Part 9

Grotius, who had now gained an international reputation, was given various high appointments, such as Public Historiographer, Attorney-General for the province of Holland, and councilor of Rotterdam. He went to England and was received by the King with the greatest cordiality, in spite of the recent dispute. He made many friends in England, notably with the celebrated scholar, Isaac Casaubon, who expressed the highest opinion of the great Dutchman in a letter written in April, 1613. He says:

I cannot say how happy I esteem myself in having seen so much of one so truly great as Grotius. A wonderful man! This I knew him to be before I had seen him; but the rare excellence of that divine genius no one can sufficiently feel who does not see his face and hear him speak. Probity is stamped on his features; his conversation savors of true piety and profound learning. It is not only upon me that he has made this impression; all the pious and learned to whom he has been introduced here have felt the same towards him; the King especially so.

Grotius returned to his country, where serious trouble awaited him. The cause of it all was, to begin with, a religious squabble between two sects, the one followers of Arminius, who believed in free-will, the other followers of Gomarus, who believed in predestination. This senseless dispute on a question which can never be settled—that is to say, whether man is free to shape his own destiny or whether his acts are all fated beforehand by God—was only an excuse for a quarrel between the more bigoted and intolerant religious sects who sided with Gomarus and the freer and more broadminded who followed Arminius. The whole country was convulsed by the controversy. The Arminians drew up a Remonstrance, which was answered by a Counter Remonstrance, and the Parliament issued an Edict of Pacification, urging tolerance and forbearance, which was largely due to the influence of Grotius.

Advantage was taken of this disturbance by Prince Maurice of Orange, the second son of William the Silent. He was an accomplished soldier, but a weak and untrustworthy statesman, and thought it a good opportunity to assert himself and satisfy his personal ambition to become a monarch. He undertook what he was pleased to call a pacific campaign, and seeing that the Gomarists were more popular than their opponents, many of whom favored a republic rather than a monarchy, he practically took their side.

Olden Barneveld, the Grand Pensionary, who now led the opposition to the Prince, is one of the notable figures in the history of the Netherlands. He was an old and experienced minister, a true patriot, a humane and broadminded man, who had rendered the most distinguished service to his country. The Gomarists sided with the Prince, the Arminians with the Grand Pensionary. Grotius unhesitatingly followed Olden Barneveld, and struggled with all his great powers for peace and toleration. He had conferences with Prince Maurice, headed a deputation, made eloquent appeals, but all in vain. The Prince continued his campaign, the civic guards were disarmed and disbanded wherever they resisted him. Barneveld and Grotius, and also Hoogerbertz of Leyden, who had joined them, were arrested and taken to the castle at The Hague. Barneveld, now an old man of over seventy, was subjected to twenty-three examinations, during which he was neither allowed to take down questions in writing, to make memoranda of his answers, nor to refer to notes. In spite of his reputation, his services, and his advanced age, he was condemned to death and executed. From the scaffold he cried to the spectators: “My friends, believe not that I am a traitor. I have lived a good patriot, and such I die.” Grotius was condemned to imprisonment for life and his property was confiscated. Their followers were seized, imprisoned, or banished to neighboring countries, just as the Puritans were driven from England and the Huguenots from France.

It was in June, 1619, that Grotius was shut up in the fortress of Louvenstein; he was only thirty-six, and he had no prospect now before him but that of lifelong captivity. Eleven years before he had married Marie Reigersberg, a lady of great intelligence and high character. She now stepped in, showed wonderful ingenuity, and played a very courageous part in her husband’s fortunes.

Pressure had been brought to bear on her after the execution of Barneveld. The scaffold on which he had been executed was left standing for fifteen days, so as to frighten the other prisoners. Grotius’ wife was specially urged to get an acknowledgment of guilt from her husband and solicit a pardon for him, and promises were held out to her of a favorable hearing on the part of the Prince of Orange. But she stoutly refused to cast this dishonor on her husband, and with fierce resolution declared: “I will not do it—if he has deserved it, let them strike off his head.”

