Would that there were space to dwell upon those in the present

generation of professors who honored me with their friendship;

but one is especially suggested here, since he was selected to

make a farewell address on the occasion above referred to--Adolf

Harnack. At various times I had heard him discourse profoundly

and brilliantly at the university, but came to know him best at

the bicentenary of the Berlin Academy, when he had just added to

the long list of his published works his history of the academy,

in four quarto volumes: a wonderful work, whether considered from

an historical, psychological, or philosophical point of view. His

address on that occasion was masterly, and his conversation at

various social functions instructive and pithy. I remember in one

of them, especially, his delineation of the characteristics and

services of Leibnitz, who was one of the founders of the Royal

Academy, and it was perfection in that kind of conversation which

is worthy of men claiming to possess immortal souls: for it

brought out, especially, examples of Leibnitz's amazing

forethought as to European policy, which seemed at times like

divinely inspired prophecies. He also gave me a number of

interesting things which he had noted in his studies of Frederick

the Great. Some of them I had found already in my own reading,

but one of them I did not remember, and it was both comical and

characteristic. A rural Protestant pastor sent a petition to the

King presenting a grievance and asking redress. It was to the

effect that his church was on one side of a river in Silesia, and

that a younger pastor, whose church was on the opposite side, was

drawing all his parishioners away from him. On the back of the

petition Frederick simply wrote, "Tell him to go and preach on

the other side of the river: that will drive his people back

again."

Hearing Harnack and his leading colleagues in discourse at the

university or academy, or in private, whether in their loftier or

lighter moods, one could understand why the University of Berlin,

though one of the youngest, is the foremost among the

universities of the world.

CHAPTER XLII

AMERICA, GERMANY, AND THE CHINESE WAR--1899-1902

An interesting event of this period was the appearance in Berlin

of ex-President and Mrs. Harrison. The President had but recently

finished his long and wearisome work before the Venezuela

Arbitration Tribunal at Paris, and was very happy in the

consciousness of duty accomplished and liberty obtained. Marks of

high distinction were shown them. The sovereigns invited them to

attend the festivities at Potsdam in honor of the Queen and Queen

Mother of Holland, who were then staying there, and treated them

not only with respect, but with cordiality. The Emperor conversed

long with the President on various matters of public interest: on

noted Americans whom he had met, on the growth of our fleet, on

recent events in our history, and the like, characteristically

ending with a discussion of the superb music which we had been

hearing; and at the supper which followed insisted that Mrs.

Harrison should sit at his side, the Empress giving a similar

invitation to Mr. Harrison. At a later period a dinner was given

to the ex-President by the chancellor of the empire, Prince

Hohenlohe, at which a number of the leading personages in the

empire were present; and it was a pleasure to show my own respect

for the former chief magistrate by a reception which was attended

by about two hundred of our American colony, and a dinner at

which he and Mrs. Harrison made the acquaintance of leading

representative Germans in various fields.

In another chapter of these memoirs I have spoken of President

Harrison as of cold and, at times, abrupt manners; but the

absence of these characteristics during his stay in Berlin, and

afterward in New York, made it clear to me that the cold exterior

which I had noted in him at Washington, especially when Mr.

Roosevelt, Mr. Lodge, and sundry others of us urged upon him an

extension of the classified civil service, was adopted as a means

of preventing encroachments upon the time necessary for his daily

duties. He now appeared in a very different light, his discussion

of men and events showing not only earnest thought and deep

penetration, but a rich vein of humor; his whole bearing being

simple, kindly, and dignified.

During the winter of 1899-1900 came an addition to my experiences

of what American representatives abroad have to expect under our

present happy-go-lucky provision for the diplomatic service. As

already stated, on arriving in Berlin, I had great difficulty in

obtaining any fitting quarters, but at last secured a large and

suitable apartment in an excellent part of the city, its only

disadvantage being that my guests had to plod up seventy-five

steps in order to reach it. Having been obliged to make large

outlays for suitable fittings, extensive repairs, and furniture

throughout, I found that more than the entire salary of my first

year had been thus sunk; but I congratulated myself that I had at

least obtained a residence good, comfortable, and suitable. To be

sure, it was inferior to that of any other ambassador, but I had

fitted it up so that it was considered creditable. Suddenly,

about two years afterward, without a word of warning, came notice

from the proprietor that my lease was void--that he had sold the

house, and that I must leave it; so that it looked as if the

American Embassy would, at an early day, be turned into the

street. This was trying indeed. It was at the beginning of the

social season, and interfered greatly with my duties of every

sort. And there cropped out a feeling, among all conversant with

the case, which I cannot say was conducive to respect for the

wisdom of those who give laws to our country.

But, happily, I had insisted on inserting in the lease a clause

which seemed to make it doubtful whether the proprietor could

turn me out so easily and speedily. Under German law it was a

very precarious reliance, but on this I took my stand, and at

last, thanks mainly to the kindness of my colleague who succeeded

me as a tenant, made a compromise under which I was enabled to

retain the apartment for something over a year longer.

It may be interesting for an American who has a proper feeling

regarding the position of his country abroad to know that the

purchaser of the entire house--not only of the floor which I had

occupied, but of the similar apartment beneath, as well as that

on the ground floor--was the little Grand Duchy of Baden, which

in this way provided for its minister, secretaries, and others

connected with its legation in the German capital.

On the theory of line upon line and precept upon precept, I again

call attention, NOT to the wrong done ME by this American policy,

or rather want of policy,--for I knew in coming what I had to

expect,--but to the injury thus done to the PROPER STANDING OF

OUR COUNTRY BEFORE THE OTHER NATIONS OF THE WORLD. Again I insist

that, in its own interest, a government like ours ought, in every

capital where it is represented, to possess or to hold on long

lease a house or apartment suitable to its representative and

creditable to itself.

Early in the spring of 1900 came an event of some historical

interest. On the 19th of March and the two days following was

celebrated the two-hundredth anniversary of the founding of the

Royal Academy of Sciences. The Emperor, as well as the Academy,

had determined to make it a great occasion, and the result was a

series of very brilliant pageants. These began by a solemn

reception of the delegates from all parts of the world in the

great hall of the palace, my duty being to represent the

Smithsonian Institution at Washington, and my colleagues being

Professors White and Wolf of Harvard, who had been sent by the

American Academy of Sciences. The scene was very striking, all

the delegates, except those from America and Switzerland, being

in the costumes of the organizations they represented; most were

picturesque, and some had a very mediaeval appearance; those from

the ancient universities of Wurzburg and Prague, especially,

looking as if they had just stepped out of an illuminated

manuscript of the fourteenth century. At the time named for the

beginning of the festival the Emperor entered, announced by the

blare of trumpets, preceded by ministers bearing the sword,

standard, and great seal, and by generals bearing the crown,

scepter, and orb. He was surrounded by the highest officials of

the kingdom and empire, and having taken his seat on the throne,

there came majestic music preluding sundry orations and lists of

honors conferred on eminent men of science in all parts of the

world, among whom I was glad to note Professors Gibbs of Yale,

James of Harvard, and Rowland of Johns Hopkins.

The Emperor's speech was characteristic. It showed that his heart

was in the matter; that he felt a just pride in the achievements

of German science, and was determined that no efforts of his

should be wanting to increase and extend them. After the close of

the function, which was made in the same stately way as its

beginning, my colleagues drove home with me, and one of them

said, "Well, I am an American and a republican, but when I am in

a monarchy I like to see a thing of this kind done in the most

magnificent way possible, as it was this morning." A day or two

afterward, at the dinner given to the ambassadors by the Emperor,

I told him this story. He laughed heartily, and then said: "Your

friend is right: if a man is to be a monarch, let him be a

monarch; Dom Pedro of Brazil tried to be something else, and it

did not turn out well."

Impressive in a different way were the ceremonies attendant upon

the coming of age of the German crown prince, on the 6th of May,

1900. To do honor to the occasion, the Emperor Franz Josef of

Austria-Hungary had sent word that he would be present, and for

many days the whole city seemed mainly devoted to decorating its

buildings and streets for his visit; the culmination of the whole

being at the Pariser Platz, in front of the Brandenburg Gate,

where a triumphal arch and obelisks were erected, with other

decorations, patriotic and complimentary. On the morning of the

4th he arrived, and, entering the city at the side of the German

Emperor, each in the proper uniform of the other, he was received

by the burgomaster and town council of Berlin with a most cordial

speech, and then, passing on through the Linden, which was

showily decorated, he was enthusiastically greeted everywhere. No

doubt this greeting was thoroughly sincere, since all good

Germans look upon Franz Josef as their truest ally.

Next evening there was a "gala" performance at the Royal Opera,

the play presented being, of all things in the world, Auber's

"Bronze Horse," which is a farcical Chinese fairy tale set to

very light and pleasing music. The stage setting was gorgeous,

but the audience was still more so, delegates from all the

greater powers of the world being present, including the heirs to

the British and Italian thrones, the Grand Duke Constantine of

Russia, and a multitude of other scions of royalty. One feature

was comical. Near me sat His Excellency the Chinese minister,

surrounded by his secretaries and attaches, all apparently

delighted; and on my asking him, through his interpreter, how he

liked it, he said, "Very much; this shows the Europeans that in

China we know how to amuse ourselves." Of the fact that it was a

rather highly charged caricature of Chinese officialdom he seemed

either really or diplomatically unconscious.

On the following morning I was received in audience by the German

Emperor, bringing to him a warm message of congratulation from

President McKinley; and when His Majesty had replied very

cordially, he introduced me to the crown prince standing at his

side, to whom I gave the President's best wishes. Then came, in

the chapel of the palace, an impressive religious service, the

address by Dr. Dryander being eloquent, and the music, by the

cathedral choir and, at times, by a great military orchestra,

both far above us in the dome, beautiful. At its close the crown

prince came forward, stood before the altar, where I had seen his

parents married twenty years before, and the oath of allegiance,

which was quite long, having been read to him by the colonel of

his regiment, he repeated it, word for word, and made his solemn

pledge, lifting one hand and grasping the imperial standard with

the other. Then, after receiving affectionate embraces from his

father and mother, he was congratulated by the sovereigns and

royal personages. The ambassadors and ministers having been then

received by the Emperor and Empress, the young prince came along

the line and spoke to each of us in a very unaffected and manly

way. He was at that time somewhat taller than his father, with an

intelligent and pleasant face, and is likely, I should say, to do

well in his great position, though not possessing, probably,

anything like his father's varied gifts and graces.

In the evening came a dinner in the White Hall of the palace to

several hundred guests, including the Emperor of Austria-Hungary,

the King of Saxony, and other visiting personages, with the heads

of the diplomatic missions, and the leading personages of the

empire; and near the close of it the Emperor William arose and

made an excellent speech, to all appearance extemporaneous. The

answer by the Emperor of Austria-Hungary was read by him, and was

sensible and appropriate.

That this visit did much to strengthen the ties which bind the

two monarchies was shown not merely by hurrahs in the streets and

dithyrambic utterances in the newspapers, but by a mass of other

testimony. One curious thing was the great care everywhere taken

in the decorations to honor the crown and flag of Hungary equally

with that of Austria, and this, as was shown by the Hungarian

journals, had an excellent effect. By this meeting, no doubt, the

Triple Alliance was somewhat strengthened, and the chances for

continued peace increased, at least during the lifetime of the

Emperor Franz Josef. As to what will follow his death all is

dark. His successor is one of the least suitable of

men,--unprepossessing, and even forbidding, in every respect.

Brought up by the Jesuits, he is distrusted by a vast mass of the

best people in the empire, Catholic and Protestant. A devout

Catholic they would be glad to take, but a Jesuit pupil they

dread, for they know too well what such have brought upon the

empire hitherto, and, indeed, upon every kingdom which has

allowed them in its councils. His previous career has not been

edifying, and there is no reason to expect any change in him. The

Emperor Franz Josef is probably as thoroughly beloved by his

subjects as any sovereign in history has ever been. His great

misfortunes--fearful defeats in the wars with France and Germany,

the suicide of his only son, the assassination of his wife, and

family troubles in more recent times--have thrown about him an

atmosphere of romantic sympathy; while love for his kindly

qualities is mingled with respect for his plain common sense.

