his own compositions and those of his contemporaries.
He now published several poetical and dramatic pieces with variable
success; but he was more than once forced to quit Paris by the clamour
and persecution of his enemies. After the failure of one of his plays,
Fontenelle and some other literary associates seriously advised him to
abandon the drama, as less suited to his talent than the light style of
fugitive poetry in which he had uniformly succeeded. He answered them by
writing Zaire, which was acted with great applause in 1732. He had
already published his history of Charles XII.: that of Peter the Great
was written much later in life. The Lettres Philosophiques, secretly
printed at Rouen, and rapidly circulating, increased his popularity, and
the zeal of his enemies. This work was burnt by the common hangman.
About this time commenced that celebrated intimacy with Emilie Marquise
du Châtelet, which for nearly twenty years stimulated and guided his
genius. Love made him a mathematician. In the studious leisure of Cirey,
under the auspices of “la sublime Emilie,” he plunged himself into the
most abstract speculations, and acquired a new title to fame by
publishing the Elements of Newton in 1738, and contending for a prize
proposed by the Academy of Sciences. At the same time he produced in
rapid succession Alzire, Mahomet, and Merope. His fame was now become
European. Frederic of Prussia, Stanislaus, and other sovereigns honoured
him, or were honoured by his correspondence. But the perpetual intrigues
of his enemies at home deprived him of repose, and even at Cirey he was
not always free from troubles and altercations. Upon the death of Madame
du Châtelet, in 1749, he accepted the often urged invitation of
Frederic, and took up his residence at the Court of Berlin. But the
friendship of the king and the philosopher was not of long duration. A
violent quarrel with the geometrician, Maupertuis, who was also living
under the protection of Frederic, ended, after some ineffectual attempts
at accommodation, in Voltaire’s departure from Frederic’s society and
dominions (1753). He had just published his Siècle de Louis XIV., which
was shortly followed by the Essai sur les Mœurs. After a few more
wanderings, for the versatility of his talent seemed to require a
corresponding variety of abode, Voltaire finally fixed himself at
Ferney, near Geneva, in the sixty-fifth year of his eventful life, and
began to enjoy at leisure his vast reputation. From all parts of Europe
strangers undertook pilgrimages to this philosophic shrine. Sovereigns
took pride in corresponding with the Patriarch, as he was called by the
numerous sect of free-thinkers, and self-styled _philosophers_, who
looked up to him as their teacher and leader. The Society of
Philosophers at Paris, now employed in their great work, the
Encyclopædia, which, from the moment of its ill-judged prohibition by
the government had assumed the character of an antichristian manifesto,
looked up to Voltaire as the acknowledged chief of their party. He
furnished some of the most important articles in the work. His whole
mind seemed now to be bent on one object, the subversion of the
Christian religion. Innumerable miscellaneous compositions, different in
form, and generally anonymous, indeed often disavowed, were marked by
this pernicious tendency. “I am tired,” he is reported to have said, “of
hearing it repeated that twelve men were sufficient to found
Christianity: I will show the world that _one_ is sufficient to destroy
it!” Half a century has elapsed, and the event has not justified the
truth of this boast: he mistook his own strength, as many other
unbelievers have done. These impious extravagances were not, however,
the only occupation of the twenty years which intervened between
Voltaire’s establishment at Ferney and his death. In the defence of
Sirven, Lally, Labarre, Calas, and others, who at several times were
objects of unjust condemnation by the judicial tribunals, he exerted
himself with a zeal as indefatigable as it was meritorious. Ferney,
under his protection, grew to a considerable village, and the
inhabitants learned to bless the liberalities of their patron. His mind
continued to be embittered by literary quarrels, the most memorable
being that with J. J. Rousseau, commemorated in his poem, entitled
‘Guerre Civile de Genève’ (1768). He hated this unfortunate exile, as a
rival, as an enthusiast, and as a friend, comparatively speaking, to
Christianity. Nor were these his only disquietudes. The publication of
the infamous poem of La Pucelle, which he suffered in strict confidence
to circulate among his intimate friends, and which was printed by the
treachery of some of them, gave him much uneasiness. For its indecency
and impiety he might not have cared: but all who had offended him,
authors, courtiers, even the king and his mistress, were abused in it in
the grossest manner, and Voltaire had no wish to provoke the arm of
power. He had recourse to his usual process of disavowal, and as he
could not deny the whole, he asserted that the offensive parts had been
intercalated by his enemies. In other instances his zeal outran
discretion, and affected his comforts by producing apprehension for his
safety. Sometimes a panic terror of assassination took possession of
him, and it needed all the gentleness and assiduities of his adopted
daughter, Madame de Varicourt, to whom he was tenderly attached, to
bring back his usual levity of mind. At length, in 1778, Voltaire
yielding to the entreaties of his favourite niece, Madame Denis, came to
Paris, where at the theatre he was greeted by a numerous assemblage in a
manner resembling the crowning of an Athenian dramatic poet, more than
any modern exhibition of popular favour. Borne back to his hotel amidst
the acclamations of thousands, the aged man said feebly, “You are
suffocating me with roses.” He did not indeed long survive this
festival. Continued study, and the immoderate use of coffee, renewed a
strangury to which he had been subject, and he died May 30, 1778. He was
interred with the rites of Christian worship, a point concerning which
he had shown some solicitude, in the Abbaye de Scellières. In 1791 his
remains were removed by the Revolutionists, and deposited with great
pomp in the Pantheon.

It is difficult within our contracted limits to give an accurate
character of Voltaire. In versatility of powers, and in variety of
knowledge, he stands unrivalled: but he might have earned a better and
more lasting name, had he concentrated his talents and exertions on
fewer subjects, and studied them more deeply. It has been truly and
wittily observed that “he _half knew_ every thing, from the cedar of
Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall; and he wrote of them all, and laughed
at them all.” Of the feeling of veneration, either for God or man, he
seems to have been incapable. He thought too highly of himself to look
up to any thing. Capricious, passionate, and generally selfish, he was
yet accessible to sudden impulses of generosity. He was an acute rather
than a subtle thinker. Perhaps in the whole compass of his philosophical
works there is not to be found one original opinion, or entirely new
argument; but no man ever was endowed with so happy a facility for
illustrating the thoughts of others, and imparting a lively clearness to
the most abstruse speculations. He brought philosophy from the closet
into the drawing-room. Eminently skilled to detect and satirize the
faults and follies of mankind, his love of ridicule was too strong for
his love of truth. He saw the ludicrous side of opinions in a moment,
and often unfortunately could see nothing else. His alchymy was directed
towards transmuting the imperfect metals into dross. All enthusiasm,
eagerness of belief, magnifying of probabilities through the medium of
excited feeling, all that makes a sect as well in its author as its
followers, these things were simply foolish in his estimation. It is
impossible to gather from his works any connected system of philosophy:
they are full of contradictions; but the pervading principle which gives
them some form of coherence is a rancorous aversion to Christianity. As
a Deist believing in a God, “rémunérateur vengeur,” but proscribing all
established worship, Voltaire occupies a middle position between
Rousseau on the one hand, who, while he avowed scepticism as to the
proofs, professed reverence for the characteristics of Revealed
Religion, and Diderot on the other, with his fanatical crew of Atheists,
who laughed not without reason at their Patriarch of Ferney, for
imagining that he, whose life had been spent in trying to unsettle the
religious opinions of mankind, could fix the point at which unbelief
should stop. The dramatic poems of Voltaire retain their place among the
first in their language, but his other poetical works have lost much of
the reputation they once enjoyed. He paints with fidelity and vividness
the broad lineaments of passion, and excels in that light, allusive
style, which brings no image or sentiment into strong relief, and is
therefore totally unlike the analytic and picturesque mode of
delineation, to which in this country, and especially in this age, we
are apt to limit the name and prerogatives of imagination. As a
novelist, he has seldom been equalled in wit and profligacy. As an
historian, he may be considered one of the first who authorized the
modern philosophizing manner, treating history rather as a reservoir of
facts for the illustration of moral science, than as a department of
descriptive art. He is often inaccurate, and seldom profound, but always
lively and interesting. On the whole, however the general reputation of
Voltaire may rise or fall with the fluctuations of public opinion, he
must continue to deserve admiration as

“The wonder of a learned age; the line
Which none could pass; the wittiest, clearest pen;
_The voice most echoed by consenting men;
The soul, which answered best to all well said
By others, and which most requital made_.”—CLEVELAND.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._

RUBENS.

_From the original Picture by himself,
in His Majesty’s Collection._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

RUBENS.

The father of this great painter was a magistrate of Antwerp, who,
during the desperate struggle of the Netherlands to shake off the
dominion of Spain, retired from his own city to Cologne, to escape from
the miseries of war. There, in the year 1577, Peter Paul Rubens was
born. At an early age he gave indications of superior abilities, and his
education was conducted with suitable care. The elder Rubens returned to
Antwerp with his family, when that city passed again into the hands of
Spain. It was the custom of that age to domesticate the sons of
honourable families in the houses of the nobility, where they were
instructed in all the accomplishments becoming a gentleman: and in
conformity with it, young Rubens entered as a page into the service of
the Countess of Lalain. The restraint and formality of this life ill
suited his warm imagination and active mind: and on his father’s death,
he obtained permission from his mother to commence his studies as a
painter under Tobias Verhaecht, by whom he was taught the principles of
landscape painting, and of architecture. But Rubens wished to become an
historical painter, and he entered the school of Adam Van Oort, who was
then eminent in that branch of art. This man possessed great talents,
but they were degraded by a brutal temper and profligate habits, and
Rubens soon left him in disgust. His next master was Otho Van Veen, or
Venius, an artist in almost every respect the opposite of Van Oort,
distinguished by scholastic acquirements as well as professional skill,
of refined manners, and amiable disposition. Rubens was always
accustomed to speak of him with great respect and affection, nor was it
extraordinary that he should have conceived a cordial esteem for a man
whose character bore so strong a resemblance to his own. From Venius,
Rubens imbibed his fondness for allegory; which, though in many respects
objectionable, certainly contributes to the magnificence of his style.
In 1600, after having studied four years under this master, he visited
Italy, bearing letters of recommendation from Albert, governor of the
Netherlands, by whom he had already been employed, to Vincenzio Gonzaga,
duke of Mantua. He was received by that prince with marked distinction,
and appointed one of the gentlemen of his chamber. He remained at Mantua
two years, during which time he executed several original pictures, and
devoted himself attentively to the study of the works of Giulio Romano.

In passing through Venice, Rubens had been deeply impressed with the
great works of art which he saw there. He had determined to revisit that
city on the first opportunity, and at length obtained permission from
his patron to do so. In the Venetian school his genius found its proper
aliment; but it is perhaps to Paul Veronese that he is principally
indebted. He looked at Titian, no doubt, with unqualified admiration;
but Titian has on all occasions, a dignity and sedateness not congenial
to the gay temperament of Rubens. In Paul Veronese he found all the
elements of his subsequent style; gaiety, magnificence, fancy disdainful
of restraint, brilliant colouring, and that masterly execution by which
an almost endless variety of objects are blended into one harmonious
whole. Three pictures painted for the church of the Jesuits immediately
after his return to Mantua, attested how effectually he had prosecuted
his studies at Venice. He then developed those powers which afterwards
established his reputation, and secured to him a distinction which he
still holds without a competitor, that of being the best imitator, and
most formidable rival of the Venetian school.

Rome, with its exhaustless treasures of art, was still before him, and
he was soon gratified with an opportunity of visiting that capital. The
Duke of Mantua wished to obtain copies of some of the finest pictures
there, and he engaged Rubens to make them, with the double motive of
availing himself of his talents and facilitating his studies. This task
was doubtless rendered light to Rubens, as well by gratitude towards his
patron as by his own great facility of execution. In this respect Sir J.
Reynolds considers him superior to all other painters; and says that he
was “perhaps the greatest master in the mechanical part of his art, the
best workman with his tools, that ever handled a pencil.” He executed
for the Duke copies of several great works, which could scarcely be
distinguished from the originals. Among his own compositions, painted
while at Rome, the most conspicuous are three in the church of S. Croce
in Gerusalemme, two of which, Christ bearing the Cross, and the
Crucifixion, are considered to rank among his finest productions. There
is also, in the Campidoglio, a picture painted by him at this time, of
the finding of Romulus and Remus, a work of remarkable spirit and
beauty.

Rubens, however, had formed his style at Venice, and was not induced by
the contemplation of the great works at Rome to alter it in any
essential particular. It is not thence to be inferred that he was
insensible to the wonders which surrounded him at Rome; that he did not
appreciate the epic sublimity of Michael Angelo, the pure intelligence
of Raphael; his admiration of ancient sculpture is attested by his
written precepts. Of the antique, certainly, no trace of imitation is to
be found in his works; but perhaps the bold style of design, which he
had adopted in opposition to the meagre taste of his German
predecessors, was confirmed by the swelling outlines of Michael Angelo.
If he imitated Raphael in any thing, it was in composition; and if in
that great quality of art he has any superior, it is in Raphael alone.

The opinion which the Duke of Mantua had formed of Rubens’s general
powers was now evinced in an extraordinary manner. Having occasion, in
1605, to send an envoy to Spain, he selected Rubens for the purpose, and
directed him to return immediately from Rome to Mantua, in order to set
out on his embassy. The young artist succeeded equally well as a
diplomatist, and as a painter. He executed a portrait of the King, who
honoured him with flattering marks of distinction, and he fully
accomplished the object of his mission. Shortly after his return to
Mantua he revisited Rome, where he contributed three pictures to the
church of S. Maria in Vallicella. In these the imitation of Paul
Veronese is particularly conspicuous. He next went to Genoa, where he
executed several important works, and was regarded in that city with an
interest and respect commensurate to his high reputation. In the midst
of this splendid career, Rubens received intelligence that his mother,
from whom he had been absent eight years, lay dangerously ill. He
hastened to Antwerp, but she had expired before his arrival. The death
of this affectionate parent afflicted him so severely, that he
determined to quit a city fraught with painful associations, and to take
up his future residence in Italy. But the Duke Albert, and the Infanta
Isabella, being anxious to retain him in their own territory, he was
induced to relinquish his intention, and finally settled at Antwerp.

There he continued to practise during several years, and enriched
Europe, the Low Countries especially, with a surprising number of
pictures almost uniform in excellence. His style, indeed, with all its
admirable qualities, was one in which the delicacies of form and
expression were never allowed to stand in the way of despatch. His mode
of working was to make small sketches, slightly but distinctly; these
were delivered to his scholars, who executed pictures from them on a
larger scale, which they carried forward almost to the final stage, at
which Rubens took them up himself. Thus his own labour was given only to
invention and finishing, the only parts of the art in which the
painter’s genius is essentially exercised. Wherever his works were
dispersed, the demand for them increased, and fortune poured in on him
in a golden flood. Rubens’s mode of living at Antwerp was the _beau
idéal_ of a painter’s existence. His house was embellished with such a
collection of works of art, pictures, statues, busts, vases, and other
objects of curiosity and elegance, as gave it the air of a princely
museum. In the midst of these he pursued his labours, and it was his
constant practice while painting to have read to him works of ancient or
modern literature in various languages. It is a strong testimony to the
variety of his powers, and the cultivation of his mind, that he was well
skilled in seven different tongues. His splendid establishment
comprehended a collection of wild beasts, which he kept as living models
for those hunting pieces, and other representations of savage animals,
which have never been surpassed. Such talents and such success could not
fail of exciting envy; a cabal headed by Schut, Jansens, and Rombouts,
endeavoured to detract from his reputation, and it is amusing to find
him accused, among other deficiencies, of wanting invention! His great
picture of the Descent from the Cross, painted for the Cathedral of
Antwerp, and exhibited while the outcry against him was at its height,
effectually allayed it. Snyders and Wildens were answered in a similar
manner. They had insinuated that the chief credit of Rubens’s landscapes
and animals was due to their assistance. Rubens painted several lion and
tiger hunts, and other similar works, entirely with his own hand, which
he did not permit to be seen until they were completed. In these works
he even surpassed his former productions; they were executed with a
truth power, and energy, which excited universal astonishment, and
effectually put his adversaries to silence. Rubens condescended to give
no other reply to his calumniators; and he showed his own goodness of
heart, by finding employment for those among them whom he understood to
be in want of it.

In 1628 he was commissioned by Mary de Medici, Queen of France, to adorn
the gallery of the Luxembourg with a set of pictures, twenty-four in
number, illustrative of the events of her life. Within three years he
completed this magnificent series, in which allegory mingles with
history, and the immense variety of actors, human and superhuman, with
appropriate accompaniments, lays open a boundless field to the
imagination of the artist. The largest of these pictures, which is the
Coronation of Mary de Medici, combines with the gorgeous colouring
proper to the subject, a correctness and chastity of design seldom
attained by Rubens, and is consequently an example of that high
excellence which might be expected from his style when divested of its
imperfections. The gallery of the Luxembourg, as long as it possessed
those ornaments, was considered one of the wonders of Europe. The
pictures are now removed to the Louvre, and are seen perhaps with
diminished effect, among the mass of miscellaneous works with which they
are surrounded.

The two last of the Luxembourg series Rubens finished in Paris. On his
return to the Netherlands his political talents were again called into
requisition, and he was despatched by the Infanta Isabella to Madrid, to
receive instructions preparatory to a negotiation for peace between
Spain and England. Philip IV., and the Duke de Olivarez, his minister,
received him with every demonstration of regard, nor did they neglect to
avail themselves of his professional skill. The King engaged him to
paint four pictures of large dimensions for the Convent of Carmelites,
near Madrid, recently founded by Olivarez, to whom Philip presented
those magnificent works. The subjects were the Triumph of the New Law,
Abraham and Melchizedec, the four Evangelists, and the four Doctors of
the Church, with their distinctive emblems. He also painted a series of
pictures for the great Saloon of the Palace at Madrid, which represent
the Rape of the Sabines, the Battle between the Romans and Sabines, the
Bath of Diana, Perseus and Andromeda, the Rape of Helen, the Judgment of
Paris, and the Triumph of Bacchus. The Judgment of Paris is now in the
possession of Mr. Penrice, of Great Yarmouth, and may be considered one
of the finest of Rubens’s smaller pictures; the figures being half the
size of life. The King rewarded him munificently, and conferred on him
the honour of knighthood.

Rubens returned to Flanders in 1627, and had no sooner rendered an
account of his mission to the Infanta, than he was sent by that princess
to England in order to sound the Government on the subject of a peace
with Spain, the chief obstacle to which had been removed by the death of
the Duke of Buckingham. It is probable that Rubens’s extraordinary
powers as an artist formed one motive for employing him in those
diplomatic functions. The monarchs to whose courts he was sent were
passionate admirers of art; and the frequent visits which they made to
Rubens in his painting room, and the confidence with which they honoured
him, gave him opportunities, perhaps, in his double capacity, of
obviating political difficulties, which might not otherwise have been so
easily overcome. This was certainly the case in his negotiations with
Charles I. He was not, it appears, formally presented in the character
of an envoy. But the monarch received him with all the consideration due
to his distinguished character; and it was while he was engaged on the
paintings at Whitehall, the progress of which the King delighted to
inspect, that he disclosed the object of his visit, and produced his
credentials. This he did with infinite delicacy and address; and the
King was by no means indisposed to listen to his proposals. A council
was appointed to negotiate with him on the subject of a pacification,
which was soon after concluded. It was on this occasion that Rubens
painted and presented to the King the picture of Peace and War, which is
now in our National Gallery. The relation of that work to the object of
his mission is obvious: the blessings of peace in contradistinction to
the miseries of war are beautifully illustrated; and whether Rubens paid
this compliment to the King while his negotiations were in progress, or
after they were terminated, a more elegant and appropriate gift was
never addressed by a minister to a monarch. The painter was splendidly
remunerated, and honoured with knighthood by Charles in 1630. The object
of his mission being happily accomplished, he returned to the
Netherlands, where he was received with the distinction due to his
splendid genius and successful services.

His various and incessant labours appear to have prematurely broken his
constitution; he had scarcely attained his fifty-eighth year when he was
attacked by gout with more than usual severity. This painful disease was
succeeded by a general debility, which obliged him to desist from the
execution of large works, to relinquish all public business, and even to
limit his correspondence to his particular friends, and a few
distinguished artists. His letters, however, when he touches on the
subject of art, rise into a strain of animated enthusiasm. He continued
to work, but chiefly on small subjects, till the year 1640, when he died
at the age of sixty-three. He was interred with great splendour in the
church of St. James, under the altar of his private chapel, which he had
ornamented with one of his finest pictures. A monument was erected to
his memory by his widow and children, with an epitaph descriptive of his
distinguished talents, the functions he had filled, and the honours with
which he had been rewarded.

In extent of range the pencil of Rubens is unrivalled. History,
portrait, landscape under the aspect of every season, animal life in
every form, are equally familiar to him. His hunting pieces especially,
wherein lions, tigers, and other wild animals, with men, dogs, and
horses, are depicted under all the circumstances of fierce excitement,
momentary action, and complicated foreshortenings, are wonderful. Rubens
wanted only a purer style in designing the human figure, to have been a
perfect, as well as a universal painter. His taste in this particular is
singularly unlike that which the habits of his life seemed likely to
produce. He had been bred up in scenes of courtly elegance, and he was
acquainted with whatever was beautiful in art; yet his conception of
character, especially in relation to feminine beauty, betrays a singular
want of refinement. His goddesses, nymphs, and heroines are usually fat,
middle-aged ladies, sometimes even old and ugly; and they always retain
the peculiarities of individual models. His men too, though not without
an air of portly grandeur, want mental dignity. Faults of such magnitude
would have ruined the fame of almost any other painter; but while the
pictures of Rubens are before us, it is hard to criticise severely their
defects. If, as a colourist, he is inferior to Titian, it is, perhaps,
rather in kind than in degree: Titian’s colouring may be compared to the
splendour of the summer sun; that of Rubens excites the exhilarating
sensations of a spring morning. It is true that the artifice of his
system is sometimes too apparent, whereas, in Titian, it is wholly
concealed; Rubens, however, painted for a darker atmosphere, and adapted
the effect of his pictures to the light in which they were likely to be
seen. Inferior to Raphael in elegance and purity of composition, he
competes with him in fertility and clearness of arrangement. He drew
from Paul Veronese a general idea of diffused and splendid effect, but
he superadded powers of pathos and expression, to which that artist was
a stranger. It is, as Reynolds justly observes, only in his large works
that the genius of Rubens is fully developed; in these he appears as the
Homer of his art, dazzling and astonishing with poetic conception, with
grandeur, and energy, and executive power.

Of Rubens’s personal character we may speak in terms of high praise. He
bore his great reputation without pride or presumption; he was amiable
in his domestic relations, courteous and affable to all. He was the
liberal encourager of merit, especially in his own art, and he repaid
those among his contemporaries who aspersed him, by endeavouring to
serve them. His own mind was uncontaminated by envy, for which perhaps
little credit will be given him, conscious, as he must have been, of his
own most extraordinary endowments. His noble admission, however, of
Titian’s superiority, when he copied one of his works at Madrid, attests
the magnanimity of his disposition; and his almost parental kindness to
his pupil, Vandyke, shows that he was equally willing to recognize the
claims, and to promote the success of living genius.

Rubens’s greatest works are at Antwerp, Cologne, Paris, Munich, and
Madrid. The paintings at Whitehall might have formed a noble monument of
his powers, but they have suffered both from neglect and reparation.
There are smaller works of his in the National Gallery, the Dulwich
Gallery, and in almost every private collection in this country.

The best memoir of Rubens with which we are acquainted is in La Vie des
Peintres Flamands, par Descamps. Notices may also be found in the Abrégé
de la Vie des Peintres, par De Piles. There is an English life in
Bryan’s Dictionary of Painters.

[Illustration: Entrance to Rubens’ Garden, from a design by himself.]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by T. Woolnoth._

RICHELIEU.

_From a Picture,
in his Majesty’s Collection._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

RICHELIEU.

The name of Du Plessis was borne by an ancient family of Poitou, which
subsequently acquired by marriage the property and title of Richelieu.
Francois Du Plessis was attached to King Henry III. while he was yet
Duke of Anjou; accompanied him when he became King of Poland; and was
made Grand Provost of his Court, after his accession to the throne of
France. In this capacity he arrested the followers of Guise, when that
duke was assassinated at Blois, in 1588.

Armand Jean Du Plessis, the future cardinal, was the third son of this
dignitary, and was born on the 5th of September, 1585, at Paris, say his
biographers, Aubery and Leclerc; whilst tradition claims this honour for
the family château in Poitou. He received the elements of education at
home, from the Prior of St. Florent; but soon quitted the paternal
mansion, first for the College of Navarre, subsequently for that of
Lisieux. From thence he removed to a military academy, being intended
for the profession of arms. But on his brother, who was Bishop of Luçon,
resolving to quit the world for the cloister, young Armand was advised
to abandon the sword for the gown, in order that he might succeed to his
brother’s bishopric.

