The Private Life of Galileo. Compiled Principally From His Correspondence and That of His Eldest Daughter, Sister Maria Celeste, Nun in the Franciscan Convent of St. Matthew, in Arcetri

Boston : Nichols and Noyes.

WHILE we shall never, we hope, lack a proper spirit of thankfulness towards any writer who, having to compose a personal history, forbears to make us familiar with the past by such impertinences with it as mark the picturesque and gossiping school, we must own that we do not think the author of this “Life of Galileo” has made the most attractive use of the materials. It is well enough not to trick out one’s people with the Hepworth-Dixonian adjectives, or to expend much time upon conjectural descriptions of their appearance, clothes, and attitudes, and what they would have done if things had turned out differently, or what even under the circumstances they may be supposed to have done ; but this self-restraint is not the whole of art. The book is written with good sense and good taste, but it is not vivacious at any time, and it is often sluggish. Yet we can imagine no opportunity for an entertaining history more flattering than that afforded by such a life as Galileo’s, lived when and where it was. Of course, even the dullest book could not obscure the lesson of such a life; but then the world had already a pretty clear idea of the character of the man whose speculative daring was bounded by nothing, but who narrowly conformed his practical life to the political and theological conditions of his day; and in order to live in doubt and abhorrence of such a system, no one need read again the melancholy story of the cruelty with which thought and truth were punished in former times by the church which now lacks the power to repeat those terrors. In more ways than one Rome opposed the movement of the world, and still makes believe that all the heavenly bodies wheel round the Vatican.

As for the part that Galileo himself played in that atrocious drama, it is difficult to conceive how he, being the man of schools and courts that he was, should have acted differently. Nature works by a subdivision of forces, and the scientific inquirer and the martyr are oftener in two persons than in one ; and it seems as if it would even be a pity if either were devoted to the function of the other. Galileo’s martyrdom could not have served science better than his abjuration, though doubtless he is not to be praised for the fact.

Sister Maria Celeste was his daughter Polissena, whom, with two other children, he had by his Venetian mistress ; and she alone showed him a filial love. According to the thinking of this time and country, none of his children really owed him such love ; but in Italy, two hundred and fifty years ago, notions were very different. The mother of these children, when Galileo left Padua, married very happily a man of her own class, who cherished a great regard and esteem for her former lover; Galileo’s son was legitimated by the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and his two daughters, who had no legal claim upon him, were glad to be acknowledged and protected by him ; and Sister Maria Celeste’s letters are in a strain of oddly mingled pride in her father’s greatness and lowly thankfulness for his goodness. He was very good to her, and to all his family, who by no means showed her gratitude in return, but lived upon him without recognition of his bounty. He seems to have been a very amiable and benevolent man, of a type never uncommon in Italy. He was beloved by all manner of men, and even the Pope who persecuted him so pitilessly had been his personal friend, while the Grand Duke of Tuscany always remained so, and no doubt caused the mitigation of his sufferings. Galileo was a good enough man, according to the finite means of judgment, to dispense with the glory of martyrdom,—if any one may righteously forego that.

In this book one grows almost as much interested in the daughter as in the father. Neither she nor her sister entered the convent because they had a vocation, but merely for an establishment in life, or for the home for which women marry in Protestant countries. They were both sickly, as were nearly all the other nuns living in the poverty and hardness of their order, and the younger sister was querulous and bad-tempered. The pictures of convent life which Sister Maria Celeste gives her father in her letters are descriptions of squalor and privation, and otherwise they often remind one of those in Manzoni’s famous romance. All is borne by Galileo’s daughter with patience, though she freely declares that she does not love the life. Now and then one of the nuns goes mad ; yet this does not cast any doubt upon the excellence of the system, in the mind of either father or daughter ; and Galileo prepares to immure his granddaughter in the same prison where his children drag out their sick and discontented days. The reader may learn somewhat of their existence from the following passages out of one of Sister Maria Celeste’s letters. The Sister Arcangela mentioned is Galileo’s younger daughter:—

“ ‘ Your lordship partly knows to what inconvenience I have been put ever since I first came here, because of the scarcity of cells. Now, I must explain that the small cell for which (according to the custom among the nuns) we paid the mistress thirtysix crowns, two or three years ago, I have been obliged to give up entirely to Sister Arcangela, in order that she may be, as much as possible, separated from the said mistress; for I feared that, owing to the extraordinary eccentricities of the latter, her constant society would prove most detrimental to Sister Arcangela. Besides, as Sister Arcangela’s disposition is very different to mine, being rather odd and whimsical, it is better for me to give up to her in many things, in order to preserve that peace and unity which accords with the exceeding love we bear each other. Wherefore I find myself by night in the tiresome company of the mistress. Nevertheless, by the Lord’s help, by whom doubtless these trials are permitted for my good, I get through it most joyfully ; and by day I am quite a pilgrim, having no corner of my own wherein to pass a quiet hour..... I explain my wants to your lordship with filial security and without ceremony, that I may not offend that kindness which I have so often experienced. .... You might say that the sum I ask is large, and that I might content myself with the thirty crowns (6l. 13s. 3d.) which the convent still has of yours. To this I answer that, besides its being impossible for me to get that money paid back at this moment, and the nun who wants to sell being in great want, you promised the Mother Abbess that you would not ask for the money unless the convent happened to receive relief from some quarter, and that only if such an occasion arose was it to be paid down at once. But I do not think that for the sake of these thirty crowns you will hesitate to do me this great kindness, which I ask for the love of God. For indeed I belong to the number of those poor wretches laid in prison. And I may call myself not only poor, but also ashamed ; for, indeed, I should not dare express my wants so openly in your presence, or Vincenzio’s either. I only venture on. writing this letter, having full assurance that you can and will help me. In fine, I recommend myself affectionately to you, as well as to Vincenzio and his bride. May the Lord give you length of days and happiness.’

