were content with the superstructure which _à priori_ reasoners had
raised upon Aristotle, and were by no means desirous of the trouble of
learning more. Galileo chose to investigate physical truths for himself;
he engaged in experiments to determine the truth of some of Aristotle’s
positions, and when he found him in the wrong, he said so, and so taught
his pupils. This made the “paper philosophers,” as he calls them, very
angry. He repeated his experiments in their presence; but they set aside
the evidence of their senses, and quoted Aristotle as much as before.
The enmity arising from these disputes rendered his situation so
unpleasant, that, in 1592, at the invitation of the Venetian
commonwealth, he gladly accepted the professorship of mathematics at
Padua. The period of his appointment being only six years, he was
re-elected in 1598, and again in 1606, each time with an increase of
salary; a strong proof of the esteem in which he was held, even before
those astronomical discoveries which have immortalized his name. His
lectures at this period were so fully attended, that he was sometimes
obliged to adjourn them to the open air. In 1609 he received an
invitation to return to his original situation at Pisa. This produced a
letter, still extant, from which we quote a catalogue of the
undertakings on which he was already employed. “The works which I have
to finish are principally two books on the ‘System or Structure of the
Universe,’ an immense work, full of philosophy, astronomy, and geometry;
three books on ‘Local Motion,’ a science entirely new, no one, either
ancient or modern, having discovered any of the very many admirable
accidents which I demonstrate in natural and violent motions, so that I
may, with very great reason, call it a new science, and invented by me
from its very first principles; three books of mechanics, two on the
demonstration of principles, and one of problems; and although others
have treated this same matter, yet all that has been hitherto written,
neither in quantity nor otherwise, is the quarter of what I am writing
on it. I have also different treatises on natural subjects—on Sound and
Speech, on Light and Colours, on the Tides, on the Composition of
Continuous Quantity, on the Motions of Animals, and others besides. I
have also an idea of writing some books relating to the military art,
giving not only a model of a soldier, but teaching with very exact rules
every thing which it is his duty to know, that depends upon mathematics,
as the knowledge of castrametation, drawing up of battalions,
fortification, assaults, planning, surveying, the knowledge of
artillery, the use of instruments, &c.” Out of this comprehensive list,
the treatises on the universe, on motion and mechanics, on tides, on
fortification, or other works upon the same subjects, have been made
known to the world. Many, however, of Galileo’s manuscripts, through
fear of the Inquisition, were destroyed, or concealed and lost, after
the author’s death.
In the same year, 1609, Galileo heard the report, that a spectacle-maker
of Middleburg, in Holland, had made an instrument by which distant
objects appeared nearer. He tasked his ingenuity to discover the
construction, and soon succeeded in manufacturing a telescope. His
telescope, however, seems to have been made on a different construction
from that of the Dutch optician. It consisted of a convex and concave
glass, distant from each other by the difference of their focal lengths,
like a modern opera-glass; while there is reason to believe that the
other was made up of two convex lenses, distant by the sum of their
focal lengths, the common construction of the astronomical telescope.
Galileo’s attention naturally was first turned to the moon. He
discovered that her surface, instead of being smooth and perfectly
spherical, was rough with mountains, and apparently varied, like the
earth, by land and water. He next applied to Jupiter, and was struck by
the appearance of three small stars, almost in a straight line, and
close to him. At first he did not suspect the nature of these bodies;
but careful observation soon convinced him that these three, together
with a fourth, which was at first invisible, were in reality four moons
revolving round their primary planet. These he named the Medicean stars.
They have long ceased to be known by that name; but so highly prized was
the distinction thus conferred upon the ducal house of Florence, that
Galileo received an intimation, that he would “do a thing just and
proper in itself, and at the same time render himself and his family
rich and powerful for ever,” if he “named the next star which he should
discover after the name of the great star of France, as well as the most
brilliant of all the earth,” Henry IV. These discoveries were made known
in 1610, in a work entitled “Nuncius Sidereus,” the Newsman of the
Stars: in which Galileo farther announced that he had seen many stars
invisible to the naked eye, and ascertained that the nebulæ scattered
through the heavens consist of assemblages of innumerable small stars.
