Encyclopaedia Britannica [19, 8 ed.]

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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA. EIGHTH EDITION.

THE

ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA DICTIONARY OF

ARTS. SCIENCES. AND GENERAL LITERATURE.

EIGHTH EDITION.

WITH EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS; AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.

VOLUME XIX.

ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH. MDCCCLIX.

[The Proprietors of this Work give notice that they reserve the right of Translating iiT\

NEILL AND CO; PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,

ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNIC A

REID, DR THOMAS, a distinguished Scottish philosopher, and founder of the school of Natural Realism, was born on the 26th of April 1710 at the manse of Strachan in Kincardineshire, a parish about twenty miles from Aberdeen, where his father, the Rev. Lewis Reid, was minister for fifty years. His mother was Margaret Gregory, daughter of David Gregory, Esq. of Kinnairdie in Banffshire, and one of twenty-nine children, the most remarkable of whom were David, James, and Charles Gregory, then professors of astronomy and mathematics at Oxford, St Andrews, and Edinburgh. By his father, Thomas Reid could look back on a long line of ancestors, most of whom had been ministers of the Scottish Church, and with a decided bias towards literature; and in two cases they had forced their way within the shadow of the throne, the one as Greek and Latin secretary, and the other as physician to royalty. On his mother’s side he could count the names of men who were as distinguished for their genius as they vvere illustrious for their worth; and who, by their brilliant talents, had shed lustre on the northern colleges, and left a memorable name in connection with the universities of the south. It was this twofold stream of literature and science that was to combine in forming the philosophy of Reid. Young Reid received his elementary education first at the parish school of Kincardine, and subsequently at Aberdeen. He entered Marischal College in his twelfth or thirteenth year, where, according to his own account, he received an education that was somewhat slight and superficial. He gave no indication of future eminence, but displayed a modest perseverance in study which amounted almost to a passion. About a century before, one of his ancestors had left an endowment to the librarian of his college; and to this office Reid had the good fortune to be appointed. He could now indulge his love of study amid the calm of an academical retreat. Like his great German rival and contemporary Kant, he at first showed a decided predilection for mathematical pursuits, a taste which was confirmed and strengthened by his familiar intimacy with John Stewart, subsequently professor of mathematics in the same college, and author of A Commentary on Newton!s Quadrature of Curves. The two youths read mathematics with ardour, and studied the Principia with fascination. VOL. XIX.

In 1736 Reid resigned his office as librarian, and accompanied his friend Stewart on an excursion to England. They visited London, Oxford, and Cambridge, and made the acquaintance of many persons of the first literary and scientific distinction. On Reid’s return to Aberdeen, he was presented by King’s College to the living of New Machar, in the same county. The popular prejudice was not, however, in his favour ; yet he completely disarmed the animosity of the people by the forbearance of his temper and his active spirit of humanity, and so endeared himself to them that they afterwards said, “ we fought Dr Reid when he came, and would have fought for him when he went away.” He seems to have had an aversion at this time to original composition ; and it is recorded of him that he preached the sermons of Tillotson and Evans for years after he became a clergyman. The greater portion of his time was spent in intense study, chiefly of a metaphysical cast, and when he took any relaxation it was for the most part in the shape of gardening and botany. A paper which appeared in the London Philosophical Transactions for 1748, entitled “ An Essay on Quantity, occasioned by reading a Treatise in which Simple and Compound Ratios are applied to Virtue and Merit,” will show how far he still clung to his earlier investigations, and to what extent he had realized the larger field which lay beyond. The work alluded to in the title of this paper was the Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue of Dr Hutcheson of Glasgow, who died the previous year. In 1752 Reid was elected professor of philosophy in King’s College, Old Aberdeen, where he required to teach mathematics and physics, as well as logic and ethics. Shortly after his removal to his new sphere of labour, Dr Reid took part in organizing a literary society, which was instrumental during many subsequent years in kindling and fostering that spirit of philosophical research which, in the writings of Reid, Gregory, Campbell, Beattie, and Gerard, reflected so much lustre upon northern literature. The Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense

was published by Reid in 1764, after having received the sanction and applause of his immediate associates. He wras then in his fifty-fourth year, and he seems to have meditated this work for twenty-five years, from the publication of Hume’s remarkable Treatise of Human Nature in 1739. A

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Thus Hume liad the unexpected credit of awakening the suspicions of Reid by his sceptical conclusions, as he not long afterwards had of arousing Kant from his “ dogmatic slumber.” As the refutation of Hume’s scepticism was the great object of Reid’s Inquiry, he took the opportunity of submitting his manuscript, through Dr Blair, to the great sceptic’s perusal. Hume, after reading the manuscript, wrote to Reid, “ I have read your performance with great pleasure and attention. It is certainly very rare that a piece so deeply philosophical is wrote with so much spirit, and affords so much entertainment to the reader.” And again, “ I kept a watchful eye all along over your style ; but it is really so correct, and so good English, that I found not anything worth the remarking.” Reid had unquestionably in this work fallen upon a mine of the very purest metal, and “ by an ignorance wiser than knowledge” worked it out with untiring perseverance. It may be fairly questioned, however, whether he was in all respects consistent in his application of the principles of Common Sense to the refutation of the Scepticism of Hume, or of an Idealism more subtle than that of Berkeley. Reid informs us that he “ had embraced the whole of Berkeley’s system” in the course of his speculative inquiries ; and was only withheld from giving it his final approbation on “ finding other consequences to follow from it, which gave me more uneasiness than the want of a material world.” His reading in philosophy was, to say the least, exceedingly limited; and this limitation had both its advantages and its disadvantages. For, while it kept his mind comparatively tree and untrammelled to look at the facts which his consciousness revealed to him, it, by this very freedom, threw him off his guard in analysing the contents of his experience, and deluded him with the conviction, that when he had confuted a doctrine under a particular development, his principles were proof against that doctrine, under whatever guise it might assume. So it was with the doctrine of Idealism, which he hastily identified with the Idealism of Berkeley. He raised, however, a substantial protest against the doctrines which it was his business to refute, and in his future work was more guarded in his expression as well as more circumspect in his estimate of philosophical opinion.The fame of Dr Reid spread rapidly all over the country; and in 1763 he was invited to Glasgow to fill the chair of moral philosophy, then vacated by Dr Adam Smith. Glasgow at that time presented strong attractions to a man of Dr Reid’s habits of mind. Simson, Moor, and Black, were still in the full vigour of their faculties, and were still looking forward to long years of intellectual enjoyment. Animated by the presence and stimulated by the zeal of such associates, Dr Reid entered upon the new scene of his labours wiui an ardour that was very uncommon at his period of life. Dugald Stewart, who was a pupil of Reid’s in Glasgow, and who has left us an elegant Account of his Life and Writings, in speaking of his merits as a public teacher, bears the following testimony :—“ The merits of Dr Reid as a public teacher were derived chiefly from that rich fund of original and instructive philosophy which is to be found in his writings, and from his unwearied assiduity in inculcating principles which he conceived to be of essential importance to human happiness. In his elocution and mode of instruction there was nothing peculiarly attractive.” “ A brief Account of Aristotle’s Logic, with remarks,” appeared in 1774, from the pen of Dr Reid, in the second volume of Lord Karnes’s Sketches of the History of Man. In 1781 Reid resolved to retire from his public duties, and to devote himself, while his health and faculties would permit, to the further elucidation of the phenomena and laws of the human mind. Although at that time upwards of seventy, neither in vigour of body nor of mind did he seem to have sustained any injury from time. Fie published his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man in 1785 ; and his Essays

I D. on the Active Powers of Man appeared in 1788. This last performance may be said to have closed his literary career, for, with the exception of short occasional essays on subjects which happened to interest him, written for a philosophical society of which he was a member, it wras the last work he ever wrote. His active and useful life was now drawing to a close. Fie was seized with a violent disorder in the month of September 1796, and after a severe struggle he died on the 7th of the following month, in the eightyseventh year of his age. Dr Reid, though somewhat under the middle size, was uncommonly muscular and athletic,—advantages to which his habits of temperance and exercise, as well as the extreme evenness of his temper, contributed not a little. In private he combined the dignity of the philosopher with the amiable modesty and gentleness of the child. His philosophical genius was peculiarly distinguished by a singular patience of thought, and by a cautious discriminating judgment. Fie was endowed by nature with a disposition, which early worked itself into a habit, of rivetting his most fixed and concentrated attention on his own mental operations ; and though there have been men who, with such a disposition, would unquestionably have drawn from the evanescent sphere on which he fixed his contemplation results more brilliant and conclusions more startling, yet it remains a question whether a loftier genius would have outshone Reid in the ultimate task of photographing, so to speak, the phenomena of the human consciousness, and of cautiously attending to what that consciousness implied. He was by no means a brilliant thinker ; but no philosopher ever surpassed him in patience. His style was simple, easy, and familiar; and perhaps his works have suffered somewhat from not being written in a language more elaborately technical, or at least in a manner less readily accessible to the ordinary comprehension of men. Since Reid’s time the estimates of his philosophical capacity have been alike curious and various. Some would have him endowed with a commanding genius, at whose light darkness became visible, and before whose glow all things false were consumed; others w'ould degrade him beneath the dignity of the philosophical class, and have men believe he had no business among philosophers. Extravagant as these estimates must appear, they might perhaps find an explanation in the mode of writing which the author adopted. To the one class, not very discriminating, his simple and familiar language would at once declare him the man of genius; while with the other class, equally undiscriminating, the absence of rigorous and severe technicality would at once erect a barrier between his talent and their appreciation. Suffice it to say, that his philosophy of Common Sense, his theory of external perception, still holds ground amid the war of conflicting systems and the general uprooting of opinion ; and so far as one can observe amid the dim and dusky confusion attendant on the strife, it is a philosophy, or, if men will, a bundle of theories, which is likely to outride the rough weather of human speculation for a considerable time to come. The polemic which Reid implicitly or explicitly carried on was of a twofold character, and the method which he brought to it was in some measure peculiar. In the first place, it was against the Scepticism of Hume he directed his primary and ineradicable beliefs; and in the second, it was at the Idealism of Berkeley he aimed his principles of the common sense. Hume, as a sceptic, who knew well the functions he had to fulfil, accepted the premises afforded him by the sensationalists, and carried these premises to their legitimate conclusions. These conclusions, as all know, were one weltering, chaotic sea of the wildest doubt; and the fatal reflection regarding the whole of his speculations was, the perfect legitimacy of his polemic, and the absolute justness of his reasoning. It was obvious that if

Reid,

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Philosophy was again to raise her cloven front before the altar of truth, she must disrobe herself of her meretricious attire, and be content to adorn her person in the simple and severe dress of a handmaid. Thomas Reid saw this truth, to the extent of his vision, and resolved to make the most of it. He would avoid the hollow empiricism which had so greatly degraded his century; and he would shun the extravagant folly of aspiring to a speculative ontology on which so many have made shipwreck. The method which he accordingly adopted was that of observation and experiment, of the analysis of the contents of his inner consciousness ; in a word, the method of Induction. Such was his method, and such was his design. It was nothing less than the re-construction and re-establishment of the entire speculative edifice, which, in such an humbling and confounding manner, lay level with the ground. He at once assailed the Idealist and the Sceptic in his doctrine of External Perception ; and he entirely confounded the latter by his metaphysical theory of the laws of Substance and Cause. Pie reduced perception to an act of immediate or intuitive cognition, viewing the one total object of perceptive consciousness as real, and founding the doctrine on the spontaneous consciousness or common sense of mankind. Pie thus instituted the doctrine of Natural Realism, as Sir William Hamilton calls it, to oppose the Idealists, whether absolute like Berkeley, or hypothetical, like the great body of philosophers before bis time. Reid may have fallen upon this doctrine by his very ignorance of the literature of philosophy. Of the great principle first explicitly announced by Empedocles, and hitherto assumed by philosophers, that “ the relation of knowledge inferred an analogy of existence,” Reid, in dealing with Norris, professes his entire ignorance. “ This argument,” he says, “ I cannot answer, because I do not understand it." P bus at least was Reid saved from one great snare which lay on the beaten path to External Perception. But in the further pursuit of scepticism, Reid, on analysing the contents of his observation of the metaphysical laws of Substance and Cause, found that, so far from those principles being entirely deducible from experience, as had hitherto been alleged, they were emphatically of that nature of which experience could give no account at all. Here, again, like the great German critic Kant, he was forced to avow that, while all knowledge began with experience, all knowledge was not therefore necessarily derived from experience. He ascribed those laws to the primary and fundamental beliefs which the mind had brought with it to the observation of phenomena; and without taking account in any very precise way as to whether the Reason in which those radical convictions inhered was personal or impersonal, he left the conviction on the mind of the reader that the principles of Substance and Quality, of Cause and Effect, &c., could not with safety be carried beyond the sphere in which human experience is possible. Thus, again, his philosophy is antagonistic to speculative ontology under every form, whether of a more abstract and indeterminate shape, such as Spinoza. Hegel, and Schelling have promulgated, or whether of a less abstract and more determinate nature, as in the modern speculations of M. Cousin. Reid’s philosophy partook to a considerable degree of the modesty of bis character. As he knew well that an uneasy vanity was generally inconsistent with true wisdom, so a kindred instinct seems to have taught him a genuine philosophical sagacity. Not that he exhibited throughout that clear seizure of the truth and complete self-consistency, which would have rendered his works immaculate and his conclusions impregnable ; but Sir William Hamilton has since thrown his opinions under a much greater light, both of learning and speculative genius, than Reid could pretend to ; harmonizing what was discordant, giving definite shape to what was before obscure, inserting useful distinctions, and com-

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pleting what the author had only dimly apprehended or Reid but imperfectly grasped. (For further information regarding Reid and his philosophy, the reader is referred to ReimarusHamilton’s edition of his works. Casual information respecting the philosophy of Common Sense will occasionally be found in the FIRST PRELIMINARY DISSERTATION of Dugald Stewart, prefixed to the present work.) (j. D—s.) REID, Sir William, distinguished for his success in physical science and in civil administration, was born in 1797, at the manse of Kinglassie, a village in Fifeshire, and entered the army in 1809 as a lieutenant of Royal Engineers. The first part of his career was passed in unobtrusive though active service. He passed through the heat of the French war under the Duke of Wellington, playing his part in most of the onsets, and bringing away several w'ounds. His next important engagement was at the bombardment of Algiers in 1816. He is then found in Barbadoes in 1832 as major of the engineers who were re-erecting the government buildings. It was not until 1838 when, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, he was governing Bermuda, that Reid began to come prominently before the public. In that year he published his Law of Storms, the first result of a course of patient and sagacious observation. He continued to test and mature his views while holding the governorship of the Windward Islands; and published in 1849 The Progress of the Development of the Law of Storms. The fame of these publications, as well as his growing reputation for administrative talent, gave him a high standing on his return home, and led him to several distinguished honours. In 1851 he was appointed chairman of the executive committee of the Great Exhibition. No sooner had that important task been finished than he was made a K.C.B., and sent out to govern Malta. There, too, his vigorous and spirited rule gained for him distinction ; and he had just returned home with the title of major-general when he died in October 1858. REIGATE, a parliamentary borough and market-town of England, in the county of Surrey, stands near the Mole, at the foot of the southern slope of the North Downs, 21 miles S. by W. of London. This small, neat town consists of one main street, running from E. to W.; and has a town-hall in the market-place, occupying the site of an old chapel of St Thomas a Becket. The church, which is built of limestone, at various dates, but chiefly in the perpendicular style, has a lofty embattled tower, and contains the tomb of Lord Howard of Effingham, who commanded the English fleet against the Armada. Besides this and a district church, built in 1845, there are in Reigate places of worship for Independents and Quakers. A grammar school, national and infant schools, literary institute, and a savings-bank are among the other establishments of the town. Some earthworks mark the site of a castle, which was destroyed in 1648. Under the court of the castle is a cavern where the barons are said to have met to draw up the Magna Charta. Of a priory that formerly stood here there are now no remains. Reigate returns one member to Parliament. Pop. (1851) 4927. REIMARUS, HERMANN SAMUEL, a German, who was bora at Hamburg in 1694, and was educated at the university of Wittenberg, is distinguished for his services in several departments of learning. His first fame was gained as the author of Primitia Wismarienia, 4to, 1723. Then, settling down at Hamburg in 1727 as professor of philosophy, lie became one of the brightest ornaments of the university of that city. His marriage in the ibllovving year with the daughter of J. A. Fabricius was the means of introducing him into other fields of labour. He assisted that eminent scholar in preparing his philological works; and after his death he published a Latin memoir of him, 8vo, Hamburg, 1737. Nor did a delicate constitution, and the growing infirmities of age, prevent him from entering

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upon the new study of natural history.

He published

Observations, Physical and Moral, on the Instinct of Anijn 2 vols. 12mo, Hamburg, 1760. Other researches

mais^

on the same subject would also have appeared had not death, in 1768, cut short his career. The other works of Reimarus are,—A Letter to Cardinal Quirini concerning the Works of Dion Cassius, 4to, Hamburg, 1746; The Roman History of Dion Cassius, in 2 vols. folio, Hamburg, 1750-53 ; and A Discourse on the Principal Truths of Natural Religion, 8vo, Hamburg, 1754, a popular treatise, of which a seventh edition appeared in 8vo, 1798. He is also the reputed author of the famous Wolfenbiittel Fragments, published by Lessing in 1774 and 1777. REIMS. See RHEIMS. REINESIUS, THOMAS, a learned German, was born at Gotha in 1587, and studied medicine at Wittenberg and Jena. After travelling in Italy, and practising in various towns in Germany, he is found at Leipsic in the former half of the seventeenth century enjoying a high reputation. His erudition and critical sagacity in questions of classical lore were admitted to be extremely great. The many philological works which had issued at intervals from his pen had carried his name far and wide, and raised up many admirers. Louis XIV. of France sent him many tokens of regard and esteem. Several eminent contemporaries were in the habit of consulting him on subjects oflearning. Especially was he considered an oracle in medicine and archaeology. Reinesius died on the 17th January 1667. The following are some of his works :— Variorum Lectionum Libri Tres Priores, in 4to, Utrecht, 1640 ; Observations upon Petronius, in 8vo, Leipsic, 1666; Epistolce, in 4to, Jena, 1670; and Syntagma Inscripiionum Antiquarum Omissarum in Opere Jani Gruteri cum Indice, folio, Leipsic, 1682. REINHOLD, ERASMUS, an eminent German mathematician, was born in 1511 at Saalfeld, and was determined towards mathematics at the university of Wittenberg. Appointed to the mathematical chair in his alma mater, and favoured by the patronage of Albert, Duke of Prussia, he devoted himself to the prosecution of his favourite science. With patient and careful labour he began to produce a series of works of great practical utility. The first book of the Almagest, in Greek, with a Latin version and scholia, was issued in 8vo, 1549. A set of astronomical tables, formed from a comparison of the observations of Copernicus with those of Ptolemseus and Hipparchus, and called, in honour of his patron Prutenicce Tabulce Ccelestium Motuum, was published in 1551. In 1554, the year after his death, there appeared a work entitled Primus Liber Tabularum Directionum, in which he extended Regiomontanus’s Table of Tangents to each minute of the quadrant. There were also other calculations of his which were printed a considerable time after his decease. REISKE, JOHANN JACOB, a profound scholar and eminent critic, was born in the year 1716 at a small town in the duchy of Anhalt in Germany. His parents occupied an humble situation in life ; and in consequence of the narrow circumstances in which he was placed, he had many difficulties to struggle with during the early part of his career. These, however, he surmounted by unabating perseverance ; and in 1733 went to the university of Leipsic, where he remained during five years in the ardent pursuit of his studies. Here he acquired an extensive knowledge of the Arabic, and engaged in the translation of a book from that language, which was afterwards published. With the view of prosecuting to greater advantage the study of Arabic, which had become with him a passion, he travelled on foot to Leyden, where new difficulties attended him. Whilst he remained there he was employed in arranging the Arabic manuscripts belonging to the university; and for this labour he received a very small compensation. During his residence at Leyden part

of his time was occupied in the translation of various essays Reland from the German and French languages into Latin. These || essays afterwards appeared in the Miscellanea Critica. Relief. About the same time also he translated into Latin the whole of the Chariton from the Greek, and the Geography of Abulfeda from the Arabic. Having spent eight years at Leyden, Reiske was driven from this place by jealousy and calumny, which, it is said, were excited against him chiefly by the younger Burmann, in consequence of his critical strictures on the edition of Petronius published by that author; but before his departure from this learned seminary he had obtained the degree of Doctor of Physic, which was conferred in a manner highly to his honour. Fie afterwards visited different parts of Germany, and at last settled a second time at Leipsic, where he remained for twrelve years. But although he had received the appointment of professor of Arabic, the emoluments of his office were so scanty that he had still to struggle with all the difficulties attendant on poverty, and, to procure a subsistence, was obliged to engage in humble employments of literary labour, and submit to the severe and ill-requited drudgery of editing works for booksellers, or contributing detached papers to periodical publications. About this time the Ada Eruditorum were greatly indebted to the labours of Reiske. But in the midst of all the difficulties and hardships now alluded to he prepared and published a work of profound learning and great merit. This work, which extended to five volumes, appeared under the title of Animadversiones in Auctores Grcecos, and added much to our author’s reputation. In the year 1758, in consequence of the death of Plaltausius, he obtained a situation which was not only honourable, but lucrative. This was the place of rector of the college of St Nicolas in Leipsic, in which he continued during the remainder of his life. He was now raised above want, and being free from the difficulties and embarrassments which had hitherto constantly attended him, he was thus enabled, in the midst of learned ease, to prosecute his favourite studies. In the year 1764 Reiske married Ernestine Christine Muller, a woman of great learning, and of whom it is said that her knowledge, especially in Greek literature, was little inferior to that of her husband. In all his literary labours she w^as a useful associate; but the assistance which she contributed to his great work, the edition of the Greek orators, was particularly valuable. He died in 1774, possessing a very distinguished reputation as a scholar and critic. The number of works which he superintended and published was very great. A complete list of them is given in the continuation of his memoirs by his wife, published at Leipsic in 1783. RELAND, ADRIAN, an eminent orientalist, born at Ryp in North Holland in 1676, where he evinced early an extraordinary degree of talent for literature and science. He studied under Surenhusius for three years, where he made extraordinary progress in oriental languages and literature. He was elevated to the chair of philosophy at Hardwick before he had completed his twenty-fifth year. He subsequently exchanged his philosophical professorship for that of oriental languages and ecclesiastical antiquities at Utrecht. He died of small-pox on the 5th of February 1718, in his forty-second year. The principal works of Reland are :—Palcestina ex Monumentis veteribus illustrate,, 2 vols., Traject. 1714,—unquestionably his greatest work, and still spoken of with great respect by the best writers on the subject; Dissertationes quinque de Nummis Veterum Hebrceorum, 1709 ; Vissertationum Aliscellanearum, 4 vols., 1706— 1708 ; De Religione Mohammedica, Ultraj. 1705 ; De Spoliis Templii Hierosolymitani in Arcu Titiano Jlomce conspicuis, Traject. 1716. The remaining works of Reland were chiefly Latin poems and orations.

RELIEF, in sculpture is the projection or standing out of a figure which arises prominently from the surface on

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mill. In the objects of nature which surrounded his loca- Rembrandt lity, and the grotesque specimens of Dutch peasants which his neighbourhood afforded, he found nourishment for his taste for simplicity, and food for his genius. He worked with great diligence, and rapidly acquired both fortune and fame. In 1630 he settled in Amsterdam, where he resided during the remainder of his life. He married in 1634, soon after reaching the city, a handsome peasant girl of Ramsdorf, whose portrait he has frequently painted. From his first establishment in Amsterdam he met with the most flattering attention. The grandest personages of the Dutch city would have their portraits taken by no one but Rembrandt ; all the art students who could muster the requisite fee (for Rembrandt loved money dearly) came and laid it at the feet of this rising Dutch artist. We must not suppose, however, that Rembrandt entirely deserted the ways RELIEF, in painting, is the degree of boldness with which the figures appear, at a due distance, to stand out of those Rhine peasants or their rustic sports, upon his making the acquaintance of such distinguished personages, from the ground of the painting. RELIGION (religio) is a word, derived, according to and on his being able to count his pupils by the dozen. Cicero (De Natura Deorum, lib. ii. 28.), from relegere, The quaint old mill no longer enlivened him with its pleato re-consider; but, according to Servius and most modern sant clack, and his eyes no longer rested on the queer grammarians, from religare, to bind fast. The reason as- figures which moved on the banks of the Rhine. \ et he signed by the Roman orator for deducing religio from re- spent his hours of recreation among the lowest orders of lego is in these words :—“ But those who are called reli- the people, whom his pencil delighted to portray, supplying gious (rcligiosi), from their habit of considering carefully his capricious fancy with its appropriate stimulant, and find{relegendo), should diligently weigh everything which per- ing his ideals of the beautiful among the squat, sturdy Dutchtains to the worship of the gods, and, as it were, re-consider men who were wont to while away the time amid the con(relegerent') it.” The reason given by Servius for his deri- genial flavours of a beer-house. He sought nature in her vation of the word is, “ that religion binds the mind fast.” simplicity; and she seems to have found her way to RemIf the Ciceronian etymology be the true one, the word brandt, despite his occasional irreverence for the antique. religion will denote the diligent study of whatever pertains He was wont to amuse his disciples by introducing them to to the worship of the gods; but, according to the other his collection which was designed to illustrate the ancient derivation, which we are inclined to prefer, it denotes that style. This consisted of a great variety of old armour, sabres, obligation which we feel on our minds from the relation in flags, and fantastical vestments. There was just a slight dewhich we stand to some superior power. The import of gree of affectation in this, as there usually is. Rembrandt the word religion is different from that of theology, since was the most illustrious artist of his time; and he contithe former signifies a number of practical duties, and the nued with unabated ardour to practise his delightful art, until death came to summon him away from Amsterdam. latter a system of speculative truths. (See THEOLOGY.) REMBANG, a town of Java, capital of a province of In the registry of burials, in the Wester Kirk of that city, the same name, on the N. coast of the island, 60 miles there is the following entry, which has recently been discoE.N.E. of Samarang. It is a thriving, bustling town, with vered :—“ Tuesday the 8th of October, 1669, Rembrandt ship-building and salt-pans, an active navigation and trade, Van Rin, painter, on the Roosegraft, opposite the Maze, especially in ship-timber. The harbour is safe and good; and leaving two children.” This record places the date of his the town has a fort, mosque, school, hospital, &c. Pop. 8000. death beyond dispute ; but men are likely still to cavil The province, which is bounded on the E. by that regarding the exact place and date of his birth. Very little of Surabaya, S. by those of Kediri and Madiun, W. by is known of his life. At his death he seems to have shared that of Samarang, and N. by the Java Sea, is generally the humble lot of those with whom he for the most part hilly, and watered by the Solo, flowing eastwards. By far associated ; labour and comparative obscurity while living, the most of the surface is barren, and much of it covered and at death forgetfulness. The great world, however, would with date forests. Besides timber, rice and tobacco are not have him be forgotten. The sons of genius are sons of fame. The burgomaster Six was the only man of rank with among the productions. Pop. 460,000. REMBRANDT VAN RHIN, the name by which PAUL whom Rembrandt associated ; and the landscape “ De la Moutarde” is said to have been the result of a wager beGEREETZ is usually known, was a very distinguished painter and engraver, and was the son of Hermann Gerretz, a tween the painter and his host. The best and the most miller, who dwelt on the banks of the Rhine, between Ley- recent account of the life and merits of Rembrandt is to be derdorp and Koukergen, near Leyden, where he was born found in a lecture in Dutch, by P. Scheltema, published at in 1606. His father, who was in tolerably easy circum- Amsterdam in 1853. The reader may likewise consult his stances, was anxious for the youth to study Latin, and to Life and Works, by J. Burnet, 1848. Rembrandt Van Rhin stands distinguished from all artadopt ultimately some learned profession. Rembrandt thought otherwise ; and in place of studying Latin at Ley- ists of note by the boldness of his style, his daring manner den, as was his filial duty, he spent his time in drawing of colouring, and his distribution of light and shade. His Dutch boors and in delineating rotund bar-maids. It was historical figures are doubtless deficient in dignity; but clear that Rembrandt would be a painter; and his father there is in them an eminent degree of truthfulness. While accordingly placed him with Jacob Van Zwaanenberg at entirely regardless of beauty of person or elegance of deAmsterdam, where he spent three years. According to portment in his principal characters, he is eminently careall accounts, his progress during this initiatory stage was ful that every individual in his painting should have the the perfect astonishment of his master. He is said to have varied expression of passion or sentiment appropriate to passed some time also with Peter Lastmann and Jacob his situation. Colour, in all its combinations and graPinas, in order to perfect himself in the mechanical details dations, was with Rembrandt the paramount consideraof his art. Leaving the studio of Pinas, he commenced tion. His landscapes are obscured by a dusky twilight; work on his own account within the precincts of his father’s and forms are rendered apparent in them by a struggling

which it is formed, whether that figure be cut with the chisel, moulded, or cast. There are three kinds or degrees Rernbrandt reuev0}—ait0j basSo, and demi-relievo. The alto-relievo, calle(l alSo high-relief, is when the figure is formed after nature, and projects as much as the life. Basso-relievo, bas-relief, is when the work is raised a little from the surface, as in medals and the frontispieces of buildings, but particularly in the histories, festoons, foliages, and other ornaments of friezes. Demi-relievo is when one-half of the figure rises from the plane. When in basso-relievo there are parts that stand clear out, detached from the rest, the work is called a demi-basso. In architecture the relief or projection of the ornaments ought always to be proportioned to the magnitude of the building it adorns, and to the distance at which it is to be viewed. Relief

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Remire- gleam of light which has forced its way through the sullen There are several churches and convents, a college, and a Remonmoat gloom. Rembrandt’s great power, however, lay in por- good picture gallery in the town. The harbour is small; su-ants. Remo th*8 department he had no equals among the but some trade is carried on in the produce of the country p II . 'J Dutch painters, and few of any other school could rival him with Genoa, Marseilles, and other places. Pop. 9854. 'vmusa . in simplicity, truth, and force of expression. As a historical REMONSTRANTS. See PREDESTINATION. painter, his figures are frequently ignoble; and he seems REMPHAN, or REPHAN ('Pe^t^dv, 'P€dv for the Hebrew Chiun. It is clear that derably. In the portraits of ladies particularly he seems to the Septuagint held the original to be a proper name, in have exercised the most scrupulous care and attention ; which interpretation our own and most other versions have while in his portraits of the other sex he for the most part concurred. But this is by no means clear; for, according indulges his freedom to the fullest extent, sometimes running to the received pointing, it would better read, “Ye bore into positive coarseness. Fuseli says of him (Lecture ii.) the tabernacle of your king (idol), and the statue (or statues) that he was “ a genius of the first class, in whatever relates of your idols, the star of your god, which ye make to yournot to form. In spite of the most portentous deformity, selves;” and so the Vulgate, which has “Imaginem idoland without considering the spell of his chiaroscuro, such orum vestrorum.” According to this reading, the name of were his powers of nature, such the grandeur, pathos, or the idol so worshipped by the Israelites is in fact not given, simplicity of his composition, from the most elevated or although the mention of a star still suggests that some extensive arrangement to the meanest and most homely, planet is intended. Jerome supposes it may be Lucifer or that the best cultivated eye, the purest sensibility, and the Venus. But the Syriac rendering is, “ Saturn your idol,” most refined taste dwell on them, equally enthralled.” who was worshipped by the Semitic nations along with Rembrandt was likewise a very eminent engraver as Mars as an evil demon to be propitiated with sacrifices. well as a most original painter. He was the inventor of a This now seems to be the general conclusion, and Winer process which throws an indescribable charm over all the indeed treats the subject under the head Saturn. It has productions of his brilliant burin. His etchings evince the been alleged, but not satisfactorily proved, that Remphan most extraordinary facility, and display the most consum- and Rephan were Egyptian names of the planet Saturn. mate knowledge of the effect of light and shadow. His They indeed occur as such in the Coptic-Arabic Lexicon most remarkable portraits are those of the burgomaster of Kircher {Ling. JEgypt. Restit., p. 49; CEdip. JEgypti, Six, Van Coppenol the writing-master, Van Thol the i. 386); but Jablonsky has long since shown that this and advocate, Uytenbogaert the minister, and Uytenbogaert the other names of planets in these lexicons are of Greek origin, gold-weigher. England is very rich in Rembrandt’s works, and drawn from the Coptic versions of Amos and the Acts. particularly the National Gallery in London. (Jablonsky, “Remphan Jigyptior.,” in Opusc. ii. 1, sq.; A complete catalogue of Rembrandt’s works was pub- Schroeder, I)e Tahernac. Molochi et Stella Dei Remph. lished by Daulby, Liverpool, 1796; and another and more 1745 ; Maius, Dissert. deKium et Remphan, 1763 ; Harenperfect one by Bartsch, Vienna, 1797. Reference may berg, De Ldolis Chium et Remphan, 1723; Wolf, Disalso be had to Nieuwenhuys’s Review of the Lives and sert. de Chium et Remph. 1741 ; Gesenius, Thesaurus, pp. Works of the most eminent Painters, and to Smith’s Cata- 669, 670.) logue RaisonnS, vol. vii. The latter book contains a very REMUS. See ROMAN HISTORY. ample, interesting, and instructive account of Rembrandt’s R.LMUSAT, JEAN PIERRE ABEL, a celebrated orienpaintings and etchings. (See ARTS, Fine, and PAINTING.) talist, was born at Paris on the 5th of September 1788. A REMIREMONT, a town of France, capital of an arron- severe fall which he received in infancy, and which kept dissement in the department of Vosges, on the left bank of him lying on his couch for several years, was the means of the Moselle, at the foot of the Faucilles Mountains, com- making him a student. Cut off’ from all the engrossing manding a fine view of the wooded heights of the Vosges, bustle of life, his mind eagerly sought for amusement and 17 miles S.E. of Epinal. It has broad and regular streets, interest in books. The severest studies became in course lined with houses, ancient, low, and generally ill built. of time mere pleasant exercises. English history, botany, The parish church is a fine edifice in the Italian style; and Latin were mastered with little or no difficulty. His there is too a college, public library, hospital, and law court. mental activity continued when he went forth again into Cotton, paper, leather, iron, and steel are among the manu- the world, and began to fit himself for being a medical factures of the place; and there is some trade, especially in man. Besides pursuing his professional studies with great cheese, timber, cattle, iron, and hemp. Pop. 5103. success, he applied himself to oriental languages. At length REMISCHEID, a town of Prussia, province of the falling in with a magnificent Chinese work on botany, and Rhine, in the government and 18 miles E.S.E. of Diissel- desirous of being able to peruse it, he began to learn the dorf. It is remarkable for its steel and iron forges, and language in which it was written. With no other aid than manufactures of cutlery and hardware, which are exported Fourmont’s Grammar he accomplished the task in the course to various foreign countries. The value of such goods of five years ; published his Essai sur la J^angue et la Liannually produced here, and at Solingen, not far off, is terature Chinoises in 181 If; and at the age of twenty-three more than L.200,000. Pop. of the town itself, 1800; but appeared before the world as a Chinese scholar. The great including the surrounding district (Burgermeisterei),\Z,2Z2. acquirements of Remusat soon came to be recognised in REMO, SAN, a seaport ot the kingdom of Sardinia, capi- different quarters. The academies of Grenoble and Besantal of a province of the same name, in the division of Nice, con received him among their members. The faculty of on the slope of a hill densely covered with olive trees, that medicine at Paris gave him the diploma of doctor at the rises from the sea, 30 miles E. of Nice. It stands in one age of twenty-five. He was also patronized by the great of the mildest parts of the beautiful coast; and is sur- scholar Silvestre de Sacy, and obtained through him the rounded by gardens, where palms, orange, and lemon trees appointment of chief doctor of the hospital of Montaigne. luxuriantly flourish, and where the sweetest flowers during But it was not until the restoration of the Bourbons that the summer shed their fragrance around. Viewed from the good fortune of Remusat’s career really commenced. the sea, the town rises triangularly from the shore to an The great reputation he had achieved now recommended apex on the heights above ; the upper and more ancient him for promotion. This was ably seconded by his cringing portion has narrow, crooked, and extremely steep streets, and selfish policy. A long series of appointments was the while below there is a handsomer and more modern quarter. result. In 1814 the newly-appointed Chinese professorship

REM in the College of France was conferred upon him. Not long afterwards he was entrusted with the cataloguing of all Renaudot. Chinese works in the royal library. In 1818 he was elected to succeed Visconti in the editorship of the Journal des Savans. In 1824 he was appointed keeper of the oriental manuscripts in the royal library. There was in fact almost no end to the snug posts and lucrative sinecures which he obtained. Nor did the x’evolution of 1830 interrupt the flow of his prosperity. He managed to remain in possession of all his salaries until his death on the 3d of June 1832. Remusat was a member of the Asiatic Societies of London and Calcutta, and of many other learned bodies. Remy, St

His principal works are,—Plan d'un THctionnaire Chinois, 8vo, 1814; Le Livre des Recompenses et des Peines, translated from the Chinese, in 8vo, 1816 ; Memoire sur les Livres Chinois de la Bibliotheque du Roi, in 8vo, 1818 ; Description du Royaume de Gamboge, from the Chinese, in 8vo, 1819; M6moires et Anecdotes sur la Dynastie des Djogours Souverains du Japon, in 8vo, 1820 ; Histoire de la Ville de Khotan, from the Chinese, in 8vo, 1820 ; Recherches sur les Langues Tartares, in 4to, 1820 ; Elements de la Grammaire Chinoise, in 8vo, 1822; Deux Memoires sur les Relations Politiques des Premiers Chretiens, et particulierement des Rois de France, avec les EmpereursMongols, in 4to, 1822-24; Memoire sur la Vie et les Opinions de Lao-Tseu, Philosophe Chinois, in 4to, 1823; Recherches Ghronologiques sur V Origine de la IHSrarchie Lamdique, in 4to, 1824; and Memoire sur Plusieurs Questions Relatives ct la Geographic de VAsie Centrale, in

4to, 1825. The numerous papers which he communicated to several scientific journals, and to the Biographic Vniverselle, were published under the titles of Melanges Asiatiques, in 2 vols. 8vo, 1825-26 ; Nouveaux Melanges Asiatiques, in 2 vols. 8vo, 1829; and Melanges Posthumes d’Histoire et de Littirature Orientals, in 8vo, 1843.

REMY, ST, a town of France, in the department of Bouches-du-Rhone, on a plain planted with groves of olive trees, 42 miles N.N.W. of Marseilles. It is irregularly built, and has many good houses in an antique style. The best modern edifice is the town-hall; but there are two interesting remains of antiquity,—a triumphal arch and a sepulchral monument, both of unknown date. St Remy has silk-mills, and some trade in corn and wine. Pop. 6024. RENAIX (Flem. Rome), a town of Belgium, in the province of East Flanders, 20 miles south of Ghent. It has three public squares, with a fountain in each ; several churches and schools, a ruined castle, town-hall, hospital, orphan asylum, and other benevolent institutions. The manufactures of the town include cotton, woollen, and linen fabrics ; hats, leather, beer, tobacco, chocolate, bricks, tiles, pottery, &c. A large trade in linen is carried on; and besides weekly and monthly markets, there are two annual fairs. Pop. 11,670. RENAUDOT, EUSEBE, a learned orientalist and ecclesiastical historian, was born at Paris in 1646, and was educated for the church at the Jesuits’ College. He first became notable at court as a wonderful young scholar. His exhaustless linguistic knowledge, and the easy way in which he spoke many different languages, drew towards him the regard and confidence of several influential personages. Colbert, the great financial statesman, consulted him upon the project of establishing printing-presses in Paris for the oriental languages. The king himself employed him in various important missions to England, Spain, and other countries. The Cardinal de Noailles likewise took him to Rome in 1700, as his conclavist in the conclave for the election of a Pope. Thus encouraged, Renaudot spent the chief part of his remaining years in illustrating the history and opinions of the ancient churches. His principal works on that subject were,—Defense de la Perpeluite de la Foi contre les Monuments Authentiques de la Religion des Grecs par Jean Aymon, in 8vo, Paris, 1708 ; Historia PatriarcharumAlexandrinorum Jacobitarum, in 4to, Paris, 1713; and Liturgiarwn Orientalium Collectio, in 2 vols.

4to, 1716. Renaudot died in 1720. An English translation of the last of the above-mentioned publications appeared in 12mo, Dublin, 1822.

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RENDER, JAMES MEADOWS, a distinguished civil en- Rendel gineer, was born at a village on the borders of Dartmoor, Rendsbur II in December 1799. His professional talents were early 8 developed by various commissions which he received in his native district. Telford, the famous engineer, employed him to lay down considerable lengths of turnpike roads in Devonshire. The Earl of Morley entrusted him with the construction of a cast-iron bridge across the Lary, an arm of the sea within Plymouth harbour. An order was given to him to build a floating steam-bridge for crossing the estuary of the Dart near Dartmouth. He was also engaged in surveying nearly all the harbours on the S.W. coast of England. It was in 1838 that Rendel settled in London, and began to take a high place in his calling. Fie was soon recognised as a man of accurate observation, sagacious judgment, great professional knowledge, and unwearied energy. The success with which he continued to execute his numerous commissions brought him more and more into repute. At length, in 1843, his engagement to construct the projected docks at Birkenhead was the occasion of bringing him prominently before the public. The enterprise met with opposition; the case was laid before the legislature ; and he was summoned as a witness before the parliamentary committees. His learned and lucid evidence, and the able and successful manner in which he maintained his own views, established his reputation as one of the first engineers in the land. From that time he was constantly engaged throughout the country in projecting and conducting large public works. Among his most important enterprises were the dock at Great Grimsby, and the harbours of refuge at Holyhead and Portland. Nor did his talents fail to be appreciated beyond the limits of Great Britain. The Brazilian, the Prussian, and the Sardinian governments in turn employed him to make certain surveys and reports. The viceroy of Egypt appointed him a member of the international commission for examining into the practicability of a canal across the isthmus of Suez. The city of Hamburg too, the year before he died, engaged him to find out some plan of preventing the bed of the River Elbe from being choked up with mud. Rendel, at his death in 1856, was a fellow of the Royal Society, and one of the council of the Institution of Civil Engineers. RENDS BURG, a town of Denmark, in the duchy of Holstein, on the confines of Schleswig, stands in a flat, sandy region on both sides of the Eider, and on an island in its centre, 26 miles W. of Kiel, and 54 N.N.W. of Hamburg. It was formerly fortified, but the defences were destroyed in 1852. It is for the most part well built, and consists of three parts,—the old town on the island, the new town on the south or left bank, and the Crown-work {Kron-werk) on the opposite side of the river. There are two market-places, two churches, a gymnasium, an arsenal (which contained until recently a great quantity of arms of all kinds), an hospital, house of correction, and customhouse. The manufactures include bells, pottery, tobacco, vinegar, and other articles. The situation of the place is very favourable for trade and navigation. It communicates with the German Ocean by the Eider, and with the Baltic by the Schleswig-Holstein Canal, which joins the river here. There is also a railway from this to Flamburg. In the middle ages the site of the old town was occupied by a castle called Reinoldsburg, which was for a long time alternately possessed by Denmark and Holstein. The date of the first rise of the town is unknown; it was encircled by walls and ditches in 1539. The old town was fortified anew by Frederick HI. of Denmark (1669-71), who placed over the Holstein gate the inscription, “ Eidora Romani terminus imperii,” declaring the Eider to be the limit of the German empire, of which Rendsburg is consequently the most northern town. Additional fortifications were added in 1685, 1690, and 1695, so that the place became

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a fortress of the second class. In 1848 Rendsburg fell into the hands of the Prussian and Holstein troops ; and on ]3eina’ regained by the Danes was dismantled. Pop. 10,000. RfiNIil OP ANJOU, commonly known as the “good King Rene,” was born at the castle of Angers in 1409. The first part of his life was remarkable for a course of tantalizing events. He had not long obtained possession of the duchy of Lorraine, in right of his wife, when Anthony, Count of Vaudemont drove him from it. Not long afterwards the intelligence, that his brother Louis of Anjou, and Joan, Queen of Naples, had died, leaving him heir to their dominions, reached him when he was the prisoner of the Duke of Burgundy, and unable to lay hold of his newlyacquired rights. It is true that he was soon released ; but fortune still continued to make him her sport. Before he had been four years on the Neapolitan throne, Alfonso of Aragon forced him to leave his crown and flee. He returned to France in 1442, only to find that his territories there were occupied by the English. It was not until after the marriage of his daughter Margaret, with Henry VI. of England in 1443 that he was allowed, for the first time in his life, to settle down in undisputed possession of a part of his dominions. This severe course of experience did not prevent Rene from spending the remainder of his days in sustaining the mock state of a sovereign. Establishing a court in the old castle of Aix in Provence, and keeping up the empty title of King of Naples, the Two Sicilies, and Jerusalem, he conducted himself more like a monarch in a romance than a prince in that troublous and warlike age. Dancing, music, painting, and poetry were his serious business. Troubadours and knights-errant were his only courtiers. If he ever came out among ordinary men and things, it was to superintend some public mime or pageant, or to introduce some luxury among his subjects. So genial and pleasant, indeed, was his rule that, after his death in 1480, the natives of Provence long cherished the memory of the “ good King Rene.” As recently as 1823 his statue, wrought in marble by David, was placed in one of the squares of Aix. A graphic account of Rene is given in Scott’s Anne of Geierstein. RENFREW, a parliamentary and royal burgh of Scotland, the capital, but not the largest town, of the county of the same name, near the left bank of the Clyde, 6 miles W.N.W. of Glasgow. The Cart, an affluent of the Clyde, passes close to the town ; and there is also a short canal between Renfrew and the Clyde. A single street, with lanes diverging from it, forms the whole town ; and the only buildings of importance are the Established church, the Free church, town-house, jail, grammar school (endowed by King Robert III.), and a superior school established in 1842. There is also a library and athenaeum. Many of the people are employed in weaving muslin and silk; others in a bleachfield near the town, in ship-building yards, iron foundry, and a distillery in the neighbourhood. There is very little trade, though Renfrew has a quay where the Clyde steamers touch. Weekly markets are held here. The burgh is governed by a provost, two bailies, and nine councillors ; and, along with Dumbarton, Port-Glasgow, Kilmarnock, and Rutherglen, sends a member to Parliament. The royal family of Stuart had their earliest possessions in this parish, and the Prince of Wales still bears the title of Baron of Renfrew. Pop. (1851) of the royal burgh, 2722 ; of the parliamentary burgh, 2977. RENFREWSHIRE, a county in Scotland, lying between 55.40. and 55. 58. N. Lat., and 4. 14. and 4. 54. W. Long., is bounded on the E. by Lanarkshire, on the S. by Ayrshire, and on the N. and W. by the river and firth of Clyde, which separate it from the shires of Dumbarton and Argyle, excepting a section of about 1300 imperial acres, which is situated on the north bank of the Clyde, opposite the town of Renfrew. Its greatest

REN length is 31^ miles, and its greatest breadth 13J miles. RenfrewIts area is 234 square miles, or 150,000 acres. Notwith- 8hire> standing the small extent of this shire, its manufactures and commerce render it one of the most important in Scotland. At the epoch of the Roman invasion, in the first century of the Christian era, this part of Scotland was inhabited by a Celtic tribe, called by the invaders the Damnii. After the withdrawal of the Romans, it was comprehended in the British kingdom of Strathclyde. The district which now forms the county of Renfrew, at least the greater part of it, was denominated, from one of its rivers, Strathgryfe (the valley of the Gryfe), and at one time formed part of the shire of Lanark or Clydesdale. It was the chief patrimony of the great stewards of Scotland, to whom it was granted by the sovereign in the twelfth century. Afterwards it was called the barony of Renfrew, from the burgh of that name, where the stewards long had their principal residence. In 1404, thirty-three years after the accession of the House of Stuart to the Scottish throne, King Robert III. granted this barony, and the other portions of the estates of the steward, to his son and heir James; since which time the eldest son of the sovereign has, besides his other titles, borne that of “ Baron of Renfrew.” Soon afterwards this barony was erected into a distinct sheriffdom, the courts of which were held at Renfrew till the year 1705, when they were, for convenience sake, removed to Paisley. In 1815 the county was formed into two wards, termed the Upper and the Lower, with a sherifl-substitute for each, Paisley and Greenock being the seats of their respective courts. Renfrewshire comprehends sixteen entire parishes, besides small portions of those of Beith and Dunlop in Ayrshire, and Govan in Lanarkshire. Two of the parishes, Eaglesham and Cathcart, belong to the presbytery of Glasgow ; the other fourteen composed the presbytery of Paisley for a long time prior to the year 1834, when twm presbyteries were formed ; that of Paisley, consisting of nine of these fourteen parishes ; and that of Greenock, consisting of the other five, with the addition of Cumbraes in Buteshire, and Largs in Ayrshire, both of which parishes formerly belonged to the presbytery of Irvine. In the above enumeration of parishes, those which are so quoad sacra only have not been taken into account. About two-thirds of this county, comprehending the western and southern sides, are hilly, the medium elevation being from 500 to 600 feet. Mistylaw, on the west, which is about 1240 feet above the level of the sea, has been represented as the highest hill in the county; but it is now ascertained that a neighbouring height, called the Plill of Staik, is entitled to that distinction, being a few feet higher. Balagleich is one of the highest hills on the south-east side, being about 1000 feet above the sea-level. The hilly district is in general kept in pasture, for which it is better adapted, by the nature of its surface, than for tillage. The cultivated land, which forms a gently-rising district, lies on the north and north-east, and in the centre of the county on both sides of the Black Cart. Of this, the greater part consists of low, detached eminences, which swell in endless variety. These being interspersed with copses, and often watered at the bottom by winding streams, present views remarkable for richness and variety. Indeed, it will be difficult to point to a more beautiful surface anywhere in Scotland. Much of this tract has a close subsoil of small stones and coarse clay, almost impenetrable to water, though there are here many flat holms of great fertility. It is only between Paisley and the Clyde that the country sinks down into a plain, forming the flat district known by the name of “ the Laighlands.” The length of this beautiful level tract is about 6 miles, its breadth about 3, and its area 12,000 acres. Here the soil is generally a deep, rich

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loam of a dark-brown colour, sometimes of the nature of what is called “ carse clay and much of it seems to have been formed by the deposition of vegetable mould from the higher grounds. Among the hills in the S.W. there are extensive moors and mosses, the largest being that of Kilmalcolm. Like the other western counties of Scotland, Renfrewshire has a moist climate, with frequent rains; and the prevailing wind is from the south-west. Besides the Clyde, which, as has been already mentioned, flows along the northern and western boundaries of this county, the principal rivers are the White Cart, the Black Cart, and the Gryfe. The White Cart, which rises in Lanarkshire, enters Renfrewshire from the south, and pursues a winding course, first westerly towards Paisley, through which it passes, and then northerly towards the Clyde. It is joined at Inchinnan Bridge by the Black Cart, which had previously received the waters of the Gryfe at Walkinshaw, above Barnsford Bridge; and these united streams, which contain nine-tenths of the water of the county, fall into the Clyde about 3 miles below Paisley. By means of a short canal, which was cut to avoid the shallows at Inchinnan Bridge in 1786, the White Cart is navigable up to Paisley. Other improvements upon this river are in progress. Like some other Scottish streams, it was once famous for the pearls which were found in its bed, but these have disappeared since the beginning of the eighteenth century. The Black Cart rises from Loch Winnoch, or, as it is usually called, from an adjoining estate, Castle-Semple Loch, a lake in the south-western extremity of the county. The Gryfe rises in the west, amongst the high lands of the parish of Greenock. The only other stream deserving mention is the Kipp Water, in the west of the county, which falls into the Firth of Clyde at Innerkip. All these streams, and several others of smaller size, independently of their importance to agriculture, are in almost every part of their course applied by the industrious and ingenious inhabitants to the various purposes of manufactures. A ready supply of water is secured by means of reservoirs, some of which are of the size and appearance of considerable lakes ; or by enlarging the natural lakes, of which there are many. These streams and lakes contain the kinds of fish that are common in this quarter of the country. Two important railways traverse the county. Commencing at Glasgow, they have a common line to Paisley, from which the one leads north-westwards to Greenock, and the other south-westwards towards Ayr. There are also railways from Glasgow to Neilston, and from Paisley to Renfrew, and a canal from Glasgow to Johnstone. The minerals of Renfrewshire are of great importance, and constitute the main source of its manufactures and commerce ; but we can only advert to them very generally. Coal, limestone, and sandstone are wrought at Neilston, one of the parishes of the hilly district; and both coal and lime have been found in the flat district near Renfrew. The south-eastern portion belongs to the great western coal region of Scotland ; and the many mines which are wrought at Polmadie, on the north-east boundary; at Hurlet, three miles south-east from Paisley, where it has been wrought for more than three hundred years; and at Quarrelton, south-east from Johnstone, give employment to a great number of the people. Limestone abounds in various parts, and is wrought at several quarries. Ironstone, granite, pyrites, alum, &c., are also found. Excellent freestone, lying near the surface, is wrought at various places in the middle district. Greenstone, or, as it is provineially called, whinstone, exists in immense masses, along with porphyry, in the west of the county. The number of proprietors in Renfrewshire is 2610; the amount of real property in 1857, L.282,196; and the valuation of rent for 1857-8, L.315,630. Among the nobleVOL. XIX.

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men’s and gentlemen’s seats are Hawkhead, belonging to Reni the Earl of Glasgow ; Blantyre House, to Lord Blantyre ; || Pollok, to Sir John Maxwell; Pollok Castle, to Sir Hew Rennell. v> C. Pollok; also Castle-Semple, Caldwell, Ballochmyle, &c. ——v—' There are many remains of ancient structures, which formed the seats of powerful or respectable families. This shire was anciently covered with wood. Even now it is ornamented with many woods and plantations; and it is in general well inclosed. As an agricultural district, this does not rank so high as some others in Scotland. Hardly more than half the surface is cultivated ; but what is so, has the advantage of the best methods. The mode of farming is such as every year to leave more than a half of the arable land in grass, on which the stock chiefly kept is cows, the most part of whose milk is made into butter There are few cheese-dairies. Out of a total acreage of 75,152, under a rotation of crops in 1857, occupied by tenants paying L.10 rent and upwards, 4765 acres were in wheat, 417 in barley, 17,098 in oats, 1232 in beans, 206 in vetches, 3470 in turnips ; 5729 in potatoes, 221 fallow, and 41,598 in grass and hay. In the same year the total number of horses was 3535 ; of cattle, 22,398 ; of sheep, 22,477 ; of swine, 1761; of all kinds of stock, 50,271. It is by its manufactures and commerce that this county is most distinguished. Goods of silk and cotton, and muslin fabrics, are the principal articles manufactured. Cottonmills, bleachfields, and printfields furnish employment to a large portion of the inhabitants. Paisley and its environs form the chief seat of the manufactures. At Greenock and Port-Glasgow the foreign and coasting trade of the county, and indeed a great proportion of the foreign trade of Scotland, are carried on. According to the census of 1851, the county contained in all 128 places of worship, with 82,514 sittings. Of the former, 32 belonged to the Established Church ; 29 to the Free Church; 21 to the United Presbyterians; 7 each to Independents, Baptists, and Roman Catholics; 6 to Wesleyans; 4 each to Reformed Presbyterians and Latter-Day Saints ; 3 to the Evangelical Union ; 2 to Episcopalians; 1 each to the Original Secession, the Unitarians, and the New Church ; and 3 to isolated congregations. There were also 105 public schools, with 10,355 scholars; and 103 private ones, with 5948 scholars ; besides numerous evening and Sunday schools. The total amount of public expenditure on education in Renfrewshire from 1833 to 1857 is L.10,505. The county returns a member to Parliament; and the constituency in 1858 was 2702. The Parliamentary burghs of Paisley and Greenock have each one member. In 1851 the county contained 10,760 inhabited houses. Pop. (1811) 93,172 ; (1821) 112,175 ; (1831) 133,443; (1841) 155,072; (1851) 161,091. RENI, a fortified town of European Turkey, Moldavia, in the Bessarabian territory, ceded by Russia in 1856, on the left bank of the Danube, at its confluence with the Pruth, about 12 miles E. of Galatz. It has a harbour, considerable navigation, and trade in wheat, fish, hides, copper, wax candles, &c. The value of the exports in 1850 was L.38,815 ; that of the imports, L.35,593. Pop. (1849) 7314. RENNELL, JAMES, an eminent geographer, was the son of a captain in the artillery, and was born near Chudleigh in Devonshire in 1742. His early distinction was gained in the active service of his country. He first came into note as a fearless and enterprising midshipman at the siege of Pondicherry. He next appeared more prominently as an officer in the Indian army of Lord Clive. His skill and bravery in that capacity soon marked him out for promotion. He was speedily raised to the rank of major. Not long afterwards he was appointed surveyor-general of Bengal, a post which he held until his severe wounds compelled B

10 Rennes,

REN him to return to England in 1782. Major Rennell, after his re-settlement in his native country, maintained a high place among men of learning. A Chart of Cape Lagullas, a Bengal Atlas, and a Map of Hindustan, had established his reputation as one of the first of English geographers. He was still adding to his fame by the able and thorough way in which he continued his investigations. His mind fixed itself keenly upon every geographical subject that was brought before it. All the provinces of literature were carefully and patiently explored for the needed information. His conclusions were drawn with acuteness and sagacity; and the results of his researches were laid up securely and methodically in his memory. Nor was he less facile in reproducing his acquisitions for the good of the public. He assisted Dr Vincent in writing the Voyage of Nearchus. He aided Sir William Jones in some of that great scholar’s oriental works. He likewise illustrated Mungo Park’s travels by an accurate and elaborate map. At the same time his pen was busily employed in producing independent works of great and standard value. The most important of these were, The Geographical System of Herodotus, in 4to, London, 1800; and Observations on the Topography of the Plain of Troy, in 4to, 1814. At his death, in March i830, Major Rennell was an F.R.S. of London and Edinburgh, and a member of the Royal Institute of France and of other foreign societies. He was buried in Westminster Abbey. RENNES, a town of France, capital of the department of Ille-et-Vilaine, at the foot and on the slope of a hill, at the confluence of the rivers Ille and Vilaine, 60 miles N. of Nantes, and 190 W. by S. of Paris. The latter river traverses the town from E. to W., receiving the other from the N. To the south of the Vilaine stands the old or lower town, to the north the upper or new town, which is the finest portion, having been rebuilt since a conflagration which destroyed it in 1720. These separate quarters are connected by three bridges, and both are surrounded by an ancient wall and towers. Its narrow, crooked streets, and curiously-carved wooden houses, give to the lower town a very picturesque appearance; the other portion, though handsome, is uniformly built of a dull grey stone, and has a sombre aspect. One of the most attractive features of Rennes is its public walks, which are very beautiful: Le Mont Thabor, formed of the garden of an old abbey, commands a fine view over the city and the valley of the Vilaine; Le Mail extends between two canals to the confluence of the rivers. Besides these there are Le Mont de Madame and Le Champ de Mars, all of them being planted with shady trees. One of the ancient gates is still preserved ; it is that by which the dukes of Brittany, after taking a solemn oath, entered the city to be crowned in the cathedral. This is now a modern building, large and heavy, with two square towers ; the interior, in the Grecian style, is imposing, but has little of an ecclesiastical aspect. Some of the other churches are more tasteful in architecture. The most remarkable edifice of the new town, and almost the only ancient one that has escaped destruction, is the court-house, in which the estates of Brittany used to meet. It contains a large and handsome hall, decorated with paintings and other ornaments. Among the other buildings are the town-hall, a fine modern pile, containing the public offices, library, lecture-rooms, and schools of art and architecture; the theatre, episcopal palace, barracks, and arsenal. There are also in the town several schools, hospitals, and a house of correction. As a manufacturing town, Rennes is not of very much importance, though there is considerable variety in the articles produced. Linen, sailcloth, hosiery, hats, cordage, fishing-nets, starch, glue, leather, paper, playing-cards, and pottery are the most important of these. The trade, however, is of more extent, and is much facilitated by the situation of the town and its

REN means of communication, the Vilaine being navigable for barges up to this point, and being connected with the sea by canals leading to St Malo and Brest. Rennes is also connected by canal and railway with Nantes, and so by the latter with Paris. The chief articles of trade are the manufactures of the town, and butter, wax, honey, and poultry, from the surrounding country. Rennes is the seat of a bishop, of a high court of justice, and of a university-academy, besides inferior courts of law. There are large suburbs, which have much resemblance to the town itself. Condate was the ancient name of the place, and it was the capital of the tribe called Redones, from whom the modern appellation has been derived. After the fall of the Roman empire it fell into the hands of the Franks ; and Clovis established here counts, who seem to have been subject now to the French kings, now to the kings or dukes of Brittany. When Nomenoe, in the ninth century, established the independence of Brittany, Rennes was made the capital, and was fortified as a frontier town against the French monarchy. Along with the rest of Brittany, Rennes came by marriage to the French crown under Francis I. The town has been subjected to several sieges ; and at the time of the Revolution was the scene of some conflicts, being always firmly attached to the popular cause. Pop. (1856) 38,945. RENNIE, JOHN, a distinguished mechanist, architect, and civil engineer, was born on the 7th of June 1761, at Phantassie, in the parish of Prestonkirk, in the county of East Lothian. His father, a highly respectable farmer, died in 1766, leaving a widow and nine children, of whom John was the youngest. The first rudiments of his education were acquired at the village school; and as it frequently happens that some trifling circumstance in early life gives a bent to the pursuits and fixes the destinies of the future man, so it fared with young Rennie. The school was situated on the opposite side of a brook, over which it was necessary to pass by means of a rustic bridge of stepping-stones; but when the freshes were out, the only alternative of crossing the stream was by means of a boat, which was kept at the workshop of Andrew Meikle, an ingenious mechanic, well known in Scotland as the inventor of the thrashing-machine, and many improvements in agricultural implements. In passing through the workshop, which stood on his family property, young Rennie’s attention was forcibly drawn to the various operations that were in progress, and a great part of his leisure and holiday time was passed therein. The sons of Meikle and the workmen, seeing the great delight which he appeared to take in examining their labours, were in the habit of indulging him with their tools, and showing him their various uses. His evenings were chiefly employed in imitating those models which had particularly attracted his attention in the workshop ; and it is known in the family that, at little more than ten years of age, he had constructed the model of a windmill, a pile-engine, and a steam-engine. That of the pile-engine is still in existence, and is said to be remarkably well made. Having continued at Preston school till twelve years of age, he had about that time a quarrel with his schoolmaster, whom he deemed incompetent to give him further instruction, and therefore entreated that he might be permitted to leave the school. But his active mind soon became restless ; for the first time he felt the hours hang heavily on his hands; and having expressed a wish to fee placed under his friend Meikle, he employed himself with this ingenious mechanic for about two years; but his mind expanding with his growth, he began to feel that the progress of his intellectual faculties was likely to be retarded by a constant application to manual labour. He therefore at length determined to place himself under the tuition of Gibson, an able teacher of mathematics at Dunbar, where he soon distinguished himself in so particular a manner that David Loch, general inspector of the fisheries in Scotland, in de-

Rennie,

REN N I E. Kennie. scribing a visit which he paid to the school at Dunbar in 1778, notices the great proficiency displayed by young Rennie, prophesying that at no distant period he would prove an honour to his country. (Loch’sisWays on the Trade, Commerce, Manufactures, and Fisheries of Scotland, vol. iii., p. 211.) From this school, in less than two years, he returned to Meikle, with a mind well stored with every branch of mathematical and physical science which Gibson could teach him. About this time, Gibson being appointed master to the public academy of Perth, he earnestly recommended young Rennie to succeed him at Dunbar. But his views were of a more aspiring cast. As a matter of favour, he undertook the management of the school for about six weeks, when he returned to his family, occasionally visiting and assisting his friend Meikle, but mostly improving himself in drawing and making models of machinery. His first essay in practical mechanics was the repairing of a corn-mill in his native village; and he erected two or three others before he was eighteen years of age. Resolved, however, that these mechanical occupations should not interfere with his studies, he laid his plans so that he should be able to proceed occasionally to Edinburgh with a view of improving himself in physical science. He there attended the lectures of Professors Robison and Black, and formed that acquaintance with the former of those gentlemen which was gradually raised into friendship, and which perhaps may be said to have laid the foundation of his future fortune ; for by him he was introduced to Messrs Bolton and Watt of Soho, near Birmingham. With these gentlemen he remained but a few months for the purpose of receiving explanations respecting the plan of the Albion Mills, then erecting, the machinery of which he superintended. This exactly suited his views ; for, conscious of his own powers, he deemed the capital the proper theatre to try his strength, and in this he was not mistaken. In proceeding from Edinburgh to Soho, he had taken the route by Carlisle, Lancaster, Liverpool, and Manchester, for the purpose of visiting the different mills and public works in those great commercial and manufacturing towns; and the remarks which he made on the bridge then building over the Lune at Lancaster, on the docks at Liverpool, and more particularly on the Bridgewater Canal, are distinguished by great sagacity, and were of essential use to him afterwards. On leaving Soho, he again made a tour through the manufacturing districts of Leeds, Sheffield, Rotherham, and Newcastle. For some time after he was settled in London the Albion Mills, of which Bolton, Watt, and Wyatt were the projectors and leading proprietors, and who engaged him to superintend the execution of the mill-work, occupied a great share of his attention. Watt, in his Notes to Professor Robison’s Account of the Steam-Engine, says, that “ in the construction of the mill-work and machinery they derived most valuable assistance from that able mechanician and engineer Mr John Rennie, then just entering into business, who assisted in placing them, and under whose direction they were executed.” He also says that the machinery, which used to be made of wood, was here made of cast-iron, in improved forms; and thinks that this was the commencement of that system of mill-work which has proved so beneficial to this country. In fact, Rennie’s mills are the most perfect species of mechanism in that way that exist, distinguished by a precision of movement and a harmony and proportion of parts that now serve as models throughout the empire. His water-mills are so accurately calculated that every particle of water is effectively employed, and none of it lost, as in the common mode of constructing water-wheels. There is reason to believe that the difficulties which occurred at the Albion Mills with regard to the ebb and flow of the tides, and which

required all the ingenuity of that extraordinary genius Watt, first led Rennie to the study of that branch of civil engineering connected with hydraulics and hydrodynamics, and in which he soon became so celebrated as to have no rival after the death of Smeaton, in whose steps, he always used to say, he was proud to follow. Our limited space will not permit us to enter upon even an enumeration of all his great works, much less to give any detailed account of them; we must therefore content ourselves by mentioning some of the most important designs and undertakings in his threefold capacity of mechanist, architect, and civil engineer ; three branches of art so intimately blended as scarcely to admit of a separation. First, as a mechanist. Immediately after the completion of the Albion Mills, in 1786 or 1787, Rennie’s reputation was so firmly established in everything connected with mill-work that he found himself in a very extensive line of business. To him the planters of Jamaica and of the other West India Islands applied for their sugar-mills, which he constructed in a manner so superior to the old ones that he soon obtained almost a monopoly of these expensive works. The powder-mill at Tunbridge, the great flour-mill at Wandsworth, several saw-mills, the machinery for various breweries and distilleries, were mostly of his manufacture ; and wherever his machinery was required to be impelled by steam, the incomparable engines of his friends Messrs Bolton and Watt supplied the moving power; but, contrary to what has been stated in some of the public journals, he never had the least concern in directing, contriving, or advising any one part or movement of the steam-engine. He also constructed those beautiful specimens of machinery, the rolling and triturating mills, at the Mint on Tower Hill, to which Bolton and Watt’s engines give motion ; and at the time of his death he was engaged in the construction of a rolling-mill, and similar machinery, for the intended mint at Calcutta. As a bold and ingenious piece of mechanism, which may be considered as distinct from positive architecture, there was nothing in Europe that could bear a comparison with the Southwark Bridge. The three immense arches, the centre one of 240, and each side arch of 210 feet span, consist entirely of masses of cast-iron, of various forms and dimensions, put together on the same principle as a similar fabric of hewn stone ; a method of employing iron which may be considered to form a new epoch in the history of bridge-building. Various sinister predictions were entertained against this light and beautiful bridge, which was to be rent in pieces by the expansive power of the first summer’s heat, or, if it escaped that, by the contraction of the first winter’s cold ; but it has stood the test of many winters and summers, and appears not to feel either. Rennie was applied to by the East India Company for the design of a cast-iron bridge to be thrown over the River Goomty at Lucknow, at the desire of the nabob vizier of Oude. It consisted of three arches of cast-iron, the centre arch 90, and each of the other arches 80 feet span. The arches were cast, and a superintending engineer sent out with them; but on their arrival, the nabob, in one of those moments of caprice to which eastern despots, even in their impotency, are so liable, changed his mind, and would not allow it to be put up. Secondly, as an architect. Since there are few parts of civil engineering that do not occasionally require the aid of architecture, Rennie, at a very early age of his progress, was called upon for a display of his skill in this line. Amongst his first undertakings in either line was that of the Lancaster Canal, which presented many difficulties, and amongst others, that of carrying it by an aqueduct over the Lune, so as not to interrupt the navigation of the river. Being one of the largest fabrics of its kind in Europe, and of a pleasing design, it is an object that arrests the attention

ll Rennie,

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REN N I E.

Rennie, of strangers, and is very generally admired. The bridges of Leeds, Musselburgh, Kelso, Newton-Stewart, Boston, New Galloway, and a multitude of others, attest the architectural skill, the solidity, and, we may add, the good taste of Rennie ; whilst a thousand smaller ones, with the various locks, wharf-walls, quays, embankments appertaining to canals, rivers, and harbours in every part of the United Kingdom, are so many proofs of his diversified talent, and his skill in adapting the means to the end. The breakwater in Plymouth Sound can scarcely be called an architectural work, but it is constructed on true hydrodynamical principles, and so gigantic in its dimensions, and cyclopean in its structure, as to defy equally the force of the waves and the ravages of time. To Whidby, who zealously superintended the execution of this immortal work, the highest praise is also due ; nor was the plan finally determined on without his advice and assistance. But the architectural work which, above all others, will immortalize the name of Rennie, is the Waterloo Bridge, a structure which, even according to foreigners, had no parallel in Europe (and if not in Europe, certainly not in the whole world) for its magnitude, its beauty, and its solidity. That a fabric so immense, presenting a straight horizontal line, stretching over nine large arches, should not have altered more than a few inches, not five in any one part, from that straight line, is an instance of firmness and solidity utterly unknown, and almost incredible ; but all Rennie’s works have been constructed for posterity. The bridge of Neuilly, which the French ranked as superior to that of Waterloo, actually sunk 23 inches. Rennie made nothing slight; nor would he engage in any undertaking where, from an ill-judging economy, a sufficiency of funds was not forthcoming to meet his views. Another work, executed from a design of his, is that of the stone bridge over the Thames, by which the old London Bridge, so long the disgrace of the metropolis, was replaced. His design, which was selected by a committee of the House of Commons, out of at least thirty that were offered, consisted of a granite bridge of five arches, the centre one of 150 feet span, being one of the largest stone arches in the world which has been constructed in modern times. Of the bridges which connect the banks of the Thames, three have been built from the designs of one man ; a fact which must throw a lustre on the name of Rennie, and be regarded with a feeling of pride by the most distant connection of his family. Thirdly, as a civil engineer. The first great attempt in this line of his profession was the survey and execution of the Crinan Canal, a work remarkable for the multitude of practical difficulties that occurred throughout the whole of this bold undertaking, it being necessary in many places to cut down through solid rock to the depth of 60 feet; and it is rather remarkable that the second undertaking, the Lancaster Canal, was also replete with difficulties, and called for the exercise of his skill as an architect, as we have already seen in noticing the aqueduct over the Lune. But these two works established his reputation as a civil engineer, and his opinion and assistance were required from all quarters. His faculties were now called into full play, and they expanded with the demands made upon them. The following are some of the most important of those the execution of which he personally attended:—Aberdeen, Brechin, Grand Western, Kennet and Avon, Portsmouth, Birmingham, Worcester, besides many others. But the resources of his mind were displayed in all their vigour in the plans and construction of those magnificent docks which are at once an ornament to the capital, and of the utmost utility to commerce and navigation. Nor are these splendid and useful works confined to the metropolis. The docks at Hull, Greenock, Leith, Liverpool, and Dublin attest his skill; and the harbours of

Queensferry, Berwick, Howth, Holyhead, Dunleary (now called Kingstown Harbour), Newhaven, and several others owe their security and convenience to his labours. But even these works, splendid as they are, must yield to what he has planned and executed in her Majesty’s dockyards at Portsmouth, Plymouth, Chatham, and Sheerness. The last was a mere quicksand of 40 feet in depth, mixed with mud and the wrecks of old ships ; the whole of which was excavated, and a magnificent basin constructed, with a beautiful surrounding wall of granite, with which three of the finest dry docks in the universe communicate ; and that important dockyard, which may be said to command the mouths of the Thames and the Medway, from being an unhealthy and detestable place, and wholly inefficient for its purpose, is now, by being raised many feet, and laid out with skill and judgment, one of the most convenient in the kingdom. He also planned the new naval arsenal at Pembroke, which is considered as a perfect model for a buildingyard. The repairing of the pier-head of Ramsgate harbour was a remarkable instance of his skill. The violence of the waves, acting upon the bad quality of the stone, had so completely undermined it that the stability of the whole pier began to be endangered. It was from 10 to 13 feet below the level of low-water, spring-tides; yet, by means of the improved diving-bell and its apparatus, th pier-head was not only effectually secured, but rendered more solid and durable than it originally had been. In the harbour of Howth the diving-bell was of the utmost use; and it is remarkable enough that the masons who have been for a little while accustomed to work under water prefer it—at least the Irish masons do—to working in the air, it being cooler in summer, and warmer in winter ; though an increase of pay for submarine work is probably the real cause of preference. The last effort of Rennie’s genius to which we shall advert was the drainage of that vast tract of marsh land bor dering upon the rivers Trent, Witham, New Welland, anu Ouse which for centuries past had baffled the skill of some of the ablest men in that department of civil engineering. Upon the same principles, he laid down a grand scheme for draining the whole of that immense district known by the name of the Bedford Level, which has in part been carried into execution by the completion of the Eau-brink Cut, near Lynn. The estimate he made for draining the whole amounted to L. 1,200,000. Rennie’s industry was very extraordinary ; though fond of the society of his select friends, and of rational conversation, he never suffered amusement of any kind to interfere with his business, which seldom engaged him less than twelve hours, and frequently fifteen, in the day. His conversation was always amusing and instructive. He possessed a rich fond of anecdote, and, like his old friend James Watt, told a Scotch story admirably. As a travelling companion, he was highly entertaining ; he knew everybody on the road, and everybody knew John Rennie. Of an ardent and anxious mind, and naturally impetuous, he was gifted with the most perfect self-control; and the irritation of the moment was seen but as a light summer’s cloud passing across his finely-marked features, which were on so large a scale, though blended with much mildness as well as dignity, as to obtain for his noble bust by Chantrey, when exhibited in Somerset House, the name of Jupiter Tonans.

Rennie possessed considerable skill in bibliography; and being a zealous and liberal collector, he succeeded in forming a very valuable library, consisting of the best and rarest books in all the branches of science and art, of voyages and travels, and many curious books in the black letter ; whilst in his own department it contained every work of the least merit, in whatever language it might be written. He had, besides^ a good collection of mathematical and

Rennie,

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REP

REN Rent 1 Reptilia.

13

wherever he appeared. Even some of the friends of the Co- Repeatingvenant came to misrepresent his patriotic and religious Circle zeal. He was reduced to the greatest shifts in the pursuit II of his ministerial vocation. Often did he cower for bed ^ ^ 1 and shelter in the holes of the ground. Often did he hold *~ his meetings at the dead of night in the heart of the wilderness. At length he was caught one January morning on the Castlehill of Edinburgh ; and in February 1688, on the scaffold in the Grassmarket, he met his death with the ecstatic welcome of a saint. (See Simpson’s Life of Renwick.) REPEATING CIRCLE. See BORDA. REPP, THORLEIF GUDMUNDSSON, a learned author, was born as Reykiadal in Iceland in 1794, and received his education at the university of Copenhagen. He was known in Britain between 1825 and 1837 as a foreigner of grer acquirements. The curators of the Advocates’ Library ha brought him over to Edinburgh to be their sub-librarian. His acquaintance with the modern languages and with Hebrew and Arabic was extensive. Nor was he incompetent to write English. In 1832 he published A His-

astronomical instruments, and frequently spoke of erecting an observatory, but did not live to carry his intention into He had for some years laboured under a disexecution. ease of the liver, which had apparently yielded to the usual treatment; but a relapse took place, and on the 16th of October 1821, after a few days’ illness, he expired without a struggle, in the sixtieth year of his age. Rennie, in 1789, married Miss Mackintosh, who died in 1806, leaving a family of seven young children. His remains were accompanied to St Paul’s by men of eminence in the arts, in science, and in literature, and were interred near those of Sir Christopher Wren. A plain granite slab covers his grave, on which is inscribed an appropriate epitaph. J-B.—w. RENT. See POLITICAL ECONOMY. RENTON, a village of Scotland, in Dumbartonshire, near the right bank of the Leven, 2 miles N. of Dumbarton. It has an Established church, a Free church, and a Reformed Presbyterian church, several schools, and a library. There is here a monument to Smollett, who was born in the vicinity, and has described the Leven and torical Treatise on Trial by Jury, Wager of Law, and adjacent country in his poetical and prose works. The other co-ordinate Forensic Institutions formerly in use people are to a large extent employed in dyeing and bleach- in Scandinavia and in Iceland; in 1833 he wrote an article on the Advocates’ Library for the Penny Cyclopeing establishments. Pop. 2398. REN WICK, JAMES, the last of the Scottish martyrs, dia ; and about the same he contributed to the literature was the only surviving child of a poor weaver, and was of the country several translations from the German and born in the parish of Glencairn, Dumfriesshire, in 1662. Italian. After his return to Copenhagen in 1837, Repp After he had entered the university of Edinburgh the Co- continued his literary labours. Among other works, he venanting faith, in which he had been brought up, came wrote a pamphlet in Danish, entitled Dano-Hungarian boldly into action. He refused to take the oath of alle- Discoveries, Copenhagen, 1843; and compiled, in congiance which was tendered to him at his laureation. At junction with Ferrall, a Danish and English Dictionary, length he consecrated his life to the covenanting cause, 12mo, Copenhagen, 1845. He died in 1858. REPRIEVE, in criminal law (from Fr. reprendre, to by repairing to Holland at the request of the praying societies of Scotland, for the purpose of receiving ordination. take back), is the withdrawing of a sentence for an interRenwick returned to his native country in 1683, to enter val of time, by which means the execution is suspended. into a perfect storm of persecution. Daring to take upon This may be either before or after judgment, as where the himself the task of preaching to the scattered Nonconform- judge is not satisfied with the verdict, the evidence, or the ists in the south and west of Scotland, he provoked the indictment; or sometimes if any favourable circumstances savage malignity of many enemies. The government set appear in the character of the criminal, in order to give a price upon his head, and declared him an outcast from time to apply to the crown for either an absolute or condisociety. Bands of dragoons were ready to hunt him down tional pardon.

REPTILIA: REPTILES.

1

THESE form the third great division of the animal kingdom, and in systematic works on natural history occupy an intermediate position between the class of birds and that 2 of fishes.

As in tracing the modifications of various organs, from the zoophitical and radiated animals to the molluscous, from these to the articulated classes, and onwards through the fishes to the reptile tribes, it is among the last named that we first perceive the passage from the truly aquatic to the terrestrial or air-breathing animal,—so the respiratory organs of such tribes are naturally those which excite the greatest and most peculiar interest. Among the more important classes of animals, respiration is effected in one or other of two ways ; ls J v

RHETORIC. It is hardly less a truism, that the digesting of materials Still more likely is it to happen, that even in the quarter Processes may be facilitated immensely by the possession of a well- in which our strongest proofs are detected, these are found constitutjgyised scheme of distributive principles. Now, it is doubt- insufficient to justify any reasonable expectation of our |egs jrue jjla^ eVery special department of human know- being able to establish more than a probability in favour of cluence- ^ v ledge, every kind of matter that supplies objects to be our conclusion. Such a state of matters puts us on the search V ^ reasoned about, has principles peculiar to itselfj and affect- for concurrent proofs of other kinds. To cases of this sort ing very extensively the distribution of the truths which are referable considerations which will next be stated. constitute its system. But the rules of arrangement which 24. The several Kinds of Arguments possess different Applicabiare dictated by the peculiar principles, say of a science or lity of the of any other organizable collection of facts or laws, are no degrees of Applicability to the different kinds of matter several more than subordinate. They are over-ridden by other most frequently treated in argumentative discourses. The kinds of and wider principles,—principles which must be common to doctrine in regard to these differences has been sketched S . the given department with others, and which dictate higher by Whately briefly but satisfactorily; and to his exposition rules of arrangement. These, again, fall similarly within nothing needs to be added but a few features on the marthe sway of certain principles which are the widest of all, gins of the plan. and by which is prescribed the great outline of every system Two remarks may be premised.—First, the cases in of knowledge. which it is worth while to consider such questions of appliIt is scarcely rash to say that, for all those departments cability are those in which, whether on account of the of knowledge whose objects are described as Contingent character of the proposition to be established, or on account Truths,—for all, in short, which fall beyond the sphere of of the position of the persons to be convinced, it is anticithe exact sciences,—the highest principles of arrangement pated that conviction will not be reached unless through that can be reached are those, or something very like those, several arguments all pointing towards the desired concluwhich lie at the base of the classification of arguments now sion. In the next place, though all the arguments conexpounded. In this or that department of knowledge, and verge towards one focus, they are likely to converge by in the application of arguments to this or that special pur- different paths, or to discharge different functions. Certain pose, the classification may be found to be quite barren of of them, describable as Probatory, will be those on which suggestions ; but this will occur only because, for particular the stress of the proof mainly rests. Others will be Prereasons, the arguments which are available lie wholly within paratory, serving the use of paving the way, whether by the one or another of the three divisions that have been chalked removal of prejudices or objections, or by the imparting of out. When the arguments accessible and required are prepossessions positively favourable. Others will be prosuch that they belong to different kinds from among our perly Confirmatory, as strengthening positions which the three, it will be found that the threefold scheme supplies a main group of arguments has not fortified beyond attack. framework into which they will fall naturally and easily, Practically considered, then, all the kinds of questions on and within whose several compartments all subdivisions which rhetorical theory has any effective bearing may be prompted by the specific character of the matter will be said to be three : Matters of Opinion, or, in other words, distributable without confusion or intermixture. questions of principle, or questions in which the conclusion Nor, even if the threefold scheme is not directly used, is a general or universal proposition, not the statement of will the principles on which it stands be unfruitful of an individual fact: Questions as to Individual Facts that are suggestive hints to those who care to master them and Past; Questions as to Individual Facts that are Future. reflect on them.—The first point to be considered, when 1. In the endeavour to generate belief in universal the discovery of arguments is aimed at, is the character of propositions, the arguments chiefly available are those from the conclusion for which we wish to find premises,—the Condition. The weakness incident to each argument of nature of the relation in virtue of which the known and the this kind, taken singly, may be cured by accumulation ; unknown are connected in our thoughts, and are likely to several concurring probabilities may yield positive cerbe connected in the thoughts of others. Is our conclusion tainty. These arguments are often aided, sometimes in the evidently a dependent fact ? Our search is guided first way of preparation, sometimes in the way of corroboration, and chiefly towards its conditions, the facts on which it is by the authority of competent judges, which founds argudependent; and among these we dig for some fact which ments from Testimony. In both ways, likewise, aid is may be accepted as a cause. If our conclusion is itself a furnished by arguments from Example, which are most fact on which we know others to be consequent, our exer- efficient when close analysis cannot be relied on. tions are directed towards the finding out, among these, of 2. In the endeavour to generate belief in individual facts some which are not only consequent but dependent on it; of or events that are past, arguments from Symptom are made some in regard to which we may be assured that, but for the attainable by the nature of the case, and are those which fact which is our conclusion, these could not be facts at all. are chiefly available. Testimony, founding arguments referBut we may not be able to avail ourselves of either of these able to that class, holds a prominent place. In all difficult relations; and our incapacity may spring from either of cases, however, there are used, as preparatory or as corrobotwo sources. We may not be able to discover any known rative, or for both purposes, arguments from Condition, fact as to which we can peremptorily assert, that it is directly (oftenest from motives), and arguments from Example. either a condition of our conclusion or conditioned by it; 3. In the endeavour to generate belief in individual facts or, still more frequently, although we can for ourselves or events which are future, the argument from symptom is trace the relation of condition as connecting our conclusion of course excluded by the nature of the case. If the process with some other fact, we may be satisfied that the connec- of conviction is attempted on fair and legitimate grounds, and tion will either be hard to be understood, or unlikely to be is addressed to minds competent in respect of ability and readily admitted by those whom we wish to convince. In knowledge, the body of the probation consists in arguments either of these events, we are driven on the search for from Condition ; and arguments from Example are introfacts known to be in certain points similar to that which we duced only in corroboration. But if the process is unfairly desire to establish: we found on that acknowledged simi- conducted, or if the qualifications of the minds addressed larity, and on the classification and nomenclature which are poor, the functions of the two kinds of arguments are have their birth in it; and we found as strongly as we may very often and naturally reversed. on the presumption, that similarity in certain features implies similarity in others more or less directly allied to them. 2o. It remains to be asked whether the materials that have

Processes constituting Eloquence. The arrangement of argumeats.

RHETOKIC. 127 may justify a farther deviation from rules than any other Processes been collected, or others combinable with them, are capable of suggesting any laws for the Arrangement of Arguments, circumstances he could be placed in. The more deeply constitutThere are just three relations of arguments which have the counter-opinion may be supposed to be rooted in the ing Elobeeilj or can be, alleged to determine the order in which minds of the recipients, the earlier should the refutatory quence. they should be used. They might conceivably be arranged treatment be entered on. An opinion which we wish to either according to their Kind, or according to their Pur- sow cannot make even the beginnings of germination, till p0se) 0r according to their Comparative Strength, opposing prejudices have been rooted out. 0f these principles has dictated to rhetorical It has writers several canons, and particularly these two. III. THE PROCESS OF PERSUASION. been advised by some to arrange arguments by the rule of the 26. To this process, as presenting the field on which are The chaclimax, rising from the weakest to the strongest; and it has been advised by others to arrange them by a rule borrowed won the most dazzling triumphs of oratory, the name ofracter of from military tactics, placing the weakest in the middle, Eloquence is very usually given by way of eminence ; and the theory where their shortcomings may be covered by the stronger hence the distance is short to that closer limitation, hardly Persua_ forces that flank them on each wing. It is needless to less common, which refuses the name of Eloquence to all examine or contrast either these two conflicting rules or communicative processes, except such as either entertain any others derived from the same principle. For the prin- the design of persuasion, or exhibit a preponderance of its ciple itself is hollow and worthless. If an arrangement distinctive elements. Against all such limitations a protest seemingly prescribed by it should be found to be effective, was taken at the beginning of this treatise. It is true, however, that we have here that compartment this can only be because there really lies under it a deeper law, either that of kind or that of purpose. In reference to in the domain of Eloquence, which is not only the most strength, perhaps the only rule that could usefully be ga- powerfully and generally interesting, but more readily susthered is this: that arguments possessing no real force of ceptible than any other of being subordinated to a theory conviction over those to whom they are addressed ought that is peculiar and independent. In imaginative and emonever to be used, unless they cannot possibly be dispensed tive eloquence, doubtless, much more thoroughly than in that which is merely argumentative, brilliant success is unwith. The only rules of real value that can be laid down for attainable, unless when its foundation is laid in native the order of arguments depend primarily on their kind, genius. Yet reflective study of the discoverable laws of the process will not only guide and strengthen, for results and secondarily on their purpose. 1. In reference to Kind, it should first of all be accepted useful and even eminent, powers of all degrees below the as a rule, not to be violated unless for the most imperative highest, but will teach to the highest powers themselves reason prompted by special emergency of purpose, that much that may advantageously direct and plume their arguments of the same kind are to be grouped together, flight. The ship that is bent on a dangerous voyage must no intrusion by arguments of another kind being permitted. indeed be ably commanded and fully manned; but her A departure from this method cannot but give birth to captain does not set sail till he has obtained the most accurate charts. The rhetorical laws of persuasion, though confusion both of thinking and of expression. As to the order of the several kinds, when all are avail- their use presupposes the possession of an ability and knowable, required, and used, the natural and general arrange- ledge which they cannot impart, do yet possess extensive uses, ment is that in which the three kinds have now been negative and cautionary. They are the charts of a broad examined. Causal arguments raise an antecedent or pre- and stormy sea, whose currents are heady but not lawless, liminary likelihood in favour of the conclusion ; arguments and whose soundings, though deep, are not beyond the from symptom support the conclusion more or less firmly reach of the plummet. Eloquence, in this its loftiest reby evidence derived from known facts seeming to stand in gion, not less than in regions that are humbler, is decisively dependence on it; and arguments from example remove an art, a process whose steps are dictated by preformed lingering doubts, by showing that the conclusion is at the design, and whose theory is discoverable and has been very least not inconsistent with that which experience has discovered. It stands in no way differently from other arts demanding and rewarding the exertion of elevated energies, shown to be true in similar or analogous cases. 2. The question of Purpose has, in effect, been raised in in having, as conditions imposed on all applications of its the last paragraph. The rule for the ordinary and normal theory, such maxims as these : That the use of all rules of arrangement of the three kinds of arguments is dictated by art is chiefly no more than negative and prohibitory ; and the consideration, that each of the three does ordinarily that, even for such purposes, the utility arises, not from the serve, better than the others, one of the three special pur- rule itself, but from intelligent and complete apprehension of its principle. poses, preparation, direct probation, corroboration. Our psychological analysis of the mental process which Purpose and kind, however, may and often do jar with may issue in volition, must now be kept carefully in each other. The largest class of cases is that in which the causal sight. In its normal shape, the process unfolds itself relation is not likely to be distinctly apprehended, and in as constituted by at least two steps which are characterwhich therefore the argument from condition is unfit to act istically cognitive or transcend cognition: the first, a as preparatory. The remedy oftenest applicable is one fact of Imagination ; the second, a fact of Wishing, already noted for a different purpose : the office of prepa- whether desire or aversion. On the latter of these the volition follows. Not less incumbent on us is it to remember, ration is devolved on the argument from example. The conflict between kind and purpose becomes yet how this most prominent series of steps is modified by atmore decided, when an argumentative discourse is ad- tendant Emotions. While it was maintained, in the psydressed to persons labouring .under opinions or prejudices chological outline, that the emotion is really an obscure constrongly adverse to the conclusion which the debater de- comitant of each of those steps, it was observed, also, that sires them to entertain. Adverse prepossession, indeed, the emotion may force itself into prominence as a step interis always to be supposed possible where the writer or vening between each two of them. Indeed, the substance speaker has not the first word. Accordingly the question of one part of the doctrine which was laid down is this: here arises, What should be the place of Refutation ? The that in proportion to the force of the cognitive or higher unfavourable position of an argumentator who has to make fact will be the certainty that the Emotion (at first overthe refutation of an adversary the main part of his task, powered by that fact) will recur, and in its turn become

RHETORIC. 128 Processes prominent. It must now be alleged broadly, that Persua- his own position, but that of reconciling his own position Processes constitut- sive Eloquence aims at the generation of a process in which with the position of the persons operated upon. This is constituting Elo- the cognitive and higher steps shall have such force as to strictly the fact even in exposition and argumentation ; inS E1°" quence quence. '^ bring up a consequent emotion at every step. In the most and, in the performance of these processes in individual v advanced stage of our researches we may have to glance at cases, the necessity of adaptation presses itself on every "~ ^ cases proceeding far towards the completion of the process. intelligent debater. But in the general theorizing of Complication also of the cognitive and higher steps, such processes aiming at the communication of belief, the as those which were pointed out when we specially ex- maxim.is not forced into that prominence which it imamined volition, would suggest considerations having much peratively exacts when we begin to look into the theory value for the dissection and treatment of complex and ex- of persuasion. In the attempt to generate belief, the comceptional cases. But such questions may be ignored while municator and the recipient stand rather in different poswe investigate the general theory of Persuasion. The main tures than on different ground: in the attempt to excite reason why they are inessential is this: that the deter- imagination and emotion the ground is different as well as mining steps in the process are the first two. The others the posture. Here, therefore, the active party of the two are ruled by these ; and, if repeated or varied, they must is urgently called on to consider the relation of the other. Imagination, and consequent Emotion, are to be excited be so through and after repetition and variation of these by the discourse. Accordingly the images must be pretheir antecedents. Let this, then, be remembered as a cardinal point:—that sented both vividly and in their emotive relations; and the the theory of Persuasion is virtually complete, when it communicator must possess adequately both imaginative has determined the laws regulating the generation of the and emotive susceptibility; while, besides these qualificafirst two steps: that in which the prominent fact is the tions, he must also have power and skill of language suffiImagination of the object, the wish for which is to be the cient for due expression both of the images and of the prompter towards action ; and, next, that in which the pro- emotions. It is no less true, on the other hand, that the minent fact is the Emotion which is consequent on the Image, process, even if fitly performed, will fail of all effect, or be and which must be excited before the wish can have birth. but very partially successful, unless the recipients be on The process whose laws we have to seek is the generation, their part fitly qualified. Fortunately, however, the qualithrough language, of Images excitative of Emotions tend- fications needed on this side are lower in degree and rarely wanting. Susceptibility is quite as frequent and as keen in ing towards desire or aversion. The field thus staked out may be fenced off in sections. those who hear or read as in those who speak or write. In the first place, we cannot safely, at any stage of our Imagination, too, of that receptive character which can readily survey, accept anything but the Images as our chief object form a scene or a character whose features are drawn for it of scrutiny. Everything of specific doctrine that is at- by a stronger hand, is a gift diffused with beneficent abuntainable and useful relates primarily to the images; and it dance ; and therefore the field of influence is widely open relates to the one or the other of the two aspects which for that self-dependent power, so much more rarely given, must be combined in a complete inspection of them. The which weds its scattered experiences into unions so novel positive and specific laws of persuasive eloquence, accord- and inspires its images with a strength so life-like, that we ingly, fall into two sections. The first of these contains rightly call such imagination original, and exaggerate but Laws of Form ; and those laws fall into two sub-sec- excusably in describing it as creative. A further step of dissection is required, both for justifytions ;—laws affecting the Images, and laws affecting the consequent Emotions. In both parts of this section we ing one of the demands which are thus made on the orator, are absolved from all obligation to consider the further and for founding more than one corollary which will find tendency of the emotions. In other words, the laws here a place hereafter. It was asserted that one who is to excite others to feeling, emerging are common to Eloquence and Poetry. In the second section we retire into our own exclusive ter- must himself not only imagine but feel. The assertion is ritory. The laws contained in it are Laws of Matter; and common-place and universally admitted: its reasons may the question here arising is, what kinds of objects are, when reward a little scrutiny. Those to whom emotive images imaginatively represented, likely to operate, through desire are imparted are acted on by them in each of two ways. In the first place, the images operate Directly, through their or aversion, towards the excitement of volition. In the way, however, of introduction to these two groups own objective force. An image representing an interestingof determinate laws, certain considerations should be sug- object cannot fail, even though it should be inefficiently imgested, which, although not perfectly digestible into a sys- parted, to excite emotion in a mind which possesses activity tem, may yet be methodized to a certain extent; and of imagination enabling it to frame the image for itself which deserve to be classified, as forming a section of from the hints that have been set before it. The same preliminary and general doctrines. Our sections of laws image, if exhibited with the fulness and brightness of orawill thus be three. torical genius, will excite emotion in minds which would not be excitable under less energetic pi'ompting. In the second place, the images operate Indirectly. They (l.) LAWS OF PERSONAL RELATION. do so when they are presented in an aspect shewing their The law of 27. Persuasion, like every other communicative process, is having excited, in the mind of the presenter, emotions of the character which he desires to transfuse into the minds must llave at least tw0 —the^si1 a ^same players. The parties, of tlue others. In a word, they operate through the great Law tions^rfth'e ^’ ’ attitudes which through all changes are optwo par- posed to each other: the one is steadily aggressive, the of Sympathy. Of this mighty spring of human emotion, ties. other only defensive or receptive. Our chief attention is and desire, and action, we must never allow ourselves quite rightly given to the active side; but the position of the to lose sight while we endeavour to trace the workings of side which is comparatively passive can no more be neglected emotive eloquence. If there were room for illustrative with safety, in the attempt to understand the evolutions, description of its effects, these might most wisely be given than it can be in the actual performance of them. in the beautiful declamation with which Quintilian strives A maxim which might be called the Law of Adaptation to enforce the law of emotion on the orator. It should be runs through the whole theory of communication, like the remarked particularly, however, that, in all attempts at heart-strand round which is twisted the cordage forming a passionate excitation, sympathy must, whether we will or rope. The duty of the operator is not that of making good not, be active either for us or against us. An image which

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RHETORIC. 129 vve have fancied but faintly or depicted but poorly, may the mind of the poet or the orator, has given birth to the Processes thence derive great emotive efficacy, if only it has evidently imagery by which his derived activity is prompted. The constitutaffected ourselves deeply. An image strongly framed and difference between the two processes is a world-wide one ; in£ ®l0' briliantly expressed may have its moving power multiplied but, great as it is, it is nothing else than a difference in v quence-^ a thousandfold, by the evidence that it has deeply moved degree. The recipient must synthesize as well as the com^ ourselves. But if, even when such an image has been dis- municator; although he does synthesize from materials played, we, the framers, are cold under its light, there is whose exuberance makes his task easy, and is able after all imminent risk that those who watch us will be infected with to form only a picture which almost always is as dim as the a sympathetic chill. last rays of twilight, in comparison with the tropical sunshine of the imagery whose hints he strives to re-compose. By thus placing ourselves close enough to the recipient (ll.) LAWS OP FORM. to see clearly the position he truly holds, we gain a glimpse The formal 28. Inquiry into the form of the emotive images,—the of the relations between him and the other party, which doctrine manner in which they may be represented effectively,—calls invites us to examine more minutely the ground that lies of emotive our attention necessarily towards the Words in which they between them.—No image formed in one mind can, by imagery. are expressed. All the laws of form gather some of their any medium of communication that is either possible or data from truths directly involved in the functions of lan- conceivable, be transfused into any other mind with either guage ; and this is the fit place for so much as is genuine complete or exact similarity of elements. The image as it and useful in those cumbrous Rules of Style, which have lived in the mind of the original imaginer is one thing: the been constructed as aids to imaginative and passionate elo- image which the attempt to communicate it has evoked in quence. But here, as elsewhere, the reasons of the rules any other mind is another thing. Besides the immeasurwill occupy us more than the rules themselves. able shortcoming caused by that shortcoming in imaginative The whole doctrine of this first and decisive step in the power which was pointed to in the last paragraph, there is process of persuasion, rests on those Laws of Imagination a shortcoming (and this the only one against which any which were outlined in our psychological introduction. precautions can be taken) arising from this fact:—that the The deepest courses of the foundation are laid in that original image has been communicated through certain primary law, which limits imagination to objects thought of media, each of which is inadequate in its own peculiar way, as Individuals.—Fencing the class of imaginable objects but all of which have imperfection of efficacy as a common round about by this impassable barrier, we must, however, characteristic, an imperfection disappointing to the inventor beware of shutting out certain kinds of objects, which, and crippling to the mental mobility of those for whose though very abundant within the domain of imagination, excitement the invention has been framed. What is the do often lie dangerously close to its frontiers. We must most exquisite statue or the most masterly painting, to the steadily avoid the error of supposing, that objects of sense vision of grandeur or of beauty which hovered in the airy are the only objects that can be imagined. In philosophical dreamland of the artist’s fantasy, undimmed as yet by the strictness, indeed, such objects are imaginable only as shadows of that common daylight in which he had to aim at having been, or as being capable of becoming, objects of giving it visibility, and undeformed by the jarring of those perception ; that is, as having been, or being thought of as mechanical obstacles against which he was to contend in being, factors or elements in mental facts. But in imagi- giving a body to its likeness ! nation, as in perception, their objective characteristics monoThe fact lies straight in our path, that imperfections, difpolize the attention so thoroughly, that the subjective side ferent both in kind and in the specific character of the vanishes altogether from spontaneous consciousness, and is result, but still great and unavoidable, impede all attempts recognisable only through energetic reflection. It is like- at the communication of imagery through language. In wise true, that our imagining and remembering of objects each of the points which are exposed to danger,—in respect perceived is beyond all comparison more clear and vivid, of completeness and in respect of exactness,—the commuthan our imagining and remembering of facts of conscious- nicated image, the image raised in the recipient mind, is ness in which perception has had no part. So widely does made, by the imperfections specially incident to language, this law rule, that our imagining of facts purely mental has to be more or less, and often very far, dissimilar and infeto be made clear and bright through analogies drawn from rior to the image by the expression of which it was sugour ideas of corporeal phenomena; a truth which is in- gested. The picture or the statue is one visible thing: stanced in every word or phrase by which we strive to an observant spectator, if he shuts his eyes and remembers express mental facts. This difference in ease of imagina- what he has seen, is in possession of an image which reprebility, between objects of the one class and objects of the sents with reasonable correctness the work of art, however other, will immediately be put to use. But it must be far it may fall short of the artist’s ideal. The suggestive remembered firmly that objects of the one class are imagi- weakness of the arts of design lies in their tendency to let nable as well as objects of the other. Nor is it too early us rest content with mere sight and memory, instead of to note this truth on the other side; that, while our attempting to soar to the imagination of the artist’s creative imagination of corporeal objects is the more vivid, our ima- thought. The suggestive weakness belonging to language gination of mental phenomena is in a like degree the more operates in a different direction. If an image so commuinteresting or excitative of emotion. Indeed it is only nicated is operative at all, it cannot be so by being merely through their relation to mind that external objects, whether excitative of memory; for there is nothing to remember, perceived or imagined, are interesting or emotive at all. the words being mere symbols, empty till they suggest the Another point of doctrine having a broad applicability to relative ideas. Suggestion must take place: poetry and the theory of persuasion is this.—Imagination, of the kind eloquence are excitative of imagination through suggestion, which has here been called synthetic, has a much wider sway association of ideas, and through that channel only: the than that which we are apt to assign to it. The listener doctrine is of great value in the theory of both arts. But, who seems to be merely gathering in passively the sweet in either of two ways, the object suggested may not be of fancies expressed in a recited poem, or the stirring pictures the kind it should have been. On the one hand, the words painted by a fervid orator, is really, if he does form the expressing the image may suggest some image widely difimages for himself in the faintest degree, performing an ferent; or, on the other hand, they may suggest some mental imaginative process of the very same kind,—a process con- process which is not imagination at all, or has not imagina stituted by facts obeying the same laws,^—as that which, in tion for its most prominent element. R VOL. XIX. Processes constituting Eloquence^

R H E T O R I C. Processes The modifications under which the several failures thus consequently of expression, than that which is either re- Processes constitut- hinted at are most likely to occur, will appear in some quired or advantageous in the thinking and expression of constitutin ing Elo- degree if we take them as illustrations ot two leading argument. But when circumstantiality is advised, it is gEloquence. propositions, under which may be specificated all that is only meant that there shall not be wanting circumstances, '^ ^ essential to the formal doctrine of imagery designed to features, incidents, sufficient both in number and in character to suggest lively images, and to present these in inexcite emotion. teresting relations. It is a question of particulars, how far The laws of 29. (I.) The shortcomings incident to the result of the elaboration ought to go. Sometimes brevity, and a direct re- attempts at communicating emotive imagery through lan- brevity that is extreme, may be dictated by the position of presenta- gUage, are traceable to Three several Characteristics inse- the auditors. Some of the most hasty of those thundertion—yma- par^]e from the method of communication.—First, The flashes which dazzle in the orations of Demosthenes, are communication takes place, not directly through perception shot forth briefly, because they are references to facts as specifica- or simple reproduction, but through suggestive relations familiar and as exciting as their daily life to every one who tion. prompting an act of synthetic imagination. Secondly, heard him. Oftener account has to be taken of the powers The suggestive ideas are communicated, not simultaneously, of the poet or orator. High genius possesses strong but successively. Thirdly, The symbolic character of tools, for the want of which ordinary talent must make up words, while it is the foundation of their pre-eminence by the use of others that work more slowly. But, on all among all media of communication, does yet impose on sides beyond and around, expatiation is hemmed in by the principle of our corollaries. Fulness of detail tempts both them certain specific disqualifications. (i.) Evidently, the restrictions imposed by the first of towards tediousness and towards confusion ; and the two these considerations do not well admit of being formulized are equally hostile to the easy and vivid excitement of imainto specific rules. The doctrine, however, accompanies gination in those who suffer under them. (ii.) The law for which the ground is cleared in the us through all more minute inquiries, and is always to be remembered as constituting a condition precedent, under second of the characteristics laid down in our theorem, owes which only these have truth or value. Perhaps it may be the most valuable illustrations it has received, to Lessing, by worth while to work out of it two corollaries, which, vague whom it was first distinctly exhibited and put to use, and as they are, come in contact at more points than one with to Vischer, the latest of those who have systematically expounded it. It comes to light most readily in a comparison the relation between the communicator and the recipient. First, The formation of the image by the mind recipient between the procedure of poetry and that adopted by the is the easier, in proportion as the image which the words arts of design; and it is in aesthetics only, or specially in are designed to express is the simpler, or constituted by the theory of poetry, that it has hitherto been fully used. the fewer parts or elements capable of being separately But it rules not less directly in the imaginative section of eloquence. imagined. It rests on two pillars. On the one side stands the Secondly, While the character of imaginable objects, and that of the process issuing in synthetic imagination, concur peculiar nature of the process of communication by lanin making it impossible for any image so formed to be ab- guage, as working through succession: over against this solutely simple, an image expressed in words must, on ac- foundation stands the independent activity which must be count of the indirect character of the method, be even less exerted by the receptive mind, and which may and must simple, or must be constituted by a larger number of ima- be exerted more freely when language is its prompter than ginable parts, than an image of the same object might have in any other case. While the arts of design represent in space, literature been if it were the simple reproduction of what was given in perception. Consequently, in representation of this represents in time. The former, therefore, barred from kind, the relation between the parts and the whole demands representing change and succession, are strong in the rea recognition especially emphatic. The formation of a presentation of simultaneity : visible objects of considerable complex image by the mind recipient is the easier, in pro- complexity are representable in sculpture ; and painting is portion as the image which the words are designed to ex- limited in its accumulation of features by nothing but the press possesses unity, or (to speak more accurately) syste- bounds within which the eye can take in a scene as one matic totality ; that is, in proportion as all the constitutive whole. Language, in its picturing forth of images, is not ideas are evolved in subordination to one prominent and indeed shut out from the representation of simultaneity so utterly as those arts are from the representation of succesparamount idea. The pre-requisite for the application of these principles sion : language, in its grasp of objects, is infinitely more to practice, is the successful striving, in the formation of the elastic than visual perception; and this mainly because it image in the mind from which it is to issue, after the closest hints to the mind rather than dictates to it, and is thus not possible approach to simplicity, and the utmost reduction of so truly the instrument of art as the mover of imagination complexity to its central and combining law. Such suc- the real instrument. Still, in respect of the expressed cess can be won only by vigour both of imagination and of image (which, not the image raised in the recipient mind, judgment; and these are not the fruit of rules. Neverthe- is here in view), language is on this side hemmed in within less, the aiming at a mark too distant to be hit is excellent a very narrow territory. Its strength, its characteristic practice for the shooter ; and in intellectual as in moral as- field of adventure, lies in the representation of change and piration, the station which we struggle to attain cannot be succession. too high. We are helped also by every hint, which clears Therefore, in the first place, language, as a prompter of up our idea either of the end we are to look to or of the imagination, has, as its royal appanage, the domain of mind, not that of body. The field over which it bears means which lie between us and it. The hints thus thrown out stand in no real contradiction sway, the class of objects which its nature fits it for reto a maxim which has frequently been assigned by rhe- presenting, is constituted by mental phenomena, the very toricians from Cicero downwards. It recommends Circum- essence of whose manifestation is succession and change, stantiality as an excellence in a word-picture drawn for the phenomena which are not cognisable in consciousness otherpurpose of aiding persuasion. That a certain complexity wise than as successive changes. This is what its operaof features is indispensable, was broadly asserted in our tion in time empowers language to do. Let us ask, next, second corollary* It may farther be allowed that emotive what that operation prohibits it from doing. Language, then, as a prompter of imagination, has hardly images must generally have greater fulness of parts, and

Processes constituting Eloquence.

131 RHETORIC. any power at all in the direct representation of objects of ever fail to find expression in the words by which we com- Processes constitutsense. Such an object must be simple in the extreme, if municate that image. The law, then, ^into which the hint thrown out in the in< uenc g E1°words can paint it so as to excite an image at all like the second characteristic has effloresced, may be drawn to a f ^f v original. As to the giving of expression to the physical v characteristics of external things, the sciences descriptive of point in some such shape as this.—As a process operating ^ body (especially those dealing with bodies organic) bear tes- through succession and change, imaginative and emotive timony to the difficulty which words have in performing the representation through language has mental changes astask; though patient study of descriptions is there demanded signed to it as constituting its distinctive sphere of objects : and granted, and though the resultant scientific idea of the and, in the endeavour to represent corporeal things, the object is not required to come up to a complete reproduc- process is limited to the expression of changes loosely detion of its visible appearance. But he who, treating a cor- scribable as actions, and standing related to action proper poreal object, designs his language-picture of it to he at the and its mental concomitants. (iii.) The third of the characteristics calls for less exutmost a sketch, from which a mind-picture of it shall be painted by others, does, on the one hand, desire to create planation. It points at the power which language has, in those other minds much more than a scientific skeleton ; not only of exciting imagination, but of prompting thinkwhile, again, he is not entitled to expect that those minds ing proper,—that is, especially, the formation of concepts, shall work out the result through exertions of untiring in- and general reasoning through these. As being symbols dustry. If the object is very complex, the features of it through which we can think, and as being the only kind of which were first described may be absolutely forgotten be- symbols through which we can think to good purpose, words fore the description arrives at the last: it will be impossible, are essential conditions of our ability to extend our thoughts also, to avoid raising subordinate elements into so undue a beyond the individual to the universal, from objects taken prominence as to generate confusion worse confounded; in isolation to classes which objects constitute. We are and, over and above these difficulties, the weary pain of the enabled to do so through our possession of common terms, continuous effort which the receptive mind is commanded the names of classes: by seizing hold of these, we swing to make, must throw it out of the imaginative mood either ourselves upward out of the clear but not elevated region into inertness or into conjectural questioning. Nor is this filled by singular terms, the names of individuals. But the law of compensation rules in the whole world : all. If the receptive mind possesses its needful share of imaginative activity, its own energy will speedily free it every good thing must have its price paid. Common from the dominion of its task-master. From some of the terms occur continually among our words; because the earliest suggestions conveyed to it, it will begin to frame idea of a class is continually springing up among our fancies for itself: it will attend to these, not to the later thoughts. Consequently language is constantly tempthints of its instructor ; or it will catch up these hints as ing ils out of the field of mere imagination, into one which sounds are caught by a man half-asleep, and weave some of lies indeed on a higher level, but which yet, being a difthem, with its own visions, into a web to which the words ferent field, may be one we did not wish to enter. It it hears have lent but few threads either of warp or of is absolutely impossible that an image expressed in words woof. In fine, when a description is vaunted as “ pictorial” should stop short with exciting the imagination of those or “ graphic,” it may be that the epithets are used in a sense who receive it: it must excite judgment also ; it must set in which they denote a real excellence. Oftener and more them a-thinking; it must lead them, for a short way or a naturally, they signify what is not a healthy growth of art, long one, into trains of reasoning. This is, in one view, a mighty and a blessed effect. Eloquence would be powerbut an excrescence symptomatic of disease. How is the cure to be found or the distemper prevented ? less were it not produced: poetry without it would be a By the translation of simultaneity into succession ; by guid- mere plaything; poetry is dignified by it with its prerogaing our words to the representation, not of something which tive as one of the great rulers (though a ruler not sitting is here or there, but of something which (standing in a on the highest of the thrones) of human thought and of suggestive relation to it) was in time past, and is now moral activity. In a view which is raised more directly by changing to something else, and will hereafter change into our present studies, the tendency even of imaginative lanyet another thing. Suggestive language represents bodies guage to prompt judgment is a weakness; and language used through their changes: its sphere is action, not that which in persuasive representation must be strengthened against it. The weakness is universally acknowledged; and rhetoriacts or is acted on ; its world is a world of motion, not of rest. Yet further, it cannot represent what has been called cians, whether able or not to detect its most remote sources, the action of bodies, otherwise than through analogies with have hardly ever failed either to discover the remedy or action proper, the activity of mind, or with some or other of to describe it with sufficient clearness. A place is usually those mental changes out of which action issues or in which given to it among the rules for attaining that quality of it seeks its consummation and its end. Individual changes style which is called Animation or Vivacity ; by which is of body become known to us only through individual changes meant an aptness of language for exciting imagination and which they excite in our minds. Even if the bodily change is emotion. The common rule may be fitted into the systhe thing which we desire to make the leading object of the tem here under exposition, by being framed in such a shape r image,—yet the mental effect, whether feeling, or wish, or as the following :— Singular terms, the names of objects thought of as indivolition, or thought, must come up and be expressed as that which will individualize the image of the corporeal excitant. viduals, are the only terms which are directly suggestive of If that which we desire to make the prominent feature of Imagination only, to the exclusion of other modes of thought. the image be any of the relative mental changes, the cor- These, then, are the words fittest to excite images, and are preferable to all others when they are obtainable, and when poreal attributes sink necessarily into the background. The corporeal class of attributes will be the prominent no concurrent aim forbids their exclusive use. But comfeatures if we aim chiefly at making the image vivid,—that mon terms, the names of classes,—which do not suggest is, at intensifying the first step in the persuasive or poetical imagination (or individuality its object) otherwise than inprocess. The mental class of attributes will be the pro- directly and incidentally,—must and should be of frequent minent features if we aim chiefly at making the image occurrence. Now, that indirect suggestiveness of individuemotive or interesting,—that is, at intensifying the second ality, which is possessed by common terms, is in the inverse step of the process. But neither class can ever be wanting ratio of the extensiveness of the classes they denote, 01 m in our own formation of the image; and neither class can the direct ratio of their specification or approach to individu-

R H E T O R l C. Processes ality. Therefore, for the excitement of imagination, when the two. But it must be said, with deference, that neither Processes constitutconstitut- an idea may be expressed by either or any of two or more of the exceptions appears to be well founded. ing Elo- common terms, the Less Extensive i erm should be preOf the Trope proper the most prominent example is inc uenc g Cloquence. ferred to the more extensive. A special method, which is the Metaphor, which suggests through similarity. In the l e. both common and very effective, is the limitation of the trope, a word or phrase is turned from its usual and approspecies or characterization of the individual by Descriptive priate meaning; signifying most obviously one object, it is used to denote another object, which in some way or other Epithets. is like the first. The Figure proper is exemplified in the The laws of 30. In the last section we have studied the nature and the Apostrophe and the Exclamation. In the figure, the words indirect re ■ partially applicable remedies of certain failures in effect, are used in their obvious and appropriate meanings ; but presenta- which are due to imperfections cleaving inseparably to the the form into which they are combined is prompted by tion,— of the speaker. Another example, and a very tropes and process of communication by words. There will now pass emotion instructive one, is the Interrogation. The question is not before us certain failures in effect, which may or may not figures. take place, but which do take place frequently, and which a figurative expression when it is really put with the wish are attributable, not to anything in the process, but to some- of obtaining an answer: it becomes figurative when it is thing in the matter it works on, or in the relation of this (and often and naturally it is) merely a passionate way of matter to the persons whom the communication is designed expressing an assertion. I am not speaking figuratively if I ask for information,—“ What o’clock do you suppose it to to affect. It is desired that by these persons the object represented be?” I am converting the question into a figure, if I to them shall be imagined vividly, and shall excite conse- intend under it an indignant remonstrance against delay quent emotion. But the object may, while it is neverthe- in the arrival of a railway-train. There are, it must be less one which must be impressed as strongly as possible, allowed, figurative forms of speech whose place is open to be either more or less difficult to imagine, or more or less controversy: the question arises, whether they are tropes deficient in emotive interest; and this, either because of or figures. But the principle of the distinction is quite its own nature, or (more frequently) because it is ill un- broad enough for fixing the class even of these ; and, it derstood or little cared about by those on whom the thought may be hinted, the fact of the doubt should teach caution in the use of such forms; since it must arise from some of it is to be urged. Against the evil issue thus threatened,—of inertness in uncertainty or imperfection in their operation. The Simile imagining, or coldness in feeling,—provision is ministered is the most notable of these. In a very strict view, it through that broadly beneficent power of language, to de- might be denied to be a figurative expression at all. It note all objects and suggest all modes of consciousness, is merely an assertion that two objects are like each other: which came in our way a little ago as one of the obstacles it is the datum of a Metaphor. This relation, however, impeding imaginative suggestion. Words prompt us, not leads to a description of the simile which is more just to to imagine only, but to judge, reason, compare. Our it: it is a metaphor in embryo, a metaphor in the first object cannot fail, no object can, to be susceptible of be- stage of its development. The Allegory (proverbially the coming a term of comparison : for it must be classifiable, most “ headstrong ” and dangerous of all figurative forms) through resemblance, analogy, or some other relation, with is easily disposed of: it is just a concatenated series of innumerable other objects; and among these we shall cer- metaphors. In form, then, or as modes of expression, the Trope and tainly be able to discover some, which do not labour under any of the defects disqualifying the primary object. Such the Figure differ. Do they differ correspondingly in their secondary objects will suggest the primary one ; and, in mode of operation on those to whom they are addressed ? virtue of the laws of suggestion, the cognitions and feelings They do, on a principle which we have already recognised which they have excited will be transferred to it, as ele- as effecting very extensive differences in the steps of perments of a new mental fact of which it becomes the suasion. Tropes operate directly ; but Figures operate object. The mental eye will now see the object in a shape indirectly. A Trope directly excites the imagination to the formato which those others have given improved distinctness ; the mental eye will now see it through a light into which tion of the image wanted. Its motive power is rooted in the character of the two correlated objects, and in the sugthe warmth of their colours has been transfused. These are questions touching the matter of images as gestive influence which that correlation exercises. The well as their form. But they are most conveniently treated result which a spoken trope produces, in the mind of the here, not later ; because the expedients dictated by the hearer, is an image of the primary object under the change answers to them issue in transformations of language. The of aspect caused by its being viewed from the side of the principle of these, as just explained, is hinted at, and the secondary object; and the emotion which likewise is exkinds of expedients worth theorizing are named, in the fol- cited is consequent on this step. A Figure excites the imagination to the formation of the lowing proposition :— (II.) The flexibilibity, and the compass, of the suggestive image, not directly through any suggestion of an image power possessed by language, concur in bestowing on pro- painted by the words, but indirectly through Sympathy. cesses of suggestive representation which take language as The imagination does, in fact, seem to be excited by a their vehicle the capacity both of vivifying imagination and reflexed path, being preceded by emotion. A figure of of'intensifying emotion, by the use of what may be called In- speech, as being prompted by emotion, is symptomatic of direct Representation. This consists in substituting, for the emotion on the part of the speaker; and the recognition of image which it is desired to excite, the image of some this fact rouses sympathetically a similar emotion in the other object, relative to the object of the first and therefore mind of the hearer. This communicated emotion leads suggestive of it. The principal method of indirect re- back to imagination of the cause which has moved the presentation is the use of Figurative Language ; and the mind of the speaker; this cause is, or suggests (but in a introduction of Illustrative Examples rests on the same changed and emotive aspect), the primary object, that which the speaker wishes us to imagine ; and the emotion which principles. Figurative language embraces two forms of expression: is to lead us to desire or aversion is consequent on those Figures proper, and Tropes. The best of our English antecedent steps. If this analysis is in the main correct, it justifies more than books on style (Irving’s) takes exception both to the correctness and to the usefulness of the distinction between one practical corollary, exhibiting marked differences in 132

Processes constituting Eloquence.

RHETORIC. 133 comparative availability of the two kinds of figurative caring even to awe his audience, and never with the air of Processes condescending to conciliate them. Other figures are constitute expression. First, Deliberate selection of objects and expressions, avowed appeals to sympathy; forms of speech implying ing E1°guided by intelligent application of rules, may aid much dialogue. Here the great example is the Interrogation. quen“®towards the efficient use of tropes. But the use of figures This is the figure which, incalculably oftener than any “v-*will always be inefficient, or even displeasing, unless when it other, is used by Demosthenes. By him his audience was is prompted by genuine and spontaneous imagination and never forgotten, never slighted: he is not satisfied with emotion. pouring out his flood of passion, leaving it to overflow where Secondly, The prevalence of tropes on the one hand, it might; he flings an image at them as if it were a boomor of figures on the other, tends, more than any other fea- erang, whose course is not finished till it has rebounded to ture referable to style, to determine the character of elo- the hand of the thrower. quence as being more or less animated or passionate. Of Tropes, almost as provokingly as of figures, the theory Figures, being symptoms of emotion, are tbe key-note of has been hidden, by rhetoricians not looking deeper than animated communication ; although plainly the abuse or the words, behind a thick curtain of nomenclature. The over-abundance of them degrades eloquence into declama- few names, which would have sufficed for denoting the tion or rant. A style which is poor in figures is not natural kinds, they have treated as boys treat a little snowrelieved, by abundance of tropes, from the risk of being ball, which they roll along the ground till it has grown too deficient in the power of exciting strong emotion. large to be moved farther. The winter’s toy is melted Thirdly, Tropes may be said to be equally effective in by the first warm breath of spring; and the ventilation their way, whether the words expressing them be heard or which some thinking introduces is, unluckily, enough to only read. Figures do not reach the climax of their sug- show that the cumbrous terminology which has been apgestiveness till they issue from the lips of a speaker. The plied to tropical language contains few items useable in a most pregnant expressions of emotion, recorded for calm rational theory of the mental character of tropes. But perusal in after-days, cannot work with a tithe of that sym- tropes have been treated, by not a few rhetorical writers, pathetic force and immediacy, which the spoken words pos- with great sagacity and good-sense. There is equal excelsess when they are aided by the voice, and the gestures, lence of taste and of ability in this as in other parts of and the countenance, and the whole living and present Irving’s Elements of Composition, lately referred to ; and activity of him who utters them. Whately never fails to fortify his doctrines strongly against Fourthly, Besides other restrictions and distinctions assaultsffrom the practical side. For the tracing of tropes, which are almost self-evident, it follows that spoken ora- however, to their mental sources, we have still nothing so tory must owe very much of its suggestive effectiveness instructive as the glimpses which were caught by the eye to the prevalence of figures ; and that orations whose style of Campbell, piercing forward with a wonderful instinctive is deficient in figures will fall with comparative coldness on acuteness from among the mists of a fragmentary psychothe ear to which they are first addressed, even though rich- logy. A systematic survey of the differences among tropes, ness in tropes or in other forms of imagery may make them, in respect both of their means and of their results, could when recorded, singularly attractive to readers. Two of hardly yield any classification of them more satisfactory the most eloquent of all men supply illustration by contrast. than that which he proposed. “ Tropes,” says he, “ are The style of Burke is luxuriantly tropical; and of the few subservient to vivacity, by presenting to the mind some figures which he uses, almost all belong to the least lively kinds. image, which, from the original principles of our nature, Admirable as his speeches are, and finely and vigorously as more strongly attaches the fancy than could have been his scenes, and personages, and feelings strike us when we done by the proper terms whose place they occupy. They study them in the closet, there is sufficient proof that his produce this effect in these four cases: First, When they impressiveness as a parliamentary orator fell infinitely short can aptly represent a species by an individual, or a genus of the fame he had and has through the publication of his by a species (the more general by the less general) ; Seaddresses. The one prominent characteristic of his style condly, When they serve to fix the attention on the most goes far towards accounting for the fact. Of Demosthenes, interesting particular, or that with which the subject is believed to have been the most effective of all public most intimately connected ; Thirdly, When they exhibit speakers, it has been alleged that he has no tropes at all. things intelligible by things sensible ; Fourthly, When they It is true that he has very few; and these are slightly and suggest things lifeless by things animate.” Let us see how sketchily touched. But in figures he abounds beyond any this scheme may be fitted into the system of laws which other orator, ancient or modern. It is only in his business- it has here been sought to explain. All tropes operate by substituting, in the first instance, the passages that he rests contented with a succession of calmlystated propositions. Whenever he is himself excited, and image of a secondary object for the image of the object wishes to excite his hearers, assertion rises into the figura- which is primary. They become aids towards volition, as tive forms which it wins from passion ; and, especially, scene towards poetical pleasure, either by vicifying the image after scene, and appeal after appeal, are poured forth in an or by intensifying the consequent emotion: the secondary uninterrupted shower of vehement interrogation. object either is imagined more vividly than the primary ; or Thus much must suffice for the contrast between Tropes it is more interesting, more excitative of feeling. The and Figures. There is a little that may advantageously choice of tropes depends on the question, whether it be be remarked in regard to the various phases emerging under to the image or to the emotion that we design to impart added strength. each of the two kinds separately. Suppose it is desired to strengthen the Image. This is As to Figures, their genuine differences of form are not many; and the simplicity of the law on which their effect to be effected by raising the image of a secondary object rests makes most of those differences inessential. One which is more easily imaginable than the primary.—First, distinction at least is worth recollecting.—There are figures then, if we are confined in our selection to objects of the which make no avowed appeal to sympathy; forms of same great class,—phenomena of body or phenomena of speech which might find place in a soliloquy. Such are mind,—we cannot aid the formation of the image unless by the Exclamation and the Apostrophe. These are favourite adopting the rule which directed us to substitute the less figures in the oratory of Chatham, of a man who, proud extensive term for the more extensive. When, in so doand self-reliant, though passionate, spoke as if to unload his ing, we descend only from one class-name or common term heart of its burden of indignation and scorn, seldom as if to another class-name which is narrower, we use one of the

RHETORIC. varieties of the trope which the old rhetoricians call Synec- tuted. There is always scope for choice, therefore ; though doche. When we descend from a class-name to a singular we look no further than to the event or other object term, the trope is an Antonomasia. In both cases the sug- through the desire or dislike of which it is attempted to gestive relation is coadjacence.—Secondly, if our primary arouse volition. The boundaries of the ground are enlarged yet more, object is a body or a corporeal phenomenon, we cannot facilitate the imagination of it by substituting a pheno- when we fall back on a distinction which has already been menon of mind. But if our primary object is a fact of asserted to have a psychological basis. The completion of consciousness, it is in our power to facilitate the imagina- the process of persuasion,—the leading of others through tion of it immensely, by substituting for it an object cor- wishing to volition,—involves consideration of other objects poreal. Our trope is one of the kinds of the Metaphor, besides those which are to be the objects of desire or averand the prominent suggestive relation is Similarity ; though sion. The attainment or prevention of these is the end: undoubtedly, often or alw'ays, the chain has many intertwisted something else must be the means. In trying to persuade links, some of which rest on coadjacence, and others on a man, we call his attention to at least two objects in succontrariety.—For Campbell’s first class of tropes, and for his cession : we invite him to desire the attainment of a; we third, places have thus been found, as ministering to the invite him to believe that his doing the act b will be the means of the attainment; and therefore we invite him to strengthening of the image. Again, let the design be to strengthen, not the image, desire (and will) b also. Thus even the direct (or immebut the Emotion. The method of doing so is the substitu- diate) objects are at least two : a, the end, the fact or event tion of a secondary object which is more interesting than which is to be desired; b, the means, the act which is to be the primary.—First, accordingly, the nature of the case may willed. Nor is this all. If it were all, or nearly all, persuasion shut out the possibility of exchange between mental states and things external. If so,—the primary object being al- would be far from easy, perhaps ; but it would not be the ways susceptible of dissection, either into parts simultane- very difficult thing it often is. There will always be some ously combined, or into changes happening in succession, other object. There may, and probably will be, many •—our course must be the selection of that element, factor, others, the exhibition of which is imperatively required for circumstance, which is more interesting than any other, assistance in representing with due effect the desirability and substituting the image of this for that of the complex of the ultimate end, and the adequacy and possibility of object, whose complication had prevented this element the means. There is, in short, a triplicity of complications. First, from attracting exact attention. Causes and effects may thus be interchanged, things concomitant for each other, a part there is a complication of objects, as means, as ends, and as individually thinkable for the individual whole of which it standing related to both. Next, there is a complication of is a constituent. Tropes of this flexible character embrace processes: the imaginative representation, which is peculiar some varieties of the Synecdoche, with all the various kinds to persuasion, is mixed up with appeals to the judgment, that have been clumsily ranged together under the name either as exposition or as argumentation. Lastly, there is a of Metonymy. The suggestive relation is coadjacence.— complication of times as the sphere of the objects. Both Secondly, A fact of consciousness would lose instead of the end and the means, the object of the desire and the gaining interest by having a corporeal object substituted object of the volition, are thought as future: the objects for it. But, since a corporeal object really imbibes the whole whose exhibition is required for setting those in their just of its emotive interest from its relation to mind, increased light may range through all the modes of time; they may power of exciting emotion may and must be gained when be future or present, but it will oftenest happen that most an object of that first class is displaced in favour of an of them are things past. It is well, therefore, to inquire, whether the principles object belonging to the other. While a poet makes thought, and passion, and wall more brilliantly imaginable for us, by which have yielded us a few subjective or formal laws of clothing them in the shapes and colours of inanimate na- persuasion, may not, when viewed from the objective side, ture, he makes nature and externality the source of the supply some corollaries having use as guides in the choice profoundest feeling, and even the object of a fine ideal of matter. The questions thus arising could hardly be sympathy, by animating them with the life, and activity, treated in a way better adapted for practical application, and susceptibilities of mind. The latter is the higher and than that in which they are treated by Campbell. His more refined process of the two: it reigns especially in our classification of “ the circumstances chiefly instrumental in own recent poetry ; the principle of it is the life-blood of operating on the passions,” will be the groundwork of the fantasy to such poets as Wordsworth and Tennyson. The very few doctrines that are now to be laid down. The principles which should rule the choice of matter or trope here is Metaphor; and the prominent suggestive relation is Similarity.—Campbell’s second and fourth classes objects adequate for direct persuasive representation, may be of tropes are thus placed together, as ministering to the brought to a point in the following group of propositions. strengthening of emotion. The Emotive Interest, through which images presented by language prompt wish and will, must, in the first place, rest on the capacity of the objects to influence, favourably (ill.) LAWS OF MATTER. or unfavourably, the well-being of some conscious and Choice of 31. In no application of persuasive eloquence, can a sensitive being or beings. Secondly, the emotive interest circum- choice of objects be absolutely excluded. In the properly is most intense, when the persons whom the objects are castances ^ literary uses of the process the field of selection is almost pable of affecting are the persons to whom the images are excUe voU- un^rn'te(^: 80 *s ^ !n some departments not exclusively addressed, and when, therefore, the personal interest is Dition. literary ; as, for instance, the oratory of the pulpit. But rect. In all other cases the personal interest is Indirect, there is room for adoption and rejection, even in those pro- arising through Sympathy; and sympathetic interest is cesses of communication, which have decisively a character strong in proportion to the closeness of the relations, between of actual business dictating the outline of everything that those to whom the images are addressed, and those on whom is to be said. No fact whatever is simple; every fact the capacity of influence bears. Thirdly, the objects must which comes under practical discussion is in a high degree consequently be representable as events; and they must complex: every such fact may be presented in many different p'ossess, in a higher or lower degree, two characteristics, aspects; that is, through the exhibition of many different which are conditions of the power of events to excite lively features from among those by which its totality is consti- interest, whether direct or sympathetic. These character134 Processes constitutingElouence v q

Processes constituting Eloquence.

Processes constituting Eloquence. ‘"'v

R H E T O It I C. 135 istics may be signified by the two words, Probability and himself shows the way ; and the taking of one or two subor- Processes Importance ; and their nature may most easily be explained dinate distinctions suffices to systematize completely this constitutby negations. 1. The events must not be merely imagi- part of his scheme.—Sympathetic interest, while it is or in£ E1°' nary^ antj tjlus destitute of all bearing on volition: they ought to be experienced by us towards all men, is quick1uencemust be capable of exciting a belief (stronger or weaker, ened in a geometrical ratio as its sphere of objects is narbut strong in proportion to the closeness of their relation to rowed, in convergence towards the circle within which the volition which is aimed at), in their actuality, whether our personal affections revolve. Circumstances which imply past, present, or future. 2. The events must not be purely such an approach are actively suggestive to us of reflectrifling or insignificant; which they may be either on tions, which give to these an indirect power of excitement. account of their own character and adjuncts, or (though Such circumstances are, first, proximity of events in time ; more rarely) on account of the persons concerned in them : and, secondly, proximity of events in place. It must be a from the one reason or from the other, or from both, they question dependent on the concomitant features of a case, must derive such an importance as shall at least be suffi- which of the two shall be the more strongly emotive. But both the one and the other move us, not otherwise than cient to excite attention. Campbell’s seven “ emotive circumstances ” are readily by suggesting the relations on which emotion generative reducible under the heads thus set forth ; and his analysis of desire must directly rest; and the representation of an is so apt and useful, as to supersede the necessity for any- event in which such relations are explicitly prominent, must always be more effective than any indirect method thing beyond a few hints in the way of illustration. Evidently, the qualifications of emotive objects rise in of excitation. We are moved intensely by events concernefficacy according to the scale which our law indicates. ing those who stand in close relation with ourselves ; and, Probability and importance are conditions, but conditions while benevolent and sympathetic affections may, in some only: they have no proper causal efficiency. It may be finely-touched natures, be even more profound than those objected, indeed, that we shall certainly be interested keenly, which centre in self; so, for fiery and angry tempers, or to the effect of wish at least if act and volition be impossible, in circumstances which keenly irritate even tempers less by a momentous occurrence, positively known as affecting harsh or hasty, hatred and revenge may for a time quite men many or distinguished. The answer to the objection is, overpower regard for self. But, in all ordinary instances, that this is a sympathetic interest, for which the truth and the objects most excitative of desire or aversion, and of importance of the event do no more than supply a ground- volition if action be possible, are undoubtedly events with work. Equally clear is it, with no possible exception wide whose progress and consequences our own happiness or enough to qualify the practical uses of the law, that the suffering is known by us to be connected. strongest interest men in general can derive from sympathy, be their hearts as warm and expansive as they may, is feeble (IV.) SUPPLEMENTARY QUESTIONS. in comparison with that which inspires them in relation to 32. There come up for consideration, lastly, two ques- Removal their own happiness or misery. tions, which, though they involve form, involve matter also, 0f unfaThe two conditions may reward a little attention. The actuality of the event may be believed to be certain, and which therefore could not aptly have been raised vourable morally or physically ; but it cannot be emotive if the like- earlier. In the first place, persuasion, like argumentation, emotions, lihood of it does not reach, at least, the low degree which is may be attempted, not on minds open to its influence, but indicable by such a word as plausibility. It seems correct, on minds prepossessed against it. How, then, if at all, by also, to say, that the amount of likelihood which is the ut- means different from argument, may emotions be got rid of, most attainable for an event contemplated as future, would which would prevent the rise of the desire or volition be incalculably less effective if its object were a fact that is aimed at ? In the next place, although eloquence is not past, or one that is contemporaneous. The impression of poetry, nor poetry eloquence, yet each of them has in it so probability to the extent which an individual case is thought many of the elements of the other that their results must to require, may evidently give occasion to the introduction sometimes coincide. Poetry has not infrequently been of arguments, and will perhaps be, oftener than any other made the spur to action : persuasive eloquence has always emergency, the adequate reason for such introduction. For been held to be, in some degree or other, amenable to tbe the same end, the insinuation of belief through plausible laws of beauty or taste. What can be determined as to exposition may be, and often is, singularly effective. If we the admissibility, into persuasion, of that imaginative pleahad time to turn aside, and glance at the bearings (for there sure, not tending towards action, the excitement of which are many such) of these doctrines on poetry, this question is characteristic of poetry ? A question nearly allied is might be put:—Whether the undisguised allegory, which this other ; What place is there in eloquence for appeals to falls on most readers with so dead a coldness, is not stopped the sense of the ludicrous, through wit and humour ? The answer to the first of these questions may be given at the very first stage of its passage towards emotive excitement, by the initial impression it makes of an unreality in the following shape. The answer to the second will follow in the next section. which we cannot even fancy to be removed ? As to the second pondition, one remark only is needed. I. For the removal of Emotions Unfavourable to the exThere is frequent risk that those whom we desire to interest citement of the wish and volition, which in a given case perin an event, may think it to be, both in its own nature and suasion aims at, the methods most widely available are three. in respect of its causes and consequences, so unimportant, —First, The allaying of the emotion may be attempted, that their attention can hardly be awakened to the imagina- by the representation of the object in an aspect which does tion of it by any considerations of this sort. But, unless not tend to excite the unfavourable emotion, and the conthey are unusually low in the scale either of intelligence or templation of which, therefore, is inconsistent with the of susceptibility, they can scarcely fail to take some sympa- continued intensity of the emotion. Secondly, The diverthetic interest in any event which is known to be actual, sion of the emotion may be attempted, by the representaand which affects any human being whatever. Towards tion of some other object, which tends to excite the keenness of interest, however, especially in the absence of unfavourable emotion, and on which, therefore, it may be personal relation, the importance of the persons having expended harmlessly. Thirdly, The extinguishing of the part in the event is a very active instrument of excitement. emotion may be attempted, by the representation of the The last four of Campbell’s emotive circumstances are object in an aspect tending to excite some other emotion, reducible to one principle, by a generalization to which he irreconcileable with the emotion which is to be removed.

