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From The Spectator. I could wish it; but God knows I did not THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF CHARLES V.* do it out of vanity.” And then he concludes
If we are disposed to question somewhat by saying, “ I was on the point of throwing unceremoniously the claims of this book, the whole into the fire; hut, as I hope, if author, translator, and publisher have them- God gives me life, to arrange this history in selves to blame. It might have been
such guise that he shall not find himself ill
supposed that in a work of such pretensions as served therein, I send it to you, that it may The Autobiography of the Emperor Charles not run the risk of being lost.” To whom, V., long lost and unexpectedly recovered, moreover, do we owe the second title, with ordinary care would have been taken to in- its ostentatious air of antiquity and its
porform the reader of the condition, age, and tentous blunder, assigning the death of King handwriting of the MS. from which it had Philip, the father of Charles, “whom God been derived. It does not profess to be the have in his glory,” to the year 1516, instead original traced by the hand of the
of 1506 ? This misstatement never issued
emperor himself, or his secretary. It is not even sup
from the pen of Charles himself; and we posed to be in the language which Charles should have supposed the Baron de Lettenhimself would have employed, whatever that bove too well acquainted with history to fall might have been. All that its discoverer,
into such an inaccuracy. Whether these the Baron de Lettenhove, condescends to things be the result of carelessness or design, tell us, is that in the Imperial Library at they do not speak much for the authenticity Paris he stumbled upon the MS., under the
of work of such high pretensions, or for Spanish division, to which it had been con
that scrupulous attention to minute points signed by some careless or ignorant libra- of evidence which, both from editor and rian, instead of the Portuguese (the lan- translator, every reader has a right to exguage in which it is written), and that a note pect. informs the reader that it was translated
Nor is the internal evidence of the book from the French original, still remaining at
much more conclusive in its favor. Baron Madrid in the year 1620. At what time, lumbering preface, little improved by the
de Lettenhove, in a somewhat tumid and then, was this copy made ? Is it a clean copy or a corrected draft? Because the best graces of his translator, not only claims for Portuguese scholar translating at once from
his discovery an importance which is natua French original—as in this case the author ral in all discoverers of long-missing docuprofesses to have done—would hardly have ments, but he seems to think that henceaccomplished his task without some indica
forth all histories of Charles V. are doomed tions of the conditions under which he was
to silence, and the biographers of the emworking. He would have blotted out this perors, with Robertson at their head, must word or that, he would have changed a
be consigned to oblivion. A new light has phrase here or there, and we should then dawned, before which all others,
they have had some approximate test as to the stars, gas-lights or candle-lights, must go accuracy of his assertions. To whom do we out, as before the meridian splendor of these owe the title of the book ? To the MS., the
new-found memoirs. “ After having antranscriber , Baron de Lettenhove, Mr. Simp. Charles V.?”—though, by the by, as we
nounced,” he says, “ the Commentaries of son, the translator, or his publishers ? An autobiography it is not in
have stated already, this is not his announcefair sense of
any the word. Nor in the letter prefixed to it
, ment, unless Mr. Simpson has taken unwarand professing to be addressed to Philip II. rantable liberties—there is nothing to be by the emperor himself, is it called by that added to the title. It is just that the voice “ The history," he says, “is that
of the prince, whom the faithful Quijada which I composed in French when we were
called the greatest man that ever lived or travelling on the Rhine, and which I finished will live,' should be heard after three centuat Augsberg." “ It is not,” he adds,“ such as
ries of silence, free and unshackled by mur
murs and contradictors." What this means * The Autobiography of the Emperor Charles y., we do not very clearly see. “ At a later recently discovered in the Portuguese Language by Baron "Kerryn de Lettenhove. Translated by 2. period history will resume her rights, but Simpson, M.R.S.L.