During his stay in Berlin I met him a second time. At my first

presentation at Dresden, two years before, there was little

opportunity for extended conversation; but he now spoke quite at

length and in a manner which showed him to be observant of the

world's affairs even in remote regions. He discussed the recent

increase of our army, the progress of our war in the Philippines,

and the extension of American enterprise in various parts of the

world, in a way which was not at all perfunctory, but evidently

the result of large information and careful observation. His

empire, which is a seething caldron of hates, racial, religious,

political, and local, is held together by love and respect for

him; but when he dies this personal tie which unites all these

different races, parties, and localities will disappear, and in

place of it will come the man who by force of untoward

circumstances is to be his successor, and this is anything but a

pleasing prospect to an Austro-Hungarian, or, indeed, to any

thoughtful observer of human affairs.

Interesting to me at this period was a visit from representatives

of the "Kriegerverein"--German-Americans who had formerly fought

in the war between Germany and France, who had since become

American citizens, and who were now revisiting their native land.

They were a very manly body, evidently taking pride in the

American flag which they carried, and also in the part they had

played in Germany. Replying to a friendly address by their

commanding officer, I took up some current American fallacies

regarding Germany and Germans, encouraged my hearers to stand

firm against sensational efforts to make trouble between the two

countries, urged them to keep their children in knowledge of the

German language and in touch with German civilization, while

bringing them up as thoroughly loyal Americans, reminding them

that every American who is interested in German history or

literature or science or art is an additional link in the chain

which binds together the two nations. The speech was of a very

offhand sort; but it seemed to strike deep and speed far, for it

evoked most kindly letters of congratulation and thanks from

various parts of Germany and the United States.

The most striking episode in the history of the world during

these years was the revolution in China. The first event which

startled mankind was the murder of Baron von Ketteler, the German

minister at Peking, a man of remarkable abilities and

accomplishments, who was thought sure to rise high among

diplomatists, and who had especially attracted American

friendships by his marriage with an American lady. The impression

created by this calamity was made all the greater by the fact

that, in the absence of further news from the Chinese capital,

there was reason to fear that the whole diplomatic corps, with

their families, might be murdered. American action in the

entanglements which followed was prompt and successful, and

thinking men everywhere soon saw it to be so. Toward the end of

July, 1900, being about to go to America for the summer, I took

leave of Count von Bulow at the Foreign Office, and, on coming

out, met one of my colleagues, who, although representing one of

the lesser European powers, was well known as exceedingly shrewd

and far-sighted. He said: "I congratulate you on the course

pursued by your government during this fearful Chinese imbroglio.

Other powers have made haste to jump into war; your admiral at

Tientsin seems the only one who has kept his head; other

governments have treated representatives of the Chinese Empire as

hostile, and, in doing so, have cut themselves off from all

direct influence on the Peking Government; the government at

Washington has taken an opposite course, has considered the

troubles as, prima facie, the work of insurrectionists, has

insisted on claiming friendship with the constituted authorities

in China, and, in view of this friendship, has insisted on being

kept in communication with its representative at the Chinese

capital, the result being that your government has been allowed

to communicate with its representative, and has thereby gained

the information and issued the orders which have saved the entire

diplomatic corps, as well as the forces of the different powers

now in Peking."

It was one of those contemporary testimonies to the skill of Mr.

McKinley and Secretary Hay which indicate the verdict of history.

Our later policy was equally sound. It was to prevent any further

territorial encroachments on China by foreign powers, and to

secure the opening of the empire on equal terms to the commerce

of the entire world. On the other hand, the German Government,

exasperated by the murder of its minister at Peking, was at first

inclined to go beyond this, and a speech of the Emperor to his

troops as they were leaving Germany for the seat of war was

hastily construed to mean that they were to carry out a policy of

extermination and confiscation. Even after the first natural

outburst of indignation against the Chinese, it looked as if the

ultimatum presented by the powers would include demands which

could never be met, and would entangle all the powers in a long

and tedious war, leading, perhaps, to a worse catastrophe.

Quietly but vigorously, from first to last, the American policy

was urged by Mr. Conger, American minister at Peking, and by

other representatives of our government abroad; and it was a

happy morning for me when, after efforts many and long continued,

I received at the Berlin Foreign Office the assurance that

Germany would not consider the earlier conditions presented by

the powers to the Chinese Government as "irrevocable." My

constant contention, during interviews at the Foreign Office, had

been that the United States desired as anxiously to see the main

miscreants punished as did any other nation, but that it was of

no use to demand, upon members of the imperial family, and upon

generals in command of great armies, extreme penalties which the

Chinese Government was not strong enough to inflict, or

indemnities which it was not rich enough to pay; that our aim was

not quixotic but practical, and that, in advocating steadily the

"open door" policy, we were laboring quite as much for all other

powers as for ourselves. Of course we were charged in various

quarters with cold-bloodedness, and with merely seeking to

promote our own interest in trade; but the Japanese, who could

understand the question better than the Western powers, steadily

adhered to our policy, and more and more, in its main lines, it

proved to be correct.

On the Fourth of July, 1900, came the celebration of our national

independence at Leipsic, and being asked to respond to the first

regular toast, and, having at my former visit dwelt especially

upon the Presidency, my theme now became the character and

services of the President himself, and it was a pleasure to find

that my statement was received by the German press in a way that

showed a reaction from previous injustice.

During August and September preceding the political campaign

which resulted in Mr. McKinley's reelection I was in the United

States. It was the hottest summer in very many years, and

certainly, within my whole experience, there had been no torrid

heat like that during my visits to Washington. Nearly every one

seemed prostrated by it. Upon arriving at the Arlington Hotel, I

found two old friends unnerved by the temperature, one of them

not daring to risk a sunstroke by going to the train which would

take him to his home in Chicago Retiring to one's room at night,

even in the best-situated hotels, was like entering an oven. The

leading official persons were generally absent, and those who

remained seemed hardly capable of doing business. But there was

one exception. Going to the White House to pay my respects to the

President, I found him the one man in Washington perfectly cool,

serene, and unaffected by the burning heat or by the pressure of

public affairs. Although matters in Cuba, in Porto Rico, in the

Philippines in China, and in the political campaign then going on

must have been constantly in his mind, he had plenty of time,

seemed to take trouble about nothing, and kept me in his office

for a full hour, discussing calmly the various phases of the

situation as they were affected by matters in Germany.

His discussion of public affairs showed the same quiet insight

and strength which I had recognized in him when we first met, in

1884, as delegates at the Chicago National Convention. One thing

during this Washington interview struck me especially: I asked

him if he was to make any addresses during the campaign; he

answered: "No; several of my friends have urged me to do so, but

I shall not. I intend to return to what seems to me the better

policy of the earlier Presidents: the American people have my

administration before them; they have ample material for judging

it, and with them I shall silently leave the whole matter." He

said this in a perfectly simple, quiet way, which showed that he

meant what he said. At the time I regretted his decision; but it

soon became clear that he was right.

At the beginning of the year 1901 came the two-hundredth

anniversary of the founding of the Prussian kingdom.

Representatives of the other governments of the world appeared at

court in full force; and, under instructions from the President,

I tendered his congratulations and best wishes to the monarch, as

follows:

May it please Your Majesty: I am instructed by the President to

present his hearty congratulations on this two-hundredth

anniversary of the founding of the Kingdom of Prussia, and, with

his congratulations, his best wishes for Your Majesty's health

and happiness, as well as the health and happiness of the Royal

Family, and his earnest hopes for the continued prosperity of

Your Majesty's Kingdom and Empire.

At the same time I feel fully authorized to present similar

congratulations and good wishes from the whole people of the

United States. The ties between the two nations, instead of being

weakened by time, have constantly grown stronger. As regards

material interests they are bound together by an enormous

commerce, growing greatly every year: as regards deeper

sentiments, no man acquainted with American History forgets that

the House of Hohenzollern was one of the first European powers to

recognize American Independence; and that it was Frederick the

Great who made that first treaty,--a landmark in the history of

International Law,--the only fault of which was that the world

was not far enough advanced to appreciate it. We also remember

that Germany was the only foreign country which showed decided

sympathy for us during our Civil War--the second struggle for our

national existence.

I also feel fully authorized, in view of Your Majesty's interest

in everything that ministers to the highest interests of

civilization, to express thanks for service which the broad

policy of Germany has rendered the United States in throwing open

to American scholars its Universities, its Technical Schools, its

conservatories of Art, its Museums, and its Libraries. Every

University and advanced school of learning in the United States

recognizes the fact that Germany has been our main foreign

teacher, as regards the higher ranges of Science, Literature, and

Art, and I may be allowed to remind Your Majesty, that while

Great Britain is justly revered by us as our mother country

Germany is beginning to hold to us a similar relation, not only

as the fatherland of a vast number of American citizens, but as

one of the main sources of the intellectual culture spread by our

universities and schools for advanced learning.

Allow me, then, sir, to renew the best wishes of the President

and people of the United States, with their hopes that ever

blessing may attend Your Majesty, the House of Hohenzollern the

Kingdom of Prussia, and the German Empire.

The Emperor in his reply spoke very cordially of the President's

special telegram, which he had received that morning, and then

gave earnest utterance to his belief that the time is coming when

the three great peoples of Germanic descent will stand firmly

together in all the great questions of the world.

The religious ceremonies in the Palace Chapel, with magnificent

music; the banquet, which included pertinent speeches from the

monarchs; and the gala representation at the opera all passed off

well: but, perhaps, that which will dwell longest in my memory

took place at the last. The performance consisted of two pieces:

one a poem glorifying Prussia, recited with music; the other a

play, in four acts, with long, musical interludes, deifying the

great Elector and the house of Hohenzollern. Though splendid in

scenic setting and brilliant in presentation it was very long,

and the ambassadors' box was crowded and hot. In the midst of it

all the French ambassador, the Marquis de Noailles, one of the

most suave courteous, and placid of men, quietly said to me, with

inimitable gravity, "What a bore this must be to those who

understand German! (Comme ca doit etre ennuyeux a ceux qui

correprennent l'Allemand!)" This sudden revelation of a lower

depth of boredom--from one who could not understand a word of the

play--was worthy of his ancestors in the days of Saint-Simon and

Dangeau.

During the following summer two great sorrows befell me and mine,

but there is nothing to be here chronicled save that in this, as

in previous trials, I took refuge in work which seemed to be

worthy. The diplomatic service in summer is not usually exacting,

especially when one has, as I had, thoroughly loyal and judicious

embassy secretaries. As in a former bereavement I had turned to a

study of the character and services of John of Portugal and his

great successors in the age of discovery, so now I turned to Fra

Paolo Sarpi and the good fight he fought for Venice and humanity.

To my large collection of books on the subject, made mainly in

Italy, I added much from the old book-shops of Germany, and with

these revised my Venetian studies. An old dream of mine had been

to bring out a small book on Fra Paolo: now I sought, more

modestly, to prepare an essay.[6] The work was good for me.

Contemplation of that noblest of the three great Italians between

the Renaissance and the Resurrection of Italy did something to

lift me above sorrow; reading his words, uttered so calmly in all

the storm and stress of his time, soothed me. Viewed from my

work-table on the island of Rugen, the world became less dark as

I thought upon this hero of three centuries ago.

[6] This essay has since been published in the "Atlantic Monthly"

of January and February, 1904.

{Included etext: Project Gutenberg}

****************************************************************

THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY: A MAGAZINE OF Literature, Science, Art, and

Politics VOLUME XCIII {From January, 1904--Number DLV. and

February, 1904--Number DLVI.}

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside

Press, Cambridge 1904

COPYRIGHT, 1903 AND 1904 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. Electrotyped and

Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company

FRA PAOLO SARPI.

I.

A thoughtful historian tells us that, between the fourteenth

century and the nineteenth, Italy produced three great men. As

the first of these, he names Machiavelli, who, he says, "taught

the world to understand political despotism and to hate it;" as

the second, he names Sarpi who "taught the world after what

manner the Holy Spirit guides the Councils of the Church;" and as

the third, Galileo, who "taught the world what dogmatic theology

is worth when it can be tested by science."

I purpose now to present the second of these. As a MAN, he was by

far the greatest of the three and, in various respects, the most

interesting, for he not only threw a bright light into the most

important general council of the Church and revealed to

Christendom the methods which there prevailed,--in a book which

remains one of the half-dozen classic histories of the

world,--but he fought the most bitter fight for humanity against

the papacy ever known in any Latin nation, and won a victory by

which the whole world has profited ever since. Moreover, he was

one of the two foremost Italian statesmen since the Middle Ages,

the other being Cavour.

