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Title: Historical difficulties and contested events
Author: Octave Delepierre
Release date: September 1, 2023 [eBook #71537]
Language: English
Original publication: London: John Murray, 1868
Credits: Alan, deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORICAL DIFFICULTIES AND CONTESTED EVENTS ***
HISTORICAL DIFFICULTIES
AND
CONTESTED EVENTS.
L’histoire n’est le plus souvent,
et surtout à distance, qu’une fable
convenue, un _qui pro quo_ arrangé
après coup, et accepté.
(SAINTE-BEUVE, Nouveaux Lundis.
Tome 6ᵐᵉ, p. 8.)
Les vérités se succèdent du pour
au contre à mesure qu’on a plus de
lumières.
(PASCAL).
HISTORICAL DIFFICULTIES
AND
CONTESTED EVENTS.
BY OCTAVE DELEPIERRE, LL.D., F.S.A.
SECRETARY OF LEGATION TO THE KING OF THE BELGIANS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1868.
[_The right of translation is reserved._]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
1. THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES (B. C. 306) 13
2. BELISARIUS (565) 23
3. THE ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY (640) 31
4. POPE JOAN (855) 40
5. ABELARD AND ELOISA (1140) 49
6. WILLIAM TELL (1307) 67
7. PETRARCH AND LAURA (1320) 93
8. JEANNE D’ARC (1430) 105
9. FRANCIS I. AND COUNTESS OF CHATEAUBRIAND (1525) 116
10. CHARLES V. OF SPAIN (1557) 128
11. THE INVENTOR OF THE STEAM-ENGINE (1625) 139
12. GALILEO GALILEI (1620) 148
APPENDIX TO THE NOTICE ON WILLIAM TELL 161
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL INDEX 167
INTRODUCTION.
The age in which we live seems remarkable for its appreciation of
men of renown, and for the homage rendered to them. Societies that
are still in their youth are liable to be dazzled by the superficial
wonders of historical tradition, and to allow their admiration to be
easily taken captive; but an epoch ripened by experience, and by a
long habit of literary criticism, should rather reserve its enthusiasm
for ascertained facts, and for such deeds of renown as are beyond the
pale of doubt and discussion. Thus we find in the present day a marked
predilection, not only as a matter of general utility but also from
a sense of justice, for a keen research into every doubtful point of
history. Nations as well as individuals need the maturity of time to
appreciate at their real value the actions and the traditions of past
ages.
The art of writing history has two very distinct branches, the
combination of which is essential to the production of a complete
historian. A research into, and a criticism of, events with no other
aim than to elicit truth, is one branch of the historical art; the
other is the resolution to interpret, to describe, to give to each
event its full signification and colouring; to put that life into it in
fact which belongs to every human spectacle. It is only the first part
of the task that we propose to undertake in these essays.
Seneca has said that we must not give too ready credence to hearsay,
for some disguise the truth in order to deceive, and some because they
are themselves the victims of deception. Other Greek and Latin writers
have also warned us against a too ready faith in popular traditions.
How many errors bequeathed to us by the historians of antiquity owe
their enlarged growth, ere they reached us, to their passage through
the middle ages.
De Quincy tells us that if a saying has a proverbial fame, the
probability is that it was never said. The same opinion may be held of
a great many so-called historical facts which are perfectly familiar
even to the ignorant, and yet which never happened.
The French critic Lenglet du Fresnoy, in his work “_L’Histoire
justifiée contre les Romans_,” has devoted about 100 pages to
historical doubts; but he only touches the surface of the subject. Many
years before Niebuhr, the Abbé Lancellotti published at Venice in 1637,
under the title of “_Farfalloni degli antichi Storici_,” a curious
volume, now rare, in which he exposes the many absurd stories taught
in schools as history. The book contains more than a hundred of these
fictions, and was translated into French by T. Oliva 1770.
Du Pan, in his _Recherches sur les Américains_, says that Montezuma
sacrificed annually twenty thousand children to the idols in
the temples of Mexico. In such assertions the improbability and
exaggeration are so self-evident that it is needless to dwell upon them.
“Books,” says the Prince de Ligne, “tell us that the Duke of Alba put
to death by the hands of the executioner in the Low Countries eighteen
thousand gentlemen, while the fact is that scarcely two thousand could
have been altogether collected there.
Who is there who now believes in the story of Dionysius the Tyrant
becoming a schoolmaster at Corinth?[1]
Even in the time of Titus Livius there was so much doubt as to the
truth of the legend of the _Horatii_ and the _Curiatii_, that he
writes, one cannot tell to which of the two contending people the
Horatii or the Curiatii[2] belonged. Yet this cautious historian
relates in another place how Hannibal fed his soldiers on human flesh
to give them energy and courage. Mr. Rey[3] has carefully studied the
origin of the heroic fable of the death of Regulus, and has exposed its
fallacy.
In comparatively modern times also, how many delusions do we find
worthy of ancient history. The story of the Sicilian Vespers,[4] for
instance, and the episode concerning Doctor Procida, who far from being
a principal in the massacre, was not even present at it. We may also
mention some of the anecdotes of Christopher Columbus:[5] the fable
of the egg that he is said to have broken, in order to make it stand
upright: the account of his anxiety, amounting to agony, among his
mutinous crew, to whom he had faithfully promised a sight of land--all
of which has been disproved by M. de Humboldt in his _Examen critique
de l’Histoire de la Géographie_.
The history of England also furnishes many examples of similar
credulity. Without entering upon the murder of King Edward’s children,
which story has been discussed by Walpole, may we not cite the death of
the Duke of Clarence, who for four centuries was believed to have been
drowned in a butt of Malmsey?--an error exposed by John Bayley in “_The
historic Antiquities of the Tower of London_.”
We may cite again the often-mooted question of the exhumation of the
body of Cromwell, and of the outrages committed on his remains by
order of Charles II:[6] the interesting but imaginative picture of
Milton dictating Paradise Lost to his daughters, while, if we may
believe Doctor Johnson, he never even allowed them to learn to write.
Modern historians, however, are often equally incorrect. Among them we
may quote the poet laureate Southey, who was guilty of a remarkable
perversion of facts regarding one of the wisest men of the 19th century.
In an article in the _Quarterly Review_ (Vol. XXXIX. p. 477. April
1829) entitled, _State and Prospects of the Country_, we are told
that Conrad, a monk of Heresbach, had pronounced in presence of an
assembly, an anathema against Greek, saying that: “a new language had
been discovered called Greek, against which it was necessary to guard,
as this language engendered every species of heresy; just as all they
who learned Hebrew, infallibly became Jews.”
This curious anecdote was repeated in _La Revue Britannique_, No.
46. p. 254, whence it found its way into a note of the _Poème de la
Typographie_ of M. Pelletier (1 vol. 8ᵛᵒ. Genève, 1832) and the mistake
was republished in many other books. Now the real fact is, that Conrad
of Heresbach had never been a monk, but was a confidential counsellor
of the Duke of Cleves, and that, far from prohibiting the study of the
ancient languages, he was one of the savans of the 16th century who
shewed the greatest zeal in encouraging a taste for their culture. It
is he himself who, in order to expose the ignorance of the clergy of
that period, relates, that he heard a monk from the pulpit pronounce
the anathema on the Greek language which we have mentioned above. So
easy is it, by distorting facts, to make or mar a reputation!
When we reflect on the innumerable errors daily propagated by books,
we have cause to be alarmed at the strange confusion in which all
literature may find itself a few centuries hence. It is very possible
that historical events will be even more difficult of proof than
before the invention of printing, which may consequently have served
to augment disorder and perplexity rather than to have assisted
in the promotion of truth and accuracy. In a recent number of the
_Constitutionnel_, in a _feuilleton_ supposed to be from the pen of
M. de Lamartine, it is stated that: “The tombs of great poets inspire
great passions. It was at Tasso’s tomb,” he says, “that Petrarch,
during his first absence, nourished his regretful remembrance of
_Laura_!” Now Petrarch died in 1374, and it was more than two hundred
years afterwards (in 1581) that Tasso published his first edition of
the _Gerusalemme Liberata_!
We should not know where to stop if we attempted to bring forward
examples of all the improbable and the untrue in history. We shall
confine ourselves therefore to the examination of a few of the most
universally accredited facts, the truth of which, to say the least, is
extremely doubtful.
We at one time entertained the project of reconstructing the critical
work of the Abbé Lancelotti already mentioned, by enlarging its scope.
This rare and scarcely known book (_Farfalloni degli antichi Storici_)
would have served us as a basis, upon which we should have proceeded
to review history in general. It would have been an instructive and
a pleasant task to demolish falsehood in order to arrive at truth;
to set aside, in good faith, worn out platitudes, deeds of heroism
resting on no proof whatsoever, and crimes wanting the confirmation
of authenticity; but when we set ourselves to estimate its extent, we
shrank from so laborious an undertaking.
In working out the subject, we should have related, with Henry
Schnitzler (_De la colonisation de l’ancienne Grèce_), and with Schœll
(_la littérature grecque_), that _Cecrops_ the Egyptian had imposed
upon us when he pretended to come out of Egypt, as did _Cadmus_ when he
professed to arrive from Phœnicia.
The Abbé Barthélemy (_Voyage du jeune Anarcharsis_) would have
enlightened us on the memorable battle of _Thermopylæ_, where
_Leonidas_, instead of resisting the Persians with three hundred
men, commanded, according to _Diodorus_, at least seven thousand--or
even twelve thousand, if we may believe _Pausanias_. We should have
exposed the fabulous part of the history of _Sappho_, by following Mr.
C. F. Neue (_Sapphonis Mytilinææ fragmenta_) and M. J. Mongin, in
his remarkable article on this poetess in _l’Encyclopédie nouvelle_;
and the learned Spon (_Miscellanies_) would have explained to us the
pretended tub of Diogenes. Other innumerable errors would have been
brought before the reader, for we have only cited a very small portion
of the programme.
Alfred Maury (_Revue de Philosophie_) would have convinced us that
Cæsar never said, and never would have said, to the pilot “Why do you
fear? You have Cæsar and his fortunes on board,” &c.
On all these subjects an analytical work would be of great use, and for
the benefit of those who might be induced to undertake such a task, we
proceed to point out the principal chapters in the work of Lancelotti.
1) Zaleucus submitted to have one of his eyes put out, in order to save
his son from the loss of both his eyes.
2) The people living near the cataracts of the Nile are all deaf.
3) The army of Xerxes drained the rivers on its passage, to satisfy its
thirst.
4) In Egypt the women occupy themselves in commerce while the men
remain at home to manufacture cloth.
5) The account given by Titus Livius of the resolution of the Roman
senators at the taking of Rome by the Gauls.
6) Agriculturists, or tillers of the ground, are declared consuls and
dictators by the Romans.
7) The Lake of Thrasymene takes fire.
8) The philosopher Anaxarchus bit off his tongue and spat it in the
face of the tyrant.
9) In a combat between Aëtius and Attila, the blood of the soldiers
killed and wounded flowed in such torrents that the dead bodies were
swept away by it.
10) Ten Roman virgins, at the head of whom was _Clelia_, after having
been sent as hostages to the king _Porsenna_, returned to Rome by
swimming across the Tiber.
11) Æschylus killed by a tortoise dropped upon his head by an eagle.
12) In the school of Pythagoras the disciples kept silence during the
space of five years.
13) A grapestone caused the death of _Anacreon_; and the senator
_Fabius_ was choked by a hair in his milk.
14) _Mutius-Scævola_ burned his hand to shew his fortitude.
15) Among the Spartans all men lived in common and ate in public on the
same spot.
16) That the young girls in Sparta occupied themselves in public
duties, perfectly naked.
17) _Lycurgus_ permitted the young men in his republic to practise the
art of stealing.
18) _Lycurgus_ forbade the use of gold and silver money in his
republic. He allowed iron coins to be made, of a very large size.
19) _Lycurgus_ was the originator of the concise, sententious language
generally termed _laconic_.
20) _Romulus_ and _Remus_ suckled by a she-wolf, and _Cyrus_ by a bitch.
21) The exploits of _Horatius-Cocles_.
22) The dumb son of _Crœsus_, perceiving a soldier about to kill his
father, suddenly recovered his speech.
23) The history of _Lucretia_, such as historians have related it.
24) _Democritus_ and _Heraclitus_.
25) The poverty of the grandees of Rome.
26) _Curtius_ leaping on horseback into the gulf.
27) Draco, the Athenian legislator punished idleness with death.
THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.
B. C. 306.
In the elementary works for the instruction of young people, we find
frequent mention of the Colossus of Rhodes.
The statue is always represented with gigantic limbs, each leg resting
on the enormous rocks which face the entrance to the principal port of
the Island of Rhodes; and ships in full sail passed easily, it is said,
between its legs; for, according to Pliny the ancient, its height was
seventy cubits.
This Colossus was reckoned among the seven wonders of the world, the
six others being, as is well known, the hanging gardens of Babylon,
devised by Nitocris wife of Nebuchadnezzar; the pyramids of Egypt; the
statue of Jupiter Olympus; the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus; the temple
of Diana at Ephesus; and the Pharos of Alexandria, completely destroyed
by an earthquake in 1303.
Nowhere has any authority been found for the assertion that the
Colossus of Rhodes spanned the entrance to the harbour of the
island and admitted the passage of vessels in full sail between its
wide-stretched limbs. No old drawing even of that epoch exists, when
the statue was yet supposed to be standing; several modern engravings
may be seen, but they are mere works of the imagination, executed to
gratify the curiosity of amateur antiquarians, or to feed the naive
credulity of the ignorant. Nevertheless, the historian Rollin, several
French dictionaries, and even some encyclopedias, have adopted the
fiction of their predecessors.
A century ago, the Comte de Caylus, a distinguished French
archeologist, found fault with his countrymen for admitting this
fiction into the school books[7] for young people, but he sought in
vain to trace its origin.
Vigenère, in his _Tableaux de Philostrate_, is supposed to have been
the first who ventured to make an imaginary drawing of the Colossus. He
was followed by Bergier and Chevreau,[8] the latter adding a lamp to
the hand of the statue. A fictitious Greek manuscript, quoted by the
mythologist Du Choul,[9] further adorns the Colossus by giving him a
sword and lance and by hanging a mirror round his neck.
The Count Choiseul-Gouffier, in his _Picturesque journey through
Greece_, published about the year 1780, declares the Colossus with the
outstretched legs to be fabulous.
He says: “This fable has for years enjoyed the privilege so readily
accorded to error. It is commonly received, and discarded only by
the few who have made ancient history their study. Most persons have
accepted without investigation an assertion which is unsupported by any
authority from ancient authors.”
Nevertheless the Belgian Colonel Rottiers, and the English geologist
Hamilton,[10] do not yield to this opinion, but endeavour still to
place the site of the statue at the entrance to one of the smaller
harbours of the island, scarcely forty feet wide. Rottiers goes even
further, and gives a superb engraving of the Colossus, under the form
of an Apollo, the bow and quiver on his shoulders, his forehead
encircled by rays of light, and a beacon flame above his head.
Polybius is the first among the ancient writers who mentions the
Colossus of Rhodes, in enumerating the donations received by the
inhabitants of the island after the fearful earthquake they experienced
about 223 years before Christ. “The Rhodians,” says he, “have benefited
by the catastrophe which befell them, owing to which, not only the huge
Colossus, but innumerable houses and a portion of the surrounding walls
were demolished.” Then follows a list of the rich gifts they received
from all parts. Among the benefactors of the town of Rhodes, Polybius
mentions the three kings, Ptolemy III. of Egypt, Antigonos Doson of
Macedonia, and Seleucus of Syria, father of Antiochus.
The elder Pliny records that the Colossus, after having stood
for fifty-six years, was overthrown by an earthquake, and that
it took Charès of Lindos, to whom the Rhodians had entrusted its
re-construction, twelve years to complete his task.
It is probable that the statue of Minerva, from 50 to 60 feet in
height, which was designed and partly executed by Phidias for the
Acropolis at Athens, served as a model for Charès, not only for the
material, but for the conception of the Colossus and for the site on
which it stood.
Minerva was the patroness of Athens as the sun-god Helios was the
patron of the island of Rhodes.
About 150 years before Christ a certain Philo-Byzantius wrote a short
treatise on the seven wonders of the ancient world.[11] In it he gives
an explanation of the construction of the Colossus, but nowhere speaks
of the extended legs under which vessels in full sail entered the
port, nor of the beacon light. On the contrary, he mentions one sole
pedestal, which was of white marble. Moreover, the statue was said to
be 105 feet in height, and the great harbour entrance, according to
modern research, was 350 feet wide; it could not therefore possibly
reach across this space.
Lastly, if the statue had stood at the entrance of the great harbour,
the earthquake must have overthrown it into the sea, whereas Strabo
and Pliny tell us that its fragments remained for a considerable time
embedded in the earth, and attracted much attention by their wonderful
size and dimensions.
The following is the real truth concerning the Colossus. Towards the
year 305 before Christ, Demetrius Poliorcetes laid siege to Rhodes, and
the inhabitants defended themselves with so much bravery, that after a
whole year of struggle and endurance, they forced the enemy to retire
from the island.
The Rhodians, inspired by a sentiment of piety, and excited by fervent
gratitude for so signal a proof of the divine favour, commanded
Charès to erect a statue to the honour of their deity. An inscription
explained that the expenses of its construction were defrayed out of
the sale of the materials of war left by Demetrius on his retreat from
the island of Rhodes.
This statue was erected on an open space of ground near the great
harbour, and near the spot where the pacha’s seraglio now stands; and
its fragments, for many years after its destruction, were seen and
admired by travellers.
This explanation is still further supported by the fact, that a chapel
built on this ground in the time of the Templars is named _Fanum Sancti
Ioannis Colossensis_.
We have seen that Strabo, who wrote and travelled during the reigns
of the first two Roman emperors, was, after Polybius, the earliest
author who mentions the fall of the Colossus of Rhodes, and that very
concisely. Pliny enters into somewhat fuller details, and speaks of the
dimensions of the mutilated limbs. “Even while prostrate,” says he,
“this statue excited the greatest admiration; few men could span one of
its thumbs with their arms, and each of its fingers was as large as an
ordinary full-sized statue. Its broken limbs appeared to strangers like
caverns, in the interior of which were seen enormous blocks of stone.”
From this time we find no further mention whatever of these fragments,
but it is remarkable that towards the end of the second century after
Christ some writers speak of a colossal statue at Rhodes as still
existing. It is possible that one was again constructed, but of smaller
dimensions. Indeed, _Leo Allazzi_ tells us that the Colossus of Rhodes
was reconstructed under the Emperor Vespasian.
Alios Aristides, who flourished between the years 149 and 180 of the
Christian era, wrote a panegyric on the island of Rhodes, on the
occasion of another earthquake which happened there under the reign of
Antoninus Pius. He alludes to demolished monuments, but he consoles
the inhabitants by telling them, that at any rate all vestiges of
their former grandeur have not disappeared, and that they will not
be obliged, as in the former disaster [that of B. C. 407], to rebuild
the greater part of their town. He reminds them that, on the contrary,
the two basins of the port still remain, as well as the theatre, the
gymnasium, and _the great bronze statue_.
This passage is certainly not very clear, and it remains to be proved
if the author here speaks of the Colossus which had been restored and
had escaped the earthquake, or of some other bronze statue.
Pausanias, who wrote shortly after Aristides, speaks also in two places
of the earthquake in the time of Antoninus, without making any mention
of the Colossus; but in a description of Athens, he alludes in terms of
great admiration to a temple of Jupiter built by Adrian, and he adds:
“The emperor consecrated to it a magnificent statue of the god, which
surpassed all other statues except the Colossus of Rhodes and of Rome.”
The author could hardly have made this comparison if there had only
existed in his time fragments of the Colossus of Rhodes.
Lastly, the satirist Lucian makes frequent mention of the Colossus, and
he even introduces it in a dialogue of the assembled gods.
It is probable, therefore, judging from these passages from Aristides,
Pausanias, and Lucian, that, at the epoch in which they lived, the
Colossus of Rhodes had been restored or reconstructed; for if during
four centuries past the fragments had been lying in the dust, these
writers would not have thus expressed themselves.
A long time after the fall of the Roman empire, the island of Rhodes
was conquered by the general-in-chief of the caliph Othman, in the 7th
century of the Christian era; and then mention is once more made of
a Colossus in metal. “This last memorial of a glorious past was not
respected by the conqueror,” says the Byzantine history; “the general
took down the Colossus, which stood erect on the island, transported
the metal into Syria, and sold it to a Jew, who loaded 980 camels with
the materials of his purchase.”
Such is the account given by the Emperor Constantine Porphyrogenetos,
and confirmed by that of Theophanes, Zonaras, and others. As to the
fable of the ancient Colossus between whose gigantic limbs ships in
full sail were believed to have passed, we are disposed to think that
it originated at the time of the Crusades, when the inhabitants of
Rhodes must have amused themselves by relating to the new-comers all
sorts of incredible stories of their past grandeur.
We can refer those who may still be anxious for further details on the
Colossus of Rhodes, to a treatise on the subject by Carl Ferdinand
Lüders, in which the fiction of the extended limbs is completely
disposed of; but this treatise contains such an array of learned
accessories, _more germanico_, that few will probably have the patience
to read it through.
BELISARIUS.
A. D. 565.
The imagination of poets, painters, and sculptors, backed by one of
_Marmontel’s_ novels, has helped to make of an apocryphal tradition a
matter of history which has been believed in by the many, who are ever
open-mouthed to receive the marvellous upon trust.
This tradition relates to the general Belisarius, the conqueror of the
Vandals, who, after having been falsely accused of treason, is said to
have been deprived of his sight by the Emperor Justinian, and to have
been reduced to such a state of poverty that he was compelled to beg
his bread in the streets of Constantinople.
No contemporary historian mentions these circumstances; but they have
been repeated age after age without examination, and several learned
men of repute, such as Volaterranus, Pontanus, &c., have helped to
propagate the error in the literary world.
In the 16th century it was so unquestionably accepted by the Italians,
that they gave the name of _Belisarius begging_ to a beautiful ancient
statue then in the Borghese museum, which Winckelmann, in his _Histoire
de l’Art_, has proved to be no other than a statue of Augustus
propitiating Nemesis.
Between the years 1637 and 1681, this fable was made the subject of
several tragedies. In the following century Marmontel composed and
published his romance of Belisarius, the conception of which arose from
an engraving that came into his possession. In his Memoirs he himself
thus explains the circumstance:
“I had received a present of an engraving of Belisarius taken from the
fine picture of him by Van Dyck. My eyes were continually attracted to
the face, and I was seized with an irresistible desire to treat this
interesting subject in prose; and as soon as the idea took possession
of me, the pains in my chest and lungs seemed to leave me as if by
magic. The pleasure of composing my story, the care I took in arranging
and developing it, occupied my mind so entirely, that I was drawn away
from all thoughts of self.”
The novel was so successful that it was translated into almost every
language of Europe, and three successive editions appeared. But the
really ludicrous part of the story is, that in the preface to the
edition of 1787, the author declares that he has followed from first
to last the account given by Procopius, while in fact the details
presented by this contemporary of Belisarius in the five first chapters
of his _Secret History_ are diametrically opposed to the picture drawn
by Marmontel.
Thus then the fiction of blind Belisarius begging was quickly
propagated, and was helped on by the artist David, who painted in 1781
his celebrated picture of the general. Again, in the reign of Napoleon
I., M. Jouy wrote a tragedy on this subject, but he only obtained
permission to bring it out in 1825, and thanks to the immense talent of
Talma it was very well received. M. Jouy, in his preface, showed his
ignorance as an historian by saying, “I have kept faithfully to the
facts, details, and characters authorised by history.”
