THE signal-bell of St. Germain was Philip Sidney’s first warning of the unparalleled coup d’etat that wakened France upon that “awful morn.” The penetrative art of the wily English minister had, for once, been baffled by Medicean craft, and thus his countrymen were all unconscious of the sleeping volcano on which they trod in fearless and festive measure. His house was their immediate refuge, and there Sidney remained until, the personal danger being past, he could pursue his intended travels. Walsingham, who seemed to be much impressed with what he termed, in a letter to Lord Leicester, the rare gifts of his nephew, made every provision for the safety of the wanderer, and secured for him through Lorrain, the companionship of the good Dean of Winchester. Perhaps a prophetic instinct may have warmed the heart of Sir Francis, and dimly revealed in the distance a closer link between himself and his youthful guest. For even on this blood-stained soil, were sown the seeds of life and love; and here Sidney first saw, we are told, his future wife, the Lady Frances Walsingham, then a beautiful child, whose passionate grief for the Huguenots called forth his sympathizing and tender regard.
From the brief records of our hero’s progress, we learn of his passing through Strasburg and Heidelberg to Frankfort; pausing, we may believe, in the former city, at least long enough to bestow a tribute of admiration upon the celebrated cathedral, with its elaborate and delicately wrought tower, its famous clock, and its vast window of richly painted glass, then recently completed. In Heidelberg too, that picturesque old town, nestling in the vine-clad valley of the Neckar, then flourishing with commerce and uninjured by the bombardments and assaults of later years, we may fancy his visits to the ancient castle, the residence of the Electors Palatine, interesting both from its varied fortunes and its architectural grandeur; thence to the Church of St. Peter, to whose door Jerome of Prague attached his theses, and expounded them to the crowd in the churchyard adjoining; and again we may see him in the venerable University, one of the oldest in Germany, gazing with a student’s awe upon the valuable books and manuscripts, which, in the scarcity of straw, were afterwards ignobly used in the thirty years war, to litter the cavalry of the conqueror Tilly.
Sidney’s stay in Frankfort was of several months duration. He resided with Andrew Wechel, a noted printer of that day, and also a man of learning, for in the sixteenth century printers were scholars too, and their houses were the favorite resorts of men of taste and letters. Here Sidney formed an acquaintance with Hubert Languet, an estimable and accomplished French gentleman, lately a professor of civil law in the University of Padua, a friend of Melancthon, and an honored confidant of Gustavus of Sweden, and of William of Orange. His graceful urbanity of manner, extraordinary conversational gifts, marvellous erudition, extended political knowledge, and unpretending goodness, rendered him one of the brightest ornaments of the times. To him Sidney was indebted for much instruction in the governments, laws, and usages of nations, by which he was fitted for the duties of a diplomatist and statesman; and with unwearied heart and watchful eye this kind Mentor sought in his two years’ abode upon the continent, to guard him from evil and temptation, to fortify and exalt his native virtues, and to guide his aspiring mind. It was high praise to win the warm and lasting friendship of this distinguished man, who first attracted by Sidney’s countenance and discourse, afterwards said of him, “That day on which I first beheld him with my eyes, shone propitious to me.” He is thus gratefully celebrated by Sir Philip in the Arcadia:
“The song I sang old Languet had me taught,
Languet, the shepherd best swift Ister knew,
For darkly read, and hating what is naught,
For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true,
With his sweet skill my soulless youth he drew
To have a feeling taste of Him that sits
Beyond the heaven, far more beyond your wit.
His good strong staff my slippery youth upbore;
He still hoped well, because I loved truth.”
The letters of Languet to Sir Philip, written in Latin, have been much commended for their admirable sentiments and classic elegance of style. Unfortunately, but a small portion of Sidney’s share in the correspondence has been preserved. The table-talk at the house of Andrew Wechel would be to us a pleasant record, but we are left to fancy the sparkling conversations of the erudite printer and his guests; how they talked of the mystical Platonism and the Aristotelian logic which divided the philosophy of Europe, yet untouched by the Promethean fire of Bacon and Des Cartes; of the struggling hopes of their revered religion, in these tempestuous times; of Italian literature, still irradiating Christendom with the glory, which, reflected from the two preceding centuries, was not yet sensibly obscured by the meretricious taste and the political despotism that were beginning to shed their baneful influence upon the present era; of Venetian splendor, of Roman art, and of a thousand other themes that kindled the enthusiasm of the ardent Sidney. With reluctant adieus, he at last severed himself from the delightful society at Frankfort, and, laden with rich memorial and garnered love, proceeded to Vienna, in September, 1573.