He adopted the advice, entered with zeal into the study of theology, and
soon qualified himself to pass creditably through the exercises
necessary to obtain the degree of Doctor in Theology. He already wore
the insignia of his bishopric. But the Pope’s sanction was still
wanting, and was withheld on account of the extreme youth of the
expectant. Resolved to overcome this difficulty, he set off to Rome,
addressed the Pontiff in a Latin oration, and gave such proofs of talent
and acquirements above his age, that he was consecrated at Rome on the
Easter of 1607, being as yet but twenty-two years of age.

This position attained, Richelieu endeavoured to make the utmost
advantage of it. He acquired the good-will of his diocese by rigid
attention to the affairs that fell under his jurisdiction; whilst in
frequent visits to the capital, he sought to acquire reputation by
preaching. In the Estates General of 1614, he was chosen deputy by his
diocese, and was afterwards selected by the clergy of the states to
present their _cahier_ or vote of grievances to the monarch. It was an
opportunity not to be thrown away by the ambition of Richelieu, who
instantly put himself forward as the champion of the Queen Mother
against the cabal of the high noblesse. He at the same time adroitly
pointed out where she might find auxiliaries, by complaining that
ecclesiastics had no longer a place in the public administration, and
were thus degraded from their ancient and legitimate share of influence.
Richelieu was rewarded with the place of Almoner to the Queen; and he
was soon admitted to her confidence, as well as to that of her favourite
the Maréchal D’Ancre.

In 1616 he was appointed Secretary of State; but aware by what slender
tenure the office was held, he refused to give up his bishopric. This
excited not only the animadversions of the public, but the anger of the
favourite. Richelieu offered to give up his secretaryship, but the Queen
could not dispense with his talents. The assassination of the favourite,
however, soon overthrew the influence of the Queen herself. Still
Richelieu remained attached to her, and followed her to Blois: but the
triumphant party dreading his talents for intrigue, ordered him to quit
the Queen, and repair to one of his priories in Anjou. He was
subsequently commanded to retire to his bishopric, and at last exiled to
Avignon. Here he sought to avert suspicion by affecting to devote
himself once more to theological pursuits. During this period he
published one or two polemical tracts, the mediocrity of which proves
either that his genius lay not in this path, or, as is probable, that
his interest and thoughts were elsewhere.

The escape of the Queen Mother from her place of confinement, excited
the fears of her enemies, and the hopes of Richelieu. He wrote instantly
to Court, to proffer his services towards bringing about an
accommodation. In the difficulty of the moment, the King and his
favourite accepted the offer. Richelieu was released from exile, and
allowed to join the Queen at Angoulême, where he laboured certainly to
bring about a reconciliation. This was not, however, such as the Court
could have wished. De Luynes, the favourite, accused the Bishop of Luçon
of betraying him. The Queen sought to regain her ancient authority; the
Court wished to quiet and content her without this sacrifice; and both
parties, accordingly, after seeming and nominal agreements, fell off
again from each other. De Luynes sought a support in the family of
Condé; whilst Mary de Medici, refusing to repair to Paris, and keeping
in her towns of surety on the Loire, flattered the Huguenots, and
endeavoured to bind them to her party. On this occasion Richelieu became
intimately acquainted with the designs and intrigues and spirit of the
Reformers.

The division betwixt the King and his mother still continued. The
discontented nobles joined the latter, and flew to arms. This state of
things did not please Richelieu, since defeat ruined his party, and
success brought honour rather to those who fought than to him. He
therefore exerted himself, first to keep away the chief of the nobility
from the Queen, secondly, to bring about an accommodation. The
difficulties were got over by the defeat of the Queen’s forces owing to
surprise, and by the promotion of Richelieu to the rank of Cardinal. The
malevolent coupled the two circumstances together; and even the
impartial must descry a singular coincidence. The event, at least,
proves his address; for when the agreement was finally concluded, it was
found that Richelieu, the negotiator, had himself reaped all the
benefits. He received the cardinal’s hat from the King’s hand at Lyons,
towards the close of the year 1622.

Not content with this advancement of her counsellor, Mary de Medici
continued to press the King to admit Richelieu to his cabinet. Louis
long resisted her solicitations, such was his instinctive dread of the
man destined to rule him. Nor was it until 1624, after the lapse of
sixteen months, and when embarrassed with difficult state questions,
which no one then in office was capable of managing, that the royal will
was declared admitting Richelieu to the council. Even this grace was
accompanied by the drawback, that the Cardinal was allowed to give
merely his opinion, not his vote.

Once, however, seated at the council table, the colleagues of the
Cardinal shrunk before him into ciphers. The marriage of the Princess
Henrietta with the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles I., was then in
agitation. Richelieu undertook to conduct it, and overcame the delays of
etiquette and the repugnance of Rome. De Vieville, the King’s favourite
and minister, venturing to show jealousy of Richelieu, was speedily
removed. The affair of the Valteline had given rise to endless
negotiations. The matter in dispute was the attempt of the House of
Austria to procure a passage across the Grisons to connect their Italian
and German dominions. France and the Italian powers had opposed this by
protests. Richelieu boldly marched an army, and avowed in council his
determination to adopt the policy and resume the scheme of Henry IV.,
for the humiliation of the House of Austria. The King and his Council
were terrified at such a gigantic proposal: instead of being awed by the
genius of Richelieu, as yet they mistrusted it. Peace was concluded with
Spain; on no unfavourable conditions indeed, but not on such as
flattered the new minister’s pride.

Whilst these negotiations with Spain were yet in progress, the Huguenots
menaced a renewal of the civil war. Richelieu advised in the council
that their demands should be granted, urging that whilst a foreign foe
was in the field, domestic enemies were better quieted than irritated.
His enemies took advantage of this, and represented the Cardinal as a
favourer of heresy. This charge is continually brought against those who
are indifferent to religious dissensions; but it is probable that
Richelieu did seek at this time to gain the support of the Protestant
party, attacked as he was by a strong band of malcontent nobles, envious
of his rise, and intolerant of his authority.

The whole Court, indeed, became leagued against the superiority and
arrogance of the Minister; the most _qualified_ of the noblesse, to use
Aubery’s expression, joined with the Duke of Orleans, the monarch’s
brother, and with the Queen, to overthrow Richelieu. As the Maréchal
D’Ancre had been made away with by assassination, so the same means were
again meditated. The Comte de Chalais offered himself as the instrument:
but the mingled good fortune and address of Richelieu enabled him to
discover the plot, and avoid this, and every future peril.

His anchor of safety was in the confidence reposed in him by Louis XIII.
This prince, although of most feeble will, was not without the just
pride of a monarch; he could not but perceive that his former ministers
or favourites were but the instruments or slaves of the noblesse, who
consulted but their own interests, and provided but for the difficulties
of the moment. Richelieu, on the contrary, though eager for power,
sought it as an instrument to great ends, to the consolidation of the
monarchy, and to its ascendancy in Europe. He was in the habit of
unfolding these high views to Louis, who, though himself incapable of
putting them into effect, nevertheless had the spirit to admire and
approve them. Richelieu proposed to render his reign illustrious abroad,
and at home to convert the chief of a turbulent aristocracy into a real
monarch. It forms indeed the noblest part of this great statesman’s
character, that he won upon the royal mind, not by vulgar flattery, but
by exciting within it a love of glory and of greatness, to which, at the
same time, he pointed the way.

Accordingly, through all the plots formed against him, Louis XIII.
remained firmly attached to Richelieu, sacrificing to this minister’s
preeminence his nobility, his brother Gaston, Duke of Orleans, his
Queen, and finally the Queen Mother herself, when she too became jealous
of the man whom she had raised. As yet however Mary de Medici was his
friend, and Richelieu succeeded in sending his enemies to prison or to
the scaffold. Gaston was obliged to bow the knee before the Cardinal.
And Anne of Austria, who was accused of having consented to espouse
Gaston in case of the King’s death, was for ever exiled from the
affections of the monarch, and from any influence over him. If this
latter triumph over the young wife of Louis, whose enmity certainly the
Cardinal had most to fear, was excited by coldly invented falsehoods,
history has scarcely recorded a more odious crime.

It is said that Richelieu himself was enamoured of Anne of Austria, and
that he found himself outrivalled by the Duke of Buckingham. What credit
should be assigned to the existence and influence of such feelings it is
difficult to determine. But certainly a strong and personal jealousy of
Buckingham is to be perceived in the conduct of Richelieu. Policy would
have recommended the minister to cajole rather than affront the English
favourite at a time when the Huguenot party was menacing and the
nobility still indignant. The Cardinal had not long before concluded the
marriage of the Princess Henrietta with Charles, in order to secure the
English alliance, and thus deprive the Huguenots of a dangerous support.
Now he ran counter to these prudent measures, defied Buckingham, whom he
forbade to visit Paris, and thus united against himself and against the
monarchy, two most powerful enemies, one foreign, one domestic.

If Richelieu thus imprudently indulged his passion or his pique, he
redeemed the error by activity and exertion unusual to the age. He at
once formed the project of attacking the Huguenots in their chief
strong-hold of La Rochelle. Buckingham could not fail to attempt the
relief of this sea-port; and the Cardinal anticipated the triumph of
personally defeating a rival. He accordingly himself proceeded to
preside over the operation of the siege. To render the blockade
effectual, it was requisite to stop up the port. The military officers
whom he employed could suggest no means of doing this. Richelieu took
counsel of his classic reading; and having learned from Quintus Curtius
how Alexander the Great reduced Tyre, by carrying out a mole against it
through the sea, he was encouraged to undertake a similar work. The
great mound was accordingly commenced, and well-nigh finished, when a
storm arose and destroyed it in a single night. But Richelieu was only
rendered more obstinate: he recommenced the mole, and was seen with the
volume of Alexander’s History in his hand, encouraging the workmen and
overruling the objections of the tacticians of the army. The second
attempt succeeded, the harbour was blocked up, and the promised aid of
England rendered fruitless. The Cardinal triumphed, for La Rochelle
surrendered. In his treatment of the vanquished, Richelieu showed a
moderation seldom observable in his conduct. He was lenient, and even
tolerant towards the Huguenots, content with having humbled the pride of
his rival, Buckingham.

La Rochelle was no sooner taken, and Richelieu rewarded by the title of
Prime Minister, than he resumed those projects of humbling the House of
Austria, in which he had previously been interrupted. A quarrel about
the succession to Mantua afforded him a pretext to interfere; and he did
so, after his fashion, not by mere negotiations, but by an army. This
expedition proved a source of quarrel between him and the Queen Mother,
Mary de Medici, who hitherto had been his firm and efficient friend.
Private and family reasons rendered Mary averse to the war. Both the
French Queens of the House of Medici had shown the reverence of their
family for the princes of the blood of Austria. Mary, on her accession
to the regency, had interrupted Henry IV.’s plans for humbling the
influence of that house. Richelieu’s endeavour to revive this scheme
called forth her opposition. He was obstinate from high motives; she
from petty ones. But she could not forgive the ingratitude of him whom
she had fostered, and who now dared to thwart and counteract her. The
voice of the conqueror of La Rochelle triumphed in council, and his
project in the field. The French were victorious in Italy, and the
minister equally so over the mind of the monarch.

But Mary de Medici could not forgive; and she now openly showed her
hatred of Richelieu, and exerted herself to the utmost to injure him
with the King. Though daily defeating her intrigues, the Cardinal
dreaded her perseverance, and resolved to drag the King with him to
another Italian campaign. Louis obeyed, and the court set out for the
south, the Queen Mother herself accompanying it. Richelieu, however, did
not tarry for the slow motions of the monarch. He flew to the army, took
upon him the command, and displayed all the abilities of a great general
in out-manœuvring and worsting the generals and armies of Savoy. In the
mean time Louis fell dangerously ill at Lyons. His mother, an
affectionate attendant on his sick couch, resumed her former empire over
him. At one moment his imminent death seemed to threaten the Cardinal
with ruin. Louis recovered, however; and his first act was to compel a
reconciliation, in form at least, between the Cardinal and the Queen
Mother.

The King’s illness, although not so immediately fatal to Richelieu as
his enemies had hoped, was still attended with serious consequences to
him. The French army had met with ill success through the treachery of
the general, Marillac, who was secretly attached to the Queen’s party:
and the failure was attributed to Richelieu.

Mary de Medici renewed her solicitations to her son, that he would
dismiss his minister. Louis, it appears, made a promise to that effect;
a reluctant promise, given to get rid of her importunity. Mary
calculated too securely upon his keeping it; she broke forth in bitter
contumely against Richelieu; deprived him of his superintendence over
her household; and treated Madame de Combalet, the Cardinal’s niece, who
had sunk on her knees to entreat her to moderate her anger, almost with
insult. The King was present, and seemed to sanction her violence; so
that Richelieu withdrew to make his preparations for exile. Louis,
dissatisfied and irresolute, retired to Versailles; whilst Mary remained
triumphant at the Luxembourg, receiving the congratulations of her
party. Richelieu in the mean time, ere taking his departure, repaired to
Versailles, and, once there, resumed the ascendant over the monarch. The
tidings of this was a thunderstroke to Mary and her party, who became
instantly the victims of the Cardinal’s revenge. Marillac was beheaded;
and Mary de Medici, herself at length completely vanquished by her
rival, was driven out of France to spend the rest of her days in exile.

Richelieu had thus triumphed over every interest and every personage
that was, or was likely to be, inimical to his sway. The young Queen,
Anne of Austria, and the Queen Mother, Mary de Medici, had alike been
sacrificed to his preeminence; and it appears that he employed the same
means to ruin both. One of the weak points of Louis XIII. was jealousy
of his brother, Gaston, Duke of Orleans, whom he could never abide.
Notwithstanding his sloth, the King assumed the direction of the Italian
army, and went through the campaign, to prevent Gaston from earning
honour, by filling the place of command. Richelieu made effectual use of
this foible; he overcame Anne of Austria, by bringing proofs that she
preferred Gaston to the King; and he overcame Mary de Medici by a
similar story, that she favoured Gaston, and was paving the way for his
succession.

The Duke of Orleans was now indignant at his mother’s exile, and
espoused her interest with heat. He intruded upon Richelieu, menacing
him personally; nor did the latter refrain from returning both menace
and insult. Gaston fled to Lorraine, and formed a league with its duke,
and with the majority of the French noblesse, for the purpose of
avenging the wrongs of his mother, and driving from authority the
upstart and tyrannical minister.

The trial of Marillac had roused the spirit and indignation even of
those nobles, who had previously respected and bowed to the minister of
the royal choice. This nobleman and maréchal was seized at the head of
his army, and conveyed, not to a prison, but to Richelieu’s own
country-house at Ruel. Instead of being tried by his Peers or in
Parliament, he was here brought before a Commission of Judges, chosen by
his enemy. He was tried in the Cardinal’s own hall, condemned, and
executed in the Place de Grève.

The iniquity of such a proceeding offered a popular pretext for the
nobility to withstand the Cardinal: and they were not without other
reasons. Richelieu not only threatened their order with the scaffold,
but his measures of administration were directed to deprive them of
their ancient privileges, and means of wealth and domination. One of
these was the right of governors of provinces to raise the revenue
within their jurisdiction, and to employ or divert no small portion of
it to their use. Richelieu to remedy this transferred the office of
collecting the revenue to new officers, called the _Elect_. He tried
this in Languedoc, then governed by the Duc de Montmorenci, a noble of
the first rank, whose example consequently would have weight, and who
had always proved himself obedient and loyal. Moved, however, by his
private wrongs, as well as that of his order, he now joined the party of
the Duke of Orleans. That weak prince, after forming his alliance with
the Duke of Lorraine, had raised an army. Richelieu lost not a moment in
despatching a force which reduced Lorraine, and humbled its hitherto
independent duke almost to the rank of a subject. Gaston then marched
his army to Languedoc, and joined Montmorenci. The Maréchal de Brezé,
Richelieu’s brother-in-law, led the royal troops against them, defeated
Gaston at Castelnaudari, and took Montmorenci prisoner. This noble had
been the friend and supporter of Richelieu, who even called him his son;
yet the Cardinal’s cruel policy determined that he should die. There was
difficulty in proving before the Judges that he had actually borne arms
against the King.

“The smoke and dust,” said St. Reuil, the witness, “rendered it
impossible to recognize any combatant distinctly. But when I saw one
advance alone, and cut his way through five ranks of gens-d’armes, I
knew that it must be Montmorenci.”

This gallant descendant of five Constables of France perished on the
scaffold at Toulouse. Richelieu deemed the example necessary, to strike
terror into the nobility. And he immediately took advantage of that
terror, by removing all the governors of provinces, and replacing them
throughout with officers personally attached to his interests.

Having thus made, as it were, a clear stage for the fulfilment of his
great political schemes, Richelieu turned his exertions to his original
plan of humbling the House of Austria, and extending the territories of
France at its expense. He formed an alliance with the great Gustavus
Adolphus, who then victoriously supported the course of religious
liberty in Germany. Richelieu drew more advantage from the death than
from the victories of his ally; since, as the price of his renewing his
alliance with the Swedes, he acquired the possession of Philipsburg, and
opened the way towards completing that darling project of France and
every French statesman, the acquisition of the Rhine as a frontier.

The French having manifested their design to get possession of Treves,
the Spaniards anticipated them; and open war ensued betwixt the two
monarchies. The Cardinal allied with the Dutch, and drew up a treaty “to
free the Low Countries from the cruel servitude in which they are held
by the Spaniards.” In order to effect this, the French and Dutch were to
capture the fortresses of the country, and finally divide it between
them.

But Richelieu’s views or means were not mature enough to produce a
successful plan of conquest. Surrounded as France was by the dominions
of her rival, she was obliged to divide her forces, attack on many
sides, and make conquests on none. The generals, whom he was obliged to
employ, were remarkable but for servility to him, and jealousy of each
other. The Cardinal de la Valette headed one of his armies, but with no
better success than his lay colleagues. Instead of crushing Spain,
Richelieu endured the mortification of witnessing the irruption of her
troops into the centre of the kingdom, where they took Corbie, and
menaced the very capital.

This was a critical moment for Richelieu, who is said to have lost
courage amidst these reverses, and to have been roused to confidence by
the exhortations of his Capuchin friend and confidant, Father Joseph. He
was obliged on this occasion to relax his severity and pride, to own
that the generals of his choice were little worthy of their trust, and
to call on the old noblesse and the princes of the blood to lead the
French troops to the defence of the country. Both obeyed the summons,
and exerted themselves to prove their worth by the recapture of Corbie,
and the repulse of the Spaniards. The enemies of the Cardinal were aware
how much the ignominy of these reverses, as the result of his mighty
plans, must have abated the King’s confidence in him. They endeavoured
to take advantage of the moment, and Louis seemed not averse to shake
off his minister. There was no trusting the King’s intentions, however,
and it was agreed to assassinate Richelieu at Amiens. The Comte de
Soissons had his hand on his sword for the purpose, awaiting but the
signal from Gaston; but the latter wanted resolution to give it, and
Richelieu again escaped the murderous designs of his foes.

The character of Louis XIII. left his courtiers without hope. It was
such a general mass of weakness, as to offer no particular weak point of
which they could take advantage. Too cold to be enamoured of either wife
or mistress, his gallantries offered no means of captivating his favour;
nor was he bigot enough to be ruled through his conscience by priestly
confessors. It is singular that the gallant, peremptory, and able Louis
XIV. was governed and influenced by those means which had no hold upon
his weak sire. Still as these were the received ways for undermining the
influence of a dominant minister, Louis XIII. was assailed through his
supposed mistresses, and through his confessors, to induce him to shake
off Richelieu. But all attempts were vain. The ladies Hauteville and
Lafayette, who had pleased Louis, retired to a convent. His confessors,
who had hinted the impiety of supporting the Dutch and German
Protestants, were turned out of the palace. And the Queen, Anne of
Austria, with whom Louis made a late reconciliation, the fruit of which
was the birth of the future Louis XIV., was exposed to disrespect and
insult. Her apartments and papers were searched by order of the
Cardinal, a letter was torn from her bosom, she was confined to her
room, and menaced with being sent back to Spain.

Richelieu in his wars was one of those scientific combatants who seek to
weary out an enemy, and who husband their strength in order not to crush
at once, but to ruin in the end. Such at least were the tactics by which
he came triumphant out of the struggle with Spain. He made no conquests
at first, gained no striking victories; but he compensated for his
apparent want of success by perseverance, by taking advantage of defeat
to improve the army, and by labouring to transfer to the crown the
financial and other resources which had been previously absorbed by the
aristocracy. Thus the war, though little brilliant at first, produced at
last these very important results. Arras in the north, Turin in the
south, Alsace in the east, fell into the hands of the French; Rousillon
was annexed to the monarchy; and Catalonia revolted from Spain.
Richelieu might boast that he had achieved the great purposes of Henry
IV., not so gloriously indeed as that heroic prince might have done, but
no less effectually. This was effected not so much by arms as by
administration. The foundation was laid for that martial preeminence
which Louis XIV. long enjoyed; and which he might have retained, had the
virtue of moderation been known to him.

It was not without incurring great personal perils, with proportionate
address and good fortune, that Cardinal Richelieu arrived at such great
results. The rebellion of the Comte de Soissons, the same whose project
of assassination had failed, menaced the Minister seriously. In a battle
against the royal army, the Count was completely victorious, an event
that might have caused a revolution in the government, had not fortune
neutralized it by his death. He fell by a pistol-shot, whilst
contemplating the scene of victory. His friends asserted that he was
murdered by an emissary of the Cardinal: according to others, the bullet
was accidentally discharged from his own pistol.

But the most remarkable plot which assailed Richelieu, was that of
Cinq-Mars, a young nobleman selected to be the King’s favourite, on
account of his presumed frivolity. But he was capable of deep thoughts
and passions; and wearied by the solitude in which the monarch lived,
and to which he was reduced by the Minister’s monopoly of all power, he
dared to plot the Cardinal’s overthrow. This bold attempt was sanctioned
by the King himself, who at intervals complained of the yoke put upon
him.

Great interests were at stake, for Richelieu, reckoning upon the
monarch’s weak health, meditated procuring the regency for himself. Anne
of Austria, aware of this intention, approved of the project of
Cinq-Mars, which of course implied the assassination of the Cardinal. No
other mode of defying his power and talent could have been contemplated.
But Richelieu was on the watch. The Court was then in the south of
France, engaged in the conquest of Roussillon, a situation favourable
for the relation of the conspirators with Spain. The Minister surprised
one of the emissaries, had the fortune to seize a treaty concluded
between them and the enemies of France; and with this flagrant proof of
their treason, he repaired to Louis, and forced from him an order for
their arrest. It was tantamount to their condemnation. Cinq-Mars and his
friends perished on the scaffold; Anne of Austria was again humbled; and
every enemy of the Cardinal shrunk in awe and submission before his
ascendency. Amongst them was the King himself, whom Richelieu looked
upon as an equal in dignity, an inferior in mind and in power. The
guards of the Cardinal were numerous as the Monarch’s, and independent
of any authority save that of their immediate master. A treaty was even
drawn up between king and minister, as between two potentates. But the
power and the pride of Richelieu reached at once their height and their
termination. A mortal illness seized him in the latter days of 1642, a
few months after the execution of Cinq-Mars. No remorse for his cruelty
or abatement of his pride marked his last moments. He summoned the
monarch like a servant to his couch, instructed him what policy to
follow, and appointed the minister who was to be his own successor. Even
in the last religious duties, the same character and the same spirit
were observable. As his cardinal’s robe was a covering and excuse for
all crimes in life, he seemed to think that it exempted him from the
common lot of mortals after death.

Such was the career of this supereminent statesman, who, although in the
position of Damocles all his life, with the sword of the assassin
suspended over his head, surrounded with enemies, and with insecure and
treacherous support even from the monarch whom he served, still not only
maintained his own station, but possessed time and zeal to frame and
execute gigantic projects for the advancement of his country and of his
age. It makes no small part of Henry IV.’s glory that he conceived a
plan for diminishing the power of the House of Austria. Richelieu,
without either the security or the advantages of the king and the
warrior, achieved it. Not only this, but he dared to enter upon the war
at the very same time when he was humbling that aristocracy which had
hitherto composed the martial force of the country.

