That whole night long the little farm of the Anabaptist was filled with partisans going and coming.
Hullin had established his headquarters in the large hall of the ground floor of the house; on this floor, too, was the hospital, and the farm people occupied the upper stories.
Although the night was calm and innumerable stars shone in the sky, the cold was so keen that the frost seemed almost an inch thick upon the window-panes.
Without, the cry of "Who goes there?" occasionally broke the stillness, while ever and anon the howling of wolves was borne on the air from the neighboring peaks; for since 1812 wolves had followed our armies by hundreds, and now, stretched on the snow, their pointed muzzles between their fore-paws, they called from Grosmann to Donon, and from Donon to Grosmann, until the breeze seemed filled with their plaintive cries. More than one mountaineer grew pale as he listened to them, and muttered:
"It is the song of death; he scents the battle from afar, and calls us to follow him."
Then the cattle lowed in their stables, and the horses neighed with affright.
Some thirty fires were burning on the plateau where was the camp; the old Anabaptist's wood-pile had paid tribute, and log after log was heaped on; but though the face might scorch, the back quivered with the cold, and frost hung from the beards and moustaches of those who stood warming their backs.
Hullin, in the house, sat before the great fir table, absorbed in thought. From the latest reports he had received, he was convinced that the first attack would be made the next day. He had had cartridges distributed, had doubled the sentries, ordered patrols through the mountain, and fixed the posts of all along the abatis. He had also caused Piorette, Jerome of Saint-Quirin, and Labarbe to send their best marksmen to him.
The hall where he sat was lit by a dim lantern, and full of snow; and every moment his officers came and went, their hats drawn far down over their heads, and icicles hanging from their beards.
"Master Jean-Claude, something is moving near Grandfontaine; we can hear horses galloping."
"Master Jean-Claude, the brandy is frozen."
"Master Jean-Claude, many of the men are without powder."
Such were the reports and complaints that every moment assailed the leader's ears.
"Watch well toward Grandfontaine and change the sentries on that side every half-hour."
"Thaw the brandy at the fires."
"Wait until Dives comes; he has ammunition. Distribute what cartridges remain, and let all who have more than twenty rounds divide the surplus among their comrades."
And so the night passed.
Toward five in the morning Kasper reported that Marc-Dives with a load of cartridges, Catherine Lefevre, and a detachment from Labarbe had arrived and were at the farm.
The news eased the old sabot-maker's mind, for he feared greatly the result of a delay in the supplies. He rose at once and went out with Kasper.
At the approach of day, huge masses of fog had begun to rise from the valley; the fires crackled in the damp air, and all around lay the sleeping mountaineers. All was silent, and a cloud, purple or grey, as the fire rose or fell, hung around each bivouac. Further off, the dim outlines of the sentinels could be seen as they paced to and fro with arms shouldered, or stood gazing into the misty abysses.
To the right, fifty yards beyond the last fire, horses were neighing, and men stamping to keep their feet warm.
"Master Jean-Claude is coming," said Kasper approaching the group.
One of the partisans had just thrown a bundle of dry sticks upon the fire, and by the light of the blaze Hullin saw Marc-Dives and his twelve men on horseback, standing sabre in hand, motionless around their charge. Catherine was further on, half covered with the straw of her wagon, her back leaning against a large cask; behind her were a huge pot, a gridiron, a fresh-killed hog ready for cooking, and some strings of onions and cabbages for soup. All started for a moment from the darkness, and disappeared again as the blaze fell.
Dives left his party and rode forward.
"Is that you, Jean-Claude?"
"Yes, Marc."
"I have already several thousand cartridges. Hexe-Baizel is working night and day."
"Good! good!"
"And Catherine Lefevre is here with provisions."
"We shall need all, Marc. The battle is near."
"I do not doubt it; we shall not have long to wait. But where shall I put the powder?"
"Yonder; under the shed, behind the house. Is that you, Catherine?"
"It is indeed, Jean-Claude. A cold morning."
"Always the same, Catherine. Do you fear nothing?"
"Would I be a woman if I lacked curiosity? I must see all that is going on, you know."
"Yes, you have always excuses for your good deeds."
"No compliments, Hullin. People cannot live on air, and I have taken my measures. Yesterday we killed an ox—poor Schwartz—he weighed nine hundred, and I have brought a quarter for soup. Let me warm myself."
She threw the reins to Duchene and alighted, saying:
"Those fires yonder are a pretty sight, but where is Louise?"
"Louise has passed the night making bandages with Pelsly's two daughters. She is there in the hospital, where you see my lantern shining."
"Poor child!" said Catherine; "I will run and help her. It will warm me."
Hullin gazing at her retreating figure could only mutter, "What a woman! What a woman!"
Dives and his men took the powder to the shed; and what was Jean-Claude's surprise, on approaching the nearest fire, to see the fool Yegof, his crown upon his head, gravely sitting upon a stone, his feet at the embers, and his rags draped around him like a royal mantle.
Nothing could be stranger than his figure. He was the only one waking there, and seemed a barbarian king surrounded by his sleeping horde.
Hullin, however, only saw the fool, and gently placing his hand upon his shoulder, said in a tone of ironical respect:
"Hail, Yegof! thou art come to offer us the aid of thine invincible arm and the help of thy numberless armies!"
The fool, without showing the least surprise, answered:
"That depends upon thee, Hullin. Thy fate and that of thy people around thee are in thy hands. I have checked my wrath, and I leave it to thee to pronounce the sentence."
"What sentence?" asked Jean-Claude.
The fool, without replying, continued in a low and solemn tone:
"We are here now, as we were sixteen hundred years ago, on the eve of a great battle. Then I, the chief of so many nations, came to thy clan to demand a passage—"
"Sixteen hundred years ago!" interrupted Hullin; "that would make us fearfully old, Yegof. But no matter; go on."
"Yes," said the fool; "but thine obstinacy would hear nothing; hundreds of dead lie at Blutfeld; they cry for vengeance!"
"Ah! yes, Blutfeld," said Jean-Claude; "it is an old story; I have heard you tell it before."
Yegof rose with flushed face and flashing eyes.
"Barest thou boast of thy victory?" he cried. "But beware, beware! Blood calls for blood!"
Then his tone softened, and he added:
"Listen! I would not harm thee; thou art brave, and the children of thy race may mingle their blood with mine. I desire thy alliance—thou knowest it."
"He is coming back to Louise," thought Jean-Claude, and, foreseeing another demand in form, he said:
"Yegof, I am sorry, but I must leave you; I have so many things to see to—"
The fool bent an angry look on him.
"Dost refuse me thy daughter?" he cried, raising his finger solemnly.