Lastly, this error appears in modern times in a Turkish tradition, and
is noticed by Feller in his _Universal Biography_. “There is shown to
this day,” says he, “a prison in Constantinople called the _Tower of
Belisarius_. It stands on the borders of the sea, on the road from the
castle of the seven towers to the seraglio. The common people say that
the prisoners let down a small bag at the end of a string to solicit
alms from the passers-by, saying: “_Date obolum Belisario quem Fortuna
evexit, Invidia oculis privavit_.”
After having traced as briefly as possible the origin of this fable,
we will dwell for a moment on the manner in which the best and most
learned critics have treated it.
The hackneyed story of Belisarius, blind and begging, was unknown to
all contemporary authors without exception. Not one can be quoted as
having mentioned so remarkable a circumstance. From the 6th to the 12th
century, no writer who speaks of this great general ever alludes to his
blindness or to his poverty.
The French historian Le Beau, in his “_Histoire du bas Empire_,” says:
“The fall of Belisarius gave rise to a ridiculous story which has
been for 600 years repeated by poets and prose writers, but which all
well-informed authors have agreed in refuting.”
The real fact, drawn from the best sources, and recorded by Gibbon, is
this:
About two years after the last victory of Belisarius over the
Bulgarians, the Emperor Justinian returned in bad health from a
journey to Thracia. There being a rumour of his death, a conspiracy
was formed in the palace, but the conspirators were detected, and
on being seized were found to have daggers hidden under their
garments. Two officers of the household of Belisarius were accused,
and torture induced them to declare that they had acted under the
secret instructions of their chief. Belisarius appeared before the
council, indignant and undaunted. Nevertheless, his fidelity, which had
remained unshaken for forty years, availed him nothing. The emperor
condemned him without evidence; his life was spared, but his fortune
was sequestrated, and from December 563 to July 564 he was guarded as a
prisoner in his own palace. At length his innocence was acknowledged,
and his freedom and honours were restored; but death, which might
possibly have been hastened by grief and resentment, removed him from
the world within a year of his liberation.
About 600 years after this event, John Tzetzes, poet and grammarian,
born in Constantinople, attempted in ten bad Greek verses to draw a
picture of Belisarius deprived of sight and penniless. The tale was
imported into Italy with the manuscripts of Greece, and before the
close of the 15th century it was taken up by more than one learned
writer and universally believed.
The credulity of the multitude is such, that they still persist in
ignoring the refutation of Samuel Schelling (_Dissertatio historica de
Belisario_, Witteb. 1665, in 4ᵗᵒ), of Th. Fr. Zeller (_Belisarius_,
Tubing. 1809, in 8ᵛᵒ), of Roth (_Ueber Belisar’s Ungnade_, Bâle 1846,
in 8ᵛᵒ) and many others.
In a note to Gibbon’s _History_ edited by W. Smith LL.D., we see that
two theories have been started in modern times to account for the
fable of the beggary of Belisarius. The first is that of Le Beau,
who supposes that the general was confounded with his contemporary
John of Cappadocia. This prætorian prefect of the East, whose crimes
deserved a thousand deaths, was ignominiously scourged like the vilest
of malefactors, clothed in rags and transported in a bark (542) to
the place of his banishment at _Antinopolis_ in Upper Egypt, and this
ex-consul and patrician was doomed to beg his bread in the cities which
had trembled at his name.
The second supposition is that of Mr. Finlay (_History of the Byzantine
Empire_), who suggests that the story took its rise from the fate of
Symbatius and Peganes, who, having formed a conspiracy against Michael
III., in the 9th century, were deprived of their sight and exposed as
common beggars in Constantinople.
It is not likely, however, that the fate of men in the ninth century
should have been confused with that of individuals in the sixth.
It is right to add, that Lord Mahon, in his _Life of Belisarius_,
argues in favour of the tragic fate of Justinian’s celebrated
general. “But,” observes Dean Milman, “it is impossible to obtain any
satisfactory result without contemporary evidence, which is entirely
wanting in the present instance.” These words from the learned Milman
lead us to suppose that he rejects the authority of Procopius, who
accompanied Belisarius as counsellor and secretary in his Eastern wars,
in Africa, and in Italy, as he himself informs us; and who, in his
_Anecdota_,[12] devotes five chapters to the life and misfortunes of
Belisarius, without saying one word either of his blindness or of his
abject poverty.
Ernest Renan, in his _Essais de morale et de critique_, has also
examined into the trustworthiness of the _Secret History_ of Procopius,
and he arrives at the opinion, that this author had only exaggerated
the crimes of the wicked century in which Justinian lived. He would
then have been the last to soften the disgrace incurred by Belisarius.
At the time of the fall of Napoleon I., a popular song written by
Népomucène Lemercier on Belisarius, became more than ever in vogue, as
it contained allusions to the misfortunes of the companions in arms and
soldiers, attached to the emperor. At all the Bonapartist reunions they
sang:
“_Un jeune enfant, un casque en main,
Allait quêtant pour l’indigence,
D’un vieillard aveugle et sans pain,
Fameux dans Rome et dans Byzance;
Il disait à chaque passant
Touché de sa noble misère,
Donnez une obole à l’enfant
Qui sert le pauvre Bélisaire!_”
In France this ballad contributed greatly to keep up a belief in the
fabulous story which we have here examined.
THE ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY.
A. D. 640.
Ptolemy-Soter, chief of the dynasty of the Lagides, laid the foundation
of the Alexandrian library. It was afterwards enlarged by his son
Ptolemy Philadelphus and his successors; and from this celebrated
repository the city of Alexandria derived the title of “_Mother of
Books_.”
There is much difference of opinion as to the number of works contained
in this library. Instead of 54,800 volumes as asserted by St.
Epiphanes, or 200,000 according to Josephus, Eusebius tells us, that at
the death of Ptolemy Philadelphus, 100,000 volumes were collected in it.
The building was situated to the east of the large sea-port, near the
city of Canopus, and became a prey to the flames when Julius Cæsar,
who was besieged in that part of the town in which the museum stood,
ordered the fleet to be set on fire. The wind unfortunately carried
the flames to the neighbouring houses and to the locality of the
_Bruchion_, close to the site of the valuable library.
Lucan, in his _Pharsalia_, has described this conflagration with much
spirit:[13]
“On one proud side the lofty fabric stood
Projected bold into the adjoining flood;
There, fill’d with armed bands, their barks draw near,
But find the same defending Cæsar there:
To every part the ready warrior flies,
And with new rage the fainting fight supplies;
Headlong he drives them with his deadly blade,
Nor seems to be invaded, but to invade.
Against the ships _Phalaric_ darts he aims,
Each dart with pitch and livid sulphur flames.
The spreading fire o’erruns their unctuous sides,
And nimbly mounting, on the topmast rides:
Planks, yards and cordage feed the dreadful blaze;
The drowning vessel hisses in the seas;
While floating arms and men promiscuous strew’d,
Hide the whole surface of the azure flood.
Nor dwells destruction on their fleet alone,
But driven by winds, invades the neighbouring town:
On rapid wings the sheety flames they bear,
In wavy lengths, along the reddening air.
Not much unlike the shooting meteors fly,
In gleamy trails athwart the midnight sky.
Soon as the crowd behold their city burn,
Thither all headlong from the siege they turn;
But Cæsar, prone to vigilance and haste,
To snatch the just occasion ere it pass’d,
Hid in the friendly night’s involving shade,
A safe retreat to Pharos timely made.”
Orosius tells us that 400,000 volumes were destroyed by the fire:
“So perished,” says he “this monument of the learning and labour of
the ancients, who had amassed the works of so many illustrious men.”
“_Monumentum studiique curæque majorum qui tot ac tanta illustrium
ingeniorum opera congesserant._”[14]
Cleopatra was not insensible to the loss of so great a treasure,
and Antony, to console her, presented her with the whole collection
of books made by the king of Bithynia at Pergamus, to the number of
200,000 volumes. These books, with the few that had escaped the flames,
formed the second library, and were placed in the _Serapeon_, or temple
of Serapis, which from that time became the resort of all learned men.
In A. D. 390, the fanatic Theophilus, patriarch of Alexandria, worthy
of being the friend of the tyrant Theodosius, took advantage of the
protection of that Emperor to disperse the library of the _Serapeon_,
and to drive out the savans who assembled there. He overthrew the
temple itself and built a church on its ruins which bore the name of
the Emperor Arcadius. It would thus appear that the oldest and most
extensive libraries of Alexandria ceased to exist before the 5th
century of the Christian era. Nevertheless, there is still an opinion
maintained among learned men that the immense collection made by the
Ptolemies was destroyed by the Arabs in the 7th century.[15]
Several writers, with Gibbon at their head, have rejected this notion.
Reinhart published at Göttingen in 1792 a special dissertation on the
subject. It was Gregorius Bar-Hebræus, better known under the name
of Abulpharadje, elected primate of the East in 1264, who gave the
earliest account of the burning of the library at Alexandria, in a
chronicle he published in Syriac, and afterwards translated into Arabic
at the solicitation of his friends.
He says: “John the grammarian came to Amrou, who was in possession
of Alexandria, and begged that he might be allowed to appropriate a
part of the booty. ‘Which part do you wish for,’ asked Amrou. John
replied, ‘The books of philosophy which are in the treasury (library)
of kings.’ Amrou answered that he could not dispose of these without
the permission of the Emir Al-Moumenin Omar. He wrote to the Emir,
who replied in these terms: ‘As to the books you speak of, if their
contents are in conformity with the Book of God (the Koran) we have
no need of them; if, on the contrary, their contents are opposed to
it, it is still less desirable to preserve them, so I desire that they
may be destroyed.’ Amrou-Ben-Alas in consequence ordered them to be
distributed in the various baths in Alexandria, to be burnt in the
stoves; and after six months, not a vestige of them remained.”[16]
How open is this unlikely story to objection! In the first place, John
of Alexandria was dead before the city was taken, on the 21st December
640.
D’Herbelot, in his _Bibliothèque Orientale_, tells us that at that
period four thousand baths existed in Alexandria. What a multitude of
volumes it must have required to supply fuel for them for the space of
six months! And then the absurdity of attempting to heat baths with
parchment!!!
Renaudot was the first in France who threw a doubt on this story in his
_Histoire des Patriarches d’Alexandrie_. “It merely reposes,” says he,
“on Eastern tales, and these are never to be relied upon.”
Kotbeddin, in his _History of Mecca_, from which de Sacy quotes an
extract in his _Notes des Manuscrits_, Vol. IV. p. 569, relates
seriously, that at the taking of Bagdad by _Hulagou_ the destroyer, of
the empire of the Caliphs, the Tartars threw the books belonging to the
colleges of this city into the river Euphrates, and the number was
so great, that they formed a bridge, over which foot-passengers and
horsemen went across!
Besides Abulpharadi, two other eastern writers give an account of the
destruction of the library: Abd-Allatif and Makrizi; but they only go
over the same ground as their predecessors.
These three writers (of the 12th, the 13th, and the 15th centuries) are
the less to be relied upon as no other eastern historians who speak of
the conquest of Egypt by the Arabians, mention the loss of their great
repository by fire.
Eutyches, the patriarch of Alexandria, who lived in the 10th century,
and who enters into details of the taking of this city by the Arabians;
Elmacin, who, in the 13th century, recounts the same fact; and
Aboulfeda, who at about the same period gives a description of Egypt,
completely ignore this remarkable and important event.
How is it that the Greek authors, who were so incensed against the
Saracens, omit to speak of this conflagration authorised by Omar?--and
that after centuries of silence Abulpharadi is the first who opens his
lips on the subject? And it is still more surprising that this writer
did not mention the anecdote in his _Chronicle_, published in Syriac,
but that he only added it while translating his work into Arabic at the
latter end of his life.
The Caliphs had forbidden under severe penalties the destruction of all
Jewish and Christian volumes, and we nowhere hear of any such work of
destruction during the first conquests of the Mahommedans.
Quite at the beginning of the 5th century, Paulus Orosius, a disciple
of St. Jerome, mentions, on his return from Palestine, having seen
at Alexandria the empty book-cases which the library had formerly
contained.
All these arguments brought forward by Assemanni, by Gibbon, by
Reinhard, and many others, do not appear to have convinced M. Matter,
although he admits in his _Histoire de l’École d’Alexandrie_, that a
certain amount of courage is necessary to maintain the opinion of the
existence of an extensive collection of books at the commencement of
the conquest.
“There are two points beyond dispute,” says he, “in this question. The
first is, that Alexandria possessed during the 5th and 6th centuries,
after the destruction of the _Serapeon_, a library of sufficient
importance to contain many valuable literary works. The next is, that
these works, far from being limited to religion and theology, as Gibbon
supposes, included various branches of study; of this we cannot
entertain a doubt when we reflect on the later productions of the
school of Alexandria.”
In order to establish his argument, Matter enters into long details.
“Gibbon himself,” he says, “would have admitted later that Amrou might
have burned other works in Alexandria besides those on theology.”
Two orientalists, Langlès and de Sacy, have adopted a very similar
opinion. “It is incontestable,” says the former, “that on the entrance
of the Mahommedans, a library still existed at Alexandria, and that it
fell a prey to the flames.”[17]
De Sacy allows that the story told by Abulpharadi is very probable, and
proves that at that period the Mahommedans did demolish libraries and
destroy books, in spite of the law against any such destruction.
At any rate this opinion has only been adopted by a small minority, and
Amrou is generally exonerated from having been the destroyer of the
Alexandrian Library.
POPE JOAN.
A. D. 855.
Is it true that a woman succeeded in deceiving her cotemporaries to the
extent of elevating herself to the pontifical throne?
Did a catastrophe ensue which afforded a proof of her sex as unexpected
as indisputable?
If there is no foundation for this tale, how comes it that it has been
so long accepted as authentic by writers whose attachment to the Roman
church is perfectly sincere?
Such are the questions that we here propose to ourselves, and which
have been recently treated by two Dutch literati, Mr. N. C. Kist,
professor at the university of Leyden, in a work published in 1845;
and Mr. J. H. Wensing, professor at the seminary of Warmond, who has
written a refutation of Mr. Kist’s work in a thick volume of more than
600 pages, printed at the Hague.
I will proceed to give a brief sketch of the circumstances as
presented to us by reliable authors.
After the death of Leo IV., in the year 855, the Roman people
proceeded, according to the custom of that period, to the nomination of
a sovereign pontiff. The choice fell upon a foreigner who had for some
years been resident in the eternal city. He was held in high repute, as
well for his virtues as for his talents. This stranger was a woman of
English origin, born in Germany, who had studied in France and Greece,
and who in the disguise of a man had baffled all detection. Raised to
the pontifical throne, she assumed the name of John VIII., and governed
with exemplary wisdom, but in private life was guilty of irregularities
which resulted in pregnancy. She endeavoured to conceal her situation,
but on the occasion of a great religious festival she was seized with
sudden pains in the midst of a procession, and, to the astonishment
and consternation of the crowd, gave birth to a child who instantly
expired. The mother herself died upon the spot, succumbing to the
effects of pain, terror, and shame.
This is the most widely spread version; it has however been asserted
that the female pope, “_la papesse_,” survived her mischance, and ended
her days in a dungeon.
Anastatius, deacon and librarian of the Roman church, was living at
this period, and collected numerous materials for a history of the
sovereign pontiffs. He composed a series of their biographies under the
title of “_Liber Pontificalis_,” and affirms that he was present at the
election of the Popes from Sergius III. to John VIII., that is to say
from 844 to 882. He must then have been a witness to the catastrophe
of Joan. Now he makes no mention of it, but, in his work, Pope
Benedictus III. follows immediately after Leo IV. An occurrence of so
extraordinary a nature must necessarily have struck him. It has indeed
been pretended that he did make mention of it, but that his account was
suppressed by defenders of the church, and that in some manuscripts it
is still to be found. Nevertheless these manuscripts, very scarce and
incorrect, only contain one phrase to the purpose, which is met with
for the first time in the writings of the 14th century. It is moreover
accompanied by an expression of doubt (_ut dicitur_) and there is at
the present time scarcely any enlightened critic but would regard it as
an interpolation of the copyist.
The silence of Anastatius admits therefore of but one interpretation.
It is not until two hundred years after the alleged date of the event
that the first mention of it is found in the _Chronicon_ of Marianus
Scotus, who was born in Scotland in 1028, and died at Mayence in 1086.
He says: “Joan, a female, succeeded Pope Leo IV. during two years, five
months, and four days.” A contemporary of Marianus Scotus, Godfrey
of Viterbo, made a list of the sovereign pontiffs, in which we read
between Leo IV. and Benedict III., “_Papissa Joanna non numeratur_”
(the female Pope does not count).
We must come to the 13th century to find in the _Chronicon_ of Martinus
Polonus, Bishop of Cosenza in Calabria, some particulars respecting
the female Pope Joan.[18] At this period a belief in the truth of her
existence is spread abroad, and the evidences become more numerous, but
they are little else but repetitions and hear-says; no details of any
weight are given.
David Blondel,[19] although a Protestant clergyman, treated the story
of Pope Joan as a fable. The English bishop John Burnet is of the
same opinion, as well as Cave, a celebrated English scholar. Several
other learned men have amply refuted this ancient tradition. Many
have thought to sustain the romance of Marianus against the doubt
excited by a silence of more than 200 years, by asserting that the
authors who lived from the year 855 to 1050, refrained from making any
mention of the story on account of the shame it occasioned them; and
that they preferred to change the order of succession of the Popes by
a constrained silence, rather than contribute, by the enunciation of
an odious truth, to the preservation of the execrable memory of the
woman who had dishonoured the papal chair. But how is it possible to
reconcile this with the other part of the same story, that the Roman
court was so indignant at the scandal, that, to prevent a repetition
of it, they perpetuated its remembrance by the erection of a statue,
and the prohibition of all processions from passing through the street
where the event had happened. What shadow of truth can exist in things
so totally contradictory?
Moreover, Joseph Garampi[20] has proved beyond dispute, that between
the death of Leo IV. and the nomination of Benedict III., there was no
interval in which to place Pope Joan, and the most virulent antagonists
of the court of Rome make no mention of her.
In 991 Arnolphus, bishop of Orleans, addressed to a council held at
Reims, a discourse in which he vehemently attacked the excesses and
turpitudes of which Rome was guilty. Not a word, however, was said on
the subject of Joan. The patriarch of Constantinople, Phocius, who
was the author of the schism which still divides the Greek and Latin
churches, and who died in 890, says nothing respecting her.
The Greeks, who after him maintained eager controversies against Rome,
are silent respecting Joan.
It is clear that the author who first speaks of this event, after a
lapse of two centuries, is not worthy of credit, and that those who,
after him, related the same thing, have copied from one another,
without due examination.
Whilst rejecting as apocryphal the legend under our consideration, some
writers have at the same time sought to explain its origin.
The Jesuit Papebroch, one of the most industrious editors of the _Acta
Sanctorum_, thinks that the name “_papesse_” was given to John VII.,
because he shewed extreme weakness of character in the exercise of his
functions.
The Cardinal Baronius starts an hypothesis of the same kind, but this
conjecture is somewhat far-fetched.
A chronicle inserted in the collection of Muratori, _Rerum Italicarum
Scriptores_, contains an anecdote that has some analogy with our
subject.
A patriarch of Constantinople had a niece to whom he was much attached.
He disguised her in male attire and made her pass for a man. At his
death he recommended her to his clergy, without divulging the secret of
her sex. She was very learned and virtuous, and was elected Patriarch.
She remained eighteen months on the throne, but the Prince of Benevent,
having become acquainted with the truth, denounced the fraud at
Constantinople, and the _patriarchess_ was immediately expelled.
This anecdote was very generally reported and credited in Italy in the
11th century, for Pope Leo IX., in a letter of 1053, written to the
Patriarch of Constantinople, expresses himself thus:--
“Public report asserts as an undeniable fact, that in defiance of the
canons of the first council of Nice, you Greeks have raised to the
pontifical throne, eunuchs, and even a woman.”
At this period Rome had not yet begun to occupy herself with the legend
of Joan, which was scarcely spread abroad in Germany. If in the East
there had been any idea of the scandal of the female Pope, which was
afterwards so prevalent, the reproach of Leo IX. would undoubtedly have
been turned against himself.
We give another explanation: “The strangest stories have always their
foundation in some truth,” says _Onuphrius Panvinius_, in his notes
upon _Platina_: “I think that this fable of the woman Joan takes
its origin from the immoral life of Pope John XII., who had many
concubines, and amongst others Joan, who exercised such an empire over
him that for some time it might be said it was she who governed. Hence
it is that she was surnamed “_papesse_,” and this saying, taken up by
ignorant writers and amplified by time, has given birth to the story
which has had such wide circulation.
We find in the history of the Bishop of Cremona, Luitprand,[21] that
the love of John XII. for his concubine Joan went so far that he gave
her entire cities, that he despoiled the church of St. Peter of
crosses and of golden chalices in order to lay them at her feet; and we
are told that she died in childbed.
This death is a remarkable circumstance. In it we may trace the source
of the most striking event in the story of Pope Joan.
ABELARD AND ELOISA.
A. D. 1140.
We had already collected many notes with the intention of examining
critically the celebrated history of these two lovers of the 12th
century, when we read an article by Mr. F. W. Rowsell in the _St.
James’s Magazine_ for October 1864, in which he gives a sketch of the
lives of both of them. The writer has succeeded in condensing into half
a dozen very amusing pages a complete _résumé_ of the leading events in
their history; only he has followed the commonly received opinion held
by many English and French historians who have taken up the subject,
and he does not enter into a critical examination of several points at
issue.
Everybody knows how great an attraction the monument erected to the
memory of Eloisa and Abelard is to the crowds who visit the cemetery
of Père la Chaise, recalling to their minds the letters full of love
and passion written by Eloisa, which have elicited so many imitations
both in prose and verse in England and in France.
The history of the two lovers being true as a whole, we are far from
wishing to take away from the sympathy that their constancy and hapless
love so well deserve. Our only object is to separate the true from
the false, and to show that the celebrated letters imputed to Eloisa
were not written by her at all, and that the tomb in Père la Chaise is
altogether a modern construction.
Abelard, born in 1079, died in 1164, and Eloisa survived him upwards of
twenty years, dying in 1184.
The works and correspondence of Abelard were published for the first
time in 1616 by the learned Duchesne, and we therein find three letters
from Eloisa to Abelard and four from Abelard to Eloisa. These are
the letters on which Pope, in England, and Dorat, Mercier, Saurin,
Colardeau, &c., in France, founded their poems.
Out of these seven letters, four only can strictly be termed the
amatory correspondence of the two lovers. The remainder, and those that
have been brought to light and published in later years, are pious
effusions which contain no trace whatever of those passionate emotions
which pervaded the four other letters. We must remind the reader that
the oldest manuscript existing of these epistles is nothing more than
an alleged copy of the originals made one hundred years after the death
of Eloisa. It is preserved in the library of the town of Troyes, and
belongs to the latter half of the 13th century.
A modern French historian, M. Henri Martin, having written some pages
in a melodramatic style on these letters of Eloisa, a critic, M. de
Larroque,[22] pointed out to him the error into which he had fallen,
they having evidently been composed some years after the death of the
heroine.
The learned Orelli published in 4ᵗᵒ at Zurich, in 1841, what may be
termed the memoirs of Abelard, entitled, _Historia Calamitatum_: also
the seven letters of the two lovers.
In the preface to this work, Orelli declares, that on many grounds
he believes that these letters, so different from such as might have
been expected from Eloisa, were never written by her. The grounds,
which Orelli omits to state, are supplied by M. Lalanne in “_La_
_Correspondance Littéraire_” of the 5th December 1856.