He was born at Venice in 1552, and it may concern those who care

to note the subtle interweaving of the warp and woof of history

that the birth year of this most resourceful foe that Jesuitism

ever had was the death year of St. Francis Xavier, the noblest of

Jesuit apostles.

It may also interest those who study the more evident evolution

of cause and effect in human affairs to note that, like most

strong men, he had a strong mother; that while his father was a

poor shopkeeper who did little and died young, his mother was

wise and serene.

From his earliest boyhood, he showed striking gifts and

characteristics. He never forgot a face once seen, could take in

the main contents of a page at a glance, spoke little, rarely ate

meat, and, until his last years, never drank wine.

Brought up, after the death of his father, first by his uncle, a

priest, and then by Capella, a Servite monk, in something better

than the usual priestly fashion, he became known, while yet in

his boyhood, as a theological prodigy. Disputations in his youth,

especially one at Mantua, where, after the manner of the time, he

successfully defended several hundred theses against all comers,

attracted wide attention, so that the Bishop gave him a

professorship, and the Duke, who, like some other crowned heads

of those days,--notably Henry VIII. and James I.,--liked to

dabble in theology, made him a court theologian. But the duties

of this position were uncongenial: a flippant duke, fond of

putting questions which the wisest theologian could not answer,

and laying out work which the young scholar evidently thought

futile, apparently wearied him. He returned to the convent of the

Servites at Venice, and became, after a few years' novitiate, a

friar, changing, at the same time, his name; so that, having been

baptized Peter, he now became Paul.

His career soon seemed to reveal another and underlying cause of

his return: he evidently felt the same impulse which stirred his

contemporaries, Lord Bacon and Galileo; for he began devoting

himself to the whole range of scientific and philosophical

studies, especially to mathematics, physics, astronomy, anatomy,

and physiology. In these he became known as an authority, and

before long was recognized as such through out Europe. It is

claimed, and it is not improbable, that he anticipated Harvey in

discovering the circulation of the blood, and that he was the

forerunner of noted discoveries in magnetism. Unfortunately the

loss of the great mass of his papers by the fire which destroyed

his convent in 1769 forbids any full estimate of his work; but it

is certain that among those who sought his opinion and advice

were such great discoverers as Acquapendente, Galileo,

Torricelli, and Gilbert of Colchester, and that every one of

these referred to him as an equal, and indeed as a master. It

seems also established that it was he who first discovered the

valves of the veins, that he made known the most beautiful

function of the iris,--its contractility,--and that various

surmises of his regarding heat, light, and sound have since been

developed into scientific truths. It is altogether likely that,

had he not been drawn from scientific pursuits by his duties as a

statesman, he would have ranked among the greater investigators

and discoverers, not only of Italy, but of the world.

He also studied political and social problems, and he arrived at

one conclusion which, though now trite, was then novel,--the

opinion that the aim of punishment should not be vengeance, but

reformation. In these days and in this country, where one of the

most serious of evils is undue lenity to crime, this opinion may

be imputed to him as a fault; but in those days, when torture was

the main method in procedure and in penalty, his declaration was

honorable both to his head and heart.

With all his devotion to books, he found time to study men. Even

at school, he had seemed to discern those who would win control.

They discerned something in him also; so that close relations

were formed between him and such leaders as Contarini and

Morosini, with whom he afterwards stood side by side in great

emergencies.

Important missions were entrusted to him. Five times he visited

Rome to adjust perplexing differences between the papal power and

various interests at Venice. He was rapidly advanced through most

of the higher offices in his order, and in these he gave a series

of decisions which won the respect of all entitled to form an

opinion.

Naturally he was thought of for high place in the Church, and was

twice presented for a bishopric; but each time he was rejected at

Rome,--partly from family claims of less worthy candidates,

partly from suspicions regarding his orthodoxy. It was objected

that he did not find the whole doctrine of the Trinity in the

first verse of Genesis, that he corresponded with eminent

heretics of England and Germany, that he was not averse to

reforms, that, in short, he was not inclined to wallow in the

slime from which had crawled forth such huge incarnations of evil

as John XXIII., Julius II., Sixtus IV., and Alexander VI.

His orthodox detractors have been wont to represent him as

seeking vengeance for his non-promotion; but his after career

showed amply that personal grievances had little effect upon him.

It is indeed not unlikely that when he saw bishoprics for which

he knew himself well fitted given as sops to poor creatures

utterly unfit in morals or intellect, he may have had doubts

regarding the part taken by the Almighty in selecting them; but

he was reticent, and kept on with his work. In his cell at Santa

Fosca, he quietly and steadily devoted himself to his cherished

studies; but he continued to study more than books or inanimate

nature. He was neither a bookworm nor a pedant. On his various

missions he met and discoursed with churchmen and statesmen

concerned in the greatest transactions of his time, notably at

Mantua with Oliva, secretary of one of the greatest ecclesiastics

at the Council of Trent; at Milan with Cardinal Borromeo, by far

the noblest of all who sat in that assemblage during its eighteen

years; in Rome and elsewhere with Arnauld Ferrier, who had been

French Ambassador at the Council, Cardinal Severina, head of the

Inquisition, Castagna, afterward Pope Urban VII., and Cardinal

Bellarmine, afterward Sarpi's strongest and noblest opponent.

Nor was this all. He was not content with books or conversations;

steadily he went on collecting, collating, and testing original

documents bearing upon the great events of his time. The result

of all this the world was to see later.

He had arrived at middle life and won wide recognition as a

scholar, scientific investigator, and jurist, when there came the

supreme moment of a struggle which had involved Europe for

centuries,--a struggle interesting not only the Italy and Europe

of those days, but universal humanity for all time.

During the period following the fall of the Roman Empire of the

West there had been evolved the temporal power of the Roman

Bishop. It had many vicissitudes. Sometimes, as in the days of

St. Leo and St. Gregory, it based its claims upon noble

assertions of right and justice, and sometimes, as in the hands

of pontiffs like Innocent VIII. and Paul V., it sought to force

its way by fanaticism. Sometimes it strengthened its authority by

real services to humanity, and sometimes by such monstrous frauds

as the Forged Decretals. Sometimes, as under Popes like Gregory

VII. and Innocent III., it laid claim to the mastership of the

world, and sometimes, as with the majority of the pontiffs during

the two centuries before the Reformation, it became mainly the

appanage of a party or faction or family.

Throughout all this history, there appeared in the Church two

great currents of efficient thought. On one side had been

developed a theocratic theory, giving the papacy a power supreme

in temporal as well as in spiritual matters throughout the world.

Leaders in this during the Middle Ages were St. Thomas Aquinas

and the Dominicans; leaders in Sarpi's days were the Jesuits,

represented especially in the treatises of Bellarmine at Rome and

in the speeches of Laynez at the Council of Trent.[1]

[1] This has been admirably shown by N. R. F. Brown in his

Taylorian Lecture, pages 229-234, in volume for 1889-99.

But another theory, hostile to the despotism of the Church over

the State, had been developed through the Middle Ages and the

Renaissance;--it had been strengthened mainly by the utterances

of such men as Dante, aegidio Colonna, John of Paris, Ockham,

Marsilio of Padua, and Laurentius Valla. Sarpi ranged himself

with the latter of these forces. Though deeply religious, he

recognized the God-given right of earthly governments to

discharge their duties independent of church control.

Among the many centres of this struggle was Venice. She was

splendidly religious--as religion was then understood. She was

made so by her whole environment. From the beginning she had been

a seafaring power, and seafaring men, from their constant wrestle

with dangers ill understood, are prone to seek and find

supernatural forces. Nor was this all. Later, when she had become

rich, powerful, luxurious, licentious, and refractory to the

priesthood, her most powerful citizens felt a need of atoning for

their many sins by splendid religious foundations. So her people

came to live in an atmosphere of religious observance, and the

bloom and fruitage of their religious hopes and fears are seen in

the whole history of Venetian art,--from the rude sculptures of

Torcello and the naive mosaics of San Marco to the glowing

altarpieces and ceilings of John Bellini, Titian, and Tintoretto

and the illuminations of the Grimani Psalter. No class in Venice

rose above this environment. Doges and Senators were as

susceptible to it as were the humblest fishermen on the Lido. In

every one of those glorious frescoes in the corridors and halls

of the Ducal Palace which commemorate the victories of the

Republic, the triumphant Doge or Admiral or General is seen on

his knees making acknowledgment of the divine assistance. On

every Venetian sequin, from the days when Venice was a power

throughout the earth to that fatal year when the young Bonaparte

tossed the Republic over to the House of Austria, the Doge,

crowned and robed, kneels humbly before the Saviour, the Virgin,

or St. Mark. In that vast Hall of the Five Hundred, the most

sumptuous room in the world, there is spread above the heads of

the Doge and Senators and Councilors, as an incentive to the

discharge of their duties on earth, a representation of the

blessed in Heaven.

From highest to lowest, the Venetians lived, moved, and had their

being in this religious environment, and, had their Republic been

loosely governed, its external policy would have been largely

swayed by this all-pervading religious feeling, and would have

become the plaything of the Roman Court. But a democracy has

never been maintained save by the delegation of great powers to

its chosen leaders. It was the remark of one of the foremost

American Democrats of the nineteenth century, a man who received

the highest honors which his party could bestow, that the

Constitution of the United States was made, not to promote

Democracy, but to check it. This statement is true, and it is as

true of the Venetian Constitution as of the American.[1]

[1] See Horatio Seymour's noted article in the North American

Review.

But while both the republics recognized the necessity of curbing

Democracy, the difference between the means employed was

world-wide. The founders of the American Republic gave vast

powers and responsibilities to a president and unheard-of

authority to a supreme court; in the Venetian Republic the Doge

was gradually stripped of power, but there was evolved the

mysterious and unlimited authority of the Senate and Council of

Ten.

In these sat the foremost Venetians, thoroughly imbued with the

religious spirit of their time; but, religious as they were, they

were men of the world, trained in the polities of all Europe and

especially of Italy.

In a striking passage, Guizot has shown how the Crusaders who

went to the Orient by way of Italy and saw the papacy near at

hand came back skeptics. This same influence shaped the statesmen

of Venice. The Venetian Ambassadors were the foremost in Europe.

Their Relations are still studied as the clearest, shrewdest, and

wisest statements regarding the men and events in Europe at their

time. All were noted for skill; but the most skillful were kept

on duty at Rome. There was the source of danger. The Doges,

Senators, and controlling Councilors had, as a rule, served in

these embassies, and they had formed lucid judgments as to

Italian courts in general and as to the Roman Court in

particular. No men had known the Popes and the Curia more

thoroughly. They had seen Innocent VIII. buy the papacy for

money. They had been at the Vatican when Alexander VI. had won

renown as a secret murderer. They had seen, close at hand, the

merciless cruelty of Julius II. They had carefully noted the

crimes of Sixtus IV., which culminated in the assassination of

Julian de' Medici beneath the dome of Florence at the moment the

Host was uplifted. They had sat near Leo X. while he enjoyed the

obscenities of the Calandria and the Mandragora,--plays which, in

the most corrupt of modern cities, would, in our day, be stopped

by the police. No wonder that, in one of their dispatches, they

speak of Rome as "the cloaca of the world."[1]

[1] For Sixtus IV. and his career, with the tragedy in the

Cathedral of Florence see Villari's Life of Machiavelli, English

Edition, vol. ii. pp. 341, 342. For the passages in the

dispatches referred to, vide ibid. vol. i. p. 198.

Naturally, then, while their religion showed itself in wonderful

monuments of every sort, their practical sense was shown by a

steady opposition to papal encroachments.

Of this combination of zeal for religion with hostility to

ecclesiasticism we have striking examples throughout the history

of the Republic. While, in every other European state, cardinals,

bishops, priests, and monks were given leading parts in civil

administration and, in some states, a monopoly of civil honors,

the Republic of Venice not only excluded all ecclesiastics from

such posts, but, in cases which touched church interests, she

excluded even the relatives of ecclesiastics. When church

authority decreed that commerce should not be maintained with

infidels and heretics, the Venetian merchants continued to deal

with Turks, Pagans, Germans, Englishmen, and Dutchmen as before.