The effects of his domestic policy were indeed more durable than those
of what he most prided himself upon, his foreign policy. The latter was
his end, the former his means; but the means were the more important of
the two. For half a century previous, kings had been acquiring a
sacro-sanctity, a power founded on respect, which equalled that of
Asiatic despots; whilst at the same time their real sources of power
remained in the hands of the aristocracy. From this contradiction, this
want of harmony betwixt the theoretic and the real power of monarchs,
proceeded a state of licence liable at all times to produce the most
serious convulsions. To this state of things Richelieu put an end for
ever. He crushed the power of the great nobility, as Henry VII., by very
different means, had done before him in England. He made Louis a
sovereign in the most absolute sense; he reformed and changed the whole
system of administration, destroyed all local authorities, and
centralized them, as the term is, in the capital and the court. We see,
accordingly, that it was only the capital which could oppose Mazarin;
all provincial force was destroyed by Richelieu. He it was, in fact, who
founded the French monarchy, such as it existed until near the end of
the eighteenth century, a grand, indeed, rather than a happy result. He
was a man of penetrating and commanding intellect, who visibly
influenced the fortunes of Europe to an extent which few princes or
ministers have equalled. Unscrupulous in his purposes, he was no less so
in the means by which he effected them. But so long as men are honoured,
not for their moral excellences, but for the great things which they
have done for themselves, or their country, the name of Richelieu will
be recollected with respect, as that of one of the most successful
statesmen that ever lived.

His measures with respect to commerce were very remarkable. He proposed
to render the French marine as formidable as the French armies, and
chose the wisest means in favouring colonization and commercial
companies for the purpose. The chief part of their successful
settlements in the east and west the French owe to Richelieu. In
financial measures he showed least sagacity, and the disordered state in
which he left this branch of the administration was the principal cause
of the difficulties of his successor.

As a patron of letters, Richelieu has acquired a reputation almost
rivalling that of his statesmanship. His first and earliest success in
life had been as a scholar supporting his theses; and, as it is
continually observed that great men form very erroneous judgments of
their own excellences, he ever prided himself especially in his powers
as a penman: it was a complete mistake on his part. He has left a
considerable quantity of theological tracts of trifling merit.

Not content with his own sphere of greatness, he aspired to the minor
praise of being skilled in the fashionable literature of the day; and
amused himself by composing dramatic pieces, some of which Corneille was
employed to correct. The independence of the poet, and the pride of the
patron, led to a quarrel of which we have given some account in the life
of the great tragedian. In 1635 Richelieu founded the French Academy. We
should expect to find in his political writings traces of the
master-hand of one, who, with a mind of unusual power, had long studied
the subject of which he wrote. But those which are ascribed to him, for
none, we believe are avowed, or absolutely known to be his, are of
unequal merit. The ‘Mémoires de la Mère, et du Fils,’ are mediocre, and
unworthy of him. The ‘Testament Politique du Cardinal de Richelieu’ (the
authenticity of which is strongly contested by Voltaire) bears a much
higher reputation as a work upon Government. La Bruyere has said of it,
that the man who had done such things ought never to have written, or to
have written in the style in which it is written.

There are several English lives of Cardinal Richelieu, most of them
published in the seventeenth century, but none which we know to be of
authority. In French, we may recommend the reader to the life of Aubery.
The best account of Richelieu, however, is said to be contained in the
‘Histoire de Louis XIII.’ by P. Griffet.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. Holl._

J. H. WOLLASTON.

_From the original Picture by J. Jackson
in the possession of the Royal Society._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

WOLLASTON.

No record of this eminent philosopher has yet appeared, except his
scientific papers, and a few meagre biographical sketches published
shortly after his death. It is to be hoped that some one duly qualified
for the task will become the historian of his life and labours before it
is too late.

William Hyde Wollaston was born August 6, 1766. His grandfather was well
known as the author of a work, entitled ‘The Religion of Nature
Delineated.’ He completed his education at Caius College, Cambridge. It
has been said, in most of the memoirs of him, that he obtained the
honour of being senior wrangler. This is a mistake, arising from Francis
Wollaston, of Sidney, having gained the first place in 1783. It appears
from the Cantabrigienses Graduati that he did not graduate in Arts; but,
with a view to practising medicine, proceeded to the degrees of M.B. in
1787, and M.D. in 1793. He was not unversed, however, in mathematical
studies. He first established himself as a physician at Bury St.
Edmunds, in Suffolk; but meeting with little encouragement, removed to
London. Soon after this change of abode, he became a candidate for the
office of physician to St. George’s Hospital, in opposition to Dr.
Pemberton. The latter was elected, and Wollaston, in a fit of pique,
declared that he would abandon the profession, and never more write a
prescription, were it for his own father.

He kept to his resolution, hasty and unwise as it may seem; and from
this time forward devoted himself solely to the cultivation of science.
Even in an economical view he had no cause to regret this, for he
acquired wealth by the exercise of his inventive genius. One single
discovery, that of a method by which platinum can be made ductile and
malleable, is said to have produced him about thirty thousand pounds. It
has been objected that he derogated from the dignity of the philosophic
character by too keen an eye towards making his experiments profitable:
but in this field, if in any, the labourer is surely worthy of his
reward; and unless it can be shown that he turned away from any train of
discovery, because it did not promise pecuniary gain, surely not a
shadow of blame can be attached to him for profiting by the legitimate
earnings of his industry and talents. That he was fond of acquiring
money, there is good reason to believe; but there is a story, which has
been before told, and which we have ourselves some reason to consider
authentic, which proves that he could use nobly that which he had gained
frugally. A gentleman, in embarrassed circumstances, requested his
interference to procure some place under government. He replied, “I have
lived to sixty without asking a single favour from men in office, and it
is not, after that age, that I shall be induced to do it, were it even
to serve a brother. If the enclosed can be of any use to you, in your
present difficulties, pray accept it; for it is much at your service.”
The enclosure was a cheque for ten thousand pounds.

One of Wollaston’s peculiarities was an exceeding jealousy of any person
entering his laboratory. “Do you see that furnace?” he once said to a
friend, who had penetrated unbidden to this sacred ground. “Yes.” “Then
make a profound bow to it, for this is the first, and will be the last
time of your seeing it.” It is not a necessary inference, that this
dislike to having his processes observed arose from jealousy either of
his fame or his profit: it may have been merely the result of a somewhat
saturnine and reserved temper, which seems to have shunned unnecessary
publicity on all occasions.

Wollaston was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1793. He was
appointed one of its Secretaries, November 6, 1806. His first paper,
which is on medical subjects, is published in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1797; and, until his death, he continued to be a
frequent contributor. His papers amount in number to thirty-nine, and
must be well examined before a just idea can be formed of the extent and
variety of his scientific knowledge. They embrace various subjects
connected with Pathology, Optics, Electricity, Chemistry,
Crystallography, and mechanical contrivances of various sorts. He
contributed a few papers to other philosophical works. Of the Geological
Society he was an active member, though he sent no memoirs to its
Transactions; and on the first annual meeting of that body after his
death, the president, Dr. Fitton, bore testimony to the high value of
his services to the science of Geology.

The lives of Wollaston and Davy began and ended nearly at the same time,
and ran parallel to each other; they never crossed. Each was original,
and independent of the other; their minds were unlike, their processes
different, and the discoveries of one never interfered with those of the
other. “The chemical manipulations of Wollaston and Davy,” we quote from
Dr. Paris, “offered a singular contrast to each other, and might be
considered as highly characteristic of the temperaments and intellectual
qualities of these remarkable men. Every process of the former was
regulated with the most scrupulous regard to microscopic accuracy, and
conducted with the utmost neatness of detail. It has been already stated
with what turbulence and apparent confusion the experiments of the
latter were conducted; and yet each was equally excellent in his own
style; and as artists, they have not unaptly been compared to Teniers
and Michael Angelo. By long discipline, Wollaston acquired such power in
commanding and fixing his attention upon minute objects, that he was
able to recognize resemblances, and to distinguish differences, between
precipitates produced by re-agents, which were invisible to ordinary
observers, and which enabled him to submit to analysis the smallest
particle of matter with success. Davy on the other hand obtained his
results by an intellectual process, which may be said to have consisted
in the extreme rapidity with which he seized upon, and applied,
appropriate means at appropriate moments.

“To this faculty of minute observation, which Dr. Wollaston applied with
so much advantage, the chemical world is indebted for the introduction
of more simple methods of experimenting: for the substitution of a few
glass tubes and plates of glass for capacious retorts and receivers, and
for the art of making grains give the results which previously required
pounds. A foreign philosopher once called on Dr. Wollaston with letters
of introduction, and expressed an anxious desire to see his laboratory.
‘Certainly,’ we replied; and immediately produced a small tray
containing some glass tubes, a blow-pipe, two or three watch-glasses, a
slip of platinum, and a few test bottles.” We may conclude, however,
that this was not the whole of Wollaston’s apparatus, nor he in this
quite ingenuous; and the anecdote forms another illustration of his
dislike to admitting any one into his workroom.

To this ingenious turn of mind and love of minute accuracy we owe
several valuable instruments. Of these the most important is his
reflective Goniometer, or angle-measurer, which by calling in the
unerring laws of optics, enables the observer to ascertain within a
small limit of error, the angle contained between two faces of a
crystal, and introduced, in the words of Dr. Fitton, “into
crystallography a certainty and precision, which the most skilful
observers were before unable to attain.” Another of his contrivances is
the sliding Scale of chemical equivalents, an instrument highly useful
to the practical chemist. We also owe to him the Camera Lucida, which
enables persons unacquainted with drawing, to take accurate sketches of
any objects presented to their view. An amusing and characteristic
anecdote of his fondness for producing great results by small means, is
told by Dr. Paris. Shortly after he had witnessed Davy’s brilliant
experiments with the galvanic battery, he met a brother chemist in the
street, and taking him aside, pulled a tailor’s thimble and a small
phial out of his pocket, and poured the contents of the one into the
other. The thimble was a small galvanic battery, with which he instantly
heated a platinum wire to a white heat.

We have already spoken of the profits which he derived from the
manufacture of platinum. This intractable metal, most valuable in the
arts from its extreme difficulty of fusion, and power of resisting
almost all agents, was rendered by these very qualities almost incapable
of being reduced into that malleable form, in which alone it would be
made extensively useful. His method of working it is detailed at length
in his last Bakerian Lecture, published in the Philosophical
Transactions for 1829, and must be read before a person unacquainted
with metallurgy can imagine how tedious and laborious were the processes
by which he succeeded in bringing platinum to bear the hammer. By an
ingenious contrivance, described in the Transactions of 1813, he drew
platinum into wire 1/5000 of an inch in diameter, highly valuable for
the construction of telescopes; and even reduced some portions to the
inconceivable tenuity of 1/30,000. Several of his papers are devoted to
the consideration of platinum, and of the two new metals, palladium and
rhodium, which, in the course of his inquiries, he discovered in small
quantities in the ores of platinum. These also he succeeded in rendering
malleable. Rhodium is remarkable for its hardness, which has caused it
to be used to point the nibs of metallic pens.

During the autumn of 1828 Dr. Wollaston suffered from an affection of
the brain, of which he died, December 22, 1828, retaining his faculties
to the last. During the period of his illness, feeling that his life was
precarious, he devoted himself to communicating, by dictation, his
various discoveries and improvements to the world. Five papers by him
were read during the last session of the Royal Society during that year,
in one of which he alludes affectingly to his illness, as obliging him
to commit his observations to writing more hastily than he was wont.
Another is the Bakerian Lecture on the manufacture of platinum, already
mentioned.

Previous to his death he invested 1000_l._ stock in the name of the
Royal Society, the interest of which he directed to be employed for the
encouragement of experiments in Natural Philosophy. He was never
married, and was Senior Fellow of Caius at his death. He was privately
buried at Chiselhurst in Kent; of which parish his father had been
rector.

Dr. Wollaston’s philosophical character is thus described in the preface
to a late edition of Dr. Henry’s ‘Elements of Experimental
Chemistry:’—“Dr. Wollaston was endowed with bodily senses of
extraordinary acuteness and accuracy, and with great vigour of
understanding. Trained in the discipline of the exact sciences, he had
acquired a powerful command over his attention, and had habituated
himself to the most rigid correctness both of thought and language. He
was sufficiently provided with the resources of the mathematics, to be
enabled to pursue with success profound inquiries in mechanical and
optical philosophy, the results of which enabled him to unfold the
causes of phenomena not before understood, and to enrich the arts
connected with those sciences by the invention of ingenious and valuable
instruments. In chemistry he was distinguished by the extreme nicety and
delicacy of his observations; by the quickness and precision with which
he marked resemblances and discriminated differences; the sagacity with
which he devised experiments and anticipated their results; and the
skill with which he executed the analysis of fragments of new
substances, often so minute as to be scarcely perceptible by ordinary
eyes. He was remarkable, too, for the caution with which he advanced
from facts to general conclusions: a caution which, if it sometimes
prevented him from reaching at once to the most sublime truths, yet
rendered every step of his ascent a secure station from which it was
easy to rise to higher and more enlarged inductions. Thus these
illustrious men, Wollaston and Davy, though differing essentially in
their natural powers and acquired habits, and moving independently of
each other, in different paths, contributed to accomplish the same great
ends, the evolving new elements; the combining matter into new forms;
the increase of human happiness by the improvement of the arts of
civilized life; and the establishment of general laws that will serve to
guide other philosophers onwards through vast and unexplored regions of
scientific discovery.”

[Illustration]

BOCCACCIO.

The family of this celebrated writer, who claims a distinguished place
among the founders of Italian literature, came from the village of
Certaldo, in the valley of the Elsa, about twenty miles south-west of
Florence. His father, Boccaccio di Chellino, was a Florentine merchant,
who, in his visits to Paris, became acquainted with a Frenchwoman, of
whom Giovanni Boccaccio, the subject of this memoir, was born, A. D.
1313. It is uncertain whether Paris or Florence was the place of his
nativity. He commenced his studies at Florence, under Giovanni da
Strada, a celebrated grammarian; but was apprenticed by his father, when
hardly ten years old, to another merchant, with whom he spent six years
in Paris. Attached to literature, he felt a strong distaste to his
mercantile life. He manifested the same temper after his return to
Florence; upon which his father sent him to Naples, partly upon
business, partly because he thought that mingling in the pleasures of
that gay city might neutralize his son’s distaste to the laborious
profession in which he was engaged. Robert of Anjou, the reigning king
of Naples, encouraged learning, and his court was the most polished of
the age: and during an abode of eight years in that capital, Boccaccio
became acquainted with most of the learned men of Italy, especially
Petrarch, with whom he contracted a friendship, broken only by death.
There also he fell in love with a lady of rank, whose real name he has
concealed under that of Fiametta. Three persons have been mentioned as
the object of his passion: the celebrated Joanna of Naples,
grand-daughter of Robert; Mary, the sister of Joanna; and another Mary,
the illegitimate daughter of Robert, who seems to have the best claim to
this distinction. It was at Naples, that Boccaccio, inspired by a visit
to Virgil’s tomb, conceived his first longings after literary fame. He
determined to give up commerce, and devote himself entirely to study;
and his father consented to this change, but only on condition that he
should apply himself to the canon law. This was a new source of
annoyance. For several years he pored over “dry decisions and barren
commentaries,” as he expresses himself; until he obtained his doctor’s
degree, and was left at liberty to follow his own pursuits.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. Hopwood._

BOCCACCIO.

_From a Print by Cornelius Van Dalen._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

After remaining some time at Florence he returned to Naples; where he
employed himself in writing prose and verse, the Decameron and the
Teseide. His father died in 1349: and having turned his inheritance into
money, he travelled to Sicily, Venice, and other parts of Italy,
collecting manuscripts, frequenting universities and libraries, studying
Greek under Leontius Pilatus of Thessalonica, astronomy under Andalone
del Negro, and Roman literature and antiquities. Manuscripts at this
time were very costly; and he soon exhausted his patrimony in these
pursuits. He then applied himself to transcribing works; and, by dint of
expense and labour, collected a considerable library, which he
bequeathed to the Augustine friars of Santo Spirito, at Florence. But
his means were inadequate to gratify his liberal tastes: and at times he
found himself in very straitened circumstances. It is said that he
sometimes availed himself of his skill as a copyist, to eke out his
resources. In Petrarch he found a generous friend and a wise counsellor.

Boccaccio enjoyed a high reputation among his countrymen for learning
and ability; and he was several times employed by them on embassies and
affairs of state. But of all his missions, the most pleasing was that of
repairing to Padua, to communicate to Petrarch the solemn revocation of
the sentence of exile passed on his father during the factions of 1302;
and to inform him that the Florentines, proud of such a countryman, had
redeemed his paternal property, and earnestly invited him to dwell in
his own land, and confer honour on its then rising university. Though
much affected by this honourable reparation, Petrarch did not at the
time comply with their request.

About 1361, a singular circumstance wrought a total change in
Boccaccio’s feelings and mode of life. A Carthusian monk came to him one
day, and stated that father Petroni of Sienna, a monk of the same order,
who had died not long before in the odour of sanctity, had commissioned
him to exhort Boccaccio to forsake his studies, reform his loose life,
and prepare for death. To prove the truth of his mission, he revealed
several secrets, known only to Boccaccio and Petrarch, to both of whom
both the monks were totally unknown. Terrified at this mysterious
communication, Boccaccio wrote to Petrarch, expressing his resolution to
comply with the advice, and shut himself up in a Carthusian cloister.
Petrarch’s answer, which may be found among his Latin epistles, is full
of sound sense. He tells his friend, that though this disclosure of
secrets, supposed to be unknown to any living soul, appeared a mystery,
yet “there is such a thing as artifice in imposture which may at times
assume the language of supernatural inspiration; that those who practise
arts of this kind examine attentively the age, the aspect, the looks,
the habits of the man they mean to delude, his theories, his motions,
his voice, his conversation, his feelings, and opinions: and from all
these derive their oracles.” He adds, that as to the prediction of
approaching death, there was no occasion for a message from the next
world to say, that a man past the middle age, and infirm of body, could
not expect to have many years to live: and, in conclusion, advises his
friend to tranquillize his imagination, and to avail himself of the
warning towards leading a more regular life; retaining at the same time
his liberty, his house, and his library, and making a good use even of
the heathen authors in the latter, as many holy men, and the fathers of
the church themselves, had done before him. This letter restored
Boccaccio to reason. He gave up his intention of retiring from the
world, and contented himself with assuming the ecclesiastical dress; and
being admitted to the first gradation of holy orders, he adopted a
regular and studious course of life, and turned his attention to the
study of the Scriptures.

About the following year he again visited Naples, but he was disgusted
by the neglect which he experienced; and, in 1363, he went to Venice,
and abode three months with Petrarch. He was sent twice, in 1365 and
1367, to Pope Urban V. upon affairs of the republic. In 1373, the
Florentines determined to appoint a lecturer to explain the Divina
Commedia of Dante, much of which was even then obscure or unintelligible
without the aid of a comment. Boccaccio was chosen for this honourable
office, with the annual stipend of one hundred florins. He had long and
deeply studied, and knew by heart almost the whole of that sublime poem,
which he had several times transcribed. He left his written comment on
the Inferno, and also a life of Dante, both of which have been published
among his works. But illness interrupted his lectures, and induced him
to resort again to his favourite country residence at Certaldo. A
disorder of the stomach, aggravated by intense application, terminated
his existence, Dec. 21, 1375, at the age of sixty-two. He was buried in
the parish church of Certaldo, and the following modest inscription,
which he had himself composed, was placed over his tomb:—

“Hac sub mole jacent cineres ac ossa Johannis.
Mens sedet ante Deum, meritis ornata laborum
Mortalis vitæ. Genitor Bocchaccius illi,
Patria Certaldum, studium fuit alma poesis.”

A monument was also raised to him in the same church, with an
inscription by Coluccio Salutati, secretary to the republic, an intimate
friend of the deceased. This monument was restored, in 1503, by Tedaldo,
Podestà, or justice, of Certaldo, who placed another inscription under
the bust of the deceased. The republic of Florence, in 1396, voted
monuments to be raised in their capital to Boccaccio, Dante, and
Petrarch, but this resolution was not carried into effect.

By a will, which was dated the year preceding that of his death, and
which is published among his Latin works, Boccaccio constituted his two
nephews, the sons of his brother Jacopo, his heirs. His library he left
to his confessor, Father Martin of Signa, an Augustin friar, whom he
also appointed his executor, directing, that after the father’s death it
should revert to the convent of Santo Spirito at Florence, for the use
of students. A fire which broke out in the convent, in the year 1471,
destroyed this valuable collection, which had cost the proprietor so
many years of labour and care, and in which he had expended the greater
part of his patrimony. Boccaccio having, in his book _De Genealogia
Deorum_, quoted several ancient authors whose works have not reached us,
it is supposed that some of these must have been included in the
catastrophe that befel his library. He has been accused, however, of
quoting fictitious authors in this treatise.

Boccaccio’s private character was stained by licentiousness. Besides his
Fiammetta, he had several mistresses whom he mentions in his Ameto. A
natural daughter, whose name was Violante, he lost while she was an
infant, and he mourns over her in his eclogues under the name of
Olympia. He had also an illegitimate son who survived him, but who is
not mentioned in his testament.

In the latter years of his life, Boccaccio was poor, though not in
absolute want, and his friend Petrarch, who died little more than one
year before him, left him by his will fifty golden florins, “to buy him
a winter pelisse to protect him from cold while in his study at night,”
adding, that if he did no more for Boccaccio, it was not through want of
inclination but want of means. Boccaccio, on his part, had given
Petrarch several works copied by his own hand, among others, a Latin
translation of Homer, Dante, and some works of St. Augustine.

His modest dwelling at Certaldo, in which he died, still remains. The
Princes of the House of Medici protected it by affixing their armorial
ensigns on the outside, with an inscription. A Florentine lady, of the
name of Medici Lenzoni, purchased it in 1822, in order to preserve it
from dilapidation as a relic of departed genius. The appearance of the
house is exactly similar to the sketch given by Manni a century since,
in his life of Boccaccio. It is built of brick, according to the fashion
of the fourteenth century, with a square turret on one side of it
commanding a fine view of the surrounding hills; one of which is still
called by the country people, “the hill of Boccaccio,” from a tradition
that this was his favourite place of resort for meditation and study in
the summer heats. The grove which crowned its summit was cut down not
long ago. A curious circumstance is said by Professor Rosellini to have
happened some years before the purchase of the house by the Signora
Lenzoni. An old woman, who tenanted the premises, was busy weaving in a
small room next to the sitting apartment, when the repeated shaking of
her loom brought down part of the wall, and laid open a small recess
hollowed in the thickness of it, from which a large bundle of written
papers tumbled down. The old woman, through ignorance or superstition,
or both, thought it a pious duty to consign the whole of the MSS. to the
flames. Probably many interesting autographs of Boccaccio have thus been
lost.

Much has been said about Boccaccio’s tomb being “torn up and desecrated
by bigots;” and Lord Byron has made this the subject of his eloquent
invective. The story seems, however, to have originated in mistake.
Rosellini has given an authentic account of the whole transaction. It
appears that many years since, after a law had been passed by the Grand
Duke Leopold in 1783, forbidding the burial of the dead under church
pavements, the tomb of Boccaccio, which lay in the centre of the church
of St. James and St. Michael at Certaldo, covered by a stone bearing his
family escutcheon, his effigy, and the four lines above quoted, was
opened. Nothing was found, except a skull, and a tin tube containing
several written parchments, which the persons present could not
understand. What became of these is not known, perhaps they were
destroyed like the MSS. found by the old woman. The tombstone was
purchased by some one on the spot, and having since been broken, one
fragment alone remains, which the Signora Lenzoni has recovered and
placed inside Boccaccio’s house. All this is asserted in a notarial
document drawn up at Certaldo in 1825, and certified by ocular witnesses
then surviving, who were present at the opening of the vault. But,
besides this gravestone, there was a monument placed high on one of the
side-walls of the church, consisting of Boccaccio’s bust, which is a
good likeness, holding with both his arms against his breast a book, on
which is written ‘Decameron,’ and under the bust are the two
inscriptions by Salutati and Tedaldo, such as Manni transcribed them. To
this monument, and not to the tomb, Byron’s reproach partly applies, for
it was of late years removed by some fanatics from its place, and thrown
in a corner at the end of the church. But the authorities interfered and
caused it to be restored in a more conspicuous position, facing the
pulpit, where it is now to be seen.

Boccaccio wrote both in Latin and in Italian, in prose and in verse. His
Latin works are now mostly forgotten, although the author evidently
thought more of them than of his Italian novels. Petrarch fell into the
same mistake with regard to his own productions in both languages. The
language of the country, especially in prose composition, was then
esteemed below the dignity of learned men, and suited only to works of
recreation and amusement. Boccaccio wrote a book on mythology (De
Genealogia Deorum, lib. xv.) which he dedicated to Hugo, King of Cyprus
and Jerusalem, at whose request he had composed it. He acknowledges that
he had derived much information on the subject from Pietro Perugino,
librarian to King Robert of Naples, an assiduous inquirer after ancient
and especially Greek lore, and who had availed himself in his researches
of his intimacy with the Monk Barlaam, a learned Greek emigrant,
residing in Calabria. Boccaccio’s other Latin works are ‘De montium,
sylvarum, lacuum, fluviorum, stagnorum, et marium nominibus, liber,’ a
sort of gazetteer. ‘De casibus virorum et fæminarum illustrium, libri
ix.’ where he eloquently relates, in the last book, the tragic
catastrophe of the unfortunate Templars who were executed at Paris in
1310–14; at which his father was present. ‘De claris mulieribus
opus,’—and lastly, sixteen ‘Eclogæ,’ amounting to about three thousand
lines, which have been published with those of Petrarch and others at
Florence in 1504. Boccaccio left a key to the real personages of these
eclogues in a long letter written to the already-mentioned father Martin
of Signa. Both he and Petrarch allude in these poems to the vices and
corruptions of the Papal Court.