henceforth, before appreciating the political
career of Charles V., it will be necessary to that age had better opportunities than he study his own judgment of it, at a moment for writing an autobiography which would when, the better to interrogate his con- have been profoundly interesting. Even the science, he was preparing voluntarily to re- careless overflowings of his own experience, linquish the most vast power that ever was however hasty or tumultuous, would have known.” So far as we can make it out, we made a volume incomparably more enchantdemur as much to the ethics as we do to the ing than any which that or almost any other grammar of this magniloquent sentence. age could have placed before us. No prince, We do not see that history is necessarily past or present, was ever thrust by the force bound to take up the judgment of Charles of circumstances or the advantages of posiV. on his own political doings and misdo- tion into more chequered scenes, or brought ings, or that she would by such a course into contact with men of greater mark and
resume her rights," which Baron de Let- force of character than Charles V.; and that tenhove and his translator, Mr. Simpson, not in a time when the passions of men had seem to imagine have been hitherto unjus- little means of displaying themselves in their tifiably withheld. But even if the historian full vigor, but when every influence was at were so bound, he need be under no great work for good or evil, and all the civilized apprehension on that head, so far as this world, like the minds of men, was convulsed assumed autobiography is concerned. We from one end of it to the other. The last defy the most willing or deferential inquirer of that imperial line, the inheritor of those to find out what that judgment was, or to great traditions which connected him with point out a single new fact in this book, his namesake of the ninth century, and written at the moment when the great em- through him with imperial Rome, gathering peror was preparing “to interrogate his up in himself the lines of kings and queens conscience," which can arrest, reverse, or who had been famous for centuries in Chriseven modify, the judgment which history tendom, connected by blood and alliance has passed already on the political career with every monarch of his time, the chamof Charles V. In this dreary, desolate, pion of the Church against the heretic on “ drowthy," uninviting narrative of one hun- one hand and the Turk on the other, imagdred and fifty pages, unilluminated by a sin- ination cannot realize a grander position gle ray of enthusiasm, unrelieved by a passing than that in which Charles found himself, or thought of the matchless revolutions of men one which necessarily brought him into more and times to which its author had been in- immediate contact with all the moving incistrumental, with not one single trait of indi- dents of that most moving age. Historians vidual character, not one poor anecdote, not may have confounded the man with his enone reminiscence of love, friendship, hatred, vironments, and taken his measure from his pleasure or pain-except it be an exact enu-accidents; they may have too readily thought meration of fits of the gout—what is there that he had achieved a greatness which was, in all these pages, we should be glad to in truth, rather thrust upon him than know, that can add any fresh halo to the achieved; still, if not a great actor, he was memory of Charles, which ignorance and de- an actor, often the prime and sole actor, in traction have hitherto unjustly eclipsed ? great things; and his correspondence, pubHistory will resume her rights forsooth ! lished and unpublished, shows he was an Well, if it should, it will be to pronounce actor in more things than even written hisCharles V. one of the dullest and dreariest tory gives him credit for. No king had ever of mankind; not a monarch of brass or seen so much as he. Twice in England, frebronze, but a monarch of lead, a king of more quently in Spain, Germany, France, and than Bæotian capacity for imposing on the Italy, more than once in Rome, in Africa imagination of posterity.
against the Moors, closeted with Wolsey at We admit that we hope, for his credits Bruges, conferring with Francis I. in his sake, that this autobiography is not authen- prison at Madrid, debating with Luther at tic; that it is nothing more than a few hasty Worms, the sole depositary of all Queen notes or memorials, intended by the em- Katharine's secrets at the unhappy period peror, had God given him life, to serve for of her divorce, the prime adviser of her à larger and juster volume. No man of daughter Mary in her marriage with Philip,
as may still be seen in his correspondence | struck all Christendom with consternation, preserved at Simancas, what revelations and the battle of Mohacz, which sealed the could he not have made of events and per- fate of Hungary and his own sister Mary, sons had he been so minded ? or what auto- are not even mentioned. Not a single trait biography so rich, when retired from the of the character or personal appearance of world he dictated to his secretary, Van any one of his contemporaries, great or Male, at Yuste, the rich lessons of his long small, seems to have fastened on his imagand varied experience ? Surely, a man of ination or his memory. He is, indeed, the less busy life and less stirring ambition than central figure of his own narrative, and the Charles V., in his sombre solitude, as he most important, but that is by wiping out of looked back upon the breathing world which his canvas all others, and throwing them he had left, amidst “ his gardens of lemon into such an immeasurable distance, that no and orange trees, and sparkling fountains distinct impression of them is made upon and basins,” could not have failed to have the spectator. In fact, from beginning to left some impressions in his memoirs of end, the book is full of the emperor's marches those noble scenes- "sad, high, and work and countermarches, of what he might have ing full of state and woe,” in which he had done and didn't do ; how he got into a wood once played so important a part. If, how- and got out again, marched up a hill and ever, in the work now before us, which pro- marched down ; and the marvellous minutefesses to contain his autobiography, the ness with which these points are insisted on, reader expects to meet with any such reve- bears a ludicrous disproportion to their want lations, he will find himself miserably mis- of importance. We know of no parallel to taken. If these are the incidents he would; it in reality or romance, except it be in naturally look out for in the life of Charles Foote’s farce of “The Mayor of Garratt : " V., he will look in vain for them here. “Oh! such marchings and countermarchKatharine and her divorce, and all its mo- ings! From Brentford to Ealing; from mentous consequences cannot draw from the Ealing to Acton; from Acton to Uxbridge ! imperial narrator a single passing expression The dust flying, sun scorching, men sweatof regret. Luther and Wolsey may as well ing !” Such a chronicle of flocci, nihili, have never been, for any notice they receive parvi, is this Autobiography of Charles V., in his pages. The fall of Rhodes, wbich only not one-half so amusing.