When the Church decreed that the taking of interest for money was

sin, and great theologians published in Venice some of their

mightiest treatises demonstrating this view from Holy Scripture

and the Fathers, the Venetians continued borrowing and lending

money on usance. When efforts were made to enforce that

tremendous instrument for the consolidation of papal power, the

bull In Coena Domini, Venice evaded and even defied it. When the

Church frowned upon anatomical dissections, the Venetians allowed

Andreas Vesalius to make such dissections at their University of

Padua. When Sixtus V., the strongest of all the Popes, had

brought all his powers, temporal and spiritual, to bear against

Henry IV. of France as an excommunicated heretic, and seemed

ready to hurl the thunderbolts of the Church against any power

which should recognize him, the Venetian Republic not only

recognized him, but treated his Ambassador with especial

courtesy. When the other Catholic powers, save France, yielded to

papal mandates and sent no representatives to the coronation of

James I. of England, Venice was there represented. When Pope

after Pope issued endless diatribes against the horrors of

toleration, the Venetians steadily tolerated in their several

sorts of worship Jews and Greeks, Mohammedans and Armenians, with

Protestants of every sort who came to them on business. When the

Roman Index forbade the publication of most important works of

leading authors, Venice demanded and obtained for her printers

rights which were elsewhere denied.

As to the religious restrictions which touched trade, the

Venetians in the public councils, and indeed the people at large,

had come to know perfectly what the papal theory meant,--with

some of its promoters, fanaticism, but with the controlling power

at Rome, revenue, revenue to be derived from retailing

dispensations to infringe the holy rules.

This peculiar antithesis--nowhere more striking than at Venice,

on the one side, religious fears and hopes; on the other, keen

insight into the ways of ecclesiasticism--led to peculiar

compromises. The bankers who had taken interest upon money, the

merchants who had traded with Moslems and heretics, in their last

hours frequently thought it best to perfect their title to

salvation by turning over large estates to the Church. Under the

sway of this feeling, and especially of the terrors infused by

priests at deathbeds, mortmain had become in Venice, as in many

other parts of the world, one of the most serious of evils. Thus

it was that the clergy came to possess between one fourth and one

third of the whole territory of the Republic, and in its Bergamo

district more than one half; and all this was exempt from

taxation. Hence it was that the Venetian Senate found it

necessary to devise a legal check which should make such

absorption of estates by the Church more and more difficult.

There was a second cause of trouble. In that religious atmosphere

of Venice, monastic orders of every sort grew luxuriantly, not

only absorbing more and more land to be held by the dead hand,

thus escaping the public burdens, but ever absorbing more and

more men and women, and thus depriving the state of any healthy

and normal service from them. Here, too, the Senate thought it

best to interpose a check: it insisted that all new structures

for religious orders must be authorized by the State.

Yet another question flamed forth. Of the monks of every sort

swarming through the city, many were luxurious and some were

criminal. On these last, the Venetian Senate determined to lay

its hands, and in the first years of the seventeenth century all

these questions, and various other matters distasteful to the

Vatican, culminated in the seizure and imprisonment of two

ecclesiastics charged with various high crimes,--among these rape

and murder.

There had just come to the papal throne Camillo Borghese, Paul

V.,--strong, bold, determined, with the highest possible theory

of his duties and of his position. In view of his duty toward

himself, he lavished the treasures of the faithful upon his

family, until it became the richest which had yet risen in Rome;

in view of his duty toward the Church, he built superbly, and an

evidence of the spirit in which he wrought is his name, in

enormous letters, still spread across the facade of St. Peter's.

As to his position, he accepted fully the theories and practices

of his boldest predecessors, and in this he had good warrant; for

St. Thomas Aquinas and Bellarmine had furnished him with

convincing arguments that he was divinely authorized to rule the

civil powers of Italy and of the world.[1]

[1] For details of these cases of the two monks, see Pascolato.

Fra Paolo Sarpi, Milano, 1893, pp. 126-128. For the Borghese

avarice, see Ranke's Popes, vol. iii. pp. 9-20. For the

development of Pope Paul's theory of government, see Ranke, vol.

ii. p. 345, and note in which Bellarmine's doctrine is cited

textually; also Bellarmine's Selbstbiographie, herausgegeben von

Dollinger und Rensch Bonn, 1887. pp. 181, et seq.

Moreover there was, in his pride, something akin to fanaticism.

He had been elected by one of those sudden movements, as well

known in American caucuses as in papal conclaves, when, after a

deadlock, all the old candidates are thrown over, and the choice

suddenly falls on a new man. The cynical observer may point to

this as showing that the laws governing elections, under such

circumstances, are the same, whether in party caucuses or in

church councils; but Paul, in this case, saw the direct

intervention of the Almighty, and his disposition to magnify his

office was vastly increased thereby. He was especially strenuous,

and one of his earliest public acts was to send to the gallows a

poor author, who, in an unpublished work, had spoken severely

regarding one of Paul's predecessors.

The Venetian laws checking mortmain, taxing church property, and

requiring the sanction of the Republic before the erection of new

churches and monasteries greatly angered him; but the crowning

vexation was the seizure of the two clerics. This aroused him

fully. He at once sent orders that they be delivered up to him,

that apology be made for the past and guarantees given for the

future, and notice was served that, in case the Republic did not

speedily obey these orders, the Pope would excommunicate its

leaders and lay an interdict upon its people. It was indeed a

serious contingency. For many years the new Pope had been known

as a hard, pedantic ecclesiastical lawyer, and now that he had

arrived at the supreme power, he had evidently determined to

enforce the high mediaeval supremacy of the Church over the

State. Everything betokened his success. In France he had broken

down all opposition to the decrees of the Council of Trent. In

Naples, when a magistrate had refused to disobey the civil law at

the bidding of priests, and the viceroy had supported the

magistrate, Pope Paul had forced the viceroy and magistrate to

comply with his will by threats of excommunication. In every part

of Italy,--in Malta, in Savoy, in Parma, in Lucca, in Genoa,--and

finally even in Spain, he had pettifogged, bullied, threatened,

until his opponents had given way. Everywhere he was triumphant;

and while he was in the mood which such a succession of triumphs

would give he turned toward Venice.[1]

[1] For letters showing the craven submission of Philip III. of

Spain at this time, see Cornet, Paolo V. e la Republica Veneta,

Vienna, 1859, p. 285.

There was little indeed to encourage the Venetians to resist;

for, while the interests of other European powers were largely

the same as theirs, current political intrigues seemed likely to

bring Spain and even France into a league with the Vatican.

To a people so devoted to commerce, yet so religious, the threat

of an interdict was serious indeed. All church services were to

cease; the people at large, no matter how faithful, were to be as

brute beasts,--not to be legally married,--not to be consoled by

the sacraments,--not to be shriven, and virtually not to be

buried; other Christian peoples were to be forbidden all dealings

with them, under pain of excommunication; their commerce was to

be delivered over to the tender mercies of any and every other

nation; their merchant ships to be as corsairs; their cargoes,

the legitimate prey of all Christendom; and their people, on sea

and land, to be held as enemies of the human race. To this was

added, throughout the whole mass of the people, a vague sense of

awful penalties awaiting them in the next world. Despite all

this, the Republic persisted in asserting its right.

Just at this moment came a diplomatic passage between Pope and

Senate like a farce before a tragedy, and it has historical

significance, as showing what resourceful old heads were at the

service of either side. The Doge Grimani having died, the Vatican

thought to score a point by promptly sending notice through its

Nuncio to Venice that no new election of a Doge could take place

if forbidden by the Pope, and that, until the Senate had become

obedient to the papacy, no such election would be sanctioned. But

the Senate, having through its own Ambassador received a useful

hint, was quite equal to the occasion. It at once declined to

receive this or any dispatch from the Pope on the plea, made with

redundant courtesy and cordiality, that, there being no Doge,

there was no person in Venice great enough to open it. They next

as politely declined to admit the papal Nuncio on the ground that

there was nobody worthy to receive him. Then they proceeded to

elect a Doge who could receive both Nuncio and message,--a sturdy

opponent of the Vatican pretensions, Leonardo Donato.

The Senate now gave itself entirely to considering ways and means

of warding off the threatened catastrophe. Its first step was to

consult Sarpi. His answer was prompt and pithy. He advised two

things: first, to prevent, at all hazards, any publication of the

papal bulls in Venice or any obedience to them; secondly, to hold

in readiness for use at any moment an appeal to a future Council

of the Church.

Of these two methods, the first would naturally seem by far the

more difficult. So it was not in reality. In the letter which

Sarpi presented to the Doge, he devoted less than four lines to

the first and more than fourteen pages to the second. As to the

first remedy, severe as it was and bristling with difficulties,

it was, as he claimed, a simple, natural, straightforward use of

police power. As to the second, the appeal to a future Council

was to the Vatican as a red flag to a bull. The very use of it

involved excommunication. To harden and strengthen the Doge and

Senate in order that they might consider it as an ultimate

possibility, Sarpi was obliged to show from the Scriptures, the

Fathers, the Councils, the early Popes, that the appeal to a

Council was a matter of right. With wonderful breadth of

knowledge and clearness of statement he made his points and

answered objections. To this day, his letter remains a

masterpiece.[1]

[1] For Sarpi's advice to the Doge, see Bianchi Giovini, vol. i.

pp. 216, et seq. The document is given fully in the Lettere di F.

P. S., Firenze, 1863, vol. i. pp. 17, et seq.; also in Machi,

Storia del Consiglio dei Dieci, cap. xxiv., where the bull of

excommunication is also given.

The Republic utterly refused to yield, and now, in 1606, Pope

Paul launched his excommunication and interdict. In meeting them,

the Senate took the course laid down by Sarpi. The papal Nuncio

was notified that the Senate would receive no paper from the

Pope; all ecclesiasties, from the Patriarch down to the lowest

monk, were forbidden, under the penalties of high treason, to

make public or even to receive any paper whatever from the

Vatican; additional guards were placed at the city gates, with

orders to search every wandering friar or other suspicious person

who might, by any possibility, bring in a forbidden missive; a

special patrol was kept, night and day, to prevent any posting of

the forbidden notices on walls or houses; any person receiving or

finding one was to take it immediately to the authorities, under

the severest penalties, and any person found concealing such

documents was to be punished by death.

At first some of the clergy were refractory. The head of the

whole church establishment of Venice, the Patriarch himself, gave

signs of resistance; but the Senate at once silenced him. Sundry

other bishops and high ecclesiastics made a show of opposition;

and they were placed in confinement. One of them seeming

reluctant to conduct the usual church service, the Senate sent an

executioner to erect a gibbet before his door. Another, having

asked that he be allowed to await some intimation from the Holy

Spirit, received answer that the Senate had already received

directions from the Holy Spirit to hang any person resisting

their decree. The three religious orders which had showed most

opposition--Jesuits, Theatins, and Capuchins--were in a

semi-polite manner virtually expelled from the Republic.[2]

[2] For interesting details regarding the departure of the

Jesuits, see Cornet, Paolo V. e la Republica Veneta, pp. 277-279.

Not the least curious among the results of this state of things

was the war of pamphlets. From Rome, Bologna, and other centres

of thought, even from Paris and Frankfort, polemic tractates

rained upon the Republic. The vast majority of their authors were

on the side of the Vatican, and of this majority the leaders were

the two cardinals so eminent in learning and logic, Bellarmine

and Baronius; but, single-handed, Sarpi was, by general consent,

a match for the whole opposing force.[3]

[3] In the library of Cornell University are no less than nine

quartos filled with selected examples of these polemics on both

sides.

Of all the weapons then used, the most effective throughout

Europe was the solemn protest drawn by Sarpi and issued by the

Doge. It was addressed nominally to the Venetian ecclesiastics,

but really to Christendom, and both as to matter and manner it

was Father Paul at his best. It was weighty, lucid, pungent, and

deeply in earnest,--in every part asserting fidelity to the

Church and loyalty to the papacy, but setting completely at

naught the main claim of Pope Paul: the Doge solemnly declaring

himself "a prince who, in temporal matters, recognizes no

superior save the Divine Majesty."

