and a very fine bred gentleman." "A certain eccen-
tricity and unsteadiness perhaps inseparable from a
mind of such vanity," is Lodge's criticism. "The
Pliny of our age for lying," quoth Stubbes. But
Digby's extraordinary stories were by no means all
false. He may have talked sometimes to epater le
bourgeois; but his serious statements were often
judged as were the wonders of evolution by country
audiences in the seventies.
His oifence was he must always be talking.
His ideas he must share, expound, illustrate,
whether or no they were ripe. It is the sign-
manual of the sincere amateur. His books are
probably but the lees of his conversation. He was
not, in the first place, a literary person. His Memoirs
are good reading for those with a touch of the fan-
tastic in themselves; but the average literary critic
will dub them rhodomontade. His scientific and
controversial treatises, not at all unreadable, and
full of strange old lore, survive as curiosities never
to be reprinted. Nevertheless, his temper was dis-
tinctly scientific, and if his exact discoveries be
limited to observing the effect of oxygen on plant-
life, and his actual invention to a particular kind of
glass bottle, yet he was an eager student and popu-
lariser of the work of Bacon, Galileo, and Harvey ;
and his laboratories were the nursing grounds of
the new experimental philosophy.
With a distinctly rationalistic temper, he was yet
a faithful, if independent, son of the Roman Church.
He speaks sometimes as if he regarded the Church
as the great storehouse of necessary authority for
xxxviii INTRODUCTION^
the intellectually feeble ; but he accepted the main
dogmas him self, being satisfied of them by intuition
and reason. Protestantism, he held, was not for the
ordinary person, considering " the natural imbecil-
ity of man's wits and understandings." His piety
was a thing apart, a matter of heredity perhaps, and
of his poetic temperament. I have heard him called
by that abused name, " mystic." He was nothing
of the sort, and he said so in memorable words. As
an act of devotion he translated the Adhering to God
of Albertus Magnus. In the dedication to his
mother he compares himself, as the translator of
this mystic treatise, to certain travellers who "speak
upon hearsay of countries they were never in."
" The various course in the world that I have runne
myself out of breath in, hath afforded me little
means for solid recollection." Yet was he now and
then upon the threshold. With streaks of the
quack and adventurer in him, he gave out deep
notes. Says Lloyd: " His soul [was] one of those
few souls that understand themselves."
With an itch to use his pen as well as his tongue,
he had none of the patience, the hankering after
perfectionof form, of theprofessionalmanof letters.
His account of his Scanderoon exploit, a sea-log, a
little written-up later, was perhaps not meant for
publication. It did not see the light till 1868. His
Memoirs were written, he says, "for my own recrea-
tion, and then continued and since preserved only
for my own private content — to please myself in
looking back upon my past and sweet errors." He
even begs those who may come upon the MS. " to
INTRODUCTJOCNj xxxix
Page 14
Presented as published in 1910. Historical recipes may not meet modern food-safety standards. Cook from the modern interpretation, not the original instructions.
AI-modernized reading of the original text
and a very fine bred gentleman." "A certain eccentricity and unsteadiness perhaps inseparable from a mind of such vanity," is Lodge's criticism. "The Pliny of our age for lying," quoth Stubbes. But Digby's extraordinary stories were by no means all false. He may have talked sometimes to epater le bourgeois; but his serious statements were often judged as were the wonders of evolution by country audiences in the seventies.
His offence was he must always be talking. His ideas he must share, expound, illustrate, whether or no they were ripe. It is the sign manual of the sincere amateur. His books are probably but the lees of his conversation. He was not, in the first place, a literary person. His Memoirs are good reading for those with a touch of the fantastic in themselves; but the average literary critic will dub them rodomontade. His scientific and controversial treatises, not at all unreadable, and full of strange old lore, survive as curiosities never to be reprinted. Nevertheless, his temper was distinctly scientific, and if his exact discoveries be limited to observing the effect of oxygen on plantlife, and his actual invention to a particular kind of glass bottle, yet he was an eager student and populariser of the work of Bacon, Galileo, and Harvey ; and his laboratories were the nursing grounds of the new experimental philosophy.
With a distinctly rationalistic temper, he was yet a faithful, if independent, son of the Roman Church. He speaks sometimes as if he regarded the Church as the great storehouse of necessary authority for
xxxviii INTRODUCTION
the intellectually feeble ; but he accepted the main dogmas him self, being satisfied of them by intuition and reason. Protestantism, he held, was not for the ordinary person, considering " the natural imbecility of man's wits and understandings." His piety was a thing apart, a matter of heredity perhaps, and of his poetic temperament. I have heard him called by that abused name, " mystic." He was nothing of the sort, and he said so in memorable words. As an act of devotion he translated the Adhering to God of Albertus Magnus. In the dedication to his mother he compares himself, as the translator of this mystic treatise, to certain travellers who "speak upon hearsay of countries they were never in." " The various course in the world that I have runne myself out of breath in, hath afforded me little means for solid recollection." Yet was he now and then upon the threshold. With streaks of the quack and adventurer in him, he gave out deep notes. Says Lloyd: " His soul [was] one of those few souls that understand themselves."
With an itch to use his pen as well as his tongue, he had none of the patience, the hankering after perfectionof form, of theprofessionalmanof letters. His account of his Scanderoon exploit, a sea-log, a little written-up later, was perhaps not meant for publication. It did not see the light till 1868. His Memoirs were written, he says, "for my own recreation, and then continued and since preserved only for my own private content — to please myself in looking back upon my past and sweet errors." He even begs those who may come upon the MS. " to
INTRODUCTION xxxix