In the prison of Louvenstein Grotius found consolation in his studies. He never yielded to despair, but occupied his whole time reading, composing, and translating. His devoted wife, after several petitions, at last received permission to share his captivity, on the condition that if she came out she would not be allowed to return. She made friends with the jailer’s wife and others who might be of use, and after nearly two years she thought out a method of escape. The prisoner was allowed books. These were sent in a large chest, and those he had done with were sent back, together with his washing, to Gorcum. After a time Marie Grotius noticed that the warders let the chest pass without opening it. One day she persuaded her husband, after much entreaty, to get into the chest, in which she had had some holes bored. She locked it up and asked the soldiers to come in and carry it out as usual. It was a great risk, for she must have known that, had her plot been discovered, she and her husband would suffer heavy penalties. She must have exercised great self-control to prevent herself showing any sign of agitation or excitement. The soldiers complained that the chest was unusually heavy. “There must be an Arminian in it,” said one of them jestingly. Madame Grotius replied calmly, “There are indeed Arminian books in it.” There was a river to be crossed, and the chest was put in a boat. The soldiers declared it ought to be opened, but a maid and a valet who were in the plot managed to prevent this. The precious load was to be taken to the house of one of Grotius’ friends in Gorcum. But if it was to be heaved about like ordinary luggage, what would happen to the unfortunate captive inside, who was terribly cramped as it was? The maid had great presence of mind, and told the people on the shore that the chest was full of glass, and must be moved with particular care. So they got a horse-chair and shifted it very carefully to the appointed place. Grotius’ friend received the chest, and after he had sent all his servants out on various errands, opened it and greeted the escaped prisoner with open arms.

Grotius declared he was none the worse for the adventure, although he had naturally felt anxious lest he might be discovered. There was no time to be lost; he disguised himself as a mason, carrying a rule, hod, and trowel, and went out of the back door, accompanied by the maid, who did not leave him until he had reached safety. Then she returned to his wife and told her how successfully the plot had worked. Marie Grotius immediately informed the governor of the prison that her husband had escaped. She was placed in close confinement, but after a few days, by order of the States General, she was released and joined her husband, who had gone to Paris after spending a day or two at Antwerp.

On arriving in France, Louis XIII gave Grotius a cordial welcome, and a high pension was conferred on him. French pensions were easily granted, all the more so as they were rarely paid. It was in France, at the château of Balagni, which had been lent to him, that Grotius gave final shape to the great work of his life, the book on war and peace which I have already mentioned. A man treated as he had been might have been tempted to indulge in an attack on the authorities; he might have occupied his time satirizing his enemies and scoffing at the many signs of human folly he saw around him. But he did nothing of the sort. After writing an apology defending himself against the charges brought against him, he worked day and night to reconstruct, reform, and improve the foundations of human society. The book brought him in no profit whatever in the way of money, but it brought him reputation so widely spread and of such a lasting nature as no other legal work has ever enjoyed. He did not contemplate immediate success, but even so, he said, “ought we not to sow the seed which may be useful for posterity.”

But Grotius and his wife were very badly off, as the pension was paid irregularly. Cardinal Richelieu wanted to make use of his talents, but the terms he demanded, which would have deprived Grotius from having any freedom, prevented any such arrangement being possible. Accordingly, the Cardinal made things uncomfortable for him, and Grotius decided once more to attempt to live in his native land. But his reception in Holland was anything but cordial. His enemies were active, and the States General offered a high reward to any one who would deliver him up to them. So again he became an exile, and took refuge this time in Hamburg. He hoped his countrymen might return to reason, and so refused flattering offers made to him by the King of Denmark, by Spain, and even by Wallenstein, who was practically dictator of Germany.

At last he gave up all hope and entered the service of Sweden as Ambassador in Paris. Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden had died, and his only child Christina became Queen. During her childhood the Chancellor Oxenstiern acted as Regent. Grotius received his appointment from him in 1635. His mission was important and somewhat delicate. He had to keep up an active alliance between France and Sweden. Cardinal Richelieu was not easy to deal with, but the Ambassador showed his usual qualities of moderation and firmness, and succeeded towards the close of his embassy in renewing the treaty between Sweden and France on terms which were considered to do great honor to his diplomatic talents. He was troubled a good deal by the etiquette and ceremonial of diplomacy, and became involved in foolish disputes about rank and ceremonial questions, to which diplomatists have always attributed an exaggerated amount of importance. We can imagine that Grotius, with his clear mind and disregard of trivialities, may have offended his colleagues. It must have irritated them to associate with a man who, instead of chattering nonsense while waiting in the ante-rooms at court, would sit apart studying his Greek Testament.