"We will talk of it hereafter."
"Thou refusest!"
"Your cries are arousing my men, Yegof."
"Thou hast refused, and for the third time. Beware! Beware!"
Hullin, despairing of calming him, strode away, but the fool's voice followed:
"Woe to thee, Huldrix! Thy latest hour is nigh. Soon will the wolves banquet upon thy flesh! The storm of my wrath is unchained, and for thee and thine there is no longer grace, pity, nor mercy! Thou hast spoken thy doom!"
And throwing the ragged end of his cloak over his shoulder, the poor wretch hurried toward the peak of Donon.
Many of the partisans, half awakened by his voice, gazed with dull eyes at his vanishing form. They heard a flapping of wings around the fire, but it seemed like a dream, and they turned and slept again.
An hour later, the horn of Lagarmitte sounded thereveille. In a few moments every one was upon his feet.
The chiefs assembled their men. Some went to the shed, where cartridges were distributed; others filled their flasks at the cask, but everything was done in order. Then each platoon departed in the grey dawn to take its place at theabatis.
When the sun rose, the farm was deserted, and, save five or six fires yet smoking, nothing announced that the partisans held all the passes of the mountain, and had so lately been encamped there.
As Good Friday drew near, I was more than once asked by ourmaestro di casaif I meant to attend the Passion at Prato. Prato is an old walled town in the valley of the Arno, about ten miles from Florence. It contains some twelve thousand inhabitants, whose principal occupation consists in plaiting Leghorn straw, manufacturing Turkish red-caps, smelting copper, and quarrying the dark green serpentine, which figures so extensively in Italian church architecture. It is renowned in Christian art as the shrine of the Sacratissima Cintola. Ourmaestroexplained that once in every three years, from time immemorial, the citizens of Prato had celebrated Good Friday by a nocturnal representation of the Passion; that it was a sight well worth seeing, and famous throughout Northern Italy; that he and his family were going, and that they had a window, or stand, very much at my service. My aunt, who thought nothing worth seeing but the Cascine and her native Lucca, shook her head despairingly, leaving me somehow under the impression that the affair was a large puppet-show accompanied by fireworks. So the matter dropped, and I quite forgot it, until invited on Holy Thursday by an English gentleman, long resident in Florence, to make one of a party to Prato, Friday afternoon. As the trains were uncomfortably full, and all the better public barouches engaged weeks before, we had to put up with an old blue hack, drawn by two lank, slovenly bays. But the hack-horses of Florence are singed cats. Although not unlike crop-eared mules, they can hold a trot or canter all day long, without seeming much more distressed than when they started. We were hardly through the Porta al Prato before our team struck an honest, even, steady lope that soon brought us to the Villa Demidoff.
The spring is a slow one, but the violets are out, the fruit-trees in bloom, and the roses budding. There is no dust; the road, like all Tuscan roads, smooth and firm, curbed and guttered, weeded to the edge, fringed with unbroken borders of olive, mulberry, and vines.Along the wayside, and in the doorways, old women and children are braiding straw. Men and girls, in holiday attire, are flocking to the great triennial festa; some in carts, drawn by mild-eyed, dove-colored oxen; some on foot; others in jaunty spring-wagons, jerked along by plucky little ponies. The whole country is astir, with a general concentration on Prato. It must surely be something worth seeing that provokes such a deliberate crowd. Still, I asked no questions. It is so much more interesting to anticipate a spectacle vaguely than exactly. The indefinite anxiety about the form in which a dawning unknown will finally present itself is always more engrossing than mere curiosity to realize a picture distinctly foreshadowed. Yet, while speculating on what the good people of Prato could possibly make of the awful mystery they were undertaking to represent, I must confess that I felt apprehensive lest some awkward handling should affront the unutterably sacred.
At sunset we reached the fine old walls, and came to a halt just inside the gate. To drive further was impossible. The city swarmed withcontadinifrom the neighborhood; with natives andforestierifrom Florence, Pisa, Pistoia, Lucca, and even Milan; with the beautiful maidens of Segna and the dark silk-venders of Pescia. It was evident, at a glance, that the ceremony was to be a procession. The piazzas were all ready for illumination; every window along the line of march displayed at least two lamps suspended from brackets of thick iron wire; every door and balcony was thronged with still, expectant faces.
As two of our party, a young artist and a mature cosmopolitan, were bent on seeing the cathedral, we managed to reach it after toiling through the crowd. It is wonderful how many objects your disciplined sight-seer can absorb at once. He is never satisfied with less than a constellation in his field of vision. The emotional jumble that maddens a novice serves only to tranquillize his nerves. He is utterly insensible to the charm of a separately entertained idea—the undulating, widening waves of thought dispersed evenly and unbrokenly from one central point of agitation. He is, apparently, never so happy as when the surface of sensation is pelted with fresh impressions, overshowered with novelties, tremulous and titillating with myriads of clashing circlets. But, although the Duomo is partly of the twelfth century, although it is said to enshrine the Sacratissima Cintola, although its choir contains the best specimens of Fra Lippo Lippi, I was not sorry to find the doors locked. My mind was so preoccupied with the coming Passion that I scarcely cared to do more than glance at the fine balcony built by Donatello for the exposition of the treasured girdle.
We drifted about the piazza till dark, when an electrical movement and murmur of the people announced the near approach of the initial moment. Instantly a thousand ladders are up against the house-sides; swiftly and mysteriously the throng of on-lookers melts away; the bands of Pistoia and Prato unite in a minor march; the momently deserted streets are filled with radiance and music—the great triennial festa has begun. Half-past seven; a perfect night; no moon, a low breeze, and faint starlight. We are in the rear of the starting-point; the procession must traverse the whole town—two hours—before it reaches us. But we shall have the best of it then, for the close is said to be even more solemn and better ordered than the start.
The narrow sidewalks are lined with spectators; doors, windows, and balconies alive with faces; but there is little movement and less conversation. Although we had a room of our own, we found ourselves addressing each other in whispers. At nine o'clock the silence deepened; the low rustling in the balconies ceased; our hostess crossed herself; the glare of coming torches lights up a living lane of men bare-headed, of women mutely praying with clasped hands; and then a solitary Roman knight, with casque and spangled robe, and steed unshod, glides noiselessly into view, like an apparition. After him a band of mounted knights, clad as at Calvary, ride slowly, silently together; then a blast from twenty trumpets, in superb unison, by twenty Bersaglieri of the Guard; and then—a sight which to this day brings the tears to my eyes as I recall it—thirty gladiatorial lictors, ten abreast, stripped to the waist, bare-headed, belted, filleted—all picked men of equal height—moving with a step that spurned the ground, light but swift and stern as fate. How that wonderful step startled us! How its determined energy transported us to Jerusalem! They have sustained it for two hours without the slightest symptom of weariness. They march on as if they could keep the pace forever.