The ignorant and unprejudiced were struck with admiration; indeed,
curiosity had been raised so high before the publication of this book,
as materially to interfere with the convenience of those who possessed
telescopes. Galileo was employed a month in exhibiting his own to the
principal persons in Venice; and one unfortunate astronomer was
surrounded by a crowd who kept him in durance for several hours, while
they passed his glass from one to another. He left Venice the next
morning, to pursue his inquiries in some less inquisitive place. But the
great bulk of the philosophers of the day were far from joining in the
general feeling. They raised an outcry against the impudent fictions of
Galileo, and one, a professor of Padua, refused repeatedly to look
through the telescope, lest he should be compelled to admit that which
he had predetermined to deny. In the midst of this prejudice and envy,
Kepler formed a brilliant exception. He received those great discoveries
with wonder and delight, though they overturned some cherished theories,
and manifested an honest and zealous indignation against the traducers
of Galileo’s fame.
In particular his wrath broke out against a _protégé_ of his own, named
Horky; who, under the mistaken notion of gaining credit with his patron,
wrote a violent attack on Galileo, and asserted, among other things,
that he had examined the heavens with Galileo’s own glass, and that no
such thing as a satellite existed near Jupiter. The conclusion of the
affair is curious and characteristic. Horky begged so hard to be
forgiven, that, says Kepler, “I have taken him again into favour, upon
this preliminary condition, to which he has agreed,—that I am to show
him Jupiter’s satellites, _and he is to see them, and to own that they
are there_.”
It was not long before Galileo had new, and equally important matter to
announce. He observed a remarkable appearance in Saturn, as if it were
composed of three stars touching each other; his telescope was not
sufficiently powerful to resolve into them Saturn and his ring. Within a
month he ascertained that Venus exhibits phases like those of the
moon,—a discovery of great importance in confirming the Copernican
system. The same phenomenon he afterwards detected in Mars. We close the
list with the discovery of the revolution of the sun round his axis, in
the space of about a lunar month, derived from careful observation of
the spots on his surface.
About this time (1610–11) Galileo took up his abode in Tuscany, upon the
invitation of the Grand Duke, who offered to him his original situation
at Pisa, with a liberal salary, exemption from the necessity of
residence, and complete leisure to pursue his studies. In 1612 he
published a discourse on Floating Bodies, in which he investigates the
theory of buoyancy, and refutes, by a series of beautiful and conclusive
experiments, the opinion that the floating or sinking of bodies depends
on their shape.
Neither Copernicus nor his immediate followers suffered inconvenience or
restraint on account of their astronomical doctrines: nor had Galileo,
until this period of his life, incurred ecclesiastical censure for any
thing which he had said or written. But the Inquisition now took up the
matter as heretical, and contrary to the express words of Scripture; and
in 1616, Copernicus’s work ‘De Revolutionibus,’ Kepler’s Epitome, and
some of Galileo’s own letters, were placed on the list of prohibited
books; and he himself, being then in Rome, received formal notice not to
teach that the earth revolves round the sun. He returned to Florence
full of indignation; and considering his hasty temper, love of truth,
and full belief of the condemned theory, it is rather wonderful that he
kept silence so long, than that he incurred at last the censures of the
hierarchy. He did, however, restrain himself from any open advocacy of
the heretical doctrines, even in composing his great work, the ‘Dialogue
on the Ptolemaic and Copernican Systems.’ This was completed in 1630,
but not printed till 1632, under licence from officers of the church,
both at Rome and Florence. It is a dialogue between Simplicio, an
Aristotelian, Salviati, who represents the author, and Sagredo, a half
convert to Salviati’s opinions. It professes “indeterminately to propose
the philosophical arguments, as well on one side as on the other:” but
the neutrality is but ill kept up, and was probably assumed, not with
any hope that the court of Rome would be blinded as to the real tendency
of the book, but merely that it would accept this nominal submission as
a sufficient homage to its authority. If this were so, the author was
disappointed; the Inquisition took cognizance of the matter, and
summoned him to Rome to undergo a personal examination. Age and
infirmity were in vain pleaded as excuses; still, through the urgent and
indignant remonstrances of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, he was treated
with a consideration rarely shown by that iniquitous tribunal. He was
allowed to remain at the Florentine ambassador’s palace, with the
exception of a short period, from his arrival in February, until the
passing of sentence, June 21, 1633. He was then condemned, in the
presence of the Inquisitors, to curse and abjure the “false doctrines,”
which his life had been spent in proving; to be confined in the prison
of the Holy Office during pleasure, and to recite the seven penitential
psalms once a week during three years. The sentence and the abjuration
are given at full length in the Life of Galileo, in the ‘Library of
Useful Knowledge.’ “It is said,” continues the biographer, “that
Galileo, as he rose from his knees, stamped on the ground, and whispered
to one of his friends, ‘_e pur si muove_,’ (it does move though.”)