The victory of the friar soon began to be recognized far and

near. Men called him by the name afterward so generally given

him,--the "terribile frate." The Vatican seemed paralyzed. None

of its measures availed, and it was hurt, rather than helped, by

its efforts to pester and annoy Venice at various capitals. At

Rome, it burned Father Paul's books and declared him

excommunicated; it even sought to punish his printer by putting

into the Index not only all works that he had ever printed, but

all that he might ever print. At Vienna, the papal Nuncio thought

to score a point by declaring that he would not attend a certain

religious function in case the Venetian Ambassador should appear;

whereupon the Venetian announced that he had taken physic and

regretted that he could not be present,--whereat all Europe

laughed.

Judicious friends in various European cabinets now urged both

parties to recede or to compromise. France and Spain both

proffered their good offices. The offer of France was finally

accepted, and the French Ambassador was kept running between the

Ducal Palace and the Vatican until people began laughing at him

also. The emissaries of His Holiness begged hard that, at least,

appearances might be saved; that the Republic would undo some of

its measures before the interdict was removed, or at least would

seem to do so, and especially that it would withdraw its refusals

before the Pope withdrew his penalties. All in vain. The

Venetians insisted that they had committed no crime and had

nothing to retract. The Vatican then urged that the Senate should

consent to receive absolution for its resistance to the Pope's

authority. This the Senate steadily refused; it insisted, "Let

His Holiness put things as before, and we will put things as

before; as to his absolution, we do not need it or want it; to

receive it would be to acknowledge that we have been in the

wrong." Even the last poor sop of all was refused: the Senate

would have no great "function" to celebrate the termination of

the interdict; they would not even go to the mass which Cardinal

Joyeuse celebrated on that occasion. The only appearance of

concession which the Republic made was to give up the two

ecclesiastics to the French Ambassador as a matter of courtesy to

the French king; and when this was done, the Ambassador delivered

them to the Pope; but Venice especially reserved all the rights

she had exercised. All the essential demands of the papacy were

refused, and thus was forever ended the papal power of laying an

interdict upon a city or a people. From that incubus,

Christendom, thanks to Father Paul and to Venice, was at last and

forever free.

The Vatican did, indeed, try hard to keep its old claim in being.

A few years after its defeat by Fra Paolo, it endeavored to

reassert in Spain the same authority which had been so humbly

acknowledged there a few years before. It was doubtless felt that

this most pious of all countries, which had previously been so

docile, and which had stood steadily by the Vatican against

Venice in the recent struggle, would again set an example of

submission. Never was there a greater mistake: the Vatican

received from Spanish piety a humiliating refusal.

Next it tried the old weapons against the little government at

Turin. For many generations the House of Savoy had been dutifully

submissive to religious control; nowhere out of Spain had heresy

been treated more cruelly; yet here, too, the Vatican claim was

spurned. But the final humiliation took place some years later

under Urban VIII.,--the same pontiff who wrecked papal

infallibility on Galileo's telescope. He tried to enforce his

will on the state of Lucca, which, in the days of Pope Paul, had

submitted to the Vatican decrees abjectly; but that little

republic now seized the weapons which Sarpi had devised, and

drove the papal forces out of the field: the papal

excommunication was, even by this petty government, annulled in

Venetian fashion and even less respectfully.[1]

[1] The proofs--and from Catholic sources--that it was the Pope

who condemned Galileo's doctrine of the earth's movement about

the sun, and not merely the Congregation of the Index, the

present writer has given in his History of the Warfare of Science

with Theology, vol. i. chap. iii.

Thus the world learned how weak the Vatican hold had become. Even

Pope Paul learned it, and, from being the most strenuous of

modern pontiffs, he became one of the most moderate in everything

save in the enrichment of his family. Thus ended the last serious

effort to coerce a people by an interdict, and so, one might

suppose, would end the work of Father Paul. Not so. There was to

come a second chapter in his biography, more instructive,

perhaps, than the first,--a chapter which has lasted until our

own day. A. D. White.

{February, 1904, number DLVI.} II.

The Venetian Republic showed itself duly grateful to Sarpi. The

Senate offered him splendid presents and entitled him "Theologian

of Venice." The presents he refused, but the title with its duty,

which was mainly to guard the Republic against the encroachments

of the Vatican, he accepted, and his life in the monastery of

Santa Fosca went on quietly, simply, laboriously, as before. The

hatred now felt for him at Rome was unbounded. It corresponded to

the gratitude at Venice. Every one saw his danger, and he well

knew it. Potentates were then wont to send assassins on long

errands, and the arm of the Vatican was especially far-reaching

and merciless. It was the period when Pius V, the Pope whom the

Church afterwards proclaimed a saint, commissioned an assassin to

murder Queen Elizabeth.[1]

[1] This statement formerly led to violent denials by

ultramontane champions; but in 1870 it was made by Lord Acton, a

Roman Catholic, one of the most learned of modern historians, and

when it was angrily denied, he quietly cited the official life of

Pope Pius in the Acta Sanctorum, published by the highest church

authority. This was final; denial ceased, and the statement is no

longer questioned. For other proofs in the line of Lord Acton's

citation, see Bellarmine's Selbstbiographie, cited in a previous

article, pp. 306, et seq.

But there was in Father Paul a trust in Providence akin to

fatalism. Again and again he was warned, and among those who are

said to have advised him to be on his guard against papal

assassins was no less a personage than his greatest controversial

enemy,--Cardinal Bellarmine. It was believed by Sarpi's friends

that Bellarmine's Scotch ideas of duty to humanity prevailed over

his Roman ideas of fealty to the Vatican, and we may rejoice in

the hope that his nobler qualities did really assert themselves

against the casuistry of his brother prelates which sanctioned

assassination.

These warnings were soon seen to be well founded. On a pleasant

evening in October, 1607, a carefully laid trap was sprung.

Returning from his day's work at the Ducal Palace, Father Paul,

just as he had crossed the little bridge of Santa Fosca before

reaching his convent, was met by five assassins. Two of his usual

attendants had been drawn off by the outburst of a fire in the

neighborhood; the other two were old men who proved useless. The

place was well chosen. The descent from the bridge was so narrow

that all three were obliged to march in single file, and just at

this point these ruffians from Rome sprang upon him in the dusk,

separated him from his companions, and gave him, in a moment,

fifteen dagger thrusts, two in his throat and one--a fearful gash

--on the side of his head, and then, convinced that they had

killed him, escaped to their boats, only a few paces distant.

The victim lingered long in the hospital, but his sound

constitution and abstemious habits stood him in good stead. Very

important among the qualities which restored him to health were

his optimism and cheerfulness. An early manifestation of the

first of these was seen when, on regaining consciousness, he

called for the stiletto which had been drawn from the main wound

and, running his fingers along the blade, said cheerily to his

friends, "It is not filed." What this meant, any one knows who

has seen in various European collections the daggers dating from

the "ages of faith" cunningly filed or grooved to hold poison.[1]

[1] There is a remarkable example of a beautiful dagger, grooved

to contain poison, in the imperial collection of arms at Vienna.

As an example of the second of these qualities, we may take his

well-known reply when, to the surgeon dressing the wound made by

the "style" or stiletto,--who spoke of its "extravagance,"

rudeness, and yet ineffectiveness,--Fra Paolo quietly answered

that in these characteristics could be recognized the style of

the Roman Curia.

Meantime the assassins had found their way back to Rome, and were

welcomed with open arms; but it is some comfort to know that

later, when such conscience as there was throughout Italy and

Europe showed intense disgust at the proceeding, the Roman Court

treated them coldly and even severely.

The Republic continued in every way to show Sarpi its sympathy

and gratitude. It made him many splendid offer, which he refused;

but two gifts he accepted. One was full permission to explore the

Venetian archives, and the other was a little doorway, cut

through the garden wall of his monastery, enabling him to reach

his gondola without going through the narrow and tortuous path he

had formerly taken on his daily journey to the public offices.

This humble portal still remains. Beneath few triumphal arches

has there ever passed as great or as noble a conqueror.[2]

[2] The present writer has examined with care the spot where the

attack was made, and found that never was a scoundrelly plot

better conceived or more fiendishly executed. He also visited

what was remaining of the convent in April, 1902, and found the

little door as serviceable as when it was made.

Efforts were also made to cajole him,--to induce him to visit

Rome, with fine promises of recognition and honor, and with

solemn assurances that no harm should come to him; but he was too

wise to yield. Only a few years previously he had seen Giordano

Bruno lured to Rome and burned alive on the Campo dei Fiori. He

had seen his friend and correspondent, Fra Fulgentio Manfredi,

yield to similar allurements and accept a safe conduct to Rome,

which, though it solemnly guaranteed him against harm, proved as

worthless as that of John Huss at the Council of Constance; the

Inquisition torturing him to death on the spot where, six years

earlier, it had burned Bruno. He had seen his friend, the

Archdeacon Ribetti, drawn within the clutch of the Vatican, only

to die of "a most painful colic" immediately after dining with a

confidential chamberlain of the Pope, and, had he lived a few

months longer, he would have seen his friend and confidant,

Antonio de Dominis, Archbishop of Spalato, to whom he had

entrusted a copy of his most important work, enticed to Rome and

put to death by the Inquisition. Though the Vatican exercised a

strong fascination over its enemies, against Father Paul it was

powerless; he never yielded to it, but kept the even tenor of his

way.[3]

[3] A copy of Manfredi's "safe conduct" is given by Castellani,

Lettere Inedite di F. P. S., p. 12, note. Nothing could be more

explicit.

In the dispatches which now passed, comedy was mingled with

tragedy. Very unctuous was the expression by His Holiness of his

apprehensions regarding "dangers to the salvation" and of his

"fears for the souls" of the Venetian Senators, if they persisted

in asserting their own control of their own state. Hardly less

touching were the fears expressed by the good Oratorian, Cardinal

Baronius, that "a judgment might be brought upon the Republic" if

it declined to let the Vatican have its way. But these

expressions were not likely to prevail with men who had dealt

with Machiavelli.

Uncompromising as ever, Father Paul continued to write letters

and publish treatises which clenched more and more firmly into

the mind of Venice and of Europe the political doctrine of which

he was the apostle,--the doctrine that the State is rightfully

independent of the Church,--and throughout the Christian world he

was recognized as victor.

Nothing could exceed the bitterness of the attacks upon him,

though some of them, at this day, provoke a smile. While efforts

were made to discredit him among scholars by spurious writings or

by interpolations in genuine writings, efforts equally ingenious

were made to arouse popular hostility. One of these was a

painting which represented him writhing amid the flames of hell,

with a legend stating, as a reason for his punishment, that he

had opposed the Holy Father.

Now it was indeed, in the midst of ferocious attacks upon his

reputation and cunning attempts upon his life, that he entered a

new and most effective period of activity. For years, as the

adviser of Venice, he had studied, both as a historian and as a

statesman, the greatest questions which concerned his country,

and especially those which related to the persistent efforts of

the Vatican to encroach upon Venetian self-government. The

results of these studies he had embodied in reports which had

shaped the course of the Republic; and now, his learning and

powers of thought being brought to bear upon the policy of Europe

in general, as affected by similar papal encroachments, he began

publishing a series of treatises, which at once attracted general

attention.[1]

[1] For the extent to which these attacks were carried, see the

large number in the Sarpi collection at the Cornell University

Library, especially volume ix.

First of these, in 1608, came his work on the Interdict. Clearly

and concisely it revealed the nature of the recent struggle, the

baselessness of the Vatican claims, and the solidarity of

interest between Venice and all other European states regarding

the question therein settled. This work of his as a historian

clenched his work as a statesman; from that day forward no nation

has even been seriously threatened with an interdict.

Subsidiary works followed rapidly from his pen, strengthening the

civil power against the clerical; but in 1610 came a treatise,

which marked an epoch,--his History of Ecclesiastical

Benefices.[2] In this he dealt with a problem which had become

very serious, not only in Venice, but in every European state,

showed the process by which vast treasures had been taken from

the control of the civil power and heaped up for ecclesiastical

pomp and intrigue, pointed out special wrongs done by the system

to the Church as well as the State, and advocated a reform which

should restore this wealth to better uses. His arguments spread

widely and sank deep, not only in Italy, but throughout Europe,

and the nineteenth century has seen them applied effectively in

every European country within the Roman obedience.