After these, in helmet and cuirass, with shield and sword and spear, come the Roman legionaries, true to tradition in gait, garb, and array.
"Watch the sway of their spears," whispered our artist friend, as the long lances flashed through the air with the even sweep of an admiral's oars.
It was worth watching: nearly as much so as the wonderful stride of the lictors. And, all the while, you could not hear a footfall, a comment, or a murmur; the procession passed like a vision through the heart of that still, torchlit, reverent multitude. But, as the dread sequel approached, I began to tremble—began to fear they might overdo it—although the marching of those drilled lictors and the swaying of those legionary spears might have reassured me. Fresh companies of knights, fresh sections of the cohort are filing forward, every man of them as earnest and absorbed as if he were climbing the hill of the Crosses Three. Not a sign or gesture of levity, distraction, or fatigue; not even a side-glance at the living walls that hemmed them in.
As the vanguard melts away, the sudden glare of many torches, the sudden chaunt of many voices, again invade the solemn stillness with music and light. Marshalled groups of ecclesiastics, each group with its separate choir, are seen advancing in endless perspective; and in the centre of each choir, between two torch-bearers, a lovely boy, with downcast eyes and rigid face, supports some symbol of the Passion. One by one, at measured intervals, the precious emblems of salvation are thus successively displayed—each with its guard of acolytes, its escort of deacons and sub-deacons, its swelling choral, its angelic boy-bearer. Those rapt, concentrated, inspired young faces! I see them now bending in meek beauty over the Scourge, the Crown, the Reed, the Cross, the Nails, the Sponge, the Spear.
And when these too have passed, there is another pause, another interval of darkness, another pulseless silence, broken as before by the tide of radiance and song. Seven white banners inscribed with the Seven Last Words are borne by with the same mournful pomp, the same separate array. Whose the music, I know not: neither Haydn's, I am sure, nor Mercadante's, I think; but quite as effective, for the moment, as either.We looked and listened spell-bound; an overpowering illusion held us speechless and motionless; a dread expectation weighed at our hearts like lead; we were body and soul at Calvary, as once more the torchlight died away. And in the darkness, we asked ourselves, "Will they venture farther? Will they attempt the act of sacrifice itself? Why, the city of Prato would reel like Jerusalem—her graves would open and her dead would walk!"
But Prato is too merciful for that. After an interval of profound suspense, a lofty sable catafalque, encircled by priests arrayed in stole and surplice, is borne silently along—and on it, pale and unmoving, the shrouded image of the divine Victim, with all the agony of the Passion on the white lips and crimson brow.Consummatum est!—But as we sat unexpectant of more, another figure emerged from the settling gloom—the life-size effigy of the Mater Dolorosa, "following with clasped hands and streaming eyes the dead form of her Son." After all that long array oflivingactors, the introduction of any effigy, however perfect, must create a disillusion. And this one is far from perfect—far more suggestive of the Prado than of Calvary. The dead on the catafalque is appropriately represented by the inanimate; but when knights, soldiers, lictors, centurions, are moving, breathing flesh and blood, its application to the equally living Mother is a violent incongruity. The action has been too intensely vitalized to assimilate a counterfeit vitality, however sacred its significance.
"But what then?" asks the genius of Prato. "Am I to forego this tribute to my dear Padrona because it shocks the sensibilities of a speculative tourist? Does not my cathedral enshrine the very girdle of the Assumption that fell to the kneeling Thomas? Can you fix a single unorthodox or unscriptural significance upon these time-honored obsequies? In the final throes of crucifixion, was not the last thought of the dying Son, the last concern of the expiring Redeemer, for his Mother? Was not 'Behold thy Mother!' the last charge of the thirsting lips? We obey theEcce Homoof Pilate: dare we disobey theEcce Materof Jesus?"
Let it be discriminated, however, that in theEcce Materwe are summoned to contemplate our Blessed Lady, not in her agony, but in her maternity—in her relationship rather to the future than to the present. The Evangelists are singularly careful not to distinguish any finite sorrow—not evenhers—from the overwhelming spectacle of immolated Deity. Had the Mater Dolorosa formedpartof the funeral tableau, had she been picturedDolentemCUMfilio, had she been stationed directlyatthe bier so as to constitute a group or Pietà—although the inconsistency of effigy remained, yet the marbles of Angelo and the canvas of Raphael would have abundantly prepared us for the sight. But at that supreme moment, to present her,after a distinct interval, as aseparatespectacle, was at variance with all the examples of Christian art. The Stabat Mater does not wander an inch from the Cross; though here, with exquisite propriety, as the sorrow of the Mother is revealed, the cross she clings to is so dimmed by her tears that we catch only mournful twilight glimpses of the DULCEMNatum—veiled, infinite, triumphant woe, but none of the vivid, minute, specific agony of the Passion.
The sublime reticence of the Evangelists, so far from diminishing the true glory of the Handmaid of the Lord, is in inspired accord both with her maiden humility and maternal dignity. The fathomless processes of redemption present themselves to our limited perceptions rather as consecutive than simultaneous. The paternal, the filial, the spiritual aspect of the Holy Trinity seems each consecutively prominent in the church. As the special work of the Redeemer is consummated, the special work of the Comforter begins. The sphere of the Paraclete is as broadly defined, as lovingly respected by the Son, as the sphere of the Padre Eterno. Infinitely dear as is the bond between babe and mother, we instinctively sympathize with the mystical courtesy that reserved the full exaltation of the Bride of the Dove, like the gift of the cloven tongues of fire, for the operation of the Holy Ghost.
"Vergine sola al mondo sensa esempio,Che'l ciel di tue bellezze innamorasti."
And the hearts of the faithful, now as at Ephesus, are jealously alive to the full significance of her paramount title, "Mater Dei."
The mission of Peter, to feed the sheep, is not more emphatic than the mission of John as the child and guardian of Mary. The apostolic inheritor of the keys, and the executor of the cross who took her as his own, walk side by side through the ages,not in the flesh, indeed, but in the spirit, following the Lord till his coming. In this relation, the dearest disciple is as deathless as the church; under this aspect, Christian art loves to depict him; under this aspect he becomes the preferred of the Paraclete, as he has been the best beloved of Jesus—becomes the great herald of the incarnation; the prophet to whose vision the doors in heaven are opened; the bearer of the mystic challenge, "And theSPIRITand theBRIDEsay come!"