R H E T 136 Processes The three metliods which have thus been described rest constitut- obviously on the same principle. 1 he mind can never be ing Elo- totally blank ; and in those changes whose agitation is the quence. life of consciousness, emotion in some phase or other wells up incessantly to the surface. All the methods, therefore, are designed for converting the obstructive emotion into an emotion which shall not obstruct.—The emotion may cease to obstruct, if its intensity is diminished so far that it no longer prompts any wish at all ; and here wrill emerge scope for argumentation, as in proof of improbability, insignificance, or want of real personal relation.—Again, the emotion may cease to obstruct, if there be suggested some other object of thought, which indeed keeps the emotion awake, but the character of which is such that the emotion or consequent wish bearing on it shall not be incongruous with the emotion and wish to which the persuasive process is directed. When dislike is felt towards a person in whose behalf we intercede, a hearing may be found for our words in his favour, if he ceases, though it were but for a short while, to be thought of as the object of the grudge, some other victim being suggested who as well deserves it.— Lastly, the emotion which is obnoxious may lose its hurtfulness, if there can be conjured up some other emotion, incompatible with the continued existence of it and its volitional consequents. This declaration of open war against an impeding emotion or desire, is more frequently called for and more extensively possible than either of the other methods of attack ; but in a majority of cases it cannot be brought to bear, unless through and after processes of exposition or argumentation. The most signal of its occasions are ministered by the diversity, and the frequent incompatibility, of the relations in which every man stands towards every object which he can think of as attainable through exertions of his own. Hardly anything is there that can seem desirable to us as giving free play to some strong law of our nature, but the thought will arise, that the gratification of that desire would be attended with the pain consequent on disobedience to some other law. Well is it for us when deliberation is prompt and firm, and when choice is guided by wise and worthy motives. When there is doubt, and especially when that doubt is deeply founded, either on the character of the objects or on internal weakness of our own, the door is open for the entrance of influences from without, which may determine us with momentous effect either towards good or towards evil. Among such influences, powerful eloquence may be one of the most active. We have brooded longingly over a future act, which promises to gratify avarice, or hate, or ambition : our inclination towards it may be cooled or extinguished, by a startling representation of the gnawing pain of the remorse by which one day it would surely be followed ; and our imagination may then be sensitive to the image of some other act, some act of forgiveness or selfsacrifice, which, in satisfying conscience and the love owing by man to man, would bestow the purest and highest happiness that can spring from within, but which, as being adverse to our preconceived passion, we could not bear to contemplate till that passion had been made to die away. Unfortunately, likewise, the progress might be in the opposite direction: we might be made to sink from the nourishment of a wish virtuously and nobly prompted, to the displacement of it by another, derived from mean and degrading sources of enjoyment. One of the most obvious, as well as most usually employed, of the antitheses which give room for such diversions of emotion and desire, is that which subsists between the serious and the ludicrous. Put the case, that the obstacle which bars our being led towards a certain wish or the consequent act, is our fear or our hatred of a person who would be benefited by it. It could rarely be possible, by force of mere words, whether argumentative or imaginative, to convert our ill-will directly

0 R I C. into any benevolent affection. But even so, the ill-will Processes might be rendered inoperative through feelings which, constitutthough still prompted by a bad opinion of the person, could ing Elonot co-exist with our original desire of injuring or resisting cluencehim. If a man is simply ridiculous, if our feeling towards him is mere contempt, we cannot hate him cordially, and shall not fear him at all. This case,—the diversion of emotion and wish of a serious cast by the exhibition of the object in an aspect which is ludicrous,—introduces us to the second of the questions raised in the beginning of this section. For wit and humour rest on the emotion of the ludicrous ; and they stand in relations which, though far from being clear, are very intimate, to the imaginative pleasure which is characteristic of poetry. 33. II. That Imaginative Pleasure, the excitement of Questions which is the characteristic function of poetry, is so far in- as to the consistent with the kind of emotion which issues in volition, persuasive and the objects tending to excite these severally are in sc0Pf most instances so unlike each other, that emotions of the pleasure former class cannot in a process of persuasion be excited ^ either intensely or very frequently, without difficulty, or without some risk of injury to the persuasive result. The emotion of the ludicrous, also, as excited by Wit and Humour, is indeed, oftener than purely poetical pleasure, excitable by objects available towards persuasion; but it likewise is equivocal in its effects, as not tending directly towards action. Nevertheless, both pure poetical pleasure, and the emotions excited by wit and humour, are often useable with advantage in persuasion, under the restriction always of being kept in subservience to the distinctive purpose of the process. Especially it is true, that the slight or moderate excitement of a pleasure properly poetical or contemplative, not only is often a natural consequent of the contemplation of objects tending principally towards the excitement of volition, but is even a condition towards the full effect of persuasive eloquence in a cultivated and refined state of society. That, even in processes aiming at the purposes which constitute the distinctive province of eloquence, there is scope for the entertainment of the purpose which distinguishes poetry,—is a proposition, the truth of which is allowed, by implication, in doctrines which have a place, and which, being important as well as true, deserve to have a place, in every intelligent code of laws ever laid down to guide the student of rhetoric. No reasonable doubt can be thrown on the assertion, that certain elements truly poetical are admissible in eloquence as subordinate adjuncts and decorations. But difficulties begin to gather about us, like thickening mists, when we strive to determine analytically the relations between the means which subserve the poetical purpose, and those which subserve the persuasive,—and when we seek to derive hence a code of exact restrictions. Such a code would bridge over, for passage from either side, the gap on whose opposite sides poetry and eloquence stand, covering ground which exhibits dissimilar landscapes, but which hides strata illustrative of analogous formation. The piers of the bridge, however, must be two : a theory of eloquence, a theory of poetry. For the former of these, there is given here no more than a plan ; and the attempt even to design the latter, is forbidden alike by the purpose of the treatise and by its limits. We can venture on nothing beyond some hasty strokes, indicating a very few features, in respect of which the two classes of processes are least likely to conflict with each other. It is in effect acknowledged by rhetoricians, that the eftectiveness of eloquence is impaired, if not destroyed, by the intrusion of anything excitative of emotions contradictory of those which it is the prerogative of poetry to excite. For so much must be meant by the maxim, that neither in

Processes constituting Eloquence.

RHETORIC. 137 persuasion, nor even in argumentation, should there be ad- guided by genius and skill, the excitants of the poetic or Processes mitted any object, or any treatment of any object, which semi-poetic vision and emotion may be gathered from among constitutwould offend against the laws of taste. The rule is sound the adjuncts of the very object on which action is to be ing Eh>for any discourse intended to possess a character properly directed; the transitory change of mood, too, is not unlikely quenceliterary ; that is, it is sound for the highest and worthiest to allow the gathering of new energy of consciousness; and class of cases to which rhetorical precepts are applicable. the check which for a moment threw the wave of feeling 1 hough, likewise, taste should be understood as meaning backward upon thought, may give even a fiercer impulse good taste, the rule would continue to be sound for all dis- to the gush with which afterwards it plunges forward into courses whose hearers or readers possess a reasonable passion. amount of aesthetic cultivation. If the proviso be interpolated, that the taste of the audience, be it good or bad, is 34. The legitimacy of the poetical element as an aid to The relato give the standard, the rule holds for all cases possible. eloquence, not only as a powerful means of calling up at- tions beEvery man is in some degree susceptible of a contempla- tention, but also as a direct step on the way towards the end tween pertive pleasure, incident to the exercise of his imagination ; aimed at by persuasion, will be put on a ground yet broader, suasi011 an(i however widely the objects exciting that pleasure in a rude and may perhaps be extended to more various applicabiliand coarse mind may differ from those which would excite ties, through the answer which may correctly be given to it in a mind refined by nature and by training. And no a question now to be put. man can fail to be interrupted in his progress towards bePoetry and Persuasive Eloquence pursue for a certain lief and desire, if the object be set before him in a light distance the very same track: at what point do their which, independently of relations to action, affects him routes necessarily diverge? More specially, they concur with an unpleasant feeling. So much is admitted when the in working through the excitement of Imagination and question is considered from the negative side. consequent Emotion; persuasion, however, must have as A positive rhetorical value is attached to poetical plea- its next step the excitement of a Wish, whether it be sure, in rules commonly laid down for style. Obedience to a desire or an aversion : must it be held, then, that poetry the laws of good taste is prescribed to language : it should, cannot take this step,—that it would be unfaithful to its we are told, possess the quality called Beauty or Elegance. function if it should excite the Wish that something were, The rule is good for every composition of a class worthy or that something were not? The answer is this. It is of being criticised, and for every writer or speaker who is not true that the excitement of desire, or even of its likely to reflect on his task in a thoughtful spirit. It is an contrary, is excluded from the competency of poetry. instructive fact, however, that no one has ever been able Such an exclusion is quite inconsistent with all ordinary to describe intelligibly any specific method (beyond rules opinions ; and it is very far indeed from being a necessary properly grammatical) of putting the maxim in practice. consequence of that exact separation between poetic and The student of eloquence can only be told that, rules persuasive representation, which it has here been attempted which bear on or tend towards Perspicuity being duly to illustrate. The bearings of the question could not be set attended to, he will approach towards eloquence of style forth satisfactorily, without a full exposition of the theory in proportion to his success in making his style Animated, of poetry which is now founded on ; but a few hints, merely —that is, in fitting it for the purpose of persuasion. The flitting along the edge of one section in that theory, study of language is often helpful towards the excitement will exhibit some of the data on which the answer must of imagination and of some consequent emotion ; but what depend. the character of that emotion is to be, is a question dependContrast, first of all, a poet’s warm description of poetry with the colder one given by a philosopher. Let us think ent, not on the words, but on the matter. We reach higher ground on the positive side,—indeed especially of the third quality assigned to poetry, in those we gain a rule which is practically more useful than any pregnant words of Milton, seized on admiringly by Coleother relating to this question,—when we take account of a ridge. “ Poetry,” says he, “ is simple, sensuous, passiondoctrine on which great stress has been placed in several ate” Kant, on the other hand, asserts of the Beautiful, preceding stages of our survey. In no use to which lan- that it is “without interest'” and with him, as with most guage can be put, is any quality of a composition more or all of the more recent Germans, all the emotions characvaluable than its power of commanding attention. Now teristic of poetry and the other fine arts are emotions of Attention is excited by everything that is emotive. It is a beauty. The two doctrines are quite reconcileable ; but question not always met by one answer,—which of the two both require some explanation. shall arouse attention most effectively ; an object moving us It must be maintained firmly, as the central doctrine of to pain, or one moving us to pleasure. So likewise, a positive all the fine arts,—that, while their mode of operation is the answer could not be given to this other question :—whether excitement of imagination, their end, the result for the attention will be attracted most keenly by an object raising sake of which the operation is performed, is the excitement feelings which prompt towards action, or by one which raises of Emotion, of a state of mind which is a feeling. If it is feelings not having that tendency. The chances are much admitted that their end is pleasure, this is accepting the in favour of objects urging us towards desire and will; and, doctrine, only specificating it (and correctly) by saying that for reasons lying in the same quarter, the chance is also, that the emotion is pleasing. If the mental process which it exattention will be more keenly awakened by painful objects cites shall travel onward even by one step further, in that than by pleasant ones. So much the less danger is there, normal development of consciousness which issues in action, that objects such or so represented as to incline by both the art has, in its result (which presumably is due to somepaths in the opposite direction,—that is, away from ac- thing in its procedure), trespassed on ground which it cantion and away from pain,—should, if they are suggested not continue to occupy without becoming an alien to its sparingly, interpose any serious check or wide diversion to native domain. But if it has taken the one step only, its the course into which persuasion aims at inviting the mind. position is easily recoverable: the wish, the desire, the Therefore, far from seldom, when both theme and audience longing, may generate only a new emotion, purely conare favourable to the finer influences, persuasive eloquence templative ; and,—such flowings and ebbings being sucmay warrantably seek to awaken or enliven or revive cessively prompted through successive images, whether attention, through images which do not immediately lead suggested by the poem or by the fancy of the reader,—wish beyond the play of fancy and the pleasure which is atten- and emotion may float through the soul in a series of dedant on it. When, indeed, the use of such expedients is lightful alternations, each impelled and guided by some VOL. XIX. s

138 Processes constituting Eloquence. ^

RHETORIC. new image in the thronging train of airy fantasies. None whatever be the kind of process by which the emotion is Processes of the emotions can be more than momentary: no emotion awakened, the ordinary and obvious meaning of the word constitutElocan be more. But it is for the sake of the emotion that must receive a very large widening. That which we should ing naturally speak of as beautiful is an object of sight. Pleas- v y Cardinal Richelieu has been very severely criticised by the following writers Edgar Quinet, “ Philoso1 ?nCe’ Revue J;es tDeux Mondes, 1855, tom. ix., p. 55; Ch. de Rgmusat, “ Richelieu et sa Correspondence,” Revue 18 54, t0I M ^Q'’ VAlb a172de J ie “L Ancien Regime et la Revolution, par M. Alexis de Tocqueville,” Revue des Deux l8 6 tom 1V 6o3 "awIS da e Trp ’ qUeV1: e -’LP- n5 R \lmeetBroglie, “Conclusions de 1’Hist. de France,” Revue des Deux Mondes, 1854, tom. v., p. 265; , e p! , ?. % ’ itTn\ ^ , rather ^Revolution. M. Cablet's V Administration en Francedetails. sous le ministlre du Cardinal lieheheu (1 aris, ”8vo, 1857), although too eulogistic, is very volume, valuable,Deand full of most important bee on this book two valuable articles by M. Hyver de Beauvoir in the Bulletin du Bouquiniste for 1857 pp 211 257 Ve ry i te e8tin a ers in the , 1°s Memoirs .S Pwere P published ^ M- Avenel desPetitot’s Savantscollection, for March1823. and August 1858 ’and February and 1T, May 1859. The°nCardinal for the first Journal time in M. 1 2

166 R I C Richmond. Richmond, a town of England, in the county of Surrey, v —on the sides and top of a hill on the right bank of the Thames, 10 miles W.S.W. of St Paul’s in London. On the summit of the hill stands the Star and Garter Hotel, and along the brow runs a terrace, both commanding a wide view over one of the richest and most beautiful tracts of country in England. In the lower part of the town the houses are small and old-fashioned; but there are many very handsome buildings in the more modern portions, and in the outskirts. The parish church is a plain brick edifice, with a low embattled tower. In it and the churchyard there are monuments to Thomson the poet, Kean the actor, Dr John Moore, and Gilbert Wakefield, who are buried here. The church of St John, built in 1831, is a good building in the pointed style. Independents, Baptists, Wesleyans, and Roman Catholics possess in the town places of worship ; and there is a Wesleyan theological institution, occupying a very fine edifice in the Tudor style. There are in the town several schools, a literary and scientific institution, mechanics’ institute, theatre, and savingsbank. Richmond Park, which lies to the south-east of the town, is inclosed by a brick wall, and has an area of 2253 acres. It is open to the public, the main entrance being at the west end of the terrace ; and it is well stocked with deer. This is called the New Park ; the Old Park, which extends along the river as far as Kew, being closed to the public. Richmond is much more remarkable as a place of pleasure and summer resort than as the seat of business or commerce. Being connected with the capital by railway, as well as by the river steamboats, it is resorted to by great numbers of visitors. It was for a long time the seat of royalty; and probably it is to Edward I. that this honour is owing. Henry V. rebuilt the palace in a magnificent style ; but in the reign of Henry VII. it was burned down, and a new palace erected. This monarch changed the name of the place from Sheen, which it previously had, to Richmond, his own title before his accession. In that palace Henry VII. died in 1509, Charles V. was lodged in 1523, and Queen Elizabeth, who had been confined here by Mary, and afterwards made it a favourite residence, breathed her last in 1603. Under the Commonwealth, the palace was sold, and was demolished partly then and partly in the next century. Pop. (1851) 9065. Richmond, a town of the United States of North America, capital of Virginia, on the left bank of the James River, 130 miles S. by W. of Washington, and about the same distance above the entrance of Chesapeake Bay. The general appearance of the town is very picturesque, somewhat resembling that of Edinburgh. It is divided into two parts by the valley through which Shockoe Creek flows into James River, and is built for the most part on the hills on either side. The streets are regular and the houses substantial, some of them very handsome. The most conspicuous edifice is the Capitol, a Grecian building after the model of the Maison Carree at Nismes, standing on the top of a hill in the midst of well-planted grounds about 8 acres in extent. It contains a statue of Washington by Houdon, considered the best likeness of that great man. At one corner of the Capitol grounds stands the City Hall, a fine Doric building ; and not far off is the residence of the governor. Of the churches in the town, about 30 in number, many are handsome buildings. They belong to Baptists, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, Quakers, Roman Catholics, &c. I he educational establishments of the town include Richmond College, under the direction of the Baptists, with 6 professors and 167 students; the Virginia Baptist theological Seminary, with 3 professors and 67 students; and the medical department of Hampden Sydney College, with 7 professors and 90 students. The last of these occupies a fine building in the Egyptian style. There are here, too, a historical and philosophical society,

R I C numerous schools, a court-house, penitentiary, alms-house, Richter, armoury, and orphan hospital. Richmond has great natural advantages for manufacturing industry, from the great amount of water-power supplied by the river. The articles most generally produced are flour, tobacco, cotton and woollen fabrics, paper, machinery, hardware, cannon, nails, &c. James River flows over a bed of granite, and has inexhaustible quarries on its banks, not far from the town ; while within a short distance there are extensive deposits of coal. The trade of the town is rapidly increasing. It is the terminus of several railways, and of the James River Canal, which extends up the river for 200 miles. Vessels drawing 10 feet can come up to the town, and those drawing 15 to within 3 miles. Tobacco, wheat, and flour are the principal articles exported. The shipping of the district, June 30, 1852, amounted in all to 3078 tons registered, and 6100 enrolled and licensed. In the year ending on that day there entered from foreign ports 35 vessels, tonnage 7120; and cleared 71, tonnage 22,803. The aggregate value of the goods imported by railway and canal into the town is more than L.2,000,000. Richmond was founded in 1742, and became the capital of the state in 1779-80, but was then a small place, remarkable for nothing but the beauty of its scenery. Pop. (1800) 5737 ; (1820) 12,067; (1840) 20,153 ; (1850) 27,570, of which 17,643 were free, and 9927 slaves. RICHTER, Jean Paul Friedrich, was born 21st March 1763, at Wunsiedel, in the Fichtelgebirge, Bavaria, where his father, John Christopher Richter, was schoolmaster and organist. Two years after, however, he was appointed parson at Joditz, and finally at Schwarzenbach. He appears in Jean Paul’s fragment of autobiography as a clever, witty man, indulgent at home, prone to melancholy, and struggling all his life with debt. Jean Paul’s education was conducted at home in an irregular fashion till his thirteenth year, when he was sent to the gymnasium at Hof. He had already acquired an amount of knowledge extraordinary for a boy, by dint of reading everything he could get to read in his father’s library, and in the larger one of his friend Vogel, a neighbouring clergyman, and had commenced that system of making copious extracts from the books he read w hich he continued ever after. At Hof he lived with his mother’s parents till the death of his father in 1780, which was shortly followed by the death of his grandfather and grandmother. To his mother, their favourite child, they left their property, which w?as considerable, in Hof, and she went there to reside. The will w7as contested by other expectants, and the expenses of the lawsuit and the debts of her deceased husband swallowed up the bequest, and reduced her to poverty. In these circumstances, Jean Paul was sent to the university of Leipsic, to study for the church, it being the ardent wish of his mother that he should follow his father’s profession ; and Leipsic was preferred to Erlangen on account of the supposed privileges of poor students at the former university. He entered 19th May 1781, and heard Platner lecture on logic and aesthetics, Morns on theology, Wieland on morals, and Hempel on the English language, to which he applied himself. It does not appear that he had at any time the serious intention of becoming a preacher, for his multifarious reading had already brought him under the influence of the scepticism of the time; but he seems to have been willing enough to fulfil his mother’s desire, until his intercourse with the humorists of England—Addison, Swift, Pope, Young, Sterne—thoroughly awakened his powders into consciousness, and then it became his fixed resolve to live a literary life, and no other. Dire necessity pushed the resolve into premature action: want stared him in the face. The small sums his mother could afford to send him were insufficient for a bare subsistence; the letters in which he begs money or thanks her for it, consoling her, at

R I C H T E R. 167 Richter, the same time, for her disappointed hopes of his becoming of himself; and in both cases the women—Madame von Richter. a preacher by the golden prospects of fame and independ- Kalb in Weimar, and Emilie von Berlespsh, a young and ence to be won by his writings, are of a most pathetic rich Swiss widow whom he met at Eger—were women of cheerfulness. For his first book, Lob der Dummheil (“ The personal attractions, rank, and fortune. Richter wished, Praise of Stupidity”), suggested (too obviously) by the Ltn- longed for a quiet retirement, where he might live his comium of Erasmus, he could not find a publisher. In no- youth over again, not far from the very spot where its scenes wise daunted, he threw it into the fire, and commenced a first passed. He had no ambition of the worldly kind : second Gronlandische Prozessen (“ Greenland Lawsuits”), quiet domestic joys, secured by his own exertions, were his a series of satirical essays or sketches directed against Ger- ideal of happiness. In 1799 he formed an engagement man follies, and specially against the litei’ary class. These with a young noble lady at the court of Hildburghausen. first essays are certainly replete with wit, native and bor- They were even betrothed; but the engagement was rowed ; and had he himself left nothing to compare them broken off, for reasons that did not transpire. Next year with, much more would be found in them. They were he met Caroline Meyer in Berlin ; and on the 27th May published by Voss at Berlin in 1783, and the author was 1801 he married her. The union was a happy one ; their made rich with 15 louis-d’ors. For a third volume he, ideas of domestic happiness were the same; and she proved after numerous solicitations, could find no publisher nor exactly the quiet, worshipping, careful Hausfrau whom editor. In 1784 he returned to Hof, and lived with his Richter wanted and was seeking. In the meantime, he had mother in a very straitened way, cheerfully pursuing his published his Palingenesien,Clavis Fichtiana, some smaller studies, assisted by the books, and often by the money, of works, and the first volume of Titan (1799). The Claris his friends Vogel and Otto. In Hof, while his eccentric had a success “ of occasion ” derived from the reputation freedom of dress (he wore his own hair and an open shirt- of the object of the satire. Richter, who in respect of phicollar, and was otherwise wild in his attire) and of speech losophy, was a follower of Jacobi, and to whom a personal had made him enemies, he had a circle of warm fi lends, Deity and a personal immortality were necessities of the mostly of the fair sex, for whom he was already a great heart, had no sympathy with the destructive logic of Fichte; and wonderful man, before Weimar and Berlin had told and through his whole works may be found, now in exquithem so. Two changes intervened before the dawn of his site ridicule (as in the man with the fixed idea that he has fame. In 1786 he became tutor in the family of a Von lost his Ich), now in deep and powerful protest (as in that Oerthel at Topen, the father of a school and college friend truly appalling “ Oration of Jesus Christ to the Universe,” between whom and Richter existed a warm affection. proclaiming that there is no God), evidences of his revolt Here, however, he w'as rendered miserable by the disposi- from the new idealism. After a visit to Weimar, a year’s tion of his pupil and the arrogant narrowness of his em- stay in Meiningen, where he published the Flegeljahre ployer ; and on the death of his friend in 1789 he returned (“ Wild Oats,” according to Carlyle), and a short resito Hof. It would appear that this occurrence produced a dence in Coburg, he finally fixed himself (1804) at Baypowerful impression on the mind of Richter: he himself reuth, where, near his dearest friend Otto, and in a house dates from it as an epoch, and the recollection, vazded and overlooking the Main, he spent the rest of his life as exalted by imagination, is repeated through all his works. he had longed to do, diversifying it only by short annual Under the influence of this event he first struck the tone tours to visit his scattered friends. During the heat of of profound melancholy and thoughtfulness, blending with the war, when literature was at a discount, he felt the preshigher hopes, which is the ground-tone of so much that is sure of poverty, and solicited and received a pension of best in his works, in a little essay, Was der Tod ?st (“ What 1000 gulden (L.85) from the Prince-Bishop von Dalberg, Death is”), which he sent to Herder, and which called paid, however, after 1811 by the Bavarian government. forth an appreciating letter from Madame Herder, who re- Of the w orks he published in these latter years, the most ceived it. In 1798 he went to Schwarzenbach, on the in- notable are the Vorschule der Aesthetik (£e Introduction vitation of his friends Cloter, Volkel, and Vogel, to teach to ^Esthetics”), 1813 ; Levana, a work on education, showtheir children, and resided alternately with each of them. ing a remarkable insight into the nature of children, and Meantime he worked at a romance, Pie unsichtbare Loge full of the wisest practical suggestions ; Leben Fibels (“The (“The Invisible Lodge”), which was published at Berlin Life of Fibel”), 1812, a little work of strange humour; in 1791, and which, though not very successful, brought and Per Comet oder Nicolaus Marggraf, 1820-22. In him into notice among the cultivated. Lie himself de- 1811, already feeling the effects of incessant toil, he received scribed this romance as “ a born ruin.” But by the suc- a severe blow in the loss of his only son Max, at the age cessive publication of Hesperus (1791), Quintus Fixlein, of nineteen. The youth had distinguished himself much and the Hlumen, Frucht, and Pornen Stiicke (“ Flower, at Munich, especially in languages, and went to HeidelFruit, and Thorn Pieces”), 1796, he raised himself to a berg, where he appears to have ruined his health by excesrecognised place among the greatest writers of Germany, sive study and needless privations. From this stroke he at a time when Herder and Wieland, Goethe and Schiller, never completely recovered. His eyesight failing, he sent were above the horizon at once. If we add Levana and for his nephew, Otto Spazier, from Dresden, to assist him the Flegeljahre, these are the works by which his name is in revising his writings for a complete edition ; and the best known out of Germany. A time of wandering fol- work was only interrupted on the day of his death, 14th lowed,—residences in Weimar, where he especially at- November 1825. tached himself to Herder, who reciprocated all his love ; The affectionate adjective with which the Germans accomin Dresden, in Leipsic, and elsewhere ; everywhere flattered pany the name of Jean Paul, der Einzige (u the Unique”), and caressed, and finding access to the highest and most well denotes the difficulty of describing and the impossicultivated society. This severe trial of the successful author bility of classifying him. He is his own species, in a manRichter met as a man of thoroughly-grounded self-know- ner. That other common designation of him, as “ a western ledge and insight. Other trials he had with his fair ad- oriental,” is a real attempt at description; but it does not mirers, who were numerous and ardent, and did not all go beyond the mere first impression made on every reader understand his Platonic affection and doctrine of female of Jean Paul by the combination of contrasting qualities friendship as he did, or were not so capable of its reserves. which he presents, by the copiousness of his imagery, by The fascination his writings exercised over female minds his frequent obscurity, and by the boldness of his imaginative presence and conversation completed : twice he had to say flights. The reason why so little that is definite can be a resolute “ No ” to women who would marry him in spite said, beyond the expression of amazement and admiration,

168 R I C Richter, lies chiefly in the formlessness of his works,—a formlessness veiled and excused by the all-embracing atmosphere of pure ethereal humour in which they are as it were suspended, and which sweeps about them on all sides in copious mist-drapery. Taking for a moment a low and certainly unjust view of Jean Paul as a writer, it would seem as if, conscious of deficiency in the power of conceiving and representing the real, in constructing and narrating probable events, and in the dramatic synthesis of character, he employed his humour as artists unskilful in anatomy, but skilful in colour, employ drapery, to conceal those deficiencies, and allow him an opportunity of pouring forth, in digressive monologue, the precious stores of his wit and wisdom. Dropping the idea of purpose, such a supposition well enough describes the general character of Jean Paul’s works. It is in fact the fault of the reader if he expects in any of them a coherent, probable story, probable characters well developed, dramatic dialogue and incident. But if he throw himself upon the contents alone, without fastidiousness, no author will more speedily repay studious and resolved perusal. A wealth of profound wisdom and keenest insight is contained in them, to the utterance of which a wonderful knowledge of nature and of science is compelled to minister, mirroring it in singular and typical forms. Further intimacy will acquit Jean Paul completely of all affectation, or use of humour for such purposes as above indicated, and will show it to be the compelled expression of a really powerful and Shaksperian soul, to which the vastness and the mystery of the universe, with the petty singularities of details, the noble and godlike attributes of humanity, with its infinite littlenesses and contradictions, were continually present together. Still, with the fullest appreciation of the rich compensation provided by the humour and the wisdom of Jean Paul, it is impossible not to note the deficiencies for which they compensate. In his great works Hesperus and Titan, the reader is painfully sensible that the story is absurd, that the characters are exaggerated and quite impossible, and that the ambition with which they are delineated ends in failure. Beside the story, and in the story, there is wisdom, and drollery, and poetry of the highest kind, enough to furnish forth with these things a library of fiction ; but the story itself, and its men and women, are naught. Much better does he succeed in this way, when, without aspiring to produce heroes and heroines of the grand kind, who cannot act, and in whose mouths his finest sentiments are mere windy fustian, he simply relies upon self-delineation, and upon the recollections of the humble personages and the humble life in which he had been reared, and on which his observation, always fine and microscopic, had been exercised from boyhood. Nothing can be more perfect as comedy than the scenes of Siebenkas, no character more true to life than Lenette ; Walt and Vult in ihe Flegeljahre, Fixlein, Fibel, Schmelzle, are all in their way, and allowing for the necessary caricature, beings thoroughly human ; and all are sideview's of that Jean Paul whom he knew so well, and at w hom he could laugh so heartily. But he is unsuccessful in supplying personages to complete his drama; and his story, after transacting itself for a short season on the solid earth, dissipates and ascends into the air as vapour, shapes itself into fantastic cloud-forms, and leaves the reader with elevated, perhaps, but also with disappointed look, gazing after it. Closely connected with this defect of structure, and allied to his dominating humour, are the serious defects of style in his works ; and it is as much these faults as those of structure that render him so untranslateable, and consequently limit so much his influence and his fame. Beyond all the whims of mere humour, and all the requirements and value of the mere thought, his expression is far too frequently involved and overloaded. It is true, as Carlyle has remarked, that in the Vorschule der Aesthetik, which

R I C may be considered his apology, there are excellent observa- Rickman, tions on this subject of style which show that he understood the subject as well as any French or German critic. Of subjecting himself to its laws, however, in practice, he has no idea ; yet, if they are laws at all, they rise out of the nature of the thing. Of the judicious parsimony and restraint which is the first law of good writing Jean Paul has no notion. All the trifles and straws which he had gleaned out of a.life’s laborious reading of books, useful and useless, are whirled along in the current of his thought: cryptic and unintelligible allusions are huddled round this or that idea ; the humour or aptness of many a comparison is lost, one side of it requiring for most readers, even well informed, elaborate explanation ; we are astonished, we admire, but we neither laugh nor are much the wiser. It is absurd to gloss this copiousness and confusion of trifles, that no man cares to keep, with the name of intellectual wealth, for Richter would be none the poorer were it swept from his pages. His real wealth is not his learning, but his wisdom,—his knowledge of, and intense sympathy with, the human heart,—his fine sensibility and his elevated religion. As humorist, he is unquestionably to be placed in the highest rank. But he is something more. Mere humour, intellectually considered, is mere universal destructiveness. As wit, which is the compressed logic of analogy, when uncontrolled by truth, tends to juggling with analogical fallacy and mere paradox; so humour, which brings forth for sport’s sake the innumerable contradictions, self-deceptions, illusions, and pretensions in the world, tends to utter scepticism and mere buffoonery, unless it has its work completed by the vision of faith which brings forward the eternal reality, and its hand checked by sympathy with real holiness and real suffering, and humble reverence for real greatness, nobleness, and elevation. Of the contradictions between free aspiration and necessity, none is more striking than that arising out of the demands of the moral nature of man and the urgencies of his passions ; and these contradictions may be clashed against each other in sport. But it depends on the humorist on which side the laugh will be ; and according as he is, will the laugh he raises be a degrading and deteriorating one, or an elevating and humanizing one. It is Jean Paul’s highest merit, that a noble love of humanity, a keen sympathy with suffering, and a humble reverence for the truly great and holy, always subdued, controlled, and directed his wonderful powers of ridicule, and place him above the class of humorists, among the seers, the sages, and the comforters of humanity. The complete works of Jean Paul were published after his death by his nephew Otto Spazier, to whom we are also indebted for a biographical commentary. A second edition of the works appeared at Berlin, 1840, in 33 volumes. The Paris edition, in 4 vols., 1837, is said to be a more faithful reprint of the original editions. A complete French translation was projected in 1834 by M. Philarete Chasles, but only four volumes, containing Titan, appeared. Levana, portions of the Flegeljahre and of the Blumen, Frucht, und Dornen Stiicke have been translated into English ; Quintus Fixlein, by Carlyle, in his “ German Romances,” vol. 3, 1827, with a characteristic notice prefixed, which remains still the best word spoken on Jean Paul; the Campaner Thai, by Miss Gower, in 1857 ; besides many fragments and short sketches in magazines. (w. H. c.) RICKMAN, Thomas, an eminent architect, was the son of a surgeon and apothecary, and was born at Maidenhead in 1776. The early part of his life was spent in trying a variety of employments. He was first a druggist’s assistant in London. He was then one of the men in an extensive grocery establishment at Saffron-Walden. Not long afterwards, in 1801, he went to Lewes to undertake apart of his father’s business. There too his disposition remained unsettled In the course of two years he was in the service

R I C R I E 169 Rickmans-of a corn-factor in the metropolis. At length, in 1808, he crated bishop of Rochester. In 1550 he was translated to Ridolfi worth brought his wandering career to a close by settling down in the see of London. During the same year he was one of H Ridley. Liverpool as clerk to one of the principal insurance-brokers the commissioners for examining Bishop Gardiner, and Rienzi. 1 It was about this time Rickman began to concurred in his deprivation. In 1552, returning from B / i* that city. devote himself to the study of Gothic architecture. Every Cambridge, he, unfortunately for himself, paid a visit to the leisure hour was sedulously employed in his favourite pur- Princess, afterwards Queen Mary ; to whom, prompted by suit. He examined ancient buildings. He classified the his zeal for reformation, he expressed himself with too different modes of the pointed style. His hand also practised much freedom ; for she was scarcely seated on the throne itself in designing monuments and other small erections for when Ridley was doomed a victim to her revenge. With his friends, bo far, indeed, did he carry his studies that he Cranmer and Latimer he was burnt alive at Oxford on the obtained the first prize for a design for one of the govern- 16th of October 1555. Among other works he wrote ment churches, and was thus induced to become at once A Treatise concerning Images in Churches; A brief Dea professional architect. Rickman removing soon after- claration of the Lord's Supper ; Certain godly and comwards to the more central town of Birmingham, took a fortable Conferences between Bishop Ridley and Mr Hugh high place in his new calling. There was scarcely a county Latimer during their imprisonment; A Comparison bein which his services were not employed. Among other tween the comfortable Doctrine of the Gospel and the Traedifices erected by him, there were St John’s College, ditions of the Popish Religion. The Life of Bishop Ridley Cambridge ; the church of Oulton, near Leeds ; and the was written by his relation, Dr Gloucester Ridley, in 1763. church of Hampton Lucy, near Stratford-on-Avon. At RIDOLFI, Carlo, an eminent artist and writer on art, his death, in March 184], he had perhaps designed more was born at Vicenza in 1602. His study of painting was churches than any other architect. Rickman is the author characterised by shrewd practical common-sense. No narrow of a popular treatise entitled The Different Styles of Archi- view of the subject would content him. He threw aside the tecture in England. false style of the Venetian school of that day, and strove to RICK MANS WORTH, or Rickmersworth, a market- make his pencil imitate nature. He also sought instruction town of England, in the county of Hertford, on the Colne, in studying the literature of painting. Nor did his sagacity 18 miles N.W. of London, and 23 S.W. of Hertford. It forsake him when he came to be the biographer of artists. is a straggling place, and has a parish church recently re- His style presented a favourable contrast with that of most built, but retaining the embattled tower of the older edi- of his predecessors. All tedious moralisings and childish fice. The Wesleyans and Baptists have also churches in fables were discarded. The only incidents brought forward the town. National and British schools afford means of were real facts clothed in precise language.. His criticisms education ; and there are also Sunday-schools, almshouses, on pictures, too, were for the most part exact and judicious. &c. Straw-plaiting and weaving of horse-hair fabrics are Ridolfi is said to have died in 1658. His biographical carried on ; and in the vicinity there are flour, paper, cot- work was entitled The Wonders of the Art, or ^Lives of ton, and silk mills, mostly moved by water-power. Here the Illustrious Painters of Venice and of the State, in 2 too is a large brewery. Markets are held weekly, and fairs vols. 4to, Venice, 1648. thrice a year. The Grand Junction Canal passes near the RIENZI, Nicolo Gabrinide, the deliverer of Rome, town. Pop. of the parish (1851) 4851. was born in that city about 1310. Although placed by fate RIDLEY, Nicholas, Bishop of London, and a martyr in a humble station, the young man was by nature a prince. to the Reformation, was descended of an ancient family, His noble mind could find its nourishment nowhere else and born in the beginning of the sixteenth century at Wil- than in the records of the ancient Roman glory. He pored montswick in Northumberland. From the grammar-school over the battle-scenes and great forensic struggles described of Newcastle-upon-Tyne he was sent to Pembroke Hall in in Livy. He pondered among the remains of the queenly Cambridge in the year 1518, and was there supported by city of the Caesars. As he meditated, the heroic spirit of his uncle, Dr Robert Ridley, fellow of Queen’s College. In antiquity came upon him. His imagination kindled with a 1522 he took his first cjfcgree in arts ; two years after was desire for fame and power. His tongue grew inspired with elected fellow; and in 1525 he commenced master of arts. the language of patriotism and liberty. It became, in fact, In 1527, having taken orders, he was sent by his uncle, the ambition of his life to be the restorer of Rome to her for further improvement, to the Sorbonne at Paris; from former grandeur and renown. This aspiration of Rienzi’s thence he went to Louvain, and continued abroad till the was confirmed by the daily sight of the deplorable condition year 1529. On his return to Cambridge he was chosen of his fellow-countrymen. The Papal See had long since under-treasurer of the university ; and in 1533 was elected been removed to Avignon, and had left the city in a state senior proctor. He afterwards proceeded bachelor of divi- of wild misrule. The people, a low, ignorant rabble, folnity, and was chosen orator and a chaplain of the uni- lowed their own animal impulses. The nobles especially versity. At this time he was much admired as a preacher lived lives of armed violence and license. Their attendants and disputant. He lost his kind uncle in 1536; but was were swaggering mercenaries from Germany, or desperate soon after patronized by Dr Cranmer, Archbishop of Can- cut-throats from the Campagna. Their mansion-houses terbury, who made him his domestic chaplain, and pre- were fortified dens for thieves and murderers. From these sented him to the vicarage of Herne in East Kent, where, they issued at intervals to gratify their headlong passions. we are told, he preached the doctrine of the Reformation. They fought with each other in the streets, or committed In 1540, having commenced doctor of divinity, he was rapine and outrage upon the defenceless citizens. made king’s chaplain ; and in the same year was elected Rienzi having arrived at his prime, set himself to excite master of his college in Cambridge. Soon after, Ridley the people to throw off the yoke of their oppressors. His was collated to a prebend in the church of Canterbury ; plan was to employ such means as would strike the dull and it was not long before he was accused in the bishop’s sensibilities of the mob, without awakening the vengeance » court, at the instigation of Bishop Gardiner, of preaching of the nobles. He therefore disguised all his proceedings against the doctrine of the Six Articles. The matter being under an appearance of eccentricity. As he lingered among referred to Cranmer, Ridley was acquitted. In 1545 he the ruins, apparently wrapt in study, he would suddenly renounced the doctrine of transubstantiation, and was made exclaim, in tones of intense regret, “ Where are the old a prebendary of Westminster; in 1547 he was presented Romans ? where is all their grandeur ? why did I not by the fellows of Pembroke Hall to the living of Soham, live in those good times ?” When the idle populace, in the diocese of Norwich ; and the same year was conse- startled by his voice, thronged around him with looks of vol. xix.

170 K 1 E Kienzi. curious wonder, he would tell them in words of eloquent ^ enthusiasm about the deeds of their great ancestors. The stirring effect which these speeches produced among the mass of the people encouraged him to make his measures more direct. He exhibited in the streets and churches allegorical pictures of the state of the city, representing the nobles under the semblance of lions, wolves, and bears. He also assembled a meeting of the entire inhabitants at the church of St John Lateran, at which he showed from the ancient Lex Regia that the Romans had the right of making their own laws and of choosing their own rulers. At length his observant eye saw that it was time to bring the plot speedily to a crisis. About the beginning of May 1347 he met a hundred conspirators by midnight on the top of Mount Aventine, and exacted from them an oath of unqualified support. A few days afterwards he summoned the citizens to assemble on the evening of the 19th of the same month before the church of St Angelo. During all that night of suspense his form was seen taking part in thirty masses for the success of his enterprise. On the following morning he issued from the church with his head bare, with his body cased in armour, surrounded by the hundred accomplices, and preceded by banners which bore emblems of liberty, justice, and concord. As the procession wound along the streets, his kingly person, and pale and earnest countenance, called forth the acclamations of the attendant crowd. On reaching the Capitol, he mounted the rostrum, and, in a speech of resistless eloquence, announced to his fellow-citizens that he had come forward to be their deliverer. No sooner had he ended than he found that he had achieved the great desire of his life. The Romans with deafening applause declared him their ruler, sanctioned his laws for the establishment of the good estate, and placed their lives and their fortunes entirely in his hands. Rienzi now began with success to inaugurate his rule. To identify himself with the cause of the people, he took the title of “Tribune.” To conciliate the Pope, he assumed into partnership with himself the Bishop of Orvieto, the papal vicar. Thus countenanced by two of the great powers in the state, he addressed himself to the task of making regulations'for restoring the healthy condition of the commonwealth. Courts were established for the redress of wrongs. Provision was made for the relief of the poor. A vessel was placed in each port to protect commerce. A standing force was also levied to guard the rights of the government. Nor did measures fail to be taken for the direct extermination of abuses. The nobles were compelled to dismantle their castles, disband their followers, and appear in the character of simple citizens. Every murderer and robber that infested the city was seized by the iron hand of justice. There was no respect of persons. Among others, the notorious freebooter Baron Martin Ursini was dragged from his bridal chamber in the morning, and before night he swung on a gibbet in the sight of the entire city. The sudden rise and vigorous administration of Rienzi produced ran effect almost unexampled in the history of the world. l he terror of his name restored peace and prosperity in the commonwealth. There was no desperado or public pest so bold as to remain within several miles of the city. The very barons—the haughty Colonna and Ursini —trembled before the majesty of the low-born tribune. “ Ye gods,” says an eye-witness, “ how they trembled!” His reputation as a righteous and powerful supporter of liberty even extended in a short time throughout and beyond Italy. 1 he people knelt with reverence on the highways when they saw his ambassadors posting along with no other weapon than a white wand. The envious cities of Venice, Florence, Siena, and Perugia placed their lives and fortunes at his disposal. The haughty princes of foreign states sent messengers to seek alliance and friendship with

N Z I. him. At length his renown reached a climax wdien Lewis Rienzi. of Hungary and Jane of Naples made him their umpire touching the murder of Andrew, the brother of the former, and the husband of the latter. It is no wonder that Rienzi, after such unparalleled success, became ostentatious and arrogant. What head would not have turned giddy after rising so suddenly and to such a height ? The dream of his early ambition, he thought, was about to be realized. The sovereigns of the earth were already appealing to Rome as an arbiter. She was on the eve of becoming, as of old, the acknowledged queen of all cities. It was now time that in the person of her tribune she should formally assume the attributes of empire. If she did not, the ignorant and the envious might be slow to recognise her supremacy. He therefore resolved to show to the world by several unmistakeable deeds that he was the successor of the old Roman potentates. On the 1st of August, on the occasion of his going to the church of St John Lateran to be knighted, he got up a procession, adorned with every sort of pomp and pageantry, in imitation of the great shows of the ancient Caesars. On the evening of the same day, in purifying himself for the ceremony, he bathed in the sacred porphyry vase which the Emperor Constantine had used. Nor did his presumption end there. When the multitude came next morning to the church to see him in his knightly insignia, he appeared, and, with a voice of imperial authority, summoned Pope Clement VI. and the Emperor Charles IV. to appear before his tribunal. Then drawing his sword, he pointed to the three quarters of the world, accompanying his action with the words, “ This, and this, and this, is mine.” This extravagant ambition of Rienzi’s soon caused his downfall. The barons, provoked by his overbearing pride, fled from the city, levied forces, and wasted all the country round. He indeed defeated them ; but the citizens became discontented at the bloodshed and scarcity of provisions. Taking advantage of this state of feeling, the Pope sent a legate to call him to account for his usurpation of the rights and territories of the church. His disdainful refusal to acknowledge such an arbiter only brought his difficulties to a crisis. He was immediately branded with the sentence of excommunication. The citizens, with superstitious dread, shrunk from his cause. Without opposition they allowed 150 of his enemies to enter the gates ancWake up a strong position in the quarter of the Colonna. In vain he called upon the people, with all the eloquence of desperation, to take arms in defence of the commonwealth. The listless looks with which they responded to his appeals told him that his power was at an end. He therefore resigned the tribuneship, and left the Capitol after a reign of seven months. From this sudden and severe fall Rienzi rose up unsubdued and undespairing. His ambition was as sanguine and active as ever. He spent 1348 in wandering restlessly through Italy under the guise of a monk, and in seeking for aid to re-instate him in his former power. The next year’s concealment among the peaceful hermits of the Apennines did not quiet his troubled desires. He ventured into Rome amid the throngs of the jubilee to look for hope among his former subjects. At length, when he found that his friends could not aid him, he adopted the daring resolution of trying to win the needed help from his most powerful enemies. Accordingly, in 1350 he appeared before the emperor at Prague, and, with the calmest self-confidence, declared himself to be “ Nicolo Rienzi, the deliverer of Rome.” It is true that his bold measure was apparently foiled; that the emperor sent him to the Pope; and the Pope cast him into prison at Avignon. But he remained hopefully in his cell for three years, quietly reading his Livy, and drawing from the historian many political lessons for his future use, when he should be restored to the government of Rome. Rienzi’s hope was destined to be fulfilled. Ever since

fl I E Riesenge- his abdication Rome had been plunging deeper and deeper birge into anarchy and misery. It soon became evident that none but he could restore order and prosperity. He was thereRieti. fore taken from prison by Innocent VI., and sent back to govern his native state, with the title of “ Senator.” His entrance was a brilliant redress for his previous wrongs. The whole city had put on its holiday attire to welcome him. He rode along under triumphal arches, over flowerbesprinkled roads, and through lanes of exulting citizens. His government was established in the Capitol amid the applauding sanction of the multitude, and the laws of the good estate were restored. But the elements of the Roman state were too worthless and conflicting to be formed into a durable republic, even by the master-hand of Rienzi. He soon found himself in the midst of ever-thickening embarrassments. The rebellious barons fortified themselves at Palestrina, and involved him in an expensive war. His exchequer was drained, without having any regular means of being replenished. The jealous papal legate Albornoz refused him supplies. The selfish and ungrateful populace were least of all willing to give him any aid. No sooner did he begin to tax them than they began to murmur. In this state of feeling they allowed themselves to be hurried by the emissaries of the barons into open rebellion against him. On the morning of the 8th October 1354, four months after his restoration, an excited mob invested the Capitol, yelling out, “ Down with the traitor who laid on the imposts !” It immediately became evident that nothing but his blood would glut their vengeance. In vain he appeared at the balcony and tried to address them. They drove him back with missiles, and commenced to destroy the doors. In vain he sought to escape through the throng in disguise. They detected him, and set him up to view on the platform of the palace. There, indeed, the sad sight of the fallen and deserted hero kept them awestruck and silent for an hour; but no sooner did one of their ringleaders run him through the body, than they rushed forward in a mass to disfigure and insult his corpse with every display of malice. The Life of Rienzi has been written in Italian by Fortifiocca, in 4to, 1624 ; and in French by Ducerceau, in 12mo, Paris, 1722. An English translation of the latter work appeared in London in 1836. The subject has also been treated by Muratori and other Italian historians, and by Gibbon. Bulwer, in the Appendix to his splendid prose epic of Rienzi, has given several very plausible reasons for taking a higher view of his hero’s character than the historical writers have done. RIESENGEBIRGE, or Giant Mountains, a mountain chain of Germany, forming a part of the Sudetes, in the widest sense of that term, but a continuation of the chain strictly and properly so called. They extend from S.E. to N.W., separating Bohemia from Silesia, and rise above the Henscheuer-Gebirge, which join it on the S.E., on the confines of Glatz, and the Iser-Gebirge, which form its continuation to the N.W. They are for the most part composed of granite and schist; and the scenery is very wild and romantic. The lower slopes are covered with forests of oak and beech ; farther up, their place is supplied by pines; which in turn give place to shrubs and lichens. The principal summits are the following, arranged in their order from S.E. to N.W.:— Feet. Feet. Schneekoppe 4983 Grosse Rad 4657 Kleine Sturmhaube 4400 Reiftrager 4280 Grosse Sturmhaube 4540 Tafelfichte 3379 RIESI, a village of Sicily, at the foot of a mountain of the same name, in the province and 15 miles S. of Caltanisetta. There are sulphur mines in the vicinity. Pop. 6000. RIETI (anc. Reate), a town of the Papal States, capi-

R I G tal of a legation of the same name, stands on the slope and at the foot of a hill on the Velino, 42 miles N.N.E. of Rome. It is an ancient place, and contains a Gothic cathedral bearing the date 1456, but since then repeatedly altered. The town-hall (a large edifice in a lofty position), the episcopal palace, churches, convents, and college, are among the public buildings of the town, which is not so much remarkable for any architectural splendour as for the beauty of its situation, and many interesting remains of antiquity in the vicinity. Manufactures of woollen cloth, silk, leather, and glass are carried on here. Pop. 12,600. The legation of Rieti is bounded on the N. by that of Spoleto, W. by that of Viterbo, S. by the Comarcadi Roma, and E. by the Neapolitan province of Abruzzo Ultra; area, 528 square miles. It occupies the western portion of the ancient country of the Sabines, and is traversed by the mountain ridges which separate the valley of the Tiber from that of the Velino, the former of which rivers partly forms its S.W., and the latter its N.E. boundary. The mountain ranges are Monte Gennarae, the ancient Lueretilis, in the S.; and Mount Canterius in the N. Besides the Velino, this country is watered by its affluent the Turano, the ancient Telonius, flowing northwards from Naples. The plain of Rieti is exceedingly beautiful and fruitful, covered with woods and vineyards, fields of corn, pulse, hemp, flax, &c., and producing in abundance all kinds of vegetables. Pop. (1853) 73,683. RIFLE. See Gunmaking. RIGA (Livonian, Rihga; Esthonian, Ria Linn), a fortified and seaport town of Russia, next to St Petersburg the most important place in the empire for maritime commerce, capital of the government of Livonia, stands near the mouth of the Diina, here 3000 feet broad, at the head of the Gulf of Riga or Livonia, about 180 miles N.E. of Konigsberg, and 312 S. W. of St Petersburg. It is walled, entered by seven gates, and defended by a citadel. The town proper, inclosed within the walls, is quite German in character, with narrow, crooked streets, and houses with pointed roofs; but the suburbs, which cover a wide extent of ground on both sides of the river, have all a Russian appearance, having broad, straight streets, lined with wooden houses. Of the two imperial palaces, one, the oldest building in the place, was till 1561 the residence of the master of the Brethren of the Sword (Schwertbruder), an order of knighthood which preceded the Teutonic in these countries. The beautiful hall where the estates of Livonia used to meet, the bomb-proof custom-house, council-hall, guild-hall, three arsenals, and theatre are among the principal buildings. The cathedral contains the tombs of the early bishops of Riga, and the church of St Peter has a fine dome and a tower 440 feet high, the loftiest in Russia, commanding a fine view of the Baltic, the broad, mastcovered Diina, the dark pine forests of Curland on the left, and the endless expanse of sand which forms the eastern shore of the Gulf of Riga. There are another Greek church, 3 Lutheran, 1 Reformed, and 1 Roman Catholic. The public library contains a chair of Charles XII., several letters of Luther, a cannon-ball said to have been fired by Peter the Great, and other curiosities. In front of the palace is a large square containing a granite column with a bronze figure of Victory, to commemorate the repulse of a French force from the town in 1812. There are spacious quays on both sides of the river, which is crossed by a bridge of boats; and an extensive harbour is formed by the 5 miles of its course between the town and the Gulf of Riga. The town has a grammar school, school of navigation, several elementary and other schools, literary and scientific associations, and benevolent institutions. The manufactures of Riga are numerous and important, including tobacco, sugar, leather, paper, starch, wool, cotton, playing-cards, &c. Gypsum is quarried in the vicinity.

171 Rifle Riga.

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172 RIG Rigaud The trade by sea is very great. Corn, linseed, hemp, flax, II and timber are the principal articles of export. The numRights. jjgj, 0p vesse]s entered in 1851 was 1706, and those that cleared 1720. The total value of the imports in 1851 was L.807,928, and in 1852 L.726,576; that of the exports in the former year L.2,271,395, and in the latter L.2,327,926. Riga was founded about the year 1200 by Adalbert, Bishop of Livonia, who was the founder of the order of Brethren of the Sword. This order obtained possession ofEsthonia and Livonia, and were afterwards united with the Teutonic Knights. The city, which was mostly inhabited by Germans from Lubeck and Bremen, rapidly rose in wealth and influence ; and in the thirteenth century became a member of the Hanseatic League. Riga was taken in 1621 by Gustavus Adolphus, and in 1710, after a vigorous resistance, by Peter the Great. On the latter occasion more than half of the town was destroyed; and in 1812 the suburbs and part of the town were burnt. It has suffered at several other times from floods and conflagrations. Pop. • 70,463. RIGAUD, Hyacinths, sometimes called by his countrymen “ the French Vandyck,” was born at Perpignan in 1659, and studied painting at Montpellier, and afterwards at Paris. Although he gained the academy’s first prize, which furnished him with the means of studying in Italy, he resolved to stay at home and practice portrait-painting. His bold, rich, and somewhat extravagant representations soon struck the attention of the public. In course of time he found a brilliant circle of patrons. Louis XIV. gave him a commission for a portrait. The princes of the blood, and the chief courtiers followed the example. Many illustrious personages in foreign lands also became his sitters. Nor did his fellow-artists fail to recognise his merit. He was successively professor, rector, and director of the academy. Rigaud died in 1742, leaving behind him many pictures, which are now scattered throughout the collections of Europe. RIGGING, a general name given to all the ropes employed in a ship. Thus, those used to sustain the masts remain in a fixed position, and are called standing rigging ; such are the shrouds, stays, and backstays. Those, again, which are employed to adjust the sails receive the general term of running rigging. Such are the braces, sheets, haliards, clue-lines, and brails. RIGHT is a title conferred,—(1.) together with Reverend, upon all bishops; (2.) together with Honourable, upon earls, viscounts, and barons; (3.) by courtesy, together with Honourable, upon the sons of dukes, marquises, and the eldest sons of earls; (4.) together with Honourable, upon the speaker of the House of Commons, but upon no other commoner excepting those who are members of her Majesty’s most honourable privy Council, and the three lords mayors of London, York, and Dublin, and the lord provost of Edinburgh, during their office. Right, Petition of, a parliamentary declaration of the liberties of the people assented to by King Charles I. (3 Car. I., c. 1). It was known as “the Petition” from being drawn up in that form, and was headed “ The Petition exhibited to his Majesty by the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, concerning divers Rights and Liberties of the subjects, with his Majesty’s answer thereto.” After reciting certain great rights and recent infringements of them, it prays that all such illegal acts be annulled, and that the popular rights and liberties, according to the laws and statutes of the realm, should be in future strictly observed. After some delay and evasion, the king replied in full Parliament, “ Soit droit fait come est desire.” RIGHTS, in the common acceptation of the word, are of various kinds ; they are natural or adventitious, alienable or inalienable, perfect or imperfect, particular or general. Natural rights are those which a man has to his life,

R I. G limbs, and liberty ; to the produce of his personal labour ; Rights, to the use, in common with others, of air, light, and water. 1 hat every man has a natural right or just claim to these things, is evident from their being absolutely necessary to enable him to answer that purpose for which he was made a living and a rational being. Adventitious rights are those which a king has over his subjects, a general over his soldiers, a husband to the person and affections of his wife, and which every man has to the greater part of his property. The existence of civil society evidently contributes in a great degree to promote the sum of human happiness; and therefore whatever is necessary for the support of. civil society in general, or for the conduct of particular societies already established, must be agreeable to the will of God ; but the allegiance of subjects to their sovereign, the obedience of soldiers to their leader, the protection of private property, and the fulfilling of contracts, are all absolutely necessary to the support of society ; and hence the rights of kings, generals, husbands, and wives, &c., though adventitious, and immediately derived from human appointments, are not less sacred than natural rights, since they may all be ultimately traced to the same source. Rights, besides being natural or adventitious, are likewise alienable or inalienable. Every man, when he becomes the member of a civil community, alienates a part of his natural rights. In a state of nature, no man has a superior on earth, and each has a right to defend his life, liberty, and property, by all the means which nature has put in his power. In civil society, however, these rights are all transferred to the laws and the magistrate, except in cases of such extreme urgency as leave no time for legal interposition. This single consideration is sufficient to show that the right to civil liberty is alienable ; though, in the vehemence of men’s zeal for it, and in the language of some political remonstrances, it has often been pronounced to be an inalienable right. “ The true reason,” says Paley, “ why mankind hold in detestation the memory of those who have sold their liberty to a tyrant is, that, together with their own, they sold commonly or endangered the liberty of others; of which they had certainly no right to dispose.” The rights of a prince over his people, and of a husband over his wife, are generally and naturally inalienable. Another division of rights is into those which are perfect and those which are imperfect. Perfect rights are such as may be precisely ascertained and asserted by force, or in civil society by the course of law. To imperfect rights neither force nor law is applicable. A man’s right to his life, person, and property, are all perfect; for if any of those be attacked, he may repel the attack by instant violence, punish the aggressor by the course of law, or compel the author of the injury to make restitution or satisfaction. A woman’s right to her honour is likewise perfect; for if she cannot otherwise escape, she may kill the ravisher. Every poor man has undoubted right to relief from the rich ; but his right is imperfect, for if the relief be not voluntarily given, he cannot compel it either by law or by violence. Here a question naturally offers itself: “ How comes a person to have a right to a thing, and yet have no right to use the means necessary to obtain it?” The answer is, that in such cases the object or the circumstances of the right are so indeterminate that the permission of force, even where the right is real and certain, would lead to force in other cases where there exists no right at all. Thus, though the poor man has a right to relief, who shall ascertain the mode, season, and extent of it, or the person by whom it shall be administered ? These things must be ascertained before the right to relief can be enforced by law; but to allow them to be ascertained by the poor themselves would be to expose property to endless claims. In like manner, the comparative qualifications of the can-

R I G Rights didate must be ascertained before he can enforce bis right; I but to allow him to ascertain his qualifications himself, Rimini. wou]d be to make him judge in his own cause between himself and his neighbour. Where the right is imperfect on one side, the corresponding obligation on the other must be imperfect likewise. The violation of it, however, is often not less criminal in a moral and religious view than of a perfect obligation. It is well observed by Paley that greater guilt is incurred by disappointing a worthy candidate of a place upon which perhaps his livelihood depends, and in which he could emihently, serye the public, than by filching a book out of a library, or picking a pocket of a handkerchief. Rights are particular or general. Particular rights are such as belong to certain individuals or orders of men, and not to others. The rights of kings, of masters, of husbands, of wives, and in short all the rights which originate in society, are particular. General rights are those which belong to the species collectively. Such are our rights to the vegetable produce of the earth and to the flesh of animals for food. If the vegetable produce of the earth be included . under the general rights of mankind, it is plain that he is guilty of wrong who leaves any portion of land waste merely for his own amusement; he is lessening the common stock of provision which Providence intended to distribute among the species. On this principle it would not. be easy to vindicate certain regulations respecting game, as well as some other monopolies which are protected by the municipal laws of most countries. Dr Paley, by just reasoning, has established this conclusion, “ that nothing ought to be made exclusive property which can be conveniently enjoyed in common.” An equal division of land, however, the dream of some visionary reformers, would be injurious to the general rights of mankind, as it may be demonstrated that it would lessen the common stock of provisions, by laying every man under the necessity of being his own weaver, tailor, shoemaker, smith, and carpenter, as well as ploughman, miller, and baker. Among the general rights of mankind is the right of necessity, by which a man may use or destroy his neighbour’s property when it is absolutely necessary for his own preservation. It is on this principle that goods are thrown overboard to save the ship, and houses pulled down to stop the progress of a fire. In such cases, however, there must be restitution when it is in our power. Rights, Bill of, a declaration delivered by the Lords and Commons to the Prince and Princess of Orange, 13th February 1688; and afterwards enacted in Parliament when they became king and queen. It sets forth that King James did, by the assistance of divers evil counsellors, endeavour to subvert the laws and liberties of this kingdom, by exercising a power of dispensing with and suspending of laws; by levying money for the use of the crown by pretence of prerogative without consent of Parliament; by prosecuting those who petitioned the king, and discouraging petitions ; by raising and keeping a standing army in time of peace; by violating the freedom of election of members to serve in Parliament; by violent prosecutions in the Court of King’s Bench ; and causing partial and corrupt jurors to be returned on trials, excessive bail to be taken, excessive fines to be imposed, and cruel punishments to be inflicted; all which were declared to be illegal. And the declaration concludes in these remarkable words : “ And they do claim, demand, and insist upon, all and singular the premises, as their undoubted rights and liberties.” And the act of Parliament itself (1 Will, and Mary, stat ii., cap. 23) recognises “ all and singular the rights and liberties asserted and claimed in the said declaration to be the true, ancient, indubitable rights of the people of this kingdom.” RIMINI (anc. Ariminum), a town of the Papal States, legation of Forli, near the mouth of the Marecchia in the

R I N 173 Adriatic, 24 miles E.S.E. of Forli. It is entered from the Rincon N. by the bridge of Augustus over the Marecchia, and || from the S. through the triumphal arch of the same em- Ringworm, peror, both of white marble, in the best style of architecture. These form the only undoubted remains of the ancient grandeur of the place; for the pedestal in the market-place, said to have been used as a pulpit by Caesar after he had crossed the Rubicon, is probably not genuine. The cathedral church of St Francesco, built in the fourteenth century, and re-modelled in the middle of the following one by Sigismund Pandolfo Malatesta, is the chief edifice of the town, an interesting example of the transition from the Gothic to the classic style. The Gothic windows on the side of the building are concealed by seven arches, under which are as many tombs of illustrious friends of the architect. The interior retains little of its original pointed architecture ; it is richly adorned with sculpture, and contains many interesting monuments. The other churches and the palaces contain many fine paintings. There is a fortress, and a public library of 30,000 volumes. The house of Francesco da Rimini associates this town with one of the most beautiful parts of Dante’s poetry. Silk fabrics, glass, and earthenware are manufactured ; and the trade was once of much importance, but the ancient harbour is now choked up with sand, and there is but little traffic in corn, fish, salt, silk, &c. Ariminum was originally an Umbrian city, but fell into the hands of the Gaids, from whom it was wrested, and a colony established, by the Romans in 268 B.c. It was important as a military post and seaport; and at a later period was connected with Rome and Placentia by the Flaminian and Aimilian roads. In most of the subsequent wars in Italy it played a conspicuous part, commanding Cisalpine Gaul and the E. coast of Italy. After the fall of the Western Empire, still a flourishing city, it formed part of the Pentapolis, under the exarchs of Ravenna, until the Lombard invasion. It subsequently came under the German emperors; and in 1200 Malatesta was made viceroy, and his descendants for some time enjoyed that dignity. The town subsequently passed into the hands of Venice, and finally into those of the Pope. Pop. 13,000. RINCON, Antonio, an early Spanish painter, was born at Guadalajara in 1446. His career was attended with complete success. Eschewing the stiff Gothic style of his age and country, he soon rose to the first place in his profession. Ferdinand and Isabella gave him the order of Santiago, and made him their painter in ordinary. Till his death in 1500, he continued to be employed on public pictures, which have all since perished. RINGWOOD, a market-town of England, Hampshire, in a flat country, on the left bank of the Avon, which spreads out here into a broad sheet of water, with many islands, on the skirts of the New Forest, 20 miles W.S.W. of Southampton, and 92 S.W. by W. of London. It is an old but generally well-built town, containing a parish church, part of which dates as far back as 1230; other churches belonging to Wesleyans, Independents, and Unitarians; a grammar school, and national schools. Woollen cloth, hosiery, and beer are made here; markets for corn are held weekly, and fairs for horses and cattle twice a year. The town was in existence as early as the times of the Romans, and was a place of some importance under the Anglo-Saxons. Pop. of the parish (1851) 3928. RINGWORM is a disease of the skin, which appears in small circular patches, or rings of vesicles round the circumference of a circle of apparently healthy skin. These vesicles are small, and contain a transparent fluid, which is discharged in three or four days, when little dark scabs form over them. Sometimes there is a succession of the circles on the upper parts of the body, as the face and neck, and the arms and shoulders. The more formidable and

174 K I O Rio de infectious species of ringworm appears in distinct patches Janeiro. Gf an irregularly circular figure, on the scalp, head, and neck. It generally occurs in children of three or four years old and upwards, and often continues for several years. While the patches are in an inflamed and irritable condition, we must be content with regular washing or sponging with warm water, or some emollient fomentation. The application of a solution of one drachm of nitrate of silver in half an ounce of diluted nitric acid has been well recommended. The constitutional treatment is of consequence. A nutritious diet must be prescribed, containing a due admixture of animal food; the clothing must be warm; regular exercise must be enjoined; and a course of tonic medicines, such as iron or quinine, must be ordered. RIO DE JANEIRO, an important province of Brazil, is bounded on the N. by Espiritu Santo, from which it is separated by the River Capabuan, and by Minas Geraes, from which it is divided by the rivers Preto and Parahiba, and in part by the Serra da Mantiqueira; on the W. it borders on San Paulo; and the Atlantic Ocean washes it on the S. and E. It lies between S. Lat. 21. 23. and 32. 20., W. Long. 40. 53. and 44. 40. Its area is estimated at 18,226 square miles. This province is distinguished for its romantic beauty and great fertility, notwithstanding its being very mountainous. From S.W. to N.E. run the Serra dos Orgaos, or Organ Mountains, and this chain divides it into two nearly equal portions; the northern half sloping gradually to the Parahiba, and the southern to the sea-coast. The Organ Mountains derive their appellation from the appearance of the pyramidal heads of granite which bristle up along the horizon, and bear a fanciful resemblance to organ-pipes in a vast cathedral. The whole province is well watered by a number of streams, the most considerable being the Parahiba. This river originates in a small lake in the southern part of the Serra da Bocania, a continuation of the Organ Mountains, in the province of San Paulo ; and after a long and winding course it enters that of Rio de Janeiro, and falls into the Atlantic in its N.E. part. Many streams discharge themselves into the bay of Rio towards its upper end, several of them being navigable to some distance. The country is also watered by the affluents of the Parahiba, and by many rivers which flow into the Atlantic. There are many lakes and lagoons, especially in the N.E., where the coast is low and monotonous. Towards the S., and especially near the capital, the scenery is of a very different and more picturesque character. The principal bays by which the coast is indented are the bay of Rio de Janeiro, and Angra dos Reys, or King’s Bay. The bay of Rio is stated to be no less than 32 miles in circumference, and on its shores are numerous smaller inlets, which may be termed sub-bays. All travellers agree in praising the surpassing grandeur and beauty of this majestic inlet of the sea. The capacious basin is embosomed among elevated mountains, which have conical summits, and, being well wooded, have a romantic and picturesque beauty. Some of these advance a considerable distance into the bay, whilst others retire as far inland, leaving between them deep recesses and glens. The entrance of the bay is narrow, being only about a mile in breadth ; and its granite barriers are so bold, causing it to resemble a gap or chasm in the mountain ridge, that doubtless it was often passed by early navigators without their apprehending the existence of such an immense saltwater lake within. Being completely land-locked, and protected from gales on every side, it is perfectly secure, even for boats, at all seasons of the year ; from which circumstance, as well as from many other advantages which it possesses, it has been pronounced the finest harbour in the world. It is so well defended by strong forts that it seems completely closed against a hostile force. The bay

RIO is studded with about a hundred islands, on many of which Rio de are forts. That of Ilha dos Cobras, or Snake Island, is of Janeiro, great strength, and constitutes one of the most commanding points for the defence of the city. In short, the Brazilians and early subjugators of the country have carefully availed themselves of every advantage presented by nature for rendering their capital unassailable by a maritime force. On either side the shores of the bay, lined at the water’s edge with cottages and hamlets of fishermen, sweep widely round; while behind, hills in the richest state of cultivation, studded with farm-houses and villas, and crowned with churches and monasteries, all of purest white, rise abruptly on every side, till, a few miles inland, they terminate in the bold, beautiful, and picturesque ranges of the Organ Mountains. With the exception of the capital, there are few places in the province of Rio which require particular notice, Canto Gallo is the capital of a district of amazing fertility, and carries on considerable trade with Rio in the productions of the soil. Porto d’Estrella and Mage are the names of other towns which have much traffic with the capital. The productions of this province comprise almost everything for which Brazil is celebrated; diamonds and precious stones, sugar, coffee, cotton, and, in short, all fruits peculiar to the tropics, are here produced in the richest abundance, and of the most excellent quality. The forests yield great quantities of timber, used for various purposes; gums, balsams, and medicinal herbs are not wanting. Gardening is much attended to ; and the extension of cultivation is gradually clearing the land of the wild beasts that still haunt the forests. Cattle and horses are bred in great numbers. The province is divided into eight comarcas. Its provincial assembly of 36 members meets at Nitherohi, opposite Rio de Janeiro. It is represented in the legislature of Brazil by 6 senators and 12 deputies. Pop. (1856) 1,200,000. Rio de Janeiro, formerly St Sebastian, the capital of the above province and of the Brazilian empire, is situated on the south-western side of the bay or harbour just described, about 4 miles from its entrance ; S. Lat. 23. 54., W. Long. 43. 9. It occupies the N.E. part of a tongue of land of an irregularly quadrangular shape, and extending on an inclined plane a short distance into the bay. The site selected for their town by the early settlers is considered the best that could have been chosen, out of many excellent ones that everywhere present themselves. Its most easterly point is the Punta do Calabouco; the most northerly is the Armazem do Sal, opposite to which is the small island of Ilha dos Cobras. The most ancient and important part of the city is built between these two points, lying from N.W. to S.E.; and a beautiful quay, constructed of solid blocks of chiselled granite, stretches along the shore. The houses of Rio are neatly and substantially built, generally of granite, and two storeys high, with little wooden balconies in front. Their lower storeys are commonly occupied by shops and warehouses, and the upper ones by the family apartments. The whole town is disposed in squares, the streets crossing each other at right angles, and, although narrow, they are well paved, and lined at each side by flagged trottoirs. In its style of architecture the old town is in general mean, resembling the old part of Lisbon ; but the new town is in a much more handsome style. Although this town has always ranked as the most important in Brazil, or as second only to Bahia at the time when the latter was the seat of government, yet it was only after the imperial residence and the court were fixed here that it assumed the character of a European city. Great improvements took place after that event. The new town has almost wholly sprung up since it occurred. This part of Rio is connected with the southwestern quarter, or Bairro de Mato-porcos, by the bridge of St Diogo, thrown over a salt-water inlet. Between the

RIO old and new town is situated a large plain nearly surrounded by an amphitheatre of mountains, clothed at their bases with the richest verdure, and terminating by belts of foresttrees of immense growth and of every variety. One of these elevations is called the Corcovado, or Broken Back, an appellation which it acquired from its extraordinary and fantastical shape. The plain thus environed is inclosed with houses so as to form an enormous quadrangle, perhaps the largest square in the world. Here are erected the senate-house, the museum, the camera or town-hall, and other public buildings. One of the most striking features of the Brazilian capital is the number of its churches and monasteries, which not only abound in the city, but are seen crowning almost all the surrounding eminences. Among the former, the most conspicuous are the cathedral of La Gloria, an octagonal building crowning a lofty wooded hill; the majestic church of Candelaria, the largest in the town, and surmounted by the loftiest towers in Brazil; the richly-ornamented church of the Cross; and that of Sao Francisco, with its two round towers. The convent of St Anthony is a large and gorgeous edifice; and that of Sao Bento is so richly adorned as to be one mass of gilding in the interior. Near the centre of the quay, which has already been mentioned, there is a large square, surrounded on three of its sides with buildings, but having its fourth open to the bay. In this square the palace or imperial residence is situated ; but although extensive in its dimensions, and commodious and even splendid in its internal arrangements, there is nothing magnificent or striking in its architecture. The public library occupies a suite of rooms in this quarter. It contains sixty or seventy thousand volumes in all languages, and is considered a very admirable collection. On the quay in front of the square is a very beautiful fountain for supplying water to this part of the city, and to the shipping in the harbour. It is fed by a splendid stone aqueduct leading from the Corcovado Mountain, not more striking for the magnificent singularity of its appearance than important for its utility. This great work, which is called Arcos de Cariaco, extends across a deep valley, resting on a double tier of lofty arches placed one above the other to the height of 90 feet, and the water is conducted to the reservoir by a succession of stone troughs laid on the top of this bridge, under an arched covering of brick-work. Each tier comprises forty-two arches, the upper one extending 280 yards. The following is the provision made for education :—A military academy, a naval academy, a surgical and medical academy ; an academy of the fine arts (in connection with which we may mention a national museum), and lastly, two ecclesiastical seminaries, where the ancient and modern languages are taught, as well as divinity and the sciences. Besides these, there are several superior and numerous primary schools. In periodicals and newspapers the city is by no means deficient ; and book-printing is carried on, although not extensively. Government has a printing establishment. There is a large botanic garden, well laid out and rich in exotics, at some distance from the town. The trade of Rio is very great, and rapidly increasing. The export of coffee from this port is equal to that from all the others in the world, amounting in 1856 to 8,683,120 cwt., valued at L.4,788,000. In the same year there were exported 14,338 carats of diamonds and precious stones, L.53,680 worth of timber, L.59,040 worth of calves’ leather, LAO, 120 worth of spirits, as well as quantities of tapioca, sarsaparilla, ipecacuana, horns, &c. The principal articles imported in 1854 and 1855 were as follows :— 1855. L.1,263,840 Eatables—corn, butter, &c L.954,000 1,206,800 Cotton fabrics 1,250,000 767,160 Liquors—wine, tea, &c 692,000 547,400 Woollen fabrics 292,000

RIO

175 1854. 1855. Rio Grande Coal and metals 444,000 418,200 Watches, jewellery, cutlery, &c... 404,000 395,600 Wood, furniture, &c 348,000 ■ 354,400 Hats, haberdashery, &c 356,000 298,480 Silk fabrics 316,000 310,400 Linen fabrics 154,000 223,000 Paper and books 162,000 185,720 Pottery, porcelain, &c 112,000 171,600 The value of the exports and imports in 1855, arranged according to the different countries, is exhibited in the following table:— Countries. Imports. Exports. Great Britain and colonies ...... L.2,404,800 L.2,055,360 United States 879,240 3,362,920 France 1,348,000 733,640 Hanse Towns 498,800 678,240 Portugal 598,080 209,680 Austria 46,720 206,760 Belgium 277,160 442,840 Spain 220,600 24,800 Sweden and Norway , 160,840 78,000 Denmark 96,000 448,000 Sardinia 114,800 68,520 Holland 54,800 55,600 Switzerland 174,000 Prussia 40,000 La Plata and Chili 209,920 139,640 Other countries 227,200 351,280 Totals in 1855 L.7,850,960 L.8,855,280 Totals in 1854 6,836,000 6,460,800 The number of vessels that entered the port in 1856 was 3620, of which 2250 were from foreign ports; that of those that cleared was 3622. The manufactures of the town are unimportant, notwithstanding the repeated attempts of the government to foster them. Leather and glass are the only articles produced in any great quantities. The climate is considered as favourable to health, comfort, and even longevity, as that of any other place betw'een the tropics. During the summer months, which may be reckoned as extending from October to April, heavy rains fall; but on the whole few places possess a more beautiful climate than this celebrated city. The bay of Rio was discovered on the 1st of January 1531 by Martin Alphonso de Sousa, a Portuguese navigator. The natives had given to this tranquil basin the significant appellation oi'Nithei'ohi, that is, “ hidden water;” but he, supposing it the estuary of some great river like the Orinoco, called it the Rio de Janeiro, after the day on which it had been discovered. It remained many years unnoticed or unoccupied by the Portuguese, but in the meantime was taken possession of by France, and became an asylum for the persecuted Huguenots. These were subsequently expelled by the Portuguese, who, in 1567 founded the city of Rio. It steadily advanced in riches and importance; so that in the year 1763 Dom Joseph was induced to transfer hither the viceregal residence from Bahia, hitherto the capital of the province of Brazil. In 1808 it became the residence of the Portuguese court; and in 1822 vvas constituted the capital of the independent empire of Brazil. In 1831 it was the theatre of a revolution, in which 6000 armed citizens were joined by the troops of the line in their opposition to the government, and in consequence of which Dom Pedro abdicated the throne in favour of his son Pedro II. Pop. (1851) 205,906, of whom 77,989 were native white men, 36,329 foreign white men, 10,722 free coloured men, and 78,835 slaves; (1855) 296,136. Rio Grande, a river of West Africa, Senegambia, rises in the mountains of Foota Jallon, near the sources of the Senegal and Gambia, and flows in an irregular course westwards to the Atlantic. It enters the sea by several branches, broad, rapid, and navigable, though somewhat obstructed by shoals. The most northerly of these branches

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llio Grande is called the Jeba or Geba, a name sometimes applied to do Norte the whole river. The upper course of the Kio Grande . II has been very little explored. Its banks are well wooded, e and studded with large ant-hills; and the neighbouring ' / country is rich in many valuable productions. Rio Grande do Norte, a province of Brazil, is bounded on the S. by Parahiba, on the N. and E. by the Atlantic Ocean, and on the W. by Ceara. Situated between the parallels of 4. 30. and 6. 45. of S. Lat., the climate is of course very hot. At Cape St Roquer-which forms the angle of this province, in Long, 36. 15. W., Lat. 5. 7. S., the coast of Brazil terminates towards the N.E.; and the Atlantic Ocean, which has so long been its boundary on the E., begins to wash its northern shores. The province has about 100 miles of sea-coast, and an area of 31,230 square miles. The Rio Grande, or Potengi, the great river of the province, rises in a ridge on its western limits, and traverses its whole extent in a direction from S.W. to N.E. The province is irrigated by other streams, on whose banks the most fertile land is to be found; but the soil in general is rather sterile. None of the rivers are of any great size. There are several salt lakes, which afford much excellent salt. It is mountainous in the S. and W., but gradually slopes toward the sea; and along the coast there is an expanse of low sandy ground. Cotton is the crop that grows best in this country; but maize, mandioc, rice, and the sugar-cane are also raised. The minerals include gold, silver, iron, limestone, sandstone, granite, &c.; but mining is only carried on to a very small extent. There are numerous small harbours along the coast; but navigation is interrupted by many shoals, some of them very dangerous, which line the shore. The small island of Fernando de Noronha, about 250 miles E.N.E. of Cape St Roque, belongs to this province, and is used as a place of transportation. Salt, cotton, sugar, hides, salt fish, &c., are exported from Rio Grande do Norte. The capital, Natal, is the seat of the provincial assembly of twenty members. The province sends one senator and two deputies to the legislative assembly of Brazil. Pop. (1856) 190,000. Rio Grande do Sul, or S. Pedro do Rio Grande, the most southerly province of Brazil, bounded on the N. by the provinces of Curitiba and S. Catherina, E. by the Atlantic, S. by Uruguay, and W. by La Plata, lying between S. Lat. 25. 30. and 32. 30., W. Long. 49. 40. and 58. 20. It is upwards of 500 miles in length by 400 in breadth, and has an area of 118,758 square miles. This extensive country consists chiefly of large plains covered with immense herds of cattle and other animals. Some mountain ridges traverse it in various directions, but none of them is of any great height. Here several large rivers have their origin, of which the Uruguay, the Jacuhy, and the Camapuam, are the most important. Its great extent of level and alluvial coast exhibits some lakes of vast dimensions. The Lagoa dos Patos is the largest lake in Brazil, being 140 miles in length from N.E. to S.W., and about 40 miles in breadth. This lake is the recipient of almost all the streams which irrigate the northern and eastern portions of the country. It is very shallow, and its water continues fresh as far as the Island dos Marinheiros, near the port of S. Pedro. The peninsula lying between the lake and the ocean is low and level, and its eastern side lies almost in a direct line, but the opposite side forms various points and bays. The western shore of the lake is bold but not rugged, and is cut by several rivers, of which the Camapuam and Jacuhy, already mentioned, are most deserving of notice. The sources of the former are in a chain of low hills called the great Cochilha, which traverses the western limits of the country. It flows with a rapid and disturbed current, interrupted by continued cataracts for nearly 100 miles, and falls into the lake about the middle of its western side. The Jacuhy is a river of still greater

K I O value. It rises in the north of the province, and after traRioja versing the southern declivity of the general ridge for seve|] ral miles, it turns eastward, describing innumerable windings Rionero. for a course of about 80 miles, during which it collects ^ the water of a number of smaller rivers, many of them navigable. It then suddenly bends towards the S., and after running 15 miles in this direction, enters the lake not far below its northern extremity. To the S.W. of the Lagoa dos Patos lies another sheet of water, called Lake Mirim. It is 90 miles in length by about 20 in breadth, and discharges itself into the Lagoa dos Patos by means of a channel called the river of St Gonzales. Lake Mirim is very shallow, and in the rainy season it widely extends its borders. The Gonzales is 50 miles in length : it is wide and handsome, and navigable for small vessels, which by this channel pass into Lake Mirim, and thence by means of rivers penetrate into the fertile interior, and distribute their cargoes to the large towns on the coast. There are other large lakes running parallel with the shore, but these are the most important. The climate of the province is mild and healthy; the greater part of the soil is fertile, and produces various kinds ot grain, and many of the fruits of Europe. Timber is not very abundant, but of very good quality. Among the minerals are gold, silver, iron, sulphur, and porcelain clay. I he rearing ot cattle, however, is what chiefly distinguishes the country, and gives employment to its inhabitants. They are either slaughtered to form the salt beef for the export of which the province is celebrated, or sent in droves to Sao Paulo and Rio Janeiro. Horses and mules are bred to a great extent, and are highly valued for the excellence of the breed. The provincial assembly of Rio Grande do Sul consists of twenty-eight members ; and the province sends to the Brazilian legislature three senators and six deputies. Pop. (1856) 201,300. The capital, Rio Grande do Sul, or S. Pedro do Sul, formerly stood a few miles from where it now stands, in the situation called Estreito, near the head of a bay or harbour, at the entrance of the Lagoa dos Patos; but the encroachment of the sands has made such progress as almost to have overwhelmed the town, and occasioned its removal to the present site. It is now situated on a level plain a little above high-water mark ; but, like its predecessor, it suffers much from the accumulation of sand. Its public buildings comprise a plain but handsome cathedral, several other edifices, and a fort. Its commercial importance appears to be considerable. Large quantities of wheat, hides, tallow, dried beef, cheese, and other articles are shipped from this port, and commerce is rapidly increasing. Pop. of the town, 3560 ; of the district, 12,000. RIOJA. See Plata, La. RIOM, a town of France, capital of an arrondissement in the department of Puy-de-D6me, in arid) and beautiful country, on a hill above the Ambone, 8 miles N.N.E. of Clerment. It is encircled by boulevards shaded by trees, and has a cheerful aspect, though built of dark lava from the neighbouring quarries of Volvic. The streets are broad, and the houses generally are well built. Many of the public buildings, such as the court-house, prefect’s residence, hospitals, &c., are very handsome; and the church of St Amable is a curious and interesting old edifice. On one of the boulevards of the town is a granite monument to General Desaix, who fell at the victory of Marengo. Riom is the seat of several law courts and of a college. It has manufactures of linen fabrics, leather, brandy, and other articles; and a considerable trade in these, as well as in corn, wine, fruit, oil, &c. It was formerly the capital of Auvergne, and the old ducal palace is now the court-house. Pop. (1856) 10,078. RIONERO, a town of Naples, the largest in the province of Basilicata, on the slopes of two hills and the inter-

R I P Ripley vening valley, 8 miles S. of Melfi. It is remarkable for II nothing so much as for the traces which about half of the Ripperda. tovvn retajns 0f the terrible earthquake which desolated this place and the surrounding district in 1851. There are several churches and a convent. Wooden snuff-boxes are manufactured, and some trade in oil and wine is carried on. Pop. 9600. RIPLEY, a market-town of England, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, 18 miles N. of Leeds, and 25 N.N.W. of York. It stands on the Nidd, which is here crossed by a bridge, and is neatly and well built. There is a large cruciform church, containing many tombs of the Ingilby family, who reside in Ripley Castle, one of the chief ornaments of the town. This family residence was built in 1855; and it was here that Cromwell spent the night before the battle of Marston Moor. Pop. of the parish (1851) 1286. RIPON, a market-town, parliamentary and municipal borough of England, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, on the right bank of the Ure, 23 miles N.W. of York, and 215 N.N.W. of London. It stands in the midst of a rich and well-wooded country, and consists of irregularly laidout streets, many of which meet in the spacious marketplace near the centre of the town. Here there is a handsome town-hall, and an obelisk 90 feet high, surmounted by the city arms. The principal edifice is the cathedral, one of the best proportioned churches in the kingdom. Its whole length is 260 feet, that of the transept 132 feet, the breadth of the nave and aisles 87 feet, and that of the choir and aisles 66 feet. At the west front two uniform towers rise to the height of 110 feet; and in the centre is a large but lower one, called St Wilfred’s Tower. Under the chapter-house is a vault containing a great number of human remains in good preservation. The architecture of the church is partly Norman and partly early English; the building was begun in 1331, but not completed till 1494. Besides Trinity church, an early English cruciform building, erected in 1826, there are in Ripon, Wesleyan, Primitive Methodist, and Independent churches. The educational establishments comprise a free grammar school, national and infant schools, a blue-coat school, &c. Here, too, are a mechanics’ institute, subscription library, newsroom, hospital, and dispensary. Ripon wasonce famous for the manufacture of spurs and of woollen fabrics. Many saddletrees are made here; tanning, malting, and linen-weaving are also carried on. Near the town the Ure is crossed by a fine bridge. A short canal, constructed in 1767, brings the navigation up to the town. A weekly market and six annual fairs are held, chiefly for cattle, leather, and cloth. The borough is governed by a mayor, three other aidermen, and twelve councillors; and it sends two members to the House of Commons. It is a place of much antiquity, having existed in the time of the Saxons, who were here defeated by the Danes at an early period. A monastery was founded in 661, when there were only thirty houses in the place; and the town was made a borough by Alfred the Great. In 1069 it was wasted by William the Conqueror, and in 1319 and 1324 by the Scots under Bruce. In 1643 it was seized by the parliamentary party, but rescued for the royalists by Sir John Mollory. Pop. (1851) of the parish, 15,103 ; of the parliamentary borough, 6080. RIPPERDA, John William, Baron of, a political adventurer, was born in the province of Groningen in the Netherlands, in 1680, and was educated in the college of the Jesuits at Cologne. A desire for power began early to be seen in his actions. He married a rich wife that he might not be hampered by poverty in the race of ambition. He assumed the creed of a Protestant to make himself eligible for government offices. A colonelcy in the army did not content him. He did not cease to show off his accomplishments until, in 1715, he was appointed ambassador to Spain. Ripperda had not been very long at the VOL. XIX.

R I T 177 intriguing chance-directed court of Madrid before he re- Ritson. solved to try his hand in the game of Spanish politics. Laying down the office of Dutch ambassador in 1718, he brought all his arts into play. He secured the interest of the influential Jesuits by becoming a pious and penitent convert to the Catholic faith. He made his talents known to the king, Philip V., by drawing up schemes for the renovation of the national prosperity. Nor did his ambition hesitate to try more dangerous artifices. Returning from an embassy to Vienna in 1725, he pretended to the queen that he had effected her favourite scheme of betrothing her son Don Carlos to the eldest archduchess. His immediate elevation to a dukedom, and to the office of prime minister, compelled him to persist in this imposture. Lie was backed up by lie ; the nation was impoverished to furnish him with hush-money ; and he continued to try every bungling shift until, in 1726, he was convicted and disgraced. The rest of Ripperda’s life was spent in a fruitless attempt to retrieve his fortune. Escaping from the castle of Segovia, he sought in vain for a place of political importance in some foreign country. The English statesmen treated him hospitably only so long as they were at variance with Spain. He could not see the slightest chance of success at any other European court. It is true that at length the land of promise seemed to have been discovered in Morocco. He was welcomed thither by the Emperor Muley Abdallah, and after qualifying himself for office b,y becoming a Mohammedan, was placed at the head of the administration of the country. But his ambition soon began again to be thwarted. His royal patron was driven from the throne. He himself was glad to escape with his head to Tetuan. There he could find no better employment for his restless spirit than that of asserting himself to be the last and greatest of the prophets. He died in 1737, giving out as his new creed a heterogeneous mass of Mohammedan, Jewish, and Christian doctrines. (See Lives of Alberoni, Ripperda, and Pombal, by George Moore, London, 1819.) RITSON, Joseph, a meritorious critic and antiquary, was born at Stockton-upon-Tees on the 2d October 1752. His family, whose original name seems to have been Richardson, were respectable yeomen in Westmoreland, and could trace their descent as far back as the reign of Edward VI. He received a solid education from the Rev. John Thompson, the incumbent of his native town, was articled first to a solicitor, and subsequently to a barrister, previous to his setting out for London. His earliest literary effort, which possesses very little merit, was an address to the ladies of Stockton, printed in the Newcastle Miscellany in 1772. Ritson had now reached his nineteenth year, and his personal eccentricities had already begun to develop themselves in ways which spoke more for the determination of the future critic than for his eminent personal courtesy. He then began the practice, to which he adhered through life, of restricting himself to a milk and vegetable diet. His biographer, Sir Harris Nicolas, informs us that Ritson made this resolution from “ a most refined sense of humanity.” Unfortunately, the future conduct of the acrimonious critic rather clouds this pretty motive; and however sentimental may have been the origin of the practice, its continuance must be attributed, “during the whole course of those thirty years,” to a quite different cause. As illustrative of Ritson’s character, however, it throws much light on that determination, which occasionally approached something like doggedness, to judge on every subject for himself. In 1773 he visited Edinburgh on a short holiday excursion, and so much had he already been smitten with the antiquarian fever that he finds, on summing up his purchases of “ tartans” and other items, that there was “ not money left to pay my reckoning,” at which he expresses great distress. In 1775 Ritson settled in London as a conveyancer, at a salary of L.150. He seems to have z

178 R I T Ritson. lost both his parents during these years, to whom he was very much attached. In 1778 he printed a broadside entitled Tables shoiving the Descent of the Crown of England, which displayed accuracy and research, and proved the writer to be a firm Jacobite. He visited Oxford in 1779 to explore the literary treasures of the Bodleian ; and his diary during this journey affords the first evidence of his sceptical opinions. He printed anonymously, in 1781, a small satirical tract termed The Stockton Jubilee, or Shakspeare in his Glory; in 1782 he visited Cambridge, and made the acquaintance of Dr Farmer, whom he describes as “a most sensible, liberal, benevolent, and worthy man.” He was busily occupied at this time with his “ scurrilous libel upon Warton,” as he jocularly called his Observations on the History of English Poetry. The rude and bold style of this work, the severity of its criticisms, and the reckless personal taunts in which the writer indulged, brought down upon him a perfect horde of enemies, from whom his erudition, research, and candour served in vain to shield him. In vain it was that Ititson disclaimed all personal motives, that he averred he had no other object but truth and justice ; he had been guilty of coarse and intemperate treatment of a highly respectable man, and such an offence could not be tolerated. A controversy accordingly raged in the Gentleman's Magazine, in which the formidable critic playea of course a very important part. It may not be unworthy of remark that a late editor of Warton’s History of English Poetry adopted the greater part of Ritson’s observations. In 1783 he published a volume of Remarks, Critical and Illustrative, on the Text of the last edition of Shakspeare, in which he fell foul of Johnson and Stevens in a very unceremonious manner for the very careless way in which they had gone about their task. Despite, however, the acerbity of the writer, the public had much reason to thank him for his profound research, his felicitous conjectures, and his singular acquaintance with the great poet. This year was one of the most prolific of Ritson’s pen. Besides editing Gammer Gurton's Garland, or the Nursery Parnassus, he published a Select Collection of English Songs, in 3 vols., to which he prefixed a historical essay of very great merit. In 1784 he published a slight tract called the Bishopric Garland, or Durham Minstrel; and about the same period was appointed high bailiff of the Liberty of the Savoy. The ensuing four years he seems to have devoted to his profession. There is one work from his pen during this period, entitled the Spartan Manual, or Tablet of Morality, for “the improvement of youth, and the promoting of wisdom and virtue.” His Quip Modest was published during the same year, which was the letting out of a deadly feud between the author and the Critical Review. In 1790 appeared Ritson’s Ancient Songs, and the succeeding year witnessed the publication of his Pieces ()f Ancient Popular Poetry, in an unusual style of typographical elegance. During the same year he visited Paris, and the ancient Jacobite found himself called upon to venerate the new order of things in the French metropolis; and he went so far as to adopt the French calendar in dating, and the republican style in closing his letters to his r“ citizen” friends. His nervous system was gradually giving w ay ; and he could only write, he tells us, with great difficulty. Yet his labour must have been incessant. Between the years 1793 and 1795 appeared his English Anthology, his Scottish Songs, his Poems of Laurence Minot written in 1352, and his celebrated Collection of the Robin Hood Ballads. After a short respite, his pen was again busy; and in 1803 he brought out his Bibliographia Poetica, being a catalogue of English poets between the twelfth and the sixteenth centuries ; a Collection of English Metrical Romances ; and, as his final effort, An Essay on Abstinence from Animal Food as a IMoral Duty. Of the numerous literary

R I V friends of Ritson, one of the most genial was Sir Walter RittenScott, who alludes to him frequently in his poems and house novels in terms of kindness and respect. But the busy II strife of men was already waxing fainter and fainter on his ear, more dimly shone to him the pleasant sunlight, and v tangible things were gradually becoming more and more "~ v" intangible, when a great summons came on the 23d of September 1803. He left a number of works all but ready for the press, which have since appeared under the care of his nephew. I hey are, The Life of King Arthur; Memoirs Oj the felts and Gauls; Annals of the Caledonians ; Fairy Tales. (See the Letters of Joseph Ritson, Esq., with a memoir of the author, by Sir Harris Nicolas, 2 vols. 1833.) RlfTENHOUSE, David, an eminent American astronomer, was born near Germantown in Pennsylvania in 1732, and was early put to work on his father’s farm. His youth was characterised by signs of uncommon talent. Every spare moment was employed in gratifying his taste for the exact sciences. When he stopped his team on the field, he covered the plough-tails with mathematical figures. As he sauntered about in the evening after his day’s labour, he plied his knife in making wooden clocks. A present of watchmaking tools, which he received at the age of eighteen, was the means of still further developing his genius. Taking up the more congenial trade of a watchmaker, he enjoyed greater opportunities for prosecuting his favourite studies. The utmost use was made of the two or three mathematical books which he had. Ere he was twenty he had begun to read the Principia. It is even said that he had found out the method of fluxions before he was aware of the discoveries of Newton and Leibnitz on the same subject. The attainments of Rittenhouse soon came to be generally acknowledged, and a series of honours and appointments followed. In 1769 he was named one of the committee to observe the transit of Venus over the sun’s disk. In 1779 he was employed to determine the boundary line between Pennsylvania and Virginia. The Academy of Arts and Sciences at Boston elected him a member in 1782. The American Philosophical Society made him their president, in the room of Franklin, in 1791. The Royal Society of London also elected him a fellow in 1795. He was director of the mint of the United States when he was seized with his last attack of debility in 1795; and he died in June 1796. His published works consist of a number of papers, chiefly on astronomical subjects, in the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society. RIVA (Germ. Reif), a town of the Tyrol, in the circle and 9 miles W.S.W. of Roveredo, stands in a beautiful situation at the head of the Lake of Garda, under the lofty and precipitous mountains which impart grandeur to the scenei’y of the lake. The climate is delicious; vines, myrtles, oranges, and olives grow in the open air; but the town is dirty and dilapidated. I he castle of La Rocca, now a prison, and several convents, are the chief buildings. The lake abounds in fish; and the port is much frequented. Pop. 4980. RIVE-DE-GIER, a town of France, in the department of Loire, on the right bank of the Gier, 12 miles N.E. of St Etienne. It is entirely a modern town, having nearly trebled its population since 1815; and it derives its importance and prosperity from the coal-fields among which it is situated. Formerly it had fortifications, but these have been destroyed. There are no public buildings of any importance. The river was once crossed by an ancient Roman bridge which has been removed, and its place supplied by five of modern erection. There are more than forty coal-mines in operation in the vicinity worked by steam. Lyons and many other towns derive their supply of fuel, in whole or in part, from Rive-de-Gier. It has large glassworks, and manufactories of steel, hardware, machinery, silk, &c. The trade is very considerable; and the canal of Givors connects the place with Givors on the Rhone. Pop. 11,694.

179

r i y e r: River. A river is a current of fresh water, flowing in a bed or busy haunts of man, tendering its services on every side, River. channel from its source to the sea. and becomes the support and ornament of the country. Now Definition. The term is appropriated to a considerable collection of increased by numerous alliances, and advanced in its course waters, formed by the conflux of two or more brooks, of existence, it becomes grave and stately in its motions, which deliver into its channel the united streams of several loves peace and quiet; and in majestic silence rolls on its rivulets, which have collected the supplies of many rills mighty waters, till it is laid to rest in the vast abyss. trickling down from numberless springs, and the torrents The philosopher, the real lover of wisdom, sees much to The reliwhich carry off from the sloping grounds the surplus of admire in the economy and mechanism of running waters ; gious reevery shower. and there are few operations of nature which give him more spect for Utility of Rivers form one of the chief features of the surface of opportunities of remarking the nice adjustment of the most rivers. rivers. this globe, serving as voiders of all that is immediately re- simple means for attaining many purposes of most extensive dundant in our rains and springs, and also as boundaries beneficence. All mankind seems to have felt this. The and barriers, and even as highways, and in many countries heart of man is ever open (unless perverted by the habits as plentiful storehouses. They also fertilize our soil by of selfish indulgence and arrogant self-conceit) to impreslaying upon our warm fields the richest mould, brought sions of gratitude and love. He who ascribes the religious from the high mountains, where it would have remained principle (debased though it be by the humbling abuses useless for want of genial heat. ot superstition) to the workings of fear alone, may betray Origin of Being such interesting objects of attention, every branch the slavish meanness of his own mind, but gives a very untheir acquires a proper name, and the whole acquires a sort of names. personal identity, of which it is frequently difficult to find fair and a false picture of the hearts of his neighbours. Lucretius was but half a philosopher when he penned his the principle ; for the name of the great body of waters often quoted apophthegm. Indeed his own invocation which discharges itself into the sea is traced backwards to shows how much the animal was blended with the sage. one of the sources, while all the contributing streams are We apprehend, that whoever will read with an honest The effect lost, although their wTaters form the chief part of the collec- and candid mind, unbiassed by licentious wishes, the ac-ofgratition. And sometimes the feeder in which the name is pre- counts of the ancient superstitions, will acknowledge thatt,ldeand served is smaller than others which are united to the cur- the amiable emotions of the human soul have had theiraffeetionrent, and which like a rich but ignoble alliance lose their share in creating the numerous divinities whose worship fillname in that of the more illustrious family. Some rivers ed up their kalendars. The sun and the host of heaven have indeed are respectable even at their birth, coming at once in all ages and nations been the objects of a sincere worin force from some great lake. Such is the Rio de la Plata, ship. Next to them, the rivers seem to have attracted the the river St Lawrence, and the mighty streams which issue grateful acknowledgments of the inhabitants of the adjacent in all directions from the Baical Lake. But, like the sons countries. They have everywhere been considered as a of Adam, they are all of equal descent, and should take sort of tutelar divinities ; and each little district, every retheir name from one of the feeders of these lakes. This is tired valley, had its river-god, who was preferred to all indeed the case with a few, such as the Rhone, the Rhine, others with a partial fondness. The expostulation of Naathe Nile. These, after having mixed their waters with man the Syrian, who w^as offended with the prophet for enthose of the lake, resume their appearance and their name joining him to wash in the river Jordan, was the natural at its outlet. effusion of this attachment. “ What!” said he, “are not Origin and But in general their origin and progress, and even the Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, more excellent progress si-features of their character, bear some resemblance (as has than all the waters of Judea ? Might I not wash in them been rettil obs ^iV60Cf river Ps rin ys from erved by Pliny) to the life of man. The and be clean ? So he went away wroth.” the In those countries particularly, where the rural labours man^ P .S earth, but heaven.; Its beginnings are insignificant, andits itsorigin infancyis isinfrivolous and the hopes of the shepherd and the husbandman were it plays among the flowers of a meadow ; it waters a garden, not so immediately connected with the approach and recess or turns a little mill. Gathering strength in its youth, it of the sun, and depended rather on what happened in a far becomes wild and impetuous. Impatient of the restraints distant country by the falls of periodical rains or the meltwhich it still meets with in the hollows among the moun- ing of collected snows, the Nile, the Ganges, the Indus, the tains, it is restless and fretful; quick in its turnings, and river of Pegu, ivere the sensible agents of nature in prounsteady in its course. Now it is a roaring cataract, tearing curing to the inhabitants of their fertile banks all their up and overturning whatever opposes its progress, and it abundance, and they became the objects of grateful veneshoots headlong down from a rock ; then it becomes a sul- ration. Their sources were sought out with anxious care len and gloomy pool, buried in the bottom of a glen. Re- even by conquering princes; and when found, were unicovering breath by repose, it again dashes along, till, tired versally worshipped with the most affectionate devotion. of the uproar and mischief, it quits all that it has swept along, These remarkable rivers, so eminently and so palpably beand leaves the opening of the valley strewed with the re- neficent, preserve to this day, amidst every change of hajected waste. Now, quitting its retirement, it comes abroad bit, and every increase of civilization and improvement, the into the world, journeying with more prudence and discre- fond adoration of the inhabitants of those fruitful countries tion, through cultivated fields, yielding to circumstances, through which they hold their stately course, and their waand winding round what would trouble it to overwhelm or ters are still held sacred. No progress of artificial refineremove. It passes through the populous cities and all the ment, not all the corruption of luxurious sensuality, has 1 Prom the great ability displayed in this article by the late Professor Robison of Edinburgh, and from the frequent allusion to it, even at the present day, by men of the first distinction in physical science, the Editor has been induced to allow it a place here. (For turther information, see Hydrodynamics and the Sixth Dissertation.)

RIVE R. 180 History, been able to eradicate this plant of native growth from the tary leader was called the lamb, because he did not mur- Historv. ' heart of man. The sentiment is congenial to his nature, der pregnant women), which very clearly paints the inspir-v—* and therefore it is universal ; and we could almost appeal ing principle of this superstition. Pliny says (lib. viii. 8) to the feelings of every reader, whether he does not per- that at the source of the Clitumnus there is an ancient ceive it in his own breast. Perhaps we may be mistaken temple highly respected. The presence and the power of in our opinion in the case of the corrupted inhabitants of the divinity are expressed by the fates which stand in the the populous and busy cities, who are habituated to the vestibule. Around this temple are several little chapels, fond contemplation of their own individual exertions as the each of which covers a sacred fountain ; for the Clitumnus sources of all their hopes. Give the shoemaker but leather is the father of several little rivers which unite their streams and a few tools, and he defies the powers of nature to dis- with him. At some distance below the temple is a bridge appoint him; but the simpler inhabitants of the country, which divides the sacred waters from those which are open the most worthy and the most respectable part of every na- to common use. No one must presume to set his foot in tion, after equal, perhaps greater exertion, both of skill and the streams above this bridge ; and to step over any of them of industry, are more accustomed to resign themselves to is an indignity which renders a person infamous. They can the great ministers of Providence, and to look up to heaven only be visited in a consecrated boat. Below the bridge for the “ early and the latter rains,” without which all their we are permitted to bathe, and the place is incessantly oclabours are fruitless. cupied by the neighbouring villagers. See also Vibius Sequester Oberlini, p. 101-103, and 221-223; also Sueton. Extrema per illos Caligula, c. 43; Virg. Georg, ii. 146. Numenque excedens terris vestigia fecit. What is the cause of all this? The Clitumnus, near its And among the husbandmen and the shepherds of all na- source, flows through the richest pastures, through which it tions and ages, we find the same fond attachment to their was carefully distributed by numberless drains ; and these springs and rivulets. nourished cattle of such spotless whiteness and extraordinary beauty that they were sought for with eagerness over Fortunate senex, hie, inter flumina nota all Italy, as the most acceptable victims in their sacrifices. Et fontes sacros, frigus captabis opacum, Is not this superstition then an effusion of gratitude ? wras the mournful ejaculation of poor Meliboeus. We hardly Such are the dictates of kind-hearted nature in our breasts, know a river of any note in our own country whose source before it has been vitiated by vanity and self-conceit, and is not looked on with some respect. we should not be ashamed of feeling the impression. We We repeat our assertion, that this worship was the off- hardly think of making any apology for dwelling a little on spring of affection and gratitude, and that it is giving a very this incidental circumstance of the superstitious veneration unfair and false picture of the human mind to ascribe these paid to rivers. We cannot think that our readers will be superstitions to the working of fear alone. These would displeased at having agreeable ideas excited in their minds, have represented the river-gods as seated on ruins, bran- being always of opinion that the torch of true philosophy dishing rooted-up trees, with angry looks, pouring out their will not only enlighten the understanding, but also warm sweeping torrents. But no such thing. The lively imagi- and cherish the affections of the heart. nation of the Greeks felt, and expressed with an energy unWith respect to the origin of rivers, we have very little known to all other nations, every emotion of the human to offer in this place. It is obvious to every person, that soul. They figured the Naiads as beautiful nymphs, pat- besides the torrents which carry down into the rivers what terns of gentleness and of elegance. These they represent- part of the rains and melted snows is not absorbed by the ed as partially attached to the children of men ; and their soil or taken up by the plants which cover the earth, they interference in human affairs is always in acts of kind as- are fed either immediately or remotely by the springs. A sistance and protection. They resemble, in this respect, few remarkable streams rush at once out of the earth in the rural deities of the northern nations, the fairies, but force, and must be considered as the continuation of subwithout their caprices and resentments. And if we attend terraneous rivers, whose origin we are therefore to seek to the descriptions and representations of their river-gods, out; and we do not know any circumstance in which their beings armed with power, an attribute which slavish fear first beginnings differ from those of other rivers, which are never fails to couple with cruelty and vengeance, we shall formed by the union of little streams and rills, each of find the same expression of affectionate trust and confidence which has its own source in a spring or fountain. This in their kind dispositions. They are generally called by question, therefore, what is the process of nature, and what the respectable but endearing name father. “ Da Tyberi are the supplies which fill our springs ? will be treated of pater,” says Virgil. Mr Bruce says that the Nile at its under the word Spring. source is called the aha?/, or “ father.” We observe this Whatever be the source of rivers, it is to be met with in Origin of word, or its radix, blended with many names of rivers of the almost every part of the globe. The crust of earth with Avers, east; and think it probable that when our traveller got this which the rocky framing of this globe is covered is genename from the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, they ap- rally stratified. Some of these strata are extremely perplied to the stream what is meant to express the tutelar or vious to water, having but small attraction for its particles, presiding spirit. The river-gods are always represented as and being very porous. Such is the quality of gravelly venerable old men, to indicate their being coeval with the strata in an eminent degree. Other strata are much more world. But it is always a cruda viridisque seneetus, and firm, or attract water more strongly, and refuse it passage. they are never represented as oppressed with age and de- This is the case with firm rock and with clay. When a crepitude. Their beards are. long and flowing, their looks stratum of the first kind has one of the other immediately placid, their attitude easy, reclined on a bank, covered, as under it, the water remains in the upper stratum, and bursts they are crowned, with never-fading sedges and bulrushes, out wherever the sloping sides of the hills cut off the strata, and leaning on their urns, from which they pour out their and this will be the form of a trickling spring, because the plentiful and fertilizing streams. Mr Bruce’s description of water in the porous stratum is greatly obstructed in its pasthe sources of the Nile, and of the respect paid to the sacred sage towards the outlet. As this irregular formation of the waters, has not a frowning feature ; and the hospitable old earth is very general, we must have springs, and of course man, with his fair daughter Irepone, and the gentle priest- rivers or rivulets, in every corner where there are high hood which peopled the little village of Geesh, form a con- grounds. trast with the neighbouring Galla (among whom a miliRivers flow from the higher to the low grounds. It is

RIVER 181 History, the arrangement of this elevation which distributes them represented as a fine though sandy country, having many History, ' over the surface of the earth. This appears to be accom- little rivers which lose themselves in the sand, or end in Theyfl«w plished with considerable regularity ; and, except the great little salt lakes. This elevation stretches north-east to a esert hlffher To ^not Kobi on the confines of Chinese Tartary, we do great distance ; and in this tract we find the heads of the the lower remember any very extensive tract of ground that is Irtish, Selenga, and Tunguskaia (the great feeders of the grounds, deprived of those channels for voiding the superfluous Oby), the Olenitz, the Lena, the Yana, and some other waters ; and even there they are far from being redundant. rivers, which all go off to the north. On the other side we Course of The courses of rivers give us the best general method have the great river Amur, and many smaller rivers, whose the rivers for judging of the elevation of a country. Thus it appears names are not familiar. The Hoangho, the great river of of Europe, gav0y an j Switzerland are the highest grounds of Eu- China, rises on the south side of the great eastern ridge we rope, from whence the ground slopes in every direction. have so often mentioned. This elevation, which is a conFrom the Alps proceed the Danube and the Rhine, whose tinuation of the former, is somewhat of the same comcourses mark the two great valleys, into which many lateral plexion, being very sandy, and at present is a desert of prostreams descend. The Po also and the Rhone come from digious extent. A great ridge of mountains begins at the the same head, and with a steeper and shorter course find south-east corner of the Euxine Sea, and proceeds easttheir way to the sea through valleys of less breadth and ward, ranging along the south side of the Caspian, and, still length. On the west side of the valleys of the Rhine and advancing, unites with the mountains first mentioned in the Rhone the ground rises pretty fast, so that few tribu- Thibet, sending off some branches to the south, which ditary streams come into them from that side; and from this vide Persia, India, and Thibet. From the south side of gentle elevation France slopes to the westward. If a line, this ridge flow the Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, and Ganges, nearly straight, but bending a little to the northward, be and from the north the ancient Oxus and many unknown drawn from the head of Savoy and -Switzerland all the way streams. Of the rivers of Africa we still know but little. The of Africa, to Solikamskoy in Siberia, it will nearly pass through the most elevated part of Europe ; for in this tract most of the Nile indeed is perhaps better known than any river out of rivers have their rise. On the left go off the various feed- Europe; and of it, so far as yet known, we have given a ers of the Elbe, the Oder, the Wesel, the Niemen, the full account in a separate article. (See Nile.) By the register of the weather kept by Mr Bruce at Duna, the Neva, the Dwina, the Petzora. On the right, after passing the feeders of the Danube, we see the sources Gondar in 1770 and 1771, it appears that the greatest rains of the Sereth and Pruth, the Dniester, the Bog, the Dnie- fall about the beginning of July. He says that at an aveper, the Don, and the mighty Volga. The elevation, how- rage each month after June it doubles its rains. The caever, is extremely moderate ; and it appears from the levels lish or canal is opened at Cairo about the 9th of August, taken with the barometer by the Abbe Chappe d’Auteroche, when the river has risen fourteen peeks (each twenty-one that the head of the Volga is not more than 470 feet above inches), and the waters begin to decrease about the 10th the surface of the ocean. And we may observe here, by of September. Hence we may form a conjecture concernthe by, that its mouth, where it discharges its waters into ing the time which the latter employs in coming from Abysthe Caspian Sea, is undoubtedly lower by many feet than sinia. Mr Bruce supposes it nine days, which would require the surface of the ocean. (See Pneumatics.) Spain a velocity of not less than fourteen feet in a second ; a thing and Finland, with Lapland, Norway, and Sweden, form past belief, and inconsistent with all our notions. The getwo detached parts, which have little symmetry with the neral slope of the river is greatly diminished by several great cataracts; and Mr Bruce expressly says that he rest of Europe. of Asia, A chain of mountains begins in Nova Zembla, and might have come down from Sennaar to the cataracts of stretches due south to near the Caspian Sea, dividing Eu- Syene in a boat, and that it is navigable for boats far above rope from Asia. About three or four degrees north of the Sennaar. He came from Syene to Cairo by water. We Caspian Sea it bends to the south-east, traverses Western apprehend that no boat would venture down a stream movTartary, and passing between the Tengis and Zaizan lakes, ing even six feet in a second, and none could row up if the it then branches to the east and south. The eastern branch velocity was three feet. As the waters begin to decrease runs to the shores of Korea and Kamtschatka. The south- about the 10th of September, we must conclude that the ern branch traverses Turkestan and Thibet, separating water then flowing past Cairo had left Abyssinia when the them from India, and at the head of the kingdom of Ava rains had greatly abated. Judging in this way, we must joins an arm stretching from the great eastern branch, and still allow the stream a velocity of more than six feet. Had here forms the centre of a very singular radiation. Chains the first swell at Cairo been noticed in 1770 or 1771, we of mountains issue from it in every direction. Three or might have guessed better. The year that Thevenot was four of them keep very close together, dividing the conti- in Egypt, the first swell of eight peeks was observed on nent into narrow slips, which have each a great mer flow- the 2bth of January. The calish was opened for fourteen ing in the middle, and reaching to the extreme points of peeks on the 14th of August, and the waters began to deMalacca, Cambodia, and Cochin-china. From the same crease on the 23d of September, having risen to twentycentral point proceeds another great ridge due east, and one and two-third peeks. We may suppose a similar propasses a little north of Canton in China. We called this a gress at Cairo corresponding to Mr Bruce’s observations at singular centre; for though it sends off so many branches, Gondar, and date every thing five days earlier. it is by no means the most elevated part of the continent. The frame-work (so to call it) of America is better known, In the triangle which is included between the first southern and is singular. ridge (which comes from between the lakes Tengis and A chain of mountains begins, or at least is found, in Ion-and of ■Zaizan), the great eastern ridge, and its branch which al- gitude 110° west of London, and latitude 40° north, on the America, most unites with the southern ridge, lie the Boutan and northern confines of the kingdom of Mexico, and, stretching part of Thibet; and the many little rivers which occupy its southward through that kingdom, forms the ridge of the surface flow southward and eastward, uniting a little to the neck of land which separates North from South America, north of the centre often mentioned, and then pass through and keeping almost close to the shore, ranges along the a gorge eastward into China. The higher grounds (if we whole western coast of South America, terminating at Cape except the ridges of mountains which are boundaries) of the Horn. In its course it sends off branches, which after secontinent seem to be in the country of the Calmucs, about parating from it for a few leagues, rejoin it again, enclodng 96° east from London, and latitude 43° or 45° north. It is valleys of great extent from north to south, and of prodi-

182 RIVER History, gious elevation. In one of these, under the equatorial sun, Thus the whole of South America seems as if it had been History, ' stands the city of Quito, in the midst of extensive fields of formerly surrounded by a mound, and been a great basin. —v barley, oats, wheat, and gardens containing apples, pears, I he ground in the middle, where the Parana, the Madeira, and gooseberries, and, in short, all the grains and fruits of and the Plata, take their rise, is an immense marsh, uninthe cooler parts of Europe ; and although the vine is also habitable on account of its exhalations, and quite impervious there in perfection, the olive is wanting. Not a dozen miles in its present state. The manner in which the continent of North America from it, in the low countries, the sugar-cane, the indigo, and all the fruits of the torrid zone, find their congenial heat, is watered, or rather drained, has also some peculiarities. and the inhabitants swelter under a burning sun. At a By looking at the map, one will observe, first of all, a gesmall distance on the other hand tower aloft the pinnacles neral division of the whole of the best-known part into two, of Pichincha, Corambourou, and Chimbora^ao, crowned by the valleys in which the beds of the rivers St Lawrence with never-melting snows. and Mississippi are situated. The head of this is occupied The individual mountains of this stupendous range cut by a singular series of fresh-water seas or lakes, viz. the off therefore all communication between the Pacific Ocean Lakes Superior and Michigan, which empty themselves into and the inland continent; and no rivers are to be found on Lake Huron by two cataracts. This again runs into Lake the west coast of South America which have any consider- Erie by the river Detroit, and the Erie pours its water into able length of course or body of waters. The country is the Ontario by the famous Fall of Niagara, and from the drained, like Africa, in the opposite direction. Not 100 Ontario proceeds the great river St Lawrence. miles from the city of Lima, the capital of Peru, which lies The gr-ound to the south-west of the Lakes Superior and almost on the sea-shore, and just at the foot of the high Erie is somewhat lower, and the middle of the valley is ocCordilleras, arises out of a small lake the Maragnon or cupied by the Mississippi and the Missouri, which receive Amazons river, which, after running northward for about on both sides a number of smaller streams, and, having 100 miles, takes an easterly direction, and crosses nearly joined, proceed to the south under the name Mississippi. the broadest part of South America, and falls into the great In latitude 37° this river receives into its bed the Ohio, a western ocean at Para, after a course of not less than 4095 river of equal magnitude, and the Cherokee river, which miles. In the first half of its descent it receives a few drains all the country lying at the back of the United middle-sized rivers from the north, and from the south it States, separated from them by the ranges of the Appalareceives the great river Combos, springing from another chian Mountains. The Mississippi is now one of the chief little lake not fifty miles distant from the head of the Ma- rivers on the globe, and proceeds due south till it falls into ragnon, and enclosing between them a wide extent of coun- the Mexican Bay through several shifting mouths, which try. It then receives the Yuta, the Yuerva, the Cuchi- greatly resemble those of the Danube and the Nile, having vara, and Parana Mire, each of which is equal to the Rhine; run above 1200 miles. and then the Madeira, which has flowed above 1300 miles. The elevated country between this bed of the Mississippi At their junction the breadth is so great that neither shore and St Lawrence and the Atlantic Ocean is drained on the can be seen by a person standing up in a canoe ; so that east side by a great number of rivers, some of which are the united stream must be about six miles broad. In this very considerable, and of long course ; because instead of form it rolls along through a flat country, covered with im- being nearly at right angles to the coast, as in other counpenetrable forests, and most of it as yet untrodden by hu- tries, they are in a great measure parallel to it. This is man feet. Mr Condamine, who came down the stream, more remarkably the case with Hudson’s river, the Delasays that all is silent as the desert, and the wild beasts and ware, Potomac, and Rappahannoc. Indeed the whole of numberless birds crowd round the boat, eyeing it as some North America seems to consist of ribs or beams laid nearly animal of which they did not seem afraid. The bed was parallel to each other from north to south, and the rivers cut deep through an equal and yielding soil, which seemed occupy the interstices. All those which empty themselves rich in every part, if he could judge by the vegetation, into the bay of Mexico are parallel and almost perfectly which was rank in the extreme. What an addition to straight, unlike what are seen in other parts of the world. the possible population of this globe ! A narrow slip along The westernmost of them all, the North river, as it is each bank of this mighty river would equal in surface the named by the Spaniards, is nearly as loner as the Missiswhole of Europe, and would probably exceed it in general sippi. fertility ; and although the velocity in the main stream was For the length of the courses, and some peculiarities of considerable, he observed that it was extremely moderate, the principal rivers, see Physical Geography. nay almost still, at the sides; so that in those parts where the country was inhabited, the Indians paddled up the river with perfect ease. Boats could go from Para to near the PART I THEORY OF THE MOTION OF RIVERS AND mouth of the Madeira in thirty-eight days, which is nearly CANALS. 1200 miles. Not far from the head of the Maragnon, the Cordilleras The importance of this subject needs no commentary. imp0rt. send off a branch to the north-east, which reaches and Every nation, every country, every city is interested in it.ance of the ranges along the shore of the Mexican Gulf; and the Rio Our wants, our comforts, and our pleasures require a know-doctrine of Grande de Sta Martha occupies the angle between the ledge of it. We must conduct the water of rivers to the t*le .mot’on ridges. centre of our dwellings ; we must r ecure ourselves against°nj camd Another ridge ranges with interruption along the east their ravages; we must employ them to drive those ma-an cana 3* coast of Terra birma, so that the whole waters of this coun- chines which, by compensating for our personal weakness, try are collected into the Oroonoko. In like manner, the make a few able to perform the work of thousands ; we' north and east of Brazil are hemmed in by mountainous employ them to water and fertilize our fields, to decorate ridges, through which there is no considerable passage; our mansions, to cleanse and embellish our cities, to preand the ground sloping backwards, all the waters of this serve or extend our demesnes, to transport from county to immense tract are collected from both sides by many con- county every thing which necessity, convenience, or luxury, siderable rivers into the great river Paraguay, or Rio de la has rendered precious to man: for these purposes we must Plata, which runs down the middle of the country for more confine and govern the mighty rivers, we must preserve or than 1400 miles, and falls into the sea through a vast mouth, change the beds of the smaller streams, draw off from them in latitude 35°. what shall water our fields, drive our machines, or supply

RIVER. 183 'Theory, our houses. We must keep up their waters for the pur- pose what we do not know, and to fancy shapes and sizes at Theory, v —~V"—^ poses of navigation, or supply their places by canals; we will, is to raise phantoms, and will produce a system, but —v— must drain our fens, and defend them when drained; we will not prove a foundation for any science. But to inter- I>roPer must understand their motions, and their mode of secret, rogate Nature herself, study the laws which she so faith- !^°de slow, but unceasing action, that our bridges, our wharfs, fully observes, catch her, as we say, in the fact, and thus our dikes, may not become heaps of ruins. Ignorant how wrest from her the secret; this is the only way to become to proceed in these daily recurring cases, how often do we her master, and it is the only procedure consistent with see projects of high expectation and heavy expense fail of good sense. And we see that soon after Kepler detected their object, leaving the state burdened with works not the laws of the planetary motions, when Galileo discovered only useless, but frequently hurtful ? the uniform acceleration of gravity, when Paschal discoverThis has long been a most interesting subject of study ed the pressure of the atmosphere, and Newton discovered in Italy, where the fertility of their fields is not more in- the laws of attraction and the track of a ray of light; astrodebted to their rich soil and happy climate, than to their nomy, mechanics, hydrostatics, chemistry, optics, quickly numerous derivations from the rivers which traverse them ; became bodies of sound doctrine, and the deductions from and in Holland and Flanders, where their very existence their respective theories were found fair representations of requires unceasing attention to the waters, which are every the phenomena of nature. Whenever a man has discovered moment ready to swallow up the inhabitants, and where a law of nature, he has laid the foundation of a science, and the inhabitants, having once subdued this formidable ene- he has given us a new mean of subjecting to our service my, have made those very waters their indefatigable drudges, some element hitherto independent; and so long as groups transporting through every corner of the country the mate- of natural operations follow a route which appears to us rials of an extensive commerce. whimsical, and will not admit our calculations, we may be Such having been our incessant occupations with moving assured that we are ignorant of the principle which conwaters, we should expect, that while the operative artists nects them all, and regulates their procedure. are continually furnishing facts and experiments, the man This is remarkably the case with several phenomena in Our ignoof speculative and scientific curiosity, excited by the impor- the motions of fluids, and particularly in the motion of water rance of tance of the subject, would ere now have made consider- in a bed or conduit of any kind. Although the first ge- the £em’able progress in the science ; and that the professional en- niuses of Europe have for this century past turned much of jaws gineer would be daily acting from established principle, their attention to this subject, we are almost ignorant of[ion lb m' and be seldom disappointed in his expectations. Unfortu- the general laws which may be observed in their motions. ’ nately, the reverse of this is nearly the true state of the We have been able to select very few points of resemcase: each engineer is obliged to collect the greatest part blance, and every case remains nearly an individual. About of his knowledge from his own experience, and by many one hundred and fifty years ago we discovered, by experidear-bought lessons, to direct his future operations, in ence only, the quantity and velocity of water issuing from which he still proceeds with anxiety and hesitation; for a small orifice, and, after much labour, have extended this we have not yet acquired principles of theory, and experi- to any orifice; and this is almost the whole of our confiments have not yet been collected and published by which dential knowledge. But as to the uniform course of the an empirical practice might be safely formed. Many ex- streams which water the face of the earth, and the maxims periments of inestimable value are daily made; but they which will certainly regulate this agreeably to our wishes, remain with their authors, w'ho seldom have either leisure, we are in a manner totally ignorant. Who can pretend to ability, or generosity, to add them to the public stock. say what is the velocity of a river of which you tell him This sciThe motion of waters has been really so little investigat- the breadth, the depth, and the declivity ? Who can say fn itsTn-Ct ed ^ yet’ that hydraulics may still be called a new study, what swell will be produced in different parts of its course, fancy. have merely skimmed over a few common notions con- if a dam or weir of given dimensions be made in it, or a cerning the motions of water; and the mathematicians of bridge be thrown across it; or how much its waters will be the first order seem to have contented themselves with raised by turning another stream into it, or sunk by taking such views as allowed them to entertain themselves with off a branch to drive a mill ? Who can say with confidence elegant applications of calculus. This, however, has not what must be the dimensions or slope of this branch, in orbeen their fault. They rarely had opportunity of doing der to furnish the water that is wanted, or the dimensions more, for want of a knowledge of facts. They have made and slope of a canal which shall effectually drain a fenny excellent use of the few which have been given them ; but district ? Who can say what form will cause or will preit required much labour, great variety of opportunity, and vent the undermining of banks, the forming of elbows, the great expense, to learn the multiplicity of things which are pooling of the bed, or the deposition of sands ? Yet these combined even in the simplest cases of water in motion. are the most important questions. These are seldom the lot of the mathematician; and he The causes of this ignorance are the want or uncertain-and the is without blame when he enjoys the pleasures within his ty of our principles ; the falsity of our only theory, which causes of reach, and cultivates the science of geometry in its most is belied by experience; and the small number of properh. abstracted form. Here he makes a progress which is the observations or experiments, and difficulty of making such boast of human reason, being almost insured from error as shall be serviceable. We have, it is true, made a few by the intellectual simplicity of his subject. But when we experiments on the efflux of water from small orifices, and turn our attention to material objects, and, without know- from them we have deduced a sort of theory, dependent on ing either the size and shape of the elementary particles, the fall of heavy bodies and the laws of hydrostatic presor the laws which nature has prescribed for their action, sure. Hydrostatics is indeed founded on very simple prinpresume to foresee their effects, calculate their exertions, ciples, which give a very good account of the laws of the direct their actions, what must be their consequence ? Na- quiescent equilibrium of fluids, in consequence of gravity ture shows her independence with respect to our notions, and perfect fluidity. But by what train of reasoning can and, always faithful to the laws which are enjoined, and of we connect these with the phenomena of the uniform mowhich we are ignorant, she never fails to thwart our views, tion of the waters of a river or open stream, which can deto disconcert our projects, and render useless all our ef- rive its motion only from the slope of its surface, and the forts. modifications of this motion or its velocity only from the To wish to know the nature of the elements is vain, and width and depth of the stream ? These are the only cirour gross organs are insufficient for the study. To sup- cumstances which can distinguish a portion of a river from

RIVE R. 184 Theory. a vessel of the same size and shape, in which, however, the stream, is that acquired by falling from the horizontal Theory, "^Y water is at rest. In both, gravity is the sole cause of pres- plane AN. 2. The velocity at the bottom of the stream is everywhere sure and motion; but there must be some circumstance greater than anywhere above it, and is least of all at the peculiar to running waters which modifies the exeition of this active principle, and which, when discovered, must be surface. 3. The velocity of the stream increases continually as the basis of hydraulics, and must oblige us to reject every the stream recedes from its source. theory founded on fancied hypothesis, and which can only 4. The depths EF, GH, &c. in different parts of the lead to absurd conclusions; and surely absurd consequences, when legitimately drawn, are complete evidence of impro- stream, will be nearly in the inverse subduplicate ratio of per principles. „ , , . . the depths under the surface AN : for since the same quanPrinciple When it was discovered experimentally, that the veloci- tity of water is running through every section EF and GH, on which ties of water issuing from orifices at various depths under and the channel is supposed of uniform breadth, the depth the sys- the surface were as the square roots of those depths, and of each section must be inversely as the velocity of the tems of water passing through it. This velocity is indeed different hydraulics the fact was verified by repeated experiments, this princi- in different filaments of the section ; but the mean velocity ple was immediately, and without modification, applied to depend. every motion of water. Mariotte, Varignon,and Guglielmini, in each section is in the subduplicate ratio of the depth of made it the basis of complete systems of hydraulics, which the filament under the surface AB. Therefore the stream prevail to this day, after having received various amend- becomes more shallow as it recedes from the source; and ments and modifications. The same reasoning obtains in consequence of this the difference between LH and through them all, though frequently obscured by other cir- MG continually diminishes, and the velocities at the botcumstances, which are more perspicuously expressed L} tom and surface of the stream continually approach to equality, and at a great distance from the source they difGuglielmini in his Fundamental Theorems. He considers every point P (fig. 1) in a mass of fluid fer insensibly. 5. If the breadth of the stream be contracted in any as an orifice in the side of a vessel, and part, the depth of the running water will be increased in conceives the particle as having a tenthat part, because the same quantity must still pass through ; dency to move with the same velocity but the velocity at the bottom will remain the same, and with which it would issue from the orithat at the surface will be less than it was before ; and the fice. Therefore, if a vertical line APC area of the section will be increased on the whole. be drawn through that point, and if this 6. Should a sluice be put across the stream, dipping a be made the axis of a parabola ADE, little into the ivater, the water must immediately rise on of which A at the surface of the fluid the upper side of the sluice till it rises above the level of is the vertex, and AB (four times the ^ the reservoir; and the smallest immersion of the sluice will height through which a heavy body gl produce this effect. For, by lowering the sluice, the area would fall in a second) is the parame- g of the section is diminished, and the velocity cannot be inter, the velocity of this particle will be creased till the water heap up to a* greater height than the represented by the ordinate PD of this “ surface of the reservoir ; and this acquires a pressure which parabola; that is, PD is the space will produce a greater velocity of efflux through the orifice which it would uniformly describe in a second. the sluice. Theory de- From this principle is derived the following theory of left7.below An additional quantity of water coming into this chanrived from running waters. it. Let DC (fig. 2) be the horizontal bottom of a reservoir, nel will increase the depth of the stream, and the quantity of water which it conveys ; but it will not increase the veto which is joinFig. 2. locity of the bottom filaments unless it comes from a higher ed a sloping chansource. nel CK of uniform All these consequences are contrary to experience, and These con. breadth, and let show the imperfection at least of the explanation. sequences AB be the surface The third consequence is of all the most contrary to ex- all contraof the standing war to expe perience. If any one will but take the trouble of followingrience 7 * ter in the reservoir. Suppose the vertical plane BC pierced with an infinity of a single brook from its source to the sea, he will find jt rapid in its beginnings among the mountains, gradually holes, through each of which the water issues. The velo- most slackening its pace as it winds among the hills and gentler city of each filament will be that which is acquired by falling from the surface AB.1 The filament C, issuing with declivities, and at last creeping slowly along through the this velocity, will then glide down the inclined plane like flat grounds, till it is checked and brought to rest by the any other heavy body ; and (by the common doctrine of tides of the ocean. Nor is the second consequence more agreeable to obserthe motion down an inclined plane) when it has arrived at F, it will have the same velocity which it would have ac- vation. It is universally found that the velocity of the surquired by falling through the height OF, the point O being face in the middle of the stream is the greatest of all, and in the horizontal plane AB produced. The same may be that it gradually diminishes from thence to the bottom and said of its velocity when it arrives at H or K. The fila- sides. And the first consequence, if true, would render the runment immediately above C will also issue with a velocity which is in the subduplicate ratio of its depth, and will ning waters on the surface of this earth the instruments of then glide down above the first filament. Ihe same may immediate ruin and devastation. If the waters of our ribe affirmed of all the filaments, and of the superficial fila- vers, in the cultivated parts of a country, which are two, ment, which will occupy the surface of the descending three, and four hundred feet lower than their sources, ran with the velocity due to that height, they would in a few stream. > From this account of the genesis of a running stream of minutes lay the earth bare to the very bones. The conThe velocities of our rivers, brooks, and rills, being so sequences water, we may fairly draw the following consequences. drawn 1. The velocity of any particle R, in any part of the greatly inferior to what this theory assigns to them, the from this theory. 1 See Guglielmini’s Hydraulics, 21.

