The Martyrs of Science, or, The lives of Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler

by David Brewster

This attack continued with little intermission for more than a week, and, during this period, he suffered great pain, attended with want of sleep and temporary delirium, during which, he frequently exclaimed, Ne frustra vixisse videor. On the 24th he recovered from this painful situation, and became perfectly tranquil. His strength, however, was gone, and he saw that he had not many hours to live. He expressed an anxious wish that his labours would redound to the glory of his Maker, to whom he offered up the most ardent prayers. He enjoined his sons and his son-in-law not to allow them to be lost. He encouraged his pupils not to abandon their pursuits, he requested Kepler to complete the Rudolphine Tables, and to his family he recommended piety and resignation to the Divine will. Among those who never quitted Tycho in his illness, was Erick Brahe, Count Wittehorn, a Swede, and a relation of his own, and Counsellor to the King of Poland. This amiable individual never left the bedside of his friend, and administered to him all those attentions which his situation required. Tycho, turning to him, thanked him for his affectionate kindness, and requested him to maintain the relationship with his family. He then expired without pain, amid the consolations, the prayers, and the tears of his friends. This event took place on the 24th of October 1601, when he was only fifty-four years and ten months old.

The Emperor Rudolph evinced the greatest sorrow when he was informed of the death of his friend, and he gave orders that he should be buried in the most honourable manner, in the principal church of the ancient city.[40] The funeral took place on the 4th November, and he was interred in the dress of a nobleman, and with the ceremonies of his order. The funeral oration was pronounced by Jessenius, before a distinguished assemblage, and many elegies were written on his death.

Tycho was a little above the middle size, and in the last years of his life he was slightly corpulent. He had reddish yellow hair and a ruddy complexion. He was of a sanguine temperament, and is said to have been sometimes irritable, and even obstinate. This failing, however, if he did possess it, was not exhibited towards his pupils or his scientific friends, who ever entertained for him the warmest affection and esteem. Some of his pupils had remained in his house more than twenty years; and in the quarrel which arose between him and Kepler,[41] and which is allowed to have originated entirely in the temper of the latter, he conducted himself with the greatest patience and forbearance. There is reason to think that the irritability with which he has been charged was less an affection of his mind than the effect of that noble independence of character which belonged to him, and that it has been inferred chiefly from his conduct to some of those high personages with whom he was brought in contact. When Walchendorp, the President of the Council, kicked his favourite hound, it was no proof of irritability of character that Tycho expressed in strong terms his disapprobation of the deed.

It was, doubtless, a greater weakness in his character that he indulged his turn for satire, without being able to bear retaliation. His jocular habits, too, sometimes led him into disagreeable positions. When the Duke of Brunswick was dining with him at Uraniburg, the Duke said, towards the end of the dinner, that, as it was late, he must be going. Tycho jocularly remarked that this could not be done without his permission; upon which the Duke rose and left the party, without taking leave of his host. Tycho became indignant in his turn, and continued to sit at table; but, as if repenting of what he had done, he followed the Duke, who was on his way to the ship, and, calling upon him, displayed the cup in his hand, as if he had washed out his offence by a draught of wine.

Tycho was a man of true piety, and cherished the deepest veneration for the Sacred Scriptures, and for the great truths which they reveal. Their principles regulated his conduct, and their promises animated his hopes. His familiarity with the wonders of the heavens increased, instead of diminishing, his admiration of Divine wisdom, and his daily conversation was elevated by a constant reference to a superintending Providence.

As a practical astronomer, Tycho has not been surpassed by any observer of ancient or of modern times. The splendour and number of his instruments, the ingenuity which he exhibited in inventing new ones and in improving and adding to those which were formerly known, and his skill and assiduity as an observer, have given a character to his labours, and a value to his observations, which will be appreciated to the latest posterity. The appearance of the new star in 1572 led him to form a catalogue of 777 stars, vastly superior in accuracy to those of Hipparchus and Ulugh Beig. His improvements on the lunar theory were still more valuable. He discovered the important inequality called the variation, and also the annual inequality which depends on the position of the earth in its orbit. He discovered, also, the inequality in the inclination of the moon’s orbit, and in the motion of her nodes. He determined with new accuracy the astronomical refractions from an altitude of 45° down to the horizon, where he found it to be 34´; and he made a vast collection of observations on the planets, which formed the groundwork of Kepler’s discoveries and the basis of the Rudolphine Tables. Tycho’s powers of observation were not equalled by his capacity for general views. It was, perhaps, owing more to his veneration for the Scriptures than to the vanity of giving his name to a new system that he rejected the Copernican hypothesis. Hence he was led to propose a new system, called the Tychonic, in which the earth is stationary in the centre of the universe, while the sun, with all the other planets and comets revolving round him, performs his daily revolution about the earth. This arrangement of the planets afforded a sufficient explanation of the various phenomena of the heavens; and as it was consistent with the language of Scripture, and conformable to the indications of the senses, it found many supporters, notwithstanding the physical absurdity of making the whole system revolve round one of the smallest of the planets.

It is a painful transition to pass from the astronomical labours of Tycho to his astrological and chemical pursuits. That Tycho studied and practised astrology has been universally admitted. He calculated the nativity of the Emperor Rudolph, and foretold that his relations would make some attempts upon his life. The credulous Emperor confided in the prediction, and when the conduct of his brother seemed to justify his belief, he confined himself to his palace, and fell a prey to the fear which it inspired. Tycho, however, seems to have entirely renounced his astrological faith in his latter days; and Kepler states,[42] in the most pointed manner, that Tycho carried on his astronomical labours with his mind entirely free from the superstitions of astrology; that he derided and detested the vanity and knavery of astrologers, and was convinced that the stars exercised no influence on the destinies of men.

Although Tycho informed Rothman that he devoted as much labour and expense to the study of terrestrial (chemistry) as he did to that of celestial astronomy, yet it is a singular fact that he never published any account of his experiments, nor has he left among his writings any trace of his chemical inquiries. He pretended, however, to have made discoveries in the science, and we should have been disposed to reprobate the apology which he makes for not publishing them, did we not know that it had been frequently given by the other alchemists of the age—“On consideration,” says he, “and by the advice of the most learned men, I thought it improper to unfold the secrets of the art (of alchemy) to the vulgar, as few persons were capable of using its mysteries to advantage and without detriment.”

Admitting then, as we must do, that Tycho was not only a professed alchemist, but that he was practically occupied with its pursuits, and continually misled by its delusions, it may not be uninteresting to the reader to consider how far a belief in alchemy, and a practice of its arts, have a foundation in the weakness of human nature; and to what extent they are compatible with the piety and elevated moral feeling by which our author was distinguished.

In the history of human errors two classes of impostors, of very different characters, present themselves to our notice—those who wilfully deluded their species, and those who permitted their species to delude themselves. The first of those classes consisted of the selfish tyrants who upheld an unjust supremacy by systematic delusions, and of grovelling mountebanks who quenched their avaricious thirst at the fountains of credulity and ignorance. The second class comprehended spirits of a nobler mould: It embraced the speculative enthusiasts, whom the love of fame and of truth urged onward, in a fruitless research, and those great lights of knowledge and of virtue, who, while they stood forward as the landmarks of the age which they adorned, had neither the intellectual nor the moral courage to divest themselves of the supernatural radiance with which the ignorance of the vulgar had encircled them.