OF THE ROMAN NOSE.
CLASS I.—THE ROMAN, or Aquiline Nose, is rather convex, but
undulating, as its name aquiline imports. It is usually rugose and
coarse; but when otherwise it approaches the Greek Nose, and the
character is materially altered.
It indicates great Decision, considerable Energy, Firmness, Absence of
refinement, and Disregard for the _bienséances_ of life.
Numerous portraits, both in marble and on coins, demonstrate that this
Nose was very frequent among the Romans, and peculiarly characteristic
of that nation. Hence its name. The persevering energy, stern
determination, and unflinching firmness of the conquerors of the world;
their rough, unrefined character, which, notwithstanding the example of
Greece, never acquired the polish of that country, all indicate the
accuracy of the mental habit attributed to the owner of this Nose.
Sufficient stress has never been laid by historians on national
characteristics. The peculiar psychonomy of nations is an element which
is never taken into account, when the historical critic endeavours to
elucidate the causes and consequences of events. He judges of all
nations by the standard of his own, regardless of age, climate,
physiognomy, and psychonomy. This is as absurd as the fashion the Greeks
had of deducing foreign names and titles from the Greek, a practice
which Cicero wittily ridicules. In this ridicule we willingly join; yet
we are equally open to it, when we interpret the actions of foreign
nations by our own national standard.
It was the psychonomic difference between the Romans and the Greeks,
which prevented the former from benefiting so efficiently from the
lessons in art and philosophy of the latter, as they would have done had
their minds been congenial.
The refinement which Rome received from Greece, was converted in the
transfer into a refinement of coarse sensual luxury. Rome, after the
conquest of Greece, filled its forums and halls with Greek workmanship,
and its schools with Greek learning; nevertheless Roman mind advanced
not one step beyond its original coarseness.
At the period when Rome possessed itself by conquest of the principal
works of Grecian art, her citizens only regarded them as household
furniture of but little value. Polybius narrates that, after the siege
of Corinth, he saw some Roman soldiers playing at dice upon a picture of
Bacchus, by Aristides; a picture esteemed one of the finest in the
world. When King Attalus offered 600,000 sesterces (£4,845 15_s._) for
this picture, Mummius, the Roman Consul, thinking there must be some
magic property in it, to make it worth such an enormous sum, refused to
sell it, and hung it up in the Temple of Ceres at Rome. So little were
the Romans conscious of the real value of the treasures of Greek art,
that Mummius covenanted with the masters of the ships, hired to convey
the spoils of Corinth to Rome, that if any of the exquisite paintings
and statuary should be lost, _they should replace them with new
ones_![8]
It is not surprising, therefore, that Rome, although possessed of
infinitely greater wealth, a larger population, and the splendid
examples of Greece, not only produced no artist of merit, but receded
far from the high standard which Greece, notwithstanding its internal
divisions, its comparative poverty, small extent, and unassisted genius,
had established. There is no way of accounting for these facts, but by
the difference in their psychonomy. The genius of Rome was of a very
different nature from that of Greece, and was incompetent to advance the
great work which the latter had commenced.
This is an example which, with numerous others that occur in the world’s
history, might teach those who, in modern phrase, assert that the
uniform order of the world is _progress_, that retrogression has
ofttimes been the apparent order, and that it is a foolish
short-sightedness to judge of the order of the world from a few hundred
years in its history. The Greek who remembered the magnificent works of
his country, and looked upon the degenerate splendor of Rome, no doubt
equally dogmatically asserted that the world was in its dotage, that it
had retrograded, and would never be regenerated.
The ancient Hindoo, who, in ages too remote for history to record, wept
over the fallen splendor and lost power, the ruined wealth and
degenerate arts of his country; the Egyptian who, in ante-Mosaic
periods, beheld the fierce and barbarous Shepherd-Kings trampling with
haughty contempt and hostile fanaticism on the wonderful works which
still astonish the _progressed_ world; the Assyrian, who, a century
before the foundation of Rome, witnessed the downfall of his country’s
magnificence and extensive empire,—all equally thought that these
glories would never be resuscitated, and that the best ages of the world
were past away; and if any of them had been told, that in other lands
and other climes they would, in far-distant ages, be outvied, he would
have turned with incredulity from the prospect, and have demanded what
race was to surpass the glorious achievements of his own.
But the modern dogmatist tries to take his case out of the argument, by
pretending that Christianity will protect the world from again
retrograding. This is the mere pride of the Pharisee, who flatters
himself that he is not as other men are, that his Christianity is too
pure to fall, and his knowledge too vast to be blasted. Or else he
forgets that the pure Christianity of the first disciples and martyrs
failed to preserve succeeding generations from the inroads of sin and
darkness more overwhelming than had ever blackened the face of Europe
since the commencement of the historical period. The dogmatist of those
days sighed over the world’s degeneracy, and saw not through the
surrounding gloom any hopeful gleam of light; just as the modern
dogmatist rejoices over the world’s advance, without perceiving any
overhanging shadow of darkness.
Both judge of the world by their own time and circumstances, just as we
are too apt to judge of each other by ourselves.
A due regard to the psychonomy of nations would throw much light upon
many abstruse points of history, and often serve to corroborate
narrations which appear marvellous and incredible to us. Thus, as we
have, for the most part,[9] left off eating human flesh in these islands
for some thousand years or more, historians reject as utterly incredible
that our forefathers were cannibals; and some still more tender-hearted
philanthropists even venture to assert that cannibalism has not and
never had an existence anywhere. Whereas, if they would compare the
evidence with the psychonomy of the nations of whom the circumstance is
narrated, instead of with our own, they would instantly perceive in it
nothing unnatural nor incredible. Thus also infidel writers, unable to
comprehend the fervent and assured hope of a blessed immortality which
supported the martyrs, deny, as repugnant to human nature, the patient
sufferings of the early Christians. And thus again commentators on the
Bible, both infidel and credent, have made sad havoc of many texts, by
endeavoring to interpret them by European manners and habits. This
inattention to national psychonomy is, moreover, a fertile cause of the
mal-administration of colonies, and was the root of nine-tenths of the
errors in Indian affairs during the last century.