RIVE R. 185 Theory, other consequences are equally contrary to experience. the checks occasioned by transverse motions. He there- Theory, ““ \\ hen a stream has its section diminished by narrowing the fore ascribed it to friction, which he supposed to diminish channel, the current increases in depth, and this is always the motion of fluid bodies in the same manner as of solids; accompanied by an increase of velocity through the whole and he thence concludes, that the filaments which immeof the section, and most of all at the surface ; and the area diately rub on the sides of the tube have their velocity graof the section does not increase, but diminishes, all the phe- dually diminished, and that the filaments immediately adnomena thus contradicting in every circumstance the de- joining to these, being thus obliged to pass over them or duction from the theory; and when the section has been outstrip them, rub upon them and have their own velocity diminished by a sluice let down into the stream, the water diminished in like manner, but in a smaller degree; and gradually heaps up on the upper side of the sluice, and, by that the succeeding filaments towards the axis of the tube its pressure, produces an acceleration of the stream below suffer similar but smaller diminutions. By this means the the sluice, in the same way as if it were the beginning of a whole stream may come to have a smaller velocity; and at stream, as explained in the theory. The velocity now is any rate, the medium velocity by which the quantity discomposed of the velocity preserved from the source and the charged is determined, is smaller than it would have been velocity produced by this subordinate accumulation ; and independent of friction. this accumulation and velocity continually increase till they Guglielmini adopted this opinion of Mariotte, and, in his become such that the whole supply is again discharged next work on the Motion of Rivers, considered this as the through this contracted section : any additional water not chief cause of the retardation ; and he added a third cironly increases the quantity carried along the stream, but cumstance, which he considered as of no less consequence, also increases the velocity, and therefore the section does the viscidity or tenacity of water. He observes that syrup, not increase in the proportion of the quantity. oil, and other fluids, where this viscidity is more remarkIt is surprising that a theory really founded on a conceit, able, have their motions prodigiously retarded by it, and The theory, how- and which in every one of the most familiar and obvious cir- supposes that water differs from them only in the degree in ever, has curns ances been rene6 muc t contradicted by facts, should have met with so which it possesses this quality; and he says, that by this rally fbl^ " at h attention. That Varignon should immediately catch means not only the particles which are moving more ralowed by this notion of Guglielmini, and make it the subject of pidly have their motions diminished by those in their neighthe writers many elaborate analytical memoirs, is not to be wondered bourhood which move slower, but that the filaments also on the sub-at. This author only wanted dormer prise au calcul; and which would have moved more slowly are accelerated by ject> it was a usual joke among the academicians of Paris, when their more active neighbours, and that in this manner the any new theorem was invented, donnons le a Varignon d superficial and inferior velocities are brought nearer to an generaUser. But his numerous theorems and corollaries equality. But this will never account for the universal fact were adopted by all, and still make the substance of the that the superficial particles are the swiftest of all. The supresent systems of hydraulics. Gravesande, Muschenbroeck, perficial particles, says he, acquire by this means a greater and all the elementary treatises of natural philosophy, de- velocity than the parabolic law allows them; the medium liver no other doctrines; and Belidor, who has been consi- velocity is often in the middle of the depth ; the numerous dered as the first of all the scientific engineers, details the obstacles continually multiplied and repeated, cause the cursame theory in his great work the Architecture Hy dr an- rent to lose the velocity acquired by the fall; the slope of tique. the bottom then diminishes, and often becomes very small, though Guglielmini was, however, not altogether the dupe of his so that the force remaining is hardly able to overcome the some of own ingenuity. He was not only a pretty good mathema- obstacles which are still repeated, and the river is reduced the more ingenious tician, but an assiduous and sagacious observer. He had almost to a state of stagnation. He observes that the Rhesaw its de- anpplied his theory to some important cases which occurred no, a river of the Milanese, has near its mouth a slope of fects, and * exercise of his profession as inspector of the rivers and no more than 5", which he considers as quite inadequate to attempted canals in the Milanese, and to the course of the Danube; the task ; and here he introduces another principle, which to supply and could not but perceive that great corrections were ne- he considers as an essential part of the theory of open curthem. cessary for making the theory quadrate in some tolerable rents. This is, that there arises from the very depth of the manner with observation ; and he immediately saw that the stream a propelling force, which restores a part of the lost motion was greatly obstructed by inequalities of the canal, velocity. He offers nothing in proof of this principle, but which gave to the contiguous filaments of the stream trans- uses it to account for and explain the motion of water in verse motions, which thwarted and confused the regular horizontal canals. The principle has been adopted by the progress of the rest of the stream, and thus checked its ge- numerous Italian writers on hydraulics, and, by various conneral progress. These obstructions, he observed, were most trivances, interwoven with the parabolic theory, as it is effectual in the beginning of its course, while yet a small called, of Guglielmini. Our readers may see it in various rill, running among stones, and in a very unequal bed. The modifications in the Idrostatica e Idraulica of P. Lecchi, whole stream being small, the inequalities bore a great pro- and in the Sperienze Idrauliche of Michelotti. It is by no portion to it, and thus the general effect was great. He means distinct either in its origin or in the manner of its also saw that the same causes (these transverse motions pro- application to the explanation of phenomena, and seems duced by the unequal bottom) chiefly affect the contiguous only to serve for giving something like consistency to the filaments, and were the reasons why the velocity at the vague and obscure discussions which have been published sides and bottom was so much diminished as to be less than on this subject in Italy. We have already remarked, that the superficial velocity, and that even this might come to in that country the subject is particularly interesting, and be diminished by the same cause. For he observed, that has been much investigated. But the writers of Engthe general stream of a river is frequently composed of a land, France, and Germany, have not paid so much attensort of boiling or tumbling motion, by which masses of wa- tion to it, and have more generally occupied themselves ter are brought up to the surface and again descend. Every with the motion of water in close conduits, which seem to person must recollect such appearances in the freshes of a admit of a more precise application of mathematical reamuddy river; and in this way Guglielmini was enabled to soning. account in some measure for the disagreement of his theory Some of them have considered with more attention the with observation. effects of friction and viscidity. Sir Isaac Newton, with Mariotte had observed the same obstruction even in the his usual penetration, had seen distinctly the manner in smoothest glass pipes. Here it could not be ascribed to which it behoved these circumstances to operate. In hi* VOL. XIX. 2A

11 I V 186 Theory, researches into the mechanism of the celestial motions, he had occasion to examine the famous hypothesis of Descartes, Sir Isaac that the p]anets were carried round the sun by fluid vorobs^rva S tices’ and saw that there would be n° end t0 uncertaintY tions on and dispute till the modus operandi of these vortices were this sub- mechanically considered. He therefore employed himself ject. in the investigation of the manner in wdiich the acknowledged powers of natural bodies, acting according to the received laws of mechanics, could produce and preserve these vortices, and restore that motion which was expended in carrying the planets round the sun. In the second book of the Principles of Natural Philosophy, he gives a series of beautiful propositions, viz. 51, 52, &c. with their corollaries, showing how the rotation of a cylinder or sphere round its axis in the midst of a fluid will excite a vortical motion in this fluid; and he ascertains with mathematical precision the motion of every filament of this vortex. He sets out from the supposition that this motion is excited in the surrounding stratum of fluid in consequence of a u'ant of perfect lubricity, and assumes as an hypothesis, that the initial resistance (or diminution of the motion of the cylinder) which arises from this want of lubricity, is proportional to the velocity with which the surface of the cylinder is separated from the contiguous surface of the surrounding fluid, and that the wdiole resistance is proportional to the velocity with which the parts of the fluid are mutually separated from each other. From this, and the equality of action and re-action, it evidently follows, that the velocity of any stratum of the vortex is the arithmetical medium between the velocities of the strata immediately within and without it. For the intermediate stratum cannot be in equilibrio, unless it is as much pressed forward by the superior motion of the stratum within it, as it is kept back by the slower motion of the stratum without it. " This beautiful investigation applies in the most perfect manner to every change produced in the motion of a fluid filament, in consequence of the viscidity and friction of the adjoining filaments ; and a filament proceeding along a tube at some small distance from the sides has, in like manner, a velocity which is the medium between those of the filaments immediately surrounding it. It is therefore a problem of no very difficult solution to assign the law by which the velocity will gradually diminish as the filament recedes from the axis of a cylindrical tube. It is somewhat surprising that so neat a problem has never occupied the attention of the mathematicians during the time that these subjects were so assiduously studied; but so it is, that nothing precise has been published on the subject. The only approach to a discussion of this kind, is a Memoir of Mr Pitot, read to the academy of Paris in 1726, where he considers the velocity of efflux though a pipe. Here, by attending to the comparative superiority of the quantity of motion in large pipes, he affirms, that the total diminutions arising from friction will be (cceteris paribus') in the inverse ratio of the diameters. This was thankfully received by other writers, and is now a part of our hydraulic theories. It has not, however, been attended to by those who write on the motion of rivers, though it is evident that it is applicable to these with equal propriety ; and had it been introduced, it would at once have solved all their difficulties, and particularly would have shown how an almost imperceptible declivity would produce the gentle motion of a great river, without having recourse to the unintelligible principle of Guglielmini. Mr Couplet made some experiments on the motion of the water in the great main pipes of Versailles, in order to obtain some notions of the retardations occasioned by friction. They were found prodigious ; but were so irregular, and unsusceptible of reduction to any general principle (and the experiments were indeed so few that they were unfit for this reduction), that he could establish no theory. What

E R. Mr Belidor established on them, and makes a sort of sys- Theory. tem to direct future engineers, is quite unworthy of attention. Upon the whole, this branch of hydraulics, although of Scarcely at much greater practical importance than the conduct of wa- all improvter in pipes, has never yet obtained more than a vague, ed since his and, we may call it, slovenly attention from the mathema-time' ticians; and we ascribe it to their not having taken the pains to settle its first principles with the same precision as had been done in the other branch. They were, from the beginning, satisfied with a sort of applicability of mathematical principles, without ever making the application. Were it not that some would accuse us of national partiality, we would ascribe it to this, that Newton had not pointed out the way in this as in the other branch ; for any intelligent reader of the performances on the motions of fluids in close vessels, will see that not a principle, nay hardly a step of investigation, has been added to those which were used or pointed out by Sir Isaac Newton. He has nowhere touched this question, the motion of water in an open canal. In his theories of the tides, and of the propagation of waves, he had an excellent opportunity for giving at once the fundamental principles of motion in a free fluid whose surface was not horizontal. But, by means of some of those happy and shrewd guesses, in which, as Daniel Bernoulli says, he excelled all men, he saw the undoubted consequences of some palpable phenomenon which would answer all his present purposes, and therefore entered no farther into the investigation. The original theory of Guglielmini, or the principle adopted by him, that each particle of the vertical section of a running stream has a tendency to move as if it were issuing from an orifice at that depth under the surface, is false; and that it really does so in the face of a dam when the floodgate is taken away, is no less so ; and if it did, the subsequent motions wobld hardly have any resemblance to those which he assigns them. Were this the case, the exterior form of the cascade would be something like what is sketched in fig. 3, with an abrupt angle at B, and a concave surface BEG. This will be evident to every one who combines the Fig. 3. greater velocity of the lower filaments A B with the slower motion of those which ( must slide down above them. But this D greater advance of the lower filaments i? cannot take place without an expenditure of the water under the surface AB. The surface therefore sinks, and B instantly ceases to retain its place in the horizontal plane. The water does not successively flow forward from A to B, and then tumble over the precipice; but immediately opening the floodgate, the water wastes from the space immediately behind it, and the whole puts on the form represented in fig. 4, consisting of the curve A 6 P c EG, convex from A to c, and concave from thence forFig. 4. ward. The superficial water begins to accelerate all the way from A ; and the particles may be supposed (for the present) to have acquired the velocity corresponding to their depth under the horizontal surface. This must be understood as nothing more than a vague sketch of the motions. It requires a very critical and intricate investigation to determine either the form of the upper curve or the motions of the different filaments. The place A, where the curvature begins, is of equally difficult determination, and is various according to the differences of depth and of inclination of the succeeding canal. We have thus given an historical sketch of the progress

RIVER 187 Theory, which had been made in this part of hydraulics, that our water through pipes are, of all that have yet been made, Theory, readers might form some opinion of the many dissertations most numerous and exact, and may be appealed to on ' Uncer- which have been written on the motion of rivers, and of the the tainty of state of the arts depending on it. Much of the business of the every occasion. Those made in open canals are still more numerous, and are no doubt equally accurate ; but they the theo,^0 when civil engineer r, intimately connected with it; and we may have not been so contrived as to be so extensively useful, ries applied to therefore believe, that since there was so little principle in being in general very unlike the important cases which will practice the theories, there could be but very little certainty in the occur in practice; and they seem to have been contrived exempli- practical operations. The fact has been, that no engineer chiefly with the view of establishing or overturning certain fied. could pretend to say, with any precision, what would be the points of hydraulic doctrine which were probably prevalent effect of his operations. One whose business had given him at the time among the practical hydraulists. many opportunities, and who had kept accurate and judicious The experiments of Bossut are also of both kinds ; and registers of his own works, could pronounce, with some pro- though on a much smaller scale than those of Michelotti, bability, how much water would be brought off by a drain seem to deserve equal confidence. As far as they follow the of certain dimensions and a given slope, when the circum- same tract, they perfectly coincide in their results, which stances of the case happened to tally with some former work should procure confidence in the other; and they are made in which he had succeeded or failed; but out of the pale in situations much more analogous to the usual practical of his own experience he could only make a sagacious cases. This readers them doubly valuable. They are to be guess. A remarkable instance of this occurred some time found in his two volumes entitled Hydrodynamique. He ago. A small aqueduct was carried into Paris. It had been has opened this path of procedure in a manner so new and conducted on a plan presented to the academy, who had so judicious, that he has in some measure the merit of such corrected it, and gave a report of what its performance as shall follow him in the same path. would be. When executed in the most accurate manner, This has been most candidly and liberally allowed him an(l the it was deficient in the proportion of five to nine. When by the Chevalier du Buat, who has taken up the matter Pr°gresthe celebrated Desaguliers was employed by the city of where the Abbe Bossut left it, and has prosecuted his expeEdinburgh to superintend the bringing in the water for the riments with great assiduity, and, we must now add, with jju J3uat! supply of the city, he gave a report on the plan which was singular success. By a very judicious consideration of the to be followed. It was executed to his complete satisfac- subject, he hit on a particular view of it, which saved him tion ; and the quantity of water delivered was about one the trouble of a minute consideration of the small internal sixth of the quantity which he promised, and about one motions, and enabled him to proceed from a very general eleventh of the quantity which the no less celebrated and evident proposition, which may be received as the key Maclaurin calculated from the same plan. to a complete system of practical hydraulics. We shall folNecessity Such being the state of our theoretical knowledge (if it low this ingenious author in what we have further to say on of multi- can be called by this name), naturalists began to be per- the subject; and we doubt not but that our readers will plying ex suaded that it was but losing time to make use of a theory think we do a service to the public by making these discusperiments so incongruous with observation, and that the only safe mesions of the Chevalier du Buat more generally known in this thod of proceeding was to multiply experiments in every country. It must not however be expected that we shall variety of circumstances, and to make a series of experi- give more than a synoptical view of them, connected by ments in every important case, which should comprehend such familiar reasoning as may be either comprehended or all the practical modifications of that case. Perhaps cir- confided in by persons not deeply versed in mathematical cumstances of resemblance might occur, which would enable science. us to connect many of them together, and at last discover the principles which occasioned this connection; by which Sect. I—Theory of Rivers. means a theory founded on science might be obtained. And if this point should not be gained, we might perhaps find a It is certain that the motion of open streams must, in some His leadfew general facts, which are modified in all these particular respects, resemble that of bodies sliding down inclined planesing propocases, in such a manner that we can still trace the general perfectly polished ; and that they would accelerate continu-sition. facts, and see the part of particular case which depends ally, were they not obstructed ; but they are obstructed, and on it. This would be the acquisition of what may be called frequently move uniformly. This can only arise from an an empirical theory, by which every phenomenon would be equilibrium between the forces which promote their descent explained, in so far as the explanation of a phenomenon is and those which oppose it. Du Buat, therefore, assumes nothing more than the pointing out the general fact or law the leading proposition, that, under which it is comprehended ; and this theory would When water flows uniformly on any channel or bed, the answer every practical purpose, because we should confi- accelerating force which obliges it to move is equal to the sum dently foresee what consequences would result from such of all the resistances which it meets with, whether arising from and such premises; or if we should fail even in this, we its own viscidity, or from the friction of its bed. should still have a series of experiments so comprehensive, This law is as old as the formation of rivers, and should that we could tell what place in the series would correspond be the key of hydraulic science. Its evidence is clear; and to any particular case which might be proposed. it is, at any rate, the basis of all uniform motion. And Labours of There are two gentlemen whose labours in this respect since it is so, there must be some considerable analogy beM cl elotti ‘ I deserve very particular notice, Professor Michelotti of Tu- tween the motion in pipes and in open channels. Both 1 1 and the Abb Bossut of Paris The firs tothisway^’digious ™’ - on t madeofawater pro- owe their origin to an inequality of pressure, both would acnumber of® experiments, both the motion celerate continually if nothing hindered, and both are rethrough pipes and in open canals. They were performed duced to uniformity by the viscidity of the fluid and the at the expense of the sovereign, and no expense was spared. friction of the channel. A tower was built of the finest masonry, to serve as a vesIt will therefore be convenient to examine the phenomena The subsel from which the water was to issue through holes of va- of water moving in pipes by the action of its weight onlyject of the rious sizes, under pressures of from five to twenty-two feet. along the sloping channel. But, previously to this, we must*.?^0"’^# The water was received into basins constructed of masonry take some notice of the obstruction to the entry of water and nicely lined with stucco, from whence it was conveyed into a channel of any kind, arising from the deflection of^ °^ose in canals of brickwork lined with stucco, and of various the many different filaments which press into the channel forms and declivities. The experiments on the expense of from the reservoir from every side. We shall then be able

RIVER. 188 Theory, to separate this diminution of motion from the sum total cause it cannot be carried on by such boats and smalf craft Theory, ' v'™*" that is observed, and ascertain what part remains as pro- as we have been accustomed to look at. The effects of canals of derivation, the rules or maxims duced by the subsequent obstructions. We shall then consider the principle of uniform motion, of draining, and the general maxims of embankment, come the equilibrium between the power and the resistance. The in the next place; and our discussions will conclude with power is the relative height of the column of fluid which remarks on the most proper forms for the entry to canals, tends to move along the inclined plane of its bed ; the re- locks, docks, harbours, and mouths of rivers, the best shape sistance is the friction of the bed, the viscidity of the fluid, for the starlings of bridges and of boats for inland navigaand its adhesion to the sides. Here is necessarily com- tion, and such like subordinate but interesting particulars, bined a number of circumstances which must be gradually which will be suggested by the general thread of discusdetached, that we may see the effect of each, viz. the extent sion. It is considered as physically demonstrated (see Hydro- Natural of the bed, its perimeter, and its slope. By examining the effects produced by variations of each of these separately, dynamics), that water issuing from a small orifice in the velocity, we discover what share each has in the general effect; and bottom or side of a very large vessel, almost instantly ac- aexpense, n feet 4 inches, or 772 inches, and V2g=. 27,78 The study of these natural laws pleases the mind: but it have answers a still greater purpose ; it enables us to assist na- inches, nearly 27| inches. Therefore V = VlT2 Vh, = 27-78 Vh, and N = O ture, and to hasten her operations, which our wants and our impatience often find too slow. It enables us to command V772 Vh, = O 27-78 Vh. But it is also well known, that if we were to calculate the the elements, and to force them to administer to our wants expense or discharge for every orifice by this simple rule, and our pleasures. We shall therefore, in the next place, apply the know- we should in every instance find it much greater than naledge which we may acquire to the solution of the most im- ture really gives us. When water issues through a hole in a thin plate, the portant hydraulic questions which occur in the practice of lateral columns, pressing into the hole from all sides, cause the civil engineer. We shall consider the effects produced by a permanent the issuing filaments to converge to the axis of the jet, and addition to any river or stream by the union of another, and contract its dimensions at a little distance from the hole. the opposite effect produced by any draught or offset, show- And it is in this place of greatest rcontraction that the waing the elevation or depression produced up the stream, and ter acquires that velocity which w e observe in our experithe change made in the depth and velocity below the ad- ments, and which we assume as equal to that acquired by falling from the surface. Therefore, that our computed dition or offset. We shall pay a similar attention to the temporary swells discharge may best agree w-ith observation, it must be calculated on the supposition that the orifice is diminished to produced by freshes. We shall ascertain the effects of straightening the course the size of this smallest section. But the contraction is of a stream, which, by increasing its slope, must increase its subject to variations, and the dimensions of this smallest velocity, and therefore sink the waters above the place section are at all times difficult to ascertain with precision. where the curvature was removed, and diminish the ten- It is therefore much more convenient to compute from the dency to overflow, while the same immediate consequence real dimensions of the orifice, and to correct this computed must expose the places farther down to the risk of floods, discharge, by means of an actual comparison of the computed and effective discharges in a series of experiments from which they would otherwise have been free. The effects of dams or weirs, and of bars, must then be made in situations resembling those cases which most freconsidered; the gorge or swell which they produce up the quently occur in practice. This correction, or its cause, in Contracstream must be determined for every distance from the the mechanism of those internal motions, is generally called tion. weir or bar. This will furnish us with rules for rendering contraction by the writers on hydraulics ; and it is not navigable or floatable such waters as have too little depth confined to a hole in a thin plate : it happens in some deor too great slope. And it will appear that immense ad- gree in all cases where fluids are made to pass through narvantages may be thus derived, with a moderate expense, row places. It happens in the entry into all pipes, canals, even from trifling brooks, if we will relinquish all prejudices, and sluices; nay even into the passage of water over the and not imagine that such conveyance is impossible be- edge of a board, such as is usually set up on the head of a

RIVE R. Theory, dam or weir, and even when this is immersed in water on both sides, as in a bar or keep, frequently employed for raising the waters of the level streams in Flanders in order to render them navigable. We mentioned an observation1 of Du Buat to this effect, when he saw a gooseberry rise up from the bottom of the canal along the face of the bar, and then rapidly fly over its top. We have attempted to represent this motion of the filaments in these different situations. Fig. 5.

Q, for ditto projecting inwards and } 6gi4, — 018‘93 v7t flowing full J Q for ditto with a contracted jet, fig. { 5^37 —q 14-27 V4

Q, for the mouth-piece, fig. D .9831 =0 27-31 Vh Q for a weir, fig. E 9536 =026-49 a/A Q for a bar, fig. F 9730 = 027-03 V/i The numbers in the last column of this little table are the cubical inches of water discharged in a second when the height A is one inch. It must be observed, that the discharges assigned here for the weir and bar relate only to the contractions occasioned by the passage over the edge of the board. The weir may also suffer a diminution by the contractions at its two ends, if it should be narrower than the stream, which is generally the case, because the two ends are commonly of square masonry or wood-work. The contraction there is nearly the same with that at the edge of a thin plate. But this could not be introduced into this table, because its effect on the expense is the same in quantity whatever is the length of the waste-board of the weir. Motion of A shows the motion through a thin plate. In like manner, the diminution of discharge through aDiminufilaments B shows the motion when a tube of about two diameters sluice could not be expressed here. When a sluice istion of ilisc iar e in various particular long is added, and when the water flows with a full mouth. drawn up, but its lower edge still remains under water, the ! S . situations, This does not always happen in so short a pipe (and never discharge is contracted both above and at the sides, and^P^, sluice, &c. in one that is shorter), but the water frequently detaches the diminution of discharge by each is in proportion to its itself from the sides of the pipe, and flows with a contract- extent. It is not easy to reduce either of these contractions ed jet. to computation, but they may be very easily observed. C shows the motion when the pipe projects into the in- We frequently can observe the water, at coming out of a side of the vessel. In this case it is difficult to make it sluice into a mill-course, quit the edge of the aperture, and show a part of the bottom quite dry. This is always the flow full. D represents a mouth-piece fitted to the hole, and form- case when the velocity of efflux is considerable. When it ed agreeably to that shape which a jet would assume of it- is very moderate, this place is occupied by an eddy water self. In this case all contraction is avoided, because the almost stagnant. When the head of water is eight or ten mouth of this pipe may be considered as the real orifice, inches, and runs off freely, the space left between it and If i1the sides of the and nothing now diminishes the discharge but a trifling the sides is about one and a half inch rr friction of the sides. entry have a slope, this void space can never appear; but E shows the motion of water over a dam or weir, where there is always this tendency to convergence, which dimithe fall is free or unobstructed; the surface of the lower nishes the quantity of the discharge. stream being lower than the edge or sole of the wasteIt will frequently abridge computation very much to consider the water discharged in these different situations as board. F is a similar representation of the motion of water over moving with a common velocity, which we conceive as prowhat we would call a bar or keep. duced not by a fall from the surface of the fluid (which is and the ef- It was one great aim of the experiments of Michelotti exact only when the expense is equal to the natural exfects of and Bossut to determine the effects of contraction in these pense), but by a fall k accommodated to the discharge : or contraction cases. Michelotti, after carefully observing the form and it is convenient to know the height which would produce determin- dimensions of the natural jet, made various mouth-pieces that very velocity which the water issues with in these sied. resembling it, till he obtained one which produced the tuations. smallest diminution of the computed discharge, or till the And also, when the water is observed to be actually discharge computed for the area of its smaller end approach- moving with a velocity V, and we know whether it is corned the nearest to the effective discharge. And he at last ing through a thin plate, through a tube, over a dam, &c. obtained one which gave a discharge of 983, when the na- it is necessary to know the pressure or head of water k tural discharge would have been 1000. This piece was which has actually produced this velocity. It is convenient formed by the revolution of a trochoid round the axis of therefore to have the following numbers in readiness. the jet, and the dimensions were as follow: -ZL Diameter of the outer orifice = 36 h for the natural expense , 772 Diameter of the inner orifice = 46 V2 Length of the axis = 96 h for a thin plate at the depth of 8 feet... = ^gg The results of the experiments of the Abbe Bossut and of Michelotti scarcely differ, and they are expressed in the _ V2 h for a tube 2 diam. long. following table: “509 N or the natural expense 10000 =027*78 V/i - Zi h for a dam or weir. Q for the thin plate, fig. A, almost } _ Qjg.jg ^ “702 cit tli0 surface••••••••••••#••••••••••• f - Zi h for a bar. Q for ditto at the depth of 8 feet 6195 = 017*21 Vk “731 Q for ditto at the depth of 16 feet 6173 = 017*15 Vk It was necessary to premise these facts in hydraulics, Q for a tube 2 diameters long, fig. B... 8125 = 022*57 Vk 1

See Hydrodynamics, vol xii.

190 RIVER. Theory, that we may be able in every case to distinguish between by an accelerating force proportional to its depth, it is true; Theory '-"■"■y-"-' the force expended in the entry of the water into the con- but he makes it equal to the weight of the row OP, and *" duit or canal, and the force employed in overcoming the never recollects that the greatest part of it is balanced by resistances along the canal, and in preserving or accelerat- an opposite pressure, nor perceives that the force which is ing its motion in it. not balanced must be distributed among a row of particles Ihe mo'pjle motion of running water is produced by two causes : which varies in the same proportion with itself. When act on versde™' ^ > °f gravity; and, 2. the mobility of the par- these two circumstances are neglected, the result will be pends on tides, which makes them assume a level in confined ves- incompatible with observation. When the balanced forces the slope sels, or determines them to move to that side where there are taken into the account of pressure, it is evident that the of the sur- is a defect of pressure. When the surface is level, every surface may be supposed horizontal, and that motion should face. particle is at rest, being equally pressed in all directions; obtain in this case as well as in the case of a sloping surbut if the surface is not level, not only does a particle on face ; and indeed this is Guglielmini’s professed theory, and the very surface tend by its own weight towards the lower what he highly values himself upon. He announces this disside, as a body would slide along an inclined plane, but covery of a new principle, which he calls the energy of there is a force, external to itself, arising from a superiority deep waters, as an important addition to hydraulics. It is of pressure on the upper end of the surface, which pushes owing to this, says he, that the great rivers are not stagnant this superficial particle towards the lower end ; and this is at their mouths, where they have no perceptible declivity not peculiar to the superficial particles, but affects every of surface, but, on the contrary, have greater energy and particle within the mass of water. In the vessel ACDE velocity than farther up, where they are shallower. This (fig. 6), containing water with principle is the basis of his improved theory of rivers, and an inclined surface AE, if Fig. 6. is insisted on at great length by all the subsequent writers. we suppose all frozen but Buffbn, in his theory of the earth, makes much use of it. the extreme columns AKHB, We cannot but wonder that it has been allowed a place in FGLE, and a connecting porthe theory of rivers given in the great Encyclopedie of Pation HKCDLG, it is evident, ris, and in an article having the signature (O) of D’Alembert. from hydrostatical laws, that We have been very anxious to show the falsity of this the water on this connecting principle, because we consider it as a mere subterfuge of part will be pushed in the direction CD ; and if the frozen Guglielmini, by which he was able to patch up the mathemass BHGF were moveable, it would also be pushed along. matical theory which he had so hastily taken from Newton Giving it fluidity will make no change in this respect; and or Galileo ; and we think that we have secured our readers it is indifferent what is the situation and shape of the con- from being misled by it, when we show that this energy necting column or columns. The propelling force (MNF must be equally operative when the surface is on a dead being horizontal) is the weight of the column AMNB. The level. The absurdity of this is evident. We shall see by same thing will obtain wherever we select the vertical co- and by, that deep waters, when in actual motion, have an lumns. There will always be a force tending to push every energy not to be found in shallow running waters, by which particle of water in the direction of the declivity. The they are enabled to continue that motion; but this is not a consequence will be, that the water will sink at one end moving principle; and it will be fully explained, as an imand rise at the other, and its surface will rest in the hori- mediate result of principles, not vaguely conceived and inzontal position aO e, cutting the former in its middle O. distinctly expressed, like this of Guglielmini, but easily unThis cannot be, unless there be not only a motion of per- derstood, and appreciable with the greatest precision. It pendicular descent and ascent of the vertical columns, but is an energy common to all great bodies. Although they also a real motion of translation from K towards L. It per- lose as much momentum in surmounting any obstacle as haps exceeds our mathematical skill to tell what will be the small ones, they lose but a small portion of their velocity. motion of each particle. Newton did not attempt it in his At present, employed only in considering the progressive investigation of the motion of waves, nor is it at all neces- motion of an open stream, whose surface is not level, it is sary here. We may, however, acquire a very distinct no- quite enough that we see that such a motion must obtain, tion of its general effect. Let OPQ be a vertical plane and that we see that there are propelling forces; that passing through the middle point O. It is evident that those forces arise solely from the want of a level surface, or every particle in PQ, such as P, is pressed in the direction from the slope of the surface; and that, with respect to any QD, with a force equal to the weight of a single row of one particle, the force acting on it is proportional to the particles whose length is the difference between the columns difference of level between each of the two columns (one BH and FG. The force acting on the particle Q, is, in on each side of the particle) which produce it. Were the like manner, the weight of a row of particles = AC — ED. surface level, there w'ould be no motion; if it is not level, Now if OQ, OA, OE, be divided in the same ratio, so that there will be motion ; and this motion will be proportional all the figures ACDE, BHGF, &c. may be similar, we see to the want of level or the declivity of the surface : it is of that the force arising solely from the declivity, and acting no consequence whether the bottom be level or not, or on each particle on the plane OQ,, is proportiona. to its what is its shape. depth under the surface, and that the row of particles Hence we draw a fundamental principle, that the motion ACQDE, BHPGF, &c. which is to be moved by it, is in of rivers depends entirely on the slope of the surface. the same proportion. Hence it unquestionably follows, that The slope or declivity of any inclined plane is not prothe accelerating force on each particle of the row is the perly expressed by the difference of height alone of its exsame in all. Therefore the whole plane OQ tends to ad- tremities : we must also consider its length ; and the meavance forward together with the same velocity ; and in the sure of the slope must be such that it may be the same instant immediately succeeding, all these particles would while the declivity is the same. It must therefore be the be found again in a vertical plane indefinitely nearer to same over the whole of any one inclined plane. We shall OQ; and if we sum up the forces, we shall find them the answer these conditions exactly, if we take for the measure same as if OQ were the opening of a sluice, having the wa- of a slope the fraction which expresses the elevation of one ter on the side of D standing level with O, and the water extremity above the other divided by the length of the on the other side standing at the height AC. This result will express the declivity of the plane is extremely different from that of the hasty theory of plane. Thus Guglielmini. He considers each particle in OQ as urged AF.

RIVER. 191 Theory. If tin; water met with no resistance from the bed in grees which open streams will not admit of. The Chevah’er Theory, which it runs, if it had no adhesion to its sides and bottom, du Boat has most happily succeeded in this demonstration j When it is and if its fluidity were perfect, its gravity would accelerate and it is here that his good fortune and his penetration have uniform its course continually, and the earth and its inhabitants done so much service to practical science. the resist, would be deprived of all the advantages which they derive Let AB (fig. 7) be a horizontal tube, through which theThe acceance is 1 equal to from its numberless streams. They would run off so quick- water is impelled by the pressure or head DA. This head^"^®" f the aceele ly, that oar fields, dried up as soon as watered, would be is the moving power ; and it ance of warating Fig. 7. barren and useless. No soil could resist the impetuosity may be conceived as consisting ter in a force. of the torrents ; and their accelerating force would render of two parts, performing two horizontal r tube, them a destroying scourge, w ere it not that, by kind Pro- distinct offices. One of thqm vidence, the resistance of the bed, and the viscidity of the is employed in impressing on fluid, become a check which reins them in and sets bounds the water that velocity with to their rapidity. In this manner the friction on the sides, which it actually moves in the which, by the viscidity of the water, is communicated to tube. Were there no obstructhe whole mass, and the very adhesion of the particles to tions to this motion, no greater each other, and to the sides of the channel, are the causes head would be wanted ; but which make the resistances bear a relation to the velocity; there are obstructions, arising from friction, adhesion, and so that the resistances, augmenting with the velocities, come viscidity. This requires force. Let this be the office of at last to balance the accelerating force. Then the velo- the rest of the head of water in the reservoir. There is city now acquired is preserved, and the motion becomes but one allotment, appropriation, or repartition of the whole uniform, without being able to acquire new increase, unless head which will answer. Suppose E to be the point of some change succeeds either in the-slope or in the capacity partition, so that DE is the head necessary for impressing velocity on the water (a head or pressure which of the channel. Hence arises the second maxim in the the actual motion of rivers, that when a stream moves uniformly, the has a- relation to the form or circumstance of the entry, and the contraction which takes place there). The rest EA is resistance is equal to the accelerating force. As in the efflux of water through orifices, we pass over wholly employed in overcoming the simultaneous resistances the very beginnings of the accelerated motion, which is a which take place along the whole tube AB, and is in equimatter of speculative curiosity, and consider the motion in librio with this resistance. Therefore, if we apply at E a a state of permanency, depending on the head of water, the tube EC, of the same length and diameter with AB, and area of the orifice, the velocity, and the expense ; so in the having the same degree of polish or roughness ; and if this theory of the uniform motion of rivers, we consider the tube be inclined in such a manner that the axis of its exslope, the transverse section or area of the stream, the uni- tremity may coincide with the axis of AB in the point C ; form velocity, and the expense. It will be convenient to we affirm that the velocity will be the same in both pipes, affix precise meanings to the terms which we shall employ. and that they will have the same expense ; for the moving The section of a stream is the area of a plane perpen- force in the sloping pipe EC is composed of the whole Terms weight of the column DE and the relative weight of the precisely dicular to the direction of the general motion. explained. The resistances arise ultimately from the action of the column EC; but this relative weight, by which alone it water on the internal surface of the channel, and must be descends along the inclined pipe EC, is precisely equal to proportional (cceteris paribus) to the extent of the action. the weight of a vertical column EA of the same diameter. Therefore, if we unfold the whole edge of this section, which Everything therefore is equal in the two pipes, viz. the is rubbed as it were by the passing water, we shall have a lengths, the diameters, the moving forces, and the resistmeasure of the extent of this action. In a pipe, circular or ances ; therefore the velocities and discharges will also be prismatical, the whole circumference is acted on ; but in a equal. This is not only the case on the whole, but also in every river or canal ACDR (fig. 6) the horizontal line aOe, which makes the upper boundary of the section aCDe, is free from part of it. The relative weight of any part of it EK is preall action. The action is confined to the three lines aC, cisely in equilibrio with the resistances along that part of CD, De. We shall call this line aCDe the border of the the pipe ; for it has the same proportion to the whole relasection. tive weight that the resistance has to the whole resistance. The mean velocity is that with which the whole sec- Therefore {and this is the most important circumstance, and tion, moving equally, would generate a solid equal to the the basis of the whole theory) the pipe EC may be cut shorter, expense of the stream. This velocity is to be found per- or may be lengthened to infinity, without making any change haps but in one filament of the stream, and we do not know in the velocity or expense, so long as the propelling head DE remains the same. in which filament it is to be found. Leaving the whole head DA as it is, if we lengthen the Since we are attempting to establish an empirical theory of the motion of rivers, founded entirely on experiments, and horizontal pipe AB to G, it is evident that we increase the palpable deductions from them, and since it is extremely resistance without any addition of force to overcome it. difficult to make experiments on open streams which shall The velocity must therefore be diminished ; and it will now have a precision sufficient for such an important purpose, be a velocity which is produced by a smaller head than DE: it would be a most desirable thing to demonstrate an exact therefore, if we were to put in a pipe of equal length at E, not analogy between the mutual balancing of the acceleration terminating in the horizontal line AG, the water will and resistance in pipes and in rivers ; for in those we can run equally in both pipes. In order that it may, wTe must not only make experiments with all the desired accuracy, discover the diminished velocity with which the water now and admitting precise measures, but we can make them in actually runs along AG, and we must make a head DI caa number of cases that are almost impracticable in rivers. pable of impressing this velocity at the entry of the pipe, We can increase the slope of a pipe from nothing to the and then insert at I a pipe IH of the same length with AG. and velocity of both pipes will now be the vertical position, and we can employ every desired degree The expense of pressure, so as to ascertain its effect on the velocity in de- same.1 1

We recommend it to the reader to make this distribution or allotment of the different portions of the pressure very familiar to his mind. It is of the most extensive influence in every question of hydraulics, and will on every occasion give him distinct conceptions of the internal procedure. Obvious as the thought seems to be, it has escaped the attention of all the writers on the subject.

RIVER. What has now been said of a horizontal pipe AB would sition it has the greatest uniform velocity possible relative Theory, v to its inclination, or depending on inclination alone.” have been equally true of any inLet this velocity be called the train, or the rate, of Fig. 8. or in an in- clined pipe AB A'B (fig. 8). Draweach pipe. clined pipe. jng ^]ie horizontal line CB, we see It is evident that this principle is of the utmost conse- Measure of that DC is the whole head or proquence in the theory of hydraulics ; for by experiment we pelling pressure for either pipe AB can find the train of any pipe. It is in train when an in° e or A'B ; and if DE is the head necrease of length makes no change in the velocity. If lengthwith a gi_ cessary for the actual velocity, EC ening the pipe increases the velocity, the slope of the pipe yen velois the head necessary for balanis too great, and vice versa. And having discovered the city, cing the resistances; and the pipe train of a pipe, and observed its velocity, and computed the EF, of the same length with AB, and terminating in the same horizontal line, will have the head productive of this velocity with the contraction at the same velocity : and its inclination being thus determined, entry, the remainder of the head, that is, the slope (for this it will have the same velocity and expense whatever be its is equivalent to EA), is the measure of the resistance. Thus we obtain the measure of the resistance to the motion with length. Analogy Thus we see that the motion in any pipe, horizontal or a given velocity in a pipe of given diameter. If we change between sloping, may be referred to or substituted for the motion in only the velocity, we get the measure of the new resistance these pipes another inclined pipe, whose head of water, above the place relative to the velocity ; and thus discover the law of relaand rivers Then, changing entry} is that productive of the actual velocity of the tion between the resistance and velocity. only the diameter of the pipe, we get the measure of the 1 nS water t ie e ted b Du ^ PT * in this case, the accelerating force relative to the diameter. This is the aim of a Results of Euatf is equal to the resistance : we may therefore consider this resistance number and collected .1by investigaDu Buat s last pipe as a river, of which the bed and the slope are uni- prodigious — — _ . .of experiments made ... nvestl a * form or constant, and the current in a state of permanency ; Du Buat, and which we shall not repeat, but only give the jtion on"this j subject. and we now may clearly draw this important conclusion, results of the different parts of his investigation. that pipes and open streams, when in a state of permanency, We may express the slope of a pipe by the symbol —, 1 perfectly resemble each other in the circumstances which are the immediate causes of this permanency. The equi- being an inch, for instance, and s being the slant length of librium between the accelerating force obtains not only in a pipe which is one inch more elevated at one end than at general, but takes place through the whole length of the the other. Thus a river which has a declivity of an inch pipe or stream, and is predicable of every individual trans- and a half in 120 fathoms or 8640 inches, has its slope verse section of either. To make this more palpably evior -4—. But in order to obtain the hydraulic dent, if possible, let us consider a sloping cylindrical pipe, — —!-iL, 8640 5760 the current of which is in a state of permanency. We can slope of a conduit-pipe, the height of the reservoir and place conceive it as consisting of two half cylinders, an upper and of discharge being given, we must subtract from the differa lower. These are running together at an equal pace ; and ence of elevation the height or head of water necessary for the filaments of each immediately contiguous to the sepa- propelling the water into any pipe with the velocity V, rating plane and to each other are not rubbing on each 2 other, nor affecting each other’s motions in the smallest de- which it is supposed actually to have. This is V The gree. It is true that the upper half is pressing on the lower, but in a direction perpendicular to the motion, and there- remainder d is to be considered as the height of the declifore not affecting the velocity ; and we shall see presently, vity, which is to be distributed equally over the whole length that although the lower side of the pipe bears somewhat , , , . , d \ more pressure than the other, the resistances are not l of the pipe, and the slope is then y — changed. Indeed this odds of pressure is accompanied There is another important view to be taken of the slope, with a difference of motion, which need not be considered which the reader should make very familiar to his thoughts. at present; and we may suppose the pipe so small or so far below the surface that this shall be insensible. Now let It expresses the proportion between the weight of the whole us suppose, that in an instant the upper half cylinder is anni- column which is in motion and the weight which is employhilated : we then have an open stream ; and every circum- ed in overcoming the resistance; and the resistance to the stance of accelerating force and of resistance remains pre- motion of any column of water is equal to the weight of cisely as it was. The motion must therefore continue as it that column multiplied by the fraction which expresses did ; and in this state the only accelerating force is the slope of the surface. The demonstration therefore is complete. its slope. We now come to consider more particularly the resist- Of the reConseFrom these observations and reasonings we draw a genesistances quence. ral and important conclusion, “ that the same pipe will be ances which in this manner bring the motion to a state of susceptible of different velocities, which it will preserve uni- uniformity. If we consider the resistances which arise from ^ kich^ form to any distance, according as it has different inclina- a cause analogous to friction, we see that they must depend moti” ns t0 tions ; and each inclination of a pipe of given diameter has entirely on the inertia of the water. What we call the re- a sUte 0f a certain velocity peculiar to itself, which will be maintain- sistance is the diminution of a motion which would have uniformity, ed uniform to any distance whatever; and this velocity in- obtained but for these resistances; and the best way we creases continually, according to some law, to be discovered have of measuring them is by the force which we must emby theory or experiment, as the position of the pipe changes ploy in order to keep up or restore this motion. We estifrom being horizontal till it becomes vertical; in which po- mate this motion by a progressive velocity, which we meaLecchi, in his Hydraulics, published in 1766, ascribes something like it to Daniel Bernoulli; but Bernoulli, in the passage quoted_ only speaks of the partition of pressure in the instant of opening an orifice. Fart of it, says he, is employed in accelerating the quiescent water, and producing the velocity of efflux, and the remainder produces the pressure (now diminished) on the sides of the vessel. Bernoulli, Bossut, and all the good writers, make this distribution in express terms in their explanation of the motion of water through successive orifices ; and it is surprising that no one before the Chevalier du Buat saw that the resistance arising from friction required a similar partition of the pressure ; but though we should call this good fortune, we must ascribe to his great sagacity and justness of conception the beautiful use that he has made of it: surnn euique.

RIVER. 193 Theory. sure by the expense of water in a given time. We judge He found, in the first place, that in the same channel Theorv jr- v the velocity to diminish when the quantity discharged dithe product of V and Vs increased as Vs increased ; that minishes ; yet it may be otherwise, and probably is other- is, the velocities increased faster than the square roots of wise. The absolute velocity of many, if not all, of the par- the slope, or the resistances did not increase as fast as the ticles, may even be increased; but many of the motions squares of the velocities. We beg leave to refer our readers being transverse to the general direction, the quantity of to what we said on the resistance of pipes to the motion of motion in this direction may be less, while the sum of the fluids through them, in the article Pneumatics, when speakabsolute motions of all the particles may be greater. When ing of bellows. They , will there see very valid reasons, we we increase the general velocity, it is not unreasonable to apprehend, for thinking that the resistances must increase suppose that the impulses on all the inequalities are increas- more slowly than the squares of the velocities. ed in this proportion ; and the number of particles thus imIt being found, then, that V Vs is not equal to a constant pelling and deflected at the same time will increase in the same proportion. The whole quantity, therefore, of these quantity Vmg, it becomes necessary to investigate some useless and lost motions will increase in the duplicate ratio quantity depending on Vs, or, as it is called, some function of of the velocities, and the force necessary for keeping up the Vs which shall render Vmg a constant quantity. Let X motion will do so also; that is, the resistances should in- be this function of Vs, so that we shall always have VX crease as the squares of the velocities. Or if we consider the resistances as arising merely from V mg . . equal to the the curvature of the imperceptible internal motions occa- equal to the constant quantity Vmg, or —y— A. sioned by the inequalities of the sides of the pipe, and as actual velocity V of a pipe or channel which is in train. measured by the forces necessary for producing these curDu Buat, after many trials and reflections, the chief of vilineal motions ; then, because the' curves will be the same which be mentioned by and by, found a value of X whatever are the velocities, the deflecting forces will be as which wdll corresponded a vast variety of slopes and velothe squares of the velocities; but these deflecting forces cities, from motions with almost imperceptible, in a bed nearly are pressures, propagated from the parts urged or pressed horizontal, to the greatest which could be proby the external force, and are proportional to these external duced by gravity alone in velocities a vertical pipe; and when he pressures by the principles of hydrostatics. Therefore the compared them together, he found a very discernible relapressures or forces necessary for keeping up the velocities tion between the resistances and the magnitude of the secare as the squares of these velocities ; and they are our only tion; that is, that in two channels which had the same measures of the resistances which must be considered as slope, and the same propelling force, the velocity was following the same ratio. Whatever view therefore we take greatest channel which had the greatest section reof the nature of these resistances, we are led to consider lative to initstheborder. This may reasonably be expected. them as proportional to the squares of the velocities. The resistances arise from the mutual action of the water We may therefore express the resistances by the symbol and this border. The water immediately contiguous to it V2 —, m being some number to be discovered by experiment. is retarded, and this retards the next, and so on. It is to be expected, therefore, that if the border, and the velocity, and Thus, in a particular pipe, the diminution of the motion or the slope, be the same, the diminution of this velocity will the resistance may be the 1000th part of the square of the be so much the less as it is to be shared among a greater number of particles; that is, as the area of the section is V2 velocity, , J and R = r greater in proportion to the extent of its border. The di1000 minution of the general or medium velocity must be less in Now if g be the accelerating power of gravity on any a cylindrical pipe than in a square one of the same area, particle, ^ will be its accelerating power by which it would because the border of the section is less. It appears evident, that the resistance of each particle is in the direct proportion of the whole resistance, and the urge it down the pipe whose slope is -. Therefore, by inverse proportion of the number of particles which receive the principle of uniform motion, the equality of the accele- equal shares of it. It is therefore directly as the border, inversely as the section. Therefore, in the expression V2 = n and and rating force, and the resistance, we shall have — 2 V m s — which we have given for the resistance, the quantity m V Vs = A/mg; that is, the product of the velocity, and the reciprocal of the square root of the slope, or the quo- cannot be constant, except in the same channel; and in tient of the velocity divided by the square root of the slope, different channels it must vary along with the relation of is a constant quantity Vmg for any given pipe; and the the section to its border, because the resistances diminish primary formula for all the uniform velocities of one pipe is in proportion as this relation increases. Without attempting to discover this relation by theoretiy _ ^ m9 ' cal examination of the particular motions of the various s V filaments, Du Buat endeavoured to discover it by a comExperiDu Buat therefore examined this by experiment, but parison of experiments. But this required some manner merits and found, that even with respect to a pipe or channel which of stating this proportion between the augmentation of the WaS uniform ofDuBuat at throughout, this was not true. We could give section and the augmentation of its border. His statement is this : he reduces every section to a rectrespecting’ once ^le formula which he found to express the these re-” velocity in every case whatever; but this would be too em- angular parallelogram of the same area, and having its base sistances, pirical. The chief steps of his very sagacious investigation equal to the border unfolded into a straight line. The pro&c are instructive. We shall therefore mention them briefly, duct of this base by the height of the rectangle will be equal at least as far as they tend to give us any collateral infor- to the area of the section. Therefore this height will be a mation ; and let it always be noted, that the instruction representative of this valuable ratio of the section to its which they convey is not abstract speculation, but experi- border (we do not mean that there is any ratio between a mental truths, which must ever remain as an addition to surface and a line : but the ratio of section to section is our stock of knowledge, although Du Buat’s deductions from different from that of border to border; and it is the ratio them should prove false. of these ratios which is thus expressed by the height of this VOL. XIX. 2 B v

R EVER. g syphon was more than six times greater than before. As Theory, rectangle). If S be the section, and B the border, is it was thought that the friction on this small part (only six ^ inches) was too small a portion of the whole obstruction, evidently a line equal to the height of this rectangle. Every various additional obstructions were put into this part of the section being in this manner reduced to a rectangle, the syphon, and it was even lengthened to nine feet; but still perpendicular height of it may be called the hydraulic no remarkable difference was observed. It was even thought mean DEPTH of the section, and may be expressed by the that the times were less when the syphon was vertical. symbol d. Buat calls it the mean radius. If the chanThus Du Buat’s opinion is completely justified; and Theresistnel be a.cylindrical pipe, or an open half cylinder, it is evi- he may be allowed to assert, that the resistance depends®1^® ^ e“ dent that d is half the radius. If the section is a rectangle, chiefly on the relation between the section and its border ; Chiefly on V mq the relawhose width is w and height h, the mean depth is and that —~ should be a constant quantity. tion beV“ tween the &c. In general, if q represent the proportion of the breadth ascertain this point was the object of the next series section and of a rectangular canal to its depth, that is, if q be made = of To experiments; to see whether this quantity was really its border, w qh to j constant, and, if not, to discover the law of its variation, —, we shall have d = or a =: h’ 7+2 and the physical circumstances which accompanied the vaNow, since the resistances must augment as the propor- riations, and may therefore be considered as their causes tion of the border to the section augments, m in the for- A careful comparison of a very great number of experiments, made with the same slope, and with very different V2 a — — mulas — — - and Y Vs = Vmg must follow the propor- channels and velocities, showed that Vmg did not follow w s tions of d, and the quantity Vmg must be proportional to the proportion of Vd, nor of any power of Vd. This quantity Vmg increased by smaller degrees in proportion V mq Vd, for different channels, and —should be a constant as Vd was greater. In very great beds Vmg was nearly Vd proportional to Vd; but in smaller channels, the velocities quantity in every case. A specious Our author was aware, however, of a very specious ob- diminished much more than Vd did. Casting about for objection jection to the close dependence of the resistance on the ex- some way of accommodation, Du Buat considered, that some tent of the border, and that it might be said that a double approximation at least would be had by taking off from . border did not occasion a double resistance, unless the Vrf some constant small quantity. This is evident: for pressure on all the parts was the same. For it may be natu- such a diminution will have but a trifling effect when^Vd rally, and it is generally, supposed, that the resistance will is great, and its effect will increase rapidly when Vd is be greater when the pressure is greater. The friction, or very small. He therefore tried various values for this subresistance analogous to friction, may therefore be greater traction, and compared the results with the former experion an inch of the bottom than on an inch of the sides; but M. d’Alembert and many others have demonstrated, that the ments ; and he found, that if in every case W be diminishpaths of the filaments will be the same whatever be the pres- ed by one tenth of an inch, the calculated discharges would jbviatedbysures. This might serve to justify our ingenious author; agree very exactly with the experiment. Therefore, instead an experi- but he was determined to rest every thing on experiment, of Vd, he makes use of Vd—OT, and finds this quantity ment on He therefore made an experiment on the oscillation of water Vmg the oscilla- gyphons, which we have repeated in the following form, always proportional to Vmg, or finds that —r ^ ^ tlon of which is affected by the same circumstances, and is suscepwater in syphons. tible of much greater precision, and of more extensive and constant quantity, or very nearly so. It varied from 297 to 287 in all sections, from that of a very small pipe to that important application. of a little canal. In the large sections of canals and rivers The two vessels ABCD, it diminished still more, but never was less than 256. abed were connected by the Fig. 9. This result is very agreeable to the most distinct notions The result syphon EF Ggfe, which turnthat we can form of the mutual actions of the water and its agreeable ed round in the short tubes bed. We see that when the motion of water is obstructed tp our disE and e, without allowing f by a solid body, which deflects the passing filaments, ^ie tions^f any water to escape ; the ^—1| '''[p=q disturbance does not extend to any considerable distance the act;on axis of these tubes being in K " on the two sides of the body. In like manner, the small 0f water one straight line. The vesdisturbances, and imperceptible curvilineal motions, which and its bed, sels were about ten inches are occasioned by the infinitesimal inequalities of the chandeep, and the branches EG, nel, must extend to a very small distance indeed from the fg of the syphon were about sides and bottom of the channel. We know, too, that the five feet long. The vessels mutual adhesion or attraction of water for the solid bodies were set on two tables of which are moistened by it extends to a very small distance, equal height, and (the hole which is probably the same, or nearly so, in all cases. Du e being stopped) the vessel Buat observed, that a surface of twenty-three square inches, ABCD, and the whole syapplied to the surface of stagnant water, lifted 1601 grains; phon, were filled with water, cl r^ganother of 5| square inches lifted 365; this was at the rate and water was poured into the vessel abed till it stood at a certain height LM. The of sixty-five grains per inch nearly, making a column of syphon was then turned into a horizontal position, and the about one sixth of an inch high. Now this effect is very plug drawn out of e, and the time carefully noted which much analogous to a real contraction of the capacity of the the water employed in rising to the level HK kh in both channel. The water may be conceived as nearly stagnant vessels. The whole apparatus was now inclined so that to this small distance from the border of the section. Or, the water ran back into ABCD. The syphon was now put to speak more accurately, the diminution of the progressive in a vertical position, and the experiment was repeated. velocity occasioned by the friction and adhesion of the sides No sensible or regular difference was observed in the time. decreases very rapidly as we recede from the sides, and Yet in this experiment the pressure on the part Gg of the ceases to be sensible at a very small distance.

i

RIVER. 195 The writer of this article1 verified the observation by a very Theory. A simple and instructive experiment. He was making experi- press thus, V = X’ we must admit that X is sensibly equal and con- ments on the production of vortices, in the manner suggested firmed by by Sir Isaac Newton, by whirling a very accurate and smooth- to Vs, when the slope is very small or 5 very great. But, experithat we may accurately express the velocity in proportion ly polished cylinder in water; and he found that the rapid ment. motion of the surrounding water was confined to an exceed- as the slope augments, we must have X less than Vs; ingly small distance from the cylinder, and it was not till and, moreover, ~ must increase as t/s diminishes. These after many revolutions that it was sensible even at the disA. tance of half an inch. We may, by the way, suggest this conditions are necessary that our values of V, deduced from as the best form of experiments for examining the resistances of pipes. The motion excited by the whirling cylin- the formula V — —, may agree with the experiment. A der in the stagnant water is equal and opposite to the moIn order to comprehend every degree of slope, we must tion lost by water passing along a surface equal to that of the cylinder with the same velocity. Be this as it may, we particularly attend to the motion through pipes, because canals will not furnish us with instances of exact are justified in considering, with Du Buat, the section of the open stream as thus diminished by cutting off a narrow border all trains with great slopes and velocities. We can make round the touching parts, and supposing that the motion and pipes vertical. In this case-^ is y, and the velocity is the discharge is the same as if the square root of the mean depth of the section were diminished by a small quantity, nearly greatest possible for a train by the action of gravity : but constant. We see, too, that the effect of this must be in- we can give greater velocities than this by increasing the sensible in great canals and rivers; so that, fortunately, its head of water beyond what produces the velocity of the train. quantity is best ascertained by experiments made with small Let AB (fig. 10) be a vertical tube, and let CA be the pipes. This is attended with another conveniency, in the head competent to the velocity in the tube, which we supopinion of Du Buat, namely, that the effect of viscidity is pose to be in train. The slope is 1, and the full most sensible in great masses of water in slow motion, and weight of the column in motion is the precise Fig. 10. is almost insensible in small pipes, so as not to disturb conthese experiments. We may therefore assume 297 as the measure of the resistance. The value of -, s „ V mg o sidered as a slope, is now a maximum ; but, congeneral value of sidered as expressing the proportion of the weight W—0-1 of the column in motion to the weight which is zz 297, we have also, m in equilibrio with the resistance, it may not be a Since we have — maximum ; it may surpass unity, and s may be Vd — 0-1 less than 1. For if the vessel be filled to E, the 297 88209 2 V — (Vd 0-1)2, = {Vd — 0-1 ) , = 243*7 head of water is increased, and will produce a 362 9 greater velocity, and this will produce a greater 2 {Vd — O-l) . This we may express by n {Vd—0-1)3. resistance. The velocity being now greater, the And thus, when we have expressed the quantity of friction head EF which imparts it must be greater than V2 CA. But it will not be equal to EA, because the uniform by —, the quantity m is variable, and its general value is velocities are found to increase faster than the square roots of the pressures. This is the general fact. Therefore F V2 , „ , 2 in which n is an invariable abstract number is above A, and the weight of the column FB, now em7i(yd —0-1) ployed to overcome the resistance, is greater than the weight equal to 243-7, given by the nature of the resistance which water sustains from its bed, and which indicates its intensity. of the column AB in motion. In such cases, therefore, s And, lastly, since m — n {Vd— 0-1)2, we have Vmg greater than unity, is a sort of fictitious slope, and only re— Vng {Vd — 0-1), and the expression of the velocity V, presents the proportion of the resistance to the weight of which water acquires and maintains along any channel what- the moving column. This proportion may surpass unity. But it cannot be infinite: for, supposing the head of waever, now becomes V — ^n9 {Vd 0*1) 297 (V77 0-1) ter infinite, if this produce a finite velocity, and we deduct X ’ X ’ from the whole height the height corresponding to this fiin which X is also a variable quantity, depending on the nite velocity, there will remain an infinite head, the measlope of the surface or channel, and expressing the accele- sure of an infinite resistance produced by a finite velocity. rating force which, in the case of water in train, is in equi- This does not accord with the observed law of the velocilibrio with the resistances expressed by the numerator of ties, where the resistances actually do not increase as fast as the squares of the velocities. Therefore an infinite head the fraction. Law of ac- Having so happily succeeded in ascertaining the variations would have produced an infinite velocity, in opposition to celeration 0f resistance, let us accompany DuBuat in his investigation the resistances : taking off the head of the tube, competent investi. to this velocity, at the entry of the tube, which head would of the law of acceleration, expressed by the value of X. gated, Experience, in perfect agreement with any distinct opi- also be infinite, the remainder would in all probability be nions that we can form on this subject, had already shown finite, balancing a finite resistance. Therefore the value of s may remain finite, although the him that the resistances increased in a slower ratio than that of the squares of the velocities, or that the velocities velocity be infinite ; and this is agreeable to all our clearest notions of the resistances. increased slower than V s. Therefore, in the formula Adopting this principle, we must find a value of X which v _ Vng {Vd— 0-1)-, which, for one channel, we may ex- will answer all these conditions. 2. It must be sensibly proportional to Vs, while s is great. It must always be less Theory.

1 The late Professor Robison of Edinburgh. * In this formula, and in the subsequent part of the investigation, French inches are employed. For English inches the constant number is 307.

Pt I V E R. than Vs. 3. It must deviate from the proportion of v's so contrary to experience. It would seem, therefore, that Theory, nothing will answer for K but some power of Vs which has —~y~— much the more as Vs is smaller. 4. It must not vanish when tire velocity is infinite. 5. It must agree with a range a variable index. The logarithm of Vs has this property. of experiments with every variety of channel and of slope. We may therefore try to make X = Vs — log. V s. AcWe shall understand the nature of this quantity X better cordingly, if we try the equation V = — p:—j —y-, by representing by lines the quantities concerned in forming it. we shall find a very great agreement with the experiments If the velocities were exactly as the square roots of the till the declivity becomes considerable, or about ^y, which slopes, the equilateral hyperbola NKS (fig. 11) between is much greater than any river. But it will not agree with the velocities observed in some mill-courses, and in pipes Fig. 11. of a still greater declivity, and gives a velocity that is too small; and in vertical pipes the velocity is not above one half of the true one. We shall get rid of most of these incongruities if we make K consist of the hyperbolic logarithm of Vs augmented by a small quantity ; and by trying various values for this constant quantity, and comparing the results with experiment, we may hit on one sufficiently exact for all practical purposes. Du Buat, after repeated trials, found that he would have a very great conformity with experiment by making K =r log. V s + T6, and that the velocities exhibited in his experiments would be very well represented by the forraula v = Vs — L V s + T6 its asymptotes MA, AB, would represent the equation There is a circumstance which our author seems to haveMutualad A — V— The values of Vs would be represented by the overlooked on this occasion, and which is undoubtedly of*1^011 3 abscissae, and the velocities by the ordinates, and V s = A great effect in these motions, viz. the mutual adhesion of^r^P ^ would be the power of the hyperbola. But since these ve- the particles of water. This causes the water which is de- water> scending (in a vertical pipe, for example) to drag more waA — locities are not sensibly equal to except when Vs is very ter after it, and thus greatly increases its velocity. We have seen an experiment in which the water issued from great, and deviate the more from this quantity as Vs is the bottom of a reservoir through a long vertical pipe havsmaller, we may represent the velocities by the ordinates ing a very gentle taper. It was fifteen feet long, one inch of another curve PGT, which approaches very near to the diameter at the upper end, and two inches at the lower. hyperbola, at a great distance from A along AB; but se- The depth of the water in the reservoir was exactly one parates from it when the abscissae are smaller: so that foot; in a minute there were discharged 2-^ cubic feet of if AQ, represents that value of Vs (which we have seen water. It must therefore have issued through the hole in may become less than unity) which corresponds to an in- the bottom of the reservoir with the velocity of 8*85 feet finite velocity, the line Q.0 may be the asymptote of the per second. And yet we know that this head of water could not make it pass through the hole with a velocity new curve. Its ordinates are equal to while those of the greater than 6’56 feet per second. This increase must A. therefore have arisen from the cause we have mentioned, A hyperbola are equal to . Therefore the ratio of these and is a proof of the great intensity of this force. We doubt not but that the discharge might have been much more inVs ordinates, or —, should be such that it shall be so much creased by proper contrivances; and we know many instances in water-pipes where this effect is produced in a nearer to unity as Vs is greater, and shall surpass it so much very great degree. The following case is very distinct. Water is broughtcase An actual the more as Vs is smaller. To express X, therefore, as some function of Vs so as to into the town of Dunbar, in the county of Haddington, answer these conditions, we see in general that X must be from a spring at the distance of about 3200 yards. It is less than Vs. And it must not be equal to any power of conveyed along the first 1100 yards in a pipe of two inches diameter, and the declivity is 12 feet 9 inches ; from thence Vs whose index is less than unity, because then ^ would the water flows in a pipe of 1^ diameter, with a declivity of 44 feet three inches, making in all 57 feet. When the differ so much the more from unity as V 5 is greater. Nor work was carried as far as the two-inch pipe reached, the must it be any multiple of Vs, such as q Vs, for the same discharge was found to be 27 Scotch pints, of 103^ cubic reason. If we make X = Vs —• K, K being a constant inches each, in a minute. When it was brought into the quantity, we may answer the first condition pretty well. town, the discharge was 28. Here it is plain that the deBut K must be very small, that X may not become equal scent along the second stretch of the pipe could derive no to nothing, except in some exceedingly small value of Vs. impulsion from the first. This was only able to supply 27 Now the experiments will not admit of this, because the pints, and to deliver it into a pipe of equal bore. It was .Vs not equivalent to the forcing it into a smaller pipe, and alratl ° y'c K C OeS not mcrease sufficiently to correspond most doubling its velocity. It must therefore have been with the velocities which we observe in certain slopes, un- dragged into this smaller pipe by the weight of what was less we make K greater than unity, which again is incon- descending along it, and this water was exerting a force sistent with other experiments. We learn from such can- equivalent to a head of 16 inches, increasing the velocity vassing that it will not do to make K a constant quantity. from 14 to about 28. If we should make it any fractionary power of Vs, it would It must be observed, that if this formula be just, there make X = 0, that is, nothing, when s is = 1, which is also can be no declivity so small that a current of water will not

RIVER. 197 Theorj. take place in it. And accordingly none has been observed expressing this slope, the numerator being always unity; and Theory, '•—-'v'—'' in the surface of a stream when this did not happen. But is had by dividing the expanded length of the pipe or chan^ proves that it also should happen with respect to any declivity of bot- nel by the difference of height of its two extremities. the small- tom> yet we know that water will hang on the sloping g The velocity (in inches per second) which a heavy body tywill pro" sur^ace °f a board without proceeding further. The cause acquires by falling during one second. n An abstract constant number, determined by experiduce a cur-°f this seems to be the adhesion of the water, combined with rent. its viscidity. The viscidity of fluid presents a certain force ment to be 243-7. which must be overcome before any current can take place. L The hyperbolic logarithm of the quantity to which it A series of important experiments were made by our au- is prefixed, and is had by multiplying the common logathor in order to ascertain the relation between the velocity rithm of that quantity by 2-3026. at the surface of any stream and that at the bottom. These We shall have in every instance are curious and valuable on many accounts. One circumVng(Vd — 0-1) ^ stance deserves our notice here, viz. that the differences beV— \ y 1 — 0-3 (\td— 0*1). Vs — LVS+ 1-6 tween the superficial and bottom velocities of any stream are This, in numbers, and English inches, is proportional to the square roots of the superficial velocities. From what has been already said on the gradual diminuSOT^y/rf—0-1) Tr y V= - —=j— — 0-3 Wd— 0-1) ; tion of the velocities among the adjoining filaments, we V Vs — LVs + 1-6 ' must conclude that the same rule holds good with respect and in French inches, to the velocity of separation of two filaments immediately 297 (Vd- ■0-1) adjoining. Hence we learn that this velocity of separation 0-3 (W—0-1). is in all cases indefinitely small, and that we may, without Vs — LV^-F 1-6 danger of any sensible error, suppose it a constant quantity The following table contains the real experiments from in all cases. which this formula was deduced, and the comparison of the A constant We think, with our ingenious author, that on a review real velocities with the velocities computed by the formula. part of the of these circumstances, there is a constant or invariable It consists of two principal sets of experiments. The first accelerat- portion of the accelerating force employed in overcoming ing force this viscidity, and producing this mutual separation of the are those made on the motion of water in pipes. The second employed a(j]0ining filaments. We may express this part of the ac- are experiments made on open canals and rivers. In the first set, column 1st contains the number of the experiment; m oyerjo ^ j r r 2d, the length of the tube; 3d, the height of the reservoir ; 6 viscidity^ celerating force by a part g of that slope which constitutes 4th, the values of s, deduced from columns second and third; the whole of it. If it were not employed in overcoming 5th gives the observed velocities; and 6th, the velocities this resistance, it would produce a velocity which (on ac- calculated by the formula. In the second set, column 2d gives the area of the seccount of this resistance) is not produced, or is lost. This tion of the channel; 3d, the border of the canal or ciry would be —— =——. This must therefore be taken from cumference of the section, deducting the horizontal width, y'S — L VS which sustains no friction ; 4th, the square root Vd of the the velocity exhibited by our general formula. When thus hydraulic mean depth ; 5th, the denominator s of the slope; V ng 6th, the observed mean velocities; and 7th, the mean vecorrected, it would become V (Vd—OT locities by the formula. In the last ten experiments on large canals and a natural river, the1 6th column gives the obV nq \/ng is cora- served velocities at the surface. But as the term VS—LVSJ‘ VS — L VS Table conpounded only of constant quantities, we may express it by SET I. EXPERIMENTS ON PIPES. taining tha a single number. This has been collected from a scrupuexperiExperiments by Chevalier du Buat. lous attention to the experiments (especially in canals and ments from great bodies of water moving with very small velocities, which the Vertical Tube ^ of a Line in Diameter, and in which case the effects of viscidity must become more reformula is Vd- 0-117851. deduced. markable), and it appears that it may be valued at V009 inch, or 0-3 inch very nearly. Length of Values Velocities Velocities Height of No. From the whole of the foregoing considerations, drawn observed. calculated Pipe. Reservoir. of s. from nature, supported by such reasonings as our most disInch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. tinct notions of the internal motions will admit, and autho16-166 0-75636 11-704 12-006 12 rized by a very extensive comparison with experiment, we 13-125 0-9307 9-753 10-576 12 are now in a condition to conclude a complete formula, expressive of the uniform motion of water, and involving every Vertical Pipe 1^- Line Diameter, and circumstance which appears to have any share in the ope0-176776 Inch. ration. 42-166 0-9062 45-468 46-210 34-166 3 Therefore, let 38-333 0-9951 43-156 43-721 do. 4 Formula V represent the mean velocity, in inches per second, of 36-666 1-0396 42-385 42-612 do. 5 expressing ar,y current of water, running uniformly, or which is in the uni- train, in a pipe or open channel, whose section, figure, and 35-333 1-0781 41-614 41-714 do. 6 form moslope, are constant, but its length indefinite. The same Pipe Horizontal. tion of \va' d The hydraulic mean depth, that is, the quotient arising ter. 34-166 14-583 2-5838 26-202 25-523 7 from dividing the section of the channel, in square inches, do. 9-292 4-0367 21-064 19-882 8 by its border, expressed in linear inches. 14-447 9 do. 5-292 7-036 14-642 s The reciprocal of the slope of the pipe, or of the sur- 10 do. 2-083 17-6378 2-351 7-320 face of the current. It is the denominator of the fraction 1

These tables are expressed in French measures, A line is the twelfth part of an inch.

198 Theory.

RIVER, Set L—continued. Vertical Pipe 2 Lines Diameter, and of Height of Values No. Length of s. Pipe. Reservoir. Inch. 51-250 45-250 41-916 38-750

11 12 13 14

Inch. 085451 0-96338 1-03808 1-12047

0204124.

Velocities V elocities observed. calculated. Inch. 67-373 59-605 57-220 54-186

Inch. 64-945 60428 57-838 55-321

Same Pipe with a slope of 15 | 36-25 | 33-500 | 1-29174 | 51-151 | 50-983 Same Pipe horizontal. 33-378 33-167 15-292 2-7901 16 36-25 24-553 8-875 4-76076 25-430 do. 17 18-313 5-292 7-89587 19-940 do. 18 10492 2-042 20-01637 10-620 do. 19 Vertical Pipe 2^ Lines Diameter, and Vd = 0-245798. 85-201 53-250 095235 85-769 20 36-25 50250 1-00642 82-471 82-461 21 do. 48-333 1-0444 81-6461 80698 22 do. 79-948 / 48-333 1-0444 do. 23 81-027 47-916 1-0529 80-318 do. 24 76-079 44-750 1-1241 77-318 do. 25 73-811 41-250 1-2157 73-904 26 do. The same Pipe with the slope 1-3024 70-822 I 70-138 37-5 | 1-3323 The same Pipe horizontal. 20-166 2-4303 51-956 50-140 28 36-25 33-577 32*442 9-083 529 do. 7-361 628-658 28-801 30 do. 9-3573 23-401 23-195 31 do. 5 22-989 22-974 4-916 9-5097 32 do. 22-679 22-754 4-833 9-6652 33 do. 19-587 3-708 12-4624 34 do. 19-550 16-631 2-713 16-3135 35 16-324 do. 14-295 2-083 21-6639 36 14-003 do. 12-680 12-115 37 1-625 27-5102 do. 38 7-577 0-833 52-3427 8-215 do. Pipes sensibly horizontal, 1 Inch Diameter, Vd — 0-5. 39 5-6503 84-945 117 36 85-524 40 117 26-666 7-48 71-301 72-617 41 138-5 20-950 10-3215 58-808 60-034 42 10-7880 58-310 18 117 58-472 43 6 33-1962 29-341 138-5 29-663 44 737 23-7 33-6658 28-669 29-412 45 54-2634 21-856 do. 14-6 22-056 46 57-7772 20-970 do. 13-7 21-240 47 do. 12-32 64-1573 19-991 19-950 48 do. 8-96 \ 87-8679 16-625 16-543 49 do. 8-96 j 16-284 50 do. 7-780 101-0309 15-112 15-232 51 do. 5-93 132-1617 13-315 13-005 52 do. 4-2) 10-671 10-656 186-0037 53 do. 4-2 J 10-441 54 138-5 0-7 8-824 257-8863 8-689 55 737 0-5 3-218 1540-75 3-623 56 737 0-15 5113-42 1-647 l-58'9 Experiments by the Abbe Bossut. Horizontal Pipe l Inch Diameter, Vd — 0-5 12 57 600 54-5966 j 22-282 21-975 4 58 600 161-312 12-223 11-756

27 | 36-25 |

Set I.—continued. Horizontal Pipe 1^ Inch Diameter, Vd — 0-5774. Length Height of No. of Pipe. Reservoir.

Values of s.

Theory.

Velocities Velocities observed. calculated.

Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. 360 24 19-0781 48-534 49-515 59 720 24 33-6166 34-473 35-130 60 360 12 37-0828 33-160 33-106 61 24 48-3542 28-075 28-211 1080 62 64-1806 24-004 24-023 1440 24 63 12 66-3020 23-360 23720 64 78-0532 21-032 21-182 1800 24 65 92-9474 18-896 192160 24 66 18-749 1080 12 95-8756 18-943 67 1440 1512 125-6007 16-128 68 14-119 69 1800 12 155-4015 14-066 70 2160 12 185-2487 12-560 12-750 Horizontal Pipe 2-01 Inch Diameter, Vd—Q 708946. 71 360 24 21-4709 58-903 58-803 72 720 24 35-8082 43 43-136 73 360 12 41-2759 40-322 39-587 74 1080 24 50-4119 35-765 35-096 75 1440 24 65-1448 30-896 30096 76 720 12 70-1426 29-215 28-796 77 1800 24 79-8487 27-470 26-639 78 2160 24 94-7901 27-731 2479 1080 12 99-4979 23*806 23-400 80 1440 12 129-0727 20-707 2081 1800 12 158-7512 18-304 17-788 82 2160 12 188-5172 16-377 16Mr Couplet’s Experiments at Versailles. Pipe 5 Inches Diameter, Vd— 1-11803. 2 83 84240 25 3378-26 5-323 5-287 4 84 do. 24 3518-98 5-213 5-168 85 do. 21-083 4005-66 4-806 4-887 86 do. 16-750 5041-61 4-127 4-225 do. 87 11-333 7450-42 3-154 3-388 do. 88 5-583 15119-96 2-011 2-254 Pipe 18 Inches Diameter, Vd — 2-12132. 89 I 43200 I 145-083 I 304-973 I 39-159 I 40-510 SET. II. -EXPERIMENTS WITH A WOODEN CANAL. Trapezium Canal. No.

Section Border of of Canal. Canal.

V allies of V d.

Mean Mean Values Velocity elocity of J. observed. Vcalcul.

90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106

Inch. 18-84 50-60 83-43 27-20 39-36 50-44 56-43 98-74 100-74 119-58 126-20 130-71 135-32 20-83 34-37 36-77 42-01

Inch. 1-20107 1-3096 1-7913 1-3329 1-4734 1-5736 1-6201 1-8696 1-8791 1-9622 1-9887 1-0064 1-0241 1-2367 1-4219 1-4471 1-4992

Inch. 212 212 412 427 427 427 427 432 432 432 432 432 432 1728 1728 1728 1728

Inch. 13-06 29-50 26 15-31 18-13 202128-25 28-53 31-06 31323303 13-62 17 1718-

Inch. 27282718-28 20-30 22232828-52 30313132891112-

Inch. 2729-88 2820-39 22*71 24252929303131-32 31-61 8910-17 10-53

RIVER.

199

mental course. It does honour to his skill and address; Theory, and we think the whole both a pretty and instructive specimen of the method of discovering the laws of nature in Rectangular Canal. the midst of complicated phenomena. Daniel Bernoulli first gave the rules of this method, and they have been Section Border Values Values Mean Mean V elocity Velocity greatly improved by Lambert, Condorcet, and De la Grange. of of No. of s. Mr Coulomb has given some excellent examples of their observed. calcul. Canal. Canal. of V d. application to the discovery of the laws of friction, of magInch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. netical and electrical attraction, &c. But this present work Inch. 458 20-24 18-66 is the most perspicuous and familiar of them all. It is the 107 34-50 21-25 1-27418 458 28-29 26-69 empirical method of generalising natural phenomena, and 108 86-25 27-25 1-77908 929 1311-53 5 21-25 1-27418 50 109 34of deducing general rules, of which we can give no other 1412 9-20 10-01 demonstration but that they are faithful representations 21-33 1-28499 22 110 35of matters of fact. We hope that others, encouraged by 111 51-75 23-25 1-49191 1412 12-10 11-76 13-59 112 76-19 26-08 1-70921 1412 14the success of Du Buat, will follow this1 example, where 15-24 5 public utility is preferred to a display of mathematical know113 105-78 29-17 1-90427 1412 159288 445 5 ledge. 65308 25-25 1114 69 Although the author may not have hit 7 upon the precise 8 The expe9288 5509868 115 155-25 35-25 2modus opera,ndi, we agree with him in thinking that nature rimentsva seems to act in a way not unlike what is here supposed,lua e * At any rate, the range of experiments is so extensive, and * SET III. EXPERIMENTS ON THE CANAL OF JARD. so multifarious, that few cases can occur which are not in| Section Border Values Values Velocity Velocity cluded among them. The experiments will always retain obs. at calcuof their value (as we presume that they are faithfully narNo. : of of s. Surface. lated. i Canal. Canal. of V d. rated), whatever may become of the theory; and we are confident that the formula will give an answer to any ques8919 17-42 18-77 116 16252 402 6-3583 tion to which it may be applicable, infinitely preferable to 117 11905 366 5-70320 11520 12-17 14-52 the vague guess of the most sagacious and experienced en118 10475 360 5-3942 15360 15-74 11-61 gineer. 8-38 9-61 119 7858 340 4-8074 21827 We must however observe, that as the experiments on The velo7-79 7-07 120 7376 337 4-6784 27648 pipes were all made with scrupulous care in the contri-city given 6-55 7-27 121 6125 324 4-3475 27648 vance and execution of the apparatus, excepting only those b7 the forof Mr Couplet on the main pipes at Versailles, we may[™M°° Experiments on the River Hayne. presume that the formula gives the greatest velocities which or(]]nary Section Borderj Values Values Velocity Velocity can be expected. In ordinary works, where joints are rough WOrks. (mean) or leaky, where drops of solder hang in the inside, where at or of No. of s. Surface. calcul. River. River. of d. cocks intervene with deficient water-ways, where pipes have awkward bendings, contractions, or enlargements, and where 6048 35-11 2743974 122 31498 569 7they may contain sand or air, we should reckon on a smaller 6 6413 31-77 2803879 123 38838 601 8velocity than what results from our calculation ; and we pre- 7 32951 13-61 1008 37632 124 30905 568 7sume that an undertaker may with confidence promise four 35723 15-96 10-53 10108 125 39639 604 8fifths of this quantity without any risk of disappointing his employer. We imagine that the actual performance of The theocomparison must be acknowledged to be most satis- canals will be much nearer to the formula. We have made inquiry after works of this kind executed ry a well- factory, and shows the great penetration and address of the founded author, in so successfully sifting and appreciating the share in Britain, that we might compare them with the formula. probabi- which each co-operating circumstance has had in producing But all our canals are locked and without motion; and we htythe very intricate and complicated elfect. It adds some have only learned by an accidental information from Mr weight to the principles on which he has proceeded in this Watt, that a canal in his neighbourhood, which is eighteen analysis of the mechanism of hydraulic motion, and must feet wide at the surface, and seven feet at the bottom, and give us great confidence in a theory so fairly established on four feet deep, and has a slope of one inch in a quarter of a a very copious induction. The author offers it only as a mile, runs with the velocity of seventeen inches per second rational and well-founded probability. To this character at the surface, ten at the bottom, and fourteen in the midit is certainly entitled; for the suppositions made in it are dle. If we compute the motion of this canal by our formuagreeable to the most distant notions we can form of these la, we shall find the mean velocity to be 13^. No river in the world has had its motion so much scruinternal motions. And it must always be remembered, that the investigation of the formula, although it be rendered tinized as the Po about the end of the last century. It had somewhat more perspicuous by thus having recourse to been a subject of 100 years’ continual litigation between those motions, has no dependence on the truth of the prin- the inhabitants of the Bolognese andtheFerrarese, whether ciples. For it is, in fact, nothing but a classification of ex- the waters of the Rheno should be thrown into the Tronco periments, which are grouped together by some one cir- de Venezia or Po Grande. This occasioned very numecumstance of slope, velocity, form of section, &c. in order rous measures to be taken of its sections and declivity, and to discover the law of the changes which are induced by a the quantities of water which it contained in its different variation of the circumstances which do not resemble. The states of fulness. But, unfortunately, the long-established procedure is precisely similar to that of the astronomer methods of measuring waters which were in force in Lomwhen he deduces the elements of an orbit from a multi- bardy, made no account of the velocity ; and not all the entude of observations. This was the task of the Chevalier treaties of Castelli, Grandi, and other moderns, could predu Buat; and he candidly and modestly informs us, that the vail on the visitors in this process to deviate from the estafinding out analytical forms of expression which would ex- blished methods. We have therefore no minute accounts hibit those changes, was the work of Mr Benezech de St Ho- of its velocity, though there are many rough estimates^ to nore, an officer of engineers, and his colleague in the experi- be met with in that valuable collection published at HoTheory.

Set II.—continued.

RIVER. 200 Theory, rence in 1723, of the writings on the motion of rivers, this depends on the magnitude, form, and slope of the chan- Theory, '"■“"'v"'"-’' From them we have extracted the only precise observations nel. This permanency we have expressed by the term '"■""■'v'''—^ train, saying that the stream is in train. which are to be found in the whole work. ObservaThe Po Grande receives no river from Stellata to the We proceed to consider the subordinate circumstances tionsveon sea; ancj jts si0pe jn that interval is found most surprisingly contained in this theorem; such as, 1st, The forms which I k? }o- uniform, namely, six inches in the mile (reduced to English nature or art may give to the bed of a running stream, and p0f ° e measure). The breadth in its great freshes is 759 feet at the manner of expressing this form in our theorem. 2d, The Lago Scuro, with a very uniform depth of thirty-one feet. gradations of the velocity, by which it decreases in the difIn its lowest state (in which it is called Po Magrd), its ferent filaments, from the axis or most rapid filament to the breadth is not less than 700, and its depth about ten and a border; and the connection of this with the mean velocity^ which is expressed by our formula. 3d, Having acquired half. The Rheno has a uniform declivity from the Ponte Emi- some distinct notions of this, we shall be able to see the lio to Yigarano of fifteen inches per mile. Its breadth in manner in which undisturbed nature works in forming the beds of our rivers, the forms which she affects, and which its greatest freshes is 189 feet, and its depth nine. Signor Corrade in his report says, that in the state of the we must imitate in all their local modifications, if we would great freshes the velocity of the Rheno is most exactly secure that permanency which is the evident aim of all her four fifths of that of the Po. operations. We shall here learn the mutual action of the Grandi says, that, according to many observations of his current and its bed, and the circumstances which insure own, a great fresh in the Rheno employs twelve hours to the stability of both. These we may call the regimen or the Regimen come from Ponte Emilio to Vigarano, which is thirty miles. conservation of the stream, and may say that it is in regimen, of streams, This is a velocity of forty-four inches per second. And, by or in conservation. This has a relation, not to the dimenCorrade’s proportion, the velocity of the Po Grande must sions and the slope alone, or to the accelerating force and the resistance arising from mere inertia; it respects immebe fifty-five inches per second. Montanari’s observation gives the Po Magra a velocity diately the tenacity of the bed, and is different from the train. of thirty-one inches per second. 4th, These pieces of information will explain the deviaLet us compare these velocities with the velocities caltion of rivers from the rectilineal course, the resistance occulated by Du Buat’s formula. The hydraulic mean depths d and D of the Rheno and casioned by these deviations, and the circumstances on Po in the great freshes, deduced from the above measures, which the regimen of a winding stream depends. are 98,6 and 344i inches; and their slopes s and S are 5^2^ and This will give § 1. Of the Forms of the Channel. 307 (YD — 0-1) The numerator of the fraction which expresses the velo- The semi, — 0’3 (VD — 0*1) = 52-176 inches, and cu ar VS — L VS + 1-6 city of a river in train has Vd for one of its factors. That^ ^ ves form, therefore, is most favourable to the motion which gi favourable 307 {Vd — OT) 0*3 (yd—0 l) = 46‘728 inches. the greatest value to what we have called the hydraulic t0 motjon V-s'—lvV+Tg mean depth d. This is the prerogative of the semicircle, These results differ very little from the velocities above and here d is equal to half the radius; and all other figures mentioned. And if the velocity corresponding to a depth of the same area are the more favourable, as they approach of thirty-one feet be deduced from that observed by Mon- nearer to a semicircle. This is the form, therefore, of ail tanari in the Po Magra ten feet deep, on the supposition conduit-pipes, and should be taken for aqueducts which are that they are in the proportion of Vd, it will be found to be built of masonry. Ease and accuracy of execution, however, have made engineers prefer a rectangular form ; but neither about fifty-three and a half inches per second. Highly to This comparison is therefore highly to the credit of the of these will do for a channel formed out of the ground. the credit theory, and would have been very agreeable to Du Buat We shall soon see that the semicircle is incompatible with but incoma regimen; and if we proceed through the regular polygons, patible ° e e'had he known it, as we hope it is to our readers. Wlth We have collected many accounts of water-pipes, and we shall find that the half hexagon is the only one which men has any pretensions to a regimen ; yet experience shows us, ‘ made the comparisons, and we flatter ourselves that these have enabled us to improve the theory. They shall ap- that even its banks are too steep for almost any soil. A dry pear in their proper place ; and we may just observe here, earthen bank, not bound together by grass roots, will hardly that the two-inch pipe, which we formerly spoke of as con- stand with a slope of forty-five degrees; and a canal which veying the water to Dunbar, should have yielded only 25| conveys running waters will not stand with this slope. Ranks that Scotch pints per minute by the formula, instead of 27; a Banks whose base is to their height as four to three willst stand very well in moist soils, and this is a slope very usual- and bestsmall error. We have, therefore, no hesitation in saying, that this ly given. This form is even affected in the spontaneous single formula of the uniform motion of water is one of the operations of nature, in the channels which she digs for the most valuable presents which natural science and the arts rills and rivulets in the higher and steeper grounds. This form has some mathematical and mechanical prohave received during the course of this century. perties which entitle it to some further notice. Let ABEC 307 A table containing& the values of — 7 readyJ (fig. 12) be such a trapezium, and AHGC the rectangle Vs—LVs+1-6 of equal width and depth. Bisect HB and EG by the vercalculated for every declivity that can occur in water-pipes, ticals FD and KI, and draw the verticals &B, eE. Because canals, or rivers, is given in the article Water-works. AH : HB — 3:4, we have AB = 5, and BD — 2, and Aided by this, which supersedes the only difficult part of FD = 3, and BD + DF = BA. From these premises it folthe computation, a person can calculate the velocity for any lows, that the trapezium ABEC proposed case in less than five minutes. Fig. 12. has the same area with the rectangle FDIK ; for HB being biWe have now established in some measure a Theory of sected in D, the triangles AOF, Hydraulics, by exhibiting a general theorem which ex- BOD are equal. Also the border presses the relation of the chief circumstances of all such ABEC, which is touched by the motions as have attained a state of permanency, in so far as passing stream, is equal to FDIK.

R I V E R. 201 Theory. Therefore the mean depth, which is the quotient of the width and real depth, we can determine the dimensions of Theory. Y-~“'/area divided by the border, is the same in both ; and this is the case, whatever is the width BE at the bottom, or even the bed, and we have w — q d + 2d, and h=. d —. Rules for 9 finding the though there be no rectangle such as 6BEe interposed be2. If we knew the area and mean depth, we can in like dimensions, tween the slant sides. Best form Of all rectangles, that whose breadth is twice the height, manner find the dimensions, that is, w and A ; for A — w h, ot a chan- or which is half of a square, gives the greatest mean depth — . ; therefore w — zt /— 2 A +1 ^ nel If, therefore, FK be double of FD, the trapezium ABEC, and d — w + 24 »J V 42 earth would be uninhabitable ? ■ or nearly 3^ ounces avoirdupois. But let us follow the waters in their operations, and note Their efthe face of the countries through which they flow. Attend-feet or, the ing to the breadth, the depth, and the slope of the valleys, § 3. Settlement of the Beds of Rivers. we shall be convinced that their present situation is e*-which they Simplicity He who looks with a careless eye at a map of the world, tremely different from what it was in ancient days; andpass> and wisdom is apt to consider the rivers which ramble over its surface that the valleys themselves are the works of the rivers, or displayed in a ciiance.meciley disposition of the drainers which carry at least of waters which have descended from the heights, with all the lighter matters which they were able to ofrivers. off the watcrs- But it will afford a most agreeable object loaded to a considerate and contemplative mind to take it up in bring away with them. The rivers now flow in beds which this very sinrple light; and, having considered the many have a considerable permanency ; but this has been the ways in which the drenched surface might have been cleared work of ages. This has given stability, both by filling up of the superfluous waters, to attend particularly to the very- and smoothing the valleys, and thus lessening the changing way which nature has followed. In pursuing the troubled causes, and also by hardening the beds themselves, which waters of a mountain torrent, or the pure streams which are now covered with aquatic plants, and lined with the trickle from their bases, till he sees them swallowed up in stones, gravel, and coarser sand, out of which all the lightthe ocean, and in attending to the many varieties in their er matters have been washed away. The surface of the high grounds is undergoing a contimotions, he will be delighted with observing how the simple laws of mechanism are made so fruitful in good consequences, nual change ; and the ground on which we now walk is by both by modifying the motions ot the waters themselves, no means the same which was trodden by our remote anand also by inducing new forms on the surface of the earth, cestors. The showers from heaven carry down into the fitted for re-acting on the waters, and producing those very valleys, or sweep along by the torrents, a part of the soil modifications of their motions which render them so bene- which covers the heights and steeps. The torrents carry ficial. The permanent beds of rivers are by no means for- this soil into the brooks, these deliver part of it into the tuitous gutters hastily scooped out by dashing torrents ; but great rivers, and these discharge this fertilizing fat of the both they and the valleys through which they flow are the earth into the sea, where it is swallowed up, and for ever patient but unceasing labours of nature, prompted by good- lost for the purposes of vegetation. Thus the hillocks lose of their height, the valleys are filled up, and the mounness and directed by wisdom. Whether we trace a river from the torrents which collect tains are laid bare and show their naked precipices, which the superfluous waters of heaven, or from the springs which formerly were covered over with flesh and skin, but now discharge what would otherwise be condemned to perpe- look like the skeleton of this globe. The low countries, tual inactivity, each feeder is but a little rill, which could raised and nourished for some time by the substance of the not ramble far from its scanty source among growing plants high lands, will go in their turn to be buried in the ocean ; and absorbent earth, without being sucked up and evapo- and then the earth, reduced to a dreary flat, will become rated, did it not meet with other rills in its course. When an immense uninhabitable mass. This catastrophe is tar united, they form a body of water still inconsiderable, but distant, because this globe is in its youth, but it is not the much more able, by its bulk, to overcome the little obsta- less certain; and the united labours of the human race cles to its motion ; and the rivulet then moves with greater could not long protract the term. But, in the mean time, we can trace a beneficent purspeed, as we have now learned. At the same time, the surface exposed to evaporation and absorption is diminished by pose, and a nice adjustment of seemingly remote circumthe union of the rills. Four equal rills have only the sur- stances. The grounds near the sources of all our rivers face of two when united. Thus the portion which escapes are indeed gradually stripped of their most fertile ingredi-

204

Theory, Beneficence dis1 red in the changcs they produce.

205 RIVER. ents. But had they retained them for ages, the sentient united, and running together in a great body, will, accord- Theory, inhabitants of the earth, or at least the nobler animals, with ing to the principles which we have established, have a'^-^v^"' man at their head, would not thence have derived much ad- much greater velocity, with the same slope, than those of the The general laws of nature produce changes in lakes in the interior parts of the continent; and the sum of # our atmosphere which must ever render these great eleva- them all united in the basin next the sea, after having tions unfruitful. That genial warmth, which is equally ne- broken through its natural mound, will make a prodigious cessary for the useful plant as for the animal which lives on torrent, which will dig for itself a bed so much the deeper it, is confined to the lower grounds. The earth, which on as it has more slope and a greater body of waters. the top of Mount Haemus could only bring forth moss and The formation of the first valleys, by cutting open many dittany, when brought into the gardens of Spalatro pro- springs which were formerly concealed under ground, will *. duced pot-herbs so luxuriant, that Diocletian told his col- add to the mass of running waters, and contribute to drain league Maximian that he had more pleasure in their culti- off the waters of these basins. In course'of time many of vation than the Roman empire could confer. Thus nature them will disappear, and flat valleys among thq mountains not only provides us manure, but conveys it to our fields. and hills are the traces of their former existence. When nature thus traces out the courses of future rivers, She even keeps it safe in store for us till it shall be wanted. The tracts of country which are but newly inhabited it is to be expected that those streams will most deepen by man, such as great part of America, and the newly-dis- their channels which in their approach to the sea receive covered regions of Terra Australis, are still almost occupied into their bed the greatest* quantities of rain and springby marshes and lakes, or covered with impenetrable forests ; waters, and that towards the middle of the continent they and they would remain long enough in this state, if popu- will deepen their channels'less. In these last situations lation, continually increasing, did not increase industry, and the natural slope of the fields causes the rain-water, rills, multiply the hands of cultivators along with their necessi- and the little rivulets from the springs, to seek their ways ties. The Author of Nature was alone able to form the to the rivers. The ground can sink only by the flattening huge ridges of the mountains, to model the hillocks and of the hills and high grounds ; and this must proceed with the valleys, to mark out the courses of the great rivers, and extreme slowness, because it is only the gentle though ingive the first trace to every rivulet; but has left to man cessant work of the rains and springs. But the rivers, inthe task of draining his own habitation and the fields which creasing in bulk and strength, and of necessity flowing over are to support him, because this is a task not beyond his every thing, form to themselves capacious beds in a more powers. It was therefore of immense advantage to him that yielding soil, and dig them even to the level of the ocean. The beds of rivers by no means form themselves in one Beds of those parts of the globe into which he has not yet penetrated should remain covered with lakes, marshes, and forests, inclined plane. If we should suppose a canal AB (fig. 14)rivers^not formed in which keep in store the juice of the earth, which the in- perfectly straight and horizontal at one inclinFisr. 14. B, where it joins with the sea, this fluence of the air and the vivifying warmth of the sun ed plane. r canal would really be an inclined w ould have expended long ere now in useless vegetation, and which the rains of heaven would have swept into the channel of greater and greater slope sea, had they not been thus protected by their situation or as it is farther from B. This is evitheir cover. It is therefore the business of man to open up dent ; because gravity is directed tothese mines of hoarded wealth, and to thank the Author of wards the centre of the earth, and the all good, who has thus husbanded them for his use, and left angle CAB contained between the channel and the plumb-line at A is them as a rightful heritage for those of after days. The earth had not in the remote ages, as in our day, smaller than the similar angle CDB; those great canals, those capacious voiders, always ready to and consequently the inclination to the horizon is greatdrain off the rain-waters (of which only part is absorbed by er in A than in D. Such a canal, therefore, would make the thirsty ground) and the pure waters of the springs the bed of a river; and some have thought that this was from the foot of the hills. The rivers did not then exist, the real form of nature’s work; but the supposition is a or were only torrents, whose waters, confined by the gulleys whim, and it is false. No river has a slope at all approachand glens, are searching for a place to escape. Hence arise ing to this. It would be eight inches declivity in the those numerous lakes in the interior of great continents, of mile next the ocean, twenty-four inches in the second which there are still remarkable relics in North America, mile, forty inches in the third, and so on in the duplicate which in process of time will disappear, and become cham- ratio (for the whole elevation) of the distances from the paign countries. The most remote from the sea, unable to sea. Such a river would quickly tear up its bed in the contain its waters, finds an issue through some gorge of the mountains (were there any grounds high enough to receive hills, and pours over its superfluous waters into a lower it), and, except its first cascade, would soon acquire a more basin, which, in its turn, discharges its contents into ano- gentle slope. But the fact is, and it is the result of the imther, and the last of the chain delivers its waters by a river prescriptible laws of nature, that the continued track of a into the ocean. The communication was originally begun river is a succession of inclined channels, whose slope dimiby a simple overflowing at the lowest part of the margin. nishes by steps as the river approaches to the sea. It is This made a torrent, which quickly deepened its bed ; and not enough to say that this results from the natural slope this circumstance increasing its velocity, as we have seen, of the countries through which it flows, which we observe would extend this deepening backward to the lake, and to increase in declivity as we go to the interior parts of the draw off more of its waters. The work would go on rapid- continent. Were it otherwise, the equilibrium at which ly at first, while earth and small stones only resisted the la- nature aims in all her operations would still produce the bours of nature; but these being washed away, and the gradual diminution of the slope of rivers. Without it they channel hollowed out to the firm rock on all sides, the ope- could not be in a permanent train. That we may more easily form a notion of the manner in How the ration must go on very slowly, till the immense cascade shall undermine what it cannot break off, and then a new which the permanent course of a river is established, let us cpermanent urse 0 a discharge will commence, and a quantity of flat ground will suppose a stream or rivulet s a (fig. 15) far up the country, ” . ( emerge all round the lake. The torrent, in the mean time, makes its way through a soil perfectly uniform to the sea, [^Ush^dT makes its way down the country, and digs a canal, which taking the course s a b c d ef, and receiving the permanent may be called the first sketch of a river, which will deepen additions of the stream g a, h b, i c, kd, l e, and that its veand widen its bed continually. The water of several basins locity and slope in all its parts are so suited to the tenacity

RIVER. new and perhaps an equal stream does not occupy a bed of Theorv. double surface, the proportion of the retardations to the remaining motion must continually diminish as a river increases by the addition of new streams. If therefore the slope were not diminished, the regimen would be destroyed, and the river would dig up its channel. We have a full confirmation of this in the many works which have been executed on the Po, which runs with rapidity through a rich and yielding soil. About the year 1600 the waters of the Panaro, a very considerable river, were added to the Po Grande; and although it brings along with it in its freshes a vast quantity of sand and mud, it has greatly deepened the whole Tronco di Venezia from the confluence to of the soil and magnitude of its section, that neither do its the sea. This point was clearly ascertained by Manfredi waters during the annual freshes tear up its banks or deepen about the year 1720, when the inhabitants of the valleys adits bed, nor do they bring down from the high lands mate- jacent were alarmed by the project of bringing in the warials which they deposit in the channel in times of smaller ters of the Rheno, which then ran through the Ferrarese. velocity. Such a river may be said to be in a 'permanent Their fears were overcome, and the Po Grande continues state, to be in conservation, or to have stability. Let us call to deepen its channel every day, with a prodigious advanthis state of a river its regimen, denoting by the word the tage to the navigations; and there are several extensive proper adjustment of the velocity of the stream to the tena- marshes which now drain off by it, after having been for city of the channel. The velocity of its regimen must be ages under water: and it is to be particularly remarked, the same throughout, because it is this which regulates its that the Rheno is the foulest river in its freshes of any in action on the bottom, which is the same from its head to that country. We insert this remark, because it may be of the sea. That its bed may have stability, the mean velo- great practical utility, as pointing out a method of preservcity of the current must be constant, notwithstanding the ing and even improving the depth of rivers or drains in flat inequality of discharge through its different sections by the countries, which is not obvious, but rather appears improbrooks which it receives in its course, and notwithstanding per ; but it is strictly conformable to a true theory, and to the operations of nature, which never fails to adjust everythe augmentation of its section as it approaches the sea. On the other hand, it behoved this exact regimen to com- thing so as to bring about an equilibrium. Whatever the mence at the mouth of the river, by the working of the declivity of the country may have been originally, the rewhole body of the river, in concert with the waters of the gimen begins to be settled at the mouths of the rivers, and ocean, which always keep within the same limits, and make the slopes are diminished in succession as we recede from the ultimate level invariable. This working will begin to the coast. The original slopes inland may have been much dig the bed, giving it as little breadth as possible : for this greater; but they will (when busy nature has completed working consists chiefly in the efforts of falls and rapid her work) be left somewhat, and only so much greater, that streams, which arise of themselves in every channel which the velocity may be the same notwithstanding the diminuhas too much slope. The bottom deepens, and the sides tion of the section and mean depth. remain very steep, till they are undermined and crumbled Freshes will disturb this methodical progress relative Effects of down ; and being then diluted in the water, they are car- only to the successive permanent additions; but their ef-ireGhesried down the stream and deposited where the ocean checks fects chiefly accelerate the deepening of the bed, and the its speed. The banks crumble down anew, the valley or hol- diminution of the slope, by augmenting the velocity during low forms ; but the section, always confined to its bottom, their continuance. But when the regimen of the permacannot acquire a great breadth, and it retains a good deal of nent additions is once established, the freshes tend chiefly the form of the trapezium formerly mentioned. In this man- to widen the bed, without greatly deepening it: for the ner does the regimen begin to be established from f to e. aquatic plants, which have been growing and thriving duWith respect to the next part d e, the discharge or pro- ring the peaceable state of the river, are now laid along, duce is diminished by the want of the brook l e. It must but not swept away, by the freshes, and protect the bottom take a similar form, but its area will be diminished, in order from their attacks ; and the stones and gravel, which must that its velocity may be the same ; and its mean depth d have been left bare in a course of years, working on the being less than in the portion e/below, the slope must be soil, will also collect in the bottom, and greatly augment its greater. Without these conditions we could not have the power of resistance; and even if the floods should have uniform velocity, which the assumed permanency in an uni- deepened the bottom some small matter, some mud will be form soil naturally supposes. Reasoning after the same man- deposited as the velocity of the freshes diminishes, and this ner for all the portions c d,b c, ab, s a, we ^ee that the regi- will remain till the next flood. men will be successively established in them, and that the We have supposed the soil uniform throughout the whole slope necessary for this purpose will be greater as we ap- course ; this seldom happens ; therefore the circumstances proach the river head. The vertical section or profile of the which insure permanency, or the regimen of a river, may course of the river s a b c d e f will therefore resemble the be very different in its different parts and in different rivers. line SABCDEF which is sketched above, having its dif- We may say in general, that the farther that the regimen ferent parts variously inclined to the horizontal line HF. has advanced up the stream in any river, the more slowly This pmSuch is the process of nature to be observed in every will it convey its waters to the sea. cess ot na- river on the surface of the globe. It long appeared a kind There are some general circumstances in the motion cf lure of puzzle to the theorists; and it was this observation of the rivers which it will be proper to take notice of just now, that increasing, or at least this continued velocity with smaller they may not interrupt our more minute examination cf slope, as the rivers increased by the addition of their tri- their mechanism ; and their explanations will then occur of butary streams, which caused Guglielmini to have recourse themselves as corollaries of the propositions which we shall to his new principle, the energy of deep waters. We have endeavour to demonstrate. In a valley of small width the river always occupies the confirmed now seen in what this energy consists. It is only a greater by exquantity of motion remaining in the middle of a great stream lowest part of it; and it is observed, that this is seldom in ample. of water after a quantity has been retarded by the sides and the middle of the valley, and is nearest to that side on which bottom; and we see clearly, that since the addition of a the slope from the higher grounds is steepest, and this with206 Theory-

Fig. 15.

RIVER. 207 Theory, out regard to the line of its course. The river generally deepen the channel there. This keeps the mud suspended Tbeorv. ' ' adheres to the steepest hills, whether they advance into the in such parts of the channel, and it is not deposited till the vallevs rf P^a'n or re^re from it. This general feature may be ob- stream has shot farther out into the sea. It is deposited versadhere servec* over t^ie whole globe. It is divided into compart- on the sides of those deeper parts of the channel, and into the ments by great ranges of mountains; and it may be observ- creases the velocity in them, and thus still farther protracts Eteepest ed, that the great rivers hold their course not very far from the deposition. Rivers so situated will not only lengthen hills. them, and that their chief feeders come from the other side. their channels, but will divide them, and produce islands at In every compartment there is a swell of the low country their mouths. A bush, a tree torn up by the roots by a at a distance from the bounding ridge of mountains; and mountain torrent, and floated down the stream, will thus on the summit of this swell the principal feeders of the great inevitably produce an island; and rivers in which this is river have their sources. common will be continually shifting their mouths. The The name valley is given with less propriety to these im- Mississippi is a most remarkable instance of this. It has a mense regions, and is more applicable to tracts of cham- long course through a rich soil, and disembogues itself into paign land which the eye can take in at one view. Even the bay of Mexico, in a place where there is no passing here we may observe a resemblance. It is not always in tide, as may be seen by comparing the hours of high water the very lowest part of this valley that the river has its bed : in different places. No river that we know carries down although the waters of the river flow in a channel below its its stream such numbers of rooted-up trees ; they frequently immediate banks, these banks are frequently higher than interrupt the navigation, and render it always dangerous in the grounds at the foot of the hills. This is very distinctly the night-time. This river is so beset with flats and shiftseen in Lower Egypt, by means of the canals which are ing sands at its mouth, that the most experienced pilots are carried backward from the Nile for accelerating its fertiliz- puzzled ; and it has protruded its channel above fifty miles ing inundations. When the calishes are opened to admit in the short period that we have known it. The discharge the waters, it is always observed that the districts most re- of the Danube is very similar : so is that of the Nile, for o mote are the first covered, and it is several days before the it is discharged into a still corner of the Mediterranean. It immediately adjoining fields partake of the blessing. This may now be said to have acquired considerable permanenis a consequence of that general opinion of nature by which cy ; but much of this is owing to human industry, which the valleys are formed. The river in its floods is loaded strips it as much as possible of its subsideable matter. The with mud, which it retains as long as it rolls rapidly along Ganges, too, is in a situation pretty similar, and exhibits its limited bed, tumbling its waters over and over, and tak- similar phenomena. The Maragnon might be noticed as ing up in every spot as much as it deposits : but as soon as an exception; but it is not an exception. It has flowed it overflows its banks, the very enlargement of its section very far in a level bed, and its waters come pretty clear to diminishes the velocity of the water ; and it may be observ- Para; but, besides, there is a strong transverse tide, or raed still running in the track of its bed with great velocity, ther current, at its mouth, setting to the south-east both while the waters on each side are stagnant at a very small during flood and ebb. The mouth of the Po is perhaps the distance: therefore the water, on getting over the banks, must most remarkable of any on the surface of this globe, and deposit the heaviest, the firmest, and even the greatest part exhibits appearances extremely singular. Its discharge is of its burden, and must become gradually clearer as it ap- into a sequestered corner of the Adriatic. Though there proaches the hills. Thus a gentle slope is given to the val- be a more remarkable tide in this gulf than in any part of ley in a direction which is the reverse of what one would the Mediterranean, it is still but trifling, and it either sets expect. It is, however, almost always the case in wide val- directly in upon the mouth of the river or retires straight leys, especially if the great river comes through a soft coun- away from it. The river has many mouths, and they shift try. The banks of the brooks and ditches are observed to prodigiously. There has been a general increase of the be deeper as they approach the river, and the merely super- land very remarkable. The marshes where Venice now stands were in the Augustan age everywhere penetrable ficial drains run backwards from it. The bed We have already observed that the enlargement of the by the fishing-boats, and in the fifth century could only of rivers is bed of a river, in its approach to the sea, is not in propor- bear a few miserable huts; now they are covered with crowds nlarged tjon to increase 0f waters. This would be the case of stately buildings. Ravenna, situated on the southernnear the even if the velocity continued the same; and, therefore, most mouth of the Po, was, in the Augustan age, at the sea since the velocity increases in consequence of the greater extremity of a swamp, and the road to it was along the top energy of a large body of water, which we now understand of an artificial mound, made by Augustus at an immense distinctly, a still smaller bed is sufficient for conveying all expense. It was, however, a fine city, containing extensive the water to the sea. docks, arsenals, and other massy buildings, being the great the water This general law is broken, however, in the immediate military port of the empire, where Augustus laid up his being neighbourhood of the sea; because in this situation the ve- great ships of war. In the Gothic times it became almost checked by ]ocity 0f the water is checked by the passing flood-tides of the capital of the western empire, and was the seat of gow cf^he 03 t^ie ocear1, h°le waters must still be discharged, vernment and of luxury. It must therefore be supposed ocean. they require a larger bed, and the enlargement will be to have every accommodation of opulence, and we cannot chiefly in width. The sand and mud are deposited when doubt of its having paved streets, wharfs, &c.; so that its the motion is retarded. The depth of the mouth of the wealthy inhabitants were at least walking dryfooted from channel is therefore diminished. It must therefore become house to house. But now it is an Italian mile from the wider. If this be done on a coast exposed to the force of sea, and surrounded with vineyards and cultivated fields, a regular tide, which carries the waters of the ocean across and is accessible in every direction. All this must have the mouth of the river, this regular enlargement of the been formed by depositions from the Po, flowing through mouth will be the only consequence, and it will generally Lombardy loaded with the spoils of the Alps, which were widen till it washes the foot of the adjoining hills; but if here arrested by the reeds and bulrushes of the marsh. there be no tide in the sea, or a tide which does not set These things are in common course; but when wells are across the mouth of the river, the sands must be deposited dug, we come to the pavements of the ancient city, and at the sides of the opening, and become additions to the these pavements are all on one exact level, and they are shore, lengthening the mouth of the channel. In this shel- eight feet below the surface of the sea at low water. This tered situation, every trivial circumstance will cause the cannot be ascribed to the subsiding of the ancient city. river to work more on particular parts of the bottom, and This would be irregular, and greatest among the hea

RIVE R 208 Theory. buildings. The tomb of Theodoric remains, and the pave- in supplying the waste of incessant evaporation. But as Theory, v—""' ment round it is on a level with all the others. The lower things are, the rains are kept slowly trickling along the story is always full of water ; so is the lower story of the sloping sides of our hills and steeps, winding round every cathedral to the depth of three feet. The ornaments of both clod, nay, every plant, which lengthens their course, dimithese buildings leave no room to doubt that they were for- nishes their slope, checks their speed, and thus prevents merly dry ; and such a building as the cathedral could not them from quickly brushing off from every part of the surface the lightest and best of the soil. The fattest of our sink without crumbling into pieces. It is by no means easy to account for all this. The de- holm lands would be too steep, and the rivers would shoot positions of the Po and other rivers must raise the ground; along through our finest meadows, hurrying every thing and yet the rivers must still flow over all. We must con- away with them, and would be unfit for the purposes of include that the surface of the Adriatic is by no means level, land conveyance, if the inequalities of soil did not make and that it slopes like a river from the Lagoon of Venice them change this headlong course for the more beautiful to the eastward. In all probability it even slopes consider- meanders which we observe in the course of the small rivers ably outwards from the shore. This will not hinder the al- winding through our meadows. Those rivers are in geneternations of ebb and flow tide, as will be shown in its proper ral the straightest in their course which are the most rapid, place. The whole shores of this gulf exhibit most uncom- and which roll along the greatest bodies of water: such are the Rhone, the Po, the Danube. The smaller rivers conmon appearances. Rivers are The last general observation which we shall make in tinue more devious in their progress, till they approach the convex place is, that the surface of a river is not flat, consider- sea, and have gathered strength from all their .tributary streams. ec at wart ^'stream ^ ^ stream, but convex ; this is owing to its moEvery thing aims at an equilibrium, and this directs even What naandStheam, t'on* Suppose a canal of stagnant water ; its surface would left for cause of it. be a perfect level. But suppose it possible, by any means, the rambling of rivers. It is of importance to understand ture j,nan toPer* to give the middle waters a motion in the direction of its the relation between the force of a river and the resistanceIorm ’ length, they must drag along with them the waters imme- which the soil opposes to those deviations from a rectilineal diately contiguous. These will move less swiftly, and will course; for it may frequently happen that the general proin like manner drag the waters without them ; and thus the cedure of nature may be inconsistent with our local purwater at the sides being abstracted, the depth must be less, poses. Man was set down on this globe, and the task of and the general surface must be convex across. The fact cultivating it was given him by nature, and his chief enjoyin a running stream is similar to this; the side waters are ment seems to be to struggle with the elements. He must withheld by the sides, and every filament is moving more not find things to his mind, but he must mould them to his slowly than the one next it towards the middle of the river, own fancy. Yet even this seeming anomaly is one of nabut faster than the adjoining filament on the land side. ture’s most beneficent laws; and his exertions must still This alone must produce a convexity of surface. But be- be made in conformity with the general train of the operasides this, it is demonstrable that the pressure of a running tions of mechanical nature; and when we have any work stream is diminished by its motion, and the diminution is to undertake relative to the course of rivers, we must, be proportional to the height which would produce the velocity careful not to thwart their general rules, otherwise we shall with which it is gliding past the adjoining filament. This sooner or later be punished for their infraction. Things convexity must in all cases be very small. Few rivers have will be brought back to their former state, if our operations the velocity nearly equal to eight feet per second, and this are inconsistent with that equilibrium which is constantly requires a height of one foot only. An author quoted by aimed at, or some new state of things which is equivalent M. Buffon says, that he has observed on the river Aveiron will soon be induced. If a well-regulated river has been an elevation of three feet in the middle during floods; but improperly deepened in some place to answer some particular purpose of our own, or if its breadth has been improwe suspect some error in the observation. perly augmented, we shall soon see a deposition of mud or sand choke up our fancied improvements; because, as § 4. Of the Windings of Rivers. we have enlarged the section without increasing the slope Winding Rivers are seldom straight in their course. Formed by or the supply, the velocity must diminish, and floating course of the hand of nature, they are accommodated to every change matters must be deposited. rivers, how circurnstance. They wind around what they cannot get It is true, we frequently see permanent channels where forme . over> an(j work their way to either side according as the the forms are extremely different from that which the resistance of the opposite bank makes a straight course waters would dig for themselves in an uniform soil, and more difficult; and this seemingly fortuitous rambling dis- which approaches a good deal to the trapezium described tributes them more uniformly over the surface of a country, formerly. We see a greater breadth frequently compenand makes them everywhere more at hand, to receive the sate for a want of depth ; but all such deviations are a sort numberless rills and rivulets which collect the waters of our of constraint, or rather are indications of inequality of soil. springs and the superfluities of our showers, and to comfort Such irregular forms are the works of nature; and if they our habitations writh the many advantages which cultivation are permanent, the equilibrium is obtained. Commonly and society can derive from their presence. In their feeble the bottom is harder than the sides, consisting of the coarsest beginnings the smallest inequality of slope or consistency of the sand and of gravel; and therefore the necessary secis enough to turn them aside and make them ramble through tion can be obtained only by increasing the width. We every field, giving drink to our herds and fertility to our are accustomed to attend chiefly to the appearances which soil. The more we follow nature into the minutiae of her prognosticate mischief, and we interpret the appearances operations, the more must we admire the inexhaustible of a permanent bed in the same way, and frequently form fertility of her resources, and the simplicity of the means very false judgments. When we see one bank low and by which she produces the most important and beneficial flat, and the other high and abrupt, we suppose that the effects. By thus twisting the course of our rivers into ten waters are passing along the first in peace, and with a gentle thousand shapes, she keeps them long amidst our fields, and stream, but that they are rapid on the other side, and are thus compensates for the declivity of the surface, which tearing away the bank; but it is just the contrary. The would otherwise tumble them with great rapidity into the bed being permanent, things are in equilibrio, and each ocean, loaded with the best and richest of our soil. With- bank is of a form just competent to that equilibrium. If out this, the showers of heaven would have little influence the soil on both sides be uniform, the stream is most rapid

RIVER. 209 Theory, on that side where the bank is low and flat, for in no other cause which can be compared with friction must be greater Theory, "J’ Y ^ form would it withstand the action of the stream ; and it when the stream is directed against one of the banks. It has been worn away till its flatness compensates for the may be very difficult to state the proportion, and it would greater force of the stream. The stream on the other side occupy too much of our time to attempt it; but it is sufmust be more gentle, otherwise the bank could not remain ficient that we be convinced that the retardation is greater abrupt. In short, in a state of permanency, the velocity of in this case. We see no cause to increase the mean velothe stream and form of the bank are just suited to each city in the elbow, and we must therefore conclude that it is other. It is quite otherwise before the river has acquired diminished. But we are supposing that the discharge conits proper regimen. tinues the same; the section must therefore augment, or the Necessity A careful consideration therefore of the general features channel increase its transverse dimensions. The only quesof attend- of rivers which have settled their regimen, is of use for ining to na- forming us concerning their internal motions, and directing tion is, In what manner it does this, and what change of form does it affect, and what form is competent to the final ture in regulating us to the most effectual methods of regulating their course. equilibrium and the consequent permanency of the bed ? the course We have already said that perpendicular brims are in- Here there is much room for conjecture. Du Buat reasons of rivers. consistent with stability. A semicircular section is the form as follows: If we suppose that the points B and C (fig 17) which would produce the quickest train of a river whose expense and slope are given; but the banks at B and D Fig. 17. (fig. 16) would crumble in, and lie at the bottom, where their horizontal surface would secure them from farther change. The bed will acquire the form GcF, of equal section, but greater width, and with brims less shelving. The proportion of the velocities at A and c may be the same with that of the velocities at A and C ; but the velocity at G and F will be less than it was formerly at B, C, or D ; and the velocity in any intermediate point E, being somewhat between those at F and c, must be less than it was in any intermediate point of the semicircular bed. The velocities will therefore decrease along the border from c towards G and F, and the steepness of the border will augment at the same time, till, in every point of the new border GcF, these two circumstances will be so adjusted that the necessary equilibrium is established. continue on a level, and that the points H and I at the beThe same thing must happen in our trapezium. The ginning of the next reach are also on a level, it is an inslope of the brims may be exact, and will be retained; it evitable consequence that the slope along CMI must be will, however, be too great anywhere below, where the greater than along BEH, because the depression of H bevelocity is greater, and the sides will be worn away till the low B is equal to that of I below C, and BEH is longer than banks are undermined and crumble down, and the river CMI. Therefore the velocity along the convex bank CMI will maintain its section by increasing its width. In short, must be greater than along BEH. There may even be a no border made up of straight lines is consistent with that stagnation and an eddy in the contrary direction along the gradation of velocity which will take place whenever we de- concave bank. Therefore, if the form of the section were part from a semicircular form. And we accordingly see, the same as up the stream, the sides could not stand on the that in all natural channels the section has a curvilineal convex bank. When therefore the section has attained a border, with the slope increasing gradually from the bottom permanent form, and the banks are again in equilibrio with to the brim. the action of the current, the convex bank must be much These observations will enable us to understand how flatter than the concave. If the water is really still on the nature operates wdien the inequality of surface or of tena- concave bank, that bank will be absolutely perpendicular, city obliges the current to change its direction, and the nay, may overhang. Accordingly, this state of things is river forms an elbow. matter of daily observation, and justifies our Conditions Supposing always that the discharge continues the same, reasoning, and entitles us to say, that this Figr. 18. necessary and that the mean velocity is either preserved or restored, is the nature of the internal motion of the for a per- the following conditions are necessary for a permanent filaments which we cannot distinctly obmanent re- regimen. serve. The water moves most rapidly along gimen. J. 1 he depth of water must be greater in the elbow than the convex bank, and the thread of the anywhere else. stream is nearest to this side. Reasoning 2. The main stream, after having struck the concave in this way, the section, which we may suppose to have been bank, must be reflected in an equal angle, and must then be originally of the form M6 aE (fig 18), assumes the shape h in the direction of the next reach of the river. MBAE. 3. The angle of incidence must be proportioned to the 2. Without presuming to know the mechanism of the intenacity of the soil. ternal motions of fluids, we know that superficial waves are 4. There must be in the elbow an increase of slopp, or of reflected precisely as if they were elastic bodies, making the head of water, capable of overcoming the resistance occa- angles of incidence and reflection equal. In as far, theresioned by the elbow. fore, as the superficial wave is concerned in the operation, M. ReasonI'he reasonableness, at least, of these conditions will ap- de Buat s second position is just. The permanency of the ableness of pear from the following considerations. these con- 1. It is certain that force is expended in producino this next reach requires that its axis shall be in the direction of ditions. change of direction in a channel which by supposition di- the line EP (fig. 17), which makes the angle GEP = FEN. If the next reach has the direction EQ, MR, the wave reminishes the current. The diminution arising from any flected in the line ES will work on the bank at S, and will be VOL. XIX. 2D

\

RIVE R. 210 Theory, reflected in the line ST, and work again on the opposite bank described in the preceding paragraphs. We see a violent Theory, at T. We know that the effect of the superficial motion is tumbling motion in the stream towards the hollow bank, great, and that it is the principal agent in destroying the We see an evident accumulation of water on that side, and banks of canals. So far therefore Du Buat is right. We the point B is frequently higher than C. This regorging cannot say with any precision or confidence how the actions of the water extends to some distance, and is of itself a of the under filaments are modified ; but we know no rea- cause of greater velocity, and contributes, like a head of son for not extending to the under filaments what appears stagnant water, to force the stream through the bend, and to deepen the bottom. This is clearly the case when the so probable with respect to the surface-water. 3. The third position is no less evident. We do not velocity is excessive, and the hollow bank able to abide the know the mode of action of the water on the bank; but our shock. In this situation the water thus heaped up escapes general notions on this subject, confirmed by common ex- where it best can; and as the water obstructed by an obperience, tell us that the more obliquely a stream of water stacle put in its way escapes by the sides, and there has its beats on any bank, the less it tends to undermine it or wash velocity increased, so here the water gorged up against the it away. A stiff and cohesive soil therefore will suffer no hollow bank swells over towards the opposite side, and passes more from being almost perpendicularly buffeted by a stream round the convex bank with an increased velocity. It dethan a friable sand would suffer from water gliding along its pends much on the adjustment between the velocity and face. Du Buat thinks, from experience, that a clay bank consequent accumulation, and the breadth of the stream and is not sensibly affected till the angle FEB is about thirty- the angle of the elbow, whether this augmentation of velocity shall reach the convex bank; and we sometimes see the six degrees. 4. Since there are causes of retardation, and we still sup- motion very languid in that place, and even depositions ot pose that the discharge is kept up, and that the mean velo- mud and sand are made there. The whole phenomena are city, which had been diminished by the enlargement of the too complicated to be accurately described in general terms, section, is again restored, we must grant that there is pro- even in the case of perfect regimen: for this regimen is revided, in the mechanism of these motions, an accelerating lative to the consistence of the channel; and when this is force adequate to this effect. There can be no accelerat- very great, the motions may be most violent in every quaring force in an open stream but the superficial slope. In ter. But the preceding observations are of importance, the present case it is undoubtedly so; because by the deep- because they relate to ordinary cases and to ordinary chanening of the bottom where there is an elbow in the stream, nels. It is evident from Du Buat’s second position, that the we have of necessity a counter slope. Now, all this head of water, which must produce the augmentation of velocity proper form of an elbow depends on the breadth of the in that part of the stream which ranges round the convex stream as well as on the radius of curvature, and that every bank, will arise from the check which the water gets from angle of elbow will require a certain proportion between the the concave bank. This occasions a gorge or swell up the width of the river and the radius of the sweep. Du Buat stream, enlarges a little the section at BYC; and this, by gives rules and formula: for all these purposes, and shows the principle of uniform motion, will augment all the velo- that in one sweep there may be more than one reflection or cities, deepen the channel, and put every thing again into rebound. It is needless to enlarge on this matter of mere its train as soon as the water gets into the next reach. The geometrical discussion. It is with the view of enabling the water at the bottom of this basin has very little motion, but engineer to trace the windings of a river in such a manner that there shall be no rebounds which shall direct the stream it defends the bottom by this very circumstance. Remarks Such are the notions which Du Buat entertains of this against the sides, but preserve it always in the axis of every cm these part of the mechanism of running waters. We cannot say reach. This is of consequence, even when the bends of conditions, that they are very satisfactory, and they are very opposite the river are to be secured by masonry or piling; for we and the to 0pinj0ns commonly entertained on the subject. Most have seen the necessity of increasing the section, and the 8 f ersons them" ° P think that the motion is most rapid and turbulent tendency which the waters have to deepen the channel on on the side of the concave bank, and that it is owing to this that side where the rebound is made. This tends to unthat the bank is worn away till it has become perpendicular, dermine our defences, and obliges us to give them deeper and that the opposite bank is flat, because it has not been and more solid foundations in such places. But any pergnawed away in this manner. With respect to this general son accustomed to the use of the scale and compasses will view of the matter, these persons may be in the right; and form to himself rules of practice equally sure and more exwhen a stream is turned into a crooked and yielding chan- peditious than Du Buat’s formulae. We proceed, therefore, to what is more to our purpose, Resistam-e nel for the first time, this is its manner of action. But Du Buat’s aim is to investigate the circumstances which obtain the consideration of the resistance caused by an elbow, and caused by in the case of a regimen; and in this view he is undoubtedly the methods of providing a force capable of overcoming it. an elbow,e right as to the facts, though his mode of accounting for We have already taken notice of the salutary consequences^^ these facts may be erroneous. And as this is the only use- arising from the rambling course of rivers, inasmuch as it comi ful view to be taken of the subject, it ought chiefly to be more effectually spreads them over the face of a country. attended to in all our attempts to procure stability to the bed It is no less beneficial by diminishing their velocity. This of a river, without the expensive helps of masonry, &c. It it does both by lengthening their course, which diminishes we attempt to secure permanency by deepening on the in- the declivity, and by the very resistance which they meet side of the elbow, our bank will undoubtedly crumble with at every bend. We derive the chief advantages from down, diminish the passage, and occasion a more violent our rivers when they no longer shoot their way from preaction on the hollow bank. The most effectual mean of cipice to precipice loaded with mud and sand, but peacesecurity is to enlarge the section; and if we do this on the ably roll along their clear waters, purified during their geninside bank, we must do it by widening the stream very tler course, and offer themselves for all the purposes of pasmuch, that we may give a very sloping bank. Our atten- turage, agriculture, and navigation. The more a river winds tion is commonly drawn to it when the hollow bank is giv- its way round the foot of the hills, the more is the resistance ing way, and with a view to stop the ravages of the stream. of its bed multiplied; the more obstacles it meets with in Things are not now in a state of permanency, but nature its way from its source to the sea, the more moderate is its is working in her own way to bring it about. This may not velocity; and instead of tearing up the very bowels of the suit our purpose, and we must thwart her. The phenomena earth, and digging for itself a deep trough, along which it which we then observe are frequently very unlike to those sweeps rocks and rooted-up trees, it flows with majestic

211

RIVER. Theory, pace even with the surface of our cultivated grounds, which -v ' it embellishes and fertilizes. We may with safety proceed on the supposition, that the force necessary for overcoming the resistance arising from a rebound is as the square of the velocity; and it is reasonable to suppose it proportional to the square of the sine of the angle of incidence, and this for the reasons given for adopting this measure of the general Resistance of Fluids. It cannot, however, claim a greater confidence here than in that application ; and it has been shown in that article with what uncertainty and limitations it must be received. We leave it to our readers to adopt either this or tbe simple ratio of the sines, and shall abide by the duplicate ratio with Du Buat, because it appears by his experiments that this law is very exactly observed in tubes in inclinations not exceeding 40°; whereas it is in these small angles that the application to the general resistance of fluids is most in fault. But the correction is very simple if this value shall be found erroneous. There can be no doubt that the force necessary for overcoming the resistance will increase as the number of rebounds. Therefore we may express ti sin.2 X the resistance, in general, by the formula r — —-—; where r is the resistance, V the mean velocity of the stream, sin. I the sine of the angle of incidence, n the number of equal rebounds (that is, having equal angles of incidence), and m is a number to be determined by experiment. Du Buat made many experiments on the resistance occasioned by the bendings of pipes, none of which differed from the result of the above formula above one part in twelve; and he concludes, that the resistance to one bend may be estimated at —^— The experiment was in this form. A pipe of one inch diameter, and ten feet long, was formed with ten rebounds of 36° each. A head of water was applied to it, which gave the water a velocity of six feet per second. Another pipe of the same diameter and length, but without any bendings, was subjected to a pressure of a head of water, which was increased till the velocity of efflux was also six feet per second. The additional head of water was 5^ inches. Another of the same diameter and length, having one bend of 24° 34', and running eighty-five inches per second, was compared with a straight pipe having the same velocity, and the difference of the heads of water was of an inch. A computation from these two experiments will give V2 sin.2 I the above result, or, in English measure, r — — ■ very nearly. It is probable that this measure of the resistance is too great; for the pipe was of uniform diameter even in the bends: whereas, in a river properly formed, where the regimen is exact, the capacity of the section of the bend is increased. Theory ap- The application of this theory to inclined tubes and to plied to ni-0pen streams is very obvious, and very legitimate and safe, et

t ie w 10 e

tubes and ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ height of the reservoir ABIK, open and BC the horizontal length of a pipe, containing any stiearns, number of rebounds, equal or unequal, but all regular, that is, constructed according to the conditions formerly mentioned. The whole head of water should be conceived as Fig. 19. performing, or as divided into ^ portions which perform, three different offices. One portion, V2 AD —impels the water into the entry of the pipe with the velocity with which it really 1 moves in it; another portion GB is in equilibrio with the resistances arising from the mere length of the pipe ex~

panded into a straight line; and the third portion DE Theory, serves to overcome the resistance of the bends. If, therev'—“■ fore, we draw the horizontal line BC, and, taking the pipe BC out of its place, put it in the position DH, with its mouth C in H, so that DH is equal to BC, the water will have the same velocity in it that it had before. For greater simplicity of argument, we may suppose that when the pipe was inserted at B, its bends lay all in a horizontal plane, and that when it is inserted at D, the plane in which all its bends lie slopes only in the direction DH, and is perpendicular to the plane of the figure. We repeat it, the water will have the same velocity in the pipes BC and DH, and the resistances will be overcome. If we now prolong tbe pipe DH towards L to any distance, repeating continually the same bendings in a series of lengths, each equal to DH, the motion will be continued with the velocity corresponding to the pressure of the column AD ; because the declivity of the pipe is augmented in each length equal to DH, by a quantity precisely sufficient for overcoming all the resistances in that length; and the true slope in these cases is BE + ED, divided by the expanded length of the pipe BC or DH. The analogy which we were enabled to establish between the uniform motion or the train of pipes and of open streams, entitles us now to say, that when a river has bendings, which are regularly repeated at equal intervals, its slope is compounded of the slope which is necessary for overcoming the resistance of a straight channel of its whole expanded length, agreeably to the formula for uniform motion, and of the slope which is necessary for overcoming the resistance arising from its bending alone. Thus, let there be a river which, in the expanded course of 6000 fathoms, has 10 elbows, each of which has 30° ot rebound; and let its mean velocity be 20 inches in a second. If we should learn its whole slope in this 6000 fathoms, we must first find (by the formula of uniform motion) the slope s which will produce the velocity of 20 inches in a straight river of this length, section, and mean or depth. Suppose this to be ^0 inches, in this whole » V2sin.21 length. We must then find by the formula 3200 the slope necessary for overcoming the resistance of ten rebounds of 30° each. This we shall find to be 6f inches in the 6000 fathoms. Therefore the river must have a slope of 26-| inches in 6000 fathoms, or ye^oo ; and this slope will produce the same velocity which 20 inches, or 3T6oo’ would do in a straight-running river of the same length. PART II. PRACTICAL INFERENCES. Having thus established a theory of a most important Approxipart of hydraulics, which may be confided in as a just re-mation by presentation of nature’s procedure, we shall apply it to thetrial ani1 examination of the chief results of every thing which art£°^lon has contrived for limiting the operations of nature, or mo- mended to difying them so as to suit our particular views. Trusting practicai to the detail which we have given of the connecting prin- engineers, ciples, and the chief circumstances which co-operate in producing the ostensible effect; and supposing that such of our readers as are interested in this subject will not think it too much trouble to make the applications in the same detail; we shall content ourselves with merely pointing out the steps of the process, and showing their foundation in the theory itself; and frequently, in place of the direct analysis which the theory enables us to employ for the solution of the problems, we shall recommend a process of approximation by trial and correction, sufficiently accurate, and more within the reach of practical engineers.