Salve Regina! Much as I should have preferred the chime of the Stabat Mater to any more direct suggestion, or to aught in imitative art save the very face of the San Sisto transformed by maternal sorrow, yet no man in Prato bows with deeper heartfelt reverence than I to the image of our ever honored Lady. Tuscany is not Mariolatrous enough for me. I should like it better with a Madonna presiding over every fountain and hallowing every pathway. And, in the deep hush that precedes the stir with which Prato struggles back to herself, the soul's conception of theJuxta crucem lacrymosatakes the place of the vanishing effigy, and, aided by the inspired seers of art, constructs some tenderer semblance of the blessed countenance.
"——ch' a ChristoPiu s' assomiglia."
"——ch' a ChristoPiu s' assomiglia."
There was but little conversation as we drove back in the midnight. And when at last, in the starry distance, arose the mighty cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore, I caught myself searching among the towers of Florence for the lonely spire of Santo Spirito.
[Footnote 125]
"Even so great a man as Bacon rejected the theory of Galileo with scorn. … Bacon had not all the means of arriving at a sound conclusion which are within our reach; and which secure people who would not have been worthy to mend his pens from falling into his mistakes."—Macaulay.
[Footnote 125:Galileo—The Roman Inquisition. Cincinnati. 1844.Galileo e l'Inquisizione. Marino-Marini. Roma. 1850.Histoire des Sciences Mathématiques en Italie. Par Libri. Paris. 1838.Notes on the Ante-Galilean Copernicans.Prof. De Morgan. London. 1855.Opere di Galileo-Galilei.Alberi. Firenze. 1842-1856. 16 vols. imp. 8vo.Galileo-Galilei, sa Vie, son Procès et ses Contemporains. Par Philarète Chasles. Paris. 1862.Galileo and the Inquisition. By R. Madden. London. 1863.Galilee, sa Vie, ses Découvertes et ses Travaux. Par le Dr. Max Parchappe. Paris. 1866.Galilee. Tragédie de M. Ponsard. Paris. 1866.La Condamnation de Galilée. Par M. l'Abbé Bouix. Arras. 1866.Articles on Galileo, in Dublin Review. 1838-1865.Articles on Galileo, in Revue des Deux Mondes. 1841-1864.Mélanges Scientifiques et Littéraires. Par J. B. Biot. 3 vols. Paris. 1858.Galilée, les Droits da la Science et la Méthode des Sciences Physiques. Par Thomas Henri Martin. Paris. 1868.]
Very few years of life now remain to the Galileo story as heretofore accepted. It has received more than one mortal wound, and, writhing in pain, must soon "die among its worshippers." And yet some of them still battle for its truth. For these, too, the end approaches. We therefore hasten to glean the field and gather in our harvest of historic leaves, while yet the controversial sun shines with fading warmth. We wish at once to present the Galileo story as truly told; for soon there will be nothing left of it to discuss, and the moving drama of
"The starry Galileo, with his woes,"
will cease to be played to crowded and delighted anti-Catholic audiences. A flood of historic daylight has been gradually let in behind the scenes, and our pensive public now begin plainly to discern the bungling framework, the coarse canvas, and the roughly-daubed paint, that, in a light shed by a blaze of religious bigotry, seemed the brilliancy of science and the beauty of truth.
The "persecution," the "torture," the "e pur si muove" the "shirt of penance," and all the other properties, scenery, dresses, and decorations, constituting the "mise en scène" of the wretched play that so long has had a sort of historicBlack Crookrun, are now about to be swept away with other old rubbish, and the curtain will fall never again to rise.
The Galileo controversy is of comparatively recent date in our literature. In the year 1838 a well-known article in theThe Dublin Reviewgave the best statement of the case which, up to that period, had ever been presented to English readers. It was in this country generally attributed to Cardinal Wiseman, but was in fact written by the Rev. Peter Cooper. Republished in 1844 at Cincinnati, with a timely preface, it has been largely circulated among the Catholic reading public throughout the United States. Since the dates mentioned, however, there are many valuable accessions to our knowledge on this interesting subject; and, not to mention others, the publications of Marini, Alberi, and Biot have cleared up several important points heretofore in doubt, and placed some disputed facts in an entirely new light.
The occasion ofThe Dublin Reviewarticle was the appearance of Whewell'sHistory of the Inductive Sciences, and Powell'sHistory of Philosophy. Its republication in Cincinnati, accompanied by an American introduction, was provoked by some remarkable statements made concerning Galileo by John Quincy Adams, in a discourse delivered before the Astronomical Society of that city. In like manner, the controversy was lately brought to the surface in France by the production of M. Ponsard's five-act drama (Galilée) at the Théâtre Français. Before it is put upon the stage, the play is objected to by official censorship, on the ground of historical misrepresentation. M. Ponsard justifies, censure responds. M. Ponsard's friends, theAvenir Nationaland a compact phalanx of ardent youngfeuilletonistes, spring to the rescue; pamphlets fly from the press as thick as autumn leaves, and the whole controversy is once again put in agitation.
Generally speaking, English and American boys emerge from their school or college reading with an idea, more or less vague, that the moment Galileo announced the doctrine of the earth's rotation he was seized upon by the Inquisition, cast into prison, tortured in various ways until all his bones were broken; that he pretended to recant, but, with broken bones aforesaid, stood up erect, stamped his foot, and-thundered out, "e pur si muove"—and yet, it moves. We believe this is no exaggeration of the main features of the version that in an undefined and misty form still holds possession of the public mind; and the distinguished Biot appears to recognize this fact in the title of his memoir (1858) on the subject.La Vérité sur Galilée— The truth at last—or, in other words, we have had enough of fiction.
And no wonder; for, up to within comparatively few years, the story has been systematically obscured by thick shades of fable and falsehood. Falsehood as gross as that of Montucla, that the astronomer's eyes were put out; or of Bernini, that he was imprisoned for five years. Falsehood as flippant as that of Moreri, (Grand Dictionnaire Biographique,) that Galileo was "kept in prison five or six years," prefacing his statement with "je sais bien." Fables as transparent as that of Pontecoulant, who says Galileo was a martyr, leaving you free to imagine the astronomer beheaded or burned, at your choice.
As liberal a quarterly as theWestminstersays of Galileo: "For the remainder of his life he was subjected to the persecution of the Inquisition." Even the last edition of theEncyclopedia Britannicatells us that "at the end of a year the Grand Duke had the influence to procure his release from prison;" and Sir Benjamin Brodie informs us, in hisPsychological Inquiries, that "the Inquisition of Rome subjected Galileo to the torture because he asserted that the earth moved round the sun, and not the sun round the earth." But for a specimen of the most daring intrepidity of statement on this topic, see an article by Libri in theRevue des Deux Mondes, 1841; and for one out of a thousand silly rhetorical flourishes, seeIntroduction à l'Etude Philosophique de l'Histoire de l'Humanité, par Altmeyer, (p. 95,) "Galilée fut forcé par un clergé retrograde de demander pardon à Dieu d'avoir révelé aux hommes les éternelles et ravissantes harmonies par lesquelles il régit l'univers."