Seeing, then, the importance of fully understanding the psychonomy of
nations before criticizing their records, we should reject no probable
key to that requisite knowledge; and if physiognomy would furnish such a
key, it should be hailed as an important element in historical
criticism. This consideration has induced us to complete our system by a
few remarks on National Noses. For no part of the physiognomy is more
needful to be comprehended than the Nose, if Nasology be correct;
because the mental faculties which it pourtrays are more important than
those revealed in the other features; and because, being immovable and
permanent in its outline, the artist gives us its national or individual
form, without the distortion which the action or passion exhibited may
make it necessary to throw over the other more pliant features.
Reserving, then, till a future chapter, any further observations on
National Noses, we will now consider a few individual instances of the
Roman Nose.
This Nose is common to all great conquerors and warriors, and other
persons who have exhibited vast energy and perseverance in overcoming
great obstacles without regard to personal ease, or the welfare of their
fellow-men.
The following have pure, or very nearly pure, Roman Noses:—
Rameses II (Sesostris).
Julius Cæsar.
Henri Quatre.
Charles V. of Spain.
Duke of Wellington.
Canute.
Gonzalo de Cordova (the Great Captain).
William III.
Sir W. Wallace.
Condé (the Great).
Robert Bruce.
Queen Elizabeth.
Edward I.
Columbus.
Sir Francis Drake.
Cortez.
Pizarro.
Washington.
Henry VII.
Cato the Censor.
Earl of Chatham.
Ignatius Loyola.
The well-known, because (as their Noses likewise attest) strongly
marked, characters of these persons render it unnecessary to allude even
briefly to their biographies. Their names are sufficient to bring at
once before the mind their energetic, persevering, and determined
characters. They were persons whom no hardships could deter, no fears
daunt, no affections turn aside from any purpose which they had
undertaken: that purpose being (from the absence of the Cogitative)
always of a physical character; and (from the absence of the Greek)
always pursued with a stern and reckless disregard of their own and
others’ physical ease and welfare. Their successes were attained by
energy and perseverance, not by forethought and deep scheming. They were
not the men of the closet, but of the field. Physical action, not mental
activity, was their adopted road to success. For this reason, and
because history is little more than a chronicle of physical action, wars
and bloodshed, the owners of Roman Noses occupy the largest portion of
their fellow-men’s thoughts and of the historical page.
The ancients acknowledged the foregoing Nasal Classification, for they
represented Jupiter, Hercules, Minerva, Bellatrix, and other energetic
Deities with Roman Noses, which Plato designates, from its being
indicative of Power and Energy, ‘the Royal Nose,’—while they gave pure
Greek Noses to the more refined Apollo, Bacchus, Juno, Venus, &c. The
debased and unintellectual Fawn and Satyr they pourtrayed with Snub or
Celestial Noses; thus imparting to their countenances the low cunning or
bestial inanity appropriate to those mythological inventions.
It must not, however, be inferred from the majority of warriors’ names
in the above list, that the Roman Nose necessarily indicates a warrior.
These names are only selected because they afford well-known and easily
verifiable instances, requiring neither pictorial nor biographical
illustration. Energy may be equally conspicuous in any other department
of life, and display itself as fully in the civilian as in the warrior.
Two of the individuals adduced are striking instances of this:—Cato the
Censor, and the Earl of Chatham. They were men of remarkable parallelism
of character, and, though differing in other facial features, their
Noses were very similar.
[Illustration:
CATO THE CENSOR.
(_From a gem in the Florentine Museum._)
]
The events of their early life—those events which always bear most
clearly the impress of the mind, because actuated by choice, and not by
present or future consequences—were almost identical. They both entered
the army in youth, and both quitted it for the Senate. Here each
displayed those powers of eloquence which raised them to the highest
eminence, and will transmit their names to the latest posterity. Its
peculiar feature was that energetic, powerful, and determined vehemence
of language, which takes the mind prisoner, and carries the judgment
with it by storm. It was irresistible. Before it all minds of less
power, though of greater intellect and activity, recoiled. The orations
of Cato are unhappily lost. But Cicero, a master of eloquence, and well
enabled to compare them with similar compositions, passes upon them the
highest eulogiums. The eloquence of Cato has been compared, for its
force and energy, to the eloquence of that Demosthenes before whom
Philip of Macedon quailed, and whose tremendous orations have given the
name of Philippics to all sarcastic and vehement invectives. Of
Chatham’s eloquence, it has been said by Wilkes: “Nothing could
withstand the force of that contagion. The fluent Murray has faltered,
and even Fox shrunk back appalled from an adversary ‘fraught with fire
unquenchable,’ if I may borrow the expression of our great Milton. He
had not the correctness of language so striking in the great Roman
orator; but he had the _verba ardentia_, the bold, glowing words.”
Cato led victorious armies into the field, and proved himself an able
general; for in Rome the functions of the general and the statesman were
united in the person of the Consul.
It became not, however, the Secretary of State to lead armies in person;
but while Chatham administered the affairs of this country, “victory
crowned the British arms wherever they appeared, both on sea and land;
and the four years of the second administration of Mr. Pitt are four of
the most glorious years in the history of the eighteenth century.”[10]
In their retirement they were alike; for neither regarded with
complacency the pursuits of literature: they required some physical
activity in their very idleness, and gardening was the favourite
occupation of both. Cato displayed his disregard and even hatred for
literary refinement by advising the Senate to dismiss the Grecian
Ambassador Carneades promptly, lest his eloquence should corrupt the
Roman youth with a love for Greek learning and philosophy.
He cultivated his farm and garden with great skill, and wrote a work on
the subject, entitled “_De Rustica_.” Chatham was a landscape-gardener
of no mean pretensions. He assisted Lord Lyttelton in laying out the
celebrated park and grounds at Hagley; and Bishop Warburton eulogizes
his skill in gardening as inimitable, and far superior to that of the
professor Capability Brown. Not even obedience to the king’s mandate
could draw Chatham from his country retirement at Hayes.