R I V E R. 212 Practical We are naturally led to consider in order the following + T6 = 132-7, and L V132-7 = 2-444 nearly, and 1 T44S Practical Inferences. articies< — 2-444 zr 9-004 in place of 9, whence it is inferred that. er^nct^ " v^ 1. The effects of permanent additions of every kind to this last value of Vs IT 448 is sufficiently exact. This the waters of a river, and the most effectual methods of pre- may serve as a specimen of the trials by which we may venting or removing inundations. avoid an intricate analysis. 2. The effects of weirs, bars, sluices, and keeps of every Prob. II. Given the discharge D, the slope s, and the kind, for raising the surface of a river ; and the similar ef- velocity V, of permanent regimen, to find the dimensions fects of bridges, piers, and every thing which contracts the of the bed. section of the stream. Let x be the width and y the depth of the channel, and 3. The nature of canals ; how they differ from rivers in respect of origin, discharge, and regimen, and what condi- S the area of the section. This must be = which is tions are necessary for their most perfect construction. therefore = xy. The denominator s being given, we may 4. Canals for draining land, and drafts or canals of derivation from the main stream. The principles of their con- make Vs — L Vs + T6 =z ,y/B> and the formula of mean struction, so that they may suit their intended purposes; _ 297 (Vrf—0-1) and the change which they produce on the main stream, velocity will give V — 0-3 (Vrf—0-1), both above and below the point of derivation. 297 Of the Effects of Permanent Additions to the Waters of a which we may express thus: V = River. V =(Vd—0*1); and, finally, Prob.ems From what has already been said, it appears that to every which gives 297 ^ 297 i n-3 and exam- kind of soil or bed there corresponds a certain velocity of yn Ud y'B — 0-3 ples on the current, too small to hurt it by digging it up, and too great effects of -f- 0-1 —Vdpermanent to allow the deposition of the materials which it is carrying Having thus obtained what we call the mean depth, -we additions along. Supposing this known for any particular situation, and to the wa- the quantity of water which the channel must of necessity may suppose the section rectangular. This gives d= xy ters of a ri- discharge, we may wish to learn the smallest slope which x + 2/ must be given to this stream, that the waters may run with Thus wre have two equations, § — xy and d — xy the required velocity. This suggests, x + 2/ Prob. I.1 Given the discharge D of a river, and V its veS locity of regimen : required the smallest slope s, and the From which we obtain 2S + 72(7" And dimensions of its bed. S And then Since the slope must be the smallest possible, the bed having the breadth x and area S, we have y — -. must have the form which will give the greatest mean depth d, and should therefore be the trapezium formerly we may change this for the trapezium often mentioned. described; and its area and perimeter are the same with These are the chief problems on this part of the subject, those of a rectangle whose breadth is twice its height h. and they enable us to adjust the slope and channel of a river which receives any number of successive permanent These circumstances gives us the equation ^ = 2/r\ For additions by the influx of other streams. This last informs the area of the section is twice the square of the height, us of the rise which a new supply will produce, because the and the discharge is the product of this area and the veloci- additional supply will require additional dimensions of the channel; and as this is not supposed to increase in breadth, the addition will be in depth. The question may be pro= the breadth h. ty Therefore ^ = h and posed in the following problem. Prob. III. Given the slope 5, the depth and the base of The formula of uniform motion gives Vs L Vs + T6 a rectangular bed (or a trapezium), and consequently the 297 (W—0-1) Instead of Vo?—0*1, put its equal discharge D, to find how much the section will rise if the “ V + 0-3 (Vo?— 0-1) discharge be augmented by a given quantity. Let h be the height after the augmentation, and w the 0-1, and every thing being known in the second j width for the rectangular bed. We have in any uniform y side of this equation, we easily get the value of s by a few h 0-1. Raising this to a square, trials after the following manner : Suppose that the second current \/d— 297 — 0-3 side is equal to any number, such as 9. First suppose that f/B Vs is == 9, whence s rr 81. Then the hyperbolic logarithm D wh of V81 + T6 or V82‘6 is 2*21. Therefore we have V s and putting for d and V their values w 2h and^ rf and — LVs + T6:=:9 — 2*21 = 6*79 ; whereas it should have 297 wh 0-3 = K, the equation becomes been = 9. Therefore say 6‘79 : 9 = 9 : 1 T9 nearly. Now makin & VB w -J- 2h suppose that Vs is 11-9, whence s = 14T6. Then D 0-1^ . Raising the second member to a square, L Vl4T6-j-T6 = L V 143^2z=2'482nearly, and 1 T9—2-482 (wAK = 9-408, whereas it should be 9. Now we find that changing and reducing, we obtain a cubic equation, to be solved in the value of Vs from 9 to 1 T9 has changed the answer from the usual manner. 6-79 to 9-408, or a change of 2-9 in our assumption has But the solution would be extremely complicated. We made a change of 2-618 in the answer, and has left an error may obtain a very expeditious and exact approximation of 0-408. Therefore say 2-618 : 0-408 = 2-9 : 0-452. Then from this consideration, that a small change in one of the taking 0-452 from 1T9, we have, for our next assumption dimensions of the section will produce a much greater or value of Vs, 1T448, whence s — 13T1. Now 13T1 change in the section and the discharge than in the mean 1 In these problems and examples the measures are expressed in French inches, For English inches the co-efficient 307 must be used in place of 297-

RIVER. Practical depth d. Having therefore augmented the unknown Inferences, dimension, which is here the height, make use of this to -v'—' form a new mean depth, and then the new equation ^ q- 01 will give us another value of A, wh a-™) which will rarely exceed the truth by This serves (by the same process) for finding another, which will commonly be sufficiently exact. We shall illustrate this by an example. Let there be a river whose channel is a rectangle 150 feet wide and six feet deep, and which discharges 1500 cubic feet of water per second, or having a velocity of twena ou an ty inches, and slope of b t vi 100 fathoms. How much will it rise if it receives an addition which triples its discharge ? and what will be its velocity ? If the velocity remained the same, its depth would be tripled ; but we know by the general formula that its velocity will be greatly increased, and therefore its depth will not be tripled. Suppose it to be doubled, and to become twelve feet. This will give d— 10‘344 an{l sing the praises of those princes actual manners, became, in their turn, the glass by which chivalry ky whom they were protected; while he owns, at the same the youth of the age dressed themselves ; while the spirit of time, that they often recommended to their hearers the chivalry and of romance thus gradually threw light upon path of virtue and nobleness, and pointed out the pursuits and enhanced each other. by which the heroes of romance had rendered themselves The romances, therefore, exhibited the same system of renowned in song.6 He quotes from the romance of Ber- manners which existed in the nobles of the age. The chatrand Guesclin, the injunction on those who would rise to racter of a true son of chivalry was raised to such a pitch 1 Berdic (Regis Jocuhtor), the jongleur or minstrel of William the Conqueror, had, as appears from the Domesday record, three vills and five caracates of land in Gloucestershire without rent. Henry I. had a minstrel called Galfrid, who received an annuity from the abbey of Hyde. * A minstrel of Edward L, during that prince’s expedition to the Holy Land, slept within his tent, and came to his assistance when an attempt was made to assassinate him. 5 The Priory and Hospital of Saint Bartholomew, in London, was founded in the reign of Henry I. by Royer or Raher, a minstrel of that4 prince. In 1441, the monks of Maxlock, near Coventry, paid a donation of four shillings to the minstrels of Lord Clinton for songs, harping, and5 other exhibitions, while, to a doctor who preached before the community in the same year, they assigned only sixpence. The noted anecdote of Blondel and his royal master, Richard Coeur de Lion, will occur to every reader. 6 Ministelli dicti praesertim scurraj, mimi, joculatores, quos etiamnum vulgo Menestreux vel Menestriers, appellamus. Porro ejusmodi scunarum erat Principes, non suis duntaxat ludicris oblectare, sed et eorum aures variis avorum, adeoque ipsoruin Principum laudi. bus, non sine assentatione, cum cantilenis et musicis instrumentis, demulcere Interdum etiam virorum insignium et heroum gesta, aut expheata et jucunda narratione commemorabant, aut suavi vocis inflectione, fidibusque decantabant, quo sic dominorum, cajterorumque qui ms intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem capessendam et summorum virorum imitationem accenderent: quod f'uit olim apud Gallos Bardorum ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. Neque enim alios a Ministellis, veterum Gallorum Burdos fuisse pluribus probat Henncus Valesius ad 15. Ammiani.— Chronicon Bertrandi Guesclini: Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans, II doit aler souvent a la pluie et an champ, Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollans, Les quatre fils Haimon et Charlon li plus grans, Li Dus Lions de Bourges, et Guion de Connans, Perceval li Galois, Lancelot et Tristans, Alexandres, Artus, Godefroy li sachans, De quoy cils menestriers font les nobles Romans. 7 Barbour, the Scottish historian, censures a Highland chief, when, in commending the prowess of Bruce in battle, he likened him to the Celtic hero, Fin Mac Coul, and says, he might in more mannerly fashion have compared him to Gaudifer, a champion celebrated in the romance of Alexander.

261 R O M A N C E. Romance, of ideal and impossible perfection, that those who emulated the fragments of classical superstition, which continued to be Romance, ■v^v^^'such renown were usually contented to stop far short of the preserved after the fall of the Roman empire. All those mark. The most adventurous and unshaken valour, a mind systems seem to be inaccurate, in so far as they have been capable of the highest flights of romantic generosity, a heart adopted, exclusively of each other, and of the general prowhich was devoted to the will of some fair idol, on whom position, that fables of a nature similar to the romances of his deeds were to reflect glory, and whose love was to re- chilvalry, modified according to manners and state of soward all his toils ; these were attributes which all aspired ciety, must necessarily be invented in every part of the to exhibit who sought to rank high in the annals of chival- world, for the same reason that grass grows upon the surry ; and such were the virtues which the minstrels cele- face of the soil in every climate and in every country. “ In brated. But, like the temper of a tamed lion, the fierce reality,” says Mr. Southey, who has treated this subject with and dissolute spirit of the age often shewed itself through his usual ability, “ mythological and romantic tales are curthe fair varnish of this artificial system of manners. The rent among all savages of whom we have any full account; valour of the hero was often stained by acts of cruelty, or for man has his intellectual as well as his bodily appetites, freaks of rash desperation ; his courtesy and munificence and these things are the food of his imagination and faith. became solemn foppery and wild profusion; his love to his They are found wherever there is language and discourse lady often demanded and received a requital inconsistent of reason ; in other words, wherever there is man. And in with the honour of the object; and those who affected to similar stages of civilization, or states of society, the fictions found their attachment on the purest and most delicate of different people will bear a corresponding resemblance, metaphysical principles, carried on their actual intercourse notwithstanding the difference of time and scene.”1 with a license altogether inconsistent with their sublime To this it may be added, that the usual appearances and pretensions. Such were the real manners of the middle productions of nature offer to the fancy, in every part of the ages, and we find them so depicted in.these ancient legends. world, the same means of diversifying fictitious narrative by So high was the national excitation in consequence of the introduction of prodigies. If in any romance we enthe romantic atmosphere in which they seemed to breathe, counter the description of an elephant, wre may reasonably that the knights and squires of the fourteenth and fifteenth conclude that a phenomenon, unknown in Europe, must centuries imitated the wildest and most extravagant em- have been borrowed from the east; but whosoever has seen prises of the heroes of romance ; and, like them, took on a serpent and a bird, may easily aggravate the terrors of the themselves the most extraordinary adventures to shew their former by conferring on a fictitious monster the wings of the own gallantry, and do most honour to the ladies of their latter; and whoever has seen or heard of a wolf, or lion, and hearts. The females of rank, erected into a species of god- an eagle, may, by a similar exertion of invention, imagine a desses in public, and often degraded as much below their griffin or hippogriff. It is imputing great poverty to the proper dignity in more private intercourse, equalled in their human imagination, to suppose that the speciosa miracula, extravagances the youth of the other sex. A singular which are found to exist in different parts of the world, must picture is given by Knyghton of the damsels-errant who necessarily be derived from some common source; and perattended upon the solemn festivals of chivalry, in quest, it haps we should not err more grossly in supposing that the may reasonably be supposed, of such adventures as are very various kinds of boats, skiffs, and rafts, upon which men have likely to be met with by such females as think proper to dared the ocean on so many various shores, have been all seek them. “ These tournaments are attended by many originally derived from the vessel of the Argonauts. ladies of the first rank and greatest beauty, but not always On the other hand, there are various romantic incidents of the most untainted reputation. These ladies are dressed and inventions of a nature so peculiar, that we may boldly, in party-coloured tunics, one-half of one colour and the and at once, refer them to some particular and special oriother half of another ; their lirripipes, or tippets, are very gin. The tale of Flora and Blanchefleur, for example, short; their caps remarkably little, and wrapt about their could only be invented in the east, where the scene is laid, heads with cords ; their girdles and pouches are ornamented and the manners of which are observed with some accuracy. w'ith gold and silver; and they wear short swords, called That of Orfeo and Heurodis, on the contrary, is the classidaggers, before them, a little below their navels ; they are cal history of Orpheus and Eurydice, with the Gothic mamounted on the finest horses, with the richest furniture. chinery of the elves or fairies, substituted for the infernal Thus equipped, they ride from place to place in quest of regions. But notwithstanding these and many other intournaments, by which they dissipate their fortunes, and stances in which the subjects or leading incidents of rosometimes ruin their reputation.”—(Knyghton, quoted in mance can be distinctly traced to British or Armorican traHenry’s History, vol. viii. p. 402.) ditions, to the tales and history of classic antiquity, to the The minstrels, or those who aided them in the composi- wild fables and rich imagery of Arabia, or to those darker tion of the romances, which it was their profession to re- and sterner themes which were first treated of by the Skalds cite, roused to rivalry by the unceasing demand for their of the north, it would be assuming greatly too much upon compositions, endeavoured emulously to render them more such grounds to ascribe the derivation of romantic fiction, attractive by subjects of new and varied interest, or by mar- exclusively to any one of these sources. In fact, the founvellous incidents which their predecessors were strangers to. dation of these fables lies deep in human nature, and the Much labour has been bestowed, somewhat unprofitably, in superstructures have been imitated from various authorities endeavouring to ascertain the sources from which they drew by those who, living by the pleasure which their lays of chithe embellishments of their tales, when the hearers began valry afforded to their audience, were especially anxious to to be tired of the unvaried recital of battle and tournament recommend them by novelty of every kind ; and were unwhich had satisfied the simplicity of a former age. Percy doubtedly highly gratified when the report of travellers, or has contended for the northern Sagas as the unquestionable pilgrims, or perhaps their own intercourse with minstrels of origin of the romance of the middle ages. Warton con- other nations, enabled them to vary their usual narrations ceived that the Oriental fables, borrowed by those minstrels with circumstances yet unheard in bower and hall. Romance, who visited Spain, or who in great numbers attended the therefore, was like a compound metal, derived from various crusades, gave the principal distinctive colouring to those mines, and in the different specimens of which, one metal or remarkable compositions ; and a later system, patronised by other was alternately predominant; and viewed in this light, later authors, has derived them, in a great measure, from the ingenious theories of those learned antiquaries, who have Preface to Southey’s edition of the Morte D’Arthur. Loud. 1817, 2 vols. 4to.

262

ROMANCE. Romance, endeavoured to seek the origin of this style of fiction in one In the year 1286, Count William of Hainault had, it is Romance, of these sources alone, to the exclusion of all others, seem as averred, crossed the seas in order to be present at the nup-'^^s,^^-' vain as that of travellers affecting to trace the proper head of tials of Edward, and in the course of a tour through Brithe Nile to various different springs, all of which are owned tain, was hospitably entertained at an abbey situated on the to be accessary to form the full majesty of his current. banks of the Humber, and termed, it seems, Burtimer, beProse roAs the fashion of all things passes away, the metrical ro- cause founded by a certain Burtimericus, a monarch of whom mance. mances began gradually to decline in public estimation, pro- our annals are silent, but who had gained, in that place, a bably on account of the depreciated character of the minstrels victory over the heathens of Germany. Here a cabinet, by whom they were recited. Tradition, says Ritson, is an which was inclosed in a private recess, had been lately disalchemy, which converts gold into lead ; and there is little covered within the massive walls of an ancient tower, and doubt, that, in passing from mouth to mouth, and from age was found to contain a Grecian manuscript, along with a to age, the most approved metrical romances became gradu- royal crown. The abbot had sent the latter to king Edally corrupted by the defect of memory of some reciters and ward, and the Count of Hainault with difficulty obtained the interpolations of others ; since few comparatively can be possession of the manuscript. He had it rendered from supposed to have had recourse to the manuscripts in which Greek into Latin by a monk of the abbey of Saint Landesome have been preserved. Neither were the reciters in lain, and from that language it is said to have been transthe latter, as in the former times, supplied with new produc- lated into French by the author, who gives it to the world tions of interest and merit. The composition of the me- in honour of the blessed Virgin, and for the edification of trical romance was gradually abandoned to persons of an in- nobleness and chivalry. ferior class. The art of stringing together in loose verse a By such details, the authors of the prose romances ennumber of unconnected adventures, was too easy not to be deavoured to obtain for their works a credit for authenticipractised by many who only succeeded to such a degree as ty which had been denied to the rhythmical legends. But was discreditable to the art, by shewing that mere medio- in this particular they did great injustice to their contemncrity was sufficient to exercise it. And the licentious cha- ed predecessors, whose reputations they murdered in order racter, as well as the great number of those who, under the to rob them with impunity. Whatever fragments or shavarious names of glee-men, minstrels, and the like, travers- dowings of true history may yet remain hidden under the ed the country, and subsisted by this idle trade, brought mass of accumulated fable, which had been heaped on them themselves and their occupation into still greater contempt during successive ages, must undoubtedly be sought in the and disregard. With them, the long recitations formerly metrical romances; and according to the view of the subject made at the tables of the great, were gradually banished in- which we have already given, the more the works approach to more vulgar society. in point of antiquity to the period where the story is laid, the But though the form of those narratives underwent a more are we likely to find those historical traditions in somechange of fashion, the appetite for the fictions themselves thing approaching to an authentic state. But those who continued as ardent as ever; and the prose romances which wrote under the imaginary names of Rusticien de Puise, succeeded, and finally superseded those composed in verse, Robert de Borron, and the like, usually seized upon the subhad a large and permanent share of popularity. This was, ject of some old minstrel; and, recomposing the whole no doubt, in a great degree owing to the important inven- narrative after their own fashion, with additional characters tion of printing, which has so much contributed to alter the and adventures, totally obliterated in that operation any destinies of the world. The metrical romances, though in shades which remained of the first, and probably authensome instances sent to the press, were not very fit to be pub- tic tradition, which was the original source of the elalished in this form. The dull amplifications which passed borate fiction. Amplification was especially employed by well enough in the course of a half-heard recitation, be- the prose romancers, who, having once got hold of a subject, came intolerable when subjected to the eye ; and the public seem never to have parted with it until their power of intaste gradually growing more fastidious as the language be- vention was completely exhausted. The metrical romancame more copious, and the system of manners more com- ces, in some instances, indeed, ran to great length, but were plicated, graces of style and variety of sentiment wTere de- much exceeded in that particular by the folios which were manded instead of a naked and unadorned tale of wonders. written on the same or similar topics by their prose succesThe authors of the prose romance endeavoured, to the best sors. Probably the latter judiciously reflected that a book cf their skill, to satisfy this newly awakened and more refin- which addresses itself only to the eyes, may be laid aside ed taste. They used, indeed, the same sources of romantic when it becomes tiresome to the reader; whereas it may not history which had been resorted to by their metrical prede- always have been so easy to stop the minstrel in the full cessors ; and Arthur, Charlemagne, and all their chivalry, career of his metrical declamation. were as much celebrated in prose as ever they had been in Who, then, the reader may be disposed to inquire, can poetic narrative. But the new candidates for public favour have been the real authors of those prolixworks, who,shroudpretended to have recourse to sources of authentic informa- ing themselves under borrowed names, derived no renown tion, to which their metrical predecessors had no access. from their labours, if successful, and who, certainly, in the They refer almost always to Latin, and sometimes to Greek infant state of the press, were not rewarded with any emoluoriginals, which certainly had no existence; and there is ment ? This question cannot, perhaps, be very satisfactolittle doubt that the venerable names of the alleged authors rily answered ; but we may reasonably suspect that the long aie invented, as well as the supposed originals from which hours of leisure which the cloister permitted to its votaries, they are said to have translated their narratives. The fol- were often passed away in this manner; and the conjeclowing account of the discovery of La tres elegante deli- ture is rendered more probable, when it is observed that cieux mellijlue et tres plaisante Hystoire du tres noble itoy matters are introduced into those works which have an espePerceforest (printed at Paris in 1528 by Galliot du Pre,) cial connection with sacred history, and with the traditions may serve to show that modern authors were not the first of the Church. Thus, in the curious romance of Huon de who invented the popular mode of introducing their works Bourdeaux, a sort of second part is added to that delightto the world as the contents of a newly discovered manu- ful history, in which the hero visits the terrestrial paradise, script. In the abridgment to which we are limitted, wre encounters the first murderer Cain, in the peformance of his can give but a faint picture of the minuteness with which penance, with more matter to the same purpose, not likely the author announces his pretended discovery, and which to occur to the imagination of a layman ; besides, that the forms an admit able example of the lie with a circumstance- laity of the period were in general too busy and too igno-

R OMAN 0 E. Romance, rant to engage in literary tasks of any kind. The mystical some insight into nature, or at least into manners; some de- Romance, portion of the romance of the Hound Table seems derived scription of external scenery, and a greater regard to profrom the same source. It may also be mentioned, that the au- bability both in respect of the characters which are introdacious, and sometimes blasphemous assertions, which claim- duced, and the events which are narrated. These new deed for these fictions the credit due even to the inspired writ- mands the prose romances endeavoured to supply to the ings themselves, were likely to originate amongst Roman best of their power. There was some attention shewn to Catholic churchmen, who were but too familiar with such relieve their story, by the introduction of new characters, forgeries for the purpose of authenticating the legends of and to illustrate these personages by characteristic dialogue. their superstition. One almost incredible instance of this The lovers conversed with each other in the terms of meimpious specious of imposture occurs in the history of the taphysical gallantry, which were used in real life; and from Saint Graal, which curious mixture of mysticism and chival- being a mere rhapsody of warlike feats, the romance began ry is ascribed by the unfearing and unblushing writer to the to assume the nobler and more artificial form of a picture of manners. It is in the prose folios of Lancelot du Lac, second person of the Trinity. Churchmen, however, were by no means the only authors Perceforest, and others, that antiquaries find recorded the of these legends, although the Sires Clercs, as they were most exact accounts of fights, tournaments, feasts, and other sometimes termed, who were accounted the chronicles of magnificent displays of chivalric splendour ; and as they dethe times in which they lived, were usually in orders; and scend into more minute description than the historians of although it appears that it was upon them that the com- the time thought worthy of their pains, they are a mine mands of the soveregins whom they served often imposed from which the painful student may extract much valuable the task of producing new romances under the usual disguise information. This, however, is not the full extent of their of ancient chronicles translated from the learned languages, merit. These ancient books, amid many pages of dull reor otherwise collected from the ruins of antiquity. As edu- petition and uninteresting dialogue, and notwithstanding the cation became improved, and knowledge began to be more langour of an inartificial, protracted, and confused story, exgenerally diffused, individuals among the laity, and those of hibit from time to time passages of deep interest, and situano mean rank, began to feel the necessity, as it may be tions of much novelty, as well as specimens of spirited and called, of putting into a permanent form the “thick-coming masculine writing. The general reader, who dreads the fancies” which gleam along the imagination of men of ge- labour of winnowing out these valuable passages from the nius. Sir Thomas Malony, who compiled the MorteD’Arthur sterile chaff through which they are scattered, will receive from French originals, was a person of honour and worship; an excellent idea of the beauties and defects of the romance and Lord Berners, the excellent translator of Froissart, and from Tressan’s Corps d’Extraits de Romans de Chevalerie, author of a romance called The Chevalier de la Cygne, is from Mr. Ellis’s Specimens of Early English Romances, an illustrious example that a nobleman of high estimation and Mr. Dunlop’s History of Fiction. These works continued to furnish the amusement of the did not think his time misemployed on this species of composition. Some literary fame must therefore have attended most polished courts in Europe, so long as the manners and these efforts; and perhaps less eminent authors might, in habits of chivalry continued to animate them. Even the the latter ages, receive some pecuniary advantages. The sagacious Catherine of Medicis considered the romance of translator of Perceforest, formerly mentioned, who appears Perceforest as the work best qualified to form the manners to have been an Englishman or Fleming, in his address to and amuse the leisure of a young prince ; since she impressthe warlike and invincible nobility of France, holds the lan- ed on Charles IX. the necessity of study ing it with attention. guage of a professional author, who expected some advan- But by degrees the progress of new opinions in religion, the tage besides that of pleasing those whom he addressed ; and promulgation of a stricter code of morality, together with who expresses proportional gratitude for the favourable re- the important and animating discussions which began to be ception of his former feeble attempts to please them. It is carried on by means of the press, diverted the public attenpossible, therefore, that the publishers, these lions of liter- tion from these antiquated legends. The Protestants of ature, had begun already to admit the authors into some England, and the Huguenots of France, were rigorous in share of their earnings. Other printers, like the venerable their censure of books of chivalry, in proportion as they had Caxton, compiled themselves, or translated from other lan- been patronized formerly under the Catholic system; perhaps guages, the romances which they sent to the press; thus because they helped to arrest men’s thoughts from more serious uniting in their own persons the three separate departments subjects of occupation. The learned Ascham thus inveighs against the romance of MorteH’ Arthur, and at the same time of author, printer, and publisher. The prose romance did not, in the general conduct of the acquaints us with its having passed out of fashion : “ In our story, where digressions are heaped on digressions, without forefathers’ tyme, when papestrie, as a standyng poole, covered the least respect to the principal narrative, greatly differ and overflowed all Englande, fewe bookes were read in our from that of their metrical predecessors, being to the full tongue, savyngcertaine bookes ofchivalrie,as they said for pasas tedious and inartificial; nay, more so, in proportion as time and pleasure; which, as some say, were made in monastethe new romances were longer than the old. In the trans- ries by idle monks, or wanton chanons. As, for example, La ference from verse to prose, and the amplification which the Morte Ly Arthur, the whole pleasure of which booke standeth scenes underwent in the process, many strong, forcible, and in two speciall poyntes, in open manslaughter, and bold bawenergetic touches of their original author have been weak- drye ; in which booke they are counted the noblest knightes ened, or altogether lost; and the reader misses with regret thatdokill most men without any quarrell, and commit foulest some of the redeeming bursts of rude poetry which, in the me- adulteries by sutlest shiftes; as Sir Launcelote, with the wife trical romance, make amends for many hundred lines of bald ofKingArthurhismaster; Sir Tristram, with thewifeofKing and rude versification. But, on the other hand, the prose ro- Marke his uncle; Sir Lamerocke, with the wife of King mances were written for a more advanced stage of society, Lote, that was his own aunt. This is good stuffe for wise and by authors whose language was much more copious, men to laughe at, or honest men to take pleasure at: yet I La and who certainly belonged to a more educated class than know, when God’s Bible was banished the court, and 1 the ancient minstrels. Men were no longer satisfied with Morte D’Arthur received into the prince’s chamber.” The brave and religious La Noue is not more favourable hearing of hard battles and direful wounds ; they demanded at the hand of those who professed to entertain them, to the perusal of romances than the learned Ascham ; atWorks of Roger Ascham, p. 254. 4to. edition.

264 ROMANCE. Romance, tributing to the public taste for these compositions the de- usual at an early period, debased by the intermixture of Romance, ^-y-^'cay of morality amongst the French nobility. “ The ancient those speciosa miracula which the love of the wonderful fables whose relikes doe yet remain, namely, Lancelot of early introduces into the annals of an infant country. There the Lake, Pierceforest, Tristram, Giron the Courteous, and are, however, very many of the sagas, indeed by far the such others, doe beare witnesse of this olde vanitie ; here- greater number of those now known to exist, which must with were men fed for the space of 500 yeeres, untill our be considered as falling rather under the class of fictitious language growing more polished, and our mindes more tick- than of real narratives ; and which, therefore, belong to our lish, they were driven to invent some nouelties wherewith present subject of inquiry. The Omepinger Saga, the to delight us. Thus came ye bookes of Amadis into light Heimskringla, the Saga of Olaf Triggvason, the Eyrbygamong us in this last age. But to say y* truth, Spaine bred gia Saga, and several others, may be considered as historithe, and France new clothed the in gay garments. In y® cal ; whilst the numerous narratives referring to the history dales of Henne the Second did they beare the chiefest sway, of the Nibelungen and Volsungen are as imaginary as the and I think if any man weuld then have reproved the, he romances which treat of King Arthur and of Charlemagne. should have been spit at because they were of themselves These singular compositions, short, abrupt, and concise in playfellowes and maintainers to a great sort of persons; expression, full of bold and even extravagant metaphor, exwhereof some, after they had learned to amize in speech, hibiting many passages of forceful and rapid description, their teeth watered, so desirous were they even to taste of hold a character of their own ; and whilst they remind us of some small morsels of the delicacies therein most livelie and the indomitable courage and patient endurance of the hardy naturally represented.”2 The gallant Marechal proceeds at Scandinavians, at once the honour and the terror of Euconsiderable length to refute the arguments of those who rope, rise far above the tedious and creeping style which contended that these books were intended as a spur to the characterised the minstrel efforts of their successors, whepractice of arms and honourable exercises amongst youth, ther in France or England. In the pine forests also, and and labours hard to shew that they teach dishonest prac- the frozen mountains of the north, there were nursed, amid tices both in love and in arms. It is impossible to suppress a the reliques of expiring paganism, many traditions of a chasmile when we find such an author as La None denouncing racter more wild and terrible than the tables of classical suthe introduction of spells, witchcrafts, and enchantments in- perstition ; and these the gloomy imagination of the skalds to these volumes, not because such themes are absurd and failed not to transfer to their romantic tales. The late spinonsensical, but because the representing such beneficent rit of inquiry which has been so widely spread through Gerenchanters as Alquifeand Urganda is, in fact, a vindication many, has already begun to throw much light on this neof those who traffic with the powers of darkness; and that glected storehouse of romantic lore, which is worthy of much those who love to read about sorceries and enchantments more attention than has yet been bestowed upon it in Bribecome, by degrees, familiarized with those devilish mys- tain. It must, however, be remarked, that although the teries, and may at length be induced to have recourse to north possesses champions and romances of its own, unknown to southern song, yet, in a later age, the inhabitants them in good earnest. The romances of chivalry did not, however, sink into of these countries borrowed from the French minstrels some disrepute under the stern rebuke of religious puritans or of their most popular subjects ; and hence we find sagas on severe moralists, but became gradually neglected, as the the subject of Sir Tristrem, Sir Percival, Sir Ywain, and customs of chivalry itself fell into disregard ; when, of others, the well-known themes of French and English rocourse, the books which breathed its spirit, and wrere writ- mance. These, however, must necessarily be considered ten under its influence, ceased to produce any impression later in date, as w'ell as far inferior in interest, to the sagas on the public mind, and, superseded by better models of of genuine northern birth. Mr. Ritson has indeed quoted composition, and overwhelmed with the ridicule of Cer- their existence as depreciating the pretensions of the northvantes, sunk by degrees into utter contempt and oblivion. ern nations to the possession of poems of high antiquity of Other works of amusement, of the same general class, their owm native growth. Had he been acquainted with succeeded the proper romance of chivalry. Of these we the Norman-Kiempe-Datur, a large folio, printed at Stockshall take some notice hereafter, since we must here close holm in 1737, he would have been satisfied, that out of the our general view of the history of romance, and proceed numerous collection of legends respecting the achievements briefly to give some account of those peculiar to the various of Gothic champions, far the greater part are of genuine Norse origin ; and although having many features in comEuropean nations. Romances II. We can here but briefly touch upon a subject of mon with the romances of southern chivalry, are, in other of the dif- great interest and curiosity, namely, the peculiar character marked particulars, distinctly divided from that class of ficferentcoun-an(j tone which the romance of chivalry received from the titious composition. tries of Eu- manners an(j early history of the nations amongst whom it The country of Germany, lying contiguous to France, German ro. rope. |g foun(j t0 exist; and the corresponding question, in what and constantly engaged in friendly and hostile intercourse mance. degree each appears to have borrowed from other countries with that great seat of romantic fiction, became, of course, the themes of their own minstrels, or to have made use of an early partaker in the stores which it afforded. The Minnesingers of'the Holy Empire were a race no less cherishmaterials common to the whole. Northern Scandinavia, as was to be expected, may be safely con- ed than the Troubadours of Provence, or the Minstrels of romances. sidered as the richest country in Europe, in ancient tales Normandy; and no less active in availing themselves of corresponding with the character of romance; sometimes their indigenous traditions, or importing those of other councomposed entirely in poetry or rhythm, sometimes in prose, tries, in order to add to their stock of romantic fiction. and much more frequently in a mixture of prose, narrative, Gotfrit of Strasburg composed many thousand lines upand lyrical effusions. Their well-known Skalds or bards on the popular subject of Sir Tristrem ; and others have held a high rank in their courts and councils. The charac- been equally copious, both as translators and as original auter of a good poet was scarcely second to that of a gallant thors, upon various subjects connected with French roleader, and many of the most celebrated champions ambi- mance ; but Germany possessed materials, partly borrowed tiously endeavoured to unite both in their own persons. from Scandinavia, partly peculiar to her own traditional hisTheir earlier sagas or tales approach to the credit of real tory, as well as to that of the Roman empire, which they history, and were unquestionably meant as such, though, as applied to the construction of a cycle of heroes as famous * The Politiche and Militarie Discourses of the Lord De La Nowe, pp. 87, 88. 4to. Lond. 1587.

ROMANCE. 265 Romance, in Teutonic song as those of Arthur and of Charlemagne in of the classical Italians, until Boiardo, Berni, Pulci, and, Romance, France and Britain. above all, the divine Ariosto, condescended to use them As in all other cases of the kind, a real conqueror, the the basis of their well-known romantic poems; and thus fame of whose exploits survived in tradition, was adopted the fictitious narratives originally composed in metre, and as the central object, around whom were to be assembled a afterwards rewritten in prose, were anew decorated with the set of champions, and with whose history was to be inter- honours of verse. The romantic poets of Italy did not even woven the various feats of courage which they performed, disdain to imitate the rambling, diffuse, and episodical style and the adventures which they underwent. Theodorick proper to the old romance ; and Ariosto, in particular, alKing of the Goths, called in these romantic legends Dide- though he torments the reader’s attention, by digressing rick of Bern (i. e. Verona,) was selected for this purpose by from one adventure to another, delights us, upon frequent the German Minnesingers. Among the principal person- perusals, by the extreme ingenuity with which he gathers ages introduced are Ezzel, King of the Huns, who is no up the broken ends of his narrative, and finally weaves them other than the celebrated Attila ; and Gunter, King of Bur- all handsomely together in the same piece. But the merits gundy, who is identified with a Guntacher of history who and faults of romantic poetry form themselves the fruitful really held that kingdom. The good knight Wolfram von subject of a long essay. We here only notice the origin of Eschenbach seems to have been the first who assembled those celebrated works, as a species of composition arising the scattered traditions and minstrel tales concerning these out of the old romance, though surpassing it in regularity, sovereigns into one large volume of German verse, entitled as well as in all the beauties of style and diction. Heldenbuch, or the Book of Heroes. In this the author With Spain the idea of romance was particularly con-Spanish and has availed himself of the unlimited licence of a romancer ; nected ; and the associations which are formed upon per- Portuguese and has connected with the history of Diderick and his chi- using the immortal work of Cervantes, induce us for a longromance valry a number of detached legends which had certainly a time to believe that the country of Don Quixote must be separate and independent existence. Such is the tale of the very cradle of romantic fiction. Yet, if we speak of Sigurd the Horny, which has the appearance of having ori- priority of date, Spain was amongst the last nations in Euginally been a Norse saga. An analysis of this singular rope with whom romance became popular. It was not inpiece was published by Mr. Weber, in a work entitled Il- deed possible that, among a people speaking so noble and lustrations of Northern Antiquities from, the earlier Teuto- poetical a language, engaged in constant wars, which called nic and Scandinavian Romances; and the subject has been forth at once their courage and their genius, there should fully illustrated by the publications of the learned Von der not exist many historical and romantic ballads descriptive Hagen in Germany, and those of the Hon. William Herbert. of their rencounters with the Moors. But their native poets It is here only necessary to say, that Theodorick, like seem to have been too much engaged with the events of Charlemagne and Arthur, is considered in the romance as their own age, and of that which had just preceded it, a monarch more celebrated for the valorous achievements to permit of their seeking subjects in the regions of pure of the brotherhood of chivalry whom he has drawn around fiction; and we have not heard of a Spanish metrical rohim, than for his own, though neither deficient in strength mance, unless the poems describing the adventures of the nor courage. His principal followers have each their dis- Cid should be supposed to have any affinity to that class criminatory and peculiar attributes. Meister Hildebrand, of composition. The Peninsula, however, though late in the Nestor of the band, is, like the Maugis of Charlemagne’s adopting the prevailing taste for romantic fiction, gave oriheroes, a magician as well as a champion. Hogan, or Ha- gin to one particular class, which was at least as popular as gan, begot betwixt a mortal and a sea-goblin, is the fierce any which had preceded it. Amadis de Gaul, the producAchilles of the confederation. It is the uniform custom of tion, it would seem, of Vasco de Lobeira, a Portuguese the romancers to conclude by a general and overwhelming knight, who lived in the fourteenth century, gave a new catastrophe, which destroys the whole ring of chivalry turn to the tales of chivalry, and threw into the shade the whose feats they had commemorated. The ruin which French prose romances, which, until the appearance of this Roncesvalles brought to the Paladins of Charlemagne, and distinguished work, had been the most popular in Europe. the fatal battle of Camlan to the Knights of the Round TaThe author of Amadis, in order, perhaps, to facilitate ble, fell upon the warriors of Diderick through the revenge- the other changes which he introduced, and to avoid rushful treachery of Crimhilda, the wife of Ezzel; who, in re- ing against preconceived ideas of events or character, laid venge for the death of her first husband, and in her inor- aside the worn-out features of Arthur and Charlemagne, dinate desire to possess the treasures of the Niflunga or and imagined to himself a new dynasty both of sovereigns Burgundians, brought destruction on all those celebrated and of heroes, to whom he ascribed a style of manners much champions. Mr. Weber observes that these German fic- more refined, and sentiments much more artificial, than had tions differ from the romances of French chivalry, in the occurred to the authors of Perceval or Perceforest. Logreater ferocity and less refinement of sentiment ascribed beira had also taste enough to perceive, that some unity of to the heroes ; and also in their employing to a great extent design would be a great improvement on the old romance, the machinery of the Duergar, or dwarfs, a subterranean where one adventure is strung to another with little conpeople to whom the Heldenbuch ascribes much strength nection from the beginning to the end of the volume ; which and subtilty, as well as profound skill in the magic art, and thus concluded, not because the plot was winded up, but bewho seem, to a certain extent, the predecessors of the Eu- cause the author’s invention, or the printer’s patience, was ropean fairy. exhausted. In the work of the Portuguese author, on the Italian ro- Italy, so long the seat of classical learning, and where contrary, he proposes a certain end, to advance or retard mance. that learning was first revived, seems never to have strong- which all the incidents of the work have direct reference. ly embraced the taste for the Gothic romance. They re- This is the marriage of Amadis with Oriana, against which ceived, indeed, the forms and institutions of chivalry, but the a thousand difficulties are raised by rivals, giants, sorcerers, Italians seem to have been in a considerable degree stran- and all the race of evil powers unfavourable to chivalry; gers to its spirit, and not to have become deeply enamour- whilst these obstacles are removed by the‘valour of the ed of its literature. There is an old romance of chivalry hero, and constancy of the heroine, succoured on their part proper to Italy, called Guerino the Wretched, but we doubt by those friendly sages, and blameless sorceresses, whose if even this be of indigenous growth. Indeed, when they intervention gave so much alarm to the tender-conscienced did adopt from the French the fashionable tales of Charle- De la Noue. Lobeira also displayed considerable attention magne and his Paladins, these did not attract the attention to the pleasure which arises fre m the contrast of character; VOL. XIX. 2L

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Romance, and to relieve that of Amadis, who is the very essence of chivalrous constancy, he has introduced Don Galaor, his brother, a gay libertine in love, whose adventures form a contrast with those of his more serious relative. Above all, the Amadis displays an attention to the style and conversation of the piece, which, although its effects are now exaggerated and ridiculous, was doubtless at the time considered as the pitch of elegance ; and here were, for the first time, introduced those hyperbolical compliments, and that inflated and complicated structure of language, the sense of which walks as in a masquerade. The Amadis at first consisted only of four books, and in that limited shape may be considered as a very well conducted story; but additions were speedily made which extended the number to twenty-four; containing the history of Amadis subsequent to his obtaining possession of Oriana, and down to his death, as also of his numerous descendants. The theme was not yet exhausted; for, as the ancient romancers, when they commenced a new work, chose for their hero some newly invented Paladin of Charlemagne, or knight of King Arthur, so did their successors adopt a new descendant of the family of Amadis, whose genealogy was thus multiplied to a prodigious degree. For an account of Esplandian, Florimond of Greece, Palmerin of England, and the other romances of this class, the reader must be referred to the valuable labours of Mr. Southey, who has abridged both Amadis and Palmerin, with the most accurate attention to the style and manners of the original. The books of Amadis became so very popular, as to supersede the elder romances almost entirely, even at the court of France, where, according to La None, already quoted, they were introduced about the reign of Henry II. It was against the extravagance of these fictions in character and in style, that the satire of Cervantes was chiefly directed; and almost all the library of Don Quixote belongs to this class of romances, which, no doubt, his adventures contributed much to put out of fashion. French In every point of view, France must be considered as the Romance, country in which chivalry and romance flourished in the highest perfection ; and the originals of almost all the early romances, whether in prose or in verse, whether relating to the history of Arthur or of Charlemagne, are to be found in the French language; and other countries possess only translations from thence. This will not be so surprising when it is recollected, that these earlier romances were written, not only for the use of the French, but of the English themselves, among whom French was the prevailing language during the reigns of the Anglo-Norman monarchs. Indeed, it has been ingeniously supposed, and not without much apparent probability, that the fame of Arthur was taken by the French minstrels for the foundation of their stories in honour of the English kings, who reigned over the supposed dominions of that British hero ; while, on the other hand, the minstrels who repaired to the coast of France, celebrated the prowess of Charlemagne and his twelve peers as a subject more gratifying to those who sat upon his throne. It is perhaps, some objection to this ingenious theory, that, as we have already seen, the battle of Hastings was opened by a minstrel, who sung the war-song of Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne ; so that the Norman duke brought with him to England the tales that are supposed, at a much later date, to have been revived to soothe the national pride of the French minstrels. How the French minstrels came originally by the traditional reliques concerning Arthur and Merlin, on which they wrought so long and so largely, must, we fear, always remain uncertain. From the Saxons we may conclude they had them not; for the Saxons were the very enemies against whom Arthur employed his good sword excalibar, that is to say, if there was such a man, or such a weapon. We know, indeed, that the British, like all the branches of the Celtic

race, were much attached to poetry and music, which the v Romanes, numerous relics of ancient poetry in Wales, Ireland, and '^^v“w' the Highlands of Scotland, sufficiently evince. Arthur, a name famous amongst them, with some traditions concerning the sage Merlin, may have floated either in Armorica, or among the half-British of the borders of Scotland, and of Cumberland; and thus preserved, may have reached the ear of the Norman minstrels, either in their newly conquered dominions, or through their neighbours of Brittany. A theme of this sort once discovered, and found acceptable to the popular ear, gave rise, of course, to a thousand imitations ; and gradually drew around it a cloud of fiction which, embellished by such poetry as the minstrels could produce, arranged itself by degrees into a system of fabulous history, as the congregated vapours touched by the setting sun, assume the form of battlements and towers. We know that the history of Sir Tristrem, first versified by Thomas the Rhymer of Erceldoune, was derived fromWelsh traditions, though told by a Saxon poet. In fact, it may be easily supposed, that the romancers of that early period were more eager to acquire popular subjects than delicately scrupulous of borrowing from their neighbours ; and when the foundation-stone was once laid, each subsequent minstrel brought his contribution to the building. The idea of an association of knights assembled around one mighty sovereign, was so flattering to all the ruling princes of Europe, that almost all of them endeavoured to put themselves at the head of some similar institution, and the various orders of chivalry are to be traced to this origin. The historical foundation ofthis huge superstructure is almost imperceptible. Mr. Turner has shewn that the evidence rather inclines to prove the actual existence of King Arthur ; and the names of Gawain, his nephew, and of Genuera, his faithful spouse, of Mordred, and Merlin, were preserved by Welsh tradition. To the same source may be referred the loves of Tristrem and Ysolde, which, although a separate story, has become, in the later romances, amalgamated with that of Arthur. But there can be little doubt that all beyond the bare names of the heroes owes its existence to the imagination of the romancers. It might be thought that the romances referring to the feats of Charlemagne ought to contain more historical truth than those concerning Arthur; since the former relate to a well-known monarch and conqueror, the latter to a personage of a very doubtful and shadowy existence. But the romances concerning both are equally fabulous. Charles had, indeed, an officer named Roland, who was slain with other nobles in the field of Roncesvalles, fighting,not against the Saracens or Spaniards, but against the Gascons. This is the only point upon which the real history of Charlemagne coincides with that invented for him by romancers. Roland was prefect of Bretagne, and his memory was long preserved in the war-song which bore his name. A fabulous chronicler, calling himself Turpin, compiled, in or about the eleventh century, a romantic history of Charlemagne ; but it may be doubted whether, in some instances, he has not availed himself of the fictions already devised by the early romancers, while to those who succeeded them his annals afforded matter for new figments. The personal character of Charlemagne has suffered considerably in the hands of the romantic authors, although they exaggerated his power and his victories. He is represented as fond of flattery, irritable in his temper, ungrateful for the services rendered him by his most worthy paladins, and a perpetual dupe to the treacherous artifices of Count Gam, or Ganelon, of Mayence ; a renegade, to whom the romancers impute the defeat at Roncesvalles, and all the other misfortunes of the reign of Charles. This unfavourable view of the prince, although it may bear some features of royalty, neither resembles the real character of the conqueror of the Saxons and Lombards, nor can be easily reconciled with the

ROMANCE. 267 Romance. Non tham sayis as thai than, wroght, Romance, idea, that he was introduced to flatter the personal vanity And in ther saying it semes noght. '-^y^^of the princes of the Valois race, by a portrait of their great That may thou here in Sir Tristrem, predecessor. Over gestes it has the steem, The circumstance that Roland was a lieutenant of BritOver all that is or was, tany, and the certainty that Marie borrowed from that counIf men it sayd as made Thomas. try the incidents out of which she composed her lays, seems Bot I here it no man so say, That of some copple som is away. to fortify the theory, that the French minstrels obtained So thare fayre saying here beforne, from that country much of their most valuable materials; Is thare travayle nere forlorne ; and that, after all that has been said and supposed, the history Thai sayd it for pride and nobleye, of Arthur probably reached them through the same channel. That were not suylke as thei, The Latin writers of the middle ages afforded the French And alle that thai wild overwhere, romancers the themes of those metrical legends which they Alle that ilk wille now forfare. Thai sayd it in so quainte Inglis, have composed on subjects of classical fame. That manyone wate not what it is. The honour of the prose romances of chivalry, exclusive Therfore heuyed wele the more always of the books of Amadis, belongs entirely to the In strange ryme to travayle sore, French, and the curious volumes which are now the object And my wit was cure thynne, of so much research amongst collectors, are almost univerSo strange speche to travayle in; sally printed at Paris. And forsoth 1 couth noght So strange Inglis as thai wroght, English England, so often conquered, yet fated to receive an acAnd men besoght me many a tyme romance. cession of strength from each new subjugation, cannot boast To turne it bot in light ryme. much of ancient literature of any kind; and, in the departThai seyd, if I in strange ryme it turn, ment of which we treat, was totally inferior to France. The To here it manyon suld skorne ; Saxons had, no doubt, romances (taking the word in its geFor in it ere names fulle selcouthe, neral acceptation) ; and Mr. Turner, to whose researches That ere not used now in mouthe. And therfore, for the comonalte. we are so much indebted, has given us the abridgment of That blythely wild listen to me, one entitled Caedmon, in which the hero, whose adventures On light hinge I it began, are told much after the manner of the ancient Norse Sagas, For luf of the lewed man. encounters, defeats, and finally slays an evil being called “ This passage requires some commentary, as the sense Grendel, who, except in his being subject to death, seems a creature of a supernatural description. But the literature has been generally mistaken. Robert de Brunne does not of the Saxons was destroyed by the success of William the mean, as has been supposed, that the minstrels who reConqueror, and the Norman knights and barons, among peated Thomas’s romance of Sir Tristrem, disguised the whom England was in a great measure divided, sought meaning by putting it into quainte Inglis ; but, on the amusement, not in the lays of the vanquished, but in those contrary, that Kendal and Thomas of Erceldoune did themcomposed in their own language. In this point of view, selves use such quainte Inglis, that those who repeated England, as a country, may lay claim to many of the French the story were unable to understand it, or to make it intelromances, which were written, indeed, in that language, ligible to their hearers. Above all, he complains that, by but for the benefit of the court and nobles of England, by writing an intricate and complicated stanza, as ‘ ryme cowee, whom French was still spoken. When the two languages strangere, or entrelace,’ it was difficult for the diseurs to rebegan to assimilate together, and to form the mixed dialect collect the poem ; and of Sir Tristrem, in particular, he termed the Anglo-Norman, we have good authority for say- avers, that he never heard a perfect recital, because of some ing that it was easily applied to the purpose of romantic one ‘ copple’ or stanza, a part was always omitted. Hence fiction, and recited in the presence of the nobility. he argues at length, that he himself, writing not for the minRobert de Brunne, who composed his History of England strel or harper, nor to acquire personal fame, but solely to about this time, has this remarkable passage, which we give, instruct the ignorant in the history of their country, does along with the commentary of the editor of Sir Tristrem, well in chusing a simple structure of verse, which they can as it is peculiarly illustrative of the subject we are inquiring retain correctly on their memory, and a style which is pointo. pular and easily understood. Besides which, he hints at the ridicule he might draw on his poem, should he introAls thai haf wryten and sayd, duce the uncouth names of his personages into a courtly or Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd, In symple speche as I couthe, refined strain of verse. They were That is lightest in manne’s mouthe. Great names, but hard in verse to stand. I mad noght for no disours, Ne for no seggours, no harpours, While he arrogates praise to himself for his choice, he exBot for the luf of symple men, cuses Thomas of Erceldoune and Kendale for using a more That strange Inglis cannot ken ; ambitious and ornate kind of poetry. They wrote, he says, For many it ere that strange Inglis, for pride (fame) and for nobles, not such as these my ignoIn ryme wate never what it is ; rant hearers.”1 And bot thai wist what it mente, Ellis methought it were alle schente. If the editor of Sir Tristrem be correct in his commenI made it not for to be praysed, tary, there existed in the time of Robert de Brunne, minBot at the lewed men were aysed. strels or poets who composed English poetry to be recited If it were made in ryme couwee, in the presence of the great, and who, for that purpose, used Or in strangere, or enterlace, a singularly difficult stanza, which was very apt to be muThat rede Inglis it ere inowe tilated in recitation. Sir Tristrem, even as it now exists, That couthe not haf coppled a kowe, That outher in cowee or in baston shows likewise that considerable art was resorted to in conSum sold haf ben fordon ; structing the stanza, and has, from beginning to end, a conSo that fele men that it herde cise, quaint, abstract turn of expression, more like the SaxSuld not witte howe that it ferda on poetry, than the simple, bald, and diffuse details of the 1 see in song, in sedyeyng tale, French minstrel. Besides Sir Tristrem, there remain, we Of Erceldoun and of Kendale, i Sir Tristrem, Introduction, pp. 61—65. Edin. 1804.

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ROMANCE. Komance. conceive, at least two other examples of “ gestes written in into utter contempt about the time of Henry VIII. There Romance, quainte Inglis” composed, namely, according to fixed and is a piteous picture of their condition in the person of Richcomplicated rules of verse, and with much attention to the ard Sheale, which it is impossible to read without compaslanguage, though the effect produced is far from pleasing. sion, if we consider that he was the preserver at least, if not They are both of Scottish origin, which may be explained, the author of the celebrated heroic ballad of Chevy Chace, by recollecting, that in the Saxon provinces of Scotland, as at w'hich Sir Philip Sidney’s heart wras wont to beat as at well as at the court, Norman was never generally used; and the sound of a ti’umpet. This luckless minstrel had been therefore it is probable that the English language was more robbed on Dunsmore Heath, and, shame to tell, he was cultivated in that country at an early period, than in England unable to persuade the public that a son of the Muses had itself, where, among the higher orders, it was for a long time ever been possessed of the sixty pounds which he aversuperseded by that of the French conquerors. These roman- red he had lost on the occasion. The account he gives of ces, entitled Sir Gawain, and Sir Gologras, and Sir Ga- the effect upon his spirits is melancholy, and yet ridiculous leran of Galloway, have all the appearance of being original enough. compositions, and display considerable poetical effort. But my robbery my memory was so decayde, the uncouth use of words dragged in for the sake of alliteration, After That I colde neather syng, nor talke, my wytts wer so dismayde, and used in secondary and oblique meanings, renders them My audacitie was gone, and all my myrry tawk : extremely harsh in construction, as well as obscure in meaning. Ther ys sum heare have sene me as myrry as a hawke; In England it would seem that the difficulties pointed out But nowe I am so trublyde with phansis in my mynde, by De Brunne, early threw out of fashion this ornate kind That I cannot play the myrry knave, accordyng to my kynd. of composition; and the English minstrels had no readier re- Yet to tak thought, I perseve, ys not the next waye bring me out of det, my creditors to paye. source than translating from the French, who supplied their ITomay well say that I hade but well hape, language at the same time with the phrases of chivalry For to lose about threscore pounde at a clape. which did not exist in English. These compositions pre- The losse of my mony did not greve me so sore, sented many facilities to the minstrel. He could, if pos- But the talke of the pyple dyde greve me moch mor. sessed of the slightest invention, add to them at pleasure, Sum sayde I was not robde, I was but a lyeng knave, and they might as easily be abridged when memory failed, Yt was not possyble for a mynstrell so much mony to have. dede, to say the truthe, that ys ryght well knowene, or occasion required. Accordingly, translations from the In That never had so moche mony of myn owene, French fill up the list of English romance. They are ge- But I Ihad frendds in London, whos namys I can declare, nerally written in short lines rhyming together; though That at all tyms wold lende me cc.lds. worth of ware, often, by way of variety, the third and sixth lines are made And sum agayn such frendship I founde, to rhyme together, and the poem is thus divided into stanzas That thei wold lend me in mony nyn or tene pownde. of three couplets each. In almost all of these legends, re- The occasion why I cam in dete I shall make relacion, My wyff in dede ys a sylk woman be her occupacion, ference is made to “ the romance,” that is, some composi- And cloths most chefly was her greatyste trayd, tion in the French language, as to the original authority. And lynen at faris and merkytts she solde sale-ware that she made ; Nay, which is very singular, tales where the subjects appear As shertts, smockys, partlytts, hede clothes, and othar thinggs, to be of English growth, seem to have yet existed in French As sylk thredd, and eggyngs, skirrts, bandds, and strings. ere they were translated into the language of the country From The Chant of Richard Sheale, British Bibliographer, No. xiii. p. 101. to which the heroes belonged. This seems to have been the case with Hornchild, with Guy of Warwick, with BeElsewhere, Sheale hints that he had trusted to his harp, vis of Hampton, all of which appear to belong originally to and to the well known poverty attached to those who used England; yet are their earliest histories found in the French that instrument, to bear him safe through Dunsmore Heath. language, or at least the vernacular versions refer to such At length the order of English minstrels was formally put for their authority. Even the romance of Richard, Eng- down by the act 39th of Queen Elizabeth, classing them land s own Coeur de Lion, has perpetual references to the with sturdy beggars and vagabonds ; in which disgraceful French original from which it was translated. It must na- fellowship they only existed in the capacity of fiddlers, who turally be supposed that these translations were inferior to accompanied their instrument with their voice. Such a the originals ; and whether it was owing to this cause, or character is introduced in the play of Monsieur Thomas, that the composition of these rhymes was attended with too as the “ poor fiddler who says his songs.” The metrical much facility, and so fell into the hands of very inferior romances which they recited also fell into disrepute, though composers, it is certain, and is proved by the highest au- some of the more popular, sadly abridged and adulterated, thority, that of Chaucer himself, that even in his time these continued to be published in chap, hooks, as they are called. rhyming romances had fallen into great contempt. The^me About fifty or sixty years since, a person acquired the nickof Sir Bhopas, which that poet introduces as a parody, un- name of Roseival and Lilian, from singing that romance doubtedly, ofthe rhythmical romances of theage, is interrupt- about the streets of Edinburgh, which is probably the very ed by mine host Harry Bailly, with the strongest and most last instance of the proper minstrel craft. energetic expressions of total and absolute contempt. But If the metrical romances of England can boast of few though the minstrels were censured by De Brunne, for lack original compositions, they can show yet fewer examples of of skill and memory, and the poems which they recited were the prose romance. Sir Thomas Malory, indeed, compiled, branded as “ drafty rhymings,” by the far more formidable from various French authorities, his celebrated Morte dlArcensure of Chaucer, their acceptation with the public in gene- thur, indisputably the best prose romance the language can ral musthave been favourable, since, besides manyunpublish- boast. There is also Arthur of Little Britain; and the ed volumes, the two publications of Ritson and Weber bear Lord Berners compiled the romance of the Knight of the evidence of their popularity. Some original compositions Swan. The books of Amadis were likewise translated indoubtless occur among so many translations, but they are to English ; but it may be doubted whether the country in not numeroes, and few have been preserved. The poem of general ever took that deep interest in the perusal of these Sir Eger and Sir Greme, which seems of Scottish origin, records of love and honour with which they were greeted has no French original; nor has any been discovered either in France. Their number was fewer; and the attention of the Squire of Low Degree, Sir Eglamour, Sir Plein- paid to them in a country where great political questions damour, or some others. But the French derivation of the began to be agitated, was much less than when the feudal two last names renders it probable that such may exist. system still continued in its full vigour. The minstiels and their compositions seem to have fallen III. We should now say something on those various kinds

269 ROMANCE. Romance, of romantic fictions which succeeded to the romance of chi- ther, with about thirty episodes, in which the gallantries and Romance, valry. But we can only notice briefly works which have intrigues of Henry IV.’s court are presented under borrowthis is but an example of long slumbered in oblivion, and which certainly are not wor- ed names. Considered by itself, the pastoral romance ; but it wras so popular that three celethy to have their slumbers disturbed. Pastoral Even in the time of Cervantes, the pastoral romance, brated French authors, Gomberville, Calprenede, and Maromance, founded upon the Diana of George of Monte Mayor, was dame Scuderi, seized the pen, and composed in emulation prevailing to such an extent as made it worthy of his satire. many interminable folios of heroic romance. In these inIt was, indeed, a system still more remote from common sipid performances, a conventional character, and a set of sense and reality than that of chivalry itself. For the max- family manners and features, are ascribed to the heroes and ims of chivalry, high-strained and absurd as they are, did heroines, although selected from distant ages, and various actually influence living beings, and even the fate of king- quarters of the world. The heroines are, without excepdoms. If Amadis de Gaul was a fiction, the Chevalier tion, models of beauty and perfection ; and, so well perBayard was a real person. But the existence of an Arca- suaded of it themselves, that to approach them with the dia, a pastoral region, in which a certain fantastic sort of most humble declaration of love, was a crime sufficient to depersonages, desperately in love, and thinking of nothing else serve the penalty of banishment from their presence ; and it but their mistresses, played upon pipes, and wrote sonnets is well if the doom were softened to the audacious lover, by from morning to night, yet were supposed all the while to permission, or command to live, without which, absence and be tending their flocks, was too monstrously absurd to be death were to be accounted synonymous. On the other hand, the heroes, whatever kingdoms they have to govern, or other long credited or tolerated. Heroic ro- A numerous, and once most popular class of fictions, was earthly duties to perform, live through these folios for love mances. that entitled the heroic romance of the seventeenth century. alone; and the most extraordinarv revolutions which can If the ancient romance of chivalry, has a right to be call- agitate the world, are ascribed to the charms of a Mandana, ed the parent of those select and beautiful fictions which or a Statira, acting upon the crazy understanding of their the genius of the Italian poets has enriched with such pe- lovers. Nothing can be so uninteresting as the frigid exculiar charms, another of its direct descendants, the he- travagance with which these lovers express their passion ; roic romance of the seventeenth century, is, with few ex- or, in their own phrase, nothing can be more freezing than ceptions, the most dull and tedious species of composition their flames, more creeping than their flights of love. that ever obtained temporary popularity. The old romance Yet the line of metaphysical gallantry which they exhibitof Heliodorus, entitled Theagenes and Chariclea, supplied ed, had its date, and a long one, both in France and perhaps the earliest model of this style of composition ; England. In the latter country they continued to be read but it was from the romances of chivalry that it derives its by our grandmothers during the Augustan age of English; most peculiar characteristics. A man of a fantastic imagi- and while Addison was amusing the world with his wit, and nation, Honore d’Urfe, led the way in this style of compo- Pope by his poetry, the ladies were reading Clelia, Cleosition. Being willing to record certain love intrigues of patra, and the Grand Cyrus. The fashion did not decay till a complicated nature which had taken place in his own about the reign of George I.; and even more lately, Mrs. Lenfamily, and among his friends, he imagined to himself a nox, patronized by Dr. Johnson, wrote a very good imitaspecies of Arcadia on the banks of the Lignon, who live for tion of Cervantes, entitled The Female Quixote, which had love, and for love alone. There are two principal stories, those works for its basis. They are now totally forgotten. (w.s—TT.) said to represent the family history of D’Urfe and his broMODERN ROMANCE AND NOVEL. We alluded in the commencement of this essay, to the division of fictitious narratives in prose, into two classes ; the romance, in which the interest of the narrative turns chiefly on marvellous and uncommon incidents; and the novel, in which the events are accommodated to the ordinary train of human events, and the modern state of society. Rise of The rise of this last department of fictitious composition novel in England, takes place about the commencement of the writing in eighteenth century ; and its coincidence with the decline n £ an • 0p j.jie (jrama js remarkable. The novel aspired, in fact, to perform for a reading and refined age, what the drama had done for a ruder and more excitable period; to embody the spirit of the times in pictures at once amusing and accurate, and in the form best calculated to awaken attention and interest in those to whom they are addressed. In the earlier periods of a national literature, while the poetical and imaginative spirit of the time takes the direction of the long prose romance, the task of painting manners, and satirizing follies, and displaying the comic oddities of character, is most efficiently performed by the drama. Its strength, terseness, and brevity, with the aid of action and scenery, present the manners living as they rise, wuth abundance of force at least, and probably, for a time, with sufficient fidelity. But as society becomes more decorous, and peculiarities of manners less marked, the pictures exhibited by the The novel stage are aptt0 become less true; for dramatic effect appears a substitute to demand something more stimulating than reality affords ; for the and hence the drama, with a pardonable leaning to the prindrama. cipie 0f stage effect, often continues to reproduce the man-

ners, vices, and humours of a preceding age, long after they have ceased to exist, merely because they are found better adapted to that broad and strongly-coloured delineation in which it chiefly deals. Thus, though the age of Vanburgh, Congreve, and Wycherley, was probably not a very moral age, and the tone even of its polite conversation, would probably appear somewhat questionable to modern ears, there seems to be no reason to believe that the universal profligacy of manners, and boundless licence of conversation which are exhibited in the comedies of these writers, really characterised the period at which they wrote. Their Wlldairs, Sir John Brutes, Lady Touchwoods, and Mrs. Frails, are conventional reproductions of those wild gallants and demireps which figure in the licentious dramas of Dryden and Shadwell. They represented the manners and the morals of an age gone by; and the audiences who tolerated these indecencies for the sake of the wit by which they were occasionally redeemed, would have been revolted by their exaggeration and incorrectness, if they had looked upon them as exhibitions of society as it existed. The drama, then, had ceased to be the mirror in which the age could contemplate itself, and exhibited the license of a masque, or the extravagance of a caricature, much more than the sobriety of actual life, or the fidelity of a portrait. Besides, there are many lesser traits of character, many sentiments and feelings, which are not at all dramatic, and which had therefore been overlooked by writers for the stage, yet in themselves highly interesting and curious, and capable, when judiciously employed, of exercising a strong influence on the feelings. These become more prominent, and stana out in brighter relief, as the restraints of civilization gradu-

270

ROMANCE. Romance ally throw into the background the wilder passions and may be said to indicate a class of fictions dealing more with Romance, more stormy impulses of our nature, until they acquire an calm feelings, and with manners and humours, than with importance which not only justifies, but renders their in- strong passions, and deriving its interest more from the protroduction into any fictitious narrative which represents the bability than the marvellous nature of its incidents, this depeculiarities of the time, necessary ; and for this purpose, finition is not to be taken too literally ; for there are many the calm and even march of the novel, and the detailed de- works which we might call novels, in as much as the scene velopment both of sentiment and incident which it allows, is laid in modern times, and the general course of the inciis found to be admirably adapted. It is in the works of our dents is that of every-day life, but in which the even tenor novelists, therefore, rather than our dramatists, and in those of the story is occasionally broken by scenes of powerful passages in our essayists of Queen Anne’s time, in which passion, or incidents of a mysterious and terrible character, they treat of past fashions, manners, whims, and humours, that elevating the composition for the time into the sphere of we must look for the changes which society has undergone, the romantic; so that perhaps the word tale, as a middle and from which we must try to realize to ourselves the term between the others, would most appropriately describe features which it exhibited at any particular period. them. It has been doubted whether, although such a union Field of The novel, then, affords a wider field for accurate and the novel complete delineation of passions and feelings than the of the common-place with the extraordinary, be not unfrequently met with in the course of real life, a more cauwider than the drama. drama, and certainly one more in harmony with the dis- tious separation of these elements would not, on the whole, positions of a modern public. In powerful effects no doubt be most favourable to the effect of a narrative as a work of it cannot compete with the stage. The whole range of art; and whether the attempt to blend them, does not pronovel or romance contains nothing, for instance, which in its duce in fiction, something of that illegitimate effect which tremendous impression, can be compared with the explo- is the result of the melo-drama on the stage. It is certain, sion of passion in the third act of Othello ; but, on the other however, that the tendency for some time past, and partihand, it has greatly the advantage in the impression of veri- cularly since the school of fiction introduced by Sir Walter similitude which it leaves behind, produced by the accu- Scott, has been towards a mixture of the novel and romulation of many particulars and minute traits of charac- mance in the same composition, so that broad comedy is ter ; in pleasing interchanges of action and repose ; in the often found alternating with the pathetic, the gaiety of a delineation of emotions, which the drama, speaking only to ball-room with midnight murders upon lonely heaths, and the eye and the ear, cannot lay before us ; in the descrip- the disclosure of some piece of fashionable scandal standing tions of external scenery, which, in the hand of a writer of side by side with the discovery of some secret and fearful crime. genius, are far more effective, when presented in words to In the hands of our .great masters of fiction, we admit the the imagination, than when counterfeited to the eye upon fine effect which these occasionally produce. Judiciously the stage, even by all the united resources of the scene- arranged, these opposites are the light and shadow of the painter and the mechanist; and which, from the strong con- composition ; but even in our greatest modern novelist, we nection that exists between the state of our feelings and could point out not a few instances in which this sort of external influences, are found in the hands of a judicious contrast is carried too faq; 'while in many of his imitators, it novelist to afford powerful materials for deepening the per- is so regularly and mechanically introduced, that, as in the vading tone of sentiment which he aims to produce ; just case of Mr.Puff’s stage arrangements, we can always predict as in painting relief and effect are obtained by the tone that the discharge of cannon will be followed by soft music. and character of the background against which the figures When the declining popularity of the pastoral and are opposed. Another advantage obtained by the sub- heroic romance of the seventeenth century, suggested the stitution of narrative fiction for the drama, was, that a much necessity of opening a new vein in fiction, it is probable wider licence was obtained in the conduct of the plot. A that the stilted, unnatural, and exaggerated character of good plot is no doubt as essential to the novel as the drama ; those effete compositions led the public taste, by a natural but the kind of plot which may be used with effect in each, recoil of feeling, into the opposite extreme, viz. the selecand the manner in which the incidents are to be conducted, tion of topics and characters from common, and even from differ materially. A play in which every scene does not vulgar life, and a literal adherence to nature, even at the risk grow out of the preceding, and lead directly into the next, of the sacrifice of art. For we pass over the tiresome and with a visible progress of plot, is in that respect faulty. On licentious love stories of Mrs. Aphra Behn, with the just re- Mrs. Behn. the contrary, in the novel and romance, as in real life, much mark of Sir Richard Steele, that the lady appears to have is admissible which is episodical, which does not directly “understood the practical part of love better than the specuhelp forward nor produce the catastrophe, but merely tends lative, as well as those of her imitator, Mrs. Heywood, in Mrs. Heyto bring out some point of character in the personages re- which the struggle between the high sentimental characterwoodpresented, or to increase the air of verisimilitude in the main of the heroic romance, and the growing taste for a style of story, by the appearance of minute and literal correctness portraiture more true to the life, is very obvious, and come in the details. In the novel or romance, too, it has been at once to the writer by whom the inspiration of reality w as generally remarked that the catastrophe maybe made to turn1 carried to its greatest perfection. upon accident, but that this is inadmissible in the drama. Defoe, (1661—1731) without high imagination, with no Defoe, Ihus the catastrophe in the Bride of Lammermoor, where power of raising the passions, with little pathos and no Ravenswood is swallowed up by a quicksand, is singularly eloquence, had yet that peculiar genius which enabled giand in romance, J5ut would be inadmissible in a drama. him to excel within the peculiar department which he And on the same jrinciple, Schiller has, in his Fiesco, chose for himself; that of counterfeiting homely truth by thought himself compelled to deviate from the actual truth fiction, and forging, as it wrere, the handwriting of nature of history, and to ascribe the Count’s death, not to an acci- herself, with a dexterity which defied detection. Whether dental sturaole from a plank, but to the hand of the repub- Defoe was led to*the selection of his peculiar themes, by lican Verrina. In a novel, the real catastrophe would have a real sympathy with roguery, (and his conduct in regard to Blending been fai more impressive in its moral effect than the ima- the well-known imposture of Mrs. Veal’s Ghost would jusginary one ; but Schiller held, and we think rightly, that in tify us in believing him to be like Gil Bias, “ tant soi peu of the novel and the diama nothing must be accident, but every t\\\ng result. fripon;”) or by the influence of the Spanish romances of romanceAlthough, as compared with the romance, the term novel roguery, such as Lazaro de Tormes, Marcos de Obregon, 1

See some valuable papers on Art in Fiction, ascribed, w'e believe with justice, to Sir L. Bulwer. Monthly Chronicle, Nos. i. and ii.

271 ROMANCE. Romance, and Gusman d’Alfarache, with some of which it is highly in the way of reflexion and incident, enables him to con- sRomans, probable that he was acquainted through translations ; or duct with consummate skill, what we may call the self-edu-' ^^y^^ whether his strong vulgar likenesses of seafaring personages, cation of Crusoe in his solitude,—the process by which he half privateer, half mariner, and his fondness for the deli- adapts himself to his situation, and the gradual triumphs neation of equivocal characters of all kinds, arose from his which, by his ingenuity and patience, he obtains over the familiarity with the one class, through his residence at Lime- difficulties and privations by which he is surrounded, till he house, and his acquaintance with Dampier,—and with the changes desolation into comfort;—the imagination of the other, from his long and frequent imprisonments;—it is cer- writer is visibly raised beyond its usual grovelling level tain that though he had no intention of favouring immorality, by the romance of the situation which he describes. His he yet enters upon the delineation of personages, and scenes genius imbibes the spirit of the place ; it. imparts to the of roguery, low profligacy and vice, with a degree of curiosity cave of the sailor, something of the seclusion and purity of and complacency, and dwells upon them with a fondness a hermitage ; till the simple train of reflections which he and minuteness of detail, altogether uncommon, and not a puts into the mouth of his uneducated mariner, upon the little unaccountable in a person who in his opinions sa- sublimity and awfulness of solitude, impress the mind more voured of the puritan. This strange labour of love, and study than the most eloquent declamation. It is a fine proof of the morbid anatomy of society, has resulted in a series of how completely Defoe has succeeded in interesting us for night pieces from the haunts of crime, which, though sombre the solitary being to whom he has given a poetical life, and and gloomy in a high degree, and little suited to a cultivated attuned the mind of his readers to that sentiment of silence taste, nay, indeed, frequently producing on the mind the pain- and unbroken repose which is breathed over the scene of ful effect of a real chapter from the Newgate Calendar, yet his imprisonment,—“ where all the air a solemn stillness display the most wonderful invention and keeping in all their holds,”—that after a time the least incident which threatens parts, and a coherence and dexterity of adaptation to each to disturb the security of the cave, or the solitude of the other, which render the ordinary tests by which we endeavour island, assumes importance in our eyes, and the groan of an to discriminate a fictitious from a real narrative, inadequate old goat expiring in a cave, or the print of a man’s foot in or altogether inapplicable to these singular compositions of the sand, awaken a feeling of suspense and anxiety which Defoe. Whatever might be the motive of his humility of many a writer has in vain laboured to excite by a prodigal choice, Defoe, like many of his favourite heroes, was per- expenditure of the machinery of terror. That Robinson Crusoe may be considered in a great meafectly contented to take up his abode in the back settlements of fiction, and was most at home in that Alsatia of Ro- sure as a fortunate accident, and that its main charm arises mance, the purlieus of which, by common consent, his more from the more poetical and refined character which the naambitious predecessors had sedulously avoided, as discre- ture of the story and its locality almost necessarily impressditable or dangerous. The transition from their refined ed upon it, is indeed evident from the visible inferiority of Orondates’ and Statiras, to the society of the Captain Jack the second part, where the seclusion of the scene is broken and Moll Flanders of Defoe, is, to use a phrase of Sterne, in upon, and Defoe peoples the island with his usual retinue like turning from Alexander the Great to Alexander the cop- of planters and ship’s captains ; a production which scarcely persmith. In his novels, we rarely meet with any thing more rises above the level of his Captain Singleton. The application of the same principle of producingeffectby exalted or respectable, than masters of trading vessels, dealers in small wares, supercargoes, or, it may be, pickpockets, minuteness of detail rather than by grasp, or the selection pirateiT candidates for the plantations, or emeriti who have of a few marking traits, is visible in our next great novelist, already obtained that distinction. In the foreground, we Richardson (1689-1761,) but the principle is applied in a Richardson, have the cabin, the night cellar, the haunts of fraud, or the different and higher way. Defoe was satisfied with weaving round-house; in the distance, Newgate, or Execution Dock. chains of probable incidents, which might be fitted to any There can be but one opinion, however, as to the wonderful character, or at least any character of a given class, such air of veracity, resembling that of a deposition upon oath, as a mariner or a merchant, a planter or a pickpocket. He which Defoe "has imparted to his fictitious creations, and did not care, at all events he did not labour, to indiviwhich his genius effects, mainly by accumulation of details, dualize character. Crusoe, his most finished portrait, is non vi sed scepe cadendo; often even by the introduction of a still only the average representative of all shipwrecked mamultitude of irrelevant particulars and repetitions, just as riners ; his reflections and his struggles, embody the hopes, in the conversation of uneducated persons in real life. Ac- fears, and efforts, of all men left to maintain a solitary warcordingly the result, as a simulacrum of reality, is one of fare with difficulties. So his Captain Jack, born a gentlemagical deception. Lord Chatham, it is well known, took man and bred a pickpocket, has nothing to separate him his Memoirs of a Cavalier for a real history ; Dr, Mead be- from other enfans perdus of the same class. But Richardlieved his Journal of the Plague to be the work of a medi- son aspired to the creation rather of probable character than cal man, and his impudent but most plausible history of the probable incident; and to this he applied the same system apparition of Mrs. Veal, being received by many sober-mind- of accumulating minute traits of words, thoughts, and aced persons as an actual apocalypse from the spiritual world, tions, and reiterating small touches, and minute lights and was the means, as is well known, of disposing of an unsale- shadings, which Defoe had done to the creation of masses of coherent and plausible events. In the latter department, able edition of Drelincourt upon death. But notwithstanding this peculiar power of stamping the indeed, he is probably neither remarkable for success nor impression of reality upon the coinage of his imagination, failure. Occasionally, and particularly in his Sir Charles which, to say the truth, was seldom of the finest metals, it Grandison, he outrages both patience and probability in no may be safely affirmed, that but for his Robinson Crusoe, inconsiderable degree; and so little progress does the narDefoe would scarcely now be remembered as a writer of rative make, that as Johnson remarked to Erskine, “ Were fiction. The charm of that work, the first part of which ap- you to read Richardson for the story, your impatience would peared in 1719, is, that it emaacipates us from those low be so fretted, you would go hang yourself.” But even in haunts and questionable society with which his other novels the most successful portion of his plots, there is no chance make us acquainted. We escape from the fumes of to- of our mistaking fiction for fact; the artist does not disapbacco and strong waters, to breathe a purer air on that lone pear behind his creations as in the case of Defoe. The island placed far amidst the melancholy main, where he has very form, too, in which his novels are cast, that of a series imprisoned his shipwrecked mariner; and while Defoe’s unri- of correspondence, however favourable to the display of valled power of inventing a series of probable minutiae, both traits of character, and minute dissection of sentiment, is

ROMANCE. Romance, almost in itself fatal to the vraisemblance of incident. The think there is more justice than DTsraeli seems willing to Romance, affairs of private life, we cannot help recollecting, are seldom admit in the cold remark of D’Alembert, “ La nature est managed to any great extent through the post-office, while bonne a imiter, mais non pas jusqu a VennuiT It is not often that with this feminine character of intelin many cases it remains a mystery how such matters came to be committed to paper at all, and least of all under the lect, a masculine vigour in painting scenes of a passionate circumstances in which they are supposed to be recorded by and terrible cast is found united; and yet Richardson has these persevering, and, in the existing state of the revenue proved his mastery over the higher passions, not less than his minute study of sentiment and manners, in the conclulaws, formidable correspondents. There is in the mind of Richardson a very remarkable sion of Clarissa Harlowe. To apply to him the epithet of union of feminine tastes with masculine vigour. Early ac- the Shakspeare of prose fiction, which has been done by customed peculiarly to court the society of females ; the DTsraeli, is extravagant. A solitary creation of this kind, depositary of their gossip, the confidant of their love se- highly pathetic and morally impressive as it is, is but a narcrets, the complete letter-writer of a little knot of young row basis on which to rest the claims of the novelist to such ladies when only thirteen years of age, the deference which a title. But the conception of the noble character of Clarissa he thus acquired for their tastes, and the insight he obtained Harlowe, set off by such a foil as is afforded by that of Loveinto their habits of thinking, though probably springing, lace, perhaps the most finished picture of the self-possessed as Johnson believed, very much from his own vanity and and insinuating libertine ever drawn (and certainly as great love of praise, appear to have been of the utmost use to an improvement on that of the Lothario from which it was him in his novels, in which so much of the interest rests drawn, as Rowe’s hero had been on the vulgar rake of upon the female characters, and in the minute dissection Massinger), and the closing scenes of that novel, are at all and study of emotions and sentiments in which women are events sufficient to place Richardson among the great either the chief actors or sufferers. The traces of this in- writers of fiction ; among the few who have formed a strikfluence appear constantly, and sometimes in excess, in the ing and original conception, which they have wrought out minute accuracy with which he dwells, in description, upon with a corresponding felicity and power. A strong contrast to the subtlety, the fine perception, Fiel(jjn„ those little particulars of looks, and voice, and gesture, and turns of speech, which men in their correspondence gene- and the power over the passions evinced by Richardson, rally overlook, but which women note with such care, and is presented by his rival Fielding (1707-1754), who, with interpret with such sagacity ; in the complacency with which no command of the pathetic, and no taste for that minute he dwells on the details of robes and wedding-dresses, which analysis of sentiment and wire-drawing of description in are conceived in the spirit of a waiting-woman, and exe- which our English Marivaux indulges, has yet maintained cuted with the learning of a man-milliner, and which, as in a more general and permanent popularity, by a combinathe minute description given by Lovelace of Clarissa’s tion of qualities well suited for the purpose. His grasp of dress at the time of her elopement, are occasionally intro- observation led him to select with unerring sagacity the leading traits of ordinary character, and to epitomize naduced in the worst place. The more favourable results of these tastes are exhibited ture with skill, instead of transcribing her at full length. in the wonderful familiarity he evinces with the feelings and His field of delineation admits of such variety and contrast, sympathies of women; for though in his notions of perfection, that in fact it excludes none but the highest and most poetieither in manners or morals, we of another age often see cause cal elements, in which Fielding had neither power of obto depart from Richardson’s standard, we may trust impli- servation or conception. His flow of animal spirits and citly to his accuracy when he is delineating the move- healthy vivacity of manner, contrast strangely with the ments of passion in the female breast, the revolutions of Dutch finishing of Richardson’s pencilling, but are as well feeling, or the struggle between feeling and delicacy. In suited to the active, out-of-door scenes which Fielding his female portraits, even more than in his corresponding loved to draw, in his pictures of imbroglios at ale-houses, delineations of male character, we acknowledge the justice and the stirring life of the road, as the painstaking invenof the remark which Sir Walter Scott applies to his por- tories of Richardson were to his still-life interiors, and the traits generally, that “ in his survey of the heart he left drowsy monotony of the occupations of the inhabitants. To neither head, bay, nor inlet behind him, until he had traced these he added, at least in his great work Tom Jones, the its soundings, and laid it down in his chart, with all its mi- charm of a plot of unrivalled skill, in which the complex nute sinuosities, its depths, and its shallows.” This accu- threads of interest are all brought to bear upon the catasracy, indeed, constitutes at once his strength and his weak- trophe in a manner equally unexpected and simple, a grave ness ; for not content with having surveyed the coast and humour, and power of quiet satire unmixed with caricature, taken its bearings, he still, from the very pride of discovery, in which he is equally superior to Richardson and Smollett. insists on following the windings of the shore, and pointing And with his other requisites he combined a knowledge of out its landmarks, when those on board would have gladly English life, both in its better features and its deformiseen him make his passage by the shortest course. It was ties, by which we mean, of the essential qualities of men, the misfortune of Richardson that, like nervous men in as modified at that time by the accidents of situation, company, or like painters who go on re-touching till the pic- education, and pursuits,—the result, perhaps; of a long, ture becomes loaded, he never knew when to have done, and not always reputable experience,—to which Richeither with a character or a conversation. He was unskilful, ardson, surrounded by a circle of female gossips, and as DTsraeli remarks, in the art of writing, and “ could never weaving out his materials in his quiet back-shop, purely lay his pen down while his inkhorn supplied it.” Even as from the stores of his imagination, can make but slender regards the description of sentiment or the creation of cha- pretension. Amelia, much as it was admired by Johnson, is greatly racteristic dialogue, the field in which Richardson was most at home, it is certain that he carried his system, probably inferior to Tom Jones. If the tone of the latter be far from as much from this inability to leave off as from choice, to ex- high, that of Amelia is creeping and vulgar in no ordinary tremes, particularly in his last novel, Sir Chprles Grandison; degree. Booth has Jones’ vices with an additional shade of and unless the reader selects that work on the system of meanness. Half the plot turns on the embarrassments of the old lady mentioned by Sir Walter Scott, who chose it debt and contrivances to make both ends meet; and one or because she could sleep for half an hour at any time during other of the characters is generally in a spunging-house. its perusal, and still find the personages just where she left Such, too, is the infirmity of human nature, that we really them, conversing in the cedar parlour, he will probably find it difficult to preserve a sufficiently romantic respect

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ROMANCE. 273 Romance, for the heroine, pretty and amiable as she is, when the church on his wedding-day in consequence of a head wind ; Romance, when the reader cannot see the force of the objection through ' saucepan is seldom out of her hand. tears of laughter. In that consummation which he chiefly “Kec tantum veneris quantum studiosa culinm.” aimed at, and in which he rarely fails, Smollett has gained The finish is put to the whole by the accident which mars his end;—solvuutur risu tabulce; the sense of the improeven the personal attractions of the heroine ; for though the bability of the conceptions is lost in the irrepressible merpublic were willing to regard Clarissa, after the outrage to riment which they occasion. Humour, then, was the quality in which Smollett felt himher honour, with undiminished sympathy, it is certain they have not been equally indulgent to Amelia, after the mis- self strongest; character, incident, the excitement of the feelings, were obviously with him minor considerations. fortune of the broken nose. We have already, however, in our biographical notice of There is no difficulty in discriminating his style of humour Fielding, quoted so amply from Sir Walter Scott’s critique from that of Fielding. Fielding’s is calmer, chaster, perhaps upon his genius and works, that instead of pursuing an ex- of a higher kind than Smollett’s, but it certainly has not its breadth, force, and felicity. Smollett could hardly have hausted theme, we refer our readers to that article. Smollett. The name of Fielding always suggests that of his rival created in its main features so gentle a humourist as Parson Smollett (1721-1774), though, as writers of fiction, they Adams, so he probably could have scarcely imagined a rather admit of being contrasted than compared. They stroke of humour so delicate and appropriate to the chahave, in fact, very few, if any, points in common ; agreeing racter, as when the Parson offers to walk ten miles to fetch only perhaps in a preference for the delineation of the comic, his sermon against Vanity, in order to convince his auditor or the common, over the impassioned and poetical. They of his total freedom from that vice. But neither, on the chose different departments in novel-writing, and they cul- other hand, could Fielding have imagined the inimitable feast tivated them by different means. As Fielding was the faith- after the manner of the ancients, the apparition of Pipes to ful and graphic painter of all the common features of cha- the Commodore, the terror of Pallet on learning the supracter, so the extraordinary and the eccentric were the pecu- posed conditions of his emancipation from the Bastile, or liar appanage of Smollett. He either did not feel sufficiently the ludicrous concatenation of mischances which beset the the charm of the natural in character, and its power of end- luckless inmates of the inn in Flanders “ doing or sufferless re-combination in the hands of a great artist, or he ing.” Some scenes of this sort, in which Fielding enters doubted his own powers, at least in comparison with Field- into competition with Smollett, such as those at the inn at ing, of extracting novelty from such simple materials. But Upton, are among the least successful in his novels. The the sphere of humorous exaggeration appeared to be open effort to raise the waters, the malice prepense in the preto him, without the awe of a predecessor or the dread of a paration of the comic machinery, is too obvious; and after rival; on that, therefore, he concentrated his powers of all, though he creates abundance of confusion, he raises mind, neglecting in a great measure the other requisites of but few smiles. In another quality, though he has but rarely availed himfiction ; and undoubtedly with a success which leaves him, within the province which he was the first to occupy, and self of his powers in this respect, Smollet far surpassed with the occupation of which he was content, still the un- Fielding; we mean in his power of exciting the emotions disputed sovereign. No one has ever yet equalled him in of terror, or the sublime. From scenes of this kind, Fieldthe observation, or where that does not serve his purpose, ing, knowing the prosaic turn of his own mind, and the the creation, of oddities and exceptional characters which limits of his invention, kept at a respectful distance ; Smolnever did or could exist, but still with just enough of hu- lett, who felt within himself the spirit of a poet, has occamanity about them to give us an interest in their eccentric sionally ventured upon them, and with complete success. movements; or in the invention of combinations of burlesque The robber scene in the old woman’s hut in Count Fathom, incidents, not always of the best odour, which his fertile though often imitated since, still remains one of the most fancy showers forth spontaneously as from a cornucopia; impressive and agitating night-pieces of its kind; and the mistakes, rencontres, equivoques, whimsicalities of speech sublimity of the situation on ship-board, where Random or action, all generally the best calculated to bring in high- sits chained to the poop during an engagement, covered raised and ludicrous relief the comic aberrations of the cha- with the blood and brains of the wounded, and screaming racted represented, and to develop its latent madness; and in delirium, has been often pointed out. The morality of Smollett and Fielding is nearly on a par ; never failing, at all events, to produce that result which Smollett seemed far more studious to attain than that of with this difference, that the slight dash of generosity which “purging the passions by pity or terror;” namely, the ex- is infused into the blackguardism of Tom Jones, while it citement of abroad-grin mirth, and “ laughter holding both renders him more natural, makes him at the same time his sides.” That the characters, where they have any de- more dangerous than the selfish and often ruffianly heroes cided features at all, are generally caricatures ; for instance, of Smollett, whom we despise or dislike, even while laughthat such commodores and lieutenants as Trunnion and ing at the cruel frolics in which they indulge. The heroes Hatchway never floated even under the primitive flag of of the latter are mere animals, good-natured or savage, as the Benbow ; that the absurdities of Pallet are painted an inch fit strikes them ; the heroines, with the exception perhaps thick ; that by no human possibility could such an accumu- of Aurelia Darnel in Sir Lancelot Greaves, the weakest of lation of comic disasters have befallen the characters of the Smollett’s works, have been justly described of objects tale, may, and indeed must be granted, even by Smollett’s rather of appetite that affection. In regard, indeed, to anywarmest admirers. But if, following Smollett’s own ex- thing like purity of morals or gentlemanly feeling, the inample, we throw nature mainly out of the question, and feriority both of Smollett and Fielding to Richardson is look to what seems to have been his real aim, the objection obvious. Richardson sometimes mistook his means, but of want of verisimilitude, while it may retain its truth, his aim was certainly always moral. On the contrary, both seems to lose half its force, and, we may add, wholly its the theory and the practice of Fielding were laticudinarian; power of conviction. It is in vain to point out the extra- and Smollett, though in real life a man of pure morals, had vagance of the scene where Joker, in an agony of terror, on a boundless toleration in fiction for certain vices; for most, hearing the direction given to put on the dead lights in the indeed, which did not imply want of spirit, courage, or pestorm olf Calais, goes through the steps of a mathematical cuniary generosity. In the unity of conception and coherence of incident proposition with infinite fervour, instead of a prayer; or to criticise the manoeuvres of Trunnion, tacking his way to which the plot of the novel, though more pliable than that 2M VOL. XIX.

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274 ROMANCE. Romance, of the drama demands, Fielding, in his two principal works rounded them with a group of followers sketched with equal Romance, ^ (for Joseph Andrews was merely a parody on Richardson’s life and individuality: in the Corporal, the obstetric Doctor Pamela) has a great advantage over Smollett, whose plots Slop; Yorick, the lively and careless parson ; the widow indeed in general scarcely deserve the name, being simply Wadman and Susannah. The clue which Sterne chiefly follows through the mazes a series of strange accidents, odd rencontres, tricks, and frolics, making little or no progress towards the only catas- of character is humour ;—humour of a very high and pecutrophe which Smollett seems to have in view, namely, the liar kind, perfectly original, at least in English. For that marriage of his hero. In his Roderick Random, Peregrine species of riotous humour arising from comic peculiarities Pickle, and Count Fathom, Smollett adopted the easy in- of person and combinations of ludicrous mischances Sterne artificial plan of Gil Bias, in which we are carried through has little taste ; though the admirably-painted scene, where a succession of scenes where the personages are constantly Obadiah on the cart-horse, careering round the corner like changing, and those who take part in the close of the story, a comet, oversets Dr Slop in a whirlpool of mud ;—and the are quite different from those by whom we are surrounded cross bills filed by the Doctor and Susannah against each at its commencement. Fielding, on the contrary, both in other in applying the cataplasm, show that if he had consihis Tom Jones and Amelia, is singularly attentive to re- dered this the highest walk of humour, he might have regularity of plan, and to the dexterous evolution and wind- velled in it as easily as Smollett himself. But like Fielding, ing-up of his plot, which he regarded as of vital import- he preferred the humour which arises from bringing out by ance. From the very commencement we perceive that he light and happy touches, and as if unconsciously, the keeps his conclusion clearly in view, “ and sees as from a secrets of character ; only with this difference in his favour, tower the end of all.” From this attention to symmetry, that with Sterne the humour is steeped in sensibility. and tendency of all the incidents towards the catastrophe, Flowing, as it does, as much from the heart as the head, it his best work has been not inaptly termed a prose speaks also to the affections ; calm smiles ripple over the epic; it is at all events a happy accommodation of the prin- countenance as we read, but tears are in the next degree. ciples of the epic, so far as they could be rendered appli- Thus, in Sterne, humour and feeling heighten and set off cable, to the manner of the novel. One exception ought each other; the pathetic rises in gentle relief out of the perhaps to be made from this remark on the imperfection background of the comic, and sinks gracefully and imperof Smollett’s plots, in favour of that of Humphrey Clinker, ceptibly back into it again. It is this, for instance, which in which the plot, though not of much art, is naturally gives so irresistible a charm to the story of Le Fevre, and evolved, and a quiet little family romance is gracefully the Corporal’s account in the kitchen of the death of Triscombined with the usual gallery of oddities which Smol- tram’s elder brother, enforced by the eloquent stroke of lett never fails to lay before us. In all respects, this is the dropping the hat, as if a lump of clay had been kneaded most pleasing of his performances. While Lesmahago may into the crown of it. There is nothing sneering, nothing rank with the very best of his extravagances, there is more unkindly, nothing that revolts the better feelings in his of character and less of caricature in the testy yet kind- playful irony. Circum prcecordia ludit. That of Swift hearted Matthew Bramble, “ frosty but kindly,” than in and Voltaire is blighting like an east wind ; the sympathies any personage he has painted ; and though the humour, as of the heart close themselves up against it; but beneath usual, is dashed with filth, without a soupQon, of which in- the genial and balmy humour of Cervantes and Sterne deed Smollett seems always to have thought it wanted they relax and blow like flowers expanding beneath the pungency, the tale is entirely free from that indecency west wind in spring. which deforms both Roderick Random and Peregrine I he two great defects of Sterne, as noticed by Sir WalPickle. We rather think, too, that Smollett had the merit of ter Scott, are his affectation and his indefensible indecency. originating in this novel that species of the humorous which His affectation is the more to be regretted, because his arises from bad spelling, and which Sheridan afterwards manner in its happiest moods is the very perfection of a applied to mistakes of words in his Mrs Malaprop; a lively, spirited, spoken style—idiomatic, imaginative, pliant, humble kind of humour no doubt in itself, yet capable, as and varied. “ Writing, when properly managed,” he himSmollett has proved, of powerfully aiding the ludicrous self observes, “ is but a different name for conversation.” effect. Unfortunately he did not always conform his practice to his Sterne. Equal genius, though far more deformed by affectation, precept. He is sometimes fade in his sentimentality, and is visible in Sterne (1713-1768), the first two volumes of aiming after a sort of false sublime in his imagery. Some whose Tristram Shandy appeared in 1759. If a regular portions of the story of Maria are examples of the first; the progress of incidents towards a catastrophe were an essen- well-known personification of the recording angel in the tial requisite in a novel, it would be difficult to bring the close of Le Fevre is an instance of the second. Still more works of Sterne within the protection of that definition. unworthy of Sterne are those quackeries of the black page Story he has none to tell; at all events, he tells it not. and the white one, the sudden transitions and affected openBut, “ what is a plot good for,” says Bayes, “ except to ings of the chapters, with other harlequinades of authorship, bring in good things,” and Sterne adopted the theory of which are carried to excess in Tristram Shandy. the dramatist in its full license. At the conclusion of the The indecency of Sterne is more obtrusive and indeeighth volume Tristram is not emancipated from the nur- fensible than that of either Fielding or Smollett; whose sery, and had Sterne lived to fulfil his threat of carrying highly-coloured scenes seem to be the result of an unon his work, by the aid of a vegetable diet, through as checked imagination, running on heedless whether its course many more, the Tristrapaedia, we fear, would still have lie through purity or filth. Sterne, on the other hand, goes made no material progress. Sterne’s singular work owes coldly and deliberately in search of impurity ; seeks for it its interest, as every one knows, not to the narrative, in books, refines upon it, mixes it up with his reflections, which is broken and interrupted by cross currents of the and is continually insinuating some equivoque or double most wayward and whimsical description, far exceeding all entendre into scenes where we can ill bear with such the fair license of digression, but to his power of seizing on adulteration. and bringing forward into distinct consciousness, as ColeRichardson, Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne are the four Goldsmith, ridge says, some of those points on which every man is a great novelists of this period (the reign of George II.) humourist, and to the masterly manner in which he has which was pre-eminently the age of novel-writing in Engbrought out the characteristics of two beings of the most land. For though we should indeed be sorry to undervalue opposite natures, the elder Shandy and Toby, and sur- the merits of Goldsmith, or the charm of his Vicar of

ROMANCE. 275 Romance. Wakefield, we cannot quite rank the powers displayed in position, and in the novel, to produce performances which Romance, v >—that delightful little tale, which appeared in 1763, so highly are read with pleasure, though they seldom rouse our interas the varied invention displayed-by the writers we have est, and never impress us with the idea of a creative named, upon the broader canvas which they selected. To genius. use his own words, it has many faults, and a hundred things The imitations of Smollett’s manner were not numerous, Charles might plausibly be said to prove them beauties. Fortu- and, with one exception, totally without merit. We allude J°hnst°ne. nately they lie more in the minor parts than in the essen- to The Adventures of a Guinea, by Charles Johnstone, tials of the tale. In fact, the improbability of the plot is which appeared in 1761, in which a series of scenes and only equalled by the wonderful truth, nature, and keeping of personages in different walks of life are brought before us the principal character, for the “ limae labor” which, in through the somewhat inartificial mode of making a coin, in this instance, Goldsmith willingly bestowed upon his which shifts through the hands of successive proprietors, style, and on the creation and apposition of traits of cha- the historian of their follies and their vices ; a contrivance racter he scrupled to waste upon the selection of his inci- very inferior indeed to the ingenious machinery by which dents. The real interest lies in the development of the Asmodeus unveils to Don Cleofas the secrets of Spanish character of the amiable Vicar, so rich in heavenly, so poor life. In The Adventures of a Guinea, the author seems to in earthly wisdom ;—possessing little for himself, yet ready have had before him both Le Sage and Smollett as models ; to make that little less, whenever misery appeals to his but in the result he exhibits little of the gay good-hucompassion ;—with enough of literary vanity about him to moured touch of the Frenchman, and nothing of the corshow that he shares the weaknesses of our nature,—ready dial merriment of the Scot. to be imposed upon by cosmogonies and fictitious bills of Sterne is perhaps the only one of our great novelists who Mackenzie, exchange, and yet commanding, by the simple and serene has found an imitator of genius, in Mackenzie (1745dignity of goodness, the respect even of the profligate, 1831) ; for although in his Man of the World, and Julia and making “ those who came to mock remain to pray.” de Roubigne Mackenzie has deviated from the manner of Doubtless, the probability and look of life which a character Sterne, and formed a composite manner, in which the chadrawn with such quiet strokes of the pencil, and with such racteristics of several writers are blended with his own, yet sobriety of colouring, possesses, is in some measure owing there can be little doubt that the spirit of Sterne, in his to the fact, that not a few of the incidents of which Gold- pathetic passages, in a great measure inspired The Man of smith has availed himself are drawn from circumstances in Feeling, and prompted that “ illustration of the richer and his personal history, such as the mistake of setting out to finer sensibilities of the human breast,” which Sir Walter teach the French English, without recollecting that it was Scott points out as the “ key-note” on which he formed his a necessary preliminary for the tutor to acquire a little tales of fictitious woe. In some obvious respects, no doubt, French himself; but the skill which can make such trifles Mackenzie improved upon his model ; as in rejecting the in real life subservient to the purposes of real fiction is licentiousness of Sterne’s wit, retrenching his episodical scarcely less worthy of praise than would have been their digressions, his numerous impertinences, and intrusive original invention. Perhaps there is no better pro jf of the buffoonery, and keeping the strain of feeling which he broad and general truth of delineation which a novel pos- wishes to create more unbroken; but as writers of genius, sesses than our being in the habit of resorting to it in con- there surely can be no comparison between them. Macversation for cases in point and comic illustrations of our kenzie has none of those charming touches which hover opinions. In this respect the Vicar of Wakefield forms a with such a fine ambiguity between the pathetic and the storehouse of allusion. How naturally does any ridiculous humorous,—like Toby’s opening the window and liberating investment in Mexican mines or Spanish stock recall to our the fly which had been buzzing about him all day,—and recollection Moses’ bargain for the gross of green spec- which operate like spells upon the heart. The Rasselas of Dr Johnson (1709-1783), though it Dr Johntacles ? Who is there that has not been reminded of the aristocratic Miss Skeggs turning out to be no better than wears the form of a tale, has but slender pretensions to be sonshe should be, notwithstanding her intimacy with the included amongst the class of novels, for it has neither Duchess and her taste for Shakspeare and the musical progressive incident nor character. It is a series of diaglasses, by some case of the kind within our own expe- logues and moral reflections, very solemnly and beautifully rience where, reversing the denouement of the Double written, tinged with that tone of mournfulness and deArrangement, the Knight Templar of the company has sunk spondency so likely to be the prevailing feeling of his into the waiter ? And, for our own part, we must admit mind in the composition of a work intended to defray the that we have never been able to treat with due gravity expenses of a mother’s funeral. Rasselas is, in fact, the any allusion to the learned speculations of Manetho, Be- Vanity of Human Wishes in prose; and its incidents, if rosus, or Sanchoniathon, from their indissoluble connec- such they may be called, have even less pretensions to tion in our minds with the more finished cosmogony of connected interest than those of Candide, to which it may Jenkinson. be regarded as a moral and philosopical antithesis. In one respect Goldsmith rises conspicuously superior Judging, indeed, from Rasselas, and from the other to his brethren ; he has no passages, which, dying, he need writings of Johnson, it may be safely assumed that his have wished to blot, and his characters and his incidents are success as a novelist would not have been much greater all calculated to call forth only the better feelings of our than as a dramatic poet. He has nowhere shown the least nature. Virginibus puerisque might have been his appro- power of creation, by stepping out of himself, and putting on by the force of imagination the nature of others. priate and uncontested motto. CumberThe great, novelists to whom we have alluded, and par- Through the disguise of all the successive characters which land. ticularly Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne, had of course he is obliged to assume in the Rambler, the sturdy, conmany imitators. But the minuteness of Richardson was troversial, and somewhat pompous moralist stands confound to be intolerable in any hands but his own, and his fessed ; and whether he writes as a fine lady, a fop, a manner, in this country at least, though not in France and blood, or an elderly gentleman, still, like Puck, “we know Germany, was soon abandoned. Amongst the numerous the man by the Athenian garments he hath on.” Indeimitations of Fielding’s manner, most of which are now pendently of this, his views of life would certainly have been forgotten, the Henry of Cumberland (1752-1811), is pro- untrue, inasmuch as they were one-sided. Far from being bably the most respectable. Cumberland possessed that disposed “ to make the happiness he could not find,” the degree of talent which enabled him, both in dramatic com- tendency of his mind,—in consequence, perhaps, of a con-

ROMANCE. 276 Romance, stitutional melancholy,—was rather to unmake and neu- of the style, which, like all Walpole’s compositions, is of Romanc«. the purest and most idiomatic English, and terse and con' tralize the elements of comfort by which human life in the average is surrounded. Had he devoted himself in earnest densed in a very high degree, we feel persuaded that to fictitious composition, he would have lent his eloquence the Castle of Otranto, although the first specimen of and power of forcible statement to shape the world or the modern romance, would at the present day find few romance according to the gloomy fashion which the reality admirers. In some respects, then, we think the Old English Earon Clara presented to his eye ; and in an inky coat, indeed, or a eeve drab-coloured suit at best, very unlike the peach-blossom of Clara Reeve was an improvement on the Castle q/’lt Otranto. For there the marvellous was brought within of his friend Goldsmith, he would in all probability have some limit of proportion; “ the extravagant and erring arrayed it. Horace About 1769 we witness the revival, though in a new spirit hied to his confineand consequently, so far as reWalpole, shape, of the old taste for romance. The delineation of garded the creation of an impression of superstitious terror, life as it actually existed was found to afford too little scope or giving an air of probability and keeping to her narrative, to minds who aspired after the imaginative and poetical, we must admit that her ghost of Lord Lovel, who is and who could not see why natural delineation of character always exhibited under the obscurity of a dim religious and manners might not be combined with striking events, light, did, in our youthful days, produce upon us a certain and with the picture of the higher passions; why, as Wal- species of aw'e. In other respects w'e rather fear the apprepole expresses it, in his preface to the Castle of Otranto hension which is expressed in her preface,—namely, that in “ the fancy might not be left to expatiate through the avoiding the defects of Walpole the spirit of his wild comboundless realms of invention, and thence to create more position might evaporate,—was not altogether without founinteresting situations, while the mortal agents in the drama dation. The style of the narrative in her hands became still conducted themselves according to the rules of proba- heavy, often dry and vulgar, like the ancient chronicle she bility.” In the first shape, however, in which romance professes to follow ; her dialogue is peculiarly flat and and rendered tedious re-appeared after this temporary slumber, the delineation of cumbrous, and the plot deformed, 7 character occupied, it must be owned, but a very subordi- by trifling incidents which now appear to us needlessly nate place. A little more attention was given to verisimi- homely ; and yet the strong interest with which, as we can litude of manners, and much was done to abbreviate the state from experience, this romance is perused at an early tedious style of the old prose romance, and to throw life age, is a proof that in the cardinal point of exciting curiand movement into the narrative by dialogue, and by the osity and a feeling of mysterious interest, the ruder narraomission of unimportant incidents not bearing on the ca- tive of Clara Reeve effects, in a great measure, what all tastrophe ; but the main efforts of our first modern romance the liveliness of style, the deeper antiquarian reading, and writers were directed chiefly to the excitement of that more creative fancy of Walpole failed to attain. But this species of romance-writing was probably carried Mrs Radfeeling of love of the marvellous which exists more or less in every human breast. They chose for their favourite io its perfection by Mrs Radcliffe (1764-1823), who, in her cliffe. own walk of fiction, has never been excelled, though opithemes the varieties of the supernatural. nions may differ as to the comparative rank which she holds “ Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, among writers of fiction, and also as to the soundness of that Nocturnes lemures, portentaque.” principle of composition which led her systematically to unWe admit that the author of the Castle of Otranto did not ravel her own spells, and to attempt an explanation by natrust exclusively to such materials of interest. But grant- tural means of effects which we had at first been encouring that the general outlines of “ his feudal tyrant, his aged to refer to the agency of supernatural causes. Indeed, distressed damsels, his resigned yet dignified churchman,” we might rather say that, in regard to this last point, there are sufficiently correct, we are at a loss to perceive in any is no room for doubt, and that this system of explanations of his characters that individuality which gives to such is exposed to every possible objection ;—as totally inadepictures their chief value. To us they seem light, sketchy, quate in general to account for the effects ascribed to it,— and somewhat vague, although we think it quite possible as running counter to the whole tone of sentiment created that the effect produced by greater truth and distinctness up to the period of explanation,—as disappointing the pride of feature in the mortal agents of the piece might not of the reader, wdio feels offended at the thought that he has have harmonized with the extravagant demands upon the expended so much anxiety and terror on a mere “ painted imagination which the author makes by his supernatural devil,” and a succession of mockeries; and is consequently machinery. We agree with Sir Walter Scott in thinking annoyed at this commonplace anti-climax after his nerves Walpole acted with judgment in leaving his machinery have been tuned for grand wonders, instead of the diswithout those attempts at explanation introduced by Mrs covery of paltry images of wax-work. Indeed, it is one of Radcliffe, always inadequate, and even throwing an air of the strongest proofs of the redeeming genius which Mrs ridicule over the mysteries of the piece upon a second Radcliffe has thrown into her tales, constructed as they are perusal. But we cannot concur with him in his toleration upon so unsatisfactory a plan, that they bear a second perof the extent to which Walpole has carried the marvels usal at all; or that, having discovered in one or two cases and improbabilities of his romance. The apparition of the inadequate and puerile nature of what appeared at first Alfonso in the moonlight, dilated to a gigantic form, is so appalling and formidable, we still feel eager for the soluimpressive, and in certain moods of the mind even the tion of the remaining mysteries, and can hardly persuade skeleton ghost in the hermit’s cowl may have its terrors. ourselves but that something strange and fearful does lurk, But Clara Reeve was certainly right in the protest which after all, within her deserted chambers and beneath her she enters in her preface against the introduction of such faded tapestry. machinery as that of a sword so large as to require a hunYet it is wonderful what a magical power she exercises dred men to lift it; a helmet that, by its own weight, forces within the field to which she restricts herself. No one a passage through a court-yard into an arched vault, and ever seems to have understood better the art of preparacrushes a boy to death ; or a picture walking out of its tion, the attunement of the mind to the key of the superframe. The effect of such violent instruments of terror is natural, by a long train of half-heard sounds, and glimpses suicidal; they destroy the very feeling they were intended of sights, which the fancy, amidst night and silence, works to create, and give to the romance the air of a nur- up for itself into images of things which it fears to consery tale. Indeed, were it not for the singular charm template,—

ROMANCE. 277 “ Like one that on a lonesome road threw into the style of fiction she chose to adopt, whatever Romance, Romance. Doth walk in fear and dread; may be its precise order of precedence in the calendar of And having once looked round, walks on, fiction; and secondly, because, although that style became And turns no more his head,— more universally popular and more generally imitated than Because he knows a frightful fiend any which had preceded it, she herself, with two excepDoth close behind him tread.” tions only, which we shall notice, remains the solitary writer And perhaps the strongest proof of her judgment is to be of genius by which it has been adorned. The truth is, that found in the economy and reserve with which she employs the sarcasms which have been directed against the puerile the talisman of terror. In her hands slight circumstances horrors of Mrs Radcliffe ought justly to have been confined and half-hints are made to produce all the effect of fearful to the extravagances of her successors, who imitated her witcheries or scenes of bloodshed and horror. The clang manner without either her imagination or her judgment, and of a distant door, a footfall or a track of blood upon a stair- conceived that the surest means of producing effect concase, a strain of music floating over a forest, a figure pacing sisted in pressing the springs of the terrible as far as they a platform in silence, some wandering voice following us, would go. The two exceptions from the general dulness and com- Lewis, “ with airy tongue that syllables men’s names,” through the passages of a decaying chateau, the heaving of the tapestry monplace of the imitators of Mrs Radcliffe are the Monk of a bed in some deserted chamber, nay, at last a very rat of M. G. Lewis, which appeared in 1796, and The Monbehind the arras, become invested with a mysterious dig- torio of Maturin, published in 1807, and among the last romances written on that now antiquated plan. Much innity, and work upon the imagination like spells. Mrs Iladcliffe may claim the merit of being the first to justice, we believe, was done to Lewis at the time. A single introduce landscape-painting into her romances as a com- unfortunate remark of an irreligious tendency, and some deponent part of the interest of the piece. The frequency of scriptions of undue warmth, pardonable in a youth of twenty, her pictures of external scenery, and their want of distinct- and retrenched in the second edition, gave a blow to the ness and local truth, have indeed been blamed by many popularity of this romance from which it never recovered. who would willingly, on Puff’s principle, have abridged her And yet the traces of considerable genius are visible both descriptions of the rising sun, and dispensed with a great in its plan and in the execution of several of its powerful deal about gilding the eastern hemisphere. But it is cer- scenes. The mere hint of the story—that is to say, the tain that these descriptions, though occasionally tedious, and general idea of the gradual corruption of a proud, and ensometimes too obviously brought forward upon a principle thusiastic, and self-relying nature,—was taken, as Lewis of melo-dramatic contrast, have a powerful effect in height- acknowledged, from that of the Santon Barsisa in the ening the impression communicated by the incidents or the Guardian ; the incident of the escape of the baroness from sentiments. Set off against the calm beauty of a summer the banditti was an expansion, executed with much skill, of evening, or the magnificent gloom of a thunder-storm, her the scene in the hut in Count Fathom ; for the story of the pastoral or banditti groups stand out with double effect; bleeding nun he was indebted to a German legend; while while to the charge of vagueness of description it may be he has borrowed several hints for his wandering Jew from answered, that Mrs Radcliffe is by no means vague where the incomprehensible Armenian of Schiller. But to these distinctness of imagery is, or ought to be, her object; as hiickneyed materials he has given a force and look of any one may satisfy himself who recalls to his recollection novelty that are surprising: the escape; the conjuration her description of the lonely house by the Mediterranean, scene, where the Jew, withdrawing the black ribband, unwith the scudding clouds, the screaming sea-birds, and the veils the burning cross on his forehead; the procession of stormy sea, the scene selected for the murder of Ellena ; or St Clare by torch-light, where the abbess is torn to pieces, another picture, in the best manner of Salvator, of the first —once read, are not easily forgotten. Lewis also avoided glimpse of the castle of Udolpho rising over a mountain Mrs Radcliffe’s error; his ghosts are real and his devil pass, with the slant sunbeam lighting up its ancient weather- genuine ; though, as is not uncommon, we believe, in pracbeaten towers. Indeed, the whole description of that tice, he takes the form of a woman, instead of appearing, as Apennine fastness, both without and within, is in the best Defoe has it, “ in all his formalities and frightfuls.” The Montorio of Maturin was also a boyish production, Maturin. style, not of literal indeed, but of imaginative painting,— “ Fate sits on those dark battlements and frownsthe very which the writer affected at a more advanced period of life intricacy of its internal architecture, and its endless pas- to despise. Yet it appears to us to exhibit more genius, sages,—a mighty maze, and we fear without a plan,—only mingled, no doubt, with a deep vein of extravagance and serve to deepen the impression of imprisonment and bewil- false taste, than his more elaborate attempts to picture real manners and passions in his Woman. There was origiderment and gloom. To be fully enjoyed, the romances of Mrs Itadcliffe must nality even in the conception, hideous as it was, of the hero be perused in youth. In after age they appear too uni- employing against the brother, who had deceived him, the formly visionary, and the straight-laced stifiness of her agency of that brother’s own sons, whom he persuades to heroines, who never manifest the least warmth except in parricide by working on their visionary fears, and by the poetry, “female punctuation not permitting them to do doctrines of fatalism ; and then, when the deed is done, more,” as Mrs Malaprop observes, suggests the recollection discovering that the victims whom he had reasoned and of the pruderies of the pastoral and heroic romance. But persecuted into crime were his own children. And though when these tales are read in youth, and only remembered Maturin’s machinery in no respect differs from that of his in manhood in their better portions, they leave upon the brethren, though he labours to explain away in the close all memory a pleasing impression of a varied pageant of gloomy that had appeared supernatural in the beginning, and of castles and caves, moon-illumined streets and palaces, course with total want of success, yet the impression left on “ dance and Provengal song and sun-burnt mirth,” aerial the mind by the perusal of the work, in the three thickest music floating over haunted forests, or the chant of monk or volumes we believe that modern romance has to boast of, nun borne to the ear over the waters of some Italian lake, though gloomy and unsatisfactory, is certainly that of an inventive genius in the author. Such was the effect it proamidst the stillness and the shadows of evening. We have devoted a larger space to Mrs Radcliffe than duced on Sir Walter Scott, who was the first to direct atsome may think justly due to the rank in fiction which she tention to it by a criticism in the Quarterly Review for occupies, but we have done so,—first, because we think 1810: “We have strolled,” says he in a lively introducjustice has seldom been done to the real genius which she tion, “ through a variety of castles, each of which was re-

278 ROMANCE. Romance, gularly called II Gastello ; met with many captains of con- closed to the world, and to suffer the agony of knowing that Romance, v vy—• dottier!; heard various ejaculations of Santa Maria and Dia- life and reputation are about to leave him together. »^ ^ bolo; read, by a decaying lamp, and in a tapestried chamIn none of his other works did Godwin evince the same ber, dozens of legends as stupid as the main history ; ex- grandeur of conception, and in none of his subsequent peramined such suites of deserted apartments as might set up sonations, except Bethlehem Gabor, did he exhibit that a reasonable barrack, and saw as many glimmering lights as power of presenting demoniacal characters, such as Tyrrell would make a respectable illumination. Amidst these flat and Gines, in a light which renders them, unnatural as they imitations of the Castle of Udolpho, we lighted unexpect- are, actual objects of terror, like a serpent in the path. The edly upon the work which is the subject of the present tone of his next novel, St Leon, is altogether more subdued article, and in defiance of the very bad taste in which it is than that of Laleb Williams. It has a mournful eloquence composed, we found ourselves unusually involved in the in harmony with the picture of desolation which it presents. perusal, and at times impressed with no common degree of Here, too, the author has imperfectly succeeded in working respect for the powers of the author.” out the design which he announces he had in view,— Moore. Of the Zeluco of Dr Moore, which appeared about 1785, namely, that of proving that the happiness of mankind we have already spoken in our biographical article. (See would not have been augmented by the gifts of immortal Moore, Dr John.) youth and inexhaustible riches ; for, in order to illustrate The influence of such works as Goethe’s Sorrows of his position, Godwin is under the necessity of laying the Werther, written seemingly with a view of reversing Pope’s scene in a remote age, and making the persecutions of St maxim, and proving that whatever is is wrong, becomes Leon arise from feelings of superstitious credulity, which very obvious in our literature of fiction towards the close of we cannot help recollecting that the progress of intelligence the eighteenth century. For in truth such speculations, has since exploded. The senior wrangler, who asked what embodied in an imaginative form, were found highly con- Paradise Lost proved, would certainly therefore have been genial to that spirit of restlessness and discontent with poli- dissatisfied wi th Godwin’s demonstration ; but as the vehicle tical institutions which was everywhere abroad, perplexing of a series of most touching and impressive scenes, his plot nations with fear of change, and leading men of genius to is far from deficient in interest, nor, granting its premises, dress up moral paradoxes in the shape of narrative, and to in probability. None of his other tales have been popular. employ their eloquence in attacking those principles of No writer has come so near the manner of Godwin as Brown. society which tend to make men happy, or which keep them Charles Brockden Brown, an American novelist, an imitaso. This tendency appears sufficiently obvious in the novels tor of the English author, but in a free and noble spirit of Robert of Bage, a sceptic in religion, and a latitudinarian in morals, imitation. He certainly had not Godwin’s power of menBage. whose crude theories, we think, might have been allowed to tal analysis, and not much of that pathetic tenderness repose in that oblivion to which they had been consigned, which, contrasted with the general sternness of his tone, without being revived in such a work as the Novelist's shows like a rainbow against a troubled sky. He was alLibrary. Their introduction at all into a work intended to together more prosaic; dealing, indeed, rather with the embody only the classical works of fiction, seems unac- material than the moral sublime ; producing his strong countable ; nor is the singularity diminished by the fact, that effects by scenes of sickness, danger, death, or the explohis best work, Hermsprong, or Man as he is not, is omitted, sions of insanity ; and often making his characters mere while three of inferior merit are re-published. phantasmata, which interest us only as the means by which Godwin But the social and political theories of the time found an a series of agitating incidents are brought into connection. abler exponent in Godwin, whose first work, Caleb Wil- But he had a good deal of the same eloquence, and the liams, appeared in 1794, in which, throwing aside the same dark and mysterious power of imagination ; a certain stimulus of the marvellous, he has trusted the effect of his intensity of portraiture, whether of mental emotion or tale entirely to a picture of the workings of the mind on things external; great skill in working up a chain of sintwo beings of very opposite natures, who are driven, by a gular events that keep curiosity and suspense upon the species of fatal instinct, into the relative positions of perse- stretch, or impress us with a sense of danger and anxiety, cutor and victim. The doctrines of the Political Justice and of which he loves to furnish an explanation from those furnished avowedly the primary source of the inspiration phenomena in our nature which are little understood, such of Caleb Williams, intended, to use the words of the pre- as somnambulism, trances, spontaneous combustion, or venface, “ to furnish a general review of the modes of domestic triloquism. In these respects Wieland, Ormond, Edgar and unrecorded despotism, by which man becomes the de- Huntly, and Arthur Mervyn have all nearly the same chastroyer of man ; that is to say, to show that, under the mal- racter, nor do they differ materially in point of merit. Brown administration of English law, liable to be perverted by in- has singular power in the delineation of solitude of all kinds, fluence and wealth, the chances are all in favour of the whether the silence of lonely forests, broken only by the escape of the real criminal and the conviction of the inno- howl of panthers, or of deserted mansions dropping to cent,—a proposition notoriously untrue, and which is not decay. There is one picture of this kind in Arthur Mereven advocated with much art or plausibility in the series vyn, of an empty house, evacuated during the yellow fever in of persecutions to which Williams is exposed. Fortunately, Philadelphia, silent and dark in the day-time, with the sunhowever, for the real merit and permanent popularity of this shine streaming in through the closed doors and shutters, singular work, the political design soon merges in a higher and faintly discovering that everything remained undisturbed and more legitimate interest. The genius of the author since its desertion, which produces a strong feeling of awe, kindles as he proceeds, and out of a hard and republican and oppresses the spirits with unaccountable sadness. background brings forth the bright and chivalrous vision of No other novelist of any ability can be said to have ghel the aristocratic Falkland, a being of a loving, noble nature, adopted the manner of Godwin with success, except his ac- iMrs ey. the victim of false honour and morbid refinement of feel- complished daughter, the authoress of Frankenstein, a proing. Few scenes in romance exceed in breathless and en- duction of much originality in its conception, though the exetiancing inteiest the description of the progress of suspicion cution of the work is unequal, and the whole portion which in the mind of Williams, till he extorts from his master the relates to the self-education of the monster, who is the creafatal secret on which hangs the whole of his future fate; tion of the new Prometheus, almost ludicrously improbable. the escape from prison in the grey dawn of a drizzling Several female novelists, towards the close of the eighmorning; and the last interview between Williams and his teenth century, deserve notice, whose tales, though now dying persecutor, sitting, corpse-like, to hear his secret dis- little read, have the merit either of pathetic or humorous

K 0 M A N C E. 279 a tissue of improbable distresses and silly refinements of Romance, Romance, delineation. In the first of these classes are Mrs Inchbald v—V*-'' and Charlotte Smith ; in the latter Madame D’Arblay, or, sensibility, conveyed in language which is neither good to use the name by which she was best known, Miss English nor good sense. The Canterbury Tales deserve notice on account of Miss H. Burney. Mrs InchThe fame of Mrs Inchbald rests upon her Simple Storrj. the interesting and highly original story of “Kruitzner,” or bald. The title perhaps is but of doubtful application to a novel the “German’s Tale,” by Harriet Lee,on which Lord Byron which is really complicated with strong and varied passions, founded his Werner. The tales contributed to the work which turns on the fate and fortunes of persons placed in by her sister Sophia, such as the “ Two Emilys” and the very peculiar relations to each other, and, like Shakspeare’s “Clergyman’s Tale,” though less striking, are written with Winter’s Tale, unites two distinct stories relating to differ- genuine feeling and tenderness. It may be observed, however, in those female novelists M'ss -^us" ent personages, between the action of which “ time has slid to whom we have last adverted that, though the marvel- tin‘ o’er sixteen years.” It is a proof of considerable merit in the novel, that so hazardous an experiment as that of trans- lous is thrown aside, and the characters are taken from ferring our sympathies to actors in a great measure new to common life, the sentiments and tone of feeling are yet dethe scene, has not been unsuccessful; that the interest is, cidedly strained beyond the natural pitch. The characnotwithstanding, kept up, partly by the real pathos of some ters display a degree of romantic affection and a prodigal of the scenes, and partly by tbe natural traits of passion in expenditure of sensibility for which the cares and distracothers. Her second novel, entitled Nature and Art, has tions of real life, we fear, afford but little leisure. It rebeen generally and justly reckoned much inferior to the mained for Miss Austin (1775-1817) to show what a charm might be imparted to truthful pictures of life, as we really Simple Story. Charlotte Charlotte Smith (1749-1806), though her novels are ex- see it around us in the quiet monotony of domestic arrangeSmith. tremely defective in plot, betraying marks of haste, and ments, with its interchanges of poetry and prose, business tinged with a melancholy easily to be accounted for from and strong feeling, and dialogues at balls and parties alterthe depressing circumstances under which they were ge- nating with the secret griefs of the heart; just such a picnerally composed, cannot be confounded with the ordinary ture, in short, as Asmodeus would present, could he reday-labourers for the circulating library, “who turn a Per- move the roof of many an English home, and place us sian tale for half-a-crowm.” Sir Walter Scott, in one of beside the hearths of the Knightleys, Bennets, Woodhouses, those kindly notices by which he delighted to cheer the and Bertrams by whom they are inhabited. No species of heart of struggling genius, or to do justice to the memory novel-writing exposes itself to a severer trial, since it not of talents which time was consigning somewhat too rapidly only resigns all Bayes’ pretensions “to elevate the imagito oblivion, has given her credit for great powers of satire nation and bring you off in some extraordinary way,” but mixed with pathos, and characters sketched with “ firmness by professing to give us pictures of our ordinary acquaintof pencil and liveliness of colouring.” The satire indeed ances, in their common garb, places its productions within seems to have been pretty indiscriminate, since it extends that range of criticism where all are equally judges, and to her own husband, whose pecuniary improvidence and where Crispin is entitled to dictate to Apelles. And yet sanguine temperament are glanced at in the character of with such fine perception and perfect truth of keeping has the projector who hoped to make a fortune by manuring Miss Austin performed her task, that we never miss in her his estate w'ith old wigs. But apart from satire, the Old novels the excitement of uncommon events, and rarely feel Manor House, the only one of her novels with which we her simple annals of English life to be tedious or unworthy are acquainted, is really entitled to the character of an in- of the dignity of fiction. All the novels of Miss Austin closely resemble each teresting and well-written tale. We have a lively recollection of the Manor House itself, its neighbourhood, its sea- other; but Northanger Abbey, and Sense and Sensibility, side scenes, the strange domineering lady of the manor, are of a more puerile cast than the others, and betray a Mrs Rayland, whom Sir Walter Scott describes as a sort more unformed taste. Pride and Prejudice, particularly of Queen Elizabeth in private life, and the natural interest in the characters of the Bennets, was an improvement on which she has succeeded in giving to the love story which the two former, but Emma, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion are justly regarded as her most finished works. Some is going on within the ancient walls. Miss BurThe popularity once enjoyed by the novels of Miss Bur- scenes in Persuasion, the last work of this gifted authorney (Ma- ney appears now to have been somewhat overrated; at ess, have always appeared to us models of unobtrusive tendameD’Ar- least we are at a loss to discover anything in her first work, derness. Some one has described the novels of Miss Edgeworth Miss EdgeEvelina, except the extreme youth of the writer, then only wortll< eighteen, to account for that burst of approbation with as a sort of essence of common-sense; and the definition which it appears to have been received in 1778 by such is not inappropriate, for she is the most anti-sentimental of men as Burke, Reynolds, and Johnson. She wrote no novelists. The sway of the stronger passions she has aldoubt with sprightliness, with some humour of a broad and most excluded from her Tales. Love is indeed the only superficial kind, and undoubtedly possessed considerable one which has found entrance, and to qualify him for admistalent in drawing bores and personages of low manners or sion, his wings have been sorely clipped and trimmed, and odd habits from vulgar middle life ; in imagining scenes of reason constantly placed as a gentleman usher over him. awkward mistakes in society, and exaggerating the teasing Miss Edgeworth has even less toleration for splendid faults distresses thence arising to her heroines and other person- or bursts of enthusiasm than Miss Austin. Her chief aim ages of more refined manners or higher pretensions. In- is to rebuke folly by ridicule and comic humour; to undeed, to mimickry she appears, from her father’s account, teach bad habits of mind, to substitute in their stead pruto have had a strong leaning from her childhood; but when dence, firmness, temper, perseverance, and habits of absoshe rises from mere manners and habits to paint feelings, lute truth, a process which she generally represents as we see little but indecision on the one hand, or exaggera- effected by a gradual series of efforts and consequent ametion on the other. Within the field where she excels too she liorations, which are within the power of all minds of ordiis much of a mannerist; the same characters under other nary resolution. Her favourite characters are either pernames, the same incidents under a thin disguise, re- sons of well-balanced minds with sound heads and a appear in Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla. Even the graces smattering of physical science, who act rightly and honof style which she had shown in her earlier works in a ourably, but always think twice before they act, and weigh great measure forsook her in her last novel, the Wanderer; in the scales of utility what are generally considered as

ROMANCE. 280 Romance, matters of feeling, like the Percys : or they are personages anachronisms, by representing his characters as knowing Romance, who, spoiled by indolence and bad education, succeed by a neither more nor less than was appropriate to personages course of self-discipline, in curing their intellectual or in their respective spheres, and by the most minute and moral maladies, and becoming useful and honourable careful attention to manners and costume. His extensive members of society, like the hero of Ennui, Lord Glen- miscellaneous reading and great antiquarian research no thorn. Miss Edgeworth brings to her task the results of doubt contributed much to his success in this important much observation of character, particularly that of her point; but we must also allow to him the possession of an countrymen; a quick perception of the humorous, a dra- innate faculty of producing vraisemblance, almost amountmatic liveliness of dialogue, a high sense of all that is hon- ing to an instinct, no matter what period of history he ourable and decorous, with a scorn of meanness and eva- selects for his tale ; whatever that may be, he carries us sion, and that tone of good society which her pictures, back to the precise age which he has determined to illusoften drawn from fashionable life, demand. If her novels trate ; and the shadows which he summons from the vast are at times too obviously monitory and didactic, and the realm of his imagination speak, think, and act, move and ferule peeps out rather alarmingly behind the schoolmis- have their being, precisely as we have been accustomed, tress, this defect, we fear, is in a great measure insepa- though more faintly, to create for ourselves ideal images rable from the very qualities which constitute the strength of their prototypes. Does he take us to the time of the of her mind, and from the conception she had formed for Crusades?—how chivalrous in its tone, yet how mingled herself of the ideal of novel-writing. with ignorance and ferocity, is the conversation of the mailSir Walter At the period when Sir Walter Scott (1814) produced clad barons ; how tinctured with barbaric thought and feelScott. the first of that long file of romances which have since ob- ing is the utterance of the serfs and thralls ! Does he bid tained a more than European reputation, the public taste, us tarry at the era of the Reformation ?—how marked are the in regard to novel-writing, seemed to have sunk to a low natural differences of the priest and preacher, how vivid are ebb. Miss Edgeworth indeed was popular; for the wit the pictures of the savage moss-troopers, of the turbulent and and good sense of her dialogue, and her happy pictures of ambitious nobles, of the euphuistic courtier who has taught Irish character, found favour in the sight even of the read- himself to speak in the stilted language of the Arcadia! Does ers of circulating-libraries ; but the merits of Miss Austin’s he introduce us to the period of the civil wars ?—Cavalier more unobtrusive pictures of life were comparatively un- and Puritan start to life again as they moved before the known. At best she was confounded with the writers of fight at Naseby ! Shakspeare, on the contrary, very rarely, “ Winters in London,” or “ Winters in Paris,” and shared and never strongly, indicates period by language. His a dubious favour with the romantic effusions of Francis characters for the most part might belong to any age ; Lathom and the other labourers of the Minerva press, so sometimes they are even made to talk absurdly and inconcalled, we presume, upon the lucus a non lucendo principle, grously. The bleeding soldier in Macbeth, who relates to from the goddess of wisdom having so little to do with its King Duncan the issue of the battle with the Norwegians, productions. Translations, too, from Augustus La Fon- speaks in a style totally out of keeping with his character. taine’s homely but rather vulgar pictures of little German There is no antiquity about Cymbeline ; even Hamlet does Krah-ivinkel towns, or the broad and indecent extrava- not mark its era. Shakspeare certainly did possess in a gances of Pigault Le Brun, tended still further to degrade very high degree the faculty of depicting national differand vulgarize the public taste. Everything in fiction, in ences of temperament, and even national differences of short, looked unpromising and exhausted. The appearance scenery. The cold, stern, Norse-like tone of Hamlet is in of a great writer, who should strike out anew path through marked opposition to the warm colouring of Romeo and this much-trodden waste, seemed at that moment in the Juliet. But he did not reproduce the past with anything highest degree improbable. And yet this was at once like the vividness of Scott. Many subsequent writers have effected by the author of Waverley, in such a manner as attempted in this particular to rival the great Scottish to raise the romance from the lowest level to the very high- novelist, but never with complete success. The most est position in literature. famous of them, Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, has in two The resemblance of Scott’s mind to that of Shakspeare at least of his works, The Last Days of Pompeii, and The has been often remarked, and with some justice; for though Last of the Barons, striven hard to give them an impress even the most enthusiastic admirers of the romance-writer, of entire vraisemblance corresponding to the peculiarities of wall hardly venture to claim for him an equality of powers the time; but it is no disparagement to the acknowledged with Shakspeare, there were strong kindred features in the powers of that eminent writer to assert that, in this respect, character of their minds. In both we are struck with the he is decidedly inferior to Scott. With the one it is an same general and almost universal sympathies, leading to effort conspicuous in every page ; the characters being too impartial and kindly views of all men and all opinions, the antique, and too elaborate in their antiquity. They are most remote from their own ; a cheerful, healthful tone of too carefully primitive in their talk, like masquers who feeling, which brightens existence about us, instead of strive to the uttermost to keep up a show of what they are dwelling on its evils; an avoidance of all moral casuistry, not, without hoping to impose upon their audience. We or treading on the borders of the forbidden, either in the at once can detect the modern under the ancient garb, by creation of characters or of incidents; the feeling of the the very pains which he takes to stalk solemnly on the humorous as strongly developed as the sensibilities of the cothurnus. With the other there is no effort whatever. imagination ; great self-possession, and a noiseless exertion He waves his wand more potent than that of Prospero, and of power, working out its end, not by sudden bursts, or the shadows of the olden time appear before us, and we high-wrought passages, but by a silent and steady pro- absolutely believe in their re-animation. gression, like the dawn brightening into the fulness of Setting aside this notable peculiarity, we may remark day. that the works of Scott produce their effect rather by the If Scott possessed any excellency in a greater measure combination of many qualities than the predominance of than Shakspeare, it lies in the wonderful art with which he any. His strength lies in the possession and harmonious has contrived to impress the reader with the reality of the adjustment of most of the qualities requisite to the novelist, scenes which he describes at their several historical periods. none engrossing the whole mind, none excluding another, He has been able to mark most distinctly the age to which but all working together in kindly unison: learning arrayed each separate story belongs, by a modification in the style in the most picturesque combinations ; observation of life and language of the dialogue, by a careful avoidance of embodied, not in abstractions, but in living forms ; humour

ROMANCE. 281 No wonder, indeed, when, in addition to the limits by Romance, Romance, springing out of tenderness, like smiles struggling through v v—t tears ; the spirit of ancient knighthood leavening the which all invention is bounded, we consider under what worldly wisdom of modern times; and the imagination of depressing circumstances many of his later works were the poet adorning, without impairing the common sympa- composed, that in these even the elasticity of genius itself should be somewhat outworn and deadened; that the conthies and good-humoured sagacity of the man. The department in which this combination of qualities ventional, both in character and incident, should occahas been most successfully displayed by Scott was that of sionally supply the place of invention, and that mere the historical romance—a class of fictions which he may imagery, and not always very appropriate illustration, truly be said to have created. For although fictions bear- should be substituted for the natural turns which at first ing the title of historical romances were by no means un- enlivened the dialogue. “ If there be a mental drudgery,” common in English literature before the time of Scott, to use his own words in his notice of Charlotte Smith, such as the Recess of Miss Lee or the Scottish Chiefs of “ which lowers the spirits and lacerates the nerves like the Miss Porter, it is apparent that they stand in a totally toil of the slave, it is that which is exacted by literary different class; not being, in fact, historical except in the composition when the heart is not in unison with the work names of the characters. Obvious as the idea now ap- on which the head is employed.” When he breaks up new pears, Scott was in truth the first to show how much inven- ground, as in Nigel, Quentin Durward, and The Crusaders, tion might gain by a union with reality; what additional his genius indeed suffers little diminution ; but in Redprobability, interest, and importance might be given to the gauntlet, Anne of Geierstein, and The Betrothed, the fortunes of imaginary heroes, by interweaving their desti- practised skill of the mechanist, re-composing old materials nies with those of historical personages ; nay, how much of in new shapes, is far more visible than the freshness and romance in its finest forms lies in the characters and events spontaneity of an original inspiration. With the publicaof history itself, invisible to the prosaic or merely philo- tion of Kenilworth, indeed, the sun of his fame may be sophic observer, but obvious at once to the eye of imagi- said to have “ touched the highest point of all its greatnation. Fie has carried the picturesque of history to its ness but like that luminary during a polar summer, it perfection ; for without imparting to his portraits the deep seemed for a time rather to revolve than to descend, and and subtle traits by which Shakspeare so wonderfully its rays continued to look bright and beautiful long after individualizes the beings of his dramas, he never fails at it was journeying towards the west. No writer ever exercised so great an influence over the least to present consistent and striking pictures of his historical personages in their habit as they lived, and to public mind, or led to so much conscious or unconscious dispose the light and shadow about them with the most imitation. His influence on Italy, France, and Germany, felicitous adjustment—dress, look, gestures, manner, and we shall afterwards have occasion to notice. On the the outward accompaniments of scenery being all made literature of Great Britain we believe it to have exerted important accessories to heighten the effect of well-known on the whole a most beneficial effect; not, indeed, that peculiarities, or to hide the want of those over which any professed imitation of his manner has yet appeared Time has dropped a veil which even Imagination can which possesses great claims to genius, but that he has carried a higher spirit into novel-writing; taught us how hardly raise. In description indeed, generally, Sir Walter Scott was the simple feelings of peasants, and the homely pathos of unrivalled. Whatever he sees with the eye of the mind humble life, and the relentings of feeling amongst the outshapes itself into words which enable us to see it too. His casts of society, might be made to blend with scenes of pictures combine in a singular way breadth and minuteness ; high imagination ; that his writings are calculated to for while he painted the details with sharpness and firm- strengthen the ties of our common humanity; that they ness, no one understood better the art of arrangement in never tend to foster a bad, or to throw ridicule upon a good masses, so that he never fails to give the spirit as well as or generous feeling; while, speaking of them in a merely the form of the spot, making us feel the solemnity and literary point of view, they taught lessons of simplicity, gloom of castles and druidical forests, the calm produced good taste, moderation, and skill in seizing the best points by the still beauty of a Highland lake from which the both of character and description, which have not been morning mist is disappearing, or the healthy elevation of without their effect even on those by whom the mere spirits with which we travel up some mountain height, manner of Scott or his choice of subjects have been whence we see far into the country beyond, and “ feel the studiously avoided. The professed imitators of Scott have been numerous, breath of heaven fresh blowing.” We offer no remarks upon his characters except this, but not successful. As usual, they have magnified his that making every allowance for repetitions, no writer of defects, urging his conventional personages, such as dwarfs, fiction since Shakspeare has enriched the portrait gallery of fools, gypsies, and bores, into caricature; multiplying invention with more originals, of which we have a distinct instead of retrenching those similes which, even in the conception ; and that though his female characters have original, were so obtrusively frequent as to remind us of less variety and less truth than his male personages, we Bayes’ rule for writing dialogue, “ ever make a simile know no writer except Shakspeare to whom the same re- when you are surprisedand overlaying the plot with minute descriptions of dress and scenery, which the reader, mark may not justly be applied. The plots of Scott, speaking generally, are neither after a little experience, is wise enough to avoid. The best imitation of Sir Walter Scott’s manner with Jameserand remarkable for excellence nor the reverse. Examples may, in fact, be found in the long list of his romances both which we are acquainted is the anonymous romance of Co°P ‘ of skilful and defective plots. Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, and Forman, of which he speaks with respect in his criticism the Bride of Lammermoor, for instance, are proofs howr on Mrs Radcliffe. The romances of Mr James, too, artfully he could at times arrange his plan; the two latter though not indicating much depth, are pleasing, always having all the compactness and steady progression of the written with good feeling, and with a plot which excites a drama. Others again, such as The Monastery, StRonan’s sort of quiet interest, if it does not keep the mind in the Well, and Rob Roy, are in a high degree loose and incon- chain of curiosity or suspense. The novels of Cooper, who is probably better known than any other of the imitasequential. Fertile and inventive as was the genius of Scott, it can- tors of Scott, seem to be considerably overrated. On shipnot, we think, be denied that, during the latter half of his board, or on an Indian heath, he is striking and picturesque ; career as a writer of fiction, he appeared to less advantage. but among civilized society, and, above all, in his attempts YOL. XIX.