Summing up this peculiar phase of historical treatment, there is left from it a general impression that Galileo was persecuted, imprisoned, maltreated, and tortured, wholly and solely by reason of his scientific belief; that he pretended to abjure, but said "e pur si muove" and did not abjure.
The Ponsard controversy in France, which had hardly died out at the latest advices, produced many assertions, strong expression of weak theories, loose statement, some fine writing, pleasing amenities, such as "exagération," "inexactitude de transcription," "menteurs," "mensonge complet," and very little historical proof.
Throughout the entire range of the discussion one capital feature appears, as usual, to be left totally out of sight. We mean
The Condition Of The Scientific Question.
The theory of the earth's motion, A.D. 1868, is demonstrated. There is no one to question it—unless, indeed, we except Pastor Knaack, an orthodox Lutheran, or, at any rate, Protestant preacher, in Berlin, who lately had an exciting controversy with Pastor Liscow, in which he maintains that the accounts given of the creation of the world in the first chapters of Genesis are literally true; that the earth does not move, etc., etc. And most persons nowadays, taking it for granted that Galileo had demonstrated the truth of his system, appear to be satisfied that the tribunal by which he was judged must have been perversely blind and disgracefully ignorant in refusing assent to a proposition so evident. Even in many books that treat this discussion with comparative thoroughness, the true condition of the scientific question in Galileo's day is passed over in silence, or presented with startling incorrectness. Thus any one might read Dr. Parchappe's pretentious work carefully through, and never suspect that Galileo had not triumphantly demonstrated the system.
For another, out of many examples, listen to M. Philarète Chasles: "Galileo accomplished the noblest conquest of modern science after that of Newton.He determined the problem of the movement of the earth, and thus became culpable of three crimes—against society, thesavants, and the power of his time." So intent is M. Chasles on his antithetical three crimes, that he loses sight of the fact that this assertion prostrates the wholeéchafaudageof his defence of Rome—for, ultra-liberal though he be, his book is written with unusual fairness of intention. If Galileo did what M. Chasles thus claims for him—namely, determine the problem of the movement of the earth—there is no excuse for Rome!But a candid examination of the condition of astronomical science at that period, and of the extent of Galileo's acquisitions, will show that not only was
The System Not Demonstrated By Galileo,
but that, with the entire fund of astronomical and physical knowledge in existence in his day, it was not then susceptible of demonstration by him or by any one else.
This examination we now proceed to make. And we set out with the proposition that Galileo, with all the aid of the eighty years of confirmation that grew with the theory of Copernicus, with the light of his own remarkable discoveries, with his brilliant genius and intimate conviction of the truth of his theory, was yet not only powerless to prove it, but was so far wide of demonstration that he assigned as evidence in its support reasons that were utterly erroneous and delusive.
The truth is—and it is no derogation of Galileo's magnificent talent to say so—it was not given to any single intellect here below to solve a problem so gigantic. It was not possible for any mortal to concentrate the patient labor of centuries within the space of one short life, to master all the avenues of all the sciences that approach it, to storm the firmament and lead captive the stars. No! only the combined genius and ceaseless toil of the illustrious men of science of all Christendom barely succeeded in accomplishing the demonstration of which we speak, nearly two centuries after the grave had closed over Galileo and his judges.
It would require a volume to do the entire subject the merest justice; for, in addition to the examination proposed, it is absolutely necessary, if only for the sake of chronological clearness, to present at least a sketch of Galileo's career, the main events of his personal and scientific life, and a statement of the difficulties that brought on his trial. This we will endeavor to do.
Biography.
Born at Pisa, February 28th, 1564, Galileo-Galilei was, at the age of twenty-six, noticed by the Cardinal Del Monte, and on his recommendation installed lecturer on mathematics in his native city. At this period the doctrines of Aristotle reigned in the schools, although Leonardo da Vinci, Nizzoli, Benedetti, and others, had, by many valuable experiments, already shaken the authority of the Stagyrite on matters of science. The young Pisan followed diligently in their path, and, with the favoring locality of the Leaning Tower, demonstrated the incorrectness of the accepted axiom that the velocity of falling bodies is proportionate to their weight. He was also the first to whom the mechanical principle, since denominated that of thevirtualvelocities, had occurred in its full extent; and in pure geometry there is no doubt that, at a later period, he anticipated Cavalcanti in the discovery of the calculus of the indivisibles.
Unfortunately, his indiscreet zeal had only words of harshness and rebuke for those who hesitated to accept his demonstrations, and his sarcasms rapidly begot alienation and ill-will. For a prejudice respectable by age he could make no allowance, and with the blindness that in a blaze of light is unable to command vision he had no patience. Galileo was, however, still young, and not yet, if ever in his life, wise enough to reflect, with another great astronomer, that men are not necessarily obstinate because they cleave to rooted and venerable errors, nor are they absolutely dull when they are long in understanding and slow in embracing newly discovered truths.
The young lecturer made so many enemies at Pisa that he was glad to leave it and accept the chair of mathematics at Padua.
The Telescope.
Here he invented, or rather improved, the telescope. Galileo expressly states in hisNuncius Siderius(March, 1610) that he had heard that a certain Hollander constructed (elaboratum) a glass, (perspicillum,) by means of which distant objects were made to appear near. Whether this unknown optician was Zachary Jansen, Moetius of Alkmar, or Henry Lippersheim of Middleburg, it seems impossible to determine.
Indeed, it seems strange that the idea of the telescope had not long before been put to practical use. Passing over the "perspective glasses" of the English astronomer Dee, or modifications of the suggestion in thePantometriaof Digges in 1571, we find that the idea of bringing nearer the image of distant objects by means of a combination of lenses is to be traced almost clearly to a very remote period. Baptist Porta, in hisMagica Naturalis, published in 1589, speaks of crystal lenses by which he could read a letter at twenty paces, and was confident of being able, by multiplying such lenses, to decipher the smallest letters at a hundred paces. Going further back, we read in theHomocentricaof Fracastorius, who died in the year 1553, of glasses through whose aid we can decipher writing at a great distance; and yet further, Roger Bacon, who died A.D. 1300, speaks of glasses by which very small letters could be read at an incredible distance.