[2] The old English translation of this book, published in 1736

at Westminster, is by no means a very rare book, and it affords

the general reader perhaps the most accessible means of

understanding Fra Paolo's simplicity, thoroughness, and vigor.

In 1611 he published his work on the Inquisition at Venice,

presenting historical arguments against the uses which

ecclesiasticism, under papal guidance, had made of that tribunal.

These arguments spread far, and developed throughout Europe those

views of the Inquisition which finally led to its destruction.

Minor treatises followed, dealing with state questions arising

between the Vatican and Venice, each treatise--thoroughly well

reasoned and convincing--having a strong effect on the discussion

of similar public questions in every other European nation.

In 1613 came two books of a high order, each marking an epoch.

The first of these was upon the Right of Sanctuary, and in it

Sarpi led the way, which all modern states have followed, out of

the old, vicious system of sanctioning crime by sheltering

criminals. The cogency of his argument and the value of its

application gained for him an especial tribute by the best

authority on such questions whom Europe had seen,--Hugo Grotius.

Closely connected with this work was that upon the Immunity of

the Clergy. Both this and the previous work were in the same

order of ideas, and the second fastened into the European mind

the reasons why no state can depend upon the Church for the

punishment of clerical criminals. His argument was a triumphant

vindication of Venice in her struggle with Paul V on this point;

but it was more than that. It became the practical guide of all

modern states. Its arguments dissipated the last efforts

throughout Europe to make a distinction, in criminal matters,

between the priestly caste and the world in general.

Among lesser treatises which followed is one which has done much

to shape modern policy regarding public instruction. This was his

book upon the Education given by the Jesuits. One idea which it

enforced sank deep into the minds of all thoughtful men,--his

statement that Jesuit maxims develop "sons disobedient to their

parents, citizens unfaithful to their country, and subjects

undutiful to their sovereign." Jesuit education has indeed been

maintained, and evidences of it may be seen in various European

countries. The traveler in Italy constantly sees in the larger

Italian towns long lines of young men and boys, sallow, thin, and

listless, walking two and two, with priests at each end of the

coffle. These are students taking their exercise, and an American

or Englishman marvels as he remembers the playing fields of his

own country. Youth are thus brought up as milksops, to be

graduated as scape-graces. The strong men who control public

affairs, who lead men and originate measures in the open, are not

bred in Jesuit forcing-houses. Even the Jesuits themselves have

acknowledged this, and perhaps the strongest of all arguments

supplementary to those given by Father Paul were uttered by Padre

Curci, eminent in his day as a Jesuit gladiator, but who realized

finally the impossibility of accomplishing great things with men

moulded by Jesuit methods.

All these works took strong hold upon European thought. Leading

men in all parts of Europe recognized Sarpi as both a great

statesman and a great historian. Among his English friends were

such men as Lord Bacon and Sir Henry Wotton; and his praises have

been sounded by Grotius, by Gibbon, by Hallam, and by Macaulay.

Strong, lucid, these works of Father Paul have always been

especially attractive to those who rejoice in the leadership of a

master mind.

But in 1619 came the most important of all,--a service to

humanity hardly less striking than that which he had rendered in

his battle against the Interdict,--his history of the Council of

Trent.

His close relations to so many of the foremost men of his day and

his long study in public archives and private libraries bore

fruit in this work, which takes rank among the few great,

enduring historical treatises of the world. Throughout, it is

vigorous and witty, but at the same time profound; everywhere it

bears evidences of truthfulness and is pervaded by sobriety of

judgment. Its pictures of the efforts or threats by

representatives of various great powers to break away from the

papacy and establish national churches; its presentation of the

arguments of anti-papal orators on one side and of Laynez and his

satellites on the other; its display of acts and revelations of

pretexts; its penetration into the whole network of intrigue, and

its thorough discussion of underlying principles,--all are

masterly.

Though the name of the author was concealed in an anagram, the

book was felt, by the Vatican party, to be a blow which only one

man could have dealt, and the worst blow which the party had

received since its author had defeated the Interdict at Venice.

Efforts were made, by outcries and calumnies, to discredit the

work, and they have been continued from that day to this, but in

vain. That there must be some gaps and many imperfections in it

is certain; but its general character is beyond the reach of

ultramontane weapons. The blow was felt to be so heavy that the

Jesuit Pallavicini was empowered to write a history of the

Council to counterbalance it, and his work was well done; but

Ranke, the most unprejudiced of judges, comparing the two,

assigns the palm to Father Paul. His book was immediately spread

throughout Europe; but of all the translations, perhaps the most

noteworthy was the English. Sarpi had entrusted a copy of the

original to his friend, Antonio de Dominis, Archbishop of

Spalato, and he, having taken refuge in England, had it

translated there, the authorship being ascribed on the title-page

to "Pietro Soave Polano." This English translation was, in vigor

and pith, worthy of the original. In it can be discerned, as

clearly as in the original, that atmosphere of intrigue and

brutal assertion of power by which the Roman Curia, after packing

the Council with petty Italian bishops, bade defiance to the

Catholic world. This translation, more than all else, has enabled

the English-speaking peoples to understand what was meant by the

Italian historian when he said that Father Paul "taught the world

how the Holy Spirit guides the Great Councils of the Church." It

remains cogent down to this day; after reading it one feels that

such guidance might equally be claimed for Tammany Hall.

Although Father Paul never acknowledged the authorship of the

history of the Council of Trent, and although his original copy,

prepared for the press, with his latest corrections, still

remains buried in the archives at Venice, the whole world knew

that he alone could have written it.

But during all these years, while elaborating opinions on the

weightiest matters of state for the Venetian Senate, and sending

out this series of books which so powerfully influenced the

attitude of his own and after generations toward the Vatican, he

was working with great effect in yet another field. With the

possible exception of Voltaire, he was the most vigorous and

influential letter-writer during the three hundred years which

separated Erasmus from Thomas Jefferson. Voltaire certainly

spread his work over a larger field, lighted it with more wit,

and gained by it more brilliant victories; but as regards

accurate historical knowledge, close acquaintance with statesmen,

familiarity with the best and worst which statesmen could do,

sober judgment and cogent argument, the great Venetian was his

superior. Curiously enough, Sarpi resembles the American

statesman more closely than either of the Europeans. Both he and

Jefferson had the intense practical interest of statesmen, not

only in the welfare of their own countries, but in all the

political and religious problems of their times. Both were keenly

alive to progress in the physical sciences, wherever made. Both

were wont to throw a light veil of humor over very serious

discussions. Both could use, with great effect, curt, caustic

description: Jefferson's letter to Governor Langdon satirizing

the crowned heads of Europe, as he had seen them, has a worthy

pendant in Fra Paolo's pictures of sundry representatives of the

Vatican. In both these writers was a deep earnestness which, at

times, showed itself in prophetic utterances. The amazing

prophecy of Jefferson against American slavery, beginning with

the words, "I tremble when I remember that God is just," which,

in the light of our civil war, seems divinely inspired, is

paralleled by some of Sarpi's utterances against the unmoral

tendencies of Jesuitism and Ultramontanism; and these too seem

divinely inspired as one reads them in the light of what has

happened since in Spain, in Sicily, in Naples, in Poland, in

Ireland, and in sundry South American republics.

The range of Sarpi's friendly relations was amazing. They

embraced statesmen, churchmen, scholars, scientific

investigators, diplomatists in every part of Europe, and among

these Galileo and Lord Bacon, Grotius and Mornay, Salmasius and

Casaubon, De Thou and Sir Henry Wotton, Bishop Bedell and

Vossius, with a great number of others of nearly equal rank.

Unfortunately the greater part of his correspondence has

perished. In the two small volumes collected by Polidori, and in

the small additional volume of letters to Simon Contarini,

Venetian Ambassador at Rome, unearthed a few years since in the

Venetian archives by Castellani, we have all that is known. It is

but a small fraction of his epistolary work, but it enables us to

form a clear opinion. The letters are well worthy of the man who

wrote the history of the Council of Trent and the protest of

Venice against the Interdict.

It is true that there has been derived from these letters, by his

open enemies on one side and his defenders of a rather sickly

conscientious sort on the other, one charge against him: this is

based on his famous declaration, "I utter falsehood never, but

the truth not to every one." ("La falsita non dico mai mai, ma la

verita non a ogniuno.")[1] Considering his vast responsibilities

as a statesman and the terrible dangers which beset him as a

theologian; that in the first of these capacities the least

misstep might wreck the great cause which he supported, and that

in the second such a misstep might easily bring him to the

torture chamber and the stake, normally healthful minds will

doubtless agree that the criticism upon these words is more

Pharisaic than wholesome.

[1] For this famous utterance, see notes of conversations given

by Christoph, Burggraf von Dohna, in July, 1608, in Briefe und

Acten zur Geschichte des Dreissigjahrigen Krieges, Munchen, 1874,

p. 79.

Sarpi was now spoken of, more than ever, both among friends and

foes, as the "terribile frate." Terrible to the main enemies of

Venice he indeed was, and the machinations of his opponents grew

more and more serious. Efforts to assassinate him, to poison him,

to discredit him, to lure him to Rome, or at least within reach

of the Inquisition, became almost frantic; but all in vain. He

still continued his quiet life at the monastery of Santa Fosca,

publishing from time to time discussions of questions important

for Venice and for Europe, working steadily in the public service

until his last hours. In spite of his excommunication and of his

friendships with many of the most earnest Protestants of Europe,

he remained a son of the church in which he was born. His life

was shaped in accordance with its general precepts, and every day

he heard mass. So his career quietly ran on until, in 1623, he

met death calmly, without fear, in full reliance upon the divine

justice and mercy. His last words were a prayer for Venice.

He had fought the good fight. He had won it for Venice and for

humanity. For all this, the Republic had, in his later years,

tried to show her gratitude, and he had quietly and firmly

refused the main gifts proposed to him. But now came a new

outburst of grateful feeling. The Republic sent notice of his

death to other powers of Europe through its Ambassadors in the

terms usual at the death of royal personages; in every way, it

showed its appreciation of his character and services, and it

crowned all by voting him a public monument.

Hardly was the decree known, when the Vatican authorities sent

notice that, should any monument be erected to Sarpi, they would

anew and publicly declare him excommunicate as a heretic. At

this, the Venetian Senate hesitated, waited, delayed. Whenever

afterwards the idea of carrying out the decree for the monument

was revived, there set in a storm of opposition from Rome. Hatred

of the terrible friar's memory seemed to grow more and more

bitter. Even rest in the grave was denied him. The church where

he was buried having been demolished, the question arose as to

the disposition of his bones. To bury them in sacred ground

outside the old convent would arouse a storm of ecclesiastical

hostility, with the certainty of their dispersion and

desecration; it seemed impossible to secure them from priestly

hatred: therefore it was that his friends took them from place to

place, sometimes concealing them in the wall of a church here,

sometimes beneath the pavement of a church there, and for a time

keeping them in a simple wooden box at the Ducal Library. The

place where his remains rested became, to most Venetians,

unknown. All that remained to remind the world of his work was

his portrait in the Ducal Library, showing the great gash made by

the Vatican assassins.

Time went on, and generations came which seemed to forget him.

Still worse, generation after generation came, carefully trained

by clerical teachers to misunderstand and hate him. But these

teachers went too far; for, in 1771, nearly one hundred and fifty

years after his death, the monk Vaerini gathered together, in a

pretended biography, all the scurrilities which could be

imagined, and endeavored to bury the memory of the great patriot

beneath them. This was too much. The old Venetian spirit, which

had so long lain dormant, now asserted itself: Vaerini was

imprisoned and his book suppressed.

A quarter of a century later the Republic fell under the rule of

Austria, and Austria's most time-honored agency in keeping down

subject populations has always been the priesthood. Again Father

Paul's memory was virtually proscribed, and in 1803 another

desperate attempt was made to cover him with infamy. In that year

appeared a book entitled The Secret History of the Life of Fra

Paolo Sarpi, and it contained not only his pretended biography,

but what claimed to be Sarpi's own letters and other documents

showing him to be an adept in scoundrelism and hypocrisy. Its

editor was the archpriest Ferrara of Mantua; but on the

title-page appeared, as the name of its author, Fontanini,

Archbishop of Ancira, a greatly respected prelate who had died

nearly seventy years before, and there was also stamped, not only

upon the preliminary, but upon the final page of the work, the

approval of the Austrian government. To this was added a pious

motto from St. Augustine, and the approval of Pius VII was

distinctly implied, since the work was never placed upon the

Index, and could not have been published at Venice, stamped as it

was and registered with the privileges of the University, without

the consent of the Vatican.