The capital of the Germanic Empire could not then boast the attractive features that have since rendered it one of the most brilliant cities of Europe. But the famous Church of St. Stephen, and some other types of that stately and gorgeous architecture whose creation ceased with the age of Christian idolatry that inspired it; the University and the imperial Library, the most distinguished in Germany save that of Heidelberg, were objects of interest to our traveller; as also were, both here and in the other cities of his sojourn, the works of the old German painters, so remarkable for their microscopic exactness and minute elaboration, of Von Eyck, who revolutionized his art by the introduction of oils, of Kranach, of Holbein, and of Albert Durer, the Raphael of his country, and the inventor of engravings upon copper.
Sidney here applied himself with especial zeal to the study of those accomplishments which were deemed essential to the finish of a highborn cavalier; fencing, the use of arms in tournament and tilt, tennis playing, music, and, above all, horsemanship. His preceptor in the latter art was the chief equerry in the Emperor’s stables, to whose eloquent partiality for his profession Sidney thus alludes in his Defence of Poesy.
“When the right vertuous E. W. and I were at the Emperor’s court together, we gave ourselves to learn horsemanship of John Pietro Pugliano, one that with great commendation held the place of Esquire in his Stable; and he, according to the fertileness of the Italian wit did not only afford us the demonstration of his practice, but sought to enrich our minds with the contemplation therein, which he thought most precious. But with none I remember mine eares were at any time more loaden, than when (either angered with slow payment, or moved with our learner-like admiration) hee exercised f his speech in the praise of his faculty. He said souldiers were the noblest estate of mankind, and horsemen the noblest of souldiers. He said they were the masters of war, and ornaments of peace, speedy goers and strong abiders, triumphers both in camps and courts; nay, to so unbeleeved a point, he proceeded, as that no earthly thing bred such wonder to a Prince, as to be a good horseman. Then would he ad de certaine praises, by telling what a peerless beast the horse was, the only serviceable Courtier without flattery, the beast of most beauty, faithfulnesse, courage, and such more, that if I had not bin a peece of a logician before I came to him, I think he would have perswaded me to have wished myself a horse.”
To Venice, the brilliant centre of taste and fashion, and still the proud claimant of a maritime sovereignty that was rapidly passing into other hands, Philip Sidney next directed his way. What motley pictures of the past and present must have flitted before his eye as he stood upon the Rialto, or trod the tesselated pavement of St. Mark, — from the far-off day when the fugitive fishermen of these sterile isles sold their humble wares upon the neighboring coasts, on, through centuries of industry and toil, until the flag of the fearless republic floated defiantly over every sea, and commanded respect from every people. He looked back upon the dreary ages when darkness brooded over Europe, and Art had taken refuge in the city of Constantine, and saw in Venice the only causeway through which the gorgeous trappings and luxurious commodities of the East were conveyed to Germany and France. He saw the mountains of Istria furnishing flocks for the woollen fabrics of this busy people; the coast of Frioul, mulberry trees for their silks; the islands of the Levant, their sugar-canes and wines; their ships and their treasures more than once gladly borrowed by kings and nobles, during the wars in Palestine; and workmen from Athens, Thebes, and Corinth, finding rich reward in the reproduction of their classic models of sculpture, while antique gems, mosaics and bronzes, the marble of Palladio and the canvas of Titian, now enriched their churches and their palaces. Unaffected alike by Oriental voluptuousness and by Gothic barbarism, their prosperity and their refinement kept equal pace; while the jealous, relentless despotism of their government repressed domestic treason and precluded foreign guile.
But the tide had even now turned, and was sweeping away from the mistress of the seas the golden treasures of her youth.
The discovery of America, and of a new passage to the Indies by the Cape of Good Hope diverting from the Adriatic the merchandise of Asia, the jealousy of Spain, the commercial rivalry of other nations, the inroads of the Turks, and the loss of Cyprus and Candia, were the causes of a decline which neither enterprise could arrest, nor vigilance avert.