Galileo’s imprisonment was not long or rigorous; for after four days he
was reconducted to the Florentine ambassador’s palace: but he was still
kept under strict surveillance. In July he was sent to Sienna, where he
remained five months in strict seclusion. He obtained permission in
December to return to his villa at Arcetri, near Florence: but there, as
at Sienna, he was confined to his own premises, and strictly forbidden
to receive his friends. It is painful to contemplate the variety of
evils which overcast the evening of this great man’s life. In addition
to a distressing chronic complaint, contracted in youth, he was now
suffering under a painful infirmity which by some is said to have been
produced by torture, applied in the prisons of the Inquisition to extort
a recantation. But the arguments brought forward to show that the
Inquisitors did resort to this extremity do not amount to anything like
direct proof. In April, 1634, Galileo’s afflictions were increased by
the death of a favourite, intelligent, and attached daughter. He
consoled his solitude, and lightened the hours of sickness, by
continuing the observations which he was now forbidden to publish to the
world; and the last of his long train of discoveries was the phenomenon
known by the name of the moon’s libration. In the course of 1636–7 he
lost successively the sight of both his eyes. He mentions this calamity
in a tone of pious submission, mingled with a not unpleasing pride.
“Alas, your dear friend and servant Galileo has become totally and
irreparably blind; so that this heaven, this earth, this universe, which
with wonderful observations I had enlarged a hundred and thousand times
beyond the belief of by-gone ages, henceforward for me is shrunk into
the narrow space which I myself fill in it. So it pleases God: it shall
therefore please me also.” In 1638 he obtained leave to visit Florence,
still under the same restrictions as to society; but at the end of a few
months he was remanded to Arcetri, which he never again quitted. From
that time, however, the strictness of his confinement was relaxed, and
he was allowed to receive the friends who crowded round him, as well as
the many distinguished foreigners who eagerly visited him. Among these
we must not forget Milton, whose poems contain several allusions to the
celestial wonders observed and published by the Tuscan astronomer.
Though blind and nearly deaf, Galileo retained to the last his
intellectual powers; and his friend and pupil, the celebrated
Torricelli, was employed in arranging his thoughts on the nature of
percussion, when he was attacked by his last illness. He died January 8,
1642, aged seventy-eight.
It was disputed, whether, as a prisoner of the Inquisition, Galileo had
a right to burial in consecrated ground. The point was conceded; but
Pope Urban VIII. himself interfered to prevent the erection of a
monument to him in the church of Santa Croce, in Florence, for which a
large sum had been subscribed. A splendid monument now covers the spot
in which his remains repose with those of his friend and pupil, the
eminent mathematician Viviani.
