The Closet of Sir Kenelm Digby Knight Opened - Sir Kenelm Digby (red seas under red skies .TXT) 📗

must have taken place his pilgrimage to Descartes, who died in 1650. Apparently Sir Kenelm had gone to Egmont as an unknown stranger; and it throws light on his wide reputation as a man of ideas and a conversationalist, that into his torrent of questions and speculation Descartes broke with, "You can be none other than Digby." The English scientist's practical mind-for he had always a practical end in view, however fantastic his methods-showed itself in his counsel to the author of the Discours sur la Méthode . Why all this labour for mere abstract speculation? Why not apply his genius to the one great subject, the prolongation of human life? Descartes, it appears, did not need the advice. He said the subject was engaging his mind; and though he "dared not look forward to man being rendered immortal, he was quite certain his length of life could be made equal to the patriarch's." In fact, he was composing at the time an Abrégé de Médecine , and popular report said he believed men could live four or five hundred years. He died prematurely of too much faith in his own medical theories.

In 1653 permission was given to Digby to return, on condition he would not meddle with Royalist plots. He had been in communication with Cromwell, and had done some diplomatic business for him in Paris. On his return in 1654, and for the next few years, he was in the closest relations with the Protector, thereby carrying out the principle he had probably adopted from White, of a "universal passive obedience to any species of government that had obtained an establishment." His Royalist friends made an outcry, and so did the Puritans; but Digby was confident of obtaining from Cromwell great advantages for the English Catholics, and the Protector, it seems, fully trusted the intentions and the abilities of this strange and fascinating personality who came to him out of the enemy's camp. Delicate business was given into his hands, that of preventing an alliance between France and Spain. Prynne, in his True and Perfect Narrative , bitterly denounced Cromwell in "that Sir Kenelme Digby was his particular favourite, and lodged at Whitehall; that Maurice Conry, Provincial of the Franciscans in England, and other priests, had his protections under hand and seal." Of Digby's feelings towards Cromwell there is clear evidence. It seems his loyalty had been questioned in his absence; and he writes from Paris, in March, 1656, to Secretary Thurloe: "Whatsoever may be disliked by my Lord Protector and the Council of State must be detested by me. My obligations to his Highness are so great, etc." And again, "How passionate I am for his service and for his honour and interest, even to exposing my life for him." The intimacy, begun on both sides in mere policy, had evidently grown to friendship and mutual admiration.

The illness of which he died had already attacked him, and it was for his health he went to Montpelier in 1658. His stay in that seat of learning was made memorable by his reading to a company of eminent persons his
Discourse on the Powder of Sympathy , which has brought him more fame and more ridicule than anything else. I have already referred to the secret confided to him as a youth in Florence by the Carmelite Friar from the East. When he came back to England he spoke of the great discovery, and had occasion to use it. Howell-of the Familiar Letters -was, according to Sir Kenelm's account, wounded while trying to part two friends who were fighting a duel. His wounds were hastily tied up with his garter, and Digby was sent for. Digby asked for the garter-bandage, and steeped it in a basin in which he had dissolved his secret powder (of vitriol). Immediately Howell felt a "pleasing kind of freshnesse, as it were a wet cold napkin did spread over my hand." "Take off all the plasters and wrappings," said Digby. "Keep the wound clean, and neither too hot nor too cold." Afterwards he took the bandage from the water, and hung it before a great fire to dry; whereupon Howell's servant came running to say his master was much worse, and in a burning fever. The bandage plunged once more in the dissolved powder, soothed the patient at a distance; and in a few days the wound was healed. Digby declared that James and Buckingham were interested witnesses of the cure; and the king "drolled with him about it (which he could do with a very good grace)." He said he divulged the secret to the Duke of Mayenne. After the Duke's death his surgeon sold it so that "now there is scarce any country barber but knows it." Why did not Digby try it on his wounded men at Scanderoon? His Discourse to the learned assembly is a curious medley of subtle observation and old wives' tales, set out in sober, orderly, one might almost say scientific, fashion. Roughly, the substance of it may be summed up as "Like to like." The secret powder is a medium whereby the atoms in the bandage are drawn back to their proper place in the body! After Digby's death you could buy the powder at Hartman's shop for sixpence.

At the Restoration he returned to England. He was still Henrietta Maria's Chancellor. His relations with Cromwell had never broken their friendship; and probably he still made possets for her at Somerset House as he had done in the old days. But by Charles II there was no special favour shown him, beyond repayment for his ransom of English slaves during the Scanderoon voyage; and in 1664 he was forbidden the Court. The reason is not definitely known. Charles may have only gradually, but at last grimly, resented, the more he learnt of it, Digby's recognition of the usurper.