In 1574, Venice was the neutral ground on which men of all creeds and countries could meet safely, and with pleasure; it was still the emporium of trade, and the rendezvous of poets, painters, and sculptors. Flitting about its canals, were young cavaliers from England and France, bartering for the silks and laces indispensable to their attire, or for the polished weapons and gilded leather equally essential to their equestrian display. Turbaned Turks, now on an embassy from Constantinople, commanded respectful notice in the halls of audience; for the Doge and the Council of Ten feared nothing so much as these insatiable foes. Military men from Stockholm and Madrid exchanged admiration over the magnificent arsenal from whose ramparts the gigantic granite lions of the Piraeus, trophies of Venetian conquest in Athens, looked down upon the harbor. Here were sixteen thousand workmen, constantly employed in replenishing vast magazines with all the different pieces requisite in the construction of vessels; the immense founderies, under the hereditary superintendence of the family of Alberghetti, and, on the same grand scale, the rope-walks in which the best cables in the world were made. The glass-works of Murano furnished mirrors to the vanity of all Europe. The lovers of art found endless delight in the rich paintings, which, although lacking the anatomical accuracy, perspective skill, and comprehensive grandeur of the Florentine school, and the truthful design, matchless grace, and ideal beauty of the Roman, were celebrated for their brilliant coloring and harmonious blending of tints. Rejecting the religious and mystical subjects, the Saints and Madonnas, to which art was usually consecrated, the Venetian painters followed the popular fancy for florid decoration, and immortalized on the walls of St. Mark and in the Ducal Palace the grave senators and voluptuous beauties, the gorgeous festivals and processions that gave to Venice the air of an Oriental city. Bellini had, a hundred years before, adorned the council chamber with the pictured achievements of the proud Republic. Giorgione, his illustrious pupil and the teacher of Titian, had left his masterpiece, “Christ carrying the Cross,” in the Church of St. Roco. Pordenone had painted his frescoes in the Church of St. Stefano, with sword by his side, to protect himself against the jealousy of his rival, the impetuous Titian. Andrea Schiavone, rescued by the latter from the obscurity of sign-painting, was living, and in poverty; for he shared the fate, so often allotted to genius, of contemporary neglect and posthumous praise. Paul Veronese was now at the height of his brilliant reputation, and Palma was embellishing the palace of St. Mark. Zuccaro, who afterwards so splendidly decorated the hall of the Grand Council that he was rewarded with the order of knighthood, was at present in England, painting the portraits of Elizabeth, and some of her courtiers. Yet more conspicuous than these was Tintoretto, whose bold, rapid, fantastic pencil procured for him the sobriquet of “II Furioso.” His efforts to combine Florentine grandeur with Venetian coloring were evidenced in the inscription on the door of his studio, “II Disegno di Michel Angelo, e il Colorito di Tiziano.” His finest picture was that of a Venetian slave, about to suffer martyrdom from the Turks, when St. Mark, the patron saint of the republic, suddenly appears, in answer to her prayers, destroys the instruments of death, and disperses the executioners. But superior to all was Titian, the last and greatest of the Venetian school, now enjoying the mellowed radiance of a serene old age in his palace opposite the island of Mnrano, at the windows of which he might often bè seen at the sunset hour, listening to the songs of the gondoliers, or conversing with the many guests who sought his presence. We may be sure that Philip Sidney visited the illustrious artist who had been honored by kings and lauded throughout Europe; to pick up whose pencil, Charles V. pronounced a service worthy of an emperor, and whose pictures were declared by him to be above all price.
The kindred art of music was the pastime of all the sons of -genius. They often met for its enjoyment; and Tintoretto, as Giorgione a few years before, was often persuaded to lend to patrician concerts the peculiar melody of his voice.
Palladio, the famous architect, was still living. Sansovino, the sculptor, had died two years before; but his fame survived in the colossal statues of Neptune and of Mars, and in the decorations of the Mint and Library. Here, too, were men of letters. Tasso, still young, had written his Rinaldo, and was about publishing his Jerusalem. Francis Sansovino and Manutius, the learned printers and classical writers; Paruta, the historian; Paoli Sarpi, subsequently the able defender of Venice in its quarrels with Pius V., were the other celebrities of the day: and we have good reason to believe that Sidney frequently enjoyed the advantages of their society.
