ght be obtained even from "the great Turk." "As surely,"
did he write some years later to his brother Robert, "in the great Turk,
though we have nothing to do with him, yet his discipline in war matters
is ... worthy to be known and learned. Nay even the kingdom of China
which is almost as far as the Antipodes from us, their good laws and
customs are to be learned."[170] In such a disposition of mind he
visited successively Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Italy. The most
interesting incident of his journey was the acquaintance he made with a
Frenchman, the political thinker Hubert Languet, from whom Milton, a
long time before Rousseau, probably derived his ideas of the social
contract "foedus," says Languet, "inter [principem] and populum," and
his theories on the right of insurrection.[171] A most tender friendship
was formed between the revolutionary writer and the aristocratic Sidney.
They began a correspondence which did not cease till the former's death
in 1581. Languet had great influence over his young friend, and was
constantly giving him most manly advice and that best suited to
strengthen his character, warning him especially in very wise fashion
against a melancholy unsuitable to his age, which in the grave
Huguenot's opinion was only a useless impedimentum in life. "I readily
allow," wrote Sidney, in answer to his friend's remonstrances, "that I
am often more serious than either my age or my pursuits demand."[172]
That this tendency to pensiveness left its trace on his features may be
seen in most of his portraits, among others in that by Isaac Oliver, of
which we give a reproduction.

The most interesting of Sidney's portraits is unfortunately lost. He sat
for it while in Italy, at the request of his friend, and chose no mean
artist to paint it: "As soon as ever I return to Venice, I will have it
done, either by Paul Veronese or by Tintoretto, who hold by far the
highest place in the art." He decided for Veronese, and sent the
picture to Languet, who wrote shortly after: "As long as I enjoyed the
sight of you, I made no great account of the portrait you gave me, and
scarcely thanked you for so beautiful a present. I was led by regret for
you on my return from Frankfort to place it in a frame and fix it in a
conspicuous place. When I had done this, it appeared to me so beautiful
and so strongly to resemble you that I possess nothing that I value more
... The painter has represented you sad and thoughtful. I sh