In order to arrive at a clear perception of the improbabilities and
contradictions contained in these epistles, all the bearings of the
case should be kept well in mind.
In the _Historia Calamitatum_, Abelard opens his heart to a friend who
is in affliction and whom he endeavours to console by drawing a counter
picture of his own misery. The writer relates his life from his birth;
his struggles and his theological triumphs; his passion for Eloisa, the
vengeance of Fulbert, her uncle, the canon of Paris; his wandering life
since he assumed the cowl in the abbey of St. Denis; the foundation of
the convent of the Paraclete, where he received Eloisa and the nuns
of the convent of Argenteuil; and lastly his nomination as Abbé of
the monastery of St. Gildas, where the monks more than once conspired
against his life.
This is about the only document we possess regarding the life
of Abelard, for it is remarkable that the contemporary writers
are singularly concise in all that concerns him. Otho, bishop of
Freisingen, who died in 1158, is the only one who makes even an
allusion to the vengeance of Fulbert; and he expresses himself so
vaguely that his meaning would be incomprehensible were we not able to
explain it by the help of the _Historia Calamitatum_.
According to these memoirs, Abelard was thirty-seven or thirty-eight
years of age when he became enamoured of Eloisa, who was then sixteen
or seventeen years old. He introduced himself into the household
of the Canon Fulbert, was appointed professor to the young girl,
and soon became domesticated in the family. Eloisa, becoming soon
after pregnant, fled to Brittany, where she gave birth to a son. She
afterwards returned to Paris, and after frequent negotiations between
Fulbert and Abelard, the lovers were at length married, but the
marriage was kept secret.
The rest is known. Abelard, fearfully mutilated, became a monk in the
abbey of St. Denis, and at his bidding, to which she was ever entirely
submissive, Eloisa took the veil in the convent of Argenteuil.
These events occupied about the space of two years, and bring us to
1118 or 1119.
In a council held in Paris ten years later (1129) a decree was passed
expelling Eloisa and the other nuns from the convent of Argenteuil,
which the Abbé Suger had claimed as being a dependance of the _Abbaye
de St. Denis_.[23]
This expulsion coming to the ears of Abelard, he offered the nuns an
asylum in the Paraclete, which he had lately founded, and which he soon
after made over to them as a gift.
Pope Innocent II. confirmed this gift in 1131. Abelard speaks further,
in his _Historia Calamitatum_, of events befalling a year later,
and of his return to the abbey of St. Gildas. We see therefore that
this memoir, written with much care and attention, cannot have been
published before 1133, and perhaps even long after that. Abelard was
then in his fifty-fourth year and Eloisa in her thirty-second or
thirty-third. About fourteen years had elapsed since both had embraced
the monastic life: in the meanwhile they had met and had spent more or
less time together in the Paraclete between 1129 and 1132.
Let us now enquire if the subject matter contained in these seven
letters, all of which were written after the latter date (a fact that
should be carefully noted) agrees with that which has preceded.
The amorous correspondence of the lovers is confined to four letters.
The first is written by Eloisa. She says, that if she writes to Abelard
at all, it is that she has by accident seen the _Historia Calamitatum_;
and in order to convince him that she has read it, she touches briefly
on each circumstance recorded in it, every one of which must have been
only too familiar to them both.
Does the reader think this a natural or a probable style of
commencement? Does it not denote something artificial in the
composition? Farther on she complains that Abelard has forsaken her:
“her to whom the name of mistress was dearer than that of wife, however
sacred this latter tie might be.”[24]
And finally she adds: “Only tell me if you can, why, since we have
taken the monastic vows, which you alone desired, you have so neglected
and forgotten me that I have neither been blessed by your presence nor
consoled by a single letter in your absence. Answer me, I beseech you,
if you can, or I may myself be tempted to tell you what I think, and
what all the world suspects.”[25]
This letter, full of passionate reproach, contains contradictions
and improbabilities perceptible to all who have read that which has
preceded.
Let us first call attention to the style, which is hardly to be
explained. The passionate expressions of Eloisa would have been quite
natural in the first years that followed her separation from Abelard,
but fourteen years had elapsed--fourteen years of monastic life to both
one and the other.
She appeals to a man of fifty-four years of age, cut off for the
space of fourteen years from all intercourse with her, worn out by
his theological contests, his wandering life, and the persecutions of
which he had been the victim; and who prays only, according to his own
letters, “for eternal rest in the world to come.” But nothing checks
the flow of her passion, which she pours out with a vehemence the more
remarkable as proceeding from a woman of whom Abelard had not long
since written, in his _Historia Calamitatum_: “All are alike struck by
her piety in the convent, her wisdom, and her incomparable gentleness
and patience under the trials of life. She is seldom to be seen, but
lives in the solitude of her cell, the better to apply herself to
prayer and holy meditation.”
But the continuation seems even more incomprehensible.
Admitting, which is somewhat difficult, that Eloisa had not seen
Abelard since his severe affliction until his reception of her in the
Paraclete in 1129, on her expulsion from Argenteuil, is it at all
certain that they did meet then, and that moreover the frequency of
their interviews gave rise to scandalous reports which obliged them
again to separate? How then can Eloisa complain that since their
entrance upon a religious life (that is to say since 1119) she has
“neither rejoiced in his presence, nor been consoled by his letters?”
And she wrote this in 1133 or 1134! It is incredible that these lines
should have been penned by her.
The second letter of Eloisa is not less ardent than the first. She
mourns in eloquent language over the cold tone of sadness pervading
the answer sent to her by Abelard. She reverts at some length to the
cruel cause of their separation, and deplores her misfortune in such
unequivocal terms, that we think it better to give her words in their
original latin. “_Difficillimum est a desideriis maximarum voluptatum
avellere animum. ... In tantum vero illæ quæs pariter exercuimus
amantium voluptates dulces mihi fuerunt ut nec displicere mihi nunc,
nec a memoria labi possint._
“_Quocumque loco me vertam, semper se oculis meis cum suis ingerunt
desideriis. Nec etiam dormienti suis illusionibus parcunt. Inter
ipsa missarum solemnio, obscæna earum voluptatum fustasmata ita sibi
penitus miserrimam captivant animam ut turpitudinibus illis magis
quam orationi vacem. Quæ cum ingemiscere debeam de commissis, suspiro
potius de amissis; nec solum quæ egimus, sed loca pariter et tempora
in quibus hæc egimus ita tecum nostro infixa sunt animo, ut in ipsis
omnia tecum agam, nec dormiens etiam ab his quiescam. Nonnunquam et
ipso motu corporis, animi mei cogitationes deprehenduntur, nec a verbis
temperant improvisis ... castam me prædicant qui non deprehenderunt
hypocritam._”[26]...
These expressions, scarcely equalled by the delirium of Sappho, succeed
at length in rekindling the expiring passion of Abelard. He replies by
quotations from Virgil, from Lucanus, and by passages from the Song
of Solomon. To convince her that their sorrows are not unmerited, he
reminds her on his side of their past pleasures, and among others,
of a sacrilegious interview held in the refectory of the convent of
Argenteuil, where he had visited her in secret.
He then, and more than once, enlarges in praise of eunuchs, and ends by
enclosing a prayer he has composed for her and for himself.
This closes the amorous correspondence, for in the next letter Eloisa
declares her resolution, to which she remains firm, of putting a
restraint on the ardour of her feelings, although she cannot at the
same time refrain from quoting some equivocal lines from Ovid’s _Art of
Love_.
We must here once more ask whether, circumstanced as these two lovers
were, and taking into consideration the piety and resignation apparent
in all the writings of Abelard, he being at the time fifty-four years
of age, and Eloisa thirty-three--and after fourteen years’ separation,
it is credible or possible that the letters we have quoted, letters in
which all modesty is laid aside, should have been written by Eloisa?
Allowing that she had preserved Abelard’s correspondence, is it easy to
suppose that Abelard, continually moving from place to place, should
have preserved hers to the day of his death, so that their letters
might eventually be brought together?--letters, too, breathing an
ardour so compromising to the reputation of both?
Is it likely that Eloisa should have kept copies of her own letters,
the perusal of which, it must be confessed would not have tended to the
edification of the nuns?
Remember also that all these events occurred in the first half of the
12th century, in an age when it was very unusual to make collections of
any correspondence of an amorous nature.
We can then only arrive at the same conclusion as Messieurs Lalanne,
Orelli, Ch. Barthélemy, and others, viz. that the correspondence which
has given such renown to the names of Abelard and Eloisa as lovers, is
in all probability apocryphal.
M. Ludovic Lalanne has another supposition, which is curious, and which
appears to us not to be impossible:
“These letters,” says he, “are evidently very laboured. The
circumstances follow each other with great regularity, and the
vehement emotions that are traceable throughout, do not in any wise
interfere with the methodical march of the whole. The length of the
letters, and the learned quotations in them from the Bible, from the
fathers of the church, and from pagan authors, all seem to indicate
that they were composed with a purpose and with art, and were by no
means the production of a hasty pen. Eloisa, we must remember, was a
woman of letters, and a reputation for learning was of great value in
her eyes. Did she, who survived her lover upwards of twenty years, wish
to bequeath to posterity the memory of their misfortunes, by herself
arranging and digesting at a later period, so as to form a literary
composition, the letters that at divers times she had written and
received? Or has perhaps a more eloquent and experienced pen undertaken
the task? These are questions difficult to resolve. Anyhow, the oldest
manuscript of this correspondence with which we are acquainted, is
upwards of a hundred years posterior to the death of Eloisa. It is,
as we have already said, the manuscript of the library of the town of
Troyes.”
Let us now proceed to examine the authority for the so-called tomb of
these lovers in the cemetery of Père la Chaise.
Two learned archæologists will enlighten us on the subject. Monsieur
Lenoir,[27] in his _Musée des Monuments français_, and Monsieur de
Guilhermy, in an article of the _Annales Archéologiques de Didron_ for
1846.
During the French Revolution of 1792, the convent of the Paraclete,
founded by Abelard, was sold. In order to protect the remains of
the lovers from desecration, which was too common in those days,
some worthy inhabitants of Nogent-sur-Seine, took possession of the
coffins and deposited them in the church of that town. Seven years
later M. Lenoir obtained the permission of the minister to transfer
these remains to Paris, and it occurred to him at the same time,
that it would be expedient to enclose them in a tomb of the period
in which the lovers had lived. He was told that in the chapel of the
infirmary of Saint Marcel-les-Chalons, Peter the Venerable had erected
a monument to Abelard. Several denied this fact; but be that as it may,
Monsieur Lenoir obtained possession of part of this monument, which
had been purchased by a physician of the town in order to save it from
destruction. M. Lenoir then constructed a monument with the fragments
of a chapel of the abbey of St. Denis, and, as he tells us, placed the
sarcophagus, which was of the style of architecture in vogue in the
12th century, in a room of the museum entrusted to his care.
The following information given by M. de Guilhermy[28] will show us how
far M. Lenoir succeeded in his architectural device, and how far the
sarcophagus contains the actual remains of Abelard and Eloisa:
“How many illusions,” says M. de Guilhermy, “would vanish into thin air
if the pilgrims who came to visit the shrine of these celebrated lovers
in the cemetery of Père la Chaise only knew, that in the construction
of the sepulchral chapel there is not one single stone from the abbey
of the Paraclete. The pillars, the capitals, the rose-works, which
decorate the facings of the tomb belonged to the abbey of St. Denis. It
does not require a very practised eye to discover that the sculptures
are not in harmony, and were never intended to form a whole. It was the
former director of the _Musée des Monuments Français_, who conceived
the idea of putting together some fragments placed at his disposal,
and with these to erect a monument worthy of receiving the bones of
the two illustrious lovers of the 12th century.
“A wooden case sealed with the republican seal of the municipality of
Nogent-sur-Seine, carried to Paris in 1799 the remains which were taken
out of the grave in the Paraclete; but before depositing them in their
new asylum, it was thought necessary to satisfy the amateurs of relics
of this nature. The republicans opened the box, and all that was left
of the bodies after a period of six hundred years was stolen out of
it.” M. de Guilhermy says that: “Actually a tooth of Eloisa was offered
for sale at the time. At any rate it was in the following manner that
the tomb of Abelard was completed. A bas-relief which represented the
funeral procession of Louis, the eldest son of Louis IX. of France,
was taken from St. Denis, and it was decided that for the future this
piece of sculpture should do duty for the mausoleum of Abelard. Two
medallions, the work of a second-rate artist of the 16th century,
represented Abelard with curled mustachios, and Eloisa under the form
of a half-naked woman.”
“But this is not all. On the sarcophagus are two recumbent figures. One
is draped in priestly robes and was purloined from one of the numerous
cloisters demolished in Paris; the other is the statue of some noble
lady in the costume and style befitting the 14th century, which once
reclined on a tomb in the chapel of St. Jean de Beauvais in Paris.”
It is as well to recall such details as these in order to expose
errors which, unless refuted, would from their long standing end by
being accepted as truths. But after reading all the circumstances
narrated above, can it be believed that Monsieur Guizot, who is so
well acquainted with the real facts, or who at any rate ought to be
acquainted with them, should, in order to gratify the public taste for
sentiment, write as follows in the preface to a translation of the
letters of Abelard and Eloisa:[29]
“_Vingt-et-un ans après la mort d’Abailard, c’est-à-dire en 1163, agée
de 63 ans, Héloïse descendit dans le même tombeau. Ils y reposent
encore l’un et l’autre, après six cent soixante-quinze ans, et tous
les jours de fraiches couronnes, déposées par des mains inconnues,
attestent pour les deux morts la sympathie sans_ _cesse renaissante
des générations qui se succèdent!_”
It would be difficult to find a more inflated style with which to
decorate an historical error.
WILLIAM TELL.
A. D. 1307.
Formerly an historical fact needed only the authority of tradition to
be generally received and duly established; but in the present day the
critic is not so easily satisfied, and insists upon proof as a basis
for his belief.
In the field of history we meet with many contested points, but it
is rare to find an error persistently maintained during five hundred
years, in spite of the refutation of innumerable authors.
This is the case with the tale of William Tell, which is nothing more
nor less than a northern saga that has been adopted and repeated from
generation to generation.
The revolution which took place in Switzerland in 1307 gave rise to the
legend of the Swiss hero, and, from that time to the present, writers
have continually endeavoured to expose its unsound basis, but the
public, equally pertinacious, have insisted on believing in its truth.
The study of historical and popular legends is the study of a peculiar
phase of the human mind, and is one of the aspects under which the
history of a people should be considered.
All epochs of ignorance or superstition have been remarkable for a
strong belief in the marvellous. The object of belief may vary, but the
disposition to believe is the same.
In order to place the history of William Tell as clearly as possible
before the reader, let us in the first place turn to the writings of
the old Swiss chroniclers. Conrad Justinger, who died in 1426, is one
of the most ancient. He was chancellor of the city of Bern, and the
composition of a chronicle of this canton was committed to him. It does
not extend beyond the year 1421.
Melchior Russ, registrar at Lucerne in 1476, copies word for word
in his chronicle the narrative of Conrad Justinger concerning the
political state of the Waldstätten, their disputes with the Hapsburg
dynasty, and the insurrection of the country.
The Bernese chronicler attributes the insurrection of the Alpine
peasantry to the services required and the heavy burdens imposed upon
them by the house of Hapsburg, and to the ill-treatment the men, women,
and girls endured from the governors of the country. In support of
this accusation Melchior Russ cites an example; he says: “William Tell
was forced by the seneschal to hit with an arrow an apple placed on
the head of his own son, failing in which, he himself was to be put to
death.” It is here that Russ takes up the narrative of Justinger, and
continues the history of Tell in a chapter entitled: “_Adventure of
Tell on the Lake_.”
“Tell resolved to avenge himself of the cruel and unjust treatment he
had long endured from the governor and the magistrates. He went into
the canton of Uri, assembled the commune, and told them with sobs
of emotion of the tyranny and persecution to which he was every day
exposed. His complaints coming to the ears of the governor, he ordered
Tell to be seized, to be bound hand and foot, and to be carried in a
boat to a fortified castle situated in the centre of the lake. During
the passage across a violent tempest arose, and all on board, giving
themselves up for lost, began to implore the aid of God and of the
saints. It was suggested to the governor that Tell, being vigorous and
skilled in nautical matters, was the only one likely to help them out
of their danger. Aware of their imminent peril, the governor promised
that Tell’s life should be spared if he succeeded in landing all the
passengers in safety. On his promising to do so he was set free, and
manœuvred so well that he steered close to a flat rock, snatched up his
cross-bow, leapt ashore at one bound, and, aiming at the governor, shot
him dead. The crew were home away in the boat, which Tell had quickly
pushed off from the shore, and he regained the interior, where he
continued to excite the people to rebellion and to revolt.”
We will now quote from Peterman Etterlein, another chronicler, whose
work was first published at Bâle in 1507:
“Now it happened one day that the seneschal (or governor), named
Gressler (or Gessler), came to the canton of Uri, and ordered a pole
to be fixed on a spot much frequented by the people. A hat was placed
on the top of the pole, and a decree was published commanding every
passer-by to do homage to the hat as if the governor himself stood
there in person. Now there was in the canton a worthy man named William
Tell, who had secretly conspired with Stöffacher and his companions.
This man passed and repassed several times in front of the pole and
the hat without saluting them. The official on guard reported the
circumstance to his master, who, when he became acquainted with this
act of insubordination, summoned Tell to his presence, and demanded the
reason of his disobedience. “My good Lord,” said Tell, “I could not
imagine that your Grace would attach so much importance to a salute;
pardon me this fault, therefore, and impute it to my thoughtlessness.
Now William Tell was the most skilful crossbowman that it was possible
to find, and he had pretty children whom he tenderly loved. The
governor said to him: ‘It is reported that thou art a celebrated
archer; thou shalt give me a proof of thy skill in bringing down with
thine arrow an apple placed on the head of one of thy children. If thou
dost not hit it at the first trial it shall cost thee thy life.’
“It was in vain that Tell remonstrated with the governor; he refused
to relent, and he himself placed the apple on the head of the child.
Thus driven by hard necessity, Tell first took an arrow which he slipt
under his doublet, and then took another which he fitted to his bow.
Having prayed to God and to the holy Virgin to direct his arm and to
save his son, he brought down the apple without wounding the child.
The governor had perceived that he concealed the first arrow, and
questioned him as to his reason for so doing, and after much hesitation
on the one part and terrible menaces on the other, Tell confessed
that if he had struck his child, he should have shot the governor
with the second arrow. Well, replied Gessler, I have promised thee
thy life and I will keep my word, but since I am acquainted with thy
evil intentions, I will confine thee in a place where thou wilt never
see the sun nor the moon, and where thou wilt no longer have it in
thy power to attempt my life. He immediately ordered his attendants
to seize Tell, and he embarked with them and the prisoner for his
castle of Küssenach, where he resolved to shut up his victim in a dark
tower. Tell’s arms were placed in the stern of the boat, close to the
governor.”
As in the preceding narrative, a storm arises, and Tell, to whom the
care of the vessel is confided, leaps upon a rock, lies in ambush in a
hollow through which the governor must pass to reach his castle, and
kills him with an arrow from his bow.
The other chroniclers have followed the same story, sometimes modifying
it and at others subjecting it to a critical examination. Now there
are four different views existing of this tradition of William Tell.
The first admits the authenticity of the legend in all its details, as
it is believed in the canton of Uri.
The second admits the existence of Tell, his refusal to do homage to
the hat, his voyage on the lake, and the tragical end of Gessler; but
it rejects the story of the apple.
According to the third view, William Tell is believed to have existed
and to have made himself remarkable by some daring exploit; but this
exploit was not connected with the plans of the conspirators, and
consequently exercised no influence over the formation of the Swiss
confederation.
The fourth view supposes the tradition of William Tell to be a mere
fable, an afterthought, unworthy of being inserted in any history of
Switzerland.
We know of no chronicle anterior to those of Melchior Russ and
Petermann Etterlein that records the events of which the tradition of
William Tell is composed. And so great a difference is perceptible
between the two histories, that it would be presumption to maintain
that the one emanates from the other, or that they have been drawn from
a common source.
However it is far from being the fact that all the historical works
written by the cotemporaries of this hero have been destroyed or buried
in oblivion. Freudenberger, in his _Danish Fable_, has cited several of
them. Franz Guillimann, in his work _De rebus Helveticis_, published
at Fribourg in 1598, inserted the history of William Tell, although he
regarded it as a mixture of fiction and probable facts, or rather as a
conventional truth that does not bear examination; for he casts a doubt
upon the very existence of the personage whose memory the Swiss people
honour as their liberator.
In one of his letters, addressed to Goldast, 27th March 1607, he writes
thus: “You ask me what I think of the history of William Tell: here is
my answer. Although in my _Helvetian Antiquities_ I have yielded to
the popular belief in introducing certain details connected with that
tale, still when I look more closely into it, the whole thing appears
to me to be a pure fable; and that which confirms me in my opinion is,
that up to this time I have never met with any writer anterior to the
15th century who alludes to any such history. It appears to me that
all the circumstances have been invented to foment the hatred of the
confederate states against Austria. I could produce my reasons for
supposing this story of Tell to be a fabrication; but why should we
waste time on such a subject?”
Here then we have a respectable historian, the author of a learned work
on the antiquities of Switzerland, confessing himself obliged to admit
an error because it is popular! Perhaps also, in his own interest, it
was safer to do so, for a few years later (in 1760) Uriel Freudenberger
created a terrible disturbance in Bern by publishing a small volume
in Latin entitled _William Tell, a Danish Fable_, which was by many
attributed to Emmanuel Haller. The canton of Uri condemned the author
to be burned with his book, and on the 14th of June in the same year it
addressed a very urgent letter to the other cantons, advising them to
pass a like sentence.
The work of Freudenberger having been burnt, the copies became
extremely scarce, but it was reprinted in Breyer’s _Historical
Magazine_, Vol. I. p. 325. The same text was also reproduced--but only
in order to be partially refuted--in the work of Hisely, published
at Delft in 1826 under the title: “_Of William Tell and the Swiss
Revolution of 1307; or the history of the early cantons up to the
treaty of Brunnen in 1315_.”
In the latter half of the 17th century, a writer as eminent as
Guilliman, J. H. Rahn, after recording in his chronicle the history of
Tell according to the tradition, explains his reasons for regarding it
as fabulous, or at least as open to suspicion.
Later still, another writer, Isaac Christ. Iselin, in his large
historical dictionary (_Historisches und geographisches allgemeines
Lexicon_, Basel 1727, in folio) says, that although several authors
cite this story, it is nevertheless open to doubt, because 1) the
ancient annalists are silent on the subject, and 2) because Olaus
Magnus has related the same adventure of a certain Toko, in the reign
of Harold king of Denmark. There is so great a similarity between the
two stories that it is impossible to avoid supposing that one has been
copied from the other.
Two important publications express themselves in a still more positive
manner. In the chronicle of Melchior Russ, edited by Schneller of
Lucerne, the editor, in learned notes, conveys serious doubts upon
the story and even upon the very existence of William Tell. These
doubts acquire a fresh importance from the collection of documents
published in 1835 by Kopp, a man of letters, who shows how slight is
the foundation for the tradition which makes Tell the avenger of
oppressed liberty. It will be seen that the Swiss writers of the 15th
and 16th centuries, far from being agreed as to the time at which Tell
is said to have signalised himself by an act of heroism, refer this
event, on the contrary, to different periods, and separate the two
extremes of the dates by a space of forty years. Kopp renders the story
of the apple still more doubtful, by the positive assurance that the
administration of Küssenach was never in the hands of a Gessler. This
assertion is founded on the charters, which denote the uninterrupted
succession of the administrators of Küssenach during the century in
which the incident in question is said to have taken place. The notes
of M. Kopp contain precise indications which shake the basis upon which
rests the history of William Tell, and threaten to overthrow it.