The temptations of this gay city to young men of rank and fortune were doubtless manifold, and few of his countrymen escaped their contamination. Roger Ascham, the good preceptor of Lady Jane Grey, lamented the practice of sending the youth of England to reside in Italy; declaring that they returned <( sneerers, flatterers, backbiters, tainted with the vices of Venice, atheists, and epicures.” But the watchful counsels of Languet, his own æsthetic and literary studies, and especially his pure and elevated principles, preserved Sidney from the evils whose mildew, once fallen on the soul, time and tears only can efface. And here it may be interesting to present to the reader a brief extract on the objects of self-culture, from one of Sidney’s works; regarding it as an expression of his habits of thought and study, at all periods of his life.
“This purifying of wTit, this enriching of memory, ennobling of judgment and enlarging of conceit, which commonly we call learning; under what name soever it come forth, or to what immediate end soever it be directed, the final end is, to lead and draw us to as high perfection as our degenerate souls (made coarse by their clay lodgings) can be capable of. This, according to the inclinations of man, bred many-formed impressions; for some that thought this felicity principally to be gotten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so high or heavenly as to be acquainted with the stars, gave themselves to astronomy; others persuading themselves to be demi-gods, if they knew the causes of things, became natural and supernatural philosophers; some, an admirable delight drew to Music; and some, the certainty of demonstrations, to the mathematics; but all, one and other, having this scope, To KNOW, and by knowledge to lift up the mind from the dungeon of the body, to the enjoying of its divine essence. But when, by the balance of experience, it was found that the astronomer, looking to the stars, might fall into a ditch, that the inquiring philosopher might be blind to himself, and the mathematician might draw forth a straight line with a crooked heart; — then, lo! did Proof, the overruler of opinions, make manifest that all these are but serving sciences; which, as they are all directed to the higher aim of the mistress-knowledge, Knowledge of a Man’s Self, in the ethic and politic consideration — with the end of Well Doing, not of well knowing only — so the end of all earthly learning being virtuous action, those skills that most serve to bring forth that, have a most just title to be princes over the rest.”
After a few months sojourn in Venice, Sidney withdrew to the quiet and learned city of Padua, that he might devote himself to severe study in the sciences of geometry and astronomy, to Cicero’s Epistles, and the works of Plutarch, which were then very rare and with difficulty obtained. He remained there eight months, assiduously storing his mind with the wisdom of the acute and critical Greek, and forming his style upon the classic elegance of the Roman; while his recreation was found in the pages of Petrarch and Boccaccio, of Dante and Ariosto, whose hymns of genius still thrill the pulse of fair but faded Italy.
Of Sidney’s correspondence with Languet only seventeen letters have been handed down to us; but they most pleasantly indicate the friendship of these eminent men, their mutual interest in the political transactions of the times, and Sidney’s scholastic pursuits under the direction and advice of his learned guide. Here is one dated January 15, 1574:
“Behold at last my letter from Padua! Not that you are to expect any greater eloquence than is usually to be found in my epistles, but that you may know I have arrived here as I proposed, and in safety; and I think it right without any delay to write you a few words from hence, for your satisfaction and my own, as far as communication by letter can be satisfactory. Here I am then, and I have already visited his Excellency the Count and the Baron Slavata, your worthy young friends, and while I enjoy their acquaintance with the greater pleasure to myself, I am perpetually reminded of your surpassing love of me, which you show in taking so much care not only for me, but for all my concerns and conveniences, and that without any deserving on my part. But you are not a man to be thanked for such a thing; for you are even now meditating greater kindness still, and in truth, as far as I am concerned, much as I am indebted to you, I am only too willing to owe you more —
Your last letter brought me no news, for it was filled with instances of your affection, ever pleasant indeed, but long since known and proved, a kind of letter which is, above all others, delightful and acceptable to me, for while I read I fancy that I have the very Hubert himself before my eyes and in my hands. I intend to follow your advice about composition thus: I shall first take one of Cicero’s letters and turn it into French; then from French into English, and so once more by a sort of perpetual motion it shall come round into Latin again. Perhaps too I shall improve myself in Italian by the same exercise. For I have some letters translated into the vulgar tongue by the very learned Paolo Manuzio, and into French, by some one else. The volumes of Cicero I will read diligently. There are some things also that I wish to learn of Greek, which hitherto I have skimmed on the surface. But the chief object of my life, next to the everlasting blessedness of heaven, will always be the enjoyment of true friendship, and there you shall have the chiefest place.”...