He remained in the Swedish service for about ten years, but the life became irksome to him; the Swedish Government were inclined to think that a man who devoted so much of his time to writing could not give sufficient attention to diplomatic work, and at last Grotius applied for his recall. This was granted by Queen Christina, who had a very high opinion of the Ambassador, and received him in Stockholm on his return with every mark of favor. On quitting France, he passed on his way to Sweden through Amsterdam and Rotterdam, where he was more kindly received. The Queen of Sweden did her best to persuade Grotius to remain in her service as a Councilor of State, but he was bent on returning to Holland. Accordingly, on August 12, 1645, having received presents of money and plate from the Queen, he embarked for Lübeck. A violent storm drove the vessel on to the Pomeranian coast. Grotius, after a journey in an open wagon through wind and rain, arrived very ill at Rostock. Here he died in the presence of a Lutheran pastor, John Quistorp, who has left an account of his last moments. Quistorp, at his bedside, read him the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican, ending with the words, “God be merciful to me, a sinner,” and the dying scholar and statesman answered, “I am that Publican.” After repeating a prayer with the pastor, Grotius sank exhausted and breathed his last. He was buried first of all at Rostock, but as his wish was to rest in his native soil, his body was taken after a time to the Netherlands. It is difficult to believe, were it not historically true, that as the coffin was borne through the city of Rotterdam stones were thrown at it by the bigoted mob. It was laid finally in a crypt beneath the great church of Delft, his birthplace. The remains of two great champions of liberty and justice lie beneath the same roof, for close by the grave of Grotius is the sculptured tomb of William the Silent. His wife died shortly afterwards at The Hague. She had stood by him in the hour of need, encouraged him, consoled him, and helped him, and the story of his life will never be read without praise being given to the noble part she played in it.

I have said very little about the writings of Grotius, because it is impossible to describe fully all the learned books he brought out. Just as in the field of politics he worked for pacification, so in the world of religion he endeavored to the utmost of his ability to produce universal peace. He tried to find a simple statement of belief to which all contending parties would agree, and published a book called “The Road to Religious Peace.” “Perhaps,” he said, “by writing to reconcile such as entertain very opposite sentiments, I shall offend both parties: but if that should so happen I shall comfort myself with the example of him who said, ‘If I please men I am not the servant of Christ.’” He did offend both parties. No mere form of words can reconcile deep-seated differences in religious sentiment. Others before Grotius, and many too since, have made the same attempt to bring the different sections of religious thought together, but none have succeeded. The only advance that has been made has been an increase in the spirit of tolerance, which tends to prevent any outrageous persecution of one sect by another.

It seems curious that Christians, who people the nations which are by way of being the most civilized, should be more torn with religious discord, and should be more responsible for the world’s wars, than the peoples of other religions who inhabit the globe. They pretend to be followers of the Prince of Peace and to believe in the brotherhood of mankind, while the Church of Christ has become split into an ever-increasing number of warring sects, and the jealousy and enmity of nations are allowed to break into ever more ferocious armed conflict and mutual massacre.

The hope of improvement in these fundamental human relationships, national and religious, depends to a large extent on the number of men who are wise or farsighted enough to turn the mind of man away from the differences that lead to division and to strengthen the forces that lead to unity—in fact, to substitute harmony for discord. But the work will always progress slowly, because there are still so many natures which prefer fighting just from the love of quarreling, and they turn their anger against a conciliator even more violently than against those with whom they bitterly disagree.

Grotius himself saw no apparent result of his great work, and time alone has proved in his case that the originator of great ideals and the worker for truth leaves to the world a gift for which countless generations that succeed him are grateful, though he may only receive scoffs and rebuke from men of his own time.

Unlike Giordano Bruno and Voltaire, he did not turn his talents into weapons of attack and destruction. He respected other people’s opinions, and was able to judge with impartiality his worst enemies. This is an extremely rare quality in one who is engaged in controversy. For instance, in his history of the Netherlands, he commented without a trace of ill-will on the policy and even praised the services as commander and patriot of Maurice of Orange—the man who had unjustly deprived him of his home, his property, and his freedom. No personal petty spite could disturb his judgment. With deep penetration he recognized that the spirit of the age was clouded by want of reason, and nations and individuals were forced unnecessarily into strife from want of proper guidance. His high-minded character, his well-balanced judgment, and his disinterested motive gave Grotius a reserve of strength and a noble resolution which few have possessed in the same degree or used with equal effect.

A. P.

VII

VOLTAIRE

1694–1778

I have no scepter, but I have a pen.

Of the twelve men written of in this book, with the exception of Tolstoy, who died recently, Voltaire will probably be the best known by name. He is rather different from most of the others, because he preferred to try and reach men’s minds by argument rather than their hearts by religious appeal. He was a great disturber of smug, self-satisfied opinion; he knew how utterly fatal were laziness of mind and stagnation of ideas. He wanted to disturb, to annoy, to provoke, and, more even than any of the others, he succeeded in his object.