In 1618, Galileo published, through the medium of Mario Guiducci, an
Essay on the Nature of Comets. His opinions (which, in fact, were
erroneous) were immediately attacked under the feigned signature of
Lotario Sarsi. To this antagonist he replied in a work entitled ‘Il
Saggiatore,’ the Assayer, which we select for mention, not so much for
the value of its contents, though, like the rest of his works, it has
many remarkable passages, as for the high reputation which it enjoys
among Italian critics as a model of philosophical composition. The
“Dialogues on Motion,” the last work of consequence which Galileo
published, contain investigations of the simpler branches of dynamics,
the motion of bodies falling freely or down inclined planes, and of
projectiles; determinations of the strength of beams, and a variety of
interesting questions in natural philosophy. The fifth and sixth are
unfinished; the latter was intended to comprise the theory of
percussion, which, as we have said, was the last subject which occupied
the author’s mind. For a full analysis of this and the other treatises
here briefly noted, and for an account of Galileo’s application of the
pendulum to the mensuration of time; his invention of the thermometer,
though in an inaccurate and inconvenient form; his methods of
discovering the longitude, and a variety of other points well worth
attention, we must refer to the Life of Galileo already quoted. The
numerous extracts from Galileo’s works convey a lively notion of the
author’s character, and are distinguished by a peculiar tone of quaint
humour. For older writers we may refer to the lives of Viviani,
Gherardini, and Nelli; and to the English one by Salusbury, of which
however the second volume is so rare that the Earl of Macclesfield’s
copy is the only one known to exist in England. Venturi has given to the
world some unpublished manuscripts, and collected much curious and
scattered information in his “Memorie e Lettere de Gal. Galilei.” Of
Galileo’s works several editions exist: the most complete are those of
Padua, in four volumes quarto, 1744, and of Milan, in thirteen volumes
octavo, 1811.
In conclusion, we quote the estimate of Galileo’s character, from the
masterly memoir from which this sketch is derived. “The numberless
inventions of his acute industry; the use of the telescope, and the
brilliant discoveries to which it led; the patient investigation of the
laws of weight and motion, must all be looked upon as forming but a part
of his real merits, as merely particular demonstrations of the spirit in
which he everywhere withstood the despotism of ignorance, and appealed
boldly from traditional opinions to the judgment of reason and common
sense. He claimed and bequeathed to us the right of exercising our
faculties in examining the beautiful creation which surrounds us.
Idolised by his friends, he deserved their affection by numberless acts
of kindness; by his good humour, his affability, and by the benevolent
generosity with which he devoted himself, and a great part of his
limited income, to advance their talents and fortunes. If an intense
desire of being useful is everywhere worthy of honour; if its value is
immeasurably increased when united to genius of the highest order; if we
feel for one, who, notwithstanding such titles to regard, is harassed by
cruel persecution, then none deserve our sympathy, our admiration, and
our gratitude, more than Galileo.”
[Illustration: [Monument to Galileo in the Church of Santa Croce at
Florence.]]
[Illustration:
_Engraved by R. Woodman._
REMBRANDT.
_From the original Picture by himself
in his Majesty’s Collection._
Under the Superintendance of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London, Published by Charles Knight, Ludgate Street, & Pall Mall
East._
]
[Illustration]
REMBRANDT.
Born June 15, 1606. His father was a miller, named Gerretz, who lived
near Leyden, on the banks of the Rhine. Hence Rembrandt assumed the
higher-sounding title of Van Ryn, in exchange for his paternal
appellation. The miller was sagacious enough to perceive that his son
had talent, but not to discover the direction in which it lay; and sent
him to study Latin, and qualify himself for one of the learned
professions at the University of Leyden. He had no turn for scholarship;
indeed, through life, his literary acquirements were decidedly below
par: but he showed great expertness in drawing any object which caught
his notice. The miller wisely yielded to what appeared the natural bent
of his son’s genius, and suffered him to pursue painting as a
profession. He studied first for three months at Amsterdam, in the
school of Jacob Van Swannenberg, then six months with Peter Lastman, and
six with Jacob Pinas. It is somewhat surprising that he should have
continued so long with these masters, from whom he could learn no more
than the rudiments of execution. Had they been better, he would have
gained little but manual skill from them; for, from the first, his style
was essentially his own. Nature was his preceptress, and his academy was
his father’s mill. There he found those unique effects of light and
shadow which distinguish his pictures from all others. The style of art
which astonished his contemporaries by its novelty and power, and will
ever continue to influence the practice of later artists, was founded on
and formed out of the brilliant contrasts exhibited by a beam of light
admitted through a narrow aperture, and rapidly subsiding into darkness:
a spectacle which, familiar to his childhood, seems to have left an
indelible impression on his imagination. He studied with great
assiduity, but seems to have scarcely been conscious of his own strength
until the commendation of his fellow-students roused him. At the
suggestion of one of them he took a painting which he had just finished
to an amateur at the Hague, who gave the best proof of his approbation
by paying a hundred florins for it on the spot. The sudden acquisition
of so much wealth almost turned the young artist’s head. He went on foot
to the Hague; but he posted home to his father’s mill in a chariot.