Thus, in resuming, we see that the most ancient work which makes any
mention of the adventures of William Tell is the chronicle of Melchior
Russ junior, written at the end of the 15th century. Hence it follows
that this story was not known until two centuries after the event (1296
to 1482), and that the chronicles of the middle ages, so eager after
extraordinary facts and interesting news, were entirely ignorant of it.
Indeed, Hammerlin and Faber, writers of the 15th century, and Mutius
a chronicler at the beginning of the 16th century, narrate in detail
the tyrannical conduct of Austria, which they consider as the principal
cause of the insurrection of the Swiss people; but not one of them
speaks of a Tell or of a William, neither of the story of the apple,
nor of the tragical end of Gessler. Moreover, we possess the work of a
contemporary of William Tell, Jean de Winterthür, whose chronicle is
one of the best of the 14th century. He recounts the details of the
war which the herdsmen of the Alps waged against Austria. He describes
with remarkable precision the battle of Morgarten, the particulars
of which he had gathered from the lips of his father, an eye-witness
of it. He says, that on the evening of that day so fatal to Austria,
he saw the Duke Leopold arrive in flight, pallid and half-dead with
fright. Jean de Winterthür also tells us that the heroes of Morgarten
instituted, on the very day of their victory, a solemn festival to
perpetuate the remembrance of it. But this chronicler, who knew so
much, and who was so fond of relating even fabulous histories, has made
no mention whatever of the deeds of William Tell! How is it possible
to conceive that the above-named authors could unanimously pass over
in silence the historical fact attributed to William Tell, a fact
accompanied by circumstances so remarkable that they must have made
a strong impression on every mind? The love of the marvellous is a
characteristic trait of the middle-ages, and yet the poetical story of
William Tell has left no vestige in the annals of his cotemporaries! It
does not appear in the chronicle of Zürich of 1479, where even the name
of William Tell is not cited. What must be inferred from this silence?
If we proceed to examine the circumstances as they are related by those
who have written of William Tell, we shall find the authors at variance
in their details; contradicting themselves in their chronology and in
the names of the places where they assert the facts to have occurred.
In 1836 the professors of philosophy at the university of Heidelberg
proposed the following subject for literary composition: “To examine
with greater care than Messieurs Kopp and Ideler have done, into the
origin of the Swiss confederation and into the details given respecting
Gessler and Tell, and to estimate the sources whence these details have
come down to us.” The university received in answer to this proposition
a memoir which obtained a prize, and which was published by the
author, Ludwig Häusser, in 1840.
Of all the works that have appeared on this subject this is the most
complete and the most valuable. To a great acquaintance with the
historical literature of Switzerland, M. Häusser unites that spirit
of criticism without which it is impossible to distinguish truth from
fiction. The following are the conclusions arrived at by M. Häusser
from his researches. 1) There is nothing to justify the historical
importance that is commonly attached to William Tell. He has no right
to the title of deliverer of Switzerland, seeing that he took no
active part in the freedom of the Waldstätter. 2) The existence of a
Swiss named William Tell is without doubt. It is probable that this
man made himself remarkable by some bold exploit, but one not in any
way connected with the history of the confederation. 3) As for the
tradition as it is preserved in ballads and chronicles, it is only
supported by such evidence as is unworthy of credit. It is easy to
demonstrate that the particulars related in this tradition are not
authentic, and that they are pure inventions of the imagination. In
short, the story of the apple shot from the head of the child is of
Scandinavian origin.
Monsieur J. Hisely has summed up the whole discussion on the subject of
William Tell in his _Recherches Critiques_, published at Lausanne in
1843.
In the historico-critical treatise of Julius Ludwig Ideler (Berlin
1836), the author says that there exists no record of incontestable
authenticity referring to the romantic incident of Tell’s life. The
chapel near Flüelen, on the borders of the lake, was only constructed
in 1388: the chapel at Burglen, on the spot where Tell’s house formerly
stood, dates back to the same time, and there is no written document to
prove that they were built to commemorate any share taken by Tell in
the emancipation of Switzerland.
The stone fountain at Altdorf[30] which bore the name of Tell, and
above which was seen the statue of Tell, and of his son with an apple
placed upon his head, was only constructed in 1786, when the tradition
had already been singularly shaken by critical researches.
Ideler adds, that Tell’s lime-tree in the centre of the market place
at Altdorf (Tellenlinde), and his crossbow preserved in the arsenal at
Zürich, are not more valid proofs than the pieces of the true cross
which are exhibited in a thousand places, or the handkerchief of St.
Veronica, that is said to be the real original.
A critic whom it is also important to read on this question, is Hisely,
in his investigations into the sources whence the Swiss writers have
drawn the history of William Tell. He explains at length the reasons
that make him consider the absolute silence of Jean de Winterthür and
of Conrad Justinger as an inexplicable enigma.
Hisely has pursued his researches without being prejudiced for or
against the popular faith, but the result tends to show how little
foundation there is for the story.
In conclusion we will cite the legends analogous to the circumstance of
the apple shot in twain by William Tell.
ENDRIDE PANSA, OR THE SPLAY-FOOTED.
(A LEGEND OF THE 10TH CENTURY.)
The king of Norway went to pay a visit to Endride, a young pagan whom
he wished to convert to Christianity. After they had drank together,
and before setting out for the chase, the king said to Endride: “I
wish to see which of us two is the best marksman.” “I consent,” said
Endride. They entered a neighbouring forest. The king took off his
cloak, fixed a long piece of wood in the ground at a considerable
distance, which was to serve as a mark to the two archers. He then
bent his bow and aimed so accurately that the arrow hit the top of the
wood and remained fixed in it. All the spectators were in admiration
at the dexterity of the king. Endride at first asked to be excused
from shooting; but the king refused, and Endride, being forced to
obey, shot, and planted his arrow in that of the king, so that they
were embedded the one in the other. The king, evidently piqued, said
to Endride: “In truth thy skill is remarkable, but this trial is not
decisive. Let thy sister’s son be brought, on whom thou hast once said
all thy affections are concentrated. Let him serve as a mark for us,
and let one of the chessmen be placed upon the head of the child.” The
boy was brought and fastened to a stake. “We are going,” said the king
to his rival, “to bring down this chessman from the head of the child
without hurting him.” “Make the trial, if such is your good pleasure,”
replied Endride; “but if you touch the boy, I will avenge him.”
The king ordered the eyes of the child to be bandaged, made the sign
of the cross, and blessed the point of the arrow before shooting. The
countenance of Endride became flushed with emotion. The dart flew, and
the historian Thormod Torfæus, who recites the fact, adds that Olaf
shot off the chessman without doing the least injury to the child.
The saga goes on to relate that Endride, overcome with admiration at
the skill of the king, yielded to his wishes, was baptised and was
received as a welcome guest at the court of Olaf.
ADVENTURES OF HEMING.
Harold Hardrade, king of Norway (1047-1066), went one day to visit
Aslak, a rich peasant of the isle of Torg, which forms part of the
group of the islands of Heligoland, and made acquaintance with Heming,
son of the opulent islander. Aslak, who distrusted his guest, sought
to get rid of him as soon as possible; he came therefore at the end
of the second day to tell Harold that his vessel was ready to sail.
But the king replied, that he intended to pass yet another day on the
island. He then betook himself to the forest, there to contend for the
honour of victory in shooting with the crossbow. Although Harold was a
skilful archer, he could not equal his rival. Irritated, and desirous
to avenge this affront, the king ordered Heming, under pain of death,
to hit with his arrow a nut placed upon the head of his brother Biörn.
At first Heming refused to obey so barbarous an order; but, yielding at
length to the entreaties of his brother, he begged the king to place
himself by the side of Biörn, in order to ascertain the result of the
trial. But Harold made Odd Ofeigsön take that place, and he himself
remained close to Heming. The latter, having made the sign of the cross
and invoked the vengeance of heaven upon the oppressor, drew his bow
and shot the nut placed on the head of Biörn.
The saga relates that the tyranny of Harold excited the islanders to
revolt, and that Heming, having taken refuge in England, was present
in the English army at the battle of Standfordbridge in 1066. The
Norwegian king, at the first shock of the two armies, was struck by an
arrow that pierced his throat.
ADVENTURE OF PALNATOKE, OR TOKO.
This legend is to be found in the _History of Denmark by Saxo
Grammaticus_. He has drawn his recitals from oral tradition and ancient
ballads. This author died in 1204. It appears that the adventure of
Toko must have taken place under the reign of Harold of the Black
Tooth; that is to say about 950.
A certain Toko, attached for some time to the service of the king, had
excited the jealousy of his companions in arms by his valour and his
exploits. One day, during a banquet, Toko boasted that with the first
flight of his arrow he would bring down from a distance an apple placed
on the end of a staff. His curious companions related the circumstance
to the king, adding to it remarks insulting to himself. Harold, whose
wicked disposition was irritated by the discourse of his flatterers,
ordered Toko to perform what he had boasted himself capable of doing,
taking for a mark an apple placed on the head of his child. He added,
that if he did not succeed on the first attempt, his vanity should cost
him his life. The imminence of the danger strengthened the courage of
Toko. After placing his child, the intrepid warrior impressed upon him
the necessity of remaining motionless when he should hear the hissing
of the arrow; and, having taken the measures dictated by prudence,
he made him turn his head aside, lest he should be frightened at the
sight of the weapon his father was aiming at him. Then Toko took three
arrows, fixed one in his bow, and hit the apple at the first trial.
The king asking Toko what he had intended to do with the two remaining
arrows, the archer replied: “If my arm had failed me, the second
arrow should have pierced thy heart, and the third, that of the first
audacious man who dared to advance a step.” The king, concealing his
resentment, subjected Toko to other trials, and he, cursing Harold,
sought out Svend, the son of Harold, who was arming to make war against
his father. One day, having surprised the king behind a bush, he
revenged himself for all the outrages he had endured, by letting fly at
him an arrow which inflicted a mortal wound.
Olaüs Magnus also relates this story, which is not surprising, seeing
that he has sometimes copied word for word from _Saxo Grammaticus_. He
confesses, moreover, that he has borrowed from his predecessor.
ADVENTURES OF EGIL.
If from Scandinavia we pass into Iceland, we there find the legend of
the apple transmitted to us by the Vilkina-Saga, in the 14th century.
Once upon a time, Egil, the brother of Veland the smith, came to the
court of king Nidung. Egil excelled in the art of handling the bow and
the crossbow. His address excited admiration throughout the country.
The king Nidung gave Egil a good reception, and put his skill more than
once to the proof. After having exhausted all the resources of his
imagination, he took it into his head to have an apple placed upon the
head of the son of Egil. “From where thou standest,” said he to the
archer, “thou must shoot down this apple.” Egil took an arrow from his
quiver, tried its point, and laid it by his side. He then took a second
arrow, rested it on the string of his bow, took aim, and struck the
apple in such a manner that the arrow and the apple both fell to the
ground. This trial of skill still lives in the memory of the people.
King Nidung then asked Egil why he had taken two arrows, since he had
been ordered to hit the apple at one trial. “Sire,” replied Egil, “I
will tell you the truth, whatever may be the consequence. This arrow
was destined for you, if I had wounded my son.” The king admired the
frankness of this reply, and was not offended by it, acknowledging the
cruelty of the order he had given.
All the spectators agreed that it was the speech of a worthy and brave
man.
ADVENTURE OF WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.
The large forests of England were for many years formidable to the
Normans. They were inhabited by the last remnants of the Saxon armies,
who still disputing the conquest, persisted in leading a life opposed
to the laws of the invader. Every where driven out, pursued, hunted
like wild beasts, they here, favoured by the shelter of the forests,
had been able to maintain themselves in force, under a sort of military
organisation.
Among the chief outlaws, Adam Bel, Clym of the Clough, and William of
Cloudesly, were not the least celebrated. Bound together by the same
destiny, they had taken an oath of fraternity, as was customary in the
12th century. Adam and Clym were not married, but William had a wife
and three children, whom he had left at Carlisle. One day he resolved
to visit them. He set off in spite of the counsels of his companions,
and arrived at night in the city: but being recognised by an old woman,
he was denounced to the magistrate, his house was surrounded, he was
made prisoner, and a gallows was erected in the market-place on which
to hang him. A young swine-herd informed Adam and Clym of the fate
of their brother in arms. The sentence was about to be executed, when
the two friends of the condemned man appeared in the market-place, and
a sanguinary combat ensued, which terminated in the delivery of the
prisoner. The three outlaws, however, worn out at length with their
wandering life, decided upon making their submission. They arrived in
London with the eldest son of William of Cloudesly, entered the king’s
palace without uttering a word to any one, proceeded into the hall,
and, kneeling on one knee, raised their hands and said. “Sire, deign
to pardon us.” “What are your names?” demanded the king. “Adam Bel,
Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly.” “Ah, you are then those
brigands of whom I have heard? I swear to God, you shall all three be
hung!” They were immediately arrested by the king’s order; but the
queen, moved by the unhappy fate of these three men who had voluntarily
surrendered themselves, interceded for them and obtained their pardon,
but on condition that they should be victorious in a shooting match
with the king’s archers.
Two branches of a hazel tree were fixed in the ground in a field at a
distance of twenty times twenty paces. None of the king’s men at arms
could hit this mark. “I will try,” said William, and he bent his bow
and took so true an aim that the arrow split the branch. “Thou art the
best archer that I have seen in the whole course of my life,” said the
astonished king. “To please my sovereign lord,” said William, “I would
do something still more surprising. I have a son of the age of seven
years: I love this son with an extreme tenderness: I will attach him
to a post in the presence of every one, I will place an apple upon
his head, and at the distance of a hundred and twenty paces I will
pierce the apple without wounding the child.” “I take thee at thy
word,” said the king; “but if thou failest, thou shalt be hung.” “What
I have promised,” said William, “I will perform.” He fixed a stake in
the ground, fastened his son to it, and, having made him turn away
his head, placed the apple upon it. After taking these precautions,
William went to a distance of a hundred and twenty paces, bent his bow,
besought all present to keep strict silence, and let fly the arrow,
which pierced the apple without touching the child. “God preserve me
from ever serving as an aim to thee!” exclaimed the king. The skilful
archer, his brethren in arms, and his wife and children, were conducted
to the court, where the king and queen loaded them with favours.
This trial of skill of William of Cloudesly still dwells in the memory
of the people. Several English poets make mention of the fact, and the
old English ballad has furnished Sir Walter Scott with many particulars
of the scene of the archery meeting in Ivanhoe.
Let us here conclude, only making the remark, that at the end of the
_Recherches critiques sur l’histoire de Guillaume Tell_, by J. J.
Hisely, this author has quoted the documents, so called authentic,
which the supporters of this story have published; and he has also made
mention of the chapel built on the Lake of Lucerne, to the memory it is
said, of William Tell.
Hisely also shows that none of these alleged proofs stand the test of
strict examination, and that some of the documents are even forgeries.
PETRARCH AND LAURA.
A. D. 1325.
Petrarch was born at Arezzo in 1304. His father Petracco sent his
son at an early age to study law at Bologna, but an irresistible
passion for poetry, which soon shewed itself, led him to neglect
more profitable studies for the works of the poets and philosophers
of antiquity. At 22 years of age Francesco di Petracco (for such was
his name) had lost both father and mother, and was left without the
means of subsistence. He took up his abode with his brother Gherardo
at Avignon, the last residence of his father, and instead of striving
to increase their very small income by entering upon some lucrative
profession, Francesco spent his whole time in reading Virgil, Cicero,
Horace, and _tutti quanti_.
One morning early, as Petrarca (the name he had now adopted, probably
out of vanity) entered the church of the nuns of Santa Clara, he was
struck, say his biographers, by the dazzling beauty of a young girl,
by the sweet expression of her face, the grace of her form, and the
tastefulness of her costume.
Her eyes were blue, say some; they were black, say others; and the
reader will see presently that this is not the only point on which
opinions differed. This beauty was Laura, or Loretta de Noves, or de
Sade, or Desbaux; for there is great uncertainty even regarding her
name. Petrarca, we are told, took her for his ideal. He may really have
been in love with her, or he may only have conformed to the fashion of
those days, when poets were in the habit of selecting some imaginary
object for their devotion and adoring it in a poetical sense. Thus was
it with Cavalcanti, Montemagno and Cino da Pistoja, whose Mandetta,
Lauretta, and Selvaggia were only poetical fictions and so was it in
fact with Dante himself, whose Beatrice was a child who died at nine
years of age. Thomas Keightley, in his _Tales and Popular Fictions_,
and other English authors, adopt the latter sceptical opinion. “I
confess,” says Keightley, “that I am not indisposed to regard the
Beatrice of Dante, the Laura of Petrarca, the Fiammetta of Boccacio,
and all those ladies with significant names, who were all first seen in
passion week, and whose lovers all survived them, as being more the
creatures of air and of romance than of real flesh and blood.”
Petrarca, at the time we speak of, was twenty-three years of age; and,
after composing a great number of sonnets to his lady-love, he left
Avignon, went to Paris, and travelled through France, Flanders, Brabant
and Germany. It has been remarked as a strange coincidence, that during
his absence he wrote only four letters to Avignon, and but one to
Laura. Ginguené, in his _Literary History of Italy_, has collected from
the works of Petrarca a few stray sentences on his mistress, but the
poet gives no particulars of her life, and, neither in his Italian nor
in his Latin compositions, does he speak of the family of his beloved,
although she is almost the sole subject of his songs.
It is not then to be wondered at if his later biographers are left in
the dark about Laura, notwithstanding that contemporary authors must
have been acquainted both with the lover and with his mistress.
Baldelli, a very partial commentator on Petrarca, is obliged to
confess that the poet was by no means faithful to his divinity; but
that another, whom he loved after a less ideal fashion, presented him
with a daughter, who afterwards became the consolation of his old
age. “_Francesco nei passati falli ricadde, e dal suo commercio con
femina impura ebbe una figlia appellata Francesca che fu poscia tenera
compagna e fedel sostegno di sua vecchiezza. La madre fu rapita da
morte dopo la nascita di Francesca, con grand dolore di Petrarca._”
The Abbé de Sade, in his learned researches upon Laura, shows, that
besides this daughter, the poet had a son named Giovanno. This young
man was legitimatised by Pope Clement VI. in 1348; and in the papal
brief he is mentioned as the son of unmarried parents: _De soluto et
solutâ_.
Baldelli believes that both children were by the same mother. Francesco
Petrarca, who is characterised by Voltaire as a genius eminent for his
constant repetition of the same thing, died in 1374, aged seventy.
Nearly a century after his death, in 1471, an anonymous author, in a
_Vita di Francesco Petrarca_, pretended that Pope Urbanus V., with
whom the poet was an especial favourite, wished to give him Laura in
marriage, but that Petrarca declined, saying that the fountain from
which he drew his amorous inspiration for the composition of his
sonnets, would fail him entirely were he to be united to the object
of this love: “_E quantunque gli_ _volse essere data per donna, ad
instanza di Papa Urbano quinto, il quale lui singularmente amava,
concedendogli di tener colla donna i beneficii insieme, nol volse mai
consentire, dicendo che il frutto che prendea dell’ amore, a scrivere,
di poi che la cosa amata consequito avesse, tutto si perderia._”
Notwithstanding the improbability of this confession, seeing that Pope
Urbanus did not mount the pontifical throne until after the death of
Laura, we may still infer from it that in the first years of the 15th
century a very exalted opinion was not entertained of the sincerity
of Petrarca’s passion. The mention of all these circumstances, no
doubt instigated Tomasini, who was the most devoted of Petrarch’s
biographers, and who looked upon the poet almost as a saint, to
adduce a reason for his remaining unmarried to the end of his life.
“He believed,” says he, “that marriage would extinguish his love.”
“_Censebat nempè isto nexu amoris puritatem obfuscatam iri, neque
cultum animi ita fore constantem, juxta illud Tibulli: Semper in
absentes felicior æstus amantis._”
In 1539 Squarciafico and Nicolò Franco attacked with much humour the
morals and the life of Laura’s adorer. Ercole Giannini followed in
the same vein; and the circumstances we have already mentioned tend
to prove, that although Petrarca may have been a great poet, a great
politician, a savant, and a prolific writer, there is more than one
reason for believing that he was not altogether the Platonic lover some
have represented him to be.
With regard to Laura all is doubt, obscurity, and hypothesis. The
traces left of her were so faint, even in the century in which she
lived, that Baldelli says that doubts were even entertained of her
existence. “_Tanto s’oscurò la sua memoria, che nei due secoli in cui
l’Italia negli enti allegorici e di ragione, andava smarrita, alcuni
dubitarono della esistenza di lui._” (See _Petrarca e sue opere_.)
The Abbé de Sade, in his memoirs on the life of this poet, says also,
that in Italy the beautiful Laura was supposed to be an allegorical
personage.
The endeavours made by Alexandre Vellutello and others to establish her
existence, led to no positive results; for in the certificated of birth
from the years 1307 to 1324, the name of Laura, although frequently met
with, can never in any one instance be applied to Petrarca’s mistress.
Vellutello tries to make her out the daughter of Henri Chiabau, a
seigneur of Cabrières, Monsieur de Bimard in his _Mémoires_, pretends
that her father was Raybau de Raimond; the Abbé Castaing, of Avignon,
published in 1819 a new view, and maintained that Petrarca’s divinity
was a certain Laura Des Beaux, and that his devotion to her was purely
Platonic. The Abbé de Sade tries to prove that she was the daughter of
Audibert de Noves.
Some assert that Laura never married, and died a virgin: according to
others she was married at fourteen years of age to Hugues de Sade, a
nobleman hard to please and given to jealousy, and that she bore him
eleven children, nine of whom survived their mother.
If, on the one hand, Laura has been considered a myth, many writers, on
the other hand, say that she was far from insensible to the passion of
Petrarca. Her reputation is lightly treated in a manuscript written by
Luigi Peruzsi, of which Mr. Bruce-Whyte has made use in his _Histoire
des Langues Romanes_. This view of her character gave rise to a very
interesting article in a newspaper of Vaucluse entitled: “_L’Écho
de Vaucluse_,” of the 11th September 1842. We can nowhere find any
authentic testimony nor any decisive evidence wherewith to dissipate
doubts or to confirm assertions on this subject.
There are three portraits of Laura extant all of which differ
materially in features and in costume. In 1339, Simon of Sienna, who
was employed to decorate the episcopal palace at Avignon, is said to
have painted Laura’s portrait, and to have presented it to Petrarca,
with whom he was intimate.
Richard de Sade brought another portrait from Avignon to Rome, and gave
it to Cardinal Barberini. It has no resemblance whatever to the first.
The third is in a manuscript at Florence.
Marsand in a special dissertation on these portraits, rejects the two
first and only admits the latter, engraved by the celebrated Morghen.
Here again we are met by doubt and obscurity.
In the French Imperial Library, there are two manuscripts of the 15th
century containing a Latin treatise by Petrarca: _De contemptu Mundi_,
which apparently affirms that Laura was the mother of several children,
as above stated. In this treatise we read that she gradually approaches
her end, and that her lovely form has suffered much from her frequent
confinements: “_Morbis ac crebris partubus exhaustum, multum pristini
vigoris amisit corpus illud egregium._”
In the work of Olivier Vitalis, published in Paris in 1842, which
contains researches into almost every opinion concerning Laura and
Petrarca, that of her marriage is rejected: “_Des couches fréquentes_,”
says the author, “_des chagrins domestiques peuvent convenir et
s’appliquer à la Laure de De Sade, mais non à la Laure célébrée par
Pétrarque, qui mourut dans le célibat_.”