On the 4th of February he writes again: —
“Your last letter was, on many accounts, most delightful to me, full as it was of your affectionate regard. I am glad you approve of my intention of giving up the study of astronomy, but about geometry I hardly know what to determine. I long so greatly to be acquainted with it, and the more so, because I have always felt sure that it is of the greatest service in the art-of war; nevertheless I shall pay but sparing attention to it, and only peep through the bars, so to speak, into the rudiments of the science. Of Greek literature I wish to learn only so much as shall suffice for the perfect understanding of Aristotle. For though translations are made almost daily, still I suspect they do not declare the meaning of the author plainly or aptly enough; and besides, I am utterly ashamed to be following the stream, as Cicero says, and not go to the fountain head. Of the works of Aristotle, I consider the politics to be the most worth reading; and I mention this in reference to your advice that I should apply myself to moral philosophy. Of the German language, my dear Hubert, I absolutely despair. It has a sort of harshness, (you know very well what I mean,) so that at my age, I have no hope that I shall ever master it, even so as to understand it; nevertheless, to please you, -I will sometimes practise it, especially at dinner with my good Delius. I readily allow that I am often more serious than either my age or my pursuits demand; yet this I have learned by experience, that I am never less a prey to melancholy than when I. am earnestly applying the feeble powers of my mind to some high and difficult object.
“Iam both glad and sorry that you ask me so urgently for my portrait; glad, because a request of this kind breathes the spirit of that sweet and long-tried affection with which you regard me; and sorry that you have any hesitation in asking me for so mere a trifle.”.. “As soon as ever I return to Venice, I will have it done either by Paul Veronese or by Tintoretto, who hold by far the highest place in the art.”...
His letters in April and May of the same year are replete with anxiety in regard to the prospects of the Protestant cause: —
“I would have you believe that I am deeply and sincerely distressed. For I have heard, and that from no obscure persons, but even from the Council of Ten, that Count Louis has been defeated and mortally wounded; his brother taken, and a great number of his people slain, among whom, most distinguished, are Christopher, son of the Palatine, and certain Counts of the Rhine, as they are called. And they say that such a panic has arisen from this in Belgium, that unless some Christian prince comes to the rescue, affairs are tending to a surrender. I hope, indeed, and hope because I wish, that this is a false rumor, spread about to please the Spaniards, who desire nothing so much as that men should believe they are prospering. But howsoever it may be, my dearest Languet, this at least is certain, that our princes are enjoying too deep a slumber.”... “I lately saw a work, written with some skill, in which the author strongly urges the princes whom he calls Catholic, to carry out the decrees of the Council of Trent; and he finds occasion for this especially in the disgraceful indolence of the German princes; for while some of them are engaged in carousals, others in absurd hunting parties, others again in turning the course of rivers with lavish expenditure; and all, except the Palatine, have made up their minds to neglect their people and ruin themselves, he is confident they may easily be crushed.”... “I have written to-day to my uncle, the Earl of Leicester, and have told him all the results which the Spaniards promise themselves from this victory. Perhaps some good may come of my letter, and if not, at any rate, for my own part, I would rather be charged with lack of wisdom than of patriotism.”....
— “I hear the Turks are making great preparations this year, so that I hope the Spaniards will have to think more of defending their own homes than of attacking other men. And hence many persons begin to doubt whether John of Austria will return to Spain. Cosmo, Duke of Florence, died the other day; his people lament him greatly, with the same feelings as those of the woman of Syracuse, who prayed long life to King Dionysius. His successor is even now busily treating with the Turks, that his Etrurian subjects may have free access to trade in Greece.”— “I do hope that before many years are past, the virtues of these Spaniards will be understood by the whole world. They were born slaves, and have done nothing ever since (as if to make bad worse) but change their masters; for they have always been servants of Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Goths, Saracens, or Moors; of late, indeed, they have been somewhat raised by the character of one man, Charles, and he was a Belgian, and since his death all the world sees with what speed they are hastening back to their original condition.”....
The University of Padua was one of the most renowned in this age and country of scholars, and Philip Sidney must often have met its erudite professors in the salons of the renowned Pinelli. This refined and wealthy gentleman made his house the resort of distinguished men from all parts of the world, and generously opened to them his library, containing every valuable book in print, and his museum of curiosities and of scientific instruments. — , Returning to Venice in February, 1574, Sidney wrote to Languet of his purpose to visit Rome. That faithful friend, alarmed it would seem, lest his religious principles should be subverted in the head-quarters of Romish proselytism, sent him repeated and earnest letters of dissuasion, assuring him that a visit there would hazard both his faith and his reputation. “If you should fall into the hands of those robbers at Rome,” he writes, “you must either renounce the religion you profess, or expose your life to extreme danger. It would be entirely impossible for you altogether to escape them; for although you might not have reason to be afraid of the treachery of those who pretend to be your friends, yet the dignity of your aspect would cause many to be inquisitive concerning you. What mighty advantage would accrue to you from inspecting for a few days the ruins of Rome, merely to boast that you had seen them? God has granted to you more than to any one I know, an energy of genius, not for the purpose of abusing it, by examining vain objects to your great danger, but of employing it for the advantage of your country and of all good men. You are only the steward as it were of your noble talents, and by the abuse of them you offend against that Being who has conferred such a blessing on you.”