Neither ever thought he had done serving his country while life lasted,
even when bodily health and strength were gone. At eighty-four years of
age Cato went on an embassy to Carthage; and Chatham, worn out by the
gout and wrapped in flannels, never neglected to take his seat in the
House and electrify it with his eloquence when any important question
affecting the interests of the country or the liberty of the subject
arose.
Notwithstanding their many virtues, they were both coarse-minded,
violent men; proud, self-willed, and regardless of the common
courtesies, and even decencies, of society. Both were perhaps indebted
for some of their fame to the successful practice of the vice which has
been happily designated as the deference paid to virtue.
It is not, therefore, only in the peculiar circumstances of his death,
that Chatham resembles Cato, with whom he has therein been frequently
compared.
It will be remembered that after Cato’s return from Carthage (the
inveterate enemy and most powerful rival of Rome), Cato, then in the
eighty-fifth year of his age, and the last year of his life, never spoke
in the Senate without expressing his conviction of the dangerous power
of Carthage, and concluding with the celebrated words “_Delenda est
Carthago_.” Chatham, when peace with America was proposed on terms which
he thought dishonourable to his country, expended his last strength in
opposing it, and fell, to survive but a few days, senseless on the floor
of the House of Lords.
Those who attribute to the founder of the Jesuits the characteristics of
that powerful Order, both over-estimate and calumniate the man, IGNATIUS
LOYOLA. He foresaw none of the power and eminence which his successors
would attain; he contemplated neither their conquests, their influence,
wealth, nor extensive domination.
The wounded soldier on his miserable pallet devising conquests over
Satan, composing his _Spiritual Exercises_, and framing his
celebrated _Constitutions_, contemplated for himself and his
followers a scene of action wholly different from that into which
they were finally—accidentally or Providentially, who shall
say?—determined. His ambition contemplated no worldly fame; he
sought not riches nor the applause of men. He proposed only to carry
the Christian warfare into the country of the infidel, and in
poverty and “perfect obedience to the Holy See” to rescue souls from
perdition. The original object of his Order was the noble one of
preaching the Gospel among the Mahometans, especially in the Holy
Land; and for this specific object, his _Spiritual Exercises_ and
his _Constitutions_ were composed, and his Order founded. It was for
this purpose that the Pope sanctioned the formation of the Society,
and its members were on the point of departure for Asia when war
broke out between the Turks and the Christians.
This unexpected event rendered their journey physically impossible, and
compelled the newly-sworn aspirants to fulfil their vows of perfect
obedience in some other direction, to be enjoined by the Head of the
Church. Thenceforth they remained in Europe, where the Reformation
afforded ample scope for their exertions, and where they only too
successfully combated with the new heresy instead of with the old
apostacy. The mind of Ignatius Loyola was swayed by none of the
characteristics of Jesuitism. His character was open, direct, fearless.
Physically active and wonderfully energetic, to conceive was to
determine; to determine was to act.
When his broken leg was set awry he only said, “Break it again and set
it straight;” still the bone protruded and threatened to spoil the shape
of his boot: “Cut off the projection and stretch the limb in an iron
jack,” was a command which showed the unflinching determination of the
man.
Confined to his bed, the “Lives of the Saints” is brought to him for his
amusement. He is struck with their sufferings for the faith, and, on the
instant, determines to do likewise. Thenceforth his whole soul has but
one ambition, to suffer for the faith; and this ambition actuated the
remainder of his life. To run through the life of Ignatius, to pourtray
his fearful sufferings; his degrading servitude in misery, in beggary,
and rags; his unwearying perseverance in acquiring a knowledge of
language and divinity; his journeyings; his rebuffs; his trials; his
successes—would be to exhibit what can be effected by mere perseverance
and physical energy, without the gift of great mental powers.
But the peculiarly remarkable physical bias of Ignatius’s mind is still
more strikingly developed in his writings. Other men have been equally
active and persevering—other men have equalled him in mere bodily
activity and suffering; but to Ignatius alone belongs the discovery of
exercising the mind by converting his thoughts into actual realities,
and rendering the creations of the imagination true existences.
Herein appears the peculiarly physical tone of his mind, which could not
rest content with mere spiritual contemplation, but must actually, as it
were, see, feel, smell, taste, and hear the objects contemplated. The
_Spiritual Exercises_ enjoin that the exercitant must, in his gloomiest
hours, not only think upon, but actually _behold_, the vast
conflagration of Hell; he must _hear_ its wailings, shrieks, and
blasphemies; he must _smell_ its smoky brimstone, and the horrid stench
of its filth and rottenness; he must _taste_ the saltness of the tears
of penitence, and the bitterness of the rancour of the heart, and the
loathsomeness of the worm of conscience; and he must _touch_ the very
fire by which the souls of the reprobate are scorched. Thus each
meditation must be, not mere thinking-on, or contemplation, but must be
instinct with life—must be continued until the senses seem actually to
see, taste, and feel the objects contemplated.
So, in contemplating the passion of our Lord, the horrors of his death
must be visibly present; we must _hear_ his last words; we must _listen_
to the shoutings of the populace; we must _watch_ the agony of the
virgin-mother beholding the infamy of her blessed son; we must _see_ his
quivering limbs, his death-like paleness, his tottering weakness under
the burden of the cross, his bleeding side and pierced extremities.
Merely to see these things in contemplation is trivial and inessential;
we must, with certain interior senses, actually see, hear, taste, and
smell, not only the personages and scenes on which the mind is dwelling,
but the emotions which the scenes are calculated to excite. So again, we
must taste and relish the suavity and lusciousness of the pious soul,
and by a like internal sense of touch we must actually feel and kiss the
very garments, places, and footsteps of the personages whose acts our
minds dwell upon.
This is justly called “the application of the senses” to the soul.
It consists, in fact, in reducing to _quasi_-materialisms the visions of
the mind; in giving to the exercitant’s thoughts, every reality short of
such an actual-material existence as would render them visible to
others—as they are, indeed, visible to himself.