Several Italian authors declare on the other hand that the objection
against Laura’s celibacy is made by Petrarch himself, who, in his Latin
Dialogue with St. Augustin, frequently makes use of the word _mulier_,
in speaking of her. The dictionary of Vanieri, and others, tell us
that: “_Fæmina propriè sexum significat, mulier quæ virgo non est._”
Unfortunately, our poet, in all matters appertaining to his mistress,
has intentionally, or by chance, only very vaguely mentioned, by
allusions, or by figures of speech, dates or circumstances bearing
reference to her. Besides the striking difference that exists on many
points in the manuscripts which have served as foundations for the
various editions of Petrarca, it must be confessed that nowhere have
primary and incontrovertible facts been produced on which to ground a
true and faithful biography of Laura.
It is stated that an allusion to Laura’s death, and burial at Avignon,
is to be found in a manuscript Virgil which belonged to Petrarca,
and which is preserved in the _Bibliotheca Ambrosiana_ at Milan;
but learned critics, among whom we may name Alexander Tassoni, one
of the most reliable authors of Italy, A. Vellutello, and others,
consider this note as very apocryphal, and even as a forgery: for the
writing has never been proved to be that of the poet, and moreover
this memorandum is in open contradiction with the sonnets of Petrarca
written on the spot where the lovers first met.
It was not until towards the beginning of the 16th century that the
desire sprang up among the Italians to know who the Laura really was,
that had been the theme of song for twenty years. Alexander Vellutello
made two journeys to Avignon for the express purpose of collecting
information regarding her, and from that time innumerable discussions
arose from all quarters. Tomasini, Maria Suarez, G. Ferrari, F. Orsino,
Muratori, &c., on the one side, and Vellutello, Gesualdo, Tassoni, le
Bastie, &c. on the other. But they were all staggered by a remark made
by Giacomo Colonna, Bishop of Lombez, with whom Petrarca lived for some
time, and who consequently must have known him intimately. The bishop
writes: “Your Laura is only a phantom of your imagination on whom you
exercise your muse. _Un nome imaginario di Laura per avere un oggetto
di cui ragionare._”
Amid such a multiplicity of conflicting opinions where can reliance be
placed!
In 1529, one hundred and eighty years after the death of Laura, a
pretended discovery of her tomb was made at Avignon; but Olivier
Vitalis[31] proves the utter fallacy of this discovery, and shows
the absurdity of the explanation given in support of it. This tomb
is almost universally acknowledged to have been devoid, both inside
and out, of any trace of the name of the defunct, or any date of her
decease. The tomb itself was destroyed in the French revolution, and at
the present day no vestige of it remains.
We see then that this enigmatical Laura has made far more noise in the
world during the last four or five centuries, than she ever did in her
own time. Perhaps contemporary writers were well aware, as some have
asserted, that Petrarch’s sonnets were mere poetical fictions as far
as Laura was concerned. Had it been otherwise, more would surely have
transpired about her during her lifetime. But on the contrary, her
existence is even now thought to be so problematical, that the author
of the article on _Laura_, in Didot’s _Biographie Générale_, refrains
from giving an opinion on the question.
EXECUTION OF JEANNE D’ARC.
A. D. 1431.
History relates that Jeanne d’Arc was led to the stake the last day
but one of May 1431, and burnt alive by a slow fire, and her bones and
ashes thrown into the Seine.
When, in the 15th and 16th centuries, the memory of Jeanne d’Arc
revived in the minds of historians, the subject invariably served
as a theme for controversy and discussion. It is well known that
Charles VII., to reward the bravery of this exalted heroine, bestowed
letters of nobility upon her brothers and their descendants. Documents
discovered by the learned Père Vignier have led to the supposition
that Jeanne d’Arc subsequently married, and was not therefore burnt
at Rouen, as is commonly believed, but that some other poor unknown
creature was sacrificed in her stead. This opinion, which sounds
paradoxical, is nevertheless supported by weighty evidence.
Father Vignier of the Oratory, a learned and zealous philobiblon,
ever in pursuit of literary discoveries, of which so many are due to
the institution of the Oratory, found during a visit to Metz, while
turning over the archives of that city, the following notice, in a
manuscript register of the events that had taken place there during
the 15th century: “In the year 1436, Messire Phlin Marcou was sheriff
of Metz, and on the 20th day of May of the aforesaid year, came the
maid Jeanne, who had been in France, to la Grange of Ormes, near St.
Privé, and was taken there to confer with any one of the sieurs of
Metz, and she called herself Claude; and on the same day there came to
see her there her two brothers, one of whom was a knight and was called
Messire Pierre, and the other “petit Jehan” a squire, and they thought
that she had been burnt, but as soon as they saw her they recognised
her, and she them. And on Monday the 21st day of the said month they
took their sister with them to Boquelon, and the sieur Nicole, being a
knight, gave her a stout stallion, of the value of thirty francs, and
a pair of saddle cloths; the sieur Aubert Boulle, a riding hood; the
sieur Nicole Grognet a sword; and the said maiden mounted the said
horse nimbly, and said several things to the sieur Nicole by which he
well understood that it was she who had been in France; and she was
recognised by many tokens to be the maid Jeanne of France who escorted
king Charles to Reims, and several declared that she had been burnt in
Normandy, and she spoke mostly in parables. She afterwards returned to
the town of Marnelle for the feast of Pentecost, and remained there
about three weeks, and then set off to go to Notre Dame d’Alliance.
And when she wished to leave, several of Metz went to see her at the
said Marnels and gave her several jewels, and they knew well that she
was the maid Jeanne of France; and she then went to Erlon in the Duchy
of Luxembourg, where she was thronged, so much so that the son of the
count of Wuenbourg took her to Cologne near his father the count de
Wuenbourg, and the said count loved her greatly, and when she wished to
come away he had a handsome cuirass made for her to equip her therein;
and then she came to the aforesaid Erlon and there was solemnised the
marriage of Monsieur de Hermoise knight, and the said maid Jeanne, and
afterwards the said sieur Hermoise with his wife the maid, came to live
at Metz in the house the said sieur had, opposite Saint Seglenne, and
remained there until it pleased them to depart.”
Since the discovery made by Père Vignier, this remarkable document has
been inserted in a work entitled: _Chronique de Metz, composé par le
doyen de Saint Thiebaut de la même ville_. This chronicle terminates at
the year 1445.
Vignier might not probably have put much faith in this manuscript,
had it not been supported by a proof which he considered of great
weight. As he was very popular among the best families of Lorraine,
he frequently visited them, and being one day at dinner with M. des
Armoises, member of an old and illustrious race, the conversation fell
on the genealogy of this nobleman, who told the learned father that
among the family archives he would find much information regarding his
ancestors. Dinner was therefore no sooner ended than the keys of the
chamber containing these musty papers were given to Vignier, and he
spent the remainder of the day in looking over numerous old manuscripts
and parchments. At length he fell upon a contract of marriage between
one Robert des Armoises, chevalier, with Jeanne d’Arcy, the so called
Maid of Orleans. I leave the reader to imagine the surprise of father
Vignier at this unexpected confirmation of the manuscript register.
This historical novelty excited a great sensation at the time, as
may easily be supposed. The above extract was inserted in the before
mentioned chronicle, and Dom Calmet placed it among the printed
documents in his _History of Lorraine_.
The circumstance had been nearly forgotten, when, towards the year
1740, a member of the literary society of Orleans, while making some
researches among the archives in the town-hall, found a bill of Jacques
l’Argentier, in which in the years 1435 and 1436 there is mention of
a sum of eleven panes eight cents for refreshments supplied to the
messenger who had brought letters from the maid of Orleans; and another
sum of twelve livres, given by the magistrates on the 21st August 1436
to John du Lis, brother to the maid of Orleans, to help him to pay his
journey back to his sister. He had an audience of the king, who had
granted him a donation of one hundred francs.
Here is a third extract, even more remarkable than the former: “_Au
Sieur du Lis, le 18 Octobre 1436, pour un voyage qu’il fit en la dite
ville, en route vers la Pucelle, qui se trouvant_ _alors à Arlon, au
Luxembourg, et pour port de letters de Jeanne la Pucelle, pour le Roi,
à Loicher, où il résidait alors, six livres parisis._”
And again: “_A. Renard Brune, le 25 Juillet 1435, au soir, pour faire
loire un messager qui apportait lettres de Jeanne la Pucelle et allait
devers Guillaume Belier, Bailly de Troyes, II. s. 83. Parisis._”
The reader must remember that immediately after the execution of
Jeanne d’Arc, there was a common rumour that she was not dead, and
that another victim had been substituted for her. In the _Histoire de
Lorraine_ by Dom Calmet, which only extends to 1544, we read, speaking
of the siege of Compiègne, that the Maid of Orleans escaped in the
crowd, and that no one knew what became of her. Some supposed her to
have been captured and carried to Rouen and burnt, others affirm that
the army was averse to her death.
The chronicle of Metz is still more explicit. After relating the
capture of Jeanne d’Arc, her removal to Rouen, and her death at the
stake, the author adds: “It was so asserted, but since that time a
contrary opinion has been held.”
Pasquier, in his researches on France, declares, that during four
whole years he had in his keeping the original trial of the maid of
Orleans with all the attendant circumstances, and he introduced the
subject into chapter V. book VI. of his history. His opinion then
should be treated with consideration. He observes that the inexplicable
delay between the condemnation and execution, and still more the
extraordinary precautions that were taken to hide the victim from the
eyes of the public, are very remarkable. When she was led to the stake,
a large mitre was placed on her head, which concealed the greater part
of her face, and a huge frame, covered with insulting phrases, was
carried before her, and completely concealed her person.
In 1440, the people so firmly believed that Jeanne d’Arc was still
alive, and that another had been sacrificed in her place, that an
adventuress who endeavoured to pass herself off as the Maid of Orleans
was ordered by the government to be exposed before the public on the
marble stone of the palace hall, in order to prove that she was an
impostor. Why were not such measures taken against the real Maid of
Orleans, who is mentioned in so many public documents, and who took no
pains to hide herself?
The king of France not only ennobled Jeanne d’Arc, her father,
brothers, and their descendants male and female, by letters patent
dated 1429, but moreover wished that her brothers should take the
surname of de Lys, and in fact we find this name in the registers
already quoted.
A very remarkable extract given by Pasquier is drawn from the accounts
of the auditor of the Orleans estate, in the year 1444 (observe the
date). An island on the river Loire is restored to a brother of the
Maid of Orleans, Pierre de Lys, chevalier: “_Quie la supplication de
Messire Pierre, contenant que pour acquitter la loyauté envers le Roi
notre seigneur et Monsieur le Duc d’Orléans, il se partit de son pays
pour venir au service du Roi et de Monsieur le Duc, en la compagnie de
Jeanne la Pucelle sa seur, avec la quelle, jusques à son absentement
et depuis jusques à présent, il a exposé son corps et ses biens au dit
service et au fait des guerres du Roi, tant à la résistance des anciens
ennemis du Royaume qui tinrent le siège devant la ville d’Orléans,
comme en plusieurs voyages faits et entrepris pour le Roi, &c._”
It is scarcely necessary to observe here how very much stronger the
claims of this brother would have been, if in 1444, instead of saying
“_jusques à son absentement_,” he had brought forward the martyrdom of
this sister, as having been the means of saving France from the yoke of
England. The expression _son absentement_ may, easily be explained when
we remember that the Duke of Bedford, regent of France, died in 1435,
and that most probably Jeanne d’Arc was released from prison after this
event. It was only one year later that she married Robert des Armoises.
But we may be told that Pope Calixtus III. appointed in 1455 a
commission to inquire into the justice or injustice of the condemnation
of the maid of Orleans, and that more than a hundred witnesses were
heard during this examination without the question of the reality of
her execution being once raised. Father Vignier has met this objection
by observing that the committee of enquiry was desired to examine
exclusively whether the judges had been justified in condemning her
as a heretic and an apostate, and it was on this point only that the
inquiry touched.
The commission was by no means ignorant of the received opinion that
Jeanne d’Arc still lived, but they were bound to keep to the letter of
the instructions received.
Jules Quicherat has collected almost every item bearing upon the doubt
of the fate of Jeanne d’Arc, in the fifth volume of his work: _Procès
de condamnation et de réhabilitation de Jeanne d’Arc_ (in 8ᵛᵒ. Paris
1849). 1) He gives the entire extract from the chronicle of Metz. 2)
The extract from the audited accounts of the city of Orleans for the
year 1436, according to the register preserved in the Orleans library.
3) An extract from the contract of sale of the fourth part of the
lordship of Haraucourt by Robert des Armoises and Jeanne du Lys, called
la Pucelle, his wife. 4) Other extracts from the accounts kept by the
city of Orleans and the city of Tours for presents of wine made to the
Pucelle, and expense of postage of letters from the Bailly of Tournay
to the king, touching the matter of Dame Jeanne des Armoises.
Quicherat does not admit that this Jeanne was the true Pucelle, but
those who read all his authorities will still retain strong doubts on
the subject.
In the 4th volume of the same work we find the account of the execution
of Jeanne according to the chronicle of Perceval de Cagny, whom M.
Quicherat considers to be the most complete, the best informed, and the
most honest of all the historians of “la Pucelle.”
This Perceval was in the service of the Duc d’Alençon who had constant
intercourse with the maid of Orleans and had the best opportunities
of observing and knowing her. It was in 1436 that Perceval occupied
himself in committing the facts to writing, only five years after
the execution at Rouen. Now he asserts that the victim’s face was
covered when walking to the stake, while at the same time a spot had
been chosen for the execution, that permitted the populace to have a
good view. Why this contradiction? A place is chosen to enable the
people to see everything, but the victim[32] is carefully hidden from
their sight. Does it not seem as if this was arranged with a sinister
intention?
The following words are from the chronicle: “_Les gens de la justice
du Roi d’Angleterre et la dite ville de Rouen firent appareiller lieu
convenable pour exécuter la justice, qui peult être vu de très grand
peuple. Et le dit 24ⁱᵉᵐᵉ jour de May environ l’eure de midy, la pucelle
fut amenée du Chastel, le visage embronché (recouvert) au dit lieu ou
le feu estoit prest; et après autres choses lues en la ditte place,
elle fut liée à l’estache et arse, par le rapport de ceux, qui disent
ce avoir vu._”
THE MURDER OF THE COUNTESS OF CHATEAUBRIAND.
A. D. 1525.
The tragical death of the Countess of Chateaubriand is one of the most
remarkable traditions of Brittany.
Go in the present day to Chateaubriand, that feudal city whose duke
rendered homage to the Duke of Brittany alone. Let yourself be
conducted to the castle, now transformed into the town-hall, with
a tricolor flag waving over the dilapidated arms of the Sires of
Chateaubriand. Question the first person you meet, be it a young
woman or child: either will relate to you with an air of unalterable
conviction the tragical fate of Françoise de Foix, assassinated by her
husband Jean, Count of Chateaubriand. No other proofs will be advanced
in support of the murder than the public belief transmitted from father
to son, and the traces still visible of the blood of the victim in the
room where the crime was committed. Follow your guide, who is about to
show you these bloody vestiges, which nearly three centuries have, it
is said, failed to efface.
You mount a staircase the steps of which are worn by feet; you cross
long galleries and reach at length a vast chamber stript of its
gothic furniture, but still preserving as a remnant of past splendour
decorations of faded gilt leather, a wainscot of carved oak, and some
painted panels blackened by age. It is here, you are told, that the
Countess remained a prisoner for several years; it is here that she
breathed her last sigh, exhausted by the blood that flowed from veins
opened in her hands and feet by order of her husband.
The commandant of the gendarmerie now inhabits this immense apartment,
in which the vulgarity of the shabby modern furniture contrasts with
the general aspect of the room. If you question the clerks and servants
who lodge in the interior of the ancient castle, or are obliged from
the nature of their duties to frequent these spots, they will tell
you, making the sign of the cross, that the soul of the Countess
yearly revisits the place where she lost her life, on the night of
the 24th October, the anniversary of this cruel act of vengeance.
Many witnesses will be at hand to declare that they have frequently
heard piercing cries and stifled lamentations issue from the walls at
midnight, the hour at which the Count de Chateaubriand murdered his
wife. The commandant, nevertheless, we are happy to say, contrives to
sleep remarkably well on the very scene of the alleged crime.
The story of Françoise de Foix is told as follows: Endowed with
extraordinary beauty, she was married at the age of twelve years to
the Count of Chateaubriand, who obtained her hand without difficulty,
being content to receive it with no other dowry than her youth and
loveliness. The young countess in course of time presented her husband
with a daughter, and his happiness would have been complete had he been
able for an indefinite period to conceal his treasure in the secluded
corner of Brittany in which they lived. But the reputation of his
wife’s beauty traversed the confines of the province, and when Francis
I., King of France, desired that the ladies, who had until then only
appeared at court on state occasions, should henceforward be introduced
and should take part in all the festivities, one of the first on whom
his thoughts rested was the Countess of Chateaubriand.
The count for a while evaded the royal mandate, and laid the blame
on the peculiar temperament of his wife, representing her as a wild
wayward creature whom it was impossible to subdue.
At length some urgent and unforeseen business calling the count to
Paris, he hit upon an expedient by which he hoped to escape the
importunity of the king, and at the same time reserve to himself
private communication with, and control over the actions of, his wife.
He ordered two rings to be made of a peculiar device, and so exactly
similar that they could not be distinguished the one from the other.
He gave one to the countess, and told her that during his absence she
was not to put faith in any instructions he might send her from Paris
unless they were accompanied by his ring enclosed in the letter.
He then parted from her somewhat relieved in mind, but still anxious
and doubtful as to the result of his precaution. On his arrival in
Paris he was questioned about his wife by the king, who complained
of her absence from court. The count, to excuse himself, offered to
summon her at once from Brittany, and even to write to her in the name
of Francis I., begging her to come immediately to join her husband.
But the letter, unaccompanied by the ring, produced no effect. At
length a servant of the count, yielding to the seductions of a bribe,
betrayed his master’s secret. A duplicate ring was made, and in the
next letter addressed by the count to his wife it was fraudulently
inserted. The young countess hastened to her husband’s side, and the
count’s stupefaction may be imagined on the sudden appearance of one he
so little expected to see. She showed him the second ring; he at once
perceived that he had been betrayed, and feeling sure of the inevitable
consequences under the influence of such a monarch as Francis I., he
took a hasty departure for Brittany in order to avoid being a witness
to his wife’s shame and his own dishonour.
The countess, after some little resistance, verified all his
apprehensions, and yielded to the importunities of her royal lover.
For some time she ruled the king absolutely, and provided handsomely
for her three brothers. Her husband would also have been raised to some
important office in the state, had he not indignantly refused any such
preferment. He would not even allow his wife’s name, under any pretext,
to be mentioned in his presence.
On the fall of Francis I., and his imprisonment after the battle of
Pavia, the Countess of Chateaubriand was thrown upon the mercy of her
husband, who only awaited his opportunity to revenge himself upon his
wife.
On her return to the castle in Brittany, he refused to see her, and
shut her up in apartments entirely draped in black. He allowed their
little daughter, then seven years of age, to take her meals with her
mother and to remain with her a part of each day; but after six months
the countess was deprived of this consolation by the death of her
child, and the count, having no longer this endearing object before
his eyes, to plead for the mother, gave himself up entirely to the
gratification of his vengeance.
One day he entered the gloomy prison of his wife accompanied by six men
in masks and by two surgeons. The latter bled the countess in the arms
and feet and then left her gradually to die. The count took refuge in a
foreign land to escape the pursuit of justice.
Brantôme is the first historian who has mentioned the private amours
of Francis I. and the Countess of Chateaubriand. Varillas is the first
who published the secret details of the violent death of this lady.
Since then most historians have regarded the authority of Brantôme as
indisputable, founded as it is on contemporary opinion and belief, and
sanctioned by the court itself. The details of Varillas, however, seem
to be little better than a romance, so many errors and inaccuracies do
they contain.
Before we enter upon the discussion of this tradition let us remark
by way of preface, that the historian Varillas is acknowledged by all
critics to be pre-eminently careless in verifying the sources from
which he draws his information. He would not even have deigned to
quote the documents on which he founded his narrative,[33] had not his
detractors accused him of having invented the whole of it.
His talent for exaggerating or suppressing important facts to suit his
personal views, is well known, and as he generally draws from his own
prodigious memory without consulting references, he often falls into
serious and unpardonable mistakes. His chief error in this instance is
in the date he assigns to the murder of the Countess of Chateaubriand,
viz. the 26th October 1526, when in fact she died on the 16th October
1537, as we learn from the inscription on her tomb in the church of
the convent des Mathurins in the town of Chateaubriand. The count died
on the 11th February 1543, and his natural heirs having instituted
a law suit, memorable for its duration of half a century, against
his donatee, Anne de Montmorency, the learned Pierre Hévin, a lawyer
of the parliament of Rennes, published in 1686 a memoir founded on
the original legal documents, in which he triumphantly refutes the
assertions made by Varillas.
The marriage of Françoise de Foix with the Count of Chateaubriand took
place in the course of the year 1509, and as we have said, they resided
in Brittany until the king called them to court. Brantôme tells us that
the Countess was appointed lady in waiting to Queen Claude of France.
From the year 1515, her power over the king was apparent. The alacrity
with which Francis conferred the dignity of field-marshal on her elder
brother leads to the conclusion that the king sought to obtain her
good graces as soon as he mounted the throne. Her husband was sent
to a military command in Italy, that grave of many of the flower of
the French nobility during the space of thirty years, but the count
returned to France safe and sound. Francis being taken prisoner at
Pavia, a correspondence in prose and in verse was carried on between
him and the countess. It still exists in the Imperial Library, numbered
7688, and corrections are traceable in the handwriting of the king;
but when the monarch was restored to liberty and to France, on the
10th March 1526, another beauty captivated his imagination, and the
reign of the Countess of Chateaubriand was at an end.
From the date of the imprisonment of Francis I. Brantôme, Gaillard,
and other historians shew that the countess lived on good terms
with her husband, and that she accompanied him of her own accord to
Chateaubriand, where the count falling dangerously ill, he deemed it
expedient to make some settlement for the future maintenance of his
wife. Towards the end, then, of the year 1526 he drew up a deed before
a notary, in virtue of which she became entitled to 4000 livres a
year independently of the castle. This act on the part of the count
proves that his wife was pardoned; for it is, to say the least, unusual
to begin by providing for and enriching those whom we intend to
assassinate.
Hévin, the lawyer, avers, that in 1532, the countess herself
superintended the erection of additional buildings at the castle of
Chateaubriand. Brantôme, whose authorities are generally trustworthy,
affirms that she was at court in 1533, and present at the interview
between Francis I. and Pope Clement VII. at Marseilles: and J. Bouchet,
in his _Annales d’Aquitaine_, even relates a remarkable anecdote
connected with that meeting, in which the Countess of Chateaubriand
plays a part. Lastly, a proof exists of her presence at the marriage of
her brother Lautrec’s daughter in 1535.
One strong objection that still remains to be mentioned against the
truth of the murder of the Countess, is this. Among the popular ballads
of Brittany so carefully and scrupulously collected by M. Hersart de la
Villemarqué, there is not one wherein we find the slightest allusion to
this dramatic story.
_Les lettres inédites de la Reine de Navarre_ quoted by M. de Lescure
in his _Amours de François I._, contain a document that is quite
conclusive in refuting the statements of Varillas; a document which M.
de Lescure was the first to discover.