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ROM. L N C E* Romance, to catch the ease of fashion, we must regard him as his peculiar walk. We allude to Mrs Johnston, authoress Romance, of Clan Albin, and of a tale called the West Country singularly unsuccessful. Hope. A strange contrast to the spirit of Scott’s novels was Exclusives, which is not nearly so well known as its in- Mrs Johnston. exhibited in the sceptical and dreary tone of Anastasius. trinsic merit deserves. Several novels of great merit appeared when the repuWithout force of character-painting, with much languor in parts, and too prolonged a detail of heartlessness and tation and popularity of Scott was at its zenith, and, though villainy, the work fascinates by its strength, and towards they did not absolutely suffer adumbration, were yet, in the close, when the character of the hero deepens, by its some measure, less regarded than they probably would irresistible pathos. Commencing with the levity of a have been had the great planet not been in the ascendant. Greek Gil Bias, it modulates into a key of sadness and The fact is, that Scott had acquired nearly a monopoly in desolation of spirit which reminds us of the close of St fiction ; for his fertility was so great that the reading Leon. Fiction has few pictures which will bear compari- public had scarcely digested one work of his before another son with that of Anastasius sitting on the steps of the was laid before them, and the established favourite gained lazaretto of Trieste, with his dying boy in his arms. simply from his popularity an immense advantage over any Many other authors, of considerable literary reputation new competitor. That was the natural and well-earned about this time entered the field of fiction ; indeed, very result of his incessant labour and versatility. few entirely abstained from wandering in that direction. The novels of Miss Ferrier, which are three in number, Miss FerMoore. Thomas Moore produced one novel, The Epicurean, in Marriage, Inheritance, and Destiny, are decidedly of a rierwhich some of the excellences and many of the defects high class, and have much interest, from the art of the traceable in his poetical style are apparent. We believe, writer in depicting shades of character. With a keen indeed, that the original intention of the author was to appreciation of the ludicrous Miss Ferrier combined the have framed a metrical romance, but that he was induced utmost delicacy of sentiment; so that her pictures are to alter his plan and adopt the vehicle of prose, on account never overcharged, though abounding in native humour. of its more extensive popularity. One great charm of her novels is their thoroughly religious Wilson. The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, by Professor tendency, and the wholesome lessons which they convey, Wilson, is a work which still retains in a great measure its not obtrusively paraded nor pharisaically set forward, but earlier popularity. It is a book sui generis ; not perhaps ac- tempering and pervading the whole with a benignant curate in its delineations, but marvellously attractive as an Christian spirit. Her main object was to illustrate, through idealization of peasant life by one who was a true poet, and fiction, the uses of adversity, and to prove how worthless who invested every subject which he touched with the light are the riches, honours, and ambition of this world in comof his varied genius. Scarcely less popular and attractive is parison with a mind tranquillized by the influences of his other romance, the Trials of Margaret Lindsay, a most religion, and in the enjoyment of that inward peace which pathetic story, the perusal of which cannot fail to excite passeth all understanding. Of her success there can feelings of the deepest emotion. It is somewhat remarkable be no doubt; for in the whole library of fiction there are that this great writer, who possessed in an eminent degree no works which can be more safely recommended for the faculty of humour and the power of expressing it (as the perusal of the young, as calculated at once to imwitness his inimitable Noctes Amhrosiance) should neverthe- prove, delight, and amuse, than the novels of Miss less have shrunk, with an almost superstitious dread, from Ferrier. exhibiting it in his more elaborate writings. Nothing can The novel of Cyril Thornton, by Captain Hamilton, Hamilton be more certain than that the union or alternation of humour brother of the distinguished philosopher and metaphysician, and Lockand sentiment, the mixture of the comic and tragic ele- Sir William Hamilton, is of sufficient merit to demandhartments, has a charm unattainable by the exertion of one especial notice. So also are the novels of Mr J. G. Lockfaculty only; and we consider this self-imposed abnegation hart (Sir Walter Scott’s son-in-law and biographer), of half his power to be the reason why Wilson’s popularity Valerius, Reginald Dalton, and Adam Blair. The first as a novelist is inferior to that which he has attained as a of these, Valerius, which is a story of imperial Rome, is miscellaneous writer. one of the best attempts which have been made by modern Galt. Of a very different stamp was John Galt, who, posses- romancers to depict society in times which are purely sing little pathetic power, revelled in descriptions of classical. A fine and elegant scholar, without being in any the ludicrous and absurd, chiefly as displayed in com- degree a pedant, possessed of a vivid imagination, and mercial life and among the middle classes. Galt drew master of a polished style, Mr Lockhart was peculiarly accurately from nature in so far as character was con- fitted to undertake the task, or rather the experiment, cerned ; and it is not too much to say that he has no of reviving classical associations through the medium rival, even at the present day, in framing portraits which, of fiction. Our deliberate opinion is, that complete while absolutely true, are irresistibly comic and cap- success in such an attempt is impossible. Historical tivating. In this respect he is infinitely superior to Mr periods which are little known to the great mass of Dickens, whose character^are for the most part caricatures. readers, and in which individual characters loom largely, Galt was no caricaturist, tie drew accurately from the though undefined, in their outline, like objects seen life ; his secret being, that he thoroughly understood, appre- through a mist, may be selected by the romancer for illusciated, and enjoyed the foibles of that class of persons tration with the happiest results. Thus Scott, when he which he selected for illustration, and very wisely abstained introduces us to Richard Cceur de Lion in Palestine, chief from exaggerating, where, in truth, exaggeration would of the Christian army encamped around the walls of Acre, have spoiled rather than augmented the effect. His range is like an enchanter who dispels a cloud which our own is no doubt very limited; for it extends chiefly, if not imagination, for lack of perspicuity, has never penetrated; altogether, to citizen life in the w'est of Scotland, and and presents to us a spectacle of which we had never therefore the fidelity of his portraits can hardly be appre- formed any conception. But there is no such cloud beciated by those who are unacquainted with the class which tween us and imperial Rome. Her history, constitution, he describes. But it may fairly be questioned whether games, customs, magnates, manners, are known to all who even Sir Walter Scott has exhibited more truthful delinea- are imbued with the slightest touch of the classical spirit; tions of Scottish character than Galt has done in his Sir or, if not known absolutely, in the strictest acceptation of Andrew Wylie, Leddy Grippy, and Dr Pringle. the word, they have been imagined by us ; so that each of Another writer of nearly the same date rivalled Galt in us possesses a floating Roman microcosm of his own. The

ROMANCE. 233 The fashionable novels of Mrs Gore, of which Cecil is Romance, romance, consequence is, that each individual reader being beforey ' hand provided with a distinct picture of his own, tests the certainly the best, at one time attracted much public atwork of the modern resuscitator by comparison with that tention, and though singularly deficient in plot, exhibited Mrs Gore, picture ; and, as the two representations can never be ex- much vivacity in the dialogue, with considerable shrewdactly the same, he will not accord to the romancer that ness of observation. To this class also belong the novels of Theodore Hook, Theodore amount of credence or fictitious interest without which no story can be read with positive pleasure or absorption. He a man of talent and versatility rather than genius, but pos- Hook, laughs at Prospero, and has no real belief in his power of sessed of a ready and sparkling wit, effervescent and exhievoking the spirits. These remarks may explain why clas- larating as champagne. Unfortunately, from imprudence sical novels have never been popular in England; and they and the pressure of untoward circumstances, he was commay serve, moreover, as a practical illustration of the adage, pelled to undertake a larger amount of literary task-work “ Omne ignotum pro magnijieoP Certainly it was not than is compatible with the production of works deliberately from want of talent or descriptive power that Valerius did planned and artistically executed. Hence his writings are not prove a general favourite. Reginald Dalton, though very unequal—some being nearly worthless, while others it contains some powerful passages, is loosely put together; are of excellent quality. Gilbert Gurney is, in our opinion, but Adam Blair is beyond all question Lockhart’s greatest the best novel that he produced. After a time, that portion of the reading public which is Newgate effort. It is a story harrowing to read, verging upon limits which prudery would shrink from, but true to nature; and, the mainstay of circulating-libraries became wearied with novelists, in the field of romance occupying nearly the same place the fashionable frivolities and tiresome iteration of scenes which the plays of George Lillo hold in the dramatic litera- pertaining to the beau monde. The demand for such literary syllabubs declined, and the value of copyrights ture of England. dwindled. Then arose a new school of novelists, who FashionThe public taste having been attracted to prose works able novels, of fiction as the most agreeable form of light reading, a sought to win the public ear, disgusted with drawing-room whole host of labourers offered themselves as candidates for prattle, by converse of another kind. They selected their employment in the vineyard. The immense circulation of heroes, not from the frequenters of the saloon or boudoir, the novels of Scott, and the high remunerative price which but from the denizens of the haunts of vice and profligacy. he was known to have received from the publishers, proved They had recourse to the caves of a modern Adullam, and, as irresistible a temptation to literary adventurers as is the with the Newgate Calendar as their guide, tried to cast a discovery of a new gold-field to the unemployed popula- halo of romance around the persons of executed thieves and tion of a continent. Ingenuity was racked for subjects. murderers. Ruffians whose lives had been justly forfeited Fashionable life was supposed, not without reason, to have to the outraged laws of their country were depicted as men some interest for those of the middle classes, always fur- of daring, honour, and noble emprize; and their miscellanishing a large number of readers, who lived beyond its neous amours with women of the most abandoned class were pale; and accordingly the market was inundated with detailed, not satirically, as Gay did in his Beggar’s Opera, novels, each in three volumes, purporting to give glimpses but seriously and minutely, in a manner which was at once of the serene existence of the arbiters of A1 mack’s, and a scandal to literature and an outrage upon public decency. containing revelations of the mysteries of the boudoir and Fortunately, however, the public taste, thctugh not always the ball-room. It is no exaggeration to say, that neither be- discriminating or fastidious, revolted from so nauseous a fore nor since has there ever been such a deluge of absolute dose; and after a very brief period, the Newgate novelists inanity. The few debutants in print who really had the were hooted into silence, but not before they had done means of describing such society from actual knowledge, serious mischief by the repetition of their immoralities in a were for the most part needy dowagers, illiterate danglers, dramatic form, through low theatres and the like, thereby or very impudent pretenders ; yet such was the rage, at one materially contributing to the population of the jails. time, for anything which savoured of high life, that large sums Writers of this kind have been fain to take shelter under were given bv a certain class of publishers for novels of the what they call the authority of the great masters of fiction. most trashy description, provided the author or authoress They say that, because Scott has made interesting and had a name recognisable in the Court Guide or in the romantic such lawless characters as Robin Hood or Rob Peerage. Such exclusiveness, however, in dealing with an Roy, they are entitled to do the same by their recent deexclusive subject, could not be maintained; and novels spisers of the laws. The answer is very plain : Robin purporting to depict the etherealization of fashion, the say- Hood and Rob Roy were outlaws and freebooters in times ings and doings of the earthly Olympus, were fabricated and countries when law was not established or recognised. . by clever rogues, who drew their inspiration from the pot- Their period is mythical to us, and has long since passed house. We are bound to say that, in point of talent, the away ; but the thief, and housebreaker, and resetter, if not mere imitators excelled those who professed to draw from the highwayman (for railroads have interfered with that reality. Both were most ludicrous caricaturists ; but while branch of the predatory business), still exist among us ; and we yawned over the platitudes of the one class of writers, it can hardly be expected that we should take an interest mirth was actively excited by the preposterous misconcep- in the chivalry of crime, which, any night, might be exhibited to ourselves through the medium of the dark lantern, tions of the other. with its concomitant the crowbar. A fevv brilliant SirE B exceptions, however, redeemed the It would be tedious to note all the forms of the modern Lytton. ’ fashionable novel from the charge of utter inanity. Sir E. B. Lytton, now unquestionably the greatest living no- novel, for their number is literally legion. We have milivelist of England, laid the foundation of his fame by the tary, nautical, artistic, musical, commercial, religious, polipublication of Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman, tical, and sporting novels in abundance ; in fact, there is a work which we are constrained to place in the fashion- no phase of society whicjy has not been thus illustrated. able catalogue, though much of its interest arises from Among living English novelists, the following hold the Living scenes and characters remote from the fashionable ken* highest place :—Sir E. B. Lytton, Charles Dickens, Wil- novelists, Pelham contains more than the promise of genius; it is a liam Makepeace Thackeray, Samuel Warren, Charles Lever, very remarkable and able work, which, though inferior in and the Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli. These stand in artistic skill to some of the author’s later productions, is full the foremost rank ; and it is a remarkable proof of the conof freshness and power, and after the lapse of thirty years sideration which is now accorded to literary men that two of them are Cabinet ministers, not less distinguished by still retains its popularity.

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Romance, their ability as statesmen than by the genius exhibited in their works. Italian ro- No country has produced more novelists than Italy; but mance. the Italian novel bears little analogy to what we understand by the term. Their novels were, in fact, originally prose versions of the same short tales, sometimes heroic, but more frequently turning on themes of gallantry or comic adventure, which formed the favourite subjects of the Trouveres. They were Fabliaux translated into Italian ; and this character they retained for five centuries, from Boccaccio to Gozzi (1313-1786). The incidents are generally briefly given ; there is little development of character or sentiment ; or, where these are found, they exhibit rather separate scenes of life than anything having the interest of a compact whole. But if the incidents and characters have little development, the Italian novelists have indemnified themselves for this confinement by indulging in the utmost license of a pompous, circuitous, and unmeaning style. The facile beauty of the Italian language, “ Che spandi di parlar si largo flume,” has been the bane of their novelists. Boccaccio, the first and by far the greatest of the Italian novelists, indeed manages to impart to it a sort of garrulous grace ; but in the hands of his imitators the contrast between the poverty of the idea and the rich garb of words with which it is invested assumes a ludicrous effect. Never, perhaps, among so many novelists, was there so little of novelty. Instead of imitating nature, their avowed principle was to imitate Boccaccio, who, imparting to everything a soft and rose-coloured glow, was himself not remarkable for the closeness of his adherence to it. And hence, regarding the novel merely as a theme upon which they were to display all the brilliant variations of which the music of Italian speech was susceptible, they were contented to repeat in a great measure the same themes, to borrow, with a sort of easy impudence, their incidents from Boccaccio or from each other; and more anxious for the purity of their Tuscan than of their tales, of which by far the greater number turn on scenes of licentiousness or low humour, they seemed to think all other merits in the novel subordinate to that of being “ written in very choice Italian.” Beyond the limits of Italy, Bandello (1554) and Cintio (whose Hecatommitki appeared in 1565) are almost the only novelists whose names are known to foreigners, if we except the Belphegor of the versatile Macchiavelli; and the chief interest connected with these novelists consists in the hints or materials furnished by them to Shakspeare, Massinger, Beaumont, and Fletcher, and our dramatic writers of the time of Elizabeth and James, to whom, indeed, these works, particularly those of Bandello, afforded a perfect storehouse for plots. Among the nine volumes of Bandello’s works contained in the Novelliero, some interesting and a few pathetic tales may be pointed out; but Cintio’s can have no interest in themselves except for those who love to sup full of horrors; for he was one of those wholesale dealers in the terrible who thought that poetical effect was to be produced by a vigorous operation on the nerves rather than the feelings, and therefore piqued himself, like the schoolmaster in Gil Bias, on massacring all the personages of his tragedies, even to the prompter. 1 owards the close of the last century, a taste for novels in a style somewhat resembling our own appears to have gained ground, and several tales of a melancholy kind made their appearance. With these we do not profess to be acquainted ; nor has any one which appeared prior to the Promessi Sposi of Manzoni attained the least reputation beyond Italy, with the exception of the Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis, an early production of Ugo Foscolo (1802), and the result partly of a melancholy event occurring in his own family, and partly of the study of Goethe’s Werther, by which the enthusiastic mind of Foscolo ap-

pears to have been very powerfully affected. Like Wer- Romance. ther, it is a story of love and suicide, full of fervour, violence, and, to speak the truth, of absurdity; yet delivered with a species of eloquence, and a certain appearance of conviction, which, so far at least as regarded the expression of mental discomfort, and the misery arising from a total want of all fixed opinion, was perhaps sufficiently real. To the Italians, who knew little or nothing of Goethe, this stormy effervescence of an impassioned temperament, and all this eloquent “ questioning of fate,” possessed even an air of originality; and being the first successful attempt to introduce the sentimental romance of the school of Rousseau and Goethe into Italy, it naturally awakened a degree of enthusiasm which now appears somewhat disproportioned to its real merit. The Promessi Sposi of Manzoni certainly approaches much more nearly to the idea of a good romance than anything which Italy has yet produced ; but, after all, it too is essentially an imitation. If we had had no Scott we should have had no Manzoni. The idea of illustrating a subject connected with the Italian history of the commencement of the seventeenth century ; the introduction of historical characters, such as that of Cardinal Borromeo, who is the deus ex machina of the piece ; the antiquarian lore displayed in the way in which the bread-riot in Milan (a close parallel to the insurrection of the Liegeois in Quentin Durward), is wrought up; the account of the plague in the Milanese, in which Manzoni has tried to imitate at once Boccaccio and Scott,—all concur to satisfy us that Manzoni, though an able lyric poet, has no great share of original invention, and that though he can make a good use of materials furnished by others, he is one of those literary commercialists who require to borrow the main portion of the capital with which they are to trade. We are far, however, from denying the real merits of this performance of Manzoni, in which the characters of Cardinal Borromeo, and the peasant hero and heroine, Renzo and Lucia, are naturally and pleasingly drawn, and in which some of the scenes, such as the opening scene at Don Abbondio’s house, the riot in Milan, the interview between the unknown and the Cardinal, and some of the incidents and descriptions connected with the plague, are of vivid interest. Since the appearance of the romance of Manzoni, who has lately abandoned both fiction and poetry for religion, many attempts have been made by Rosini, D’Azeglio, Guerazzi, Tommaseo, Belmonte, and others, to transfer the historical romance to an Italian soil, and to give a romantic interest to the delineation of the Italian feudal history of the middle ages, or of periods somewhat later. The first, and we believe the best, of these appears to be the Monaca de Monza of Rosini, who has founded his story on an episode in the Promessi Sposi. Were we to form a judgment from a few of these attempts which we have read, as to the merits of those of which we remain ignorant, we should be inclined to say, generally, that nothing is more remarkable than the total want of interest which Italian subjects possess in Italian hands; a result which appears the more singular since at one time it was only necessary in our English romances to transfer the scene to Italy, to enlist at once our warmest sympathies in favour of the story. Now-a-days, we think, when the subject is almost entirely in the hands of native novel-writers, the very idea of embarking on an Italian story of the middle ages seems to act upon the fancy as the most powerful refrigerative. Strangely enough, too, it is to be observed that the Italian novelists of modern times never appear to greater advantage than in the description of the most furious battles, carried on with all the determination and bloody-mindedness of an Esplandian or a Bobadil, as in Ettore Fieramosca, by Massimo D’Azeglio, a son-in-law of Manzoni, or L’Assedio di Firenze, by Gualandi; an expenditure of

ROMANCE. 285 Romance, valour on paper which we fear is scarcely justified by the ments of our nature ; the flood of humour with which he Romance, ' fact, since, if we are to give credit to the accounts of surrounded it,—which has tempted many a one since the Guacciardini, many of their most doughty encounters were days of Philip IV. to imitate the pantomime of the student as harmless in their results as the protracted passage of on the banks of the Manzanares,—are as obvious to the arms between Gymnast and Tripet in Rabelais, as to least refined of readers as they are models of art worthy which uncle Toby, after listening to an endless detail of the of the admiration and profound study of every writer of various complicated manoeuvres, declared that one home- fiction. Like human life itself, the story unites and harthrust of the bayonet would have been worth them all. monizes the opposite extremes of the pathetic and the ludicrous, the vulgar and the elevated,—for from the midst Spanish In Spain, which, though not the birth-place, had cer- of the comic ground-work, the striking scenes in the Sierra romance. Mainly become by adoption pre-eminently the country of Morena, the episode of Cardenio and Dorothea, the story the chivalrous romance, and where, perhaps, its extrava- of the captive, the sweet pastoral of Marcelia, the marriage gances had been less redeemed by talent than anywhere of Camacho, and many other passages, rise up, rich in else, it is wrell knowm that a revolution in taste was effected pathos, grandeur, or imagination ; so that, in fact, there is by the inimitable satire of Cervantes (1547-1616), which no work in which, while the aim at first might appear to be Montesquieu, with amusing extravagance, describes as the to destroy the romance of life, passages of more purely rosingle admirable book in the Spanish language which shows mantic beauty are to be found. The truth is, that Certhe absurdity of all the rest. So effectually, indeed, did vantes, though anxious to explode a vicious taste in that wrork (published in 1605) attain its end, or rather one literature, was far enough from wishing to direct his satire of its ends, that after its appearance no romance of chivalry against the creations of high imagination or against the appeared in Spain, and the old ones so entirely ceased to spirit of chivalry. The admiration he expressed for Amabe printed that it is with difficulty that copies of them are dis and Palmerin shows that he was not insensible to the now to be obtained. The “ ultimus Romanorum,” the last beauties by which even this branch of literature was occaadherent of the good old romance, was Don Juan de Silva y sionally redeemed. His own adventurous career of glory Toledo, who published his Don Policisne de Boecia in 1602, and misfortune had no doubt deeply impressed upon his three years before the appearance of the Don Quixote. mind the contrast between the dreams of imagination and Cervantes. But had that book been solely devoted to the object of the realities of life; he saw the poetical capabilities which exploding the old romances of chivalry, it would probably such a contrast afforded,—and he has painted them with an have shortly been forgotten with the extravagances it unshrinking and some may think a merciless hand. But exposed. The charm which has given a perennial life and even beneath the veil of ridicule with which he has incontinued popularity to Don Quixote is the deeper idea vested his crazed and battered hero, we perceive his own which it contains of illustrating in comic colours the con- inextinguishable love of the exalted principles by which test between imagination and reality ; the danger, both to he is actuated ; and the abiding impression which remains its possessor and to others, of all misdirected enthusiasm, with us after the comic effect of the romance has passed whether it take the direction of reviving an extinct age of away is, that truth and nobleness of character will conchivalry, or any other course plainly running counter to tinue to command our love and veneration, though disthe current of society all around it, by means of which a played in actions with which the world cannot sympathize, constant collision is produced, in which, whatever becomes and placing their possessor in situations which excite our of the world, the visionary himself is sure to be the sufferer. ridicule, even w'hile his motives attract our admiration. Tor the fuller development of this idea he has placed beCervantes seems to have intended his moral novels Novelas side the knight, who represents the imagination without (Novelas Exemplar os') to be to Spain what the short tales Exeml)lathe common-sense, a squire who is the type of the vulgar of Boccaccio and his followers had been to Italy, only with res' common-sense without the imagination. Between these the advantage of a purer morality. They are unequal; children of his brain he parcels out the treasures of his some being mere satirical trifles, such as the Licentiado mind, bequeathing to the knight his own high spirit and Vidriera ; others, like the Jealous Estremaduran (which courage, his learning, his generosity, and his love of truth; English readers will recognise in the common farce of the and to the squire the solid riches of his good sense and his Padlock), the Gipsy, and the English Spanish Lady, peculiar humour ; that humour which, as it exists in Cer- highly interesting in themselves, and characteristic of vantes, is among the rarest of human qualities,—the very Spanish manners, laying open to us, as Sismondi says, the poetry of the comic, founded on tender sympathy with all hearts and houses of its inhabitants. One novel, the Tia forms of existence, though displaying itself in sportive re- fingida (Pretended Aunt), though undoubtedly written flection ; and issuing not in superficial laughter, but in still by Cervantes, was not included in the original collection, smiles, the source of which lies far deeper. probably from the disagreeable nature of the subject. The characters and fortunes of these contrasted comThe remaining work of fiction by Cervantes, the Perpanions he has linked together in such a way as to impress siles and Sigismunda, is only remarkable as the last work on the mind the feeling how indispensable each is to each which he wrote, and as being quite as absurd and extraas the complement of the other,—the learning, high-minded- vagant as any of those romances of chivalry against which ness, and strong imagination of the knight as the creative his powerful satire had been directed. No work has occaand moving power in human life ; the practical good sense, sioned a greater division of opinion. While some of the and even selfishness, of the squire as the controlling force; Spanish critics speak of it in terms of extravagant praise, from the judicious union of which opposites arises the har- it is described by Viardot, a French critic, as “ a tissue of mony, and from their separation the discords of society. episodes interlaced with each other, like those of one of He paints also, with great knowledge of human life, the Calderon’s intrigues, consisting of extravagant adventures, effect which these reciprocal influences, constantly exerted silly rencontres, astounding prodigies, preposterous characon each other through vicinity and a common pursuit, have ters, and extravagant sentiments.” It retains little or in modifying even the original character itself, and gra- nothing indeed of Cervantes but the charm of his style. dually making the enthusiast more rational, and the com- Yet, like Corneille placing his Nicomede before the Cid, or monplace man of the world more imaginative. The sound Milton his Paradise Regained before his Paradise Lost, philosophy, the impartial and kindly spirit, with which Cervantes seems to have given the preference to this child Cervantes has wrought out this conception, in which justice of his old age over the masterpiece of his manhood. is done at once to the higher and the more common eleThe fashion of short novels in the Italian taste which

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ROMANCE. Romance, had been introduced by Cervantes was followed by Lope, more variety in its pictures, and a more severe and caustic Romance, Canizares, Zayas, Montalvan, and by a host of imitators, character in its sarcasm. It has been erroneously supposed Lope and whose very names the Spanish critic Lampillas declares to have furnished many particulars to Gil Bias ; in fact it the Spanish that he is unable to enumerate. The loss of the catalogue would be difficult to point out one, except the incident of novelists. is little to be regretted ; for even among the names which the parasite who obtains a supper at the expense of the are known it would be difficult to point out one, even eighth wonder of the world. In the same taste is the Gran including the great Lope, which rises above mediocrity. Tacano of Quevedo. The merit of having supplied Le Sage with much of his Espinel. Nature indeed seems to have given Cervantes his revenge materials may be more plausibly claimed by Vicente Espifor the triumph of his rival in the drama by the failure of Lope as a novelist, for in this department the talent and nel, the author of the Vida del Escudero Marcos de Obrerich invention which he displayed on the stage appeared in gon, printed in 1618. Indeed, while the superior grace, a great measure to desert him. The best of his novels is spirit, and gay philosophy of Le Sage are apparent, it is imthe Forlunas de Diana (Fortunes of Diana), first printed possible not to make a considerable deduction from his mere in the Filomena in 1621 ; next to which we should place invention after reading the work of Espinel. The prohis El Zeloso hasta Morir (Jealousy till Death) ; but, truth logue, the adventure of the parasite, the dispersion of the to say, neither are remarkable. Indeed, if we except Cer- company at Cacabelos by the muleteer, the adventure of vantes, the same remark which we have ventured to make the robber’s cave, the surprise by the corsairs, the contribuon Lope is generally applicable to the Spanish novelists. tions levied by those pious hermits, Don Raphael and AmNearly in proportion to the success of the nation in the brose de Lamela, the service with the Duke of Lerma, and creation of an original drama is its signal deficiency in ori- many of the other incidents, have nearly an exact parallel ginal contributions to the literature of romance. It is not in the ruder and drier work of Espinel. Even some of the often indeed, 1as Tieck remarks in his Preface to Bulow’s witty points, which we might be disposed at first sight to Novellenbuch, that the dramatic and novelistic power are believe were Le Sage’s, turn out to be the property of the found combined in a national literature to the same extent Spanish chaplain,—such as Don Matthias de Silva’s reply, when asked to fight a duel early in the morning, that he as in England. In fact, the only species of prose fiction, with the excep- never rose before one even for a party of pleasure, and could Romances in the tion aiDon Quixote, in which the Spaniards have displayed not be expected to rise at six to have his throat cut. Gusto Pi- anything like original invention, is in the novels written This much, however, must be said for Le Sage, that he caresco. in what is called the Gusto Picaresco, or the romances of shows no desire to conceal the source of his obligations, for roguery, of which the first example of any merit, and, with one of his characters is termed Marcos Obregon, and the one exception, the best of the whole series, was furnished Sangrado of his novel is undisguisedly the Sagredo of by the Lazarillo de Tormes of the celebrated Don Diego de Espinel. Le Sage, however, knew that after every deducMendoza. Mendoza, and is said to have been written by him while a tion was made on the score of invention, the merit of his student at Salamanca, and first printed in 1553. It is rather novel w'ould remain much the same. He threw lightness singular, no doubt, to find a man of rank devoting himself and sunshine into the mean and gloomy pictures of the to those pictures of want and miserable knavery, or a nation Spaniards, taking care to efface the recollections of folly and affecting so much external pomp and ceremony relishing knavery in his adventurers by a cheerful and respectable these exposures of the real filth, meanness, or starvation termination of their career; and though the graduation of which often lurked under the cloak of the whiskered knight the fool into the knave, and the knave into the honest mao, of Calatrava. But the Spanish character is distinguished upon a mere principle of utility, be not perhaps in itself a by a very peculiar vein of dry humour intermingled with a very lofty moral, it is at all events far more agreeable than tinge of orientalism in their notions of birth and pride of that of the Spanish novelists, where the rogue continues ancestry and personal dignity; and hence the Spanish no- such to the last, and his only advancement is to a higher velists seem to have been perfectly alive to the ridiculous degree in the curriculum of knavery. A romance of a more features of their countrymen, while sharing very probably pleasing and political cast than these tales of knavery was in the same exaggerated pretensions themselves. Accord- the historical romance, the Civil Wars of Granada, by ingly, along with the adventures of rogues, and beggars, Gines Perez de la Hita, printed in 1604, turning on the and gipsies, who, during the reigns of the Austrian Philips, dissensions of the Zegris and Abencerrages during the appear to have literally swarmed in Madrid, are interspersed reign of Boabdil, and giving occasion, as might be example illustrations of this union of poverty and pride, and pected, to many fine descriptions of tournaments, feasts of the stratagems with which many a pompous cavalier, walk- canes, Moorish palaces and gardens, and the contrast being the streets, as Lazarillo says, like the Duke of Arcos, is tween the Christian and the Moorish chivalry. From this occupied at home in order “ to procure a crust of dry bread, romance Florian has mainly borrowed the idea and maand having eat it, to appear with due decorum in public, terials of his Gonsalvo of Cordova. One other work of fiction deserving notice, though par- De I’lsla, by the art of fitting on a ruffle so as to suggest the idea of a shirt, and adjusting a cloak in such a manner as to make taking more of the nature of the satire than the novel, is it be believed there are clothes under it.”2 Mendoza’s the Fray Gerundio (Friar Gerund) of the Jesuit De ITsla, novel contains a sketch of one of these shirtless and famished —a severe, but rather tedious satire upon the absurdities hidalgos eagerly devouring some crusts which Lazarillo and bad taste of the popular preachers of the time. In had begged in the morning, on pretence of trying whether romantic literature the Spaniards at the present day seem the bread was sufficiently wholesome, which gives an image to be entirely deficient. Translations of the popular French of starvation in which the painful is strangely blended with and English novels abound, but native talent or invention appears to be at an end. a sort of sombre gaiety. Aleman Equal, if not superior, to Mendoza’s romance is the GuzIn France the pastoral romances of D’Urfe and his imi- prench roand man d'Alfarache of Matteo Aleman (1599), which, though Quevedo. dealing in the same gloomy pictures of want and misery, has tators, and the heroic romances of Gomberville, Scudery, mances and novels. 1 Das Novellenbuch, oder hundert Novellen nach alten Italienischen, Spanischen, Franzosicben, Lateinischen, Englischen, und Deutschen, bearbeitet von Eduard von Bulow, Leipzig, 1834. An excellent anthology, from the shorter literature of romance in the above languages; and not a mere translation, but in many cases a dexterous rifacimento, 2true to the spirit, while avoiding the dulness or indecency of the original. Dunlop’s History of Fiction, vol. iii., p. 119.

ROMANCE. 237 Romance, and Calprenede, whose object was “ peindre Caton galant to have lent much of his own feelings and his own peculi- Romance, ^ et Brutus dameret,” were succeeded by an inundation of arities of mind. Though an extremely voluminous novelist, Fairy tales, contes des fees and voyages imaginaires, appearing about none of his works appear now to be read or recollected the close of the seventeenth and the commencement of the excep this painful but powerful story of Manon UEscaut, eighteenth century. This species of nursery literature, a tale of crime and profligacy, strangely blended with which, like the character of the fair Arricidia in Clelia, was generous feeling, which has been translated into English “ furieusement extraordinaire et terriblement merveilleux,” by Charlotte Smith. Manon FEscaut, though little more seemed peculiarly well suited to the frivolous tastes which than an episode, thrown off apparently with an easy neglithen pervaded French society; and its temporary attrac- gence, bears the impress of genius, which it would be diffition was perhaps based in some degree upon the very want cult to recognise in an authentic form in any of the larger of reason and common-sense which rendered its permanent productions of Prevot. Opening in the most unpromising popularity impossible. When the sage Oglou in Voltaire manner, with what appears to be the common-place history asked the sultanas, “ Comment preferez vous des contes of a vicious and discreditable connection between Des que sont sans raison et que ne signifient rien,” the answer Grieux and Manon, in which weakness of principle on the of the sultanas was, “ C’est precisement pour cela que nous one side is made the dupe of profligacy and vanity, united with personal charms, on the other, the stream of feeling, les aimons.” Perrault, The chief writers in this school of fiction, with whose at first polluted and turbid, works itself purer as it runs; D’Aulnoy, compositions most of us have in our early days been ren- and the scenes rise into elevation just as the character of Murat, familiar through the little gilded volumes of Mr Manon herself, the “fair mischief” of the romance, around La Force. dered Newberry or his successors, were Perrault, the Countess whom Prevot has thrown no common fascination, changes D’Aulnoy, Madame Murat, and Mademoiselle de la Force, from the selfish mistress into the faithful companion, folof whom Perrault is decidedly the best, bis tales being dis- lowing the fortunes of her husband, whom her charms had tinguished by a simplicity and naivete of style indispensable ruined, into disgrace and banishment, and dying by his side in this style of writing, and in which the productions of the among the wilds of America. Love also forms the subject of the novels of Madame de Madame de ladies are deficient. No great share of original invention Tencin (died 1749), the Siege of Calais and the Count tfeTenCln• is displayed by any of them. The chief storehouse from which they drewr was the Notti Piacevoli of the Italian Comminges, which are admired for their tenderness and denovelist Straparola, and the very remarkable Neapolitan licacy,—qualities we should hardly have anticipated from a collection by Giambattista Basile, entitled the Pentame- lady who stood in so confidential a relation to the Cardinal Dubois, and who left her illegitimate child, D’Alembert, to rons, of which the first edition appeared in 1637. A slightly different direction was given to this taste for the tender mercies of the public. The greatest of the French novelists, however, is Le Le Sage. marvels by the translation into French of the Arabian Nights by Galland, and of the Persian Tales by Petit de Sage. Even in his first romance, the Diable Boiteux, the la Croix and Le Sage, which led to a host of oriental imi- plan of which has been suggested by the Diablo Cojuelo tations. And the childishness and absurdity of the whole of Luis Valez de la Guevara, and which appeared in 1707, of this department of literature was exposed with great wit the wit, the graceful lightness, and the good-humoured and liveliness by Count Antony Hamilton in his Fleur sagacity of observation, which distinguished the character d’Epine, and in his unfinished tale of the Four Facardins. of Le Sage, were evident. The conception, in particular, Marivaux. But this same period was distinguished by the produc- of his esprit follet, a “ diable bon-homme,” with so much tions of some writers of a higher order: Marivaux (1688- more gaiety than malice, that at times we are tempted to 1763), Prevot (1697-1763), and Le Sage (1668-1746). think him rather amiable than otherwise, was a great imMarivaux had a good deal of Richardson’s power of delicate provement on Guevara’s; and the effect of the work was portrait-painting, by an accumulation of miniature touches ; heightened by the skill with which he contrived to internor is he deficient in the power of managing the interest- weave with the story, if such it can be called, a multitude ing situations with which his Mariamne especially abounds. of contemporary allusions. Such indeed was its popularity And certainly, if we except Mademoiselle La Fayette’s and immediate sale, that two young men are said to have pleasing romance of the Princess of Cleves, he may claim fought a duel in a bookseller’s shop about tbeir right to the the merit of having been the first in France to reduce the only remaining copy; a well-attested anecdote, so much novel from mere extravagance, both of incident and cha- in the spirit of those satirical traits in which Asmodeus inracter, to the standard of natural feeling, and to present us dulges that, as Sir Walter Scott remarks, it deserved to be with real beings instead of fantastic creations of the ima- recorded by the demon himself. The reputation as a novelist which these most amusing gination. His chief faults are his intolerable minuteness in trifles, and the affectation of the style, which is worthy revelations of Asmodeus had founded, was brought to its of the society of the Hotel de Rambouillet. His best height by the production of the first three volumes of Gil novel, too, the Mariamne, terminates abruptly and inarti- Bias, bringing the history down to the retirement to Lirias, ficially, with a conclusion like that of Zadig, “where nothing —a work, with the exception of Don Quixote, perhaps the most universally popular in fictitious writing, pleasing is concluded.” Prevot. Prevot had a much higher and more romantic imagina- equally whether read in youth, in manhood, or in age, and tion than Marivaux. He threw into the novel something containing, as has been justly said, more “useful knowof the gloom and grandeur of tragedy; and hence he has ledge” than twenty scientific and moral treatises. Le Sage’s been termed by some of his countrymen the Crebillon of celebrated novel represents the level of life as it appears in romance, A visionary disposition and an ardent tempera- a large capital, without either its brightest lights or its ment had hurried him through a restless and passionate life, darkest shadows. He exhibits the average state of feeling in which good and evil, suffering and enjoyment, had been among such communities,—loving virtue and good conduct scarcely blended; so that to the task of composition he within due bounds, but at the same time with that natural brought the results of a mournful experience in aid of the toleration for selfishness, servility, vanity, or occasional deresources of the imagination. To use the expression of viations from the path of strict integrity, which in such Voltaire, “ II n’etait pas seulement un auteur mais un society is certain to be engendered and countenanced. As homme, ayant connu et sent! les passions.” Prevot is not he saw nothing like an elevated morality in the world with a great inventor of character; for to all his heroes, Cleve- which he was best acquainted,—the Parisian public,—so 1m land, Patrice, even the Chevalier des Grieux, he appears has not attempted to introduce any such exalted tone of

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ROMANCE. Romance, feeling into his romance. His hero is an adventurer, to of four little pavilions, its garden bordered with orange trees, Romance. V-^ whom a hundred parallels might probably have been pointed and ornamented with its basin of white marble, and the out any evening among the audiences at the Foire, with quaint, respectable, old Moorish furniture of the apartments, fair abilities, with a kindly heart, and naturally good in- not to mention the olla podndas of Master Joachim, and clinations, but little moral firmness; by no means so en- the revenue of 500 ducats a year, rise up before the mind’s amoured of the straight road of right as not to turn aside eye as the very ideal of that happy rural retreat which, to occasionally when the deviation suits his purposes ; duped each of us, is to be the Euthanasia of a life of carefulness at first by his own vanity, and then availing himself of his and toil; making us long for the time when we may be dear-bought experience to take his revenge on others in able to say with its fortunate possessor,— the same coin, but still with a gradually increasing pre“ Inveni portum ; spes et fortuna valete ference for good conduct and virtue, and a secret deterSat me lusistis, ludite nunc alios.” mination, when a favourable opportunity offers, and his forIt is unnecessary to dwell long on the romances of the Crebillon tune is made, of becoming in due course an honest man. younger Ciebillon (1707—'1777), as to which the only cir-the youngTo this conception of an agreeable rogue, refined partly cumstance which is remarkable is, that so much frivolity ofer* ' by good feeling, and partly by calculation, into a better manner and real poverty of invention could have obtained being, Le Sage has imparted a wonderful air of particular a temporary popularity even by the license in which they combined with general truth ; for though Gil Bias is the indulged ; yet that they were very popular for a time, we representative of so wide a class, that almost all must ac- know; for Sterne represents hist/z//e de chambre inquiring knowledge at times some common, and perhaps not very at a circulating library for the Egarements du Cceur et de flattering features of resemblance between ourselves and l Esprit in 1768. French writers, however, appear to rehim, he preserves throughout his whole career the most dis- cognise in his pictures some resemblance to the society of tinct individuality of character. Nor are the other subsi- the time; for D’Alembert says of him, “ he draws with a diary agents of the novel deficient in distinctness and clear- delicate and just pencil the refinement, the shades and the ness of portraiture. Sangrado, Scipio, the sleek Ambrose graces, of our vices.” de Lamela, the eloquent but apoplectic archbishop, are Much higher talent, though, like Crebillon’s, stained by Diderot, made to stand before us. The historical personages have a shameful association with licentious and profligate picthe same look of truth. Lerma and Olivarez, in particular, tures, appears in the romances of Diderot (1713-1784). are admirably painted; so much so, that some Spanish cri- His talent as a narrator, in particular, was scarcely inferior tics, like De ITsla and Llorente, have zealously maintained to Voltaire’s. He had the picturesque particularity of Richthat Le Sage merely translated from some unknown Spanish --ardson, with a more condensed expression. It is not, howmanuscript which he had plundered. These critics reason, ever, in his larger and more notorious romances, such as in fact, in such an ingenious way as to make the accuracy the Religeuse, that this talent is displayed. In these the or inaccuracy of Le Sage’s Spanish pictures equally available tedium is as conspicuous as the indecency and impiety. It for their argument. If he be perfectly correct in his por- is in such short tales as L’Histoire de Mademoiselle de la traits of manners and his allusions to Spanish customs, that Chaux, or Les Deux Amis de la Bourbonne, short popular part of the work, they maintain, could not have been writ- simple histories, contrasting strongly with that air of false ten by any but a Spaniard. If he falls into mistakes, it is simplicity, in reality tricked out with sentimental fard and equally clear that these apparent slips were introduced by tinsel, whicl Marmontel (1719-1798) has given to his MarmonteL him on purpose to hide the source of his depredations, and amusing but not very moral tales. to confuse, like Cacus, the traces of his retreat. It is needThe romances of Voltaire (1694-1778), such as Zadig, VoIWp’* less to say that the statement, at least as made in this un- the Princess of Babylon, Babouk, and Candide, have but romances qualified form, is totally incorrect. Le Sage had no doubt slender pretensions to the title. They are chiefly satirical thoroughly imbued himself with the spirit of the Spanish fictions or illustrations in the form of a tale of irrelio-ious humour, as it appeared in Cervantes and the writers of the or antisocial opinions. Their wit, their biting irony, Iheir Picaresco school; and, as already said, he borrowed libe- familiarity with the baser parts of human nature, their power rally incidents from various Spanish romances ; but he lent of rendering trifles pleasing by the art of narration, are unto the whole a point, gaiety, and philosophy, which presented deniable ; but we must not look in them for probable incithe old materials with all the appearance of novelty, and dent, for Voltaire generally chooses, as if on purpose, some the charm of an original invention. “ All is easy and good- extravagant oriental groundwork as his canvas, and borhumoured, gay, light, and lively; even the cavern of the rows from Ariosto, from Gulliver, from the Arabian Nights, robbers is illuminated with a ray of that wit with which Le or any source which suits his purpose; nor for the delineaSage enlightens his whole narrative. It is a work which tion of natural characters, for both the incidents and perrenders the reader pleased with himself and with mankind ; sonages are merely made the instruments for working out where faults are placed before him in the light of follies preconceived theorem. They produce their effect, such rather than vices ; and where misfortunes are so interwoven the as it is, not by their fidelity to nature, but by the ingenious with the ludicrous that we laugh in the very act of sym- malice with which its features are distorted. pathizing with them. All is rendered diverting, both the From the time of Marivaux downwards, the tendency of crimes and the retribution which follows them.”1 the French novel had been to narrow the province of inciThough Le Sage rightly considered his characters as dent, and to extend proportionally that of sentiment. With his chief object, he was well aware of the pleasing relief Rousseau (1712-1778) this tendency reaches its height. R0UJ!SealL which might be given to his story by the judicious com- Hie description of feelings, and particularly of such as, bination of the repose of landscape-painting with the bustle though often experienced, are seldom expressed in words, of incident; and though he does not succeed in bringing was his peculiar field. Invention, either of character or before us with the vividness of Cervantes the sombre and incident, he has none. To paint one strong passion, to parched plains or rugged mountain scenery of Spain, his invest vice with an air of insane but reasoning morality,— work contains some country pictures, in a style of placid “ To make madness beautiful, and cast beauty, which are models of stillness, comfort, and serenity. O’er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue To whom, for instance, does not that modest demesne at Of words like sunbeams, dazzling as they pass;— Lilias, watered by the Guadalaviar, with its mansion-house this is the main aim of his Julie, and the only one in which 1

Sir Walter Scott's Lives of the Novelists—Le Sage.

ROMANCE. 289 a degree of vagueness and mysticism mingles even with Romance, Romance. Rousseau has been at all successful. Even in this respect, ■ too, the declamatory tone, the continued delirium of feel- the best of his works ; but as a novelist, his sickly sentiment ing, the total want of repose, which characterize the work, and exaggeration of feeling are fatal to his success. When the limbo of the Revolution, after its billowy heavcombined with the pedantry of its dissertations, become painful and oppressive. “ Ce sont des amans,” said Rous- ing began to settle again into something like a calm, under seau himself, speaking of his characters, “ et non pas des the despotism of the Consulate, the novel took the direcacademiciens.” Never was an apology more misplaced. The tion of broad and extravagant humour, derived from the real fault of Julie and St Preux is, that they have both too gaieties and vulgarities of middle life, and, as might natumuch of the academician in their composition, and too little rally be expected, liberally sprinkled with indecency, in of the lover, so far as the expression of natural passion in the voluminous novels of Pigault Le Brun,—to whom it simple vvords is concerned. We have never been able, in would be unfair to deny considerable powers of broad reading the romance, to persuade ourselves that its real mirth, and a fertility in imaginary burlesque situations eloquence was not as dubious as its morality. It is not easy, which remind us of Smollett. But the questionable chaindeed, in perusing Rousseau’s apostrophes to purity and racter of the novel-writing of this period is not universal. virtue, to avoid thinking of the strange commentary which In the tales of Madame Cottin, the authoress of Elizabeth his practice furnished to his theory. It was said of Sterne and Mathilde, a pure morality and feminine tenderness rewith severity, but perhaps with some justice, that he could appear ; and though those of Madame de Stael, with all bestow upon a dead ass the pity which he denied to a living their eloquence, occasionally inculcate more doubtful lessons, mother. And the man of nature and of truth, who expends her genuine admiration for pure and elevated feeling prehis trembling sensibilities on paper, suffers a fellow-servant vents her from willingly lending her talents to the palliation to be punished for the theft he had himself committed, and of vice. The novels of Madame de Stael, however, are far more German in their character than French. provides for his natural children in the foundling hospital. The works of the literary veteran Nodier certainly owe Nodier. The total corruption of an exhausted society, tottering to its fall, with the external varnish of gaiety and wit by their attractions more to the charms of a beautiful style which it tried to gild its decay, are aptly represented in the than to their substance. Throughout his whole course he licentious romances of Louvet and La Clos ; its still more has been but an imitator, putting on successively the manvulgar profligacy in the coarse and incoherent, but occa- ner of other writers. The Werther of Goethe appears to sionally striking and original novels of Restif de la Bretonne have first given the tone to his novels, and the passionate (1734-1806.) The works of the two former writers are energy and wild complaints of the German suicide were unfortunately but too well known ; the numerous and hasty reproduced in his tale of Therese Aubert. To the influence productions of the eccentric printer, who was accustomed of Goethe succeeded that of Byron, and the spirit of the often to set up his strange compositions in type, without Corsair and Lara were infused into the bandit Jean a manuscript, as the ideas occurred to him, are now almost Sbogar. From Byron he passed to Scott, whom he has completely forgotten. Yet Schiller and several eminent imitated in his Trilby, ou le lutin d’Argail,—a production, German critics have spoken with high approbation of the the effect of which, though meant to be serious and pathevigour and talent which they evince in some parts, however tic, is unintentionally of the most comic kind, for the defective or revolting in others. “ I have scarcely imagined “ tricksy spirit” of Argyle in the hands of Nodier becomes anything,” says Restif, in his Drame de la Vie ; “ I have one of the most absurd of supernatural conceptions. In his simply related; my life has been so full of events, that I Smarra, again, a Thessalian story in the manner of the have made four-and-twenty volumes out of it.” Any one, sorceries and diableries in the Golden Ass of Apuleius, he indeed, who writes, as Laharpe says of Restif, in his Corre- seems to have been influenced by the German night-pieces spondence Russe, under the persuasion that all that he had of the school of Hoffmann ; and he certainly succeeds seen and thought, or learnt, deserved to be printed, and almost as well as his German master in producing a strange who acted faithfully on that principle, could hardly fail to ephialtic effect by a cloud of misty, murky phantoms, which produce compositions with very nearly the merits and de- pass before us as if in a feverish and uneasy dream. With the restoration of the Bourbons, some degree of merits of the novels of Restif; that is to say, with the coarseness of feeling which was natural to the man, with external decency at least distinguished the productions of the disjointed air which a set of unconnected incidents the French press, though still the license which its novelfrom life must present, and yet with that degree of fresh- ists permitted to themselves in their comic works, and the ness and truthfulness of painting which sketches from life extravagant and terrible cast of their more tragic stories, inalmost invariably possess, however humble or disagreeable dicated at once a looseness of morality and a coarseness of may be the department from which they are drawn. His taste which might, in some measure, have prepared the best novel is usually considered to be the Paysan Perverti, world for that strange and revolting spectacle which the literature of fiction has presented in France since the Rewhich appeared in 1776. Two writers may be pointed out, however, about this volution of 1830. The manner of Pigault Le Brun was period, who were the representatives, if not of a better taste, imitated and improved upon by Paul de Kock; for, adopting his principle of drawing chiefly from middle life, and at least of better feelings. St Pierre. Bernardin de St Pierre (1737-1814) maybe regarded his love for the representation of comic mischances, he has as the connecting-link between the eighteenth and the thrown into the best of his novels scenes of simple humour, nineteenth century: a graft of Fenelon upon Rousseau. His of tenderness, and even of powerful passion, to which the pathos no doubt often merges in a weakly sentimentalism; novelist of the Revolution had made no pretensions. To but the calm idyllic beauty of the Paul and Virginia and sneer at him as a Parisian cockney, or as the romancethe Indian Cottage (1789-1792) was not without its use writer of the Grisettes, is easy ; but we are much mistaken in restoring to French literature a feeling for nature and if his tales, homely and even coarse as they may be, will its simple enjoyments, and the acknowledgment of a Provi- not be read when the atrocities of Sue and Masson, and the dence, a belief which both philosophy and fiction had for delicate depravities of Balzac, are forgotten. In the higher sphere of romance we have, during the Victor some time past been labouring to obliterate. The defects of St Pierre, with very little of his redeem- same period, the earlier productions of Victor Hugo, Hans Hugo. ing excellences, appear in the Atala, Rene, and Natchez of Iceland and Bug Jargal. Hans of Iceland, wild and of Chateaubriand. He is, no doubt, in some departments an extravagant as it is, is evidently not the work of an ordinary original thinker, and a man of a poetical imagination, though writer. A stern, savage, northern spirit is breathed into 2o VOL. XIX.

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ROMANCE. Romance, the romance. Spiagudry, Orugix, even the monster from labourers indeed have been many; the produce most abun- Romance, whom the tale derives its name, strange and ghastly crea- dant; but the quality of the harvest is at best equivocal, iv-,L_ > tions as they are, exercise a certain fascination over the Down to the time of Goethe and Tieck, the German lite- German mind; and the youthful poet has turned to great account rature of fiction was almost entirely imitative, deriving both novels and the dreary wilds, gloomy lakes, stormy seas, and ruined its form and spirit from other nations. Since their time, if romances, fortresses of Scandinavia. Bug Jargal was decidedly in- it presents a greater air of originality, it has generally ferior to Hans of Iceland. The essential improbability in assumed a character so fantastic, so unreal, so unlike all the character of a Negro passionately in love with a white that we have been accustomed to associate with the idea woman, and yet tempering the wildest passion with the of a novel, that it is extremely difficult to comprehend deepest respect, is obvious; nor is that improbability dis- vyhat is really the conception of the word entertained in guised by the art with which Hugo has framed his story. Germany. There was more of genius, we think, in his Dernier Jour As we have no very high idea of the German prose d'un Condamne, in which Hugo, like Sterne, has taken a fictions, the space which we propose to devote to them single captive, shut him up in his dungeon, and then will be extremely limited; for we shall confine ourselves “ looked through the twilight of the grated door to take his to a mere indication of the successive phases which the picture.” In this little work he has shown how a profound German romance has presented. In doing so, it seems interest might be given to a mere register of sensations, unnecessary to go back beyond the latter portion of the and a dramatic movement imparted to a monologue, in eighteenth century, or to revive the names of works and which the scene shifts only from the Bieetre to the Con- authors which even the Germans themselves have forciergerie, the Hotel de Ville, and the Place de Greve. gotten. The earlier part of the eighteenth century had Hugo’s great novel, Notre Dame de Paris, appeared in been occupied with numerous imitations of the Robinson 1831. It is needless to speak of a work which has been Crusoe of Defoe, or of the family pictures of Richardson, more than once translated into English; and the charac- the merits of which are not of a nature to demand notice teristics of which, the mingled genius and extravagance, in the present sketch. the poetical spirit in which it is conceived, and the want of In the Greek romances of Wieland (1763-1812), such Wieland. nature in the characters which it portrays, resembling as the Agathon, the Aristippus, Peregrinus Proteus, and distorted and hideous masques rather than men, are now Agathodcimon, the same didactic tendency is observable very generally and correctly appreciated. which distinguishes those of Voltaire, but without their The popularity of the romances of Scott led, about the cynical and mocking tone, and with a much greater power, same time, to a multitude of imitations by Jacob and others, if not of actually inventing character, at least of working of which the Cinq Mars of Alfred de Vigny appears to be up the scanty materials furnished by history into a congenerally considered the most successful. sistent and plausible portrait of the historical personages We have no idea of entering on that mass of revolting of antiquity; as in his Socrates, and still more perhaps in performances, equally offensive to good morals and good his Aristippus. The main fault of his novels, besides this taste, with which the French press has teemed since 1830; didactic tone, which pervades them all, is the frequent and which we are but too happy to consider, with the repetitions which they contain of the same views and perFrench themselves, as a literature of transition. This sonages. Agathon in one manner, and the Abderites in school of blood and voluptuousness, funereal horrors and the other, contain the germ of almost all Wieland’s other drunken orgies, the transitions in which remind one of the writings. The sceptical Hippias, for instance, only puts off stage arrangement in the Rehearsal,—■“ the coffin opens, the Athenian stole in Agathon, to assume the mantle of the and a banquet is discovered,”—we feel assured can be of Calendar; the Danae of that novel revives again in Theono long duration; and already we believe that the French clea and Devidassi,; the youth of Athagon, in Delphi, is public begin to feel that they have had enough of the the prototype of that of Peregrinus in Parium ; and many endless Balzac, and Janin, and Sue, and Soulie, and Masson, such instances must occur to any one familiar with Wieand the other labourers in this Montfaucon of fiction. As land. He is a mannerist, in short, as to his matter, and for Madame Dudevant or George Sand,—the Chevalier the mannerism extends even to his style, which, though d’Eon of French literature,—a being whose sex it would flowing and facile, has not a little of the solemn loquacity be impossible to ascertain from her works, with the warm of Boccaccio. This diffuseness is less felt in his shorter passions and headlong eloquence of the woman, and the tales, where his philosophy is not so obtrusively displayed; audacious speculation of the man,—while the principles and for this reason we prefer his Don Sylvia de Rosalva, which she labours to inculcate are of the most odious nathe history of a Quixotic believer in fairyism, graduallv ture, and the cynical hardihood with which she paints scenes converted to common-sense by the extravagant demands from which any woman would turn aside, is perhaps the which are made upon his belief, assisted by the charms of very worst proof which French literature at present pre- a mortal beauty,—and his little romance of the Salamander sents of a degraded standard of delicacy and right feeling and the Statue, to his more elaborate and aspiring comamong the female sex,—we cannot deny that she appears positions. to us to possess far greater talent, even genius, though misI he influence of the novels of Richardson and of Fielddirected, than any of the other ephemeral novelists to which ing re-appears about this time in a liberal effusion of family vye have alluded. In particular, she has an imagination novels, some portraying the serious and sentimental, others singularly alive to natural beauty; her pictures of scenery the comic aspect of domestic life. Among the sentimental are frequently captivating; and one evening landscape of novelists, Augustus La Fontaine (1758-1831) may be con-pa Fon Venice, in her Lettres Venetiennes, has the combined charm sidered as the most successful, and undoubtedly the most ai . of deep sensibility and truth. By far the most pleasing of popular. He painted life as he had seen it in the little t ne her novels, because it in a great measure keeps in the back- German towns, villages, and chateaux of respectable proground her peculiar opinions, is Andre. And yet even the prietors about him, or as he had witnessed it during his camgeneral purity and right feeling of the tale is marred and paigns as army chaplain, without ornament or alteration, interrupted by some passages which English readers at least without any pretension to imagination ; and though there would wish to blot. is at times something vulgar and tawdry in his sentimentalism, there is also a great deal of quiet simple nature in such The field of the novel or romance is not that which has scenes of common life and domestic happiness as he has exbeen cultivated in Germany with the most success. The hibited in his family of Haller; and a tone of frankness and

ROMANCE. 291 Romance, good humour which carries the reader pleasingly along bordered upon awe or terror, Musaeus rejected; he viewed Romance, v '—through incidents and characters that in themselves are even these creations of the fancy in a prosaic light, and i v «_' common-place enough. selected only such features as could be wrought into his inThe comedy of family life found numerous representa- genious mosaic of fanciful marvel, picturesque description, Comic romances. tives, of whom Wetzel, Muller, Schulz, and Hippel, at- and sly and somewhat irreligious pleasantry, in the style of tracted some notice in their day and generation. Even yet Voltaire. What he attempted, however, he accomplished the Siegfried von Lindenberg of Muller, which appeared with success. Some of his tales, such as Stumme Liebe about 1779, and of which many editions have appeared, (Dumb Love), and Melechsala, might be cited as models may be admitted to be a natural and amusing perform- of the art of combining the childish interest of a nursery ance. tale with that show of irony or philosophy which affords Richter. A union of the sentimental with the comic in these do- even to grave personages an apology for the perusal of pomestic pictures was attempted at a somewhat later date in pular tales. the very singular novels of Richter (1763-1825), a man In this semi-derisive style of treating the traditionary leof high powers, which he knew not how to use, and which gends of his country, Musaeus remains the solitary writer of were alloyed in no common degree by false taste and an talent. This natural tendency of the German mind towards incurable affectation of singularity. His earliest novel, the earnestness and belief, even in the case of the marvellous, Gronlandische Processe, appeared in 1784. The tricks and led to a very decided preference of the serious manner in clap-traps to which Sterne occasionally descends we find the treatment of such themes. And undoubtedly at the habitual with Richter. The very titles of some of his works, head of this second mode of treating the legend stand Ludsuch as Selections from the Papers of the Devil, or Recrea- wick Tieck (born 1773). Questionable as we think his Tieck. tions under the Cranium of a Giantess, and the absurd de- claims are to the highest distinction, either as a poet or a vices by which he generally introduces his narration, as in novelist, in the proper sense of the term, his success in the the Hesperus, where a series of letters is represented as management of traditional marvels in a poetical spirit is unmysteriously conveyed to the author in letter-bags tied deniable. He seems without an effort to throw himself back round the neck of a shock-dog, betray a mind anxious into the spirit of primitive and superstitious periods, when to astonish by fantastic conceits, and insensible to the the agency of an invisible world formed an article of belief, beauty of simplicity. The constant recurrence of these in- and exercised the strongest influence over the conduct of stances of literary quackery, the want of connection which life;, a time of supposed prodigies, and omens, and secret his chaotic narrations exhibit, combined with the visionary charms, whose agency pervaded and controlled the course cast of his views, justifying his own remark, that the em- of nature. In reading the best of these legends of Tieck, pire of the Germans was peculiarly that of the air, has been such as The Fair Eckbert, The Love Charm, or Peter of fatal, and we think justly, to all attempts to naturalize Abano, we feel that he has the power of carrying us back Richter in this country. His pathos we think in the worst in advanced age into the very realm of Fairyland, and substyle of false and often meaningless effusions of sentimen- jecting us anew to the influences of childhood. “ These tality ; but as a quiet humourist, blending good feeling with legends have a freshness about them like that of the earliest morning, a sweetness as of wild flowers, and a calm beauty, his satire, he is sometimes not unsuccessful. Feudal ro- A strong contrast to these pictures of ordinary life, whe- caught as it were from a radiant sunset or a rising morn. mances. ther serious or comic, was presented by the mass of romances The reader of the Runenberg is brought face to face with connected with the feudal periods in Germany, which ap- the presiding spirits of the animal and vegetable kingdoms; peared from about 1780 to 1800, and formed the counter- now he feels as if he were embosomed in luxurious vegetapart of the Ritter-stiicken or chivalrous dramas with which tion, bathed in fertilizing dew, and fanned by balmy zephyrs, the stage had been inundated since the example had been and now' as if he were transported to cavern depths or darkset by Goethe’s Goetz of Berlichingen and Babo’s Otho est mines, where mountain spirits exercise an unholy influof Wittlesbach, Cramer, Spiess, Schlenkert, and Veit Weber, ence. All the other legends, The Fair Echbert, The (Leonhard Wachter), were the favourite writers of this tur- Fairies, and The Trusty Echhart, have the same beauty bulent school of fiction, which in all probability took its rise and significance ; but it is impossible by mere description They must be from the popularity of the romances of Mrs Radcliffe. to give any idea of their peculiar nature. Their materials were the blood-stained period of Faustrecht studied and felt to be at all understood.”1 and Vehm-Gerichte, feudal tyrants, suffering damsels, We are here speaking of Tieck merely as the writer who devoted knights, with abundance of single combats and has treated the traditional tale in the most poetical spirit. splintering of lances, raising of trap-doors, escapes by slid- Within the domain of the novel, taking the term even in ing pannels, imprisonments in bottomless dungeons, mur- a very extensive sense, our estimate of his powers will be ders, witchcraft, and apparitions ; in short, all that apparatus very different. of the terrible, which, even in such hands, has a certain The mode of treating the legendary lore of Germany, of fascination for the boy, but awakens only a feeling of the which the tales of Tieck had furnished the first example, as the m st agreeable to the national character, soon found ridiculous in the man. Another department of German fictions, likewise dealing numerous, or, it might rather be said, numberless imitators. with the marvellous, but fortunately cultivated by writers of For the last thirty years the example of Tieck has been a very different order of talent, was the Mahrchen, or legend- implicitly followed, and all the legendary novelists of Gerary tale. Three different modes may be pointed out in many have been melancholy and gentlemanlike, after the pattern of the Phantasus. Of these, the writers best known which this class of subjects has been treated. The first is exemplified in the Volksmdrchen, or popular to English readers, through translation, are the Baron de la tales of Musaeus, in which the groundwork of marvellous Motte Fouque, the author of Undine, the Magic Ring, and tradition which the writer has selected is treated, not in the Sintrarn; Chamisso, the author of Peter Schlemihl; and spirit of belief, but of a laughing scepticism, and where the Apel, the author of the Freyschutz. It may be doubted writer relies for effect, not so much upon the interest of his whether better specimens of the German tale might not be materials, as upon the wit, the satirical allusions, and the selected from writers with which the English public is not quaint description or broad drollery which he is able to in- familiar,—some of Henrich Steffens’ short legendary stories fuse into the original legend. Whatever in such traditions in particular,—such as the Sleeping Bride (Die Schlafende 1

Germany, by Bisset Haukins, p. 126.

R 0 M A N C E. 292 Romance. Braut), and the Nightly Betrothal in the Church of Ror- and most direct manner towards its object, and exciting the Romance, wig (Die Nachtliche trauung im Kirche Rorwig), which feeling of curiosity and suspense even to the last. have not yet found a translator, appear not undeserving of Some notoriety of an evil kind was obtained by a class Heinse. the attention of the lovers of the marvellous. In the wild of novels in which the attempt was made to invest sensuproductions of Achim von Arnim, such as the Countess ality with the graces of art, or to merge art in sensuality. Dolores and Isabella of Egypt, traits of talent sparkle in Such were the Ardinghello of Heinse (1749-1803), in the midst of absurdity. And from the works of Clemens which painting was made the apology for the introduction Brentano, and of Zshokke, the author of Abelino, several in- of voluptuous pictures, and his Hildegard von Hohenthal, teresting legends might be selected. In particular, we are in which music was made to minister to a similar pursurprised that the simple and beautiful legendary tale by the pose,—no unfit sequel to a literary life which commenced former, “ The History of the Brave Kasperl and the Fair with a translation of Petronius. In truth, in the whole range Annerl,” is yet untranslated. of the German novels, the tendency to an undue license of Hoffmann. The third form in which the Mahrchen was employed, this kind is observable. In those of Goethe, though veiled but at the same time perverted from its proper purpose, by an appearance of decency, it is .sufficiently perceptible; and subjected to a more Mezentian union than it had sub- nor does Tieck appear free from the common taint. Many mitted to even under the satirical despotism of Musaeus, passages in Wilhelm Meister are highly objectionable ; and was in the fantastic or grotesquely terrible manner intro- such a novel as the Wahlverwandschaften we regard as unduced by Hoffmann, and since his death so injudiciously and translatable into English. unsuccessfully imitated both in Germany and in France. Of Goethe’s novels we have already expressed our opi- Goethe, Hoffmann’s manner cannot be considered as entirely origi- nion in our biographical article on Goethe himself. If the nal, since an approach to it may be pointed out in the merits of a novel consisted, not in exhibiting an epitome of Diable Amoureux of Cazotte. It is singular, however, that human life, more or less poetically conceived, according to his productions, such as the Sandman, the Magnetizer, the the prosaic or imaginative turn of the writer’s mind, but in Devil’s Elixir, and others of that class, deriving their whole speculating ingeniously on painting, agriculture, landscape, interest and effect from their connection with the peculiar gardening, the rules of good composition, or the state of the nature and idiosyncrasy of the writer’s mind, and so inca- theatre, connecting these speculations by a thread of myspable of being imitated with the least success by any one not tical narrative, and introducing us to a set of beings without possessing the same anomalous mental conformation and the least trace of reality about them, who all appear to be physical irritability with the Prussian judge, should have playing some theatrical part in a dreamy representation of exercised a very decided though temporary influence life, winch seems to have no intelligible object,—Goethe over the literature, not merely of Germany, but of Europe ; may be a great novelist. With an English public, demandand it proves that, notwithstanding the extravagances, there ing some firm basis of reality, instead of that unsubstantial does reside in them some charm,—something which appeals cloud-land which envelopes us in the Wilhelm Meister’s successfully, not, indeed, to the mind in its calmer mood, Lehrjahre and Wanderjahre, and accustomed to insist on but to the imagination when in a state of temporary excite- a plain meaning as a preliminary to poetical embellishment, ment. Only in such a mind as Hoffmann’s, moulded into he never can be a favourite. A novel which does not exits existing shape by an ill-omened union of influences, plain its purpose without a commentary seems to violate mental and bodily, habitually haunted with gorgons and the essential laws of such compositions; but a novel, in representiments, seeing traces, as it were, of the devil’s hoof gard to the object of which no two commentators agree is in the commonest paths of life, and starting and trembling an anomaly in literature. Most of the German critics, inat the chimeras with which his imagination peopled soli- deed, though professing a great admiration of these singutudes—could the phantoms bred in his eccentric brain, and lar performances of Goethe, are careful to confine their obnurtured amidst the fumes of a Berlin tavern, have ever servations in regard to the meaning or object of the novels assumed that appearance of reality and belief which could to the merest generalities. They describe Wilhelm Meisrender their introduction into a work of fiction at all practi- ter, to use the congenial language of an English admirer, cable. Only by a mind accustomed, from a painful experi- as a picture of “ warm, hearty, sunny, human endeavour, ence, to brood over and dissect the origin and connection of a free recognition of life in its depth, variety, and majesty, these strange phenomena, half mental half physical, which but as yet no divinity recognised there.” The latter pormakes “ life a dream,” but with a nightmare accompani- tion of the sentence is intelligible, and is unfortunately true, ment, could the possible connection of this phantasmagoria but the rest reminds us of Mr Bangle’s remark, that the with real existence, in morbid minds, be rendered so far in- interpreter appears the harder to be understood of the two. telligible as to redeem them from the charge of the merest These observations apply, with slight modification, to the Tieck. puerility. Hoffmann’s tales, though they constantly suggest novels of I ieck, when he abandons the province of the the idea that they have had their source in the inspiration traditional tale, and attempts subjects connected with real of opium, seem really to be the only compositions in this life; the characters, the incidents, the whole cast of the tale, style of grotesque horror which can be said to possess the appear so extravagant, that, but for the grave and laudaredeeming quality of genius. They remind us of the images tory criticism with which these effusions seem invariably to of our dreams, calling up before us, as in sleep, long per- be received by his countrymen, it would be difficult to bespectives of gloomy vastness, broken here and there by the lieve the author serious. His first romance, William Lovel, light ol the strangest ignes fatui, along which are seen, was a gloomy and revolting extravagance, and his later flitting in antic movements, bands of the most fantastic caprices, such as Das Alle Buch (The Old Book), the Vocreatures, such as those which, in the pictures of Teniers, gelscheuche (Scarecrow), Eigensinn and Laune (Self-will disturb the solitude of St Anthony, or which give a strange and Humour), Wunderlichkeiten (Marvels), are utterly blending of the humorous and the horrible to the distempered unworthy of a man of genius. Even the merits of his Dichsketches of C allot. Yet, as a proof that the talent of Hoff- terleben (A Poet’s Life), have been greatly exaggerated. mann was by no means confined merely to the fantastic and Any tale in which Marlowe and Shakespeare figure as acthe supernatural, we may notice his truthful and vigorous tors has a certain interest for a Briton; but beyond some picture of the German burgher life of the middle ages, in eloquent disputations on the drama, and the formation of a his Master Martin and his Apprentices, and his Mademoi- poet’s mind, in which Shakespeare and his companions are selle de Scudery, a tale of vivid and fascinating interest, made to utter modern German theories, the most opposite to founded on a historical groundwork, moving in the simplest English notions of the sixteenth century, we cannot perceive

ROMANCE. 293 Romance, wherein the peculiar merit of this much-lauded perfor- lish readers an object of interest, from the contrast it exhi- Romance, V*-'' mance lies. Tieck has said absurdly and presumptuously bits to the usual style of the German novel; for it is told of Sir Walter Scott, that “it is surprising how little he with a directness, a simplicity, a dramatic liveliness, and an wants to be a poet, but how much that little outweighs all absence of unnecessary reflection, which are qualities of that he is.” Let any one who has read Tieck’s Aufruhr in rare occurrence beyond the Rhine. den Cevennen, in which he has come in competition with the Of late years the German, following the example of the Scotch novelist on an historical subject, judge whether he English novelists, have somewhat enlarged their sphere ; has himself made a nearer approximation to that character. and have addressed themselves seriously to the portraiture Schiller. talent displayed by Schiller in his Verbrecher aus of contemporaneous society, in its true living features, as Ehre, and his fine fragnllnt of the Armenian, or the Ghost contrasted with such vaguely sentimental, and decidedly Seer, excites regret that he did not give us less of philoso- erotic productions as the Werther and Wahlverwandschafphy, and more of fiction. The latter is an unfinished tale ten of Goethe. Several novels of this class have reached us, of mystery, of deep interest, the idea of which, it is sup- all of which exhibit more truthfulness and fidelity to nature posed, was suggested by the juggleries of Cagliostro, and than we find in the older writers ; but, as a counterbalance, in which Schiller, though he never witnessed the scenery there is decidedly less imagination, and the characters, which he describes, has caught the spirit of silence and se- when original, and not borrowed from English authors, are crecy which seems to pervade Venice, with the same suc- commonplace and dull. The best of these novels is the cess as, in his William Tell, he has transported us into the Sollen und Haben (Debit and Credit) of Freytag, which is Freytag. mountain recesses of the Oberland. And Lord Byron has spirited, and conveys a faithful picture of life in Silesia, recorded the strong impression made upon his mind by the both in the noble and the mercantile circles. But it is imrecollection of the incomprehensible Armenian, one of those possible to read many pages of that novel without perceiving conceptions which he was accustomed by anticipation to the extraordinary influence which the perusal of the works of Dickens has exercised over the mind of the author. Itassociate with the image of the city of the sea. Several female novelists, too, have respectably supported sig the Jew, and the old beer-drinking porter, are properties the pretensions of their sex; such as Fanny Tarnow, the of Mr Dickens’ which Freytag has unceremoniously approBaroness de la Motte Fouque, Johanna Schopenhauer, Hen- priated. He has hit off the minute, quaint, and sometimes , rietta Hanke, and Caroline Pichler, the able authoress of grotesque descriptive manner of the English novelist to the Agathocles. Many of their productions exhibit talent, life; and in his more tragic situations the resemblance is grace, and facility of style ; but we should be at a loss to so close as almost to have the effect of a parody. We may name any for which the praise of genius could justly be also notice a very pleasing tale of historical as well as domestic interest, entitled Frederick the Great and his Merclaimed. The class of romances called Kriminal Geschichten, turn- chant, a good translation of which has recently been made ing on stories of secret guilt discovered by circumstantial by Lady Maxwell Wallace. The name of the author is evidence, has been a numerous one in Germany. At the not given; but if this is the first attempt of an aspiring head of this class of novelists stands Kruse, who certainly novelist, we feel confident that it is only the precursor of possesses in a high degree a power which at the present greater works, and that Germany may yet (for she has not day appears to be rather a rare one, that of constructing an done so hitherto), produce a novelist worthy of a Euroingenious and complicated plot, keeping the curiosity con- pean reputation. stantly on the stretch, and defying conjecture as to the reWe must not exclude from this sketch a notice of Hans Andersen sult, till the author himself chooses to furnish the solution. The Ring, Oath and Conscience, Diodatis’ Birth, the Christian Andersen, the Danish novelist, whose beautiful of DenDance of Death, and the Red Dragon, are masterpieces in tales have been translated into German, English, Dutch, mark, this style of invention, which, though of a sufficiently pro- and Russian. Without any pretensions to art, he has atsaic character, yet possesses at least this cardinal merit, tained that which no study can give, a perfectly natural expression. Without resorting to the mechanism of verse, that it is rarely tedious. Historical romances have always been numerous in Ger- he touches intuitively and in succession the chords of many ; and after the appearance of those of Sir Walter human sympathy; and more almost than any other living Scott they became still more so. Some of the chivalrous author possesses the magical secret of endearing himself, pictures of Tromlitz, Van de Velde, and Blumenhagen, in through his works, to the reader, without exhibiting any this style, are spirited, but in general the historical romance trace of egotism or personal intrusion. Nor are high proofs of Germany does not rise above mediocrity. “ Sunt bona, of talent in the fictional department wanting in another sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura.” Let us except region of Scandinavia. The Swedish novels of Frederica f^ederica the very remarkable tale of Michael Kohlhaas, by the un- Bremer are well known in England through the medium of Bremer, fortunate dramatist Kleist (1776-1811). In all of Kleist’s the translations by Mary Howitt; and though curiosity retales there is too much of a spectral and fatalistic charac- garding the customs of a land comparatively unknown to ter; he delighted to contemplate and to delineate life as us might account for some portion of the interest which necessitated by a mysterious and iron destiny. Kohlhaas they excited, their intrinsic merit alone fully warranted the is not entirely free from a tinge of the supernatural, introduction. Her novels are of the domestic kind, simple, wlfich harmonizes ill with the deep, humble, human inter- and true to nature, without much pretension in the way of est of the tale itself; and nowhere does the idea of a grim plot, but always graphic in description, distinct in delineaand unrelenting fate appear in more saddening colours. tion of character, and in sentiment irreproachable and reThere is truth, therefore, in Goethe’s remark as to this ro- fined. Less known perhaps to English readers, but yet mance, that “ it brings prominently into view a dissonant deserving of notice, are the novels of Madame Carlen, also Madame principle in nature, with which poetry ought not to meddle, a Swede, whose writings display a strong imaginative ten- Carlen. with which it cannot reconcile itself, let the handling of the dency ; some lines verging on that dubious and undefined matter be never so exquisite.” And yet this vigorous and manner which we are contented to designate as the “ melo(g. m—R.) (w. E. A.) truthful picture from the Lutheran times must be to Eng- dramatic.”

294

ROMAN

HISTORY.

plain, of the Campagna to the south-east, had a place of Political SECT. I.—SITE OF ROME. meeting on the Aventine ; the whole of the right bank of History, Site of The site of Rome occupies a cluster of low eminences the Tiber belonged to the still more powerful nation of the Rome, threaded by the winding stream of the Tiber. The Cam- Etruscans. 1 he earliest legends of Rome indicate the pagna, the modern name for the tract of land which en- seizure of the Palatine by an offset from a Latin tribe, and compasses it, stretching from the sea to the Apennines, its conversion into a stronghold for the unsettled brigandage is not a wholly level surface, but is generally varied with of the neighbourhood. But this confined and secluded gentle undulations. At one or two points only, such as in eminence afforded a retreat indeed, but no sustenance, to the neighbourhood of Alba and of Rome, this tameness of its primeval occupants; and from the first the Romans character is broken by more abrupt and prominent irregu- were compelled by the sternest necessity to fight with larities. The Alban hills soar in several peaks to an ex- every neighbour for their daily living. If constant warfare treme altitude of 3000 feet, and inclose two deep basins was thus, on the one hand, from the first the law of their filled with water; but the hills of Rome hardly attain 150 existence, not less were they compelled in self-defence to feet, and the Tiber, running among them, serves to drain seek alliances and cultivate peaceful relations on the other; the moisture descending from their flanks. The presence and they soon learned to relax the rigid exclusiveness of of marine deposits in the gravel which composes a portion manners and family ties which characterized the politics of of their soil shows that these hills have been raised in pri- the Italian races. While the martial temper of the Roman mitive times from the bed of an ocean; while the configu- people was formed in the school of perpetual aggression or ration of the hills themselves bears token of the volcanic defence, they had the good fortune to be driven by ciragency by which this revolution was effected. On the left cumstances to fraternize liberally with their allies and debank of the river they form a large segment of a circle, rising pendents, and the habit of admitting fresh infusions of for the most part almost imperceptibly from the Campagna foreign blood continued to be maintained by a necessity beyond, but falling more suddenly into the interior crater; ever increasing as the sphere of their foreign relations while at either extremity, to the North and South, they widened. It was the remark of their own statesmen, as descend abruptly into the bed of the Tiber. On the right well as of later students of their history, that the illustrious they extend more irregularly along the river bank, rising career of Roman conquest was maintained by the seasonableat one point to a somewhat greater elevation ; while the ness with which, however reluctantly, the franchise of the ridge of the Monte Mario, less closely connected with them, city, with all its privileges and burdens, was conceded at in the rear, reaches to a height of nearly 500 feet. every crisis to strangers. In the hollow formed by the circumvallation of the left bank stands a single hillock with a level summit and steep sides, well defined, and of figure nearly rectangular, mea- SECT. II. DERIVATION OF THE ROMAN PEOPLE FROM ETRUSCANS, SABINES, AND LATINS. suring about 500 yards by 400. Removed about a quarter of a mile from the bank of the river, and almost screened Extending our view beyond the cluster of hills over Derivation from it by the advancing horns of the circumjacent ridge, which the name of Rome was eventually to be extended, of the Roscreened still more effectually in early antiquity by the thick we may observe, with the map of Italy before us, how man PeoPle jungle which choked the valleys all around it, this hill—the critically the future mistress of the world was placed with fromEtrusPalatine, as it came in after ages to be called—could hardly reference to the powers around her. Three considerable ^5, be detected by the eyes of a stranger from beyond the nations, the names of which have been already mentioned, Latins limits of the inclosure. Such a site might naturally tempt met just at this point. The Tiber, descending almost due the wandering brigands of Central Italy to fix on it their south from the Apennines to the Mediterranean, and makpermanent settlements. Though traces may be discovered ing with that sea an acute angle on the right, an obtuse one in the later manners of the Italians of their original descent on the left, separated the country of the Etruscans from from a race of nomades, yet we find them distinguished at that of the Sabines and of the Latins. Again the Anio, the first dawn of history by the general adoption of settled running west from the central ridge of the peninsula, and habitations. The idea of the city, and of municipal insti- striking perpendicularly upon the Tiber three miles above tutions, was as strongly developed in Italy as in Greece; the spot just designated, formed the line of demarcation and in this respect the earliest known inhabitants of either between the Sabines and the Latins themselves. Rome, peninsula were equally distinguished from the Gaul, the therefore, was placed almost at the point of junction of the Briton, and the German. The strongholds of these people three rival nationalities. were the summits of bold eminences, such as rose someThe institution of the fortified city as the nucleus of the times in clusters, sometimes with insulated projections, from political combination, such as we find it to have existed the plains or the scarped ridge of a mountain spur; and throughout Central Italy in these early times, may be taken the cultivators of the little territory around them resided as a sign that the country is in possession of a foreign race, generally within the shelter of their walls. But the domain which has subdued the original inhabitants and holds their of the first fortress on the Palatine was limited by the con- lands by the right of conquest. Wherever a tribe has flicting claims of the occupants of similar retreats on al- settled upon soil hitherto unoccupied, we find that it has most every height around it. The Tarpeian hill, looking spread itself along the sides of the rivers and over fertile noithward up the stream of the Tiber, was the site, accord- plains, clearing the forest rood by rood, and planting its ing to an early legend, of a town denominated Saturnia; scattered habitations securely on every spot to which chance the Janiculan, across the river, bore a city of its own name ; or convenience has conducted it. Thus the inhabitants, the Quirinal, which stood next in order to the Tarpeian, first known to us, of Gaul and Germany, may seem to have was settled by a tribe of Sabines, the people of the district been the aborigines of the land. They found perhaps on reaching north-eastward to the Apennines; the Latins, their arrival no prior possessors of the soil on which they who held, with a confederacy of thirty states, the great planted themselves, and they had no need to defend their

KOMAN HISTORY. 295 Political acquisitions by the establishment of fortified posts and whom his arrows were wafted to the mark or the crafty Political History. armed garrisons in the centre of every plot of ground they stratagem suggested. It was also domestic, and concerned History, occupied. But in Italy, on the contrary, both tradition the preservation of property, the guardianship of family and early ethnological traces confirm our natural inference rights and affections, the prolonged existence of the spirits from the mode of its ancient inhabitation, and assure us of the dead. The Sabines maintained these ideas in the that neither Etruscans, Sabines, nor Latins were aborigi- greatest purity and simplicity ; the Latins seem, from their nal possessors of the peninsula, but were themselves in- position on the coast, to have had an earlier connection with truders upon the heritage of feebler and probably more the Greeks, some of whose colonies were planted on their peaceful races. The early connection of these aborigines soil; and they partook more than their ruder neighbours with the Greeks appears from the identity of many of their of the Greek devotion to moral abstractions, such as wisdom, words, such especially as refer to agricultural usages and power, and beauty. But they both agreed in the infinite ideas. The formation of the Latin tongue is also closely multiplication of their objects of worship. Every city had allied to the Greek. This apparent identity of race we its guardian divinity; every wood and stream its Genius, signalize by giving to the Italians the name of Pelasgians. its Nymph, or Faun ; every family offered a special service But it is in these fragments of their language only that we to the patron of the house, the deified spirit of its earliest can trace the character of this primitive people. The Sa- ancestor. The maintenance of this family worship was a bines and Latins have conquered and degraded them ; these solemn obligation descending to the heir of the estate, and new-comers have long maintained themselves in their forti- in default of natural heirs the practice of adoption was enfied and inaccessible citadels, like the Norman barons in joined for its preservation. The cult of the Lares and their castles, in the midst of their conquered serfs; and the Penates, the domestic fetishes of the house, seems to have institution of the city, remains to attest the fact of con- been common, with some variety of usage, to Etruscans, quest, long after the elements of resistance which first sug- Sabines, and Latins. gested it have been trampled into the dust. Throughout The religion of the Sabines and Latins was simple and the territory of the Etruscans the conquest has been even impulsive; that of the Etruscans philosophical and remore complete. Here the conquered people have not left flective. The one bowed with submission to the gods, even a feeble trace of their existence in the language of the other inquired into their nature and explored their will. But whatever difference we may trace between their conquerors. Resembling one another in this main feature of their them, we find them amalgamated together in the cult of politics, the Etruscans, the Sabines, and the Latins are the Roman people, who were placed, as we have seen, at distinguished in other important particulars. Whatever the point where these ideas might first come in contact and may have been the course of migration which led the coalesce. We shall find the threefold origin of the state Etruscans to their final seats in Central Italy, their early marked no less strongly in its political institutions. From connection with the East seems proved from the character Etruria came the division into tribes, curies, and centuries; of their institutions. Their religion was a mystery and a the array of battle, the ornaments of the magistracy, the craft, like the Egyptian and other eastern systems, jea- laticlave, the prsetexta, the apex, the curule chairs, the lously guarded and professionally communicated; though lictors, the triumphs, and public games, the whole apparaits priests were no longer on the freer soil of Italy a special tus of the calendar, the sacred character of property, the caste like the Druids, the Magi, and the Brahmins, but terminal science, and, in short, the political religion of the were at the same time the warriors, the proprietors, and state. From Latium the names of praetor and dictator, the the statesmen of the commonwealth. Such was the Etrus- institution of the fecials; the habits of husbandry and recan Lucumo, king, priest, soldier, and landlord, and such spect for the plough ; and, finally, the Latin language itself. he maintained himself in spite of the advance of commer- From Sabellia were derived the names of military weapons, cial ideas among the people, some of whose cities on the and of the spear or quiris, which gave one of its designaTyrrhene coast had become emporia of the traffic of the tions to the Roman people. The Roman title of Imperator Mediterranean. But in the eighth century b.c. the power seems to be a popular application of the Sabine word em~ of the Etruscans had already sustained a blow; they had bratur. The patriciate and patronship belonged more or lost their hold of the countries they once possessed north less to all the nations which surrounded Rome, and so did the of the Apennines ; the connection with their advanced posts habit of dwelling in cities, and the institution of municipal in Latium and Campania seems to have been dislocated; governments. Such was the case also with the division they were confined to a confederacy of twelve cities in into gentes, clans, or septs, and the remarkable extent of Etruria proper, strictly allied, and still by far the strongest authority accorded to the father and the husband. This and most important section of the Italian communities. mixed formation of Roman society is mythically repreThe Etruscan religion was a refined theosophy. It pro- sented to us by the legends which describe-the first and claimed the existence of a Supreme Being, a Providence third of the kings as Latins, the second and fourth as or Fate, who was rather the soul of the world than a per^ Sabines, the fifth and two following as Etruscans. But son exterior to it. The lesser gods, like those of Egypt there is probably some historic truth in the claims of the and India, were emanations from this being. The world chief families to descent from one or the other people reitself was subject to periodical mutations; men and things spectively. It is interesting to trace the Julii, the Tullii, had their appointed courses; there was a future state of the Servilii, the Geganii, the Quinctii, the Curiatii, the rewards and punishments. The Etruscans conceived, like Clcelii, to Alba; the Furii and Hostilii to Medullia; the other heathens, that the will of the divinity and the course Coruncanii to Cameria; the Porcii and Manilii to Tusculum, of future events might be ascertained by the observation —all in Latium. The Appii, Postumii, Valerii, Marcii, Fabii, of omens. Their soothsayers drew auguries from the flight Claudii, and Calpurnii were Sabines. The Cilniiand Licinii of birds, but they had a special gift of interpreting the signs came from Arretium; the Caecinae from Volaterra; the Vettii of victims’ entrails and of meteoric phenomena. from Clusium ; the Pomponii, Papii, and Coponii from other The religious ideas of the Sabines and Latins, on the places in Etruria. (Duruy, Hist, des Romains, i. 89.) other hand, were less refined, and affected less mystery. The indigenous cult of Italy had regarded the daily and common SECT. III.—LEGENDS OF THE FIRST FOUR KINGS AND THE wants of men: the husbandman worshipped the genii of the POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS ASCRIBED TO THEM. winds and skies, the shepherd those who protected his flocks The early history of Rome, as written for us by Livy from the wild beast or the murrain, the warrior those by

296 ROMAN HISTORY. Political and Dionysius, has no claim to be considered as a record the original body of citizens, with equal rights of dealing Political History, of actual facts, and such truths as it really may contain of marriage, of suffrage, among themselves. Such were History, V ,— ' cannot be sifted with any certainty from the mass of fiction the patricians of Rome. The subjects of this dominant Legends of with which it is embedded by the science of the historian race, whether by original conquest, or by later acquisition, the first or the political philosopher. We can only regard it as including such as ranged themselves, of their own free will, four kings, an attempt to account, under the guise of history, for exist- under the powerful protection of the Roman city, became ^fitical institut’ons anc^ political phenomena at Rome, at a period known by the general name of plebeians (the plebs), and institutions when the consciousness of the people was aroused to seek were admitted to no share in the government, to no equal7 ascribed to the origin of their own life and being. The primitive legends rights, social, political, or religious, with the citizens. The} them. of the flight of Saturn to Latium, the advent of Hercules, remained, according to the significant expression of a Rothe arrival of Evander, the settlement of iEneas at Alba, man patrician,^ “ without auspices, without families, without are attempts to explain the apparent presence of an Hel- ancestors.’ 1 hey were distinguished, however, from the lenic element in the language and usages of Italy. The slaves of the Roman household, having their personal freestory of the birth of Romulus and Remus from Mars and dom, property, and liberty to exercise handicraft trades for Rhea illustrates the warlike spirit and victorious career of their own benefit. They were subject also to the military the Roman nation ; the suckling of the twins by the wolf, conscription. But such immunities as they enjoyed were the slaughter of the wicked uncle, the collection of a horde secured to them, not by law, but by the protection of the of outlaws, the opening of an asylum for fugitives and rob- patricians, to whom they stood individually in the relation bers, the quarrel of the brothers, the rape of the Sabine of clients to patrons. Thus every plebeian was originally women,—all combine to represent the fierce and aggressive the client of a patrician ; but as the plebeians gradually spirit of the race of conquerors whose hand was to be acquired legitimate civic rights of their own, the status of against every man, and every man’s hand against them. the client was transferred to the ever-growing class of subThe contest of the Romans and Sabines for the Tarpeian jects who were not citizens at all. citadel, and the final pacification and alliance between them, The political institutions ascribed to Romulus must be soon followed by the accession of the Sabine Numa, the regarded as affecting the patricians only. This Roman founder of law and religion, indicate a consciousness of people was formed, we are told, into three tribes,—the the early introduction of a Sabine element into the Roman Ramnes, the Titles, and subsequently, but with inferior polity. The wars of Tullus with Alba shadow forth the rights, the Luceres. It is conjectured that the first of ancient conquest of territory eastward of the city, and the these represents the original Latin people of the Palatine, first extension of the Roman domain beyond the walls of the second the Sabines of the Quirinal, the third an EtrusRome. The establishment of a Sabine colony on the can element in the population, which, according to tradiQuirinal, a Latin on the Aventine, an Etruscan on the tion, was settled on the Caelian hill. Each tribe was subCaelian, all finally comprehended in a single inclosure, divided into ten curice, and these bodies met in general testify the rapid growth of the city by the fusion of the assemblies, or comitia, called after their name curiata, in three rival nations at their point of junction. The le- which resided the sovereign power of the state deputed by gends of the death of Remus and the slaughter of Hora- it to a king. The Senate was a body chosen from the tia seem to aim at explaining the origin of actual religious curies as a council of state, consisting first of 100 members, ceremonies, and if we knew more of the domestic antiquities soon afterwards doubled by the incorporation of the Saof Rome, we might trace perhaps the ideas which gave bines ; but the Luceres were not originally admitted to a birth to many other stories, such, for instance, as the share in this dignity. Each tribe was bound to furnish treachery of Tarpeia. The murder of Romulus by the 1000 men on foot, and 100 to serve on horseback; and this Senate typifies a protest of the commons against the violence body formed the legion. The horsemen, originally desigof the aristocracy, while the accompanying legend of the nated Celeres, became in course of time a distinct order victim’s exaltation into the heavens justifies the hero-wor- in the state, under the well-known title of Equites or ship of the state and of the Gentes. On the other hand, Knights. the reign of Numa is evidently painted by the faction of As Romulus, the founder of Rome, whose name is conthe nobles. Numa is the founder of the rites and institu- nected with the Greek word poj/x-^, strength, was the author tions of Rome; and these are the charter of the Roman of the military institutions which upheld the fabric of the aristocracy. The death of Tullus Hostilius, the third state, so Numa the Sabine, a name which must remind us king, is another instance of this class of legends: he is of the Greek vegw and vo/xos, law, was regarded as the struck with lightning for abusing the legitimate worship framer of its religious rites, the foundation of law and order. of the gods, of which the nobles are the guardians and He appointed as the guardians of the national religion four expounders. Ancus, however, his successor, is the king pontiffs, the first of whom was specially designated the after the people’s heart; his reign is contrasted with that Pontifex Maximus; he assigned two Flamens to the speof Tullus, as that of Numa with his predecessors, as an cial service of the tutelary gods of Rome, Gradivus and epoch of peace instead of war; but Ancus, unlike Numa, Quirinus, and a third to that of Jupiter. He instituted the is celebrated for the favour he extended to the lower un- College of Augurs and of the Salii, who bore on their heads privileged classes, for his courting the breeze of popular the sacred shields of Mars ; and established the priesthood applause, and publishing the mysteries of the aristocratic of the sacred Virgin, who tended the never-dying flame on religion; nevertheless he is the founder of the prison the altar of Vesta, brought from the shrine of the goddess under the iarpeian hill, long known to the citizens as at Alba, the mother city of Rome. Numa is also said to the terror of the oppressed and degraded as well as of have built the temple of Janus, the double God, whose faces the wrong-doer, a chief instrument in maintaining the looked both before and after, and to have closed its portals hateful ascendancy of the oligarchs. (Michelet, Hist, de in sign of peace. He appointed also a long series of Rom. i.) ceremonial observances connected with the seasons of the The classes opposed to one another throughout political Roman year, and first completed the calendar by the addihistory are the nobles and the commons. The aristocracy tion to it of the two months of January and" February. and the people are known in the Roman records by the The year of Numa consisted of twelve lunar months and special name petti icictns and plebcictns. The first founders one day over, making 355 days in all. In all these instiof the commonwealth, whether by settlement on vacant tutions he sought and enjoyed the counsel of the Camcena, soil, or by conquest of a more primitive population, formed or goddess Egeria, a deity of the Sabines, and the grotto

ROMAN HISTORY. Political at which he was wont nightly to meet her, near the cians towards a foreign dynasty, and especially to the slaveHistory. Porta Capena, continued to be shown at Rome for many born sovereign himself, the patron of the upstart commonalty. For the policy of Servius was directed to raising v*—ages. the subjects of the state to a political equality with their SECT. IY. THE THREE LATER KINGS. rulers, and carrying out the liberal views already indicated The three The first four reigns represent the struggles of Rome by his predecessor. His plan, however, was not, we are later kings, with the Sabines and the Latins, and she is described as told, to raise the plebeian families to patrician rank, and invictorious throughout a succession of wars. The next pe- troduce them into the special assembly of the curies, but to riod bears a different character. Rome is now under the create a new general assembly, under the name of the censway of an Etruscan dynasty, and to this epoch are ascribed turies, which should comprehend both classes alike. The certain works, still partly existing, which attest more surely Servian constitution, such as later ages loved to picture it, than record or tradition the fact of an Etruscan domina- though confessing that it never really came into practical tion on the spot. The chiefs under whom the low grounds operation, was the enrolment of the whole body of the of the city were drained by the vast Cloaca, and the na- citizens, patrician and plebeian, in one great military array, tional temple erected on the scarped brow of the Tarpeian according to their census or means, and the arms which rock, under whom the Seven Hills, crowned with separate they could bring into the field. Thus enrolled and acfortifications, were united within one continuous inclosure, coutred, they were to assemble in the Field of Mars, were assuredly Etruscans; and they must have exer- outside the city, and decide on all the gravest affairs of cised their authority with the strong hand of conquerors state, of peace and war, of laws and ceremonies, with the and despots. The legends, however, say nothing of an full powers hitherto enjoyed by the curies alone. But Etruscan conquest of Rome. Tarquinius Priscus, or the though this division into classes existed only on paper in the Elder, is represented as the son of a- Grecian refugee who histories of a later age, the division of the people into its removed from Tarquinii in Etruria to Rome, by the ad- tribes, from twenty to thirty in number, was an actual fact, vice of his wife, the prophetess Tanaquil. Appointed tutor whether rightly ascribed to Servius or not. The tribes of to the sons of Ancus, he succeeds, on the king’s death, in Romulus were only three, and were confined to the patrisupplanting them on the throne. Rome receives from him cians ; those of Servius embraced the great body of the her first architectural embellishments—he establishes the plebeians. The former referred only to birth ; the latter circus for national games—constructs the Cloaca, and com- defined the habitation of the members belonging to them. mences the Capitol. The expense of these great works is Of the Servian tribes, four only were in the city, the rest supposed to be defrayed, not by the forced labour of a na- were assigned to country localities in the domain of the tion of serfs, but by plunder seized from the Latins and state. The names of most of these tribes, which continued Sabines. Tarquin celebrates the first Roman triumph after to exist with various additions to a very late period, have the Etruscan fashion, in a robe of gold and purple, and been mostly preserved to us ; but though they formed the his chariot is drawn by four white horses. Many of the basis of another assembly of the people which played a ensigns both of war and of civil office are assigned to great part in the subsequent history of Borne, so little interthis epoch. And now we meet with the admission of one est or importance attaches to them that even their number hundred plebeians into the Senate, and the formation of at this and at later periods is involved in the greatest unthree new centuries of knights. The opposition of the certainty. The legend of Servius brings him to the wonted patricians to this democratic innovation is signalized in the end of a democratic reformer. Assailed by his own childlegend of Attus Navius, the augur, who insists the policy ren, the favour of the multitude is unable either to defend of the sovereign, and confirms his resistance with the sanc- or to avenge him. The people can do no more than tion of a miracle. A statue of Attus, standing for many consecrate his memory in undying tradition, and mark the centuries in the Forum, attested the stroke of the augur’s day of his assassination by a religious ceremony repeated every month. The street in which the abominable Tullia razor, which cut the stone at Tarquin’s bidding. These attempts at relaxing the stern exclusiveness of drove her car over her father’s body continued ever after to the Roman polity were continued, it is said, and effected bear the name of “ The Accursed.” The reign of the second Tarquin, or the Proud, is an more triumphantly by the next king. Servius Tullius, described in one account as originally a slave, is said to have attempt to usurp the power both of the nobles and the married a daughter of Tarquin, and to have gained the commons, and establish a pure despotism on the ruins of throne by the contrivance of Tanaquil. Another, and pro- the democratic monarchy. Wars are waged with the bably the Etruscan legend, represented him as a soldier of Latins and Etruscans, but the lower classes are deprived of fortune from Etruria, who attached himself to Caeles Vi- their arms, and employed in the servile occupation of erectbenna, the founder of an Etruscan city on the Cselian hill. ing monuments of regal magnificence, while the tyrant His original name, Mastarna, was changed to that of Ser- recruits his armies from his own retainers and the forces of vius, by which alone he became known in the native history foreign allies. The completion of the fortress-temple on of Rome. Servius connected the Viminal, the Quirinal, and the Capitoline confirms his authority over the city of Rome, the Esquiline, the three Sabine hills, with the Palatine, the and a connection by marriage with the dictator of the TusTarpeian, now called Capitoline, the Aventine, and the culans secures him powerful assistance in the field. He Caelian, thus completing the fated number of seven. The reigns with bloodshed and violence, oppressing the poor by agger, or mound, with which he defended this city to the his exactions, and crushing the rich by slaugliter and pronorth, may be traced to this day; and some vestiges have scriptions. The outrage of his son Sextus on the chaste been discovered of the massive stone walls which encom- Lucretia at last precipitates a revolt; and L. Junius Brutus, passed it in other quarters. He divided the city thus com- supported by the injured husband and father, proclaims the pleted into four regions, the Palatine, Suburran, Colline, fall of the foreign dynasty, and the establishment of a republic. The name of Brutus was given in the Latin and Esquiline. The chief external event of this reign, according to our language to an idiot ; and hence arose a legend that the records, was the formation of an alliance with the thirty hero of the Regifuge, or flight of the kings, had simulated cities of Latium, confirmed by the erection of a common madness to deceive the Tarquins, in whose house he had temple to Diana on the Aventine. The lands which Ser- been bred. Another conjecture has been hazarded by vius won from the Veians and Etruscans he divided among modern critics, that the term means a slave, especially a the plebeians, thereby incurring the hostility of the patri- revolted or fugitive slave, and indicates in this story the 2p VOL. XIX.

297 Political History, v—

a.u. 24 b c.

KOMAN HISTORY, 298 Political insurrection of the commons, oppressed and degraded which the rudeness of the times requires to be lodged in Political History, slaves of the monarchy, against the tyranny of their foreign strong hands, is guarded against abuse by distribution History, among two or more possessors, with limitation to a single masters. But the legend of the Tarquins does not terminate with year’s tenure ; when in cases of emergency this power is their fall from power. Banished from the city, they take re- still more concentrated in a single hand, the limitation of fuge with their allies at Tarquinii and Veii, and intrigue for tenure is reduced just in proportion to six months. From the recovery of their throne. While the citizens were organiz- this time, secure of their freedom as against their rulers, the ing their commonwealth, appointing Brutus and Collatinus citizens plunge into a series of struggles among themselves, their first consuls (prcetors they were originally called), with class against class. The second period of Roman history powers hardly less than regal, but limited to a single year, corresponds with the ordinary course of political affairs, and the emissaries of Tarquin engage the sons of Brutus in a plot is marked by a long and fluctuating contest between the to restore him, the execution of whom, when discovered, by aristocratic and democratic elements of a republic. The their own father’s decree, was recorded as a striking instance verisimilitude of the general outline commands our attenof the sternness of the ancient patriotism. A second at- tion and respect; but we must still hold ourselves fully on tempt with an army of Veians and Tarquinians was not our guard against giving credence to the details, confused, more successful, though Brutus himself fell in the combat contradictory, romantic, and repeated with little variawhich gave victory to the Romans. Tarquin made a third tion over and over again, with which it is set forth and effort, with the aid of Porsenna, chief of the whole Etruscan enlivened. confederacy, and this powerful ally penetrated to the Tiber, and would have followed the flying Romans into the city, SECT. VL—BEGINNINGS OF THE REPUBLIC. but for the courage with which Codes defended the bridge The first circumstance which strikes us in the received Beginnings till it could be broken down behind him. This ancient peril of Rome was illustrated by the popular traditions of account of the beginnings of the republic is, that the victory of the reMucius and Clcelia; but though it continued to be confi- gained by the people over their tyrants turns to the advan- public, dently believed that the invader was compelled to retreat tage of the aristocracy only. We hear no more of the discomfited, later inquirers professed to have discovered popular constitution of Servius. The patricians are masters documents proving that the city had in fact capitulated to of the Senate and of the curies ; while by their wealth and him, that the Romans had been subjected to Etruscan au- the number of their clients, they retain the chief influence thority, and forbidden, like the Israelites under the sway in the centuries, and as expounders of the state religion, of the Philistines, the use of iron even in their domestic hold in their hands the most potent instrument of political warfare. The struggle, however, which soon ensues beimplements. To continue the popular story, however: we next read of tween the patricians and plebeians is no longer represented Tarquin betaking himself to his allies at Tusculum, of a as arraying two races or castes against one another : Rome great Latin confederation for his restoration, and of the has entered upon a second phase of political existence ; the battle at the Lake Regillus, in the which the exiles were rich proprietors are struggling to maintain their ascendfinally defeated by the assistance of Castor and Pollux, ancy over the poorer classes. The patrician generally rewho fought on the side of the Romans, conspicuous on presents the man of family and civic honours, residing in the city,with butRome, ownerabanof domains in the territory of the a. u. 255. white horses. The Latins make peace state the small farmers and petty tradesb. c. 499. doning Tarquin to his fate ; and the; the old plebeians, king dies eventually, fourteen years after his expulsion, at the court of the men, and those who made their living by their own thrift and industry. The patrician had also secured to his own Grecian tyrant of Cumae. exclusive use the public lands, the ownership of which the state reserved to itself. At this time, indeed, if we may SECT. y.—REMARKS ON THE FOREGOING ACCOUNTS. follow the traces of the accredited history, these conRemarks The kingly power is said to have been overthrown in the quered domains had shrunk to very small dimensions, for on the fore- year 244 of the city ; the reigns of seven kings having the limits of the Roman state, as well as its external relagoing ac- filled up this long interval, the average of the six first, four tions and influence, appear after the Regifuge in very circounts. 0f wfiicfi are cut short by violent deaths, being thirty-six cumscribed proportions. But the struggle between these classes is dated back to years to each. In addition to the startling improbability of such a series of protracted lives, there are other chronolo- the very first year of the commonwealth. One of the two gical difficulties in the narrative which the ancients them- consuls is represented as a plebeian. Valerius Poplicola, selves tried in vain to remove. In modern times these the first champion of the popular order, is supposed to have inconsistencies gave the most powerful, if not the first, acquired his name by the zeal with which he maintained its incitement to the spirit of historical scepticism which has claims. In the same spirit of mythical history, Poplicola is resulted in an almost entire renunciation of the early Roman said to have opened to the plebeians the competition for the consulship, and proclaimed the penalty of death against any records as genuine historical documents. We shall consider presently, from an examination of the aspirant to the tyranny. Popli.cola requires the consuls to sources of genuine information which were really open to lower their fasces, the rods and axes borne before them by the Romans themselves, what amount of credence may rea- the lictors, in the assembly of the people. Within the city, sonably be given to the reputed facts of their story. In indeed, the axe is to be removed altogether, to show that this place it will be sufficient to point out that the so-called the regal power of life and death over the citizens is withhistory of the kings presents an outline common to the drawn at home, and only exercised in the camp abroad. early annals of most states of antiquity, the growth of a But these restrictions on the outward show of power have commonwealth by war and conquest till its ruler, at the no effect in controlling the substantial preponderance of head of a veteran army, and in possession of a central the patricians, who for many years together held exclustronghold, sets himself above the laws, and plays the sive occupation of the consulship, who, whenever their despot with selfish violence, till stricken down by the prerogatives are threatened by popular impatience, create people whose patience he has outraged. To this kingly a dictator with absolute authority for its repression, and period succeeds generally, as at Rome, an epoch of popular who forbid any amalgamation of the two orders by intergovernment, in which the regal name is detested as the marriage. It is in the nature of things that men should long bear symbol of violence and tyranny, and the supreme power,

ROMAN HISTORY. 299 Political with social inequalities and political disabilities, and the his- ration between parties which were henceforth ranged in Political History. tory of the republic corresponds with ordinary experience constant strife and jealousy one against the other. As it History, when it relates that the first struggle of the two orders was, the struggle between the two parties continues, acwas caused, not by a sense of abstract inferiority on the cording to our accounts, to rage more violently than ever. part of the plebeians, but by the pressure of poverty, and a The first victory is on the side of the plebeians. C. Mar- ACoriolanus, tyrannical law of creditor and debtor. The decline of the cius, a brave patrician, who has acquired the surname of B,c -u-21S6S, power of the republic would imply a very general impove- Coriolanus, from the capture of the Volscian town Corioli, ' ‘ ^• rishment of the citizens, and the wealthiest would be likely falls a victim to the jealousy of the people. His haughty to turn the hardness of the times to their own advantage. bearing had given offence to the multitude; they find The poor would need ready money to supply themselves means of urging unjust or invidious charges against him; with arms, as well as to till their land and pay their taxes ; they require him to defend himself before the assembly of the rich would lend to them at exorbitant rates of interest, the tribes, in which the power of the plebs predominates, and on their failing to repay, would indemnify themselves and drive him into exile. He returns at the head of the by seizing the debtor’s person and reducing him, or his Volscian armies which he has so lately defeated, routs the children in lieu of him, to slavery. We are assured, in- Roman legions, and prepares to lay siege to his native city. deed, that the Roman law allowed the creditor to kill his Heralds, magistrates, priests, are sent out successively to insolvent debtor, or if there were several creditors, to cut sue for peace ; but he remains inexorable, requiring humihis body in as many pieces. Harassed by cruel exactions liating terms of concession to his new allies. At last his and still more cruel punishments, the plebeians at last re- vtfife and mother present themselves, with the Roman mafused to enlist in the annual campaign against the Latins. trons, in his camp ; to them he yields, and withdraws his They had discovered the weak point in the patrician troops from the attack, assuring them, at the same time, armour. It was necessary to suspend the severity of the that in sparing the city he has forfeited his own life. The law for the moment, with a promise to alter it at the con- legend closes appropriately, in one account, with the stateclusion of the war. But the popular consul Servilius, who ment that his foreign friends turn in anger upon him and made this concession, was denied the triumph he had slay him ; another story represents him, less poetically, as earned by the hands of the plebeians, and the patricians re- surviving still in exile to an old age. It is needless to point out the marks of poetical invention lapsed again into their old tyranny. Secession Not once or twice only are the plebeians and their in this famous narrative. As a tradition of the power and of the champions among the nobles thus cajoled and the deadly jealousy of the commons, it was to be paralleled plebeians generous to the Mors disappointed. At last the plebeians, choosing themselves by a rival story from the opposite quarter. Spurius Cassius, Spurius generals, one of them a Brutus, and renouncing the autho- a patrician, and three times consul, resolved to become the Cassius, Sacer, a.u. 260, rity of the consuls, march forth under arms to the hill on benefactor of the plebeians. He proposed an agrarian law, B.c. 494. the junction of the Tiber and Anio, two miles from Rome. —that is, a division of the public domains among the poorer ' Here they resolve to settle and form a new city. The citizens, or at least a common right with the patricians, patricians deliberate, and under the hot counsels of their who now usurped the occupation of it, a constant source of haughtiest advisers, are almost prepared to accept this de- dispute from this time forth, as will be hereafter explained, fiance, and allow Rome to be split asunder. But this peril between the two classes. The authority of the proposer was averted by the prudence of more moderate leaders ; and was sufficient to carry this law; but the patricians conthe sedition was appeased, according to the legend, by the trived to thwart its operation, while they watched an opporskilful eloquence of Menenius Agrippa, who related his tunity of avenging themselves upon him. He was accused, apologue of the belly and the members. The seceders re- as soon as his consulship expired, of granting too favourable quired a substantial guarantee for their future security; and terms to the national enemies, and of seeking to make this, we may believe, was the origin of an institution des- himself tyrant of his native city. He was tried, found tined to become one of the chief elements in the Roman guilty, and condemned to the traitor’s death by scourging Origin of polity, the Tribunate of the Plebs. The citizens were and beheading. the tribu- authorized to nominate two tribunes annually, who should The wars of Coriolanus and Spurius Cassius against the nate. have a veto on the decrees of the Senate, and protect the Volscians and Hernicans, two Sabine tribes who lay to the personal liberty of the commons. Their own persons were eastward of the Latins, indicate an extension of the area to be inviolable; and that they might be always at hand to of military operations. Partly through their league with defend their constituents, they must never leave the city the Latins, partly also from the increase of strength for a day; their houses were to be open day and night to gained to the republic by concession to the plebeians, receive every application for assistance. It is remarkable the Romans are advancing again in the career of conthat the election was given in the first instance to the cen- quest. The campaigns of the following years are directed turies, among which the patricians continued, through their against the Volscians, the iEquians, and the Veientes ; but clients, to enjoy a large measure of authority. The num- the progress of victory is still checked from time to time ber of the tribunes was afterwards increased to ten, and as by the refusal of the plebeians to serve until an agrarian any one of them could interfere to prevent the action of all law is not only carried but executed. The contest of the the others, it became the easier for the Senate to divide classes is not now fora relief from debts, or for an equalizaand paralyse its opponents. But the election had previ- tion of political rights, but for admission to a common right ously been transferred to the assembly of the tribes, which of property in the public land. If we could accept an hypo- The Fabii were more independent than the centuries of patrician in- thesis of Niebuhr, the transplantation of the Fabii, a at the numerous and old patrician house, to Cremera, where ^remera, fluence. We may remark in the institution of the tribunate the they were all slain by the Veientes, might be added fatal vice of the Roman polity, which sought to create a to the incidents of the agrarian feud ; for that historian permanent balance of powers by arraying the different supposes them to have migrated from mortification at failorders of the commonwealth in precisely equal force ing, notwithstanding their high character, and their seven against each other, instead of combining them together, successive consulships, to bring about the passing of a mowith joint interests and privileges. If, instead of playing dified law of property. But our authorities at least know off the tribunes against the consuls, it had secured an equal nothing of any such tradition; and the whole affair is far too share in the consulships and the Senate to both patricians uncertain, as a matter of history, to bear the weight of any and plebeians, it might have effected a harmonious co-ope- conjecture of the kind.

300 ROMAN HISTORY. Political But soon after the reported date of this event follows the Senate and the plebs was broken ; and that the efforts Political History, another attempt at effecting an agrarian settlement by a of the tribunes were directed exclusively towards procuring History, tribune named Genucius, accompanied by an impeachment the execution of the unexecuted decree. In the practical v''— Genucius, of the consuls for frustrating the operation of the law. tesult, however, that the division of the public lands was Terentillus, a. u. 286, Against this attack another method is adopted. averted ofbydefence the patricians, they concur.” (On the Credi-A-v-293> b. c. 468. Genucius is suddenly found hility dead of in Early his bed; and from Roman History, ii. 165.) b.c. 461. . this account we infer the popular belief that he was murSuch, then, being the close of this series of agrarian disdered privily by the opposite party. After some further cussions, the old questions suddenly fall into abeyance, and manoeuvres, a compromise is at last effected, by the settle- are superseded by a third. 1 he tribune Terentillus Arsa ment of a plebeian colony on the conquered lands of demands a code of written laws. We are told that during Antium. the monarchy the kings were the supreme dispensers of justice, and acted therein at their own caprice or discretion ; that the consuls succeeded to this along with the other SECT. VII.—HISTORY AND LEGISLATION OF THE kingly prerogatives; and that accordingly up to this time DECEMVIRS. there was not only no written code of law and procedure, History We have remarked already that there is much of a poeti- but that no gradual accumulation of precedents had settled ca1, 01,10,1 of wllat ktion of * in t,ie ,1 s t>l may be called a conventional, character into a definite system of acknowledged usage. The Romans the decem' ^ T ^ the kings; and the same features continue had to begin their law-making from the beginning, and virs. strikingly to pervade the records of the early period of the with this view the demand of the plebeians soon shaped itrepublic, lo some extent, indeed, these latter accounts self into a proposition for sending commissioners to Athens present superior marks of authenticity, in the regular recur- to bring home the laws of that state, and make them the rence of family names, wholly wanting in the former, and basis of the new code of the republic. The demand, inin the frequent mention of such domestic occurrences as deed, of Lerentillus was resisted and evaded, and it was pestilences and portents. These incidents seem to show not till the year 300 that such commissioners, three in that the families and the priests pretended at least to pos- number, were actually despatched to Greece. In the meansess some private registers of the events most interesting time, we may notice one exception to the remark just made to them; the first indeed may be mere fabrications of a in the agrarian law of the tribune Icilius (a.u. 298) for later date, but the others are not apparently of a character assigning lands on the Aventine to the plebeians. This into be deliberately forged. It may be added that there cer- terval contains also some other events of interest: the tainly existed, at a much later epoch, some monuments of surprise of the Capitol by Herdonius the Sabine, with a early history, though we cannot vouch for their genuine- troop of slaves and Roman exiles, implying the continuness ; such as the brazen plates on which were engraved the ance of mutual violence between parties of the state, and treaties made by Rome with Porsenna, and also with the the repeated banishment of their leaders; again, the camHernicans. Polybius knew of a third, which recorded paigns of the republic against the TEquians and Yolscians, a treaty between Rome and Carthage, in the first year in the course of which the brave and frugal Cincinnatus cincinnaof the republic. However we may suspect, from con- was taken from the plough and made dictator, according tus, siderations hereafter to be offered, the genuineness of to a romantic legend, to lead the forces of the state againsl a.u’. 296, these documents, it is right to mark the first signs on the foreign enemy. b.c. 458. the part of our authorities of a reference to historic On the return of the commissioners in the year 303, so The decemtestimony. mns the story, it was resolved to appoint a board of ten, virs, Such meagre incidental notices say little, however, for called decemvirs, to arrange the Roman laws. The patri- a.u. 303, the authenticity of our details of foreign wars or domestic cians insisted that all these officers should be chosen from 451. revolutions, and the minute accounts we have received on their own order, and having gained this point, required these subjects should only serve to put us more on our both the consuls and tribunes to abdicate their functions, guard. Some remarks of Sir G. C. Lewis may put in a and leave them free scope for concerting and enacting clear light the grounds of our suspicion :— their measures. The decemvirs accordingly were not “ It is a peculiarity of the constitutional history of Rome, legislators only, but the rulers of the state; and they were as it is related to us, that after an agitation of some years too well satisfied with the prerogatives they wielded under for one demand of the popular party, another demand suc- their extraordinary commission to acquiesce in the prospect ceeds, without any apparent redress of the former grievance, of resigning them. 1 hey procured the prolongation of or any distinct explanation of the reason why one claim is their office for a second and again for a third year; and it abandoned and another takes its place. The first grievance was not till the year 305 that, in pursuance of a course of of the plebeians is the law of debt, which produces the first arbitrary violence and license, Appius Claudius, the most Appius secession; but Livy and Cicero both describe this move- tyrannical and selfish of the number, provoked the people Claudius ment as leading only to the establishment of the tribunate, to rise in indignation and abrogate it by an abrupt revolu- and Virand not to a remission of debts, or to an alteration of the tion. The story of the lust and cruelty of Appius, the Sinia> law of insolvency. Yet from this time the complaints about peril,^ under a colourable procedure of law, of the fair Vir- A'V'?±g’ the law of debt cease, and the agrarian movement takes ginia’s honour, which her father could only preserve to her B C place. Both historians represent the patricians as making by stabbing her to the heart in his despair, is one of the a successful stand against a division of public land among most striking of the poetical legends of Rome, the more the plebeians, until the sending of a colony to Antium in deserving of attention as it is accompanied by none of the 467 b.c. ; nevertheless, from this year the agrarian ques- supernatural incidents which usually throw suspicion on its tion falls into the background, and another subject steps stories of valour, patriotism, and self-devotion. Nevertheinto the most prominent place. Livy and Dionysius, in- less the incident is related with a circumstantial minuteness deed, differ as to the course of the agrarian agitation ; for which alone seems to warrant us in rejecting it as a true vvheieas the former conceives the tribunes as proposing a narrative; and indeed the discrepancies and improbabiliseiies of laws, all of which are successfully resisted bv the ties which surround the whole account of the decemvirate patricians, the latter states that the Senate in the year jof render its history extremely questionable both in substance Cassius passed a general measure for the division of the and in details. public lands, but that the successive consuls would never The fragments remaining to us of what the later Romans cairy it into effect; that a solemn compact made between themselves regarded as the genuine laws of the Twelve

ROMAN HISTORY. 301 Political Tables are exceedingly slender. Dr Arnold thus describes tween patricians and plebeians should have been passed Political History. t]iejr purport {Hist, of Rome, i. 291) :—“ 1. That there after the fall of the decemvirs, or if it had been enacted by History, v —should be an appeal to the people from the sentence of the decemvirs, why it should not at this moment have been Question of every magistrate ; 2. That all capital trials should be con- repealed.” (Lewis, On the Credibility of Roman History, the credi- ducted before the comitia of the centuries ; 3. That privi- ii. 253.) or acts Nor, it may be added, looking again at the reputed legisthere^ pains and penalties against an individual ceived ac- s'10u^ be unlawful; 4. That the last decision of the people lation of the decemvirs, can we conceive why it should counts. should supersede all former decisions on the same subject; have been necessary to resort to Greece and Athens for 5. That the debtor whose person and property were pledged principles of law which issued in a series of enactments of to his creditors nexus, and he who remained the free mas- so local and national a colour. The matters upon which ter of both, solutus, should be equal in the sight of the the decemvirs are supposed to decide are precisely those law ; that is, that the nexus should not be considered as which have been ever in debate between the two orders of infamis. ... A sixth enactment is expressly ascribed to the Roman people, and their methods of solution are the the last two tables, which Cicero describes as full of un- same which have been already ventilated and discussed, equal laws (these were a later addition to the first ten, and according to our authorities, in its assemblies. We shall were considered more harsh and unjust to the people), have occasion to notice hereafter how gratuitously the first namely, that between the burghers and the commons there writers of Roman history sought to establish a connection should be no legal marriages; if a burgher married the between primitive Rome and the more cultivated world of daughter of a plebeian, his children should follow the Greece ; and there seems much reason to believe that this mother’s condition, and were not subject to their father, pretended commission to the land of Solon was a pure innor could inherit from him if he died intestate.” Upon vention either of Grecian vanity or of Italian admiration. which the same author further remarks,—“ With no fur- An attempt indeed is made by some modern critics to ther knowledge than of these mere fragments, we can establish a distinction between the military and political judge but little of the tenor of the whole law ; but yet, if history, such as we have received them, of early Rome. we had the entire text of the twelve tables before us, we “ While the sceptical conclusions of Sir G. C. Lewis,” says should probably find in them no direct mention of the Dr Liddell, “may be conceded in full for almost all the great constitutional changes which the decemvirs are with wars and foreign transactions of early times, we must reason supposed to have effected. Their code of laws was yet claim attention for the civil history of Rome in the the expression of their legislative rather than of their con- first ages of the republic. There is about it a consistency stituent power ; it contained the rules hereafter to be ob- of progress, and a clearness of intelligence, that would make served by the Roman people, but would not notice those its fabrication more wonderful than its transmission in a organic changes by which the very composition, so to speak, half-traditionary form. When tradition rests solely on memory, it is fleeting and uncertain ; but when it is conof the people itself, was so greatly altered.” These are the remarks of a writer who is deeply imbued nected with customs, laws, and institutions, such as those with a persuasion of the fundamental authenticity of the of which Rome was justly proud, and to which the ruling history of this and of much earlier times ; but to others party clung with desperate tenacity, its evidence must the pretended legislation of the decemvirs seems hardly doubtless be carefully sifted and duly estimated, but ought less apocryphal than the narrative by which it is accom- not altogether to be set aside.” (Liddell’s History of panied. The fall of these tyrants was followed, we are Rome, Preface.) The same distinction had been previassured, by a strong popular re-action ; so much so, that the ously drawn by Niebuhr and Arnold, and made the ground new consuls, bearing, it may be observed, the mythical for an inferential re-construction of Roman history, after names of Valerius and Horatius, are enabled to restore the the rejection of a large proportion of its details. We tribunate, increased in number to ten ; to rehabilitate the have indicated in the preceding paragraph the nature of comitia of the tribes, degraded by the laws of the decem- Sir G. C. Lewis’s argument to show.that the pretended virs ; to secure for the decrees of this assembly {plebiscitd) records of constitutional progress of the republic bear tbe a force binding on all the orders of the state; and yet the same marks of confusion and invention as those of her exprohibition of intermarriage, the most galling mark of class ternal career. The people who elaborated tbe wonderful inferiority, is not only suffered to remain, but is even pub- system of Roman jurisprudence had no doubt a peculiar lished by them as the last legacy of the tyrants, and remains instinct for investigating the causes and origin of their polias a brand upon tbe face of the plebeian order for many tical institutions ; and they naturally demanded from their years to come. “ The decemviral legislation,” says a bold annalists a solution of the phenomena of political usage not but candid inquirer of more recent date, “ was, as we have less urgently than an account of their families and their seen, a measure which originated with the plebeians; but conquests. In the entire absence, as we shall presently it was turned to their oppression, and was overthrown by see, of all authentic history or genuine tradition upon both their resistance. It was intended to remove the inequali- these subjects, they were perhaps as prone to throw themties between the two orders, but it seems to have added to selves upon pure invention for the one as for the other. them. The decemviral government having sprung out of the demands of the plebs, is put down by a plebeian seSECT. VIII.— THE GAULS AT ROME. cession ; an extreme measure, and only one degree short We shall content ourselves accordingly with passing as The Gauls of insurrection or civil war. When the plebs return, they appear to be able to dictate their own terms ; the consuls lightly over the political as the military history of the years at Rome, chosen are devoted to their interest, and introduce im- next ensuing. On the one hand we may observe, the portant legislative measures of a popular character. The patricians are represented as strengthening themselves by only real equalization of rights effected at this time is that the establishment of the office of censors, two magistrates The cenwhich follows the decemviral legislation ; the twelve tables appointed at intervals of five years to hold a census of pro- sors. themselves did nothing for effacing the privileges of the perty and population, to revise the roll of the knights and patricians and the disabilities of the plebeians The senators, and determine the civil status of every member description of the outburst of plebeian power, of the fears of the commonwealth. These arbiters of rank and priviof the patricians lest they should be made the subjects of lege were to be patricians only. On the other hand, we vindictive impeachment, . . . renders it quite unintelligible read that the tribune Canuleius obtained a law for removwhy the laws of the two tables prohibiting marriages be- ing the disabilities which attached to marriage between the

ROMAN HISTORY. 302 Political two classes. At this period commenced the practice, Etruria, an hundred aged senators, who refused to leave Political History, which continued for a series of years, of appointing mili- the city in whose service they had grown gray, were mur- History, tary tribunes, six in number, in the place of the two dered in the Forum or in their houses. Rome was given Burning of Military consuls. According to some accounts, this was a con- up to pillage and conflagration. tribunes. trivance for evading the necessity of opening the consul1 his terrible catastrophe followed quickly upon the exile t^le city, ship to plebeians; other authorities alleged that it was of Camillus, whom the people in their ingratitude had acdemanded by the multiplication of wars in which the com- cused of various misdemeanours, and who, in quitting the monwealth was now constantly engaged. In the year 315 city, had imprecated a curse upon it. Camillus had retired (b.c. 439) Cincinnatus was created dictator a second time to Ardea, and now watched his opportunity to relieve the to quell a fresh sedition of the commons; and his master state on which the gods had so signally avenged him. The of the horse, or second in command, Servilius Ahala, per- fugitives from the Allia and those from the city had ralformed the notable exploit of cutting down the demagogue lied at Veii; and, re-assured by some successful skirmishes, Sp. Maelius, Spurius Maelius, accused of aspiring to the tyranny. Thirty they invited Camillus to put himself at their head, and a. u. 315, years later, the plebeians are said to havethe forced assume officethemselves of dictator. To confirm this appointb. c. 439. jntC) tjie quaestorship, the first ofment the curule magistracies, the consent of thethe Senate and curies was required ; lowest step in the career of honours, through which the so punctually did even the legends of Rome respect the candidate for the consul’s chair was ordinarily required to claims of constitutional usage. A young plebeian, Pontius Pontius pass. Humble as this privilege was, it is said to have been Cominius, undertook to communicate with them, and scaled Cominius. regarded by them as a great prize, inasmuch as it opened the rock of the Capitoline unperceived by the enemy. The the way to the long-coveted eminence—the command of Gauls, hitherto unable to find an access to the summit, armies, and the glories of a triumph. Meanwhile the wars tracked his footsteps, and surprised the garrison by night. of Rome were waged, for the most part, as before, with the The defenders were sleeping securely ; even the dogs were Yolscians, the ASquians, and the Veientes, with a general lulled in slumber; but the geese, sacred to Juno, clamoured success only occasionally chequered by defeat, but brought at the noise, awoke the guards just in time; and Manlius Manlius Camillas, no apparent extension of her frontiers. The final conquest distinguished himself above the rest by the vigour with defends the Capture of of Veii in the year 358, after a ten years’ siege, by the which he repelled the assailants, and hurled them from the Capitol, a u* 358 §s rea * Camillus, attended by many circumstances which be- ramparts. The Romans, however, in their impregnable b c 396' Peak a legendary origin, was speedily followed by the first fortress were suffering from scarcity. Camillus delayed to authentic event in Roman history, the capture and burning appear; they were compelled to treat with the Gauls, who of the city by the Gauls. on their part were anxious to withdraw for the defence of The G-auls While the victorious Romans were pressing upon the de- their own country against an attack of the Veneti. It in the Cis- clining power of the Etruscans in the south, the advance was agreed that the invaders should withdraw with 1000 The ranalpine. 0f tjie Gauls 0f the great Cisalpine plain had harassed them 1b. of gold as the ransom of Rome. When this sum was som of the in the opposite quarter. Two centuries had elapsed since being weighed out, the barbarians were detected in using city, the barrier of the Alps had been burst by a great Celtic false weights ; but when the Romans remonstrated, Brenimmigration, and the valley of the Po, once the seat of nus the Gaulish chief cast his sword into the scale against numerous Etruscan colonies, had been overrun and occu- them, exclaiming, “Woe to the vanquished!” But this pied by the northern barbarians. The Senones, the van- insolence met its due reward. Camillus, having at last guard of the Gaulish invasion, had penetrated to the banks collected and trained his forces, attacked the foe on his of the Alsis and the coast of the Adriatic, and had threatened route homeward, routed him with great slaughter, and refor more than a century to take advantage of the increas- covered the ransom of the city. The people, he declared, ing weakness of Etruria, and descend upon the smiling had had no right to pay it without the consent of the dictavalleys oflower Italy. At last 30,000 warriors of this tribe, tor. The sum thus restored was placed in the vaults of the having threaded the passes of the Apennines, appeared be- Capitol, to be there preserved as a sacred deposit, and never fore the walls of Clusium, and demanded an assignment of expended except in repelling a future invasion of the Gauls. lands. The Clusians implored the intervention of Rome, Such an occasion never again presented itself, but the trea—such it seems was the authority of the warlike republic sure, it was said, was centuries later rifled by the man who conat 150 miles from its frontiers,—and the Senate dispatched, quered their country, and made invasion for ever impossible. not a military force, but three distinguished envoys, to reFrom first to last poetical justice is satisfied on all sides. quire the intruders to desist from their attack. But when The story of the capture of the city is the most perfect in the Gauls refused to hearken to these demands, the envoys, all its parts of the poetical rhapsodies in Roman story. Yet not content with delivering their message in the character that the legend has a groundwork of actual truth, there can of ambassadors, violated the law of nations by actively join- be no reasonable doubt. That Rome was once sacked by ing the Clusians in the defence of their territory. The bar- a sudden irruption of Gauls from beyond the Apennines, barians indignantly broke up their leaguer, and poured the must be regarded as proved by an authentic tradition. The full tide of invasion down the valley of the Tiber. The manner in which the city was rebuilt, so hastily and inconFeciales or heralds, as interpreters of international law, siderately, that the lines of the new streets often crossed urged that the treacherous envoys should be surrendered the sewers of more ancient construction, was a visible proof in expiation of the national sin ; but the influence of the of this event to a later generation. To modern criticism illustrious Fabian house, to which the culprits belonged, it is attested by the evident loss of almost every monument prevailed to protect them, and engaged the people to repel of history and antiquity beyond this date. No such catathe assailants by force. The armed militia of the city strophe occurred again, and accordingly we seem at this Battle of sallied forth to the encounter; but on the banks of the period to get hold at last of the extreme link of the chain the Allia, Allia, eleven miles from the gates of Rome, was routed of genuine tradition ; and though we shall find reason AU blood and d sas rous i f broken defeat.by So was the still, for at least another century, to question much of the B c 394 ’ ' ‘ ' strength ofy the republic thiscompletely single overthrow details of the history, we may believe that the main founthat it was impossible even to defend the walls. The flower dation of events, of names, and of dates, is preserved conof the citizens threw themselves into the Capitol, but the tinuously from henceforth through accredited records, mass of the population, remaining below, was exposed to the whether public or private. Camillus, the second founder, fury of the barbarians; and while the priests and vestals as he was gratefully entitled, of the city, was in fact the oricarried off the sacred images to the friendly city of Care in ginal founder of historic Rome.