In this remarkable system for exciting the soul appears the utter
incapacity of the mind of Ignatius to appreciate mere metaphysical
activity. His soul could not apprehend the unseen, and dwell on the
absent or far distant. It was necessary to his frame of mind that
everything should be present, visible, tangible, real.
The soul of the founder of the Jesuits was, therefore, strikingly
accordant with the revelation of his physiognomy; although, were it
true, that he was—in the vulgar sense—a Jesuit, the Greek Nose and
generally a more delicate caste of countenance, would more correctly
have pourtrayed his inner man.
But the founder of the Jesuits was no Jesuit, and had his original
_Constitutions_ been adhered to, the Order would never have achieved the
bad eminence which it so rapidly attained, so long held, so quickly
lost, and so tenaciously still aspires after.
As by far the majority of persons have compound Noses, and as their
consideration will therefore throw additional light upon the system, we
shall add a few observations upon some of them.
The Roman Nose may be compounded with Classes II and III, rarely with
IV; seldom or never with V and VI.[11]
Compound I⁄II,—the Romano-Greek Nose.[12]
The following are instances of Noses of this sub-class:—
Alexander the Great.
Constantine.
Wolsey.
Richelieu.
Ximenes.
Lorenzo de’ Medici.
Frederick II. of Prussia.
Alfred.
Sir W. Raleigh.
Sir P. Sidney.
Napoleon.
Associated with much physical energy (I), these persons all exhibited
much refinement of mind, a love for Arts and Letters, considerable
astuteness and capacity of scheming; (II) they saw far and quickly,
though deficient in deep philosophical powers of thought.
A rather more extended notice of some of the members of the sub-classes
will be requisite; as, of course, their characters were less developed,
and therefore less known, than those of the pure classes; but
principally in order to point out the more minute touches, and,
apparently, inconsistencies of character which illustrate the compound
form of Nose.
[Illustration:
CONSTANTINE.
(_From a gem in the Florentine Museum._)
]
CONSTANTINE, having by a felicitous union of enterprise and cunning
procured his elevation to the Imperial throne, and having defeated the
last of his rivals to that splendid dignity, directed his attention to
the concentration rather than the extension of his enormous empire, and
sought, by building Constantinople, to divert the minds of the people
from foreign war and intestine discord; while he at the same time
fostered and encouraged the arts by the magnificent decoration of the
new capital, to which he brought from Asia and Greece some of their most
splendid productions.
Vigorous in war and active in peace, Constantine united all the
characteristics of the Roman and the Greek. In war he successfully
opposed both civil and foreign enemies, and made himself master of the
most extended empire Rome had ever designated by her name. While in the
vigour of his age, he moved with slow dignity, or with active vigilance,
according to the various exigencies of peace and war, along the
frontiers of his extensive dominions, and was always prepared to take
the field either against a foreign or a domestic enemy.
But when he had gradually reached the summit of prosperity and the
decline of life, he became sensible of the ambition of founding a city
which might perpetuate the glory of his name, and he then exhibited all
the capacities for the enjoyment of the luxuries of peace which had
hitherto lain dormant in his mind. The mere building and fortifying a
city, which would have satisfied the ambition of the coarser-minded
Roman, was not his ambition only. He desired to decorate it with the
highest efforts of human genius, and make it not only a monument of his
military prowess, but also of his taste and refinement. For this purpose
he founded schools of architecture to supply the disparity which his
fine taste detected between the degenerate artists of his time and those
of early Greece. The immortal productions of Phidias and Lysippus were
dragged from other countries to adorn his capital; and, unmindful of the
injustice, he despoiled the cities of Greece and Asia of their most
valuable ornaments. The trophies of memorable wars, the objects of
religious veneration, the most finished statues of the gods and heroes,
of the sages and poets of ancient times, contributed to the splendid
triumph of Constantinople.[13]
The character of WOLSEY was very similar to that of Constantine. We
might almost venture to assert that had he been placed in the same
situation he would have pursued the same course. Yet the only part of
their physiognomies which assimilates are their Noses. One remarkable
circumstance in the early life of each identifies the two men, and
exhibits in them the union of energy with acute tact. Constantine, half
assured of his elevation to the Imperial throne, if he could join his
father’s army and be present with him in case of his death, and having
with difficulty obtained permission to visit his father from Galerius,
(who dreaded the same event, and delayed the permission, until he
believed it would be impossible for him to accomplish his object),
travelled post through Bithynia, Dacia, Thracia, Pannonia, Italy and
Gaul, with such speed that he reached Boulogne in the very moment when
his father was preparing to embark for Britain, accompanied him, and
finally, by military election, succeeded to his share of the Empire.
When Henry VII was looking out in his old age for a rich wife, he
despatched Wolsey, to whom the vista of future eminence was just
opening, to Flanders, to treat for the hand of a Princess of the Empire.
Wolsey, conscious that in such affairs old age brooks no delay, started
on his journey and had returned before the King knew that he was gone.
By similar energy and shrewd scheming in pursuit of his own
aggrandizement, very analogous to that by which Constantine secured the
purple, Wolsey elevated himself to the highest subordinate station in
his country, and then directed his mind rather to the extension of
learning, the encouragement of art, the erection of splendid buildings,
and the increase of domestic magnificence, than to an imitation of the
warlike pursuits of the ancestors of his monarch; although the
disposition of the latter strongly tended in that more physically
energetic direction. The noble hall and chapel at Hampton Court and the
remains of the colleges which Wolsey founded, still attest his
magnificence, his taste, his liberality, and his respect for learning.
RICHELIEU was another Wolsey. It is a remarkable fact that the point of
identity in actively seeking their own aggrandizement, which has been
noticed between Wolsey and Constantine, occurs also in the early life of
Richelieu. Having, from interested motives, abandoned the army (for
which he was originally destined) for the Church, and the Pope having
refused, on account of his extreme youth, to sanction his elevation to
the Bishopric for the sake of which he had taken orders, he resolved to
overcome this difficulty in person; and setting off for Rome, gave the
Pontiff such convincing proofs of his talents, that he was consecrated
Bishop forthwith, at twenty-two years of age, and thus laid the
foundation of his future eminence.