It is a letter written by Marguerite de Navarre to her royal brother
a few days after the death of the Countess of Chateaubriand, October
1537. She died at the residence of her husband, who was very ill
himself at the time and likely apparently, to follow speedily to the
grave the wife whom he was accused of having murdered. The following
is a translation of a part of this remarkable epistle: “I have also
Monseigneur, seen M. de Chateaubriand, who has been so near death that
he is scarcely to be recognised. He expresses much regret at the loss
of his wife; your goodness to him however, and the satisfaction he felt
in seeing me, have gone far to console him.”
M. de Chateaubriand, the renowned author of Réné, Atala, &c.,
makes some interesting remarks on this subject in his _Mémoires
d’Outretombe_. He disbelieves the tragical death of his relative, and
thinks that Varillas has confounded the actual adventures of Gilles
de Bretagne, the husband of Françoise de Chateaubriand, with those of
Françoise de Foix. Gilles was confined in a dungeon by order of his
brother, Francis Duke of Brittany, at the instigation of a favourite,
Arthur de Montauban, who was madly in love with Françoise, the wife
of Gilles. On the 24th April 1450, the husband was strangled in his
prison, and his widow married the Count of Laval. We perceive, that
although the dates differ, there is a similarity in the names and
circumstances of these two stories, Varillas having only changed the
sex of his victim and substituted the wife for the murdered husband.
Nevertheless Paul Lacroix, in his _Curiosités de l’Histoire de France_,
does not yield to our view of the argument, but is still disposed to
coincide with Varillas. Didot, in his _Biographie Universelle_, also
supports the same hypothesis; but we attribute their persistence and
that of many others, to the influence exercised over their imagination
by the production of two popular novels.
Pierre de Lescouvel, a Breton author, wrote a novel on this supposed
assassination, which went through four or five editions and was at
first attributed to the Countess Murat, who had gained some reputation
as an authoress at the court of Louis XIV.
Madame de Lussan also founded a romance on this tragical event, under
the title of _Anecdotes de la Cour de François I._
CHARLES V. OF SPAIN.
A. D. 1540.
Notwithstanding the information afforded by the latest writers on the
closing years of the life of Charles V., which were passed in the
convent of Yuste,[34] the history of that monarch by Robertson and by
other authors who have adopted his views, is still received by many
as unimpeachable authority. According to these, Charles V., after his
abdication, retired to the convent of St. Yuste, in Estramadura, where
he adopted the habit of a monk, withdrew from all interference in the
government of his vast empire, occupied himself wholly with mechanism
and the construction of clocks and watches, and at length, when his
mind had become weakened and worn out, personally rehearsed his own
funeral. All this is in fact nothing but a tissue of errors, clearly
disproved by existing authentic documents. The love of the marvellous,
however, always inherent in the human mind, has fostered the adoption
of this romance, to the exclusion of truth and veracity.
The name even of the monastery has been transformed. Sancho Martin, a
Spanish gentleman, presented a small piece of land to some monks in
1408; a convent was built upon it which was called Yuste, from a small
stream of that name that trickled down the rocks and watered the garden
of the monks. It is this stream, the Yuste, that merged its cognomen,
even in Spain, into St. Juste or Justo, leading one to suppose that the
monastery was dedicated to a saint of that name.
Charles V. did not live with the monks, as is commonly asserted; he
never wore the habit of the order; and he never ceased to wield the
imperial sceptre _de facto_ and to control the affairs of the state. He
had, moreover, a residence built for himself, detached from the convent
but communicating by passages with the cloister and the church.
Except in Titian’s portrait the Emperor was never seen in the habit of
St. Jerome. He always retained his secular dress, which was a single
black doublet, exchanged during periods of illness and _déshabille_,
for rich wadded silk dressing-gowns, of which he possessed no less than
sixteen in his wardrobe, if we may believe the inventory made after
his death. In his letters to intimate correspondents we continually
find the following observation: “I shall never become a monk,
notwithstanding my respect for the children of St. Jérome.”
Far from adopting an appearance of poverty, or limiting his attendants
to twelve in number, as Sandoval and Robertson have asserted, the
household of the Emperor consisted of more than fifty individuals, the
chief of whom was the major-domo, Luis Quijada. Their annual salaries
amounted to above 10,000 florins, equal to £. 4,400 of the present day.
The profusion of plate taken by the Emperor to the monastery was
employed generally for the wants of the establishment, and for his
personal use. The dishes and ornaments of his table, the accessories
of his dressing-table, which betokened the _recherché_ nature of his
toilet, the vases, ewers, basins, and bottles of every shape and size
in his chamber, utensils of all sorts for his kitchen, his cellar, his
pantry and his medicine chest, were made of solid silver, and weighed
upwards of 1,500 marks.
All these details, which are derived from authentic documents in the
archives of Simancas, bring Charles V. before us in his convent of
Yuste in a very different light from that in which we have usually seen
him. Neither must we picture to ourselves the convent in Estramadura
as the gloomy and solitary residence it had been up to this time. It
now became a centre of life and action. Couriers were continually
arriving and departing. Every fresh event was immediately reported to
the Emperor, whose opinion and whose commands were received and acted
upon in all important matters. He was the umpire in every dispute, and
all candidates for favours applied to him. In spite of the gout with
which he was continually afflicted, he spent whole hours in reading
despatches; in fact he was almost as much immersed in public affairs in
his retreat, as he had been while actually on the throne. Although he
had delegated all official authority, he retained the habit of command,
and was emperor to the last.
Another error propagated by Robertson and several subsequent writers
is, that the intellect of Charles V. deteriorated until he became a
mere second-rate amateur of clocks and watches, and that Torriano,
who held the title of watchmaker to the Emperor, worked with his
master at the trade. The truth is, that Charles V. had a great natural
taste for the exact sciences, which is corroborated by the variety of
mathematical instruments enumerated in the inventory of his effects
taken after his death. Torriano, far from being a mere clockmaker,
was a first-rate engineer and mathematician, and was called by the
historian Strada the Archimedes of his age. His mechanical inventions
gained him a reputation for sorcery among the monks of Yuste. With
regard to the reported collection of clocks, we only find mention
of four or five in the long inventory. The Emperor was a very exact
observer of time, but no contemporary writer has authorised us to
suppose that he took especial pleasure in amassing a variety of watches
and time-pieces.[35]
Let us now examine the account given by Sandoval and Robertson of the
famous funeral ceremony of the 31st August 1558. The Scotch historian,
with a sublime indifference to facts, informs us that Charles V.,
in the last six months of his life, fell into the lowest depths of
superstition. He describes him as seeking no other society but that
of the monks; as continually occupied in singing hymns with them from
the missal; as inflicting on himself the discipline of the scourge,
and lastly, as desiring to rehearse his own obsequies. A desire which
could only have originated in an enfeebled and diseased brain. Such are
the events contained in the introduction to Robertson’s romance. He
goes on to say that: “The chapel was hung with black, and the blaze of
hundreds of waxlights was scarcely sufficient to dispel the darkness.
The brethren, in their conventual dress, and all the Emperor’s
household clad in deep mourning, gathered round a huge catafalque
shrouded also in black, which had been raised in the centre of the
chapel. The service for the burial of the dead was then performed, and
was accompanied by the dismal wail of the monks’ prayers interceding
for the departed soul, that it might be received into the mansion of
the blessed. The sorrowing attendants were melted to tears at this
representation of their master’s death, or they were touched, it may
be, with compassion by this pitiable display of his weakness. Charles,
muffled in a dark mantle, and bearing a lighted candle in his hand,
mingled with his household, the spectator of his own obsequies; and the
doleful ceremony was concluded by his placing the taper in the hands of
the priest in sign of his surrendering up his soul to the Almighty.”
Such is the account given by Robertson, and it has been still further
embellished by later writers. Not only have they represented Charles
V. as assisting at his own funeral, but they have extended him in his
coffin like a corpse. In that position he is reported to have joined
the monks in chanting the prayers for the dead. Another writer (Count
Victor Duhamel, _Histoire constitutionelle de la Monarchie Espagnole_)
goes still further: “After the service,” says he, “they left the
emperor alone in the church. He then arose like a spectre out of his
bier, wrapped in a winding-sheet, and prostrated himself at the foot of
the altar. This ceremony was succeeded by fearful delirium caused by an
attack of fever. The Emperor,” he continues, “at length regained his
cell, where he expired the following morning.”
Here the horrible and the absurd seem to vie with one another. But
these descriptions are in complete contradiction with the strength
of mind really displayed by Charles V. in his last moments; and are
moreover contrary to his character, his habits, and mode of life, and
with his sentiments as a man and as a Christian on the solemnity of
death, and the gravity of the burial service. His dependants, who never
left his side, and who have transmitted the minutest details of his
life, would surely have been cognizant of these imputed eccentricities,
and would doubtless have alluded to them. But their testimony, on the
contrary, contradicts everything told by the monks, and their records
differ materially in regard to dates.
In the first place, how can we give credence to the ceremony itself?--a
ceremony reserved only for the dead by the Roman-catholic church, and
never performed for the living? A council held at Toulouse in the
beginning of the 14th century pronounced, that the church considered
an anticipated funeral to be an act of censurable superstition, and
prohibited any priest under pain of excommunication, from taking part
in it. This circumstance would perhaps be insufficient to cast a
doubt upon the obsequies of Charles V., if it stood alone, but it is
supported by others. The greater number of the incidents related by
the monks are improbable or false. The Hieronymite chroniclers allege
that Charles V. expended on this ceremony two thousand crowns which he
had saved up. Now a forcible objection arises to the employment of so
enormous a sum for so simple a service. Only a very small part of it
could have been used in obsequies which were without pomp and needed
scarcely any outlay. It is more probable, on the contrary, as Sandoval
affirms (_Vida del Emperador Carlos V. en Yuste_), that it was from
this sum that the expenses of the real funeral were drawn, the solemn
services of which lasted nine days. Moreover, the physical strength of
the Emperor, which was on the wane, could not have borne the fatigue of
any such mock display. On the 15th August he was carried to the church,
and received the sacrament sitting. It was only on the 24th that he
was free from gout: the eruption on his legs succeeded the gout: and
he was quite unfit to present himself before the altar on the 29th. On
the 31st August, the day that has been selected for these obsequies,
he was confined for twenty hours to his room by illness. If all these
impossibilities and improbabilities do not settle the question, it
remains to be explained why neither the major-domo, nor the Emperor’s
secretary, nor his physician, who mention in their letters all the
ordinary incidents of his religious life, especially when they
bear some reference to the state of his health, do not speak of so
extraordinary a ceremonial?--why, remembering the funeral service of
the Empress on the anniversary of the 1st May, they make no mention of
the sham funeral that the emperor had devised for himself?--why, after
stating that he had been carried to church on the 15th of August, where
he received the sacrament sitting, they are entirely silent respecting
the absurd obsequies of the 31st, to which their master would
undoubtedly have summoned them, and which were so immediately followed
by his death? But they are even more than silent, they indirectly deny
all the alleged circumstances. Their narrative is at complete variance
with that of the monks.
About two o’clock on the morning of the 21st September 1558, the
Emperor perceived that his life was slowly ebbing away and that death
was near. Feeling his own pulse, he shook his head as much as to
say: “It is all over.” He then begged the monks, says Quijada, in a
letter to Vasquez of the 21st September, to recite the litanies by his
bedside, and the prayers for the dying. The archbishop, at his request,
gave him the crucifix which had been embraced by the empress in her
last hours; he carried it to his lips, pressed it twice to his breast
and said: “The moment has come!” Shortly after he again pronounced the
name of Jesus and expired breathing two or three sighs.
“So passed away,” wrote Quijada, with mingled grief and admiration,
“the greatest man that ever was or ever will be.” The inconsolable
major-domo adds: “I cannot persuade myself that he is dead.” And he
continually entered the chamber of his master, fell on his knees by
his bedside, and with many tears kissed over and over again his cold
inanimate hands.
THE INVENTOR OF THE STEAM-ENGINE.
A. D. 1625.
The biography of Salomon de Caus and the account of his labours and his
discoveries were scarcely known until the year 1828, when a learned
French scholar, Arago, published for the first time in _L’Annuaire du
Bureau des Longitudes_, a remarkable article upon the history of the
steam-engine.
In it he cites the work of Salomon de Caus entitled _Les raisons
des forces mouvantes avec diverses machines, &c._, which was first
published at Frankfort in 1615 and reprinted at Paris in 1624. M. Arago
draws from it the conclusion that De Caus was the original inventor
of the steam-engine. Six years later there appeared in the _Musée des
Familles_, a letter from the celebrated Marion Delorme, supposed to
have been written on the 3rd February 1641 to her lover Cinq-Mars. It
is as follows:
“My dear d’Effiat,[36] Whilst you are forgetting me at Narbonne and
giving yourself up to the pleasures of the court and the delight of
thwarting the cardinal, I, pursuant to the wishes you have expressed,
am doing the honours to your English lord, the Marquis of Worcester,
and I am taking him, or rather he is taking me, from sight to sight,
always choosing the dullest and the saddest; speaking little, listening
with great attention, and fixing upon those whom he questions two
large blue eyes which seem to penetrate to the very depths of their
understanding. Moreover, he is never satisfied with the explanations
that are given him, and scarcely ever sees things from the point of
view in which they are represented. As an instance of this I will
mention the visit we made together to Bicêtre, where he thinks he has
discovered in a maniac a man of genius. If the man were not raging mad
I really believe that your Marquis would have demanded his freedom,
that he might take him with him to London and listen to his ravings
from morning till night.
“As we were crossing the court-yard of the asylum, I more dead than
alive from fright, a hideous face appeared behind the large grating
and began to call out in a crazy voice. ‘I am not mad; I have made a
great discovery that will enrich any country that will carry it out.’
‘What is this discovery?’ said I to the person who was shewing us over
the asylum. ‘Ah!’ said he, shrugging his shoulders, ‘it is something
very simple, but you would never guess it. It is the employment of the
steam of boiling water.’ At this I burst out laughing. ‘This man,’
resumed the warder, ‘is called Salomon de Caus. He came from Normandy
four years ago to present a memoir to the king upon the marvellous
effects that might be produced from his invention. To listen to him,
you might make use of steam to move a theatre, to propel carriages,
and in fact to perform endless miracles.’ The Cardinal dismissed
this fool without giving him a hearing. Salomon de Caus, not at all
discouraged, took upon himself to follow my lord cardinal everywhere,
who, tired of finding him incessantly at his heels, and importuned by
his follies, ordered him to Bicêtre, where he has been confined for
three years and a half, and where, as you have just heard, he cries out
to every visitor, that he is not mad, and that he has made a wonderful
discovery. He has even written a book on this subject which is in my
possession.’
“My Lord Worcester, who all this time appeared to be in deep thought,
asked to see the book, and after having read a few pages, said, ‘This
man is not mad, and in my country, instead of being shut up in a
lunatic asylum he would be laden with wealth. Take me to him, I wish to
question him. He was conducted to his cell, but came back looking grave
and sad. ‘Now he is quite mad,’ said he, ‘it is you who have made him
so; misfortune and confinement have completely destroyed his reason;
but when you put him into that cell you enclosed in it the greatest
genius of your epoch.’ Thereupon we took our leave, and since then
he speaks of no one but Salomon de Caus.[37] Adieu my dear and loyal
Henry; return soon, and do not be so happy where you are, as to forget
that a little love must be left for me. Marion Delorme.”
The success obtained by this fictitious letter was immense and lasting.
The anecdote became very popular, and was copied into standard works,
represented in engravings, chased on silver goblets, &c. At length some
incredulous critics examined more closely into the matter, and found
that not only had Salomon de Caus never been confined in a lunatic
asylum, but that he had held the appointment of engineer and architect
to Louis XIII. up to the time of his death, in 1630, while Marion
Delorme is asserted to have visited Bicêtre in 1641!!
On tracing this hoax to its source, we find that M. Henri Berthoud, a
literary man of some repute and a constant contributor to the _Musée
des Familles_, confesses that the letter imputed to Marion, was in
fact written by himself. The editor of this journal had requested
_Gavarni_ to furnish him with a drawing for a tale in which a madman
was introduced looking through the bars of his cell. The drawing was
executed and engraved, but arrived too late; and the tale, which
could not wait, appeared without the illustration. However, as the
wood-engraving was effective, and moreover was paid for, the editor
was unwilling that it should be useless. Berthoud was therefore
commissioned to look for a subject and to invent a story to which the
engraving might be applied.
Strangely enough, the world refused to believe in M. Berthoud’s
confession, so great a hold had the anecdote taken on the public mind;
and a Paris newspaper went so far even as to declare that the original
autograph of this letter was to be seen in a library in Normandy! M.
Berthoud wrote again denying its existence, and offered a million of
francs to any one who would produce the said letter.
From that time the affair was no more spoken of, and Salomon de Caus
was allowed to remain in undisputed possession of his fame as having
been the first to point out the use of steam in his work _Les raisons
des forces mouvantes_. He had previously been employed as engineer
to Henry Prince of Wales,[38] son of James I., and he published in
London a folio volume, “_La perspective, avec les raisons des ombres et
miroirs_.”
In his dedication of another work to the queen of England in 1614, we
find some allusion made to the construction of hydraulic machines. On
his return to France he, as we said before, was appointed engineer to
Louis XIII., and was doubtless encouraged by Cardinal Richelieu, that
great patron of arts and letters.
In the castle of Heidelberg we find another instance of the difficulty
that exists in uprooting an historical error. There is in the _Galerie
des Antiquités_ of this castle a portrait on wood of Salomon de Caus.
Above this portrait is exhibited a folio volume of this author, the
_Hortus Palatinus, Francofurti_ 1620, apud Joh. Theod. de Bry, with
plates. A manuscript note that accompanies this volume, mentions that
the letter of Marion Delorme describing the madman of Bicêtre was
extracted from the _Gazette de France_ of 3rd March 1834.
Is it not singular that Heidelberg still remains in ignorance of the
truth respecting this absurd story, and that the extract from the
_Gazette de France_ is still permitted to mislead the public?
As recently also as the 30th September 1865, at a banquet given at
Limoges, M. le Vicomte de la Guéronnière, a senator and a man of
letters, who presided, made a speech which was reproduced in the
_Moniteur_ and in which he repeats the anecdote of Salomon de Caus and
Bicêtre. The newspaper _L’Intermédiaire_, in its 45th number, of the
10th November 1865, designates this persistence in error as inept and
stupid.
The works of de Caus were held in high estimation among learned men
during the whole of the 17th century. He had however been anticipated
in the discovery of the application of the power of steam for
propelling large bodies.
On the 17th of April 1543, the Spaniard Don Blasco de Garay, launched
a steam-vessel at Barcelona in the presence of the Emperor Charles V.
It was an old ship of 200 tons called _La sanctissima Trinidada_, which
had been fitted up for the experiment, and which moved at the rate of
ten miles an hour. The inventor of this first steam-vessel was looked
upon as a mere enthusiast whose imagination had run wild, and his only
encouragement was a donation of 200,000 marevedis from his sovereign.
The Emperor Charles no more dreamt of using a discovery which at that
time would have placed the whole of Europe at his feet, than did
Napoleon I., three centuries later, when the ingenious Fulton suggested
to him the application of steam to navigation. It is well known that
Fulton was not even permitted to make an essay of this new propelling
force in presence of the French Emperor.
So then we must date the fact of the introduction of steam navigation
as far back as 1543; anterior to Salomon de Caus in 1615, to the
Marquis of Worcester in 1663, to captain Savary in 1693, to Dr. Papin
in 1696, and to Fulton and others, who all lay claim to the original
idea.
But we may be wrong after all in denying originality to these men,
for we have no proof that either of them had any knowledge of the
discoveries of his predecessors.
It was not until the 18th of March 1816, that the first steam-vessel
appeared in France, making her entrance into the seaport of Havre. She
was the Eliza, which had left Newhaven in England on the previous day.
GALILEO GALILEI.
A. D. 1630.
There are few celebrated men about whom more has been written than
Galileo.
The mere enumeration of the works of which he is the subject would
fill many pages: nevertheless an important mistake relative to one of
the principal events of his life has been so generally accepted and
believed, that it may be said to have passed almost into a proverb,
and many historians and scientific writers have carelessly adopted and
propagated the error.
Between the years 1570 and 1670 Italy had fallen into a state of
torpor. The Italians, including even the magnates of the land, had
lost all dignity and self-respect, and lay cringing and prostrate at
the feet of papal authority. During this period of mental depression
Galileo came into the world. Although endowed with a capacious and
liberal mind, he was wanting in strength of character, the great
failing of his countrymen and of the age in which he lived. Never was
he known to exclaim “_E pur si muove!_” Never did he display the heroic
firmness that is falsely attributed to him. Greatly in advance of his
epoch in science, he still belonged to it in all its shortcomings and
defects. He yielded, he hesitated, he drew back before opposition, and
was sometimes induced to deny his own doctrines through timidity or in
the hope of disarming his enemies, and of escaping from the storm and
the whirlwind he had raised around him.
The whole of his correspondence proves the weakness of his character.
In Italy, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the most
dangerous accusations that could be brought against any man were deism
and infidelity. To doubt was punished with death. Galileo was so
imprudent as to address a long letter to Castelli, in which he sought
to reconcile the words of scripture with the rotation of the earth as
discovered by Copernicus. Copernicus had proved the fact previous to
Galileo, but he had used the wise precaution to give his opinion only
as an hypothesis, and in his work on the motion of the heavenly bodies,
dedicated to Pope Paul III., he avoided wounding any susceptibilities,
taking especial care to separate theology from science.
Galileo went even further in a second letter, in which he not only
attempted to reconcile his principles of astronomy with scripture, but
he endeavoured to make the words of scripture subservient to the axioms
he laid down. Some powerful friends tried to bring him to a sense of
his indiscretion. Cardinal Bellarmini sent him a written remonstrance,
urging him to confine himself to mathematics and astronomy, and to
avoid the field of theology.
Monsignor Dini, the friend of Galileo, wrote to him thus, 2nd May
1615: “Theologians allow mathematical discussion, but only when the
subject is treated as a simple hypothesis, which is alleged to have
been the case with Copernicus. The same liberty will be accorded to
you if you keep clear of theology.” Cardinal Barberini, also on terms
of friendship with Galileo, sent word to him by Ciampoli on the 28th
February of the same year, “that he was not to pass the physical
and mathematical limits of the question, because the theologians
maintain that it appertains to them alone to elucidate scripture.”
They all advised him openly and explicitly to refrain from quoting
the bible, and his pertinacity might have excited admiration had it
been based on firmness of character, but his timidity and innumerable
self-contradictions when directly accused of heresy gave the lie to his
apparent determination and adhesion to his principles. When Cardinal
Maffeo Barberini was elected pope, under the name of Urbanus, Galileo,
who had long been on terms of friendship with him, went to Rome to
offer his congratulations, and soon after published his celebrated
work: _Dialogo intorno ai due massimi sistemi del mondo_.
Unfortunately, instead of limiting himself to astronomy in this work,
he enters again upon questions of theology utterly irrelevant to the
main subject; but, strangely enough, in the preface to the _Dialogo_ he
has the weakness to disguise his real opinions. “I come,” says he, “to
defend the system of Ptolemy. As the friend of the cardinals who have
condemned the doctrines of Copernicus, I highly approve their decision;
a most excellent decision; a most salutary decision. They who have
murmured against it, have been to blame. If I take up my pen it is out
of excess of catholic zeal; this it is that moves me to reappear before
the public after many years of silence.”