“Mi dulcissime filii,” he adds in another letter, “it is difficult for a man clothed in white apparel to remain in an apartment filled with smoke and dust, without soiling his garment; nor can the complexion which has been long exposed to the sun, retain its native hue. Equally difficult it will be for you to preserve your mind pure and spotless if you converse with the Italians; the inhabitants of Venice and Padua alone excepted, who have not yet entirely degenerated from the simplicity of those nations from which they deduce their origin.”
Sidney yielded to the advice of his friend, but expressed regret at a later period of his life that he had not visited the imperial city, and seen with his own eyes the fanes of pagan prayer mouldering among the Christian ideals of Raphael and Angelo; that he had not stood within the shadows of the Coliseum, or meditated among the eloquent sepulchres of the Appian Way.
Paul Veronese was the artist whom Sidney employed about this time to paint his portrait. Languet attributes its sad and thoughtful expression to the severe studies which had occupied his mind, and somewhat impaired his health.
Just before his final departure from Venice, he had the pleasure of witnessing a superb fête given to Henry III. of France, on his way from Poland to Paris. It will be remembered that when Duke of Anjou, he was the hero of Jarnac and Moncontour, successfully opposing, at the age of eighteen, the most marvellous prowess to the veteran skill of the elder Condé and Coligni. We next hear of some hollow-hearted matrimonial negotiations with Elizabeth of England, and then of his active part in the tragedy of St. Bartholomew. The following year, the death of the last brave Jagellon left Poland without a king, and Henry Valois was invited to the empty throne. The splendid pageant of his progress through Germany, and his entrance with an escort of forty thousand richly dressed attendants, was followed by a brief and discontented reign. Disappointed in his kingdom and unpopular with his subjects, on the death of his brother Charles IX., he joyfully threw down the crown already hated, and hastened to assume that of his hereditary realm. Having accepted an invitation to visit Venice on his way, the most elaborate preparations were there made for his reception. A gorgeous galley was built for his especial use, and thirty patrician youth appointed to attend him. The Doge went to meet him in the royal Bucentaur and the dignified body of senators escorted him to the palace of the Fosçari. The city resounded with music by day, and blazed with illuminations by night. The venerable Titian received the princely cortège at his palace, and presented the king with several of his paintings. Another day he was conducted to the arsenal, where a mechanical feat was exhibited in the entire construction of a vessel in the space of two hours. A grand banquet was then given on board, at which the knives and forks, plates and napkins were all, with curious inutility, composed of sugar. At a subsequent entertainment in the ducal palace, three hundred groups of lions, nymphs, ships, and griffins, of the same material were gallantly presented to the fair Portias of the occasion.
Nearly three years had passed away sifice Philip Sidney’s departure from his native land, and he was now impatient to return. They had been years of unwearied research and diligent acquisition, rearing a worthy superstructure upon the basis of his early education. He had learned to converse fluently in the French, Spanish, and Italian languages; he had enriched his mind with classic lore and familiarized it with the literature of the age. From the schools of philosophy he had won the power of subtle thought, from the study of the sciences, that of critical analysis; and in th§ works of art he had seen embodied the ideals of his own poetic fancy. He had learned — Darn’s Histoire de la République de Venise, 2d éd., Paris, 1821. lessons of statesmanship and of military life; and prepared himself equally for the perplexing duties of the one, and the arduous action of the other. To all this must be added that irresistible grace which baffles imitation and cannot be described; but which, emanating from the serene religious faith that was with him not only a principle but a feeling, bestowed, as the dew upon the flower, its crowning excellence upon the unfolded beauty of his character.
His homeward route through Germany was rapid, and unmarked by striking incidents. We next hear of his presentation at court under the auspices of his uncle, the Earl of Leicester.