Of Boccaccio’s Italian works, the Decameron is that by which his memory
has been immortalized. This book consists of a series of tales, one
hundred in number, ten of which are told on each afternoon for ten
successive days, by a society of seven young women and three young men,
who having fled from the dangers of the plague which afflicted Florence
in 1348, assembled at a villa a short distance from the town. The
stories turn chiefly on amorous intrigues and devices, disappointments
and enjoyments, very broadly narrated; and can by no means be
recommended for indiscriminate perusal. They are admirably told, and are
full of wit and humour; but the pleasantry is for the most part of a
nature which modern manners cannot tolerate. There are, however, better
things than mere loose tales in the Decameron: several of the stories
are unexceptionable; some highly pathetic. They have furnished many
subjects for poetry, and especially for the drama; as, for instance, the
tale of Ginevra, the ninth of the second day, and the affecting story of
Griselda, the last of all. With regard to the merit of the invention, it
is true that some of Boccaccio’s tales are taken from the ‘Cento Novelle
Antiche,’ one of the oldest books in the Italian language. But the
greater number are original: and many refer to persons and events well
known in Italy, especially in Tuscany at that time, as is demonstrated
by Manni. The skill with which this multitude of tales is arranged and
brought forward, constitutes one of the chief merits of the work. It has
been remarked that out of a hundred introductions with which he prefaces
them, no two are alike. His narrative is clear; free from metaphors and
repetition; avoiding superfluity as well as monotony, and engaging
without tiring the attention. His descriptions, though minute, are
graceful and lively. Generally humorous, not to say broad, he can, at
pleasure, be pathetic; at pleasure, grave and dignified.

Here our praise of this celebrated work must stop. Of its indecencies we
have already spoken. The narrative, though clothed in decent words,
frequently runs in such a strain as no company of women above the lowest
grade of shame would now listen to, much less indulge in. Bad as this
is, a still deeper stain is to be found in the utter absence of all
moral principle, and callousness to all good feeling. Long planned
seduction, breach of hospitality, betrayal of friendship, all these are
painted as fortunate and spirited adventures, and as desirable objects
of attainment. Unlucky husbands are sneered at; jealousy of honour is
censured as stupidity or tyranny. Some of the female characters are even
worse than the male; and the world of the Decameron is one which no man
of common decency or honour could bear to live in. Boccaccio saw the
mischief he had done, and was sorry when it was too late. In a letter to
Mainardo de’ Cavalcanti, Marshal of Sicily, he entreated him not to
suffer the females of his family to read the Decameron; because,
“although education and honour would keep them above temptation, yet
their minds could not but be tainted by such obscene stories.”

He is fond of introducing monks and friars engaged in licentious
pursuits, and exposed to ludicrous and humiliating adventures. He also
at times speaks of the rites of the church in a profane or sarcastic
manner. From this it has been inferred that he was a sceptic or heretic.
The conclusion is erroneous. Like other wits of that ignorant,
superstitious, and debauched age, Boccaccio sneered, reviled, and yet
feared: and while he ridiculed the ministers and usages of the church,
he was employed in collecting relics, and ended his loose tales with
invocations of heaven and the saints. Besides, the secular clergy
themselves bore no love towards the monks and mendicant friars: they
were jealous of the former, and they hated and despised the latter. From
Dante down to Leo X. the dignitaries of the church spoke of friars in
terms nearly as opprobrious as Boccaccio himself. Leo made public jest
of them. Bembo, the secretary of Leo, and a cardinal himself, and Berni,
the secretary to several cardinals, give no more quarter to them than is
given in the Decameron. No wonder then that laymen should take similar
liberties, and that a friar should be regarded, as Ugo Foscolo observes,
as a sort of scape-goat for the sins of the whole clergy. These
considerations may explain how the Decameron went through several
editions, both at Venice and Florence, without attracting the censures
of the Court of Rome. The earliest editions bear the dates of 1471–2,
but these became extremely scarce, since the fanatic Savanarola had a
heap of them burnt in the public square of Florence in 1497. Of the
Valdarfer edition of 1471, only one copy is known to exist. This has
long been an object of interest to book collectors; and was purchased,
at the Roxburgh sale, by the Marquis of Blandford, for the enormous sum
of £2260. After the reformation in Germany, a more watchful censorship
was established, and the Decameron was placed in the list of proscribed
books. An expurgated edition however was allowed to appear, under the
_imprimatur_ of Pope Gregory XIII. in 1573, in which many passages
marked by the Inquisition were expunged, and laymen were made to take
the places of the clergy in the more indecorous adventures. The MS. from
which this and most of the subsequent editions are taken, was written by
Mannelli, the godson, and friend of Boccaccio, in 1384, nine years after
the author’s death. It is now in the Laurentian library at Florence.
Mannelli has copied scrupulously what he calls “the text,” whether an
autograph of Boccaccio, or an earlier copy, even to its errors and
omissions, noting from time to time in the margin “sic textus,” or
“deficiebat,” or “superfluum.” It may therefore be presumed that the
author had not put the last finish to his work.

Boccaccio began the Decameron soon after the plague of 1348, and seems
to have circulated the days, or parts, among his friends as he completed
them. He was a long time in completing the work, which he seems to have
laid aside, and resumed at leisure; and it is believed that he was eight
years employed upon it, and that he wrote the latter tales about 1356.
From that time he seems to have taken no more notice of it. He never
sent it to Petrarch, to whom he was in the habit of transmitting all his
other compositions; and it was only by accident, many years after, that
the poet saw a copy of it. This he mentions in one of his letters to
Boccaccio, and says that he “supposes it to be one of his juvenile
productions.” Petrarch praised only the description of the plague, and
the story of Griselda. This he translated into Latin.

Boccaccio’s other Italian prose works are ‘Il Filocopo,’ a prose
romance, written at the request of his Fiammetta. It is a dull
composition, far inferior to the Decameron in style, and displaying an
anomalous mixture of Christian and Pagan images and sentiments.
‘L’Amorosa Fiammetta’ is also a prose romance, in which the lady relates
her passion and grief for the absence of Pamfilo, by which name the
author is supposed to have designated himself. ‘Il Corbaccio,’ or the
‘Labyrinth of Love,’ in which he relates his adventures with a certain
widow, the same probably as he has introduced in the seventh tale of the
eighth day of the Decameron. ‘Ameto,’ a drama of mixed prose and verse.
‘Origine, vita, e costumi di Dante Alighieri,’ the life of Dante already
mentioned. Several letters remain, but the bulk of his correspondence is
lost. A life of Petrarch by Boccaccio, written originally in Latin, has
been recently discovered, and published in 1828 by Domenico Rossetti, of
Trieste.

Boccaccio wrote a quantity of Italian verse, of which he himself thought
little, after seeing those of Petrarch; and posterity has confirmed his
judgment. His Teseide, a heroic poem, in ottava rima, may be excepted.
This metre, generally adopted by the Italian epic and romantic poets, he
has the merit of having invented. Though imperfect, and little
attractive as an epic poem, the Teseide is not destitute of minor
beauties. Chaucer is indebted to it for his Knight’s Tale, remodelled by
Dryden under the name of Palamon and Arcite.

An edition of Boccaccio’s Italian prose works was printed at Naples,
with the date of Florence, in 1723–4, in 6 vols. 8vo.; but a better
edition has been lately published at Florence, corrected after the best
approved MSS. in 13 vols. 8vo. 1827–32.

The editions of the Decameron are almost innumerable. The best and most
recent ones are those of Poggiali, 1789–90, in 5 vols. 8vo.; that of
Ferrario, Milan, 1803; that of Colombo, Parma, 1812; all with copious
notes and comments; a small one by Molini, Florence, 1820; and the one
by Pickering, London, to which the late Ugo Foscolo prefixed an
elaborate and interesting historical dissertation. Domenico Maria Manni
wrote a ‘History of the Decameron,’ Florence, 1742, in which he has
collected a store of curious information concerning that work and its
author.

The principal biographers of Boccaccio are Filippo Villani, who may be
considered as a contemporary of our author; Giannozzo Mannetti,
Francesco Sansovino, Giuseppe Betussi, Count Mazzuchelli, and lastly,
the Count G. Battista Baldelli, who published a new life of Boccaccio in
1806 at Florence.

[Illustration: [Scene from the Introduction to the Decameron, after a
design by Stothard.]]

[Illustration]

CLAUDE.

Claude Gelée, commonly called Claude Lorraine, was born in 1600, at the
village of Chamagne in Lorraine, of very indigent parents. He was
apprenticed to a pastry-cook; but at the end of his term of service,
whether from disgust at his employment, desire of change, or perhaps
influenced by the love of art, he engaged himself as a domestic to some
young painters who were going to Italy. On arriving at Rome he was
employed as a colour-grinder by Agostino Tassi, an artist then in high
repute whose landscapes are spirited and free, and particularly
distinguished by the taste displayed in the architectural
accompaniments. Tassi first induced him to try his abilities in
painting. His earliest essays were implicit imitations of his master’s
manner, and evinced no symptom of original genius; perhaps even in his
matured style some indications of Tassi’s influence may be traced. He
continued, as opportunity occurred, to exercise his pencil, obtaining
little notice and still less reward. By degrees however he succeeded
sufficiently to venture on giving up his menial employment; and having
acquired from Tassi a tolerable expertness in the mechanical part of his
profession, he appears from thenceforth to have given little attention
to the works of other painters, relying on his own discernment and
diligent observation of nature. Many years elapsed, however, before the
talents of Claude reached their full maturity, whence his biographers
have inferred that he owed his excellence rather to industry than
genius: as if such excellence were within the reach of mere application.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. Holl._

CLAUDE.

_From the original
in the Musée Royale, Paris._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

He drew with indefatigable diligence, both from antique sculpture and
from the living model, but to little purpose; and he was so conscious of
his incapacity, that he used to observe, “I sell the landscapes, and
throw the figures into the bargain:” and sometimes he employed Filippo
Lauri and Courtois to insert them. But his figures, however faulty in
themselves, are always well adapted to promote the harmony of the whole
composition; being judiciously placed, and shaded, illuminated,
sharpened out, or rendered indistinct, with nearly as much skill as is
shown in the other parts of the picture. And not unfrequently, however
feebly drawn, they partake of that classical and poetic air, which
Claude, beyond every other landscape painter, has diffused over his
works.

It is said, and the circumstances of his early life render it probable,
that he was very deficient in general acquirements. Assuredly he had no
opportunities of becoming a profound scholar, nor in relation to his art
was it necessary that he should; why should he have sought through the
medium of books that imagery which lay before him in reality? Rome, and
its environs, the banks of the Tiber, and the broad Campagna, supplied
his imagination with the best food, and his pencil with inexhaustible
materials. He was accustomed to spend whole days in the open air, not
only studying Nature in her permanent aspects, but making memorandums of
every accidental and fleeting effect which presented itself to his
observation. Sandrart, who sometimes accompanied Claude in his
excursions, relates that he was accustomed to discourse on the visible
phenomena of nature with the intelligence of a philosopher; not only
noting effects, but explaining their causes with precision and
correctness, whether produced by reflection or refraction of light, by
dew, vapour, or other agencies of the atmosphere. Broad as is his style,
he entered minutely into detail, and made drawings of trees, shrubs, and
herbage, marking all their peculiarities of shape, growth, and foliage.
By this practice he was enabled to represent those objects with
undeviating accuracy, and to express, by a few decided touches, their
general character.

Amidst the splendour of his general effects, the distinguishing
qualities of objects are never neglected; fidelity is never merged in
manner; and hence it is, that the longer we look at his pictures, the
more vivid is the illusion, the more strongly is the reality of the
represented scene impressed upon us. Combining with his fine imagination
the results of observation thus long and intensely exercised, he
accomplished in his works that union of poetic feeling with accurate
representation of nature, which forms the highest excellence of art, and
in which, as a landscape painter, he stands unrivalled.

Claude found in Rome and its neighbourhood the materials of his scenery,
but the combination of them was his own: he selected and copied
portions, but he seldom or never painted individual views from nature.
His favourite effects are those of sunrise and sunset, the periods at
which nature puts on her most gorgeous colouring. Beauty and
magnificence are the characteristics of his compositions: he seldom aims
at sublimity, but he never sinks into dulness. Above all he never brings
mean or offensive objects into prominent view, as is so often the case
in the Dutch pictures. His fore-grounds are usually occupied by trees of
large size and noble character, and temples and palaces, or with ruins
august in their decay. Groves and towers, broad lakes, and the
continuous lines of arched aqueducts enrich the middle space; or a
boundless expanse of Arcadian scenery sweeps away into the blue
mountainous horizon. In his admirable pictures of seaports, he carries
us back into antiquity; there is nothing in the style of the buildings,
the shape of the vessels, or the character of any of the accompaniments
which, by suggesting homely associations, injures the general grandeur
of the effect. The gilded galleys, the lofty quays, and the buildings
which they support, all belong to other times, and all have the stamp of
opulence, magnificence, and power.

As Claude’s subjects are almost uniformly those of morning or evening,
it might naturally be supposed that his works possess an air of
sameness. To remove such an impression, it is only necessary to look at
his pictures side by side. We then perceive that he scarcely ever
repeats himself. The pictures of St. Ursula and the Queen of Sheba, in
the National Gallery, are striking instances of that endless variety
which he could communicate to similar subjects. In each of these
pictures there is a procession of females issuing from a palace, and an
embarkation. The extremities of the canvas are occupied by buildings,
the middle space being assigned to the sea and shipping, over which the
sun is ascending. After the first glance, there is no resemblance in
these pictures. The objects introduced in each are essentially different
in character; in that of the Queen of Sheba they are much fewer in
number; the masses are more broad and unbroken, and the picture has
altogether more grandeur and simplicity than its companion. Its
atmosphere too is different: it is less clear and golden, and there is a
swell on the waves, as if they were subsiding from the agitation of a
recent storm. The picture of St. Ursula is characterized by beauty.
Summer appears to be in its meridian, and the whole picture seems
gladdened by the freshening influence of morning. The vapoury haze which
is just dispersing, the long cool shadows thrown by the buildings and
shipping, the glancing of the sun-beams on the water, and the admirable
perspective, all exhibit the highest perfection of art. It was thus that
Claude, although he painted only the most beautiful appearances of
nature, diversified his effects by the finest discrimination. Sea-ports
such as these were among his most favourite subjects; and there are none
in which he more excelled: yet perhaps it is with his pastoral subjects
that we are most completely gratified. The Arcadia of the poets seems to
be renewed in the pictures of Claude.

In the general character of his genius, Claude bears a strong affinity
to Titian. He resembles him in power of generalization, in unaffected
breadth of light and shadow, and in that unostentatious execution which
is never needlessly displayed to excite wonder, and which does its exact
office, and nothing more. But the similitude in colour is still more
striking. The pictures of both are pervaded by the same glowing warmth;
and exhibit the true brilliancy of nature, in which the hues of the
brightest objects are graduated and softened by the atmosphere which
surrounds them. The colours by which both produced their wonderful
effects were for the most part simple earths, without any mixture of
factitious compounds, the use of which has been always prevalent in the
infancy, and the decline of art, administering as it does to that
unformed or degenerate taste which prefers gaudiness to truth.

Claude’s success raised a host of imitators. He was accustomed, on
sending home the works which he had been commissioned to paint to make a
drawing of each, which he inscribed with the name of the purchaser, as a
means by which the originality of his productions might be traced and
authenticated. He left six volumes of these drawings at the time of his
death, which he called his Libri di Verità. One containing two hundred
designs is in possession of the Duke of Devonshire; these have been
engraved by Earlom, and published by Boydell under the title of Liber
Veritatis. Another of these books was purchased a few years since in
Spain, and brought into this country; where it came into the possession
of Mr. Payne Knight, and was bequeathed by him to the British Museum.
Some of Claude’s pictures have been finely engraved by Woollet. There
are twenty-eight etchings extant of landscapes and seaports, by Claude’s
own hand, executed with the taste, spirit, and feeling which we should
naturally expect.

England is rich in the pictures of Claude, some of the finest of which
were imported from the Altieri Palace at Rome, and from the collection
of the Duc de Bouillon at Paris. There are ten in the National Gallery:
the two to which we have adverted, that of St. Ursula especially, he has
perhaps never surpassed. The little picture of the Death of Procris is
also singularly beautiful. The Earl of Radnor’s Evening, or Decline of
the Roman Empire, is one of the most exquisite of Claude’s works. The
Marquis of Bute’s collection at Luton, is also enriched by some of the
finest specimens of this artist in England.

His private history is entirely devoid of incident. From the time of his
arrival in Italy he never quitted it: and though claimed by the French
as a French artist, he was really, in all but birth, an Italian. He
lived absorbed in his art, and never married, that his devotion to it
might not be interrupted by domestic cares. His disposition was mild and
amiable. He died in 1682, aged eighty-two.

For more detailed information we may refer to Sandrart ‘Academia Artis
Pictoriæ.’ It is extraordinary that in Felibien’s elaborate work, “sur
les Vies et sur les Ouvrages des plus excellens Peintres anciens et
modernes,” Claude is entirely omitted. The English reader will find the
substance of the information given by Sandrart, in Bryan and Pilkington.

[Illustration: [From a Picture by Claude.]]

[Illustration:

_Engraved by T. Woolnoth._

LORD NELSON.

_From an original Picture by Hoppner
in his Majesty’s Collection at S^{t.} James’s._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

NELSON.

The services of our great naval Captain need no long description. The
recollection of them is still fondly cherished by his countrymen, and
they have been worthily commemorated by Mr. Southey, with whose Life of
Nelson few readers are unacquainted. To that most animated and
interesting work, which by its late re-publication in the Family Library
is placed within the reach of every one, we must refer those who desire
fuller information concerning the hero of the Nile, Copenhagen, and
Trafalgar, than is contained in this memoir.

Horatio Nelson was born at Burnham Thorpe, in Norfolk, September 29,
1758. His father, the rector of that parish, was burthened with a
numerous family: and it is said to have been more with a view to lighten
that burden than from predilection for the service, that at the age of
twelve he expressed a wish to go to sea, under the care of his uncle,
Captain Suckling. Of his early adventures it is unnecessary to speak in
detail. In 1773 he served in Captain Phipps’s voyage of discovery in the
Northern Polar seas. His next station was the East Indies; from which,
at the end of eighteen months, he was compelled to return by a very
severe and dangerous illness. In April, 1777, he passed his examination,
and was immediately commissioned as second lieutenant of the Lowestoffe
frigate, then fitting out for Jamaica.

Fortunate in conciliating the good-will and esteem of those with whom he
served, he passed rapidly through the lower ranks of his profession, and
was made post-captain, with the command of the Hinchinbrook, of
twenty-eight guns, June 11, 1779, when not yet of age. In 1782 he was
appointed to the Albemarle, twenty-eight; and in 1784 to the Boreas,
twenty-eight, in which he served for three years in the West Indies, and
though in time of peace, gave signal proof of his resolution and strict
sense of duty, by being the first to insist on the exclusion of the
Americans from direct trade with our colonies, agreeably to the terms of
the Navigation Act. He had no small difficulties to contend with; for
the planters and the colonial authorities were united against him, and
even the Admiral on the station coincided with their views, and gave
orders that the Americans should be allowed free access to the islands.
Still Nelson persevered. Transmitting a respectful remonstrance to the
Admiral, he seized four of the American ships, which, after due notice,
refused to quit the island of Nevis; and after a long and tedious
process at law, in which he incurred much anxiety and expense, he
succeeded in procuring their condemnation by the Admiralty Court. Many
other ships were condemned on the same ground. Neither his services in
this matter, nor his efforts to expose and remedy the peculations and
dishonesty of the government agents, in almost all matters connected
with naval affairs in the West Indies, were duly acknowledged by the
Government at home; and in moments of spleen, when suffering under
inconveniences which a conscientious discharge of his duty had brought
on him, he talked of quitting the service of an ungrateful country. In
March, 1787, he married Mrs. Nisbet, a West-Indian lady, and in the same
year returned to England. He continued unemployed till January, 1793;
when, on the breaking out of the revolutionary war, he was appointed to
the Agamemnon, sixty-four, and ordered to serve in the Mediterranean
under the command of Lord Hood.

An ample field for action was now open to him. Lord Hood, who had known
him in the West Indies, and appreciated his merits, employed him to
co-operate with Paoli in delivering Corsica from its subjection to
France; and most laboriously and ably did he perform the duty intrusted
to him. The siege and capture of Bastia was entirely owing to his
efforts; and at the siege of Calvi, during which he lost an eye, and
throughout the train of successes which brought about the temporary
annexation of Corsica to the British crown, his services, and those of
the brave crew of the Agamemnon, were conspicuous. In 1795 Nelson was
selected to co-operate with the Austrian and Sardinian troops in
opposing the progress of the French in the north of Italy. The
incapacity, if not dishonesty, and the bad success of those with whom he
had to act, rendered this service irksome and inglorious; and his
mortification was heightened when orders were sent out to withdraw the
fleet from the Mediterranean, and evacuate Corsica and Elba. These
reverses, however, were the prelude to a day of glory. On February 13,
1797, the British fleet, commanded by Sir John Jervis, fell in with the
Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent. In the battle which ensued, Nelson,
who had been raised to the rank of Commodore, and removed to the
Captain, seventy-four, bore a most distinguished part. Apprehensive lest
the enemy might be enabled to escape without fighting, he did not
hesitate to disobey signals; and executed a manœuvre which brought the
Captain into close action at once with four first-rates, an eighty, and
two seventy-four-gun ships. Captain Trowbridge, in the Culloden,
immediately came to his support, and they maintained the contest for
near an hour against this immense disparity of force. One first-rate and
one seventy-four dropped astern disabled; but the Culloden was also
crippled, and the Captain was fired on by five ships of the line at
once; when Captain Collingwood, in the Excellent, came up and engaged
the huge Santissima Trinidad, of one hundred and thirty-six guns. By
this time the Captain’s rigging was all shot away; and she lay
unmanageable abreast of the eighty-gun ship, the S. Nicolas. Nelson
seized the opportunity to board, and was himself among the first to
enter the Spanish ship. She struck after a short struggle; and, sending
for fresh men, he led the way from his prize to board the S. Josef, of
one hundred and twelve guns, exclaiming, “Westminster Abbey or victory.”
The ship immediately surrendered. Nelson received the most lively and
public thanks for his services from the Admiral, who was raised to the
peerage by the title of Earl St. Vincent. Nelson received the Order of
the Bath; he had already been made Rear-Admiral, before tidings of the
battle reached England.

During the spring, Sir Horatio Nelson commanded the inner squadron
employed in the blockade of Cadiz. He was afterwards despatched on an
expedition against Teneriffe, which was defeated with considerable loss
to the assailants. The Admiral himself lost his right arm, and was
obliged to return to England, where he languished more than four months
before the cure of his wound was completed. His services were rewarded
by a pension of £1,000. On this occasion he was required by official
forms to present a memorial of the services in which he had been
engaged; and as our brief account can convey no notion of the constant
activity of his early life, we quote the abstract of this paper given by
Mr. Southey. “It stated that he had been in four actions with the fleets
of the enemy, and in three actions with boats employed in cutting out of
harbour, in destroying vessels, and in taking three towns; he had served
on shore with the army four months, and commanded the batteries at the
sieges of Bastia and Calvi; he had assisted at the capture of seven sail
of the line, six frigates, four corvettes, and eleven privateers; taken
and destroyed near fifty sail of merchant vessels, and actually been
engaged against the enemy upwards of a hundred and twenty times; in
which service he had lost his right eye and right arm, and been severely
wounded and bruised in his body.”

Early in 1798 Nelson went out in the Vanguard to rejoin Lord St. Vincent
off Cadiz. He was immediately despatched with a squadron into the
Mediterranean, to watch an armament known to be fitting out at Toulon;
the destination of which excited much anxiety. It sailed May 20,
attacked and took Malta, and then proceeded, as Nelson supposed, to
Egypt. Strengthened by a powerful reinforcement, he made all sail for
Alexandria; but there no enemy had been seen or heard of. He returned in
haste along the north coast of the Mediterranean to Sicily, refreshed
the fleet, and again sailed to the eastward. On nearing Alexandria the
second time, August 1, he had the pleasure of seeing the object of his
toilsome cruise moored in Aboukir Bay, in line of battle. It appeared
afterwards that the two fleets must have crossed each other on the night
of June 22.