Galileo's first telescope had only a power of three, his second magnified eight times, his third thirty-three, [Footnote 126] and was soon succeeded by a better one made on a suggestion of Kepler, who wrote to Galileo: "There is as much difference between the dissertations of Ptolemy on the Antipodes and the discovery of a new world by Columbus as between the bilenticular tubes which are everywhere hawked about and thine instrument, Galileo, wherewith thou hast penetrated the depths of the skies."
[Footnote 126: The largest telescopes we now have are at Cincinnati, 204 focal feet: Greenwich, (England,) 210; Cambridge, (Mass.,) 270; Pultowa, (Russia,) 289; E. Cooper, (private observatory, Ireland,) 302. Auzont (Paris) is said to have made one of 600 focal feet, but it was found to be unmanageable.]
These embryo telescopes were from twenty to thirty inches in length. Now, from a mere portable toy which Galileo held in his hand, this instrument has become an immense construction capable of supporting the astronomer himself, and which complicated and powerful machinery is requisite to move.
It is a remarkable fact that, as late as 1637, no glasses could be produced in Holland, the cradle of the telescope, capable of showing the satellites of Jupiter, which, in our day, can be discerned with a good field or opera-glass.
With his baby-telescope, then, in 1610, Galileo discovered the irregularities or mountains of the moon, forty stars in the Pleiades, and the satellites of Jupiter. These discoveries were announced in a work bearing the appropriate title, TheHerald of the Skies, (Nuncius Sidereus;)and it would be difficult to describe the profound sensation this publication created. Kepler, in a letter to Galileo, describes his impressions on hearing of the discovers of the satellites of Jupiter in the following graphic manner: "Wachenfels stopped his carriage at my door to tell me, when such a fit of wonder seized me at a report which seemed so absurd that, between his joy, my coloring, and the laughter of both, confounded as we were by such a novelty, we were hardly capable, he of speaking, or I of listening."
Galileo Goes To Rome.
Galileo visited Rome for the first time in 1611. His fame had preceded him, and his stay there was one long ovation. Attentions beset him and honors were heaped upon him. "Whether we consider cardinal, priest, or prelate," says Salsbury, "he found an honorable welcome from all, and had their palaces as open to him as the houses of his private friends." His reception was indeed, as was beautifully remarked, "as though one of his own starry wonders had dropped from the sky."
He erected his best telescope in the garden of Cardinal Bandini, and for weeks all classes, priest and layman, noble and plebeian, flocked to see the wonders for the first time given to human gaze.
In 1611 and 1612, he had a protracted controversy, and wrote treatises on the question whether "the shape of bodies has any influence on their disposition to float or sink in a fluid," and displayed much acute reasoning in support of the true principles of hydrostatics.
His Success.
Galileo had now obtained wealth, reputation, station, and high honors. His pupils were received as professors. His disciples and correspondents were philosophers, princes, and prelates. Opposition was for him but a bridge to triumph, and even his scientific errors were not noticed to his detriment. Not his the fate of Kepler and Tycho Brahe, compelled to seek in exile the hospitality of an opposing faith. Not his the essays of the discouraged Fulton, jeered at up to the instant that demonstration silenced cavil. Not his the labors of sad and silent nights, destined only to see the light when the hand that traced them was cold in the tomb. Not his the constant struggle with years of poverty, of hope deferred, in spite of which Columbus found a new world, not, like Galileo's, visible in the vault of heaven, but unseen, unknown, beyond the trackless wave.
He wrote and spokeex cathedra, and, whether with or without proofs, in a tone of overbearing confidence. When argument failed to enlighten the judgment of his adversaries, says Lardner, "and reason to dispel their prejudices, he wielded against them his powerful weapons of ridicule and sarcasm." His progress was a triumphant march. Sovereigns received his dedications, and learned academies sought a reflection of his fame in sending forth his works with all the illustration of their high authority. The path to the full establishment of the Copernican system was open and broad before him; but the pride of the man [Footnote 127] was stronger than the modest science of the philosopher, and he made it rugged and difficult by obstacles of his own erection. He strove not for truth, but victory.
[Footnote 127: Like Cicero, Galileo was "avidior gloriae quam satis est," a phrase used by himself when on his defence.]
The Copernican Theory
was, so to speak, born, cradled, nurtured and developed in the Church and under the very shadow of St. Peter's.
Nicholas Copernicus was a priest, acquired his scientific education at Bologna, was shortly afterward appointed to a professorship in Rome, where he lectured many years, and announced and discussed his theory of the solar system long before it was published. The printing of his great work was long urged in vain by Cardinal Scomberg, who sent money to defray the expense. The Bishop of Culm superintended its publication, and Copernicus dedicated it to the Head of the Church, Pope Paul III., on the express ground "that the authority of the pontiff might silence the calumnies of those who attacked these opinions by arguments drawn from Scripture."It was well understood that the authority of the pontiff might be relied on; for in 1533, ten years before the publication ofDe Revolutionibusby Copernicus, John Albert Widmanstadt, just arrived in Rome from Germany, was invited by Pope Clement VII. to give in his presence at the Vatican an explanation of the Copernican system. Widmanstadt accordingly delivered a lecture on the subject in the garden of the Vatican; and his holiness, in token of his high gratification, presented the distinguished German a valuable Greek manuscript, (long preserved at Monaco, and now belonging to the royal library at Munich,) on the fly-leaf of which is recorded, by Widmanstadt, the gift and the incident connected with it.
From that time (1533) to 1610, a period of seventy-seven years, the Copernican theory was widely discussed and written upon throughout Europe. Lectures were delivered and books published in Italy, Germany, France, and Spain, without let or hindrance, in which the new system was thoroughly debated and, to a great extent, controverted—controverted, too, far more bitterly by astronomers than theologians. It was, moreover, discussed amongst all classes of men. So much so, indeed, that it was publicly satirized in a farce put upon the stage at Elbing. So great, however, was the personal popularity of Copernicus that the piece was hissed.
Intentionally or not, the impression has been strongly made on the English and American Protestant mind that before Galileo the new system scarcely existed, and that he was the first to announce it to the astonished and benighted priests and cardinals at Rome. In like manner a certain amount of literary industry appears to have been used to pass over in comparative silence the merit of Copernicus and his fellow-priests—simply because they were priests. [Footnote 128]
[Footnote 128: In the interest of truth and historical accuracy, it is highly gratifying to be able to point out a signal and honorable exception in the following passage, which we read in theNational Quarterly Review, a Protestant periodical published in this city: "Thus we are bound to admit, as beyond all dispute, that not only was the system of the universe now universally received founded by a priest of the church which is said to be an enemy to science, but that it was a bishop and cardinal of the same church who, above all others, took most pains to have the system promulgated to the world. It was, in fact, they who paid all the expenses of printing the work, and finally, it was to the head of the church the book was dedicated; nor was it dedicated to the pope without his having given full permission, and it is further proved that Paul III. had not given the permission until he had made himself acquainted with the character of the work."—National Quarterly Review, October, 1868, p. 219.]