In his long life he wrote an astonishing number of letters, poems, plays, and pamphlets, and he wrote very beautifully. But his fame does not rest on his literary genius. Had his works all been romances and plays, and were he to be judged on his merits as a writer, genius though he was, there are many greater geniuses than he. It was his striking personality, his startling opinions, and his daring and original arguments which gained for him his reputation and his extraordinary influence. In fact, the middle of the eighteenth century in France is known as “the age of Voltaire.” Of course, he made many bitter enemies, and to this day his opinions are warmly disputed. His method was often unnecessarily provocative. He was stingingly satirical; he scoffed, he jeered, he ridiculed his opponents, and by the brilliant thrusts of his pointed wit cut them to the quick. On the whole, his object was more to destroy than to construct, and he left no new scheme or systems of belief, of thought or policy for others to follow when his personal influence had passed away. Although there is a good deal that is far from admirable in his career, the force of his personality was so great that he could not be ignored, and all he wrote and all he said was eagerly read and listened to by every one. He loathed shams and superstitions, and he fought most vehemently in his later life against injustice and oppression. In fact, he was a strange mixture. One can hardly believe that the sly, fawning courtier can be the same man as the bold and courageous champion of liberty and justice, or that the mischievous joker and the great dramatist are one and the same person. In his long life he went through different phases, but taking him as a whole, he stands out as the principal figure of the eighteenth century in Europe.

Voltaire’s real name was François Marie Arouet. He was the youngest of the five children of a well-to-do solicitor, and was born in Paris on November 21, 1694. He had to be hurriedly baptized, as no one expected that the puny little infant would live. His first teacher was his godfather, a rather disreputable priest, called Châteauneuf, and he was taught at an early age that religion, as it existed in France at that time, was mere superstition and pretense. His mother died when he was seven, and at the age of ten he was sent off to a large Jesuit college, where, as he afterwards tells us, he learned “Latin and nonsense.” His quick wits, however, made him absorb an immense quantity of information; and instead of playing with the other boys, he would walk and talk with the masters. One of them said at the time, “That boy wants to weigh the great questions of Europe in his little scales.” The verses he wrote brought him into prominence, and his godfather introduced him to Ninon de l’Enclos, a famous old lady of nearly eighty, who was still the center of the most brilliant society in Paris. When she died, a few months later, she left him two thousand francs with which to buy books.

Acting at school encouraged in him a love of drama, and he soon began to try his hand at writing plays. He was only twelve when he wrote a petition in verse to the King, asking for a pension for an old soldier. Louis XIV read it, and the old soldier got his pension. His father wanted him to be a lawyer, and laughed at the idea of his becoming an author; but although he was made to study law, the boy stood up to the rough old man and refused to give in. He soon got into a very gay but very frivolous society, which he amused by his audacity and wit. Sometimes he would return home very late from his orgies, and father Arouet would lock him out so that he had to walk the streets all night. In fact, the peppery old father and the mad young scapegrace were perpetually quarreling. The boy was irrepressible, and it was useless his father trying to subject him to discipline. He was given a post as attaché to the Ambassador to the Netherlands, but this did not last. He occupied himself in a purely frivolous way, had a love affair with a young lady at The Hague, and was sent home again. On his return he was invited to a castle at Fontainebleau where there was a magnificent library. Here this surprising young gentleman began working very seriously at some of the greatest of the books he produced in after-life.

In an age when any free expression of ideas was liable to be severely punished it was fairly probable that such a young man as this would get into trouble. Curiously enough, young Arouet’s first experience of prison came about in consequence of the publication of a poem which he had not written. The poem was a satire on the Regent Orleans who ruled over France while Louis XV was still a child. Suspicion fell on him, and he was locked up in the Bastille, the fortress into which many innocent men were cast and often forgotten. He was not allowed pen and ink for some time, but his active brain and wonderful memory allowed him to conceive and invent many things which he afterwards produced in writing. His imprisonment lasted a year, and he came out with his name changed to Voltaire, supposed to be an anagram on Arouet, L. J. (le jeune).

His father was enraged at his imprisonment. “I told you so! I knew his idleness would lead to disgrace,” he said. But the boy did not feel at all disgraced. When he came home he set to work, and before the end of the year he brought out his first play, _Œdipe_, which was the real beginning of his brilliant career.

It was an immediate success, and attracted a great deal of attention. Even the Regent and his family came to one of the performances. In consequence of this, Voltaire was asked to grand houses and was the guest of great people, whom he amused and entertained in his original way. He received a pension from the Court, and when his father died more money came to him. He invested his capital very judiciously, and, unlike most geniuses, he thoroughly understood his bank-book, so that he never fell into need or poverty.