The French fleet consisted of thirteen ships of the line and four
frigates; the British of the same number of ships of the line, and one
fifty-gun ship. In number of guns and men the French had a decided
superiority. It was evening before the British fleet came up. The battle
began at half-past six; night closed in at seven, and the struggle was
continued through the darkness, a magnificent and awful spectacle to
thousands who watched the engagement with eager anxiety. Victory was not
long doubtful. The two first ships of the French line were dismasted in
a quarter of an hour; the third, fourth, and fifth were taken by
half-past eight; about ten, the L’Orient, Admiral Bruey’s flag-ship,
blew up. By day-break the two rear ships, which had not been engaged,
cut their cables and stood out to sea, in company with two frigates,
leaving nine ships of the line in the hands of the British, who were too
much crippled to engage in pursuit. Two ships of the line and two
frigates were burnt or sunk. Three out of the four ships which escaped
were subsequently taken; and thus, of the whole armament, only a single
frigate returned to France.

This victory, the most complete and most important then known in naval
warfare, raised Nelson to the summit of glory; and presents and honours
were showered on him from all quarters. The gratitude of his country was
expressed, inadequately in comparison with the rewards bestowed on
others for less important services, by raising him to the peerage, by
the title of Baron Nelson of the Nile, with a pension of £2,000. The
Court of Naples, to which the battle of Aboukir was as a reprieve from
destruction, testified a due sense of their obligation by bestowing on
him the dukedom and domain of Bronte, in Sicily. From Alexandria Nelson
went to Naples, much shattered in health by the fatigue and intense
anxiety which he had experienced during his long cruise, and suffering
from a severe wound in the head, received in the recent battle. He was
most kindly received by Sir William Hamilton, the British ambassador;
and here commenced that fatal intimacy with the celebrated Lady
Hamilton, which ruined his domestic peace, and led to the only stains
upon his public life. Her influence ruled him in all transactions in
which the Neapolitan Court was interested: and as she sought in all
things to gratify the Queen, to whom she was devotedly attached, the
passions and follies of a court corrupt and childish beyond example,
were too often allowed to warp the conduct of a British Admiral, who
hitherto had sought the welfare of his country, even in preference to
his own honour and prospects of advancement. His best friends saw and
lamented the consequences of his weakness, and remonstrated, but to no
purpose; and he himself, unable to control this passion, or to stifle
the uneasy feelings to which it gave birth, appears from his private
letters to have been thoroughly unhappy. Overpowering that influence
must have been, when it could induce the gallant and generous Nelson to
annul a treaty of surrender concluded with the Neapolitan
revolutionists, under the joint authority of the Neapolitan Royalist
General, and the British Captain commanding in the Bay of Naples, and to
deliver up the prisoners to the vengeance of the court, on the sole plea
that he would grant no terms to rebels but those of unconditional
submission.

The autumn of 1798, the whole of 1799, and part of 1800, Nelson spent in
the Mediterranean, employed in the recovery of Malta, in protecting
Sicily, and in co-operating to expel the French from the Neapolitan
continental dominions. In 1800 various causes of discontent led him to
solicit leave to return to England, where he was received with the
enthusiasm due to his services.

Soon afterwards, still mastered by his passion, he separated himself
formally from Lady Nelson. In March, 1801, he sailed as second in
command of the expedition against Copenhagen, led by Sir Hyde Parker.
The dilatoriness with which it was conducted increased the difficulties
of this enterprise; and might have caused it to fail, had not Nelson’s
energy and talent been at hand to overcome the obstacles occasioned by
this delay. The attack was intrusted to him by Sir Hyde Parker, and
executed April 2, with his usual promptitude and success. After a fierce
engagement, with great slaughter on both sides, the greater part of the
Danish line of defence was captured or silenced. Nelson then sent a flag
of truce on shore, and an armistice was concluded. He bore honourable
testimony to the gallantry of his opponents. “The French,” he said,
“fought bravely, but they could not have supported for one hour the
fight which the Danes had supported for four.” May 5, Sir Hyde Parker
was recalled, and Nelson appointed Commander-in-Chief: but no further
hostilities occurred, and suffering greatly from the climate, he almost
immediately returned home. For this battle he was raised to the rank of
Viscount.

At this time much alarm prevailed with respect to the meditated invasion
of England; and the command of the coast from Orfordness to Beachy Head
was offered to him, and accepted. But he thought the alarm idle; he felt
the service to be irksome; and gladly retired from it at the peace of
Amiens. When war was renewed in 1803, he took the command of the
Mediterranean fleet. For more than a year he kept his station off
Toulon, eagerly watching for the French fleet. In January, 1805, it put
to sea, and escaped the observation of his look-out ships. He made for
Egypt, and failing to meet with them, returned to Malta, where he found
information that they had been dispersed in a gale, and forced to put
back to Toulon. Villeneuve put to sea again, March 31, formed a junction
with the Spanish fleet in Cadiz, and sailed for the West Indies. Thither
Nelson followed him, after considerable delay for want of information
and from contrary winds; but the enemy still eluded his pursuit, and he
was obliged to retrace his anxious course to Europe, without the
longed-for meeting, and with no other satisfaction than that of having
frustrated by his diligence their designs on our colonies. June 20,
1805, he landed at Gibraltar, that being the first time that he had set
foot ashore since June 16, 1803. After cruising in search of the enemy
till the middle of August, he was ordered to Portsmouth, where he
learned that an indecisive action had taken place between the combined
fleets returning from the West Indies, and the British under Sir Robert
Calder.

He had not been many days established at home before certain news
arrived that the French and Spanish fleets had entered Cadiz. Eager to
gain the reward of his long watchings, and laborious pursuit, he again
offered his services, which were gladly accepted. He embarked at
Portsmouth, September 14, 1805, on board the Victory, to take the
command of the fleet lying off Cadiz under Admiral Collingwood, his
early friend and companion in the race of fame. The last battle in which
Nelson was engaged was fought off Cape Trafalgar, October 21, 1805. The
enemy were superior in number of ships, and still more in size and
weight of metal. Nelson bore down on them in two lines; heading one
himself, while Collingwood in the Royal Sovereign led the other, which
first entered into action. “See,” cried Nelson, as the Royal Sovereign
cut through the centre of the enemy’s line, and muzzle to muzzle engaged
a three-decker; “see how that noble fellow Collingwood carries his ship
into action.” Collingwood on the other hand said to his Captain,
“Rotherham, what would Nelson give to be here.” As the Victory
approached an incessant raking fire was directed against her, by which
fifty of her men were killed and wounded before a single gun was
returned. Nelson steered for his old opponent at Cape St. Vincent, the
Santissima Trinidad, distinguished by her size, and opened his fire at
four minutes after twelve, engaging the Redoutable with his starboard,
the Santissima Trinidad and Bucentaur with his larboard guns.

About a quarter past one, a musket-ball, fired from the mizen-top of the
Redoutable, struck him on the left shoulder, and he fell. From the first
he felt the wound to be mortal. He suffered intense pain, yet still
preserved the liveliest interest in the fate of the action; and the joy
visible in his countenance as often as the hurrahs of the crew announced
that an enemy had struck, testified how near his heart, even in the
agonies of death, was the accomplishment of the great work to which his
life had been devoted. He lived to know that his victory was complete
and glorious, and expired tranquilly at half-past four. His last words
were, “Thank God, I have done my duty.”

He had indeed done his duty, and completed his task; for thenceforth no
hostile fleet presumed to contest the dominion of the sea. It may seem
mournful, that he did not survive to enjoy the thanks and honours with
which a grateful country would have rejoiced to recompense this crowning
triumph. But he had reached the pinnacle of fame; and his death in the
hour of victory has tended far more than a few years of peaceful life,
to keep alive his memory in the hearts of a people which loved, and a
navy which adored him. In the eloquent words of the distinguished author
from whom this sketch is compiled, “He cannot be said to have fallen
prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died
so full of honours, and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant
death is that of the martyr: the most awful, that of the martyred
patriot: the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory. He
has left us a name and an example which are at this hour inspiring
thousands of the youth of England: a name which is our pride, and an
example which will continue to be our shield and our strength.”

A few words, before we conclude, on those points which appear to us to
have constituted the peculiar excellence of Nelson’s character, the real
source of his greatness. We cannot attribute it solely to personal
courage, or professional skill: fearless as he was, the navy contained
thousands of hearts as fearless as his own; skilful as he was, there may
have been other officers not less skilful than himself. But to courage,
talent, and a thorough knowledge of nautical affairs, he joined a degree
of political and moral courage, and disinterestedness rarely equalled.
To do his duty seems always to have been his first object: not to do all
that was required, but all that could be done. With this view he never
hesitated to run the risk of professional censure when the emergency
seemed to demand it. Many instances are on record in which he acted
contrary to orders: some, when he knew that strict obedience would have
been mischievous, in circumstances which the framers of the orders could
not have foreseen: others where he disobeyed the commands of a superior
on the spot, because he knew them to be illegal, or prejudicial to the
interests of his country. The most remarkable of these is his conduct in
the West Indies, because he had then no established reputation to
support him. But Nelson was well aware that this is a course which no
officer can be justified in pursuing, except under the full and clear
conviction, not only that his own views are just, but that the occasion
is of sufficient importance to justify such a deviation from the rules
of service; and that, even when the transgression is justified by the
event, it yet involves a most serious degree of responsibility. “Well,”
he said, after the battle of Copenhagen, “I have fought contrary to
orders, and I shall perhaps be hanged. Never mind, let them.” The
feeling which prompted these words, though uttered half in jest, can
hardly be mistaken. Another of the most admirable qualities of his
character is the extraordinary power which he possessed of attaching all
who served under him. His sailors adored him; and many touching
anecdotes might be told of their affection. “Our Nel,” they used to say,
“is as brave as a lion, and as gentle as a lamb.” To his officers he was
equally kind and considerate. Happy was the midshipman who in Nelson’s
younger days could obtain a berth in his ship. He himself attended to
their instruction, and was diligent in so training them, as to become
ornaments to the service by their gentlemanly feeling and deportment, as
well as by their professional skill. Humane as brave, it was ever his
object to avoid needless bloodshed: and though the virulence of national
enmity led him into the most bitter expressions of hatred to the French,
he was ever eager to rescue a drowning, or afford hospitality and
protection to a beaten enemy. “May humanity after victory be the
predominant feature in the British fleet,” was part of the prayer which
he composed on the morning of Trafalgar. There is indeed one stain on
his humanity, one stain on his good faith;—the deliverance of the
Neapolitan revolutionists to the vengeance of a cowardly and cruel
court. Of this we have already spoken; and far from excusing, we do not
even wish to palliate it. It was the result of his fatal attachment to
Lady Hamilton: and it is the duty of the biographer to point out that
the one great blot on his domestic, led to the one great blot upon his
public character. He has added another to the list of great men, who,
proof against other temptations, have yielded to female influence; and
we may add (for it is a valuable lesson) that in so doing he not only
blemished his fame, but ruined his happiness.

Towards his country, however, Nelson was faultless; and its gratitude
has been worthily shown by heaping honours on his memory. His brother
was made an earl, and an estate was purchased for the family, and a
pension granted to support the title. His remains were brought to
England, and interred with the utmost pomp of funeral ceremony in the
cemetery of St. Paul’s. His ship, the Victory, is still preserved at
Portsmouth, and will long continue to be a chief object of interest to
the visitors of that mighty arsenal.

[Illustration: Nelson’s Pillar, at Yarmouth.]

[Illustration]

CUVIER.

George Leopold Christian Frederic Dagobert Cuvier was born August 23,
1769, at Montbeliard, a small town in Alsace, which then formed part of
the territory of the Duke of Wurtemburg. His father was a retired
officer, living upon his pension, who had formerly held a commission in
a Swiss regiment in the service of France. He had the inestimable
advantage of possessing a very sensible mother who even in infancy
attended with sedulous care to the formation of his character, and the
development of his mind. He gave early indications that nature had
endowed him with her choicest intellectual gifts. A memory of
extraordinary strength, joined to industry, and to the power of fixing
his attention steadily upon whatever he was engaged in, enabled him to
master all the ordinary studies of youth with facility; and by the time
he was fourteen years of age he had acquired a fair knowledge of the
ancient, and of several modern languages, and had made considerable
progress in the mathematics, besides having stored his mind by a wide
range of historical reading. He very early gave proofs of a talent for
drawing, which in after-life proved of material service in his
researches into natural history. When he was twelve years old he read
the works of Buffon with avidity, and he no doubt received from the
writings of that accomplished and elegant historian of nature an early
bias towards the study of zoology. While he was at school he instituted
a little academy of sciences among his companions, of which he was
elected the president: his sleeping-room was their hall of meeting, and
the bottom of his bed the president’s chair. They read extracts from
books of history, travels, and natural philosophy, which they discussed;
and the debate was usually followed by an opinion on the merits of the
question, pronounced from the chair.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by J. Thomson._

CUVIER.

_From an original Drawing in the possession of
the Baroness Cuvier, at Paris._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

In 1783 the reigning Duke of Wurtemburg visited Montbeliard; and became
acquainted with the unusual attainments of young Cuvier, who had then
reached the fourteenth year of his age. Struck by the early promise of
future eminence, he offered to take him under his own protection. The
proposal was readily accepted, and the future philosopher went to
Stutgard to prosecute his studies in the university of that place. He
continued there four years, and did not fail to turn to good account the
excellent opportunities which were afforded to him, of laying the
foundation of that extensive acquaintance with every great department of
human knowledge, for which he was in after-life so eminently
distinguished. The universality of his genius was as remarkable as the
depth and accuracy of his learning in that particular field of science,
with which his name is more especially associated. He not only gained
the highest academical prizes, but was decorated by the Duke with an
order; a distinction which was only conferred upon five or six out of
the four hundred students at the university.

He had now arrived at an age when it was necessary for him to choose a
profession, and his inclination led him to seek employment in one of the
public offices in the country of his patron. This he would probably have
obtained; but, happily for science, the circumstances of his parents
made it impossible for him to linger in expectation, and he changed his
views. In July, 1788, being then in his nineteenth year, he accepted the
office of tutor in a Protestant family in Normandy, having been himself
brought up in that faith.

The family lived in a very retired situation near the sea; and Cuvier
was not so constantly engaged with his pupils as to prevent him from
cultivating those branches of science, for which he had imbibed a
decided taste while listening to the lectures of Abel, the professor of
natural history at Stutgard. He devoted himself especially to the study
of the Mollusca, for which his vicinity to the sea afforded him good
opportunities; and continued his researches uninterruptedly for six
years in this retirement. The reign of terror at Paris, which spared
neither virtue nor talent, drove M. Tessier, a member of the Academy of
Sciences, to seek refuge in Normandy. He became acquainted with the
young naturalist, and soon learned to appreciate his talents; and he
introduced him to the correspondence of several of the more eminent men
of science in Paris, among whom were Lametheric, Olivier, and Lacepède.
The impression which Cuvier made upon his correspondents was so great,
that when tranquillity was restored, they invited him to come to the
capital. He accepted the invitation, and in the spring of 1795 removed
to Paris. He was soon afterwards appointed Professor of Natural History
in the central school of the Pantheon.

Being very desirous of obtaining some official connexion with the Museum
of Natural History at the Jardin des Plantes, with the view of gaining
free access to the valuable collections there deposited, he solicited
the aid of his scientific friends, and by their exertions, particularly
those of De Jussieu, Geoffroy, and Lacepède, he was nominated assistant
to Mertrud, the professor of comparative anatomy, a chair which had been
recently instituted. Here he had free scope to indulge his passion for
that branch of science, and by his indefatigable exertions he speedily
brought together a very copious supply of illustrations for his
lectures. He never ceased to make the museum a primary object of his
care, and at last formed the most perfect and the most splendid
collection of comparative anatomy which exists in the world. The
excellence of his lectures, in which the interest of the subject was
heightened by his eloquence and easy delivery, attracted a crowd of
auditors; and while he thus excited and extended a taste for a
department of science previously but little cultivated, those who
listened to him spread the fame of the young professor.

At the establishment of the Institute in 1796 he was chosen one of the
original members; and the papers which he read before that body, giving
an account of his researches and discoveries in comparative anatomy,
enriched their memoirs, and procured for him a high and widely extended
reputation at an early period of life. In 1800 he was appointed
Secretary to the Institute. In the same year Bonaparte was appointed
President. Cuvier thus, by virtue of his office, was brought into
immediate and frequent communication with that extraordinary man; an
event which had a material influence upon his future destiny, and opened
to him new and wide fields of usefulness and distinction. Such were the
powers of his mind, and so great was the versatility of his genius, that
in whatever situation he was placed his superiority was soon
acknowledged by his associates.

In the year 1802 the attention of the First Consul was directed to the
subject of public instruction, and six inspectors-general were
commissioned to organize lyceums or colleges in thirty towns of France.
Cuvier was one of them, and he left Paris to execute the duties which
had been assigned to him in the provinces. From this period his
attention was always particularly directed to the subject of education;
and his labours in that cause have had the most important influence upon
every institution for public instruction in France, from the University
of Paris down to the most humble village school. At the foundation of
the Imperial University in 1808, Cuvier was named a member of its
council for life. When Italy was annexed to the French empire, he was
charged at three different times with missions to that country, for the
purpose of re-organizing the old academies and colleges, and of
establishing new ones: and in the last of those missions in 1813,
although a Protestant, he was sent to form the University at Rome. In
1811 he went into Belgium and Holland to perform the same duties; and
the reports which he drew up on that occasion, which were afterwards
printed, possess great interest, especially in those parts where he
speaks of the schools in Holland for the lower classes. He felt how
important it is to the welfare of a nation, that good education should
be within reach even of the poor: and there is no country in Europe
where that subject is attended to with more enlightened views than in
Holland, where excellent primary schools have been in operation for
nearly half a century. When the great measure for the general
introduction of schools for the lower orders throughout France, was
brought forward in 1821, the duty of drawing up the plan upon which they
were to be established was confided to Cuvier; and his enlightened
benevolence and practical good sense are equally conspicuous in the
system which on his recommendation was adopted. It has proved admirably
adapted to the ends in view. The direction of the Protestant schools was
more particularly intrusted to him, and he introduced into all those
which had previously existed many important improvements.

In February, 1815, the university was remodelled by the Bourbon
government, and Cuvier was appointed a member of the Royal Council of
Public Instruction. Shortly afterwards came the events of the Hundred
Days, and among them the restoration of the Imperial University. Cuvier
was re-appointed to his seat in the Council, for they felt that they
could not do there without him. In four months another revolution took
place in the university, as in other public establishments; and as it
was found that the system of the Royal University could not be resumed,
a commission was appointed to execute the functions of the Grand Master,
the Chancellor, and the Treasurer. In this commission the duties which
had belonged to the Chancellor were assigned to Cuvier. In this station
he was eminently useful in maintaining the rights of the university
under circumstances of no ordinary difficulty. He was twice President of
the Commission, and each time for a year; but on account of his being a
Protestant he could not retain that place permanently. But the Bishop,
who, as a member of the commission, had discharged the duties which
belonged to the Grand Master of the University, was appointed minister
for ecclesiastical affairs; and Cuvier was nominated as his successor,
so far as concerned the Protestant faculty of theology, and continued to
act in this capacity for the rest of his life. As a member of the
Council of State, and attached to the department of the Minister of the
Interior, he had the direction of all matters relating to Protestant,
and other religious congregations, not Catholic.

During his mission to Rome in 1813 he was appointed by Napoleon a member
of the Council of State; and on the restoration of the Bourbons his
political opinions formed no obstacle to his continuing in that place.
Although he was left undisturbed in his situation at the university, he
was removed from the Council of State during the Hundred Days; but
resumed his seat when the fate of his former patron and master was
sealed. It is to be regretted that a mind so powerful as that of Cuvier
should not have felt the paramount importance of having settled opinions
on the great principles of government; and the facility with which he
made himself acceptable to the despotic Emperor, the weak and bigoted
Bourbons, and the liberal government of Louis Philippe, showed a want of
fixed public principle which casts a shade upon the memory of this great
man.

As a member of the Council of State he took a distinguished lead, which
indeed he never failed to do wherever he was placed, and he was
eminently useful by his extraordinary talent for the despatch of
business. He was a patient listener, and was never forward with his
opinion; he allowed the useless talkers to have their course, and, while
he appeared indifferent to what was going on, he was often drawing up a
resolution, which his colleagues usually adopted without farther
discussion, after he had given a short and luminous exposition of his
views. For thirteen years previous to his death he was chairman of the
Committee of the Council of State, to which the affairs of the interior
belong; and the quantity of business which passed through his hands was
wonderful. It was accomplished by his great skill in making those useful
with whom he acted; by his talent in keeping his colleagues to the point
in their discussions; and by his prodigious readiness of memory, which
enabled him to go back at once to former decisions where the principle
of the question under deliberation had been already settled. His reading
in history had been very extensive, and his attention was ever alive to
what was passing around him, as well in other countries as in France; so
that he brought to bear on the matter in debate, not speculative
opinions merely, but maxims drawn from the experience of past and
present times. In the Chamber of Deputies, of which he was a member for
several years, he took an active part, and often originated measures.
His manner as a speaker was very impressive, and the rich stores of his
mind, and his ready and natural eloquence commanded attention. At the
end of 1831 he was created a peer; and during the short time he sat in
the Upper Chamber, he took a prominent part in its business, and drew up
some important reports of committees to which he belonged.

But his reputation as a statesman was confined to France: his
achievements in science have spread his fame over the civilized world.
We can in this place do little more than mention the titles of the most
important of Cuvier’s works; even to name all would carry us beyond our
limits. His earliest production was a memoir read before the Natural
History Society of Paris, in 1795, and published in the Décade
Philosophique. In this paper he objects to the divisions of certain of
the lower animals adopted by Linnæus, and proposes a more scientific
classification of the mollusca, crustacea, worms, insects, and other
invertebrate animals. His attention had been long directed to that
branch of natural history, and his subsequent researches in the same
department, most of which have been communicated to the world through
the medium of the ‘Annales du Museum,’ have thrown great light on that
obscure and curious part of the creation. Three years afterwards, he
published his Elementary View of the Natural History of Animals, which
contains an outline of the lectures he delivered at the Pantheon. In
this work he displayed the vast extent of his acquaintance with the
works of his predecessors, and, at the same time, the originality of his
own mind, by introducing a new arrangement of the animal kingdom,
founded on more exact investigation and comparison of the varieties
which exist in anatomical structure. With the assistance of his friends,
Dumeril and Duvernay, he published, in 1802, his ‘Leçons d’Anatomie
Comparée,’ in two volumes, octavo, afterwards extended to five. These
are singularly lucid and exact, and form the most complete work on the
subject which has yet appeared.

The next important publication we have to notice, is one in which he
embodied the results of his extensive researches in a very interesting
field of inquiry, concerning the remains of extinct species of animals
which are found enveloped in solid rocks, or buried in the beds of
gravel that cover the surface of the earth. We are disposed to think his
‘Recherches sur les Ossemens Fossiles’ the most important of his works,
the most illustrious and imperishable monument of his fame. The quarries
in the neighbourhood of Paris abound in fossil bones; and he had great
facilities for collecting the valuable specimens which were almost daily
discovered in the ordinary working of the quarry. When he went to Italy,
he had an opportunity of seeing animal remains of the same sort procured
by the naturalists of that country from their native soil, and preserved
in their museums. His attention became now specially attracted to the
subject; and having accumulated materials from all parts of the world,
he announced the important truths at which he had arrived in the work
above-mentioned, in four quarto volumes, in the year 1812. A new
edition, enlarged to five volumes, appeared in 1817, and in 1824 it was
extended to seven volumes, illustrated by two hundred engravings. No one
who was not profoundly skilled in comparative anatomy could have entered
upon the inquiry with any prospect of success; and Cuvier not only
possessed that qualification, but was singularly constituted by nature
for the task. His powerful memory was particularly susceptible of
retaining impressions conveyed to it by the eye: he saw at a glance the
most minute variations of form, and what he saw he not only never
forgot, but he had the power of representing upon paper with the utmost
accuracy and despatch. It is very seldom that the entire skeleton of an
animal is found in a fossil state: in most instances the bones have been
separated and scattered before they were entombed, and a tusk, a jaw, or
a single joint of the back-bone is very often all that is met with, and
frequently too in a mutilated state. But an instructed mind like that of
Cuvier was able to re-construct the whole animal from the inspection of
one fragment. He had discovered by his previous researches such a
connexion between the several bones, that a particular curvature, or a
small protuberance on a jaw, or a tooth, was sufficient to indicate a
particular species of animal, and to prove that the fragment could not
have belonged to any other. The ‘Recherches sur les Ossemens Fossiles’
have made us acquainted with more than seventy species of animals before
unknown.