ROMAN

HISTORY Political SECT. IX.—UNION OF THE TWO ORDERS BY THE LICINIAN nomen of Marcus. The next domestic occurrence is the Political History. carrying of an agrarian law by the tribunes Licinius and History. AND PUBLILIAN LAWS. Sextius in 377, by which it is provided that no citizen shall v'— “ Yet still,” says Arnold, “ no period of Roman history hold more than 500 jugera (about 320 acres) of the public Agrarian Union of the two since the first institution of the tribunes of the commons land, nor feed on the public pastures beyond a certain laws of LH orders by really more obscure than the thirty years immediately number of cattle. Finally, in the same year, the plebs cmius an engaged.” Pontius lelesinus. The disgrace was harder to bear than B•c• 321the disaster. I he city clothed itself in mourning; the consuls, who had submitted in person to this ignominy, SECT. X.—THE SAMNITE WARS, AND CONQUEST OF CENTRAL dared not re-assume their places. Twice was a dictator ITALY. nominated, but each time the auspices forbade his creation. At last Valerius Corvus, the interrex, or provisional chief The SaraRoman history now enters upon a wider field. A branch magistrate, caused two of the most distinguished citizens, nite wars, of the great Sabellian nation, the inhabitants of the moun- Papirius Cursor and Publilius Philo, to be elected consuls; and con- tain tracts of central Italy, having extended their conquests quest of far into the south, have made themselves masters of the and Posthumius, one of the beaten generals, declaring that the republic ought not to be bound by the terms which in central Etruscan colonies in Campania. The Samnites are esta- his distress had been extorted from him, insisted that he Italy. blished in Capua, Nola, Cumae, and other cities, and have should himself be given up to the enemy, together with his here assumed the name of Campanians, from the country to colleagues the quaestors and tribunes, and every other officer which they have succeeded. Their influence extends of the legions who had signed the disgraceful capitulation. throughout the Greek cities of the coast, Neapolis and Pontius, indignant or generous, or possibly coolly calcuPalaepolis, Stabiae and Herculaneum ; with the old name lating the consequences of accepting the proffered satisfacof Samnites they have lost their ancient language and na- tion for a deliberate breach of public faith, refused to retional associations ; and this offshoot from the parent race ceive these prisoners, and demanded the literal fulfilment now finds itself arrayed in war against other branches of of the terms they had exchanged with him. War recomthe same original stock, the Samnites of the mountains. menced. The Samnites gained some successes, but the I he Campanians, as the weaker and less warlike of these Romans gradually got the upper hand ; the consuls penenations may now be called, solicited the assistance of Rome trated into Apulia, took Lucania, and recovered the arms, against the attack of their hardier kinsmen, and offered to the ensigns, and the hostages captured at Caudium. PosA. u. 411, surrender their city to the republic as the price of her sibly the Romans fabricated the story of a complete defeat B. C. 343. powerful protection. of their enemies, and the retrieval of their own dishonour Dawn of We have now reached the dawn of genuine history, and by making the Samnites pass under the yoke in their turn. p0ntius the genuine the narrative of events recorded by the historians assumes The brave Pontius, however, was carried captive to Rome. Samnite. history. a new complexion. We lose sight from henceforth of the Nevertheless we hear soon afterwards of an irruption of the train of marvellous and romantic stories which imparted a Samnites into the Roman territories in Campania, the deseductive charm to our earlier records; but in return we fection of Capua, and the great defeat of the dictator Fabius obtain a glimpse at least of political combinations and stra- Maximus at Lautulae. These losses were balanced again tegic manoeuvres which throws an air of truthfulness over by a second victory in 440, once more in the neighbourthe narrative that follows. Family pride indeed may have hood of Caudium, in which the Samnites were totally 1

Strabo, v., p. 232; Arnold, ii. 172.

305 ROMAN HISTORY. Political routed. Campania is now recovered ; the enemy shut up Political History. in the Apennines; colonies established, as outposts of the SECT. XI.—THE WAR WITH PYRRHUS. History. Homan power, at Suessa Aurunca, Interamna on the Liris, Rome was now destined to encounter, for the first time, Casinum and Luceria; and the Romans so far advance in the highest form of civilization and the most scientific mili- T^e war 1 r enterprise and confidence as to commence the construction tary tactics of the ancient world. The luxurious and un^‘ of a navy to overawe the distant seaport of Tarentum. In warlike cities of the Lucanian coast, though Greek by ori442 (b.c. 312) a second Decius Mus gains a triumph, for gin, had long lost the valour and discipline of their nation, the first time, over the Samnites ; but this is speedily fol- and could only oppose to the rude warriors of Latium the lowed by a long succession of similar distinctions. An arts of policy and statecraft. But now a genuine Greek alliance of the Samnites with the Etruscans created at this soldiery was about to appear upon the stage, with the moment a formidable diversion against Rome ; but the strength of the Macedonian phalanx and the resources of vigour and fortune of the republic prevailed, and her out- Grecian economy. posts were advanced far forward in every direction before The Romans had constructed some vessels at Thurii. the Samnites sued for peace. With these they were cruising in the Gulf of Tarentum, The second Samnite war was concluded in 450; the now nominally at peace with the republic, when the Tarenthird commenced in 455. The Samnites had again com- tines, jealous of this attempt to form a navy, sallied forth bined with the Etrurians, and had extended their league from their harbour, declaring that the Romans were bound to the Umbrians and other nations of central Italy. A by treaty not to navigate their ships beyond the Lacinian fresh body of Gauls was secured to this formidable alliance. promontory, and destroyed or chased home the Roman vesThis was the crowning struggle for Roman supremacy in sels. They even followed up this insult by an attack on Battle of the peninsula. The great battle of Sentinum, in which the Roman garrison at Thurii. When Posthumius arrives Sentinum, victory was secured to the republic by the self-devotion of as an ambassador to lay his complaint before them, they A. u.the 459,younger Decius, resulted in the total overthrow of the B. c.Gauls 295. and Samnites by Q. Fabius Maximus, and was un- assail him with mockery and insult. He swears that the filth they fling upon his toga shall be washed away in their doubtedly one of the most important actions in which the blood. A Roman army speedily appears before Tarentum; arms of Rome were engaged. The alliance of the Italian and the nobles, who had taken no part, perhaps, in the nations was broken up; henceforth the contest became brutal violence of their populace, would have yielded at more desultory, and its details are imperfectly recorded. once; but the people, in their vanity, scorned submission L. Papirius Cursor and Sp. Carvilius are now the most dis- to the foreigner, and invoked the aid of Pyrrhus, King of tinguished of the Roman generals. The brave Pontius is Epirus. This chief, the most noted warrior of his age, w'as made prisoner, led in triumph, and cruelly executed, ac- the cousin, though several years junior, of Alexander the cording to the established usage of Roman warfare. The Great. He had succeeded his father in regular course in Samnites submit for the third time in the year 464 (b.c. the throne of Epirus ; but his career had been from the 290). They appear indeed once more in arms a few years first that of an adventurer rather than of a sovereign. Amlater, but only as the subordinate allies of a new enemy. bitious, restless, and captivated with a vague aspiration for Their independence is now finally broken, and the Roman glory, in imitation of his illustrious relative, he was easily power is definitively established over lower Italy, with the persuaded by the Tarentines, who promised him an extenexception of a few Grecian cities in Lucania and Bruttium. sive alliance and a force of 350,000 combatants, to underLatium, Campania, Apulia, and Samnium, have now fallen take the deliverance of the Greeks in Italy from the threatunder the sword of the republic. In the north the Etrus- ened yoke of obscure barbarians. Landing with a veteran cans are still hostile, but cowed and dispirited. The Gauls force of 25,000 men, and attended by 20 elephants, Pyrrhus still hover on the frontiers of the Roman dominion, and gained a victory at Heraclea over the first consular army Battle of still shake from time to time, in a well-timed foray, the ol the Romans, but with such loss on his own side as caused Heraclea. unsteady allegiance of the Umbrians and Pelignians. him to remark already, that such another victory would be Bands of Samnites still maintain a guerilla warfare in re- his ruin. He recovered, indeed, some towns on the coast, mote districts, and agitate the untamed savagery of Cala- as the fruits of this hard-won triumph; but the promised bria, a people formed, so both Greeks and Romans asserted, allies failed to make their appearance ; he found the Tarenby the concourse of fugitive slaves in its woods and moun- tines nerveless and inefficient; he was glad to disguise his tains. The Grecian cities on the Lucanian coast were mortification by offering terms of peace to the Romans, on trembling at the steady advance of the conquerors from the condition of their leaving the Greek cities in freedom, and Tiber. Tarentum, the only one of them which now re- restoring their lands to the Samnites and Apulians. Cineas, tained an active vitality, hastened, in its feverish excite- the envoy whom he sent with these terms to Rome, rement, to form a new coalition against Rome, in which some turned unsuccessful, but filled with admiration of the numstates of Etruria were induced to join. The praetor Me- bers, the bravery, and undaunted spirit of his master’s tellus, with 13,000 men, fell in an attempt to succour Arre- enemies. This report inspired the King of Epirus with tium, and at the new's of this disaster the Gaulish Senones increased anxiety; but,, brave and^aring as he was, he derushed at once to arms. The consul Dolabella swiftly termined to make a bold dash, and, turning the flank of a crossed the Apennines, and attacked these barbarians in second army opposed to him, he got within a few leagues their own territory, which he ravaged, in return for the de- of Rome itself. A third force was recalled from the borvastation they had so often committed in Latium. The ders of Etruria to cover the capital, and he was compelled Battle of great battle of the Vadimonian lake crushed the Gauls to retreat, lest he should find himself surrounded. The the Vadi- and Etruscans together. Peace was re-established about Romans now sent in their turn an embassy to treat for the monian 472; and without a formal surrender of the Etruscan ransom of their prisoners. The courage and presence of lake, cities, the Romans could depend from henceforth on the a.ti. 471, sure effect of their weakness and despair in reducing them mind displayed by Fabricius, according to the well-known story, made a deep impression on the mind of Pyrrhus; B.C. 283. to complete submission. Meanwhile the republic had and when the republic generously advertised him of a plot been no less successful in the south. Fabricius took for his assassination, he was so touched by this trait of Thurii, and carried off the first Grecian booty to Rome. honourable feeling that he sent back the prisoners without The coalition was utterly broken; and Tarentum, still un- terms. Meanwhile the condition of the Greeks in Sicily, assailed, but denuded of her Italian allies, was obliged to assailed by the fleets of Carthage, became even more presslook beyond Italy for her future protectors. ing than that of their compatriots in Italy, and Pyrrhus VOL. XIX. 2y

306

ROMAN HISTORY. Political seized the excuse for postponing his contest with Rome, ferences and foster jealousies among them, to separate the Political History. an[| transporting himself to Syracuse. Here, again, his one from another in feeling and usage, and prevent their History, first successes only led him into fresh difficulties, and once combining together for any common purpose, least of all more he was glad to escape from his actual embarrassments, for the purpose of extorting common terms from their conand try his fortune in Italy. The Romans, however, had querors. In the early times the patricians had been the citizens, had time to recover from their losses; and now, familiarized with the aspect of the formidable elephants,—bulls of Lu- the plebeians the subjects of the state. This distinction cania, as they ignorantly termed them,—they were fully a had, in process of time, and through many struggles, bematch for the Greek army in the field. Curius Dentatus come nearly obliterated. The Romans and Italians w^ere Pattle of gained the victory of Beneventum, and Pyrrhus was com- now to go through a like career in relation to one another. Beneven- pelled to fly ignominiously to his own dominions. Curius But the Romans had now' become more or less conscious tum. triumphed, in a chariot drawn by four of the Libyan mon- of the principle under which their early revolutions had sters he had taught the Romans to despise. Pyrrhus fell evolved themselves, and they seem to have contemplated Pyrrhus soon afterwards in an obscure struggle at Argos. Hostili- steadily from the first the gradual progress of the Italians slain at ties continued in the south of Italy for some years longer. to the goal of civic equality. They decreed that the soArgos. Papirius and Carvilius once more overcame the Samnites. vereign people should be always the people of the Forum, Tarentum submitted; its walls were overthrown, its arms and that its civil rights should only be exercised within the a. and shipsu. forfeited to the conquerors. 482, The Carthaginians, sacred limits of the city; but they provided at the same b. who hadc. recently offered 272. their alliance to Rome, were time for the admission of their subjects, one by one, withwarned off the shores of Italy, which were now completely in these limits, as a long probation of service and dependence subjected to Rome, from the jEsar and Rubicon in the should seem gradually to qualify them for political assiminorth to the Straits of Messana and the lapygian pro- lation. Such admission might wound the pride and touch montory. the immediate interests of a race of conquerors and plunderers; but the spirit of ambition and cupidity required fresh SECT. XII. REVIEW OP THE ROMAN GOVERNMENT AT THE recruits to maintain it, and as the empire was extended, greater numbers were necessary to preserve it. Between PERIOD OF THE CONQUEST OP ITALY. tlve years a.u. 370-490 (384 and 264 b.c.) twelve new Review of The Romans had now conquered Italy, and made the tribes were created, and the Ager Romanus, or national the Roman fb-gt great step towards the conquest of the world. We domain, extended from the Ciminian wood in Etruria, on the govern- niust pause for a moment to review the way in which they one side, to the middle of Campania, on the other. Upon period of or5anized these new dominions, and made them a ground this territory the censors enumerated 292,334 men capable of bearing arms, or a total population of 1,200,000 souls, the con- of vantage for the further extension of their power. quest of The most striking difference in the development of an- to form the great central garrison of Italy. Two centuries Italy. cient and modern politics results from the generally repub- before, according to one account, the military force of lican character of the one, and monarchic constitution of Rome was computed at only 104,214 men. While we the other. The extension of the Athenian and of the Ro- may decline to place any reliance at least on these latter man empire was formed either by conquest or colonization, numbers, the fact of their being thus recorded evinces the while that of the great states of modern Europe has re- belief of the Romans themselves in the early practice of sulted far more commonly from dynastic marriages and political incorporation. successions. Had ancient Italy been parcelled out among If we may speak of an original Roman people as contrasted a number of sovereign families, it would probably have with the aggregate now created, we may believe that at fallen, state by state, under the sway of one fortunate dy- this time its numbers did not exceed one-half of the whole nasty ; wars might have played a part in the transforma- body. But the original twenty-one tribes gave it so many tion, but dynastic alliances would have been still more suffrages in the assembly, while the new recruits were effectual; Mars might have brought many nations under enrolled in twelve additional tribes only, and exercised no the yoke, but the influence of Venus would have proved more than twelve votes. Such were the tribes of the still more powerful. The populations of the peninsula were Etruscans, the Latins, the Ausonians, the ACquians, and sufficiently homogeneous to have constituted an aggregate the Volscians. A little later than the era at which we people, of equal laws and similar institutions, from the Ru- have arrived, in the year of the city 513, two more tribes bicon to the Straits of Messana. It might still be a ques- were appropriated to the Sabines. But besides their inferiotion whether the configuration of the country—its great rity in number, these new and extraneous members of the length and slender breadth of surface, its mountain divisions national body had little opportunity, from their distance from and diversities of soil and climate—would have permitted the Forum, of influencing the course of affairs in the city. in ancient times a national union on such a footing, the im- Nor, though thus stationed in the immediate neighbourpracticability of which in our days is recognised as a poli- hood of the capital, did these foreign tribes occupy the tical maxim ; but however this may be, the republican whole surrounding territory. The Ager Romanus was character ot the Italian institutions of itself precluded the intersected, almost within sight from the gates, by parcels operation of those peacelul influences which, as we have of land which still remained in the hands of strangers, and said, might have been more effective to such an end than bore the designation of Ager peregrinus. Several cities of war, and it only remained to be seen whether the rivalries Latium, such as Tibur and Prseneste, still bore the title of and animosities of so many equal neighbours would termi- Latin instead of Roman, retained their own municipal institunate in their mutual exhaustion and ruin, or in the avowed tions, and were attached to the republic not by the possession predominance of one. of the Roman franchise, but by the condition of a specific I he latter alternative, as we have seen, found place. eligibility to it. Any of their citizens who had served cerThe predominance ot Rome was acknowledged. We have tain magistracies in them, became qualified thereby for the now to see by what methods she maintained and perpetuated enjoyment of citizenship at Rome, and the constant accesit. It was no part ot her policy, for it did not come within sion of individuals from this source helped to replenish the the scope of Italian ideas, to mould her conquests into one void made by perennial warfare, no less than the occasional nation. On the contrary, her object was to wrest from introduction into the state of corporate communities. the vanquished their independence, to stifle their nationality, The franchise, or rights of the city, thus obtained,—the to make them docile subjects; for this end, to create dif- object for the most part of the dearest vows of the subjects

ROMAN HISTORY. 307 Political of Rome,—comprehended, 1. Absolute authority over the jealousy relaxed, and these distinctions, long maintained, Political History. vvjfe ancl children, slaves and chattels ; 2. A guarantee of became more and more effaced. They subsided at last History, personal liberty, exemption from stripes, security from into three classes and conditions of rights : the jus civitatis, v—^ capital punishment, except by the vote of the people or which conferred a share in the sovereignty ; theur,ic warterranean. The Greek colonies in Sicily had fallen under her dominion, as well as the barbarous tribes of Sardinia. On the extinction of the Grecian power in this quarter, the two rivals were about to come into serious collision. The Carthaginians were preparing to seize the Alolian Islands, barren rocks indeed, but almost within sight of Naples and the Campanian coast. Still, however, a single stronghold withstood them in Sicily, from whence the Romans might hope to make good a footing in that important island, and check their advance beyond it. Messana was occupied by a band of buccaneering adventurers, who had recently overthrown the government, and expelled or subjugated the inhabitants, but now, pressed hard by the Carthaginian power, presumed to solicit assistance from the legitimate government of Rome. To render such assistance was contrary to the principles of international law, even as then understood ; the Romans, moreover, had just before visited a similar act of lawlessness with the severest punishment. Now, however, self-interest prevailed, and itA>tL49o was determined to use the opportunity for establishing a B.c. 264. Roman force in Sicily. Such was the origin of the first Punic war, which commenced in the year 490 (b.c. 264), and lasted without intermission for twenty-two years. The great object of the Romans was to gain possession of Sicily, a rich and fertile country, and of special importance to them, from the abundance of corn which it was fitted to produce; for Rome had already become dependent in some degree on foreign importation for the supply of a population withdrawn from the pursuits of agriculture, and engaged perpetually in the barren exercise of arms. The Strait of Messana is only 3 miles in width, and though watched by the naval forces of the great maritime republic, the Romans had little difficulty in throwing re-inforcements across it: nevertheless, they soon found it essential to their views to contend with the Carthaginians for the dominion of the seas. At first they were obliged to build their ships of war from the model of an enemy’s vessel, cast accidentally on their coasts ; but this ignorance of naval architecture was the least of their disadvantages in commencing the struggle ; for they had no experience of naval tactics, nor even of navigation. Nevertheless they exerted themselves with their usual energy, constructed a numerous fleet, manned it by a conscription of the lowest class of citizens, such as was not admitted to serve in the legions, and fought their ships with crews of mere landsmen, aiming rather at grappling and boarding the enemy, than at manoeuvring against him, and sinking him with the stroke of the beak. They succeeded almost from the first, though not without many reverses, sometimes from storms, sometimes from the greater skill of the Carthaginians, in keeping the sea at least on terms of equality. In the year 498 (b.c. 256) they had so far gained the ascendancy as to be able to land a large army, under the consul Regulus, on the coast of Africa, with which they Regulugin ravaged the country, and approached to the walls of the Africa, capital. But the Carthaginians, putting forth all their a.u. 498, power, here inflicted on them a decisive defeat, making b.c. 256.

l 11 The theory of Niebuhr respecting the derivation of the early Roman history from ballads or epic lays, is also examined and refuted by Schwegler vol. i., pp. 58-63. His principal arguments are 1. That the conditions of an early national epic poetry were wanting amono- the Romans • 2. That the early history bears no mark of proceeding from plebeian poets, whose songs were animated by an antipatrician spirit - 3.'That these poems, if they had ever existed, would not have entirely disappeared; 4. That the early Roman history has not the character of free political invention, but is composed in great part of aetiological legends, of stories laboriously invented in order to explain existing names, institutions, customs, rites, and monuments. Schwegler lays it down that, as far as the early Roman history does not consist of aetiological legends, it is the deliberate fabrication of historians, or formed of legal and constitutional traditions.” (Sir G. 0. Lewis On the Credibility of Early Roman History, i. 229.) Such is the conclusion established also by the powertui reasoning of this English writer, and it is now, we believe, generally accepted by the learned in Germany.

1 310

ROMAN

HISTORY. Political Regulus prisoner, and suffering a small remnant only to behind to secure communications through so long a route. Political History, make good its return to Italy. Regulus, we are told, was Hannibal crossed the Rhone with little more than 50,000 History, v*^ afterwards sent to Rome on parole, to negotiate peace. men. His easiest and directest route into Italy lay by coast He dissuaded his countrymen from yielding to dishon- line, turning the lowest spur of the Maritime Alps ; but this ourable terms, and returned to his captors, to be put to road was watched by the Roman general Scipio, and the death, according to the popular story, with tortures, but, as Ligurians, into whose territory it would have led him, were the later Romans themselves allowed, to live some years in less likely to receive him as a deliverer than the Gaulish custody, and eventually to die a natural death. War was tribes, such as the Boii and Insubres, who lay among the again renewed, and continued with alternate successes} valleys of the Graian Alps, further to the north. Hannibal the reduction of Panormus by the Romans (a.u. 500, b.c. determined to hazard two steps, both equally bold. He al254), the defeat of their fleet at Drepanum (505, 249), lowed Scipio’s army to land on his flank, at the mouth of the loss of another armament by tempest at Camarina, and the Rhone, and occupy the tracts which he was about to the final victory at sea off the islands Agates (513, 241). leave behind him; then taking the line of the I sere, he Hannibal It was terminated at last by the exhaustion of the Cartha- ventured to climb the almost inaccessible pass of the Little crosses the ginians, who were reduced to the necessity of purchasing St Bernard, in the middle of October, with his large force Alps, peace by the cession of all their claims on Sicily and the of men, horses, and elephants. He had not even assured himself of the co-operation of the rude mountaineers, who ^Eolian islands. The Carthaginians now turned their attention to Spain, harassed and attacked him on his march, and caused him where they raised in a few years a new empire, which more both losses and delay. Indeed that perilous enterprise, than balanced the loss of Sicily, as well as that of Sardinia, which we must suppose he undertook after due calculation, which revolted from them, and fell, as did also Corsica, as the only means of accomplishing his purpose, and launchnot long afterwards, under the power of the Romans. These ing a Carthaginian army into the bosom of a discontented great rivals remained at peace with one another for more population, cost him more than half the force with which he than thirty years; but while the Carthaginians were acquir- had crossed the Rhone ; and when, after pausing at the suming the gold mines of Spain, and recruiting their armies with mit of the pass, and encouraging his followers by showing its hardy infantry, the Romans were making great advances to them the land of promise, he descended into the valley in internal resources, and pushing their conquests at the of the Po, he could muster no more than 20,000 foot and Embassy same time in other quarters. In 525 they crossed the Ad- 6000 cavalry. Nor did the Gauls in these parts manifest at of from Rome riatic, and made successful incursions into Illyria. The first any ardour in his behalf. It was not till he had gained Battles to Greece, following year was distinguished by an embassy from Rome some notable successes at the passage of Ticinus and the Ticinus lre a. u. 526, to Greece, wdiere the Corinthians allowed the envoys of Trebia that they began to throw themselves vehemently ^ ' b. c. 228. into his cause. But now his numbers rapidly swelled, and the formidable “strangers” to take part in the Isthmian games. About this period, however, we read of a threatened while the Romans, disconcerted by their first disasters, were invasion of Gauls. The city was struck with panic. The recruiting their broken legions, he crossed the Apennines with priests required that two men of that nation should be buried a force of 50,000 men. Again the passage of the marshes alive, as a sacrifice, in the Forum. A state of “tumult” of the Upper Arnus cost him a large portion of his troops, was declared, and the whole body of the citizens raised and and he suffered himself the loss of an eye by fever. These armed for the defence of their country. The consul AHmi- troubles, however, were repaid by the great victory of the lius went forth at the head of the legions, and confronted Lake Thrasymenus, where the consul Flaminius, rashly Battle of Thrasymethe assailants in the valley of the Po, where he gained a meeting him, was overthrown with immense loss, and slain. nu3, great victory over them, and received the honours of a From Thrasymenus to Rome was no more than 100 miles; Marcellas triumph. In another battle the Roman leader Marcellus nor was there any army to cover the city, for the other gains the slew, in a personal combat, the king of the Gauls, Viridu- consul had posted himself with his legions at Ariminum, to “ spolia marus, and bore his arms, the “ spolia opima,” to the Capi- guard the approach from the east. Hannibal had boldly opima. toj. This eminent reward of prowess had been won but twice out-flanked two armies, and beaten a third; but with all before by Romulus and Tullus Hostilius ; nor was it ever his boldness, he hesitated to strike at the enemy’s centre, Conquest of gained by a Roman captain again. The conquest of the while leaving such forces in his rear. His intrigues with the Cisal- Cisalpine and of the Istrian peninsula followed upon this the Umbrians, the Etrurians, and other people of central pine. repulse of the Transalpine barbarians. Meanwhile the Car- Italy, had been unsuccessful. The country was generally thaginians were advancing to the entire dominion of Spain. animated with a national spirit of jealousy towards the foTheir politic chief, Hamilcar Barcas, was succeeded in reigner. He turned aside to the left, and re-crossed the his command there by his son Hannibal, whom he had Apennines into Picenum; thence he directed his course sworn in childhood to eternal enmity against Rome; and towards the Grecian colonies in the south-east of the penthis enmity the young captain was now about to gratify, insula. Meanwhile the gravity of their danger had excited having persuaded his government to let him lead all the the patriotism of the Romans to the highest pitch. Vast forces of the province against Italy, cross the Pyrenees, exertions were made; another army was raised ; and Fabius traverse the friendly regions of southern Gaul, and descend Maximus, the chie’f of the nobles, led it, as dictator, in quest from the Alps among the newly-conquered subjects of Rome, of the enemy, who had descended along the coast of the whom h^expected to unite in a mighty league against their Adriatic into Apulia. Here, too, where Hannibal had enemies and his own. had better hopes, the population showed itself indifferent, if not hostile, to its deliverers. The Carthaginian was anxious to stake his fortunes on a battle; but Fabius knew SECT. XYI.—THE SECOND PUNIC WAR. the value of delay, and refused to allow his raw recruits to The second The second Punic war commenced in 536 (b.c. 218) engage with the despair of sturdy veterans and an able Punic war. with the destruction of Saguntum by the Carthaginians, general. Thus matters stood for some time. The condiin defiance of the Roman remonstrances. Spain was now tion of the invader becoming daily more precarious, when sufficiently reduced to form the basis of Hannibal’s pro- Terentius Varro, now'consul, and enjoying command every posed operations. Assembling an army of 82,000 foot and alternate day, yielded to his own and his men’s impatience, 12,000 horse, he commenced his march. This large force, and engaged the enemy in the pitched battle of Cannae. This Battle of how-ever, was very considerably reduced by the fatigues of was noted as the most disastrous defeat the Romans ever Cannae, the march, and by the garrisons it was necessary to leave sustained. ^Emilius, the other consul, and 45,000 of their

311 ROMAN HISTORY. Political soldiers were slain, and Hannibal sent to Carthage a bushel fifteen years; but it was only to encounter a general of Political History. of golden rings taken from the persons of the knights who equal skill, and an army not less trained to conquer than History, had fallen. It was only the extreme debility of the victor, his own, and to suffer the decisive overthrow at Zama, even after this victory, that gave Rome a breathing-time, which laid his country prostrate at the feet of the Romans. Battle of and the devotion of the citizens would not suffer them to Carthage sued for peace, but was required to surrender all ZarTia> despair of the commonwealth in the hour of her greatest her remaining possessions except the district immediately humiliation. Hannibal was admitted into Capua ; but this adjacent, together with her ships, her elephants, and her was almost the only fruit of his triumph; and the allure- treasure. She still retained her brave commander Hanniments of this luxurious retreat were more fatal to the dis- bal, and allowed him to take the lead in her councils, in cipline of his army, and to his own reputation, than even a which he was still animated by the same hatred of the Rodefeat. mans and zeal for the advancement of his country’s interests. Hannibal now urged his government to send him re-in- The Romans watched his proceedings with jealousy, and forcements; but a rival faction predominated in the Car- he was soon obliged to flee to the distant court of Syria, thaginian Senate, and caused the resources of the country lest they should insist on his being delivered up to them. to be diverted to Spain: indeed, he possessed no port on The second Punic war, thus brought to a triumphant close, the coast of Italy at which an army could have made good was the most important struggle in which Rome was ever its landing. The Roman forces grew, in the language of engaged,—one of the most important perhaps in the history the poet, from defeat, as the branches of the ilex under the of the human race ; the event of which, instead of crushing pruning-knife. Numerous fleets and armies were speedily the rising fortunes of the republic, established her in the arrayed, and Hannibal found himself surrounded in Capua secure enjoyment of the greatest power in the civilized by 220,000 men in arms. During the following years he world, and was the harbinger of the rapid succession of was occupied painfully, and with little success, in the siege triumphs which made her, in the course of another century of the strong places around him, while Fabius gained the and a half, mistress of the fairest regions of Europe, Africa, title of Cunctalor (“ The Delayer”), from the cautious tactics and Asia. with which he shunned encountering him in the field. At last Hannibal was obliged to make his escape from the toils SECT. XVII. POLITICAL CONDITION OP THE WORLD AT THIS PERIOD. which were closing around him by a rapid retreat into Apulia, leaving Capua to the vengeance of the Romans, The fall of Carthage secured to Rome a complete pre- Political condition who treated it as a revolted dependency. When it sur- ponderance throughout the western regions of Europe andofthe rendered, after a long blockade, seventy of its senators were Africa. Placing her ally Masinissa on the throne of Nu- ld scourged to death, three hundred nobles thrown into chains, midia, she kept her prostrate rival in a constant state °f^°g p and the whole population sold as slaves. Such was a sample terror and annoyance at home, while she prosecuted at of the policy of the republic towards a people whom, on the leisure the plans of further aggrandisement she had long principles of national law then recognised, it might justly contemplated. In Spain the legions which had formerly assisted the rude natives against the Carthaginians were regard as rebels. Disastrous, however, as Hannibal’s affairs in Italy now now prepared to turn upon them, with every advantage of were, he was able to get some respite by the diversions his skill and resources; and though the complete reduction of intrigues effected in other quarters. The Romans were the Iberian peninsula was the work of more than two cenobliged to send Marcellus with a powerful fleet to chastise turies, and cost the efforts of many armies and a long sucCapture of the defection of Syracuse, which was only taken after a cession of generals, the issue was never doubtful, and the Syracuse, long siege, rendered memorable by the ingenuity employed progress of the invaders, which triumphed very early over a.u. 542, in its defence by the mathematician Archimedes. Mar- the best and richest parts of the country, was only retarded B.c. 212. cellus himself fell soon afterwards into an ambuscade in in the mountains, or on distant and inhospitable shores. Apulia. Scipio, who had conducted several campaigns in Nearer home, in the Cisalpine, the Romans exercised a forSpain, allowed Hasdrubal, the brother of Hannibal, to bearance or evinced a caution not easy to explain. They escape him, and cross the Alps with a large re-inforcement. suffered the Gaulish tribes to retain their independence Hannibal collected all his resources to effect a junction with almost unassailed. But the Gauls themselves seem from this powerful auxiliary. Rome put forth her full strength to this time to have lost the aggressive spirit which had so encounter the double danger. Livius confronted Hasdru- long distinguished them. They devoted themselves to the bal in Umbria, while Claudius Nero encamped before habits of settled life, turned to good account the teeming H annibal. But Nero, with happy temerity, broke up from fertility of their soil, and prepared for Rome, when at leisure his quarters with a picked division of his troops, and join- to make the acquisition, the fairest and wealthiest of all Battle of ing Livius, surprised Hasdrubal on the River Metaurus. her provinces. Gaul beyond the Alps, and Germany beMetaurus, The united forces of the Romans obtained a complete vic- yond the Rhine, remained at this time almost equally unA.TJ. 547, tory ; and Hannibal was first made aware of this terrible dis- known to the conquerors of Carthage, and were equally u.c. 207. aster by receiving the head of his brother thrown exultingly disregarded by her greedy ambition. In the south, the north, and the west, there was little to engage the interest into his camp. The Romans, notwithstanding the occupation of so large of her predatory chiefs; but when they looked eastward, a part of their own territories by a hostile force, had con- they saw before them vast countries filled with the accumutinued to maintain an army in Spain, and persisted in the lated wealth of ages of civilization,—presenting indeed an task of wresting that important province from Carthage. imposing front of arms and organization, but, as perhaps In the course of this war two Scipios perished; but a third, they had already learned, devoid of the vital spirit of nathe most distinguished of this illustrious house, known tionality, and ready to crumble into dust at the first rude afterwards as the elder Africanus, completed the conquest, shock of a lusty and resolute assailant. At the death of Alexander the Great the Macedonian and, flushed with victory, urged the Senate to transfer the contest to Africa itself. This bold manoeuvre was opposed empire had been split into several parts; a century after by the cautious Fabius, but the enthusiasm of Scipio pre- his death it had fallen to pieces. Babylon had become the vailed ; and when a Roman army was landed in the neigh- seat of a Parthian monarchy, which held the valleys of the bourhood of Carthage, the enemy were compelled to recall Tigris and Euphrates; while the realms to the eastward Hannibal for the defence of their own homes. Hannibal had renounced all connection with the west, from which effected his retreat, quitting Italy after an occupation of they were now permanently separated. Antiochus main-

312

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HISTORY. Political tained a powerful empire in Asia Minor and Syria, extend- tained ; but when the ACtolians invited the arm of Rome Political History. ing from Pelusium to Smyrna; but the northern districts to their assistance, this equality was speedily displaced. History. of the peninsula had been seized by various lesser poten- Philip was the last to perceive the inevitable issue. When tates. The Gauls, under the name of Galatae, occupied the Senate sent to declare hostilities against him, he would one province. There was a kingdom of Bithynia, another only reply to Paulus ASmilius, the Roman envoy, in terms of Pontus, another of Pergamus. The states of Lycia of raillery and scorn. maintained an independent confederation. In the interior of the country, the Isaurians and Lycaonians, to whom may SECT. XVIII.—WARS WITH PHILIP AND ANTIOCHUS. be added some tribes of the Cilicians, to whatever sovereign they were nominally subject, were merely lawless Already, during the occupation of southern Italy by Wars with freebooters. The most flourishing of all existing polities Hannibal, the Romans had been taught to regard the King Philip and at this time was the kingdom of Egypt, under the dynasty of Macedon as an enemy, who watched every opportunity Antiochus. of the Ptolemies, who, secure in their distant and scarcely to crush them, and whose blow they must not hesitate to accessible territory, had leisure to accumulate wealth and anticipate. The overthrow of Carthage had hardly been to foster the arts and sciences. The second century B.c. accomplished when the Senate insisted on declaring war in Egypt may be regarded as the crowning period of intel- against this distant intriguer, and urged the reluctant comlect and cultivation in the ancient world. Besides their mons of the city to pour forth their blood and treasure possessions on the continent of Africa, the Ptolemies pos- again without a moment’s respite. At this period, indeed, sessed the island of Cyprus, and the acquisition of this ma- and for many years afterwards, Rome acted like the spendrine dependency, as well as the interests of their commerce, thrift who squanders his capital in the enjoyment of the on which the prosperity of their kingdom mainly depended, hour. The blood of Rome and Italy was lavished without made them jealous of the Carthaginians, and disposed them stint, and the Senate, in its selfishness and short-sightedto an alliance with Rome. The republic had first entered ness was content to receive in its stead a constant influx of into relations with Egypt under Ptolemy Philadelphus, in foreigners and barbarians, captured in war or purchased in the year 481 (b.c. 273); and such was now the intimacy the slave-market, and condemned to cultivate its fields in between the two powers, that the Roman Senate was chosen chains. The fatal result of this policy will be soon exhias the fittest guardian for Ptolemy Epiphanes, at this time bited ; at this era it was not foreseen, or was recklessly the youthful heir to the throne of his ancestors. disregarded. The cries of the Achaeans for protection The European provinces of the empire of Alexander against Philip were eagerly listened to, and an army was were at this time divided among three principal powers. sent to rescue the feeble remains of Grecian liberty, as it The throne of Macedonia itself was occupied by a Phi- styled itself, from the menace of a second Macedonian conlippus descended from the old royal stock; but southern quest. The teeming population of the Hellenic peninsula, Greece had succeeded in re-asserting its independence, which had formerly been maintained by the commerce of and the greater number of its communities, drained as they the world, had found vent, during the last century of decay were by conquest and colonization, and enervated by and impoverishment, in a constant stream of emigration to luxury and corruption, still maintained a shadow of their Asia and Africa. As colonists, as traders, as mercenary former greatness by combination, under the title of the soldiers, the Greeks were scattered through both contiAchaean League. To the west lay the semi-Hellenic dis- nents ; but Greece herself had begun to experience a trict of AStolia, with its fierce predatory tribes, combined rapidly-increasing depopulation, and her military force and under the sway of a military chieftain, ever threatening the military spirit had sunk to a very low ebb. Sparta, indeed, feeble civilization of Greece proper. Indeed, both within made an attempt to revive the warlike institutions of and without the Achaean frontiers the greatest anarchy Lycurgus, and Philopcemen, the general of the League, prevailed; the control of a powerful protector had been displayed many of the highest qualities of his noble race; ill exchanged for the name of liberty, which was only the but the nation was quite unable to defend itself against the license of the craftiest and strongest; day by day the mo- enemy, who had planted himself in so many important numents of ancient art, all that remained for Greece to positions within its territory. The aid, however, of two boast of, were scattered or demolished; and it is only to Roman legions, backed by the alliance of flEtolia, sufficed Roman aggression and cupidity, soon to be let loose upon to drive Philip within his proper frontiers ; and though one them, that we owe the preservation of such remnants of Roman army was ignominiously defeated, Flamininus with them as have survived to our times. Among these western a second routed the Macedonian phalanx at Cynoscephalae, Battle of states Macedonia might still claim the pre-eminence. Sur- and established the superiority of the Roman tactics. The Cynoscerounded by the sea or by almost impassable mountains, consul proclaimed the restoration of Grecian independence, Phal3e> inhabited still by a brave and patriotic people, this king- presided in personal the Isthmian games, and declared dom would have been truly powerful, but for the weakness that the Romans themselves were descended from iEneas. B'C‘ ' entailed upon it by the number of its distant and dis- The Greeks in return dedicated their offerings to “ Titus jointed possessions. It held sway beyond its natural and Hercules,” to “ Titus and Apollo.”1 frontiers over Thessaly and Euboea, Opus, Elatea, and part Though’the Romans were thus moderate in their conof Phocis; and occupied the citadel of Corinth and the duct towards Greece, they took care to establish such a town of Orchomenus in Arcadia. It maintained garrisons balance of power between the JStolians, the Achaeans, and in three of the Cyclades,—Andros, Paros, and Cythnus,—as Nabis the tyrant of Sparta, as would secure a perpetual well as in Thasus and some cities on the coast of Thrace recurrence of strife among them, and require their own inand Asia. A considerable part of Caria also belonged to tervention in due season. But their policy was furthered it. Each of these possessions entailed upon it jealousies and by a movement from without. Hannibal, whom they had enmities of its own ; and its power was exhausted in the demanded from Carthage, had taken refuge with Anattempt to make head at the same moment against all the tiochus, King of Syria, and was urging his patron to send states of the Achaean League, against the kings of Per- him with an army into Italy. Antiochus, shrinking from gamus and the chiefs of Thrace, against the maritime such a hazard, ventured to confront the Romans in Greece, republic of Rhodes, and against the wild mountaineers of incited thereto by the ^Etolians; but both he and his new vEtolia. I or a time the balance of forces was fairly main- allies were easily routed. In 562 (b.c. 192) the Romans 1

Michelet, Hist, de Rome, ii. 183. Titus was the prsenomen of Quinctius Flaminius.

ROMAN HISTORY. 313 Political gained a complete victory over him at Thermopylae; he less prompt in embellishing them. Hence we may ascribe Political History. was driven back from Europe, and compelled to take what to this period the rage for discovering a Grecian extraction, History, measures he could for closing the continent of Asia against or a Trojan, which was considered equally honourable, for the triumphant advance of the legions. The Romans, how- the Roman gentes. iEneas and Hercules, with their sons ever, secured the alliance of Macedon, Rhodes, and Pergamus, and comrades, were made to serve as founders for many and obtained the necessary means of transport. In 564 patrician houses. As soon as the Romans set foot in they set foot for the first time in Asia, and after a short Phrygia, they recognised their pretended connection with campaign engaged the enemy at Magnesia, defeating him, the restored city of Ilium. The Scipios and other magaccording to their own account, with unparalleled dispro- nates paid court to Grecian poets and historians, and reportion of loss, and reducing him at one blow to terms the ceived the incense of flattery in return. Ennius, the first most humiliating. Antiochus consented to relinquish almost of the Roman poets, a native of Calabria, who pretended all his possessions in Asia Minor, together with his ele- himself to a Grecian origin, and was equally versed in the phants and 15,000 talents in money. Here, as in Greece, Greek and the Latin tongues, introduced the works of the republic, unprepared to occupy the vast regions it had Homer to the Italians by imitation and translation, and so suddenly conquered, abstained from all territorial an- was long held by his grateful countrymen as a worthy rival nexation, and contented itself with dividing the country of the father of epic verse. Instruction in the Greek lanbetween its faithful allies. In the heart of Asia Minor guage and literature became, under the name of Grammar, Rome encountered again her ancient enemies the Gauls. the most essential part of a liberal education, and every A. u. Upon 565, these people she made war separately, and reduced Roman mansion had its Grecian pedagogue to train the them to dependence upon Eumenes, King of Pergamus and children of the family in this necessary lore. The Greek B. c. 189. women, fascinating and accomplished, completed the subPhrygia. jugation of the Roman conquerors. The rough and homely matrons of Sabellia could no longer retain the hearts of SECT. XIX.—STATE OP IDEAS AND MANNERS IN THE SIXTH their spouses, ensnared by the wiles of these foreign slaves CENTURY OF THE CITY. and mistresses. The injured ummen were not slow in The desultory and occasional relations which Rome had avenging themselves. The first divorce at Rome had State of ideas and hitherto entertained with Greece became now constant, taken place in the year 520. About half a century later, manners in and rapidly increased in closeness and mutual influence. in 586, occurred the scandal of the Bacchanalian mysteries, the sixth at which many hundreds of Roman matrons were found to century of This influence is conspicuously apparent in the shape which have devoted themselves to orgies of the most fearful licenthe old mythology of Italy began now to assume, in the the city. disappearance of many ancient national divinities, and the tiousness. If we take a further glance at the manners and customs introduction of Greek deities in their place. The Sabine names of Census, Lunus, Juturna, Feronia, and others, are of the Romans at this period, we may observe how the life lost altogether, or merged in those of foreign divinities, of the city becomes distinguished from that of the country, whose attributes are supposed to resemble their Apollo, and that of the Campanian baths or w'atering-places, from first honoured with a temple at Rome, A.u. 324, advances both or other. The first was the life of the Forum and the in estimation among the citizens, and obtains the distinc- temples ; the stated performance of civil and religious acts ; tion of public games in 542. iEsculapius is evoked from the holding of levees of freedmen in the mornings; giving Epidaurus by a decree of the Senate in 463. Cybele, or as of legal opinions to friends and clients ; public business in the Romans call her, Bona Dea, is invited to Rome in the Forum or Senate-house towards noon; preparation for 547. The introduction of the Bacchanalia, or mysteries of public speaking with hired rhetoricians; retirement for the Grecian Bacchus, caused so much disturbance or sleep at mid-day ; the exercises of the Campus Martins, jealousy that the Senate in 568 issued a decree for their swimming, wrestling, and fencing, in the afternoon; the suppression in Rome and Italy. But the sceptical philo- supper, diversified with singing and buffoonery; and so to sophy of Greece followed quickly in the train of her reli- bed at sundown. In the country there was the superingious ceremonies. The poet Ennius introduced the tendence of the farm and household ; hunting, fishing, and rational explanations of ancient belief recommended to other field-sports; the employment of leisure hours in his countrymen by the Greek Euemerus ; and from ration- reading, writing, or dictating, generally on a couch or even alism the step was easy to doubt, and finally to disbelief. in bed ; sleeping much in the day, but watching with the The magistrates of Rome maintained the ceremonial of dawn of morning. At the baths there was a complete holiday processions, sacrifices, and auguries, as an engine of state from all duties, public or domestic ; throwing off the toga, policy, but the higher cla-sses almost wholly renounced going barefoot, and lightly clad in a Greek dressing-gown ; their fathers’ faith in them, and had little scruple in openly lounging through the day, gossiping with idle acquaintderiding them. From the time, indeed, that the plebeians ances, indulging in long and frequent ablutions, invoking the had been admitted to the priesthoods and augurships, the aid of foreign artists in song and music to while away the nobility of Rome had slackened in their zeal for the main- hours of vacant indolence. While, indeed, the Roman was tenance of the old traditions. The Potitii abandoned to equally proud of the austere discipline of the city and the their slaves the cult of their patron Hercules. Marcellus fields, he was ashamed of his recreations at the sea-side, threw into the sea the sacred fowls which refused to present and regarded it as an indulgence almost akin to vice to a favourable omen. The common sceptical disposition of relax even for a moment from the stern routine of selfthe day is represented by the expression of Ennius: “If imposed duty. But the siren sloth was gradually gaining there are gods, at least they do not trouble themselves with his ear, and every further step he took into the realms of Grecian luxury and voluptuousness estranged him more and the care of human affairs.” At this period the Roman nobles began to make use of more from the love of business which he had embraced as Influence of the the Greek language, and got themselves instructed in it by a passion, and become inured to as a second nature. The Greek lan- slaves or clients of Greek extraction. They employed domestic morality of the Romans was thus already underguage in Greek writers to compose their history for them. Diodes mined in many of its dearest relations, when a guilty ambiHome. of Peparethus, as has been said, was the first who com- tion began first to prompt them to seek, in the conduct of posed a narrative of the foundation of the city. I he freed- public affairs, a personal and selfish aggrandisement. At this period, indeed, the high civil position, maintained men, to whom the task was now naturally assigned of celebrating the exploits of their patrons’ families, were doubt- by a narrow oligarchy of noble families closely connected 2 R VOL. XIX

314 Political History. Tendency towards monarchy. Scipio Afrxcanus.

Cato the Censor.

Death of Hannibal, a. b.

ROMAN

HISTORY. with one another by marriage, which shared among them- of the states invited by Rome to attack him, he still main- Political lstor yselves all the great offices of the commonwealth, might na- tained the contest, defeating the enemy in several engage- H ments, till they sent against him their veteran general Pan)i f h irregular aspirations, and point to the tura y oster suc establishment of a monarchy, limited by the jealousies of lus yEmilius, with an overwhelming force of 100,000 men. its aristocratic assessors, in the place of a i epublic which Once more the Macedonian phalanx seemed on the point To Scipio Africanus, in of recovering the charm of invincibility ; but after a fierce was democratic in name only. tjie exuberance of their joy at his triumphs, the people had struggle, the fortune of the legion prevailed : Perseus was Battle of This vanquished on the field of Pydna, in one of the most deci0^>ere(j) 0f their own accord, a consulship for life. gg’g would have made him at once a constitutional sovereign, sive battles of Roman history, and soon afterwards taken. B'c‘-^gg’ a do'm, or a king. We are told that he declined the proffered The kingdom which he had hazarded and lost was annexed honour : moderation both in pleasure and in ambition was to the dominions of the republic, and Perseus himself led at his characteristic quality. But at a later period, when any the car of his conqueror to the Capitol, thrown into a dunsuch prudent and temperate resolution had become impos- geon, and suffered to languish miserably till his death, two sible, Cicero takes a melancholy pleasure in representing years later. The last of the kings of Macedonia was long another Scipio, the immediate descendant of the elder remembered as one of the most formidable enemies Rome Africanus, as praising in a limited monarchy the best ideal had ever encountered, along with Hannibal and Pyrrhus. The overthrow of Perseus was followed by an attack on of government. Had the nobles been left to work out their own career, this is the consummation to which it the precarious independence still allowed to Antiochus. might soon have been brought; but their career was rudely The King of Syria, after the check he had received in the intercepted by the torrent of national corruption which now west, had turned his arms southward. He had almost broke down every moral barrier; the pride and luxury en- effected the conquest of Egypt, the ally of Rome, when gendered by their Greek and Asiatic triumphs produced Popilius Lsenas, the envoy of the Senate, required him to a sudden re-action in the popular mind against them. When desist from his enterprise. He demanded some time to deCato the elder, a rude but vigorous scion of the Latian liberate, but Popilius drew a circle around him in the sand homesteads, took on himself to rebuke their abandonment with his stick, and peremptorily forbade him to pass it till of national usage and tradition, he found the people well he had given his response. Antiochus, baffled by this a.u. 586, disposed to support and urge him onwards. Ihe poet firmness, acquiesced in the demand, and retired home crest- b-c. 168. Nsevius, the first of the Roman satirists, had met with po- fallen. The Senate divided between two rival brothers of pular sympathy in his gibes against the haughty Scipios and the house of Ptolemy the throne which it had saved to Metelli; he had been banished through their influence to their family. The kings of the earth bowed in succession before the Africa; but the spirit of criticism and raillery survived. Cato served the state in war and peace, and was carried assembly of kings. Masinissa acknowledged that to them through the career of honours to the consulship, and even- he owed the crown of Numidia. Prusias saluted them as tually to the censorship, from which last office he derived his gods and saviours, and confessed that he was no better the title by which he is distinguished in history. In every than a client or freedman of his mighty masters. Phrygia, place, and on all occasions, he rebuked the pride of the Greece, and Rhodes were each subjected in different meanobles and abated their insolence. He caused their sures to the anger of the republic, which they had failed to chiefs to be cited before the popular assembly, but they defend against the late attack of the Macedonians. The had yet authority enough to repel the charges against Greeks, irritated and alarmed, at last took up arms in their them by such language as that of Ahnilius Scaurus: own defence ; but the march of Rome was irresistible ; and “ Varus accuses xEmilius of corruption; ASmilius denies in 608 (b.c. 146) her barbarity was signalized by the sack sack 0f it: Romans, which do you believe?” Scipio Africanus and conflagration of Corinth under Mamarius. Of all her Corinth, a.u. 608, disdained, on a similar occasion, to reply at all; and only heinous acts, this was one of the most memorable. By the B,c 146 exclaimed, as he surmounted the Capitol,—“ This is the Greeks it was never forgotten; the Romans themselves, at - anniversary of my victory over Hannibal: Romans, thank least in later times, were ashamed of it. The same year the gods, and pray that you may always have such a cham- saw another melancholy catastrophe, the final destruction Final depion !” Nevertheless Scipio was compelled at last to with- of Carthage, which had ventured to rise a third time against struction of draw from affairs, and ended his life at a private residence her triumphant rival, and was taken and razed to the Carthage, in Campania, directing these words to be inscribed upon ground by Scipio iEmilianus. At the sight of this fearful his sepulchre :—“ Thankless country, thou shall not pos- ruin the accomplished Roman could not but think, it was sess even my bones !” Further prosecutions were directed said, with a sorrowful foreboding, of the time when his own against his family, some of whom seem to have been guilty city might be destined to a like fate, and repeated the lines of accepting bribes from Antiochus ; and Cato had the of Homer predicting the overthrow of Troy divine. It was from a reminiscence of the terror they had so long satisfaction of thoroughly humiliating the chiefs of the Rofelt in the rivalry of Carthage that the Romans persisted man oligarchy. for ages in characterizing her, in History and in poetry, as SECT. XX.—PROGRESS OF CONQUEST IN THE EAST AND WEST. the type of faithlessness and impiety. But they deigned to give the title of a. second Carthage to a city of much Hannibal, driven from the court of Antiochus to that of less fame and importance, though rendered memorable in Prusias, King of Bithynia, and again demanded by the Ro- their annals by the obstinacy of its defence and the grandeur its the fall.year The u. 572, mans, had poisoned himself of about 572perseverance (b.C. 182), of many Roman generals, c. 182. and thus relieved from equalamong anxiety both friends and of Sempronius Gracchus, them of his Cato, and finally enemies. The authority of the republic was becoming had effected the pacification, as it was called, of the Iberian consolidated throughout Greece and Asia Minor, when peninsula. But such pacifications were never complete or Perseus, the son and successor of Philippus, undertook to lasting. The Celtiberians in the north had continued to form a general confederacy of the eastern powers against harass the Roman outposts, and the praetors commanding them. Before, however, this alliance had been effected, he in the province had made their hostile attitude an excuse precipitated himself rashly into arms, hoping to cement it for repeated massacre and pillage. Sulpicius Galba had by victory ; and though he obtained at the outset a brilliant disgraced the Roman name by treating with the Lusitasuccess, he was mortified to find himself still imperfectly nians, and treacherously slaughtering them to the number supported. Alone, or with no other aid than the neutrality of 30,000. The consul Lucullus acted with equal baseness

315 ROMAN HISTORY. The Romans regarded themselves as a race of con- Political Political towards the Celtiberians. Driven to fury by such provocaHistory. tions, the mountaineers became more implacable than ever. querors, and at every point beyond the limits of their colo- History. ^ Viriathus, the gallant chief of the Lusitanians, maintained nies they encamped rather than settled. A standing force the war for five years with unexpected success; and uniting of one or more legions, with numerous auxiliary battalions, in confederacy with the Celtiberians, forced the Romans at was maintained in each of the provinces, and every year, last, after many defeats, to conclude peace with him on or at a later period triennially, an officer with the style of having served the highest magiseqnal terms. When hostilities again broke out, Ccepio found proconsul or propraetor, means to assassinate this formidable enemy, and the Lusita- tracies at home, wras sent forth to command it. This funcnians were at length reduced to submission. The last place tionary wielded the whole authority of the state, civil as well that now held out was Numantia, a city of the Celtiberians in as military, within his own province, and was required to the upper valley of the Douro. Several consuls and praetors govern with a single eye to the security and enrichment of Conquest of had failed in their attempts to reduce this fortress, and the republic. During his term of office his acts were unSpain, and Fabius Servilianus had suffered a disgraceful defeat before questioned ; if he had not strictly the right to declare war fall of NuMancinus brought the defenders to terms ; but the against a potentate on the frontier, his instructions were mantia, Senate A. U. 611, was dissatisfied with his concessions, disavowed the generally such as to cover any excess of zeal which tended treaty, B. C. 133. and at the same time, from a feeling of superstition, to the advancement of his country’s interests. On his renot of honour, delivered its author to the enemy. It was turn home, his quaestor was required to submit to the Senate reserved for Scipio iEmilianus, the conqueror of Carthage, an account of his proceedings, and these might be disto reduce Numantia at last by blockade. In the extremity avowed by the hostile vote of an opposite faction. While of famine, the survivors of many victories fell at last on every act of the magistrates in the city was regulated more or less strictly by rule and precedent, if not by written one anothers’ swords. While interfering pertinaciously in the affairs of all the enactment, the proconsul was at liberty to administer juskings of Asia, the Romans had hitherto abstained systema- tice to the provincials according to the edict or programme tically from annexing any portion of their territories. They published by himself on assuming the government. The conducted their astute policy by means of commissioners organization of the conquered territories in Etruria and rather than of legionaries. They left the ancient thrones Samnium, already described, was extended to Iberia, Greece, erect, but they occupied them with creatures of their own. and Asia. Some communities were allowed to enjoy a The princes of Egypt, as well as those of Cyprus and the qualified independence, some were invested with Latin or Cyrenaica, which had been constituted separate states, held Italian privileges; the lands of others were confiscated, their crowns under the patronage or direct appointment of wholly or in part, to the domain of the republic; tolls and the Senate. The republic had retained a son of Antiochus customs were exacted, partly for imperial, partly for local Epiphanes as a hostage, and interfered with powerful autho- expenditure ; but a contribution, varying in amount, levied rity in the nomination of his successors. He designated upon the produce of the land, formed a constant source of the heir of Eumenes, King of Phrygia; and at last, in the revenue to the state. Such was the wealth which accrued year 621 (b.c. 133), allowed Attains III., the last of his to the conquerors on the reduction of Macedonia, that from race, to bequeath his kingdom to Rome. Aquilius was thenceforth the land-tax was wholly remitted to the Acquisi- sent with an army to enforce the ratification of this testa- favoured soil of Italy. tion of the ment ; and thus the republic became possessed of the With the rights of conquest understood as they were at province of magnj^cen|. territory which she entitled the province of Rome, we may imagine the tyranny to which the conAsia. Asia, and which she continued always to regard as the quered people were subjected. The spoliation of the provinces by the chiefs and their subordinates was not only most choice and valuable of her acquisitions. winked at; to a great extent it was positively encouraged and defended, on the plea that to impoverish the fallen SECT. XXI. SPIRIT OP THE ROMAN GOVERNMENT AT HOME enemy was to cut the sinews of future rebellion. Neither AND ABROAD. the property nor the honour, nor even the lives of the proSpirit of The power of Rome was now paramount in the four vincials, were safe from the cupidity and cruelty of the prothe Roman great peninsulas which project into the Mediterranean, to- consul, and of the cohort of officials whom he carried in his govern- gether with its principal islands, while her influence and train. It was fortunate, indeed, that the rapacity of these ment at authority were recognised at almost every point along its oppressors was so often directed to seizing the choicest works abroadfar-reaching coast-line. Italy, the centre and nucleus of of ancient art, and transporting them to Rome, which proved this power, was either “ Roman soil,” or placed under the the safest receptacle for those precious relics of a perishing ultimate control of the praetors and magistrates of Rome. civilization. The rude conquerors of Greece and Asia imSpain, Greece, and Asia Minor, were reduced substantially bibed a taste for these monuments of a genius with which to the form of provinces; so were also the islands of the they had so little in common, and succeeded in persuading Tyrrhene, the Ionian, and the Algean seas. Another pro- the still ruder populace at home that no trophies of victory vince was constituted on the opposite coast of Africa, com- were so glorious as the works of Grecian statuaries and prising the dominion of Carthage ; while the kingdoms of painters. The provincials, who had been born amongst Numidia on the west, and of Cyrene and Egypt on the these cherished treasures, groaned at the loss of them, for east, were, as we have seen, in a state of pupilage and de- which many a bitter sarcasm at their ignorant spoilers pendence. At the eastern end of the Mediterranean the afforded slender consolation; nevertheless they learned to Jews had entered into alliance with the republic ; the inde- profit by their security from the worse miseries of foreign pendence of Syria was imperfect and precarious; Rhodes warfare, and extracted wealth from their fertile soil more was indulged with freedom, which she was fain to purchase rapidly than their masters could consume it. Achaia, inwith impious flattery, in erecting a statue to the divinity of deed, or central Greece, was stricken with a palsy from Rome ; while a few petty states of Asia Minor existed only which no domestic tranquillity could restore her, and conon sufferance. The rugged districts of Illyria offered little tinued to dwindle in population and resources; the ancient temptation to Roman cupidity; but the subjection of Ma- arts of Carthage perished with the decay of the Punic elecedonia was fully assured. Massilia and Narbo cultivated ment in her population, which seems to have been quickly the alliance of the Senate, and were about to invite its exhausted; but the progress of improvement was felt senassistance against the surrounding barbarians, and lay the sibly in Asia ; and the youthful vigour of Spain, now first turned to the pursuits of industry and letters, struck deep first foundations of a province beyond the Alps.

316

ROMAN

HISTORY. Political into the soil, and produced in the course of ages an abun- to the four appropriated to the city, which had each only an Political History. dant harvest of economical and intellectual improvement. equal vote with the others, and were appointed to give History, On the whole, the effete and imbecile among the nations their votes last. Hence every question was virtually settled, were extinguished by the blow which struck down their in either comitia, by the suffrages of the first and wealthiest liberties ; but the young and lusty rallied from the shock ; voters. The poorer and more numerous were seldom and the empire of Rome became, throughout large portions called upon to exercise their rights at all; and Cicero, inof the globe, the creator of a new life of progress and de- deed, assures us, that in the assembly of the centuries the first, or “prerogative” was always found to carry the development. cision. The functions of these two assemblies, thus essentially SECT. XXII. ASSEMBLIES, ORDERS, AND MAGISTRACIES OF aristocratic, were twofold, elective and legislative. The THE ROMAN PEOPLE. centuries elected the consuls and praetors, and other prinAssemblies, The warlike instincts of the Roman people, dispersed orders, and over a great part of Italy, or planted in colonies beyond it, cipal or curule magistrates; the appointment to inferior offices was exercised by the tribes. The power of making magistracies of the were now in full play. The wealth of the East and West, laws was claimed equally by both; and in this co-ordinate which served to inflame its cupidity, had not yet enervated prerogative, exercised by two assemblies, each comprising Homan people. its vital forces. Its armies maintained the old traditions the whole body of the citizens, but under a different form of discipline and obedience, as well as their ancient valour; and arrangement, consisted one of the most remarkable its officers, ambitious and greedy for themselves, were still anomalies of the Roman polity. If a consul, praetor, or devoted to the glory of their country, and inspired with dictator had an enactment to propose, he convened the zeal for the extension of her dominion. Though the march centuries to deliberate upon it; if the measure were paof Roman conquest advanced for another century with al- tronized by a tribune, it was submitted to the popular most unabated vigour, which was not exhausted in a second assembly of the tribes. In either case the law thus passed or a third, all these conditions of a flourishing and lasting was binding upon the whole people; but no such law could empire began from this period to decline, and the social be initiated by either the centuries or the tribes; every decay which commenced at the heart spread slowly through legislative measure must be first promulgated in the Senate, the limbs of the whole body. We have noticed some of and receive the sanction of that paramount council of state. the moral causes of this decline; we will now pause once If a few instances occur of the tribune’s proposing to the more, to exhibit the seeds of destruction already germi- people a bill for conferring special honour, which the Senate nating in the political constitution of the republic. had refused, they must be regarded as acts of irregular enNotwithstanding the high reputation for disinterested croachment. It would seem, then, that the legislative virtue which the ancient Romans have obtained with pos- power of the popular assemblies was that of sanction or reterity, we know that no people was ever more intensely jection rather than of enactment. devoted to making of money. They amassed riches not The eighteen equestrian centuries comprised the wealthionly by plunder in war, but at home by usury and thrift, est classes of the state. Such individuals among them as abroad by commerce and speculation. To the possessors had attained to magistracies and offices, the exercise of of this much-coveted wealth they were ever prone to pay which was generally unrewarded by salaries, and required the most slavish deference. Hence, whatever may have on the contrary an outlay for the amusement of the popubeen the real character of their political organization, as lace, which none but the rich could undertake, acquired the long as a ruling caste held predominance in the republic, title of nobiles, together with an inchoate right of admisthe equalization of the rival orders was followed by the sion to the Senate. This illustrious order was opened to establishment of an aristocracy almost purely of money. the public men who had served certain offices and charges, The old constitution, such as it is represented to us, of the and was limited to the number of 600. A high standard patrician curies, or the heads of the gentes or houses, of of property was required of all its members; and this was those who alone were proprietors, alone were judges, alone determined at the quinquennial valuation of the censors, priests and augurs, of those, in short, who formed among who had the power of revising the roll, striking off the themselves the ancient commonwealth of the Quirites, had poor and unworthy, and selecting the most distinguished passed away. The comitia of the curies still nominally personages to fill their vacancies. The nobles, having once existed, and was indeed convened for the performance of attained the distinction of admission, or merely of eligibility, some religious ceremonies, but it had no political weight. to the Senate, strained every nerve to maintain this position The real elements of power resided in the comitia of the for themselves and their families, and to keep out from it centuries and tribes; and in both of these, though differ- their inferiors of the equestrian order, who were striving ently constituted, the influence of property prevailed over with equal energy to attain it. Hence arose the political numbers. To secure this predominance in assemblies conflict of the Senate and the knights, which colours which embraced the whole body of the Roman people, throughout the subsequent history of the free state. The some ingenious contrivance was required. The citizens Senate, as the party of the richest and noblest, assumes were divided, as we have seen, into 35 tribes, each tribe sometimes the name, as it succeeds to the political characwas subdivided into senior and junior, and each of these ter, of the patricians; while the knights, with the names of subdivisions discriminated again into five classes, according liberty and equality in their mouths, connect themselves to property solely. To the 350 centuries thus obtained naturally for the most part with the inferior and poorer were added 18, appropriated to the knights, next to the classes, and occupy the place of the plebeians. But if these senators the wealthiest order in the state. In the assem- old names still occur sometimes in the history of constitubly the vote of each century was equiponderant; and thus tional struarsdes, it must be remembered how far they have the votes of the four first classes, which, as well as the diverged from their original signification. equestrian, were all filled by men of property, immensely The struggle for admission to the Senate affected most overbalanced those of the fifth, in which alone the mass of directly the interests of the competitors. The Senate was the poor citizens was enrolled. The rise of the comitia of the fountain of Roman legislation. The Senate regulated the the tribes in political importance did little to redress this administration of the provinces, organized the finances of the inequality; for though the distinction into classes did not commonwealth, determined questions of peace and war, and prevail here, the censors had the power of eliminating the received the ambassadors of foreign potentates. The Sepoorest citizens from every other tribe, and confininglhem nate was the executive of the Roman republic; and to the

317 HISTORY. Political Senate, rather than to the people, every magistrate at home of the nobles and monopolists. The Senate contrived, with Political History. ami abroad was answerable. If its power was confined by admirable dexterity, to escape from this hostile judicature History, the right of intercession or veto upon its acts appropriated by the appointment, in the year 605 (b.c. 149), of the to the tribunes, it had the means of counteracting this op- qucBstiones perpetuce, or permanent tribunals, composed position by sowing dissensions among them, or, in the last solely of members of their own order, for the trial of this resort, by creating a dictator, with unlimited powers, for the class of offences. They turned the flank of the knights, protection of the state. The commons frequently com- and laughed in the face of the people. The knights graplained, and probably with justice, that the pretence of dually recovered from their confusion, faced about, and danger from abroad was often advanced when a dictator now directed all their efforts to obtain at least a share in was really required to overrule opposition from within. the administration of justice, and so use it as to bring the But when the Senate found that the tribunes were manage- Senate to terms on the ulterior question of the provincial able without having recourse to this unpalatable expedient, governments. it ceased to invoke the arbitrary powers of a dictator. On more than one occasion it attained the same end less obtruSECT. XXIII. AGRARIAN AGITATION OF THE GRACCHI. sively by investing the consuls with irresponsible authority to protect the commonwealth. Such a decree, known by While Rome w'as subduing her provinces, the provinces Agrarian the formula, “ Viderent consules ne aliquid detrimenti res were re-acting upon Rome. We have already caught a agitation tiie publico, caperet, was entitled a senatus consultum ultimum. glimpse of this foreign invasion which was filling Italy with °f Gracchl a base mixture of the blood of every conquered nation, * Against this, however, the people had one weapon in store. No citizen could be capitally sentenced, that is, to the loss and sending myriads of slaves from every quarter of the either of life or civil status, without an appeal to the people, world to till the fields from which the free native populaor permission to withdraw himself from it by voluntary exile. tion was carried off by the unceasing drain of war. The If the consuls, under whatever authority, violated this con- legionary, if he survived the long series of distant camstitutional provision, they were themselves liable to sentence paigns from which, while his manly strength endured, he at the hands of the comitia of the tribes. The conflicting was not permitted to extricate himself, settled for the most pretensions of the Senate and the people on this head were part in the countries which had become more familiar to never definitively settled, and came more than once into him than his own ; while the slave, if attached to the service of a Roman citizen, might hope, after some years of violent collision. Besides their authority, their influence, and their ho- bondage, for personal enfranchisement, and the acquisition nourable distinctions, the senators enjoyed a monopoly of of a qualified ifanchise, and a family settlement in Italy. In the most lucrative government appointments. The missions the second or third generation the libertini of Rome beof pro-consuls and pro-praetors, with their inferior officers, came generally citizens, with the full right of suffrage, prowere gilded, not by fixed salaries, but by gifts of states and perty, and marriage. Thus the Roman people, still so potentates, and by opportunities, hardly to be resisted, of entitled, still preserving its political continuity in its rites touching bribes and of peculation. When the rich field of and traditions, and even in its names (for the freedman Greece and Asia was opened to their cupidity, the nobles entered into the gens of his former master, and assumed its abandoned usury at home and commerce abroad to more name), became from year to year more alien in blood from vulgar capitalists, and devoted themselves to the provincial the genuine stock of Romulus and Quirinus, from the administration. They allowed the knights a large share in Latins, the Sabines, and the Etruscans of primitive antithe occupation of the most fertile domain land, and con- quity. Priests and magistrates, to whose vigilant guarfined the poorer classes to the common pastures. When dianship the purity of the national religion and polity was the murmurs of these proletaries threatened danger to their entrusted, shut their eyes to the revolution thus accomprivileges, they invented the fatal scheme of satisfy- plishing itself; but every now and then an expression or a ing them by a cheap or gratuitous distribution of corn. gesture showed that they were not really blind to its proThe corn-growing provinces of Sicily and Africa were gress, and that in their hearts they despised that scum of mulcted in an annual tribute of grain ; and while the nations which had settled on the surface of Roman society. hunger of the populace was thus appeased, its passion for One day, when Scipio iEmilianus was interrupted in the amusement was at the same time gratified by shows in the Forum by the clamours of this mongrel populace, he theatre and the circus, provided by the chief magistrates. exclaimed, “ Silence, false sons of Italy : think ye to scare The exhibition of these shows was found to be a sure me with your brandished hands, ye whom I led myself in source of popularity, and candidates for office vied with one bonds to Rome !” In this memorable sentence we read another in thus invoking the favour of the tribes by an the character of the times, and trace the interpretation of ever-increasing profusion. The cost of proceeding through much of the history which is to follow. But though these foreign freedmen succeeded to the the regular course of honours, of buying the suffrages of the people by shows and largesses, and eventually by direct votes of the genuine citizens they did not take their place bribes, for the quaestorship, sedileship, praetorship,and consul- on the soil from which their predecessors had been transship, advanced almost year by year, and by the time that planted. The legionaries had been recruited from the the aspirant had reached the highest object of his am- fields, from the small farms of Latium and Sabellia, from bition, he had impoverished himself, and so obliged himself the well-tilled allotments of seven jugers (about four acres) to his friends and his party, that it was only by the unscru- to which the plebeian citizen was restricted. But as these pulous exercise of his advantages in a province that he modest proprietors were decimated by war, their vacant could hope for indemnification. Hence the province paid homesteads were bought up by the capitalists of the city, eventually for the voluptuous enjoyments of the Homan the knights and senators, and annexed to those wide tracts of public domain which they were permitted to hold rentpeople. But the jealous knights, debarred from these guilty gra- free from the state. These possessions, thus greedily tifications, kept watch over the conduct of the provincial appropriated, these latifundia, as they were called, were governors, and invoked against them the safeguard of the cultivated for the most part by troops of slaves, imported laws. Murder, bribery, peculation, and corrupt adminis- by purchase or as the spoil of war from beyond the sea, tration of justice were public crimes, the cognisance of chained to their work in the factories, or guarded by armed which was reserved to the assembly of the tribes, and this retainers in the fields by day, and huddled in prison dorassembly was not indisposed to judge severely the crimes mitories during the night. Throughout large districts of ROMAN

318 Political History.

Tiberius Gracchu=, A. B.

Caius Gracchus, a.u. 133, B.C. 121.

ROMAN

HISTORY. Italy, particularly in the south, the free cultivators, or advocate the claims of the Italians ; but this redoubted Political coloni, of an earlier period, had almost disappeared, though champion was found soon afterwards dead in his bed, and it History, in other parts they continued still to linger, and wage an was natural to believe that the nobles had procured his unequal struggle for existence with the great landlords and assassination. Caius was got rid of for a time by an aptheir armies of servile labourers. Thousands of these small pointment beyond the sea. Fregellae, an Italian town, proprietors, thus hardly pressed, migrated into the cities, thinking its cause abandoned, rushed desperately to arms, and particularly into Rome, and there mingling with the but was worsted and sacked by the consul Opimius. Caius herd of foreign-born freedmen, maintained themselves by now, feeling that he had been cajoled, hastened back to petty merchandize and handicrafts, by the sportula, or dole Rome and secured his election to the tribuneship, from of victuals at the patron’s gate, or by the distributions, which ground of vantage he aimed some hard blows against wholly or in part gratuitous, of bread, oil, and wine, made the most eminent of his opponents, protected his own parregularly by the state, and enhanced occasionally by ma- tizans, founded colonies, and executed great public works. He was the delight and pride of the citizens. His elogistrates or candidates for the magistracy. Such was the state of things in Rome and Italy, full of quence was not less popular than his manners and his anxiety for the present and fatal warning for the future to policy. He caused the position of the rostrum, from which the few statesmen who marked the signs of the times, the orators harangued the people in the Forum, to be when the young Tiberius Gracchus, a plebeian of the Sem- changed, so that the speaker should no longer turn towards pronian gens, well born, and connected through his mother the comitium, the place of the patrician curies, but towards U. Cornelia with the blood of the621,Scipios, remarked with dis- the masses of the commons stationed in the opposite quarter. c. 133. of Etruria, the decline of He raised the knights to a share in the judicia or tribunals ; may, as he traversed the plains cultivation and the depopulation of the fields and farms. he strove to extort the franchise for the Italians. The obHe observed that the slave labour, ruder and more re- ject of this bold demagogue’s reforms was the exaltation of luctant than the free labour it had supplanted, was less the commons into a distinct community, rather than the available for the operations of husbandry, which require fusion of the nobles and the commons in a single body,— care and skill, and that large tracts of land once arable had such at least was the judgment passed upon them by public been converted into pasture, and gave employment to a writers, who affirmed that Caius made the commonwealth few herdsmen only. Tiberius resolved to restore a Roman “ double-headed.” At any rate, his efforts, though but parpopulation to the territories of Rome. The cause of the tially successful, led to a severance in public feeling which evil he deplored seemed to be the extensive occupation of precipitated a general commotion ; and he fell himself prepublic land by the nobles by an evasion of the limitations maturely, as soon as he had finished his year of office, in a of the Licinian law. He persuaded the people to elect tumult which he had himself unwarily excited. The Rohim tribune in 621, and exerted himself in that capacity to mans long continued to honour the memory of the Gracchi carry a new agrarian law, more strict and general than as the ablest of the early chiefs of the democracy, and those of ancient times, by which the domain of the state erected statues to them, and altars on the spots where they should be divided in full ownership among the whole body had fallen. Yet the prejudices of the nobles prevailed in of citizens, instead of being held in fee by a small and fa- the long run, and in the great body of Roman literature voured aristocracy. He demanded that the state should the Gracchi are represented to us as the eponyms of factious assert its ownership of the estates now let at a nominal ambition, rather than of patriotic policy. Cornelia, the rent to the nobles, in order to this new distribution. Of mother of the ill-fated tribunes, obtained a purer fame, and this measure, so much debated at the time and since, it continued to be remembered among the most honoured may be enough to remark that, in strict law, it was quite matrons of the republic. Opimius, having obtained a second constitutional, in equity it was harsh and unjustifiable, triumph over the disturbers of his faction’s supremacy, while in policy it was totally nugatory. Whatever were erected a temple to concord in arrogant imitation of Cathe true merits of the question in debate, they were soon millus, the second founder of Rome. In the course of the lost sight of in the passions of two classes it set in array next fifteen years the nobles, now unchecked, effected the against each other. The names of patrician and plebeian formal repeal of the measures of the Gracchi. The knights were now obliterated ; the real combatants were the rich were expelled from the tribunals; the lands remained in and the poor. Many, however, of the rich and noble were the occupation of the rich lords; the Italians were left befound to place themselves, from patriotism or faction, at yond the pale of the Roman franchise; finally, the aid of the head of the commonalty ; while the aristocracy of land- the censors was invoked to expunge from the list of knights lords tbund means to enlist on their side more than one of and senators all those members of either class who were the tribunes, their natural opponents. It was by this suspected of leaning towards a reform of the constitution. manoeuvre that Tiberius was ultimately baffled. Though he succeeded in getting his measure passed, under the SECT. XXIV. WARS WITH JUGURTHA AND THE CIMBRT, pressure of the popular enthusiasm, he was not allowed to AND POPULAR ASCENDANCY OF MARIUS. put it himself in operation : on attempting to exercise the powers he had reserved himself for allotting the lands he Meanwhile the kingdom of Masinissa, which he had jUgurtha had acquired for the people, he was confronted by one of held as a dependent upon Rome, had been divided on king of his colleagues named Octavius, accused to his own party of his demise between his three sons, and again, on the death Numidia. aspiring to the tyranny, and in the course of the tumults of two of these, had coalesced into a single sovereignty. which ensued overpowered and slain. Three hundred of Micipsa, the survivor, proposed to divide his dominions behis followers fell with him in the affray. This, it was said, tween his two legitimate children ; but a natural son named was the first blood shed at Rome in a popular tumult. Jugurtha, more able than either, and trained under Roman I he leaders, however, of the popular movement, though generals in Spain, intrigued for the succession, assassinated stunned for the moment, were not discomfited. They one of the princes, defeated the other, and hastened in perlormed an alliance with the Italians, who were excluded son to Rome to engage its sanction to his usurpation. The rrom the franchise of Rome, and engaged to aid them in Senate repulsed him; but on his return home he boldly suing for the boon of citizenship. Caius, the younger took up arms and defended himself by force, with the full brother of Tiberius Gracchus, took the lead of this com- support of his countrymen, against the best captains of the bined party. Scipio JUmilianus, twice consul, and a chief republic. Metellus, a chief of the Optimates, reduced him of the oligarchy, stepped boldly forward and undertook to to great straits, but he extricated himself again with won-

ROMAN HISTORY. 319 Political derful ability. This war, long protracted with various suc- Domitius had wrested the appointment of chief pontiff Political History. cess, brought forward the remarkable talents of C. Marius, from the priests’ college, a body highly aristocratic, and History, a soldier who rose from the ranks to the consulship, and was had given it to the people. This afforded them important sent with the acclamations of the popular party, whose child protection against an unfair exercise of the political instruand champion he proclaimed himself, to bring the struggle ment which called itself the national religion. Another to a termination. The Numidian chieftain was thus at last tribune, Servilius Glaucia, restored once more the judicia to driven to bay, and captured by the dashing exploit of an the knights. Marius, though himself no party politician, and enterprising young officer, Cornelius Sulla, and carried to with motives merely personal, was put forward by the popular Rome. There he followed the triumph of Marius in the faction as their champion, and raised to a sixth consulship in Marius tri- year 650, and was cruelly put to][ death. Numidia was 694. His election had been carried by intimidation and the umphs over divided into three portions: the western part was annexed threats of his licentious soldiery, whom he had enlisted for Jugurtha, to Mauretania, the realm of Bocchus, who had proved him- the first time, under the pressure of public calamity, from the A. U. 650, self a faithful ally; the eastern was united to the Roman Proletarii, the rabble of the Roman people. His measures B. C. 104. province of Africa; the remnant of the ancient kingdom were as violent as his manners were unpolished. He venwas allotted to two princes of Masinissa’s family, through tured so far to stretch the prerogative of his office as to confer whose feuds the republic might hope to secure its own the franchise on a thousand of his soldiers levied in an Italian municipium; and when remonstrated with on the illegality supremacy over both. The perils of the great Jugurthine war were long cele- of the act, coolly replied, “ amid the din of arms I could brated by the Romans, and furnished a theme for one of not hear the voice of the laws.” Backed by the tribune their masterpieces in historical composition. We may re- Saturninus, he continued to reward his rude warriors with gret that we have no Sallust to recount for us the still more the boon of citizenship, and quartered many thousands of terrible struggle of Rome with the Cimbri and Teutones, in them on the lands belonging to the colonists in the prowhich the services of Marius were even more transcendent. vince, which he had rescued, as he boasted, from the hands The republic had first interfered in the affairs of Massilia, of the barbarians. The nobles resented these irregular a Greek commercial city on the Gallic coast of the Medi- proceedings, and tried to interrupt the assemblies conterranean, in the year 600, when she wrested some terri- vened to sanction them, by alleging the frivolous omens, tories from the barbarians at the request of that unwarlike such as rain or thunder, which were allowed to dissolve the community, and bestowed them upon it. In 629 she under- comitia. “ Be still,” cried Saturninus, “ or it shall pretook a campaign against the tribes of the lower Alps, and sently hail.” Tumult ensued in the city; the tribunes gained founded the Roman colony of Aquae Sextiae (Aix), at the the upper hand, and drove Metellus, the chief of the nobles, same time making a further addition to the realm of her into banishment. Saturninus continued to maintain his Grecian clients. Further complications with the Gaulish influence over the people, and the Italians, it is said, offered states speedily ensued. The Romans won a great battle him kingly authority. But the nobles were still the stronger over the Arverni and Allobroges in 623 ; and in a short party when they acted together with vigour, and under the time the south-western corner of Gaul, beyond the Alps, leadership of Memmius, Marius at this time shrinking was become a Roman acquisition, and received the special from the furious violence of his late adherent, drove the designation of “ the Province,” Roads were now con- tribune out of the Forum into the Capitol. There Saturstructed across the Alps, and the dominions of the republic ninus defended himself with arms; but the notion that he advanced to Narbo, beyond the Alps, and Tolosa, on the aimed at the tyranny was circulated among the people, Garonne. While, however, the Transalpine province was and, whether it were true or false, it sufficed to turn their thus growing and flourishing, it was well nigh overwhelmed feelings against him. The water-pipes that supplied his Invasion of by a terrible disaster. Tribes sprung from the remotest fortress were cut, and he was forced to descend from it. Overthrow the Oimbri. parts of Germany, known to Roman writers by the name of Marius indeed guaranteed him his life; but the people of SaturCimbri and Teutones, poured with an armed immigration were not to be controlled: they forced themselves into ninus, towards the northern portions of the Roman empire. On the hall in which he had taken refuge, and slew him, with the eastern side of the Alps they were repulsed, by treachery the remnant of his followers. This was perhaps the last moment at which the establishrather than by arms, by Papirius Carbo; but they swept round the skirts of the mountain barrier, and appeared again ment of a limited and constitutional monarchy, the dream on the Rhone and the Isere, spreading fire and devastation of Scipio and the regret of Cicero, might have been posin the Roman province, and threatening now to scale the sible at Rome. Had the popular faction possessed among western Alps, and thence descend into Italy. Five consular them a man of enlightened integrity as well as of ability, in armies were sent against them, and suffered five defeats, whose favour they could have agreed to exercise the power each more terrible than the last. Rome was in consterna- which had exalted Marius to six successive consulships, and tion, but breathing-time was afforded by a diversion of the had given authority in periods of public emergency to main body of the barbarians into Spain. Marius was hastily the tribunes of the last few years,— had the nobles been direcalled from Africa, before the final completion of the rected by men of sense and patriotism, to yield to the Jugurthine war, and the peril of the crisis compelled the just claims of their own commons and of the Italians,—the nobles to allow of his election again and again to the con- usurpation, fifty years later, of Caesar and Octavius might sulship, till he had succeeded in arresting and finally crush- have been anticipated under happier auspices. The mass ing this formidable onslaught. Marius gained the great of the citizens was still sound at heart, and not incapable Rattle of victory of Aquae Sextiae in 650, in which he destroyed the of the self-control required for the due exercise of high Aquae Sex- Teutonic division of the enemy; he then hastened into political rights. While it placed all private ambition under tiae, Italy, whither another swarm had already penetrated, and the check of a sovereign authority, it might still have kept A. U.overwhelmed 652, the Cimbrian invaders with a second and not a check on the sovereign himself by its own firmness and B. U. 102. less complete success at Vercellae, in the following year. By moderation. Public virtue, indeed, could not have been the time he found leisure to return to Rome, he had enjoyed maintained without recognising on a wider scale the proper in succession the unprecedented number of five consulships. claims of humanity, without renouncing the hateful priviThe disasters of foreign war had been aggravated by a leges then generally accorded by the conqueror over his servile insurrection in Italy itself, and the necessities of the subjects, and the master over his slaves. But neither the state had compelled the nobles to relax their hold on the philosophy nor the religion of the day set forth any prinprivileges they so jealously maintained. A tribune named ciples of action adequate to commend such an apparent

ROMAN HISTORY. 320 Political sacrifice; and it must be confessed that the elements of a the intrusion of their own subjects within the pale of Roman Political History. secure and tranquil government by a limited kingly power property and privilege. But the knights availed themselves History. ' were hardly to be found at this time throughout the heathen of this foreign aid in their contest with the Senate ; and thus world. We shall presently see that neither the aristocracy the noble party, the Optimates as they were called, found nor the democracy of Rome was capable of maintaining themselves arrayed against the widest and most formidable the equilibrium of the commonwealth, and that the un- coalition they had yet encountered, in defence of their mitigated despotism under which she ultimately fell was prerogative. The strength of the Optimates, sapped and battered as the only possible solution of the antagonism so long preit was, still lay in the remnant they had preserved of their vailing in the elements of her polity. old control of the state religion, by which they could at times make an effective appeal to popular interests and SECT. XXV. THE SOCIAL WAR. prejudices ; but more in their own military organization, and the well-trained bands of clients and retainers, trained For some time past the Italians, as we have observed, The Italians agi- had been putting forth claims to the Roman franchise. If to the use of their suffrage as well as of their arms. They tate for ad- we would analyse, in a small compass, the motives from effected the disgrace of Marius and the recall of Metellus; mission to which this pretension was generally urged, we must reject, and in 659 (b.c. 95) required the consuls to expel from the the Roman in the first instance, the notion, so natural to our modern city all the Italians who had sought a domicile within its franchise. ideas, of equity and inherent rights. “ Rome for the Ro- walls. The Italian faction was now headed by a tribune man”—the enjoyment, that is, by the conquerors of all the named Livius Drusus, one of the most popular of the Livius fruits of conquest—was the fundamental principle of Roman demagogues, of whom it was long remembered that, when Drusus, policy, the moral basis of which was unquestioned by any his architect proposed to build him a house in which he tribune, A u 663 subjects or dependants of the republic. If, under any cir- might screen himself from the observation of his neigh- B-C - 91- > cumstances, she relaxed from this primary idea of her govern- hours, “ Build it so,” he had answered, “ that every citizen ' ment, even the states she favoured would only regard it as a may witness every action I perform.” The labours of this concession extorted by some necessity of the moment, which man in the cause of Italian emancipation seemed approachit would have been preposterous to claim as a right. The ing to success when, in the midst of the struggle, he was road to Roman honours and magistracies might have charms suddenly struck down by the poniard of an unknown for a few distinguished personages in an Italian burgh, but to assassin. The nobles, and especially the consul Philippus, the population generally the Roman franchise offered, for incurred the odium of the deed. Measures of proscription against individuals were now a long period, few attractions. The severe discipline to which the Roman commons were subjected, the constant threatened and carried alternately on both sides; but all military service demanded of them, the harsh prohibition semblance of legal procedure was soon cast away, and the which long prevailed of the exercise of trade and arts, the Italians rushed to arms. Their forces were derived chiefly jealousy with which the avenues to office were guarded, from the Marsians, the Picentines, the Vestines, the must have rendered the exchange of country (for the Samnites, the Lucanians, and Apulians ; and thus the Italian who acquired the Roman franchise lost his own) a allies of the Roman state, as they were specially denomivery slender gratification to the multitude. There was, nated, became its open and avowed enemies. In the indeed, some immunity in matter of taxation to be set course of the campaigns which followed, the Etruscans also against these drawbacks ; but the advantages to be derived joined the coalition ; and the object of the war, which was from a share in the provincial administration were con- at first the acquisition of the Roman franchise, became no fined to a small class, and could hardly be accessible to a other than the extermination of the Roman republic. It “new man” from Italy. The pressing motive which in- was proposed to organize and maintain a great Italian conspired the cry now raised for this questionable privilege federacy, of which Corfinium, under the name of Italica, was suggested by the agrarian struggles of the Gracchi. should be recognised as the capital. On the Roman side The public domain within the peninsula being now occu- the names of Caesar, Crassus, and Pompeius, destined to pied chiefly, as we have seen, by noble landholders, was re-appear in the next age in fatal combination, obtained sublet by them to the natives. The Italians, deprived of their earliest illustration ; on the Italian, Judacilius, the legal possession of their own soil by the conquest, be- Pompaedius, and Motulus were the most distinguished came virtually re-possessed of it by the mere abuse of pro- leaders. The chief successes of the Romans were gained prietary right, which allowed a few great families to enjoy by Marius and his former lieutenant Sulla, who crushed and, the usufruct of the national territory. But from the strict as it was said, destroyed the Etruscans ; nevertheless, the division of this territory among the citizens, as demanded power of the republic would not have sufficed for the comby the leaders of the movement, it would result that the plete reduction of the insurgents, and the discretion which, Italian sub-tenant w’ould be ejected from his farm to make at the first turn of fortune in her favour, dictated a substantial way for a plebeian proprietor. The measures threatened concession, saved her from an exhaustion of blood and by the Gracchi were really more formidable to the Italian treasure which no barren victory‘could have compensated. The lex Julia conferred the franchise on the Umbrians rphe jex than to the Roman aristocrat himself. They touched the pride and the privilege of the latter; but they menaced and Etruscans in 664; the lex Plautia Papiria in 666 Julia and the means of existence of the former. It was open to the extended it to all their Italian allies. Every Italian who lex Plantia. Italian either to join with the nobles in resisting the claim chose to come to Rome and claim the boon within sixty Admission tQ of the people, or to urge his own admission to the franchise, days, was received into the bosom of the commonwealth, and so come in for share with the people in a new distri- Ten tribes were added to the thirty-five already existing. R*m*n bution of property. This latter course was that which he The boon after all was not very generally accepted. The citizenship. adopted; and probably it was the most sagacious. The Roman religion required that every legal measure should leaders of the plebeian agitation found themselves at the be sanctioned by certain ceremonial observances, and these same time leaders of an Italian agitation also; the two could only be transacted within the sacred precincts of the movements proceeded together, and during the external city. It was admitted on all sides that the suffrage could troubles of the republic were suspended together. When only be exercised at Rome. Accordingly the franchise security was restored from without, the cry of the Italians offered little attraction to distant citizens, who were rerose louder than ever; and it was plain that the next great quired to forego their local citizenship for a privilege struggle of the governing classes at Rome would be against which they had little opportunity of exercising. After all

321 ROMAN HISTORY. Political the blood which had been spilt in the struggle, the Italians their avenger with exultation, not unmixed perhaps with Political History. foun(] themselves content for the most part to retain their fear, and stood horror-stricken by his side while he did History, old position. The roll of the Roman citizens, which in bloody and remorseless execution on the abettors of the ^ the census of 640 numbered 394,336, in that of 668, the late revolution. Sulla massacred several thousands of his Victory of next of which we have the account, had not increased disarmed prisoners in the Campus Martius, and organized Sulla, beyond 463,000, and sixteen years later was only 450,000. a system of terror and proscription for the extirpation 0^'^' But the precedent now set for the first time on so large a the popular leaders. scale bore ample fruit in the course of Roman history. It still remained to re-establish the supremacy of the Sulla dicThe full franchise was conceded in special instances to nobles on a legal basis, and to this purpose the conquerortator; various states in Spain, Gaul, and Africa; while the Latin, now applied the powers of the dictatorship which was now which conferred, as we have seen, a certain eligibility to tbe conferred upon him without limitation of time. He was Roman, was even more widely diffused. Pompeius Strabo even allowed to retain it, together with the consulship, in extended it to the entire nation of the Transpadane Gauls. the year 674. On the whole, the liberal concessions of this period evince Rome had hitherto been peculiarly fortunate in her in a marked manner the prudence of the Roman govern- political revolutions. With whatever violence they might ment at one of the most perilous moments of its career. have been conducted, they had perhaps uniformly worked The strong national prejudice against which they were car- for her ultimate advantage. But this was because they ried was now finally overthrown, and the Roman writers were all the offspring of a natural progress in the life of uniformly agree in applauding the policy which dictated the people. The re-actionary system of Sulla was, on the them, and ascribing to it the preservation of the state at the contrary, the greatest disaster in her annals. The aim of time, and the unabated vigour of its subsequent progress. this despot was to undo all the popular measures of the last half-century; to check the progress of agrarian distribu; to suspend the plantation of colonies ; to thwart, if SECT. XXVI. MARIUS AND SULLA—THE FIRST CIVIL WAR. tions he could not abrogate, the late enactments for the enfranContest of At a critical period of the late war Marius, in a splenetic chisement of the Italians; to destroy the popular authority Marius mood, had quitted the camp and buried himself in a dis- of the tribunes ; to repel the knights from the judicia; to and Sulla. tan(. retrea(-} leaving Sulla as consul, in 666, to bring the reserve the government of the provinces, with all the contest to a close. The younger champion was now in advantages thence accruing, for the first estate, the senatorial the ascendant. Mithridates, King of Pontus, had defied families only. The utter prostration of the opposite party the republic, had overrun the province of Asia, and caused enabled him to carry out all these plans for the moment, the massacre of the Roman colonists and traders, amount- and the high character borne by some of his coadjutors, such ing, as was loudly proclaimed, to not less than 80,000 souls. as Catulus, contributed to render them palatable. The Sulla was appointed to carry on the war against this for- opening career of the young Cnaeius Pompeius, the bravest midable enemy ; but before he could set forth on his of his lieutenants, whom he had seduced from the politics of mission, Marius, alarmed for his own pre-eminence in public his family and placed in the first rank of the senatorial affairs, attempted to create a revolution in the city. Sulla partizans, augured brilliantly for the military triumphs of recalled his troops, which had not yet quitted Italy, drove the faction to which he devoted him. Having effected the before him the Marian forces, and entered Rome in military reforms he judged necessary for his views, filled the city and array. Marius, flying for his life, concealed himself in the magistracy with his friends and the provincial governments marshes of Minturnae. He was discovered and seized ; but with his creatures; having attained, for his uniform sucthe Cimbrian captive who was sent to despatch him in cesses, the surname of Felix, “ the Prosperous” from an prison, fled in terror from before him, and he was allowed admiring generation, Sulla ventured to resign his dictatorto escape once more, and make his way into Africa. Re- ship, and retired abruptly into private life. His good clining among the ruins of Carthage, he meditated the fortune still befriended him: none of his enemies, no recovery of his power. On Sulla’s departure for the East, friend of his slaughtered victims, molested him in his death, the Marian faction again made head under Cinna, but was defenceless retreat; and he died in his bed, though harassed his Au - -676, put down again by the Senate and the consul Octavius. indeed by a loathsome infirmity, in the year 676, at the B-C ' Cinna fled into lower Italy, and raised some levies of age of sixty. turbulent banditti. At the same time Marius re-appeared suddenly in Etruria, and both chiefs approached Rome SECT. XXVII. RE-ACTION AGAINST SULLA’S OLIGARCHICAL simultaneously from opposite quarters. They entered the CONSTITUTION. city, overcoming all resistance, and executed a sanguinary The establishment of the Sudan oligarchy was a severe Sufferings proscription of their enemies. Marius became consul for comthe seventh time in 668, and though now seventy years blow to the ambition of large classes at home, to the knights and aints f °. of age, prepared to lead an army into Asia to supplant his and other new men who were striving by their wealth, or Pj )r0Yin * Death of rival Sulla. At this crisis, however, the old man died their credit in the courts and the Forum, to thrust them-®1I Marius, suddenly. Cinna succeeded to his powder, and sent selves into public office, for which they had no claim from a. u. 668, Valerius Flaccus to assume the command of the Roman birth or family illustration. It was an attempt to restrict b. c. 86. forces jri t]ie East. Scarcely had Flaccus crossed tothea group of two or three hundred ancient houses the Hellespont when he was assassinated in the camp by one honours and emoluments of the government of the world. of his own officers. Sulla was enabled, by the ascendancy The time, indeed, was past when such a retrograde step of his character, to join the legions of Flaccus to his own, could be permanent; but in the meanwhile the provincials and, thus re-inforced, put Mithridates to the rout, and led were even greater sufferers than the citizens themselves. his combined forces against the enemies of the Senate at Great as had been the cruelty and oppression of the goverRome. Cinna had now been murdered in his turn. Carbo nors, their subjects had hitherto had a remedy in the apand a son of Marius were the chiefs of the popular faction, peal to the tribunals at Rome, to the judges of peculation but they could make no head against the military talents and extortion. This appeal, however, would have been of and the veteran legions of Sulla, fn the battle of Sacri- little service but for the jealousy of parties in the city. As portus, and again before the Colline gate of Rome, the long as the knights contended with the senators for thi Italian militia who supported them went down before the judicia, and the Marians with the nobles for the magistraconquerors of Mithridates. The senatorial party received cies, advocates might be found, and the machinery, how2s VOL. XIX.

ROMAN HISTORY. 322 Political ever imperfect, of Roman justice might be employed for the rising orator Cicero, who formed in his own mind an Political History, redress. Proconsuls charged with extortion towards their ideal, too bright for realization, of the harmonious co-opera- History. subjects might sometimes meet with punishment, as well as tion of all classes in the state, and strove to secure for the those whose crimes had been committed against the state second order its fair share in the administration, notwithitself. But when t\\ejudicia were restored wholly to the standing the selfish resistance of an unconvincible oliSenate, when the popular leaders were utterly silenced, garchy. During the last few years a fresh war had been in prothe magistrates enjoyed, at least for a moment, complete impunity, and the provincials found, whatever their suffer- gress with the indomitable King of Pontus. The Roman ings, -that redress from a senatorial tribunal had become armies were led by Licinius Lucullus, an able commander, but not vigorous enough to cope with the vast resources entirely hopeless. It was fortunate for the subjects of Rome that the ram- and energy of Mithridates. While the republic was drained pant supremacy of the Sullan oligarchy could not long be of men and treasure in this unprofitable warfare, it was still maintained against the numbers, the activity, and the skill more painfully harassed by the pirates of Cilicia, who, since of the party over which it had triumphed. The complaints the decline of the Greek maritime powers, had covered the of the oppressed were encouraged by the chiefs of the op- eastern Mediterranean with their vessels, and carried their position, and all the force of forensic eloquence was em- predatory enterprises to the coasts of Italy, and even to the ployed to bring the oppressors to justice. The judges Pillars of Hercules. It was necessary to make an effort to were more accessible to bribery than to eloquence; but by suppress them, and powers such as had never before been means of the one or the other many of the Optimates were conferred on a single commander at Rome were given to thus smitten with judicial sentences, while the feelings of Pompeius by the Gabinian bill for the purpose. He was the public were roused against them, and a strong pre- constituted captain-general of all the forces of the republic judice excited against the monopoly of power which throughout all her coasts, and fifty miles inland. Such a Impeach- they so fearfully abused. The case of Verres, the plun- command was practically unlimited ; such a commander was ment of derer of Sicily, and of other provinces before, who was virtually the autocrat of the empire. Nevertheless the reYerres. dragged at last before the bar of justice by the youthful sult, complete and speedy as it was, seemed fully to justify it. orator Cicero, and forced to abandon his defence in The naval campaign, in which Pompeius collected all the Pompeius despair, shook the authority of the nobles, while it vindi- maritime resources of the republic and her dependencies, overcomes cated in one conspicuous instance the rights of the subject drove the pirates from sea to sea, and at last crushed them the Cilician in their own harbours, was an achievement as brilliant as it Piratesprovincials. Sedition of But the Marians were not satisfied with these legitimate was unique. Its effect also was permanent: from henceLepidus, modes of warfare. Immediately on the decease of Sulla, forth the police of the seas was kept so well by Rome that a.u. 676, Lepidus, then actually one of the consuls, took up arms piracy never made head again in the Mediterranean during B.c. 78. ostensibly in their interest, but was put down by his col- the existence of her dominion. But while Pompeius was league Catulus. A remnant of the party, turbulent and thus gaining the most honourable of his distinctions, the self-willed, and impatient of their loss of power, attached “piratic laurel,” one of his creatures in the city, named Sertorius. themselves to an Italian officer named Sertorius, who raised Manilius, took advantage of his increasing popularity to oba revolt in Spain, and maintained a war there for several tain for him the command against Mithridates (a.u. 688, years against the best generals of the Senate. After defeat- B.c. 66), and over the eastern half of the empire. This ing Metellus, he kept the brave Pompeius at bay till he enormous grant, far exceeding the powers ever before conwas murdered, in 682, by Perperna, one of his own lieu- fided to a proconsul, was advocated by all the eloquence of tenants, after which event the movement was quickly sup- Cicero ; and Lucullus was directed to resign his command pressed. This was another great service done to the state to the favourite of the people, and return as a private citizen by one who was now acknowledged by the nobles as the to Rome. Lucullus was one of the chiefs of the oligarchy ; C. Pom- foremost man in the republic. The title of Magnus (“ the and this insult to the individual was felt more acutely by peius, sur- Great”), with which Sulla in his lofty generosity had al- his party than by himself, for by temper he was unusually ed «aTagnus. „ jready saluted him, was ratified by the consent of the dic- indifferent to public distinctions, and betrayed at least no aj.or>s faction ancl recommended by them to the general apannoyance when on his return he withdrew himself from proval of the citizens. The popular party were indeed not affairs, and gave his leisure to the enjoyment of luxury, and without hopes of gaining him to their own side. Flattered to private works of munificence. But the jealousy with on all hands, he trimmed from side to side, and his estimation which the Senate had begun to regard their pretended still rose higher as fortune gave him opportunities of dis- champion Pompeius was much exasperated: he repaid Hevolt of tinction. He was still absent in Spain when Rome was their suspicions with haughty scorn, while the chiefs of Spartacus. terrified by the revolt of Spartacus and a handful of fugi- the opposite party fanned the flame of discord between tive gladiators, soon swelled to an army by opening the them. Cicero rose into distinction with the general ergastula, or slave-prisons. More than one legionary force favour bestowed upon his patron. In the year 688 he was defeated by them: they were checked at last and was chosen praetor, having already served the lower macrippled by Crassus; but by this time Pompeius had been gistracies ; and now in the full career of honours, he might recalled in haste to combat them, and his opportune arrival well hope, new man though he was, without fortune or completed their discomfiture, while it earned him the whole connections of his own, for the crowning glory of the conglory of the victory (a.u. 683, b.c. 71). Such was the sulship. favour in which this lucky general was now held that he The nobles loudly asserted that their champion Lucullus could lend a helping-hand to Crassus, and raise him to- had already broken the power of Mithridates, when Pomgether with himself to the consulship ; an act of condescen- peius was thrust forward to reap the honour of his successes. sion of which his colleague ever retained an uneasy recol- Certain it is that the King ofPontus sued for peace on the lection. Courted by both parties, the two consuls com- first arrival of his new antagonist ; but it was not the object bined in their policy, and exerted their authority on the of Pompeius to gain a bloodless triumph, and he refused to side of the Marians. They restored the tribuneship, and treat with the enemy till he had reduced him to unconditransferred \he judicia to the knights; and thus the chief tional submission. Mithridates withdrew from Asia Minor, measures of Sulla were abrogated by the leaders he had but he retired through the difficult, country of Iberia and left behind him, after only eleven years’ continuance. The Albania to his dominions in the Tauric Chersonese, and consuls were supported in their reforms by the talents of thither Pompeius tried in vain to follow him. Some poli-

ROMAN HISTORY. 323 Political tical complications occurring seasonably in Syria, the baffled turn he found his friends once more drawing breath and Political History. Roman made them an excuse for desisting from the pur- recovering their spirits, he had thrown himself manfully History. suit ; and turning southward, he arranged the affairs of the into their cause, and insisted on restoring the trophies of province, and decided between the claims of rival pre- Marius, displaced by his successful enemy. During the tenders in Palestine. Pompeius was the first Roman that absence of Pompeius he pushed himself with Undaunted entered Jerusalem, where he penetrated into the Temple, energy into the first rank of the popular faction ; he disDeath of and even into the Holy of Holies. Meanwhile Mithridates mayed the nobles by calling to account the instruments of Mithrifell by private treachery in 691, being slain by one of his Sulla’s vengeance, and by inciting the people to inflict a dates, own sons, Pharnaces, who obtained in recompense a con- public slight upon Catulus. The Optimates were already A. U. 691, firmation by Pompeius of his claims to the throne of the tottering under the repeated blows he thus dealt them, B. c. 63. Bosphorus. On the eastern frontier of Asia Minor, Cappa- when an event occurred which gave them an opportunity docia, Paphlagonia, Galatia, and Comana were formed into of strengthening their position. Suddenly the coramondependent sovereignties; their territories were declared wealth was threatened with a ruinous disaster. Fortune free states in the centre of the Roman provinces; but the gave the nobles the means of averting it by an act of greater portion of the peninsula, including also Syria, was extraordinary vigour, and recovering thereby the prestige Triumphs definitively annexed to the empire. Palestine became a which a series of weaknesses and defects had well nigh of Pom- vassal monarchy under the Herods. Beyond the Euphrates, lost them. The conspiracy of Catilina and the courage peius in the East. Armenia still retained a nominal independence ; but the of Cicero gave the Senate another lease of power for fourefforts of Rome were constantly directed to preventing her teen years. from falling under the sway or influence of the Parthians. Amid the contests of ostensible parties in the state there The conPompeius the Great, the conqueror and organizer of the lurked a greater and nearer danger in the numbers of dis- spiracy of East, might regard himself in either capacity as the rival contented bankrupt youths thrown loose upon society by Catilinaof the great Alexander. the accidents of civil commotion. These pests of the com- A-Umonwealth fell at this moment under the lead of a profli-B'C‘ bJ' gate monster, L. Sergius Catilina, who, having failed of his SECT. XXVIII. REVIVED AUTHORITY OF THE SENATE election to the consulship, intrigued against all constituted DURING THE ABSENCE OF POMPEIUS. authority, and formed a conspiracy to seize the government by force. The existence of such a plot had been vaguely During the absence of Pompeius in Asia the extreme apprehended from the moment of Catilina’s defeat, and it Revived authority section of the senatorial party, well pleased at the removal was with the presentiment that a man of vigour would be of the of a champion they suspected and feared to so distant an required at the helm that the nobles, notwithstanding his Senate during the exile, placed themselves under the guidance of their na- ignoble birth, allowed the election of Cicero, whose abilities absence of tural chiefs, men of ancient lineage and ancestral honours, they knew, and on whose vanity they could play, to the conPompeius. such as Catulus, Lucullus, Servilius, Lentulus, and Mar- sulship for 691. Cicero soon made himself master of the cellus. But none of these were men of commanding ability, plot, surprised certain envoys from the Allobroges with nor even of commanding energy. A large number of the whom the traitors had been tampering; but not daring to principal nobility were engrossed by luxury and indolence; seize the chief conspirator himself till he could make" his and the eloquence of Hortensius, their best speaker, was guilt patent to the citizens, denounced him in the Senatespeedily eclipsed by that of the upstart Cicero. In this house, and drove him in guilty agitation from the city. dearth of talent among them, they suffered a prominent Catilina threw himself prematurely on the feeble levies he M. Porcius place to be taken by Cato, the great-grandson of the censor, had prepared in Etruria ; while the consul arrested his chief Cato. a man who resembled his illustrious ancestor in the antique adherents, some of them men of rank and distinction, rigour of his manners, a pedantic assertor of the old sena- strangely mixed up in so desperate an enterprise, brought torial privileges, and inflexible in the maintenance of his them before the Senate, disclosed their guilt by incontrohereditary politics. This dogged resolution and dense ob- vertible proofs, and demanded their punishment. The structiveness were as valuable qualities perhaps as a chief temper of the people, it seems, could not be trusted ; and * of the Optimates could at that time possess ; for Cato knew notwithstanding the enormity of the guilt thus fastened how to keep his position by sheer obstinacy long after a upon them, it was dangerous to allow them the appeal reasonable statesman would have confessed that it was un- which the law permitted. The nobles were well pleased at tenable, and he protracted the contest with the ever-increas- the opportunity of showing their confidence in their own ing power of the popular faction through many a vicissitude power, and proving that they were not afraid to act with of triumph and defeat, as accident favoured or depressed the vigour of the ancient oligarchy, even in the absence of him. But fortune was on the whole against him ; and the Pompeius and his legions. They had armed the consul with chance which arrayed the unequalled genius of C. Julius the “ ultimate decree,” requiring him to provide, by whatCaesar in the first rank of his opponents, was alone suf- ever arbitrary measures, for the safety of the state; and ficient to overwhelm the resistance of abler men than this stretch of their prerogative they did not scruple to Cato. enforce with the instant execution of the criminals. Cicero Caesar was descended from a noble family, sprung, as is was hurried along by his enthusiasm, as the saviour, for C. Julius pretended, even from a Trojan origin. His ancestors had such he was loudly proclaimed, of his country. He lent Caesar. enjoyed the highest honours of the state, and were natu- himself to the rash policy of his supporters and patrons; rally attached to the party of the Senate which some of dazzled by the splendour of his extraordinary position, inthem had defended in arms during the Social and Civil toxicated by the incense of aristocratic flattery, and the wars. But he was at the same time nephew to Marius, and assurance that he had secured a permanent rank among the he had married a daughter of Cinna. These connections haughty oligarchy of Rome, he consented to an act of outweighed in his mind the prejudices of his birth, and in- dubious justice and expediency, of which he had cause bitspired him with the ambition of ruling Rome at the head terly to repent not many years after. The presumed assoof the democracy. In early youth he had been marked ciates of Catilina, whose actual guilt is affirmed only on out by Sulla as the heir of his rival’s principles, and a pos- ex parte evidence, were strangled in prison ; Catilina himsible successor to his own ascendancy. Caesar had escaped self, brought to bay in the Apennines, was defeated in open a.u. 692, the proscription of his party, had served abroad while it battle by the forces of the government, and slain, fighting B-c- 62. was dangerous to appear in Rome; and when on his re- bravely in the field.

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Political SECT. XXIX. COALITION OF POMPEIUS, CRASSUS, AND History. CAESAR TO CONTROL THE GOVERNMENT THE FIRST TRIUMVIRATE. Caesar, as the chief of the popular party, the representaKise and progress of tive of its constitutional traditions, had protested against Caesar. the infliction of capital punishment on the conspirators. It required great courage to take this part; for the nobles had tried to incriminate Caesar himself in the plot, and he had with difficulty extricated himself from their meshes. Such, moreover, was the influence they had now acquired over the passions of the knights and men of property in the city, that he was threatened by their poniards on the steps of the Senate-house. But the reckless populace whom he swayed with a handful of trusty adherents, by unbounded profusion of money, reigned in the comitia. He was chosen praetor and chief pontiff’; and in the year 693 went forth, with money borrowed from Crassus, to gain his first laurels as a governor in the further Spain. Pompeius, returning this year, found himself the object of jealousy, not unmingled with scorn, to his own party, elated as they were by their recent triumph, and believing themselves strong enough to cast off his odious patronage. On reaching the shores of Italy, such was his confidence in himself, and in the position he supposed himself to hold, that he magnanimously disbanded his army, and took his seat as a private citizen in the Senate. But this moderation served only to confirm the short-sighted vanity of the Optimates. They amused themselves by treating him wdth the most marked coldness, kept him waiting a year for the triumph he had so well earned, and put off from day to day the ordinary compliment of ratifying his acts or political arrangements in the He coal- East. Upon .this point, indeed, he could get no satisfaction esces with till he had formed a coalition with Caesar and Crassus, by Pompeius and Cras- which they entered into a mutual pledge to support each other’s pretensions to the highest offices and commands, and to share, in fact, between themselves the actual government of the state. Caesar was suing for the consulship; Crassus was desirous of some lucrative command ; Pompeius, who had attained the summit of his ambition, wanted only the confirmation of his acts, the reward of his legionaries, and the solemn recognition of his pre-eminent deserts. He felt as yet no jealousy of his associates ; the one he regarded as a fashionable debauchee and spendthrift, the other as a selfish and indolent miser. He hoped to use them both as the props of his own supremacy, .and to cast them away whenever he had recovered that authority with the nobles which he considered due to his merits, whatever A. attitude u. he might assume694, towards them. Such was the B. C. 60. private citizens for the conorigin of the compact of three trol of the republic, known by the name of the First Triumvirate, the fruits of which were soon seen in the success of Caesar’s application for the consulship, and in A. the boldu. popular measures 695, he was enabled to carry. On B. c. 59. he quitted Rome for the the expiration of his term, province of Gaul, where he found himself suddenly engaged in wars with the Helvetians and the Suevi. The Optimates recovered in his absence the curule chairs, but their consuls fell under the patronage of Pompeius, who now reigned paramount in the city. Jealous of the renown Cicero had acquired in the affair of Catilina, Pompeius allowed the infamous demagogue Clodius to accuse him, as tribune, before the people, and obtain a sentence of banishment against him for the execution Banish- of the conspirators without due form of law. Cicero rement of tired into Macedonia, and thence into Greece, and lowCicero, ered his character, spotless as it was, by his unmanly A u. 696, lamentations. Pompeius managed also to degrade the 2i C. 58. rigid Cato by sending him on a harsh and unjust fission to dethrone the King of Cyprus, and annex his dominions to the empire.

SECT. XXX.—PROCEEDINGS OF THE TRIUMVIRATE TILL ITS Political History. DISSOLUTION BY THE DEATH OF CRASSUS. Caesar had entered his province in 696, and during the following years was intently occupied in subjugating the tribes of Gaul from the Rhone to the Rhine and the Atlantic. According to the usual policy of Rome and of other conquering races, he effected his purpose by directing the passions of the native tribes against one another, rather than by the strength of Roman arms and the effusion of Roman blood. The Tldui and Arverni in the centre of Gaul, the Remi in the north-east, were disposed, with selfish views of their own, to assist in the ruin of their common country, and the incursions of the Germans from beyond the Rhine furnished the invader with an excuse for proclaiming himself the protector of the Gauls. In 697 Caesar broke the confederation of the Belgic tribes in the Caesar’s North. The next year he worsted at sea the naval power campaigns of the Veneti in Brittany, while his lieutenants subduedin (^aul Aquitania. In 699 he threw a bridge across the Rhine, and penetrated for an instant into the German forests. In the autumn of the same year he crossed with a powerful and Briarmament into Britain, and made a second attack upon the tainislanders in the succeeding summer. Landing on each occasion on the coast of Kent, probably on the beach at Walmer, he made in his second campaign a rapid march into the interior, forced the passage of the Thames some miles above London, and defeated the King of the Trinobantes, the most powerful of the southern chieftains, before his stockade in Hertfordshire. But his success was not such as to encourage him to leave a garrison in the country, or effect a permanent lodgment there. He was satisfied with the promise of a slender tribute; and this, in all probability, was never paid after the return of the legions. The expedition, indeed, had been undertaken rather for the amusement of the citizens, who listened with interest to their hero’s despatches, and for the gratification of the soldiers’ cupidity, than with any view of annexing a new province to the empire. During the progress of his campaigns, whatever their immediate purpose, the vigilance of Caesar was never entirely diverted from the march of events in the city. Year after year, when the season for military operations was closed, he repaired to the baths of Lucca on the frontier of his province,—for the laws did not suffer an imperator to enter Italy while retaining his command,—and there con- His incerted with his friends, who flocked to him in numbers from trigues in Rome, the measures most conducive to the interests of histbe cityparty and of himself. He had carried his warfare against the nobles to the furthest limits of the law, and had provoked and alarmed them beyond the possibility of forgiveness. In his distant command he was beyond the reach of their enmity: they were well pleased at his absence, and did not grudge him the term of five years which he had in the first instance required. But he knew that whenever he returned as a private citizen to Rome he should fall easily into their power, and he had no trust in the support of either of his confederates. From the moment that the compact had been made between them he had felt the necessity of binding Pompeius to himself by a stronger tie than political interest; for Pompeius could not persuade himself that a party chief as yet so little distinguished could do him more than a momentary service. With a keen discernment of character, Caesar perceived how this reserved and selfish magnate could be worked on through his sentimental affections. Though advanced in years, and older indeed than Caesar himself, Pompeius had consented to give his hand to his rival’s youthful daughter, and had devoted himself to her as the most uxorious of husbands. He had thus been easily blinded to the schemes of the Gaulish proconsul which kept the Senate in alarm. His attention,

325 HISTORY. Political Political indeed, was diverted from them by the turbulence of Clo- the Euphrates, and directed his march across the desert History. HOtory. djug an(l some popular tribunes, whose intrigues for harass- which divides that river from the Tigris. The Parthians v ing and dividing the nobles were so propitious to Caesar’s retreated before him till they had enticed him to a con- '— Turbulence views that we must suspect him of covertly instigating them, siderable distance, and finally attacked him with overof Clodius Pompeius, on his part, was well pleased to see the Senate whelming force when his men were exhausted with fatigue and Milo. humbled. When, however, he was himself insulted, and his and heat. A Roman army of three legions was routed life threatened, he thought that their degradation had gone and almost destroyed in the terrible battle of Charrhse, and Battle of far enough, and joined with Crassus to secure the election the disastrous flight which followed. The proconsul was Charrhae, of vigorous consuls, and tribunes devoted to himself. He induced to sue for terms of capitulation, and then treachercountenanced the turbulent agitation with which Milo, a ously slain. A remnant of his army was saved and con- De^th creature of the Senate, rebutted the violence of Clodius, ducted back to Antioch by Cassius Longinus, the ablest of crassus. and finally obtained the recall of Cicero from banishment. his lieutenants. Recall of The people, with their usual fickleness, turned their backs Cicero. upon Clodius, and received the patriot orator with accla- SECT. XXXI.—THE CIVIL WAR TO THE DEATH OF POMPEIDS. mations. Caesar congratulated him with a warmth conThe triple league thus suddenly dissolved had already Dissensions genial to his generous character, and heaped favours on his brother Quintus, then serving in his army. Pompeius, been shaken by the death of Julia, the daughter of Caesar, between ar d e^s indeed, looked coldly upon him. The nobles, who had espoused to Pompeius. The nobles saw their opportunity, p^ om eiUs and exerted themselves diligently to improve it. They reP got, as they thought, all the use that was to be made of him, were indifferent to his further career, and he remained newed their overtures to Pompeius, who was becoming for some years in a subordinate position, seeking to keep jealous of the advance of Caesar in power and general estihimself before the public by puerile appeals to his former mation, and allowed him the unprecedented distinction of services, and by hollow flattery of the men really in power. holding the consulship for six months without a colleague, But Pompeius required his own services to be amply re- —a kind of dictatorship without the name, for which the quited. On the occurrence of a scarcity in the city, the disturbances in the city seemed to afford an excuse. The Senate hastened to confer upon him extraordinary powers Gauls, once apparently conquered, had risen again in a for its relief, and Cicero was required to recommend this wide-spread revolt, and the position of the conqueror had become imminently precarious. Pompeius, who had sufcommission to the people. M. LiciCrassus was now impatient of the inferiority of his posi- fered from a dangerous sickness, was elated by the extranius Cras- tion. He was not a great military chief like Pompeius; vagant acclamations of the citizens on his recovery, and the he had conferred no commands, and bestowed no crowns ; Senate easily persuaded him that he could stand alone at he was not a popular leader like Caesar, with a crowd of the head of the government, and, even if Caesar escaped hungry dependants urging him on for their own advance- the perils in which he was involved, securely spurn his alliment ; he was not even to be compared as an orator to ance and defy his enmity. But all these calculations were Cicero, though he had made some useful connections as a doomed to disappointment. The abilities and fortune of pleader and patron ; but he was the richest of the Romans, Caesar triumphed over the Gauls, and he was enabled to and he represented one marked feature in the character of complete his conquests, and recruit his exhausted legions his countrymen in his sordid pursuit of wealth and love of from the flower of the Gaulish youth. Before the expiration accumulation. His career had been that of a banker and of his second term of office, he had finished the task he had money-lender in the city; his acquisitions, however great, undertaken to accomplish, and found himself in a position to had been slow and gradual; now, advanced as he was in demand the consulship a second time. The Senate, alarmed years, his ambition began to reach further : he coveted the at the prospect of his return, required him to relinquish his fame of a commander and a conqueror, and lusted for the command before venturing to sue for a civil office ; but he plunder of a province or a foreign kingdom. After fulfilling was well aware that, once divested of military support, he his term of office as consul, he demanded of the Senate the would lie at the mercy of unscrupulous enemies; and he government of Syria, and avowed as he set forth from Rome retorted with the demand, which he knew would not be his purpose of making war upon Parthia. The nobles, who complied with, that Pompeius, who at the moment held were unable to refuse him the proconsulate, professed a the command of the armies in Spain, while continuing to pious horror at these unprovoked hostilities, and engaged reside within sight of the city, should at the same time surthe tribune Ateius to denounce it as a sacrilege—to meet render his extraordinary appointments. Both parties could him as he issued through the gates of the city, and devote appeal to the letter of the law ; but on both sides the appeal him, with awful solemnities, to the vengeance of the of- to law was a mere pretence. Party animosities and private fended gods. The minds of the soldiers were painfully ambitions had come to such a head that Caesar could not be affected by this formidable ceremony, and it was with diffi- safe without the guarantee of a high official position ; the culty that Crassus could overcome their terrors, and engage Senate could not be safe without degrading and trampling them by redoubled promises to follow him on his ill-omened him under its feet. A contest had become inevitable, and it was little matter from which side the first blow actually came. expedition. Still, with a people devoted like the Romans to the obThen did the Senate watch and strain every nerve to servance of constitutional fictions, it was an object of some baffle the movements of the triumvirs. But the coalition was too powerful for it. While Crassus was gratified with importance to preserve a mere show of legality; and this his eastern command, Pompeius claimed and obtained the advantage, such as it was, was secured to Caesar when two provinces of Spain and Africa, which he governed by lieu- of the tribunes, who had protested against the fierce detenants, remaining himself in the immediate neighbourhood mands of the Senate, fled from Rome by night, affecting of Rome ; and Caesar’s command in Gaul was prolonged for alarm for their own safety, and sought refuge in the camp^ a second period of five years. The power of the trium- of the proconsul, which he had advanced to the frontier of virate was thus apparently confirmed ; but the Senate turned his province. The news of; their flight outstripped their Caesar crosses the with a gleam of satisfaction to the enterprise of Crassus, the own arrival; and Caesar, w ».h ins usual lightning-speed, at disastrous issue of which was already augured from surer crossed the Rubicon with a few battalions, and met them A “ tokens than those of the diviners. Crassus was quite incom- Arimiorum, proclaiming that he entered Italy in arms to B‘c' ^ ’ petent for the task he had undertaken. Having defied the vindicate the majesty of the law. Thus outraged in their Parthians upon frivolous pretences, he led his army across persons, Pompeius and the Senate were dismayed at the ROMAN

326

ROMAN HISTORY. Political boldness of this movement. Slender as were the forces of importunity of the civilians against his own judgment. His Political History. the invader, they were unprepared to meet them in arms. forces doubled those of his antagonist, but they were not History, Their legions were scattered in Spain and in the East, and equally serviceable. The armies met at last on the plain the raw levies of the city were not fit to oppose to the de- beneath the hill-fortress of Pharsalia; and on the 9th of Battle of termined veterans of the Gallic wars. Pompeius required August 706 the great battle was fought which utterly Pharsalia, 6 ’ the knights and senators to quit the city and retire with broke the power of the Senate, scattered their leaders, and^'Jg him to the south of Italy. The negotiations with which he drove Pompeius across the seas as a suppliant to the coast C’ sought to amuse the assailant had no effect in retarding him. °i Egypt. Caesar was intent on following the steps of his One fortress after another fell with their garrisons into great adversary, more formidable to him than all the rest Caesar’s hands ; the population of Italy rose to welcome of his party ; but from the want of shipping he was obliged him; and he well-nigh succeeded in surprising Pompeius in to lead his troops by a long circuitous march through Asia Brundisium, and intercepting his escape into Illyricum. Minor and Syria. Meanwhile the young Ptolemaeus, who Flight of But the Senate had possession of the sea, and for the pre- owed his throne to the man who now sought his protection, the Senate, sent their enemy was unable to follow them. Caesar then was persuaded by his ministers to sacrifice him. Pompeius retraced his steps to Rome, where the people received him was inveigled out of ship, stabbed in the boat which con- Death of with acclamations. He summoned a Senate of the remnant veyed him to the shore, his head cut off and sent to Caesar. Pompeius. of the order, seized the treasures of the state, which Pompeius in his haste had neglected to secure, gave an assurSECT. XXXII,—CAESAR FOUNDS THE EMPIRE. ance of his favour to all the nobles who would abandon the falling fortunes of the fugitives, and defied the abdicated After Pharsalia the nobles for the most part made their Cassar’s government as traitors and rebels. submission, and the clemency with which Caesar treated campaigna In sixty days Cmsar had driven his enemies out of Italy. them, so different from the measure dealt to their conquered Hgyph He had cut their position in two. The best half of the enemies by a Marius or a Sulla, gained him the fervent ^it^as,and Pompeian armies were quartered in Spain; but Pornpeius applause both of his contemporaries and of posterity. A had more reliance on the resources of Greece and Asia, remnant indeed of the defeated faction, under the indomiwhich he had so long wielded, and left his lieutenants in the table Cato, effected their escape to Africa, and raised the west to defend themselves as best they might, while he standard of the oligarchy at Utica; but the greater numraised the forces of his own division of the empire, Roman ber of the senators and nobles returned to Rome, and acand barbarian, and trained them together for the future in- quiesced without a murmur in the acclamations with which vasion of Italy. Caesar, as we have seen, had no ships for the people conferred the dictatorship on their favourite for transporting himself across the Adriatic. He was aware the second time. Caesar meanwhile was received with also that it would take a long time to equip the Pompeian hollow demonstrations of respect by Ptolemaeus in Egypt, armaments in the East. But meanwhile the base of his and he remained there for some months, fascinated, it was own resources in Gaul was threatened by the forces of the said, by the charms of the king’s sister Cleopatra. He supenemy in Spain, and his first operations were directed to ported her claims against her brother, seeking perhaps an crushing this stronghold of the senatorial party and securing opportunity for demanding money, of which he was much his own rear. He led his legions along the coast of Italy in need; but the Alexandrians, on discovering how slender and Gaul; besieged and reduced Massilia, which ventured his forces were, rose in arms against him, and he was reto rise against him in the interest of the oligarchy; crossed duced to the direst peril, till relieved by the advance of Campaign the Pyrenees, and attacked the Pompeian lieutenants in the re-inforcements from Syria. Had Cato’s Senate acted with in Spain. north of Spain. Having mastered his opponents in a energy at this crisis, it would seem that it might easily have brilliant campaign, he returned swiftly to Rome, quelling a crushed him. Possibly it was hampered by want of means mutiny among his own soldiers at Placentia on the way, for moving an army by sea. It is difficult to understand Caesar assumed the dictatorship with a faint show of legal forms, the next movement of Caesar, who it seems did not hesiappointed and proclaimed himself once more the champion of the tate to leave such an enemy to gather force in his rear, while dictator. state against every foreign and domestic enemy. Collect- he led his own troops through Syria into Pontus, and ocing his forces, to the amount of about 30,000 men, at cupied himself with waging war against its king, Pharnaces, Brundisium, he effected the passage of the straits by skill the son of Mithridates. He could describe, indeed, his and good fortune, in the face of a superior fleet, and con- success, which was rapid and complete, by the three words ducted operations against Pompeius, who had assembled a veni, vidi, vici; and here, too, we must suppose that the large but ill-disciplined armament on the coast of Epirus. motive of his delay was the need he felt for money to It was the policy of Pompeius to avoid an engagement. satisfy his rapacious mercenaries. From Asia he repaired He suffered himself to be blocked up in his camp on the to Rome, and assumed the dictatorship for the third time; land side, having still the command of the sea, and Caesar but before the end of the year (a.u. 707) he sallied forth found himself baffled and reduced to straits for the support again to confront the remnant of the senatorial party, and of his army. When at last he made a desperate attack on landed with a large force near Adrumetum. The battle Battle of the Pompeian lines he was repulsed with some loss, and was of Thapsus in 708, in which Cato’s troops, with their ally Thapsus, obliged to break up from his position. Military critics have the Numidian Juba, were routed, completed the overthrow A TJ> affirmed that the younger captain had been out-generalled of the senatorial faction. The chiefs of the party were B'c‘ by the elder. But this is hardly a fair account of the slain in the battle or the pursuit. Caesar’s soldiers wreaked matter. Caesar’s policy required him to fight against odds their fury upon a large number of the captives. Cato, both of numbers and position. It was no disparagement to finding it impossible to hold out in Utica, recommended his military talents that he failed under such conditions. his followers to make their peace with the conqueror, and Suicide of But his peril was now extreme. Retreat across the sea, consummated his career of futile self-devotion by throwing Cato, could he have hazarded a retrograde movement, was inter- himself on his own sword. cepted. He boldly dashed into Thessaly, in the heart of the Caesar returned once more to Rome to celebrate a series Terminaenemy’s country, in the hope of drawing Pompeius from his of triumphs, to reform the laws, and lay the foundations Hon of the impregnable stronghold in pursuit of him. The Pompeians, of an empire. The battle of Thapsus is the termination Boman re1C elated with their success, followed him with exultation, and of the republic. Though the old offices of the free state ' insisted on their leader accepting the battle so urgently were to be preserved, though the consuls, praetors, and demanded. Pompeius hesitated, and only yielded to the tribunes were to be selected as of yore by the assemblies

KOMANHISTORY. 327 Political of the people, and to issue from Rome for the government the republic, which no doubt he would have applied to Political History. of the provinces, the forms of the commonwealth were really every subject nation ; and he executed a correction of the History, to be subordinated to the will of a single autocrat, and the title calendar, not the least practically useful of these reforms, Cassar of Imperator, “ a commander,” which Caesar now assumed, which has lasted, with trifling rectifications, even to our own “ Impera- not to denote an occasional and temporary office, but a days, and become the common heritage of Europe. tor.” permanent distinction, symbolized the rule of the sword which was henceforth to become actually predominant. NeverSECT. XXXIII.^—DEATH OF CAESAR. theless, Caesar is not to be regarded as a vulgar despot, who seizes his opportunity to suppress the liberties of his countryThe power of the senatorial faction had been completely Final remen, and convert a free state into a tyranny. Caesar con- broken at Pharsalia and Thapsus, but Cnaeus and Sextus, volt of the sidered himself the sovereign, not of the ancient Roman the sons of Pompeius, with a few desperate adherents of people, but of the world, their subjects. His aim, from an his family rather than of any public cause, raised their early period, had been to carry out to the fullest practica- standard again in Spain, where they found recruits among ble extent the principle, long admitted but imperfectly the Roman residents and the still turbulent natives. Caesar exercised, of provincial emancipation. The popular party hastened from Italy to crush this revolt, which he could which he led had incorporated itself with the Italians; his easily have effected had his own soldiers been disposed to policy was to incorporate it with the nations beyond Italy. fight as constantly as hitherto in his behalf; but even the He had enlisted the subject Gauls in the legions, and tenth, his favourite legion, had been debauched by victory placed them side by side with the Roman soldier. He had and plunder, and could hardly be brought to engage till he conferred the citizenship on the Cisalpine population. He threw himself into the midst of the enemy’s ranks, and Battle of now threw open the doors of the Senate to the chiefs of called upon it to deliver him. The battle of Munda ended Munda, Gaul, Spain, and Africa, and filled the mansions of Rome in the final overthrow of the opponents of the empire. A-u-709> with men of strange garb and uncouth idioms, that all the Cnaeus was slain in the pursuit; Sextus escaped to lurk B,c’ 45' nations which owned the sway of the republic might learn for some years longer among pirates and outlaws. Returnto know each other, and mingle at last in one homoge- ing to Rome, Csesar assumed the consulship with his friend Caesar’s neous community. He did not scruple to proclaim his pas- M. Antonins for the year ensuing; but now that all resistviews. sion for the Grseco-Egyptian princess Cleopatra, to invite ance had been quelled, and no further heights of glory her to Rome, lodge her in a Roman palace, and allow one and ambition remained to be scaled, a change seems to of his creatures to propose a dispensation to enable him to have come over the calm serenity of his temper, and that marry her. He suffered himself to be adored with the perfect self-command and clear perception of his aims which title of a divinity, and his statue to be consecrated in the had so long distinguished him. The possession of unlimited temple of Mars. Such acts as these, in daring violation power still left a void to be filled up. He became proud toof the national prejudices, announced a new era in public wards his nobles, harsh and tyrannical towards his weaker ideas. If Csesar should succeed in effecting them, he subjects, impatient in his temper, restless in his schemes. would lay the basis of a new national edifice; he would be While the whole Roman world lay before him to be moulded the last and the greatest founder of Rome. But though into an empire of uniform laws and usages, he was bent on he was thus unscrupulous in overthrowing the ancient fabric prosecuting a vast scheme of foreign warfare, chastising of the constitution, he was considerate and clement in the the Parthians, recovering the standards won from Crassus, treatment of parties ; for the moment that they laid down exploring the recesses of the Mithridatic realms on the their arms, he regarded his adversaries in the same light further coast of the Euxine, and uniting to the empire the His cle- as the rest of the citizens. He suffered no punishments, no yet untrodden regions between the Don and the Danube. mency. confiscations. He took their chiefs into his favour, and ad- These dreams of the imagination were destined to be rudely mitted them to his counsels. When he celebrated his four- broken. While in the first months of the year 710 he was His four- fold triumphs over the Gauls, the Egyptians, over Juba and intent on his military preparations, and was sending forward fold triPharnaces, he allowed the greatest of his victories to be the legions designed for his expedition, Rome was filled umph. passed over in silence. He pretended to be still the father with rumours that the dictator, not satisfied with the gloriof his country, and accepted with a pride which he himself ous titles he had acquired, desired to be saluted with the believed to be legitimate, this title, the proudest which any odious style of king. This was the device so often reRoman had ever won from his countrymen. Rome had peated whenever the nobles of Rome wanted to raise the indeed yet a series of revolutions to undergo before this idea people against their champions, which had never perhaps of a universal empire could be carried out, and when finally failed of success; and it seems more probable that the established the empire was a doubtful blessing at best; but charge was invented by Caesar’s enemies, than that he it must be remembered that the continuance of the free should have actually imperilled his life and fortunes for state, with the incitement it gave to lawless and turbulent an empty sound. Yet, none perhaps can tell what inambition, had become manifestly impossible; and further, fluence a sound may exercise on the imagination of a man that the only possible solution of the political problem, the like Caesar, who had attained the substance of all that he establishment of a monarchy, had been long the half- desired, and still craved for something more to attain. All conscious object of the great bulk of the Roman people. Roman antiquity agreed in imputing this insane caprice to The consummation, it must never be forgotten, had not the wisest of the Roman heroes, and refused to believe the been averted, but only delayed, for forty years, by the bloody denial of it which it allowed him to have openly expressed. occupation of the Sudan oligarchy. The fall of the ter- Antonius, we are told, thrice offered him the diadem, and, rible dynasty of the Epigoni, so to term the political heirs on hearing the murmurs of the citizens, he thrice rejected it. of the dictator, was regretted neither by the citizens nor the But the jealousy of M. Brutus was aroused. This man, subjects of Rome. son-in-law of Cato, had submitted after Pharsalia to the Caesar’s en- As chief of the empire, Caesar effected many great works: conqueror, who treated him with peculiar indulgence, and actments and pro- the building of temples, the construction of posts, the esta- gave him the Cisalpine province to govern. He had acblishment of colonies, the restoration of the great cities, quiesced, however reluctantly, in the usurpation, and had jects. once the redoubted rivals of Rome, henceforth her sisters, even consented to serve it; but his character for patriotism Capua, Corinth, and Carthage. He projected a complete stood high with the people ; he was reputed a descendant, on survey of Italy and the provinces, as the basis of the im- the father’s side, from Brutus the liberator, on the mother’s perial finance; the codification of the laws and usages of from Servilius Ahala the tyrannicide; his own imagination

328 Political History.

Death of Caesar, A. B.

He is honoured by the people as a divinity.

Intrigues of M. Antoni us and the young Octavius.