He conducted in person the siege of Rochelle, and baffled the finest
military geniuses of Europe; he out-intrigued the ablest diplomatists;
he nourished arts and commerce, and for the better promotion of learning
he founded the French Academy.
In the union of energy of character and refinement of tastes the three
celebrated Cardinal-ministers of England, France, and Spain, strongly
assimilated.
The anecdotes which have been related of the energetic carving-out of
their own fortunes by Constantine, Wolsey, and Richelieu, find also
their parallel in the early career of XIMENES. The son of noble parents,
but without wealth or patronage, he had nothing but his talents and the
energy of his character to carry him successfully through life. He began
as a student at Salamanca; but finding that sphere too limited for his
ambition, he undertook a journey to Rome, where he soon distinguished
himself as an advocate, but preferring the church, took holy orders.
Sixtus IV had bestowed upon him the reversionary grant of the first
benefice which should fall vacant in Spain. This proved to be Uceda;
and, on the demise of the incumbent, he produced his letters, and took
possession with such promptitude and despatch that he baffled the
Archbishop of Toledo, who considered the benefice to be in his gift, and
had promised it to one of his dependents.
Like Richelieu he took the field in person, and in spite of the jealousy
of the King, the dissensions of the generals, and the mutiny of the
soldiers, he succeeded in taking the town of Oran on the coast of
Barbary; the first success of any moment which the Spanish army could
boast in a campaign of four years’ duration.
He devoted himself, in after-life, to the encouragement of popular
education and the advancement of higher learning in no less degree than
his brother Cardinals before named. He founded a school for the
education of the daughters of the poorer nobility, and subsequently
provided them with marriage-portions.
He established the University of Alcala, richly endowed it, and filled
its professorial chairs with the most distinguished learned men of
Europe. Here he undertook the magnificent work, known as the
Complutensian Bible. It was the first Polyglott Bible ever published,
and as such affords a striking contrast to the otherwise undeviating
opposition which Spain has offered to the spread of true Christianity
and the circulation of the Scriptures.
It should, however, be remembered that even this was a sealed book to
the laity, since it did not comprise a version in the vernacular. It
contained the Old Testament in the Hebrew, the Septuagint, the Vulgate
of St. Jerome, and the Chaldee Paraphrase with Latin translations, and
the New Testament in the Greek and Vulgate.
It was the work of fifteen years, and when the last volume was brought
to Ximenes, shortly before his death, he exclaimed: “Many high and
difficult matters have I carried on for the state, yet is there nothing
which I have done, that deserves higher congratulations than this
edition of the Scriptures—the fountain-head of our holy religion, whence
may flow purer streams of theology than those which have been turned off
from it.” The whole cost of the work, fifty thousand gold crowns, was
defrayed by Ximenes.
In LORENZO DE’ MEDICI we meet with another of those characters, frequent
among men eminent in public affairs, which unite refinement of taste
with physical energy. To live in the world’s eye with success, it is
necessary to exhibit something _ad captandum vulgus_. There must either
be the intense energy of the Roman, or the more moderate energy with the
taste and magnificence of the Romano-Greek. Hence, while the former
class of Nose prevails among those who have won fame and honours by arms
merely, the latter is frequent among those who are chiefly celebrated
for their statesmanship. But both energy and statesmanship were
necessary to him who would secure a world’s fame as ruler of a petty
Italian state. The head of a state too weak to be feared in war, and too
turbulent to be governed in calm tranquillity, required some other
qualities beside energy, in order to be respected and honoured by his
contemporaries. These qualities were happily united in Lorenzo de’
Medici. Firm in danger, prompt in action, lavish in expenditure, refined
in taste, accomplished in learning, expert in art, he was every way
formed to win laurels in an age which boasted the greatest statesmen,
the best artists, and the most profound scholars. The vigour and
promptitude with which he repelled the celebrated conspiracy of the
Pazzi family, hanged an Archbishop on the spot in full canonicals, and
punished the conspirators, alone attest his energy. The title of
Magnificent, which he earned in an age celebrated for its magnificence,
demonstrates his lavish liberality; while his love for antiquities, his
patronage of the arts of sculpture and painting, his studious devotion
to learning and the writings of the ancients, bespeak the refinement of
his mind. Among other institutions he founded a school for the study of
antiquities, and furnished it with the finest specimens of ancient
workmanship. “To this institution, more than to any other circumstance,
we may, without any hesitation, ascribe the sudden and astonishing
proficiency, which, towards the close of the fifteenth century, was
evidently made in the arts, and which, commencing at Florence, extended
itself to the rest of Europe.”
“‘It is highly deserving of notice,’ says Vasari, ‘that all those who
studied in the gardens of the Medici, and were favoured by Lorenzo,
became most excellent artists, which can only be attributed to the
exquisite judgment of this great patron of their studies.’”[14]
FREDERICK II is another example of the union of refined tastes with
vigorous energy. It is not so much for his military genius that he is to
be remembered and respected, as for the impulse he gave to Prussian
intellect, and thence generally to German mind.
It is true this was hardly perceptible till the present century, for
until the peace of 1815, Germany had been the seat of almost incessant
warfare, and was, therefore, disabled from pursuing the arts of peace
with success. But thirty years’ peace has enabled her to perform great
things, and to justify a pretty sure hope of yet greater. We ought to be
far in advance of her, for where she now is we were exactly two hundred
and fifty years and upwards ago. Till the reign of Elizabeth, England
had been, like Germany till 1815, the seat of perpetual war or religious
discord. At the end of the sixteenth century in England, and at the
beginning of the nineteenth in Germany, the Teutonic mind began to
develope itself with effect. The same deep investigations in history,
the same subtle disquisitions in metaphysics, the same love of
philological criticism that distinguished English literature in the
early part of the seventeenth century, belong to German literature in
the nineteenth, and are combined with the same coarseness of manners
that marked our ancestors. The Germans still delight in those rude,
indecent productions, called Miracle-plays or Mysteries,[15] which
amused the predecessors of Shakspere: a written character, ugly,
uncouth, and elsewhere obsolete; the recent adoption of the vernacular
in literary composition;[16] legalized wager of battle; semi-feudalism;
masques of fools dancing in a gigantic beer-barrel and chanting the
praises of beer; deer-battues; perpetual duelling and beer-swigging;
feasts of horse-flesh; millions pilgrimaging to the Coat of Treves; the
implicit reception of sham miracles, all mark a state of society little
removed from that magnificent barbarism which stained the rush-strewn
court of the ear-boxing and swearing Elizabeth.