The preliminary discourse in the first volume is a masterly exposition
of the revolutions which the crust of the earth has undergone:
revolutions to which the animal creation has been equally subject. It is
written with great clearness and elegance, and is so much calculated to
interest general readers as well as men of science, that it has been
translated into most of the European languages. The English translation,
by Professor Jameson, published under the title of ‘Essay on the Theory
of the Earth,’ has gone through several editions.

In his examination of the fossil bones found near Paris, Cuvier was led
to inquire into the geological structure of the country around that
capital. He assumed M. Alexander Bronguiart as his associate, and the
result of their joint labours is contained in one of the volumes of the
work now under consideration, in an Essay on the Mineralogy of the
Environs of Paris. This essay formed a great epoch in geological
science, for it was then that the grand division of the tertiary
formations was first shown to form a distinct class. A new direction and
a fresh impulse was thus given to geological investigations; and many of
the most important general truths at which we have now arrived in this
science, have been established by discoveries to which the essay of
Cuvier and Bronguiart led the way.

In 1817 appeared the first edition of the ‘Règne Animal,’ in four octavo
volumes, one of which was written by the celebrated naturalist
Latreille. This work gives an account of the structure and history of
all existing and extinct races of animals: it has subsequently been
enlarged. Cuvier began, in conjunction with M. Valenciennes, an
extensive general work on fishes, which it was calculated would extend
to twenty volumes. Eight only have appeared; for the embarrassments
among the Parisian booksellers, in 1830, suspended the publication, and
it has thus been left incomplete; but a great mass of materials was
collected, and we may hope that they will yet be published. In addition
to these great undertakings, he had been for years collecting materials
for a stupendous work, a complete system of comparative anatomy, to be
illustrated by drawings from nature, and chiefly from objects in the
Museum at the Jardin des Plantes. Above a thousand drawings, many
executed by his own hand, are said to have been made. Looking back to
what he had already accomplished, and considering his health and age,
for he was only in his sixty-third year, it was not unreasonable in him
to hope to see the great edifice erected, of which he had laid the
foundation and collected the materials. But unfortunately for the cause
of science it was ordered otherwise, and there is something particularly
touching in the last words he uttered to his friend the Baron Pasquier,
and in sounds, too, scarcely articulate, from the malady which so
suddenly cut short his career—“_Vous le voyez, il y a loin de l’homme du
Mardi (nous nous étions rencontrés ce jour là) à l’homme du Dimanche: et
tant de choses, cependant, qui me restaient à faire! trois ouvrages
importans à mettre au jour, les matériaux préparés, tout était disposé
dans ma tête, il ne me restait plus qu’à écrire._” “You see how it is,
how different the man of Tuesday (we had met on that day) from the man
of Sunday: and so many things too that remained for me to do! three
important works to bring out, the materials prepared, all disposed in
order in my head, I had nothing left to do but to write.” In four hours
afterwards that wonderfully organized head had become a mere mass of
insensible matter.

Besides the works above enumerated, and many memoirs in the transactions
of the scientific bodies of Paris, he has given to the world, in four
octavo volumes, a History of the Progress of the Physical Sciences, from
1789 to 1827, which evince his genius and extensive erudition. The first
volume is a reprint of a report which he presented, as Perpetual
Secretary of the Institute, to Napoleon, in 1808, on the Progress of the
Physical Sciences from 1789 to 1807. In the same capacity, during
thirty-two years, he pronounced the customary Eloges upon deceased
members of the Institute. These are collected in three octavo volumes,
and bear witness to the versatility of his genius and the extent of his
attainments; for whether he is recording the merits of a mathematician,
a chemist, a botanist, a geologist, or the cultivator of any other
department of science, he shows himself equally conversant with his
subject.

He lived at the Jardin des Plantes for nearly forty years, surrounded by
the objects which engrossed so great a portion of his thoughts, and
there received every Saturday the men of science of Paris, and all
others who visited that capital from any part of the world. Professors
and pupils met in his rooms to listen with instruction and delight to
his conversation, for he was accessible to all. Although compelled to be
a very rigid economist of his time, he was so goodnatured and
considerate, that if any person who had business to transact with him
called at an unexpected hour, he never sent him away; saying, that one
who lived so far off had no right to deny himself. Every thing in his
house was so arranged as to secure economy of time: his library
consisted of several apartments, and each great subject he attended to
had a separate room allotted to it; and he usually worked in the
apartment belonging to the subject he was at the moment engaged with, so
that he might be surrounded with his materials. His ordinary custom,
when he returned from attending public business in Paris, was to go at
once to his study, passing a few minutes by the way in the room where
his family sat; which latterly consisted of Madame Cuvier and her
daughter by a former marriage. He came back when dinner was announced,
usually with a book in his hand; and returned soon after dinner to his
study, where he remained till eleven. He then came to Madame Cuvier’s
room, and had generally some of the lighter literature of the day read
aloud to him. Sometimes the book selected was of a graver cast, for it
is said that during the last year of his life he had the greater part of
Cicero read to him. His manner was courteous, kind, and encouraging:
every one who took an interest in any subject with which Cuvier was
familiar, felt assured that he might approach him without fear of
meeting with a cold or discouraging reception.

He had four children, but lost them all. The last taken from him was a
daughter, who was suddenly carried off by consumption on the eve of her
marriage. He was most tenderly attached to her, and it required all the
efforts of his powerful mind to prevent his sinking under the blow. He
found distraction by intense thought on other subjects, but not
consolation, for the wound never healed.

On Tuesday, the 8th of May, 1832, he opened his usual course at the
College of France, with a particularly eloquent introductory lecture,
full of enthusiasm in his subject, to the delight of his numerous
audience. As he left the room he was attacked with the first symptoms of
the disease which was so soon to prove fatal: it was a paralytic
seizure. He was well enough, however, to preside the next day at the
Committee of the Council of State, but that was the last duty he
performed. He died on the following Sunday, leaving behind him an
imperishable name, which will be held in honour in the most advanced
state of human learning.

[Illustration: Skeleton of the Megatherium.]

[Illustration]

RAY.

John Ray, whom Haller describes as the greatest botanist in the memory
of man, and whose writings on animals are pronounced by Cuvier to be the
foundation of all modern zoology, was born on the 29th of November,
1628, at Black Notley, near Braintree, in Essex. His father was a
blacksmith, who availed himself of the advantages of a free grammar
school at Black Notley to bestow upon his son a liberal education. John
was designed for holy orders; and was accordingly entered at Catherine
Hall, Cambridge, in his sixteenth year. He subsequently removed to
Trinity, of which college he was elected a Fellow, in the same year with
the celebrated Isaac Barrow. In 1651 he was appointed Greek Lecturer of
his college; and afterwards Mathematical Lecturer and Humanity Reader.

In the midst of his professional occupations Ray appears to have devoted
himself to that course of observation of the works of nature, which was
afterwards to constitute the business and pleasure of his life, and upon
which his enduring reputation was to be built. In 1660 he published his
‘Catalogus Plantarum circa Cantabrigiam nascentium,’ which work he
states to be the result of ten years of research. He must, therefore,
have become a naturalist in the best sense of the word—he must have
observed as well as read—at the period when he was struggling for
university honours, and obtaining them in company with some of the most
eminent persons of his own day. Before the publication of his catalogue,
he had visited many parts of England and Wales, for the purpose chiefly
of collecting their native plants; and his Itineraries, which were first
published in 1760, under the title off ‘Select Remains of the learned
John Ray,’ show that he was a careful and diligent observer of every
matter that could enlarge his understanding and correct his taste. His
principal companion in his favourite studies was his friend and pupil,
Francis Willughby.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by H. Meyer._

RAY.

_From an original Picture
in the British Museum._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

In December, 1660, Ray was ordained Deacon and Priest at the same time.
But the chances of preferment in the church of England, which his
admirable talents and learning, as well as the purity of his life and
the genuine warmth of his piety, would probably have won for him, were
at once destroyed by his honest and inflexible resolution not to
subscribe to the conditions required by the Act of Uniformity of 1662,
by which divines were called upon to swear that the oath entitled the
Solemn League and Covenant was not binding upon those who had taken it.
Ray was in consequence deprived of his fellowship. The affection of his
pupil, Willughby, relieved him from the embarrassment which might have
been a consequence of this misfortune. The two friends from this time
appear to have dedicated themselves almost wholly to the study of
natural history. They travelled upon the Continent for three years, from
1663 to 1666; and during the remainder of Willughby’s life, which
unfortunately was terminated in 1672, their time was principally
occupied in observations which had for their object to examine and to
register the various productions of nature, upon some method which
should obviate the difficulty of those arbitrary and fanciful
classifications which had prevailed up to their day. In the preface to
his first botanical attempt, the Catalogue of Cambridge Plants, Ray
describes the obstacles which he found in the execution of such a
work;—he had no guide to consult, and he had to form a method of
arrangement, solely by his own sagacity and patience. At that period, as
he says in his ‘Wisdom of God in the Creation,’ “different colour, or
multiplicity of leaves in the flower, and the like accidents, were
sufficient to constitute a specific difference.” From a conversation
with Ray a short time before his death, Derham has described the object
which the two friends had in their agreeable but laborious pursuits.
“These two gentlemen, finding the history of nature very imperfect, had
agreed between themselves, before their travels beyond sea, to reduce
the several tribes of things to a method; and to give accurate
descriptions of the several species, from a strict view of them.” That
Ray entered upon his task, however perplexing it might be, with the
enthusiastic energy of a man really in love with his subject, we cannot
doubt. “Willughby,” says Derham, “prosecuted his design with as great
application as if he had been to get his bread thereby.” The good sense
of Ray saw distinctly the right path in such an undertaking. There is a
passage in his ‘Wisdom of God,’ which beautifully exhibits his own
conception of the proper character of a naturalist: “Let it not suffice
us to be book-learned, to read what others have written, and to take
upon trust more falsehood than truth. But let us ourselves examine
things as we have opportunity, and converse with nature as well as
books. Let us endeavour to promote and increase this knowledge, and make
new discoveries; not so much distrusting our own parts or despairing of
our own abilities, as to think that our industry can add nothing to the
invention of our ancestors, or correct any of their mistakes. Let us not
think that the bounds of science are fixed like Hercules’ pillars, and
inscribed with a _ne plus ultra_. Let us not think we have done when we
have learnt what they have delivered to us. The treasures of nature are
inexhaustible. Here is employment enough for the vastest parts, the most
indefatigable industries, the happiest opportunities, the most prolix
and undisturbed vacancies.” It is not difficult to imagine the two
friends encouraging each other in their laborious career by sentiments
such as these; which are as worthy to be held in remembrance now that we
are reaping the full advantage of their labours, and those of their many
illustrious successors, as in the days when natural history was, for the
most part, a tissue of extravagant fables and puerile conceits.

In 1667 Ray was admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society; and he executed,
about that time, a translation into Latin of his friend Bishop Wilkins’
work, on a philosophical and universal language. In 1670 he published
the first edition of his ‘Catalogue of English Plants;’ and in 1672
appeared his ‘Collection of English Proverbs;’ which he probably took up
as a relaxation from his more systematic pursuits. In this year he
suffered the irreparable loss of his friend Willughby. The history of
letters presents us with few more striking examples of the advantages to
the world, as well as to the individuals themselves, of such a cordial
union for a great object. The affection of Ray for Willughby was of the
noblest kind. He became the guardian and tutor of his children; and he
prepared his posthumous works for publication, with additions from his
own pen, for which he claimed no credit, with a diligence and accuracy
which showed that he considered the reputation of his friend as the most
sacred of all trusts. In 1673, being in his forty-fifth year, Ray
married. Willughby had left him an annuity of £60. He had three
daughters. During the remainder of his long life, which reached to his
77th year, he resided in or near his native village, living contentedly,
as a layman, upon very humble means, but indefatigably contributing to
the advancement of natural history, and directing the study of it to the
highest end,—the proof of the wisdom and goodness of the great Author of
Nature.

The most celebrated of Ray’s botanical publications is his ‘Synopsis
Methodica Stirpium Britannicarum.’ Sir James Smith, in a memoir of Ray,
in Rees’s Encyclopædia, declares that of all the systematical and
practical Floras of any country, the second edition of Ray’s Synopsis is
the most perfect. The same writer, in the Transactions of the Linnæan
Society, vol. iv., says of this Synopsis, “he examined every plant
recorded in his work, and even gathered most of them himself. He
investigated their synonyms with consummate accuracy; and if the
clearness and precision of other authors had equalled his, he would
scarcely have committed an error.” Ray’s ‘Methodus Plantarum Nova,’
first published in 1682, has been superseded by other systems; but the
accuracy of his observations, the precision of his language, and the
clearness of his general views, tended greatly to the advancement of
botanical science. His ‘Historia Plantarum,’ in three vols. folio, a
vast compilation, including all the botanical knowledge of his day, is
still in use, as a book of reference, by those who especially devote
themselves to this study.

The zoological works of Ray have had a more direct and permanent
influence upon the advancement of natural history, than his botanical.
Amongst his zoological productions, the best authorities are agreed that
we ought to include the greater part of those edited by him as the
posthumous works of his friend Willughby. They are conceived upon the
same principle as his own History of Plants, and are arranged upon a
nearly similar plan; whilst the style of each is undoubtedly the same.
In the original division of their great subject, Ray had chosen the
vegetable kingdom, and Willughby the animal; and Ray, therefore, may
have felt himself compelled to forego some of his own proper claims,
that he might raise a complete monument to the memory of his friend. The
Ornithology appeared in 1676; the History of Fishes in 1686. Ray,
however, prepared several very important zoological works, of his entire
claims to which there can be no doubt. The chief of these are, ‘Synopsis
methodica animalium quadrupedum et serpentini generis,’ 1693, which he
published during his life; ‘Synopsis methodica avium,’ and ‘Synopsis
methodica piscium,’ edited by Derham, and published in 1713; and
‘Historia insectorum,’ printed at the expense of the Royal Society, in
1710. “The peculiar character of the zoological works of Ray,” says
Cuvier, “consists in clearer and more rigorous methods than those of any
of his predecessors, and applied with more constancy and precision.” The
divisions which he has introduced into the classes of quadrupeds and
birds have been followed by the English naturalists, almost to our own
day; and one finds very evident traces of his system of birds in
Linnæus, in Brisson, in Buffon, and in all the authors who are occupied
with this class of animals. The Ornithology of Salerne is little more
than a translation from the Synopsis; and Buffon has extracted from
Willughby almost all the anatomical part of his History of Birds.
Daubenton and Hauy have translated the History of Fishes, in great part,
for their Dictionary of Ichthyology, in the ‘Encyclopédie Methodique.’

‘The Wisdom of God in the Creation’ is the work upon which the popular
fame of Ray most deservedly rests. It is a book which perhaps more than
any other in our language unites the precision of science to the warmth
of devotion. It is delightful to see the ardour with which this good man
dedicated himself to the observation of nature entering into his views
of another state of existence, when our knowledge shall be made perfect,
and the dim light with which we grope amidst the beautiful and wondrous
objects by which we are surrounded, shall brighten into complete day.
“It is not likely,” says he, “that eternal life shall be a torpid and
inactive state, or that it shall consist only in an uninterrupted and
endless act of love; the other faculties shall be employed as well as
the will, in actions suitable to, and perfective of their natures:
especially the understanding, the supreme faculty of the soul, which
chiefly differs in us from brute beasts, and makes us capable of virtue
and vice, of rewards and punishments, shall be busied and employed in
contemplating the works of God, and observing the divine art and wisdom
manifested in the structure and composition of them; and reflecting upon
their Great Architect the praise and glory due to him. Then shall we
clearly see, to our great satisfaction and admiration, the ends and uses
of those things, which here were either too subtle for us to penetrate
and discover, or too remote and unaccessible for us to come to any
distinct view of, viz. the planets and fixed stars; those illustrious
bodies, whose contents and inhabitants, whose stores and furniture we
have here so longing a desire to know, as also their mutual subserviency
to each other. Now the mind of man being not capable at once to advert
to more than one thing, a particular view and examination of such an
innumerable number of vast bodies, and the great multitude of species,
both of animate and inanimate beings, which each of them contains, will
afford matter enough to exercise and employ our minds, I do not say to
all eternity, but to many ages, should we do nothing else[10].”

Footnote 10:

Wisdom of God in the Creation, p. 199, fifth edition.

In addition to his ‘Wisdom of God,’ Ray published three
‘Physico-Theological Discourses, concerning the Chaos, Deluge, and
Dissolution of the World.’ “This last presents to us,” to use the words
of Cuvier, “a system of geology as plausible as any of those which had
appeared at this epoch, or for a long time afterwards.” He also printed
a work expressly of a theological character, ‘A Persuasive to a Holy
Life.’

Ray died on the 17th January, 1705, at his native place of Black Notley,
whither he had retired, at Midsummer, 1679, as he himself expressed,
“for the short pittance of time he had yet to live in this world.” His
memory has been done justice to by his countrymen. A most interesting
commemoration of him was held in London, on the 29th Nov., 1828, being
the two hundredth anniversary of his birth.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by E. Scriven._

CAPTAIN COOK.

_From an original Picture by Dance
in the Gallery of Greenwich Hospital._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

COOK.

James Cook was born October 27, 1728, at Marton, a village in the North
Riding of Yorkshire, near Stockton-upon-Tees. His parents, who were
farm-servants, of good esteem in their rank of life, apprenticed him
when not thirteen years of age to a haberdasher at the fishing town of
Staith, near Whitby. The employment proved ill suited to his taste; and
he soon quitted it, and bound himself to a ship-owner at Whitby. In
course of time he became mate of one of his master’s vessels in the coal
trade; that best of schools for practical seamanship.

In the spring of 1755 he was lying in the Thames, when war was declared
between England and France, and a hot press for seamen ensued. He
volunteered to serve on board the Eagle frigate, commanded by Captain,
afterwards Sir Hugh Palliser, and soon won the esteem of his officers by
his diligence and activity. In May, 1759, he was promoted to be master
of the Mercury, in which he was present at the celebrated siege of
Quebec. At the recommendation of Captain Palliser, he was employed to
take soundings of the river St. Lawrence, opposite to, and preparatory
to an attack on the French fortified camp; and in this hazardous service
he manifested so much sagacity and resolution, that he was afterwards
ordered to survey the river below Quebec. The accurate chart, which was
published as the result of his labours, furnishes a most satisfactory
proof of Cooke’s natural talents and steady industry; for he could have
derived little aid in such pursuits from the habits of his early life.
In the autumn he was removed into the Northumberland man-of-war,
stationed at Halifax, in Nova Scotia; and he employed his leisure during
the long winter in making up for the defects of his education, which had
been merely such as a village school could supply. He now read Euclid
for the first time, and applied himself to study those branches of
science, which promised to be most useful in his profession. Towards the
end of 1762 he returned to England, and married; but in 1763 he again
went out to make a survey of Newfoundland. In 1764, his steady friend,
Sir Hugh Palliser, being appointed Governor of Newfoundland, Cook was
made Marine Surveyor of Newfoundland and Labrador. He held this office
nearly four years, and his charts of those coasts remain in use up to
this day.

In 1767 Government determined, at the request of the Royal Society, to
send out astronomers to the South Pacific Ocean to observe the transit
of Venus across the sun’s disc. Cook’s able discharge of his duties at
Newfoundland, and the skill with which he observed an eclipse of the sun
there, pointed him out to Mr. Stephens, Secretary to the Admiralty, as a
proper person to conduct the expedition: and at that gentleman’s
recommendation, backed by Sir Hugh Palliser, he was selected for this
purpose, and raised to the rank of Lieutenant. He sailed from Plymouth,
August 23, 1768, in the Endeavour, of three hundred and seventy tons,
accompanied by Mr. Green as astronomer, and by Mr. Banks. Passing round
Cape Horn, they anchored, April 11, 1769, at Otaheite, or Tahiti, as it
is named by the latest visitors, which had been discovered by Captain
Wallis, and was now selected as a proper place to observe the transit.
As it was necessary to remain some time on the island, and highly
expedient to be on good terms with the natives, Lieutenant Cook used
much precaution to place the traffic between them and the strangers on
an equitable footing; and to prevent the wanton injuries which the sense
of superior power, and an unjust contempt, too often induce Europeans to
inflict upon the rude inhabitants of newly-discovered regions. And we
may here mention, as one of the good points of Cook’s character, that he
always showed a scrupulous regard to the rights of property, taking no
articles from the natives except on fair terms of gift or barter; and
that he had a tender regard for human life, not only avoiding to use our
deadly weapons, as discoverers have too often done, in revenge for petty
depredations, harmless insults, and contemptible attacks, but even
restraining a natural curiosity, where the indulgence of it seemed
likely to shock prejudices, or to lead to collision and bloodshed. The
inhabitants of Otaheite are a gentle race, and no serious
misunderstandings occurred between them and their visitors. The transit
was satisfactorily observed June 3; and, July 13, the Endeavour resumed
her voyage, pursuant to Cook’s instructions, which were to prosecute his
discoveries in the Southern Ocean, after the astronomical purposes of
the expedition had been fulfilled. He cruised a month among the then
unknown group of the Society Islands, and afterwards proceeded in search
of the Terra Australis, the great southern continent, so long supposed
by geographers to exist, as a necessary counterpoise to the extensive
continents of the northern hemisphere. Land was seen October 6,
displaying lofty ranges of mountains; and it was generally supposed that
the long wished for discovery was made. It proved, however, to be New
Zealand, unvisited by Europeans since Tasman first approached its
shores, in 1642. Cook spent six months in circumnavigating this country,
and ascertained that it consisted of two large islands. March 31, 1770,
he commenced his voyage home. He directed his course along the eastern
coast of New Holland, then quite unknown; laid down a chart of it
through nearly its whole extent; and took every opportunity to increase
our stock of knowledge in natural history, as well as geographical
science. For more than 1300 miles he had safely navigated this most
dangerous shore, where the sharp coral reefs rise like a wall to the
surface of the water, when, on the night of June 10, the ship suddenly
struck. She was found to be aground on a coral reef, which rose around
her to within a few feet of the surface. Though lightened immediately by
every possible means, two tides elapsed before she could be got off; and
then with so much injury to her bottom, that she could only be kept
afloat by working three pumps night and day. When the men were all but
worn out by this labour, a midshipman suggested the expedient of
_fothering_ the ship, or passing a sail charged with oakum, and other
loose materials, under her keel: which succeeded so well, that the leak
was then kept under by a single pump; and the navigators proceeded in
comparative security till the 14th, when a harbour was discovered,
afterwards named Endeavour River, suitable for making the necessary
repairs. It was then found that a large fragment of coral rock had stuck
in the ship’s bottom, so as in great measure to close the leak, which
must otherwise have admitted a body of water sufficient to set the pumps
at defiance. To this providential occurrence they owed their safety;
for, had the ship foundered, the boats could not have contained the
whole crew. Among many dangers, Cook pursued his course through that
intricate tract of reefs and islands, which he named the Labyrinth, to
the northern point of New Holland: and having now explored the whole
eastern coast, from lat. 38° to 10° 30´, he took possession of it by the
name of New South Wales. He then made sail for New Guinea, having proved
that New Guinea and New Holland are separate islands, and from thence
proceeded to Batavia, which he reached October 9. Here they obtained
refreshments and repaired the ship, which was found to be in a most
perilous state: but these advantages were dearly bought by a sojourn in
that pestilential place. Seven persons died at Batavia, and twenty-three
more during the voyage to the Cape. June 12, 1771, the Endeavour dropped
anchor in the Downs, and terminated her long and adventurous voyage.