ROMAN

HISTORY. had fed on the lessons of a self-devoting philosophy; and hands, still less to assert his legitimate title to the cham- Political when the conspirators against Caesar’s life looked for a pionship of the popular party, and to the first place in the History, name under which to range themselves, they found none so commonwealth. But the ambition of the young Octavius suitable as his for their purpose. Brutus was won over to (such is the name by which he is most commonly desigjoin them, with Cassius and others, who for the most part nated) was equalled by his confidence, and these again by were galled by personal slights, or inflamed by petty his cunning and ability. Throwing himself boldly into the jealousies. Brutus indeed, such was the judgment of the midst of the citizens, he cajoled Cicero with the warmest Romans themselves, was the only one amongst them professions of patriotism, while he demanded the restitution whose aims were really pure and patriotic. Though Caesar of his private inheritance from Antonius. The field grahad renounced many of his highest qualities, his courage dually cleared around him. Brutus and Cassius, finding had not deserted him. No tyrant was ever so fearless, so themselves unpopular and even insecure in the city, retired confident in his fortune, and in the greatness of his own first into Campania, and then to their provinces Macedonia destiny. His legions had quitted Italy; he had refused and Syria. Antonius put himself at the head of some lethe bodyguard offered him by the Senate. He traversed gions, prepared to fight for pay and plunder under any the streets of Rome in the midst of all the factions he had commander, and took up a threatening position in the Cisoutraged with no other attendants than his troop of private alpine. The Senate, inspired with energy by the eloquence friends and clients. His person was assailable at any mo- of Cicero, who thundered forth the series of orations against ment ; and the conspirators selected the Senate-house itself the traitor to which he gave the name of Philippics, armed as the spot in which to attack him. On the Ides of March, the consuls Hirtius and Pausa, and sent them to confront the 15th of the month, they fell upon him with poniards nlm; while Octavius led an army of his own, the most deu. borne beneath their robes; 710, and he fell, pierced with thirty voted of his uncle’s battalions, ostensibly to support the 44. government, but really to watch the event, and attach himwounds, c. at the foot of the statue of Pompeius. Cicero, who had accepted the supremacy of the popular self to the party which should prove the stronger. A third leader even before the battle of Pharsalia, and had sub- division of the Caesarean force had also assumed an attitude mitted, with the sorrow of a philosopher and a patriot, to a of observation under Lepidus in Gaul. In the spring of revolution which he had himself long felt to be inevitable, 711 Antonius came to an engagement with the consuls near Battle of was no party to this act of personal animosity. But when Mutina, in which, though he was himself defeated, both Mutina, Au the deed was done, and the assassins proclaimed themselves Hirtius and Pausa were slain. This event proved a death- B -c - HI, blow to the Senate. Octavius, instead of pursuing the ‘ * the deliverers of their country, he too indulged in the dream of reviving liberty, and cited many an ancient precedent to routed Antonius, as he was expected to do, chose rather to justify the crime. Cicero now united himself to the band unite himself to him, and concert a coalition with Lepidus of self-stylgd patriots in the Capitol, whither they had re- and Antonius for the joint usurpation of the empire. This paired for fear of the populace, and assisted them with his combination, known by the name of the Second Triumvirate, The Second advice. It had been well, indeed, for the cause of the oli- was effected in an island of the River Rhenus, near Bologna. Triumvirgarchy, if the men wdio now assumed to be its champions The contracting parties agreed between themselves to ex- ate. had listened to his counsels. But they suffered themselves ercise consular power in common for five years, to dispose to be cajoled by Antonius; and that skilful partizan, having of all the offices of state, and to enforce their decrees as the obtained permission to celebrate Caesar’s obsequies in pub- law of the republic. They assigned the two Gauls to Anlic, contrived to play on the feelings of the multitude, and tonius, Spain and the Narbonensis to Lepidus, Africa and raise a storm of grief and indignation which completely the islands to Octavius. Italy was to remain neutral paralysed them. The people insisted on burning the body ground ; the provinces of the East were to be left for future in the Forum, and erected a chapel on the spot, which was division, when Brutus and Cassius should have been overafterwards converted into a temple. The murdered Caesar thrown by their united forces. This compact was followed was advanced to the honours of divinity, which had not by the proscription of their enemies in Rome, each triumvir been offered to Marius, or Scipio, or Camillus, before him. claiming to insert the names of those most odious to himHis soul, it was declared, was borne to heaven in the comet self, and each sacrificing in return friends and kinsmen of which appeared conspicuously about the period of his de- his own. Antonius demanded the head of Cicero, which cease. Not the citizens only, but foreigners of every na- Octavius ungratefully surrendered to him. Their edicts tion residing in Rome, and particularly the Jews, united were immediately put in execution. Some hundreds of in these demonstrations of sorrow, and showed that the death the senators and 2000 knights were destroyed by hired assassins : Cicero, though long warned of his danger, neglected Death of of Caesar was regarded as a general calamity to mankind. to make his escape till too late, and was overtaken and Cicero, slain at his country villa. SECT. XXXIY.—THE SECOND TRIUMVIRATE, AND FINAL An interval of eighteen months had elapsed since the reOVERTHROW OF THE REPUBLIC. treat of Brutus and Cassius into the East before the triumAntonius and the liberators had combined together in virs were at leisure to engage in a campaign against them. proclaiming a general amnesty ; but such was now the state During this period the republican chiefs had foreseen the of irritation in the city, that the actors in the recent tragedy struggle that was impending, and they had not been remiss for the most part withdrew from public sight. During the in assembling troops, and collecting money and munitions. dictator’s lifetime the friends of freedom had comforted But their armies were for the most part composed of raw themselves, in the eclipse under which it had fallen, with levies; and in the indifference manifested by the populathe remembrance of his advanced years, of the perils into tions of Greece and Asia to the watchwords of party in the which he was continually thrusting himself, and of his having West, they had been obliged to extort treasure by force, no direct descendant. He had left, however, a nephew, sometimes to inflict cruel chastisement on the reluctant the son of an Octavius, whom he had adopted as his son, provincials. Brutus himself had sullied his great name by and who now bore the name of C. Julius Caesar Octavianus. these terrible exactions. As the crisis of the struggle drew This youth was at this time only nineteen, and at the mo- near, and Octavius, with Antonius at his side, led their forment of his uncle’s death he was absent with a military tutor midable forces into Macedonia, his fortitude seems to have in Illyricum. Few supposed he would have the courage to forsaken him ; the peaceful philosopher was haunted with a proclaim himself the heir of the murdered usurper, to claim vision of Caesar’s ghost, and he was impatient for the day his private property, which Antonius had got into his own which should end, either by death or triumph, the pertur-

ROMAN Political bation of his afflicted mind. When the opposing armies History. met at last on the plains of Philippi, Cassius, a more experienced officer, would have postponed the combat, but Battle of Brutus insisted on precipitating the crowning struggle. PbUippi, Brutus was confronted with Octavius, Cassius with AntoBrutus had ain b.’c. 42. ’ niuSed the advantage on his side failure, of the field; but Cassius,g dismayed at his own partial Death of threw himself on his sword. The survivor now found himBrutus and self obliged to withdraw. Nevertheless, circumstances were Cassius. still in his favour ; the enemy was straitened for supplies, and delay might even yet have secured him a bloodless triumph. But again his impatience was not to be controlled ; and in a second combat, twenty days later, on the same ground, he suffered a defeat, which, by killing himself, he rendered irretrievable. His party, deprived of both its leaders, was now utterly broken. Several of the officers, chiefs of the nobility, put an end to their own lives; but the conquerors showed more clemency in the hour of victory than at the outset of their enterprise, and allowed their enemies for the most part to save themselves by submission. Some of them escaped by sea, and attached themselves to the fortunes of Sextus Pompeius ; but the republican party never rallied again in the cause of liberty, and the battle of Philippi closes the annals of the Roman free state.

Antonius faecinated by Cleopatra.

War of Perusia.

Compact with Sextus Pompeius.

SECT. XXXV.—CONTEST BETWEEN OCTAVIUS AND ANTONIES. The battle of Philippi had been won by the efforts of two only of the triumvirs, and the third found himself from this time wholly set at nought by his more vigorous colleagues, the masters of the united forces of the empire. But the union of these mighty potentates was of short duration. Antonius assumed the command of all the regions of the East; and while he amassed plunder for himself, or squandered it upon his followers and parasites, he fell into the toils of Cleopatra, the fascinating queen of Egypt, who sailed from Alexandria to Tarsus to captivate him. Returning with her to the banks of the Nile, he abandoned himself without remorse to voluptuous pleasures, which degraded him in the eyes of the Romans, while his late colleague, now his rival, Octavius, was governing Rome and Italy with a prudence and self-control which won the applause of the citizens. Here the wife and brother of Antonius intrigued against him, and raised the standard of faction. I he brother was overcome at Perusia; and, though spared himself by the policy of the conqueror, three hundred of his most distinguished adherents were sacrificed, according to the popular story, to the shade of the murdered dictator. The wife retired to join her husband in the East, but was ill received by him, and died, perhaps of mortification, soon after. A new alliance was now formed between the rival leaders, who could not divide the empire between them, or contend for its sole possession, till they had united to put down Sextus Pompeius. The treaty of Brundisium, effected by the agency of Cocceius, Pollio, and Maecenas, provided for a combined effort against this annoying adversary, and was cemented by the marriage of Antonius with Octavia, the sister of his ally. Sextus, at the head of a piratical flotilla, occupied the seas between Italy and Africa, and held some maritime stations in Sicily. In this situation he was able to cut off the corn ships which supplied Rome, and the city was reduced from time to time to the direst necessity. The rule of Octavius at Rome was shaken at every access of scarcity and impending famine ; and the suppression of this cause of annoyance was of more vital importance to him than to Antonius. Octavius therefore undertook the conduct of the war; but he prudently invited the enemy to come to terms, and they arranged a treaty at Misenum, by which he was admitted to a definite share in the empire. To him were assigned the three great islands of the Tyrrhene Sea; VOL. XIX.

HISTORY.

329 and the families of Pompeius and Octavius were further Political united by a marriage (a.u. 715, b.c. 39). Octavius was History, now at liberty to turn his arms against some revolted tribes in Gaul, while Antonius undertook to lead an expedition into Parthia, and avenge the disaster of Crassus. The first soon executed his purpose with his usual promptitude ; the other lingered indolently in Greece. Sextus meanwhile failed to surrender some places he had previously occupied on the coast of Italy, and again intercepted the supplies of the city. Octavius had no alternative but to make war upon him. He summoned his colleagues to his aid. Lepidus promised, but delayed ; Antonius sent him ships, but demanded soldiers for his Parthian expedition in return. Octavius, however, was better served by the skill and spirit of his friend Agrippa, who gained him victories at sea, and repaired the disasters which he experienced in his own person. The struggle ended in the complete overthrow of Sextus the armaments of Sextus, from which the chief himself overcome b escaped only to perish miserably a few months afterwards. V1US >’ 9ctaAt the last moment Lepidus rashly committed himself to ‘ an act of hostility against the victorious triumvir. He was Fan 0f instantly worsted; and though his life was contemptuously Lepidus, spared, his armies and his provinces passed finally into the a.u. 718, B hands of Octavius. -c. 36. The contest for empire was now reduced to a struggle Contest bebetween two competitors, and it was not long before it came tween Octo the arbitrament of the sword. While Octavius was tavius and winning golden opinions in Rome and Italy by the plau- Antonius. sible moderation of his manners, and by the ability of his government, in which he was seconded by Agrippa and Maecenas, his rival was falling more and more into contempt. Antonius undertook indeed an expedition against the Parthians; but the issue was disastrous ; and the mortification of the citizens was redoubled when their worsted champion quitted his flying troops to fling himself into the pleasures of his Egyptian capital, and celebrated, with Cleopatra at his side, the mockery of a Roman triumph in a foreign dependency. He had already renounced the amity of Octavius by repudiating the sister, whom he had taken to wife. He now devoted himself wholly to Cleopatra, and passed his days and nights in sensual revelry. These eccentricities, reported, perhaps with some exaggeration, at Rome, caused the deepest feelings of disgust; and disgust was succeeded by alarm when he was said to be preparing an attack on the Empire of the West, and Cleopatra was declared to have boasted of the laws she would issue from the Capitol. By this time Octavius had recruited his legions, and amassed treasure. When he found the minds of the citizens fully enlisted in his support, he came forward as the protector of the state,—the champion of the Senate, the people, and the gods of Rome,—and led all his forces in person across the Adriatic. Antonius, on his part, had not been slack in preparations. He too advanced, with Cleo- Battle ol' patra in his train, and brought all the resources of the Actium, wealthy realm of Egypt to support the presidiary cohorts of A-u- 72? Greece and Asia. Armies, numbering more than 100.000 B-c- 31 men on either side, confronted each other on the coast of Acarnania, near the entrance of the Ambracian Gulf; but the fortune of war was first tried by the rival fleets off the promontory of Actium. The vessels of Antonius were bulkier and more numerous ; but the light barks of Octavius, under the command of the experienced Agrippa, were more skilfully handled, and fought more gallantly. The issue of the combat, however, was still doubtful, when Cleopatra, through fear or treachery, gave her own squadron the signal of retreat, and carried off with her sixty galleys of Egypt. Antonius madly rushed away to follow her, leaving his ships and armies to their fate. His ships, indeed, still continued the combat under every disadvantage, and were finally overpowered, and for the most part destroyed. His legions, however, finding themselves thus miserably de2T

HISTORY. Political serted, refused to fight for their betrayer, and surrendered Such were the dictatorships of the early republic, the re- Political History, without a blow. The battle of Actium, fought on the 2d peated consulships of Marius, the permanent dictatorship of History. Sept. a.u. 723 (b.c. 21), threw the whole military force of Sulla, the vast military charges and the sole consulship of the empire into the hands of Octavius, and assured him of Pompeius. The “ triumvirate for the arrangement of a complete and speedy triumph over the remnant of his public affairs” was itself the application of an ordinary title to one of these extraordinary commissions. But this comrival’s resources. Antonius and Cleopatra reached Alexandria; but the mission, constitutional or not, Octavius had scrupulously Roman was indignant at the conduct of his mistress, to resigned at the expiration of the term to which he had rewhose base desertion he ascribed his overthrow, and at first stricted it; it was as consul and the elected of the popular refused to see her. Blinded, however, by his passion, he assembly that he had conquered at Actium and subjugated yielded again to her blandishments, and she amused him Egypt. The regulation he had made of the affairs of the with schemes, sometimes for defence against the expected empire in the East, after the manner of Pompeius and Sulla, enemy, at other times for flying beyond the southern sea, still awaited the formal sanction of the Senate; and the and reigning in remote security over some Arabian pro- Senate was supposed to retain authority for granting or vince. She hoped probably to make her own peace with withholding from him the triumph he had so gloriously Octavius by the sacrifice of her infatuated admirer. The earned. The “ acts” were duly ratified, and the triumph was ac- Functions conqueror at last appeared on the frontier. Antonius went Imforth gallantly to meet him, and gained some partial success. corded. When the ceremony, together with the shows and ofe the fator san(l But Cleopatra meanwhile had betrayed her fleet to the in- festivals and glowing acclamations which accompanied it, P1 rince P’ vader, and the gates of Alexandria were opened to him had reached its termination, the imperator still stood at the without resistance. Antonius, in his frenzy, threatened to head of the legions which had followed his triumphal car. destroy his ensnarer, and she took refuge in a tower, and According to the laws of the free state, Octavius must now sent him word that she had killed herself. The passion of disband his army or resign it to the disposal of the Senate; Death of the insensate Roman revived; he stabbed himself, and for with the triumph his imperium was become extinct. Antonius. while slowly dying, caused himself to be removed beneath But he evaded this necessity. He allowed the Senate, the windows of her place of retreat, and entreated her at- prone as it was to flatter and caress him, to give him the tendants to place him beside her body. Cleopatra caused title of Imperator in the same sense in which it had been him to be lifted into her chamber, and he expired immedi- conferred upon Julius Caesar, thereby proclaiming him comately in her arms. She now exerted all her artifice to ob- mander-in-chief of the national forces, placing every legion tain terms from the conqueror. She had vanquished both under his auspices, and every officer under his orders. As Caesar and Antonius by her charms, and she still hoped to imperator, he retained the right of bearing, even in the city, prevail over the youthful Octavius. Admitted to an inter- the sword and cloak, the ensigns of military power; but view, he resolutely kept his eyes averted, and she despaired this prerogative he cautiously refrained from using. The of moving his sensibility. She could consent to surrender fate of Caesar had warned him to accept less than was offered her kingdom, but she spurned with indignation his cruel de- him. Content with the substance of power, he declined all mand to exhibit her to the Roman citizens in his triumph. invidious shows and titles. Though the people, in their When he still insisted, though with the fairest words and enthusiasm for him, would have acceded to any usurpation promises, she had no choice but death, and as he set a guard on his part, he knew that neither king nor dictator would over her to prevent her using the sword, she contrived to have been safe from the daggers of the senators. It was Death of get an asp conveyed to her in a basket of figs, applied it to to exalt the estimation and give a fair shadow of authority to the Senate that his next efforts were directed. Having Cleopatra, her arm, and perished. The expected triumph of Octavius was deprived of its obtained the powers of the censorship, he proceeded to remost coveted ornament; but Egypt was straightway an- vise the list of senators, to eject the unworthy, to endow the nexed as a province to the empire, Caesarion, a son of the impoverished, and create a body distinguished for its family dictator by Cleopatra, put to death, the sons of Antonius and personal influence. Caesar had degraded the order in by the deserted Octavia carried to Rome to be bred as its own eyes by intruding into it foreigners and base-born scions of the conqueror’s own family. Octavius made a citizens. The triumvirs had been tempted to carry this progress through the eastern provinces on his return, re- practice still further. Octavius now retraced his steps. ceiving the homage of dependent potentates, putting down He reduced the number from 1000, to which Antonius had the partizans of his adversary, and setting up his own in swelled it, to its proper limits of 600, and required a their place, securing the fidelity of the Roman garrisons considerable property qualification. To the Senate, thus under officers of his own choice. When he arrived at his re-modelled, he left its ancient distinctions, and the greater partconsolidated of its ancient a. u. 725 capital in the year 725 he had theprerogatives, whole em- directing its decisions in and legislative b. c. 29. pire under the government political of his single arm, and affairs the re- by management rather than by strict control; but he settled the course of his adminispublic of Rome was finally exchanged for a monarchy. tration with the help of a private council of fifteen assessors, and decided the vexed question of the judicia by appointSECT. XXXVI.—CONSTITUTION OF THE EMPIRE BY AUGUSTUS. ing a court of salaried judges, one hundred in number. To Augustus -About this great political fact there could be no doubt the people he left the old forms of popular assembly and pretends to t^en or since; but the genius and the merit of Octavius con- the election of magistrates ; but here again he interfered so govern by sisted in the specious disguise which he succeeded in far as to nominate the candidates to be submitted to their constitu- throwing over it. At the moment of his return to Rome choice. The names and generally the functions of these tional pre- tlle ancient constitution was still existing in all its forms ; magistrates remained as of yore. But in order to secure cedents. t]le genate stjii possessed the ample prerogatives assigned an easy means of guiding the Senate, Octavius revived in to it of old, and the people were still the legitimate deposi- his own behalf the title of “ Princeps,” which gave him the taries of power in the last resort. Octavius affected still to first place and the first voice in the curia. This purely recognise the paramount authority of the public will. He civil dignity, ennobled by some illustrious occupants under professed to have wielded hitherto only delegated functions, the commonwealth, had been always held for life, and acand in these he pretended to have followed the spirit of cordingly Octavius could venture to accept it in perpetuity, established precedents. In all extraordinary emergencies while he demanded the powers of the censorship for five the Romans had had resort to extraordinary commissions. years only, and offered, with much appearance of earnest330

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HISTORY. 331 of the people. From first to last no audible murmur w'as Political Political ness, to resign the imperium after ten. He allowed, howHistory. ever, both these powers to be renewed to him for successive raised against his ascendancy. This must be accepted as History, a proof how' welcome were the safety and tranquillity he v—terms to the end of his career. The Potes- The consulship Octavius continued to exercise for seve- offered to the Romans, after a century of intestine divisions tas consu- ral years successively; but he ultimately renounced the title, and sanguinary struggles ; but it proves beyond this, that, laris and though he retained its powers by an extraordinary preroga- in the deliberate judgment of the nation, a limited or veiled Tribunitia. tjve. Invested with the potestas consularis, he occupied autocracy was the form of government which, in the adthe highest place in the city, and was recognised as the vance or decline of civilization, whichever we may deem chief of the state, the head of the legislative and execu- it, had become most advantageous for them. Doubtless tive, the organ of its foreign policy. When the consul their first impulse was to hail the victor of Actium as the quitted his post in the city, he carried to the frontiers of restorer of peace, snd the saviour of the state from foreign r the empire the same supreme authority which he had be- aggression and domestic dissensions. The remains w e posfore wielded at Rome. When he vacated the office, and sess of the literature of the period breathe this spirit of inassumed the government of a province, he commanded the tense satisfaction, as at the revival of a golden age. The soldiers and citizens as imperator, and reigned as proconsul mission of the Romans is now declared to be, not to conover the subjects of the state. But Octavius allowed him- quer all nations, to trample upon all national usages, or to self to claim proconsular power together with the consular. luxuriate in the enjoyment of the world’s wealth, but to As imperator, he had divided with the Senate the direct bind all peoples together in one common union ; to bend administration of the provinces, choosing for his own all the necks of rebellious potentates to the yoke of internathose in which large armies were maintained for aggression tional law ; to quell all unruly ambitions, and inaugurate a or defence, and leaving to chiefs appointed by the Senate reign of universal contentment and moderation. Once bea civil supremacy in the unarmed and tranquil; but his pro- fore, and once only, the ancient world had been brought consular authority was extended alike over all, and he under the sway of a single sceptre, and enthusiasts might asserted paramount powers, when occasion required it, in have indulged under the Macedonian Alexander in such every quarter of the empire. The circle of the imperial dreams of human happiness; but the fair vision had been prerogatives was completed by the powers of the tribune- quickly overclouded when his premature death left his emship. This potestas was also declared perpetual, though pire to be torn in pieces by rival generals. The great bulk renewed nominally from year to year. The authority this of the Roman people had no other anxiety about the empower gave the emperor in the Senate was a safeguard pire of Augustus but the fear lest at his decease—and his against any possible insubordination in that assembly; but constitution was weakly and his health precarious—the its chief value lay perhaps in the continued popularity ot solid fabric of material prosperity he had raised should its name. The populace of the city still regarded the tri- crumble under the violence of mere selfish usurpers. The buneship as the legitimate guardian of its rights and in- idea of hereditary succession in political office had hitherto terests, and hailed Octavius as its proper champion, its met with no favour in the republic; but the circumstances protector against the sinister intrigues of the Senate. It of the time now strongly recommended it; and without any The chief gave a sanctity to his character, and rendered his person formal concession of the principle, the minds of the Romans priesthood, inviolable. When to this was added, at a later period of his became implicitly reconciled to the anticipation of a dycareer, the dignity of sovereign Pontiff, he acquired the nasty of Caesars. But this favourable disposition on the part of the people raUon His modecontrol of the instrument of the state religion ; and the defence of the citizens against the machinations of the nobles would have been of no avail to maintain and perpetuate the dlscretlon empire had not Augustus been himself singularly endowed was supposed to be complete. The assumption of all these offices and functions was not with the temper and talents required for advantageously effected at once : Octavius ascended to the summit of his using it. Heartless and cruel as he had proved himself in ambition cautiously, and step by step. Meanwhile he dis- the pursuit of his ambitious projects, he henceforth precreetly waived every designation which should imply in scribed to himself a career of clemency and considerate itself the sovereignty he affected to disguise. Antonins indulgence. He opened the field of public honours to men had abolished the dictatorship to gratify the people, and of all parties, and caressed with marked favour the kinsOctavius took care not to revive it. No voice was suffered men of his own most noted opponents. Even on those to hail him with the title of king. Nevertheless he was who actually conspired against him, he could not always ambitious of a distinctive appellation ; but it must be per- be brought to inflict punishment. He gloried in constrainsonal, not official. He wmuld not be called “ Quirinus,”—such ing his public enemies to become his private friends. a title would be extravagant; nor “ Romulus,”—the name There may have been little genuine feeling in this course The title of was of evil omen. To the epithet of “ Augustus,” which was of policy,—the Romans themselves may not have been Augustus, next suggested, no objection could attach. It implied the wholly deceived by this pretended generosity; but while nobleness of his character and functions; it had an air of they enjoyed the benefit of it, they did not criticise it too sanctity, and even divinity ; it bore an auspicious reference closely: Augustus succeeded in his object of securing to the anticipated increase of his honours through time and their confidence and affection. He was not satisfied, howeternity. The worship of Octavius as a god was rapidly ever, with enlisting their personal feelings in behalf of his spreading in the provinces ; in the city, it was only permitted government. His ambition was not wholly selfish ; he unto pour libations to his genius—a distinction hardly pal- doubtedly looked beyond his own greatness, his own secupable in the purest ages of religious usage and belief, and rity, or even the establishment of his family in greatness which court poets and flatterers could now easily obliterate. and security after him. He looked even beyond the establishment of his own future fame. He had a true and earnest desire to revive the fortunes of the Roman state, SECT. XXXVII.—THE POLICY OF AUGUSTUS IN ITS MORAL and launch it again, after the terrible crisis of the civil wars, AND SOCIAL ASPECT. on a fresh career of prosperity and glory. Unfortunately Acquiescence of the Octavius, or, as he may now be styled, Augustus, retained his views were warped by the common spirit of antiquity, Romans in the sovereign power to the end of his career, a period the spirit of heathenism, which, devoid of a faith in Provithe disguised mo- of more than forty years. During all that time his life dence and hope for the future, always placed its ideal of narchy of and fortunes were assailed twice or thrice, but only by excellence in some dreamy misconception of the past. AuAugustus. privy conspiracy among the nobles, never by any movement gustus sought to re-animate the life of Rome by restoring

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HISTOR Y. Political the ideas and principles of a shadowy antiquity. These the whole peninsula from the Alps to the Straits of Mes- Political History, ideas, indeed, in so far as they had really guided the ac- sina, was divided into eleven regions, and placed under the History, ^ tions of the Scipios and the Camilli, had sprung from the direct control of the praetor in the city. The rest of the His atlaws and usages of their times : it followed then, so he empire was apportioned, as we have said, between the em- Division of tempt to fondly reasoned, that by restoring the usages the ideas peror and the Senate. The imperial provinces were the t^e Pro" revive the themselves would be revived. By a strict execution of the Tarraconensis and Lusitania in Spain ; the whole of Gaul vinces’ inY spirit of functions of the censorship, by sumptuary laws, by police beyond the Alps, divided into several commands, including Senatorial 1( UI 1 regulations, by reviving the honour of matrimony and the the Upper and Lower Germanics, as they were called, on priesthood, by restoring the temples of the gods and the the Rhine ; Pannonia and Macedonia; Ccelesyria, Phoetemple services.—by these and such-like measures he nicia, Cilicia, Cyprus, and Egypt. To the latter were ashoped to create again the people who had rejected the signed Bcetica, Numidia, Africa, the Cyrenaica, Achaia, and bribes of Pyrrhus, and retorted the invasion of Hannibal by Asia. Dalmatia, including Ulyricum, at first given to the an attack on Carthage. These efforts were no doubt Senate, was soon afterwards taken by the emperor in exwholly unavailing: the Roman people had lost its belief change for the Narbonensis and Cyprus. Before the end in religion, and therewith the only potent principle of self- of his career, Augustus annexed Palestine also to the emcontrol ; the springs of public and private life had been pire, which then extended over every coast and island of poisoned by selfish and criminal indulgence; and by draw- the Mediterranean. In some quarters, as in Gaul and Paning closer the bands of law, Augustus only produced some nonia, the sway of Rome penetrated some hundreds of outward decency at the expense of honesty and self-respect. miles into the interior of the continent; but the regions The corruption of the times is more painfully marked in the remote from the great inland sea, the highway of internaaffected decorum of Horace than in the glaring coarseness tional traffic, were almost wholly barbarous. Gaul and of Catullus, in the easy indifference of Ovid than in the I brace were little better than vast forests ; only a small open infidelity of Lucretius. In his vigilant control of the portion of their soil was as yet subjected to cultivation. public administration, the imperial reformer was more suc- 1 he great cities of the empire, the marts of human incessful. The ordinary procedure of justice was conducted dustry and emporia of commerce, were for the most part with a firmness and equity unknown probably in the best seated on the shore, or on the banks of navigable rivers. times of the republic. A strong check was imposed on the When the Romans boasted of having subdued the world, violence and rapacity of the officials in the provinces. The they really confined their view to the Mediterranean and Romans and their subjects were taught to regard each other the countries immediately bordering upon it. with mutual respect. On the whole, whatever its drawI he entire possession of this midland basin gave easy backs and defects, the policy of Augustus must be pro- access to every province of the empire ; and the facility thus nounced eminently successful in promoting the happiness presented for communication between them, when the and prosperity of the Roman world. Few or none of the police of the seas was vigilantly maintained, developed the citizens could look beneath the fair surface then presented capabilities of every country simultaneously, and bound to them, and anticipate the decay of public feeling, the de- them all together by the chain of a common interest. No cline of high principles, the growing acquiescence in merely empire was ever more favourably circumstanced than the sensual enjoyments, which would surely ensue from the Roman for the advancement of its national prosperity, and stagnation of public life, and the concentration in a single for the interchange of thought through all its members. hand of all the powers of the government. The Romans So completely was peace the common interest of the inhad had no example, on a similar scale and under similar habitants ol all its inland shores, that the Mediterranean conditions, of the transition from freedom to subjection. provinces were left almost wholly without military garriThe autocracy of Augustus was an experiment in politics, sons: every state and town could be trusted to maintain its from which they hoped the best, of which possibly they own police, and keep watch over the behaviour of all the augured the best, but of which, whatever they might hope others. Italy, and Rome itself, were left, without any regular or augur, they felt in their inmost hearts the absolute and defenders: the emperor entrusted his own personal safety over-ruling necessity. to a few scattered cohorts of praetorians or bodyguards; it was not till the reign of his next successor that these batSECT, xxxvm. INTERNAL GOVERNMENT OF THE EMPIRE. talions were even collected together in a camp at the gates of the city. Their numbers at no time exceeded 10,000 Pacific On the restoration of universal peace, Augustus closed or 20,000. The legions which constituted the standing Military policy of the temple of Janus, an act of grace which the citizens, army of the empire were relegated to the frontiers, or to establishAugustus. w)10 could record but two previous instances of it, cele- distant and turbulent provinces. Three of these divisions, ment* brated with the loudest acclamations. His own military each a little army in itself, were stationed in the Spanish ardour was satisfied by the victories he had won over peninsula. Ihe banks of the Rhine were guarded by no domestic enemies by the hands of Agrippa; he had no am- less than eight: two were placed in Africa, two in Egypt, bition for the fame of a conqueror; and henceforth he only four occupied the eastern frontier, four more were posted led his legions to repress the brigandage of the Iberian on the Danube, and, finally, two were held in reserve in mountaineers, or sent a grandson to demand from the Par- Dalmatia, within easy reach of Rome itself, if their presence thians the long-abandoned standards of Crassus. He al- should at any time be demanded there. The full comlowed some minor expeditions to be undertaken against plement of each of these 25 legions was 6100 foot and the predatory hordes which infested the frontiers of Egypt 726 horse ; and this continued, with occasional variations, or Mauretania ; and he sanctioned one wild and profitless to be their strength for a period of 300 years. The cohorts expedition against the nomade tribes of Arabia. The bor- of which they consisted were 10 in number, besides the der warfare on the Rhine, of which more special notice squadrons or turms of horse. They were recruited genemust be taken presently, was another exception to this rally from the mountains beyond Italy, at first from the pacific policy ; but generally the arms of Rome, under Au- genuine citizens of Rome in the provinces, but this regustus were confined to securing the peace of the empire, striction was not long maintained. The inhabitants of Italy and sedulously withheld from aggression in every quarter. itself began now to claim exemption from legionary service A long period of repose was required to consolidate the altogether, and were enlisted only in the praetorian bands. heterogeneous elements which composed this vast dominion. Numerous battalions of auxiliaries, with array and arms Italy, the centre of the empire, and now made to comprise differing from those of the legionaries themselves, were

333 ROMAN HISTORY. Political levied from the most warlike of the subject populations, sister’s son to the emperor, and his presumptive successor, Political History. anc] attached to each legionary division. Their numbers Agrippa received the widow Julia, the daughter of Au- History, no doubt varied considerably ; but it is generally computed gustus, in marriage. Caius and Lucius, the eldest children that they equalled those of the legionaries, and we may of this union, were brought up as heirs to the empire, but thus assign a force of 340,000 men for the entire armies both of them were cut off prematurely. Agrippa himself died many years before his patron, and Julia was married of the empire, exclusive of the cohorts in the capital. Fiscal esta- The sources of revenue by which the establishments of a third time to Tiberius Claudius Nero, the stepson of the blishment. the empire were maintained were numerous and varied. emperor, whose mother Livia, a clever intriguer, contrived The public domain, reserved in ancient times to the state to secure the succession for him over the heads of her husafter each successive contest, had been perhaps wholly band’s direct descendants. The ambition and the vices divided among the citizens, or remitted to the subjects ; of his own family caused Augustus, particularly in his the tribute, or land tax, originally imposed upon citizens latter years, more disquietude than the government of the and subjects alike, had been remitted to the soil of Italy empire. Besides the advantage he derived from the assistance of B. uilnius since the conquest of Macedonia; but this contribution was still levied throughout the rest of the empire, in money Agrippa, Augustus was supported, throughout the earlier Maecenas, or in kind, and the capitation tax pressed alike on every part of his reign, by the tact and prudence of Maecenas. inhabitant of the imperial dominions. Mines and quarries, This man had administered for him the government of fisheries and salt-works, were generally public property Italy during the period of the struggle with Antonius. He farmed by the state. Tolls and custom-duties were ex- continued to be his chief adviser in the settlement of the acted on every road and in every city, and most of the empire; and the Romans ascribed to him the first delineaobjects of personal property, both dead and live stock, in- tion of the principles of government which they saw gracluding slaves, paid a duty to the government in propor- dually extended and confirmed from one reign to another. tion to their value. Augustus imposed a legacy duty of a A popular tradition, for which there is probably no other twentieth ; but this experiment in direct taxation caused foundation than the temper generally attributed to the men considerable murmurs. The great corn-growing countries respectively, affirmed that when Augustus deliberated of Egypt and Africa made a special contribution of grain about resigning his power, he allowed Agrippa and Maefor the supply of Rome and Italy The largesses, both of cenas to discuss the question in his presence, and that victuals and money to the people, which had been an occa- Agrippa counselled the restoration of the republic, Maecenas sional boon from the early times of the republic, were the retention of supreme authority. The private manners henceforth conferred regularly and systematically; and and habits of the minister were not less serviceable to his there was no more fatal error in the whole administrative master’s position than his political counsels. Maecenas conpolicy of the empire, though it was neither invented nor trived to attach to the new system many of the best and could perhaps be avoided by the emperors, than the taxa- ablest public men of the day, while he secured in its favour tion of industry in the provinces to maintain idle arrogance the suffrages of the literary class. The table at which Virgil and Horace, Varius and Pollio, conversed genially at home. together, under the patronage of Maecenas, and in the presence of Augustus himself, was the field on which all the SECT. XXXIX.—THE REIGN OF AUGUSTUS. adverse theories of politics and philosophy laid down their Extent and When Augustus had consolidated under his sway the arms and came to an amicable understanding. Never was population regions between the Rhine, the Danube, the Euphrates, a state revolution so gilded with the flattery of poets and of the era- ancj Mount Atlas, the empire reached the farthest limits historians as the seasonable usurpation of Augustus. Nevertheless, successful as the emperor had been in the ^lre’ that it ever permanently retained. The population it embraced at this period may be approximately calculated execution of his great enterprise, and in confirming its reat a little less than 100 millions; but it may be fairly sup- sults, his latter years were not unclouded by reverses. posed that, under the general reign of peace and domestic While the citizens were getting at last a little weary of the prosperity which prevailed throughout it, the number con- monotony of his long despotism, suffering some disgust at tinued to increase at least for another century. With re- the disgraces of his family, some apprehension at the progard to the interesting question of the population of the spect of an unpopular successor, they were suddenly great city, “ the head and mistress of nations,” ftow at the alarmed and dismayed at the occurrence of a great milizenith of her glory, if not yet of her grandeur, some calcu- tary disaster. Though Gaul had long been pacified, the Wars in lation will be exhibited in another place. It will be suffi- frontier was subject to the incursions of restless hordes Germany, cient here to estimate it roughly at 700,000, and to add from Germany, and it was necessary to keep up a large that this continued also to increase perhaps even after the force and legions, as we have seen, in stationary camps on general population of the empire had become stationary, or the Rhine. The temptation to employ these troops in even declined, though it may never have much, if at all, aggression, no less than in defence, proved irresistible. exceeded one million. One of the principal cares of the The scions of the Caesarean family were anxious for oppornew emperor was the embellishment of Rome. With this tunities of military distinction. Augustus allowed his stepview, he erected himself many temples and public buildings, sons, Drusus and Tiberius, to conduct expeditions into and he stimulated the great nobles of the city to follow his Germany. Drusus penetrated as far as the Elbe, but died example. In this and in every other object of his policy he in early life from an accident. His successors in the comM. Vipra- was ably seconded by his friend Agrippa, whose valour had mand established the Roman outposts as far at least as the Ems or Weser, and the district between the Mayn and the nius Won some of his most important victories, whose counsels A ri a K PP were not less useful to him in peace than in war, and who Lippe was beginning to assume the form of a province, when the government of this district fell into the hands of Varus, The disashn^erkl distinguished himself above all his countrymen by the a pedantic official, who so mismanaged his affairs as to ex- ter of Va1 family. loyalty with which, having secured beyond dispute the rus second place in the commonwealth, he abstained from aim- cite against himself a general conspiracy of the natives, and allow himself to be surprised by them. Entangled in a ing at the first. More than once Agrippa was entrusted with the command of all the eastern provinces; but he country with which they were imperfectly acquainted, his executed his charge with an unshaken fidelity, which it was legions, three in. number, were attacked by overwhelming hardly less honourable in Augustus to appreciate without numbers, and destroyed in the forest of Teutoburg. Varus fear or jealousy. On the death of the young Marcellus, was slain, the whole Roman establishment overthrown, and

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ROMAN HISTORY. Political the remnant of its soldiers and civilians driven in confusion incantations. Agrippina, the spirited consort of the de- Political History, behind the Rhine. In the face of such a disaster Augustus, ceased prince, prosecuted a charge of murder against him History, now old and timid, gave way to nervous alarms. He at Rome. Confident in the emperor’s favour, Piso did not w' trembled for the tranquillity of the city, for the loyalty of shrink from meeting it; but when he found that the emthe citizens, much more than for the defence of the pro- peror looked coldly upon him, and was disposed to abandon vinces. With the assistance, however, of Tiberius, he acted him to his fate, he anticipated the decision of the judges by with sufficient vigour in recruiting his forces and restoring a voluntary death. But the suspicions ot the people were confidence. The younger Caesar took the field, and made a not thus averted from Tiberius. The deep sorrow they show at least of offensive operations against the victorious evinced at the loss of their favourite gave great umbrage Death of Germans. He did not venture, however, to occupy again to the tyrant, and induced him to treat with jealousy and Augustus, the footing lately held beyond the Rhine. Augustus, who harshness the widow and her children. dietl SOOn aftervvards in From the first, Tiberius had dissembled with the Senate, Retirement I'A'Dd' 147‘ ’ his ^le in year left it the in charge successor not to ’extend any767, direction limits to of and he naturally distrusted them; while towards the other of Tithe empire. classes of his subjects, and particularly in the provinces, berius to his conduct, though stern, was equitable; he took every CaPreaeopportunity to trample on the pride of the senators, to SECT. XL. REIGN OF TIBERIUS (A.D. 14-37). lower their estimation, and to make them feel his superior Character Tiberius, now in his fifty-sixth year, had discharged the power. It was a great relief to them when, towards the of Timost important offices in the Senate and the field, and was enus. regarded as an able and accomplished prince. But the state middle of his reign, after devoting himself to the business of state with unwearied assiduity for many years, and never of constraint under which he had lived as the presumptive quitting Rome even for ordinary relaxation, he began grasuccessor of the empire, under a jealous and exacting step- dually to withdraw more and more to the solitude of the father, together with some sacrifice of the affections which isle of Capreae, an imperial domain purchased by Augustus, had been extorted from him in his youth, had soured a in which he took great delight. Though the popular notemper naturally reserved and proud. For a time he had tion, repeated by the historians, that he here abstained alwithdrawn altogether from public affairs, and during his together from public affairs, and suffered the conduct of retreat at Rhodes rumour had been busy in representing him the administration to slip from his hands, seems to be grossly as indulging in the grossest vice and cruelties. But his exaggerated, it was impossible but that an inordinate mother Livia, an able intriguer, watched over his interests. share of influence and power should accrue to the confiOn the death of Augustus, the Senate learnt that he had dential minister whom he must leave in his place at Rome. been appointed the head of the Caesarean family, and they Sejanus, the notorious favourite of Tiberius, had risen by readily, and indeed with much eager flattery, thrust upon artifice and ability to the highest office of state. He venhim all the public honours and functions which Augustus tured to pay his addresses to a kinswoman of the emperor had vacated. For some time he enacted the farce of pre- himself, and though he awakened thereby the emperor’s tending to refuse them ; but this affectation was speedily jealousy, he seems not to have been unsuccessful. At all overcome, and he retained a deep grudge against those events, he effected the removal of some of his master’s among the senators who had been blunt enough to take nearest relations, among them the luckless Agrippina, and him at his word. His first act, an omen of a bloody reign, the common rumour may not have been ill founded, that was the assassination of a surviving son of Julia and Agrippa, he aspired in his daring ambition to a share in the empire, called Posthumus, as having been born after his father’s and eventually to the succession. But Tiberius, it seems, death ; a youth of acknowledged evil temper and defective had dissembled with Sejanus, as with others, and had allowed understanding, whom Augustus had himself removed from him to suppose himself more necessary to his master’s public affairs and relegated to an island. The jealousy of policy than he really was. Once fully persuaded of the Tiberius soon extended to his nephew Germanicus, son extent of his views and of his own danger in consequence, of his elder brother Drusus, whom Augustus had required Tiberius had the energy to strike him down at a blow. him to adopt and place on the same line of succession Sejanus was in the city, in the ripeness of his power, surovvn German!- w'th a son * Germanicus was a great favourite rounded by the senators and the soldiers; and Tiberius, now cus. with the people. He seems to have been a man of mili- old and feeble, with scarcely a guard about his person, in tary genius, which he exercised with considerable success his distant* retreat, with only his ships to rely on for escape against the Germans beyond the Rhine, though a naval if the blow should fail. Great circumspection and artifice Fa^ f „ expedition under his orders suffered a terrible disaster from were required, but the tyrant was equal to the crisis. ThejanUg° 6* tempest. He had formed a plan for the complete reduc- missive which he sent to be recited in the Senate, in which a.u. 784, tion of the country as far as the Elbe, and the spirit of the he flattered and honoured his victim till he had thrown him a.d. 31. barbarians had been so far broken, in spite of the gallantry completely off his guard, and then ordered the consul to of their hero Arminius that in another campaign he might arrest him, is celebrated as a masterpiece of king-craft. possibly have succeeded; but Tiberius was jealous of his Sejanus fell amidst the execrations of the senators, who up fame and popularity, and forbade any more blood and trea- to this moment had caressed him, and the people declared, sure to be lavished on conquests beyond the bounds of the with thoughtless exultation, that the state had been saved empire, as he had received it from Augustus. Germanicus in the safety of Tiberius. was recalled to Rome, and allowed the empty honour of a The citizens indeed were willing to persuade themselves truimph. 1 he emperor was glad to rid himself of his pre- that the tyranny under which they had lately suffered was countacof sence on the first opportunity, and soon after dispatched due to the vile counsels of the upstart favourite, rather than Tiberius’s him into the East, to overawe the Parthians. Not content to the evil disposition of their emperor himself. They en-personal with removing him from Rome, he deputed—such at least treated Tiberius to return to Rome, and administer the vices* was the common belief—an officer named Piso to watch government in the presence of the people, as their potenhis conduct, and connived at this man’s thwarting and dis- tates had done before. That the head of the Roman comobeying his legitimate commander. Germanicus ordered monwealth should lead the life of a voluptuous lounger Piso to surrender his office in Syria, but at the same time in the Grecian villas of Campania, seemed to them monDeath of found himself attacked by a debility, which, after a short strous and degrading. Of a noble Roman who could so German!- interval, terminated in his death. His family accused forget his country, and his duty to it, any horror might cus. Piso of foul play either by poison or at least by magical easily be believed, any crime, or vice, or unnatural torpi-

EOMAN HISTORY. 335 Political tude, might be plausibly imputed to him. If, then, the a touch of actual insanity, he had none of the cowardice Political History. account we have received of the vile debaucheries of which generally accompanied tyranny. From the second History. Tiberius at Caprese exceed any modern instance of human year of his reign he continued to provoke the patience of depravity, it is not much more than might fairly be ex- the world by a series of indignities and injuries such as the pected from the tongue of popular rumour exasperated provinces might have sometimes suffered from the worst at this glaring dereliction of duty and renunciation of of the proconsuls, but such as had never yet fallen upon the conventional principle. Considering the sources from Romans themselves. His cruelties and oppressions were which we seem to have derived them, some shade of indeed generally inflicted upon the nobles, who had lost doubt must certainly attach to these reputed enormities. the respect and could no longer command the affection of But even if we admit them in their fullest extent, we must the populace, while the populace itself he soothed and still acknowledge that, frightful as they are, they may be caressed by the profuseness of his shows and largesses ; paralleled perhaps in every particular in the conduct of yet his blows fell sometimes among the crowd also, and the less notorious personages of heathen antiquity. The cruelty Romans shuddered at the terrible exasperation with which and impurity ascribed to Tiberius belonged to his class as he uttered a wish that the whole people had but one neck. much as to himself, and were exercised by many a noble The frantic dissipation in which this Caesar indulged kept Despotic Roman at home and abroad, among their subjects and their his mind and body in constant fever. His haggard conn- character parasites. The horrors of imperial vice have become espe- tenance, his shattered frame, his agitated gait, his frenzy by cially notorious, from the pre-eminence of the personages to day and sleepless perturbation at night, as described by the P°^cywhom they were imputed in the histories of the times; but historians, form one of the most fearful pictures on record they were not the excesses of imperial pow'er uncontrolled of the consequences of guilty indulgence. Shocking as by law, so much as of our common -human infirmity unsus- such a picture must be in the case of a private individual, tained by religious principle. However this may be, in a king of men—the tyrant of a hundred millions of felTiberius deserves credit as a ruler, for wielding his authority low-creatures—it is truly awful. Caius had imbibed from twenty-three years almost without drawing the sword, and the Jewish chief Agrippa, the companion and counsellor for leaving his dominions in peace and prosperity. His end of his early years, the oriental idea of monarchy. He Death of was precipitated, at the advanced age of seventy-nine, and scouted the restraints of Roman law and usage; he tore Tiberius, on a sick-bed from which he could hardly again have risen, by away the veil of republican forms by which Augustus and A.u. 790, hands of an attendant in the interest of his grand-nephew Tiberius had disguised the real extent of their power; he A.D. 37. the Cains Caligula, impatient for the succession, and not wdth- determined that all his subjects should know that he was out apprehensions for his own life. a despot, and that his w ill was practically as unrestrained as that of a king of Babylon or Alexandria. He scorned SECT. XLI. THE REIGN OF CAIUS CALIGULA (A.D. 37-41). to dwell in a mansion suitable to a Roman noble, such as the palatium of Augustus and Tiberius, and covered a Caius Cali- Caius Caesar, the son of Germanicus and Agrippina, had large part of the Palatine Hill with additional buildings, gula ob- been bred in his father’s camp, and received from the sol- which he connected with the Capitol by a bridge flung tains the diers the familiar nickname of Caligula (from the boot or boldly across the valley of the Velabrum. Over this bridge sole power, caliga), by which he is most commonly known at least in he marched in pomp to the temple of Jupiter, seated himlater history. He w'as adopted by Tiberius on the same self by the side of the god himself, and affected to whisper footing as a younger Tiberius, the emperor’s own grandson. in his ear, and suggest the counsels of Providence. He As a few years older than his cousin, he w'as allowed, indeed, aped the dress and style of the deities himself; and when to regard himself as the immediate heir to the empire, his sister Brasilia died, with whom, like an eastern potenthough, according to the loose ideas of hereditary succes- tate, he had lived in incestuous commerce revolting to the sion still current among the Roman statists, Tiberius was feelings of the Romans, he declared that she had become a considered as having a presumptive claim to be asso- divinity, and required his subjects to pay her worship. He ciated with him when he should arrive at manhood. Thus encircled his own head with the oriental diadem armed Augustus had delegated a portion of his authority, first with spikes or rays, the well-knowm symbol of divinity in to Agrippa, and at a later period to the elder Tiberius. the East. Augustus had been honoured after his death His successor, indeed, had never prevailed on himself to with a temple and a priesthood at Rome—a tribute of remake any such surrender of his sole autocracy, nor was it spect which the Senate had refused to Tiberius; but had possible, perhaps, for two kings to reign together again at Caius lived a little longer, we can hardly doubt that he Rome. From the first the young Caius, who assumed the would have insisted on receiving divine worship himself empire at the age of twenty-five, felt the deepest jealousy from the citizens, as well as from the subjects of the of Ins unfortunate kinsman, and it was not long before he state. invented a pretext for destroying him. At first, indeed, The extravagances of this wretched tyrant were chiefly His extrano prince was ever more popular than this child of the shown in the games of the circus, in which he took a vagances. people’s favourite, succeeding as he did to a morose and frantic pleasure, so as to threaten, it was said, to make odious tyrant. During the first months of the new reign his favourite horse a consul. The bridge of boats which both prince and people seemed to be equally intoxicated. he constructed across the Bay of Puteoli, for the sake of The provinces partook of the exultation of the citizens. driving in triumph upon the ocean, was an extraordinary When the furious dissipation into which the young man freak of reckless ostentation. The story, that instead of plunged had prostrated him with an alarming illness, the leading his troops, as he had promised, into Britain, he Romans and their subjects combined in the expression of drew them up with great parade on the shore at Boulogne, the deepest distress, and in frantic vows for his recovery. and then bade them pick up shells, and return laden with This assurance of his people’s devotion seems to have re- “ the spoils of the ocean” to Rome, may possibly be a mismoved from its object all sense of shame or apprehension. representation. I he account we have received of his ex- j, e(jjtj01 His iiceT1' indulged in every excess of vice and turpitude with- pedition into Gaul, and his aimless enterprises in that quar- into Gaul, tionsness out scruple. Utterly devoid of the conscious reserve wliich ter, is not much to be relied on. The commander of the a.d. 40. and tyhad induced Tiberius to veil his indulgences from the pru- forces on the Rhine had ventured to defy Tiberius in the ranny. rient curiosity of his countrymen, Caius was equally free old age of that timid emperor, and it was an object not unfrom the jealous fears which harassed his predecessor. worthy of the boldness of Caius to throw himself in perWTether from the wanton gaiety of his disposition, or from son into the camp of his formidable lieutenant, and inflict

336 Political History.

Caligula assassinated, A.D, 41.

Claudius follows the political Atenistus ° '

ft O M A N

HISTORY. of a paralytic seizure, gave occasion for much ribald mockery ; but on the whole we must in fairness pronounce that his efforts at governing the world under such formidable disadvantages were truly meritorious, and his failure in a task to which he was constitutionally unequal a matter of commiseration rather than of ridicule. Nor was it only in the city and on the judgment-seat that Claudius felt it incumbent on him to carry out the complete idea of the prince and emperor of the Romans. Augustus had placed himself at the head of the legions; feeble though he too was in bodily frame, he had fought against the enemies of Rome, and merited the glories of a triumph. The successor of Augustus must not shrink from following him in this field also. Caesar had imposed a tribute on the Britons; Augustus had insisted on its payment; but these obligations had been long evaded, and the threats of Caius had resulted in ridiculous failure. Claudius determined to seek his laurels in an enterprise against these distant enemies. He sent a lieutenant to secure a Conquest landing and make good a footing on the island ; but hefol- of Britain, lowed himself without delay, traversing the whole of Gaul A•I)• 43’ at the head of his army ; and after crossing the Thames he succeeded in bringing a British potentate to an engagement, and obtaining a decisive victory. The foundation of a colony at Camalodunum, or Colchester, secured the conquest of the southern part of Britain ; and Claudius fully deserved the triumph with which his ambition was gratified. This success, though shaken by a later disaster under the emperor that followed, seemed to be completed by the capture of the bravest of the Britons, the renowned Caractacus. It does honour to Claudius, unless it may be ascribed to the greater humanity of the times—inhuman as in too many respects we must still regard them—that, SECT. XLII. THE EEIGN OF TIBERIUS CLAUDIUS (A.D. 41-54). instead of being strangled in his prison like Jugurtha or Pontius under the republic, this fallen enemy was treated Resistance was perhaps impossible; none at least was with the consideration due to his valour, and suffered to attempted. The consuls took at once the oath of devo- live in freedom at Rome. tion to the new emperor, and the Senate and people folThe contempt with which the character of this unfortu- Domestic troubles of l°wed their example. Tiberius Claudius was brother to nate emperor has been loaded has been chiefly derived from Claudius Germanicus, and uncle to Caius. He had reached the age the mishaps of his domestic life, and the fatal effects of the of fifty, during which his natural taste for retirement and influence exerted over him by his worthless consorts. He study, as much perhaps as the jealousy of the heads of his had been more than once married as a private citizen ; after family, and the weakness of mind and body currently im- he became emperor he united himself to Valeria Messalina, puted to him, had kept him almost entirely in a private a woman whose name has become a byeword for the excess station. He had applied himself to abstruse studies, and of female dissoluteness. In his relations to this v/anton composed elaborate treatises, but he had made no acquaint- woman, Claudius is represented as a miserable wittol, cajoled ance with the conduct of affairs, either military or civil. by a partner who hardly deigned to throw a veil over her He was addicted to women, and had generally allowed flagitious infidelities. To her fatal sway was imputed many himself to be swayed by them and by the freedmen who acts of cruelty and rapacity, covered by the name of the emsurrounded them. His accession to power was regarded peror. If she ruled him, she shared her influence with Pallas as no augury of good government by any portion of his sub- and Narcissus, freedmen and favourites of his court, who jects : it was a relief, however, to be rid of the furious amassed vast fortunes by the crimes to which they extorted caprices of their last tyrants; and the pledges Claudius gave his consent. At last, to the relief of the Roman world, the Senate of deference to their counsels were accepted these hateful confederates fell out among themselves. Narwith grateful acknowledgments. Though betrayed occa- cissus vowed to effect the ruin of Messalina. Her own consionally into acts of harshness and cruelty towards men of duct, now become utterly unguarded, soon furnished an distinction through his weakness rather than tyranny, opportunity, which he was bold enough to seize. Having Claudius continued throughout his reign to respect the cha- fixed her roving passions on a comely young noble named anc} siiius, racter of the senatorial order. His principle of govern- Silius, she had the incredible audacity, so we are assured, to ment was to follow the example of Augustus,—to restore insist upon his publicly espousing her. Besides the monand confirm ancient usages, to maintain the ancient laws, strous impiety of the act in the eyes even of that careless to enact the head of the family rather than the emperor of generation, it was an open avowal of treason. Silius could the state. His assiduity in business was extraordinary ; have no other course but to overthrow, by force or fraud, presiding day by day at the tribunals, he tired out, infirm the prince whom he had so grossly outraged. Not without as he was, the judges and officers ; and if at the close of an difficulty did Narcissus open the eyes of Claudius to the inexhausting session he indulged with indecent avidity in the sult he had sustained; with still greater difficulty he inpleasures of the table, his excesses maybe partly accounted spired him with courage to inflict a suitable punishment. for and excused by the exhausting labours to which he The freeman insisted, and the emperor yielded: Silius and had devoted himself. His manners and his measures were Messalina were arrested and slain; and the execution was equally those of a pedant on the throne ; his awkward hardly over before the stupidest of husbands was found to figure, rendered more uncouth by the effects apparently have forgotten all about it. condign punishment upon him. We are loath to believe that a prince who could act so promptly and courageously on a suitable occasion, should have debased himself by the wretched trivialities imputed to him in connection with this expedition ; nevertheless, we must remember that we are reviewing the career of one who can hardly be regarded in any other light than as a madman. This career, disgusting as it is, was happily cut short before the end of four years by the blows of an assassin. A madman in the possession of unlimited power must be considered beyond the pale of moral sanctions ; and if there was no other way to remove him, no one would judge severely the man who wielded even the dagger against him. But Caius was not doomed to the death he so amply merited by the decree of the outraged Senate, or the general rising of an indignant people. He had provoked a domestic enemy in the person of an officer of his guard, and he was stabbed by a band of private conspirators in the vault of a passage in his palace. The blow was quite unexpected, and surprised both the Senate and the imperial family alike. There was none to claim the succession on the one hand ; there was no plan for assuming the government on the other. After a moment’s delay, the consuls, finding the throne vacant, proclaimed the restoration of the republic; but the citizens were wholly unprepared for such a revolution, and the soldiers of the guard, anxious only for the largess with which the accession of a new emperor must be accompanied, seized on Claudius, the uncle of the deceased, whom they found by accident lurking in a corner, carried him on their shoulders to the camp, and announced to the still trembling senators that they had chosen a chief for the republic.

ROMAN HISTORY. 337 Political Such is an outline of the story related or confirmed by favourite of fortune the return of a golden age, the descent Political History. all our authorities. It is evidently derived from one source; of an Apollo upon the earth. History. but whether that source be the actual truth of the occurNero possessed perhaps some graces of person, and rence, 01 the fabrication ot one whose position was such as some natural abilities. He was not devoid of natural feelto confer on it unmerited authority, may still be considered ings, of kindliness, and affection. With an impulsive temas doubtful; for Messalina was succeeded by another wife, per, and a rather feminine susceptibility, he was easily led Agrippina. Agrippina. Messalina left a son, liritannicus. Agrippina to seek the applause of those around him, and to shun their had also a son, Domitius. The great object of this last of disapproval. The objects of interest which his tutor set Nero’s the empresses was to advance the fortunes of this son by an before him were no doubt pure and virtuous, such as the tutor earlier marriage, to secure for him the succession over the love of his kindred, respect for his mother, regard for the Seneca, head of the orphan Britannicus. The wickedness of this common weal and for the pleasures of the people. But if intriguing woman is at least as well accredited as Messa- Seneca led his pupil well, he exerted no moral power in conlina’s, and it may easily be supposed that she would scruple trolling him. From the moment that the youth began to at no falsehood to exasperate her husband against her pre- press upon the reins, Seneca relaxed his restraint, and gave decessor, and to persuade him that Britannicus could not full course to the indulgence of his passions. He hoped to really be a son of his own begetting. However she may retain a little influence by yielding much, and for some have represented the affair to Claudius, it is probable that in years after his accession the force of habit still inclined the the memoirs of her times, which she is known to have writ- restless pupil to lend an ear to his occasional suggestions. ten, she coloured them to suit her own purpose and deceive The first five years of the new reign, the Quinquennium'Yho “ Quinthe citizens. Che child of Messalina was to be disparaged in Neronis, as this term was called by way of favourable dis- quennium their eyes as well as in the emperor’s, and the narrative of tinction, have been celebrated as a period of really good Neronis.” a palace scandal from the pen of a mistress of the palace was and conscientious government; nevertheless, they were likely to meet with ready acceptance from the prurient marked by crimes of the deepest dye, and no wise man curiosity of the Roman people. It is no unreasonable could anticipate from the weak and wicked prince who comscepticism to withhold implicit reliance from the story of mitted such enormities any other development of his career Messalina, even though told us by Tacitus. than the frightful tyranny which actually succeeded to The young Domitius was two or three years older than them. Britannicus, and when Claudius was persuaded to adopt Notwithstanding the marked applause with which Nero’s him, he became, under the name of Nero Caesar, the pre- accession was greeted by the Senate and the people, it was sumptive heir to the purple. Thus far successful in the soon suggested to him that he might have cause of fear in accomplishment of her cherished object, Agrippina was now the victim whom he had supplanted. The feelings of naonly solicitous to anticipate a reverse of fortune, and for this ture were too strong for those of custom, and still regarded end she did not scruple to compass the death of the now Britannicus, the actual son of the late emperor, a more Death of dotingemperor. She caused poison to be administered to him legitimate claimant of his throne than Nero, whom he had Claudius, in a dish of mushrooms, and he died from the effects of it in A.D. 54:. her presence, almost at table, in the year of the city 807. only adopted. The usurper was easily persuaded that it was necessary to remove the rightful heir '; and by the agency D , She continued to conceal his decease till she had completed of the notorious poisoner Locusta, the child of Messalina Britanniher arrangements for securing the succession to her son, was murdered, not, it may be feared, without the sanction Cus. who was led to the camp by Burrhus, the prefect of the of Seneca himself. Nero was married to Octavia, the sister praetorians, and accepted without hesitation, on the promise of Britannicus; but this creature, though celebrated both of an ample donative, as the heir of Claudius and the de- for her beauty and her virtue, gained no ascendant over him. scendant of Germanicus. The Senate hastened to ratify He fell under the fascinations of the intriguer Poppaea, the choice of the soldiers. whom he took from his friend Otho, and under wdiose influence he engaged in the horrible design of ridding himself of his own mother. The rivalry between Agrippina and SECT. XLIII.—THE REIGN OF NERO (A.D. 54-68). Poppaea had continued for some time. In her eagerness to The exultation with which the accession of Caius had retain her authority in the palace, the mother, it was said, Domitius Nero, the been received on the demise of Tiberius, was renewed with had actually tempted her wretched son to incest; but when favourite increased favour on the auspicious transfer of imperial power disappointed and defeated, she began to set up a rival court, Death of of the from the old imbecile Claudius, to the gay young prince and threatened to divulge the murder of Claudius, and re- Agrippina, people. who now united the suffrages of all classes of citizens. commend Octavia to the citizens, he was prevailed on to With their late emperor, whether from the real defects of sacrifice her to the anger of his mistress, and what he conhis character, or from the misrepresentations of it with which sidered the necessity of his own position. Again, it is retheir minds had been abused, the Romans had become ported that Seneca consented to the crime; it is more thoroughly disgusted ; but the youth and beauty of Nero probable that he was not consulted about it; but undoubthad made a very favourable impression on them, and this edly both he and Burrhus, who had also the character of a was heightened by the artful terms in which his accomplish- brave and honest man, allowed themselves to justify it when ments, his abilities, and his temper had been described to done. Under the mildest view their conduct is withthem. Seneca the philosopher, a man of known acquire- out excuse. Nor was it of any avail. The people were ments, and at the same time of popular manners, had been horror-struck; the Senate, awakened by some sufferings of given him for his tutor. The young man had been bred in their own to the hollowness of their prince’s professions of the school of wisdom and morality, which the sage seemed good government, resented it with murmurs and conspirato find means to reconcile with the tastes and habits of the cies. Seneca and Burrhus lost all favour and all influence, day. Nero was to combine the man of virtue with the man and both fell victims in a short time to their master’s inap©f fashion, and the world was invited to admire in his person peasable jealousy. Seneca, indeed, seems to have entered Death of the harmonious results of an alliance between things which into a plot for his overthrow, the discovery of which cost the Lucan and the precepts of the schools and the experience of men had lives ot many distinguished nobles, as well as of an old com- Seneca, hitherto pronounced incompatible. But the world accepted panion ot Nero, the republican poet Lucan. The cruelties the announcement without misgiving, on the word of the of Nero were now repeated and extended, falling upon the philosopher, and echoed the applause with which he greeted men most conspicuous for virtue, as well as the noblest and the w ork of his own hands, anticipating in the advent of this the wealthiest. The murders of Barea Soranus and of VOL. xix. 2u

ROMAN HISTORY. 338 Political Paetus Thrasea, two of the staunchest professors of the Stoic but he made no effective preparations to repel the danger, Political History, creed of philosophy, seemed to aim at the “ extinction of till the Senate, seeing the defencelessness of his position, History, summoned courage to anticipate the arrival of the avenger, 's——virtue itself.” Amidst these dismal excesses of an unlimited despotism, by denouncing him as a public enemy, and setting a price the reign of Nero is remarkable for a disaster of another on his head. The wretched tyrant evinced the utmost of kind, of which, though imputed by many voices at the pusillanimity in this crisis of his fortunes. He fled from Death Ner0 > 1, time to Nero himself, the hand of man may fairly be ac- the palace in disguise, but despaired of ultimately escaping, gg Burning of quitted. In the year 817 Rome was swept by a terrible and after much hesitation, and with much childish comthe city, conflagration, which consumed a large proportion of the plaint, at last gave himself the death-blow. a.d. 64. whole city. The populace, in their terror and distress, dePersecu- manded victims, and the emperor suffered the Christians to SECT. XLIY.—WARS FOR THE SUCCESSION (A.D. 68-69). tion of the be convicted on the charge of wilfully destroying it. Christians. Against the persons thus designated, of whom there were Galba, as he advanced towards Rome, declared that he Galba promany now at Rome (but whether they were exclusively the had turned his arms against the tyrant in the interest of the claimed believers in the gospel of Jesus Christ, or, partly at least, in- Senate, and that he left to that venerable body the future emPeror‘ cluded the Jewish sectarians, the followers of take Christs, settlement of the empire. He had lived to a great age in who had often caused disturbance even in the heart of Italy, the tranquil discharge of high civil and military functions; is still liable to question), a cruel persecution, and the most and it is probable that he had first commenced his movecruel of punishments were directed. Death by burning ment for his own safety rather than from motives of ambiwas an ancient punishment of the republic for the crime of tion. But when'his enterprise was crowned with success, seditious incendiarism; and to this death the reputed burners he could not doubt that the Senate would offer the empire of the city were devoted. They were tied to stakes and to him, nor had he any scruple in accepting it. With consumed in shirts smeared with pitch. The fierceness of Nero the last of the imperial race of the great Julius had the flames thus kindled, added to the horror of the execu- perished: there remained no chief to whom the proconsul tion, and ,the brutal levity of Nero in driving his chariot by owed obedience. Galba was released from the military the light of these human torches, heightened the com- oath which bound him to the successor of Caesar and Aumiseration to which the fury of the people had been quickly gustus, the descendant of Drusus and Germanicus. He converted; but there can be no doubt that the invention accepted the honours proffered him, and having quelled of the pitched shirt was meant to shorten and not to aggra- all opposition to himself, and learnt the discomfiture of vate the sufferings of the victims. some military pretenders in the provinces, he entered the Nero’s The horror with which Nero’s cruelties were regarded city at the head of his forces, and assumed the empire not licentious by the Senate was enhanced by their indignation at the less as the nominee of the army than as the chosen of the am uselevities with which he gratified his own morbid passion for Senate. Servius Sulpicius Galba was a man of good family ; ments. applause, and courted the flattery of the populace. He the heralds tried to connect him with a mythological anwas devoted to the games of the circus, and insisted on cestry ; but the transfer of empire from the race of the outraging decorum by driving the chariot in person. He Julii, of whom three at least had been enrolled among their was not less addicted to the amusement, reported equally tutelary deities, gave a shock to the national feeling from vile by the graver citizens, of playing and singing in public. which it never recovered. Never again could the Romans It was said that in the midst of the general dismay at the surrender themselves to the illusion, that their emperor great conflagration he had witnessed the scene from the reigned by right of a divine descent; the attempt to estatop of a tower in his palace, and performed upon his flute blish such a descent, though made in favour of some later the drama of the sack of Troy. This piece of unfeeling rulers, never again laid hold of the national sentiment, and impertinence, followed by the avidity with which he seized established itself as a popular superstition. As regarded on the space laid open by the flames to construct the im- the successor to Nero, it was wholly futile. The manThe “Gold- mense extent of his “ Golden House,” gave colour to the ners which Galba brought from the camp to the palace en House.” suspicion above noticed, that he had actually caused the were rude and harsh ; his principles were austere ; he was fire, or had at least forbidden its extinction. Soon after frugal hirnself, and parsimonious in relation to others. He this event he quitted Rome to seek new laurels among the refused the soldiers their expected donative; and to both the games and shows of Greece, where he expected to find his soldiers and the people showed himself a strict disciplinarian. peculiar talents better appreciated than by his own morose Such a commencement of a new reign—a reign founded on or ignorant countrymen. He travelled from theatre to favour, not on right—irritated all classes, and made them theatre, and won all the applauses and all the chaplets apprehend a severity more galling than the capricious which Athens, Corinth, and Olympia could bestow. Dur- cruelties of the late tyrant. Warned, but not dismayed at ing the course of his reign foreign affairs had proceeded on the murmurs he heard around him, Galba selected an asthe whole prosperously. A disaster in Britain had been sociate more young and vigorous than himself, named Piso; retrieved. Some successes had been gained, by negotia- but intrigues were already in motion against him; Otho, tion rather than by arms, over Parthia ; and Nero had got once the confident of Nero, and as profligate as his master, much ridicule by claiming a triumph tor them. Plis ablest was tampering with the praetorians. Galba had exercised Beath of lieutenant, Corbulo, he had wantonly put to death, when his power but one fortnight when this conspiracy burst upon Corbulo. the breaking out of a revolt in Palestine demanded his best him, and unsupported by the people, undefended by his own Death 0f generals and his bravest legions. The conduct of this war guards, he fell by the swords of a mutinous soldiery. Galba, and was entrusted to the veteran Vespasian ; but when at last The successor to Galba was proclaimed by the praeto-of accession a revolt broke out against him in his own army in Spain, rians without even a pretence of consulting the senators, Otho. he found himself without men or commanders to meet it. who tacitly acquiesced in the appointment, but abstained While he was still lingering in Greece, Galba, at the head perhaps as far as they could from actually acknowledging of his forces, was marching towards Rome. The troops it. While the emperor assumed the privilege of striking stationed in Gaul were induced to join the movement, or the gold and silver coinage, the privilege of issuing the to observe neutrality. Nero returned in haste to Italy; more vulgar copper currency was accorded to the Senate. but at the first news of some temporary success relapsed The fact, that no copper coinage of Otho’s brief reign has into his frivolous dissipations. The arrival of each succeed- been discovered, may be taken to show the reluctance of ing courier roused him to paroxysms of alarm or confidence; this outraged body to stamp their approval of'his usurpa-

ROMAN HISTORY. 339 Political tion on the public money. But however this may be, the Their wretched emperor lingered about the palace, uncer- Political History. usurper’s career was speedily cut short. The legions in / tain whether to fly or sue for mercy, but was seized by the History, the north of Gaul had already declared against Galba, and infuriated soldiery, and slaughtered with many indignities. ^ ^ - • put Aulus Vitellius at their head to contest the empire Mucianus, following in the rear of Antonius, and bringing Death of with him. The report of Galba’s death and Otho’s succes- Domitian with him, assumed the government in the name Vitellius. sion made no difference in their measures. They wanted of Vespasian; and Rome once more settled down in the an emperor of their own creation, from whom they might hope of tranquillity under the new usurper. receive a largess worthy of their services; perhaps they already thirsted for the plunder of Italy and Rome. Otho, SECT. XLV.—REIGN OF VESPASIAN (a.D. 70-79). though long steeped in luxury, was by nature gallant and high-spirited. He accepted the challenge with alacrity, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, the founder of the Flavian Accession and went forth to the Cisalpine to encounter the enemy. dynasty, had been saluted emperor by his soldiers in the °f VesBut his temper was light and capricious, and on the first East in July 822, and it was from that era that the years 0f Pasiancheck received by his followers, he resolved to put an end his government were technically numbered ; but his accesto the contest, of which he was weary rather than afraid, sion to power at Rome dates from the first days of 823 Battle of by falling on his own sword. The victory of Bedriacum (a.d. /0), when he assumed the consulship, and received Bcdi-mcum, thus crowned by the self-sacrifice of his rival, there was all the ensigns of imperial sovereignty from the Senate, of Othoth nothin S to prevent or delay the succession of Vitellius to though still absent from the city. He allowed some months Accession an Power> enforced by the swords of his impatient soldiery, to intervene before making his appearance in the capital, of Vitellius ^ accepted with entire submission by the Senate. At choosing perhaps to leave to his lieutenants the invidious the head of his Gauls and Germans,-the conqueror entered task of punishing the most obnoxious of the citizens, and the city in military array and accoutrements ; and Rome, for smoothing his entrance into power. When he arrived, the first time, felt herself in the power of an undisguised about the middle of the year, he accepted the submission invader. of the Senate with complacency, and assured it of his favour Vespasian But the same high tide of revolution which had wafted and consideration. He proclaimed the advent of a new era an< fn the East ^ Vitellius to Rome on the wave of military insur- of peace, and this announcement was received with the ’ rection was preparing the triumph of yet another competitor same satisfaction as when Augustus closed the temple of for the purple. While the armies of the West were con- Janus. But the announcement was at least premature, War in tending for the substantial rewards of nominating to the while the Jews still maintained, behind the walls ofJudea. empire, the legions which occupied the opposite portion of Jerusalem, their indomitable defiance of the power of the Roman dominions were not less eager to strike in with Rome. Driven in three campaigns from almost every other a claim of their own. The progress of the war in Pales- stronghold they defended the Holy City with desperate obtine retarded their movements; but at last, suspending stinacy. Religious fanaticism supplied the place of skill or though not abandoning these important operations, which discipline. Though weakened by internal dissensions, they also promised abundant glory and plunder, their leaders repulsed every attack of the enemy, and submitted to the agreed to set up Vespasian, chief in command among them, extremity of famine rather than surrender to the sacrias the worthiest candidate for the empire. Vespasian in- legious assailant. Exhausted by a long blockade, they deed remained for a time in Egypt to secure the resources were at last overpowered by the perseverance of Titus; of that important province, and placed his son Titus in their walls were stormed one after another, the inclosure charge of the war against the Jews; but his friend Muci- of the temple scaled, and the Holy of Holies given to the anus led a mighty force through Asia and Greece into flames. I he resistance was still protracted for a time in Italy, and his lieutenant Antonius Primus engaged the the streets of Jerusalem, and even when the city was taken Vitellians in the Cisalpine with the first division of his and razed to the ground, a dying gleam of glory was shed armaments. Vitellius was hardly seated in his palace, where over the fall of Judaea by the defence of Machaerus and he was disgracing himself by the vilest sensuality, and be- Massada. But Titus at length completed his bloody task, Fall of Jetraying a total incapacity for government, when his repose in which he had exercised relentless severity. On his rusalem, was shaken by the attack of these new assailants. A second arrival at Rome he was associated with his father in the A,Dbattle at Bedriacum broke the strength of his forces. An- honours of a triumph, commemorated by the arch, still ex/ tonius, anxious to secure the full 'merit of completing his isting, which bears his name, and received a share in the success before Mucianus could come up with further re-in- government of the empire. forcements, followed on the heels of the Vitellians, and The conquest of Judea had cost Rome a greater effort the partizans of Vespasian mustered so strongly in the Sen- than any of her foreign wars since the great struggle with ate-house and the Forum that Vitellius, sluggish and pusil- Carthage; but such was her energy, such at this period lanimous, hastened to proffer his submission. Sabinus, the the extent of her resources, that she had continued to conconqueror’s brother, dictated the terms of his abdication; duct it in the midst of the distractions of civil strife, and but his soldiers, enraged at his cowardly desertion, still re- during the determined mutiny of one of her finest armies. tained their arms, and made a tumultuous night attack on the Immediately on the departure of Vitellius for Rome, with Mutiny of position of their adversaries in the Capitol. The venerable a large portion of the Germanic legions, the German and the Gercitadel of the republic was not regularly defensible. Climb- Gaulish auxiliaries in the north of Gaul revolted against ™anic ing over the roofs of the adjoining houses, and flinging their commanders, set up the standard of a Gaulish empire, legionstorches before them, they involved the august temple and succeeded in breaking up the whole of the Roman A-D' 69“70 Burning of 0f Jupiter in flames, and burst in the confusion into the force in their country. Under the Batavian chief Civilis, api o1, inclosure. Sabinus was captured and slain; Domitian, a they continued to defy the power of the empire till the younger son of Vespasian, escaped in disguise. Vitellius overthrow of Vitellius allowed the new government at was compelled to resume the purple ; but Antonius had Rome to pour its legions across the Alps. Civilis was now reached the outskirts of the city, and his opponents, beaten in several encounters by the Flavian general Ceriwho went forth without a leader to encounter him, were alis. Domitian advanced in person into Gaul to support beaten back step by step within the walls, which he entered the efforts of his lieutenant; but the resistance of the mutialong with them, filling the streets with slaughter. A neers was crushed before his arrival on the Rhine, and in remnant of the Vitellians withdrew into the praetorian the north, as well as in the east, the sway of Vespasian camp, but their last stronghold was speedily stormed. was secured and consolidated.

f

840 ROMAN HISTORY. Political This fortunate soldier held the reign of empire ten years, him had been repressed but not eradicated by the control Political History, during which period the Senate was allowed to resume of Vespasian. The Romans declared that he had shown History, ' much of its ancient consideration, and the personal virtues the cruelty of his disposition in early youth by his passion of the ruler, his simplicity and moderation of character, for killing flies. He seems to have had some taste for exercised a favourable influence on the manners of the age. literature; he was himself a poet; he encouraged and reA re-action set in, from the reckless extravagance fostered warded poets, and instituted poetical contests and prizes. by the example of Nero. The fortunes of the great nobles He persecuted the philosophers, indeed, like his father; had been broken down by the exactions of that rapacious nevertheless the reign of Domitian did not fail to produce tyrant, and had suffered still more perhaps in the con- many brilliant writers and enduring works of genius. But fusion of the civil wars ; many of the chief families had be- the temper of this emperor was weak and cowardly ; and come extinguished, and their place in the Senate, and in after a few years of professed deference to the Senate, he the high offices of the state, was supplied by men of meaner grew weary of the dissimulation he had practised, exacted birth and provincial extraction. Raised by Vespasian to from them the grossest adulation, watched all their movetheir new dignities, these men took Vespasian for their ments with anxious jealousy, tormented them with his misermodel, and introduced into their households the fashion of able fears, and decimated them, on the slightest pretext, economy and self-control. Though rude and unpolished with remorseless barbarity. He was himself tormented himself, the soldier-emperor paid respect to letters, and with the desire of emulating his father and brother in their established throughout his dominions a corps of salaried military achievements. With this view, he did not hesitate professors. On the other hand, he banished the philoso- to exchange the pleasures of the capital for the hardships of phers from Rome; but to this harsh measure he was per- war. He made one campaign beyond the Rhine, and haps amply provoked by the pertinacity with which they another beyond the Danube. He pretended to obtain preached disaffection and rebellion. Vespasian had none successes, and to celebrate triumphs over both the Gerof the finer qualities of the high-bred Roman aristocrat; mans and the Dacians; and his equestrian statue, one of there was nothing genial or magnanimous in his character; the most magnificent works of art at Rome, represented once or twice he acted with revolting cruelty. But his rule him trampling victoriously on the captive enemies of his was marked on the whole by equity and mildness, and his country. Whether really satisfied or not with the applauses reign deserves to be noted as one of the brightest periods he demanded from the citizens, he could not; bear to witin the annals of the empire. ness the genuine glory of a lieutenant. During the latter years of Vespasian, and through the short reign of Titus, SECT. XLVI. REIGNS OF TITUS AND DOMITIAN (a.D. 79-96). the gallant Agricola, one of the best of the Roman captains, had conducted a series of campaigns in Britain. The Agricola in Accession Vespasian had prudently erected a temple to his prede- country south of the Humber or the Tyne had been al- Britain, of Titus. cessor Claudius, and he received a similar honour after ready reduced; but Agricola undertook to complete the death from his successor Titus. The Flavian family was conquest of the island, which he was the first to circumformally admitted among the tutelary divinities of the Ro- navigate. In the course of eight years he penetrated to man people; but the hero-worship of the emperors was a the foot of the Grampians, and finished his career of vicservice from which the life and spirit had now wholly eva- tory with the defeat of the Caledonian Galgacus. He porated. The conqueror of Judea, who now occupied his drew a line of forts from the Firth of Forth to the Clyde, father’s place on earth, bore the character of a mild and which was strengthened at a later period, and established studious philosopher. His conduct indeed in the field had as the boundary of the Roman possessions. But he would been marked with the cold-blooded cruelty common to all not have rested here, with his work half accomplished, had the Roman generals, but towards the citizens, and espe- not the emperor suddenly recalled him to Rome, and recially the senators, he displayed the moderation and self- minded him of the danger of making himself too conspicontrol which always commanded their warmest acclama- cuous among the subjects of so pusillanimous a master. tions. Out of deference to the prejudices of his country- He conducted himself at Rome with becoming modesty men, he refrained from marrying the Jewish princess Dru- and reserve; but the jealousy of the tyrant w'as not to be silla, of whom he was passionately enamoured; and this appeased, and his death, which speedily followed, was too condescension to national feelings gained him perhaps no surely attributed to poison. less applause than the sentiment he was said to have once Domitian had purchased the favour of the populace by Domitian expressed, that “ he had lost a day ” in which he had per- shows and largesses, but at the expense of the nobles, reigns by formed no special act of virtue. There seems to have whose estates he confiscated; and as his enemies multi- debauchbeen some softness, and perhaps some effeminacy, in the plied and his fears increased, he was constrained to secure *nS the character of Titus. He was addicted to voluptuous habits ; the support of the soldiers by raising their pay, and in-solliiershe was prone to indulge in expensive ostentation ; and had dulging their indolence and vanity. The guards had now he not succeeded to a hoard of treasure amassed by his become well aware of their position as the real masters of father’s economy, which he did not live to exhaust, he the city and of the empire. Their vanity and their licenmight have resorted at last to the cruelties of a Nero to tiousness were almost equally odious to the citizens, over supply his prodigality. Though the Romans agreed in whom they domineered with impunity. The life and power entitling this prince the “ delight of the human race,” they of the emperor were in their hands, and he was obliged to admitted that he was saved by an early death from the wink at their excesses. They could only be restrained snares of a position to which he might have proved unDeath of equal. litus died of a fever, his frame having been weak- by the strong arm of a soldier like themselves. They had quailed before veteran Vespasian,—they had respected the Titus. ened by an immoderate use of the bath, after a short reign victorious Titan ; but Domitian, whose futile pretences to of only two years, in 834 (a.d. 81). military prowess they despised, could only retain their Domitian. Domitian, who succeeded to his elder brother, had swords by yielding immediately to all their caprices. Thus never been regarded with the same hope and favour by the supported, however, the nobles, now trembling daily for Romans. His head had been turned by the glories which their lives, could not venture to assail him. He continued accrued to his family in his tender years. During the to persecute them with unceasing barbarity, while himself short interval in which he had exercised power before his so apprehensive for his own safety that he shut himself up father’s arrival at Rome, he had given the rein to his youth- in apartments mirrored on every side, and so thickly carful passions, and the evil nature thus early developed in peted that his footfalls could not be heard* beneath. At

ROMAN

HISTORY. 341 nobles whom he knew to be conspiring against him, they Political extolled what was perhaps mere conscious helplessness as History, the most magnanimous intrepidity. It was in the interest ^ of this class that the legislation of Nerva seems to have been principally conceived. He enacted rigid laws against the informers, and screened the senators from delation, not in cases of treason only, but of other criminal charges; while he enforced the utmost severity of the barbarous law of Rome against the slaves of their households. The reign, however, of this prince did not last long enough to try the principles on which he conducted it. He died, after holding power a little Death of more than sixteen months, but not before he had conferred Nerva, the greatest of all boons on the Roman empire, in the choice a-®of the best and ablest of his subjects to succeed him. This man was M. Ulpius Trajanus, a native of Italica Trajan in Spain, distinguished for his bold and straightforward cha- nominated racter, as well as for his military capacity. It was for these ^ ^ervaqualities, and not for his rank or riches, for he was the son of a plain officer in the armies of Vespasian, that the emperor chose him for the support of his own throne, and adopted him into his family. This was, moreover, the best way of securing the tranquil transmission of the empire on the vacancy which might soon be expected to occur. SECT. XLVII. REIGNS OF NERVA AND TRAJAN (A.D. 96-117). Trajan was in command of the forces at Cologne at the time of Nerva’s death ; but not only the Senate and people, Nerva The praetorians were irresolute, the populace was indif- but the praetorians and the soldiers generally, acquiesced chosen by ferent; and when the Senate declared that Cocceius Nerva, with perfect satisfaction in the announcement of his sucthe Senate. an age(j veteran of high birth and character, should suc- cession. He seems, indeed, to have been personally popuceed to the chief place in the state, his election might be lar with all classes ; nor did he, throughout the whole course regarded as ratified by the suffrage of the Roman people. of his reign, seek to ingratiate himself with any one at the But Nerva, it was remarked, was the first of the emperors expense of the others. The accounts delivered to us of of Italian, not of Roman parentage. His family came from this reign, as well as of others of the same period, are unNarnia, in the Umbrian territory ; and he might still, it fortunately very meagre. We possess, however, abundant seems, be stigmatized as a foreigner, though the Italians evidence that the Romans, not then only, but for many had now enjoyed Roman citizenship for nearly two centu- generations afterwards, regarded it as the brightest epoch ries. In this respect the new appointment of the Senate in the imperial annals. The Senate continued to enjoy the was considered by some as a striking innovation on the highest respect and consideration ; the people were gratiideas of antiquity. It was remembered, however, that the fied by shows,—not indeed the aimless extravaganzas of elder Tarquin, one of the most popular of the kings, was Nero, but the martial displays of the amphitheatre, bar- His instiby birth an Etruscan ; and a saying was current among barous and disgusting, no doubt, according to our ideas, tutions, his works, his the curious in such matters, that the Romans had generally yet dignified in Roman eyes by ancient national associa- mil prospered most by their native genius under foreign rulers. tions. The government of Trajan is also distinguished by !tary But such reflections as these, delivered to us by some of the attention it paid, for the first time perhaps in the poli- ments their latest writers, were no doubt the sophisms of another tical history of antiquity, to the relief of poverty by eleeage : at the moment, the citizens thought little of the mosynary institutions. The provision it made for the mainorigin of their new emperor ; they were occupied with feel- tenance of orphans in Italy, though we can but imperfectly ings of vengeance against the slaughtered tyrant, whose understand it from the notices which remain, is a marked images they overthrew, while the Senate decreed that his feature in the public economy of this interesting period. “acts” should be abolished, and the honour of the apo- The architectural works of Trajan for the embellishment of theosis refused to him. The man of their choice was the city were conceived on the grandest scale, and executed pledged to support their authority and respect their per- with no want of taste. He constructed, moreover, the sons. Nerva bound himself by an oath that no senator naval stations of Centumcellae and Ancona. But the bent should suffer death during his reign ; a pledge which was of his genius was military, and he humoured the passions formally repeated by some succeeding sovereigns. This of the army, as well as his own, by the wars he waged was the charter of the Roman constitution under the new against the enemies of Rome. He avenged the humidynasty, which depended only on the word of the emperor, liation inflicted on the empire by the Dacians and their but was preserved inviolate at least by Nerva and his next king Decebalus, which the pretended triumph of Domitian successor. Under this pledge of personal safety the sena- had failed to disguise, and reduced the countries of modern tors again raised their heads, and enjoyed a considerable Hungary and Transylvania to the form of a province. The share of real authority in affairs. Nerva, indeed, was a remains of Roman cities, and the deep root still held there man of no great strength of character, nor were his health by the Eatin language, prove the completeness of the conand vigour of body such as to allow him to enter on any quest he effected, though his next successor thought fit to struggle with the patrons who had advanced him to the resign this tardy acquisition. The Pillar of Trajan at . head of the commonwealth. The Senate, however, on Rome, sculptured with the events of the Dacian war, still their part, fully acquitted themselves of their share in the exists as another monument of the conqueror’s prowess. compact implied between them, exalting the natural mild- The emperor carried his arms also across the Euphrates, ness and moderation of his temper as the highest sense of and annexed to the empire some districts in Mesopotamia. justice and most unbounded clemency. It mattered little He penetrated into the deserts of Arabia, extending the to them that the poor old man surrendered to the clamours empire, nominally at least, as far as the city of Medina. of the praetorians the freedmen who had slain Domitian ; It is said that his lieutenants carried the eagles beyond and when he himself put swords into the hands of some Syene on the Nile, and subjugated Nubia. But these. Political last, however, vengeance overtook him from the centre of History, his own palace. He was wont to inscribe on his tablets day by day the names of those he meant to put to death, continuing to treat them, till the moment arrived, with attentions which disarmed all suspicion. An accident discovered the fatal record to the Empress Domitia, who was dismayed at finding her own name set down in it, together with those of others in high office about the emperor’s person. To these she imparted the secret; and they all conspired together to save themselves by assassinating Death of their treacherous master. The tyrant of Rome fell by the Domitian, hand of a Greek freedman ; and with him the line of the a.d. 96. Flavian emperors came to an end. He left no children, nor would the indignant senators, who met to nominate a new ruler before the guards could recover from their consternation, have endured another scion of a stock now rendered detestable to them. Domitian was the twelfth of the Caesars, a name or title which the Flavian emperors had continued to bear, and which was still perpetuated in their successors ; but the accident, perhaps, of the Lives of the Caesars by Suetonius terminating with him has limited its special application in popular language to these twelve only.

ROMAN HISTORY. 342 Political conquests, if they really deserve the name, were also sur- but it was over barbarian enemies; and their constancy was Political History. rendered on the death of the conqueror, which took place seldom tried by defeats. The practice, introduced indeed History, at Selinus in Cilicia, in the year 870, after a reign of nine- before, but carried out most systematically by Trajan, of Death of teen years and a half. defending the frontiers of the empire by long lines of forTraian, The chief blot on the character of this able and potent tifications, such as that which may still be traced in many A.D. 117. prince is the persecution which he suffered to be inflicted places from the Rhine to the Danube, must have contriPersecu- upon the Christians, who were becoming at this period an buted to weaken the soldier’s reliance on his own strength tion of the important element in the population of the empire. By the and courage, and taught him to depend on the shelter of Christians. earlier Caesars the Jews had been treated with great favour, ditches and ramparts. Thus protected, he would soon begin both in their own country and in Rome. This people had to relax in his attention to drill and exercise. It is protaken the part of Julius Caesar in their hatred of Pompeius; bable, indeed, that the immediate object for which these they had sided with Augustus against Antonius; and thus works were raised was not so much defence as employhad been suffered to return to practise their rites unmolested ment. The legions on the frontiers had too little occuin the city, and to make a great harvest of proselytes among pation. On the Danube they had broken out in danthe noble and wealthy classes, particularly of the female gerous mutinies; on the Rhine they had set up an emsex. Under Tiberius, indeed, and Claudius, their turbulence peror of their own against the emperor of the Senate. had subjected them to rigid measures of repression ; they Ihe Roman soldier had been always taught to use the had been banished for a time from Rome; but these mea- pick-axe as well as the sword; the raising of earthworks sures were soon relaxed, and they returned in no less and fixing of palisades were part of his business as much numbers nor less turbulently-disposed than before. In as the leaping, running, swimming, and fencing which their own country the leaders of these repeated seditions formed his daily exercise. Every night on march, on arhad been known by the appellation of Christs, and when the riving at his halting-place, he was required to throw up a true disciples of Jesus of Nazareth became first conspicu- wall of turl round his camp before betaking himself to rest. ous in the city, we might expect them to be popularly con- The arrangement and dimensions of the camp are fully founded with the deluded followers of Judas the Galilean, set forth by the historian Polybius, from which we mav or fheudas, who had made the name of Christ odious to calculate the amount of labour imposed on the legionary in the Roman people. We have seen how Nero gratified the best age of the republic. But under Trajan we find the Roman populace by sacrificing the Christians at Rome that a new system of castrametation was in practice, known to their fury, and we have remarked that under this name, by the name of its expounder Hyginus, according to which not the true disciples only, but the unbelieving Jews also, an equal number of men was lodged in an encampment may possibly have been included. The fierce struggle of not more than half the size of those of the Caesars and the which ensued in Palestine, ending in the overthrow of Scipios. We cannot suppose that the armies of the empire Jerusalem and a general dispersion of the native popula- carried with them less baggage or required fewer followers tion, exasperated the feelings of the Romans against the than those of the republic; and we can only see in this reJews, and it is probable that, though the Christians were duction of the size of the camp a relaxation of discipline, and now of almost every nation under the Roman dominion, a concession to the indolence of the legionaries. The walls the fundamental connection of their religion with that of of Trajan in Germany and Moldavia, and the diminished the Jews marked them as in some sense pertaining to those extent of the Hyginian encampments, are the first visible detested enemies of Rome. Hence every jealous measure symptoms of decline in the military spirit of the Romans. directed against the Jews themselves, or against their rites and usages, would apply with equal force to the Christians; SECT. XLYIII.—REIGN OF HADRIAN (a.D. 117-138). the believers might be required at any moment, at the discretion of the rulers and governors, to give a pledge for The wise and vigorous rule of Trajan seems to have Hadrian their loyalty to Rome by swearing in the name of the em- completely restored the harmonious working of the different nominated peror, or by sacrificing to his genius. This was a simple orders and classes in the empire. The sovereign authority ^7 Trajan, test, which saved all discussion on the character of the of the Senate was recognised on all hands; and the Christians or the merits of their religious tenets ; the prae- emperor, when engaged on his distant expeditions, could tors in the provinces might be anxious to show their zeal leave the reins of government to the consuls without fear for their master by exacting this compliance; they were for his own power or for the tranquillity of the state. bound at least to exact it in the case of any person denounced When he suddenly died in a corner of an obscure province, to them as the holder of dangerous opinions, whether the mere assertion by his wife Plotina, that he had nomispecified as Jewish or Christian, and hence we find such in- nated Hadrian his heir and successor, was received without quisition made, and cruel punishments inflicted, both under opposition or question ; and, in default of sons of his own, Domitian and Trajan. The latter prince checked the zeal of it was considered most natural and proper that he should his officers by expressly forbidding, as in the case of Pliny in thus endow with the purple a man of known ability and Bithynia, any inquiry for Christians to be made. If de- experience, a native of his own province, and allied to his nounced, then indeed the test must be applied, but not other- own family. T. JSlius Hadrianus, who really owed his wise. Ihus circumscribed, the persecution seems to have elevation to an intrigue of the palace rather than to the quickly relaxed, and before his death, Trajan, with his natural actual choice of his predecessor, was a man whom even a jusflce and benevolence, resolved to suppress it altogether. Commence< Tiajan was undoubtedy the greatest of the Roman Trajan, the best hitherto of the Roman emperors, might ment of commanders after the days of Caesar, and under him the fron- be proud of appointing to succeed him. Though his private conduct was not devoid of defects, and though his decline in military tiers of the empire were advanced to the farthest limits they temper was eventually spoiled by indulgence, he seems to ever attained. The legions were never more triumphant; spirit. have possessed on the whole the highest combination of the bravery of the soldiers, the conduct of their officers, princely qualities that ever graced the Roman purple. never more conspicuous: the military power of Rome was I hough a brave and skilful captain, he refrained from the Hadrian raised perhaps at this epoch to its highest pitch. It may unprofitable pursuit of military laurels, and chose rather to abandons be doubted, however, whether the men who bore the eagles abandon the useless and expensive conquests of Trajan sorne of of I raj an were really animated with the same spirit of de- than waste the resources of the empire in retaining them. Trajan s votion to the service, of discipline and endurance, as the The Euphrates and the Danube became again, and long con affected to restore the consideration of that illustrious but son with the pomp and ceremony of Asiatic sovereignty, decrepit body, while he took measures for preventing Rome affecting the reserve of a superior being, and allowing access from ever again giving laws to the empire, by disbanding to him only through a crowd of eunuchs, chamberlains, the praetorian guards and destroying their fortified camp. and ministers. The old Roman idea of the essential With this military institution the imperial power departed equality of the emperor and his chief nobles was entirely finally from Rome, and the seat of empire was henceforth swept away. A complete separation was made between to be established wherever the emperor should choose to the civil and military authorities ; and again the vital take up his own permanent residence. Master of the principle of the ancient republic, according to which every West, Constantine was not satisfied till he had brought the citizen was a soldier, and the chief civil magistracies wielded East also under his sceptre. His rival Licinius equalled the power of the sword, was finally abolished. All the him in ambition, but neither in ability nor fortune. Dur- great offices of state were accordingly re-modelled, with ing the contest in Italy the prefect of Illyricum had been new titles suited to the new arrangements. They were prosecuting his own views of conquest no less successfully classed in the three ranks of Illustres, Spectabiles, and in Asia. He had overthrown Maximin, and seized all the Clarissimi, and distributed among the three departments eastern provinces of the empire, confirming his victory by of the court, the army, and the civil service. The ofthe massacre of all the children of Galerius and Severus, ficers of the court and of state were chiefly the lords as well as of Maximin himself. So far did he carry his pre- of the bed-chamber and the palace, with special ministers cautions as to insist on the execution of the widow and of finance, of justice, of the interior, of the crown revenues, daughter of Diocletian. Thus triumphant in opposite and of the household guards. The army was controlled quarters of the empire, the two competitors were equally by a commander-in-chief, assisted by generals of infantry prepared for a struggle with one another. In the first and generals of cavalry ; and below these were officers of contest between them, Constantine wrested Illyricum from inferior rank, known as dukes {duces) and counts {comites). Dukes and Licinius. After an interval of eight years, war was re- The civil department was divided into four great prefec- counts, Prefectures Overthrow newed. Licinius was overthrown in the great battle of tures: those of the east, including Thrace and the Asiatic and dio of Licinius, Adrianople, in the year 323 ; but his spirit was still un- provinces ; of Italy, comprising Italy, Rhaetia, Noricum, “ a.d. 323. broken, and while Constantine was occupied in the siege and Africa ; of Illyricum, embracing Illyricum, Pannonia, ceses‘ of Byzantium, he collected a numerous force of raw levies Macedonia, and Greece; and of Gaul, which compreto try his fortune in another field. The battle of Chrysopolis hended the provinces of western Europe. Under the four brought the contest to a final decision. Licinius was de- prefects were thirteen high functionaries, who presided prived of his imperial honours, and permitted to retire to over the thirteen dioceses into which the prefectures were Thessalonica, there to pass the remainder of his days in a sub-divided, and who were known by the titles of comites private station. But Constantine had not magnanimity or vicarii. Asia, Africa, and Achaia were governed by enough to observe the conditions he had imposed on him- proconsuls, and the whole number of provinces, each self. The deposed emperor was soon afterwards accused under a separate but dependent governor, a proconsul, a of intriguing with foreign powers for his restoration, and corrector, a consularis, or a praesidens, amounted to 117. the victor did not scruple to secure his own supremacy by I he department of the imperial court was occupied by putting his last rival to death. The family compact devised seven high functionaries, of a character entirely new in the by the astute Diocletian resulted, in the second generation, history of the Roman monarchy. The chief of these was in the re-establishment of an undivided monarchy. the prcepositus sacri cubiculi, or lord chamberlain ; next to him the magister officiorum, who may be compared to a SECT. LVII.—UNION OF THE EMPIRE UNDER CONSTANTINE. modern minister of home affairs; the qucestor, or lord chancellor and keeper of the seals; the comes sacraUnion of Conscious of his own energy and abilities, and sensible of rum largitionum, or chancellor of the public exchequer; the empire tbe inherent weakness of the scheme for dividing the the comes rerum privatarum divince domus, or lord of the under Con- imperial powers devised by his predecessor, Constantine privy purse; and finally, two comites domesticorum, or Btantine. determined to retain in his own hand the sceptre of the captains of the imperial body-guard. While the machinery united empire, while he contrived a more elaborate scheme of government was thus re-constructed, the finances by for lightening the burden it imposed upon him. The which it was to be kept in motion were placed upon a new original policy of Augustus, according to which the footing. We may suppose that for many years the collecemperor was regarded as the delegate of the state, and tion of the revenues had fallen into the utmost confusion. his functions were only those of the various popular magis- It had become necessary to review the entire basis of the tracies combined together in one person, had become land-tax, the most permanent and certain source of the Indictions, utterly obliterated for at least a century. The specious imperial revenues; and the Indictions, or fifteen years’ constitutionalism of the early Caesars had vanished, but no settlements, which became important eras for the chroorganized system of despotism had been substituted in its nology of succeeding ages, are dated from the acquisition place. The chiefs of the state had been content, as we of Italy by Constantine, in the year 312.

353 HISTORY. Political The Christian church, which the emperor determined to manding the perpetration of some crime which struck his Political History, convert into a great instrument of government, was already awakened concience with horror and alarm, though he had v History, modelled to his hand in the hierarchical form in which he not courage and religious confidence to repudiate it. His — Establish- desired to cast the state. Its metropolitans, its primates, execution of his son Crispus is still the deepest stain upon Death of mentof the its archbishops and bishops, with the inferior classes of a character which, notwithstanding its many great qualities, Crispus. Christian clergy, formed a spiritual subordination of powers similar must ever be subject to the charge of dissimulation and church. tQ tj]at which he introduced into the civil administration, cruelty. There seems reason for questioning the justice of and quite unlike anything which had existed in the sacer- the charge commonly made against him, of having caused dotal arrangements of Greek and Roman antiquity. The Ro- the assassination of his wife Fausta; and generally we must mans had never recognised a distinction between clergy and remember that the hostility of the pagan writers is quite as laity ; they had never admitted the powers of priestly abso- marked in their account of this prince as the favour of the lution or excommunication ; the idea of a spiritual autho- Christians. It is to the encomiums of the latter, no doubt, rity independent of the civil was totally alien from their that he owes the appellation of “ the Great,” which has views of polity. But undoubtedly the spread of Christian been appended in after-ages to his name; nevertheless so ideas, and the gradual decay of those which were most distinguished a title is not undeserved by one who, not to essentially opposed to them, had rendered these principles mention his claims to the respect of Christian posterity, more and more familiar to subjects and rulers ; and effected the consolidation of a vast unwieldy empire by his Constantine was struck with the vast influence they personal valour and ability, and maintained it in honour and evidently exercised over the minds of their votaries, and prosperity against all enemies, foreign and domestic, for was prepared to subject his own fervid imagination to their more than thirty years. In the history of the Christian control. When he found that the Christian priesthood had church he assumes a prominent place, from the zeal with discovered a way of reconciling their own spiritual claims which he devoted himself to adjusting the dogmatic differwith a technical supremacy in the ruler of the state, he was ences which prevailed in it during his reign ; and especially of satisfied with the terms of the alliance they offered to him, from the council of Nicaea, at which be presided in the year Council c0ea > and quickly determined to exchange the toleration he had 325, in which the orthodox creed was triumphantly estab- Ni A,I) 325 already extended to their religion for special favour and lished. But with this, and with the controversies which ‘ followed, the history of Rome has nothing to do. We have formal establishment. The revenues bequeathed in past times by private piety to the uses of Christian worship, which felt, during our account of the last hundred years or more, had been confiscated under the persecutors of the faith, were how far we have drifted away from the ideas which anisedulously restored, the Christian temples repaired and re- mated the records of Rome during the earlier periods of opened, many public halls or basilica especially appro- her existence. We can with difficulty recognise any bond priated to Christian use, and fresh endowments secured to of continuity between the Rome of the lower empire and them; the bishops and ministers of the Christian religion that of Augustus and the Scipios. From the time that all were invited to court, and placed in situations of trust the subjects of the empire became comprehended in a comand favour about the emperor’s person. On the other mon citizenship we have lost all interest in the name of hand, the institutions of pagan worship were placed under Romans. Since the edict of Gallienus, which interdicted many jealous restrictions: the old distinction between pub- military service to the senators, we have ceased to regard lic and private, licensed and unlicensed cults, was harshly the nobles of the capital as an element in the polity of the enforced, and many shrines shut up, many special services state. The armies of the empire have long been composed Discour- abolished. The civil laws against immorality and inde- almost wholly of subsidized barbarians, and been led almost agement, of cenCy were applied to many licentious usages connected without exception by provincials, half-barbarian themselves. paganism. wjtji ^ heatiien ceremonies; and, discountenanced as the Roman literature, which revived from the false taste of the ancient worship was by the emperor and the court, it may silver age of Nero and Domitian, and produced a school at be supposed that the magistrates w'ere often tempted to least of correct imitators under the Antonines and Severi, stretch the powers accorded them by legislative enactments perished utterly in the age which followed, or was transto the control and even the persecution of the falling faith. ferred to the camp of the Christians, and became the inhePersonally, indeed, Constantine still halted between two ritance of Gauls, Africans, and Asiatics. The contempt opinions. Up to the age of forty at least (a.d. 314), he and decrepitude into which Rome had fallen is finally continued to make public profession of paganism, although marked by the incident, which may on some accounts be he had already struck severe blows against its interests considered the most memorable in the memorable reign of as well as its pride of exclusiveness. His devotion was Constantine,—the foundation of the new Rome on the divided between the gods of Olympus on the one hand, Bosphorus, to which he gave the name of Constantinople, Foundaand Christ and the saints of Christendom on the other. and which he made the seat of his government and the tion of As late as the year 321 he insisted on consulting the Ha- capital of the Roman empire. It was in the year 330 that Constantig30 ruspices. The consolidation of his power confirmed his this revolution was effected. Though Rome, as we have wavering confidence in the Being whose favour he was seen, had long ceased to be the residence even of the assured he had gained, even by the limited honour he had western emperors, her influence, and in some sense her paid to him. After the defeat of Licinius he surrendered authority, as a metropolis, might still be recognised as long Ids conscience to his favourite bishop, Eusebius of Caesarea, as no rival was formally installed in the place of honour she allowed his children to be educated as Christians, and had so long held unquestioned. The removal of the seat assumed without scruple the headship of the Church of empire to the East carried away many of the ancient and the presidency in its councils, which its rulers families still surviving in the palaces of the republic; it freely tendered to him. It was not, however, till he converted the descendants, if any still remained, of the felt the approaches of a mortal disease, in the sixty-third Claudii and Cornelii into Greeks and Asiatics. It left to Conclusion, year of his life, that he finally enrolled himself among ancient Rome her name, her buildings, a more obstinate Baptism of the converts to Christianity, by submitting to the rite of attachment to old forms and traditions, to the old pagan Constan- baptism, which he was taught to regard as the pledge of a cult, and to the observation of heathen auguries; but tine it broke for ever the continuity of her political history, blessed death rather than the token of a new life. The policy indeed of the emperor, raised to a precarious which must henceforth be transferred to another centre, elevation, and maintaining himself by force or craft against and assume another title. (See Constantinopolitax (c. m.) innumerable jealousies and animosities, was constantly de- Histoky.) VOL. XIX. 2Y ROMAN

i

R O M 354 Romano ROMANO, a town of Austrian Italy, in the province li and 13 miles S.S.E. of Bergamo, in a rich country, near Romans, t]ie seno. [t is well built, with broad, straight streets, many Epistle to tjlem lined wjth arcades. There are here some elegant e '^ y churches, a convent, and an hospital. Silk-spinning, tanv ^ ning, and tile-making are carried on ; and much-frequented markets are held. Pop. (1846) 4199. ROMANS, The Epistle to the, claims our interest more than the other didactic epistles of the apostle Paul, because it is more systematic, and because it explains especially that truth which became subsequently the principle of the Reformation, viz., righteousness through faith. At the period when the apostle wrote the Epistle to the Romans, he had passed through a life full of experience. Paul was at this time between fifty and sixty years old. After having spent two years and a half at Ephesus, he planned a journey to Macedonia, Achaia, Jerusalem, and Rome (Acts xix. 21). Having spent about three months in travelling, he arrived at Corinth, where he remained three months (Acts xx. 2) ; and during this second abode at Corinth he wrote the Epistle to the Romans (comp. 1 Cor. xvi. 1-3, and 2 Cor. ix. with Rom. xv. 25). He despatched this letter by a Corinthian who was then travelling to Rome (xvi. 1), and sent greetings from an inhabitant of Corinth (xvi. 23 ; comp. 1 Cor. i. 14). The data in the life of the apostle depend upon the year in which his conversion took place. Some think that this event occurred as early as a.d. 35 or 41 ; but it is by far more probable that the epistle was written about the year a.d. 58 or 59. The congregation of Christians at Rome was formed at a very early period, but its founder is unknown. Paul himself mentions two distinguished teachers at Rome, who were converted earlier than himself. According to Rom. i. 8, the Roman congregation had then attained considerable celebrity, as their faith was spoken of throughout the whole world. From chap. xvi. we learn that there were a considerable number of Christian teachers at Rome ; from which we infer that the congregation had existed there for some time ; and it is most likely that the Jews at Rome were first converted to Christianity. Under Augustus there were so many Jews at Rome that this emperor appointed them quarters beyond the Tiber. These Jews consisted mostly of freedmen, whom Pompey had carried to Rome as slaves; and some of the early Christians at Rome followed mercantile pursuits. At the time when this epistle was written, there were also Gentile Christians in the Roman church ; and from passages like xi. 13 ; xv. 16; i. 7 and 13 ; we learn that the Gentile Christians were then more numerous than the converted Jews. It is well known that in those times many heathens embraced Judaism (Tacitus, Annul. xv. 44; Juvenal, Sat. xiv. 96). These converts to Judaism wTere mostly women. Among the converts from Judaism to Christianity, there existed in the days of Paul two parties. The congregated apostles had decreed, according to Acts xv., that the converts from paganism were not bound to keep the ritual laws of Moses. There were, however, many converts from Judaism who were disinclined to renounce the authority of the Mosaic law. The opinions concerning the occasion and object of this letter to the Romans differ according to the various suppositions of those who think that the object of the letter was supplied by the occasion, or the supposition that the apostle selected his subject only after an opportunity for writing was offered. In earlier times the latter opinion prevailed, as, for instance, in the writings of Thomas Aquinas, Luther, Melanchthon, Calvin. In more recent times the other opinion has generally been advocated, as, for instance, by Hug, Eichhorn, and Flatt. Many writers suppose that the debates mentioned in ch. xiv. and xv. called forth this epistle. Hug, therefore, is of opinion that the theme of the whole epistle is the following—Jews and Gentiles have equal claim to the Kingdom of God. According

ROM to Eichhorn, the Roman Jews being exasperated against the Romans, disciples of Paul, endeavoured to demonstrate that Judaism Epistle to wras sufficient for the salvation of mankind ; consequently t*ieEichhorn supposes that the polemics of St Paul were not directed against Judaizing converts to Christianity, as in the Epistle to the Galatians, but rather against Judaism itself. This opinion is also maintained by De Wette (Einleitung ins Neue Testament, 4th ed. § 138). According to Credner (Einleitung, § 141), the intention of the apostle was to render the Roman congregation favourably disposed before his arrival in the chief metropolis, and he therefore endeavoured to show that the evil reports spread concerning himself by zealously Judaizing Christians were erroneous. This opinion is nearly related to that of Dr Baur who supposes that the real object of this letter is mentioned only in ch. ix. to xi. The journey of Phcebe to Rome seems to have been the external occasion of the epistle: Paul made use of this opportunity by sending the sum and substance of the Christian doctrine in writing, having been prevented from preaching in Rome. The apostle had many friends in Rome who communicated with him; consequently he was the more induced to address the Romans, although he manifested some hesitation in doing so (xv. 15). Contents of the Epistle to the Romans.—It belongs to the characteristic type of St Paul’s teaching to exhibit the gospel in its historical relation to the human race. In the Epistle to the Romans, also, we find that peculiar character of St Paul’s teaching which induced Sehelling to call the apostle’s doctrine a “ philosophy of the history of man.” In the Epistle to the Romans Paul commences by describing the two great divisions of the human race, viz., those who underwent the preparatory spiritual education of the Jews, and those who did not undergo such a preparatory education. The chief aim of all nations, according to St Paul, should be the SiKaioowr/ ivunuov rod fleov, righteousness before the face of God, or absolute realization of the moral law. According to St Paul, the heathen also have their vo/xos, laiv, as well religious as moral internal revelation (Rom. i. 19, 32; ii. 15). The heathen have, however, not fulfilled that law which they knew, and are in this respect like the Jews, who also disregarded their own law (ii.) Both Jews and Gentiles are transgressors, or by the law separated from the grace and sonship of God (Rom. ii. 12; iii. 20); consequently if blessedness could only be obtained by fulfilling the demands of God, no man could be blessed. God, however, has gratuitously given righteousness and blessedness to all who believe in Christ (iii. 21-31). The human race has gained in Christ much more than it lost in Adam (v. 12, 21). If some of the Jews are left to their own obduracy, even their temporary fall serves the plans of God, viz., the vocation of the Gentiles. After the mass of the Gentiles shall have entered in, the people of Israel also, in theircollective capacity, shall be received into the church (xi.) The Authenticity and Integrity of the Epistle to the Romans.—The authenticity of this epistle has never been questioned. The Epistle to the Romans is quoted as early as the first and second century by Clemens Romanus and Polycarp. Its integrity has lately been attacked by Dr Baur, who pretends that chs. xv. and xvi. are spurious, but only, as we have observed above, because these chapters do not harmonize with his supposition, that the Christian church at Rome consisted of rigid Judaizers. Schmidt and Reiche consider the doxology at the conclusion of ch. xvi. not to be genuine. In this doxology the anacolouthical and unconnected style causes some surprise, and the whole has been deemed to be out of its place (ver. 26 and 27). We however observe, in reply to Schmidt and Reiche, that such defects of style may be easily explained from the circumstance, that the apostle hastened to the conclusion, but wrould be quite inexplicable in additions of a copyist who

ROM Romans, had time for calm consideration. We find an analogous instance in Ephes. iii. 20, 21, where a doxology occurs after the mystery of salvation had been mentioned : we are therefore of opinion that the doxology is rightly placed at the conclusion of ch. xiv., and that it was in some codices erroneously transposed to the conclusion of ch. xiv., because the copyist considered the blessing in xvi. 24 to be the real conclusion of the epistle. In confirmation of this remark we observe that the same codices in which the doxology occurs in ch. xvi. either omit the blessing altogether, or place it after the doxology. Interpreters of the Epistle to the Romans.—Chrysostom is the most important among the fathers who attempted to interpret this epistle. He enters deeply, and with psychological acumen, into the thoughts of the apostle, and expounds them with sublime animation. Among the Reformers, Calvin is distinguished by logical penetration and doctrinal depth. Beza is distinguished by his grammatical and critical knowledge. Since the period of rationalism the interest about this epistle has been revived by the Commentary of Tholuck, the first edition of which appeared in 1824. It was translated into English in 1834-36. No other book of the New Testament has, since that period, been expounded so frequently and so accurately. From 1824 to 1844, there have been published as many as seventeen learned and critical commentaries on it; and, in addition to these, several practical expositions. In the Commentary von Riickert, 2d ed., 1839, 2 vols., we find copious criticisms of the various interpretations, and a clear and pleasing, although not always carefully-weighed, exposition. The Commeniar von Fritzche, 1836 to 1843, 3 vols., exhibits a careful critique of the text, combined with philological explanation, but the true sense of the apostle has frequently been missed. The Commentar of Olshausen, 2d ed., 1840, generally contains only the author’s own exposition, but presents a very pleasing development of the doctrinal contents. It has been translated into English in 1850. De Wette manifests on the whole a correct tact (3d ed., 1841); however, his book is too comprehensive, so that the contents of the epistle do not make a clear impression. Lately there has been published in French also an interpretation of the Epistle to the Romans, worked out with much diligence and ingenuity, by Hugues Oltramare. The principal English works on the Epistle to the Romans are—Willet, Hexapla, or a Sixfold Comment on the Epistle to the Romans, 1611 ; Taylor’s Paraphrase and Notes on the Epistle to the Romans, 1747 ; Jones, The Epistle to the Romans analysed, from a development of the circumstances by which it was occasioned, 1801 ; Cox, Horce Romano:, 1824 (translation, with notes); Turner, Notes on the Epistle to the Romans, New York, 1824 (exegetical, for the use of students); Terrot, The Epistle of Paul to the Romans, 1828 (Greek text, paraphrase, notes, and useful prolegomena). Stuart, Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Andover, U.S., 1832, is undoubtedly the greatest work on this epistle which has been produced in the English language ; Hodge (also an American author) On the Romans; VeWe, Annotations on the Epistles, 1850; Knight, A Critical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, London, 1854; Purdue, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Dublin, 1855; Oxv'Ason, An Introduction to the New Testament, London, 1848; Brown’s Epistle to the Romans, 1857. ROMANS, a town of France, in the department of Drome, in a picturesque situation on the right bank of the Isere, here crossed by a handsome bridge communicating with Peage on the opposite side, 10 miles N.E. of Valence. It is still partially inclosed by its ancient walls and towers; and entered by five gates. There are no buildings in it of any note except the theatre, and the curious Gothic church of St Antoine. Silk, hosiery, woollen fabrics, serge, and

ROM 355 leather are manufactured here ; and there is much trade in Romanus. wool, hemp, linen, silk, wine, and other produce of the v^ surrounding country. Romans has a court of commerce, chamber of manufacture, and ecclesiastical seminax-y. Pop. 7228. ROMANUS I., Lecapenus, Emperor of the East, was admiral of the fleet on the Danube in 919, when he determined to seize the supreme power during the reign of the young prince Constantine VII. Sailing forthwith to Constantinople, he executed his enterprise with great success. The influence of the dowager empress was gained ; his daughter was married to the emperor ; and he himself soon afterwards assumed the title of imperial colleague, and the real authority of sole sovereign. Romanus long enjoyed the undistux-bed possession of his ill-gotten power. Sevei'al predatory inroads of the wild Bulgarians were the only events that at all endangered his security for nearly fiveand-twenty years. It was not until 944 that his dissolute conduct provoked a conspiracy. In that year, during the stillness of a winter noon, the two sons of Romanus seized their father in his palace, smuggled him away to a monastery on a small island in the Propontis, and that it might not be lawful for him to resume the sceptre, lost no time in shaving his head. Thus hopelessh dethroned, he commenced the quiet life of a monk, invited his unnatural sons to share his herbs and water, when they were soon afterwards exiled to the same place, and died within the convent in 948. Romanus II., Emperor of the East, succeeded his father Constantine VII. in 959. The beauty and excellences of his person made him a gymnast and a sportsman. His days were spent in the circus, in the tennis-court, and in hunting the wild boar on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus. The welfare of his government was left to the mercy of those unprincipled times. Accordingly, in 963 his wife Theophano, a remorseless wretch, poisoned him. Romanus III., Argyrus, Emperor of the East, was living in 1028 an unambitious and married life, when a sti’ange fortune called him to the throne. One day in the midst of his conjugal felicity a mandate came to him fi-om the dying Constantine VIII., commanding him to x’epair to the palace, in order that he might be made the husband of the princess Zoe, and the successor of the emperor.. He refused to leave his present spouse ; but the alternative of losing his eyes was held up to him. He then preferred to suffer that penalty; but his self-sacrificing wife prevailed upon him not to forego his own welfare for her sake. The ci’own thus forced upon Romanus was the cause of nothing but evil. A repulse which the Arabs gave him in Syria produced a discontent among his subjects. The repeated successes of his generals against the same foe increased his unpopularity. Taking advantage of the public feeling, his faithless wife formed a conspiracy against him. At length, in 1034, she poisoned him, and gave her hand and the empire to her paramour Michael the Paphlagonian. Romanus IV., Diogenes, Emperor of the East, was raised to the purple in 1067 by a very romantic incident. He had been sentenced to death for treason against the Empress Eudoxia. On the eve of his execution that princess ordered him to be brought into her presence. The manly beauty of the ill-fated felon immediately won her heart. His sentence was repealed ; and in a few days afterwards he found himself the husband of the empress. Romanus wore the crown worthily. Taking the field soon after his coronation, he boldly attacked the Turks, who, under the able Sultan Alp-Arslan, had encroached as far westward as Phrygia. His movements became rapid, precise, and energetic. The scattered hordes of the enemy felt themselves checked and driven back at every point. Defeat was followed by defeat, until, at the end of the third campaign, they were swept beyond the River Euphrates.

356 ROM llombouts The fourth campaign, however, in 1071, was ruinous to Romanus. His plans were disconcerted at the outset by Rome, dexterous manoeuvres of Alp-Arslan. He was forced to fight at a disadvantage on the banks of the Araxes. There, after struggling during a long autumn day, his troops were completely cut to pieces. He himself, fighting like a lion among the slain bodies of his attendants, was overpowered by numbers, and taken prisoner. It is true that his brave foe treated him generously, and released him under certain conditions. But on returning to his dominions he found that his subjects had rebelled. In vain did he employ force to regain his crown. He was twice defeated, was compelled to surrender, and was at last put to death with most diabolical cruelty. (See Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire?) ROME OUTS, Theodore, an eminent Flemish painter,

ROM was born at Antwerp in 1597, and studied first under Abraham Janssens, and then at Rome. His ready invention, correct design, animated expression, and brilliancy of colour, gained for him valuable patronage wherever he went. A nobleman at Rome gave him a commission for twelve pictures from the Old Testament. The Grand Duke of Tuscany employed him to embellish the palace at Florence. The citizens of Antwerp on his return hired him to paint pieces for their churches. His talent, in fact, was so much flattered that he actually entered into competition with the great Peter Paul Rubens, who was then in the full blaze of his fame. Theodore Rombouts, however, died in 1640, before he had convinced the age that he was at all equal to his competitor. One of the best known of his pictures is “ The Taking Down from the Cross,” in the cathedral at Ghent.

ROME. THE SITE OF ROME—HISTORY OF THE CITY. The city of Rome is situated (?.e., the observatory of the Collegio Romano) in N. Lat. 41. 53. 52., E. Long. 12. 28. 40. It is about 14 miles in a direct line from the coast, and the cross on the summit of St Peter’s church may be seen above the hills from the sea. The mean level of the River Tiber, where it flows through Rome, is 20 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. This stream divides the modern, as it did formerly the ancient city, into two unequal parts, the larger portion having been always on the left or eastern bank. The modern city indeed, while it nominally retains and at one point overlaps the limits of the ancient, is chiefly built on a part only of the ancient site,—e.e., on a plain formed by a sweep of the river to the north of the cluster of hills, seven, as they are commonly reputed, in number, which are historically identified with the name of Rome. These hills, which form the most remarkable feature of the locality, present a nearly continuous ridge extending over a large segment of a circle, and embracing one eminence in the centre, more distinctly marked than any of the others, named the Palatine. To the north, the Capitoline, which forms one horn of this ridge, approaches within 300 yards of the river; while to the south, the Aventine falls almost directly into it. These two hills are almost wholly separated from the common ridge, but the Quirinal, the Viminal, the Esquiline, and the Cselian present a continuous elevation of nearly uniform altitude, and are distinguished from each other only by their interior outline. On the east and south they melt insensibly with a common slope into the Campagna.1 The Pincian, included at a later period in the city, and not counted among the seven hills, is another offshoot from this plateau to the north; and they are confronted on the opposite side of the Tiber by the Janiculan, from which the best general view of Rome may be taken, and by the Vatican. These hills are spurs of the loftier range of Monte Mario. The calculations of the height of these hills which pretend to exactness give various and apparently conflicting results. The Janiculan, which is considerably the highest, is said to reach 260 feet near the Villa Spada; while the Vatican hardly exceeds 100. On the left bank the hills attain a nearly equal level of 150 or 160 feet. But the site of the Villa Negroni, at the back of the Esquiline, is said to be 200 feet above the level of the Tiber. As early as

the second century the Romans remarked that the summits of the hills had been considerably raised by the accretion of debris from the ancient buildings. But this accretion must be now much greater in the valleys, from the quantity of soil continually washed into them by the rains. The level of the lower parts of Rome may now be estimated generally at 15 feet higher than it was in the second or third century, and that of the Forum at considerably more. Vast masses of debris must have been wafted also into the Tiber ; but so great is the scour of that rapid and often violent stream, that its bed seems not to have been raised more than two or three feet at most. Of this fact we are enabled to judge from the remains of the piers of some of the ancient bridges, and from the arch of the Cloaca Maxima, where it enters the river. Hence, though the waters often rise formidably in their deep channel, and sometimes overflow their banks, the modern city is not liable to the terrible inundations which in ancient times repeatedly carried devastation to the foot of the Pincian and the Quirinal. I he stratum of soil on which Rome immediately rests is chiefly a tertiary marine deposit; but it is not strictly correct to infer, as is sometimes done, that the spot was once occupied by an arm of the sea running up from the Mediterranean. At the period when the site of Rome was submerged beneath the waters of the ocean the relations of land and sea in these regions must have been wholly different from the present. The hills of Rome are of later origin, and have been thrust up from the surface of the marine deposit by submarine volcanic action. The base of these hills is generally a red volcanic tufa, known as “ tufa lithoide,” of which a great part of the ancient and modern city has been built. It was after the extrusion of these hills, according to the views of the geologists, that the surface of the Campagna was raised from the bed of the sea, and fresh-water lakes or marshes formed upon it. Again, a still later series of igneous revolutions thrust up the Alban and other volcanic hills, the craters of which are now conspicuous in the basins of Albano, Nemi, and others. Among these hills masses of fresh-water deposits are found. From the volcanic action which caused these latter changes were formed the beds of peperino, as well as of pozzolana and tufa granolare, used extensively for mortar in the buildings of the city. The primitive legend of the monster Cacus, who breathed forth fire in his cave in the Aventine, seems to indicate an early observation of the igneous for-

Brocchi and Dr Arnold compare the first three of these hills, with the Pincian farther N.W., to the hack of a man’s hand, the fingers representing the hills, slightly forked out from one another, but connected with a common surface sloping in the opposite direction at the back, the knuckles forming, as it were, the watershed. Adopting this image, we would liken the Caelian, which is less closely connected, to the thumb; it is the right hand that must be thus compared. (See Arnold’s Home, i. 51, note.)

Rome.

R O M E. 357 History, mation of the Roman hills. Warm springs and gaseous Latins, Etruscans, or mixed races, to whom we give the History, \ ^ ^ / emanations still occur within the limits of the city, and name of Romans, the Quirinal, and possibly the Viminal are said to have been once more widely distributed than and Esquiline, were held by a Sabine people. The Capitoline seems to have been an object of contention beat present. Earliest oc- It was the observation of Cicero that Rome was admir- tween them, but the Roman tradition represents these hills cupation of ably adapted for human habitation, from the healthiness of as originally in possession of the Romans. The reported the site of its situation in the midst of an unhealthy tract of country. result of the conflict may be presumed to be historical: Rome. This is in a great measure true at the present day, some the two hostile tribes coalesced together, divided the disparts of the city being still remarkably exempt from the puted site between them, and occupied the intervening malaria common to the Campagna generally, which, how- hollow, under the name of the Forum Romanum, as a ever, seems to have encroached upon the site of the city common place of meeting. Of the foundation of cities on the Caelian and Aventine itself far more than in ancient times. Partly, however, for its healthiness, but still more, it may be presumed, from its different accounts are given. The Aventine at least seems strength, as a tract of rocky hills in the midst of an exten- to have been assigned to an outlying tribe, politically sive plain, this spot seems to have attracted settlers from a dependent on the Romans, but not admitted to full citivery early antiquity. To the traditions regarding these zenship with them. We also find this hill used as the place early settlements current among the Romans themselves at of meeting of the great Latin confederacy, under the patronage of the goddess Diana, whose temple stood througha later period we can only allude in passing. The Capitdline and Janiculan are represented as the out the period of Roman history on its summit. This edifirst of the summits then occupied, the one by Saturn, the fice is supposed, but on very slight grounds, to have other by Janus, who gave their names to the strongholds overlooked the Circus, and faced the Palatine ; its exact erected upon them respectively. The appellation of Jani- site may in that case be nearly indicated by the existing culan survives to the present day. That of Saturnia was church of S. Prisca. The temple of Romulus, under the early lost in the name Tarpeian, supposed to be an Etruscan name of Quirinus, was said to have been erected by the word for “ rock,” and this again gave way to the more Sabine Numa upon the Quirinal, which then assumed that common designation of Capitoline, now transformed into name, having been previously denominated Agonus. The Campidoglio. The original settlement of the Palatine was fortification of the Janiculan is attributed to the fourth ascribed to Evander, a fugitive from Arcadia, and the name king, Ancus Martius, who is also said to have conof the hill itself, which has remained unchanged through structed the Mamertine prison, on the N.E. face of the all the revolutions which have passed over the site, was Capitoline. It was not, according to the Roman authors, till the reign The Serderived by the Roman antiquarians from the founder’s son of Servius Tullius that the hills of Rome were united in a1 an( vian recity, Pallas. ^ " A more specific and circumstantial notice of the early single city, and included in a common line of fortifications. mcUns city, though not perhaps really more historical, is that of This original circumvallation seems to have presented in the settlement of Romulus. This, according to the legend, some places a strong rampart of stone, traces of winch are was also upon the Palatine ; and the stronghold here erected supposed to have been discovered quite recently on the slope was said to have been surrounded by a wall running along, of the Aventine, and possibly elsewhere. The rear of the not the crest, but the foot of this hill, pierced by three gates, Quirinal and Esquiline was defended by an earthen mound, after the fashion of the cities of Etruria. A narrow belt of known as the Agger Servii, and of this also some vestiges ground within and without this wall, under the^ name of may still be detected. The heights of the Tarpeian Hill, pomcerium, was kept free from buildings, and formed the which is generally precipitous, were left perhaps to the prolimit within which the “ auspices” could be taken, and the tection of their natural strength ; and we are expressly told most important religious and political acts be performed. that the stream of the Tiber was considered a sufficient The limits of this original city are accurately traced by Ta- defence for the city, where it reached the river-bank. citus, and nearly correspond, as far as we can follow them, The Janiculan was probably at first an unconnected outwith the trapezoidal area of the Palatine Hill, the four sides post, communication between the Transtiberine suburb and of which, measuring along the crest, vary from four to five the city being maintained by a wooden bridge, the Sublician, placed under the care of the pontiffs, who thence dehundred yards in length. bridge-makers), and repaired solely The Palatine and Aventine are separated by a hollow rived their name called the Vallis Murcia, through which flows a little stream with wood down to the latest period of the empire. The named by the ancients the Aqua Crabra, now Marrana. actual position of this celebrated bridge is still a matter of Here, outside the walls, Romulus placed his circus, called dispute. It is generally supposed, indeed, to have stood afterwards Maximus, an oblong inclosure for games of skill, immediately under the Aventine, where some stone piers speed, and strength, originally of turf, afterwards fitted are still visible at low water. There is great difficulty, with wooden galleries, and lastly with seats of stone and however, in reconciling the authorities with this position, marble. It was 600 yards in length, and was ultimately and besides that the locality seems not sufficiently central, capable of holding 260,000 spectators. The stream which nor to correspond with the lines of traffic on either side of now creeps through this area must either have been arched the river, there is an obvious inconsistency in identifying the primitive wooden bridge with existing piers of over, or carried by an artificial channel on one side of it. 2 While the Palatine was thus occupied by the tribe of stone. 1 The seven hills were those on the left hank, viz., the Capitoline,, Palatine, Aventine, Quirinal, Viminal, Esquiline, and Cselian. The Janiculan was not included among them j and the several heights of the Esquiline, the Mons Cispius and Oppius, and others, were all2merged in one common appellation. The story of Horatius Codes, as told both by Livy and Dionysius, seems very clearly to imply that the bridge led directly into the city. On the other hand, the account of the death of C. Gracchus in Val. Maximus and Aurelius Victor is relied on to show that it reached the left bank outside the walls, and tha porta trigemina under the Aventine. These latter passages seem, however, to admit of another interpretation; at all events, Livy and Dionysius are to be preferred to the inferior writers their successors. The easy access this bridge gave to the open city might be the reason for placing it under the care of the priests and the sanction of religion,—-t.e., in the power of the patrician caste; and its construction in wood was to be maintained in order that it might be readily broken down at a moment’s notice.

358 ROME. History. Among the citadels which originally crowned the sum- plicated and extensive; a few of them have been discovered History, >—mils of most, perhaps, of these hills, it was natural that one, here and there, but there has been no attempt to make out when all the hills were united together, should assume the a regular plan of them. The great Cloaca is an arched pre-eminence, and become the proper citadel, or Arx, of channel, vaulted with immense blocks of peperino, and 10 Rome. The Tarpeian Hill rises in two summits, that to the oi 12 feet in width. It is high enough to admit one of N.E. being about 30 feet higher than the other to the the small waggons in use among the ancients, and Agrippa, S. W., with a small level space, known to the topographers by who made a cleansing of it in the time of Augustus, went the name of the Intermontium, between them. One of up it in a boat. 1 he solidity and durability of this exthese summits was already occupied by the fortress of Rome, traordinary work are deservedly admired; but an attempt the other was crowned by the Tarquins with the national has been recently made to throw suspicion on the great temple which received the name of Capitolium. The pre- antiquity claimed for it, on the ground that the principle of cincts of this temple formed a square of about 200 feet each the arch was certainly not adopted by the Romans when way, surrounded by porticoes, in the centre of which was they tunnelled under the Alban Hills, at a much later period. placed, under a common roof, the triple shrine of Jupiter, Such an objection will not generally be deemed concluJuno, and Minerva. The importance of this building, as sive.2 the focus of the national rites, caused the whole hill to asOne other remnant of the so-called kingly period still sume the name of Capitoline, the term Tarpeian becoming existing is the Mamertine prison above mentioned. It conspecifically restricted to the S.W. summit, or more strictly sists of two chambers, one above the other, with a hole in to that portion of it which presented a precipitous cliff, over the floor of the upper one through which prisoners were let which political offenders were thrown. But, strange to say, down into the cell below. History records the confinement the critics are utterly disagreed as to which summit was of Jugurtha, Sejanus, Vercingetorix, and the Catilinarian surmounted by the Arx and which by the Capitol. The conspirators in this dungeon : an ancient ecclesiastical traremains of ancient literature afford us perhaps no decisive dition asserts that St Peter was also imprisoned here. The passage on the subject, though the constant application of upper chamber has accordingly been fitted up as an oratory the epithet Tarpeian to the Capitol can hardly in fairness dedicated to the apostles; and a church has also been be explained away as merely archaic or poetical phraseology. erected above it. It is not intended to enter into a discussion of the question After the period of the Etruscans, or, as Niebuhr seems The repubhere. It will be sufficient to say that the earliest writers on to hint, the pre-Etruscan Pelasgians, passed away, we have fican Pe' Roman antiquities, following the tradition of the middle no more monuments of gigantic masonry to point out until ages, assumed that the Capitol stood on the S.W. summit; we arrive at the historic era of Rome. A century, or perthat this view was first impugned by some Italian writers haps more than one century, intervened from the date of in the seventeenth century, the most eminent of whom was the Cloaca and the Servian walls, and we find the city ocNardini, but they seem to have been mainly influenced by cupied by a race of degenerate mortals, who built their a wish to identify the Capitol with the existing church of houses, and probably even their temples, merely of wood Araceli; and possibly by a crude idea that the N.E., as the or baked mud, and thatched them with straw and shingles. loftiest summit, was the fittest site for the most important The Forum was still a swamp, the cliffs of the Palatine and temple in the Roman world. This view, however, was ac- Capitoline were still fringed with briars and brushwood, when cepted with little examination, and generally prevailed the Gauls swept away the ancient city in one great conflaamong the learned, till a knot of German antiquarians, gration. Roman antiquarians might pretend, indeed, some among whom Niebuhr was the most conspicuous, subjected centuries later, to point out the Ruminal fig-tree, the hut of the question to a critical investigation, and carried the tide Romulus, the temple of Vesta, and other monuments of a of opinion back to the earlier theory. The native anti- primitive age ; but the genuineness of these alleged antiquiquarians, the school of Nibby and Canina, never indeed al- ties was belied by the admitted records of its history, as well lowed themselves to be convinced on a point which became as by its intrinsic improbability. The first topographical almost a national question, and within the last few years notice of the republican period on which we can rely is the they have received an accession of strength from the de- reference of Livy and Pliny to the enormous substruction of fection to their side of the German iEmilius Braun, carry- the Capitoline, by which the hill itself was encased and suping with him an English writer of great authority, Mr Dyer. ported, of which some trifling vestiges only can be traced The Italian view now reigns triumphantly in Rome, and under the north-east angle at the present day. But after most of our countrymen who examine the question under the fire of the Gauls, the city, we are told, was generally the guidance of local antiquaries are naturally led to adopt rebuilt in a hasty and irregular manner, without regard it. It has been stereotyped in the minds of English travel- even to the old lines of the streets, or of the sewers belers by the compiler of Murray’s Hand-Book. The present neath them. The lanes which choked the plains and holwriter, however, still professes himself a firm adherent of lows were tortuous and narrow, with lofty houses obstructthe ancient theory.1 ing the light and air; while the hills were almost entirely A monument of very great antiquity, popularly ascribed occupied by the temples, or by the mansions and gardens to the pei'iod of the Tarquins, and still existing in the of the nobles. The names of a good many of the streets Cloaca Maxima, or large subterranean drain, which has or alleys of the lower city are recorded ; but there is hardly been traced from the river as far as the upper part of the a single one that is known to have run over the summit of Velabrum, a course of about 800 feet. It is said to have any of the hills—a significant indication that the great mass been constructed to carry off the waters which accumulated of the population was now confined, and indeed continued in the hollow between the Palatine and the Capitoline hills, always to be confined, to the valleys. But indeed, in all together with the contents of the various sewers directed Rome there was at this time but one street that deserves into it from other parts of the city. The network of ancient the name of an avenue, and offered a common thoroughsewers beneath the streets of Rome seems to have been com- fare for men, horses, and vehicles. This was the line along Rom n hlstoi been occunied ^ 7 represents atw0 least a genuine tradition, when it supposes the Tarpeian Hill to have lower E? SmmandS bvy "r?0; f. *bheWSh0t “ld be e the i hl toh imagio, .h.Ythe fortress fv.s placed on the lme .rple ™ b^rSowe r ™“,T.“l“w ° - “* ‘ '' “ « “' “ ^ ^ «>Lw .hat the This is the argument of Mr Duppa, as cited by Lord Broughton in his Italy, vol. ii., p. 116.