Much of this reprehensible effort is chargeable to English literature, and even Hallam, fair and honorable usually, is not free from the reproach of an apparent fear of stating boldly that Copernicus was a Catholic priest.
As remarked, more than three quarters of a century—that is to say, from the period of the Widmanstadt lecture to the discovery of the satellites of Jupiter—the new theory as propounded by Copernicus was publicly taught or discussed by numbers of the first scholars and men of science in Europe.
Among them were Erasmus, Reinhold, and George Joachim Rheticus; personal friends and survivors of Copernicus.
Francis Patricias, the distinguished Platonist, who from 1592 to 1597 taught the diurnal motion of the earth at Rome under the patronage of the pope. In connection with the name of Patricius it is interesting to note the fact that the most careful biographers of Galileo have been unable to fix the precise time when he abandoned the Ptolemaic system for that of Copernicus. True, M. Libri, (in hisHistoire des Sciences Mathématiques en Italie,) with his usual readiness undertakes to inform us, by stating that "Dès sa première jeunesse Galilée avait adopté le système de Copernic," which statement, in a question of dates, we find eminently unsatisfactory.The weight of authority, however, appears to place it somewhere between 1593 and 1597, precisely the period when Patricius was lecturing at Rome.
Christian Urstisius, who died in 1588, publicly taught the theory of Copernicus in a course of lectures delivered in Italy, and to him also is ascribed, by some, the conversion of Galileo to Copernicanism.
DiegoorDidacus a Stunica, a Spaniard, a decided Copernican, the first it is said who discussed the Bible arguments, quoting Job: "Who shaketh the earth out of her place, and the pillars thereof tremble."
Peter Ramus, who began his philosophical career by a public attack on the authority of Aristotle, in offering to maintain the contrary of any assertion of his whatever. It is noted as a curious coincidence that the publication of the opinions of Copernicus and of Ramus, controverting ancient astronomy (Ptolemy) and ancient logic, (Aristotle,) were made in the same year, (1543.) Although called by Bacon "a skulking-hole of ignorance," a "pernicious book-worm," etc., he was nevertheless a man of great powers and acquirements. Before Galileo came on the stage, he appeared to favor the system of Copernicus.
Christopher Rothman, who, although a friend and at one time a follower of Tycho Brahe, was a defender both of the annual and diurnal motion of the earth.
William GilbertandEdward Wright, two English scientific men, who may be classed among the opponents of the Copernican system.
Benedetti, who cautiously favored the system.
Christopher Clavius, a celebrated Jesuit, whose vast learning was the admiration of his age. In 1570, he spoke of Copernicus as the excellent restorer of astronomy whom all posterity will gratefully celebrate and admire as a second Ptolemy. We shall meet Clavius again.
Not to speak of Kepler, we might mention Raimarus, Maestlin, Vieta, and many others who wrote or lectured on the subject of the theory of Copernicus previous to the year 1610.
And yet we now reach a period when a professor of this same Copernican theory, in its home in Italy, was to be subjected to what are called the terrors of the Inquisition!
Whence The Change?
How came it about? Were there elements in the controversy other than scientific? And was it, or not, the fault of Galileo that the question was shifted from the safe repose of the scientific basis in which it had remained undisturbed more than four-score years?
Second Visit To Rome.
In 1615, Galileo was denounced to the Inquisition by Lorini for having asserted, in a letter to Castelli, the consistency of his theories with the Scriptures. Lorini produced a copy of the letter in support of his charge. The officials demanded the original, which the complainant could not produce, although every one in Rome knew where it was. Galileo's denunciator was, so to speak,non-suited, and there the matter ended. Meantime, through Ciampoli, Cardinal Barberini, afterward Pope Urban VIII., conveyed to Galileo the advice "not to travel out of the limits ofphysicsandmathematics, but confine himself to such reasonings as Ptolemy and Copernicus used; because, declaring the views of Scripture the theologians maintain to be their particular province."This advice, together with the opinion of the eminent Bellarmine, shows precisely the condition of opinion and feeling in Rome at the period in question.
Galileo did not leave Rome after the inquiry of 1615, and then writes to Picchena Feb. 16th, 1616: "My affair has been brought to a close, so far as I am individually concerned; the result has been signified to me by all their eminences the cardinals, who manage these affairs in the most liberal and kind manner, with the assurance that they had felt, as it were with their own hands, no less my own candor and sincerity, than the diabolical malignity and iniquitous purposes of my persecutors. So that, so far as I am concerned, I might return home at any moment."
But he did not choose to return, and remained in order to obtain a decision that should declare his scientific opinion in accordance with Scripture. His friend Cardinal Orsini entered warmly into his views, and after having failed in having the question taken up by the cardinals, had the imprudence to force it (arreptâ potius quam captâ occasione) upon the attention of the pope and the cardinals while in deliberation upon matters of weighty concern in one of their largest meetings. On a second interruption the pope, naturally impatient, declared he would send the matter before the Inquisition. He kept his word, and eleven consultative theologians had orders from him to report, which they did, February 24th, 1616. By virtue of an order, said to have been written by the pope himself upon this report, and notified on the 25th February, to the Commissary of the Holy Office by Cardinal Mellini, Galileo was summoned the next day to the palace of the Inquisition, where he was brought before Cardinal Bellarmine. The decree was not one of utter condemnation, but a declaration that the system appeared to be contrary to the sacred Scripture. Galileo was enjoined by the decree to abandon the opinion of terrestrial motion, and neither to teach nor treat of it. Nor was this a discrimination against Galileo merely because he was a layman. A few days afterward the congregation condemned the work of Foscarini, a Carmelite friar and professor of philosophy, who published a letter defending the systems of Copernicus and Galileo. It is important here to remark that the decree of 26th February, 1616, forbidding Galileo to teach the doctrine of the immobility of thesunwas scientifically correct, even tried by our modern scientific standard. "Ut supradictam opinionem quod sol sit centrum mundi et immobilis … omnino relinquat, nec eam de cetero quovis modo teneat, doceat, aut defendat." Will any man of modern science undertake to say that Galileo was right in denying the rotation of the sun? Nevertheless, Galileo writes to Picchena: "The result has not been favorable to my enemies, the doctrine of Copernicus not having been declaredheretical, but only as not consonant with sacred Scripture; whence, the whole prohibition is of those works in which that consonance was maintained."