In refinement, and that wealth which springs from Science, we have
advanced far beyond Germany; but in that wealth which emanates from Mind
we are only on a par with her. The causes of this will be considered
more fully hereafter, when we treat, under Class III, of the causes of
the decline of Wisdom.
The impulse given to German Mind may in a great measure be attributed to
the pains which Frederick II took to civilise and educate his people.
For this purpose he founded numerous popular schools, it is said as many
as sixty in one year. He instituted an Academy of Sciences and fostered
Universities. He patronized Commerce and the Arts, and by his wise
administration as much as by his military talents raised Prussia to the
rank of a second-rate European State. The military success of the
correspondent of Voltaire, it is unnecessary to do more than refer to.
Machiavellism formed a strikingly distinctive feature in the characters
of all the foregoing personages. They all possessed more of the wisdom
of the serpent, than of the innocence of the dove. It may be thought,
however, that we employ too strong a term in calling this Machiavellism.
A less strict morality would only call it policy, worldly wisdom. In men
of strong conscientiousness, astuteness may be little or nothing more;
but where the moral sense is weak, it easily passes into duplicity and
dishonest craft.
The shrewd policy and worldly wisdom by which the great ALFRED civilized
a barbarous people, and tamed to quietude a nation of turbulent robbers,
has never been accused of departing from a strict morality. It may be
that he is somewhat indebted to the partiality of the monkish historians
for the very flattering pictures of him handed down to us. The prompt
and energetic manner in which, from time to time, he fell upon and
defeated the Danes who ravaged the country is too well known to need
mention, and the prudent means by which he endeavoured to incite his
people to educate themselves has been often the subject of praise. In a
remarkably illiterate age, he alone courted literature, and, conscious
of its power to civilize his people, urged them to follow his example.
Nevertheless, he did not forget the more arduous duties of a King. While
devoting a large part of his time to learning, he never neglected the
interests of his country; nor suffered her liberties to be trampled upon
by invaders while he was cultivating the arts of peace. His biographer,
quaintly and somewhat poetically, describes the King’s studious mind and
gubernatorial talents. “Like a most productive bee, he flew here and
there asking questions as he went, until he had eagerly and unceasingly
collected many various flowers of Divine Scripture, with which he
thickly stored the cells of his mind. His friends would voluntarily
sustain little or no toil, though it was for the common necessity of the
kingdom; but he alone, sustained by the divine aid, like a skilful
pilot, strove to steer his ship laden with much wealth, into the safe
and much-desired harbour of his country though almost all his crew were
tired, and suffered them not to faint or hesitate, though sailing among
the manifold waves and eddies of this present life.”[17]
The circumstances in which men are involuntarily placed marvellously
affect their actions. Crowd together a number of young trees in one
small plot, and how slowly they grow, how stunted they become! Remove
them to separate stations, where their roots may spread, their branches
expand, and their leaves drink freely of the sun and air, and how soon
they take their place among the giants of the forest. So it is with men.
Crowded in cities, undistinguished by birth, and unassisted by
patronage, many a hero dies unseen and unnoticed—
“Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood.”
Let it not, therefore, be imagined, from the foregoing instances, that
every Greco-Roman Nose indicates an energetic statesman, or a literary
monarch; or that the same actions are to be predicated from the same
form of Nose in different men under different circumstances.
Energy and refinement may exist in every department of life. The peasant
may furnish as illustrious an example of either as the Prince. But what
a King has, these heroes want; and so they die unhonoured for lack of a
record. The illustrations are, therefore, necessarily drawn from the
high and mighty of various spheres.
Stars of lesser magnitude, however, present themselves to shed a further
light upon the subject.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH and SIR PHILIP SIDNEY were two men whose characters
exhibited many points of identity.
In any arduous enterprize which promised fame and honour, Sir Walter
Raleigh was always prominent. Eager to support the Reformation, he
served in the Protestant army as a volunteer during the civil wars in
France, and afterwards tendered his services to the Netherlands in their
contest with Spain for civil and religious liberty. One of the most
attractive enterprizes of the reign of Elizabeth to men of energy and
forethought was, however, that presented by the recently-opened field of
American discovery. Into this Raleigh threw himself heart and soul. With
his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, he made the then perilous voyage
to the New World, but failed to establish a firm footing on its shores.
Still he was not to be thus foiled. After a careful consideration of the
best authorities, he came to the just conclusion that there was land
north of the Gulf of Florida, a tract then wholly unexplored. Having
obtained from the Queen the inexpensive grant of all he might discover,
be it sea or be it land, be it inhabited or be it void, he fitted out
vessels of discovery; and, though not permitted by the wary Queen to
accompany them himself, they verified his predictions by discovering the
country now called Virginia—a name which the virgin Queen herself
bestowed upon it.
But it was not by his energy that Raleigh alone distinguished himself.
The young Protestant volunteer, and the American adventurer would long
since have been forgotten among a host of compeers, had not he presented
far higher claims to the notice of posterity. “Raleigh was one of those
rare men who seem qualified to excel in all pursuits alike; and his
talents were set off by an extraordinary _laboriousness_, and _capacity_
of application. (I⁄II). As a navigator, soldier, statesman, and
historian, his name is intimately and honourably linked with one of the
most brilliant periods of British history.”[18]
Sir Walter Raleigh occupies a distinguished place in literature, both as
a poet and an historian. It is probable that only a small portion of his
poetry has come down to us. He seems to have regarded it but lightly
himself, and many very beautiful pieces, which there is no reason to
doubt owe their origin to his creative brain, are without name, and only
preserved in some obscure miscellaneous collections, under the modest
signature ‘Ignoto.’ One of these, sometimes entitled “The Lie,” and
sometimes “The Soul’s Errand,” is as beautiful, as Christian, and as
philosophic a poem as any in the language; yet so little pains did he
take to secure to himself the literary fame of the words with which he
had relieved his labouring soul, that it has been attributed to divers
poetasters, and, among others, to that most wretched inharmonious
scribe, Joshua Sylvester.