GARIBALDI has written a rapturous political | for freedom, and treats as a question of epilove-letter to Britannia ; and Britannia, much demic emotion what we look upon as one too as she admires the man, feels a little bashful sacred and solemn for the proffer of foreign and awkward in the unexpected situation. She sympathy and counsel.-Spectator, 4 Oct. is to arise with “uplifted brow,” and point to her sister France the road of happy revolutionary freedom. She is to call to Helvetia—the Vestal Virgin of the Alps—to aid America, A NUMBER of operatives, trained in the difher daughter, who has so recently gone forth ferent branches of flax manufacture and the from hier bosom and is engaged in struggling power-loom weaving of linen, have been enagainst the traders in human flesh; and when gaged at Belfast to work in mills in Prussia shie has aided that daughter to conquer them, and Belgium. They are chicfly women, and to call her back to her sido to aid in the great have entered into arrangements to work for Congress of liberated nations, whose judgments stipulated periods. are to superscde war over the whole earth. Britannia is really embarrassed how to reply, and feels a littlo inclined to answer General Garibaldi like the fascinating child when told STREET railways are to be immediately introby its father to kiss the kind lady,—" You do it, duced in the citics of Hamburg and Altona. pa; I so shy.” The letter is couched in that Herr Muller, a civil engineer, has also devised peculiar tone of noble but hectic sentiment a system of city railronds for Berlin and which scarcely realizes the heavy weight of per- Vienna, and it is considered likely that the latsonal responsibility attaching to national efforts ter will accept the proposition.
GARIBALDI TO THE ENGLISH PEOPLE. men should be as brethren? Yes, call her!
And she, forgetting that she is temporarily
under the dominion of the Genius of EvilGARIBALDI has addressed the following re- if not to-day,-to-morrow—if not to-morrow, markable letter to the people of England:- later—will reply as she ought to your gener
“TO THE ENGLISH NATION : It is while ous and regenerating appeal. Call, and at under the double pressure of bodily and once, the bold sons of Helvetia, and clasp mental pain that man can most truly and them firmly to your breast! The warlike most acutely appreciate good and evil, and, children of the Alps—the vestals of the saleaving the authors of his misery to eternal cred fire of liberty on the continent of Eushame, devote unlimited affection and grati- rope—they will be with you. What a host! tude to his benefactors. And that to you, “Call the great American Republic, for O people of England, I owe a heavy debt for she is in truth your daughter, and is strugbenefits bestowed, I feel in the inmost re- gling now for the abolition of that slavery cesses of my soul. You were my friends in which you have already so nobly proclaimed. prosperity, and now you continue the pre- Help her to escape from the terrible strife cious boon in the days of my adversity. waged against her by the traders in human May God reward you! And my gratitude flesh. Help her, and then place her by your is the more intense, O worthy people, inas- side at the great assembly of nations—that much as, rising as it must do beyond the final work of human intellect. Call to your mere level of individual feeling, it becomes side all those people who would be free, and sublime in the general sentiment toward lose not an hour. The initiative which bethose nations whose progress you represent. longs to you to-day, may to-morrow concern
“ Yes! you are deserving of the gratitude another. May God forbid such a calamity! of the world, because you offer an asylum Who ever more gallantly than France in '89 for misfortune, from whatever part it may assumed that responsibility ? At that solcome; and you identify yourself with mis- emn moment she held up 'Reason' to the ery, pity it, and relieve it. The French and world, crushed tyranny, and consecrated Neapolitan exile finds in your bosom shelter free brotherhood. Now, after nearly a cenfrom his tyrant; he finds sympathy; he is tury, she is reduced to combat the liberty helped, because an exile, because unhappy. of nations, to protect tyranny, and over the The Haynaus—the hardened instruments of altar of Reason to erect the symbol of that autocrats—find no rest in your liberal land, wicked and immoral monstrosity which is and fly terrified before the bitter scorn of called the Papacy. your generous sons. And, in truth, without “ Arise, then, Britannia, and at once! your noble bearing, what would Europe be? Arise with your undaunted brow and point Tyranny seizes its exiles in those other out to the peoples the path they must tread! lands where virtue is unnatural, where lib- With a Congress of the world to decide beerty is a lie ; but they are still safe on the tween nations, war would be an impossibilsacred soil of Albion. I, like so many oth- ity. No longer would there exist those ers, seeing the cause of justice trampled standing armies which make liberty imposunder foot in so many parts of the world, sible. What weapons ! Wbat defences ! despaired of human progress. But, turning What engines of attack and defence! And to you, my mind is calmed-calmed by the then the millions squandered in implements contemplation of your fearless progress of destruction would be employed in fostertowards that end to which the human race ing the industry and diminishing the misseems called by Providence.