“Galileo gave the thirty crowns, but Sister Maria Celeste was no better off. The community was large, and the Abbess at her wits’ ends to make both ends meet. From the nun’s letter of the 22d of November, 1629, we gain an impression that Galileo was a very easy man to deal with in regard to momey matters. Much at least seems to have been the impression of the Lady Abbess of St. Matthew. Sister Maria Celeste tries to keep the matter to herself, and for some weeks only discourses of such trifles as a pattern of a new collar, of which she is making a set for her father, or of cinnamon-water, or of the Brescian thread which she wanted for embroidering her sister-in-law’s handkerchief, or of the phial containing scorpions preserved in oil, which Galileo had sent as a present to her and Sister Luisa, probably to adorn a shelf in the pharmacy. But the concealment weighs on her, and at length she resolves to make a clean breast of it.

“‘Now that the tempest of our many troubles is somewhat abated, I will no longer delay telling you all about them ; hoping thereby to lighten the burden on my own mind, and desiring also to excuse myself for writing twice in such a hurry, and not with the respect I owe you. The fact was, that I was half out of my senses with fear (and so were the other nuns) at the furious behavior of our mistress, who during these last few days has twice endeavored to kill herself. The first time she knocked her head against the floor with such violence that her features became quite monstrous and deformed. The second time she gave herself thirteen wounds, of which two were in the throat. You may imagine our consternation on finding her all over blood and wounded in this manner. But the strangest thing of all was, that at the time that she inflicted these injuries upon herself, she made a noise to attract somebody to her cell, and then she asked for the confessor. In confession she gave up to him the instrument with which she had cut herself, in order that nobody might see it (though, as far as we can guess, it was a penknife). It seems that, though mad, she is cunning. And we must conclude that this is some dark judgment upon her from God, who lets her live when according to human judgment she ought to die, her wounds being all dangerous in the surgeon’s opinion. In consequence, she has been watched day and night. At present we are all well, thank God, and she is tied down in her bed, but has just the same frenzy as ever, so that we are in constant terror of something dangerous happening.

“ ‘ Now I have told you of our trouble, I want to tell you another which weighs me down. Some time ago you were so kind as to give the thirty crowns I asked for (I did not venture to tell you ray mind freely when you asked me the other day whether I had got the cell). I went with the money in my hand to find the nun to whom the cell belonged. She, being in great distress, would willingly have taken the money, but she loved her cell so dearly that she could not bear to give it up. This being the case, we could not agree; so the matter fell to the ground, as I for my part only wished for the cell in order to have a little place to myself. . . . , I should like to know how you feel now the weather is milder. Having nothing better, I send you a little quince marmalade, made poor man’s fashion ; that is, mixed with apples. If you do not care for it, perhaps others will. If you have a fancy for any dish made by us nuns, please let us know, for we shall be glad to do something to your liking. I have not forgotten my obligation to Porzia (Galileo’s housekeeper), but for the present I can do nothing for her. If you have any more scraps (of cloth), I should be glad of them, as I have been waiting for them to begin working with what I have already.

“ ‘ While writing the above, I hear that the sick nun has had such a fit that it is thought she cannot live long. If this be the case, I shall have to give the rest of the money for the burial expenses.

“ ‘ I have a chaplet of agate which you gave me long ago, which is quite useless to me ; but I think it would do nicely for our sisterin-law. I send it for you to look at, and if you like it, would you take it back, and send me a little money for my present wants ? I hope, please God, this will be the last time I shall trouble you for such a large sum ; but in truth I have none to turn to for assistance, except your lordship and my most faithful Sister Luisa, who does all she can to assist me ; but we are shut up here, and, in short, have not that power to act which ofttimes we want. Blessed be the Lord, who never forgets us ! For his sake I pray your lordship to pardon me if I weary you, I trust that he will not leave unrepaid the many benefits which you have conferred and still confer upon us.’”

From these extracts the reader perceives that Sister Maria Celeste is not only a simple and loving daughter (though a little selfish in an ignorant, unworldly way), but a lady of intelligence and some refinement. She sent her father constantly little tokens of her handiwork and her culinary art, and she also assisted him in his literary work, copying manuscripts for him, and the like. Even after his book had been condemned and prohibited, she was eager to get it and read it. Probably no educated person in Italy regarded the action of the Church as a religious action, or as any other than a political one performed for the greater security and honor of the Jesuits and the Papacy. Therein lay its danger for that time, and for ours.