The memory of Father Paul seemed likely now to be overwhelmed.

There was no longer a Republic of Venice to guard the noble

traditions of his life and service. The book was recommended and

spread far and wide by preachers and confessors.

But at last came a day of judgment. The director of the Venetian

archives discovered and had the courage to announce that the work

was a pious fraud of the vilest type; that it was never written

by Fontanini, but that it was simply made up out of the old

scurrilous work of Vaerini, suppressed over thirty years before.

As to the correspondence served up as supplementary to the

biography, it was concocted from letters already published, with

the addition of Jesuitical interpolations and of forgeries.[1]

Now came the inevitable reaction, and with it the inevitable

increase of hatred for Austrian rule and the inevitable question,

how, if the Pope is the infallible teacher of the world in all

matters pertaining to faith and morals, could he virtually

approve this book, and why did he not, by virtue of his divine

inerrancy, detect the fraud and place its condemnation upon the

Index. The only lasting effect of the book, then, was to revive

the memory of Father Paul's great deeds and to arouse Venetian

pride in them. The fearful scar on his face in the portrait spoke

more eloquently than ever, and so it was that, early in the

nineteenth century, many men of influence joined in proposing a

suitable and final interment for the poor bones, which had seven

times been buried and reburied, and which had so long been kept

in the sordid box at the Ducal Library. The one fitting place of

burial was the cemetery of San Michele. To that beautiful island,

so near the heart of Venice, had, for many years, been borne the

remains of leading Venetians. There, too, in more recent days,

have been laid to rest many of other lands widely respected and

beloved.

[1] For a full and fair statement of the researches which exposed

this pious fraud, see Castellani, Prefect of the Library of St.

Mark, preface to his Lettere Inedite di F. P. S., p. xvii. For

methods used in interpolating or modifying passages in Sarpi's

writings, see Bianchi Giovini, Biografia di Sarpi, Zurigo, 1847,

vol. ii. pp. 135, et seq.

But the same persistent hatred which, in our own day, grudged and

delayed due honors at the tombs of Copernicus and Galileo among

Catholics, and of Humboldt among Protestants, was still bitter

against the great Venetian scholar and statesman. It could not be

forgotten that he had wrested from the Vatican the most terrible

of its weapons. But patriotic pride was strong, and finally a

compromise was made: it was arranged that Sarpi should be buried

and honored at his burial as an eminent man of science, and that

no word should be spoken of his main services to the Republic and

to the world. On this condition he was buried with simple honors.

Soon, however, began another chapter of hatred. There came a pope

who added personal to official hostility. Gregory XVI, who in his

earlier days had been abbot of the monastery of San Michele, was

indignant that the friar who had thwarted the papacy should lie

buried in the convent which he himself had formerly ruled, and

this feeling took shape, first, in violent speeches at Rome, and

next, in brutal acts at Venice. The monks broke and removed the

simple stone placed over the remains of Father Paul, and when it

was replaced, they persisted in defacing and breaking it, and

were only prevented from dragging out his bones, dishonoring them

and casting them into the lagoon, by the weight of the massive,

strong, well-anchored sarcophagus, which the wise foresight of

his admirers had provided for them. At three different visits to

Venice, the present writer sought the spot where they were laid,

and in vain. At the second of these visits, he found the

Patriarch of Venice, under whose rule various outrages upon

Sarpi's memory had been perpetrated, pontificating gorgeously

about the Grand Piazza; but at his next visit there had come a

change. The monks had disappeared. Their insults to the

illustrious dead had been stopped by laws which expelled them

from their convent, and there, little removed from each other in

the vestibule and aisle of the great church, were the tombs of

Father Paul and of the late Patriarch side by side; the great

patriot's simple gravestone was now allowed to rest unbroken.

Better even than this was the reaction provoked by these

outbursts of ecclesiastical hatred. It was felt, in Venice,

throughout Italy, and indeed throughout the world, that the old

decree for a monument should now be made good. The first steps

were hesitating. First, a bust of Father Paul was placed among

those of great Venetians in the court of the Ducal Palace; but

the inscription upon it was timid and double-tongued. Another

bust was placed on the Pincian Hill at Rome, among those of the

most renowned sons of Italy. This was not enough: a suitable

monument must be erected. Yet it was delayed, timid men

deprecating the hostility of the Roman Court. At last, under the

new Italian monarchy, the patriotic movement became irresistible,

and the same impulse which erected the splendid statue to

Giordano Bruno on the Piazza dei Fiori at Rome,--on the very spot

where he was burned,--and which adorned it with the medallions of

eight other martyrs to ecclesiastical hatred, erected in 1892,

two hundred and seventy years after it had been decreed, a

statue, hardly less imposing, to Paolo Sarpi, on the Piazza Santa

Fosca at Venice, where he had been left for dead by the Vatican

assassins. There it stands, noble and serene,--a monument of

patriotism and right reason, a worthy tribute to one who, among

intellectual prostitutes and solemnly constituted impostors,

stood forth as a true man, the greatest of his time,--one of the

greatest of all times,--an honor to Venice, to Italy, and to

humanity. Andrew D. White.

*************************************************************

Then came the death of the Empress Frederick. Even during her

tragic struggle with Bismarck, and the unpopularity which beset

her during my former official term at Berlin, she had been kind

to me and mine. At my presentation to her in those days, at

Potsdam, when she stood by the side of her husband, afterward the

most beloved of emperors since Marcus Aurelius, she evidently

exerted herself to make the interview pleasant to me. She talked

of American art and the Colorado pictures of Moran, which she had

seen and admired; of German art and the Madonna painted by Knaus

for the Russian Empress, which Miss Wolfe had given the

Metropolitan Museum at New York; and in reply to my

congratulations upon a recent successful public speech of her

eldest son, a student at Bonn, she had dwelt, in a motherly way,

upon the difficulties which environ a future sovereign at a great

university. In more recent days, and especially during the years

before her death, she had been, at her table in Berlin and at her

castle of Kronberg, especially courteous. There comes back to me

pleasantly a kindly retort of hers. I had spoken to her of a

portrait of George III which had interested me at the old castle

of Homburg nearly forty years before. It had been sent to his

daughter, the Landgravine of Hesse-Homburg, who had evidently

wished to see her father's face as it had really become; for it

represented the King, not in the gold-laced uniform, not in the

trim wig not in the jauntily tied queue of his official portraits

and statues, but as he was: in confinement, wretched and

demented; in a slouching gown, with a face sad beyond expression;

his long, white hair falling about it and over it; of all

portraits in the world, save that, at Florence, of Charles V in

his old age, the saddest. So, the conversation drifting upon

George III and upon the old feeling between the United States and

Great Britain, now so happily changed, I happened to say, "It is

a remembrance of mine, now hard to realize, that I was brought up

to ABHOR the memory of George III." At this she smiled and

answered, "That was very unjust; for I was brought up to ADORE

the memory of Washington." Then she spoke at length regarding the

feeling of her father and mother toward the United States during

our Civil War, saying that again and again she had heard her

father argue to her mother, Queen Victoria, for the Union and

against slavery. She discussed current matters of world politics

with the strength of a statesman; yet nothing could be more

womanly in the highest sense. On my saying that I hoped to see

the day when Germany, Great Britain, and the United States would

stand together in guarding the peace of the world, she threw up

her hands and replied, "Heaven grant it; but you forget Japan."

The funeral at Potsdam dwells in my mind as worthy of her. There

were, indeed, pomp and splendor, but subdued, as was befitting;

and while the foreign representatives stood beside her coffin,

the Emperor spoke to me, very simply and kindly, of his sorrow

and of mine. Then, to the sound of funeral music and muffled

church bells, he, with the King of Great Britain and members of

their immediate family just behind the funeral car, the

ambassadors accompanying them, and a long procession following,

walked slowly along the broad avenue through that beautiful

forest, until, in the Church of Peace, she was laid by the side

of her husband, Emperor Frederick the Noble.

CHAPTER XLIII

BERLIN, YALE, OXFORD, AND ST. ANDREWS--1901-1903

Darkest of all hours during my embassy was that which brought

news of the assassination of President McKinley. It was on the

very day after his great speech at Buffalo had gained for him the

admiration and good will of the world. Then came a week of

anxiety--of hope alternating with fear; I not hopeful: for there

came back to me memories of President Garfield's assassination

during my former official stay in Berlin, and of our hope against

hope during his struggle for life: all brought to naught. Late in

the evening of September 14 came news of the President's

death--opening a new depth of sadness; for I had come not merely

to revere him as a patriot and admire him as a statesman, but to

love him as a man. Few days have seemed more overcast than that

Sunday when, at the little American chapel in Berlin, our colony

held a simple service of mourning, the imperial minister of

foreign affairs and other representatives of the government

having quietly come to us. The feeling of the German people--awe,

sadness, and even sympathy--was real. Formerly they had disliked

and distrusted the President as the author of the protective

policy which had cost their industries so dear; but now, after

his declaration favoring reciprocity,--with his full recognition

of the brotherhood of nations,--and in view of this calamity, so

sudden, so distressing, there had come a revulsion of feeling.

To see one whom I so honored, and who had formerly been so

greatly misrepresented, at last recognized as a great and true

man was, at least, a solace.

At this period came the culmination of a curious episode in my

official career. During the war in China the Chinese minister at

Berlin, Lu-Hai-Houan, feeling himself cut off from relations with

the government to which he was accredited, and, indeed, with all

the other powers of Europe, had come at various times to me, and

with him, fortunately, came his embassy counselor, Dr. Kreyer,

whom I had previously known at Berlin and St. Petersburg as a

thoughtful man, deeply anxious for the welfare of China, and

appreciative of the United States, where he had received his

education. The minister was a kindly old mandarin of high rank,

genial, gentle, evidently struggling hard against the depression

caused by the misfortunes of his country, and seeking some little

light, if, perchance, any was to be obtained. In his visits to

me, and at my return visits to him, the whole condition of things

in China was freely and fully discussed, and never have I exerted

myself more to give useful advice. First, I insisted upon the

necessity of amends for the fearful wrong done by China to other

nations, and then presented my view of the best way of developing

in his country a civilization strong enough to resist hostile

forces, exterior and interior. As to dealings with the Christian

missionaries, against whom he showed no fanatical spirit, but

who, as he thought, had misunderstood China and done much harm, I

sought to show him that the presumption was in their favor, but

that if the Chinese Government ultimately came to the decision

that their stay in China was incompatible with the safety of the

nation, its course was simple: that on no account was it to kill

or injure any of them or of their converts; that while, in my

view, it would be wise to arrange for their continuance in China

under proper regulation, still, that if they must be expelled, it

should be done in the most kindly and considerate way, and with

due indemnity for any losses to which they might be subjected. Of

course, there was no denying that, under the simplest principles

of international law, China has the right at any moment to shut

its doors against, or to expel, any people whatever whom it may

consider dangerous or injurious--this power being constantly

exercised by all the other nations of the earth, and by none more

than by the American Government, as so many Chinese seeking

entrance to our ports have discovered; but again and again I

warned him that this, if it were ever done at all, must be done

without harshness and with proper indemnities, and that any

return to the cruelties of the past would probably end in the

dividing up of maritime China among the great powers of the

world. As to the building up of the nation, I laid stress on the

establishment of institutions for technical instruction; and took

pains to call his attention to what had been done in the United

States and by various European governments in this respect. He

seemed favorably impressed by this, but dwelt on what he

considered the fanaticism of sundry Chinese supporters of

technical education against the old Chinese classical

instruction. Here I suggested to him a system which might save

what was good in the old mode of instruction: namely, the

continuance of the best of the old classical training, but giving

also high rank to modern studies.