Meantime these proceedings, imperfectly known abroad, doubtless gave rise to reports which the "diabolical malignity" of Galileo's enemies (as he styled it) did not fail to exaggerate. Hence, the certificate which he procured shortly after from Cardinal Bellarmine. The enemies Galileo speaks of were at first not in Rome but in Tuscany, as Libri, in hisHistoire des Sciences, (p. 231,) is at some pains to explain.The sermon of Caccini, who took for his text Josue x. 12, "Move not, O sun, toward Gabaon; nor thou, O moon, toward the valley of Ajalon," quoting from the Acts of the Apostles, "Ye men of Galilee, why stand you here looking up to heaven?"—was preached in Florence, and the friar-preacher was called to severe account for it by his superior at Rome, the general of the Dominicans. Here is the estimate in which Caccini's performance was held at the time in Rome: "All to whom I have spoken," writes an eminent ecclesiastic, Castelli, "think it great impertinence in preachers to mount their pulpits to treat of such high, professor-like matters,(matterie di cattedra e tanto elevate,)before women and people where there are so few to understand them." And really Castelli's sentiment is not without its salt, even when we transfer it from the 17th to the 19th century. Cardinal Bellarmine's opinion as to Galileo appears in an extract from a letter of Ciampoli, March 21st, 1615, who states the conclusion of a long conversation between Cardinal del Monte and Cardinal Bellarmine on the subject of the new opinions to be as follows: "By confining himself to the systemAND IT'S DEMONSTRATION, without interfering with the Scriptures, the interpretation of which they wish to have confined to theological professors approved and authorized for the purpose, Galileo would be secure against any contradiction; but that otherwise explanations of Scripture, however ingenious, will be admitted with difficulty when they depart from the common opinion of the fathers."
The sensation and consequent discussion resulting from Galileo's discoveries had induced Bellarmine to submit them to four of the most scientific fathers of his order (Jesuits) for their opinion. One of these fathers was the renowned Clavius. Their answer is published inVenturi, part I, p. 167, and shows that they approved the discoveries. As to Cardinal Bellarmine himself, it would take us too far out of our way to show from overwhelming testimony that he never questioned thetruthof Galileo's doctrine, but only his imprudent manner of propounding it. His position, in his own words, was this, and his words are full of wisdom: "When a demonstration shall be foundto establish the earth's motion, it will be proper to interpret the sacred Scriptures otherwise than they have been hitherto in those passages where mention is made of the stability of the earth and movements of the heavens." So ended the first judicial inquiry, and these two great men, Cardinals Barberini and Bellarmine, thus appear to have providentially left on record a sufficient answer to modern misrepresentation, while showing themselves to be the true friends of science. "Prove your system"—"Demonstrate it," they substantially say to Galileo—"and give yourself no concern about the Scriptures!—the theologians will take care of them." Indeed, the sentiments of these cardinals of the 17th seem to anticipate the language of the Holy Father in the 19th century. "This most tender mother, the Catholic Church, recognizes and justly proclaims," says Pius IX. as cited by Father Hecker in hisAspirations of Nature, "that among the gifts of Heaven the most distinguished is that of reason, by means of which we raise ourselves above the senses, and present in ourselves a certain image of God. Certainly, the church does not condemn the labors of those who wish to know the truth, since God has placed in human nature the desire of laying hold of the true; nor does she condemn the effort of sound and right reason, by which the mind or cultivated nature is searched and her more hidden secrets brought to light."(Pius IX.'s letter to the bishops of Austria.) The Holy Father, in his various encyclicals, has repeatedly given eloquent expression to the necessity and true use of reason and of science; and these are the worldly arms whose skilful use by our priests and missionaries will most avail where worldly arms are needed to carry the outposts of intrenched positions in which there are conversions to make or souls to be saved.
On the termination of the inquiry of 1616, Galileo had an audience with Pope Paul V., who received him very graciously and gave him every assurance of good-will and friendship, his Holiness assuring him in parting that the Congregation were no longer in a humor to listen lightly to calumnies against him, and that so long as he occupied the papal chair Galileo might consider himself safe. In his introduction to the Dialogue, (1630,) Galileo thus speaks of this visit: "Mi trovai allora presente in Roma; ebbi non solo udienze ma ancora applausi dei piu eminenti Prelati di quella Corte."
Here is the certificate referred to, which was given to Galileo by Cardinal Bellarmine:
"We, Robert Bellarmine, having learned that the Signor Galileo-Galilei has been subjected to false imputations, and that he has been reproached with having made before us abjuration of his errors, and that by our order certain penances were imposed upon him, declare conformably with truth that the said Galileo, neither before us nor before any other person whomsoever in Rome, nor in any other place that we are aware of, made any sort of retraction in relation to any of his opinions or of his ideas, that no punishment or penance was inflicted on him; but that a communication was made to him of a declaration of his Holiness, our sovereign, which declaration was promulgated by the Sacred Congregation of the Index, from the tenor of which it results, that 'the doctrine attributed to Copernicus as to the pretended movement of the earth round the sun, and as to the place which the sun occupies in the centre of the world without moving from its rising to its setting, is opposed to the Holy Scriptures, and consequently may not be defended or held.'"In faith of which we have written and signed the present the 26th of May, 1616, as here below. (Signed)
"Robert Cardinal Bellarmine."
The expression "Holy Scriptures," gives the key to the whole difficulty. The Congregation, in the first place, discriminated properly in refusing to recognize as a demonstrated proposition that which as yet was and only could be hypothesis.
We have seen that it was the unyielding obstinacy of Galileo in continuing to make it a theological or scriptural question that created all the trouble; and if any one doubts it, he may be corrected, as was Mr. Drinkwater, by an authority which will hardly be questioned:
"Mr. Drinkwater seems to be mistaken in supposing that Galileo did not endeavor to prove his system compatible with Scripture. In a letter to Christina, Grand-Duchess of Tuscany, the author (Brenna) of the life in Fabbroni's work tells us that he argued very elaborately for that purpose. It seems, in fact, to have been his over desire to prove his theory orthodox, which incensed the church against it." (Hallam,Hist. Lit. Europe, vol. iv. p. 171.)
In vain Bellarmine cautioned him, "It was essential that he shouldconfine himself within his mathematical studies, if he wished to secure tranquillity for his labors." In vain Cardinal Matteo Barberini gave him the same advice. Still Galileo persisted, although from 1616 to 1632 he was not in the slightest degree interfered with, and during all that time never ceased receiving distinguished marks of honor and esteem from pope and cardinals.