The reader cannot but feel compassion in observing so much
feeble-mindedness, unworthy of so great a genius. It may be said in
his excuse that the counsels of his best friends forced him to play
the miserable part with which he has been reproached, that of servile
submission and the abandonment of his convictions. While expressing the
liveliest interest in his works, his principal patron, the ambassador
of Tuscany, thus advises him in letters of the 16th February and 9th
April 1633: “Submit yourself to whatever may be demanded of you, as
the only means of appeasing the rancour of him who in the excess of
his anger has made this persecution a personal affair. Never mind your
convictions, do not defend them, but conform to all that your enemies
may assert on the question of the earth’s movement.”
Galileo was ordered to Rome to explain himself before the tribunal
of the Inquisition. After remaining a month in the palace of the
ambassador of Tuscany, he was removed to the palace of the Inquisition,
but so far from being imprisoned there, he himself informs one of his
friends that he has the use of three spacious apartments, and the
services of his own servant, and that he can roam at pleasure through
the whole building. On the 12th April 1633 Galileo underwent his first
examination. He declares that in his dialogue upon the systems of the
world, he neither maintains nor defends the opinion of the mobility of
the earth and the immobility of the sun; that he even demonstrates the
contrary opinion, shewing that the arguments of Copernicus are without
weight, and are inconclusive. On his second examination, on the 30th
April, he says plainly: “I do not actually entertain the opinion of the
movement of the earth and the immobility of the sun; I will add to my
_Dialogo_ two or three colloquies, and I promise to take up one by one
the arguments in favour of the assertions which you condemn, and to
refute them unanswerably.”
Certainly the humiliation this great man underwent was profound. He
had carried submission so far as to renounce the strongest convictions
of the man of science. His persecutors were culpable and cruel, but
our business here is only to examine carefully and truthfully the two
following propositions: Was Galileo thrown into the dungeons of the
Inquisition? and Was he subjected to torture?
A valuable opportunity has been lost of clearing up the doubts which
surround the trial of Galileo. In 1809 all the original documents
relating to this suit were transmitted from Rome to Paris with the
papal archives, and it was intended to publish the whole in the form
of a volume consisting of seven or eight hundred pages. Delambre, the
historian of modern astronomy, while sending several extracts from
these deeds to Venturi, one of Galileo’s biographers, attributes the
oblivion into which this intention was suffered to fall, entirely to
political motives. Delambre informs us, moreover, that in 1820 the
original deeds were no longer forthcoming. Monsignor Morrini, who
had been commissioned to claim from the French government whatever
appertained to the Holy See, endeavoured in vain to obtain the papers
relating to the trial of Galileo. At length the manuscript was restored
to Gregory XVI., it was not known how, or by whom, and it was deposited
by Pius IX., in 1848, in the archives of the Vatican; since which date
no full details have been published. It is now, however, positively
affirmed that Galileo was never thrown into the dungeons of the
Inquisition.
After the second examination to which Galileo was subjected, Cardinal
Barberini suffered him to return to his apartments at the embassy
of the grand Duke of Tuscany, where the ambassador Nicolini, his
family and household, continued to treat him with much affectionate
consideration.
He was again summoned before the Inquisition on the 10th May and on
the 21st June, when he repeated that he held as true and indisputable
the opinion of Ptolemy, that is to say the immobility of the earth and
the mobility of the sun. This was the close of the trial. The next
day, Wednesday, 22nd June, 1633, he was brought before the cardinals
and prelates of the congregation to hear his sentence and to make his
recantation.
It was in the church of the convent of St. Minerva that Galileo
Galilei, aged seventy years, pronounced on his knees a form of
recantation. It has been said that Galileo, on rising from his knees,
murmured these words: “_E pure si muove!_” No doubt this protestation
of truth against falsehood may at this cruel crisis have rushed from
his heart to his lips, but it must be remembered that if these words
had actually been heard, his relapse would have infallibly led him to
the stake.
Monsieur Biot, in a learned and conscientious biographical notice, has
clearly pointed out, that Galileo was not subjected to torture during
any part of his trial anterior to the 22nd June 1633. M. Libri, in his
_Histoire des sciences mathématiques en Italie_, is of opinion that
as Galileo was subjected to _a rigorous examination_, according to the
wording of the sentence, it might be logically inferred that torture
had really been inflicted on him.
But Monsignor Marini has fully proved that the _rigorous examination_
was an enquiry which did not necessarily include torture. M. Philarète
Chasles, in his _Essay on Galileo_ (the best compendium that we have on
the life, labours, and persecutions of the learned Italian astronomer),
shews that the popular story, or rather fable, of the persecution
of Galileo, accepted by the vulgar, is based upon a false document,
a letter forged by the Duc Caetani and his librarian, and addressed
to Reineri, and which Tiraboschi, a dupe to the fraud, inserted in
his _Histoire littéraire d’Italie_. This letter was taken as an
authority, and M. Libri, in his remarkable work “_Histoire des sciences
mathématiques en Italie_,” cites it in support of his opinion. But
this apocryphal letter is rejected by Nelli, Reumont, and all accurate
critics. If Galileo was really subjected to torture, how can we account
for the circumstance that during his life-time no rumour of it was
current?--that his pupils, his partisans, his numerous defenders, knew
nothing of it in France, in Holland, or in Germany?
A few days after his recantation, Galileo Galilei returned to Sienna
to his friend the Archbishop Piccolomini, in whose palace the Pope
desired him to remain. The following letter was written soon after
his arrival at Sienna: “At the entreaty of the ambassador Nicolini,
the Pope has granted me permission to reside in the palace and the
garden of the Medici on the Trinità, and instead of a prison the
archiepiscopal palace has been assigned to me as a home, in which I
have already spent fifteen days, congratulating myself on the ineffable
kindness of the Archbishop.”
On the 1st December the Pope issued a decree by which Galileo received
permission to occupy his villa d’Arcetri, which had been in his
possession since 1631. This villa, where Milton visited him, and
where Galileo died, on the 8th January 1642, at nearly seventy-eight
years of age, is situated on a declivity of one of the hills that
overlook Florence. An inscription still perpetuates the memory of its
illustrious proprietor. It was here, under arrest, and pending the good
will and pleasure of the Pope, that Galileo expiated his imaginary
crime. On the 28th July 1640 he wrote to Deodati: “My definitive
prison is this little villa, situated a mile from Florence. I am
forbidden to receive the visits of my friends, or to invite them to
come and converse with me. My life is very tranquil. I often go to
the neighbouring convent of _San Matteo_, where two of my daughters
are nuns. I love them both dearly, especially the elder, who unites
extraordinary intellectual powers to much goodness of heart.”
The growing infirmities of age now began to tell upon Galileo. His
weary eyes refused to serve him, and he became completely blind. He
was tended in his solitude by his two daughters from the convent. One
of them was taken from him by death, but she was replaced by other
affectionate relatives, who endeavoured to amuse and console the lonely
captive. His letters breathe a poetical melancholy, a quiet irony, an
overwhelming humility and an overpowering sense of weariness.
Those who wish to form a just idea of this great and persecuted man,
of his true character, his labours, his foibles, and his lack of moral
courage, should read the _Beiträge zur italienischen Geschichte_,
by Alfred von Reumont, envoy of his Majesty the King of Prussia at
Florence. He has classified the correspondence of Galileo and that of
his friends, and has completed the labours and researches of Fabroni,
Nelli, Venturi, Libri, Marini, Biot, &c. Dr. Max Parchoppe has also
very recently sifted and weighed in a remarkable manner, all the
evidence relating to the life of Galileo.
We will conclude by mentioning a circumstance very little known and
with which the public have only recently become acquainted through an
unpublished letter of Galileo dated in the second year of his retreat.
It exhibits this illustrious scholar in a new light, as an amateur of
good wine and good cheer. “I desire,” he says, “that you should take
the advice of the most experienced judges, and procure for me with all
diligence and with all imaginable care, a provision of forty bottles,
or two cases of liqueurs of various kinds and of the most exquisite
quality. You need not consider the expense: I am so moderate in all
other sensual indulgences that I may allow myself some scope in favour
of Bacchus without fear of giving offence to Venus or to Ceres. You
will, I think, easily find wines of Scillo and of Carini (Scylla and
Charybdis if you prefer to call them so)--Greek wines from the country
of my master, Archimedes the Syracusian; Claret wines, &c. When you
send me the cases, be so good as to enclose the account, which I
will pay scrupulously and quickly, &c. From my prison of Arcetri,
4th March.” “_Con ogni diligenza e col consiglio et intervento dei
piu purgati gusti, voglio restar serviti di farmi provisione di 40
fiaschi, cioè di due casse di liquori varii esquisiti che costi si
ritrovino, non curando punto di rispiarme dispesa, perche rispiarmo
tanto in tutti gl’altri gusti corporali che posso lasciarmi andare a
qualche cosa a richiesta di Bacco, senza offesa delle sue compagne
Venere e Cerere. Costi non debbon mancare Scillo e Carini (onde voglio
dire Scilla e Caribdi) nè meno la patria del mio maestro Archimede
Siracusano, i Grecchi, e Claretti, &c. Havranno, come spero, comodo
di farmegli capitare col ritorno delle casse della dispensa, ed io
prontamente sodisfaro tutta la spesa, &c._
_Dalla mia carcere d’Arcetri, 4 di Marzo._
_Galileo Galiᵉⁱ._”
It is worthy of remark that he designates his pretty villa at Arcetri
as his prison; probably because he was forbidden to extend his walks
beyond the convent of San Matteo.
APPENDIX
TO THE NOTICE ON WILLIAM TELL.
The following _Tellenlied_ is the most ancient known, and has
been printed in the collection of M. ROCHHOLZ: _Eidgenössische
Liederchronik_, p. 206.
In the course of time, this ballad has been often altered in its
details; but we give here one of the old forms in which it was written.
To complete the picture of William Tell’s legend, we have added the
celebrated ballad on the death of Tell, by the great poet UHLAND who,
by this poem, say the Germans:
_Exegit monumentum ære perennius._
1.
Von einer Eidgenossenschaft
Und ihrer unerhörten Kraft
Ist mir ein Lied gelungen,
Drum will ich diesen ew’gen Bund
Besingen und den ganzen Grund,
Aus welchem er entsprungen.
In einem Land, das wie ein Kern
Verschlossen liegt in Bergen fern,
Die man als Mauern preiset,
Fing dieser Bund zum ersten an,
Es ward die Sache frei gethan
Im Land, das Uri heisset.
Nun schaut ihr lieben Herren an,
Wie dieser Schimpf zuerst begann,
Und lasst’s euch nicht verdriessen,
Wie einer seinem liebsten Sohn
Wohl einen Apfel gar aus Hohn
Vom Scheitel musste schiessen.
Der Landvogt sprach zu Wilhelm Tell:
Nun lug zu deiner Kunst, Gesell,
Und nun vernimm mich eben:
Trifft nicht dein allererster Schuss,
Fürwahr, so ist es dir nichts nutz
Und kostet dich dein Leben!
Er hatte Glück durch Gottes Kraft,
Da ist mit rechter Meisterschaft
Der Hauptschuss ihm gelungen;
Er irrte nicht und fehlte nit
Auf hundert und auf dreissig Schritt
Das Ziel am Haupt des Jungen.
Als er den Ersten Gott befahl,
Begriff er einen zweiten Strahl,
In’s Goller ihn zu legen;
Da sprach derselbe Landvogt gut,
Was treibst du da in deinem Muth,
Was hast du dich verwegen?
Der Telle war ein zornig Mann,
Er schnauzt den Landvogt übel an:
Hätt’ ich mein Kind erschossen,
Ich hätte dich, mein Landvogt gut,
Wie ich beschloss in meinem Muth,
Wohl auch geschwind erschossen!
Und solchem Spann und solchem Stoss
Entsprang der erste Eidgenoss!
Und also steht geschrieben:
Der übermüth’gen Vögte Schaar
Ward drauf der Herrschaft blos und bar
Und ans dem Land getrieben.
Wie fest wir schwuren einen Bund
Das bleibt in allen Zeiten kund
Den Jungen wie den Alten,
Und dass in Ehre wir bestehn
Und die geraden Wege gehn,
Das lassen Gott wir walten, etc.
2.
TELL’S TOD.
Grün wird die Alpe werden,
Stürzt die Lawin’ einmal;
Zu Berge ziehn die Heerden,
Fuhr erst der Schnee zu Thal.
Euch stellt, ihr Alpensöhne,
Mit jedem neuen Jahr
Des Eises Bruch vom Föhne
Den Kampf der Freiheit dar.
Da braust der wilde Schächen
Hervor aus seiner Schlucht,
Und Fels und Tanne brechen
Von seiner jähen Flucht,
Er hat den Steg begraben,
Der ob der Stäube hing,
Hat weggespült den Knaben,
Der auf dem Stege ging.
Und eben schritt ein Andrer
Zur Brücke, da sie brach;
Nicht stutzt der greise Wandrer,
Wirft sich dem Knaben nach,
Fasst ihn mit Adlerschnelle,
Trägt ihn zum sichern Ort;
Das Kind entspringt der Welle,
Den Alten reisst sie fort.
Doch als nun ausgestossen
Die Flut den todten Leib,
Da stehn um ihn, ergossen
In Jammer, Mann und Weib;
Als kracht in seinem Grunde
Des Rothstocks Felsgestell,
Erschallt’s aus einem Munde:
Der Tell ist todt, der Tell!
Wär’ ich ein Sohn der Berge,
Ein Hirt am ew’gen Schnee,
Wär’ ich ein kecker Ferge
Auf Uris grünem See,
Und trät’ in meinem Harme
Zum Tell, wo er verschied,
Des Todten Haupt im Arme,
Spräch’ ich mein Klagelied:
“Da liegst du, eine Leiche,
Der Aller Leben war;
Dir trieft noch um das bleiche
Gesicht das greise Haar.
Hier steht, den du gerettet,
Ein Kind, wie Milch und Blut,
Das Land, das du entkettet,
Steht rings in Alpenglut.
“Die Kraft derselben Liebe,
Die du dem Knaben trugst,
Ward einst in dir zum Triebe,
Dass du den Zwingherrn schlugst.
Nie schlummernd, nie erschrocken,
War retten stets dein Brauch,
Wie in den braunen Locken,
So in den grauen auch.
“Wärst du noch jung gewesen,
Als du den Knaben fingst,
Und wärst du dann genesen,
Wie du nun untergingst,
Wir hätten d’raus geschlossen
Auf künft’ger Thaten Ruhm:
Doch schön ist nach dem grossen
Das schlichte Heldenthum.
“Dir hat dein Ohr geklungen
Vom Lob, das man dir bot,
Doch ist zu ihm gedrungen
Ein schwacher Ruf der Noth.
Der ist ein Held der freien,
Der, wann der Sieg ihn kränzt,
Noch glüht, sich dem zu weihen,
Was frommet und nicht glänzt.
“Gesund bist du gekommen
Vom Werk des Zorns zurück,
Im hülfereichen, frommen,
Verliess dich erst dein Glück.
Der Himmel hat dein Leben
Nicht für ein Volk begehrt;
Für dieses Kind gegeben,
War ihm dein Opfer werth.
“Wo du den Vogt getroffen,
Mit deinem sichern Strahl
Dort steht ein Bethaus offen,
Dem Strafgericht ein Mal;
Doch hier, wo du gestorben,
Dem Kind ein Heil zu sein,
Hast du dir nur erworben
Ein schmucklos Kreuz von Stein.
“Weithin wird lobgesungen,
Wie du dein Land befreit,
Von grosser Dichter Zungen
Vernimmt’s noch späte Zeit;
Doch steigt am Schächen nieder
Ein Hirt im Abendroth,
Dann hallt im Felsthal wieder
Das Lied von deinem Tod.”
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL INDEX.
In a book like the present, it is advisable to place every possible
authority at the disposition of the reader, in order that he may
ascertain for himself the truth of the alleged facts, and verify the
accuracy of the author.
With this view, I subjoin a bibliographical Index of some of the works
ancient or modern that bear upon each of the subjects which I have
examined, so that the original sources may be collected by all desirous
of so doing.
THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES.
1. COMTE CAYLUS, _Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions_, Vol. XXIV,
p. 360.
2. O. DAPPER, _Description des Isles de l’Archipel._ Amsterd. 1703.
3. CHOISEUL-GOUFFIER, _Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce_. Paris 1782,
Vol. I, p. 108.
4. W. J. HAMILTON, _Researches in Asia Minor_. London 1842, Vol. II,
p. 65.
5. DROYSEN, _Geschichte des Hellenismus_, Vol. II, p. 574.
6. PLINIUS, _Historia naturalis_, lib. 34.
7. DIODORUS SICULUS, lib. 20.
8. STRABO, lib. 14.
9. J. J. WINCKELMANN, _Geschichte der alten Kunst_, lib. 7, cap. 2.
10. COL. ROTTIERS, _Description des monuments de Rhodes_. Bruxelles
1830, p. 81.
11. GUILL. CAVURSIN, _De obsidione Rhodiorum_, anno 1480.
12. NAPOLÉON III, _Histoire de Jules César_, Vol. I, p. 137.
BELISARIUS
1. SCHELWIG (SAMUEL), _Dissertatio Historica de Belisario_. Witteb.
1665. 4ᵗᵒ.
2. EKERMAN (PETER), _Dissertatio de Belisario, duce Justiniani
invictissimo_. Upsal. 1761. 4ᵗᵒ.
3. ZELLER (CH. F.), _Belisarius, römischer Feldherr, eine Biographie_.
Tübing. 1809. 8ᵛᵒ.
4. MAHON (PH. H.), _Life of Belisarius_. Lond. 1829. 8ᵛᵒ.
5. ROTH (C. L.), _Ueber Belisar’s Ungnade; nach den Quellen_. Basel
1846. 8ᵛᵒ.
ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY.
1. _Abdollatiphi Compendium memorabilium Ægypti._ Tubing. 1789.
2. _Hist. Dynast._ _translated_ by POCOCKE.
3. _Histoire de l’École d’Alexandrie_, par M. MATTER. Paris 1840. II
Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
This work supplies all the authorities for and against the fact of the
burning of the Alexandrian Library.
POPE JOAN.
1. VERGERIO, _Istoria di Papa Giovanni VIII. che fu femina_. I Vol.
_S. l._ 1556. 8ᵛᵒ.
2. SCHERER, _Gründlicher Bericht &c._ Wien 1584. 4ᵗᵒ.
3. H. WITEKIND, _Jesuitas Pontificis Maximi emissarios falso et
frustra negare Papam Johannem VIII., fuisse meretricem_. 1588. 4ᵗᵒ.
4. _Erreur populaire de la Papesse Jeanne_, par FLORIMOND DE RAYMOND.
Bordeaux 1588, in 8ᵛᵒ. Paris 1599, Cambrai 1603.
5. J. MAYS, _The Pope’s Parliament_. London 1591 and 1594.
6. _Papa mulier_ (auctore N. FABRO). Witebergæ 1609. 8ᵛᵒ.
7. G. WHITAKER, _De Papa romano et Papissa romana_. 1612. 8ᵛᵒ.
8. SERRARIUS, _Tractatus de Johanna Papissa_. Coloniæ Agripp. 1614.
9. _Anatomy of Pope Joan._ London 1626. 12ᵐᵒ.
10. LEO ALLACIUS, _Fabulæ de Johanna Papissa confutatio ex monumentis
græcis_. Romæ 1630, 4ᵗᵒ, and 1645, 8ᵛᵒ.
11. J. DE LA SALLE, _Confutatio Joannæ Papissæ_. Lovanii 1633. 8ᵛᵒ.
12. J. DE LA MONTAGNE, _La Papesse Jeanne_. Sedan 1633. 8ᵛᵒ.
It is a translation of the work of A. Cooke, inserted in the 4th Vol.
of the _Harleyan Miscellany_.
13. EHINGER, _Dissertatio de Papa Muliere_. 1641. 4ᵗᵒ.
14. DAVID BLONDEL, _Familier esclaircissement de la question si une
femme a été assise au siège papal_. Amsterdam 1649. 8ᵛᵒ.
15. N. COGNARD, _Traité contre l’éclaircissement donné par David
Blondel_. Saumur 1655. 8ᵛᵒ.
16. R. CAPELLUS, _Discursus Historicus de Johanna VIII._ 1655. 4ᵗᵒ.
17. S. MARESIUS, _Johanna Papissa restituta_. Groningæ 1658. 8ᵛᵒ.
18. _Historia Johannis VIII., Romani Pontificis, sexum suum partu in
publica viâ edito prodentia._ Helmstad. 1662. 4ᵗᵒ.
19. CHIFFLET, _Judicium de fabulæ Joannæ papissæ_. Antwerp. 1666. 4ᵗᵒ.
20. G. VOELIUS, _Spicilegium ad disceptationem historicam de Papissâ
Johannâ_. Ultrajecti 1669. 4ᵗᵒ.
21. J. LEHMANN, _In felix puerpera Johanna VIII., pontifex
dissertatione historica exhibita_. Witteberg 1669. 4ᵗᵒ.
22. S. D. ARTOPÄUS, _Dissertatio de Johanna Papissa_. Lipsiæ 1673. 4ᵗᵒ.
23. _Present for a Papist, or the life and death of Pope Joan._ London
1675. 8ᵛᵒ.
24. FRED. SPANHEIM, _Disquisitio historica de Papâ fœminâ, &c._ Lugd.
Batav. 1691. 8ᵛᵒ.
25. JACQUES LENFANT, _Histoire de la Papesse Jeanne_. Cologne 1694.
8ᵛᵒ.
26. M. RYDELIUS, _Dissertatio de Pontifice Johanne VIII._ London 1723.
8ᵛᵒ.
27. C. A. HEUMANN, _Dissertatio de origine verâ traditionis falsæ de
Johanna Papissa_. Gœttingæ 1739. 4ᵗᵒ.
28. _Surprising history of Pope Joan._ London 1744. 8ᵛᵒ.
29. J. Z. GLEICHMANN, _Wahrheit der Geschichte, &c._ Francfort 1744.
4ᵗᵒ.
30. P. P. WOLF, _Ueber die Wahrscheinlichkeit, &c._ Ratisb. 1809. 8ᵛᵒ.
31. _Die Päpstin Joanna, &c._ Mayence 1821. 8ᵛᵒ.
32. S. CIAMPI, _Discussione sull’ opinione, &c._ Firenze 1828. 8ᵛᵒ.
33. W. SMET, _Das Mährchen, &c._ Cologne 1829. 12ᵐᵒ.
34. BIANCHI-GIOVINI, _Esame critico, &c._ Turin 1839.
35. N. C. KIST, _De Pausin Joanna, &c._ Leyde 1844. 8ᵛᵒ.
36. J. H. WENSING, _De Verhandeling, &c._ The Hague 1845. 8ᵛᵒ.
This is an answer to the work of KIST.
37. PHILOMNESTE JUNIOR, _La Papesse Jeanne, étude historique et
littéraire_. Paris 1862. 12ᵐᵒ.
38. MISSON, _Voyage d’Italie_. La Haye 1702.
39. SHELHORN, _Amœnitates litterariæ_, t. III, and IX.
40. BAYLE, _Dictionnaire historique_.
Very remarkable article.
ABELARD AND ELOISA.
1. GERVAISE, _Vie de P. Abelard et celle d’Heloisa_. Paris 1720, II
Vol. 12ᵐᵒ.
2. HUGHES, _History of Abelard and Héloïse_. Glasg. 1751. 8ᵛᵒ.
Not mentioned by Lowndes.
3. MÜCHLER, _Geschichte und Briefe des Abailard und der Heloïse_.
Berlin 1755. 8ᵛᵒ.
4. BERINGTON, _History of the lives of Abailard and Heloïsa_. London
1784. 4ᵗᵒ. and Birmingh. 1787. 4ᵗᵒ.