Extravagance, however, was not one of his characteristics, and this was
his last, as it was his first act of ostentatious disbursement.
He remained for some time in his native village, induced, perhaps, by
the facilities which the banks of the Rhine presented to him for the
study of landscape. Even in that department of art he selected those
phases of nature which harmonized with his usual management of _chiar’
oscuro_: such as effects of twilight, or the setting sun, or any
combinations of clouds, rocks, trees, or other objects, which formed
large masses of shade relieved by light concentrated in one spot. But
being frequently summoned to Amsterdam by commissions for portraits, he
settled in that city in 1630. At the same time he married a pretty
peasant girl from Ramsdorp, whose portrait he has often introduced in
his pictures. He received several pupils into his house, who paid
largely for his instructions.
One of Rembrandt’s earliest and most steadfast patrons was the
burgomaster Six, for whom he painted the celebrated picture now in the
National Gallery, of ‘The Woman taken in Adultery.’ If this be an
average specimen of his style at this time, no wonder can be felt that
his reputation rose to a prodigious height, and that he obtained large
prices for his performances. The style of this picture, though
approaching to the elaborate finishing of Mieris or Gerard Dow, is yet
as broad as in any of his subsequent works, after he had adopted a
bolder method of execution. Refinement of character we never must expect
in Rembrandt; but in this picture we are not shocked by that
uncalled-for coarseness which debases many of his later works. In the
figure of Christ especially, there is some attempt to rise above the
level of common life, which he usually contents himself with copying.
The picture exhibits his usual grandeur and solemnity of light and
shade, and is remarkable for brilliancy of colouring.
As Rembrandt’s practice became more and more lucrative, he gave way to a
vice which certainly is not the besetting one of artists, and grew
insatiably avaricious. His engravings were sought with even more avidity
than his pictures; and he left unemployed no artifice by which their
popularity might be turned to account. Impressions were taken off and
circulated when the plates were half finished, then the work was
completed, and the sale recommenced. Alterations were then made in the
perfect engraving, and these botched prints were again sent into the
market. Impressions of the same plate in all these stages of
transformation were eagerly sought by the idle foppery of collectorship;
and it was held a serious impeachment of taste not to possess proofs of
the little Juno with and without a crown; the young Joseph with the face
light, and the same Joseph with his face dark; the woman with the white
bonnet, and the same woman without a bonnet; the horse with a tail, and
a horse without a tail, &c. Ungentlemanly tricks were practised to
enhance the price of his works. He often expressed an intention of
quitting Amsterdam altogether. Once he was announced to be dangerously
ill; at another time he was reported to be dead. It is strange that he
should not have felt these petty artifices to be unworthy of his genius,
and unnecessary to his fame or fortune; but it seems not improbable that
some of his eccentricities were played off to attract attention. Being
occupied one day in painting the picture of a burgomaster and his
family, word was brought that his favourite monkey was dead. He made
great parade of his distress, and as some alleviation of it, proceeded
to paint the monkey into the picture. The civic dignitary remonstrated
in vain against this extraordinary addition to the family group:
Rembrandt refused to finish the picture unless the monkey kept his
place, and accordingly it was allowed to remain. That he was not
unconscious of the absurdity of such caprices, may be inferred from his
quick turn for humour, and the shrewdness and sagacity of his remarks.