He found happiness in science, in books, in conversation, in medicine, stilling and cookery. In 1661 he had lectured at Gresham College on The Vegetation of Plants . When the Royal Society was inaugurated, in 1663, he was one of the Council. His house became a kind of academy, where wits, experimentalists, occultists, philosophers, and men of letters worked and talked. This was the house in Covent Garden. An earlier one is also noted by Aubrey. "The faire howses in Holbourne between King's Street and Southampton Street (which brake-off the continuance of them) were, about 1633, built by Sir Kenelme; where he lived before the civill warres. Since the restauration of Charles II he lived in the last faire house westward in the north portico of Covent Garden, where my lord Denzill Hollis lived since. He had a laboratory there." This latter house, which can be seen in its eighteenth-century guise in Hogarth's print of "Morning," in The Four Hours of the Day set, is now the quarters of the National Sporting Club. There he worked and talked and entertained, made his metheglin and aqua vitæ and other messes, till his last illness in 1665. Paris as ever attracted him; and in France were good doctors for his disease, the stone. He had himself borne on a litter to the coast; but feeling death's hand on him, he turned his face homeward again, and died in Covent Garden, June 11, 1665. In his will he desired to be buried by his beautiful Venetia in Christ Church, Newgate, and that no mention should be made of him on the tomb, where he had engraved four Latin inscriptions to her memory. But Ferrar wrote an epitaph for him:-

"Under this tomb the matchless Digby lies,
Digby the great, the valiant, and the wise," etc.

The Great Fire destroyed the tomb, and scattered their ashes.

He had died poor; and his surviving son John, with whom he had been on bad terms, declared that all the property that came to him was his father's sumptuously compiled history of the Digby family. Apparently John regained some part of the estates later, which perhaps had only been left away from him to pay off debts. A great library of Sir Kenelm's was still in Paris; and after his death it was claimed by the French king, and sold for 10,000 crowns. His kinsman, the second Earl of Bristol, bought it, and joined it to his own; and the catalogue of the combined collection, sold in London in 1683, is an interesting and too little tapped source for Digby's mental history. Of his five children, three were already dead. Kenelm, his eldest son, had fallen at St. Neot's, in 1648, fighting for the King. It was his remaining son John who sanctioned the publication of his father's receipts.

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Sir Kenelm Digby has been recognised as the type of the great amateur, but always with a shaking of the head. Why this scorn of accomplished amateurs? Rather may their tribe increase, let us pray. Our world languisheth now for lack of them. He was fitted by nature to play the rôle superbly, to force his circumstances, never over pliant, to serve not his material interests, but his fame, his craving for universal knowledge and attainments. Says Wood: "His person was handsome and gigantick, and nothing was wanting to make him a compleat Cavalier. He had so graceful elocution and noble address that had he been dropped out of the clouds into any part of the world, he would have made himself respected; but the Jesuits who cared not for him, spoke spitefully, and said it was true, but then he must not stay there above six weeks. He had a great faculty, which proceeded from abundance of wit and invention, of proposing and reporting matters to the Virtuosi."

Women adored him; and he took great pains to please them-though in spite of the importunities of Marie de Médicis, the long friendship with Henrietta Maria, his early flirtation with the lovely Spaniard, his earnest and impolitic championship of the notorious Lady Purbeck-Romish convert and adventuress-Venetia, it seems, remained his only love. He was never the mere gallant. He treated women as his intellectual equals, but as equals who had to be splendidly entertained and amused. His conversation was "ingeniose and innocent." Lloyd speaks of "the grace wherewith he could relate magnarum rerum minutias , the little circumstances of great matters." But men were at his feet as well; and on his tour among Italian courts, one of the grandees said that, "having no children, he was very willing his wife should bring him a Prince by Sir Kenelme, whom he imagined the just measure of perfection."

A first-rate swordsman, yet was he "not apt in the least to give offence." His strength was that of a giant. Bristol related that one day at Sherborne he took up "a midling man," chair and all, with one arm. But there was nothing of the swashbuckler about him, and his endless vitality was matched by his courtesy. True, he hustled a Pope; but he addressed the Short Parliament in such reverential terms as no Roundhead could have found. One who had been courtier, exile, naval commander, student, prisoner, and diplomatist, who had associated with all sorts of persons, from kings to alchemists and cooks, had learnt resourcefulness. But he was never too hard put to it perhaps, seeing that "if he had not fourpence, wherever he came he would find respect and credit." "No man knew better how to abound, and to be abased, and either was indifferent to him."

He had his detractors. One who plays so