359 ROME. History, which the procession of the triumphs passed; and it of Greece proper, that the Romans began to decorate their History, city with handsome architectural monuments ; and these, Was for this and other sacred ceremonies that its width and straight direction were preserved. Entering the city at it may be supposed, were constructed by Grecian artists, the Porta Triumphalis, near the S.W. extremity of the and were simply reproductions, or at least adaptations, of Capitoline, the victorious general was conducted across the the Greek style. The models generally followed were Velabrum into the Circus Maximus, and so, following per- the florid edifices of the Corinthian order. The most interhaps exactly the line of the ancient pomaerium, along the esting of the temples of the republican period is that valley which separates the Palatine from the Caelian. At Concord, erected by Opimius after the slaughter of C. the spot now marked by the arch of Constantine, his route Gracchus. It stood immediately beneath the Intermonmade another angle to the left, climbed the. gentle slope of tium, facing the Forum, and became in the last century of the Velia, at the top of which he came directly in sight of the republic the most usual place of meeting for the Senate. the Arxand the Capitol. From hence he descended, keep- It was here that Cicero pronounced the first and last of ing the right side of the Forum, to the foot of the Capitoline, his speeches against Catiline. Some portion of the pavewhich he ascended, making another bend to the left, by the ment of this temple has been discovered on the spot; and Clivus Capitolinus, till he reached the temple of Jupiter. the word Concordia^ engraved upon one of the stones, This road was dignified with the name of the Sacra Via. sufficiently serves to identify it. The public amusements of the Romans were consecrated The Appian Way, which branched off from it, and issued from the city at the Porta Capena, was paved in 312 B.C., to religion; and, next to the temples, we may refer to the and the Flaminian in 220 ; but it was not till 174 that this theatres of the city. The first scenic representations at care was extended to the streets in the city itself, and to Rome were derived, not from the Greeks, but from the the Clivus Capitolinus. Wherever the accretion of the Etruscans, and the first theatres were constructed before soil has been removed in the line of the Sacred Way, an the introduction of Grecian models. The Romans, indeed, ancient pavement, consisting of large angular blocks of had not the same facility as the Athenians for excavating basaltic lava, has been found, still in admirable preser- their theatres out of the solid rock; it was not, therefore, till they had advanced to a high pitch of luxury and extravation. Of all the localities of Rome at this period, the Forum vagance that they undertook to erect edifices of stone capaalone admits of any specific topographical account. This cious enough to receive a large portion of the citizens. The open space, appropriated to the meetings of the Roman first permanent theatre in stone was that of the great Pompeople, lay, as has been already indicated, at the foot of the peius, which was placed in the Campus Martius, the comCapitoline, and reached to the slope of the Velia, em- mon resort of the people for purposes of entertainment. It bracing the area of the modern Campo Vaccino. The wa« connected with porticoes and groves, and was combined Italian antiquaries have generally given it a lateral exten- with a temple, to which the seats of the theatre formed, it sion, between the Capitoline and Palatine, in the direc- is said, a magnificent ascent. The consul Flaminius built tion of the Velabrum ; but at all events, they must confess a second circus, also in the Campus Martius, below the that at a later period it was confined on this side by the Capitoline. In this quarter stood also the septa, or pollingBasilica Julia. This oblong space, such as we consider it, booths, of the Roman people, when they assembled in their narrowing as it approached the Velia, was inclosed north military organization, by classes, to elect the magistrates and south by the lines of the Sacred and the New Way. of the republic; and here also, in the temple of Bellona, Along these lines stood rows of open wooden booths, their generals were wont to meet the Senate on their return fronted by stone pillars ; the southern row was interrupted from foreign service, for the citizens of Rome were not by the house of Numa, the temple of Vesta, and possibly suffered to enter the city under arms. During the last that of Castor and Pollux. An altar near the middle of century of the republic the erection of basilicas, or halls for this area marked the site of the Curtian Pool, which in public business, and of private palaces, as well as of temples, early times had been a mere swamp; and three sacred went on with increasing magnificence, particularly in the trees, a vine, a fig, and an olive, were carefully preserved neighbourhood of the Forum. The mansions of C. Octaand renewed hard by, still showing that the spot had been vius, of iEmilius Scaurus, of Crassus the orator, and of Caformerly a jungle. The Forum was already decorated tulus, the prince of the Senate, are specified among the with some statues of illustrious citizens. The Comitium, finest of their day ; but these were speedily eclipsed by an open platform raised a few steps above the Forum, was those of Crassus the Rich, of Lepidus (consul b.c. 78), and the meeting-place of the patricians, and was adorned with others. The house of this last magnate was adorned with their curia. Upon it, and opposite to the curia, stood the a profusion of Numidian marble, and was esteemed the rostra, the pulpit from which the orators addressed them. most splendid of its day in Rome ; but only thirty-five years The Comitium may best be placed at the N.W. angle ot later, according to Pliny, it was outshone by no less than a the Forum. C. Gracchus was the first to turn, in his public hundred aristocratic mansions. The gardens of Lucullus harangues, from the patricians on the Comitium to the and Sallust maybe mentioned among the chief monuments of advancing luxury. The latter stood on the Pincian Hill, commons in the Forum below. While the houses of the chief nobles were generally near the Porta Salara, and continued to hold a high place placed on the Palatine, the Ceelian, or in a street called among the ornaments of the city in the period of the emthe Carinae, on the slope of the Esquiline, the dwellings of perors. Among the most remarkable features of Roman archithe poor plebeians were crowded for the most part about the principal seats of traffic—the Velabrum on the one side tecture were the aqueducts, which supplied the city with of the Forum, and the Suburra on the other. The man- water from many distant sources. Two of these were consions, however, of the nobles were also frequently sur- structed under the republic,—the Aqua Appia by Appius rounded by the cabins of their clients, resting against their Csecus in 312 B.c., and the Anio Vetus, as it was called, walls, so as to form a single block of building with them. b.c. 273, by Curius Dentatus. The first of these was led A single house, standing by itself, was called a domus ; from a spot on the road to Praeneste, 7 or 8 miles from a cluster of dwellings, such as has been just described, re- the city, to the Salinae, outside the Porta Trigemina, ceived the designation of an insula ; but the little cabins under the Aventine ; but the water was conveyed in leaden which went to form the aggregate insula were often loosely pipes to the Porta Capena, and the twelve arches on which denominated uisulce themselves. It was not till after the re- it was carried into the city seem to have extended only 60 duction of the Grecian settlements in Italy, and afterwards paces. The second began beyond Tibur, and was not less

360 History,

The first imperial

R O than 43 miles in length ; but this also was built on arches only 221 paces, where it entered the city at the back of the Esquiline. Such were the humble beginnings of a series of works which became at a later period some of the noblest embellishments of the city and neighbourhood. The tribune Saturninus was blockaded in the Capitoline in the year 100 b.c. ; but he was reduced to surrender by cutting the pipes which supplied the citadel, and no injury was done to the buildings. The Capitoline temple was less fortunate in the wars of Marius and Sulla, when it fell a prey to the flames, together with some adjacent buildings. Sulla plundered the unfinished Olympieum at Athens to decorate the restored edifice ; and Catulus, who was charged with the task of completing it, had the honour of inscribing his name on the entablature. He added to the splendour of its architectural features, though he was forbidden to make any change in its ground-plan or proportions. Hence, though conspicuous from its position, and the centre of religious interest to the Roman people, the Capitol was neither spacious nor lofty, and we never find it extolled for the grandeur of its dimensions. Catulus rebuilt also the Tabularium, or public record office, in front of the Intermontium, between the Arx and the temple ; and his name, which he inscribed upon it, has actually been discovered among its ruins in modern times. We may date the first imperial period of the city from Julius Csesar, who commenced a great revolution in its ex-

bTsq — ternal appearance. The Julian basilica on the right, and a.d. 64. the -''Emilian on the left, defined the future limits of the area, which must now be distinctively entitled the Forum Romanum. For Caesar, perceiving that the population and business of the city had outgrown the accommodation provided by the Forum of the early republic, undertook to extend it with characteristic boldness and energy. The Julian Forum, which he laid out with surrounding porticoes, and a temple of Venus in the centre, to the north of the Roman, was the first of a series of works of a similar character with which succeeding emperors filled the level space at the foot of the Viminal and Quirinal. To make room for these open places in the heart of the city great numbers of the inhabitants, even though the population must have been reduced by the civil wars, were undoubtedly displaced; and from this time, perhaps, dates the first encroachment of suburban habitations on the public domain of the Campus Martius. Caesar, indeed, designed a great extension of the Campus by turning the stream of the Tiber; but this and other projected changes were intercepted by his death. On the spot where the dictator’s body was consumed—in front, that is, of the temple of Vesta in the Forum—a small chapel was erected to his divinity, which was afterwards embellished and enlarged. The spot was probably a little in advance of the modern church of St Francesca. The reign of Augustus, who succeeded him, and consolidated the empire on a peaceful foundation, forms an important epoch in the history of the city. In the first place, this emperor undertook a general restoration of the sacred buildings, which had fallen into a lamentable state of decay ; but he also founded several temples of his own, together with other public edifices. Of these, the most important were the temple of Mars Ultor, which was placed in the centre of a new forum to the north of the Julian; the temple and library of Apollo on the Palatine ; the portico and library of Octavia, and theatre of Marcellus, at the entrance of the Campus Martius. Augustus constructed also a basin for mimic sea-fights and other amusements on the right bank of the liber, below the bridges, and a magnificent mausoleum for his family, near the modern Ripetta. But the efforts of Augustus himself were rivalled by some of his wealthiest nobles, btatilius laurus erected a theatre in the J

M E. Campus Martius, and Agrippa constructed several magnifi- History, cent edifices in the same quarter, embracing baths, fountains, porticoes, and a hall for the payment of the troops, called the Diribitorium, with a roof of wider span than any other in the city. The Pantheon, generally supposed to have been a temple, but the real design of which has not been satisfactorily explained, still remains as the greatest existing monument of the Augustan city. A tolerably vivid picture of Rome at this period is presented to us in the contemporary description of Strabo, of which we can afford room for a portion only :—“ It may be said that the ancient Romans neglected the beauty of their city, being intent upon greater and more important objects ; but later generations, and particularly the Romans of our own day, have attended to this point as well, and filled the city with many beautiful monuments. Pompeius Julius Csesar, and Augustus, as well as the children, friends, wife, and sister of the last, have bestowed an almost excessive care and expense in providing these objects. The Campus Martius has been their special care, the natural beauties of which have been enhanced by their designs. This plain is of surprising extent, affording unlimited room not only for the chariot-races and other equestrian games, but also for the multitudes who exercise themselves with the ball or hoop, or in wrestling. The neighbouring buildings, the perpetual verdure of the grass, the hills wFich crown the opposite banks of the river, and produce a kind of scenic effect, all combine to form a spectacle from which it is difficult to tear oneself. Adjoining this plain is another (the Campus Flaminius), and many porticoes and sacred groves, three theatres, an amphitheatre, and temples, so rich and so close to one another, that they might appear to exhibit the rest of the city as a mere supplement. Hence this place is considered the most honourable and sacred of all, and has been appropriated to the monuments of the most distinguished men and women. The most remarkable of these is that called the Mausoleum, a vast mound near the river, raised upon a lofty base of white stone, and covered to its summit with evergreen trees. On the top is a bronze statue of Augqstusj while under the mound are the tombs of himself, his relatives, and friends, and at the back of it a large grove, affording delightful promenades. In the middle of the Campus is an inclosed space where the body of Augustus was burnt, also constructed of white stone, surrounded with an iron rail, and planted in the interior with poplar trees. Then, if we proceed to the ancient Forum, and survey the numerous basilicas, porticoes, and temples which surround it, and view the Capitol and its works, as well as those on the Palatine and in the portico of Livia, we might easily be led to forget all other cities.” 1 The regulation of Augustus, recorded by this writer, forbidding any houses to be constructed in future of more than 70 feet in height, may serve to remind us that, while the numerous public edifices of this period were systematically erected in the style of Greece, with long columnar fagades, strong horizontal lines, and generally of low elevation, the private houses in the older parts of the city still retained their native character, and were tall and narrow, with projecting upper-works, and sometimes with lofty gables. The subsequent career of building in Rome was marked by the gradual displacement of the Italian by Grecian features. Augustus could boast, towards the end of his reign, though with considerable exaggeration, that he had found Rome of brick and had left it of marble: no doubt the old Italian materials of wood and brick were displaced also from year to year by masses of solid masonry which befitted a style of architecture fashioned on that of Athens or Corinth. It was not, however, till the time of Nero, when the great fire, presently to be de-

Strabo, lib. v., translated in Mr Dyer’o art. “ Koma,” Smith’s Dictionary of Classical Geography.

R 0 M E. History.' scribed, swept away the larger part of the ancient city, that full scope was afforded for the development of this revolution in taste. Before proceeding to this epoch, we must notice the new division of the city by Augustus into fourteen regions. The four Servian quarters, which occupied the space within the old walls, were now re-distributed into six; but the walls themselves had been long neglected as lines of defence; they had been passed in almost every direction by suburban buildings, and had become obliterated, if not actually demolished, in many places. It does not seem that Augustus scrupulously preserved the old limitation. At all events, he added as many as ten new regions, including the Transtiberine, making fourteen in all, in which he embraced, we may suppose, all the continuous buildings which had grown up round the city, together with some considerable open spaces which it might be convenient to comprehend in one municipal system. It seems that the principal addition of private habitations lay in the direction of the Caelian and the lower Aventine; but the public edifices which now thronged the Campus Martius were also included in the -new city, as were also the extensive range of private parks and gardens which skirted it on the north and east from the Pincian Hill to the Esquiline. The house which Augustus first occupied on the Palatine was the modest mansion of a noble but not illustrious family. When this was consumed by fire he was encouraged by the citizens to enlarge and embellish it. He connected it at the same time with the official residence of the chief pontiff, attached to the temple of Vesta. The original palace, as it now came to be called, of the Caesars occupied the north-west angle of the Palatine Hill. The chief architectural works of the next emperors were still further enlargements of the imperial residence. Tiberius extended it along the west side of the hill. Caligula made considerable additions, and seems to have connected it by open colonnades with other distant buildings. He threw a bridge, possibly of wood, over the Velabrum, to unite it with the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. The conceptions of Nero were still more extravagant. After commencing a temple to Claudius on the Caelian, he suspended or pulled down his work, in order to erect on the spot a wing to his palace; and he connected the house of Maecenas, which had become imperial property, on the Esquiline, with the Palatine, by means of a colonnade, called the Domus Transitoria. These works, however, while yet unfinished, were interrupted by the great fire of Rome, the most important event in the history of the city, in the year 64 of our era. The conflagration commenced in the region of the Porta Capena, near the south-east angle of the Palatine, and was carried by the wind in two directions, following the course of the valleys between the Palatine and Caelian on the one hand, and the Palatine and Aventine on the other. It was not arrested till these two streams of fire had met again in the Forum or the Velabrum. Thus they completely encircled the Palatine, and swept at the same time the base of most of the other hills. They were not yet entirely extinguished when a second conflagration burst out in the Via Lata, N.W. of the Capitoline, and the wind having veered to the opposite direction, some portions of the city which had hitherto escaped fell now a sacrifice to its fury. Of the fourteen regions, four, it is said, were wholly consumed, and seven others more or less injured: three only escaped unhurt. Generally the lower parts of the city, the old plebeian quarters, suffered more than the elevations. The buildings on the Capitoline were uninjured; those on the Palatine only partially damaged; but the old monuments of the republic in the Suburra, the Forum, the Velabrum, were swept entirely away. Space and opportunity were now presented for the re-construction of the city in the fashionable style of Greece, and the very VOL. XIX.

361

eagerness with which Nero improved the occasion in the History, taste of the day, lent a colour to the imputation current against him, of having actually kindled the flames,or at least of having forbidden them to be extinguished. With the aid of his architects, Severus and Celer, Nero Theculmiundertook to rebuild Rome after the manner of the great nat*nSP®' 0 oriental capitals. Antioch, indeed, and Alexandria, as well t e as the chief cities of European Greece proper, occupied areas a.d/64for the most part level, and it was impossible to carry out on 271. the varied surface of the seven hills the uniform plan of rectangular streets and places which characterised the architecture of the East. But the avenues of the restored city were now widened and straightened as far as was practicable ; the great blocks of houses were generally surrounded by colonnades; the height of the private buildings was diminished ; and the basements at least, even of the plebeian cabins, were constructed of stone. The old inhabitants complained, we are told, of the loss of their lofty houses and narrow alleys, which at least afforded shade from the sun and shelter against the winds. They were right perhaps in alleging that the architecture of Egypt and Syria was not suited to the variable climate of Rome. The restoration of the city was carried on with great vigour, and seems to have been nearly completed during the four remaining years of Nero’s reign. The emperor repaired and completed his palace also, which occupied the heights of the Palatine, Esquiline, and Caelian, connected together by a vast series of colonnades. The principal entrance seems to have been placed near the site of the Colosseum, erected, as we shall see, a few years later, and named from the colossal statue of Nero in the atrium of the palace. This enormous edifice was not less remarkable for its decorations within and without than for its size, and received from thence the designation of the Golden House. Another of Nero’s architectural works was the circus he constructed for his private amusement on the slope of the Vatican, the scene of the cruel martyrdom of the Christians, and possibly the spot on which the church of St Peter’s now partly stands. The civil wars which followed on the death of this tyrant are memorable in the history of the city, from the burning of the Capitol, the narrative of which clearly shows that the Arx had become wholly untenable, and was held of no account for the defence of the hill. Vespasian undertook the restoration of the temple, and was allowed to raise its elevation, but not to enlarge its foundations. The restoration was hardly finished when the temple was again destroyed or damaged by an accidental fire, and the repairs of Domitian seem to have been still more magnificent. The gilding of the roof is said alone to have cost the incredible sum of 12,000 talents, or nearly three millions sterling. The embellishment of the city by the Flavian emperors and their next successors was conducted on a more magnificent scale than ever. Vespasian destroyed the greater part of the Golden House, restricting the imperial palace once more to the Palatine Plill, and transferring to public uses the areas thus recovered from it. One part of the site he devoted to a temple of Claudius on the Caelian, some remains of which are supposed now to exist, from which we may estimate the extent of ground it occupied at not less than one of the squares of London. He constructed a new forum at the foot of the Esquiline, which received its name from the temple of Peace in its centre ; above all, he converted the site of Nero’s fish-ponds into an arena for his vast amphitheatre, which is known by the name of the Colosseum. Titus transformed a portion of the palace on the brow of the Esquiline into public baths of unprecedented extent and splendour. Domitian erected the triumphal arch, which still exists, in honour of his brother. This prince commenced also a new forum, to connect that of Peace with the older constructions of Julius and Augustus, 2z

ROME. 362 I he walls with which Aurelian surrounded Rome were History, History, and adorned it with a temple of Minerva, but the work was completed by Nerva. The equestrian statue of Domitian meant as a defence against the attacks, now first apprein the Roman Forum has been described by Statius in hended, of the barbarians, and were so drawn as to embrace The walls lines interesting to the topographer, from the aid they give all the continuous buildings pertaining to the city. They ofanAurehim in determining the sites of various buildings in that comprehended pretty exactly the whole of the fourteen li quarter,—of the basilicas, for instance, of Julius andiEmilius, regions of Augustus, with the addition of the camp of the of the temples of Vespasian and of Concord under the Capitol, praetorians, which had lain originally beyond their limits. of Castor and Pollux and of Vesta at the foot of the Palatine. On the left bank of the river they corresponded very closely The long period of peace and prosperity which followed with the line of w'alls now existing; on the right they inwas signalized by the erection of a series of magnificent cluded the Janiculan Hill, but did not extend to the Vatican. buildings. Trajan completed the imperial forums by open- No certain vestiges, however, of this fortification can now ing a new area beyond the Julian and Augustan, cutting be discovered. A space, indeed, of about 40 feet at the through the low ridge which joined the Capitoline and slope of the Pincian Hill, remarkable for the inclination of Quirinal, to get a level space for his extensive works. This the wall from the perpendicular, presents a specimen of Place also was decorated with a temple, and its site is defined opus reticulalum, a species of brick-work belonging, it is for us by the column still standing in its centre, which was said, to the period of the early Caesars. It would seem, surmounted by a statue of the emperor. The principal works therefore, that at this point at least Aurelian connected his of Hadrian, besides the completion of Trajan’s forum and work with some building already in existence. We have, temple, were the temple of Venus and Rome, with two cells however, no other traces of construction which can be reback to back, the largest of all the sacred edifices of the city, ferred with confidence to any very ancient date. Even on the eastern slope of the Velia, and the colossal mausoleum in the time of Honorius these walls had fallen into decay, erected for his own sepulchre, now known as the castle of and required considerable repairs; an operation which St Angelo, on the other side of the Tiber. The Mole of was repeated, as we shall see, by Belisarius, and again by Hadrian, as this building was popularly designated, was Narses. connected with the Campus Martius, now almost wholly The actual circuit of the walls of Rome has been very occupied with buildings, by the Pons ^Elius, still existing. variously stated. Some of the ancient authorities on the The fashion of erecting commemorative columns, first subject have been misunderstood, but others are manifestly set, at least on a large scale, by Trajan, was followed by in error. The best measurements have been made by both the Antonines. The column of Pius was indeed of the simple process of walking round them. The Servian much smaller dimensions. It was found in fragments lying enceinte, as far as it can be traced, has thus been found to on the ground early in the last century, and an unsuccess- extend to about 8 miles, that of Aurelian to \2\} This ful attempt was made to raise it. The base has been since agrees very nearly with the statement of Pliny, that the removed to the garden of the Vatican. The column of mcenia of Rome had a circuit of 13 m. p. The word mcenia Aurelius still stands, and forms one of the most conspicu- has been taken for the walls; and as the walls of Pliny’s ous objects in the centre of the modern city. Under Corn- time were the so-called Servian, it has been thought that modus the city suffered again from fire, but the particulars for xiii. we should read viii.2 Mcenia, however, properly imof the disaster are not known. Severus built the Septi- plies not walls, but continuous edifices, and was used no zonium, a large edifice raised on seven ranges of columns, doubt by the author to indicate the extent of the regions of in imitation perhaps of the mausoleums of Augustus and Augustus, comprehending the actual city of his day. Hadrian. This building is frequently mentioned in the This conclusion is important, as it furnishes us with the history of Rome in the middle ages, but its site has not best data we possess for determining the population of been satisfactorily determined. The triumphal arch of Rome. There are, indeed, a variety of proofs that the Severus, still standing at the foot of the Capitoline, is the suburbs of the city were never either extensive or populous, noblest of the ancient monuments of its kind now existing. derived from the paucity of remains beyond the walls, from The Antonine baths, wdiich exceeded in extent those already the practice of lining the roads for miles with sepulchral mentioned of Titus, filled a large space beyond the Porta monuments', from the absence of bridges across the Tiber Capena, and seem to show that the population was not either above or below the walls, and from the frequent mendensely located at this time in that quarter. The erection of tion of country villages, lanes, and retired woods at but a this work is ascribed to Caracalla: probably it was finished short distance from the gates. We may conclude, then, by Alexander Severus. The series of aqueducts introduced that the mass of the population was strictly confined to the into the city, already eight in number, was completed by limits comprised within the walls of Aurelian. the Aqua Alexandrina of this latter emperor, by which these Although, however, these walls are above 12 miles in baths are supposed to have been supplied. Alexander con- circuit, about the same as the outer boulevards of Paris, structed also a new circus in the Campus Martius, the limits it must be observed that they do not inclose a regular figure, of which are precisely defined by the existing Piazza Na- and the area they embrace is far less than it would be if vona. The city had arrived at the height of its splendour, the circumference, as at Paris or ancient Athens, approached extent, and population, when it was finally encircled with a circle or ellipse.3 We have seen that, in the time of a continuous line of fortification by the policy of the Em- Augustus, a large proportion of the area was very thinly peror Aurelian. inhabited; and even in later times indications are not

\

1 Lord Broughton’s Italy, i., p. 308, note. The author adds, however, that in trying the distance with a pedometer, he found it “considerably less.” 2 This is the solution adopted by Bureau de le Malle in his Econ. Pol. des Romains, i. 345, after D’Anville. The area of Rome has been accurately measured at 3263 acres. We may compare this with the areas of some modern cities, as given in the Quarterly Review, vol. xcix., p. 445 r— Acres. Population. Average Density. 1. West London.... 2547 199,885 75 2. Central London 1938 393,256 203 3. Liverpool (Central) 1830 255,055 131 4. Calcutta (excluding the suburbs) 4796 413,182 86 5. Florence 1297 95,927 74 6. Frankfort-on-Main 1312 66,244 50 7. Paris 8026 1,050,000 130

ROME. History, wanting that great spaces within the city were still occuP*ed by gardens and pleasure-grounds, while the extent of1 the public buildings seems to have constantly increased. The emperors appear to have experienced no difficulty in clearing the ground for their enormous constructions. On the whole, Rome in the Augustan age cannot have stood on more ground than the city of the present day, nor in the time of Aurelian did it occupy a greater space than Naples; and these Italian cities present in many respects the fittest objects to compare with it. When we add that, while repeated fires were thinning the density of habitation, new regulations were introduced for reducing the height of houses; that Trajan fixed the limit at 60 feet, while in London they rise very generally to 70 or 80, and in modern Rome and Naples still higher;—we shall be content perhaps with a very moderate estimate of the population of the ancient city. Into other data, at best uncertain, for fixing it, we cannot here enter; but, judging from the extent of the area, and the character and density of the buildings, we shall hardly believe that it ever approached to the number of one million. From the time of M. Aurelius, the Roman world was Desertion of the em- visited by a succession of pestilences, which, it may be supperors, and posed, would fall most heavily on the areas of densest poattacks of pulation. It seems probable, however, that whatever loss the barba- Rome sustained from this cause during the century which rians. followed would be compensated by the crowding into it of the distressed and impoverished people from the towns and country round. We cannot infer that the numbers of the urban population actually diminished along with the undoubted decline of the empire generally in the third century. The first great blow that was struck at the numbers of the city was the building of Constantinople. Several of the noblest and wealthiest families then quitted the Tiber for the Bosphorus, and. carried with them their troops of clients and families of slaves. The servile population had now ceased to draw recruits from successful frontier wars, and the decay of general affluence must have rendered the breeding and maintenance of this class unprofitable. The construction, however, of splendid edifices still continued after the age of the Severi, though we may guess, from the example of the arch of Constantine, that older buildings were often pillaged to decorate the new. Aurelian erected the temple of the Sun on the Quirinal, the substructions of which are still seen in the gardens of the Colonna palace; the arches of Gallienus and Constantine exist at the present day ; the baths of Diocletian were equal in extent and splendour to those of Titus or Caracalla; Maxentius and Constantine erected the great Basilican, the remains of which are among the most conspicuous monuments of Roman antiquity. The walls, it is said, were completed by Probus. But with these works the additions to the splendour of the ancient city terminate. When Constantins visited Rome he was struck with admiration at its architectural magnificence, and despairing of leaving any monument of himself which should vie with those of his predecessors, was satisfied with offering, as his humble tribute, an obelisk erected in the Circus Maximus. Two centuries later, a noble column, still standing, was raised to the Emperor

363 Phocas in the Forum; but this, it is supposed, was taken ■^ yfrom some earlier edifice. Honorius is extolled by the poet Claudian for breathing new life into the ancient city, but his meiits seem to have been really confined to some partial repairs of the walls, which we cannot suppose to have fallen into general decay in little more than a hundred years. His minister, Stilicho, set the first example of pillage, in carrying off the gilded plates on the doors of the Capitoline temple. The first assault of the barbarians quickly followed. Alaric entered Rome in 410 by the Salaran Gate, 'and gave the nearest parts of the city to the flames. Procopius, writing a century and half later, ascribes the destruction of the house of Sallust, such as he witnessed it in his own day, to this disaster. The extent indeed of the damage may not have been great. The Goths remained only six days in Rome, and could not, had they been inclined, have demolished or injured many of the buildings in that short time. T. he second sack of Rome was that by Genseric and the Vandals in 455. The Gothic historian Jornandes, who had denied the imputation of barbaric violence applied to his own countrymen, speaks of the desolation inflicted by the rival conqueror. The Vandals occupied the city fourteen days ; but they employed themselves too diligently in collecting its treasures to spend time in destroying its massive edifices. The golden candlesticks and table of the Holy of Holies, taken from Jerusalem by Titus, are specified among the spoils of Genseric. When these objects weie recovered by Belisarius, they were sent as precious trophies to the Christian capital of the empire. The Vandals carried off one-half of the gilt tiles on the roof of the Capitol; and a vessel laden with gold and silver statues was lost on its way to Africa. In 472 Rome was sacked a third time by Ricimer; but the object of this adventurer was a political revolution, and he was animated by no hostility to the people or city. It is not probable that he inflicted any great amount of damage, and indeed he too died within forty days. Thus far we cannot suppose that Rome had suffered any material damage in her external appearance, nor such as might not have been speedily eflaced had she retained spirit and resources for repairing the loss. To some extent, indeed, both of these were supplied by Theodoric, who succeeded to the supreme power in Rome in the year 493. Cassiodorius mentions by name several of the chief monuments of the city as existing at this epoch in their ancient splendour, and considerable sums were now set apart for the repair of those which time or violence had injured. For this purpose also, marble was imported from Greece by the successors of Theodoric, Amalasuntha and Deodatus. At this period the public games might still be witnessed in the Circus Maximus, and the Claudian aqueduct was in play. Such indeed was the case with the aqueducts generally, which were first broken down, as we are expressly told, in the attack of Vitiges (a.d. 537), when the country round Rome was devastated by the Goths. To resist this attack, Belisarius, who then held the city for the Greek emperor, repaired the walls, and fortified the Mole of Hadrian. In the course of the siege the defenders hurled many statues from the walls of this edifice upon the heads of the assailants. But the sack of Totila, which followed in 546, was

It will be seen that, computing the area of Rome at 3263 acres, it would contain, if peopled on tne scale Of Ko. 1, a population of 274,224 Of No. 4, a population of 280,618 2, „ 662,389 „ 5, „ 259,536 3, „ 379,487 „ 6, „ 159,150 Of No. 7, a population of 424, 190 The1 population of modern Rome, it may be added, is now about 180,000; that of Naples 450,000. Besides the numerous large edifices, theatres, circuses, &c., already specified, we are informed that Rome possessed 424 temples, most of them with external areas and sacred groves attached; 265 squares or open places, and that Agrippa alone erected 170 baths for the use of the people. See these and many other details in Bureau de la Malle, i. 350, &c.

lstor

ROME. 364 History. History. marked by the burning of some portions of the city, espe- indeed was hardly to have been expected when the temples had ceased to be public property or objects of public in^ cially that beyond the Tiber. This conqueror overthrew terest. It is not strictly true that from henceforth there is also a third part of the walls. The city is said to have been deserted by its inhabitants, and the barbarian threatened no mention of them in the narrative of political events. to turn its site into pasture ground. It is still affirmed, Procopius in the sixth century alludes to the temple of however, that he was diverted from the execution of his Peace as then existing, with other similar monuments, and threats against the buildings and monuments of Rome by particularly describes the form, the dimensions, and the the remonstrances of Belisarius, who, on the retreat of the material of the temple of Janus. The populace, he says, Goths, once more repaired the walls, and repulsed another Christians though they nominally were, attempted to open attack. The city, indeed, was subsequently surrendered to the gates of this temple as a protection against an advancTotila by treachery ; but the invader now established him- ing enemy ; a trait of superstition which shows that they still self there, not as an enemy, but a sovereign, and caused no retained a lurking respect for the ideas of antiquity ; and further injury. After his death it reverted once more to would have revolted against any indiscriminate attack upon the rulers of Constantinople, after having been taken and their monuments and emblems. If, however, these venerretaken five times in the course of twenty years, but with able edifices escaped a general proscription and demolition, more loss perhaps to the harassed population than to the they fell for the most part by a more lingering process, buildings themselves. With Totila the damage inflicted being despoiled from time to time by the cupidity or by the barbarians may be said to terminate. The Lombards caprice of the private owners into whose hands they came. devastated the Campagna in 578 and 593, but did no Thus in the reign of Justinian, a Roman matron, the proinjury to the city. As late as 754 the walls were assaulted prietor of a ruined temple on the Quirinal, presented eight by the German Astulphus, and the buildings which lay near of its columns to the emperor for the decoration of S. them may have suffered from his violence; and we thus Sophia. Vast numbers of columns, friezes, and entablareach the'era of Charlemagne, and the general recognition tures, were thus transferred to Christian churches. The application of the temples themselves to ecclesiastical uses of Papal Rome as the centre of mediaeval civilization. During the period of five centuries, at which we have was more rare, and is believed to have begun rather later. Effects of the esta- glanced in the last section, while Rome was subjected to The Pantheon had escaped destruction or serious mutilablishment the effects of imperial neglect on the one hand, and of bar- tion down to the seventh century; it was converted into a of Chris- barian crime on the other, a third cause of decay was also in church in the year 604, in which year the gilded tiles of the tianity. operation, which contributed no doubt more than either of temple of Venus and Roma were also transferred to the these to change the face of the city, and obliterate its roof of St Peter’s basilica. We know, however, of four or ancient topography. This was the establishment of Chris- five only of the ancient temples which were equally fortutianity, or, to speak more precisely, the transition from the nate with the Pantheon,—those, namely, which were dedicated to SS. Cosmas and Damianus ; to St Stephen, St old religion to the new. Constantine first allowed the Christians to make use of Hadrian, and that of Vesta or Romulus, which has assumed some public halls for their worship. We cannot indeed the name of St Theodore. On the other hand, we read of specify any such case with certainty; but the application of not less than fifty-six churches erected on the sites of the term basilica to five of the larger and eight smaller temples either previously destroyed or actually pulled down churches in Rome, and the evident derivation of the style for the purpose. The destruction of the theatres, baths, of Roman ecclesiastical architecture, sufficiently attest the and circuses, together with other places of public resort, in fact. Though the internal decorations, especially the sta- which the magnificence of the ancient city had most contues, of these pagan edifices, would be destroyed on their spicuously displayed itself, must be ascribed more directly application to the religious service of the Christians, we than even that of the temples to the change of religion, may believe that the practice of conversion was on the sentiments, and manners. Against the social institutions whole favourable to the preservation of this class of struc- to which these buildings were devoted the early Christian tures externally. But with the temples the case was dif- preachers had most sedulously inveighed; the converts ferent. It is impossible but that, in the decline of paganism, were instructed to shun them, as the strongholds of the idothese sacred buildings must have suffered from neglect, latry, cruelty, and sensuality which disgraced the heathen even before the churches of Christianity rose to supplant world. It was long indeed before the Roman populace, them. Neither Constantine nor his immediate successor even when Christian in name, could be effectually weaned ventured to close them. Theodosius, who destroyed the from their fascinations : the games of the circus did not, it temples at Alexandria, still spared those of the pagan me- is said, finally cease till 496, and the baths were not pertropolis. But the violence of the Christians grew with haps wholly deserted till the overthrow of the aqueducts their strength. In 399 the edict of Honorious suspended which supplied them. But as early as the tenth century all the temple services; and the clause which forbade any there were three churches standing within the area of the outrages to be committed on the buildings themselves baths of Alexander, which must have been previously seems to show, not only that such were to be apprehended, deserted and in ruins. The immediate causes of the debut that they had been already offered. Augustine boasts struction of these monuments must be looked for in those in one place that all the statues in the Roman temples had natural agencies to which we shall next refer, and which been demolished, but he speaks elsewhere of temples and we shall find to have been really far more effectual in sacred groves being appropriated to Christian worship and their operation than either the fury of the barbarians or the sanctified thereby ; and we must suspect Jerome of his fanaticism of the Christians. The popular charges against Pope Gregory the Great, ^eca7 of usual exaggeration where he exults in the general ruin which, as he asserts, had fallen upon the sacred places of of having urged the destruction of temples, the demolition the heathens. At all events, there is no more brilliant of statues, and the burning of libraries, have been chiefly ral causea> description of the pagan shrines of Rome than that of derived from the declamatory assertions of John of SalisClaudian, himself a pagan, at the very epoch to which we bury, a writer of the twelfth century. Gregory himself, are now referring. At last, in 426, the younger Theodo- we may believe, would have disclaimed the praises of his sius issued an edict for their destruction, and this edict is fanatical panegyrist. He has left us in memorable words generally supposed to have been carried out pretty com- his own mournful impression of the decay and ruin of the pletely. It is said that from this era we meet with no re- great city around him, which he ascribes to the operation ference to the temples in the imperial legislation ; but this of tempests, earthquakes, and inundations. Such agencies^

365 HOME. It includes the baths of Alexander, Commodus, History. History, as we learn, had been always more or less in activity on the regions. Trajan, Sallust, Diocletian, and Constantine ; temples of w-v—' spot, but in better times the injury they inflicted was Jupiter and Minerva; the Roman Forum and that of Traspeedily repaired by the energy of a vigorous and increasing population : at this period there was neither strength nor jan ; the three circuses; the arches of Severus, litus, Graspirit to retrieve the accumulating disasters. Pestilence and tian, Theodosius, and Valentinian; the Flavian and praefamine had repeatedly succeeded to the calamities of war; torian amphitheatres; the Capitol, the Septizonium, the the remnant of the citizens had been driven more than once palace of Nero, and another, pretending to be that of Pontius in terror from their dwellings, and many no doubt had aban- Pilate ; the theatres of Pompey and Marcellus; the Trajan doned them for ever. At the second siege of Totila there and Antonine columns; a Nymphaeum; an obelisk; several together with various was so much vacant soil within the city as would have suf- remains of aqueducts and porticoes; 2 specimens of ancient sculpture. These monuments, it will ficed to maintain both the inhabitants and the garrison. Sufferings and apprehensions had blunted every sentiment be observed, still for the most part exist; their continued of national pride or interest. The Romans had become preservation will be presently accounted for ; but the demoignorant of their own history, or at least indifferent to its lition of the ancient city had already advanced at this period monuments; they were wholly insensible to the grandeur almost to the point at which it has now arrived, a thousand and beauty of their works of art; they left their noblest years later. A change, however, now occurs in the history statues to be buried in the gradual accretion of soil, as in of Rome. The spiritual importance which begins to attach the baths of Antoninus and Titus; while the names and to her as the centre of Christendom, and the spot from uses of their most illustrious edifices sank into oblivion whence the chief of the revived empire is content to derive his authority, inspires her government with a renewed around them. Against the agencies above enumerated a people so sense of dignity. The Popes, now the acknowledged listless could not contend. The rains swept the soil from masters of the venerable city, attempted in every interval the hills into the valleys; the inundations undermined the of domestic tranquillity to repair the most vital injuries she buildings ; the earthquakes overthrew them. A rank vege- had suffered. The Aqua Virgo was made again to convey tation orew up among the ruins, and embedded them in water to the dwellings about the Pantheon, and the Claudia its accumulating debris. There is evidence, from certain to those which encircled the Lateran. A new town was appearances in the walls, that even when Honorius repaired rising under the protection of St Peter’s, which Pope Leo them the soil had already risen in some places to several feet VI. fortified in 846, and gave it the name of the Civitas above the original level. In modern times excavations on Leonina, now the Borgo. Rome had become a cluster the hills, but still more in the lower parts of the city, and of little towns, one of which grew up around each of her especially in the Forum, have exhibited a rise of level of principal sanctuaries; and from this time her records teem 10, 15, or even 20 feet. The process of accretion is thus with notices of the building of new churches, and even the described by Lord Broughton“ Such open spots as were restoration of old ones. The Papal city had itself become decorated by single monuments were likely to be first over- an antiquity. The exemption, however, which Rome now enjoyed whelmed by the deposit left by the water and collected from foreign assault encouraged the citizens to dissensions round those monuments. On this account the forums, and even the Palatine, though on an eminence, being crowded among themselves. The strongest monuments of the old with structures, appear to have been buried deeper than city still standing were seized by the barons and converted the other quarters under the deposit of the river and the into fortresses. Even the monasteries sought to protect materials of the crumbling edifices. The latter accumu- themselves by similar means. Thus the convent of S. lation must be taken into account when it is recollected Gregory on the Caelian had its outposts in the Septizonium that the broken pottery of the old city has at some unknown and the arch of Constantine; while other religious houses period been sufficient to form a mount of 150 paces high made use of the columns of Trajan and Antonine for beland 500 paces in length. The population was too languid fries. In the twelfth century the noble family of the to dig away the obstruction, and employed their remaining Frangipani had possession of many ancient buildings, such strength in transporting the smaller materials to the more as the Colosseum, the Circus Maximus, the Septizonium, 1 modern and secure quarter of the town. The failure of the arches of Titus and Janus ; the Orsini occupied about the supply of water from the aqueducts would help to the same time the mole of Hadrian and the theatre of drive the dwindling population to the banks of the river; Pompeius; the Colonna the mausoleum of Augustus and and in the eighth and ninth centuries, when the number the baths of Constantine ; the Savelli maintained themselves of inhabitants had fallen perhaps to its lowest point, a large in the theatre of Marcellus and the tomb of Caecilia Metella; proportion of the area within the walls was occupied with the Corsi had fortified the Capitol, and were in possession fields and vineyards, the people crowded together under of the basilica of S. Paul. 3 The Pantheon was defended the western slope of the Capitoline, and in the nearest por- as a fortress for the Pope. We may suppose that the tions of the Campus Martius, where the oldest parts of the defiant attitude assumed by the holders of these places of strength provoked mutual hostilities; but they were premodern city are at this day to be found. served at least from natural decay by the pains taken to The cit of the Caesars had sunk to its lowest d rada History of Y eg ' them. We can trace, however, some of the damage the City in tion about the end of the eighth century ; its old habitations fortify the middle had been destroyed, even the course of most of its streets inflicted upon them in the struggle between the Popes and a es S * obliterated; the remains of antiquity were confined to the Emperors, and we may guess at more. Rome was attacked bare walls of palaces and temples, and a few other monu- more than once by the emperor Henry IV. In the siege ments of unusual strength and solidity. Of these remains of 1082 the portico of St Peter’s suffered injury; in the of Hadrian’s mole, or castle of S. Angelo, a list is given by a topographer of the next age, according following year that 4 to the division, still it seems remembered, of the fourteen was destroyed. The assaults were generally directed 2 Ibid i Lord Broughton’s Italy, i. 373. -> i- 382> fl,om Bianchini, Vit. Pontif. 4 Th^modern^am^of thi^monument is^erived fronf a*chapel once erected on its summit by Pope Gregory the Great at the close of the sixth^century1 Mid dedicated to the archangel Michael, who was said to have appeared on the spot and protected the city from a nestilence The name of S. Angelo, however, does not seem to have been applied till several centuries later. The mole was r Td by St" XII “bout 960,tgain in 1378, and dually in 1644. It ia now uSed a. a state prison. All the upper part.» modern.

366 R O History, against the Transtiberine portion of the city, and in 1084 the Borgo was overthrown. At the same time the long colonnade which connected St Paul’s-beyond-the-walls with the city was demolished. Thus far the injury inflicted had lighted chiefly on objects comparatively modern; but the emperor now penetrated the walls, and made a furious attack on the Capitol, which caused the ruin of many ancient remains. The outrages of the imperialists, however, were far exceeded by those of the Normans and Saracens, who recovered the city for Pope Gregory VII. under Robert Guiscard. These savage allies burnt their way from the Flaminian Gate to the Antonine column, and they assaulted with barbarian violence both the Capitol and the Colosseum, and laid waste the area of the city from thence to the Lateran. The greater part indeed of this space was at this time uninhabited, and even uncultivated. The remains of the several borgos were thus separated by desert tracts; and William of Malmesbury, in writing of this lamentable period, could describe Rome as “ quite a small city.” At the end of this century, under Innocent III., it is said to have contained only 35,000 inhabitants. In the thirteenth century the violence of the nobles was brought in some degree under the control of the municipal government, anti the senator Brancaleone caused the demolition of 140 baronial “ towers.” These were perhaps for the most part turrets of brick erected on the summit of the ancient monuments, but their destruction extended in many cases, as we are specially assured, to the monuments themselves; the extent, however, of the demolition has probably been exaggerated,—at least the check it inflicted was incomplete and transient. We continue to hear, again and again, of the feudal castles in Rome: as many as fortyfour existed,it is said, at a much later period in a single borgo. The removal of the Popes to Avignon in the fourteenth century tended on the whole to the preservation of the ancient remains. It was a period of stagnation, with less of violence on the one hand, and less of improvement and embellishment on the other, which were almost equally fatal to monuments of merely antiquarian interest. The lamentations of Petrarch over the desolation of Rome are generally taken as a sign of its advancing ruin. Perhaps they should rather be regarded as a favourable symptom. They exhibit the first indication of an interest in antiquity, and an anxiety to preserve what was perishing. The abortive attempts of Rienzi were not ineffectual for the great end he had in view, to revive among his countrymen the love of their city and pride in their historic recollections. But in the middle of the century the venerated spot was visited with an inundation and an earthquake of more than usual violence, in which some of the ancient as well as more modern monuments were overthrown. The continued absence of the Popes, as Lord Broughton remarks, might have been fatal to the city, and reduced it to a solitude ; “ but such a solitude,” he adds, “ would have protected many a fragment, and preserved the ruins at least for the eyes of a more inquisitive generation.” The return of the Popes, and the new population which followed in their train, introduced a new series of injuries, in the conversion of the old materials to other objects. “ The Colonna and the Orsini, the people and the church, fought again for the Capitol and the towers; the fortress of the Popes, the refitted mole of Hadrian, repeatedly bombarded the town;” but the injuries thus inflicted on the imperial remains were less serious than the pillage to which they were to be again subjected by the Papal re-constructors and beautifiers. The return of the Popes from Avignon was soon succeeded by the great western schism, which suspended the restoration of the city for forty years ; but the era of its re-construction in the general form it now presents may be 1

Lord Broughton, Italy, i. 421.

M E. dated from the pontificate of Martin V. (1417). This was History, the most flourishing period of the Papal power, when its revenues were most abundant, and its authority throughout r^g rise of Europe uncontested. The last revolt of the Romans was the modern suppressed in 1434 by Eugenius IV., and the work ofcitytothe building and restoring was now carried on rapidly andn,i(ldle without interruption for many years. A great many of thethe 17th churches of Rome date their origin from this century, and cen ur^* perhaps a still larger proportion of its palaces, erected for the most part by the Popes themselves, or by the families they founded. The monuments of imperial Rome still existing, and especially the enormous Colosseum, supplied inexhaustible quarries of travertine to the builders. Nicolas V. has been called the Augustus of modern Rome ; but he stripped the ancient edifices of their marble to burn into lime, and left only the brick. So rapidly did the work of demolition proceed that Pius II. was obliged to interfere with a bull in 1462 to arrest it. But the interdict seems to have been little regarded, and this Pope is himself accused of building the palace of St Mark with materials taken from the Colosseum. In 1474 Sixtus IV. destroyed what remained of the stone piers of the supposed Sublician bridge to make cannon balls. Alexander VI. constructed his gallery from the Vatican to the castle of St Angelo with the fragments of a pyramid destroyed for the purpose. Pius III. plundered the temple of Antoninus and Faustina, the arch of Titus, the forum of Trajan, and the theatre of Marcellus ; and built the Farnese palace with stone from the Colosseum. Sixtus V. removed some works of art from the Septizonium to decorate St Peter’s. “ The stupendous vaults of the Diocletian thermae were converted into churches ; the walls of those of Constantine were adjusted into the Rospigliosi palace ; the Alexandrine thermae supplied with columns the repairs of the Pantheon ; a circus was gradually cleared away for the opening of the Piazza Navona; the marble of a temple on the Quirinal was cut into the 124 steps which ascend to the church of Araceli.”1 The fountain of Trevi and the Barberini palace were constructed by Urban VIII. with materials taken from the Colosseum ; he also stripped the porch of the Pantheon of some sheets of bronze, which, strange to say, had so long escaped the spoilers of the city. These last and other acts of barbarism were perpetrated in the middle of the seventeenth century; and finally, Alexander VII. destroyed the arch of M. Aurelius about 1660, as an obstruction to the street called the Corso. “ Those who peruse the topographers from Blondus to Nardini will assign to the latter half of the fifteenth century, and the succeeding 150 years, a greater activity of destruction than to those immediately preceding ages in which we have no authentic writers to tell us what was left or what was lost.”2 The laying out of the plan of the city as it now exists dates from the pontificate of Sixtus IV. (1471-1484). A peculiar feature of modern Rome, as distinguished from other cities, is the combination it presents of long and straight avenues with clusters of the narrowest and most tortuous alleys. We see before us in this respect a repetition of Rome as it was rebuilt after the fire of Nero. From the Capitoline (Campidoglio), the Quirinal, and the centre of the old Campus Martius respectively, three streets, the Corso, the Babuino, and the Scrota, converge upon the Porta del Popolo, near to the site of the old Flaminian Gate. The first of these runs partly, possibly indeed altogether, in the line of the Flaminian Way, and it is evident that they must have all been driven through the habitations, long deserted perhaps, of an earlier generation, and that many ancient remains must have been sacrificed to them. In the same manner, we are informed, the remnant of Nerva’s forum was removed 2 Ibid., i. 423.

History,

Kevived interest in Roman antiquities.

U 0 M E. 367 marbles History, to make way for the Via Alessandrina ; and other antiqui- Capitol,” by which we may understand perhaps the 3 ties were demolished to effect a communication between there collected by the taste of his predecessors. This Pope deserves honourable mention, however, for the forum of Trajan and St Maria Maggiore. During almost the whole of the period now before us, the modern his repairs of the Trajan and Antonine columns, and for church of St Peter’s was rising in its incomparable grandeur the species of consecration he bestowed on them by (1450--1626). Before the secession to Avignon, the Popes crowning them with statues of St Peter and St Paul had inhabited the Lateran. On their return, they took up respectively. He sought perhaps to preserve the Colostheir residence in the Vatican, chiefly on account of its seum from further spoliation by establishing a manufactory proximity to the friendly shelter of St Angelo. From in it, an experiment which was repeated by Clement XL that time they continued to enlarge and beautify this a century later ; but in both cases the scheme proved palace, till its length has extended to 1151 and its breadth abortive. It was not till 1750 that the building was conseto 7671 feet, and it contains by exact computation 4422 crated by Benedict XIV. to the memory of the Christian rooms. The square of palaces which occupies the centre martyrs who had perished in the arena. The arch of Conof the Campidoglio was built by Paul III. (1534-1549), stantine had been restored by Clement XII. in 1733, on from the designs of Michael Angelo, and is ascended by a the ground of its connection with the triumph of the stair on the northern slope of the hill, the side which in Christian faith. It would seem that some excuse of this ancient times was regarded as inaccessible. The Popes kind was necessary to plead the cause of heathen antiquity have another residence on the Quirinal, in a palace com- against the interest or fanaticism of the populace. In menced by Gregory XIII. in 1574, and enlarged by several 1817 Lord Broughton might remark, perhaps with bitter truth, that “ the frequent repairs of the Pantheon, those of succeeding pontiffs down to Urban \TII, By the middle of the seventeenth- century Papal Rome the Antonine and Trajan columns, the erection of the had reached perhaps its full extent, and enjoyed a splendour obelisks, the restoration of the Cestian pyramid, and the which it has hardly since maintained. Though not free late protection of the Flavian amphitheatre, with that of from the ravages of fire and inundation, once only during the arch of Constantine, seem to compose the sum of all the period of its restoration it suffered a great disaster from the merits of all the Popes, as far as respects the stable martial violence. In 1527 it was stormed by the constable fabrics of antiquity.” “ The taste and magnificence of the Bourbon, and surrendered to a lawless soldiery for the space Popes must be sought and will be found,” he adds, “ in of nine months. Churches and palaces were pillaged, and the museum of the Capitol and the Vatican,”—the first the paintings and frescoes which had begun to decorate their commenced by Clement XII. (1730), the latter designed walls were subjected to considerable damage. Nevertheless, and executed by Clement XIV. and Pius VI., from whom the outcry of the sufferers, who declared that the troops of it derives the name of Museo Pio-Clementino. “ It was Charles V. inflicted more devastation than the Goths, is no reserved,” he continues, “for the conquerors who plundered doubt exaggerated. They plundered, but they do not those noble repositories to recompense Rome for her losses seem to have destroyed. At all events, the condition of by clearing away the offals and dirt which had accumulated Rome was now very different from what it had been in the for ages round the buried temples at the foot of the Capitol fifth or sixth century. The spirit of the people and their and under the windows of the Senate-house, by cleansing rulers was vigorous and elastic ; their resources were over- the base and propping the porches of the Colosseum, by flowing ; and whatever injury they might occasionally removing the soil in front of the temple of Peace [the suffer from the hands of man or from natural causes they basilica of Maxentius], by re-opening the baths of Titus, easily retrieved and obliterated. Had Charles V., says and, finally, by excavating the forum of Trajan.” In 1858 Donatus, returned to Rome in the pontificate of Urban the same author has added in a note—“ There is no doubt VIII. (1623-1644), he would not have recognised the city that in that short period (1810-1814) more was planned and executed by the French administration than by all the he had seen from the top of the Pantheon.2 Petrarch and Rienzi in the fourteenth, and Poggio in Popes and other successive masters of the Eternal City from the next century, pleaded for the ruins of ancient Rome, the fall of the empire to the beginning of the present an(j raise(j at ]east a momentary enthusiasm in their behalf, century. But it would be unjust not to acknowledge that revjvaj 0f ciassicai learning gave force and permanence recent Popes have not forgotten their duties in this respect. to the feeling they had awakened. The sixteenth century Gregory XVI. in particular, whose political policy has been witnessed first its development in the classical and almost denounced as cruel and unjust, cannot be said to have pagan tastes of Leo X. and other chiefs of the Papacy, by neglected the arts of peace.” Of late years the greatest whom the first steps were taken in collecting statues and pains have been taken to strengthen and preserve the works of art, and uncovering the foundations of imperial Colosseum and other antiquities. The bases of several Rome. About 1520, Raphael, who had witnessed the dis- temples, arches, and columns, especially in the Forum, covery of the remains on the Esquiline, and had himself have been laid open, and the original pavement of the copied the arabesques in the chambers of the palace of Sacred Way uncovered through a portion of its course. Nero, could venture to draw a plan of ancient Rome from Pius VII. established the Museo Chiaramonti and Braccio his own investigations and conjectures ; but the great Nuovo for ancient sculptures in the Vatican ; and Gregory painter’s zeal as an antiquarian met with little encourage- XVI. the Etruscan museum in the Vatican, as well as a ment. Some of Leo’s successors affected to condemn the museum of Christian antiquities in the Lateran. Under devotion of the classicists to the monuments of a godless Pius IX. the rows of tombs on both sides of the Appian superstition ; and though Paul III. (1534) is favourably and other ancient roads have been uncovered, and a new known for his enforcement of the edict against their de- class of objects of the highest antiquarian interest brought to struction, as well as for the erection of the noble Piazza del light. The same pontiff, now reigning, has evinced a laudCampidoglio from the designs of Michael Angelo, Sixtus able zeal in promoting the exploration of the catacombs; V. (1585) distinguished himself on the other side by and the promised work of the Cavaliere di Rossi, in which the removing “the heathen statues on the towers of the subject will be critically discussed after the investigation is 1 3

2 Murray’s Hand-Book of Rome, p. 173. Lord Broughton’s Italy, i. 420. Bargseus, “ De Obeliscis,” in Graev. Thes. iv. 1931. Bunsen, in Rom. i. 257, misquotes his authority. In this section of his work we notice several inaccuracies; among others, the substitution of Sixtus V. (1585) as the constructor of modern Rome, for Sixtus IV. (1471).

368 ROME. Statistics. completed, may be expected to settle at last the questions theon ; diameter of the dome in the interior, 139 feet, or 3 Statistics, so long debated about their use and origin. (c. m.) feet less than that of the Pantheon ; height from the pavey— ment to the base of the lantern, 405 feet; to the summit of the cross outside, 448 feet. Thus the whole of St Paul’s STATISTICS OF ROME. cathedral in London might stand within the shell of St Basilicas. It has been said that perhaps no city in the world abounds Peter’s, and yet leave 46£ feet at either end, 25 feet all with such a number of churches as Rome, or with fewer round the cupola, and 64 feet above the dome. The semihandsome ones as respects their architecture. Seven of the circular colonnades on each side of the piazza in front of the earliest churches of Rome are still called Basilicas, and church, form, along with the covered galleries that extend enjoy a metropolitan rank. Four of them are within the from them to the portico, amagnificent approach to St Peter’s. walls,—St Peter’s, St John Lateran, Santa Maria Maggiore, The basilica of St John Lateran is another most interest- st John Sante Croce in Gierusalemme ; and three outside the walls, ing church, and as it is considered the “mother of all churches Lateran. —S. Paolo, S. Sebastiano, and S. Lorenzo. in the city and the world,” its chapter takes precedence St Peter’s. Foremost among them all is St Peter’s, which Gibbon even of that of St Peter’s. It stands at the east of the styles “ the most glorious structure that has ever been ap- Caelian Hill, on the site of the house of Plautius Lateranus, plied to the use of religion.” It occupies the site of a Basi- a senator put to death by Nero, but has been so frequently lica built by Constantine in 306 ; but has nothing ex- restored and altered as to retain little of its original form. cept the name in common with the ancient style of build- In a portico to the north of this church stands the Scala ings. Of the present church the foundation was laid by Santa, twenty-eight marble steps, said to have belonged to Julius II. in 1506, and the building was dedicated by the palace of Pontius Pilate, and protected by planks of Urban VIII. in 1626; its erection having been spread over wood from the attrition caused by the knees of the devout the reigns of twenty Popes, and carried on by twelve dif- who ascend. This church was the place where the five geferent architects, the most celebrated of whom were Bra- neral councils, known in history under the name of Lateran mante, who planned the building in the form of a Greek councils, were held in 1123, 1139, 1179, 1215, and 1512. cross with a hexastyle portico, and a cupola in the centre, The basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, more than anygantajiaand erected the piers and arches that support the dome; other in Rome, preserves the simple character of the ancient ria MagRaphael, who changed the plan from a Greek to a Latin buildings, and has one of the finest interiors in this style, giore. cross ; Michael Angelo, who returned to the former, and The old basilica of St Paul fuori le mura, founded by gt Paul’s. designed the dome ; Giacomo della Porta, who completed Constantine, and rebuilt by Theodosius and Honorius, the dome; and Maderno, who returned to the Latin cross contained 138 pillars of the rarest marble and granite, the plan, and added the facade. Of all the parts of the build- spoils of some of the noblest edifices of antiquity. In 1823 ing, the work of the last architect is the most open to this church was destroyed by fire, but it has since been recriticism ; for the front, as seen from the piazza, is so pro- built in a style of even greater magnificence than before, and minent as almost to hide the dome ; whereas, had Bra- open to public worship, and dedicated by Pius IX., in 1854. mante and Michael Angelo’s plan of a Greek cross, and The church of St Clement, on the slope of the Esquiline, gt cje. a feticide like that of the Pantheon, been followed, the whole has the reputation of occupying the site of the house of ment’s. dome would have been seen from the piazza. The situation, Clement, the companion of Paul. The churches of the too, of the building is singularly unfortunate, in a hollow Jesuits and of St Ignatius are distinguished for their riches, surrounded on three sides with hills; so that the exterior and the immense number of ornaments which they contain. view does not show the church to advantage. But the in- The church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, built on the terior is unrivalled for grandeur and beauty; its immense site of Pompey’s temple of Minerva, contains the celebrated size is not perceived on account of the exquisite proportions “ Christ” of Michael Angelo, and in the church of St Pietro of the whole, and the colossal dimensions of the statues in in Vincoli is the famous statue of Moses by the same arthe niches and the mosaics on the dome. tist. Many of the churches of Rome are adorned with fine The stupendous dome, viewed in its design, its altitude, paintings by the greatest masters, but their beauty and or even its decoration, is altogether unrivalled, and has justly colouring has generally suffered much from time, neglect, been pronounced the triumph of modern architecture. dirt, and damp. In the church of Santa Maria della Pace The ascent to the top of the church is so gradual as to be are the four “ Sybils” of Raphael, and the church of St accessible to persons on horseback ; from thence the dome Augustine contains his inimitable fresco of “ Isaiah.” A is reached by a succession of ingeniously-contrived stair- number of admirable paintings in fresco by Domenichino cases. From the top an extensive prospect may be obtained adorn a chapel in the church of San Luigi de Francesi. of the beautiful amphitheatre of hills which incloses the The church of the Capuchins possesses Guido’s celebrated Campagna on all but the western side; the summits of painting of the “ Archangel Michael trampling upon Satan.” the loftier Apennines behind, wreathed with snow; the Domenichino’s “ Ecstacy of St Francis,” and a cartoon by Tiber in its sinuous windings through the district; in the Francesco Beretta representing St Peter walking upon distance the blue waters of the Mediterranean gleaming in the waves also adorn this church. Daniel da Volterra’s the sunbeams ; and, far beneath, Rome, with her churches, “ Deposition from the Cross,” which Poussin pronounced to her palaces, her dark and distant ruins, the rich verdure, and be the third picture in the world, enriches the church of golden fruit of the orange gardens of her convents, contrast- the SS. Trinita de Monti. The house of Claud Lorraine ing with the deep shade of their mournful cypresses. Be- stood beside this church ; on the opposite side of the way neath the dome stands the high altar, under a canopy of was that of Nicholas Poussin, and close by it a house once solid bronze, covered with the richest ornaments. The inhabited by Salvator Rosa. The church of San Andrea monuments are for the most part unworthy of the church; but della Valle is built upon the spot where the curia of Pomto an English visitor there is a singular interest in Canova’s pey once stood, in which Caesar fell. It contains some fine monument of the last of the infatuated and unfortunate race paintings in fresco by Domenichino, representing the Four of Stuart. The principal dimensions of St Peter’s are as Evangelists. In the church of San’ Onofrio the remains followsLength in the interior, 613 feet; breadth of the of Tasso repose. nave and aisles, including the pilasters that divide them, There are in Rome 54 parishes and 364 churches, 186 197f feet; height of the nave, 152 feet; length of the convents, and numerous benevolent institutions. transepts, 446£ feet; diameter of the dome, including the Nothing strikes a stranger with more admiration on his walls. 195 feet, or nearly 2 feet more than that of the Pan- arrival in Rome than the immense number of fountains

ROME. 369 Statistics, which pour forth on every side an inexhaustible supply of nites, and oriental alabasters; its bewildering extent and Statistics, the finest water. They exhibit great variety in their com- prodigality of magnificence; but, above all, its amazing treaposition. Some of them are beautiful; one or two grand; sures of sculpture, far surpass even the gorgeous dreams of but they are all, generally speaking, deficient in simplicity, eastern magnificence. In common with all the other coland several of them, such as the renowned fountain of Trevi, lections of the fine arts in Rome, the Vatican suffered maare completely overloaded with mythological sculpture. terially from the rapacity of the French, but on the downPalaces. Rome has more palaces, or noblemen’s houses, than any fall of Bonaparte the stolen treasures were restored to their other city in the world. Of these, no fewer than seventy- rightful owners. The Vatican contains a museum filled five are of a superior kind, uniting in their external appear- with the most splendid specimens of ancient sculpture: ance something of the fortress, the prison, and the palace. the tapestry chambers hung with tapestry woven in the Many of the families to which these buildings once belonged looms of Flanders, and copied from the cartoons of Raphael; have sunk into poverty, and their residences are now turned a picture gallery, filled with the masterpieces of painting; into ecclesiastical colleges or hotels, or let to foreign am- “ the Camere” and “ Loggie” of Raphael, painted in fresco bassadors or consuls. In the others which have escaped by himself and his pupils ; the Sistina and Paolina chapels, this fate the lower storey is sometimes let for shops, some- painted in fresco by Michael Angelo; and the library, the times retained for stables, coach-houses, and servants’ halls and galleries of which alone are more than 130C) feet rooms. The second storey is generally a picture gallery, in length. The view from the balcony in front of the consisting of a suite of rooms opening into one another, windows gave the name of Belvedere to an octagon court and richly adorned with marble columns and painted ceil- of this museum, surrounded by porticos and cabinets, in ings. The owner of the building and of these precious which is the matchless statue of Apollo Belvedere, proworks of art often lives in the third or highest storey, and nounced by universal consent to be the finest statue in the generously throws open the gallery to artists and to all who world. It was found near Antium, in the ruins of a Roman choose to give two or three paoli to the servants. The villa, supposed to have originally belonged to Nero. The name exterior of these palaces is in general grand and magnifi- of its artist is unknown. Here, also, are the Belvedere “ Ancent in architecture; but in the interior, notwithstanding tinous,” “Perseus,” and the “ Two Boxers,” by Canova, and the magnitude of the apartments and the magnificence of the celebrated group of the “Laocoon,” which Pliny states to the decorations, they are, generally speaking, uncomfort- have been executed by Agesander the Rhodian, and Atheable dwellings, and most of them are deficient in cleanliness nodorus and Polydorus, who are believed to have been his and order. The immense palaces of the Doria, the Colonna, sons. This wonderful masterpiece was found in the palace and the Borghese, are still occupied only by their own fami- of Titus, on the very spot where it is described by Pliny to lies and dependants. The Doria palace contains the largest have stood; and every successive generation that has passed collection of paintings in Rome, among which are found since it was found has gazed with admiration on its some of the finest specimens of the ancient masters. The matchless sublimity. The Vatican also contains the two gallery of the Colonna palace, which is by far the grandest finest paintings in the world,—the “ Transfiguration” by hall in the city, once contained a number of celebrated Raphael, and Domenichino’s “ Communion of St Jerome.” paintings, but the finest have been sold. The palace The library contains a splendid collection of books, and is garden, which hangs on the steep side of the Quirinal peculiarly rich in rare and valuable manuscripts. But a Hill, contains the picturesque remains of a magnificent minute account of the immense treasures of art accumulated ancient edifice, the name of which is unknown. The in this magnificent building would occupy too much of our palace of the Barberini family formerly contained that cele- space. Another of the Pope’s palaces, the Lateran,was conbrated museum of ancient sculpture, vases, gems, medals, verted into an hospital in 1693, and into a museum in 1843. &c., which was so long the wonder and admiration of The museum of the Capitol contains a very extensive Museum of Europe, but it is now sold and dispersed. The famous collection of specimens of ancient sculpture. The finest the Capitol, Portland vase was brought from this museum. There are works in it are the famous statue called the “ Dying Gladistill some interesting pictures, among which the famous ator,” found at Antium in the same spot with the “ Apollo “ Cenci” by Guido Reni. The palace of the Borghese Belvedere,” and the “ Fighting Gladiator;” the two Furietti once contained a fine museum of sculpture, and it still “ Centaurs ;” the group of “ Cupid and Psyche ;” the noble possesses one of the best collections of paintings in Rome. seated statue of Agrippina, the wife of Germanicus; the In the Palazzo Massimi is the famous “ Discobolus,” found “ Camillus;” the bronze urn which bears the name of Miin the grounds of the Villa Palombari on the Esquiline thridates; the four doves, a mosaic, which must be either Hill. The Palazzo Spada contains the celebrated statue the original or a copy of the famous mosaic of Sosus, in the of Pompey, at the foot of which Caesar fell. In the temple of Pergamus, described by Pliny; the “Venus” of palace of the Braschi once stood the beautiful colossal the Capitol; and the celebrated bronze wolf, with the Rostatue of Antinous, which was dug up on the site of man twins, supposed to be that alluded to by Cicero as the ancient Gabii, and has been removed to the Lateran having been struck by lightning. The Capitol contains museum. The Palazzo Nuovo di Torlonia, the residence also a museum of painting, but it is of comparatively inferior of Torlonia the Roman banker, who has purchased the title interest. The academy of St Luke, in the Forum, contains and estate of the Duca di Bracciano, is fitted up with all Raphael’s famous picture of “ St Luke painting the Virgin’s the magnificence that wealth can command. The gallery portrait.” Rome contains eleven public libraries, some of is adorned with Canova’s colossal group of “ Hercules and which are excellent. In the Augustine convent there is Lycas.” The Farnese palace contains the far-famed gallery one, called the Angelica, containing upwards of 90,000 vols. painted in fresco by Annibal Caracci. In the gallery of and 3000 MSS.; and the Minerva, adjoining the Dominican the Sciarra palace are Raphael’s “ Player on the Fiddle,” convent of Sta. Maria sopra Minerva, contains 120,000 vols. Lionardo da Vinci’s “ Vanity and Modesty,” and other and 4500 MSS. They are open daily to the public. masterpieces. There are a great many villas in the immediate vicinity yftjag The Vatican has long been celebrated for its unrivalled of Rome, and even within its walls. The gardens of the The Vatisplendour and magnificence. Its ceilings richly painted in Villa Borghese, which were by far the most beautiful pleacan. fresco ; its pictured pavements of ancient mosaic; its mag- sure-grounds at Rome, were almost wholly ruined during nificent gates of bronze; its polished columns of ancient por- the revolution of 1848. The villa, with its works of art, phyry, the splendid spoils of the ruins of imperial Rome; however, was preserved. The Villa Ludovisi, within the its endless accumulation of Grecian marble, Egyptian gra- walls of the city, is nearly two miles in circuit. It contains TOL. XIX. 3A

370 ROM Romford an invaluable collection of celebrated pieces of ancient stall tuary, of which no copies are known to exist. Ihe magniRornilly. fjcent Villa Medici,on thePincian Hill, is now converted into ti-,e French academy, where a number of young artists of promise are supported at the charge of the French government, with the view of enabling them to enjoy the advantao-es of a few years’ study at Rome. The Villa Albani is enriched with the most precious collection of ancient sculpture that any private cabinet ever contained. The finest specimens of this collection are the famous “ Apollo Sauroctonos” the most beautiful bronze statue now left in the world, and which, in the judgment of Winckelmann, is the original of Praxiteles, described by Pliny ; the statue of Minerva, which is pronounced by Winckelmann to be the only monument now existing at Rome of the sublime age of art that lasted from the age of Phidias to that of Praxiteles ; and the far-famed relievo of Antinous, which, says the same critic, “ after the ‘ Apollo’ and ‘ Laocoon,’ is perhaps the most beautiful monument of antiquity which time has transmitted to us.” Castle of The castle of St Angelo, “ the mole which Hadrian rear’d St Angelo, on high,” was originally called “ Moles Hadriani,” from the name of its founder, who destined it to hold his remains for ever. It is a circular building, and was formerly reckoned very strong; it. has stood many sieges, but as a fortress it is wholly untenable against modern tactics. It has been so often taken and retaken, repaired and altered, that but little of the original structure now remains, except the walls. It communicates with the Vatican by a long covered gallery, made by Pope Alexander VI. to afford him a way of escape from the just, fury of his subjects. The castle of St Angelo is now used as a place of confinement for prisoners sentenced to the galleys. The upper part of it also serves as a state prison for criminals of rank, and those who fall under the suspicion and displeasure of the Pope. ROMFORD, a market-town of England, in the county of Essex, on the left bank of the Bourne or Rom, which is crossed by a bridge, 12 miles E.N.E. of London. It is generally well built, and consists of one principal street, long and wide, having a market-house and town-hall near its centre. The old parish church, which was a beautiful specimen of the early English and Norman architecture, has been replaced by a modern building, to which many of its ancient monuments have been transferred. I here are also Wesleyan, Independent, and Baptist churches; national, infant, and other schools; a literary institution, workhouse, and savings-bank. Agricultural tools are manufactured here, and many of the inhabitants are employed in farming and market-gardening. I here is a considerable trade; and the place is noted for its markets for corn and cattle, as well as for its ale. Romford is a place of great antiquity, and stands at or near the site of the ancient Roman Durolitum. Pop. (1851) 3791. ROMILLY, Sir Samuel, one of the most enlightened and virtuous public men whom England has ever possessed, was, as his family-name indicates, the descendant of a French family. He was the son of a jeweller in London, and was born there on the 1st of March 1757. The education of this child, destined in time to occupy so distinguished a place, was conducted for some time with even less care than might have been expected from the station held by his family. But heartily disliking his father’s business, he was at length allowed to change it for professional employments, though as yet in an inferior department. At the age of sixteen he was articled to one of the six clerks in Chancery ; and in the easy mechanical duties of his master’s chambers, relieved by the zealous prosecution of his studies both in English and Latin, passed several years of his life. He then resolved on coming to the bar, a step which, he informs us, all his friends, with one exception, considered as highly imprudent. One circumstance which helped to

ROM The city of Rome is divided into fourteen quarters or Romilly, rioni, twelve on the left and two on the right bank of the river. These accidentally correspond in number, but not at all in size or situation, with the regions of Augustus. The municipal government is in the hands of a senator appointed by the Pope, and eight, conservators and forty councillors, elected by their own body, along with two delegates from each of the rioni. All hold office for six years, with the privilege of re-election ; and one-half of the conservators and councillors go out every three years. One-half of the body is taken from the nobility and landowners, the other from the middle classes. The police of the city, however, is not under their jurisdiction, but under that of the director-general of police, who is a member of the ministry, subordinate to the minister of the interior and secretary of state. There are no important manufactures in the city. Catgut, perfumes, artificial flowers, silk, leather, cloth, and other articles, are indeed made; but Rome is more celebrated for its mosaics and cameos. There are many artists, engravers, and copyists of ancient works of art in the city. The population, which at its greatest height, in the second or third century, we have not been able to estimate so high as a million, amounted, according to the census of 1858, to 179,950. “ It has been nearly stationary,” adds the author of Murray’s Hand-Book, “for the last ten years; the highest point it ever reached in modern times being 180,200 in 1846. It was 153,000 in 1800, from which it decreased gradually until 1813, when it was only 117,900.” Gibbon estimated it in his own time, but we know not from what precise data, at 170,000. It may be remarked that the buildings of the modern city seem to occupy fully one-half of the Aurelian area, and are probably more closely packed, as well as loftier, than those of the empire. determine Romilly was very interesting; the purchase of a seat in the office in which he had been articled would have cost a sum which he knew it would be inconvenient for his father to advance. He had completed his twenty-first year when he entered himself at Gray’s Inn, becoming at the same time a pupil of an able equity-draftsman. General reading both in English and Latin, translation habitually practised from the latter language into the former, the composition of a few political essays lor newspapers, and occasional attendance on the houses of Parliament, now alternated with a closeness of application to legal study which, after a time, injured his health, and compelled him to retire, first to Bath, and afterwards to the Continent. At Geneva he became acquainted with some of the men who were then beginning to attract notice in that city; and among acquaintances thus made the most valuable was that of Dumont. After visiting some of the nearest scenery of the Leman Lake, and of Savoy, Romilly proceeded to Paris, where he met D’Alembert, Diderot, and other eminent men. On the last day of Easter term 1783 he was called to the bar. For some years afterwards he obtained an increasing employment in the drawing of chancery pleadings ; but during this time, as he says himself, he had hardly once occasion to open his lips in court. In the spring of 1784 he went upon the midland circuit, which he continued to frequent until, even as admitted in his own modest Memoir, he was decidedly its leader. Long before he left the circuit, he had attained a distinguished position in the eyes of those who were qualified to appreciate him, not merely as a lawyer, but as a statesman. In 1784 he became acquainted with Mirabeau, who was then in London, and of whose character he appears to have formed an exceedingly just estimate. Mirabeau was the medium through which Romilly became known to Lord Lansdowne, and thus to the leaders of that political party of which he had throughout been an honest and warm

ROM Romilly. adherent. To that nobleman he was recommended both ' by the hearty praises of Mirabeau and by a pamphlet he had written, called A Fragment on the Constitutional Power and Duties of Juries. Lord Lansdowne, directing Romilly’s attention to a recent sanguinary tract on Criminal Punishments, induced him to write an answer, which was published anonymously under the title of Observations on a late Publication entitled ‘ Thoughts on Executive Justice’ In the meantime he continued vigorously to prosecute in private the inquiries into the reform of the laws, especially the criminal laws, of which he had thus begun to announce publicly the parts. In the vacation of 1788 he paid a third visit to Paris. Introductions from England, and other circumstances, brought Romilly and his fellow-traveller Dumont into intercourse, upon this occasion, with many men distinguished then, and with others still more celebrated in the bloody struggle that was about to ensue. Mirabeau at this time translated into French, and published, observations made by Romilly on the hospital and prison of Bicetre. This pamphlet had the honour to be suppressed by the police of Paris, but in the original English was afterwards printed by the author himself in an obscure London periodical. In July 1789 Romilly wrote a pamphlet which was afterwards published^ Thoughts on the Probable Influence of the French Revolution on Great Britain. But the lively interest he took in the events which emerged in Paris, while he was engaged in composing these remarks, led him back to that city in August of that year; and he now saw, both in public and private, many of the persons who had become most distinguished in the National Assembly. Dumont’s observations upon the eventful summer of 1789 in France were translated into English by Romilly, and, with the addition of some observations by himself on England, were published in 1792, receiving the title of GroenvelCs Letters. Many of Romilly’s opinions on the progress of the French revolution are contained in his published correspondence with Dumont, Madame Gautier, Dugald Stewart, and others, and in a diary which he kept during a journey to Paris in the autumn of 1802. While Romilly was thus advancing to the highest rank in his profession, and had gained the confidence and admiration of some of the best statesmen in England, his domestic position underwent a most beneficial change, the immediate cause of which was a visit paid to Lord Lansdowne. His marriage with the eldest daughter of Mr Garbett of Knill Court in Herefordshire took place in January 1798, when he had nearly completed his forty-first year. He continued to be chiefly occupied in the discharge of his duties as a leader of the Chancery bar for several years, after which he united with these the other avocations that have given to his name so distinguished a place in the list of British satesmen. In the autumn of 1805 he had received from the Prince of Wales the offer of a seat in Parliament, which he declined upon grounds strongly marking his sturdy independence of character. In February 1806 he was appointed solicitor-general under the government of Mr Fox and Lord Grenville, with neither of whom had he previously any connection. He was obliged, much against his will, to accept the honour of knighthood, and was elected to represent the borough of Queenborough, accepting this seat, without scruple, from the government. In March 1807 the Whigs were overthrown, and Parliament was dissolved. In the new Parliament he was returned for Horsham, on the Duke of Norfolk’s interest, and he subsequently purchased the representation of Wareham. Defeated in an attempt to represent Bristol in 1812, he was returned for the borough of Arundel by the Duke of Norfolk. This seat Romilly held till the dissolution in 1818, when he accepted a requisition from the electors of Westminster, upon which he had the satis-

It O M 371 faction of a triumph after a severe contest. The results to Romney, which this great victory was expected to have led were un- ^ j fortunately never realized. Lady Romilly, to whom he was very greatly attached, died on the 29th October 1818, and the shock occasioned by that event so preyed upon his health that he put an end to his life on the 2d of November 1818, in his sixty-second year. The public character of Sir Samuel Romilly would be best drawn by a few warm and vigorous strokes, all of which, with no exception worth noticing, would convey images of distinguished excellence. These traits would exhibit his manly and ratiocinative oratory, lighted up into eloquence by the fervour of his moral sense* that antique spirit of mental independence which bowed to the demands of no man and of no party, not even his own, unless his conscience told him that those demands were just. And these virtues of the statesman and the jurisconsult, which, by their stern majesty, commanded from those that viewed them at a distance an awe not altogether unmingled with fear, were tempered in private life by the warmest and kindest feeling, by the most felicitous union of public labours with personal accomplishments. His second son, the Right Hon. Sir John Romilly, was made Master of the Rolls, in March 1851. (See Memoirs of Sir Samuel Romilly, written by himself, 3 vols., London, 1840.) ROMNEY, George, an eminent English artist, was the son of a cabinetmaker, and was born near Dalton in Lancashire in 1734. Although placed at the age of eleven in his father’s shop, he soon began most vigorously to develop his genius for painting. His fellow-workmen were his models; the deals which he planed were his canvas ; the living world around him was his school. In course of time his progress became so marked that his father was induced to apprentice him to a portrait-painter of the name of Steele at Kendal. There he applied himself sedulously to discover the secrets of colouring. A marriage which he contracted at the age of twenty-one only gave a stimulus to his ardour. He laboured for six years in painting the likenesses of the country squires of Westmoreland. Then, villainously deserting his wife and two children, he set out in 1762 to seek his fortune in London, and took up his abode in Dove Court, near the Mansion-House. It was not long before the manliness and poetic dignity of Romney’s style began to ensure success. The Society of Arts awarded him a prize for his “ Death of King Edmund.” Other historical, pictures followed, which were said by his admirers to rival the old Italian masters. He was also in the meantime receiving numerous commissions for portraits. His emoluments from that branch of his vocation became so considerable that he was enabled to spend about two years at Rome in studying Raphael and Michael Angelo. Nor did he fail, on his return to London in 1775, to take a higher place in his profession. He set up his studio in a spacious house in Cavendish Square. Many of the noble and the distinguished became his sitters. It even began to be said that he was dividing the rich province of portraiture with Sir Joshua. Scarcely less than thirteen hours a day sufficed to meet all his engagements; scarcely less than L.3000 or L.4000 was realized in a year. Romney, as he grew older, became more and more engrossed with ideal painting. His active imagination found its subjects in many fields of literature,—in Shakspeare, in Milton, in classical mythology, and in the sacred Scriptures. The greater part of those designs he left unfinished on the canvas, to litter his studio and every spare corner of his house. Romney’s nerves became unstrung, and his mind became unhinged. He imagined that the dwelling in Cavendish Square was too small for the execution of his great projected works. Nothing would satisfy him but to build a large whimsical pile on Hampstead Hill. The removal thither in 1797 only exasperated his disease. His

ROM 372 Romney, nervous uneasiness had become so great in 1799 that he New suddenly left London by the coach, and hastened northII Ronda. ward to Kendal to seek the sympathy and kindness of his faithful and much-enduring wife. There he gradually pined away until death put an end to his suffering in 1802. The celebrated Flaxman gives the following account of some of Romney’s best ideal pictures :—“ ‘ Titania with her Indian Votaress’ was arch and sprightly ; ‘Milton dictating to his Daughters,’ solemn and interesting. Several pictures of wood-nymphs and bacchants charmed by their rural beauty, innocence, and simplicity.” (See Cunningham’s Lives of British Painters, &c.) ROMNEY, New, a cinque port, market-town, and decayed borough of England, in the county of Kent, in the middle of Romney Marsh, a wide, level tract of pastureland, defended from the sea by an embankment, 31 miles S.E. by S. of Maidstone. There is a magnificent Norman church of the twelfth century, with a lofty and handsome square tower; also Wesleyan and Baptist places of worship, a market-house, town-hall, hospital, and assembly-room. Though now a mile and a half from the sea, it was once a considerable seaport. The borough was disfranchised by the Reform Act of 1832. Pop. (1851) 1053. ROMORANTIN, a town of France, capital of an arrondissement, in the department of Loire-et-Cher, on the right bank of the Sauldre, an affluent of the Loire, 24 miles S.E. of Blois. It was once a very ill-built place, but has recently been much improved: the streets have been widened and straightened, and many new houses built. There are here an old castle, prison, courts of law, and a theatre. Cloth, leather, parchment, and other articles are made, and form the staple of an active trade. Romorantin was besieged in 1356 ; and cannons were used then, some say for the first time. Pop. (1856) 7863. ROMSEY, or Rumsey, a market-town and municipal borough of England, Hampshire, on the left bank of the Anton or Test, here crossed by a bridge, 10 miles S.W. of Winchester, and 73 S.W. of London. It consists principally of a broad street, crossed by another at right angles; and its most notable building is the parish church, which, from its cruciform plan, has something of a cathedral appearance. It is said to be a part of the abbey founded by the Saxon king Edward the Elder in the tenth century, and is interesting to the antiquary for its architecture and monuments. The other places of worship belong to Methodists, Independents, Baptists, and Sandemanians. There are several schools, a town-hall, audit-house, jail, alms-houses, &c. The manufactories include saw-mills, corn and paper mills, tanneries, breweries, &c.; and there is some trade in corn, timber, and coal. Pop. of the town (1851) 2080. ROMULUS. See Roman History. RONALDSHAY. See Orkney. RONCIGLIONE, a town of the Papal States, in the delegation and 12 miles S.S.E. of Viterbo, occupies a romantic position on a rocky precipice overhanging a deep, wooded ravine, on the edge of the Campagna di Roma. Many of the streets aad buildings are handsome ; and there is a ruined Gothic castle and several ancient palaces, which are deserted and falling into decay. There are, however, flourishing iron-works and paper-mills. Pop. 4600. RONDA, a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the province and 40 miles W. of Granada, and 48 N.N.E. of Gibraltar. It stands on a rock nearly surrounded by the Guadalvin, which flows through a deep chasm, separating the old from the new town, and spanned by two bridges, an old and a new, the latter 300 feet in length, crossing the chasm 600 feet above the water. Several cascades are formed by the stream, dashing out of the dark cleft through which it flowed, and sparkling with foam in the light of the sun. At the foot of the clilfs is a curious grotto, hewn out of the rock for the Moors by Christian slaves in 1342, At the

RON edge of the precipice is a rose-garnished alameda, or public RSnne walk, commanding a wide and beautiful prospect. The old I part of the town has a Moorish aspect, with narrow, steep, ^ onsar ' and crooked lanes, and several old Moorish towers and other buildings; but the new town contains many broad, handsome streets and squares. The fine stone bull arena (Plaza de Torres) is one of the largest in Spain, and can contain 10,000 spectators. Besides churches and convents, there are among the public buildings a town-hall, an ill-arranged prison, and a large, old castle that protects the whole town. The last, however, is not now of any importance, and it was much injured by the French in 1812, when they occupied the town. Ronda is the seat of much traffic in leather, saddlery, and horses. It is a very gay place: an annual fair is held, and much smuggling is carried on. The climate is salubrious and favourable to longevity. Pop. 15,943. RONNE, a town of Denmark, capital of the island of Bornholm, stands on its west coast, and has a fortified harbour, active trade, manufactures of clocks, and numerous potteries. Here are also a grammar school and an hospital. Many of the inhabitants are sailors or fishermen. Pop. 4000. RONNEBURG, a town of Saxe-Altenburg, in the circle and 14 miles S.W. of Altenburg, stands on a height, and is walled and defended by two forts. It has a palace, Latin school, woollen factories, dye-works, and some trade in corn and wool. In the vicinity there are mineral baths. Pop. 5978. RONSARD, Pierre de, a French poet, was born at the castle of Poissonniere in Vendomois in 1524. He was descended of a noble family, and was educated at Paris in the college of Navarre. Academical pursuits not suiting his genius, he left college, and became page to the Duke of Orleans, who resigned him to James Stuart, King of Scots. Ronsard continued in Scotland with the Scottish king upwards of two years, and afterwards went to France, where he was employed by the Duke of Orleans in several negotiations. He accompanied Lazare Ba’if to the Diet of Spires. Having from the conversation of this learned man imbibed a passion for the belles-lettres, he studied the Greek language with Baif’s son under Daurat. It is reported of Ronsard that his practice was to study till two o’clock in the morning, and when he went to bed, to awaken Baiif, who resumed his place. The Muses possessed in his eyes an infinity of charms ; and he cultivated them with such success that he acquired the appellation of the “Prince of Poets” of his time. Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III. loaded him with favours. Having gained the first prize of the Jeux Floraux, they thought the reward promised below the merit of the work and the reputation of the poet. The city of Toulouse caused a Minerva of massy silver of considerable value to be made and sent to him. This present was accompanied with a decree, declaring him “ The French Poet,” by way of distinction. Ronsard afterwards made a present of his Minerva to Henry II., and this monarch appeared as much elated with this mark of the poet’s esteem for him as the poet himself could have been had he received the present from his sovereign. Mary, the beautiful and unfortunate Queen of Scots, who was equally sensible of his merit with the Toulonese, gave him a rich set of table-plate. He wrote hymns, odes, a poem called the Franciade, eclogues, epigrams, sonnets, &c. In his odes he takes bombast for poetic raptures. He wishes to imitate Pindar ; and by labouring too much for lofty expressions, he loses himself in a cloud of words. He is obscure and harsh to the last degree; faults which he might easily have avoided by studying the works of Marot. But what could be expected from a man who had so little taste that he called Marot’s works, “ a dunghill, from which rich grains of gold, by industrious working, might be picked.” He has, however, some pieces not destitute of real merit; and there

RON Roof,

are perhaps few effusions of the French muse more truly poetical than his Four Seasons of the Year, where a most fertile imagination displays all its riches. Ronsard, though it is doubtful whether he ever was in orders, held several benefices. He died at Saint-Cosme-les-Tours, December 27, 1585, aged sixty-one years. He appeared more ridiculous as a man than as a poet; he was particularly vain, and his immoderate indulgence in pleasure served to hasten his old age. In his fiftieth year he was weak and valetudinary, and subject to attacks of the gout. He retained his wit, his vivacity, and his readiness at poetic composition to the

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last. Ronsard’s poems have been published in folio, in Ronsdorf quarto, and in 10 volumes duodecimo, in 1567. The Oeuvres Choisies de Ronsard were published at Paris in 1840. ^, v RONSDORF, a town of Prussia, in the province of the Rhine, and government of Diisseldorf, on the slope of a hill on the Morsbach, 17 miles E. of Diisseldorf. It has manufactories of cutlery, silk, linen, cotton, and woollen fabrics, ribands, &c. The town owes its origin to a religious sect in the eighteenth century. Pop. 7302. ROOD, a piece of land equal to 40 square perches, or the fourth part of an acre.

ROOF. gradually were less in height till the perpendicular period, Definition. Roof, the covering of any building by which its inhabitants when many roofs were nearly flat; that of Henry the Seventh and contents are protected from the injuries and inclemencies of the weather. So essential is it, that the word chapel, for example, being but about 16°, or as flat as a is frequently used for the house itself. To “ come under Greek roof. Now, that this variety was matter of taste,—we the roof” is a Hebrew phrase ; and the word “ tectum” had had almost said caprice,—is evidenced by this fact: these the same meaning among the Roman's. It is derived from examples are all covered with lead (which might have the Anglo-Saxon hrof, who thought so much of its import- been laid quite flat, and yet have been perfectly sound), ance, that they called the carpenter hrof-wyrhta, or the and all have a stone groined roof below them, which has nothing whatever to do with the upper covering, and which, “ roof-worker.” Varieties Roofs may be considered as to their covering, and the after all, is the real roof or cover which protects the buildof cover- framing which carries such covering. The former is either of ing from the weather. Much has been said of the propriety in Smetal, as lead, copper, zinc, corrugated or galvanized iron, of always showing the roof of a building, and the Gothic &c.; or of tile, either Italian, pan or Flemish tile, plain architects have been eulogised for so doing. T. he facts tile, &c.; or of slate, and sometimes of stone. The Greek stated above, however, prove this was not always the case. temples were covered with long thin pieces of marble sunk We cannot, however, justify the going out of the way to or worked hollow by the mason, so that the wet could not conceal a roof by false attics, stilted balustrades, &c.; and run back under the next, and consequently these roofs shot the screen wall at St Paul’s at London must always be off the water easily, and were very flat. Both in ancient considered a defect in that fine building. Still, a wide and modern times, in all countries, the poorer classes of roofs expanse of plain roof is as ugly in itself as a bare wall; and are covered or thatched with straw, reed, heather, or some we cannot approve of such roofs as some of the modern similar material. In most hot climates, and also in many imitations of early English work are, where the wall is so parts of Italy, the roofs are flat, and covered with a sort of low that we could touch the eaves with a walking-stick, and concrete or cement, which is carried on joists like a floor; there is three or four times as much roof as wall. The roof the object being to form a sort of terrace to walk on early of a house has not inaptly been likened to a man’s hat. in the morning or late in the evening, to enjoy the cool air, There is no need to try and hide or disguise it if you are obliged to wear it; and if the weather is warm, and you do which can only be felt in elevated situations. require it, it would be folly to wear one without a Pitch. The elevation of a roof, which governs the angle its not rafters make with the horizon, is called its pitch. On this crown. If on board ship, you would wear as low a hat as subject there has been a great deal of controversy. Some possible to avoid striking it against the beams ; but, above have considered, as they find the farther we go south the all, it should bear some reasonable proportion to the height flatter the roofs are, that the pitch must be governed by of a man, as the roof should to the wall. It would be abclimate; and most elaborate calculations have been made surd to wear a hat as tall as the man himself. After all, although much latitude must be given to taste, Pitch deof certain angles at which it is proposed that roofs should on it is probable the pitch of a roof mainly depends on the pe^ept be constructed in various latitudes. But it should be ret erials material with which it is covered. The largest number of “^ d membered that in hot climates the rains come all at once; in such floods our roofs could not resist; and it would be poor buildings are erected with a view to utility and strict ecoeconomy, because for months together there were no rain, nomy, and without any regard to aesthetics. Everybody if, when it does come, the house should be daily drenched. knows that if slates or tiles are laid at too flat a pitch, the Others have considered the whole a mere matter of taste, wind will drive the rain up under them, and the roof will and the pitch is chosen as we wish more or less of a roof to leak ; and everybody also knows that if the same covering be seen. The Greeks made their roofs very flat, and placed be taken off and re-laid to a steeper pitch, the roof will be large antefixes along the eaves, so that the roof could not sound. Practice teaches what is the safe minimum pitch. be seen from below except from a great distance. (See Let us suppose it to be quarter pitch, and for considerathe restored view of the Parthenon, Architecture, Plate tions of taste we make it three-quarter pitch. Now, it is L.) The angle is about 16°, the pitch or height at the quite clear we waste not only the rafters and covering, but apex being about a seventh of the width. Roman roofs our whole roof must be constructed of stronger timbers, and average about 22°, or a fifth pitch. That the mediaeval our walls also must be thicker and stronger, inasmuch builders had no rule, is shown from the extreme variety of as they have more weight to bear. We therefore pay the height of roofs in their different edifices. In the Lom- dear in more ways than one for our liking for high-pitched bardic cathedral of Pisa, erected 1063 (Architecture, roofs. Although it happens that both Greek, Roman, and Ita- Pitch not Plate LXX.), the roof is about 27°, or nearly quarter pitch. due t0 cli The Norman roofs are seldom more than 40°, or less than lian roofs are flatter than ours, and the climate is warmer, mate> ~ half pitch ; while in the early English period they suddenly the same material used in our climates would answer persprung up to whole pitch,—i.e., the height equal to the fectly well. An inspection of the elaborate plate 97, in the entire width (see Beverley Minster, Architecture, Plate Architettura Antica Greca of the celebrated Canina will LXVIII., fig. 1), being an angle of about 64°. They then show this; and the frequent failure in our climate of Italian

374 Roof.

ROOF. tiles (which are exactly like the ancient Roman) arises de champ) ; b, Those bent in thickness {courbes sur Roof. from the fact, that the tegole and imbrici only have been leur plat). V. Roofs constructed of Iron used, our builders being ignorant of the use of the mattoni, which in Italy are a very essential part of the soundness of those roofs. In one respect climate must be considered, The late Professor Robison's Theory of Roof. and that is, where there are long winters, and the snow is likely to lie on them; in this case they should be sharper We shall attempt in this article to give an account of the Purpose of in pitch, and stronger in framing. eading principles of this art, in a manner so familiar and this article, Pitch reIf covered with lead or other metals, roofs may be made quired for nearly Hat, with only so much fall, in fact, as to prevent the palpable, that any person who knows the common properdifferent ties of the lever, and the composition of motion, shall so far materials. water flowing back under the drips. (See Building, understand them as to be able, on every occasion, so to disPlumbers’ Work, &c.) Italian tiles, to be sound, should have a fifth pitch, or 22°. Slates with extra lap may be pose his materials, with respect to the strains to which they laid at quarter pitch, about 27°, if it be necessary the roof are to be exposed, that he shall always know the effective should be flat; a third pitch (34°) is rather too much: the strain on every piece, and shall, in most cases, be able to mean between a third and fourth (31°) is a good rule. Pan- make the disposition such as to derive the greatest possible tiles should be laid rather sharper still, and plain tiles from advantage from the materials which he employs. It is evident that the whole must depend on the prin- Principle* about 35° to 40°; but of course very much will depend on ciples which regulate the strength of the materials, relative which rethe gauge they are laid to, or the length of the part of the l,Iate the slate or tile which overlaps the other, as the larger this lap to the manner in which this strength is exerted, and the ? of is, the less likely the rain is to drive under. Thatched roofs manner in which the strain is laid on the piece of matter. With respect to the first, this is not the proper place forjf^. ' should be somewhat sharper in pitch than plain tiles. Qualities Lead or copper, in an economical point of view, are the considering it, and we must refer the reader to the article of various best materials for roofs. They may be laid nearly flat, and Strength of Materials in Mechanics. We shall just roof coverfrom that article two or three propositions suited to so save all the framing and roof timbers; and the metal, borrow ings. should it be worn into holes, is nearly as valuable as when our purpose. The force with which the materials of our edifices, roofs, first laid down ; the only objection is, that the first expense floors, machines, and framings of every kind, resist being is so great. Zinc, though very cheap and light, and though broken or crushed, or pulled asunder, is immediately or ulit can be laid flat, is apt to go into holes with the action ot timately the cohesion of their particles. When a weight acids. Slating is both light and very cheap, and will lie at hangs by a rope, it tends either immediately to break°all a flat pitch ; and consequently requires much lighter walls the fibres, overcoming the cohesion amongst the particles of and timbers than tiles. It will not decay with the weather. each, or it tends to pull one parcel of them from amongst the It is apt to break under the feet; and if not very well done rest, with which they are joined. This union of the fibres will lift with heavy winds. Each slate should be nailed is brought about by some kind of gluten, or by twisting, with two copper nails, as iron rusts and breaks them. (See which causes them to bind each other so hard that any one Building, Slating, &c.) Pan-tiles are dearer than slates, will break rather than come out, so much is it withheld by but not much heavier; they also break if trodden on, and friction. I he ultimate resistance is therefore the cohesion the snow will drift under if the pointing comes out. Plain of the fibre ; and the force or strength of all fibrous materials, tiles are very durable, but they require a steep pitch, and such as timber, is exerted in much the same manner. The are very heavy : thus in two ways distressing the walls and fibies are either broken or pulled out from among the rest. the roof timbers. Metals, stone, glass, and the like, resist being pulled asun"Weight of This also depends on the gauge; but the following may der by the simple cohesion of their parts. different be taken as the ordinary average:— The force which is necessary for breaking a rope or wire roof coverA square (100 feet superficial, or 11 yards suings. is a proper measure of its strength. In like manner, the perficial nearly) of zinc will weigh about... 1 cwt. force necessary for tearing directly asunder any rod of wood A square of lead, according to thickness, from...5 to 7 „ or metal, breaking all its fibres, or tearing them from amongst A square of slating from 5£ to „ each other, is a proper measure of the united strength of all A square of pan-tiling 7J „ these fibres; and it is the simplest strain to which they A square of plain tiling 14 to 16 „ can be exposed, being just equal to the sum of the forces All roofs, till very lately, except some which have been necessary for breaking or disengaging each fibre. And, if arched or domed, were framed with timber ; no other mate- the body is not of a fibrous structure, which is the case with rial being known at that time which possessed such lengths metals, stones, glass, and many other substances, this force is with such qualities of tension. Later years, however, and still equal to the simple sum of the cohesive forces of each more extended requirements, have developed the advan- particle which is separated by the fracture. Let us distintages of the use of iron. As everything must depend on guish this mode of exertion of the cohesion of the body by the soundness of both design and execution of framing, the name of its absolute strength. whether in wood or iron, it is proposed to divide this subWhen solid bodies are, on the contrary, exposed to great ject, one of the most important in architecture, into the fol- compression, they can resist only a certain degree. A piece lowing sections:— of clay or lead will be squeezed out; a piece of freestone I. Theory of Roof will comprehend the whole of the will be crushed to powder; a beam of wood will be cripscientific part of the celebrated essay of Professor Robison, pled, swelling out in the middle, and its fibres lose their which was originally written for this work, and which is mutual cohesion, after which it is easily crushed by the acknowledged to be the best yet given to the public. load. A notion may be formed of the manner in which II. Causes of Failure of Roofs, given in terms that are these strains are resisted, by conceiving a cylindrical pipe intelligible to those unacquainted with the higher branches filled with small shot, well shaken together, so that each of mathematical analysis. sphericle is lying in the closest manner possible, that is, III. Mediceval Roofs. in contact with six others in the same vertical plane, this IV. Account of Roofs of great span (a grande portee.) being the position in which the shot will take the least 1. 1 hose trussed with straight timbers {en hois plat). room. Thus each touches the rest in six points. Nowr 2. 1 hose trussed with curved timbers—a, With tim- suppose them all united, in these six points only, by some bers side by side, breaking joint (systeme en planches cement. This assemblage will stick together and form a

ROOF. 375 cylindrical pillar, which may be taken out of its mould. Roo£ ' Now suppose this pillar standing upright, and loaded above. strong or an equally resisting fibre at F, must be =/ X CF CA' The supports arising from the cement act obliquely, and the load tends either to force them asunder laterally, or to And so on of all the rest. If we suppose all the fibres to exert equal resistances at make them slide on each other : either of these things happening, the whole is crushed to pieces. The resistance of the instant of fracture, we know, from the simplest elements fibrous materials to such a strain is a little more intricate, of mechanics, that the resistance of all the particles in the line CD, each acting equally in its own place, is the same but may be explained in a way very similar. A piece of matter of any kind may also be destroyed by as if all the individual resistances were united in the middle wrenching or twisting it. We can easily form a notion of point ff. Now this total resistance is the resistance or its resistance to this kind of strain by considering what strength f of each particle, multiplied by the number of would happen to the cylinder of small shot if treated in this particles. This number may be expressed by the line CD, way. because we have no reason to suppose that they are at unAnd, lastly, a beam, or a bar of metal, or piece of stone equal distances. Therefore, in comparing different sections Their weakness or other matter, may be broken transversely. This will together, the number of particles in each are as the sections in relation happen to a rafter or joist supported at the ends when themselves. Therefore DC may represent the number of to trans- overloaded, or to a beam having one end stuck fast in a wall particles in the line DC. Let us call this line the depth of verse and a load laid on its projecting part. This is the strain the beam, and express it by the symbol d. And since we strains. to which materials are most commonly exposed in roofs; are at present treating of roofs whose rafters and other parts and, unfortunately, it is the strain which they are the least are commonly of uniform breadth, let us call AH or BI the able to bear ; or rather it is the manner of application which breadth of the beam, and express it by b, and let CA be causes an external force to excite the greatest possible im- called its length /. We may now express the strength of mediate strain on the particles. It is against this that the the whole line CD by f X d, and we may suppose it all carpenter must chiefly guard, avoiding it when in his power, concentrated in the middle point g. Its mechanical energy, and in every case diminishing it as much as possible. It is therefore, by which it resists the energy of the weight w, necessary to give the reader a clear notion of the great weak- applied at the distance /, isyx CD X C ePsofis the the conrtmction nf “ '‘’T' T chief feature onwards of 140(1 ! “ roo^and ,this « said06to have si found in the tomb o?XheodosTus rEaT" ^ ^ have been erected shortly afterThe yea^e? ZTo posed of a circular dome of white marble 36 feet in meter, surrounded by a number of ears or lugs, by wl

tables, they seem to have been of about the same angle as those named above ; but in the next style, the early English, as has before been stated, the roofs suddenly sprung up to equilateral, and often even to whole pitch, or an angle of 64°. The singularity is, that many of them are covered with lead, and groined beneath ; so that if bare economy or dry utility were the only object of the Gothic architects, as has been stated by many, the roof might have been flat, and an immense expense both in timber and lead have been saved. It only serves to show that, like all other architects, they were not always guided by considerations of dry utility alone, but had high, bold, artistic, and icsthetical feeling besides. It is not improbable that, as the pointed arch and slender shaft are evidently of Saracenic origin, and their use no doubt brought to Europe by the Crusaders,

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ROOF. so the aspiring roofs of the refined orientals suggested using those of the Norman period, which are in fact mere shallow pilasters. The truth is, the buttresses, which were those of the early English originally intended simply to stiffen the walls, were afterperiod. wards enlarged to that extent that they became struts to it Year by year, as styles (A, A, fig. 42), especially the flying buttresses, which conchanged, the roofs became of tinued the line of the principal rafters down to the ground, less pitch, till in the latter making the earth, as it were, the tie-beam. To such a styles,as hasbeen stated,many, degree was this system carried, that in many continental if covered with lead, became churches, and in some of our own, of which Henry VII.’s almost flat. A very curious chapel is a known instance, there is literally no support deillustration is found in the rived from the walls, the windows filling the whole space betower of St Regulus’ church at tween buttress and buttress, which last, from their vast St Andrews, on which are the mass and projection, sustain both roof and groining. marks of the lines of three roofs which have covered the building at three different periods. The lower is probably the line of the original Norman roof, the upper that of the early English period, and the middle that of the decorated. Much of course depended at all periods on the covering, tiles, for instance,

Mediaeval roofs may be consiuered,—Is/, As those in which every pair of common rafters is framed together, and forms of itself a separate truss, or, as it was called in those days, a “ couple2d, As those with common rafters and trusses framed with collar-beams; 3c/, As those with hammer-beams; 4/4, As those with tiebeams. But before going into this subject, we must warn our readers who are accustomed to roofs framed of fir, that the mediaeval timbers are almost invariably of oak or some hard wood; so the strength or the scantling of the timber must not be judged by our modern notions. That

conceive how else they could have stood; but in the sue* ceeding styles, when • internal height became an object, these were often omitted, and as the thrust of the roof was enormously increased thereby, it was necessary to build large projecting buttresses to keep up the walls, instead of

of oak to fir is assumed by Professor three to two. An inch of oak may be a strain of three tons for every square bear but two. The most common form of the first

Robison to be as safely subjected to inch, while fir will is a simple St An

391 Roof, ^

392 Roof,

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drew’s cross, as at fig. 35 ; a cross and collar, as fig. 36 ; a collar and struts, as fig. 37; or two collars and struts, as fiZ> is hung over them ; and in like manner every pair is tied in. This Ropemaking. on its axis c. A belt from this is called nettling. The spinners now set on at the foot or> making. back-end wheel, and spin up the walk. The fore-end wheel- ' Fig. 3. ' wheel passes over and gives man having unhooked the yarns from the whirls of his motion to a number of small wheel, and hung them over the post, and tied them in pairs pulleys, called whirls, ddd, inas at the back-end, proceeds down the walk, collecting the serted in a circular arc ee, yarns from the hooks of the rails, and laying them in a called the head, fixed to the heap in the large hooks c, c, fig. 2. When the spinners again top of the posts. The axis of spin down the walk, these same operations are performed each of these pulleys is proby the back-end wheel-man. When the collected yarns longed in front of the head, number about 400, they are coiled up in a haul, and are and bent into a hook, as shown ready either for tarring, or laying into white ropes. Premore distinctly at /; and on vious to the haul being taken up for tarring, there is a this hook the fibres of hemp slight turn put into it to keep it from getting entangled in are hung to be twisted. the tar-kettle. In the government rope-works, by the reThe spinning-wheel for the gulations of 1802, the spinners had to produce, from a bunsmaller sorts of threads differs dle of hemp weighing 64 lbs., 18 threads of 170 fathoms from this chiefly in being smaleach; 400 of such threads constituted a haul, and weighed ler, and having the parts slight12 cwt. 2 qrs, and when tarred 15 cwt. ly modified to suit the dimiSd/y, Tarring.—The next operation is that of tarring. nution of size. This is variously performed. Here we shall describe the & The operation of spinning simplest method of doing it. is conducted as follows. The The apparatus used in tarring consists of a copper bedded spinner takes a bundle of hemp of sufficient size to make one or more threads the whole length of the walk; he puts in brickwork with a proper furnace below, and flues around this bundle round his waist, the bight or double being in it. The copper is termed the tar-kettle, and at one side of front, and the ends passing each other at his back ; and he it is erected a strong frame, in which a capstan works. Fig. 4 shows this arrangement. Here a is the kettle; bb the secures it in this position by buckling a strap round it, or by fastening it with his apron. He then draws out from the frame; cc the capstan, which may be turned either by maface of his bundle as many fibres as he thinks will make the nual labour, or horse or other power; dd. a truck, on which the size of yarn required ; the bight of these fibres he hangs on haul is being coiled away as it comes from the capstan ; and one of the whirl-hooks, and the wheel being now turned by ee small rollers by which the haul is supported. In the upan assistant, it throws twist or turn into the fibres. The right nearest the boiler is fixed the nipper for squeezing the spinner having laid a piece of thick woollen cloth in the superfluous tar out of the haul. The nipper is drawn to a hollow of his right hand, with the end hanging over his foreFig. 4. finger, grasps with it the fibres he had drawn out, pressing them firmly with his thumb and forefinger, the interposed cloth preserving his fingers from being cut by the fibres as they pass. He now walks backward down the walk, that is, from the head to the foot, the wheel-man all the while turning the wheel just so fast as to keep the turn or twist up to the spinner, of which he is admonished by signs made by the left hand of the latter, or, in complete establishments, by a bell, the cord of which traverses the walk. The aim of the spinner is to regulate the supply of fibres from his bundle in such a manner as to render the thread equal in size throughout. This he does with his left hand, drawing back the fibres as they enter his right hand in too great number, and pulling forward more when the supply is deficient in quantity. He takes care, too, that many ends of fibres do not come together in the same place, and that they so arrange themselves as that the strength of the thread shall be equal throughout. If the spinner slacken his grasp larger size Tin fig. 5. Here aa is a copper-plate with a hole in of the fibres with his fore-finger and thumb, the turn will it about tw o and a half inches diaFig. 5. pass his hand, and the thread will be spoiled; and it is ne- meter ; above it another plate bb cessary not only that the thread be firmly grasped by the slides, and out of its lower edge a thumb and fore-finger, but also by the whole hand, that it semicircular piece is cut, corremay be compressed and moulded into a cylindrical form. sponding to the hole in the lower We have hitherto described the operation as performed plate, so that by sliding this plate by one spinner; but as many spinners may work together down, the aperture is diminished. as there are whirls in the head. Suppose, then, that all A lever dd of the second order is the spinners have set on, as the fastening of their threads fixed at one end to the chain c, to the whirls is termed. They proceed together down the and presses on a stud fixed on the walk, and when they are a few paces below the first rail, upper plate, so that by moving the 6, fig. 2, every man throws his thread on one of the hooks, weight on the lever the yarn may be pressed to the degree and so at each rail, until they arrive at the foot. They necessary as it passes through the aperture; and as the tar then join the ends of every pair of yarns, and hang them oozes out of the yarn, it is received and carried back to the over the post already mentioned ; and for the convenience kettle by the spout ^ fig. 4. of afterwards separating them, the pairs are kept apart in The tar having been put into the kettle and heated to the following manner. A piece of twine is tied by its mid- the proper degree, which is about the temperature of boildle to the first pair, a little in advance of the post; the se- ing water, and is known to the workman, in the absence of cond pair is then put over the post, and the string is tied more correct means, by a scum closing over its surface, the

404

HOP E-M A K I N G. Rope- superintendent begins to pass through the haul. A rope making. attached to the capstan is passed through the nippers, and attached to the end of the haul. The haul is then coiled gradually into the kettle, and the capstan is moved round. The haul is thus drawn slowly through the tar, and the superfluous tar squeezed out of it as it passes through the nippers, the superintendent regulating the weight on the lever, so as to produce the required pressure ; and the endof the haul, as it comes from the capstan, is coiled away, or reeled upon large reels. In this operation the heat of the tar is the most important point to be attended to. If it be too hot, the yarn will be charred; and if too cold, it will be black, whereas yarn intended to be made into ropes should be of a bright-brown colour. The proper heat is indicated, as was before stated, by a scum closing over the surface of the tar, which takes place at Fig. 6. about 212° Fahrenheit. If this scum do not rise, the tar is too cold ; and if there be an appearance of ebullition, the tar is too hot. \thly,Forming Strands— The yarn is now ready for the next operation, which is the making of the strands. This comes under the head of laying. The place where this and the subsequent operations are carried on is termed the laying-walk ; it of which the spinning-walk forms a portion, and it may be of such a width as to allow of many ropes being made at one time. The fixtures of this walk consist of tackleboards and wheels for twisting strands, and stakes and stakeheads for supporting them. The tackle-board for twisting large strands is fixed at the head, and is represented in fig, 6 ; aa strong upright posts, bb a plank pierced with holes corresponding to the Fig. 7. number of strands in a rope, which is generally three. Through these holes winches, called forelock hooks, work. Fig. 7 is an enlarged section of the board, with a forelock hook in its place; a is the handle, b a collar working against the WMll board, and c the forelock let into an eye in that end of the hook which points down the walk. Fig. 8 is a reFig. 8. presentation of one of the wheels for twisting smaller strands ; bbb being pinions with their axes prolonged, and bent into hooks at 6'; aa is the driving-wheel, moved round by the winch c, and dd is a strong post fixed at the head of the walk, and to which the wheel is attached in such a manner that it can be easily disengaged, and a larger or smaller wheel applied, as the rope may require. Corresponding to every twisting apparatus, at the head there is a row of bearers or stake-heads for sup-

405 porting the strands when twisting, and extending from the Ropemaking. top to the bottom of the walk. These are represented in fig. 9, where aa is an upright post, called the stake, firmly fixed, and standing four feet above the ground ; and b the stake-head, let through a mortise in the upright at foot below the head of the post. In the stake-head there are upright pins, between which the strands are laid, as seen by the drawing. There are also posts at the head and foot for fastening the yarns to when run out for laying. As twisting the strands shortens them, it is necessary to provide at the foot moveable machines for communicating twist. These are called sledges; the largest are formed as in fig. 10, and the smaller sizes as in fig. 11. Fig. 10.

In fig. 10, aa corresponds to the tackle-board, and is called a breast-board; it is bolted to the uprights bb, which again are firmly fixed and stayed to the frame cccc. The part of the frame behind the uprights is called the tail of the sledge, and on it are laid weights to afford pressure enough to keep the strands stretched. These weights consist of old tar-barrels filled with clay, and are called pressbarrels. In laying large ropes, sufficient pressure cannot be obtained by the barrels; and in that case a double block and tackle is used, one end being fastened to a strong bolt behind the sledge, and the other to the tail of the sledge, and with the tackle-fall a turn or two is taken round a post. The smaller sledges (fig. 11) have only one upright post, to which some one of the wheels, similar to fig. 8, is fixed ; and they have likewise two trucks to run on.

Of the smaller implements used, the first are the tops (fig. 12) for laying the strands into a rope. These consist of conical Fig. 12. blocks of wood, of different sizes, having three equidistant grooves along their surface, and pins through them laterally, serving for handles. A piece of soft rope is attached to each handle of the top by its bight, and the ends are used to wrap round the rope in the process of laying. These ropes are called tails. When the top is very large, it requires to be supported on a sledge, as shown in fig. 13; and in that

406 R O P E-M A K IN G. Hope- case the tails are attached to the Fig. 13. the strand the degree of hardness required, and in the pro- Hopemaking, pledge. Woolders are stout pins per speed of the laying top, the workman has no certain makingY guide ; and it is surprising that, although machinery for the' ^ with a rope fastened to one end, improvement of almost every other manufacture had been and are used to assist the action of introduced, no attempt appears to have been made to apply the machine in twisting the rope. it to the art under consideration, until about 1783, when a In addition to the above, there is machine to supersede the necessity of a rope-ground was used in making white ropes a rubinvented by a Mr Sylvester; and this invention was followed ber, formed of steel rings interup by many others. Such of these as have come under our woven like linked mail; and it is notice are briefly described in the following account of them, probably from the resemblance that it is termed a mail. In the operation of laying, the yarn is first warped for arranged according to their dates. 1783. About this time Mr Sylvester’s machinery was inthe strands. The haul is run out along the bearers of the laying walk, and the number of yarns for the size of rope vented. In it the threads were spun by bobbins and spinabout to be made is separated from it by means of the dles ; the three several quantities required for the strands nettling. The separated yarns are then divided into three were wound on three separate reels, which turned individuequal portions. Each portion is laid in a separate division of ally round their axes, and also round a common centre, by the bearers, and hung upon its hooks at the tackle-board which motions the rope was formed; and by the machinery and sledge. The sledge is then pulled backwards by the it was further wound up as it was made. This invention tackle-purchase before described, until the yarns are all was not patented, and was never carried into effect. 1784). In this year a patent was taken out by a Mr Seystretched tight, and press-barrels are now laid on. When things are in this position the threads are examined, and if mour for improvements in rope-making ; but the invention any be longer than the others, they are drawn up until consisted in the substitution of animal for human power to every yarn is equally tight. The hooks at each end are drive the ordinary machinery of the rope-work. 1792. In this year the Rev. Edward Cartwright took out now heaved round in time, and in a direction contrary to the spinning twist; and each collection of yarns is twisted a patent for a rope-machine, which he called a cordelier. round its axis, and becomes a strand. The twisting of the A part of this machine was adopted by Mr Huddart in a pastrands shortens them, and draws the sledge up the walk. tent taken out by him in 1805. In the machines of Sylvester and Cartwright the only When the torsion in all the strands is sufficient, or when, in technical language, the strands are full hard, the twisting advantage proposed was the saving of labour. There was no is stopped. The sledge is then drawn up the walk a small attempt made to improve upon the old defective principles piece to slacken the strands and allow the outer ones to be of rope-making ; the merit of the first attempt to do this is taken off their hooks and hung on the middle hook. It is due to the next inventor. 1793, March 16. John Daniel Belfour, of Elsineur, obagain drawn back by the purchase, and the top (fig. 12) is inserted among the strands which will occupy its grooves. tained a patent for machinery “ to improve the manufacThe top is now forced back as near the hook of the sledge ture of ropes and cordage, by making every yarn employed as possible, and the workmen at the head again turn their in the composition thereof bear its proper and equal proporhooks in the same direction as before. As soon as the tion cf the stress.” This the patentee proposed to effect workmen at the sledge perceive it moving forward, they by keeping every yarn tight at the time of its being twisted remove some of the pressure, and begin to turn their hook into the strand, so as to prevent its being puckered up in in a direction contrary to its former motion. The top is the inside of it. For this purpose the yarns were by maby this forced forward, and the three strands closing be- chinery wound regularly on separate reels. The reels were hind it form the rope. When the top gets far enough suspended in tiers in a square frame on iron spindles on from the sledge to admit of their application, the tails are which they could turn freely ; and by a contrivance the reels wrapped round the rope, and by their friction they enable could be made to turn round along with the spindles when the workmen to keep the top from moving forward by jerks, required, and motion in a similar direction could be given and they also make the rope close better. The care of the to all the spindles at the same time. The yarns were spread topman is to regulate the speed of his top in relation to the regularly on the reels by a simple apparatus. When the twist at both ends, the mean of doing which is simple. He yarns were so wound upon the reels in the frame, the ends makes a mark across the strands at every bearer previous of those on the first or lowest tier of reels were carried down to putting in the top. If, when the top reaches a bearer, he the rope-walk, and dropped into the separators, one of which find the mark above the bearer, then the turning at the fore- was placed at every fifteen fathoms or so. These separators end is too fast for the motion of the top ; and if below the consisted of a series of vertical bars, fixed to a frame at their lower end, the upper ends being left free; into the interbearer, then the turning is too slow. In the case of a very thick rope, the power of the men vals between these bars the yarns were dropped, and the applied to the hook of the sledge is insufficient of itself to different tiers kept separate by horizontal iron rods passed pass the turn up the rope. To aid them, other workmen through holes in the side bars, so as to divide the whole apply the woolders at necessary intervals between the sledge frame into a series of reticulations; and these rods were and the top. The strap of the woolder is wrapped round the so contrived as to be withdrawn separately or together. By rope, and the pin used as a lever to heave round the twist; being passed through these reticulations, the threads would the workmen at the woolders keeping time in their heaving be suspended at equal distances from each other from the with those at the hook of the sledge. And in the case of a top to the bottom of the walk, and, if meant to form one heavy rope, the top sledge (fig. 13) is made use of to sup- strand, would be hung on the hook which was to give them port the top. motion; and on the reels in the frame would be left just so The mail is used for white ropes only. When the strands much yarn as the strand should take up in hardening. The are hardened, and before the top is put in, workmen rub the strand would then be ready for twisting; and to do this in strands with the mail to smooth down any rough fibres, and such a manner as to make every yarn occupy its proper give a good surface to the rope. place, Mr Belfour employed an instrument called a top-miW e have now seen that in the processes described, every nor. This was a block of wood formed somewhat like a step is dependent on the skill of the workmen. In supply- sugar-loaf, and having inserted round its larger circumfeing fibres of hemp in due quantity to form the thread, in rence a number of projecting pins. Into the recesses formgiving the proper degree of twist to the thread, in giving ed by these pins the yarns were inserted, and motion being

R O P E-M A K I N G.

407 Ropematint? "heel, the top was moved slowly up the walk the thin edges of the one part overlapping those of the y tfr workman, the reels at the same time giving out the other, and the two parts being compressed by a thong or making. yarns as they were taken up by the twisting. When the wire wound round them several times, and fastened to the workman arrived at the first separator, the iron rods were, jaws of an instrument called a heaver. By means of this, by the contrivance already alluded to, at once withdrawn, and the yarns, in passing through the tube, can be compressed the yams left fiee, and so the workman proceeded until he by a constant force; and if the yarns be thicker or smaller ailived at the reel-frame, when the turning or heaving at tne in different parts of the strand, the tube will expand or conhook was stopped, and the strand prevented from untwist- tract, to suit the difference of size. ing, bj/ being seized in a kind of nipper formed of iron. In addition to these, an instrument called a register-gauge The ends of the yarns were then unfastened from the reels, is used to measure the angle of twist of the yarns in the and the strand was completed. By increasing the size of strands, with the view to employ the same twist when the the reel-frames and separators, and by using three top- strands are formed into a rope. Some of the parts of the minors fixed to a sledge or otherwise, three strands could machinery above noticed, it will be seen, have been adopted at the same time have been formed. The strands formed by other inventors, and some of them are still in use. by this machinery were then laid together into ropes in the 1797, September 13. At this time Mr William Chap01 dinary manner. man of Newcastle obtained a first patent for laying, twist1793. In April 12th of this year, Mr Richard Fothergill ing, or making ropes or cordage, of any number of yarns obtained a patent for rope-machinery, embracing the follow- or strands, or any number of threads tarred or untarred, ing objects: First, freeing the hemp from its native husk, from the size of a cable down to the smallest line formed and fitting it for the subsequent processes ; secondly, dress- of more than one thread. The machinery for this purpose ing the hemp, and di awing it out into slivers fit for spin- was less complicated than those formerly mentioned, but ning; thirdly, spinning the hemp; and, fourthly, twisting or was only capable of forming ropes on the' common prinmaking it into ropes or cordage. All these operations re- ciple. In the month of January 1798 he obtained a paquired no rope-walk to carry them on. Engravings of the tent for Scotland for further improvements in rope-machimachinery will be found in the fourteenth volume of the nery, and containing the substance of his former one and second series of the Repertory of Arts. of another taken out for England on the 6th of March 1793. In April 25th, Mr Joseph Huddart took out a pa- 1798. The inventions embrace the making of ropes either tent for certain improvements in the formation of ropes, by stationary machines, or by moving machinery on a ropeHis method of registering the strands, in order to acquire walk. In the former, the operations of forming the yarns an additional degree of strength, by giving the length of into strands, twisting the strands into a rope, and coiling the yarns which compose the strand a certain ratio, ac- away the rope, on reels or otherwise, go on at the same cording to the angle and hardness or compression the rope time. One of the arrangements of the machinery by which is intended to be laid with, and thereby acquiring a more these different operations are carried into effect, is as folequal distribution of the strain upon the yarns than ropes lows. Three or more discs, according to the number of made in the common way, consisted of the following prin- strands, are placed round a common centre, with their ciples : First, by keeping the yarns separate from each other, planes inclined to each other in such a manner that their and drawing them from bobbins which revolve, to keep up produced axes would meet in a given point. These discs the twist whilst the strand is forming; secondly, by passing are by the inventor termed strand-tables, and each of them through a register which divides them by circular shells of is fixed to a hollow shaft, capable of revolving round its holes, the number in each shell being agreeable to the dis- axis ; which shaft is called the strand-shaft or upper shaft, tance from the centre of the strand, and the angle the yarns These shafts are on the sides of the discs which are inclinmake with a line parallel to it, and gives them a proper ed to each other. On the opposite sides of the discs yarnposition to enter; thirdly, by a cylindrical tube, which com- reels are suspended on spindles, on which they can turn presses the strand, and maintains a cylindrical figure to its freely. The yarns from the reels are passed through the surface ; fourthly, by a gauge to determine the angle which shafts, and by the turning of the discs or strand-tables they the yarns in the outside shell make with a line parallel to are twisted into strands. In a part of the shaft there is a the centre of the strand when registering, and according transverse opening to admit of two blocks of hard wood or to the angle made by the yarns in this shell, the length of other matter being applied on each side to press the yarns, all the yarns in the strand will be determined ; lastly, by and retard their passage through the shafts, so that they may hardening up the strand, and thereby increasing the angle be twisted to the degree required. These blocks are callin the outside shell, which compensates for the stretching ed press-blocks or compressors, and are held together by of the yarns and compression of the strand. springs or weights. Instead of blocks the patentee someIn this, as in Belfour’s invention, the registering appara- times substitutes rollers moving round their axes, and boldtus was moved up the rope-walk by the twisting of the ing the yarns by their friction. Besides these, the yarns strand; but the machine differs from Belfour’s in the fol- pass through a perforated plate called a yarn-guide, lowing particulars. First, in place of the bobbins or reels The strand-tables all move round in one direction, and being fixed in an upright frame, they are placed in hori- the strands as they proceed from the shafts are concenzontal ranges, each range rising higher from the front to- trated into a point, over a fixed grooved block, correspondwards the back part of the machine. Secondly, in place of ing to the top in the ordinary process. Behind this block the separator of Belfour, sets of horizontal rails, notched the strands are received into a hollow axis, which turns to receive the yarns, and hung in cleats fixed to upright round in a direction contrary to the twist of the strandposts, are placed at regular intervals down the walk, so as tables, and in which the strands are formed into a shroudto keep the yarns separate the whole length of the strand, laid rope, by being twisted by the apparatus attached to Thirdly, in place of Mr Belfour’s top minor, a plate pierced the shaft. This consists of a pair of wheels or sheaves, with concentric circles of holes is made use of, the circles moving easily on their axes, to admit the rope a free pasbeing about two inches asunder; and behind this plate a sage, and at the same time compel it to twist equally round smaller plate, pierced with a similar number of holes, is with the shaft. These sheaves are grooved in such a manfixed, the holes in the latter plate being so close together ner as to prevent the rope from turning sideways, and are as merely to keep the yarns clear of each other. Imme- called twisting-sheaves. Instead of the sheaves moving diately behind this last plate is fixed a tube made of thin freely on their axes, such a motion may be given to them as, steel, of a spring temper, and in two parts longitudinally; in every revolution of the rope-shaft, which makes one turn ven £>’ b 0

HOP E-M A K IN G. 408 Rope- of the rope, the groove of the sheaves shall move such a whole, or any determinate part, of the strand be made. Ropemaking. Space as is equivalent to the length of rope that is designed The process of drawing back the sledge may be done in ^ making, v ^“ v^to be made by every turn. When the rope has passed various ways; amongst others, by a rope to a capstan, moved either by a horse or men, according to the strength through these sheaves, it is coiled upon a reel in such a manner as merely to require tying up ; but if too unwieldy requisite.” When the strands are thus twisted, the rope for reeling, it is coiled on a revolving platform. Such is may be completed in the usual way. Such, then, is a brief an outline of the process of making shroud-laid ropes by outline of the general features of these important invenMr Chapman’s machinery. For cable-laid ropes the same tions of Mr Chapman; but his own specification, with ilor similar machinery is used, the chief difference being, that lustrative drawings, will be found in the ninth volume of the in cable-laid ropes the twists are contrary, and the disparity first series of the Repertory of Arts. 1798. In this year also Mr Belfour obtained a patent for of turns in the strands and rope not so great as in shroud-laid ropes ; for which reasons, if the same machine be used, the an improvement on his former machinery; and in 1799 Mr means must be provided for making the shaft to assume Belfour’s machinery was adopted in the government-yards, contrary motions, and making them to move in different and the sum of L.4000 was paid to the inventor for his superintendence of the erection of his machine, and the use of proportions. “ By the method previously described,” says Mr Chap- his patent. 1798. November 8th, Mr Chapman at this time patentman, “ for making a complete rope at one operation, I, during the act of making the strands, unite them into a ed an invention, which was so to regulate the motion of the rope by means of what I then call a rope-shaft, in which sledge that for every revolution of the strand it should move they are all concentred, and receive the twist which forms backward through the exact length of axis assigned to it, them into a rope ; but I also occasionally omit the concen- and thus render the twist uniform. The sledge, in this case, tring of them, and the subsequent part of the operation, travelled backwards on a railroad; and along the whole length during the making of the strand or strands, and in place of the walk, a rope, called a ground-rope, was laid. This rope of twisting them into a rope, I only draw the strand for- was passed in the form of an S round two or more grooved ward as made, and coil it or them in any manner whatso- wheels, which were pressed together so as to bind the rope, ever, they in this instance having no rotative motion. and having upon their axles toothed wheels connecting The apparatus for drawing them forward is not fixed to them with each other, and with the hooks for twisting the the revolving shaft, containing the reel or reels and other strands, which in this case were driven by one great crank. necessary appendages, but may be permanent, and receive Thus, when the hooks were driven by the crank to twist its motion in any proportion whatever to the revolutions or the strands, the sledge was also moved backwards by the grooved wheels acting upon the rope ; and by changing the twists given to the strand by that shaft. “ The principles of making the strand in these two dif- connecting toothed wheels the backward motion could be ferent ways are obviously portions of the process that would, given in any ratio to the twist of the hooks. Besides this, as has been described, make the whole rope at one opera- Mr Chapman connected the sledge by a rope to a horse tion. And these two methods of making the strand, inde- capstan at the foot of the walk ; and as the horse’s power pendently of making the complete rope, are reducible to applied to the capstan could not draw the sledge faster backthe following principle : That in making a strand simply, wards than the ground-rope permitted, the spare power was one end need only to be twisted, and the other held from of course given in aid of the twisting of the strands by means turning, but that both be permitted to pass forward, and of the wheels which connect that operation with the backprogressively change place; and that the yarns be, if deemed ward motion. 1798. November 17th, Mr John Curr of Sheffield took a necessary, so regulated as to come off these reels in such a manner as the part of the strand they come into may require. patent for forming flat ropes for the use of mines, &c. “ There is a third method of making a strand, com- “ The said flat rope may be formed,” says Mr Curr, “ by pounded of the two preceding, which may be followed, viz. connecting two or more small ropes sideways together, by that of using two revolving shafts in place of one ; the reels sewing or stitching, lapping, or interlacing them with thread, being placed on one of them, and the strand coiling upon or small rope made of hemp, flax, or other fit material, or the other. These two shafts ought to turn in contrary di- with brass or iron wire, in such a manner as to prevent their separating from each other, and so as to cause them to exrections to each other.” The part of the invention in which a common rope-walk hibit, as nearly as possible, a flat form, or flat pliable rope. 1799. April 30th, Mr Belfour obtained another patent is made use of is thus described by the inventor : “ At the head of the ropey, or in any other part, I fix upon pins so for a further improvement on his invention. This consisted, many reels as will contain all the yarns requisite for a strand, among other things, in winding a number of yarns, not exor the given number of strands determined to be made at ceeding four, upon each reel, and forming them, as before, one time, each reel containing one or more yarns; then in into strands. He farther proposed to spin the hemp after the instance of making three strands, I fix to three different having been tarred; and also to place a spinning-wheel at hooks on the foreboard of a sledge, so many yarns, separate- each end of the rope-walk, to enable the spinners to spin ly concentring to each other, as are requisite; the yarns both up and down in the manner now practised. If we being previously passed through the openings of these se- mistake not, this method of spinning up and down is menparate fixed tops or yarn-guides, one opposite to or corre- tioned by Duhamel as being in use in his time. However spondent with each hook. Before, or on the face, or on the this be, it was, on Mr Belfour’s recommendation, adopted face of each top, toward the sledge, there may or may not be in the government rope-works, and, according to the report fixed a cylinder, such as I have described, below the laying of Mr Fenwick, the master rope-maker at Chatham, a savblock at the head of the rope-shaft. The yarns are then to ing was effected by it to the amount of a sixth part of a be prevented from passing too easily off their reel, either by day’s work to each man. a pressure on the reels themselves, or on the yarns in their 1799. July 26th, Mr William Chapman, in conjunction passage to or upon their separate tops, or in any manner that with Mr Edward Chapman, took a patent for many improvewill permit them to come off as wanted. ments in the art; the first of which was for machinery to spin