We also talked over the beginning of a better development of the

Chinese army and navy, of better systems of taxation, and of the

nations from which good examples and competent instruction might

be drawn in these various fields. Curious was his suggestion of a

possible amalgamation of Chinese moral views with the religious

creeds of the western world. He observed that Christianity seemed

to be weak, mainly, on the moral side, and he suggested, at some

length, a combination of the Christian religion with the

Confucian morality. Interesting was it to hear him, as a

Confucian, dwell on the services which might thus be rendered to

civilization. There was a simple, kindly shrewdness in the man,

and a personal dignity which was proof against the terrible

misfortunes which had beset his country. Again and again he

visited me, always wishing to discuss some new phase of the

questions at issue. I could only hope that, as he was about to

return to China, some of the ideas brought out in our

conversations might prove fruitful. One result of the relation

thus formed was that when Prince Chun, the brother of the Emperor

of China, came to make apology before the throne of the Emperor

William, he called upon me. Unfortunately I was out, but,

returning his visit, I met him, and, what was more to the

purpose, the dignitaries of his suite, some of whom interested me

much; and I was glad of a chance, through them, to impress some

of the ideas brought out in my previous conversations with the

minister. I cannot say that I indulged in any strong hopes as

regards the prince himself; but, noting the counselors who

surrounded him, and their handling of the questions at issue, I

formed more hope for the conservation of China as a great and

beneficent power than I had ever had before.

To this succeeded an episode of a very different sort. For some

time Mr. Andrew Carnegie had done me the honor to listen to

advice of mine regarding some of his intended benefactions in

Scotland, the United States, and elsewhere. I saw and felt the

great possibilities for good involved when so noble a heart, so

shrewd a head, so generous a hand had command of one of the most

colossal fortunes ever at the disposal of a human being; and the

bright purposes and plans revealed in his letters shone through

the clouds of that mournful summer. So it was that, on my journey

to America, made necessary by the sudden death of my son, I

accepted Mr. Carnegie's invitation to visit him at his castle of

Skibo in the extreme north of Scotland. Very striking, during the

two days' journey from London to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to

Bonar, were the evidences of mourning for President McKinley in

every city, village, and hamlet. It seemed natural that, in the

large towns and on great public buildings, flags at half-mast and

in mourning should show a sense of the calamity which had

befallen a sister nation; but what appealed to me most were the

draped and half-masted flags on the towers of the little country

churches and cottages. Never before in the history of any two

countries had such evidences of brotherly feeling been shown.

Thank God! brotherly feeling had conquered demagogism.

The visit to Mr. Carnegie helped to give a new current to my

thoughts. The attractions of his wonderful domain forty thousand

acres, with every variety of scenery,--ocean, forest, moor, and

mountain,--the household with its quaint Scotch usages--the piper

in full tartan solemnly going his rounds at dawn, and the music

of the organ swelling, morning and evening, through the castle

from the great hall--all helped to give me new strength. There

was also good company: Frederic Harrison, thoughtful and

brilliant, whom I had before known only by his books and a brief

correspondence; Archdeacon Sinclair of London, worthy, by his

scholarly accomplishments, of his descent from the friend of

Washington; and others who did much to aid our hosts in making

life at the castle beautiful. Going thence to America, I found

time to cooperate with my old friend, President Gilman, in

securing data for Mr. Carnegie, especially at Washington, in view

of his plan of a national institution for the higher scientific

research.

It was a sad home-coming; but these occupations and especially a

visit to New Haven at the bicentennial celebration of Yale aided

to cheer me. This last was indeed a noteworthy commemoration.

There had come to me, in connection with it, perhaps the greatest

honor of my life: an invitation to deliver one of the main

addresses; but it had been received at the time of my deepest

depression, and I had declined it, but with no less gratitude

that the authorities of my Alma Mater had thought me worthy of

that service. In so doing, I sacrificed much; for there was one

subject which, under other circumstances, I would gladly have

developed at such a time and before such an audience. But as I

listened to the admirable address given by my old college mate,

Mr. Justice Brewer, when the honors of the university were

conferred upon the President, the Secretary of State, and so many

distinguished representatives from all parts of the world, it was

a satisfaction to me, after all, that I could enjoy it quietly,

with no sense of responsibility, and could, indeed, rest and be

thankful.

As to my own personal history, there came at this time an event

which could not but please me: the Royal Academy of Sciences at

Berlin chose me as one of its foreign honorary members. It was a

tribute of the sort for which I cared most, especially because it

brought me into closer relations with leaders in science and

literature whom I had so long admired.

To finish the chronicle of that period, I may add that, on my

return from America, being invited to Potsdam for the purpose, I

gave the Emperor the very hearty message which the President had

sent him, and that, during this interview and the family dinner

which followed it, he spoke most appreciatively and intelligently

of the President, of the recent victory for good government in

the city of New York, of the skill shown by Americans in great

works of public utility, and especially of the remarkable

advances in the development of our navy.

One part of this conversation had a lighter cast. At the close of

that portion of the communication from the President which

referred to various public affairs came a characteristic touch in

the shape of an invitation to hunt in the Rocky Mountain regions:

it was the simple message of one healthy, hearty, vigorous hunter

to another, and was to the effect that the President especially

envied the Emperor for having shot a whale, but that if his

Majesty would come to America he should have the best possible

opportunity to add to his trophies a Rocky Mountain lion, and

that he would thus be the first monarch to kill a lion since

Tiglath-Pileser, whose exploit is shown on the old monuments of

Assyria. The hearty way in which the message was received showed

that it would have been gladly accepted had that been possible.

On New Year's day of 1902 began the sixth year of my official

stay at Berlin. At his reception of the ambassadors the Emperor

was very cordial, spoke most heartily regarding President

Roosevelt, and asked me to forward his request that the

President's daughter might be allowed to christen the imperial

yacht then building in America. In due time this request was

granted, and as the special representative of the sovereign at

its launching he named his brother--Prince Henry. No man in the

empire could have been more fitly chosen. His career as chief

admiral of the German navy had prepared him to profit by such a

journey, and his winning manners assured him a hearty welcome.

My more serious duties were now relieved by sundry festivities,

and of these was a dinner on the night of the prince's departure

from Berlin, given to the American Embassy by the Emperor, who

justly hoped and believed that the proposed expedition would

strengthen good feeling between the two countries. After dinner

we all sat in the smoking-room of the old Schloss until midnight,

and various pleasant features of the conversation dwell in my

memory--particularly the Emperor's discussions of Mark Twain and

other American humorists; but perhaps the most curious was his

amusement over a cutting from an American newspaper--a printed

recipe for an American concoction known as "Hohenzollern punch,"

said to be in readiness for the prince on his arrival. The number

of intoxicants, and the ingenuity of their combination, as his

Majesty read the list aloud, were amazing; it was a terrific

brew, which only a very tough seaman could expect to survive.

But as we all took leave of the prince at the station afterward,

there were in my heart and mind serious misgivings. I knew well

that, though the great mass of the American people were sure to

give him a hearty welcome, there were scattered along his route

many fanatics, and, most virulent of all, those who had just then

been angered by the doings of sundry Prussian underlings in

Poland. I must confess to uneasiness during his whole stay in

America, and among the bright days of my life was that on which

the news came that he was on board a German liner and on his

return.

One feature of that evening is perhaps more worthy of record.

After the departure of the prince, the Emperor's conversation

took a more serious turn, and as we walked toward his carriage he

said, "My brother's mission has no political character whatever,

save in one contingency: If the efforts made in certain parts of

Europe to show that the German Government sought to bring about a

European combination against the United States during your

Spanish war are persisted in, I have authorized him to lay before

the President certain papers which will put that slander at rest

forever." As it turned out, there was little need of this, since

the course both of the Emperor and his government was otherwise

amply vindicated.

The main matter of public business during the first months of the

year was the Russian occupation of Manchuria, regarding which our

government took a very earnest part, instructing me to press the

matter upon the attention of the German Government, and to follow

it up with especial care. Besides this, it was my duty to urge a

fitting representation of Germany at the approaching St. Louis

Exposition. Regarding this there were difficulties. The Germans

very generally avowed themselves exposition-weary

(ausstellungsmude); and no wonder, for exposition had succeeded

exposition, now in this country, now in that, and then in various

American cities, each anxious to outdo the other, until all

foreign governments were well-nigh tired out. But the St. Louis

Exposition encountered an adverse feeling much more serious than

any caused by fatigue,--the American system of high protection

having led the Germans to distrust all our expositions, whether

at New Orleans, Chicago, Buffalo, or St. Louis, and to feel that

there was really nothing in these for Germany; that, in fact,

German manufacturing interests would be better served by avoiding

them than by taking part in them. Still, by earnest presentation

of the matter at the Foreign Office and to the Emperor, I was

able to secure a promise that German art should be well

represented.

In March, a lull having come in public business as well as in

social duty, I started on my usual excursion to Italy, its most

interesting feature being my sixth stay in Venice. Ten days in

that fascinating city were almost entirely devoted to increasing

my knowledge of Fra Paolo Sarpi. Various previous visits had

familiarized me with the main events in his wonderful career; but

I now met with two pieces of especially good fortune. First, I

made the acquaintance of the Rev. Dr. Alexander Robertson, an

ardent admirer of Father Paul, and author of an excellent

biography of him; and, next, I was able to add to my own material

a mass of rare books and manuscripts relating to the great

Venetian. Most interesting was my visit, in company with Dr.

Robertson, to the remains of Father Paul's old monastery, where

we found what no one, up to our time, seems to have

discovered--the little door which the Venetian Senate caused to

be made in the walls of the monastery garden, at Father Paul's

request, in order that he might reach his gondola at once, and

not be again exposed to assassins like those sent by Pope Paul V,

who had attacked him and left him, to all appearances dead, in

the little street near the monastery.

Returning to Berlin, the usual round of duty was resumed; but

there seems nothing worthy to be chronicled, save possibly the

visit of the Shah of Persia and the Crown Prince of Siam. Both

were seen in all their glory at the gala opera given in their

honor; but the Persian ruler appeared to little advantage, for he

was obliged to retire before the close of the representation. He

was evidently prematurely old and worn out. The feature of this

social function which especially dwells in my memory was a very

interesting talk with the Emperor regarding the kindness shown

his brother by the American people, at the close of which he

presented me to his guest, the Crown Princess of Saxony. She was

especially kindly and pleasing, discussing various topics with

heartiness and simplicity; and it was a vast surprise to me when,

a few months later, she became the heroine of perhaps the most

astonishing escapade in the modern history of royalty.

As to matters of business, there came one which especially

rejoiced me. Mr. Carnegie having established the institution for

research which bears his name at Washington, with an endowment of

ten million dollars, and named me among the trustees, my old

friend Dr. Gilman had later been chosen President of the new

institution, and now arrived in Berlin to study the best that

Germans were doing as regards research in science. Our excursions

to various institutions interested me greatly; both the men we

met and things we saw were full of instruction to us, and of all

public duties I have had to discharge, I recall none with more

profit and pleasure. One thing in this matter struck me as never

before--the quiet wisdom and foresight with which the various

German governments prepare to profit by the best which science

can be made to yield them in every field.

Upon these duties followed others of a very different sort. On

the 19th of June died King Albert of Saxony, and in view of his

high character and of the many kindnesses he had shown to

Americans, I was instructed to attend his funeral at Dresden as a

special representative of the President. The whole ceremonial was

interesting; there being in it not only a survival of various

mediaeval procedures, but many elements of solemnity and beauty;

and the funeral, which took place at the court church in the

evening, was especially impressive. Before the high altar stood

the catafalque; in front of it, the crown, scepter, orb, and

other emblems of royalty; and at its summit, the coffin

containing the body of the King. Around this structure were

ranged lines of soldiers and pages in picturesque uniforms and

bearing torches. Facing these were the seats for the majesties,

including the new King, who had at his right the Emperor of

Austria, and at his left the German Emperor, while next these

were the seats of foreign ambassadors and other representatives.

Of all present, the one who seemed least in accord with his

surroundings was the nephew of the old and the son of the new

King, Prince Max, who was dressed simply as a priest, his plain

black gown in striking contrast with the gorgeous uniforms of the

other princes immediately about him. The only disconcerting

feature was the sermon. It was given by one of the priests

attached to the court church, and he evidently considered this an

occasion to be made much of; for instead of fifteen minutes, as

had been expected, his sermon lasted an hour and twenty minutes,

much to the discomfort of the crowd of officials, who were

obliged to remain standing from beginning to end, and especially

to the chagrin of the two Emperors, whose special trains and

time-tables, as well as the railway arrangements for the general

public, were thereby seriously deranged.