Spenser eulogizes Raleigh’s poetic powers as those of one
“... as skilful in that art as any.”[19]
He likewise entitles him ‘the summer’s nightingale,’ and hints that he
had in store a poem on Queen Elizabeth, which might rival “The Faerie
Queene:”—
“To taste the streames, that like a golden showre,
Flow from thy fruitful head, of thy Love’s praise—
Fitter perhaps to thunder martial stowre—
When so thee list thy lofty Muse to raise;
_Yet till that thou thy poem wilt make known_,
Let thy faire Cynthia’s praises be thus rudely shown.”
But poetic effusions are not the only contributions of Raleigh to
literature. During his long confinement in the Tower, on charge of
treason, he relieved his solitude by compiling a “History of the World;”
an undertaking sufficient to appal the most active and learned man under
the most favourable circumstances, but which appears something
superhuman when attempted and almost accomplished by a wretched prisoner
lying under an unjust sentence of death.
This History commences at the Creation, and descends as far as the end
of the second Macedonian War; when, in consequence of the death of
Prince Henry, for whose instruction it was intended, he ceased from his
arduous labours. The work displays a vast extent of reading in history,
philosophy, theology, and Rabbinical learning.
Like Raleigh, Sir Philip Sidney combined the characters of the warrior
and the author. His Arcadia was a work of poetic prose, better suited to
the time in which he lived than to any subsequent period, and is almost
forgotten; and the stiffness and hard formality of his poetry has almost
sunk it in like oblivion. A writer who is not an author for all time,
may be a very useful and agreeable one in his day, but lacks power and
thoughtfulness. It is only those who have the “one touch of Nature”
which “makes the whole world kin,” that are independent of time, and
live with the kindred spirits of all ages.
Time puts out the lesser lights which burn only to light some small
apartment and corner of the world, but cannot extinguish the suns which
are formed to illuminate the whole earth.
Sir Philip Sidney was rather a discerning patron of letters than a man
of letters. He was the first patron and friend of Spenser, whom he
introduced to the Queen, and their friendship endured till Sidney’s
lamented death. Perhaps in the whole range of literary history, there is
no incident so beautiful as the mutual friendship and familiar
intercourse of Raleigh, Spenser, and Sidney. This pleasing friendship is
frequently alluded to by Spenser. The ‘Faerie Queene’ is dedicated to
Raleigh, whose return from his Western Expedition is celebrated in the
Pastoral, entitled, “Colin Clout’s come home again;” from which we learn
that it was their custom to recline
“... amongst the coolly shade
Of the green alders by the Mulla’s shore,”
and recite to each other their poetic effusions.
How beautiful a picture of the simplicity of great minds! It strikes us
as a more lovely picture than the much-admired one of Chaucer, solitary
among the daisies of the Woodstock meadows.
Sidney inspired Spenser with no mere mercenary friendship, the affection
of the client for his patron’s substantial marks of favour. When death
smote Sidney on the sad field of Zutphen, Spenser invoked every Muse to
weep over his untimely fall, and celebrated his virtues in the beautiful
elegy “The Tears of the Muses for Astrophel.” It will perhaps relieve
the dryness of our subject, to observe that the first poetical use of
the Forget-me-not, (_Myosotis palustris_) as a symbol of faithfulness,
occurs in this poem, and the English reader may there find a more
fitting reason to esteem this little flower than the absurd German
legend of a drowning knight throwing a spray of it to his ladye-love.
The Astrophel of the following lines from Spenser’s Elegy, is Sidney;
Stella is the name by which Sidney addressed his Mistress, who, it is
feigned, was unable to survive his loss, and,
“... followed her mute, like turtle chaste,
To prove that death their hearts cannot divide,
Which, living, were in love so firmly tied.
The Gods which all things see, this same beheld;
And pittying this paire of lovers trew,
Transformed them, there lying on the field,
Into one flowre, that is both red and blew.
It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade,
Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made.
And in the midst thereof a starre appeares,
As fairly formed as any starre in skyes,
Resembling Stella in her freshest yeeres,
Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes
And all the day it standeth full of deow,
Which is the teares, that from her eyes did flow.
That hearb of some, Starlight is call’d by name,
Of others, Penthia, though not so well;
But thou, whenever thou dost find the same,
From this day forth doe call it Astrophel.
And whensoever thou it up doost take,
Doe pluck it softly for that shepheard’s sake.”
May the injunction of the last lines never be forgotten by any one who
knows that the Forget-me-not is associated with the friendship of two
such noble-minded men!
It is hardly necessary to say that Sir Philip Sidney fell gallantly
fighting at the battle of Zutphen, or to narrate the interesting
anecdote of his refusing a drink of cold water till a wounded soldier
had partaken of it, saying, “Thy necessity is yet greater than mine;”
thus nobly displaying both firm endurance (I.) and sensitive humanity
(II.)
The other instances, ALEXANDER THE GREAT, and NAPOLEON, may be best
treated of by contrasting them with their opposites; and we shall thus
be enabled to illustrate, at the same time, both the Roman and the Greek
Noses more fully. Moreover, while the contrast will clearly demonstrate
the distinctive characteristics of those Noses, it will also evince how
important it is to attend to compound forms, and how materially the
character is affected by the intermixture of classes.
Of all the conquerors whose wild ambition has stained with blood the
page of History, Alexander and Napoleon alone fought from a high
romantic motive—the desire of eternal fame. By virtue of a large share
of the Roman Nose, they pursued their favourite and chosen career with
determined energy and a reckless disregard for the lives of others;
nevertheless, being strongly gifted with the Greek, they might in some
other sphere have been high artists of some class; but having the sword
in their hands, they pursued intellectual fame by its means.