The manner in which Lieutenant Cook had performed his task gave perfect
satisfaction, and he was promoted to the rank of Commander. The public
curiosity was strongly roused to know the particulars of his adventures;
and it was gratified by an account of the several expeditions to the
Southern Ocean, commanded by Byron, Wallis, and Cook, composed by Dr.
Hawkesworth from the original materials, and illustrated by charts and
plates, engraved at the expense of Government. Cook communicated to the
Royal Society an ‘Account of the flowing of the Tides in the South Sea,’
published in their Transactions, vol. lxii. His voyage had proved two
things: first, that neither New Zealand or New Holland were parts of the
great southern continent, supposing it to exist; secondly, that no such
continent could exist to the northward of 40° S. lat. He had not,
however, ascertained its non-existence in higher latitudes, nor did it
enter into his commission to do so. Now, however, it was resolved to
send out a second expedition, to ascertain this point, under the command
of him who had so ably conducted the former one. Two ships were fitted
out with every thing conducive to the health and comfort of the
voyagers: the Resolution, of four hundred and sixty tons, and a smaller
vessel, the Adventure, Captain Furneaux; which, however, was separated
from her consort early in the second year of the voyage. They sailed
from Plymouth, July 13, 1772. Captain Cook’s instructions were, to
circumnavigate the globe in high southern latitudes, prosecuting his
discoveries as near to the South Pole as possible, using every exertion
to fall in with the supposed continent, or any islands which might exist
in those unknown seas; and endeavouring, by all proper means, to
cultivate a friendship and alliance with the inhabitants. The expedition
left the Cape of Good Hope Nov. 22, and cruised, for near four months,
between the Cape and New Zealand, from E. long. 20° to 170°, their
extreme point to the southward being lat. 67° 15´. Having satisfied
himself that no land of great extent could exist between these
longitudes, to the northward of 60° S. lat., Cook made sail for New
Zealand, to refresh his crew, and reached it March 26, 1773. The winter
months, corresponding to our midsummer, he spent at the Society Islands;
and returning to New Zealand, he again sailed, November 26, in quest of
a southern continent, inclining his course to the east. He first fell in
with ice in lat. 62° 10´, W. long. 172°, and continued to steer S.E. to
lat. 67° 31´, W. long. 142° 54´, when, finding it impossible at that
time to get farther south, he returned northwards, as far as lat. 50°,
that he might be certain that no extensive country had been left in that
direction. January 6, 1774, he again shaped his course southward, and on
the 30th reached his extreme point of southing, lat. 71° 10´, W. long.
106° 54´. Here he was stopped by ice, which it was the general opinion
might extend to the Pole, or join some land to which it had been fixed
from the earliest time. Returning northwards, during the winter months
he traversed nearly the whole extent of the Pacific Ocean between the
tropics, visiting Easter Island, the Marquesas, the Society and Friendly
Islands, the New Hebrides, and another island, the largest yet
discovered in the Pacific, except those of New Zealand, which he called
New Caledonia. He then returned to New Zealand, and having passed three
weeks in friendly intercourse with the natives, took his departure,
November 10. Having cruised in various latitudes between 43° and 56°, a
portion of the ocean which he had not yet explored, and being in W.
long. 138° 56´, he determined to steer direct for the western entrance
of the Straits of Magellan, and thence, along Tierra del Fuego, to the
Straits of Le Maire. December 29 he passed Cape Horn, and re-entered the
Atlantic Ocean, and standing southward, discovered Sandwich Land, a
desolate coast, the extreme point of which he named the Southern Thule,
lat. 59° 13´, as the most southern land that had then been discovered.
Later navigators have found land nearer to the Pole. “I concluded,”
Captain Cook observes, “that Sandwich Land was either a group of
islands, or else a point of the continent, for I firmly believe that
there is a tract of land near the Pole, which is the source of most of
the ice which is spread over this vast southern ocean. I also think it
probable that it extends farthest to the north, opposite the Southern
Atlantic and Indian Oceans, because ice was always found by us farther
to the north in these oceans than any where else.” Having now
encompassed the globe in a high latitude, and thinking it impossible to
prosecute further researches in those tempestuous seas with a worn-out
ship, and nearly exhausted provisions, Cook made sail for the Cape; and
arrived there March 22, 1774, having sailed 20,000 leagues since he had
left it, without so much injury to the ship as springing a mast or yard.
July 30 he anchored at Spithead.

He was received in England with high applause, posted, and made a
Captain of Greenwich Hospital. On this occasion he published his own
Journal, illustrated by maps and engravings; and the composition,
unpretending, but clear and manly, does honour to one whose education
had been so rude. Being elected Fellow of the Royal Society, he
contributed two papers to their Transactions, published in vol. lxvi.,
one relating to the tides in the South Seas, the other containing an
account of the methods which he had taken to preserve the health of his
ship’s crew. The ravages of scurvy are now so much checked, that few
know from experience how dreadfully earlier navigators suffered from
that disease. It is one of Cook’s peculiar merits, that he attended to
the health of his seamen with such eminent success, that during this
long and painful voyage, not one man died of scurvy. Four only died, out
of a hundred and twelve persons on board the Resolution, and of these
but one was carried off by disease. That this was, in a great degree,
the merit of the Captain, is proved by the Adventure having suffered
much more, though fitted out exactly in the same way. Sailors usually
dislike changes in their mode of life; and it required judgment and
perseverance to induce them to adopt a healthy regimen. Cook, however,
succeeded in reconciling them to his innovations; of the utility of
which they were perfectly convinced, long before the end of the voyage.
The means which he used will be found fully detailed in his paper, which
was honoured by the Society with the gold medal: those on which he
chiefly relied were a large supply of antiscorbutic stores, as malt,
sour krout, and portable broth; the enforcement of a vegetable diet,
whenever vegetables could be procured; and great care not to expose the
crew unnecessarily to the weather, and to keep their persons, their
clothes, and their berths, clean, dry, and well aired. Cook was justly
proud of his success in this respect, and he closed the account of his
second voyage with words which show the humanity and modesty of his
temper. “Whatever may be the public judgment about other matters, it is
with real satisfaction, and without claiming any other merit but that of
attention to my duty, that I can conclude this account with an
observation, which facts enable me to make, that our having discovered
the possibility of preserving health among a numerous ship’s company for
such a length of time, in such varieties of climate, and amid such
continued hardships and fatigues, will make this voyage remarkable, in
the opinion of every benevolent person, when the disputes about the
southern continent shall have ceased to engage the attention and to
divide the judgment of philosophers.”

Another geographical question, of still greater interest, engaged the
attention of the nation at this time; the practicability of a north-east
passage to China and the Indies. During Cook’s absence, one expedition
had been sent out, under Captain Phipps; it was now determined to send
out a second, reversing the usual order, and trying to find a passage
from the Pacific into the Atlantic Ocean. Cook volunteered to quit his
well-earned repose, and take the direction of this enterprise; and the
offer was gladly accepted. He was directed to proceed, by the Cape of
Good Hope, to New Zealand, thence through the chain of islands scattered
along the tropics, which he had already visited. This done, he was to
proceed northward, with all dispatch, to the latitude of 65°, and to
direct his attention to the discovery of a passage into the Atlantic;
and by the extension of an existing Act of Parliament, the ship’s
company, if successful, were entitled to a reward of £20,000. With a
most praiseworthy benevolence, the ships were charged with cattle,
sheep, and other useful animals, to be left, and naturalized, if
possible, in New Zealand, Otaheite, and other islands. The Resolution
and Discovery were fitted out for the voyage, with every attention to
the health and comfort of their crews. They sailed from Plymouth July
12, 1776, and touching at New Zealand, reached the Friendly Islands so
late in the spring of 1777, that Captain Cook thought it impossible to
visit the Polar Seas to any purpose that year. He therefore spent the
whole summer in this part of the ocean, where fresh provisions were
abundant; and his men were relieved from the hardships and sicknesses
commonly incident to a long voyage, while, at the same time, the ship’s
stores were economized. He remained therefore near three months among
the Friendly Islands, using all means of adding to the geographical
knowledge of this intricate archipelago, and acquiring information
relative to the natural history of the country, and the manners of the
inhabitants, with whom an uninterrupted friendship was maintained. July
17, Cook pursued his course to the Society Islands. Both here and at the
Friendly Islands, especially at Otaheite, he left a number of European
animals; and the prudence, as well as benevolence, of this conduct, is
evinced by the valuable supplies which whalers and other navigators of
the southern seas have since drawn from them. Early in December he took
a final leave of these regions; and, January 18, 1778, came in sight of
an unknown group, to which he gave the name of Sandwich Islands. March
7, the west coast of North America was seen; and after spending a month
in executing necessary repairs in Nootka Sound, the voyagers advanced to
the Aleutian Islands, and up Behring’s Strait. Here Cook ascertained the
continents of Asia and America to be only thirteen leagues apart; and
laid down the position of the most westerly point of America, just
without the Arctic Circle, which he named Cape Prince of Wales. August
18 he reached lat. 70° 44´, W. long. about 162°, his extreme point, and
continued to traverse those frozen regions till August 29, when, the ice
being daily increasing, it was time to seek a more genial climate. But
before proceeding to the south, he employed some time in examining the
coasts of Asia and America, and found reason to admire the correctness
of Behring, the discoverer of the strait which bears that name. He
passed the winter at the Sandwich Islands, intending to return northward
early enough to reach Kamtschatka by the middle of May in the ensuing
year.

During this second visit was discovered the island of Owhyhee, the
largest and most important of the group, at which the strangers were
received with unusual generosity and confidence. Near ten weeks were
spent in sailing round it, without any serious disagreement arising with
the natives; and Cook ceased to regret that he had as yet failed in
meeting with a northern passage home. It is remarkable that his Journal
concludes with the following words: “To this disappointment we owed our
having it in our power to revisit the Sandwich Islands, and to enrich
our voyage with a discovery, which though the last, seemed in many
respects to be the most important that had hitherto been made by
Europeans, throughout the extent of the Pacific Ocean.”

This island, which he had rejoiced so much to see, was the spot where
our great navigator’s life was prematurely closed. We have the testimony
of an eye-witness to his own belief, that no premeditated and
treacherous assault had been planned; but that the fatal affray was one
of those accidents which human foresight cannot always prevent. The
natives of these, as of all the South Sea Islands, were much addicted to
stealing the new and tempting articles presented to their view; a fault
for which Captain Cook, with the benevolence usually displayed in his
dealings with them, has offered a charitable and sensible apology. But
on the night of February 13, one of the ship’s boats was stolen. To
recover this was a matter of importance; and Cook went on shore, guarded
only by a small number of marines, hoping by amicable means to gain
possession of the person of the king of the district, which he had
always found the most effectual method of regaining stolen articles. The
king consented to go on board the Resolution; but a crowd collected, and
indications of alarm and hostility gradually increased, until blows were
made at Captain Cook, and he was obliged to fire in self-defence. A
shower of stones was then discharged at the marines, who returned it
with a volley, and this drew on the fire of the boats’ crews. Cook
turned round to stop the firing, and order the boats to come close in to
shore; but a rush had been made on the marines as soon as their muskets
were discharged, and they were driven into the water, where four were
killed, the rest escaping to the boats. Cook was the last person left on
shore; and he was making for the pinnace, when an Indian came behind him
and struck him with a club. He sunk on one knee, and as he rose was
stabbed by another Indian in the neck. He fell into shallow water within
five or six yards of one of the boats; but there all was confusion, and
no united effort was made to save him. He struggled vigorously, but was
overcome by numbers; and at last was struck down, not to rise again. His
body, with the other slain, was abandoned to the natives, and though
every exertion was subsequently made, nothing more than the bones, and
not all of them, were recovered. These were committed to the deep with
military honours; honoured more highly by the unfeigned sorrow of those
who sailed under his command.

Captain Clerke, of the Discovery, succeeded to the command of the
expedition, and returned in the ensuing summer to the Polar Seas; but he
was unable to advance so far as in the former year. The chief object of
the voyage therefore failed. The ships returned along the coast of
Kamtschatka to Japan and China, and reached England in October, 1780.
Captain Clerke died of consumption in his second visit to the Polar
Seas, and Lieutenant King succeeded to the Discovery, whose name is
honourably associated with that of his great commander, in consequence
of his having continued the account of the voyage, from the period at
which Cook’s Journal ends. He has borne testimony to Cook’s virtues in
the following terms:—

“The constitution of his body was robust, inured to labour, and capable
of undergoing the severest hardships. His stomach bore without
difficulty the coarsest and most ungrateful food. Great was the
indifference with which he submitted to every kind of self-denial. The
qualities of his mind were of the same hardy, vigorous kind with those
of his body. His understanding was strong and perspicacious. His
judgment, in whatever related to the services he was engaged in, quick
and sure. His designs were bold and manly; and both in the conception,
and in the mode of execution, bore evident marks of a great original
genius. His courage was cool and determined, and accompanied with an
admirable presence of mind in the moment of danger. His temper might,
perhaps, have been justly blamed as subject to hastiness and passion,
had not these been disarmed by a disposition the most benevolent and
humane. Such were the outlines of Captain Cook’s character; but its most
distinguishing feature was that unremitting perseverance in the pursuit
of his object, which was not only superior to the opposition of dangers,
and the pressure of hardships, but even exempt from the want of ordinary
relaxation. During the long and tedious voyages in which he was engaged,
his eagerness and activity were never in the least abated. No incidental
temptation could detain him for a moment: even those intervals of
recreation which sometimes unavoidably occurred, and were looked for by
us with a longing, that persons who have experienced the fatigues of
service will readily excuse, were submitted to by him with a certain
impatience, whenever they could not be employed in making a farther
provision for the more effectual prosecution of his designs.”

The life of Captain Cook is, in effect, the history of his voyages, and
will best be found in the accounts of those works. But the memoir by Dr.
Kippis, the whole of which is printed in the Biographia Britannica, is
more adapted for general use. Samwell’s Narrative of the Death of
Captain Cook contains the fullest account of that lamentable event.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. T. Fry._

TURGOT.

_From an original Picture in the
Gallery of the Louvre._

Under the Superintendance of the Society for the diffusion of Useful
Knowledge

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

TURGOT.

Anne Robert James Turgot was born at Paris May 10, 1727. He was
descended from one of the oldest and most noble families of Normandy.

Turgot’s childhood was passed under the superintendence of an
injudicious mother, whose affection for her son seems to have been much
lessened in consequence of his shy and awkward manners before strangers.
His father, on the contrary, was a man of sense and humanity. He was
Provost of the Corporation of Merchants, an office which he long filled
with deserved popularity. He lived till 1750, and by his example as well
as by his precepts exerted no small influence over the character of his
son. If Turgot’s reserved and silent manners are to be attributed to the
one parent, the uprightness, benevolence, and boldness of his conduct
may perhaps in an equal degree be ascribed to the other. At an early age
he was sent to the school of Louis le Grand, where he had little
opportunity of making progress; for the master though a kind-hearted
man, was not in other respects peculiarly qualified for his station. He
afterwards went to the school of Plessis. Here he was more fortunate in
meeting with two professors of superior abilities, Guérin and Sigorgne;
the latter honourably distinguished as being the first member of the
universities of France, who introduced the Newtonian philosophy into the
schools. Under their tuition, assisted by his own unremitting assiduity,
Turgot advanced rapidly, and the pupil soon acquired the respect and
friendship of his teachers.

It was the custom in France, during the period of Turgot’s boyhood, that
parents should decide upon the profession to which their children should
be educated, even from the cradle; little voice in this most important
question being allowed to those who were most deeply interested in it.
Turgot was the youngest of three sons; of whom the eldest was destined
to the magistracy, the second to the army, the third, the subject of
this memoir, was set apart for the church. The premature determination
of his parents seemed amply justified as his character was gradually
developed. Great simplicity of manner, pensiveness of mind, extreme
diffidence and reserve, a distaste to dissipation of any kind, habits of
intense application, and an ardent love of knowledge, were his prominent
qualities, and well suited to the ecclesiastical life. Nevertheless he
had hardly reached the age of reflection, and become capable of
appreciating the objects of ambition, which, from the political
consideration in which his family was held, he might reasonably aspire
to, before he resolved to sacrifice all to an unfettered conscience; and
to follow that path in which he thought he could be most useful to his
fellow-citizens and mankind. Deeply impressed however with a sense of
what was due to the feelings of his parents, he waited till a favourable
opportunity should occur to disclose his secret determination; and was
in the mean time, at the age of twenty-one, admitted to the
establishment of the Sorbonne, as a student of theology. Here he
remained two years; prosecuting his studies with vigour, but without
confining them to a profession which he had resolved not to follow.
Nothing seemed too vast to discourage him, or too trifling to escape his
notice. Mathematics and natural philosophy, metaphysics, logic, morals,
legislation and law; history, belles lettres, poetry, Latin, Greek,
Hebrew, together with most of the modern languages, entered into the
comprehensive catalogue of his pursuits. So great an activity of mind,
joined to a memory so retentive that he could repeat two hundred lines
of verse after hearing them read twice, and sometimes only once, stored
his mind with an extent and variety of knowledge unusual at his, or
indeed at any age. After taking his degree, and being elected Prior of
the establishment, he could no longer conceal his intention of
relinquishing the profession of the church. His friends and associates,
amongst others the Abbés Bon, Morellet, and de Brienne, remonstrated
with him in vain on his determination. “Follow the advice,” he replied,
“which you offer, since you are able to do so: for my own part, it is
impossible for me to wear a mask all my life.”

He had determined to pursue his fortune in the civil service of the
state; and his father’s death obviated the difficulties which might have
embarrassed him in carrying his resolution into effect. He obtained the
office of Procureur du Roi as a first step in his new career, and soon
after that of Master of Requests. In this situation he had to make
several reports, and to deliver them _vivâ voce_ before the King. Aware
of his extreme diffidence, he resolved to counteract it by writing out
and revising his speech with great attention. He did so; nothing was
omitted, and yet the subject was summed up with such severe conciseness
as greatly to fatigue the patience of his hearers. Some of them,
complimenting him on his performance, at the same time criticised its
length. “The next time,” they added, “try to abridge what you have to
say.” Turgot, who knew that it was impossible to have abridged more,
learnt by this remark that he had abridged too much; and on the next
occasion, profiting by his singularly acquired knowledge, he developed
his facts at length, repeated his arguments, and recapitulated all that
he had urged; and in doing so, fixed without fatiguing the attention of
his audience. When he had finished, the same friends, as he expected,
congratulated him warmly on having corrected his former defect, saying,
“This time you have told us a great deal and you have been very brief.”

In 1761 he was made Intendant of Limoges; and on his appointment
Voltaire wrote to him, saying, “I have lately learnt from one of your
colleagues that an Intendant can do nothing but mischief: you, I trust,
will prove that he can do much good.” These anticipations were fully
realized. The inhabitants of his province, over-burthened at all times
by the oppressive imposts of the Taille, the Corvée, and the Militia
service, were then suffering under the added pressure of three
successive years of scarcity. The _Taille_ was in the nature of a
land-tax: which fell upon the landlords in those parts of the country
which were cultivated by farmers; but principally upon the labourers
themselves, wherever the _Métayer_ system was in force, as in Limousin.
A more equal distribution of this tax, and an improved method of
collection, relieved the peasant from the great injustice of the burden.
The _Corvée_ was an obligation to furnish labour in kind, twice every
year, for the construction and repair of public roads; for which the
peasantry received no remuneration. Turgot proposed that this task
should for the future be executed by hired labourers, whose wages were
to be paid by a rate levied upon the districts adjacent to the road. The
evils of the Militia service were obviated in a similar way; and the
people who had received their new Intendant with suspicion, as only a
new specimen of their former oppressors, now looked upon him as a
benefactor and a friend. Nevertheless his popularity could not overcome
all prejudices; and when he endeavoured to mitigate the evils occasioned
by the late scarcity, by introducing a free traffic in grain, both the
magistrates and the peasantry did all in their power to counteract his
wise and benevolent exertions. In spite of his new regulations,
supported by a clear explanation of the grounds upon which they rested,
the land-owners and corn-merchants could not transport their grain to
those places where the price was highest, the want therefore most
urgent, and the supply most beneficial, without exposing their persons
to insults, and their property to the pillage of the people, as well as
to the local taxes imposed by the magistrates. Turgot lost no time in
addressing a circular to the proper officers, in which he urged them, by
the pleas both of reason and authority, to put in force the laws, and
check the popular irritation. He showed that the difference of weather
often produces an abundant harvest in some districts, and a deficient
one in others; and that the only effectual way of relieving the
necessary distress in the latter, is to permit the free transport of the
surplus produce of the former: that if one town were to arrogate the
right of prohibiting the transit or export of grain, other towns would
justly pretend to the same privilege; and that what might be felt as a
benefit to the inhabitants of one spot in a year of external scarcity,
would be deprecated by the same persons as a curse in a year of internal
famine. The clearness and conciliatory tone with which the principle of
the freedom of trade was laid down, produced the desired effect; and the
writer had the satisfaction of seeing the wants of the people supplied,
without recurring to the demoralizing expedient of indiscriminate
charity.

Soon after the success of this experiment, the Minister of Finance
consulted the Intendants of the kingdom upon the laws relating to the
commerce of grain. Turgot wrote seven letters in answer, in which he
developed at length his views on the subject of free trade; and not long
after he composed an essay on the Formation of Wealth, which, as his
celebrated biographer Condorcet observes, may be considered as the germ
of Smith’s Wealth of Nations.

These unremitting exertions, joined to views so just and at that time so
original, attracted the attention of the public; and on the death of
Louis XV. Turgot was called to the first offices of the state, as the
only man who seemed likely to restore the failing credit of the nation,
do justice to the people, and prevent those political troubles which did
in fact ensue, and ended in confiscation and bloodshed. He undertook the
difficult task with cheerfulness, but not without some misgivings. The
aristocracy and the court could not long remain favourable to a minister
who would not cater to their luxuries; the clergy naturally viewed with
suspicion one who was devoted to the most rigid economy; public opinion
was not sufficiently advanced to appreciate the measures of a statesman
whose genius far surpassed the knowledge of his day; and even if it had
been more enlightened, it had not the means of expressing itself
powerfully and almost simultaneously as in England. Turgot therefore had
no support to rely on but that of the King; but while the monarch
remained firm, there was still a hope that the statesman might
accomplish his objects. After filling the post of Minister of Marine for
one month, he was raised to the office of Minister of Finance, August
24, 1774. Nothing could be more encouraging to him than his first
audience of the King; it was more like the confidential intercourse of
two friends considering in truth and sincerity the best means of
promoting the happiness of their common country, than a cold and formal
state conference. Turgot, with the permission of his sovereign,
recapitulated what had occurred at this meeting, in a letter which is
above all praise. In it he enforced the absolute necessity of the most
rigid economy, in order to prevent a national bankruptcy, any increase
of taxes, or any new loans. “No bankruptcy, either avowed, or disguised
under compulsory reductions. No increase of taxes. The reason your
Majesty will find in the situation of your people, and still more in
your own heart. No new loans; for every loan, by diminishing the free
revenue, necessarily leads at last to a bankruptcy or an increase of
taxes.” The means by which he proposed to bring about these ends were
the most rigid retrenchments. “But,” he adds, “it is asked, in what is
the retrenchment to be made? and every department will maintain that as
far as relates to itself there is scarcely a single expense which is not
indispensable. The reasons alleged may be very good; but as there can be
none for performing impossibilities, all these reasons must give way to
the irresistible necessity of economy. Your Majesty knows that one of
the greatest obstacles to economy is the multitude of solicitations to
which you are perpetually exposed. Your benevolence, Sir, must be the
shield against your bounty. Consider whence the money distributed
amongst your courtiers is drawn; and contrast the misery of those from
whom it is sometimes necessary to wrest it by the most rigorous
measures, with the situation of those who have the best title to your
liberality.” Such a course was sure to raise up enemies on every side.
He anticipates the calumnies which will be heaped upon him; he points
them out to the King, and then reminds him, “It is upon the faith of
your Majesty’s promises that I take upon myself a burthen which is
perhaps heavier than I can bear; it is to yourself personally, to the
honest, the just, and the good man, rather than to the King, that I
devote myself.”

From this letter it might be supposed by those who are not acquainted
with all Turgot’s principles, that his first step would be to stop the
payment to every useless pensioner upon the state, and abrogate every
local tax which had been unjustly levied by individuals in times of
anarchy and oppression. But he respected the right of property; and the
more so, because he understood its full extent. Every unjust impost was
indeed taken off, and every monopoly destroyed; but not without first
giving to the possessors an indemnification equal to their loss: and two
years’ arrears of pensions, which had been stopped for three years
previous to his entering upon office, were punctually discharged without
loss of time where the amount was small, and the creditor therefore in
all probability not in affluent circumstances; whilst the payment of the
remaining ones was accelerated as much as possible. It was not therefore
by injustice that he endeavoured to relieve the people, but by enabling
them more easily to bear their burdens. The faithful discharge of all
claims upon the state, restored the credit of the country; the
destruction of monopolies, and of restrictions upon commerce and
manufactures, increased the wealth of the people, and thus rendered
comparatively light an amount of taxation which was before most
burdensome. Thus, his first regulations established a free trade in corn
throughout the kingdom, and took away the exclusive privileges of
bakers, the obligation to grind corn at particular mills, and several
market dues upon corn when sold. A similar edict permitted the free
circulation of wine; and brandy, cider, and perry were meant to have
been subsequently included in this law. The manufacturers of France were
also freed from the absurd and vexatious regulations which prescribed
the size of different stuffs, and the method of making and dying them,
under severe penalties and even corporal punishments; and ingenuity was
allowed to exert itself according to the taste and demand of the public.
Glass, powder, saltpetre, nitre, oil of poppies, and many other
articles, were either freed on the one hand from the exclusive
privileges in their manufacture, which enhanced their price and
interfered with their quality; or on the other, from restrictions upon
their free transport through the kingdom, which prevented the
manufacturer from obtaining the best price for his goods.