5. METRA, _Vita, amore e lettere di Abelardo e di Eloïsa_. Triest
1794, II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ. and Milan 1835.
6. MILLS (HENRY), _Letters of Abelard and Eloïsa with an account of
their lives_. London 1807. 8ᵛᵒ.
7. FESSLER, _Abaelard und Heloise_. Berlin 1807. II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
8. SCHLOSSER, _Abaelard und Dulcin, Leben und Meinungen eines
Schwärmers und Philosophen_. Gotha 1807. 8ᵛᵒ.
9. FOLLIN, _Dissertatio de vita et scriptis P. Abælardi,_ _auctoris
philosophiæ scholasticæ vulgo habiti_. Lund. 1809. 8ᵛᵒ.
10. TURLOT, _Abailard et Heloïse, avec un aperçu du XIIᵉ siècle_.
Paris 1822. 8ᵛᵒ.
11. FEUERBACH, _Abaelard und Heloïse, oder der Schriftsteller und der
Mensch_. Ansb. 1833. 8ᵛᵒ.
12. VILLENAVE, _Abelard et Héloïse, leurs amours, leurs malheurs,
leurs ouvrages_. Paris 1834. 8ᵛᵒ.
13. GUIZOT (MELANIE), _Essai sur la vie et les écrits d’Abailard
et d’Héloïse, jusqu’au Concile de Sens, continuée jusqu’à la mort
d’Abailard et d’Héloïse, par François Guizot_. Paris 1839. 8ᵛᵒ.
_Suivie des lettres d’Abailard et d’Héloïse._ Paris 1853. 8ᵛᵒ.
14. WEYLAND, _Tableau Historique de la vie d’Abailard et d’Héloïse_.
Metz 1840. 8ᵛᵒ.
15. RÉMUSAT (CHARLES), _Abelard_. Paris 1845, II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
16. JACOBI (J. LUDWIG), _Abelard und Heloïse_; Vortrag am 23. Febr.
1850 im wissenschaftlichen Vereine gehalten. Berlin 1850. 8ᵛᵒ.
17. TOSTI, _Storia di Abelardo e di suo tempo, Napoli_.
18. _Nouveau recueil contenant la vie, les amours, les infortunes et
les lettres d’Abelard et d’Héloïse._ Anvers 1722. 12ᵐᵒ.
19. LENOIR (ALEXANDRE), _Notice historique sur les sépultures
d’Héloïse et d’Abelard, &c._ Paris 1814. 8ᵛᵒ.
20. _Lettres d’Héloise et d’Abelard._ Traduction nouvelle par le
bibliophile JACOB; précédée d’un travail historique et littéraire, par
M. VILLENAVE. 1864. Charpentier. 12ᵐᵒ.
WILLIAM TELL.
1. Chronicle of STUMPFF, published in 1606.
2. PETERMAN ETTERLIN, Chronicle printed at Basle in 1507.
3. FRANCIS GUILLIMAN, _De rebus Helveticis sive Antiquitatum libri V_,
Friburg 1598. 4ᵗᵒ.
4. GRÄSSER, _Schweizerisch Heldenbuch_. Basle 1626. 4ᵗᵒ.
He is the first who showed the resemblance between the legend of Tell
and that of Toko.
5. J. MÜLLER, _Geschichte der schweizerischen Eidgenossenschaft_.
The best edition is that of Leipzig 1825.
6. G. E. HALLER, _Bibliothek der schweizerischen Geschichte_, V, Vol.
4ᵗᵒ.
7. J. CH. ISELIN, _Historisches und geographisches allgemeines
Lexicon_. Basel 1727. Fol.
This author is not to be confounded with J. R. ISELIN who edited the
old chronicle of TSCHUDI, and who also examined the legend of Tell.
8. URIEL FREUDENBERGER, _Die Fabel von Wilhelm Tell_. A manuscript in
the Library of Berne, 1752.
To be also consulted a letter of the same to Haller, dated 25th June
1759.
9. L. HÄUSSER, _Die Sage vom Tell_. Heidelberg 1840. 8ᵛᵒ.
Of all the works on our subject, HÄUSSER’S is by far the most complete
and the most important.
10. J. J. HISELY, _Guillaume Tell et la Révolution de 1307_, Delft
1826. 8ᵛᵒ.
11. By the same: _Recherches critiques sur l’histoire de Guillaume
Tell_. Lausanne 1843.
Very interesting and impartial.
12. _Mémoire sur l’authenticité du trait d’héroisme attribué à
Guillaume Tell_, par BOURGON. Inserted in a volume of the Academy of
Besançon, published in 1830.
13. J. L. IDELER, _Die Sage von dem Schuss des Tell_. Berlin 1836. 8ᵛᵒ.
14. J. E. KOPP, _Urkunden zur Geschichte der eidgenössischen Bünde_.
Luzern 1835.
15. Professor ASCHBACH, In the _Heidelberger Jahrb. der Litter._ 1836.
16. FRED. SCHIERN, _Wanderung einer nordischen Sage, &c._ Copenhagen
1840.
In the first volume of: _Mémoires de la Société d’histoire de
Danemarc_.
PETRARCH.
1. A. MARSAND, _Bibliotheca Petrachesa, &c._ Milan 1826. 4ᵗᵒ.
This bibliography contains more than 800 works, which are collected in
the Library of the Louvre.
2. J. F. P. A. DE SADE, _Mémoires sur la vie de F. Pétrarque_.
Amsterd. 1764, III Vol. 4ᵗᵒ.
3. _Vie de F. Pétrarque, dont les actions et les écrits font une des
plus singulières époques de l’histoire et de la littérature moderne._
Vaucluse 1786. 8ᵛᵒ.
4. UGO FOSCOLO, _Essay on the love, the poetry, and the character of
Petrach_. London 1822. 8ᵛᵒ.
5. MAZZUCHELLI, _Vita del Petrarca, scritta da lui medesimo_. Brescia
1822. 8ᵛᵒ.
6. S. WESTON, _Petrarchiana, or additions to the visit of Vaucluse_.
London 1822. 8ᵛᵒ.
7. RASTOUL DE MONGEOT, _Pétrarque_. Paris 1836. 8ᵛᵒ.
8. CAMPBELL, _Life of Petrarch_. London 1841, II Vol. 12ᵐᵒ.
9. OLIVIER VITALIS, _L’illustre Châtelaine des environs de Vaucluse,
la Laure de Pétrarque. Dissertation et examen critique des diverses
opinions des écrivains qui se sont occupés de cette belle Laure_.
Paris 1842. 8ᵛᵒ.
10. CARLO LEONI, _Vita di Petrarca_. Padov. 1843. 8ᵛᵒ.
11. (GIULIO NONÈ), _Lettera intorno ad una biografia di F. Petrarca_.
Padov. 1845. 8ᵛᵒ. Critique de la vie de Pétrarque par G. M. BOZOLI,
Ferrar. 1845. 8ᵛᵒ.
12. RASTOUL DE MONGEOT, _Pétrarque et son siècle_. Brux. 1836, II Vol.
13. HENAUX, _Pétrarque à Liège_. Liège 1853.
14. M. et Mᵐᵉ GUIZOT, _Vie de Pétrarque avec ses lettres et celles de
Laure_. Paris 1854. 8ᵛᵒ.
JEANNE D’ARC.
1. CL. CH. FR. DE L’AVEDY, _Notices sur la vie de la Pucelle
d’Orléans_. Paris 1790. 4ᵗᵒ.
Ce recueil contient des extraits de 38 manuscrits relatifs à la
condamnation et à la réhabilitation de la Pucelle d’Orléans.
2. J. B. P. CHANSSARD, _Jeanne d’Arc, recueil historique et complet_.
Orléans 1806, II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
A la fin de ce recueil se trouve une liste de 400 ouvrages concernant
la vie de Jeanne d’Arc.
3. LENGLET DU FRESNOY, _Histoire de Jeanne d’Arc_. Paris 1753, III
Vol. 12ᵐᵒ.
4. DANIEL POLLUCHE, _Problème historique sur la Pucelle d’Orléans_.
Orléans 1749. 8ᵛᵒ.
5. J. P. DE LUCHET, _Dissertation sur Jeanne d’Arc, vulgairement
nommée la Pucelle d’Orléans_. Paris 1776, 12ᵐᵒ.
6. P. A. LEBRUN DE CHARMETTES, _Histoire de Jeanne d’Arc, &c._ Paris
1817, IV Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
7. J. H. BUCHON, _Chronique et procès de la Pucelle d’Orléans_. Paris
1828. 8ᵛᵒ.
8. GÖRRES, _Die Jungfrau von Orleans_. Regensb. 1834. 8ᵛᵒ.
9. MICHAUD et POUJOULAT, _Notice sur Jeanne d’Arc_. Paris 1837. 8ᵛᵒ.
10. JULES QUICHERAT, _Procès de condamnation et de réhabilitation de
Jeanne d’Arc_. Paris 1841-42, II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
11. BARTHÉLEMY DE BEAUREGARD, _Histoire de Jeanne d’Arc, d’après les
chroniques contemporaines, les recherches des modernes, et plusieurs
documents nouveaux_. Paris 1847, II Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
Ouvrage suivi d’une liste de près de 1200 articles indiquant tout ce
qui a été publié sur la Pucelle d’Orléans.
12. EVANS, _Story of Joan of Arc_. London 1847. 8ᵛᵒ.
13. G. POUJOULAT, _Mémoires concernant la Pucelle d’Orléans_. Paris
1847. 8ᵛᵒ.
14. C. N. N. DE HALDAT, _Examen critique de l’histoire de Jeanne
d’Arc_. Paris 1850. 8ᵛᵒ.
15. JULES QUICHERAT, _Aperçus nouveaux sur l’histoire de Jeanne
d’Arc_. Paris 1850. 8ᵛᵒ.
16. J. MICHELET, _Jeanne d’Arc_. Paris 1853. 8ᵛᵒ.
COUNTESS OF CHATEAUBRIAND.
1. LESCONVEL (PIERRE DE), _Histoire amoureuse de François I. &c._
Amsterd. 1695. 12ᵐᵒ. Paris 1700. Ibid. 1724. 12ᵐᵒ.
2. GOTTIS (AUGUSTINE), _François I. et Madame de Chateaubriand_. Paris
1816. II Vol. 12ᵐᵒ. Ibid. 1822.
3. _Curiosités de l’histoire de France_, par le bibliophile JACOB. 2ᵐᵉ
série. Procès célèbres. Paris 1858. 12ᵐᵒ.
4. _Les amours de François I._, par M. DE LESCURE. Paris 1865. 8ᵛᵒ.
CHARLES V.[39]
1. STAPHYLUS, _Historia de vita, morte et gestis Caroli V._ Aug. Vind.
1559. 4ᵗᵒ.
2. P. DE SANDOVAL, _Historia de la vida y hechos del emperador Carlos
V._ 1634. Fol.
3. GR. LETI, _Vita dell’ invitissimo imperatore Carolo V._ Amsterd.
1700. 8ᵛᵒ.
4. J. NOMSZ, _Leven van Karel V._ Amsterd. 1787. 12ᵐᵒ.
5. GACHARD, _Particularités et documents inédits sur Charles Quint_.
Brux. 1842. 8ᵛᵒ.
This author has since this date published two or three important works
on Charles V.
6. W. VAN MALE, _Lettres sur la vie intérieure de l’Empereur Charles
Quint_. Brux. 1843. 8ᵛᵒ.
7. TH. PAUR, _Johann Sleidan’s Commentar über die Regierungszeit
Karl’s V._ Leipzig 1843. 8ᵛᵒ.
8. _Mémoires sur Charles V et sa cour, adressés en 1516 par l’évêque
de Badajoz au cardinal Ximenez de Cisneros._ Brux. 1845.
Extraits des bulletins de la Commission Royale d’histoire.
9. E. GACHET, _Documents inédits, &c._ Brux. 1844. 8ᵛᵒ.
10. BAKHUIZEN VAN DEN BRINK, _La retraite de Charles V, analyse d’un
manuscrit espagnol contemporain_. Brux. 1850. 8ᵛᵒ.
11. WILLIAM STIRLING, _The cloister life of the emperor Charles V._
London 1852. 8ᵛᵒ.
Translated into German by M. B. LINDAU. Dresd. 1853. 8ᵛᵒ., and by
AUGUST KAISER, Leipzig 1853. 8ᵛᵒ. Also into French by AMÉDÉE PICHOT.
12. A. PICHOT, _Chronique de l’abdication, de la retraite et de la
mort de Charles V._ Paris 1853. 8ᵛᵒ.
13. _Charles V, son abdication, son séjour et sa mort au Monastère de
Yuste, par_ M. MIGNET. _Paris_ 1863. 8ᵛᵒ.
14. KARL LANZ, _Correspondenz des Kaisers Karl V., aus dem königlichen
Archiv und der Bibliothèque de Bourgogne zu Brüssel mitgetheilt_.
Leipzig 1846, III Vol. 8ᵛᵒ.
15. P. EKERMAN, _Dissertatio de favore Imperatoris Caroli V. in
literas et literatos_. Upsala 1743. 4ᵗᵒ.
16. L. BACMEISTER, _Epistola inedita de morte Caroli V._ Hamb. 1719.
4ᵗᵒ.
17. PH. DEBRUYNE, _Précis de l’histoire de Charles Quint, &c._ Namur
1851. 8ᵛᵒ.
18. REIFFENBERG (FRED. AUG.), _Charles V considéré comme renommée
populaire_. Brux. 1838. 8ᵛᵒ.
19. DE MERSSEMAN (J. OLIV. M.), _La cour et la vie intérieure de
Charles Quint_. Bruges 1847. 8ᵛᵒ.
20. JUSTE (THÉODORE), _L’abdication de Charles Quint_. Liège 1851.
21. _Histoire de Charles Quint_, par M. MIGNET. Paris 1854. 8ᵛᵒ.
GALILEO GALILEI.
1. CAMPANELLA (TOMASO), _Apologia pro Galileo &c._, Francof. 1622. 4ᵗᵒ.
2. FRISI (PAOLO), _Elogio del Galileo_. Livorno 1775. 8ᵛᵒ.
Translated into French: _Essai sur la vie et les découvertes de G.
Galilei_, par ALBERT JÉRÔME FLONCEL. Paris 1776. 12ᵐᵒ.
3. JAGEMANN (CHRIST. JOS.), _Geschichte des Lebens und der Schriften
des G. Galilei_. Weim. 1784. 8ᵛᵒ.
4. NELLI (CLAUDIO DE), _Vita e commercio litterario de G. Galilei_.
Losanna 1793. II Vol. 4ᵗᵒ.
5. VENTURI (G. B.), _Memorie e letter e inedite finora e dispersi di
G. Galilei_. Moden. 1818-21. II Vol. 4ᵗᵒ.
6. LIBRI (GUGLIEMO), _Histoire de la vie et des œuvres de G. Galilei_.
Paris 1841.
Translated into German by FRIED. WILH. CAROVÉ. 1842. And also into
Italian. Milan. 1841.
7. BREWSTER (DAVID), _Lives of G. Galilei, Tycho Brahe and Kepler, the
martyrs of science_. London 1841.
8. CATTANEO (ANTONIO), _Cenni su la vita di G. Galilei_. Milan 1843.
4ᵗᵒ.
9. _Galileo Galilei, sa vie, son procès et ses contemporains, d’après
les documents originaux_, par PHILARÈTE CHASLES. Paris 1862. 8ᵛᵒ.
10. _Galilée, sa vie, ses découvertes et ses travaux_, par le Dr. MAX.
PARCHAPPE. Paris 1866. 8ᵛᵒ.
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
1. OLD FLANDERS, OR LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS OF BELGIUM. 8ᵛᵒ. London,
Newby.
2. HISTORY OF FLEMISH LITERATURE. 8ᵛᵒ London, Murray.
3. LE LIVRE DES VISIONS, OU LE CIEL ET L’ENFER DÉCRITS PAR CEUX QUI
LES ONT VUS. 8ᵛᵒ. London, Trübner & Co.
4. HISTOIRE LITTÉRAIRE DES FOUS. 8ᵛᵒ. London, Trübner & Co.
5. MACARONEANA, OU HISTOIRE DE LA LITTÉRATURE MACARONIQUE. 8ᵛᵒ. Paris,
Gancia.
6. BIOGRAPHIE DES ARTISTES BRUGEOIS. Avec portraits. 8ᵛᵒ. Bruges, Van
de Castele.
7. VIE DE MARIE DE BOURGOGNE. 4ᵗᵒ. Bruxelles, Wahlen.
8. MÉLANGES HISTORIQUES ET LITTÉRAIRES. 8ᵛᵒ. Bruges, Van de Castele.
9. HISTOIRE DE LA VILLE DE BRUGES, DEPUIS LES TEMPS LES PLUS RECULÉS.
8ᵛᵒ. Bruges.
10. REVUE ANALYTIQUE DES OUVRAGES ÉCRITS EN CENTONS, DEPUIS LES TEMPS
ANCIENS, JUSQU’AU XIXᵐᵉ SIÈCLE. 8ᵛᵒ. London, Trübner & Co.
PRINTED BY P. A. BROCKHAUS, LEIPZIG.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See a curious work by M. Boissonnade, _Notice des Manuscrits_, Vol.
X, p. 157.
[2] See _Magasin Pittoresque_, June 1844, p. 190.
[3] _Mémoires de la Société des Antiquaires_, Vol. XII. p. 104-152.
[4] _Revue des Deux Mondes_, 1. November 1843. p. 480. _Journal des
Débats._ 1. December 1815.
[5] Navarette, _Les quatres Voyages de Colomb_, in 8ᵛᵒ. t. I. p. 116;
and Berger de Xivrey, _Revue de Paris_, Nov. 25 1838, p. 269.
[6] Gentleman’s Magazine, May 1825, p. 350. Henry Halford, _Essays and
Orations_.
[7] Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions, Vol. XXIV.
[8] Histoire du Monde, Vol. IV. p. 319.
[9] Religion des Anciens, p. 211.
[10] Researches in Asia Minor. 8ᵛᵒ. London. 1842.
[11] It was reprinted with a Latin translation by J. C. Orelli, at
Leipzig in 1816. Strabo also mentions the Colossus as one of the seven
wonders of the world.
[12] This Greek word signifies, according to Cicero, a secret book, set
apart to contain the doings and tricks of contemporaries which it is
not desirable to reveal to the public.
[13] Lucan’s _Pharsalia_, Book X. p. 230, 231, translated by N. Rowe.
[14] _Dissertation historique sur la Bibliothèque d’Alexandrie_, by
Bonamy, in the _Histoire de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles
Lettres_, Vol. IX. year 1736.
[15] In a report of the meeting of the Academy of Sciences in Paris,
May 1857, M. le Baron Dupin, the spokesman of the Academy, informed
the public “that Omar, Mahomet’s general, having conquered the valley
of the Nile, his lieutenant Amrou suggested to him the formation of a
canal direct from Suez to Pelusium; but,” continues Monsieur Dupin,
“was it likely that the man (Amrou) who was guilty of burning the
Alexandrian library, should possess sufficient capacity to carry out so
grand an idea.”
Now there are here almost as many errors as words. First, the Emir Omar
never did conquer the valley of the Nile. Secondly, he could not have
rejected the idea of the construction of a canal from Suez to Pelusium,
for the very good reason that the canal already existed; and lastly,
he did not burn the Ptolomean library of Alexandria, as it had been
destroyed two centuries and a half previously.
[16] This literal translation from the passage in Arabic is due to
Silvestre de Sacy. G. Heyne, in his _Opuscula Academica_, explains
concisely all the vicissitudes the Alexandrian Library underwent.
[17] Mémoire de C. Langlès, _Magasin Encyclopédique_, 1799, Vol. III.
[18] Martinus Polonus died about the year 1270, that is to say 184
years after Marianus. His remarks on Pope Joan are not fit for
transcription.
[19] _Familier éclaircissement de la question si une femme a été assise
au siège Papal de Rome_: Amsterdam 1747, in 8ᵛᵒ.
[20] In his dissertation _De nummo argenteo_, Benedicti III.: Rome
1749, in 4ᵗᵒ.
[21] Inserted in vol. II. part 1. of the _Rerum Italicarum Scriptores_.
[22] _Annales de Philosophie Chrétienne: Février 1863._
[23] This decree of the council is delivered in terms sufficiently
damaging to the reputation of the convent of which Eloisa was prioress:
“_In communi audientiâ conclamatum est super enormitate et infamiâ
cujusdam monasterii sanctimonialium quod dicitur Argentolium in quo
paucæ moniales multiplici infamiâ ad ignominiam sui ordinis degentes,
multo tempore spurcâ et infami conversatione omnem ejusdem loci
affinitatem fœdaverant_.” (_Gallia Christiana_, Vol. VII. p. 52.)
[24] _Dulcius mihi semper exstitit amicæ vocabulum aut si non
indigneris, concubinæ vel scorti. Charius mihi et dignius videretur tua
dici meretrix quam Augusti imperatrix._
[25] The rest is better left in Latin: “_Concupiscentia te mihi potius
quam amicitia sociavit, libidinis ardor potius quam amor. Ubi igitur
quod desiderabas cessavit, quicquid propter hoc exhibebas pariter
evanuit._”
[26] _Frustra utrumque geritur quod amore Dei non agitur. In omni autem
Deus scit, vitæ meæ statu, te magis adhuc offendere quam Deum vereor.
Tibi placere amplius quam ipsi appeto. Tua me ad religionis habitum
jussio, non divina traxit dilectio. Vide quam infelicem et omnibus
miserabiliorem ducam vitam, si tanta hic frustra substineo: nihil
habitura remunerations in futuro!!_
[27] M. Lenoir, at the time of the publication of his work, was the
keeper of the _Musée des petits Augustins_, in Paris.
[28] _Annales archéologiques de Didron_, 1846. _p._ 12.
[29] _Lettres d’Abailard et d’Héloïse traduite sur les manuscrits de la
Bibliothèque Royale par E. Oddoul, avec une préface par Monsieur Guizot
Paris 1839, gr. in 8ᵒ, gravures._
[30] It was taken down 1861 and a plaister statue of Tell erected in
its place.
[31] _L’illustre Châtelaine des environs de Vaucluse; dissertation et
examen critique de la Laure de Pétrarque._ Paris 1842, in 8ᵛᵒ.
[32] As already stated, a large tablet was carried before her on which
her alleged crimes were inscribed.
[33] Namely: _Mémoire tiré des archives de Chateaubriand par feu le
Président Ferrand_.
[34] Mignet, Amédée Pichot, and W. Stirling.
M. Gachard has rather given the rein, we believe, to his imagination,
and adopts the legend of the funeral obsequies. We shall see how
triumphantly M. Mignet rebuts it.
[35] It was the Venetian, Frederic Badouaro, who conceived the comical
idea of representing Giovanni Torriano as a simple clockmaker.
Cardanus, in book XVII. of his work _De Artibus_, mentions a wonderful
piece of mechanism constructed by Torriano.
[36] Henry Coiffier de Ruzé d’Effiat, Marquis de Cinq-Mars, beheaded at
Lyons in 1642 by order of Richelieu. He was secretly married to Marion
Delorme.
[37] The author of this letter adds in a note: “The Marquis of
Worcester, who is considered by the English to be the inventor of the
steam-engine, appropriated to himself the discovery of Salomon de Caus
and inserted it in a book entitled _Century of Inventions_, published
in 1663.”
[38] Some very interesting details on Salomon de Caus and on the
honourable appointments he held until his death may be found in a work
of M. L. Dussieux: _Les Artistes Français à l’Étranger_, Paris 1856.
[39] Only a very few of the innumerable Histories and Biographies of
Charles V. will be mentioned here.
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.
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