and hostile was the Church to the new views.  At last it appeared in Florence in 1632, with a dedication to the Grand Duke,—­not the Cosimo who had rewarded him, but his son Ferdinand, who was a mere youth.  It was an unfortunate thing for Galileo to do.  He had pledged his word not to advocate the Copernican theory, which was already sufficiently established in the opinions of philosophers.  The form of the book was even offensive, in the shape of dialogues, where some of the chief speakers were his enemies.  One of them he ridiculed under the name of Simplicio.  This was supposed to mean the Pope himself,—­so they made the Pope believe, and he was furious.  Old Cardinal Bellarmine roared like a lion.  The whole Church, as represented by its dignitaries, seemed to be against him.  The Pope seized the old weapons of the Clements and the Gregories to hurl upon the daring innovator; but delayed to hurl them, since he dealt with a giant, covered not only by the shield of the Medici, but that of Minerva.  So he convened a congregation of cardinals, and submitted to them the examination of the detested book.  The author was summoned to Rome to appear before the Inquisition, and answer at its judgment-seat the charges against him as a heretic.  The Tuscan ambassador expostulated with his Holiness against such a cruel thing, considering Galileo’s age, infirmities, and fame,—­all to no avail.  He was obliged to obey the summons.  At the age of seventy this venerated philosopher, infirm, in precarious health, appeared before the Inquisition of cardinals, not one of whom had any familiarity with abstruse speculations, or even with mathematics.

Whether out of regard to his age and infirmities, or to his great fame and illustrious position as the greatest philosopher of his day, the cardinals treat Galileo with unusual indulgence.  Though a prisoner of the Inquisition, and completely in its hands, with power of life and death, it would seem that he is allowed every personal comfort.  His table is provided by the Tuscan ambassador; a servant obeys his slightest nod; he sleeps in the luxurious apartment of the fiscal of that dreaded body; he is even liberated on the responsibility of a cardinal; he is permitted to lodge in the palace of the ambassador; he is allowed time to make his defence:  those holy Inquisitors would not unnecessarily harm a hair of his head.  Nor was it probably their object to inflict bodily torments:  these would call out sympathy and degrade the tribunal.  It was enough to threaten these torments, to which they did not wish to resort except in case of necessity.  There is no evidence that Galileo was personally tortured.  He was indeed a martyr, but not a sufferer except in humiliated pride.  Probably the object of his enemies was to silence him, to degrade him, to expose his name to infamy, to arrest the spread of his doctrines, to bow his old head in shame, to murder his soul, to make him stab himself, and be his own executioner, by an act which all posterity should regard as unworthy of his name and cause.