It is difficult to say whether the Roman or the Greek form predominates
in their Noses; for they are perhaps as much Greco-Roman as
Romano-Greek; but as they were warriors, we place them here because it
will be advantageous to draw an illustrative contrast between their
characters and Noses, and the characters and Noses of too many other
mere conquerors, whose Noses have been purely Roman.
Let us briefly contrast Julius Cæsar and Alexander. They were both, in
the prime of life, placed at the head of a large empire, firmly seated,
with a large army and all the world open to their grasp. Their Noses
alone differed. Alexander, while pursuing everlasting fame by his arms,
and earning what was then deemed the highest glory, steadily devoted
himself to the extension of scientific knowledge. Under his revered
master Aristotle, he acquired much learning, and, when he ascended his
father’s throne, devoted his arms as much to the conquest of the then
unknown realms of science as of the kingdoms of the earth. His army was
always accompanied by learned men, whose sole duty it was to investigate
the history, religion, and arts of the countries he passed through, to
collect rare animals and plants, statues, coins, and objects of art or
curiosity to be transmitted to Greece for the study of his master
Aristotle. It has been well said, “If there had been no Alexander, there
would have been no Aristotle.” We do not laud the man who sought glory
by the destruction of others, but merely assert that, as these acts
prove, his motive to arms was a high intellectual one, and consistent
with the compound character of his Nose.
[Illustration:
JULIUS CÆSAR.
]
[Illustration:
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
]
(_From gems in the Florentine Museum._)
Look at Julius Cæsar on the other hand. Under similar circumstances,
what was his ambition? To make himself imperial master of Rome, and to
subject his fellow-citizens for his own personal aggrandizement. His
thoughts never extended beyond his own immediate existence. Posterity
never entered into his calculations. Unlike his successor
Augustus—though he had greater facilities if he had been less sensually
ambitious—he patronised no art—literary or scientific. His one idea was
self, without one refinement or softening alloy. Granted that
Alexander’s ambition was also selfish, there was yet this difference
between them; the one (Cæsar) sought only his _present personal_ and
_sensuous_ profit; the other (Alexander) laboured to earn “a name on
History’s page to make him ‘GREAT.’” The one was the common prose, the
other the epic poem. The one sacrificed his fame to himself, the other
himself to his fame; and the world has recognized and recorded this
distinction: for while the one is remembered as “the enslaver of his
country,” the other is immortalized as “the Great.”
A similar contrast may be drawn between the characters and noses of the
two modern heroes, Napoleon and Wellington. Like Alexander and Cæsar,
the only point in which their characters assimilate is their warrior,
physical energy; and this exhibits itself in whatever is Roman in their
Noses. In all other respects they are diametrically opposite; the Nose
of Wellington being purely (almost in excess) Roman; while Napoleon’s
partakes largely of the refining qualities of the Greek.
To describe the character of Napoleon would be to repeat what we have
said of Alexander; for whether the similarity was accidental, or arose
from mental conformity (their Noses were remarkably alike), or was
intentionally imitative on the part of the former,[20] it is certainly
most striking.
Ambition of future fame was far more the ruling passion of Napoleon than
lust of present power. His mind, with all its imperfections and
meannesses (as whose is without?), was too noble to be satisfied with
mere personal aggrandizement.
All the great mistakes of his life were occasioned by his obedience to
the passion for future fame. When swayed by the mere desire of power,
all his acts were successful. But when he saw all Europe (except one
little pugnacious island) lying helpless at his feet, he began to
revolve schemes which could not enhance, but might risk, his personal
power. Then he attempted to realize his long-cherished dream of Eastern
conquest—a conquest not to be held, but to be overrun; a conquest like
that of Alexander, Nadir Shah, or Zinghis Khan. Often did he exclaim,
“the seat of all fame is the east.” To realize this empty fame, he took
the false step of invading Egypt. Foiled there, he still hoped to
penetrate Asia by land, and gathered all his strength to overwhelm
Russia, his last and greatest error. They greatly err who think these
were mere schemes to keep France embroiled, lest peace should annihilate
his power. They equally err who ridicule and attribute to a childish
vanity his ambition to link himself by marriage with the imperial
families of Europe. It was no childish vanity, but a politic endeavour
to found a dynasty, which should hand down his name as its founder to
the latest ages. They again who can see nothing better in the melancholy
spectacle of Napoleon at St. Helena, engaged in falsifying records and
altering figures to deceive the world, than a drivelling vanity, utterly
miscomprehend the man. Fame, fame to the utmost limits of human
duration, was to his last moment his highest ambition. Foiled in
everything else, he yet hoped to secure fame. He knew that under his
name the most eventful page in the History of Europe, since the fall of
Rome, must be written, and he naturally desired
“To be among the worthies of renown,
And so sit fair with fame, with glory bright.”
DANIEL.
To describe the character of Wellington, is to reverse that of Napoleon.
Napoleon was shrewd, artful, and deceitful; Wellington open-hearted,
strong-sensed, candid, and sincere. Napoleon a clever statesman;
Wellington obtuse in politics. Napoleon a great strategist; Wellington
short-sighted, though daring in the field. Napoleon a lover and patron
of arts; Wellington a despiser of them. Napoleon said to be personally
timid; Wellington constitutionally brave. Napoleon’s cruelties were acts
of cool calculation and state-policy; Wellington’s of military fury.
Napoleon poisoned his sick troops because he did not know what else to
do with them, and murdered the Duke d’Enghien to produce “an effect” in
Europe; Wellington’s cruelties were the necessary consequences of war
energetically carried on, and were never the result of cold-blooded
predetermination.[21]
Before closing this section, we would request the reader’s attention
to the strong proof of the truth of the hypothesis derivable from
the fact that like Noses, with like circumstances (_cæteris
paribus_, as the phrenologists say), produce like characters: for
instance, Wolsey, Richelieu, Ximenes, Lorenzo di Medici,
Alfred:—Sidney, Raleigh:—Alexander, Napoleon.