These changes were brought about in little more than a year and a half,
during which his labours were interrupted by attacks of illness, and by
two events which could not be averted or foreseen. The first of these
was a contagious disorder which broke out among the cattle of Guienne,
and spread far and wide, until the salutary measures taken by Turgot
arrested the evil: the other was more serious, and required all the
decision and courage of the minister for its suppression. The season had
been unfavourable; and in times of scarcity the people had been
accustomed to vent their fury against the corn-merchants, whom the
government often weakly abandoned. A repetition of these scenes was
approaching. A few riots in the provincial towns were soon quelled, but
a heavier storm impended over the capital. A band of lawless insurgents,
after plundering the corn-markets upon the Seine and Oise, entered
Paris, rifled many bakers’ shops, and endeavoured to excite the people
to outrage and violence. The powers of government seemed paralysed. The
superintendents of the police were frightened and inactive; and the
parliament published a proclamation, promising that the King should be
petitioned for a reduction in the price of bread. Turgot lost no time in
sending troops to the disturbed district, who soon dispersed the
pillagers; the superintendents of the police were immediately dismissed
from office; and government proclamations were posted over those of the
parliament during the very night in which the latter were issued,
prohibiting the assembling of the people on pain of death. These
energetic and salutary measures soon restored tranquillity and
confidence; the property of the merchants was respected; and the price
of provisions found the lowest level which the nature of the case would
admit of. A month after, the King in passing through a district in which
these riots had prevailed, was cheered by subjects who blessed his
government. “It is Turgot and I alone who love the people,” was the
expression which fell from his lips; and the sentence was repeated and
confirmed by a nation’s voice. In spite, however, of Turgot’s
indefatigable and honest exertions in the cause of his country, his
dismission from office was soon demanded. The privileged orders insisted
upon remaining exempt from the payment of the taxes; the court parasites
upheld the necessity of sinecures and pensions; all who lived upon the
resources of the country without serving it, united in denouncing a
minister who was the friend of the people and of justice; nor had the
clergy any sympathy with one who laid down the most comprehensive
principles of toleration. The King had the culpable weakness of yielding
to this dishonest clamour. He sacrificed his minister, and not many
years after died himself upon the scaffold; that scaffold which was
destined to reek with the blood of his family, his friends, and his
subjects.

Turgot had been in office only twenty months, but during that time he
had prepared the way for a new era of extensive happiness and prosperity
for his fellow-countrymen. A friend reproached him one day with being
too precipitate. “How can you say so,” he replied, “you who know so well
the pressing wants of the people, and are aware that none of my family
survive the gout beyond the age of fifty.” His prediction was but too
nearly fulfilled; he died of this hereditary disease a few years
afterwards, March 20, 1781, in the fifty-fourth year of his age.

During the interval between his retiring from office, and his death,
Turgot devoted himself to literary and scientific pursuits. His works
are contained in nine volumes octavo, 1808–11; they are composed
principally of state papers connected with his administration, of some
articles written for the Encyclopédie, and a few translations from
classical and modern literature.

Turgot was a great and a good man; endowed with depth and originality of
thought, he discovered and acted upon sound principles of political
economy, before the science had been even dignified with a name; and
whilst his predecessors in office were ever seeking for temporary
expedients to increase the revenue of the state by the oppression of the
people, he first endeavoured to unite the interests of both. Mild and
conciliating in his manners, just and benevolent in all his view’s, he
was the firm and uncompromising opponent of every species of injustice.
He was ambitious, but his ambition was of the highest order. He despised
the tinsel grandeur of office, the smiles of courtiers, or even the
applause of the multitude; but he courted the means of doing good to
mankind, and his reward has been the esteem of discerning friends and
the applause of a later and a more enlightened age.

A disquisition on the life and opinions of Turgot, by Dupont de Nemours,
is prefixed to the edition of his works which we have already mentioned.
His life, written by Condorcet, is one of the best specimens of
biography in any language. Lacretelle’s ‘Histoire du dix-huitième
Siècle’ contains a short sketch of his ministry, well deserving
attention: and several interesting details of his character are to be
found in the Memoirs of the Abbé Morellet.

[Illustration:

_Engraved by W. Holl._

PETER THE GREAT.

_From a Print by Smith after a Picture by Kneller._

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

_London, Published by Charles Knight, Pall Mall East._
]

[Illustration]

PETER THE GREAT.

At the close of the sixteenth century, the dominions of Russia, or
Muscovy, as it was then more generally called, were far thrown back from
the more civilized nations of southern Europe, by the intervention of
Lithuania, Livonia, and other provinces now incorporated in the Russian
empire, but then belonging either to Sweden or Poland. The Czar of
Muscovy therefore possessed no political weight in the affairs of
Europe; and little intercourse existed between the Court of Moscow and
the more polished potentates whom it affected to despise as barbarians,
even for some time after the accession of the reigning dynasty, the
house of Romanof, in 1613, and the establishment of a more regular
government than had previously been known. We only read occasionally of
embassies being sent to Moscow, in general for the purpose of arranging
commercial relations. From this state of insignificance, Peter, the
first Emperor of Russia, raised his country, by introducing into it the
arts of peace, by establishing a well organized and disciplined army in
the place of a lawless body of tumultuous mutineers, by creating a navy,
where scarce a merchant vessel existed before, and, as the natural
result of these changes, by important conquests on both the Asiatic and
European frontiers of his hereditary dominions. For these services his
countrymen bestowed on him, yet living, the title of Great: and it is
well deserved, whether we look to the magnitude of those services, the
difficulty of carrying into effect his benevolent designs, which
included nothing less than the remodelling a whole people, or the grasp
of mind, and the iron energy of will, which was necessary to conceive
such projects, and to overcome the difficulties which beset them. It
will not vitiate his claim to the epithet, that his manners were coarse
and boisterous, his amusements often ludicrous and revolting to a
polished taste: if that claim be questionable, it is because he who
aspired to be the reformer of others, was unable to control the violence
of his own passions.

The Czar Alexis, Peter’s father, was actuated by somewhat of the spirit
which so distinguished the son. He endeavoured to introduce the European
discipline into his armies; he had it much at heart to turn the
attention of the Russians to maritime pursuits; and he added the fine
provinces of Plescow and Smolensko to his paternal dominions. At the
death of Alexis, in 1677, Peter was but five years old. His eldest
brother Theodore succeeded to the throne. Theodore died after a reign of
five years, and named Peter his successor. We pass in silence over the
intrigues and insurrections which troubled the young Czar’s minority. It
was not until the close of the year 1689, in the eighteenth year of his
age, that he finally shook off the trammels of an ambitious sister, and
assumed in reality, as well as in name, the direction of the state. How
he had been qualified for this task by education does not clearly
appear; but even setting aside the stories which attribute to his sister
the detestable design of leading him into all sorts of excess, and
especially drunkenness, with the hope of ruining both his constitution
and intellect, it is probable that no pains whatever had been taken to
form his intellect or manners for the station which he was to occupy.
One of the few anecdotes told of his early life is, that being struck by
the appearance of a boat on the river Yausa, which runs through Moscow,
which he noticed to be of different construction from the flat-bottomed
vessels commonly in use, he was led to inquire into the method of
navigating it. It had been built for the Czar Alexis by a Dutchman, who
was still in Moscow. He was immediately sent for; he rigged and repaired
the boat; and under his guidance the young prince learnt how to sail
her, and soon grew passionately fond of his new amusement. He had five
small vessels built at Plescow, on the lake Peipus; and not satisfied
with this fresh-water navigation, hired a ship at Archangel, in which he
made a voyage to the coast of Lapland. In these expeditions his love of
sailing was nourished into a passion which lasted through life. He
prided himself upon his practical skill as a seaman; and both at this
time and afterwards exposed himself and his friends to no small hazard
by his rashness in following this favourite pursuit.

The first serious object of Peter’s attention was to reform the army. In
this he was materially assisted by a Swiss gentleman named Lefort; at
whose suggestion he raised a company of fifty men, who were clothed and
disciplined in the European manner; the Russian army at that time being
little better than a tribe of Tartars. As soon as the little corps was
formed, Peter caused himself to be enrolled in it as a private soldier.
It is a remarkable trait in the character of the man, that he thought no
condescension degrading, which forwarded any of his ends. In the army he
entered himself in the lowest rank, and performed successively the
duties of every other: in the navy he went still further, for he
insisted on performing the menial duties of the lowest cabin-boy, rising
step by step, till he was qualified to rate as an able seaman. Nor was
this done merely for the sake of singularity; he had resolved that every
officer of the sea or land service should enter in the lowest rank of
his profession, that he might obtain a practical knowledge of every task
or manœuvre which it was his duty to see properly executed: and he felt
that his nobility might scarcely be brought to submit to what in their
eyes would be a degradation, except by the personal example of the Czar
himself. By the help of Lefort and some veteran officers, several of
whom, and those the objects of his especial confidence, were Scotchmen,
he was enabled in a short time to command the services of a large body
of disciplined troops, composed, one corps principally of foreigners,
another of natives. Meanwhile he had not been negligent of the other arm
of war; for a number of Dutch and Venetian workmen were employed in
building gun-boats and small ships of war at Voronitz, on the river Don,
intended to secure the command of the sea of Asof, and to assist in
capturing the strong town of Asof, then held by the Turks. The
possession of this place was of great importance, from its situation at
the mouth of the Don, commanding access to the Mediterranean seas. His
first military attempts were accordingly directed against it, and he
succeeded in taking it in 1696.

In the spring of the ensuing year, the empire being tranquil, and the
young Czar’s authority apparently established on a safe footing, he
determined to travel into foreign countries, to view with his own eyes,
and become personally and practically familiar with the arts and
institutions of refined nations. There was a grotesqueness in his manner
of executing this design, which has tended, more probably than even its
real merit, to make it one of the common places of history. Every child
knows how the Czar of Muscovy worked in the dock-yard of Saardam in
Holland, as a common carpenter. In most men this would have been
affectation; and perhaps there was some tinge of that weakness in the
earnestness with which Peter handled the axe, obeyed the officers of the
dock-yard, and, in all points of outward manners and appearance, put
himself on a level with the shipwrights who were earning their daily
bread. Most men too would have thought it unnecessary, that a prince,
intent upon creating a navy, should learn the mere mechanical art of
putting a ship together; and that his time would have been better
employed in studying the sciences connected with navigation, and the
discipline and details of the naval service as established in the best
schools. It seems, however, to have been the turn of Peter’s mind always
to begin at the beginning; a sound maxim, though here perhaps pushed
beyond reasonable bounds. We have said, that he scrupulously went
through the lowest services in the army and navy: probably he thought it
as necessary that one who aimed at creating and directing a navy should
not be ignorant of the practical art of ship-building, as that a general
should be capable of performing himself the movements which he directs
the private to execute. And his abode and occupations in Holland formed
only part of an extensive plan. On quitting Russia he sent sixty young
Russians to Venice and Leghorn to learn ship-building and navigation,
and especially the construction and management of the large galleys
moved by oars, which were so much used by the Venetian republic. Others
he sent into Holland, with similar instructions; others into Germany, to
study the art of war, and make themselves well acquainted with the
discipline and tactics of the German troops. So that while his personal
labour at Saardam may have been stimulated in part by affectation of
singularity, in part perhaps by a love of bodily exertion common in men
of his busy and ardent temper, it would be unjust not to give him credit
for higher motives; such as the desire to become thoroughly acquainted
with the art of ship-building, which he thought so important, and to set
a good example of diligence to those whom he had sent out on a similar
voyage of education.

Peter remained nine months in Holland, the greatest part of which he
spent in the dock-yard of Saardam. He displayed unwearied zeal in
seeking out and endeavouring to comprehend every thing of interest in
science and art, especially in visiting manufactories. In January, 1698,
he sailed for London in an English man-of-war, sent out expressly to
bring him over. His chief object was to perfect himself in the higher
branches of ship-building. With this view he occupied Mr. Evelyn’s
house, adjoining the dock-yard of Deptford; and there remain in that
gentleman’s journal some curious notices of the manners of the Czar and
his household, which were of the least refined description. During his
stay he showed the same earnestness in inquiring into all things
connected with the maritime and commercial greatness of the country, as
before in Holland; and he took away near five hundred persons in his
suite, consisting of naval captains, pilots, gunners, surgeons, and
workmen in various trades, especially those connected with the naval
service. In England, without assuming his rank, he ceased to wear the
attire and adopt the habits of a common workman; and he had frequent
intercourse with William III., who is said to have conceived a strong
liking for him, notwithstanding the uncouthness of his manners. Kneller
painted a portrait of him for the King, said to be a good likeness, from
which our print is engraved.

He left London in April, 1698, and proceeded to Vienna, principally to
inspect the Austrian troops, then esteemed among the best in Europe. He
had intended to visit Italy; but his return was hastened by the tidings
of a dangerous insurrection having broken out, which, though suppressed,
seemed to render a longer absence from the seat of government
inexpedient. The insurgents were chiefly composed of the Russian
soldiery, abetted by a large party who thought every thing Russian good,
and hated and dreaded the Czar’s innovating temper. Of those who had
taken up arms, many were slain in battle; the rest, with many persons of
more rank and consequence, suspected of being implicated in the revolt,
were retained in prison until the Czar himself should decide their fate.
Numerous stories of his extravagant cruelties on this occasion have been
told, which may safely be passed over as unworthy of credit. It is
certain, however, that considerable severity was shown. Many citizens
who had not borne arms were condemned to death as instigators of the
rebellion, and their frozen bodies exposed on the gibbets, or thrown by
the way-side, remained throughout the winter, a fearful spectacle to
passers by. In some accounts it is stated that two thousand of the
soldiery were put to death: but the absurd falsehoods told of Peter’s
conduct on this occasion afford opportunity for a doubt, which we gladly
entertain, whether justice was suffered to lead to such wholesale
butchery. This insurrection led to the complete remodelling of the
Russian army, on the same plan which had already been partially adopted.

During the year 1699 the Czar was chiefly occupied by civil reforms.
According to his own account, as published in his journal, he regulated
the press, caused translations to be published of various treatises on
military and mechanical science, and history; he founded a school for
the navy; others for the study of the Latin, German, and other
languages; he encouraged his subjects to cultivate foreign trade, which
before they had absolutely been forbidden to do under pain of death; he
altered the Russian calendar, in which the year began on September 1, to
agree in that point with the practice of other nations; he broke through
the Oriental custom of not suffering women to mix in general society;
and he paid sedulous attention to the improvement of his navy on the
river Don. We have the testimony of Mr. Deane, an English ship-builder,
that the Czar had turned his manual labours to good account, who states
in a letter to England, that “the Czar has set up a ship of sixty guns,
where he is both foreman and master builder; and, not to flatter him,
I’ll assure your Lordship, it will be the best ship among them, and it
is all from his own draught: how he framed her together, and how he made
the moulds, and in so short a time as he did, is really wonderful.”

He introduced an improved breed of sheep from Saxony and Silesia;
despatched engineers to survey the different provinces of his extensive
empire; sent persons skilled in metallurgy to the various districts in
which mines were to be found; established manufactories of arms, tools,
stuffs; and encouraged foreigners skilled in the useful arts to settle
in Russia, and enrich it by the produce of their industry.

We cannot trace the progress of that protracted contest between Sweden
and Russia, in which the short-lived greatness of Sweden was broken: we
can only state the causes of the war, and the important results to which
it led. Peter’s principal motive for engaging in it was his leading wish
to make Russia a maritime and commercial nation. To this end it was
necessary that she should be possessed of ports, of which however she
had none but Archangel and Asof, both most inconveniently situated, as
well in respect of the Russian empire itself, as of the chief commercial
nations of Europe. On the waters of the Baltic Russia did not possess a
foot of coast. Both sides of the Baltic, both sides of the Gulf of
Finland, the country between the head of that gulf and the lake Ladoga,
including both sides of the river Neva, and the western side of lake
Ladoga itself, and the northern end of lake Peipus, belonged to Sweden.
In the year 1700, Charles XII. being but eighteen years of age, Denmark,
Poland, and Russia, which had all of them suffered from the ambition of
Sweden, formed a league to repair their losses, presuming on the
weakness usually inherent in a minority. The object of Russia was the
restoration of the provinces of Ingria, Carelia, and Wiborg, the country
round the head of the Gulf of Finland, which formerly had belonged to
her; that of Poland, was the recovery of Livonia and Esthonia, the
greater part of which had been ceded by her to Charles XI. of Sweden.
Denmark was to obtain Holstein and Sleswick. But Denmark and Poland very
soon withdrew, and left Russia to encounter Sweden single-handed. To
this she was entirely unequal; her army, the bulk of it undisciplined,
and even the disciplined part unpractised in the field, was no match for
the veteran troops of Sweden, the terror of Germany. In the battle of
Narva, a town on the river which runs out of the Peipus lake, fought
November 30, 1700, nine thousand Swedes defeated signally near forty
thousand Russians, strongly intrenched and with a numerous artillery.
Had Charles prosecuted his success with vigour, he might probably have
delayed for many years the rise of Russia; but whether from contempt or
mistake he devoted his whole attention to the war in Poland, and left
the Czar at liberty to recruit and discipline his army, and improve the
resources of his kingdom. In these labours he was most diligent. His
troops, practised in frequent skirmishes with the Swedes quartered in
Ingria and Livonia, rapidly improved, and on the celebrated field of
Pultowa broke for ever the power of Charles XII. This decisive action
did not take place until July 8, 1709. The interval was occupied by a
series of small, but important additions to the Russian territory. In
1701–2, great part of Livonia and Ingria were subdued, including the
banks of the Neva, where, on May 27, 1703, the city of St. Petersburg
was founded. It was not till 1710 that the conquest of Courland, with
the remainder of Livonia, including the important harbours of Riga and
Revel, gave to Russia that free navigation of the Baltic sea which Peter
had longed for as the greatest benefit which he could confer upon his
country.

After the battle of Pultowa Charles fled to Turkey, where he continued
for some years, shut out from his own dominions, and intent chiefly on
spiriting the Porte to make war on Russia. In this he succeeded; but
hostilities were terminated almost at their beginning, by the battle of
the Pruth, fought July 20, 1711, in which the Russian army, not
mustering more than forty thousand men, and surrounded by five times
that number of Turks, owed its preservation to Catharine, first the
mistress, at this time the wife, and finally the acknowledged partner
and successor of Peter in the throne of Russia. By her coolness and
prudence, while the Czar, exhausted by fatigue, anxiety, and
self-reproach, was labouring under nervous convulsions, to which he was
liable throughout life, a treaty was concluded with the Vizier in
command of the Turkish army, by which the Russians preserved indeed
life, liberty, and honour, but were obliged to resign Asof, to give up
the forts and burn the vessels built to command the sea bearing that
name, and to consent to other stipulations, which must have been very
bitter to the hitherto successful conqueror. Returning to the seat of
government, his foreign policy for the next few years was directed to
breaking down the power of Sweden, and securing his new metropolis by
prosecuting his conquests on the northern side of the Gulf of Finland.
Here he was entirely successful; and the whole of Finland itself, and of
the gulf, fell into his hands. These provinces were secured to Russia by
the peace of Nieustadt, in 1721. Upon this occasion, the senate or state
assembly of Russia requested him to assume the title of Emperor of all
the Russias, with the adjuncts of Great, and Father of his Country.

Of the private history and character of Peter, we have hitherto said
nothing. He was passionately fond of ardent spirits, and not only drank
very largely himself, but took a pleasure in compelling others to do the
same, until the royal banqueting-room became a scene of the most
revolting debauchery and intoxication. But towards the close of life,
his habits, when alone, were temperate even to abstemiousness. In his
domestic relations he was far from happy. At the age of seventeen he
married a Russian lady, named Eudoxia Lapouchin, whom he divorced in
less than three years. According to some accounts, this separation was
caused by her infidelities; according to others, by her obstinate
hostility to all his projects of improvement: a hostility inculcated and
encouraged by the priesthood, in whose eyes all change was an
abomination, and the worst of changes those made professedly in
imitation of the barbarous nations inhabiting the rest of Europe. By her
the Czar had one son, Alexis, heir to the throne; who, under the
guardianship of his weak and bigoted mother, grew up in the practice of
all low debauchery, and with the same deference to the priesthood, and
dislike to change, which had cost herself the society of her husband.
The degeneracy of this, his eldest, and long his only son, was a serious
affliction to Peter; the more so, if he reflected justly, because he
could not hold himself guiltless of it, in having intrusted the
education of his legitimate successor to one, of whose incapacity for
the charge he had ample proof. It appears from authentic documents that
even so early as the battle of the Pruth, Peter had contemplated the
necessity of excluding his son from the throne. In the close of the year
1716, he addressed a serious expostulation to Alexis, in which, after
reviewing the errors of his past life, he declared his fixed intention
of cutting off the prince from the succession, unless he should so far
amend as to afford a reasonable hope of his reigning for the good of his
people. He required him either to work a thorough reformation in his
life and manners, or to retire to a monastery; and allowed him six
months to deliberate upon this alternative. At the end of the time
Alexis quitted Russia, under pretence of going to his father at
Copenhagen; but instead of doing so he fled to Vienna. He was induced,
however, to return by promises of forgiveness, mixed with threats in the
event of his continued disobedience, and arrived at Moscow, February 13,
1718. On the following day the clergy, the chief officers of state, and
the chief nobility were convened, and Alexis, being brought before them
as a prisoner, acknowledged himself unworthy of the succession, which he
resigned, entreating only that his life might be spared. A declaration
was then read on the part of the Czar, reciting the various
delinquencies of which his son had been guilty, and ending with the
solemn exclusion of him from the throne, and the nomination of Peter,
his own infant son by Catharine, as the future emperor. To this solemn
act of renunciation Alexis set his hand. Thus far there is nothing to
blame in the parent’s conduct, unless it be considered that in the
promise of forgiveness, a reservation of his son’s hereditary right was
implied. His subsequent conduct was severe, if not faithless. Not
content with what had been done, Peter determined to extract from Alexis
a full confession of the plans which he had entertained, and of the
names of his advisers. For near five months the wretched young man was
harassed by constant interrogatories, in his replies to which
considerable prevarication took place. It was on the ground of this
prevarication that, in July, 1718, the Czar determined to bring his son
to trial. By the laws of Russia a father had power of life or death over
his child, and the Czar absolute power over the lives of his subjects.
Waving these rights, however, if such oppressive privileges deserve the
name, he submitted the question to an assembly of the chief personages
of the realm; and the document which he addressed to them on this
occasion bears strong evidence to the honesty of his purpose, unfeeling
as that purpose must appear. On July 5, that assembly unanimously
pronounced Alexis worthy of death, and on the next day but one Alexis
died. The manner of his death will never probably be entirely cleared
up. Rumour of course attributed it to violence; but there are many
circumstances which render this improbable. One argument against it is
to be found in the character of Peter himself, who would hardly have
hesitated to act this tragedy in the face of the world, had he thought
it necessary to act it at all. Why he should have incurred the guilt of
an action scarce one degree removed from midnight murder, when the
object might have been effected by legal means, and the odium was
already incurred, it is not easy to say. He courted publicity for his
conduct, and submitted himself to the judgment of Europe, by causing the
whole trial to be translated into several languages, and printed. His
own statement intimates that he had not intended to enforce the
sentence; and proceeds to say that on July 6, Alexis, after having heard
the judgment read, was seized by fits resembling apoplexy, and died the
following day; having seen his father and received his forgiveness,
together with the last rites of the Greek religion. This is the less
improbable, because intemperance had injured the prince’s constitution,
and a tendency to fits was hereditary in the family.

If our sketch of the latter years of Peter’s life appear meagre and
unsatisfactory, it is to be recollected that the history of that life is
the history of a great empire, which it would be vain to condense within
our limits, were they greater than they are. Results are all that we are
competent to deal with. From the peace of Nieustadt, the exertions of
Peter, still unremitting, were directed more to consolidate and improve
the internal condition of the empire, by watching over the changes which
he had already made, than to effect farther conquests, or new
revolutions in policy or manners. He died February 8, 1725, leaving no
surviving male issue. Sometime before, he had caused the Empress
Catharine to be solemnly crowned and associated with him on the throne,
and to her he left the charge of fostering those schemes of civilization
which he had originated.

Of the numerous works which treat wholly or in part of the history of
Peter the Great, that of Voltaire, not the most trustworthy, is probably
the most widely known. Fuller information will be found in the ‘Journal
de Pierre le Grand, ecrit par lui-même;’ in the memoirs published under
the name of Nestesuranoi, and the Anecdotes of M. Stæhlin. For English
works, we may refer to Tooke’s History of Russia, and the ‘Life of
Peter,’ in the Family Library.

[Illustration]

END OF VOL. II.

Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES, Duke-Street, Lambeth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Changed “Ecole” and “Ecoles” to “École” and “Écoles” on p. 92.
2. Changed “Eloge” to “Éloge” on p. 88.
3. Changed “Veritá” to “Verità” on p. 139.
4. Silently corrected typographical errors.
5. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.
6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
7. Superscripts are denoted by a carat before a single superscript
character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Gallery of Portraits, with Memoirs. Vol 2 (of 7)" ***

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