ery of the human race. Begin, then, 0 peo“Proceed on your way, o calm, uncon-ple of England; and, for the love of God, quered nation, and be less tardy in calling initiate the vast human compact, and beyour sister peoples into the same path of stow this great gift on the present generahuman
progress. Call the French nation to tion! Besides Switzerland and Belgium, co-operate with you. You two are worthy you would see other nations, urged on by the to march hand in hand in the vanguard of good sense of the people, accept your invihuman progress. Yes, call her! In all tation, and hasten to enroll themselves under your meetings let concord between the two your banner. Let London now be the seat great sisters be your cry. Yes, call her! of this Congress, which shall in future be Call to her always, and in every manner- agreed on by a mutual compact of arrangewith your voice, and with the voice of her ment and convenience. Once more, God great exiles of Victor Hugo, the high- bless you. May he repay you for the benepriest of human brotherhood. Tell her fits you have heaped so prodigally on me. that conquest is, in this age, an anomaly— With gratitude and affection, yours, the emanation of an unsound mind. Why
«GARIBALDI. should we covet the land of others, when all “ Varignano, Sept. 28.”
They would have said, “She croucheth to her The Lion is down, and how the Dogs will run ; If Italy, in some shape, had not risen!
doom," Something above the level is their delight
For insult; Asses lift the hoof to smite ; The Birds of darkness hoot, “ His day is done." I say 'twas God's voice bade him offer up
Himself for Aspromonte's sacrifice; "Would he had kept his attitude sublime !” So, to that height, his countrymen might rise; Cry some; “With crossed arms held his For them he freely drank luis bitter cup.
heart at rest, And left us his grand likeness at its best;
It is a faith too many yet receive,High on a hill up which the world might climb !” Since the false prophecy of old went forth
“The tribe of Judas yet shall rule the earth.” “Better for all had he been sooner shrined; But he is one that never would believe.
The old true heart, and very foolish head !
His vision is most clear where ours is dim. Perfect as some Greek statue-and as blind!” The mystic spirit of eternity
That slumbers in us deep and dreamingly, Friends talk of failure; and I know how he Was ever quick and more awake in him.
Will slowly lift his loving, cordial eyes
His face, though bright as sunshine, often told Until they shrink and feel 'tis Italy
How the soul's underworld in darkness rolled,
And what he saw with sorrow's second sight: Has failed instead. The words they came to speak
But, like a lamp across some dismal heath, Will sink back awed by his majestic calm. A light shone through his eyes no night could
His wounds are such as bleed immortal balm, quench; And he is strong again; the friends are wcak. The winds might make it flicker, rains might
drench; It is not failure to be thus struck down
Nothing could dim it save the dark of death. By Brothers who obeyed their Foe's com. mand,
And if his work's unfinished in the flesh, And in the darkness lopped the saving hand Why, then his soul will join the noble dead Put forth to reach their country her last crovyn. And toil till it shall be accomplished,
And Italy hath burst this Devil's mesh. He only sought to see her safely home;
The tragic trials end; the sufferings cease, Easier to conquer kingdoms than to breed
In wcddcd oneness and completing peace; A man like Garibaldi, whose great namo Then bow his gray old head and dic in Rome.
Doth fence his country with his glorious fame. It is no failure to be thus struck back
Worth many armies in her battle-necd. Caught in a Country's arms—clasped to her His is the royal heart that never quails,
heartShe tends his wounds awhile, and then will
But always conquers; wounded, pale, and
He never was so dear as he is now: Afresh! Some precious drops mark out her They bind him, and more strongly he prevails.
track. No failure ! though the rocks may dash in foam Greater to-day than Emperor or King, This first strength of a nation's new lifc
There, where, for throne, they seat him in the
dust, stream, 'Twill rise-a Bow of Promise that shall The express image of sublimest Trust, gleam
And consecrated by his suffering. In glory over all the waves to come.
A sovereignty that overtops success! We miss a footstep, thinking “Here's a stair,”
Nothing but heaven might crown his patriotIn some uncertain way wo darkly tread ;
brow, But God's enduring skies are overhead,
And lo, a Crown of Thorns is on it now, And spirits step their surest oft in air.
With higher guerdon than our world's caress. His ways are not as our ways; the new birth,
The vision of all his glory fills our eyes, At cost of the old life, is often given.
And with one heart expectant nations throb Today God crowns tlie Martyrs in his heaven;
Around hiin—with one mighty prayer they To-morrow whips their murderers on our carth. sob,
And wait God's answer to this sacrifice. You take back Garibaldi to his prison !
GERALD MASSET. Why, this may be the very road to Rome; -Good Words.